Receive

So the holiday stress has set in and I'm realizing this because I'm binge eating Rolos wrapped in red and green foil driving down the road. I'm coping with the trip I just made to Target which is supposed to be therapeutic under normal circumstances, but it's insanely crowded on a Wednesday night. I'm wading through the crowd for shoes to go with my sons outfit for his Christmas program and matching accessories for my daughters outfit and snacks for their class Christmas parties and teacher gifts and and our own kids presents (presents that I will later buy online because I vowed not to brave a crowded store around Christmas time because that is asking for stress, yet here I am) All through the store, I'm subconsciously thinking of this dinner and that gathering and my mile long to do list. Did I mention my oldest daughter's birthday party is this week? She's 11 years old,  how is she 11? She's one those lucky kids born within a few days of the 25th. To top it all off, I'm pregnant and tired and whiney. I'll need a nap before I can even finish writing this.

I tell myself every year I will not get stressed out because I cannot be divided into more than one piece no matter how much I would like to be. There is still only one me that can only do so many things at once. At Christmas more than any time ever, why is it so hard to just be in one place at one time and just enjoy it? Everyone is in hurry up mode, everyone is rushed and stressed and looking overspent. You can just see the blankness in peoples eyes as they dart from store to store, speeding through one lot to the next. It's that phased out look...going going gone. Just like our money. This feeling of being spent, it's contagious, have you noticed?

How can one keep Christmas simple? Is this even possible? There are a few things I try to do to help cut down on stress:

Online shopping? Check.

Minimize the amount of commitments you make? Check.

Plan ahead, make lists? Check.

Keep your eye on the prize: remember the reason for the season? Ugh.

No matter how I might try the stress always seems to creep in. The philosophy to a simple Christmas should be the same as any other time we want to enjoy life more and stress less. Slow down. Take time to stop and smell the roses. Take joy in the ordinary. Do less in the name of wholeness. Strip life down to what really matters and focus in on that. At Christmas time this minimalist philosophy seems next to impossible. All the hype can sweep you away before you even put up the tree. 

Before I get too Scrooge like, let's back track to that almost Christmas birthday 11 years ago. I remember I was about to burst with expectancy. I was scared to death not knowing what the future held and how this little life would make her way into the world.  A part of me has always identified with Mary, Jesus' mom, because I think she must have felt the same. Alone and ashamed; silently judged as a too young mother yet feeling like I held a secret inside that was both sacred and full of new life.

But once that little baby came, nothing else mattered. There was not a single present under the tree. I don't even think there was a tree. No big meals or parties. Yet there was so much joy and raw emotion. Celebration and hope. I was left wondering how such a regularly dysfunctional person could ever do anything to receive this amazing gift. Come to find it's grace, just pure life giving grace.

Maybe that's the point of all of it. All of our effort in trying to create a perfect Christmas fails every time leaving us overwhelmed and overspent; reminding us of our humanity. Our American culture says more, more, more. We train our kids from early on. We have so much yet so little at the same time. We lose sight of life abundantly because we are too busy trying to create our own life with the tangible. Then there's that little baby, who came in the humblest of ways, reminding us that less is more and that He is the gift if only we will receive. He offers things we could never imagine or create of our own resources. Things like peace and joy despite painful circumstances. Things like hope when there's no light we can see no matter how hard we squint to see it at the end of the tunnel. Things like life, a full life, where our heart is drawn to things that really count. We've heard it said, he is both the gift and the giver. 

Yet there's no guilt here from the giver. Nothing expected in return. You don't have to show up anywhere or give a reciprocal gift or even get dressed up.  It's already been given, all that's needed of you is a simple, "Yes. I want that." It seems too easy, right? Too good to be true. Just a simple yes; like a child shredding through the wrapping paper experiencing the simple unadulterated joy of receiving.

So as we count down the days to Christmas and the stress mounts I will participate in all the normal holiday happenings. I will go to Christmas plays and parties and dinners. I will wrap presents and unwrap presents. I will cook and craft and check things off the list.  I will hide that stupid Elf one. More. Time. (really I love you Elf, but creatively placing you in a different position 25 times? You're not all that magical.) I will drink cocoa and listen to carols and watch all our favorite Christmas movies.

excuse my back row blurry Christmas program pic :)

But all the while, I'll try to remember the night that a child was born and the world held still. I'll try to remember the child within who just needs to receive and say: "Yes, I want that."

Wishing you all a Merry Christmas,

Jenna

Small Things>Great Things

It's been so hard to write lately. Every time I start I scrap it before I reach a conclusion. Then I get to the point where I can't even start. I blame it on the paralyzing cold, or the loudness of my cooped up house or all the thoughts and plans of holidays and parties and things to come.

I just keep waiting and hoping for a brilliant or at least mediocre topic to muse on to pop into my head, along with a nice catchy title of course. Then there's this nagging little feeling that always tells me  that I need to be doing something. The notion to be productive outside of my daily tasks of raising little people, being a connected wife and friend and taking care of myself. That's about all I can squeeze in these days and for some reason I always feel the pull to do more, be more, give more. Like I should volunteer here or there, or go back to school or start a non profit organization so that I can pass out blankets and roast turkey to all the freezing homeless people with their fingerless gloves outstretched as I drive by day after day. 

Part of the problem is that I'm a feeler. I've always known this but only in recent times have I understood how this impacts my well being. My mom always referred to me as sensitive or tender hearted, this is a description I have learned to grow into. Of course, this has its good and bad trappings. When I experience the world around me, I personalize almost all of it. I have empathy on the downtrodden, I identify with the depressed, I imagine myself in the shoes of the minority. It makes my head hurt just thinking about it. Sometimes I let this tendency overwhelm me and then feel guilty for not doing more. As if I could solve the problems of the world in one day if I weren't too lazy to get up off the couch. This is a delusion, I realize. To say that the need, even that which I encounter on a daily basis, far exceeds my resources would be an understatement. 

I was talking about this with a friend who is in a similar life season. She said she gets this nagging "do more" guilt trip in her head all the time too. Sometimes it even sounds like this: "You are a believer, you should be a servant to everyone around you all the time." She used to try and satisfy this voice. Until one day she told it to shut up. (Wait. You can do that?) Yes, you can she reassured me and then she said was already a servant. That she, in her everyday life of loving and forgiving and trying again, was doing everything she needed to do. She didn't have to start a charity or move to another country or do anything other than to tell that little voice to zip it. 

There is a tension here though. Because I truly admire those people are who making "big" changes or sacrifices to make a difference in the culture around them. For some reason I always forget that these admirable things take time and almost always start small. I just look in awe at the end result and skip over the fact that maybe this started out as a prayer under someone's breath or dream in someone's heart. In my generation's obsession with instant gratification I can't say that I'm all that interested in the prep work, I just want to get right to the good stuff.  

But we know it doesn't work like that.

Feats of this sort are comparable to a good meal. First you have the recipe. I don't know about anyone else but my food always turns out better if I actually sit and read through the recipe a couple times before I even get to the kitchen. This is especially true if it's my first time making something. Do I have all the ingredients? Is my 13x9 pan clean? Do I know this technique or should I watch a you tube video on it first? Then comes the chopping and the measuring and the timing. Then sautéing or broiling or baking. It always amazes me that pulling together a few ingredients and techniques can produce endless combinations of enjoyable sustenance. The lovely science of cooking can be so satisfying.

