My Latest Fashion, Part Two

Home sick today, so tell my boss I'm sleeping (because I was and am about to be again), but I also wanted to share how my wardrobe is now more manageable. As I'm tired and my head is getting fuzzy again, I'll keep this brief.

So, sometime before moving last summer, I heard about the Dressing Your Truth online class. I'd long been frustrated with the full-closet-and-I have-nothing-to-wear syndrome, so I signed up. With the class I learned about movement energy, and which energy I tend to express most, and what to look for in clothes that will compliment my natural energy.

Sooo many hangers. Bye bye!

I tried to follow through, but I had timed it badly with moving, and moving had a higher priority than reworking my fashion, especially as that was a deadline that wouldn't budge. So, I tried paring down my wardrobe, keeping only the pieces that suited my type (or that I really loved anyway), and I made some notable progress, but when push came to shove, I ended up packing just about every single thing in the closet.

Fast forward several months, and I'd grown quite tired of shifting hangers around, trying to find the clothes I liked, wanted, and needed. So I'd began reading up on how to do a minimal wardrobe, or capsule wardrobe, something I'd thought would be a good idea for me for a long, long time. So when my last three day weekend came around, I decided it was time. (Right after I got my hair cut. And on that note, it's amazing how clothes can look and feel different with a new 'do. Taking care of both on the same weekend was a good choice.)

I did a fair bit of looking around online. Pinterest was actually one of my first stops in addition to a Google search. There's quite a bit out there on the topic. The blogs I found to be most helpful can be found here, here, and here. Most sites and links I found focus on a goal of 30-40 items (some had a goal of fewer, but the most important point in all of them was to work with yourself and what you want), and some mention having different capsule wardrobes for different seasons.

I looked for lists of must-haves and instructions on how to pare things down, then I just went for it. The "rules" were my guidelines but not requirements. I just started with finding what I truly loved the best, and got rid of what I knew I didn't but had until now felt obligated to keep. I divided things into type (shirt, dress, skirt, jacket, pants), and tried most everything on unless I knew I'd want to keep it. My mantra as I tried on piece after piece, determining if I liked the look and feel and if it would go with anything else, or as I pulled something I knew I didn't want off a hanger was, "I don't owe _____." I didn't owe any person who may have gifted me the garment. I didn't owe any sentimentality of what once was. And I certainly didn't owe the clothing itself (though I often felt as if I did!). What I did owe, what I did want, was my own peace and not to be owned by my closet. That kept me going.

Ta da!
...I'm getting a sense of naturally preferred color scheme/tone here.

I didn't take any before pictures, because I was focused and in the moment, and hadn't thought I'd be blogging about it and oh a comparison for effect would be good. Ah well. Just ooo and ahh and trust me when I say this is impressive.

I'm not quite done as there are some garments not pictured that I haven't decided what to do with yet, I'm pretty sure I ought to thin down how many jackets I have, and I haven't looked at most of what's in my chest of drawers, but the current count of hangers in my closet for shirts, skirts, dresses, and pants? 37. (And 5 sweaters, which I did go through, but they go in the drawers.)

The in-progress end result is several bags stuffed full of perfectly good clothes that other people can enjoy, and I can see what I own at a glance, and quickly figure out ways that most pieces will go with others, for an easier to enjoy wardrobe than I remember ever having before.

I'll keep working on it. There are still some things I think I want to pare down more or replace. But I got the bulk of it done, and getting dressed in the morning has been a whole lot easier not having to play the clothing version of Tetris every day.

Have you ever attempted a capsule wardrobe? Did you succeed?


Now I'm back to bed. The Teddy Grahams are calling and my eyelids are falling.

This perfect girl is gone, too.

I'm not sure I can say how much I love the song "Let It Go" and its scene from the movie Frozen. If you haven't watched the movie yet, I highly recommend it, and also, this post will have spoilers. Don't worry, we can squeal over it together after you've seen it. I'll be here.


Now then, you've seen it?

Isn't it awesome?!

Here, let's see it again:

::happy sigh::

So, Elsa and this song touched me as powerfully as the end of Tangled did, but for a different reason. With Eugene's act, I saw Jesus reflected. With Elsa's freedom, I feel her realization, joy, and transformation of acceptance.

I'm struggling for the words, but the depth of my groans just don't translate well in the blogosphere. Auuggh! Okay, I had to. I just can't get enough of this song! (Seriously, I've been watching it two or three dozen times while writing this post.)

I ached with Elsa as a child, fearing something was wrong with her, that she could only hurt others, growing up hiding from everyone and everything. It wasn't the right choice, and we know when we're watching that it's not the right choice, yet it's exactly the sort of thing that we do in our own lives every day.

Everyone completely missed that her power can be beautiful.

And when she let's it go...it's stunning. The snow, the ice, the things she can do with them, and the freedom smile that makes her glow.

Yet there's also the hint that Elsa could become dangerous, just like everyone feared. She could become a villain at this point. She fully embraces who she is, and it's distinctly different than what she was told she had to be all her life. Seeing that change is a bit scary to me, to know how starkly different the two are. To know that very contrast is also possible in me. Her transformation is so complete that we know she might go too far if someone pushes her now. This is who she is, and she is powerful and passionate, embracing all of who she is including the raging storm within her.

She is both majestic and dangerous. And really, when we embrace the truth of our own selves, aren't we as well?

Yes, but can I do it again?

Last year I hid in my closet for a month, occasional treats and hot coffee nearby, earphones on with my playlist waking up the right emotions, and keyboard offering the rewarding soft tapping noises. Fifty-three thousand words in thirty days.

That was a challenging, rewarding experience.

I learned that I could budget my time (some) and get out a rough draft of a complete novel in a hurry. I counted myself among the thousands of winners. I took a silly picture to show you my happiness. And then I got busy with other parts of life.

