Say It Enough, You'll Start to Believe It
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An empty shell
Each room echoing with memory
Laughter, love, a haven
More than bricks and mortar
Each room a time capsule of life lived
Blessings fulfilled
We said goodbye and now we decompress
New memories await us.
Right now, though…
Wine awaits me.
Welcome to my new blog design! I decided a couple of months ago that it was time to give this space a little more POP! And Franchesca of Small Bird Designs was the perfect girl for the job. Hasn’t she done a wonderful job?! Hang on, hang on! I need to introduce you to my favorite feature!!!
Watch the header for a minute. Keep watching. Keeeeep watching…
Did you see it?!
Fran sent me numerous templates with different color backgrounds and I just couldn’t make a decision on which color I liked best. So I asked her if she could do all of them in a rolling header and POOF! She did it. She’s like my Fairy Godmother, she is. She’s gotten all kinds of telepathic hugs and high fives from me for her magical design.
I’m still working out a couple of little details, but mostly I’m just desperately happy with these new changes. And did you notice the picture of my van up top? See how the sun just gleamed off of it? It’s like the angels were smiling down on her hotness…
So I’m still in California. It’s been just an absolutely amazing few days. I can’t really describe how much my soul needed this break. I have been loved and poured into and fed and graced and blessed. I have written a lot – about 60 pages! I have edited. I have read and cried and laughed and slept. It has just been so wonderful here in Clear Lake, California (which, incidentally is one of the most beautiful places in America…you should visit!).
Today we visited a local winery for a lavender festival. Stunning is the only word I can use to describe it. I didn’t bring my camera on this trip (what was I thinking?!) so all I have are a few cell phone photos. But you’ll get the idea. I am immensely grateful for these five days I’ve gotten away. I will go home refreshed and ready to tackle next steps.
I actually just had to consult with Professor Google on what exactly Calgon is. It’s body fragrance…who knew?! I always assumed it was some sort of lotion for muscle pain similar to IcyHot or Bengay.
I was way off.
Yesterday was a rough day. I’ll mercifully spare you the details, but it was a knot in your stomach crazy kind of day. I really want my house to be the house that all my children’s friends come to. I like knowing who is here and what they’re saying and doing. But on knot in your stomach crazy kind of days…it’s just harder. The noise is louder. The work feels like work. The kids weren’t bad ( not all of them, anyway – there’s always one trouble maker), but I was tired and didn’t feel well and overwhelmed and the day felt long.
But today?
Today I am on a plane to sunny Northern California where I have the privilege of sitting in the presence of my dear friend Wendy for five whole days. Wendy and I met when we were both newlyweds living in the Dallas, Texas area. I will never forget our first phone conversation. Lee had come home from a Bible study the night before and told me about this wonderful guy he met whose wife sounded very similar to me.
“She likes to drink tea!” Lee exclaimed. My sweet new husband who was still baffled by my girly love of tea parties.
The next morning the phone rang. “I hear you like to take tea,” she said, her voice all warm and buttery and laced with smile. And that was the beginning of one of the dearest friendships of my life.
Wendy and I have only lived in the same town for just under two years but our hearts were knit tight together through God’s grace..and through our love for writing, tea and wifedom (that should totally be a word). We spent countless hours those Dallas years talking about our passion for writing and teaching and speaking and learning and loving and growing. And we drank a lot of tea.
I get to soak up my dear friend for almost an entire week and my soul soars at the thought. I also get to spend some time alone, releasing the characters in my head. They’re up there, churning and begging to get out. Sometimes I’m afraid of it, though. I’m scared of the story and of letting the characters down. Because the story in my head is beautiful and what if I mess it up? What if the trip from my head to my fingertips tarnishes the story and the people?
What if I fail?
These are my honest fears. I love writing, but I’m sometimes unsure of whether or not I have the gift to pull off the massive story I long to tell. Realistically, I know I’m not the best writer out there. I think it’s my lack of inner angst that holds me back…
Whatever the case, I know I’m not the best, but I also know that I have a story to share and I know I have the ability to tell it. I just really want to tell it well. This desire is why it’s taken me ten years to complete this book. I really don’t want to screw this up!
