Merry, Merry, Married Christmas!

Jeremiah proposed to me on Christmas night 4 years ago, and one of the first things out of my mouth (after saying yes) was to make him promise that we could spend Christmas Eve at my house the next year. How romantic :) I just couldn't stand the thought of losing our whole Christmas ritual...piling in Mom and Dad's bed Christmas morning while we waited for everyone to wake up, Dad going downstairs first to "see if Santa left anything for ya'll this year" (really he just needed to be the first downstairs so he could set up the video camera), the anticipation as we waited at the top of the stairs (in birth order no less), and then racing into the den to see what delights Santa had perfectly arranged (like he worked for the Price is Right). Not only did I not want to give this up after marriage, I wanted to share it with Jeremiah. My poor grown-man husband went through that entire ritual with grace and excitement, just like he was 12 years old.

This year, however, I felt the need for our own family's Christmas. Maybe it's because of Pace, and maybe it's because I didn't have much of a choice this year since Jeremiah had to work, but I just knew that this year I couldn't line up at the top of those stairs. It makes me cry now to say it, but it's true. Peter Pan lost out at my house this year. So, Pace and I made a quick trip to Dothan and came back late Christmas Eve so that we could wake up in our own home on Christmas morning. When I woke up, I started cooking a big brunch instead of piling in Mom and Dad's bed. Instead of walking around in my pajamas all morning, I gave myself and Pace a bath and got us all gussied up. Then Jeremiah got home from work and our true Christmas festivities began. Fortunately/Unfortunately, it was time for Pace's nap, so we put her down and Jeremiah and I were able to spend a cozy brunch together by the fire. We were able to talk about how we had grown over the past year and reflect on how sweet Pace had enriched our lives. We shared the kind of words of encouragement that are hard to say unless you are caught up in a magical moment like this one was. The kind of words that require constant reminders from your mind to your eyes to hold that eye contact and not look away in embarrassment. We exchanged gifts, and Jeremiah's were so filled with thoughtfulness and love that it made me cry. I think that all of these moments were great blessings, but the greatest blessing of all was the realization that WE were enough. We love our family, and we missed them and all of our normal Christmas rituals, but in the end all we needed to make Christmas full was each other.

HOPELESS Romantic

I have always considered myself something of a hopeless romantic. It was a term I liked; a term that inspired visions of maidens wearing flowing nightgowns and looking longingly into the night after a promised love. A term that whispered of unrequited loves and starry nights filled with prayers for one true aspiration. However, I recently took some time for introspection, and I realized that my term, hopeless romantic, contains the word HOPELESS--without hope. So, if you take the term at its word, then that damsel I've been envisioning never finds her promised love. That unrequited love would remain just that--unrequited, and those prayers for one true aspiration would go unanswered. So why would I want to be a hopeless romantic?

I think the answer to that question is that, for me, anticipation is everything. I love to dream about events to come; I love the feeling of being that damsel in waiting. When the dream is realized, it's over, but the anticipation is marvelous!

Last night I went to a party in Atlanta with Lauren. The thought of leaving Pace behind for an evening and embarking on a girls adventure could have offered enough excitment in itself, but this party we were going to was something I'd heard about and tried to imagine for over a year! The hostess was Lauren's friend Lanier, and this lady is the person I would aspire to be if I were brave enough. I think I have completely weirded her out by my unabashed ardour, but she is so talented that I just can't help myself! I am sure that she has her faults, but I honestly don't want to know them. I am satisfied with the illusion. I could go into the reasons why I think she is so great, but that would take up this whole blog, and it is not the point I am driving towards. What I will tell you is that she is the type of person who throws an Antebellum Christmas party every year (with period attire!), and the entire house (which is a mansion built in the early 1800's that she and her husband have completely restored) is lit by fire and candlelight. A party where the decorations include holly she trimmed from her own yard and draped lovingly over each picture frame. A party where mistletoe hung enticingly from discreet doorposts, and little girls in sweet dresses collected silver punch cups for re-washing. Heaven forbid we have to use anything made out of paper! It was a night that can best be described by my feeling of wonder when I awoke this morning truly questioning if it had all just been a dream. This was a party created for a hopeless romantic, but as I've mentioned before, the hopeless romantic should never be capable of being satisfied by the actual event. The hopless romantic is doomed to be always hoping and never satisfied.