But I've also had many kitchen failures and dishes that turned out to be rather inedible. Cue the take out pizza or the Chinese food. This can be frustrating. Next time hopefully we won't use baking soda instead of baking powder or add so much salt. We will follow the recipe more carefully and be more thorough. Or if it was bad enough we might decide to never ever make that dish again. (I did not make these pies or take these pictures. Thank you internet.)

We might have a big love in our hearts but often even in the small ways we fail to carry it out. We aren't the hero or the saint that we thought was driving our plan to save the world. We are human. We have wrong motives. Like creating an acceptable image for ourselves or trying to please others or the God that already loves us as we are. In reality, we can't even be nice to our spouse in the morning. We yell at our kids. We aren't dependable friends. We have limits and when we reach them it usually manifests into something ugly in our lives. It's a good thing the world doesn't depend on us to save it. Not that you need to be free of flaws to do anything worthwhile, otherwise no good would ever be accomplished in the world.

Maybe that's why small is ok. And maybe while we are raising our families or going to school or working our same boring job day in and day out, God is preparing us in ways we never thought. Aligning us with people who need to be in our path. Sharpening and balancing out our passions. This process can't be one that's rushed and we can't opt out. Like those simple recipes with a few fresh key ingredients, the ones we learn by heart. We make them time and again. With practice, we perfect them and even learn to embellish them. We can then use them as building blocks to create something substantial and enduring. 

But I don't ever want to seem like I'm waiting to get to that sweet spot in life. I know that spot will only be sweet because of this one and the one before and the one before. Because a lot of times the story doesn't come until you're in the middle of writing it.

Then the questions looms: what if I never do anything great? 

To that question I would have to ask another: what or who defines great to you? 

Once we have the answer to this, we don't need to fear an unproductive life. If I find this a reoccurring question in my heart or always feel the need to be doing something 'important' maybe my answer isn't what it should be. If my honest answer makes me feel small, it's time to change that. I think that's where my friend gathered the courage to tell that little voice to be quiet. 

As we head into the holidays this is especially important to remember. This time for celebration and rest and focusing on what's truly valuable is often overwhelmed by busyness, stress and over consumption and silent competition. Let's do ourselves a favor and not over do it. Let's give the gift of our presence and our joy in the moment. This can only come when we define greatness as small and everyday. When we gather around tables with family let's not judge greatness with a ruler that we wouldn't want anyone holding up to us. Let love find one another wherever we're at in life. There's no need to impress anyone because all they really want is acceptance. And really, demonstrating love and acceptance to people is the best impression you can make on another life.

Photo credit

~Happy Thanksgiving to you and yours~

Jenna

The Phases of Motherhood

This post has been hanging out in the back of my mind for awhile now. It just wont leave me alone so I guess I'll write it even though I feel under qualified and under researched. I would've liked to have taken a poll from friends and acquaintances, all in different stages of being a mom to see what kind of new things I could learn. But if I ever want to see this post actually come to fruition, that will have to wait a bit. So you have to do with my own thoughts/experience about the phases we go through as moms.

As parents we are usually thinking about the phases and growth our children are going through without much thought about our own life stages. For our kids, we expect the standard cycle of newborn, toddler, preschooler, child, pre teen, teen, young adult and hopefully, eventually mature adult. But adults go through stages (and stages within stages) too although they may not be as clearly outlined. Lately I've been thinking a lot about how my mothering shifted and changed over time. (Now I only have ten years under my belt, so older moms bear with me and please feel free to add any valuable insight!)

My experience is slightly different from most I would say because I started out bearing the name "mom" before I turned 20. So I was immature and knew pretty much nothing about putting someone else's needs before my own. I can remember how jolting this was at first and how hard I fought to hold on to my independence. I did not want to give up the life I had before I became a mother. I still wanted to go out with friends every night, go to parties and clubs, and dress like I had no business dressing, mama or not. After I realized that this old life just wasn't meshing well with my new role I calmed down a bit. After getting married and committing to be at home full time I entered the phase I like to call "The OCD Phase."

Entering this phase was not intentional in the least, like I said at this point I knew zero about being a mother or that I would even go through phases. However, something unexpected happened to me that first year with my lovely baby girl. I didn't realize it at the time but we had become woven together like the threads of a piece of fabric even though we were not physically joined anymore. Once I opened my eyes to it, I began seeing bits of my Creator sprinkled all over this new creation like fairy dust. I was so enamored with her, I became obsessed with her and the part I played in her life. Everything was about her. My identity melted into hers and hers into mine. This blurry line between the two of us meant that some of my own insecurities fell onto her. She had to look perfect all the time, she was so beautiful and amazing to me I wanted to make sure no one else missed out because she had food on her face or her clothes didn't match. That meant I needed to be the one to do everything for her. My husband, my mother, other meaningful helpers that I should of taken advantage of were often met with, "I can do it." Even if I was exhausted, "I can do it."

This drive for perfection was partly the culprit for continuing to stay home and also choosing homeschooling for her early years. This meant a ton of one on one time for me and my daughter. I know this played a part in developing her into the strong and confident little woman she is today. However, on the down side I also unintentionally transferred some of my well intended yet perfectionist tendencies to her and on some days her strong will can resemble defiance. (Shocking, I know, a pre teen showing defiance?!) But that's ok. She is human and I know that now.

Somewhere along the way I began to grow tired and ask myself "why?" As she grew, I became more secure in my motherhood and loosened up a bit. About that time, the birth of my second child came came crashing into reality. With this tiny man child came a whirlwind blowing across life that I'm not sure I have ever quite recovered from. He stole my heart as it stretched wide enough to accommodate him. You never know the love you can pour out until it is required of you. Even with the stretching, this little superhero seemed to take off running from the womb. He was and is constant motion. His energy never wanes and I am constantly playing catch up.  This tiny man has the stamina and determination of a soldier, only he takes orders from no one. Once he mastered the run I was chasing him everywhere, through the grocery store, across the entire acreage of the zoo, and even out the front door into the street a couple of times.

With this whirlwind known as typical boy stuff, I entered the phase of burnout. I could never parent him the same way I did his older sis because I just couldn't catch him. People gawk when I don't make him sit at the table or put him on a leash (which I tried, I honestly did, and it lasted all of two seconds). There was and is no pushing perfectionism or unrealistic expectations onto my son even if I had the energy to. Potty training and learning shapes and working through his temper would all just come in their own time not because that is the healthy approach but because there was really no other way. So admittedly, I kind of just gave up. Which had it's pros and cons. Pro: I lowered my standards and became more flexible. Not in pushover way but in a way that has made me better at choosing my battles. Con: I became critical or doubtful of advice or parenting articles/books and generally held disdain for those who were still in the stage I was in previously. Not to mention the fact, that it seemed there was no advice or technique that would work for whatever his current dilemma was. "Oh, explaining all the good this nasty cherry medicine will do for your child convinced her to take it? Mine spits it back in my face even if it's in a vat of chocolate. What's that? you potty trained in three days? Mine took two years and I still have to beg him to go." I had to figure out discipline and development and ways to relate to him pretty much from scratch (and still am). This meant a lot of trial and error, leaning more toward error on most days. Too much of this trying and failing and negativity combined with the burnout of chasing a toddler tornado day in and day out left me feeling kind of hopeless and not really enjoying motherhood as I did before (if you couldn't tell from my above cynicism).

