Seasons of Ending

Three years ago I spent New Year's Eve in contemplation. It was one of the first times I embraced that it wasn't necessary to be happy happy joy joy in a group setting, and I was thinking about my grandmother.

She had been diagnosed with cancer, and no one expected her to live much longer. Months. We hadn't given up on her, but I still knew the loss would be coming, and I didn't know what to do with it or how to handle it. I loved my grandmother, but we never particularly got along. We tried, and we both ended up rubbing the other the wrong way, and after a while neither of us knew how to make amends or try again. It's not that we couldn't do things together at all, we just didn't know how to get to know each other deeper.

And that was a loss.

So on New Year's Eve, late at night, a friend showed a video of a song he loved. It's a good song, and I say now it's a good video. At the time, though, I couldn't watch it without aching and wanting for all the world to cry, tears streaming right there unashamedly and uncontested.

But I don't show "negative" emotions well. At the time it was a stretch for me to curl up on the oversized armchair, chin and arm draped low on the armrest, and ponder life while friends around me continued on unaffected. It was a challenge for me to go to the other room which was dark and empty, cradled by the gaming rocker, and let the pent up aches and emptiness of pending loss seep out my skin and trickle down my face in silence.

I knew I wouldn't be found. I knew my emotions wouldn't change the atmosphere. I knew I wouldn't be comforted.

In a way, I didn't want to be. Because sometimes when comfort is offered it's like a stopper to the raw feelings that desperately need poured out. I need space to ooze, even melt a little, and I don't like dripping on other people, so I close up the window in my wall around me, the window I sometimes open to let the inside air out. It's one-way and it's not a door. I can open it out, but no one can come in. Even with a passing, kind observer, I'm tempted to pull the curtain down so nothing inside can be even seen.

That New Year's Eve I embraced the season of ending that filled my life. I mourned. I stayed quiet. And I cried. I also rose, joined in partaking the sparkling juice, and cheerfully enough wished everyone a happy new year ahead. All the while knowing pain was coming my way.

This New Year's Eve I have realized I'm in another kind of season of endings. Since the past six or so months, I've said goodbyes and until-next-times with nearly everyone I know. I left one place, what had been my world, and came to visit another, finding ways to slowly integrate and learn the local happenings of life and make friendships. But I'm still in the season of ending. I'm still thinking of my home, still wondering if I could make this new place my home, still yearning to find my heart home.

This new year that is upon us will greet some of us like a new puppy, bubbling over with delight and readiness, some of us like a slow grave digger, with reminders of what was and will forever be changed, things that are forever beyond our reach now, and some of us like something inbetween.

This eve, I'm in another season of ending, and I don't feel like celebrating. I feel like pondering, sitting in that poofy armchair, and finding a safe place to cry if the tears will come.

But this time there is no party to seek solace from, no group of friends around when I'm ready to join the crowd again and celebrate.

This time I'm marking the change in the calendar with little more than I give any other day. And that is another part in my season of endings. The friendships aren't gone, but for now, the reach is a lot harder, the rooms a lot farther.

So long, 2013.

What I'm Into November 2013, or Things I'm Thankful For

I've been watching Leigh Kramer's What I'm Into posts, enjoying them, and wanting to participate. Now I'm finally going to do it!

An old friend acquaintance sent a message earlier today that got me thinking about the things I've done lately, and I realized quite a few things of note happened last month.

All month:

So, first off, in October I wrote a post about National Novel Writing Month and my intention to participate again. The goal of 50,000 words daunted me working full time and living in a new home, but the pattern of it quickly became a comfort. The set up of my word processor, music, and earbuds became a ritual; I was entering sacred space and I loved it. There were a few times I fell behind and wondered if I could catch up, but I allowed myself grace at the same time that I required words. It was a funny balance, but I learned about my own writing mechanics. I also pantsed the entire story to date, allowing more freedom for the silly and nonsensical, time travel you know and all that. I still write serious and need to work on my humor (funny is hard!), but the characters and events are better for my lack of a strict outline. On November 29th, I reached that longed for word count milestone. On November 30th I wrote some more because the story wasn't done and I had the itch to keep writing. And so I did, and so I shall.

In addition to writing, I indulged in as much Doctor Who as I could, catching up on all the series before the 50th anniversary episode, when my household had a party with Jammie Dodgers, Jelly Babies, popcorn, and more. I love that show, and the 50th anniversary episode did not disappoint.

