I'm trying to decide if I would ever be a recluse.
I feel certain the answer would be a resounding "No!"
There is something to peace and quiet. To the restfulness of solitude. I enjoy being alone, with a good book, or in the sanctuary of a bubble bath with the strains of The Moldau playing in the background. (I adore the romantic era composers.)
I think of those peaceful moments and wonder just how long I could survive all that peace. There must be a reason that solitary confinement has often been a punishment. I think perhaps we were all meant for a little chaos. The outward collision results in greater enjoyment of internal peace. I appreciate the rare occasions of bubble baths and candles more, when I am retreating from something.
And as a side note, I am learning more and more that waving the white flag is more than okay. It's how you maintain health. Retreat is an underrated word in my vocabulary and I'm making attempts to resolve that.
I haven't found too many friends that enjoy writing like myself, immersing themselves in written communication. I could get lost for hours. I've been considering how much I would enjoy a pen pal. Someone you could engage with thoughts about life. A heart you could hear and understand from the lost art of words on a page. I think we say more when we are not face to face. I think we feel more able to express those deep feelings, and upon expression, connection and deep intimacy is born, even if you never physically meet the person. Two kindred spirits, retreating, yet connecting.
In theory, I think it would be a beautiful way to spend a lifetime of friendship.
But I'm certain I would still need a friend to meet for cornbread.
Saturday, March 25, 2017
Monday, March 20, 2017
Everyone Needs A Thing
Is there something that you really need in your life? Something to which you often cling? It could be an addiction - good or bad. It could be a routine. It could be music. It could be a food. (Pie. It's definitely pie.) I think everyone probably has that one thing. Or seven.
One thing I need, more and more as the days past, is my church. I walk in the door and immediately feel a reduction in stress. I'm anxious to get there every Sunday morning. It smells really good when you walk in the door - because they sell legal addictive stimulants, or better (perhaps lesser) said, coffee. I don't know that many personally, but being with God's people, there is just nothing like it. Knowing that the people around you share your most precious thing - your faith - I. Love. It.
When you spend the majority of your time with people who do not understand your motivation, your heart, your passion....it feels good to exhale. Really exhale.
It took me several years to reconcile my disjointed feelings about church. I know all the songs like "Deep and Wide" and "This Little Light of Mine." (I would challenge you to a "Jr Church - Name That Tune" ANY day of the week.) I know all the lingo - eternal security/KJV/predestination/pre-mid-post-tribulation. I know all the mascots - like a singing songbook. I know how to sit still through a very long church service. I know what it is like to be raised in a culture of fear. As an adult, I had to wrestle with that. I had to come to terms with childhood questions, fears, and negative experiences. I am certain I won't ever overcome all the emotional obstacles of that hazy, yet distinct, reality; yet, I remain most grateful that my heart remained tender. It could have gone so many other ways, so many other directions.
One thing I pray most for my children is that they would have tender hearts. Tender toward others. Tender toward God. The world is in desperate need of strong, yet tender hearted, men. And this. This is what I see in the hearts that surround me on Sundays. Tender, grateful hearts. This is the environment I crave, and the environment in which I can thrive.
I enter church and find a deep balm for my soul. A salve that can't be fully explained, or found anywhere else. A resonance of love and assurance. A benediction of mercy, with the knowledge that I can walk unafraid through this life because one day, one day, death lost and love won.
When I leave church, I walk like a lion.
(Skillet - Google it)
(Turn it UP!)
One thing I need, more and more as the days past, is my church. I walk in the door and immediately feel a reduction in stress. I'm anxious to get there every Sunday morning. It smells really good when you walk in the door - because they sell legal addictive stimulants, or better (perhaps lesser) said, coffee. I don't know that many personally, but being with God's people, there is just nothing like it. Knowing that the people around you share your most precious thing - your faith - I. Love. It.
When you spend the majority of your time with people who do not understand your motivation, your heart, your passion....it feels good to exhale. Really exhale.
