Ahhhh...

As I sit typing this I have a mug of coffee steaming to my left, my littlest little is napping in her bassinet in our bedroom, the two elder kids are at school, Ryan is out on the deck working on a project that involves a buzzsaw and wood, Christmas carols are playing - all really IS merry and bright. 

This last 6 months have been anything but what I’m experiencing right now though.  They’ve been cramped, uncomfortable, dirty, frustrating, loud, intrusive - and all by choice!  

About a year ago, Ryan and I made the decision that our little bungalow was where we wanted to live for as long as possible.  Being married nine years we’ve moved into about that many rentals, then three years ago we bought our first home and have lived and loved in it happily since.  But the 2 bedroom, 1 1/2 bathroom layout wasn’t going to work in the long run, so we were faced with two options: sell and move into something bigger or add on.  

“We can add on!  We just need another bedroom and bathroom, so how much time and money could that really be?”

Answer: a lot and all of it.  All the money and all the time.  

Our simple plans just kept getting more and more complex.  “Well, if we’re gonna go into the house and add on, then maybe we should make our kitchen a little bit bigger”.  “Yah…and if we’re gonna do that, then we should probably put on a little deck”.  “Yeah, yeah, that would be nice.  It’d be cool if it was covered too so we could be out there year round”.  “That WOULD be nice”.  “You know what would also be nice?  What if we did kind of a bigger bathroom, you know with a walk in shower and walk in closet with stackable washer and dryer…that’d be cool”.  “That WOULD be cool.  You know what else would be cool?  One of those big hot tubs so we could relax in it with the kids”.  “Oooh, that sounds really nice”…etc.  

So fast forward to May and the ground started getting broken in, and then in July demo to the existing house happened.  

Oh, I forgot to mention that I got pregnant in January, so I was ripe with child when it was time to go from having a stove, sink, dishwasher and garbage disposal to using just a microwave and hand washing every dish in the basement sink.  Once the kitchen went away all things became more difficult.  Not just because I was getting bigger and more uncomfortable by the day, but because everything involving food now took additional steps.  No garbage disposal meant every single dish had to be wiped out BEFORE I actually washed it.  No kitchen counter meant that any meal prep was done on a small cutting board smashed between the coffee maker and toaster on a bar table in our dining room.  That dining room was also playing host to our refrigerator, dining room table and chairs and for the months of August and September, stacks and stacks of hardwood for the floor that had yet to be laid in the addition.  

Because Ryan was so involved in the remodel I was rocking parenting pretty much solo.  My kids are sweet and amazing, but they’re also 5 and 6, so they can be wretched.  And because of the magnetic force that apparently exudes from me, they were usually within 2 feet of my swollen, sweaty body.  And with me being so whale-like going out and about was difficult, plus with the summer heat I didn’t like being outside.  So inside it was.  For months.  With kids that don’t yet know how to read on their own or play board games without cheating or do chores really well or be together without vexing each other to the point that they yell the other’s name so loud or opt for their favorite way to fix any problem -  “MOOOOOM!!!!”.  

And as is the case with any kind of remodeling - there’s the dust.  The white, persistent, filmy layer that coats everything within 10 feet or so of the demo area heavily (which in our case was the dining room / kitchen) and then tapers off BUT STILL REMAINS as you get further away (living room aka our only living space).  I couldn’t escape it or clean it entirely.  Every time I would sweep the edges of the broom would swirl up a new cloud that would settle lightly on the swept lane.  Our area rug in the living room began to feel…coated.  Walking on it barefoot wasn’t an option only because the feeling of the cloth under my feet was grimy.  No vacuum could get it all up.  Shudder. 

As is the case with any cramped space, stuff just seems to surface.  Random stuff.  The kind that you don’t want to throw out, but you don’t use it either, so it’s storage, but not all permanent storage: t-ball equipment that isn’t necessary until spring, clothes that will be taken to Goodwill that need to be put in a bag until there’s enough to make a run down there, car seats that the kids have outgrown but that the baby will use in another year or so - all of those types of things suddenly are everywhere.  So as stacks of different items started appearing in our walkways, closet spaces, and corners the feeling of a comfortable, open home vanished.  It’s like I held my breath under water for almost too long to where vision got hazy and panic started to set in.  

