Divine Imperfections

Five Minute Friday: JOY

 

 Joy.

A word I love. Something I aspire to.

Something I was taught isn’t as fleeting, or fickle, as happiness.

  

Joy. Everlasting.

Joy abundant.

  

Joy.

  

I wish I knew more about Joy.

What it takes to achieve it, if you achieve it at all.

 

Maybe it comes to you, like a perfect autumn leave that makes its way to your path, forcing you to stop, in amazement, at the richness of its fleeting beauty.

Maybe it surprises you, like love, always to be found when you least expect it, or feel least deserving. 

Maybe it is loud, like tejano music filling the neighborhood while hundreds of people learn salsa moves in the parking lot down the street.

Maybe it is soft, like that ratty t-shirt you look forward to putting on each night. The one that’s paper thin from years of wear. Ugly, but perfect, in all its imperfection.

 

Maybe joy is like a long, tight hug after a long, hard day.

Maybe it’s unlike anything at all.

  

All I really know is I want more of it. I need more of it. 

I need to find, have, cling to, search for, share, celebrate, marvel over what Joy exists in this life.

 

*And that's five minutes. That's free writing. That's fun!

Here's where you can learn more about Five Minute Friday (which doesn't have to be completed on Friday at all)

Project Life: Take Two

 

 

Last year I decided to tackle Project Life for the first time.

I’ve been scrapbooking seriously since 2002 (yes I’m that old, and that nerdy), but I inadvertently took a few years off to deal with moves, and planning a wedding, and then adjusting to life as a married woman (who could no longer live on cereal alone).

 

While I learned to cook, and work-from-home, and find my way around the metroplex my lovely (hoarded) scrapbooking supplies went mostly untouched. And as a result a lot of personal stories went untold.

 

It was no way to live my life.

 (Oh, you know what I mean.)

 

Enter #ProjectLife. It’s a so-called simplified scrapbooking system, in which people use page protectors to store photos and journaling. It’s mean to be a quick way to preserve memories.

 

I was super excited to give it a try.

And then I got started.

 

The first few weeks I overthought every little thing, confused at the idea of mixing elements in divided page protectors.

 

Having gotten used to the gigantic canvas that is a 12x12 piece of cardstock, it felt unnatural and weird trying to limit my decorations and journaling to tiny 4x6 (or 3x4!) cards.

  

January and February from last year remain unfinished notes about what photos to print and put where. 

But, by March, I had started to get the hang of things. And actually completed several weeks worth of layouts.

 

 

Then things got busy, and my layouts starting getting less… completed.

I still have weeks and weeks of partially filled pages from 2013.

 And do not get me started on the “ephemera.” Oh. The. Ephemera.

 

 

Business cards and grocery lists. Band stickers and folded shopping bags. Things saved with the intention of placing them neatly in my album.

They’re now a mess of unsorted, unused “junk” to most people. But to me they represent stories still waiting to be told.

 Memories I intended to capture, before my overly-ambitious plans got the better of me.

 
What a mess. What an unfinished mess.

 

 

Honestly, I’m a natural scrapbooker. (And hoarder, but that’s a story for another day.)

I love taking photos. I love writing, telling stories.

I love playing with stickers. And colors. And patterns. And glue dots.

 

That's precisely why scrapbooking was such a great creative outlet for me.

So it surprised me that I really struggled to find my groove with Project Life.

 

I just couldn’t find my scrapping mojo (it’s a real thing!). And it started to really get me down. 

When the new year started approaching that unfinished album of mine taunted me more and more.

 

And seeing it so disappointingly incomplete left me with a lot of questions to consider.

  

Do I even do Project Life again?

 

If so, do I change my approach?

 

Do I keep collecting stuff?

 

Do I go to a smaller album size?

 

Do I go back to traditional scrapbooking?

 

Do I try to do them both?

 

Or go digital?

 

Or do I give it up altogether?

 

 

Does this hobby I once loved have a place in my new life?

 

Is it worth the trouble?

 

Can it be fun again?

 

 

 

I think the decision I’ve come to is that it’s time to get back to the root of what I loved about this hobby in the first place.

 

I loved telling stories, through pictures and words (and stickers!).

I loved creating things with my hands, albums that I could treasure (and share with my family) for years to come.

 

 

It wasn’t about capturing every detail of every day, but telling the stories that should be retold.

It was about fully experiencing my life, with gratitude and awareness. Then preserving the highlights for future generations (or a forgetful, older version of me).

 

Mostly, though, it was about having fun doing it!!!

