People Rich

Today I worked out with my future, or at least what I hope my future to be. So let me explain. We joined a wellness center a few weeks ago and I go all by myself sometimes.  (Someone reading that is cheering for me. I know you are.)

I know what you are thinking, especially if you Crossfit. I realize we have a fully functioning Crossfit garage gym.  It's just this. I came to the realization that I desire to do WODs by myself. You know, drop it like its hot. So my husband and I decided it was more safe for me to go and work out with the geriatric group at the wellness center than lie face down knocked out by something I tried. The last place the EMS folks would look would be the garage, and so I would lie there, out cold, blood streaming from my head, which I whacked on the iron cage as I fell from pull ups. (Save the drama for yer mama.)

Also we like to do family swims and kids classes, etc. We like to move it. (I like to move it move it.) I keep telling my husband that 2014 is his breakout year. I know he's a few years older than a traditional baseball breakout year- whatever dude. This is the year he's swimming in a speedo. He's putting it on and we will swim. (I feel his foot traveling all the way through this computer from his place of work to squash my plan.  Hey, just saying all the men wear speedos there.  Dress the part, yo.)

You see there are these groups of delightful older folks that workout there. Men that strut their stuff in their speedos. (I want to say, yes, you have done a good job at keeping that rear tight and high, but friend, prancing like a gorilla is just a bit much.) Sweet little women that just smile and workout together. All shapes and sizes but perhaps determined to stay out of a nursing home? I'd say they've done it.

And so I count myself blessed working out alongside them. These older folks, they know what's up. I want to go hug all these sweet ladies and tell them I think they are great but I hold back.  That even though they are well-passed retirement age they still come to work out. Daily. Social hour. (I have spoken about naked social hour afterwards- so much nakedness…my motherboard in my head is currently deleting the post workout locker room scenes.)  

Today I overheard one lady say to another how hard it is to loose weight the older you get.  She was doing Weight Watchers and had lost 7 pounds.  (I wanted to hug her but we were in the hot tub.  And officially I was not in this conversation.  So I regress…)

Like the elderly lady who started rowing on the machine that faced mine.  I smiled at her when she finished and said, "Great workout." (because I sometimes ignore the teachings of my parents- I always talk to strangers.)  Then she started talking.  I realized I was not dealing with a native speaker.  Many of you don't know I speak ESL- yes- it's a language program but it's also a patient, slow, enunciating form of speech that I am fairly good at.  So I was listening to her in one ear, while the other ear "apple bottom jeans" was playing, all while rowing.  My 5,000m row made her say something, of which I responded, "good job".  Who knows.  I fall back on "A smile means the same in every language."  I watched her leave in her Camry smiling.  (Because when you row for that long, you find anything you possibly can to watch).  Precious lady.

Some of my new found heroes work out alongside me during these morning visits.  The older man with the prosthetic leg who walked with a limp and a cane.  He walked around that track steady, consistent, slowly, for 30 minutes.  (I timed him.  Bad habit of mine.  But that man was determined and I love him for it.)  

I suppose I'm curious of their stories. Their backgrounds filling novels. Heartache. Pain. Delight. Regret. Joy. I feel the discrimination of older folks. I know it happens. Sometimes, I think we are missing out on richness.

Our kids studied about Martin Luther King Jr. last week.  We reminded ourselves of how significant that was and it's impact today.  My dad held the door for him in Memphis in the 1960's before one of his speeches to a mass audience.

I explained to the girls about segregation. They can't comprehend it. My mom taught in a segregated school and semi-retired a few years ago. She lived this history- both sides of this story. 

People make history alive. I have slim chances of winning the lottery, but I am people rich. 

I value a good story. The redemptive story of the Bible- how God wove Jesus throughout the Old and New Testament, as a Rescuer. The story of the world. The beginning, the middle and the ending.

I am a part of this bigger picture. I feel it. My insignificant position here on earth is one touched by God himself, making my time here valuable. Treasured. Counted. Passing. Glorious.   

I'll continue surrounding myself with people, especially those older ones.  (Extra credit if they're spicy.)  For certain I'm only getting richer.  

My Homemade Deodorant Recipe

Several people have asked for this recipe.  I promise (wow that's strong), well, I heavily suggest you will love it.  I stuffed it in a regular empty deodorant container and roll it up bit by bit.  It doesn't take much.  You can buy empty containers on Amazon.  Haven't looked back.  Someone very close to me agreed to smell my pits.  (Not my husband but someone else who really loves me- ignore all that if you're grossed out.)  Totally clean according to our very scientific smell test.  So, here it is!