I won NaNoWriMo last year.

Yes, but can I do it again?

I'm nervous. I want to write a story next month. I need to write a story. But can I do it?

I can't even write this post. I'm getting distracted by other things and thinking I should spend my time elsewhere.

I know I need to do this. I need to know I can make myself, perhaps let myself, value the act of creating a work of words in a full time schedule, in a new town, new everything environment.

And I need to choose a project. The stories are bouncing around in my head with new fervor. It's an exciting orbit that if I let it will do nothing but continue to circle and I'll never tell another story. I have to pick one, temporarily valuing it more than the others to focus on it and make it right before I can tell the next one. Choosing is hard. I want to see where all of them will go. But I am a linear being, so if it is to happen, it must be one story at a time. Which one will be next month? Which one will I start in six days?

I don't know if this post is coherent or not. This evening I am an excited, jumbled, nervous mess. But I came across this quote on Twitter, and for now I'll leave it at pondering this quote from Maya Angelou:

A bird doesn't sing because it has an answer, it sings because it has a song.

The One I Wanted

I saw it in a thrift store, not marked for sale, but I measured it for size anyway. I'd already been looking for a week or two and hadn't found anything good. This one was different, unique, lovely. Old dried gum was stuck to the side, and I was already imagining cleaning it off. It held stacks of old coffee cups which looked like they would crack into each other if you looked at one.

This was a shelf made for books. This was a display. The spines would angle upward to the approaching reader like a heartfelt offering.

I asked if they'd sell. Not interested.

Still thinking about it and unable to find another shelf, I asked again two weeks later, this time with a suggested price. Not interested without a replacement to hold the mugs.

The next week, I bought a shelf for a replacement and asked again.

Not interested ever.

I may have sulked. Later I may have shed a tear (or had a nasty cry for a few minutes) as I put together the replacement shelf for myself.

Sorry, awesome bookshelf. Your destiny is to hold stacked coffee cups nobody wants instead of displaying books that will be read. I wanted to save you, enjoy you, reclaim you for your intended purpose. Take you to my new house the next time I move. But the future I imagined wasn't to be.

I couldn't save you.

And instead I got the substitute that was never meant for books. But it will do for now.

It's ugly. And not what I wanted.

But it has books on it; they're no longer stacked on the floor. And my room looks like a room.

 

The Tipping Point

It's been a long time coming, and once that tipping point arrives, there is no slowing down the follow through. It will come and it will be swift.

I'd been thinking about it for months, did I want to, did I have what it took, could I choose almost blindly, praying for faith at the same time that I exercised it?

The tipping point came when the theoretical turned tangible.


"Norman took the job in Charleston."

I blinked. It was only yesterday that there had been the faintest other possibility, not one that would be great. This, however, was exactly what we'd all been waiting for. Whether or not it was the where we'd been waiting for, well that would remain to be seen.

"He...he got the job?"

Mama nodded. "He just called."

This called for celebration! Finally, a solid tenure track position. They wouldn't have to be moving every year, my brother was getting the beginning of his dream, and more and more I'm hearing how lovely a place South Carolina is.

At the same time that I wanted to jump for joy, my world took a strange nose dive. The kind that a fighter plane takes and builds up speed. It can either swing up out of it with more momentum than ever, or it can stall out, continue to fall, and crash.

The theoretical had just become tangible.

I talked with Mama for a few more minutes about it, plying for answers, though nobody had any real details yet, just the big idea that my brother and his family once again had a new destination for the upcoming school year. Then, bubbling with excitement at all the possibilities, I climbed the stairs and faithfully logged on to Facebook. I sent one private message to two recipients. One word. "YAAAYYYY!"

Then I stepped away, though not far, and wondered how everyone's lives were about to topsy around.

A chime.

I looked. I had a new message.

From my sister-in-law.

"Did you want to come with us?"

I could feel it then, the tipping point, the door of no return, waited in front of me. My plane started diving. I was running out of time to decide.

But I had already decided a few months ago. I just had to work through my process and accept that I wouldn't know all the answers and that it would be okay anyway.

I got my final council from my closest advisor, tearfully admitted that it was what I wanted and it was even hard to say so, and finally accepted.

And then there was no stopping me.

 

It's like packing for a week long trip...without going anywhere.

Three days of dressing up (in my mind that equals anything of nicer quality than denim and simple but nice, no-logo t-shirts) with two evenings of really dressing up for use-the-correct-fork chicken dinner banquets. Oh, and a complimentary jacket with each outfit, because I know I'm gonna be cold. Ugh.

Generally speaking, I prefer low maintenance wear with a silly flair. And comfort. Always comfort.

So this conversation happened ... inside my own head:

"Is it okay to be quirky and not just...fancy? To impress people?"

"Are you quirky?"

"Yes."

"Do you enjoy being your quirky?"

"Yes."

"Heck yes, it's okay. In fact, you should."

"Whew. Okay."

I can't believe conference time is here.

 

Spring is Alive

Spring is my favorite season. It is renewal, fresh air, excited hope, open possibilities. It's alive.

It's also usually my most restless season. After my first big fight with allergies for the year, usually involving a day or two down and a week regaining my normal strength and breath (and getting rid of that nagging cough!), I feel better than ever and I'm ready to take flight. I suppose I want to make up for lost time. It doesn't matter if I have a direction or not--the one I'm traveling at any given moment will do--I just want to go. To drive. To travel. To see or try something new. To move.

Spring is energy. The grass regains its color. Fresh flowers and leaves spring up everywhere, an embrace to the change of weather. Even the sky and clouds take on a new, fresher color and vibrancy. Then the storms come. Energy colliding in a wild dance with thousands of partners in the air. Bolts of energy create the light show; thunder provides the beat. Rain quenches the thirsty performers, and sometimes hail decorates the ground like confetti.

