Unpacking

There is a pretty heavy piece of baggage that I’ve been carrying around for a while now that I think I’m ready to unpack. No, I haven’t been on a kick ass vacation in the tropics or a refreshing visit to some remote hot springs. The journey wasn’t nearly that relaxing or rewarding. The baggage didn’t come from a trip where I took a lot of pictures to post in a new Facebook photo album. I don’t carry it with me because it brings back fond memories.

I lug it around, because I just haven’t found anywhere else to put it.

On the side of the bag is a word that is winning games with my mind. But I’m tired of carrying it around with me. It’s been weighing me down, so I’m ready to unpack. I’m almost scared to even unzip the bag for fear of the sheer mess of crap that could come tumbling out of it. Stand back…here it goes.


I’m unpacking disappointment. It wasn’t what I wanted. It wasn’t what it should have been. But it was what it was. And that is ok.

I’m unpacking shame. There is no need for it. I showed up, and that is enough.

I’m unpacking anger. It takes more energy than peace, and leaves deeper wrinkles.

I’m unpacking failure. I can honestly say that I gave it everything I had. I fought a good fight with every ounce of energy in me. So in the end, that’s anything but failure.

I’m unpacking fear. What reason do I have to fear an ending, when an ending opens the door to the next beginning? Just like my two year old I should run with reckless abandon…and if I fall down, I will simply get back up again.

I’m unpacking regret. The journey didn’t go quite as planned…but that doesn’t mean that there isn’t value to be gleaned from the experience. So let the gleaning begin.

There it is. The bag is unpacked, and my whole mess of crap is now out in the open, naked and vulnerable for all to see. For some reason I think if it’s out there it will not be able to hurt me. If I face the contents of the bag head on, with conviction and strength, if I call the mess in the bag what it really truly is, then I have more power over it than it does over me. If I pour out the contents and let them scatter to the wind...

... then I win.

If I unpack the bag, I can move on.

Start over. Clean slate. Second chance. Lighter load. Mulligan.

The word on the side of the bag is LOVE. And with the old unpacked,

there is room for something new.

The Lather Lady

I have a new hobby.

A friend of mine recently came for a quick visit, and she educated me on how to make my own laundry detergent. It was a fairly simple process, and I enjoyed it so much that I naturally decided that I needed to learn to make my own SOMETHING ELSE!

So I did what any calm, rational person would do. I hopped on the internet and ordered a bulk shipment of caustic lye and essential oils.

True Story.

Then, I roped a friend from work into being my cohort.

It's soap making time baby!

It was a neat little experiment. I felt like a mad scientist with my little safety goggles and my hazardous lye solution. Above is a photo of "The Virgin Batch." It is a little pinker than I intended...and even though I dumped a lot of Strawberries and Cream fragrance oil in there...it still smells a little on the watermelon side of things. But I used a bar the other night, and it didn't burn my skin off. And really...what more could you possibly want?!?!

I feel a craft fair coming on!

(Hey...gotta do something. I have 12 bars of Watermelon scented Strawberries and Cream Soap to get rid of!)

Super Girl!

This is me working out.

I couldn't resist taking a picture of my upside down spread on the aerial triangle.

However...fun as this may be...I can only find time to get my smooshy butt to class once a week....

....so tomorrow I'm getting up at 6AM to go running.

Stay Tuned.

Who does this belong to?

Dear Two-Year Old that I Love More than Anything In the Entire Universe.... Not EVERYTHING is yours. Yes, that bear and that ball...all yours. I understand that I am not to touch them or move them without your permission. No need to make that face at me....I get it. However.... That box of tampons you were moving around the house this morning?...not yours. Give them back. Signed, The Lady on the Toilet who Just Realized Our Slight Miscommunication about Who Owns What Around Here A.K.A Mommy The above situation (and situations similar to it!) have been happening more and more often in my house lately. E has suddenly decided that absolutely everything he is able to get his little hands on just MUST be his. And upon this realization he holds the acquired item up to his cheek, looks me in the eye with ferocious conviction, and says rather defiantly, "Mine." At first it was cute... ...now I'm thinking there is going to be a "Come to Jesus" meeting about this at some point down the road. But as he often does, my toddler has reminded me of a truth that I often file away into the remote corners of my mind...you know that place...it's where dust and the vague memory of how to do a geometric proof reside. E's sudden feeling of ownership over everything he sees has reminded me just who I belong to. It has reminded me that I serve a God who looks at me and wants nothing more than to hold me close. When He sees me, he doesn't see my sin. He doesn't see the fact that I am crawling with imperfection and covered with the sheer ickyness that is my human nature. He doesn't see that I have 10 more pounds to lose or that my mind is clouded with grayness about aspects of life right now. When He looks at me, He sees only one thing. The one thing that is powerful enough to make even the darkest shadows melt away and the vilest of my nature to be concealed with scarlet. When He looks at me, His interpretation of what He sees makes everything else utterly insignificant. He looks at me and simply thinks... "Mine."

