Swiss cheese life

Posted by deepfragilegrace in Uncategorized and tagged with , ,

My life: it’s all swiss cheese and gift wrap at the moment. The translation? It’s sort of messy.

I liken it to swiss cheese: holey, missing parts-and somedays-it’s like there is not enough caulk in the world to patch the holes I keep stumbling upon, unaware.

This same sort of thing happens to me often around Christmas too; the literal sense of how I feel most days.

I, proudly thinking that I have prepared well enough for all the gift wrapping to come, that I have calculated out the correct density and height of whatever I’m wrapping, and have enough paper to more than cover all sides of the gift, proceed to arrogantly cut the paper to wrap the gift, only to behold this: the paper does not meet in the middle.

It doesn’t match up.

So, then in an instant, I realize I have to patch in some random gift wrap paper (because somehow, I always use the last bit of the gift wrap that would actually match it), all the while cussing and sweating and trying to figure out where I miscalculated, where I could have gone so wrong with the whole gift to gift wrapping paper ratio.

And then I usually sigh.

And that’s kind of where I’m at right now: a great deal of sighing, some holes and unsightly gaps in my life needing some patching, and a whole lot of gift wrap not meeting in the middle, not lining up nicely, where it should.

Oh, should. That nasty, guilty word.

And most of the time, it feels like all of this means that I don’t add up; that somehow others have figured out the answers to these sorts of problems, that they are smarter than me and somehow are able to guesstimate gift wrap and can get their gift wrap seams (and also: their lives) to measure up in some way that I cannot.

Not everyday is like this, but lately it seems a constant challenge. Some days the holes are pinpricks and paper cuts, and some days they feel like they gnaw at the very foundation of me, like the way a termite goes after wood.

Thankfully, though-I’m not alone in this.

Certainly I’m not the only one whose life is messy, not the only one whose laundry basket is generously overflowing but whose patience is running thin and low.

Not the only one, right? Right?  

And though I am so uncertain, so fragile at times, I am solidly certain of this: that God is here.

That Jesus cares.

And loves me, even me with the gift wrap calculation problems, even me with the more-holey-than-holy-swiss-cheese life, and is even ok with that giant laundry basket that seems to consume more dirty clothes by the hour.

This makes all the difference in the world.

This helps me, especially on those days that I stare off into the sunset and wonder, those tough days I want to shake my fists at the sky and say “This better be a really good lesson!”

Jesus loves me, even through that.  And that is awesome.

Even the turtles race past me

Posted by deepfragilegrace in Uncategorized and tagged with , ,

So, lately I’ve made a realization.

I need to take this whole blogging thing slower.

Yes, you heard me.  Slower.

I understand I am already slower than snail-like when it comes to posts; I post 3-4 times a month and I am asking you, dearest 86 readers, to be patient with me while I learn to balance life and work and writing and take it slower than watching grass grow.

I’d love for you all to stick around, check in on the 15th and 30th, when I’ve committed to writing new posts; but I understand that this is real life.  A lot of you don’t have the time to be patient with someone who moves in millimeters worth of time instead of the usual yards everyone else covers in a day.

That’s ok.  I get that.

Here’s the thing: I don’t want to lose any of you all, dear readers, or any of the “progression” I’ve made with this writing thing. I understand that although I may want to gain more and more readers for this honest, truthful post, I also that this may be a daydream, and there will be some potential fallout of some people who would rather have new content from me weekly.  I totally get that and don’t blame you for that feeling.

However, my life is out of balance at the moment, and the one thing I really want to do superbly at in life is to love well is exactly the thing I’m not doing well.

So I have to take another step back.  And focus on life and work and my family and laundry.  Yep, that ugly, big, growing laundry monster.

Is the laundry really more important than writing you ask?

Of course not.

However, if I am truly going to love well- the one big, beautiful thing I want people to remember about me-sometimes doing the laundry and keeping everyone in non-wrinkly clothes is a part of that.

And same goes for the dishes. Sigh.

But, enough about me.

Just wanted to let you all know to check back in on the 15th and the 30th.

Hope to have some really good stuff for you then.

Liz

For the moms…

Posted by deepfragilegrace in Uncategorized

This post is for all the moms/mothers/mamas who…

-want to leave a legacy behind beyond just a jumble of genetics.

-work long double shifts just to make sure all the needs of her family are met.

-are valiantly supportive and strong for their husband and their children even when they feel weak and crumbly on the inside.

