little black journal

This past week has been funky.  Not like funky-town funky, but down-in-a-funk funky.  Every single day felt like a bad hair day, I let silly little work stuff bother me way too much, and I generally just felt…gray (blue is too pretty a color with which to paint my mood).  I sat down late last night to do some journaling and spewed all kinds of bitterness over the pages of my Moleskine.  And then I asked God to bring about change in my mind and heart and relationships, to help me let go of the things that keep me up at night, to make me more of a life-giver and less of a life-sucker.  I prayed for a brand new attitude:  I want to be selfless, putting other people’s needs and wants before my own.  I want to be open to God’s plan for my life, letting go of the agenda I’ve so carefully scripted.  I want to see the good in people and lock up that critical little devil that’s constantly perched on my shoulder.  I want to be full of hope and optimism, quick to encourage and inspire.  And while we’re at it, I’d like hair like Victoria Beckham, a renewed sense of creativity, and a pair of jeans that fit perfectly (with a perfect butt to fit in said perfect jeans).

I breathed an initial sigh of relief as I began to proces my feelings and wade through my funk.  And then I realized how far I’ve fallen from the person I want to be, and my mood promptly shifted from light gray to a deep, murky brown.  I work so hard to protect the image I’ve built of a woman that kicks ass at her job, that’s in a marriage filled with bliss and romance, that vacations in Paris and dines with friends and makes a killer loaf of banana bread.  But sometimes cracks start to form in this blessed life I live, over an argument with Shane, a couple of gained pounds, or another month of wondering when our baby hopes will be realized.  The cracks eventually deepen to fissures and before I can stop it, my self esteem starts to fall apart and I’m left with huge chunks of doubt and anxiety piled at my feet.  And that’s where I found myself last night.  With bad hair at a one-woman pity party.  Be glad you weren’t invited.

Thank goodness today is a new day.  Thank goodness the sun finally came out.  And thank goodness I have friends, family, and a Lord that will meet me where I’m at, no matter how high or low that place may be.  Things aren’t perfect right now.  I’m not perfect right now (and I never will be), but today I’m choosing to remember that grace is a beautiful thing.  Amen.

Several of our friends have recently moved into beautiful new houses or are looking to buy their very first place of their own. And all this movin’ on up has had me feeling a bit…down. It’s felt like we’re stuck in a rut while everyone around us is swept up in the excitement of change and newness and fresh beginnings. Where I once saw warmth and style and coziness in our little townhome, I started seeing smallness and a lack of closet space and too much dust on the baseboards. I’m so happy for our friends, but I couldn’t stop myself from (sulkily) wondering: when will we get our dream house? I started dwelling on visions of a cozy little reading nook by a window overlooking a lake and an entire wall lined with floor-to-ceiling bookshelves and a backyard with a fire pit and then I stopped myself, because I realized my deepest desires are actually so, so much bigger than all of that. My dream house is a place where Shane and I spend evenings cooking and eating together, drinking wine and eating brownies while we lay on the couch and talk. Where I get up in the middle of the night to rock our crying baby back to sleep. Where our little one takes his or her very first steps right before getting knocked over by our adorable-but-rambunctious Wheaten Terrier puppy (I know, I’m reaching here…). It’s where our friends gather on sunny weekends to barbecue and play games and eat ice cream, and where our family gathers at Christmas to open gifts and roast turkey and laugh together.  It’s where Shane teaches our kids to throw a baseball while instilling in them a deep devotion to the San Francisco Giants. It’s where we grow old together, where we weather the sorrows and joys that life surely has in store for us. It may not have a jacuzzi tub or a giant wall of windows (gasp!), but wherever it is (could we be in it already?), it will be shelter for our little family and will be home in every sense of the word. And that is what I’m truly longing for.

In the course of my schooling and career, I bet I’ve taken hundreds of tests. Nine months ago I took a new kind of test – one of the easiest ones I’ve ever taken, but also one of the most significant. I saw those two little pink lines and I lost my breath. I got all light-headed and tingly and my mind struggled to keep up as I sat on the bed next to Shane and said, “I think I’m pregnant”. We had wanted this for awhile, but somehow it still came as such a surprise. That morning was a euphoric blur of trying to take it all in and still keep our cool – we snapped a few goofy pictures in front of the mirror with that little stick of proof held out in front of us, we said a prayer thanking God for this miracle, and then we went about our day as normal. Except it wasn’t normal – I spent the morning secretly Googling due date calculators and early pregnancy symptoms and things I should and shouldn’t eat. I walked around the office with a sly smile on my face and looked at my pregnant coworker with newfound feelings of camaraderie and sisterhood. I marked February 17th on my calendar as the little one’s due date. I thought about shouting out our news over the office intercom, but I restrained myself – I wanted this to be Shane’s and my special secret for now, just in case. But just in case what? What could go wrong? We were prepared for this. We were healthy, young, ready to be a mom and dad.

