We are five days pre-Christmas and I have so much to DOOOOO! But. . .I am in the midst of a very bad flare up of my fibromyalgia. How annoying. It's Christmas. Doesn't my body know I need to send cards, buy gifts, bake cookies, go to parties, clean the house, and on and on?
This week end I've committed to rest. Sleep in, sit down, slow down, NOT stress, do as little as possible. Seriously? The week end before Christmas and my body is forcing me to rest!? Are you kidding me?
And yet, as I think about it, shouldn't that really be what we do at Christmas? We seem to have gotten so caught up in the busyness of Christmas; the "shoulds" of Christmas. I should do this and that. But Christmas should really be a time of reflection, of peace, of love, joy, family. It's hard to enjoy the season when I'm running frantically around trying to DO so much, instead of just BEING.
I've often said that my fibro is a gift. It's hard to think of utter exhaustion and chronic pain as a gift, and yet, it forces me to slow down.
So, it's the week end before Christmas. I've sent no cards. Baked no cookies. I'm relying on others to clean my house. But this only makes me stressed if I let it. Does a lack of cookies and cards mean that I'll enjoy my Christmas less? Only if I let it. My parents are coming in two days. I am focusing on the joy of family. My parents, my kids, my husband. . .all together just enjoying each other. We don't need cards and cookies and a perfectly clean floor to find joy and love in one another's company.
"For the joy of human love,
Brother, sister, parent, child.
Friends on earth and friends above.
For all gentle thoughts and mild.
Lord of all to Thee we raise,
This our song of grateful praise."
-For the Beauty of the Earth
I'm going to enjoy the simple gifts this year. Family and Faith and Food. Songs and Laughter and Gifts. Silence and Reflection and Love.
Merry Christmas to all!
Saturday, December 20, 2014
Saturday, October 25, 2014
The Perfect Proposal
I love Pinterest. I can't believe how many of my conversations start with, "Oh I saw this cool thing on Pinterest." I've used my share of Pinterest ideas for finding outfits to wear, decorating my house, crafts, costumes, and wedding ideas. And weddings is where I want to land today.
I'm not against Pinterest at all. Keep that in mind. I have a wedding board FULL of wedding ideas and dresses and a whole board devoted to Bling! But, I feel like maybe social media, Pinterest especially, gives girls unrealistic expectations of proposals, weddings, engagements and relationships.
I once had a "perfect" proposal. A dream, Tacori-inspired wedding ring. A big church wedding with a huge, poofy dress. But, not a dream relationship, by any stretch of the imagination. With all of the fun I have pinning expensive diamond rings, and designer dresses and watching Say Yes to the Dress, I realize that perfection can be illusion.
I love watching proposal videos on YouTube and Facebook and Pinterest. They always make me cry. But a lack of a "perfect" proposal doesn't mean a relationship is doomed. I love pinning over-the-top diamond rings, and believe me, I would NEVER turn one down. But, a $10,000 engagement ring is not necessarily a sign of true love.
What I'm saying to young women who are inundated with ideas for dresses and rings and proposals, oh my! is this: don't overlook Mr. Right, because he comes in a form you didn't expect.
It's possible that your perfect proposal could happen one night, late in bed. You are sobbing uncontrollably about something, who knows what. You're a girl; you're emotional. And in that moment, that sweet man lying there, holding you, decides, "Oh yes, I want to spend the rest of my life with this insane, crying woman." And he proposes right then and there. And you cry harder, because it's so silly and insane and so IMperfect and perfect at the same time.
Your Mr. Right could be a good, kind man who works as hard as he possibly can to help you make a home, but can't afford to go thousands of dollars in debt for a huge diamond, so he gives you a simple, pretty diamond wedding band. And you accept it with all your heart, because of the love behind it.
It could be that the perfect wedding, is not a grand, $30,000 affair, but a backyard bash with 20 of your closest friends and family gathered around you. Your wedding cake comes from the grocery store and your decorations are inspired from your wedding Pinterest board (cuz it wouldn't be complete if you didn't make amazing, Pinterest-worthy centerpieces). Your wedding dress came not from Bridals by Lori, but David's Bridal sale rack. Your photographer is an insanely talented friend. You feel more love than you've ever felt in your life, because your friends donated decorations, food and talent to your big day and your family travelled from all over the US to be there.
Don't mistake the trappings of a wedding and wedding preparation for a good relationship. A wedding lasts a few hours, your marriage should last a lifetime.
The Perfect Proposal just may not be what you expected. Perfect may involve YouTube and violins and a 3 karat Tiffany diamond, but don't think that if that doesn't happen, it's not perfect.
The Perfect Proposal depends on your perspective. And if you marry your best friend, then I can assure you, it's perfect.