So I will write with full abandon this week. I will let go and try really hard not to go back and judge my work along the way. That’s a terrible, terrible habit. One should never edit her own work before she’s even finished it. Stephen King said so himself and given the fact that his book is the most inspirational book on writing I’ve ever read, I’m going to submit myself to Mr. King’s urgings and plow forward without looking back. My soul will rest in friendship (have I mentioned that one of my very dearest friends from here in town is joining us on this writer’s weekend away? How blessed am I!) and in solitude and in the joy that comes from allowing God to use my gifts and talents to His glory, because that is my deepest desire.
And when I return I will bid adieu to my home and embark on a new adventure. It is exciting, this tiny little life I lead.
I’ll be back this week. I have a something fun and special to share with you on Friday. Stay tuned.
Alternately titled: My Super Lame Post
– I have nothing ground breaking to say today. I probably shouldn’t even be posting. But I’m a blogging junkie so I feel the need to subject you to all kinds of random. I’m compelled.
– I’m sorry.
– I’ve gotten two solid nights sleep in a row. Break out the bubbly! I may or may not have taken a tiny little sleep aid to help make that happen. It became quickly apparent that if I didn’t do something to get more sleep I was not going to be emotionally capable of handling the move out of the house.
– Speaking of the move, we packed our first POD this weekend. The walls of my home are echoing now. And I am walking through my days singing this song on a continuous loop: 01 Sentimental Journey That’s me singing, by the way. It was recorded at a gig I sang at last January. And I can’t get the song out of my head, folks. I AM on a sentimental journey. I look at my empty house and I see my life. I remember walking through the front door with the weight of a newborn in my arms and the rush of new mom emotions in my heart. I see my kids first teetering little steps, I hear baby cries and giggles, I see toddlers sipping hot chocolate for the first time, I hear first words spoken and I watch the progression of my life as a Mom. I see our life so clearly for the last eight years in this sweet little house.
– Or maybe I’m just seeing ghosts…I dunno.
– In two days I’m getting on a plane bound for Northern California where I will spend the rest of the week working on my novel in solitude, catching up with sweet friends in the evening and soaking up some perspective as I step away from it all. The timing couldn’t be worse, but the trip was planned months before the closing of our house was and I can’t help think that God needs to get me by myself for awhile. Probably to get me off that sentimental train. So maybe the timing is just right.
– I’m getting my hair fixed today. I say fixed for a reason. It’s painfully crazy right now. Think two toned straw…that’s what’s on top of my head.
– A bulleted post leads to random, boring facts you never knew you wanted, doesn’t it?
– Father’s Day was yesterday. I hope that didn’t come as a surprise to any of you. Can I just tell you how blessed I am? I am surrounded by amazing fathers: My dad, my father-in-law and my husband. I have so much respect for these three men that sometimes I feel like I might burst. They are wise, funny, loving and precious and I’m beyond grateful for each one.
– I hear Landon stirring in the next room, which can only mean one thing: My quiet morning is about to implode. He wakes up sure that the world itself is going to come to an end unless he gets a drink immediately. There is wailing and weeping and whining galore until that sippy cup hits his lips, at which point he turns from devil child back to an angel.
– Apple juice has magic powers.
– I took the kids to the Botanical Gardens last Friday. It was a ton of fun and I got great pictures…until the sky turned green and melted into an ugly storm while the kids and I were trapped inside a glass encased building with Sloan huddled on my lap praying fervently for the second coming of Christ.
– I told Tia how babies get out of a Mommy’s tummy a couple of weeks ago. Her reaction was priceless. I’ll share the full story soon.
– This is the part of the post when I quit subjecting you to the random that is floating through my muddied brain. I’m off to fill that ever important cup of juice and begin yet another day of packing up my earthly possessions. Fun.
– I can’t think of a clever way to end this post I’m just going to leave you with this to start your week off right:
You’re welcome.
I am officially one more year older as of Saturday. I am 29.
Stop laughing.
I have to tell my children that because the two youngest can’t say their “Th” sound, which means “Th” sounds like “F” so when they say my age they place me well into a decade that I’m not prepared to enter.
When I was a 19 year old college girl, I began dating a boy who was, at the time, a senior. One night as we sat in his apartment, I asked him how old he was. “23,” he replied. And I almost had a heart attack because OMG 23 was so old.
