August 2019

Daily Rest

There is a fine line between thriving in chaos and wanting to run away from it all. As soon as the scales tip, I daydream about driving until the gas runs out and starting over wherever that happens to be. Then Responsible Me speaks up, reminding Reckless Me that We have a husband, pets, a job, etc. and we can’t drive off anywhere. Fine, Reckless Me, responds, I need a vacation.

The only problem is, I can’t take a vacation every time Reckless Me feels the urge. Not only that, vacation is supposed to be fun, not a way to escape daily life. If I was really living my best life, I wouldn’t need to escape it would I? Vacation could be about exploring new places, going on adventures, trying new things, eating different foods, relaxing and just having fun. They wouldn’t have to be I-don’t-care-where-just-get-me-out-of-here weekend trips, sleeping in a hotel, tricking myself into feeling rejuvenated, just to go back to work Monday and realize that I don’t feel better at all.

No, what I need isn’t a vacation. What I need is to rest every day. Such a simple concept but so difficult to put into practice. I don’t have time to rest – I have things to do. Work, taking care of pets, cleaning the house, making food, spending time with my husband… Where would I find the time for resting? Especially when there are more important things to do.

I’m wrong again. Rest is important. Rest keeps Reckless Me from trying to commandeer this ship and lets Responsible Me feel calm amidst the chaos. I’m talking about physical, emotional, and spiritual rest. I need sleep, y’all. I need my bedtime routine. Ideally, I would read and/or write for half an hour, wash my face, brush my teeth, pray, and fall asleep to a guided meditation every night. Most nights I barely get my teeth brushed.

As an introvert, I need emotional rest too. I spend a lot of energy being with people, making conversation and interacting with others is draining for me. If I don’t have time alone to recharge, I am grumpy and unpleasant. See, I worry about what to say and how to say it; I worry what people are thinking of me, and why did I wear this outfit? It takes a lot out of me, even when I’m with people I know and love to be around. So the down time by myself is really important.

Arguably the most important kind of rest is spiritual. It’s a common verse – “Come unto me, all ye that labour and are heavy laden, and I will give you rest.”* But what does it mean? What kind of labour, and how heavy is heavy laden? There are plenty of people who work harder, longer hours than I do. Do I really need to take up the Lord’s time and attention?

Absolutely. We all need rest. God gives it to us for free, every day, if we’ll take it. It really is easy, if we can let go of our obligation to all of those things on our to do lists. We don’t have to live in chaos until we feel the desire to escape from life. We can, and should, rest daily in the Lord. He can handle all of our burdens. He can enlighten us as to what is important, and which of those to do list items can be erased. Wouldn’t it be responsible of me to take care of myself, so I can show up better for my family and my job?

That starts with letting go of the idea that I have ever, or will ever, thrive in chaos. I haven’t, and I won’t. That’s not how God wants me to live. He wants me to have joy in Him. I should make time for prayer, time for bible reading, time for work, time for family, time for hobbies, time for vacation, and remember that if I’m overwhelmed I can take it all to the Lord, who gives us rest.

❤ JK

*Matthew 11:28 KJV

Home is Where the Heart Is

Pinewood Acres, Sunset Terrace, New Street, Pearson’s Corner, Sunset Terrace again, Main Street, Cannon Mills, Chapelcroft, Sheafe Court, Redmill. I have had many homes – two mobile, two apartments, one had my name on the mortgage and one was just a rented room. I felt at home in all of them, though I never felt attached to the physical buildings. I think it is true that home is where the heart is – the place itself doesn’t matter much.

The only thing I remember about my first home is that there was a playground in the neighborhood with one red swing and one blue swing. My next home was close enough to the elementary school that I walked there and back in second grade. The longest I spent in a home were the 10 years my family lived on a farm (it wasn’t our farm, but we rented a little land for our mobile home). Then there was the year I lived with my grandparents. After that, I moved back in with my dad and sister to a new home where my room was also the laundry room and guest bathroom. I really liked that one, though.

From there, I moved in with my husband. I was proud of our first apartment, mostly because it felt good to be “on our own.” It only had one bathroom, though, which was the. worst. Moving had always been easy because as a kid, I didn’t have much stuff. I wasn’t responsible for any of the logistics. I enjoyed arranging my things in their new spaces. Since neither my husband nor I had furniture, moving in together was easy too. We picked out furniture together and had it delivered. Despite having moved several times, it wasn’t until I was 25 years old that I learned how to pack.

I loved that we bought a house with “potential,” but the timing wasn’t great. We had to be out of our apartment the day after we signed the paperwork for the house. We didn’t have time to paint over the yellow or purple walls. We didn’t have time to redo any of the mismatched floors. After everything was moved in though, I didn’t care that much. It was our first house!

