Seasoned With Grace

Sing Your Song

2012-01-31T18:38:00.000-08:00

In the little yellow house, in the corner of the kitchen, in my peter pan blouse, my middle-school self unfolds a letter. Stage dad stands to the side, pretending to be downcast, holding back a proud smile.

Opening the crisp whiteness, I read an acceptance. An invitation. An opportunity to sing. I've auditioned for the Charlotte Children's Choir, and now I can don the plaid skirt and matching vest...Sit with the sopranos and make music and friends and memories.

I miss the simplicity of that time. Third row up, sit two seats over, black binder under chair with pieces ready to be practiced. Sit on seat's edge, stifle a giggle, and stand in unison with the rest of the choir. We know the music...every lilting note, every ebb and flow, every silent pause. This is safe and learned and practiced. It's easy to sing when the music is understood.

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Holding close a sweaty head to my chest, I hum a raw and unrehearsed tune. The blessing from the ancient Book rings through my head...a blessing that had been prayed over me each night by my parents.

May the Lord bless you and keep you...

The melody joins with the words, and I continue...

May the Lord make His face shine upon you...

I feel the rawness scratching my throat. The hot tears drip from my face and land on his baby head...

and be gracious onto you...

I can't sing anymore. There are no words. Just heart cries, which I know the Father hears. Yet, my little boy's sleepy voice cuts the silence: "Sing, Momma. Sing".

May the Lord lift up His countenance upon you...

Oh, son, do you hear what I'm saying? Do you know how much you are loved? His little voice stirs my heart again, as the tears flow freely: "Sing? Sing? Momma. Momma, Sing."

And give you peace...

The tune is simple and feels safe. It is uncomplicated and without frills. I begin again and finish, as my eyelids flutter closed and sleep is fought off. The little voice pipes up. How can he still be awake?

"Sing, Momma."

Here in this moment, I find healing. Through his unaware pleas to keep singing, I find an answer.

Why stop singing? Music comes in all varieties...So does life and its hurts and joys and journeys. Sing your song, whatever it may be, through whatever you may face, in spite of that which seems to hold you back.

Let others listen. Listen to others.

The song begins again, and little one sighs contentedly. I will sing, little boy, and you will, too.

Sing your song, whatever it may be.

Have Life...

2012-01-15T20:02:00.001-08:00

Pounding pavements, breathing in and out. Crisp air cupping my knuckles, music mixing dreams and reality together.

Rounding the corner, barren trees stand at attention, paying homage to a resting place.

The stones are evenly spaced, row after row, life after life. Setting sun pours a final goodbye over the land.

This is not the end.

No, final chapters have not been penned.

Life did not cease with the chisel of a name.

We know He came, to be bloodied and beaten, torn to pieces, heart ripped apart by sin's sting...all for us. That we may have eternal life.

But did you know, Life can be lived before the stone appears?

And Life should be lived...

Fully.

Beautifully.

Humbly.

Such marvelous gifts await in heaven's home.

Such marvelous gifts await you here, too.

Do not miss the beauty of your life, or the life of others, as you round the corners. Don't hasten the clock as your day winds down.

The thief comes only to steal and kill and destroy; I have come that they may have life, and have it to the full. John 10:10

Don't Leave Him

2012-01-05T17:46:00.000-08:00

In an old family flowered chair, draped in slip-cover white, I rock my baby boy to sleep as night settles in around us. His lavender-vanilla scent imprints on my heart, and I am so thankful.

A soft, lilting baby boy voice breaks the silence:

"Momma...
Momma....
Momma......."

"Yes, baby?"

"Where's Baby Sheesus? Where he go? Momma...Momma..."

Soft feet shuffle against my knees as he scrambles to the floor. With curiousity and wonderment, I follow his two-foot frame as he sidesteps down the stairs and runs into the dimly lit living room. He pauses by the tree with its white, tinkly lights and his rosebud mouth hangs slightly open in awe. Only seconds pass before he is searching for the Baby again. His little bottom pooches out as he kneels down, peering beneath the scratchy branches, searching for something that is missing...

"There is!! Momma! Baby Sheesus!"

"Yes, baby. That's Baby Jesus. Are you ready to go night-night now?"

Soft feet shuffle again across the slick hardwood floor, up the matted carpeted stairs, and into baby boy's room. He runs to his crib, waiting for me to lift him into its safe keeping for the night.

The plastic Baby Jesus is gripped tightly by his toddler fingers, and I pray over baby boy as I drape fuzzy blue blankets over his sweet self. John Deere tractors and Hess trucks line the siderails, and Baby Jesus has a place of honor between baby boy and the lines of toddler toys.

Baby Jesus. A plastic Fisher Price toy. A lesson in humility and love and wonderment.

My baby boy searched for the Baby Jesus, grabbed him tight, and kept him close. He wasn't content leaving him under the tree, all nice and neat and color-coordinated.

How often do we leave our faith, our Jesus, under the tree? How many times do we go through the calendar year, full of self, only to bring Jesus out for a few weeks to look so serene during the Christmas season?

Do you hold Him close each day? Do you take him to work with you...on errands...at the bank...coffee shop...school...

Do you keep Him as your focus, in front of your career...goals...yes, even spouse and family and children...

He came not to be left under a tree or in a church pew.

He came to BE....

the Life-Giver

the Wound-Healer

the Father to the fatherless

the Companion to the lonely

the Love to the unloved

the Savior to the sinful

Where is Jesus? Conveniently boxed away until next season?

Don't leave Him under the tree...

He hasn't left you, nor will He ever leave you. It is we who make the choice to go the journey alone.
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Hours later, I crept up the stairs and held my breath as I walked into baby's room. Where would Baby Jesus be? Perhaps I had dreamed this precious happening; perhaps this was just a circumstantial event. Leaning over the crib, I saw my miracle with The Miracle.

And I pray it always stays that way.

For My New Year: A Time of Thanks

2012-01-02T18:23:00.000-08:00

There’s only one address anyone lives at and it’s always a duplex: Joy and pain always co-habit every season of life.

Accept them both and keep company with the joy while the pain does its necessary renovations. ~ Ann Voskamp

Weary and broken I met the New Year. As each day drew closer to the turning of the time, I felt myself sinking deeper into self.

Lonely.

Fearful.

Worried.

Reality.

This time last year I lived in a white house with black shutters and three wicker rocking chairs on a just-big-enough front porch. I saw the New Year arrive by myself, as I was the only one who could stay awake, but I wasn't alone. The man I gave my heart to was right beside me, lightly snoring. I felt a breath of relief as 2011 entered: I believed in hope and all things new. I welcomed the blessing of change and a year of possibilities.

I didn't know the change would be this.

My life as I knew it forever changed this year. Every aspect of it has taken a new course, without regard to any of my objections or tears or tantrums.

A different city.

New job.

New school adventure.

Broken marriage.

What was to be an adventure together is now a painful process alone. To be told you are not the one envisioned with him when you are graying and the children have grown and left and all you have is each other is a rejection to the most hollow places of your hidden fears. To be told it is over, without any doubt, and it's been over for several years, makes you question every word and gesture and moment of it all. You see wedding pictures, your cherished bridal portrait, the letter "S" embroidered on every pillow and decorative accents, all reminders of what was and may never be again. Sudddenly, facebook status updates, Christmas cards, blogs...everything holding a mirror to you showing you what you have no more. The one person who said they would love you and cherish you and be on your side has now willingly left you.

I've been told to slow down. I've been told not to continue with school. I've been told to just rest on the weekends. If I do any of these things, I won't be able to get back off the floor. I will be in a heaped mess of raw wounds. I can't fully take in all that is happening, and it is only God's grace that I can't. In little snippets of movie reels, scenes flash before my eyes.

A funny story that only he would get.

Suctioning baby's snotty nose at 3 am...together.

Rounding a corner during my first 5k to see him and my little boy cheering me on.

Standing at the altar in front of my youth pastor, feeling secure in the fact that this was the first and last and always and forever till death we do part.

Bringing baby home to the white house with the black shutters, neighbors eagerly waiting for a new playmate.

As these moments are relived, I feel like I could scream and laugh and violently cry all at the same time. Scalding tears well and throat constricts...I quickly brush them away because I'm in the grocery store or at my work desk or in the car at a red light. I bury them in the dark places, where they fester until I am able to properly mourn.

And how, how does one mourn this? How do you grieve the loss of someone who is still living? How do you keep yourself from feeling unloveable or less than beautiful or needed?

Perhaps that is the worst...not being missed. Not feeling needed. Not being seen for the good and lovely rather than the torn and tattered.

And so, you go through the motions. And sometimes, the motions bring tears. Other times, the motions bring hilarious laughter at the absurdity of it all.

You daily choose...

Joy.

Hope.

Forgiveness.

Life.

Grace.

In all seasons. In all hurts. In all glorious and hellish times, you get to choose. As Ann Voskamp shared in her blog.....keep company with the joy while the pain does its necessary renovations.

I certainly am not perfect in this situation. I was not a blue-ribbon wife or mother. But one thing is certain, I believed in my family, and I believed in my marriage.

And so, I will choose to live. I will choose to give thanks, even though at times I want nothing more than to grumble and whine and ask why and pummel my fists into the wall.

Thank you, for Grace. Thank you for mercy. Thank you for my precious boy-child who gives me unexpected kisses and sticky arms tight around my neck. Thank you for this season, for it has shown me another aspect of the Father I may never have known. Thank you for rock-like family, sturdy in faith and will. Thank you for golden friends that have given up time with their own families to be mine. Thank you for weekly papers in philosophy class that kept me focused and forced me to think of something other than failing. Thank you for well-worn running shoes that have taken me up and down hills, making me stronger physically and emotionally. Thank you for a career that I am proud of and gives me passion to make changes.

Thank you...

Thank you...

Thank you...

For more thanks, read here

Thankful For Fleas

2012-01-01T17:46:00.000-08:00

Excerpt from The Hiding Place by Corrie Ten Boom:

Life in Ravensbruck took place on two separate levels, mutually impossible. One, the observable, external life, grew every day more horrible. The other, the life we lived with God, grew daily better, truth upon truth, glory upon glory. Sometimes I would slip the Bible from its little (sack) with hands that shook, so mysterious had it become to me. It was new; it had just been written. I marveled sometimes that the ink was dry...I had read a thousand times the story of Jesus' arrest--how soldiers had slapped Him, laughed at Him, flogged Him. Now such happenings had faces and voices. The move to permanent quarters came the second week in October. We were marched, ten abreast, along the wide cinder avenue...Several times the column halted while numbers were read out--names were never used at Ravensbruck. At last Betsie's and mine were called...We stepped out of line with a dozen or so others and stared at the long gray front of Barracks 28. "Fleas!" I cried. "Betsie, the place is swarming with them!" We scrambled across the intervening platforms, heads low to avoid another bump, dropped down to the aisle and hedged our way to a patch of light. "Here! And here another one!" I wailed. 'Betsie, how can we live in such a place!' "Show us. Show us how." It was said so matter of factly it took me a second to realize she was praying. More and more the distinction between prayer and the rest of life seemed to be vanishing for Betsie. "Corrie!" she said excitedly. "He's given us the answer! Before we asked, as He always does! In the Bible this morning. Where was it? Read that part again!" I glanced down the long dim aisle to make sure no guard was in sight, then drew the Bible from its pouch. "It was in First Thessalonians," I said. We were on our third complete reading of the New Testament since leaving Scheveningen. In the feeble light I turned the pages. "Here it is: Comfort the frightened, help the weak, be patient with everyone. See that none of you repays evil for evil, but always seek to do good to one another and to all..." It seemed written expressly to Ravensbruck. "Go on," said Betsie. "That wasn't all." "Oh yes:...Rejoice always, pray constantly, give thanks in all circumstances; for this is the will of God in Christ Jesus." "That's it, Corrie! That's His answer. Give thanks in all circumstances! That's what we can do. We can start right now to thank God for every single thing about this new barracks!" I stared at her; then around me at the dark, foul-aired room. "Such as?" I said. "Such as being assigned here together." I bit my lip. "Oh yes, Lord Jesus!" "Such as what you're holding in your hands." I looked down at the Bible. "Yes! Thank You, dear Lord, that there was no inspection when we entered here! Thank You for all these women, here in this room, who will meet You in these pages." "Yes," said Betsie, "Thank You for the very crowding here. Since we're packed so close, that many more will hear!" She looked at me expectantly. "Corrie!" she prodded. "Oh, all right. Thank You for the jammed, crammed, stuffed, packed suffocating crowds." "Thank You," Betsie went on serenely, "for the fleas and for--" The fleas! This was too much. "Betsie, there's no way even God can make me grateful for a flea." "Give thanks in all circumstances", she quoted. "It doesn't say, 'in pleasant circumstances.' Fleas are part of this place where God has put us." And so we stood between tiers of bunks and gave thanks for fleas. But this time I was sure Betsie was wrong......

I watched this movie as a little girl and read the book till the pages were falling out. I promised myself that I would name my little girl, Corrie, after the brave woman who hid young and old in her house with her family during the hellish era of the Holocaust. These heroes ended up being captured and walked through unearthly terror. Her sister, Betsie, later told Corrie that she understood why the fleas were such a blessing. The guards refused to step foot in the barracks as long as the fleas were rampant; this allowed the Word to be shared with the women, spreading light in an evil place. Corrie was set free, just before the women she was with were taken to the gas chambers. Her father and Betsie died in the camps. I encourage you to read this story. I promise you will be changed.

Years have passed since the tattered pages have been held in my hands. I still see the scene from the movie, playing over and over like a broken movie reel. So many situations, I have felt the bites of fleas. I have felt the crawling of annoyances and hurts, trying to turn my attention away from the Father and instead to a hopeless situation.

In this New Year, I want to be thankful for my fleas. I can't see the whole picture, nor can I predict what good will come from any of this.

But one thing is certain: God's goodness far outweighs the best of my best. In fact, there is no comparison; God wants more than just good for you. He wants the BEST for you.

God's best is not measured in the number of zeros in your paycheck. It is not measured by your annual job evaluations. It is not measured by the absence of suffering or pain.

No, we live in a broken and hurting world, but His faithfulness is never void. The fleas may abound, but we must give thanks in all circumstances.

Will you join me this year in cushioning our lives with thanksgiving? What fleas are you thankful for?

Give thanks in all circumstances, for this is God's will for you in Christ Jesus. 1 Thessalonians 5:18

The Beauty of Restoration

2011-12-23T19:57:00.000-08:00

I read from the card, wondering what this could all be about and why I was singled out to get the beautiful, blue presents and secretly brimming with excitement like a chubby-cheeked child.

The words were so familiar, taken from a previous blog post, but I felt like I was hearing them for the first time...

"We pray that every time you look at this gift that you realize that you are not only worth fighting for, but worth dying for. Your life has tremendous value and you are dearly loved..."

Could it be that these boxes held what I thought they did? In a moment of Oprah-like "aha"-ness, I knew what was going on.

Restoration.

Beauty in the Wasteland.

A gift from childhood friends that lifted my arms to heaven when I didn't have the strength to even breathe.

The cardboard boxes held pieces of the Nativity story...pieces that I had boxed up a week ago for another house...pieces that felt so heavy in my hands with memories of the first time I received them...pieces that had stood guard in our living room through many seasons of being a family of three...pieces that represented beauty and wholeness and family...

Today, I saw the beauty of restoration. Four friends decided to show me love without wanting anything in return.

I cried, and I wondered how I deserved such a precious token of encouragement...

I hear a voice across the room, speaking to me with such confidence and conviction:

You are worth it. You are a treasure. We want you to know this.

I thought I'd never see these pieces again, yet here I was, holding that which had been at one time lost.

They tell me that now I can add pieces through life's journey...Birthdays, Christmas, "Just Because" days...

And I am struck by the parallels between this beautiful restoration and my own fumbling, ash-filled mess.

Letting go of things, releasing your hold on circumstances that you really have no capability of holding, realizing there's a choice of living or wasting away..all leave you gloriously empty of self and its snares.

In this surrendered state, pieces are restored.

A measure of faith one day.

A breath of grace the next.

A healing of wounds that have oozed for days, weeks, months, maybe years.

It may not happen all at once. You may still smell smoke from the fiery mess. You may still feel singed and burned from the roaring, flickering flames of hurt.

But

You will see beauty.

You will see restoration.

In pieces they will come, and you will treasure it all the more because of how they arrived.

Christy, Elizabeth, Meghan, and Stephanie...I am so thankful and blessed for your friendship. You have shown beauty to me. In satiny-blue wrapping paper and cardboard boxes you gave me hope.

You have been a part of the mortar to build up the foundation of restoration in my heart.

Stephanie, Meghan, myself, and Christy

Stephanie, myself, Elizabeth

Worth Fighting For

2011-12-21T19:27:00.000-08:00

My heart is full. I have received so many comments from my last post, and I am encouraged to keep being honest and real. We all have hurts and struggles; what good are they if one can't learn from them or encourage one another? Despite all that is ugly and piercingly painful, my story has purpose. My story has a reason. If one other woman can realize she is beautiful, a treasure, and more than enough, than this blog has served its purpose.

I don't consider myself an expert. I don't view myself as a Biblical scholar. I have no Psychology degree. But I have been and still am living through a life change that one doesn't foresee as a little girl playing dress-up in mom's high heels. You also don't imagine coming home to an empty house, day after day, while standing at the altar in front of 250 of your most treasured friends and family. When you bring your baby home from the hospital, you don't think about him saying "bye-bye, momma", without any hesitation or concern or sadness. He is spending time with his daddy, and this has become his normal. Nonchalantly, he drives the miniature cars over the ottoman, knowing you will be making an appearance sometime in the near future. But now, he doesn't expect you to stay. He is with his daddy, and you have no place in this playworld of his. Oh, he will hug your neck so tight and bless you with kisses when you see him again, but that isn't happening now. And that hurts.

So many women are hurting. I'm not the only one. You may have been told you aren't good enough. You may be trying to fit in with all the other moms, but something just isn't right. Maybe you can't lose that extra 20 lbs, and you feel like a failure. Maybe you are in a job that provides exceedingly well for your family, yet you feel guilty for pursuing a career and secretly want to be that stay-at-home mom. Maybe you are the stay-at-home mom who secretly wishes she could curl her hair and wear a crisp, Ann Taylor suit just for one day. Just one day to be looked at as something other than a cookie-giver or bottom-wiper or nose-picker or laundry-folder. One day of feeling like you are important. Maybe you are the mom who has children that need extra-loving care, and you hate yourself for daring to wish for a day away from it all, just one day. Maybe you are the mom who just got back from the doctor with news that shakes you to your very core, yet you can't fully grieve because a husband is on his way home and the kids have a project due and how in the world are you supposed to bake 5 dozen cookies before tomorrow? Maybe you are the woman who desires to be loved, honored, romanced, yet you are sick of cheap dates and empty promises and "I will call you tomorrow"...and tomorrow never comes. Maybe you are the woman whose children have left long ago, yet you wish for one moment you could be needed again.

Maybe we all need to realize that one hurt isn't more important than another. As this Christmas season draws closer, I become more aware of Christ's love but at the same time the rawness is more tangible and real. I'm forced to face the reality of being single, separated, solitary. But you, my dear sisters, have your own hurts as well. Mine are no more important, more dramatic, or more devastating than anyone else's.

You are a treasure. You are worth it. You are not alone, nor are you a failure. Your children may not tell you now, but you are the saving grace in their little world. Your husband may not whisper encouragement to you this evening, but your grace and selfless love is not unnoticed. Your family may be caught up in personal escapades, but their world would shatter if you were not in it.

You are loved. You are a child of God, and you matter.

Your season may be painful, but there is a dawn of hope.

You aren't alone.

You are worth fighting for, and Someone has already fought for you.

A lesson on Things

2011-12-18T18:56:00.000-08:00

Tis the season...

for family
laughter
remembering
loving
white sparkly lights
peppermint mocha
secret surprises
and countless more...

It is most importantly the season of humility. A corner of this world received Love's Greatest Gift, in the unloveliest of places. Matted hay crunched underfoot, as a young, weary woman made her way into the barest of birthing rooms. Her beloved anxiously watched, waited, and wondered. Nothing could he do, as the miracle of life unfolded. Just as had happened years long before and would continue for years long after, a joyous new life tore through the pain of another, from one world to the next. The young father's eyes glisten; his heart beats in time with the son.

The little family of three huddle close together. Splintered wood beams overhead spill starlight on swaddling clothes, cocooning Love's greatest gift. The young mother kisses the baby's forehead, tenderly blessing the boy with all a mother's hopes and dreams. The father silently watches this miracle, secretly plotting adventures climbing trees, skipping rocks, and proud walks through town.

This season. A season that marks our need for Grace and God's response. A season that is cause for rejoicing, yet brings such bittersweet moments, too.

During this Christmas time, do you find yourself forgetting the humility? Do you find yourself searching for Things?

the perfect tights to match the sweater dress for Christmas Eve...
the newest cell phone accessory...
the prettiest shade of blue ribbon to match the burlap on your tree...

None horrible, but all things...

I have a Thing that has caused me to lose sight of the humility. My Thing was a nativity scene, which is somewhat ironic. A beautiful rendition, simple and elegant, of Love's Greatest Gift. Rusted stars backdropped the blue-green stable, and the faceless figurines looked crafted with love. It was a Willow Tree ensemble, and I loved it.

It no longer is in my Christmas decor; it now lives in another home, but it is being enjoyed all the same. This season of life finds me in a place I never thought I would be. I never dreamed I would be strategizing how to divide time with my child over Christmas break. I never thought I'd have an empty pillow next to me at night, and I never thought I'd miss ice cold feet tickling my sweaty ones. I thought this only happened to "other people", never someone like me. I always thought the rocking chair beside mine when I'm old and gray would hold the man that I promised myself to 6 years ago. I never thought I'd be splitting up the contents of my home, trying to fairly decide what dishes go where and which printer should stay and what to do with all these mongrams and where to put my bridal portrait and sobbing over ornaments that say "Our First Christmas" and wondering why I wasn't worth fighting for.

But, when I think of all this, I am missing the moment of humility. I'm focusing on things.

The space that held the Willow Tree nativity set was empty for about 3 hours. I couldn't stand it. It felt like my heart...all bare and raw and in need of a reason to feel important. So, like any good crafter would do, I ripped apart another book.