With so much energy, so much newness, it seeps into my skin and fills me up until I can't hold still. I have to move. I have to go somewhere. I have to join the dance and freshness and do something new. I long to bloom and grow like the trees and flowers surrounding me. I ache to whip by like the fluffy clumps of cotton in the sky. I'm ready to sing like the birds and make something beautiful that was not there before as the flora do.

And yet, I'm only beginning to learn, only just guessing at how to do this. I'm ready to go in every direction, without focus. Which means I usually don't go in any direction; I just explode wherever I stand, only to build up again the next day or the next week and repeat the cycle...until suddenly spring is over and I've yet again missed the opportunity I feel every year to join the world and bloom, grow, and stretch out.

I'm afraid. Afraid of making mistakes mostly, but also afraid of accomplishing or discovering grand things. If I find out I can, I may never stop. And what then? I won't want to go back to the wading pool I'm familiar with, even if it's safer, if I discover the ocean.

This year, I hope, will not be the exact same futile cycle. This spring, I hope I'm more willing to take chances, to see that the day is full and long and waiting, and to try. This time, even if I don't know all the steps, I'm going to join the dance.

I'm alive.

My Box

I live in a box. Like one that can store treasures or collect unwanted trinkets that don't ever get thrown out. My room is a box. Like a storage unit, it can be organized or chaotic. Right now my room is like a box being sorted. Only the treasures will remain, leaving empty space so they will be visible. Some have been hidden for so long that they're hardly treasures anymore. Yet once found, remembered, I have a hard time parting with them.

But what needs more space in the box of my room? Things? Or me?

I feel most alive, perhaps most protected, when I am not confined. It's why I love a wide open sky, a low horizon, a far view. Somehow I have to create that within a confined space, and so more things must go to make room for my long limbs and brave imagination to stretch.

My box, my room, is very boring, until I add the touch of me, things that make my heart leap with joy, things that remind me of good times and the love I have from others, things that let me ponder. Snapshots of the best moments in my favorite movie. A rose from my best friend, given three Valentine's ago, hanging in the window all this time. My college graduation cap with the Tangled sun that my sister-in-law painted on top. My framed print of a cowboy riding at sunset. My bridesmaid bouquet from my brother's wedding.

I live in a box. But soon, the edges of the box will fade and the treasures will take the spotlight.

Soon, my box will be as open space.

Linking up with The RunaMuck's #concretewords prompt.

One of Many

I look forward to discovering the rest.

I grew up dreaming of how I would some day set up my own house, dreaming of qualities I wanted in my family, things I wanted us to do together, how our evenings might look. I dreamed of music in the home. I dreamed that we would have a piano, that my husband would play an instrument, that hopefully our children would enjoy music so that they also played instruments of their choice. I wanted variety. I hoped for family gatherings of singing, playing music, and warm drinks.

For so long I have put my thoughts toward what my someday could be and what I wanted it to be that I missed something.

Sunday night, I realized I have what I've dreamed for, longed for, hoped for.

Sunday night's sunset was gorgeous. As I drove to my good friends' house, looking at that sunset, I felt the love of God. And it brought tears to my eyes. I hope I feel like that every time I contemplate how deep and strong and powerful His love is.

When I arrived at the house, I partook of a light meal and much joy with dear friends. I went caroling with dear friends, old friends refound, new friends. Once we arrived back at the house to warm up with some cider and more songs around a piano, I finally realized...this is the home I've been longing for. It's one part anyway.

Faithful friends who are dear to us, gather near to us once more. Just like in the song. It's been another year since the last caroling party, and it took me until last night to realize that what I've been longing for isn't, for now at least, to be found in my own little property with four walls and a roof. I'm not a homeowner; I'm not married; I don't have kids. But these aren't reasons for me to not have this home and family that I've yearned for. I have it now.

Sunday night, I realized yet one more way in which God has given me a wonderful gift. I had thought I would have to wait for an unknown, painfully long time before I could have the house filled with loved ones and song that I've dreamed of. But God's gift is that I don't have to wait. I simply have to see what He has put before me.

photo used with permission

And my heart has found a home.

One of many.

I look forward to discovering the rest.

 

Drumroll....

Thirty days into the challenge and two days after officially winning NaNoWriMo...

And with an official NaNoWriMo word count of 53,207...

I HAVE FINISHED MY STORY!!!

Thanksgiving Tightrope Walk

I walk a tightrope between perfect performance pressure and lackadaisical who cares it's no big deal.

When doing something expected by others, it takes almost no pressure for me to freak out and think I'm the wrong person for the job, I can't do it well enough, and everyone is going to be disappointed in me. If I have something for myself, it's not too terribly hard to think eh, whatever, it'll get done when it does. And of course there's the bleed-over mixing depending on each individual situation and my assumed expectations of others' expectations.

It's enough to make one's head whirl like a carousel.

This Thanksgiving week as I face off with food preparations (and the hardest part is done, but now I stress out because that makes a whole lot of sense. not.) I need to remember perspective. Sometimes it's a relief to remember that I am to the universe what an ant is to me. Small, insignificant, and not likely to screw up the world if people happen to not favor my dishes in two days. And likewise, it's a relief to know that I am loved on a grand scale no matter what. Funny how both are true at exactly the same time.

I am very very small, and God is very, VERY big.

I have tons of things to be thankful for, not least of which is that I get to eat at all. So what if it's not amazing? And bonus if it is.

I recently had tea with some very dear friends and periodically we said things that we were thankful for. The things that came to my mind were many. Here are a few. I was recently given opportunities to

    1) Travel, specifically by flying in 3 airplanes. Something I've wanted to do for years I got to do three times in just over a week, twice in one day (takeoff and landing are awesome).

