Au Revoir, 2016! Bonjour, 2017! (Old Year Review, New Year Goals)

Yeah, I know, it's February. Not exactly the typical time for a "year in review" post, but what can I say? I'm a rebel. With a blog.

I've been feeling really scattered the last few years. (This is perhaps due to having back-to-back-to-back babies, but who's counting?) To keep myself grounded, I started picking a word of the year. For 2016, the word was WISDOM. The fact that I picked that word says more about what I felt I needed than about what I actually learned in 2016. However I did learn some important lessons, come to think of it. . . .

1. Girls ain't so bad. I was seriously scared of having a daughter. Girls, ugh... all that drama. And lipstick. And dresses. And pink. I was a major tomboy as a kid, and even now as a grown woman, I can literally count on one hand the number of times per year I wear dresses. There was a reason I jokingly referred to my first two pregnancies (with boys) as "dodging the pink bullet." I was scared to death of how to raise and interact with a girl, even in baby form. But as is often (nay, always) the case, God knew what I needed better than I did myself. And so, I was given my third child, a daughter named Ruby. She put all my fears to rest, almost immediately. She sleeps great, she eats great, she smiles constantly, she gives me the biggest open-mouthed grin whenever she sees me after any length of time apart (even an hour) and leans into my neck, pulling on my hair and trying to consume me, it seems. I cannot imagine our family without her, and I cherish every moment I get to hold her, tickle her, and see her return my smile with her own sweet little giggle. So, yes. Lesson learned. Having a daughter is a pretty cool thing. (Caveat: Check back for an update once she hits the preteen years.)

2. I can do hard things. I've heard of folks repeating this to themselves as a sort of pep-talk mantra. "I can do hard things, I can do hard things, I can do hard things." And there were definitely times this year when I resorted to that strategy. But mostly I just cried, or prayed, or sighed with exasperation, or snuck off to a closet for a few stolen moments of sanity-restoring solitude. This year I had three kids under age three, for three months. It was as crazy and exhausting as you probably imagine. There were definitely days when I thought, sincerely, that I would not make it until my darling husband got home from work. But now, having come out the other side, I can say that I survived. I did not lose my mind (completely). Hard things got done. By the grace of God, the crucible did not destroy me. And you know what? It's one thing to believe/hope/pray you can do hard things. It's another to actually prove that to yourself. And that knowledge is a very powerful thing.

3. I need people, even (especially?) when I don't think I do. So, as a proud introvert, I was not prepared for this epiphany. People = a necessary evil. Sure, I have a handful of good friends, and I like my family most of the time. But anyone beyond that? Not so much. Enter the year of adjusting to three kids, and I learned just how desperate I could become for adult interaction. You try spending 12 hours changing diapers, cleaning up messes, preparing meals, feeding small humans (and if you're lucky, yourself too), and see if you don't miss even something as simple as a "Hey, how's it going?" from a store cashier. This year I came to realize the value of friendships. My old friends and my new friends all supported me in amazing ways, from bringing food to our home when Ruby was a newborn, to texting me with encouraging words, to praying with me when I felt like I was going insane, to sharing their own struggles in a humble way that made me realize I was not alone in this journey. There were times when I couldn't make it to our get-togethers. And guess what? I missed them. Truly missed them. Much more than I thought I ever would. For someone who craves time alone like a fire craves oxygen, that was a pretty big deal.

4. Nature heals the soul. This year was a tough one, a marathon of hard days and interrupted nights, all running together. But whenever I had those awful days/weeks when I wondered, Will I ever feel like myself again? there would come a moment when we would get outside, and something in the wind would restore me to myself. That might not make sense, but it worked. Every time. We went to the beach, to the park, to the back yard. I felt the sunshine, inhaled the breeze, saw the clouds, heard the squirrels and the birds . . . and something clicked back into place. It was almost like a dislocated shoulder, and I had almost gotten used to the pain, when suddenly—pop! I felt my soul snap back where it belonged. So if I learned my lesson, this year I'll do the wise thing and force myself to get outdoors more often with the kids. It truly resets my spirit and gets me back to feeling like me.

