31

Some of you may have noticed that I had a birthday yesterday. Last year, I turned 30. I dreaded it while I was 29. Then, when the actual day came, I realized I kind of liked 30. Granted, there was that ginormous surprise party thrown on my behalf. That helped. But I also realized, as the days and weeks passed, that I finally sort of felt like a grown up. And I liked that.

This year has been different. I am sick, for one thing. And we are moving, for another. This one kind of crept upon me from behind while I was packing boxes and blowing my nose, tapped me on the shoulder and in a slightly annoyed voice said, "Hey. You're 31 now."

It seems like once you finally feel grown up, you should get to stop having birthdays. But they just keep coming. One after the other. Every single year. It isn't as fun as it used to be.

One thing that did come from this birthday was a visit from The Nester. She has a name, which I won't reveal, of course. It's funny though...The Nester has kind of grown on me. I call her that a lot now when we're together, especially when we're talking house. And we talk house a lot. She helped me pick this out.
That one is in our dining room. She thanked me for letting her help me pick out light fixtures, stating it was the most fun she's had all week. Or was it all month? The walls are svelte sage, for those of you who may wonder. We have six nights left until we move to the new old house. I think I'm ready. I still haven't shown you the kitchen. I inherited some nice cabinets that I wouldn't have chosen if it had been up to me. But we couldn't replace them. So we've done some other things to make it ours. I look forward to posting about that.

But first I have to go pack up my current kitchen. And count the days 'til my next birthday. Or not.

the writing on the wall

This painting is hanging in my current kitchen. I bought it from The Nester at a yard sale a few years ago. She sells great stuff at yard sales. And yes, she makes me pay. I make her pay, too. Well, sort of. It usually goes something like this:

Sister 1: "Ooo, you're sellin' that?"
Sister 2: "Yeah, you want it?"
Sister 1: "Maybe...How much?"
Sister 2: "Oh, you can just have it."

It goes both ways like that. And then one sister tries to convince the other to just take it but the other sister insists on paying. What generally ends up happening is we trade stuff and no money is exchanged. Usually mom is in the mix somewhere, too. She's the worst at buying all our stuff at our yard sales. She never ends up making anything when the 3 of us do one together because she spends all her earnings on our junk. Then she apologizes a year later when she re-sells them at another yard sale.

I think the frame of this one has been painted several times which makes sense because that's just what my sister does. As I said before, I have had it for several years. But just a few days ago, noticed something I had never seen.
Well, I thought to myself, I wonder what Psalm 40:5 says? Though I'm sure this signature wouldn't mean much on Antiques Roadshow, I felt certain it would mean something to me. So I looked it up. And it was a sweet reminder to me that the Lord thinks of me...too many thoughts to count. I am on His mind.

And just like that, I remember again how the Creator of the Universe likes to reveal Himself through unlikely people and unlikely things...even a yard sale painting hanging in my kitchen.

chatting at the sky

In her song Tuesday, Sarah Masen sings about the tired ending of a too-long day. The lyrics aren't explicit, but I think they describe a girl who had lived a regular day in a regular life without making space for her soul to breathe. It seems like sometimes when we most need a source outside of ourselves we are least likely to seek one.

I find myself in a similar place on my very own Tuesday. I am foggy and droopy and I need a shower. The days are running together lately. I am still clinching my jaw. I feel behind. I have a vague sense that I have been looking for me. In the foreground is the task, the day, the laundry, the meal, the living. But in the background, there is still just a girl. And it is in this place of need where I remember that it is not left to me alone to finish the task, to have the right answer, to be amazing and perfect while saving the world. But it is up to me to be the girl that He has made...and to trust Him to be Himself in and around me.

At the end of the day, the girl in the song stops and takes notice of the beauty in life that surrounded her...and she doesn't only notice, she enters in. She stops to chat at the sky. And in doing so, she sees her Creator.

