Later this summer, the members of my graduating class will be celebrating our ten year reunion. Planning started late, so when I hadn't seen an invitation I assumed that either it was forgotten or I was-- either a possibility. However, recently my Facebook feed was been filled with comments from names I haven't thought about in 9 1/2 years and an event has been established.
I hold nothing against anyone from my senior class. I had a few friends and I had a few people who picked on me, but for the most part I was ignored. What was done back then holds very little weight to who I am today.
I also hold no interest in knowing how these people turned out. If I did, a few moments of Facebook stalking would confirm the important stuff-- if they were still living at home, married, have kids, have jobs, live in a foreign country. But I don't often find myself looking through the profiles of people I haven't spoken with since the day I accepted my diploma. I wish them all well, but, I really just don't care. With the exception of a few friends who I barely speak with now, these people are from my distant past and keeping up with everyone would be exhausting.
With that in mind, I had already decided not to go the minute I received the notification. I also chose not to attend for a reason that I'm embarrassed to admit.
There was a small, but terrible, part of me that wanted to show up and show off. As arrogant as it may sound, I'm pretty happy with my life currently. I'm fit, I'm working an awesome job, volunteering with great organizations, making a difference and happily married for many years. It would be nice to show some of these people that the band geek runs now, that the shy girl is now on two community organization boards, that the boring one now has a really good, stable life.
I felt smug for about a minute and a half. My chest was all puffed up and I was thinking how awesome it would be show up in some cute outfit and have heads turn. "Is that... Kristin?" They would exclaim, jaws hitting the floor.
But then I had a reality check.
First, arrogance in any shape or form is just plain stupid, not attractive at all and not a part of my persona.
Second, success is a matter of perspective.
While I am completely comfortable and happy with my life, I thought for a second what someone from the outside, hearing only the major details, might think.
I am the girl who dropped out of college to marry her high school sweetheart. I work part time at a retail job and part time at home. I have no kids. I seem obsessed with my body because I work out and am into nutrition. I talk way too much about (and to) my dogs. I still only have a small handful of friends and call my mom almost every day.
Again, that's not how I see myself. They may be true, on the surface, but I love all of those things about myself. But I imagine walking in all tall and proud and having people raise their eyebrow at me. Instead of the "Is that... Kristin?" it would be "Oh... so that's all you've done with your life?"
So, I will not be attending our reunion, Class of 2005. Sorry. I hope you have a lovely time, I hope you reconnect in ways you want. I'll just stay here, go for a run, talk to my dogs, and go on a date with my husband instead. If you want to get to know the adult Kristin, feel free to reach out.
Tuesday, June 30, 2015
Wednesday, June 17, 2015
Dear Jim -- An Expectant Adoptive Father
Dear Jim,
In the past few weeks, I have seen you interact with a lot of kids. From a just learning to walk infant to busy 6 year olds, you were quiet and stand-offish at first, not knowing where you fit as a man who has not yet been a father, but soon enough you were welcomed into their little worlds. You read a book to one little girl. You held another on your shoulders and helped her out of her car seat. You held a boys hand as he crossed the road and kept a hand lightly on his shoulder as your navigated a busy parking lot. You played catch and fixed bikes. Your eyes were bright, you were so excited.
And on the drive home from each time spent with kids, I felt the disappointment and could see it in your face. I know you loved the time with them but it gets harder with each visit. With each sweet little smile or cute little giggle, you are reminded again that you are not yet a dad. So, when after a long silence you say, "I'm ready." I know exactly what you mean.
I remember when we were carefree, looking at cute little babies and keeping a safe we-don't-know-anything-about-kids distance, when the "someday" in "someday, when we have kids" was a daydream in a far off land that would become our reality at some time in the future. A daydream we fueled with our naive conversations about having perfectly well behaved kids, still having time for ourselves, being perfect parents. A daydream with scenes of us sharing a quiet afternoon in a well-manicured back yard, you playing ball with a son and me serving pink lemonade at our daughters tea party.
I was with you when our dreaming evolved into excitement and a sense of urgency. When we put smiley faces on certain days of the calendar and suddenly noticed every little kid between the ages of 0 and 10. When we planned cute ways to tell our families about a pregnancy. When it wasn't a question that we would soon be parents in that blissful daydream we've cultivated for so many years.