Two weeks later, it went wrong.

I started seeing signs that things weren’t quite right, and after a visit to the doctor and several follow-up calls with the nurses, my dreams broke into a thousand little pieces and the pregnancy was declared over.  Where there was once fullness and joy, there was now sorrow and grief.  Deep, sobbing, soul-shaking grief.  Over the previous two weeks, we had already become so attached to the little one, nicknaming it “Poppyseed” once we’d read that an embryo at that stage is the size of one of those little black specks. I had started imagining the ways we’d transform our extra bedroom into a nursery, I was wandering into the baby section of department stores, and I would fall asleep at night with Shane’s hand on my stomach, dreaming of him as a father and our moms and dads as proud grandparents.  But for reasons far beyond our human understanding, this particular baby wasn’t meant to be.  Damn.  Damn, damn, damn.

I looked in the mirror this morning and couldn’t stop myself from picturing what things would be like if Poppyseed hadn’t been lost. My belly would be big and round. Or I might have a wee little baby in my arms, swaddled in warm blankets and nuzzled against my chest. It made my heart ache.  But there is hope in the midst of sorrow, and so much love in the midst of grief.  So I’ll cling to the hope and the love and be thankful for the plans God has for us.  But I will also shed tears  for the baby we’ll never know.

Dear God,

It’s Christmas Eve – I’m sitting here in the quiet of our living room, reflecting on how abundantly you’ve blessed me. I’m so thankful for family near and far, for our warm home, for our church, for our community of friends. I deserve so little, yet you’ve given me so much. And yet, I come here with one more favor to ask. I’m asking you to take my heart and allow it to soak in the true meaning of Christmas. I want to fully experience the joy and anticipation that was felt at the birth of Christ. I want the carols I’ve sung for years to really ring true for me – I want to hear heaven and nature sing, to see shepherds quake at first sight, to fall on my knees and hear the angel voices. I want to witness Mary’s unavailing courage and strength, to feel the amazement of the shepherds as the heavenly host appeared to them. I want to remember that the Christmas story isn’t just a story; that silent, holy night really, truly happened and changed the world forever. I know, I’ll never experience the smell of that manger, see that bright and shining star, hear that little baby’s cries; but God, somehow, in your divine power, let my heart be there. “Today in the town of David a Savior has been born to you; he is Christ the Lord.”

Amen.

I’ve been watching the count on my blog entries tick up and up, and today marks a bit of a milestone:  welcome to post #400!  When I started this blog four years ago, it was largely because I wanted an incentive to seek interesting experiences and to document those experiences in interesting ways.  I’m sure that many people blog because they travel, or they make things, or they think deep thoughts, and they want to share that with the world.  Sounds strange, but I was hoping that the inverse would hold true for me – I was in a rut, and I was thinking that I would go more places, be more creative, do more cool stuff because I blog.  Nobody follows a blog full of entries that read, “today was just like yesterday, and tomorrow will be just like today”, right?  To some degree, my backwards logic has worked – I look for ways to make my weekends interesting (and often fail, but whatever), I feel motivated to take on a creative project when I realize how long it’s been since I’ve posted anything in the ‘made’ category, and I take lots more photos now that I have an avenue by which to share them.  And that’s all good stuff; now Shane and I have this nice little record of our trips and our Seattle experiences and our time with friends and family.

But lately, I’m feeling a tug to dig a little deeper.  There’s not a lot of soul-baring going on around here, which is partly due to the fact that I’m still navigating just how personal I want to be in a journal entry that starts with “www.”, but also due to the fact that I rarely make an effort to check in with myself, to put the brakes on, turn down the noise, and think about how I’m really doing.  My posts center around what I did, read, saw, or made, because when I’m not in go-mode, I prefer to just shut off my mind completely, finding my restoration in an hour of napping or TV vegging.  I’m so inspired by the talent some of my closest friends have for bravely, articulately sharing their hearts on their online journals – I want to write with that kind of emotion and honesty and introspection.  So consider this an early New Years resolution: I want to get real.  Sure, you’ll still find plenty of frilly photos and mundane weekend updates popping up around here, but ultimately I’ll be striving to make this place a better reflection of who I am, and not just what I do.  Sheesh – just writing that I want to write more honestly makes me nervous!  This will be be a process, folks – bear (and bare?) with me.

