How I Won by Waving the White Flag

Before the small people came, my canned goods were stacked according to ingredient. Corn stacked on corn, green beans on green beans.  It just seemed right.

When the small people were smaller and did not have nearly so many opinions of their own, their shirts matched their pants and bedtime was 8 PM.  Breakfast was at 7:30 AM because that's what worked for me.

There are three of them.  As differences in height become evident, differences in their natural tendencies become evident as well.  One boy, Nine, would like to stay up late and watch baseball with his Daddy.  The girl, Eight, sleeps more than the other two and prefers water to most other drinks.  These tendencies mesh with my own habits.

I surrendered my system of stacking canned goods sometime in the toddler years.  I gained mental energy previously used on my kitchen cabinet inventory for more important things.

Then there is Robert, Eleven.  If he stays up much past 9:30 PM, he goes into a semi-vegetative state wherever he is.  He just wilts right over in his seat and the light in his eyes slowly dims.  I can handle a sleepy child at 9:30 PM.  I cannot handle an eleven-year-old, 85 pound ball of noise and energy making gun noises, whistling and getting the dog all riled up prior to daybreak.  Did you hear me?  Prior to daybreak!

I surrendered the idea of matching clothes about two years ago to the bliss of having them dress themselves.  I gained freedom from having to make a few trivial decisions and the great gift of knowing my children and their "styles" better instead of growing mini-me's.

He's been this way, lived this early rising lifestyle since the beginning.  At nine months, he would talk loudly to himself in his crib while I tried to raise eyelids made of lead.

I  have tried to explain my way.  "If you just close your eyes and be still, you might fall back asleep.  You are tired because you don't sleep long enough.  You wake everyone else up."

The discussion plays again today.  Eight, herself a less than adaptable personality, has a face of solid intensity as she plays a game on the iPad.

"But Robert, a kid your age needs about ten hours of sleep a night.  If you go to bed late and get up early, no wonder you are tired in the middle of the day."

I surrender a room to their Lego's and their idea of clean and organized.  I gain a tidy living room, and amazing insight into their imaginations.

Then wisdom declares herself and Robert and I are released from our long-standing struggle.

Without looking up or betraying any hint of awareness outside of her game, she simply declares,

"That's just how Robert rolls."

It's over.  I am released from trying to fit him into my ideal mode of operation.  He no longer needs to feel regret at waking early.  It is accepted, this gift of early morning, high gear "get to it" and in return he may accept me and my foggy haze.

 I can see the freedom of this gift as we move through life together.

That's just how Robert rolls.  That's just how Mom rolls.  Isn't it great?  That's just how you roll.  It's a gift.

The early folks, get up and get it done, I kick in with my gifts at a different time doing different things.  They mow in the morning, I do laundry all day.  I pack 50 little things all afternoon into two big boxes, they get up early and move the boxes.  We are different parts of one body.  We have different strengths.

Our family surrenders our individual ideas of perfect to a collaboration of what home might fully be. We gain a life that is more than the sum of its parts.  Instead of spotlighting weaknesses, we gain everyone's strengths.

I surrender my idea of the way things should be and I gain grace for myself as well.

That's just how He rolls.



grace and peace,
m

More like this?
Love Does, our story
Nora's Cents
The Truth, and I saw it right there in Sunday School

What's a Friend for Anyway?

Ever have one of those days?  You know what I mean, days when the only way to get out of bed is to resort to emotional bribery.  "If I get up now, do these three things, make it until this time, then I can go back to bed."

Some days I am my own worst enemy with my self-talk fueled by self-judgement.

Could be too much sugar yesterday, too little exercise, too much caffeine, too little caffeine, or some real life-struggle.

Maybe its just a blue funk, that feeling that hangs around for no good reason at all.

A text from a friend.  She is having one of those days.  How can it be that my encourager, fellow striver, clear-seeing propper-upper is blue?

Her words are the same ones that have been running through my own head today.

What a mess, if she is down, how can she pick me up?  Her own words, spoken to me in past weeks come into my head.  All I can do is speak them back to her because goodness knows, I don't have any wisdom of my own.

Speaking her own words back to her begins to break the hold of my own heart-fog.  I am grateful for her and her striving, clear-headedness and timely propping up.

