Settling for the Just

My husband and I work with high school kids at our church, and last night we had a bunch of kids from years past come over for a little party while they were all home for Thanksgiving break. I had a number of conversations with kids in different stages of college life - the freshman who loves college except for the fact that he's failing college algebra, the student teacher who gets to go to space camp with her seventh graders next week, the grad student who is getting married in a few months... those were the days.

One of the girls is struggling with choosing a career... and she has only six days of college class left in her college education. She told my friend and me that she "just wants to be a wife and a mom," but people at her school don't look favorably upon that decision, especially since she's really intelligent and capable of doing so many things. My friend who is just a wife and a mom said something to the effect of, "Just is not 'just.'" In other words, just doing something sounds like we're settling for what's here even though there's something better beyond.

That really got me thinking. I don't want to just do anything. I don't want to just be a wife. I don't want to just teach small cooking classes in my house. I don't want to just work with high school kids at my church. God didn't create me to just do stuff. "Whatever you do, work at it with all your heart as working for the Lord, not for men." I'm working for my Father and bringing Him glory in what I do, just by being. Just by living. Just by allowing Jesus to live His life through me. So I'm a wife. I teach people how to cook. I spend time with high school kids because I like them. And I let Jesus do it all and get all the glory.

That is as far away from settling as I know to get.

The Calm Before the Storm

My friend is having a baby tomorrow. So weird. She has to have a scheduled c-section, so she's had the date set for awhile now. What do you write on your planner? Baby Day? Surgery? The Day My Life Changes Forever?

I don't have kids yet, but I'm not an idiot; I know that life with kids in no way resembles life without kids. I personally think that's awesome. Kids are fabulous. They're little pint-sized truth-tellers walking around with adorable curls that look cute even when they're frizzy and untamed. They're also completely exhausting; just ask my friend Emily who can't get her kid to poop in the potty. It's a crisis, and that's not to be funny. Life changes. Life changes a lot.

So what do you think the night before The Change? Do you sit around and watch Amazing Race and eat popcorn like usual? Do you walk around the house and take pictures of everything as it appears this very moment to document for eternity? Do you try and have a date with your husband since you'll never have one again until Date Night becomes part of...ahem... regular life (which never seems to happen terribly quickly)? Or do you do what I think I'd probably do and just sit on the couch and stare into space, afraid out of your mind?

Well, My Pregnant Friend, whatever you're doing this night, I know you're going to be a great mom. Go ahead and stare and be afraid, but remember that you're only a mother by the power of the greatest Father ever.

The Love-Hate Relationship

I love winter. LOVE it. Especially in the summer. When it's warm, I think about how it's fun to be cozy and sit on the couch holding a mug of hot tea. When it's blazing hot, I think about how much easier it is to look cute in the winter and not resort to just a t-shirt and shorts. During the Fourth of July, I dream of Thanksgiving and Christmas and my birthday (two days after Christmas) and how much fun it is to celebrate with family. Now it's finally winter! How fun... right?

Wrong.

My love affair with winter has suddenly turned sour. I'm freezing cold right now. Freeeeeezing. The closest thing I've achieved to being cozy is huddling in a surprisingly small ball on the couch wrapped in a fleece blanket (filled with static, of course), afraid to move a muscle because I'll hit a "cold spot" on the couch or the blanket. I can't hold a mug because then my hands would be exposed to the elements. Oh, and my lips are chattering, too. I'm still wearing t-shirts. Now they just have a long-sleeved shirt underneath them. Not the cute seasonal makeover I was hoping for. And Thanksgiving is next week, and all I can think about is that I haven't done any Christmas shopping, I'm going to be 26 in five weeks (which totally weirds me out), one of my best friends is having a baby in four days, I have six weeks to plan and execute a New Year's Eve party for 150 high school kids, and I've started a new business that's beginning to pick up some speed. Oh, and I can't successfully shave my legs between October and March because of the crazy chill bumps that won't go away.

I'm losing my mind. And I'm starting to hate winter. But I don't want to! I still love the romantic idea of it, and frankly if I tell my husband (he's basically a sun worshipper) that I'm down on winter, he wins the argument of which season is best... and I am NOT about to lay that one down without a fight, even if I can't feel my fingers right now.

So, Winter, please woo me back! Remind me of hot chocolate and the fun of giving and staying in bed a few more minutes because it's so warm and cold noses that don't run and the smell of snow and how fun it is that my husband gets to be home for days at a time over the holidays. I want this relationship to work, Winter. Don't give up on me.

