And that’s all I got today… Happy Sunday!!!

How quickly that changes to dismay and discouragement then teeters on the edge of dispair as your heart sickens within you.

“Hope deferred makes the heart sick”, solemnly whispers to us from the dusty pages of the book of Proverbs.

I have worked, I have built, I have poured blood, sweat, tears and prayer into many things only to find them disintegrated at my feet.

An ash heap. Headed for the dustbin. Dismayed, I stand over my aspirations, clutching the shards of what had been tightly to my chest and dispairing of ever finding hope again.

As the years continue to flow past me I have seen cycles emerge. When we are young everything must be instant and immediate. One thing fails and we believe it is the end. Angrily we vow to “never” try again. Our hearts are broken. Our will is ignored. Our passions are spent.

Looking back I can see the spinning of the wheel.

Only One is constant, unchanging. Only my understanding of Him changes.

I have had an expectation unmet. I have had a desire not viable. I have had a hope which has proven to be unrealistic.

I have been disappointed. My heart has grown ill.

It doesn’t have to be a sickness that leads to death, but I wonder if it should be.

Death to unrealistic hope placed on the fallible and weak shoulders of my fellow humans. Death to the impossible expectation placed upon myself to achieve that which I was never intended to pursue. Death to desperate hope placed on anything else but the broad, all-encompassing shoulders of a Jewish Carpenter.

“…but a longing fulfilled is a tree of life.” shines brightly in. In spite of darkness. Perhaps because of the darkness.

When we are sick we look for life. That silver apple not stolen from Aslan’s garden but one carefully chosen and carried home.

It’s where healing is found. We look for that sweet fragrance of life reawakening in our tired souls as longings are fulfilled.

Often in the most unexpected ways.

When the kindest words are spoken from an unexpected source. When I am included in the trial and given opportunity to walk beside and help carry a burden. When the actions outweigh the words. When even timid sincerity shines beyond the fear.

When I am seen, intentional, flawed, determined, driven, even successful in my own small way. When triumphs and tears knit us together instead of jolting us apart.

Then there is life.

In that life is the hope of integration with the flawed and fallible shoulders around me. Then, there is life to a realistic and inspired anticipation of what I lean on Christ to achieve. Then there is a Life which fulfills.

All because of the broad, all-encompassing shoulders of a Jewish Carpenter.

One of those moments was at a women’s retreat almost 8 years ago.  It was the one where the phrase “No Apology” resonated and resounded until it became the words on the screen of my cell phone.  A bright pink Razor.  I was very cool.

Why “No Apology”?  Because I am who I am.  I was tired of apologizing for using big words, liking intellectual discussion more than knitting circles and for hating girls nights out and shopping.

I was tired of apologizing for not being more like Them.  So, I quit apologizing and never looked back.

I’ve been having another one of those days.

Here are a few personal realizations…

• I am sincere.  I am not gentle.  I’m ok with it
• I’m honest. If you don’t want to know? Don’t ask.
• I believe in justice more than mercy.  I’m ok with it if you don’t.
• I will never enjoy a lengthy conversation about accessories, clothing or hair care products.  I’m ok with that.
• I like to read the news.  I care about prophecy.  I like to learn.
• I will work hard to achieve anything I believe is important to the end goals I have established for myself and my family.  I don’t care if you come along side me. I probably won’t notice if you don’t.
• If I determine to learn something new I will not cease my study of it until I have achieved a satisfactory level of proficiency.  If this makes you feel insecure?  I won’t notice. I don’t do it to impress you.

As a result of many of these personal traits I have found it difficult to find friends. I am often accused of being a “know it all” and a “show off”. I am rarely invited to anyone’s home for dinner and even more rarely am I invited for that chatt-y afternoon coffee thing.

Sometimes it stings a bit. Sometimes it stings a lot.  I see others around me who interact seamlessly with those around them as they weave their lives together.  I sit on the sidelines.  Or serve the cake. Clean up afterwards.

A girl I know just opened up the world to her blog.  And it is filled with all manner of deep, introspective, thoughtful insights into parenting, depression, personal travails and tribulations… It is written in that decidedly feminine manner which utilizes random bolding of letters and numbers to achieve the maximum effect.  She writes in a manner that resonates with women and tugs at the heartstrings of even the most hardened hearts.

She will be successful in her realm of influence. Her readership grows by the day and the accolades come pouring in one after the other.

I can’t even attempt that tone. It’s not who I am.  I am not soft.  I am sharp edges and definitive conclusions.  I write in stark absolutes.  Life is pain, princess.  Anyone who tells you differently is lying.

Sure, I could pull out the vocab and share my own stories of brutality and anguish.  I could manipulate you into some profession of concern in order to make my own existence more palatable.  And it would be as false as the compassion you had to drum up to assuage a sense of guilty voyeurism for reading through to the end.

There many ways I invest myself in those I care about. They just aren’t the usual suspects.