Yum?

So the other day I'm frolicking in my local Publix. (Because that's what I do in Publix. It's almost like going to Disney World for me. Everyone just LOVES me in there!) And my eyes happen to fall on this....





That face you're making right now??? Yeah...me too.

For Martin (and the finger pointers)

I recently noticed that I have a new critic. I’m sure he is not my first, and I’d bet a 6-pack of deliciously, thirst-quenching Diet Coke that he won’t be my last. However, Martin is the first to publicly critique my blog…and me. Therefore, he holds a special place in the Blogdom, and thus deserves a special note from the Queen of this particular Blogdom….little old me.

My Dear Martin,
I do not know who you are or what your beef is. However, you seem very content to offer judgement on my personal ramblings and have obviously taken personal offense at how very un-Christian I am in some of my thoughts.

You appear to have misunderstood my claim as a Christian to be a claim of perfection.

Let me take some stress off of you by being the FIRST to admit that I am not perfect. In fact, (and this is a little secret that I will offer free of charge to you and any of your cohorts who are frustrated with hypocritical Christians,) by claiming that you are a Christian, you are openly admitting to the world that you are HORRIBLY imperfect and in need of Christ’s redeeming grace.

You see, My Martin, Christianity is not about being perfect, or having holy thoughts, or being more deserving of Heaven than the next guy. The very essence of being a Christian is about realizing that you are in fact, massively flawed, filled with impure and hateful thoughts, and that you don’t deserve to lick the molecules of dust from the flip-flop of Christ, let alone share a spot next to Him in Heaven.

I never claimed to be deserving of the sacrifice that Christ made for me…and if you read my blog long enough you will understand that I never will. I am not any better than the next guy, any more likely to tell the truth, to act in love, to speak with wisdom, or to be any more compassionate. I am, in essence, a flawed human being. True story.

I am a Christian by the simple fact that I realize the depth of my sin, and thus, I realize my desperate need for a Grace-giving Savior. I am a work in progress….and My Martin…let's be honest...

I need a lot of work.

Thank God, the Grace Gets Greater.

Sincerely,
The Queen of this Particular Blogdom

Expose'

Dear Man Who Exposed Himself to Me at the Corner of Main and Locust.....

I realize your goal in doing so was to get some attention. I think you succeeded, though probably not as you had originally intended.

It's very cold outside....shrinkage is not your friend. I was not impressed. Maybe we could try this routine again when it's not snowing.

Until then, I will reserve judgement. Happy Tuesday!

Signed,
That Girl who Laughed at You This Morning

History

January 20th, 2009...to many it will be the day they watched history take place. It will be a day of getting a taste of what change is to come. It will be a day that they will look back on, remembering where they were and what they were doing, when they heard our newly appointed President Obama speak with calmness, passion, and clarity about what it means to hope in our government.

For me...it is all of those things.

And I am left thinking of the excitement that this historical day stirs, and the energy that must have been felt in Washington D.C. this morning.

But sadly, I'm afraid that what I might remember thinking the most vividly, when I recall this remarkable day in our nation's history will be "My word! That is a VERY large bow!"

Trash Watch

There's a chance that my neighbor is mad at me. I'm not 100% sure...but I have a feeling she's annoyed with me at the moment.

I think this because my trash bin is still sitting at the edge of my driveway. Trash day is on Wednesday, and every Wednesday morning I haul the bin out to the edge of my drive. And every Wednesday afternoon, by the time I get home, my neighbor has hauled it back to it's dwelling place before I get a chance to do it.

I've always appreciated the fact that she's so considerate. I mean...I AM capable of hauling my own stinky trash bin back to the side of the house, but it's really sweet of her to do it for me. And while I've never actually thanked her for doing it, I kind of got used to it.