I am glad to have a friend like her.  She makes a difference.

Sometimes the circumstances we set up in our mind just aren't accurate.  They just aren't real.

Sometimes we stand on one side of a canyon with circumstances and interpretations of our own creation.  But the truth, the real issue, the heart of the matter is on the other side.  And some days, we just can't get over there.

A friend stands in the gap between you and reality.  A friend makes a bridge for you to come on over.

You can leave behind the whispered lies spoken by your own mind and cross to the truth spoken by a friend.  Because a friend stands in the gap.

You can leave the land of loneliness and come into the house of fellowship.  Because a friend makes a bridge.

I don't know about you but I am tired of standing on the doorstep and making nice about petunias and casseroles.  I want to get to the heart of the matter so that if you ever need it, maybe I can stand in the gap for you.

Let's rejoice together, cry together, let's stand tall and strong, together.


Thanks T, you inspire me..."Rejoice with those who rejoice, and weep with those who weep."  Romans 12:15...you and your words, they matter.







More like this?
Iron Sharpens Iron, I wanna be like you...
Love Does, our story
The Truth, and I saw it right there in Sunday School

What I learned in February...

Emily has a standing invitation to join her over at Chatting at the Sky at the end of each month to share what we learned.  Though I doubt any of these things will rock your world, sometimes it feels good to look over your time and highlight a few notes...

WHAT I LEARNED IN FEBRUARY...

1.  The Gilligan's Island theme song.

My kids have discovered the classics.  By that I mean classic television which in our home means: Andy Griffith, Gilligan's Island and old Scooby Doo.  

These shows require no thought and no real parental monitoring.  Every time I walk through the room and hear that song, I can't help but smile.  Funny thing is, all five members of our family can talk about Gilligan's Island together, simply put, it's one more thing we can laugh about over dinner.

I will offer no apology but I will invite you to "just sit right down and you'll hear a tale, a tale of a fateful trip..."

2.  How to self-publish a book on Smashwords.

Sometimes you do things that you really can't explain.  I used to make all-natural soap and sell it at a farmers' market.  

Using my own hands to produce something so natural and useful was unexpectedly interesting.

Talking with the wonderful people that came to my table was a source of joy.  Mothers with kids, touching and smelling the bars and guessing the "flavors."  Men approaching sideways, sort of sneaking up, as if they don't use soap too.  Older people laughing about their grandmother making soap in a big, black pot.

It was just lovely.  

Here is my little ode to joy...and it cost me nothing but my time.

Making and Selling Soap: A Hacker's Guide

3.  Sometimes changing your mind is good. (Thanks, Emily)

By nature, I am a second-guesser.  I drive myself crazy.  This is hard to share but I recall a time when I agonized in an aisle at Wal-Mart for way too many minutes to admit over the color of a CD player.  "The silver one will go anywhere, but I really want the metallic green.  I should get the silver.  I like the green better."  I left the aisle at least one time only to return and switch my choice.  As a result of this tendency, I often punish myself when I change my mind, even if the reasons are valid.  Please tell me I am not alone.

Sometimes a choice is just a choice, one path among many that all lead forward.  When this is the case and you find yourself leaving one course to pursue another, just as worthy and maybe better suited to your soul, celebrate your position as a higher-thinking mammal and your calling to this new place and simply move on.

4.  Hummus is good, too.

I tried it.  I like it.

5.   So Rejoice is an awesome group.

So Rejoice successfully refocused my attention from their onstage performance to, well, God.  

I forgot to finish contemplating whether their look was more Duck Dynasty or Zac Brown band (neither, they are completely their own), and instead of getting lost in the violin played by the beautiful woman who did NOT look anything like Zac Brown, I got lost in worship.  

I forgot where I was and nearly lifted my hand in the air.  Can you imagine? 

I pray that one day my children feel God the way these people do.


grateful for February and looking forward to March,
m

more?

Love Does, our story

The Truth, and I saw it right there in Sunday School

Stone Soup, a confession

Striking Gold

I know this boy.  He's Ten.  He makes decisions with internal Scales of Justice and it seems as though he is immovable.  He cannot yet comprehend his wise Daddy's words, "what's fair is not always equal."  He's ours to raise and sometimes, for this "live and let live" woman, the work of teaching grace and love gets real hard.

