Fighting for my Joy

 I haven't posted in a long while, because there was a long stretch in which I couldn't find anything that suited the title of my blog to write about.  

It was a long season of drought.  Both for the state of Texas, and my own spirit.  Although Texas may still be in the midst of a drought, God sent along some wonderful friends, mentors, and guides to love and nourish my heart until I finally feel like I'm coming out the other side of the desert.  There have definitely been some rainy days full of blessings pouring down!  

Some of them have been in relation to a study I'm doing.  One of my friends suggested I might be going through so much because I'm being attacked spiritually.  I could see her point, but that means I'm in the midst of a battle I didn't even know was raging around me!  So I decided to study about our spiritual warfare.  

What is our protection?  What armor do we have? 

What are our weapons?  Can we fight back? 

What is our battle strategy?  Can we make an actual plan against an enemy we cannot see?

Who is our enemy?  Who or what are we actually fighting?  How can I know my enemy so I'm aware of what tricks may come along?  

Ephesians 6:10-18

Finally, be strong in the Lord and in his mighty power.  Put on the full armor of God, so that you can take your stand against the devil's schemes.  For our struggle is not against flesh and blood, but against the rulers, against the authorities, against the powers of this dark world and against the spiritual forces of evil in the heavenly realms.  Therefore, put on the full armor of God, so that when the day of evili comes, you may be able to stand your ground, and after you have done everything, to stand.  Staqnd firm then, with the belt of truth buckled around your waist, with the breastplate of righteousness in place, and with your feet fitted with the readiness that comes from the gospel of peace.  In addition to all this, take up the shield of faith, with shich you can extinguish all the flaming arrows of the evil one.  Take the helmet of salvation and the sword of the Spirit, which is the Word of God.  And pray in the Spirit on all occasions with all kinds of prayers and requests.  With this in mind, be alert and always keep on praying for all the Lord's people.  (NIV)

We are commanded to put on ALL the armor of God - not so we can fight each other.  Not so we can fight unbelievers.  But so we can fight against demonic and Satanic forces ruling our world.  Are we really ready to get into the battle and really learn about our enemy, learn about our armor and our weapons, and even more importantly, learn not just how to fight, but how to WIN our battles?  I am certainly tired of constantly being the one attacked, constantly being on the defensive, constantly being hit, attacked, and beat down by the enemy.  So, Step 1, then, is getting ready for the battle, putting on some armor!  

• The Belt of Truth - Well, why a belt?  That was my first thought.  Wouldn't chainmail be the first thing a warrior would need?  What on earth is a belt going to protect??  So, Google queen that I am, I looked it up.  Picture an ancient Roman.  Ceasar, townsfolk, Alexander the Great, whoever you want.  You're picturing a long, dress-like robe, or possibly a knee length garment, gathered at the waist with some sort of belt, right?  Well, that long, flowy robe would get in the way of daily duties. It's hard to milk a cow, or harvest your grain, or run after a wayward sheep when you keep tripping over your robe, isn't it?  So they would grab the hem of the back of the robe, pull it forward, between their legs, and over the front of the robe, and tuck it into their belt.  This would keep the robe out of the way of their daily duties, so they could get done what they needed to do.  What does this have to do with armor?  I'm glad you asked!  What, in our lives, is in the way of us being truly effective for God?  We use TRUTH to get those things under control and out of the way for what God wants for us.  Satan is the father of lies, so it is especially important to base everything we do, and every battle we fight on the truth of God's word.  And the belt of truth helps us keep the lies and distractions out of the way while we fight.  
• The Breastplate of Righteousness - Again, back to my ancient Roman research.  The breastplate protects your heart and organs.  That makes sense that it's important to have our breastplate on.  But why righteousness?  What is it about the breastplate that represents righteousness?  Well, righteousness is how we live, our standing before God.  If we live in right standing with God, careful that nothing comes between us and our God, our breastplate of righteousness will protect our hearts when Satan tries to hit us with things that would take our heart away from God.  
• Feet shod with the Gospel of Peace - The word gospel means 'good news'.  Our feet are to be covered with the good news of peace.  Any armor that has to do with peace seems odd for a warrior.  Isn't a battle kind of the opposite of peace?  Maybe not.  In World War II, were the Allies fighting just to fight?  Being mean to the Axis powers by fighting back?  Not in the least.  They were fighting to protect the lives, and freedoms of the oppressed.  They were fighting to restore peace.  Our feet keep us standing, steady, and help us move forward.  So if we know we are in the battle to bring good news and peace to those the enemy is holding, we will not be shaken or unsteady, we can keep moving forward, and advancing His kingdom of peace.  
• Shield of Faith - When we carry a shield, it protects us from what is trying to attack us.  It can even be used to protect those who are fighting with us.  When we continue to have faith, it protects us from the enemy's attacks because we are trusting that God is on our side and will protect us.  Romans 10:17 says, "So then, faith comes from hearing the message, and the message is heard through the word of Christ."   (NIV) So, to strengthen your shield, stay in the Word, and listen to the messages you receive there.  
• Helmet of Salvation - A helmet protects our head, which is obviously going to be our thoughts.  But why salvation?  2 Corinthians 10:5 We demolish arguments and every pretension that sets itself up against the knowledge of God, and we take captive every thought to make it obedient to Christ.   Philippians 2:12 Therefore, my dear friends, as you have always obeyed - not only in my presence, but now much more in my absence - continue to work out your salvation with fear and trembling, for it is God who works in you to will and to act in order to fulfill his good purpose.   The helmet of salvation is not referring to salvation of the soul from hell.  It is talking about salvation from being destroyed by the enemy, made useless in your work for God by the attacks and damage you receive in battle.  So, to succeed in the battle, to be saved, healthy and strong for the next battle, we need to be taking every thought captive, stay in the Word, being vigilant, so that we are working out our salvation in the midst of the battle.  

When you put all these pieces of armor together, a belt to keep us from getting tripped up and distracted, a breastplate to protect our hearts, boots to keep us standing strong and moving forward, a shield to protect ourselves and others, and a helmet to ensure we remain healthy for all the battles to come, what an amazing picture God has given us!  And what amazing provisions God gave us.  He knew we would face battles, and he provided exactly what we would need to be protected in the battle, because he loves us that much.  

Something to bring us joy, every day! 

Let It Rain

Tonight, on our way home from work, Jamie and I kept hearing radio announcements of a storm on the way.  We mostly ignored them.  After all, this is Texas, and they don't have rain here like we had in Virginia.  My daddy calls Virginia storms 'gullywashers'. They last for hours, they almost always have dramatic thunder and lightning, and they are completely wonderful. 

