One of the odd things about being a parent is that sometimes your children's friends come and go and then take a piece of your heart with them. It isn't intentional, and you don't really think about it at the time, but you begin to form attachments to them because they have been such a large pattern in the fabric of your family's life that you may forget that they aren't your children. It gets even more complicated during the dating years when you meet someone that one of your children is dating and they come to family events or hang out on the weekend, or might even go with you on a trip. You know their favorite foods, their birthday, and you have photos with them in it. They come to dinner, you have the chance to minister to them, and you even wonder if they might be a permanent member of your family.
Sometimes they are. Sometimes they aren't.
And when they are, you have wonderful, warm, sweet memories of them as they grew to become a part of your family. I saw this happen when my niece and two nephews on the Mixon side began dating who are now their spouses and the parents of the little people who make us smile. We began to see them as a couple that we couldn't imagine life without them. We stood with joy as the brides walked down the aisle...in two cases to change their name to Mixon...and one to Stillwell (but she will always be a Mixon to us) and celebrated the fact that they were "ours." Part of our family. Loved like it as well.
But when they aren't...it can be a little awkward. Especially if you run up on them somewhere down the road and don't know what to say. It can be a lot awkward when you run into two of the "Ghosts of Boyfriends Past" at the same wedding.
Oy.
Fortunately, it was a teachable moment. Or two teachable moments, I suppose I should say. I should also mention that these two left us years ago...one six years ago and the other four. I hadn't realized that so much time had passed until I thought about it because I can still vividly remember their presence in our lives. Oh, I had heard about what they were both doing from running into the current girlfriend of one and the mother of the other, but there had been virtually no conversation between "us" and "them" in quite some time. I had gotten pretty comfortable with that, truth be told. Not because I don't care about them...but because they seem to have moved on with the next person that they dated after my daughter, and there's just something a little disconcerting about that. Hey, at least I'm honest.
But then one of them sat behind us at the wedding. I'm fairly certain it wasn't intentional. Since we were seated first, I'm putting that one on them. The other one we didn't see until the reception. But two encounters...and two very different responses.
I won't elaborate on what happened other than to say that one of the young men acted as though there had never been any relationship between us. That we were lumped together with memories of our daughter and that it would be disrespectful to his significant other to speak to us at all...even though he did. He almost acted ashamed to be seen instead of just stopping and saying hello. It was quite odd. The other one stopped and talked to us for fifteen minutes while his significant other was in the other room listening to the band. He caught us up on what he was doing and said that he was happy. It was nice to talk to him and I know that if I run into him with his wife at the grocery store or somewhere else...he'll introduce us and everything will be okay.
I know that you may be reading this and not fully understanding why this matters so much...and that may be because your children don't date much, they don't bring their dates home to hang out with the family, or you may not have children. But for us...but we love the people that come into this house. Some of them understand that and appreciate it. Others are ashamed of it. I don't know if they are ashamed of being associated with us...or the fact that we were good to them and they haven't been in touch. It honestly matters not.
I just know that I quit giving away the healthy portions of my heart years ago to those passing through and have been offering the ones that have come after only a sliver. In one case, however, with my son's current sweetheart, she has taken up residence in our hearts and we hope that someday she'll be a reality and not a possibility. We are still guarding our hearts carefully, though, as we seek out the young man that God has just for Jill. We feel that this is only fair to him.
When you love people that come into the lives of your children...sometimes it is bittersweet. You don't realize how much you miss them until you see them again...even if they were clearly not right for your child. You want the best for them...even if that means that you cannot know how the story ends. It means that you look back into the family tapestry and see their thread woven through...but you also see where it stops and another thread picks up somewhere down the pattern.
I am blessed that there are a few of my childrens' friends that I am still in touch with and that I can walk with as they grow into amazing adults. I consider them my "other daughters and sons" and I want the best that life has to offer for them. But there are some that I have no connection to whatsoever anymore..and it makes me a little sad sometimes to know that I planted good seed on concrete instead of rich soil. That the pearls we set out were trampled instead of valued.
But every so often, you'll be at a wedding somewhere, and one of them will thank you for giving him a bible. He'll tell you that he reads it every day and that he is growing closer to being the man that God wants him to be. He'll still be the kid you knew...but he'll also be a man who is the spiritual leader of his home. He'll be the one that comes back to thank you and not the nine others that take what you give them and never look back. Jesus knew all about this after healing the ten lepers. And I suppose I know in some small measure how real that parable is...and what a blessing it is to know that it was not all in vain.
I know that we typically don't invest in people just to make them grateful and that there are a lot of kids that passed through here that I invested minimal time in for various reasons. I know that there may be a season where I'll have the opportunity to interact with some of my childrens' friends again. When you all live in the same town...you do end up bumping into each other eventually.
Yet one day, I look forward to being able to love a new son and daughter of my childrens' choosing. The training that I had loving other peoples' children has prepared me for this role. I've learned to overlook, speak truth, expect great things, give generously, and know my place...all in preparation for them. And when I look back, I'll see that those that came in and out of our lives were to prepare us for those who were to come.
That's the way I see it, anyway.
I will also say that seeing those two young men again gave me quite a bit of closure. I see that they are both happy and healthy and have moved on with their lives in a positive way. They have significant others that are lovely and they both had the decency to give me a hug at the end of the evening.
I'm a hugger, you know. Since I never got to properly say goodbye to either of them...this was really a nice way to cap it off.
I don't know what the future holds, but I do know that I don't regret any time that I have ever invested in a young person. Our family may not ever cross their mind again, but I know that one day it will. It did with me...and it will with them. When they have their own families, or when they need to know that someone loves them unconditionally...hopefully, they will think of us.
We may never know. Which is fine.
So, go out and invest your time and as much of your heart as you can spare...reserving the best parts for the spouses of your children. That's what we are doing...guarding our hearts...and waiting.
For someday...and happily ever after.
Wednesday, November 6, 2013
Monday, November 4, 2013
Holiday Project
This morning I got up at what I believe was 4:50 a.m. because the dogs are not yet on CST and because there was probably a leaf blowing outside by the window causing Dixie to feel the need to rush outside to investigate...and bark incessantly. When I came to consciousness, I realized that the room was about 42 degrees F with a window wide open and me huddled into a ball in the center of the bed on the spot that Big Dave had recently vacated. That man totally radiates heat. It is a blessing in the winter when I am having my ongoing feud with Alabama Power because they jack up our utility prices to kingdom come in the summer and I feel that this is my only chance to get back some of my money.
But when I'm up...I'm up. Fortunately, I went to bed early and only woke up once for my customary trip to the bathroom...making my way through Riley's "Obstacle Course" of shoes, underwear, and whatnot that he gathers to put in the path every night. Last night it was a tennis shoe and a black plastic strip that was awesome to step on.
I love my dog. I love my dog. I love my dog. Yeah, I really do. Except sometimes I don't.
(But I really do.)
Bless his heart, he was just banished from the kingdom for pulling down a comforter from the couch and having the audacity to recline upon it in sight of Big Dave. After, of course, he dragged three pair of my underwear to the washing machine (okay, FINE, the middle of the kitchen) because he can.
Yes, currently, I am doing marathon laundry after the Great Sheet Mishap that has since been straightened out and rectified. I'm also trying to get this out of the way and keep my schedule straight because there are a lot of things that I'm supposed to do this week and weekend and next Monday is a holiday for me. There are a number of "shoulds" that are going down this week because I am having people at my house in a few weeks for Thanksgiving and I'd like it not to look like Larry the Cable Guy lives here.
Oh, you caught that "holiday" reference? Yes, I'm happy to be off for one of the three banker holidays where folks go, "Really?" And where I want to yell back "UH-YEAH!" But I don't, because that's tacky. Thank you Columbus Day, Veteran's Day and Presidents' Day every year for sort of making up for working the day after Thanksgiving. Every. Single. Year. And Christmas Eve. (Although we DO get off half a day for that.)
Part of what I want to do involves a project that will either happen or not happen based upon this weekend. Time will run out or it will work out. Ever been there? Where you want to do something to bless other people but you can't figure out exactly how to pull it off? I have something in mind...but I'm not sure if it is something that needs to be worked out or something that needs to be pushed to the recesses of my memory to be thought through a little more carefully...when I have time, of course. Which may occur again in 2015.
You see, after Halloween every year, I immediately jump to what I call "The Holidays." It is helpful to just let that center around Christmas because the decorations are already out everywhere you go. But I also consider that the Veterans Day Holiday and Thanksgiving...followed by some vacation days that I have held off for this purpose. There will be a brunch to attend, parties already on my calendar, and visits that I need to make. Since I can only take three days in December (banks don't like people being all off and such around the end of the year for varying reasons)...cramming a whole bunch of activity cannot occur...so I usually back all my planning, acquiring and dealing with stuff all up into November.
And why not? Seeing as I inherited the planning gene from my Gammy. Except it morphed into something a whole lot bigger than it ever was with her two generations later. I am proud to say that I have finally quit crying and pitching a fit when things don't work out as planned like I did when I was nine. Most of the time anyway. (There was that three year period of "personal summers, unexplained tears, and total irrationality" that Big Dave, my relatives, a a few select friends lived through. Barely.) My mother (bless her heart) had to live through all 50 years of "this" and still considers me to be somewhat "Our Lady of Perpetual Disappointment" - a nickname that a co-worker once gave me because I didn't handle disappointment well due to high (unrealistic) expectations. (Yes, my friend is Catholic.) It comes from actually being an optimist. So much so, that I can see how it should work out and then I get upset when it doesn't. Except it hasn't worked out so many times that I just quit worrying about it and I let it fly and act like that's what I expected to happen. Or I laugh about it as it crumbles. Because I am the poster girl for "When we plan...God laughs."
Okay, maybe I haven't completely outgrown that tendency. Sometimes I still try to make it happen. I suppose that I always will.
Several years ago, I did the Advent Bag Project for family and then followed that two years later for friends. It has now been two years since I did that...and I'm feeling the need to do something this year. I won't go into what the Project is...because I do plan to do it again...but part of the joy of Christmas certain years is doing something that people aren't expecting. On the off-years, I just bask in the knowledge that I did something fun last year.