    2) Be empowered to know that I can handle wood-cutting power tools (Rosie the Riveter I'm not...but I could be!), adjust to another family's culture and the local climate (well, kinda with the climate. with more time, I could), venture out on my own in unfamiliar territory and have a great time, and even make new friends (the secret is opening a conversation with "What's your favorite Disney movie?" --Now I know!) .

    3) Gain employment in a dream job, surrounded by wonderful people and books galore!

    4) Be responsible for two sweet, little dogs for one glorious and short week, cuddling, playing, treating, and getting licked--oh it was a piece of heaven.

And through these and other changes in my life and in the lives of those I love, I have enjoyed the return of hope and eager anticipation within the realms of this life. I know I no longer have to feel stuck and trapped, and for this I'm deeply grateful. I'm more ready than ever to make and seek out dreams, knowing some may happen and some won't, but I intend to live boldly (well, it's a goal anyway) and love the life I have been given, through the easier times and the harder times. (I'm not naive enough to think there will never be hard times again, but I know they don't have to destroy me or my dreams for an even better life.) I will fail all the time (hello, Thanksgiving prep emotional turmoil :P ), but I know I'll get righted again; all I need is a little perspective reminder.

I wish I was unflappable like Phil Coulson when I go through the soul stretcher, but since I'm not, I get to practice remembering the perspective of grace that I have been given, resuming my balance on that funny tightrope.

Feel free to say hi and let me know if you relate and how you handle it. Maybe we can encourage each other.

And with that, have a lovely Thanksgiving Day and rest of the week (and month; I may not be back before then [but I'll still see your comments]. NaNo!).
 
 

Delight of Now

My jaw would drop if I wasn't resting my face on my hand.

I just met someone, well we didn't meet exactly, but we talked briefly on the phone. And then I learned something about her.

She's a year younger than me and just had a baby? I think. I feel cheated. But as soon as the thought forms I remember, oh yeah, that's...that's about normal.

Remember, I have called you to something else.

Yeah. I remember. I'm not cheated. And she's not better than me, either. Nor am I better than her. I'm just on a different kind of path. I don't know where it will take me, but I know I have a leader who has already set the path and decided it's good. That should be enough.

And it is. Actually the last couple of months have been better than I could have expected and exactly the sort of thing I hope for my life. When one exciting thing calmed down and the event passed, days seemed normal. Time traveled slowly...and in the proper order. That's okay. Good, actually. And then another exciting event came, and went. And days passed one at a time. No specific exciting event on any given day.

Except every day is rather exciting. Each day is new, and I have renewed hope for future days...without spoiling the delight of now.

Now I get to wake up every morning, see the growth of my little jar of Forget-Me-Nots, relax or start early, form a semblance of a dinner plan, head off to one of my dream jobs where I work with great people and will always be surrounded by inspiration as long as I don't close my eyes to it (the feeling is a bit like every time I would get to walk to my beautiful Gaylord, home of the best possible major for me, great teachers, and friendly classmates), read, dream, write, and store up...something. I'm not sure what, nor for what, but I'm glad to drink in where I am now, knowing where I've come from.

No, I'm not married, and no, I don't have a newborn. But I do have a lot. Her adorable baby isn't mine, but this,
::deep breath:: 
this is mine.

Do You Nano?

Okay, deep breath, I'm plunging in. Without enough time to talk myself out of it, I have decided I'm going to participate in NaNoWriMo 2012. It's time for some writerly abandon, forget the rules, which I tend to be a stickler for (well, if someone tells me to do something in this way, I'll do my best to match it. I might experiment if specifically given permission to do so. Otherwise....), and let my whimsies and fantasies take flight on paper. Or computer. ... Eh?

Yes, I know that was weird.

Oh well, forget the "rules", right? NaNoWriMo isn't supposed to be the prettiest thing I ever write. It's just supposed to get done.

I've written two novels before. Both in first draft form, one took about a year, the second made it somewhere in probably five months (...hey, I just realized, that's progress!). Now for the one month challenge. This is going to be awesome. And just like major exercise after not using those muscles much for a long time, I'm going to be oh so sore.

But I kinda like being sore. As long as I'm sure I'll recover. You know why? Because it means I'm getting stronger, and yes, I can meet the challenge.

Now is warmup time. Mentally and emotionally mostly, probably. Gotta get ready and head off the stereotypical writer's block and depression before they have a chance to hit.

Because I can do this.

I plan to be a winner.

One Lonely Late Night, I Remember

It's another late night (problem one). I want to finish a book I'm about 3/4 of the way through before next week, but I'm so easily distracted that I get online for one to three things and end up checking out probably two dozen (problem two). You know how it goes. The interwebs is (are?) a very interesting place full of just about anything you can imagine or want to know.

And in my meanderings, original goal possibly maybe fulfilled and long forgotten, I happened upon a blog post in which a woman mentions that she has her husband to fall back on. Nothing wrong with that; it's splendid and a huge blessing for her. But jealousy comes in different forms and is a wily beast...a parasite. And sometimes a fear. (problem three)

I want a partner to travel the roads of this life with. And as I am and have always been single, I sometimes wonder if I truly need another person--a peer, a teammate, a man, a husband. I've gotten this far and am making steps forward with life. If something truly needs done, I do it. Over the years, I've juggled and handled with moderate grace more things than I'd thought I could. What if I don't need a husband? What if I'm just fine on my own until I'm 91 and dying? What if I can handle the next sixty plus years as a single woman, on my own without any backup? Does that mean that's my future? These thoughts frighten me.

That life sounds lonely.