I love rain. Maybe it's the Irish and Scottish genes floating around in my DNA, but I've always loved weather that is generally considered 'bad' weather.  There is something about a rain coat and rubber rain boots, with a big happy umbrella that just makes me adventurous.  Or, alternatively, a really good rain storm is a perfect opportunity to 'opt out' for a while, curl up with a book and a cup of tea, and just stay inside and listen. 

There haven't been many of those days since we moved.  And I've sorely  missed them. 

But just as we got almost home, maybe 1/2 mile from our house, it started.  A drop here or there, not even sprinkling, so much as dripping!  But huge, FAT drops.....And after another couple blocks, some of the 'drops' would bounce on the pavement!  Hail starting.....By the time we got home, we pulled into the carport under a torrential downpour! Oh, glorious rain!!!

I sat inside listening for a while, then invited Jamie to come with me out on my porch swing.  Porches in Texas are made wide enough that the heat of the summer sun can never reach the house.  Centuries before air conditioning, it's all they had to cool their homes, and it's a very typical design feature, now.  My house is no different.  So we sat on the front porch, under the tin roof, listening to the rain.  We'd only been out there a few minutes when.....

Thunder! A huge flash of lightning lit up the entire sky in my front yard, bright as day, and then seconds later, the thunder came.  But it came in a way I have never heard before, and in a way I don't think I will ever get tired of!  Our house sits in a valley between to ridgelines of the Texas hill country.  So the thunder started on one end of the ridge, and rolled down the valley all the way to the other end of the ridge line!  And then echoed back!  I have heard the term rolling thunder, but in my life up to now, that only referred to drivers on a NASCAR track!!  This was literal and dramatic rolling. Thunder.  I was so awed, we stayed out there, by now getting quite cold, just so I could hear it one more time before we came in.  I know I will spend many nights out on my porch swing, listening to the thunder roll by. 

The plants needed the rain.  The tiny new little dogwoods and redbuds my family got me to remind me of Virginia need the rain.  The dry creekbed behind my house needs the rain.  But I needed the rain, too.  What a soothing sound for my soul.  What an absolute joy. 

I am reminded today of my very favorite Psalm, in experiencing the power and glory of the storm: 

O Lord, our Lord,
How majestic is Your name in all the earth,
Who has set Your glory above the heavens!
2 From the mouth of infants and nursing babes You have established strength
Because of Your adversaries,
To make the enemy and the revengeful cease.

3 When I consider Your heavens, the work of Your fingers,
The moon and the stars, which You have ordained;
4 What is man that You take thought of him,
And the son of man that You care for him?
5 Yet You have made him a little lower than the angels,
And You crown him with glory and majesty!
6 You make him to rule over the works of Your hands;
You have put all things under his feet,
7 All sheep and oxen,
And also the beasts of the field,
8 The birds of the heavens and the fish of the sea,
Whatever passes through the paths of the seas.

9 O Lord, our Lord,
How majestic is Your name in all the earth!

Heavenly Surprises

Well, I mentioned in my last post that I had lots to catch you up on.  And I mentioned that we were in Texas.  Did you catch that? 

The first thing I think I should tell you about is about our new house.  So many of my previous posts were about our home in Virginia.  And I loved it. Leaving that beautiful, 100 year old Craftsman behind, leaving the porch swing, and the view of the Chesapeake Bay was one of the hardest things I've ever done.  As I drove away, headed for Texas, I knew I was doing what was right, what I had to do, and yet, I could feel my heart breaking as I left. 

But our loving Heavenly Father has a way of rewarding us for doing what He calls us to do.  And so I want to tell you about it. 

When I first left Virginia, I headed for Dallas.  I had a daughter and son-in-law and three precious grandsons just north of Dallas, and it was our plan to possibly stay in the Dallas area.  But we weren't sure, so as is my nature, I couldn't just wait until we were sure to look for houses.  Instead, I looked for houses all over Texas.  It is a new state to us, and I know very little about Texas.  So I didn't really know or even pay very close attention to where the homes were.  The important part was determining what we were looking for in a home, what was in our price range, and build the dream of a new life in Texas.  While I was looking, I found a few that seemed ideal.  I would save them, show them to all the family, take votes.  One in particular was a wonderful amount of land, a generous sized house, the front yard looked like a park, with so many flowers!  It already had a barn, and a playset for the grandkids, and had forest and a creek for the kids to explore.  It just seemed like exactly what we would want.  ......And it was under contract within a couple days after I found it.  Still, I had found the kind of property we were looking for, so I began to ask my Heavenly Father to provide us some home that was similar to this one, and to let us know it was the right home when we found it. 

Within a couple months, Darling Husband was offered a position.  Not in Dallas, after all, but in San Antonio.  We were kind of excited about that, since we'd visited San Antonio several years ago.  It's a beautiful city, with patriotic and amazing history, wonderful people, and a culinary heritage that is world famous.  Great place for a couple foodies like us!  We moved, settled in to an apartment while we found a house, and contacted a realtor (who happened to be an old friend I hadn't seen in decades, so that was amazing!) 

We had looked at....maybe 15-20 houses, enough that I was beginning to wonder if we'd be in an apartment forever. That's about the time our realtor said he had a house he thought we'd like to see, that it seemed to fit a lot of what we were looking for. 

As we pulled down the driveway and around the corner to the house, what was sitting there on this beautiful property, but the house!  The house I'd fallen in love with months before, in Dallas.  The house everyone in my family had already been in love with.  The house I thought would be perfect.  The house I asked God for. 

I can hear you now, "But you said it went under contract?"  Yep.  It was.  It was under contract for several months before the contract fell through, and it came back on the market just in time for us to find it.  A wonderful gift from a loving Father. 

So I guess you think my everyday joy today is my house.  Well, I do love my new house.  We are slowly getting acquainted, I'm slowly learning her quirks, and I'm sure one day, I'll love her as much as I loved my Craftsman on the bay. She even has a porch swing, although the view is very different. But today, my everyday joy is my wonderful Heavenly Father, who loves us so much more than we know, and gives us so much more than we deserve. 

My everyday joy today is Matthew 7:11.  If you then, full of your sin nature, know how to give good gifts to your children, how much more shall your Father who is in Heaven give all good things to His children who ask Him?    Isn't that a joyful thought, indeed! 

Fates and Friends

Today is 12th night.  January 5 of a new year. So much has happened in my life, I can't even take the time right now to catch you up.  But today, one of my dearest friends messaged me, asking if I would read the first excerpt of a book she's starting.  Will I??? What an honor!  The fledgling beginnings of her book are here on Blogger, so I'm going to try to link them to my page, so you can read them, too.  Because my friend has lived through so much, and her book is going to be so amazing!  I am so proud of you, Nancy!  I'll look forward to reading the rest.

