They say you can tell a lot about a person by their car. I drive a used Honda, CRV. I'll tell you what I think that says about me: Used because I cannot afford a brand new car and used because I don't want to throw away thousands of dollars the second I drive a new car off the lot (just my personal preference/belief). Honda? Because I have experience with Hondas and my experience shows me that they are reliable. CRV? Because I have 2 small children and wanted a little more space for their car seats and other accessories but did not want to drive a "boat" like a Pilot or a larger SUV. Why not? I am more comfortable in smaller vehicles and I also don't want to spend a lot of money on gas.
The other day I was running late (this is common). I had just dropped the girls off and was on my way to work. I was going through a neighborhood, towards the highway when out pulls this lady in her Mercedes convertible. She pulled right out in front of me and then slowed down. She was driving all of 10 miles UNDER the speed limit. She was NOT in a hurry. I was. And the entire time I was stuck behind her, I got more and more anxious and agitated. I also got more and more judgmental. These were some of my thoughts:
Hurry lady! I got places to be! Not all of us have the luxury of taking our time!!. . . Not all of us have the luxury of driving a Mercedes!. . . Some of us actually have jobs and don't get to dilly dally through life! . . .Look at her stupid blonde hair blowing in the wind. I bet that's not her real hair color. I bet she's on her way to yoga. Sure wish I had time like that, to get my hair done and go to yoga. . . ya-da-ya-da-ya-da. . .
Ugly, huh? But it's the truth. Thoughts like that go through my mind often. And when I get really real with myself, they stem from jealousy and discontentment. I was so jealous of that lady that I knew nothing about other than that she was driving a fun car and driving it slowly. Maybe she does have a job. Maybe she worked really hard for that car. Or maybe she doesn't. Maybe it was a gift. Maybe her hair really is blonde on it's own. Or maybe it's not and she likes it that color so she pays to have it that color. Maybe she does go to yoga or maybe she hates it and doesn't. It doesn't really matter at all who she is, what she does, or how she does it. It's none of my business and shouldn't affect me. My feelings had nothing to do with this lady and everything to do with ME. The ugly in ME.
Part of this ugly just comes naturally (my innate nature). And part of this ugly comes from a culture and even the history of mankind that says "You deserve more - go get yours and knock anyone out that stands in your way!"
When did I get so wrapped up in "getting mine" or resenting others when they have what I don't? When did my heart get so full of discontentment?
This isn't a post about not wanting to be materialistic or being happy for others or living in harmony or any of that feel-good-Kumbayah-shit. Those are all good things. But this isn't about that. This is about exposing the UGLY TRUTH. The UGLY TRUTH that I, when left to my own devices, can convince myself of all sorts of lies, but they all come down to this one lie. The lie that I am missing out on ANYTHING.
This is the same lie that Adam and Eve fell for. That God was holding out on them because He didn't want them to have something that they wanted to have. That God was keeping something from them that they deserved. . . and I guess in a manner of speaking, He WAS holding out on them, and it was even something they deserved but not the way we usually mean that. He was holding out on them the pain and brokenness we receive as a natural result of not trusting Him, of not being in relationship with Him.
From this stems my jealousy, my discontentment, and ultimately, my distrust in a God who is trustworthy.
I have so much to be thankful for. My beautiful, messy family, my house that keeps the weather out, my car that works, a job that helps pay the bills, food on the table, and all the other cliche' but true things that most of us are blessed to list. But all of this FAILS in comparison to the TRUTH that I have a God who loves me and isn't keeping anything from me. A God who wanted to give me so much, that He gave me the best thing I could ever have - He gave me Himself.
That may not make my hair blow in the wind, that may not make my mornings any less rushed and it may never change some of the things in life that exhaust me. It may never change my circumstances. But it changes something more central than that - it changes my heart which then changes my attitude which then changes my perspective. It allows me the vision to see clearly that I may not have all I want, but I have all I NEED. It allows me to see the lady in her convertible for what she really is - my neighbor. Not my competition, not my enemy, and probably most appropriately, not my goal. Just my neighbor.
I may never get to own a truck that says "I'm tough" or a jeep that says "I'm adventurous" or a Prius that says "I care about the environment" or a Ferrari that says "I have lots of expendable cash" or a mini-van that says "I transport a lot of kids" or any other stereotype that we (or maybe just I) attach to vehicles, but I am OK with that (in this moment, I am CHOOSING to be OK with that).
So, to you Mercedes Convertible Lady, I am sorry for projecting my own ugly onto you. It had nothing to do with you. I am sorry for judging you and being jealous of you. I am sorry for riding your ass, glaring at you with that look that means "Can you PLEASE speed up?!". . . but seriously, next time, can you speed up a little? Because although you are my neighbor and I am trying to allow the Lord to change my heart, I still feel that you were driving annoyingly slow. . . I don't know if there is a lesson, truth or growth to be had in that, or if it's simply a fact.