I'm not against Pinterest at all. Keep that in mind. I have a wedding board FULL of wedding ideas and dresses and a whole board devoted to Bling! But, I feel like maybe social media, Pinterest especially, gives girls unrealistic expectations of proposals, weddings, engagements and relationships.
I once had a "perfect" proposal. A dream, Tacori-inspired wedding ring. A big church wedding with a huge, poofy dress. But, not a dream relationship, by any stretch of the imagination. With all of the fun I have pinning expensive diamond rings, and designer dresses and watching Say Yes to the Dress, I realize that perfection can be illusion.
I love watching proposal videos on YouTube and Facebook and Pinterest. They always make me cry. But a lack of a "perfect" proposal doesn't mean a relationship is doomed. I love pinning over-the-top diamond rings, and believe me, I would NEVER turn one down. But, a $10,000 engagement ring is not necessarily a sign of true love.
What I'm saying to young women who are inundated with ideas for dresses and rings and proposals, oh my! is this: don't overlook Mr. Right, because he comes in a form you didn't expect.
It's possible that your perfect proposal could happen one night, late in bed. You are sobbing uncontrollably about something, who knows what. You're a girl; you're emotional. And in that moment, that sweet man lying there, holding you, decides, "Oh yes, I want to spend the rest of my life with this insane, crying woman." And he proposes right then and there. And you cry harder, because it's so silly and insane and so IMperfect and perfect at the same time.
Your Mr. Right could be a good, kind man who works as hard as he possibly can to help you make a home, but can't afford to go thousands of dollars in debt for a huge diamond, so he gives you a simple, pretty diamond wedding band. And you accept it with all your heart, because of the love behind it.
It could be that the perfect wedding, is not a grand, $30,000 affair, but a backyard bash with 20 of your closest friends and family gathered around you. Your wedding cake comes from the grocery store and your decorations are inspired from your wedding Pinterest board (cuz it wouldn't be complete if you didn't make amazing, Pinterest-worthy centerpieces). Your wedding dress came not from Bridals by Lori, but David's Bridal sale rack. Your photographer is an insanely talented friend. You feel more love than you've ever felt in your life, because your friends donated decorations, food and talent to your big day and your family travelled from all over the US to be there.
Don't mistake the trappings of a wedding and wedding preparation for a good relationship. A wedding lasts a few hours, your marriage should last a lifetime.
The Perfect Proposal just may not be what you expected. Perfect may involve YouTube and violins and a 3 karat Tiffany diamond, but don't think that if that doesn't happen, it's not perfect.
The Perfect Proposal depends on your perspective. And if you marry your best friend, then I can assure you, it's perfect.
Wednesday, August 27, 2014
Kindness Matters!
I've had a jumble of thoughts whirling around in my head for the past few weeks, and recently I realized they all had one thing in common. My heart hurts from the lack of kindness I see in the world, but mostly within the Christian community. Those of us who are to be "like Jesus" seem to be less and less like Him.
My Christian faith requires me to be kind to "the least of these", "my neighbor", and "my enemies." So really, basically, anyone. As I've matured in my faith, this is what I think that looks like:
I am kind and welcoming to the homeless, the immigrant, the disenfranchised.
I work to help the poor in whatever way I can; yes, with my taxes, my time, my money.
I support equal, basic human rights to those who don't have them: women, the gay community, other races, the unborn.
I raise my voice against injustice and abuse; wherever it shows up. In the home. In the city. In my state. In the US. In the world.
When my enemy is rude and arrogant and downright mean, I respond with kindness.
If someone has a different point of view, belief, ideology, political view, I listen, I may disagree, but I do so with kindness.
I feel like so much of what is coming out of the mouths of church leaders and Christians is anything BUT kind.
Kindness means I serve the needs of others. I look out for others.
I DON'T:
Judge the welfare mom
Condemn and rail against the LGBT community.
Assert my white privilege when I am certainly not part of a minority and have NO clue what they are going through.
Shun those who don't agree with me.
Even if someone is wrong, EVEN IF, as my dad said, "There is never a reason to not be kind."
Kindness wins over the hardest hearts.
Kindness builds bridges.
When I was going through my divorce my dad boiled it down to kindness. He asked my ex-husband, "Can you just go home and be kind to her?"
"No," he replied. "I don't know how to do that."
Kindness would have swayed me. Kindness would have made a difference. Kindness DOES make a difference.
I'm blessed to be married to a kind man. I remember when we were dating, people who had known him way longer than I had, kept saying, "He's the kindest man I know." My heart melted under his kindness and I continue to be blessed by it.
I have friends who are beyond kind. They know my story. My best. My worst. And they were kind. They loved me in my mess and continue to love me. They don't force their agenda on me, but support me where I am.
Kindness starts at home. When my kids are grouchy. When my husband is grouchy. When I am grouchy! I need to respond kindly.
When a client is rude, I respond in kindness.
