Springtime

We have a rosebud tree right outside of our living room window.  Every spring it sprouts tiny pink flowers on it's branches, that in a few week's time, give way to heart-shaped leaves, bright green and silky.  I look forward to watching it every year.  It loses it's leaves in November and stays barren and gray for months, until early March when I notice that it's about ready to burst forth with it's tiny, beautiful blossoms.

Spring always seems to come with some kind of transformation, and not just for my tree.  All of me - heart, body and soul - knows that it's a season of beginnings and new birth. It's the time of year when I'm most accepting of change. I always have wished that the new year started in March rather than in January, because I'm more apt to setting goals and trying new things when the sun is shining and I'm surrounded by the beauty of wildflowers and things turning green and alive.  And my March birthday always feels like the invitation to a fresh start.

Recently, I quit my job.  The one super close to home where I worked part-time and only during the hours Tommy was in school so that I could be home in the afternoons.  For almost four years I had a pretty great schedule that allowed my life as a wife, mom and employee to feel more balanced.  But as some jobs tend to go, I grew out of it.  It no longer was a good fit for me, and so I quit and quickly found something new.  And while I had to give up a schedule that I loved, and would have to start over somewhere else and earn my way back up to having a paid vacation, I knew a change was needed and so, I made one.   I am starting fresh.  It is hard, and it is good.

One of my favorite blogger/authors, Kelle Hampton wrote recently on an Instagram photo, "I love the energy in fresh starts and the fact that we can create them as often as we like."  Kelle writes over at Enjoying the Small Things.  I have read her blog for years and her story-telling and writing style feels like an open window, spring breeze and sunshine pouring in.  And anytime I meet a person like that, I tend to surround myself with them - even if it's through written words, because I thrive on sunshine.

I've been thinking about fresh starts and where I can create a few of them this spring.  Making lists, and practicing mindfulness, paying attention to my daily and nightly habits.  Making notes, some on pen and paper, about where I feel angst or stress, peace, calm and joy. I find myself wanting to try new things too - a Bible study, a hairstyle, a recipe.  Maybe take a writing course or join a book club. New things always sound inviting in the spring, don't they?  My mind is buzzing with ideas, my heart dizzy with daydreams.

Springtime always comes with invitations to new life.  And I never forget to RSVP.

Dear January,

Christmas is back in the attic.  Our house and our routines are returning back to normal.  And winter has forgotten to come to Texas.  I suppose this is mostly okay, since I'm not a fan of winter.  I'm only sort of bummed about such warm weather because it's too hot to wear my new leggings and cute boots.  Also, my legs are far too white for the shorts and sandals I've been sporting.

We've known each other awhile and you know by now that you and August or my least favorite months out of the year.  I'm sorry I think you're so lame, but you usually come with long, cold, sunless and boring days.  This weird winter has come with the opportunity for change.  And I write the word "opportunity," but how I really feel about it is like winter has come to screw me over, or winter has come to scoff at me, or winter has come to torture me with change. Do you ever feel like that January? 

I've been talking to myself saying things like, "Okay Jennifer, this sucks.  Yep.  This is pretty shitty actually.  But we're okay.  Today, we are okay right?  So let's take a moment and breathe.  You want to be angry and sad?  Okay, let's do that.  Let's feel angry and sad.  You can feel angry and sad and not open the pantry or pour a drink.  Let's take a minute and think about the situation and then we'll sit down and make a plan and sort it out together."  And maybe that inner dialogue is totally weird and I'm possibly a crazy person, but sometimes, self-care means having to walk myself through something difficult as  if my sane, logical, kind self is grabbing my crazy, anxious, irrational self by the hand.  It would be like April or June coming to grab your hand and tell you that everything is going to be alright.

The last time I was with you January, we were in the hospital.  And I can't tell you how glad I am to NOT be in the hospital.  That was the worst January ever, no offense.

Why does it seem that when life finally shakes out a bit and you start feeling settled from the last place that shook the crap out of you, that something new comes and you're back to that same place of starting anew or readjusting all over again?  I suppose it would be dull to have everything the same for so long and that's what makes seasons or change or spontaneity so wonderful.  But, I guess I get a little weary sometimes with all of the change and having to keep changing right along with it.

And if I have to keep changing and things have to keep changing, can't I at least have some decent weather so I can wear my cute leggings January? 

If change is inevitable and I have to constantly keep growing and being stretched, than I want to at least look cute doing it.

Thank you for your considerations.

Sincerely,
Jennifer

Let every heart prepare Him room

They wait and look up expectantly the first time the tree is decorated, all glowing and shining, it's base barren and waiting for the promise of the good gifts to come.  They are the picture of anticipation and waiting.  Christmas is coming! Christmas is coming!

There will be festive lights, family traditions, special cookies, and colorfully wrapped packages.  Yes, Christmas is coming.  But, what does that mean?  And more importantly, what does it mean to me?

