Divine Imperfections

Five Minute Friday - HOME

HOME

 

I used to think home was the three bedroom home I grew up in, the one with the converted garage to give each of us kids our very own room.

 

But then I left for college, and experienced freedom for the first time. Sure I had a rubber duck themed bathroom, but I was an adult. I had bills. I was free. (HA.)

 

 

When I finally moved back to my parent’s house I missed all the creature comforts I had enjoyed out on my own.

 

I missed my own sparsely filled fridge. I missed my knick knacks, my kitchen towels. All these tiny things that made me feel independent, that made my tiny apartment feel like my home.

 

I traded them in for a roof over my head, and one of those bedrooms I’d grown up in.

But suddenly that house seemed smaller than before, still it offered security I needed in uncertain times.  

It came with a support system I needed, as I navigated my early twenties.

 A few years later I left again.

 

And as soon as the boxes were unloaded I excitedly hung art and organized my cabinets. I picked a new shower curtain and bedding to reflect my changing tastes.

 

I felt settled. I was thrilled to be back on my own.

 

Until…

 

I missed my family’s company.

 

I missed people to laugh with at our favorite shows, to talk to after a hard day, to drink coffee with when I woke up.

 

I missed, love, what really makes a home. I missed sharing my life and space, even if it meant having a ridiculously crowded fridge.

 

 

 

My husband and I were only married five months before we decided to move.

 

Without jobs lined up, or a new apartment in a new city, we moved in with family.

 

And that was hard. Incredibly hard.

 

 

Once again I missed tiny things that had made our apartment feel special.

 

The dishes our friends gave us as wedding gifts. The tiny silver bells they rang at our first kiss.

 

Putting them in storage crushed my heart a little, even though they were just things.

They represented freedom, a fresh start, our beautiful beginning.

 

Boxes, and boxes, tightly sealed in grey duct tape represented a time of waiting. Another season of uncertainty. A blank slate stretched out indefinitely before us.

 

A giant question mark on our calendar, our timeline.

 

- - - - -

 

As the months have passed the grip those things have on me has lessened. I still miss them sometimes, my blue canning jars and our good colander.

 

But my heart is accepting a truth that can’t be boxed away.

 

I’m learning that home is what we take with us. Something thieves and rust and poor packing cannot destroy.

 

Home is internal. It’s what the Israelites took with them when they left Egypt, and what we took with us when we left Waco.

 

It’s what we keep with us even now, with the boxes in storage, and the future still unclear.

 

It’s peace that surpasses understanding and the promise of brighter days ahead.

 

It’s love that fills our days with laughter, and community, and coffee, shared.

 

It is life shared, under one roof, wherever that is.

 

 

HOME



 

Last week I discovered a lovely community of writers that participate in five minutes of free writing each Friday, each week with a different prompt, today's obviously being "Home."

You already know I LOVE alliteration, so I really couldn't help but participate in this great idea, FiveMinuteFriday.

 

Only I'm new to this "free writing" thing, and a very bad creature of habit, so I cheated a little.

The italicized words above (and everything after the dashed line) were added or edited after my five minutes was up. For goodness sake I felt like I should 'fess up to that.

Thanks for grace as I learn to self-edit a little less, and to trust my heart and typing hands a little more. :)

Music Memory: The Long Road Home

I did it. I made it back to talk about music again this Monday. Yay!!!

But first, you have to make it through a sappy story 'bout my college days. (Wah wahhh.) Sorry about that.

When I went away to college I thought it’d be a unique time. I figured struggling to make it on my own in a new city with unfamiliar faces would be a one-time occurrence.

It turns out, I was wrong

 

So much of life feels like leaving home for the first time.

Equal parts excitement and terror. Great hope and expectation, but timidity too.

 

Still, I’m glad I didn’t know that at eighteen.

Tricking myself into thinking the sense of discomfort and uncertainty I was feeling - the stuff that comes anytime you set out into unchartered territory - would be fleeting, was one of the greatest things I ever did for myself.

‘Cause it enabled me to stick things out, even through tough patches.

It gave me hope that even if things didn’t get better soon, they would, eventually.

Believing that “starting out feeling” was temporary caused me to make the most of my circumstances, trusting that they would be changing.

 

It took years to realize that I was what would be changing, and that every season of life feels like another start. (For better and worse.)

And I’m thankful.

I'm thankful some lessons take a while, like a lifetime, to learn.