But now.  

I've come up from the deep and had that first huge inhale, and it's filled my lungs and brought life to my body, mind and soul.  

All the things have been done.  The kitchen, new bedroom, new bathroom and new back deck have been completed.  There are no longer tools strewn all over our backyard, no longer stacks of broken wood, empty boxes, paint cans, and trash heaped up in our carport.  Gone are the various workers and their muddy boots tracking dirt and leaves through the front entry way, and gone are the seven different trucks that would occupy our driveway and parking spaces in front of our house.  The living room has stopped being a storage spot for all my kitchen gear, the kids art projects and supplies, Maggie’s stroller and car seat - it’s just a living space now.  The kid’s room has space for them to play now that their toys and books have been moved into the other upstairs bedroom.   

Every cabinet and drawer in the new, white kitchen has clean pots and pans occupying it.  All the dishes have been washed and sanitized in the dishwasher.  The couches and rug in the living room have been deep cleaned.  Clothes have all been moved into the proper closets.  The central air and heat is on and working - and I have to say that the warm air flowing through the vents and wrapping me up in what feels like a cozy cocoon might be my favorite addition of this whole remodel.   

Life can get back to normal.  Last night we were all in the kitchen together: Israel was at the desk doing homework on the computer, Charlie was at the island coloring, Ryan was holding Maggie and I was making dinner.  It was a magical moment.  

Sometimes the ins and outs of any given day can begin to feel monotonous and boring, but how blessed we are to have what we have.  To have family, a roof over our heads, to be able to do something like cook a meal for our kids, and use the convenience of dishwashers and stoves to help us out.  I hope I never again take for granted how wonderful it is to be a mom to my kids and a wife to my husband and to simply provide for them a home that is warm, inviting and safe.  God is so gracious with His perfect timing.  The fact that we are rolling into the most cozy and joyous time of year hasn’t been lost on me.  It’s like He was saying “Oh, Megan, I have a perfect plan for this whole thing.  You’re going to so enjoy all that you have worked for.  You will enjoy it x 1000.”  His Christmas present to me this year was the realization of how much I love what He has called me to do and be: a mom, a wife, a neighbor and a friend.  And for that I am so, so grateful.    

Two down, one to go

This week marks the beginning of my third trimester this pregnancy.  12 more weeks, 66% done, 2/3 out of the way…that might sound like it’s not too much longer but the end still feels so far.  

Cause truth be told pregnancy, at least for me, is rough.  Maybe because this is my third time around, maybe because I’m older, but whatever, this just isn’t my jam.  Charlie will be 5 at the end of this month, so it’s been exactly 5 years since my last pregnancy, and five years is a long time.  You forget a lot.  

Like food cravings, muscle cramps, endless, endless, endless trips to the bathroom all throughout the day and into the middle of the night and each of those trips involving extra time spent on the pot waiting for aaaaaaaall the pee to come out.  Cause it hides in there.  My bladder has developed reservoirs.  I had forgotten about swollen feet come late afternoon, trying to do dishes with a basketball sized lump under my shirt, carrying things up and down stairs incessantly, squatting over and over to pick up after my children because they they are SYSTEMATICALLY DESTROYING my house with their stuff everywhere, and top all of these off with the constant exhaustion, heartburn and the feeling of an alien moving around inside me.  Also, whatever temperature it is at any given moment, my internal temp feels at least 20 degrees hotter.  Thinking back to last November when I was sitting on my sister-in-law’s couch and we were jokingly talking about how much fun it would be to get pregnant and be able to enjoy each of our third pregnancies together - I step out into the 98 degree heat at 8:30 yesterday morning and say out loud - “yah…whaaaaat were we thinking”.  At night I have a fan pointed directly at me along with our a/c unit on full blast, I’m wearing next to nothing and covered by a sheet.  Poor Ryan’s under our comforter shivering.  