My Dad has been sorely concerned that my life would be one big disappointment that could never live up to my dreams. However, I haven't found that to be true at all. In a small sense, Lanier's party last night far exceeded any expectation I had, and I assure you those expectations were high. I even went so far as to call Lauren yesterday afternoon to be sure she was savoring the anticpation like I was. I tried to heed my Dad's warnings and think of all the horrible things that could go wrong at the party, but that romanticism was still there, assuring me that THIS would be a magical evening--and it was.

On a grander scale, my marriage was something that could have never met up to my expectations, because marriage was something I had been dreaming about for around 20 years! Just think of the potential for being let down! While there are some days that Jeremiah and I make each other want to pull our hair out, there are also those days that create a melody so sweet that only God could be the composer. There are times that we let each other down, and there are times when I couldn't have imagined such a sacrificial love.

So, I would now like to rename myself. I am no longer a hopeless but a HOPEFUL romantic. I am a person who loves being hopeful in life--loves waiting expectantly for the joys life may bring. I hope that all of those hopeless romantics out there find that there IS promise in whatever they are waiting for, and that there are days in their lives when reality exceeds their dreams.

It Ain't Over After 9 Months

I am kind of busy this morning, so I am just going to post a story a wrote about a year ago. It's funny to look back and remember how miserable I was!

If you are pregnant, I want you to stop reading this immediately. You have quite enough to concern yourself with, without adding post-pregnancy concerns to your list. Maybe just clip this out and hold onto it for later.

When I was pregnant, I took some time to read a few books to try and cope with what I was going through and to prepare myself for what lie ahead. There was NOTHING, however, that prepared me for the way I would feel for the weeks following my daughter's birth. I think it is safe to say that the process of having a baby does not end after nine (actually 10 if you consider that pregnancy is a 40 week process) months.

Pregnancy has its positives. When you are pregnant, the whole world is sweeter to you. People offer to open doors, carry things, and perfect strangers offer you words of encouragement. One of the best positives was the way that people would occasionally cock their heads to the side, look dreamily at you, and give you a slight smile. I personally took this as a “thank you” for furthering the human race. Even that guy at the coffee shop (yes, I still drank a little coffee while I was pregnant and my baby turned out just perfect in spite of it) with his dread locks and sandals in the dead of winter was able to appreciate the natural wonder of pregnancy. He actually spoke to me for the first time when I began to show.

So, you endure the pregnancy with all its positives and negatives, and then you have the baby. It’s time to finally shed that frumpy figure and saddle right back into your old clothes...right?? I mean surely you, like me, had spent plenty of time convincing yourself, that you really hadn't gained THAT much weight besides the weight of the baby. That extra 30 (or 40 or 50) is just fluid...right?? WRONG. Oh, how wrong we are.

Suddenly you have no excuse for your plump shape. Those sweet, nurturing smiles from society have faded right back into the everyday mundane. Not only are you not special anymore, you are chunky too! It’s true, your chest has grown, which you thought you always wanted. However, suddenly you notice that, with no waist to pinch below it, your chest only adds to your otherwise frumpy figure. Not to mention that you are now prone to leaking! There are medical issues, which I need not venture to describe in detail here, that make you feel like you should be locked away in a dark closet until everything has a chance to sort itself out. Your hips are still stretched out and your ligaments are still loose, so you continue to have a touch of that pregnancy waddle. If you take these and other physical maladies and pour a big heap of crazy hormones and the life changing event on top...well let's just say you need some support from somewhere.

