A Family First

My husband is passionate about baseball. He often talks about his college days and how he would run through a wall to catch a ball if he had to. I'm amazed at how he has found baseball to be a source of growth and inspiration in his life. It isn't surprising that our son has grown to love the game. He started out in tee ball, moved onto coach pitch, and finally Little League.

Over the years, we have watched our buddy go from having a fear of the ball to being asked to participate on a travel team with other eleven and twelve year old boys. At the beginning of the spring baseball season, I could see that he was overwhelmed. He was playing alongside some talented kids and he was a bit rusty after taking the Fall off to focus on his new educational adventure - homeschooling. After a few weeks and a lot of one-on-one work with my husband, my son was playing confidently. His batting average was right up there, and he found a new favorite position; first base.

My buddy's broken ulna

The biggest change I saw in him, though didn't have anything to do with the mechanics of baseball. His attitude was amazing while he cheered his teammates onto victory and even through defeat. He was a total team player, as he sat on the bench screaming for his friends to succeed. This was when I saw that his passion for baseball was more about the relationships he had on his team. The encourager that I have seen in him since he was a young boy was overwhelmingly evident, and as parents, our hearts were full.

The end of the spring baseball season was thrilling as our son was put on the All Star team and my husband happily coached. The team was part of a local tournament and was the precursor to the big tournament in the following weeks that is the road to the Little League World Series. During the third game of the first tournament, my son was up at the plate and ready to get a hit for the team. Instead, he took a hit and the pitch got him in the forearm. He immediately went down and his arm swelled. Unfortunately, that ball broke his arm (our family's first broken bone) and he couldn't play in the big tournament. Except nothing held him back from doing what he did remarkably well - cheer on his friends. He hardly seemed phased that he couldn't play and was totally content to be the team's support from the dug out. His screams and shouts helped them earn runner up, and put a lot of smiles on many parent's faces.

What a proud moment as a parent. Lord knows I don't take the credit. I make a lot of mistakes in my parental role, but boy am I thankful that good happens in spite of my errors.

My Urge to Quit

Several years ago I realized I have an awful tendency to quit right when I get to the end of something. It could be as I near the end of a book, a goal such as weight loss, or even a class that I am acing. This desire became very real last year after my impulsive decision to run a 5k with a friend. I saw the finish line and wanted to stop. I wanted to end the challenge right there and justify quitting. I was tired, sore, my lungs couldn't take anymore, and who puts a finish line at the top of an incline? That's just silly! It was during my contemplation to quit when I heard a voice say, "This is what you do. You quit, right at the end. Don't stop!"

Here I am, yet again, at the end of a semester and the want to quit is looming. It reared its ugly head a couple of weeks ago when I realized I had to take a unit test on statistics and probability AND a cumulative final exam for that same class within six days of each other. I'm reliving the incline at the end of that 5k.

After a few hours of studying last night, I turned on my TV and watched the last half of Extreme Makeover Weight Loss Edition. The featured woman had abandonment and rejection issues that she carried from childhood, and with it came a lot of fear. At the end of the show, the trainer gave insight on his client and made a very profound statement that hit me pretty hard. He said, "She was afraid to fail and afraid to succeed." Whoah...that is intense! It made me consider why a person would be afraid of achievement and I think I made a connection; they're afraid to succeed because success will bring them to another place of growth and they could fail in that new place. If I get an A in my class, I move onto additional, more challenging classes, and those have the potential for failure.

Who says failing is all that bad? There is an incredible stigma with it. Yet, I have learned, through my own failures, that it's more about what I take away. My identity isn't wrapped up in what I don't accomplish. Failing doesn't make me a loser. I read somewhere that where you stop or fail, that spot is your new starting line. I can accept that, but I have a lot invested in my education and I won't quit. I need a minute to refocus and remember that I can DO THIS!