And, I was reminded this last week as to why I like to hibernate the last part of my pregnancy.  People’s comments, for the most part, suck.  Seeing a pregnant woman activates a vomit-like reflex in them and they CAN NOT HELP THEMSELVES but to comment, ask questions, touch, etc.  A gal said I looked pretty large for being only six months along and followed up asking if there was a possibility that I had multiples in there.  Where’s my straight eyes, straight mouth line emoji?  

And the emotional ups and downs are a new / familiar sensation.  Did you see that Ellen episode where Kristen Bell talked about the sloths?  She said something along the lines of being between a 4 and a 7 on an emotional scale at all times.  Any lower than a 4 and she’s crying and any higher than a 7 - same.  I’m right there with her.  Anything too sad or too sweet on TV, in a book, or in a newspaper article and I’m crying.  The Olympics are uniquely timed so all the feels happen with any given commercial about an athlete thanking their parents or pushing themselves with an iron type of will to be the best they can be - excuse me, I’ll be on my couch bawling.  Speaking of Olympics, that’s something every woman in their 7th month of pregnancy needs to see - female bodies at their physical peak of perfection.  Good times.     

Now, I really don’t want to sound like a pessimistic, whiny mom, and also don’t want to seem mentally unsteady by vacillating so widely with my emotions, but honestly as much as it’s difficult, and taxing and uncomfortable - it’s all so awesome.  I get to have another baby.  And I feel really, really lucky for that.  And there are some sweet bonuses to being pregnant.  In fact, most of the hard symptoms have a positive side.  Getting up to pee in the middle of the night - good training for feedings once the baby is here.  To step into that cold turkey would be rough.  Swollen feet?  Great excuse to relax on the couch and put them up.  Dishes getting tricky?  Sweet husband swoops in and helps out.  Extra trips up and down the stairs?  Toning those leg muscles…especially since they're the only ones I’m somewhat capable of controlling.  Messy rooms full of kids toys?  Let’s purge.  I’m reading Little House in the Big Woods to the kids and Laura grew up with a doll made out of a corn cob.  My kids have sufficient and could stand to get rid of some stuff.  Exhausted?  Nap.  Heartburn?  Tums.  Baby moving all around?  Marvel at the miracle.  Too hot out?  A/C.  

Also, the aforementioned sis-in-law is just one of my partners in this upcoming season.  Five girls, including her, that I know and love are right along with me, four being due a few weeks before me and one a couple months after.  Hearing and seeing and being on the same page as all of them has brought about a lot of peace.  Another advantage to time having gone by since my last pregnancy are the changes in maternity clothes, did you know they now have nursing tops?  Thank you, Trunk Club and Topshop.  I feel like people give me preference in random situations too.  EVERYONE opens doors for me, lets me go first, gives me kind smiles - I love it.  Those food cravings aren’t all bad, cause food tastes better - peaches last weekend at Saturday Market - YAAAAAAAAAS please.  And Rosie’s Inferno's pizza, thank you for existing.  Orange juice, dill pickles, mac & cheese, chilled watermelon, Honey Nut Cheerios with sliced bananas, the JD and Kung Fu roll at G street bar & grill, anything with lemon flavor, strawberry popsicles, Dr. Pepper, cheez-it crackers - all of the things.  I want all of them.  

And my highest, most wonderful, absolute favorite thing to focus on is the knowledge that with every Pampers commercial I watch, every scroll through old videos and pictures of my kids on my Instagram page, every night putting them down to sleep and feeling that twinge of gratitude and sadness at the same time - ALL these feelings cause me to look at the two that I’ve already ushered through solid foods, first steps, potty training, and learning the alphabet and I stop and praise the Lord that I have one more to go. 

Wonder. Do you have it?

Last year ruled.  In my list of 35 years on this planet, 2015 was an incredible one.  My relationship with the Lord is more tangible than before, my marriage has become a true partnership, my love of being a parent has deepened, my friendships are constantly becoming more honest and important to me, and physically I dropped some pounds and became even more capable of picking pounds up (bench is up to 100 lbs -  no big deal). 