My support came from two different places. My mom made an initial attempt to cheer me up by taking me shopping to "buy some clothes that fit you right". I finally consented to take a trip to TJ Max. After all, I could just buy a couple of cheap outfits until my clothes all magically fit me again. Unfortunately, I forgot an old truth that I have proved to myself time and again--People who make cheap clothes are also stupid. A size 8 in cheap pants translates to approximately size 2 in more expensive clothes. You see, people who make nice clothes seem to understand that women want to fit in the smallest size that they possibly can. So, here I am in TJ Max, trying on clothes with my mom, and she is constantly leave the dressing room to get the next biggest size. Before I know it, I have reached a digit that I never imagined would be tight on my body, and yet there I stand, with fat spilling over my pants and tears spilling over my eyes. I grab the closest bulky sweater and tell my mom it is time to go. This is the critical point. We get in the car and Mom looks over at me, my mom who has always been bluntly honest with me about my weight, and I am expecting some little talk about diet, exercise, and not letting myself go. Instead, she looks straight into my eyes and says, "Abby, I PROMISE your body is going to come back."

What a blessing those simple little words were to me! Then, to make matters even better, she told my mother and sister-in-law about how down I was and they went on a secret shopping spree for ME. They worked some kind of magic that I could never have done for myself and bought me some beautiful in-between clothes from some people who knew something about sizing for sensitive ladies! Pregnancy is physically hard. Post-pregnancy is mentally hard. Take the time to encourage a woman in your life who is in her baby-making years…chances are, she needs it.

Sacrifices

We all make sacrifices for those we love. At least, hopefully we do or we're just living a selfish existence. We sacrifice our time when a friend needs to talk. We sacrifice our schedule when a family member needs help. We sacrifice our life when we have a baby...wait, what? Should we be sacrificing our lives for our children? Obviously, I'm not talking about my physical life, because I am typing this blog, but we do sacrifice pieces of who we are in order to be what we need to be to our children. Whether it's something as simple as going to movies or as complex as the things that make us interesting, there seems to be a lot we are asked to give up.

For me, I quit my job. I am no longer a chemical engineer, and when I introduce myself to someone at a party, there is really no need to mention this fact. I no longer have that, "Oh, really?!" response that I had vainly come to appreciate during my introductions to strangers. In some sense, I said good-bye to 16 years of preparation. Then there are those little every-day sacrifices like, not being able to take an un-interrupted shower, or go shopping without flying through a store and grabbing what you need while making funny faces to entertain your baby, or sitting and reading a book without having one eye following that special someone around the room, or going to a party without rushing home because you are worried the babysitter is about to pull her hair out.... All these things are what I consider sacrifices that I've made, in order to be the best mom I know how to be to someone that I love.

Now that I've thrown my pity party, I'd like to tell you that you really shouldn't pity me at all. I thank God, that I get to serve the most amazing little person I've ever met. I thank God that I am not solving boring, complex engineering problems but teaching a mind that is dying to learn. I thank God that I have an excuse to not go to every party because there is someone who needs me at home. And at night, when I lay Pace down for bed, I thank God that I am able to be here, at home with her, knowing that I am giving her my best.

There is also the fact that God seems to bless us so much more when we make the sacrifices He asks of us. Now that I am home, I have taken the time to do this, to write, which is something I never would have taken the time to do when I was working away from home. He has let me experience a new kind of love that I didn't even know existed. He has given me new friendships that have helped me grow as a person, a wife, a mother, and a home-maker. He has even given me a way to exercise and take better care of my body.

Not only is Pace worth the little sacrifices, my life is filled with even more blessings!

New Paths

Well, I certainly missed this blog while we were out of town! I have come back with lots of things I want to write about, but today I want to tell you about my favorite part of the weekend...the run I took on Saturday morning.

A lot of people talk about how much they LOVE to exercise. How they just crave getting out and working hard and sweating and pushing their body.... I have never been one of those people, and frankly, I think those people have a loose screw or two. I do, however, love to enjoy nature. I love to run when I can be outside and it's not too hot or cold, it's not too hilly, and I haven't just eaten something that is giving me a cramp in my side. So, as you can imagine, a "good" run for me is pretty hard to come by, but Saturday morning happened to be one of these runs.

I was at the Maddox's farm, and they have a lot of wooded acres that are filled with winding horse trails. I have ridden these trails a lot, but I have always been with Jeremiah, and therefore, never really had to pay enough attention to learn the trails. So, when I set out to run the trails by myself, I had no idea where I was going. There was an excitement in that feeling itself...setting out on a "wholesome adventure" (as Dad would call it) with Buckley by my side.