Math: My Love/Hate Relationship

Numbers have been my enemy. I could not escape them no matter how hard I tried. Actually, I used to love math in elementary school. And then I hit junior high. That was when my 30 year hatred for it began. Mixing letters with numbers (algebra) made no sense to me. Letters can be added and multiplied and divided? No.

With my aversion came falling grades. I was frustrated and had no interest in mastering what I began to despise. When I got to high school, it was as if someone was orchestrating my demise in the subject. My geometry teacher was fired half-way through the school year after allowing the class to steal her authority, and my algebra teacher sounded as if he came straight from a Charlie Brown special with his monotone voice and his lack of personality. At the end of junior year, a bomb hit - I failed. I couldn't do extra work or fix this F. I had to accept it and retake the class with the Charlie Brown teacher.

My math tools that are always close by

It was that F that solidified my failure status and I walked through the next 20-something years with it written all over me. It impacted how I lived; I was convinced I would fail at everything, so why even try? Relationships, my education, my health and fitness. There were times when I would muster up the courage to overcome those failure thoughts, but for the most part, they always won. My fear of math was solid and I had convinced myself that I was no good at it or anything else. Convinced!

After two miserable years of taking classes at a college and local university straight out of high school, I figured my continued failure was the nail in my educational casket. Over the past seven or eight years, a fire has been ignited to finish what I started and get my BA. But how could I do it without taking math? I tried every way I could think to skirt that obstacle, but it was impossible. Finally, after a few months of home schooling my son and teaching him 6th grade math, I mustered the courage to take a math placement test and begin my math requirements. That test was scarier to me than birthing my children. I had so much anxiety, I thought my heart was going to beat out of my chest.

It's only been six and a half months since that test and I am getting close to finishing my second math class. I have gone beyond what I thought was possible. I figured if I achieved C's, I would be content. Apparently I am very good at math. I earned nearly a 100 average in my first class, and I am on track to do the same in my second class.

Here is what my math relationship has taught me: For every fear I have, whether legit or just perceived, I must face them. I had given my fear the power to change my life and with it, permission for me to fall short of who I can become. However, as I have looked fear in the eye, I have seen that it is weak, fear has no right to my life, and I am designed to overcome.

I am amazed at how much confidence is in me just from taking math. While I do not love math and have often said, "If math was a person, I'd punch it" my certainty is a beautiful byproduct that I had never anticipated.

House of Mirrors

I love, love, LOVE this Ikea mirror. The scrolls, color, and oval design are beautiful. I've seen it all over my favorite DIY and thrifting blogs. Some of the bloggers turn it into a chalkboard or take the mirror part right out of it. Sure, it looks great as a chalkboard, but I still love it as a mirror.

We recently celebrated our second anniversary of moving from New England to the outskirts of Raleigh, North Carolina. I'm amazed that two years have gone by and yet it seems like we've been here longer. Within days of the moving truck being emptied two years ago, we hosted a few of our favorite people. Their visit from Nashville was a welcome distraction from an overwhelmed feeling that was beginning to settle in. 

Even though we had our laundry list of things we expected to accomplish on this adventure, I began to sense there was more. It became apparent that our family would begin a transformation beyond what we could comprehend or had planned.

When our friends arrived, I asked one of them to confirm what I was feeling. My friend has an amazing gift at picking up on the unseen - when a person has something going on internally, he can sense that a problem is present. His words to me were that he kept hearing, "house of mirrors" pertaining to my family and this new season we were in. Each one of us would have our issues shown to us through these mirrors. Every time we "saw" our issues, we could respond by acknowledging them or ignoring them, but they wouldn't just go away.

Mirrors, like this Ikea one serve a purpose and can be beautiful at the same time. They're designed to reflect back what gets within distance of them. Needless to say, this house of mirrors has continued and I have grown to welcome them when they pop up. Areas related to our finances, health, use of time, and relationships have been exposed. Each time something is revealed, it isn't easy, but I know they are a road to freedom so I no longer see them as a threat. I know the end result will allow us to be beautifully scrolled and shaped.