That was 2016, in a nutshell. Pain endured, wisdom gained.

So what do I hope to gain in 2017? Well, my new word of the year is JOY.



I have wasted far too much of my emotional energy on things that do not bring joy, either to me or to others. So the goals for 2017 are to fix that. How? Here's my game plan:

1. Do more things that fill me with joy. Like reading, writing, hiking, baking, doing art projects, snuggling with my kids, and going on dates with my husband. By definition, this time will have to come from somewhere. So I will spend less time doing stuff that does NOT fill me with joy: reading product reviews for future purchases, mindlessly surfing the internet, watching Netflix late at night (when I should be sleeping!), and sitting around feeling tired/sorry for myself.

2. Choose to rejoice. Even on the hard days. Because guess what? If God made this day, we're supposed to rejoice in it! And as Elwood P. Dowd once said, "Every day is a beautiful day." Indeed. Happiness is a feeling, but joy is a choice. (I'm probably stealing that idea from someone who said it more eloquently, but you get the point.)

3. Refuse to let anyone steal my joy. That includes mean people, angry people, sad people, and the devil himself. This even includes me and my melancholy-prone self. I've gotten into a bad habit over the years of letting other people's reactions dictate how I feel. If they're disappointed in me, I'm disappointed in myself. If they're mad at me, I'm mad at myself. If their feelings are hurt, I must be guilty (and guilt-stricken). No more! This is the year I want to make a devoted effort to control my own attitude, not give anyone else the power to control it.

That's it! That's enough. :) What are your goals for the year 2017?

Sharing Scares Me

Recently I've had the unpleasant pleasure (stick with me for a minute on this) of sharing my thoughts and feelings with people who don't have an obligation to love me no matter what forever and ever. Namely, people who are not my family or my devoted husband. Who is family, come to think of it, now that we share the same last name and all. (He wanted me to write "my family and my husband" in an e-mail this week, and I argued it was redundant.) Anyway, this week has been a growing experience for me, and I figured I would share it with the world via my invisible soapbox on the good ole internets.

For the first time since high school, I'm in a small group that I really feel compatible with. From college onward, I tried several "false starts" with other groups, but nothing really stuck. It either felt artificial and forced (kinda like when you have to share a car ride with your weird cousin and his goth girlfriend and your only shared interest is the movie Braveheart), or more like a quilting bee (but one where everyone brings a Bible prop but really just wants to discuss the latest gossip in the guise of prayer requests). This group isn't like either of those uncomfortable extremes. This group is uncomfortable in a good way, in the way a snake feels tight and full just before he sheds his skin. This group is real... and a welcome change from my lack of deeper spiritual sharing over the past few years.

There's something powerful and humbling about voicing your struggles and knowing that the people listening will be praying for you, while you're also asking God to help them with their struggles. My new small group has only been meeting for a few weeks, but already I sense a warm kinship with these people and (oddly, for me) a desire to open up and tell them what I'm dealing with. Not all of it, of course, because that would just be cruel and frankly rather depressing for everyone. But sharing some of it, that seems doable and, yes, even healthy. Bonus: it's cheaper than therapy.

In addition to this awesome new small group, I've also joined (I know, I'm a regular sign-me-up Sally lately) a writing group started by some coworkers. It's a low-key way to get feedback on our personal writing and rekindle the lost scholastic art of how to give and receive constructive criticism. So far we've had members share a blog post, a short story, a children's story, and a poem. Fiction and nonfiction, poetry and prose, varying lengths and depths and shapes and styles, each piece as unique as its author because it's a piece of him or her put to words.

If I may, I would like to dub this group effort a resounding success, as thus far I have been challenged, encouraged, surprised, and awed by the range of voices in our group and the generosity of each member, both in sharing their writing and in giving useful comments to each author. I feel very lucky to be a part of this group at its inception and look forward to many meetings to come.