The air was crisp, but not cold. The morning was bright, but the sun filtered through the branches in the trees to create a golden glow in the woods. The terrain was uneven but not rocky, and I was at the mercy of my own will! When my trail became a choice between the wide path or the narrow, I chose the narrow. When there was a choice between a trail that held more trees or more shrubbery, I went with more trees. I wound beside a trickling creek, swelled by winter's cold rain. I passed through a pasture where horse's necks gracefully stretched to the ground to munch on dew drenched grasses. I stumbled upon two different emerald green ponds, quiet and still as though no human had ever broken their borders. I stopped to run my fingers over Ellie's headstone, where her name had been lovingly carved out in cursive by Dr. Maddox. I knew I was supposed to be keeping my heart rate up, but some of these moments of beauty demanded that I stop and take notice of them.

I feel sure that I didn't travel down any trail that I'd never seen before, but they all felt new to me. I don't know if it was because things look different from the ground than they do from a horse's back, or if it was because I was approaching them from new directions, but there was something very satisfying about feeling like I was seeing new and beautiful places. I passed a familiar spot from time to time and my heart would give a knowing smile and wink and then pass on. All this while, Buckley the protector was dashing through the woods, checking to be sure no evil would come and spoil our adventure.

While my eyes and senses were taken by the beauty around me, my mind was free to wander on a path of its own making. It thought of God's splendor, and how He must be allowing glimpses of heaven through nature. It thought of heroines like Elizabeth Bennett, Molly Gibson, and Fanny Price who took strolls through the countryside for all their various and sundry reasons, and it felt kinship with these strong women. My mind also kept playing the words of Robert Frost's poem, "Stopping by Woods on a Snowy Evening", over and over. Lines that I believed were long forgotten, my mind brought to the surface for this special occasion.

I don't know how long I wound through my little paths, but my adventure ended abruptly when I came upon the barn filled with people doing their every-day chores. It was so abrupt, and there were those fleeting seconds when I felt like an outsider in the midst of people I love. An outsider because they had not been a part of the magic and beauty that I had been overtaken by. An outsider because I was an adventurer discovering new lands and they were still on solid ground.


"Stopping By Woods On A Snowy Evening"

Whose woods these are I think I know.
His house is in the village though;
He will not see me stopping here
To watch his woods fill up with snow.
My little horse must think it queer
To stop without a farmhouse near
Between the woods and frozen lake
The darkest evening of the year.
He gives his harness bells a shake
To ask if there is some mistake.
The only other sound's the sweep
Of easy wind and downy flake.
The woods are lovely, dark and deep.
But I have promises to keep,
And miles to go before I sleep,
And miles to go before I sleep.

Robert Frost

Christmas Card Pictures

Here we are, all smiling warmly into the camera.... Actually, we are in a fight and I am just about to lose it. Here's the gist: I would have been happy to do a Christmas card of just Pace. I mean isn't that what you do when you have children? Graciously remove yourself from all photos as life, like pictures, becomes all about them? Jeremiah, however, would NOT have a Christmas card without the whole family--ESPECIALLY Buckley. Now, if any of you have ever taken pictures with dogs and babies you know that getting everybody happy and looking at the camera at the same time takes something close to a miracle. But, he really wanted it, and I agreed to try.

So, my friend/neighbor Lauren agrees to come over and take the picture for us. The background on that story is that she is having a HECTIC week. A week that would have given me a nervous breakdown long ago. A week that also includes several failed attempts at making her own Christmas card pictures, and I know that she is burned out on pictures period. She, however, is one of those people with a sweet disposition who would never say "no" to anything you ask of her, and she comes, with a good attitude and a baby of her own in tow, to take our impossible picture.