 

 

I have lots of fond memories from that time in my life, that nostalgic era when I was just tiptoeing out on my own, trying to find my way.

And a lot of those memories center around music, as so many good memories do:

 

There was one painfully ungraceful turn around the dance floor with a cute boy I met at a freshman mixer, while Texas country played. And later the time I scarred my elbow singing a bit too enthusiastically, “the party never ends.”

Sophomore year it seemed like such a good idea to learn all the words (and dance steps) to You Don’t Own Me, as performed on First Wive’s Club.   

The following semester I remember a there being a car ride home from San Antonio filled with a hymn sing with my new roommates. What a good time that was.

BackStreet Boys dance parties around our apartment followed, and I bought my first Third Day CD from the bookstore on campus (and decided God’s voice must sound a lot like Mac Powell’s).

 

But the music memory that comes to mind each time I roll down the windows and crank up tunes in the car, is pulling out of my parents’ drive on my way back to school after each break.

My brother and sister still lived at home then. And often my brother would send me off with a CD he’d created of good driving tunes.

 

A lot of the songs were sad, or bittersweet really. They reminded me of home, of him, of the simple and sure life I’d left behind.

But they also somehow echoed with experiences I’d yet to have.

They told stories of love. And loss. Of struggle and success.

 

And listening to them – whether it be songs from the Scrubs’ soundtrack, or a silly rap song Josh was fond of at the time – made me feel a little less alone in the world.

It helped me feel connected, both to the family I was driving away from, and to the fuzzy future I couldn’t quite see.

 

It gave me hope, that the people that meant the most to me would always be near at heart, and that most things would have a way of working themselves out.

Even if I couldn’t see it, even if I could barely make it back to school, both for a faulty sense of direction and often tears clouding my view, I trusted that the long journey would be worth it in the end.

And I always made it back. Safely. Worse for the wear sometimes. But also a bit stronger.

 

Those CD’s, titled in handwritten Sharpie, kept me company on a lonely road. They were ties to home, and promises that someday all the hard work of coming and going would seem worthwhile.

They strengthened my faith that the road would fold out before me, so long as I kept moving the best I could.

And it always did too.

 

The uncertainty. The tears. The struggle.

We all face.

They’re worth it.

 

I say that not as someone whose finally reached her destination, but as someone making peace (daily, sometimes difficultly) with the journey.

It's scary sometimes, navigating that long, dark road, but the journey goes a lot faster with good music. And it goes a lot smoother with good company.

And I'm glad for that.

  

This isn't actually a song that made the Mix CD cut (go figure), but it is a good driving tune. One made for the road.

So happy, safe driving friends.

I'll see you out on the black top.

The Sound of (Near) Silence

 

I've been pretty quet since the move, and not just in the blog realm. I really haven't been saying much. At all.

I think that's par for how I tend to cope with big changes. I shut down. I get silent (or nearly so). 'Cause I'd rather sort everything out in my own mind before I go running my mouth.

 

In theory this is a fine plan. 'Cause in theory this process of "sorting things out" takes a few hours or days of being lost in La La Land (that space in your head containing thoughts you dare not vocalize - from the absurd to the downright awful). Then I return, better adjusted and able to clearly communicate all the thoughts I was wrestling, and maybe even with a brief synopsis of how I overcame them... in theory!

But in reality, it takes me a lot longer to unpack emotional baggage than it takes to physically unload boxes, and I still have a LOT of those to sort through.

 

The last few weeks have been filled with a lot of awkward (or painful) silences, while I have been utterly trapped in my own head.

And in case these scattered sentences haven't already made it clear, I'm still not through (or even close) to "sorting things out."

But I decided to take a hiatus from my solitary prison, and open up, even if it's in the lamest form possible, on the internet. 

 

I told my husband recently, through a waterfall of tears I might add, that I don't feel like I know my place yet. At home. At work. As a wife.

I don't really have these roles down. And that's frustrating to me.

I feel like I don't have a clue what I'm doing. I feel a little lost. And very alone sometimes.

And, it's scary to feel like I'm losing my mind in the mess of life, and uncertainty, and stress, and...

 

The next day I called a friend to talk about this very thing. 

"Why's everything so... hard?" I asked her.

She said she couldn't give me an answer to why, but she told me she suspects it's hard for everyone.

"We just don't tell each other," she confided in me.

And at that...

I breathed!!!

 

I took a deep inhale.

The kind I'd been grasping for without success.

The kind I'd been dying for.

