tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8224967416607021712024-03-13T12:21:38.567-07:00Seasons and StoriesJennifer Owenshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04607456428606933279noreply@blogger.comBlogger668125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-822496741660702171.post-38971157213870857002022-03-31T13:11:00.000-07:002022-03-31T13:11:12.891-07:00What I Need....<div>My husband has been having some serious issues with his heart the last few weeks. He goes in for a hearth cath procedure tomorrow so the doctors can determine what exactly is wrong. The last few weeks he has been pale and gray. He's had no energy. He hasn't slept well. He's had chest pains, bradycardic episodes, dizziness and shortness of breath. He was taken by ambulance to the hospital one morning because he thought he was having a heart attack. He wakes up feeling sick every morning. He can't handle much activity. We went fishing for his birthday and walking to the pier and back to the car was about all he could handle. </div><div><br /></div><div>He's not himself. I'm beside myself. </div><div><br /></div><div>At the moment, I'm stoic and numb and in survivor mode where I get shit done and handle business because there's no time for me to have a breakdown right now. </div><div><br /></div><div>People keep asking me what I need, and it's a hard question to respond to because I know exactly what I need, but they aren't things I can ask of anyone. Unless someone dumped a load of cash in my driveway, I wouldn't get 80% of the things on this list that I need. So what do we do when we know what we need but there's no way of getting it?</div><div><br /></div><div>I haven't found the answer to that question. In the meantime, I've got my big girl panties pulled up and I'm trudging through one difficulty after another because life is a big shit-show. </div><div><br /></div><div>What I need is rest.</div><div><br /></div>What I need is to catch a fucking break.<div><br /></div><div>What I need is for my husband to be okay and make it through all of this terrifying cardiovascular crap and feel healthy and normal again.<br /><div><br /></div><div>What I need is a friend. A real life one that shows up and loves me in spite of my flaws and inconsistencies and knows that life is a big fat mess, just like me. And one that doesn't walk away - no matter what.</div><div><br /></div><div>What I need is for life to stop costing so much money.</div><div><br /></div><div>What I need is for someone to fill my pantry and my fridge with all of the food so I don't have to think about groceries or spending money on groceries. And if someone wanted to come and cook all the food for my entire giant family, that would be pretty great too.</div><div><br /></div><div>What I need is for someone to clean and organize my entire house, because I am too exhausted and overwhelmed and my house feels like chaos which leaves me with no real place to retreat to.</div><div><br /></div><div>What I need is just a moment to fall apart. Completely.</div><div><br /></div><div>What I need is for someone to mow my yard and make it look pretty so I don't get ugly letters from the HOA.</div><div><br /></div><div>What I need is for someone to come do all of the laundry in my house and then fold it, put it away and hang it up.</div><div><br /></div><div>What I need is a sleep study and a mammogram and a trip to the gyno and the dentist and all of the things I need to do to take care of my own damn body.</div><div><br /></div><div>What I need is more therapy.</div><div><br /></div><div>What I need is for people to stop telling me to hang in there. </div><div><br /></div><div>What I need is for people to stop telling me that God is preparing me for something or He's at work making me more like Christ. Just no. Stop it. I get it and I don't necessarily disagree. BUT STOP TELLING ME THIS. Like, seriously.</div><div><br /></div><div>What I need is someone to take all of our kids this weekend so I can recover from this week's emotional rollercoaster.</div><div><br /></div><div>What I need is for something - anything - to go right.</div><div><br /></div><div>What I need is money. I'm missing work. My husband is missing work. We have less money coming in and more going out. Don't even get me started on medical bills. I couldn't bring myself to even open the mail yesterday as the stack of mounting bills was an invitation to a sob fest I wasn't up for.</div><div><br /></div><div>What I need are new shoes. New bras. New clothing. A new pillow for my bed. I haven't bought myself anything from anywhere because everyone else comes first.</div><div><br /></div><div>What I need is a very long vacation. Preferably at the beach.</div><div><br /></div><div>What I need is a pedicure and a massage and all of the pampering so I can feel some physical relief and comfort.</div><div><br /></div><div>What I need is Jesus - the real, physical, flesh and blood Jesus - to come to my house and hold me while I cry until I don't have any tears left. I need Him to look at me with how I imagine His understanding Jesus eyes to be, and tell me that He still loves me and all of this neverending hardship isn't a punishment for my sins because that's what everything feels like.</div></div><div><br /></div>Jennifer Owenshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04607456428606933279noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-822496741660702171.post-2293711719363039082022-02-22T09:59:00.000-08:002022-02-22T09:59:24.637-08:00Old dogs, new tricks<p>College didn't work out for me. Is it terrible to say that I didn't like school? Don't get me wrong - I was all about making 3:00am Cool Ranch Dorito runs and wearing pajamas to music theory first thing in the morning. I was very into my friends, hot guys and stupid shenanigans, but the school part - meh. Not so much. It's not that I don't like learning - I simply prefer to learn in more non-traditional ways. While I may have my <b><i>Masters in Life</i></b> degree from <b><i>The School of Hard Knocks</i></b>, pursuing education after my attempt at going to college was never on my list of things to do. </p><p>About a year after I left college, I worked as a Sonic carhop. This was back in the glory days when we made regular minimum wage and everyone tipped the carhops, and when we could literally eat or drink anything we wanted while on shift. My lunch every single day consisted of two chicken strips on a hamburger bun with cheese and ranch dressing and a small side of tater tots that I dipped in their barbecue sauce. I have quite the sophisticated palate. </p><p>I worked there until I had enough cash saved up to buy my first on-my-own car which was a teal green 1994 Chevy Beretta that I affectionately named Buttercup after the green PowerPuff girl who was known for being a little mean and feisty. My first real grown up job was as a secretary for the sweetest old man named Ron. My dad knew him from the HVAC business and knew he had a need for someone in his office to answer phones and do administrative work. I'll never forget how important and adult I felt the first day I drove up to my very first office job in my black slacks and silky work blouse holding my to-go mug of coffee. I was bright eyed, bushy tailed and 20 years old when I entered the work force.</p><p>His office is where I got my start in bookkeeping. While I started out as a secretary, I ended up teaching myself how to use Quickbooks and eventually started taking things off of the bookkeeper's plate. When she had to leave, I was primed and ready to take the position and managed the whole tiny office all by myself. Over the years, I've worked for different companies, primarily small businesses, in mostly full charge bookkeeping positions. I've mostly enjoyed my work which seems strange to say. While I have this very outgoing and bubbly personality, I like to stay busy and keep my head down at work and I love that as a bookkeeper, I do the same thing every month over and over again. It might sound boring to some, but I've appreciated the predictability of my job as everything outside of my job is anything but predictable. I've been doing this for twenty years now which is a pretty damn long time.</p><p>At the end of 2021, which was in all actuality one hundred and ten times more horrible than 2020, I decided that it was time for a change. I want to do something more fulfilling with my work. Now, I love my current job and my boss and co-workers. The place I work now is the best, but I'm also burnt out and I want to do something new. Since December, I've been researching and reading about different writing opportunities on the internet: copy writing, content writing, ghost writing, articles and blog posts. After talking with a couple of professional writers and checking out dozens of hilarious and amazing copy writers on the internet, I decided this is something I could see myself doing and being good at.</p><p>It seems a bit foolish to try something new at my age though. Isn't it true what they say? "You can't teach an old dog new tricks." Pursuing an entirely different career in this current world climate and economy - I've had my own doubts, especially with my lack of fancy degrees, about my ability to do this. And at the same time, I feel like I'm right where I belong and I would be more foolish not to try.</p><p>I have a plan, <a href="http://www.jennowens.net" target="_blank">a brightly colored website</a>, a supportive boss (because I'll be writing for him too) and a pocket full of small business owners I'm slowly reaching out to. I've been setting things in motion for weeks now and honestly, it's kind of weird to have a goal and then doing things to achieve this goal. I've never been one to dream lofty dreams and it's only been since my late 30's that I was able to start imagining a different life for myself. With 41 quickly approaching, I decided it was time to follow my greatest passion and I've been doing just that. I sent off my first application, portfolio and cover letter this morning to work with an organization that other companies use for all of their writing needs. Now, I'm fully prepared for a full on rejection, because who the heck am I to land anything on the first try? But, I felt pretty damn accomplished when I sent off an application for something I've been dreaming of and working on.</p><p>Who says you can't teach an old dog new tricks? I'm about to show the world that you absolutely can.</p>Jennifer Owenshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04607456428606933279noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-822496741660702171.post-80567502791131052222022-02-21T14:33:00.002-08:002022-02-21T14:33:30.479-08:00Splits: Church and Marriage<div><i><span style="font-size: x-small;">*Okay, so - I had planned on continuing my "Faith, Church and MORE nonsense" post, but this came out instead and I'm rolling with it.*</span></i></div><div><br /></div><div>The great unraveling in our marriage gained speed in 2015 when our church went through a major split. Until that point, we had the sweetest community of friends we called <i>framily</i> (Sprint totally stole that from me by the way). We were in ministry together, had barbecues, girls nights, accountability groups, Bible studies and we would always come together if anyone was in need, donating of our time and ourselves to love on our brothers and sisters. I remember how good it felt to belong somewhere especially when I didn't feel that way in my own marriage. </div><div><br /></div><div>For the churchy folks reading this, the split was caused by usual church politics garbage where deacons felt like the elders and pastor weren't being leadery enough or preaching the right/relevant things. For the non-churchy folks, some people threw a fit and decided they didn't like this place anymore and used Scripture and prayer as a way of making themselves feel better about deserting the church to go to a "better" one. Many conversations were had about church problems that we were never apart of, so we were blindsided when we heard friends were literally just up and leaving. We felt led to stay while our huge group of friends at this church felt differently and moved on. As a result, all of the friendships that were made at this church started to fizzle out and the people that we once shared countless meals and intimate details of our lives with, had basically vanished in a matter of weeks. </div><div><br /></div><div>Do you know how hard it is to explain a church split to a six year old? All Tommy knew was that he didn't get to see his friends anymore and he was sad and didn't understand what had happened. It broke. My. Heart.</div><div><br /></div><div>It was devastating to me. This hurt and loss caused a major rift in my relationship with God, and without the distraction of friendships and things to do, all that felt broken with us as a couple seemed more tangible somehow. I lived with this ache in my throat, like I could fall apart at any moment in despair. I was incredibly lonely and having a large group of friends made me feel less alone. I didn't realize how much of a crutch my friends were for sustaining our marriage as long as it did. </div><div><br /></div><div>As it would turn out, we ended up leaving this church about a year later after I had become "too noisy." I was being much too vocal for a woman in the church, as women are supposed to be restricted only to children's ministry and other women's things, to sit and be quiet and look pretty and to absolutely not have any kind of voice of influence with the serious and spiritual men. I still have the email from the elder who when repsonding to my thoughts and concerns about the youth group and the teens I had worked with for years, told me that things were simply going to be <i>his</i> way. I was to remember that he was an elder and was speaking on authority of the Pastor and that as a woman and church member, I had to submit to him and his decisions. <b>So I said no.</b> I actually didn't have to submit to this man in any way. So, I waved good riddance and sobbed the entire way home on our last Sunday there. I deserted a couple dozen teenagers after everyone else had left them the year before and I felt like the worst person ever. It was awful. It made me want to be done with church entirely. </div><div><br /></div><div>Fast forward another year and a half, the same people who disappeared in the church split, were the exact same people who crawled out of the woodwork to rebuke me for wanting to divorce my husband. Mind you, I hadn't seen or spoken to these people IN A VERY LONG TIME. They had deserted us when everything was falling apart. At the time I was very angry and I told most of them in ugly, angry ways to basically leave me the hell alone and work on their own damn marriages since they had it all figured out. Not my finest hour, but I was very not okay and I pushed everyone else who gave an actual sincere damn away from me because I wanted to feel something other than sad and miserable. I was convinced that mirrors and truth-tellers would keep me in my marital misery. </div><div><br /></div><div><div>It broke me to leave there and it ended up breaking us too. Without the community of people we had grown accustomed to doing life with, there was little left for me to hang on to. I had tried to be as godly as possible and throw myself into every Bible and church activity I could be a part of hoping that I just needed a spiritual kick in the pants to keep me committed to my marriage. The things that usually worked for me didn't work. It took us ages to find another church to call home, and even then, I felt cautious and weary to get involved with anything outside of Sunday morning service. When our marriage ended, there were only a few people that knew or noticed. Our Bible study group frantically tried to keep us together but then ultimately wrote me off because I had no interest in anything other than getting a divorce. Everyone seemed shocked that I wasn't willing to "let him work on some things," and I wasn't "giving him a chance." All I have to say to people like that is: SHUSH YOUR MOUTH. You don't know what you don't know. </div><div><br /></div><div><b>Sidebar:</b> <i>FYI, people going through divorces aren't okay. Realize you don't know the whole story and offer them some unconditional support and encouragement. Regardless of the circumstances, what God says in Scripture about how He hates divorce, or your personal convictions - there is so much going on that you cannot, will not and don't need to understand or know about. Just love people without judgement. And if you can't, then SAY NOTHING and go about your business. </i></div><div><br /></div><div>I went about everything all wrong when it came to my divorce and social media. Shortly after I had filed, I met Travis and we went public with our relationship before my divorce was final. Again, not my finest hour or wisest choice, but there's no going back and undoing what I did. Meeting Travis though was extraordinary and I cannot convey in any amount of words how good it felt to be HAPPY. </div><div><br /></div><div>Was it so wrong to want to be with someone new and feel happy after a very long time of not knowing happiness in a relationship? If you ask a churchy person, their answer would be a loud and very holy-sounding, YES. That is wrong. And for good measure, this statement would also be added: <i>"God doesn't care about your happiness Jennifer. He only cares about your holiness."