-stay up late, way too late packing lunches, editing unacceptable crusts off of their children’s sandwiches; packing lunch bags and backpacks and little bits of herself along the way.

-have 5 loving sons whom they adore, but were hoping for a daughter there somewhere in mix.

-let their children fail so they will really learn a lesson about self-reliance and responsibility.

-have scraggly nails, mostly bad hair days and are in desperate need of a massage, but who have well-groomed and spotlessly clean children.

-toil after their dreams; for higher education, for another job, trying to capture the intangible thing called a dream so that her children will have a good life in part because of her hard work.  And so her children know what hard work looks like.

-have to mend broken hearts and wounded feelings and kiss imaginary boo-boos on little ones’ hearts and heads.

-have learned to restrain out-loud, open-armed love, and instead adapted to their teenager’s love language of a laid-back cool mom that just sort of listens.

-deal with messy, sticky jelly hands, Cheerio breath and peanut butter kisses on a daily basis.

-try to not to rescue their kids every time they fall, though every thing in their hearts wants to shelter their children from pain.

-work outside of the home or inside the home; the moms who still have to clean up messes seemingly all the time regardless of if they grab their morning coffee at the office or at the kitchen counter.

-wish they could solve their daughter’s 20-something broken heart boo-boo like before-with a hug, a kiss and a Barbie band-aid.

-stay up way too late and get up way too early cleaning the house, doing laundry and prepping dinners just to make sure her family is well-fed and cared for.

-hold their tongues and their disappointment when a son comes home from college with a nose ring; for the moms who have teeth marks on their tongue from just smiling and nodding at their mother-in-law’s overly generous advice on child rearing.

-take the long, slow, seemingly snail’s pace time to figure out their children’s needs, wants, personalities, dreams and hopes.

-choose their children’s contentment and needs over their own wants of life’s little luxuries like sleeping in, excessive bubble baths and beautiful jewelry.

-have to tie knots upon knots upon knots just to make all the ends meet.

-whose hair and house and body has seen prettier days; before the little ones became her hairdresser, before all the handmade pottery and refrigerator door art, and before all the meals of Cheerios and Goldfish scarfed down on the go.

-have to make some bittersweet and tough choices on how to best provide for her children.

-eat lovingly homemade Mother’s Day gifts of handmade granola with gummi bears and poorly made weak coffee when in actuality, the best Mother’s Day gift would really be a night at a nice hotel, sleeping in and getting a day to herself.

-would do anything and everything to protect their children and have the scars to prove it.

-love and love and love their children.

This is for the mothers of super heros, princesses, dinosaurs, dragons and “mommy, I’m a cat today!”; for the moms of babies, of small ones, moms of ones who are all sighs and teenage drama, angst and ignoring; the moms of children who are adults, the moms of those who know better, and those who haven’t a clue; the moms of children who have seen and known to much for their short lives already, and for the moms whose little ones seem blissfully unaware about anything in the real world.

If you are a mom, a mother, a mama- this is for you. Thank you for doing all that you do.

Laundromat

Posted by deepfragilegrace in Uncategorized and tagged with , ,

You know those favorite shirts you have? Those wonderfully soft, comfy shirts that you wear over and over again? Your favorite tees, you have any of those?

I do.  I have several like that, and my favorite one is grey, with an illustration of small frog playing a guitar on it.  My small daughter sees this and asks “what’s that?” and I tell her; and she (this is why I love children) accepts this as-is, as if it would be totally natural to see a frog strumming a guitar.  Yep, frogs playing guitars occurs in nature. Up next, unicorns with wings!

Back to the point-I love this shirt. Would probably wear it all the time if I could just for the sheer comfort, if not for the awesome guitar frog picture alone.

But this shirt-hasn’t had a breezy life.  It’s easily close to a decade old, and not only that, it went through my husband’s wear and tear for a couple of years, then one fine day became mine when I shrank it by putting it on too high heat in the dryer for way too long.  And when it became mine, then the wear and tear only just began, for I am not easy on clothes.  I probably launder them too often (and we’ve already learned that I do not know how to use a dryer very well) and I usually catch my jewelry or my ring on delicate threads. Shirts generally do not look at me and think: yes! She should be my owner!

But the shirt is so soft and pliable now, so much so that I can sleep in it if I so chose. Didn’t start out that way, but with all of the washing and drying, the wearing and inevitably, tearing or pulling, and the constant use, it’s become a treasured shirt.  And it should be considering all it’s been through.