When a car cuts me off, I am kind (well, I'm working on that one)
When a discussion gets volatile, I diffuse the bomb with kindness.
And when people are unkind, I stand up for those who can't.
We hear it often: Be kind, you never know what battle someone is fighting.
My Christian faith requires me to be kind to "the least of these", "my neighbor", and "my enemies." So really, basically, anyone. As I've matured in my faith, this is what I think that looks like:
I am kind and welcoming to the homeless, the immigrant, the disenfranchised.
I work to help the poor in whatever way I can; yes, with my taxes, my time, my money.
I support equal, basic human rights to those who don't have them: women, the gay community, other races, the unborn.
I raise my voice against injustice and abuse; wherever it shows up. In the home. In the city. In my state. In the US. In the world.
When my enemy is rude and arrogant and downright mean, I respond with kindness.
If someone has a different point of view, belief, ideology, political view, I listen, I may disagree, but I do so with kindness.
I feel like so much of what is coming out of the mouths of church leaders and Christians is anything BUT kind.
Kindness means I serve the needs of others. I look out for others.
I DON'T:
Judge the welfare mom
Condemn and rail against the LGBT community.
Assert my white privilege when I am certainly not part of a minority and have NO clue what they are going through.
Shun those who don't agree with me.
Even if someone is wrong, EVEN IF, as my dad said, "There is never a reason to not be kind."
Kindness wins over the hardest hearts.
Kindness builds bridges.
When I was going through my divorce my dad boiled it down to kindness. He asked my ex-husband, "Can you just go home and be kind to her?"
"No," he replied. "I don't know how to do that."
Kindness would have swayed me. Kindness would have made a difference. Kindness DOES make a difference.
I'm blessed to be married to a kind man. I remember when we were dating, people who had known him way longer than I had, kept saying, "He's the kindest man I know." My heart melted under his kindness and I continue to be blessed by it.
I have friends who are beyond kind. They know my story. My best. My worst. And they were kind. They loved me in my mess and continue to love me. They don't force their agenda on me, but support me where I am.
Kindness starts at home. When my kids are grouchy. When my husband is grouchy. When I am grouchy! I need to respond kindly.
When a client is rude, I respond in kindness.
When a car cuts me off, I am kind (well, I'm working on that one)
When a discussion gets volatile, I diffuse the bomb with kindness.
And when people are unkind, I stand up for those who can't.
We hear it often: Be kind, you never know what battle someone is fighting.
Saturday, August 2, 2014
Soar
In a few weeks, my life changes forever. I read a lot of blogs and Mommy articles on having babies and toddlers and even a few on teenagers. But, regarding the uncharted waters of emptying the nest, I find little advice or discussion.
Over 18 years ago, I became a mom. It's really hard to believe it's gone so fast. But, when I was just 22 years old, a baby still myself, I gave birth to my first born on an unseasonably warm Minnesota early spring day. I had always wanted a little girl and was just over the moon when the doctor said those words in the delivery room, "It's a girl!" I hardly knew what I was doing when I brought Laura Jane home, but we muddled through.
I see 18 years of history in snapshots in my memory.
The first time I cuddled up with her in the hospital. I curled around my new baby girl, and holding her was the most amazing feeling ever.
The night she threw up her entire meal down the back of my nightgown. We both had a bath, and sat down to nurse again and she dumped the entire meal down the FRONT of my nightgown.
A little, brown-eyed munchkin running around and around and around in circles in the kitchen, laughing maniacally and hysterically. Just for the sheer joy of running.
A three-year old with blond pigtails holding her baby brother, kissing him over and over and telling him he was, "Kissable, kissable, kissable."
The same three-year old pushing Nate in the baby swing, yelling, "You get to go, boy!" while Nate belly laughed.
The pre-schooler who learned a new word at school and came home and told Nate, "You're a little shit."
The sweet kindergartener who fell asleep every afternoon at school and on the long bus ride home.
The same, sweet 6 year old who dragged a chair to the washer and dryer to do all the laundry, because her Mommy was so sick with her next little brother.
The first and second grader who drove me up the wall when we did school together. Oh my Lord, karma has struck and given me a child as stubborn as I am. Both of us, in our separate rooms crying.
The school girl, enjoying life, friends, teachers at her new private school.
The mature-for-her-age request to homeschool again in 6th grade, because she was as sick of girly drama as her mama.
The dedicated way this new teenager plowed through English, Algebra, Spanish, Literature, and graduated from her home study program a year early.
The fearless skier, hurtling down hills, dodging between gates, making Mom so proud and terrified to watch her race, all at the same time. And that skier who hit a patch of ice at the bottom of a course and plowed into a table full of race bibs.
The smart, brave girl who moved to Georgia and weathered the toughest time a child can; the unraveling of her parents' marriage.