1/4 cup Arrowroot powder (look online or at your nearest Whole Paycheck, I mean Whole Foods)
1/4 cup baking soda
4T coconut oil
10 drops lavender essential oil (optional- I don't add it though)

Mix all ingredients in your mixer.  I use my KitchenAid stand mixer.  (Hey, "they" say if you can't eat it, don't put it on your body!)

Can't Keep Up

I have a confession.  I am a wanna-be homesteader.  I love the idea of farm living, living off the land and the freedom that comes from self-sustainability.  Perhaps it's the work involved that holds me back. Or the fact that chickens are a definite no-no in our neighborhood.  (HOA holding me back) Or that I can't seem to keep my garden alive, as hard as I try, as much as I read, and as hard as my husband preps the garden (as I watch from the window).  Those little plants always die.

So I try to do things they do, you know, low-key effort.  Like follow the recipes and I read the books.  I follow the blogs, these famous folks on Facebook, Pinterest, etc, but I'm finding...

I can't keep up.

As soon as I finally found a french press for my organic fair trade coffee, appropriately ground of course at the Costco, and as I'm sipping the best dang coffee I've ever had in my whole dang life, I read they are roasting and grinding their own beans.  What the heck?

I find and use my own homemade deodorant, the husband still not on board, but my mama is and has her Zumba instructor using it and singing it's praises.  I sweat like a beast and don't have any odor.  (Both of those held in tandem are truly amazing.) Then I read they also make their own personal hygiene products. For down there.  I don't care who you are, that's intense.

I do a good job at buying my two-pack of chicken from Costco, roast it, make the broth (including dumping that "stuff" in that baggie from the inside of the chicken- you know- the stuff you don't want to look at but they say you need to eat it.  They scoff at wasting it…so I do it.  Yeah, please don't tell my family.)

Then I read they have a so-called "butcher day"- they butcher their own chickens- their named chickens!  That right there is over-the-top- eating your pets?  Committed.

I buy the safe kinds of cleaner, because you know, once you start down this bunny trail, you just can't stop.  You learn about cleaners, safety, and you think of your husband growing man boobs and a softer voice, and even thinking of him going through that terrifies you. You realize with three females in this house there is no room at the inn.  (As much as we do love our estrogen.)

Then you read these Suzie Homemakers are making their own cleaner, from their filtered urine, just to be ready in case of a zombie apocalypse.  (I made that up, but I'm sure someone out there has thought of that genius idea.)

I ask my husband to find healthy meds for the girls- you know- for the occasional cough, cold, what have you.  We find the natural ones.  I'm feeling good.  These women are harvesting their own herbals in their multi-acre gardens to concoct their own formulas with their mortar and pestles.  They even found unicorn tears to add, only the best for their little girls.

So there you have it, folks.  I admire them but I cannot keep up.

As a matter of fact, one of the biggest reasons I love homeschool is my children are on their own path, studying where they need to be, at their own speed.  The only standard of comparison is their yearly testing- my report card- which only my husband and I see.

But sometimes, dear friends, doubt sets in.  I look around me- I'm friends with all walks of life.  I don't look like anyone else.  While I usually maintain a steady pace running with my callings, sometimes (lean in for this one real close), sometimes I look around and question.  Too liberal for this group, too conservative for this one, too fixy for one, too frugal for this one. (Expensive people are hard to keep up with and have a different language)

Y'all, I love all my people but I'm not a groupie.  

I humbly accept the fact that I am an individual.  My God is a relationship.  My remade identity.  My path with Him is a beautiful one, set apart from the entire world, with identity crisis's built it, so that I may look to Him.  I turn to His face daily and ask for some guidance.  He turns to me and says He's so glad I asked, He smiles, I feel His love and peace, and He always answers.

While I love to look around and admire His beauty in those around me, their stories, their lives, it's meant to reflect His glory.  To criticize someone's path is a reflection on my heart- a shifting of confidence from the eternal to the temporary.  When my path is criticized, I pray He shoots an arrows straight to my heart, "Carla, you are made for more." (Or the one he told me just yesterday was, "Consider the source- lack of confidence in Me."  God, I'll humbly take it.)

So I'll keep marching, running, sometimes crawling to the beat of my own drum (with my homemade deodorant smeared on my pits).  It's more fun to dance like no one's watching anyway.