You were a part of sitting on the bathroom floor waiting for a stick to tell us our fate. When we read reviews on every possible fertility enhancement we could find. When we learned the lingo of people who are officially trying to conceive. When we would analyze pink lines every day I was testing for ovulation.
I was the one that you held tightly when I broken down on Mother's Day last year. I was the one you treated to flowers and chocolates and kisses and back rubs when I couldn't take infertility any longer. I was the one you cared for and protected, because that is who you are.
I know that you have, like me, wondered if it was your own body that was betraying us. Wondering if maybe it's discipline from a past sin or something you are doing wrong. I know that you have started taking multivitamins and avoided bacon (your favorite) and other foods that might be the problem. I know it has worried you.
I was sitting beside you when you realized adoption was the plan for our life. When your voice got quiet and you told me you thought that was the right path for us. I experienced the excitement in that car as we drove to Thanksgiving dinner, I was amazed when we made plans and agreed on everything.
I helped you while you fixed our banister, plugged every outlet and childproofed our home. We sat together nervously as a stranger interviewed us to become potential parents. You drove us two hours each way, two weekends in a row, to go to more interviews. You went through fingerprinting, background checking, piles of paperwork and filling out profile information beside me. You helped pick out the pictures to submit, you organized the tax documents for me.
I know at times it felt like you weren't as important. In adoption, the initial focus seems to be the birth mother, which sometimes extends to the adoptive mother, with the adoptive father sitting behind. I know that Mother's Day sermons are about how great moms are and Father's Day sermons are about stepping up. I know that because you don't openly share your concerns with the world, you don't have the support that I do. But I want you to know that I support you.
So I hope this Father's Day you can celebrate. Celebrate your dad, and all of his good traits. Celebrate the father-figures in your life, or father's that you appreciate.
Celebrate the hope that someday we will be parents and hold on to that hope with me. Celebrate knowing that our "someday, when we're parents" will actually come.
And let me celebrate you. Knowing your character, knowing your heart, witnessing your actions-- I celebrate that you will be the father of my children. I celebrate your kind heart, your giving spirit, your love for me, your hard work, your wonderful smile and your devotion to the Lord. I celebrate being "your girl" for half of my life. I imagine you holding our baby, walking our young child across the street, holding our child on your shoulders, and I celebrate the future.
Happy Father's Day, Jim. You are my love, my best friend, and the better half of me. I can't wait until a little voice calls you Daddy on this very special day.
In the past few weeks, I have seen you interact with a lot of kids. From a just learning to walk infant to busy 6 year olds, you were quiet and stand-offish at first, not knowing where you fit as a man who has not yet been a father, but soon enough you were welcomed into their little worlds. You read a book to one little girl. You held another on your shoulders and helped her out of her car seat. You held a boys hand as he crossed the road and kept a hand lightly on his shoulder as your navigated a busy parking lot. You played catch and fixed bikes. Your eyes were bright, you were so excited.
And on the drive home from each time spent with kids, I felt the disappointment and could see it in your face. I know you loved the time with them but it gets harder with each visit. With each sweet little smile or cute little giggle, you are reminded again that you are not yet a dad. So, when after a long silence you say, "I'm ready." I know exactly what you mean.
I remember when we were carefree, looking at cute little babies and keeping a safe we-don't-know-anything-about-kids distance, when the "someday" in "someday, when we have kids" was a daydream in a far off land that would become our reality at some time in the future. A daydream we fueled with our naive conversations about having perfectly well behaved kids, still having time for ourselves, being perfect parents. A daydream with scenes of us sharing a quiet afternoon in a well-manicured back yard, you playing ball with a son and me serving pink lemonade at our daughters tea party.
I was with you when our dreaming evolved into excitement and a sense of urgency. When we put smiley faces on certain days of the calendar and suddenly noticed every little kid between the ages of 0 and 10. When we planned cute ways to tell our families about a pregnancy. When it wasn't a question that we would soon be parents in that blissful daydream we've cultivated for so many years.
You were a part of sitting on the bathroom floor waiting for a stick to tell us our fate. When we read reviews on every possible fertility enhancement we could find. When we learned the lingo of people who are officially trying to conceive. When we would analyze pink lines every day I was testing for ovulation.