</i> I felt like I had to make a choice between God and being free from a life-less and sad marriage. So I chose freedom.</div><div><br /></div><div>What I didn't realize then, was that I never had to choose.</div></div>Jennifer Owenshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04607456428606933279noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-822496741660702171.post-18128090687138282742022-02-08T08:41:00.003-08:002022-02-08T08:47:10.914-08:00Faith, church and nonsense<p>I grew up in the church - actually and literally grew up there. My Grandfather was the Pastor of the church I went to as a girl so we would be there on Sunday mornings for church service, Wednesday nights for prayer and Friday nights for Bible study. My dad was a deacon and led worship with his guitar with music from those old 80's <a href="https://megabookshelf.com/maranatha-music-praise-chorus-book/?sku=4A759C5C997E16C102377&gclid=Cj0KCQiAxoiQBhCRARIsAPsvo-xBpRG1s1_8wzeDCeJRZPf1qzhaOo_VMZADcuzY6L2nOUrx-Gz9UWwaAr9lEALw_wcB">Maranatha praise song books</a>. My very own aunt and uncle were real-life missionaries and I always thought I was especially Christian cool because not many other kids I knew had actual missionaries in their families. My mom sang "special music" almost every Sunday, her voice as powerful as the great <a href="https://www.sandipatty.com/">Sandi Patti</a>. My Sunday school teacher Alice taught Bible stories with paper figures on felt boards. We always had to memorize a verse every week and recite them first thing Sunday morning for a gold star. My daddy read me a story every night out of <a href="https://shop.davidccook.org/products/the-picture-bible-action-bible">The Big Storybook Picture Bibl</a>e and Grammy made all of my Sunday dresses in precious patterned fabrics where there was always a <a href="https://www.ebay.com/itm/331766383013">white collar and a bow</a>.</p><p>When I was in middle school, my Grandfather took a Pastoral position in a rural country town and we found a new non-denominational church to attend. The church building was made of white stone and nestled in dozens of huge oak trees that created a canopy to walk under with dark green ivy peeking over all of the sidewalks between the different buildings on campus. I grew up with Christian friends and my closest friends were always from youth group and Sunday school. To this very day, I am still friends with a guy I've known since the 7th grade and somehow we've always stayed friends because <i>"<a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=tF0UPv20kUA">Friends are Friends Foreve</a>r."</i> <span style="font-size: x-small;">(If you know, you know.)</span> I sported my <a href="https://www.walmart.com/ip/Adjustable-W-W-J-D-Bracelets-12-per-pkg/39932898">WWJD bracelet</a> and Christian tees that were supposed to communicate to the world, <i>I'm a really good Christian</i>. I have several friends on social media that I went to church with in middle and high school, with memories of playing Barbarian Women at youth group, moshing to <a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=kbB0QrBIs9k">Jesus Freak</a> by DC Talk, scavenger hunts, car washes and spaghetti fundraisers where we served meals and hoped people would donate money to go on a "service" beach trip which was actually a beach trip where on a Saturday afternoon, we washed cars for free in parking lot except for a couple of the bad kids who snuck off to make out and buy sno-cones. Youth group was a whole thing that looked like teenagers learning about God, but in reality it was all about who was crushing on who and who was wearing what, strange, hilarious games, Christian rock music and junk food. Tell me I'm not wrong.</p><p>Everything made sense then. Even God. Rules felt clear. Doctrine was black and white. A woman's "place" in the church was understood and rarely challenged. There was always a tasteful balance of hymns and modern worship songs to satisfy the old folks steeped in tradition. Kids obeyed their parents and families all lived in clean suburban neighborhoods where they hosted barbecues and Bible studies and Fellowship Feasts and pre-marital counseling. You didn't associate much with anyone you didn't see outside of Sunday mornings. Those people were politely and nicely looked down on because they obviously weren't serious about their faith. That was never spoken out loud, but it was clearly seen and understood, even by my adolescent self.</p><p>I always got excited when I met another girl who didn't fit the churchy box in the neat and tidy ways that were acceptable. I felt more connected to someone who also liked things that weren't necessarily approved of in Christian circles like <i>Beverly Hills 90210</i>, secular music and collecting Troll dolls because they were cute (not because they represented some kind of evil or witchcraft and yes I was told this). Once I made a friend named Molly who was the coolest chick I'd ever known. She loved the Beatles and had all of these random things plastered to her bedroom wall - magazine clippsings, art, movie stubs, restaurant napkins, deflated mylar balloons. I ended up modeling my own bedroom just like her because I wanted to be Molly-awesome. She was the coolest and she also said shit sometimes and I loved how she seemed to not care that I heard and she didn't act embarassed that she had used <b>foul language</b> in front of me. She had opinions and vocalized them. And sometimes, SHE TALKED BACK to her dad. In front of me. The girl was an enigma.</p><p>At nearly every retreat, camp and conference I attended, I would "recommit" my life to God. I was mostly good and good at making all of the goodly good choices. I learned I had to cover up my boobs, not wear anything too short that highlighted my butt, and keep my purity intact until my wedding night. Pornography was presented as a man's struggle and was greatly frowned upon, however, <i>"girls didn't have to worry about that, because porn is a guy thing."</i> Women were expected to submit to their husbands no matter what and I always wondered how that was okay, when one boy always came to church with bruises and black eyes because his father physically abused him. I checked my boxes and knew all of the phrases, Scriptures to quote and all of the perfect spiritual answers to give at Bible Study.</p><p>Problems were always and only solved with prayer. We would lay hands on someone sick or hurting, and for major illnesses, church pastorswould anoint others with oil. Anyone who went through any kind of trial and hardship were told things like - <i>God has a plan! God won't give you more than you can handle! Stay strong in the Lord and you will get through this!</i> There was always a Scripture to quote that was supposed to uplift and encourage one another and I often wondered why things felt the opposite of what they were saying. <i>God has a plan - but literally, what the hell? I definitely feel like I have more than I can handle on my plate right now. If I don't stay strong in the Lord, will He leave me and I'll be left to figure this out on my own? Is He even here helping me?</i> Others words of encouragement ended up making me feel like faith was so much work because I had to remember to read my Bible and pray every day, not to be anxious or worry about anything, go to church every time there was anything to be there for, maintain my purity, dress appropriately and always be as good as possible. </p><p>A specific and well defined worldview was expected of all Christians. All of us were supposed to be conservative republicans, vote pro-life and view all non-heterosexuals as an abomination. We could go to church and fellowship with people of other races, but we white Christian folks better only marry other white Christian folks. (I found this out in my early 20's when I had shown interest in an african-american man). You were supposed to always tithe 10% of your income to the church and it was rather embarassing if you had nothing to put in the plate that was passed around. The Bible said to care for the poor, the widow and the orphan - and churches did that, as long as it was with the right organization that had bylaws and mission statements that aligned with theirs. It had to fit neatly into the church budget and didn't cost them too much of course.</p><p>Everything was understandable and if you didn't understand it, you simply needed to study your Bible more. There was an underlying theology that while we have been saved by grace and salvation is a free gift from God, we absolutely had to maintain said salvation so we always appeared as the good, holy and fruit-bearing Christians we said we were. I lived most of my life believing that what I was doing wasn't enough and maybe I sinned so much because I wasn't ever really saved like I thought I was. I asked God to save me a thousand different times just in case it didn't take the last time I asked.</p><p>All of this was etched into my DNA from the moment I came into this world. I didn't question any of it because it all made sense and everything I heard was from my Grandfather-Pastor, Christian parents, church members, Sunday school teachers and Bible study leaders and obviously they were right about everything. </p><p>All of this worked for me though. </p><p>Until it didn't.</p><p style="text-align: right;"><span style="font-size: x-small;">(To be continued...)</span></p>Jennifer Owenshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04607456428606933279noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-822496741660702171.post-82229497738417573972022-02-01T11:46:00.002-08:002022-02-01T11:46:30.232-08:00around the tableIt's true what they say: "You don't know what you've got 'til it's gone." This can be true for many things, but most recently, this has especially been accurate in regards to our dining room table and not having one.<div><br /></div><div>Last September, our previous landlord decided to put the house on the market to take advantage of sky-rocketing home sales and we found ourselves needing to find a new place to live within 45 days. All of that was a monumental headache that I don't care to revisit, but the story has a good ending considering we found a bigger, better, newer home for only $45 more a month than we had been paying. God paved the way to make it all happen for us, we secured the house and moved in last October. However, since the move we've been dining room table-less as we scrapped the set we had because all of it was falling apart. We ended up using a card table and folding chairs in the new house so the kids would have a place to eat and we grown ups have been sitting on the couch eating on our own. It's not ideal, but it's been a temporary solution until we were able to save for something new.</div><div><br /></div><div>The neighborhood we moved into is a brand new, cookie-cutter housing development full of simple yet nice homes. Our neighbors are pretty great and relatively easy-going. I feel like we walked back to a place in time where neighbors talked to each other, and asked to borrow a cup of sugar on occassion like the <i>'good ol' days.'</i> One of of my neighbor-friends picks Jacob up from school every day and we've been invited to a few get-togethers and parties. But our neighborhood is neighbors helping neighbors with any number of things and it's the first sense of community I've had in a very long time. The subdivision Facebook page is where we all go to chat about all of the neighbory things - like when the farm next door accidently lets their cows out again and they walk over to eat everyone's perrenials from their neatly landscaped front yards. This group has become especially important to keep up with as all delivery services in this neighborhood seem to have a difficult time deciphering address numbers and street names and we are all picking up and taking packages to correct addresses on a daily basis. It helps that everyone is friendly and packages make it to the right place eventually. </div><div><br /></div><div>Just two weeks ago, my youngest came to me and asked if we were ever going to eat together as a family again because he missed it. Waves of guilt came over me because I had no idea when we were going to be able to purchase one and naturally, I have had my eye on something specific and expensive. Saving for what I really wanted was going to take awhile, yet here was my child asking me to be more present with him in the evenings around the dinner table.</div><div><br /></div><div>Saturday, someone posted on the neighborhood page about selling their old dining room set. He said it was a bit worn out, 15 years old, but still in great condition and wanted $100 bucks for a large rectangle table AND all six chairs. I reached out to him immediately to claim it and to our delight, he was only a few houses down on our street so we were able to carry everything from his house to ours. It's the exact shape I wanted and since it's all real wood, I can sand it all down and paint it to my desired color which is still undecided between ivory or a very, very pale light blue. I've also never refinished anything before, so this will be interesting. <span style="font-size: x-small;">(Stay tuned)</span></div><div><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEgl8hViLUfKa6gyOUy7LZUwNJAaejUsYlru7oIo4EVQLOChrbWvSdKHFh07D_LYhFAfZXaypLYMIWmJ2UU_OVOjuI3yIMAnZqlbci0SuV_gMvI0jNmrM8VtC-Rfeafc6qmrWR--w1rM_pwCitbQHNmkzxBYCVBtuJ-SPfCJPqb2CkxF_HXg1SQ8SUSLHA=s2048" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2048" data-original-width="1536" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEgl8hViLUfKa6gyOUy7LZUwNJAaejUsYlru7oIo4EVQLOChrbWvSdKHFh07D_LYhFAfZXaypLYMIWmJ2UU_OVOjuI3yIMAnZqlbci0SuV_gMvI0jNmrM8VtC-Rfeafc6qmrWR--w1rM_pwCitbQHNmkzxBYCVBtuJ-SPfCJPqb2CkxF_HXg1SQ8SUSLHA=w300-h400" width="300" /></a></div><br /><div>We had our first meal all together around the table since we moved into the house last October. Travis threw some burgers on the grill, I put some tater-tots in the oven, set out carrot sticks and made a huge pitcher of Koolaid. We sat at our new-to-us table and ate our simple meal on paper plates and we laughed and talked and told stories. I could tell that all four of our children were happy to be sitting together with us and each of them had something to say about what it felt like to sit around a dining room table again. There was nothing fancy about the table, or the meal we had prepared, but the simplicity of sharing a meal brought joy and contentment to all of us in one way or another.</div><div><br /></div><div>If the last couple of years have taught me anything, it's to take nothing for granted; people, health, income, family, air conditioning, cars with good gas mileage, friendships, school-teachers. COVID has had to grow and stretch all of us in uncomfortable ways, and for me, finding contentment in what I have, and being at peace with where I am have been the biggest places of growth for me. Travis and I have been in crisis-survival mode since the week after we got married due to one unforeseen hardship or another. He recently started a new job and we both finally feel like we can see the light at the end of a very long tunnel, though the state of the world right now makes us both acutely aware that we could lose our desired way of life at any moment just like we did in 2020.</div><div><br /></div><div>I'm over the moon about this dining room set, even if it's my most unfavorite color of wood and I don't like the fabric on the chairs. I'm grateful to have back what we had lost. Because now I know, exactly what we have. </div>Jennifer Owenshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04607456428606933279noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-822496741660702171.post-32382774873873433442022-01-26T09:14:00.001-08:002022-01-26T11:05:11.271-08:00First Kiss<p><i>Below is a small excerpt from my memoirs (not published - yet). The boy's name has been changed to protect his identity because I feel like this story is equally embarassing for the both of us. To this day he is still my Facebook friend and we occasionally comment about our children and reminisce about the good ol' days of the 1990's.</i></p><p style="text-align: center;">~~~~~~~</p><p>In the 7<sup>th</sup> grade I had a huge crush on a boy
named Brandon who went to church youth group with me. He was a "bad boy" and I was drawn to the rebellious edge he had going on. He had spent weeks leading me on, talking to
me on the phone, telling me I was pretty, and I was full of all the pre-teen hope that he would ask me to
be his girlfriend. One spring night at youth
group, I pulled him outside and asked if I could tell him my birthday wish.
