Interruptions

I am learning sometimes the dream has to wait.
Be put on hold.
Go on a bathroom break.
Clock out for ten minutes. Or maybe even ten days.
Life interrupts.
Or rather, people do. People we love.
Our tribe. Our family. Our friends.
Life is never neat. And no matter how many to-do lists I have or how many items I cross off, it's never as organized as I try to make it either.
I write.
And when I am not writing I am thinking about writing. Feelings become describable and words become life. It's all I can do to scribble them down in my notebook or record it in my iphone as a barely deciphered "note' before I forget. And let's be honest, Siri doesn't get it ya'll. All the updates in the world hasn't fixed the words lost in translation just yet.

Even as I try to write this, my computer has shut down, restarted, and begun to download Windows 10.
Mid-type. Three consonants in.
Interruptions.

(sigh)

I am inspired as much as the next person by all the affirming slogans and handmade signs reminding us to, Be You!, Follow your Happy, and Just Write.
I hang these on my walls,(a lot you guys. Instagram is taking ALL MY MONEY) and would gladly purchase all the buttons and totes and stickers in my feed, if that would make them all come true.
But can I be real here?
For just a sec?

I can't do that all the time. Even if it's penciled in. Even if it's important.

And I'll tell you why.

My husband is going gangbusters in his business. And watching him swells my heart and make me wish for a set of pom-poms. That's how stinkin' proud I am.
But guess what it means?
Long nights in the office for him.
Dinner clean up and dishes for me. (or better known as - No writing.)
I have a daughter who is moving out in ONE DAY (sob sob just kidding. I'm happy. But then I'm sobbing too so basically I'm a mess), and if she has a story to tell or if she just wants to sit on the couch and Friends it out - I'm down. Like James Brown. I'm going to sit on that couch with her and not move. Because guess what folks?
The season of Sammi is coming to an end. I know it. She knows it.
The adulting that has started knows it, and once we adult we can't kid again. Not in the same way.
So I'm soaking it up. Every sigh. Every MOM. Every scare as I walk out of the bathroom and she throws the embarrassment up on Snapchat. Every frustration with the utility company and every excitement of a room that almost sits empty.
Next week it will be Jeff's new office. A restart of something we can't even grasp.
But this week,
this week,
it is being hallowed out.
Just like me.

I sat in the middle of her floor after we sold her bed and I tried hard not to cry.

There's always something. I know. I'm pounding this out on my lunch hour instead of walking. So there's that. My writing is done but my exercise and fresh air is taking the hit.
It's ok. One thing is always going to cancel out another.

So here's what I am saying ...
Be You.
Follow your Happy.
Just Write.

But know that some days your happy is going to look different than you expected. It's not going to be written on your list or located in your calendar.
I think these can be some of the best kinds of happy though. Interruptions are God things. It's when He redirects us.
It's when he whispers, "oh no .. you think that's THE most important thing but THIS is...."
I think we can miss it though. I know I can.
I miss it in the midst of my guilt.
The constant chatter.
"You didn't work out. You didn't write. You didn't get the laundry done. You forgot stamps. You need more eggs. You didn't write the card. You didn't call your friend. You didn't spend enough time with Jacob."


and on and on and on and on.

There's a name for this radio station friends. I'll share it with you another day. Just know,
you are not alone,
AND,
turn the station off.

We are all doing the best we can.
Some days I am going to bang out twenty pages of my book.
Other days I'm going to stare at my outline for hours without writing one word. (hellooooo all last week!)

Some days,
you are going to get to each thing on your list. You'll feel accomplished and stretch hard to pat yourself on the back.
Other days,
you are going to wonder who hijacked your life.

But then you'll realize,

it's everyone you really love.

And all the things that make your Happy.

XO

Day 1

I haven't written in much too long. It's crazy because there is CONSTANT flow of consonants and vowels in my head. I'm always thinking, "I should write that down for later." And I never do. Then it's lost.
If you are reading this, thank you. I will never lose sight of what a privilege it is for someone else to read my musings, my struggles, my convictions. I am sure you have 283768394 other things you could be doing right now.
Laundry. Dishes. Yelling at your kids. Grocery shopping. Meal-Prepping?
Picking up your husbands dirt-crusted socks.
Oh wait ... that's all the things I could be doing. ;)
Instead I am writing.
And this is a BIG DEAL, because I always feel torn, like I'm not doing enough, and because writing is such a pleasure, I feel guilty. As if it should be a reward that comes after everything else instead of the THING that makes my heart beat faster, the THING that makes me feel like matter.

I have challenged myself to write every. single day.
Some posts may be very, very short.

Your welcome.

I am going to write about everything. I will warn you now that there may be a lot of things you don't like or agree with.
You may even decide after reading a few posts, you don't like me much at all.
That's ok.
I have this habit of broadcasting all my faults, or unappealing habits quickly, so we can both get it out in the open if I'm not going to live up to your expectations. I learned very young that LOVE was a bargaining tool and so now, when a relationship forms, I prefer to just lay it out. Before we waste too much time or get our lives all invested. I hope you stay but if you have to go, I get it. Really.

