A few weeks ago I bought my first set of "grown up" sheets. I saw them at Target. Thomas O'Brien vintage collection, gray, and they matched my bedding just perfectly. Admittedly my $12 Wal Mart fitted sheet had been washed to the point that the elastic didn't have any more stretch to give and the flat sheet...well, let's not talk about that. But as far as the ol' budget goes sheets are not at the top of the mad money priority list.
So I picked them up. And I put them down. And I walked down the aisle, turned around. Picked them up, put them down, looked at the price, walked away. I looked at cosmetics, went back to bedding. Picked them up, put them down. Put them in my cart. Mentally balanced my check book. Walked away. Brought them back. PUT THEM AWAY. Picked them up. Bought them. Walked to the car. Immediately had buyer's remorse. Wanted to return them. Kept them and as I peeled off those ugly, old, thread bare, discount sheets I realized how crazy I probably looked to everyone in Target and how I should have done this MONTHS ago. I was frustrated with myself for giving myself such a hard time for making a purchase that while slightly frivolous bordered on the 'need to buy' category.
And ever since that moment I have been writing this post in my head. I know that I am not the only woman who does this to herself. And why? Why do we do this? And I realized it is because of this ridiculous and contentious need to be everything to everyone all the time.
Well I am not. And I am not going to feel inadequate or selfish over sheets. Or over women who are more beautiful than me. Or over trying desperately to find that balance between not enough and too much in every situation that does or possibly could arise. We drive ourselves crazy over these small, trivial things. We make ourselves miserable over $75.00 sheets, unused coupons, and fingerprints on the coffee table. I can do what I can but I can't do it all and I want to teach myself that I don't have to.
I am thankful for what I am. Strong, smart, independent, funny, compassionate, and open hearted. I want to embrace what I know to be true and stop obsessing and expending unimaginable amounts of time and energy so that people (who are going to think what they are going to think regardless) will like me more. I am likable for exactly who I am today. I am worthy of friendship, love, and happiness for exactly what I am right now.
So let's let them talk. And let's be more thankful for who we are than guilty for what we are not.
The seed of the happiness that is steeped in content can only begin to grow if you find it in your heart to let it.
Monday, November 5, 2012
Monday, October 29, 2012
Cups.
EDIT: I wrote this after reading Psalm 23. It is meant to be about grace and forgiveness. About being thankful that no matter how dark the day that you can cry out "Oh Lord!" and have your cup filled by the grace of God.
"Thou preparest a table before me in the presence of mine enemies: thou anointest my head with oil; my cup runneth over." Psalm 23:5
I am tired. But weary is a better word.
Weary of people being less than they should.
Weary from disappointment.
Tired of feeling ashamed.
Of who I am.Of who I am not.
Of who I don't choose to love.
My cup here is empty and
I have nothing left to give.
I am sad. But solemn is a better word.
Solemn because of cold sheets after long days.
Solemn from loneliness.
Sad because of love.
Of what I feel. Of what I can't feel.
Of what goes unreturned.
My cup here is empty and
I have nothing left to give.
I am sick. But weakness is a better word.
Weak from problems that never seem to cease.
Weak from my flesh.
Sick from no forgiveness.
Of who I can't. Of who I won't.
Of who I hate for ruining my life.
My cup here is empty and I have nothing left to give.
:
I have nothing left to give but an empty cup.
And weary, solemn weakness.
Oh Psalm of David, what were your words?
I know of your sins and your forgiveness.
What do you think of them now?
"Thou preparest a table before me in the presence of mine enemies: thou anointest my head with oil; my cup runneth over." Psalm 23:5
I am tired. But weary is a better word.
Weary of people being less than they should.
Weary from disappointment.
Tired of feeling ashamed.
Of who I am.Of who I am not.
Of who I don't choose to love.
My cup here is empty and
I have nothing left to give.
I am sad. But solemn is a better word.
Solemn because of cold sheets after long days.
Solemn from loneliness.
Sad because of love.
Of what I feel. Of what I can't feel.
Of what goes unreturned.
My cup here is empty and
I have nothing left to give.
I am sick. But weakness is a better word.
Weak from problems that never seem to cease.
Weak from my flesh.
Sick from no forgiveness.
Of who I can't. Of who I won't.
Of who I hate for ruining my life.
My cup here is empty and I have nothing left to give.
:
I have nothing left to give but an empty cup.
And weary, solemn weakness.
Oh Psalm of David, what were your words?
I know of your sins and your forgiveness.