I Love Pink

Pink summer sandals

I think I was destined to love the color pink. I have a twin sister, and our mother found it enjoyable to dress us alike. For many years, even into our teens she would buy us the same outfits, but in different colors. I always got pink; my sister got purple.

During my birthday trek to Target, I spotted these pretty little sandals. They were on clearance which made them even more lovable! Of course I had to buy them, but I knew that wearing them required a new polish...bright pink to match.

Whenever I see this color I think of how my youngest daughter says the word pink. It sounds like "peenk" and it makes me smile each time it comes out of her mouth. Sometimes we get her to say the word just to hear the sweetness in her voice.

The other thing that goes through my head is one of my favorite quotes spoken by one of my children during a serious conversation with her cousin, "I broke up with pink. Yellow's my new favorite color." How awesome is that? Her love of a color was relational and pretty simple.

As I was shopping I realized that it's important that I find the fun around me. A color can be fun. Flip flops can be fun. The way my daughter says a word is fun. My child's view of the world is fun, and let's face it...clearance at Target is SUPER fun!

Kudzu - Never Heard of it Before

I'm a northern girl. Any travel outside of the Northeast pretty much consisted of a few vacations to Florida, except for my honeymoon to Cozumel, Mexico. My life has been filled with all that comes with raising a family over these last twelve years: diapers, formula, first words, potty training, and all of that has left very little time (and money) for travel and venturing out to see the beauty our country offers.

Kudzu in my neighborhood

When we moved our family to the outskirts of Raleigh, one of the first things we saw was this beautiful vine sprawling over the landscapes. In Maine, I was used to seeing ivy grow on chimneys and moving up the sides of homes. It was beautiful in the warm summer months. After we drove here through what looked like a tunnel with this vine on either side of our car, my son immediately recognized it as kudzu, "the plant that ate the south." I found it amazing that he had learned about this plant in school only months before we moved, and yet I had never heard of it before.

This plant was brought to America in the late 1800's by the Japanese government. It was widely distributed and encouraged to grow here in the south. Unfortunately, this plant was brought here without the bugs that help to keep it under control so it grows better here than it does in it's native land.  In fact, it's now difficult to get rid of as it is resistant to most herbicides.

As I walk through my neighborhood, it's undeniable how destructive this plant can be. It can grow up to a foot a day and loves to crawl up trees and vegetation allowing next to no light for the trees to thrive underneath. There are spots where trees die and the leaves seem to want to cover the roads. But it's so pretty if you overlook the fact that it kills all that it covers.

I look at just about everything through a different lens these days. I see this plant and think..."hmmm...what can I learn from this?" One thing that strikes me is how I can conceal what isn't healthy by putting on a smile, or work hard to make sure what the people around me see is only good and worth seeing. I can say I'm fine and convince my friends that all is wonderful, but underneath it all is that same destruction like under the kudzu. Why don't I come clean? Because this is what I've always done. Because I think nobody really wants to hear my tale of woe. Because then I become vulnerable and weak in people's eyes. It all boils down to acceptance and approval from a place where it doesn't belong. It is not man who I should look to for approval.

It's amazing that a simple plant has shown me a glimpse of myself. And like all of the things that are revealed to me, I must choose to respond or ignore.  

These Shoes Were Made For Walking

Well...technically they're running shoes, BUT I will use them for my morning walks through the neighborhood. I celebrated turning 41 with my wonderful family yesterday and these were a gift from them.

Since we moved here two years ago, walking has been my preferred method for fitness. It's easy to work into my schedule and I don't need a gym membership for it. My walks have helped me to stay fit (a big plus) and are times where God shows me who He made me to be, and the big and little things that hold me back from becoming all I can.

I've heard you should replace your sneakers every 800 miles or so. My bank account won't allow that, but I'm ready to put these on and see the roads they will take me both literally and figuratively.