 

I loved scrapbooking.

And I really think I can love it again.

I just can't tackle this project - Project Life - like I did last year.

 

I can't have another year of jumbled receipts and clothing tags, and incomplete layouts.

I can't have hours of stressing over design ideas, instead of simply telling the stories I want to tell. 

 

Last year I spent so much time perusing Pinterest for ideas about how to tackle Project Life that I lost sight of what I was really trying to do.

This year I don’t want to worry about trends, or techniques. I want to get back to the basics. 

I want to create a scrapbook I can be proud of, one that’s completed. That’s really important to me.

 

And I want it to accurately tell the story of our life. Notsomuch what we ate for lunch each day, but what passions we were pursuing, and what new adventures we were taking.

I want to celebrate the little things that make our life special, and document the daily things we’re doing to grow, and learn, and love each other more.

 

 

I also want to enjoy creating again.

And I know, to do that, whatever I make must come from the heart.

 

Inspiration is great, but it shouldn’t drive my every move.

 

Art is about trusting one’s own instincts.

And I’ve got to let mine have some say again.

 

  

This year I’m tackling Project Life again, but not because it's trending. Or supposedly simple. Or quick.

This year I'm trying it because I think it’s the best vehicle for telling the stories I want to tell.

 

Little ones. Big ones. 

Everyday. Extraordinary.

 

Stories that are ours. 

Stories that are us.

 

That’s what I thing scrapbooking is really about.

And that's what I want to pursue with this project. Take two.

 

Telling more of our stories, in the ways I deem fun, and good.

Being driven by passion, and fun, not fear (of lost memories, or imperfect pages).

 

 

This was a note I found tucked away with my Project Life "stuff" from last year.

 

"Doubt kills more dreams than fear ever will." 

 

I think it's a good motto moving forward, both for scrapbooking and life.

 

More than anything I want 2014 to be the year I tackle things without fear.

A year for stepping out of my comfort zone, trusting my instincts (instead of second guessing every move, or sticker placement).

 

A year for more doing, as The Home Depot would put it.

A year of conquering. Completing. Trying again, and if that fails, trying harder.

A year of less looking on from the sidelines, and more living.

 

Now wish me luck crafty friends!

And thanks, as always, for your sweet support!

On Being Back

Well, we did it. We made it to and back from Austin.

 

Last week we headed there to celebrate our second anniversary in the city we spent our honeymoon.

 

And it was, in a word, blissful.

 

In more words it was…

 

sleeping late

exploring the city

hillside views

comedy radio

hikes (made for hand holding)

donuts (made for growing boys and girls)

good company

good books

long talks

large breakfasts

too much pizza

homemade tacos

giggle fests

quirky gifts

 

 

It really was a dream escape. ‘Cause, as it turns out, my dream is monster breakfasts, afternoons with a good book, decadent dinners, and getting to sleep by 9.

 

Who knew?

 

 

Yes; I know that makes me sound ancient. (And I didn’t even mention the wicker rocking chairs on the front porch of our cabin.)

 

But I don’t care. I’m learning to embrace my inner librarian. Which is to say, I’m learning to accept how much I crave peace. And quiet. In order to maintain some semblance of balance in life.

 

Give me raucous nights out on the town sure, particularly if they end in Gourdough’s donuts, and streets lined with Christmas lights.

 

Just make sure you then give me a good morning of rest. To re-gather my thoughts (always with the thoughts, this one). And make my latte the biggest you’ve got.

 

Caffeine and I are soul mates. That’s something else settled by this trip.

 

 

As anyone who has ever traveled knows, the hardest part of vacation is always the coming back.

 

Yes, you’re tired of low-pressure hotel showers.

 

And you’re look forward to sleeping in your own (less laundered) bed.

 

 

But that also means repacking a car you feel like you just climbed out of (if it’s a roadtrip, which mine always are).

 

And it means getting home with tired legs, and giant bags filled with dirty clothes.

 

Oh, the dirty clothes. :/

 

 

I’m utterly convinced jetlag isn’t restricted to cross-continent flights.

 

Surely a one-stop trip from Austin to Dallas (hello kolaches!) will induce it too.

 

 

 

I should tell you, we spent Sunday night at this lovely café in charming Bee Cave. It’s a spot we first discovered last year, when the idea to return to Austin each anniversary (life permitting) dawned on us.

 

We both fell in love with its Argentinian food, and I swooned over its charming use of chandliers.

 

And we determined then and there we’d make it back, if at all possible, for one big, blow-out meal each anniversary.

