The Beds We Make, The Beds We Lie In

I have owned 5 beds in my adult life-yes I counted. I moved from my parents home to marriage, with no independence in between. The first bed I had as an independent adult, and also married, was a huge, dark brown wooden water bed. So 70's but it was 1992. It was freezing to lay on because the heater was broken or something so we layered thick Mexican blankets on it, so we wouldn't catch our death of cold. The type that had two colors and an animal, like a horse or lion on it.

We took that bed with us to our first apartment. There was barely enough space for it in the bedroom. We did not move it with us when we upgraded to a cute back house with a loft and small bedroom upstairs for our first little one. We, well the husband actually-he just came home with it, I had no input, bought our first new bed in that home. It was a black, wrought iron bed with tall metal bedposts, for a canopy I guess. Though we had the four posts up we never utilized it with a canopy.

It went with us for another move but we did not assemble the canopy bars. The first marital lies were told in that bed. When I moved out and we separated the first time, I did not take the bed. I was done and I had no intention of ever sleeping in that bed again. I had a change  of heart, we reconciled and the bed came with us, though the mattresses got the heave ho!

There was something wrong with that bed though. It kept collapsing. Every so often, the mattresses would mysteriously fall through the frame rails and crash to the floor. I had no idea what caused it but I began to feel annoyed and distrustful of the stability of this bed. Sometimes it was stable and supportive so it didn't seem right to get rid of it.

Eventually, we got lucky and my parents got a new bed and offered their old bed frame to us. It was strong, sturdy wood. I even personalized it by custom painting it a beautifully deep, fuchsia color. The bed remained strong and sturdy as long as we had it. This bed bore witness to even more lies and deceptions. Memories of intimate humilations, kept at bay in the periphery of the past.

It survived another separation, though again, the mattresses did not. Fresh hopes and dreams were conceived on this bed. Healing and forgiveness. Reconciliation came with a new baby. Someone took pity on a momma using an air mattress on this sturdy bed and blessed us with a brand new mattress and bedding set.

Again, hopes were crushed and devastated as the dreams were unsustainable. A completely new start would be needed. I slept alone in the bed as it felt so much bigger than I imagined it ever could. I shortened my nights and time in it by staying up as late as possible. I rearranged it's placement. I cleaned out the closet, got rid of old clothes, swept every corner around it spotless. Still the bed loomed large and empty in the room. I finally gave away that bed, my parents bed, only to learn the recipient wondered if my experiences could be transferred with it. I could only wish my parents loyal love would have been.

I purchased a beautiful, big, sleigh bed, on my own. It was used but I chose, bought and transported it home myself. I didn't know that it would not last. The hope it held was false. As time passed I began to realize that this bed was also unstable. Though the dark wood and commanding size gave the illusion of reliability, again, my mattress came crashing to the floor. I finagled it as best as I could at the time, to hold me up and it worked...for awhile. It supported my long nights of tear entangled prayers.

It survived a moved and all seemed well. Until the night it dangerously came crashing down again--like all my hopes and fears. There was no more repairing it. I knew I had to get rid of this bed, once and for all. It went straight to the trash. I let it go and all the dreams of the future I was holding onto, with it.

Another bed. Chosen for its vintage design as well as it's affordability. It held no false hopes, only a future belonging solely to me. About me. These days it's sturdy enough to hold all three of my kids still at home, (two of which are young adults) and myself on it at once; to watch a movie, do some writing or homework, snuggle or just chat. I can trust this bed. It has all the appropriate supports and gives no indication of weakness. This bed is honest. It holds no secrets. It is light and lovely, yet strong. It's covered in layers of comforting blankets, quilts, sheets, with colorful pillows atop. This bed is our safe space, of sleep and sanctuary.

Ghosts of Christmas Past

Fourteen years ago, this Christmas, we moved into the house we currently live in. We enjoyed all the Christmas Eve festivities, came back to our 'new' home and laid our sleepy, then 5 year old, in his bed, to awaken Christmas morning, for the first time, in his new 'home'. It was a very Merry Christmas!