One year after marrying my husband, we headed over to the home of a couple who was one life phase ahead of us. They had three young kids, a big house and were everything we thought we wanted to be. It was my birthday. “How old are you today?” they asked.
“23,” I replied. And they laughed. “Do you remember 23, babe?” she asked her husband.
“Barely,” he replied and I laughed along with them but for a different reason because OMG 23 felt so old.
Shortly thereafter I began having children. And I waddled around, 25 and knocked up. Feeling so old. Despite the fact, however, that I looked to be no older than a teenager in a very precarious position.
Then I hit 29 (where I have remained) and I finally felt at peace with my age. When you have three children and you’re under thirty, you tend to get a look or two. It’s a look of pity and wonderment. Three kids already, huh? I got asked more than once. So 29 felt right…it felt good.
So I stopped there. Mentally, anyway. The truth is, I’m only in my early thirties. I’m two whole years away from my mid-thirties so there’s really no need to acknowledge the thirties at all, in my opinion.
And there sure as heck isn’t any reason to tell my kids my age. Because if I do, then whenever they’re asked how old mommy is, their reply will be, “Mommy if fowty-fwee.”
And h@#^ no I’m not. I’m nowhere near the 4-number. I can’t be because OMG forty is so old.
Stop laughing.
Obviously, age is just a number and it’s all relative. Forty really isn’t that old, but in my mind, it seems old. I remember my parents turning forty, for cryin’ out loud. But whatever. The older you get, the younger old looks…right, Dad?
But I’m a long way from the 4 number so there’s no need to worry about that anyway. Moving on…
So the number may not be my favorite thing but, I have to say, that in my 29-ish years of life the greatest accomplishment I’ve had by far are these three:
I still feel like that little 19 year old girl floating on the cloud of youth (just the fact that I am compelled to refer to anyone under the age of 25 as “little” or “kid” is evidence of my age…) but I will gladly grow older because each year brings new joys, new blessings and the chance to watch those sweet kids grow.
I’ll take that in exchange for a few new wrinkles. But just a few!
Just please, don’t ask them to say my real age until we’ve had a little time to work with a speech therapist. Deal?
Stop. Laughing!
We met eight years ago. Both of us young, married and in love with the world. She was my translator and for one month she acted as my guide. I was on a grand adventure. I was touring the country of Ukraine, interviewing veterans of the great war, World War II. I was five months pregnant and became ill almost the second I set foot in the country. And she made sure that I was well taken care of as we traveled.
We took trains and taxi’s, my pregnant belly bouncing all over the pitted roads, me hanging on for dear life becuase the taxi driver’s seat belts were broken.
“He wants you to trust him,” she said. I heard the sympathy in her voice. She knew I was uncomfortable. Over the course of our adventure, Sveta and I bonded. My mom was with us and the three of us became fast friends – family. Separated by an ocean, but filled with trust and love for one another.
Sveta and her husband, Vova, were fairly newlywed and were devastatingly cute. They were, and still are, madly in love and it just made me smile to see them together. They were mushy and gushy, but not in an uncomfortable way. They just made you happy.
One of the stops on our trip was to Sveta’s hometown of Dunaivtsi. We spent two days with her family, her Mom and Dad fussing over me and making sure I was well fed and taken care of. I ate her Mom’s green borscht and it was, quite possibly, the most wonderful meal I’ve ever eaten. Ever.
Sveta and I laughed a lot on that trip. Her sense of humor was so keen and her English so sharp that she was easily able to keep up with my random wit. We visited fortresses and classrooms. We spent time in colleges and she stood by my side as a group of veteran soldiers poured out their hearts, and their memories, to me in vivid detail.
Sveta became more than a friend. She became a sister.
And for eight years, Sveta and I have remained the dearest of friends. We’ve rejoiced in children born and mourned pregnancies lost. Her first born, Ulyana (Ulya) and Landon are just days apart. I’ve watche dSveta, through her blog, as she’s grown into such a wonderful, beautiful, lovely mother. She is expecting her second child now and I’m just so proud of her and excited for her.
But tomorrow Sveta and Vova need your prayers. Ulya was born with specific health challenges that have brought them to a point of needing surgical intervention. The surgery is tomorrow and it’s dangerous and meticulous and difficult. No parent ever wants to see their child suffer pain or discomfort. It’s stressful and frightening.