But it has been two years...and it is time, must be started this weekend, and must not cost a fortune...because that goes against all of the rules. Actually, so does telling anyone about it...but whatever. I'm feeling the pressure. Big time.
However, should nothing materialize in my brain...it will be okay. This weekend will pass and I will let it go. I'll keep thinking about it until next year. No, I won't throw a crying fit over it. I don't think so anyway.
But I do so love Christmas. Always have.
For me, though, Christmas has evolved. I have moved up a generation in the hierarchy of things...into the "grandparent" stage although I don't have any of my own. David's brothers and sisters-in-law have grandchildren...and we will have five children three and under at the Mixon Christmas this year.
Mercy.
One of my "babies" is working and can purchase for herself whatever she wants and needs. The other one is pretty content with his situation except for the fact that he keeps rambling on and on about a new monitor for the computer that he made himself. And a tablet. And other things that he can do without and probably will. Our parents really enjoy gift cards more than actual presents, and we draw names on Big Dave's side of the family and primarily give (you guessed it...) gift cards. I have a few friends that I give something to and I've already bought those gifts.
Yes, you read that right. Which means that I can only really enjoy doing "Christmas" by catching people off guard. You know...glorious surprises.
To me, the spirit of Christmas is giving something that draws attention back to where it should be (Jesus' birthday) and away from where it shouldn't be (massive commercialism). But there are only so many hours in the day...and only so much that I can do (financially). But because the desire is there, I'm going to keep praying that God gives me the inspiration to do something wonderful of his choosing to bless other people.
And not in the usual way.
Let the countdown for the planning begin. I have four days. Which shouldn't be too hard, right?
Guess we'll see. :)
But when I'm up...I'm up. Fortunately, I went to bed early and only woke up once for my customary trip to the bathroom...making my way through Riley's "Obstacle Course" of shoes, underwear, and whatnot that he gathers to put in the path every night. Last night it was a tennis shoe and a black plastic strip that was awesome to step on.
I love my dog. I love my dog. I love my dog. Yeah, I really do. Except sometimes I don't.
(But I really do.)
Bless his heart, he was just banished from the kingdom for pulling down a comforter from the couch and having the audacity to recline upon it in sight of Big Dave. After, of course, he dragged three pair of my underwear to the washing machine (okay, FINE, the middle of the kitchen) because he can.
Yes, currently, I am doing marathon laundry after the Great Sheet Mishap that has since been straightened out and rectified. I'm also trying to get this out of the way and keep my schedule straight because there are a lot of things that I'm supposed to do this week and weekend and next Monday is a holiday for me. There are a number of "shoulds" that are going down this week because I am having people at my house in a few weeks for Thanksgiving and I'd like it not to look like Larry the Cable Guy lives here.
Oh, you caught that "holiday" reference? Yes, I'm happy to be off for one of the three banker holidays where folks go, "Really?" And where I want to yell back "UH-YEAH!" But I don't, because that's tacky. Thank you Columbus Day, Veteran's Day and Presidents' Day every year for sort of making up for working the day after Thanksgiving. Every. Single. Year. And Christmas Eve. (Although we DO get off half a day for that.)
Part of what I want to do involves a project that will either happen or not happen based upon this weekend. Time will run out or it will work out. Ever been there? Where you want to do something to bless other people but you can't figure out exactly how to pull it off? I have something in mind...but I'm not sure if it is something that needs to be worked out or something that needs to be pushed to the recesses of my memory to be thought through a little more carefully...when I have time, of course. Which may occur again in 2015.
You see, after Halloween every year, I immediately jump to what I call "The Holidays." It is helpful to just let that center around Christmas because the decorations are already out everywhere you go. But I also consider that the Veterans Day Holiday and Thanksgiving...followed by some vacation days that I have held off for this purpose. There will be a brunch to attend, parties already on my calendar, and visits that I need to make. Since I can only take three days in December (banks don't like people being all off and such around the end of the year for varying reasons)...cramming a whole bunch of activity cannot occur...so I usually back all my planning, acquiring and dealing with stuff all up into November.
And why not? Seeing as I inherited the planning gene from my Gammy. Except it morphed into something a whole lot bigger than it ever was with her two generations later. I am proud to say that I have finally quit crying and pitching a fit when things don't work out as planned like I did when I was nine. Most of the time anyway. (There was that three year period of "personal summers, unexplained tears, and total irrationality" that Big Dave, my relatives, a a few select friends lived through. Barely.) My mother (bless her heart) had to live through all 50 years of "this" and still considers me to be somewhat "Our Lady of Perpetual Disappointment" - a nickname that a co-worker once gave me because I didn't handle disappointment well due to high (unrealistic) expectations. (Yes, my friend is Catholic.) It comes from actually being an optimist. So much so, that I can see how it should work out and then I get upset when it doesn't. Except it hasn't worked out so many times that I just quit worrying about it and I let it fly and act like that's what I expected to happen. Or I laugh about it as it crumbles. Because I am the poster girl for "When we plan...God laughs."
Okay, maybe I haven't completely outgrown that tendency. Sometimes I still try to make it happen. I suppose that I always will.
Several years ago, I did the Advent Bag Project for family and then followed that two years later for friends. It has now been two years since I did that...and I'm feeling the need to do something this year. I won't go into what the Project is...because I do plan to do it again...but part of the joy of Christmas certain years is doing something that people aren't expecting. On the off-years, I just bask in the knowledge that I did something fun last year.
But it has been two years...and it is time, must be started this weekend, and must not cost a fortune...because that goes against all of the rules. Actually, so does telling anyone about it...but whatever. I'm feeling the pressure. Big time.
However, should nothing materialize in my brain...it will be okay. This weekend will pass and I will let it go. I'll keep thinking about it until next year. No, I won't throw a crying fit over it. I don't think so anyway.
But I do so love Christmas. Always have.
For me, though, Christmas has evolved. I have moved up a generation in the hierarchy of things...into the "grandparent" stage although I don't have any of my own. David's brothers and sisters-in-law have grandchildren...and we will have five children three and under at the Mixon Christmas this year.
Mercy.
One of my "babies" is working and can purchase for herself whatever she wants and needs. The other one is pretty content with his situation except for the fact that he keeps rambling on and on about a new monitor for the computer that he made himself. And a tablet. And other things that he can do without and probably will. Our parents really enjoy gift cards more than actual presents, and we draw names on Big Dave's side of the family and primarily give (you guessed it...) gift cards. I have a few friends that I give something to and I've already bought those gifts.
Yes, you read that right. Which means that I can only really enjoy doing "Christmas" by catching people off guard. You know...glorious surprises.
To me, the spirit of Christmas is giving something that draws attention back to where it should be (Jesus' birthday) and away from where it shouldn't be (massive commercialism). But there are only so many hours in the day...and only so much that I can do (financially). But because the desire is there, I'm going to keep praying that God gives me the inspiration to do something wonderful of his choosing to bless other people.
And not in the usual way.
Let the countdown for the planning begin. I have four days. Which shouldn't be too hard, right?
Guess we'll see. :)
Tuesday, October 29, 2013
Random Thoughts on a Tuesday
Today I had one of those thoughts that runs through my mind from time to time...but I've actually been fortunate enough to remember it. That's because there's a lot of "stuff" packed in the ole gray matter, and I've learned that it is absolutely necessary to write things down or I'll drive myself crazy trying to recapture a wisp of whatever it was that was profound yet slipped away like vapor. I get frustrated with that and will often try to employ one of my superpowers (granted by God)...which is a photographic memory of sorts coupled with an inclination to remember things that matter not.
My other superpowers are retaining vestiges of every carb I've ever eaten, seeing things that are being missed in a given situation, and according to Big Dave...spelling. But years of remembering names, faces, directions, routes, and everything else has caused a traffic jam or twelve and the wires get crossed. That and turning 50...or so I'm told. I refuse to buy into that quite yet.
Yes, I have stored in my memory a lot of things that probably should have been left out of it since I can now look up whatever I need to know online including the list of prepositions in alphabetical order from the 7th grade, the state capitals, the soliloquy from "Hamlet" (eh, some of it, anyway) and the lyrics to some truly heinous songs from the 80s. I can remember the names of people I went to school with, several recipes (because I'm not a terribly adventurous cook), the proper care of violets, several muscle groups and what they are called, and pretty much a standard order at just about every restaurant in town. There's some bible verses, the phone numbers of some people from my hometown and numerous birthdays stuck in there as well along with the birthdays of people's children who I rarely talk to anymore...but whatever.
I mean...I have trouble recalling people's names if I met them within the past five years. But I can tell you what a friend was going to name her son in 1985 but changed it in the hospital to something entirely different. Other than freaking him out by knowing this...I can't imagine why I held on to this information.
So, retracing my steps today, I tried to think about what it was that I needed to hold onto so that I could expand on it here in this format. Knowing me, and the time of day I go to lunch, I was probably listening to talk radio. Yes. I listen to THAT guy. And I like it. Primarily because beneath all of the bluster and bravado is someone actually making sense. Is he perfect? No. But he's obviously dang good to have survived these twenty years and helped revitalize the failing AM radio band. Just saying.
Anyway, the conversation was about how people expect government to do more and more for us and how different that is from how it used to be. How people didn't expect other people to pick up their slack and that it was actually okay if we didn't have everything we ever wanted. It made me think...
Think about times that Big Dave and I did without because we couldn't do something called "vacations" because the money wasn't there. So he and I would load up in our used car and drive to the beach for the day. The entire trip would cost us $30...which now would probably equate to about $100. We did this often during the first five years of our marriage.
We also didn't own a washing machine until we'd been married for two years, and a dryer until we'd been married for four. We saved up money for a down payment on a house by living in what we affectionately referred to as the "Dalmation Arms" - a name given to it by a family member because the building was white with black mildew spots. Yes, I had a friend who had the cutest decorated house in country blue with geese and the most precious dishes to serve guests on when we were invited over for dinner. How she had curtains in her home, and how everything was utilized and had a place was a complete and total mystery to me. Twenty eight years later...I still don't have curtains in every room.
So not kidding.