Now staring at 2016 I sit back and think, “God…what would You have me to do this year”.  I love to have a Word of the Year and because I tend to be a thinker and dreamer, but a bit less of a doer I wanted a word to inspire and motivate me.  A couple words floated around in my mind but they were all too harsh: accomplish, execute, get your assss off the couch and go do something…

Then on a trip to Tahoe in December as I gazed out on hillsides saturated with heavily snowed-on trees and watched golden sunsets fall on a bright, beautiful lake I settled on a word that God breathed into my mind and heart: WONDER.  

There’s something easy and naive about that word.  It’s curiosity and adventure.  And I need that.  

I’m a stay-at-home mom and after five years of becoming more of a homebody than ever before with my two babes I really miss the world.  I miss the view of the valley from the top of Table Rock mountain.  I miss the smell of the Rogue River as I’m sitting on the bank watching my family skip rocks.  I miss the earthy smell of a forest hike, the salt and wind of the ocean and the beautiful, calm quiet that comes with fresh snow or a blacked out sky dancing with stars.  

And experiencing God…

Nothing, nothing, no church or sanctuary I’ve been in can compare to the beauty of God’s creation.  The moments I feel Him are more often than not when I’m outside, where I’m fully alive and human, and am experiencing the wonder of this planet in some way.  It’s sitting around a campfire, glancing up at stars, sipping spicy tea and laughing with friends.  Or standing on the shore of the ocean, looking at 30 different shades of blue, letting waves slowly creep up to circle around my ankles, smelling salt, feeling the wind and hearing that mesmerizing sound of wave after wave crash.  It’s gazing out as a peach sky frames in the mountains of the Applegate Valley, the (good) smell of farmland waves through the windows and the only thing louder than the wind whipping through the car is the stereo pumping out Zac Brown Band, Coldplay or James Bay.  It’s circling through the redwoods and glancing up at the green and brown giants whose tops I can’t begin to see and yet all have the same mission - pointing to the One Who made them.  

This year I’m diving headfirst into that.  Into exploring this world that’s full of wonder and invites the mind and heart to go beyond what they have seen or known.  It’s a chance to see and feel and experience how deep, how wide, how great IS His love for me. 

xx

Times they are a-changin'

Sitting here on the eve of my 35th birthday and having bumped into a friend from high school a couple nights ago while at a restaurant we joked about not feeling old.  And obviously, I’m not…compared to a 60 year old. But compared to a 21 year old…well?

And that’s what causes me to pause and think about how slowly and stealthily change has crept into my life in different ways: some funny, some interesting and some have me a little wary.  