But it was fateful that she would ask me to come to Blogger to read her blog on this day.  Because just two days ago, I sat down with my new planner for a new year, and wrote down in black and white (ok, blue and white, but you know what I mean...)  my goals for the coming year.  I know, I know....'New Year's Resolutions'....the ones everyone makes.....the ones everyone has broken by Groundhog's Day.  I think of mine differently.  I never look at them as 'do or die', 'succeed or fail', 'ultimate life change' kind of resolutions.  I look at them more as 'Here's where you could have done better last year.  Here's what needs to improve by the end of this year. '  And even if  I'm not 100% gung-ho, faithful to every one of them, if I look back at the end of the year, and I can honestly say, 'Hey!  I actually did improve in that area!', then you know what?  I give myself a tiny pat on the back, and a little grace, and we call that one a win.  Does that make me lazy?  Does it make me half-hearted?  I don't think so.  I think it's accepting the personality God gave me, and working - in the way that works for me to make it better.

But back to my planner....I sat down two days ago and wrote in my planner that I was going to try to write something every day.  I'm working on two books.  I have a blog.  I have a lot of relatives who live far away.  I have friends who live far away.  Maybe every day won't be work on my book - although I hope to finish one of them this year.  Maybe every day won't be a letter to a friend.  Maybe every day won't be a new blog post.  But if I work on writing something, my book will get closer to finished.  My blog will revive. My friends and family will know how often I think of them, and how much I love them.  Just the tiny practice of writing every day will improve so much of what I feel are insurmountable goals! 

So it seemed like fate when Nancy brought me to Blogger, and I realized it was exactly one year ago today that I made my last post here on my blog.  A whole year.  A whole year in which, I'll be honest, I often struggled to find the Everyday Joy.  A year in which so much seemed to be going wrong, so many decisions seemed to be the wrong ones.  So much sadness and pain enveloped my soul that some days it was hard to even breathe.  But it was also a year in which many wonderful things happened, many successes were enjoyed, many blessings bestowed.  And a year in which my Darling Husband often encouraged me to restart my blog, because he knows I need to focus more on the Everyday Joys, and not so much on the stuff in between.  Don't we have enough of the stuff in between without focusing on it to attract more?

So, dear reader, here I am again, asking you to give me grace one more time, to join me on this new adventure in a new place, in a new situation, which I'm sure will bring new joys I will love sharing with you in this new year and new decade!

New place, you ask?  Yes, friend,  here's just a teaser on all we have to catch up on....We're in Texas!

But for today,  I'll just end with this...Thank you, thank you Nancy, for being my everyday joy today, for being a dear, sweet friend, and for being a reminder from God today of my New Year's Resolution to write every day.  

Happy New Year!

So many times, we make resolutions at this time of year and before February1, we've forgotten all about them. It's even become a sort of joke in our society. But it's made me think about what kind of people that makes us, and what that says about our society, and more importantly, our own sense of honor and integrity.
Am I a person of integrity? Do I do what I say I'm going to do? Am I the same person around my friends and family and co-workers that I am when NO ONE is watching?
I think we all tend to not keep our word, to a certain extent....especially to ourselves.
"I'm going to get the laundry finished today."
"I'm only going to watch one episode of this show on Netflix."
"I'll get the dishes done during the commercials."
"I'm going to start going to the gym."
"I'm going to spend more time with my husband/wife/kids."
"I'm going to spend more time studying the Bible."
"I'm going to spend more time in prayer."
Maybe we say these out loud to our spouse or friends. Maybe they are just silent promises we make to ourselves.
But if we don't keep them, it effects our integrity, and our self-image.
So I don't know if you set a New Years Resolution or not. I set two, personally.
But even if you didn't, let's ALL work on keeping our own, everyday promises to ourselves, and learning to be and do what we say we are.

That way, 2019 will be full of the everyday joy of knowing we are people of our word, people with personal integrity who can hold their heads high in any adversity.

Happy 2019, everyone!!

New Beginnings

Oh, my goodness.  I look at the last date on my blog here, and it was more than 2 years ago.  TWO YEARS.  So much has happened in two years.  So many things I could have....should have...been sharing.  But as sometimes happens, life got away from me, and I forgot to look at the joy, started looking only at the challenges and struggles.  So much so that I felt I had nothing joyful to write about ever.  There have been some dark days. 

But I've been gifted some wonderful friends, and some dear family who have been there in the dark places, and kept me going.  Kept reminding me of my calling, kept reminding me of my value and my gifts and of everything I dream of accomplishing. At last, their encouragement is breaking through the shell of darkness, and light....glorious, JOYOUS light is starting to break through. 

I make no excuses for not having written for so long.  The only one I have is that I was looking in the wrong places...looking at the darkness of my troubles, rather than the Light that can blast the darkness away.  So for my first blog post in two years, I leave you this excerpt from a favorite devotional book, Jesus Calling:

"To protect your thankfulness, you must remember that you reside in a fallen world, where blessings and sorrows intermingle freely.  A constant focus on adversity defeats many Christians.  They walk through a day that is brimming with beauty and brightness, seeing only the greyness of their thoughts.  Neglecting the practice of giving thanks has darkened their minds.  How precious are My children who remember to thank Me at all times.  They can walk through the darkest days with Joy in their hearts because they know that the Light of My Presence is still shining on them.  Rejoice in this day that I have made, for I am your steadfast Companion." 

Oh, how I've needed that.  I thought you might, too. 

Crochet

A friend got a new foster baby today, and I'm really excited to crochet her a cuddly blanket for her new little angel.  Planning and starting a new blanket made me realize (again)  how much I love crochet, and how much it is part of who I am.

I started crocheting when I was 8 or 9 years old.  We had gone to visit in the tiny town in southwest Illinois where my grandparents lived, and I guess all my cousins were busy with something or other, because I was 'stuck' at home with Grandma, with nothing to do but watch her create an intricate and beautiful doily.  I loved watching Grandma crochet.  Her hook would move so quickly over and through the yard or thread.  And I don't recall ever seeing her use a pattern.  I saw patterns around her house, so maybe she did, but it seemed to me, at that young age, that the blankets, slippers, ponchos, scarfs and doilies just appeared magically as if her hook were some sort of magic wand.

At last I was overcome with wonder, and said to her, 'I want to learn to crochet.'  Quite matter-of-factly, I had just decided that this was something interesting and valuable, and I wanted to know how to do the magic for myself.  She refused.  "No." she said, "You're not big enough."  Looking back on it, I know now that she must have known how much that would bother me.  As the youngest of 17 cousins, I was often being told I was too little to be included in...whatever the other cousins were doing.  So I repeated, "Grandma!  I want to learn how to crochet!  Will you show me?"  Here is where my Grandmother's child-rearing genius becomes evident, because what she did was straight out of 'Reverse Phychology 101'!  "Nope.  Teaching you to crochet would take all afternoon, and I never knew a little girl willing to sit still all afternoon! Well, I'd even bet you an ice-cream cone you couldn't sit here all afternoon for me to teach you!"  So, determined to prove her wrong, and win myself an icecream cone in the process, I sat.  And she taught me the 4 or 5 basic stitches common to every crochet pattern.  When we were done, we walked a few blocks down the street to the store, where I got the ice cream cone she had bet me!