So while this blog is a place for me to chat about parenting and coffee and photo-taking and bargains, I hope for it to also be a place to remember. A place to just be and invite others to be alongside of me. A place that encourages me to write and reflect and find meaning in the mundane. And maybe, by chatting in this place, I will find treasures of His presence weaved into the days I am blessed to reflect upon.

o little town

But you, Bethlehem Ephrathah, though you are little among the thousands of Judah, Yet out of you shall come forth to Me the One to be Ruler in Israel...And this One shall be peace.
Micah 5:2,5

It was last year about this time. I was driving and thinking, a rare moment alone in the car....trying to sort through the difference in my head between what was true and what was simply a product of my often over-active emotions. I was stuck in a dark place where the idea of the hope and joy of Christmas seemed to be an illusion at best. I had Christmas music on in the background and the second verse to this song struck me in particular.

How silently, how silently, the wondrous gift is giv'n!
So God imparts to human hearts the blessings of His heav'n.
No ear may hear His coming, but in this world of sin,
Where meek souls will receive Him still,
The dear Christ enters in.

And in that moment alone in my car, the reality of Christmas and the hope of all believers seemed to connect for me like never before. Because there was a real day when a real baby was born in a real stable from a real woman. And He was a real human and a real King who came to bring real life. So I celebrate the day He was born to die so that I might have life. Not just life forever with Him, but life on this real day, in my car, in the midst of my emotional rut...He offers me the choice of death or life, conflict or peace, hope or despair. Without Christmas, there would be no choice...defeat would be my only option.

What a beautiful thing to celebrate the birth of a King who offers so much, who is so much...to remember that from that little town that wasn't even big enough to be included among the clans of Judah would come One who is called Peace.

As I continued to drive, it began to seem as though she was singing about me and not a little town called Bethlehem. Small, insignificant... yet among the sometimes dark streets of my soul shines His everlasting light. He chooses to be born in me, to reside in the manger of my heart so that life and peace are made available to me in limitless supply.

'cause you got personality

I recently took a test to see what my personality is. That's right, I just don't know...I can't decide. I need a test to tell me. One of the questions was if I am sometimes accused of being too indecisive or too rigid. And I vacillated...hmmm, I don't know. I guess it depends on the situation. Well, then again....Then I grew a brain and clicked yes, I am sometimes accused of being too indecisive.

Another question asked if I feel comfortable leaving my options open or after having made a decision. Um, are you kidding me? You mean there are people who would actually rather leave their options open than make a decision? Because I know I took a long time to decide whether or not I was indecisive, but I sure felt better after having made the decision. A lot better. Maybe that's why I worry so much about making decisions sometimes...because it HAS to be made or I can't rest.

Perhaps the most difficult question: I am mainly interested in human relationships or in things other than human relationships. I automatically clicked human relationships. And my test results reflect that. Lately, though, I have been wondering...which am I: people-oriented or task-oriented? In my head I'm people-oriented. But in my reality, I tend to focus on the tasks of the day rather than the (little) people by whom I am (constantly) surrounded. I don't know if its a coping mechanism or a personality trait, but sometimes I would rather windex the bathroom mirror than sit and chat with my 3 year olds. Then again, maybe it would say more about me if I actually windexed the entire mirror. But when I start to windex, I see the toilet needs to be cleaned, and the floor, and...then none of it is done completely, but all of it has been started. I think genuinely task-oriented people are organized and methodical and never leave a job undone. And that is not me.

I suppose I'm neither task-oriented nor people-oriented. I'm just dis-oriented. And I guess that is ok with me (I think...) Enough about me...what about you?

mind over clutter

I just filled an entire empty yard sale bin with trash. From my car. And I don't mean the kind of trash you can sell. I'm talking wrappers, napkins (both used and unused), junk mail, graham crackers, two fast food cups half full with water and a perfectly good swim diaper...but, well...it's November. And that is just the stuff I threw away. No need to go into detail about all the toys, DVDs and 47 pink and purple sweaters I brought back into the house.