At that point in time, my house was a far cry from "put together." It was functional...thanks to the fact that Big Dave's parents parted with some truly heinous brown and tan plaid living room furniture that was heavy as all get out...but worked and they were a bit tired of. Right before we moved into our new house in 1989, my mother-in-law won a little table and chairs in a drawing at a furniture store and gave us the dinette set because we didn't have anything.
Bear in mind that Big Dave came into this marriage with student loans, a black trunk, a bag with softball equipment, mattresses that you could feel the springs through if you got too close to the middle, a bed frame and a picture of "Dogs Playing Poker." Yeah, that picture didn't make it long.
Want it to be even sadder? I brought my clothes and a small black and white TV that I had in my dorm room. All of it fit into my 1978 slate blue Chevette.
Thanks to the generosity of friends and family, and the fact that I married six weeks after graduating from college, we had cookware, dishes, towels, sheets, and a few decorative items. We spent our wedding money on a honeymoon to a family beachhouse and purchased a 19" Sony TV. We had that TV until it finally died 21 years later.
Never once did we consider asking our parents for help...although from time to time they would do something for us that made it easier. And I can tell you that it never crossed our minds to ask the government for anything.
Even though we make more now, have a fine home, a pool, two dogs and an outside cat, are content to know that we have or are educating our children in the best way we could/can, and we have first-world problems like trying to pick out draperies when we (me) are clueless about such things, I still don't think about how I might get the government to give me a little "help" so that I can live the life I want that doesn't involve getting up every day and going to a job.
I really don't.
I feel that one of the things that we have done to the current generation is to give them too much because we could. We didn't want them to struggle getting out of the cocoon...so we "helped" them by cutting it a little so they can get out without as much difficulty. In the process of doing that, we have actually hindered them from developing strength in the wings that they'll need for flying off someday and creating the life that God intends for them.
We give them pedicures when they are twelve and rent them limos for the Senior Prom. We pay for Coach purses and Tori Burch flats. We give them a string of pearls for graduation and decorate their dorm rooms/apartments/homes as if Southern Living were coming to film there. And just as we think we have done an amazing job...they will inadvertently act as though our offering is "normal." They don't mean to. But it happens.
Not that doing for your kids is bad in itself. It is not. Okay, other than the purses and flats...which I think are ridiculously overpriced and I refused to buy into. We had the ability to give them more than we had, and we looked around and saw everyone else pretty much doing the same. We may have held back, or made them work, or even bought them a car when they turned 16 that was not from the current decade. But it was a far cry from what we made do with twenty or thirty short years before.
A far cry.
Don't even get me started on the fact that we might have had one or two designer (ie "Polo") shirts hanging in the closet (in our generation it was "Izod" that later reinvented itself as "Lacoste") instead of one in every color. That we might have had four dresses hanging in our closet...instead of thirty. That our idea of "tanning" was baby oil with iodine in it.
I know that the past few years have been tough, and I will not go all into it from a political standpoint. People have learned to do more with less, and there are people who truly need help to get them from Point A to Point B. I'm not looking down on that. I am also not talking about people relying on Social Security that they paid into for years and years either or those that are truly disabled or in a tough place in life. I'm really not.
I'm talking about those who are all "I'll get mine..." or who make lifestyle choices to follow a dream or career path that is valuable but may not have the financial payoff that they need to survive. Yet they pursue that path and expect everyone else to pony up for the choices that they've made while others have slugged it out in the 8-5 world missing out on raising their children 24/7 and/or dealing with people who have run their stress levels up to "Danger! Will Robinson!" and beyond.
Yes, all of us would like to follow our dreams. Some of us have to sacrifice ours to survive. And in doing so...we may earn benefits like retirement or healthcare or vacation time. I highly resent being made to feel guilty for making my choices while others made theirs...yet I'm expected to pick up their slack too. I think not.
Life is a series of choices, payoffs, and regrets. You have to do what you can live with...and not expect everyone else to make it "fair." Life is anything but fair. But it is beautiful and tragic and thrilling. So there's that.
Fair would mean that I wouldn't be as blessed as I am since I'll be taxed more or maybe it would mean that I would have to make do on far less because what I need will cost more. But I should be able to choose that. I should be able to give my time, gifts or treasure to those I deem in need of it. And due to other people making that choice for me...I may just get stuck being abused because I happened to get from Point A to Point B and it wasn't fair that others couldn't. What they fail to recognize is what I gave up along the way to get there. Time, energy, blood, sweat and tears that I'll never get back. Please remind me how this is fair...
In the families that Big Dave and I were born into, we were taught to work for what we wanted. How to shop on a sale rack for a deal. That the world wouldn't end if we didn't have everything we wanted when we wanted it in the color, size, style and price range we wanted it. We raised our children to feel the same way...although we did spoil them a little bit along the way by making it easier than we had it. Fortunately, they aren't the worse for it.
That seems to be a little of what is wrong in America today. Nobody wants to wait for anything. We want instant food, so we swing through a drive-thru. Our children begin wanting a boyfriend or girlfriend at age 12 instead of waiting until they are old enough to meet "the one." The fashion powers encourage us to dress our 7 year olds like streetwalkers, and our government tells them that they are in charge of their own bodies should they get pregnant before they really understand what that means.
We like quick dry nail polish, DVR (so we don't have to endure commercials) and messages on our phones that let us know that someone needs to interact with us. Entire industries are geared around getting it done better, cheaper, faster and more interestingly than ever before.
And for what?
I have come to the point in my life where I want to be more intentional. I want to get out of the rat race and just love the people in my life. I don't care if I ever achieve a perfect looking home or if I ever get to wear something that I feel pretty in again. What I care about is trying to just enjoy what time I have here surrounded by people and things that bring me joy.
Everything else is non-essential.
I remember back to those days when Big Dave and I had a Christmas tree that we bought at somewhere like Fred's for $19.99 decorated with colored balls and lights. How magical it was to have our own space and look at catalogs and dream.
I'm getting back to dreaming again...and being content to be without everything I ever wanted. I understand how fragile life can be sometimes when people leave or age or move. How what is aggravating beyond belief one minute is something that you pine for the next. How easy it is to get caught up in trying to do everything just right...before you realize that it is as futile as rearranging deck chairs on the Titanic.
As for me, I'll be trying to keep my head straight and my heart guarded. I will look up instead of "in" when I start to wonder what in the world is going on with everything I'd always taken for granted. I'll be grateful for the fact that I know how to do more with less...because that's really my default setting...truth be told.
And maybe...if I'm lucky...I can get those prepositions out of my head to make room for something far more important. Like plans for the upcoming holiday season and all that this entails. On taking care of people who need it and loving people in my circle of friends. Because that is what life is all about.
It really is.
My other superpowers are retaining vestiges of every carb I've ever eaten, seeing things that are being missed in a given situation, and according to Big Dave...spelling. But years of remembering names, faces, directions, routes, and everything else has caused a traffic jam or twelve and the wires get crossed. That and turning 50...or so I'm told. I refuse to buy into that quite yet.
Yes, I have stored in my memory a lot of things that probably should have been left out of it since I can now look up whatever I need to know online including the list of prepositions in alphabetical order from the 7th grade, the state capitals, the soliloquy from "Hamlet" (eh, some of it, anyway) and the lyrics to some truly heinous songs from the 80s. I can remember the names of people I went to school with, several recipes (because I'm not a terribly adventurous cook), the proper care of violets, several muscle groups and what they are called, and pretty much a standard order at just about every restaurant in town. There's some bible verses, the phone numbers of some people from my hometown and numerous birthdays stuck in there as well along with the birthdays of people's children who I rarely talk to anymore...but whatever.
I mean...I have trouble recalling people's names if I met them within the past five years. But I can tell you what a friend was going to name her son in 1985 but changed it in the hospital to something entirely different. Other than freaking him out by knowing this...I can't imagine why I held on to this information.
So, retracing my steps today, I tried to think about what it was that I needed to hold onto so that I could expand on it here in this format. Knowing me, and the time of day I go to lunch, I was probably listening to talk radio. Yes. I listen to THAT guy. And I like it. Primarily because beneath all of the bluster and bravado is someone actually making sense. Is he perfect? No. But he's obviously dang good to have survived these twenty years and helped revitalize the failing AM radio band. Just saying.
Anyway, the conversation was about how people expect government to do more and more for us and how different that is from how it used to be. How people didn't expect other people to pick up their slack and that it was actually okay if we didn't have everything we ever wanted. It made me think...
Think about times that Big Dave and I did without because we couldn't do something called "vacations" because the money wasn't there. So he and I would load up in our used car and drive to the beach for the day. The entire trip would cost us $30...which now would probably equate to about $100. We did this often during the first five years of our marriage.
We also didn't own a washing machine until we'd been married for two years, and a dryer until we'd been married for four. We saved up money for a down payment on a house by living in what we affectionately referred to as the "Dalmation Arms" - a name given to it by a family member because the building was white with black mildew spots. Yes, I had a friend who had the cutest decorated house in country blue with geese and the most precious dishes to serve guests on when we were invited over for dinner. How she had curtains in her home, and how everything was utilized and had a place was a complete and total mystery to me. Twenty eight years later...I still don't have curtains in every room.
So not kidding.
At that point in time, my house was a far cry from "put together." It was functional...thanks to the fact that Big Dave's parents parted with some truly heinous brown and tan plaid living room furniture that was heavy as all get out...but worked and they were a bit tired of. Right before we moved into our new house in 1989, my mother-in-law won a little table and chairs in a drawing at a furniture store and gave us the dinette set because we didn't have anything.
Bear in mind that Big Dave came into this marriage with student loans, a black trunk, a bag with softball equipment, mattresses that you could feel the springs through if you got too close to the middle, a bed frame and a picture of "Dogs Playing Poker." Yeah, that picture didn't make it long.
Want it to be even sadder? I brought my clothes and a small black and white TV that I had in my dorm room. All of it fit into my 1978 slate blue Chevette.
Thanks to the generosity of friends and family, and the fact that I married six weeks after graduating from college, we had cookware, dishes, towels, sheets, and a few decorative items. We spent our wedding money on a honeymoon to a family beachhouse and purchased a 19" Sony TV. We had that TV until it finally died 21 years later.