I have long enjoyed this season.  Decorating, baking, gift-giving, party-throwing - it's practically all of my favorite things rolled in to one month.  Yet, almost every season, I feel drained and spent.  The season comes and goes and there is always this nagging feeling in my heart that I've missed something.  I've come to realize that it's Him that I'm missing - Jesus, the very reason for the season I love so much.

This Christmas, my side of the family has some very special things planned: A giant family sleepover.  A White Elephant gift exchange that will be a first for us to do.  And another round of family karaoke that is sure to be epic considering we will have ALL of the family there this time.  There is the promise of so much laughter, joy and beautiful glory-filled tears that  I can feel myself ramping up with emotion, hope and excitement as we plan and prepare for our time together.

Several nights ago, I couldn't sleep.  I woke up in the middle of the night, got out of bed and began to read and journal.  I did some research on advent - some of the history and traditions that surround it and as I did, I began to hear that still, small voice.  The One that has invited me to know Him and go deeper with Him again and again.  The One who always calls me to more.

I started to be curious about how I could observe this advent season differently than I have in years past.  To start, I decided to approach it with some fasting and prayer, and to purpose a quieter and less scheduled holiday season.  One that left room for giving and serving others, for being more present with my family in ways that didn't include big things or expensive family outings and one that included plenty of real rest for my soul.  I have a book to read and I plan to write of course. 

My prayer tonight, this night before the first of December, is for a heart that has prepared room for Jesus.  I want my schedule, my body, my heart and my home to be prepared for what's to come.  And not just for our big family Christmas.  But to really meet Christ this Christmas in a way that I haven't before.

Oh, how I want my heart tonight to mimic that of my boys by the tree.  Waiting expectantly for Jesus, the greatest gift that came, the greatest gift that still comes, and the greatest gift still to come.

Christmas is coming.  What does that mean to you?

Autumn Decorating

It's always about more than decorating.  It's not simply changing out throw pillows and putting out pumpkins.  I'm creating a feeling, welcoming in change and a new season.  Adding warmth to my home and inviting reflections of harvest, thanksgiving and gratitude.

 

With autumn decor, I think less is more.  I prefer fall foliage, a few well placed pumpkins and one or two larger pieces that change from my every day decor.  My focal shelf that sits in our living room is always my most favorite thing to do up for any season and the deer art felt like a perfect choice.

My favorite pumpkin painted by my amazing mother-in-law almost always sits in the same place every year.

I like a change in the throw pillows on my couch. Sadly, they spend more time under my end tables as to not be ruined by the small humans who live here with me.  But they take lovely pictures until they are put away.

 A few pumpkins and knick-knacks get changed out on my bookshelves.

And I always have my favorite picture out of me and my mom in my kitchen in the fall.  It's the season she feels closest to me, and I love this picture as a reminder of the parts of her that forever live on in me.

I set the table like I'm about to have company, when in real life my placemats and cloth napkins are put away as the table is perpetually covered with syrup, crayons, Lego heads and spilled apple juice.

But it feels cozy if you overlook the chaos and mess that comes with having two small children and loving to decorate for the season.

Earlier this week we arrived home in the evening.  Tommy turned on a lamp in the living room and flopped down on our soft leather recliner.  He sighed a happy sigh and said, "Mom, I love how the house looks in the fall.  When you decorate it like this - it's my favorite way the house feels!"

And then my heart bubbled over with joy.  Because he can feel it too.  Because I love creating beauty in my home.  And because it's fall again.

Letting Go

I'm infatuated with sunlight.  There is something about sunshine that makes me feel a certain special kind of alive.

I find beauty in it throughout the year.  It's rising and setting, it's shining brightly at the heat of the day, or when it peeks through after a storm to remind us it's still there.  And when the sun hides behind evening clouds and it creates amber and fuchsia and periwinkle colored skies, I have been known to pull over on the side of the road just to look at it.  I've chased down sunsets, awoken early to watch it rise, and I've put blankets down in my backyard in January to bathe in it's light, feeling it soak into the pieces of my soul that starve in the winter time.

And then there's the way it lights up my house.  The way it comes in through my favorite living room window makes me swoon every year, especially in the fall. As soon as the first of September hits, I wait for this magical day that happens when the sun shows off in all of it's September splendor.

It signifies a changing of seasons, of good things to come and the months ahead that my heart treasures the most.  I usually feel my heart shift with the seasons.  My quiet solitude in the winter, an awakening and renewing in the spring, and an enthusiastic energy in the summertime.  But the arrival of autumn, is different.  Autumn brings with it sweet memories of my mother, reminders of the beginning of my love story with Todd, and invitations to create some of my favorite memories with my children in pumpkin patches, costumes, parties, feasts and a time to focus on gratitude and giving of thanks. Somehow, it all begins with autumn's sunlight streaming through my window.

"The trees are about to show us how lovely it is to let things go."

