"to do" to "to done"

You may recall, if you were one of the three people who accidentally stumbled across this blog, that yesterday I had an extensive list of projects to do. Instead I chose to sit down and restart my blog. Makes sense, right? Well after that ten-minute diversion I could not avoid the work any longer. So, following a drum roll please, here is my proud list of accomplishments for the day:

• purchased a multitude of Christmas presents online (beats fighting grandmas and tired, stressed out mommies at the mall)
• finished decorating for Christmas - ribbon, garland, massive quantities of candles, dishes, and other assorted winter-themed chotchkies
  
• vacuumed 20 pounds of pine needles from the floor, furniture, and myself
  
• artfully managed to repack all the boxes and shove them in the closet before they came tumbling down
• contacted Amazon about a package that was mistakenly delivered to my house for the previous occupants who have apparently forgotten that they moved and that a change of address is required
• fiddled with the deadbolt on my front door so that it finally locks without having to push on it with the force it would take to move a semi-truck filled with deadbolts
  
• got ready for an evening out and was early (thanks to establishing a "going out uniform" which involves me wearing the same outfit every time)
• handmade a birthday card with stickers and markers, you know, old school

All in all, it was a satisfying day. It had the right blend of heavy lifting, housework, and idle internet surfing. It ended with a delicious dinner, good conversation, a Schlafly Hefeweizen, and an eleven o'clock bedtime. Just what a Saturday should be.

hello again

It's December. This is probably just about the worst time of the year to renew the blogging commitment, perhaps only surpassed by the dreaded and overwhelming first week of school or that week after school lets out when I'm busy laying comatose on the couch without showering for days on end (hey, recovery is a process, people). There is laundry wrinkling in my dryer and there are dishes crusting in the sink as I write. It looks like Christmas threw up in my living room with decorations strewn everywhere, boxes piled in corners, and pine needles clinging to every available surface. These are the projects I should be tackling. But the call to write was strong today. Perhaps it is due to the recent surge of blogging among my friends, or at the least my new awareness that my friends have blogs that they actually update consistently. Huh. Novel. So I thought I'd give it a go again and see what comes out. It may last a week, a month, or more likely, a sporadic number of days spanning several years, but no matter. I've got nothing better to do.

insomnia

I never thought I'd be one of those people who really loved to sleep. I've always been an early riser and rarely nap. I just feel like there are so many things to be doing and I'm wasting time if I am sleeping. I go to bed early to ensure my eight hours and switch off the alarm at the first buzz. I didn't even know the snooze button existed for the first twenty-something years of my life. I always hit the ground running.

Every night when I get in bed I read or do sudoku (insert geek joke here) and try to get my mind to begin the shift into neutral. Only lately, my mind hasn't slowed down at night. It's still motoring, gears turning, full speed ahead. In that small moment, just before I turn out the light my head fills. Worries and what-ifs. Doubts. Anxiousness. Analysis. Over-analysis. As the external world fades into quiet, these thoughts come shouting into my brain.

There are two demons at work here. One is the nagging worry. I said something stupid. It's going to storm. What if I never fall in love? The other demon is my need for control. I can't change what I said. I can't dictate the weather. I can't make love happen. I am not in charge. Both demons lead to fear. Fear curls up in the corner of the brain and settles in at the most vulnerable times. For me, it is that edge between awake and asleep.

So I find myself on the attack. The best way I know to fight demons is through prayer. Here is my new nightly prayer:

God, this day has been yours from beginning to end. As I pass into sleep, please keep my thoughts on you and your countless blessings. Speak to me, Lord, in my dreams and in the stillness. May I be reminded of your unconditional love and faithfulness. And may I be filled with a peace that comes from knowing you hold me in your hands of protection and grace. Amen.

So now I will turn down the covers, push the dog to her side of the bed, flip the switch, and talk to God. And get what I never thought I'd need so badly.