For us, it was a real miracle. The Mr and I were working our way back from a six month separation, in our sixth year of marriage. I was in a really bad place, ready and willing to call it quits once and for all. I was ready to start a fresh new life, just me and my oldest. (only one at the time)

I felt absolutely nothing remotely positive for the Mr. I was beyond hurt, betrayed, angry and couldn't even see a glimpse of a future for the Mr and I. For some reason though, one day, I felt compelled to say a prayer...It was a very shallow and selfish prayer, I admit, but I believe God took it seriously.

I told (yes, told) God IF He wanted me to stay married, He was going to have to change my heart. That sounds simple enough at first, right? Except I was not willing to DO anything to facilitate this 'change of heart' I was asking for. My idea of a 'changed' heart meant I wanted to feel all lovey-dovey for the Mr. I wanted the warm-fuzzy, romantic feelings. I told God I absolutely refuse to live w/ the Mr. as a 'roommate' or to remain married out of obligation.

It was a tall order and I had no expectation of God fulfilling these selfish requests at all. Basically I sat there, arms crossed, daring God to change my heart. I don't know what I was thinking but I don't think I fully understood what I was asking, all those years ago. God certainly answered...

Besides my own heart needing to be changed, we needed to save up for the money required to move into a new place. Our son and I were living with friends, the Mr needed a new job and was sleeping on his parents couch.

We began our home search in the opposite direction. A friend happen to be driving by and saw a for rent sign. We were sure this corner, 3 bedroom, 1 bath home would be way out of our budget. (who am I kidding? WHAT budget?) We applied anyway and couldn't believe the low rent they were asking.

The landlords wanted us to wait until January but the Mr talked them into letting us move in right away. I think it helped that he offered to over look the paint job the the interior needed. They were happy we only had one child and obliged.

Fourteen years, 3 more children and innumerable mistakes later...I find myself in a similar situation, with a few minor changes. I can't tell if the situation looks more or less hopeless. Can hopelessness really be measured? Either there's hope or there isn't, right?

I've come a long way in how I perceive love to look and feel like. But hopeless is hopeless. It's the  first week of Advent and the focus is HOPE. We were a young, hopeless couple 14 years ago and God came through in a mighty way. Why wouldn't He come through now?

James 4:2b You do not have, because you do not ask God.  This CHRISTmas, the ktbunch and I are praying for another miracle. Asking and hoping for something we want.

A miracle occurred 2000 years ago that enables this Hope to live within us. Hope was born. 

I could have left my marriage, not looked back and been justified. I wanted to leave initially, at the time...but not now and not when we were in the middle either. When God changed my heart--all I can think is, that it was forever. Permanent. I certainly didn't do anything. Except pray.  God heard my prayer then and I've no doubt He hears it now. 

I prayed for one thing: a desire to be married to my husband. It's still here. Among all the mistakes and regrets, the desire that I prayed for, has never left. 

Heb 6:19 This hope we have as an anchor of the soul, both sure and steadfast, and which enters the Presence behind the veil,

I can not release this hope. We've come so far, this far, too far, to give up now. 

Psalm 71:14a But as for me, I will always have hope...

CHRISTmas is a time for miracles. 

Which one are you hoping and praying for?

Spring Fever

This past week was the last week @ school before Spring Break and whoa was it obvious!  Classmates were so antsy. You could feel the energy on campus. Nervous for finals. Blah and not feeling like going to the last day of classes. Tense due to lack of sleep? haha.

On any given day there are various protest opportunities around campus and clubs and organizations vying for attention. This week the "Christians" were out holding very large signs, clearly intended to get attention. The sad part is they seemed more aimed at provoking controversy rather than conversation. In the past I've witnessed their group consisting of older men, yelling their message to a few students who stood by and laughed at them. This week, it appeared students began to engage and not in pleasant discussion either. There was yelling and thick crowds. This went on for two days. I really wanted to get a closer look but I was always on my way to class and I had finals to study for.

I heard a few classmates talking about the sign holders as well as passer-bys mocking them and giving negative opinions of them.

Thursday, things changed. There were now only a few students on the grassy area with no crowds. They were holding poster board sized signs that stated: "I am sorry for judging you" and "I am sorry for not loving you like Christ does." I really wanted to go and talk to those students and find out if they were a part of the previous days sign holders or if they were different Christ loving students that disagreed with the others 'methods'. Again, I simply didn't have time.