I know I'm not out on my own yet, but I will be. And I know I won't ever be completely alone: I'll still have my relatives and friends. Someday I plan to have a dog. Most importantly, the Holy Spirit abides in me, Jesus intercedes for me, and God the Father leads me. That's hardly alone (though I admit it often feels alone [...problem four]).

I want someone to mutually take care of. Marriage in all its mucky, gritty, intimate, loving, hopeful glory. But there are times I catch myself worrying (problem five) that I won't need it, so I won't get it. I'm too tough or too independent (those of you who know me, I'll wait for you to stop laughing...) to need a marriage relationship.

Earlier I was slightly marveling that I was cleaning away spiderwebs like they were no big deal when normally I will avoid them and pretend I can't see them just so I don't have to risk heebie jeebies. Or spiders crawling up my arm. But I handled the situation. I knew I could so I just went at it and did. (Like I was an adult or something!)

Around home I periodically joke "Reason # ___ Why I Need to Get Married". (To my ironic delight, opening up jars is not one of those reasons as long as I have this handy thing nearby.) But those are all in jest; I know I could find some other method, including do it myself, to take care of the need or want that a husband could meet. Spiders needing squished, peptalks and encouraging words, toilets needing plunged, communicating with the repairman, day/road/plane trips to somewhere new, budget planning.... Or I could simply do without. Cuddling up on a rainy day (okay, really any day), romantic dinners...anywhere, sex, going home to our home, being protected, talking about dreams and wishes and hopes before the day ends, having a partner for life, being wanted as a partner for life....
(*Please note, I know a husband is not for "honey do" lists and spider slaying with no other purpose, benefit, or need. [Though spider slaying would be a perk.] These two lists are just things that quickly came to mind and are not intended to be exhaustive.)

::sigh:: So, traveling this familiar path of I-don't-know's and will-I-ever's (problem six), I remembered a quote by Paige Benton that I saw in a book about people in the Bible who were single (and can be found in her article which I found here. The quote is good, and the whole article is worth a read.) Honestly in the moment it's hard to swallow, but at the same time I know it's true, and after a little bit of thinking through, it helps recenter my thoughts:

I am not single because I am too spiritually unstable to possibly deserve a husband, nor because I am too spiritually mature to need one. I am single because God is so abundantly good to me, because this is his best for me. It is a cosmic impossibility that anything could be better for me right now than being single. The psalmists confirm that I should not want, I shall not want, because no good thing will God withhold from me.

So for now I'm single. And for now I'm learning how to be single well, however long I remain such. Whatever happens next, it will be because God is so abundantly good to me.

  

I Still Have One Sign, Part 2

The conclusion from Tuesday's Part 1 post...


It's easy to give up. To one who can always reason that there is still hope, despite emotions that cry otherwise, it's frighteningly easy.

Each time I ripped down one of my notepaper signs, "Don't be afraid to dream," "There is still hope," "For this room," I was disgusted, torn to the core, and saw no way for my circumstances and problems to be overcome or turned into good things.

I still knew the promise that all things in this life actually work for the good of those who love God (Romans 8:38), and I still knew that nothing is outside of His allowance. And, how many times have I called him the Perfect Author, one who thankfully does not need a second draft to the story He writes and has written?

But it still hurt. And knowing that this hurt was part of God's plan actually made me mad. It's what contributed to feeling that I was betrayed by Him. I knew I hadn't been, but I couldn't wrap my mind around it, and my heart was so wounded that I was afraid to trust Him with it.

The memory of being there still brings tears to my eyes.

I had no idea how this would work for anybody's good. And, actually harder to deal with, I had no idea how I was supposed to dream big again. With such a resounding "No" to my hopes, and in a season of events that were fairly close together, how could I expect a "Yes" someday down the road for another dream?

What happens when the hero throws out his memento of love and hope? Usually something outside of him has to happen or arrive, or he'll just walk away and give up on his goal. What's the point in going after it when it's lost and destroyed? Someone else has to ignite what's left of the fire of hope in his heart or he will smolder as embers for the rest of his life.

For us that other, the something or someone outside, can come in many shapes, sizes, sounds, you name it, but ultimately they're all guided by the Maker of Life. I don't know what the process looks like; I'm not even sure what it's been for me, though I know it isn't quite over. But life is filled with little joys, little bits of restoration, and blessings still in every step. I know God is still in control, no one usurped His authority even for a second, and I know He is faithful and still good. And I know I don't deserve His tender love, but He offers it every day, even when I say "I'm mad at you."

I don't know why my dreams couldn't happen, but I do know we were still able to make part of the original trip, and it was very much needed and a blessing. And I know that my brother, sister-in-law, and niece are back now, and I'm glad to have them. I don't know why there are budget constraints that won't allow for transforming my room into a much needed sanctuary, but I do know that my room won't always be like this and I can still make positive changes now. I don't know why my faith and trust needed to be tested, but I do know that I will continue to trust God even when I'm hurt.

And I do know that blessings rain down. Some look smaller than others, but all are gifts. Right now I'm in the midst of so many possible blessing opportunities that I don't know what to do with myself to navigate from one to the next. As of the moment of writing this post, there are so many that I may even need to pick and choose between them (and maybe, just maybe, I can have them all). Back when I was so hurt that I tore down those hopeful papers, I had no conceivable idea that anything like this would happen to me ever, and certainly not just a few months later.

I haven't replaced the old notes on the walls, but I still have one left, and I think it's going to stay.

"Make it what you dream."

 

I Still Have One Sign, Part 1

I'm guessing I'm not the only one who puts inspirational signs, posters, decor, whatnot up in their homes. Mine just happen to be quick marker notes written sideways on lined notebook paper and taped to the walls. Classy.

But I tore them down.

I am a person who loves life and has big dreams and hopes, but I'm easily discouraged. So, my head knowing better than my heart sometimes does, I put up four signs on said notebook paper. Three cascaded to form one long message: There is still hope, For this room, Make it what you dream. And one I put on the opposite wall: Don't be afraid to dream.