I was the one that you held tightly when I broken down on Mother's Day last year. I was the one you treated to flowers and chocolates and kisses and back rubs when I couldn't take infertility any longer. I was the one you cared for and protected, because that is who you are.
I know that you have, like me, wondered if it was your own body that was betraying us. Wondering if maybe it's discipline from a past sin or something you are doing wrong. I know that you have started taking multivitamins and avoided bacon (your favorite) and other foods that might be the problem. I know it has worried you.
I was sitting beside you when you realized adoption was the plan for our life. When your voice got quiet and you told me you thought that was the right path for us. I experienced the excitement in that car as we drove to Thanksgiving dinner, I was amazed when we made plans and agreed on everything.
I helped you while you fixed our banister, plugged every outlet and childproofed our home. We sat together nervously as a stranger interviewed us to become potential parents. You drove us two hours each way, two weekends in a row, to go to more interviews. You went through fingerprinting, background checking, piles of paperwork and filling out profile information beside me. You helped pick out the pictures to submit, you organized the tax documents for me.
I know at times it felt like you weren't as important. In adoption, the initial focus seems to be the birth mother, which sometimes extends to the adoptive mother, with the adoptive father sitting behind. I know that Mother's Day sermons are about how great moms are and Father's Day sermons are about stepping up. I know that because you don't openly share your concerns with the world, you don't have the support that I do. But I want you to know that I support you.
So I hope this Father's Day you can celebrate. Celebrate your dad, and all of his good traits. Celebrate the father-figures in your life, or father's that you appreciate.
Celebrate the hope that someday we will be parents and hold on to that hope with me. Celebrate knowing that our "someday, when we're parents" will actually come.
And let me celebrate you. Knowing your character, knowing your heart, witnessing your actions-- I celebrate that you will be the father of my children. I celebrate your kind heart, your giving spirit, your love for me, your hard work, your wonderful smile and your devotion to the Lord. I celebrate being "your girl" for half of my life. I imagine you holding our baby, walking our young child across the street, holding our child on your shoulders, and I celebrate the future.
Happy Father's Day, Jim. You are my love, my best friend, and the better half of me. I can't wait until a little voice calls you Daddy on this very special day.
Tuesday, May 12, 2015
Two-Feet Duathlon -- A Unique Mother's Day
Last year, for the first time, I openly wept in public during the Mother's Day festivities at church. Our pastor had done a beautiful job of including all women, but the first mention of those who wanted to be mothers, I lost it. I wanted it so bad it hurt. I had been patient for years, okay with it for so long but I couldn't handle it last year. We left through a side door to avoid the concerned hugs and questions and went home where we watched a comedy, I ate a lot of chocolate, and took a nap while clinging to my German Shepherd and sniffling into his neck.
This year was much different. I woke up early to make some waffle batter for my best friend and her family who had been visiting. I listened as her two beautiful children talked to each other in quiet voices in the bedroom. Then I filled my car with brightly colored totes, socks, waters, towels and chairs.
Instead of crying during church, I listened to the sermon and smiled at every little kid at church and their parents. As I played bass in the worship team, I took notice of the mommies holding their little ones.
We didn't have time for our Sunday afternoon movie, because we were setting up for a race. The Two Feet Duathlon. A 2 mile run and 6 mile bike ride. Based on the baby announcements that say couples are adding "two feet" to their homes, we took the idea and ran with it. Racers got socks with baby feet on them, a reusable tote, and as many baked goods as they might want.
The only tears I shed this Mother's Day was at the start of the race. I had a speech all planned, but the wind was so cold I decided to shorten it. "Thank you for coming..." I look at all of these people, about to run in the freezing cold, these people who all paid above what was required to run the race, some of them not at all athletic but doing it for us anyway. "... I didn't want to cry... but really, Thank You..."
Jim took over, seeing my dilemma, to give race instructions. Then I yelled "go" and they were off.
The race itself went better than we were originally anticipating on Sunday morning. The snow had stopped, but it was still only 40 degrees and the wind was brutal. We had a few no-shows, but 23 of 32 showed up. Like most races, we had the leader, a female who dominated the course in 45 minutes. We had the walkers and the stragglers. My favorite moment of the race was when one of my students came walking to the start with her bike, the back tire obviously bent. Instead of giving up, she jumped on her younger sisters bike and finished the race, even though it meant coming in last place.
