5 Things I Learned in June

Each and every summer, I’m surprised by things that I’ve learned from previous summers but forgotten. September through May has a way of giving me amnesia. And then June rolls around, shaking her head and saying “Silly girl, this happens every summer. You should take notes.”

Dear June, this is me, taking notes. Please remind me twelve months from now that I wrote it down.

The What We Learned posts are hosted by Emily Freeman as a “monthly community link-up to share the fascinating, ridiculous, sacred, or small.”

Mine is usually just ridiculous.

In no particular order, here are 5 things I’ve learned in June.

1. Summer spotlights my introversion like nothing else.

I have a dear friend who actually has more energy for those in her household when she’s actively engaged with others outside of her family on a regular basis, something that confounds me. I can’t tell you how jealous I am of her extroverted ways.

The relational energy required of me by the four people I live with seems to drain all the relational energy I have. Not because they’re crazy people but because my social reserves run low.

On the two occasions I’ve been with other women over the summer, I feel inexplicably tired. As in, I can barely keep my eyes open. The entire next day I’m in a fog. It’s terribly inconvenient. Because I love my friends and my community and I feel like I just waved goodbye to everyone until the end of August.

I remind myself that I’ve only got 4 summers left with my oldest. Four. I could cry. The relational energy that summer mothering requires of me is embarrassing, but I know it’s effort well spent. These are my main people. I just need some breaks here and there to stay the summer course.

2. I stay up too late in the summer.

I go to bed early during the school year. When the kids are gone during the day, I get a break from talking and being a referee and answering questions about sharks and listening to so many words. But during the summer, I’ve noticed that I stay up late just for the quiet and solitude. As summer bounds along, I find myself feeling lethargic and unmotivated.

My husband told me this morning that staying up late might be why I’m so tired. #genius

3. I’m a fan of the capsule wardrobe.

The capsule is nothing new. I’m just late to the party. Simplifying is something that’s become increasingly appealing to me as I get older and long to streamline pretty much everything about my life.

One’s closet is a pretty non-threatening place to start.

I followed the capsule advice from un-fancy. Here are the basics:

I even used her free wardrobe planner. It’s been about six weeks now and the whole experiment has been a game-changer in all the best ways.

I’m sure this will be a post in and of itself at some point but for now, let me just toss out a few lessons I’ve learned.

Fewer options = faster decisions.

Fewer pieces = more creativity.

Less = more. More time, more money, more simplicity.

I know, I’m such an unlikely convert because clothes are my jam. But here’s the thing — outfit-making is still way fun and I’ve tried combos I never would’ve considered since I have fewer items overall.

4. I tend to trade one obsession for another. In this case, clothes for make-up.

You might think I’ve gone all minimalist since I’m doing the capsule and all. But I just swap addictions. I may not be thrifting and shopping like I used to but I’ve fallen in love again with make-up.

It all started with a scheduled makeover at the Bobbi Brown make-up counter for my birthday.

I’ve had a girl crush on Bobbi since she started doing makeovers on the Today Show years ago. I might even want to be her.

But Bobbi’s products are spendy and I couldn’t even go there. {Even if I have watched all of her online makeup lessons instead of doing important things like humanitarian work and laundry.}

I’m in my 40s now. The days of getting by with mascara and tinted lip balm when I’m in a hurry are long gone. It’s time to bring out the big guns.

I’ll always be the sort of gal who prefers a more natural look. But as I get older, things like primer and legit concealer and products with coverage and staying power become your best friends.

Even though I only bought three items from the Bobbi counter, I learned so many useful techniques from Kimberly, my makeup artist. Techniques I can apply no matter what products I’m using.

I’m such a dork. Could my grin be any cheesier?

Getting ready has become fun again. I highly recommend a free makeup lesson. It’s one of the best ways I’ve ever treated myself and now I want to go back and take all my friends. {But not this summer. See #1.}

If you’re curious about the products I got for my birthday, here you go: creamy concealer, creamy concealer kit {Bobbi calls these products the “secret of the universe” and that’s no joke.} And because it’s summer, bronzing powder. All of her products are amazing and I want them.

5. I cut carbs. I feel better. I want cake.

I don’t do diets or food trends. I’m about eating when you’re hungry, eating mostly real food, and enjoying all things in moderation. I’ve never focused on protein because I don’t really enjoy many high-protein foods. I’ve always been a gal who loves her healthy-ish carbs and healthy-ish foods, even if I did reach for candy too often. Until recently, I could rationalize my imperfect, healthy-ish ways.

Again, enter the 40s. And I realized that my food choices were more -ish than healthy.

Between hormones and fatigue and being sidelined for 15 months with a back injury that keeps me from running, I’ve had to adopt a new game plan. So one day I talked to my sweet Pilates instructor at the Rec Center and, long story short, she got me started on an in-home strengthening program and eating plan. I’ve been doing it since May and you guys, I feel better. Like, a lot better. {Except for when I stay up too late. See #2.}

I don’t follow the plan perfectly but I’ve redefined it to work for me. Protein is my friend and most of my carbs now come from fruits and veggies and when I cheat with cake. Which I am suddenly obsessed with now that I can’t have it. Seriously, I think about cake all day long.

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So there you go. Five things I learned in June.

What have YOU learned this summer? We can dish in the comments or on Facebook and Twitter. Or you can chime in with you own list and link up with Emily.

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For the Christians Who Fear They’re Not Enough

On Monday I had a “chance” conversation with a friend on the phone. She told me that she’d listened to a sermon by a well-known pastor and when it was over she felt a sense of guilt and Christian inferiority.

What if she wasn’t doing enough for the kingdom of God? What if her life isn’t “enough?”

Every word she spoke resonated with me.

We may live in a post-Christian culture but I also happen to live smack in the center of the Bible Belt. I go to church, to Bible study, to a prayer group. I have sermons and Christian podcasts at my fingertips 24 / 7. I’ve read countless posts by Christian bloggers and books written by professional Christians.

Day after day, I’ve absorbed messages that have assembled themselves into a functional theology. And then one day I realize that I’ve steeped myself in partial truths that sound good and right but leave me in a place of fear-based striving and duty-bound performance. My outer life may look fine and good but my inner voices yell at me to “do more!” and “figure this out!” and “really sacrifice!”

You too?

Without knowing it, we begin living what we believe. Even if it’s not what we say we believe. I mean, who really says, “I believe in a theology of fear and guilt and striving?”

It’s well documented that we’re running around like crazy people trying to lasso our own securities in the form of success — our kids’ success, our financial standing, the renown of our “platforms.” Christians are as guilty as the rest for chasing after The American Dream.

But there’s this other security we’re chasing down. I believe it’s more dangerous than the American Dream.

We’re chasing down our own righteousness and it’s killing us.