Broken, Not Damaged

It's a rainy day and the girls upstairs are with their friends, sounding like they are about to fall straight through the floor in their imaginative adventure story, pant legs still wet from jumping in puddles outside nearly an hour ago.  Why?  They said they just had to.

I love the independence of their ages, and the willingness to be silly at the drop of a hat.  I love the freedom they feel to dress in multicolored outfits, skort on top of pants, with ballet skirt on top of it all.  Throw a tank top over that shirt (for more color please) and let's go shopping.  All shades of pink and purple match, in case you needed schooling.  (Keep that priceless bit of fashion advice in mind, will you.)

I loved Christmas shopping this year.  I started way earlier than usual, and just got so much joy buying things this Christmas.  Perhaps it's more righteous to say we don't celebrate Santa (in fact all magical creatures are welcome here and we will lie as long as we are able thank you very much) or that my girls only got two or three presents.  Furthest from the truth- we gave thoughtful gifts they truly loved and appreciated, some from the big guy himself.  We try our darn best to put Jesus first, but I counted more than three.  (Three comes to mind from that Pin on Pinterest that lots of folks thought was a good idea- perhaps it is- maybe next year but probably not.)

One of those gifts was super special.  I didn't realize how special it was until I walked around Target with this gift- an RV trailer that attaches to a Jeep, for American Girl dolls.  It came complete with ribbon tied curtains and cutlery sets, canisters for food storage and a bench that converts to a bed with accessorized throw pillows.  I giggled with delight when I rounded the aisle and saw there was one left.    God placed it there just for me, I know he did.

I drove all around Target with that in my cart.  As women passed, they checked my cart out.  One woman took a long look and walked away without saying anything, but several women just couldn't help commenting.  We all agreed that it was an amazing gift, one that we would have wanted as little girls.  One mom said she wished she had girls, and I understood.  They really are awesome.

I love having girls so much because I am learning increasing amounts about myself.  I realized just this Christmas, more than ever, that as women we are all little girls.  Now we might try to act mature and controlled (perhaps this is a good thing emotionally so we don't wave our freak flags in particular places), or maybe in some circles I've been in we try to act like we have it all together.

But there's this thing inside of us, wanting to wear the tutu, wanting to dance in the rain, and wanting to just let go and be.

I've read those blogs and books about giving girls strong role models, the princess fascination is creating little minds thinking the world revolves around them.  I get that and love the heart behind it.

This runs deeper than outside appearance, or relationship to others, it runs straight to our existence.  

I'm talking about little girl discoveries, adventures, imaginations, fingerpainting with colors not meant to be put together, forgetting that the world is watching, and that tutu- well daddy thinks I look beautiful because he told me so.  I'm beautiful.  I'm worthy.  Because he loves me.  

I was talking to a dear friend recently, how we get arrows thrown at us as the years pass.  We grow up with wounds that sometimes don't truly heal when we get to be adults.  Sometimes when we get to be to "the age" that we should have it all together, things don't seem all together.  In fact, putting things together seems further from reality than once thought.

So these wounds get hidden, and maybe sometimes we feel like damaged goods, like maybe like a dinged can at the grocery store.  Put your best foot forward.  Hide those flaws.  Best side toward the world, and remember double chin awareness, just like Oprah said.  If you have kids, the tendency to be strong for them and hide these "issues", well, that just seems best.

I've found the truth comes to the light, and this truth, this God truth, is gracious, kind, loving, and doesn't condemn.  Instead he gently guides, gently speaks, and practices tough love.  In fact, I've found he doesn't tolerate bad self talk.  (I might be speaking from experience.)

My ill-matched attempts at trying to put myself together are met with loving words and I hear the words, "You are beautiful" all over the place- like just today in the words of my daughter, "you are precious, mommy" because those girls are gifts.  They are open hand gifts designed to bless not to burden.

So if you need me, I will be upstairs, in the all pink-clad room, sitting on the floor, making a gourmet lunch before we go to exotic locations, like Myrtle Beach, in the RV.  (Hey, I never said we were world travelers…)

Letting it all go, enjoying God and his blessings, alongside my girls, like my Creator wants me to.  Not damaged.  Just my ego a little bit more broken, heart open, ready to be put together by the One who knows me best.