The day was full of highlights. Bob, my boss, had a brilliant idea of pulling up his trailer for a race headquarters, so people wouldn't freeze and we wouldn't have to have stuff out in the wind. He led the runners on his bike and then stuck at a corner to direct bike traffic. My Pastors entire family stood at street corners directing racers. Two other church members did the same. Four lovely ladies made baked goods for our racers, including Janean's famous cinnamon rolls, which got us more donations because people bought some of the leftovers to take home.
Our race sponsor, Sheila from Thrivent Financial, provided T-Shirts for everyone as well. The motto of the company is "Live Generously" which was the front of this shirt. I want to wear this shirt every day, frame the motto on my wall and put it in my prayer journal. What an amazing message.
And everyone that came yesterday lives generously. Every single one.
We raised over $1000 total yesterday that went straight to our adoption fund account this morning. Even the teller at our bank misted up over it.
The generosity of others, this race, and our budgeting I can officially say that, if the tax credit is really what it says it is, we will adopt debt free. We will actually maybe be able to "up" our budget a little, meaning we will be shown to more birth mothers who are in more financially difficult situations, which means we might become parents sooner.
We started this journey the day before Thanksgiving in 2014. We learned the expense and didn't know how we could manage it. And now, 6 months later, we will adopt debt free, meaning we can start our family without that financial burden. We can start our child's college fund the minute they are home.
We are so humbled and so amazed at the generosity of others and the love we have received from this community. I hope our children grow to understand this generosity and that they learn from having these wonderful people in their lives.
Thank you to everyone who prayed, participated, baked and volunteered. You are all rock stars.
This year was much different. I woke up early to make some waffle batter for my best friend and her family who had been visiting. I listened as her two beautiful children talked to each other in quiet voices in the bedroom. Then I filled my car with brightly colored totes, socks, waters, towels and chairs.
Instead of crying during church, I listened to the sermon and smiled at every little kid at church and their parents. As I played bass in the worship team, I took notice of the mommies holding their little ones.
We didn't have time for our Sunday afternoon movie, because we were setting up for a race. The Two Feet Duathlon. A 2 mile run and 6 mile bike ride. Based on the baby announcements that say couples are adding "two feet" to their homes, we took the idea and ran with it. Racers got socks with baby feet on them, a reusable tote, and as many baked goods as they might want.
The only tears I shed this Mother's Day was at the start of the race. I had a speech all planned, but the wind was so cold I decided to shorten it. "Thank you for coming..." I look at all of these people, about to run in the freezing cold, these people who all paid above what was required to run the race, some of them not at all athletic but doing it for us anyway. "... I didn't want to cry... but really, Thank You..."
Jim took over, seeing my dilemma, to give race instructions. Then I yelled "go" and they were off.
The race itself went better than we were originally anticipating on Sunday morning. The snow had stopped, but it was still only 40 degrees and the wind was brutal. We had a few no-shows, but 23 of 32 showed up. Like most races, we had the leader, a female who dominated the course in 45 minutes. We had the walkers and the stragglers. My favorite moment of the race was when one of my students came walking to the start with her bike, the back tire obviously bent. Instead of giving up, she jumped on her younger sisters bike and finished the race, even though it meant coming in last place.
The day was full of highlights. Bob, my boss, had a brilliant idea of pulling up his trailer for a race headquarters, so people wouldn't freeze and we wouldn't have to have stuff out in the wind. He led the runners on his bike and then stuck at a corner to direct bike traffic. My Pastors entire family stood at street corners directing racers. Two other church members did the same. Four lovely ladies made baked goods for our racers, including Janean's famous cinnamon rolls, which got us more donations because people bought some of the leftovers to take home.
Our race sponsor, Sheila from Thrivent Financial, provided T-Shirts for everyone as well. The motto of the company is "Live Generously" which was the front of this shirt. I want to wear this shirt every day, frame the motto on my wall and put it in my prayer journal. What an amazing message.
And everyone that came yesterday lives generously. Every single one.
We raised over $1000 total yesterday that went straight to our adoption fund account this morning. Even the teller at our bank misted up over it.