It took me several years to reconcile my disjointed feelings about church. I know all the songs like "Deep and Wide" and "This Little Light of Mine." (I would challenge you to a "Jr Church - Name That Tune" ANY day of the week.) I know all the lingo - eternal security/KJV/predestination/pre-mid-post-tribulation. I know all the mascots - like a singing songbook. I know how to sit still through a very long church service. I know what it is like to be raised in a culture of fear. As an adult, I had to wrestle with that. I had to come to terms with childhood questions, fears, and negative experiences. I am certain I won't ever overcome all the emotional obstacles of that hazy, yet distinct, reality; yet, I remain most grateful that my heart remained tender. It could have gone so many other ways, so many other directions.
One thing I pray most for my children is that they would have tender hearts. Tender toward others. Tender toward God. The world is in desperate need of strong, yet tender hearted, men. And this. This is what I see in the hearts that surround me on Sundays. Tender, grateful hearts. This is the environment I crave, and the environment in which I can thrive.
I enter church and find a deep balm for my soul. A salve that can't be fully explained, or found anywhere else. A resonance of love and assurance. A benediction of mercy, with the knowledge that I can walk unafraid through this life because one day, one day, death lost and love won.
When I leave church, I walk like a lion.
(Skillet - Google it)
(Turn it UP!)
Friday, March 17, 2017
Week #982
A tough week for me.
A tough, tough week.
By the end, I was dragging myself to the finish line. Wait. Is there actually a finish line?
I haven't experienced this much insecurity in several years. It felt foreign. And familiar.
I questioned my motives, my priorities, my opinions, my ambition. I weighed my expectations as previously mentioned.
I longed for friendship. I longed for faith. I had a deep, deep longing for solace and comfort.
My spirit was/is broken.
I'm so broken.
In the midst of brokenness....
Ryan was on a business trip. We got 21 inches of snow. My independent streak is rusty but intact. I had a dinner date with my boys and we treated ourselves to double fudge Coca Cola cake. You never saw three forks move so fast in your whole life!
It was in these moments with my boys that I felt most at ease. They are both fairly discerning for their age group. They can converse well, understand deeper implications and naturally understand their mother's heart. Sometimes. Sometimes it's like I have mini adults in my home. I was so moved by their compassion, empathy, and true-to-male-fashion direct problem solving. I was given straightforward, sincere advice. And an extra bite of cake.
Who is raising these gems? Truly. I don't feel like I can take credit.
I'm still sifting through the shattered pieces; yet I am in awe that when I needed friendship, like lungs need air, I found it. In the hearts of my kids.
And it's another step in the cycle. A little foretaste of the years to come. But there is much to pass between now and then. I love the glimpses of hope. The little windows of time that capture moments to treasure.
I'm always going to remember this week. The snow. The cake. The heartbreak. The promise of the men I'm shaping.
And you know what? I think it might all be worth it.
A tough, tough week.
By the end, I was dragging myself to the finish line. Wait. Is there actually a finish line?
I haven't experienced this much insecurity in several years. It felt foreign. And familiar.
I questioned my motives, my priorities, my opinions, my ambition. I weighed my expectations as previously mentioned.
I longed for friendship. I longed for faith. I had a deep, deep longing for solace and comfort.
My spirit was/is broken.
I'm so broken.
In the midst of brokenness....
Ryan was on a business trip. We got 21 inches of snow. My independent streak is rusty but intact. I had a dinner date with my boys and we treated ourselves to double fudge Coca Cola cake. You never saw three forks move so fast in your whole life!
It was in these moments with my boys that I felt most at ease. They are both fairly discerning for their age group. They can converse well, understand deeper implications and naturally understand their mother's heart. Sometimes. Sometimes it's like I have mini adults in my home. I was so moved by their compassion, empathy, and true-to-male-fashion direct problem solving. I was given straightforward, sincere advice. And an extra bite of cake.
Who is raising these gems? Truly. I don't feel like I can take credit.
I'm still sifting through the shattered pieces; yet I am in awe that when I needed friendship, like lungs need air, I found it. In the hearts of my kids.