My nativity scene is painfully humble. The paper is frayed in some parts...The stable is leaning ever so slightly forward and may fall if it gets bumped. For crying out loud, it is held up by toilet paper rolls wrapped in book pages.

It is still just a thing. It doesn't begin to compare to the set I had before that held so many memories. Yet, I look at it and remember the reason for Love's Greatest Gift. For all of us, just as frayed as the book pages, need to be swaddled in grace. We need to know we were and are worth fighting for.

Tis the season of humble holiness.

Merry Christmas, dear ones.

Day of Seasoning 30 and 31: Restoration

2011-11-11T09:52:00.000-08:00

I know. It is almost mid-November, and I never wrote the final Days of Seasoning. I had great intentions, but intentions don't turn into blog posts without actions...
A friend texted me a chapter from Psalms to read for encouragement. That evening, I sat down and read with new eyes what has been ready many times before.

Psalm 71: 14-15,19-21 But as for me, I will always have hope; I will praise you more and more. My mouth will tell of your righteousness, of your salvation all day long, though I know not its measure. Your righteousness reaches to the skies, O God, you who have done great things. Who, O God, is like you? Though you have made me see troubles, many and bitter, you will restore my life again; from the depths of the earth you will again bring me up. You will increase my honor and comfort me once again.

Though I know not its measure...
It is impossible to know the vastness of God's nature through our finite minds. There is no limit to his knowledge. There are no surprises to Him. He doesn't see situations as hopeless. He is working, and He isn't done, even if you think it is. We will never know the measure of His grace in its fullness until we are face to face with Him. Our human, finite minds can't grasp His wonderment.

you will restore my life again
This says it all. My brokenness..your brokenness..these are blessings, though you don't realize it now. Restoration follows a wounded heart...

Have a wonderful weekend!!!!

Day 25-29 of Seasoning: Receiving Gracefully

2011-10-29T10:33:00.000-07:00

Here I am again, a week later and trying to catch up on my 31 days blog posting. I have to admit, this has been quite freeing for me. A year ago, I would have stressed about not having the posts pop up each day, on time, at about 8am. I would have begun to think irrational thoughts about being "kicked out" of the 31 days club...well, I admit, I did think that, but it was just a fleeting moment. You don't get kicked out of blogland for not writing a post....

In the interim from the last post, which still is so heavy on my heart, I have been pondering a few things. I know the exact moment that I realized I had a piece of my heart that needed healing...an ordinary day, ordinary mailbox, and a manila envelope with my name on it...stuffed with a surprise.

Now, I'm one of those people who loves getting mail. Not bills, but real mail. The kind with beautiful handwriting of a friend or family member across the front, perhaps a little thick from heartfelt writing or a little something to lift your spirits.

On this day, I was having a dreary moment. I saw the manila folder and didn't even wait to get into the house. I sat in the driver's seat with my little Jonah in the back shouting "Tea! Tea!". I ripped it open right there, and a Bath and Body Works gift card emerged.

It wasn't my birthday. It wasn't National Potato Day. It was an ordinary day, with a gift given just because the friend knew I needed it. This is the moment that I realized we must learn to receive gracefully.

To be honest, the first thing that crossed my mind was that I must go and buy her a gift card and put it in a thank you note. Granted, she will be getting a gift from me but that is for a shower that I was unable to attend. But, I had this deep-rooted instant response that I didn't deserve this, and I must give something back right away.

It was then I realized that I don't know how to receive gracefully. I immediately want to make things equal. I don't want to be viewed as someone who is ungrateful, and I want to be liked. It's the "good girl" syndrome, which I am learning to recognize. A few weeks later, a childhood friend and her little one-year-old cutie drove over an hour, sat in traffic forever, and finally arrived at my house just to be with me. She knew I was having a difficult time, and I needed a friend. She helped me paint a huge piece of furniture, even though painting is something she really doesn't enjoy. It was a low-key day, but to me it was a blessing, and I still had to learn how to receive gracefully.

I'm sure you can relate to the problem of receiving without feeling guilty. I've learned that if people do something for you, it's because they want to, not because they expect something in return.

You will sometimes be the one receiving grace, and sometimes you will be the one giving it. It's ok to be the one that receives it, over and over, for a season. This doesn't make you selfish, and it doesn't make you a horrible person.

To those of you who have been grace-givers in my life, I thank you. I know the day will come when I can show grace to you, but right now, I am learning how to receive without questioning...

If you identify with this, I'd love to know. It's about being real...

As always, we musn't forget the true Grace-Giver, who wants us to receive gracefully...He is what he is, knowing we could never return to Him what he deserves, yet He continues to be faithful...

He who did not spare his own Son, but gave him up for us all--how will he not also, along with him, graciously give us all things? Romans 8:32

Day 23-24 of Seasoning: A Time to Grieve

2011-10-23T20:59:00.000-07:00

I had just gotten home from school on Friday and was in a pretty stable mood. Stable is really the only way to describe myself during this season of life; I wasn't brimming with tears or laughing hysterically. I was stable.

Scrolling through my phone, I saw a facebook status that gripped my heart. I couldn't process it, and I finally let my heart realize what had happened. Lindsay, a dear friend who has experienced more in her life as a young woman than most people will experience in a lifetime, had just lost her dad unexpectedly. Lindsay is in her late 20s, and she has an adorable sister who recently got engaged. Her mom is soft-spoken and beautiful, and she smiles with such grace. Lindsay described her dad as a rock, and it was the first description that came to my mind as well. He was so proud of his girls; he loved Jesus and it showed.

I will never forget sitting with Patrick, Lindsay, and Jeremy at Ayden's memorial one dusky evening not long ago. Their family was there as well, and I considered it such an honor to be included. This was such a time of healing for me, as we were expecting a little boy as well, and our friends had just said good-bye until heaven to their little boy. Lindsay's dad gave us big bear hugs as we loaded up into the car. I could see tears in his eyes. He thanked us for being friends to Lindsay and Jeremy. I tell you, I am a pathetic friend sometimes. I feel like during those seasons of grief, we could have and should have done so much more. He was thankful anyway. I remember getting the call about sweet Ayden; I was at work, just a few hundred feet from where Lindsay's parents and sister were gathered. I went right away to see if Lindsay was still there, and I found them gathered in a quiet room. I apologized for barging in, but he made me feel welcome. He immediately hugged me, and we all cried together. I could sense he was trying to take pain from me, as an almost new mom, even though he had just lost his precious grandchild.

That's just the kind of man he was. He thought about others first. These are just a few examples, but I know Lindsay and her family could share large volumes of priceless stories.

I find myself going down the path of wondering. Why, God? Why more hurt? Why more grieving? I know he is rejoicing with Jesus; he is home, and he is showering little Ayden with so many kisses. I know that although the earthy life has come to a close, real life is just beginning. But I also know there are really rough hours, days, months ahead. We don't grieve for him. He is with Jesus, and he has been told "well done, good and faithful servant". He blessed my life.

Please pray for the Joneses especially tomorrow as they celebrate his life. Continue to pray for them as they walk through the days ahead. This is a season of grieving, but we don't grieve without hope. I know that. You know that, but it doesn't make it any easier or the hurt any less.

And the Father knows that, too. I am always comforted by the account of Lazarus in the Bible. Jesus wept. Two little words yet so much meaning. He is not a stranger to our suffering or our situations.

In life, there are times to grieve. It's ok to say you are upset, you don't understand, and you just want to cry in the corner. In fact, I think it's healthy to grieve and grieve completely. There are no awards for who can be the strongest in a situation. Lean into Jesus during those times that the hurt is so deep it feels raw. And lean into Him during the times of rejoicing as well.

I am thankful for godly examples in my life, and Mr. Tyson was one of those. I know his example will continue to shine through his wife, daughters and grandchildren.

May you continue to see the windows of Grace in every situation of your life.

And Remember...

“I am the resurrection and the life. The one who believes in me will live, even though they die; and whoever lives by believing in me will never die. Do you believe this?” John 11:25-26

Days 16-22 of Seasoning: Being

2011-10-22T08:02:00.001-07:00

I had a friend comment on my wall "I keep checking your blog for Day 16". At that moment, I realized that I have not been faithful with my 31 days. I know it's not a big deal, and I know that we aren't getting an award for it...but still...

I laughed inside, because an ENTIRE week had passed with me thinking it had only been 2 days since I last posted. That, my friends, is the sign of needing to just BE STILL.

On my run a few evenings ago, I broke out of my 'good girl' shell. I actually finished my run ON THE GOLF COURSE. Can I just tell you how nervous I was? I realize for some this may seem like nothing, but I've been told by the golf course rule books, neighborhood watch team, realtor, and countless others that the golf course is not supposed to be walked on during operation hours. That deep feeling inside of me that always wants to "do good", "be right", "not have anyone every upset at me", had to be squashed. I stepped out of my comfort zone and cooled down on the windy path of the course.

If you had seen me from one of the houses, you would have noticed a girl sweating profusely, red in the face, occasionally stealing glances over her shoulder. Really, I know this is probably an issue that needs counseling, but we have neighborhood watch retirees that are constantly watching to make sure we don't break a rule. As I grew closer to my home and saw the little pond, I felt so free. I felt like I had time to just Be.

The pond water was calm, with intermittent ripples from the wind. I was reminded of Psalm 23: He leads me beside quiet waters...He restores my soul...

I needed to be led beside quiet waters. I needed to be forced to be still. Restored. Renewed.

I needed to just BE. Not do, not talk, not keep myself busy to avoid thinking about current life situations.

Just BE.

Take time to BE this weekend.

Day 15 of Seasoning: Mending

2011-10-15T10:54:00.000-07:00

We are almost halfway through the 31 days challenge! I hope you have enjoyed this as much as I have. This has been a frightening task for me; I'm a planner, and none of these 31 days have been planned. Rather, I walk through each day, looking for the Grace Window. Sometimes it is the first thing I see in the morning, but often it is while I'm fighting sleep that I recognize the moments of Grace. I don't want to forget, so they are written here. I have no idea what tomorrow's Grace moment will be, but we are on this journey together. Thank you for coming with me, dear friends!

My mom and dad are teachers. I'm a TK "Teacher's Kid". As a TK, you experience life a little differently than other kids may. Your school days start early, because your mom teaches at the school you attend, and you play on her chalkboard until the bell rings. You also have no hope of misbehaving; your teachers will probably be having a staff meeting with your momma that very afternoon. Your grades might as well be public knowledge and posted on the internet, because your parents do this for a living and know that you are capable of more than you think you are...and there is probably a staff meeting that day...

The best part of being a TK was the summer. We weren't rich, but I thought we were. My dad worked an extra job in the summer to pay for the anticipated beach trip. My mom worked at a preschool program when we were old enough to help and gave us the money she made. Despite these extra jobs, we had family time galore. Daily pool trips with a packed lunch, yardwork early Saturday mornings, Sunday church services complete with a homemade lunch and some sort of fun dessert. The one thing that I never understood until now was the annual Summer Project, created and executed by my Martha Stewart Mother. Somehow, martha momma's projects always involved paint.

Always.

Kitchen cabinets (which are a post all their own), dressers, rooms, kitchens...All desperately crying out for sanding, primer, paint, and a change. We helped, but I didn't get it. I didn't understand why she had this urge to completely change something that seemed ok to me. I get it now, though. I've taken on the unspoken blessing of the Martha mantle. I'm Martha Anna, and it is deeper than paint. It is more than creating beauty. It is not about keeping up with the latest trend. It is about Mending.

Mending...All of those items that needed paint or changing would have continued to serve their purpose whether we touched them or not. But, my martha momma knew they hadn't reached their full potential. They needed sanding, priming, and sweaty summer days to shape into what my mom knew they could be. She saw beauty in the projects, and this made her happy.

It wasn't about turning the objects or rooms into something they weren't...it was about mending the cracks and crannies, brushing creamy white paint over tired wood, and breathing new life into something that had given up.

Mending...I sit here now, years later in my own home, and I realize that at least every month I think about painting something. I have a piece of furniture in my den that is screaming for a different color. It needs some mending. When I look at it, it is sad to me. It holds memories of past that are good, but it also shows me times of sadness. It may need to be mended, for I can't just forget the times of sadness, but I can breathe new life into it so it is beautiful. The times make it what it is.

Mending...my sister and I have mended over the past few years, but the past few months have been overwhelmingly healing. The Project Master of our lives has sanded the rough edges, repaired some rotting boards, and given us beautiful shades of love. We have been mended.

What needs mending in your life? Perhaps the urge to update, sand, and beautify things around our home is an outward sign of an inward need.

Enjoy your weekend, and paint away!!

Day 14 of Seasoning: Time to Follow

2011-10-14T15:16:00.000-07:00

"C'mon, Momma. C'mon", he says with excitement edging his baby voice. His little hand is cupped out, while his dirty boy fingers motion toward himself. He is beckoning to me, and I have no idea who taught him this. He tiptoes ahead a few steps, then turns his wispy head around to check my progress. I'm unable to move, caught in an overwhelming realization that my child is leading me.

How do we decide that certain actions are better than others? We aspire to lead, and we tend to snub noses at those who are in a season of following.

Today, as my 3 foot tall little man led me into the living room, I realized it was ok to be led. As women, we take on burdens from our family, friends, people in the grocery store, and maybe even from last night's 20/20 episode. We like to fix. We like to mend broken pieces with our hot glue gun. We are crafty like that. We want to lead others the way we think is best, but they have their own mind. They may not follow, and that crushes us.

And that's ok. Perhaps it's time to take a deep breath, put aside that stick that the tour guides use with the flag on the end, and just be you. Stop trying to fix everything and lead everyone into the Promised Land. There will be seasons when it is time for you to forge a trail, but this may be your season to rest and actually follow what God wants you to do, not what you want everyone else to do.

I admit, I'm a fixer. I'm a planner. By this time in my life, I was sure I would have at least another baby on the way, debt paid off, husband in his dream job , 20+ lbs lost, and a bucketful of more things that would probably make you think I'm very shallow. But, I'm being real.

None of those things above have gone according to my plan. I've got to let go of that hot glue gun that tries to piece everything together. I've got to surrender the blueprints. This is one area that I shouldn't be leading, but following.

My little Jonah is oblivious to the life lesson he has taught. He reminded me to be me. Anna. An imperfect girl in an imperfect world with imperfect people...but our Father is perfect. He's the true tour guide. He's the only one that should be holding that stick with the flag on the end.

Day 13 of Seasoning: Piglet and Pooh

2011-10-12T16:40:00.000-07:00

“Piglet sidled up to Pooh from behind. "Pooh?" he whispered.
"Yes, Piglet?"
"Nothing," said Piglet, taking Pooh's hand. "I just wanted to be sure of you.”
― A.A. Milne, Winnie-the-Pooh

Did you grow up watching Winnie the Pooh? I sure did, but I didn't realize these characters were so witty or full of knowledge as a little girl. The gift of friendship was woven through the stories, and the importance of just being instead of doing was emphasized.

How often do we get so caught up in our rigid schedules of doing, that we forget how to just breathe? How many days have passed since you talked with your childhood partner-in-crime? How many years?

I am guilty of losing contact with dear friends...I tend to wait for someone to pursue me than to put my self aside and pursue them. And yes, there are those friends that you may not talk to for ages, then reunite and pick right back up like you just had a slumber party the night before. Those friendships should be treasured and kept sacred; they are your sidekicks who will jump in at a moment's notice...

The past few months I have been a very needy friend. I'm surprised that my girls still call, write, visit, and love on me. I can be so unlovable, especially during this season of my life.

I've broken down at a concert and felt a little hand slip around my shoulder and hold on for dear life. I've had a birthday complete with paper party hats, designer cake, and young women who left their families for a weekend to be mine. I've had girls who have stopped everything they are doing to drop to their knees and cry out to the Father on my behalf. I've been Piglet, blindly groping through these weeks, grasping for my friends' hands. They find me and hold on tight.

I only hope that I am a Pooh to someone. Some seasons you may be a Tigger, bouncing around like a bumbling idiot, happy as can be. Your neighbor may be Eeyore, waiting for a sinkhole to form in your frontyard and bury the carefully carved fall pumpkins. You may be the wise owl, offering sage advice and resting in the comfort of your hard-earned knowledge.

Whatever or wherever you are, accept those gifts of friendship. In turn, be the friend you long to have. Although I'm a Piglet now, one of those girls will someday need my Pooh-self to don a cheery red shirt and gather some honey.

And I will do it, because I know how priceless it is to be loved by a friend.

Call your friend today. Tell them you love them.

After all, “You can't stay in your corner of the Forest waiting for others to come to you. You have to go to them sometimes.”
― A.A. Milne, Winnie-the-Pooh

For more tear-jearking qoutes, go here

Day 12 of Seasoning: Tears

2011-10-12T08:00:00.000-07:00

Record my lament; list my tears on your scroll--are they not in your record? Psalms 56:8

When was the last time you cried? If you can't remember, maybe it's time for a really good cryin' session. If you can remember, maybe you need to read my previous post about laughter. Either way, tears are needed, and they are healing.

When I was 14, I had the opportunity to travel to Israel. I still think back to this as a precious adventure where time stood still. To walk the same streets that Jesus walked...to sail across the Sea of Galilee...to stand in the middle of the desert, whisper-still yet so loud with meaning...this was where I truly recognized I was a daughter of the King, and I mattered.

While on this trip, I remember the tour guide talking about tear bottles. Apparently, in ancient times, bottles were used to collect mourner's tears, because they were precious. After reviewing different translations of this verse, I saw it also mentioned as collecting tears in a wineskin, which holds precious liquids. The NIV translation is above, referencing our tears recorded on a scroll.

Because I'm not a Bible scholar, I will leave it at this: I have no idea what the original translation was or should be, but I do know that our tears are precious to our Father. Whether he gathers or records, it doesn't matter. What matters is he sees each salty path of sorrow or even joy. You aren't alone. You are so very treasured that even your tears have a home.

So, go watch Terms of Endearment, Steel Magnolias, or Beaches...

And if you're a guy, watch A River Runs Through It, or maybe a rerun of your favorite football team losing.

Day 11 of Seasoning: A Time to Laugh

2011-10-11T08:00:00.000-07:00

I don't know about you, but I sure could use a good belly-achin' laugh. The kind where you can't breathe and your face turns cherry-red like a juicy tomato.

Do you remember the last laugh like that? Sadly, I can't remember one that momentous recently, but I do want so share a cute incident that made me chuckle for days.

As I mentioned in previous posts, I went on a Women's Retreat with my mom and childhood church. On Sunday, we were sharing in Communion together, and we were to pick a name out of one of the baskets to pray for the rest of the year. What gets confusing though, is that the offertory basket was also in the same general vicinity of the name basket.

Do you get where I'm going with this?

Women were filing up to the front, some brimming with emotion, some serenely waiting for the bread and the wine, yet all was peaceful and reflective.

That was, until my Mom and I made it to the front.

I cut out of the line quickly to grab my person's name out of the basket, and my mom followed close behind. Blindly reaching into a basket, she pulls out a piece of paper and almost tucks it in her pants...Until she realizes it is a 5 dollar bill.

I really think I heard a snort from someone laughing...Several women saw it, and the corners of mouths lifted towards heaven as they tried not to let loud giggles escape. You would really have to personally know my mom (and my family for that matter) to really get the full affect. We're the kind of family that knocks over displays at blockbuster without meaning to...or runs into glass windows and leaves a mark...or nearly puncture an innocent bystander at the beach with our fly-away umbrella...

If you were wondering, she put the money back. We laughed about it at least five different times the rest of the day, and I was struck at how something so simple could make you laugh so hard.

Have you had any wheezy, laughy moments lately? Please do share, because it's a time to laugh and enjoy life's moments!

Day 10 of Seasoning: A Time to Remember

2011-10-10T08:00:00.000-07:00

We've all heard the story. Dying so we may live. A cross, a hill, a man.

Do we really know the story? Do we remember it each minute of each day, over and over again?

Most likely not...

Until we need it. And then we say thank you, half-distracted as we plod on in our mess. For to us, our pain is too great, our sin too ugly, and our hearts are still too entertwined to the world to truly remember the story.

Think of a time you were hurting. Crying scalding tears, or not crying at all because no tears are a left.

Now, think of all that, cast on the man on the cross.

Not only that, but every other shard of mess in this world.

Did He feel every broken marriage on the cross?
Did He hear the cries of parents who lost their chilren?
Did He see the arrows of harsh words as they pierced those we love?

The answer is yes. Over and Over and Over again....

No matter how deep your hurt, He has felt deeper. He understands, so remember.

Surely he took up our pain,and bore our suffering...
Isaiah 53:4

Day of Seasoning 7,8, and 9: A Time to Rest

2011-10-09T08:50:00.000-07:00

O Lord, you have searched me and you know me. You know when I sit and when I rise;
you perceive my thoughts from afar. You discern my going out and my lying down; you are familiar with all my ways. Before a word is on my tongue you know it completely, O Lord. You hem me in—behind and before; you have laid your hand upon me. Such knowledge is too wonderful for me, too lofty for me to attain.
Where can I go from your Spirit? Where can I flee from your presence? If I go up to the heavens, you are there;if I make my bed in the depths, you are there. If I rise on the wings of the dawn, if I settle on the far side of the sea, even there your hand will guide me,your right hand will hold me fast.
Psalm 139:1-10

My son and I took a drive to Greenville, NC this weekend. This is where the past 11 years of my life have taken place. It was hard. The tears started flowing as we passed the simple signs taken for granted in the past yet now seem so sweet.

Arlington Boulevard

Greenville Boulevard

Memorial Boulevard

Evans Street

Winterfield Drive....

It was here, my old neighborhood, that the tears turned to raw hurt. As we turned the corner past the stop sign, I see the neighbor's house who first welcomed us to our new home. Not only that, but they became dear friends and encouraged us through each season of our life. Their two little boys (now they have a sweet girly girl!!) also had names from the Bible, so we lovingly deemed our corner of the world as an Old Testament playground.

I see the house beside mine that has triplet boys and a superwoman for a mom. We've shared glasses of wine and our hearts. I can relate to her through my season now, and she knows this and stands with me.

I glance at my house as we drive past. I can't look long, for the memories are practically parading in the driveway, dancing on the porch, and peeking through the windows. Jonah's first home. It is almost too much.

