yellow diamonds in the light

As the Shepherd says, “Love is beautiful, but it is also terrible–terrible in its determination to allow nothing unblemished or unworthy to remain in the beloved” (179).

Sometimes without even knowing it sadness creeps in. It’s such a cozy blanket, almost comforting but the truth is that it’s debilitating. Once it’s wrapped around it becomes an extension of everything you are. Often it’s hard to realize how low you are feeling until a little spark of joy comes along. That moment of pure bliss is able to illuminate how overshadowed everything else has overtaken by unhappiness. I kind of grew up on C.S. Lewis, where would I be without him and his ability to state such obvious truths about life and remind me that I’ll have these moments from time to time. Though it’s tough to choose one of my favorite quotations of his is, “God loves us too much to leave us as we are.”

One my favorite books is Hind’s Feet on High Places, allow me to squeeze a shout out to my LCHS girls! I find myself going back to this book a lot and I decided to re-read it yet again. Honestly, I’m considering devoting a month of blogging to it because it’s just that powerful. I won’t get too into a synopsis now but the main character is Much Afraid who is on a journey to the High Places by The Shepherd and the companions he gives her are Suffering and Sorrow. Right now this speaks to me, I know that seems a bit much but what am I if not melodramatic?

Not to worry there’s still joy…there’s always joy. From the smallest and often over looked gestures to the gratefulness of my very existence. Here are a few things lately that bring an unforced smile and brighten my days.

peppermint tea, my Clarisonic, Seven Brides for Seven Brothers,

new festive pajama pants, We Found Love by Rihanna, tan towels,

glittery polishes and most of all unyielding hope

...and many more...

As if a rapidly approaching birthday wasn’t enough, I hurt myself getting into the car today. Ouch! I guess stuff like that happens when you get older. I don’t want to be negative when it comes to birthdays and growth and change for that matter but I can’t seem to shake the little gray cloud atop my head. I try reciting all the things I’m thankful for and believe me there’s a lot but I still feel hazy.

Within the last few years, for some reason birthdays and new years have been a little harder to swallow. They are definitely time for reflection and goals however how do you keep the “improvements and goals” from overshadowing the celebration? The pressures, mostly my own, are ever present. Things that I thought would happen or know by now haven’t and as I’m learning to deal with that being another year older manages to put an expiration date on things. It’s silly really because another year is a blessing and if anything signifies more time, and as easy as that concept is to explain it’s hard to believe.

As relative as words like age, time, and the numbers that identify them go I still have my own personal opinions on them and it’s starting to get scarily close to what I worry is too late. One promising growth is that I’m finally getting better at recognizing what I want and allowing myself to ask for these things. And the truth is I’m going big, this year I have many hopes for new firsts, long desired accomplishments, overwhelming fulfillments, progresses I never knew about and many more wishes to be granted.

it’s a complicated rythm of checks and balances

One for me, one for you. Two for me, two for you. All day, every day. As much as I dislike this trait I am a Scorekeeper. Effortlessly tallying up tip for tap, blow for blow. I personally find myself obnoxious in painstaking acknowledgment of these events. I can feel the hash marks burning onto the chalkboard housed in my memory. Whether it is in relation to good deeds or bad, money, favors, objects, I find myself in a constant state of mathematics, adding and subtracting.

I am aware how irrational and destructive this type of behavior is but still I calculate. I’m not assuming it’s all based on control issues and maybe I’m just more competitive than I thought. The passive part of me knows that it’s simple an act of respect, if something belongs to someone or is owed to them I waste no time it balancing the scales…hey I am of course a Libra.

Growing up with a single mom it was imperative to keep score. A very busy, working mom and three outrageous children left especially little additional time to meet physical and emotional needs. Calling dibs and shouting redundant reminders was the only way to ensure that people would “remember” whose turn it was to enjoy whatever the desire in question was. See, who needs a therapist to announce my psychosomatic inclinations.

This dirty laundry is embarrassing and until it’s under control it could sabotage any relationship I posses or hope to, whether it be personal, professional or a random encounter. I’m praying that this oppression is healed because as much as I try to fix me I know that my flesh can only do so much. For any of you that find yourself in a similar situation I’ve found loads of instructive and encouraging scriptures.

I Thess 5:13 James 1:20 I Corn 13:5 I Peter 4:8

Col 3:15 Phil 2:3-4 Psalms 37:7-8

Reason is also choice.

