Don't Explain It

Yesterday as I was driving and letting my thoughts meander as they do when I drive, it occurred to me that if we humans were just fancy, extra-smart animals in the big animal food chain, we wouldn't all be so desperately searching for meaning. I get tired of this constant thinking about the "meaning" of it all. "It all" being our societal structures, personal struggles, desires, global conflicts, historical accounts, art, faith, religion...gah! Enough already.

It sounds nice to be more thoughtless, to live on a more primal level, reacting to new stimuli as it comes along, adapting...or not. In fact, I've been leaning more toward this way of living in a couple ways. I like to paint. Instead of over thinking it and strategizing and having solid reasons for why I want to invest my time slapping colors on canvas, I just accept it for what it is. It's meaningful because it's a desire. Because it's a desire, I'm going to do it. Because I can. I see beauty in this simplicity and I've embraced it.

I also got a tattoo because I wanted to. Yes, I have come up with a trifecta meaning for it to the point of understanding where Prince was coming from when he tried to drop his name and go by a symbol instead--remember that? This little tattoo has so much meaning because I just can't help myself. I've somehow managed to explain the whole of myself and spirituality in one little symbol. If I made a little video explaining the meaning, it would fit perfectly into a Christopher Guest movie. Like, just cut and paste it right in. (I need another Christopher Guest movie, by the way. Remember, "Waiting for Guffman", "Best In Show"?) But ultimately I got the tattoo because I wanted it and it felt good to do something just for that reason. I think we can become caricatures of ourselves when we over explain things. Just live. Do the things you want to do.

Can it be a self-portrait if it doesn't look like me?

The answer is "YES" because when you're the artist, you can do whatever you want! Artistic liberty is a fantastic thing--something that, as I'm experimenting with different mediums and styles, all while trying to drop perfectionistic tendencies or expectations of greatness for myself, I'm finding freedom like I didn't know existed.
This image came to me as I was playing around with collage. Slowly, in my mind I began to see a person, then I created the leaves by painting around the papers glued underneath. The face was such a joy to paint, even though I had no idea what I was doing! I just knew I wanted her to have the feel of this drawing of a woman by Leonardo Da Vinci but with a modern look.  Mixing the colors to create flesh tones and highlights and shading was such a fun experiment! She doesn't look this jaundiced in person, thankfully. I enjoyed flowing with ideas as they came. I also liked that it turned out looking folk-artsy.
The idea of painting a crow came from being inspired by Edgar Allan Poe and the imagery of his taunting, visiting blackbird on his mantle, crying out, "nevermore", to the distress of the character in his story. Often, I feel like this character, trying to block out the taunting negative messages in our world--i.e.--The CROW. Only when I can learn to ignore the crow's voice, can I be free to live fully alive. 

The song that inspired this painting--while it was in formation:
Blackbird, by the Beatles (sung by Sarah McLaughlin):
Blackbird singing in the dead of nightTake these broken wings and learn to flyAll your lifeYou were only waiting for this moment to arise
Blackbird singing in the dead of nightTake these sunken eyes and learn to seeAll your lifeYou were only waiting for this moment to be free
Blackbird fly, blackbird flyInto the light of the dark black night
Blackbird fly, blackbird flyInto the light of the dark black night
Blackbird singing in the dead of nightTake these broken wings and learn to flyAll your lifeYou were only waiting for this moment to ariseYou were only waiting for this moment to ariseYou were only waiting for this moment to arise

An Illustrated Meditation on Mustard Seeds

Culturally, we love to do things BIG. Even despite the hard time Texans get about "big everything" in their state, I'm pretty sure it applies to our country as a whole. We want and seek:

Big
More
High Quantity
Fast

Even in more progressive states, like Oregon, the desire is the same at the core: more organic, more green, more of everything "better than"...

And we love it when people can do these things--ALONE. The ever-pervasive individualist mindset affects us all, even if it consciously annoys us. We love individual success, don't we? I do. I enjoy seeing it in others and I want it for myself.

