My Bloginality is ENTP!!!
What on earth is this? Well, Bloginality is a website that asks you four questions designed to analyze how you make decisions, interact with others, process information, and what motivates you. (After the kind of day I've had, I'm not so sure I wanted to hear any of this!) As for what this really means, read a blurb from the site:
"As an ENTP, you are Extraverted, iNtuative, Thinking, and Perceiving. This makes your primary focus on Extraverted Intuition with Introverted Thinking. This is defined as a NT personality, which is part of Carl Jung's Rational (Knowledge Seeking) type, and more specifically the Inventors or Visionaries.
As a weblogger, your love for a discussion may cause you to debate things more often. You might also flit from idea to idea, not completing one before going to the next. Your largest sense is intution, which makes you a good at understanding what is going on around you - and this could act to your benefit when making blog-like posts over a journal."
While I do enjoy discourse and debate, it wasn't necessarily how my personality comes across on my blog that I cared so much about. I am much more interested in how these characteristics manifest themselves in my daily life. This site definitely hit on all of my personality traits, the good, the bad, and the ugly. There is a lot of information out there, so I won't link you to it all; if you want to read it, you can click on the link above to discover all my dirty little secrets. ;)
There was something on there I discovered that I found to be an interesting way of viewing relationships. I took the quiz as if Ron was reading it. We have discussed things enough to where I think I know what his answers would be. Two of the four were the opposite of what I would answer. If my guesses were accurate, he would be a totally different personality from mine; however, our personality types were listed as good compliments to each other. As I read more, I learned that some people may have identical qualities, but it's the ways in which we utilize those qualities that create the differences in us. I definitely see that in our relationship. (This is the point at which Amber would interject that we are fearfully and wonderfully made.) :)
Hit the site, and post a comment about which type you are and whether or not you agree with it...
Wednesday, January 30, 2008
Saturday, January 26, 2008
Lessons in Humility
It's amazing, the things we ask our kids to do, isn't it? We lay down rules and guidelines for them, expecting flawless obedience despite how they feel about it. There are good reasons for this, as any parent knows. You don't do it to be random and controlling. There is a reason why you hold hands in a parking lot, and a reason why you don't stick a fork in an electrical outlet. When asked why they must observe this seemingly pointless or constrictive rule, many times the reason given is, "Just because." Today Li'l G and I both were in this position of obedience despite discomfort. Let me set the scene:
My four-year-old daughter, Li'l G, is enrolled in violin lessons. For anyone familiar with the Suzuki technique, she is a Pre-Twinkler. She loves her teacher for the invidual lesson but is less than fond of the group setting on Saturday mornings. She is put into a group with kids from ages 4 to 10 who are above her level in skill, seeing as she is one of only two Pre-Twinklers. The group consists of about eight children. Although usually quite gregarious, Li'l G is rather shy in the group, especially when the Academy Director is teaching the group. This woman is cheerful and pleasant but firm and is clearly used to teaching at least elementary aged students. Two weeks ago, at the last group lesson, "Mrs. Smith" taught the group lesson. Li'l G refused to bow at the beginning and end of the lesson (it's a Suzuki thing), and refused to sit down as instructed when the older, more advanced students were playing a song that she hasn't yet been taught. The teacher allowed her to come sit with me (wrangling a loud and "energetic" Bud, who is two years old), and she proceeded to burst into tears and cause a real scene. That day we all had a lesson in humiliation, but that's a totally different blog.
As we practiced yesterday in preparation for today's group lesson, Li'l G and I talked about being shy, listening to teachers, following directions, etc. I explained to her in toddler-friendly terms that being shy is OK, but not following her teacher's instructions definitely was not. She was not expected to be life of the party, but she certainly was expected to follow simple directions. Let me also take a moment here to point out that Grace does not appreciate having to sit out when the group plays a song she doesn't know (and is not expected to know at this point). She is the only one being asked to sit out while the other kids play the song. Li'l G has inherited that faulty gene of pride from her uber-competetive mother that I can only pray will not get the best of her as she grows and matures. I, having played the violin for most of my life, could quite easily instruct her in how to play the song, but the former teacher in me says that there is a logical progression of skills that she must acquire before proceeding to the next song. If I interfere and teach her this song, just to ease the breaking of her heart in this situation, I will have undermined both her instructor (who was my beginning instructor many moons ago) and the integrity of the program. However, she is almost there and could learn to play it quite easily. I'm torn about what to do, but that's yet another blog.
