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!

Take the City

Sometimes you just want something.  Call it a goal, dream, need or whatever.  Doesn't really matter. Sometimes the thing you want is the right thing. Sometimes it isn't.

Sometimes you don't really know.

In older times, kings sometimes wanted whole cities.

Maybe sometimes you judge the rightness or wrongness of your dream by how easily it comes.  You know what I mean, if you are meant for it, it will happen.  Doors will open.

If you aren't meant for the path to your dream, doors will close.  There will be obstacles.  Maybe that means you just aren't meant to be--just aren't meant to have--just aren't meant to do--that.

I judge my dreams that way, but I think I might be wrong.

I think that stuff I just said about doors opening or closing, I think sometimes those ideas are trash.  Garbage.

Sometimes you have to work really hard for the things you want.  You have to get over obstacles and open doors yourself.  You may have to do these things when you are exhausted and unsure.  You may have to do these things when no one else understands why you do them.

In older times, kings took the cities they wanted by fighting.

The things worth having do not usually walk up and offer themselves to you.  You must take action.  You must do something.

Doors do not open by themselves.

You open them with prayer and endurance and elbow grease.

My friend, my self, what do you do when the door is stuck?  Do you stay outside?  No.  You find a way to get where you want to be.

In older times, sometimes kings took cities by starving out the people they did not want.

Sometimes you must sacrifice something else.  You cannot be all things to all things.  Maybe you have to starve something out to make room for what is important.  Things do not starve quickly, but if you do not feed it, the unwanted thing will eventually go.

In older times, cities did not usually open their doors and allow themselves to be taken.  At least not without divine intervention.

Sometimes there is divine intervention.  We can't discount doors that fly wide open or obstacles that remove themselves.  Say thanks and move forward.

Sometimes the absence of divine intervention is divine.  Maybe fighting the battle brings the reward of becoming a conqueror.  Maybe you will love your city well because of the battle you fought for her.

Sometimes the thing you want is the right thing.

Sometimes you don't really know.

There is only one way to find out.

Take the city.





On a less serious note:
Gifts from Cape Hatteras
My Name is Butmommy...
King Robert of the Wild Hair

small time

Taking a five-minute party break with Lisa Jo Baker this Friday.  Want to know more?  Check it out at: Five-Miinute-Friday.  It's Lisa Jo's party and she gets to pick.  Today she inspires us to write about one thing: small.  It amazes me how folks can interpret one word so many ways.  Click around at Lisa Jo's page and read what other people wrote. As for me, here, have a small piece of my heart.

Small time girl, grown up to be a small time woman.  I'm good with that.  Don't want attention, really, just can't quit talking here on this page.  Enjoying the idea that there are other women out there like little ol' me.

Small town girl, going from one small town to another.  Love livin' where you don't need a cell phone to find somebody.  There are only three places to go.  If your friend isn't home, she's at the grocery or Sonic.  Check your watch and take a guess...Sonic has a happy hour at 2PM.

Small hearts, can they grow big?  Sometimes it doesn't feel like it.  I fuss small words in a big voice and I wonder how my heart got so hard.  Dr. Seuss says the heart of the grinch grew two sizes one day and we all know the wisdom of Dr. Seuss.  Maybe there is at least small hope for me.

Small days, trapping me here in this home.  Trapping me here until I remember what I believe, that this is no small thing that I do, mothering these kids and loving this man and building this home with the hands of my soul.  Big, beautiful, small days.

Small gifts.  Little boxes with big things inside.  Small gifts might just be the best gifts of all.

loving the small,
m

More?
Blessedly Ordinary
More from Five-Minute-Friday: Fall
For your friends, "I Wanna Be Like You"

Gifts from Cape Hatteras

Last summer our family went on a vacation.  It was a miracle.  We almost never go on vacation.  We saved and we planned and we went and it was beautiful.  

Now, during this summer of craziness and stuck inside, we pack and a child heals and we save and we plan, and I return to those pictures and those memories.  I reopen the gifts of Cape Hatteras.

The Gifts:

Relax.  Just sit.  Soak up the good feelings when they come.  Just sit and be empty and be full, both at the same time.

Say "Why not?" way more often than you say, "Why?"

Creation is really, really awesome.  Creation is not tame or safe but it is in-your-soul-beautiful.

Squirrels can crawl under the edges of mosquito tents and eat your bread. They like butter cake but not caramel frosting.  Just thought you should know.

Run and play and don't care how you look.  Floppy hat, floppy shoes, floppy butt, nobody cares just run and play.