I confessed that the only thing I wanted for my 13th birthday was for
him to kiss me. I had never been kissed
and I wanted him to be the one. Somewhere in my adolescent brain, I believed that 13 years old was the time I should start my kissing journey because that's simply what teenagers did at that age according to<i> Party of Five </i>and <i>90210</i>. Even D.J. Tanner was kissed at her 13th birthday party.</p>
<p class="MsoNoSpacing"><i>“Well, I have like potato chip stuff in my mouth, so I
dunno.”</i><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>This was his thoughtful 13 year
old reply to my kissing request.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></p><p class="MsoNoSpacing"><i>“Not right now.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>Just soon, sometime.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>My birthday
is next week and I want to be kissed.”</i><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>He smiled and said okay and I went home that night and wrote everywhere
in my journal “I love Brandon” and how excited I was that he was going to kiss
me. </p>
<p class="MsoNoSpacing">Now, it's important to note here that I practiced
tongue kissing.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>A lot.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></p><p class="MsoNoSpacing">I usually practiced on my hand in bed at
night when I was dreaming for some amazing boy to fall for me like Steve from <i>Full House</i>.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I gave up practicing on my pillow because it
just got wet and that was absolutely disgusting.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The bathroom mirror was my favorite place
because then I could practice as if another person was getting close to my
face. Essentially I was kissing my own reflection and I've never brought this up in therapy about what that could possibly mean but I'm wondering now if it's worth delving into. *face palm*</p><p class="MsoNoSpacing">Mirror kissing was working out well until my
mom noticed a giant open mouth print on the mirror and asked me what the hell I
was doing.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I tried to pin it on my
brother at first, but she quickly realized he wouldn’t have been able to reach
that spot on the mirror.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Once she
figured out I was attempting to practice french kissing, she laughed (and boy, did she laugh)
and told me to at least clean the mirror after I was done.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Of course I never did that again because how embarrassing for your
mother to comment on your giant open mouth print on the bathroom mirror. My kissing practice after that was restricted exclusively to the outside of my hand and sometimes a wall where no mouth print could be detected. Bless my heart.</p>
<p class="MsoNoSpacing">Exactly one week later was the night of my big first kiss. My birthday was in three days and the
youth pastor’s wife had made cupcakes for me.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I was styled to perfection in my tapered hunter green jeans, a white button down blouse and these
cute floral tennis shoes I got at the Payless. My mother had started allowing me to wear lip gloss AND mascara when I started school that year, so I
was all the 13-year version of hot I could be.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></p><p class="MsoNoSpacing">With butterflies in my stomach, I
attempted to be nonchalant all night, borderline ignoring him. But then, it
finally happened.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>A group of us had been
outside and everyone was starting to head in. He was hanging back waiting for me and I knew that this was finally my time. I was about to know what being kissed actually felt like.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></p><p class="MsoNoSpacing">He grabbed me by the waist and pulled me close to him. For some reason I was
looking down which was probably because I was 13 years old and was slightly terrified of
losing my kissing virginity.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>He put his
hand on my chin and brought my face up to his and we kissed, just like I had
wished for him to.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It was all kinds of
wonderful, except for the fact that he did this really weird thing with his
tongue and it didn’t feel anything like I thought it would or how I had
practiced it on my hand every night. He moved his tongue around in this rapid, quick motion and it was weird. I only wished that it had felt slower and lasted much, much longer like in <i>Little Women</i> when Laurie kissed Jo.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Before I knew it, the kiss was over and sadly, so was his interest in me.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> Perhaps</span> I was an awful kisser because
Brandon didn’t acknowledge me much after that until he was a senior in high school. By then, I completely ignored his interests in me as I was now 16 and had my
eyes set on the youth group's golden boy Derek, who was crushed on by EVERY other girl at church.</p><p class="MsoNoSpacing">Somewhere in a box in
my garage is a cassette tape of my 13 year old self reading all the letters I wrote to Brandon about how much I loved him and wished he was mine. I wrote dozens of letters that I never gave him which are nothing short of mortifying to read today. The tape is also accompanied by several mementos I collected during my Brandon obsessed era: a soda tab, a silly picture of him, a gum wrapper from a piece he gave me and a conversation heart from 1994 that reads "KISS ME." It was probably for the best that he lost interest in me and moved on because I was the boy-craziest crazy that ever crazied. </p><p class="MsoNoSpacing">As my life would turn out, I wouldn't kiss another guy until I was 18 and in college. And that kiss, was life-changing.</p>Jennifer Owenshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04607456428606933279noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-822496741660702171.post-63053150561981055252022-01-25T14:57:00.000-08:002022-01-25T14:57:06.338-08:00Does this thing still fit?<p>Many, many seasons and stories have come and gone since I last visited this space. I almost feel like I don't belong here, as the woman who wrote here so regularly before isn't the same woman writing today. I'm still figuring out exactly where I belong on the interwebs and I suppose this blog is like a pair of old jeans I havent' worn in a while. I'm trying <i>"Seasons and Stories"</i> back on to see if it still fits. Will I need to make some adjusments or go shopping for something brand new altogether? If this blog is anything like my ever changing waistline, I'll probably be going shopping for something new soon.</p><p>Looking back at old posts, I remember my old life and nothing is the same accept for my struggles with anxiety, weight and having to wake up early in the morning. I used to have so many friends and write about sunshine on a regular basis and take pictures of table settings for whatever I was hosting. After recently moving into a new house, I threw away placemats and napkin rings because they seemed silly as my current life has no need for such things. In the past few years, I've also gotten over my need to impress people or want them to like me, and my napkin rings were a reminder of the old me that wanted to be accepted.</p><p>My boys are older and bigger. Praise the Lord we survived the little years! Jacob grew out of his need to scream about everything and only does that on special occasions now. His fashion sense and personal style is ever-evolving as he's very into having longer hair, leather bracelets and plaid flannel shirts to wear over EVERYTHING. Tommy is an inch taller than me now and my once joy-filled boy is now a mess of hilarious joke-telling, complicated feelings and crazy hormones as he is about to head into teenager land in a few months. He recently earned third chair in All Region band for middle school as a SEVENTH grader and I am still so stinking proud, you would have thought I was the trombone player.</p><p>I got divorced. It was very awful and sad.</p><p>I married (after I swore off marriage) a man named Travis who is the cheese to my macaroni. He's a big bearded man who curses like a sailor and has a heart of gold. We haven't stopped going on adventures, we both love the beach and recently we've become passionate about going to bed at 9:30 every night. He likes to talk. I like to talk. He's funny. I'm hilarious. He's a romantic and I like to swoon. We're both very into sex. It's working out pretty well so far.</p><p>I have two more bonus kids with my husband now and entering into the role of step-mom has been overwhelming. Only recently have I felt like I'm finding a groove of step-momming. One of my bonus kids is a bonus DAUGHTER, so clothes shopping for kids has become infinitely more exciting. Except she's getting to the age where she doesn't like anything I pick out and she is only 10. Lawd help.</p><p>I've become a dog person and have my very own dog named Chester - and if you would have told the woman who wrote here six and eight years ago that she would have Pit-Lab mix that she slept with every night and fork-fed salmon to, I would have laughed in your adorable face. He is the best dog in the history of dogs and I love him like he's my child.</p><p>Most of my friendships were a casualty of the divorce including those that I thought would be in my life forever. I have no "best friend" other than my husband Travis. I miss female friendship and it's also weird because I am not lonely - not one bit. </p><p>I stopped doing so many of the things that I loved because my heart was utterly wrecked and everything I thought I knew about faith, God, family, and friendships flew out the window after the divorce. I'm back at the beginning of something new which makes me tired if I'm being honest. Picking myself up after going through all that I did has been the hardest I've had to work for anything in my life. But, here I am doing it. </p><p>It's 2022 and I turn 41 in March. I have zero things figured out, and my ducks have long wandered off, but I'm grateful to be living and breathing and present here.</p><p>Some things are better. Some things are harder. Some things are just entirely different. And it's time to write about all of it. </p>Jennifer Owenshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04607456428606933279noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-822496741660702171.post-71334697682585916972018-08-13T08:28:00.000-07:002018-08-13T08:28:31.011-07:00Eighteen and Thirty-SevenEighteen years old and at my mother's funeral, I refused to go into the sanctuary until they had closed the casket. After watching my vibrant mother self-destruct to drugs, alcohol and depression, I had watcher her morph into another person and couldn't imagine seeing her dead body dressed up inside a box. I had to concentrate to muster up tears that day. I couldn't cry. Everyone came up to me tearful and full of sorrow, saying how sorry they were for me. Yet, I remained stoic and numb. Tears that ordinarily come easily for me did not come that day.<br />
<br />
I had already mourned my mother's death in the two years prior to her passing. Watching her change and succumb to addictions and several asshole men was a devastating thing to watch as a teenager. I knew she was dying a little bit more with every passing day. All of my tears had already been cried, so the day she died I almost felt relieved. Some of my pain would stop because now my mother was dead and gone, not just avoiding me and cutting me out of her life because it was too hard to see me.<br />
<br />
My marriage was like that. <br />
<br />
The day I went down to the courthouse and filed for divorce, I pressed inward to search my feelings but I couldn't find sadness. There was peace and then guilt for feeling peace. <br />
<br />
According to some of my family and most of my friends, I should definitely not be feeling peace when I am stepping out of God's will and ending the covenant I made to my husband before God. I was afraid to ask Him why I felt that way. Had it come from Him or had He left me now that I had committed what some believe to be an unforgivable sin? Does God allow us to feel His peace when we've committed the magnanimous sin of divorce? I was scared to hear those answers. <br />
<br />
Thirty-seven years old, no tears fell on the day I went to finalize the divorce. Seeing the words "decree of divorce" with our names written in black and white brought more peace. I breathed deeply and that familiar feeling of relief set in as I knew some of my pain would stop because our marriage was officially and legally over. All that I had been holding and living with was no longer a burden I had to bear. It felt good to let it go.<br />
<br />
Now I hold the tension of relief and sorrow. My ambivalent feelings of abundant happiness and dark sorrow have been difficult to navigate through. Daily, I feel the weight of the pain and hurt I have caused my ex-husband, the boys and our family and friends. Those are the places I easily find my tears again. I've held both of my boys in my arms weeping with them saying I'm sorry, over and over again; giving them permission to feel whatever it is they do, even if it's anger or hurt towards me. I imagine that is something I will always carry as this was a decision that I did not come to quickly or easily. And it was costly - just as costly as I imagined it would be.<br />
<br />
Maybe we're all given a certain amount of tears meant to be cried over one thing or one person. Or maybe the lack of them, or the running out of tears means our grief has moved into the phase of acceptance and something inside us moves forward with surprising ease. Because during the really, really hard times, we felt our feelings and cried our tears and screamed our screams. We didn't stuff or suppress them or numb them away with too much pizza or tumblers full of vodka. We gave those feelings words and paintings, tattoos and photographs because we learned to turn pain into beauty. <br />
<br />
Remaining present in the sad, gray moments and feeling my longings collide with reality was a daily fight for me, especially in my marriage. But I fought, and I felt it and I know in the depth of my heart that I gave my all, my whole heart and whole effort to my marriage. <br />
<br />
The shift came and the hard decision I wrestled with for so long was made, my soul was finally at rest. And regardless of what anyone else thinks or believes or assumes - there is peace.Jennifer Owenshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04607456428606933279noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-822496741660702171.post-5844577214324791472018-08-03T09:09:00.000-07:002018-08-03T09:10:01.651-07:00December Fifteenth<span style="color: black; margin: 0px;">"God's
reputation is on the line when it comes to your marriage."</span><br />
<br />
<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in;">
<span style="color: black; margin: 0px;">My
Grandfather spoke these words as he performed the wedding ceremony of my cousin
and his beautiful bride. Her elegant ivory dress fluttered in the mild
December breeze. I tried to focus on it and emotionally check out of
hearing their wedding vows, but the heavy words he spoke managed to hit my
chest like a sharp arrow. </span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in;">