As I think about my faith-journey and examine how I've ended up in such a struggle to hold onto my beliefs, I feel like I have to consider how my culture affects me. Often, I'm comforted when I remember the truth that I only need one tiny "mustard seed". But I daily fight the internal sense that one is not enough.

In my thinking about mustard seed faith, I realized my story is tied with this metaphor in the context of our cultural influences--which gave birth to--MUSTARD GIRL! Allow me to introduce you to my cartoon self and share a bit of my story, in this illustrated meditation.

  ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

In my youth, I seemed to carry around a bucket-full of mustard seeds, I was so faithful. I loved reading about God, hearing about God, singing to God, talking to God. With Jesus walking by my side, my heart's flame would never go out, and if it did, well, then He would carry me and we'd go for a nice walk on the beach. (ya know the classic "footprints" image) The idea that a challenge in life could only build my faith stronger--well--bring it! I felt I could face anything with my full bucket of mustard seeds.

Not only could I face any challenge to cross my path, I could share these seeds with the whole world!! I could be like Mustard Seed Super-Girl  sowing seeds liberally throughout the land and growing vast crops of mustard plants which would only continue to multiply and fill the entire world! And I could do this with just me and Jesus--and my bucket of seeds of course. That every super-hero has their "kryptonite" failed to cross my mind.

I didn't know what it was to really suffer. I didn't know that enduring long periods of waiting for answered prayer would actually leave something that felt like a wound. I didn't know how sad I could feel even knowing I was on the beach in Jesus's arms. I didn't realize that the more I continued to learn about the Bible, the more questions I would have, and the more the questions, and the longer left unanswered, the more the doubt would grow. I didn't know that failing to overcome challenges in marriage and parenting would result in guilt, shame and disappointment in myself that would at times make me feel like giving up. I didn't know if I tried to carry the burdens of our broken world in my heart (starving children, trafficking victims, AIDS orphans, natural disaster victims, and on and on...) it would only lead to fear and brokenness in myself, if carried alone.
With each failure and disappointment and doubt, seeds would be lost or crushed. All the crushed mustard seeds mixed with the vinegar of disillusionment began to create a big mess and I began oozing yellow, acidic, MUSTARD. My faith of the past seemed to be nothing but naive optimism.

To be continued...

STAY TUNED! Who will save Mustard Girl from her squelchy mess of mustard before she begins terrorizing innocent mustard farmers!!??

2012 Grand Review: Taking Stock and Slapping on Labels

2012 was a year of redefinition. I went on a quest to more clearly define my position in life in every area.

"Labels" are paradoxical in a way that I can't quite decide which side I want to land on:

 love them because they help define?
 or hate them because they box-in and divide?

Determinedly remaining unlabeled feels fun and rebellious to me, yet clearly labeling seems purposeful and brave. I'm not even sure the purpose for this driving desire to define. Maybe it's my age or season of life. Or, it could be that in January I prayed this prayer:

"Lord, make my spirit restless whenever I think that the ways things are is the way things have to be."

This turned out to be a quickly answered prayer in the affirmative, because "restless" seems to be a defining word for my spirit this year. I began to look at life from a different angle and started questioning many long held beliefs and understandings. With no sense of purpose, but only driven by my gut, I started a quest to tighten my political views and have gone through something like a political soul-searching, which then led to a flurry of theological questioning, which led to a full on faith crisis, filled with emotion and gut-wrenching doubt.

With all the questioning, which essentially had its basis in labels, I was debris blowing in the wind. I felt like labels would ground me. I would regrow roots and become a planted, thriving, living thing again.

Eventually, somehow, the landing happened and I feel more settled and okay with the ambiguity of how I label myself. Life is not as black and white as we want it to be, and I don't want to force myself to fit into an uncomfortable box. Years ago, I discovered this book, "A Generous Orthodoxy" by Brian McLaren. The cover sold me before I even read the description or knew anything about the author--it had the longest subtitle I'd ever seen and I now claim it as my official label:

I am a "missional + evangelical + post/protestant + liberal/conservative + mystical/poetic + biblical + charismatic/contemplative + fundamentalist/calvanist + anabaptist/anglican + methodist + catholic + green + incarnational + depressed-yet-hopeful + emergent + unfinished CHRISTIAN.

