Things I Love About Eli (15 mo.)

--  I love that when I go to get him out of his crib in the morning, he gets his blankie, puts it up on my shoulder, then reaches up to me with a huge smile.

--  I love that when he hears absolutely anything with a beat, he starts dancing--I'm talking big head and shoulder movements, a reach and pull motion with his arms alternated with some hip shaking--I know this begs for a video posting.  I'll get on it.

--  I love the way he chuckles with delight whenever you give him something to eat.

--  I love that when I cover him up late at night, he'll look up at me and smile, wave to me, then roll over and go back to sleep.

--  I love the way he nudges me out of my snobbish comfort zone when we're in public.  Sweet old ladies who try to talk to him get blank stares.  It's the indigent-looking men that I would normally never make eye-contact with that he beams at and waves to.

--  I love that his favorite things are the vacuum cleaner, the broom, the mop, kitchen utensils, and toothbrushes--especially Daddy's.  

Regret

       I am tortured by my good intentions.  I've decided I'm either going to have to find a way to follow through or lower the bar--one of the other, but I can't deal with the torment of regret any longer.  

     Being in the military, nearly every summer, friends we have grown to love move away.  Yesterday some good friends of ours kicked the dust of this small Oklahoma town off of their shoes and headed to Hawaii to go to graduate school.  After talking about doing it for months, we finally had them over for dinner a few weeks ago.  Now I have fully embraced the notion that we're not the only ones with phones, but these friends don't have kids, and we have three--little, messy ones, so it really falls to us to do the inviting.  It was great having them here.  You know there are some people you just instantly feel a connection to--call them kindred spirits.  Among those people, there are also a few you feel that God has put in your life for a reason, and they were both.  The next few weeks flew by--I made one invitation that didn't work out, and the next thing I know they're leaving town in a couple of days, and the monster's staring me in the face again.  

     It took me right back to last summer when my neighbor sat at my kitchen table drinking a cup of coffee just as I had imagined her doing many, many times before, only I had never actually invited her--at least not until the day before she moved.  We talked in the yard a lot as the kids played, we saw each other at social functions, but I had never invited her into my home.  I think it's necessary at this point to put forth a few facts about my life then--I had just had my third baby earlier that spring, motherhood was overwhelming me--some days I didn't get my teeth brushed until late afternoon--showers were even harder to come by, I was totally sleep deprived, and (this part is still true) I am a fundamentally messy person who would really like for every one to think that my house is clean and beautiful at least most of the time.  So even though I did have some legitimate reasons for being reclusive, as she sat at my table, in the middle of a painful divorce from an unfaithful husband, I knew she wouldn't have cared if my dishes had been done or even if my teeth were brushed.  And that made me sad.  Since she left, I've done the best I can to pray for her, and stay in touch via e-mail.  Certainly on some level, I was doing the best I could at the time.  But still. . . regret.

     I decided to try and do it differently this time around.  I prayed, "Lord, help me finish well."  And I think I did.  I think these friends left knowing that they were loved, and that we would keep in touch.  My hope is that we will grow closer even though we don't live in the same place anymore.

     Making that choice--to do the best I could with the time I had left, was a major shift for me that has been very empowering.  Instead of beating myself up for what I should have done, I'm focusing on not having regrets in the future.  I know I won't do everything I would like to, but I know that God will give me the strength, energy, and desire to do what He has called me to do. 

     I guess I don't have to lower the bar or find a way to follow through.  I think all I have to do is let Someone else set the bar for me, and the rest will work itself out.

My First Post

I'm not really sure how to start this.  I'm not really sure what I want it to be.  Updates on family events?  My inner musings?  One sounds a little boring.  The other sounds a little scary.  This whole idea completely intimidates me.  In fact, I just got a little teary just thinking about it.  That would only make sense to a few people that know me really well.  What would cause someone to be overcome with emotion by the thought of writing a blog, you ask?  I'm fairly certain it stems from the fact that I've been suppressing, running from, denying, and generally avoiding my callings in life for eleven plus years now.  I've gotten really good at it.  It's going to be hard to let it go.  I'm called to be a writer.  Okay, now my arms just went numb.  I've never said that to anyone before.  I've said it to myself, but I pretended that I didn't hear.  

I think I had convinced myself that I was keeping my ego in check by not writing.  Isn't it prideful to admit to yourself, much less anyone else, that you have been given a particular ability?  At thirty-three years of age, I now know it was my abundance of pride, not my lack of it, that's kept me from writing.  I wouldn't write because I wasn't certain that I could do it really well.  Okay, so pride, and we'll throw in fear of failure for good measure.  Well, I'm laying them both down.  I must say, they haven't served me well over the years. 

So now I'm writing a blog (I know--it's no big deal--every one has a blog--but please refer back to the aforementioned years of avoiding anything remotely resembling this).  Let me assure you that it's not because I'm now certain that I'm a gifted writer and will shortly have publishers knocking at my door because they've read my single, brilliant blog post that I will only be sharing with my sister, mother, and best friends.  No, I'm sitting on my couch, putting words together, preparing to launch this bit of prose into cyberspace for one reason.  Obedience.  I've committed to follow my calling and to be obedient to the One who called me even if it means doing it badly and even if it is of no consequence.  More with the tears.  I should mention that as a general rule, I don't cry.  Pride and fear are powerful things, and they won't leave without a fight.  Here's to striking the first blow.