Sunday, June 29, 2014
Tuesday, June 24, 2014
I am NOT a Runner
I am NOT a runner. I hate it. I hate the way it makes my body feel as I lug myself around the pavement. I hate counting my breaths between steps. I hate how the sun beats down on me. I hate how it makes me sweat. I AM NOT A RUNNER. But I run anyway.
I started "running" in college, purely out of necessity.
Let me give you a little background. When I was in high school, I never thought much about my weight. I was so active and busy (and I was a friggin teenager with a fabulous teenager's metabolism) that weight wasn't something I struggled with. And then something happened when I graduated . . . Womanhood!
You know how they call the weight you put on your first year of college the "freshman fifteen"? Well. . . let's just say I am an overachiever in that department. I had gained 10 lbs between high school graduation and freshman orientation! I had taken a seasonal job in Nashville for my summer between high school and college. It was such a wonderful experience and I made lasting friendships. God used that time in my life to show me so much about myself and about Himself. But out in the "real world" I no longer had 3 healthy meals a day, prepared by my mother. I was no longer spending all of my free time at the dance studio and the activities I kept myself busy with were replaced with trying new foods in the new place I lived. When I wasn't eating out, I was living off of 3 food groups: store bought bagels, cereal, and sandwiches. That's a hell of a lot of bread! And like Shakira, my hips weren't lying. . . only, the truth they were telling was that I was getting pudgy.
I started off freshman year that way. My lifestyle had changed and I continued to not get the sleep I needed, not eat the food I should, and not exercise consistently. By the end of my first semester, I pretty much lived in gym shorts and t-shirts because that's all that fit anymore. My mom had tried to encourage me to "maybe work out a little" so when I told her I needed new clothes for Christmas, she bought me a used treadmill. . . subtle, huh?
But I needed that treadmill. I needed to make better choices. I needed to get healthy again. So I started running or more appropriately, I should say I started stomping because when I "ran" my moves were so damn heavy that it felt more like marching through water or mud. I didn't gain any more weight my spring semester, but I also didn't lose any. I just maintained my pudginess. If I was going to lose any of the "freshman thirty" (don't hate), I was going to have to do a lot more than just jump on my treadmill 3 times a week. I needed to reverse what I had done to get to this point. I needed another LIFESTYLE CHANGE.
(Side Note: Derek and I started dating while I was in this pudgy stage. I'm pretty sure at that point my waistline was bigger than his. He never once made me feel pudgy and I love that we started dating during this VERY awkward time in my life. Awkward not just physically but in so many other ways - but I'll save all of that for another post.)
I would love to tell you that one day I woke up determined, started sleeping well, eating well, and exercising. . . but that's definitely not the case. The life changes came slowly. It started with the treadmill 3 times a week (as mentioned). Then I started cooking for myself instead of eating all of my meals on campus or at Panera (don't get it twisted, I still love me some Panera). This was even more true my second year of college as I no longer had a "meal plan" so I couldn't afford to eat on campus. I also couldn't afford to eat out often.
That year I also got a bike (an awesome pastel pink cruiser that I still own and adore). I no longer stayed out all hours of the night (like freshmen do.) I had real classes that required some sort of real sleep. And most importantly, I found my first gym buddy (love you, Courtney Jo). We met up at the campus gym several times a week. It's amazing how a little accountability and healthy competition can motivate you to actually follow through with good goals. She was someone I could talk to while I ran to get my mind off of the running.
Running for me is a lot like acting like an adult (I say acting because being an adult, and ACTING like an adult are 2 totally different things). Like running, acting like an adult is not something I am naturally good at. It's not something I'd say I enjoy, but when I force myself to make good choices, I am slowly transformed. It feels less awkward. It gradually moves from something you have to make yourself do, to something that you don't have to really think about. It becomes your norm. This isn't something I am able to do in and of myself. It requires something greater than me. It requires Jesus.
My consistency with running ebbs and flows. It's probably safe to say my consistency with acting like an adult does as well. But I have found that in order to maintain this discipline, I need backup. It starts with making up your own mind but in my experience, it's only sustained by the help of others. We all need each other. We need people who are like-minded, cheering us on. We need to be cheerleaders as well, like a running buddy. And how about another cheesy metaphor to top it off? We not only need running buddies or cheerleaders, we need a coach. (Yep, that's the Jesus part.) For me, it is best if I take it step by step, one day at a time. (Sometimes I have to take acting like an adult one moment at a time. . . especially since I've become a mother. . . but again, that's for another post).
This morning I woke up and ran. Derek woke up earlier and ran first. So this morning when it was my turn, as much as I wanted to roll over and get that extra 30 minutes of sleep, I didn't because he didn't. I am not as strong as I was before I had Lucy. She is almost 6 months old and I am still further behind in my running than I'd like to be. But I got up. I ran today. And you know what? I'm pretty damn proud of that. During my run, I hated every minute of it. But as soon as I was finished, the endorphins kicked in. Energy rushed through me and I was WIDE AWAKE, ready for the day. I took a cold shower and felt my sweaty skin steam in it. I love that feeling.