As I come to the next corner, I think of another neighbor who is known as the crafty partner-in-crime. We met at this corner in the whispers of dawn, frigid air freezing our lungs, wondering what in the world possessed us to walk the neighborhood at this hour. We used to run, but we turned this into prayer walks and sharing that only a woman could undertand.

I finally reach the house of my old roomate, and by this time, I'm barely able to see the driveway. It was an ugly crying, with snot everywhere. And it was quiet, because little one was in the backseat, unaware that his mom was swimming through tears down memory's river.

My dear friend from college days so long ago, grabs everything from my hands except my child and helps me in the house. Seeing a familiar face caused more tears, yet this was not painful.

This was home, although it wasn't my home. It was the beginning of rest that I so desperately needed.

We live by schedules and try to be everything to everyone, yet fail miserably. We put up a face that says all is well, while inside we are crumbling.

Sometimes, you have to face what you don't want to in order to heal.

I had to acknowledge that geographically, my front door no longer led to dear friends...that my home was filled with someone else's children and memories...that the corners of friendship were now long highway paths.

As I drove back to Greensboro, our new home, I realized there was no place too far away for God. I know this, and we've heard it a million times. But, when you live it, you finally really get it.

He is here, right where I am. I can't escape Him, nor do I want to. I won't lie, sometimes I have attempted to run away, but He is around every corner and in every sunrise.

Knowing this, I can rest. I can BE. Be right where I am, and know this is ok.

Even though the home down that east highway holds memories, the most important thing is still with me. And that is His presence.

Take time to Rest this weekend!

Day 6 of Seasoning: A Time to Let Go

2011-10-05T16:32:00.001-07:00

Down the long, flat highway, I watch fields of cotton stand at attention, saluting my journey. We pass more fields, and my mom begins her test...

"Anna, what crop do you think that is? This is your heritage..."

I have no idea. I don't even pretend to know. But, I listen, because it's important to her. Maybe this is the way she is coping with her not-quite 18-year-old moving into an un-airconditioned dorm, four hours from home. And almost at the end of the earth....or so it felt.

Up seven flights of stairs, my world is unloaded into half a closet, small desk, and 5 drawers. Flip flops are tucked by the door, waiting for the germy showers. A shower basket filled with bargain shampoo and a loofah is on top of the dresser, about to be consecrated in the group bathroom.

I'm feeling quite sure of myself as my parents surround me; yet, that evening I can barely eat the chicken tacos at Chilis.

What in the WORLD was I THINKING??? Four hours away from the only home I know, to a college where I know absolutely NO ONE. I determined right there that it was just do it or die trying. It was about survival.

I still remember saying good-bye. Both parents had sunglasses on, as if it would hide the bittersweet tears that were falling. Where were my sunglasses when I needed them?

They pulled away in the forest green minivan, waving, crying, and probably praying. I waved back, refusing to crumple into a disheveled snotty heap, took a deep breath, and marched off to the neighboring dorm to try and make friends.

My heart was aching. My mom cried all the way home.

They let go.

I let go.

We let go....in order to survive.

For eleven years I lived in that college town. I grew to love the flatlands and waving cotton. The roar of the crowd from the football stadium echoed in my heart. I was proud of my school, and I made this my home. I met my husband at this college, had my baby at the hospital, and experienced joy and tragedy in this town.

I had to let go. We were given the opportunity to move closer to family, with job opportunities that were encouraging and confirmed our decision. I also had gotten accepted into a doctorate program in this new town, so we let go of the life we knew to embrace a foreign life.

My world changed right before we moved, but God didn't.

I'm still letting go. I'm relinquishing my control on other people that I can't change. I'm slowly loosening my white-tipped knuckles from my own self and reaching my hands towards heaven.

I'm letting go of anger, hurt, pride, future dreams, past wounds, and current hellish situations.

It's not just about survival. It's about walking in Grace and dancing in Freedom.

It's about living the liveliest life.

What are you grasping with your desperate heart?

Loosen your grip.

Let it Go...and do MORE than just survive.

Day 5 of Seasoning: A Time to Hold

2011-10-05T08:00:00.000-07:00

The creaking of the white slipcovered rocking chair lulls my little two-year-old blessing to sleep. My eyes flutter closed between the back and forth motion, and for a moment, I feel like we are one heart.

His wispy blond-brown hair tickles my neck, but I dare not move. His breathing slows to an even pace, its own metronome for slumber. Suddenly, he raises his head and cups my face with his hands.

"Momma...Momma, Wock? Momma...Momma, Night Night?" his eyes lock with mine, and I gasp inside as I realize it is a little boy staring back at me.

I gently guide his head back to my shoulder, hoping he doesn't tire of this nightly ritual too soon. It's a time to hold. A time to treasure. For the first time all day, he is still, and he is mine.

I sing a blessing over him from Numbers 6. The ancient words that were imparted from the Father to Moses, from generation to generation, now echo from my heart to my son.

The Lord bless you and keep you; the Lord make his face shine upon you and be gracious to you; the Lord turn his face toward you and give you peace.

The chair creaks. My son sleeps, and I am fighting to stay awake.
I'm fighting to remember this Time to Hold. For one day, he will fly into bed like Superman, refusing to let me tuck him in. He will sit miles away in a college dorm, awake at 3am because he is his mother's son...always working the best under pressure. He will hold the hand of someone he loves, and he will ask her to be his wife. He will hold a child of his own, and the creaking of slipcovered chairs will quiet the little blessing.

I'm holding tight to let go.

I'm treasuring moments of slobber as he drifts into sleep.

Just as I hold my child each night, God wants to hold you.

What's the difference? He isn't holding just to eventually let go. He's in that rocking chair the whole night, speaking sweet words of love over you as you rest with Him. His eyes don't flutter closed from exhaustion. He doesn't mentally cross off his to-do list or impatiently wait for you to fall asleep.

Crawl into his lap. Speak his name.

"Daddy..."

Day 4 of Seasoning: The Extraordinary

2011-10-04T08:00:00.000-07:00

This past weekend was spent in the presence of real-life heroes. My mom invited me to the Women's Retreat through my childhood church, of which my parents still attend. My family grew up in this church, and many of those women at the retreat have changed my dirty diapers, taught me voice lessons, showed me how to use a bunsen burner in Chemistry class, took me on class trips to the mountains, prayed with me and over me, arranged the center pieces for my wedding, attended my baby shower, loved me through good times, and cried with me during rough times.

They are true heroes. As I child, I couldn't imagine being their age. I couldn't imagine being a real-live grown-up, content to drink coffee, wake early, and talk late into the night about your children or childhood memories.

But...

I've become one of those real-live grown-ups. I woke up super early Saturday morning to run before breakfast. The air was still and crisp, and I couldn't believe I had actually crossed over into the world of the responsible adult. My next order of business was coffee. Several cups. That sealed the deal.

Most importantly, and the real reason for this post, is that these women love me as I am. They know my past of pea-filled diapers and midterm grades. They remember my prideful moments as a teenager, but it is overlooked.

I have somehow crossed over an imaginary bridge into womenhood. These ladies who raised me are my heroes. They have lavished me with hugs and silent whispers of "I'm praying, dear Anna". No questions asked. No judgment passed. No empty advice.

Instead, they point me to the Father. They remind me of Grace. They love me as a friend.

This is extraordinary.

Our God is extraordinary, and He wants you to see the Extraordinary Moments.

Don't be so focused on the Season you are in that you are consumed with the ordinary.

What are your extraordinary moments?

Day 3 of Seasoning

2011-10-03T08:00:00.000-07:00

I still remember my first time behind a wheel of a car, legally...

I am 15, perched behind a steering wheel of an out-of-date white state car, with a rough-looking character known as the Driver's Ed teacher.

"Slowly, Anna", he says. "Keep your eyes straight ahead. Don't look down at the lines. You will swerve all over the place. Then, you will get stopped by the cops".

I have never forgotten the feel of that steering wheel beneath my baby hands. I still remember pulling out in traffic outside the school, disbelieving this was truly happening. I remember being told to drive from one side of the street to the other, changing over three lanes.

That was terrifying.

But I heard his voice again. "Keep your eyes straight ahead. Don't look down...."

Set your gaze forward. Towards the horizon. Look towards the destination.

This view is different. You still see trees, dips, and potholes, but you also see the horizon.

You see a moving forward.

You see beauty you may have missed.

The Grace moments beside you, The healing rain above you...

Where are you headed?

Day 2 of Seasoning

2011-10-02T08:01:00.000-07:00

We've all been hurt, wounded, beaten until we thought we could bleed no more. Then, another punch.

Friends
Family
Husbands
Wives
Children
Employers

They've hurt you. You are broken.

And...

You've been the one hurting others, too. That's the truth we often forget. We are not perfect. Our human nature leads us through moments of utter chaos, and we follow it.

But what if you've done "everything right?" What if this time, really, truly, honestly, you have taken all you can and now need to forgive.

This is a Season. A season of forgiveness. It never goes away. It may hide in the shadows during your time of thanksgiving...

But you will fail someone.
Someone will fail you.

And you will be faced with a choice.

To forgive or not to forgive, that is the question.

How do we forgive? How do we show grace?

The answer is with action.

You forget what was behind (Phil 3:13)
You press into the Father
You rejoice in the Lord (Phil 4:4)
In everyhing, you present your request to God (Phil 4:6)

AND..

the Peace of God, which transcends ALL understanding, will guard your heart and your mind IN Christ Jesus.
Phil 4:7

Do you see the Grace Window?

Day 1 of Seasoning

2011-10-01T08:00:00.000-07:00

This was written on October 23, 2003 during one of my quiet times. I was a junior in college, finishing nursing school. I pray you see my heart and most importantly, God's heart of Grace for His children.

When the Road ahead has several bends,
Hope seems to lurk in the corners...
And the horizon allows the sun to kiss the night away.
But, as each bend straightens,
In the natural course of the Journey
The corners lessen and Hope makes a statement.

Hope deferred makes the heart sick
But a longing fufilled is a tree of life.
I see groves of heavy-laden tress,
Thick with the foilage of God's Graceful Mecy..
The towering trunks with its ever-widening rings of wood
Are a testimony of fulfilled corners of Hope
And with my fleshly nature, I have seen a missing tree...

It's not a swaying, young tree
Nor is it a sapling with future prospects
No, there is not even a pile of dirt over a seed

My worst fear is that I will become blind
Blind to the trees that form the natural cathedral
And long for saplings that have not yet grown...

To compare my cathedral to another's is to realize my Likeness to Eve..

The raw pain of discovering my Joy is lost
Only reflects on the nature I exalted above the Planter of my Trees

O, God, renew my child-like passions..

to climb in your Grace.
to sing in your Love.
To bask in your shades of refuge.

Guard my heart from false hopes...
In cardboard boxed-trees and empty roots...
Your hope does not disappoint...

For you,
Are my Longing
Fulfilled.

31 Days of Seasoning

2011-09-29T22:50:00.001-07:00

I've decided to take on a blog challenge. For 31 days, I will blog about a certain topic. This will most likely be devastatingly transparent, yet it will be a window of Grace for whatever Season of Life you find yourself in.

My Season is unsettled...But Grace isn't.
Regardless of your personal season, you will empathize with the story of a girl who chooses to be seasoned.

Seasoned with Grace. Tears. Joy.

Join me on the porch of my heart. Hear the creaks of wicker rocking chairs. Feel the fall air enwrap you, reminding you that each Season of life should be treasured, and you are not alone.

Regardless of what you see, you are surrounded by Grace.

Join me starting October 1st and enjoy the Seasoning!!!

For more information, check out The Nester!

A New Friend for you to Follow

2011-09-23T18:07:00.000-07:00

I'd like to introduce you to a dear friend of mine who just wrote her first post ever!! She has been pondering the idea of blogging for about a year now. I've gone to her in the good, bad, and ugly times for godly advice. She speaks truth and is wise beyond her years. Her heart is for women and marriages, and I truly believe you will be blessed by following her!!

So, ramble on over to Stephanie,whom I have known since I was only a few months old. We have been side by side ever since, regardless of the miles that separate us. From popcorn snacks sitting under the sink as roly poly babies to a shared margarita, we have forged a deep bond!

Love you, Steph!! I look forward to reading your beautiful thoughts. You will make a difference; you have made a difference in me!

The Grace Window

2011-09-23T09:36:00.000-07:00

It's been awhile since my last blog. I don't feel comfortable sharing the whys or what or how. Not yet. I will soon. I'm learning to be real, and I'm learning it's ok to say you are having a hard time.

In fact, it's ok to say you are just downright hurting. Why do we act like everything is ok? Why do I care about what other people think?

Emily Freeman, from Chatting at the Sky, just released a beautiful book, Grace for the Good Girl. The cover alone makes my soul sigh with relief. I can just feel all the crazy chaos slip away and be replaced with grace.

Grace.

It's for you. It's for me. It's a window that opens to another world. A world where I can be real. A world where if I'm hurting, I'm not too prideful to tell you so. If my marriage is crumbling, I can plead for prayer. A place where I can shamefully say that I care more about what others think about me than what God thinks of me. It's true. I said it. We're being real here.

I'm a good girl. I want to be viewed as a good mom, good wife, good friend, good student, good nurse practitioner, good everything.

Did I forget I'm human? I've closed the window of Grace. I instead choose to live in my own little four-walls of self.

With His Grace timing, I was able to meet Emily and her sister The Nester at a book signing at the Nester's house.

Can we take a moment to just let this soak in??? I was in the Nester's living room, with her adorable sister, and a myriad of book decorations. Oh, and some of the best friends I could ever have. Ever.

When I got to the table to meet Emily, I poured out my heart. I gave a mini lecture on the last 8 weeks of my life, and I saw her eyes brim with tears. This is being real. She and her friend reached out to me and my friends. We connected as sisters in Christ, and I saw the Grace window.

The Nester is adorably real as well. I felt like a stalker somewhat, because I knew why she had tree stumps in her front hallway, as well as a swordfish over her TV. I know her living room, ya'll. I visit it daily through her blog, and I was having an out of body experience as I stood in her kitchen, talking with her about her decorating style. And, the best part, we made it on her blog. No one else will know who we are, except those few who know me, but it made my heart laugh.

I really have no more words. I'm thankful for the opportunity to be real with other women. Enjoy my photographic journey at the book signing!!

Life is Not a Fairy Tale...

2011-08-18T17:20:00.000-07:00

To all my Sisters in Blogland:

I have been absent for over a month, with good reason; however, I feel somewhat guilty about this. I know I don't have thousands of followers, but this blog is an extension of who I am...And I've lost who that girl is in the past few weeks.

Frankly, it has been devastatingly difficult to read your blogs, you lovely ladies. I've been going through a bit of a valley, so not even polka dotted mismatched chairs and recipes for peanut butter cups help me see the past the rocky dips and swirling, murky ponds.

Normally, these fanciful ideas make my heart smile, and I am inspired to beautify my own corner of the world. But I'm not walking through normal, and I'm definitely not walking through a fairy tale.

Life isn't a fairy tale, and we all realize that at some point along our own journey. I don't have pixie dust to scatter over my home that will make the sun shine brighter or my hips seem smaller. I don't have a magic wand that will turn me into a Princess and my husband into Prince Charming.

If you are still reading, blessings to you, for this post is about as depressing as they come. I'm in a valley, and I will probably be walking through this one for quite a while. That's the bleak truth, but it isn't the only truth.

The other truth, and the only important truth in this whole un-fairyish world is this....

I am not alone.
I am not a failure.
I am a Child of God, awakening to His new mercy every morning.
My joy doesn't lie in another person, nor is it dependent on my situation...
My joy comes in knowing the Giver of all Joy, the Father who is not surprised by anything, the Shepherd who knows my name...

Knowing this, truly believing this, is alot of the battle. My head knows this. My mouth speaks this. My heart is having a hard time truly trusting this.

Without a doubt, I am hurting. I am in a valley, and I don't really know where this path is going.

So that I don't completely lose who I am, I will keep blogging. I am in a new city, starting a new job in a week, and going back to school for the third time...I have a house that is brimming with projects to be undertaken, and I am itching to do some thrifting and antiquing. Don't worry, lovely ladies, all posts will not be this heavy. I do plan on sharing my adventures, but I know that as a community, we should share our hurt, too.

If you are hurting, it's ok to be honest. If you are just downright irritated and not feeling all "bloggy perfect", it's ok.

Let's be real with each other, shall we??

Love to all of you from my new home in Greensboro, NC!! Despite this difficult time, I do find a little encouragement in the wonderful shopping areas, antique stores, and beautiful golf course that I can see from my back porch.

Talk to you soon!!!

My Summer

2011-07-05T17:28:00.000-07:00

Hello!

I hope you all are enjoying your summer. I have to say, I am tickled to be guest posting at Marianne's blog, Songbird.

If you haven't stumbled upon her blog yet, I hope you grab a glass of sweet tea and read for awhile! I promise you won't be disappointed.

Here's to Summers Past, Present, and Future!!!

Come on over and read about what Summer is to me over here.

The Heart of the Ocean

2011-06-26T17:53:00.000-07:00

"My soul is full of longing
For the secret of the sea,
And the heart of the great ocean
Sends a thrilling pulse through me."
- Henry Wadsworth Longfellow

I am my mother's daughter. I dig my toes in the sand and stubbornly refuse to leave my post in the beach chair by the ocean. If the sun never set behind us, we would have no reason to climb the splintered stairs up to the beach house.

I just got back from three full days at the beach with my parents, aunts, uncles, and cousins. Many of them stayed a full week, which I admit to being unashamedly jealous. I am thankful for these past few days of togetherness. The beach makes my heart sigh, and I feel as if I have almost exhaled a big puff of air that I didn't even know I was keeping inside.

Jonah went up a few days earlier with Sha-Sha and Pops...

...and he refused to sit in the sand. Instead, he happily played in a beach chair, transporting sand from bucket to ground and back again.

Once Patrick and I arrived, we were determined to break him in. We carried him to the sandiest spot near the waves despite his crocodile tears and cherry-red tomato face.

With great gusto and dramatic flair, we made elaborate sandcastles and dug a moat fit for a fairy-tale scene. I believe it was the moat that won him over, as he began laughing hysterically with mouth wide-open and eyes crinkled from joy.

Each day after that initial traumatic, parent-forced experience was full of sandy goldfish and wave chasing. My little Jonah has fallen in love with the heart of the ocean, just like his mom.

I used to think it was fun to slather coconut oil over any exposed skin and lay motionless under the raw sun. Now, I wear SPF 5 million and have sand, not coconut oil, in every nook and cranny of my post-child self...and I love it.

Here's to chipped fingernail polish from sandcastle sculpting, sagging bathing suit tops from clenched baby fists, and raccoon eyes from oversized mom sunglasses!

Do you have favorite memories of the beach???

Mini Us

2011-06-03T09:54:00.001-07:00

Some of my fondest memories include an answering machine. Do you even know what those are anymore? Yes, younger generation, cell phones weren't as common and big, bulky machines were needed to capture priceless updates. My mom, dad, and younger sister would gather around this black box to record a family message at least every other Friday night.

This took at least an hour.

It went something like this:
Dad (in deep theatrical voice) "Helloooo. You have reached Tim..."
Mom (in higher-pitched, allisrightwiththeworld voice) "Charlotte"
Me (in a teenagertryingtobecool voice) "Anna!!!"
Miriam (in a littlegirldon'tforgetmeeventhoughi'mtheyoungest voice) "Miriam!"
Unison: "We can't come to the phh-ha-ha-onneee right now, BAHAHA, wheeze, wheeze, but leave a message and we'll......hahasnortwheezeagghhh..."

And that would be it.

Over, and over, and over.

But, we then decided to get all Von-Trapp-ish and sing the message. Billy Graham would be so proud, because we would sing "Just as I Am', harmony and all. Mom and Miriam would be holding down the melody, Dad would be doing something like Barry White, and I would be attempting Julie Andrews...

But then we'd laugh.

And we'd listen to it over, and over, and over.

"Do I really sound like that?"

"Do I laugh like that?"

"Am I that loud???!!!"

It is so amazing how you view yourself differently when looking through a different mirror. Despite this nice walk down the dusty halls of my memory, I do have a point.

My child, whom is definitely a congruent mix of Patrick and me, is what I would call a "Mini Us". At times, when his eyes are narrowed and mouth hangs open while watching tv, I see all Patrick (sorry, Patrick). Other moments, when he chuckles with a super huge double chin even more pronounced from a cheesy grin due to the introduction of chocolate, I see all me (scary).

He is watching and always listening, patterning his voice, gestures, and actions after what he sees from us.

I'd like for him to see a perfect marriage, but like the answering machine, we have to keep honing the message. I read a blog post today that struck home, and it prodded me to type this post.

What is your message??

Forgotten Memories

2011-05-24T18:21:00.000-07:00

I find myself forgetting.

The drives on Sunday afternoon in a maroon convertible, top down, talking of little girl dreams and big girl crushes...

The study sessions at McAlister's around a wrought-iron table in the humid eastern North Carolina heat...sipping on sweet tea and free refills, maybe eating a cookie if we had enough change...

The lunch group, all joined together through weavings of friendships, meeting on that certain day of the week, eating cafeteria food, feeling like Kings and Queens...

Long nights at Krispy Kreme, with the neon "hot" sign illuminating anatomy books and statistics equations...

Hair dyed green, Anne of Green Gables style, on the 5th floor of Greene Hall, as dreams of rich chocolate brown melt away...

Midnight talks between 20-year-old hearts...does he like me? did he see me? do I matter?....

Weekends filled with spaghetti and shredded cheese at adopted homes away from home, loving on moms away from mom...

Weeping stairwells, echoing sorrow over a life lost, with a steadfast friend silently sitting on concrete, holding up the soul which feels like it's tumbling...

Beach chairs lining a grassy slope, sipping cider and watching the annual parade of costumes downtown at Halloween, realizing you and the company you keep have old souls...

Huddled under sleeping bags on icy stadium seats, waiting as the clock runs out, believing in a Pirate miracle...

Turning a tassel, picture posing, dream catching...

These are the memories.

I don't think of them everyday, or even every month.

They surface when I least expect it...when I most need it.

These are my college days. These are the moments I found myself.

And when I find myself forgetting again, you will know where to find me...

Sipping sweet tea outside and maybe eating a cookie if I can scrape up enough change.