Maybe, the bigger label the better?

2012 Grand Review: New House

I love summaries. So here's mine from 2012! I'm calling it a "grand review" because I'm going to break it up into several posts, rather than making it one obnoxiously long post.

After a ridiculously long wait of about three years, we sold our house in December of 2011, which propelled us into another long wait of home shopping. By April 2012, we closed on the new house and Jon began gutting the entire thing! Since he is amazing, and the hardest worker I know, he basically finished the house overhaul in six weeks, allowing us to move in by the end of May. 

It was crazy and chaotic and I realized I don't do well with that much crazy. I also discovered my most loathed paradox of life--sometimes when your dreams come true, rather than the expected feeling of elation, depression happens. The big, classic, letdown of something long dreamed about and idealized, becoming a reality--and reality is messy. I was caught unaware by this letdown, which maybe added to the depression, because frankly, I felt guilty that I wasn't elated and shouting praise to God every second for giving us what we wanted.  

Thankfully, finally, after six months of settling in, and wrestling with my inner crazy and life's paradox, I am truly soaking in the blessing of this place and enjoying it for all the marvelousness it truly is.

Throwing hammers into the wall for fun. Before tearing it down.

This boy gets the hard-work genes from his daddy! He loved helping!

Family Room: Before

Family room: after. With family in it.

My little art model-man helping me choose color schemes.

Living Room

Thanksgiving in our new home, and SO thankful!

The blessing of an amazing view and a pair of stunning pine trees in our own backyard!

Hope in the Sorrowful Swamp

Life's ebbs and flows of sorrow and joy come in and out for me pretty smoothly, normally. Yet this year has felt sorrowfully swampy. Like a shallow pool of muddy water has seeped in and won't wash away and it's clouding even the best moments.  I've been waiting for a natural draining to take place, for the moon to cycle around, and gravity's force to pull the tide out, and with it, the murky water. But still it stays. Last night I felt a complete loss as to what to do about it; I wanted something to do to push away this rotten water for good.

Today, when each piece from the few blogs I regularly read seemed to speak so directly and specifically to me, I felt a jolt of hope that the swamp won't remain forever. I'm posting my two favorites here to keep for my own future reminders, and to share, because they are fabulous.

1. In Which I Simply Get to Work by Sarah Bessey. This was my "something to do"! And who would ever think it--chores! Chores to the rescue! This post resonated so deeply in my soul, I almost didn't want to share it. But that felt selfishly silly.

"I bring order to my soul with the ordinary work, the ordinary love, the ordinary beauty of the every day life, and funny as it may be, it's where I find that space of pause, the shut off switch for my never-ending-inner-monologue that so irritates me..."

2. The Unintended Double-Edged Sword by Seth Haines. This post, in such a succinct way, pieced together parts of a theological puzzle I had been stuck on for a long time. I felt something important click together for me as I was reading this.

"A word of caution to the would be story tellers: prosperity does not necessarily implicate providence, nor does it always bring comfort. Sometimes, the providence is in the pain."

How long must I take counsel in my soul

and have sorrow in my heart all the day?...

But I have trusted in Your mercy,

My heart shall rejoice in Your salvation

I will sing to the Lord

for He has dealt bountifully with me.

Psalm 13:2, 5-6

Read away and ponder with me...

Beginning My Art Collection

I just bought my first original painting by an artist, Michele Maule, who I've admired on etsy for a couple years! She does a lot of collage and oil painting, but I felt this watercolor was made for me. I have a fascination with flocks of geese. When they fly overhead I feel like I've been graced by something magical. As an animal, a goose is feisty and I'm a little afraid of them, but in flight they're ethereal.

I love the pen detail in this piece and the way the clouds are blotchy and stylized. Clouds make me happy too, and we've got this blue-gray-white scheme in our house, so really, I couldn't have made a better choice with this one to start my art collection!

Check out Michele's other works here! http://www.etsy.com/shop/michelemaule

Love in the Fog

My love and I have been floating for a a few months.

