Where dreams go to die

I got engaged on December 23, 1994. We were poor college students, working our ways through school on our own.  There wasn't much money to buy a ring, which wasn't a huge deal to me. My future husband said, "Get something you can live with for a while, and we'll get you want you really want later." 

His step mom worked at an antique shop that carried jewelry. He refused not only to choose the ring himself, he refused to even go with me to choose it. He was afraid, he said, of influencing my monumental decision. He wanted me to get what I wanted. So my mom and I went, meeting his step mom there. 

Did I mention we were poor college students? We decided our price range beforehand, and his step mom had a selection for me to choose from laid out on blue velvet trays. I was like a kid in a candy store. I wanted a solitaire, I thought, but when my eyes landed on a what they called a dinner ring from the 1940's that all changed. It was sparkly and unique, and I fell in love with it. 

A saleslady brought out a telephone on a silver tray with my soon-to-be finance on the line where I cried into the phone that I had found my ring while my mom and future mother-in-law beamed in the background.

It was all very sweet and romantic.

They gave us the ring at cost less 10% since we had a connection. The ring was $800, and they allowed us to make  interest free monthly payments until we paid it off. That was really kind.

I still really love my ring. I love that it's old and that someone else wore it and loved it too. I love that it's not a real engagement ring, and I've only seen one other one like it these 16 years. 

I thought about the ring I wanted, the ring that I would get later, and I came across this picture in a magazine. It was an add for Tiffany, and along with dreaming about going to Tiffany in New York City one day, I decided this was the ring I wanted. I cut out this picture and it stayed on my refrigerator for about 12 years. 

Really. 

My grandmother got a solitaire for her 23rd wedding anniversary. I think it was 23 years. She loved that ring. She had wed with a simple wedding band and wore it all the years until she got her new ring, although she continued to wear her original band on her right hand. She loved that ring. She wasn't a jewelry person, really. In fact, she is the most frugal person I've ever met. She wasn't a spender. She was a saver. This ring seemed out of character for her, but maybe that's why she treasured it so.

It was to go to my aunt, my dad's older sister. When she was killed in a car accident several years ago, my grandmother looked at me, covered my hand with hers and said, "You'll get my ring now."

Oh boy. 

Well, that got my husband off the hook for having to buy me one. I figured he could get the sapphires to put alongside her diamond and then I'd have my dream ring.
  
Well. 

As I grew in my faith I started to see everything from a different perspective. Things that used to be important fell away. Some slowly at first, painfully. My temporal love of things that sparkled was a strong one. 

I noticed the small clipping of "my" ring buried under family pictures, notes made for myself and drawings from the kids still stuck to the refrigerator this week. I took the clipping down and sat it on the counter. I looked at it for a long time. 

I didn't want that ring anymore. 

Now I feel the burden of my grandmother's ring too. I can't wear it. It's too big. Too beautiful. She's still here, but not really here. When I have that ring, it will mean that she's really gone. 

I don't think I can sell it. How do you sell something so sentimental. I have no idea of its worth, but even $3,000 could put a well in an impoverished community in India to provide drinking water to people who don't have that luxury.

How can I wear a ring that represents so much relief for so many people?

My own ring appraised for much more than what we paid for it. It too could provide a well. 

I can't get past that. 

And this is where I get stuck. I'm not really sure how to live in this world and yet please the God who wrote the Bible. It seems really easy and yet horrifically difficult. I rely on the Spirit to lead and guide and yet then I wonder if He already did. In the Bible. Already. 


And here we are in the Christmas season, where buying and giving are so important. And again I struggle. Do my kids need more? Of course not. They can't keep clean and straight what they already have. I insisted to my husband who loves to give gifts that I don't need or want anything this Christmas either. That made him sad. So again, I feel like I'm swimming upstream.


My dream Christmas would be to spend a couple of weeks cozied up in a cabin in the mountains, with a Charlie Brown tree strung with a string of colorful lights and strings of popcorn. No gifts allowed. Just blazing fires, warm comforting food, board and card games, playing in the snow and lots of reading aloud from the Bible.


No stuff.


I'm tired of stuff.


So. I took this picture off of the kitchen counter where it had laid as I studied it, feeling these thoughts whirling around in my head. I felt sadness. I felt hope. I'm thankful for the promise that God will complete what He started. 


I watched at this small pictured floated into the garbage can. It came to rest among the morning's coffee grinds, old coloring pictures, crumpled up pieces of paper. It gleamed up at me as beautiful and as sparking as it had from the side of my refrigerator all those years. I stood there for just a moment, feeling a bit like I was saying goodbye to an old friend. Then I closed the lid and went off to address Christmas cards.


