Overdue

Everybody needs a little time away, I heard [ME] say...

A light flickered on in my dusty old brain this week, and I realized: I need a break. Somehow. Just a break. Naturally I started looking at beachfront rentals. When the sound of Dave Ramsey's voice ringing in my ears got to be completely unbearable, I switched to weekend getaways here in the Natural State. My favorite was booked for this weekend. Then I remembered that I had a gift card for a Swedish massage, and I desperately needed a haircut, and inspiration dawned: Spa Night for less than $50. Dave's happy, Mommy's happy. Done.

My mother, who helps me more than I'm pretty sure any other single mom is helped, agreed to keep Olivia so I could have a few hours to myself. I started at the spa, and the massage was great. I must confess that I have yet to find someone who can live up to Terry (see also: my first massage therapist, to whom I will forever be loyal), and anytime I see someone besides her - which is all the time now because she has fallen off the face of the earth - I usually encounter some disappointment. I will say, though, Lacy was very gracious, and she did not kill me, like some therapists try to do. Also, she did not touch my backside, which earns her major points. I had a massage at a certain clinic and day spa here in town, and I swear the dude spent 45 minutes on my butt. Because a massage is meant to be a peaceful, relaxing thing, I held my tongue, thinking, oh he'll move on any minute. I don't want to interrupt this wonderful zen moment by being rude. If the last year has taught me anything, though, it's that no moment is zen when you're paying for someone else's superfluous comfort at the expense of your own basic needs. I'm pretty sure Julia Sugarbaker could've still found a relative amount of peace and relaxation in telling someone to get his hands off her rear end. And I've always liked Julia Sugarbaker.

Anyway, the massage was good, then I took a leisurely drive down Cantrell (I always like driving past Edgehill and remembering some of the better wedding-planning-days) and headed on to Salon On The Hill, owned by Josh and Natalie Carr. Natalie is a hair genius. Plus she has four daughters, PLUS she reminds me of Sharla, so she gets points all around. One of the ways in which she reminds me of Sharla is that if I want to sit there and not say a single word while she's doing my hair, I'm pretty sure that's okay by her. But if I want to chat up a storm, she'll go along with that, too. Either way, I never feel like I have to do anything but just be there, just sit in the chair. You know, that may be just as relaxing as a trip to the spa. Tonight, it actually was.

So I'm grateful. It's been a hell of a few months, I'm not gonna lie. But it's okay. It's all going to be okay. Today I was breathing a prayer that God would let me know that He is with me in all of this, that there is a purpose, that He has an end in sight, and as I was breathing this prayer, the very words I was longing to hear were being spoken to me...there is a purpose. The end is in sight, and it is beautiful - a masterpiece that will bear His indelible mark. You will never be the same, and you will find beauty from these ashes.

...but God intended it all for good.

The Intentional Wait

King David had to wait twelve years from the time he was promised the throne until the time it became his. During that twelve years, he was hotly pursued by a man whose jealousy of David had driven him to utter, murderous madness. Still, he waited. He could have amassed an army with the sole intention of killing Saul and seizing the throne of Israel. Easily. What was the song? "Saul has slain his thousands, David his tens of thousands"? Yeah. Pretty sure he could've taken the throne at any moment. But he waited. He knew that God was going to give him the throne, and he agreed to have it no other way.

I remember, when I was about 19 years old, telling someone just how badly I wanted to be married, how everything in my life just had to be building up to that, and I would just die if it didn't happen soon. She said something to the effect of, "You know, David had to wait a dozen years before God made him king." I nodded intently, I might have even murmured a reverent amen. And in my mind, I thought, You.are.crazy.lady.

Well, it's almost twelve years later...

Funny how a little conversation I had over 4,000 days ago is suddenly smacking me in the middle of the forehead. Holy mackerel.

The weekends have been difficult lately. We run and run and run during the week, so I don't typically have much of a chance to look around and think about what - if anything - may be missing from our already-blessed life. But the weekend...when everything slows down, and I'm in charge of our days, things get quiet. And my mind starts ticking off the questions. What if I had...why hasn't it...when will it...what did I do...what am I missing...how did it become...why? Why hasn't He done this yet??

I told my mother, I wish I had the luxury of thinking that my prayers were bouncing off the ceiling. Trouble is, I know He hears me...I know He sees me...I know He feels what I'm feeling...I know He knows. I just don't know why He won't do anything about it. Right this minute. Because obviously, that's the schedule I'm workin' on here.