How do you teach the value of social norms, traffic signals, and schedules while simultaneously teaching that people are more important than rules, that grace is when you don't get what you deserve, and that the greatest thing is love?

His temperament is a gift, it really is, this natural affinity for routines and ability to stick to what he believes in the face of pressure from other people.  I will be grateful for this one day.

For now though, we need a little softness, a little understanding and so, like a miner, I chip away at the rock that surrounds the treasure.  I search for the gold in the bedrock.  I test my own principles against his logic and his attempts to make sense of this life.

He's only Ten!  How will I have the words to make it through the next however many years?

The internet authority on everything, Wikipedia, estimates that to even bother mining gold, your location should yield one Troy ounce for every SIX TONS of rock.  You have to mine your way through six tons of rock to get an ounce.  Sigh.  That's a lot of work.

But I've got gold fever.

I've seen gold in them there hills and it only takes one glimpse.  I'm hooked.

You chip away and chip away and just when you begin to doubt...

A girl twirls and twirls, inspired by Olympic figure skaters in all their icy glitter and she holds her arms out gracefully as she spins on the carpet.  Four people are present but there isn't really an audience.  No one pays attention until she falls hard, tripping on her momma's outstretched legs.  Mom gasps, too loud and everyone sees.  The girl cries in her momma's lap.  It's just her pride but it still hurts.

He can't stand it.

That insensitive big brother who would normally throw her under the bus if she even bent a rule,
that boy who makes his decisions by weighing everyone on those scales of justice,
that boy who puts life in neatly defined boxes,
that boy who  is wildly creative and lives to play outside with stories in his mind,
that boy who chips away until we play some new game of his own invention,
that boy who draws imaginary creatures on reams and reams of paper.

He can't stand her tears.  Not today.

For no reason that I understand he brings her a book on Amelia Earhart and points out some reason she should read it, while she hides her tears in my shirt.  She takes the book and slowly opens back up to the room.  Minutes later, she slides off my lap and bounces to the front of our attention proclaiming that she was born on the same day as Amelia Earhart and isn't that something?

Life goes back to normal except for that little glow coming from that boy's eyes as it sinks in.

He knows he did right.  He knows that he, the boy who seems to be made of rock, he soothed a little girl's heart with kindness.  Maybe he adjusts his scales to measure a new kinds of treasures.

m

More like this?
King Robert of the Wild Hair
Confessions of a Reformed Helicopter Parent
Yesterday (the post about the time we were taken over by aliens)

Just Resting My Eyes

Kids tumble into the room then turn quiet, running into each other.  Shhh.  She's asleep.

It isn't true.

Just resting my eyes. 

You don't always need to sleep in order to rest.  Sometimes you just need to close your eyes.

Still there, still hearing, still aware.

Just at rest.

For me, this is a time to rest.  A time to step right off that hamster wheel of "should" and "ought" even though I thought during this last month of silence, surely something would break.  I expected to drop some ball.  I expected it to shatter.

But nothing broke, Friend, nothing broke.  The important things still got done.

Put that frazzled feeling, the one brought into being by "should" and "ought" up onto a high shelf and let it get dusty with all the stuff you can't seem to throw away.

May your frazzle get dusty, Friend.  Frazzle is good-for-nothing anyway.

Entire days can pass without the weight of a TO DO LIST crushing you, taking your breath away.

"But I have to..." you fuss.  And maybe you do.  Then again, maybe you don't.

Write down all the things you think have to be done and let a friend, spouse, or kid take a look.  Men are great at cutting your list to shreds given that their priorities are totally different than a woman's, alien even.  Get a different perspective from someone who cares.

Argue that you must do all of those things.  Argue that you must do them even at the expense of your piece, or PEACE, of mind.  Listen to the hollow sound of your arguments.

Rewrite the list with fresh eyes, with a new perspective.

Those things that fell right off your list?  They don't have to be gone forever.  Just while you rest.  Then, when you feel sane again, when you breathe easy, decide whether to let some of those "shoulds" and "oughts" back into your life.

