Plan B.

I had a blog set for today, but scratch that idea. As I lay in bed this afternoon taking a fifteen minute breather to make it through the rest of my jam packed day of unimportant important to do’s  lingering over my head, I rolled over clumbsily onto my phone nestled under all our umpteen pillows that serve no purpose other than to make it harder to get into bed according to my dear husband.

All that to say, even though, I am on this new try-to-use -my-phone-in-moderation-kick  I decided to kill some brain cells and peruse the internet for a sec, only to discover an email from my good friend Margie Moore. Attached to the email was a video she said I should watch and Margie isn’t the video sending type if you know what I mean.

Now, I  have to be honest, this ole gal usually never watches  videos sent to me—I usually save them into a  I-will-look-at-later-but-never-really-do file. But, killing time like a bandit I decided to postpone my productivity and take a gander. And boy,oh boy am I ever so glad I did.

It shall be my manna for the rest of the day to chew on and find so many nutrients that I miss with my discontent heart that often robs me of what and WHO is so very important in this life.

Watch it, yep, I am beggin. It’s 8 minutes. And it will change your day and quite possibly your outlook.

love,

How do you balance life? Can you give your very all to your kids that spell love T-I-M-E, put 100 % into your job so you can get the next promotion that you are panting over, make dinner each night that doesn’t come out of can with ingredients you cannot even pronounce and have a shelf life of 159 years, text your friends back in 2.5 seconds so they don’t get miffed, keep up with your 500 invisible friends on facebook that you really don’t know, finish half read books piling up by your bedside table right next to your undone to do list, clean your closet of the jeans that you really wanna fit into but truth be told when you did fit in them you weren’t even eating, have a real, live conversation with your husband that doesn’t involve any kind of electrical advice and maybe, maybe have some time for yourself?

Thinking I might have some hokey 12 step plan, ay?

N.O.P.E.

Don’t have any boxed up solutions; Lord knows this over committer could use them….

But, I do have someone that has some real, tangible answers.

Her name is Katie Bulmer—she is the pulse behind imperfectpeople.net and I am proud to say she is one of my good friends, yet I have never met her. You see, she is one of my invisible friends that I encountered through this crazy internet world we vicariously live in and through. I knew we would be best buds, when she said she wasn’t a phone talker and that she prefer to text. I mean, aren’t all good friendships based on these solid principles?

I truly fell in love with Katie when last summer we were in the process of waiting for Posey’s birth, I had yet to tell many people of the miraculous story that was unraveling in front of my own two eyes. Mainly because I was reveling in the awe of it all, but mostly I was protective of this treasure that I could not quite wrap my mind around. But something inside me decided to tell Katie what had transpired, for my gut tugged at my heart and voiced to me that she was the real deal and that I could trust her with what my heart was holding. Turned out I was right. Not only did she tell me she would pray for me and the birth mother, but she sent me this incredible piece from her blog on the real story of a birth mother and her reunion with her biological daughter. I am digressing, I am fully aware, but this story she sent me, just captured my soul, as giving a child away is one of the most sacrificial things one can do, yet I feel birth mothers are often one of the most misunderstood varieties. Touched that she would reach out to me, and not just send me a generic email telling me she was praying for me as all good Southerners do (which would have sufficed, considering she has a life!) that I decided that this little Georgia gal full of grace surely was a rare find to clasp and cling.

So, today my friends, I share a piece from Katie’s blog on how to run your life and not let it run you. And please, if you are debating on perusing People magazine or reading this piece. Read Katie’s words that might leave you realizing cheating isn’t necessarily a bad thing.

I told my husband the other day I could stay up all night long and still have way too much on my to do list, to which he responded, “shorten your to-do list”

Profound!  Simple, maybe even obvious but I thought it was brilliant…he’s a smart guy.  I think all of us have expectations we place on ourselves that don’t REALLY have to be done.

Andy Stanley wrote a book called “choosing to cheat” The premise states that we cannot possibly do everything so we must cheat in one or more areas of our life.  There are simply not enough hours in a day or days in a year to do and be everything we want.  We are then faced with the choice to decide what is most important.

Although we don’t see it this way it is even a little egotistical to think we are soooo important that we must get so much done.  If the world will keep spinning and no one will be physically harmed if we don’t complete the task then is it really THAT important?

Cheating suggestions:

Housework: Everyone has different “must does’” for a clean home.  I think it is essential to take a moment to define what a clean home is to you.  What is most important and what areas can you cheat? It will just get dirty again anyway!

The Internet: Rescue time is a free internet service designed to keep you accountable for how much time you spend on the net.  On average it rescues people from almost 4 hours of time a week!

Television: Along with the internet these are the two biggest time suckers for most families.  Be intentional with your television.  Ask is this show WORTH my time?  Give yourself a number you are comfortable with for hours spent per week in front of the tube.

Extra activities: If your kids are in soccer, dance, karate, football, and piano all at the same time you might want to take a step back and ask what is most important and what is not.  Or maybe you are the president of the PTA, the bible study leader, the volunteer and the helper for EVERYTHING in your city.  Just incase you need permission…It’s okay to say no.
(ouch I am so guilty of this)

Work more effectively: No matter where you work: in an office or at home there are ways to work more efficiently.  4 hour work week is a book dedicated to helping your work more effectively.

Barter anyone?: You can’t do it all but together we can.  Babysitting is a great way to trade services.  You watch my kids and I’ll watch yours.  I have a friend that does all my monogramming and I make her little girls hair bows.  PERFECT!!

What is a skill or service you can offer?  Trading is much more fun that spending money and is a helpful way to get what you need by “cheating”

Share your thoughts: In what ways do you “cheat?”

A little pic of  the one and only Katie Bulmer so you can put  a face behind the words:)

I pretty much rather be anywhere but here. Run 39 miles. Eat rotten tomatoes. Have a big zit on my face while speaking in front of a huge audience. Naked on subzero terrain.  Eat pig’s feet. Listen to Vanilla Ice.

I don’t know, but I do know this:

Just.

Not.

Here.

Suspended in space. The birds fly below, not above. A white fluffy blanket of clouds serve as my unstable net.

In this hour and half phase of my life I have zero control. And anxiety pretty much sucker punches any coherent thought. So I write…in hopes that I can Jedi mind trick my mind into calming down.

I am on the way home from a girl’s trip with my two dearest friends Julie and Natalie—we just spent five days of talking, eating, and shopping too much in New York City, which I will write about when my head is clear and my heart isn’t palpitating to the point that I can hear it reverberate in my eardrum.

But for now I am beginning to feel the benefits of my new friend.  Until about 4o minutes ago, I was a virgin Xanax girl, but because I have developed a newfound phobia of flying, my good  friend Julie thought I might need to dip in the calming waters of “the pearly white pill”. I think it was my bobbing knees and twitching forehead that might have clued her into the fact that Ms. Go with the Flow was now Ms. Stiffed Neck Sweaty Palms. She gazed over at me on our shuttle ride to the departure gate like I was some monkey captured in a  cage shaking because I knew I had no way out  and  kindly, so she then kindly, but firmly told me, didn’t ask me… “ Linds, please, you gotta chill out, my goodness, here have this little guy—you should feel quite nice shortly.”

Odd, that I use to fly to France alone for the summer, take a midnight train to places I could not even speak the language, hop on the Chunnel to London like it was some short bike ride to the grocery store— I guess I was fearless back in the day…… or naïve, not quite sure. My gut tells me the latter.  But, now, I am 34 years old with two little ones at home and when my feet aren’t on the ground my heart tightens, pounds— not with delight, more with, “Dear Jesus, I am believing you to get me home. Please help me not go the bathroom all over myself or scare the bajeebees out of the woman next to me whom I do not know even know, yet I am clinching her arm so tightly that I might just have broken through her delicate skin. Oh, and please help her not to think I am too phsycho—just a wee bit phsycho is fine, though.”

<SIGH………>

What has happened to me? The young exploratory and daring Lindsay? Even Julie leaned over to me as we waited for our flight that was delayed 4 gazillion times and said in her sassy red headed, southern over the top dialect, “WHAT happened to adventurous Lindsay? Take a plane, see you later, c’est la vie!? Lawdy, you are wound up. You. Are. Fine.”