We're on the steps. I am trying to make Pace smile and look at the camera, and Lauren, understanding what any mother would want for her Christmas card picture, is calling Pace's name and trying to make funny faces and noises at her while still taking a quality picture. What, you may wonder, is Jeremiah doing during this raucous? He is constantly saying, "No, Lauren, you've GOT to call Buck! He's not going to look at the camera unless you CALL him!" Over and over he makes this same statement, and I feel my blood getting hotter and hotter with every cry. I try to ask (and I am not going to lie and say it was in a nice voice) if we could take a few pictures without Buckley as well, so that we can focus on Pace looking at the camera for a minute. However, these requests are basically ignored and the Buckley chant continues. I need to be fair and say that in Jeremiah's mind, our neighbor was giving us 10 or 15 minutes to snap a picture, and, since I was holding Pace, he was just trying to do his job and get Buckley to look at the camera. After all he couldn't control Pace if I was holding her. He was just trying to be helpful and didn't understand why on earth I was getting my panties in such a wad.

This saga goes on, with me feeling the whole time like we need to hurry up because poor Lauren shouldn't be having to do this...but the question I've been wanting to pose is this: Is there a correct way to respond to someone in anger? We know that Jesus got mad, and he threw things around the temple, but that was a jealous anger for his God, and not a tirade over a Christmas card picture. To be honest with you all, I have a tendency to get too mad too fast. When this happens, I also have a tendency to talk down to my husband.... I know it is absolutely horrible, and I have been praying about it and working on it for literally years now, but it still happens. Is our true nature revealed when we are under pressure, or are we acting out in a way that is not who we are because the pressure is there? Either way, I need to learn a new way to respond when I get mad. Obviously it hurts and infuriates my husband, and he really doesn't deserve to be treated that way--even though it is usually him who is wrong :) I am just asking for prayer. Prayer that I won't get mad over things that don't matter, and prayer that when I do get angry I won't feel like I have the right to talk down to my husband. In the meantime, I hope you all enjoy our Christmas card picture, 'cause it came at a price :)

BTW, this isn't the picture on our card. You'll have to hold your breath and wait for that one! Also, I changed the settings so that anyone (not only google users) can post a comment. So, if you've just been dying to respond but didn't want to take the time to become a google user, then today is your lucky day :)

Christmas Feelings

Last night Jeremiah and I had something close to a perfect night. I poured two cups of steaming apple cider into holly-leaved Christmas mugs, while he dusted away yesterday's ashes from our fireplace and nurtured a new fire in its stead. I plugged in the twinkling white lights of our Christmas tree, and Jeremiah chose a Christmas record to crackle softly in the background. Then, we met on the over-stuffed leather couch and cuddled up next to our friendly elk skin. My friend Lauren lent me a book filled with Christmas short-stories from accomplished authors. Jeremiah took his time to select our first story, and then he read it aloud to us. I chose a second and did the same. The stories were sweet, and it was fun to listen to Jeremiah read out loud. However, the true beauty of last night wasn't in the stories; it was in the feeling.

What is it that we all strive to feel during the Christmas season? There is some nebulous sensation that we can't explain--we can only strive to recreate. I believe it starts in childhood, in a time when there was magic and mystery surrounding Christmas, along with love and security. The mystery of God coming to earth as a baby--just like we did. The magic of Santa with his flying sleigh and his ability to bring toys down the chimney and into our den--even though we didn't even have a chimney:) The love you felt from family coming from far away to share the season with you, and the security of being nestled in your bed on Christmas Eve surrounded by a family that loved you. When you take some of these big sensations and combine them with all the beloved traditions of Christmas, you find, somewhere in that mix, the feeling we all want to re-create year after year. I pray we all find that feeling we long for and that we can hold onto it long enough to let it resonate within us enough to last until next year.

Blue Jeans

I remember being in the 7th grade and having a major life dilemma over whether or not to ask Mom to buy me a pair of $72 Calvin Klein jeans like everybody else had. I felt like they were just too expensive to ask for, and I settled on a pair of bobo (no name brand in case any of you aren't familiar with that terminology) jeans that I thought made me look skinny. That was a Thursday afternoon, and I arrived at school that next rainy Friday morning sporting my new jeans AND my new purple and white Asic shoes. Always one to want to preserve the newness of my clothes as long as possible, I gave myself a quick cuff on the bottom of my jeans to ensure they wouldn't be muddied by the rain...I knew it wasn't cool, but I wanted to protect those bobo jeans all the same. Now, if you know my family very well you know that being early anywhere, especially to school, was a miracle in itself, but the Lord had a lesson to teach me that day and He somehow got me to Girard Middle School at least 10 minutes early that morning.

