Overcoming writers block and gloomy thoughts with plans for Lent

I know.  I know.  You are probably sick of hearing excuses from me about why I haven't posted a blog in a while.  Writers block.  Seriously.  I think I've started at least four different posts and just can't seem to get my mind to focus enough to write. 

Today I will break the wall.  My fingers will climb up and over while my thoughts poor onto the screen in a beautiful symphony of words.  Well, maybe it won't be that great, but at least I've written more than one sentence.

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Today is Fat Tuesday and tomorrow we start Lent.  Here are this year's plans:

The First:

Each member of my family will have forty pieces of money (pennies, dimes, etc).  Each day we are to say a special prayer or sacrifice and then place a coin in the Catholic Relief Services rice bowl.

The Second:

Clean out things that are hidden or in desparate need of organization.  I'll spend (at least) ten minutes a day on this and commit to one room a week. 

The Third:

Attend Lenten faith sharing group at our church.

The Fourth:

Give up wheat.  This is going to be HARD.  However, I've been wondering lately if I have a wheat allergy so I though Lent would be a good time to find out.  Plus, it makes a lot of sense now that I can make bread and even bought a bread making cookbook (haha).

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That's about all I've thought of, and knowing myself, I better stop there.  I am a consistant over-planner and then give up on it all because I'm overwhelmed. 

One last thought: Even though Lent is a season that enourages us to think about our sinfullness, I'm glad to have something to focus on rather than the gray skies, grizzly rain, and my gloomy thoughts.  Now I have Easter to look forward to!

...because it's Valentine's Day...

Today I made bread.  It is a great accomplishment for me.  A nice lady from church came over to help me with a recipe for a loaf of artisan bread.  By the time she left, we had made two loaves and I have a bucket of dough in the fridge to make more later.  In fact, I am letting some of the dough rise right now with a heart shape cut into the top, for my husband.  I know, isn't that sweet?  He'll appreciate it too. 

Too bad he will probably do nothing for me but give me a hug and a kiss (update: he did bring me a bottle of wine).  But I'm not complaining.  Valentine's Day has never been "our" thing.  Secretly, I'd be more into it if he was.  Oh well.  I chose this guy to enter into a marriage covenant with.

That's just it.  Falling in love is one thing and marriage another.  Hearts, flowers, candy and romance eventually fade away and what's left is an imperfect relationship.  For some reason, people want to cling to the fantasy that marriage should be happy almost all the time and those squishy feelings that started it all should remain forever.  They don't.

Our marriage is no longer just about our love for one another, our love has grown into a family.  And when love grows into a family its true meaning becomes obvious.  Love is sacrifice.  It is a constant bending, folding, stretching and letting go (sounds like making bread!).

And that's what I have to say today because it's Valentine's Day.

Help is on the way

Last night, the sound of the kids, their constant screeches and squabbles, pushed me to the edge of the world.  I wanted to jump into the abyss and give up on it all.  Instead, I did what any mom would do.  I barked at them, slammed dishes around and made tacos.  Actually, I'm sure only I would act like that.  Every other mom would brush off the annoyance, smile sweetly and make a five course meal with lots of vegatables.

It's been a difficult few weeks.  My husband has taken a bunch of overtime shifts and it feels like he's been gone for a month.  As I'm sure any mom reading this knows, it can get pretty lonely and exhausting when your husband is gone for longer than usual.  I'm used to him being gone six nights a week and catching up for a couple hours in the morning and evening.  I bide my time until the end of six days then he's home for a long stretch and I can do things like take a shower without someone crashing through the bathroom door because the green marker lid is missing.

As I gruffed around the kitchen, lonliness and exhaustion wrapped around me like a weighted bib used when getting an x-ray at the dentist, my daughters, without a word from me, began to help.  They got busy with their tasks while I tried not to cry into the taco meat.  They set the table, shredded the cheese, and kept Bubby occupied.  They even cleaned up all the toys around the house.  The floors were clear enough to vacuum...I probably should have taken advantage of that.

Finally, the smell of cilantro and lime brought me to my senses and I could comprehend what was going on.  I slid out of my weighted bib of despair, wiped my eyes and was amazed.  It seemed like a miracle.  My children actually helped prepare dinner and tidy up the house.  I was proud.

The help they gave me did not just happen.  They knew what needed to be done because of practice.  A couple months ago I came up with Job #1 and Job #2.  These jobs are done around meal times and are posted on the refrigerator with a magnet that indicates who does what job that day.  Job #1 is to help cook, set the table and clear the table.  Job #2 is to load the dishwasher, wipe the table and sweep.  I have also been having the girls pick up all the toys each evening and unload the dishwasher in the morning.  Normally I have to harp, nag and stamp my foot to get them to lift a finger.  Then they moan and groan and suddenly have much more important things to do.  However, I've stuck with it (most of the time) and I am finally able to see that consistency might be paying off. 

Praise the Lord and pass the tortillas!

The spirit is willing but the flesh is weak

While at an attempt at prayer the other day, I was struggling to focus.  No matter how hard I tried to listen peacefully, my thoughts kept jumping and racing.  Then an interesting image floated through my mind.  I saw myself reaching toward Jesus with one hand, my face turned toward Him and my entire body as well.  My face showed its desire and even longing to be with Him.  However, my other hand was stretched out in the opposite direction.  In that hand I grasped, with no intent to let go, a hook attached to a cable much like the one I have pictured above. 