Guzzling my five dollar airport water  and in between each swing I am repeating over and over to myself in a loud whisper that mimics Rainman,” you are fine, you are fine, you are fine…” But, not really believing it no matter how many times I say it,  I choose to dig to the bottom of my handbag to find the Xanax that I might just need in case the heavens decided to be bumpy and rebellious.

Then I pondered Julie’s question, “WHAT did happen to me??”  And then I uttered a delayed, tongue twisted by fretfulness response, “I don’t know,Juls, I had kids. Maybe that’s it. Or maybe it’s that I now realize life is not eternal like I did in my twenties. But really I think it’s something else. It’s the lack of the “ C” word.

Control.

And now as I have  grudgingly made my way into the atmosphere, I feel as though I have none of the “C” word while being bottled up in this tiny plane, bouncing off clouds, going 697 miles per hour at 30,000 feet with a pilot that looks like Doogey Howser.  My face glued to the window examining  my exterior like a Beagle looking for a rabbit to chase, except I am trying to find land below me….ALL I want to see is a patch, a spot, a smidgen that tells me, “Not much longer, almost there, you’ll be just fine.”

But, truth is I know now what only wisdom and A LOT of mistakes can teach you and it is this: Nothing is really in my hands or your hands, I may think it is, but it is all propaganda of the mind—just like me thinking that if I see land below, then I am sure to arrive safely home. It’s a false confidence.

I mean, we all calculate these crazy equations in our heads, that we somehow believe will add up. But when life is lived and outcomes are not as we premeditated, it’s not  our math that is off, it’s our misperception that we are God, that surely we in our humanity can make life add up just as we want.

You know….

• If I move to the right neighborhood with the right people = life will go my way
• IF I have sex on  the right day with  the right medication =  I will get pregnant
• If I don’t have sex on the right days and take the right medication = I won’t get pregnant
• If I send my kids to the best schools with the brightest kids= the road will be paved for them
• If I go to church and I am a good person = surely I won’t be asked to get too far out of my comfort zone
• If I get the right job= no financial worries
• If I eat a gluten free diet, moisturize every other day, and run on the treadmill five times a week= I’ll live a long life
• If I am successful= everyone will deem me important

Guilty as charged. I have done all of these. Even worse, I have done them, gotten burnt by the fire of their arrogance …and then done them again.  Slow learner party of one.

Truth is we can no more control our lives than I can control the weather outside this plane. Now, that doesn’t mean you get up and live recklessly, thinking, “Nothing that I do matters anyhow.” That’s not what I am saying.  Lack of planning is equally as foolish.

All this ole control freak is saying is this:  Do your best. Live your life each day. Make plans. Commit those plans to God with complete surrender (yes, you read that right….don’t pass out, God most likely won’t ask you to move to Africa, live in a tent with no running water, and never wear deodorant—BUT no promises….). Complete surrender is the hardest, yet most freeing place to live—a place where you and I must be willing to release our plans  at any given time that He asks.

Now, that I have freaked you out…let me give you a dollop of hope to pile on your newfound panic.

Here is WHY you might want to gently let go of those reigns that you hold onto with a determined grasp:

Those reigns are an allusion. The only thing that tells you they exist is your grip. You may be clutching so tightly and so fixated on not letting go of those reigns, that you are headed straight toward a big cliff of disappointment when you could be grazing in a field of contentment, but you missed it because you were holding onto that leash of false control.

The tether isn’t our plans—it not being able to let go of our plans when God has bigger ones. It’s holding on tightly to our idea of what we think will happen if we do x, y, and z. And while we may hold this leash all our life if we choose, most often it only leads to a second rate life that is coxed, and contorted by our false beliefs that we control the destination. No different than being dead set on visiting Mexico, while you are headed north. But, we do it every day, I do it every day. Exhibit A:  If I am a good enough person then life will be easier… everyone will like me. WRONG.

Truth is, what we can control is this: our attitude, our surrender, our acknowledgment that maybe we don’t know what’s best for our lives. Maybe that simply means we pray, we plan, and tell God our heart, our desires. And then we commit those longings to Him, knowing that He isn’t always a safe God.  But He is a God that wants not just our good, but our very best.

With that thought lingering, the wheels boom and beat up the black tarmac runway, reminding me that I have landed. Worrying, not worrying, pill, no pill, I am back in Nashville. And so it is the same with life—- I live most days, you live most days in the in between, thinking we are in control but in reality we are suspended between the rising and falling.

But in that suspension, it’s the daily release, the daily acknowledgment that my days are His, to be used to love, to give, and to live beyond myself. And maybe it’s that truth that allows us to finally let go and really fly.

This woman looks like I feel right before take off…:)

Juls, Natalie, and Me….and an obnoxious wine glass in the forefront….We need to work on our self portraits!:)

And as always, I know you have  a life beyond this blaring screen…so,.thanks for reading my crazy thoughts that chase me down until they  are inscribed. Maybe somewhere in the mayhem my struggles will bless you…xoxo

I started praying a very simple prayer some weeks ago that changed my days, my life.

Now, don’t sit on the edge of your seat too much, it’s nothing fancy. Your three year old could say it with their eyes closed walking backwards, your dog could probably mouth it in his sleep while he dreams of milk bones.

But it has served to save me from the insanity and the splendor which is life. The last month, if I am not sleeping, eating, wiping cute little derrières, or playing make believe with the twelve additional stuffed animals Roman has deemed members of the Jennings family…from “Tigger”, his new pretend brother, to our newest make believe cousin, “Angry Bird”—nothing like having a plush red bird with a scowl to sit with us at dinner time—if these mundane, yet magical moments aren’t occurring one thing is certain: I am upstairs in our room writing. Writing. Writing. Writing. Scripting my heart out, pouring sweat into each word nicely tucked into my desk  glancing over at  pictures of those I love staring back at me in white wooden frames that need a dusting or two,  freshly picked hydrangeas peering over my screen floating in fresh water tickling my nasal passage with their floral aroma, fooling me into believing that their glorious scent somehow means my desk is clean, but then I look down only to see papers strung out from here to Timbucktoo and then back again—an organized mess only I can translate.

Writing this book might be one of the most fulfilling, yet exhausting things I have ever done, as is any calling that God gives the human heart—never easy, but brilliantly rewarding. But, oddly enough in this journey to write my heart out each day, I have fidgeted and fumbled with the art of living. Because most of my days are filled with doing, doing, doing. You know, the going,going,going dance we all do each day—only to lay down in bed and wonder where the day went.  Often feeling like we are surviving our lives, instead of living them.

About two weeks ago, I hit a wall or rather the wall hit me, I felt like I was a monkey hooting and ‘ahollering on a treadmill chasing all the other monkeys, but going nowhere fast. Trying to be best wife, mother, friend,writer and feeling like I was good at none of them. I don’t say this as a pity party, pity tarnishes the sheen out of life, and leaves us crippled by a false reality. I am simply saying I was depleted, yet I had so much simplicity me begging to fill me up: a husband cleaning the kitchen up as I wrote, a boisterous little boy drawing me a picture of messy, glitter infused swirls and circles in the den while simultaneously peeking at me around the corner, a sweet little cherub faced baby girl that sleeps so soundly just below, and friends loving me for the imperfect person that I am.

But, yet I couldn’t absorb these blessings without getting distracted by all the demands life can force upon you. I was preoccupied by all I felt I needed to be done… thinking, “only for it to be tomorrow or two weeks from now then life would be more peaceful, more settled”. My mind would fall for this bait every time it plopped into the choppy waters of my thoughts. I would release my nibble once I tasted its bitterness and realized that life was never going to change its pace, in fact, I think the more you surrender your life to God the more He gives you to do, to invest. And for weeks, I struggled to grasp what does it mean to “do” life in the moment without getting distracted by the magnetism of the future?  By the allure of when it is____I will be enjoy life. When it is____I will finally be fulfilled.  You know what I mean, we all are in seasons of our lives that we think we will be better off when____. And much like you,  I was stuck in this ruse… mouth salivating, staring dead ahead at this carrot that dangled in front of me otherwise known as the future.

