Weirdo.

You know those people who are just different...abnormal...strange, who don't act and think and speak like everyone else, who don't meet the status quo, who defy social expectations, the awkward...the weirdos?

That's me.

It hit me last weekend. I'm weird. I mean, I've never really "fit in" with the "cool crowd". [Hello - I'm still using the word "cool"...] In high school I had a few popular friends, but they were only my friends when no one else was around. I have a list of humiliating memories [some are more recent than others]. I'm kind of nerdy and awkward...I've know this about myself for awhile now. And, to be honest, I'm really pretty okay with that. I now realize that the whole "fitting in" thing really isn't all it's cracked up to be.

HOWEVER, I was abruptly reminded few days ago, just how weird other people think I am. Ha! Sigh.

It all began at a family gathering. [These sort of revelations often do, I suppose.] My brother-in-law and his girlfriend [who are in their 30's] were sitting in the hot tub. I was sitting at the table on the deck beside them and the conversation began something like this:

His girlfriend: "So...how did you two [my husband and I] meet?"

Okay, so the rest of the conversation is mostly irrelevant to the story...I'll skip the details of our love story for now and cut to the point: I married J. when I was only 19. He was my high-school sweetheart [sort-of]. Really, I adored him from the day I met him and we became best friends who knew we loved each other and planned to marry one day. We didn't "date" like most people date. By the time we were dating we had already talked about marriage. I was 15 when our friendship began. He is four years older.

Alright, you have the basic background. As I'm telling the story to her [who, by the way - I just met], my Mother-in-Law, who is also sitting at the table nearby interjects: "And they didn't have sex until they were married!"

To which my Brother-in-Law bursts out in laughter. His girlfriend glances back and forth between him and I, unsure of what the appropriate response is, and then finally settles for a look of confusion and subtle amusement. "Really?" She asked timidly...as though she were afraid to put me on the spot. Meanwhile, his laughter turns to concern. "Oh wait, is she serious? That's not a joke?" was written all over his eyes.

Mom: "Heather's first kiss was on her wedding day." Then she twirled around to face my 12-year-old niece. "You know the story, right? I tell you about it all the time. Who do your kisses belong to...???"

Embarrassed and slightly annoyed, my niece chanted back: "I know. Jesus."

My brother chuckling again, nervously. His girlfriend is still waiting in bewilderment for an answer. I nod. "It's true." Then excuse myself to check on the oven.

I shuffled into the kitchen, tying to think though the awkwardness of it all. It sounds crazy and weird. I know it does. But it wasn't. I mean, it was because I wanted to kiss him. But it was really special to wait. It was really loving for him to wait for me. I knew he wanted me because he loved ME and everything else was icing on the cake.

No one ever told me that I HAD to wait until we were married to kiss him, or that my kisses belonged to Jesus. I made a commitment in my own heart that I wanted my first kiss to be on my wedding day.

I remember several years before I knew J. very well, another guy I knew had asked me if he could kiss me. I smiled and said, "No." He was surprised. "Why not?" He asked. "You don't like me?"

"No, I do."

"Then...what?"

"Well,...I" I hesitated. I knew it was weird.

"Just tell me..."

By now my cheeks felt hot. "Okay. Um... I kind of want my first kiss to be on my wedding day."

He stared. It was the same look that my brother's girlfriend gave me in the hot tub: bewilderment. "Oh. Huh. [pause] I kind of expected you to tell me you have a boyfriend." I shook my head. There was a long and awkward pause. Then he spoke again, "So...really? You've never been kissed before?"

[Super embarrassed now...] "No."

"Wow. Uh, well, I think that's cool. I mean, I can't do that, but man it really makes me want to kiss you now! You sure you want to wait?"

I laugh and sigh, slightly relieved that he might sort-of understand. "Yeah."

"Okay, then. Sorry, that was um...well...I respect that," he shrugged. "I hope you get that first kiss."

Our friendship quickly changed. He was not at all interested in me anymore. He treated me with a new kind of respect/caution, as though I were an item displayed in a museum, roped off with a "do not touch" sign to be briefly admired and then passed by, and gave his attention to other girls.

Fast forward several years. I am crazy about J. and have not yet told him about the kiss thing. I've been playing the scenario in my head. What will I say? What will I do if he tries to kiss me? Is it even that important to me? What if that's too weird for him? I decided to tell him, but if it was a deal-breaker for him, then I would forget that whole "first kiss on my wedding day" thing - it wasn't worth losing him.

When that moment came, and I thought he might kiss me, I told him. I wanted my first kiss to be on my wedding day, but I understood it that was too weird for him. His expression was intrigue. He thought a moment...a really, really long moment. "I want that for you." He answered. From then on he was as committed to my decision as I was [at times, more committed than I was] and my lips were kissed for the first time when the pastor said, "You may kiss the bride."