So here we go. I am a wife, sometimes not a very good one, and every day I count myself blessed to have the man that I do. I tell people all the time he is the nice one. Sometimes I get a hearty chuckle in response as if I am being coy.
I'm not.
That's straight up truth right there.
I'm a Christian. I love Jesus with everything in me and I think the church I go to is pretty fantastic.
However,
I usually prefer the company of non-Christians.
I find them refreshingly honest and I have to tell you, a whole lot funnier.
I am drawn to the hurting, the abandoned, and the looked-over. They are my people and I remind myself on the daily to never forget that.
I am a mom! Best and hardest thing I have ever done. I wish I could tell you I have been the perfect mother.
I have not.
But what I have done is raise some pretty decent humans who aren't a-holes.
They are kind. They are funny. And they see people.
That makes my heart grow more than anything.
I have a love/hate relationship with anger and confrontation. It was so much easier before I had Jesus and wanted to be more like Him and less like me. I'll tell ya, punching someone in the face puts a situation in perspective really fast but this whole "love your neighbor as yourself" thing has pretty much put a shut-down on all things physical.
And quite a few verbal.
So there's lot of praying instead.
Which is a good thing.

I want to be a good person all the time. I really do. It only gets difficult when other people are involved.
Which says a lot about my heart.
I want it to be white.
But I think it is gray, gray as concrete, with bruises of black, and a smattering of white dots.
This is exponentially whiter than it was before (and by before, I mean a whole lot of tragic crap that I'll probably get into in future posts... I know that any bad can be used for good and there's no way I am letting all that rot go to waste).

I bet you really want to read more now, don't you?
Well, I hope so. I mean that. I hope you read. I hope you comment but more than anything I hope it shines a light in some dark places of your own.
Because we all have heart damage; bruises that go deep.

Some just have white duct tape over it.

Here's to the brave and the hopeful.
We will not be disappointed.
XO

-----

Some days there is just so much, so much to say
so much being felt.
so much being moved.

That for now, right now. Maybe not tomorrow, maybe not in five minutes,
but
right now.

Say nothing.

You say it's your birthday ...

A few months ago, in the too-tight back room of Starbucks, after a hectic night of slinging coffee, a co-worker guy asked me, "So, what's your secret? Like, how is it possible to stay happy all the time?"
Somehow, I have this reputation for being happy.
all. the. time.
I am not sure how I got this. I am definitely sure I don't deserve it. But somehow, some way, Jesus is shining through despite the one thousand ways I could screw it up.
I stared at him for a minute before responding, trying to decide if he was serious (he was) and if that even mattered (it didn't) because I wanted to give my answer either way.

I could have gotten all spiritual. I could have. But I know a lot of spiritual people that are stiff Crabbies, with a heart of granite, and when they give you an answer about something, you walk away feeling a little bit like you left the twilight zone. Something got missed. An interpersonal connection did not happen even though there is the distinct feeling it should have. And honestly, I think he kind of expected that answer from me. So I dug a little deeper - past all the pat answers that can be found in the Christian 101 handbook, past all the cliches that get memorized and flung across relationships more than actual Jesus words do, and I got real instead.

My answer was simple. Just three words.

A grateful heart.

He repeated it back to me but when he did, he said it a little loud and a little slow, like I was suddenly not speaking English. Like he couldn't believe that was the best I could do. A grateful heart??

Yes.

Look around. Look every day and notice all the really rad things that are happening in life because they are there, and when you see them, when you really let them capture you and you soak yourself in it, the gratefulness lifts you and there's just not any space to be anything but happy.

Pretty good stuff.

right?

I woke up this morning and turned 38.
I woke up this morning and turned 38 without a grateful heart.
I woke up this morning and turned 38 without a grateful heart and went to make coffee in my kitchen that does not work.
I woke up this morning and turned 38 without a grateful heart and went to make coffee in my kitchen that does not work and saw balloons and roses with a card.
I woke up this morning and turned 38 without a grateful heart and went to make coffee in my kitchen that does not work and saw balloons and roses with a card surrounded by nails and dust and empty spaces where sinks and drawers should be.
I woke up this morning and turned 38 without a grateful heart and went to make coffee in my kitchen that does not work and saw balloons and roses with a card surrounded by nails and dust and empty spaces where sinks and drawers should be and instead of reading the card my sweet husband gave me,
instead of smelling the roses ripe and red,
instead of smiling up at balloons that bounced,

I stood in my kitchen and did what anyone with an ungrateful heart would do.

I began to cry.

It wasn't anything dramatic. No wailing. No snot. No red face. Just a few silent tears that zigzagged around my 38 year old eye crinkles, and before I could erase them from my face, before I could take a breath and stop feeling sorry for myself,
my husband saw,
and just like my tears fell to the floor, I saw his heart drop from his face.

And I did what anyone with an ungrateful heart would do,

I walked away.