I took a good, deep, slow breath.

 

I think now, more than ever, we all face the temptation to pretend. To pretend that we've got it all together. To pretend that things are simple. And easy.

(Or to sit in silence until we have not only something nice but something really spectacular to say.)

 

What required sci-fi technology to create in the movie Stepford Wives, takes only Photoshop and careful editing in today's world of the web.

With the click of a healing brush tool, or the closing out of a screen before posting a particularly revealing status update, we can do a pretty darn good job of controlling how others percieve us.

And in a lot of ways it's smart, to protect our private lives from prying strangers' eyes. To keep from saying something we'll regret, particularly since the web is written in ink not pencil (I heard that somewhere) shows wisdom.

 

In so many ways, we can carefully craft who we are to the world, and that's not all bad.

But, what happens when we step out from behind the screen... and have to face real life? The real world?

(The one I heard horror stories about all through high school.)

 

What happens when we look in the mirror and don't recognize the unedited face we see before us?

What happens when our gut reaction isn't at all like the carefully curated things we're used to typing?

 

I've always loved the idea of focusing on the postive. It seems like the happiest way to live. To be optimistic. To be grateful.

But life isn't always good. And I think when we continually gloss over the problems, the struggles, the biggest lie is the one we're trying to sell ourselves...

 

Social media is like a dream-come-true for those of us who like to put up a front to protect ourselves.

But it's also really dangerous. In part because of the ways we can hurt one another - slander, backstabbing, those aren't new to seventh grade classrooms or cyberspace.

I think the bigger danger, though, is fooling ourselves.

Into thinking our life is meant to be perfect. And simple.

And believing that everyone else's life already is.

 

The truth is we all struggle. We all have battles to win, and scars from the ones we've lost.

We all have times we feel alone. And times we don't know what to say.

Times we need a break. Times we need a hand...

 

Life is hard. And we're human.

Which means, we're bound to slip up, to shut down, and to struggle at times.

What a relief to know we're not alone in that. And, to rest assured, that we don't have to be something we're not.

Why, though,  is it so hard to admit our humanity?

It seems like that would be the easisest thing in the world, considering we're surrounded by other humans.

 

But... I think sometimes I need to remind myself that it is okay.

To be a mess. To be frazzled. To be flawed.

To simply be, myself. As is. Imperfections and all.

Isn't it enough to be honest?

 

Maybe if I believed that I wouldn't feel the need to sit back and be silent so much of the time.

Maybe I'd share my thoughts, my feelings, my heart, more readily.

Maybe I'd post silly pictures, and sad news, laughs and life lessons... instead of only relaying the good stuff.

 

And maybe, I'd have a lot more grace to share with others, if I allowed myself to experience it first.

Just some thoughts, from the quiet girl, still trying to find her way.

 

"If each man or woman could understand that every other human life is as full of sorrows, or joys,
or base temptations, of heartaches and of remorse as his own...
how much kinder, how much gentler he would be."

- William Allen White

 

 

 

I'm Getting There

This was the start of my two-page long to-do list when I finally moved last week.

As you can see I've got a ways to go. The boxes in the den, spare bedroom, back of the Jeep, kitchen.... are further proof that there's still plenty to check off the "list" before we're officially (albeit temporarily) settled.

But, it's a start.

And I'm trying very hard - making a conscious effort - to celebrate each step of this journey, each check on this list. So, join me in a round of applause, please...

I took a shower today!

 

#littlevictories right? That's what I'm focused on.

Sweat, Stress and Steering

The past few weeks have been incredibly long.

It can be a very draining thing trying to coexist with your soul mate - your penguin* - while separated by hundreds of miles.

So I'm very thankful to be reunited at last.

It would have been a lot nicer if the reunion had not required my friend to pack me into my Jeep since I had to climb over the console to get in, then load the passenger side with condiments from our fridge.

And if it hadn't involved me telling him I was pretty sure I was gonna pee myself on the way home, since I couldn't make my normal pitstop (for hotdogs!) halfway, that might have been good.

It would have been super great if the drive home hadn't involved little mini-prayers everytime I had to switch lanes, since the rearview mirror was completely blocked by suitcases, laundry bags and one As-Seen-on-TV box that my mop came in.

 

It also would have been absolutely fantastic if this last month had not involved living in separate zip codes, and if this last week hadn't involved sleeping on a pallet crafted out of stray towels, a fluffy bathrobe, my junior high sleeping bag and a borrowed quilt.