I look out at this "early" crowd standing in huddles in the band room--where apparently early people go when it's raining and the school hasn't opened yet--and was faced with a frantic decision. Everyone stops to look at the new person in the room, and I had to decide where I belonged. There was definitely a cool group, sitting back by the drums, and it held more familiar faces to me than any other group, but still they weren't what I would call my friends. My friends lie somewhere in between. I wouldn't say that I was a dork in middle school...I just wasn't the cool of the cool either. I didn't drink or do crazy things with boys or have super human self-confidence, and without at least one of these traits, I don't think if was possible to be elite at Girard Middle. So, I have this decision to make, and maybe it was the new skinny bobo jeans that I was feeling oh-so-good about myself in, but I decided to go for it. I headed straight towards the cool guys in the percussion section.

I think that God's grace has allowed me to block out exactly what the hurtful comments were that I was met with when I entered that circle. I remember it was Wesley Carpenter that started them and a few other guys threw in a joke here or there, but the basic jist was, "Why are your tight jeans ROLLED up, and why are your tennis shoes so WHITE." To their defense, they were probably insecure boys trying to be funny to one another, but I was so mortified it was everything I could do not to burst into tears on the spot. I tried to laugh at myself with them, but it was one of those times when laughs do nothing but jiggle your already unstable emotions and I found myself dangerously on the brink of losing it.

I went home that afternoon, and Mom could see by my face that something had gone wrong. I was too embarrassed to tell her at first. I knew she had been the supreme cool girl at my age and I didn't want her to know how far her daughter had fallen from the tree. I also new she would feel bad about my jeans...and it wasn't her fault. Well, she kept prodding and I finally burst, literally, into the tears I'd been holding back all day. I gave her the kindest version I could of what I'd endured, and then admitted that I just didn't know if I could stand to go to the football game that night and risk the ridicule again. Then, Mom did something that I will never forget. She had to take my other three sisters to ten other places that afternoon, so she called Aunt Alice and asked her to take me to the mall as quick as she could and buy me the best pair of Calvin Klein jeans we could find!

I recall that whole long experience just to pose a question that has been bothering me since yesterday. I got a new pair of jeans (they were actually a gift from Mrs. Maddox) that cost about three what those expensive Calvin Kleins cost Mom in middle school. I certainly don't feel like my self-esteem is tied to my jeans like they were back then, so why do I feel the need to spend that kind of money on a pair of blue jeans? Sure they fit great, and they are made out of good material, and I'll wear them all the time...but couldn't I get some cheaper ones that fit just as well??? I have admitted something to myself, and I honestly don't know if it is wrong or not. I can wear clothes from Wal-Mart and be happy, but there is something about putting on a dress, a pair of jeans, or perfume that I know is expensive that makes me feel extra special. There is something about the luxury of it that is exiting to me. Is that wrong? I don't feel like my self-worth comes from the brand of clothes I'm wearing like it did in 7th grade, but what if I'm just deceiving myself?

Quiet Time

There is a ten minute period every morning that I dearly covet. It happens right after Pace and I see Jeremiah out the door. Then, we go into the kitchen and I pour her a bottle of milk, and we head back to the bedroom. I prop Pace up against the pillows and hand her her bottle, and finally, I tuck us both tightly under the covers. I lay my face right up next to hers, so that my lips are almost touching her ear, and then I begin to pray. I pray out loud--only in a whisper--but out loud nonetheless. The first prayer that always springs out of my mouth is to thank God for how much I love that little girl. The next, is to marvel that He could love her even more than Jeremiah and I do! Then I pray for the husband He is preparing for her--that he will love God and cherish Pace. I continue to have my normal prayer time, asking that God make me into the mother and wife that He wants me to be, that Jeremiah have a blessed and productive day, and all the other things He lays on my heart.