1. I can’t shop at Zumiez anymore.  It’s just the way it is.  Having grown up in the 90’s when surf / skate / snowboarding was everything and any guy that was worth looking at was doing any or all of those things - I hope you can understand the sadness of this particular situation.  But that easy, breezy southern California style that has so faithfully carried me through most of my adult life - vintage tees, tight jeans, little sundresses - it’s just not gonna work anymore.  I never thought I’d grow out of it, but I honestly prefer a little more *ahem* grown-up look.  Granted trends have changed and all of that, but the last time I was in Zumiez looking at the sheer tees and hoodies, I felt myself having to breakup with it.  And it made me a little sad.  
2. Gray hair.  It’s happening.  I discovered my first looking in a mirror after washing my hands in a bathroom at the Woodburn Outlets.  And not just one…like 14.  Soooo, there’s that.  Hair appointments are now every 6 weeks. 
3. On that same Woodburn / Portland trip, my girls and I headed out for a late evening snack - donuts.  Our hotel was right next to Voodoo, so we skipped down to the lobby in our sweats and over a block to stand in line for that hit of sugar and fat.  Coming back into the lobby with our pink box of deliciousness we hit the elevator button to go back up to our room and when the door opened a slew of people came out.  They were all dressed to the nines, short, tight, sparkly dresses on the girls (who may or may not have been hired - truth) and the guys were all in black, clean lines and smelling really strongly of Paco Rabanne.  Carla, Codi and I looked at each other and happily passed them by, got in the elevator and rode up to our room.  I’m at that point.  The “I’d way rather sit in my hotel room and eat some donuts than get dressed up and go to a club” point.  No question.  And this comes from a girl who at age 21 was going to clubs on weeknights.  Again - truth.  
4. You know the running commentary of slight judgement against humanity driving that you have going on in your head most of the time?  Well, mine has always sided with those of the younger generation and most of my head shaking and occasional fists of fury (when you stick your arm up and shake your fist at whomever has upset you - it’s a Jenny Skudstad gesture) has gone towards senile drivers: they’re just bad at driving the speed limit, parking, navigating parking lots, using their turn signal too early, etc.  However, now I find myself thinking that maybe, MAYBE they’re actually the wise ones.  Sure, they don’t seem to notice others, but for the most part they’re being cautious with their speed, reeeeeeally making sure you know that they’re going to be turning a corner and forgive them for holding up traffic for 10 minutes just so they don’t have to park further than 4 spaces away from the entrance to a store.  If I had a bad hip I’d probably do the same.  It’s the youths now that “drive” me crazy.  GET OFF YOUR PHONE!!!  And slow down.  And use your turn signal.  And turn down that rubbish music you’re listening to.  See?  I’m literally turning into a geriatric as I’m writing this.  
5. I love a good, early bedtime.  Currently it’s 8:22 and I’m fully in bed and ready to shut things down within a half hour.  Gone are the evenings of 11:00/11:30 bedtimes because ohhhhh my goodness, if I had to go to bed that late and fully function as a parent / adult / wife / friend the next day - not good.  It’s not gonna be good.  
6. Playing cards with my friends is a perfectly acceptable way to spend a morning.  It reminds me of “I love Lucy” and how she and her friends used to play Bridge.  We don’t play Bridge, but if we learned it we might.  It’s a fun little scenario: four or five of us, looking at our cards and gabbing over coffee.  We’re the Golden Girls.  
7. Coffee is not so much a choice of beverage I have in the morning.  It is one of my lifelines.  I almost cried one morning because it was 10:30, I was feeling sluggish and tired and couldn’t figure out why until it dawned on me that I hadn’t had coffee yet.  Tears of joy, people, tears of joy. I don’t drink a lot - one cup, maybe two, but oh my goodness, it’s one of my favorite rituals of the morning.  

It’s fun and funny to see where the Lord has taken me.  So, here comes 35 and I’m not gonna fight it.  I am one to embrace my age. Birthdays aren’t a painful reminder of an inescapable truth of life - they’re a celebration of a person, and I love where life has me at this point.  Cheers to this next year.

Gifted and Called. Yes, you are.

It is all the rage nowadays to be nurturing your unique gifting and making it your calling.  People are chasing their dreams, taking life by the horns and rocking it.  It’s happening all around me and sometimes I’m in that group, but other times I doubt.  Anyone with me on that? What I love about being saved though is having Scripture to lay out life - and this passage does exactly that for me.  

Colossians 1:9-12 (The Message)

We pray that you’ll live well for the Master, making him proud of you as you work hard in His orchard.  As you learn more and more how God works, you will learn how to do YOUR work.  We pray that you’ll have the strength to stick it out over the long haul - not the grim strength of gritting your teeth but the glory-strength God gives.  It is strength that endures the unendurable and spills over into joy, thanking the Father who makes us strong enough to take part in everything bright and beautiful that he has for us. 

It says to be working hard in His orchard.  It drives me crazy is when people align being in ministry to working in an actual church setting.  There are a lot of people doing exactly what God called us to do - love God, love people - in settings outside of the church; does that mean they’re doing anything other than working in ministry?  I’m a full-time mom, but I believe I’m working in ministry just as much as any pastor, teacher or evangelist.  And God’s orchard, to me, means that which He is tending to: His people.  And who are His people?  All of them - all the people.  He loves ALL of them, both inside the sanctuary and outside on the corner. So, is what you love to do, is what you’re naturally gifted at being utilized in a way that is loving and blessing people?  Also, it says working hard.  There’s a difference between punching in your time card and browsing Facebook for 4 out of the 8 hours of your workday versus actually putting your mind, passion and quality time into what you are doing.  I want to be the latter.  Fully investing myself in what’s in front of me.  As a friend of mine would say - “Don’t half-ass it, full-ass it”.     