What do you think of them now?
Friday, October 19, 2012
Words.
Sometimes, words come so easily to me. And others, as anyone who was present at Allison Curbow's bachelorette party toast fiasco already knows, sometimes-they don't. But either way when I am happy I can type up page long dissertations in seconds no matter whether the subject is good, bad, or even particularly interesting. But when I am discontent its as if my fingers don't understand the language and I will stare at a blinking, vertical cursor forever and nothing comes. Eventually I give up and move on to some sort of monotony that might comfort my thoughts.
It is a weird sort of shut down mechanism; whenever the world is too much for me I can't put anything into words. I can't write about sadness. Like I am some sort of literary sociopath. I can feel it. So deeply. But to lose someone you thought you knew. I don't know how to write about that. To want someone in your life so much and not be able to have them like you want. I don't know how to write about that. Feeling lost and stuck and hurting...I can't write about that.
But what I can write about, constantly, is that when I come out of my bouts of frustration, sadness, infuriation, etc that I come out knowing beyond a shadow of a doubt that life is nothing you expect and everything that's beautiful.
Someone told me recently that it is hard to be friends with me because I don't believe in myself. That I am demanding. That I think everything is about me. And after a lot of thought, I am glad this person said this. Not because I had a sudden epiphany about what a bad friend and shoddy person I had become but because I know in my heart that I would give everything to someone who needed it more than me and have, even though it has sometimes meant that I went without. I make deliberate choices. I think about things (sometimes too much). I make responsible choices. I always try not to say things I don't mean. I am willing to do the right thing even if it isn't easy. I tell people the truth even when my ideas are unwelcome.
And like me, hate me, or have no feelings one way or the other...just know that if you ask, I will open my heart; and that's what I write about. Because underneath even the bad days, love is all I know.
Sara
It is a weird sort of shut down mechanism; whenever the world is too much for me I can't put anything into words. I can't write about sadness. Like I am some sort of literary sociopath. I can feel it. So deeply. But to lose someone you thought you knew. I don't know how to write about that. To want someone in your life so much and not be able to have them like you want. I don't know how to write about that. Feeling lost and stuck and hurting...I can't write about that.
But what I can write about, constantly, is that when I come out of my bouts of frustration, sadness, infuriation, etc that I come out knowing beyond a shadow of a doubt that life is nothing you expect and everything that's beautiful.
Someone told me recently that it is hard to be friends with me because I don't believe in myself. That I am demanding. That I think everything is about me. And after a lot of thought, I am glad this person said this. Not because I had a sudden epiphany about what a bad friend and shoddy person I had become but because I know in my heart that I would give everything to someone who needed it more than me and have, even though it has sometimes meant that I went without. I make deliberate choices. I think about things (sometimes too much). I make responsible choices. I always try not to say things I don't mean. I am willing to do the right thing even if it isn't easy. I tell people the truth even when my ideas are unwelcome.
And like me, hate me, or have no feelings one way or the other...just know that if you ask, I will open my heart; and that's what I write about. Because underneath even the bad days, love is all I know.
Sara
Friday, September 14, 2012
The Legacy of Kitchens.
They say that the average person will spend 25 years of their lives sleeping. If that's the case, and it seems legit, I will spend at least 12 in a kitchen. Maybe not all of those years in my own but in someone's. Some of my most favorite memories take place in kitchens.
My mom cooking up dinner and turning to Brandy and me at the table where we were drinking too much soda and saying, "so girls, what's the drama?" with her hand on her hip. Never knowing at the time that we would cherish those moments (and the delicious hamburger helper that she was whipping up).
Cleaning up after a huge Thanksgiving meal with my aunt and my cousins while the men watch the TV. Baritone voices talking from the living room while I laugh with my grandma that we are just alike when it comes to the order of our houses and we tease her for the 10 thousandth time about what we can or cannot put in the trash compactor.
Doing dishes at the cabin with Aunt Diane when all the other kids had left to play. I don't remember what we talked about but she always made what I said important just by listening.
My friend Erika who can create a dish out of thin air and make it look like a breeze-commiserating and talking with her while she took over my kitchen.
Baking bread, making food, humming, singing, crying, cleaning, talking, laughing....all because of an oven.
Kitchens speak a feminine language that a man could never understand. And it is a legacy that you rob your daughters of if you don't let them sit and open cans and cut onions while you cook. They won't know how it feels to knead bread or lick the chocolate chip cookie bowl. They won't see the value of sitting in the oven warmed room and just simply being. They won't remember you as someone who turned around with a wooden spoon in her hand, shirt covered in flour. They won't have a memory of you elbows deep in boiling water washing greasy dishes and teaching them about life without saying a word.