This has been a year of loss for me, for our family, for our lives.  Loss of health, loss of time, loss of memories made.  Loss of relationships, friendships and community.  Of reputation, of dignity and character.  Loss of money.  Of certain hopes, dreams and plans.  Loss of weight that I've carried on my body for years.  I have been full of deep sorrow and sadness.  How life unraveled this year and spilled out into places, ended up leaving us wounded and wounding others in the process.

As another season invites me to something new, I'm aware of all that I've had to let go of this year, all that has let go of me, and all that I'm still holding on to that I need not to.  I've been coping and medicating and numbing out with all of the loss, trying to grasp on to something.  I'm discovering that loss is something we must feel, and the only way to do that is to empty our hands and stop reaching out for something to fill them with.  If my hands are empty, than they're finally open to receive.  And it's been a while since I've come before God in any measure of humility asking Him to fill them again.

Autumn's light through my window invited me to remember His goodness.  To remember that it's okay to let things go.  And to give my heart the rest, grace and kindness it needs in this season.

There's talk of our first "cold" front making it's way in soon.  I have my fall decorations ready and waiting to decorate.  My favorite white chicken chili recipe is on the menu, and a pumpkin pie to be made celebrating it's arrival.

Autumn is coming, with wind and gold.

And letting go.

Made to Sing

After high school, I decided what I wanted to do most was perfect my craft and sing classically - specifically opera.  This decision came after an unforgettable experience singing with the All Region Choir my senior year of high school.  Our choral director was the most musically-passionate man I had ever met, and still to this day, have not forgotten.  His name was Charles Bruffy.  He had curly hair and dreamy blue eyes and he was incredibly charming.  His passion and zeal for music and instructing us invited me to more.

Before our big performance that night, he told us this lovely story about his gold cuff-link,s of all things, that had "1-2-3" imprinted on them.  How someone he knew invited him to take a risk and how all you can do in life is to say 1-2-3 and jump out into the unknown.  I remember how he asked us to be curious about our call to music. How we were all there because of our talent and hard work and maybe a life spent in music was something worth risking.  As we took the stage and our choir prepared to sing the first movement of the Chichester Psalms, he raised up his baton and quietly whispered "1-2-3" to us.  I nearly melted in the awe of that moment.  I can still remember the chills I had, and the power that music moving through my entire body gave me.  How I teared up at the end of this triumphant song (also, sung in Hebrew) by one of my favorite composers, Leonard Bernstein.  That very night, the conductor, that piece of music, those silly cuff-links - all of it planted a desire in my heart to pursue a career in singing.

At the time, I knew that I knew, I was meant to sing.

With my music major decided on, I ended up at a small university where I made several friends who shared the same dreams and aspirations as me.  We were both friends and competitors, but all of our comparison and training and performing in front of one another at various voice recitals only motivated us to do better.  I was one of the best freshman vocals that came to the university that year, and told so by my choir director.  And though it was a small school, I was oozing with a kind of confidence I never had before.

I remember that feeling of being 18 and feeling like I could really go somewhere or be somebody.  My whole life was right in front of me, the world was at my fingertips - and all those other cliche things you say when you are young and on your own and could literally pick one of a thousand different directions and they would all be the right one.

My story took a different turn though after my third semester into studying music.  I was in love, consumed by it even.  It felt so good to be loved and wanted to by a guy - the first ever who really showed any interest in me.  He made me feel beautiful and sexy and significant and valuable - all of those things that any young woman wants to feel.  And being so distracted with my boyfriend whom I was convinced I would spend the rest of my life with, I slowly gave up going to classes.  It felt better to stay in bed and be held and kissed and adored.  All of those feelings took over any kind of logic I possessed, which was probably not much to begin with if I'm honest, and completely disappeared.

If there was anything I wanted more than to sing, it was to be loved.

On top of that, I found myself reeling from a very disappointing vocal competition where the judges ripped me apart - especially on my diction and pronunciation.  I couldn't sing German to save my life - something rather important if you are studying to make a career in vocal performance.  Others, who I had deemed lesser than me, did better than I did at the same competition and I was left feeling humiliated.

But even had I kept going on to study music, life took a different turn for me.  My boyfriend was murdered at the end of the year and it undid me.  Part of my soul felt like it had died and my world that was once so full of possibility and bright futures vanished.

By January of 2001, I was working at Sonic as a carhop and "fountain engineer," which only meant I could make a mean banana split and deliver it to your car.  I was living at home with my parents, had no car, no community, a pile of debt from school and credit cards and shattered dreams.

All of that feels like a lifetime ago.  Yet, when I remember that season of my life, when loneliness reigned supreme and I had nothing to do but sit in my disappointments and failures and heartbreak, those memories feel very tangible and close.

Before I turned 21, a small business owner took a chance on me and my lack of any office experience, and hired me as his secretary.  I taught myself how to keep books and several accounting principals and from there I have built the career I have today where I make a fairly decent living.  Also, let's use the word career loosely, shall we?  However, bookkeeping is far from where I ever thought I would end up.  It wasn't in my plan, it wasn't a dream.  It's far from singing opera and all things musical or even creative.  And as an adult, it has been hard for me to dream beyond the familiar borders of where life has me now.