The generosity of others, this race, and our budgeting I can officially say that, if the tax credit is really what it says it is, we will adopt debt free. We will actually maybe be able to "up" our budget a little, meaning we will be shown to more birth mothers who are in more financially difficult situations, which means we might become parents sooner.
We started this journey the day before Thanksgiving in 2014. We learned the expense and didn't know how we could manage it. And now, 6 months later, we will adopt debt free, meaning we can start our family without that financial burden. We can start our child's college fund the minute they are home.
We are so humbled and so amazed at the generosity of others and the love we have received from this community. I hope our children grow to understand this generosity and that they learn from having these wonderful people in their lives.
Thank you to everyone who prayed, participated, baked and volunteered. You are all rock stars.
Tuesday, April 21, 2015
On The Receiving End
I have tried to write this post about 100 times. I either get long winded or it doesn't seem genuine enough.
I have some of the highest quality people in my life.
And words can't express my gratitude to them and to God for the place they have allowed us to be in.
Because of the generosity of others, I get to be a mother. And not just in the most selfless move a woman can make in deciding her child can be raised by Jim and I.
I've never been in a position where I was the one needing generosity-- I have always tried to place myself in the "giving" category. So, when we knew we were going to need help for this, I almost backed out. Debt is bondage and I didn't want to be burden on anyone else by asking for help. But we decided to try-- because this was too important not too.
Every instance of kindness we have received regarding our adoption experience is placed deeply in my heart, documented in my journal, and those good people are all placed on my "Getting A Christmas Letter Forever List".
The neighbor from my childhood. The friend I knew from one semester at college. The wife of a guy Jim kind of spent time with in college. The lady without a lot of extra income who slipped me a twenty at church. The woman I'd never met who pulled me out of line at the post office to cut me a check. Jim's friend who casually asked him to check his paypal account so we would find the much larger balance than we anticipated. Grandma Hillis, who may not know that she is our major donor at the moment.
These people all now hold such a dear place it almost hurts to think of them all at once.
But financial generosity isn't all we have received. The adults who were adopted as infants who have encouraged me and put my fears at ease by being so open with their life stories. The adoptive mothers and the birthmother who have been candid about their experiences.
The encouraging notes and goodwishes from so many, people keeping track of our progress with anticipation.
My best friend who filled out paperwork for us and sent me a package of gender-neutral onesies after our home study was complete. My bosses, who did their share of paperwork for us, filmed themselves for our video profile and have been some of our biggest cheerleaders even though it means losing a somewhat-decent bookkeeper for a while when the little one arrives. Jim's sister, who even though she questioned our decision a bit, let us film her son, interviewed for us and filled out paperwork for us.
Our pastor and his family who have jumped at every opportunity to help.
Thrivent financial and Road ID who are sponsoring our upcoming race. Because of them, every cent received goes directly to the adoption fund. If we get more than three people signed up, I can't wait to give a little of the kindness back by giving a fun race.
I can't put into words what this has done. I have hope because of you. We have a future because of you. I want to be more generous than ever before because of you.
I have some of the highest quality people in my life.
And words can't express my gratitude to them and to God for the place they have allowed us to be in.
Because of the generosity of others, I get to be a mother. And not just in the most selfless move a woman can make in deciding her child can be raised by Jim and I.
I've never been in a position where I was the one needing generosity-- I have always tried to place myself in the "giving" category. So, when we knew we were going to need help for this, I almost backed out. Debt is bondage and I didn't want to be burden on anyone else by asking for help. But we decided to try-- because this was too important not too.
Every instance of kindness we have received regarding our adoption experience is placed deeply in my heart, documented in my journal, and those good people are all placed on my "Getting A Christmas Letter Forever List".
The neighbor from my childhood. The friend I knew from one semester at college. The wife of a guy Jim kind of spent time with in college. The lady without a lot of extra income who slipped me a twenty at church. The woman I'd never met who pulled me out of line at the post office to cut me a check. Jim's friend who casually asked him to check his paypal account so we would find the much larger balance than we anticipated. Grandma Hillis, who may not know that she is our major donor at the moment.
These people all now hold such a dear place it almost hurts to think of them all at once.
But financial generosity isn't all we have received. The adults who were adopted as infants who have encouraged me and put my fears at ease by being so open with their life stories. The adoptive mothers and the birthmother who have been candid about their experiences.
