It’s getting hot in here, so take off all your…

Today, the high will be a balmy 104-which translated into Tulsa’s humid temperatures, means 110. My poor little garden is persevering through the heat, like a bunch of state champs. However, the brown and crumbly tips of my squash plant cannot go unnoticed.

I have found more than one rotted out, burnt to a crisp little crookneck squash-that had started off with so much pizzaz and promise. It breaks my heart.

And a couple of my lettuce plants had to be put down. We’ve still had more than enough for the two of us to eat huge salads every day-and share with others. But, it’s so hard to say goodbye to yesterday’s lettuce. You eat some, you loose some.

Fighting the heat and the dang squirrels over my tomatoes is a daily struggle. Cute, furry squirrels can’t get enough of tearing off perfectly green tomatoes, taking ONE bite and then tossing it to the side like a fickle woman shopping for shoes. How wasteful you are, little creatures. If only I had a BB gun. Oh wait, I do. And a heart of stone in order to be able to kill you. Oh wait, I don’t. You can have the tomatoes…

But, if I’m going to endure this heat every day while pampering, clipping, weeding, harvesting-I want to get to this point with my tomatoes. So back off, heat. Back off, squirrels. A girl can only be pushed so far and then she snaps. (Insert BB gun deployment noise).

We wish for freedom.

Happy 4th of July and Independence Day! I personally love the 4th of July. It’s the one holiday where anyone and everyone can be patriotic, without judgement-instead of trying to be a cool hipster who opposes everything the government stands for.

Instead of viewing this holiday as an excuse to drink and not work, let’s take a look at what it really means to celebrate our independence.

Our freedom means young men and women giving up their best years to fight for a country that sometimes doesn’t support them, and even despises them upon their homecoming. Some return with physical and mental scars they care not talk about, memories they wished they could forget and feelings of regret for what they had to do.

Our freedom means wives and daughters seeing the leader of their home in uniform, packing up, saying goodbye for months on end, or maybe even forever.

It means moving on without that man during those months, continuing on with life and trying not to worry every second of every day that something might happen.

My freedom means attending a Veteran’s Church service and seeing men and women with crutches, missing limbs, wheelchair-but standing there praising the Lord. It’s humbling and continues to make me cry.

Our freedom comes with a high price-and if I’m honest, one I’m not sure that I’m willing to pay myself. I am thankful for the men and women of this country who are more selfless than I am-who have risked it all so that I can sit on my back porch, drink my coffee and write about them.

God-please-still bless America.

Pressing on to things that are ahead.

Life can be difficult. It can stink. It can be trying and fun and devastating and everything in between. But, each time that I’ve come to a fork in the road that I wasn’t excited about-the “opportunity” for change-I’ve realized that it’s hard to leave something behind that’s familiar.

With this new-ish career that I’m pursuing, many creative things in my life have had to come to a halt. I no longer have time to sew shirts, build picnic tables or can beans. The closest that I’m coming to creativity is tying balloons on the “for sale” signs outside of a home I’ve listed.

Wee.

 

I’ve got to be honest-it’s been a real struggle for me. I really hate the word “busy” and I hate being too busy to enjoy life. I don’t mind working hard-if you know anything about me, it’s that I love to work hard.

However, the path that is now before me is a new and scary one. An unfamiliar one. It’s full of twists and turns and hills and valleys. I can’t seem to keep my thoughts straight or get a good night of sleep.

But, with each twist and turn comes the opportunity to rely more on God and less on myself. I’ve had to completely take captive my thoughts, I’ve had to demand of myself to be positive and I’ve had to find ways to continue enjoying life-even if it’s only the five solitary moments I get between phone calls.

And, I’ve clung to this scripture:

“But one thing I do: Forgetting what is behind and straining toward what is ahead, I press on toward the goal to win the prize for which God has called me heavenward in Christ Jesus. [ Following Paul’s Example ] All of us, then, who are mature should take such a view of things. And if on some point you think differently, that too God will make clear to you.”
Philippians 3:12-16

And so the week begins. Or does it?

Last week, I kept thinking Wednesday was Saturday, Sunday was Tuesday and so forth and so on. I was-what you would call-jacked up. There was a lot on my plate, on my mind, and on my to-do list. Most of the week, I didn’t feel like myself.

I felt like this.

Wigged out, freaked out and out of my mind. Ever had one of those weeks? So, I did what any normal person would do.

At every stop light, or between each meeting, I went into my happy place-my home away from home-to have what I call, a “Rebekah-day”.

I dreamt about our month long vacation (“vay-k” for you hipsters) to Europe-the lovely places we visited, the foods we ate….the complete lack of responsibility I enjoyed (which drove Biceps nuts).

I dreamt about the mornings where we walked around with coffee in one hand, pastry in the other and got to know another new city. We were surrounded by natives speaking their own languages, creating a cocoon between us and “them”. I felt like we were the only two people in the world-unless of course, I needed a bathroom (which was often) and then I had to interact with aforementioned natives.

I dreamt about staying at “Rose’s Haus” in Austria; after we asked for a refund from the non-air conditioned, communal offered bathroom, cheap hostel we had originally booked our two nights with.

The morning we awoke at Rose’s Haus, I was greeted exuberantly by her husband (the bearded man above), arms ready to receive a hug, who boomed out, “Guten Morgen!”. After hugging, he led us to our breakfast table and told us stories in German. I understood about 45% of it, but that seemed enough for him.

I loved the quietness of the car-free cities. Hallstadt was foot friendly only-save one or two market days when produce trucks wound around the precarious road attached to the side of the mountain and thanked their lucky stars they made it, one more time.

And, then there’s Paris (if you want to get fancy, say- “Pair-wee”). Biceps, Eiffel Tower, carousel, coffee, the Louvre…I was in heaven.

I could escape right now to Salzburg-with the only sounds being the train a mile below and the cow bells in the backyard. The morning was spent watching the mist rise from the mountaintops while enjoying a Nescafe.

Right now, this Monday morning-I’m in Venice in my mind. I can smell the bakery, hear the quartet in the background which is accompanied by the thousands of pigeons warbling and forget that I’m in Tulsa.

Hot, sweaty Tulsa. Wonderful Tulsa, but hot and sweaty nonetheless. And, suddenly it’s not Monday. It’s Rebekah-day.