Would you please pray for Sveta, Vova and Ulya tonight and tomorrow?
Pray for peace as Sveta and Vova wait. They are currently in Kiev, where the surgery will take place and they will remain there as Ulya recovers. Pray for Sveta in particular as she is dealing with major stress while pregnant. Pray for her safety and for the safety of her unborn child.
Please pray for the doctors as they work on Ulya, a sweet little girl with a vibrant personality. Pray that they have wisdom and special skill. Pray for protection over her little body. Pray for Ulyana’s bones, that they would be strong and that her body would be able to withstand the procedure. Pray that this surgery would only enhance her life.
Sveta and Vova have been on my heart for some time now as they prepared for this day. They have been concerned and frightened, as any parents would be. It just felt right to share this prayer need with you all and I’m thankful because I know that you all will lift them up.
Svetochka, I love you and I, along with many others, will be praying for you, Vova and Ulyana tomorrow!
Thank you, everyone, for supporting a sister in need! I appreciate it more than I know how to express.
As I descended into Montreal, I craned my neck to get a view of the land through the low hanging clouds. Streams of water danced across the window and visibility was low. When we were finally in sight of the city my first thought was, “Oh, it looks like every other city in the world.”
But it wasn’t.
Montreal was wonderful. From the air, it does look like every other city in the world. It’s industrial and the drive from the airport to downtown could hardly be described as beautiful. But I’m getting ahead of myself.
I’m met at the exit by a man holding a sign with my name on it. My limo service driver. At once I break out in a small grin. I don’t often get met by cheuffer’s at the airport and secretly I hope I get to have this experience again someday. I also secretly hope that I don’t ever get so used to this occurance that it loses it’s magic.
After meeting up with the other woman who has been flown in for this event, the lovely Stacy from Mom Central, we make our way to our downtown hotel. When we arrive downtown, I notice that it looks quite similar to St. Louis in many ways. The buildings are close, every other street is a one way (created to torture directionless yahoo’s like me, of course) and it feels a bit grey.
But there is more to the city. I want to understand what it is. It suddenly dawns on me that I don’t know a single thing about Canada’s history. Why do they speak French in Quebec? How did Montreal get established? What mysteries lie behind the Notre Dame church that stands valiantly around the corner? I wasn’t prepared for how foreign it would feel in Montreal. For someone who adores international travel, this was icing on the cake.
My two days in Montreal were a whirlwind. I quickly realized that I should have spent less time mastering my “Eh” and more time learning some French. Thankfully, mercifully, most people spoke English as well and I was able to meander my way through the crowd with the ignorance of an American who can’t be expected to know another man’s tongue.
Note to self: learn a few functional phrases in the native language of any place you ever visit.
We kicked the weekend off with a beautiful dinner at Le Latini, which was every bit as wonderful as the name makes it out to be. Our waiters were both bald, with prominent eyebrows, laugh lines around their eyes and broad smiles. Their accents were thick and sometimes difficult to understand, but they treated our group of five well.
It ended up feeling like a girls weekend away. I so enjoyed the women I was with that I wished our time in Montreal could be a little longer. They were funny, sweet, thoughtful and…did I mention funny?
The next morning, after a glorious breakfast where we met up with the final two bloggers of our crew, we headed to the set of Walmart/P&G’s newest installment of the Family friendly Family Movie Night movies. Right now the working title of this film is “Passport,” but that is likely to change.
We are not allowed to bring cameras to the set, but are instead trailed by one of the cameramen, Francois, and the set photographer, Phillip. Have I mentioned yet that Canadian men are handsome? No? Not sure how I overlooked that important point… Not only are their names romantic, but so is their language. And yes, the men of Montreal are handsome. And now we all know – the hot men of the world are hiding in Quebec. That piece of information is brought to you free of charge.
We spoke first with Loren Dean, one of the principle characters. I think he was a little nervous to speak with us blogger types. He probably heard that we have fangs.
Actually, he was quite pleasant and spent about ten minutes chatting with us. I remember him from his role in Apollo 13 as one of the flight controllers but from a bit of research it appears he has been in quite a few productions of greater notoriety.
We watch them film a chase scene and meet the child actors on the set, both of whom were terminally cute and extremely personable. Then we are ushered inside the house they are using to film much of the movie. Or maybe I should say mansion. The house is spectacular.