Now - full disclosure here people: J. kissed me before we were married. He'd kissed my cheek and my forehead and my hand. But only my husband has ever kissed my lips.

Back to the original story.

So...my Brother-in-Law's girlfriend followed me into the kitchen a few minutes later. "Really?" She asked again. I nodded. "Wow. That is so awesome! I'm jealous. I'm really so jealous."

J. and I talked about it later.

"I don't have any regrets, Heather. Do you?" He asked.

"No." I smile.

No regrets.

Now, just to clarify, I'm not suggesting that others should wait until they are married to kiss, or that I think it is wrong to kiss before you are married.

But that's part of our story. For us, it was a way to love each other. It was a way for him to show me that he loved me for more than just outer beauty and the pleasure I could give him. It was a way for me to show my husband that I respected him and honored him enough to share my beauty and my body only with him. It was really intimate to not kiss. How weird is that?! And now, lucky, lucky me...I get to kiss him all the time.

Maybe I was just young and ignorant, but I never even considered whether we would enjoy having sex once we were married. That just kind of seemed obvious. "Sexual compatibility" didn't ever cross my mind. I loved that man. I knew he loved me. I was incredibly happy holding his hand, being held in his arms. I knew we would enjoy sex with each other. And for us, sex isn't just sex. Yes it is physical and fun; but it's more than that too. Sex is an expression of our commitment and love. It is comfort when we are hurting. It is celebration when we are joyful together. It is intimacy and passion.

I don't know what it is like to sleep with a man and wake up never to see him again. I don't know what it is to share my heart with someone and have them walk away because they became bored of our relationship. I can imagine. And I think it would shatter me.

So, while some might think it strange, or odd, or not believe it is even possible, I'm kind of glad that I'm a weirdo. I am thankful for my husband, who not only accepted my weirdness, but adored it. Here we are 11 years later with no regrets. Our marriage isn't a perfect "happily ever after". But I am really thankful for the love we share, and the story we have to tell - even if it is a little weird.

Grace.

Grace.

It is my daughter's middle name.
It is what we call the prayer we say before a meal.
It is getting what we don't deserve.

It is unnatural to me.

When that one person who really deserves to be smacked upside the head is hurting - albeit over messes they have created for his/herself - and my response is compassion, that's unnatural. It's not my own "gracious" nature responding to that person. That is the Spirit of a loving God at work in my heart as I open my mouth to speak.

My mind says, "let 'em have it", and my words come out gentle...my heart sympathizes with the remorse and the guilt and the shame. Why? Because I too have fallen short of perfection. I have failed the people I love [and the people I should have loved better]. I have strayed from the path and walked on the proverbial lawn with that huge, prominently displayed "DO NOT WALK ON THE GRASS" sign right in front of me.

I have sinned.

We all have sinned, and don't measure up to the glory that God displays in His character.

Yet, while we were still living in our sin - disregarding the warnings, ignoring our consciences and choosing to do what made us feel good in the moment over what is right and honorable...even in that moment, whatever that moment is for each of us, He still loved us. He still loves you.

And He paid the ultimate price to prove it. The payment for sin is death. That's what our wrongdoing earns us. That's the punishment. He paid it for us. Jesus died in my place, so that I might live.

He loved me, He released me from the hopeless situation I was in, He forgave me. And He continues to show me kindness and patience and gentleness that I do not deserve. He pours out grace in my life - everyday.

And when that one person who I feel really needs a swift kick in the pants calls, and all I can think of is the character of this God I serve, and the extravagant grace that He has shown me, my words come out stronger than I ever thought they could. Because it is so easy to spew out the treatment that people deserve when they have done wrong, but it takes strength and discernment to set aside the rightful hurt that we need to "let out" and instead say what that person needs to hear.

And once we have recognized the grace in our own lives, who are we - really, who are we, not to also respond in grace with one another? It is humbling to acknowledge our sin and our need for forgiveness. It is also so good to be forgiven and it is so healing to love.

Will that person [the one who needs a boot to the butt] continue to make bad decisions?? Guaranteed. And so will I. Maybe not the same decisions, but we both need grace when we recognize our stupidity and want to change. And neither of us deserve it.

It is a gift.

Find someone to give it to. [My guess is, you already know whose name belongs on the tag.] May you recognize the great love that our God and Savior Jesus Christ has extended to us, and be an ambassador of His love to that "Gah!!-Seriously?-What-could-possibly-make-you-think-that's-a-good-idea!!" someone that doesn't deserve it. Because let's face it, that's you and me too sometimes. And, well, He tells us to.

Love the Lord your God with all your heart, all your soul, all your mind and all your strength...and love your neighbor as yourself. Jesus summed up every rule with those few words. Love God. Love people.

Be gracious and watch God be glorified in your life - maybe even in that relationship.