Back to the events of the day: We get to lessons today, and happily discover that "Mrs. Smith" is not teaching this group; instead, it is the instructor we regularly have and whom Li'l G adores. One less battle to fight. We have a quit pep talk in the car about being cool with being shy, but how important it is to do what our teachers ask us to do. The lesson goes off without a hitch, when we come to the time where she has to bow out for a song. She turned back to look at me, I encouraged her to go ahead and put her instrument down, and she did it, obediently, without a grudge or a tear, and took her lumps. She walked over to me and just buried her little sweet face in my lap and sobbed. Once that song was over, she was asked to come back to the group. She composed herself and ended the lesson on a cheerful note. I was so proud of her for handling herself that way.
Now for my turn through the wringer. Later in the morning, we met some long-lost FT Polk friends, now in the FT Hood area, at Inflatable Funland. We were reuniting after having not seen each other in almost three years. Just as we're all walking up to the establishment of juvenile craziness, I'm smacked in the face with, "Temple." Explanation: My hometown is a, well, difficult place. If you are successful, you leave this place like Sodom and Gomorrah and you make a point to never come back (holidays being the exception to this unspoken rule). If you leave and return, or *gasp* you never leave at all, you are a miserable failure, doomed to be someone who couldn't have a life or was a waste of the public school system. It's a town of over 50,000 people; yet, it feels like there are only 2,000. Everyone knows you and your business. I deal with this on a small scale every day when I drop Li'l G off at school. I did not want to come back to this area for the reasons listed above. I struggle enough to process my reality without having to worry about prying eyes and judgments being passed in my general direction. There were a handful of these individuals there today, having a pleasant family gathering, but they might as well have been brandishing a billy club or a cat-o-nine-tails for all I care. These people had disdain for me in the past, and now that I'm "back" because of my "tragic situation," they feign interest in how the kids and I are doing; that is, when they speak to me at all. Trust me, there's no love lost there. Not only do I still have that ax grinding from the past, there's the snarky pity in the future, and I can live without it all. I had to pass by them all several times today, knowing that they were discussing who I was and all that. Only two of them acknowledged my existence, one of whom seems to be pretty kind. As for the others, they avoided all eye contact and interaction, reinforcing what I had seen in the past. Still, as uncomfortable as I was, I plastered a "coffee group" smile on my face, was cheerful and laid back when spoken to, and resolved to save my grumbling for the blog. I could have been rude, and I sure as heck would not have minded putting one of them in her place (I've been waiting 19 years to get one particular thing off my chest). But I decided to choke it down, be an adult about it, and get on down the road. (At least, until I could come back here and blog about it! haha!!)
Humility is a crappy lesson to have to endure. Yes, we are all the better for it in the long run, but Lord, can't you just give us our full share without making us go through the learning process?!? I guess, if He did, the end result of our refining process would not be near as meaningful.
"By humility and the fear of the LORD are riches, and honor, and life." --Proverbs 22:4
My four-year-old daughter, Li'l G, is enrolled in violin lessons. For anyone familiar with the Suzuki technique, she is a Pre-Twinkler. She loves her teacher for the invidual lesson but is less than fond of the group setting on Saturday mornings. She is put into a group with kids from ages 4 to 10 who are above her level in skill, seeing as she is one of only two Pre-Twinklers. The group consists of about eight children. Although usually quite gregarious, Li'l G is rather shy in the group, especially when the Academy Director is teaching the group. This woman is cheerful and pleasant but firm and is clearly used to teaching at least elementary aged students. Two weeks ago, at the last group lesson, "Mrs. Smith" taught the group lesson. Li'l G refused to bow at the beginning and end of the lesson (it's a Suzuki thing), and refused to sit down as instructed when the older, more advanced students were playing a song that she hasn't yet been taught. The teacher allowed her to come sit with me (wrangling a loud and "energetic" Bud, who is two years old), and she proceeded to burst into tears and cause a real scene. That day we all had a lesson in humiliation, but that's a totally different blog.
