Of Family: Fears and Failures

You may argue with me, but my family is the best. My parents have always been consistently faithful to each other, to us as role models and to their commitment to lead a Godly life.

However, we aren’t without our mistakes. And I’m not without my regrets as to how I’ve treated them, what I’ve said  or my crappy attitudes when they don’t do what I want them to do.

Each time we all get together, I tell myself that I’m going to be mature, I’m going to respond with grace and humility and I’ll give to them generously.

But I don’t. I act like a bratty 8 year old. I fail terribly. I get crabby. I demand my way. I get ticked off, retreat to my closet, eat chocolate and cry. And pet the cat(s). Thank God for cats. Seriously.

Then, I crawl back to the party I’ve offended and ask for forgiveness. It’s the same dooloop over and over again. I feel hopeless that I’ll ever really change. And you’d think I’d learn.

After all, I’m old enough to know better, I’m a mother in waiting, supposedly a “professional” and a wife of 12 years. But 8-year-old-Becky rears her ugly head time after time after time after time…

I’m so thankful for the Creator of the universe and for His forgiveness. Otherwise, I may end up seriously hopeless-never leaving my closet, nutritionally destitute from my steady chocolate diet and perhaps even rejected by my cats due to stinkyness.

But in Him I find hope that I can and I will change-with His help.

“If you, Lord, kept a record of sins, Lord, who could stand? But with you there is forgiveness, so that we can, with reverence, serve you. I wait for the Lord, my whole being waits, and in his word I put my hope.” Psalm 130:3-5

Like me, you may have difficulties with the people you love the most. My intention with my vulnerability is to encourage you out of the stinky, chocolate-laden closet while in pursuit of His cleansing forgiveness.

Don’t give up hope. In Him there is hope!

My “House of Dirt”

Biceps follows someone on Instagram that makes him mad. According to him, “they are so good, so in shape, so muscular and so ridiculously strong” it makes him angry that he’s not on that level. As if Biceps could get any stronger or better looking.

My response to his instagram outburst this morning was: “They’re going to die, too.” A callous (but funny?) response, I know. There is no escaping death-unless you are Michael Jackson and you have yourself frozen, of course.

No matter what we do with our time, we will all meet an end. As my pastor has said, “We are houses of dirt.”

I spend almost an hour a day sweating my butt off so that I’m not totally embarrassed to wear a swimsuit. Sure, it’s good for my health, my heart, my longevity-and of course, Biceps appreciates it.

However, whether I’m Ms. Fitness or not (leaning more towards the “not”), I’m going to die and decay and rot. Muscles and fat and all.

I spend countless hours a week ridding my home of softball-sized white dust bunnies, courtesy of two furry felines. Literally, I feel as if my house is really a “house of dirt”.

I wash our clothes, wipe down sinks, do dishes, clean mirrors, mow our lawn, tend the garden, wash the van, sweep up more dust bunnies (and then clump them into one giant fur pile to gross out Biceps).

But, our house could be leveled by a tornado or even a sharknado tomorrow-and all my cleaning, decorating and obsessing would be back to square one.

I watch as the women I know work themselves into a frenzy-and I’m tempted to follow suit. My phone dings, rings and notifies me of something every two seconds. I am constantly “on call” as a realtor. My day doesn’t really end. I could make a little money with this job; or a lot of money and buy everything I’ve ever wanted and then what? I die?

If you have been storing your treasures here on earth-whether it’s a physically fit body, the perfectly clean showcase home, the awards and recognition from a job well done-I want to remind you that we are all made of dirt. We will all die and decay.

And then what?

“But store up for yourselves treasures in heaven, where moths and vermin do not destroy, and where thieves do not break in and steal.” Matthew 6:20

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

My Birthday Week-Guns and Cake!

So, it’s official-I’m old. You know you’re old when you tell a 20-something you’re 35 and they say, “Wow, you’ve aged well.”

What am I? A fine wine? I suppose there are worse things to be…

Typically, I make a big deal out my birthday. I start planning a month in advance, have a theme, and throw a party. But this year, I was less than excited about turning 35. AND, Biceps had to work on my big day, so I knew I would be celebrating my day-alone. Wah.

However, my sweet Biceps-who reads my mind (aka-just looks at me)-knew how I was feeling. He put in a quick call to a friend, and before I knew it-inches were coming off.

And not around my waist. (A girl can dream.)

My BSF partner (in crime) bought me a vegan muffin and skinny hazelnut latte for breakfast, a fabulous lunch, and she willingly colored my hair and cut me some fancy bangs. I felt spoiled and it was awesome.

After a lovely night on the porch with my kitties and birthday wishes from friends, I called it a night. For suddenly becoming 35 over night, it was still a pretty good day…

But wait-there’s more-a lot more. The next morning, I opened my gift from Biceps-a 38 Special Revolver. Hello!

Happy Birthday to me and God Bless America, all in one.

Biceps went “treat” shopping and he knows what a girl wants, what a girl needs…and she needs options of both sweet and salty, olives and Mike and Ikes, cashews and chocolate. Totally normal, right?

Biceps also made my favorite cake-German Chocolate-to enjoy later in the evening. And yes the candles do read, “Bappy Hirthday” because Biceps thinks he’s hilarious. And he is.

Another lunch out-but this time with Biceps, we partook of aforementioned treats, time on the porch together, and a catnap. After scrubbing the crusties from our eyes, our family and friends who were willing to eat cake and ice cream with me, ventured over to celebrate.

All in all, I suppose 35 isn’t so bad. America! Happy Birthday! Guns and Cake!