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.

Turn Up The Music

My daughter has been taking dance lessons since she was five. Visions of her in the royal blue tutu, ballet bun, and nude tap shoes still come back to me. The moment I knew she was born to dance was at her first recital. Her group had just attempted their routine to a Disney song and the audience began their applause. I fixed my eyes on my daughter and saw the love of the stage being born right in front of me.

Here is my daughter in all her glory in her first recital.

She is nine now and still loves dance. In fact, she just finished a competition season and was able to perform two dances at her recital. For weeks we listened to her latest routine song blaring from her bedroom and the sounds of her feet moving to the music. Her instructor chose Chris Brown's "Turn Up The Music" for the hip hop routine and I have to say, it was fun to hear. It's just one of those songs that make me want to get up and dance.

I have always loved music, yet I'm not a singer. I mean, I can carry a tune and my family used to sing together in churches growing up, but I am confident record companies won't be beating down my door. Something else goes on inside of me when I hear a good song, and I recently realized that it's tied to dancing.

On one of my walks I was reminded of two very pivotal and heartbreaking moments in my young life that had a way of telling me that dance was NOT what a "good Christian girl" should do. I really hadn't given those experiences much thought over the years and had no idea they carried pain inside of me. Isn't it interesting how people around me put so much shame on me that I took a passion and pushed it aside? It makes me sad for the young adult me, but I will not dwell on that. This time of my life is for realizing who I am and for restoration.

My next mission: to dance. Maybe I will sign up for a class or two. Maybe I will just dance my way throughout my day as I do laundry, make dinner, or have fun with the family.  However I incorporate it will free me to be who I am supposed to be. You probably won't see me on the next season of SYTYCD...but I will cheer on my daughter as she explores her passion and deepens her love for this beautiful art form.

 

It's My Voice

Here I am in the Raleigh, NC area with a dream to earn my BA. This was one of the main reasons why we left our friends and family in Maine. I started college right out of high school, back when hairstyles were big no matter what sex you were, and before the internet was commonplace. I saw education as more of a ball and chain than something that could strengthen me and give me direction for my life. It was not about self-discovery - education could not make that connection for me. I needed to live and be free from grades, tests, and assignments. With the new year, a new semester of classes has begun. It became clear that I needed to get back to the basics and get some foundational courses on my transcript. This has challenged me in ways I had not imagined. The core classes have brought up memories of failing math and my lack of knowledge with grammar, yet I am facing those fears with each class I attend, each math test I take, and each paper I write.

Fast-forward from the 90's when I began college, to the new millennium. It was 2005 and my life was all about my husband two children (that was before our Lily-girl joined us). I suddenly felt a desire for education tugging inside of me. Except, alongside that desire was utter fear. How could I take classes with high school graduates? Their smarts will expose the stupidity that had been whispering to me since third grade. I registered for classes; two of them. The classes challenged me and also showed me that I was capable. I could do it. I took one more class, then quit. I looked for reasons not to enroll and my husband offered one; he wanted to complete a two year leadership program at our church. Fear won.

That small seed of desire for my BA never died. In fact, it continued to grow until we made the decision to make it our first priority. It required us to set everything aside and follow that desire all the way to NC in 2010. I have taken a few classes since we arrived and I have done well...but as a non-degree student. My dream of earning my BA came to a screeching halt when I couldn't get into the program I wanted at the university I had my heart set on. No college-level math. No English comp. Apparently these are required when you transfer. They aren't classes you can take once you are accepted. I had avoided these required courses like the plague. Give me a sociology class and I'll ace it. But English? Math? No.

I am one of those people who tends to put the cart before the horse, except, I'm not a ball of energy so when I get the energy - I want to go for it right away. My personality is an interesting combination of melancholy (perfectionism, organization, mood-swings, artistic) and phlegmatic (stubborn, laid-back, hard to motivate). It sometimes feels like I have a split personality as I teeter back and forth between my need for perfect and my, "ahhh...who cares that my shirt is stained" thoughts. My desire to finish my education is no exception of the way I sometimes operate. During energetic times, I find myself saying, "Let's get it DONE and NOW" and then when I'm tired, I utter, "Does my BA really matter?" 