So last Saturday, I dropped Liv off with my grandparents and headed back to my house to get ready for a girls' night with Robin. Cute clothes, dinner out, catching up...it really doesn't get any better. Robin showed up at the Briar around 6:30, along with the news of nine super-cell thunderstorms and tornado predictions - everywhere. Awesome. Thankfully, I do my very darnedest to keep a well-stocked kitchen, and she does her very darnedest to eat whatever I cook for her, no matter how random. We're a good fit like that. But then, most all of my girlfriends indulge my culinary experimentation. Rather, they indulge themselves on my culinary experimentation. Either way, really. Anyway, I digress.

On my way back to the house to meet Robin, I just had to start talking. This thing was too heavy, and I needed to say it and hear it being said in the hopes that at least the catharsis would buy me some time until I could figure out what to do with the rest of the questions. I felt this crazy urgency to pray...and even though things were hurting and icky, the sense of being drawn to my Father was a comfort, as it always is. So I prayed. And I cried. And I got stuck in the middle of the questions, just like I always do. I plowed on through and prayed a little more, before getting home and spending girls' night with Robin watching KTHV radar and following the #arwx hashtag on Twitter.

Fast forward to Craig's sermon Sunday morning. The topic, you ask? Unanswered prayer. You know, that place in the middle of my forehead is getting a little sore from all the smacking. But I listened. And I'm going to have to listen again. And probably a couple more times. Sometimes I feel like this is completely frivolous. Barren women are crying out to God for a child. Unemployed men are pleading with God for a job so they can provide for their families. Abused children are imploring Jesus to intercede on their behalf. And here I am...with a gorgeous, amazing daughter, a fantastic job, a family that supports and deeply loves me, a home, wonderful friends, a healthy body, an active mind...and I'm whining about not having a husband. But see, the thing is, to me, a husband is Hannah's Samuel. It's the jobless man's career. It's an abused child's rescue. And why do I feel like that is wrong and melodramatic?

For some reason, we've taken Paul's teachings on marriage and interpreted them in such a way that marriage becomes this completely unnecessary side-bar to the Christian life. If you've got it, spend it wisely, and if not, by all means, don't rock the boat because good GRIEF does that ever make it harder to keep your sanity and your faith. Am I allowed to either disagree with that or say: even so...yes, please? Chances are, I'm not. Liturgically speaking, anyway.

But I do have a choice. And right now, that choice is to wait.

To wait for the Lord.
to entrench oneself...to dig in
To be strong and take heart
to set one's face, to act manfully
To wait
in hope, in eager expectation
For the Lord.
for the Lord.

So I wait.

Don't bother Jesus

The timidity with which I approach Jesus really must be frustrating for Him. I tentatively reach for the grace that I've already been promised, an apologetic look on my face. I imagine my daughter asking for something she needs in this way. Please, can I have just a little milk? I know that I don't deserve it. I'm sorry. I'm just thirsty. I could cry just thinking about it. It would break my heart. I would swoop her up into my arms, grab a straw and the whole dang gallon of milk out of the fridge, and I wouldn't let her go until she knew that I will stop at nothing to provide for her, to love her. As it is, when she asks me for something, she asks confidently, and it is always my joy to give her what she has requested. Even if it's chocolate at 6 a.m. So this flawed, human being, as selfish as I am - I still provide for my daughter and long to give her what she desires and more. We really need to be more acquainted with our role as Beloved. Really.

More than conquerors
Coheirs with Christ
Will rise on wings as eagles
You stoop to make me great
Strengthened with all power according to His glorious might
Greater is He that is in me
Clothed with strength and dignity
Hands trained for war; fingers for battle
Will never be put to shame
Safe
Secure
Protected
Renewed
Upheld
Precious
Honored
Loved


All of my life, in every season, You are still God
I have a reason to sing, I have a reason to worship

To.Day.