Instead of living out of who we already are in Christ, we’re living out of who we want to be with Christ’s help. We think Jesus is our personal assistant instead of our personal savior who rescues us in both the eternal and the everyday sense.

We want to be better and do more and get this Christian living thing down pat. So we make everything from debt-free-ness and Biblically-literate kids to hospitality and social justice the measuring rods of how we’re doing. And they are good things. Godly things. My heart beats for all of them. Even though I feel ongoing guilt that my heart doesn’t beat as strongly for these things as it should.

But as the human heart is prone to do, it takes good things and makes them ultimate things. We define our position with God {and even with man} by what we do instead of whose we are.

The religious have been doing it for thousands of years and we moderns are the same.

The difference is that we have bookstores and radio programs and blogs and sermons highlighting “superior” Christians, “superior” Christian life-hacks, “superior” Christian families — people doing life righteously and radically — and those of us who are living life in the mediocre middle can get the impression that we’re not doing enough, that our lives don’t “count for the kingdom.” {A phrase that nauseates me because it reeks of self-focus.}

That was my friend’s lament. And it’s mine too.

I wake up each day readying breakfasts and lunches and clothes for those in my care. I get them to school and pick them up. I wipe tears and correspond with teachers. Is that enough?

I make an extra PB and J for the neighbor kid who may be at my table. I buy the snacks and participate in the team fund-raisers and read books on learning disabilities so that I can be a better equipped mom for my child who’s struggling. Is that enough?

I have the hard conversations with those who live in my home. We live and laugh and love and also fight a lot, day in and day out. I’m stressed out in front of them too much of the time and I have to apologize more than I wish I did. Is that enough?

We sponsor children who depend on those of us in the middle class a continent away for their education and medical care. But we’re not going there in person and digging wells. We haven’t taken a vow of poverty. We haven’t moved to the inner city. My kids wear Nikes instead of generic sneakers. We’re not sponsoring as many kids as we’d like to sponsor.

Our contributions to the kingdom of God feel painfully meager.

My friend asked me, “What does it look like, Marian? What does kingdom living look like here in the middle of the American Dream?”

“It looks like showing up,” I told her.

The words left my mouth before I was really aware of what I’d said.

“Every day, you simply show up. You be the wife, the mom, the daughter, the sister, the friend, the employee, the neighbor that the day invites you to be.”

Micah 6:8 comes to mind as I write this:

He has shown you, O mortal, what is good.
And what does the Lord require of you?
To act justly and to love mercy
and to walk humbly with your God.

To act justly may look like social justice and it may look like meting out truth in your own home between two squabbling siblings.

To love mercy may look like a move to an impoverished area or becoming a fostering parent. But it may also look like rescuing the child who calls from school in tears and needs to be picked up and bailed out, even though the situation is of their own doing.

To walk humbly with your God, well, isn’t that simply the posture of a life in Christ? A life that’s defined by love and grace and rescue?

Humility is about availability, to God and to others.

It means accepting the chance conversations as opportunities to listen. And sometimes to speak.

It means running forgotten lunches to school because we’re all forgetful sometimes.

It means seeing people in their very obvious sin and first identifying with them as a fellow struggler instead of quickly judging and then elevating yourself by comparison.

I write as one who doesn’t live this way. Not really. There are moments of beauty but far more moments of harshness and entitlement. There are moments I’ve rescued others with lavish grace that surprised even me and moments when I’ve muttered cuss words and condemnation over said forgotten lunches.

Yet He continues to use me. And I don’t think it’s coincidence that He uses me when my own efforts have been lackluster. That chance conversation with a friend? It came after not having had a quiet time for days and lots of traveling and missing church and too much stress and feeling far away from God.

I read an e-mail just this week from a reader who had stumbled across my blog and scanned a post I wrote months ago. She said she’d found hope here. Not because I’m doing a stellar job of cranking out regular posts and prioritizing writing like I should. This is my first published post here in weeks. But I cried as I read her e-mail because this is God’s work, not mine. I simply show up. He takes care of the rest.

When will I ever learn that it’s not about my own efforts toward righteousness? It’s about the One who is perfectly righteous, the One who perfectly met the requirements, the One who continues to act justly and to love mercy. The One who came and lived and died in a perfect posture of humility. The One who came back to life in order that we might have life and that all things can be made new.

Jesus is with me as the living God. He is the sovereign king over my life. And as He reigns in my little kingdom, we show up together in ways that feel mostly mundane to me but that matter to him. Not because I’m accumulating tally marks but because He simply delights in me.

Of all the things we’re called to do as Christians, being impressive isn’t one of them. We came up with that ourselves. And I for one am tired of the American church’s obsession with impressive Christians. Can we just stop it already?

God’s kingdom is in the sandwich-making and the speech-making. It’s in the nooks and crannies of middle-class suburbia and high-rise big city. It’s in Bible study and biology. It’s in the late-night stories and the Hospice care hand-holding. It’s in the bottom-wiping and the table-cleaning {though hopefully not in that order.} : )

Because if God is everywhere, then He calls people everywhere. The ministers aren’t more important in his kingdom than the mothers.

This world is his and from the beginning, He’s asked us to take dominion, to cultivate richness and beauty and knowledge and relationship from the fields and the fairways to the boardrooms and the classrooms.

Wherever we are, God is. We show up and his love spills out. Disagree all you want but I’ve come to believe that it’s this simple and also this difficult.

Overflowing with the love of Christ isn’t something we manufacture; it’s something we receive. We know that we’re loved not because of anything we do. God knows our propensity to find security in our own righteousness and efforts. It’s why he reminds us of this:

For it is by grace you have been saved, through faith — and this is not from yourselves, it is the gift of God — not by works so that no man can boast. {Ephesians 2:8-9}

Whether it’s a pastor’s voice or the refrain of your own familiar inner task-master, when any voice accuses you of not doing enough as a Christian, here’s a response:

“Agreed. I’m not doing enough. The bad news is, I can never do enough. The good news is, I don’t have to.”

“Doing enough” is life under the law and the law is powerless to save anyone.

God’s ways are holy and beautiful and we can’t fully look upon them without trembling. To think that we can lasso the law — whether the God-made kind or the man-made kind — and live it out perfectly takes a rather high view of ourselves and a rather low view of God’s perfect ways.

Christ left the riches of Heaven to make his home on the dusty roads of Earth. He is the only one who has ever done enough and once his work was completed, He cried out, “It is finished!”

He is the perfect fulfillment of the law that is God-written on the most feeble tablet of all — the human heart.

It’s unfathomable really. And now, He makes his home in us. It means that when we show up, He shows up. The One who is enough on our behalf, the One who multiplies our scant offerings and feeds a multitude, even if that multitude is just a bunch of hungry kids gathered around my kitchen table.

If you’re a bit broken-down under the weight of expectation and comparison, might I invite you to look up so that I can look you in the eyes and say this to your face?