I'm not sure of the order of things anymore, but I know that I ripped down the "Don't be afraid to dream" sign after I found out we weren't going to make it to Arcata to visit my brother, sister-in-law, and niece while they were living there. I felt betrayed by God and couldn't hold on to a reason to maintain big dreams. This would be when I wrote the post on mourning.

I think "For this room" came down after I hit a figurative wall regarding the state of my literal wall. Budget just wouldn't allow for some of the high hopes I'd built in my mind. Cleaning out, finishing an old project, painting the entirety of the walls, added trim, finishing the door. That might be when "There is still hope" came down, too, but I don't remember. Seems like it stayed up a little longer, but I don't remember then what would have wounded my heart enough to crumple it up, angry tears clinging to my face, and toss it.

You know those moments in movies when the hero is so disgusted or discouraged that he throws out some sweet memento of his family, or the gift from his love? Up until now I'd always had the reason in my mind to think the hero would regret that decision, how could he do that, doesn't he know he'll want it back when things get better?

Now, I understand. We truly don't always hope that things will get better. We might believe that life will continue, but that doesn't mean we think it'll ever get better. And so the memento, the encouraging word, the piece of hope represented in an object finds a direct one-way ticket to the dumpster. It's worse than the Monopoly card "Go Directly to Jail."

It's a horrible place to be. And it's very real.

Can you relate?


My thoughts will continue in a couple days...

 

Squee!, second part

Let the excitement continue!

Read the prologue at Rebekah's website here.

Two weeks ago, I told you about the e-release of Petals by my twin-separated-at-birth (but not really) and best friend (really), Rebekah Roberts. I shared a quick interview and a little bit about the book and I got my copy. You can read that bubbly post here. (And remember, I'm not getting paid for this, not even bribery money.)

Well, today, when I postponed breakfast and hopped online, I scooted over to Amazon.com and found the paperback is already ready to order! It will also be available at BarnesandNoble.com; it's jut not up quite yet.


Last time, I had asked my twin some more questions about her writing, and now I would like to share them with you.

 

D: What has the journey been like to getting published?

R: Amazingly fast. I know that I am so blessed to have found a publisher so quickly. I hope that that means my book is something special.


D: Where do you write?

R: I love to go to Barnes and Noble. Most of Petals was produced there. The smell of coffee and new books gets me in the writing mood.

D: Do you have a writing routine?

R: Not really. I just try to fit it in where I can. I work long hours and there isn't always time. I think lamenting over not getting in our writing time is a constant struggle with most writers.

D: So what do you like to do in your free time?

R: Lately I have been napping. ;) But when I am not sleepy, there is nothing I like more than to hang out with my family or a good friend. I love reading and TV and movies, but I think, given the choice I would rather hang out and have a good talk with someone than just about anything.

D: Probably because you're an encourager. How do you hope to encourage readers with Petals?

R: The themes that are in Petals and now in the following books have a lot to do with true beauty and true love. I love romances, but I want to write a story that is more than just "boy meets girl." I want to write a story that has broken characters that may not be perfect by the last page but they are on their way to becoming better people and then maybe somehow that might affect a reader in his or her own life.

D: What is your fear with your book?

R: Wow... Good question. I guess, that no one will buy it... But I think more than that I am afraid of sending the wrong messages. I set out to send a message about beauty and love, but I have learned so much since I wrote it that I hope it still rings with truth. A single book is just a small stopping place in a writer's life. I have grown so much as a person and as a writer since I started the project, so I just hope my younger self knew what she was talking about.

D: Everybody has dreams. What are yours?

R: My dream as an author (wow that looks weird to type, author..), is to keep writing and keep getting published. I don't know that I will ever just write. I am currently a full-time nanny and I love it. I think I will always write and do something else, at least on the side. As for personal dreams... I'm like any hardcore dreamer, I want my own fairytale, my own happily ever after and I pray that I find it someday.

D: In addition to writing and nanny-ing (yeah, I don't think that's a word yet) you also have a ministry outreach in the works. Tell me about it.

R: Unfolding Rose Ministries is a new adventure that I am embarking on this fall. It is a ministry that I'm starting. I want to use my own fiction, other fiction, and interviews I'm conducting with men and women as a way to talk to young women about love, purity, modesty, guys, true beauty, and most of all who they are in Christ.   

D: What keeps you going every day?

R: My faith in Christ. I suffer from anxiety. It's something that I am not ashamed to talk about and anyone who knows me, knows I deal with worry and doubt on a daily basis. I guess you could call me a sensitive artist or just a plain old worry wart, but God takes that and uses it. Jesus is the one who gets me out of my head and gives me the strength to be there for others. It's because of my fears that I am able to write better characters and I am able to be sensitive to other peoples' struggles. So I thank God for my weakness and I thank Him for His strength in my life.    

D: What's the one thing you want people to know about you?

R: I guess what it says in the info section of my personal Facebook page: "I am the creation of The Creator, the loved of The Lover, the daughter of The Father and the saved of the Savior. I am His."  And that this book is for Him as well.

 

You can keep up with the latest from Rebekah on her Facebook page or Twitter profile. There's also more at her official website, RebekahRoberts.net. And for fun, you can listen to the playlist that Rebekah put together of songs and videos that inspired Petals.

I've started reading my e-copy, and I'm excited to get my signed book soon! And I can't wait to find it in bookstores and geek out in a public place! Oh yes, I will be looking.

Cover image by 5 Prince Publishing

                                              "Beauty might just be the beast."