I'd love to hear how He uses grace in your lives to do great things...
And I'm going to watch and pray to see how He is glorified in my own situation.

Beautiful Lies

Just read an article a friend posted. These sentences, taken from the article, pretty much sum it up.


"When a 10-year-old...posted provocatively for French Vogue, the images sparked an international debate over the sexualization of children."


"A French senator issued a report aimed at stopping the “hyper-sexualization” of young children."

The article ended with this question: "Should it be the job of the government to stop the sexualization of girls?"

I'm not linking the article here because I don't want to further circulate this girl's picture, which is not particularly offensive [imo], but I believe that the implications the photo makes about her [and other young girls] is. Here are my thoughts: Cause - ya know, sometimes I just can't stay quiet.

Is it the government's job? No. It is the job of mothers and fathers to protect and love and nurture our children. It is our job to educate them. It is our job to shelter their innocent hearts - and prepare them, as they mature, for life as an adult. The responsibility falls on our shoulders, but so many of us have failed our children, leaving them vulnerable prey to wandering eyes, predatory greed and the dangerous lies our culture force-feeds them about beauty, value, image and self-worth.

Is she beautiful? Absolutely, and her beauty should not be peddled to selfish voyeurs - to wet their appetite for exploitation.

Shame on us for not only tolerating this treatment of children, but for endorsing it. It continues because it is profitable. Who makes it profitable? Society - Grown men and women who purchase the magazines and the products they advertise and who watch the pageant shows etc. We know better - or should.

I hope those who have the power to act legislatively, do so, but ultimately, it is our responsibility as parents and quite frankly, as morally responsible humans. Shame on us [adult society] for neglecting [and abusing] what is arguably our most significant position - the ones who are bringing up the future of this world.

All this comes after having taken my children to the grocery store today, where a magazine with an image of a fully nude woman [her legs and arms crossed] was displayed facing the main isle [not just the checkout line].

I think the naked human body is beautiful. But when it is cheaply displayed for 5.99 on the lower rack for my six year old son to view, and the only answer I get from the store management is "Well, did you use our marked "family-friendly" checkout?" - Hmmm...how do I put it? Have you ever known someone who is just gorgeous, then you really get to know the person and slowly they become less and less attractive? That is how I feel about it.

[By the way - Good to know that ONE of their 20 check out lines is "family-friendly", which, actually, I assumed meant it was okay if my children were crying while we stood in line there, I didn't realize it meant "porn-free" - although, like I said, the mag wasn't displayed in the line, it was facing the main isle for everyone to view.]

Soap box aside, "she" is lovely. She is also fake [photoshop-ed], but I'm sure lovely even without the editing. But you know what, that magazine cover - boldly displayed - caught my husband's eye [who pointed it out to me...and who, I should add, treats me very honorably], as it was intended to. Now, I'm a pretty girl [or so I'm told] but, come on, who can compete with digital perfection? When these images repeatedly demand our attention they set a false, unrealistic expectation or unattainable goal, leaving us with a feeling of dissatisfaction and/or failure. How can a woman's heart help but wonder if she could ever possibly satisfy his eyes and excite his passion when "she" is plastered everywhere we turn and her standard is no match for any natural creature?

She is on billboards, in movies, on television, on covers and centerfolds and window advertisements. She is in the music we listen to, she is in the conversations around us. She is hidden in our inboxes, text messages, and search engines. She stalks us until we finally accept her - she slips into our eyes and hides within our minds where she can begin to reshape our perspectives of ourselves and of others, for her own benefit. There, she is able to trample a path, through repetition, to lead us somewhere deep and dark where only the light she shines can comfort us, but it's a dim glow - we become unable to see what is around us, our eyes are on ourselves and her lies. Like bugs to a light - we are memorized, focused and ignorant...only to be destroyed. We are unhappy with ourselves. We no longer find pleasure in our spouse. Even our children can become objects to us, we sell their images for gain, and take advantage of their innocence. She is persistent and she has an agenda: money.

When every time I take my children to the store, they see images like this, 1. it prematurely exposes them to adult sexuality and 2. it begins to create in their minds a false ideal. It seduces us to believe that "she" [the sexual image on that piece of glossy paper] is worth chasing after - and how we become beautiful or conquer beauty. She is a lie, and lovely as she may be, the more I get to know her and the consequences of believing her and pursuing her...the uglier she is.

Men, she doesn't satisfy. She teases and tempts and draws your eyes away from what is real. Her satisfaction is cheap, like a Mc-whatever-your-favorite-grease-burger-supersized-meal-is...and it might fill your gut, but if that's your diet, it will eventually devastate you internally and lead you down a road to a plethora of ugly and degenerative diseases. You're depriving your self of nutrition and substance - and feeding yourself hidden toxins. She might taste good now...but she will not leave you un-scarred.