Christmases, birthdays, croup, surgery, shopping, laughing, fighting, crying, hugging, snuggling.
Laura leaves for college in less than three weeks. And from that moment on, she's never going to be living in our homes again. She can't pop round the corner to my house after work, or when she needs to talk. Laura will, from this moment on, be in her own life, starting her own story. She will always be a guest, a very welcome guest, a guest who can stay as long as she likes, but a guest in my home, nevertheless.
I hardly know what to do with this kind of a transition. I feel like I've finished a job well done, and yet left so much Undone and Unsaid. Did I teach her everything she needed to know? Was I a good role model? Will she be ok?
Ultimately I have to trust, that like my mom before me, I did the very best I could, with what I had, and that is enough. I am enough. She is enough. I was not the perfect mom, but I was the perfect mom for her. She was not the perfect daughter, but she was the perfect daughter for me.
Laura amazes me everyday with her bravery, her intelligence, her kindness, her maturity, her servant heart. The woman she is as she spreads her wings and flies, I think is more in spite of me, than because of me. I did the best I could to love this precious girl, and God gave the grace for where I was lacking.
How can a mother be so happy and so sad at the same time? So excited and so terrified? So full of joy and so full of pain?
A part of me wants to hang on and never let go, but the "good mom" part of me says, "Spread your wings and fly. You are so beautiful and I am so proud of you. Soar."
Over 18 years ago, I became a mom. It's really hard to believe it's gone so fast. But, when I was just 22 years old, a baby still myself, I gave birth to my first born on an unseasonably warm Minnesota early spring day. I had always wanted a little girl and was just over the moon when the doctor said those words in the delivery room, "It's a girl!" I hardly knew what I was doing when I brought Laura Jane home, but we muddled through.
I see 18 years of history in snapshots in my memory.
The first time I cuddled up with her in the hospital. I curled around my new baby girl, and holding her was the most amazing feeling ever.
The night she threw up her entire meal down the back of my nightgown. We both had a bath, and sat down to nurse again and she dumped the entire meal down the FRONT of my nightgown.
A little, brown-eyed munchkin running around and around and around in circles in the kitchen, laughing maniacally and hysterically. Just for the sheer joy of running.
A three-year old with blond pigtails holding her baby brother, kissing him over and over and telling him he was, "Kissable, kissable, kissable."
The same three-year old pushing Nate in the baby swing, yelling, "You get to go, boy!" while Nate belly laughed.
The pre-schooler who learned a new word at school and came home and told Nate, "You're a little shit."
The sweet kindergartener who fell asleep every afternoon at school and on the long bus ride home.
The same, sweet 6 year old who dragged a chair to the washer and dryer to do all the laundry, because her Mommy was so sick with her next little brother.
The first and second grader who drove me up the wall when we did school together. Oh my Lord, karma has struck and given me a child as stubborn as I am. Both of us, in our separate rooms crying.
The school girl, enjoying life, friends, teachers at her new private school.
The mature-for-her-age request to homeschool again in 6th grade, because she was as sick of girly drama as her mama.
The dedicated way this new teenager plowed through English, Algebra, Spanish, Literature, and graduated from her home study program a year early.
The fearless skier, hurtling down hills, dodging between gates, making Mom so proud and terrified to watch her race, all at the same time. And that skier who hit a patch of ice at the bottom of a course and plowed into a table full of race bibs.
The smart, brave girl who moved to Georgia and weathered the toughest time a child can; the unraveling of her parents' marriage.
Christmases, birthdays, croup, surgery, shopping, laughing, fighting, crying, hugging, snuggling.
Laura leaves for college in less than three weeks. And from that moment on, she's never going to be living in our homes again. She can't pop round the corner to my house after work, or when she needs to talk. Laura will, from this moment on, be in her own life, starting her own story. She will always be a guest, a very welcome guest, a guest who can stay as long as she likes, but a guest in my home, nevertheless.
I hardly know what to do with this kind of a transition. I feel like I've finished a job well done, and yet left so much Undone and Unsaid. Did I teach her everything she needed to know? Was I a good role model? Will she be ok?
Ultimately I have to trust, that like my mom before me, I did the very best I could, with what I had, and that is enough. I am enough. She is enough. I was not the perfect mom, but I was the perfect mom for her. She was not the perfect daughter, but she was the perfect daughter for me.
Laura amazes me everyday with her bravery, her intelligence, her kindness, her maturity, her servant heart. The woman she is as she spreads her wings and flies, I think is more in spite of me, than because of me. I did the best I could to love this precious girl, and God gave the grace for where I was lacking.
How can a mother be so happy and so sad at the same time? So excited and so terrified? So full of joy and so full of pain?
A part of me wants to hang on and never let go, but the "good mom" part of me says, "Spread your wings and fly. You are so beautiful and I am so proud of you. Soar."
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