This is not unlike life, you know.  The constant wearing and tearing, the consistent, relentless wash-dry process called life should be enough to break us down and make us soft and supple, too.  Sometimes this happens, most times it does not, and we get bitter and rigid.  But who wants to wear a rigid shirt?

Not sure what happened to you in the washer-dryer process of life, or if like me, you feel like you are being constantly tumbled, but I do know one thing for sure:

It ain’t a bad thing to be considered soft.

Good Grief

Posted by deepfragilegrace in Church-y

So, lots of grief lately.  Ironic, touching, strange, a whole slew of emotions-especially all of the grief that  my friends and I have experienced right up to the hours before Easter Sunday.

And Easter Sunday: my friend who had complications and was just barely alive: winked, smiled, wiggled her toes.  Miraculous.  Both in big and small ways.

And she was a fighter, fiercely independent before-we didn’t think she would take anything lying down, but who were we to judge what God had planned for her? Regardless, we begged and pleaded with God; we bargained with Him as if that were to change His mind.

Which, I’m not sure if it did or didn’t, those are mysterious things that I may never know about or ever begin to understand.

However, what I do know is this: Grief and love and loss-all unlock a new level of caring and loving each time we pass through them.  Each time we get our heart-broken, we can elect to be more defensive, more protective of our hearts or we can become more vulnerable.  Same with grief and loss and hurt-it can paralyze us or we can use it to propel us forward, to new levels of depth and appreciation for life.

And, BTW-The softest, sweetest people I know are those who could have been hardened, mean, bitter. They so very much have the right to be bitter because of what life had handed to them.  But they choose not to.

And this is a silly, crazy little comparison-but it’s not unlike video games-you never know there is another level (of compassion, patience, love, etc.) to unlock until you get there.

And then what you find when you get there: the realization that it was there all along.

Am I a bad mother…?

Posted by deepfragilegrace in Uncategorized and tagged with ,

Am I a bad mother because…

…I would rather her know the names of the stars and constellations than all the names of Disney princesses and all the celebrities?

…I want her to know about mud pies and skinned knees and tree houses and how to keep a secret?

…I’d rather her know about bugs and butterflies and the mystery of every living thing more so than the latest toys?

…I want her to know, deeply and truly about what fireflies and wolves and bees are before they are extinct?

…I want her to know about what cursive is, what the post office does, and what manners are before they are extinct too?

…I want her to know about the super heroes that don’t make it the movies; about the ones that hold the frail, aged hands of the dying, the ones who fall in the shadows, unnoticed; the ones who are made of grit and courage and patience but whose skin may resemble more sandpaper than skin, but whose soul is soft as butter?

…I want her to have and know a true girlhood before she becomes a tween; that I want her to be a girl detective more so than a princess; that I want her to believe in the power of her own dreams and determination than relying on a prince on a horse to save her?

…I want her to be both gutsy and tender; courteous and kind; God-loving and God fearing; knowing when to roll the dice in life and when to play her cards close to her heart; that I want her to be courageous and yet vulnerable; strong and yet gentle?

…I would rather fill her little head up with ideas found in books, and imagination from exploring rather than the ideas that come from TV?

…She is truly confident because she knows she is loved unconditionally?

Jesus Loves Me

Posted by deepfragilegrace in Uncategorized

Jesus loves us.  All of us.

Jesus loves me and died for me, even the me who was a naïve and a silly sweet 16 year-old many years ago, even loves me now; the 33 year-old me who acts like that clueless 16 year-old some days.

Jesus loves me, adores me, even on the days that I am bad, the days I do wrong.  Jesus loves me on the days I wonder if anyone still loves me; He is with me. Jesus still loves me.  He still died for that feeling, for the trash I act like some days and the trash I put up with other days.

He loves me: as I am now, as I was then, as I will be.  He loves me: whether I am an infant, a grown adult, a 10 year-old who knows better or a 75 year-old who should have learned that lesson a long, LONG time ago.

He loves me through hate, He loves though I take his name in vain and blindly assume that I know exactly all about Him and all of His character. He loves me though sometimes I can’t stand His people and wonder why in the world He chose those disciples.

He loves me so much that He knew me, He formed me before I was born, is with me through the ENTIRE bittersweet journey here on earth; He loves me even enough to die with me, and usher me to the life after this one.

