Nasty Gravy and the Ugly Cry

Today I got up extra early to sear a roast, slice up potatoes and carrots, and get it all in the oven so it could cook while we were at church. Well, all of that went very well. I was even ready before Preacher Man, which NEVER happens. So we attended church, which for me is crazy hectic since I work in the preschool area and people believe that we don't ACTUALLY need adults to volunteer to keep the children. They really just take care of themselves. [dripping with sarcasm] Anyway, so we made it through church and then had to wait for 45 min after the service while Preacher Man counseled because my husband speaks three languages and is extremely dedicated to what he does [not a bad thing unless you have a roast in the oven]. By the time we left I was a little grumpy/sad. Partly because our pastor told a story about dancing with his little girl, which made me miss my Daddy/cry [who is still alive but lives far away from me] and partly because Preacher Man is so dern dedicated to his job. Preacher Man, however, was in a rather yippy skippy mood and chatted my ears off all the way home. This equaled me being more grumpy.

So, we got home and the house smelled delicious and I thought, "Okay, maybe it didn't burn. Maybe it's a miracle." I opened the oven and pulled out the pot...wrong. Okay, well it didn't exactly burn but there were no more juices left and the potatoes and carrots were stuck to the bottom. You just know looking at such a scene that the roast itself is going to be somewhat lacking. So, I tried to SCRAPE some of the drippings off of the bottom of the pan and combine it with a little flour water in an effort to make some sort of gravy. In order to cover the burnt taste, I had to add A LOT of flour water. So it turned out tasting mostly just like flour. So then I had to add a lot of salt, pepper, and garlic powder, which made it taste like seasoned flour.

As I was doing all of this, I burnt my left thumb on the lid of the pot because I somehow forgot that it was in the oven for 3 hours. "Shit" is what I said. But it wasn't a bad burn, just enough to make me even more grumpy. [Stir, stir, stir] Preacher Man entered and started making the broccoli. I grabbed the handle of the pot with my right hand...same hot pot. Same burn but on my right thumb this time and significantly more painful. "Shit. Shit. Shit. SHIIIIITTT!" is what I yelled this time, holding my burning thumbs up in the air. Then my face got all squinched up and I started to cry. Ugly cry, that is. Still holding my thumbs in the air. Like a double thumbs up. Preacher Man just stood there hugging me...I mean really, what else could he do? I dried it up after a while, ran my thumbs under cold water, and finished the nasty gravy. Preacher Man fixed the rice and the broccoli and we ate our below average roast dinner in silence.

In case you have ever wondered if any one else has these kinds of days.

Back to Louisiana

"Well, how was your trip home?"

I've gotten that a lot this week - because I went back to Louisiana for my little sister's wedding. The thing is, that's a difficult question to answer. Here's the best I've come up with, "Oh, ya know, it was good. Typical family stuff. I love 'em. I would literally lay in front of a bus for any one of 'em. But honestly, some days they make me WANT to lay in front of a bus [mostly just kidding about that]. But it was good [smiley, rambly me says as I nod my head]."

It turns out that going back "home" after creating my own "home" with Preacher Man is tricky business. Things just aren't quite the same. I built this trip up in my head. It was going to be filled with laughter and ease and lounging by the pool in the evenings. With afternoon tea and light hearted sarcasm and plenty of dancing. Well as a result of the intense wedding planning that was happening, there was only some laughter, not much ease, and no lounging due to the stampede of mosquitos that happened at sunset. There was afternoon tea, not-so-lighthearted sarcasm and well, there was still dancing...we maintained the most important things.

In the end, though, my sister got married. And she was beautiful. I cried. It all changes when you get married. There is a shift in the family dynamic. God made it that way but when your original family is as great as ours, it's hard not to mourn the shift.

My sister got married and I got a taste of my old "home". And actually missed my new "home". The one that happens with Preacher Man and Belle. And it was good. Really good all around because good, bad, or ugly - my family is mine. And I will take you down if you hurt them. And although transitions are not my favorite things, God walks with me through them in such a way that I find myself enjoying the newness before I even realize it. And THAT is one of the many reasons why He is DA MAN!

The Grey T

I step out into the thick air and just stop to breathe it in. I glance around at the familiar surroundings - the old tree house that I've never set foot in because my family didn't move here until I was in college. Looking at that tree house now, I kinda wish I had seen the inside of it. I make a mental note: Check out the tree house later. The tapping of my blue tennis shoes on the driveway mingled with the sounds of the dead end by our house - birds chirping, the wind casually moving through the trees, cars distantly speeding down Jackson Street - fill me up like a breath of Spring air after a long stint in a dark closet. I reach down to touch my toes, slowly, letting my body get ready for the run, letting my thoughts drift to no place in particular. It's been so long since I have released my notions, giving them freedom to roam and roll and stretch. I can do that here, where I always feel safe and comfortable.