As we practiced yesterday in preparation for today's group lesson, Li'l G and I talked about being shy, listening to teachers, following directions, etc. I explained to her in toddler-friendly terms that being shy is OK, but not following her teacher's instructions definitely was not. She was not expected to be life of the party, but she certainly was expected to follow simple directions. Let me also take a moment here to point out that Grace does not appreciate having to sit out when the group plays a song she doesn't know (and is not expected to know at this point). She is the only one being asked to sit out while the other kids play the song. Li'l G has inherited that faulty gene of pride from her uber-competetive mother that I can only pray will not get the best of her as she grows and matures. I, having played the violin for most of my life, could quite easily instruct her in how to play the song, but the former teacher in me says that there is a logical progression of skills that she must acquire before proceeding to the next song. If I interfere and teach her this song, just to ease the breaking of her heart in this situation, I will have undermined both her instructor (who was my beginning instructor many moons ago) and the integrity of the program. However, she is almost there and could learn to play it quite easily. I'm torn about what to do, but that's yet another blog.
Back to the events of the day: We get to lessons today, and happily discover that "Mrs. Smith" is not teaching this group; instead, it is the instructor we regularly have and whom Li'l G adores. One less battle to fight. We have a quit pep talk in the car about being cool with being shy, but how important it is to do what our teachers ask us to do. The lesson goes off without a hitch, when we come to the time where she has to bow out for a song. She turned back to look at me, I encouraged her to go ahead and put her instrument down, and she did it, obediently, without a grudge or a tear, and took her lumps. She walked over to me and just buried her little sweet face in my lap and sobbed. Once that song was over, she was asked to come back to the group. She composed herself and ended the lesson on a cheerful note. I was so proud of her for handling herself that way.
Now for my turn through the wringer. Later in the morning, we met some long-lost FT Polk friends, now in the FT Hood area, at Inflatable Funland. We were reuniting after having not seen each other in almost three years. Just as we're all walking up to the establishment of juvenile craziness, I'm smacked in the face with, "Temple." Explanation: My hometown is a, well, difficult place. If you are successful, you leave this place like Sodom and Gomorrah and you make a point to never come back (holidays being the exception to this unspoken rule). If you leave and return, or *gasp* you never leave at all, you are a miserable failure, doomed to be someone who couldn't have a life or was a waste of the public school system. It's a town of over 50,000 people; yet, it feels like there are only 2,000. Everyone knows you and your business. I deal with this on a small scale every day when I drop Li'l G off at school. I did not want to come back to this area for the reasons listed above. I struggle enough to process my reality without having to worry about prying eyes and judgments being passed in my general direction. There were a handful of these individuals there today, having a pleasant family gathering, but they might as well have been brandishing a billy club or a cat-o-nine-tails for all I care. These people had disdain for me in the past, and now that I'm "back" because of my "tragic situation," they feign interest in how the kids and I are doing; that is, when they speak to me at all. Trust me, there's no love lost there. Not only do I still have that ax grinding from the past, there's the snarky pity in the future, and I can live without it all. I had to pass by them all several times today, knowing that they were discussing who I was and all that. Only two of them acknowledged my existence, one of whom seems to be pretty kind. As for the others, they avoided all eye contact and interaction, reinforcing what I had seen in the past. Still, as uncomfortable as I was, I plastered a "coffee group" smile on my face, was cheerful and laid back when spoken to, and resolved to save my grumbling for the blog. I could have been rude, and I sure as heck would not have minded putting one of them in her place (I've been waiting 19 years to get one particular thing off my chest). But I decided to choke it down, be an adult about it, and get on down the road. (At least, until I could come back here and blog about it! haha!!)
Humility is a crappy lesson to have to endure. Yes, we are all the better for it in the long run, but Lord, can't you just give us our full share without making us go through the learning process?!? I guess, if He did, the end result of our refining process would not be near as meaningful.
"By humility and the fear of the LORD are riches, and honor, and life." --Proverbs 22:4
Wednesday, January 23, 2008
Bienvenue a Louisiane
I travelled back to the Pelican State this past weekend for the first time since I moved to Texas in the summer of 2006. Upon seeing the sign greeting me as I crossed the Sabine River into Louisiana, I had such a bizarre sense of deja vu. I had made this trip, quite literally, in my sleep so many times before; yet, there was a sense that this was a completely different trip, unique and heretofore never experienced. I was pleasantly surprised to see that the road had been repaved (usually a sign that you have crossed from the Promised Land, a.k.a. Texas, into the Seventh Circle of Hell, a.k.a. Louisiana). Other than that, I felt like I was in a time warp, zipping through the time-space continuum in Bill and Ted's gnarly telephone booth.