My not-so-secret Garden

2011-05-10T17:47:00.000-07:00

"Don't let us make it tidy," said Mary anxiously. "It wouldn't seem like a secret garden if it was tidy."
~The Secret Garden

You may remember my previous post about my miniature garden. Every few days, I add to this magical little world. While laying out the pebbles this afternoon, one hand in the dirt and one hand wrapped around Jonah, I remembered the enchanting book The Secret Garden. Have you ever read that book?

Although this garden is on the front porch and in plain sight of any porch passer-byers, I tend to think we share a few secrets. No one else really knows what new accessory will settle into a corner or when Mr. McGregor's boots will appear.

I believe this not-so-secret garden has become my not-so-normal therapy.

Seriously...

You've gotta try it.

Sculpey Sunday

2011-05-08T17:00:00.000-07:00

You may have read about my newest obsession, miniature gardening. I'm proud to say my garden is thriving, and I have picked up little trinkets here and there to help tell the garden's story.

This particular garden belongs to Mr. McGregor, whose boots I have yet to find. Peter Rabbit and Mother Rabbit made an appearance today, via the miracle clay called Sculpey.

Yes, on Mother's Day, I tediously made these two rabbit characters as Patrick played video games and Jonah slept. I'm one of those people who gets an idea and doesn't rest until it is completed. That Sculpey clay was just begging to be molded and baked, regardless of my inexperience.

After a few minutes of rolling and pinching, as well as Patrick's contribution of his old dissection kit from college, I began to see my little characters come to life.

I've never tried to sculpt anything before, but I think I did ok for a first attempt. After baking, the whites of the ears and bellies had turned the same color as the fur. I guess I will be touching up those areas as well as adding cutesy rabbit eyes and whiskers.

Any tips regarding sculpey techniques are greatly appreciated! I've gotten enough of this project done where I don't feel the need to add daily. If something strikes my fancy, it will find a home in the garden. Otherwise, attention is now turned to keeping everything green!!

Growing Pains

2011-05-08T16:33:00.000-07:00

It's that time again. Jonah is moving up to the next class tomorrow. He has been visiting each day last week, so it won't be such a shock. He has several friends in this class already, but deep inside I just want him to stay in this old class and pretend he won't ever get older. Maybe if I close my eyes and keep buying size 4 diapers, I can get away with it.

Maybe not.

As a little thank you to his three teachers, whom he adores, I put together miniature vases with flowers. A ribbon encircled the top of the "vase", and a target card was secured to the vase with the ribbon.

I made these out of a book (of course, big surprise...), sticks from the yard, and syrup bottles from cracker barrel. This is perfect for those of us on a budget. All you need to do is take a trip or two to cracker barrel, stock up on your bottles, and voila!!

While on my rosette paper theme, I also made frames for my mom and mother-in-law. Of course, I started too many projects this week (all involving books), to have the frames delivered in time for Mother's Day.

I did manage to send cards with Jonah's handprint. This, too, involved a book page from a very special Book.

Yes, that is a page from the Bible. No, I will probably never do that again...I just couldn't help myself.

Happy Mother's Day to all of you who already have children as well as those who take care of the children in your life who are special and dear to you heart.

Tomorrow, I will take Jonah to a new classroom, and he will cram a muffin into his mouth and barely wave "bye" as I stand an extra few seconds at the door, blowing kisses.

It's not just kids who have growing pains...

White Way of Delight

2011-05-06T12:55:00.001-07:00

In true Anne of Green Gables form, I would like to introduce to you my love of all things white. Anne's character found beauty and imagination around every corner, and one of my most memorable moments from the movie happens as she is riding with Matthew to Green Gables the first time. As they round a curve, beautiful white blossoms from apple trees form a cathedral over the red dirt roads; the trees stood at attention like soldiers as Anne and Matthew passed between them. Anne gasps in the movie when she sees thsi sight, and she asked Matthew what is was named, to which he honestly replied, the "Avenue". In her Anne-ish ways, she replies:

But they shouldn't call that lovely place the Avenue. There is no meaning in a name like that. They should call it--let me see--the White Way of Delight. Isn't that a nice imaginative name? When I don't like the name of a place or a person I always imagine a new one and always think of them so. There was a girl at the asylum whose name was Hepzibah Jenkins, but I always imagined her as Rosalia DeVere. Other people may call that place the Avenue, but I shall always call it the White Way of Delight.

Anne goes on to name other places, but this White Way of Delight has always been my favorite. It reminds me of heaven and home, which is why I believe shades of white have become my home's attire.

I've posted a collection of photos from things I have made or areas in my home that are my own White Way of Delight, and I'm linking to Songbird, a beautiful blog I stumbled upon. If you love all things white, you must check her out!

A Valentine's Day Wreath, made of white fabric. Simple but beautiful to me.

A Christmas Tree made from an old songbook...creamy white goodness!

Snowman, also made from a book. With dashes of silver, it still is delightful.

Tattered and torn, a prescription book from an antique store finds a home in my entryway. Each off-white page tells a story of someone...

A Pottery Barn pillow, with accents of burlap ribbon. raw and real

A mantle, with a distressed window from a family farm

Hymnal Wreaths

Heart crafted from book pages, leaping out to proclaim Love

Easter wreath: My nest is full, as well as my heart

Coffee filters adorn the backdoor, reminding me to savor each drop of life

Pumpkins welcome fall

Flowers greet me as I wash hardened noodles from a high chair tray

My favorite white of all is my home. It isn't the front porch or the three white rocking chairs. It isn't the snow hugging the earth. It is the place I tuck my child into bed, showering him with kisses and a prayer. It is the place my husband enters, clothes smelling of cut grass and football leather.

This is my White Way of Delight.

See You in Heaven

2011-05-04T18:52:00.000-07:00

When I was a little girl, my cousin Jenny and I were pen pals. We would write long, dramatic letters to each other, detailing our summer escapades and current crushes. We'd always end the letter with the phrase "See you in heaven". I'm not sure when this started, and I am surprised that at such a young age we realized that tomorrow wasn't promised. We cherished each day we had and were comforted at the thought that we'd always get to see each other again, regardless of our earthly circumstances.

I remembered this phrase last week as I sorted through the mail. I came upon a thick white envelope with my name on it. I had been eagerly watching the mail like a kid watches for reindeer on Christmas Eve, for I had been informed a special package was on its way from a dear friend.

I've never met this friend in person, but she is a "kindred spirit" as Anne of Green Gables would say. Her words of encouragement appear when I need it the most, and her blog is inspiring and full of beautiful simplicity and soulful musings.

Inside the package was a beautiful book creation: Peter Rabbit came to life on a page from the dictionary, surrounded by a pale blue distressed frame. This friend knew I loved Peter Rabbit, and she also is a fellow lover of all things book related. My camera does not do this justice, but I wanted to include a few pictures anyway.

You can see a post about it here

Beautiful.

Although I may not ever meet her on earth, I know I will see her in heaven. As you post your writings and browse your community of blogs, remember the faces behind them. Treasure the friendships, and take time to encourage each other.

Since I've received encouragement, I want to pass this on as well. I've never done a giveaway, but I think it's about that time. Post a comment describing how YOU would pass on a handmade item to one of your blog followers, and I will randomly select a winner on Monday.

Of course, your giveaway will most likely include a book creation of some sort!

Mini: the next Biggest thing

2011-05-01T17:08:00.000-07:00

When I was in fourth grade, I made a log cabin with my dad and grandaddy for a school project. This was not your ordinary "night-before-cardboard-box-popsicle-stick" moment. This was hand-hewn planks, individually placed wooden shingles, carefully-selected pebbles for chimney, and little house on the prairie furniture. I've got to show pictures on here, because this house was a little girl's dream.

Since that time, I have loved miniature worlds. I read books about tiny people living behind walls in houses, using thimbles for a bathtub. I played with the "Littlest Pet Shop" toys, which were absolutely mesmerizing. Even to this day, I pause in front of dollhouses and stare in awe.

Apparently, the world of miniature gardening is the next biggest thing for adults and children alike. While reading Living With Lindsay last week, I stumbled upon the world of mini gardens. This happened on a Tuesday, a day which leaves me in clinic with hardly any time to breathe. I couldn't get this idea out of my head, and between patients I would brainstorm ways to make my garden unique.

Somewhere between patient 3 and 4, I knew my theme. Peter Rabbit, in all its childlike sweetness, would be perfect!

I could easily involve Jonah once he got older, and my own hopeless romantic self would be enrapture with the garden within a garden, small gate, Mr. McGregor's boots, and some garden rakes and such.

This world of miniature gardening was foreign to me. I came across a wonderful site devoted to this craft. This site even breaks down the differences between miniature gardens, fairy gardens, and gnome gardens! YES...there IS a difference.

After a few days of research and the growing itch to make my own, I broke down and bought a bonsai tree, some sort of bush thing, and two little plants.

I used the stones that came with the tree, but the dollar store and Michael's are calling my name. I am on the hunt for Peter Rabbit-ish items, and I will not rest until I find them! I am completely hooked on this idea now, and my garden has so much room to "grow" in character!!

>

The ideas are endless! If you aren't sure how to even start, Two Green Thumbs sells kits!!!

I believe one of Jonah's birthday parties will involve small pots, small plants, dinosaurs, pirates, and kid creativity! Wouldn't that be a fun party activity??

Stay tuned for future gardening endeavors!

Are you hooked yet??

Birthday Balloon for Ayden

2011-04-27T17:20:00.000-07:00

April 27, 2009.

Just a date to most, but to a certain mother that is also a dear friend, it is the day that her firstborn made his entrance into this world. With beautiful clear eyes that mirrored heaven and a melting smile, this little boy changed lives.

He went home to Jesus four short months later, but his story didn't end there.

Ayden, your story is read by me each day. Each minute, each breath, each moment of my child's kisses and tantrums is a gift. A blessing. Your parents know you are a gift. They knew you were God's, and I am a better parent because of you.

Today, April 27, 2011, we celebrate Ayden's second birthday. Many people all over have sent balloons to Ayden, and we joined as well right in our backyard.

As a family, we walked up to Food Lion to pick out a balloon. I would have loved to find a Mickey Mouse balloon, but the only balloon the employees could actually inflate was a huge Elmo balloon. We walked back home, Patrick toting the balloon under his arm while I pushed Jonah in the stroller. We received quite a few second glances as cars drove by through our neighborhood, but we were on a mission to send a little boy a balloon for his birthday.

Once home, we wrote on the Elmo balloon a brief little message.

Outside in the backyard, Jonah hugged and kissed on the Elmo balloon before we let it go.

"We love yous" were said, and we followed that balloon through the sky until it became just a tiny pinpoint in the sky over the trees.

Remember Ayden's mommy and daddy in your prayers today as they celebrate such a gift. If you would like to learn more about Ayden and his family, you may visit his mommy's blog.

Happy 2nd Birthday, Ayden! We love you!

Love,
Uncle Patrick, Aunt Anna, and your bud Jonah

The Tale of Our Easter Bunnies

2011-04-24T11:32:00.000-07:00

Happy Easter to All! I am so thankful for this day; it truly is the foundation of our faith. Without Jesus, his life, his death, and his resurrection, where would we be? What would we be? Every Good Friday, my heart experiences a strange heaviness. The day itself is usually overcast and drizzly. Saturday seems to follow the same pattern, but Sunday always bursts forth with sunshine and celebration. As a child, I truly thought that God purposefully made the weather downcast on the two days preceding Easter. In my mind, God was remembering those days long ago when His Son became the sacrificial Lamb. His tears were the rain, His sighs were the wind. Come Sunday, creation itself could not contain the joy of Resurrection. The day is cleanly bright, warm and welcoming. It is Easter, and I am thankful.

Alas, this Easter weekend, we experienced our own brush with the reality of nature, the circle of life, and potential easter bunny disaster. Our little family of three traveled to Uncle Jason's house, Patrick's brother. The Sams' siblings met at this central location along with their kids ages 19 months to high school. We arrived Friday evening and had the always delicious American supper of hamburgers, hotdogs, potato salad, and chips. This meal is always so comforting and loved by all ages. The menfolk conveniently slipped upstairs and succumbed to the powerful playstation 3; the girls and teenagers stretched out on comfy sofas and overstuffed chairs, playing "would you rather", laughing hysterically to the point of wheezing, and catching snippets of tv. These moments are always precious to me; the laughter of family can never be replicated by anyone else. This laughter is truly healing and makes family bonds stronger.

Saturday morning came all too quickly. Little Jonah was up at 7am, chattering "DaddEEE" and "Uh-OH" for no reason. Patrick took it upon himself to wake everyone up, despite the late night prior. In his mind, we only get together a few times a year, so we better make the most of it. While waking up downstairs, sipping coffee and tea, Patrick noticed one of the dogs was "playing" with something in the backyard. He casually asked what the dog had, not thinking it could be anything concerning. "Oh, (insert dog's name here, not posted to protect the innocent), has lots of toys in the backyard." To Patrick's scientific eye, this looked more like a real animal than a toy. The brave brothers rushed outside to survey the toy/animal, and the adults followed.

To our dismay, four baby bunnies had been affectionately "played" with by the two dogs. The nest had been built under the deck, but it was still quite open to the yard and not near a corner. In my mommy heart, I felt that this probably wasn't the wisest choice of home location for the bunnies. One bunny hopped to heaven that morning, and the three bunnies that remained were probably having a near-death experience. Out of the three, one had a laceration that was quite deep. According to Dr. Patrick, if we had a suture kit, we could have fixed it. Where, oh where, was my "doctor" bag? The other two were not visibly harmed, but I believe there may be therapy involved in the future. The traumatized bunnies were lovingly placed in a towel-lined box and taken to the vet.

I toyed with the idea of taking one home to nurse back to health, but since Tucker was rabidly running through the yard searching for more bunnies, I decided that would most likely mean certain bunny heaven for that unfortunate one. We were all slightly disturbed from this nature channel moment, and none of the smaller kids found out about it. It was quite the feat to keep them inside during the rescue; we didn't want to scare them or open the floodgates of "why?" questions.

As we sat around the table at breakfast, we each quietly pondered the morning events. We asked ourselves why it was so unsettling, and we remembered the gift and fragility of life. On a lighter note, we laughed about the near extinction of the easter bunny for future generations. I know, it sounds horrible, but we were dealing with a somewhat difficult situation and used humor to lighten the mood.

Thus ends the tale of our Easter bunnies. My family of three left that evening to return to our beds at home, and we were so exhausted that our Easter was spent doing absolutely nothing but being together. I did miss going to church, dressing in the set-apart designated Easter outfit, and celebrating with others while singing the beloved Easter songs; however, Easter isn't just one day a year. Celebrate the hope of Easter every day, and remember the Cross.

Love to you and your families!!
HOPPY EASTER!

Burlap Ribbon and Linen

2011-04-03T17:34:00.000-07:00

Burlap is so plain, scratchy, but it is beautiful to me.

There is something about its rawness and simplicity that says home. After using a small bit of burlap ribbon for my spring wreath, I was taunted by the leftovers and an empty-faced linen pillow.

I have seen pillows with rosettes for accessories, and I wanted to do this by myself. I had seen tutorials on several blogs, and I felt ready to take on this challenge.

Just by twisting the burlap in a circle, working from the inside out with glue gun dots here and there, I came up with this:

The pillow before was classy and worked with the bench, but I wanted to add some homey burlap...just because the unused ribbon was calling to me...

I played around with the rosettes before actually gluing to the pillow. By this point, I decided that if one was a little "off" or not quite centered, it didn't matter. No one is perfect, and this pillow won't be either!

The finished project made my heart smile.

This "S" of rosettes symbolizes more than just the first letter of our last name. It says home.

Beginnings...

2011-03-31T08:58:00.000-07:00

Lately, I have been pondering beginnings. My beginnings, specifically. I have felt quite nostalgic...My soundtrack theme, if able to be heard by others instead of just myself, would have been the music playing in the background when Anne and Diana stood at the edge of a cliff, watching the sunset...

I am almost done with the second semester of teaching the nursing students, who happen to be all girls. They remind me of my younger self....the one who could stay up late cramming for a test and still survive the next day. This group has been through personal heartache, lost friends too young, said good-bye to fellow classmates too soon, and sweated through many dressing changes of complex wounds...without fainting.

I am so proud of them. I know what they are going through, and I know they will never forget these days. Crushing medications for tube administration will become less exciting as they learn more, and trach care will be as simple as brushing their own teeth.

But right now, those things are enough to cramp your stomach with nerves on clinical days...it is enough to wake you up every hour, afraid you will oversleep. It is enough to make you question the whys of this journey and maybe lose sight of the reason.

I would know. I've been there.

I am still there.

And that is why I wake up on Saturday morning, one of my two days off, to remind them they are making a difference. To hopefully inspire them to dream a little longer..a little bigger.

To learn from them the "why" of my journey.

In a few weeks, I will find out if I have been accepted into a doctoral program to further my nursing journey.

I like to think that someone will be to me what I am to these students...

But more than that, I like to imagine that these girls will always remember these stomach-cramping days....and share their love of life and people with students just like them.

The picture of me in purple scrubs was taken the first day of nursing clinical ever. I still remember this day so clearly, even though it was taken at 4:30 am by my dear roommate, Anna Lee. You can see the excitement on my face, and it still makes my heart smile.

A Green Gables Goal Completed

2011-03-17T17:58:00.000-07:00

You may remember my previous post about home goals for 2011. I finally created a spring wreath, and I succumbed to the poofy mesh world. Don't misunderstand me, for I love the look of vibrant pinks and greens, polka dots and lime accents. I'm just such a simple, burlap-trimmed girl, and it shows in my creations.

I had grand ideas of a monogram "S" nestled in this poofy wreath, but an old egg garland from Target was begging for a new job besides sitting in the closet. I made a spiraling but simple nest out of the garland accessories, and I chose three eggs to represent my little family.

The sherbert green is beautiful in person, but it is hard to see the contrast against the polka dot ribbon from far away.

It is an imperfect wreath, but it will see so many treasured faces enter our home, and that is what makes it beautiful to me.

2011-03-07T18:02:00.000-08:00

I wandered lonely as a cloud
That floats on high o'er vales and hills,
When all at once I saw a crowd,
A host of golden daffodils;
Beside the lake, beneath the trees,
Fluttering and dancing in the breeze

Continuous as the stars that shine
and twinkle on the Milky Way,
They stretched in never-ending line
along the margin of a bay:
Ten thousand saw I at a glance,
tossing their heads in sprightly dance

The waves beside them danced; but they
Out-did the sparkling waves in glee:
A poet could not but be gay,
in such a jocund company:
I gazed - and gazed - but little thought
what wealth the show to me had brought:

For oft, when on my couch I lie
In vacant or in pensive mood,
They flash upon that inward eye
Which is the bliss of solitude;
And then my heart with pleasure fills,
And dances with the daffodils.
~William Wordsworth

About a mile from our house, through a four-way stop and around a curve, a treasure of daffodils blooms each spring. Caramel-colored pine needles carpet the land; towering trees hold hands like siblings. A squarely simple graveyard from decades ago rests in a far corner, but it is not forgotten.

Cars cluster like ants along the road, as determined adults carry and direct their brood around and between the daffodils, searching for the perfect spot. Weathered wooden benches, antique rocking chairs, nana's quilt...all are nestled strategically in columns of light that filter through the canopy of trees. Ruffles and lace, plaids and stripes envelop the children as they sit like statues in front of flashing lights from mother and father photographers. Occasionally, a free-spirited, dimply legged baby toddles through and on top of the daffodils, despite the sweating mother's pleas and crazy father antics.

Voices of love and spring bounce off the barks of the trees, as priceless moments are lived.

Jonah, 18 months, March 2011

It is but for a short time. The flowers wilt as the weeks march on, but hope remains. The daffodils return, year after year, to welcome both the children of years past and the children of the years to come.

Jonah, 6 months old, 2010

Savor the daffodils...

Savor the times...

Take a picture.

Home

2011-02-24T09:53:00.001-08:00

What is home to you?

Is it an address, a zip code, a region? Does it smell like cut grass or feel like childhood sandboxes beneath your feet?

Does your home shift in its shape...a dinner table of four, a pew of eight, a bed of two, a church of hundreds...

Does your home have different faces...faces of children hoped for, faces with wrinkled wisdom, faces of similar siblings and close cousins...

My physical home changes, but my heart's home is always recognized, regardless of the season.

My Great Uncle Jim went Home last Saturday. His beloved wife had passed a short time before, but I was unable to make it to her celebration of life service. This past Wednesday, my little family and I traveled to Four Oaks, NC to honor Uncle Jim.

That is home to me. I hug and squeeze aunts and uncles; I sample butter beans, fried chicken, and specialty fruit salads. I watch as Jonah toddles between 80-year-old legs and dodges canes, unaware that his presence is comforting in our sorrow: a reminder of life and living and faith.

I sit in a wooden pew that is worn slick from many before me...weddings, meetings, church celebrations, funerals. It feels like home. The pastor shares stories of Uncle Jim, and I am at home as a kindergartner with my mom reading stacks of books from the library.

At the graveside, I carefully sidestep stones and tiptoe to the edge of the tent. I can barely hear the preacher, but I see family, and that's all that matters. The folded flag is presented, the blessing is given, and the people stir. Murmurs of love, hope, and grace mingle in the air. I turn to my parents, and I ask for help in a quest for finding home.

I am determined to find the gravestones of those I never met but who made me what I am. I want to see again the marker that my Uncle Frank, Jim's brother, was determined to show me as we marched through that graveyard one sunny day when I was in college. The marker of the first Four Oaks doctor, a civil war surgeon, and a member of our family. Uncle Frank always encouraged me to be the best at what I did. It was important to him to show me my heritage: to show me my family's legacy and richness of family bonds.

As we returned to the house, I listened to my mom and her sisters talk all at once yet still understanding each other. I listen as the girl cousins relive memories of white front porches, soda shops, and their daddies with giant shiny shoes. I do listen to you. I am at home, and I am building a home for my family to come.

Uncle Jim was known as the "candy man". He passed out candy after church each Sunday. He loved to dance with his sweetheart. He knew the value of hard work, and he loved his family. He loved children, and I am so thankful Jonah was able to meet his great Uncle and Aunt.

At the end of the service, the offering plates were passed around, brimming with chocolate candies. The pastor had told us it wasn't often you would hear to take from the plate instead of put something in it; I picked up that piece of chocolate with tears in my eyes and a lump in my throat. It felt like home.