The encouraging notes and goodwishes from so many, people keeping track of our progress with anticipation.
My best friend who filled out paperwork for us and sent me a package of gender-neutral onesies after our home study was complete. My bosses, who did their share of paperwork for us, filmed themselves for our video profile and have been some of our biggest cheerleaders even though it means losing a somewhat-decent bookkeeper for a while when the little one arrives. Jim's sister, who even though she questioned our decision a bit, let us film her son, interviewed for us and filled out paperwork for us.
Our pastor and his family who have jumped at every opportunity to help.
Thrivent financial and Road ID who are sponsoring our upcoming race. Because of them, every cent received goes directly to the adoption fund. If we get more than three people signed up, I can't wait to give a little of the kindness back by giving a fun race.
I can't put into words what this has done. I have hope because of you. We have a future because of you. I want to be more generous than ever before because of you.
Thank you.
Saturday, April 4, 2015
Why It's All Gonna Be Okay.
Things have been frustrating for a lot of people lately. It seems our prayer list continues to grow. I am noticing less time to actually eat when we pray before lunch. With my dad's cancer, friends going through rough times, waiting on our adoption call, and an IT band flare up putting a wrench in possible marathon plans.
My problems may be small, but they weigh heavily on my mind. While some other people may not understand the emotional roller coaster that is having a running injury when you have a race you are excited about. Most of the time I am at peace with the idea that I may not run this marathon because I don't want to cause a permanent injury. I usually talk myself out of feeling like a total loser for possibly backing out of a race for the first time. But then, there is a bit of pride that has me not sending that email, has me feeling like less of an athlete because I can't cut it in training.
But, in the long run, I have had IT band issues before and new shoes, more foam rolling and time usually heals it.
And we have been on the waiting list a whole month and a half for our adoption agency, so it's not like we have been waiting forever. But there are moments, just quick little ones, when my impatience rears its ugly head.
I am reminded, though, that my inconveniences are much less difficult than those around me. A few friends of mine are going through things I couldn't imagine or don't understand.
So in a small way, I feel like the person visiting a hospital patient, complaining about a hang nail and then telling the person in the bed that "everything will be okay".
But that is exactly what I'm going to do.
Because everything is going to be okay.
Why?
Because the events of this weekend, many years ago.
Because an innocent man who lived a perfect life died in one of the most gruesome ways. To fulfill prophesy. To pay for the sins of many.
And then, after three days, that guy came back to life. And by coming back to life, visiting many and ascending into Heaven He finished the sacrifice that gave us entry into a much better eternity than where we were headed.
So let me say it again-- everything is going to be okay.
I know that when things are awful, when things look like they will never end, it's easy to forget that this life and everything in it is temporary. It doesn't mean we don't try hard, that we don't cry when things are hard or experience pain or try to fix things. It means that at the end of this life, there is relief. That because of what He did, if you've claimed Him as your savior, you get to be in heaven forever.
And on a more temporary level, knowing that He did that for us, wouldn't it also stand to reason that He cares about what happens to us here, too? Which means that what we're going through, no matter how long it's going to last for us, He knows and He's doing something with it. Just like my IT Band stuff, given time (and who knows, maybe new shoes), a lot of things heal.
Everything is going to be okay.
Happy Easter!
My problems may be small, but they weigh heavily on my mind. While some other people may not understand the emotional roller coaster that is having a running injury when you have a race you are excited about. Most of the time I am at peace with the idea that I may not run this marathon because I don't want to cause a permanent injury. I usually talk myself out of feeling like a total loser for possibly backing out of a race for the first time. But then, there is a bit of pride that has me not sending that email, has me feeling like less of an athlete because I can't cut it in training.
But, in the long run, I have had IT band issues before and new shoes, more foam rolling and time usually heals it.
And we have been on the waiting list a whole month and a half for our adoption agency, so it's not like we have been waiting forever. But there are moments, just quick little ones, when my impatience rears its ugly head.
I am reminded, though, that my inconveniences are much less difficult than those around me. A few friends of mine are going through things I couldn't imagine or don't understand.
So in a small way, I feel like the person visiting a hospital patient, complaining about a hang nail and then telling the person in the bed that "everything will be okay".
But that is exactly what I'm going to do.
