Beauty in the everyday

I gave it up.  Spent months following a plan.  Never allowing it to be fully realized, the potential it could have held for me.  Feeling sorry for myself, wanting desperately to be able to rely on processed foods, the ease of picking something up to eat.  Hungry all the time, fearing I would start to resemble a nut.  I don't know when it happened.  Slowly, other foods crept in.  I gave myself permission to "just this time" eat something forbidden.  Here I am again.  Back to a place I didn't want to find myself.  Eating to my hearts content.  No self control.  Filling up til I'm beyond full.  I like feeling full.  Even though it makes me sick.  Back to thinking that it's just too hard to live otherwise.  And then my thoughts are drawn to a friend who laid his 46 year old son to rest last week.  

For 46 years my friend and his wife cared for a child that couldn't care for himself.  Year after year he was asked when they would be putting their son into a home.  List after list they placed their needy child on.  Time after time this child's name would rise to the top.  The answer given was always the same, the parents would say "not now".  Looking in from the outside it seemed an insurmountable burden to bear.  Caregivers needed round the clock for this child turned grown man.  

My friend now weeps daily for the loss of the presence of his child.  His one child that never left home.   I thought it would be a burden he would be able to give up willingly when the time came.  Freedom to not have to make plans around caregivers schedules.  Yet my friend so misses his son who could light up a room with his smile, though he comprehended little he gave much life to those around him.  My friend valued his son.  My friend rose each morning and did what he had to do because he understood the value of one life.  He woke up and did what he had to do in order to keep that one life living to his fullest potential. 

When I put my life in perspective my daily struggles seem so minor.  The inconveniences so small that challenge me.  I often think what if I didn't have a choice as to how I lived?  I don't have to rely on others for my everyday care.  I have limbs that work.  I am not confined by a wheelchair.  I can choose when to eat, what to eat.  Foods that will give me life or contribute to my mediocre state.  I need to give up my idealistic thinking that I will eventually get to a place where living is easy, pain-free, where it doesn't take work to exist.  I am blessed.  I am blessed when I wake up in the morning and I can lift my legs out of bed.  I am blessed when I am able to put a spoon to my mouth and chew.  I am blessed.  My friend was beyond blessed for seeing beauty in the everyday mundane tasks.  

We come with beautiful secrets

We come with purposes written on our hearts, written on our souls

We come to every new morning

With possibilities only we can hold, that only we can hold

Redemption comes in strange places, small spaces

Calling out the best of who we are

And I want to add to the beauty

To tell a better story

I want to shine with the light

That's burning up inside

It comes in small inspirations

It brings redemption to life and work

To our lives and our work

It comes in loving community

It comes in helping a soul find it's worth...

~Add to the Beauty by Sara Groves

   

$40,000 should cover it

Anyone, anyone, $40,000 to spare

The house across town is up for sale.

Covet, Lord, I can't pretend not to

though I'd have to give up my dream of a basement-

at least the kind that has no spiders

dropping their spun webs down from the beams surrounding your head
threatening to choke you as you power along your treadmill walk... 

There is a dining room with space big enough

to feed those who just might wander in,

stairs that lead to rooms where you can stand up tall,

gathering spots that give you room to breathe-

did I mention the kitchen?  

It's open and airy

and I'm certain something that resembles a dishwasher 

(that isn't named Andy, Caleb, Lily or Moriah).

With each passing day as the kids grow a head taller

I have to reign in my frustrations of how smaller

our house appears with each minute and hour.

The master bedroom that can't be off limits 

as it leads to the attic which houses our son

along with boxes of stuff I can't seem to part with.

7 years ago this house seemed so perfect,

now awaiting a miracle to beam me up out of here!

Venting, yes I am venting before I implode, 

before the memories assault me and my willpower gives out

and stuck here forever we will be,

in our tiny little house

filled to the brim with love-

though peering inside you will see a wife, who is also a mother

brewing over what might have been

with your simple investment of $40,000. 

Learning to breathe amidst the clutter

Sitting here paralyzed by a video I took last night.  Lily's dress rehearsal for her dance recital.  I can't stop rewinding.  I wasn't thinking and I ended up sitting on the wrong side to get the ending pose.  I can barely see the back of her head through the smiling happy faces of the other 3 ballerinas.  My heart aches to not have been able to share the vision of that moment.  Seeing that final expression on her face after months of practicing, living her dream.  I am currently contemplating breaking the rules by taping the ending during the real performance, from the other side!  Stuff like this sits like mold in my brain.  Causing the plumbing to back up.  Certain days I play over and over in my mind.  One incident that happened months ago still haunts me when I least expect it.  I chose to ignore a plea for help.  The plea was from someone that I was feeling wasn't worthy of my time, my help, my sacrifice.  I was dressed up, feeling pretty.  I didn't want to do anything that I thought would "dirty" me in any way.  How hypocritical of me.  To not help a fellow human being because I didn't want to get my hands dirty.  My home is currently in a state of utter chaos, dirty upon dirty.  I was asked for help and did nothing.  Instead I chose to watch from my high and mighty perch to see how it all played out.  That situation caused the person asking for help to feel shut out, unwanted by an entire community.  It caused my heart to feel more stained than I ever thought possible.  When did I become so cruel?  When did I stop caring?  When did I start believing that I am more valuable than someone else?  Is there forgiveness that can span the amount of dirt that I have shoveled upon my heart?   