The last few years, I have seen my opera-singing friends travel the world and fulfill their musical dreams thanks to Facebook.  Those who I went to school with and who literally made music their life are in my face on a pretty regular basis.  I am reminded often of my past and my old dreams and how small my life feels sometimes.  I have one friend specifically who travels the world singing with various opera companies.  This summer she is in England and Italy, and when she's not traveling the globe, she directs an up and coming opera opera company in Tennessee.  Those are the moments it's hard not to feel jealous or wonder "what-if" about my own life and choices.

All of this invites me to think that perhaps I wasn't meant to sing like I thought I was.

Just last night, I was peeling potatoes and preparing dinner while my boys played in the living room for a few quiet and conflict-free moments.  Todd was on his way home from work and we had plans to attend a new small group.  As I was putting dirty dishes in the sink, I was overwhelmed with gratitude.  I lead a relatively small life where I am a part-time bookkeeper and I cook dinner for my family and we live in a humble cracker-box house in the suburbs.  I am a mother of two and a wife to one wonderful and handsome man.  Family is nearby and we have all we need or could ever ask for.  I am blessed beyond measure and have more than I could ever begin to deserve.

And I am loved.  Deeply, truly loved.

I felt thankful and content.  Happy even.  I hummed and sang as I worked, like I often do.  I am still singing.  But, it's a much different song.

Every so often, you might catch me walking around my house singing an old aria or taking an everyday tune in my best out of practice operatic voice and busting it out at the top of my lungs.  And my only audience is my children who think I am silly and make hilarious attempts at imitating me.  But a singer isn't defined by her audience or how many opera houses she has sung in or how many degrees she has in vocal performance.  She is a singer because she sings.

My story turned out differently than my 18 year old self imagined that it would.  Some days I am overwhelmed with gratitude.  Sometimes I travel down the what-if road even though I know I shouldn't.  But one that remains true and always will be.

I was most definitely made to sing.

In Summer

I believe that summer was made for adventuring.  For long walks to find treasures like dirty bottlecaps and rocks that shimmer and shine in the sun.

I believe that red popsicles and juicy watermelon are the best treats for hot days and that backyard barbecues taste better when shared with friends.

I believe the smell of sunscreen on my boys after a long day of outside play is what heaven will smell like.

I believe in sunkissed noses and sand-covered toes.  That salty, ocean air breezes are the best kind.  And day trips to the coast are best when they end with cold root-beer and freshly fried shrimp.

I believe in plastic pools and sprinklers and cheap waterguns and that getting wet in summertime should happen every day.

I believe in fireworks and cakes decorated like American flags and celebrating freedom with friends and cheeseburgers.

I believe in slow mornings and pancakes and staying in pajamas because you have no need for an agenda.

I believe in Texas sunsets, lit up all violet and fuchsia and turquoise at night.  That they are best experienced when shared on the front porch with someone you love and there is no need to speak because the sun always does all the talking for you.

I believe in staying up late to watch movies, snuggled up on sleeper-sofas, blankets and pillows piled high.  In reading books and making up stories and drawing pictures on soft construction paper, markers bleeding through.

I believe in ice cream cones, and sticky sweetness dripping on tiny fingers.

I believe in the sound of cicada bugs and boys who play basketball in the street.  In riding bikes and swim lessons and learning how to tie your shoes.

I believe in trips to the library and turning off cartoons.  In practicing math and memorizing Bible verses and sending handwritten letters to friends.

I believe that everyone should know what it's like to play in a summer rain shower.

I believe that strawberry margaritas taste better outside.  That laughter is served best with fresh salsa and crispy tortilla chips and the faces of women who get you completely.

I believe in sidewalk chalk and pictures of rainbows and stick figures and messages written about love and family.  In bubbles blown, popped, chased and caught.

I believe in summer.  In the magic of long days and laughing with your children.  Yellow butterflies and blue skies and white dandelions.  Wishes ready for the making.

Nine years and new beginnings

Todd and I celebrated nine years of marriage this last Wednesday.  We reminisced about the past and anticipated the future like we do on most anniversary dates, this year at a quaint mexican restaurant.  Afterward, we found ourselves sitting by the Guadalupe River at a nearby park and later capped off the evening by treating ourselves to new pillows.

Clearly, we know how to partay.

In many ways, these nine years have flown.  Having kids has a way of speeding things up somehow because life is always measured in milestones and themed birthday parties.  Tommy is always counting down to the next thing, the next event, the next holiday.  Our little man always has to have a plan or know what the plan is -he relies on consistency and predictability. Right now we are counting down to his sixth birthday and our promise of spending the day at Six Flags with him.  And potty training our second child is looming in our near future and just thinking about it is enough for me to wish time could stand still. 

