Of chainsaws, stinkbugs, bees, and other creepy things.

There's a chainsaw in my bathroom. There's the top half of my husband's dresser sitting in our living room right next to the fire place "out of the way." There's a flyswatter hanging right next to my cutting board, and my kitchen table is covered with so many things, I can't seem to remember its color.
I guess sometimes, you just have those kind of days...well, maybe not.

I killed a HUGE bee in the kitchen today. Was getting dressed for work when I heard a tremendous buzz coming from somewhere. I started to duck and look over my head, but couldn't see anything. I went down to the kitchen and saw Mosely staring at a humongous bee flying into the light and into the wall. I ended up using the flyswatter to knock that sucker into the stove, where I proceeded to smash it to death. Violent perhaps, but I didn't want it stinging my baby.

I'm so sick of stinkbugs, big black ants, little black ants, bees, and spiders. I have to pretend that I don't know these insects reside within our humble abode. Wishing I could escape the insects and the creepy feeling I get when I finally come face to face with one.

Live Like You are Living

My dad is my hero. He always has been. And as a little girl I looked up to him, admired him, and developed a relationship with him. Not a fake 'I only come to you when I need advice or money' kind of relationship. But one of depth. Value. Honor. And respect.

My dad is fighting terminal cancer. He is a living, breathing, and moving testimony even as I type this. The doctors said he wouldn't make it to Thanksgiving a couple years ago, and yet he's still here in the flesh among us. Some days are hard for him, like today. Yesterday he felt good and overdid it a little. Today, his body pays the consequences for all the activity from the previous day. And I watch him. His attitude. The way he talks and references what he is going through. Yesterday he said to me, "I really am okay, Christine. I'm not some fragile piece of glass that's going to break. I'm here. I'm living. And I'm going to keeping living as if I'm going to live."
He hasn't given up the fight. Every day he makes a choice to live life to its fullest. To press through the pain. To deny the cancer any power over his will or emotions. He approaches each day with a new grace. He's not angry. And if you talk to him for even a minute, you'll know he is not relying on his own strength, but a Divine strength that comes in waves and breathes a freshness over him.

My dad's approach to life reminds me that we all have the opportunity to take life day by day, and to accept the grace that has been given to us. Too often, I look far ahead. I worry about my job, Glenn's job, balancing life and the baby, paying off the bills, saving up money, moving out of the shack, being in a better place, a better season in life. But what if I chose to live in the moment? To enjoy the fullness of one day without worrying about what tomorrow holds. Isn't that what we are called to do? To not worry about tomorrow, but to let tomorrow worry about itself?

My dad said, "Christine, I don't want to live like I'm dying like in that Tim McGraw song. I want to live like I am living. Like I'm going to live." What an impact! I need to live like I am living!
What does that look like? It means not allowing the stresses of life to rob me of the many joys that I have. It means taking time to fully enjoy my daughter. To invest in my relationship with my husband. It means enjoying the time that I have been given with my father. To enjoy the students that I am teaching this year. To take a moment to rest. To go outside and breathe in the fresh, horse manure, country air. It means appreciating the gift of another day to be here, to invest in this life time. Because only God knows how long we will be here. And that's the truth, whether you are walking in full wholeness and or believing God to fully restore health to your body and heal your wounds.

A prayer for strength is risky business

It just dawned on me today that when you say a prayer for strength to get through the week, just be prepared for situations that require strength! Grad school projects were weighing me down, and pure exhaustion kicked in by, oh I don't know, 9 AM on Monday morning. I didn't know how I would make it through the week, so I asked for strength. Then, my ten month old got sick for the first time ever in her little life. Seeing a temperature of a 103 degrees, and feeling her little cheeks burning up was enough to put me right over the edge. On top of it all, my students were taking two state tests this week, and I couldn't take the time off of work, so I had to trust my hubby to take care of the baby. Not an easy thing for me to do. But here it is, Friday afternoon, and I'm sitting with the baby as she eats cheerios and throws her sippy cup off of the high chair (a little game she's fond of these days). Fortunately, her fever broke yesterday afternoon, and she's back to her adorable, yet strong willed, self. And some how, I made it through the week.