Not in the dreamy, newlywed way,

but rather, in the suspended, circling the airport, waiting to land, kind of floating.

We're in the fog, antsy, uncomfortable.

Yet here we remain sitting next to each other close enough to touch

with hands in our laps.

Waiting for the clear to land, waiting for a voice to say it's safe and our turn.

What if the safety never comes?

Will we run out of fuel and plummet, stomachs lifting before a quick end on solid ground?

Will we turn around and fly to better weather and clearer runways?

Either way, whether it's crashing and burning, or landing and moving on,

I think I need to reach out and take your hand,

hold it tightly and remain.

***

For it's your hand, love

that I've vowed to hold in light and dark.

It's your hand that's patient, kind, knowing, gentle, strong.

It's your hand I want to hold when we find our footing again

and run, run, run out of the fog

grounded and facing the bright blue of

love everlasting.

Painting. A Year Late

This week I took a painting class with Wendy Brightbill, a local mixed-media artist, and had so much fun! This was a goal from 2011, and even though accomplished late, it's directed me unexpectedly in my goal setting for this year. Okay, "a bit", is understating it--novel work is pushed aside (for now) and I'm ready to PAINT!! Though writing brings me serious happiness on an ontological level, visual art does the same, yet it feels more do-able on a daily basis at this stage in life. Also, I'm loving that I can invite my kids to join in the mess with me!

First up--I'm doing an art journal! This idea has been around for a while, but I'm just now learning about it and it seems perfect for learning and growing as an artist.

I'm doing the journal in the form of an "altered book"--a recycled, hardcover children's book transformed into my own original work. Each page or spread will be a practice in a different mixed-media technique, but really personal to whatever is on my heart and mind that day or season. I looked through several of Wendy's books at the class, and I was moved by them in such a way, all I could say was,

"Wow--these are like, an experience!!"

 Art. Journal.

Perfect for someone who likes words and color at the same time--me! Happiness. Ontologically. :)

The Breathtaking Empty Space

My prayer these days. Maybe it will be a good one for you too!

Lord,
Help me to listen to these signs of change, of growth; help me to listen seriously and follow where they lead through the breathtaking empty space of an open door.
--Common Prayer; A Liturgy for Ordinary Radicals

This is the last line of a prayer in the book of Common Prayer; A Liturgy for Ordinary Radicals by Shane Claiborne, Jonathan Wilson-Hartgrove and Enuma Okoro. You can read all the prayers in the book on this site!

Town Mouse, Country Mouse

This will be me--a town girl, living with country mice--if we get the house we have an offer on right now. The one I lost three hours of sleep over last night. The one that feels like a mountain retreat with a breathtaking peak view; that is completely, miraculously, in our price range.

It's been thirteen years since I've lived anywhere remotely country, probably about ten years since Jon was a ranch worker, riding a horse with a lasso (I'm imagining the lasso--not sure if that's totally true) herding Longhorn Cattle.

Our last house was so bug-free it was an event when we had a housefly inside. I'm certain this house will come with much more than that--spiders, beetles, woodpeckers, mice...

If we get this house, we will have what we think we want. Forest, meadow, acres, view, yet close enough to town to remain actively engaged with school, friends and family.

I might fall on the floor in mourning if this doesn't work out. I'm ready to embrace all that comes with country-living, including mice helping me put on my earrings.

**************************************

Hopefully the Last Post About Packing, Ever

I am DOG tired. Dog tired as in--I want to lay on my kitchen floor with my legs curled under me and my head on the floor and fall asleep in the sunshine.

This move has been wrecking me. In the past, Jon and I get all macho-tough-guy about moving and we're like, "We're going to ROCK this packing!" We get prideful, like packing snobs, because we think we are so good at packing. We have phases, systems, detailed labeling of boxes. And we're fast. We make the boxes our biatch, yo.