I like the newness of moving, the purging of old things, the preparation of new spaces. I like deciding where to put what, and then rearranging it all three times before I get it just right. I like making rooms feel a certain way, warm and welcoming. That, to me, is more important than the building itself. The mobile homes, the one bedroom apartment, the three bedroom house were all home to me.

Houses that I never lived in have been home to me. Houses I haven’t seen yet will be home to me, too.

❤ JK

6 Things I’ve Learned in 6 Years of Marriage

Over the weekend, I celebrated my wedding anniversary. I was only 22 years old when we got married, and quickly learned that ‘livin’ on love’ doesn’t get you very far. We still have a ways to go, but here are 6 things I’ve learned in my 6 years’ of marriage:

It is us against the world. If it comes down to it, we will choose each other over everyone else. It sounds dramatic but I have seen what happens to the marriage that takes a backseat to other relationships, careers, hobbies, etc. Everything suffers. Think about it, this is a person you chose to be with. Hopefully you’ll be with this person for 50+ years. That’s a lot longer than you lived with your parents, and longer than your kids will live with you. Someday it will be just the two of you; might as well strengthen that bond now.
Despite our ‘us against the world’ attitude, we disappoint each other. Sometimes on the daily. We are still learning the art of apology but I’m not worried – we have lots of practice. People go into relationships with all kinds of expectations. This isn’t a bad thing, it’s just a human thing. Being able to communicate what we think the relationship should look like, and Compromise (with a capital ‘C’) is the key here.
We will change. We were naive little babies when we got married, and thank goodness we’ve both grown a little since then! Luckily we’ve grown together as well. Change is scary and sometimes hard, but it’s almost always for the better. Embrace it and it will make your relationship stronger.
We don’t agree on everything. In fact, we disagree on a lot of things. That’s what makes life interesting. This is where we really perfect those negotiation, I mean, communication, skills. Our core values are the same so I know we’ll be okay. Every once in a while I have to ask myself, “Will this matter in five years? No. Five minutes? No.” Then I let him have the win.
Love is a verb. Love is sharing the chores. Love is going to the in-laws. Love is cleaning up another person’s puke in the middle of the night; staying up waiting for them to get home from work; saying no to something so they can say yes; deciding every day that this is the one you want to watch mindless TV with every night. It’s every big and every little decision you make for the other person’s benefit.
We should have gotten a king-sized bed. The queen felt huge when we first got married. But when he’s in the middle of the bed, our dog is laying at the foot, and I’m clinging to the edge of the mattress, I have major regrets about not going for the king.

<3JK

Blake

I once had a dream that I was in my grandparents’ backyard laying in the grass. I was alone, soaking up the warm breeze. Slowly I got up, went inside, and walked up the stairs into a bedroom. There was a crib in the middle of the room, no other furniture or anything on the walls. I picked up the baby and held him close, stroking his dark hair. That was the whole dream. Somehow when I woke up I knew that the baby was mine, and his name was Blake.

Fast forward to July 11, 2017 and I thought I was dreaming when the pregnancy test displayed two pink lines instead of one. After four years of negatives I hardly expected a different outcome. I cried hysterically for a minute before calling my sister, “This can’t be real.”

It was three days before I could tell my husband, as he was living four hours away at the time. I nestled the three positive pregnancy tests in a little gold box with white tissue paper. I could see the incomprehension at first, then the joy spread across his face. It was amazing. It was as if our lives finally made sense; as if we could see clearly for the first time. I felt lighter somehow, but also fuller. I was filled with love I had never felt before. I was sure that everyone would see it in my face but I didn’t care if the whole world knew. We waited so long for this. For six days I walked on air.

Then I had my first doctor’s appointment. The one where she was supposed to confirm that everything was perfect. Instead she said, half squinting at the ultrasound monitor, “I don’t see anything,” and the roller coaster ride began.

Those next three weeks were the longest of my life. We held out hope that it was a mistake. Maybe I ovulated late; maybe the ultrasound didn’t pick up what was really going on in there. Maybe the baby will keep growing.

August 8, 2017 was the third ultrasound. My mother-in-law and sister-in-law were both there. We prayed together before I went in. The technician was quiet while she maneuvered the ultrasound wand, saving picture after picture. When she was finished I said, a little desperately, “Is he still there?” She gave me a ‘please don’t’ look and started to say that someone would call me. I asked her again, a little more desperately, “Can you tell me anything? Please. I need to know.”

“I’m so sorry. There’s been no change.”

I felt as if my whole body was caving in on itself. The technician apologized again and I thanked her for telling me. As the door closed behind her I collapsed in tears, “How am I going to tell David?”

I held his tiny, precious life for just a moment and it changed me forever. I walked around like the sun shone from inside me. I still smile when I think about it and I’m grateful for that bit of peace. Now there’s a tiny shadow in my heart. I don’t mind it, though. I think about him every day. When I do finally meet him he’ll know how loved he is. That makes me smile too.

❤ JK