Just before Christmas, it was time to register for English Composition and Algebra. I could feel my heart racing as the first day of classes approached. The English course is online, and my math is in the classroom. My experiences as I've walked through this math class deserves it's own post - so I will hold off in sharing those for now. However, one of my first assignments in English was to read a bunch of essays and then answer response questions. The first essay was entitled, "Freewriting" by Peter Elbow. Mr. Elbow is a highly educated man, and by some, is considered to have revolutionized how writing is taught. In one particular excerpt, he is explaining how important freewriting is to a writer. His idea is that we should just start writing whatever comes to mind and not stop. We should tune out our internal editor that wants to constantly delete words while we are in the process of writing and creating. He insists that if we do not tune out the editor, we will never find our voice as a writer because we never fully tap into our creativity. And if we never actually work to find our voice, it may become lost. As I read, I became teary eyed. At one point, I wanted to sit and sob. His words resonated inside of me, not just as a writer, but also the way I live my life. I edit myself constantly and I question whether or not my voice exists. That's part of my hope as I write this blog; to find my voice. Here, in an English assignment, this stranger's words shed a spotlight onto what was going on inside of me. It's almost as though I received permission to speak and to be comfortable with myself. 

This journey is not a sprint, but a marathon. It's not even a 5k; it's more like an Iron Man Triathlon. Those are the kinds of races that feel as though they will never end, and that's my life at this moment. I am not just a 40 year old woman earning her degree. It's so much more than that. I get small revelations here and there, and this was one of the many gems that I will hold close as I take each step closer to fulfilling my dream. My voice, the voice God gave me, is slowly emerging and I will hold onto the hope that one day I will walk confidently in it.

Recipe for Life?

I love to cook - sometimes. I tend to go through spurts where I am eager to find new recipes to try. Most of the time, though, I go to my trusted meals that don't require me to measure ingredients or put much thought into what I'm cooking. Regardless of how much effort I put in, there is still a process I need to follow or the meal will be inedible. I will burn it, under-cook it, or the seasonings will be off and I will hear something like, "Ewww...this is gross!" from my five year old.

The boot camp life my husband and I have been in for this season of our lives has taken us down some painful and unexpected roads, particularly over the last several months. Shortly after our kids' school let out in the spring, I took them back to Maine for our first visit since heading to the south. I think in some ways, I was hoping to escape "boot camp" even if just for a little while. A reprieve would have been nice. Due to my husband's work schedule, we had to leave him behind knowing we would meet up with him after two weeks when he would join us for the last leg of the trip. Three days after we left NC, I got the call that I have been anticipating for a while - my husband had lost his job. That news turned our trip from vacation back into a time of crisis for us.

Many people in the United States are experiencing unemployment. We are not the only ones who know what it's like to wonder how bills will be paid, how we will buy groceries, and even whether or not we will need to relocate. It's a roller coaster ride to say the least. I have found myself in phases where I rely solely on God. Then that gets cut short by my mind wandering around and wondering how this will play out for us as a family. I often get wrapped up in analysis mode of our decisions and whether we made the right ones. Were all of these happenings a result of selfishness? Had we fallen out of God's will by our resolve to leave Maine and move where we had no safety nets? I have stayed in that place for a time and then would go back around to the truth that if God cares for the birds of the air, He cares so much more for me.

Last year during one of my endless trips through the carpool lane at my children's school, I heard a radio show where a woman spoke about how we often think that life is like a recipe. We add a little of this, a lot of that, stir it, bake it, and pop it out of the pan - and voila, we can expect a good result. It will taste great and the people around us will love it and admire us for it. But from what I know about God, I cannot imagine He operates that way. He isn't about following a set of rules and everything will be wonderful. What would the need be for us to seek Him? 

In a lot of ways, I'm tired of thinking, talking, or even analyzing this boot camp thing. After just typing that I wondered what annoys me about it. I think maybe because that season is winding down. We are moving out of that time of heavy-duty refining. Now I desperately want to see what will come now that we are stronger and see life in a much different way.

While I haven't been writing a lot, I have been busy. My husband and I decided our son, who was entering sixth grade needed a bit of time decompressing from the pressures of public school. I am a homeschooling mom and a public school mom. I am also thankful to report that my husband's unemployment did not last very long - he loves his new job! Classes for me start back up in a week and I could not be more excited! Stay tuned for details in this area...God has been so faithful as He orchestrates each instrument, note, and the players in my life.

Obviously God's goodness and love is not conditional. Sometimes He turns up the heat even when we are obedient and in His will. We cannot control God with our recipes. It's funny to think that I've even tried. But it is incredible to see how perfectly every event ties into the symphony of our lives and those reminders of how His ways are always greater and beyond our comprehension.