Pearly Whites

Yep, my mouth hurts. I haven't smiled this much in one day... maybe ever. Today, I helped my mom run her booth at an art show to display her awesome stained glass clocks. I think it was a great show, and Mom did pretty well selling her stuff. I was there to smile and talk to people and praise the clocks and make people want to buy them. I think I did a pretty good job, but for real, people... three hours into it, and I had mouth pain. My cheeks hurt, my lips hurt, even my tongue hurt. I don't think that's ever happened before.

It made me wonder... is my mouth so used to not smiling for six hours in a row that it causes pain? Am I not a smiler? I like to think that I'm a nice person, at least with strangers. I'm pretty intentional about being nice to cashiers and servers and toll booth ticket-takers and anyone who might not get kind interaction on a regular basis. (I haven't quite extended to telemarketers yet, but I'm working on it.) Anyway, I hate to think that I can't smile for six hours without doing awkward facial-stretching exercises.

Smiling is such a big deal to me. It's one of my favorite things about my husband. It makes me feel approachable to people. It's a way to encourage others without much effort. More than that though, I want it to communicate that there's something bigger in me that causes joy. I have a fabulous reason for smiling, a reason I want others to experience. I have Jesus living in me, and that's why I want to smile. Most of the time, that's why I do smile. And I don't remember those smiles causing pain.

So maybe at my mom's next show, I should think again about why I'm smiling. It doesn't have to be fake and just because I'm trying to sell clocks. Jesus is in me all the time, and He loves everyone He sees. That means I need to love on everyone I see, and that all starts with a smile.

I like her.

I called my sister this morning a little after 8am which is a bit early to be calling a college student, but hey... that's what voicemail is for. I was surprised to hear her groggy hello on the other end, and after I got past the few seconds of guilt for waking her up (even though she said I didn't), I told her that I had some food for her to pick up at my house that day if she wanted. Sadly, she wasn't able to come by. We said our goodbyes, and I'm guessing she went back to sleep.

A few minutes later, the phone rang, and she told me that her morning classes had been cancelled because her professors were sick. Yay! We cheered, and I felt guilty again - this time for rejoicing that someone else was in pain. But this left her with a free morning to do whatever she wanted. She could sleep more, watch Matt Lauer, go get a cup of coffee and enjoy the chilly morning, or even study (just in case Mom is reading). But she chose to spend her free morning with me. I hoped she would, but I was still surprised when she did.

We've always been buddies. Sure, we went through a couple of years where her only goal in life was to push my buttons and get me in trouble; she was rarely in danger of being in trouble herself because she was just so dang cute. She still is. Now we're allies. Now we get excited to tell each other the silly and the deep. We like being together for whatever reason, and we always seem to find some line of conversation that involves using accents. (Today she did an impersonation of a customer at her work, a lady from New York who was trying to get money for her dead mother's hearing aids... seriously; she had me doing the awkward donkey gasp laugh.)

I love my sister. I always have. But I'm really glad that I like her, too. She's great fun, a great friend, and she makes me feel special when she chooses to spend her free time with me. It's fun to share a language of words and jokes and looks that no one will ever be able to translate. It's nice to get a call from her asking to drop by or if she can tell me something funny that happened in the parking lot. Nothing is ever too small or too big. We're sisters. We're also best friends.

Forgotten Sombrero

Last night, we celebrated my mom's birthday. Deciding to take the theme route, my sister and I prepared for a Mexican fiesta. We had fajitas and brightly colored napkins and horns (in Spanish they're called cornes) and salsa music playing in the background. The music got slightly annoying, and the fajitas got cold since I didn't have any of those iron warmers they use in restaurants. But we still had a great time.

This morning while I was putting away laundry (a household chore that I LOATHE) I saw lying on the closet floor... a sombrero. I had a tiny pity party as I stood in the closet with an arm full of towels. I was going to have Mom wear the sombrero at least for a little bit during the party and then use it as a fabulous decoration that would drive home the theme... just in case the music and food and the singing of Happy Birthday in Spanish weren't clear enough. I was so bummed, and then I had a thought. The sombrero would not have made the night any better.

Not to sound cliche, but it's not what you serve or how you decorate or how much you plan. The best part of entertaining is just being with people you love... and it helps if you like them, too. My family and I laughed together over everything from Oprah's immune system to how my sister performed a personal version of Riverdance at her own birthday party. Those kinds of things can in no way be enhanced by sizzling table-side food and the forgotten sombrero.