All in.

Updated: Jan 14, 2019

I posted to instagram last night of my family doing a workout video together.


Me and Cam alone, doing an in-home workout video, is probably an embarrassingly hilarious site. Me, pregnant going on pregnanter, flailing away at an attempt to cause my entire body to be active in some way is note worthy. Cam, 6'5 going on middle-age, trying to find a way to completely commit to a single movement due to space constraint in our living room is cause to pull up a chair. So everyone imagine why our children are glad to join in on the action, after watching us lead the way into home-gym-betterness, ever since January one, thanks to our job-well-done of making it look so entertaining.


We obliged their desire to get moving alongside of us because we know we cannot afford to bare the weight of an added load to our already heavy poundage we are sporting around, since saying no to our children's desire to work out with us would only lead to unsolicited piggy back rides for us, while doing said workout.


And so in the video I took for the world to see, while breathing heavily in the background of it, you see our three girls putting in work. And you also get to see our youngest daughter truly investing all of her efforts into what the gentlemen on the screen is saying who is pumping us up and telling us to keep going, feel the burn! Hazel is so serious about it. Always. Whatever "it" happens to be at that moment. Because she is MY mini-mini. And as my mini-mini, we are the kind of people who are always all-in, even when all-in is incredibly embarrassing, uncool, annoying, and overcommitted. We can't help our hardcoreness. We also can't typically learn from our stubborn-headed-committedness without it being done the wrong/hard/raised-eyebrow-way first.


I mean back in my Zumba days, I've been accused of taking my zumba movements too serious, by a fellow zumba-er. I think that it wasn't meant to be a compliment. I can be way too loud, way too excited, way too bossy, way too know-it-all, way too upbeat, way too competitive, way too driven, for apparently most of the time not good reasons, as pointed out by the reason-mongers, whomever those blessed folk may happen to have gotten to be. I for sure missed their club requirements and did not make that cut.


I actually do take all of the eyebrow raising as a compliment now, even though my 150%-efforted-perspective was (is) cause for my embarrassment and self-consciousness for a lot of years. But because I am dedicated if nothing else, social norms or expectations have never been something I can stick with due to their lack of hardcore nature, humph, so it has failed to stop me from proceeding with any sort of caution. Which might be a lose-lose if your me. Or my mini-mini.


Thankfully, three kids, pregnancy, and a foster license, plus a whole lot of other commitments later, I have lessened energy and ability to find myself being hardcore in the wrong places and for the wrong people, to which I consider a gift from the Lord, and maybe I'm finding worthy and Jesus-righteous outlets to plant my limited and low stockpile of energized anything. Maybe.


Blessed be though, injustice boils my eggs not matter how many hours I was up last night. Albeit there isn't much that keeps me up at night out of freewill anymore, except childhood injustice does. Sometimes unwelcomingly, and when it does it brings out the old zumba-zeal in me that I, for a long moment, thought had died a while ago in my twenties.


"Do the best you can until you know better."

"Then when you know better do better."

-Maya Angelou


There is a big part of my very very very tired and worn out self, that reads too much, sees too much, thinks too much, feels too much, that needs to know that my faith and my Jesus and my Salvation and my testimony and my tiny amount of energy, are all for bigger and more purposeful uses than just ways to serve peanut butter and jelly sandwiches or turkey luncheables.


The questions that I now get asked as a mama, that I CAN'T answer on my own, from one of my three girlies in my house, are enough to want to be ALL-IN at NOTHING or SOMETHING, ANYTHING, because not a lot of hopefulness is possible for me to answer her to the "why" of all that is happening. Desperation. It sleeps in my house occasionally.


But in Jesus, impossible doesn't exist. I knew this BEFORE even my first kid. And it hasn't and isn't changing awaiting my fourth. I know better. And not doing better would be an intentional act of hardcore-ity to purposefully NOT act in ways that I KNOW Jesus CAME to change.


"We are saved by faith, not by growing fruit; but we are not saved fruitless faith."

-Tim Keller


So I'll stay all in, though it's sometimes ridiculous and uncool nature. I got here from a lot of, lot of, idiotness, and my genetics says I'm not leaving anytime soon. And I plan to pass my tips on over-commitmedness that I've learned by probably way too many dance-floor-worms or truth-or-dare-streaking, to my little mini-mini about all the important and actual profitable ways that being too much of a lot of things can be beneficial to someone else Jesus died for, who needs a little extra benefiting.


Whether it is an entire box of junior mints, a home workout video, or a silly blog post after morning rush, I will show no restraint. In too many ways I can't do anything, but in all the small, tiny, opportunities, that I find some energy, I'm all in. God Bless us all. God Bless all the mini-minis.







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