<span style="color: black; margin: 0px;">I
imagined the word G-O-D spelled out in beautiful sparkling letters on a plaque
that you might find at a Home Goods store, lying in the mud, broken and damaged
because I had put it there. I was going to "drag his name through
the mud" and ruin His good name because I was wanting to end my
marriage. Swallowing the ball in my throat, I heard a whisper of
truth. <b>My reputation and goodness doesn't depend on yours. <i> I
am</i> still God and <i>I am</i> still good and <i>I am</i> still reputable.</b>
<i>Even if I mar the sanctity of marriage by choosing to divorce my husband?</i>
<b>Yes, even then.</b></span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in;">
<span style="color: black; margin: 0px;">Vivid
memories of the same vows I made to my husband years before echoed in my
mind. I had promised my love and fidelity for better or worse, in
sickness and in health, for richer and for poorer. All of that until
death. We hadn't physically died, but something had. It felt like I
was married to a corpse. I had told him that before, but being an
emotional leper, it never motivated him enough to change or seek the care and
counsel he needed on his own.</span></div>
<br />
<span style="color: black; margin: 0px;">When my cousin and his new wife joyously walked back down the aisle, I felt the
tension I was holding release a little. I made it through the hardest
part of the wedding as I consciously separated my heart from my body so I
didn't sob and cause a scene. I had wanted to break down and let everyone
see how wrecked I was. Someone in my family needed to know, but I knew it
would break everyone's hearts. My parents had divorced and I swore that I
never would. Telling my family was going to be the hardest part of the
choice I was making. It would come with devastatingly great cost and I
knew which relationships would shift and look like silence and
"disfellowship" because I was in sin.</span><span style="color: black; margin: 0px;"><br style="mso-special-character: line-break;" /></span><br />
<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in;">
<span style="color: black; margin: 0px;">As the
night went on and margaritas flowed, I skipped around the wedding grounds like
the social butterfly I was. Mingling, drinking, dancing, laughing; taking
the silly photo op pictures with ugly hats and large glasses. I felt as
sparkly as my sequined dress and felt aware of my beauty and magnetism of
others to me.</span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in;">
<span style="color: black; margin: 0px;">That
evening, when the tequila had settled in enough to make me bluntly honest, I
found myself outside with my Robin for a smoke. A habit that had been
sneaking back in over the last few months when I felt the need to calm and
de-stress. I admitted all I was holding; that I was going to ask him for
a divorce and couldn't be married to him anymore. That I wanted my life
to look different and I felt like staying married was killing my soul. I had
done Bible studies and accountability groups. I prayed the prayers and
sought counsel and therapy. I was honest and open with him how I was
feeling and what I needed from him to make it work. Nothing changed and
nothing happened and I was just done.</span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in;">
<span style="color: black; margin: 0px;">She spoke
words to me that night I'll never forget. "When you're the outcast
Jennifer, I'll be here for you. I'll love you. I'll
understand. When others have walked away, you'll have me."</span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in;">
<span style="color: black; margin: 0px;">The woman
I once had contempt for because she started off as "the other woman,"
was now the only person with enough understanding and grace to truly love me in
the midst of this. God really does work all things together for our
good. He took what happened with my parents and my Robin and used it to
care for me when I was in desperate need of unconditional love in the exact
same place I swore I'd never find myself in.</span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in;">
<span style="color: black; margin: 0px;">Later
that night, I danced my ass off. My husband stood there and watched me
and didn't cut in when another man asked to dance with me. </span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in;">
<span style="color: black; margin: 0px;">And that
was my marriage. Me out on the dance floor, vibrant and living. And
him standing by the wall, gray and watching me live.</span></div>
Jennifer Owenshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04607456428606933279noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-822496741660702171.post-48770236928959697562018-07-26T14:44:00.001-07:002018-07-26T14:44:37.414-07:00December twenty-thirdTwo days before Christmas and twelve years to the day he had asked me to marry him, I sat across a table from my husband with my future aching thick in my throat. It was time to give words to the tension that had been palpable between us for months, maybe years. I didn't believe that it was a mere coincidence that this was the day I was also going to ask him for a divorce. It was a tragic full circle moment and I felt acutely aware of our beginning and ending. I was trying to make it through the holidays before saying a word like DIVORCE. After all, Christmastime isn't the time for marriages to end right? The illusion of what wasn't there between us anymore felt like death to my soul and I couldn't go on any longer without speaking my truth. <br />
<br />
The words came easily and without tears. I reached deep for them because I felt guilty that I didn't have any to cry. I had given him thousands of them over the years, most of which fell to the ground lonely and lost. He cried more than I expected him to. He wailed and sobbed and I had only ever heard him cry like that one other time when we had to give our dog away a few years back. I wasn't sure what to do or say. <i>Sorry</i> didn't feel appropriate and I knew I couldn't fix whatever he was feeling. He could tell I was firm and settled in my decision; that I was already gone and had been for a while. He walked away from the table that night visibly rejected and wounded. My emotions were all running one in to the other - relief and hope. Deep sorrow and heartache, especially for all I knew I would cause.<br />
<br />
We went separate ways that night. My phone started blowing up with text messages and phone calls from concerned friends he had already spoken to, shocked by the news. It wasn't the time to talk or answer questions. Desperate to feel something else that night, I put the conversation and my marriage on an emotional shelf to be looked at later. <br />
<br />
I walked into a bar without my diamonds sparkling on my left ring finger. I drank until I was warm and head fuzzy, and until someone elses's lips had touched my own. And it was sad.Jennifer Owenshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04607456428606933279noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-822496741660702171.post-53743629793046498232017-12-26T12:57:00.000-08:002018-07-11T13:31:06.377-07:00Snowfall<div>
The last time I had a real encounter with snow was the winter of 1985 when I wasn't quite four years old. I have vague memories of seeing it, though there are pictures of my tiny self wrapped in a white winter jacket and purple mittens standing next to a tiny, lumpy snowman that I built with my dad. He recalls the night it snowed and the glee I expressed from watching it come down and land on the swing-set in our backyard.</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
Chances for snow, especially at Christmastime, are unheard of in south Texas. Most holiday seasons are mild and cool and having a 75 degree day and barbecue for Christmas is more tradition for us than roasting chestnuts over an open fire because baby, it's cold outside. Every year though, the Christmas dreamer in me wishes and hopes for snow, because nothing could be more magical than snow in December. My boys pray and ask Jesus to make it snow every year and I usually explain that while He is in control of all things, Jesus isn't like a magician that you ask things for and he makes things appear magically. Though every once in a while, He totally shows off because He is actually able to make things appear out of nowhere because He is Jesus.</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
In early December, we had a cold and rainy day and the forecasters were calling for snow that night. I rolled my eyes and laughed it off until my social media blew up with everyone seeing snow in their area. I stood outside for a while watching the light rain, feeling silly for hoping that it would actually snow. As I stood and waited, I noticed a few floating flurries mixed with rain. I stepped out on to my driveway and literally watched the rain turn into snowfall. It changed in a breath and took mine away as it did. Before I knew it, giant white, magical flakes were falling from the sky and landing on my nose. <br />
<br />
Snow fell soft and beautiful. It covered the grass and the trees, the bushes in our front yard and rested on the windshield wipers of my car. I made snowballs with Tommy and Jacob, all of us gleefully laughing as we threw them at each other. It was the first snowball fight for all of us. We all got cold and our fingers went numb so we sat bundled up in blankets by the front door to watch it snow some more. Todd had to work late that night and I noted that I was strangely relieved he wasn't there to share in the moment with us. <br />
<br />
He would have wanted to kiss me in the snow. He hadn't kissed me since August, and I wouldn't have wanted that kiss. Not from him. Not now. Not anymore.<br />
<br />
It was December and it was snowing and I was Lorelai Gilmore with all of my giddiness. Yet, my soul was aching with sorrow and I was holding it all on my own; a secret I wasn't ready to burden anyone with yet. Not even my husband. And perhaps I was still holding out and hoping that my marriage wasn't really over. The Savior was coming and bringing with Him miracles and hope. But was there hope for my marriage? Did I even want there to be? <br />
<br />
<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; display: inline; float: none; font-family: "times new roman"; font-size: 16px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; letter-spacing: normal; text-align: left; text-decoration: none; text-indent: 0px; text-transform: none; white-space: normal; word-spacing: 0px;">The whole experience left me feeling alive and breathless. Surrounded by the snow He sent, I tucked the beauty of the moment into my heart and breathed it all in to remember it on the not so beautiful moments that were sure to come. </span>Sitting on my front porch bench, I looked up at the dark night sky and felt flake after flake fall to my face, mixing with my brokenhearted tears, and felt something settle within me. I didn't need to be kissed in the snow to enjoy the magic and beauty of the moment.<br />
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God's love enveloped me that night. The same God who knows the depths of my heart and still loves me. And that was enough. It would always be.</div>
Jennifer Owenshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04607456428606933279noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-822496741660702171.post-46636421689254983162017-12-25T08:50:00.000-08:002017-12-26T08:41:32.035-08:00Songs of ChristmasIt's Christmas morning and I was awake before dawn. I made a cup of coffee and turned on the twinkle lights on our Christmas tree and sat with a blanket. I welcomed the solitude and quiet, feeling the rest and peace that had settled in my soul even though it was accompanied by grief and sorrow. My heart is heavy and sad this Christmas. I didn't bake my cookies or dip my pretzles and we didn't drive to see the lights in Windcrest. There was no downtown date night on the Riverwalk and I wasn't at church yesterday to hold a candle and sing O Come All ye Faithful.<br />
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I wanted to remember the feelings and songs that echoed the tender and sorrowful places in my heart. I wanted to come back and read here that on Christmas of 2017, the Christmas that would be ushering in the endings of old things and beginnings of new ones, that my heart sounded like these songs.<br />
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To those of you who come read here, I hope you have the Merriest Christmas. Hold your dear ones close today and wherever this day finds you, I hope you feel wrapped in the hope and love that this season brings.<br />
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With Love,<br />
Jenn<br />
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<a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=OR2LXXIX8ro" target="_blank">Something about December - Christina Perri</a><br />
<a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=UE3lMIekDxE" target="_blank"><br /></a>
<a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=UE3lMIekDxE" target="_blank">White Christmas - Kenny G</a><br />
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<a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=z1rYmzQ8C9Q" target="_blank">Christmas Lights - Coldplay</a><br />
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<a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=8OmYxFWN5wU" target="_blank">Jingle Bells in minor</a><br />
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<a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=D4M_QiiFiSo" target="_blank">O Come, O Come Emmanuel - Steven Curtis Chapman </a><br />
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<a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=DurytCImGJM" target="_blank">Welcome Christmas - Glee Cast (from: <i>How the Grinch Stole Christmas)</i></a><br />
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<a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=8k0KEmScWHI" target="_blank">Heirlooms - Amy Grant</a><br />
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<a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=h1TTnPdZOZI" target="_blank">Grown up Christmas List - Kelly Clarkson</a><br />
<a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=XG347euXoTM" target="_blank"><br /></a>
<a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=XG347euXoTM" target="_blank">A Christmas Alleluia - Chris Tomlin</a><br />
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<a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=66kZYVVzjow" target="_blank">All is Well - Michael W. Smith & Carrie Underwood </a><br />
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<a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=6Qbw3Weu8rQ" target="_blank">Wintersong - Sarah McLachlan</a><br />
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<a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=LIODr_RWwEc" target="_blank">Love is Christmas - Sara Bareilles </a><br />
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<a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=rnEqv8WcVq8" target="_blank">Have Yourself a Merry Little Christmas - Sam Smith</a>Jennifer Owenshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04607456428606933279noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-822496741660702171.post-81218872508991035692017-11-11T16:05:00.001-08:002017-11-11T16:05:58.378-08:00A Hallowed HeartIt was raining without clouds. It seemed fitting somehow to drive through blue skies on the way to the cemetery, rain still managing to find us. Gray road stretched out before me, I kept wondering how tragedies and heartaches that happened over a lifetime ago could feel this new. I have lived with loss and know the darkness of death, but grief still takes me by surprise.<br />