I’m not one for New Years resolutions – I’ve simply come to accept that I might never shed that five pounds that would allow me to wear my skinny jeans without a booty-hiding sweater; it’s not in the cards for me to prepare a healthy, home-cooked meal seven nights a week; and really, much to Shane’s chagrin, I’m just not a punctual person.  Love it or…deal with it.  However, I do believe that the end of the year is a good time to ‘take inventory’ – spiritually, emotionally, physically, etc…  And if I find that my boat is a bit off-course, what better time to redirect it?  As I sit here with my cup of coffee in our quiet home, wrapped up in a blanket while temperatures drop to below-freezing outside, I think, “Life is good.”  And it’s good for reasons beyond just hot coffee and cozy blankies (though those two things rank pretty high on my list of happiness-makers).

Career-wise, this year has been challenging, and frustrating at times, but it has also been the most professionally fulfilling year I’ve had thus far.  I certainly started the year on a high note, when I received word that I had passed my final architectural licensing exam, and then there was a bit of let-down when I realized how little that actually impacted my day-to-day responsibilities, but slowly, throughout the course of the year, I’ve been taking more and more ownership of my project while becoming a more and more integral part of the larger project team. And I like it – I like the balance of ownership and collaboration.  There have been several moments over the past few years when I questioned whether or not I’m really in the right profession, and I’m finding that those “Oh, crap…” kind of moments are becoming less and less frequent.  This is a good thing.

Physically, I’m giving myself a B+.  Still in the routine of running and doing yoga, and all in all, I feel really good.  With the exception of my little fish-taco-induced ‘episode’ in Sayulita, I think I managed to make it through the entire year without being sick.  However, I knocked myself out of A-status due to the fact that I never even came close to accomplishing my monumental 100-push-up goal.  I tapped out at 28, out of sheer wimpy-ness and lack of determination.  I let myself down on that one…  And as I mentioned above, it might be nice to shed just a few pounds, but then again, I have decided that I love chocolate too much to obsess over this elusive weight loss.  Heidi Klum might have a body to die for, but I bet she doesn’t get to revel in an after-dinner bowl of ice cream or few squares of mint dark chocolate.  Bummer for her…  I’m fit, but still allow myself the occasional (read: nightly) indulgences.  And I’m happier for it.

Emotionally, I’m calling myself, ‘content’.  This largely has to do with how well the major relationships on my life are doing.  Shane and I are feeling pretty on-track lately, spending quite a bit of time just hangin’ out and talking with each other – checking in, setting goals, and remembering the importance of laughter.  It’s nice when your spouse consistently makes you smile.  I’m also extremely grateful for family, both mine and Shane’s, and feel very lucky that my biggest concern is just that we can’t spend more time with them.  Our friendships here in Seattle continue to deepen, and I continue to wonder what we would do without this group of people that have become our Seattle family.  So many meals, weekends, adventures, etc. have been shared with our closest friends over the past year.  And it’s been damn fun.

So, I know I’ve painted a pretty peachy picture thus far, but in truth, there are a couple of areas in my life that fall under the ‘Needs Improvement’ heading.  Artistically, I’m feeling rather un-fulfilled.  I had so much momentum and energy going into my artwork several months ago, as I was learning about new media and preparing for my art show.  Then…I fizzled.  I haven’t been to the encaustic or print studio since June.  And I really, really miss it.  But it’s nothing that a little kick in the pants can’t cure, so I’ll probably be enlisting the help of Shane to deliver that kick.  He’s good at doing that, in his stern-but-encouraging sort of way.

And spiritually?  Errrrrr…I’m not even sure how to distill the state of my soul down to a status update.  Is this a bad thing?  Maybe (of course I’d love to be able to say, “Me and God are BFF’s!”), but maybe not (it’s ok to be unsure, as long as I’m fully engaged in the question).  But I’m not engaged – I’ve been playing the old “Catch you Later” game with God for awhile now, and I think “Later” has arrived.

Lastly, some of my old friendships need some TLC.  I don’t talk to my closest, oldest friends in California nearly as often as I’d like to, even though I know that these are relationships worth investing in.  My best friend is engaged and getting married within the next year, and I desperately want to be there for her as she looks at wedding dresses and dreams about marriage and family. There aren’t many people in my life with whom I can reminisce about my teenage years (for better or for worse), and these friends that have seen me through so many stages of life should be cherished and held close.