A couple weeks back, as we returned from our Sunday family walk (yes,totally gooby, but all four of us saunter through Sylvan Park while Seth and I talk about all things significantly insignificant with Posey strapped to her daddy in that Bjorn thingamajig and Roman riding in his wagon, singing some cartoon theme song slightly off tune).  After our stroll that particular day, I came in flushed face, once again thinking of the work that lie ahead of me, and then Iooked down at Posey’s dimpled grin, felt Roman’s big clumsy hand gripping my leg with love as I changed Posey. And I grasped something. This is life. Changing diapers. Going on walks. Making pancakes for breakfast. Eating peanut butter in the car on the run. Thanking Jesus for the goodness and the heartache in my life while I do yoga. Letting the bed go unmade for fifteen more minutes, so you can look out the window on spring taking its turn and pray at least for a minute or two for someone else, write letters to your friends old school style, pen to paper.  Turning your phone off while you drive in the car with your kids because you don’t want them to lose the art of conversation nor do you want to miss out on their lives. This is it. These are the small moments that on our death bed we will long for, yearn to have just one more taste of their sweetness.

It was this trivial moment at the feet of a changing table and a smelly diaper, that I got a gust of fresh air, blinders were taking off my eyes…my eyes that were seeing everything down the road, yet missing everything in front of me. And this prayer floated to the top of my conscious, only for my brain to turn up the volume so my heart could hear it clearly.  It was this modest, yet bold prayer that cleared my foggy vision: Don’t miss today, Lindsay. Don’t miss it.

For the last several weeks, every day, out loud or internally this is my prayer: God, please don’t let me miss today. That has been my sustenance, my plea each day when my feet hit the cold,rickety brick floors of our  kitchen and I rummage to find the coffee’s “on” button, still in a sleep haze, headed to write before the house wakes from slumber. It greets me and reminds me that I can either live today thinking of tomorrow, striving over what closets need  to be cleaned, which flowerbeds need replanted, which thank you notes are all too late.  But then I realize this: Don’t all our tomorrow’s just end up being our today’s that we never took the time to enjoy?

Enjoying the moment, right here, right now is not our human nature…we want to skip today, through our tainted vision the future seems to glisten more.  To not fully live today with all its imperfections and beauty intertwined, is like foregoing that present that sits right in front of you, but you don’t want to unwrap because it isn’t swathed in shiny paper like all the other pretty ones that sit further down the table. Those attractive gifts that you and I so badly want to reach over and rip open, never realizing that unless you first unwrap right where you are today, all those attractive gifts are just collapsing empty boxes cloaked in sparkly paper.

And with realization, I uncover the present which this very moment, wrapped in tattered paper with torn edges—and when I open it up, I stop to notice that Roman has nestled all his stuffed animals next to me, Mickey Mouse and Alvin the Singing Chipmunk included in the montage. All huddled at my feet, to keep me company as I write because, “Mommy, they wuvv you” , Posey giggling uncontrollably because  the sweet girl thinks anything he does is just downright comedy central-esque. Then I look to the left to see a pile of laundry as high as the tower of Babylon, a stack of books shoved in the corner, all half read, and winter clothes that need put in storage.  Finally, I glance back to my computer to see my book proposal  minimized in the left corner of my screen still not  quite finished, and I realize this is my life.  And I don’t want to miss it.

Here we go, with my random pics of everyday life…

Roman and his daddy playing Angry Birds, also known as plastic birds flying through the living room

Roman,Posey…oh, and Alvin. Of course, Alvin the Chipmunk is in the picture,why wouldn’t he be?

I know this was in the last post, but this pic just makes me 156 kinds of happy…sweet Posey B.

And finally..my good friend Paige sent this song to me several weeks ago  when life seemed to be running me into the ground—ironically, she runs a national magazine and has little two girls, yet she was sending this to me–maybe I could learn from her?! It’s the only song that when  I turn the volume up as it plays, my life actually quiets down.

In the words of  Patty Griffin…Have a heavenly day…

Sometimes its voice is more than I can endure. Bullying me with every new corner I turn, leaving its residue on all that I touch, pushing up against me with its imperceptible valor when I dare the impossible.

It shouts at me, it shouts at you.

Those THREE words serve as the background music to our lives, always turning its volume up higher and higher the closer we get to our freedom.

I.

AM.

SCARED.

Only 3 words, but yet they have the power to deflate our dreams, cripple our courage, and table our talent.

You’ve been there. Dare to write that book even if not one blessed soul buys a single copy. Venture to speak your voice even if all you hear are empty echoes. Challenge yourself to be more than just someone that blindly follows the blind even if that means you tumble, flip flop and haphazardly somersault right into heartache because you know the bruises are just reminders that you weren’t settling for mediocre anymore.

We all stand at the edge. And we all have a choice to either turn back. Or fly against the winds gusting and blustering at our face in hopes that those voracious gusts might just propel us forward instead, instead of intimidate us backward.

Or at least that’s the way it’s been for me. Always scared that someone might see me try. Then see me fail, fall. And tumble not just on my face, but dive whole body into the unwelcoming concrete that is otherwise known as failure.

I remember when I was twenty years old I was in New York City to interview for an internship with Dateline NBC. It was me, the little southern girl up against a bunch of Ivy leagued educated kids. I really had no business being there.

I will never ever forget, Rosemary, the middle aged, spunky woman that was interviewing me— fire engine wavy hair flawlessly coiffed, glasses perched on the edge of her perfectly angled nose. Half glancing half at me, half beholding my resume with her eyes squinting as if she was searching to make sense of both—I sat there feeling as if I was being dissected, analyzed like a bad piece of meat that got thrown in with the choice cut of steaks. Thinking ever so apprehensively, “WHAT have I gotten myself into?!!” As I was half way through making a covert escape strategy, Rosemary paused, then looked straight at me, emerald eyes bulging and in her full out Jersey accent she uttered out in confusion and perplexity, “SOOOO, whe’ dew you go to skewwl??”

Knees quivering, insecurity running down my spine, trying to shelve my southern accent in hopes that I would sound smarter, I feigned confidence, took a deep, robust sigh from beyond my hips, sat straight up…knees bent and locked firmly to the northeast, settled my sweaty palms onto my perfectly pressed skirt and with all the poise I could muster replied, “The University of Tennessee, mam.”

“Well, awen’t yewww a polite young lady,” she replied in her thick east coast brogue– in a somewhat complimentary, somewhat well- aren’t-you-cute-like-a-puppy tone. And while uttering a delayed thank you my mind began to beat up my spirit, “Why did you say,mam?!! You moron!”

I walked away from that interview feeling like I was going to puke all over my 1999 Anne Taylor gray hound’s-tooth, ill-fitting suit and that my resume that reflected the false light of self-assurance and perfection was sure to be shredded.

But, I did it. I repressed that voice. I shoved him away. I locked the door on him and his Grinch like attitude. He was still there trying to get out. Shaking the knob. Knocking fiercely on the door. But at least for those thirty minutes inside a ten by ten office cell in Rockefeller Center I had won. I was not fear’s victim. Even if I didn’t get the internship at least I was free from the fetters of fright because I tried, I dreamed.

I share this with you. Because we all live in fear. You can’t escape it. It’s like poison wanting a beverage to pour itself into.  If you drink it—It makes you think you can’t. It makes you think you are alone. It makes you think if you try everyone will laugh those vigorous, vile laughs of “I told you so!” and point their index finger at you like you are the centerpiece for the circus that is life.

Fear will always be at the table of your life, wanting to drizzle itself all over your thoughts, empty itself into your beverage when you aren’t looking. No matter how many times you change seats—it will find your feast that you so badly want to partake in—your life.

They say to conquer fear is the beginning of wisdom, but I think to acknowledge that fear is there yet move on despite it is when life begins, when dreams take their first baby steps.

Dreams and fear are the fiercest of opponents. One fighting for your freedom, the other fighting for you not to know your freedom.