If you are in Christ, your life is enough. You are not necessarily called to go where someone else has gone or to live the life someone else is living.
You are called to receive your own life, to show up with the love and light of Christ, whatever and whomever the day brings. Trust not in your enough-ness but in the finished work and life-giving power of Christ alone.

Simply show up. And know that it counts.

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Two Life Lessons I Learned in the 45 Minutes it Took Me to Write This Post

Writing, for me, is like a sacrament. And going too long without it leads to feeling rather malnourished on a soul level. The days have ticked by and I haven’t written here.

Restless and scattered, my soul has been without one good exhale since I don’t know when. Sometimes the days are too full of lists and demands and busy-ness that you never asked for. And some that you did. And then those days turn into weeks. And then that heavy weight that sits on your chest every so often just sits there all the time.

I crave soul rest but when given the opportunity to partake of it, even in a small way, I’m prone to saying no. Instead I leap in the direction of productivity or looking at the to-do list again or spinning my wheels in something that seems productive but that is actually ridiculousness. Or something that I know is not in any way productive and is straight up ridiculousness. {I’m looking at you bobbibrown.com and your dreamy makeup that I covet and pretend shop for. And also at you vintage brown leather purses on ebay.}

Like an addict, I run from what I need and cozy up into the lap of what I want. I find instant almost-gratification {since the shopping is still pretend, whatiswrongwithme?} but no actual renewal.

When life presses in, our real coping mechanisms spill out.

Yesterday I told a friend that I feel afraid of the future that’s right around the bend — one kid in high school, one in middle school, one in elementary school.

I’m afraid of the demands that I’m already struggling to meet and how those will only increase.

I’m afraid of failure — mine and theirs.

I’m afraid of so many expectations.

I’m afraid my to-do list will murder me in the middle of the night while I’m sleeping.

I’m afraid that I will have no rest.

I’m afraid we’ll never sell our house and move.

I’m afraid we will sell our house and move.

I’m afraid of how certain others feel about me.

I’m afraid of really and truly becoming a crazy person who rants in customer service lines and spends all of her real time spending pretend money on pretend make-up.

And just seeing all of these words right here on the screen, one “I’m afraid” after the other — well, the tears well up out of nowhere and I remember that this is why I write. Writing dredges up the deep stuff of the soul that I can’t articulate, not even for myself. Ninety something percent of the time I show up here and I don’t know what will come out but something always does and it’s always the truth of the matter.

So when I say that my soul can’t find rest because life is too busy, I’m really saying that I’m afraid. I’m just afraid.

Busyness isn’t the primary reason for my breathlessness. Fear is. And that’s why I can’t find rest. I’m too busy hooking up with fear. And Fear feels a lot like a big mean guy holding a cattle-prod and chasing after me.

There’s this simple line from Grace for the Good Girl: Letting Go of the Try-Hard Life by Emily Freeman. It came to me the other day and it comes to me again now:

Fear drives. But love leads.

Two things I learned since I started this post. 1. I’m not living loved. I’m living driven. 2. I’m not writing enough.

I have to make time for it even if it kills me. Because not making time for it? Also kills me. I am actually writing as part of my job. But it’s not “writing the real” like I do here.

I don’t have a neat and tidy end to this post. But today is my birthday and I simply needed to show up and give myself this gift — a post about busyness and not writing and fear and pretend makeup shopping.

Writing is not everyone’s thing. It’s not even most people’s thing. But I bet you have something that gets at the heart of the matter for you — a practice, a person, or a place that invites the unclear forms to take shape and the fears to be named and the soul to be soothed.

This weekend, I give you the gift of permission. Permission to take some time and tend to your insides, even if it’s just for a bit, instead of tending to all of the other things that call {or scream} for your attention.

As for me, I plan to do some more writing. And sip an iced macchiato or three. And pay a long-awaited visit to the actual Bobbi Brown counter for a complimentary makeover.

I realize that I just went from soulful to superficial in half a second. It’s my birthday. Don’t judge.

I’m curious. What’s your “thing?” Your practice, person, place, or whatever that brings clarity, confession, and comfort?

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For the Mom Who Needs a Simpler Way

Several weeks ago, a boy with dark brown hair sidled up to me as I was looking for something in the fridge. Because I was doing something very important like looking for soy sauce, he startled me a bit. “Um, hey buddy — what do you need?”

“I just wanted to give you a hug and tell you that I love you,” replied the brown-haired boy.

Well.

That’ll undo a preoccupied mom in about half a second.

The truth is, I was about the least deserving mom on the planet on that day. I can’t recall the details but I know there was fussing and stressing and harshness aplenty.

I told the brown-haired boy how much I appreciated his love, especially on that day. “Buddy, I’ve been such a crap mom lately.”

“I don’t think so,” he said with all sincerity. “I mean, you have your moments but I think you’re doing pretty good.”

As I’ve been thinking more than ever lately about the difficulty and cluelessness of motherhood in this season of my life, I’ve concluded that I make it way too hard. It’s a specialty of mine. I hold an honorary doctorate in overcomplicating things.

I realize that my kids’ expectations for me as a mom and my own expectations are not even in the same galaxy. They simply want to know they’re loved. And also that they’re liked.

They want to know that I enjoy being with them in simple, everyday ways — watching movies, getting slurpees, sitting in the driveway while they show me their trick shots and how many baskets they can make, going shopping for new sneakers when theirs have worn out, telling them I’m sorry when they’ve had a bad day instead of trying to solve the problem of the bad day.

Motherhood is simply relationship.

And while it’s also about teaching them to work hard and training them in the basics of responsible citizenship and passing on our faith, my motherhood resolution is to love them first in ways that matter. The teachable moments tend to work better if they’re built upon real relationship.

This is anything but natural for me. But I’m seeking to take small steps in a new direction, like slowing before I speak — if I speak at all.

I’m realizing that the most compelling, well-spoken truth in the world won’t plant itself in the soil of a heart that’s hardened by resentment. Lists and lectures fall on deaf ears if they’re not delivered with love.

Children, errant and wild and frustrating though they are, tend to love with the most grace-filled and forgiving hearts. They surprise you with hugs when your brow is furrowed and your jaw is clenched. And I get to experience what it’s like when real love melts the tension I didn’t even realize I was carrying, how it teaches me to take myself less seriously and kick complication to the curb.

Love is the fertile soil where everything else is planted.

Fourteen years into the journey of motherhood and I long for a simpler way. The way of love.