Never once did we consider asking our parents for help...although from time to time they would do something for us that made it easier. And I can tell you that it never crossed our minds to ask the government for anything.
Even though we make more now, have a fine home, a pool, two dogs and an outside cat, are content to know that we have or are educating our children in the best way we could/can, and we have first-world problems like trying to pick out draperies when we (me) are clueless about such things, I still don't think about how I might get the government to give me a little "help" so that I can live the life I want that doesn't involve getting up every day and going to a job.
I really don't.
I feel that one of the things that we have done to the current generation is to give them too much because we could. We didn't want them to struggle getting out of the cocoon...so we "helped" them by cutting it a little so they can get out without as much difficulty. In the process of doing that, we have actually hindered them from developing strength in the wings that they'll need for flying off someday and creating the life that God intends for them.
We give them pedicures when they are twelve and rent them limos for the Senior Prom. We pay for Coach purses and Tori Burch flats. We give them a string of pearls for graduation and decorate their dorm rooms/apartments/homes as if Southern Living were coming to film there. And just as we think we have done an amazing job...they will inadvertently act as though our offering is "normal." They don't mean to. But it happens.
Not that doing for your kids is bad in itself. It is not. Okay, other than the purses and flats...which I think are ridiculously overpriced and I refused to buy into. We had the ability to give them more than we had, and we looked around and saw everyone else pretty much doing the same. We may have held back, or made them work, or even bought them a car when they turned 16 that was not from the current decade. But it was a far cry from what we made do with twenty or thirty short years before.
A far cry.
Don't even get me started on the fact that we might have had one or two designer (ie "Polo") shirts hanging in the closet (in our generation it was "Izod" that later reinvented itself as "Lacoste") instead of one in every color. That we might have had four dresses hanging in our closet...instead of thirty. That our idea of "tanning" was baby oil with iodine in it.
I know that the past few years have been tough, and I will not go all into it from a political standpoint. People have learned to do more with less, and there are people who truly need help to get them from Point A to Point B. I'm not looking down on that. I am also not talking about people relying on Social Security that they paid into for years and years either or those that are truly disabled or in a tough place in life. I'm really not.
I'm talking about those who are all "I'll get mine..." or who make lifestyle choices to follow a dream or career path that is valuable but may not have the financial payoff that they need to survive. Yet they pursue that path and expect everyone else to pony up for the choices that they've made while others have slugged it out in the 8-5 world missing out on raising their children 24/7 and/or dealing with people who have run their stress levels up to "Danger! Will Robinson!" and beyond.
Yes, all of us would like to follow our dreams. Some of us have to sacrifice ours to survive. And in doing so...we may earn benefits like retirement or healthcare or vacation time. I highly resent being made to feel guilty for making my choices while others made theirs...yet I'm expected to pick up their slack too. I think not.
Life is a series of choices, payoffs, and regrets. You have to do what you can live with...and not expect everyone else to make it "fair." Life is anything but fair. But it is beautiful and tragic and thrilling. So there's that.
Fair would mean that I wouldn't be as blessed as I am since I'll be taxed more or maybe it would mean that I would have to make do on far less because what I need will cost more. But I should be able to choose that. I should be able to give my time, gifts or treasure to those I deem in need of it. And due to other people making that choice for me...I may just get stuck being abused because I happened to get from Point A to Point B and it wasn't fair that others couldn't. What they fail to recognize is what I gave up along the way to get there. Time, energy, blood, sweat and tears that I'll never get back. Please remind me how this is fair...
In the families that Big Dave and I were born into, we were taught to work for what we wanted. How to shop on a sale rack for a deal. That the world wouldn't end if we didn't have everything we wanted when we wanted it in the color, size, style and price range we wanted it. We raised our children to feel the same way...although we did spoil them a little bit along the way by making it easier than we had it. Fortunately, they aren't the worse for it.
That seems to be a little of what is wrong in America today. Nobody wants to wait for anything. We want instant food, so we swing through a drive-thru. Our children begin wanting a boyfriend or girlfriend at age 12 instead of waiting until they are old enough to meet "the one." The fashion powers encourage us to dress our 7 year olds like streetwalkers, and our government tells them that they are in charge of their own bodies should they get pregnant before they really understand what that means.
We like quick dry nail polish, DVR (so we don't have to endure commercials) and messages on our phones that let us know that someone needs to interact with us. Entire industries are geared around getting it done better, cheaper, faster and more interestingly than ever before.
And for what?
I have come to the point in my life where I want to be more intentional. I want to get out of the rat race and just love the people in my life. I don't care if I ever achieve a perfect looking home or if I ever get to wear something that I feel pretty in again. What I care about is trying to just enjoy what time I have here surrounded by people and things that bring me joy.
Everything else is non-essential.
I remember back to those days when Big Dave and I had a Christmas tree that we bought at somewhere like Fred's for $19.99 decorated with colored balls and lights. How magical it was to have our own space and look at catalogs and dream.
I'm getting back to dreaming again...and being content to be without everything I ever wanted. I understand how fragile life can be sometimes when people leave or age or move. How what is aggravating beyond belief one minute is something that you pine for the next. How easy it is to get caught up in trying to do everything just right...before you realize that it is as futile as rearranging deck chairs on the Titanic.
As for me, I'll be trying to keep my head straight and my heart guarded. I will look up instead of "in" when I start to wonder what in the world is going on with everything I'd always taken for granted. I'll be grateful for the fact that I know how to do more with less...because that's really my default setting...truth be told.
And maybe...if I'm lucky...I can get those prepositions out of my head to make room for something far more important. Like plans for the upcoming holiday season and all that this entails. On taking care of people who need it and loving people in my circle of friends. Because that is what life is all about.
It really is.
Wednesday, October 16, 2013
Confessions of a 50 Year Old Lazy Friend
Unlike other Southern women who refuse to disclose their ages, I have always been a tell-all girl in this regard. I realize that at different points in my life I have surprised people by looking older than my years, and in a couple of cases...younger...but it is what it is. I say this not with smugness or pride...or even as the antithesis of my sweet 39 year old mother who is beautiful and vibrant in spite of the fact that I am now on the record for being older than she is. It is just one of those areas that I have never really felt led to fudge or hide.
Unlike my drivers' license weight. Or hair color. Let's not go there.
No, seriously. Let's not.
I am 50 years old. 5-0. Nifty fifty. Half a century. Over the hill...or past the change...or whatever. I'm on that side of life where the print gets smaller for most of my friends, and reading glasses are not optional. Where turning in at 9:00 on a Friday night isn't taboo. Where going to the grocery store looking like Sasquatch is perfectly acceptable. Where "personal summers" are the norm. Where I am over things like high heels, trying to impress people who are impossible, and being concerned with wearing anything fashionable...if it isn't comfortable. And truthfully? Nobody cares.
I'm someone's Mom, and old enough to be someone's grandma, although I'm not really up for that until I've been mother of the bride and/or groom. I have good friends and know who I am...although I'm still up for learning new things and appreciate the effort people put into things far more than I used to when I was young and sleep-deprived.
Yet for all of those benefits of impending maturity, I missed the very obvious fact that while I was out trying to survive the onslaught of raising children for nearly half of my life, working full-time, and trying to be a decent daughter, granddaughter, daughter-in-law, sister-in-law, wife, sister, aunt, best friend, acquaintance, mother, employee, neighbor, co-worker, church member, great-aunt, cousin, alumnae, participant, counselor, friend, teacher, and whatever else...time passed.
Years where I stood under the tutelage of some pretty incredible women and waited for instruction of what to do in crisis situations. Crisis situations being defined as illnesses, bad news, funerals, problems, and anything else that didn't involve celebrations. Celebrations I could do.
Times that I wanted to do more but was afraid that they'd think I was out of my mind, didn't know them well enough, or was simply overdoing it. After all, enthusiasm in positive instances is often frowned upon in negative ones. The worry that something would be "tacky" or "inappropriate" or "too much." After all, I've been "too much" a number of times in my life.
Instances where I wanted to intervene or help or just say the right thing...but I was silent for fear of saying something boneheaded. Time that passed that was seconds and then minutes, hours, days, weeks...months...years...decades...
And now I'm 50. Old enough to know what to do instead of expecting someone to pop up and tell me what the next step should be in certain situations. Of course, I have no problem taking on big projects, and one of the gifts that the Lord has given me is the strong desire and ability to finish things. I'm probably not the first person that would be assigned a leadership position, but when I am in most groups, I find that I end up offering input because I am not afraid to make a decision. Usually, I find that people don't want to decide anything because they are also afraid of being perceived as being pushy, or over-the-top or a general pain in the posterior. Probably because when we were young...we were reminded of how little we knew and how we were messing it all up. At times...we were.
Recently, I discovered that I have been a bit of a lazy friend. I have not checked in with people...because I figured that someone else was doing it. You know...someone more responsible. Someone older. Wiser. More pulled together. I have known of situations involving hospitalizations and I have run the other direction. I have not checked in with people on the anniversaries of traumatic events...and I have done little more than tell them I'll pray for them.
And I do. But it is not at the level of someone who appreciates all of the wonderful things that she has been given in this life. It is lazy. L-A-Z-Y and I "ain't got no alibi." Wish I did.
I realized over the past few days that the "someone" that is supposed to be watching out for the mission field that I have been assigned...my friends...is ME. Not the person who can run circles around me. Not the one who everyone assumes will do it. Not the individual who always does it. But ME. That generation that I always looked up to to tell me what to do? Uh, that's ME, too.
Part of this was being raised by a strong grandmother who had very particular ideas about how to do what when. Another part is that I have friends who excel in this area...so all I had to do was wait for instruction. But the sad part is that often it was that I just didn't want to deal with the hassle of getting in the trenches with my friends. Lazy.
I realized that serving with a twenty-something in the kitchen yesterday. She was so worried about doing something wrong (impossible...but still...) and disappointing the older women. She didn't know that she couldn't. But she was looking to me...and to the other women to give her some direction. A wonderful, beautiful, capable soul who didn't need my approval or those of the other ladies serving in there. But she wanted it.