I don’t know what your dreams are. But, you do. Just STOP reading for a second. Think about it. I bet at least one comes to mind if not many. And when I say dreams I don’t necessarily mean climbing Mt. Kilimanjaro—I mean whatever it is inside you that is sealed up, bound and taped tightly because you fear what will happen if you give it its due liberty. Getting your education. Moving to a new city. Not being who everyone expects you to be.

Your dreams are just that—yours. And maybe yours are submerged in your sub-conscious in hopes that they may not grow life and make a fool of you.  Those ones you only take out when no one is looking—when you are driving in the car with your mind wandering to the uncharted land of “what if I tried_______”, lying in bed dreaming about that which you hope to not just be just a dream—but to one day be your reality or lost in the sunlight’s beams smiling upon you during a  mundane, yet magical Sunday afternoon stroll thinking of what life might be like if you ….______ (only you can fill these in, but yet somehow we let everyone else fill them in).

It is those…those dreams that go from being notions, gasping for oxygen to realities abounding with breath with when realize that fear is the liar that has sat so long at our table that we have been conned into thinking he is truth. Maybe that is why God says do NOT fear in the bible around 365  times. He knew we would give fear way more power than he deserves.

I have fallen more than I have flown when it comes to stepping out into the unknown. Honestly, writing fills me up unlike anything in this world, but it comes with a price—I write scared. Feeling insecure about what I write—is it good enough? Will anyone really care? What if I am too much? Too little? What if they read it only to laugh…to mock? I mean, after all, this people pleaser of a gal doesn’t like to be the source of entertainment due to scorn. I wish I could say I was so secure in my writing that every word is penned with self-confidence, with a -I -don’t -care -if -you -like what is pouring forth from my heart onto this page. But, I do. And because I care, I get scared. I think if most of us were honest, we get fearful not because of ourselves, but others. What they will think and say if I sail ship onto the waters of daring, dreaming and I never discover dry land? I wish I had the answers. I do not. Everyone’s voyage is different—no two paths the same–no promises you will not be the spectacle when you feast at the table of your life WITH fear as the unwelcome guest that refuses to leave. But what I am ever so gradually learning is…

Failure is not the outcome. It’s the not trying.

There are no guaranteed results, just a guaranteed equation:

You never try = You never really live.

“““““““““““““““

And ever so UNrelated to this blog post I am lazily posting my “Her” magazine piece here on :”What does it mean to live in the RIGHT neighborhood?” because I have two kids, one almost four and half naked climbing on me and one 7 months beckoning for mo’ milk, so this is how it’s going down for today.

And as I have been doing as of late: Posting random pics with no connection whatsoever the blog post –just hoping to simply make you smile since life gets so doggone serious! Did you ever think one blog post could pack so much randomness into it?? Oh, well, that’s just how I roll:)

Roman and his daddy-o eating overpriced Chucky Cheese pizza! Have I mentioned how much that place grosses me out?? Only for the kids….

Roman and Seth on our FOUR hour adventure to the zoo…with sweet Posey in tow. Gotta love that R has a death grip on Alvin’s neck. Poor Alvin….

Morning glory time with my munchkins

Roman earnestly trying to feed Posey her beloved milk with Daddy watching over..one of these days I am going to make it into a picture!

Isn’t this a pitiful pic? the best I can do on a picture of us TOGETHER…Seth’s birthday night!

Posey getting lovin’ from her daddy on her official adoption day! Will blog on that amazing day soon:)

Roman dressed himself for Daddy doughnut day. nuff said.

Me and my little charmer at the beach this last week…

Posey looking way too cute in her bathing suit!

I heard someone comment on another couple last week, letting this roll of their tongue:  “Oh, they are the perfect couple—to have their life…. “ With a fake and very forced knowing smile I nodded and then wished I could find some kind of paper bag to release my impending puke.

I was sick.

Downright nauseated because truth is there are great couples, but there are no perfect couples because there are no perfect people. Maybe on the cover of People magazine, but not here in the world of reality.

When I was a little girl I would dork out and watch Anne of Greene Gables over and over and over. Until the VHS tape would unravel. Why?

Partly because I was a chunky, prepubescent goober and had nothing better to do.  And partly because I loved the storyline, but mostly because I would get in lala land over Anne and her ever dramatic love life. Because every little girl dreams of what their Prince Charming will appear as in their own life.  What he will look like. And who he will be.  Even the hard core feminist wants someone to love her.

All that to say, we all have our fantasies and last week as we were going about our hectic mundane life,  as I was chasing down something I had lost—usually my keys, phone, or one of my umpteen writing pads. This day it was my blessed keys. Seth was lumbering behind me huffin’ and puffin’  and lovingly sniggering which really translates: “My goodness I love this girl but how does she lose her friggin’ keys EVERY day? We have gone through SIX spares.” So he is always there, behind me trying to retract my steps to help me because it’s an infirmity no drug or therapy can fix—always trying to find whatever it is that I have misplaced.  While his role is to usually play a full time Sherlock Holmes and be my “life secretary”, my role  is very different as Seth loses nothing. Besides his sanity over my insanity. I however, usually find myself walking around the house talking out every direction of my mouth, always trying to encourage him because the melancholy monster can get ahold of him sometimes and shake him down and truth is me and the monster don’t get along because I just won’t stand for him to beat up my husband like that. At least without asking me first.

A lot of our days our messes. Glorious messes. Not at all like the movies. Or my imaginings as a preteen of green gables and its heavenly landscapes. Or even my dreams when I met Seth as a teenager. There are no horses, no golden carriages. There are no whisking me away and writing he loves me in the sky (which would creep me out anyhow).

But there is the glorious mundane things such as: snotty noses, Roman running naked in the house with his backpack on because he wants his cars and trains with him at ALL times, Sonny passing gas in the corner because Joe, our neighbor, fed him fried chicken, Nicholas playing jokes on me by putting stickers from the grocery store that say “boneless” on my rear only to have someone stop me and tell me, Posey talking as much gibberish as me except hers is expected because she is cute and 6 months and I am thirty- four years old and know better.

Then there is just Seth and I. Two people who on the outside see life through completely different telescopes —mine is bright orange with pink polka dots, messy,nicked and probably has dirty handprints all over it—his is black, shiny, clean, gleaming, not a smudge, not a smidgen. But what we see inside those telescopes are the same. The same dreams. The same love for traveling. The same brokenness  that has led us the crossroad of  Jesus- whatever-you-want-for-my-life-it’s- just-too-dadgum-hard-without-you. The same love of the urban life. The same love of big breakfasts and bold coffees. The same love for talking too much. The same passion for music though we have negative music talent—I love the lyrics, he loves the beat…that about sums us up. Then there is that same desire for our kids to know at an early age that there are people unlike them, that look different, act different and have way less. We always pray that if our children are going to compare their lives then we pray they’d compare it to those that have less, not more.  And we have that same longing that ourselves, as well as our kids would know that poor people are often rich people with hurting hearts, in other words the harvest is plenty just look around.

Usually if you are that ant that I talk about, that nomadic one wandering the crooked walls of this geometrically challenged old house you will hear Seth telling me he wants to be in my brain for at least a day just to see what all goes on inside there because it seems so free –it’s the very thing that he adores about me and drives him nuts . Then you will hear me chuckle only to remind him that he really doesn’t want to enter the unchartered territory otherwise known as my noggin because the chaos and commotion would wear him plum  out before he could take his first step—I always think my mind is like a dresser with all the drawers open…clothes hanging out, notebooks half open and pen smearing’s everywhere because the only way to create order in my mind is to have a little bit of pandemonium! A tidy mind would be my demise. My only saving grace is that I am driven as all get out so at least it keeps the commotion and bedlam moving along:)

And with these acknowledgements of who we are and who we are not we try to live out our lives…

Most days I come home with Posey, Roman and often Nicholas around 5:30, Nick complaining that he is s-t-a-r-v-i-n-g even though he ate a 5,983 calorie snack after school, Roman shedding his clothes as soon as he walks in the door  because doggone it he missed his calling to be President t of the nudist colony. Posey being her sweet self, waiting for me to take her out of her blessed car seat and let her jump up and down in one of those obnoxious bouncy seats that I swore I’d never have, but then quickly realized that over the top, primary clad thing would allow me to make dinner and take a breath .