Making really fabulous memories doesn't have to cost a bunch of money.  We tent camped on Hatteras Island, which is almost 30 miles out into the Atlantic and only a few feet above sea level. We were sort of perched out in the ocean in a tent and the wonder of being in it all was thrown in for free!

Don't be surprised when the rain comes.  You don't have to be afraid, just get in a tent if you can and plug the leaks with whatever you have.  Find a bright side in the situation, like eating the s'mores supplies even though it isn't perfect.

Don't let it ruin your trip if a crab bites your heel.  However, if he is edible, eat him.  That's what he gets for not being properly subdued by mankind.

Life doesn't have to be perfect.  Don't miss out because you are waiting for everything to be just the way you planned.  You will make the others in your circle miserable but you won't make perfection.

There are times when your hair (or whatever) just doesn't matter at all.  Let it go.

Respect the sun.

Take the best part.  Give up on having everything and just take the best part.

People are nicer than you think and people really do need people.  Real people, in person, to eat ice cream with and tell stories with and ride boats with and it doesn't hurt at all to be friendly.

You never know which little wave is going to move something really big.  Most of the really big stuff starts with one little action.  Islands shift one little wave at a time.

Be grateful when you get to see one of THOSE moments.  My son, Nathan, was afraid of the water.  He was sitting on a boogie board on the wet sand and a big wave came.  Those inches of water picked him up AND HE RODE several feet.  I saw it in his eyes.  That wave washed away fear and replaced it with potential and we had to drag that boy away from that beach.  He asked for swimming lessons last fall and I am pretty sure he has grown gills.  I watched that moment.

You have to be watching to see those moments.


Thank you Cape Hatteras, we are grateful for your gifts,
m

Other posts you might like:
More about Nathan...
When ordinary is a gift...
Our adventure at Tough Mudder

They Grow More Than Vegetables at the Rocky Mount Farmers' Market

Two years ago, almost to the day, I moved to Rocky Mount.  Came to a house I had never seen, a people I didn't know in a town that had no reason to care about me.  Just another move, another house, another year.

My family quickly found the Farmers' Market and I applied to the craft committee to sell my homemade soap.  You see, the folks at the Rocky Mount Farmers' Market are committed to ensuring that the things sold there are really local.  Your hard earned money goes directly into the hands of the person across the table.  You can ask questions about what you buy.

Take grits for example.  I never knew a thing about grits (did I mention I am not from around here?) until I got to know Carol.  Carol and I talk about more than grits, we discuss beaches, art, music and travel.  By the way, if Carol is there with the Carolina Grits, don't ponder your purchase very long or you will find the crate empty.

One fall Saturday, I set up my soap, put on my reserved smile and tried not to scream, "I'm not from around here!"  Rena, the other woman who sells soap, came over to my spot.  She has beautiful soap and even more beautiful eyes.  We talked. Then I bought some calendula from her, the first of many purchases.  So much for competition.

I feel for the market manager and his task of herding all of our wares and opinions into our spaces but I know his secret.  He is watching out for all of us at the market, making sure that we are all well cared for.  When the weather turns cold, he creates space where there is none so that we can all fit into the warm, main building.  He makes a person feel easy, like you should on a Saturday in the South.

Recently, I bought a loaf of Magie's bread.  All seven ingredients are listed.  They are all recognizable things like yeast, spring wheat flour, and butter.  My kids eat that bread instead of chips and many Friday evenings have seen heated discussions about what kind to buy the next morning.

The truth is, I didn't mean to find my friends at the farmers' market.  But there they are.  There is the joyful woman who gave my daughter a small pot of "hen and biddies" and Michael with his collard shirts and I did not spell that wrong.  I will never forget the quiet integrity of Mr. H and his honey and how his unfiltered beeswax makes the best lotion cake ever.  That beeswax could make a donkey's hoof look like she'd gone for a french pedicure.

My sweet friend Angie and her pecan chewies and if that wasn't enough her lovely daughter had to go and get her started on that ultimate chocolatey death thing, and it is so good I think every piece added a year to my life.  Drury Lane sells amazing breakfast bars and you get humor with every purchase.  Kellie and her husband bring lettuce and peppers and pottery from the microfarm and her beautiful voice spoke encouragement to me once when I dared whisper about my dreams of writing.

Great, I am crying now and you folks from Rocky Mount weren't supposed to make me cry because I want to go back home and I'm not from around here!

No one knows home better than you.

You people who were so generous with the work of your hands and your happy hearts, you know that when the door opens I have to go back to my people but you had to go and grow my heart here.  Now my heart will break for you too and it was just supposed to be a farmers' market but instead it is a gathering of friends.