I love that. But it also woke me up to the fact that it is time for me to step up...and to be who He created me to be.
I have reached the age where I cannot hide the fact that by now I should have some wisdom to share. That I know what to do in situations and that I shouldn't care how that is perceived if my motives are pure. That I have the capacity to do certain things well and in those areas I should lead. I should also acquiesce to those who are better than I am in others. But I can learn to be better...I can be more intentional...and I can quit worrying about messing things up.
After all...I'm not 30. I'm 50. This isn't my first rodeo, so to speak.
I know that even at this age there will be disasters. I will make mistakes, not handle things well, or burn something from time to time. I will try a "fool-proof" recipe that is anything but. I will go overboard or will miss the opportunities that are presented me to be Jesus' hands and feet. I will still have times when I'm thoughtless...or heaven forbid...lazy.
I just don't want to miss it because I'm worried about how whatever I'm doing looks to other people.
Why? Well, frankly, because it's not about me. Never has been. I wish I'd glommed on to that years ago when I was worried what people thought on one hand...or figured that they wanted someone better than me to serve them on the other.
Over the past year, I have had friends lose family members, get serious diagnoses, lose their jobs, suffer a major disappointment, get a divorce, or just lose heart. I've watched from the sidelines in most cases...jumping in to do as little as I could because I was afraid. Being the "invited" instead of the "initiator." Because it was my fervent belief that someone more experienced would take care of things and would simply call me if I was needed.
If someone asked for my help...I'd give it. However, this is reactive...not proactive. In the process I missed out on the blessings of serving others and the joy of loving God's children as I was designed to do.
No more.
When you reach a "certain age" you have to decide how you want to be remembered. As the person with the prettiest house or the perfect children? As the lady with the yard that won awards or as a successful businessperson? As the person who did the bare minimum to maintain a friendship? As someone who was all fluff and no substance?
I want to be remembered as someone who loved. Everyone. Who tried to serve others well. Who followed "in his steps" rather than with regrets, bitterness, or remorse.
So, I'm learning to be more intentional about my life and with my time. Because God has a sense of humor...this totally means that from time to time it will not end well. But I'm trusting that more often than not...it will. I want every word to come out of my mouth to be truth. Not fluff. Not pumped sunshine. Not Southern small talk...although there's room for a touch of that here and there. Truth.
I also want to be a better friend to those that I have been blessed with than I have been in the past. To be more aware of what is going on around me and less concerned with how I feel about something and less afraid to just jump in there and help. To not be lazy.
That's the plan. I'll keep you posted. Because as we all know...when we plan...God laughs. But as long as He is smiling...that's good enough for me.
Unlike my drivers' license weight. Or hair color. Let's not go there.
No, seriously. Let's not.
I am 50 years old. 5-0. Nifty fifty. Half a century. Over the hill...or past the change...or whatever. I'm on that side of life where the print gets smaller for most of my friends, and reading glasses are not optional. Where turning in at 9:00 on a Friday night isn't taboo. Where going to the grocery store looking like Sasquatch is perfectly acceptable. Where "personal summers" are the norm. Where I am over things like high heels, trying to impress people who are impossible, and being concerned with wearing anything fashionable...if it isn't comfortable. And truthfully? Nobody cares.
I'm someone's Mom, and old enough to be someone's grandma, although I'm not really up for that until I've been mother of the bride and/or groom. I have good friends and know who I am...although I'm still up for learning new things and appreciate the effort people put into things far more than I used to when I was young and sleep-deprived.
Yet for all of those benefits of impending maturity, I missed the very obvious fact that while I was out trying to survive the onslaught of raising children for nearly half of my life, working full-time, and trying to be a decent daughter, granddaughter, daughter-in-law, sister-in-law, wife, sister, aunt, best friend, acquaintance, mother, employee, neighbor, co-worker, church member, great-aunt, cousin, alumnae, participant, counselor, friend, teacher, and whatever else...time passed.
Years where I stood under the tutelage of some pretty incredible women and waited for instruction of what to do in crisis situations. Crisis situations being defined as illnesses, bad news, funerals, problems, and anything else that didn't involve celebrations. Celebrations I could do.
Times that I wanted to do more but was afraid that they'd think I was out of my mind, didn't know them well enough, or was simply overdoing it. After all, enthusiasm in positive instances is often frowned upon in negative ones. The worry that something would be "tacky" or "inappropriate" or "too much." After all, I've been "too much" a number of times in my life.
Instances where I wanted to intervene or help or just say the right thing...but I was silent for fear of saying something boneheaded. Time that passed that was seconds and then minutes, hours, days, weeks...months...years...decades...
And now I'm 50. Old enough to know what to do instead of expecting someone to pop up and tell me what the next step should be in certain situations. Of course, I have no problem taking on big projects, and one of the gifts that the Lord has given me is the strong desire and ability to finish things. I'm probably not the first person that would be assigned a leadership position, but when I am in most groups, I find that I end up offering input because I am not afraid to make a decision. Usually, I find that people don't want to decide anything because they are also afraid of being perceived as being pushy, or over-the-top or a general pain in the posterior. Probably because when we were young...we were reminded of how little we knew and how we were messing it all up. At times...we were.
Recently, I discovered that I have been a bit of a lazy friend. I have not checked in with people...because I figured that someone else was doing it. You know...someone more responsible. Someone older. Wiser. More pulled together. I have known of situations involving hospitalizations and I have run the other direction. I have not checked in with people on the anniversaries of traumatic events...and I have done little more than tell them I'll pray for them.
And I do. But it is not at the level of someone who appreciates all of the wonderful things that she has been given in this life. It is lazy. L-A-Z-Y and I "ain't got no alibi." Wish I did.
I realized over the past few days that the "someone" that is supposed to be watching out for the mission field that I have been assigned...my friends...is ME. Not the person who can run circles around me. Not the one who everyone assumes will do it. Not the individual who always does it. But ME. That generation that I always looked up to to tell me what to do? Uh, that's ME, too.
Part of this was being raised by a strong grandmother who had very particular ideas about how to do what when. Another part is that I have friends who excel in this area...so all I had to do was wait for instruction. But the sad part is that often it was that I just didn't want to deal with the hassle of getting in the trenches with my friends. Lazy.
I realized that serving with a twenty-something in the kitchen yesterday. She was so worried about doing something wrong (impossible...but still...) and disappointing the older women. She didn't know that she couldn't. But she was looking to me...and to the other women to give her some direction. A wonderful, beautiful, capable soul who didn't need my approval or those of the other ladies serving in there. But she wanted it.
I love that. But it also woke me up to the fact that it is time for me to step up...and to be who He created me to be.
I have reached the age where I cannot hide the fact that by now I should have some wisdom to share. That I know what to do in situations and that I shouldn't care how that is perceived if my motives are pure. That I have the capacity to do certain things well and in those areas I should lead. I should also acquiesce to those who are better than I am in others. But I can learn to be better...I can be more intentional...and I can quit worrying about messing things up.
After all...I'm not 30. I'm 50. This isn't my first rodeo, so to speak.
I know that even at this age there will be disasters. I will make mistakes, not handle things well, or burn something from time to time. I will try a "fool-proof" recipe that is anything but. I will go overboard or will miss the opportunities that are presented me to be Jesus' hands and feet. I will still have times when I'm thoughtless...or heaven forbid...lazy.
I just don't want to miss it because I'm worried about how whatever I'm doing looks to other people.
Why? Well, frankly, because it's not about me. Never has been. I wish I'd glommed on to that years ago when I was worried what people thought on one hand...or figured that they wanted someone better than me to serve them on the other.
Over the past year, I have had friends lose family members, get serious diagnoses, lose their jobs, suffer a major disappointment, get a divorce, or just lose heart. I've watched from the sidelines in most cases...jumping in to do as little as I could because I was afraid. Being the "invited" instead of the "initiator." Because it was my fervent belief that someone more experienced would take care of things and would simply call me if I was needed.
If someone asked for my help...I'd give it. However, this is reactive...not proactive. In the process I missed out on the blessings of serving others and the joy of loving God's children as I was designed to do.
No more.
When you reach a "certain age" you have to decide how you want to be remembered. As the person with the prettiest house or the perfect children? As the lady with the yard that won awards or as a successful businessperson? As the person who did the bare minimum to maintain a friendship? As someone who was all fluff and no substance?
I want to be remembered as someone who loved. Everyone. Who tried to serve others well. Who followed "in his steps" rather than with regrets, bitterness, or remorse.
So, I'm learning to be more intentional about my life and with my time. Because God has a sense of humor...this totally means that from time to time it will not end well. But I'm trusting that more often than not...it will. I want every word to come out of my mouth to be truth. Not fluff. Not pumped sunshine. Not Southern small talk...although there's room for a touch of that here and there. Truth.
I also want to be a better friend to those that I have been blessed with than I have been in the past. To be more aware of what is going on around me and less concerned with how I feel about something and less afraid to just jump in there and help. To not be lazy.
That's the plan. I'll keep you posted. Because as we all know...when we plan...God laughs. But as long as He is smiling...that's good enough for me.
Monday, September 16, 2013
Lightness
Today I am feeling a little bit lighter. Unshackled. Freer. In spite of the fact that today is Monday, I actually am a little bit hopeful. Not that this can't be dashed in a New York minute once I begin my day in earnest. But for now...I'm enjoying it.
I feel lighter in that I quit eating junk and have started actually thinking about everything that goes into my body. I'm 50 years old, and I am the sum total of some really good genes and some really heinous decisions. But I can't reverse my affection for the drive-thru or the appreciation for coffee in the morning. For loving to celebrate with food and for hating to leave anything on my plate. For enjoying starches and detesting brussels sprouts. It pretty much is what it is, you know.
Don't even get me started on party food. That's "Danger! Will Robinson!" territory if I've ever seen it.
I am not on some weight loss plan, not trying to convert the world, and not really that worried about it. I know I should be worried. I mean, I do have mirrors around here. But I've finally come to accept that my best isn't going to match that of people who have been meticulous and active all of the years that I chose to let it fly and sit it out. I've had periods of living that life during these intervening years of looking great and where I am now...and because of those...I have the courage to pick up the plow and start moving. But I am at a place where I'm finally ready to turn down something in spite of how good it looks. Where I'm content to just have a bite and take the rest home. Where I'm okay with salad every day for a week or cutting my portion size at the exact point where I feel full instead of when whatever it is has been completely eaten.
