Here’s a scene from my imperfect life. Or, maybe I should say Brokaw’s life. See him there, with the toss pillow? Whenever Brokaw is excited, he goes for the closest toss pillow he can find. He carries it around the house, shakes it, tries to get me to take it away from him. This one is off of our bed. See Michael’s toes? His shoes? Every night, I get Michael up and dressed and ready for the day (night). I sit on the floor and put his shoes on his feet. Before I slip them on, Brokaw stands on my lap so I can scratch his back with Michael’s shoes. The Vans are his favorite. See that huge scratch on the door? If you are a landlord, and you have a tenant who is in a wheelchair, I suggest you pad your walls. Just an FYI there. So much about this picture and our life isn’t Pinterest-perfect. But you know what? We love our little life and each other. And that makes such a difference in facing the hard things. Oh, the hard things. They are plenty. Just last night when I was dressing Michael, he teared up, feeling the unfairness. I rolled him on his side, snuggled behind him and we just laid there snuggled and pep-talking for a good 20 minutes. It was 20 minutes we didn’t have but we had to have.
Then, Algebra I happened. And I decided I wanted to be a journalist, instead.
I had guilt about this, because I’m a promise-keeper. At the age of 14, I was so afraid of letting the world down, and telling it I didn’t think I’d be able to be a doctor. Then one day, the man who would end up marrying my mom told me I should do what I want. I’m sure Dave had no idea how he was freeing me to be me when he told me that, that day.
I’ve been working in TV news for 15 years. It’s not all puppies and unicorns. I’ve worked long hours, and crazy hours, and filed stories from taxi cabs and bathrooms and I’ve bought gas and groceries with a credit card and cried in stairwells at work. But, I can say that I love what I do. I’ve never stopped loving it.
I’ve been paid to witness history. To record it. To hold the powerful accountable. To tell stories people need to hear in order to be better citizens. And now, I get to lead a team of people who do that, and watching them learn and grow is even more fulfilling than it was to do it myself.
If I could give everyone one thing, it would be Jesus. If I could give them two things it would be Jesus, then a job that doesn’t feel like work. It’s truly a gift.
I like to wake up early, while Michael is still asleep, and Brokaw is still snoring with his eyes open. It’s quiet, and I can feel the peace and possibility of a new day, without immediately being thrust into it.
Sometimes it feels like the world is churning with obligations, responsibilities, and bills, doesn’t it? But a little quiet and hot coffee, alone, first thing in the morning makes it feels like the world pauses.
I beg of the world: Please stop churning for a minute so that I can sleep. So that when I wake up, the things that I haven’t done yet won’t feel even more undone, just the same level of undone I left them at when I laid my head on the pillow.
Wouldn’t it be great if all of the stuff would just stop and wait for us to be ready? But, it doesn’t. It churns. We still have to sleep.
There is a print from Red Letter Words on my desk in the newsroom. I got it at Allume, last year. It says “Hope Waits,” with the scripture reference Psalm 27:14: “Wait for the Lord; be strong and take heart and wait for the Lord.”
Easier said than done, right?
We are in a waiting mode in our lives right now. Michael and I are waiting on something big. I can’t elaborate, but it looks like we are in for some sort of life change, we just don’t know what kind yet. No, I am not pregnant. While we wait though, other big stuff is going on. Spin, spin, spin.
We worked together to move this blog from Blogger to WordPress. Hopefully you like the new design! I’m still working on a lot of little things, so please be patient. I’m working with an awesome book coach on my book proposal. It’s a lot of work, but it’s heart work, so it’s dear. I’m enjoying it.
Pray for us in the waiting, though, will you?
It’s 6:00 on a Saturday morning and it is quiet in our house. The leaves have grown to their fullest on the tree that stands tall behind the white fence in our tiny back yard.
Brokaw barks when the wind blows.
Michael sleeps with the foot of the bed raised.
And I sit on the edge of the couch on the heating pad, macbook pro on my lap, tapping away at the keys. And I need another cup of coffee, as always.
Hello, everyone. I miss you.
My world is busy. Too busy, really.
I have only been to the gym once in more than a month. I feel my wobbly bits growing and I’m not happy about that.
Last weekend, Michael and I didn’t leave the house at all. My SUV sat parked in the driveway in the same exact spot from Friday morning until late Sunday night. We ordered a pizza and watched Steel Magnolias and went for a family walk and picked a magnolia. I had no idea how they open and close. That’s weird.