We don't mourn as those without hope. Uncle Jim has joined his brothers and sisters, mom and dad, cousins and nieces and nephews. He is home, and I'm pretty sure they are swapping stories around a big wooden table laden with pound cake and rum cake.

Don't take for granted your home.

Listen to the stories, even if this is the 5th time you have heard it.

Write down the memories, even if you think you will never forget it.

Enjoy the candy of life.

In Case You Didn't Know..

2011-02-08T18:25:00.000-08:00

My blog friend Lucy (who is such a kindred spirit and I wish I could meet in person), was given a blog award by another blogger. It was the Stylish Blogger Award, and she had to list seven things about herself. She has passed this award to her blog followers, so I have decided to participate!

I am such a nosy person, and many of you probably are, too, but just won't admit publicly.

So, enjoy my unorganized flight of thoughts and pass the award on to your friends as well!

1. My left front tooth was broken clean in half when I was in middle school by my sister. We were playing on the probably very unsafe swing sets after school, as my mom finished up her teacherly duties inside. My sister swung one of the big metal rings towards me to catch, and it hit me full force in the mouth. I now have a half-fake, half-real front tooth.

2. I love singing. I was in the Charlotte Children's Choir, and I later sang and played the piano on the youth worship team in high school. In college, I studied voice a few semesters as well as led worship for a campus ministry called InterVarsity. Since graduating, I have not done much except the occasional wedding with a dear friend. I miss it.

3. I'm a perpetual student. I get excited about research. I love writing papers. I am looking into options to pursue my PhD in nursing hopefully in the fall. I'm a nerd.

4. I love to run. I don't look like a runner, run like a runner, or have stellar times like a runner. I'm a work in progress, but running is my own personal form of therapy. I love the way the sweat flies, the muscles burn, and the music inspires.

5. I have been to Israel and the Philippines. I saw Jesus in the poorest of the poor. I saw giant faith in little children. I went to minister to them, but I was the one changed.

6. I was not always a craft-a-holic. Or wreath-a-holic. After Jonah was born, I would sit in our living room while he napped in the swing, looking at the walls that were begging for a homemade creation or furniture that was craving distressing. I was inspired to make my house a home. I want others to feel at home. Lovingly made things of beauty do that to a house...

7. The second time I saw my husband, I knew we would be sharing our lives together. That is another complicated, hopelessly sappy post. I don't know how to prove it to him, but he says he believes me.

I look forward to your posts so I can be nosy and find out even more about you!!!

Target Rosewood Wreath knock-off

2011-02-07T17:30:00.000-08:00

I go to Target at least once a week. I consider it necessary for survival, and I have probably saved myself several visits to a psychologist just by walking through those endearing red doors.

There is an aisle at this wonderful store that is nestled between the books and stationary. It has wreaths, glass hurricanes, and beautiful door mats. I have only bought one thing from this aisle, and that was on sale. On this particular aisle of my therapeutic Target, I found a beautiful wreath.

It was 40$. I don't know about you, but it sounds like a challenge to me!

I stumbled upon one of those blogs you wish was secretly yours so you could have followers in the thousands, and I found this.

Although I love book creations, I happened to see a roll of brown paper in our lovely garage.

I followed the tutorial, and I "eyeballed" my swirls instead of drawing a pattern.

The swirls became rosettes...

And the rosettes became a wreath.

I have it hanging on a random nail over our garden tub in the master bathroom. Its home will be between our two mirrors in the bathroom, but I couldn't wait to take the pictures.

As the tutorial blog stated, this is tedious. I love the finished product, and you could even spray paint it whatever color you fancied!!!

Happy Monday!

yay

2011-02-05T18:55:00.000-08:00

I figured it out:) see prior post...
I'm super proud of myself..Now I need some cute post dividers...

I messed up again

2011-02-02T18:33:00.001-08:00

Hello ladies!

Once again, I have messed around with my blog. I love the look of linen, and I love the snippet of blue around the header, but I don't like my title layout...

I know there are ways to do this, but I have no idea how! I just want to have pretty, "scrolly" writing that says "Sams' Club Stories" fitting neatly in the blogger header...

ANy tips? How do I do this?? I'm so computer illiterate:)

One Thousand Gifts

2011-01-23T14:53:00.000-08:00

I'm not sure where I have been but apparently, (in)courage, a blog I follow, has a book club. The book that has been introduced is called One Thousand Gifts by Ann Voskamp.

I have to shallowly say that the cover is what drew me. A nest with two blue eggs being held out by a young girl in a white dress...I was able to preview a chapter online, and this is what happened....

1. My throat closed in raw emotion
2. Tears stung the back of my eyes
3. My soul's stomach rumbled as Ann spoke the Word through her painful and beautiful life stories...
4. I felt like I had tasted choice morsels of grace
5. I was hungry for more.

I went immediately to my Nook account online and downloaded it for 9.99. I have read through chapter 5 already, and I will most likely finish this tonight. I will then read it again probably, because this is real. This is real hurt. Real love. Real questions that you nor I dare to voice because we are afraid in doing so, we may somehow lose our salvation...Real grace. Real Thanksgiving. Real Jesus.

Always Jesus.

I have decided to comment weekly on the chapters, just as the book club Bloom is doing. Would you like to participate?

Go here to read the details of this book.

Visit with the author, Ann Voskamp, here.

Grab a blog button for yourself!

Well, I'm off to make some chili, settle in for the night, and read some more. Let me know what you think after looking at the links!

Imperfect Heart

2011-01-17T14:23:00.000-08:00

Update: This post was originally published in January. I am linking up with The Nester today, which is March 21, 2011. This book creation, one of many, was far removed from the vision in my head. I took a risk in butchering the pages, but I love the result. I now have it flipped the other way, which now looks like a butterfly! Perfect for Spring...

See below for original post:

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
I did it again.

I pilfered through my book library for another willing participant. This time, it was a hardback book with a fittingly red inside cover and back. Perfect for Valentine's Day!

I had a vision in my head of a heart of book pages miraculously standing at attention once the book was opened and casually placed on the mantle. I used one of my Christmas gifts from Patrick, an x-acto knife set, to create this vision.

Well, my vision quickly dissipated when I realized I had cut the heart the wrong way. It was an imperfect heart. I felt kinda sorry for it. I decided to not tear out any of the unused book pages, just so the heart would still feel at home. The more I looked at it, the more I loved it.

I placed it on my mantle and opened it up. This imperfect heart fit right in with my imperfect mantle decorations, imperfect chipping windowpane, imperfect style. Just because it is not perfectly placed or perfectly designed, it is beautiful to me.

What imperfectly beautiful things have you created lately??

Goals for My Green Gables

2011-01-06T18:00:00.000-08:00

I’m not a bit changed—not really. I’m only just pruned down and branched out. The real me—back here—is just the same. It won’t make a bit of difference where I go or how much I change outwardly; at heart I shall always be your little Anne, who will love you and Matthew and dear Green Gables more and better every day of her life. ~Anne of Green Gables

Every New Year, resolutions are as common as a long line at Starbucks at 8am on a Monday morning. However, resolutions fade, whereas the lines at Starbucks just get longer.

I am linking to The Nester today. Instead of resolutions, I will set goals for my house. Although my name is not Anne (Anne, with an "e"), it is close enough. Just call me Anna of Winding Winterfield Drive. Anna, with an "a".

1. Add to my gallery wall going up the stairs. I want this to be regularly irregular in its patterns, colors, and pictures. I have an "S" made of rusted brown metal and a chipping blue grate that were both found at an antique/artsy shop in Asheville over Christmas. These found, worn and loved objects have added character to the standard photo collage, and I want to continue with meaningful pictures and objects.

View from Loft

Blue Grate with Special paper memorabilia such as wedding invitation

From living room: Room to add special faces and momentos!

2. Organize our bonus room and purge our garage. Since Jonah was born, we have used the bonus room as the resting place for all things infant...Baby swing, bouncy seat, pack 'n play...Patrick has a wealth of books and teaching supplies stacked in boxes...Although we have half of the room clean, we need this space to grow our little family. Jonah needs a little corner of the world to transform lincoln logs into HGTV dream homes. As for the garage, I choose to not go in there. We should make some money on the side by turning our garage into "Sams' hardware and tool supply". We have any and every tool you could need, thanks to my husband's addiction to tinkering and my addiction to turning old things into usable ones.

3. Dining Room Table Creation. We have a dining room table. It is a lovely one. However, I somehow had the notion to create another dining room table. This one will be out of an old door from Patrick's grandparent's place in the mountains (this is in the garage, of course). I found two large porch posts from an antique store in downtown Winterville. I am cutting them in half to make four legs.

4. Seasonal Wreaths. I know this sounds nerdy. I can't help it. I've turned into a compulsive seasonal observer. This means the door has to observe the season as well. So far, I have Christmas...

Valentine's Day...

and fall.

I want a spring and summer wreath as well.

5. A Green Gables' home. This may not make sense to you if you have never read or watched the stories of Anne. As qouted above by Anne, life is seasons of changes and growth. At heart, she was the same girl who loved her home but more importantly, those people who lived in it. She loved them more everyday, and home became dearer to her regardless of how old she became. I want my green gables to make others feel at home, loved, cherished, and remembered. I want my family to grow in grace within these four walls.

I will never be fully done with this list. I seem to have random ideas and fly from one project to the next. The goal that will never change or finished is nurturing my home. Regardless of the paint color, latest antique find, or wreath, my most important home goals are raising children that can't wait to return home from college break, or bring their special someone to meet mom and dad, and building a partnership and relationship with my husband that will stand the test of time.

What are your Green Gables goals??

Simple Kind of (wo)Man

2011-01-05T18:37:00.000-08:00

I do it every year.
I unwillingly take down the ornaments from the tree and unwind the garland from the banister. Somewhere between halfway up the tree and the 6th rung of the banister, I turn into an obedient, maybe even excited, Christmas taker-downer. Removing these material items make my insides feel like they have been thoroughly dusted and vacuumed. I even get so inspired that some of my everyday decorations never quite make it out of their designated holiday hibernating holes.

My inspiration?

Simplicity.

As qouted in the book Anne of Green Gables, "Tomorrow is always fresh, with no mistakes in it".

My house is not a tomorrow, but it is fresh. And because it is fresh, I am excited about the tomorrows that are to come.

I simplified my mantle, partly because I wanted to and partly because I couldn't remember what I had on the right side of it before Christmas. That's a sign that simplicty is greatly needed in my life...

I want to live simply.

Simply love.
Simply live.
Simply forgive.

Here is a simple picture from my phone of my updated mantle. The right side of the mantle, also known as the side I can't remember, has two colanders from an antique store down the road. Don't worry, I have rearranged the little wood flowers so they don't look quite so....simply stuck in there..

Here's to being a simple kind of WOman!!!!

This post may be more inspiring if you listen to Simple Man by Lyndyrd Skynyrd while reading.

Keep it All the Year

2011-01-01T11:12:00.000-08:00

I will honor Christmas in my heart, and try to keep it all the year.... ~ Charles Dickens

This post will be annoyingly honest. I caution you to skip this if your emotions are still floating in homemade hot chocolate, because the first part of this confession may be scalding to the taste and without any good marshmallows. However, if you are brave enough to join me on this journey, you will hopefully be rewarded with a new brew of chocolatey goodness to sip the whole year through...not just during the Christmas season.

First, a little background information about me. If I didn't think Christmas sweaters were so tacky, I would wear them starting in October. The Christmas season is a time for my dramatic self to don silver bell earrings, pins that say "Jesus is the Reason for the Season" on my labcoat, and adorable Christmas shirts from Target that are a steal at 5$. The Christmas CDs are pulled out of their resting places, and I sweeten my coffee with peppermint mocha creamer. If you could see inside my heart, it would literally have white twinkling lights, beautiful creamy and silver bows, the scents of pine and sugar cookies and love, and most likely a book creation of some sort. (That is for you, Lucy!) I enjoy decorating my house for Christmas, and I savor each ornament's memory as it finds a specific place on the tree. You can't just hang them anywhere. There is a rhyme and reason. Trust me.

We had plans this Christmas. We were going to enjoy Christmas Eve as a little family of three and wake on Christmas morn to cinnamon rolls and warm coffee. Then, we would travel to Charlotte to see my family for Christmas lunch then off to Asheville to see my husband's family.

Christmas Eve went as planned. We spent it with our friends, the Damerons, eating a comforting meal of steak and baked potatoes with a dessert of red velvet peppermint cake. Because neither of us was with "blood" family that evening, we made our own family together.

On Christmas Day, I woke up at 7am to finish packing for the planned trip west. Patrick woke up an hour later and checked the weather forecast. Even though the snow wasn't supposed to come till later that night and early the next morning, he thought it was best to stay here until the snow had passed.

I am a planner. Any disruption in my plans causes havoc. Even a good disruption. I provoked fights for the next 4 hours. I took breaks from my nagging to put on different faces such as the "I'm genuinely happy to be with my little boy on Christmas" face and the "I'm genuinely irritated at you for changing plans on me at the last minute and now we have no food for lunch" face.

Don't misunderstand me. I cherished every moment of this Christmas morning with my Jonah. I wish I could have wrapped the moon for him; however, somewhere between the opening of presents, my selfish third-grade self emerged. I began to resent the decision my husband and I had agreed upon weeks before: no stockings or presents for each other. We had already upgraded our phones and exchanged one semi-expensive item a few days before (translation: 50$ or less.) I was discouraged that we wouldn't see either of our families on this specific day...Christmas Day. I wouldn't see my cousins or grandparents, sister or aunts and uncles. There would be no honey baked ham or warm pecan pie. No clanking of glasses or rattling of forks as the dishes are washed and dried. No traditions that I had grown to know and love that I could have recounted in my sleep.

My soul was scrooge-like in all of its musings. Around mid-afternoon, we took Jonah and his new John Deere tractor outside to experiment. It was here, in the silence of the Christmas afternoon, with the dying brown grass beneath my feet and the sound of a battery-operated wal-mart toy, that I was visited by Christmas Past, Present, and Future.

My past, with all of its homey glitter and magic, allowed me to see Christmas through a child's eyes...my own, and His.

My present, with all of its simplicity and silence, reminded me to be still. To know. To trust. To strip away the gaudy bows and personal plans so that nothing could get in the way of love. The love of a family. My own little family of three.

My future, with all of its unknowns and uncertainty, reminded me of the one absolute that never changes. Christ. Christ came here, so that my damaged heart could be decorated all year long. Twinkling lights of a hope in things unseen, which are eternal. Creamy and silver bows wrapped around simple love. Scents of grace and mercy and forgiveness.

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The next day, snow blanketed the dying brown grass. My little family of three walked to the grocery store together with large flakes hitting our eyelashes. We built a fire in the backyard and roasted s'mores. We made our own traditions of Christmas and laughed, but we still desperately missed our families. Our journey eventually led us to each of our childhood homes, and I felt complete. Although December 25th had passed in ways I had not planned, Christmas was not over.

Christmas is never over. The tree will come down, the stockings will be folded once again for the next year; however, these are just materials that symbolize the decorations that stay in the heart all year long.

Merry Christmas, today and every day. May you keep it all the year....

The Teachers

2010-12-11T18:33:00.000-08:00

You may remember my previous posts about my first clinical group of nursing students. We have completed 8 weeks together, and December 4th was the last day of a continued journey to become nurses.

I still remember their faces on that first day.

Excited. Worried. Eager.

I will never forget their faces on the last day.

Confident. Passionate. Encouraged.

I am so proud of those ten students. We all experienced our "firsts" together this semester. First day as a student. First day as an instructor. First day of realizing tears and laughter can coexist in the same conference room.

I am humbled, for they taught me.

Their passion for patient advocacy grew stronger each week. They went the extra mile and touched someone's soul. They reminded me of why I am in the field of nursing.

My only hope is that they never forget the feelings from that first day.

I made a survival basket for each one of them. The contents are explained at the end of this post.

They made me a picture frame, and the picture from the first day was placed inside. I will treasure it always.

Enjoy a few pictures, and notice the confidence that exudes from the picture that was taken on the last day!!!

First Day....for Everyone!

Supplies for Survival Kit

Inside the Kit

Finished Products

Last Day!

Emotionally Touched:)

Gift from Students

Survival Kit Contents

- Band-Aids: Always remember you aren’t just helping heal physical wounds; you are touching the innermost parts of a person that most people ignore.

- Book: Never stop learning. Stay a student. This is what fuels your passion.

- Cards: Whatever cards you are dealt in your job or life, always play your best hand. Never fold or give up.

- Clip: Stay organized…on and off the job. Don’t take your frustrations from work home with you, and don’t let struggles at home affect the care you deliver.

- Magnet: It’s ok to hang your “artwork” on the fridge. Celebrate your accomplishments and even brag a little. Your graduation diploma, first nursing job, last day before retirement, all are triumphs and need to be recognized.

- Kleenex: Show emotion. It’s what makes you good at what you do. Once you lose joy or compassion, it’s time to find another area.

- Ornament: Life is fragile and beautiful. Each one is unique, and needs special handling. Do so with care, including your own.

This kit is never done. You will add to it as the years pass and your experience widens. One day, you will share your own kit of knowledge with another student just like you. This is what makes nursing a gift.

Nursing is an art: and if it is to be made an art, it requires an exclusive devotion as hard a preparation, as any painter's or sculptor's work; for what is the having to do with dead canvas or dead marble, compared with having to do with the living body, the temple of God's spirit? It is one of the Fine Arts: I had almost said, the finest of Fine Arts. ~Florence Nightingale

A TREEat for my mantle

2010-12-02T17:34:00.000-08:00

I have been inspired by all of you blog ladies out there who have perfected your Christmas mantle. Linky parties are popping up everywhere, and I couldn't help but post some pictures of my own mantle.

I was so excited, that I didn't even wait till daylight when the lighting would be good. I did this at 8pm, right after using my trusted but cheap glue gun for the third night this week.

I can't help it. I love Christmas.

And snowmen.

The older I get, the simpler my Christmas decorating becomes. Oh, I still love the neon green polka dots with a cranberry red stripe, but this just doesn't work in my house. Instead, I use silver and white ribbons, glass balls with jingle bells, creamy quilted stockings and tree skirt edged with bells, and little white lights on my tree. I know to some that may be boring, but I feel peaceful and am reminded of the simplicity with which the first Christmas was defined.

A wooden manger. Dirty straw. White, twinkling stars. This is Christmas to me.

Pardon the quality of the pictures, and I'd like to introduce to you my newest book friend: Mr. TREE!!!!!!!

From Pumpkins to Snowmen

2010-12-01T19:13:00.000-08:00

You may remember my previous post about my love for anything and everything made from books.

I was so disheartened to take down my book pumpkins. I felt like I was losing a friend as I carefully placed them in storage for next year. The place where they sat on the mantle looked barren and cold.

It was time to rip some more books.

I love snowmen. I have snowmen plates, table cloth, salt and pepper shakers, drink dispenser, and now a book snowman for my mantle.

This was definitely a project that will get better each time, because I was making it up as I went. Next up is my snowlady.

In a dress.

How, you ask?

I have no clue.

Till then, here is Mr. Snowman!!

Advent Calendar

2010-12-01T18:39:00.000-08:00

Advent, Advent
The little light burns.
First one, then two
Then three, then four...
The next, the Christ child at the door

If you have ever seen Courage Mountain, you may remember this poem spoken by Heidi, the main character. As a little girl, this movie was one of the top 5 I would request to rent from Blockbuster on family nights. Each time I think of this qoute, I HAVE to say it with an accent. I tried to find a clip from the movie, but it was to no avail. Please, if you know where to find this clip, enlighten me! I miss it so...

As Christmas is drawing closer, I decided our house needed an Advent calendar. I had bought a small ladder from an antique shop a few weeks ago, with absolutely no clue what I was going to do with it.

I'm not sure when the revelation hit, but this ladder is now our family's advent calendar. I got a package of circular tin containers from Michaels, and I glued ribbon to the back to hang from the rungs. I then used stamps for the numbers.

I haven't filled each tin yet, but I am brewing ideas! I'd like to put a tiny momento in each one, which will spur conversations with my child(ren) in the future about Christmas, traditions, and family.

Do you use Advent calendars?

Thankful Me: Thanksgiving Day!!

2010-11-24T20:17:00.000-08:00

Happy Thanksgiving! Although this is the last post of the Thankful Me series, I challenge us all to start and end each day with thankfulness. The days will come that winter sets in and you feel as barren as the tree outside your window. Take an extra long sip of your coffee and choose to be thankful for what has been and the promise of what is to come.

When choosing a word for this last letter, I couldn't help but think of my alma mater, East Carolina University. I had never heard of this place prior to visiting as a potential student. I vaguely knew it was east of Raleigh but not quite as far as the ocean. As I drove with my parents down interstate 264, I despondently said, "Don't you dare leave me here. This is the end of the earth". In my defense, 264 is a long stretch of highway that abruptly seems to end at the outskirts of Greenville; however, 264 does continue but I didn't know this at the time.

After I was settled in my "air-less" dorm, I waved good-bye to my family with tears streaming down my face. I still remember that feeling of utter helplessness combined with a determination to overcome.

I threw myself into survival mode, and almost 11 years later, I am still here.

I am thankful for this eastern part of the state for many reasons. I met half of my bridesmaids here, and we now share stories of love and children together. I discovered my passion for nursing here and broadened my scope with a Master's degree. I was involved with a campus ministry as the leader of the worship team, where I learned that true leadership requires humility.

My most defining moment of thankfulness occurred one normal evening in a building called Mendenhall. This is where I met a guy in a striped sweater who was sharing his experience from the past summer in Africa for a mission trip. As I saw him talk, I remember thinking there was something different about him. I was drawn to him, and I didn't really know why.

This stranger is now my husband, and I am so thankful I walked through those doors that evening.

Our marriage isn't perfect, and I'm sure if our walls could talk, you would need to wear ear plugs. But the base of our marriage is love. Love that protects, trusts, hopes, and perseveres. Love that keeps no record of wrongs.

I'm thankful for him, and I wouldn't have met him if I didn't take that long drive down highway 264, east of Raleigh and not quite at the ocean...

Thou that has given so much to me,
Give one thing more -- a grateful heart;
Not thankful when it pleases me,
As if Thy blessings had spare days;
But such a heart, whose pulse may be
Thy praise.
~George Herbert

Thankful Me: Day 9

2010-11-24T05:27:00.001-08:00

We can't choose our family. I'm sure God chuckles to himself when he places the wild child with the prim and proper parents, or connects a sweet-tea lovin' boy with an addicted diet coke girl.