You've probably figured out by now that I hate running. But I LOVE the way I feel AFTER a good run. That's what makes me struggle through the work of it - the reward. It makes me proud (like "I AM A WARRIOR" proud). It makes me feel alive, even the ache after. It makes me not "need" coffee. It clears my mind and relieves my stress. There are so many good things that come from the discipline of running and it's for those things that I keep at it. There are so many good things that come from the discipline of acting like an adult, and it's for those things that I keep at it.
If you are not a runner, I urge you to try it. Run. Release. Feel - even if it's pain. Because feeling something unpleasant is better than feeling nothing at all. And in life - RUN YOUR HEART OUT. Or better yet, RUN YOUR ASS OFF! (But not all of it, because there's nothin' wrong with having some ass left to grab on to.) SPRINT! Run to the point that your lungs are burning from within you. . . or jog. Or glide. Whatever you do, do so intentionally. I think you'll find that you are capable of more than you imagined. I think you'll find that you secretly start to want to run, or be, or love, or do a number of things that make us vulnerable. That make us connected. That make us healthy.
I am NOT a runner. But I run anyway.
(Picture taken with my friend Jessi after my first 5k. Jessi IS a runner)
". . . let us also lay aside every weight, and sin which clings so closely, and let us run with endurance the race that is set before us, looking to Jesus, the founder and perfecter of our faith. . ."
-Hebrews 12:1b - 2a
I started "running" in college, purely out of necessity.
Let me give you a little background. When I was in high school, I never thought much about my weight. I was so active and busy (and I was a friggin teenager with a fabulous teenager's metabolism) that weight wasn't something I struggled with. And then something happened when I graduated . . . Womanhood!
You know how they call the weight you put on your first year of college the "freshman fifteen"? Well. . . let's just say I am an overachiever in that department. I had gained 10 lbs between high school graduation and freshman orientation! I had taken a seasonal job in Nashville for my summer between high school and college. It was such a wonderful experience and I made lasting friendships. God used that time in my life to show me so much about myself and about Himself. But out in the "real world" I no longer had 3 healthy meals a day, prepared by my mother. I was no longer spending all of my free time at the dance studio and the activities I kept myself busy with were replaced with trying new foods in the new place I lived. When I wasn't eating out, I was living off of 3 food groups: store bought bagels, cereal, and sandwiches. That's a hell of a lot of bread! And like Shakira, my hips weren't lying. . . only, the truth they were telling was that I was getting pudgy.
I started off freshman year that way. My lifestyle had changed and I continued to not get the sleep I needed, not eat the food I should, and not exercise consistently. By the end of my first semester, I pretty much lived in gym shorts and t-shirts because that's all that fit anymore. My mom had tried to encourage me to "maybe work out a little" so when I told her I needed new clothes for Christmas, she bought me a used treadmill. . . subtle, huh?
But I needed that treadmill. I needed to make better choices. I needed to get healthy again. So I started running or more appropriately, I should say I started stomping because when I "ran" my moves were so damn heavy that it felt more like marching through water or mud. I didn't gain any more weight my spring semester, but I also didn't lose any. I just maintained my pudginess. If I was going to lose any of the "freshman thirty" (don't hate), I was going to have to do a lot more than just jump on my treadmill 3 times a week. I needed to reverse what I had done to get to this point. I needed another LIFESTYLE CHANGE.
(Side Note: Derek and I started dating while I was in this pudgy stage. I'm pretty sure at that point my waistline was bigger than his. He never once made me feel pudgy and I love that we started dating during this VERY awkward time in my life. Awkward not just physically but in so many other ways - but I'll save all of that for another post.)
I would love to tell you that one day I woke up determined, started sleeping well, eating well, and exercising. . . but that's definitely not the case. The life changes came slowly. It started with the treadmill 3 times a week (as mentioned). Then I started cooking for myself instead of eating all of my meals on campus or at Panera (don't get it twisted, I still love me some Panera). This was even more true my second year of college as I no longer had a "meal plan" so I couldn't afford to eat on campus. I also couldn't afford to eat out often.
That year I also got a bike (an awesome pastel pink cruiser that I still own and adore). I no longer stayed out all hours of the night (like freshmen do.) I had real classes that required some sort of real sleep. And most importantly, I found my first gym buddy (love you, Courtney Jo). We met up at the campus gym several times a week. It's amazing how a little accountability and healthy competition can motivate you to actually follow through with good goals. She was someone I could talk to while I ran to get my mind off of the running.
Running for me is a lot like acting like an adult (I say acting because being an adult, and ACTING like an adult are 2 totally different things). Like running, acting like an adult is not something I am naturally good at. It's not something I'd say I enjoy, but when I force myself to make good choices, I am slowly transformed. It feels less awkward. It gradually moves from something you have to make yourself do, to something that you don't have to really think about. It becomes your norm. This isn't something I am able to do in and of myself. It requires something greater than me. It requires Jesus.