Shortly after I get home, Seth comes home grabs a kid or two, depending on how overwhelmed I am. Either wrestling with Roman or loving on Posey while he watches Jeopardy because that is just what you do when you major in history and don’t use one lick of your degree to pay the bills. The man has to show off his random, superfluous knowledge somehow. Then while eating we may or may not be serenaded by some over the top rap music which is our neighborhood’s trade mark. Most neighborhoods have kids riding bikes, Moms with babes in strollers. Nope, not ours. We have gangster music,wanna be artists, a hippie next door growing legal produce while I try to merely keep my house plants alive …oh, and an incredible view of Charlotte Pike…seriously, don’t be jealous.

Why do I tell you all this?

What does this have to do with a perfect marriage?

Well, it doesn’t.

It has to do with the fact that sometimes when you let go of what you thought your life should look like then it brings freedom to every facet of your life—including your relationships. This truth leaks into the smallest crevices of our thinking…every room in our heart gets remodeled: our marriages, our friendships, our everyday humdrum days that end up being our lives. All of a sudden life looks different. The rooms have not changed. No walls moved. The dreadful paint is still there. The worn out rug still the same. The pictures still hang crooked. The tables still need dusted. It’s just you learn to appreciate it instead of always wishing it were something else. Then that which was ugly becomes beautiful because it’s yours and no one else’s. Your imperfect life becomes your gift.

I am so thankful that life didn’t go the way I had planned, that I didn’t work in NYC like I wanted, that I didn’t move into a typical neighborhood, that the first few years of our marriage were hard…really hard…like I wanted to move back with mom and dad hard and thank the Lord for good counselors kind of hard!! But it’s the roads that Jesus sends me down…you down, the roads we try to desperately to avoid, that lead us straight to where you and I need to be…which is being  yourself.

For most of our lives nothing has gone as intended for Seth and I. We plan to go South, God plans for us to go North. We plan to fly; God wants us to walk straight uphill. I planned to be done with kids by 32…well, we all know how that worked out We want Him to promise life will be safe for a good solid year, He gives us a tight rope and gently holds our hand not telling us where we are going BUT letting us know we will not fall if we just keep our eyes on Him.

Then there has been the journey of discovering who we really are when we thought or rather fought who we were. Seth and I have had to accept that he is an entrepreneur at his core (even though I brawled this like hell) – it is the most flexible and rigid lifestyle possible.  Some years are over the top great. Some years not so much. But we have learned that plenty or want– it all is from the hand of God. All we are and have—time,money,talent, even our children are simply on lend until we are called home.

We have both watched me journey to accepting myself. I struggled with who I was—the way my mind worked—at an early age my mind was in the clouds…more like beyond the clouds.  Even in elementary  school I would “check out”. In first grade my teacher wanted to send me back to kindergarten because my mind wandered and I literally would leave this world during math and reading and escape to these unknown places—I would hear a bird or see a tree outside and there went my imagination off into “Lindsay Land” as Seth calls it. I hated it about myself. But it was in my DNA. My grandfather was the same way. He got lost going home because his awareness would wander, imagine, create. I will never forget my senior English teacher chewing me out about it one day because she said I dreamed too much. And she was right. I cannot help it. It’s what makes me lose my keys. It’s what makes me so disheveled. It’s what makes me the worst admin person EVER. But it is also the VERY thing God has used to allow me to write stories. I can stand in the grocery store line, world spinning around me and I will be constructing some sentence in my head all because I heard some sound bite, some interaction, something that signaled my subconscious…and  off, off and away goes my mind. My brain takes a hiatus from this world and meanders down these wild, wondrous places that even I don’t know where they lead until I later write them down.  Weird, I know. But, I either embrace it or go mad trying to be someone else.

I digress. ( can you tell I battle myself way too often??)

The voyage to me finding freedom in my flaws and beauty in my brokenness has been a bumpy ride. I for so long wanted to be who I was not.  So often we get derailed in life, in our relationships, in our lives, because we are constantly getting on someone else’s track. When we get on someone else’s track we walk in circles—going nowhere fast, when we get on our own path, it may be a steep climb but at least it is going somewhere—the top. And the top is the only place you can see how far you have come.  Only when you get to the top you see that you were never equipped to walk that other path. Only yours.

I have mentioned before when the weight to be someone you’re not becomes heavier than just being yourself than you have found your freedom. And it’s so true, my friends.

Why in the world am I divulging all this nonsense? What has this to do with you?

Well, it has everything to do with YOU. Because in life, in any kind of relationships…we have to love who we are to be able to love others…spouse,friends,family. And that means accepting that we are perfectly imperfect. Life is not the movies. It is so much better.

Because it is ours. It is yours. It is your story. Your legacy. No one else’s.

You’ll never live life fully until you stop looking at everyone else. Don’t get me wrong you will still peek at times. On  really bad days you will glance over quite a lot.  And that’s okay.

It’s the coming back that counts. It’s the: this is my flawed, wonderful marriage and no one else’s. It’s the: I am still single and I hate it every second of it but at least it’s my life I am living and no one else’s. It’s the: I am struggling with infertility and everyone is popping out babies like bunnies, but at least it’s my journey. And it’s the: money ain’t coming in, but my God I am learning that the phrase: “He is faithful” is not some feel good church cliche, it is TRUE.

All these things have one thing in common: They will end up being your story. It will be what changes and resuscitates the lives around you. Your story is the greatest gift you have in this life. No one can take it from you. It will be passed on for generations…if you just let it be yours.

Truth is this: Envy rots the bones, scars the soul, and suffocates the power of your own story.

Be YOU.

Don’t let someone else write your story.

…And some all too ordinary pics of that which is our crazy little life.

Our post school treat..aka, Sweet Cece’s. if there was stock in this ice cream store, we’d be buying it:)

Posey and her boyfriend, Elliot, my good friend Jennifer’s son. I like to title this,  ”EXCUSE me, but are you getting fresh with me?!!”

Roman naked with a spoon. Of course, why wouldn’t he be?? And sweet Posey B.

Roman has been persistent about sleeping in our bed. And this night he won. Snuggling with my big boy…

Pretty in pink.

Nothing like your child getting into black paint while you take a shower. Oh, and did I mention most of  our house is white??

This is what happens when Seth and I get WAY too involved in our own little world of babbling…me oh my.

I love this pic because one day a week I don’t do any other writing but writing on my book. It’s not exciting or glorious. Just emotionally exhausting. And when i wanted to quit that day…because I just didn’t have it in me. There she was with that sweet smile. That’s all any Mama needs to keep on keeping on.

Roman with a backpack and a book. But he is making up his own story because poor thing he has way too much of me in him. The sweet angel “checks out” just like his mama. I have a feeling SEth is going to be chasing down TWO people’s set of keys one day.

SERIOUSLY. Are you taking another picture of me, Mom??

Exhibit A: THE obnoxious thing.

On our way to Chucky Cheese because Nicholas did his homework for TWO whole weeks. Oh, sweet Jesus, miracles still happen!!!!

I definitely went through 199 anti bacterial wipes that night then some. That place is breeding grounds for some kind of funky flu.

Me and my man…God love him for loving me.

I got an email a couple weeks back telling me my writing assignment was on a FOUR letter word…

LOVE.

My first thought was: “Great, how am I going to write something non-cliché on a topic that has been hijacked by Hallmark and overused by Justin Bieber?”

But the more I got to thinking about it the more I realized that love has somehow become more of a noun than a verb in our society. Almost all songs are written about “it” and everyone from 13 to 92 years of age goes around longing for “it”.

Yet, we don’t see it much in the world around us—there is some massive disconnect for what we yearn for and how you and I act in everyday life.

Just the other day I was at a coffee shop when this man, whom I am sure was battling his own issues as we all do from time to time yelled at the barista because she forgot to add milk to his drink—you would have thought she stole his child, wrecked his car and robbed his house. While he ended up getting his cappuccino order correct, he also ruined some poor college kids’ day…OVER NOTHING.

Why?

Because he wasn’t kind, he wasn’t patient, he wasn’t full of grace. Which really is the essence of love. These are the veins in which love beats—these are the qualities that set love into action.  These are the things we want extended to our own lives, but so often are unwilling to extend to others.