If I had been given a chance to sit on God's lap and thumb through his scrapbook of families, I would choose mine all over again. After I chose my parents, I would open up the book again and look under the tab "siblings". Under that tab, I would always and forever choose the same person.

My sister, Miriam. Also known as "Mirms", "Aunt Mims" and "Mimzy".

I am thankful for my Mims.

She helped me dig to China in our mammoth backyard sandbox behind the first home we ever knew. We made cakes out of dirt as the summer sun set. We lined up together at the end of the hallway every Christmas morning, waiting for Dad to start the music so we could run into the living room full of gifts.

We fought like Cain and Abel during the awkard middle years, and we lived side by side in the dorms of Cotten Hall, like those days never happened. She expertly divulged my affections to a man who is now my husband through instant messenger, without making me look like a foolish college girl. She was so excited he liked me, too, that she couldn't wait to tell me the next morning.

She has a tender heart, and she would give away her last coat in the dead of winter to a shivering stranger.

She treasures relationships, and she wants to be the best daughter, sister, friend.

And,

She is.

Thank you, Mims, for staying true to you.

I'd pick you all over again.

Thankful Me: Day 8

2010-11-23T03:49:00.000-08:00

I am that girl who stood behind you in the communion line, head bowed low and shoulders shaking. I'm also that girl beside you at the monthly work meeting, clearing my throat and coughing into the nearest napkin.

I'm not emotionally touched or sick with the community cold.

I'm not trying to get put on the church prayer list or excused from work early.

No, I really have no exuses, but those would be less embarrasing than the truth.

The truth is....

I am laughing. It starts as a small tickle in the pit of your stomach; the place where the butterflies live. The tickle turns into a little stream, which in turn starts bubbling as every other slightly funny moment jumps in.

This tickle can be sparked by anything. A random look, a sudden memory of hilarity, an intensely sad moment.

I am thankful for this laughter. I've inherited this inappropriate talent from both of my parents. We tend to use humor as our inner tube during quiet or somber times. It truly is a release of emotions, and at times it is the only emotion that keeps us from falling apart.

Can you imagine a world without laughter? It would be like spaghetti noodles without the sauce, or vanilla cake without rainbow chip icing...

So.

Lighten up. Don't be afraid to spice up the noodles. Don't hesitate to add a little extra frosting.

Any by all means,

always lick the spoon.

Thankful Me: Day 7

2010-11-22T08:00:00.000-08:00

I have a secret. It's about the English language. It may make me look nerdy, but I will divulge it to you anyway.

I love words that can play different parts in a sentence. Today, a certain word may play a noun. Tomorrow, that same word, same spelling, same sound, will play a verb. Next week, you may use it as an adjective.

I am thankful for Understanding. Both the noun and the adjective forms.

If you were given a piece of paper, a pen, and five minutes to write down all of the moments you could remember where you were shown understanding, could you do it? Could you write the moments you embodied understanding?

My paper would be full. I'd like to say full of my moments of being an understanding daughter, wife, mother, sister-in-law, friend, instructor, health care provider, mentor....but I struggle daily. Because of the grace shown to me, I am encouraged to use understanding in both the noun and the adjective forms.

In kindergarten, I stole blocks. I also convinced the other girls in my class to steal as well. We were giving them to our sisters, after all. As it always does, the truth comes to light. My parents disciplined me in love and with a rather thick wooden paddle. I also was given a note to hand to my teacher the next day. It said something like this: "Please read this to Anna. She is asking for forgiveness for stealing these blocks. After she apologizes and asks for forgiveness, please rip up this note and throw it in the trash to symbolize that when we ask forgiveness, Jesus remembers it no more". With understanding of right and wrong, my parents disciplined me. My understanding teacher knew this was a life lesson I would never forget; that piece of paper was thrown in the trash....and I could breathe again.

In college, I had to do one class of PE in order to graduate. I chose the archery class, and we were informed that no absences would be tolerated. The night before a class, my sister called to say one of my dear childhood friends had passed away from cancer. I rode the shuttle to the football stadium that morning, arrows in one hand and tissues in the other. My instructor took one look at me and pulled me aside. As I relayed the story to him, his eyes became understanding, and he sent me home. No questions. No class to make up. He understood.

I'm thankful for that paper in my memory that is full.

Full of one-liners and epic paragraphs that portray understanding, autographed by teachers, parents, sisters....

By wisdom a house is built, and through understanding it is established; through knowledge its rooms are filled with rare and beautiful treasures. Proverbs 24:3-4

Thankful Me: Day6

2010-11-21T07:27:00.001-08:00

I am thankful for faith.

My faith is in a Creator who knows how many hairs fell out of my head today. It is in Someone who took an expanse of nothing and hand-carved continents. My faith is rooted in a soil of promise; a promise that I would never be alone or forsaken.

I have experienced moments of cave-like sorrow. I have inhaled the thin air at the tops of victorious mountains. I have become restless with straight, never-ending two lane roads that seem to go nowhere. All of these experiences had one companion in common.

Faith.

To have faith is a necessity. You will carry it through the delivery of your first child. You will cling to it at the death of a loved one. You will find that it deepens as your journey lengthens.

Without faith, my heart would beat slower. My soul would atrophy. Faith in the One who uses stars as His flashlights breeds hope and certainty. A hope that allows you the desire to get up tomorrow, and certainty that He is there.

Always.

Now faith is being sure of what we hope for and certain of what we do not see..... Hebrews 11:1

Thankful Me: Day 5

2010-11-19T13:29:00.000-08:00

When I was in elementary school, I used different techniques to memorize my spelling words. Wednesday, in my head, was pronounced "WED-NES-DAY". I have never spelled it wrong since that epiphany. Dessert had two s's because who wants just one?

Knowledge. This word definitely fit into the category of needing to be broken down. That silent K is a silent killer as a child. Just like the word knee. Or kneading. Knowledge, however, made sense. "Know" and "Ledge". I KNOW I should NOT jump off that LEDGE.

I am thankful for knowledge. My mother used her knowledge, which she had learned from her mother, to raise me. My first taste of sweet potatoes, mashed just like her mom would do...or my hand-made Easter dress that matched my younger sister...my definition of right and wrong...my most memorable spanking, from stealing blocks in kindergarten...I KNEW I shouldn't have jumped off that LEDGE.

My father used his knowledge, which he learned from the lineage of honorable fathers before him. The piece by Bach for my piano recital reached child-like perfection, simply through the knowledge my dad shared with me. Voice recitals, my first bike ride without training wheels, my free throws, my definition of compassion and sensitivity, the stern admonishment that was worse than a spanking after I lied....all of these spurred by KNOWing he did NOT want me falling off life's LEDGES.

I now walk in their shoes. Although worn and sometimes needing inserts for support, they are comfortable. They are familiar. They may have added fabric or different shoelaces, but the foundation is the same.

My children will inherit this knowledge. They will walk in my footsteps, and they may have velcro straps instead of hot pink shoelaces for their shoes.

The foundation is the same.

The goal is the same.

To KNOW it is ok to explore, to grow, to question things and discover the truth, so that when the difficulties come, you don't fall off the LEDGE.

Thankful Me: Day 4

2010-11-18T15:44:00.001-08:00

Nest:
~a pocketlike, usually more or less circular structure of twigs, grass, mud, etc., formed by a bird, often high in a tree, as a place in which to lay and incubate its eggs and rear its young; any protected place used by a bird for these purposes.
~a snug retreat or refuge; resting place; home.

I built a nest in September, with blueprints I had been given six years ago. Twigs of knowledge weaved together with leaves of grace, both of which can not be bought but only learned through another nest builder. In my nest are 10 young ones. They have peeked over the edge, flown to a nearby branch, but they always return. I've been slowly nudging them to fly farther. Fly longer. Fly higher. These are my nursing students, whose appetites are growing and wings are widening. They will not stay in my nest much longer, for they have outgrown this space.

I've perched in nests of many shapes and sizes. From preschool, I flew to kindergarten. My undergraduate nest was nestled below a canopy of branches filled with bigger nests, and I flew up. My husband's nest had reinforced sides where mine had gaps, and we made a nest together.

Each nest I build contains materials and techniques from other nests.

My parents.

Sister.

First nursing instructor.

Husband.

Son.

Where are your nests, and what nests did you leave behind?

I am thankful for my familiar and protected places.

My nests may be ragged and worn, but they are held together with love, and that is the blueprint I wish to pass on.

Thankful Me: Day 3

2010-11-17T17:35:00.001-08:00

I'm thankful for angels. The selfless ones who aren't highlighted with a halo. They are quiet, and they have no wings to rustle. Their feet travel over the same sidewalks as mine. I brush shoulders with them every day, and I never think twice.

But then, I'm forced to look them in the eye, as they humbly step aside and let me go before them in line at the grocery store. My arms are laden down with diapers and wipes, balancing a screaming child. I thank them, and for a minute I wonder why they aren't clad in white.

They arrived in a minivan when I was in college, stranded on the side of interstate N-85. They rolled up their starched blue shirt and bathed in grease and oil as my tire was changed.

I've met a few in the parking lots of Target, or at the red light on Memorial Drive. "Ma'am, your brake light is out. You might want to get that checked so you don't get a ticket". "Thank you so much!" I reply. They could have just ignored me.

They come in all ages and walks of life. A four-month-old whose eyes stare into your soul and let you know everything is ok, a young man who held the door for you, a longer than usual hug from a parent. These moments may be fleeting, but your life is changed.

I am thankful for the angels in my life...

And in these moments,

Remember.

Listen.

You may just hear

those angel wings.

Keep on loving one another as brothers and sisters. Do not forget to show hospitality to strangers, for by so doing some people have shown hospitality to angels without knowing it. Hebrews 13:1-2

Thankful Me: Day 2

2010-11-16T04:58:00.000-08:00

Tin Man: What have you learned, Dorothy?
Dorothy: Well, I - I think that it - it wasn't enough to just want to see Uncle Henry and Auntie Em - and it's that - if I ever go looking for my heart's desire again, I won't look any further than my own back yard. Because if it isn't there, I never really lost it to begin with! Is that right?

Today's letter is H, the second letter of Thankful Me, in case you didn't realize how I was deciding what letters to do...

When deciding what my "H" would stand for, I immediately thought of home.

Home has taken many forms for me over the years. It was a little yellow house with burgundy/red shutters on Pueblo Lane for the first 14 years of my life. It had a sandbox that quite possibly could reach to China, and bike rides were the highlights of our evenings.

Home then became a brick, ranch-style house on Woodbridge Road, with a beautiful sunroom, a formal dining room and living room for my mom, an extra bedroom/office for my dad, and plenty of space for two teenage girls. This home hosted countless bridal and baby showers, two graduation celebrations, and a nervous bride with her bridesmaids the eve of her wedding day.

The dorm rooms in college became home purely out of survival. When leaving the only refuge you have ever known, you have to embrace your new surroundings and build your family where you are. My roomates became sisters, the twin beds served as sofas and tables, and the piano in the lobby was claimed as our own.

My husband and I spent the first year of married life in a townhome complex. White siding with green shutters was reminiscent of Anne's house at Green Gables. We discovered it is possible to stay married even after painting a cramped bathroom one exhausting weekend;we saw the worst and best of each other between those walls.

Our family of three now makes memories in a house on Winterfield Drive. I spent late nights studying for my Master's degree in our bedroom and bonus room. Friends and neighbors filled the rooms with laughter and some tears. I found out I was pregnant in our bathroom. We've christened nearly all the toilets with the GI bug. We've burned half our yard with a fire pit and had every neighbor in the cul-de-sac join in a bucket brigade. We brought our firstborn home through this front door.

I'm thankful for home.

Wherever that may be.

In a yellow house with burgundy shutters...

Or Room 701 in Greene Hall...

Oh, but anyway, Toto, we're home. Home! And this is my room, and you're all here. And I'm not gonna leave here ever, ever again, because I love you all, and - oh, Auntie Em - there's no place like home! ~ Dorothy

Thankful Me: Day 1

2010-11-16T04:54:00.000-08:00

The first letter of the countdown is T.

In my life, T can stand for countless things and situations. I have chosen to apply this letter to the gift of Time.

I sometimes take for granted the time I have with my loved ones, family, and friends. I squeeze my eyes shut, plug my fingers in my ears, and run like a crazed child through the week just to reach the weekend. That is lost time I will never get back. There are moments tucked between those days when my child rested his head a little longer than usual on my lap. Or my husband got home early from football practice. Maybe the neighborhood children were playing outside, and I was able to chat with another mom and feel normal again.

Time is precious. We can't stop it from passing. We can't get it back.

I'm thankful for my times: the butterfly moments, the rollercoaster rides, the heartaches, the joys, the belly laughs, the midnight sobs, the table full of family, the table missing loved ones.

This Thanksgiving and in the days following, hold fast to your times.

Ten Days

2010-11-15T16:49:00.000-08:00

My craft-loving, mother-running, idea-hatching friend who is also a neighbor, Allison , had a moment of inspiration today. She has chosen to do a "Countdown to Thanksgiving", as we only have 10 days left. I, as a fellow craft-loving, mother-running, idea-hatching neighbor-friend thought this was brilliant.

Thus, the countdown begins. We will both be posting about things that we are thankful for, or situations that caused us to realize the need for thankfulness. Please join in and share your thanks through your own blog...creatively!!

I have decided to title this countdown:

"Thankful Me".

Each day will feature a letter, similar to Sesame Street. Each letter stands for a moment of thankfulness. I did tricks like this back in school as I studied for tests. Remember ROY G. BIV? That is how you remember the sequence of colors in a rainbow: red, orange, yellow, green, blue, indigo, violet. Courtesy of fifth grade science....

Tomorrow's post is brought to you in part by the letter "T".

Please join Thankful Me!

From Shuddering to Shuttering!

2010-11-14T10:04:00.000-08:00

Are you one of those people who shudders when you think of the dreaded but expected Christmas card? If you are a young, married couple, you may get off the hook. However, once you have a child, you better be dressing up in June for that "perfect family portrait" to go on the most elegant and fringed with tackiness card.

Don't get me wrong. I absolutely love RECEIVING Christmas cards with my loved ones and friends' faces smiling back at me. It makes me feel really special. Don't ever stop! However, the daunting task of choosing the best card to send out, especially since our child is now the focus of the card and not us, has become somewhat dreaded and tedious. That was until I discovered Shutterfly!!

Please take a moment to peek at these creations I have done in the past. Although they are not Christmas-related, they are proof that computer-illiterate people can make marvelous gifts. You can easily put the books together, say maybe on a lunch break? I did exactly that. For the Father's Day one for Patrick. I used the "Simple Path" program, which allows you to pull photos from facebook, as well as organizes the pictures for you!!! You can also design your own templates, but I was really pleased with the Simple Path results.

I also did a book for Jonah's first beach trip.

And finally, my first ever book, which was customized for each set of grandparents

I have always drooled over Shutterfly's holiday photo cards, but I haven't had the opportunity to purchase them yet. I am actually narrowing down my list to pick my favorite design. So far, these are my top three choices:

My favorite colors, and of course, a MONOGRAM!!

A little dash of old-fashioned plaid, which appeals to my "old soul"

An interesting twist on the infamous family Christmas letter

If you are not a photo card kind of person, you could compile a calendar, with each month featuring a special photo memory. These are practical and fun at the same time.

For all of those decorating divas, wall art is another option that Shutterfly offers. I have a completely blank wall going up my stairs, and I have a perfect picture of Patrick and I that will one day be on a canvas print.

All 22 of you that follow me, I have to let you in on a secret. I am super excited that I can share about this product, and they have been gracious enough to offer 50 FREE PHOTO CARDS as a thank-you!!!! I no longer have to shudder at the thought of perusing through ideas for Christmas cards. Shutterfly has thousands of styles to choose from. If YOU want to get in on the fun, go to this link and sign up. Let me know you did!!!

Thank you, Shutterfly!!!!!

Solely Simple: Good for the Soul

2010-11-06T18:02:00.000-07:00

Hi. I'm Anna, and I am obsessed with books.

Reading.

Collecting.

Smelling (especially library books).

Sharing.

DECORATING.

I've posted about using books to create beautiful home projects. My last book projects were pumpkins, both big and little. You can read more about it here

I was inspired by another blogger, whom I just recently stumbled upon. She shared today about simple, inexpensive but timeless, and treasured gift-wrapping/decorating ideas.

Of course, no books were harmed in the process. If anything, the books have greater value, because love exists in and around its pages.

Her title was "Simplicity", and I was struck by how much I could identify with her. Since having Jonah and experiencing some pretty challenging things in the past year, I've learned to become simple. I've learned how to take a complicated, harried life and simplify it by weeding out what is not important. It's not important to have the best-dressed kid at daycare. It's not important to have a decorative flag at the mailbox for every season....

It is important to see beauty in the challenges. It is important to make a house a home with things you love, not what others do. It is important to have a faith like a child. A simple faith. A simple love. No complicated equations, no ifs, ands, or buts.

Solely Simple. It's mmm, mmm, good.....for the Soul:)

Feeling Blue

2010-10-27T18:25:00.001-07:00

My decorating style has changed over the years. I remember in college, I had a light blue twin comforter with red cherries on it. I felt like I was really living on the edge then. My quiltish self had really broken the mold...

My senior year of college I was able to move into a duplex with 2 other girls. We had a smorgasbord of styles ranging from shabby chic to modern with a little dash of old school flavor. Remember console TVs? We had one of those. Yes, it can be considered a piece of furniture, and yes, we had picture frames on top of it. Remote or cable? What is that? You had to get up to change the channel. I have fond memories of 2am Bare Minerals Make-Up infommercials. I still wear it.

As a newlywed, I trended towards the burgundy and cream fabrics with foundations of dark woods. A "rich" looking style (not as in finances rich, but flavorful rich). After a year, we moved into the house we are in now. It was airy, had a loft, and different flavors of sherbety colors in each room. Needless to say, my decorating sense has changed again.

I still love creams and natural palettes, but it must have hints of color. Sometimes, hints of color aren't enough, and a big paint splotch is needed to jolt the mundane look. Textures are important to me, as well as meanings behind each piece of furniture, wall hanging, and even pillow.

The Nester, whom I follow religiously now, has inpsired me to try new things in my home. I dreamed I got to go to her yard sale, and in my dream it was in a warehouse. A WAREHOUSE. what in the world. I left with a miniature high chair for a doll and crib. Not quite sure where all that originated, but Nester, if you are reading this, just know that I'm really not as obsessed as I sound. I just really wish I could have gone to your yard sale (the real one, not the one in my dream).

The main splash of color in my living room now is blue. It is found in an over-stuffed slip-covered chair that we bought before we moved into this house. I have a beautiful, rich-colored brown piano that was my grandparents. I had a fleeting thought of painting that, but I quickly realized that in my deepest of hearts, I loved that rich color with all of its little nicks and scratches. It tells a story. The mirror hanging over the piano became the victim. I bought this mirror to go in our townhome, shortly after we were married. I took paint that we used for Jonah's nursery and slapped three coats on it.

Due to lack of sandpaper, I am not completely done roughing up the edges. I really hadn't fully decided on the whole "distressed" look, but as I was trying to hang it, I nicked the side of it. Out of sheer laziness, I decided the mirror was trying to tell me it really wanted to be distressed, not smooth. Ok, fine. I sanded it the best I could, but I can't find more sandpaper. I'm not completely done, but it hangs over the piano anyway. After all, IDHTBPTBB. If you don't know what those letters mean, you didn't visit my link to The Nester

still on table, waiting to dry

sorry the pictures are so bad

again, the lighting is bad but you get the idea...

And, in case you still couldn't find it, those letters stand for this: It doesn't have to be perfect to be beautiful....

Isn't that true? It applies to so much more than just decorating.....

Spare Room

2010-10-24T18:35:00.000-07:00

"You should just imagine how exciting it was going to be for me to sleep in a spare bedroom, reserved for important company such as yourself. As it was, I had to sleep with Minnie May, and you don't know how she kicks. Mine was the sleep of the bitterly disappointed, Miss Barry. I was forced to lie awake all night with the knowledge that I had cost Diana her career as a world famous concert pianist".
Anne Shirley, talking to Diana's Aunt Josephine in the book Anne of Green Gables

Anne Shirley was taken with spare rooms. She believed it was a special honor to sleep in one, and she and Diana were having a sleep-over in the spare bedroom of Diana's home. Unbeknownst to them, Aunt Josephine was already sleeping in there. The two girls excitedly ran into the room and pounced on the bed, only to awaken Aunt Josephine. This qoute is Anne's apology to Aunt Jo, and she actually won the lady's heart over. Aunt Jo invited both Anne and Diana to her house to visit, and they stayed in the "sparest of spare rooms".

I was feeling a little "Anne-ish" tonight, which should explain my post a bit better. See, everyone needs to feel special. Everyone needs their own spare room, nook, or cranny to call their own. As a mom, my ideal spare room would be at the end of a cobblestone trail. It wouldn't be a room; it would be a cottage with sloped roofs and an arched doorway. Those gray-weathered shingles would cover it, and a porch with rocking chairs would accesorize the exterior. Inside, the cottage would be open, with each room flowing to the next. All I would need are a few over-stuffed chairs with comfy ottomans, a desk, table, lamp, and bathroom with a large claw-footed tub. Instead, I have this:

It is a nook in our bonus room. The bonus room is definitely a man cave. My husband picked the furniture for it, and I let him do whatever he wanted in there. This is where the playstation resides, the Guitar Hero accessories, bookcases, and a fridge from college:) I decided to take the nook and transform it into a woman's cave. I got this idea from another blog, and I can't for the life of me find it. SO, to the other blog, thank you. I will post your link when I remember!

This nook holds my crafting supplies. I never really was much into being crafty until Jonah was born. While on maternity leave, I changed my name to Martha, followed glue-gun blogs, and discovered a passion. My passion was creating, designing, and beautifying my home with meaningful things. Each item in my home has a story, and I want to add chapters to the book. Hence, the craft nook, aka "My Spare Room" was born.

The pictures were hard to take, as the lighting was not the best. You will still get the idea.

I took netting from a canopy Patrick bought me before we were married, since I loved that canopy-look over a bed, and draped it around the entrance. This, my fellow bloggers, is how I cope with being the only woman in the house. I make a princess-ish entrance to my domain.