4:50 a.m. BEEPBEEPBEEPBEEPBEEPBEEP
4:51 a.m. Sit up on the side of the bed. Eventually the rest of me will wake up.
4:53 a.m. Stumble to couch, Diet Coke in hand, finish I John Bible study for tonight.
5:30 a.m. Shower. Makeup. Hair. Daughter.
6:45 a.m. Depart.
7:00 a.m. Still, small voice: Drop Livi off first, THEN go to the cleaners to get your suit.
7:05 a.m. Exit for cleaners, Livi still in truck.
7:06 a.m. Arrive at cleaners, who are closed but supposed to be open. Immediately understand why ignoring still small voice directive was a mistake.
7:10 a.m. Drop Livi off.
7:12 a.m. Call cleaners, make sure they decided to open after all. They did. Proceed.
7:40 a.m. Arrive at office, suit, muffins and Diet Coke in hand. Change. Guzzle DC. Throw muffins on a plate.
7:50 a.m. Overhear employees discussing the marvel of seeing someone's vehicle in the lot that early, I can only guess they mean mine.
7:51 a.m. Swing front door wide open to greet said employees who are unaware they have been overheard.
8:30 a.m. Commission meeting/hearing under way.
12:00 p.m. Commission meeting over. Answering a few questions, avoiding bait to interpret license law and validate complaints that are not mine to validate. Placed in same age class as 60 year-old man. Thanks a lot.
12:30 p.m. Poor sweet employee tells me the music they are playing for the reception is horrible.
12:31 p.m. I tell poor sweet employee that I picked it out.
12:33 p.m. Poor sweet employee starts circling the hall outside my office, waiting for me to get off the phone so she can:
12:35 p.m. ...apologize for offending my iTunes.
1:30 p.m. Reception under way. Mingle, smile, shake, laugh, greet.
2:45 p.m. Why do I wear these pumps??
3:00 p.m. Crash at desk. Eek out 90 minutes of focus time.
4:35 p.m. Climb into truck. Windows down. Music up. Resist urge to kick off heels, as driving barefoot unnerves me.
5:00 p.m. - present: Collect daughter, go to dinner, daughter falls, hits head, waiter gives her a juice box, she spills it all over herself, off to Bible study, clean pants in the truck, listen, share, think, shake the day off by going to Mom's, venting, now blogging, and in three minutes, crashing.

Goodnight, Monday.

The Skin

Think about your skin. We have all of these different phrases, analogies and words having to do with skin that we use to describe emotions: thick-skinned, sensitive, raw, calloused, prickly, abrasive, ashy...no, wait, well, maybe not ashy. But you know.

Skin is our largest organ. It is the thing that people see when they look at us - the thing that they feel when they touch us, the thing that allows us to feel them when they touch us, the thing that shows all of our bruises, bleeding, scratches, blemishes, stretch marks and scars. The poignancy of Shakespeare's, "If you prick us, do we not bleed?" from The Merchant of Venice, is not lost on me as I consider the duality of skin. We all have skin.

Sometimes, my skin is very thin. I show every scratch, scrape, bump, bruise, pinch, tear, poke and cut. You could brush past me, and it would leave a mark. I am already, by nature, a sensitive person, so to be at this heightened level of sensitivity is frustrating and draining, even for someone who knows who she is. My natural tendency is to retreat into myself as far as I possibly can - to put as much distance between my skin and my insides as possible so that every wound hurts less - but I find it's impossible, and all of my vitality stubbornly bulges against the surface of my skin, even while it is threatening to be torn to shreds.

And sometimes, my skin is very thick. Rough, calloused even. I'm unshakable, strong, fortified. The only problem there is that nothing gets through - whether hostile or friendly. Eventually, I'll either end up either sloughing off layers of callouses for days or living with this hardened exterior. That's just no way to live.

All of this makes me wonder: if physiologically, skin is our largest organ, then emotionally, is it our largest organ as well? And in parallel, does it require the same amount of care? We go to amazing lengths - particularly as women - to care for our skin. We drink unthinkable amounts of water each day to keep it hydrated. We eat the right foods, we wear the right amount of UV protection. We spend thousands of dollars a year on products to keep wrinkles at bay, maintain the ever-precious elasticity, enhance firmness and create luminosity. We devote hours to massaging lotions and creams and butters and potions into every nook and cranny to keep it soft, supple, strong and youthful.

So emotionally, what does our "skin" require? I'm going to start with the most basic: attention. When you start to notice that your legs are dry, you don't ignore them. You rub those babies down with some shea butter. You don't sit there and think, "Hm. I wonder why my legs are so dry. Maybe it's the new laundry detergent I am using. Maybe I'm allergic to denim after all. Maybe I need to try a new shave gel." No! You find the thickest, creamiest lotion in the house, and you slather it on your gams until they stop itching and burning. And then you probably slather on some more just for good measure.