Too consumed with myself to give any grace, any kindness. And I left him in the kitchen that does not work, alone, staring at the balloons, and the roses, and the card I had not opened.

I. know.
I am definitely not the hero in this story.

Thank God we take turns at loving each other best.
Thank God it's Sunday and I was headed to church to get smothered in some Jesus.
Thank God when Jeff and I stood singing and I grabbed his hand,

ashamedashamedashamed

he grabbed mine right back and squeezed. Hard.

Thank God I was reminded of the power of a grateful heart.

I am now sitting on my couch, with my feet up on my office chair, surrounded by drawers and cabinets wrapped in plastic, my dishes piled next to the bathroom sink, pictures of all whom I love are covered in dust, and my food is somewhere in a box in the garage, along with a dustpan I cannot seem to find to scrape up all the dirt I swept but has no place to go.

Yesterday this made me angry. Two days ago - angry. Three days ago - the thought of it - angry.
But today, my windows are open and I feel the breeze on my skin. I can hear the birds, chirping and squawking and making more noise than I have ever noticed before. I see green trees in my window. A metal cross my husband made for me hangs on my wall.

And I am relaxed.

I am texting my daughter, who still calls me "Mommy", who is somewhere near Alaska, about birthday tattoos and secret Starbucks frappacino recipes. My other daughter honored me on Facebook - which is pretty much equivalent to a billboard rental over the freeway, so yeah, my kid is cooler than yours and I am officially cooler than you. For now. I ate lunch with my son who made me laugh so hard I snorted. My husband is currently making the sink work in our kitchen, but earlier he stood behind me in the bathroom and kissed my neck and whispered into my ear that has a giant, scabby, mosquito bite on it making it hideously unsexy, how much he loves me and how beautiful I am.

I am blessed. I am rich in all of this goodness, all of this life that has been so graciously given to me.
I am grateful for the reminder ...
I can see it

or

I can not see it.

My heart will beat either way. But it beats better when it beats grateful.

Time heals what ?

Most of us are familiar with the expression, "Time heals all wounds." It's what we say to someone who has been incredibly hurt, someone that has been left stunned, blind-sided, and doubled over in heart pain with their guts sliding through their fingers. We know swimming with an army of hungry Great Whites and not being swallowed whole is far more likely than an apology from the person who left our friend looking like the walking dead, so we offer up a platitude on a silver tray with a pat on the head.
Neat. Clean. Sterile. Seemingly, the best we can do if we are avoiding complete honesty.
The real response, the one we feel deep in our own gut of pain and camaraderie is, "That really sucks. Let's go get some steel-toed boots and ski masks and kick the crap out of that assjack".
But we don't say this.

Even though it is by far the more empathetic approach.

The wound does suck.
Time does not heal. Time passes.
I think it is funny that we assume if we just put some space between the day of the wound and the apology that never happens, we will be ok.
It's not ok. The wound is not ok.
It just has days of band-aids piled on top of it. It can be 25 band-aids or 1,095 band-aids. (that's three years worth - a lot of freakin band-aids)

For some of us, probably all of us, we have wounds, scrapes, gashes, amputated limbs and heart gouges, inflicted upon us that the inflicter will never take responsibility for. And that really sucks. It does. I have my fair share of imaginary steel-toed boots in my closet with the names of the inflicter engraved on the toe. They are ready.
But i haven't needed them.
I have found that time does not heal the wound but,
forgiveness does.

Forgiveness.
Not letting them back in. Not giving them another boxing glove so they can knock me out on the other side of my face. Not laying down at their feet so they can jump up and down on me like a rag doll and watch the stuffing pop out of my eyes. Not handing them my duct-taped heart so they can throw it against a wall. Again.
Forgiveness.
Just letting it go. Choosing to not let them have control of my happiness. Just saying, "I am not waiting anymore for you to make it better. It's going to be better anyway."

Some people forgive and it's a one time deal. I'm not sure how that kind of forgiveness works but I am slightly envious about it. It's like their soul gets dunked once, really really deep, and they come out all shiny and forgiving. My soul takes a shower in forgiveness each day. It's not a one time dunk for me. Each day i choose, am i going to let forgiveness wash over me or not?
So one day i might be really shiny and new and other days I may have some grease spots and need a change of clothes.
But you know what? So far, this is working.

Matthew 6:11 says, "Give us this day our daily bread." (emphasis mine) He's not talking about food here. He is talking about our needs. God wants us to depend on Him each day for what we need - our physical needs, our spiritual needs, and our emotional needs.

Or in plain English - our strength, our money, our pantry, our love, our kindness towards others, our absence of road rage, and yes, our forgiveness.

Otherwise, we might get a little high and mighty and start thinking about how really great we are and how really lame everyone else is.

If you hurt, you don't have to. I'm not saying it is easy. I'm not gonna lie; some days I'd rather peel my face skin off with my fingernails than forgive some of the people that have hurt me.
But each day it gets a little easier.
Not because time is passing, but because it is becoming easier for me to trust God to meet my need and letting go of my expectation of people to.

XOXO