Changes

I've had a really hard time knowing what to do with this site, and over the weekend, I finally realized the root of the problem. I launched this site last year because I wanted to establish myself as a writer, and I needed a platform from which to do it. But when I did that, I divorced the writer in me from the rest of me. It became difficult for me to post because I pressured myself to only post perfectly written specimens of my writing ability. That made for a very dull blog. Sorry. When I tried to separate my writing life from my real life, I lost all my material, and I think it's time to reunite the two. So, in the next few weeks, there are going to be some big changes around here. I'd like to introduce you to myself: the real me: the mom: the stationery designer: the wife: the photographer: me. I hope you enjoy what I write about this crazy life I live.

In addition to some changes in content, there will also be some changes in posting frequency. Starting April 1, I'm committing to a month of almost-daily posting. For five days a week, I will write at least 1,000 words. What I have to say may be mundane and uninteresting, but I will be flexing my writing muscles again. It's really been too long.

But now, I have to dry my hair before Micah (she's six months old now!) wakes up from her nap. Expect to see more of me around here, whether you like it or not!

Until next time, grace and peace.

Blowing Off the Dust

What a crazy time it's been. Such is our life, I suppose. We've spent the past week with family, and it has been wonderful, but let's admit it, everyone likes to get back into the routine of everyday normal life. Am I the only one who needs a vacation from vacation when we return home? Anyway, my parents left a few hours ago, and life is back to normal here in Iuka. Micah's napping, and I'm poking around on the internet for a little while. I should take a shower. Or figure out what's for supper. Or take more pictures of my notecards to post on my etsy site. But I'm not. Maybe later.

Last night I was flipping through a copy of Southern Living. I'm not sure what month. Maybe it's January's issue? Anyway, the magazine had a "Best of the South" section, and in it, it listed Rowan Oak, home of William Faulkner, as the best literary stop in Mississippi. I haven't read Faulkner since my freshman year in college, and I admittedly didn't have much of an appreciation for his style. Maybe it'd be different now. Perhaps I'll revisit some of his stories. But I digress. I was intrigued by Faulkner's hesitancy to leave home. Only at home was he able to write. In fact, the article said that when President Kennedy invited him to dinner at the White House, Faulkner actually turned down the invitation because he thought DC was an awfully long way to go just to eat supper. Crazy. But I understand. As a writer (who writes less often than she should these days), not only can I not write unless I'm in my own space, but I also cannot write unless my space is ordered. Right now there are magazines, notebooks, an empty ramekin, and a package of batteries on my desk. There are bills in the inbox. Baby food coupons tucked in front of an insurance statement. No writing will get done until those things are taken care of. Not that I have any assignments at the moment. But that's beside the point.

I feel like I'm finally getting to a place in this new life of mine where I can return to being me. In an article I wrote for myMISSIONfulfilled about the first weeks of motherhood, I said that I never wanted to lose my identity after having children. So many women I know forget who they are. They leave behind their entire life to become known as their child's mother. I was so afraid that I would become "Micah's Mommy" and quit being myself. Don't kid yourself. The danger is real. I never wanted to quit being me just because I had also become a mother. The past four and a half months have been a struggle because it's a fight to maintain my sense of self when I spend all day every day taking care of my infant. It would be so easy for my life to be all about her. But it's not. Being Micah's Mommy is just one part of my life. It's just one facet of who I am. And it's just one task that God has called me to complete. He has also called me to write. And to speak. And to teach. And I'm finally in a place where I am able to do those things again. Thank goodness.

Another famous Mississippi writer, Eudora Welty, said that living, not reading, made her want to write. I have been living for the past several months. Now it's time to write again. I'm itching to stretch my literary muscles. It's time to blow the dust off my portfolio and start sending it out. Don't choke on the cloud of dust!

Immunization

Three months ago, I took a writing hiatus and disappeared for a little while to prepare for the birth of my daughter and give myself time to adjust to our new life together.  Yesterday, we celebrated her two-month birthday, and today she reached a milestone.  Her first round of shots. This morning we woke up early and packed the diaper bag.  I strapped my daughter into her carseat and loaded her in the car.  When we arrived at the office, I signed her in and sat in the waiting room with her as she cooed and grinned at me.  My heart was heavy.  I knew that my happy child would be upset and crying by the time we left the office, but I also knew that the shots were in her best interest.

The nurse weighed her, and the doctor checked her out.  The time for the shots arrived before I was ready for them.  My daughter gripped my index finger in one hand and my husband's in the other.  She laid on the examination table in complete submission and trust as the nurse held down her legs and gave her the first shot.

For a second, I thought she wouldn't cry.  Then her face contorted in shock and agony and she shrieked in pain.  I've never heard that sound come out of her mouth before.  The crying got louder with each shot, and my heart ached for my baby girl.  She had just experienced pain for the first time in her life, and I had voluntarily subjected her to it.

On the ride home, it occurred to me that sometimes God signs us up for pain that he knows is necessary for our own well-being.  In those moments, all we can do is cling to his finger for dear life and keep trusting that he knows what is best for us.  No life worth living is painless, and however much we may wish that we could spare ourselves the discomfort, sometimes the pain is necessary to get us where we need to be.

My daughter, by the way, is fine.  As I type this, she's laid across my lap smiling and cooing at me again.  She survived the temporary pain.  All is well.