The next afternoon, she had me make a square, which probably was more of an irregular polygon, but she seemed very proud of it, and tucked it in her drawer full of all the potholders she had crocheted.  I was very pleased with myself.  The following afternoon, she taught me how to read a pattern, and helped me follow a pattern to make a simple, coaster-sized doily, which later became a tablecloth in my doll house.

From such humble and beloved memories, I continued.  I have been crocheting for several decades at this point, and have graduated to thinking up my own patterns, and adapting the ones I read.  It's as much a favorite passtime as reading or playing the piano.  Sometimes, when I'm working on a project that is extra-special, or extra-challenging, I would swear I can feel Grandma sitting next to me, looking over my shoulder, checking my stitches.  And I'll tell you a secret, if you promise not to tell anyone.  Sometimes when it seems she's near, I talk to her.  I still miss her, even though she passed away when I was in high school.  But when I'm crocheting, I know she's still there.  If not in person, in my stitches, the stitches she lovingly taught me all those summers ago.

And I've realized something along the way.  My grandma didn't just teach me the stitches to crochet, she taught me to love it like she did.  She taught me to think about the person I'm crocheting for, and weave good wishes, happy thoughts, and love for that person into every stitch.  Maybe that's why I love it.  Because it reminds me how loved I felt wrapped up in one of Grandma's afghans, or wearing a pair of slippers made just for me.  Because it is a treasure to my heart when I hear that someone I crocheted something for cherishes it, when I know they feel loved, like I did.

Someday I hope to pass down the art of crocheting to other little girls who are my friends or granddaughters.  And I hope I pass down the love, as well.  Because that is certainly one of my everyday joys.

Best Friends

I've been thinking a lot recently about friends.  What makes a friend, what causes two people to stick together, to form a permanent bond, what causes them to make another person who shares no blood a member of their family.

I've had best friends.  There was Laura, who I met in first grade because she was in my class. There was Tamecia, who I met at summer camp and who became a penpal for the duration of high school, and subsequently, my college roommate.  There was Amaya, who started talking to me on an evening when I thought I wanted to be alone, and never left.  She turned out to be one of the sweetest people I've ever met! There was Jen, who became family in such a significant way that we literally helped raise each other's kids for a few years.  She was the closest thing to a sister I've ever had, aside from my natural sister.

But that's only four people.  When I'm thinking about best friends I picture a life long, solid bond that no amount of time or distance or trial or disagreement can separate.  Does that mean none of these wonderful ladies was really a best friend?

Best.   Better than all the others, superior in some way.
Friend. Someone who you welcome into your life as a companion, who in turn welcomes you into theirs.  Someone who acts as the cheerleader to your dreams, even if they don't share them.  Someone who tells you their dreams, because they know you will cheer them on, even if you don't share them. Someone who is excited to talk to you and answers the phone when you call...or better yet, calls you! Someone you can talk for hours to...about all the important things, or about nothing, and never realize the time has passed.  The person you think to call when something wonderful happens.  The person you know you can call when something awful happens.

So, by this definition, each of them was a best friend.  By this definition, I have one more best friend. I met Bethany on the day she was born.  I held her and cuddled her, and fell madly and completely in love with my new daughter.  Of course, she wasn't my best friend then. She had a lot of growing to do.  And along the way, we had the normal mother-daughter spats.  But now she's grown, married, and a mommy to her own little one, and somewhere along the way, she grew up into a kind, loving, beautiful soul.  She really is my biggest cheerleader, even when she doesn't really get why I want what I'm working toward.  She calls just to chat, and we can talk for hours, sometimes.  She makes a point to ask my opinion, even when I'm sure she knows it's going to clash with hers.  :)  And I feel so incredibly blessed to have her as my friend.

Some people may be blessed with many, many friends like I've described.  That hasn't been my experience.  But it makes the treasure of a best friend that much more valuable to me, I guess.  And that's why it is my everyday joy to have Bethany as my best friend.

Cut Flowers

When I was in college, my college roommate and I both had boyfriends.  And both our boyfriends liked to impress us and win our hearts by sending or bringing us flowers.  For our entire freshman year, between the two of them, our room was never one day without fresh flowers.  Even if one of our sweethearts hadn't bought flowers in a while, there were still flowers from the other one.  I never did know whether they planned it between them, or not, but my roomie and I sure did feel spoiled!

Well, I married my college sweetheart, and years later, Dearest Husband gave me flowers for Valentine's Day.  That's not really too unusual.  One might even say it's commonplace, mundane, or unimaginative.  But when he gave them to me, he told me a secret, in the way only someone with my husband's quirky sense of humor can.  He told me that this wasn't just 'flowers'...it was actually an 'ever-blooming flower vase', that flowers would continue to appear in it.....for the forseeable future.

Now, I have to admit, I fell for it....and him.  I was charmed to imagine the romance of my dear husband bringing me flowers over and again.  I somehow imagined him handing me the bouquets as one would hand a beauty queen her winning roses, in a pink haze of romance.  I imagined him down on one knee, lifting the flowers to me, as one might offer a sacrifice to a goddess or a gift to a queen.  
For those first few weeks, I couldn't stop grinning at the thought that my quiet, laid back husband had thought up such a grand and romantic gesture, all on his own, and that I, his wife and princess, had been the muse to inspire such devotion.

By the first of March, the flowers had wilted, died, and been thrown away.....but new ones appeared in the vase!  I have to admit, I was amazed to wake up one morning and find new flowers in the vase.  They were still in the cellophane wrapping, with rubber bands around their stems, waiting to be cut properly. But they were in the vase, with water.  I thought it was a sign of my sweet, charming husband just not knowing how to present them to me properly.  It's ok.  I'd have to gently teach him to make a presentation of it.  After all, that was the point, right?

Many years have gone by, and although there have been a few lean times when there were no flowers in my vase, for the vast majority of days, I have always had a beautiful bouquet of cut flowers from that day to this.  And they've taught me something.

Is my husband romantic?  Obviously. How many wives do you know who get flowers every time the old ones wilt?

Does he present my flowers to me like he's presenting gifts or sacrifices to goddesses and queens?  No.  Of course not.  Sometimes, he even off-handedly adds 'Flowers' to the grocery list when he knows I'm going, and I have to buy them for myself!   But he expects me to. That's the important part.  He wants me to have them.  Just as much as my son wanted me to have the very best dandelions and clovers picked out of the yard when he was a toddler, and with just as much love.