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If I speak with human eloquence and angelic ecstasy but don’t love, I’m nothing but the creaking of a rusty gate.
If I speak God’s Word with power, revealing all his mysteries and making everything plain as day, and if I have faith that says to a mountain, “Jump,” and it jumps, but I don’t love, I’m nothing.
If I give everything I own to the poor and even go to the stake to be burned as a martyr, but I don’t love, I’ve gotten nowhere. So, no matter what I say, what I believe, and what I do, I’m bankrupt without love.
I Corinthians 13:1-7 {The Message}

When Motherhood Has You in the Valley of Defeat

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The State of Things. A Little Update on Life & Writing

When I haven’t posted anything here in a while, it feels a bit like visiting a friend who I haven’t seen in a while and feeling guilty about my absence. I want to make all sorts excuses and apologize.

Until I realize that this is a place of grace and consolation for me. And so are all of you.

I’ve been known to turn it into a place of performance and expectation and then I’m reminded of how contrary that is to the purpose of this space.

I’m here now, on this day, writing the real. And actually hitting publish on a post that I’ve worked on in bits and pieces all week.

The time off {not that I’ve been napping or eating bon-bons} has been good for me in certain ways. It’s forced me to reckon with my limitations and sift through my truest priorities. It’s allowed me to transition into some new things.

So I thought I’d write a little update, for those who are interested.

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Our house is still for sale, despite many showings and happy feedback. The stars simply haven’t aligned in all the ways they need to. So we continue to show it and I continue to stress each time that happens because a) three kids and a dog b) eight months of this c) It is beastly to make one’s lived-in home look showplace-ish.

The good news is that I’ve come to a place of deep surrender. I think, anyway. While I do stress over showing the house, I no longer stress about selling it or finding a new one or the timing of things. Jesus now carries those burdens and my heart and mind are lighter and better for it. If you know me, you know that this sort of freedom is nothing short of supernatural.

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I started a new job, working part-time for a local non-profit. The job found me at just the right time and I’m ever so grateful for the gift of flexible employment from home. I’m creating blog content, overseeing a website, and doing social media marketing. I sort of know what I’m doing and sort of don’t.

But here’s the cool thing. Sometimes you don’t realize you have a skill set until someone else says, “Hey, I’ve noticed you can do certain things and I need those certain things done. Want to work for me?” As I surveyed the last couple of years, I realized that I accidentally acquired a skill set without knowing it.

Having my own blog + working with photos and graphics + moving to a self-hosted WordPress site + managing said site + easing my own blog into social media = skillz.

Who knew?

Anyway, I’m learning a lot and feeling a little bit empowered / a lot clueless, depending on the moment.

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Here’s something else. Teenagers. Y’all, this is hard.

If you have a teenager or a few, please don’t tell me how much you love these years and that it’s not that hard. Don’t tell me a book I should read or a method to try. Because a) I’m already reading them and b) not all teenage years are created equally and c) I’m a bit fragile about all of this right now.

Also, there are aspects of parenting teenagers that I love. So please don’t hear that it’s all difficult.

In my limited observation, I believe that teenagers are simply taller versions of their toddler selves. I certainly was. My own children are proving to be the same way.

Don’t let young Marian and her angelic dress fool you. I was all smiles and people-pleasing on the outside. And all passive-aggressive, “I’ve got your number, grown-ups,” on the inside.

When I consider the parallels between teens and toddlers, I think of this COMPLETELY HYPOTHETICAL scenario:

No, we are not buying this Barbie today. {Mom holds her breath and grits teeth as toddler throws tantrum in the middle of Target.}
No, you are not going to this sleepover tonight. {Mom grits teeth and holds her breath as teenager throws a tantrum at home and refuses to speak to anyone for 24 hours.}

It’s pretty much the same thing. But oh my word, the stakes feel ever so higher and the ability to not take it personally is ever more challenging.

Strong-willed and inflexible tiny humans develop into strong-willed and inflexible bigger humans.

I can’t “write the real” so much about parenting anymore because my kids are older and I want to honor their privacy. Their stories are now their own to share, or not to share. That’s probably for the best.

Paul Tripp calls this angsty season an “age of opportunity” and he’s right. I don’t want to simply grit my teeth and survive these roller-coastery years. I want to be honest but I don’t want to speak with disdain. I long to be “all in.” But that requires vulnerability, perseverance, and wisdom that I don’t possess. So I’m mostly just throwing myself at the feet of Jesus and tossing up desperate prayers and shutting my own self in my room when I can’t say anything nice and binging on the Gospel of grace in its rawest, realest form.

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With a house still for a sale and a new job to learn and kids to parent and a hard-working husband to love and various little endeavors scattered throughout the week, my own writing suffers from neglect as it attempts to find a makeshift home in the nooks and crannies of my life.

This makes me sad and even a bit panicked sometimes.

But I do believe that writing is not just something I like to do, it’s something I have to do. I also believe it’s something I’m meant to do.

My dear friend and literary teacher reminds me that, when studying characters, we must remember that the strongest desire wins. That’s a blog post in itself but as it relates to me and to my own strong desire to write my way through the epic and the everyday, I hope it means that writing will still win.

My rhythms will have to change and I don’t have it figured out yet. I’ll have to settle for less time and maybe more typos. If I wait on perfectionism in the form of “enough time” and “life-changing content” and “delectable prose,” well, I might as well shut my laptop and bid you farewell.

Here’s my point: I’ll keep showing up here and I invite you to keep showing up too. I sincerely hope that I’ll settle into a new and consistent rhythm, even if it’s not with the frequency I dream of.

Again, if this becomes a place of performance — and then hiding when I’m not performing up to my hopes and expectations — then I undermine the very comfort and grace of this writerly home that’s become so dear.

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Thanks for showing up here, friends. For your readership and encouragement and kindred-ness. You help make it such a place of grace.

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How Everyday {and Epic} Graces Are Saving My Life

I would love to tell you that since I wrote the post about hope dissolving into disappointment, life has settled into peaceful outcomes.

I’d love to tell you that I am already looking back over the absolute CA-RAZY of the last nine months and saying, “Wow. Thanks God. All of this makes perfect sense now.”

Instead I am still enjoying regular visits from the insomnia fairy that sprinkles me with anxiety dust between the hours of 2 a.m. and oh, sunrise.

This diatribe may have spewed from my sleep-deprived lips one morning during the last couple of weeks:

Would anyone else like to blame me for ALL THE THINGS going wrong in your life? How we’re out of peanut butter and sandwich meat and pencils and how that’s all my fault? Maybe I could get groceries and pencils if I wasn’t on my hands and knees cleaning up your rooms when I get called for a last-minute showing! Maybe I should just not clean up the house at all for a showing and this misery can go on forever and we will never move and you’ll have no one but yourselves to blame!

Raise your hand if you want me to be your wife or mom?

Raise your hand if you are calling me in a prescription?

It’s been about six weeks since that “hope dissolves” post. Since then I have at least TWELVE new chapters to add to my pretend book.