What I need to admit, is that it takes some discipline for me to hold on to that time. My moments where Pace is completely content, like when she is drinking that bottle, seem so few and far between. I am constantly fighting off guilt that I should be using that quiet time to get things done instead of lying there and enjoying feeling her beside me and feeling the Lord meet us there. But now, after typing this out, I realize that those guilty feelings are nothing but Satan trying to distract me. The enemy is so cunning! He can take a truth, like the fact that God delights in our productivity and not in laziness, and twist it to make us feel like He values our productivity over spending time with Him, or spending quality time with those we love. Standing back it seems so clear, but in the moment it is always a true decision I have to make. Thank you Lord for clarity.

Get-Er-Done

Jeremiah is what you might call a "Get-Er-Done" person. I can count on 2 things on days that he is off work. 1) SOMETHING will be accomplished and 2) Money will be spent. I, on the other hand, am a "Couldn't This Wait a Little Longer?" type person. I admit that there is a touch of me that says this out of laziness, but honestly most of the problem is that I get shortness of breath at every mention of spending money. I think we are good for each other, as long as we can remain appreciative and respectful of each other's way of looking at life. Jeremiah keeps us moving and I am always so thankful when the work is completed. I try to keep us in check of how much money we are spending on all of our little projects, and he tries to think economically.

So today, we got both cars cleaned, the oil changed, new tires for the Honda, transmission service for the Tahoe, and a breakfast treat for our elderly next door neighbor all because of Jeremiah. I didn't do it all willingly, but I am thankful he pushed us to take care of it all. At the end of the day, it's nice to know that things are tucked up tight for the night.

Movie Memories

Today, I've been dealing with the huge pile of laundry from our Thanksgiving trip to Dothan. Yes, I know that I've been home for 4 days now and should already have it done and put away, but Christmas decorating has pretty much demanded a monopoly of my time since I've been home. Well, a combination of decorating, spraining my ankle, and dealing with a sweet little girl who got spoiled rotten visiting her family over the holiday. Anyway, back to the laundry... I have to get myself pumped up when I have a pile of laundry waiting that is as tall as I am, so to do that I sometimes watch a movie while I work. I recently acquired a collection of (and I consider them priceless) "Classic Drama"'s from a man in China. Doesn't that sound intriguing! Really I just bought them on ebay for $15. So, I pulled out my priceless collection, sifted through them and settled on Jane Eyre.

Now, all of my new movies are the BBC versions, but some have a higher quality than others. Jane Eyre happened to be one of what Jeremiah would call a "low budget" movie, but the story is still there in all its touching beauty. I went down to the cold basement, looked at all that laundry, and still found myself literally unable to catch my breath as my excitement tried to jump out of my throat. I thought, "Who would have ever imagined I could get this excited about doing the laundry!" As I relished each poorly filmed second and tried to focus on the task in front of me, I wondered if I would ever be able to share this joy with Pace. What if she doesn't enjoy reading? What if we are complete opposites? That happens a lot I suppose, and if that's the case, then I'll have to appreciate her differences. However, I look into her eyes and I see so much of myself there. I don't know why. It's not in her physical appearance, or even in her mannerisms, but something in her heart that I know we share. Maybe one day we can curl up on the couch together, and I can explain to her all the little details about Jane Eyre that the movie is leaving out. Maybe I will teach her about loving others through the example of Jane's mean cousins. Maybe I will be able to smile knowingly while she wonders what the mystery is upstairs.

I remember being about 9 years old, and going to Movie Gallery with mom to pick out a movie on Friday night. I guess she must have cajoled me over into the classics section, because we came across the "real people" version of Cinderella. Mom was astonished that I had never seen it before and insisted that it be our choice. As we sat down to watch, I must say I remember thinking that the Disney version was more entertaining. However, I was enthralled by the feeling of watching something that my MOM had watched when she was a GIRL--like me. Cinderella starting singing, "In my own little corner, in my own little chair, I can be whatever I want to be..." and Mom recalled how she used to try and sit in her own little corner and pretend she was Cinderella. Needless to say, it became one of MY favorite movies, just because I knew it had been one of Mom's favorites. I pray that Pace and I will share some of the same appreciation and the same loves. Maybe she'll never want to cuddle up and watch Jane Eyre...but I believe she will.

Getting Started

I really have no idea what this is all about. This first posting is really just for me to see what happens when I type in these boxes :) Hopefully this will be a way I can share pictures and info with our family and friends!