A Wish is a Dream Your Heart Makes

Tonight at the dinner table, my littlest asks me, "Mommy, do wishes come true?"  Before I could say anything, the oldest pipes in, and this is what she said, "Well, sister, you know I am always looking for stars to wish on every night outside of my window.  But the stars, they don't just get there by themselves.  God gives us stars to wish on.  He puts them there in the sky for us to see.  And unlike what you think, he doesn't let you wish on just one thing.  You can wish on several things.  Like I have prayed for him to renew my spirit.  Then I prayed for him to give me a pet pig.  He will answer to renew my spirit, but I'm not sure if he will give me a pig.  So it's like that- if you ask him for something like wisdom or to clean your heart, he'll give it to you.  Not always other things."

There you have it, folks.  If you ever wanted to know how Cinderella, Disney, and Jesus are married together, I hope that cleared things up for you.  A wish is a dream your heart makes alright.  I probably should add we are never too old to dream.  We are never too old.  Never. Too. Old.  Age lives in your heart.  I hope mine stays half as alive as my girls.

Bright-Eyed and Bushy-Tailed

One of my favorite songs is on a CD that Beth Moore was involved in.  (So right there you either love or don't love this song- just saying, I've met ladies who are convinced Beth loves them and know her personally, and I've met a few women who don't like being called "beloved", "precious" and touched on that level and, really, can't stand her.  I, for one, have never questioned her love for me and she prays for me by name, just to clarify my stance.  Take your side and let's continue…)

Jesus I am Resting, Resting

This traditional hymn was written in the late 1800's by a woman named Jean Sophia Pigott. She lived to be 37 years old, and this beautiful hymn has had significant meaning to persecuted missionaries, one being in China, watching fellow brothers being murdered.  Biblical rest can mean a couple of things- physical rest and the rest of your soul in the faith of God, and no doubt these missionaries knew both meanings.

I appreciate quiet times in my house.  It rarely happens, but sometimes I can get up early and tiptoe.  Saturday morning I woke up to my alarm to go to a low impact "ballet burn" class with my friend.  (It humbly burns everywhere, just to clarify.)  Brewed the coffee, had a quiet time, checked the weather.  (Typing that felt like a real adult.)  My entire family was happily asleep and it was wonderful.

You see, we're past the getting up in the wee hours of the night.  My children wake up and make their own breakfast sometimes.  They clothe themselves usually. We are settled, for the most part.  Things are relatively calm.  I have time to look around and reflect, most of the time.  I wash clothes and they get put away often.

My husband and I have been last minute planners our whole marriage but we had Christmas bought and wrapped by December 1.  Tree was up, presents wrapped, Christmas scenes portrayed a very snowy situation, lit up, with a few Barbies strategically placed by the princess brigade to join in the fun.  We went on a date that weekend and left the rest of the gingerbread house with the sitter.  (Which hindsight has revealed that was a risky move, but turned out beautifully.)  I just haven't ever been here before, so my shock for this situation is still fresh.

We have arrived at a landing spot, you see.  A recent Facebook post of mine expressing my shock and explained my current state of events- being well-rested, quiet times and the bittersweet surrounding children growing up, rest being "hugely sweet" and my contentment, peace, love.

This is the rub- resting comes from God.  It comes from trusting him, experiencing his peace and tranquility, and from being satisfied in him.  Sleeplessness comes from midnight feedings and bearing the burden when God should take over.  

I will be honest here.  There are some things that have happened in my life I just don't understand.  Some things that haven't caused happiness, but pain.

With God, underneath it all, there is joy.  

He alone can carry the burden, the pain, the situation, and give unending joy.  I've found myself sleeping well- for the first time in a few years- knowing that God is responsible for me on the deepest level yet.  This faith walk, it's a process, and my prayers have been heard.

My heart behind all of this is thankfulness.  Gratitude.  My children are happy, healthy, sleeping.  Thankful for the roof over our head and the food in the pantry.  Thankful I am alive.  Thankful for Jesus.  Thankful He is not done with me and thankful I am one day closer to meeting Him face to face, when all is said and done.

2014- Still Singing

Every year I made New Year's resolutions and try my very best to carry them out.  (Every birthday I write my eulogy, too- that happens mid-year and keeps me on track.  Sounds morbid but I often live with an end in mind and in an odd way I think this helps me.)

Last year it was "to live out loud."  So I started a blog.  I didn't start this blog to glorify myself, or have any motive in this writing other than it makes me so happy to write.  I love to connect to you when you read it.  There are a lot of readers all over the world.  I hope you feel encouraged.  I hope you feel the love God has for you.  I hope you feel uplifted. What you are reading is just an outflow of my heart, my imperfect messed up heart life flowing out of me, in the most honest and organic way I know how to write.