I've set some goals for myself that I don't dare share for fear that someone will tell me it can't be done and I'll believe them. I have decided to push myself even though I'm quite certain I look ridiculous doing it and I may pass out from mouth-breathing (yes, ragweed season is the devil). I've decided to test my limits and see what happens. It will more than likely take months just to see anything close to results.
But the gradual changes will be there. The ability to do one more rep, or not to quit when every fiber of my being is telling me to stop because I can make it to "...4-3-2-1...well done!" It will be the quiet realizations that will keep me going. That an an extremely supportive coach or two that I have leading classes that I take. The guy in the gym who tells me "keep it up, rock star!" every time he sees me. The hair that looks like Sasquatch's when I finish wallowing on the floor doing something that is supposed to make me stronger.
I am stronger. I will be even stronger.
But the lightness of mood doesn't end there...it is also because I've decided to free myself of twelve boxes of items that are currently serving no purpose in my life other than to make me feel guilty. Uncomfortable. Like something needs to be done all of the time. As though I cannot enjoy my entire home or any weekend because I don't have a handle on it. I had kept it thinking that I'd have a yard sale someday. I rethought that after remembering that I don't have good luck at yard sales, I have no desire to waste a Friday night and a Saturday morning putting this stuff out for people to offer me a dollar for the privilege to cart off. I think I'd prefer that it be shipped off to Goodwill and let them have what would probably bring less than $200 if I sold every item. It is a small price to pay for my sanity and for this feeling of lightness.
Lightness is one of those things that is highly underestimated. I'm referring to lightness of spirit in this instance. The freedom to be spontaneous because you have time not managing "stuff." The joy of taking care of the "stuff" that you have. The enjoyment of seeing the "stuff" that makes you happy because it is in your world. Most of us spend way too much time overwhelmed with it...so we put it in a storage facility. Or the attic. Or the garage. Or a closet. Before long, we are to the gills with items that need to be moved along. Desperately.
In the boxes outside is a coat that my daughter wore in 5th grade. I know this because her teacher's name was on the tag. It has been hanging in there for half her life. But it was too good to throw away, and since she has been almost the same size since that time...we kept it. We have sheets for beds that are mismatched and the old beach towels that have long since been replaced with ones that we like much better. There are books and decorative items and some things that sounded like a good idea at the time...but so weren't...or we've moved on and replaced them with something else. There are old sofa pillows and pencil boxes. Baskets and what-not. All manner of items that are in good condition...but who followed us from house to house (Jill lived in four different places in college...each with a different decorating theme) or just for whatever reason are no longer serving any purpose other than to make me crazy.
No longer.
Today I feel lighter knowing that this job is done. Three closets are cleaned out. Two remain. One will need Brian to sit there and give me a "yay" or "nay" to various items. The other will require Big Dave.
That'll be interesting.
I suppose what I'd like to share on the other side of this...is that it is possible to start. To just decide. To move past the excuses, lack of time, or even the desire to address something. I am finding that it is the kindest thing that I've done for myself lately...this moving toward my goals. It has taken me months...and possibly even years...to get to this point. And I may fall back into old habits again. I'll have to fight that tendency and that uphill battle every day.
I believe that when we release "things" and the hold that they have on our mental energy...that we are freer to follow what God intends for our life. In my life those "things" are food, the control I like to maintain over my schedule, and the items that are all over my house demanding my attention in terms of dusting, or washing, or finding a place for it to reside. I'm freer just saying "no" to my own desires and saying "yes" to being under the yoke of discipline. Because that yoke is light...and discipline is freedom.
It really is.
So, as you go out into your life today...just remember to travel lightly. We can't take it with us, and between us...I don't want my kids to have to sort it. I want them to be free to live their lives without that cloud hanging over them that my poor Mom and her siblings did when my sweet Gammy's house had to be dealt with in 2006. It took them four years to get up the courage to face it. Not kidding.
I wish you the best in whatever makes you lighter today. Be it eating to glorify God through the temple that He resides in or the home that He has given you to live here while waiting to go Home. I don't know. I know that my body, my home and my spirit have huge "Under Renovation" signs out in front. The load is lighter already just putting up the signs.
Have a wonderful day. I hope that it is filled with lightness. And joy. Peace. Love.
I feel lighter in that I quit eating junk and have started actually thinking about everything that goes into my body. I'm 50 years old, and I am the sum total of some really good genes and some really heinous decisions. But I can't reverse my affection for the drive-thru or the appreciation for coffee in the morning. For loving to celebrate with food and for hating to leave anything on my plate. For enjoying starches and detesting brussels sprouts. It pretty much is what it is, you know.
Don't even get me started on party food. That's "Danger! Will Robinson!" territory if I've ever seen it.
I am not on some weight loss plan, not trying to convert the world, and not really that worried about it. I know I should be worried. I mean, I do have mirrors around here. But I've finally come to accept that my best isn't going to match that of people who have been meticulous and active all of the years that I chose to let it fly and sit it out. I've had periods of living that life during these intervening years of looking great and where I am now...and because of those...I have the courage to pick up the plow and start moving. But I am at a place where I'm finally ready to turn down something in spite of how good it looks. Where I'm content to just have a bite and take the rest home. Where I'm okay with salad every day for a week or cutting my portion size at the exact point where I feel full instead of when whatever it is has been completely eaten.
I've set some goals for myself that I don't dare share for fear that someone will tell me it can't be done and I'll believe them. I have decided to push myself even though I'm quite certain I look ridiculous doing it and I may pass out from mouth-breathing (yes, ragweed season is the devil). I've decided to test my limits and see what happens. It will more than likely take months just to see anything close to results.
But the gradual changes will be there. The ability to do one more rep, or not to quit when every fiber of my being is telling me to stop because I can make it to "...4-3-2-1...well done!" It will be the quiet realizations that will keep me going. That an an extremely supportive coach or two that I have leading classes that I take. The guy in the gym who tells me "keep it up, rock star!" every time he sees me. The hair that looks like Sasquatch's when I finish wallowing on the floor doing something that is supposed to make me stronger.
I am stronger. I will be even stronger.
But the lightness of mood doesn't end there...it is also because I've decided to free myself of twelve boxes of items that are currently serving no purpose in my life other than to make me feel guilty. Uncomfortable. Like something needs to be done all of the time. As though I cannot enjoy my entire home or any weekend because I don't have a handle on it. I had kept it thinking that I'd have a yard sale someday. I rethought that after remembering that I don't have good luck at yard sales, I have no desire to waste a Friday night and a Saturday morning putting this stuff out for people to offer me a dollar for the privilege to cart off. I think I'd prefer that it be shipped off to Goodwill and let them have what would probably bring less than $200 if I sold every item. It is a small price to pay for my sanity and for this feeling of lightness.
Lightness is one of those things that is highly underestimated. I'm referring to lightness of spirit in this instance. The freedom to be spontaneous because you have time not managing "stuff." The joy of taking care of the "stuff" that you have. The enjoyment of seeing the "stuff" that makes you happy because it is in your world. Most of us spend way too much time overwhelmed with it...so we put it in a storage facility. Or the attic. Or the garage. Or a closet. Before long, we are to the gills with items that need to be moved along. Desperately.
In the boxes outside is a coat that my daughter wore in 5th grade. I know this because her teacher's name was on the tag. It has been hanging in there for half her life. But it was too good to throw away, and since she has been almost the same size since that time...we kept it. We have sheets for beds that are mismatched and the old beach towels that have long since been replaced with ones that we like much better. There are books and decorative items and some things that sounded like a good idea at the time...but so weren't...or we've moved on and replaced them with something else. There are old sofa pillows and pencil boxes. Baskets and what-not. All manner of items that are in good condition...but who followed us from house to house (Jill lived in four different places in college...each with a different decorating theme) or just for whatever reason are no longer serving any purpose other than to make me crazy.
No longer.
Today I feel lighter knowing that this job is done. Three closets are cleaned out. Two remain. One will need Brian to sit there and give me a "yay" or "nay" to various items. The other will require Big Dave.
That'll be interesting.
I suppose what I'd like to share on the other side of this...is that it is possible to start. To just decide. To move past the excuses, lack of time, or even the desire to address something. I am finding that it is the kindest thing that I've done for myself lately...this moving toward my goals. It has taken me months...and possibly even years...to get to this point. And I may fall back into old habits again. I'll have to fight that tendency and that uphill battle every day.
I believe that when we release "things" and the hold that they have on our mental energy...that we are freer to follow what God intends for our life. In my life those "things" are food, the control I like to maintain over my schedule, and the items that are all over my house demanding my attention in terms of dusting, or washing, or finding a place for it to reside. I'm freer just saying "no" to my own desires and saying "yes" to being under the yoke of discipline. Because that yoke is light...and discipline is freedom.
It really is.
So, as you go out into your life today...just remember to travel lightly. We can't take it with us, and between us...I don't want my kids to have to sort it. I want them to be free to live their lives without that cloud hanging over them that my poor Mom and her siblings did when my sweet Gammy's house had to be dealt with in 2006. It took them four years to get up the courage to face it. Not kidding.
I wish you the best in whatever makes you lighter today. Be it eating to glorify God through the temple that He resides in or the home that He has given you to live here while waiting to go Home. I don't know. I know that my body, my home and my spirit have huge "Under Renovation" signs out in front. The load is lighter already just putting up the signs.
Have a wonderful day. I hope that it is filled with lightness. And joy. Peace. Love.
Thursday, September 12, 2013
Kindness
This week was the beginning of "Apples of Gold" - which is sponsored by my church that you can read more about here, In a nutshell, it is a program that pairs older (chronologically...we won't claim anything other than this) and younger women in a seven week program. Two hours each Tuesday night are spent socializing, having a cooking demonstration, a "talk" on one of six topics and then a meal that is presented on beautifully decorated tables. There are usually about thirty of us there each time...so it is a lot of work...yet totally worth it. Before they leave, the "Apples" - the term given to the younger women - also receive recipes and a take home gift that totally rocks along with a little gift from whoever is teaching that relates to the lesson. It is like Christmas every Tuesday in terms of having people love on you when you are an Apple. It really is.