I guess it could be said that this dream went to the garbage can to die. And I'm okay with that.

I get my blog back

I guess my blog hasn't actually gone anywhere, but I feel like it has. 

I signed the boys up for soccer class and to free up our week, I scheduled the classes for Saturday mornings.

I didn't really think that through.

Like everybody else in the world, Saturday morning is the only morning I don't have to get up and GO. And when you have to leave the house at 8:20 to get to soccer on a Saturday morning, you realize how much you miss your stay-in-your-pj's-and-blog-and-drink-coffee mornings.

Especially those Saturdays after you stay up until 3 or 4 am with your girlfriends or at Secret Church. 

Those were not fun.

Besides my at home pj time, I missed blogging. My brain misses it. And I miss the lazy mornings of not having to be up and going so early. So we're sitting out the next soccer session. Not just so I can sit in my pj's on Saturday mornings, but maybe that's like 40% of the reason. That probably makes me a bad mom, but I'm totally okay with that.

And with that, I'm looking forward to my date with my blog. In the morning. Pj's on, coffee in hand. 

I can't wait.

Terribly girlie post

You Must Go Here First!

(click the link)

A friend of mine suggested this cleansing method a while ago. I was too busy to worry with it, but after hearing several of my friend's rave reviews, I decided to try it. I was a little worried about trying anything with castor oil, since usually when castor oil is involved, a baby falls out. Since that's not in my plan at the moment, I was a little skeptical. They convinced me to give it a try and my sweet friend even gave me some of her castor oil. And she promised a baby wouldn't fall out.

So I tried this, and I'm here to talk YOU into trying it. Oh my.

First of all, it works. I typically have the skin of a 13 year old boy, and it's been a while since my skin was this clear. The article explains why it works, but I'm just here to tell you, oh boy, it does.

Secondly, it won't kill you. I'll spare you my "we're killing ourselves with all these chemicals we use in our homes and put on and in our bodies" speech and just tell you that common sense tells you that olive oil and castor oil are not going to harm you in any way. Perfectly safe. No harmful ingredients. No chemicals. Good for you.

Thirdly, it's cheap. I cook with olive oil all the time, and the castor oil can be bought locally or ordered more cheaply at Amazon.com. No money on cosmetics with all of the harmful ingredients.

Fourth. It works. It's amazing. Since I have that teenage boy skin, I use the higher dose of castor oil, but you may be better with the lesser amount. Play with it and see what works for you.

My precious daughter came downstairs with a small bump on her nose the other morning. (She's now at the age where this stuff embarrasses her, so don't mention that you read this here!) I have started this treatment on her, and I hope this may spare her some of the embarrassment of living with bad skin through the teenage years. I'd love to help her avoid some of that horror...

So just try this. I'm pretty positive that you're going to be impressed. And I'll even order the castor oil for you!

Fall

As the leaves drop from the trees and the Holidays approach, I get a little melancholy. I get lost in the beauty of Fall. I adore the beautiful splay of brilliant colors that paint the canvas of my everyday activities. I love the reluctant cool air that finally soothes after a seemingly eternal summer. I love the feel of a sweater on my arms and the comfort of heavy blankets on a warm bed. Almost as soon as Fall arrives, I begin to mourn its passing. I always have. At first thought, Christmas seems overwhelming and looming with lists and business I'd rather avoid. I prefer the long walks accompanied by the sounds of crisp leaves scurrying across the pavement. I love the brilliant sunsets of this time of year. I'd like to stay here for awhile longer.

I came across this poem by Ruth Bell Graham, and it made my heart happy to see that perhaps another person shared my love of this season:

They come and go so quickly
Spring and Fall...
as if they had not really come at all.
Perhaps 
we could not take
too much of beauty,
breath-catching glory,
ecstasy without relief;
and so...
God made them
brief. 
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Happy Birthday, Laney (Revisited)

Today is my girl's birthday. I have a nine year old. Amazing. 

I wrote the following post in 2007. I cringe a tad as I read it now, and realize that I need to put into practice my "Blue Jazz" way at looking back on my life. It is what it is. This post is still true even if I wish to re-type it and do it differently. But, this is still good, and I wanted to be reminded of it today. (But really? Pink type? Why?)