The weekend was glorious and way too short. Sunday, I sacrificed church for writing and the muse came and it was good but I missed church.
I read on Facebook this week that Glennon Doyle Melton (a.k.a. Momastery) said that writing is like peeing. It sounds weird, but I can totally relate. Well, I guess I just haven’t had to pee on the blog in a while. I’ve been spending a lot of time learning and preparing to write my book. It’s an exciting process but wow does it take a lot of time and energy!
I’m processing some big thoughts about being a wife and being a caregiver and how what I really feel like I am something in between, and I have a feeling when I figure it out, you’re going to love it, and I’m going to love it, but right now I’m just so tired and I feel empty and not like I have a lot to say.
I’ve enjoyed reading a lot lately, though. And here are some books I recommend:
Atlas Girl, by Emily Weirenga
Carry On, Warrior, by Glennon Doyle Melton
Lean In, by Sheryl Sandberg
Work Happy, What Great Bosses Know, by Jill Geisler
Perhaps my reading list is a glimpse into my confused soul?
Recently, our 12-cup coffeemaker died and we didn’t replace it.
Last weekend, our blender died and this week I made smoothies in the KitchenAid mini-chopper.
Michael has a new home health aide and together they cleaned the downstairs, and I was equal-parts thankful and feeling guilty. The lawn needs mowing and my hair needs highlighting but I’m considering staying in denial on those two.
So much of what I thought life would look like by now isn’t so. I realize this post sounds more melancholy than I actually feel, which is an example of how much my writing still needs to grow. Early this year, Michael and I prayed for a year of restoration. We hold tight to 1 Peter 5:10: “The God of all grace, who called you to his eternal glory in Christ, after you have suffered a little while, will himself restore you and make you strong, firm and steadfast.”
As I type this verse, my heart opens.
Maybe this confusion I’m feeling is actually restoration?
Maybe this career drive, this all-the-sudden desire to lean back in at work, to hope for the future there, is restoration.
In that time of deep grief after we first got married, when I almost lost myself, so much changed. In some ways, I’m still just a shell of the girl I was before. But in some ways, I’m back.
Maybe this is restoration.
Maybe restoration is exhausting and confusing.
Maybe restoration takes faith.
I pray I’ll know it when I see it, and that I won’t miss it.
Jill Phillips wrote a song called “Steel Bars.”
I love it. Look it up.
Sometimes I feel so imprisoned inside my own limitations.
Surrounded by my sin.
Not holy discontent.
The kind that causes you to look around and wish for anything and everything that is not your current reality.
I wish I had her arms.
I wish my husband could mow the lawn.
I wish we could afford to go to that concert.
I wish I didn’t have to work.
I wish I could sleep at night.
At the end of each wish is a tastier, greener-grass, more-fulfilling, easier life.
The problem with all of those wishes, though?
They are lies.
Because if I had her arms, I’d want her arms.
And if my husband could mow the lawn, I’d wish he wouldn’t do something else.
And there are never enough concerts.
If I didn’t work, I’d wish I did.
Sleep is something I wish for when I’m exhausted, but something I wish away when I’m on a productive streak.
I’d rather dream than wish, anyway.
Because at least dreams are something I can work towards.
Dreams are possible.
Dreams are actionable.
We can take our dreams to our God and to our friends and to our husbands and mull them around. They can bend and stretch and sometimes die or become something else, but they’re moldable.
We can do something about dreams.
So today, I take my discontent and all my “why me’s” and my wishes to the cross.
Lay them down.
Trade those burden in.
And possibility and grace and favor and ask God to partner with me in making change, instead of begging for a different life than the one He clearly has designed for me.
I’ll put one foot in front of the other.
Run towards God with my questions and my fears and my passions and dreams.
A couple of years ago, I was producing a TV interview with a presidential candidate and his wife and there was something she said that stopped me in my tracks. She was talking about a very difficult circumstance they had to face in their life and she said that she was able to move forward when she stopped asking God “why,” and started asking Him “what?”
I stopped the timer on my iPhone, which I was using to time the interview. I opened up my notes app and typed that in there.
I still use that lesson. I knew when I couldn’t sleep last night because of my sinful discontent that I was back in the weeds of the “why.”
It took some crying and complaining and kicking and screaming, but now I’m back at the “what?”
Let’s skip the why step, y’all.
It’s no fun, anyway.
Let’s dream instead of wish.
Pray instead of complain.
Set goals instead of waste time.