He loves me enough to have walked in my human shoes; He loved me enough to make an utter fool of himself and allowed himself to be totally degraded on the cross; He did all of that-not for money, not for fame and certainly not for fun, but for love.

He did that all, ALL of it so I had the right to complain about this sweet, sweet life, so I had the right to choose who I would follow, He did it all so that there would be no question as to who He loves….and yet we still wonder if we are good enough for His love.

We aren’t. But He loves us anyway.

Thank God for His grace.

Play-Doh life

Posted by deepfragilegrace in Uncategorized and tagged with , , ,

So, being doing a lot of thinking lately.  A lot.

And you know, sometimes that’s a good thing, like when you need to work through a sticky problem, when you need to figure something out, or like what I used to do when I was a 10 year-old: plan my revenge on my sister for always tattle-telling on me.

Those are good things to think about.

And then there is this huge, grey, fuzzy pit of thinking that I always seem to fall into and have a difficult time getting out of: over thinking.  Not so good things for me to think about.

I tend to do it quite often this over thinking thing,  and usually do it without realizing it.  Then someone makes a remark about something, and I realize, oh hey.  No one else is worrying or thinking about this as deeply as me.  This usually occurs when I’m trying to figure out the office stapler or the best way to approach a project.  Sometimes the over thinking is beneficial and sometimes it’s just dumb.  For instance, the stapler.  Seriously! Who thinks about staplers?

So, been thinking (ironic! I know!) about this lately.  And also about choices too, and how there are so many choices in life.

I was reminded of all this when I sat down to play Play-Doh with my child.  Play-Doh!  Haven’t held that cool, squishy weirdness in years.

Needless to say, it brought back a lot of memories, and a distinct recollection of myself at about age 5 or 6, fretting about the major choice in life, which came down to whether or not to combine the two different colors of Play-doh into one giant, lovely, chaotic mess of color.

And I have to say this: I am quite lucky that my childhood was so wonderful that this was the only thing I remember fretting about.  This says loads about my parents and their loving way of protecting me from the world that is sometimes savage, dangerous and too beautiful for a small child to process.

So…back to 30-ish year old me holding two colors of Play Doh in my hand. And back to the same fear; the same risk-averse thoughts I’ve had my entire life:

Do I or don’t I mix these colors?

Are there back up colors somewhere else in case this doesn’t work out?

And what about if the colors turns out to be that cold, stale greyish putty color instead of something beautiful?

What then?

What I’ve realized is this: besides over thinking, what I have carried with me throughout the years is this risk-adverse thing too; this insane, innate need to want all of my life (and all of my Play-Doh) choices to come with some sort of guarantee, some sort plan B, something that could confirm that I won’t make a mistake.

And you know what I’ve learned?

(Clearly nothing, since I am still afraid of mixing Play-doh.)

I’ve learned that sometimes you have to just roll the dice, toss the hot pink in with the subdued green and hope for the best.

And if it turns out to be that frightful putty color, well, that’s life.  And the good thing about life is that it can be modified, it can be changed, it can be mixed again and again.

About the photos…

Posted by deepfragilegrace in About, About the Photos

About the photos-

All the photos/images I feature on my site are generously donated from friends, and free sites with creative common licences.

I have featured images from Mayang’s Free Texture library in the past, and starting today, featuring images and beautiful photos from my friend Colleen D., who is a lovely hobbyist photographer from Dallas.

Holler at me if you want me to send you her contact info!

And many thanks, dear Colleen.

Liz

Recovery Room

Posted by deepfragilegrace in Church-y, Uncategorized and tagged with , ,

Here’s a thought: life is one big recovery room.

I see this as a truth, as aren’t we all recovering from life to some degree?

Some of us are recovering from internal bleeding and bruising of the heart.

Some of us are recovering from the constant and continual paper cuts of life’s little problems.

And some of us have been so hurt by others, so abused by life that we are almost injured beyond recognition.

Yet here we are; all stuck together in this giant recovery room we call life.

We are not separated by degree of injury, type of injury, or health care plans;

We are not separated by how we deal with anger, loneliness or lack of love;

We are all stuck with one another, whether we love it or loathe it.

And yet, knowing this, we still stare at each other down as if we were on a lifeboat together.

We are constantly assessing whether or not that other person is good enough, healed enough or strong enough to be worthy of a seat on the lifeboat.

We scrutinize each other.  We judge.

But, we seldom realize that, along with God, we are all that we’ve got.

And ironically, that we are all we need.

If only we remembered this.