We watch a couple more scenes being filmed, then set up to interview the Executive Producer. After that we each had the opportunity to interview Robin Lively who was lovely. And who knows Zac Efron as her husband played the dad in the High School Musical franchise. I tried to act cool upon hearing this information. I may or may not have pulled that off. I really enjoyed speaking with Robin. She has three children, almost the same age as mine, a girl sandwiched between two boys. But she doesn’t drive a minivan, something that I urged her to remedy quickly. She agreed to consider it. If I may have somehow managed to pull another mother out of the confines of “coolness” and into the freedom of the minivan, I will consider my time there well spent.
Amen.
We also had the opportunity to interview the amazing Christine Baransky who was absolutely delightful to talk to. She was so nice and so personable and friendly.
And she told me I should get massages. BOOM! Instant friendship.
This post is getting far too long so I’ll spare you too many more details. In a couple of weeks I should receive the photos and video for my post regarding the movie. I’ll share more then. For now, though, I can honestly say that I had the best time on this trip. Turns out I’m kind of a camera whore. I loved when they said “Action.”
Who knew?
I will also say that Canadians are extremely friendly. Even the people working in the airport! Shocker, right?! They smiled, they asked questions, they laughed. They were all so pleasant. And cute. I’ve mentioned that the men were good looking, right? Oh I have? Oh, sorry. My bad…
Au Revoir my bloggy friends. I wonder how you say that in French?
*After having some time to read and reflect, I’ve changed the wording of one sentence. I don’t think Osama Bin Laden’s death is cause for celebration. I thought the dancing and singing in the streets last night was a little weird. We didn’t win the war. Killing Bin Laden is a symbol, a final act of justice for what began so many years ago. But celebration? No. I don’t think we have cause to celebrate. I don’t want my faith to be one of revenge. I’m a little more subdued today in my feelings about this turn of events. No less glad that he is dead, mind you. But a little more measured…
I’m not sure if you heard. Osama Bin Laden is dead. I KNOW?! Crazy, right. Too bad news spreads so slowly these days. The whole world knew this almost a full hour before the President of the United States took the podium.
Thank God for Twitter, eh?
Like every other American, I pumped my fist in the air upon hearing the news. I did it while laughing at Geraldo Rivera who was annoucning it whilst grinning like the Cheshire Cat and laughing like Pee Wee Herman. “We got the SOB,” he said…twice. And I smiled, shook my head, and breathed a sigh of relief.
I don’t think this necessarily means anything for the war on terror. Osama Bin Laden has been reported ill for many years now. He was but a figurative face of Al Qaida, but he has many, many minions. And they aren’t the cute little yellow guys from Pixar.
No. Bin Laden’s minions are much more sinister and their mission is not to steal the moon, but to kill and destroy. So I don’t think his death means anything for the war we are fighting, and likely will be fighting for a long, long time.
But his death is cause for celebration a sigh of relief. It’s closure. For those of us who huddled around our TV sets ten years ago and watched the towers holding our countrymen fall to the ground, the idea that justice has prevailed against the man responsible is like a balm to an open wound. And for the men and women whose loved ones never came home…this is the final piece of the puzzle.
I’m not sorry for Osama Bin Laden. In fact, I kind of hope he experienced pain. I hope he was alone and sad. I hope he wasn’t sleeping peacefully, unaware of what was about to hit. No. I hope he suffered great fear, just as the men and women who were stuck at the top of the towers sat in fear, knowing they wouldn’t survive. I think about the men and women who made the choice to leap to their deaths rather than burn inside the buildings and I hope that Osama Bin Laden’s final moments were filled with equal amounts of terror and fear.
Is this wrong? Maybe. I’ll pray through it. But right now, at this very moment. I don’t feel bad about it.
The evening of 911, I was living in Frisco, Texas. My husband of one year was supposed to fly home from a business trip in Atlanta that day. Instead, he was waiting on a rental car to open up. I went to our church, Chuck Swindoll’s Stonbriar Community Church, and cried with everyone else. I was angry. I was scared. I was sad. And I felt hatred for the first time in my life. I’ve never felt hatred before or since.
As Chuck Swindoll stood up to address his congregation, he shared in our tears. It was comforting to know that he, too, needed to cry. He needed us like we needed him. And then he spoke. I don’t remember much about what he said, except for this one line:
“There is not a hell hot enough for the monsters that committed these acts today.”