My consistency with running ebbs and flows. It's probably safe to say my consistency with acting like an adult does as well. But I have found that in order to maintain this discipline, I need backup. It starts with making up your own mind but in my experience, it's only sustained by the help of others. We all need each other. We need people who are like-minded, cheering us on. We need to be cheerleaders as well, like a running buddy. And how about another cheesy metaphor to top it off? We not only need running buddies or cheerleaders, we need a coach. (Yep, that's the Jesus part.) For me, it is best if I take it step by step, one day at a time. (Sometimes I have to take acting like an adult one moment at a time. . . especially since I've become a mother. . . but again, that's for another post).
This morning I woke up and ran. Derek woke up earlier and ran first. So this morning when it was my turn, as much as I wanted to roll over and get that extra 30 minutes of sleep, I didn't because he didn't. I am not as strong as I was before I had Lucy. She is almost 6 months old and I am still further behind in my running than I'd like to be. But I got up. I ran today. And you know what? I'm pretty damn proud of that. During my run, I hated every minute of it. But as soon as I was finished, the endorphins kicked in. Energy rushed through me and I was WIDE AWAKE, ready for the day. I took a cold shower and felt my sweaty skin steam in it. I love that feeling.
You've probably figured out by now that I hate running. But I LOVE the way I feel AFTER a good run. That's what makes me struggle through the work of it - the reward. It makes me proud (like "I AM A WARRIOR" proud). It makes me feel alive, even the ache after. It makes me not "need" coffee. It clears my mind and relieves my stress. There are so many good things that come from the discipline of running and it's for those things that I keep at it. There are so many good things that come from the discipline of acting like an adult, and it's for those things that I keep at it.
If you are not a runner, I urge you to try it. Run. Release. Feel - even if it's pain. Because feeling something unpleasant is better than feeling nothing at all. And in life - RUN YOUR HEART OUT. Or better yet, RUN YOUR ASS OFF! (But not all of it, because there's nothin' wrong with having some ass left to grab on to.) SPRINT! Run to the point that your lungs are burning from within you. . . or jog. Or glide. Whatever you do, do so intentionally. I think you'll find that you are capable of more than you imagined. I think you'll find that you secretly start to want to run, or be, or love, or do a number of things that make us vulnerable. That make us connected. That make us healthy.
I am NOT a runner. But I run anyway.
(Picture taken with my friend Jessi after my first 5k. Jessi IS a runner)
". . . let us also lay aside every weight, and sin which clings so closely, and let us run with endurance the race that is set before us, looking to Jesus, the founder and perfecter of our faith. . ."
-Hebrews 12:1b - 2a
Wednesday, June 11, 2014
My First Tattoo
"YOU have a tattoo?!"
I love getting that reaction from people when they see it on my foot. Yes, I have a tattoo. Let me tell you about it.
I got it when I was 18 years old, in 2004. One day while at school, shortly after my dear friend, Shannon's 18th birthday, I told her I'd buy her a tattoo to celebrate the occasion and I'd get one too! We drove to "Smokin' Joes" after school that same day. We had to drive to TX since they were still illegal in OK at the time.
Before we left town, I had to drive through the bank to get some cash. I remember that part because that was when I called my mom (on my old-school Nokia cell phone) to tell her what we had decided to do. She seemed fine with it. Our conversation was brief because she was working.
We were off! We giggled the whole way, talking about what we were going to get. They would be matching, of course. And I decided I'd let Shannon pick it out since it was for her birthday, after all. (Only an 18 year old agrees to letting someone else pick something that goes on their body permanently.)
When we arrived at Smokin' Joes they asked us what we wanted. We didn't know. We looked at the designs on the walls for a while and Shannon picked a flower. Sure, why not? So we got matching flowers right on the top of our right foot. We took pictures of each other getting our new tats on a disposable camera.
It didn't take very long and it wasn't as painful as I had imagined. We walked out of there feeling VERY cool. . . or at least, I did. On the drive home it started to dawn on me: this flower was going to be on my foot, FOREVER! It's not going to come off! Is this still going to be cool when I'm 28? 38? 88?! I never mentioned a word of this to Shannon but I was panicking inside. Some other thoughts I hadn't considered before: "What was my grandma going to say? Or all the adults at church? What is this going to look like when I'm a grandma someday? Oh crap, MY GRANDMA!! Are tattoos a sin?" (Keep in mind, these were questions in 18 year old Nancy's head).
I dropped Shannon off and we showed her mom. She didn't seem too thrilled but I may have read into this since she didn't say much at all. What was done was done. I then went home and waited for my mom to come home. When she did I jumped up to show her my foot. SHE WAS LIVID! Come to find out, my mom thought I was joking when I called to tell her my plans . . . Whoops.
(Side-note: If you ask my mom today, she will deny this part, as our memories of this event remain very different.)
I was mortified with my mom's reaction. So, like with all things in high school, I called my youth minister, Jeremy.
(Side-note 2: I still call Jeremy from time to time to talk about life's issues.)
Me (sobbing): "Jeremy, what do you think about tattoos?"
Jeremy: "From the sounds of it, it doesn't really matter what I think about them. Why don't you come over and show us."
So I did. I went and showed them my foot but I was a little ashamed to show his daughters.
