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Since childhood, I have written poetry. I hold an affinity for rhyming words and lines that form together. Like a seamstress sewing fabric, poetry requires a pattern. It’s actually challenging to write good poetry; change one word and the whole thing can fall apart. Perhaps poetry is the Jenga game of writing. I am not be so bold as to state that I write good poetry, nevertheless, I enjoy the practice. The discipline of creating a story with few words, that keeps cadence, and captures others. Written when my daughters were in college, Tea Party captures the little girl days of life. Enjoy.

The Tea Party
The little girls play dress-up big,
in their glittery slipper shoes.
They plan a party in their room;
it makes the toy box news.
 
One, invites every friend she knows.
with precious childhood zeal,
serving cookies with matchless class,
in a red stiletto heel.
 
The younger girl sings a mermaid song,
to each attending guest,
twirling around and showing off
her white, silk flowered dress.
 
Two little girls sassy with glam
fill the room with childhood style.
And I peek around the door frame
to sneak a childhood smile.
 
Mr. Bear is sipping cherry tea;
the long-eared rabbits all wear green.
One little girl is the party’s princess.
the other is the queen.
 
I linger in the moment,
looking into a room of tea-party play
wherein little girls in rhinestone tiaras
make-believe the day away!

Blessings,
Jo

Hello Moms of Littles (and not so littles).  I was thinking about you this week. Praying for you. Your season of life brought a smile to my heart. The season of everything seems like it’s everywhere. Brownie crumbs on the rug. Toys in fifteen places. Chargers perpetually needed and  lost. Coloring books scattered across the bed. Sticky candy on the bathroom faucet.  You are in the season of being busy.

Maybe, you are the first one awake; the last one to bed. Being tired has become something that is both normal and manageable. You’re happy to cookie cutter sandwiches into fun shapes or listen to one more chapter book being read, but you also hope to catch the next episode of a favorite show or schedule a girl’s night soon.

You might find yourself needing an uninterrupted hour to read ahead for book club or shave your legs.  (For some of you both book club and shaved legs have become a distant memory.)
 
I see you. I hear you. I have been you.

Here’s my insight: The days and years of childhood filling your home will end.
One day, your faucets will be void of sticky fingerprints. The embroidered topiary hand towel in the bathroom will go unused; you’ll put it away and marvel at how clean it looks. You’ll wash your hands with a bougie, bergamot scented soap and miss the days of cotton candy, sparkle pop, or superhero citrus whiffing through the air. You’ll be able to join book club, play pickleball, and binge watch Netflix all without a ruffle in the calendar. You can door dash dinner and no one will order chicken fingers, cheese pizza, or grilled cheese.  Legos, glittered headbands, fairy wands, soccer socks, juice boxes, and one more request for a tuck-in at bedtime will primarily live in the past.

One day, your home will be quiet. Clean. And very good.

And you’ll miss your littles.

Your heart will ache for one more glimpse of the childhood that is currently sitting on the front pages of your life.

So, take a moment. Shave your legs. Make a cup of hot tea. Breathe. But don’t wish this season away. Don’t miss the gloriousness of it all.  This Mom season has Jesus written all over it. Seek Him in the fingerprints, the crumbs, the homework chaos; find Him in the never-ending loads of laundry.

Childhood was His design, and He knew you could pull it off with what we sometimes call Mom magic.  Jesus has not forgotten that you like to play the violin, eat meals that require a full set of silverware., or wear flawless makeup. In fact, all your Mom wonderfulness is layered on top of and found throughout your beauty and vice versa.

Enjoy this special, very good season. Soak it up with gratitude.

One day will be here before you know it.

Blessings,
Jo 

Back to School chatter has filled my ears. The words of both children and adults pulling memories. School uniforms. Homework. Cartoon inspired lunchboxes. Earlier mornings. Car Rider lines. Bus Numbers. Lunch money. The list goes on…

The warm and fuzzy memories, I pull close; others get pushed aside quickly. School uniforms were never my favorite, and I thought I’d lose my mind over our local BOE stressed importance of non-label socks. I am grateful to be past even the debate of that issue. Still, in this season of my life, when my adult children are engaged in meaningful work roles and overseeing their own morning schedules, I found myself missing the first the day of school.

