As I type, the Fitbit on my wrist taps the desk at random with each keystroke, the boys are playing in their newly organized rooms, and I (admittedly gleefully) smell like lemon Pledge. The Christmas tree came down and the furniture is rearranged...a refreshing, domestic cleansing of the attitude.
I am THAT girl. The one who revels in fresh starts. The one who had her hair chopped chin length in whimsy. The one who throws herself into each new season with a revamp in organization and a kick of energy. Except that one time...the time captured by my camera above, but we'll get back to that...
Her name was Glenna...
We question. How do we know that we're cherished? How do we begin to understand the motives of a God who could send a fragile infant into a war zone on purpose? How do we trust the One who's watched us generation after generation, wandering with hands raised to the clouds. We beg for water, for food, for mercy and meaning - like refugees staring into the sky and waiting for the life-giving packages to rain down.
For hope to rain down...
If you've ever been curious about women's thoughts regarding their bodies, you need only to become a fly on the wall of a gym locker room. I have overheard some pretty interesting tales at my own gym, while changing modestly behind a curtain; struggling to pull my jeans up over hastily dried legs (all while balancing on one shower flip-flop to avoid touching the floor).
Most recently, I was privy to a discussion between two girls who looked to be in their early 20's. "I'm just not sure I want to do that to my body", one stated matter-of-factly. They were talking about having kids. The possibility of stretch marks, weight gain, and of course, the responsibility of having to look after somebody other than themselves, had incited quite a deliberation between the two.
If you asked my husband if I could get a little crazy around the holidays, he would nod his head inconspicuously and take a quick look around to make sure that I wasn't paying attention. It's true. I used to be a total basket case those early years in our marriage.
It was the honesty set deep behind those brown, kind eyes that drew me in. The quiet type, he spoke little until there was room--kindness and ease seeping into conversation. He wore every gust of wind and ray of sunlight on his skin, etched into curved and comfortable lines. He was a man who could just let another "be", never suggesting subtly the need to "perform" for acceptance. In fact, he seemed to be an example of the walking Word:
M.S. in Marriage and Family Therapy. Earns Crossfit participation trophies. Disaster cook. Enthusiastic wife. #Boymom. Clutches her faith, not her pearls.