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My boys were in the back seat in ties and black Sunday shoes. This was their first time time to go to a cemetery and they wanted to dress nice. When my Uncle died two years ago, they went to the funeral, but the family chose to wait until now to bury his ashes. He was going to be laid to rest next to my mom and brother. My feelings were so overwhelming I could feel them aching in my throat and surging through my legs that made me want to run. It felt like something was trying to come out of my body and I quickly recognized the trauma tied to those physical sensations. I closed my eyes and took breath after breath, long and deep, until I felt my core settle inside of me.<br />
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We arrived at the place. Sacred earth housing the bones of loved ones and memories never made, I got out of the truck, holding my son's hand in my own. Feelings began to swirl inside of me. My brother's ten year life, how betrayal and alcohol destroyed my mother, stealing her spark and light and heartbeat. I was feeling forgotten and missed, much like my mother's headstone in that sticker burred country cemetery. I showed my boys where they were buried. I could feel bellowing sobs forming in my gut as I saw Tommy touch my brother's grave, his eight year old fingers tracing the letters <i>"The Greatest Blessing,"</i> that was etched into gray granite. I put my hand on my mother's stone. <i>"Child of God, Beloved Mother of AJ,"</i> it read. I didn't remember that was what it said and the words sat heavy with me. She was my mother too, yet those words felt true. She was more his mother than mine and the ambivalence I feel about her was as tangible as the crunchy dead grass beneath my feet.<br />
<br />
We laughed and cried and prayed together as my Uncle's ashes were put into the ground. I think we all felt the finality of something, ever aware of a unique hole his absence has created inside of each one of us. His wasn't the only hole inside of me. I thought about AJ and my mom, Aaron - my first love, the death of dreams and the unmet longings I carry on the outside and inside of me. It looks like a double-chin and a large belly, and feels like a watercolor mess of tragedy and indescribable joy, splattered and swirled together with darkness and light.<br />
<br />
My face was wet with tears as we walked back through the cemetery, the living among the dead. You can't walk on hallowed ground and not feel the gravity of death and
how it has changed you. My heart like a headstone, chiseled and marked
with all of the pain, all the joy and the broken, beautiful pieces of my story that make up who I am.<br />
<br />
The clouds were gray and pregnant with rain. Eyes and sky both crying as my husband reached for my hand.Jennifer Owenshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04607456428606933279noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-822496741660702171.post-21317666078413705962017-11-04T09:11:00.000-07:002017-11-04T09:13:18.584-07:00Going Green and HalloweenWatching the excitement in my boys build up the closer it gets to Halloween, is one of the moments in parenthood that I enjoy the most. Early in October, costumes were selected and planned for and every day all month long, I was asked the same question: <i>"How many days until Halloween? I want it to be Halloween now!"</i> While some of that was looking forward to a bucket of Skittles and chocolate bars, they were just as excited to dress up. Since they were babies, that has been my favorite part - watching their personalities embrace their favorite superheroes and movie characters.<br />
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This year, we had a very cool Spiderman (with web wings - and you should know that is the most important part of the costume according to Jacob).<br />
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And a Tony Stark! <br />
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Ya'll. I pitched the idea to Tommy months ago about being Tony Stark for
Halloween and to my utter glee, he was totally down for it. I made a light up arc reactor out of a tap on LED light, drawn with the symbol and covered in some light blue fabric to give it a bit of a blue color. I found the really real glasses online that he wore in <i>Civil War</i> because I couldn't help myself. The day they came in the mail, Tommy was with me when I went to check the mailbox, and he let out crazy happy screams. Watching his joy and excitement about them was the best thing ever. I darkened his hair and drew on Tony's facial hair which was his favorite part. His costume literally made my night.<br />
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And did I dress up as? Well, I had originally planned on being Disgust from the movie <i>Inside Out</i>. Unfortunately, the green dress I ordered didn't come in until the day after Halloween so I had to improvise. <br />
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I'm Hulk's girly twin sister. Obviously.</div>
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When I finished my costume, I came out of my room to show the boys and they squealed with excitement. Jacob lit up and said, "Oh mama!" He ran to me and hugged me and said "I love you so much!" He stared at me in wonder and asked how I made myself green and laughed when I put on his Hulk hands. In that moment, I could see in his eyes how much he loved seeing me dress up with him, entering his world of play and pretend and imagination. He beamed with pride at me all night, "Look at my mom!" he would say to everyone. </div>
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We made a few stops to see all of the Grandparent's. The boys filled their buckets with all of the candy and knocked on a few doors. Each time, Jacob would show the person at the door his web wings and Tommy held his Ironman glove out. I tucked away another year's worth of silly and fun memories in my heart, praying I would always remember the fun we had together. Of Jacob's running and posing as he would use his web shooters. And of Tommy's swagger in the way he walked and carried himself all night long.<br />
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I'm not certain how it's November already. 2017 feels like the year that went by in a blur. Time seems to be going my faster, my boys growing tall and confident right in front of my eyes. I find myself in that place in motherhood wanting time to slow down a little bit. The years I have with them like this are going just as fast as every other mom told me it would. Tommy will be a grown man in ten years. Jacob starts Kindergarten next fall. A couple of gray strands here and there show up on my head of hair reminding me that I'm growing and aging right along with them. It can't be stopped but it can certainly be lived fully. </div>
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<i>Tommy and Jacob, how I love you so. You are my deepest joy and my greatest pride and being your mama is the best thing I've ever done. I will cherish these memories, this childhood you got to live with me, forever and always.</i>Jennifer Owenshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04607456428606933279noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-822496741660702171.post-879634591695233552017-11-01T21:57:00.000-07:002017-11-06T19:13:21.050-08:00Golden Girl<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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My love affair with clothes and jewelry began as a little
girl.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>As soon as I was tall enough to
reach my mother’s jewelry box on her bathroom counter, I would put all of her
rings on my tiny fingers and pretend I was some luxuriously rich woman dripping
with gold and diamonds who called everyone <i>“Dahling.”</i><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I would parade around in her fancy high heels
and use the foyer of our house as my personal runway, loving the clip-clop
sound the heels made on the tile floor.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><br />
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As
I got older, I developed my own sense of style.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>There were certainly the necessary faux pas that came with being a
middle-school girl, as I believed black lip liner was a good idea and knee high
socks with every outfit was a trendy choice.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
To my mother's dismay, my favorite pair of earrings in the 6th grade
were these lime green parrots I found at a mall jewelry store that
specialized in gaudy plastic accessories. With my backpack purse,
fluffed-up bangs and parrots dangling from my ears, I was quite
something to behold in 1993. </span></div>
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<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">Can we all just go back and give our 12 year-old selves a hug? Bless our hearts.
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Over time, my love for both colorful and classic looks evolved as did my
collection of shoes and scarves and my own jewelry box full of accessories.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"></span> Admittedly, I am somewhat of a jewelry-addict, which
is a trait I obviously inherited from my mother.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"></span>Though if I’m honest, my jewelry box is not
only a box, but a large frame to house my 60+ pairs of earrings and all of the
necklaces I own. Accessories are like the sprinkles on top of
a perfectly frosted cupcake; they complete and pull together every outfit.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Living in south Texas, one has to be creative
in dressing for fall as the cool weather comes and goes and our afternoons get
quite warm.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I have found that layering,
finding lightweight cardigans and scarves, and things like ankle pants with
flats or sandals are both functional and stylish for the season here. </div>
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Fall is such a sweet time for family traditions. When a big cold front makes it to our neck of the woods, I
pull together my coziest pieces. Dark jeans, and a plaid blanket scarf to
match a flowing sweater vest. It's the perfect outfit when I take my boys
down to the pumpkin patch and end the day around our fire pit eating
s'mores and making hand puppets on the fence in our backyard.<br />
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Since
it's one of the best times of the year to be outside, I often meet my
girlfriends for coffee or a soup and sandwich lunch together. On the
pleasant fall days that get a little warmer, I might wear a dress with a
cardigan, a draped scarf and boots. Mustard is one of my favorite fall
colors and I love to pair this cardigan with navy or plum colored tops
too.<br />
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I
am always in the mood for new jewelry. As if by magic, there somehow
seems to be room in my jewelry box for more, just as it was with my mother. I live by the motto that one
can never have too many shoes or accessories! My friends over at AUrate, have some beautiful gold pieces that would be the perfect accents to my fall wardrobe. AUrate has pieces that are both modern and timeless,
classic and fresh, with a stunning simplicity in design. Their unique
style and handmade pieces, <a href="https://auratenewyork.com/collections/earrings" target="_blank">such as their gorgeous earrings</a>, can dress up an outfit as well as accent casual looks just like mine.</div>
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Not only do they have the loveliest designs, but they are a wonderful company that cares about quality, care and giving back. It is so inspiring to read about women who are changing the way business is run by emphasizing the things that matter the most.</div>
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There
is still a little girl inside of me who loves all things golden and
sparkly. It's been a while since I've put a ring on every finger and the lime green parrot earrings were retired by the end of middle
school. My grown up self continues to love the sound
of my fancy high heels on a tile floor. And every time I pull together an outfit with the perfect accessories, I'm reminded of my mother and how I hoped to emulate her beauty.</div>
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With
its golden trees and amber sunlight, autumn always takes me back to
memories of my mother. No matter the season, wearing a pair of dangling earrings or clutching my dainty gold
chains, is like having a
piece of her with me all the time. Jennifer Owenshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04607456428606933279noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-822496741660702171.post-86079724915904194212017-10-25T07:38:00.000-07:002017-10-28T07:38:57.817-07:00Setting Timers and Leaning InHer text message came when I was sitting in the waiting room of my doctor's office. The phones were ringing and the floor was cold and I was was wondering why I had to fill out my personal information for the eighteenth time. My body was writhing with anxiety and dread and I thought a time or three about walking out the door and not going through with this appointment. All of those feelings and emotions were mounting when I saw the tiny envelope on my phone with her name on it.<br />
<br />
<i>I ran into so-and-so and found out we were all mutual friends and thought I'd check in say hello. How is your new job? How are you?</i><br />
<br />
My heart began to ache and I pushed back tears that were begging to be cried. Wanting to be both honest and vague, I replied that I was in a hard season in many different places and that I was currently at the doctor and hopeful about getting some care. Her reply was kind and gracious, because she had always been those things. <i>I know it seems like a lifetime since we've been close friends, but if you ever need anything I'm here.</i><br />
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<i>"Jennifer?"</i> The nurse called my name and my phone went back into my purse. It was time to get on the scale and take my blood pressure and I could feel shame enveloping me about the current state of my body and overall health. In the midst of my appointment, my thoughts went back to my friend and her words. Memories of our closeness and sweet friendship and how she had been such a steady place of encouragement and truth for me flooded my mind. The sorrowful memories of our church split, our disagreement and conflict, and our precious friendship that fell apart and faded away, was a tangible place of pain. What felt like a lifetime to her, somehow felt like only yesterday to me.<br />