But at the start of our ninth year of marriage together, we have found ourselves in an unwanted season of transition.  A chapter in our lives that we have loved living and doing and being a part of is at its end.  And we are heartbroken.

There's no way to poetically write it or talk around it so I will just say the things that nobody really says when these things happen:  our church is falling apart.  Or at least, that's how we see it.  People are leaving.  Dear, dear friends that we have done life with and loved on and been in ministry with are moving on.  And we are devastated.  The how's and why's and who's are irrelevant really.  The fact of the matter is, churches and pastors and leaders and members - everything and everyone of us broken.  And sometimes that brokenness causes divisions and disagreements or bad decisions or just humans being extra humanly.  In short - it sucks.  It sucks so very much.

The evening we sat by the river, there was nothing but he and I, some huge cypress trees and the sound of the water flowing past.  I took this picture as it perfectly captures us, our marriage and how we fit together.  He with his camo crocs and me with my overly girly and sparkly sandals. So incredibly opposite but somehow we were made for each other.

Life is often going to hand us unexpected realities.  Chapters and seasons will come and go and many of them, like this one, we won't even see coming.  But we're in this thing together just like we vowed nine years ago.

Right now we are grieving. We are losing our church, our community, a sense of familiarity and comfort and predictability - some of those things that must go if we to continue to grow.  We are trusting by faith that God gives and takes away, and tears things down to only build something back up in its place.  Before each new beginning, there is always an ending.

I'm simply grateful that nine years into marriage, we are living our endings and new beginnings camo croc by sparkly sandal.  Side by side.

Wintering

I am most certain I could not survive winter in any other place in the world. If it actually snowed where I lived, if we had blizzards or ice or any kind of frozen precipitation day after day for months on end, I am fairly certain I would not be able to endure it with any amount of sanity or grace.

It is barely winter here.  South Texas is fortunate enough to only receive the tail end of any fronts or freezes or arctic blasts.  Yet, standing outside in a windy 52 degrees today, I told my friend our conversation was over and I was getting in the car until summer came back. 

The cold despises me.  Or I despise the cold - I'm not exactly sure which statement is more accurate.  Either way, it doesn't fit or feel right and every winter, I find myself wishing it away.  January has always been the month I get through and survive.  As soon as the holidays are gone and Christmas is boxed back up into the attic, I am ready for spring and the warmth of the sunshine.  I find it rude that the newness of the year has to come with the winter.  I happen to think that the new year should be in the spring when everything is green and lovely.  And alive.

This particular season makes me want to hunker down.  To hide even.  To stay indoors, covered in blankets with a warm mug of coffee and a good book.  To isolate and retreat.  Winter makes my very social self, anti-social.  I listen to different styles of music - like soft, lyric-less compositions.  I live in my warm comfy pants and Todd's wool socks, which sadly isn't acceptable work attire.  Getting out of bed in the morning and showered and ready to take on the day is a chore - partly because it activates my Rheumatoid Arthritis and partly because staying in bed sounds more appealing than any other possible thing.  I become almost hermit-like, craving the quiet, and surrendering to the death I am surrounded by outside hoping to just get by and get through it.

Just like the seasons change and winter's arrival comes every year, I go through the same cycles and patterns within myself and even with my faith in God.  If the sun is furthest away from my part of the earth in the winter, than I also feel that God is the farthest from me then also.  That I am furthest away from the truest version of me.  Nature goes to sleep, it rests.  Likewise, I do the same, but usually in unhealthy ways that involve consuming too many warm baked goods and sitting on my couch so long I leave a permanent dent from my lethargy. 

I feel like God is distant and small in winter.  He becomes a faint memory of some fabulous summer vacation we had together.  And I wait for Him to return in all of His glory and sunshine and show off with making things new in the spring.  God isn't as show-offy in winter.  He seems to be quiet much like the winter that settles in around me in gray skies and barren trees. 

Just today I journaled the words, "I feel like you left me.  It's winter and you leave me every winter."

Tonight, as I sit here in my familiar comfy pants and Todd's wool socks and black hoodie because we refuse to turn on the heater, I am curious about what it might be like to winter well.  Where I might find God in this season if I were to look for Him.  And if I might be able to rest, really, truly rest in a season that does nothing but invite that very thing.

The First Days

The first days of school have already come and gone.  My big boy is officially a Kindergartener and so far his biggest complaint is that he has to sit criss-cross-applesauce on the floor sometimes and it hurts his legs.  He has had a couple of rough days this week adjusting to early mornings and a day full of activity.  And saying goodbye is still the hardest part, though today was finally a successful tear-less arrival at school.

Also, no one ever tells you about the horror that is the after-school pick-up line.  Even I cried the first day.  You might too if it took you 45 minutes to pick up your son and you had no way of telling him that you were there.  It was a good thing I had balloons and candy waiting for him in the backseat because he was quite anxious and frustrated that he had to wait so long - and I couldn't say that I blamed him.