As for me, getting on my list is pretty tough these days.  If you are a "should" or "ought" that is.  My family has no problem getting on my list.  Monopoly, popcorn, giving my entire attention to Ten when he tells one of his stories.  These things have been added to my list.  Added because I didn't have time for them before.

I like my list better now.

You don't always need sleep.  Sometimes you just need to rest.

Unwrapped and Blooming

My desire to nest has been hibernating these last few years.  Living in a house that wasn't mine, knowing we wouldn't be there for holidays, my decorating style came down to this: what difference does it make anyway?

I was so wrong.  It makes a difference.

This year, we are still leasing but something is different.  Maybe it's our commitment to "bloom where we're planted" or maybe it's because we are in a location that is home for me personally, either way the weekend after giving thanks for an entire day with my family...WE UNWRAPPED CHRISTMAS!

As a family, we cleaned the house, agreed on a tree, and dragged out every Christmas thing we could find.  Some of that stuff hadn't seen daylight in years.

It felt good.  It felt right.  We were blooming like a Wal-Mart full of poinsettias, like we were home.

Ten sank down in the backseat in embarrassment as we drove through town with a tree strapped to the top of the car.  We were the Griswold's in Christmas Vacation.  I nearly burst out in song.

The ax flew to ready the tree.  Opinions and tinsel flew as we unwrapped things we loved.

Eight and Seven played wild games with Santa Bears that look like they came from a Coca-Cola commercial.

Today I am surrounded by an explosion of Christmas decor.  Baby Jesus rides a camel as I ponder the less than Biblical nature of our traditional nativity.  I decide I don't care because the kids know the facts and even if there were no wise men at His birth, I want my kids' worldview to be framed by their faith.

I want Jesus to be part of our Christmas.

Christmas isn't about days out of school or shopping and sometimes I feel like I could run away from all the spending and gifts and "X-ing" the Christ out of Christmas.

Other days, days like today, I know that our family is hungry for tradition and I know how valuable these coming days will be as we push back against the world and sow deep, fertile seeds of faith.

This month is a chance, an opportunity, to plant our faith firmly in the center of our lives and let it bloom.  This time is a chance to celebrate our faith loudly as the world around us is a little more open to hearing our beliefs.  It is a chance to say "Merry Christmas" and share a verse on a card instead of going with the Happy flow of the Holidays.  It's an opportunity to put a baby Jesus on our mantle instead of a Santa Claus.  This is the time to share Luke 2 when people are, perhaps, a little more ready to hear.

This is a chance to put our candles in the window at a time when some people are looking for a little light.

So Merry Christmas ya'll and let your light shine,
m

The Day I Learned to Love Nasty Weather

Sleet: small balls of ice that fall from the sky.  Typically occurring along with temperatures that numb fingers and chill bones.

I am sick today.  When I finally stumbled into the living room this morning, wearing long underwear and a sweatshirt, still freezing, my son informed me that it has been raining ice from the sky since 7:00 AM.

I believe I went back to bed.  The details are hazy.

There are so many things on my "Should Do" list.

In the movie "Bull Durham" an exhausted team of baseball players complained to Crash Davis wishing for a rain out.

Sleet works even better.

A bed covered in, well, covers beckons.  I accept.  What else is there to do?  The Brady Bunch is playing quietly on TV.

A big pot of chicken and noodles waits in the fridge, prepared when I was in better health.  That was yesterday.

Driving roads glazed with little balls of ice would be foolish.  Why bother?

As I sit in my rocking chair, having added a pair of flannel pajama pants, socks and a knit toboggan, I reflect on the fire.  I try to decide what to do next.  Keep reflecting on the fire or crawl back under the chenille bedspread and two quilts.  Maybe The Brady Bunch is still playing, I think it was a marathon.

If I feel better later, I might make a pecan pie.  Nothin' else to do today.  No "shoulds" today, just a day of rest.

Sleet never felt so good.

m

Double, double, toil and trouble...