On a lighter note, the spring fever was definitely on display in one of my classes. Everyone was in a silly mood and energy was high. One classmate decided to sit somewhere different on this last day of the ninth week of class. Those of us in the classroom decided we should ALL sit in a different seat and maybe the professor would arrive and be freaked out. Every time another classmate arrived, we peer-pressured them into sitting in a completely different seat. Finally our professor arrived, to find a student sitting at his front desk. He was a good sport about it. He finally admitted he was totally freaked out because he kept looking for us in our usual seats but we were all in different seats. Mission accomplished!

After next week's break, I will only have seven more weeks of classes. I ordered my graduation cap and gown last week too. I am so excited to be graduating but at the same time I feel sad. I feel like it's just too soon. I'm sure I'd feel different if I had attended this school since I was a freshmen or even if it was for at least four semesters and not just three. I feel like I've just finally got the 'hang of it' and it's about to end. I've made a few friends and I keep thinking there are so many other people on this campus I could potentially meet and haven't yet.

There are professors that I love but barely know. I feel like I've barely hit the tip of the iceberg with how much I could glean from these fantastic teachers. I will really miss the writing workshops, of course.  I've learned so much in the writing process from having my own work critiqued as well as critiquing others. It is ridiculous how helpful it is. I wish I could have another semester, at least of writing workshops. sigh.

I have been so blessed to be able to have this opportunity. Especially at this time in my life. Two more months and it will be over....for now. I'm excited about some opportunities that are already arising...I only need to make sure I *follow-through*!

Celebrity Crushed

I’ve loved Jimmy since I first saw him on Saturday Night Live, even if I could hardly remember his name. He’s not a big muscle-man stud. He’s not particularly a heart throb. He is really funny though. I have always been attracted to guys with good humor. His movies often flopped but still I found his humor attractive. I imagined in real life he was probably very much, if not exactly like he was in film and television, a quirky, but loveable, funny guy.

Recently a friend got us tickets to his late night television show. I was SO excited I mentioned it on my Facebook status. My friends commented on my excitement, not realizing how much I adored Jimmy. We were going to be able to hang out in the green room backstage. Maybe I would be able to get a glimpse of him, up close and personal.

I blow dried my hair and wore my Easter dress, even though I know most women would wear jeans for a late night out. I wanted to look respectable so I wore my glasses. It draws attention to my eyes. Plus I can’t see that well at night.

 I felt like a groupie and was just as excited. We drove to Hollywood and didn't even have to wait in line. We went around to the back entrance. We checked in with a guard and my friend dropped her friend’s name. We were on the ‘list’. We walked right in. The hallway was lined with pictures of ‘Jimmy’ with various guests. I was confused. The hallway must house pictures from the network’s big shows?

I didn’t see any other pictures except from the show. It wasn’t the Jimmy Fallon Show it was the Jimmy Kimmel show!!!!! That explained why my friends were so confused as to why I was so excited. In my mind I kept thinking Jimmy Fallon when it was really Jimmy Kimmel!

The show was as amusing as it could be for someone I had no desire to see. We had good seats and were even treated to an outdoor concert by Cypress Hill accompanied by the wafting scent of marijuana and a bunch of grown adults dressed as hooligans. We were in the very back. I had no interest in getting any closer to the extremely loud speakers.

I noticed right away that next to us, in the back was ‘Starbuck’ from one of my favorite SciFi shows, Battle Star Galactica (remake of the 1980’s television show). I couldn’t believe it. I didn’t get to meet Jimmy Fallon but my husband and I took pictures with the fracking coolest viper pilot the universe has ever seen!

First week of school for me.