Not this time. This time I'm a sniveling little baby, who half the time is living in denial that packing is even an activity to do, and the other half I'm blatantly procrastinating by checking facebook 100 times a day and overdosing on TV in the evenings. I've been in some existential crisis over this moment in our lives. I won't go into it all, because I'd rather be laying on the floor, but for a while I was stumped about why I felt so crazy about this move. Stumped because we have really wanted this move to happen. Selling our house is good for so many reasons. Yes, packing and moving stinks for anyone, but still, why the existential crazy-crisis? I think I've figured it out.

I had been working so hard to order my life to make room for art and writing, yet still play with my family and friends, all while having a clean house. I was fighting for it, and succeeding sometimes. To me, it was all about order, and packing up a house to move to a yet-to-be-discovered location, screamed loudly in my ears, disorder. I'm afraid our fuzzy future and chaos is going to steal my creativity and my time to invest into that part of myself.

Somehow, just by recognizing this fear, I've been able to release it a bit. I have to stop being so dependent on order and comfort and predictability. I guess I thought I had a handle on that because of the nature of Jon's work, but apparently I'm not at the master level of openness yet. My friend Michele reminded me of Ann Voskamp's physical motion that helps in the act of letting go. Clenched fist, opening and releasing that which we hold tightly. I may or may not have paced around my house doing this over and over. Okay, yes I did. While deep-breathing like a bulldog. :)

Now I'm going back downstairs to finish packing the kitchen. I'm still going to keep my labeling system:

All-caps in the upper left hand corner of the box. KITCHEN.
Listed below it in small-caps, all the contents in the box.

Don't make me let go of that!


***Bulldog Illustration

I lost it. Then I got it back.

Advent, that is. And my sanity.

We were tearing our house apart, preparing to move on December 8th. Then our buyer's buyer's loan got weird, then okay, but we won't move for two more months. I say I "lost" Advent because I felt like I didn't have room in my head to move our house and peacefully reflect on Christ's birth through anything that took planning and intentionality.

Now that I've regained my presence of mind after freaking out about our contract falling apart, I've taken some big breaths, stopped packing and started enjoying--CHRISTMAS!!

In the last couple days we've:
Decorated a little tree
Decorated our big tree
Listened to an obnoxious amount of Christmas music
Read Christmas stories by the light of the tree a couple times--with lots of blankets and stuffed animals
Drove around looking at Christmas lights
Made a gingerbread house
Played a lot with the "little people" nativity set

I'm still trying to wrap my mind around how to practice Advent with our kids since they are at a great age to begin this, but it's a new tradition for me. I'm drawn to it because I love the idea of preparing mind and heart before the actual holiday celebration. So far, I have a couple books of poetry that I've been reading and reflecting on myself:
Accompanied by Angels by Luci Shaw and A Cry Like a Bell by Madeleine L'Engle

I think I need some candles? Some specific scriptures to read with the lighting of those candles on specific nights? I know we've missed like half of Advent already, and I know it only takes is a quick Google search to figure out what to do, but I'm still reveling in the freedom to celebrate Christmas in our house one last time--and the feeling of sanity.

*****************************************************

Goodbye, House

In less than a month we will move out of our house. Over the past years when talking about the idea of moving I've said things to friends like,

"It's just a house, I'm not crazy attached to it, I'll be fine when we move."

"It's not like it's our dream-home, it's a great house, but when we move, I won't be crushed."

"It's a roof and walls."

That was my idealistic, unattached, overly-positive self talking. Now that moving is a near reality, I'm trying to allow myself to honestly feel the transition and all it means. It means leaving the place I've watched my babies grow out of their babyhood and into childhood. These walls encase precious memories of playing sports in the living room with my son, dancing in the kitchen, playing pirate ship in the loft. The floors have been witness to both kids' first steps, wrestling matches with Daddy, games of hide-and-seek, potty training. The roof has sheltered all kinds of noise, lullabies sung late in the night, countless boy sound effects, parties with friends, Jon and I living life together and weathering storms together. During our longest storm of the "never-ending job hunt", our kitchen seemed to be the setting for many moment of truth conversations where one would bolster the other with, "it's going to be okay" and "don't loose hope".