 

But... that's how it goes sometimes.

 

And regardless of the fact that our life has been incredibly messy, complicated, frustrating and far less than glamourous here lately... even though it currently involves a terrifying quantity of cardboard boxes donated by our good buddies at HEB (gonna miss you!)... it's also exceedingly good.

 

That's something I was reminded of as I rolled out of bed, set the coffee pot to brew, then went to work, in my pajama pants, Friday morning.

Yes, sitting in the comfy (ugly) orange chair in our temporary living room, looking out at our new view (of a Chicken Express!) I finally started counting my blessings.

 

So here's to... life, and learning to be grateful for the little things. Little things like:

 

Holding my husband's hand after being apart for four days.

Walking across the street to get corn nuggets and a sweet tea.

Sleeping on a mattress, with sheets, and pillows (plural).

Getting in a car that doesn't require gymnastics-like moves for opening and shutting doors.

Living close enough to call up a handful of friends (many of whom are on summer break) and requesting impromptu coffee dates, or being able to swing over to my parents' for lunch.

Skyping Waco pals, to stay in touch and keep some semblance of a normal work life.

Eating way too much queso at Hubby's favorite Mexican restaurant.

 

I hope your summer is off to an equally great start, though possibly with less duct tape and banana boxes.

And I also hope that even if your life is messy at the moment, even if you're tempted to consider yourself in a waiting period, that you'll take a second to be grateful for the good things.

And to enjoy this season, sweat, stress and all.

Yay summer, right?!

 

*This has got to be the one millionth subtle Never Been Kissed reference posted on this blog. Drew Barrymore, please mail my endorsement check to our new address.

 

Time Marches On

First off, if you've never heard that old country song, Time Marches On, I highly recommend you don't check it out today.

Something just seems wrong about crying into brisket, at a Memorial Day barbecue, surrounded by friends that would probably start wondering why the lake gets you all choked up and stuff.

Luckily, I'm alone at the moment, and therefore able to torture myself with whatever tunes I choose.

 

It's probably not actually THAT sad of a song, but as a kid hearing it randomly on the radio, it always got me pretty upset.

'Cause as much as I wanted to see PG13 movies (scandalouuuus!), learn to drive, get married, and visit the Sesame Street studios - yes, in that order - I wasn't all too keen on the idea of growing up.

Probably 'cause life as a kid had its struggles sure - which ice cream to pick after hailing the musical van, what color to use for the trolls' hair in my favorite coloring book - but it was also really fun and good.

 

Life as an adult... not always so fun and so good. Sometimes it is, yes. But it's definitely filled with bigger struggles. More stress. And the pains of whithering change.

 

So for a really long time that song scared me, as did every birthday, choosing anything other than a butter knife from the kitchen, and definitely every major move.

 

And maybe the reason that tune was one of the first things that came to mind this morning was because this weekend was filled up with another BIG move, the one where we packed a two-bedroom house into a 21-foot-long UHAUL.

We packed a year and a half's worth of my living in Waco, and almost five months of two lives merged, into a truck Mikael's grandad pulled out of our pithole-ridden parking lot yesterday.

We absolutely could not have done it without friends swooping in to help. They did much of the heavy lifting and also the important job of commiserating with us how genuinely bad it sucks to move.

But after an afternoon of strenuous labor, and lots of laughs, I watched as that truck pulled off with most everything we own, and I watched as our friends headed out, and then my husband drove away. 

And while he was excitely driving towards our future - in DFW - I stayed behind to pick up the pieces (random crap treasures that need to find good homes or go to Goodwill), work a few more days in the office, and honestly, to process it all a bit more.

(No matter how many people tell me to rip the bandaid off, I don't. I sit and peel painfully at the seams.)

When I moved into my one-bedroom last January, I never dreamed this weekend would occur. At that point I spent most of my evenings scrapbooking my last failed relationship and watching movies I'd rented from Hastings.

I never dreamed that I'd spend a summer as roommates with my sister, exploring burger joints and renting Chick Flicks baking cupcakes and laughing, crying, and taking pictures of our misadventures.

And I definitely didn't imagine that during her time in Waco we'd start talking about a boy I really liked, and then introducing him to my family, and then ring shopping, and planning a wedding, and...

I would have told you that you were crazy if this time last year you told me what was in store!

 

But about a year after moving to Wacko Waco (as the locals like to call it) I came to this spacious old apartment to find a room filled with wedding gifts and two people wearing wedding bands, and one of them was me.