I have recently begun reading a blog that sets my jealously all a flutter.  The words this particular blogger uses are like brushstrokes on a canvas.  Word pictures for the soul.  When you don't think that light could penetrate any further inside- it does.  It finds the parts that are dark, opens them up and heals them.  The words take you away to a place where pains are soothed- connects you back to the Savior.  I find myself gasping for breath when I read the entries.  Swallowing back the lump that has formed in my throat (partly because of my enlarged thyroid but mostly because of the process of tears forming).  I yearn for the wisdom that this writer has, the ability to affect, to find forgiveness.  Perhaps it's because my connection with my heavenly Father has been so short circuited recently on my part.  I yearn to have such faith.

How easy for me to somehow come up with a crazy system in my mind of how I measure up.  IF our home is clean and IF I make a meal, then I am worthy of my wife status.  IF I finish teaching my girls how to read, then I can claim my mom title.  Breathe, I tell myself.  In and out.  Keep at it.  Repeat.  Relish the moment.  The security I have in my Father.  My 8 year old ballerina has mastered the art of living in the moment.  Living to her is now.  Sure she looks forward to special days with anticipation but in the meantime it's all about what her hands are touching, her eyes are seeing.  A rock isn't just a rock to her.  It's a shape to be explored, maybe even painted or given away as a precious jewel.  A path is meant to be followed, a hill to be rolled down, a stream to be splashed in, a creeping crawling critter outfitted with a container for a home, sticks and all...  

Because it's mid afternoon and I haven't eaten a meal or done anything except write this entry, I need to leave you now but not until I type a few more words.  Words from another artist who inspires me.  

"There is Nothing" by Laura Story

Lord, I come before You to honor and adore You

For who You are and all that You have done.

Lord, I am not worthy; my heart is dark and dirty.

Still, somehow, You bid for me to come.

So clothe me, humility;

Remind me that I come before a King.

And there is nothing, there is nothing

More precious, more worthy.

May I gaze deeper; may I stay longer.

May I press onward to know You, Lord...

Wake up only to find that you are still snoring

On May 4th my husband and I celebrated 13 years of marriage.  Pretty amazing he has stuck by my side all these years.  So thankful to have his steady, unwavering support.  He has only used kind and uplifting words when describing me.  My dear husband recently declared to me that I should try breathe right strips.  He said I have started snoring, again.  Or perhaps it is that I never stopped snoring and only now is he noticing it after all this time.  

There were times over the years that loving people with good intentions would comment on this "problem" that I had- college roommates, people I shared a room with during retreats, a family member who will remain nameless that chose to sleep on a sofa (while pregnant) just to get away from the offending snorer.  I never really viewed it as my problem seeing as I was sleeping through it just fine!  There never seemed to be anything that I should be doing to correct it.  

When Andy and I were first married he mentioned my snoring in passing a few times but that was it.  He is a very sound sleeper.  I assumed this "problem" had managed to resolve itself.  In light of this new revelation that Andy is hearing me snoring again for whatever reason, I may just have to give those strips a try.  It's a marriage after all.  After 13 years I still struggle with wanting to take more than I give.  It's a small thing, but it's a choice that I can make to show my husband that I value him and his advice.   

Why I do what I do

Below is a post that I wrote in March and the perfectionist in me said to wait and work on it some more.  Then the procrastinator in me put off  working on it for 2 months.  Finally the pride inside of me drifted away and said "this needs to be posted- don't delay".    

"Why do I pray- do I pray to say I prayed an hour?

Why do I love- do I want you beholden to me?

Why do I help- do I want to hear my name called?

Why do sing?

Search me and know my heart, oh God.

See if there is any wrong thing in me.

All I have really wanted are clean hands and a pure heart."

~Sara Groves (Know my Heart)

Above are lyrics from an artist that is dear to me.  That song reached into my core, especially so because I've made many of my ministries very open for public view!  Why do I do what I do?  Is it to be noticed?  To edify others?  To have people tell me that I am good at something?  To find worth?  All of these questions and more I am constantly seeking to answer, honestly.