But for some reason, the thinner my emotional skin grows, the more I puzzle at why it is doing so. I stall and sputter, wondering how in the world this could have happened, when what I need to lay hold of is the solution...and healing. Perhaps I think that finding the culprit will ease the pain, that some solid detective work will undo the crime. Faulty. In the end, I'm still focused on the pain. What a comfort to know that that there is a balm in Gilead to make the wounded whole...to heal the sin-sick soul. Lord, give us the courage to call off the dogs and reach for Your healing instead.

The next thing I think our emotional skin needs is balance. Neither too thin nor too thick are desirable options. We want our skin to be supple and strong. We want to roll with the punches without allowing them to break us apart. When I think of the things that keep me in balance, I think about time with my daughter, healthy relationships, deep rest, a clear conscience, God's presence in my life, good fellowship and of course, the occasional Swedish massage. The things that throw me off: bad decisions, bad news, hectic schedules, disrupted relationships, ignoring my relationship with the Lord, and not enough "me" time. Yes, yes, into every life a little rain must fall. But you've got to give yourself equal, if not greater, parts of sunshine, too. We've got to take measures, both proactive and reactive, to keep our lives in balance.

And then, protection. We protect our skin from the elements in some way every day. In the winter, we wear scarves and coats and mittens and Smartwools. In the summer, we wear sunscreen (if we're smart), more breathable clothing and extra moisturizer. Many women (and some men) wear UV protectant all year round. I'm not saying the elements are our enemies. The things I love most about the changing seasons are the changes in the elements - balmy days turn into brisk nights and frosty mornings turn into sunny afternoons. It's wonderful. Just the same, extreme conditions create the need for some measure of protection. Emotionally and spiritually, we are living in a world of extreme conditions. It is impossible to wander through this life without encountering all kinds of threats to our hearts. Poverty, opulence, violence, oppression, abuse, competition, elation, failure, success, tragedy, heartbreak, LIFE. It's all there. Some things we need to outright shield ourselves from - completely block them out and reject their presence in our lives. Others are okay in doses - unavoidable, even - whether they are good or bad. Either way, we need protection, and I'm convinced that protecting ourselves just isn't enough. We need some Ephesians 6 protection. We need the shield of faith, the helmet of salvation, and the sword of the Spirit. The belt of truth, breastplate of righteousness, and feet fitted with the readiness of the gospel of peace. Only then will we be able to stand [our] ground, and after [we] have done everything, to stand.

It is with only a small amount of surprise that I realize the final parallel between our physical and emotional skin. They both serve to protect us, yet they both need protecting. Just as we entrust our physical bodies to God for protection, so must we also surrender our emotional selves. For healing and protection, balance and growth. We will be safer in no other hands.

I pray also that the eyes of your heart may be enlightened in order that you may know the hope to which he has called you, the riches of his glorious inheritance in the saints, and his incomparably great power for us who believe. That power is like the working of his mighty strength, which he exerted in Christ when he raised him from the dead and seated him at his right hand in the heavenly realms, far above all rule and authority, power and dominion, and every title that can be given, not only in the present age but also in the one to come. And God placed all things under his feet and appointed him to be head over everything for the church, which is his body, the fullness of him who fills everything in every way.
Ephesians 1:18-23

Tantrums and the Still, Small Voice

I stopped writing my ideas down in my Moleskine because I got distracted, busy, etc. I regret that and am immediately making amends.

Today's lesson: listen carefully, and stop being so ridiculously stubborn.

Liv and I had a great morning - we got up early, and I took her to breakfast on the way to daycare, then I headed on to another 2-day session at UALR. When I got to daycare this afternoon to pick Livi up, I was met with a very unexpected surprise. See, lately when I've picked her up, she's been less-than-excited to see me. I know it's just because she's having fun playing with her friends, plus she's all independent now, so I really don't let it bother me. Well, today, she ran to me and just hugged me and clung to me and laughed and it was just awesome. On the way out, her teacher told me that Kohl's was having a good sale on kids' clothes, so I thought it'd be a good idea to run by there before going home and see if we could find anything cute. As I was pulling into the parking lot, though, something was telling me that maybe it wasn't such a good idea - maybe I should just take the kiddo home and enjoy a quiet evening together. But I had already decided that I wanted to take Liv shopping, so we parked and went in the store.