 

Life is so strange, isn't it?

So many great things have happened in this past year, a fact evidenced by all the friends who came to help us out, and especially evident during a date-night to the restaurant where Mikael met my parents for the first time.

We both marveled at how our story has unfolded, while talking a bit about our future and a lot about the beauty of calamari.

We are so richly blessed... I know this. I'm grateful for this.

 

But, still, when I woke up this morning I couldn't shake that lingering bittersweet feeling, like when you hit that one burnt pecan in an otherwise perfect pie.

Even though I know lots of great things lie ahead, I can't seem to help but feel a little sad to say "goodbye."

 

Going to find the link to the old song to post here, I scrolled down to see some of the comments (always a dangerous idea).

Most of the people like or love it. They think it's "awesome," and only one because MsPinkAndGlitter thinks she's related to Tracey Lawrence somehow.

 

I started to worry that maybe I'm the only one that gets sad hearing it...which could mean maybe I'm the only one that gets choked up packing stuff up, and that would choose to sit in an empty apartment, reminiscing on all the good times and bad times that have led me to this exact spot, with just a vacuum, one lone potted plant (the only one I didn't manage to kill) and a stack of old magazines to sort through... instead of rushing out to enjoy life.

But then again, maybe the people that comment on YouTube videos like to keep things shorter and sweeter than me, and deep down a lot more of them feel like mrlandroverdiscovery, who said, "This is a sad song because it true life"

I couldn't have said it better myself mrland... well, I'm glad I'm not the only one who thinks so anyways.

 

I didn't intend to have a melancholy Memorial Day.

And I hope I didn't bring you down.

It's just not easy - at least for me - to move on quickly.

 

So I hope you'll say a little prayer for us - for Mikael as they unload that Uhaul, and for me as I try to let go of this place.

And a prayer that no matter what happens I rest assured in two things.

1. Yes, "every thing changes, everything cha-aaa-nngesss."

2. There is One who doesn't.

Open Books, Break Downs & Long Overdue Bravery

It's been a week. And then some.

In fact, I "wrote" this last week and decided to sit on it. Just to see how I felt about it with time.

Turns out, I feel a lot better. But I also want to be brave. And open.

So here you go... a (slightly painful) update, from last Wednesday.

 
Get it? Open Book!

Tonight I had to crawl out of my passenger door. Three times! Not fun. (It's not quite as bad as having to duct tape the door shut. But still, it's far from good.)

And sadly, that wasn't even the worst part of my day.

 

Driving around in the beat-up old Jeep I often sing loudly to try to drown out the rattle of the car door that won't fully shut. It's always a weird array of songs that accompany me on the commute to and from work.

Some old tune that creeps in my head when the weather's warm.

Vintage Bebo comes to mind when I think about how it's taken "(more than) 10,000 days to get stuck in my ways."

My husband's favorite (sarcasm), Gungor frequently plays through my mind on bittersweet, foggy mornings.

But also, there is an unscrupulous amount of 90s-ish country.

 

Though I'm horrendous at remembering most lyrics, and stumble through the words even to hymns I've been singing since I was three, there are a precious few country songs I know by heart. (Don't judge me.)

These lyrics are from one of them. One I sing a lot, particularly when driving my piece-of-crap well-loved, Jeep.

"I'd sure to hate to break down here, with nothin' up ahead or in the rearview mirror.
Out in the middle of nowhere knowing, I'm in trouble if these wheels stop rolling.

So God help me, keep me moving somehow.
Don't let me start wishing I was with him now.

I made it this far without crying a single tear. But I'd sure hate to break down here."

 

Driving to Bible study tonight those feelings were all too familiar. Not only cause I'm currently driving a hoopty and a half, that is likely to break down at any given moment, but also because of the upcoming move.

I feel lost already, like I’m in this weird Lost-like state of (*Way-Late-Spoiler-Alert) LIMBO.

My heart’s not fully here (in Waco) anymore, but I’m not fully there either (wherever there’s supposed to be).

 

I’m just floating, it feels like, with visions of fruit boxes and duct tape twirling torturously in my head.

It's unpleasant.

 

In case you didn't know, moving is hard. Like really hard. Physically. But evenmoreso, emotionally.

It's exhausting. Anytime.

But it seems especially hard this time.