While this was a quite a heavy season for me, it was also a slow springboard into finding my way back to "me." This is where I am at currently, and when I say slow, I mean slow. So slow I really cant even pinpoint when it first started happening or why. I think it came in bits and pieces.  At first the paints and canvases started to come out again. Splashing and swiping and creating across a perfect blank white was so therapeutic to me. Then came the writing, instead of just pulling out the journal when I needed to vent, I wrote to express all kinds of things. Descriptions and drawings and ideas and dreams filled the lines of my journals again.  I started paying attention to myself and
allowing feelings I had always pushed away because "good mothers don't feel like that." I let go of my identity in reference to someone else and started to re-form my own.  I also started to make room for relationships. Not just play dates where we only talked about kids, but real live conversations with other women who were going through the same thing I was. I also experimented with being a student to people who were in a totally different stages of life.  I let myself have friends and mentors and stopped saying, "I'm too busy." I got really interested in the concept of community and how that grows us as individuals.  I let myself become passionate about something outside my sphere of comfort and it led me to fly around the world to Bangkok, Thailand to work with girls caught up in the sex trade, an experience I would trade for nothing and can only wish to match in the future. (Here's an awesome blog that tells all about it, if this piques your interest!) All of these things gradually built into me, not just as a mom but as a woman. I'm still reaching out and climbing that mountain of self discovery daily.

For those of you thinking, well all that sounds wonderful but it also sounds a wee bit on the selfish side. After all, isn't motherhood a ministry of sacrifice and service? I would say that's only part of the equation. I actually see so much more of that selfish teenager rearing her ugly head when I don't make room for myself in motherhood.  Something it took me way too long to figure out is that taking good care of others requires a stable person, aka someone who takes care of themselves too. Some one who has sensible boundaries and at least a semi firm grasp of their own identity. If I want that for my kids, I have to first be that myself.  Leaning into my own individuality has also given me permission to see and appreciate my children's individuality. I can like them, not just love them, and anticipate what the future of motherhood holds for me instead of dreading it.

I still have days where I let my inner critic peek through or I meander down a path of feeling discouraged because nothing seems to work. I have however come to the realization that maybe parenting isn't about finding things that "work." After all my children aren't robots that I can program to be a certain way. Just because I plug in certain techniques doesn't mean they will respond the way I hope they will. They are humans with free will and unique personalities that have shown through from the moment their newborn screams pierced the air in the delivery room. Even though they are still learning and developing, they are their own little people and the part I play in that is transforming with each phase that they pass through. And it's perfectly o.k. to figure things out as we go. And to have fun and make messes and do things the "wrong" way. It's o.k. to say, "I'm sorry, lets try again." And it is more than o.k. to let go of the fear that drives us into gloomy or defeated places as moms and to take steps away from it. Your husband, your kids, and generations to come will thank you for it.  Here is an article that I often refer back to because it resonated with me deeply during a time when I was feeling frustrated that I couldn't run off and be an artist or a missionary. It helped me articulate those frustrations and begin learning how to balance motherhood with passion, a dance I am still learning the steps to.

I hope this stirs some thoughts about your own journey through motherhood, it always helps to recognize where we have been and where we are, holding onto to the hope that we are always changing and evolving as caretakers to our precious little ones, but more importantly as women. I love to know that I'm not just raising my kids but that they are also raising and maturing me. I know there are lots of other phases, probably even some in my own life that I haven't realized. From empty nesters, to mothers suffering loss or parents of children's with special needs, to raising multiples or families with six or seven kids, our experiences are all so different and unique yet tied together with the common thread of love. We all want to be the very best we can for our kids. We need grace and understanding and encouragement for each other in this sisterhood of being called "mom." Because we are all in different places at different times with different children. Compare, contrast, get advice, yes, but most of all fuse the mothers around you with courage and strength and assure them that they are doing just fine, whatever phase they might be going through. 

Thanks for reading today,

Jenna

Losing the Hurry Up Habit

Shew. It has been a crunched couple of weeks.

I volunteered for lunch duty all last week and let me tell you, one little itty bitty hour can make an amazing difference in your day! In this case, I was losing an hour that would have otherwise been free time. So for that reason among others time has felt a little slippery as of late.

It feels as if I can't catch up or take the time for self care to write or sleep or just be. I always feel a little un-grounded when there is no white space in my schedule.  It feels like I'm running in circles all day, checking off box after box, until I am completely depleted and fall into bed only to get up and start the whole process again. It feels like there could never be enough time in the day to fit what needs to fit.

If I live like this for any extended period of time, I find myself rushing and hurrying even when it's not necessary. I feel like I am always on the clock and always need to be prepared. I think part of this is due to having young children. They will make you crazy. You are always having to anticipate their next move so they do not injure themselves or anyone within a five foot radius. They may eat something poisonous or climb a bookshelf or escape out the front door. You must constantly be on guard. I may be exaggerating, I often do, but at any rate this makes me want to always be two steps ahead. Yet sometimes I find myself thinking, "What's the rush?" I first started noticing this when my oldest was constantly asking me, "Mom, is there time to ___?" I would think, "Were just going to the park/for a walk/some other leisurely activity, yes there's time, why is she asking me this?" Oh. Probably because I seem like I'm always hustling to catch the next flight or something.  Then the youngest child has zero concept of time, in his world there is always time.

Time is funny like that. It has always been a boggling concept to me. I hear the clock ticking in my ear as I type, the clacking of the key board filling in the gaps between the seconds.  Sometimes the hands on the clock seem so unwilling to move, like they just won't budge no matter how many times you glance up at them. I suppose that's when our mind is in anticipation mode, like waiting for the work day to end or for a party to start. Yet other times we lose track of those spinning hands altogether and wonder how the seconds, minutes, hours, have escaped our grip as if we had actually had one to begin with. This is usually the result of hustling through our days, never slowing down. In retrospect, time just shrinks. The mere idea of the past just makes time feel like sand slipping through our fingers. I think of the first year of a baby's life. Some of those days seem excruciatingly long, but when you look back it's always, "where did the time go?"

Then there are times that are neither here nor there, when we are so aware of a particular moment that time seems to stand still. We wish we could hit the pause button and hold on to that moment forever.  We can revisit a moment so often in our heart and mind that it stays with us forever. I suppose the smartphone and the ability to take a picture of any given scene throughout the day has capitalized on moments like this. There are some pictures I look through that make me laugh out loud every time I look at them and some that make me shed a tear or two every time I see it.  But even then, nothing compares to being in that moment with all your senses present and experiencing the full emotion and wonder of it.

I was lucky enough to have one such moment with my little guy the other night. Although, it definitely didn't start out too special.