I disassembled a hoosier we had, as the top part didn't fit in the nook. Yes, I know some of the drawers are missing...

I found knobs at Michael's for 1$!!! They said different things like pull, push, discover. I thought this was fitting for the big cabinet door.

I dumped all of my ribbons into a basket. Eventually, I will organize this better, but I kinda like the look.

Other accessories found a home in a plastic (hate these things) storage container. Maybe shelves are in the future???

I am missing a very important item: a chair. I am on the lookout for a small chair or perhaps an ottoman that I can slipcover in delicious fabric. Perhaps a stripe or toile.

My dining room table is sighing in relief now. It will no longer be burned by the glue gun or weighted down with wreaths.

Do you have a spare room/nook? Post a link if you do!!!! I'd also like to make a disclaimer: this is not finished yet! I want to personalize it with perhaps photos, wall words, etc. I look forward to seeing your spare rooms!

Booking it through the Seasons

2010-10-06T17:52:00.000-07:00

As some of you may have already noticed with my previous blogs, I enjoy making things out of books. I can't say that these were my original ideas, although I do try to put my own personal touches on them. I'd like to give a blog momma shout out to the Queen of Book Wreaths, Lindsay at "Living with Lindsay". She inspired me to start tearing apart books. I do it with reverence, believe me, and I choose my books very carefully. With my tongue halfway hanging out of my mouth and a furrowed brow, I mentally list out the reasons why I SHOULD rip the book apart. Was it loved? Do I miraculously have another copy of it? Does it have meaning? Do I know it by heart? Probably the answer to all of these is yes.

So, rip away I went. Figuratively, not literally.

Here is my first ever book wreath.

My second book wreath was for my mom's birthday. She loves hymns, and she loves Jesus, so....

Some time went by, and the books collectively sighed for relief. However, I stumbled upon another beautiful blog entitled "Craftberry Bush". I saw pumpkins made of books, and I daydreamed about the moment when I could turn a beloved book into a fall momento. Last Sunday, those dreams became reality in under an hour.

I have grand plans for a certain few books that don't know it yet. They will be the chosen ones for Christmas. Christmas, being my favorite holiday, deserves the best of the best crafting genius. Stay tuned for my next "series" of BOOKS!!!!

The Good Samaritan

2010-10-05T17:40:00.000-07:00

I was blogging along my little road of stories, when I decided to change my background, header, and possibly my sanity. Well, I posted a cry for help, and I would like to offer "The Good Samaritan Award". This award is given to fellow bloggers (girls only allowed) who help another momma out.
Christena, whom I have never met before, was the first to comment and email me about inserting a picture.
Check out her blog! She has a little boy who is absolutely beautiful and handsome. You can tell by her most recent post that she loves that boy more than cookie monster loves cookies. Not sure why I came up with that analogy, but I just ate a chocolate chip cookie. That probably had something to do with it.

Thank you, Good Samaritan fellow Mommy! I appreciate your help even though you didn't have to.

Who deserves this award in your life????

Shameless

2010-10-04T07:17:00.000-07:00

I am shamelessly, humbly asking for help. How do I get a picture of mine into that square little frame in my header? If you know how to do it, I would be forever grateful to you, my blog friend. I would send you multiple blog hugs as well as plaster your links all over my facebook.

Pretty Please????
Email me at samsa@ecu.edu if you feel like helping someone who is desperate to fix this darn header...

Thanks:)

oh my

2010-10-03T11:07:00.003-07:00

just wanted to say, i have been working on this blog for 2 hours, and i have thoroughly messed it up. help! i can't get the title center:(

Swag this Way

2010-10-01T10:23:00.000-07:00

Swagger your way over to Allison's blog where my interview is posted!

Any ideas for something/someone we can feature each week? The first one to comment with an idea gets the first guest post!!!!

I Feel Real

2010-09-30T08:56:00.000-07:00

Ok Blog Readers, all 17 of you...
I will be featured tomorrow on my friend's blog, Allison Dameron. She actually lives right down the road from me, and we like to share crafting ideas and sweat. Yep, you heard me. Sweat. We are morning mommies, meaning we run in the pitch black ungodly hour of 6am, because we are training for a 5k in December. We also like running. That much.

So, Allison has started a new "Mommies with Swagger" post for her blog. She features a different mommy each week. I feel like a REAL BLOGGER now!! I am actually a "guest" on her blog! I am so EXCITED I COULD MAKE 40 MILLION WREATHS...that's how excited I AM! If you think I am a nerd, just wait until you get sucked into this blog world, too. I have always been secretly envious of those blessed guest posters on coveted blogs like Nesting Place, Living with Lindsay, etc.
Guess what? Allison is now a coveted blog!

Here is a little video to show you how we roll....

F is for Fall and Football

2010-09-29T18:27:00.000-07:00

For those of you who don't know, I am trying to live on a budget. This shouldn't be something new, because it is important to be good stewards of what you are given, but it didn't really hit home until last year. Specifically, September 21, 2009, when another life was entrusted in my care. Yeah. I'd really like to be able to go on a trip with him to Disney World without having to sell a vital organ.
I inherited my mom's love of seasons and decorating. I remember my childhood home mirroring each phase of the calendar year. Christmas is my absolute favorite, but fall is becoming a close second.
Fall means slightly cooler temperatures, pumpkin perks, and friday night football. There is nothing better than sitting on a shaky bleacher, holding your child as he watches his dad call out plays. The lights are bright on the field, and time seems to stand still.
I tried to decorate this year without buying anything. I have several fall items in my possession already: a few pillows, a tin sign that says "blessing", iron-looking shapes of pumpkins that hold candles, the list goes on. As all of you know, I have a slightly borderline obsession with wreaths. What better than a fall wreath?

I searched the web for awhile, then I decided to be original. What does fall bring to my mind? One word. (or is it two sorta?) FOOTBALL

I am a Pirate fan, so anything football must have hints of purple and gold. Hence, the football wreath was born.

I wish I had more pictures of my fall decorating, but I am in the midst of some sorta insane projects. once again, still sticking with a budget and dollar store finds. I will update soon!

Penciled Names

2010-09-25T17:45:00.000-07:00

My students survived their first day of clinical...

And so did I.

I showed up right at 8am, armed with a dozen HOT glazed doughnuts and a dozen football-shaped creme-filled ones. The students were already sitting around several tables pushed together in the cafeteria, notebooks in front of them and pens in hand. I'm pretty sure I could have given a better first impression, but what they saw was a true portrayal of myself: slightly sweaty on the bridge of my nose, hair quickly turning more towards frizz city than polished bob from the outdoor walk, and arms laden down with insulin's rival: pure sugar.

One of the students said, "So, I guess you are the instructor?", in what I like to think was a slightly hopeful tone. I replied, "Yes! And I'm guessing you are my clinical group?". For some reason, this made everyone laugh. Yep, we're all a little nervous and on edge this morning!

I sat down and made sure we addressed the most important priority: the doughnut distribution. They went smack dab in the middle of the table and helped to calm everyone down a tad. I had the students start by introducing themselves, sharing what personal background they wished, and telling us why they chose nursing. Not a one said their reason was to make alot of money, so at least we have that misconception straight. Almost every one of them had experienced what I call a "life moment" that veered them towards this career. One had a sick child. Another was a hairdresser that loved making others beautiful but wanted to help fix other ailments besides a bad perm. Of course, I had the ones that had immediate family members in the healthcare field, and they wanted to follow in their footsteps. Finally, a few already had degrees but wanted to incorporate that knowledge into hands on patient care. I was encouraged.

I asked them what they were nervous about or not looking forward to. Some said trachs, others vomiting, still others what goes on below the belly button. I alluded to the fact that I wasn't too keen on these things either, but we would get through it together. See, these are just periphereal things. They don't define a patient. They don't make them any less human. Once you look past to actually view the patient, you find someone like you. A mother. Father. Great-Grandmother. World War II veteran. Teacher. School bus driver. Nurse.

We toured the hospital to get grounded, then I let them fly on their own to traverse the hospital again for a scavenger hunt. I used this time to orient myself to the unit. This unit is designed like a wagon wheel. The center of the wheel is the nurses station. The spokes are the hallways. I probably walked around it 15 times, occasionally doing a 180 and going the other direction just trying to find the conference room.

I then assigned the same patient to each student; they looked up multiple pieces of information for their assessment sheets. We discussed this patient and stumbled through the necessary paperwork. Then came the nursing diagnoses. And the care plans. And the realization that I didn't have the reference book. I ended up going to a totally different floor to find an old nursing diagnosis handbook. Flipping through it, I stumbled on a page marker. It was a laminated reference sheet for common problems and possible nursing diagnoses/interventions. At the bottom was a yellow sticker with two words:

Gina Woody.

If you read my previous post, you will remember that name. I flipped to the inside cover and saw a penciled name again "Woody".

I was instantly a first year student again. I remembered feeling unsure of myself and overwhelmed. I also remember feeling excited and anxious to have the pieces come together so the patient's story made sense.

As I walked the book marked by my favorite instructor back to the unit, I realized two things.

1. I was passing on the art of my profession, which had been handed to me by an instructor years ago. I was part of a legacy.

2. I am and always will be a student; I'd like to think one of these students will someday find a book, with my last name penciled in the front, and carry it back to their unit of a nervous first year clinical group.

White Watches and Starched Skirts

2010-09-24T18:41:00.000-07:00

I've never liked watches. Something about having a piece of metal or leather constricting my wrist made me feel claustrophobic. I'd wear a set of pearl earrings and feel complete. When I started nursing school, I still didn't want to wear a watch. I knew I would need that second hand to help with counting respirations and pulses, but I tried everything I could think of to avoid that constricting circle. I really don't remember what my solution was, but I do remember a specific white, leather band watch with a large face. Several nursing emblems peppered the face, adding subtle color and proclaiming "I am a Nurse, and darn it I'm proud of it".

This watch belonged to one of my nursing instructors, Mrs. Gina Woody. I had already been through several semesters of nursing school, and I was placed in her clinical my senior year. This clinical was right before the last semester, and our clinical days were spent on an intermediate unit with challenging patients. Mrs. Woody would wear a starched white uniform dress, white hose, white shoes, a barney-purple jacket, and a thick white watch. Her hair was always styled perfectly, and she was the kind of woman I hoped to be like when I was older.

There was something about that watch. Just like its hands steadily tick and move forward, so she would lead us through our day. She paid attention to the details, and she instilled in me a desire to bring order and excellence to my future nursing career. Her starched uniform showed she was proud to be a nurse, and this pride was infectious. Because of her, I chose to begin my nursing career on that same floor.

Tomorrow, I will meet 10 first-level nursing students from our local community college. I will be their clinical instructor for the next few months, and I will be their first impression of this foreign world. Will I fade into the back of their memory 5 years from now, or will they remember me as their cheerleader?

I truly am excited, because I will help them lay their foundations that will carry them through the rest of their program, career, and hopefully life.

We are both new at this. I've never been a clinical instructor before. They've never been through a full day of clinical.

I will show up with donuts, to help ease their nerves a bit, prove I'm human, and hopefully wake them up.

Oh, and a cute watch.

I Never Knew....

2010-09-21T20:27:00.000-07:00

I never knew I'd recognize your handsome, scrunchy face
Like someone I had seen before in different times and place
I never dreamed I'd lay awake and watch you drift asleep
But each sweet sigh that leads to rest makes memories to keep

I never knew I'd see my nose on anyone but me
Or share my sweaty feet and palms that could fill up the sea
I never dreamed I'd have the strength to wave at you good-bye
Yet now to see you laugh and learn makes me want to try

I never knew it'd be so hard to watch you as you grow
Those diaper bags are not quite full with less for me to tow
I never dreamed I'd miss the day when bottles were my lot
But now you'd rather try new things like fries and tater-tots

I never knew you'd drift asleep alone inside your bed
You learned to put to rest your thoughts that swam around your head
I never dreamed there'd be a day you didn't need me there
But I always know your little life is in the Master's care

I never knew someone so small could make a mark so big
Without your words but in your love, you've taught me how to live
I never dreamed how big or wide a parent's love can be
But you, my gift, have shown me of the Father's love for me

I love you, Jonah Riley, and I look for more birthdays
Where we can sit and reminisce of funny, childlike ways
I wish for you that as you grow you stay my little boy
For I never dreamed and never knew that I could know such Joy.

Anna Sams
September 21, 2010
First Birthday

ONEderful World of Disney

2010-09-19T18:28:00.000-07:00

If you had asked me a year ago what the theme of Jonah's birthday would be, I would answer with this long list:
1. A fall party, because it is September
2. Pumpkins would decorate the steps leading from the deck to the yard.
3. A cotton candy machine and popcorn maker are somewhere in the mix
4. Tin tubs filled with iced drinks in the corner
5. Mini pumpkins with each child's name in gold written across it, and a plaid bow around the stem would be the party favors.
6. A pony.

Wait. Rewind. A pony?

Yeah, I can't believe that list myself. It sounds like Martha Stewart met the circus and signed a contract. If you are interested, there are a few places around that rent ponies by the hour. They will even bring them to your house. I would know; I checked.

I came to my senses around January of this year. Jonah was becoming his own person, and I could sense his likes and dislikes. I also realized it was either throw the "Martha Stewart Circus Party" or send your child to college. I chose the latter.

I grew up with special-themed parties, which is another post altogether. Because we are such slack parents, our little Jonah has a repertoire of children's shows he enjoys. In fact, we've been known to watch "his" shows even when he is not around, not even realizing it is intended for a toddler audience. He has a fondness for "Handy Manny", but his whole face beams when Mickey's character from the Mickey Mouse Clubouse fills up the whole screen. It goes a little like this:

Hello Boys and Girls!! Wanna Play? (Jonah nods and breaks into a huge grin)
Well ALLLLLRIGHTT!!! (Smile is showing teeth now)
Oh! I almost forgot the magic words! (brief troubled expression by Jonah)
Can you say them with me?? (troubled expression turns to relief...with another smile)
Meeska, Mooska, Mickeyyyyy Mouseee! (arms in the air, fists balled, bouncing on knees)

Cue music while the Mickey Mouse Clubhouse appears...

Cue theme song while characters march in....

Cue birthday theme!!!!! How could I not do a Mickey Mouse Clubhouse theme?? I really believe he thinks Mickey is really talking to him every morning. He loves music, and this show has music and sound effects galore.

We made our own invitations, with a little poem on the inside, inviting the mouseketeers to the "Sams' Clubhouse".

I made Mickey Mouse hats for all the children and lined them up on the mantle. I can't take all the credit, because the Disney website had patterns for everything imaginable. Each child was given a Mickey Mouse/Donald Duck souvenir cup stuffed with a Mickey and Friends puzzle. I added tags to each to help identify which cup was for which Mouseketeer. A lady from my work made a delicious sheet cake and Mickey-shaped "smash cake". We had pretzels and goldfish available for munching, and my dependable Southern Living drink tub was brimming with miniature boxes of apple juice and water. Hotdogs and hamburgers were grilled for the family later, with another round of cake for almost all involved!

The decorations were simple, and I had my sister on hand to monitor my decorating frenzy. Never underestimate the power of paper streamers from the dollar store and free Mickey stickers in the mail. The two together can combine to make a slightly tacky yet cute impression. I used my resources and covered over an old roofing sign from a few months ago. In case anyone got lost, the big letters of "Sams' Clubhouse" on white posterboard would lead the way to the front door. Of course, I had to do a wreath, which was courtesy of the dollar store. I loved it! Finally, we all had matching t-shirts. Dorky, I know, but a must.

Jonah was excited and energetic despite lacking his precious full naptimes. I believe he inherited some of my flair for the dramatic, and he thoroughly enjoyed being the center of attention. He ate his cake with gusto, and he played with his guests like a gentleman. He would occasionally look down at his shirt that had Mickey Mouse posing and the name "Jonah Riley" underneath. He would ooh and ahh at Mickey, almost as if he couldn't believe he was really there. Any gift that had a mouse silhouette received special attention. He would point his hands and reach for anything Mickey-like, all the while oohing and aahing.

Despite feeling exhausted only an hour into the festivities, I know we have created a special memory. You only turn one once, and no amount of dollar store tacky decorations will ever take away from the love that was evident in our home that day.

I'm sorta ashamed to say that I'm already thinking about the next birthday party.

Cheesy Chariots

2010-09-11T08:05:00.000-07:00

Remember the opening scene of the movie "Chariots of Fire"? The runners legs blurring together, donned in white and kicking up foam? The music growing intensity yet maintaining the heartbeat of perseverance?

I had it on my Ipod, for my first 5k (ever), at the Ayden Collard Festival.
Since we are being honest, I am going to unveil my innermost secrets. I am that kind of girl who thought running was ridiculously insane, unnatural, and unattainable. Yet, I always admired runners. There is something about using your body, in all its glorious imperfections, to blaze a trail through challenges. I started by walking/running. I'd run (read: plod/jog) for about a minute, then walk 2. Needless to say, I could never imagine running WITHOUT STOPPING...I mean, who does that???

As much as I hate to admit it, I seriously was inspired by my playlist and good ole Chariots of Fire. I purposefully arranged my songs so that I would have transition moments, and Journey's "Don't Stop Believing" preceeded the epic "Chariots of Fire" music. I couldn't have planned it better, for just as the dum-dum-dum dum-dum-dum dum-dum-dum DUM-DUM-DUM-DUM-DUMMM-DUMMMMMMM started, I see Patrick and Jonah on the horizon. Silly me, I thought I only had 0.5 miles left. Yeah, more like a little over 1 left.

Note to self, get Nike+ system working again to help with distance/pace/etc.

I finished my first 5k, and although I was slow, I was steady. I didn't walk, and I plodded forward like a stubborn third grader. I focused on breathing, and I realized at the end that I had short-changed myself. I had way more to give, but that's what happens when you are cautious, new, and unsure.

For the sake of you veteran runners, I will make a list of what I learned that you can laugh about secretly (since you already knew all this).
1. There truly is a "runner's euphoria"
2. Races are addicting
3. The people on the course are just as encouraging as the ones on the sidelines
4. Sometimes, it is the mental, not the physical that holds you back
5. I need to know my pace/mileage during the race (hence the Nike+ making an appearance again)
6. To succeed, forget the other peoples' times/speeds/accomplishments. You can only perfect/improve yourself.
7. Running makes other things move alot quicker....two words: porta potty
8. You get what you put into it (need to be more disciplined, add in cross-training, and eat right!)

No stellar times, but I completed the goal I set out to do. I also got to sweat with two other Ironmommies who are awesome women. We ran with each other to the finish line, so that no one crossed the line by themselves.

I'm hooked, and the playlist will probably get cheesier as the pace quickens and mileage lengthens. In the meantime, it's off to the chariot races!!!

Christmas in July...errr August I mean

2010-08-19T19:09:00.000-07:00

First of all, where did the saying "Christmas in July" come from? I am notorious for using catchphrases such as that, but I guess it would be good to know the origin.

Moving On....

You may have noticed one of my buttons on the side of my page....

Go ahead and click, then come back if you aren't sucked in.

Done?

Ok. Now I will share another link, but I must warn you first. You will start daydreaming about crispy mornings and actually being able to see your breath in the air. You will remember that one special ornament or favorite wreath from the holidays...then you will wonder where it is and promise yourself to find it this weekend.

Go here to start brewing some ideas, and let me know if you want to do our own parade of homes when the holidays roll in!!! Some of you may not care to decorate for every season, but I do it because it is a way to cherish and commemorate each precious moment. Happy Browsing!

My Beach Tale, minus the Whale

2010-08-03T17:30:00.000-07:00

This posting is courtesy of Jonah, age 10 months.

Well, mom says I get to do a guest post on her blog. I went on my first beach trip a few weeks ago. We left on Saturday, July 17 and returned July 22. We stayed in a house a block from the ocean! Mom was really excited to take a break from work. Daddy didn't go with us because he had lots of yards to mow, summer school to finish teaching, and football. I missed him alot.

I wore my blue whale swim trunks and yellow surf shirt the first time on the beach. It was really bright. I had to squint my eyes alot, because mommy didn't bring my sunglasses that first day. Sha-Sha did get me a white floppy hat, which helped. They sat me down right in that sand. I was so tired. Do they not understand I have a schedule to keep? Mommy took me outside RIGHT AT NAPTIME. What in the world? I was so tired, and she tried to get me to sleep under the umbrella. I tried. I really did. But, there is this thing called sand that was way more interesting. I grabbed a handful and put it in my mouth. I really don't understand why they didn't let me keep doing that? It sure did taste good, and it felt good on my gums.

I got in the ocean the first day, too, with mommy. The ocean was really scary to me that first time. The waves were really big and something called a "current" was really bad that day. Mommy almost got knocked over while holding me. I really don't know why she was so determined to get me in that dangerous water.

The next day we walked down to the pier to set up camp. We sat under the pier for a long time. I sat with my Auntie Flora, Auntie Bobbie, Pops and Sha-Sha. I watched Mommy but she didn't realize it. She was busy reading by the ocean. I stared at her for a long time until she realized she better trudge back up from that rough ocean and walk me back to the house. Pops held me all the way back to the house, and I fell asleep. It was kinda a long way back. Mommy said it always works like that when you are tired and ready to get in the a/c.

I got to pose for some pictures. Every time I see that black box that flashes, I smile really big. For some reason, they really like it when I do that. I just figure, if it makes them happy, fine! I will smile really big and clap my hands every once in awhile. They don't realize I am laughing at them, not with them.

I slept every night with my Sha-Sha and Pops. A few nights I woke up in the middle of the night. I was kinda confused about where I was. Mommy, Sha-Sha and Pops helped me to get back to bed. I also spent alot of time with Pops watching Fox News. That show kept saying something about a "tea party"??? I don't get it, because I never saw any tea....

I went out to eat with everyone towards the end of the week. I got to sit at the foot of the table and eat banana bread. Who do they think they are kidding? I know they were eating shrimp and weren't about to share...

I really liked the sand and ocean. I think it is more fun in the late afternoon when the sun is not so bright. It kinda hurt my eyes, and I don't like to wear my sunglasses for more than a few seconds. Sunglasses are just not as cool as the floppy hat. I liked to dig in the sand with my tools that Sha-Sha found. She said my mommy used some of them when she was little. I also liked my little chair. I sat in it under the pier for a long time. I actually fell out of it, straight into the sand. I was trying to reach my bucket, and mommy wasn't paying attention. It just scared me, and I wasn't really hurt. I think mommy learned her lesson about not playing with that black box with the flash if I am sitting by myself with something just out of reach. I will get it regardless.

