Wake up with Morning Snuggles
I’m very excited to share with you that I have an article posted on catapultmagazine.com This is the first time ever that I’ve had an article published! I met the great folks from Culture is not Optional at the Festival of Faith and Writing a few weeks ago. They publish Catapult Magazine online every other week, as well as host Practicing Resurrection weekends full of camping and gardening. I’d love to go sometime!
My article is “Morning Snuggles” in which I wrestle with being a night owl and overcoming guilt to find peace, finally, in the mornings. Be sure to check out the rest of the articles in this issue themed “Wake Up” as well.
Thanks to Rob and Kirstin for the great online magazine!
Filed under faith in action, writing | Comments (3)
Humility, humility, humility
I just attended the Festival of Faith & Writing at Calvin College in Grand Rapids, Michigan last week. It was AMAZING. I’m still processing everything, and I think it will take me 2 years to let it all sink in.
Eugene Peterson (the gentleman who wrote the Message Paraphrase) gave some fantastic talks. His spirit is so….deep and wise and deep. He said that the three most important things for a writer are humility, humility, humility. I say that there’s no one to keep you humble like your family. Especially if you add a 5-year-old to the mix.
Apparently, after 33 years of living, my body has decided to develop allergies. I don’t quite understand it. I lived in Florida for more than 5 years where the pollen is so thick that it will coat your car giving it the appearance of a giant, green, powdered doughnut. Yet, I had no trouble with allergies until I moved back to Michigan.
As a result, I’ve been spending a small fortune in co-payments at the eye doctor’s office. The allergies are also thwarting my attempts to re-join the contact-lens-wearing population. I woke up one day last week with a bright, red right eye that made me look like a freakish character out of the Twilight saga. Little Miss Sunshine asked, “Mama, why aren’t you wearing your contacts? You look so much prettier without your glasses, and why is your eye so RED?” Remember what I said about humility? Nothing like a 5-year-old to tell you the truth. “Honey, I have allergies, and I can’t wear my contacts when my eye looks like this.” She started to back away from me as if I might start to suck her blood.
I traipsed to the eye doctor once again, and she gave me a sample bottle of steroid eye drops to help shoo away the white blood cells that were causing my eyes to be so red and irritated. She also said ,unfortunately (but with a smile), that she’d have to do the final fitting for my contacts at a later date.
My right eye cleared up, just in time for my left eye to inflame. I spent the weekend walking around the writing conference, making all sorts of wonderful, new friends, while looking like a freak from Twilight. Every time I would go to the bathroom and look in the mirror, I nearly scared myself at how terrible my eye looked. Then I would think that I should be explaining to people as I meet them what is wrong with my eye. But since no one had mentioned it, I hoped that meant it wasn’t as noticeable as I feared.
When I showed up at my parents’ house to re-join my children, nearly the first thing out of everyone’s mouth was, “WHAT IS WRONG WITH YOUR EYE?” I went through the allergy spiel once again, and when I happily relayed that no one had mentioned my eye at the conference and hoped that meant no one had noticed my Dad replied, “Oh, they noticed alright.”
Like I said – there’s no one to keep you humble like family.
That night as we were getting ready for bed, Little Miss looked at me and said, “I think I’m going to ask Grandma for a sleeping bag and I’ll sleep on the floor.” I looked at her and said, “There’s plenty of room in the bed, honey, we can share it.” She started to back away again and said, “No, Mama, I don’t want my eye to get red like yours.”
Sigh. Humility, humility, humility.
Filed under Little Miss Sunshine, motherhood, writing | Tags: allergies, festival of faith & writing, humility, writing | Comments (2)The business of handwriting
I’ve received two hand-written notes in the past week that surprised me. The first came from the tech at my new dentist’s office. She wrote about how nice it was to meet me and how great my smile was and that she hopes the building of our home continues to go smoothly. I also got a personal email from the dentist (a fellow Buckeye, yeah!). These little notes, as I am sure they were intended, solidified my decision to stick with this office. I have never, ever received a personal anything from any medical office prior to this. No thanks for my business or apology for being forced to wait three hours for my fifteen-minute appointment, and no checkup on how that new medicine is working. Nothing.
The second was a postcard I received from the salesman who sold me my new running shoes. He jotted a quick note to say it was nice to meet me and that he hoped my blisters were “no more” and wished me luck in my upcoming race. I’m sure I was hard to forget. I sat down and stuck my blistered feet in his face and said, “I need new shoes, PLEASE!!” He politely smiled (without even plugging his nose) and said in the finest British accent, “I know exactly what you need.” We chatted over insoles and sore shins, and of course, blisters. I signed up for their mailing list, but never expected a handwritten note. I’ll definitely be buying my next pair from them as well.