Are my flowers elaborate displays of adoration?  No. Most often, they are grocery store bouquets that cost less than $10.  I have learned through the years that I don't even want them to be the huge, showy displays, like one would give a beauty queen. What a revelation that was!  I've discovered that the simple, hardy flowers last so much better, and bring joy for so much longer than the showy fragile flowers. (And isn't that just like life?  Don't 'simple, hardy' people seem to last through life's trials better than 'showy, fragile' people?)  Daisies and carnations may seem like the 'cheap' flowers, but they are so cheerful, so happy, so colorful, and last so long, how could you not love them?

So, yes, I still have my ever-blooming flower vase.  Yes, it still has flowers in it every single day. And it is an everyday joy to me to see those happy flowers and know that they represent the fact that every day, in every simple way, my husband loves me, still, after all these years.

Porch Swing

It is a late summer, beautifully warm, perfectly sunny, quiet day as I sit here on my porch.  My lovely old house has a wide, graceful front porch.  The kind that wraps half way around the house, and creates an outdoor room full of shade and breeze.  And right on the corner of the porch hangs a creaky, wooden porch swing.  Our house was a flip.  Someone before us bought it only for the purpose of fixing it and reselling it.  So maybe the porch swing was an afterthought, a way to fill up some of the vast expanse of the wide front porch, and maybe attract attention to the porch that continued on around the side of the house.  Maybe the company repairing the house only intended it as a feature to draw people in.  

Or maybe it was intended to draw attention to the view.  Across the street from my house is the mouth of a creek that feeds into the Chesapeake Bay.  So as I sit on my porch swing, I can watch boats go by, or watch kayakers on the creek, or just watch the sun sparkle on the water.  I feel the gentle breeze, keeping the front porch cool and comfortable even in the heat of summer.
It has become a favorite place to curl up with a book. Or a crochet project.  A welcoming place to relax and just enjoy the day.

It has become the favorite place for my two little grandsons to curl up on my lap for a snuggle, a nap, or a favorite book.  Or sometimes a snack, (but don't tell their mamas.) My dear husband has begun having quite philosophical discussions with my little 2yr old grandson while swinging on the swing. My porch swing has become 'neutral ground' when Darling and I have a disagreement and need to talk.  We even invented the idea of a 'fifteen minute date', because when there is a storm, we love to go sit on the porch swing and enjoy the rain for a while, outside, but still protected from the rain and lightning.

It has become the 'hangout' spot on family cookout days, when my three kids just want to sit together and catch up.  I have several little friends who like to sit on the swing and rock their baby dolls to sleep while I visit with their mamas.  Another little friend pretends it's a pirate ship, and the swaying is the motion of the wave on the high seas, as he sails off to another adventure.

The first moment I saw this house, I knew I loved the porch swing.  It was charming, hanging there, overlooking the bay. But I didn't realize at the time how much a part of everyday life it would be come, or what a favorite, cherished place it would become.

Somehow, sitting here in the shade, feeling the breeze, and watching the sun sparkle on the water washes all the trials of the day away.  Calms my soul, eases my worries, refreshes me in a way very few things do.  Gently rocking on the porch swings reminds me to stop, slow down a while, and enjoy the simple things life brings our way.

It is a precious treasure to have a place like that in my home.  It is a wonderful privilege to be able to share this special place with my friends and family.  And it is an everyday joy to spend a few minutes on my porch swing.

Chaos Theory

Well, despite the title, Chaos is not just a theory in my life.  It is an actual, positively active reality.  And for that reason, I'm not even going to try to explain why it's been 11 months since I posted a blog entry.  Please forgive me.  Certainly, with a little better time management, and a little more determination, I could have figured it out.  But that is, as they say, water under the bridge.

But the things that have 'kept' me from posting are not terrible ones.  We have a new grandbaby.  That makes two now.  One of them is 2, and an absolute joy.  He reminds me so much of my son when he was a toddler, full of curiosity, exploration, learning....and dirt.  Could there ever be a joyful, happy 2 year old boy full of adventure and wiggles who wasn't also partially covered in dirt?  

The other grandbaby is another grandson, he's 8 months now, and I haven't even shared him with you, yet.  He is already crawling, climbing, standing....I'm sure he'll be walking before he's a year old, already ready to adventure and explore, already full of a little boy's curiosity and need to conquer the world.

My Peaches and her beloved got married.  I haven't told you about that, either.  They ran off to a justice of the peace.  In a quite romantic, spur of the moment gesture, they decided they wanted it to be just the two of them, quietly saying those timeless words of love and commitment to each other alone.  I hope they will have a wedding at some point, because I can't wait to see what a beautiful bride my Peaches will be.  But I'm so very happy for them.

They also recently got their own apartment.  It's not far, only a few miles, but they are so happy to be out on their own, and beginning their new life together.  And their apartment is adorable.

I've been to a country fair for a weekend with Princess and her husband and my dear little Button.

I've painted a couple places in our new home.

We had TWO Christmas trees in our beautiful new house, one of them a beauty over 8 feet tall that scented the entire front of the house with pine and greeted visitors in the most charming and old-fashioned way.  It is what I had dreamed it would be, the first time I set foot in the house.

Dearest Husband has finished culinary school.  He got through his final exams and finished with honors.  I am so very proud of him.  Although I think he may regret his efforts just a bit, since I default to letting him do most of the cooking these days.

And so you see the highlights of the eleven months I have not posted....Every one of them an everyday joy in it's own right, every one of them something that took up time and energy, and somehow kept me from remembering to post about it.

So often, in this 21st century, we are too involved in social media or too concerned with taking this picture or texting that person, or looking this up on our phone, or do that on our tablet...that we forget to take the time to actually LIVE these lives we're living.  And I'm not preaching.  I am probably one of the worst I know about doing it.  Some absolutely wonderful things have happened in the last eleven months.  And even tho I'm sorry I haven't posted, and I vow to be better at it in the future, today, I'm so very glad I was there.

Because TIME with those we love is an everyday joy we never get back once it's gone.

My Village of Phoebus

Crickets and frogs fill the humid, summer night air with music, and the scents of magnolia and night-blooming jasmine welcome me as I begin my walk.

As I pass each house, I notice that some of them are completely dark, some have lights on in the windows, and some even have people out on their front porches.  The front porch sitters wave and say hello as I pass, and I wave back.  It's not necessary, but it's one of the things that makes this such a lovely little village in which to live.    The houses are well tended and welcoming.  Some are tiny cottages with just a door and one window tucked under a small front porch.  Some are sprawling Victorian mansions with wrap-around porches, balconies, towers and windows on every side.  But they all blend together in a companionable, seamless whole that is quite charming.

As I reach the main street, brick paving stones and street lamps made to resemble gaslights add to the village charm.  Along the main street are the things you would expect to see.  A gas station, a bank, a couple of fast food restaurants.  But these things actually look just a little out of place in this lovely place full of wisteria and tiger lilies, cobblestone streets and history.