I missed daddy the whole time. He was afraid I would forget him, but I never could do that! We are so much alike. When I got home, I just stared and stared at him. I couldn't believe he was really there!

I can't wait to go back again. When I am older, I want to build a big sandcastle with mommy and daddy. I also may want to bury myself in the sand so that only my head sticks out. Mommy used to do that. I may even go deeper in the water, but Mommy said I'd have to let Daddy take me not her. She is scared of something called sharks? I told her not to worry, because Jonah in the Bible was swallowed by a big fish, and then the big fish spit him out!

Since I am new to this blog, I wasn't sure how to do all the pictures. I will leave you with some of my favorites.

Life's a Beach

2010-07-23T06:00:00.000-07:00

"At the beach, life is different. Time doesn't move hour to hour but mood to moment. We live by the currents, plan by the tides and follow the sun."
-Unknown

I've always loved the beach since I was a little girl. My favorite childhood memories are not of Disney World trips or roller coaster rides. My precious memories were grounded with wood and metal stakes, filled with cots and air mattresses, and edged with canvas.

Mims and Me in the early morning

We camped as a family at the beach for vacations with our friends, The Whitlocks. Some may find this idea tiring and about as fun as pulling weeds, but to us it was magical. We would leave early in the morning, sometimes before the sun. My sister and I would occasionally sleep on a pallet in the back of the van until we reached McDonalds in Monroe. After that, there was no hope of sleeping, for the Wentz and Whitlock girls had met up by then, sausage biscuits had been eaten, and the sun was in full view. Our days were numbered at the beach, with 4 days being equivalent to heaven. This, my fellow readers, is the reason for leaving before the sun appeared.

Wentz and Whitlock Family at Calabash

Once we arrived, the campground at Apache and later Lakewood, was beginning to stir. A slight breeze would stir through the trees, tents would be set up, rafts blown up, and beach bags found. Our bathing suits were already on, and to the beach we would trudge. In order to have a shady spot, sometimes this meant being in the back of the campground. This made the anticipation even greater; we girls would walk briskly, carrying our coconut oil in our cute bags, watching the ocean grow in size as we got closer. Once there, no one was crazy enough to walk back. We were there to stay. Ham sandwhiches were in the coolers, cokes were iced, and we had our walkmans with us.

Setting Up, By Ourselves: Triumph

As we got older, Meghan (the oldest Whitlock girl) and I decided this walking was not cool. We envied the other pre-teens and teenagers who maneuvered their golf carts past the poor walkers. At night, the golf carts would ride around, up and down the main road by the ocean. Meghan and I decided one year that we would save our money for the next beach trip. We saved all year, and we rented a golf cart for 3 of the 4 days, I believe. We would drive our sisters, moms, and sometimes dads if they were up for it to the beach. We drove (aka cruised) up and down the main street by the ocean in the evening, and we talked of dreams, hopes, and girly things.

We slept soundly in the tents and were lulled to sleep by the homey sounds of the campground. When thunder rumbled in the distance, we would pray really hard that it wouldn't rain. Yet, it always seemed to rain. We would huddle in the middle of the tent trying to convince ourselves that the rain was NOT dripping from the top and it was DEFINITELY NOT seeping in from the corners.

Waiting out the rain in the Whitlock pop-up

One such year, we packed up camp early. I think a severe thunderstorm and possible tornadoes were part of the reason. All the girls were older, the moms and dads wiser. We decided that even though camping made memories, we would like to be around to remember them. That was the last year we camped. The next year we joined every other family in the week-long beach house experience.

Yes, I enjoyed walking straight off the deck to the beachfront, or even crossing a street from the 2nd row houses. I enjoyed being able to run back and forth between the house and the glaring sun. I slept soundly at night without fear of torrential downpours, and I didn't have to blow dry my hair in a bathhouse. Despite all this, I have a special place in my heart for the camping days.

Gathering Round the fire..

Jonah's first beach experience was in an air-conditioned house, 1 block from the ocean. There was no fear of rain, weird spiders crawling through opened tent zippers, or dead golf cart batteries. When he gets older and out of diapers, I'd like to think we could carry on the tradition of camping at the beach. It may be only one night, and it may not be exactly like we did it. I'd probably have to upgrade to a pop-op or camper, have my own toilet, and definitely have a golfcart. Yet, he would still experience certain things you never could in a house.

Stay tuned for Jonah's version of his beach experience....

Morning Realizations

2010-07-07T14:54:00.000-07:00

I never thought I would be a "morning person". You know the ones, right? They wake up at an inappropriate hour so they can "exercise and start their day right....", and you just think in your head "Oh please, rub it in you perfect little morning person". In fact, I was a creature of the night. You could find me deep in a book with by bedside lamp barely hanging on. Usually, I'd fall asleep between the pages of one of the many "Anne of Green Gables" books. It felt magical at night.

The magic is gone, my friends.

Night is now officially sleep time. After having Jonah, I thought I was rebellious if I stayed up past 9pm. 9pm!!!! That was SO LATE. I've now graduated to 10-11pm as offical sleep time. My official "wake time" used to be 6:45, but that has all changed.

I am "one of them" now. I am a morning person. Yes, I am still somewhat sluggish peeling my eyelids open, but the thought of going outside at dawn to run is so appealing. I love the newness of the day. No mistakes in it (yet), no harsh words, no bad attitudes, no bills waiting...I feel like I'm discovering something new for the first time, and no one else knows about it but me. I'm the first to happen upon the sunrise (at least in my fairytale imagination), and the woodland creatures frolic with me.

I have not lost my mind. I really do see woodland creatures. I have to dodge several squirrels, at least twice on the route. I passed three rabbits in a row, and I was able to get within inches of them. They were sitting by a mailbox, just watching. I occasionally hear a dog bark, but the rabbits get me every time. I look at them and think, "if I started singing, would you follow me???"

Which leads me to this video from "Enchanted". I loved that movie. I secretly wish I was Amy Adams. Each time I pass my own little woodland creatures, I think of this scene....

The true reason I get up early is 9 months old. I get up while my family is still sleeping, so I can have more quality time during their wake time:)

From HenceFOURTH

2010-07-05T08:22:00.000-07:00

From HenceFOURTH, the Sams will have a tradition on the 4th of July. This tradition includes a grill, corn on the cob, ice cold beverages, some sort of yummy dessert, and friends! This year, the Damerons were brave enough to share this holiday with us, our almost 10 month old, and their two sweet girls. I think Jonah is in heaven; he is always surrounded by little ladies, and I think he is learning how to put on the charm!
We ended the evening with sparklers. I say "we" loosely, because Bella and TD were the only ones that got in on the action. I am somewhat freaked out by sparklers. I always have been, but I've got to overcome this by the time Jonah is old enough for them! I may have to be on that show "Intervention" on Bravo TV. Feel free to nominate...
After our sparklers were gone, we decided to crash the neighbor's house, which still had sparklers. Lori and her triplet boys were doing their thing, so we decided to join them, too:) Luckily, somebody in our neighborhood chose to set off their own fireworks, so we did get to see a few.

Holidays are a lot different with a kid, but it is a good different. I am perfectly content to stay at home with good food and good friends, minus sparklers for me.

Happy Fourth of July!

Double Digits

2010-06-21T18:37:00.000-07:00

Well...for some reason I had a momentary brain lapse and thought he was 10 months. He is really 9 months old. I will just keep this post up here for when he is 10 months!

Do you remember when you turned 10?
I do.
I could not wait to hit the double digits. 9 was just so plain and "young". When 10 hit, I had arrived. In my mind, I finally fit in with the majority of the world, barring the triple digit Guiness Book of World Record holders...
It is amazing that the same number that caused so much excitement in me now is bittersweet.
My baby is in the double digits.
My baby is 10 months old today. Never to be classified as a single digit again!!
In honor of this double digit day, I will recount a few things that make me smile as Jonah's Mom.

1. You clap like a happy little fool all the time. Always keep that encouraging spirit.
2. You are crawling like a champ. We were a little worried about you, as you were the slowest in our Life Group:) You took your first crawling advances in your own time; always stay true to yourself.
3. Now that you are crawling, you have realized you can move vertically, too. You are pulling up on anything that is in reach. Keep climbing and reaching up...
4. You like to babble to yourself in the crib in the mornings. Your voice rises and falls as you talk to "Mr. Knotts"...Always speak up when you have something to say.
5. Your smile is instantaneous, and you are easily amused...Always remember to rejoice in every circumstance.

I pray over you every night a blessing from Numbers 6:24. My own parents prayed this over me before I closed my eyes each night. I want the last words you hear at night to be a blessing.

My dear Jonah
"May the Lord bless you and keep you, May the Lord make his face shine upon you and be gracious unto you, May the Lord lift up His countenance upon you and give you His peace".

Love to you, JR!!!

It's 5 o'clock somewhere...

2010-06-19T17:46:00.000-07:00

I couldn't think of a catchy title for this post, so this is what you get. 5 years ago on June 18th at 5pm, I married my best friend. We were married in my grandparent's church, which I always thought was so beautiful. I loved the tall windows with shutters and large white steeple. I loved the two sets of double doors that looked so welcoming. We had our reception at the Charlotte Museum of History. Such loving family and friends helped with decorations, candles, and flowers. I loved the cake with its different patterns for each layer; we had our monogram (ASP) on the third layer. The bridesmaid's flowers were just what I had envisioned, and I loved my blue hydrangeas with white flowers that had little pearls in the center. So unique, and definitely an "Anna" thing. My dad sang "Jesu, Joy of Man's Desiring" as the wedding party entered, and my Uncle Earl played "Come Thou Fount of Every Blessing" when my dad and I entered. My dress was simple but elegant; I would have chosen it a million times over again. It was the third dress I had tried on, and my mom had actually picked it out for me. On the rack, it didn't have a special glow to it. When I put it on, I knew it was the one. I'd love to put it on and prance around the house!
Despite all this, it is not about the wedding, the cake, the matching flowers, or the tuxes that weren't my favorite but Patrick insisted on....
It is about the life that starts the minute you say "I do". To paraphrase, we promised to love no matter what. We must love even when a new TV is dropped and wedged in a doorway the first week of marriage, when horrid kidney stones result in an ED visit and wreck on the way home from the ED, when football seems to be tearing your husband away all the time, when your new dog fingerpaints with his poopy every single day, when you realize you spent more than you earned for the month, when you and your parents don't see eye to eye, when your ac goes out and you spend the night in a scary hotel, when you take the leap of becoming homeowners, when your roof loses shingles and you need a new one, when your refrigerator breaks a week later, when one spouse is hormonally challenged because of pregnancy, when grad school is undertaken while working a full-time job, when you realize you will be parents yourselves and you are scared out of your mind, when 8 weeks into your pregnancy you think you may lose your baby, when your friends do experience the loss of their child and you are forever changed, when your child is born but can't leave the hospital when you can, when financial decisions are not agreed upon and causes strife, when jobs come and go, when finances seem to dwindle, when life happens.
The two become one, and it is no longer "mine" but "ours". Our struggles, our triumphs, our sorrows, our joys. It is a choice to love no matter what.
When the valleys come, I will remember that day at 5 o'clock, when I promised to love no matter what.
Love always hopes, always trusts, always perseveres.
Love
Never
Fails.

Confessions of a Loser

2010-06-01T19:11:00.000-07:00

Well gang, it has been awhile since I posted. There is a time and season for everything, as good ole Ecclesiastes says. My season of weight watchers had been going fairly well until this past week and a half. I somehow got sidetracked, and I dove into several kit-kat bars. Well, it was more than "several" kit-kat bars. It was more like I totally disregarded all points completely and just ate. Well, there are days/weeks like that. However, I have lost a total of 6 lbs, and despite my rebellious week, I did not gain. However, I did not lose, either.
There. I have confessed. I confess I am a loser, but not in a bad way! I have lost weight, and I hope to continue. I feel better, even if it is not noticeable.

On a different note, I signed up to be an Ironmommy!!! Not only did I sign up, but I declared myself leader of ironmommies in Greenville, NC. I found this group by browsing a site called "Skirt Sports". Basically, the site is adorable, girly, athletic wear for women. While perusing the site, I saw an ironmommies link. What drew me in was the motto "No Mommy left behind!" How cool is that? You set your own goals and participate in races with your group. You obtain local sponsors to help defray costs, and you wear the same outfit. I have to say, the outift sold me on the whole idea. Don't call me shallow, because I know you are thinking it. I will include a picture at the end of this post, and you will totally get why I am doing it! (the most important reasons are to achieve goals with other women, fellowship, and enjoy the sport of running with others!)
Anyway, who is in it with me? I've been running faithfully, and I can actually tell and feel a difference in my body. I am able to go farther and faster than I ever have in my whole entire life. Sounds dramatic, right? It is the truth!!! If you live in or near the Greenville, NC area, please comment and let me know if you want to participate! We are signing up for a 5k sometime in early fall. So far, I have 5 women wanting to join!! Now, for the best part ever:

THE UNIFORM!!!
www.ironmommies.com

What I learned...

2010-05-10T18:25:00.000-07:00

Well, I made it through the first week of a lifestyle change. By using some weight watchers ideas and good ole common sense, I have eaten healthy using the CORE plan instead of the FLEX plan (I hate counting points). I have also purposefully exercised and actually enjoyed it. It probably helps that my friend (who will remain nameless unless she desires to spill the beans) is on the journey as well!
So, today I was 2.2 pounds down. For crying out loud, can we go any slower??? However, in this week I learned the following things:
1. I can resist chocolate, multiple times over
2. I can stop eating when I'm full, even if there is food left on the plate.
3. When emotionally eating is no longer a favorite pasttime, I become obsessed with other outlets for my emotions.

HENCE

the new goal for running. Well, it isn't that new, as I had blogged about this earlier. However, I found a website called ironmommies.com . I emailed the ladies, and they said a group does not exist in Greenville. Who wants to join with me? The goal is to support each other and leave no mommy behind! The outfits are super cute, too. This brings me to my next website I love: skirtsports! How cute to have a skirt to run in. Yes, it is girly, but I hate the way shorts ride up awkwardly while running.

Anybody in with me? Week 2 of weight watchers is already in full swing. Let's hope for a steady decrease in the scale.....

I love myself more than.....

2010-05-02T19:01:00.000-07:00

I work with the ECU Department of Surgery as a nurse practitioner. To be more specific, I work with the bariatric surgery division. I love building relationships with each patient, and I am so encouraged to see each person grow in their journey to a healthier person. They change not only physically, but emotionally and sometimes even spiritually.
I write all this to say that it is time for me to practice what I preach every day. So, now I will be purposing to make changes and a difference. I am doing this with a friend, and I am thankful for accountability! I have listed my goals, in no particular order, so that it is on paper for all to see!

1. Run in a 5k
2. Exercise at least 4x/week
3. Lose 30 lbs (via Weight Watchers)

I sometimes tell patients to "love themselves more than (fill in the blank)..."
I love myself more, and respect myself more, than that piece of Hershey's chocolate.
I love myself more than an extra slice of pizza after I'm already somewhat stuffed.
I love myself more and owe it to myself to do something for me.

Watch out blogger friends...

I'm not perfect, and I can almost say with 100% certainty that I will stumble along this journey.

However, the important thing is that this continues to be a journey, not a roadblock.

Remembering Ayden

2010-04-27T18:06:00.000-07:00

Today is Ayden Jones' first birthday. Ayden's story can be found here . We had the privilege of joining Lindsay, Jeremy, family and friends as we celebrated Ayden's life. I wanted to share some pictures, because I want the Jones' family to know that Ayden is remembered and will not be forgotten. Through his life, I learned what it means to truly live.

As you can see from the picture above, each person wrote down something to send to Ayden. These were attached to blue balloons, which were released after we sang "Happy Birthday" to Ayden. The last line of the song faded in volume, as each person's voice was audibly tearful. We then released the balloons. This moment was very special, as I envisioned Ayden gathering each one and reading them while sitting on Jesus' knee. However, I am pretty sure Ayden laughed out loud when he saw what happened to mine. My ditzy side happened to be present while I tied the notes to the balloon. I had the brilliant idea to send all three of our notes (mine, Patrick's, and Jonah's) up with one balloon, as a family. I did not factor in that the balloon would not fly up to the sky with that much weight. I'm pretty sure Ayden was just shaking his head back and forth, saying "oh that Anna, she is a true blond". I ended up retying it with Jonah's, and away it flew.

Ayden's garden in the playground area is beautiful. Such peace resides there. I didn't want to leave. I honestly could sit there all day.

I have included some pictures from this time. Such a sweet moment to share with everyone. We love you, Ayden, and we look forward to the day we see you again. Happy Birthday little one!

The Garden

Butterfly in Garden

Jonah's letter to Ayden

Balloons

Aunt Lindsay and Jonah

Uncle Jeremy and Jonah

Daddy and Jonah

Jonah enjoying Ayden's garden

Milestones

2010-04-21T18:34:00.000-07:00

I can't believe Jonah is 7 months old today! I had every intention of updating this blog at his 6 month milestone, but somehow time got away from me. This time last year, I was finishing up my last semester of Nurse Practitioner school with ECU. I was 20lbs pregnant:) I had no idea I could love a child so much. I don't remember what life was like prior to Jonah! It seems to be a blur of work, sleep, and school. Here is a brief bragging moment on my little boy:)

Jonah loves to smile. He has a huge gummy grin, and he makes a little sighing noise when he smiles sometimes, almost like saying life can't get any better than this. He enjoys music, and he can tell a story with his eyes. He has a special bond with his dad that I can visually see. Jonah will stare at Patrick with such awe at times. I watch them interacting, and I see them 15 years down the road with the same devotion and understanding. I know Jonah loves me and knows me as his mommy, but there is just something special about a Dad and his child.

He is sitting up now completely on his own, and he can spin circles in his crib. The crawling technique is yet to be perfected, but I appreciate the fact he isn't completely mobile, yet!

He is still breastfed, which I would never have believed this time last year. I have turned into that kind of mom that you envision wearing a long skirt and hair blowing in the wind, yet I don't look anything like that. I have become a strong advocate for breastfeeding, yet I know some people are unable to do for different reasons. While I am still able, I'm trucking on! Jonah eats every 5 or so hours, and we are introducing new soft foods to him. He particularly enjoyed squash and sweet potatoes, but he grimaced with bananas. I hope to start making his own baby food. I truly believe this is cheaper, plus I'm a "long skirt wearing/hair blowing in the wind" mom.

Jonah used to shriek like a little girl, but now he is "ba-baing, da-daing, ma-maing" all the time. He likes to stick his tongue out and spray it, not say it. He has what I call shards of glass in his mouth, otherwise known as little teeth protruding. He has 2 shards of glass on the bottom, and he sure likes to mess with them!

He weighs a little over 15 lbs and is 26 inches long. Apparently, he has his dad's metabolism and height. I am thankful for this!

Jonah's first night in his own room was Sunday, 3 evenings ago. This was difficult, as I was used to peeking over at him in our bedroom. He now loves his room, and he is content in his crib for naps as well. Thank goodness!!

I am so thankful for this gift! My mornings begin with a huge smile, and my evenings are concluded by a prayer with my little boy. I look forward to watching him grow physically, mentally, and spiritually. Enjoy a few pictures!!

Peter Rabbit and Friends

2010-04-14T03:53:00.000-07:00

This post is way overdue, but I am writing it during one of the rare free times I have. Lately, Jonah has been waking up earlier than normal, so he has been fed and is now napping. I am killing time until my hair can air dry a bit before I blow it dry! Oh the things we do....

I hope you all had a wonderful Easter with family and friends! We had our good friends Stephen and Brandis spend Easter weekend with us. We attempted some daffodil shots;however, most of them were dead. There is always next year!

We also ransacked Target and other money suckers to look for easter eggs. I got Jonah plastic eggs that ranged from frogs, chickens, to footballs. Did we hide them like I wanted? No, of course not. By the time Easter afternoon rolled around, we were all too exhausted! Again, "there is always next year!"

Jonah had an adorable Easter basket. The actual basket was given to him by Mimi last Easter, before we even knew he was Jonah! The liner was given to him by Sha-Sha. It has Peter Rabbit on it, and his name is monogrammed in light blue. There is just something so childlike and imaginative about Peter Rabbit. I have a whole slew of hardback books from the tales and a cup, saucer, and bowl from childhood. Can't wait to put it somewhere special!

I leave you with a few pictures. As it is early, I don't have time or energy for captions.

The Challenge

2010-03-28T19:10:00.001-07:00

Well, I am just now posting my "5 dollar challenge". Due to crazy schedules, I just finished it today. Please see my earlier post that describes this crafty adventure.
I went to the dollar store and Michaels to get my items. I only had to buy three things, because the rest was at home. I decided to make a "Countdown to Easter" craft. I figured it can be changed for each season to be "countdowns" to the next holiday. Therefore, today it says "7 days". Forgive the top and bottom frames, as they were supposed to have pictures of Jonah and our family. I haven't had a chance to print any off, and the pictures in the daffodils did not go as well as planned.

Here are the items I bought:
2 wooden frames with scrollwork from dollar store: 2.00

1 wooden chalkboard from Michaels: 2.99

Here are the items I had:
white paint
craft paint brush
glue gun (of course)
extra scrap paper
chalk
blue ribbon from a baby shower I hosted awhile back
sandpaper

Directions:
Paint all wooden frames white. Realize that you are running out of patience and paint; therefore, pull out the sandpaper and do a quick "distressing technique" around the edges and make it look old.
Cut out scrapbook paper to fit in frames. (or put appropriate pictures)
Secure the ribbon with glue to the back of the frames, tie bow at top.
Hang on a blank wall (you know the kind...that random area where you still can't quite figure out what to put there...)

I have to say, it is not how I envisioned, as I originally was going to put an "S" in the top frame and a picture of Jonah in the bottom. I had some random pearls laying around, and I made an S on the scrapbook paper. It did not match, and it looked too gaudy. I still secretly like the way it turned out, and all for JUST 5 Bucks!!!

As a side note, the scrapbook paper matches the background paper of two frames over my couch. (I had glued some old spoons from my mom's collection around the world). Here is a snippet

And now, the final product!