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Instead of deleting the messages, I saved them on my phone knowing I needed to sit with sadness and allow for more tears in this place that is still a source of deep loss and grief for me. One quiet Sunday morning while I sipped coffee out of my favorite mug, hands holding on to comfort, I set a timer on my phone for ten minutes and opened up our text messages from that day. Tears came easily and they weren't the quiet kind that softly roll down your cheeks. They were wet and messy, accompanied by snot and sobs and a small pile of tissues. It's been over two years and I wondered if it would ever stop hurting this badly. Would I ever stop missing her? Would I ever stop regretting all of the words I wish I would have said back then about how much she had meant to me?<br />
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My phone timer went off and I breathed deeply. I wiped my eyes and blew my nose again and deleted the text messages. <br />
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Lately, I've purposed to make space to lean in to painful places and to give myself actual time to feel and cry. Setting a timer is helpful because not only is there an ending to sitting with pain and sadness, but my body is learning that it can make it through those hard feelings without the need to self-harm or emotionally check out to life. It might seem like a bizarre practice, but it is a necessary kindness for my heart.<br />
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How do you lean in to pain?Jennifer Owenshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04607456428606933279noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-822496741660702171.post-66493027626300680622017-10-22T07:53:00.001-07:002017-10-22T07:53:47.041-07:00Fall : A South Texas How ToIt's nearing the end of October and autumn is showing off in full splendor and glory. Fire colored trees and fuschia sunsets and pumpkin spice lattes and baggy sweaters and scarves - what's not to love about this time of year? <br />
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Well, if you happen to live in South Texas near My Neck of the Woods, USA, fall is a little different here. Now, I'm a proud Texan and I couldn't imagine living anywhere else. I mean, we have the best shaped state, and no other place knows how to properly make queso. I've also heard that breakfast tacos aren't even a thing in other parts of the country and I don't know how this can be. But, even this Texas girl gets a little blue this time of year because I would love just a little bit of cool weather and autumn beauty.<br />
<br />
I put together a short list of how we do fall here for those of you who might be new to the area, like my Michigan friend Melissa who finds our South Texas autumns offensive.<br />
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<span style="font-size: large;"><b>1) Decorate</b></span><br />
My house transforms this time of year into an autumn wonderland. Silk fall leaves and pumpkins galore take the place of my everyday decorations. Our living room becomes this warm and cozy space that wraps you up like a flannel blanket and gives you all the fall feels. And if there any fall feels to be had, it's probably only going to happen inside of your house because outside still thinks it's swimming and barbecue season. It's important to buy beautiful fall leaves at the store and take them to your house, because it's the ONLY place you will see them all season long. <br />
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<span style="font-size: large;"><b>2) Go Shopping for new sweaters and scarves</b></span><br />
It's always nice to grab a few new pieces for the fall/winter wardrobe like cozy, jewel-toned sweaters and scarves in all the plaid patterns. So go shopping and then put them in your closet and then leave them there until January. If you're lucky, January might be chilly enough for the sweater-scarf combo. *Fashion tip* - if you must wear a scarf, find something lightweight and wear it with a sleeveless top, capri pants and sandals. Also, shorts and flip flops with a lightweight long-sleeved top works too.<br />
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<span style="font-size: large;"><b>3) Visit the pumpkin patch</b></span><br />
Oh yes, go. Go pumpkin patching. Let your kids get on a pony and go for a hayride and make homemade scarecrows and take all the cute pictures. But, bring plenty of water and don't forget your sunscreen. <br />
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<span style="font-size: large;"><b>4) Enjoy the cooler weather</b></span><br />
Instructions:<br />
Set alarm for 5:00am.<br />
Go outside. Take a light blanket.<br />
Turn on the porch fan so the cool air has a chance to circulate.<br />
Sit until 7:00am or until you no longer need the blanket.<br />
The End.<br />
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<span style="font-size: large;"><b>5) Make chili and cornbread</b></span><br />
This is the meal fall is made for, am I right? When you get the first cool snap where the high for the day is 78 and you can open your windows and feel a slight breeze, you bust out that warm comfort food so fast and don't even think twice about it. (*Note - you also might sweat a little when eating it, but don't be alarmed. We all do.)<br />
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<span style="font-size: large;"><b>6) Start a thankful list</b></span><br />
'Tis the season for gratitude and it doesn't have to be November to remember what you're thankful for. Start a journal. Write the words on a pumpkin. Fill a jar of sentiments. For those of us who live here? Things that always make the thankful list include things like - air conditioning, weekend swims at the neighborhood pool, iced versions of our favorite fall coffees at Starbucks and not encountering any rattlesnakes on a morning walk.<br />
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<span style="font-size: large;"><b>7) Snuggle under blankets</b></span><br />
This can be done two ways:<br />
<ul>
<li>Option A: See #4 and follow instructions with your snuggle partner</li>
<li>Option B: Turn the AC down to 70, turn on all the fans and get your snuggle on from the comfort of your living room sofa</li>
</ul>
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<span style="font-size: large;"><b>8) Go apple picking</b></span><br />
Drive to the store. Make your apple selections. And done. <br />
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<span style="font-size: large;"><b>9) Bake all the yummy desserts</b></span><br />
It doesn't feel like fall unless you've made pumpkin bread, pumpkin pie, or pumpkin snickerdoodle cookies. Bake a pumpkin something and it will certainly feel like autumn in your mouth! <br />
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<span style="font-size: large;"><b>10) Take in some beautiful fall foliage</b></span><br />
Open Pinterest. Search "fall foliage" or "autumn landscapes." And enjoy. You're welcome.Jennifer Owenshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04607456428606933279noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-822496741660702171.post-73900831958679208212017-10-14T13:34:00.001-07:002017-10-14T13:34:43.915-07:00Grammy<div id="yiv2994444559yui_3_16_0_ym19_1_1506890444875_2713">
My Grammy’s house always smells like Nivea cream and
sugar cookies.<span id="yiv2994444559yui_3_16_0_ym19_1_1506890444875_2714"> </span>No matter which house my
grandparents have called home over the years, their home is calm and bright,
like a Christmas carol all year long.<span id="yiv2994444559yui_3_16_0_ym19_1_1506890444875_2715"> </span>Even
now, the inviting aroma of her home takes me back to my childhood where she
would teach me the arts of pie-crust curling and gift-wrapping and convincing
me I needed to learn how to sew.<span id="yiv2994444559yui_3_16_0_ym19_1_1506890444875_2716"> </span><i>“You’ll
have a husband someday and what are you going to do if he needs a button sewn
on to his shirt?”</i> she would ask me.<span id="yiv2994444559yui_3_16_0_ym19_1_1506890444875_2717"> <i> </i></span><i>“I
would buy him a new shirt,”</i> I would reply.<span id="yiv2994444559yui_3_16_0_ym19_1_1506890444875_2718">
</span>I was quite resistant to sewing lessons.<span id="yiv2994444559yui_3_16_0_ym19_1_1506890444875_2719">
</span>Much to her dismay, I never did learn how to sew and she’s gasped a time
or two realizing I’ve put my children’s Halloween costumes together with hot
glue.</div>
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<div id="yiv2994444559yui_3_16_0_ym19_1_1506890444875_2721">
I spent a lot of time with my Grammy as a little
girl.<span id="yiv2994444559yui_3_16_0_ym19_1_1506890444875_2722"> </span>She would read and color with
me.<span id="yiv2994444559yui_3_16_0_ym19_1_1506890444875_2723"> </span>She let me try on my great-grandmother’s
vintage jewelry that was kept in a wooden box with a silver latch and silk
lining inside.<span id="yiv2994444559yui_3_16_0_ym19_1_1506890444875_2724"> </span>There were colorful gems arranged
in gorgeously gaudy necklaces, beaded bracelets and sparkling broaches that
made me feel like royalty.<span id="yiv2994444559yui_3_16_0_ym19_1_1506890444875_2725"> </span>On the best
of days, she would take out her old book full of paperdolls from the 30’s and 40’s
and let me play with them.<span id="yiv2994444559yui_3_16_0_ym19_1_1506890444875_2726"> </span>She would
instruct me how to handle the old paper and to turn each page of the book she
kept them in with care and gentleness.<span id="yiv2994444559yui_3_16_0_ym19_1_1506890444875_2727"> </span></div>
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Making pies with her was my favorite.<span id="yiv2994444559yui_3_16_0_ym19_1_1506890444875_2730"> </span>We worked the shortening into the flour,
getting it to the right consistency so it would roll out just right.<span id="yiv2994444559yui_3_16_0_ym19_1_1506890444875_2731"> <i> </i></span><i>“Gold medal flour and ice-cold water are the
keys to a perfect pie crust.”</i><span id="yiv2994444559yui_3_16_0_ym19_1_1506890444875_2732"> </span>She
explained this every time.<span id="yiv2994444559yui_3_16_0_ym19_1_1506890444875_2733"> </span>I would watch
mesmerized as she would crimp the edges ever so perfectly, so it curled all the
way around.<span id="yiv2994444559yui_3_16_0_ym19_1_1506890444875_2734"> </span>She showed me dozens of
times how to do it, but my fingers never seemed to get whatever magic she
possessed in her own fingertips.<span id="yiv2994444559yui_3_16_0_ym19_1_1506890444875_2735"> </span>Store
bought pie crusts were never acceptable, so I learned early on that if I were
going to be like my Grammy, I would someday, have to master the art of her
perfect pie crust.<span id="yiv2994444559yui_3_16_0_ym19_1_1506890444875_2736"> </span>I am proud to say
that in my 30’s, I have finally arrived in the pie department.<span id="yiv2994444559yui_3_16_0_ym19_1_1506890444875_2737"> </span>Not only can I make a tasty and flaky
homemade crust, but a beautifully curled one as well.<span id="yiv2994444559yui_3_16_0_ym19_1_1506890444875_2738"> </span></div>
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<div id="yiv2994444559yui_3_16_0_ym19_1_1506890444875_2740">
Recently, I sat across from a friend who asked me a
question I had never been asked before.<span id="yiv2994444559yui_3_16_0_ym19_1_1506890444875_2741"> </span></div>
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<div id="yiv2994444559yui_3_16_0_ym19_1_1506890444875_2743">
<i>“Jenn, where did you feel loved as a child?<span id="yiv2994444559yui_3_16_0_ym19_1_1506890444875_2744"> </span>Who loved you?<span id="yiv2994444559yui_3_16_0_ym19_1_1506890444875_2745"> </span>What did that feel like?”</i></div>
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<div id="yiv2994444559yui_3_16_0_ym19_1_1506890444875_2747">
I was taken aback.<span id="yiv2994444559yui_3_16_0_ym19_1_1506890444875_2748">
</span>Her question was kind and invited me to reminisce and remember pieces of
my childhood where it was lovely to be a little girl.<span id="yiv2994444559yui_3_16_0_ym19_1_1506890444875_2749"> </span>Memories quickly bubbled to the surface of my
dad and how he read me a Bible story every night and how I would dance on his
feet in the kitchen.<span id="yiv2994444559yui_3_16_0_ym19_1_1506890444875_2750"> </span>Of my mom braiding
my hair and making my favorite cake for my birthday.<span id="yiv2994444559yui_3_16_0_ym19_1_1506890444875_2751"> </span>My Uncle Goolie and I bouncing on old bean
bag chairs together and giving me a ride on his shoulders while I would pull
his hair directing him where to go.<span id="yiv2994444559yui_3_16_0_ym19_1_1506890444875_2752"> </span>And
Grammy…..she was my very first best friend. </div>
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<div id="yiv2994444559yui_3_16_0_ym19_1_1506890444875_2754">
There have been few moments where I’ve reflected on what
was good and delightful about my childhood.<span id="yiv2994444559yui_3_16_0_ym19_1_1506890444875_2755">
</span>Over the years it has felt like I was mostly invited to re-enter scenes
of trauma and sort through pieces of my past in efforts to find some kind of
healing.<span id="yiv2994444559yui_3_16_0_ym19_1_1506890444875_2756"> </span>My friend’s question led me to
ponder something new and different about my heart and about Jesus.</div>
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<div id="yiv2994444559yui_3_16_0_ym19_1_1506890444875_2758">
She explained to me that, if there is any goodness at all
in our childhood – that if we experience any enjoyment or delight or love, that
it was Jesus loving us through those people.<span id="yiv2994444559yui_3_16_0_ym19_1_1506890444875_2759">
</span>Jesus uses our wounded and broken mothers, fathers, grandparents, aunts
and uncles and cousins alike to be little gifts of His grace, kindness,
gentleness and love.<span id="yiv2994444559yui_3_16_0_ym19_1_1506890444875_2760"> </span>My family was no
exception.<span id="yiv2994444559yui_3_16_0_ym19_1_1506890444875_2761"> </span>Embracing this has brought a
kind of healing to my heart and story that I’ve long hoped for.<span id="yiv2994444559yui_3_16_0_ym19_1_1506890444875_2762"> </span>My childhood, while still full of some trauma
and wounds that forever pierced my heart, was suddenly rich with sparkling and
beautiful moments where I was tenderly and dearly loved by those that God
hand-picked to be a part of my family. </div>
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<div id="yiv2994444559yui_3_16_0_ym19_1_1506890444875_2758">
I could suddenly see my younger self dancing on the nail pierced feet of Jesus and standing over me as I attempted to crimp the edges of a pie. I saw how He let me ride on His shoulders and laughing with me as we jumped on bean bag chairs together. He was there in my Grammy and my Dad, my Uncle Goolie and my Auntie Laura. My mom and cousins and all of the precious faces that make up my family. Oh how He made His love known to me as a little girl.</div>
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<div id="yiv2994444559yui_3_16_0_ym19_1_1506890444875_2764">
If I asked you the same questions:<span id="yiv2994444559yui_3_16_0_ym19_1_1506890444875_2765"> </span>Where did you feel loved as a child?<span id="yiv2994444559yui_3_16_0_ym19_1_1506890444875_2766"> </span>Who loved you and what did that feel like? I’m
almost certain you would share a story about a special someone, and it would
sound an awful lot like Jesus.</div>
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<div id="yiv2994444559yui_3_16_0_ym19_1_1506890444875_2768">
I like to imagine that Jesus is much like my Grammy and
her home.<span id="yiv2994444559yui_3_16_0_ym19_1_1506890444875_2769"> </span>Calm and bright like a