 

 

Sunday night was that night.

 

Why yes, we would love to start with an appetizer.

 

Prosciutto wrapped shrimp, don’t mind if we do.

 

Fancy chicken empanada with chimchurri sauce? Absolutely.

 

Dinner plates the size of small ships? We got this.

 

Pass up dessert? Just because I’m barreled over with stomach pains?

 

No way.

 

As a life rule I do not pass up crème brulee.

 

And when you tell me the special of the day is Madagascar Vanilla Bean, I won’t even fake hesitation.

 

Yes. With coffee.

 

I will leave here miserable, but happy.

 

And we did.

 

And it was glorious.

 

 

 

And then, the next morning we had to drive home.

 

 

 

Which brings us back to Monday, our actual anniversary.

 

Mikael and I shared one long hug in the kitchen, trying to bask in that last little bit of vacation smell on one another, before…

 

Dishes. Laundry. Life set in.

 

Pesky, stupid life. What a way to ruin a perfectly good vacation.

 

 

That night it was a take-out picnic on the living room floor, in PJ’s.

 

I set a candle out for good measure, it was our anniversary afterall.

 

But at that point we were no longer the carefree, this is our anniversary vacation, couple.

 

We were just two happily married, utterly exhausted people, preparing themselves for the battle that is reentering the real world.

 

 

Mikael’s first day back at work was long, cold and rainy.

 

My first day back was shock and horror. (Did I mention I grade papers for a living?)

 

But this morning, day two, things feel a bit more natural.

 

Mikael headed to work just a bit after 7, and since I got up with him (or a few minutes after, if I’m honest) I had two extra hours to kill before I “clocked in” (at my home office).

 

 

So instead of rushing to plop down in front of my computer I got to savor the morning instead.

 

I made coffee on the stovetop, and toast (so exotic, I know).

 

Then I sat down with my makeshift breakfast, carefully created from items that mean so much to me.

 

 

Perfectly pinkish-purple jelly, a gift from a sweet girl who made it for us (not child labor, but a friend’s kid).

 

The lagoon-ish blue coffee mug (bowl) I swooped up for 50 cents at a thrift store on South Congress, my favorite Austin street.

 

Nearby, the novel that came highly recommended by a bookstore owner in Marble Falls. She insisted it met my only two requirements for vacation reading.

 

1.)  It has to be fun, i.e. not depressing (like so much of what I read last year).

2.)  It has to be easy to read, meaning no Shakespearian dialogue. My brain needs breaks as much as my body. No wading through Old English on vacation.

 

 

She was right too. The book was excellent. I finished it in my familiar reading chair, back home, on Monday.

 

In a way the book helped cushion my reentry into the real world.

 

Its characters were like links to my vacation-self, so short-lived.

 

 

They also served as welcome reminders that a book can transport me to places our car (and vacation days) can’t possibly take us.

 

They can let me live whole other lives, during twenty-minute coffee breaks.

 

They can send me to faraway lands, on exotic adventures, and traveling through time and space.

 

And on days when life seems to much to handle, they can offer a much-needed (less costly) escape.

 

Oh the power of words.

It really is quite remarkable.

 

I really don’t know what I’m trying to say in this meandering mess of a post.

 

 

Read books.

 

Travel.

 

Eat doughnuts the size of your head.

 

 

Train yourself to enjoy the little things, like waffle fries in stretchy pants.

 

Or latte mugs and slow mornings.

 

 

Embrace your quirks, like your inability to spend $25 on a souvenir t-shirt, but your refusal to pass up $9, glorified custard.

 

Love the one you’re with, so long as that person is your spouse.

 

No one needs a vacation more than the person who just returned.

 

 

Always stop to smell the kolaches.

 

Don’t listen to comedy radio when you’re more than 30 miles from the next clean pitstop (there were some stressful moments there).

 

Rocking chairs aren’t just for senior citizens.

 

 

Embrace what makes you happy.

 

All things in moderation.

 

Simplify.

 

Savor.

 

 

 

I think all I really want to say (maybe need to say) is I’m back.

 

 

 

It was so nice to have the break.

I can’t fully express how much I needed it.

 

But I missed this.

 

 

Home.

 

 

Clacking away on a keyboard.

 

Coffee-induced ranting.

 

Clearing my head, one word at a time.

 

Community.

 

Creating.

 

 

 

This is home for me.

 

And it’s good to be back.

Five Minute Friday: Reflect

 

 Reflect...

 

What else do you do when you’re iced in?