I take a sharp right out of the driveway, walking to the next turn, letting my legs get used to the movement. At the corner, I begin to jog. I decided to leave my iPod behind today - just to be alone with my thoughts and the streets that are sprinkled and even scarred with the memories of my childhood. I can't help but notice again, as I do every time I travel down this street, that it is the dwelling place of cats and kids. That's what I call it - the cats and kids street. It all makes me smile. The cats. The kids. The way I have named it my own name.

I begin to think about why my heart feels so full, so at rest when I am here. In the town I grew up in. I'm not the same me I was when I lived here. I'm a new me with parts of the old me still lingering and implanted but even the new me loves to be here. Somehow my thoughts drift or tiptoe or lumber, to the t-shirt I'm wearing. How it's old and soft and my favorite of all the t-shirts in the world. In true favorite old t-shirt form, it hugs me in all of the right places and floats freely in all of the right places. When I wear it I feel perfectly, simultaneously comfortable and confident. That's sort of what's it's like running down these streets. Seeing all of the old homes we lived in [we moved a lot but always stayed in the same neighborhood]. Like slipping into my oldest, most favorite t-shirt. Comfortable and confident - I don't feel both of those things at the same time anywhere else in the world. And here, today I get to slip into that old gray T [both physically and metaphorically] and run until my mind doesn't feel so cluttered and clogged anymore.

In my thoughts, I am running down this street away from a barking dog. My little sister is jumping on my back, nearly tackling me to the ground. We are both screaming and laughing in a terrified sort of way. I begin to laugh out loud. I have to slow to a walk for a little while - laughing and running are not good partners. I catch my breath as I reach the back street. Beside the field. And I have to stop for just a moment to admire the field. It's not really anything special, but it's my field. Well mine and my sister's and my brother's, too. And we grew up in the city so this was the closest thing to the great, wide countryside we ever tasted. And we felt like great explorers in that field with the river [which was actually just a drainage ditch] and the forest [which was actually just a cluster of trees that had not yet been cleared out to make more room for developments] and the wildflowers and tall grasses [which were real]. And standing there, I want so desperately to recapture some of the magic that made us believe. Made us dream. Made us hope so unabashedly.

I begin to run again, this time harder and faster, hoping to completely clear my mind of all thought. I run and run and run, begging my brain to stop. And after a while it does, and I feel free of all that apprehension and anger and hopelessness that I am plagued with most of the time. And as I round the corner and make my way back home, I realize that I am exhausted, but that after all that fighting [which is essentially what all the running was], I feel like I have reclaimed a little bit of hope. And with that a hope, a little of my ability to dream. And I think that maybe I'll start to believe again - believe that dreams really can come true. The new me steps in and makes note that they can but they don't always, and the old me feels okay with that. And the new me and the old me shake hands. They don't hug yet but maybe someday they will. And someday maybe, just maybe, I'll learn to intermingle and intertwine the me's in such a way that there is no difference between the two. Maybe someday. But today this is enough.

I tap back up the driveway in my blue tennis shoes and climb up into the tree house I've never seen the inside of. Because it looks like it was probably built for catching your breath and possibly even for dreaming big.

Follow up...

Thank you for those of you who responded! I love to hear what you have to say...your words bring so much insight to my own thoughts and reflections. So, if you didn't get to respond, do it now! Also, I'm going to get better at writing [hopefully, fingers crossed, eyes squinched] daily. I think maybe that's why responses have trailed off - because I haven't been as faithful in writing. Welp, here are my thoughts on my statement...written right to Jesus, because He deserves to hear how I feel about Him.

Your love beckons me to obedience.

Psalm 139:1-14

I love to spend time marveling at and reflecting on the goodness and the sweetness of your love. I am amazed - when I am most aware of how great and perfect your love for me is, I am most called to obedience. When I become instensely aware of how you see me [and you REALLY see me] - pure and holy and beautiful - I am most humbled. That's the magic of your love, Jesus. Instead of puffing me up, it causes me to fall to my knees in absolute submission. The more secure I become in the freedom of your grace and your mercy, the more I desire to walk in absolute obedience. Your love is overwhelming me. Oh the magic of your love - it's almost more than I can stand.

I'm Not Dead

Even though it appears that I have crawled off and died, I am in fact still living. Maybe just in mind and body...notsomuch in spirit. It's been a helluva few weeks, if I'm being completely honest. I don't even know why exactly other than work's been kinda stressful, home's been kinda draining, and the worst parts of me have been fighting hard to surface.

I attended a Women's Retreat with my church last weekend. I was NOT pumped about going at first because it's one of those things where you signed up to go because you knew you prolly should go but when it came right down to it you didn't want to put forth the effort to be nice to a bunch of people you didn't know. Well, I paid like a gajillion dollars to attend the thing, so I went and when I arrived at the nicest hotel I've stayed in since I married the man who doesn't value soft, clean sheets the way that I do, I felt that things were looking up. So, I got there early and asked that God would help me make some friends and if He decided not to do that, could He pretty please make me feel so comfortable in His arms that I didn't need to feel comfortable with a "group"?

Side note: When I go to women's conferences where I don't really know anyone - ya know, no safety zone - I always feel like I turn back into the 9th grade version of myself. Please like me. Am I wearing the right thing? Was that funny? Please like me. I don't really like you but I don't want you to think I don't like you because I want you to like me. I hate that I'm capable to reverting back to 9th grade me. I'm 25 for Pete's sake.