In reality, I am leaving a roof and walls for a different set. This house hasn't done anything another house won't be able to do in the future, but this has been a dream-house for me. I've lived out dreams in this house. I've grown my own dreams for myself and my family while living in this space. This house is unique in the time we've lived and loved under it's shelter. And for that, I'm sad to say goodbye. Now to start packing...
And try not to freak out...

***********

Freedom of Routine

You know how we all tend to cling to a false-belief or beliefs that can spread into our way of living and behaving? We carry on without even noticing and our lives are shaped by the belief. Big or small, they have power to create patterns in our lives. A big one I've been working through lately is:

"Routine will suck the life out of my creativity and be a vicious death of any potential spontaneity and fun in our schedule." Dramatic, I know, but that's really how I feel/felt about "routine". 

Since I've recognized this as a false belief, my new theory is this: 

If I can create effective routine to accomplish the mundane (the stuff I'd rather be in denial of its existence--like bathroom cleaning) my time for creativity and spontaneity will actually be more free.

I've been wanting to write about this for a while but each time I start, I have visions of the post plummeting quickly into dark depths of boredom on levels never before seen. But this is pretty huge in my life right now, so I'm going to take the risk and write about it anyway.

I've been testing my theory, these past couple weeks, through what I've named a "Housewifery Bootcamp". You have to pronounce "housewifery" like this {house-wiff-ery} in order for it to be effective.

I have a schedule of housecleaning jobs and I've stuck to them (mostly) and it's been amazing. I won't go into the details for fear of boring myself to sleep on the keyboard, but I'm now a believer in the benefit of a healthy routine, even though it's still majorly a work in process.

This week I'm testing out part two of my theory--the creative part. The idea that my head will be clear enough of the necessary mundane that I can write and paint without feeling like I'm neglecting my home or my family. I've designated this week as "make progress on my creative projects week". Okay, so I don't have a creative title for the week, but that's the idea. I want to work on my novel and finish an art project.

Since it sounds like my little one is actually going to nap, and my coffee is done brewing, I'm going to stop writing ABOUT it, and actually DO it. Off to be creative...

Next up in my false-belief bashing process: "I have to have a gym membership to work out". 

One false belief I will not give up: "Each time I kiss my kids' foreheads and stroke their hair, it slows time a little bit."

*****************

Airplanes: A love story

After a year and a half we have a contract on our house and we will move into a different house in another part of our city. We've lived here for over five years and one thing I will miss deeply is living under a flight pattern for our city airport.

When I was a girl and my family was shopping for a new home, I recall two big rules for choosing a good location: 1. Not backing to a busy street. 2. Not near an airport.

I've since learned rule #2 does not apply to me because the sound of an airplane rumbling toward our house sends me flinging curtains aside and shouting, "airplane! come look!", every time. 

I think this love came upon me by proxy through my toddler Jack a few years ago.  Like many toddler boy fascinations--construction trucks and cars--airplanes were one of them. We would gawk in wonder, time after time, pointing up. "Ah-plane", he called them. Now that he is five and Nora is two, and not as taken by them as he was, my love for planes endures and is outlasting even their wonder.

I've been wondering why. Why, after seeing maybe hundreds of airplanes fly by in the past five years, do I still look with anticipation to see what is flying by?  I keep rolling metaphors around in my head trying to pinpoint the reason for my endearment. I feel like my adoration is deep and subconscious. So far, I have enough reasons to start an entire blog on airplane love, so I'll try to summarize. Ready?  This is going to be one of those "write to figure it out" experiences for me.

I love the sound, the power of jet engines zipping souls through the air in encapsulated safety.
I love their lines and the gray silhouette against the sky. Blue and Gray.
I love what they represent in my memory: vacation, adventure, the world.
I love riding in them and seeing the ground below as a quilt.
I love the history of their invention and development.
I could go on...and on...like I said--airplane blog.

Airplanes, to me, are moving art merged with scientific marvel in my favorite canvas, the sky. When I look at the sky, in any state, my soul stirs. The variegated blue inspires creative thinking. Gray churning clouds remind me of my powerlessness, and conversely, God's power. Like a canvas, the sky is often a starting place for me in prayer. Airplanes flying past my house pull my eyes upward to the sky, reminding me. I remember God is present and surrounding. They remind me of God's immensity and how He gifted humanity with creativity and ingenuity enough to create something so intuitively illogical as a giant hunk of metal floating weightlessly.