After The Day of the Doctor, Peter Capaldi's eyebrows showed up in a game my brother and sister-in-law played on each other. I was the unintended victim a couple of times, and it was great. Eventually it escalated, and the 12th Doctor's eyes were vandaleyes'd. No pic of that, though, sorry.

Last month, I was also told that I am an empath. I hadn't realized such a thing was a real-life possibility and not just the stuff of superheroes and fiction, but it explains so much of my past and present, how I experience life and other people. I'm keeping my eyes open for more resources and information on this subject.

Firsts:

It's hard to believe it was such a short time ago now, but in November, on a beautiful, fresh Sunday afternoon, a friend took me to see the ocean, which I had never seen with my own eyes before. I knew I'd be going back and I already have once.

The last morning of November was spent on a yacht, traversing the harbor with the family. It was great to get out and do something with everyone, and the admission price was a present for Toys for Tots, which my niece was very excited about giving. Near the end of the trip, the boat went under the bridge pictured below. It's huge and amazing (it's actually one of my favorite places in the area--the view!). I lingered outside, taking in the vastness of the bridge, sky, water, and breeze. Also, no pictures, but I caught my first glimpse of a dolphin jumping out of the water!

Travel:

Midmonth, I went to Columbia and drank coffee. To clarify, I did not leave the country, or even the state. I headed to South Carolina's capitol city and watched a dear friend, a wonderful and inspiring woman, graduate from basic training. After the ceremony, I had the blessed time of enjoying an Olive Garden lunch and caramel macchiato with her and her family, some of my favorite people. It was so, so good to see them, and so hard to leave.

Reading:

I started reading Jesus Feminist (which I knew about primarily through my sister-in-law and Leigh Kramer, so thanks, ladies!), and it is amazing. I'd say my viewpoint on "women's roles" has changed even in the last couple of weeks, and for the better, in part due to this book's examination of how we live and what should be normal. I'm not through the book yet, but I don't expect it to take much longer.

It's also been a month since John Flanagan's book The Royal Ranger came out and I haven't read it yet! I pre-ordered, then decided to wait until December so I wouldn't be rushing through it (I anticipated bleed-over rush pace from writing so fast in November). Then I decided I should read one book at a time (I forget why, something about focus), and I started Jesus Feminist first. But this one is next (sorry, Jane Eyre) since I've been anticipating it for months.

Listening:

Like many, I have been introduced to Pentatonix's performance of The Little Drummer Boy, one of my favorite Christmas songs, and loved it. I'd heard their cover of Radioactive with Lindsey Stirling and liked it, but didn't know what I was listening to. Now I do and Pentatonix has a new fan. I love a sound that is full even without instruments.



Whew! It's been an odd, interesting, and typical month, jam packed with the ordinary and realizations, routine and special events. It's been even fuller than I'd realized. And I didn't even mention Thanksgiving, with my niece and brother racing on the Wii, or the fact that my list of "what I'm thankful for" was simple and I was too embarrassed to give one that was heartfelt. I do have a lot to be thankful for, and I'm learning how to express that, in the special and the ordinary both. This blog list is a good start.


So. What are you into?

Change of Seasons

Autumn is priming the pump in Charleston. The days still warm up, but there are several that start and stay cool. Evenings are lovely. The windows are open.

In Oklahoma, it seemed as if we had one or two false starts to fall. Two to four days would be cool, maybe even a touch chilly, but then the fifth day would warm right back up for another week or two before it cooled down again and eventually stayed cool. Someone told me the weather does that here, too, they guessed. But to me it seems more like a preparation than a false start, reset the timer, and line up at the starting blocks to try again.

And with the change of seasons in my new home, I'm changing too. Getting settled. Transitioning. Learning new patterns.

For instance, today I went to the local, annual Friends of the Library booksale, and I didn't buy everything that I thought I might want to read sometime. The "sometime" books I can store at the library until I want them. I didn't even buy the one I was tempted to just because I knew it's a great book (the 1998 edition of The Care and Keeping of You, in case you wanted to know, a good approach to preteen girls on what changes their bodies are going or will go through and how it's perfectly normal...if memory serves). I will admit, I had to have a little help recognizing that, no, I did not need to own a copy of that one.

