Last night was one of those nights when I chased the alarm clock all night long. I told Siri to wake me up at 4:45 to take my 87 year old Nana to the airport. And not Phoenix Sky Harbor, which is a mere 15 minutes away, but no people…these are REAL first world problems. I had to drive 40 minutes to Mesa Gateway Airport.

At 4:45am.

I wasn’t excited about it. I had been complaining about it all night and dreading it even in my dreams.

I was tired.  I’d spent the night before playing nurse to my vomiting son and hadn’t slept well at all.  Needless to say, when I rolled over checked my phone and it saw it said 4:29am, a 16 minutes before Siri would wake me from my cozy bed, I started grumbling and muttering.  I pulled the pillow over my head and tried to will myself into waking up.

4:45am, 40 degrees outside, and a 40 minute drive…

…And let’s be honest…Nana can be a little more chatty than I like my people to be at 4:45am.

And then, I’m not sure if it was Jesus, the voice of my conscience, or Oprah whispering in my ear…but I heard these words:

“Hey Noelle. Someday…someday…You’re gonna give anything to have 40 more minutes with this woman.”

The truth hit me hard.

Yeah, suddenly it wasn’t so hard to jump out of bed.  We loaded her bags into the car and spent the 40 minute drive chatting away about life. I asked her about her daily schedule back home, her friends, we talked about how pretty the moon looked and she thought it looked like a banana. And she laughed her loud, contagious laugh, and I breathed in deeply feeling every second of those 40 minutes.

Sometimes we are given gifts of time with those we love.

40 minutes.

4 hours.

And in those moments we get to choose.  We can choose to exist, or we can choose to live them, breathe them in and hold them close.

I know this morning I got 40 minutes I will never forget.

Today, I was lucky enough to guest post on www.ragamuffinsoul.com – Sharing it with you now…

Hey guys, while I am spending today driving through the plains of Kansas, I thought I’d have the #2 Ragamuffin in command, my assistant, Noelle, drop some bombs of wisdom on you.

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It’s time for a little estrogen up in here.

So, grab a cup of coffee, make sure all your toilet seat lids are down and let’s have a little chat, shall we?

Usually when we talk men vs. women there are lots of lists, stereotypes and very few answers on how we can meet in the middle. We hear statistics about sex drive (men want it, women don’t), communication (women want it, men don’t), emotions (women have them, men are baffled by them)…we’ve all read the lists. And I’m not here to confirm or deny any truth these lists represent. Just want to shed some light on another difference I discovered just the other day.

I called Carlos back for probably the fourth time that day hour. Before he could even say hello, I was apologizing for bugging him with more questions. (I might add that keeping his crazy schedule on schedule is a task that is not for the faint of heart.)

Me: “Hi. SORRY, but I just have to ask you one more thing…”

Carlos: “Hey, WOULD YOU PLEASE STOP APOLOGIZING?!”

Me: “Oh, okay. Sorry. I mean, um….”

I got my question answered, hung up the phone and thought about what he had just said. I realized at that moment that I apologize, like A LOT. For things I have done. For things I haven’t done. For things that someone else has done. For things someone else hasn’t done. I find a way to take the blame. And, I began to notice that many women in my life do the same thing.

We live our lives apologizing. For who we are. For who we aren’t.

Is this because it’s in our nature?

Or, have we been conditioned by society to live up to expectations and be what everyone needs? Why do we live our lives with some sort of disclaimer?

One thing I have learned during my year+ of working with Carlos as his assistant, is that he is unapologetic about his authenticity.

He is real. He is who he is. And he isn’t sorry if you don’t like it.

I began to notice the same sense of unabashed living in my husband. He pastors with grace, but never shrinks back from tough conversations. He doesn’t apologize for who he is.
And then it hit me. Jesus didn’t either.

Jesus disappointed people all day long. He failed to live up to the expectations of the religious leaders. He didn’t follow the rules that society dictated. He lived unapologetically.

Why don’t I? Ladies, why do we spend our days doing damage control, keeping up appearances, and making people happy? Apologizing instead of living?

Am I the only one who struggles with this? Have you overcome it? How? Have I asked too many questions? (SORRY…wait, NO, I’m not sorry…geez, SOMEONE help me!)

Is it possible for us to remove the disclaimer, and live out the both the beauty and ugly of who we actually are?

There is something about the end of summer, and the start of school that kicks my mom-genes into overdrive. Maybe its the overexposure to Office Max buying school supplies, or the dreaded thought of packing lunches again, I don’t really know…but every year it happens.

And, last night it peaked. I mean, my daughter’s jaw dropped when she saw I was pulling out ingredients to bake cookies. “Um, Mom, what are you doing?” she asked. I tried to play it cool and act like it was really no big deal. (Let’s be honest, lately, my idea of making dinner consists of calling Pita Jungle to place our regular order.)

My cavalier attitude must have worked because she just shrugged and continued on to finish the last 10 pages of her summer math homework that we had procrastinated to the night before school started. (Stop judging me.)