I think the easiest thing to do and the hardest thing to do is to decide to love where we are right now.
It’s easiest because the only thing that needs to change is us.
It’s hard because everything inside of us is telling us that we shouldn’t have to/don’t want to/don’t have to/it’s not fair/it’s not our fault/etc.
In the wise words of The Fray “Sometimes the hardest thing and the right thing are the same.
The thing is right in font of us.
Let’s love that.
You guys are familiar with #tbt, right?
Throwback Thursday, they call it.
I call it brace-myself-Thursday.
It happens on Instagram and Facebook. People you haven’t talked to in 20 years post pictures and tag you and when that little red flag comes up in the top right corner of the Facebook app on your phone, you die just a little, because you don’t know… is this good or bad?
Will I momentarily be sending a message begging for an untag? Or will I wish I was still that thin?
I couldn’t get a couple of pictures old high school friends posted last week off my mind.
I think when I look at these pictures, I’m barely recognizable.
But, I love them both.
Okay, you guys.
Bear with me.
I believe this is 1994.
It appears we are having some sort of Valentine’s Day party.
This is the JV and Varsity cheerleaders of Indian River High School, sitting on the floor of our coach’s classroom.
I’m third from the left, in all my Freshman glory. In a vest and what I do believe may be a bodysuit. Unconfirmed that Chrischa, to my left (who I was undoubtedly sitting next to because she was wearing Pumas and was insanely cool and I looked up to her so much) is making that face because of my bodysuit.
A couple hours later, this #tbt picture surfaced:
This appears to be an Alpha banquet, where the new “Alpha Angels” are being initiated. If I remember correctly, this is actually Sophomore year. I’m on the end on the right, standing next to my best friend, Courtney.
Alpha was a community service club at school. We did nice things for people, and visited churches, and wore tinsel on our heads sometimes, and handed out candy at school. We were a club of the pretty, popular girls, with some normal girls sprinkled in there. We were tight.
I’ve looked back at these pictures several times over the last week, squinting to see the details. Thinking hard to remember that awkward girl with the dark hair.
I think 20 years gets you just far enough away from that girl that it gives you eyes to see her from the outside.
Not from her perspective, but from the perspective of now.
I can’t stop squinting.
I had a great high school experience, thanks in part to the girls and the experiences in these two pictures. By the skin of my teeth, I made it into both of these two groups. I would spend those two years feeling like I didn’t quite belong, but thankful to be there. Like at any moment I would be publicly outed for not being as cool as everyone else.
But I got in, thank God. I never would have if I hadn’t laid it on the line. If I hadn’t tried out for cheering, and had to go out there and do my little routine a second time, because the scores were that tight.
If I hadn’t sat through those Alpha interviews in the cafeteria, totally stressing out that I was running out of floral things to wear that weren’t technically from the right stores, but were close.
I made it in because I was vulnerable enough to try.
A couple of years later, I got to be on the other side. Not saying I was ever the coolest girl in school. I definitely was not. But I ended up being head captain of the cheerleaders and Courtney was Alpha President, and I was her Veep, and like most Veeps, I did nothing.
And by then, it was all argyle and plaid, not florals. And we had plenty of the right clothes and didn’t fear being found out.
I miss high school.
But, I don’t miss the dark hair days of fear.
I miss the blonde days, when we were on top of the world.
The other thing these two pictures make me realize is how grateful I am that my mom pulled me aside on family vacation in between my Sophomore year and Junior year, and taught me how to rock a box of Clairol Hairpainting. Highlights equal confidence.
I love Summer nights.
We also saw his cousin, Caitlin, who was passing through town. The weather was perfect, the crowd wasn’t huge, and it was fun to be out and about on a Summer night.
After the concert and a couple of beers, we were feeling romantic, so we took a walk along the waterfront, and walked down to the Armed Forces Memorial. The memorial is made up of these iron-cast actual letters from soldiers and sailors at war, to people they love back home. The letters are from the Revolutionary War to the Gulf War. I’ve read that they’re going to add letters from the Iraq war and Afghanistan.
We walked around to the letters that were lit up in the night Summer sky. Michael read a few out loud. I read a couple out loud. It was moving. Yesterday was the 70th anniversary of D-Day, and I couldn’t stop thinking about those brave boys, storming the beach that day. They were so young. SO brave.
This letter from the Civil War stuck out to me.
The soldier writes, “Sarah, my love for you is deathless.”
At the bottom of the letter, you can see he died a week after he wrote this.