Mostly, I miss the chatter of my children around the breakfast table. I miss doughnuts and scrambled eggs for breakfast. The traditional first-morning-of-school meal in our house. Some years, I would get up early and go purchase them HOT. Other years, I bought them the night before. Perfection wasn’t the goal; sugared love with a little protein was.
I miss braiding hair or flat ironing the back into shiny, long locks. I miss hearing the thoughts and musings on the grade ahead. I miss reading the daily devotion aloud over breakfast. I miss listening to Kidd Kraddick in the morning on the drive. I miss saying, “God loves you most. I love you. Walk away from drama.”

In all this reminiscing, God teaches. Here’s my take-away: I miss my children’s first day of school, not the first day of school. My incredible three are what made the season wonderful. And, while that season is ended, the one I am currently living is equally as wonderful. Here is the highlight reel:

• Summer is still in full swing with my adult children.

• There are more mid-week lake days on the calendar.

• I have increasing opportunity to eat doughnuts with them, and often they buy! And doughnuts seem to be our thing this year. Even if my hips are not counting that as a win, my heart is.

• We continue to have funny, good, and thoughtful discussions on a variety of topics including the changes on the Kidd Kraddick Morning Show.

• I still get requests to braid hair, and I am still good at it.

• Seasons change. Love remains.

• Seasons end. Love never ends.

• Seasons fade. Love continually gets higher, wider, longer, and deeper.

This morning, as I photographed daylilies in the backyard with our chocolate lab, Jake, I saw the long line of cars headed to the school. I smiled thinking of all the memories being made in those family moments. I gave thanks to Abba God for my children. Being their mother is a blessing beyond my words.

And I seriously did a little cartwheel inside that I wasn’t concerned about the brand of socks anyone wears. I loved on Jake who affords me many opportunities to nurture. I took my time with the camera enjoying this season of being on my own time.

And then I came inside and texted my three this message: “Missing you this morning. It’s the first day of school. I feel obligated to remind you, God loves you most. I love you. Walk away from drama.”

To all the moms in the beginning of a school year season: Enjoy it. Soak up every good moment. Quickly push aside the hard moments. Breathe. Be at rest knowing that every season is good and wonderful in its own unique way. God sees you. He loves you. He speaks your Mom-heart language.

Eat a doughnut. Read a devotional. You’ll miss these days, and then you won’t.

Blessings,
Jo

Originally posted July 12, 2023

“The LORD your God is with you, he is mighty to save. He will take great delight in you, he will quiet you with his love, he will rejoice over you with singing.” Zephaniah 3:17

• Life can be noisy.

• Pride is loud; it shouts to self, about self, and for self only.

• Harsh circumstances can make the heart feel messy and loud.

• Rest can be evasive when you are hurting.

• True rest can be absent when you are walking in sin.

• Stress can be deafening.

• Bitterness is basically a full-blown brawl in your mind.

• Fear takes the imagination hostage ensuing a freight train of “what if” thinking.

• Waywardness dims the light of hope within our heart.

• A demanding schedule can make a life disordered. A sense of too busy will drown out the peace that comes from abiding in Christ.

• Confusion can fade the peace of the quiet.

Life can be noisy; no one is immune.

Sin is noisy; no one is immune.

God not only restores the rest, the quiet in our lives, but he also comforts us. He is not a far-away God, nor is he a God without mercy and compassion. He is a good, good Father and his way of care is both perfect and personal.

If your life has become noisy, perhaps these words of prayer will help guide you to the True Quiet.

LORD, quiet my heart, with your love.
Pull me close; hold me tight.
Wipe every tear; hush every anxious word,
comfort me; and calm my breathing.
Whisper my name.
Trace my smile; delight in me.
Examine the things I bring before you; search me.
Clean my thoughts; make my heart sparkle. 
Show me love that only the eyes of my heart can see.
Slow my day; lead me to be still before you.
Sing over me.
Adonia, as only you can, quiet my heart, with your love.
Amen

Blessings,
Jo

Originally posted uly 12, 2023

Campfire Stories

Spin a tale of summer nights,
of flying kites in early spring.
Remind me of that hilarious time
when you pretended you could sing?
Tell me about the seashells
 you collected in the rain.
Describe a snake bite in detail,
highlighting all the blood and pain.
Whisper secrets in the dark.
Make me promise, “I’ll tell no one.”
Help me go on a big bear hunt,
because that is always fun!

When it’s time for scary stories.
and the campfire’s the only light,
spin a tale that will make me scream,
and keep me up all night!

