Story
One can bear anything if one can put it in a story. - Isak Dinesen
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you might need a prescription for this sort of whiplash
The table was loaded with the wreckage of the birthday breakfast. It. Was. A. Mess. Cold leftover scrambled eggs on several plates. Sticky syrup, half empty juice cups, chairs pushed back, cloth napkins scattered across the table top. My life felt exactly like that table. It was a crystal clear moment. This table is my life. A gigantic mess that I am left alone to clean up. _______________________ I think that’s a picture of what loneliness can feel like sometimes, you know. And while most of us are living lives that don’t stay in the lonely all of the time, I’m pretty certain we’ve all lived a…
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a little full circle story (and a little awkward story too): The Time I Met Andrew Peterson
Sometimes you get to see how it all comes together. Or, how bits and pieces of a story all come together. Sometimes you get to hear about ridiculous ways in which I behave and the special knack I have for saying the oddball comment out loud. Sometimes one single blog post features both of those things – the coming together and the awkward. This is that time. First, the backstory — About two years ago, the days of my life were dark, chaotic, stormy. (This is a euphemism. A gentle way to spin the reality the kids and I were actually living.) Times were terrible. My marriage was for…
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pause.
Pausing doubt. I don’t even know how long ago the leaders at our church taught a sermon series about doubt. The ideas from that series have rattled around in my mind for months – maybe a year. Which means that by now it’s trickled into regular thoughts and both morphed and grown from what I originally heard. In other words, I won’t be quoting anyone but myself today because my memory is not that well versed in word for word accuracy. There is this idea of saying to doubt, “Wait right here. I’ll be back later.” You know – putting this fear – this unknown – the questions I…
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never and always . . . words on parenting
In one of their songs, the Wood Brothers sing a lyric that says, “Sometimes I feel like I’m never and always alone.” In some ways, I think that’s the anthem of motherhood, particularly for the mother of young children. You’re never actually alone. Fingertips are reaching under the door of the bathroom, for the love. And yet the early years of motherhood can be some of the loneliest years of a mom’s life. You remain unconvinced that anyone else really understands how hard it is to begin (and to lose) a battle with a toddler or to negotiate snack time or to change eighty bazillion diapers or to read…
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after the theatre, over the weekend
Sometimes on Sunday evenings when I sit down to write a blog post I have high aspirations of coming out strong and delivering some meaningful words. But by the time I finish tucking the kids in and telling each child what we will be eating for every single meal the next day (the members of my household are very food-centric currently) and getting our house ready for the week ahead and then finally sit down, I’m all out of clever and meaningful. Tonight I popped myself a bowl of popcorn, prepared myself a cup of vanilla tea and pretended like my evening plans of school prep and meal prep…
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Hi, My Name is Lacey and I Have Some News
It was a little over a year ago. Maybe eighteen months? Sometime back then, in our provisions notebook that was a gift from hannaH when it was most important to look for provisions – and we’re still finding it pretty essential – I wrote these words down ….. Got a job at Travelers Rest Here.com. And I did. A freelance writing job for a local website that paid a bit. Almost exactly one year later – both in November – I was presented with an opportunity to do something more than just write for the website. Through a whole myriad of yeses and nos and maybes and timing and…
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wrapping up before moving on
Goodness. You guys have given me so much material to read and to listen to and to watch. I’m really thankful for all of you readers. That’s not just something nice to type. For real. (Or “for realz” with a “z” if that makes it more convincing. It doesn’t. I know it doesn’t.) I didn’t ask all of those questions about divorce and remarriage because I wanted to hurt anyone’s feelings. And I didn’t ask because I want to get remarried. I asked because I want to understand. I love that there were different views and different thoughts and different stories and yet – AND YET – there…
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crisis of identity.
This charming old farm house in which I reside has a small downstairs bathroom with a single rectangle of a mirror above the sink. I don’t know who installed it or how tall they were. I’m guessing taller than me. When I stand, with shoes on, and look into this mirror (the only mirror in the bathroom) and attempt to gaze upon my own face, I get a sort of decent view of my eyes. Just my eyes. If I stand on my tip toes, then I can see my entire face. I have purchased one of those $6 closet door mirrors from IKEA. I thought it might get…
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after I’ve written, I see what I meant to say
The words just are not coming tonight. I mean, the words are, actually. Sort of. But they’re kind of All The Wrong Ones. I really enjoyed being out of school for two weeks and was quite content to not have the evening ritual of making the next day’s lists in the five colored notebooks stacked beside me right now. I know we need the structure and the routine, it’s good for our home, but I liked the break. My One Word for 2017 has not been firmly decided but I’m afraid I keep leaning toward a word like “discipline” and that just feels rotten and I’d rather…
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45.
motivation. can you locate it?
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the end is not like the beginning: A God story
I don’t have a new year’s introspective look-back look-ahead kind of post inside me tonight. Not for this year. Not for the last year. Maybe next year? Who am I kidding? I can’t emotionally afford to think about New Year’s Day 2018 right now. I’m literally sitting at my kitchen table with zero plan of how this simple blog entry will even end in a few minutes, I certainly don’t have what it takes right now to envision an entire year looming in front of my face. To my right, my vanilla tea is hot. I’m thankful for that. The fridge is a wasted storage space for nothingness because…
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what I learned at the parade
The people watching at a well attended event is pretty much as interesting as the event itself. I mean, sometimes. Somehow, despite living in this area for nine years now I think, we have never made it to the “big city” Christmas parade. (We are faithful attendees of our small town version.) This year the timing was right, we had hot cocoa and marshmallows to put into a thermos, we had no plans; so parade watching it was. I was reminded, however, that I am not a gigantic fan of gigantic crowds. We arrived early, enjoyed our refreshments on the sidewalk and waited for the parade. People arrived later,…
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Draw Your Own Conclusions: the hot water heater in my kitchen
There is an ugly hot water heater that sits in the corner of my kitchen. You can’t move it. It’s giant and I can’t rearrange it to find a spot in another corner or hidden from view. It has to be there. Five years – maybe six – we’ve lived here. In those years I have draped ten or more different colored coverings over it during various seasons — yellow checked, gingham, plaid. Whatever. The table cloths get dirty. They look gross. I try to clean them. But they always look weird. Like they are covering up something shameful and they seem out of place. Last week I took the…
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divorce diaries. entry 5.
I’ve almost forgotten what the routine Used To Be. Almost forgotten what it was like to grocery shop with a partner. The Divide and The Conquer. I’ve kind of grown accustomed to being The Only One. Some days it almost feels as if there never was a Before. (Some days.) Some days I just groove and strut along and forget I was not always in charge of every meal and all the yays and all the nays. And then some days it feels as if I am living with a severed limb. The ghost pains. The crushing weight of No One With Whom To Confer. Should this be allowed?…