I've been thinking a lot lately about "stuff." I don't mean a multitude of different topics, I literally mean accumulating stuff, material possessions if you will. Why is it that stuff holds us back from being where we really want to be? Whether it's the fear of not having what you believe you need, or developing a certain comfort level, or just wanting to have possessions that make life easier, "stuff" just really gets in the way. Maybe it's keeping the car you feel you deserve to have, or hanging onto to the latest "toy" that your significant other bought, or staying in the house that you can't afford but have worked too hard to lose now. I'm not here to judge anyone and their stuff. I bought a house that I couldn't afford. I had a beautiful four bedroom town home with a fireplace, beautiful hard wood floors and a finished basement. We could accommodate both families staying with us at the same time, could paint the walls any color we wanted (and we did), and we bought lots of furniture to fill each of the rooms. Then, one day we realized that we just couldn't afford our stuff. With a baby on the way, daycare costs lurking around the corner, and mortgage payments that were forcing us to live paycheck to paycheck, we had to make some changes....drastic changes. Enter, the shack, into the picture.
I'll never forget moving into this place. I insisted that we bring my piano, the kitchen island, our futon, and small things too, like a full box of Tupperware. Boy, did my heart break when I realized that I either needed to let some "stuff" go, or I wouldn't be able to walk in our new home. Literally. Let me tell you, 490 square feet fills up quickly. We sold the futon, the kitchen island and two matching chairs (sniff, I still miss that!), and even down sized our Tupperware. I got to keep the piano, which I've had since I was like 10, so it's very close to my heart. (My husband likes to remind me that I never play it, but I keep telling him that the pvc piping that the whole thing is propped up on makes it uncomfortable to play anyway...) I guess I'm saying all this to say, Once you start getting rid of "stuff" and downsize, letting things go gets easier.

Maybe that's the kind of attitude we're supposed to live life with, right? Thank you God that you have placed this "stuff" into my life for a season. I will rejoice for now, trusting that You know that I need. And, I will keep my hands open and my palms upward in case it gets taken away and replaced with something new.
The danger lies in receiving something and grasping onto it so tightly that our knuckles turn white, and suddenly we focus on our grip and not losing the "stuff" rather than enjoying it while we have it. I"m learning that everything in life comes through seasons. Nothing lasts forever (well, except for eternity, and that's not on this side of heaven), and I'm realizing that I can rejoice, even in the really hard seasons, because I know it won't last forever. God isn't going to give me more than I can bear. Easier said than done! I press on toward the prize...toward the goal for which You've called me to.

Deer eating by the tree, not hanging from it.

There were six deer in our yard this afternoon when I got home. Very unique, cause normally, they are skinned and hanging upside down from the tree, with my husband not far away...Actually seeing them alive, eating and playing is a nice change.

Mud is everywhere, and I'm over the fact that my car looks like I go off-roading in my spare time. A little intimidating to park next to the sparkling Mercedes and BMWs in the parking lot at work, and definitely keeps me humble. I used to be embarrassed to walk out to my muddy car at the end of the day, but the truth is, I live on a dirt road off of another dirt road. It is what it is. I don't like the constant mud stains that appear on the bottom part of my pants every day due to the fabric touching the car when I get out, or the mud that is now caked into the crevices of just about every pair of shoes that I own. But mud is mud. A little visit to the bathroom sink, and I'm like new.

Dryer Tears

Yesterday, I was watching TV, and suddenly, there is was... a red, energy efficient Kenmore dryer. A perfect load of laundry was being dried and then steamed in minimal time. I watched the commercial, holding my breath, and felt wet tears rolling down my cheeks. I was crying over a dryer?!