They might not become the kind of women that know to set the table-or see the importance of eating at it. And they might not become the kind of young ladies that instead of watching MTV all afternoon will sit for hours on bar stools talking about everything and nothing and baking cup cakes.
Let the girls in your life laugh. Do the dishes with them. Sing too loud with them. Listen to them. Show them that no matter where they end up in life that where there is a kitchen there can be family, warmth, friendship and love.
I know that in my life, it has always made all the difference.
My mom cooking up dinner and turning to Brandy and me at the table where we were drinking too much soda and saying, "so girls, what's the drama?" with her hand on her hip. Never knowing at the time that we would cherish those moments (and the delicious hamburger helper that she was whipping up).
Cleaning up after a huge Thanksgiving meal with my aunt and my cousins while the men watch the TV. Baritone voices talking from the living room while I laugh with my grandma that we are just alike when it comes to the order of our houses and we tease her for the 10 thousandth time about what we can or cannot put in the trash compactor.
Doing dishes at the cabin with Aunt Diane when all the other kids had left to play. I don't remember what we talked about but she always made what I said important just by listening.
My friend Erika who can create a dish out of thin air and make it look like a breeze-commiserating and talking with her while she took over my kitchen.
Baking bread, making food, humming, singing, crying, cleaning, talking, laughing....all because of an oven.
Kitchens speak a feminine language that a man could never understand. And it is a legacy that you rob your daughters of if you don't let them sit and open cans and cut onions while you cook. They won't know how it feels to knead bread or lick the chocolate chip cookie bowl. They won't see the value of sitting in the oven warmed room and just simply being. They won't remember you as someone who turned around with a wooden spoon in her hand, shirt covered in flour. They won't have a memory of you elbows deep in boiling water washing greasy dishes and teaching them about life without saying a word.
They might not become the kind of women that know to set the table-or see the importance of eating at it. And they might not become the kind of young ladies that instead of watching MTV all afternoon will sit for hours on bar stools talking about everything and nothing and baking cup cakes.
Let the girls in your life laugh. Do the dishes with them. Sing too loud with them. Listen to them. Show them that no matter where they end up in life that where there is a kitchen there can be family, warmth, friendship and love.
I know that in my life, it has always made all the difference.
Friday, September 7, 2012
My closest friends are bee fighters.
hotandspicy600 - m4w - 24 (anchorage)
Dearest Hotandspicy600,
Also, I would like to contact you but I don't know which days are even. Do you start your week on a Monday or a Sunday because that clearly affects which days are even and which ones are odd?
Um, okay, that is all then! Let me know about the bee thing.
Thanks,
Sara
Tuesday, September 4, 2012
Come, let us have tea and talk about things.
The fruit of the Spirit is love, joy, peace, patience, kindness, goodness, faithfulness, gentleness and self-control. Against such things there is no law-Galation 5:22
Fall in Alaska begins in August. This will be my 25th Alaskan summer and as any girl from the Last Frontier knows that after a leafy, beautiful fire show the trees will stand naked against nights that grow colder. Frosts steal the color from the yards, the flower beds, and the mountainside. The air is crisp and still. There is a sharp, well known smell outside. Like everything just waits for the blanket of snow. And within the month it will cover our world in white.
And I get a new beginning. Just like the snow makes everything new. Every year.
But still the leaves cling to the last bits of summer and dreary days will find me consuming more and more chai tea. And that is how today began and how it is ending. Me, a clean house, Michael Buble, and my tea. Reflecting on the summer and the year so far, what I have learned. And here is what I know for sure....
The spice of life is steeped in joy, peace, and love. The spice can only be found by appreciating the moments in each day where you can't help but be thankful. It is found in your best friend who can make any terrible day better because she understands you deeply. The laughter of a loved child. The morning murmurs of teenage girls just waking up from their sleepover. A day of shopping with your mom who no matter how many years pass never seems any older but who continues to give the best advice even though so many times it has not been taken. Your oldest friend taking vows that promise lifelong devotion to her husband. A visit from someone you love deeply even after the water under the bridge has gotten so deep that the shoreline has been swallowed.
Spice is one part pain of regret, two parts the fear of rejection, and three parts an aching, hurting heart; knowing that all the wishing in the world cannot change someone else; and stirring it passed anger and into hope.