The passage also says to keep learning more and more about how God works because that will translate into how you do your work.  Pretty self-explanatory.  I never want to stop pursuing a friendship with Jesus.  Learning more about Who and how He is will only influence me in my life to be less selfish, more giving, less judgmental and more kind.  

Next up, stick it out when it gets hard.  Life isn’t easy and following any particular path into a bright future isn’t going to just happen.  You HAVE to put in the work.  At the gym I go to they have workouts on a board with specific reps written down that you need to follow.  These reps aren’t a suggestion.  They aren’t a starting off point for negotiation.  You do ALL of them.  Because you want to get better and stronger and faster.  If you don’t do all the reps you’re cheating yourself and you’ll end up wondering why your body isn’t changing and you can’t keep up with everyone else.  And I get it, coming in last sucks, and I come in last frequently.  Or at least I used to. But I kept my head down and have worked really, really hard and now it’s a 1 out of 4 situation when I’m bringing up the rear.  Because my body is truly changing.  And at this point I know it’s a genuine victory, not one that I happened to get lucky in. 

Fourthly, through the hard work recognize change happening - maturity perhaps.  Humble confidence.  The kind that doesn’t flaunt your gift every chance, but is wise and recognizes when to take risks and when to hold off.  The appreciation for your work growing and the thankfulness for God’s grace in helping it reach new depths.  Becoming stronger and recognizing God in the work changes it from grit-strength to glory-strength.  It’s a foolish notion to look at someone that is in a position that you want to be in and think that they got there easily.  Sure, some did, but the ones that truly dig in and move your soul and have gravitas to their work - they struggled to get there.  It’s given them an undercurrent of character that draws people in.  

And lastly, getting to the point where you can enjoy everything bright and beautiful that God has for you.  Note, not relaxing, slipping your shoes off and saying “Ok. I’m done, I’ve made it.”   Cause the beauty is you’ll never want to stop evolving, growing, learning - if you’re doing it well and doing it right. 

So how do you know what your gift or your calling is?  I think there’s a pretty simple way to figure it out.  It’s a scene from one of my favorite all-time movies.  Whoopi Goldberg’s character, Sister Mary Clarence, is talking to Lauryn Hill’s character, Rita, about singing since the former loves it and has a sneaking suspicion the young prodigy in front of her is being resistant for foolish reasons.  Sister Mary tells Rita about an excerpt from a book called “Letters to a young poet” she read by Rainier Maria Rilke.  She looks Rita in her eyes and says this: “Fella used to write to him saying ‘I wanna be a writer, please read my stuff’. And Rilke says to this guy ‘Don’t ask me about being a writer.  If when you wake up in the morning you can think of nothing but writing, then you’re a writer.’ I’m gonna say the same thing to you.  If you wake up in the morning and you can’t think of anything but singing first…then you’re supposed to be a singer, girl”.  

What is it that you think about when you wake up in the morning?  Getting into the kitchen and coming up with a delicious recipe?  Sitting at your computer and writing down your thoughts on any particular topic?  Pushing your body to become stronger and more capable?  Living in a different country and holding kids that haven’t been loved on?  Capturing life through a lens that allows the beauty of God’s creation to be focused on?  Getting on your hands and knees and being present with your kids?  Taking the :30 that your customers are at your drive-up window to interact with them and give them a genuine sense of worth and love?  

Take what you’ve been given - that is your gift.  And do something with it - THAT is your calling.   

Laundry and sin. One and the same.

Let me explain how laundry works at my house.  In my closet there is a huge laundry bin that my hubs and I use to put our dirty clothes in and it gets full rather quickly and kind of lopsidedly (omg “lopsidedly” is an actual word; I was waiting for spellcheck to underline it in red and call me a moron).  I put my dirty clothes in the bin as soon as they’re dirty slowly filling it, while other parties *ahem* put them there once they’ve gathered enough dust on the side of our bed to become a health hazard.  Also, the amount of clothes each person contributes to this bin is not quite equal.  Again, not mentioning any names…4 outfit changes a day.  