I have come to another main street of the village, and although this is a main thoroughfare, at this time of night there is barely a car to be heard.  Instead, there are people walking along the sidewalk in the darkness who are, like me, out enjoying the summer evening.  The two local pubs have their doors open, and music from the live bands pours into the street, beckoning entrance.  The local VFW hall is still decorated in red, white, and blue streamers for Labor Day, and it's flag clangs against the flagpole, sending out a mellow chime into the darkness.  At the used bookstore, the owner has gone for the night, but with the trusting graciousness of a small village business owner, has left a box of free books for passersby to enjoy.  Another block down is the Post Office...a 100 year old brick structure with 20 foot high plaster ceilings and walls, that still retains it's wood framed, barred service windows from the early 20th century.  It is a beautiful, gentle, silent giant in the night.   The Moose Lodge makes me smile with the irony of everything that is similar about every small town across America, as I read the posted sign for a Saturday morning Pancake Breakfast.  The flag here, too, clangs in the night, answering the call of it's neighbor.  The American Legion building is dark tonight, but it makes me laugh, as I often do, at the bit of a cliche it seems having the VFW, American Legion, and Moose Lodge all within a few blocks of each other.  I've passed all my favorite antique shops, and the live theatre, which is quiet tonight, but looks like it's just waiting in anticipation for the next show.  At the corner is a school, and inside I can see a couple of the nuns rearranging desks and putting up bulletin boards, gearing up for all the children who will be happily learning there tomorrow.  Across the street from the school is a church.  A beautiful, old white stucco church that might look more suited to a southwestern town than my Colonial/Victorian village, but it is a village landmark, nonetheless, and looks cheerful and welcoming with it's neatly kept lawn and flower beds.

As I walk down my street, the last few blocks toward home, I am once again surrounded by beautiful Colonial homes, Civil War era mansions and freedmen's homes, Victorian Painted Ladies, and Craftsman jewels.  By all accounts my home, being a Craftsman American Foursquare as she is, is the brand new build in the neighborhood, even at 90 years old.  But my village, tucked quietly and gracefully into the middle of a bustling city holds a charm and a beauty I never expected to find when I bought the house.  I bought my Craftsman jewel because I fell in love with it.  I am just as much in love with the village it is in. It is an everyday joy to live here.

My Piano

At the age of three or four, I began begging my mom for piano lessons.  My grandmother played.  My aunts played.  My mother played.  My sister played.  My cousins played.  Nearly every time I was with my extended family, a summer evening would end with an aunt or cousin at the piano, with the rest of us picking out hymns or show tunes for her to play, while the rest of us sang along in multi-part harmony.  These are some of my happiest memories as a child.  And so I wanted to have my part in this wonderful legacy, to be able to make music, to be the one to play the piano.

Finally, when I was at the ripe old age of five, my mother relented, and started my piano lessons.  Mrs Turner was my first teacher.  She lived a few doors down from us, and I remember skipping happily down the street to her house on my lesson days.  In her living room stood the most beautiful baby grand piano I had ever seen.  Her living room was one of those 'museum' rooms that is meant to remain clean, beautiful, and orderly, and only entered on a special occasion.  This made sitting at her piano seem monumental, almost worshipful, and however excited and eager I was as I skipped to her house, I tried to remember to be respectful and solemn as I entered the living room, which I thought of as a sort of shrine to her beautiful piano.  

She always made me wash my hands when I got there, so I would not get the keys dirty, which added to the solemnity of my piano lessons.  But once I had my hands cleaned and was ready to begin, I would hop up onto the piano bench, and sit in awe of the beautiful black and white keys and the massive brown lid rising above the sound board.  I, little me, who was nearly the youngest cousin, the baby sister who was often told I wasn't 'big enough' to do this, or wasn't 'old enough' to do that...got to touch this beautiful piano and make music!  

I often got scolded for swinging my feet as I played, since I was so little my feet didn't touch the floor.  And I usually got corrected for my fingering being incorrect, or for playing too fast through a piece I knew well.  But gradually, the pieces got slightly more complex, and a bit longer.  Slightly more difficult, or a bit more challenging.  I only took lessons from Mrs Turner for a few years before we moved away, but as soon as we moved to a new home, my mom found me a new teacher.  

I remember somewhere around eight or nine, I had grown tired of piano lessons.  I felt trapped inside, practicing while my friends played outside, riding bikes or playing on swing-sets.  It wasn't as if I never did those things, but in my mind, that extra 1/2 hour of practice was torture, and I hated it.  There was one song on a record album my mother owned that I adored, and I told my mom I refused to take piano lessons one day past learning to play that song.  I begged her to let me quit.  She bought me a book that had the song in it, and promised I could quit when I reached Junior High school, if I still wanted to.  

I thought those years were torture, and yet, slowly I progressed.  Some of my songs were recognizable classics or pieces that I would hear my aunts play at Grandma's house.  Sometimes, the classical pieces were several pages long, and I would sit in my mother's basement, playing her old upright piano, imagining myself on a stage in some concert hall, once again playing a beautiful grand piano...but only to ward off the drudgery, of course.  Sometimes, I would try to sing along with a hymn, or make my way through a book full of show tunes, dreaming of when it would be my turn to play for my cousins.....but only because I hated practicing so much.  

And then the summer came when I was getting ready to begin Junior High school.  My mom and I were on a back-to-school shopping trip when she said, 'Well, you're starting Junior High.  I guess we're going to end your piano lessons now.  I promised you we would.'  And that's when it suddenly hit me.  I didn't hate the piano!  I didn't want to quit playing!  I almost had a meltdown, right there in the store!  No!!  You can't quit my lessons! I LOVE the piano!  I LOVE playing!  I LOVE my lessons!!  Mom relented pretty easily, and I only realized years later she'd probably never really intended to make me give up my lessons.  Well played, mom.  

I continued lessons all the way through high school.  My last few years of school, I even took lessons at a studio in a piano store.  There, I was welcome to arrive before my lessons, or stay after for as long as I wished and play any of the gorgeous, gleaming black grand pianos that sat around the showroom.  It was a privilege allowed to very few students, and I was honored.  Once again, playing the piano rose to become something worshipful and special, something I looked forward to at every occasion.  And that song I wanted to be able to play before I quit my lessons?  I played it from memory for my Senior recital, and for a church-sponsored music competition.  I went all the way to international competition with it. 

I may not play every day now, and when I do, it is primarily for my own enjoyment, or for the enjoyment of family or friends.  I'm not a professional pianist, or even a church pianist.  I don't own a grand piano, although it was the very first item I added when I decided to create a bucket list.  But I still adore the piano, and I still love playing.  Mom gave me more than skill at playing an instrument.  All those years of lessons taught me to keep working toward a goal.  To stick with a project, even when it's hard.  That following through with your plan has rewards, even if you don't like the process.  There were so many things I learned besides just how to read music and how to play the piano.  