Not only that, but she is easy, she doesn't argue or need attention. You pick her up when it is convenient for you and put her down when you're done using her. She's cheap. She's attractive. Think about this though: if you stop exercising, your muscles grow weak. Stop working at relationships, and you stop maturing - can I be so bold as to call it cowardly? "She" might be an Internet site, a magazine, a woman but you treat "her" as an object. Men - you were not intended to love an object. It is a weak substitute. I've met a few men. I've met many grown boys. Tell me she has not befriended them - I'm all but certain she has.

Women - stop tolerating this. It is not okay. It is not okay for our girls to grow into their adulthood feeling unlovely and inadequate. It is not okay for our young men to enter into their adolencence with their minds muddled by distracting and destructive images. They become addicted and enslaved before they even have a chance to fight it.

Stop buying the magazines that shove lies about sexuality and beauty down our throats. Stop it. Even commercials and advertisements that applaud themselves for displaying a more realistic view of a woman's nude body cannot boast asserting the viewer's beauty. They are selling a product...usually intended to make you "prettier". The message is still that you are not good enough. It is a lie.

Women, love your man. Talk about these issues. Love him. Don't be naive. Everyday men - yes, even the men we love & respect - face this issue. Guaranteed.

Parents - Love your sons. Talk about these issues. Prepare him. Confront him - insist that he become a man and not continue his adulthood as a boy. Teach him to love and honor and respect the women in his life. Demand it. Demand that he treat women with kindness and gentleness - in both his action, and words - and encourage him to value women in his thoughts.

Love your girls. Protect them. Nurture them. We teach them by our actions as well as our words how to value themselves and how to expect to be treated by others. Be intentional. Let her know that she is beautiful. But also that her beauty is not written on her skin alone. It is within her heart. It is seen in her actions and in her words - in the way she views and treat others. Speak up. Address the images and advertisements around you. Talk about these issues - don't leave her to try to navigate through the cultural influences [driven by profit] on her own in the years she is learning who she is as an individual - be her mom - be her dad - love her.

Can you tell I'm passionate about this? I think it is kind of a big deal; I believe the issues surrounding these things affect far more of our lives than we acknowledge or readily recognize. Don't ignore it.

Gratitude

I love to listen to the laughter of my children mingled with light conversation between my husband and our parents. In our family, most gatherings are incomplete without a spontaneous outburst of song...tonight was no exception.

As I stood in the next room washing dishes from our feast of a dinner, the feeling of gratitude warmed my soul.

I am so thankful for these moments.

It is a joy to experience life together with these people. Tonight we shared dinner with our children and both sets of parents; nine of us sat together around our table in the living room. Together we held hands and thanked the Lord for His provision...my oldest daughter prayed as we all agreed with her.

It was lavish and simplistic all at the same time.

We popped popcorn and played dress-up and several rounds of Apples to Apples. We sipped coffee and shared conversations. We laughed. Tonight, we lived. We interacted with the people we have been given to love - and it was beautiful. I can think of no other place here on earth that I would rather be tonight than right where I am. I do not take these moments for granted.

I am thankful for each day I get to hold these sweet darlings in my arms; for each day they will still climb up on my lap and snuggle into my neck and want to be close. I am thankful for the love, support, example and relationship our parents share with us. I am thankful for my husband, my love...my friend.

I am thankful for the blessing of being able to provide for the needs of our family. I am thankful for a warm home to host such gatherings.

What made tonight so lovely was not the entertainment or good food - although we had plenty of both. What made tonight lovely was them; their presence. What a beautiful gift I have been given.

Whirlwind...

[I posted this over at my education blog...and think it is fitting here too, so I'm re-posting.]

Life is a blur as of late...

Spring has sprung and everyone is restless, longing to drink in the sunshine. My kids grow bigger; and along with their increase in size comes an increase in appetites, a wider disaster radius post-playtime and continued development of independent thinking - consequently: more frequent arguments both with each other and myself. My husband has been diligently studying, excelling in all his classes; I am so proud!

L., my youngest, has started walking and is quickly graduating from that mundane skill to more exciting techniques for mobility...such as climbing. [Really, who wants to walk when you could just climb stuff, right?]

A few days ago I caught her sitting in the middle of the living room talking to herself, "No. Nooo. No. No Ma. No Mom. No. Mom. No no. Noooo." She was practicing telling me no. My heart was filled with delight at her sweet voice, pride for her working so intently to enunciate her words correctly...and slight trepidation as I considered the implications of her resolve to clearly communicate her defiance.

My oldest daughter is learning important and difficult lessons about the ugliness of lies. Meanwhile, her father and I are being tested in matters of patience and grace. She is also rapidly learning to read and write. She enjoys writing letters and often I find random letters on her schoolwork or art pages. Occasionally, her random letters happen to form words, much to her older brother's astonishment and delight. He is very impressed by her "skill" and they celebrate her accomplishment together with cheering, laughter and expressions of recognition: "Great job!" "Wow...you wrote ________!" "You are such a great speller!" This warms my spirit. I love to see my children loving and encouraging one another.