I digress, every couple days when I go to start a load of laundry I have a hand-held basket that I’ll use to transport the clothes from our laundry bin down to the washing machine in our basement.  Obviously the hand-held basket is smaller so I can’t fit the whole bin of clothes in, just the top couple armfuls of garments.  Those get taken downstairs and put directly into the washing machine or if I’m really on a rampage I’ll take several loads in the little basket down in a row to get it all into a big basket I keep next to the washer.  

The only problem with this system is that there are two groups of clothes: those that get washed regularly and then those that don’t…for a long time.  The freshest clothes that just got tossed in our closet bin usually get washed within a day or so, but the clothes that are in the second half of my closet bin have a tendency to end up on a missing persons report because of placement. Only when I do the bin purge and then about 5 loads in a row do I end up finding these delightful shirts, workout socks and pants three weeks after I last wore them. 

I know this is a random comparison, but it really stuck out to me this morning and it’s that sin is kind of similar.  

There’s these areas of questionable choices that are everywhere right now and how we treat them can be so nit-picky it makes me want to punch a wall.  They’re the “Why one beer is enough if you love Jesus”, “Christian girls shouldn’t wear short shorts”, and “Seven ways to know you’re a better mom than every other person in your life” arguments.  These are the clothes that are freshly dirty, that always end up as the topic of conversation, that are always on top of the closet bin and are seemingly washed over and over but just keep ending up in the same spot.  

Picking apart a person when you haven’t walked in their shoes and don’t know their life is easy.  You can, on your expert authority and opinion, state exactly why they shouldn’t be doing what they’re doing or saying what they’re saying.  And I’m guilty of this - these topics can be tricky for me.  Because while what Scripture says and doesn’t say is clear, how I interpret that and how the Holy Spirit presses on my life can be different from others.   

Now...do I think you should get hammered every weekend when you have a role as a worship leader at your church?  No. But if you like the taste of wine and have a glass during worship practice - I think that’s totally cool.  Does Scripture say that booty shorts are not to be worn?  I don’t think “booty” is anywhere in the Bible actually.  But at the same time is that showcasing all that God has made you to be?  Is it being respectful of those around you?  Probably not.  The human body is incredible, but seriously when you post Instagram selfies of your stomach wearing jean cut-offs pulled so low I can almost see your pubic hair and you write about relaxing in the park with your Bible I WANT TO PUNCH YOU IN YOUR VAGINA.  And the mom thing.  Look, we all love our babies and they are a priority.  But you don’t know my life and I don’t know yours.  Let’s just leave it at that.  

Are these topics and countless others really addressing sin so much as gray area?  Meh.  All I know is that it’s all people seem to want to talk about and really I think there’s a much bigger picture that believers could focus all that passion on.    

Which is where that second group of dirty laundry lies.  These are the clothes aka sins that somehow remain under the radar, never rising to the top because they’re not trendy, just sinking down to the bottom becoming dirtier and stinkier.  It’s the internal stuff that is masked over and not regularly addressed.  It’s the insecurities, the hard headedness, the pride, the fear, the hatred, the anger - it’s all the stuff that somehow manages to sit in that freaking laundry pile for way longer than necessary because it’s able to.  It sets up shop under the popular fresh sins when it’s up in my closet basket and then gets uncovered temporarily when I do a load or really upended when I purge our whole closet bin into my little basket.  But even when the latter happens, sheer gravity puts those dirty clothes again down on the bottom of the basket in the basement and then they just sit there.  Fo-re-ver.  And it’s the stuff that matters.  The heart stuff.  The sins that are hard to deal with because it’s more than behavior and more than a thought or intent.  It’s looking hard at the truth, being honest with who I am, being humbled by the ugliness of my flesh and feeling embarrassed but also relieved that I am saved and my God loves me.  He knows me.  All of me.  And loves me big.   