This whole week I have felt the pangs of change and growth and newness.  With Tommy starting school, our usual schedule and the familiarity of a comfortable routine is now a thing of the past.  A new routine is replacing the old one and we are having to roll with the punches and take everything day by day to see what works for us.  With Todd's unpredictable work schedule, doing dinner and baths and bedtimes all alone a few nights a week feels more exhausting than it did before.  I'm having to pay closer attention to my limits and boundaries and remember that I can't do it all.  Which is why I have laundry strewn about my bedroom and dirty dishes that are literally piled up in the sink.

This morning on my way to work, I watched the sun rise through the trees and brilliantly break through the clouds all lit up in turquoise and amber.  And in that, I found the silver lining of my new and very early work schedule.  Those sunrises - it's as if God is smiling right at me and wishing me a good morning and a reminder that He is with me and remembers me.

September is around the corner already.  Sadly, it doesn't mean a lovely cool-off for autumn in my part of the world, but it does always usher in the changing of seasons in my life.  There are things I am doing and preparing for that feel big and I am seeing where every year brings more of the something I didn't have in me the year before.  That thing is what I'm hoping Tommy will discover in himself as he learns to get out of the car without being walked in by daddy and as he faces new things that feel hard and uncomfortable.

I continue my love/hate relationship with change.  Looking forward to the places I grow and bend in the midst of it all and fighting through the hard days.  Remembering that courage is feeling scared, but doing it anyway.  And waiting for autumn, the promise to harvest all that I have been diligently sewing.

A Tasty Summer

We've had s'mores by the firepit.

 We've had crispy, fried shrimp while sitting on the bay at the beach.

 We've eaten melting popsicles in the sunshine after "swimming" in the kiddie-pool.

 We've made fresh salsa using the tomatoes and jalepenos we are growing in our backyard.

 We've grilled ribs and sausage and steak and fajitas.

We've consumed juicy, red watermelon.

 

So far, summer has been delicious.  And it's only just begun.

Summer in May

Remember that time I posted about Bluebonnets and I said spring only lasted for a few weeks here?  Yeah, I wasn't kidding.  See?!  

I don't really mind though.  I might get a little tired of the heat come October when the rest of the world gets all show offy with their golden leaves and crisp fall weather.  But I love the sunshine and the color of the sky and all the summer everything - even if it has been 100 degrees already.

It's time again for popsicles and sunglasses and mini-pools and playing in sprinklers and long days full of sunshine.

 

What's up summer?  I've missed you.

Spring, spring, spring

Being the season lover that I am, there are a few moments every year that I wait for in great anticipation and expectation.

Summer is a feeling.  It comes from the perfect amount of warmth and sunshine and laughter of a little boy running through the sprinkler, food fresh off the grill.  It comes when I can see the bright colors of plastic aqua swimming pools, strawberry red popsicles and jet black skies lit up with golden sparkly fireworks.

In autumn, it's that moment when the sun is golden and it lights up my living room all romantic and amber-like.  When the first cool front blows through and cools us off from a long, blazing summer and the first fall winds are something you feel deep inside. 

Winter, I look to the sky.  When it is perfectly gray and cozy, it invites me to find comfort in soft, worn blankets and homemade soup and warm bread and snuggles on January evenings.  It's after the holidays when life settles and quiets and I'm left with time for reflection and solitude.

And spring?  It's our Rosebud tree, always the first to bloom.  It's pink flowers give way to beautiful heart shaped leaves.  I can see it right outside my living room window and it's my very favorite.

It's blooming now.  It means that spring is here.  And my heart is bursting with gratitude.

The last several months, especially throughout the winter, I was at war within myself.  I was sitting with feelings and thoughts that felt consuming, especially on the bad days.  They were the kinds of things that only happen on the inside of a person and if you would have seen me, you wouldn't have known.  They are the kinds of things no one knows about unless they ask how you are, how you really, really are.  And only the good friends ask that question because they truly know you're heart and because they can see when your smiles are forced and when you're not the same you as you usually are.  They can tell when your sparkle isn't as sparkly because you're hurting. 

I've been doing some writing about this season and I plan on sharing some of that here soon.  It's about motherhood mostly - and pride and disappointment and failure - and how those things are weaving into the threads of my story and life.  All of it making me, changing me, growing me.  Today, I'm feeling grateful for a place that still feels difficult, because it's brought me to my knees and reminded me of my desperate need for the Father's love and my Savior's abounding grace.

Spring is finally here.  Our tree is new once again. It lived through summer's blazing heat, autumn's fall and winter's barrenness.  And I lived through them too.  I too am new, for He is always making new.  He is faithful to make the new.

Happy spring everyone.

The first of October

On this first day of October, the government shut-down and Obamacare threw up all over my Facebook newsfeed.  Impending stock market crash predictions, the affect the shutdown will have on our gas and groceries, how "evil" Obamacare is for us, and the general impending doom of America - you get the gist.  There seems to be so much venom, hate, and overly opiniony opinions.  Not exactly how I would hope an October would be ushered in. Not the month-o-pumpkins and scarf wearing and general "fall is here"merry-making.