Double, double, toil and trouble
Fire burn and cauldron bubble.
Fillet of a fenny snake,
In the cauldron boil and bake,
Eye of newt, and toe of frog,
Wool of bat, and tongue of dog,
Adder's fork, and blind-worm's sting,
Lizard's leg, and owlet's wing,--
For a charm of powerful trouble,
Like a hell-broth, boil and bubble.
--from Macbeth

Hell-broth.  
Yeah, that's me sometimes.
I also do quite a bit of bubbling, toiling and troubling.
I don't know what a fenny snake is but sometimes I have an adder's fork for a tongue.

With three kids, I find myself talking most of the time.  Instructing, answering questions, reminding, answering questions, acting as referee, calling them to dinner, and answering questions.  Sometimes I even find myself...I also fuss every day.

I am starting to get on my own nerves.

There is a kid in my life, yeah, he's one of mine and sometimes you would think he doesn't have feelings.  Talking to that boy is like talking to a brick wall.  So, to get through, sometimes you need to use a hammer. I don't mean literally, I mean strong words, not foul language, just big, deep words.

Twice this week I cut that boy to the quick.

Both times I was wrong to do it.  Both times I used my big words to make a point that was irrelevant, unnecessary and careless.  If a friend spoke to me like that we'd have to have a long talk on the porch.

I cut my boy with my words and I saw it on his face.

Hell-broth, that's what my words were made from this week.  I fell again.

I apologized and pray that he forgets over time.  Literally, I pray that he forgets my ugliness, but who's to say if he can?

I tell my kids to listen more than they speak.  You know, the whole "God gave you two ears and one mouth for a reason" thing.  

Practice what you preach, girl.  Practice what you preach.

If I listened to that boy, maybe I would know how to get through that brick wall, how to put velvet on the hammer.

Too many words are like a hell-broth, all full of junk, but certainly a charm of powerful trouble.

Powerful trouble.

So maybe I keep my dog tongues and frog toes to myself a little more.  

Maybe I make my powerful charms out of love and verses and acts of kindness instead of too many words.

If you see a big, black kettle laying by the street, I don't want it back.
m

How do you balance correcting behaviors with staying positive?  Consider sharing your advice here or on Facebook before you share so we can all chat...

Traveler on Facebook here

When a Friend is Generous, even though you're leaving

I wonder if he even knew what he was doing when he gave Bob that bow.

We weren't there all that long but we had some good friends in Rocky Mount.  Tom and Susan are good people. The first time I met them, they were giving.  Giving their time, advice and stuff.  They gave us floats at the beach, told us the best places to go and treated us to an evening of fishing.

Tom and Susan are simply kind and they are the kind of people I aspire to be when I grow up and quit being so selfish.  They think of other people.

They give no consideration to what they might get out of the deal.

Susan supported my little business at the farmers' market.  Tom helped Bob fix our cars.  They had us over and fed our kids. There are other things, too, and they were in it together.  Both of them making the world a better place.

I wonder if Tom even realized what would come of giving Bob that bow.

As we approached our 1,280 mile relocation, Bob, always an outdoors kind of guy discovered that archery is big here in Oklahoma.

Tom had two bows.  The day before we left, he and Susan brought one over and had Bob try it out.  Said he couldn't use two, or maybe that was Susan that said that.  Anyway, Bob made more room on the truck and we left North Carolina with a great bow packed carefully in our caravan.

Ten is moody these days.  He doesn't seem to want to do anything except play Mindlesscraft.*

*Names of PC games have been changed to give me a sarcastic outlet while protecting me from some law I have yet to learn about.

With all of this talk of bows and a visit to the archery shop, Ten expressed an interest in a recurve bow.  Said he might want to check out the local youth club that trains in Olympic style archery.

Bob got that boy a bow, a nice one.  You see, we only had to buy one.

They go shoot most Tuesday evenings and on Saturday mornings.  They shoot for hours, that dad and his boy.  Ten is pleased with how his muscles are growing across those boy shoulders of his.  He is pleased with how it seems to come naturally.

Bob and the boy talk about fletchings and anchor points and "splitting your arrows in twain" and we all laugh.

Sometimes Eight goes with them on Saturday mornings and he shoots too.  My daughter and I don't see them for hours and we do our own things.  At the playground Eight crosses the monkey bars and rings incessantly so his shoulders will get strong enough to pull back a bigger bow.