I bet she got this letter after he died.
“My love for you is deathless.”
Michael’s power wheels are somewhere getting fixed right now. We sent them off a few weeks ago. So, last night I had to push him around Harborfest. It wasn’t a big deal. I like to think of it as a bonus workout.
Recently, we’ve dealt with a couple of health things and last weekend I let my worrying get out of control and I thought about how, one day, he’s going to die. Not anytime soon, y’all. Don’t freak out. But one day we’re all going to die.
You want to know how selfish my love is?
I don’t want him to ever die!
I feel bad about that. Because of our faith, we believe that Michael will be completely healed in Heaven. He will be whole. Walking! And yet, my selfish love would rather have him here with me, paralyzed. Suffering. Waking up and facing this every single day.
I think that’s kind of mean, and I usually cry if I think about it. I wonder if I’ll get to a point one day that my love will grow to wanting Heaven and wholeness for him. I don’t know.
For now, I’d rather stand behind him and hug his neck and kiss the top of his head and hug with the sides of our faces as we watch a band by the water on a Summer night.
That soldier wrote his love for his wife was “deathless,” and as I pushed my husband around last night, reading those letters, I couldn’t get that line out of my head.
I want to love like that.
I’m sitting at Cafe Moka with a large Sumatra pour over, with an hour to burn before CrossFit.
I worked a 17-hour day yesterday, so I didn’t go in today.
What I’ve learned over the last 12 hours: There is absolutely no replacement for sleeping in the dark. I’ve worked overnights for several years over my career. I have had awesome $40 memory foam eye masks, thick black curtains, ceiling fans, air purifiers that hum in the background, and two guys who snuggle up to me – one who frequently rubs my back, the other who snores really loudly, and even when you add all that up… you still don’t get what it feels like to sleep in the actual dark.
So, I feel pretty good!
I realized recently that I’m not doing enough of the things in my life that make me happy. Notice I said happy, not joyful.
As long as I have my priorities with God right, I can have joy. Joy is great. But I prefer to be joyful AND happy. I guess I’m just a cheerleader like that.
Michael helped me make a list of the things that make me happy. They are:
1. Alone time
3. Going to the beach
He’s helped me to make a conscious effort to make room for those things in my life. It makes such a difference on my happiness scale!
A couple of weeks ago, I went to Nags Head for the weekend and I was completely spoiled by my mom. That was enough to last for a couple of weeks.
This week, I was stressing myself out, so I knew I had to take action.
Tuesday, I spent a little alone time at Starbucks. I caught up on bills. I listened to a podcast.
Then, I found out Michael had a quadriplegic mishap so I came home to a mess. BUT, because I was relaxed and happy, I was able to clean everything up and move on without making a scene. Win!
Wednesday, after work, I went to the beach for a few hours. It was awesome. I found out that you don’t have to pay to park at the meters before 10am. Win! I think I’ve been having a bit of a “what in the world am I doing with my life?” crisis. It’s not a quarter-life crisis, because I’m too young for that. It’s not a mid-life crisis, because I’m too young for that. I think it’s just a burnout crisis. Anyway. The beach helps.
Thursday was the 17-hour day, but it was a good day.
And now here I am at Moka.
This is good.
What I’m learning about myself is that I need margin in my life! I’ve read this a million times in leadership books, and I know about the sabbath and all that. Duh. I think what I’ve been doing wrong is I’ve been powering and pushing through the week and doing all of my rest on the weekend. It seems like budgeting a little bit of margin here and there within the week is what I need.
We have been SO BUSY lately. Good busy. The kind of busy that includes family in town, going out of town to visit family, planting flowers, going to the beach, working, working, working, cooking, cleaning, and vacuuming out vehicles.
It’s all good stuff.
But there’s a lot of it.
One of my favorite things about the way Michael and I match up is that we both need time at home, to just chill. It’s how we reconnect with each other, and how we both recharge.
That’s exactly what we are doing today, and I’m salivating over the thought of doing nothing, all day long.
Know what I mean?
Nowhere to go.
Nothing or no one to take anywhere.
Nothing to buy.
It’s an amazing feeling. It’s Saturdays like this I know my friends who have kids, miss.
I finally cleaned that ceiling fan, by the way.
Cheers, you guys. I miss connecting with you all. I’m praying once I have a second to sit still, I can be filled up, and have something worthwhile to say again.
For now, I will do nothing.
And I’m not sorry about that.
I kind of love it.
Wishing you a day of nothing, too.