Drifting around in the perpetual state of not knowing exactly what I want but reminded that I am in want of something. For regarding myself as such a professional, organized individual its weird how certain things in life manage to allude me. Would life be easier if I just knew? Would it be better? Let’s start small; simple if you will, topic of choice shall be food because my life revolves around what I eat and what I don’t eat for that matter. I can be very exact at times, I will know exactly what I want, where I want it from and when; along with a smattering of painfully precise demands while other times have a vague inclination of hunger without any direction other than absolute disgust of certain considerations. I’m finding life to be that sporadic. It’s unnerving that it can be so extreme. Sure the spicy ethnic it new and adventurous but beyond that moment or experience everything else might fail in comparison and be bland and frankly unappetizing.

I have never considered myself a fickle person but there are times when I just don’t know…back to food. I have set out two meat options, the age old question beef or chicken? I for the life of me cannot decipher a better meal between the two because neither seems all that appealing at the moment. The only way to solve such a mystery is turn the judgment to my husband, who in truth really has never had a preference about anything. He chooses chicken and in that exact moment I know deep in my heart that is exactly what I don’t want! This will probably remain and unsolved mystery. Based on the immediate look of distain on my face my husband knows I’ve vetoed his choice. This happens a lot. According to my father in law, my mother in law does the same thing quite often. Maybe it’s the result of marrying the men we did or maybe it’s designed deep within my second X chromosome that’s got me wonky.

Either way how is it I know nothing and then the slightest push or pull one way or the other is enough to define what I’d been mulling over for far too long? Should I start approaching people with Door 1 or Door 2; option A or B? I’m not planning on making decisions based on what they want but maybe it’s that spark that will disclose what I want. It’s all in the details…from each of my indistinguishable preferences come all the other curious thoughts, and I just don’t know, at least not yet.

Marriage is an adventure, like going to war.

The other day I was talking to my friends about blogging of course, and expressing my longing to post about the basic events of my daily life. For whatever reason this seems to be beyond my capability and I am only designed to create emotional, cerebral accounts or at least have a moral and purpose behind my story. It almost seems silly because I don’t necessary expect people to appreciate my comings and goings but for whatever reason I want to attempt this challenge. There are regular moments of anecdotal humor that needs some record or acknowledgment.

For instance, as I type , I’m sidelining a text fight with my husband. Being the smarty pants I consider myself I put my foot down on gift purchases. I was sick and tired of purchasing registry gifts for our friends. I was doing all the work and spending but only getting partial credit. The real issue is that I have a hard time buying things and not grabbing a fair few desirous items for myself. Here we are a mere two days away and nothing was been done…and it’s killing me! Then hark, an incoming text, my husband got a gift. What in the what what? After pride and shock pass, I dare ask the question that will only end badly, what did you get them? Dish towels. Eek! Yes, they are on the registry. Yes, they are functional. But how can I explain the Emily Post-esque etiquette to him that they are an additive gift, not the singular, stand alone type? I know this is my fault but seriously? This never crossed his typically ostentatious spending habit self? Oh and being the big spender he is be had them gift wrapped. Hmph.

This very same man, whom I knew was eccentric upon marrying him though admired it more in an endearing way, made me dinner the other night. I’m still trying to grasp the concept. If you haven’t heard me say this, this is my husband that doesn’t even heat up his own leftovers. I can’t entirely blame him because I witnessed a déjà vu with his mom and dad about the microwave and I’m convinced it must be hereditary. Turns out I had an unexplained high fever and was miserably poached on the couch and after whining I managed to convince him I needed pecan pancakes. Leave it to me to be difficult even when fighting a staggering 102 fever. I watched him and corrected ever possible misstep I witnessed until my talking privileges were revoked and my dinner held ransom. He was paying particular attention to them cook, which was a relief since I would soon be ingesting them. As he walked my plate over he slipped out a mischievous giggle. Being the astute wife I am, I knew. How could I not have suspected? There so delicately designed were two pecan pancakes one in the shape of a bunny which he anxiously pointed out the nose, ears and tail and the other not to be overshadowed was the R-rated illustration of anatomy that present company doesn’t possess. Sometimes I forget I’m married to a 13yr boy.

I cannot make this stuff up but hey this is me and I gotta say these are regular occurrences and I personally get a kick out of them, that is after I move beyond my agitation.