A moment of self pity, I admit. I started thinking about how I can only wash 3-4 towels in our little mini-compact washer at one time, and fit even less in the dryer if I actually want it to dry in under an hour. Am I grateful that we actually have access to a washer and dryer? Absolutely. Am I frustrated that it takes me 4 loads to wash my clothes and running the dryer over 90 minutes to get each load dry. Uh, YEAH!
Living here has its challenges. Should we talk about the stink bugs that are popping up everywhere? In the baby's crib, on my jeans, on the window sill, flying past the couch, landing on the walls, invading my space...my limited space...or the baby skunk that was scurrying down the middle of the road on our way home from the store? Or, the fact that I wear mud boots to get out my front door so that I don't trudge through the thick muddles of mangled madness...
Ah yes, the joys of country living. I definitely admit that it's easy to feel sorry for yourself when you start looking around at what others have and what you have to go through, or are choosing to go through.
But, the truth is- living here is much easier when I only focus on myself and what I'm called to. The moment that I start comparing myself, I lose my focus. God help me to keep my eyes on You.

Running in the Wind

It's late. Almost 11:30pm, and Glenn's been sleeping for at least an hour. The baby is down, and I'm alone with my thoughts again...thinking about r-e-s-p-o-n-s-i-b-i-l-i-t-y. Somedays, I wish I could dig a hole and live in it for about a week until I felt settled on the inside.
Ever get that feeling like you just want to run and run and run for miles without getting winded? Or, like you want to pick up and move away from your present life and start again? I've been dreaming about running a lot lately. Mostly, I just need air. I crave fresh breath in my lungs. I feel my feet pounding against the pavement, and my legs carry me farther and farther away from the shack. Away from worry and anxiety. Away from the cold. Away from small, confining spaces.

I set my eyes on the prize, the goal for which I called. I keep pressing on, because that's what I was made to do. Press on toward the prize. The prize...what is the prize that I'm pressing towards?
This one will require more thought.

I am not Superwoman.

9 AM and I bundled up the baby in her pink Winnie the Pooh snow suit, put her into the back pack, and carried her outside so that I could shovel. Shovel the snow out of the never ending driveway. If I ever wanted to leave the shack again, I had to get to the end of the driveway. An impossible task. An overwhelming task. "Slow and steady wins the race," echoed in my head. I slammed the shovel in the bottom of the snow heap and felt the immense weight on the yellow shovel. Seriously?

Just then, Glenn called. "Another 20 inches of snow are coming Christine. Can you shovel a pathway from the back door out to the wood pile because you won't have enough wood for this storm that's coming. I'll bring the wood in for you when I come home tonight."
"I thought the company was putting you up in a hotel again tonight," I said, taking the cold air deep into my lungs.
"Oh yeah," he replied. "Well, I guess you'll have to bring in all the wood that you'll need for the next several days. You'll probably lose power with this storm that's coming..."

I stared into space. How could I possibly finish shoveling the driveway, shovel a path to the wood pile, haul in wood, and take care of the baby? As it was, she would be getting up from her nap in the next half hour. "Okay, Glenn. I can try."
If I were Superwoman, I would have said, "No problem. I can do all things."

But, the thing is, I'm not a superhero. I'm an almost 30 year old, trying to raise a 9 month old, maintain a loving relationship with my hubby, finish grad school, and survive living in a 490 square foot house. This place presents more challenges than I ever thought possible. This shack...it's stretching me, bruising me, making my muscles sore, and requiring more tenacity than I ever thought I had. And for what?
I have to keep our end goal in mind. By simplifying our lives, we are able to pay off our debt faster. Just last month, I was able to write a check for a few thousand dollars and put it toward my school loan. That felt great. You know what doesn't feel great? My back after shoveling for 6 hours...

Glenn came and rescued me this afternoon. He told me to leave and go south so that I didn't have to weather another storm without him. He said to pack everything for me, the baby and Mose and leave. He finished shoveling the last little section of the driveway (with his coworker), and helped me get the Honda out of the driveway. I threw everything that I could into a suitcase, loaded the car and headed south. I drove through snow, rain, ice, and heavy fog, but I made it. Six and a half hours later and I'm at my parents' house, listening to them play with the baby. I don't have to think about shoveling the driveway, or hauling wood. I don't have to worry about losing power or manning the fire. I can rest and know that for the next several days, the shack will stand alone, and I will be surrounded in love.