I was excited and anxious about going on this trip. Excited to reunite with dear friends, sisters of the truest sort, and anxious about how I would react to being at FT Polk again. What would be the same? What minute differences would there be? Knowing what I know about this part of the country, the locals fight tooth and nail against any progression other than that of the pine trees, spanish moss, and underbrush. I braced myself for any myriad of emotions and experiences as I rolled into Vernon Parish.
As I should've known all along, any gathering which is centered on God and celebrating His gifts in your life is going to be just one step short of getting to peek behind the curtain of Heaven. We stayed first with J. and then barged into S.'s home. Let me pause here to say this much:
J. is truly a mirror in which you see the heart of Christ. When I was left all alone a week after Tom died to begin my life as a household of three, J. came and stayed with me. She listened as I just talked about him, cooked dinner for me, and truly loved and prayed me through every single day of my life since November 30, 2005. She is one of my sources of accountability, intercessory, and fellowship, and is one of the closest friends I've ever had.
S. is the Proverbs 31 woman, the wife and mother I long to be but feel I will either never have the chance or the ability to be. She, too, has come alongside me and cared what I was going through when most others kept me at arms' length. Teamed up with her sweet hubby, she has been consistent with her love and support and words of encouragement, and she, too, has lifted me in prayer more than I'll ever know.
I could give you the play-by-play for the entire five day excursion. But the bottomline was that the weather was cold, the homes were cozy, my friends were warm and inviting, and being back in town was like reuniting with an acquaintance that you didn't realize was actually your friend all along. God took the potential for emotional disaster and instead weaved it into a tapestry that captured all of the blessings that this place was for me during a chapter of my life. It was another important step into my future to retrace steps from my past.
I was excited and anxious about going on this trip. Excited to reunite with dear friends, sisters of the truest sort, and anxious about how I would react to being at FT Polk again. What would be the same? What minute differences would there be? Knowing what I know about this part of the country, the locals fight tooth and nail against any progression other than that of the pine trees, spanish moss, and underbrush. I braced myself for any myriad of emotions and experiences as I rolled into Vernon Parish.
As I should've known all along, any gathering which is centered on God and celebrating His gifts in your life is going to be just one step short of getting to peek behind the curtain of Heaven. We stayed first with J. and then barged into S.'s home. Let me pause here to say this much:
J. is truly a mirror in which you see the heart of Christ. When I was left all alone a week after Tom died to begin my life as a household of three, J. came and stayed with me. She listened as I just talked about him, cooked dinner for me, and truly loved and prayed me through every single day of my life since November 30, 2005. She is one of my sources of accountability, intercessory, and fellowship, and is one of the closest friends I've ever had.
S. is the Proverbs 31 woman, the wife and mother I long to be but feel I will either never have the chance or the ability to be. She, too, has come alongside me and cared what I was going through when most others kept me at arms' length. Teamed up with her sweet hubby, she has been consistent with her love and support and words of encouragement, and she, too, has lifted me in prayer more than I'll ever know.
I could give you the play-by-play for the entire five day excursion. But the bottomline was that the weather was cold, the homes were cozy, my friends were warm and inviting, and being back in town was like reuniting with an acquaintance that you didn't realize was actually your friend all along. God took the potential for emotional disaster and instead weaved it into a tapestry that captured all of the blessings that this place was for me during a chapter of my life. It was another important step into my future to retrace steps from my past.
Monday, January 14, 2008
Oh Man, This Is Kickin'!
If you have children or finicky friends and family that refuse to make good, healthy choices at meals, or who won't eat something if they can tell what is in it, then allow me to introduce you to this cookbook. Authored by Jerry Seinfeld's wife, she has more or less conned her family into eating healthily by disguising vegetables. They've gone "incognito," if you will.I made the Pasta With Bolognese Sauce tonight. The masked marauder in this sauce was sweet potatoes. Yes, I really said sweet potatoes. The other recipes include veggies such as spinach, cauliflower, yellow squash, butternut squash, and avocados. There are recipes to cover any meal of the day, and even great tips on how to make mealtime be a way to connect with every member of the family and not be wanting to hit the bottle when it's all said and done!