Airplanes are part of my scenery, mixed with my natural surroundings. We live deep in suburbia where the minimal vegetation is still young and tiny. We sit on a slight hill overlooking a sea of rooftops with a backyard void of plants. Being a naturalist at heart (but now pretty citified if I'm honest), what I love about our setting is when I look out any window in our house, I see three quarters sky. Rooftops and sky.

A plane's low hum draws my eye to the sky. I am reminded to dream big, to pursue the impossible in my own world, like the Wright Brothers did in theirs. I'm reminded that God surrounds me in my pursuit of living and loving; there always in the endless blue, gray and black.

Our new home will most likely be away from my beloved place under the air-traffic. I guess some airplane art on my walls will be a tiny consolation for me.

************************************************

Yes, Ma'am?

I stepped out of the hotel lobby, turned and asked a bellboy for directions to a pond I saw when we arrived.  He gave me instructions and said, "have a nice jog, Miss!"

This single word, "Miss", set me lightly upon my jog with a spring in my step. I was a gazelle. If he had chosen to say "Ma'am", I would have been fighting my "ma'amness" the entire laborious run. Dragging my ageing, out-of-shape behind along while I sucked in air to fill my atrophied lungs.

The very word "Miss", when applied to me, makes me want to tip my face up, give my hair a little shake and bask in the word's glorious sunlit drops of goodness.

Yes, this is really how I feel, and this really did happen--minus the sunlit drops.

Maybe it's a thirties thing, why I feel such a visceral reaction to the word. At thirty-four I feel steady in the decade, no, more than steady--I feel empowered in this decade. I feel more motivated than I've been my entire life.

And yet. The word "Ma'am" lands like a thud in my ears and rounds my shoulders. While "Miss" nearly makes me giggle.

In my twenties I was exhaustingly introspective, always searching for "who I am". Now, I'm refreshingly onto "who I love" and "what I do". I feel better in these, happier. No matter where I'm at though, I will always love what stereotypically comes with youth--hope, expectation, energy, passion (even naive passion). Words associated with aging aren't as fancy-free--maturity, wisdom, self-actualization.

I don't care how self-actualized, mature or super-spiritual you are, "youth" always sounds good, "aging"-not so much. The word "Miss" nicely encapsulates all things young and lovely. "Ma'am"; formal, stodgy, critical. (Feel free to leave a comment below and make me aware of my "issues" I might need to seek counseling for!)

Despite all this, I fully intend to embrace aging with gusto. I'm going to wrap my arms around it like a big pillow (or so I say now.) A full-fledged fight against aging can only result in bad wardrobe choices.

One night this summer, for Jon's birthday, we had four generations of women gathered for dinner at Salsa Brava. My daughter, the youngest, Jon's grandmother the most "mature". Our young-man waiter addressed each of us as "Miss". I immediately loved him for this and had to tell him how he would get a bigger tip because of his word-choice.

As much as I am actively seeking maturity, wisdom and self-actualization in my life, I will always feel a little skinnier, prettier and sunnier when called "Miss".

Okay-so I'm dying to know if you disagree with me! Would you be offended if someone called you "Miss" over a certain age? Maybe it would come across as patronizing or disrespectful? Do tell...


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Mental Grooves

This morning I was bouncing around everywhere but in the groove. My mental wheels were about to pop off from all the jumbling and jiggling. And I was not doing aerobics; I was just trying to get us ready for the day.

I learned from one of Jack's books on trains that the inspiration for train rails came from observing how a cart could travel easily through grooves worn into the road from carts who went before it. If it came out of the grooves, the trip would take longer and the cart would be more prone to damage from the rougher ride.

My rough ride today is due in part to the paradox of need. I've been thinking about paradoxes lately--I'm always so intrigued by them. In my motherly opinion, "NEED" is one of them--how amazing it feels to be needed, and how suffocating it can be sometimes.