Those boys have taken a big leap off the couch toward being little men and they talk with their daddy and they learn to control themselves and they learn how an arrow flies through the air and they learn how to be considerate of others so that you don't shoot them.  Really.

They learn how to talk to each other.

One day Ten shot with Grandad and he began to learn to listen because this isn't Mindlesscraft but there are points at the end of those arrows.

You are going to leave a legacy.  Your arrow is going to fly, so take aim and aim well and aim high.

Tom, thank you for giving Bob that bow, and for being his friend.

Susan, thank you for being kind when I was a stranger.

gratefully,
m

This is another post in the Bloom Where You're Planted series.  If you only read a few others, pick these...
Bloom Where You're Planted
Love Does, our story
Do the Next Thing
Pecans Come from Pecan Trees, or the nut really doesn't fall far from the tree

Pecans Come from Pecan Trees

During one of the two precious hours a week that I am alone, I picked up a book from a box that should have been unpacked, ahem, awhile ago.  The book literally flipped open and there it was.

"Lord, guide my words that I might bless and not curse those who follow in my lineage.  For Christ's sake, Amen."  
--Bill Glass in Champions for Life

Oh my words!  Whether you are a person of faith or not, you know the power of words.  We all know words that bless and we all know words that curse.  Which have I chosen this day?

And this blooming stuff?  I already knew that my attitude had affected my children. When I was stressed, they nearly shut down. As we settle into this life, they relax more every day.  As I make a home, they find a home.  

Guess it's true, the nut, literally, doesn't fall far from the tree.

It isn't just words, but tone, actions and life itself.

It isn't just lineage that is affected but friends, home, landlord, or coworkers.

And this is just me talking here but I think it might be true that you are doing one or the other, either blessing or cursing.  So if my words don't bless, then...

That I might bless and  not curse everything that follows in my path.

What does the path look like for those who walk behind me?

Can I choose to make it a path of blessing?  Yes, I think I can choose to bless, most of the time.

Lord, guide my words that I might bless and not curse those who follow...

Amen.

Continuing to find ways to make the truest life right where you are at this moment, this is the 15th post in the Bloom Where You're Planted series. 

More Than an Existence

"The purpose of life isn't to arrive at death safely..."
Christine Caine

Days fly by and it would be easy to give in to exhaustion, to wish for the end of our To Do list.  But is that really what we want?  The end of the list?

Maybe the list should be revised.

Our goal, you and me, is not to survive the day but to thrive in the day.

Our goal is definitely NOT to make it to the end but to make the end, the middle and all the rest as full of life as we are able.  We are to make life.

We are here to live and in life, to glorify.

We are gifted for this.

It is through the life we live that others can see life and want it, too.

Wherever we are today, you and me, live well right there.

I feel a cool, clean breeze in this calm moment where I can complete an entire thought while my children play in the Oklahoma sun.  

Where are you really, right now?

When Your Neighbor is Really a Superhero

Neighbors.  They are always butting in.  Then again, maybe that is just a matter of perspective.  

When you are looking for reasons to settle instead of reasons to run, it's like seeing flowers in the sunlight instead of the dark.  Like seeing them the way they are meant to be seen.

As a family we tend to keep to ourselves.  When we moved to Oklahoma a month ago, we leased a home to give us time to find our way around before buying our "long-time" house. 

We moved into an older house with red bricks and a big porch in a beautiful old neighborhood with big beautiful trees, expansive lawns and swimming pools.

We moved in next to McBride.

McBride is 89.  His grown son lives three houses down around the corner in an ultra-modern home built in the 1950's.  My kids call it The Fortress of McBriditude.  We suspect that is where McBride goes when he needs to hide from his public.

You see, McBride is a super hero.

I don't know how they began to suspect it but we are pretty sure it's true.  

Maybe it is the rumor about McBride climbing on his roof.  This rumor was told to Eight and me over the fence by his own son.  McBride's son said that if we saw him on the roof, we should tell him to get the h#)) off.  Eight told me later that he shouldn't talk to McBride's son without supervision because he cusses.  I tried not to laugh at his self-monitoring...be careful little ears what you hear.