I will admit that these recipes do take some advance prep. The hidden veggies are prepared and pureed ahead of time so that they can go undetected by even the crankiest toddler or skeptical adult. If you don't have a blender with food processor options, she's got ideas for how to process the veggies. Once you do this, however, you pop these suckers into the freezer (most recipes call for 1/2 c. amounts, so I froze them in 1/2 c. portions in quart-sized freezer bags so they froze flat like pancakes and take up almost no space in the freezer) and they are good for months. When you're ready to use them, cut a hole in one corner of the bag and squeeze it out pastry bag-style and you're ready to rock. Once you've got the veggies prepared, these recipes don't take any longer than most recipes. For example, once I started cooking the sauce, the entire thing only took about 45 minutes. Not bad for a spaghetti sauce made from scratch!
Now for the taste test: the kids scarfed it down as if they'd only been fed saltine crackers and water all day. I myself was a bit skeptical. I just couldn't imagine sweet potatoes tasting good with parmesan cheese, italian spices, and ground meat. But let me tell you, it's the best sauce to ever come out of my kitchen. This isn't the kind of Bolognese you're gonna get in Italy or that foul restaurant called The Olive Garden. This is a hearty, healthy, family kitchen kind of sauce, great on cold winter's days. **BTW, did I mention that I made a double batch? I kept a container of it for leftovers tomorrow and froze the rest in 2 c. portions. I ended up freezing 10 c. of sauce! That's five meals taken care of! Now that's what I'm talkin' about!
Now Let's Flash Forward...
(If you haven't read, "Socks," yet, read that blog first; this will make much more sense if you have, I promise.) So step across the calendar by 18 months to today. Obviously, and thankfully, I am not at that same point in my life. I don't know that time necessarily heals all wounds; rather, I believe that time lessens the rawness and the sting of the wound. That has certainly been the case for me. There was a time when my thoughts were constantly, "This is my life now. This has really happened. This is who you are." I had to remind myself daily because, as any mother of toddlers knows, one can really lose themselves in the mundane, everyday tasks of running a busy household. Once I got to the point where I didn't have to do that every day, I felt like I either needed to get busy living or get busy dying. My life cannot always be about my loss, cannot always be defined by my unique circumstances. This man that I love and was married to will not be part of my future, and that's a weird thought sometimes. Most people, upon getting married, really take for granted that they will be a part of each other's lives for an undetermined number of years that will span a long lifetime. At first, I really rejected the thought that T. would not always be alongside me. I didn't like it and, quite frankly, didn't appreciate all the reminders that my life was different from everyone else's.
It wasn't until I consciously decided that I really believed that I could have a future of my own that I was even remotely open to love. And I mean love. Not this crap you see in movies and VH1 CelebReality shows. I mean the kind where not every single day is necessarily sunshine and lollypops. The kind of love that says, "I accept you and adore you for who you are, even when you irritate the crap out of me!" The kind of love that allows you to feel sexy even when your stomach looks like someone let the air out of it after having two kids. The kind of love that says, "This is scarier than the thought of having a root canal without novacaine, but I love this person so much, I want to let them into my heart, broken and mending and ridiculous, because I want them alongside of me through it all."
I never guessed where, how, or when this would have transpired for me. R.'s and my romance has been so completely unusual, not just for us but for anyone. It has been in falling in love with him that I have learned to quit trying to measure my life by other's yardsticks. God provided R. for me in direct answer to prayer. Even the fact that I have the emotional capacity to experience love again is a direct answer to prayer. It has been so hard for me to let go of the reigns of my life and give them over to God. Those of you who know me well know that I should have, "RNTM," tattooed on my forehead. (Right Now This Minute, for those out of the loop.) Having to be patient with God to make good on His promise to bring to me, not just a companion, but a soul mate, having to be patient with God to bring our future together to pass on His timing, and so on, are excruciating for me. But what amazes me every day, when I hear his deep, mellow voice coming from 3500 miles away, is that he's here in my life, that I'm being given a second chance at happiness that so few others seem to get even the first time around. It just blows my mind to see how far I've come in such a short amount of time...