Can't keep track of my book bargains, which ones have I ordered? Where should I buy it from? Does anyone have this book? Assignments due the first week. Writing sample due and approved. Prerequisites taken concurrently. Figure out a reliable and safe bike route. Determine a wardrobe that accommodates riding my bike to school. Navigate the pedestrian and auto traffic. Where's the bike rack closest to my class? Finagle a roomier bag that can hold my books and tennis shoes. Check up on my graduation status. Kindle? Electronic books? Did someone mention breakfast? Lunch? When? Do I know anyone in my classes? Bangs. Hairband. Sunscreen. Remember names. Classrooms. Time. What time is it? Wake up early. Go to bed late. Desks too close together, no leg room. Where am I going? How long have I been awake? What day is it? 3 days in. 4 days in. Not dropping. Do I recognize that kid from somewhere? Toddler woke up early. Did Birdy get her math done? Why hasn't the dog poo been picked up for 5 days? Where are my flip flops? I need to wear shoes. Make-up? No make-up? Does it really matter if I wear blush? Mascara is a necessity. Shower? morning or night? Why did I get bangs? Sweat dripping down my face. My sunglasses broke. Get a new pair. Price has gone up. Free printing at the library. Bring 5 copies. Bring 25 copies. Forget the copies. Find the lab. Make a report. What's a lab report? Absent minded professor. Long lines. Feel dizzy. Crying for no reason. Dehydrated. Not enough opportunities to use all my words. Have nothing to write. Drive to LA. Audition. Move quickly. People waiting. Rush. Slow down. Slam on the brakes. Sit in the sun. Respond to email. Send email. Email professor. Do I know you? Breathe. Don't forget to breathe! Nail biting is back. read this text. Find this story. What is a scene? Dialogue. Edit. Condense. Be efficient. Waste time. Focus. Hug. Yep. Return library books. Tea.

Welcome back.

Why not?

I noticed online a bunch of mom's hosting back-to-school breakfasts & parties. Well, since we eat breakfast everyday, it never occurred to me to make a 'special' one for the first day of school. HOW could I have not thought of this myself!?!

So today I made an extra special breakfast just because. It's not officially the first day of school but hey, it's Monday! That counts right? I served parfaits in wine glasses (which I happen to have two sturdy plastic ones!) which worked perfectly. Replaced the table cloth (which was long over due) and set place mats.

 You know you want some!

Once I start back to school myself, next week, this may not be practical but I am going to make more of an effort to *fancy up* other meals. Meal times should not be taken for granted. Getting everyone involved in some way did add some peace to our morning, surprisingly. You think it's gonna make it more hectic. Actually, it seemed to calm everyone, each doing their part, to prepare a *nice* breakfast. Maybe that is key? I'm not sure but it worked. Birdy set the table, Sammyboy sliced the strawberries while Ern pulled out & rinsed the nicer dishes and I cooked the eggs & prepared the parfaits. I think the parfaits were the biggest hit of the morning.

Even the toddler used a 'good dish'--plastic of course! He really enjoyed breakfast too.

Making the house a home...

This verse came to mind this morning as I woke up determined to 'get things done'.  Often, it feels like much of the daily tasks of life are so useless...make the bed only to destroy it that night, repeated loads of laundry, dishes that never end...and the list goes on & on. The list that no one ever wants to acknowledge because it's perceived drudgery.  The list that many women run away from, outside the home. *I* don't blame you, *I* want to run away from it too.

That is, until this morning...I *do* want to make my house into a home though. How do these thoughts and feelings reconcile each other? This verse put it in perspective for me. Sometimes I feel as if my house will never be the way I want it. But what way is that? Picture perfect? Magazine-spread-ready? Giant, new furniture and a state of the art, spacious kitchen, of course!

It's easy to get caught up looking @ tons of home magazine spreads, blog-home-tours, decorating magazines etc and end up feeling like your house will just never measure up.

Maybe you are in a tiny apartment with never enough space, or a rental instead of owning your own home---and you think: if only, if only, if only... some day... if I just...Of course there are some easy and inexpensive ways to spruce up your home but none of that will ever matter, not even if you could purchase your dream home filled with dream furniture--nope! It won't matter if your house is not a home to begin with. All the money, crafting and home decorating in the world won't matter if all *you* are building is an empty shell to harbor & display your own vanity.

Making a home starts with being content with where you are and what you have, this eliminates a lot of the self-motivation from the get-go. If you are discontent, there is nothing in this world, materialistically speaking that will ever satisfy. Now, that we've got that covered, if you aren't building a home for 'self' who are you building it for and what will that look like?