There is unfortunately a direct correlation between the state of my car and the state of my mind. So it felt good to finally purge my car of clutter. My mind is another matter. I tried to open my mailbox with my key remote yesterday. And I was confused when it didn't work. I explained to the girls in my Bible study this morning why I left my coat in my car but how I wished I didn't and was going on and on until one amused member pointed out that my coat was hanging on the back of my chair. And so it was.

My family and I are wanting to be intentional this holiday season about keeping things simple, joyful, peaceful, fun. But I have been stressing already. Why? I want to make sure things are simple, joyful, peaceful...you get it. So my mind is filled with plans and recipes and what to pack when we go to my parents for Thanksgiving and whether we should just get a fake tree and how to get my almost-four-year-old to relax and poop on the potty already and how much more laundry could there possibly be? A great example of how one anxious thought can become a really bad day. No wonder my mind is cluttered.

But in the midst of it all, there is One who is reminding me that HE IS and I am not. That His yoke is easy and His burden is light. What a relief. So come, let us adore Him.

you got all that from a bumper sticker?

Ever feel like your attempts at something new are threatened by the fact that so many other people are not only already doing it, but they are doing it better? I was behind a car today with a bumper sticker that read "I run 26.2 miles." Putting aside my initial confusion (Run? You run 26.2 miles? Like, as in right now? Present tense? Really?), my thoughts after reading this were as follows:

Wow. 26.2 miles. I wonder how far that is? If I started running right now, where would I stop and it be 26.2 miles? I could run a marathon. If I trained. How would you train for that? Where would I begin? How long would it take? Think of all the people who have already run marathons and who are (according to the bumper sticker) in the process of running marathons and how far behind am I already in being able to run a marathon so what's the point?

And then the light turned green and I forgot about it.

I have no desire to run a marathon, let me assure you. But it has made me think. How many things in the world have not been done because people are afraid to start? What are we afraid of? That we won't win the marathon? That we won't be the best dancer ever? Write the best book ever? Be the best cook ever?

Or worse...maybe I'll look stupid.

Or worse worse...maybe it isn't that so many other people are doing it better, maybe it's that no other people are doing it at all. And the idea of being the first is just too...much.

It's easy for me to get stuck there...to forget that success does not necessarily lie in the outcome of the attempt. And I won't even say it is found in the mere fact that I attempted it...because maybe my reasons for doing so were wrong in the first place. But the Lord, He has plans for me. Plans to prosper, to give hope and a future. Will I allow my fear of attempting something to hinder or delay those plans?

Here's a newsflash worthy of remembering: I don't have to be the best. And it's ok to be the first. Because life isn't about how I compare with you or them or myself, for that matter. And when its not about me, the fear seems to lose its power and life becomes a lot more fun.

plotlines in my life

Tonight our oldest twin tearfully refused a bath for fear that her "fingernails might come off". They were freshly painted yesterday by her Nanny...I knew what she meant. You have to pick your battles. These days, it seems I'm losing the ones I pick but whatever. She's asleep now...dirty hair; fingernails intact.

Now that they are all sleeping (husband included), I thought I'd take a moment and offer a few updates.

I talked with the bride. Turns out she's a really gracious and forgiving person. Good thing. I guess I already knew that, but it's still a relief to have talked with her and offer my appropriate apologies for my lack of...well, just for my lack. I'd post a photo from her wedding here, but I wasn't there. So this is me. Moving on. Starting now.

The movie we were waiting for? Well, it came. They were scared of the Beast, but held out hope until he turned nice. And we had a real movie night (or day, really). It is so refreshing to watch something other than Dora. I was pleased to discover I remembered so many of the songs after 15 years or so. Two girls weren't so pleased. I think "Shhhh, Mommy. We can't hear" was the exact phrase. At least it's in English.