A little sleep.

a few years worth of wisdom

Advice to the Me I Used to Be:

1. You'll make plans. God will have different ones. Be flexible.

2. Overalls were not, and never will be stylish.

3. Pay attention. To people. To your surroundings. Soak in God's blessings.

4. Leave. Go somewhere. See the world before the excuses set in.

5. You can teach tough kids.

6. You really should balance your checkbook.

7. First impressions are confusing, and should often be totally ignored.

8. If he isn't trying, he isn't interested.

9. Just because it's what is expected of you, it doesn't make it right.

10. Make eye contact. You never know.

the tree on the wall

I'm going to build a tree today. A tree on the wall. Its trunk - brown paper, its leaves - plastic, its effect - magical.

I built my tree last year too. It took six hours, about a thousand tacks, and a ladder twice my height. But when my students walk in and see the tree on the wall, the one arching over their library filled with books waiting to to be discovered and loved, they stare in awe.

There is a tree. In their classroom. A shady spot to read. And suddenly it's no longer paper, plastic, and thumbtacks. It's a world beyond their hard lives where adventure and laughter wait.

And the tree invites them in.

can you be?

you bring the question forward
that lurks in back my brain
swept in cobwebs of regret
and too many should-have-beens.
a hope gone stale to disenchantment,
bitter,
begins to slide out of shadow
and with hesitation seeks the light.

loose tooth

I'm back, blogosphere, and I'm better than ever. Okay, maybe that's an exaggeration, but it sure sounded good, right? And confident. Like I should be bursting through the doors in a great pair of heels and one of those huge wide-brimmed hats that women only wear to fancy horse races, arms out and voice raised in triumph. So maybe in real life it's more like flip-flops and frizzy hair, and I trip through the doorway and my voice has a little bit of that change of pitch on the end that makes a statement sound more like a question. Am I better than ever?

There is a line I like from a Caedmon's Call song that goes, "You know I had a laugh that the same old struggles that plagued me then are plaguing me still." Is that not the human condition? I notice a weakness, try to scrub it out, only to find myself back where I started. It's like a loose tooth. You know it'll hurt if you press on it, but you just can't stop yourself because even though it hurts, there is something oddly comforting in the pain.

I'm like that with comparisons. Not the literary or philosophical kind, but those sneaky half-conscious comparisons I make between myself and others, usually other women. I see another girl and wish I was that thin. Or that tall. Or that artistic. Or that intellectual. Or blah, blah, blah. The list goes on, the list of things I view as glaring inadequacies within myself and unfair blessings to others. And then they turn into questions to God. God, why did you make me so scatter-brained? God, why did you make me with big thighs? God, why did you make me so ___________? I begin to question my very design.

The thing is, it's not about measuring up. It's about being better than someone else. Because if I'm better than someone else, then that gives me a sense of pride. And therein lies the true darkness. C.S. Lewis described pride as the root of all sin, or the granddaddy of sins, if you will permit a coloquial rephrasing. You see, the real reason I compare myself to others is not to feel like I'm less than others (although I will come back to that in a moment), it's for that rare and fleeting moment where I feel like I am more than others. It's when the pain turns into selfish joy. Ugly. I'm so ugly then.

The other side is that there is something oddly comforting about feeling less than others. I can turn it into an excuse. I'm not pretty enough to go talk to that guy or I'm not organized enough to remember your birthday. Those are things that beautiful girls with dayminders do. Not me. There's relief in the excuse. It's really quite handy that way. I can also play the victim. I can feel sorry for myself and wallow and have an Eeyore-type attitude because I have so obviously been overlooked in the gene pool. This is quite convenient as well, because suddenly I've shifted the blame. I make it God's responsibility.

So this is where I find myself again. Wiggling that loose tooth. Sticking the thorn back in my side. Comparing myself with those around me. Maybe I never really stopped, but just became less conscious of it. Either way, here it is, staring me in the face. So now I have a choice. I can choose to question God, make excuses, and play the victim. I can choose to bury myself in that strangely comforting pain. Or I can choose to believe God. I can believe Him when He tells me that he lovingly and artistically molded me. I can believe Him when He shows me that through Him all things are possible. And I can believe Him when He reminds me that He has made me more than a conqueror.

The choice is not easy.
But the choice is clear.