Christmas carol all year long.<span id="yiv2994444559yui_3_16_0_ym19_1_1506890444875_2770"> </span>And
smelling of Nivea cream and sugar cookies.</div>
Jennifer Owenshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04607456428606933279noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-822496741660702171.post-9456148514980755232017-10-08T11:18:00.000-07:002017-10-08T11:18:37.518-07:00Watercolors and Worship<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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Colorful threads and the wooden wheel holding the white cross-stitching fabric still laid there on the floor. A partially stitched outline of what was supposed to be a glass mason jar holding pastel flowers, tiny scissors and a case to hold my threading needles all reminded me of my effort to care for my heart and soul. I remember cross-stitching when I was young. It felt easy then and I remember my mom doing several of these growing up. I thought it could maybe be my thing. I needed something to do with my hands that wasn't eating chips and something for my mind to stay present as I had spent most of my free time in a comatose state watching Netflix. After walking the crafting aisles, I made my selection at Hobby Lobby for the project and decided this was going to pull me out of whatever thing I seemed to be stuck in.<br />
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I had the brilliant idea that I would stitch this beautiful design and frame it and give it to my friend Ellen who had encouraged me to spend the same amount of money on myself in the name of self-care as I was for self-harm. I imagined her crying and opening the lovely gift knowing all of the hours I didn't spend eating or drinking and it would be lovely and good for us both.<br />
<br />
But then it took me 20 minutes to get the stupid fabric attached to the wheel the right way. Another 10 to thread the needle, and then I realized how much math and counting went into cross-stitching. I stupidly read some of the instructions and tips after I had started an outline of the jar and realized I was supposed to do that last. <br />
<br />
"F*ck this!" I threw it on the floor that night exasperated and feeling foolish. How could I think something like cross-stitching was ever going to be my thing? Would anything bring me to life and vibrancy again? I felt like I was dying a slow and miserable death in the corner of my bedroom each night with a drink and a snack, until I finally felt sleepy enough to go to bed.<br />
<br />
A few weeks later, I found myself at Hobby Lobby again with my boys, perusing the craft aisles waiting for something to speak to me. I was trying to not buy porcelain pumpkins or Christmas ornaments and found myself in the painting section surrounded my acrylics and oils, pastels and brushes, and blank canvases ready for art and beauty. Some watercolor pencils drew my attention and I remembered being in the seventh grade, sketching out designs with those pencils and watching it come to life with water and a brush. I wondered if I might be any good at it. What did I know about watercolors or painting or art for that matter?<br />
<br />
I made my purchases that day of watercolors and watercolor pencils, a thick pad made for that kind of paint, and a few brushes I didn't know much about but that looked important. Pinterest offered ideas and tips for getting started, different techniques and some basics for beginners and I sat there in awe of others created beauties doubting I could ever create anything that beautiful. Comparison always there to steal joy and possibility and hope and it was there with me as I sat there with my unopened art supplies. I didn't get started right away. I was afraid it was going to end in a pile on my bedroom floor like my forsaken cross-stitching project and maybe it was better not to try again.<br />
<br />
Two weeks later I sat at the Brave On conference for Red Tent Living and listened to my friend Libby speak about the heart and soul, how poetry has been her outlet for both pain and beauty. I was captivated at her words and remembering my untouched watercolors at home. I knew I needed to go home and try again. Maybe it would be a big mess and I would have no clue what I was doing, and it would like like a seventh grader's art work and I would find yet another place to speak harshly to myself rather than speak of care or kindness.<br />
<br />
Finally, the day came when I felt brave enough to set up all my supplies and try my hand at watercolor for the first time in 24 years. I turned on some light piano music in the background and sat for a moment at the blank paper and colors that surrounded me. And then I began. Using some of the pencils and some of the brushes with my palette of water colors I began drawing out trees in the four seasons. The golds and reds of autumns, the bare branches of winter, the new life of spring and the vibrant green of summer. <br />
<br />
With every stroke of color, I could literally feel something inside of me both settle and come to life at the same time. I realized how forgiving watercolor is. The whole point of it is to be a little messy and unfinished. There are few hard lines and little structure as the water and paints bleed and run into complete loveliness. I felt like a girl again, creating something beautiful for no reason other than because I could. As my trees took shape and color, I remembered that I am an artist. I may be a bookkeeper for a living, and be a little obsessive about meal-planning and scheduling our calendars, but I am an artist. My days might be full of work and mothering, and tending to a home that never stays tidy or clean, but I am an artist. I may have dreams that died long ago and part of me that died with them, but I'm still here and I am an artist.<br />
<br />
<br />
My beauty and brokenness painted all over a page and I didn't want to stop. I called my piece <b><i>Sunday Morning Worship</i></b> because it felt like just that. Offering my heart up to God in both my praise and heartache, of thankfulness and longing. Remembering how good He is in every season, even if I forget that He is.<br />
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My friend Libby said something that stayed with me and makes me smile every time I remember it:<br />
<br />
"Take your shame and your pain, and turn it into a freaking work of art." And I did just that. I plan to do it again.<br />
<br />
How could you turn your shame and pain into a work of art?Jennifer Owenshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04607456428606933279noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-822496741660702171.post-60682353525309379722017-09-27T18:23:00.001-07:002017-09-30T20:00:06.295-07:00Anxiety and the next right thingA few weeks ago, I noticed a joke I had been making about myself a
lot. <br />
<br />
<i>"OMG,"</i> I would say. Talking like a text message or a Facebook comment. <i> "OMG. I mean, my anxiety is so bad right now, I should probably be medicated!"</i>
And then I would laugh and leave the other person wondering if they
were supposed to laugh too or if they should maybe be concerned for
me.<br />
<br />
I was sitting with those questions myself. Is this funny, or should I be concerned?<br />
<br />
After
several months of dealing with anxiety and PTSD like symptoms, I heard
myself say the same joking sentence in a group of women I met before the
Brave On conference with<a href="https://redtentliving.com/" target="_blank"> Red Tent Living</a>. And maybe it sounded
differently because a woman who sat across from me at the table has seen
me before. Her eyes showed compassion and concern and I think I heard
myself say it seriously for the first time.<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-size: large;"><b>My anxiety is so bad right now. </b></span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><b>I should probably be medicated.</b></span></div>
<br />
At
the conference, a fellow Red Tent Living writer talked about doing the
next right thing. I have heard the same truth spoken from one of my
favorite bloggers turned authors and activists, Glennon Doyle. I wrote
down in my journal that evening asking myself that question.<br />
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-size: large;"><b>What is the next right thing?</b></span></div>
<br />
Immediately
I knew that going to the doctor about my anxiety was the next right thing.
Self-medicating and ignoring whatever was going on for me has not been
working out well. I needed help and it was okay to ask for it. I made an appointment with my doctor the following week. The day of the appointment, the nurse was attempting to summarize why I was there and what I had been experiencing. I started crying and I couldn't talk. Her eyes grew wide and she said, "That's okay. I'll just let you talk to the doctor." She proceeded to type several sentences into the computer which left me feeling like she was writing up some kind of assumption or judgement of me and how crazy I was.<br />
<br />
I wanted to run out of the room. I almost did once. But, I sat there and waited until the friendly face of my doctor came into my room, sat down and handed me a box of tissues. "What's going on Jennifer? Todd has told me a little bit, but what's been happening for you?"<br />
<br />
Through my tears I began to share what my anxiety has looked and felt like over the last few months.<br />
<br />
The insomnia and nightmares. Waking up when I do sleep because I think I hear my children screaming in their bedrooms. Bursting into uncontrollable tears about small things, like messing up the sauce that went with my Greek Lemon Chicken recipe. Screaming and yelling at my boys all the time and about everything. And overwhelming moments that I assume are anxiety or panic attacks that feel exactly like my body felt when going through withdrawls from the narcotics I was on for almost half a year. I wring my hands and arms and legs and I feel like I'm trying to escape my body and I can't begin to describe how awful it feels and how crazy it makes me. And I confessed that if I sleep, I can only sleep with alcohol. I knew that was a habit that I desperately and quickly needed to break.<br />
<br />
She made a plan for me and my care. While these things are mostly trial and error as we figure out what works, I felt a glimmer of hope that the ball was rolling. I had shared with someone the hell I've been living with inside of my head, what I had been doing to cope and live with it, and I asked for help. She scheduled several different blood tests in addition to starting me on some new medications. She recommended a sleep aid that isn't addictive or habit-forming. And ya'll - by the grace of God, it has been working. I get sleepy and fall asleep and sleep. ALL. NIGHT. LONG. While I wake up groggy, I'm grateful to have slept at all - and without having to drink myself to sleep.<br />
<br />
Realizing that anxiety was becoming a prominent and ongoing problem for me felt like defeat. I've always thought I should be stronger or to somehow manage all of this on a spiritual level. I've heard growing up in church my whole life that we can do all things through Christ! And we are more than conquerors! And to cast all your cares upon Him and not to worry or be anxious. I thought that knowing Jesus, meant not struggling with anxiety like I was.<br />
<br />
I've been learning though, that knowing Jesus means living with anxiety and seeing that He meets me in the middle of it. Knowing Jesus and living with anxiety means admitting and owning my own frailty and weakness because that is when He is strong in me. I've learned that being strong here doesn't mean I won't have anxiety attacks or insomnia. Being strong here means asking for help and getting myself the care my body and mind desperately needs.<br />
<br />
It's easy to feel like a hot mess. It's easy to believe I am hopeless especially when health or life seems to roll from one struggle to the next. And it's easy to get overwhelmed when I see how long the journey is ahead of me for all that I am facing with health and wellness.<br />
<br />
But the wise words of wise women I deeply admire are resonating deeply within me: <b><i> Do the next right thing. </i></b><br />
<br />
Aren't those words both motivating and comforting? Not thinking about the 34 steps that need to happen after this first one. Just stay right here, the next right thing, this day.<br />
<br />
So, I'm trying to have those five simple words be my current life mantra. Not just with my anxiety and overall health, but in every facet of my life. Do the next right thing.<br />
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-size: large;"><b>What is your next right thing?</b></span></div>
Jennifer Owenshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04607456428606933279noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-822496741660702171.post-40917426453306282352017-09-23T17:05:00.000-07:002017-09-27T17:06:06.601-07:00Happy SeptemberingI am very predictable in September.<br />
<br />
My fall
decorations go up. Pumpkins, silk leaves, cozy pillows and golden
colored hydrangeas replace my every day decor. This year I added
twinkle lights, because twinkle lights should maybe not only be saved
for Christmas. See? (I was watching <i><b>The Force Awakens </b></i>when
I took this picture. If you can't recognize Supreme Leader Snoke on my
screen then you should probably question our friendship.)<br />
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I
celebrate the highly adored pumpkin spice latte's return at Starbucks.
I take mine as a grande with an extra shot of espresso in case you
would ever like to purchase one for me. <br />
<br />
All of my
scarves come out of hiding, though I just stare at them longingly in my
closet, because there won't be much use for them until at least
November.<br />
<br />
I craft. It's inevitable. September makes me
glue-gun happy and I have the insatiable desire to create something.
Right now I'm working on a yarn wreath. I haven't made one in a couple
of years and I wondered how on earth I forgot that. (Serious post about
this later.)<br />
<br />
I watch <i><b>You've Got Mail</b></i>,
because that "bouquet of newly sharpened pencils" line gets me every
time and it's not officially September until Meg Ryan and Tom Hanks kiss
in Riverside Garden and Brinkley approvingly barks. <br />
<br />
And
then I wait for that enchanting moment that always happens through my
living room window. I swoon and take a dozen pictures and sigh a happy
autumn sigh because even if it is still 95 degrees outside, it means
fall is here. <br />
<br />
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I
always feel a shift in September, and not just the way sunlight pours
into my living room. In all of my predictable September practices and
autumn traditions, something inside of me feels like the season we enter
into. Fall is about letting dead things go, and somehow my heart,
which is usually keen on holding on to everything for dear life, is more
apt to letting things too.<br />
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I'm
not really sure why this is, but if it's good for the trees to have a
season where they let things go, then it must certainly be good for me
too. And I wish I did it as beautifully as a maple tree turning fiery
red, separating from it's branch and floating gracefully to the
ground. <br />
<br />
In real life, letting things go often requires
ugly crying - you know, the kind that comes with snot and puffy eyes and
17 tissues. It also requires change and the starting of new things.