I am not saying I have it all figured out or that there are not days I want to be cantankerous or just dam up the rest of the world and sing at the top of my lungs: “It’s all about me, It’s all about I!” Nope, I still got those days. But what I am saying is that we so often get bogged down by the big issues of this world: hunger, poverty, the homeless.  We think to ourselves, “Surely, I cannot really make a difference”.  Then we either feel guilty for what we do have or we get overwhelmed and paralyzed by the magnitude of it all. And we do nothing. Which, only feeds the little monster, also known as suffering.

I would dare say we could eradicate 70 % of the problems in this world if we just gave a you-know-WHAT. Now, we live in a world that is a mere echo of what it should be…a shattered, tattered reflection. We can’t stop tsunami’s, we can’t control tornadoes, and as of right now we have a very loose grip on cancer.

But, what we can do is care. Life is messy. People even messier. But we can’t change the channel or just turn our head at the poor and needy and pretend they are someone else’s problem. We can’t–they are everywhere. You know them, you recognize them…you’ve been one. Or at least I have. The guy that’s wife left him. The woman who is watching her mom battle cancer. A friend plagued with debilitating depression.  We can’t just throw money in an offering basket, say a prayer, and hope our hands stay clean.

Please hear me out, I don’t have this whole love God with all your heart and love your neighbor as yourself even close to conquered. And I don’t think I will til the day I see Jesus’ face.  I am speaking from a very raw place–this year with Nicholas has been tough. Rough. I have wanted to bail. To quit. To pull my hair out. To stomp all over my idealistic self. To tell God, “you got the wrong woman—ask that other lady—the one with lots of forbearance and who has doesn’t swear when her patience runs thin.  I am done, Lord, I am tired. Knock on someone else’s heart, mine is closed and not due to reopen. Do you hear me?”

But what am I to do?

Quit because it’s hard? Quit because I can’t see the seeds that we are planting blooming right this moment?

Nope. I can’t. Yes, and hell to the yeah, I want to just walk away at times. But Jesus keeps loudly whispering in my ear, “I have not quit on you… Now, do you hear Me??”

So I take one step into the muddy, sticky, unchartered waters that is life. And trust that maybe it’s not about Nicholas, or me. Maybe it’s about seeing that life is never truly lived until it is laid down.

You and I cannot change the world. We live in a broken world; we are indeed a broken bunch of people. But what we can do is change it one life at a time. One action at a time.  We can treat the guy that bags our groceries with dignity. We can give that geriatric driver the benefit of the doubt when they cut us off and choose to smile instead of giving them the middle finger. We can give our friends grace when they don’t return our texts in 2.5 seconds instead of mentally cursing them.

Just ask God to show you who to reach out to…and watch out. HE WILL ANSWER. So if you aren’t ready, I wouldn’t suggest it. Cause He will chase you down. But it’s the good kind of chasing…and once you figure out like I did that no matter what kind of shoes you are wearing you cannot outrun Him, then you will stop. Take a breath. Look up. And look out.

Look out to see that you are the one missing out. That the lives you deem untouchable, complicated are still untouchable and still complicated. Nothing has changed. But you have. And you realize that love has the power to dissolve the most potent of poisons that seep into life’s batter.

The heartbeat of love is a spirit that palpitates not only for itself but for others. And when it beats for others, your problems become smaller, your life becomes fuller and your heart becomes bigger.

Sometimes living a remarkable life is nothing more than doing the ordinary things in an extraordinary way…

…speaking of love. This is a BIG one. The mackdaddy of opening your heart. This is a sweet young woman that MUST be adopted in SIX months or less. If you know of anyone or would just pass along please help this precious little girl–please!  I am not one  to beg…but  I am unabashedly wagging my tail (if I had one, that is)  and p-l-e-a-d-i-n-g.. It will take 5 seconds to spread the word. Come on, you’re gonna be cruising facebook anyhow…make your status one that could change a life.

Click here and my dear friends meet one special little gal, named Laurel…

There are a many things this ole gal isn’t good at –ranging
from cart wheels to parallel parking. But one of them I struggle with daily:

My obsession with getting things done.

I am not good at sitting still. Not. At. All.

But the last month life’s equation has gone like this:

I had surgery + I got sick+ Christmas palooza for two weeks solid+ Posey is sick last week= unproductive,oily haired, sleep deprived, there is crap and crap’s brothers, sisters and cousins  all over my house.

Since I can’t really get my hair brushed and my eyebrows are turning into a unibrow, I thought, why not write? It may not be coherent and I guarantee you a misspelled word and a run on to entertain you. Time at home breeds way too much thinking time and way too much of finding even more things that need to be done, aka, clean out the closets and throw out that Abercrombie pair of pajama pants that I bought at Bellevue Mall before cell phones and computers existed.

But I thought while I sat here with the vaporizer on full blast with Vicks spray coating me like a bad perfume yet opening the highways to two blocked nostrils and staring at the very dead and dried up Christmas tree that was supposed to come down January 1 but I don’t have the energy to pick one dadgum ornament off so now it’s become a hanging rack for Roman’s toys and could possibly catch fire if a match gets within 20 feet because people, it’s just that it’s more like a cactus than a tree—it’s just that neglected at this
point.

So, instead of taking the tree down like I should, I am
going to write and maybe while I write the cleaning fairy will come and
organize all my clothes, fold my laundry, take Lightening McQueen off the
Christmas tree that Roman ever so passionately hung upside down looking more
like a victim than a decoration, color my roots that mimic a wanna- be- Sarah
Jessica Parker- but –I-am -not -look, take me out of the workout clothes I have
not worked out in but worn for three days IN A ROW, shower me, shave me, rid my dog of  his hellacious  gas…oh, and help sweet Posey to feel better so
the poor angel can sleep.

Here are some thoughts that on the conveyer belt of my ever
busy mind:

1. I pray this year is as good as last. It’s been a long time since I didn’t want to bid adieu to a year and head into the next. But this year my soul got a bit weepy as I saw the clock strike 12. My greatest miracle yet was this last year and I now believe what I doubted for so long: God doesn’t waste our pain.
2. That slowing down isn’t all that bad…that instead of scurrying from one non- important important thing to the next I have actually prayed more for Roman and Posey than I ever have. For their friends, their spouses, for who they are to become in this life and the legacy they will leave behind.
3. I have to accept my weaknesses along with my strengths.
   While I will never be the friend that is the most organized or texts you back
   in 2.5 seconds—nevvuhh evuhh will that be my forte.  However, I will be the friend that defends you no matter what. Because my husband has taught me that being loyal is a lost art. Actually I am not sure if it is a lost art because I don’t know that it was ever found…
4. Normal is a bad word. Now, hear me out, I am not trying to be a rebel or nonconformist here. It’s just that normal to means that
   somewhere deep inside we have let something die inside of us…the ability to
   dream, the ability to stand up for what is right, the ability to not settle for
   just getting by in this life until we turn 65 and can retire in Florida with
   all the snowbirds from New Jersey that can’t see over the steering wheel. Life
   starts NOW.
5. More on #4. I guess what I am trying to say, is status quo has become the norm. You don’t have to live in Paris or New York or be famous or rich for your life to count. It’s how you live that matters more than anything else in this life.
6. That the cleanest house isn’t the happiest house. ( I will repeat this  20 times out
   loud until this tree in front of me self-destructs).
7. Back to Sarah Jessica Parker, how does her hair look so good and voluminous with 3 inch roots??? Mine is matted flat to my head and could be sold to Exxon for oil. I am convinced these “roots” are impostors. Indeed they are NOT roots but dyed brown to look like roots so she appears that she doesn’t really care but really she just paid $300 because she soooo cares.
8. #7 was a major digression.
9. One word I hope someone never uses to describe me: selfish. Why? Because I was that word for way too long.
10. I pray my children squirm. Squirm when they hear anyone talking bad about someone else. Who you are and what you say when no one is looking is a deal breaker (… and this is being said to me as much as anyone!)
11. That the most important quality out there to me is humility. Because humility is only birthed out of brokenness. And brokenness is the soil in which the richest and fullest lives are grown. You can do anything when you realize it’s not about you anymore.
12. That I ate about 12,567 calories worth of Ghirardelli
    chocolate fondue over New Year’s  eve and really need to go for a run.
13. I don’t believe in unlucky numbers. Life is what
    you make it

Random pictures of 2o11  to look at if you don’t feel up to any of your New Year’s resolutions yet OR if you are just flat out procrastinating like moi!