I was surprised, of course. Those are bold words. But I was also relieved, because it was what I was thinking. I spent much time in the months after that night thinking and praying about those emotions. Swindoll preached on the idea of righteous anger and I spoke with many wise leaders within our church and I came to a place of peace in feeling a truly righteous anger.
We should feel righteous anger toward evil. Does this mean I wish hell on men? No. But, it does mean that I wish for justice. I’m glad that God is the Judge and not me, because if it were left to me, justice would most assuredly not be done.
I believe and trust in God’s just power to judge a man’s heart and I believe that God has the power to change an evil man’s heart toward Himself.
But I don’t always believe that He will. There is example after example of God hardening the hearts of men in the Bible. Pharoah is the first and foremost that comes to mind. And with righteous anger, God deals with the men who have hardened their hearts. I feel no pity or sympathy for evil men like Osama Bin Laden, Sadam Hussein or any other terrorist leader who meets his fate. It doesn’t mean that I don’t want to see that area of the world come to know and understand the power of the Living God.
But I want justice to be served and Osama Bin Laden met justice on Earth. His eternal judgment is not for me to decide. I know what I want to happen to him, but again, I’m thankful I’m not the one who makes that charge.
God Bless our country, and protect our troops. This war is not over, but tonight we can rejoice in victory. And with that, I now officially tuck away my soap box.
You’re welcome…
No time to blog today. The Princess and I are taking tea as we watch the wedding of the century. The Prince accompanied us for awhile, but quickly got bored and headed outside to ride the royal tricycle.
Toodles!
Well I don’t have much to say today. Landon and I both have colds and we are snuggled up together on the couch, coughing and snorting and rubbing each other’s backs. I’ve got plenty of thoughts and ideas rolling through my head, but none of them feel blog worthy.
It’s a constant balance, this blogging thing. While I enjoy the journaling aspect of blogging, I have to remind myself that this isn’t a true journal. I can’t pour out my every thought because with several hundred people stopping by each day my thoughts aren’t so private in this tiny little square of interweb. I see other bloggers who share intimate details of their lives under the label of bold blogging, but I just can’t do that. I only share about 4% of our lives on this site.
The rest is just for me.
I’m happy to share what I’m learning, what makes me laugh, how I feel and our every day lives, because I think it’s fun. But sometimes, I just have to be quiet. Sometimes I don’t feel funny. Like today, when my nose is running like a faucet, I’m three days without a shower and my throat has been licked by the flames of hell.
Not. Funny.
But other things just aren’t for sharing in public. Sometimes I just need to process with a few friends, or my husband, or God. My blog is only a journal of the things that I feel are appropriate for the world to know. Ya know? 🙂
So today, instead of wasting time writing about nonsense (something I’m really good at), I’m going to direct you to some new sites I’ve recently stumbled upon that I love. I’ve also finally updated my blogroll to include all these lovely bloggers. So without further ado, I present you a few of my new favorite blogs:
– Bohemian Bowmans: Jessica is funny, sarcastic and incredibly sharp. She loves Jesus, she loves Compassion and she loves her kids who, incidentally, are terminally cute.
– A Holy Experience: You don’t find writing like this very often. Ann has a way with words that makes your skin tingle and your eyes water. She is a poet, a master at prose and a vivid storyteller.
– (in)courage: Many of you have probably already heard of this site, as I had many times before, but I only recently began visiting and reading over there. If you’re looking for encouragement, this is the place to go.
– The Nester: *sigh* I love Nester’s style. I sat and talked with her a bit at Blissdom and she is equally lovely in person. I had never been to her site before then and now I stop by frequently. I can’t wait to get into a new house and begin decorating it using some of Nester’s tips and advice. Seriously, she’s talented.
– Faith Like Mustard: Megan and I “met” through this site and I love her sweet heart. It’s always encouraging to stop by her blog.
So those are a few new sites for you to visit and fall in love with. Happy browsing, happy reading and happy laughing. I’m off to take some drugs (easy…it’s Dayquil) and drink some green tea with lemon to soothe my burning throat. Then I think I’ll sit outside and soak up a little vitamin D because Glory Hallelujah the sun is shinin’!
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