And then there is my daily struggle with Good Mom. If only she would disappear into the archives like that blog post did. But she doesn't. Instead she hovers, lingering in my days the same way the smell of a dirty diaper lingers in the room after it has been taken to the trashcan outside. She weaves her way into my thoughts and leaves me feeling helpless to ever becoming more like her. Turns out Good Mom may be a good mom, but she isn't a very good friend.

I remember the words the Lord speaks to me, gentle and true. He brings life and hope and clarity.

And He doesn't hover. I like that.

Good Mom vs. Me

Ever feel like a really bad mom? I'm not talking jail time or anything. Just that feeling like there is a Good Mom somewhere out there who would never do or be what I do...or am.

Good Mom makes breakfast and smiles a lot. Good Mom always remembers to notice, compliment, and encourage. She is fun and funny. She plays polly pockets with pleasure and even makes suggestions for pretend scenarios to make the play go longer. Her patience is limitless and she never raises her voice. She wakes up early every morning and spends time with Jesus. She is consistent and kind. She makes cookies from scratch. She plays outside even when its really hot. She builds forts with blankets in the living room. Her house is always clean, her produce is always fresh and she has a garden with flowers and vegetables. She can sing. She makes puppets out of socks. Her kids never watch tv because they are totally satisfied to listen to the riveting, captivating stories that their Good Mom makes up. Every night.

Full disclosure time. I haven't worn underwear in 2 days. Not because I just like to not wear underwear but because I haven't any that are clean. I haven't worn matching socks in 3 years. I pulled out 9 individual socks from my drawer the other day. Nine. All different. My one year old is in danger of being kicked out of the nursery at church. He bites. One of my 3 year olds has a really bad habit of talking back. A lot. Neither of my girls will let daddy help them brush their teeth without throwing a fit. It HAS to be mommy. I have had the same butter knife in my dishwasher for 2 weeks. Some unidentifiable food is stuck to one side. It's just too much to wash it by hand. My car has ants. Too many Chick-fil-a french fries.

I am distracted, discouraged, and maybe a bit lonely. I am in desperate need...mainly for patience...a patience that seems just out of my grasp, impossible to acheive. All things I don't like to admit, especially on a forum like this. And so I sat tonight. With an intention to just "be still and know that He is God". I opened my Beth Moore bible study book (the study that I quit 2 weeks ago because I couldn't finish a weeks worth of study in a week and I didn't have a sitter for my kids anyway.) And there it was, 1 Timothy 1:16. And this is what He said to me:

Jesus Christ came into the world to save sinners. I'm proof...of someone who could never have made it apart from sheer mercy. And now he shows me off--evidence of his endless patience--to those who are right on the edge of trusting him forever.

My children are "right on the edge of trusting him forever". And by His Holy Spirit, He wants to display His unlimited, endless patience in me as an example for them. I don't know how He does it. But I do know this--that maybe instead of trying to be more like Good Mom, I could begin to let Jesus be Jesus in me.

Meanwhile, I'm going to find some clean underwear.

Jesus, desitin and a callaway hat

Trusting Jesus to live in and through me can’t be simply a declaration of what I believe to be true…it has to have hands and feet. Sometimes my faith has to risk getting dirty and being...ordinary. That simply happens in the everyday, living life things.

Today, Jesus wears nikes and a callaway golf hat in Gulfport, MS.

Or a white t-shirt and a pony-tail in Charlotte, NC…and “Christ IN you, the hope of glory” becomes a reality and not just a verse. Because where is Jesus’ influence on earth if not through us? How else do we “life out” the life of Christ if not through our everyday, mundane tasks? But even those things take strength and energy, sometimes more than the big things. I am thankful that He doesn't just give me strength, He IS my strength.

So, The Man helps lead a group of 100+ new friends in Hurricane Katrina relief work in Gulfport and gladly enters into potentially awkward conversations with students he just met.

And I pack up clothes to finish out the last leg of our vacation, put desitin on a diaper rash that just won't go away and plan meals for when he comes home next week.

Not because I am capable, not because he is confident, but because we are His.