        Calla Williams is not like other girls.  Most girls spend their whole lives trying to be beautiful, Calla already is…and she hates it.
        When she is shipped off one summer to live with family friends in their dilapidated Mississippi plantation, Calla is faced with the prospect of living with strangers and their teenage son.  This is annoying because, like any other boy, he is sure to fall in love with her on sight. However, Griffin Davenport is not your typical teenage guy. With his hot temper and half of his face severely scarred, “hate at first sight” is closer to what she finds.
        Though the two teens try to stay out of each other’s way, an odd attraction to each other makes staying away anything but easy.
        Now, Calla must deal with growing feelings, her own prejudices, and finding the secret to Griffin’s past. As hate turns to friendship and friendship becomes something more, Calla learns a startling truth: God uses even how we look in His plan for our lives.

What I Do is This

Someone explain to me how one person saying I'm courageous + painting a room for an old friend + non-fluffy conversation with that old friend + Inheritance by Christopher Paolini + a hot shower can = knowing what I do (and therefore, in part, who I am).

Seriously. Can you explain that?


Maybe I can try. I'm going to start with courage.

I recently asked my friends, via Facebook, what do they think when they think of me? I got a little variety in the responses. But one in particular, the one that began with "full of courage" (and a few other things) took me by surprise. I thought to myself, What is she talking about? She doesn't know me very well, and she thinks I'm courageous?

It was a pretty insightful response for someone whom I hardly ever see and talk to, so I had to take it seriously. Maybe she knows me better than I think she does. Maybe she's right that I am courageous.

Now, the easy answer is a brush-off (whether sincere or false modesty--one of the things my friend and I talked about while painting). And another easy answer is to say, "But of course." I don't wish to go for the easy this time. Most of the time I do not think I'm courageous at all; I'm pretty chicken...and selfish. But there are a few times where I can recognize that I have been in a situation that took courage and I was able to exercise that courage. But mostly? As a defining characteristic?

I wish I was courageous.

How much bravery does it take to be in my shoes, really? To stay with my parents, fully supported by them, and mix life with writing, chores, doctors, prescription runs, barely keeping up with the dishes (sometimes), dreaming of making my room into a little haven, seeing friends, church, various outings (sometimes brief, sometimes long, sometimes alone, sometimes with Mom)...


I wish I could tell you I was brave enough to write this out. But everything in me is saying not to. It's not a "don't post this" it's a "don't write this." Why? Because I don't want you to know all these details. I don't want to admit my shortcomings. Honestly, I don't want to admit that I live with Mommy and Daddy. And I neither want to project false modesty nor smugness.

::deep breath:: Time to plow through.


I will admit I hate introducing "what I do" when I meet someone new. I let my best friend tell whomever when I can because she can put it in a way that it honestly sounds good. But I think it honestly sounds...well, small, childish perhaps, weak even. What I do is simply this: I write, and I fail at writing; I live with my parents and help my family and particularly my mom at home, and I fail at that too; I spend time with friends and try to grow relationships, and I fail at that as well. I follow Christ, and I fail at that. Everything I do I manage to both do well and to fail at doing well. Positive or negative spinning, either way, this is simply what I do.

When I do try to explain it to people, or mention that I'm not seeking a 9-5 job in order to continue doing what I do, I feel like the uttermost loser in the room. I can't explain it in a way that makes sense to others, I can't even understand why I think my choice is a wise one half the time.

And yet, there I am, painting the wall with a dear old friend and talking about life and anything that comes up, including somehow my writing and lack of income and trying to manage things...and follow my dream, really.

Do I want to support myself and live on my own? Of course I do. But I'm taking a year (1 month down, yikes) to work on my writing. Near the end of the year I will reassess again.


What of Inheritance? Well, in the story, the characters all have a true name, and I was recently reading the part where Eragon tries to and does learn his own. The true name is spoken in the ancient language which has magical properties, and no one can lie when using that tongue. The true name reveals the deepest, most real core being of a character, and with that name one can have complete power and control over the one named.

The true name is not biased. It covers both the good points and the bad. Achievements and shortcomings alike. Personal history, knowledge, and attitude. Anything and everything about a person. It is the fullest answer to the question, "Who am I?"


So, thinking over all these things--courage, painting, the serious conversations, and true names--in the relaxing shower, I realized, what I do is a part of who I am. It's not biased; it just is. I have good qualities and bad. I lack courage (to strike out on my own), and I have courage (to stay where things are not my own, and to imagine that my dream can happen). I am a grown adult, and I live with my parents. I do things, and I fail at them. I keep trying, and I postpone.

It's not exactly pretty. And it's not exactly ugly either. It simply is. It is what I do, a part of who I am. At this point, it's a very large part of who I am.

And, realizing that, I think I can step closer to accepting that. Someday I may even be able to do what I do to it's full advantage.

It's probably not what you do, and it's not who you are. I can be very similar to you, but I will never be you. And you won't ever be me. We simply are who we are. And this is who I am and what I do.


My best friend read this post (trying to help me determine whether or not to post it) and mentioned this verse. I think it fits pretty well.

Not that I have already obtained this or am already perfect, but I press on to make it my own, because Christ Jesus has made me his own. Brothers, I do not consider that I have made it my own. But one thing I do: forgetting what lies behind and straining forward to what lies ahead, I press on toward the goal for the prize of the upward call of God in Christ Jesus.  -- Philippians 3:12-14

Squee!

Okay, I am psyched. It's not my book, and I'm not getting any money out of this (I'm actually spending money), but I'm already in line for my copies.

I'm talking with my best friend, Rebekah Roberts, PUBLISHED AUTHOR. Her first book in the Once Upon a Tuesday series, Petals, comes out today in ebook format (available at amazon.com and barnesandnoble.com) and in print form on July 11th (and it should be in some local bookstores, but we don't have the info of where yet). (Here's a link to the publisher's blog with an excerpt from the book, a list of all the places online the book can be bought, and an easy contest for a $10 Amazon gift card [contest is today only].)