Because everything is going to be okay.
Why?
Because the events of this weekend, many years ago.
Because an innocent man who lived a perfect life died in one of the most gruesome ways. To fulfill prophesy. To pay for the sins of many.
And then, after three days, that guy came back to life. And by coming back to life, visiting many and ascending into Heaven He finished the sacrifice that gave us entry into a much better eternity than where we were headed.
So let me say it again-- everything is going to be okay.
I know that when things are awful, when things look like they will never end, it's easy to forget that this life and everything in it is temporary. It doesn't mean we don't try hard, that we don't cry when things are hard or experience pain or try to fix things. It means that at the end of this life, there is relief. That because of what He did, if you've claimed Him as your savior, you get to be in heaven forever.
And on a more temporary level, knowing that He did that for us, wouldn't it also stand to reason that He cares about what happens to us here, too? Which means that what we're going through, no matter how long it's going to last for us, He knows and He's doing something with it. Just like my IT Band stuff, given time (and who knows, maybe new shoes), a lot of things heal.
Everything is going to be okay.
Happy Easter!
Tuesday, March 31, 2015
Simple Wardrobe
I became a wanna-be minimalist a few years ago. The idea for me was that having less stuff is less responsibility, less things to take care of and and easier, simpler life. Even just the word simplicity brings a free feeling to my chest. So I have been slowly getting rid of things in my home over the past few years and have actually made a lot of progress.
But this is what I've done so far.
Once I have completed my capsule wardrobe (basically, once I have let go of a couple of things and filled in the gaps... like, if I can find my khaki skirt in a charcoal gray...) it will simply be about replacing. It will make shopping for clothes a lot less tempting, because I only have 4 colors I'm really after and after I have everything so I feel confident in every outfit, every day, I will just simply replace as things are needed.
I still live with a non-minimalist. So, there are still places in our home where I have to pretend they don't exist. I also still have hobbies that require a lot of stuff, like music and photography. So, there is still stuff in my home, but it does clean a lot quicker now than it did in the past and I can truly relax in the evenings, knowing exactly where everything I need is and that it's where it should be.
My most recent project in the minimalist realm is what is called a "capsule wardrobe". In the past, I have just gotten rid of clothes that I don't wear often. The problem with that was I would end up not having a lot of clothes, especially ones that matched. So, I would buy more to fill the gaps. It wasn't a great cycle.
A capsule wardrobe, at least in my understanding, is a minimal amount of very wearable clothing that all matches. Basically, the idea is being able to pull any top and any bottom out of your closet and walk out the door feeling confident in your outfit choice.
Being that I'm just 'oh so fashionable' (I'm no good at online sarcasm... but THAT WAS IT!), this sounds like a wonderful idea to me. I don't have to stare at my clothes and wonder what would look good with what.
I'm still a work in progress, having a few clothes yet that I wouldn't mind seeing disappear and having a couple of things on a list that might make my wardrobe even more co-existent.
But this is what I've done so far.
1. I picked a base color. Gray. I feel like gray isn't as harsh as black or as bland as brown. I have always liked gray. My shoes, for the past few years, have all been gray. My purses have been gray. It's basically my base color anyway. I guess if I had a "secondary" base color it would be jeans...
2. I picked accent colors. Navy and burgundy. In the summer, I add peach and a mint/light blue. Again, these were a lot of the things I love in my closet in these colors already. My favorite skirt is navy, my favorite long sleeve top is burgundy.
3. I removed everything that wasn't these colors from my closet. Everything.
4. I added back what was necessary. I play in a jazz band in the summer and an orchestra in the fall with specific clothing guidelines. So, black pants, black dress, black shoes, white top were all essential.
5. I added back favorites that just don't match. Because I paid good money for that oatmeal colored cardigan and khaki skirt and I think I look cute in them. So they are here to stay.
6. I took pictures of me wearing everything. It sounds daunting, but when you get rid of most of your attire it isn't that bad.
7. I uploaded the pictures to Closetspace, an website/app that lets you organize your clothing and create outfits (GENIUS!)
8. I started creating outfits with my clothes that I could see on the website to know if it would match. If an article of clothing didn't really go with a lot of other stuff, I considered getting rid of it.