I am considering what to do for my son's education in the fall. Boarding school has been an attractive thought from time to time. New, unpleasant and frustrating phrases have been surfacing during our conversations lately; "It's not FAIR!" "I wish I had a different mom!" "Why do I have to...?!" I really dislike the attitude I see him developing and find myself praying often for an extra measure of love and grace to respond to it. While this new "big kid" personality dampens my excitement about home-educating in the coming school year, it also deepens my resolve to guide him, to instruct him, teach and correct him so that issues of character, discipline and integrity may be swiftly addressed and corrected, deterring poor attitude from developing into bad habits and unpleasant personality in later years.

I am just taking it all in. At moments, reminding myself to pause to breathe or to resist the temptation to react. Other times, digging deep to find motivation to tackle the dishes and laundry, or to mom-up and confront the arguing coming from the kids' room [instead of hiding in the pantry with a bar of chocolate pretending not to hear it]. Occasionally, ignoring those tasks that seem so pressing and important, but will still be there tomorrow and just holding my baby a little longer while she sleeps, or sitting on the floor playing dolls, or pulling out a messy art project to do TOGETHER or attacking my children with kisses and tickles while they still enjoy it - I know it will not last forever.

This season is full of unique joys and difficulties...and so will be the next. This is a sweet sort of whirlwind to be caught up in.

Big Brother / Little Sister

The kids are sitting next to each other on the couch, watching a movie...

Big Brother: "Hahaha...that's funny!" [to his sister] "That's funny, isn't it?!"

Little Sister: "Haha! Yeah...that's so funny!"

About 30 seconds pass by...

Little Sister, "Um...why is it funny?"

One Lovely Year

A year ago today, the bright warm sun was streaming into my room and filling the shadows with a glow full of life and excitement. I can still see the smiling, kind face of my midwife as she assured me that I was close to greeting my little girl. The presence of light in the room filled me with a new determination, a burst of energy and strength I did not realize I possessed. With a final push and painful, yet triumphant cry, she slipped into this world and into my longing arms and the day began.

My heart aches a little for that moment to return...for that indescribable feeling to linger just a bit longer. There is nothing in all the world like staring into the eyes of your newborn baby, their insanely tiny fingers wrapped lightly around your own, and soft, damp skin pressed against your chest. I have never in my life experienced such tremendous pain, or exhilarating joy.

What an incredible way to begin a day! Even after being up all night, wavering back and forth between great  anticipation of what was inevitable and overwhelming fear that I could not survive it...all I wanted to do that day was stare at her, and kiss her, and feel her velvety cheeks. I hated to nod off into a slumber and miss a single second of her miraculous presence beside me. I was so deeply in love with this bitty creature I had only just met. How could I possibly love her with this intensity? How could I possibly not?

We took her home hours later...still slightly intoxicated with bliss. The days and loooong nights following would prove to be challenging at the least. I felt entirely unprepared to care for a newborn along with my 2 and 4 year old children. My heart raced and my mind panicked at the very thought of my husband's return to work. But despite the fears and inadequacies I struggled with, this sweet year has been so very lovely. And this surprise baby we had not anticipated or desired has filled our lives with a richness and beauty that cannot be reproduced any other way. It is a fullness that money cannot buy and planning cannot manufacture. It is a gift.

I am ever so thankful that God, in all His wisdom, ignored the dreams in my own heart and gave me a gift I had not asked for and shamefully, I even mourned over a bit. I was so foolish to ever think that I did not want to be needed and loved by this sweet girl. I weep as I consider it. Thank you, Lord, for unseen circumstances and unplanned honors...like sharing a day full of sunshine and new life with the baby girl you have given to us. What a privilege and joy this year of living life together has been for our family!

Happy Birthday to my sweet darling, L.
What an amazing day it was!

Boomer's Birthday

Our morning was full of excitement and festivities. Today we celebrated Boomer's birthday [see previous post].

My son was the first to wake up [as usual]...and he could hardly contain his enthusiasm when he found the small birthday display I had arranged the night before. He later recounted to me how he found it, what he looked at first,...what he thought might be inside the gifts...why he thought I had chosen each activity for them to play.  He had apparently spent a significant amount of time assessing and analyzing each detail...that kid makes me laugh.