Happy Birthday, Laney

I'll have pictures later, but I didn't want her birthday to get away without me posting some thoughts. My friends have posted such eloquent tributes to their children on their birthdays, and I wanted to do the same for Laney. Honestly, I can't put into words how I feel about her. Does that make me a bad Mommy? Or a bad Blogger?? Oh well.

6 years ago, at 5:37 p.m. Laney came into the world. Today is her "real" birthday, since she was born on Thanksgiving. I love that she was born that day, because Thanksgiving has always been one my favorite holidays. It was amazing. She wasn't due for 5 more days, and Allen and I had plans, of course. We messed up everyones' Thanksgiving!! 12 people waited for her to be born for 7 hours all smushed into one tiny waiting room. It was crazy.

Allen and I had watched "Legally Blonde" and ate Papa John's the night before she was born. My last night of nothing-to-do-ness. So last night, we ordered Papa John's and were going to watch Legally Blonde, but got busy and didn't. We wanted to recreate that night before she was born. Such sweet memories.

You know, Laney saved my life. I was in a period of pretty heavy self destruction when I got pregnant with her. We weren't ready to have kids. We lived in a 700 square foot rented house in Homewood. I worked between 40 and 80 hours at my job. Allen played in a band all over the Southeast. I wasn't sure if I even wanted kids. I was 28, and really had no plans to start a family.

And there was that test. "Positive." Wow. I'll never forget that feeling. "Things are never going to be the same." And they weren't. {And then intense nausea. (!) }

I honestly don't know how many ways God had tried to get my attention before I got pregnant. Probably a lot. I'm not sure how long He was going to let me go on, being so far from Him. I'm so incredibly thankful that He allowed me to get pregnant, instead of the thousands of other ways I can think of that I would personally bring a disobedient child home. Beating me to a pulp sounds much like what I deserved.

And they way He worked out my job. I was able to ask for, and receive, a demotion (!) to reduce my responsibilities and my hours, but keep my pay. I was able to quit work at 28 weeks, and get full disability. I even got full pay 6 weeks after she was born, even though it was clear that I wasn't coming back. He provided us with a huge- to us back then- house. Everything we needed was provided with ease. Man.

That is God. No time in my life, have I ever felt His provision, His love and His grace more during those 9 months. I was so NOT deserving of any of that. I had spent 8 years, completely oblivious to God, spinning and twirling through my own narcissistic little life.

So when I look at Laney, I don't just see her. I mean, she *is* amazing. I can say that. I'm her mother. She's happy, sweet, smart, devoted, caring, loving, nurturing, determined, thorough, perceptive, gracious, polite, talented, sparkly and just anointed. But when I look at her, I am reminded that she is a gift, and God used her in a way that I can't even describe. I'm sure He would have brought me around one way or another, but He chose her. That never, ever ceases to astound me.

And I don't think she'll ever understand what she did for me. By just being born. I gotta say it again. Man. That is just the coolest thing ever. 
November 22, 2007

This just makes me happy...

Proof that you can kinda dance and scratch your ear all at the same time! 

This is how God works here...

God has been pouring over me phrase lately: "Christ, be the Center..." 

Since you may be singing it already, I'll help you out:

But He has. Demanding that I make Him the center of everything. And I mean, that's a good thing. I'm not complaining. I definitely see this is as a way to live, continually and forever. 

I won't go off on that tangent now. 

I was watching a movie on Ruth Bell Graham, and she mentioned this as a focal point of her marriage. Christ as the center, like the center of an old wagon wheel. All the spokes point to Him, and in a marriage as you get closer to Him, the Center, you get closer to each other.

Yep, I can see that. 

And when He's the center, everything in your life radiates outward from Him too. It goes both ways. You live in the overflow of that Center. See?

So I begin to think in the way of an old wagon wheel a lot.

So here are the spokes of late:

1. We're studying American History, which I may or may not have gushed about here. I love it and studying history with the freshly minted Redemptive History on my mind has been challenging and extremely thought provoking too. (I have another post brewing about this also.) We've focused on the Puritans the last couple of weeks, and one of Laney's assignments has been to research the Great Awakening and write a mini-report on it. (Can I gush about how much I love Sonlight  right now? I mean, I love it.) We checked out books on Edwards and Whitefield, and only those two as not to overwhelm her too much, and I'm in absolute heaven reading and discussing all of this with my daughter.

2. Our Bible study group is doing a study on prayer. I don't like the study, and find myself researching and searching for information and resources on prayer. It's been challenging and hard, but I'm thankful for what God is teaching me, even through a study we don't like or agree with.