I think we actually got the idea about McBride because of  how he mows his lawn.  He is incredibly fast.  Not for an 89-year-old man but incredibly fast for any man.  His aforementioned son said that he mows fast so that he can get in the pool.  He gets in the pool even when its freezing.  This is Oklahoma people.  It gets cold when the wind comes sweeping down the plains.

About three mornings ago I looked out my kitchen window and there was a ladder leaned against McBride's roof.  I know now that he does get on the roof.  But I also know his secret, he doesn't fly.  I will never tell.

Yesterday Almost Ten climbed up in the old sycamore tree between my drive and McBride's.  My husband was watching from the window as he tested a new freedom. When Bob walked out to check on him, he discovered McBride on his way out.  With a ladder.

McBride to the rescue.

My children are delighted to live next to a hero.  My children are delighted to live next door to McBride.

here's to seeing the flowers in the daylight,
m



The other posts from Boom Where You're Planted:
Good to Know
Bloom Where You're Planted
Blooms Start With Buds
Roots
It Takes Work to Make Blooms

Grateful for Today

This month I am writing for 31 days on how to "Bloom Where You're Planted" and its late and its Friday and I almost forgot entirely.  (Thanks to Kellie R. for remind me tonight that I blog!)  

Part of building a life right where you are is finding wonderful little things right, well, where you are.  And there.  And over here.  So, I don't want to keep you but let me show you just a few of my little things.

Behind every one of them is a big, beautiful prayer of thanks.

Feel free to share your own wonderful things...
m


The other posts so far...
Bloom Where You're Planted
Blooms Start With Buds
Roots
It Takes Work to Make Blooms

It Takes Work to Make Blooms

This is the fourth post in the 31 day series, "Bloom Where You're Planted" and let me say, this takes work!

It's hard to post every day.  It's hard for me to even remember to post every day. 

I am the woman set a daily alarm to remind me to pick up my 4th grader.  Seriously, I am scared to death that I am going to be late to get my boy.  Sure, I would remember eventually...what was I saying?

We are trying to think big, learn the layout of this town and find what our kids call our "long-time" house.

There are boxes to unpack, totally new routines and unexpected expenses.

My temper is often short and there is much hard work.

If you want beautiful blooms and good roots, you have to do the work.  You have to do the work when the earth is still rocky and barren and maybe you can't see anything good.

At least not yet.

Seedlings start small and they are fragile and tough at the same time.  You have to protect seedlings from frost but even tiny plants can grow through concrete.  I choose to keep sowing.

The rules of the harvest say you reap what you sow, you reap later than you sow, and you reap more than you sow.

I will keep sowing.

Roots

This is the third post in the 31 day series "Bloom Where You're Planted" for the month-long blog party at The Nesting Place.  After a cross-country move back to the place where I was raised, this is a time to focus on living completely present in each day.  For you and me, it's the perfect time to stop wishing for what might be and live fully right where, and when, we are at this moment.

I have it easy I think.

My move was back home.  Back to my roots.

I am soaking it up.  Soaking up familiar restaurants, the same old streets, friends that I have known for 31 years and their grown children and grandchildren.  Grandchildren!

Back to my roots. 

Fed by my roots.

Knowing family in new ways-we are all 12 years older now-but loving the familiar sound of their voices, their senses of humor and our shared memories.

Even the land feeds me.  I love the way everything seems to be moving in the Oklahoma wind.  I love knowing instinctively which direction I am going even when I don't know where I am going.  I love the big airy sky open for all to see and the miles and miles of land.  Feels like I can finally take a deep breath.

I love that my kids and husband are seeing me in a way that they never have before.

Never realized that my own roots could feed me this way.  It makes me happy to plant a whole new life here. 

It will take hard work and constant tending to start again in a new place.  I am planning on a good harvest. 

michele

The other posts in this series...
Bloom Where You're Planted
Blooms Start With Buds

Feel free to subscribe by email or if you find it easier (like I do) just like the community page on Facebook at:  Traveler In My Own Backyard

Blooms Start with Buds

The Nester challenged us to write for 31 days on one topic.  I don't have it in me so I've asked for divine help and I am Giving Up On Perfect so there won't be any pictures of my actual "bud" in this post.  However, the commitment is made and I am showing up where I am supposed to be!



Change is good sometimes and in truth, I love change.

However.