Rebekah and I have been best friends (identical twins separated at birth, really) since we graduated high school together. I love her for her honesty, humor, love, graciousness, and her persistence to hope. She has been one of my main encouragers and carries hope for me when I can't.

Rebekah has a love of fairytales and romance, and a heart for today's teens and children. Through her writing she has found her gift for sharing God's love with people she may never meet (expanding her already impressive reach!).

I asked my twin some questions about this new milestone to share with you.

 

D:  Why do you want to write books?

R: I have always been a story teller.  I can remember gathering kids at church around me and I would tell them stories. The crowd would always grow bigger as I spoke.  So I write to tell a good story, but also I look at it as a ministry.  I want to write stories that will make people think, make them grow and hopefully bring glory to God.


D: What are your most and least favorite parts of being a writer?

R: Least favorite part would have to be feeling guilty for not getting any writing done in a day or week. The best part is watching the story play out. Getting to see something that was just in your head come together and actually become something real and tangible.


D: How does it feel to achieve your dream of being a published author?

R: It feels amazing.  Like going on a journey for many years and finally getting to the "Welcome" sign. It must be how Frodo felt after getting to Mordor or how Ella (from Ella Enchanted) felt when she made it to the giant's wedding. But at the same time I know this is just the welcome. I still have a lot of stories that I want to write and a lot more dreams, even in the area of writing, that I want to achieve.


D: Why this book, this story? And why now?

R: Now, is the perfect time for a wholesome look at romance. Our genaration is overly sexualized and what true beauty really is has been lost... We need to fight to get it back... This book is about inner and outer beauty, it's about realizing that God uses everything, even how we look, in His plan for our lives. I think that you will relate to the characters and maybe grow with them.


D: Why you?

R: I have always loved Beauty and the Beast.  One of my earliest memories is watching the Disney version in the theater.  I was so scared of the Beast but I still loved the film.


D: How did you choose the title?

R: Um...It started out being called "Calla and Griffin: A modern day tale of Beauty and the Beast."  But long titles were not "in" at the time so I decided to change it to something catchy. I figured petals go with roses and no one can think of B&B without the rose. It was cool how the petals became a theme and you will find them throughout the book.


D: You wear roses every day, don't you?

R: Not every day... But most days, yes. It's not even always on purpose... I just love roses so much that they end up as a pattern in a dress or on my earrings. I didn't even notice the trend until someone pointed it out.


D: What are you working on now?

R: The second book in the Once Upon a Tuesday series. The working title is Sheltering Snow.  It is a modern version of Snow White.  It's about a teen runaway who is befriended by a quirky family of siblings.  It's about heartbreak and learning what real love and real family is.

You can keep up with the latest from Rebekah on her Facebook page or Twitter profile. There's also more at her official website, RebekahRoberts.net.


...I feel like a bridesmaid: excited for my dear friend and anticipating the bouquet toss! And I can't wait to read this novel again!

Cover image by 5 Prince Publishing

                                              "Beauty might just be the beast."

        Calla Williams is not like other girls.  Most girls spend their whole lives trying to be beautiful, Calla already is…and she hates it.
        When she is shipped off one summer to live with family friends in their dilapidated Mississippi plantation, Calla is faced with the prospect of living with strangers and their teenage son.  This is annoying because, like any other boy, he is sure to fall in love with her on sight. However, Griffin Davenport is not your typical teenage guy. With his hot temper and half of his face severely scarred, “hate at first sight” is closer to what she finds.
        Though the two teens try to stay out of each other’s way, an odd attraction to each other makes staying away anything but easy.
        Now, Calla must deal with growing feelings, her own prejudices, and finding the secret to Griffin’s past. As hate turns to friendship and friendship becomes something more, Calla learns a startling truth: God uses even how we look in His plan for our lives.

I Will Have It

Not that long ago I would walk into my room and a wordless feeling of despair would settle over me. This happened so often and for so long that eventually I distanced myself from the despair just to get from one side to the other, usually settling on my bed, my nest, to go to sleep or to get online and ignore the soul-sucking piles of junk and paper that littered everything.

But in the last week and especially the last couple of days I walk into my room and a triumphantly joyous thought voices itself: I will have it.

I will have my room back. I will have a clean, safe, soothing, environment. I will have things nicely decorated. I will have my pretty daybed up in place of my current bed (nothing wrong with it, honestly, but it doesn't provide the function that I want, and also, it's not mine).

Remember how it was such a big deal to have my reading nook clean and always ready? The rocking chair, the lamp, the bookshelf where I can keep library books. All the wonderful coziness tied to that. And I met my deadline, and I had put the work in it, and it was mine, all mine. (I know I still owe you pictures, but it's not tidy right now.) Well, now I'm doing that (without a strict deadline) for the entirety of my room. For too long I've let my possessions own me; I'm a self-proclaimed border hoarder. (sigh)

I've been cleaning, mostly sorting and shuffling things and throwing out notebooks and other paper from college classes. I've been opening up floor space (let me tell you, hope and refreshment are found in an empty floor!), finding things I'd forgotten but want to keep, uncovering my instruments (with renewed vigor to learn and practice), sorting my crafting supplies. Before that I was going through my closet, jewelry, and makeup. I still have some ground to (un)cover, but I've made noticeable progress. And any time I stop to think for one second about what I'm trying to accomplish, and basically every time I enter my room, I am encouraged.

I expect I'll always fight the tendency to keep everything (yes, everything, including, to my embarrassment, price tags from clothes bought an undetermined amount of time ago). But I intend to fight it from now on. I've picked a battle worth the effort, and I'm going to win this war.

 
I'm shaping my life into what I want it to be. And it starts here, with my room.