Jeremy told me to stop hiding my foot under his coffee table and get over it. I had done it. It was too late to worry about it now.
The next day at school was much more fun than that first evening home with it. I LOVED hearing everyone's shocked reaction that we had gotten tattoos. We were, after all, "goody-goody" and this was very unlike what people thought we would do. I think that was part of the reason I wanted a tattoo. It seemed bold and daring and even a little rebellious. Living most of my life "straight-laced," it was fun to get a rise out of people. I had made a lot of the decisions in my life considering what I should do, or what others thought I should do. It was a little fun to be on the other side of that. Until my grandma saw it.
I don't remember the exact timing of when she saw it, but I remember how I felt. I was outside watering the grass for my mom and my grandma came out of her house (next door). I was barefoot. I walked over without thinking to greet her and then as I approached her, I remembered. Too late. She saw it as I went in to hug her and she squeezed me a little tighter than normal. She held me for a second and said "No matter what you ever do, you know I will always love you." We both knew what that meant and she has never mentioned my tattoo directly. I was relieved with how she responded to finding out but part of me felt like I had disappointed her, and I hated that. I still remember the knot in my stomach as we hugged.
A few months after I got the flower, I decided to add a verse beneath it. I wanted my tattoo to say something about me, personally. I picked Isaiah 40:8 which says "The grass withers and the flowers fade, but the Lord remains forever."
I like this verse for 3 reasons:
1) I believe this verse to be true
2) It mentions a flower so I felt that tied in well
3) It's kind of ironic (being a permanent tattoo and all)
FAST FORWARD 2 YEARS TO 2006. Derek and I had been dating for about a year and were driving somewhere. Tattoos had just become legal in Oklahoma (I think we were one of the last states if not THE last state to legalize tattoos). As result, there were tattoo parlors going up like hot cakes! There was a billboard in Ardmore for a tattoo place called "Wookies" in Mansville. It said the following: "Do something awesome with your best friend!" When Derek saw it, he laughed out loud and said, "Who would do that?! Who would go get a matching tattoo with their friend?" Then he remembered my first tattoo story. . . I would. I would go and do something like that, and I did.
I love this story because it is one of the few times in our relationship where Derek was the one putting his foot in his mouth. ;)
When I talk about my tattoo now, people often ask me if I regret getting it. Nope. Not at all. I have seen my tattoo create opportunities for me to talk to people that might not have happened otherwise. It's amazing how people will open up once they feel like you have common ground. I have even gotten additional tattoos since then. And will probably get more.
I also don't regret getting a matching tattoo with Shannon. Although we do not get to see each other as often as I'd like, I still consider her a friend and love having this memory with her. We've known each other since we were 6ish. She is a good woman and has always been a friend to me. I have so many memories with her and most of my fond high school memories include her. She was my best friend then and is still a treasure to me now.
I wish I had a picture from the day we got our matching tattoos. I'll have to dig one up soon. This is a photo of my flower tattoo next to my college roomie's ankle tat. (College girls take lots of pictures of lots of random things. This is one of those.)
When I first wrote this post, I ended with the photo. But after giving it some thought, I began to realize why I wanted to share about my tattoo in the first place. If you notice, all I talk about is people's reactions to it. I think my tattoo means so much to me now because of that. Not so much the random people who see it on my less pedicured 28 year old foot, but the ones who saw it in the beginning, shook their heads at me, hugged me, and loved me in spite of it. It serves as a little permanent reminder of the people in my life truly love me. Impulsive 18 year old me, and the sometimes still impulsive 28 year old me - they are both loved, equally. It's kind of like this blog. I know that some people will not like everything that I type, but there remains a select few that will shake their heads at me and still want to hug me and love me. Even if they completely disagree with me. That is so special and freeing, to be loved like that. To know that no matter what silly thing you do (or permanent decision you make), you have people in your corner, cheering you on and doing life with you.
So to those of you (my grandma, Jeremy, and others) who love me in spite of my unconventional, irrational, emotional and sometimes just plain stupid ways, THANK YOU. Thank you for giving me the courage to believe I am loveable. You are a godsend and I know that you are storing up great treasures in heaven for loving this little sheep.
I love getting that reaction from people when they see it on my foot. Yes, I have a tattoo. Let me tell you about it.
I got it when I was 18 years old, in 2004. One day while at school, shortly after my dear friend, Shannon's 18th birthday, I told her I'd buy her a tattoo to celebrate the occasion and I'd get one too! We drove to "Smokin' Joes" after school that same day. We had to drive to TX since they were still illegal in OK at the time.
Before we left town, I had to drive through the bank to get some cash. I remember that part because that was when I called my mom (on my old-school Nokia cell phone) to tell her what we had decided to do. She seemed fine with it. Our conversation was brief because she was working.
We were off! We giggled the whole way, talking about what we were going to get. They would be matching, of course. And I decided I'd let Shannon pick it out since it was for her birthday, after all. (Only an 18 year old agrees to letting someone else pick something that goes on their body permanently.)