He noticed that there was no cake out for Boomer, so he headed off to his play kitchen to "make a cake" for him. He gathered ingredients, stirred the batter and when he opened the oven to place his pretend cake inside to bake, he stumbled upon the real cake that I had already placed in the oven. I loved hearing him tell me this story! The expression on his face as he recalled his surprise and amazement when he found that I had already prepared a cake for Boomer was simply adorable.  And his fake cake did not go to waste either...he ended up baking it later to feed all of Boomer's stuffed animal guests [since they can't really eat cake anyways...and Boomer's cake was too small to share with everyone].  ;)

My son waited very patiently for everyone to wake up before he let Boomer open any presents or cards. Boomer was disappointed with one of his presents...he didn't think it looked like much fun. But my son reassured his puppy that it was actually much more fun than it appeared.

"Don't worry, Boomer its lots of fun, just wait, I'll show you later," he consoled the dog, and then continued opening up other gifts.

My kids completed all the birthday activities I had set out for them - along with their animals. They played several rounds of Turtle Picnic. My son won a couple times and Boomer won once.

Once the party came to an end my children did what I had dreaded would happen...they began to scheme together which of their animals should have a birthday tomorrow.  O dear...see what I started?! I suggested that maybe next time THEY could plan the party.

It was really very fun to watch them, my son specifically. He truly enjoyed it and I was impressed at how much thought he put into each aspect. He thanked me more than once.

All in all, Boomer's party was a success...we all had fun and my son felt special. He liked that I had stayed up after he went to sleep and put together the surprise for him to find in the morning. [It's so fun to have a child who can communicate those thoughts...] But my most favorite part was definitely hearing his story about the cake!

Big Decisions, Turquoise Marble Laminate and Other Mushy Stories

As I sit here staring at the offer on the table before me [quite literally], a flood of memories has rushed into my mind and sentiment fills my heart…suddenly what seems as though it should be joyful and exciting is becoming increasingly melancholy. It’s not that I’m unenthusiastic about the papers lying there…waiting for our signatures…I am excited. My sorrow is at all the memorable moments this sweet little home has been a part of.  And as the reality of possibly soon parting with it sinks in, it is a little sad.

I know it’s kind of silly; after all, the house is nothing spectacular. It’s small, it’s old, the floors are slightly uneven…but it is familiar, and comfortable. It is has been home for practically all of my adult life.

As I type here, in the living room, I remember the evening J. proposed to me…right here.

We had the place torn apart. Everything was being remodeled…we gutted the place from one end to the other. Electrical, plumbing…all of it! We had finally arrived at the very exciting point of attaching sheetrock to the walls, and choosing colors, light fixtures, countertop, cabinets…etc.

J. picked me up and our “plan” was to swing by the house to measure something and then head out to the hardware store and decide on lighting. When I stepped inside the house, I realized, the “plan” wasn’t really the “plan”.

A small round wooden two person table was set up in the middle of the living room, surrounded by sheetrock…the bare wood floor exposed with bits of black paper still loosely attached. Rose petals were sprinkled across the unsightly flooring and atop the beautifully arranged dining table. A vase of roses adorned the center of the table. Off to my right, sitting on top of the stove [by “stove”, I do not mean kitchen stove…I mean our heating stove] sat a pot of spaghetti; I later found out he had prepared the pasta himself at his parent’s before driving to my place that night. And soft music gently flowed in from the small bedroom beside us.

He smiled. We had waited a long time – and it felt so much longer to us than it actually was. I remember staring at my ring often throughout the weeks to follow…it was beautiful, and it was mine…from him, what more could I want? That night was like a dream…and here I am today…in the very same place, nearly a decade later…still just as uncertain of what lies ahead, and equally as thankful to know that whatever it may be, we will face the future together.

To my left is the kitchen. I have a clear view of the countertop; I can vividly recall sitting there and crying the first time J. brought me here to see the place. I assure you…it is NOT the same countertop he showed me. It is different, but in the same spot.

The house was a little bit hideous when I first saw it. I exaggerate sometimes, but it really was not attractive…at all. The living room wall was covered in cedar shingles. Gross. Who would cover their wall with roofing?! The carpet smelled. The place was covered in spider webs. I can’t even begin to talk about the bathroom. The dining space was decorated with faux brick wallpaper and a rusted rectangular ummm, well, for the lack of a better term “chandelier” hung about 5 ft from the ground from dirty old metal chains. In the kitchen, all I could even focus my eyes on was the turquoise marble laminate countertop…it was everywhere…and screamed, “Look at me, I’m hideous!” The cabinets were actually ok-ish. They were white, which I love…and hope to someday have white cabinets again…and a few even had glass fronts, which I also love, however, they were painted so thick, they couldn’t even close properly anymore and were old and falling apart.

After J. gave me the “grand tour”, he asked what I thought about the house, and right then I lost it and began bawling. I began to re-think my decision to be seriously involved with this man…how could I possibly live HERE?!

He laughed. It was a kind, “you poor silly girl that I love” sort of a laugh. Then patiently and graciously he explained to me that it was more than what we could even afford and the best of any of the houses he had previously looked at. He convincingly explained that he would “fix it all up” and make it just perfect for me. And being so desperately in love, I choked back the rest of my tears, determined to pretend not to see the horrid turquoise counters anymore, and wishing I had a better imagination, but resigning myself to the fact that I simply did not, I decided I would trust him when he said it could be “fixed up” and “pretty” even.

