Peaceful Surrender

Until the last 8 or 9 years, if someone had said to me, "I feel like God is really talking to me .... " I'd probably have looked at them half-cockeyed and wondered if I needed to sift their next statements through the 'living-on-another-planet' filter. But, as I alluded, things have changed in recent years.

Somewhere along the road in my mid-20s, when all appeared to be going fabulously in my life (great pr career, super healthy, traveling, lots of friends and parties), I realized I was empty. Very empty. And worse, with dozens of people close to me, I felt oddly alone. Until one night on my balcony in my one bedroom apartment in North Carolina. That's when God and I had our first real conversation. But really, He wasn't saying much ... I was the one talking ... and pleading for relief from my misery. I knew life had to hold much more for me. It just had to.

That was the night that I finally said, you take my life Lord, you do it. Because I'm over it. I'm tired of trying to be all that everybody else wants me to be. I'm tired of running so hard and so fast ... to where??! I'm tired of trying to live in this world of grays when all the gray just rebelled against the truth in my very soul. I'm sick and tired of being solely accepted by whether I had sent a perfectly edited document to my client or by how big my butt is or was last month ... I'm tired of going through relationship after relationship that always seemed to leave me wanting more ... Worst of all, I'm tired of making such self-destructive choices, but I don't seem to be able to stop myself ...

It was that cool September night, with tears running down my fair cheeks that I gave up on being CEO of my life ... I was getting nowhere fast and began to realize that if I didn't figure something out that though the pictures in my life might look pretty and fun to those on the outside, the one in the pictures would be sad - plain and simple.

"Surrendering' is what you'll hear many people in Christian circles call it. Surrender. It almost sounds like a battle? In truth it was. It was a battle between God and me to determine who would be god of my life. Him or me. At that point, I figured I didn't have much to lose. He supposedly created this world, so shouldn't He know better than I? I hoped so. I was finally running the white flag in and laying it all at His feet.

Fortunately for me, over the course of the next 6 or 7 years, He led my feet to another path that was not completely different from the one I was on, but was much more peaceful, and joyful and FULL. Really full. And for the first time in my life the cliche of 'peace' was no longer a cliche, I actually possessed it. And fear no longer controlled me; rather, it just knocked on my door every so often.

And now, 12 years later, as I sit in my home, with my husband close by and my little one sleeping soundly in the room down the hall, I feel an enormous amount of gratitude to God. He'd been chasing me for a long time, but it took some really tough times for me to slow down long enough to let Him catch me and show me all the beauty He had in store for me.

But thankfully, He did.

Peace to you ...

Honeysuckle Dreamin'

One of the endearing qualities about where we live (some might call it the 'country,' I just call it the burbs of the burbs) is that it's quiet, hilly and there are some great roads to bike very close by. Some of the prettier roads even run adjacent to bits of farm land.

So this weekend, my hubbie and I decided to take a bike ride with our little man. It's one of our favorite things to do together. And Saturday was just one of those days that it seemed blasphemous to stay inside. The sun was shining, the temperature was in the high 60's, a constant breeze was blowing and the skies were a perfect tar heel blue.

After our little one's nap, we saddled up the bikes, and headed down our driveway to discover our new neighborhood and all it's wonders. Let me qualify that we've lived here for almost a year, but it's still kind of 'new' to us.

Watching my son peak out from behind his bike seat -- on the back of his daddy's bike -- to watch me and, with a big, mischievous smile, say, 'Mommmmy' was the best. Isn't it amazing how children can make a seemingly mundane moment something incredibly special? I know, it's sounds so corny, but it was just one of those instances I try to imprint on my brain so that I'll have it in the years ahead when he won't want to be seen with me. Yes, those days will come I'm told.

Soon we were riding on a lonely dead-end road bordered by luscious green trees on one side and thick meadows of tall, airy grass on the other ... and that's where I got it. My first 'summer's coming' whiff of honeysuckle. Mmmmmmm..... don't you love that smell? There's something about honeysuckle that just makes you breathe deeper and slower, preparing you for the summer months. It's as if God Himself whispers from above that summer's right around the corner.

It's been a rough few years, but I feel God telling me to relax a bit and take it all in. Seeing the summer months through my 2 yr olds eyes is something I'm truly excited about. I'm looking forward to lots of ice cream smiles, smells of chlorine, sun lotion and the air after a good thunderstorm, dolphins at the beach, concerts in the grass and cookouts with friends ... Makes me smile just thinking about it.

Funny, all this started when the wind delivered a little honeysuckle bouquet to my freckled nose. Now, go do some honeysuckle dreamin' of your own ...

Tawbehwhees ...

Or, as most people call them: strawberries. I like my son's pronunciation best ...

Yesterday was a big day for me and my little guy. After visiting the local zoo in the morning he napped and I launched my new blog. As hard as it was to pry myself away, as soon as I heard him wake up (I know this because he starts talking to his stuffed animals) I was in his room with tennis shoes in hand.