 

Reflect. Bake. Watch unholy amounts of HGTV.

 

Scrapbook your December, which thus far, has been mostly self-quarantined.

Repeat.

 

Think. So much thinking.

Too much thinking.

 

I never noticed until recently just how “don’t stop, won’t stop,” my OCD brain is.

Crunching budget numbers. Calculating calories. I hate math, but it haunts me at night, when all I want to do is count sheep.

 

It’s like I need some ridiculous puzzle to fix, in order to be at “peace.”

But it’s not that peaceful, always thinking, always overthinking.

It’s kind of exhausting actually. Kinda obnoxious really.

 

That’s why I’m so ready to retire, from the over-reflecting.

  

I read the other day that we should glance at the past, but not stop and stare.

While that flies in the face of everything One Republic taught me, I think it’s true.

 

We should learn from the past, but not live in it.

 

That is a balance that’s hard for people like me – the overthinkers, the undiagnosed OCD’s – the ones whose brains are never quiet, even in their dreams.

 

I don’t want to miss out on the beautiful present, because I’m lost burrowing through the past.

But it’s hard for me to let go.

It's hard for me to simply move forward.

 

 

What am I saying? Where is my head? 

Honestly, it’s on the vanilla scones I baked this morning, which are filling the house with a heavenly aroma.

 

I hoarded those vanilla beans for months, ‘cause they were so flippin’ expensive.

But then I thought, what good do they do me stashed in a cabinet?

Plus, how delicious would a scone be, with my coffee, on this frigid December morning?

 

Turns out, super delicious.

And that got me thinking about all the other things I’ve been hoarding.

 

Memories, photos, stories I’ve been sitting on, instead of sharing.

Like they’ll lose something in the telling. Or maybe that they’re not worth the light of day.

 

I’ve been clinging to them like they’re “my precious,” instead of realizing how much joy can be found in loosening my grasp.

How much freedom would be found if I would just let go?

 

  

The ice is slowly melting outside, which means the car’s defrost may finally get a rest.

And I think that my overthinking brain might finally get one too.

 

  

Today it’s time to get back outside, back to life among the living, outside my zombie state. 

And I think I’m ready for that, more than ready for that.

To be back out there, in the throws of it.

 

No longer hoarding ideas, and memories, but making new ones.

 

This is another post inspired by the Five Minute Friday series created by Lisa Jo Baker.

I know I sound like a broken record, but it's such a great exercise in freeing your mind (clearly, something I need!).

 

No worries, just writing, for five minutes solid (a little more if you cheat like me).

Even if you don't want to share your work, I really encourage you to give it a try.

You never know what you might have to say.

 

 

Happy Tuesday friends.

Hope you're staying warm.

Life Lessons from December Daily

 

I finally got around to finishing, or mostly finishing, my December Daily album this week. The one I started last year.

I’m a big believer in the better-late-than-never principle, clearly.

 

That said, one of my take-aways from putting the finishing touches on last year’s album just weeks before I decide to tackle another, is realizing how quickly things really can change, and how important it is (at least for me) to take stock of what worked, and what didn’t, in order to avoid repeating mistakes.

  

While working on the album I started a super-simple, two column list. At the top I simply wrote, Like and Change, ‘cause really that’s all I need to know. 

 

 

All this scrappy reflection got me thinking about my life, too. And what I’d do differently, if given the chance to do this past year again.

Obviously I won’t get a redo on 2013, but since I do get a chance to be a bit more intentional in how I approach 2014, I think now’s the perfect time to figure out what worked, what didn’t, and how I’d like to approach this next year.

  

Here are a few of my life take-aways, from 2013. 

 

 1.)  It’s always a good idea to invest in experiences with loved ones.

Two Mumford & Sons concerts in a week’s span, an out-of-town bachelorette weekend, and our crazy family road trip to Delaware are a few of my favorite memories from 2013! All cost money, and some personal sacrifice, but the payoff was so totally worth it.

 

2.)   Don’t fret the details. 

I have a super bad tendency to get bogged down in minute details, while losing sight of the big picture. 

Details can be fun, but they shouldn’t be something that keeps me up nights. I’ve got to learn to let the little stuff go, in order to enjoy my life a little more freely.

 

3.)  I can’t please everyone, so I need to trust my instincts and not give anyone else control over my life.

Trusted loved ones can have input, but they don’t get to be the deciding factor in how I live my life. And the peanut gallery? It's time they stopped getting a second thought, when it comes to what is right for me.