And it's another step in the cycle. A little foretaste of the years to come. But there is much to pass between now and then. I love the glimpses of hope. The little windows of time that capture moments to treasure.
I'm always going to remember this week. The snow. The cake. The heartbreak. The promise of the men I'm shaping.
And you know what? I think it might all be worth it.
Sunday, March 12, 2017
Have Less Expectation
Friends, why are we so hard on ourselves? Why can none of us give ourselves a break? If it's not one thing it's another. We should be over this. We should not have done that. We should be "farther along" in life. We should have pursued a different dream. We should have taken that chance opportunity. The list can go on....
I am post high school twenty years this June. And the ride has been so eventful. And it looks NOTHING like what I had anticipated. And it's been awful, and wonderful, and blase, and exhausting and exhilarating. Through it all I always point to, "Well, I WAS going to do that..."
It took a conversation with my son today to give me some perspective. The lad is following exactly in his mother's footsteps to his own detriment. He is so hard on himself. I tell him all the time he is doing well but it doesn't get past his head to the place it matters. His heart. Just. Like. His. Mother. He's watching and his mother is failing to show him how to navigate. He's watching, observing, and listening.
I currently feel stuck in a very hard place. I do not desire success so much as I feel failure. I absolutely fear being less than my expectations. No truer statement can I make than this: I could never live up to my own expectations. And this is the legacy I am leaving for my children.
The best words in the Bible? Jesus wept. (Insert somewhat chuckle-ly emoji/somewhat serious emoji) I take that seriously and weep periodically just for good measure. This has been one of those weeks. It's good to feel. When you've lost the ability to feel those hard times, you might as well hang it up.
I'm working hard. Yes. For what?
My path isn't what I expected. Does that matter?
My children are learning what they live. What am I teaching?
And through these thoughts, as they all tumble out in what may not be a logical order, I'm still being hard on myself. I'm placing myself in the category of failure as a parent.
And it feels so much worse to fail in this arena.
And I'm weeping.
I'm going to have to do better. I need to let perfection go. I need to fail more and find some comfort in that locale.
Realizing that, as I had to reassure my son, my first priority is him. A job I signed up for many years ago.
Let go to live more. To live better. To have more fun.
When I attend my reunion, I might not be nearly as successful as my peers, but I certainly have life lessons to spare. And the joy and heaviness of parenting two boys through life.
I am post high school twenty years this June. And the ride has been so eventful. And it looks NOTHING like what I had anticipated. And it's been awful, and wonderful, and blase, and exhausting and exhilarating. Through it all I always point to, "Well, I WAS going to do that..."
It took a conversation with my son today to give me some perspective. The lad is following exactly in his mother's footsteps to his own detriment. He is so hard on himself. I tell him all the time he is doing well but it doesn't get past his head to the place it matters. His heart. Just. Like. His. Mother. He's watching and his mother is failing to show him how to navigate. He's watching, observing, and listening.
I currently feel stuck in a very hard place. I do not desire success so much as I feel failure. I absolutely fear being less than my expectations. No truer statement can I make than this: I could never live up to my own expectations. And this is the legacy I am leaving for my children.
The best words in the Bible? Jesus wept. (Insert somewhat chuckle-ly emoji/somewhat serious emoji) I take that seriously and weep periodically just for good measure. This has been one of those weeks. It's good to feel. When you've lost the ability to feel those hard times, you might as well hang it up.
I'm working hard. Yes. For what?
My path isn't what I expected. Does that matter?
My children are learning what they live. What am I teaching?
And through these thoughts, as they all tumble out in what may not be a logical order, I'm still being hard on myself. I'm placing myself in the category of failure as a parent.
And it feels so much worse to fail in this arena.
And I'm weeping.
I'm going to have to do better. I need to let perfection go. I need to fail more and find some comfort in that locale.
Realizing that, as I had to reassure my son, my first priority is him. A job I signed up for many years ago.
Let go to live more. To live better. To have more fun.
When I attend my reunion, I might not be nearly as successful as my peers, but I certainly have life lessons to spare. And the joy and heaviness of parenting two boys through life.
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