The family Christmas card, also better known as what we look like one day out of 365 because we are all actually dressed and showered!

Sweet little Posey sleeping…angel baby.

Roman thinking long and hard about whether he was going to like the camera or not. Let’s just say his will is somewhat like his mama’s:STRONG. God bless his wife…:)

Hiking in the “Nooger. Chattanooga that is.

Roman in his Halloween costume, also known as the outfit his chooses to wear each day if he isn’t streaking through the house!

I could look at this pic all day. Enough said.

Joe and I were  outside one summer day when he asked me ever so sincerely, ” you smell so good, girrll, you must  have on Elizabeth Taylor… White Diamonds,maybe?? Or somfin’ fancy like that.” People, this man needs his own show. As does our entire neighborhood.

Nicholas telling me he was John Wayne. Not quite…not quite, darlin.

Natalie,me and Juls. Been bested buds for a long,long time. It’s our Wednesday  nights let’s have dinner-glass-of-wine-and- talk -about- life-Jesus and everything in between that keeps me anchored. Love you two.

Seth and I celebrated our  10 year anniversary Dec 22nd and almost twenties years of being in each other’s lives. Here’s a pic of us 1996. Jennifer Anniston hair, anyone??

Posey or Posey “B” as Seth calls her all bundled up….awww.

Celebrating my mom’s birthday…December 17th. If you have read any of my blog…December hasn’t always been her happiest time so we go over the top on this day to let her know she is loved!

Posey getting thrown in the thick of Roman and his cousin Josiah talking gibberish about all things boy.

12 of the 15 Jennings cousins on Christmas Eve( triplets were sick!). This is what happens when you have 6 kids and they breed! Lawdy!

Roman on Christmas day ” representing” all his loves: Lightening McQueen slippers, Superman costume, Batman cape, and Cranky the Crane. Let’s just say he hasn’t narrowed his true love down to one quite yet.

That doggone chocolate fondue I am still working off. A.D.D.I.C.T.I.V.E

Um, this picture is kinda freaky as in real freaky. But we cleaned out the shed over the break and Nicholas was obsessed with wearing this around the house. Awesomeness.

Roman  looking “special” with his built in playmates and cousins Baker and Hylton.

Ok, yall I have more. Way more. But you have a life and I need to get some sleep! Thanks for reading these crazy words of mine! XO

On days when you feel like giving up…

Last spring, Seth and I decided to act on something that had been planting itself in the soil of our hearts. But we weren’t sure when or how to harvest it.

We had been spending time with Nicholas for a good year and as the months passed by we noticed that what he lacked in his education he made up for in his kind hearted demeanor. Many afternoons he would come over …eat us out of house and home while keeping us up on all things hip and cool in the world of an eight year old. But sprinkled in his visits were these little conversations about school and unprompted he would often reveal that he didn’t really like his school. When he shared these tidbits we had to keep in mind that he was a kid and a kid that saw life though an opaque lens, so we had to really dig through his comments to  unearth the truth. But there were some incidents that made us wonder if maybe it would be good for Nicholas to get out of his current school…not because we were trying to buffer him from the reality of life, but rather we knew enough about Nicholas that he adapted to his environment…for good and for bad.

But Seth and I didn’t want to be the two white, yuppy, parents forcing our agenda on him or on Precious. So we just kind of sat on what to do…Do we try to get him out of his school? Does he even want out? And was a scholarship to a private school even an option this late in the spring? Good news was we had a very authentic relationship with Precious that wasn’t fabricated or forced, but rather just the product of two people coming from very different backgrounds that tried to just accept each other for who they are, not what they are.

March came and went and Seth and I decided to sit down with Precious and just toss the idea out there to see if she was even open to it. We asked her to come over one evening in early April and the three of us sat on our screened in back porch. With soft warmness lingering in the air around dusk ,we just chatted, no coercing, or creating this perfect picture of what could be—just a straight up conversation about the possibility of getting him a scholarship. We  casted  this thought out—not knowing if there would be a bite or not: “What would you think about getting Nicholas into a private school so he can have a better chance at exceling academically?”  To my surprise, Precious didn’t seem taken back or offended… she seemed rather in shock and quickly asked in her spunky Precious tone that resembles that of  a hybrid of Nene Leaks and  Arnold from the 80’s sitcom Different Strokes, while bobbing her head front and back : “Now, HOW  you gonna  do that?”

We really didn’t have an answer to her question…we had some ideas, but that was it. And please hear me when I say nothing, nothing is wrong with public school –it’s just that Nicholas’ school wasn’t always safe and he is the kind of kid that when the standards are low so are his and when they are high he rises to the occasion, rather he tries to rise higher. We knew he was about to hit a cross road—he could make the choice to stick with his studying and excel or choose to concede to a belief that academics were for the not- so -cool kids and take the highway of laziness to nowhere.

The next day after talking to Precious, Nick got home from school dropped his book bag off at his house and then he came over and played in the front yard and ate popsicles with us on the front porch as we do when spring makes it debut.  Seth and I really wanted to ask him about this idea that was birthing itself in our hearts but we wanted to play it cool. You know how kids are if you act like you really want them to do something– you have already sunk the ship that is carrying your idea to shore. So we lay low, just making every day conversation and as gentle as the breeze that was blowing that fresh spring day, Seth slyly snuck in this question: “So, what do you think about going to another school?”

Nicholas bulged his big brown eyes as he does when he thinks you have asked something that is the equivalent of “Do you want to go to Mars?” and then he uttered this with puzzlement and perplexity, “ I don’t know, nowwwww…..how would I even  do that?”.  Seth cleared his throat as he does when he trying to play coy and said, “Well, first things first… do you like your school?” Nicholas half licking half eating his strawberry popsicle replied nonchalantly “”well, my school is okay…I just don’t feel I have friends…nice friends and I don’t really have many friends.”

I knew quite often Nicholas could seek out attention with comments so I asked him to clarify and dug further in hopes of unburying the truth, “What do you mean?”  Nicholas now nibbling on the last drippings of his popsicle stick replied with a half full mouth, “ Well, I guess you could say I only have two friends because I just don’t fit in all the time-I just feel different”. I rocked back and forth on my favorite white rocker leaning my head all the way back, staring at the underside of our porch’s roof and letting what he said absorb into each creak of the chair. I took my two crisscrossed ankles that were perched on the deck rail in front of me and  pulled them down as if this would bring more power to what I was about to say. Then I uttered, “What if we could get you a scholarship somewhere else…somewhere where there was more focus on learning and have more opportunities?” Nicholas rolled his eyes up and with utter delight and annoyance replied, “Well, of course! But you gotta check with my mama first or she’ll be mad!”

I chuckled, as I know Precious quite well and I laughed that Nicholas was more concerned with me getting in trouble with his mama than he was anything else. And since Precious is 6 feet tall and often feels more like 7 feet tall with her spunk I immediately chimed in, “yes, honey, we already talked to your mama about it!”

Within two weeks of that front porch conversation, Seth and I prayed and just asked God to lead us at where would be best for Nicholas as we had never done this before. I didn’t want him to feel out of place or that we had forced this on him in any kind of way and then later resent us when he was a teenager. But at the same time we could see what his 8 year old mind could not see and it was this: That stepping out of your comfort zone is the only way to grow as a person. This is as true for him as a fourth grader as it is for me and you in everyday life. It doesn’t matter your age we all have insecurities and those insecurities come to light when we are in uncomfortable situations, especially social situations in which we feel like the naked person in the corner that everyone is staring at all because we don’t know anyone. No matter the age all human hearts tremble at change, even when it is the catalyst for growth and new beginnings.