Chapter 37: “Tire Tales” — That time the tire blew out in the left lane of the highway with all three kids in the minivan on the way to our second orthodontist appointment. {Because I locked me keys in the van for the first appointment.}

Chapter 38: “Let’s Get a Wheelchair!” — When an everyday virus settled in my youngest child’s legs and he couldn’t walk for a couple of days.

Chapter 39: “When Your House is Under Contract. And Then It’s Not.”

Chapter 40: “The More the Merrier!” — When you have 4 showings in 24 hours.

Chapter 41: “Water Play” — How many cups of soapy, gray, laundry water are in the washing machine? You too can play this guessing game if your washer breaks with a full load of laundry. Note: Bouts of sobbing while scooping the water will skew the results.

Chapter 42: “Learning Not to Hate Everyone in Your House Because They Can Sleep and You Can’t”

Chapter 43: “How to Love Your Potty-Trained Dog When She Relapses”

Chapter 44: “Rug Origami: The Best Folds for Loading Pee Rugs in Your Van and Hauling Them to the Dump”

Chapter 45: “Practicing Unconditional Love When Your Beloved Child Breaks His Second Pair of New Glasses and Loses a Lens in the Gravitopia Foam Pit”

Chapter 46: “When Life Hands You a Lost Eyeglass Lens, Dig Deep into the Foam Pit and Find Two Wallets, a Watch, and a Gold Ring. {But alas, no lens.}”

Chapter 47: “Practicing Healthy Coping Mechanisms When Aforementioned Beloved Son With Freakishly Long Eyelashes is Learning to Put in New Contact Lenses Before School Every Morning”

Chapter 48: “Having a Happy Family Even Though Everyone is Unhappy”

And in case you’re wondering, the title of the pretend book I’m living / writing is called Pressed on All Sides: When Your Days Feels Like an Never-ending Mammogram.

Because if I don’t laugh, I will check myself into somewhere institutional-ish.

And I know, I know, these are first-world problems, or whatever we’re calling our middle-class American issues these days.

I’ve often said that I’m a picture of grace when the big stuff hits. It’s the relentlessness of the everyday {especially when the everyday chaos ensues for months on end} that brings me to my knees. And not because I’m praying all the time so let’s just be clear about that. On my knees because I am too tired to keep standing up.

A friend of mine told me recently, “You are being hit hard on every side right now. Even my kids say, ‘I wonder what will happen to the Vischers this week.’ ”

We’ve become “those people.”

But I’m learning that when the days and nights are darkest, you throw yourself at the mercy of any light that happens to shimmy through the cracks.

Everyday gifts become epic graces that keep me from losing heart altogether.

The Starbucks gift card that a longtime friend many miles away sends on just the perfect day. {I drank flat whites for days.}
A friend who asks for your Costco list because you’ve been home with a sick child for days.
A candy-gram for said sick child that cheered us all up on a Sunday afternoon.
A counseling appointment you’d forgotten was even on the calendar but that showed up just in time.
My mom finishing the laundry at her house when the washer broke.
Someone who offers to pray with me after church and she doesn’t how beautifully perfect and timely and needful her prayer is.
A meal.
A birthday gift. Three months early.

And if the sum total of all these kindnesses wasn’t enough,

Jesus gave us a new washer. I don’t know any other way to say it.
Restoration of a dear relationship.
A part-time job for me that simply showed up most unexpectedly on a rainy Friday.
An invitation to share the message that’s closest to my heart with a sweet group of women.
An impromptu family getaway. {Not to be confused with a vacation. Kelly Ripa said yesterday morning that traveling with your kids is a trip. A vacation is when it’s just you and your husband, sans kids — dear, sweet, darling blessings though they are.}

But these many gifts, they are more kindness than I can handle.

Yet these good gifts do not negate the “pressing in” we still feel. Last week was positively awful — relationally, emotionally, and spiritually. Everything from nightmares and anxiety to a relapse of long-ago wounds. Graces don’t undo the hard things or gloss over them. They don’t provide the tangible answers we’re looking for.

Graces simply point us to truths that matter far more than the gifts themselves and the circumstantial outcomes for which we hope — God is real. He sees us. He loves us. He hears us. He delights to show up in very personal ways. He uses his own broken and willing people as a means of grace.

Even though so many answers across the months seem like a no, a teacher reminded recently that God is always saying yes.

It’s a game-changer to think of disappointments through that backwards lens. My glass-half-empty self has been rolling my eyes at all the things that aren’t going my way and greedily gazed upon all the supposed yeses raining down for everyone else. As you might imagine, that has worked out ever so well. Self-pity and envy are lovely pits in which to dwell.

But God.

He motivates us with grace and kindness instead of condemnation. {Dear Marian, make note of this as a wife and mother.}

And the sum total of so much rapid-fire grace has tendered my weary soul to receive the many yeses masquerading as no’s.

Yes to his perfectly-timed outcomes and not my shortsighted plan.
Yes to a cultivation of patience and perseverance, painful thought this process is.
Yes to seeing our people serve as conduits of grace and love to us.
Yes to the humbling process of learning to receive when I would so much prefer to be on the giving end.
Yes to an acceptance of my weakness and the display of his strength, not mine.
Yes to doing battle with the idols of expectation and comfort. Because I need to see them. I do.
Yes to the beauty of redemption that shows up in everything from a washing machine to repentance.
Yes to the desperation of intercessory prayer.
Yes to the wielding of God’s Word, our only offensive weapon, as if my life depends on it. Because in a way, it does. {And also yes to oatmeal cream pies.}

Yes to what feels like dismal surrender but is actually sweet freedom.
Yes to remembering that God works while we rest.

Full disclosure. I feel guilty telling you how good and loving and personal The Lord has been to us. That’s because I know there are those of you walking a hard road right now and you feel alone and barren, like there are no gifts or graces or friends to walk alongside you. Please don’t lose faith. God sees you and He is near to you, the brokenhearted. That’s a promise, even though it may feel like a joke.

I’ve suffered alone through the dark nights of the soul, too fearful to let others in. The burden was heavier than I can tell you. Though I became tough and self-sufficient and pridefully independent during those years, the toughness gradually gave way to a tenderness and dependance that remade me from the inside out as I found healing and hope.

In some ways I feel like more of a mess than I was then but it’s an honest mess. Like the Velveteen Rabbit, I emerged from that brokenhearted season a bit more tattered but a lot more real.

Looking back, there were so many mercies and gifts during that dark and solitary time. I simply didn’t have the eyes to see them.

If that feels like where you are, I pray that God will give you eyes to glimpse the graces in your life today, no matter how bleak it looks. And I pray that He will show up in real and personal ways for you and that maybe you’ll have the courage to let someone in.

I don’t write of these many graces to boast about my own life. Besides, I’d be boasting about nothing but crazy.