He was having a rather difficult time settling after a busy day.   He had been walking all over downtown with dad, to orange leaf and the spray ground. It was one of those times where trying to wear your child out backfires into a sleepy, grumpy fit before bedtime. He is stiff as board as I carry him up the stairs, protesting the entire way. "I'm not sleepy, I'm not sleepy!" After wrestling him into some mismatched pj's, he refuses to lay in bed but insists on continuing his fit on the floor directly beside his bed. I try to hold him, soothe him, get him to put his little arms around my neck. He wants no part in cuddling at the moment. After trying to persuade him for a few minutes I can see my efforts are getting me  nowhere. Normally, at this point in the game I would sadly say, "Okay, have it your way," and walk out of the room in hopes that removing his audience would make the tirade cease. Really, this is my white flag move, I give up, "just cry yourself to sleep on the floor" I think.  But for some reason, even though I was quite exhausted myself, I just stop. Instead of trying to tune into my "parenting instincts" (aka how I could manipulate him into sleeping) I try instead to tune into his feelings.This can be such an easy thing to forget to do in the heat of a power struggle with a little one. More often than not, I am focused on "winning" which usually results in a prolonged conflict.

"I know you wanted to stay awake and finish your movie," I whisper into his ear as he is face down screaming into the floor. "I know you don't want to go to bed right now.

"No I DON'T!" he confirms. "I don't want to go to bed, I'm not sleepy!"

I put my hand on his back and try to soak in the frustration he is feeling right now. I know he is tired and his little brain is having trouble switching off.

"Let's talk about your day," I offer. "You had so much fun with daddy. Did you run through the water together? Was it cold today?"

 I rub his back. He is still crying but less defiant. I feel him relax just slightly. I help him turn over.

I look in his eyes,"Were there other kids playing in water too?"

"Yeah..."His bottom lip quivers but his words fall short. More tears.

That's when the fireworks start sounding the end of the baseball game across the river. It's Friday, so I know it will be a long show. I ask if he wants to see them. We watch out his window looking through the tree that sheds little yellow leaves all over our back patio. His little head with his little boy smell falls to my shoulder.

 "What flavor did you get at Orange Leaf? Chocolate?" I continue our conversation from earlier.

"Nooo, I got orange," he whimpers.

"Did you put gummy worms on top? Sprinkles?" I ask still hoping to engage him.

The fireworks still booming in the background.

"Mom, I can sleep through the fireworks if you sit with me.."

"You can?" I turn from the window and place him in his bed.

He nods, "If you sit with me.." He says and he snuggles down and closes his eyes. Before I know it, his breathing slows and he is completely passed out. I am utterly relieved.

Yet for whatever reason, I have this new found patience and instead of crawling into my own bed or camping out in front of Netflix, I just stay. I watch his little chest rise and fall. I brush his still baby soft hair across his forehead. I take in all his little features and just pray that I can capture this moment forever. That I can have the stillness of heart and slowness of deed to find more of these moments. I stayed by his side relishing in this small victory of peace for what seemed like hours. Maybe this doesn't seem like a big deal, but have you ever rocked a fussy infant to sleep and just felt the pure satisfaction of their own peace? If so, then you can relate!

In the last year or so I have been trying to practice the art of going slow, especially when it comes to my kids. I got so tired of going through life wishing it away. Tired of counting down the hours until my husband would come home, desperate for relief and the company of another adult. Wishing the weekend would come, only to have it whiz by in a blink. Hoping the next stage of childhood would hurry up because I wasn't enjoying the current one my child happened to be on that much. Rushing through errands and cooking and cleaning and bedtime stories just so I could get to the next thing on the agenda. (Sleep!) Learning the art of slow, intentional living was foreign to me. I had no idea where or how to start, only that I needed to.

How do you slow down time?

How many moments of bliss, like the night of the fireworks fit, had I missed because I hadn't taken the time to notice that they were there?

Is it too late for me already? Can I re-learn how to look at those hands whirling around the clock?

I know I am not alone in this quest and am so thankful for the resources that helped me answer these questions. I still go back to their words and drink in their blogs like water on a hot day. The first one is Hands Free Mama (if you read parenting blogs/books at all I am sure you are familiar with Rachel Mary Stafford, who is coming out with book #2 next year).  Rachael's philosophy is all about letting go of the distractions in our life, be it our phones, our calendars, or even our overly critical perfectionist preferences so that we are wide open to receive all of life's little blissful moments. I have gleaned so much from her words as she shares her own personal journey of slowing down.

The other advocate of slow living that I really enjoy reading is the poetic Ann Voskamp. In her book "1000 Gifts" Ann learns to count the simple joy filled moments through her day and jots them down in a gratitude journal. By purposefully increasing her gratitude, she learned how to see life through a different lens and look for these moments as if she were mining for rare gems. (Side note: I don't always agree with Ann's theology, but since she is such a fabulous writer I overlook it:)

So, if you have ever asked yourself any of the above questions or even just feel like time is not your friend, you could benefit from the wisdom of these ladies. I know I have, but I still have a long way to go. It's so easy to rush through life and never take the time to notice all the beauty and joy that is lying in wait for us. I hope that once I practice it enough, it will become second nature to me and I will no longer look at the hands on the clock with dread. I can slow the rush and put down my distractions and stop being so preoccupied with what the next moment might hold. Instead, I can be fully present in each moment wondering what gift may await here and now.

Take it slow today,

Jenna

Be Yourself, Everyone Else is Taken -Oscar Wilde

Why is it that when you are expected to do something that is creative in nature the process naturally stalls (even if those expectations come from yourself)?  I was afraid of this. In fact, it was one of the excuses that always held me back from starting a blog. That I wouldn't be able to think of anything to say. Let me rephrase that: that I wouldn't give myself permission to say the things I'm thinking.

It kind of reminds me of design school.  Especially this certain class where the final project was to draw up rough blue prints and a furniture layout, complete with swatches of upholstery and samples of paint colors. Sounds fun right? I thought so at first. But then there were all the rules and the grading scale. Was this design well thought out? Was it cohesive enough? Original enough? Did it serve its function as a living space as well being aesthetically pleasing? Would the instructor agree with my selections? Because there were so many colors and patterns and textures to choose from. It was quite overwhelming. I remember not being totally satisfied with my end result. It was at this juncture that I begin to doubt I would really love this as a career as much as I thought I would. I’m sure I would have made a fine interior designer but I'd always know where I get to have the most fun is within the walls of my own home. No rules or anyone’s design sense matter but my own.

Okay, that was a long metaphor. All that just to say, freedom of expression is a beautiful thing.  I am re-learning how to exercise that creative freedom as I share what I write with others. There’s this little book I've been reading that has been helping me along tremendously. It came via recommendation by one my favorite authors so of course I am soaking in every word of it like it’s truth passed down from God. The name of it is “Writing to Find Yourself: Learning to be more authentic through the art of writing” by writing coach Allison Vesterfelt.  This is just a short 100 page ebook, but I am taking my time working through each of the challenges she gives at the end of the chapters.

The chapter I’m currently on is about learning to speak up. Allison talks about struggling to tell her husband that his dieting and daily weighing in are causing her to be self conscious about her own appearance even though she is at a healthy weight. She wasn't expecting her husband to quit dieting, she was actually quite proud of him, she just needed to be heard. She didn't want her honesty to take a toll on his progress. 