But this boarder hoarder is learning. Yes, I have a bookshelf now, so yes, I have a place to put more books, but that doesn't mean I need or even want to fill the whole thing up to brimming. Honestly, I don't think I ever want my life to be that full of just stuff again. And so, I kept my purchases down to favorites I was looking for and favorites I didn't already have that I would like to have on hand.



Then I went to the craft store, and my delight in the autumn season came forth. So many decorations! So many options! Forty percent off!

But, I kept it simple. Not more than I could carry. And not more than I had immediate design and purpose for--I can go back for more of their tempting, fun supplies when I have specific plans. All I wanted was just enough to spruce things up. Just enough to have something nice without ever coming close to the overwhelming it's-too-much-to-do-so-I-won't-do-anything mark.

Abundant pleasure from a few things.

Yes, I think my season is changing too.

Living More

Since uprooting and traveling across half the country from my beloved Oklahoma to the unknown coast (which I still have not gone to see the ocean; I should get on that), starting my first ever paying full time job, and slowly unpacking the numerous boxes in my room...I feel like I do a lot more living.

I come home tired and so ready to be home. But when I think of all that's happened in the day, and then what I can still do after dinner (tea party with my niece, perhaps, or emptying several more boxes and tidying my fantastic room, or cleaning, or a Doctor Who marathon to name a few possibilities), the feeling is a not-quite-formed word of a good thing.

I think it could be... a little less defined by Other.

Obviously some days are more difficult, and sometimes I wonder why on earth I'm on the path I've chosen. At least those are good for reality checks. Yes, I am where I want to be. No, it's not perfect, but...

I'm becoming more myself.

That's what I needed.

I'm exploring. And that's something I've wanted to do for years and years, even before I could imagine having the determination and the guts to actually, positively, this is no longer in my imagination only step out. I'm exploring the world around me, including my new city. I'm exploring the friendships I have, and getting to know new people. I'm exploring who I am. And I believe that this will lead me toward exploring who God is.

But that is a step for another time. For now, this babe out of the womb just needs to know how far her fingers stretch.

I feel more actively involved in life. I don't entirely like being gone from the house for such a long stretch of the day, nor having limited time and energy to pursue my other interests and desires (sigh, writing fiction). But I do like trying on this purpose, the service I provide.

I meet a lot of people every day. People are different. Each one. They are Not Me. And I am Other Than Them. As it should be. And this is teaching me.

And I feel involved in life.

Isn't that a good thing?

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.

 

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.

Contemplation of Heart

Lately my tears have been those of joy, hope, and thrilling love rather than pain.
Prais-ed be God, for it is not of my strength but entirely of His gift.
This time last year the tears were those of weeping with overwhelming pain, loss, and despair.

I'm ready for the new year. I'm ready for the change coming. I'm grateful for the change that's continuing.
I used to fear change.
This has been entirely good. Not entirely easy. But entirely good.

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.

An Amusing Question

Quite possibly the funnest question I have been asked...ever...came this week from a little girl who I'm guessing is around two years old.

I was visiting with some friends who are closely related to this girl and we were out in her backyard, looking at the goats. (Sidenote: I should go to a petting zoo sometime soon. I wasn't ever big on actually petting the animals when I was little, timidity clogging my veins the way it does.) And this little blonde looks up at me and asks,

"Are you too big?"

If I were the type of person to belly laugh right away, that might have earned it. As it was, I smiled and chuckled to myself. What a question! Pointed, curious, and about a rather obvious physical trait--my height.

My answer? "Am I too big? No, I don't think so." I hope not. I haven't yet found any hole that I was too big to crawl through that I needed to squirm into. Sometimes I hit my head on low ceilings (or support beams). And I think it will take me a long time to remember to dodge the low-hung pull tabs for the ceiling fans when I visit my best friend. But too big? No, not really.

Sure, some people can be intimidated by my six feet of height. Some people think I am more confident and poised than I am because of it (...to which I would answer, "Ha!"). Some look up to me more than literally because I carry my frame moderately well. (I actually just read a passage of a book, such a fun series, in which a tall girl is admired by her almost-beau [they're a little slow] because she carries herself straight and graceful, never trying to shrink her height around others even if she is taller [and she's taller than he is].) And some just literally look up at me. Fair enough.

It was an honest question. And despite my uncertainties at times, the occasional desire to shrink and hide, and my perpetual tendency to slouch my shoulders (lazy muscles or short tendons, I'm not sure), I do enjoy my height (which, given my family's height and the height of most people I know--my family's tall; most people I know are average to short--I tend to think of myself as average, even though I'm considered tall for a woman). Overall, I'm just used to my height.