Playing the piano will always be a joy to me.  And I'm grateful for all the things it has taught me.  

Friends

Friends are one of the first joys we have in our lives.  It is a rare person who hasn't watched as two little strangers meet up on a playground in a park, only to be the best of friends within minutes.  Children are rarely bothered by looks or gender, economic status or ethnicity,  beliefs or nationality.  If someone is smiling, they smile back.  If someone is sad, they want to help fix it.  To a child, friends are simply 'all the other people in the world'.  That is so wonderful in some ways, but incredibly shallow...child-like.

As we grow up, we learn to filter and screen and eliminate some of those people, and our friends become something altogether more valuable and precious.  Maybe there aren't as many of them.  Maybe there are precious few.  But those people are cherished and treasured in our lives. In the last few days, I have had the joy of spending time with some of the most precious people in my life.  

One of them is someone with whom I share a lifelong dream of writing a book.  She is quite a bit ahead of me on her book, but she is always a source of inspiration and encouragement.  She is always there to keep me focused, to answer questions, even to prod me forward when I need it.  I don't get to see her nearly as often as I would like. It's likely my book would get done faster if I did.  But Sherah is irreplaceable.  

Another is one of my business partners.  She always has some encouragement for me.  She and I review our goals together and plan for the future and growth of our business together.  She is there in the trenches with me when I get bogged down, always reminding why we do what we do, and always helping me keep my next goal in front of me.  She doesn't accept average from me, because she knows I'm better than average.  But she's always there to remind me I'm better, when I need it.  She's like my own personal cheerleader, although I'm SURE Leah would bop me over the head with them if I got her a set of pom-poms....

One of my most precious treasures of a friend has been a mentor to me for years, now.  She is where I turn for guidance with the 'big things' life throws at me.  And she has been so steadfast and loyal.  She is the voice of calm stability when the sky is falling.  She is the one who rushes in to the situation when my life is on fire and helps me figure things out when everyone else might be running the other direction.  She has been an irreplaceable source of growth to me, and I am so blessed to have Renee in my life.  

Very dear to my heart is my friend who is running along side me as Jamie and I build our business.  She and her husband have a business as well, and while each business has it's own goals and plans, it's become a kind of friendly competition between us.  She is a utter professional, and she is such an inspiration and motivation as a friend.  She is a determined goal-setter, and it's always a challenge keeping up with her, but I love that about her, because it keeps me on my toes, and keeps me moving ahead on those days when I really would rather hibernate.  It's so awesome to have a pace-setter like Kendra in my life!

One of the dearest friends I've ever had is someone who was originally a Navy buddy of Jamie's.  He came over to hang out with Jamie, and we've been the dearest of friends ever since.  I can always count on him to share a new piece of music, or a new composer.  To express a point of view I hadn't thought of or delve into a philosophical controversy with me.  We share a love of piano and art, of country and family.  I don't get to talk to him often, either, but it's like an oasis in my day when I get a few minutes to chat with Tom.  

God has blessed me with many friends.  But these few give such special things to my life, and have been such a blessing, that they are my everyday joy today.  

Summer Nights

Summer has always been one of my favorite seasons.  From as far back as I can remember, the word summer has conjured images of beaches and sunshine, bare feet and homemade icecream.  Bicycles and swimming pools, honeysuckle and bumblebees.  And I love all these things.  It just wouldn't really feel like summer without them.

But I think one of my favorite parts of summer is the nighttime.  All the playing is over.  All the tourists have left the beach, and the only ones left are the locals, hardcore stragglers going for a moonlit walk on the sand.  The littlest are in bed, dreaming of new adventures for the day to come.

Like so many God-given nightlights, the lightning bugs twinkle on and off, enticing children to play, to catch one, just to watch it light up, captive in their hands before it flies away again.  Marshmallows, graham crackers and chocolate bars appear around the campfire, ready to tempt even the strongest willpower with the toasty, melty goodness of a s'more...

And the nighttime breeze begins, replacing the sweltering humidity with a cool refreshment. Honeysuckle, night-blooming jasmine, and magnolia drift to scent the night with nature's perfume, while the cool air relaxes and refreshes, and slowly lulls the world to sleep.  

This is my favorite time of the day, when the world has settled quietly under it's blanket of night, gently dreaming of the day ahead.  This time of day seems to settle peace over my soul, no matter what the challenges of the day have been, no matter what looms over tomorrow.  It's such a gift to experience.  Such a joy to watch the calm settle on the harried world, and have all the trials of the day melt away in jasmine-scented peace.

Office Hours

Darling Husband has his own office.

This sentence, in any rational sense of grammar, should not be a source of...well, of any emotion, joy or frustration, anger or happiness.  It is just a normal, random sentence that might be said in any of millions of homes across the country.

But Darling Husband and I have spent the last seven years living in apartments that were too small to even have a division between a living room and a dining room.  They were usually too small to have a kitchen that had more counter space than is required to set a toaster on, to say nothing of actually working in.  So, for the last seven years, IF we had an extra bedroom, it usually was bedroom/craft room/guest room/office/den combination.  It would be used for whatever length of time it was needed, in whatever capacity was currently the  most urgent.

Darling Husband rarely complained.  He just kept all of his personal mementos packed away, and patiently set up the printer on the dining room table, or spread school books all over the living room, or made whatever arrangements had to be made to accommodate our cramped quarters.  I encouraged him, often, to take over the extra room and make it his own, but just as he was nearly ready to set up a desk, it seemed something always caused him to put it off.  A guest would come for a few days. One of our kids would need to move home for a couple months.  I would be in the middle of a craft project which ate up the floor space in the extra room.  Something.

Well, in our new house, we have a room that is, has always been, will always be designated as the office.  We've been in the house for almost two months now, and 'the office' has looked like a storage unit, stacked high with boxes.  But this afternoon, finally, Jamie started unpacking.  His life has been quite an adventure.  He grew up as the child of missionaries in Papua New Guinea.  His parents later went to Africa.  And he served 20 years in the U.S. Navy, so he went to many other places on deployment.  Opening the boxes was something nearing Christmas for him.  Every single box held a treasure.  There were New Guinean masks in one box.  There was a bottle of water from a stream near the Blarney Stone in another, tucked in with gravel from an Italian ruin.  There was a bit of sand from the shores of Puerto Rico packed next to a marble goblet from Germany.  Another box held an African pygmy bow and arrows.  We found his antique book collection, with funny rare books like a book of etiquette from the 1800s nestled along side his first edition of Hemingway's For Whom the Bell Tolls.