I can identify with her through this chapter a lot because I’m the type of person who tends to keep her opinion to herself or at least waits until I feel I have something of weight to offer to the conversation. Like most introverts, small talk is difficult for me and something that I have to practice just so I can be socially acceptable. I also really dislike confrontation or stepping on peoples toes. I always try hard to filter my words, and when I don’t, I obsess over how the receiving person perceived what I said. “Oh, I hope I didn’t offend so and so…” This can be a little annoying in my brain, I have to admit. Half the time I don’t know whether I’m sensitive or just egotistical! Usually I have to convince myself that I can’t take back what I said and chances are they didn’t give what I said a second thought. And more often than not, that is the case.  Other times, if I do say something  notable, I don’t even notice it unless they come back and say “hey, thanks for saying this or that, it really helped me/encouraged me/made me see things in a different light. (Okay, this doesn’t happen everyday but it has happened before!)  So really the obsession over when to say or when not to say something is usually in vain and is caused by over thinking about how people might react. 

Allison says it this way: "Something profound is happening to me as I’m learning to own my own story without asking others to own it for me.  I’m discovering I’m stronger and more unique than I ever imagined. I’m discovering there is room for me. I’m beginning to see how my thoughts and ideas and opinions aren’t nearly as important to the world as my voice is- the words and images and stories that make up who I am.”

I love that. Because it takes the pressure off to say just the right thing at the right moment. When I am focused on my voice, instead of the right thing to say, my most authentic self gets to come through. Being present is more important is more important than trying to maintain my like-ability. I keep picturing a necklace (my beautiful friend, who happens to have a very flowing creative spirit, made these). What is special about it is not just one bead in particular, but they way they compliment each other when they are strung together.

Think of your favorite author or storyteller or even your favorite character from TV or a book. Do you like that person for just one of their view points or one famous quote that they articulated? I would say, its a safe bet, that you like them because of their bottom line. Because of who they are as a whole being. Because of how their past and present, imperfections and triumphs, strengths and weaknesses all run together.  

 
So just to clarify, this is not about bashing everyone around you with your point of view on things. I still think wise people choose their words and don’t always have the loudest of voices. I value silence and listening immensely. It is more about just giving yourself permission to be just that: yourself. To be all of you, flawed and filled with beauty all at once. You are not the same as everyone else, regardless of whether you think you are or not, and it would be quite a boring world if you were or if you always had the perfect thing to say.

I think that perhaps this kind of openness can be a struggle for creative energy or even just expressing ourselves in general. Vulnerability is hard work. We have to own the fear.  It takes practice to take down the mask.  It also helps if we have a safe environment at first.

I have a complicated past that sounds a little like it could be story line for Parenthood or one of those shows we all love about dysfunctional families. Sometimes I’m ok with my story and other times I subconsciously tuck it away. I guess it just depends on who is around and how safe I feel. But I feel most at home and most like myself with the people who know my past baggage, or better yet lived through it with me. They knew me then, they know me now and they accept all of me. 

I am slowly discovering that the key to creating a safe environment for myself and others is to be brave and take off my mask first. Or at least simultaneously. And really both parties benefit from this. I mean think about it, who are the people you feel the safest around? The most like yourself around? It's most likely the people who don't hide their own junk, who let you in on their downs just as much as their ups. When you aren't afraid to own up to who you are, you invite others to do the same. They may or may not accept the invite, but at least you offered. And if they do accept, you have just taken the first steps toward building an authentic relationship with someone. 

I’m thinking of a particular relationship in my own life, where it just seemed like there was some sort of block or negative energy between us. I couldn’t pinpoint the reason and it really kind of bugged me. Then one day, she hinted at something flawed in her past, or maybe just something she was insecure about. She was getting tired of holding up the mask. I found myself validating her and relating to her by sharing a similar experience. All of the sudden, there was a slight shift between us. It's not always this easy and I'm sure there will be other obstacles to overcome.  We may not be “bff material,” but that invisible wall came down. And that made me happy.

Maybe you are reading this and feeling like you don't have any or enough of those safe relationships in your life. Friendships where you feel accepted and known. Accept this as an invitation to be yourself, share your flaws and take off your mask. It takes time and effort but is well worth the process. You may be surprised how people react when you stop asking permission to be yourself. And if you're lucky enough to have plenty of these friendships, be that safe place for someone else. Because we could all use that freedom.

Thanks for reading today, have a great weekend!

Because You're Worth It

So there were a couple of days at work last week where I had nothing to do.

I'm still kind of learning my job and naturally the first few weeks at a school will be a little hectic. This means there is no one to supervise me and sometimes I just make up my own routines as I go along. So as I'm walking around trying to look productive I start to become irritated because I cant find anything to do. Or anything I know how to do.

Well. I can take advantage of this moment to sit and clear my head at my desk, I think. Yes, that's what I'll do. No sooner than I sit down, the Iphone comes out and the blogs come up and next thing I know I am writing a schedule for what I should do when I get home from school to make my time at home as productive as it can possibly be. For some reason, reading about other people being organized motivates me to attempt the same.

In the middle of my self prescribed schedule writing, a co-worker, a teacher's aide, comes bounding up talking about how it is her break time but she can't actually sit down on her break time because then she will be worthless and not want to get up for the rest of the day. Come to think of it, I don't think I have seen this woman in a seated position, other than if shes helping a student, for the past month of working with her. She gets out her cell phone and starts making calls and arranging some side work to do later in the week.

It's not easy to see it in myself, but I feel a quiet question arise when I see it in someone else...

Why is it so hard to take a break to be still?

Later that day, I am walking alone. Down by the river bank there's a warm breeze and a solitude about this place that draws you in. I'm not the only one. There are people, alone, parked on the side watching the water and eating their lunches. People resting on benches gazing across at the percolating city. The gentle waves stretching sideways over the river and ending at the rocky shore separates us from the noise and the traffic.They invite me to come and sit, just for a minute. But "I'm exercising, I don't want my heart rate to go down, I have things I need to do," I argue with myself.

I give in to the pull of the waves and sit on a bench.

Why do people come to this river bank for peace? To find a respite in the busy-ness that is the city? What is it about this place that people find relaxing? Is it the water? The view of the city without actually having to experience it's jarring noise and movement?

Why not rest? Just for a minute. This is where your inspiration dwells. I hear wind chimes in the background. I can be unedited here yet I never give myself a chance. I never stop spinning long enough, never stop wasting my rest and trading it out for lesser things.

I sigh and rise from the bench, I can't sit still any longer.

Then there is this package under my stairs when I get home. I carry it in but I hesitate to tear off its beautiful wrapper. I want to savor it, but for some reason I find myself reluctant to relish in the fact that someone would send me this. She does this every year, my best friend, she pays absurd amounts for luxurious lotions and soaps from this shop in New York City.  It's no surprise that she has sent it, but now it hits my heart differently. And as I sit waiting to pull off the pretty bows and take in the aroma of each item, I have this seemingly unrelated thought whisper across my soul: "You don't rest because you don't think you deserve it. Just like you think you don't deserve this gift." And I just sit for a moment more, and maybe a cry a tear or two.

And maybe I don't deserve it, I mean what did I do? I just turned a year older, I didn't really accomplish anything. Yet, that's the very essence of a gift. Something that is unearned and free. But maybe, just maybe, I have bought into the lie of the world that nothing in life is free and you get what you deserve and that I have to do something in order to deserve a gift so lavish.