This season for me looks like scheduling doctor's appointments, taking
new medications, beginning marriage counseling, painting with
watercolors, and reading books on white privilege. <br />
<br />
And watching Netflix
less. Or at least, trying to watch Netflix less. I'm being realistic
about my binge-watching goals, because let's face it: Fuller House
season 3 just arrived and I can't not watch it. #teammatt <br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">
September
is fleeting. The days are getting shorter and my heart is settling
into it's familiar shift of letting things go and embracing what is to
come.</div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">
Happy Septembering friends.</div>
Jennifer Owenshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04607456428606933279noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-822496741660702171.post-51459970798111368862017-08-30T19:43:00.002-07:002017-08-30T19:43:58.565-07:00Love is not the fence we build around our livesAs we hunkered down in our homes last weekend, bracing for the worst, Hurricane Harvey took an unexpected shift and unleashed it's fury on our neighbors in Houston. As the horrific events continued to unfold, I felt sick to my stomach. I cried real and big tears for the families caught in rising flood waters. Images of children laying on their kitchen counters, people sitting on their rooftop waving desperately for help, the elderly sitting in a pool of floodwater waiting to be rescued flooded my Facebook newsfeed. <br />
<br />
<br />
I watched my beach home-away-from-home, Port Aransas, ripped to shreds from the hurricane. The whole little town will need rebuilding, and while I don't live there or even own property in that little port of a town, I feel like part of me got ripped apart too. Seeing the video and pictures of the wreckage was emotionally devastating. It's amazing how places become part of who you are over time. <br />
<br />
On Monday, I sent Tommy off to his first day of third grade. As I snapped his annual first-day-of-school picture, I thought about the Houston mothers who weren't sending their kiddoes off to school. School supplies and new school clothes that will be considered one of many losses in their homes. I wondered what they might be feeling and I felt a heavy blanket of ambivalence between guilt and gratitude. Mostly though, I felt grief.<br />
<br />
I have found myself uttering small prayers throughout every day as I feel a wave of sadness wash over me. It's so close to home, and it's Texas. They are my people. They are me. And I would need someone to think of me and pray for me because I know I would be crying on a Monday morning that I was supposed to send my child to school and instead was mourning the loss of our home and belongings and our everyday mundane normalcy.<br />
<br />
Yesterday morning, I walked outside my door to an absolutely beautiful 75 degree morning, which simply does not ever happen in August in San Antonio. The sun was shining and the sky was nearly clear. There was an autumn-like breeze in the air that caught my breath and I stood in my driveway and closed my eyes. It was so beautiful and lovely and I was standing there outside of my home, with car keys in hand ready to head off to work on a normal day. I prayed for Houston and I prayed that some wife and mom just like me could feel some measure of comfort and peace in the same moment I was taking in the glory of my morning. I felt overwhelmingly blessed and so undeserving. <br />
<br />
I've taken so much pride in watching my city and state come together to help one another. There has been an abundance of people showing up, taking care, ready to help and chip in. Our own Texas-based grocery store, HEB, had a disaster relief team in place the moment it was clear for them to get to the affected areas to offer food, supplies, banking services and medical attention. Friends with boats have headed there to rescue those stuck in rising waters. The very company I work for, created a donation station and our customers and employees showed up with water, food, and stuffed animals for the kids to deliver to Houston and the outlying areas. <br />
<br />
Churches and schools, radio stations, musicians, banks, stores - everyone is in this. And while what has happened to our dear brothers and sisters is absolutely devastating, what is happening right behind it is glorious. Everywhere you go, someone is helping, volunteering, and putting something together to help everyone. All of it feels so much like the body of Christ I can hardly stand it. People helping others, loving on those in need - it doesn't get more Jesus than that and I see His light in this everywhere. <br />
<br />
Our little family is donating, volunteering, and praying together every night. Would you join us in prayer especially for Port Aransas, Rockport, and all the small towns outside of the Houston area that have suffered greatly as well? All of us praying, giving, doing, going - it really does make a difference. Let's keep it up - we have a long road ahead of us to love on our neighbors as we help them rebuild.<br />
<br />
Recently, I've been listening to Nichole Nordeman's new album, Every Mile Mattered. She has a beautiful and tender song called <a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=EBPSgFhanM4" target="_blank"><b>"Anywhere We Are,"</b></a> that feels so fitting for anyone who is going through any kind of storm. If you are in need of some comfort tonight, I hope you have a listen and that her words and melody bless your heart and soul in all the places that need a bit of tenderness in all you are facing.Jennifer Owenshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04607456428606933279noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-822496741660702171.post-51892065685049244552017-08-13T20:05:00.002-07:002017-08-13T20:05:23.072-07:00Sunday ThoughtsFor three Saturdays in a row now, I've made our bed. I'm not really sure why though because I've never quite seen the point in making ones bed to only use it again that very night. It seems silly to go through the motions of tucking in sheets and fluffing up pillows and making it look nice, only for all of that to end up on the ground. In fact, people who make their beds on a daily basis baffle me. Please tell me, why go through the trouble of doing that every day?<br />
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
~~~~</div>
<br />
I've decided that being a grown up is incredibly lame. A few weeks ago, I woke up to a flat tire which then led to the purchase of four brand new ones and a front and rear break job for my car. I also had to buy a plane ticket and book a hotel room for a conference next month and so we basically said goodbye to all of our savings. That particular weekend ended with a trip to the mailbox where I was lucky enough to receive a jury summons. And I have no issue doing my civic duties, but I do feel like my name sure gets drawn an awful lot in comparison to others I know. This is my fourth time to serve and my husband has been summoned once. Last time, I actually had to serve on a jury and at this exact time in my life, I don't have any emotional space for a trial so I'm kind of hoping for a long day of book-reading and pretending I'm an introvert.<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
~~~~</div>
<br />
It's weird how life brings people in and out of your lives. Friendships that fizzled or failed or just stopped for one reason or another, reconnect. I found myself at breakfast on Saturday morning with a gal who I lost touch with years ago. We both find ourselves feeling the exact same feelings but her in her singleness and mine in my marriage. It was good to cry together over coffee and eggs. Somewhere between the french toast and the tears, I was reminded that we are all struggling with something, and we are only alone if we let ourselves be. <br />
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
~~~~</div>
<br />
My son went to church dressed like this today. <br />
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There was a point earlier in motherhood, where I wouldn't have dreamed of letting my child walk out the door in this condition. He told me the other day that wearing pants makes him feel like a man and I'm pretty sure he feels six feet tall in a pair of jeans. He asks to wear button down shirts and he has asked for more ties and this kid - he is something. I'm learning to relax and roll with it, because he is teaching me how. Isn't that funny? We have kids and think that we're the teachers, when really, they're the ones that end up teaching us.<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
~~~~</div>
<br />
I am preparing for the Brave On conference with Red Tent Living next month where I am going to sit on a panel and talk about self-care. This comes in the middle of the year where I have battled with self-harm, depression, loneliness, pain and addiction in ways that I haven't in a long time. And I don't understand how God even has me in this specific role, but I'm hoping to find some kind of words to share that don't leave me blubbering on stage, but not feeling like a fraud either. <br />
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
~~~~</div>
<br />
My heart can't hardly bear the news. I find myself sitting in disbelief that so much hatred and racism exists today in our country because I have been so sheltered from it being from where I am. I grew up with friends of all colors of skin and only learned about segregation and prejudice in lessons in school about slavery and Martin Luther King and Adolf Hitler and the Holocaust. I'm just sick. As a white person who has lived in ignorance for so long, I almost feel embarrassed for all that I've been blind to and unaware of. I don't know what to do or what to say or how to be a part of something that can offer real change. I'm so, so grieved. I'm grieved not only that there exists such evil hatred and white supremacy bullshit in this country, but that I've been so blind and ignorant that it's always been there and I haven't ever seen it because I've grown up in my own measures of safety and privilege. <br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
~~~~</div>
<br />
Here I sit on a Sunday night surrounded by baskets of unfolded laundry, and Legos that my boys didn't put away. I feel chaos in my home, my marriage, my country. Things feel unsettled and broken and dug open, as if a digger has plowed up our front lawn. And I don't know what to fix or where to start, or where all of the trying to put anything together will even lead me. But, I can make my bed. And I guess that's a start.Jennifer Owenshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04607456428606933279noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-822496741660702171.post-68578196429381077422017-08-06T13:14:00.000-07:002017-08-06T13:14:22.948-07:00When your marriage is in the garage<!--[if gte mso 9]><xml>
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<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
It was supposed to be my space.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I wanted a little nook with a comfy chair and
a small table with a lamp where I could retreat to.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>A space to read and write and journal and cry
without policing my children’s play or having to stop and search through Lego’s
to find Batman’s helmet for the 127<sup>th</sup> time.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Todd built a room divider for me and it
seemed to be the best choice to make something from scratch as room dividers
cost a lot of money.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>We came up with the
idea to use fence posts that would be screwed together with hinges so it could
bend the way it needed to and give me the privacy I wanted for my little nook.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
He made it exactly the way I wanted.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The posts were painted the creamy white I
liked with dark hardware on the outside.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>I only got to admire it for a short time before it went crashing down to
the floor and broke.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>His solution was to
brace the bottom of it with a larger piece of wood because the balance was off
somehow.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>He took raw wooden blocks and
attached them to the bottom and I was immediately upset with it, because now
the divider didn’t look pretty.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It was
awkward and these weird stabilizing blocks on the bottom weren’t even
painted.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>In a matter of days, it only
took a slight bumping of my elbow to the divider and it went crashing down to
the floor again.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>One panel broke
completely off again, wooden splinters sticking out from where the screws were
ripped from it in the fall.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
He told me he would figure out a different solution and
propped the broken panel by the other pieces that were still standing.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I suggested calling someone, looking up a
video, asking someone for help, like his brother who is a pretty talented carpenter.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>He wouldn’t ask for help.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I guess he didn’t think he needed any.</div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
Several weeks went by and I got angry every time I walked
into my room and saw the broken divider.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>He even got the equipment he needed to fix it, but it stayed by the door
in our entryway and the dividers stayed as they were in our room.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Broken.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
I got angry about them yesterday. Really angry.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Angrier than a person should get about a
faulty made-from-scratch room divider.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I
told him the dividers were broken and to just get them out of our room.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>He attempted one last time to fix them
somehow by taking more raw wooden braces to try and fix on the other side.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The fix made the piece look even more
unattractive.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I told him it was a bad
idea.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The fence posts weren’t going to
work.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It was broken.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I wanted them out of the room.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I was done looking at them.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I was done with the idea of even wanting to
have them any longer.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
He was noticeably hurt from my demands, but he said
nothing, and silently took them apart and put them in the garage.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>And I cried later.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I cried a lot.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>More than a person should cry about a faulty
made-from-scratch room divider.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
And I realized that I wasn’t crying over the
divider.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Somewhere along the way, the
room divider became a visual of our marriage.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>It’s off balance.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It’s
awkward.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It’s been attempted to be
repaired with quick and sloppy fixes.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>He
says that he will do things or fix things and doesn’t follow through in what he
says he will do and the room divider was a tangible reminder of what feels
broken in our relationship.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>My heart
looks much like the splintered wood where the screws had been ripped out after
the fall. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>And I don’t know the condition
of his because he doesn’t it show it to me.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
All I know, is that our marriage feels like it’s in the
garage.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It’s out there with the toys and
clothes my boys have outgrown, the bicycles we never ride and leftover paint
from other more successful DIY projects.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>If it doesn’t get fixed, it will probably get tossed out as most things
in the garage usually do. </div>
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<![endif]-->Jennifer Owenshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04607456428606933279noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-822496741660702171.post-56343664027283974352017-06-03T07:44:00.000-07:002017-06-03T07:44:15.126-07:00Silly String MomThree years ago I decided it would be a great idea to wake up Tommy with silly string on his very last day of Kindergarten. I have no clue how I came up with this idea, but it sounded like a fun time. Of course he loved it, even though it made an insane mess in his bed. He woke up laughing and confused and even though we had to wash his sheets and vacuum his blankets, I knew it was worth all of the smiles and giggles from my boy. That day, I picked him up early from school, took him to eat at our favorite
restaurant and treated him to a special toy for working so hard all
school year. And just like that, a sweet mother-son tradition was born that day. <br />
<br />
As this last week of school approached, Tommy began bubbling with anticipation.<br />
<br />
<i>"I can't wait for the last day of school! You'll wake me up with silly string and we'll go to Alamo Cafe and we'll have fun together! I'm sooooo excited."</i> He told me this every night all week long that I tucked him into bed, and I have to admit, I was just as excited about it as he was, and not just because it meant leaving work early. <br />
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The last day of school came, and so did the silly string wake up call. We shared queso and laughed as we talked about everything from Ironman to his silly what-if questions and the things he was looking forward to about summer. As I sat across the table from my almost eight year-old, I noticed the light and joy in his face. He looks so much like me and he's still at the age where he thinks I'm the coolest person he knows because I share his love for superheroes and Star Wars. Our conversation comes easily and I know that he knows. <br />
<br />
He knows how deeply I love him. He knows how much I enjoy him - who he is, what he loves, his sense of humor. He knows that he is completely and utterly loved just as he is. <br />
<br />
As we walked out of the restaurant to the car, he wrapped his arm around me and made a quiet <i>"Hmmm"</i> and sigh sound as he looked up at me with a small grin. I looked down at him, though not far down, because in one more foot from now, he will probably be as tall as I am.<br />
<br />
<i>"You're the best mom ever,"</i> he said. I felt his words hit me and I wanted to dismiss them, because I know how untrue that feels for me most of the time. I usually feel like I'm missing everything or I refuse to play, I snap at him or lose my cool and say things I wish I hadn't. I blow it so many times and he knows that I do because I apologize and admit when I'm wrong. <br />
<br />
I hugged him back and kissed his head, and replied, <i>"I know! I am pretty awesome. But, you're the best Tommy ever, and I'm only the best mom ever, because I have a you." </i> And then he smiled and then burped a loud, obnoxious boy burp and we got in the car and picked up his brother to head out for more last day of school adventures together. Jennifer Owenshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04607456428606933279noreply@blogger.com1