In a digital world where we can know so much about people, and yet so little of what really matters, I must say these hand written notes of appreciation for my time and my business are so…..personal. I think I might even hang them on the wall of my new home to remind me how nice it is to add that personal touch in all our business.
What about you? Have you received any hand written notes lately from unexpected places?
Filed under Random, writing | Tags: business, communication, letters, loyalty, notes | Comments (4)Spring Reawakening
It’s been six years since I’ve seen spring. After living in Florida for 5 ½ years, we returned home to Michigan at the end of March – just in time for spring. (And just in time for one last whopping snowfall of five inches!!)
After such a long absence, it’s as if I’m seeing spring for the first time. I’d forgotten how soft and bright the first grass of the season is, how brilliant the daffodils and tulips are as they peek out of the ground, and how stark the contrast is of the still barren trees across a clear blue skyline and rolling green hills. Nature’s palette is dazzling and vibrant.
I’d also forgotten how frustrating and unpredictable this season can be. One day it’s eighty degrees and the world is right as we run around in shorts and t-shirts. The next day it’s cold and rainy and the skies are as gray as winter, and we’re digging out the sweaters we prematurely threw into the depths of the closet. Spring is a season that tests our patience, teasing us with signs of summer and then smashing us with reminders of winter, sometimes within hours of each other. Were it not for the radiant reminders poking their little heads out of the ground, we might lose hope for the predictable comfort of summer.
I find it rather appropriate that we made our 1,200-mile life transition in the spring; the season is befitting to my life right now. It’s a transition period as we see signs of new life, yet wait for many things to come to fruition. One moment I’m delighted in the comfortable familiarity of coming home to family and old friends. The next moment I’m gloomy and teary as I ache for my friends in Florida and the space of our own home. One day I’m confident that we’ve made the right decision, and that our house will indeed sell. The next day I’m certain that our Florida home will never sell and my in-laws will be stuck with the four of us living with them forever. Were it not for the sunny glimpses of hope peeking out now and then – lovely notes from faraway friends, running into old acquaintances at church, re-connecting with old friends, the comfort of having family nearby, and the occasional showing of our home – I might lose hope. It’s sunny yet muddy, beautiful and drab all at the same time. And just as I know the trees will eventually leave their dormant stage and come fully back to life, our new life in Michigan will do the same. It takes time for new relationships to grow, for old ones to re-solidify, to develop a routine with newly distant friends, and for a home to sell.
So we nurture the signs of new life we do see and cling to our glimpses of hope, knowing that spring is not just necessary, but a beautiful, muddy process of reawakening.
Hello spring, It’s nice to see you again.
“If we had no winter, the spring would not be so pleasant; if we did not sometimes taste of adversity, prosperity would not be so welcome.” ~Anne Bradstreet
*This post is also an entry for this month’s Write Away Contest hosted by Scribbit.
Filed under moving, writing | Comments (8)Scribbles
One of the benefits of spring cleaning is finding lost treasures. A few weeks ago, while cleaning out my dresser, I uncovered a tattered blue journal held together by crumbling, clear tape. Faded gold lettering on the front cover says, “The Scribble-in Book.”
I sat down on the floor and forgot about the dresser as I opened the front cover to refresh my memory of the book’s lengthy history. In my Grandmother’s handwriting was simply written “Aunt Ida. Received 9-11-88.” Right below Grandma’s writing, I had written “Given to me by Grandma T, Fall of 1995.”
My Great-Great Aunt Ida, the originator of the journal, was one of the godliest women I have ever known. She never married and never drove a car. She graduated from Moody Bible Institute while D.L Moody was President. She taught Sunday School for as long as she was able and was everyone’s “Aunt Ida.” She spent her years studying the Bible and loving all who came across her path. She was also the family “cake baker/decorator.” It was while staying with my Grandparents to recuperate from a broken hip that Aunt Ida passed The Scribble-in book on to my Grandma. My Grandma faithfully visited Aunt Ida during her final years in a nursing home, helping her with her lunch and praying with her. Aunt Ida passed away at the age of 101 while I was still in elementary school.