Most American's work all year with one week vacation and a few days if your lucky for Christmas. I think it's fascinating that the U.S. is the only country that doesn't legally require you to take a vacation. (Do a little research on American's being overworked, there are no shortage of articles and statistics to prove, we are!) The message is: Work hard. And IF there is time time play or relax, then maybe. Is that why it feels like it is such a sin to do nothing or to not be "productive." Personally, our family tries really hard to be aware of the effects of "too much work not enough play," but you can be affected by this mindset whether or not you have a traditional 9-5 job. Even when I stayed home all day, I always struggled not to work or be productive every single second. Mostly because I felt like I had to. I needed to make the most of my time so I might be able to sit down and fall asleep watching tv at the end of the day. Why is it so ingrained into my psyche that it that even when I am intentional about not being too busy that I still find ways to busy myself?

You see we go through these things in our lives and we think we are over them. Things that maybe we let falsely define us, events that are the origins of lies that we live out. Some lies that sound like this: You aren't good enough. You don't have what it takes. You have to earn your worth. Maybe it's been 10 or 20 years and our lives may have changed outwardly so much and we think: there is no way this still effects me. I have moved on, I've worked though it completely, I am a changed individual. But then it surfaces and you can't sit on a park bench or a open a gift from a dear friend. And what do you do when that lie manifests and you are acting it out and you didn't even realize you were until here you are weeping over a box of lotions?


I can't help but think of the woman pouring out her best perfume on the feet Jesus. Everyone around said, "Wait a minute, let's not get too extravagant here. That could be used in a more economical way." But the teacher wasn't concerned with profit or loss, he knew he was worth it and that the real value was in the gesture and in the pouring out of this woman's heart. His identity didn't come from his paycheck or his skill set or his productivity. It came from his Father, from within. He had this way of flipping everyone's view of worth on it's head.

Maybe if we believed we were worth it or that we needed it, the way we view rest would be that it is more of an essential and less of a luxury. And what if we redefined what rest looks like? What if it's not tuning out life by drowning ourselves in entertainment but it's something more. (Confession: I am just as guilty of binge watching Netflix as the next person). What if rest looks more like some thing that fills our soul to the brim and makes us feel whole again? And could time be viewed, not as a dwindling resource to pack in every little task that can fit, but as a gift? Something that is full of joy and is actually meant to be enjoyed. Would that motivate us to jump off the hamster wheel? What if we believed we were worth that.

Truth be told, I initially hated titling this post "Because You're Worth It." A little cliche, maybe, I thought. But have you ever heard the history behind the famous slogan? Lo'real Paris coined it in the 70's when women's rights and feminism was on the rise and it is actually not as shallow as it first appears. So this is about more than hair color and lipstick and even independent women. When I hear, "I'm worth it" I always wince a little because this is a truth that women everywhere struggle with, myself included. But I'm not satisfied excluding this struggle to women alone. I am almost positive this has little to do with gender and more to do with the searching heart of a human being. Most of the time, I think we keep ourselves too busy and distracted to pay attention to matters of the heart. I know I do.

But I'm ok. I really am.

Because at the end of the day, I know who I am.  I know I am not defined by anything in my past, or what I do for a living, or what I look like, or what I feel like, or even by the statistics about overworked Americans. And I feel like maybe that is true rest. To know all this and to be at peace with it.

Thanks for listening today,

Jenna

Life Lessons for the Big 3-0

I was going to wait until I actually turned 30 to write about turning 30 but I only have a week left of being in my twenties, so why not?

Thirty to me is like one those so-called milestones that really aren’t that big of a deal. Its like "welcome to the middle part of your life, don't complain about it." I feel that 30 is kind of like how I felt about writing all week. Kind of stuck. Like on the verge, but no, not quite there yet. Where ever "there" is.

Not to be negative or anything. Google tells me turning 30 is all about growing up, leveraging your experience and that kissing the carefree twenty somethings goodbye opens you up to worlds of opportunity. 30 is still young enough to make some things happen. I can see all you wise and up in the years readers roll your eyes. I suppose the year or my age really has nothing to do with it. There's something about my disposition that naturally shirks when I consider the future. Maybe its because I have had my fair share of experiences proving how unpredictable life can be. One day at a time is usually good for me.

Perhaps the big 3-0 isn't much of a fuss to me partly because I feel like I accepted the responsibility of adulthood prematurely in life. Having a child the same year you graduate high school will grow you up pretty fast. It kind of dumps a bucket of ice water on your twenty something reality, forcing you to think about big choices and values sooner rather than later. I always tell my now ten year old angel that really we grew up together and we still are. I love her dearly and she has been my best teacher.

So instead of fretting about it like so many tend to do, I think I'll just accept 30 in all its glory and capitalize on what I've learned thus far. Mind you, this isn't all I've learned but just the highlights and things I want to carry over into my next 30 years.

1. The Value of friendship and extended family

 In my early years of being married I didn't care much for sustaining my friendships or making new ones.  I didn't realize the texture and value they add to your life and how when the mundane-ness and sameness of your lovely little family becomes overwhelming you will need them. And that other people might need me to be the same variety and breath of fresh air in their life. I also wish that I would've realized how hard it is to make friends as a grown up, (like dating all over again!) and to hold on to some of those people that ‘get you’ because they don’t always come quickly or easily.

Then there's your extended family. These are the people who will stick with you no matter where you go in life. Distance is not a factor. These are the mom's who text and call us with frequency just to check in and say I miss you. The dad's who plan amazing vacations and just want to spend time with you. The sisters or brothers who have morphed from the mortal enemies of your teen years to your best friends in adulthood. These are the in laws who bend over backwards to help you. If you are lucky enough to have some of these people in your life like I am, invest in those relationships because the return is invaluable.

2. Realizing that life has no correct order

High school, college, marriage, career, family, mid life crisis, empty nest, retirement, old age, death. Or however it is rightly ordered in your mind. Firstly, we really have minimal to no control over most of these life stages. Some people make it look so easy but even then we don’t know the unvoiced struggles they face. These stages come and go as they please, like the wind or smoke, here for a second then gone the next. Trying to climb this ladder or make your life a calendar of events is asking to feel like a failure when you cannot hit one of these milestones or want to escape a certain stage at a desirable time, which is most usually now-ish. Not saying to just let life happen and never push back, but maybe (and this is to myself) to just let go of expectations of how things should be. To just practice acceptance with myself and others because we are all just learning and no one has it down regardless of what it looks like from the outside. Sometimes you start a path and somewhere along the way you get lost or decide you need to turn around or go another route. And thats ok. Really it is.

3. Life is too short for gender roles

I used to believe, that as a woman, I had a specific role in life and that my talents and gifts needed to be channeled into that role. I started my seminary degree in hopes of fulfilling the title of "pastor's wife" (would you believe that some schools actually have degrees and classes to educate a woman how to be a minister's wife?) I'll even admit that a small part of being a homemaker was driven by this belief, that this is what I should be doing as a good little wife of a seminary student aspiring to be in ministry someday (I also naturally yearned for balance and time with our children). This belief also made me hold back my opinions or gifts of leadership at times. (As a side note: this belief was not at all fostered by husband. Actually quite the opposite. He challenged me to step outside the box and to never hold back on my callings. Perhaps the way we fulfill our calling can and should change as we grow and learn more about ourselves. Our idea of what we wanted to do has radically changed since we started this journey but that story is too much to fit into this post.)