Maybe you don't have nice slip-covers but you have a nice, clean sheet neatly tucked over a couch to hide the duct tape. And you have a hand crocheted blanket across the back that you cherish because your grandma made it. You speak with gentle kindness to your family to keep their shoes off the couch, not because you are so afraid they will mess up the beauty you have created, but because you're teaching them appropriate manners and how to behave. THAT is making a home!

Allowing God to build your home is allowing God to work  on *you* from the inside out, first. What is the vision and purpose God has for your home? Are you hospitable, your home comfortable and inviting to others? Is your home welcome and inviting to your own family? Are *you* warm and inviting to your own family? Are your children interruptions to everything you want to accomplish through out your day? Am I only focused on getting things done so that others will think I am so great? Am I attempting to show off my own creative skills and talents? Am I sacrificing relationship with my family to accomplish some imaginary ideal? Or am I striving to make others feel comfortable? Do I have a heart of hospitality, to draw others in, primarily my own family? Am I concerned with making *myself* the most comfortable or others? 

When God gives you a vision and purpose for creating  a home, nothing you do for your home is in vain, or self-motivated. You are not working within your own strength or for your own selfish pleasure. When I look to God's will, suddenly our house is not just a structure to hold stuff and protect people from the elements, it becomes a sanctuary.  A place of worship. A place of study, instruction, nurturing, refreshment, rest...a place where relationships are built...to last.

Today I was more inspired than I have been in a long time. My perspective has been properly refocused and in minimal time, accomplished a lot that I previously had no desire or energy to do. I felt so over whelmed all the time by this growing 'to-do' list.

Today, I'm no longer facing a 'to-do' list,I'm building a Godly home.

Passion for Fashion

I don't know WHAT I was thinking today!  Perhaps I was just tired of falling into the stereo-typical jeans and back-pack "student" uniform trap--which is akin to the stereo-typical jeans and diaper bag "stay-at-home-mom" uniform trap...or maybe it was the casual, long weekend over-flow....

But as I was getting ready for school today, I made a grave decision...one that I would not realize until it was way too late.  I planned on wearing this shirt dress (not the kind that are too long as a shirt but too short as a dress but one that was a decent & modest length) but realized it was a bit chilly so I threw on my standard jeans under it and planned on bringing my favorite long sweater.

I've mostly been wearing jeans to class, which is uncharacteristic of me because I really like skirts but it's cold when I get out in the early evening.  I don't really like this though because it makes me feel sloppy.  Add to that the brisk 20 minute walk I take to get to class and I arrive hot and almost sweaty which presents hair issues.  So I decided to wear it in a bun with a cute headband which was the only alternative I could think of to the "lazy-girl's-roll-out-of-bed-half-bun-half-pony-tail" or the "mom-with-a-few-extra-minutes-&-a-brush-pulled-back-pony-tail". 

Here's where it gets tricky; because I was wearing a spruced up headband (I keep dreaming some single, college girl with way more disposable income than mine will take notice & pay me right there on the spot for a OOAK "hand-made" head band with flair!) and a dress...I temporarily lost my mind (most likely due to the excessive number of heart-shaped, home-made-from-scratch, chocolate chip cookies I consumed this weekend) and chose to wear my cute, thick-heeled chanklas! Of course, it all looked great. *I* looked great. 

However, as soon as I parked my car....it was a death-by-cuteness moment.  That 20 minute walk, that consists of a gazillion campus stairs, glared ahead of me like grandma on a fixed income, at the day after Christmas sale at K-mart!

My chanklas betrayed me in a hot minute.  There was NO loyalty whatsoever.  I think my feet began to blister before I even got out of the car! I was filled with regret but what's a girl to do? Of course I was NOT going to give in & purchase a pair of over-priced, campus-logo'd flip-flops! Puuhhllleeeze!

Like any self-respecting (but cute) fashionista, I was gonna stand tall (they had a 3 inch heel), and ignore my screaming feet and forge ahead.

But let me tell you--in case I am ever taken over by a moment of holiday-sugar-of-love-induced-insanity...I am going to carry an extra pair of trusty FLIP-FLOPS in my car at ALL times!