The rest...is tantrum history. Literally, this one took the cake. She cried, she screamed, she kicked, she cried some more. All because I wouldn't let her push the cart and instead made her sit in it. Oh, she was mad. Eventually I caved, and she ended up pushing the cart. And after 10 minutes of that, I think it's a safe assumption that everyone in Kohl's knew her name. Literally, the cashier called her by name as we were leaving and told us to have a good night. More crying and kicking ensued when I tried to put her in her carseat. It. Was. Agony. Trying to get her into the house was not any easier.

Finally I managed to get her and our things inside and get dinner started. She wanted to be held, and to watch her movie, so that's what I did. But I couldn't help feeling guilty. Instead of spending the entire evening hanging out and having fun together, we had spent an hour fighting, and 15 minutes cuddling before I had to finish dinner, feed us, and start the bedtime routine. Why am I so stubborn?? What is it in me that couldn't just say: eh, let's just go home. I think I know the answer, and I don't like it. Not one bit. Suffice it to say that this girl needs to get rid of some junk rattling around in my head.

My sweetie sleeps peacefully now. And as I head that direction myself, I realize just how grateful I am that His mercies are new every morning.

A Week in the Life

The week began benignly enough. I set off Monday morning for an MRI and promptly discovered how much I hate sitting still. And having one of my extremities jammed into a ginormous magnet. Yeah. That too. You know, we could very easily avoid all this bad press from war torture tactics by shoving folks in an MRI machine instead. Seriously. If I'd had any secrets that would've gotten me out of that thing, I would've started talking about five minutes in. Alas, no amount of talking could save me from this experience. I wrapped up, went to work, and was met with the news that my sis would be going to the hospital that night to begin induction. Wahoo! Jellybean was officially on her way to meet us!

I arranged to have the next day off so I could be at the hospital with the fam. The story of my sweet little niece's arrival is not my story to tell, but suffice it to say that my sister did an amazing job of getting that baby here. She had some pretty decent help from her hubby and our mom, too. The newest addition to our ever-expanding extended family is definitely a joy. Chubby, sweet, pretty, and feeding like a champ!

I returned to work on Wednesday to meet with a couple vendor reps about work stuff. We met, lunched, met some more, and then we all met up for dinner. There was a gap in between leaving the office and going to dinner when I was able to go home and get ready. I did not want to speak a single word. I'd been "on" all day, and I was about to have to be back on, so I reveled in about 60 minutes of solid, quiet, alone time. And then 10 minutes of frantic getting ready and heading back into town for dinner. Two words: Ristorante Capeo. Okay, no, wait, three words: fried sage leaves. Who would have ever thought...

After Capeo, I met a friend of mine downtown, and we ended up at Stickyz, seeing Lucious. He played me some Sam Cooke. That was good. But perhaps I am a little too old to be out that late on a school night...

Fast forward to the next morning, and we hit the ground running. I took Livi to school and headed in to the office, but as I was driving, these waves of nausea started hitting me. I was in rush hour traffic, so lots of stop and go. I thought maybe I had just rushed around too much that morning and needed to get settled in and I'd be fine. Not so much. Then I thought - oh, I took my multivitamin on an empty stomach, that must be it. Nope. Not enough Diet Coke? Fat chance. This was good, old-fashioned achey-shakey nausea. Thankfully I'd saved some of the vendor/staff meetings for that day (did I mention I still had a vendor rep visiting my office?), so my team was able to handle most of the one-on-one while I spent the morning wishing I could find some non-drowsy Phenergan.

I finished the work day and headed straight to my mom's, where I immediately put on flannel pj's and crawled into bed. My daughter showed up about an hour later (thanks to Papa's Shuttle Service), and we managed to entertain each other until Mom got home and more or less took over. Thanks to Baba, some excellent comfort food (a la Gamps and Marie Callender), a cozy hearth room, and some Nyquil, I got some very decent sleep.

And woke up with tonsils the size of Texas. I actually think this may be the flu. So here it is, Friday night, and we're at home. My house is a disaster area, and I would really like for that to not be the case. But tomorrow is Saturday, and all I have planned is a hair appointment, so I'm gonna let the mopping and sweeping wait until tomorrow morning (not in that order). Livi and I had a good time tonight, and she was so sweet and cuddly. I can always tell when I've had us on the run too much because she comes home and just wants to be near me. And that is one of the best feelings ever. So I'll take that and some Theraflu, and I'll call it a night.