He definitely followed through. My house isn’t “everything I’ve ever dreamed”, but it has been just perfect for us. It is warm, and inviting…and I am still amazed at what a wonderful job he did making a home for us.

Our yard is full of memories too. It is a big, beautiful yard, fully fenced. J planted a garden off in the corner, where we’ve been growing all kinds of vegetables: beans, zucchini, carrots, squash, and tomatoes. We also grew cilantro and lettuce. Peas are one of our favorites, but sadly, they didn’t produce this year. And we’ve also tried corn, melon and radishes, peppers and strawberries…those too were duds.

Our garage borders the garden and the yard. Along the side bordering our yard, J. planted some ivy we had used to decorate our guest tables at our wedding reception.

This picture was actually taken several years ago...it's grown all the way up now.  We weren’t sure if the clippings would take, but now the entire wall is covered in greenery. I am amazed sometimes that those plants have made it so long. A few years they turned brownish in spots and we thought they might die…but they pulled through. It reminds me that our relationship has endured some “dry” seasons…times when life and love were not always as easy as it was when we were younger…but we were determined to love, and here we are.

Or, I think of the day I found out I was pregnant with our first child.

It was an average summer afternoon; the sun beat hot through the passing clouds, the air was a hint thicker with humidity, and the neighborhood was singing with noise. I could hear the train whistle loud and strong as it passed by near our home. The children next door threw their ball back and forth across the yard, occasionally a kid would miss the catch and the fence would tremble and then moan at the impact, like an old man. Our tall walnut tree was full of sound; squirrels chased one another, climbing in circles up her tall, thick branches, and occasionally a bird, perched on an outer limb, sang out some cheerful announcement across the air before stretching her wings and taking flight.

My husband was outside doing something. I’m sure that even if I had asked what he was doing, the explanation of it would cost him more time than it was worth for either of us, but I doubt I bothered to question him. I recall him using a ladder.

I was inside our little bungalow of a home, in the bathroom, off the kitchen [yes, you read that right…you walk through the kitchen to get to the bathroom…that arrangement unfortunately could not be efficiently remedied during our remodel] *ahem* there I stood starring at the object before me in disbelief, unable to discern my emotions, unsettled, uncertain and understandably so.

How would I tell him? How could I go and explain this news to the unsuspecting man outside on that ladder? What would I say?

I wanted to cry. I wanted to laugh. I felt a little bit numb, but not so numb that my internal turmoil went unnoticed…just numb enough to no longer notice the dishes in the sink, or to pay much attention to Sobi as she smacked me with her thick, black tail in excitement when I stepped outside.

“Hey, J…could you come here for a minute?” I called out.

“What d’ ya need?” This was his sensitive reply. [He often uses lazy English when he’s focused on a project. I think he inherited it from his dad.]

“I need you.” I answered, vaguely.

“Honey, I’m in the middle of something. What is it - a spider?”

No. It was not a spider. A spider would be easier…simpler, and far less invasive.

“Uh…noooo.” By this point, I had become more than slightly irritated. This was not how I envisioned our conversation going. I’m not certain I had much of a “vision” for the exchange, but I knew that THIS was not it. Why didn’t he just put the hammer down and run over here to squish the assumed spider for me?! Why were we having this dialogue across the yard? Didn’t he know I have something very serious to discuss?!

“Of course not…how could he?” I reasoned with my self. Then I regained my composure and marched down the steps and through the grass to meet him. He obviously wasn’t convinced by the urgency and seriousness in my voice and intended to continue hammering.

Once I finally blurted out the news, pregnancy test in hand, he responded entirely unalarmed, or emotional, “Ha-ha. Funny Heather…” It took some time for me to convince him that I was indeed serious. [Let that be a lesson to you…it’s like a suped-up version of “the boy who cried wolf”. I think I may have played one too many practical jokes on the guy.]

Oh how our world was forever changed!

Now here I sit with not one, but three little ones around me. My son, [the one who rocked our world a bit] is now five, and is sleeping on the floor in the bedroom. My oldest daughter, three years old, is crashed on the couch across from me…and my youngest little love is resting peacefully and happily in my arms.

Our house is full of memories.

Most of them are sweet…a few are agonizing to recall. So, I won’t.

But the beautiful thing about memories is that we don’t have to leave them behind with the house…they are OURS. I am thankful for the moments and years God has given us here. And although, I really do not know what the future holds for us, I know Him who holds it.