This might be common sense for some, but for me, it’s revelation, and something I desperately need to remember.

 

4.)  “Nothing worth anything, ever comes down easy.”

At least that’s how one of my favorite singers, Mat Kearney, puts it.

This year I’m finally, reluctantly, coming to terms with the fact that life isn’t gonna get easier, no matter how much I wish it would.

And most of the stuff that’s the most important – building and maintaining healthy relationships, treating my body with the respect it requires to function at its fullest, continuing to learn instead of growing stagnant – doesn’t come easily. It requires work, a lot of work.

I don’t want miss out on the important stuff in life because it requires time and effort. Instead I want to start with, and focus on the tough stuff, ‘cause it really is what matters most.

 

5.)  I need to accept the LOVE I’ve been given, if I want to exude grace, acceptance and gratitude to those around me.

That might sound cheesy, or cliché, but I’ve learned this year that LOVE can’t start with anyone else. I can’t give anyone that which I haven’t “owned” for myself.

Self-acceptance isn’t about self-help. It’s about allowing LOVE to change you, before trying to share it with anyone else.

It’s like the instructions on a plane; put your air mask on before assisting those around you. Not because that makes you a selfish, butthead. But because that’s the only way you’ll actually be of any help to those those around you. You know, if you stay alive.

If you’re trying to be a good wife, mom, sister, friend, without first being kind to yourself, you’re not gonna get very far. That is truth. And it's something I’m trying very hard to rewire into my brain.

 

 

Honestly, aren't fresh starts just the absolute best?

I think that's one (of many reasons) I love this time of year.

 

Maybe it's lame to reflect so much on the past, but I really do feel good taking some time in December to figure out what worked and what didn't in this past year, so I can approach the next one with renewed hope and vigor.

 

What are you thinking you'll do differently in this coming year?

 

And, in case you need some inspiring music to sort out your thoughts, or just to survive a long Monday, you can't go wrong with words from John Lennon, as performed by...  

 

Five Minute Friday: Tree

Tree

 

Tree, family tree.

 

Like the tiny sapling that lived in front of my childhood home.

 

By high school its branches had reached the roof, and my window. Scaring me some nights as they brushed up against the glass.

 

 

Now when I go home, what was once no more than a twig with a few leaves, is a mighty elm that greets me before the door.

 

It tells me my travels are over.

 

That tree tells me I’m home again.

 

I’ve really grown to love that tree.

 

 

 

Now I think of the large shade tree outside the house I share with my husband.

 

I think of how many generations have lived in this home, and how much that tree must have seen.

 

 

Kids climbing its strong limbs as they stretch up towards the sky.

 

Birds making their own homes in it.

 

They greet me some mornings when I remember to wake up slowly, and sip my coffee, instead of running into the day like a suicide bomber.

 

 

Tree makes me think of the woodgrain pattern I intended to hand-emboss on all 150 of our wedding invitations.

 

How, for weeks, I thought I could do it all myself.

 

And tried.

 

 

I made one invitation, beautifully embossed, before a good friend stepped in.

 

“You just can’t do it by yourself,” she told me. And I wanted to cry with relief ‘cause I knew she was right.

 

 

So I gave up the woodgrain, and was pleasantly surprised how beautiful the simpler version of our invitation was.

 

I wish I’d known then that sweet friend wasn’t just talking about the invitations.

 

 

 

It’s hard to live in a world where we’re dependent on one another.

 

Like vines, like branches, all connected.

 

All tied together.

 

 

 

Some days we want anything but to be linked at the root with these people we call family.

 

We want freedom. Complete independence.

 

We want to be shut off, and separate, from the world.

 

 

But trees remind us of the truth underlying our dysfunctions, and our difficulties with vulnerability, and our pride, which get in the way of being happy at home.

 

Happy in relationship with our significant others, our parents, our brothers, our friends, our siblings, all these people sharing this same planet, this same sod.

 

 

 

They remind us that the only way to be strong, and to weather this world, to survive the cold winters and bring refreshing shade in the spring, to let others enjoy us, and others support us, is to be in this thing.

 

Together.

 

Like all those beautiful trees.

  - 30 - 

 

 

I think the reason I love the fall so much now, is because the autumn air encourages us to live in community. 

Sharing cocoa, sharing blankets, sharing long walks around the park. The very essence of fall is our need to be together.

 

Like I’m mesmerized by how many colors can exist on one single branch of a tree, I’m amazed how much better it feels to go through life with company. 

Thank God for fall, and the seasons that are easy to love.