I boast of my dear and personal God who does not tire of making Himself real to me, the girl who has always been a skeptic and still is, depending on the moment. I don’t know why He decided to pour out so much good all at once. I wonder why He didn’t ration it out more. But my ways are not his ways. I only know that as I’ve been coming undone and feeling like I’ve reached my limit, He’s been overwhelming me with kindness and propping me up with everyday graces. And also washing machines.

Some of us need more proof than others. Dear God, existence noted.

I also write to challenge all of us with two questions:

What if we began to see every “no” as a “yes?”

And what if we began to see the everyday graces — the ones we receive and the ones we hand out — as sacred life preservers?

Because I believe they are.

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Say Hello to My Creative Friends & Treat Yourself to Handmade Loveliness

I love having creative people in my life. They remind me that creating is good for the soul, that the art of making is a life-giving endeavor.

As I wrote this post I had to fight the urge to raid my craft closet and string together some chunky wooden necklaces and write five different blog posts and work on outfits for the next sale and learn how to sew.

Creativity begets creativity, doesn’t it?

Several clever and artistic gals in my life have Etsy shops. And because I love them and love their wares, I want to introduce them to you.

Etsy is sea of treasure. And that’s part of the dilemma — it’s a sea. Which means it’s challenging to get your stuff noticed. And that’s where this post comes in.

These creatives are real-life friends with real stuff they lovingly created with their real hands.

In a world of mass-produced everything that feels rather soul-less, I find handmade to be a breath of fresh air, don’t you?

First up: Rachel and her new shop, CottonandCursive.

Here’s a little bit about Rachel’s creative inspiration and her delightful bags.

As a little girl, I developed a love for writing and drawing that has stayed true for all of my years. I carried way too many pens and pencils with me wherever I went, and I still do – you never know what color you might need! The very first pen bag my mama made for me keeps me company while I stitch and inspires me to create new things just like she did (and does) for me!
I piece and quilt each case by machine in a herringbone pattern using high quality machine thread and a trusted YKK #4.5 zipper with extra-long pull (little longer than 1″). The lining fabric is quilted to the outer fabric so that the lining cannot loosen or pucker, allowing free motion of the zipper at all times. The zipper is finished on each end with pull tabs for easy opening and closing.

Y’all, I never knew pencil bags could be such a work of art. They’re also perfect for make-up, jewelry, essential oils, and whatever little odds and ends a gal may need to carry in her purse.

Rachel can do custom orders too. Check our her beautifully crafted bags at her CottonandCursive Etsy shop.

For marianvischer.com readers, Rachel is offering FREE shipping through the end of March with the code: RealFreeShipping.

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Next up: Sara and her shops {BeingSaraDixon} that can be found on Etsy and at society6.

Sara makes pretty things with acrylics, digital art, and woodblock printing! Yes, blocks that she cuts out of actual wood. I would surely cut off my fingers if I attempted such brave art.

I’m in love with her woodblock animal prints, perfect for a nursery or kids’ room. I feel just like Lucy Pevensie when I look at the “not so cowardly lion” woodblock print because he’s totally Aslan, right?

Here are a few words that describe Sara and the fun she has creating beautiful things:

Create. Be Kind. Hallelujah.

Words and pretty things. Those are things I love. So I create and try to share words that mean something. I genuinely hope that the things in this shop are good for you, because making them was good for my soul.

My personal fave is her “not so forgetful elephant” that can be printed onto a tee if you visit her Society6 shop here. {Yes please.}

society6 is super cool because you can treat yourself to everything from a throw pillow or a canvas print to a t-shirt, all made from Sara’s original designs.

You can visit Sara’s website to find links to all the things she creates, lovely blog posts included.

For marianvischer.com readers, Sara is offering 20% off everything in her Etsy shop with the code: THEREALGAL20. The society6 shop is offering 20% off throw pillows, tote bags, phone cases, shower curtains + duvets through this weekend.

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The third creative I’d like you to meet is: Anna at StichesbyAnnaSteely.

Anna is just 13 years old and she’s been crafting away to stock her Etsy shop with colorful and cozy scarves, baskets, ear warmers, and other goodies.

I got the sweetest e-mail from Anna several weeks ago and she asked if I might consider a bloggy shout-out to get her shop on the map, so to speak. I love that sort of zeal and creativity in a young gal! {Anna is the daughter of one of my college friends that I haven’t actually seen since college. We’ve become reacquainted through the blog and I just love that.}

I’m especially fond of Anna’s hand-knit infinity scarves and her crocheted baskets, perfect for organizing office supplies and prettying up one’s desk.

Anna offers free shipping on all purchases.

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And just a reminder of The Real Gals’ Styling Services, my newest creative endeavor to offer up hope and possibility for your wardrobe. In case you missed it this week, you can read all about it here.

And I’m almost done curating my outfits for the next SALE. Think spring. Also? I’ve got dresses. {throws confetti}

So — when will y’all be ready shop?

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Enjoy your weekend, friends, and have fun visiting these shops and taking advantage of the discounts especially for you!

Have any favorite Etsy shops you’d like to share? We’d love to see. Let us know in the comments!

Don’t want to miss a post or a sale? You can subscribe by e-mail in the box below. And of course you may unsubscribe anytime you like.

Do you need someone to bring real hope and possibility to your wardrobe?

Whether I’m writing about our school choices, mothering, decorating, or a great soup recipe, a certain theme always rises to the surface.

Life has to be real and authentic. It has to be accessible. Everything holds the possibility of redemption: marriage, mothering, messy homes, fashion, and even the dailyness of dinner.

It took me over six years of writing in this space to realize that this is what I always write about.

I don’t have the time or energy for perfect anything. I’m forty-one years old and I feel a bit tired on most days. I’d rather take a nap than have a spotless kitchen. I prefer splurging on the perfect macchiato than splurging on the perfect, full-price outfit, gorgeous though it may be. Recipes ripped from the pages of Gourmet are lovely and inspiring but what I really need is daily salvation at the stovetop. That means one-dish meals and a reliance on rotisserie chickens from the grocery store deli.

But —

I’ve still got a thing for loveliness in all its forms. Whether it’s a fresh outfit for spring or a gallery wall I spy on Pinterest, I get weak in the knees over beauty.

I’m a firm believer that we can all have pretty vignettes in our lives, regardless of time, expertise, and budget. Every wardrobe, every home, every dinner, and every family holds the possibility of redemption. It simply takes a bit of vision, prioritization, and inspiration. And I get that not every person is wired to manufacture creative vision.

That’s where I come in.

I hold an honorary doctorate in Possibility and I’ve spent my life curating beauty on a shoestring budget. Thrift store finds and Craigslist rescues comprise most of my furnishings.

Discount racks and thrifted pretties comprise most of my wardrobe too.