 

We’ve just hit a rushed season at work. Everyone I know here is about to have a baby (which I won't be around to talk about Elmo with). My parents are prepping for vacation (this will be the first move they've successfully gotten out of since - ever!). And, Mikael and I have only been married four and a half months.

All things considered this is tough. This hanging about. Waiting. Wondering…

 

Sadly, though, the thing that's been bugging me the most lately, isn't how many boxes have yet to be packed. Or how badly the Jeep is falling apart. Or even how scary it is driving into so much uncertainty.

The saddest thing is thinking about what I'm leaving behind.

 

I've been part of a church for a year and a half now. The first Sunday I showed up in a 50's style, full-skirted dress.

After getting lost and ending up at a bar, calling for directions, and being mistaken for a stripper, I finally made it. To a ranch in the middle of nowhere. In my ridiculous poufy dress.

It was a private home, with a river view. Filled with strangers, most of them in sweatpants. And together, we sang worship songs from Youtube videos. Then ate baked potatoes on the porch, I believe.

It was unlike anything I had ever experienced, but especially, unlike "church," at least as I knew it.

 

It weirded me out a little. But it also enamored me, pretty quickly.

How apt these people were to inviting strangers into their home. And how quickly they invited me into their lives, calling me “New Girl” for a week, then “Jennifer,” then simply “Friend.” 

 

We laugh about it now. About that Sunday I showed up in the silly getup, clueless to what I was getting into.

 

"Did you think it was a commune?" they asked me my second time back. I chuckled.

But inside I was shaking my head, "Yes, a little."

And we have laughed many a Sundays since that first day together.

 

We have laughed over tacos, and lasagna, and hotdogs! and barbecue.

We have laughed a lot about the time I ate rotten chicken (thinking it was just really authentic Mexican food). And we laughed about my need to stop and get hotdogs every fifteen minutes on a road trip (something that came up the night some of those "church" friends drove me to the concert where I met my husband - the vegeterian - proof God must have a sense of humor!).

 

And in this last year and a half we have done a lot more than laughing.

We have also cried, a lot. Happy and sad tears.

And we have prayed.

For couples. And babies. And healing. And grace.

We’ve praised the Lord for His incredible provisions, even when they didn’t come in our sense of the “right time.”

And we have waited, more than any of us would have chosen.

 

We've pondered how things can be so difficult. So wonderful. So overwhelming. So awe-inspiring.

 

We have attended birthday parties, and made hospital visits, and planned three weddings, and freaked out about miraculous babies. And...

We have "done life together," as a lot of modern churches like to call it.

And in so many ways it's true.

 

But in 1.5 years, in more than 50 Sunday "services…"

In all the lunches, and all the parties, and all the game nights and all the Bible studies... the one thing we didn't do, the one thing I didn't do, was fully, completely let those people in.

 

You see, when I say I haven't done "church" like that before I mean it.

And I'm not just talking about the sweat pants or the praise and worship music on the porch.

 

I'm talking about really, truly letting people in. Opening up.

It is a pretty necessary step for the whole "doing life together" thing.

But it's also really. freaking. hard. (And I don't use that word lightly.)

 

It's not something that comes naturally to me. In fact, it's pretty bonkers to me.

Letting my wall down? Telling my stories? Allowing mascara to pour down my cheeks, instead of quickly brushing it away?

Releasing my anger, instead of sealing it tight like a pickle jar, stored in the very very back of the fridge. Behind the ketchup. And mustard. And expired tartar sauce. And cheese...?

 

Who does that? Why do that?

That's scary!

That must mean it's crazy!!!

 

Except that, driving to Bible study tonight, I realized something it's taken me shamefully long to see.

It turns out it's not so crazy at all. The idea of letting people in.

It's foregin to a lot of us. It's hard for most all of us.

But it's also really really good, for people to know you - truly know you. And it's good for you to know them too.

 

We all come with baggage. And burdens. And bad days. And bad attitudes.

We all have times we want to scream. Or sob. Or stomp our feet like the toddlers trapped in us all.

 

And there are other times we can truly sympathize. And be supportive. And sing. And celebrate with our friends.

 

It's just hard getting to the place to be able to do all that, fully.

It's hard letting people in enough, to see you, truly.

As you are.

Without pretense.

Without the protection – of a carefully designed “mask” – or maybe a really poufy dress.

 

For over a year I have kept going back like I did that first Sunday. Feeling lost on my way. Then quiet, sitting in the group too shy (or scared) to speak up.