 

If you're sick of hearing about Five Minute Friday already then I'm sorry, but I'm not sorry. I can't stop singing its praises.

 

Basically a bunch of great ladies (and a few guys) get together every week in cyber world and spend five minutes free writing about a new subject.

The beauty of it is the freedom that comes in shutting up the inner critic and just letting ideas loose.

Some weeks it's the only thing that restores my sanity. 

 

So, as I've said before, even if you're not yet ready to join the community (and let the world see your work; which you really should!) you should still give this exercise a try sometime. 

You never know what you'll get when you do. It could be disgusting, or it could be delicious. (Isn't that what Forrest taught us?)

 

And just like that we're back to trees. :)

Have a blessed weekend friends.

The Reluctant Reader: East of Eden

If ever you’ve wanted to read a book that will completely destroy your worldview, then build it back up slowly, page by page, a little dingier but also much stronger than before, then East of Eden is the book for you.

It’s 602 pages of California-inspired prose, ageless wisdom, and complex characters wrapped into one very epic novel.

 

And if you think that’s exaggeration it’s not. It’s totally not. 

I have never read a book that’s had a more profound impact on me, nor can I imagine one coming along anytime soon that will have similar effect.

 

That’s because everything about East of Eden is timeless, transcendent. It pulls you up into this grand, unfolding story, and even when it takes you to places you never dreamed you’d go, maybe never wanted to go, you can’t get away from it.

What’s more, you won’t want to get away.

 

 

You’ll want to keep pushing forward, because you’ll want to keep experiencing life with them, these characters come to life by John Steinbeck’s beautifully tragic words.

 

And the beauty of this story, the beauty of his words, is that they don’t invite you to stand along the sidelines and pass judgment on the characters. (God knows there’s plenty of that in real life.)

 

No. His words plead with you to crawl into the character’s shoes, even into their souls, to experience the feelings they do, and every painful step in their journey.

He wants you to do more than see the lives they lead; he wants you to live them.

 

As the characters fall in and out of love your heart will do the same.

And as the characters stumble in and out of sin, you’ll live vicariously, getting your hands dirty then trying desperately to scrub them clean.

 

Triumph and failure. 

Heartache and joy.

 

You are there. You are in it, the throws of a life not lived well, necessarily, but well lived for sure.

 

And the very subtle difference between the two is precisely where Steinbeck shines.

He excels in the ambiguous, the gray matters I, for one, am so prone to overlook.

 

He highlights, instead of shies away from, the parts of life that don’t fit neatly into our preconceptions.

And for that I’m thankful.

For that I'm a (marginally) better person I believe.

 

I don’t want to ruin a thing about the story, by getting into who lives where, and who loves whom.

I will, however, share with you the powerful thread that ties all those who’s together.

 

It’s the same thing that ties us all together, good and bad, young and old, kind and cruel, brilliant and fool.

 

 

It’s our capacity to make choices.

Our ability to choose which direction we take, and then to rethink that decision as we go.

 

 

We choose who we want to be, how we want to treat people, and what matters most to us. 

And we do so by making a thousand tiny choices everyday, choices that make up a life merely survived, or a life well-lived.

 

For a long time (most of my life) I viewed reading as an academic event. I saw it as an attempt, a ploy even, to gain more knowledge.

Lately I haven't much wanted to learn though, so the textbook like non-fiction I've anxiously purchased (though great) has started collecting dust on my shelves.

I've been looking for an escape instead, a break from the monotony of my daily existence, not an explanation for it or a How-To Cure.

 

East of Eden has offered just that. An esacpe. An outlet.

From the start it had me hopelessly, utterly caught up in its candor. 

And because it captivated my attention - and my heart - I ended up learning so much more than I could have expected.

 

The book made me feel less alone in my wondering, in my dilemma over which choices to make, and if I know my way at all.

And escaping into it actually helped me feel more connected to humanity. Because it made me feel understood, accepted, in a way that has compelled me to seek to understand others more.

 

What a crazy, incredible gift that is, to set down a book invigorated to live.

And to share that life with others.

 

No wonder it's stood the test of time.

No wonder I couldn't put it down.

No wonder I was a little sad to read the last page, but indescribably grateful too, for having experienced it firsthand.

 

 

Life as an adult can seem pretty grim sometimes.

So many responsibilities. So little time (and money) for fun, whimsy.

 

East of Eden doesn't shy away from the hardness of life. If anything it reminds us that some have it much harder than others.