When we arrived at Smokin' Joes they asked us what we wanted. We didn't know. We looked at the designs on the walls for a while and Shannon picked a flower. Sure, why not? So we got matching flowers right on the top of our right foot. We took pictures of each other getting our new tats on a disposable camera.
It didn't take very long and it wasn't as painful as I had imagined. We walked out of there feeling VERY cool. . . or at least, I did. On the drive home it started to dawn on me: this flower was going to be on my foot, FOREVER! It's not going to come off! Is this still going to be cool when I'm 28? 38? 88?! I never mentioned a word of this to Shannon but I was panicking inside. Some other thoughts I hadn't considered before: "What was my grandma going to say? Or all the adults at church? What is this going to look like when I'm a grandma someday? Oh crap, MY GRANDMA!! Are tattoos a sin?" (Keep in mind, these were questions in 18 year old Nancy's head).
I dropped Shannon off and we showed her mom. She didn't seem too thrilled but I may have read into this since she didn't say much at all. What was done was done. I then went home and waited for my mom to come home. When she did I jumped up to show her my foot. SHE WAS LIVID! Come to find out, my mom thought I was joking when I called to tell her my plans . . . Whoops.
(Side-note: If you ask my mom today, she will deny this part, as our memories of this event remain very different.)
I was mortified with my mom's reaction. So, like with all things in high school, I called my youth minister, Jeremy.
(Side-note 2: I still call Jeremy from time to time to talk about life's issues.)
Me (sobbing): "Jeremy, what do you think about tattoos?"
Jeremy: "From the sounds of it, it doesn't really matter what I think about them. Why don't you come over and show us."
So I did. I went and showed them my foot but I was a little ashamed to show his daughters.
Jeremy told me to stop hiding my foot under his coffee table and get over it. I had done it. It was too late to worry about it now.
The next day at school was much more fun than that first evening home with it. I LOVED hearing everyone's shocked reaction that we had gotten tattoos. We were, after all, "goody-goody" and this was very unlike what people thought we would do. I think that was part of the reason I wanted a tattoo. It seemed bold and daring and even a little rebellious. Living most of my life "straight-laced," it was fun to get a rise out of people. I had made a lot of the decisions in my life considering what I should do, or what others thought I should do. It was a little fun to be on the other side of that. Until my grandma saw it.
I don't remember the exact timing of when she saw it, but I remember how I felt. I was outside watering the grass for my mom and my grandma came out of her house (next door). I was barefoot. I walked over without thinking to greet her and then as I approached her, I remembered. Too late. She saw it as I went in to hug her and she squeezed me a little tighter than normal. She held me for a second and said "No matter what you ever do, you know I will always love you." We both knew what that meant and she has never mentioned my tattoo directly. I was relieved with how she responded to finding out but part of me felt like I had disappointed her, and I hated that. I still remember the knot in my stomach as we hugged.
A few months after I got the flower, I decided to add a verse beneath it. I wanted my tattoo to say something about me, personally. I picked Isaiah 40:8 which says "The grass withers and the flowers fade, but the Lord remains forever."
I like this verse for 3 reasons:
1) I believe this verse to be true
2) It mentions a flower so I felt that tied in well
3) It's kind of ironic (being a permanent tattoo and all)
FAST FORWARD 2 YEARS TO 2006. Derek and I had been dating for about a year and were driving somewhere. Tattoos had just become legal in Oklahoma (I think we were one of the last states if not THE last state to legalize tattoos). As result, there were tattoo parlors going up like hot cakes! There was a billboard in Ardmore for a tattoo place called "Wookies" in Mansville. It said the following: "Do something awesome with your best friend!" When Derek saw it, he laughed out loud and said, "Who would do that?! Who would go get a matching tattoo with their friend?" Then he remembered my first tattoo story. . . I would. I would go and do something like that, and I did.
I love this story because it is one of the few times in our relationship where Derek was the one putting his foot in his mouth. ;)
When I talk about my tattoo now, people often ask me if I regret getting it. Nope. Not at all. I have seen my tattoo create opportunities for me to talk to people that might not have happened otherwise. It's amazing how people will open up once they feel like you have common ground. I have even gotten additional tattoos since then. And will probably get more.
I also don't regret getting a matching tattoo with Shannon. Although we do not get to see each other as often as I'd like, I still consider her a friend and love having this memory with her. We've known each other since we were 6ish. She is a good woman and has always been a friend to me. I have so many memories with her and most of my fond high school memories include her. She was my best friend then and is still a treasure to me now.
When I first wrote this post, I ended with the photo. But after giving it some thought, I began to realize why I wanted to share about my tattoo in the first place. If you notice, all I talk about is people's reactions to it. I think my tattoo means so much to me now because of that. Not so much the random people who see it on my less pedicured 28 year old foot, but the ones who saw it in the beginning, shook their heads at me, hugged me, and loved me in spite of it. It serves as a little permanent reminder of the people in my life truly love me. Impulsive 18 year old me, and the sometimes still impulsive 28 year old me - they are both loved, equally. It's kind of like this blog. I know that some people will not like everything that I type, but there remains a select few that will shake their heads at me and still want to hug me and love me. Even if they completely disagree with me. That is so special and freeing, to be loved like that. To know that no matter what silly thing you do (or permanent decision you make), you have people in your corner, cheering you on and doing life with you.