And I've known all along that it's silly, to keep donning that stupid Sunday dress, instead of showing up as myself. In jeans and a comfy shirt. Ready to share. Ready to get real, with them, but also myself.

 

But it's been so hard to let go of that image. You know?

One that has served me well for so many years, “protecting me” from a lot of ridicule and keeping a lot of anger from accidentally slipping out.

 

But that image – that mask – that outward thing... the superficial self that all msot people ever get to see, it has also kept people out. For a really long time.

And driving to Bible Study, to see people I love, but that don’t really know me at all, I started to break down.

 

Yes, they know my birthday, and my middle name, and that I love hotdogs! and Mikael.

And they’ve heard dozens of anecdotal stories about my childhood. And my cupcake addiction. And lots of safe, guarded confessions such as those.

But really, they didn’t get a chance to do much beyond judge me like the over-dressed cover of a book that I’ve been. A book filled with stories really anxious to be told, and emotions starting to seep out at the seems… but a book unwilling to be opened. Or even peered at too closely.

A book that’s been closed for way, way too painfully long.

 

Tonight I did break down, just a little, in front of the girls who have seen me through a lot in this last year.

Even though it was (as always) an “inopportune” time, I just couldn’t help it.

I couldn’t keep “it” together any longer. I couldn’t keep “it” bottled up anymore.

I had to “let” it out.

And by “it,” I mean me.

 

There probably aren’t ideal times for a break down. I don’t know if there are right or wrong ways to let it all out.

But looking in the rearview mirror on this adventure in Waco, a chapter about to close, I’m thankful for a chance to open up. Finally.

A little at least.

 

And as we set out to start this next chapter, as we begin a new adventure, I’m really really hoping and trying to be BRAVE.

Brave enough to move forward.

Brave enough to let go of what can’t be changed.

And brave enough to make the next chapter different.

 

To make it adventurous. And wonderful. And open.

 

I'm so thankful for the things that God has shown me during my time in Wacko Waco.

I'm so thankful for the friends I've made (that I'm hoping will stay in touch in spite of all my shyness) and the memories we've collected during long talks over cupcakes, and by the river.

I'm grateful that this is where Mikael and I got our start. Where we took long walks at the bridge and ate lots of homecooked meals (thanks Honey).

 

But I'm even more thankful trusting that this isn't where it has to end.

This is - cliche as it sounds - only the beginning of the next part. A better part, I hope.

When life starts getting really good, 'cause I start letting it really happen!

Two Roads, a Fork & an Update on our Future

You know that one about the two roads diverging in the woods...

Well about a month ago Mikael and I found ourselves there. Staring at a fork. Wondering what to do. (Cue the Jeopardy music.)

After stopping for a bit... wishing I'd worn more practical shoes...

... surveying our surroundings, and praying, we've made a decision.

And...

We've decided to move.

 

We're moving forward. We're moving on.

And we're moving into the next chapter of our life, trusting that all the work and sacrifice will be worth it when we get to stop and enjoy the new view.

And, just for those of you more concerned with our logistical whereabouts than the poetical ones, we're taking the road heavily travelled, the one that leads back towards Dallas.

Hope to see you there soon.

Awesome & Awkward: Like a Kid in a Coffee Shop

Out of place.

That's the best way to describe how I've been feeling the last few days.

If you asked my coworkers for a description of me I'm afraid they might respond "Cranky" or "Off Her Game."

But, let's just stick with "Out Of Place." Shall we? It rolls off the tongue a lot sweeter.

 

I think my sorrow in suddenly feeling as though I'm floating about, ungrounded, unguarded, and unprepared, has been compounded because of how starkly these emotions contrast how I was feeling this time last week.

Last week I was sitting easy, in my own office complete with an Awesome desk, with drawers!

 

This was a serious upgrade from the card table I'd been sitting at, and it felt a bit like a promotion, a bode of confidence. For a moment I let myself feel as though I belonged. Had purpose. That a desk plate was only an order away.

I knew where I was and where I was going.

I had a place and a purpose.

Nevermind that they were ill-planted. It felt good to feel secure... for a second.

 

But this week everything changed.

I've been relocated - demoted if you will - to the expansive "Coffee Bar" down the hall, where I have spent seven hours a day toiling away at a bistro table, wondering how things went so wrong, so quickly... And when, if ever, my work environment will stop making me crazy high.