9. The app actually lets you add outfits to the calendar, so eventually I could essentially plan my outfits for weeks at a time. Which sounds great, because finding clothes in the morning is the worst.
Once I have completed my capsule wardrobe (basically, once I have let go of a couple of things and filled in the gaps... like, if I can find my khaki skirt in a charcoal gray...) it will simply be about replacing. It will make shopping for clothes a lot less tempting, because I only have 4 colors I'm really after and after I have everything so I feel confident in every outfit, every day, I will just simply replace as things are needed.
At least, that's the goal. It's still a major work in progress.
Thursday, March 26, 2015
Not The Update You Deserve
After taking a blogging break I was hoping to come back fresh faced and full of good, thought out blog posts.
But, it just wasn't happening. And today of all days is probably not the one I should be using to update you on my life, but,it found me in some interesting positions that I thought might make you laugh at my misfortune. Because what good is misfortune if you can't make a joke out of it.
This morning I found myself sitting on the curb outside of the Cenex near the interstate waiting for my husband to pick me up after a running injury stopped me a few miles from home. People driving by kept glancing at the neon-clad girl shivering along side the road.
Due to said injury and with the help of little sleep the night before I was upset and slightly dramatic. So, later in the morning, you could find me bawling in the Wal*Mart parking lot while I talked to my mom. Or, because it was Wal*Mart and I had lost all self-respect at that point, I could be found wandering around the store carrying toilet paper (the only thing I buy from Wal*Mart, typically), still blotchy-faced, red eyed and runny nosed from crying in my car.
My students just had an off day, which is draining. When kids just mess up a lot on things they know, it's hard to teach. So by the end of lessons, you would find me laying on my couch in raccoon pajamas (you heard me), watching a TV show and calling my husband to, for the first time in years, ask him to pick something up in the frozen aisle to make for dinner tonight. He was sweet and got me a gluten free pizza.
Then I got a call from my mom. Calls from my mom in the evening are usually not a good sign. No exception here. Dad is still not cancer free. His options are higher levels of chemo or surgery. But, as he was nearing his retirement, he now has to stay on for the insurance for at least a few more months.
So today wasn't the greatest. But that's okay. At least I was almost worthy of being a "people of walmart" person, and I freaked people out at a cenex station. And, all I have to do is sit on the floor and I'm bombarded with kisses from puppies, or call and my husband gives me a hug.
Tomorrow is a new day. And it'll be a good one. Because I'm thinking I'm going to start it off with a chai tea. And nothing ruins chai tea day.
But, it just wasn't happening. And today of all days is probably not the one I should be using to update you on my life, but,it found me in some interesting positions that I thought might make you laugh at my misfortune. Because what good is misfortune if you can't make a joke out of it.
This morning I found myself sitting on the curb outside of the Cenex near the interstate waiting for my husband to pick me up after a running injury stopped me a few miles from home. People driving by kept glancing at the neon-clad girl shivering along side the road.
Due to said injury and with the help of little sleep the night before I was upset and slightly dramatic. So, later in the morning, you could find me bawling in the Wal*Mart parking lot while I talked to my mom. Or, because it was Wal*Mart and I had lost all self-respect at that point, I could be found wandering around the store carrying toilet paper (the only thing I buy from Wal*Mart, typically), still blotchy-faced, red eyed and runny nosed from crying in my car.
My students just had an off day, which is draining. When kids just mess up a lot on things they know, it's hard to teach. So by the end of lessons, you would find me laying on my couch in raccoon pajamas (you heard me), watching a TV show and calling my husband to, for the first time in years, ask him to pick something up in the frozen aisle to make for dinner tonight. He was sweet and got me a gluten free pizza.
Then I got a call from my mom. Calls from my mom in the evening are usually not a good sign. No exception here. Dad is still not cancer free. His options are higher levels of chemo or surgery. But, as he was nearing his retirement, he now has to stay on for the insurance for at least a few more months.
So today wasn't the greatest. But that's okay. At least I was almost worthy of being a "people of walmart" person, and I freaked people out at a cenex station. And, all I have to do is sit on the floor and I'm bombarded with kisses from puppies, or call and my husband gives me a hug.
Tomorrow is a new day. And it'll be a good one. Because I'm thinking I'm going to start it off with a chai tea. And nothing ruins chai tea day.
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