And today, instead of looking around me and crying, [like I did when J. first brought me here so many years ago] I will fix my eyes on Him and know that He loves me and regardless of whatever my present or future circumstances may be, He has promised that He would go and prepare a place for me. And because I am so crazy in love with Him, I will determine to ignore whatever “turquoise marble” I may encounter, and trust that He will take care of me. He may just even be able to make something beautiful out of the messy, filthy, ugly – worn out world we each are all too familiar with living in […and contributing to if we are willing to be honest about it].

Not to say I feel like my current situation is a hardship or difficulty, I just know that life isn’t always easy or glamorous; but I get to share it with Him. THAT is worth overlooking life’s “turquoise marble”.

Now enough storytelling, I’m off to crunch some numbers and pray about big decisions to be made…

Number 9

In just a few days my husband and I will celebrate our 9th anniversary.  Nine years...how could nine years have flown by so quickly?!

The most memorable part of my wedding to me was not the decorations, or the ceremony or a speech.  It was not who was or wasn't there...or being walked down the isle by my dad, or when my groom kissed me for the very first time ever.  What I really remember about our wedding day was the emotion I felt that day.  I have never felt so abundantly loved.  I remember walking away from that celebration feeling overwhelmed by the love so many people had showered on us.

Nine years ago I married my best friend; and together we have lived an adventure.  Together we have laughed and together we've wept.  Together we have witnessed the miracle of 3 new lives joining our own.  Together we have faced life and all of the uncertainty it hurls at us.  Together we have been blessed; together we have walked through difficult situations.  Together we have both rejoiced and agonized.  Together we have grown; older and wiser [and possibly heavier & wider too].  Together we have asked and wrestled with hard questions; many still unanswered.  Together we have learned to stand still, and to go.  Together we step out into each day unsure what lies ahead, but willing to place our feet on whatever path that God lays out before us to walk down.  I am so thankful the Lord has blessed my life with someone I love to share it with.

Although learning to share life with another person is trying for sure at times, I think that truly the most testing moments over these past years [certainly more than 9, we fell in love when I was a girlish 16 years old], have been the times we were not together, but apart.  Even as I think back, the hardships of our marriage and our relationship leading up to our marriage were most often ignited by separation; whether physical or emotional, whether intentional or circumstantial.  What God has joined together, let no man separate.  Life is so much better when there's a shoulder to cry on and an arm to pull me close, even if those tears are caused by the turmoil that can be experienced when we share life so intimately.  Mine is a beautiful life, and I am so thankful to be sharing it with my J.

Thank you, my love, for sharing these years with me; for standing beside me; for being my dearest friend. Even in those brief moments when I am uncertain whether I like you or not - I still love you. ;) Thank you for continuing to love me...to lead me...to share this life with me - your love has taught me and blessed me more than I likely even recognize, and certainly more than my simple words can express. Happy [almost] Anniversary, Love!

Treasures From Grandma

A few days ago, I was sitting in the living room with my children when I heard a loud "THUD" outside my front door.  I jumped up to see what it was.  As I peered out the window, I recognized the postal truck, then my eyes dropped to the porch...it was a huge package...from Grandma. 

She is so thoughtful.  She remembers every birthday, every holiday...every anniversary.  She remembers me.  And although she and I live 1, 374 miles apart [approximately]...I know her heart is with us. 

Grandma often makes us gifts. She crochets blankets, hats and scarves. She bakes us cookies. She used to cook us Hungarian meals and send them in the mail. That was not such a great gift...I love her stuffed cabbage...but not after 5 days of unrefrigerated storage and travel, and not leaking out all over everything else in the box. Thankfully, now we only get stuffed cabbage when we visit. 

This package was stuffed with lovingly crafted scarves and baby blankets. Several containers of cookies...and many other treasures; including a crystal ashtray...several lacey vintage nightgowns...a basket shaped like a duck and fancy soap from the Beverly Hills Hotel.

Opening up a gift from my Anyu is a little like yard sale-ing. There is always some surprise. You never know just what to expect. And I often wonder what the stories are behind the treasures she sends. Like the duck basket, which I've seen in her home for years - where did it come from? Or the lovely jewelry she sent...where did she wear it to, who was it from? Or the sets of utensils...who sat around her table and shared a meal with them?

I wonder these things, and wish sometimes that she were closer. I wish I knew her better. It's difficult to know someone well when your visits fall several years apart.  

Here are some of the treasures she sent in her box:

How fun is THAT?!

I love treasures from Grandma.  Next time, I will take pictures of the nighties and duck basket too...

But you know, the real treasure from Grandma is that she remembers me, she loves me...she is willing to spend $25.00 on postage just to send me a giant box of fun treasures for a special occasion. It's not so much the things she puts inside that I value...what is even more precious to me is the tender care and love I know she puts into each blanket she crochets, every cookie she cuts, every gift she selects from her closet or shelves to send me. I know she is sending me much more than things…she sends me her love…her memories…a little bit of herself. What a lovely gift.