I've always had a hard time knowing where to land in these places.  I don't want to get caught up in the debates and arguments - it seems futile to me.  I think there is a difference for standing up for what is right and being argumentative and self-righteous.  While I understand that everyone has things to say and has feelings about our leaders and their decisions, it's how people talk, especially to each other, that turns my stomach.  Especially - ESPECIALLY - people who say that they are Christians.  Often times they seem to have the ugliest things to say in the ugliest ways and I can't help but wonder what Jesus' voice might sound like amidst all of this chaos and confusion and drama.   I'm not really sure, but I can guarantee it wouldn't be ugly. 

So I go quiet.  Unsure of what to say or do.  What I want my voice to sound like in all of this.  And I'm left feeling silenced.

I did what I could for today.  Tried to get informed, do some research.  Read different things from different points of view.  I highly recommend that for anyone and everyone.  Get to know the facts, do some research.  And if you still have something to say - can we say it with kindness and respect?  *sigh*

I also turned Christmas music on my Pandora station at work today - because it's October and regardless of shut-downs or whatever bad news there is, Christmas music in my world always begins in October.  It's tradition.

I came home to my boys, one of whom had a lesson tonight about obedience. How it's important to obey mommy and daddy because sometimes what we are instructing is for protection and to keep you out of harm's way. This lesson has sat heavy with my mama's heart tonight.  I have questions for God and my own areas of obedience and an accident that caused glass to shatter all over the floor, has disrupted my heart in more ways than one.

I got some exercise.  Regardless of the up and down scale and the discouragement and all the efforts that feel wasted sometimes, I took care of my body.

I turned off Facebook and quit reading the news and the opinions and the forecasts.

So for now, at the end of this first day of October, I'm feeling quiet and restful.  Trusting that God has this - He has me, He has us, that nothing that happens in our world doesn't happen without His eye on it, without some greater purpose or plan. 

I'm looking forward to the cozy, quiet a south Texas autumn brings.  I'm looking forward to trying out some new soups in my crockpot this season.  Planning our annual pumpkin-carving party, doing some reading.  And enjoying how I'll be working less hours and having more time for my family, more time for me. 

 

I hope you all find some peace, rest and kindness this first of October's night.

Autumn Solstice

I noticed it a few days ago.  That moment I wrote about and have been eagerly awaiting?  It came, it's here.

Softly, beautifully, it came streaming through my window. Signaling the much anticipated event of the year - autumn solstice.  Fall's arrival.

See what I mean?  Wouldn't you wait for this every year too?

This week brought surprises - the kind of surprises you never see coming, which are of course the very best kind.  October is bringing relief for my schedule, more time home with my family, less time working.  Answers to prayers.

In celebration of the light, the surprises, and autumn's official arrival this coming Sunday, I'm ushering it all in.  The fall foliage, the warm colors, the pumpkin pie.  It's happening.

Remember September

In South Texas, September usually comes with muggy, humid, weather.  The air is thick and tangible and it always precedes one last season of unfairly hot weather before the first front breaks through and makes it all the way down to our side of the equator. 

But aside from the predictably sticky weather, September is a time of reminiscing for me.  It takes me back to the beginnings of Todd and I, our love story and romance and how it all unfolded so surprisingly for us both.  I love looking back on the life we've shared together and seeing this beautiful dance we've danced together for the last eight years now.  One in which I invite him out on to the main floor and out from the corner he was sitting in.   And he invites me to sit one out, to join him in the back.

Eight years, three trucks and two boys later, it feels bittersweet almost to reflect on those beginnings.  It's when you meet and fall in love and can't bear to be apart when all of this magic happens.  And it's not that the magic is lost really, but over time you become so used to the magic there, it takes something extraordinary to remind you of what you have together.  It can be easy to forget when there are bills and baths to give and a million other things tugging at us every moment of the day.

I've learned that with love and marriage, it's like that though.  There are seasons of bliss, of intense closeness, of just feeling ridiculously happy together.  And there are others where you feel a hole, a distance, often times caused by frustrations - the same frustrations, the same issues you're always talking about. 


Regardless of the holes that need filling, or the moments we feel ridiculously happy that we still have one another to wake up to every day, I'm grateful for September. 

I'm grateful for the memories of our beginning.  How we got swept up in one another, in love, in autumn.  How wonderful it was to be kissed and hold hands and feel love wrapped around me and seen in the face of this kind, handsome, gentle man.  I love how this time of year always makes us remember.

Our life-dance forever changed by one quiet September night.

Off Rhythm

For two weeks now, every evening I have driven home from work I have found myself waiting for this moment.  The one that comes every September where the sun makes it's lovely autumn solstice tilt, and even though the temperatures point to summer, the orange, inviting glow indicates that the seasons are changing....finally.  