So to those of you (my grandma, Jeremy, and others) who love me in spite of my unconventional, irrational, emotional and sometimes just plain stupid ways, THANK YOU. Thank you for giving me the courage to believe I am loveable. You are a godsend and I know that you are storing up great treasures in heaven for loving this little sheep.
Friday, June 6, 2014
Keep Me Where the Light Is
In light of recent events in my life, I have been doing a lot of thinking about darkness. . . hah, started this post off with an unintended pun.
In our home we have a picture of a ship's wheel with a verse underneath it. The picture isn't my favorite. To be honest, it was one the things that Derek owned when we got married and he wanted to keep it and I didn't. So, naturally, it hangs in my bathroom. (That right there says a lot about me as a wife, huh?)
Anyway, I'm getting side tracked again. Under the wheel is this verse: "I will guide you. I will turn darkness into light before you and make the rough places smooth." - Isaiah 42:16
I've read this verse so many times while using the restroom. (I doubt Isaiah had that picture in mind when the Lord revealed to him these words.)
"I will TURN darkness into light." Think about that for a moment. I've been thinking about that a lot this week. You see, there is a very dark and heavy something on my heart. Something very specific that I am not at liberty to talk about (that whole not exploiting those I love thing) and it has caused me to really consider this verse.
At first I thought the dark and heaviness on my heart was there as a result of someone else's actions. Someone did or is doing something that caused me great sorrow. And in the middle of my flailing about in the dark, throwing a fit, and crying out to the Lord about it, it hit me (God hit me): The darkness was there because I was allowing it to be.
You see, friends, Jesus is the light (see John 8:12). And since Jesus lives inside of me, the light lives inside of me, meaning I am also the light. What is darkness? The absence of light. Where Jesus is, there is no darkness. That is how God "turns darkness into light." Therefore, where I am, there is no darkness (as long as I am allowing the light inside of me to shine). This may sound super cheese-ball to you, but it is actually quite freeing when you begin to live in it.
No matter where I go or what I do (or what others do, for that matter), I am not to be afraid of the darkness because I am the light. The dark circumstances do not change, but my focus does. Instead of keeping my eyes, heart, and attention on all the dark around, I have the FREEDOM to CHOOSE to keep my eyes, heart, mind, soul and attention on the light within me. That's where I want to be. That's how this world and even those I love have no power over me. Or better, over the Christ within me.
When you are in the dark, the light is annoying as hell (but that's a totally different post). But when you are in the light, you recognize the beauty of the light. It is warm. It is liberating. It is necessary, like air.
My husband realized this paradigm long before I did. I have had glimpses of it but I'm a slow learner. . . I have to relearn things over and over again. And thankfully, God is my patient teacher.
Unlike myself, Derek is a quick learner. He is a principles guy. He is also a writer. I'd call myself a rambler or really good bullshitter. Derek, on the other hand, has a beautiful gift. God gives him songs and other writings that sometimes never turn into songs, but they are beautiful nonetheless. His words are lovely and deep and it is one of the things I adore most about my man (and watching God bless others through this gift). Below you will find one of these writings and I believe it says so eloquently all of the mess I've been trying to say this whole post. He wrote it in 2010ish. I hope it blesses your heart because I know it has mine.
"So charge into the black
Plunge into the deepest darkness
For its only weapon against you is uncertainty that is, in fact, a lie
For the name inscribed on your chest is a certainty
The certainty that is truth regardless of perception
The truth is that this and all darkness is no match for the light that rest in your heart.
And it will burst forth in exactly the right time
You have no responsibility to produce the light that shatters the darkness
Only, as it gives you the life to do so,
To carry it."
-Derek Lehman
(picture taken by Jeff Reed)
In our home we have a picture of a ship's wheel with a verse underneath it. The picture isn't my favorite. To be honest, it was one the things that Derek owned when we got married and he wanted to keep it and I didn't. So, naturally, it hangs in my bathroom. (That right there says a lot about me as a wife, huh?)
Anyway, I'm getting side tracked again. Under the wheel is this verse: "I will guide you. I will turn darkness into light before you and make the rough places smooth." - Isaiah 42:16
I've read this verse so many times while using the restroom. (I doubt Isaiah had that picture in mind when the Lord revealed to him these words.)
"I will TURN darkness into light." Think about that for a moment. I've been thinking about that a lot this week. You see, there is a very dark and heavy something on my heart. Something very specific that I am not at liberty to talk about (that whole not exploiting those I love thing) and it has caused me to really consider this verse.
At first I thought the dark and heaviness on my heart was there as a result of someone else's actions. Someone did or is doing something that caused me great sorrow. And in the middle of my flailing about in the dark, throwing a fit, and crying out to the Lord about it, it hit me (God hit me): The darkness was there because I was allowing it to be.