I should know. I was an "Apple" five years ago. If you want to relive that experience...and it would take awhile to do it because I condensed each week plus what was going on in my crazy life at the time into one extraordinarily long blogpost. Pop some popcorn and enjoy here.
The "mature" (uh, no) women are referred to as "mentors" - which is an awesome concept...but when you feel on the inside like they look on the outside...it is really a unique experience. They make the transition from calling all of us "Miss *whatever*" (obviously, Karen, in my case) and start calling us by our first names. That's tough when your Mama has drilled manners into you for the majority of your existence. But they learn. We get the opportunity through them to remember how tough it is to be in our 20's and 30's when we thought we were fat and that there weren't enough hours in the day. When we worried about how to do things and the grass always looked greener on the other side (stay at home moms versus working moms...that kind of thing.)
Amateurs.
Oh, my, that wasn't very kind was it?
No. No it wasn't. That's because when you get to be fifty years old...and I'm told it gets even more so later on...you have survived so much or held the hair, hands, or the children of so many of your friends through various life experiences that you just cannot relate to someone being devastated over gaining five pounds on a cruise. Okay, maybe that's just me.
And yet we try to relate. Because what is important to them should be important to us. Our job is to tell them that it is not earth-shattering and that they will be tested repeatedly throughout their lives and that the best defense is a good family and friend support system. That the body of Christ is not just something that Christians say in some kind of language that outsiders don't understand...but it is a reality. We all have different gifts and that's really okay. In fact, it is better than okay...it is awesome. We don't have to dislike someone because they have it easier than we do or because they have more or even more amazing talents that we wish we had to offer. We learn that our gifts and talents are valuable and the employment of the gifts is what matters.
They learn that you don't have to be perfect and that it is possible to make something out of nothing (or from the Dollar Tree at worst). We learn that even though we'd love to have thighs that don't giggle and arms that aren't wings...we are really happy that we've made it from where they are to where we are. Even if we look like we flew there. (Oh, come on...we can't all be Michelle Obama. Thank goodness.)
(Again...unkind...*sigh*)
The talk this week was on kindness...and that means that God will use this opportunity to test me. I'll jump on ahead and tell you that I teach "submission" in three weeks - which is a subject that is not for the feint of heart. I look at it as a way to impart some of the wisdom I've gained in 28 years of marriage...and I hold to that "those who can...do...those who can't...teach." But as you read that...bear in mind that I have the utmost respect for teachers of every kind. I just know that this saying most assuredly refers to me. At least with this subject.
And no, I don't feel like a fraud for telling them the truth but still struggling with some aspects of it. I'm human. I'm strong-willed. I've been married for 28 years.
Kindness is a difficult subject to broach because it looks different to everyone - much like beauty is in the eye of the beholder. Some people believe it is kind to share your time...others think you should share your money. Some folks want you to share your talents to be considered "kind" and others are just happy if you are pleasant or inclusive.
To me, kindness means that you give people the benefit of the doubt before you chew them a new one. That you actually stop to make sure that something isn't going on in their lives that would necessitate not being pinned to the wall...if they are being boneheaded. It means speaking to people when you see them instead of darting into another aisle so that you don't have to engage them in conversation at WalMart. Yes, I understand avoidance when one is devoid of makeup or dressed in something that almost qualifies you for "People of WalMart"...but still... It means that you treat them the same as you treat everyone else without regard to their backgrounds, what they can do for you, or some perceived pecking order of importance. It means doing something for someone if you can without expecting anything in return just because they might benefit from it. It is letting people know when you see them doing something amazing...or even just making progress. It is speaking gently, expecting the best, and spreading the sweet perfume of Jesus in everything you do.
Basically, it is not being rude, short tempered, preferential, or moody. It is not, however, being a doormat.
We all know doormats. And we want to smack them. Sometimes that's actually the kind thing to do, because life is too short for all of that. It really is. I am not suggesting that we adopt rudeness as an alternative...but I do believe that there are times when you just have to let people know that they've crossed a line with you. Not tell everyone BUT them...tell THEM.
So, this week has been quite the experience in being re-educated on kindness. So far this week, I've had people steal my parking place, annoy me, push me when I'm tired (or sore from the gym), not do what they said they'd do, find picky things wrong with this or that, or forget to call his mother (he'd better be studying).
But the mother of all things is my tendency to get into "comment wars" on social media due to my disdain for people who insist on being idiotic. See? Houston, we most definitely have a problem with this sister's attitude. So, I'm going to have to back off for a few days and not try to save the world. My cape is in the cleaners, so to speak.
But back to kindness. It is so important and yet so tough to pull off sometimes. We want to do something for someone and they don't want our help. We want to say the right thing and we end up bungling our words. We think that we are called to make it better and we end up feeling like we should have just left it alone. In those cases...maybe we should have. Kindness can require some execution to pull off something bigger...but what I think is equally important is the small things. Holding the door for a mother with a stoller, letting someone with four items at the grocery go ahead of you and your full cart and coupons, or just speaking to someone and waiting for their response when you ask "How are you?" We in the South are incredibly guilty about asking and then moving on because we expect the answer to be "fine." Sometimes it isn't. We need to wait just in case.
Here's the Apples of Gold verse that the program is based upon: "Likewise, teach the older women to be reverent in the way they live, not to be slanderers or addicted to much wine, but to teach what is good. Then they can train the younger women to love their husbands and children, to be self-controlled and pure, to be busy at home, to be kind, and to be subject to their husbands, so that no one will malign the work of God." - Titus 2:3-5
Yeah. I have some work to do. Rather, God has some work to do in me. I don't consider myself an unkind person, but that would depend on who you ask. And when. This must change.
I know that there are times when we are not well, overwhelmed or just cannot give people the time we'd like. There are also burdens we carry that make us a bit oblivious to others sometimes. But the default mode should be "kindness." Even if it is about drama regarding a five pound weight loss. Or learning to cook rice properly. Or fill in anything that you find inconsequential and silly to you. You are still obligated to be kind because you really never know what your extra attention might mean.
Not fake. Not insincere. Not a doormat. Just kind. Whatever that looks like to you and how you think it might affect someone else in a positive manner.
I do love the "Apples of Gold" program and have a feeling that I'm going to learn a lot through it over the next few weeks. I always do. Especially the week that I teach. Yes, God has a sense of humor. I will inevitably have several examples to share with them. Current ones. Oy.
Next week is "Loving Your Husband." That should be easier...but it won't be. I'll keep you posted...because the week after that is "Loving Your Children." In the meantime, I'm still trying to be kind - which in some cases is harder than it should be. Again, I really need to work on that.
That and the first five pounds of the ridiculous amount of weight that I need to lose. Maybe then I can more kindly relate more readily to the sweet Apples if I am dieting right along with them. Hope so.
I should know. I was an "Apple" five years ago. If you want to relive that experience...and it would take awhile to do it because I condensed each week plus what was going on in my crazy life at the time into one extraordinarily long blogpost. Pop some popcorn and enjoy here.
The "mature" (uh, no) women are referred to as "mentors" - which is an awesome concept...but when you feel on the inside like they look on the outside...it is really a unique experience. They make the transition from calling all of us "Miss *whatever*" (obviously, Karen, in my case) and start calling us by our first names. That's tough when your Mama has drilled manners into you for the majority of your existence. But they learn. We get the opportunity through them to remember how tough it is to be in our 20's and 30's when we thought we were fat and that there weren't enough hours in the day. When we worried about how to do things and the grass always looked greener on the other side (stay at home moms versus working moms...that kind of thing.)
Amateurs.
Oh, my, that wasn't very kind was it?
No. No it wasn't. That's because when you get to be fifty years old...and I'm told it gets even more so later on...you have survived so much or held the hair, hands, or the children of so many of your friends through various life experiences that you just cannot relate to someone being devastated over gaining five pounds on a cruise. Okay, maybe that's just me.
And yet we try to relate. Because what is important to them should be important to us. Our job is to tell them that it is not earth-shattering and that they will be tested repeatedly throughout their lives and that the best defense is a good family and friend support system. That the body of Christ is not just something that Christians say in some kind of language that outsiders don't understand...but it is a reality. We all have different gifts and that's really okay. In fact, it is better than okay...it is awesome. We don't have to dislike someone because they have it easier than we do or because they have more or even more amazing talents that we wish we had to offer. We learn that our gifts and talents are valuable and the employment of the gifts is what matters.
They learn that you don't have to be perfect and that it is possible to make something out of nothing (or from the Dollar Tree at worst). We learn that even though we'd love to have thighs that don't giggle and arms that aren't wings...we are really happy that we've made it from where they are to where we are. Even if we look like we flew there. (Oh, come on...we can't all be Michelle Obama. Thank goodness.)
(Again...unkind...*sigh*)
The talk this week was on kindness...and that means that God will use this opportunity to test me. I'll jump on ahead and tell you that I teach "submission" in three weeks - which is a subject that is not for the feint of heart. I look at it as a way to impart some of the wisdom I've gained in 28 years of marriage...and I hold to that "those who can...do...those who can't...teach." But as you read that...bear in mind that I have the utmost respect for teachers of every kind. I just know that this saying most assuredly refers to me. At least with this subject.
And no, I don't feel like a fraud for telling them the truth but still struggling with some aspects of it. I'm human. I'm strong-willed. I've been married for 28 years.
Kindness is a difficult subject to broach because it looks different to everyone - much like beauty is in the eye of the beholder. Some people believe it is kind to share your time...others think you should share your money. Some folks want you to share your talents to be considered "kind" and others are just happy if you are pleasant or inclusive.