Things were going along fine until I couldn’t find any flour. (I mean who doesn’t have flour in their pantry!?) I knew it was there somewhere. I searched until I found a zip lock bag of what looked to be flour. I finished up my batter, grateful that I had the foresight to store my flour in an airtight bag to keep it fresh.

I took my spoon out to do the standard taste. Cookie dough sampling is a must in my house. I put the spoon to my lips waiting to taste the deliciously sweet oatmeal batter. I immediately began to gag and spit the batter across the room. It was NOT cookie dough batter, that was for sure. No brown sugar goodness, no gooey buttery flavor.

All I tasted was salt.

And then it hit me.

That zip lock bag was full of home made play dough ingredients. Not for human consumption.

I quickly tossed the batter and went to dust off my Mother of The Year Tiara.

There would be no fresh baked cookies for my kids after the first day of school.

This got my wheels spinning. Lately I have been thinking about the delicate dynamics between moms.

It’s so easy for us to fall into comparing.

We look around and see that her house is spotless, or she bakes her own home made bread, or she has the body of Jillian Michaels. Even when we walk into each other’s homes, we’re sizing up the situation. Where do I fit in? How do I compare?

And if we’re not comparing, often, we’re competing.

We’re determined to throw the best birthday party in the class, or pushing our kids to outperform their peers. We strive for perfection and often accept nothing less. It really is exhausting.

I guarantee we’ve all fallen into these traps.

Maybe it’s was my foiled baking attempts or my scattered summer, but lately I’ve been wondering what our relationships with fellow mom’s and other women would be like if rather than comparing or competing…we celebrated.

Celebrated others. Rather than comparing homes and status, what if we saw them as a reflection of the beauty in our friends? Each of us at different stages, with something unique to offer the world.

Celebrated our children. Taking time to savor each stage, the fun ones and the ones that make you want to pull your hair out. What if we celebrated their little personalities and declarations of independence?

Celebrated ourselves. How would our days transform, our self-image take shape if we celebrated ourselves? For the beauty we have to offer the world, and the circumstances we find ourselves in. Sure, there are tough times (and I mean REALLY tough times) but there is also beauty in those moments. We look at a caterpillar as they struggle in their cocoons and know that the very process that is uncomfortable is what transforms them into the butterfly. So, in the same way, we can celebrate the process.

Since I have no cookies to offer you, I thought I’d give you some food for thought.

“I know what I’m doing. I have it all planned out—plans to take care of you, not abandon you, plans to give you the future you hope for.–Jeremiah 29:11 MSG”

When Rivaldo woke up this morning, I’m pretty sure he had no idea that today was the day.  The little two-year old probably awoke to the tropical heat he has woken up to every day of his life.  As the nannies dressed him, and he ate his bowl of mush and played with his 42 other friends, I doubt he knew what was coming today.

But today is the day.

The day that God has been planning for, and coordinating long before Rivaldo ever entered this earth.  The day he would be held and brought to his forever home by his Mom and Dad.  A day that took many miracles to bring about. Large and small.

Today is the day!

Today his parents land in Haiti and drive to where Rivaldo has lived the first 2.5 years of his life. Today is a day of beginnings.

Families come together in many ways, none is more magical or heroic than another.  Because after all, when it’s all said and done, all families require many miracles to bring them together.

But each story is special.  Each epic, winding tale of how God unites parents with their children is so unique and so intricate…and so miraculous, and above all beautiful.

Maybe it’s because I have been a part of this story from the beginning, or have prayed many prayers and cried and shared in this journey so closely, but my heart is literally bursting with joy.

Like I said, I love it when a plan comes together.

Reading Rivaldo a story with pictures of his family. He was excited about his dog.

When your BFF moves away, life changes.

For over 12 years we lived in deep, every day community- now we Skype.  Don’t get me wrong. I’m not mad about it (anymore) but it really has been an adjustment.  Deep conversations can definitely be had over the phone…it just takes a lot more effort to connect, get there and go deep.  What used to be as simple as sitting across from each other on my couch with a cup of coffee now takes scheduling.  And, I’ll admit, I haven’t had the best attitude about it.

I keep thinking that a Ross and Rachel Friends Finale moment will happen and she’ll show up on my door step and say, “I got off the plane.” (okay so maybe not EXACTLY like that moment…)  But you get what I’m saying….

I miss my friend. My everyday life is not the same without her.

And what is most gut wrenching, is that for 12 years I dreamed of the day that we’d have our kids together, play at the park and sip Starbucks… Or the day I’d get to help her plan her little kid’s birthday party…and those days are not in my near future.

But I can’t tell you the joy I felt when I got the word yesterday that her son had received his passport and that within DAYS they would be able to travel to Haiti and start their life with him. JOY! The day they had been waiting for, praying for….agonizing over would be here SO SOON.

My heart is so full knowing that Rivaldo will be home forever, even if home is not here.

I am so thankful that she has started blogging. It gives me a better glimpse as to what is going on in her heart, mind, and hopefully will provide me with lots of pictures and stories of Rivaldo’s new life and their journey into parenthood.

So check her out www.rivaldoedwards.com