It wasn't until I consciously decided that I really believed that I could have a future of my own that I was even remotely open to love. And I mean love. Not this crap you see in movies and VH1 CelebReality shows. I mean the kind where not every single day is necessarily sunshine and lollypops. The kind of love that says, "I accept you and adore you for who you are, even when you irritate the crap out of me!" The kind of love that allows you to feel sexy even when your stomach looks like someone let the air out of it after having two kids. The kind of love that says, "This is scarier than the thought of having a root canal without novacaine, but I love this person so much, I want to let them into my heart, broken and mending and ridiculous, because I want them alongside of me through it all."
I never guessed where, how, or when this would have transpired for me. R.'s and my romance has been so completely unusual, not just for us but for anyone. It has been in falling in love with him that I have learned to quit trying to measure my life by other's yardsticks. God provided R. for me in direct answer to prayer. Even the fact that I have the emotional capacity to experience love again is a direct answer to prayer. It has been so hard for me to let go of the reigns of my life and give them over to God. Those of you who know me well know that I should have, "RNTM," tattooed on my forehead. (Right Now This Minute, for those out of the loop.) Having to be patient with God to make good on His promise to bring to me, not just a companion, but a soul mate, having to be patient with God to bring our future together to pass on His timing, and so on, are excruciating for me. But what amazes me every day, when I hear his deep, mellow voice coming from 3500 miles away, is that he's here in my life, that I'm being given a second chance at happiness that so few others seem to get even the first time around. It just blows my mind to see how far I've come in such a short amount of time...
Socks
For those of you who haven't read my blog on MySpace, this is one dug up from my archives. Every now and then I get a creative burst of energy and come up with something that I am proud to share with the public that really expresses how my thoughts flow. This was one such blog. So here it is, back by popular demand... I give you, "Socks," written on June 20, 2006...
As moving day nears, and I begin to get the house prepared for movers to come and pack and rifle through everything I own, I've been trying to get rid of stuff. Clothes that the kids can't wear that aren't nice enough to hand down to friends' kids, the millions of baskets people gave loaded with candy at Easter, and the other quirky things that accumulate under the kitchen sink and the likes. I evaluate which things will go where, and then I come to his drawers...
OK, so I have this theory about the married couple living inside my head. The woman is very sentimental about every thing; the man being the practical side of my thoughts. These two are constantly in conflict over what they think I should do in every situation, and it wears me out. I usually err on the side of the man in the argument here, since I am usually a practical-minded person; however, the woman wins some of the bigger feuds, and I guess the score somehow remains even.
Back to the issue of the day. Socks. Tom's not using them anymore. They're taking up an entire drawer in our chest-of-drawers. Yet, they are his. Here's the drama ensuing in my mind:
Woman: Are you insane? Get rid of them? But he has touched them. They used to protect his feet, carried him many a mile on those infantry roadmarches, and there was something special about his feet.
Man: Oh good grief. They're just socks.
Woman: But by moving them out of the drawer, or completely getting rid of them, you are moving him out of your life. It has begun. You are no longer in love with him.
Man: They're just socks.
This goes on and on. I look at the socks, many of them beginning to be threadbare and a few with a hole or two. I think of the hard times we endured financially. It was an easy choice for us when I became pregnant with our first child that I would stay at home with the kids. However, it was not the easiest choice to endure. Having a family of four with big bills on one income, being a soldier no less, was no picnic. Those socks symbolized to me all of the things that Tom went without so that his wife and children would never want for anything. He had more integrity in his little finger than anyone I've ever known. (Don't get me wrong -- he had his moments, as do all of us...)
I moved the socks from his drawer to the bed, pairing them all up, wondering what to do. Rather than toss them onto the bed like I usually do, I laid them out gently and softly like a little girl lays her baby doll in a cradle. They're just socks, but they were his.
I got rid of Tom's socks today.
OK, so I have this theory about the married couple living inside my head. The woman is very sentimental about every thing; the man being the practical side of my thoughts. These two are constantly in conflict over what they think I should do in every situation, and it wears me out. I usually err on the side of the man in the argument here, since I am usually a practical-minded person; however, the woman wins some of the bigger feuds, and I guess the score somehow remains even.
Back to the issue of the day. Socks. Tom's not using them anymore. They're taking up an entire drawer in our chest-of-drawers. Yet, they are his. Here's the drama ensuing in my mind:
Woman: Are you insane? Get rid of them? But he has touched them. They used to protect his feet, carried him many a mile on those infantry roadmarches, and there was something special about his feet.
Man: Oh good grief. They're just socks.