When your whole basket of life gets thrown up in the air, you struggle to catch it all and it seems like most of it lands in different places than before.  Well, that can be a little hard on a girl.

We moved. Again. My husband and I gave our word to each other.  One more move before the old folks' home.  I mean it.  When we arrived I found myself closed right down.  I didn't want to unpack or put my things in another cabinet that didn't belong to me.  I didn't want to spend another dollar on a house that wasn't mine.  As far as moving goes, I was done before I got here.

Then my kid unpacked the bird feeder.  He was happy with this find, you know the cheap plastic kind with a green roof.

The front window is really big and as we sat in front of it looking out and doing school, we saw a perfect view of a bird feeder.  If we hung one up, that is.  So I found my shepherd's hook and got my purple flip flops dirty when I pushed it into the thick clay.

The grocery around the corner had bird seed.  A smallish bag with no commitment suited me perfectly.

Wouldn't you know it?  There were mums by the front door of the store.  Big, beautiful mums of that unusual orange color.  That bird lovin' boy likes orange right now.

The kids and I marched out with great ceremony and set our stage, hook, bird feeder, seeds and orange mums in a terra cotta pot borrowed from the rented garage.

A bud, all balled up and tight loosens a little.  The first of the fall.  It's a tiny orange mum.  In case you're wondering.



Other posts you might like:
Bloom Where You're Planted
Superman's Secret Identity Revealed
and the big reveal...
The post where I secretly talk about maybe moving to Oklahoma but I can't tell anyone yet.

Bloom Where You're Planted

"Bloom where you're planted."  

Mary Engelbreit

Maybe I have the heart of a nomad.

I moved 13 times that I can remember--before I was 23 years old.  Maybe I am just not afraid to move.

Maybe I know that this world is temporary and so it's hard to feel at home anywhere.

Less than a month ago, my husband and I moved our family 1,280 miles to be near my family.  That wonderful man changed jobs, gave up some retirement, and spent quite a bit of money to bring me back home.

I lived in North Carolina for almost 13 years and now I'm back home in Oklahoma.

I wasted alot of time in North Carolina hoping for a possibility and wasting some of that present.

God forgive me.

Forgive me for squandering a million little gifts.  Beautiful days at the beach or in the cool of the mountains, mild winters and wisteria vines that covered acres of trees like a big, purple net.  Pine trees everywhere and tangy barbecue sauce that soaked into pulled pork leaving only red pepper and a tangy bite that goes perfectly with cole slaw.  Kudzu.  People, this Oklahoma girl had never seen anything like that before, vines like great, green ghosts covering entire miles.

Forgive me, too, for complaining when I finally got what I wanted.  Complaint is a dangerous thing.

Though I have been transplanted and though we are still in the throes of adaptation, I am making a choice.

I will bloom where I am planted.  This time I will bloom.

I will not compare the two lives I have lived.  I will miss old friends and continue to love them and I will leave this house and make more friends.  I will not get  my feelings hurt because I will choose to love here.

I will look for beautiful blooms that I haven't seen in 13 years.

I will make a life right here.

There are many beautiful things blooming already.  

One kid is at home at the local elementary school.  He is blooming.  This neighborhood just feels good.  The time I have had with family is precious, so is knowing it is not limited by miles anymore.  Old friends have come out of nowhere to help us.   I soak these things right up, and I bloom.

Who would have thought blooms came in the form of Braum's brownie fudge sundae and sweet barbecue beef brisket?  The constant breeze that is sometimes a hot wind and how everyone has a fenced yard because everyone seems to have a dog.  All the wonderful geographical names that come from the Native American language and make me smile because as yet I am the only one in my family that can pronounce them correctly.

My children will really know my family.  That may be the sweetest bloom of all.

The weight of what my husband did for me still surrounds me all heavy at times.  It is as powerful as the summer sun and I bloom.

It feels good to have roots in the dirt.  It feels good to bloom.

m

This post is the first in a month-long series where I get to go visit over at The Nesting Place.  This is quite an endeavor, a post every day for 31 days, but it is good to do hard things, right?  These posts, Bloom Where You're Planted, will be in the Inspiration & Faith category.  I am sure you will find lots of goodies there, enjoy!