I show I care when I come early to set up and stay late to clean.  When I buy the coffee and reimburse the supplies cost out of my own pocket. It’s when I make you meals and deliver them.  Or teach two classes.  It’s the late nights spent making sure the order of the meeting is set and the presentation is as excellent as possible.  It’s the effort I put into educating myself so I can share information with you and assist you in the education of your child.  The time I take to pour myself into studying the text for our bible study, creating a lesson plan and facilitating a discussion when you’d rather just pretend life is pretty while your house falls apart around you.

I show I care by being present when I’d rather be alone.

And for that?  I am labeled an “eager beaver-over achiever” with a penchant for obsessive behavior.  I am called a perfectionist and aggressive.  I am accused of being driven to succeed and lacking the ability to care.

So I find myself, yet again, at that crossroads.

Do I temper who I am, the passion and zeal I have, in order to make myself more palatable?   Do I parent less intentionally, love less intensely, serve less determinedly in order to fit in?

All for what? So when my children are less well-trained than I believe God has required of me we can commiserate? When my marriage is less solid than I know it can be you can comfort me?  When my responsibilities are managed with less excellence than I know I am capable of producing you can feel better about your failures?

If I were to do all that?

I wouldn’t be a person worth knowing.  And anyone who would require that of another?  Isn’t worth keeping.

It’s one of those weeks where I am just waiting for someone to cross me so I can rip their heads off.  And pinch them!!!!

Ok, not really.  But holy frijoles Batman…  I’m on people overload.  Expectation overload.  Argumentative teen boy overload.

So there.

I am finally writing that thing I’ve been threatening to do for quite some time.  AND I LOVE IT!!! However, I had a question and I would totally, like, (heart) your involvement.

If you were to define the social behaviors, set of extra-biblical guidelines required for acceptance within your religious/faith circles, how would you define them?

Thanks for any input!

I was too busy to be bothered. I kept going. And going and going…

A month ago I began to find it difficult to catch my breath.

Fast forward to today. I am struggling walking to the sink from the couch, I am refusing most phone calls because it is difficult to talk on the phone (not enough hot air, apparently).

Tomorrow I start the second round of antibiotics. Heavier dose. 4 times a day.

Acute bronchitis. On the way to pneumonia. I have not been this sick at any other point of my life.

So I am given the opportunity to “sharpen my focus” and say more no.

And I’m in love with it!!! I have said no to the Friday coop, the Wednesday bible study and the job opportunity. I am now able to say YES to the Friday night bible study, co-led by my Mr and the Tuesday evening “Introduction to Hebrew Studies” facilitated by my husband and his friend.

I am able to say YES to play dates and coffee with friends. To estate sales with my husband and nights that end at 9:30 instead of 12:30.

The power of NO is the power to say YES to those things that matter. Too much busy robs us of so much.

I get to take the next few weeks and recuperate from too many poor choices and hopefully head toward a more reasonable and thoughtful new year.

When will I learn…

Bear with me… IF you were pursued about a “promotion” in your current job and after careful consideration express an interest and inclination to move forward with the opportunity, you would be available to proceed with the requisite interview process. Right?

But what if the EMPLOYER flakes out on not one but TWO scheduled interviews…

Losing my freaking mind… So frustrated. Perhaps there’s a really good reason. I hope so. Because this level of crazy at a national leadership level makes me nuts.

Just sayin’…

My husband found it. Piece by piece. By looking where no one else would. Finding treasure where no one would have thought to look.

He found the flower pendant in a pile of junk for $.50. He found the white gold filigree band, in need of a setting, for less than $300 off Craigslist. He paid a friend, who is a high end jeweler, to put them together.

He gave it to me on our 17th anniversary.

I was a poorly dressed, socially awkward, undervalued, overlooked girl. Youngest of the group. Least likely to be chosen prom queen.

Until he showed up. He picked me. Out of a crowd.

It is his gift. He sees treasure where no one else does.

It’s what he does for a living.

And under his patient care and thoughtful effort value emerges where none was before. Shabby little tables become elegant echoes of a more refined time. Shallow men become engaged participants in biblical study. 11 year old boys become deep thinkers.

And I grew from who I was, the garbage heap I was headed for by a personal fascination with self-destruction, into his wife. The mother of his children. This. Who you read here.

We’ve been married 17 years. I jokingly call our life the “17 year honeymoon”. Which when you count the fighting and adjustments that happen on a honeymoon as well as ridiculous hand-holding in public, you can get a picture of what life is like at our house

This is my ring.

All these years I’ve had wedding rings and bands, a few silver ones. An antique set we traded for a parrot. But not such a gift. I didn’t need it. I don’t need it.

When I thought I needed things like this, in my darkest, most bitter hours, this man still loved me, still treated me with honor and respect.

Yes, I wear the beautiful ring and he wears a simple comfort fit gold band.

But this ring doesn’t represent me. It represents the dedication and commitment from this man to this unworthy woman. It represents the woman I have the hope of becoming because of a man who can find value where no one else would bother.

It isn’t hard to be faithful to my husband. He is the only person who has ever taken the time to see me for who I could be not what I can do for him. I will spend the rest of my life endeavoring to become that woman, by the grace of God.