Tell me a ghost story with a wicked witch,
or a headless, horseless rider.
Convince me that we’re really lost,
a creepy tale of” No one will ever find her.”
Tell me the horrors of the ten wild pigs!
Or the campers you caught kissing.
Tell me about the ragged map with an X
for a treasure that’s been missing.
Tell me, truly, you’ve seen Bigfoot,
or an elephant sitting in a tree.
Tell me all your favorite campfire stories.
Tell me! Tell me! Tell me!

The memories made at campfire,
and put to bed inside a tent.
make me feel about ten years old,
and that is always time well spent.

Jo Crosby

Originally posted March 10, 2023

Attending a wedding recently, I experienced what I will call “a shoe fiasco!” What began as a small tear quickly turned into a large one resulting in the entire top of my mule-type shoe being separated from the sole. Shoeless, embarrassed, and a bit surprised, I did what all women do — I excused myself to the ladies room.

 I stood in front of the mirror and pondered the moment feeling a lot of “feels” while noting that there are few items in a ladies restroom that will suffice for shoe repair. I thought how “genius of an opportunity awaits'“ for someone to install a vending machine that holds an expanded offering of useful items like a stapler or a spare pair of shoes.  

After some debate, I quickly made my way to our seats, stuffed my shoes underneath my chair,  and walked barefoot to the buffet line.

John had already been served and was making his way back to the table, so I just took the next place in line.
 
The “next place” happened to be beside the groom’s mother — a long-time, like-family friend who “if” she noticed, never mentioned it. But, the people she introduced me to did seem to notice. Nothing but kindness was demonstrated, but many people had that, “Why are you barefoot” question on their face.

I took my plate, let out a long sigh, and grabbed two cupcakes and a cookie before returning to the table.  John’s gluten free anyway, but if there was ever a time to eat his portion of dessert, this was the moment.  

Reseated, I explained the shoe situation to John and a friend — both thought it was hysterical. Not laughing a me, just inviting me to see the fun of the situation. They rallied to rally me. Their encouragement accompanied by 2 cupcakes and a slice of wedding cake gave me the courage to make the best of it.  Eventually, my shoe situation had made it’s way through several of my friends and family, and a solution was found.
 
In the days that have passed, I have felt God’s love and  laughter over this situation. NEVER laughing at me, but laughing with me as only someone who really loves you can. All my friends have “truly” laughed when they heard the story. Maybe that’s the gift in this shoe story.
 
I may have danced my last dance in these shoes, but I have a wedding feast ahead where the banquet room will be filled with all the beauty of God. A place where servings of blueberry pie and duct-taped dressy shoes have served to remind me that God loves me.
I wrote the following in my journal this morning. I hope you enjoy.

I broke a shoe,
it fell apart,
it came unglued completely.
And now I’m wondering,
“What to do?”
to right my applecart.
Maybe no one will even see!
That is what I’m truly hoping.

Oops. Too late I knew --
I feel the glances in my heart.

I decide to disappear on three,
And wishing, I start counting.
     
            It fails.   It’s true.
Vanishing is a mere magician’s art,
or so it’s been for me.
This isn’t my first rodeo,
for silently praying while counting to three!

        Girlfriends to the rescue!
         Love worked where wishing failed.
         With laughter, I kept on dancing.
         Making it through the night in a pipe cleaner, duct taped shoe,
         and a big smile in God’s own writing.

As stories go, and this one has,
      I am confident in this:
God loves me more than I could know,
and girlfriends who get me and see me,
are felt as his forehead kiss.

I haven’t brought myself to toss them. God writes the best stories. What started as a big moment of embarrassment ended with a bigger smile of being loved.

Originally posted March 4, 2023

“Taste and see that the Lord is good;
blessed in the one who takes refuge in him.”
Psalm 34:8, NIV

I love this verse of scripture.

The Lord is good. When I consider the goodness of the Lord being like the goodness that fills my mouth and floods through my senses, I often think of the garden.

I grew up with a garden. Just steps from my front door of my childhood was a bounty of wonderful. Wonderful that included planting, watering, weeding, and watching. Wonderful that included picking, peeling, canning, and eating. There is a distinct goodness that comes with anticipating the first, sweet corn of the season or eating a watermelon sliced in the field. Goodness can be tasted.

Sometimes, instead of garden bounty, the concept of sweet goodness leads me to recall pictures I’ve seen. Moments in time such as our daughter, Erin (at age 15 months), dancing in the sunlight as it streamed through the window; my husband, John, playing Frisbee with our dog Jack; or all 45 pounds of little Wesley Crosby dressed up as Tinkerbelle for trick or treat. Goodness can be seen.