It is remembering that whether you are a daughter, mother, wife, sister, or friend that you are both capable and deserving of forgiveness. Of love. Of moving on. It is acceptable to feel vulnerable. To feel sadness. To feel. But in the end to find happiness you have to know that happiness is not a destination. It is most often a choice that you make not in spite of the things around you but BECAUSE of them. Everyone has bad in their lives. But there is goodness in life too...and sometimes it hurts too much to see but that is when our eyes need to be open or we will miss the way the sun shines in beams through the clouds. The way someone looks at us. The way nothing is better for the soul than helping someone else. We will dwell on what didn't happen instead of what is right in front of us today. What is waiting in tomorrow.
Because it is all beautiful. To not see it, to miss out because we don't feel like it...I don't want to live like that. Do you?
Sara
The spice of life is steeped in joy, peace, and love. The spice can only be found by appreciating the moments in each day where you can't help but be thankful. It is found in your best friend who can make any terrible day better because she understands you deeply. The laughter of a loved child. The morning murmurs of teenage girls just waking up from their sleepover. A day of shopping with your mom who no matter how many years pass never seems any older but who continues to give the best advice even though so many times it has not been taken. Your oldest friend taking vows that promise lifelong devotion to her husband. A visit from someone you love deeply even after the water under the bridge has gotten so deep that the shoreline has been swallowed.
Spice is one part pain of regret, two parts the fear of rejection, and three parts an aching, hurting heart; knowing that all the wishing in the world cannot change someone else; and stirring it passed anger and into hope.
It is remembering that whether you are a daughter, mother, wife, sister, or friend that you are both capable and deserving of forgiveness. Of love. Of moving on. It is acceptable to feel vulnerable. To feel sadness. To feel. But in the end to find happiness you have to know that happiness is not a destination. It is most often a choice that you make not in spite of the things around you but BECAUSE of them. Everyone has bad in their lives. But there is goodness in life too...and sometimes it hurts too much to see but that is when our eyes need to be open or we will miss the way the sun shines in beams through the clouds. The way someone looks at us. The way nothing is better for the soul than helping someone else. We will dwell on what didn't happen instead of what is right in front of us today. What is waiting in tomorrow.
Because it is all beautiful. To not see it, to miss out because we don't feel like it...I don't want to live like that. Do you?
Sara
Tuesday, August 14, 2012
Can you be alone with yourself and like the company you keep in empty moments?
My house is usually a beacon of light in the darkness resulting from either someone having fallen asleep on the couch or a general lack of energy savings awareness on the part of one certain teenager. But tonight she has gone to bed and flipped all the switches. The house is silent, not even my dogs bark, but it is alive with sweet, warm energy.
I drop my gym bag and over sized black leather purse onto the chaise and I go about my nightly routine. Checking locks, closing shades, turning on nightlights, feeding the dogs. The routine is comforting. Especially after today. It feels good to do something that I do every night. It brings be clarity even as I feel emotionally crippled. My head hurts from sobbing. My contacts are fuzzy from tears. And the actual pain from a breaking heart is fresh in my chest.
Don't you know, silly girl, that you can't call it a year without doing something you knew better than to do?
My room is a wreck but I dive into my unmade bed and ignore the total chaos. I have three books on my nightstand. My bible, A water wrinkled, page stained copy of The Invitation, and a book of prayers.When I feel this way I usually reach for my bible but I know there is a line in The Invitation that my mind is so trying to grasp right now.
I want to know if you will risk looking like a fool for love, for your dream, for the adventure of being alive...I want to know if you have touched the center of your own sorrow; if you have been opened by life's betrayals or have become shriveled and closed from fear of further pain.
My breathing is calm and even now. I'm not afraid to love. Deeply, faithfully, and with everything I have. I should remember more often that not everyone has the same character as me. But I know that I will love them anyway. I don't know any other way to be. I am not still so young that I believe love conquers everything but I do believe that you will never know what it can do unless you feel it and live it and let it show in all that you do.
I forgot my water bottle in the car. As I step into the night air the porch light clicks on. Sometime today 3 new roses and a whole line of wildflowers have bloomed in the small garden along the sidewalk. So much delicate beauty. And in all its fragile states, life goes on. As I stood in front of the rose bush like a modern version of Snow White with less birds, less evil step mothers, and better clothes I was absolutely sure of one thing:
Someday my prince will come.
Someday my prince will come.
Goodnight beautiful world,
Sara.
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