Much to be thankful for, much to be mindful of.  Bring on 2011.

Yes, I have been a bit absent lately – I gave this ol’ blog a big heap of makeover love, then I up and left it.  Haven’t felt much like posting lately.  Truth is, I have been stuck in the midst my quarterly (semi-annual if I’m lucky) F-U-N-K.  I’ve been generally kind of ‘ick’ over the last couple of weeks.  We had a nice Easter weekend with my parents, but even as I enjoyed their company, I wasn’t fully present.  Work has been tough, with some disappointments and frustrations, my body refuses to shake this mucus-y bug that has been buggin’ me for over a week now, I haven’t done any art-ing since coming down off the high of my encaustic workshop, and Shane and I have been exceptionally snippy with one another.  And my mojo is totally lost when he and I aren’t clicking.  There haven’t been any major blow-outs (ok, there have been one or two big blow-outs), but what drains me more than any sort of fighting is a general inability for us to really connect.  I’ve felt it for several days, but I’ve had so much self-indulgent satisfaction wallowing in my funk that I haven’t made any effort to get us back on track.  And unfortunately, Shane’s been under the weather, too, and hasn’t felt driven to steer the ship back towards the marital ‘bliss’ that we usually enjoy.  Boo.

But today, the clouds parted.  I don’t know if it’s the thought that we leave for Mexico in a week, or the fact that my work situation seems to be on the upswing, or simply that I realized today how tired I was of having a roommate rather than a husband, but we had a really good night together, and I am revived.  We didn’t do anything special, just cooked dinner together, watched a little tv, then sat on the couch and talked for a couple of hours.  And once again, things feel like they’re supposed to.  I have my best friend back.  Yes, surely we’ll derail again at some point in the future, but that’s ok.  We’ll get over it.  ‘Cause there’s really no other way.

The initial news of the disastrous earthquake in Haiti shook me – I was mortified by the magnitude of the destruction of both life and property and used TV and the Internet to keep myself as up-to-date as possible on the quake’s damage.  And then, without really realizing it, I began to distance myself from the gruesome images and horrific stories.  I wrote my check to the Red Cross, I said a prayer for the people of Haiti, and I subconsciously tucked the tragedy away in that corner of my heart reserved for seemingly hopeless cases.  My apathetic attitude came to light tonight and I knew that I should re-inform myself.  I started with a 60 Minutes segment on the latest activity in Port-au-Prince.  Tears streamed down my face as I watched bull-dozers dump piles of bodies into trucks headed for mass graves.  A child’s leg was amputated with an old hacksaw, for lack of decent medical supplies.  A swollen and bloody man was pulled from a pile of rubble after four days of being trapped among the ruins of a concrete building.  Absolutely gut-wrenching.  I set my computer aside, buried my face in my pillow, and cried.

I don’t mind shedding tears, if that’s the price I pay for being more well-informed.  I don’t mind donating money, encouraging my co-workers and friends to do the same, posting ‘pray for Haiti’ messages on Facebook.  But none of these things are going to return a lost child to the arms of her dead parents, or reunite a crushed and broken family.  My money, my sadness, and even my prayers feel so insignificant in the face of such loss.  And so, like so many people around the world, I see a glimpse of just how bad things are in the wake of this disaster, and I am called to…???  God, I wish I knew how to fill in that blank.

photo from here.

The tree has been decorated, the gifts have been wrapped, the cookies have been baked, the holiday parties have been had, and yet, I still feel somehow so ‘unprepared’ for Christmas day.  Like I’m missing something amidst all of my checked-off to-do’s.  And as I ponder this, I come to the conclusion that I have spent so much time preparing our home and our gifts and our travel plans, and not enough time preparing my heart for the holiday.  I feel urged to take a break from the shopping and baking to pause and quietly revel in the fact that our all-powerful God sent His Son to earth in the form of a tiny, helpless, precious little baby.  We spent some time with our community group last week talking about Christmas meanings and memories, and J’s comment, “Such a big God, in such a little package” has stuck with me.  It’s unfathomable, really, that a tiny little baby, probably looking very much like the babies I see in restaurants with their faces covered in food, or the ones I see bawling in the grocery stores, grew to be the man that would die on a cross for the sins of this world.  And that’s what I want Christmas to be about – awe, thankfulness, joy, and the perfect peace that comes with knowing I love a God that is humble enough, selfless enough, ‘outrageous’ enough to leave the throne of Heaven to take the form of a diaper-wearing, crying, cooing little infant.  That’s the Christmas miracle.