After tossing ideas around and praying about it I decided to send the admissions officer at the Covenant School an email to inquire about Nicholas. We decided on Covenant as a first option because 1)I felt like it had some diversity and it was important to me that he have that going into a new environment  2) he knew a handful of kids there already 3)it was down the road from Seth’s office so he could take  him each morning with no problem and I could pick him up.

To my surprise I received the most delightful and gracious email back from the admissions head saying that they’d love to have Nicholas do a tour in the next couple of weeks before school got out. I was as giddy as a girl in a Nordstom’s shoe department reading that email!  I called Precious and we hammered out a date to go on the tour.

The last week in April on a Thursday around 9 am a knock knock on the door. I opened it to find Precious decked to the nines in white from head to toe-white dress,white shoes, white earrings,white everything. She looked like a walking, breathing Clorox commercial she was so glistening. And peeking behind his 6 foot tall mama was Nicholas with his shirt all tucked in his newly washed khakis and his brand new, crisp Michael Jordan’s laced perfectly. It made my heart smile to know how excited they were about this soon to be adventure into a school where they knew no one but simply trusted me. Which was kind of scary because I really had no clue what I was doing. But if there is one positive to my free spirit it’s that I have enough ambition to figure it out as I go, even when I have no clue where my drive  will take me

We all three jumped into my car, while shoving  writing notebooks, Larabar wrappers and my multiple selection of I-might-just-need purses in  into the back and headed to Green Hills. I wish I could tell you all the things we talked about on the way to Covenant, but it was a political incorrect nightmare, but it sure was enlightening. Precious asked me why white people do things that only white people do…like monogram or use that crazy coconut oil stuff? She taught me all the rap songs that most white women that are challenged in the coordination department don’t know. She educated me about weaves and what kind she had on and that her current hair was from someone in India—it was like watching the unedited version of Good Hair. I didn’t have a lot to offer other than boring details on why we as white women age much faster only to hear Precious chime in with  a resounding, “Ohhhhhh,yesssss you  sho’ do. You white people age real fast. You better wear more sunscreen, Lindsay, or you are going look old –I can already see some wrinkles on you just this year.”

Nothing like having your pride deflated by a verbose, spunky black woman waving her finger at you( and I call her a black woman because that is what she said she prefers…that is another blog for another day!).  After a quick dip in the pool of culture we pulled into Covenant parking lot. I could tell Precious and Nick were a bit nervous and as I shut the  door to the car and grabbed the needed forms I didn’t pray it would all work out, I didn’t pray the contract would be signed today, I didn’t even pray Nick would like it there. I just prayed, “ Lord, let them feel comfortable in this place no matter what happens let them feel as equals because that is what they are.”

I released that prayer to heaven like one does a balloon into the sky…it was no longer in my hands, but God’s and with that we entered  in to meet Diana Apple, the admissions head. I could not have asked for her or any of the teachers to be more loving or kind towards Nicholas, Precious or me. Nicholas was shy at first then by the third classroom he was his good ole extroverted-I-can-talk-to-anyone self. And by the end when we had toured the entire school Nicholas unprompted leaned over and dove in for a big ole hug from Diana Apple and squeezed her waist in half with his lanky arms. Mrs. Apple not expecting it but delighted just smiled ear to ear. Nicholas burst out in glee with “ I luvvvvvv it here!! I want to go to school here!”

That was last spring and many hurdles were crossed to get Nick in Covenant….one of them being the scholarship. But the school so lavishly gave him a partial scholarship even though it was so late in the year. And then there was that night Nicholas broke down in tears as he beheld the change that was ahead and was just downright scared out of his nine year ole mind. Kind of how you and I feel before we go to a party and we know no one and not only do we know no one, but you are going to a party in a foreign country.

My prayer was that Nicholas would never feel we were trying to make him something he was not. Our goal was for him was three parts:

1. to get a good,solid education and develop better study habits (his are not exactly stellar)
2. not to remold him,or remake him, but to make him a better version of himself.
3. And our third goal stemmed not out of the mind but the heart: That he would get out of a cycle of idleness which breeds low expectations and dreams.

Everyone deserves a change at pursuing his or her dreams if their spirit is willing. And often the door to our dreams are only unlocked by opportunities. So our prayer was that this opportunity would help him to set his goals higher and give him a wander lust for the world of learning.

I would be lying to say that this last semester hasn’t been bumpy, sometimes rocky and rigid. There are days when I pick Nicholas up at three o’clock and I feel I need a stiff drink–  his backpack is a mess and his homework looks like a tornado picked it up and I have a baby crying because she wants her milk and a three year old that is begging for another snack because he  spilled his crackers on the floorboard and can’t reach them. And I wonder, Whatintheworld?? WHY are we doing this??? Is this just my idealistic self chasing dreams that don’t have a chance to be caught except for in the movies?

There are great days. There are really bad days. But, what I see in between is why I am writing this. I see him dream more. I see him want to learn more if just for a second. I see him open his heart to Jesus and what it means to love others. I see his eyes opened to the freeing truth that you don’t have to  settle for mediocrity just because that’s the way it’s always been.

It’s baby steps on the road from nowhere to somewhere. You see  most of us, expect to go to college or know what it means to study. That’s not even on Nicholas’ radar. I wish I could snap my fingers and make him get “it” on most days when I want him to do his homework and he is making spit wads instead. But what I am learning is that when you invest in not only someone’s education but their life, it’s not easy.

You want to throw the towel in and the soap too. You want to just walk away, throw your hands up in the air after the 33^rd attempt at getting him to remember all his books to bring home. But people are messy. We are broken from early on. The road to a brighter future doesn’t come already paved. Sometimes you have you have to accept that when your backs hurt from laying the asphalt that the final destination is worth the discomfort and sores on your hands and heart.

The one thing that keeps us going is that while we are far from getting Nicholas to his “destination”…we are at least moving in the right direction. And it’s nights like last Thursday when Seth and I were at our wits end because he just wasn’t trying. We both had one on one heart to heart sessions with him. Seth sat in Posey’s room with him with the door closed, sharing his heart with Nicholas and trying to rally him to care about his schoolwork.  Once he came out, I went in as I had something of my own to share with him.  As Nicholas sat in the plush chair that I rock Posey in, I just knelt down beside him and looked him straight in his café au lait eyes and I begged him with every fiber of my imperfect self, “Nicholas, I need you to find that something inside you that has died and bring it back to life. That something that believes you can do it, that something that believes you ARE capable, that SOMETHING that says you can rise above. I told him, “ I want to be there cheering you on when you graduate college because I believed you” and then I implored him, “ I believe in you, now I need YOU to believe in you.” And with steel like tears streaming down his face like multiple liquid highways headed south, I felt in my spirit that maybe,maybe something clicked. That maybe he got that the reason I made him do his homework was not because I was mean or out to get him but because  doing his homework was a one mile down on the journey to reaching his full potential. I gave him a big bear hug, his tears staining the shoulder of my dress and I left the room depleted and yet somewhat hopeful. Praying the words would soak into not just his mind, but his core. And then he came out, wiping the tears from his red shot eyes, went straight to the dining room. He  worked his little heart out on his book report for three hours—even telling me, “Ms. Lindsay, I want to redo my timeline pictures, they are not my best…I didn’t really make much effort. I can do better.” I was trying not to reveal my exhilaration, but inside all I could think was:

OH.

MY.

WORD.

I think he “got it.” Pleassssse,God!”

I tell you this story because daily I am reminded how good I have it and that to whom much is given much is expected. And secondly because we are currently raising money for next year’s tuition—Nicholas loves school and his class mates and what happened last week just confirms we are on the right road, even with all its thuds, thumps—this is not a fast journey, but it is a hopeful one.

Left: Just being happy

Right: A bracelet he spent his money on for me…me,oh my! needless to say it’s an “original”!!

Left: At the beach in July with Roman!

Right: Building blocks at the park after school!

Left: Killing time in the car!

Right: Spring time hanging on the front porch!

Left:Smiling in his uniform

Right: Last summer looking very buoyant and ridiculous!!

Left: Roman in a synthetic, Wal-mart-esque t-shirt cheering Nicholas on as he does homework!

Right: Nicholas last Thursday working on his book report which he made a 96!