Slowly, I’ve introduced a new niche here on the blog, one that’s all about the possibility of real fashion for real women with real budgets. I’ve now had three sales in The Real Pretty Shop and had such fun writing The Real Gal’s Fashion Files, ongoing posts that uncomplicate the art of getting dressed every day. I’m so thankful to those who have encouraged me in these fun and fashion-y endeavors!

Last week I got a text from a friend of mine. She had read my “styling services” blurb on the page about the shop and she simply said this, “I believe this deserves better real estate on your blog.”

I’ve been thinking about it ever since and I think she’s right.

Do you need a Possibilitarian in your life?

Do you have a closet full of clothes and nothing to wear?

Do you feel like you need a wardrobe update but you’d like to use as much as possible of what you already have?

Do you see things in the stores but have no clue how to make it work for your shape or your budget?

I’m the Wardrobe Whisperer and I’m here to help. And by “here,” I mean local-ish. At least for now.

Spring is right around the corner and it’s the perfect time for clean-outs and updates.

Options include {but are not limited to}:

wardrobe consultations
closet makeovers
personal shopping {whether your jam is the department store or the thrift store}
wardrobe updating on a budget
how to accessorize
how to dress for your shape, style, and stage of life

Email me at marianvischer at gmail dot com if you’re interested and we can discuss details and pricing based on your needs.

If you’re not local but you’d like some help and can think of a practical way I can do that, let me know. I’m all about options and possibilities. And I’m all about putting this out there for you real gals now, even though I don’t have every last possibility hammered out yet.

I plan to keep writing for The Real Gal’s Fashion Files and that’s for all the real gals everywhere, especially as we transition into a new season.

I welcome your ideas for these posts and for The Real Gal’s Styling Services!

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For the Days When Your Best Efforts Still Come Up Short

It was one of those mornings when I coiled up like a viper and struck with venomous precision.

No one ever notices all I do to make sure you have what you need. But you sure notice when it’s not there and I’m sick of it.

And I am. Sick of it that is.

Do you ever feel there’s not an ounce of gratitude for the groceries and the meals and the special breakfast bars and the laundry and the third pair of new eyeglasses in three months? But there’s a truckload of ingratitude when this or that daily expectation is not met?

Motherhood, this life of 24 / 7 service, is not the most natural of fits for me. I’ve said it before and I’m reminded of it especially now. I’m no good at the mundane everyday, I’m not really very task oriented, and I tend to panic a little bit around needy people. Even though I’ve given birth to three of them.

I was talking with a friend recently who reminds me every time I see her that she’s here to help with packing or unpacking or childcare or anything. She told me how she loves being needed and I told her how lovely that is and that I am the exact opposite. And I do know how awful that sounds, in case you’re wondering.

I’m not a complete ogre. Give me a sick child and I’m all in. I’ve got one home this week as a matter of fact. If you’re down and out and the prescription is a latte or the perfect gift, I’m all over it. A last-minute costume for a school project? I can come up with something in five minutes. That time one kid threw up all over himself and the car seat and the van and we literally hosed everything down, kid included, in the sketchy stall of a West Virginia car wash? I was on it. Grace Under Pressure, much to everyone’s shock.

It’s the day-in, day-out of lunches and homework supervision and helping find lost shoes and painstakingly teaching the art of contact lens installation and loving that moody one over there, hostility and all. It’s the painstaking family calendar updates and procuring the ever-needed supply of breakfast bars. Give me these things every single day, these simple tasks that are somehow so very difficult and draining for me and the ugly truth is this: I feel like all the world should notice and put a medal around my neck and a laurel wreath upon my head.

It hit me this morning that I’m the only one who’s really mindful of my many contributions. Everyone else takes it for granted, how the food magically appears in the pantry and on the dinner table. They only notice when I’ve messed up.

They come by it honestly. I pay more attention to their mess-ups than I pay to their successes. And I pay more attention to my own mess-ups too.

There’s been plenty of it lately. Plen-ty.

When life presses in hard on all sides and for an extended season —

When hope dissolves into disappointment —

When grief is a daily visitor —

When adolescence reveals just how clueless you really are as a parent —

When expenses snowball —

When calendars have no margin even though that goes against everything you believe in —

When self-care seems laughable —

When meaningful time with your spouse is non-existent —

When a tire blows out on the way to the rescheduled orthodontist appointment and you locked your keys in the van on the way to the first one —

When you are weary and overwhelmed every single day —

When so many things are pressing in on all sides, other stuff gets pushed out. I lose my ability to keep all the plates spinning without some of them crashing to the floor. I also lose a bit of my mental and emotional health. I don’t sleep, I can’t remember easy things, I’m edgy and angry, and I cry every day.

So when I had all the things ready for my daughter’s 14th birthday dinner on Monday but realized, as I began the cooking, that I had miscalculated how much whipping cream I needed for the alfredo sauce and my husband had to go to the store during our son’s basketball practice to get more and looked for 30 minutes but the store was out of it and then had to stop somewhere else on the way home from practice, with two tired and hungry boys, and we sat down at 8:30 on a school night to celebrate her birthday — well, all I could think about was how I’d failed again and put everyone else out because of my absent-mindedness.

And then the next night, when we had a banquet to attend and we arrived and no one was there and I realized I’d messed up the location and we finally got to the right place forty minutes late and I broke down crying on the way {and perhaps cussing} because I’d screwed everything up again, just one night later, despite such intentional effort to get it right.

I could tell you story after story like this, one smashed plate after another.

Which explains, a little bit, why I lost it this morning and became a vicious snake mom. One kid was out of special bars and it’s obviously my fault and just like that, another plate hit the floor and shards of shame went everywhere.

It’s felt like a long season of this. Sadly, shame is the default pit I return to again and again. And every time, it pains me to dig down to the root and pull out the truth.

Self-righteousness — in the form of perfectionism, comparison, and striving — deceives my vulnerable heart and drives me toward a standard that’s both impossible and idolatrous.

When I’m obsessed with not measuring up to my own standards or the standards of others, it’s because I’ve forgotten the Gospel of Grace.

And so I crawl to the foot of the cross again and confess that all of this striving and obsessing is actually sin. It’s pride that masquerades as shame. It’s selfishness that’s cloaked in works and plate-spinning with precision so that I can feel better about myself. It’s self-righteousness that’s hiding under a veil of false humility.

I’m riddled with shame and insecurity when I’ve forgotten who actually makes me secure.

Saturday I was reading through Galatians and read this as if for the first time:

Are you so foolish? Having begun by the Spirit, are you now being perfected by the flesh?

Apparently I am so foolish. When I’m preoccupied with my own disapproval or in others’ disapproval of me, it’s because I’ve bought into the lie that it’s my job to perfect myself, to get it right, to figure it out, to quit screwing up in such embarrassing ways.

I long for the “freedom of self-forgetfulness.”