To me, kindness means that you give people the benefit of the doubt before you chew them a new one. That you actually stop to make sure that something isn't going on in their lives that would necessitate not being pinned to the wall...if they are being boneheaded. It means speaking to people when you see them instead of darting into another aisle so that you don't have to engage them in conversation at WalMart. Yes, I understand avoidance when one is devoid of makeup or dressed in something that almost qualifies you for "People of WalMart"...but still... It means that you treat them the same as you treat everyone else without regard to their backgrounds, what they can do for you, or some perceived pecking order of importance. It means doing something for someone if you can without expecting anything in return just because they might benefit from it. It is letting people know when you see them doing something amazing...or even just making progress. It is speaking gently, expecting the best, and spreading the sweet perfume of Jesus in everything you do.
Basically, it is not being rude, short tempered, preferential, or moody. It is not, however, being a doormat.
We all know doormats. And we want to smack them. Sometimes that's actually the kind thing to do, because life is too short for all of that. It really is. I am not suggesting that we adopt rudeness as an alternative...but I do believe that there are times when you just have to let people know that they've crossed a line with you. Not tell everyone BUT them...tell THEM.
So, this week has been quite the experience in being re-educated on kindness. So far this week, I've had people steal my parking place, annoy me, push me when I'm tired (or sore from the gym), not do what they said they'd do, find picky things wrong with this or that, or forget to call his mother (he'd better be studying).
But the mother of all things is my tendency to get into "comment wars" on social media due to my disdain for people who insist on being idiotic. See? Houston, we most definitely have a problem with this sister's attitude. So, I'm going to have to back off for a few days and not try to save the world. My cape is in the cleaners, so to speak.
But back to kindness. It is so important and yet so tough to pull off sometimes. We want to do something for someone and they don't want our help. We want to say the right thing and we end up bungling our words. We think that we are called to make it better and we end up feeling like we should have just left it alone. In those cases...maybe we should have. Kindness can require some execution to pull off something bigger...but what I think is equally important is the small things. Holding the door for a mother with a stoller, letting someone with four items at the grocery go ahead of you and your full cart and coupons, or just speaking to someone and waiting for their response when you ask "How are you?" We in the South are incredibly guilty about asking and then moving on because we expect the answer to be "fine." Sometimes it isn't. We need to wait just in case.
Here's the Apples of Gold verse that the program is based upon: "Likewise, teach the older women to be reverent in the way they live, not to be slanderers or addicted to much wine, but to teach what is good. Then they can train the younger women to love their husbands and children, to be self-controlled and pure, to be busy at home, to be kind, and to be subject to their husbands, so that no one will malign the work of God." - Titus 2:3-5
Yeah. I have some work to do. Rather, God has some work to do in me. I don't consider myself an unkind person, but that would depend on who you ask. And when. This must change.
I know that there are times when we are not well, overwhelmed or just cannot give people the time we'd like. There are also burdens we carry that make us a bit oblivious to others sometimes. But the default mode should be "kindness." Even if it is about drama regarding a five pound weight loss. Or learning to cook rice properly. Or fill in anything that you find inconsequential and silly to you. You are still obligated to be kind because you really never know what your extra attention might mean.
Not fake. Not insincere. Not a doormat. Just kind. Whatever that looks like to you and how you think it might affect someone else in a positive manner.
I do love the "Apples of Gold" program and have a feeling that I'm going to learn a lot through it over the next few weeks. I always do. Especially the week that I teach. Yes, God has a sense of humor. I will inevitably have several examples to share with them. Current ones. Oy.
Next week is "Loving Your Husband." That should be easier...but it won't be. I'll keep you posted...because the week after that is "Loving Your Children." In the meantime, I'm still trying to be kind - which in some cases is harder than it should be. Again, I really need to work on that.
That and the first five pounds of the ridiculous amount of weight that I need to lose. Maybe then I can more kindly relate more readily to the sweet Apples if I am dieting right along with them. Hope so.
Monday, September 9, 2013
Tired - Tried - Tied
Today I am fighting a battle. Oh, nothing like true warriors who are fighting life or because they are paid to do so...but a battle with myself. There are times in our lives when we have to just sit and give ourselves a good lecture. Tell ourselves that it is not too late to change, not too difficult to do, and not too ridiculous to get back on the horse after being thrown off countless times. Figuratively, not literally, that last one, by the way. I've never been thrown off of a horse, but that's because I've made it a practice to stay off of horses. I think that they are beautiful and majestic animals and I love looking at them in the field a half mile from my house. That's close enough for me.
I'm not trying to put rules and restrictions on myself, put myself on a program, or even tell myself that I'm out of time to make a decision. I'm not going to give myself a hard time, be angry at my foolishness, or even curse the fact that I have this thorn in the flesh when others do not. I'm not making excuses, berating myself, or even complaining about it.
All of that is futile, unproductive, and in my unique case - tired and tried.
Did you notice that the words "tired" and the words "tried" have the same letters in them. Just two letters turned around make all of the difference in the world? No wonder people trying to learn English think it is ridiculous. I thought French was hard (and it is, by the way...even if I have two small nearly 7 and 8 year old tutors who laugh hysterically when I try to say anything in French. Particularly if it involves an "r".)
Most people I know are tired. They are tired of struggling, tired of striving, tired of not sleeping well, and tired of waiting for something to get better. They are worn out from attempting to be everything to everybody, doing more than what is expected of them, keeping up with their own expectations, and working longer hours - either at work, at home, or supporting someone somewhere. I think that most of us have fallen into the habit of being tired in some respects. We work out for an hour and are exhausted...but we can sit and type on a computer (ahem) for hours. We have every opportunity to go to bed early...and we stay up late watching reruns of Frazier. Or Friends. Or whatever. We overschedule ourselves and then can't understand why we don't want to do everything that we've managed to fit into what should work...but really doesn't. We long for peace and quiet...to do nothing and to have a say over how we'll spend the hours that aren't tied up doing everything that we are obligated to take care of in a 24 hour period.
I remember a time when getting an invitation to do something was a joy. It was an opportunity to do something different...something fun...something out of the ordinary. It was something to be looked forward to with excitement and was a star on the calendar of a month of normal. Now, an invitation is something that has to fit in between obligations, work, visits that need to be made, friendship upkeep, the needs of the children, church activities, and workouts. More than once lately, I have seen an invitation as more of an obligation than an opportunity. When did that happen?
Maturity. It's not for the feint of heart.
I want to be less tired...but I don't want to sign up for "tried" either, truth be told.
People who are tried...are dealing with the aftermath of something that has rocked their world. Maybe it is the care of someone who needs them for a season. Perhaps it is pushing themselves to do something that has been a goal - like training for a marathon or a massive weight loss undertaking. Or it is surviving a divorce, downsizing, empty nest, surgical wake-up call, demands that cannot be ignored from a boss, or just something that has taken a person to the end of their capacity to deal. Except they do deal...and keep on dealing.
Because they either have no choice...or that's just how they roll. As for me...I'm the latter. Sometimes I let people know...and sometimes I just keep it inside until I can talk about it. Sometimes I'm able to function and other times I'm so scattered that I can't focus. I'll do something repetitive and mindless just to get myself back on track. I'll count the revolutions I make on the elliptical machine so that I won't think about anything but that.
Really. I do this.
Tired and tried. Even worse when handled in tandem. And often we try to be big, bad, and brave and put on our big girl/boy panties/boxers and deal with whatever it is head-on. Except when we are tired...and when we are going through something...that's when we are supposed to rest, release, and regroup.
Yes, more often than not...the easiest answer is rest. Yeah, yeah, I hear you laughing. But it is. Sometimes, the best answer is to quit striving and worrying about it...and just drag thyself to bed. After you've done that...pray about your situation and give it to the Lord. Then ask for some direction and try to figure out the easiest and most practical way to get from point A to point B. The next day? Rinse and repeat.
Over and over.
Those of you with children who are taking every moment of your day or are the primary caregiver and nothing is getting done? Keep asking for help until someone answers, lower your expectations, and rest when whoever you are caring for rests. I realize that we all have standards of getting through each day that are unique to each of us...but just because your soup cans aren't alphabetized and your laundry is wadded up in a basket - clean - but nowhere near being folded are put away...you will survive it. Trust me on this.
I am happiest when things are in order. But "order" is a relative term. I have friends who would be appalled at the level of "order" that I'm okay with and others who think I'm a decent housekeeper. It really just depends. I could spend every waking moment trying to bring it one step closer...or I can accept that sometimes in one day I can do more than I can do in a month of struggling and be okay with that. Generally, I clean when I'm mad. Since I try to avoid being angry...I have to let some things go.
It works for me. But if I am fired up at someone...I rarely waste the opportunity to clean something.
Tonight I am glad that I had the discussion with myself this morning. I forced myself to just sit and do what I could. I showed up to get weighed tonight and I'm going to a class tomorrow before I have to be where I've obligated myself to be for the next six weeks. Big Dave and I are eating out of the freezer during September...and we are determined to buy the least amount of groceries that we can so that we can get some of this food out of the house that has been sitting there because one of us was too lazy to actually cook it. Yes, by month end, it will get interesting. And some of it may be at odds with what I'm trying to do with weight loss and working out. Including committing to writing down the number of steps I take every day for a free pedometer.
Free is good, y'all. And so is having to report my steps to a higher power. Work. Not THAT higher power. Trust me...He knows. And I like to think that He is strongly nudging me to get back on track and quit making excuses for being overweight and cursing my sluggish metabolism.
I like to think that when we are tired and tried...that there is a third word that is close..."tied." I want to be tied to good behaviors, habits, and a schedule that is rational...not jam-packed. I hope that the coming weeks will find me resting a little more and getting off my own back. I had seriously not realized the weight of that as being part of my problem.
That and these dang closets that I can't seem to get around to cleaning out.
Except tonight...I'm committing an hour to just that. As soon as I get up from here...I'm headed to see what I can do about that. And then I'm going on to bed to rest. Just because.
And for those of you out there carrying burdens and monkeys on your back that you'd like to release...just do it. Yes, I know that's a Nike slogan...but it really applies to everything. Just know yourself and love the person that is you. Take care of yourself as you would your best friend. Be easy on yourself like you would a very young person who is trying to figure things out. Be good to yourself and be grateful for all that you have been blessed with in this life.
That's my plan. Maybe it will be yours too. If so, I wish you every success.
Now...go rest. That laundry will be there tomorrow.
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