So what do these two things have in common? Both lovely groups of people expect me to (gulp) share myself with them, just as they share themselves with me. Needless to say, sharing scares me. What if they learn more about my background and don't like me anymore? What if they think I'm a self-centered jerk? (Which, y'know, I frequently am. But somehow it's worse if other people agree with me on that.) What if I hurt somebody's feelings? What if I say something stupid? What if my poem... sucks?

Forget the hypotheticals. Throw away the fear. Take a chance and see what happens. That's the kind of counsel I would previously have given to others, while conveniently ignoring it myself. But this time, I'm taking my own advice.

Sharing scares me. Always has, always will.

But it's also totally worth it. Kinda like getting married. Carpe diem.

I raked the leaves in my yard today.

Photo courtesy of Wiki Commons

I raked the leaves in my yard today. It's funny, I didn't think I had a big yard until I decided to rake the whole thing—front and back—in one shot. (Confession: I only made it through 2/3 of the backyard before it got dark and I got tired.) This really should be used as a trick by savvy real estate agents. Wife: "Oh, honey, the house is lovely. But the yard's a little small, don't you think?" Husband: "Why, yes, dear. Not much land at all." "Um, sir," says the savvy real estate lady, holding out a rake. "Why don't you rake the leaves in that corner of the yard there." [elapsed time 10 minutes] "Doesn't seem so small now, does it, Mr. Jones?" And then she would make the sale and treat herself to a double-mocha latte or somesuch on her way home that night... Ok, back to my yard. Raking it really gave me a fresh appreciation for the size of our place. And it isn't really that big, but boy, when you're raking the leaves (or mowing the grass, or shoveling the snow), the yard sure seems to get a little bigger. And I'm grateful for that little eye opener.

I raked the leaves in my yard today. Alone. I did this chore alone because my darling husband was (and still is) asleep upstairs, having worked some 13 hours yesterday and 11 hours today, with nothing near 8 hours of sleep in between. When he sees tomorrow that I've raked the whole yard without him, he'll probably protest and say he feels bad and that he owes me one. Which is hilarious, given the number of sometimes vicious/sometimes pathetic meltdowns he deals with on a weekly basis from me, his loyal but emotionally unstable wife. Also, when I'm sitting downstairs with a kitten on half my lap and my computer on the other half, he'll be the first to answer my entreaty for a fresh diet Pepsi with a smile and a "yes, dear." In other words, he doesn't owe me anything. And really, I suppose I don't owe him either. Husbands and wives shouldn't keep score. Besides, we are both in debt only to Jesus, to whom we owe everything—including the joy of finding and marrying each other.

I raked the leaves in my yard today. My yard. This is now the second fall that we've lived in our house. *cue "Our House" by Crosby, Stills, Nash, and Young* But just last week, while pulling in the driveway, I had another one of those wait-do-I-really-live-here? moments. The first six months we lived here, I felt like I was continually housesitting for somebody else. Now that it's been well over a year, I'm finally settling in more, gradually feeling comfortable, relaxed, content... at home. I've gained a possessiveness that is less selfish than it might sound. I'm taking ownership, and taking pride in maintaining what the good Lord has given me. My kitchen. My basement. My yard. And yes, my leaves to rake. The joys of home ownership, indeed. With two cats to boot (though, not "in the yard" as the song goes, since the great outdoors are verboten to my declawed felines).

I raked the leaves in my yard today. A simple job. A satisfying bit of exercise, out in the warm(ish) fall breeze. But the best part... the smell! Oh my word, if you haven't raked leaves in a while, if you've forgotten what this amazing and all too brief season before winter can do to your nostrils and your lungs, go grab a rake (yes, I mean you!) and forge a giant leaf pile. Then dive in, cover yourself up, and wallow in it, just so you can inhale and absorb the delicious aroma that emanates from those crunchy orange and yellow slices of autumn. Nothin' like it...