Last fall when I was considering starting my own jewelry line I struggled with so many thoughts.  Do I really think that I am any good?  Would anyone buy anything?  I'm just putting stuff together, not even making anything from scratch, I'm not a true artist.  It was about that time that we headed out to see Michelle Tumes in concert.  Small, small church.  We sat maybe 6 rows back.  Beautiful, soft spoken Australian lady.  She is such an amazing song writer. Able to compose for an entire orchestra.  Such a person with her talent and here she was in a small church taking time to minister to me.  She has had her own struggles with sharing her songs publicly, wondering how people would view her music that she had poured her heart into.  Then she realized that it didn't matter.  This was what God had given her to do.  She had songs that she needed to share and opportunities eventually opened up for her to do so.

This encouraged me as I thought about my business, my writing.  I have such a need to share.  I am fearful at times that people will misunderstand me, my motives.  I am fearful that at times my motives aren't what they should be or that I will fail in someway.  The truth is I am terrified of opening myself up for public scrutiny.  I know others will see right through to my imperfections and question what right I have to serve.  I serve the Creator of the universe.  I truly believe that.  The Creator of the stars, the flowers, the fish in the sea.  Have you been to a pet store lately to see some of His unique creations?  

I believe that the desires I have in me to create are from Him.  I can't say that I "enjoy" the process of creating, of actually writing, or performing a song.  I tremble at the thought of standing before others ready to share my vision through song, at standing behind a table with my designs spread out for people to see, of organizing my photographs for others to view and even now sitting at a computer typing my rampant thoughts knowing they will eventually be read by another set of eyes.  I think surely there are others that do these things so much better, why do I spend my hours toiling away on what will not last?  There are days when I have to will my mind and hands to work... because I know the toll it takes on my body.  It takes work- most of it in my mind, pushing aside my fears.  Yet, it's what I am compelled to do.      

SIGN UP TO RECEIVE MY BLOGS VIA EMAIL

Here it is, the final word.  I will no longer be sending out group emails or notification links.  I finally figured out the easiest way for me to handle it in a non-stressful or added steps way.  I recently subscribed to be on Elanas Pantry email list.  I looked at my confirmation email and noticed it was run by FeedBurner.  To make this as short as possible I was able to put FeedBurner on my blog site so I no longer have to do anything.  FeedBurner takes care of it all for me...  I write and eventually you should receive!

*******You will need to type in your own email address where it says SIGN UP TO RECEIVE MY BLOGS... only if you would like to have them emailed to you.  It's all up to you now******* 

That's it.  I'm done bugging and "testing" you.  It was fun while it lasted.  Greener pastures up ahead! 

My soul is filled

I just finished up a full weekend of concerts.  Classical.  19 piece orchestra plus organ accompanied a chorus made up of almost 90 voices.  There's nothing like having your feet go numb for the sake of singing with strings playing only a few feet away from you.  Nothing can compare.  Except in my dream world I would be paid to sing with the strings instead of the other way around.  In comparison to the food world it would be like eating a Friendly's Reese's Pieces Sundae as a food critic and receiving reimbursement upon completion (along with only half of the calories counting).  Side note:  Upon looking up how to spell this particular sundae I found a list of healthier alternatives from Friendly's.  The healthiest alternative listed was Spanish Rice.  I'm not sure how eating that would take the edge off of desiring a sundae or even coming close to replicating any part of the Reese's Sundae.  Then again, perhaps I am underestimating the power of this particular rice.  I'm obviously not Spanish.

We performed the Faure Requiem which was just beautiful.  Our director, Katie, managed to get most of the soprano section to hold their wobble.  She worked hard to make us sound more angelic-like.  I was always so moved by the second movement.  It is written for the altos to begin and then the men come in and there is this playful banter.  It is very moody.  In parts of the Poulenc Gloria I was transported to movie land.  I recently rented the movie musical Sweeney Todd.  Yes, a bit graphic in spots.  I did quite a bit of shielding my eyes from the spurting blood.  The score was absolutely splendid, imaginative, playful.  If you could get over the fact that Johnny Depp was singing then all was well.  During the fifth movement of the Poulenc I was the star in my own movie, the sequel to Sweeney Todd.  Less blood in this one. 

The first night I looked out into the audience to see that the youngest ones attending had managed to stay awake for the whole concert.  That is a first.  Before leaving the house I suggested to my children that they take something along to color.  They all said they didn't need to, they would be listening to the music.  So thankful that they have supported me over the years through my chorale involvement by attending and finding ways to make me feel special.  They brought me purple tulips.  The same tulips that just days earlier I had longingly gazed upon in the grocery store- without my dear husband's knowledge!  

I can only hope that as the older generations pass away that my children will be first in line to take their place as patrons of excellent music.  There is something about notes placed in just the right spot and performed with such sensitivity that has great power to stir the soul.  My soul is filled.