Now there's nothing wrong with pastor's wives, I happen to know several whom I admire. But there was something wrong with me aspiring to be that and nothing more. How stifling can roles be to our voices as women? We each have a unique story and gifting that needs to form our role in life, instead of trying to stuff those talents into the limitations of a title. If our identity is in God, not a role, then the possibilities of how we live out our passions and callings become endless.

4. See life through the eyes of a child

The kids love to frequent this little spray ground oasis downtown. We drive past it everyday and everyday they ask to go. We're lucky enough to be within walking distance of a few splash grounds like this one. I always look at as a good opportunity to sit and do nothing while the kids sit on the jets of water or run in circles like soaking wet maniacs. It's a good time for them and its free and easy for us parents. Cant get any better.

But the other day it did. As we were sitting there watching, a group of runners frolic by. One of them veers out of the group and runs right through the fountains. She’s screaming and giggling in stride with all the kids. She calls her other running buddies over and they all partake in the refresher, only a little more cautiously. My four year old comes over and points out, "Mom, there's grown ups playing in the water! ha!" he laughed and went right back to racing through the jets of water himself.

I smiled to myself as I continued to watch. I remembered for a split second how much fun water can be on a hot day. I let myself think back to being a kid, dancing through sprinklers or playing in the rain. "How do we grow up and just forget how to be like this?" I wondered. Kids just intuitively know how to appreciate the simpler things of life. They aren’t afraid to jump in and take full of advantage of life. So I tap John on the shoulder and grin, "Let's get in." I'm glad we didn't miss this opportunity to be a kid with our kids. These moments help alleviate the pressures of being a responsible adult all the stinking time.

So this is getting a bit windy, no? I thought "you weren't feeling inspired" you say? This brings to me to my final and probably hardest to live out lesson I want to practice in my encroaching years of adulthood:

5. Say "yes" more and don't worry about what people think

As a self proclaimed wall flower, I am usually more than happy to politely say "no, thank you" and to occupy the sidelines. But the other day it just hit me that I should say "yes" more. And not to things that weigh me down or distract me, but to things that can actually add variety and texture to life like new experiences or people or places. Not only do I want to say yes to these things, but I want to do more than just to merely brush the surface. I want to dive in when the opportunity presents itself, better yet I would like create opportunities to do just that.

Writing this blog was a big "yes" for me. It's something I've always wanted to do but just couldn't push past the excuses. It was a good exercise in letting go of fear or awkwardness and just giving it a shot. I practice this rhythm of letting go every time I sit down to write. The hardest part is just showing up.  After that, the words just start flowing and I'm left wondering why I didn't start sooner. It seems like a lot of things in life are like that. We build them up in our head to be something scary or too difficult but when we actually follow through, its not as bad as we thought. At least that's what I tell my four year old about going to the dentist.

Thanks for showing up today :)

At Home with Imperfection

Whew. Last week's vacay left me slightly winded. Disney, Universal, and lots of being cooped up in the car with a couple of kids who are bored and hyper and tired and on a fun over load all at once.

This week a new school and work routine are underway. Lunches, backpacks, alarm clocks, along with the constant "you go here" and "don't forget to...." Plus all the ins and outs of learning a new job.

That's why I'm so thankful I have this place. 

We moved here over the summer so it is still slightly fresh to us. Even tho it is more than a 100 years old. All of my thrift store treasures and well loved furniture fit right into this row house built in the 1800's. This is the first place I have lived that I feel like I picked out, instead of the other way around. I love it's uniqueness and charm. The skylight and fireplaces. It's old woodwork and even the vintage wallpaper is growing on me. There were some things I didn't love about it, but I was willing to compromise because of what stood out about the place. Of course, it still took some getting used to though.

For instance, it's right in the middle of a pretty busy urban area. At any given hour you can hear cars whizzing by, sirens, traffic signals, people interacting on the street, construction noise, loud music... Hustle and bustle. I remember the first night here staring wide eyed at the ceiling and fretting "what have we done? Ill never sleep again!"

You see, I love quiet.

But after a couple months of living here all of that has just become background noise now. I have found a new quiet.  And after going away for a week and starting a job, I have a newfound appreciation for being home. I suppose absence does make the heart grow fonder. Let me explain.

As a sahm, I usually lived my life somewhere on the border of stir crazy and hermit. I had to make myself leave. When I get overly accustomed to something I start to notice all it's flaws and drawbacks. I start dwelling on all the negative things and what I can do to spruce those things up. Which usually compiles into a never ending to do list. If I should ever get to the end of that list, new projects will have arisen by the time I've crossed the last item off.

And after all the projects and DIY-ing, I ultimately conclude that I need to move somewhere else now because I have taken this place as far as I can take it with my minimal budget and renter status.  (Don't get me wrong, moving has always been motivated by other less shallow factors but honestly somewhere in the deep recesses of my decor loving mind I'm saying "Yes! A blank canvas! This will fulfill all my craigslist and real estate website browsing desires!) All of this is partly because I love to be creative and feel like my home is art and partly because I can be a "things can never be  good enough" perfectionist. Perfectionism breeds discontent and it is not a good place to call home. (I blame Pinterest. Don't we all?)

Don't get me wrong. I love all things that have to do with home. I love the all the blogs and shows and pins that are oriented toward decorating, designing and creating. I feed on them daily. I love to watch a house or a piece of furniture be restored. I love what a difference a coat paint can make. And to be perfectly honest, on vacation I binged on HGTV (a channel I don't get at home) every chance I got. Home design was one of my first loves, one of my first creative outlets. I even took a crack at design school once upon a time. But this is less about my knack for the aesthetically pleasing and more about what drives the habit of getting everything just right. Or what drives the tendency to look around and only pick out the negative.

Perfectionism usually focuses on the outside appearance of something without really assessing what's underneath. It makes us lose sight of what's really important while we try to maintain a front. It makes home less about safety and creating a hallowed resting place and more about the house itself. Perfectionism does not allow the freedom of home. We should be free at home, not pretending we are on an HGTV show (no matter how sweet that would be!) If we live this way will never be comfortable enough to really share our home with others in its natural state and we will miss out on a lot. We create and beautify to share with each other, not to keep it to ourselves.

Speaking of sharing, kids are really good at breaking in a house. They just live in it the way it supposed to be lived in. They even go a step further and see what unconventional things might be fun. My four year old has an obsession with peeing in the fireplace. Just don't ask. I have no answers for this. *Sigh* I promise you, have a kid in your house long enough and you won't even wince over company dropping crumbs on the carpet or squashing you're cute pillows from Pier1. You really won't.

Kids have taught me to love my space and use my space well. They have also helped me break my tendacy toward perfectionism in other areas of life and not just on the homestead. But that is another post for another time. 