The message was clear.  In order to give myself completely to God, I have to let go of whatever is holding me back.  And, as a mom, giving myself completely to God means giving myself completely to the duties of my vocation.  I mean these little, crazy, monsters that skitter around me all day.  These children, whom I love, but who take up so much of my energy. 

I guess I'm afraid to do it.  I'm afraid to let go of my own comforts and fantasies (notice I didn't say desires because those are given to me by my Creator).  It all comes down to trust.  My ability to trust that God will give me the strength to accomplish all that He needs me to accomplish. I know that by surrendering and trusting Him, the desires of my heart will be fulfilled.  There really is no need to fear.

Lent, coming up in a little less than a month, will be a good time to work on letting go of the hook and cable so that I can hug Jesus with both arms.

~~

 This was on Facebook this morning.  I hope it's not too small to read:

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I feel sort of guilty using the image of the hook above because it is from a site where they are trying to sell their images.  So, as with almost all of the images I use, if you click on the picture, it is linked to its original site.

Making History

There was a break in the weather today and the clear skies drew us outside.  The backyard was littered with tree branches from all the wind storms we've been having so I pulled out two rakes.  A larger one for myself and a little one for Bubby (he loves to "work").  Then, I did something that I don't normally do.  I played with my children. 

As I raked the branches into piles, I began to imagine our little family as a pioneer family just clearing our land to build a cabin.  Grasshopper happens to be learning about pioneers right now, so I thought, "why not make a game of it."  As soon as I started to pretend to be "ma," the girls gathered around me, Bubby too with his rake, and they were captivated.  Their little faces lit up and they immediately joined in to play this game with me!

The best part was that while one child hunted a rabbit for dinner, and another got the dutch oven out of the wagon and started the fire, the branches -that began this whole adventure- were gathered up in neat piles.  Those kids eagerly worked around me as if it wasn't work at all.

One of the great things about being with my children all of the time, is the change I see in myself.  I, who dread to play with my children and find it a tiresome chore, had fun with them today.  In fact, we've played a few different games together while we are going about our daily chores lately: Teacher and students, maid and ladies, the white witch and Narnians.  Most likely these little games will be what I, and maybe even they, will remember as we look back these busy days.  It is our own little history.

Mud holes

Yesterday was a super, duper, really bad day.  Nothing specifically tragic happened.  I just could not get off the couch.  My husband would pass by me, pat me on the shoulder, tell me everything was going to be okay and still I could not move.  It was not a physical ailment.  I was down in the dumps, depressed and discouraged.  I periodically go through these mud holes.  It may be a family trait, a weakness of character or maybe a gift.

Today, looking back, I would say it is a gift.  If I said that to myself yesterday I would have buried my head deeper into my self-made mud pit and cried.  But today, on the other side of melancholy, things look different.

Yesterday, as I wallowed in self-indulgent misery (I took no steps to make things better such as a walk in the fresh air), I thought about my life, my desires, my failures, regrets and the current state of my house.  I reflected on the kind of mother I am, the kind I'd like to be and the kind I really can be (and have been).  Through all this thinking, I figured out what really matters to me and what really makes me happy.  And, as they say: "If mama ain't happy, ain't no one happy"...or something like that.

So what does make me happy?  Well, for one thing less time with my Kindle (see yesterday's post).  At least a little time for quiet prayer and reflection is important.  Good and honest friendships is another important factor in my sense of well-being (I figured that out while a friend listened to me go on and on about past regrets and future fears and we didn't even have our usual large glass of wine). Lastly, I need to write.  This need needs more attention and so you see I've posted two days in a row.

Happiness isn't everything.  Suffering will come too.  Both are necessary to be truly alive.  I do not plan to spend other day in a desperate mud bog, but I probably will be there again some day.  Suffering gives me perspective.  It helps me to see what's important and what I need to let go.  It's not to be feared or avoided.  Instead, it can be like a knot in a rope to hold onto in order to get out of the bog.

Then there's redemptive suffering...but don't get me started on that.  I don't have time tonight.  Little Bear wants a story before she goes to sleep.  I hope I'm not too late.  However, if you are interested in the topic you can read about it here.

Falling in love...with an electronic device?

Yes.  It's that bad.

For Christmas my husband gave me a Kindle Fire.  It surprised me because I like books.  Real books.  Now that I have a Kindle, I like it too.  In fact, I'm almost in love with it.  At least that may be what you think if you could watch me with it.  I wake up, turn it on, check my email, check facebook, check the news, turn on talk radio, check to see if any one has commented on my blog (or if by some miracle, I had written something new), see if there are any new books I want to buy, then I move around the house taking my Kindle with me wherever I go.

I hope my infatuation with this little, black device will not last much longer.  Other relationships in my life are suffering. I am suffering.  It seems my Kindle takes a lot of my time and attention and doesn't give much in return.

I'm not sure if the Kindle is the cause or if it is where I am finding my escape from the real world.  Lately it feels as if any progress I have made in my parenting and home making skills have been  rushed down the river with the latest flood in our neighborhood.  Which, by the way, I kept track of on my Kindle hour by hour, foot by foot. 

It will be nice when these dark, gloomy, winter days are past.  Maybe then I'll be able to dry myself off, set the Kindle aside and tend to the more important relationships in my life.  Those with hearts that beat and souls that long for love.