But, and this is such a big but (pun not intended), it also points to a beauty often lost in our toil and strife. Beauty not always noticed this side of Eden, but beauty that exists, waiting for us to find it.

 

Beauty is what beckons us to aim for greatness, but also to gracefully accept whatever comes.

Beauty is our choices, our ladder to the stars.

 

Do yourself a favor. Take my word on this one.

Rent, buy or borrow this book, curl up with a blanket, and get lost for a while in the beauty that is Eden.

A Dream Is Reborn

Last week's post about "Broken" (which I forgot to share on FB) got me thinking about an old dream I had. One birthed in the linoleum-tiled halls of Princeton High School.

I was a senior and required to do an end-of-year project as part of the Independent Study program. One of my best buds and I decided to collaborate on a clothing line, since she was studying fashion merchandising and I was studying marketing.

 

The result of those studies was a brand based on upcycling vintage jeans with hand-painting. We made samples to show the class, but never tried to sell anything ourselves.

It was just a project. A school thing. A grade.

 

But, it was also the first time "Divine Imperfections" made its way onto paper. 

 

Over the last eleven years so much of life has changed.

I'm no longer interested in painting jeans (thank goodness) for one.

But I've never let go of the idea behind our "brand." I've thought a lot about those words…

 

The idea of taking old things and making them new.

Taking discarded things and giving them a new life.

Making something beautiful out of something forgotten.

 

I think it's pretty clear that's a concept dear to my heart.

 

And that explains why seven years ago (or so) I started a little blog, where I posted Weepies video links and the rantings of a new college grad.

It also explains why a few years ago I took the plunge and updated to a new "website" but kept that same ol’ name.

 

'Cause that name, those two words, mean something to me.

Together they're greater than the sum of their parts.

Combined they represent life, in all its lovely ordinariness. And God, in all His mysterious glory.

 

Together they represent a life that is rich and beautiful, not in spite of so much brokenness around us, but because of it.

Because every crack, every chip, lets light in.

Every seeming flaw speaks to character.

 

And that's probably a very heavy-handed way of leading into the news that comes next.

But it's an important part of the story, my story, so I wanted to share.

 

 

It’d be really easy to see this step I’m taking today as small, even insignificant. To say, “It’s not that big of deal.”

And in the past that’s exactly what I would have done. Tried to gloss over it, because it seems silly.

 

But this little step I'm taking today, is not one I'm taking lightly.

Because it’s part of something really important to me. It’s part of this dream. This dream I’ve been carrying in my heart for over a decade now.

The one I tried to ignore, and leave buried in old journals.

A dream to find my own unique way of sharing with the world what matters to me. Namely...

 

Divine Imperfections,
and how they point to grace.

 

I relaunched my Etsy shop today. That’s the news. The single bullet point.

And while I’ve tried this before, I’ve never done so with this clear a vision. Or this much excitement!

 

Today I’m opening a store I can be proud of. One more thoughtfully, and meticulously curated, than in the past.

I only posted items I would love to have in my own home, if storage weren’t an issue (and I wasn’t at risk of becoming an A&E special… Hoarders! Anthropologie-inspired edition.).

 

 

Every item was lovingly picked by me, saved from a dusty future on overstocked thrift store shelves. (Or from a trash bin after an unsuccessful yard sale.)

 

I brought these discarded items home, and cleaned them up, then set them up for their own Glamour Shots-styled photoshoot.

Then I settled in with a ruler, and a word processor, painstakingly describing each item, cracks and all.

 

It’s my hope that these items will now find new homes, where they’ll be put on proud display, or go to good use. Serving as daily reminders that nothing is ever as bad as it seems. Nothing is a lost cause, not when grace enters the picture.

 

 

And maybe this seems like a silly hope.

After all, it’s hard to believe an old coffee cup could change someone’s life.

 

But I never dreamed I’d be where I am, as a seventeen-year-old in paint splattered jeans.

I never knew the impact brainstorming for a class project would have on my whole life.

 

I never knew how much healing would come to my own heart, or the ways I’d be transformed (am being transformed!) by an unconditional love and an unbelievable grace.

So you never know. Unless you try.

 

And I’m really happy to be trying this.

 

Finally. 

 

 

If you’ve got a few minutes I hope you’ll visit my “shop.” Maybe someday I’ll have a store front to greet you at, with iced tea and cheesy pop music.

 

For now what I’ve got is this web link. And a dream.

 

That and joy at taking one more step on this journey.

Thank you, as always, for sharing in it.

It's so incredibly nice to have your company.

Here I Go Again

I start, and stop.