It shines differently, softer - and there hasn't been a time, especially since we've lived in our home, that I haven't noticed that change.

The September sun and how it lights up our corner-lot house, was one of the things I was going to miss most when I was packing boxes and preparing to leave several months ago to move up north.  And it was one of the things I rejoiced over when I realized we wouldn't be moving after all. 

Since North Dakota and Jacob and a heap of disappointment that came with loss and the ending of a dream, it's felt as though our rhythm is off.  Something isn't quite right.  Something isn't working.  There has been this spirit of unsettledness - in my heart, my body, my home, even my marriage and with my boys.  It's as if something has been misplaced.  

I've been waiting for it to balance out, but it's hasn't.  Trying to juggle and control and manage and make things work.  Always, always I find myself back in the same places.  Terrified of letting go, of trusting and being vulnerable.

Maybe I'm a bit like a fall leaf in South Texas.  

Waiting until nearly winter to change, to fall, to let go.

Thirsty

Perhaps when one keeps a blog, there is an expectation to write in it frequently.  Or maybe that's an expectation I have for myself.  And though my little space in the blogosphere has never been popular or widely read, I come here to share stories and heart ponderings - and used to on a very regular and daily basis.  Writing - it's my thing.  It's my happy place, my therapy, my coming-home.  

Yet I've found myself at a loss for written words lately and I don't really know why.

Something inside of me feels dry.  Thirsty even. 

We have been desperate for rain lately in my little part of the world.  The summer has been dry and brutal and any chance of rain has come in short spurts and showers, not doing much for our parched lands.  Storms will be moving in and they literally short out and disappear when met with our dryness.  I didn't even know that could happen.

One of those short storms moved in today.  I longed for the skies to stay gray and cloudy, for the rain to come back.  To let us drink and soak it in.

I think perhaps I'm needing a drink.  I need a long soak, a downpour.  Apparently, I am thirsting for something.

Hello September

I was overjoyed to flip open my calendar to a brand new crispy, clean, fresh month.  Oh September, you're finally here. 

August is behind us - and it wasn't just the overwhelming heat that made the month challenging.  It was a struggle to get through it.  Fighting old demons, feeling old feelings.  Death and loss.  Chaotic childcare arrangements.  Excessive working-mom guilt that plagued me.  Too many tired nights that required take-out or bowls of cereal for dinner.  A baby boy who is only truly happy in his mama's arms - sweet yes, but a bit exhausting.  Tense relationships, missed conversations.  Disconnected, disappointed, disheartened. 

Boy, was it ever an August.


To celebrate it's end and looking forward to a new month ahead, I cut my hair this weekend.  I didn't go drastic, but I took some of the length off and added in some layers.  It's a bit sassy and a bit classic too.

It's amazing how pretty a new haircut can make you feel.  When it bounces and feels perfectly silky after leaving the salon - I left wondering why I don't pamper myself this way more often.  

This last month felt like day after day of having hard days in front of the mirror.  Despising what I see, sitting in self-contempt - it was time for an identity check.  I did some journaling, voiced the things I have been keeping inside, and picked myself back up again.  I treated myself to a haircut, cleaned out my closet and made some new plans for taking better care of myself - body and soul. 

Sometimes, it takes a really long, hard August for you to find your grounding again.  And when you do, you wake up and find that it's finally, finally, finally.....September.

Summertime Blues (a.k.a. - August)

August has always been my least favorite month of any year.  And I apologize in advance to any of you August-lovers out there, though I don't know many of you.

It's hot and horribly long with it's big, fat 31 days and everything.  It falls between fun-summery things and cozy autumn happenings.  And absolutely nothing exciting ever happens in August. 

Our celebrations are over.  Summertime activities start to die down.  There are no more fireworks or pool parties or 9pm sunsets.  August hits and suddenly everyone is in preparation for school to start and spiral bound notebooks and new tennis shoes replace popsicles and flip-flops.  Everyone prepares to go back to their normal routine of life when I'm wanting to continue in the spontaneity and unpredictability of summer fun.  August feels like one big bummer.

It feels like the end of summer in a way, but it's not.  The heat bears down hard and heavy.  Squashing out any possibilities for the familiar summery activity. 

The forecast is set to be over 100 degrees for the next seven days.  I'm used to this seeing as I've lived here my entire life, and I never understand the people who complain about it or act shocked that it gets that hot here.  But in this kind of heat, you can barely stand to be outside much less DO anything in it lest you keel over and die.

August is the forerunner though for the arrival of fall.  Even though September is still quite warm and summer-like here, just the word September sounds prettier to say. And every year, this one being no exception, I'm wanting to get through this season and on to the next.  To wrap up summer's towels and sunscreen and bright vibrant color and settle into a softer time of year full of warmth and quiet.

It's the first of August.  The first of the month that is simply not my favorite.  I'm dreaming and wishing and hoping.  Wondering what the next season might hold for me and thinking about how I want to live in the August places of my heart.