This little book stays on my nightstand but I haven’t cracked it open in a while. Obviously. This morning I opened it up and read this:

The performance never gets the ultimate verdict. But in Christianity, the verdict can give you the performance…How can that be?
Because Jesus Christ went on trial instead. Jesus went into the courtroom. He was on trial. It was an unjust trial in a kangaroo court — but He did not complain. Like a lamb before the shearers, He was silent. He was struck, beaten, put to death.
Why? As our substitute. He took the condemnation we deserve; He faced the trial that should be ours so that we do not have to face any more trials. So I simply need to ask God to accept me because of what the Lord Jesus has done. Then, the only person whose opinion counts looks at me and He finds me more valuable than all the jewels in the earth.

This means I can walk with bare feet across the shards of my own shame and shortcomings without a lasting scratch because Jesus took my wounds upon himself.

This means I kneel humbly and with freedom, asking for forgiveness right there in the middle of the mess, knowing what the answer with be. Because it’s the answer that’s always been and always will be.

It may seem like too abstract an consolation, one that seems far off from the gritty realities of our daily exhaustion and mess-ups. But it’s not far-off because He’s not far-off. He’s near.

Jesus came, in the flesh, to be with us. And He is still here, in the Spirit and by his Word, to be with us, to counsel us, to comfort us, to make us more like Him. We are not being perfected by our own efforts, fierce though they may be; we are being perfected by the indwelling presence of Christ.

It’s a messy perfection. It takes a lifetime. The journey is marked by pitfalls and potholes and more detours than we prefer.

If you’re up to your ankles in busted-up plates today, if you’re insecure and not-enough, despite your best efforts or even your slack efforts, come to Him. It’s a short trip because He’s already here, waiting with love and forgiveness and so much grace.

The verdict is in and it’s the best news out there: You are more valuable than you dare to imagine and you can rest in the strong and secure arms of your Savior.

For those who are in Him, his work for us is done. There’s nothing we can do that adds to it or shores it up.

And while his work in us is incomplete, we hold fast to the freeing truth that what was begun by the Spirit is being perfected by the Spirit and not by our bootstrapped efforts to get it right.

So you can walk through your days, loving your people, doing your thing, getting it right and getting it wrong, all the while revisiting and resting in the good and precious news that we don’t anxiously look to ourselves or to anyone else for verdicts or validation.

Though we come up short, there is One who stands in the gap, completing us in our lack, strengthening us in our weakness, and comforting our restless hearts with his presence.

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Favorite Resources {the ones I return to again and again}

The Freedom of Self-Forgetfulness: The Path to True Christian Joy by Timothy Keller

The Ragamuffin Gospel: Good News for the Bedraggled, Beat-Up, and Burnt Out by Brennan Manning

Grace for the Good Girl: Letting Go of the Try-Hard Life by Emily P. Freeman

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And here’s something new: The Real Pretty Shop has a few ensembles left in stock and ready to ship. So take a peek.

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8 Things I Learned in February

It’s time to share the things we’ve learned this month. The What We Learned posts are hosted by Emily Freeman as a “monthly community link-up to share the fascinating, ridiculous, sacred, or small.”

Mine is usually just ridiculous.

In no particular order, here are 8 things I’ve learned in February.

1. Twitter is made for award shows.

I didn’t laugh much at the Oscar jokes this year. But that’s okay. The funny folks on Twitter more than made up for it.

This tweet with Jesus-y Jared Leto in the haloed background of Patricia Arquette’s acceptance speech — totally wins for Best Oscar Tweet. Laughed till I cried.

2. Panera’s Soba Noodle Bowl is late-winter’s comfort food for the body and soul. I want to marry it.

3. The divine nectar that is Lyle’s Golden Syrup

Where has this been all my life?

A friend gave me a loaf of homemade bread last week and a tin of Lyle’s. I cannot accurately describe its deliciousness, only that I toasted 6 slices of bread, slathered them with butter and Lyle’s, and woke up in Heaven surrounded by baby angels.

Lyle’s hails from England and originated in 1881. You can drizzle it on bread, waffles, pancakes, ice-cream…or swirl it into your tea or coffee. The web-site has loads of recipes and ideas. It can be found in some grocery stores or, again, you can shop like a lazy person and order from amazon. And wow, that totally sounded like a commercial.

Though I love the aesthetics of the tin, I think I’ll order my next batch in the squeezable bottles. I’m a tad messy with my confections.

4. The discovery of Neutrogena Hand Cream

{Because my hands turn into those of an iguana’s by this point in the winter.}

I actually consulted Google to find the best product and this came up.

Google doesn’t lie. It is the BEST HAND CREAM EVER. At first it feels almost like an ointment and then it turns into a magical potion from a fairy godmother. Get thee to your favorite drugstore. Or you can grab a 2-pack from amazon and give one to a friend.

5. I have a new favorite drink at Starbucks.

The flat white, with one sugar. Perfection.

6. How to shred a lot of chicken in 30 seconds

One of the best kitchen tips ever from a friend of mine. Toss your cooked chicken {whether it’s been marinating in the crock pot or baked in the oven} into your Kitchen Aid and let it do all the hard work for you.

7. Meaningful work goes a long way in pulling oneself out of a funk.

Yesterday I opened the Real Pretty Shop for its third sale.

Just the day before, I was struggling to find the meaning of life. Not really but it’s been a pressure cooker of a Jan / Feb and the shop has been on hold. On Wednesday I’d had enough of my funk and finally said to myself, Girl…have an extra cup of coffee today and let’s do this.

I was buzzing the rest of the day. And not just from extra Starbucks. I’m prone to discount the joy and fulfillment that bubbles up when I’m engaged in work that’s creative and meaningful to me. Getting the sale ready felt like project therapy.

There’s been plenty of work over these many months, work that has seemed fruitless and draining and still has us scratching our heads. While there are seasons when the non-essentials have to be shelved because real life yells for all hands on deck, I’m reminded not to neglect my favorite work, even if it shows us in smaller and sparser doses.

8. Sleep deprivation makes you dumb.

Which is why I only learned 8 things this month. At the rate I’m going, I will already have forgotten them by next month.

Names I totally know, easy-to-spell words, everyday terms — they are all dead to me.

I can’t remember if I’ve filled out forms or recall where I’ve put, well, anything. I bought a thousand pound bag of chicken at Costco when I already had a thousand pound bag in the freezer. I locked my keys in my van a week ago and left a child at church on Sunday. {Though I wasn’t totally to blame for that one.}

I go to bed early and nap when necessary. Still, when your racing mind keeps the Zzzzs at bay and the Zzzzs that do come are less than quality, you feel your mentally capacity slipping. And by slipping I mean falling off a cliff.

I pray that normal sleep patterns and quantities will one day be mine again. But until then, my apologies for the poor spelling and not remembering your name. Send grace and Starbucks.

Love, Marian

What did you learn this month?

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