I type, then delete.

I open a new document, then close it quickly.

 

I try, then I don't.

I'm stuck.

And I don't know where to go from here.

 

Writing has always been the thing that's come easiest to me.

Not math. Not art. Not talking (ughhh talking).

 

Writing is how I've best expressed myself.

It's how I've gotten things off my chest, preserved my sanity.

 

But lately I find myself stuck in a cycle.

I want to say something, but I don't know how, or if I should.

It all seems so silly. I feel very silly.

 

Who am I to say anything anyways?

 

So I draft posts I never publish.

I sit on ideas, or I bury them down deep. 

 

It feels like months have passed, with me barely scratching the surface of what's going on in my heart and my head.

And now I'm here, with so many thoughts (too many thoughts), thoughts I haven't shared, thoughts I haven't even made sense of for myself.

And with all these pesky ideas floating about, unchecked, it's hard to figure out my next move.

In a few days I'll enter the last year of my 20's. And that feels big, in a way I'd like to avoid.

I always get nostalgic around the date of my birthday, but this year it's worse.

This year it's full-blown overwhelming.

 

It's just so confusing how I got here.

It's like I went to bed worried about getting my driver's permit, and woke up here, with adult responsibilities.

 

I feel like I missed a class everyone else took, a class about growing up, learning the ropes of adulthood. 

And it weirds me out knowing I'm "old enough" to have kids, to buy a house, to do a lot of things I'm not doing right now.

It weirds me out seeing people my age look their age, and act their age, when most days I still feel like a foolish fifteen-year-old trapped in an unfamiliar body.

 

Don't get me wrong. I'm thankful for the great things that have happened in recent years, things I couldn't have imagined at 15.

 

I'm thankful for my husband, and new friends, for a job, a place to live and two working vehicles.

I'm thankful for my family, and living close enough to see them often.

I'm thankful to have old friends. I don't take that blessing of time for granted.

 

But I also feel stuck a lot of days, like I'm spinning my wheels.

 

What comes next? What should I do? 

How on earth do I spend this next fleeting year?

 

At 15 my plans were pretty clear. Finish high school. Finish college. Marry Paul Walker.

I had an idea where life was headed, and the steps how to get there.

 

Now, there are more questions than answers.

And there is no clear map. No Cliffs Notes. No easy, right way.

 

There's just life, one step at a time.

One day at a time, one year at a time.

 

Oy. I wasn't ready for this.

But here I am anyways.

 

I've toyed around with the idea of a bucket list to accomplish before I turn 30.

Maybe I will set that as a goal. But maybe life is enough of a goal.

 

I've also done a lot of thinking about this little ol' blog and where I want it to be headed.

But maybe a well-devised plan isn't the key to the kind of success I want.

 

Mostly I've just been scattered, and stuck, and overwhelmed.

(All familiar words if you've been here before.)

 

They're words I'd love to avoid, but words I may have to embrace instead.

'Cause they don't seem to be going away. And I'm tired of trying to outrun them.

 

Maybe it's silly to put this, of all things, out there.

I could've done a "Stuff I Want for My Birthday Post," or "Unique Ideas for Honoring Mom."

 

But here I am, putting my scattered thoughts on "paper."

Sending unfiltered, unorganized ideas out into the world.

 

'Cause maybe I'm hoping someone out there can relate, to the feeling that they missed that crash course in growing up.

Maybe someone else out there is struggling ungracefully through this shift into adulthood.

 

Maybe someone, anyone, needs to know that she's not alone, in not knowing what she's doing, while doing it anyway.

'Cause that's exactly where I am, not knowing how or why, but doing it anyways.

 

Writing and deleting.

Starting and stopping.

 

Taking one wobbly, unsure step at a time.

One day, and one birthday at a time.

 

I'm lookin' up, for now.

(We'll need to talk again when it's the big 3-0 I'm staring down.)

Music Memory: For the In-Between

I'm not proud of it, but the song I sang to fill the silence of the Jeep today...

 

"I'm not a girl, not yet a woman."

 

It could be that the weight of my upcoming last birthday as a 20-something is sinking in.

It could just be I watched Crossroads one too many times as a teen.

 

Whatever the cause, this is the song I couldn't get out of my head today...

The one I hoped people stuck at lights beside me could not hear.

 

And this is where I hang my head in shame.

 

Now please tell me you rock out to some seriously embarrassing (outdated) tunes while cruising around town.

Please. Anyone?

 

What's your go-to song when the silence is otherwise deafening?