Today my kids have been "needing" something at every turn--way more than usual. (Is it a full moon?) Sometimes I embrace the reality and love it--hello--I am their mommy. Other times, like today, I  feel unceasingly interrupted and it throws me from my happy groove of how I want to move through life.

My nice spiral of thought, purpose and plans are all jumbled and broken. I can't THINK. I want to have a complete thought, but instead I fill another sippy cup, or answer another a question, or help someone pee.

This afternoon God helped my mental wheels get back into the smooth path. After school drop off, Nora and I went to the World Prayer Center to walk around. We've never done this together before, but today it suddenly occurred to me how lovely that would be to do with Nora. The sidewalk around the building is surrounded both by stunning front-range views and nice little places to sit and BE. We slowly walked, chatted, enjoyed the sunshine, and prayed. I prayed for our state, our country, the people suffering in Somalia. We went inside and read beautifully displayed scripture on prayer, listened to a guy playing piano, looked at flags from around the world and prayed for several countries.

This is my groove. Remembering to pray and worship, slow down and BE.

As I'm finishing writing this my kids are happily playing with each other and not needing anything from me. I think when they ask me for something in a few minutes, my peaceful, in-the-groove self will jump at the opportunity to be needed.

Psalm 23:3--He refreshes my soul. He guides me along the right paths for His name's sake. 

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I'm No Grammarian

Yes, I did get a "D" in the grammar portion of one of my High School English classes. The only reason I squeaked out a "B" overall was that the rest of class was literature which I adore.
I'm admitting this because my blog title might not be grammatically correct. I honestly don't know if it is, but I love it!

Here's why my blog is called "Ontologically Happy"--

One of my favorite women is Madelein L'Engle. She's a woman I will have over for dinner in heaven because when she lived, she was too far across the country to invite over. (New York) When she published her book "A Circle of Quiet" in 1972, my favorite of hers, I was five years shy of being born. My parents weren't even married yet. She was in her 30's raising babies (my age & stage) in the 1950's. She died in September of 2007 after living a long and fruitful life. Madeleine's perspectives and wisdom I find completely relevant and insightful even to our current days, even though they were written decades ago. To me, that makes her all the more fascinating.

But I will definitely invite her over for dinner in my heaven-dwelling because she is a major inspiration to me in my life as a growing artist, believer in Jesus and woman.  We'll sit on a cloud-couch and drink star-light tea and talk about our love for life, art and Jesus. Something dreamy like that.

Anyway, in a couple of her books she talks about being "ontological". Generally the idea of being ontological is to be in a state of who we are at our core. Like being at peace, in an un-self-conscious way, with who you are. Not so much what you are, as in roles (parent, teacher, artist, spouse), or who you want to be from the expectations and pressures of culture, but WHO. She talks about the joy of getting away to her favorite spot by a pond and just "being".

From this ontological position, we are more free to pray, create, love.

As I've considered starting a blog, I've way over-thought it scrapped about five versions. One hang-up has been the issue of "theme"; do I need to commit to a certain topic? I love randomness, so committing to something where it would be weird to throw in a post about my crush on Jimmy Fallon, or how I secretly want to be a paleontologist, was not sitting well with me. Somehow I keep coming back to the desire to start my own blog because I've been inspired by, learned from and grown spiritually from the writing of other people sharing through their blogs. So I want to do it too--and let the random be free!

I want to write about things that strike my interest in the moment, and things that give me a deep, lasting happiness at the core of who I am. My place to write and be ontological--as grammatically incorrect as that may be. As you know, happiness is fleeting and sometimes plain absent, but I've found when I'm in a place of  "being" WHO God created me to be, I feel happy. Ontologically Happy.

Madeleine says, "Our truest responsibility to the irrationality of the world is to paint, sing or write, for only in such response do we find truth."

So that's the "why" of this blog for me. I want to write about life from a place of ontological happiness.

Cheers, Madeleine! Thanks for being inspiring and living ontologically so others can follow your example. I think I'm going to quote you a time or twenty-eight!