But this week, she hasn't done it. And since I've had Evan with me, it's not been high on my list of priorities to go out in the freezing cold and haul it back in. So it's Friday morning, and my trash bin is still sitting out by the road...it looks lonely now...since all of its trash bin friends have been rolled back to their rightful spots. It's like a sad little kid with no one to play with.

Maybe she's mad because she took the time to put Christmas wreaths on all of my windows over the holidays and I didn't show the appropriate appreciation.

Maybe it's because she bought me and my son Christmas presents and I didn't get her anything.

Maybe it's because she set me up with her son, Mr. Right, and I broke his heart.

Or maybe she's not mad and she just figures "Hey...it's 7 degrees out here...you can haul in your own damn trash bin."

I'm hoping it's because of the freezing temperatures. But I'm fearful it's because she thinks I'm an unappreciative, heartbreaking, bitch. If my trash bin keeps getting left out in the cold, I'm afraid I'll have my answer.

Be thankful you don't live next door to me. Apparently I'm a horrible neighbor!

A $3.7million booty call....

http://www.foxnews.com/story/0,2933,480037,00.html Apparently a 22 year old virgin in California is auctioning off her maiden voyage. She's offering to sell her virginity to the highest bidder, and thus far, the highest bidder is willing to pay a whopping $3.7 million for the first crack at her "good girl!" I'm going to resist the urge to offer up any kind of moral interpretation on this situation, because, let's face it....that could get me on a rather high soap box for a pretty significant amount of time...and I still have loads of reading to accomplish for my marital life cycle class. Also, I don't seem to be quite the entreprenuer that this girl is, seeing as how I just pissed my virginity away on love. All morality aside... Does the guy paying for this experience not realize that we're in a very fragile economy? I mean...I've personally never visited the "lush rainforest" but I've heard from multiple sources that if there's no emotion involved then one "lush rainforest" looks and feels surprisingly similar to the next. Why pay such a top dollar price for something that isn't going to be any different than something he could get on a Las Vegas street corner for $20? Times are tough, Dude. Shop generic!

Hello!

Because I'm kind of a dork.... I'd like to welcome Beloved Benevolence to my blog! She is officially the first "Follower" of my blog who I have never met! Beloved, if you are still following, thanks! You have managed to make me feel wildly popular...all by just being interested in my random ramblings! **NOTE** If anyone else wants to be a "Follower" I'll send a shout out to you too. Yes....I'm that much of a dork. It's good to be self-aware. : )

Winds of Change

A couple of weeks ago I ended things with Mr. Right. Now, if you'll recall, just a few blogs ago I was as happy as a lark and couldn't ask for anything more. And then the wind blew, and I changed my mind. Mr. Right was great. He was wonderful to me. He bought me a new toilet! I mean, really....is it possible for a man to meet your basic needs in any a more obvious way? What better way to really say "I'm here for you" then to provide you with a shiny new piece of porcelain that not only flushes away your crap on command, but does not have a tonka truck wedged in it courtesy of your two-year old?! He really tried hard to be everything I needed. And for a while, I thought it was right where I wanted to be. But I felt myself getting comfortable having someone to "take care of me." And I don't like that. A lot of people probably think I'm crazy. Who doesn't want someone there to take care of you? Who doesn't want someone who wants to meet your every need? Who doesn't want Prince Charming riding up in a shiny new Lexus to sweep you off your feet? Apparently....me. I always wanted the fairy tale. I spent a rock solid 22 years waiting for Prince Charming and another 5 being disappointed that the man I married wasn't interested in being him. So after all of that energy and effort, you'd think that a wonderfully kind man with a gentle heart and a stable income would be a welcome change. But I very quickly realized that I don't want Prince Charming. It's not that I don't want to find love. I do. My heart is open to the possibility of falling madly in love and promising my life to someone again. I love the idea of being married again...someday. But I have spent the last 15 months rebuilding my life and claiming my identity. It has been a tremendously long and painful process. But it has been the most rewarding experience of my life. I wouldn't wish the pain of divorce on anyone. But the value of the tears I cried over these past months is worth so much more to me than the irrational dream of the fairy tale. I don't need Prince Charming. If I happen to find myself trapped in the tower.... ...you better believe I'll make it out on my own. And maybe...just maybe...when I find my way to freedom...there will be a good man there who will say, "I knew you could do it. And I figured you'd be thirsty...so I brought you a diet coke." Maybe it's not quite Prince Charming....but dang, it's hard to turn down a diet coke. : )