I have many memories of my Grandma during my growing up years. A good majority of those memories center around a discussion of the Bible, visiting her Bible Study Fellowship luncheons, and sitting with her and Grandpa every Sunday in the next-to-the-last row of pews in church. When I headed off to college in Fall 1995, Grandma introduced me to The Scribble-in Book and passed the treasure on to me. She always believed I would write. Grandma passed away just over a year ago after suffering from crippling arthritis for years. I’m sure she and Aunt Ida had a great reunion.
Mesmerized, I began to carefully thumb through the yellowing pages. I smiled as my fingers traced the familiar hand writing of these two precious women who loved God so dearly. I could see their personalities shining through and could almost hear their voices read the stories. They each filled pages with poems, short stories, and notes from sermons and books that left an impression on them. As I flipped through the book, I noticed that I had not contributed much yet to this history. The book now sits in a prominent place next to my computer – something my Great-Great Aunt never owned. As I listen to sermons while I sew or clean or come across an article that is especially meaningful, I give the thoughts the permanent honor of a home in The Scribble-in Book.
Someday, maybe my own daughter will thumb through the pages and be impacted by the thoughts of women who lived long before her. Maybe words from the book will shape what she does that day. You never know what your legacy may mean.
Filed under Story Girl, way back when, writing | Comments (3)My life is like a weaving
Between my Lord and me.
I cannot choose the colors
He worketh steadily.
Sometimes He weaveth sorrow
And I, in foolish pride
Forget He sees the upper
And I the underside.Not until the loom is silent
And the shuttles cease to fly
Will the Lord unroll the canvas
And tell the reason why.
My life is like a weaving
Between my Lord and me.
I cannot choose the colors
He worketh steadily.from “My life is like a weaving”
(captured by Aunt Ida in The Scribble-In Book)
Competition in the closet.
The morning sunlight is creeping through the door. I hear the scrambling of little feet getting ready for the day. I hold my breath and listen for the dreaded words from Mama: “Hurry sweetie! Find your Crocs so we can go!” Those dirty, pink crocs. They’re always bragging about what an adventurous life they lead – climbing the tallest slide, swinging high into the air, dancing, yardwork, washing the car. Whenever they start their bragging session, I just hold my tongue. We all know that no matter how comfy and easy they are to put on, Crocs don’t end up in pictures that go out in Christmas cards or blown up and framed for eternity on the family room wall. No, that honor is reserved for special shoes. Shoes like pink cowgirl boots.
It gets a little competitive in the closet, but you can’t blame us. We are, after all, size seven girl’s toddler shoes. We know we have a short life. Any day now Mama is going to box us up and then we’ll get shipped off to a cousin’s house or a thrift store. We know our days with her are limited. We want as many adventures as we can get.
My little friend flings open the closet door and in the blinding morning light I see the pink corduroy skirt. Excitement fills my sole. She always wears us with the pink corduroy skirt. Mama loves how we look with that outfit. She grins and grabs us off the floor. Zip! Zip! “Mama, I put my pink boots on ALL BY MYSELF!!” I manage a quick smirk at the Crocs before the closet door closes. She even got us on the right feet.
We dance down the hallway passing the little brother. I nod at the brown Sketchers. I was hoping to see his cowboy boots today, but maybe we can rendezvous later while the siblings empty everything out of his closet, as they are bound to do in a day that ends in “y.”
Mama is rushing around looking for the keys and cell phone. I look for clues as to where we are headed today. Doctor’s office? Dentist? Grocery store? Playground? Play date? I do love going shopping. My little friend swings us happily up and down as we zig zag through the aisles. Everyone stops to look at us, especially the older ladies. Oh how I love the complements. “OOOOHHH Look at you little honey! You are so adorable!! And those BOOTS! I wish I had a pair!” I straighten myself up a little taller. Naturally, all the women wonder if we come in their size too.
Finally we are headed outside. I see clouds on the horizon, and I hope it doesn’t rain. As much as I love my little friend, I really don’t like playing in puddles. I prefer dancing in the grass, viewing the world from the top of the slide, feeling the breeze as we swing, and sharing tales of our adventures while piled with other little shoes by the front door of a friend’s house.
But if we end up in a puddle today, I won’t complain. I’m making every day count with her. I hope that long after I’m gone she’ll cherish the memories we made with her and that she’ll remember how great she felt while wearing her pink cowgirl boots. And of course, she’ll always have that picture on the wall to remind her of us.
**This post is my very first entry for Scribbit’s monthly Write-Away-Contest. Scribbit is a fabulous motherhood blog that is more like an online magazine. Be sure to check her out, I’m sure you’ll fall in love as I have!
Filed under Little Miss Sunshine, writing | Comments (18)