So, no, I'm not too big. For this Goldilocks, my height is juuust right.

 

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...

 

Needin' Some Beauty Sleep

That awkward moment when you're ready to join Inomniacs Anonymous.

This insomnia thing is getting weird. For the last...however long...I haven't slept enough. At first it was a bad habit during school, mismanaged homework and balancing life, but back then I still called midnight late; certainly 1am was late. Yet after graduation it seems 2am quickly became a regular thing. (And this is with knowing from experience that my body favors 9 hours of straight sleep--I feel great after that much sleep!)

I knew this wasn't intelligent, though it's a really hard habit to break, so I've been trying to get to bed earlier, and mostly failing at that, but even when I do manage a midnight or earlier lights-out, I'm still usually awake until 1 or 2am. Taking a long time to get to sleep isn't a new thing to me; I remember waiting for sleep to come for what seemed like forever over a decade ago. Of course, when I was ten and younger "forever" may have been less time then than it is now.

I thought I would be able to readjust my sleeping/waking clock after I was awake the entire night once last week. Of course, it would have helped if I'd been in bed before midnight the next night, but was I? Well, I tried to be. Alas.

I'm not sure this is exactly insomnia, though. I sleep pretty well in the morning, after the sun is up.

I keep joking that I just need to go to Hawai`i and I'll already be on the appropriate sleeping/waking schedule. (If only....)

My dad said I don't get enough exercise. I knew that, but could it be that simple to solve? Looks like I'll be hitting the indoor running track in the near future.

After I cried out to my brother "I'm an insomniac" on Facebook around 1am (after I had dimmed my lights early and got to bed early), he offered some suggestions. His basic idea was I don't have to sleep but I can rest. Huh. I tried what he said and it was surprising how the simple thought "I don't have to sleep" was actually freeing, mentally. It still took a while to get to sleep that night, but it became less frustrating that I wasn't asleep already. It wasn't an attainable goal, so I reached for one I could manage. And it helped, noticeably, for a couple or few nights even. Sadly though the benefits seem short lived (but not entirely, and I'm gonna keep tryin'!) One idea was focused muscle relaxation. I'm still not exactly sure what that means, but I tried it by tensing my entire body then relaxing it. I've tried it again, but I've been fairly stiff at night lately, so I haven't been successful. I wonder if some stretching before bed would be a good idea.

Now, if only I could get a massage every night before bed, ahhhhhh, that would be wonderful. I had my first ever massage by a professional last week, and even though it was brief, afterwards I was ready for some long-term relaxin'. (No, it didn't happen.)

A friend has suggested that I take melatonin before bed. I won't deny that I'd thought about it, but I'm also not sure I want to do that. I thought if I could lessen the stress I face in life (a good idea in general, don't you think?), sleep wouldn't be so elusive (at the right time of the day), and that would be better. But after another nearly sleepless night on Friday (for no apparent reason; the previous one had a reason), I'll be thinking about it again you can be sure. Now I just have to keep tyring to convince my body that bedtime is sometime before midnight but after seven in the evening (baaaaad time for me to take a nap! don't ask me how I know). I'm guessing it's a process.

I wonder if it would help if I got a dog or cat to cuddle with at night? Oh yes, the reasoning for a furry pet is building in my mind now. muahahaha....

Do you have the insomnia blues? What do you do to counter them?

 

There Are Times

There are times

when the phone rings late

and I hear the tears

before I know anything else

When all I know is a friend’s hurt

and with her I ache

a chance lost

a hope drowned

a truth buried

With her I cry

wishing somehow

to take the weight away

to stem the bleeding

to apply the balm

But my temper flares

when I hear how she was hurt

and I’m ready for war

like a mother bear

God help me

I need to remember

You are in control

You offer grace

to those who don’t deserve it

including me

And I look back at my friend

my sister for years

covered with fresh and dried tears

and inside I break

and with her I weep

The night drags dark

but together we somehow know

we somehow still hope

the night will end

a new dawn will shine

and we count the hours

until then.

Public Domain Image

 

Mr. Rogers Was My Neighbor

Growing up, I always liked this show. The world of Make-Believe was my favorite, but I got to where I could appreciate the other parts just about as much.

Now, it's all rolled up into this...awesomeness. New theme song for writing and life!

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