Well anyway, in worship on Friday night this phrase kept popping into my head. So, I jotted it down in my journal. "Your love beckons me to obedience." I have lots to say about that statement, but first I would really LOVE to hear what you all have to say about it. I know that some of you are just readers and not contributors. Well, when you think about not responding you just picture me in my cowboy boots stomping around in your head shouting, "Do it! Do it!" [In the least scary way possible, of course. The shouting is a happy, encouraging shouting, really. Picture me doing that. Maybe not stomping but shaking my booty to the left and the right, in rhythm with every syllable. If this whole section weirds you out, just skip over it. If it makes you laugh, you HAVE to contribute your thoughts.]

Ready? Go.

Calling all readers...

I need your help! I've decided to pursue a career in writing. Preferably freelance so that I can eventually work from home...woo woo! So, I have to perfect some pieces to mail in to the big dogs. Pretty please can you tell me what you're very favorite post has been? The one that has touched you in the biggest way. It doesn't matter why - make ya cry, make ya laugh, make ya mad. Anything goes. Tell me which one was your fave and why and you'll be my best friend forever. Really, I have room in my life for A LOT of best friends.

Another meaty post is coming soon. Don't stop visiting!

P.S. Evidently you are a flip flop crew. Flip flops won the prize. Red high heels and comfy but cute flats tied for second.

Retractions and The End Point

I would like to retract any statement that conveys that I think that people from the North or any other part of the world are boring or poopy heads. I've decided that people are people...no matter where they're from. Some are sassy. Some are not, but sassy funness is not restricted to Southern American's. How silly am I?! I would also like to retract the statement I made about not liking my job that much. I've changed my mind [shocker]. I like my job. I might even love it before long. You'll find that I will probably be retracting a lot of statements because this is straight out of my head, which most of the time - okay all of the time - is pitifully imperfect. Please allow me the freedom to retract statements! My blogging future depends on it.

On a completely different note, I was running last night. And the wind was blowing - hard. And I was running against the wind [of course]. I was seriously tired. My legs were burning so bad. I was sweating like crazy [and I'm not really much of a sweater]. And I felt certain that my lungs were going to explode, but I had to reach my end mark. I give myself end marks that I HAVE to run all the way to before I can take a break and walk. I'm a goal setter, which I think I've mentioned before. Well anyway, I started to think about how slowly I was actually running and how I really wasn't covering much ground very quickly. Then, make-things-into-analogies me compared it to my life. Mostly it's in my walk with Jesus. I feel like I'm always running against the current. Always tired. Always feeling the weight of life and then that seeps into every other part of my spiritual self, making me burn and feel like I'm going to explode or implode or something. And I just really want to quit. It's like for a little while the wind stops and I'm just running, rockin' out to my Do It To It music and all the sudden Whoosh! In blows the next LONG gust of wind, pushing against me. Why do I always feel like I'm working hard to keep walking with Jesus? So in the middle of all that pondering, I got sidetracked by all the actual physical pain I was feeling everywhere. The rest of my run was spent convincing myself that I could do it...just make it to your next stop point. You can do this. You've built up your endurance. Keep your eyes on your stop point. Wind or not, you really can do this. Do it. Do it. I cheered me on. Well actually I cheered Belle [who runs with me every day] on because somehow it helps me to encourage someone - or some dog - else. Is that weird?

Well as I pondered this some more today, I began to think about how much the latter part of my thought process [the non-spiritual part] really answers my question. Why do I always feel like I'm working hard to keep walking with Jesus? Well, because it's hard work. It takes me CONSTANTLY fighting for my own joy and my own growth. Albeit I'm actually fighting against my selfish self most of the time, but I still have to fight for it. And it's good that I'm fighting for it because if I wasn't, then I would definitely be getting pretty fat and lazy just sitting around no even thinking about the existence of an end point. AND it actually encourages me to encourage others to reach their end point?! What a novel idea. Encouragement is not my spiritual gift or my any kind of gift for that matter. But I think I'm going to try and do more of it.

And do you know what my end point is [spiritually speaking of course]? It's Jesus, duh! Why is it so easy for me to forget how much I love Him? In my last post I asked if anyone had any good ideas for getting out of the funk and I did partake in the pedicure idea, which was enjoyable. Truth is, though, that I just needed to open my eyes and take another good look at my Jesus. Allow myself to be filled to my toes with His overwhelming love. Because He is powerful! And He's helping me fight...cheering me on...DRAGGING me on when I just think "Seriously, though. I'm done." In church on Sunday, I found myself wanting to stand on my pew grinning [If I was brave enough, I probably would have] and singing the end of that beautiful medley "...Jesus commands my destiny. 'Til He returns or calls me home, Here in the power of Christ I stand!" What a great declaration for us to make!

So, I'm going to keep on running...even if it is uphill, against the wind, and all my limbs feel like they're prolly gonna fall off. Because my end point is so very worth it.