I don't think it's like this everywhere.  I think it's special here.

So go to the market.

Grab a twenty or whatever and pick up some fresh produce and eat it when you get home.  Get some cranberry honey this fall from Gardenbees for your biscuits or hot tea.  Pick up an organic roasting chicken or some seafood driven in from the coast and celebrate who you are and your friends, old and new.

They grow more than vegetables at the Rocky Mount Farmers' Market, they grow hearts.



Interesting Farmers' Market Facts:

• The people who sell baked goods at the market are required to have a kitchen inspection.
• Farmers who sell produce have their scales certified for accuracy every year.
• Baked goods have a list of ingredients.
• The market isn't just for groceries.  You will find pottery, beautifully bottled vinegar, quilts, plants, information on gardening, freshly cut flowers and the occasional live band or car show.

Farmers' Market Challenge:
Consider trying to buy most of your gifts at the market this year.  Our family did it last Christmas and it was a big hit.  Red pepper vinegar for someone who likes spice, a lovely bowl or chicken roaster, a scarf, a handwoven basket or beautiful woodwork.  Make a fruit or vegetable basket or pick up a beautiful piece of handmade jewelry.  Not every vendor or farmer is there every Saturday so come often to see new things.

This story was originally published on the Rise Rocky Mount: Our People, Our Stories Facebook site.  If you have a story about life in Rocky Mount that you would like to share, check out the Facebook site listed below or email Lori Harris at rockymountstories@yahoo.com.

Facebook pages:
Traveler In My Own Backyard
RISE Rocky Mount: Our People, Our Stories
Rocky Mount Farmers' Market

Other posts you might like:
Before we found out we were moving...Heavy, Heavy July
When your heart is one place and your life another...The Great In-Between
Friends...Iron Sharpens Iron...I wanna be like you...

Heavy, Heavy July

The weather is cool for July.  July is for lakes and watermelon and air heavy with water that soaks into my skin and through my clothes.

This is the coolest July that I can remember.  It feels light, like spring instead of the dog days of summer.

Days and days of rain and temperatures in the 80s have made this summer delightful.  It's also weird.

That swimming pool membership I wanted didn't pan out.  With rain several times a week, the swimming hasn't been that great anyway.

That camper we didn't pursue would have been sitting in the driveway.  We have other things to do this summer.

Possibilities hover around us but never land.  So we wait in the weight.  July is light but our hearts are heavy.

Difficult decisions hang on and on and how do you KNOW what to do?

Houses sit empty too long and cost too much and the decisions of the past come and ask questions that simply can't be answered.



I drive myself crazy.














A little girl turns seven in July and the doctor says it's time for a new eardrum.  She's ready to get her ear fixed but she doesn't know everything that I do.  It'll be fine, God willing, but my heart hurts when I think about it too much.

How do you KNOW?

I worry about the past that can't be changed and the future that isn't even real and I go crazy.  My mind knows it is useless and even worse, it's faithless.

My worry is faithless.

There is only one decision that can be made.

Take the next step.  Then take another one.  Keep on going until I come to a crossroads then make the best decision I know and take another step.

Take a step now.  Not in the impossible past or the imaginary future but now.  Today.

still grateful,
m

The Great IN BETWEEN

Oh, Lisa-Jo Baker, you dared us to write about the great IN BETWEEN.  If I open this gate sister, it might not stop flowing and certainly not in time for five-minute-friday.

When I saw the topic this Friday morning, I almost winced.  You see, I AM IN BETWEEN.  I live in between, with just an eye on the yesterday, driven toward tomorrow and more often than I wish, right in between them both.  And missing so much of what is in front of me.

Always, in between cities, in between friends, in between families.  Never quite there.  I referee in between kids, plant flowers at someone else's house while I am in between homes and live too much in the future.

But life is now, right here in between and I am missing it.

I am missing it because of my desire for what isn't.

Maybe I need to accept the great IN BETWEEN as the greater WHAT IS REAL.  The fields around us in this house that isn't mine are real.  My real kids play in those fields and I can go with them.

The future I imagine isn't real.  It can change or never even happen.  I can participate in it when I get there but I can't control it.

This life IN BETWEEN is real right now and begging to be lived.

The pool down the street in between the park and the cute green house is real and begging for wild, splashing kids right now.

The great IN BETWEEN THAT IS REAL is calling me and I don't think I want to miss it.

m.


Other posts about living life right where it is...
What I learned in June for Chatting at the Sky
Unplugged...Living a Real Life
The Truth, and I Saw It Right There In Sunday School