So many of his treasures, bits of his life, memories, that have gone unseen, unspoken of, and uncelebrated for so long.  Too long.  I am thrilled that Jamie finally has his own office.  Yes, of course I am.  But the bigger joy is that he has a place to show off all those little things that mean so much to him, where they can be valued and appreciated, where his life, and all it's memories can be valued and appreciated every single day.  Because they are.  He is.  Today, Jamie is my everyday joy.

Adventures in Babysitting

This morning I got to watch two of my favorite littles.  Kade and Jessa are my best friends kids, and they are five and two.  It is always so much fun to play with them and talk to them.  The world is so bright and new and amazing when you're a preschooler.

Today, they decided they would like to watch movies.  I agreed.  After all, it is the middle of the summer here on the East Coast, and sweltering outside.  So they rummaged through my stack of DVDs for 'the perfect movie'.

We decided to watch Prince of Egypt.  It was always one of my favorites when my kids were growing up, so I enjoyed it as much as they did.  One of my favorite parts, tho, was watching Kade's face as he watched the movie.

When the Israelites crossed the Red Sea on dry ground, his eyes got huge.  When Moses raised his staff and lightning struck it, and began swirling the water, he leaned over the arm of the couch in rapt attention.  But when the Egyptian army drowned in the collapsing Red Sea as the Israelites looked on in awe, his reaction was the best.

With an equally awed tone in his little voice, he whispered, "Woah...."

Woah, indeed, Kade.

Thank you, Kade for renewing the wonder of a well-known story, and for sharing my morning with me.

First House Party

Yesterday was our open house.  We finally have the house put together enough to have friends and family come see our new home.  We were surprised how many people came.  

Princess and her husband came from 3 1/2 hours away, and she took tons of pictures of the event for us.  That gave me lots of time to cuddly my sweet little grandson, too!

My parents came from 80 miles away.  That was an extra blessing, since I had no idea they would be able to come.  It was such a joy to be able to share my new house with them.

Many of our local friends came.  Business partners, our realtor, work friends, church friends...It was just a busy, fun, lovely day.  And I realized this is the best reason to love our house.  Because it gives us plenty of room to welcome all those we love.

I hope our home will always be filled with love, and that all our friends and family will always feel welcomed here.

Hubby in the Kitchen

A few days ago, I had the opportunity to go to the school where my husband is studying culinary arts.  He has had a dream for a long time to own a restaurant, and so he decided to go to culinary school as the first step.  When he is at home, he is studying in his books, or working on projects.  He is duplicating things he has learned to cook, or practicing things he is working on learning.  Getting to eat the projects and experiments is a definite benefit of being the wife of a culinary school student.

But now and then, the school has events that the families are invited to attend.  Once, it was a dining experience for lunch, because Dearest Husband was learning the art of serving, and how wait-staff is expected to serve in a five-star restaurant.  Once it was a dessert buffet, as part of his final exam in a baking class.  He got an A+ on that exam, in my opinion.  Trust me, you want to try my husband's creme brulee!

This time, it was a kitchen class, and we were invited to lunch, cooked for us by my husband's class.  The lunch was superb, but the highlight of my afternoon was the fact that the kitchen has a glass wall which allowed us to watch them cooking our lunch.  I was watching my husband carefully preparing his dish, and I could just see how much concentration and attention he was putting into it.  It was fascinating to me to see the focus and determination on his face, and know that he was totally in his element, learning, creating, cooking.

I sometimes see the frustration, the frenzy, the aggravation, when a project is almost due, and he feels there are details still not in place.  Or when he is studying for a test he does not feel completely ready for.  Or when he he is cooking a dish at home that is not quite cooperating.  But I don't often see the excitement for his craft or the joy of the finished product the way I did at the school that day.

Lunch, of course, was amazing.  But the most amazing part was seeing my husband enjoying himself cooking it.

Making Progress

I was weeding again today.  I honestly haven't really weeded since the last blog entry I wrote about weeding, but as I went out into the humidity and heat again today, it seemed like it's all I ever do.  And I wasn't really very happy about that thought.  But as I weeded, my thoughts changed.  I'd like to share them with you.

Weeding.  AGAIN.  Always weeding.  Well, I guess that's what I get for buying a 90 year old house.  I wonder if there are any ways to kill all English Ivy and kudzu in my yard, without actually killing everything else.  Geez.  This stuff would probably survive a nuclear holocaust. Death to IVY!!  

But I continued weeding, and gradually....

You know what tho?  It makes the house seem very settled in it's environment to have this beautiful ivy here and there.  And these weeds really are coming up pretty easily.  The nandina looks pretty here.  Nandina.  Wow.  I'm even beginning to know the names of some of these plants.  Gotta get the weeds away from the dusty miller.  He's not growing too well, all choked with ivy.  Hold on, Dusty.  I'm working on it.  

I hardly even realized it was happening, but by the time I got the side bed weeded....

You know, this really isn't going to be too bad to keep up.  I just need to get out here a couple times a week and make sure nothing is taking over.  The hardest part is getting them looking better.  Keeping up shouldn't be a big deal.  I could even learn to like this.  Getting to see how my flowers are coming, tending them, seeing them grow.  I never did get to play in the dirt when I was a kid.  I guess this is my chance.  Hmmm...I'm done with the side bed.  I suppose I ought to check the front bed for weeds.  Probably won't be too many, since I weeded it the other day....

And then, what really surprised me...

You know, I have the front bed caught back up again...I could just take these pansies and verbena and put them here.  They'd be happier in the ground than in those pots....Here you go, little flowers.  Now you can keep your little feet wet and grow...grow!  Grow!  GROW!  Ha.  I am talking to my flowers.  Before you know it, I'll be planning what I want to plant, instead of just tending what's here.  And then...on to Yard of the Month!!  Well!  THAT'S not what I was thinking when we bought this house!   Hmmm....done already??


And I realized something...Most ANY project seems completely daunting, overwhelming, when you first begin.  Training a puppy.  Raising kids.  Painting a room.  Learning to drive a stick shift.  Most anything.  But if you start, you make progress.  Even if it's a tiny bit of progress.  The NEXT day, you have only to maintain that tiny bit of progress...which is SO much easier than gaining it...and make a tiny bit MORE progress.  And you know what??  I'm not just making progress for progress's sake.  I'm not just making progress because it's a duty.  I'm making progress because I enjoy seeing progress.  Because progress helps me dream further ahead. 

I had forgotten that.  Dear Husband and I have our own business, and sometimes all the tasks that need to be done for that seem SO overwhelming, just too big a mountain.  But there was so much joy today in realizing that if I just....make some progress....no matter how small, I will be further along than I was today, and closer to whatever I dream.

So here is a wish for you today, my friend.  My wish for you today is that you find something...some small way to make some progress toward a goal.  Tomorrow, all you will have to do is maintain that...and you'll be closer to whatever you dream.