What’s the solution?  Pretty simple. I need more Jesus. Cause laundry piles up.  There are distractions to this life and projects and so many things happening good and bad that can draw my attention away from this regular chore.  But I know if I just regularly did my laundry those gross dirty clothes wouldn’t fester.  If I were regularly washing myself in the Word then those dirty heart sins would still happen, but they wouldn’t be able to hide away.  The closer I am to Him the darker anything other than what He has for me shows up and is evident.  Now excuse me while I go start a load in the washer and listen to Jay-Z tell me to get that “Dirt off my shoulder”.  HOVA indeed.   

90 days

It's safe to say my food practices have changed over the last three months.  For starters, the amount of vegetables I've eaten in the last 90 days outnumbers the amount I've eaten in the last year.  This is not an exaggeration.  Also black coffee is now my jam.  I used to get an americano with a little honey and cream, but now - just black.  And it's smokey and bright and delicious.  Lastly - desserts.  My favoritest of all favorite things have been reduced to maybe 6 or 7 for the last three months whereas before that was easily my weekly allotment.

Here's the deal, losing weight is really simple.  I know there's countless magazines and diet plans and ideas about how to do it and what is best and what to cut out and what to eat and how often and how much and all the rest, but here's the basic truth:

Stop eating crap.

Work out hard.

Period.  Done.  That's it.

90 days ago I started on a nutritional reset with the help of the female owner of my gym.  Her name is Codi and she is one of my favorite people.  I love her.  She takes what she does seriously and her keeping me accountable forced me to think about it more intensely than I had before.

I had tried several different eating plans but this one seemed more structured.  Less gray area, cause when there's options I'll go DARK.  So I needed a plan with a strict outline of "yes" foods and "no, don't think about it or I'll cut you" foods.  I started March 1st and my starting weight and yes, I'm actually going to write this for the whole world to see, was a few ounces under 150 pounds.  That's roughly 143 pounds heavier than my birth weight, 52 pounds heavier than my weight when I graduated high school, 35 pounds heavier than my weight when I got married and 22 pounds heavier than my weight when I first got pregnant with Izzy.

The nutrition reset plan was relatively simple - cut out dairy, grains, fruit, sugar and processed foods.  All of it.  ALLLLLLL of it.  At first I thought it wasn't going to be that big of a change from how I ate because we don't eat a lot of pasta or rice and we axed dairy out of our diet back when Izzy was a baby.  Shouldn't be too tough.

Ha.  Hahaha.  Hahahahahahahahhahahahahahahahahahahhahaha.

It has been without a doubt the most difficult thing I've ever done in my life as far as self-control is concerned. But oh, the results.

For one, walking past mirrors is awesome now.  I'm like "Oh, heeeeeeey, girl". Trying on clothes in a dressing room even if it's only fluorescent lighting - not the worst thing ever. Buying clothes two sizes smaller than before - whaaaaaaat?

And I don't want to sound braggy but it just is so simple. And people don't do it. They make eating healthy and working out the exception and not the rule. And that's not going to cut it. This is coming from someone who had that mindset for years and all I managed to add to myself was more pounds.

And there are my pictures.  Putting pics in this blog post proved to be a tad too difficult for my technologically challenged brain, so the three side by sides on my Instagram page are my front, side and back pictures from day 1 and this morning.

My weight this morning is just under 135, so I lost a full 15 pounds.  To some that might not seem like a lot, and to others that might sound like a ton - to me it was perfect.  But aside from the change in my body where I've really changed is in my relationship with food.  Don't get me wrong, I still really like it.  But it's not something that I've turned to for comfort in these last months.  It's not something that I've used in social situations as a buffer.  It's no longer a mindless act fueled by boredom.  Now it's fuel.  It gives my body the energy I need and believing AND acting on that knowledge is incredibly empowering.

Bottom line, if I can do this anyone can.  I have tried unsuccessfully for YEARS to lose weight.  The solution was really this simple though - make the choice and stick to it.  For longer then you're comfortable.  And for longer then is easy.  The payoff is ridiculous.