You see, friends, Jesus is the light (see John 8:12). And since Jesus lives inside of me, the light lives inside of me, meaning I am also the light. What is darkness? The absence of light. Where Jesus is, there is no darkness. That is how God "turns darkness into light." Therefore, where I am, there is no darkness (as long as I am allowing the light inside of me to shine). This may sound super cheese-ball to you, but it is actually quite freeing when you begin to live in it.
No matter where I go or what I do (or what others do, for that matter), I am not to be afraid of the darkness because I am the light. The dark circumstances do not change, but my focus does. Instead of keeping my eyes, heart, and attention on all the dark around, I have the FREEDOM to CHOOSE to keep my eyes, heart, mind, soul and attention on the light within me. That's where I want to be. That's how this world and even those I love have no power over me. Or better, over the Christ within me.
When you are in the dark, the light is annoying as hell (but that's a totally different post). But when you are in the light, you recognize the beauty of the light. It is warm. It is liberating. It is necessary, like air.
My husband realized this paradigm long before I did. I have had glimpses of it but I'm a slow learner. . . I have to relearn things over and over again. And thankfully, God is my patient teacher.
Unlike myself, Derek is a quick learner. He is a principles guy. He is also a writer. I'd call myself a rambler or really good bullshitter. Derek, on the other hand, has a beautiful gift. God gives him songs and other writings that sometimes never turn into songs, but they are beautiful nonetheless. His words are lovely and deep and it is one of the things I adore most about my man (and watching God bless others through this gift). Below you will find one of these writings and I believe it says so eloquently all of the mess I've been trying to say this whole post. He wrote it in 2010ish. I hope it blesses your heart because I know it has mine.
"So charge into the black
Plunge into the deepest darkness
For its only weapon against you is uncertainty that is, in fact, a lie
For the name inscribed on your chest is a certainty
The certainty that is truth regardless of perception
The truth is that this and all darkness is no match for the light that rest in your heart.
And it will burst forth in exactly the right time
You have no responsibility to produce the light that shatters the darkness
Only, as it gives you the life to do so,
To carry it."
-Derek Lehman
(picture taken by Jeff Reed)
Thursday, June 5, 2014
Let's Get It Started!
Nothin' like a good "Black Eyed Peas" song title to kick of a blog! Am I right? Actually, I don't listen to much of their music but when it comes on the radio, I can't help but dance. I love to dance. It's good for my soul.
I'm starting this blog on a whim. Like just about every other human, my life is full of messy, hard shit. And sometimes it helps me be able to turn my brain off at night if I have written in my journal or vented to a loved one. Well, my journal has a stack of dust on it that would make a mite foam at the mouth and my husband, Derek, usually falls asleep in the middle of my rants so. . . sorry internet, you're up!
A lot of people have asked me what my blog is going to be about (and by a lot I mean two co-workers and Derek), and the truth is, I have no idea. I guess it's going to be about me.
I want to live more openly. I'm not talking about the kind of open where someone is not afraid to speak their mind; I've pretty much mastered that. You know the old saying, "open mouth, insert foot." Yeah, I'm one of those people. So that's not what I mean but rather, open to the point where I am sharing my struggles and growth in the rawest way I can (without exploiting my loved ones, of course. . . but the unloved ones, Psht! Stay tuned for some major exploitation! Juuuust kidding.)
Well, this is probably the world's worst introductory blog ever written but it took me about 75 minutes to decide on a background and I have yet to eat dinner. And holy crap!! I just glanced at the clock on my computer and it is 9:59! For a mother of very young children, that's about when I turn back into a pumpkin.
Turning into a pumpkin runs in the family.
Here is a picture of my oldest sweetie, sound asleep.
Ester, age (almost) 3
P.S. I let her pick her own bedding. . . don't judge.
I'm starting this blog on a whim. Like just about every other human, my life is full of messy, hard shit. And sometimes it helps me be able to turn my brain off at night if I have written in my journal or vented to a loved one. Well, my journal has a stack of dust on it that would make a mite foam at the mouth and my husband, Derek, usually falls asleep in the middle of my rants so. . . sorry internet, you're up!
A lot of people have asked me what my blog is going to be about (and by a lot I mean two co-workers and Derek), and the truth is, I have no idea. I guess it's going to be about me.
I want to live more openly. I'm not talking about the kind of open where someone is not afraid to speak their mind; I've pretty much mastered that. You know the old saying, "open mouth, insert foot." Yeah, I'm one of those people. So that's not what I mean but rather, open to the point where I am sharing my struggles and growth in the rawest way I can (without exploiting my loved ones, of course. . . but the unloved ones, Psht! Stay tuned for some major exploitation! Juuuust kidding.)
Well, this is probably the world's worst introductory blog ever written but it took me about 75 minutes to decide on a background and I have yet to eat dinner. And holy crap!! I just glanced at the clock on my computer and it is 9:59! For a mother of very young children, that's about when I turn back into a pumpkin.
Turning into a pumpkin runs in the family.
Here is a picture of my oldest sweetie, sound asleep.
Ester, age (almost) 3
P.S. I let her pick her own bedding. . . don't judge.
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