God’s goodness is also revealed in the indisputable grandeur of creation. The Grand Tetons at sunrise, the wild, mountain river, and the flowers that bloom in by backyard are all a goodness than seems bigger than my mind can fully hold. The earth is filled with God’s goodness and his beauty.

I believe this was the intention of David, the writer of Psalm 34. I think he penned the verse to serve as both a reminder and an invitation to personally experience and explore (taste and see) God’s nature – all his goodness – all of Him!

This first part of Psalm 34:8 is frequently quoted and often imprinted on various Christian products. But there is truth here that we can’t miss – or rather, we should not miss.

It’s in the second part of the verse; the rest of David’s sincere message:
                                      “… blessed is the man who takes refuge in him.”

Refuge.

That word also brings forth mental images and memories some of which are not so poetic.

My writer’s heart struggles with how to eloquently word, grimy and guilty, gripped in fear or exhausted to the core. Needing a refuge implies neediness on our part, and I don’t meet a lot of women who embrace the term/label of neediness easily. Yet, life reveals that we need a refuge, a place to rest, and a shelter that will hold.

In his goodness, God is ever willing and able to be that refuge. God is our ever-present sanctuary. The One who creates the flowers’ petals and monitors the temperature of the mountain river, offers to be our shelter. Our personal place of rest. It my experience, that God does not chide me for needing what he is offering.  I think it will be the same for you.
Reading back through this verse, I smile thinking of David. He surely had a wealth of images of God’s goodness and a thousand plus moments of God’s sheltering arms. For him, the two truths were eternally linked and inseparable. When it came to experiencing God, David didn’t hesitate to dive in heart first!

Thousands of years after they were written, his words in Psalm 34 send a direct invitation and challenge to my heart. May they also invite and challenge yours.

Blessings,
Jo
 
“Taste and see that the Lord is good;
blessed in the one who takes refuge in him.”

Originally posted February 20, 2023

Catastrophic loss shatters what was into what is, and what will be. Following catastrophic loss, normal is often at a “yet to be determined” status. It can camp there a long time. In my office, I hear people describe the experience with these types of sentences:

I cannot live this way.

I do not know how to live like this way.

I do not want to die, but I don’t know how to live.

The pain is unbearable. How do I bear it?  

Why? Why? Why?

Catastrophic loss shatters. It shatters life to the core. We break. We crumble. We shatter. We are pounded into dust.  Fine-powdery Dust Stage.
 
Maybe you’ve been there? Perhaps, you’re there now.

As a grief counselor this is often when and where I meet people, and this is where and when I know (really know) that people cannot glue dust back together again. Only God can do this work. And he, as he first did in the garden, kneels into the dirt of us every single time.
 
My role is to simply invite and guide the shattered ones to come as dust to the Father who leans down, bends low, and breathes air into lungs that have been deflated. His hands-on loving care is faithful. From my bird’s eye office view, it is always a miracle to see life come into being.

And new life – or normal – as we commonly call it, comes again in God’s care, even after catastrophic shattering. Grief is earth-bound; God is not.

If you’re in the Fine-powdery Dust Stage, life is beyond difficult. Words don’t adequately define the struggle. The pain should not be dismissed or minimized. This is the way of the world’s healing – to push you back to being okay when nothing is okay.  In the wake of catastrophic loss, everything is wrong and upside down. Dust never settles as it once was, and you cannot settle yourself into life as it once was.
 
Here’s your good news:  You have One who wants to help and can heal. In great care, he will carry your pain. God suffers for the ones he loves; and he loves you. Even though being shattered may make you doubt it. Take one mustard-seed-size step toward him; he will be there.

In my personal journal, I wrote these lines which are really a prayer:
 
Lord, you are good. When the water around me changed color, when my tears seemingly were as the sea, when loss changed the picture of my life, you were good. You are good. My life was once watery. Liquid. I felt like jelly on the inside. My knees wobbled. I was weakened and weak. I leaked. I was tears from dust. Water from dirt. I was (and am) soul from mud.

Perhaps this knowledge allowed me to come just as I was. To trust that as life was given to me it will be given again and again – no matter the circumstance.

All that earth shatters cannot overcome who you are, what you have done, and all that you will be.

Lord, you are love. And love glues dust into life.

I am soul from mud. Help me to lead others to you.