Woman: But by moving them out of the drawer, or completely getting rid of them, you are moving him out of your life. It has begun. You are no longer in love with him.
Man: They're just socks.
This goes on and on. I look at the socks, many of them beginning to be threadbare and a few with a hole or two. I think of the hard times we endured financially. It was an easy choice for us when I became pregnant with our first child that I would stay at home with the kids. However, it was not the easiest choice to endure. Having a family of four with big bills on one income, being a soldier no less, was no picnic. Those socks symbolized to me all of the things that Tom went without so that his wife and children would never want for anything. He had more integrity in his little finger than anyone I've ever known. (Don't get me wrong -- he had his moments, as do all of us...)
I moved the socks from his drawer to the bed, pairing them all up, wondering what to do. Rather than toss them onto the bed like I usually do, I laid them out gently and softly like a little girl lays her baby doll in a cradle. They're just socks, but they were his.
I got rid of Tom's socks today.
Sunday, January 13, 2008
Introductions, Please
Welcome, one and all, to my latest venture into written therapy, the ever-popular blog. I actually have a blog on my MySpace page, but I have held back a lot from that page simply because I realize it's extremely public (not like this site isn't, really), but I find myself outgrowing the teenie-bopper-esque feeling of the layouts and the music, etc. Don't get me wrong -- music is a major part of my life, but I feel like people don't come through the pages on MySpace for anything but entertainment. I'm feeling the need, more now than ever, to pare things down, get past the clutter and the noise, and have some quality in my life. I have approached blogging as a way that I can take Jesus to the masses, and in the process have not felt as though I could focus on things on which I ponder and ruminate during my days. This seems a more appropriate venue.
What is there to know about me in a few words or sentences? Well, I'm a mom in my 30s to two toddlers, I'm a military widow, I'm a single parent in love, I have a passion for music and play guitar and violin, I am involved in various ministries in my church, and am considering some type of career or volunteerism in the field of women's ministry, Christian counseling, music ministry, etc. I lost the first love of my life over two years ago in a motorcycle accident, and every day of my life since then has been unpredicatable, beautiful, frightening, unbearable, spiritual, and scads of other adjectives that can't come to mind. My children have somehow managed to flourish in spite of the parenting I have tossed their way (a sure sign that God is sovereign and in control), and I have met the second love of my life, something that terrifies me and blesses me all at the same time. I feel like I'm daily walking through a fog, trying to figure out what I'm going to be when I grow up. Some days I feel more direction to my steps than others, which is kind of what I'm going through now. Amidst all the confusion, heartbreak, love, and laughter, I'm holding doggedly to the hem of Jesus' garment, knowing that even the dogs get scraps from their masters' table. (See Matthew 15:21-28)
I don't know and really don't care (OK, I care a smidge, hee! hee!) who will read this page and how often that will happen. All I know is that I'm needing an outlet for expression and see how beneficial this cyber-journaling can be. For now I'm hoping to post at least twice a week, but don't hold me to it! In the meantime, I'll see you all in the funny papers...
What is there to know about me in a few words or sentences? Well, I'm a mom in my 30s to two toddlers, I'm a military widow, I'm a single parent in love, I have a passion for music and play guitar and violin, I am involved in various ministries in my church, and am considering some type of career or volunteerism in the field of women's ministry, Christian counseling, music ministry, etc. I lost the first love of my life over two years ago in a motorcycle accident, and every day of my life since then has been unpredicatable, beautiful, frightening, unbearable, spiritual, and scads of other adjectives that can't come to mind. My children have somehow managed to flourish in spite of the parenting I have tossed their way (a sure sign that God is sovereign and in control), and I have met the second love of my life, something that terrifies me and blesses me all at the same time. I feel like I'm daily walking through a fog, trying to figure out what I'm going to be when I grow up. Some days I feel more direction to my steps than others, which is kind of what I'm going through now. Amidst all the confusion, heartbreak, love, and laughter, I'm holding doggedly to the hem of Jesus' garment, knowing that even the dogs get scraps from their masters' table. (See Matthew 15:21-28)
I don't know and really don't care (OK, I care a smidge, hee! hee!) who will read this page and how often that will happen. All I know is that I'm needing an outlet for expression and see how beneficial this cyber-journaling can be. For now I'm hoping to post at least twice a week, but don't hold me to it! In the meantime, I'll see you all in the funny papers...
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