Another thing that helps rearrange my perspective on home is being a city dweller. It is a daily eye opener. I can't count all the cardboard signs and empty stares I drive by on my way to and from my nice temperature controlled space filled with people I love. I can't help but wonder what thier story is, what led them to this corner where they beg for handouts day in and day out. I wonder what it would feel like to not have the security of home. No where to shut out the noise of the world or to relax and feel safe. No where to gather around the table or curl under the covers at night. This makes me so grateful for what I do I have instead of pining for what I don't have. This makes me want to open my door and share my resources and my gifts even if I don't think they are perfect but simply because I have them.

                                                          

Home has become a comfort because of all the reasons lurking underneath the decor. It's comforting because of its imperfections and not despite them. I've decided that not only can I make peace with imperfection but that it actually makes things more interesting and lovely in an unexpected sort of way. 

I have been on the journey of creating home and finding balance with perfection for awhile now. It's something I have to constantly revisit it since I move often and just love to dabble in the art of making a home beautiful. I have followed the Nester for along time and was ecstatic when she released her book: The Nesting Place. I love that she posts undone and messy photos of her house in progress. I have adopted her mantra "it doesn't have to be perfect to be beautiful" as my own. I highly recommend reading any of her writing to anyone who can relate to what's been said in this post.

What are some of your favorite things about home? Are there other creatives who have trouble sharing your gifts or creations because you feel it's not perfect? Maybe it's not your home but another area where you have impossibly high standards? Just something to think about. 

Thanks for reading today :)

Responding to Depression

I hesitate to tackle this subject. Any one with an ounce of sensitivity should too. But I would be lying if I said I wasn't thinking about it, even while I'm on vacation. Longing to find some meaning in it all. Trying not to be thrown this way or that by all the opinions and posts flying around about the death of Robin Williams this past week.

As I read through articles on depression and suicide, a couple of questions surface especially among Christian circles: Is it a disease or a choice? Are people with depression issues victims or just selfish? 

I have to wonder: is now really the best time to be deciding our beliefs and opinions surrounding these issues?  

I mean, celebrity or not, a human life just ceased to exist from our reality. And what's more is that it happens everyday, probably every minute. Death is part of life. Life as we know it is fallen and not fair. Depressed, anxious, plagued people are everywhere. Not just on TV, but passing us on the street, perusing our Facebook, serving us our coffee and maybe even sleeping in our bed every night. 

And you might not ever even have a clue because that's the nature of the beast. Isolation is the name of the game for some. For the brave souls who choose not to hide, I hope they are met with grace and understanding. I hope the person who responds to them doesn't think about how depression scares them, but looks straight into the eyes of the person in front of them. That they would take into consideration that maybe this person's experience is outside the scope of their own.

I've read too many opinions and too many angry comments. I'm not going to plug my own experience with depression or my opinion about it. And quite honestly I'm not sure what it is quite yet. I'm still figuring it out. 

I'm not a fan of blanket statements. There are so many factors that play into depression and mental illness. Factors like personality type, what kind of home you grew up in, what you have learned about the issue, what kind of support system surrounds you, general health and spirituality, on and on it goes. And it varies from case to case. Depression is complicated because people are complicated. 

Am I the only one guilty of trying to sum up the problems of the world because it makes me feel in control? 

My brand of faith is often known for being narrow minded and insensitive in tragic situations. Not all, but some. I know have been in times past. I'm not proud of that. Now, I try not to be quick to judge or draw a thick black line down the middle. Because I'm not that smart and maybe I don't want to be. 

Maybe I'm just going to focus on what I do know instead of trying to figure out what makes people tick. Here's what I do know: people need each other. They don't need an opinion or a bible verse or for you to react out of your own fear or awkwardness. They might just need you to sit beside them and be real. 

To listen. 

To be sad. 

To be honest about your own pain and questions. 

To be quiet. 

This isn't a new message or even really that profound. It's actually pretty simple. So instead of searching frantically to grab ahold of a belief about life and suicide and death and depression, I'm just going to look at those around me. I'm not going to pretend I have the answers but I'll be available. I'll try on empathy. I'll be like Jesus when he wept over his friend and not try to weed out all the so called sin in the world as if this was my job. 

And I'm going to look at myself. I'm going to be honest about when I feel like world is closing in or when I need a counselor or a friend. I'm going to make that call and not give into the lie of isolation. And I'm not going to let people make me feel weird about it. So I'm not happy all the time and I don't always cope perfectly. I haven't met a human that does yet. If you meet one, let me know.

And I'm not talking about skipping out on truth telling. There is a time and a place for all of that. I want to be the person who knows when and where that is. I want to weigh my words carefully and my motives even more carefully.

Then there is this cursor blinking at me, telling me to say something more. But in the spirit of this post and because I value white space, I won't. Because I don't really know what else to say and I'm ok with that. I hope you are too. 

On getting there..

Does it ever happen to you that the more prepared you are for something the more seems to go wrong? Like the more planning involved the less likely things are to go according to plan? Especially when traveling. I've packed and shopped all week. I won't bore you with details but just know I have packed enough snacks and pinterested enough car friendly kid activities to fly around the world. 

We're just driving to Florida. 14 hours. 2 kids. And about a million ants. We've just stopped at our half way point to spend the night and happened to unknowingly park on top of a very large ant hill. Imagine our surprise when we are loading up this morning only to find thousands of tiny ants feasting on a buffet of goldfish crackers, raisins and the orange pop that soaked into the back floorboard last night. Now imagine the line of cars at the gas station impatiently staring at us as we proceed to take every item out of the car and pile it on the ground for inspection before we vacuum. It's only 9 am. 

I won't mention that we were stuck in traffic three hours yesterday and how very challenging this is to our four year old's potty training skills, which seem to have regressed from ok to non existent. Or the fact that there is a nail in our back tire. Oh and our left headlight burnt out. Again.  

Not complaining or anything.

Maybe it's just that illusion of control that preparing brings, then when the inevitable yet unexpected happens we are surprised and frustrated. Maybe I should learn to expect the unexpected and lean into flexibility. Enjoying the journey is no easy task. 

Except for when you get there. When you reach the prize. Then you tend to forget the not so easy parts of the journey or you can at least justify that they were worth it. Ask any marathon runner, PhD student or new mother. They will tell you the grunt work and the little upsets along the way to thier goal were not easy but that they would do it again. What is the saying .."Nothing worth having comes easy."  

But how about when you have 6 hours to go and there are ants crawling up your leg? Or when you hit mile 15 and you're pretty sure your toes are bleeding? Or when you can't take another breath in labor but you have to push just one more time? 

Press on. 

Know you're not alone.

Keep your eye on the prize.

Quote some inspirational cliches. 

Whatever you got to do to just get there. Because you will. Whether you are prepared or not. Whether it turns out to be what you expected or not. You will get there.  Wherever there is. And remember that once you attain this present goal a new challenge will soon take it's place. That's what makes us grow and mature. Lessons that we learn on a hard journey are the ones that become a part of who we are. The experiences become a layer of us. And blog posts. 

As the beloved Shauna Niequist says in her book Bittersweet:

"When you stay with something instead of walking away, it builds something new inside of you, something solid and weighty, something durable. But you do have to wait for it, you have to earn it the hard way."

Now my story is a little funny and I might be a little dramatic to compare it to the actual hard things of life. I pride myself in the uncanny capability to make mountains out of molehills. Or anthills, whichever.