And floating about (only partially from the paint fumes) I've been forced to take stock of my situation.. to recognize how quick I was to place my security in a place to sit. A title. A social standing. A lot of sources, none of which could last. None of which could be enough.

 

That's all gone now. And the adjustment has been painful. Awkward. And very much unwelcome.

 

But, it has also been necessary I think. Eye-opening. And, a good reminder that what really matters is not where I hang my bag or what I'm called. It's not how I look or where I stand.

It's Whose I am that matters in the end.

At the end of the day all that really matters, the only truth that can bring my heart peace (and joy), is knowing with Whom I belong, and that we'll be together soon. Soon-ish at least.

 

I don't know what your week has been like. If it's been up and down, or all over the place like mine.

I don't know if you feel like a kid in a candy shop - surrounded by all that your heart desires - or a kid in a coffee shop - uncomfortable and ready to be home already.

But, wherever it is you find yourself this Thursday, I hope your heart might be encouraged by remembering Whose you are.

 

He knows what He's doing, even when you don't.

He knows what you need, even when you don't.

And He's faithful beyond compare, even when you aren't.

Take hope in that Truth friends.

I know this disoriented girl is.

Delicious Detours

While trying to pick up some of the world's greatest cupcakes this afternoon, I instead found myself stuck in miserably slow moving traffic. And that was the good part of my midday misadventure.

After a few miles of inching along Interstate 75, obnoxious orange signs sent me on a painful detour through an obscure part of downtown. A detour I was very, very disheartened by.

To be perfectly clear I did not suffer physical harm veering right into what I believe was Field Street. No, the discomfort of this particular detour was entirely psychological. 

 

See.... once upon a time not SOOOO long ago, I went down that same street as part of a grand adventure. For all practical purposes being there again should have been a nice reminder of a very fun time. 

But the heart is not always practical to say the least. So instead of smiling through the odd twist toward Memory Lane, I found myself instead grimacing and praying the pain would end soon. Praying that and for the giant orange truck to hurry up and pick a lane already.

 

You see, thanks to what I'm fairly certain could be considered slightly unresolved issues, looping around that particular juncture didn't feel like at all like a reminder of an old friend. It didn't feel like a fortunate and temporary case of environmentally-induced nostalgia.

It felt more like being brutally attacked, by a massive sea creature in fact. A  really ugly, terrifying manatee if you want to know the truth.

And yes! That might be an awful a slight exaggeration, not to mention an incredibly bizarre mental image. But it did hurt a LOT being there today, particularly considering how hard I've avoided making that very turn.

 

That's life for ya though. I truly think the harder you try to move forward, the more likely you'll face signs that say "Turn Back." And maybe people stronger than me find ways to push forward in spite of 'em. Maybe they don't get derailed for a second. Maybe they continue making good time.

But as today's backtracking so aptly demonstrated, I do. I see those signs as a major setback, and I follow them right into a trap - the kind of trap that makes me want to chew off my own ankle if it means escaping without added emotional pain.

I did NOT chew off my ankle though. I sulked in my chains instead.

 

If it weren't so frikun' frustrating I'd be able to note the irony of it all... that just as I'm heading forward life's curves literally lead me back to where my most recent growing pangs began.

But seriously, I can't be expected to enjoy the benefits of hindsight when I'm stalled out and staring directly at my past, can I? Not when it shows up on my dashboard instead of the rearview mirror?

 

Eventually that literal detour led me right where I wanted it to... to my favorite overpriced cupcake boutique in DFW.

It led to cream cheese iced happiness in a neatly wrapped cardboard box.

But it definitely didn't get me there the way I had planned. Or as quickly. Or as painlessly as I would have preferred.

 

And now that I've arrived safely back in Waco, I can't help wondering if this little adventure I find myself on now - the one where I reside in a one bedroom apartment in a land my friend has so kindly dubbed "the ghetto" - if maybe this is like a little life detour. The kind I might not have picked for myself, might not enjoy all the time, but one that ultimately is necessary to get me where I'm going. 

I wish, I WISH there were signs to literally point out the way from here. I WISH there were billboards proclaiming how to reach the red velvet cake with the Sprinkles on top. 

But if this weekend has taught me anything, it's that billboards aren't always the answer. And that road signs, while practical, can be painful too.

 

The only surefire hope then, is trusting in something much bigger than signs; it's Someone more reliable than a roadmap and Someone more steady than my emotions.

Detours or not, there's only one real Way to get where I'm going. And for now I suppose that's enough comfort to keep me driving on.