At the beginning of 2013, I was tired of hearing the Lord whisper in my ear, "Carla, live out loud."  I wasn't even sure at the time what he meant, so I'd answer, "OK whatever that means."  One night in March while my husband was at work, I started this blog, right after I did the dishes, of course.  It isn't much- just my ramblings, Seinfeld-life kind of stories.  It's not even fluffed up and pretty- just an open forum for me to write.  I don't climb mountains or even go camping and my cool mud run days are behind me.  (or at least I think...) But that doesn't matter; It doesn't matter how insignificant seeming your life is, as long as it makes you sing, it's important.  It's what God created you to do- glorify and enjoy Him.  

My heart sings when I blog.  I never know where my words go but sometimes I hear they speak to people.  My heart sings when I teach my children and they learn and lightbulbs go off and they make progress and sometimes I see God at work in their hearts and it's not from me.  My heart sings when I give money where I'm called to and gifts I've been given.  My heart sings when I work out and make steps to be healthy and alive in my humble garage gym and learning how to cook.  My heart sings an internal beat no one has access to seeing but my sweet Lord when I praise him.  My heart sings to connect to my Maker, to my life, to my world.  

There is something holding me back that is keeping me from fully singing.  I'm a big fan of confronting my "issues".  It hurts, but the pain draws me to a place of more intimacy, more vision of God, and for that, I will take it.  2014 is a year of letting go.

Now, I'm not sure if you approach your problems like I do, but I'm not mad at the 2013 Carla.  I think she did as good as she could with this undescribed situation I am carefully trying to describe.  I made mistakes with it, sure I did.  Did God know I would make mistakes?  He knew it while Jesus was on the cross.  With time, with prayers, I'm letting go, I'm learning and I'm trusting, and I'm falling in the shadow of the cross, knowing I'm taken care of.

I think letting go takes time and comes in phases.  2014 is a time to let go and live in a new way.

The year's budget is planned already.  I can tell you where our money is going to go January to December.  I'm in the process of planning our garage gym wods- at least the first 3 month sequence- without my husband seeing because I like to make him hurt and he won't come out to play if he knew what we are going to do.  (I type that but he's a beast- a real beast and takes everything thrown his way.)  I've penciled in adventures, plans, life to be lived in light of God's good grace.

I have a plan in place so we can be spontaneous. The biggest one is letting go of my plans and letting God fill my need of Him.  It won't be easy and I'm not sure where he will take me, but I'm stepping out, best foot forward. (which ironically is my left foot as my right one is acting up on me:)

So, this is what I've decided.  I'm approaching this plan kind of like I do with my giant roasting pan.
I love that thing.  I purchased it for $5 one year and use it weekly.  I love roasting veggies, I make
homemade french fries, I use it monthly to roast my two chickens to make meals and broth.  Large
enough for two birds, deep enough to not worry about splattering, nice big handles for heavy things,
you get the picture.  (I have a thing for kitchen products.)

Let me tell you what I did one day with that roaster.  I took it out of the oven.  I placed it on the stove
top.  I put my potholders down, got sidetracked, and I picked up the blistering hot roasting pan by
those amazing handles, and I burned the mess out of my hands.

I recovered without a trip to the urgent care, but I will never make that mistake again.  I have my
extra thick stained potholders on my hands when I roast.  I won't be grabbing those hot handles
barehanded for a long time, I hope.

The same with my heart.  I have these situations that happen, maybe you do too, that cause
unnecessary pain, distractions, heart clutter.  Clutters my thinking about the good things.  Clutters my heart's pathway to God.  Make me feel kind of yucky.  Some areas this is sin that needs confessing,
other areas it comes almost like an attack out of no where, in some areas it's a result of this fallen
world we temporally call home.  Some are wrapped up in relationships- I'm a loyal lover until the end but repetitive toxic relationships need considering in life.

If you know the pot burns you, don't grab those handles.  

I'm evaluating my plans.  I'm evaluating where I'd like God to work, well, maybe where he needs to work on me.  I'm making plans for Him to move.  I'm making plans to be closer to Him in 2014- beating down pathways to make them more open.  Avoiding situations, thoughts that clutter, staying vigilant to the end goal, and accepting the better path- the one that leads to Him.