We were headed to the strawberry farm for some home-grown "you pick 'em" strawberries. And I for one, was excited.

As we drove up, I knew this was going to be an experience for the books. The farm truly was picturesque. Rows of strawberries stretched out in front of us and an elderly couple sat in the shade of a beautiful old barn with baskets lined up and ready for sale. The elderly man revealed a slow, charming smile as my little man approached to get his white basket.

With basket in hand, we headed straight for the best row of berries we could find. And who knew that the first thing my son, who's refused to eat fruit that's not mashed-potato-soft (he has a texture issue), would do is grab the biggest berry he could find and shove it in his little mouth? If I'd known all I needed to do was take him to the farm, I'd have been here weeks ago.

And these are the times I kick myself for leaving my camera at home. Picture this: Your favorite 2 yr old with red berry juice encircling his mouth ... pink stained palms and fingers ... and enough strawberry and juice on his shirt and shorts to make my own smoothie. THAT is childhood at its finest.

So, for the next 30 minutes we walked up and down the rows of "tawbehwhees" incredibly focused on finding as many red fruits as we could. It didn't matter if they were mashed to smitherines, fungused beyond recognition or as green as a cucumber, he was on a mission. And he showed me every single one. Which I loved. And which led to one of life's greatest lessons.

How do you find the best, juiciest strawberries? Really? The lesson pretty much consisted of: "see these strawberries? they are hurt so they need to stay on the farm, but these are healed so they can come home with us." After taking all this in, he turned on his size 7 heel and sauntered down the rows pointing to the 'hurt' berries with an indignant "Ow, Ow, Ow, Mommy .... Ow ... Mommy, Mommy! Ow. Ow!

Mission Strawberry, Accomplished.

I love our "bonus room" ... it's decidedly quiet, and you can hear the leaves rustling outside its open windows today. It's just cool enough to be able to enjoy the fresh breeze that's rolling into our upstairs.

So today I sit in front of our computer and am feeling as though it's a divine moment. Why you ask? Today, when I heard that still small voice urging me up the stairs to share this with you, I went. And I'm here in my big black chair. And its where I'm s'posed to be. Finding, or making, time to rest and reflect is something that I'm ravenous for these days, but I never seem to give myself permission if I actually have 10 or 30 minutes to be ...

You know what I mean ... Between the laundry, the boxes from our move a year ago that still aren't unpacked, the cluttered desk, the kitchen that's screaming to be painted, the winter clothes that are begging to be packed away until next year, the kitchen floor that is still unhappy about the syrup that my son dribbled on it very studiously this morning, the photo album that I want to create for my honey of our first few years of marriage and the phone calls that should be made, it just seems ridiculously impossible sometimes to sit and be.

Of course, all of what I just mentioned is important, some of it even fun. But, being the half-introvert/half-extrovert that I am, I've known for years that reflection and rest are critical for me to be able to continue giving ... anything! And I have to make time for it -- and for years I was stubbornly protective of my time -- and my time with my Father especially. So what happened? I added a few more roles to my identity. Wife, mother, daughter-in-law, sister-in-law ... and somehow believed that if I could just get the next thing done ... THEN I could sit and rest. My friend Emily calls it "choosing rest" and oh how dead-on that is. It is a choice to let the laundry wait, the dust sit there and the kitchen sink wait to be shined ...

Sometimes it feels like I'm the only one that struggles with this -- and yet, I know that other friends of mine fight the same battle ... it just feels like they win more often. And, while I've reaped the benefits of my own creativity and spontaneity over the years, I seem to be having a hard time incorporating that part of myself that I love - and that God created me to be -- into this new season of life. Why is that? Do I hold on to the past so incredibly hard that I can't see the reality of the day that's been given to me? Or do I rebel so much against a schedule and real structure that I can't enjoy the ironic freedom that it might bring?

Whatever the reason, my prayer these days is that the Lord would assist me in the seeing the joy in the moments of every day. That He would prioritize my seconds, minutes, hours and days ... because when I try to I often end up exhausted and spent. And who wants that? I enjoy spending time with my son and am blessed to be able to watch him grow 24 hrs a day, 7 days a week. One day I know I will long for these years again. I'm sure of it.

Finally

Okay, I finally did it. I created my own blog. For most of my life, I considered myself to be "hip" "cool" "on the edge" ... but motherhood, while wonderful in and of itself, brought with it a rude awakening. I have no TIME to stay cool. For real ... as the rest of the world has blogged me by, I became almost ashamed at my inability to join in. So now, I am claiming my rightful place as a hip mom. I will blog. I must. Besides, writing is one of my true loves ...

So, I've kicked back and embraced the blog. Indeed, even at this moment, I'm reveling in the beauty of the blog ............................ Okay, reveling over, it's way past mom's bed time. I gotta get shut eye to keep up with my little guy tomorrow.

Thanks for indulging me. I think I'm gonna like this. And oh, I'll share more about the heart behind my "Soul Canticles" later. Promise.