As Fragile as Steel

I'm a task-oriented person.  Give me a time-consuming, multi-step, (preferably repetitive) task laden with details, and I'm a very happy girl.  I have been known to seek out activities that others avoid (How could handwriting 12-digit policy numbers on 900 dental insurance cards NOT be enjoyable?!), and have no problem spending hours doing the same thing over and over.  I'm sure there are all kinds of deep psychological reasons why we lean more to being task-oriented or people-oriented, but I know why I am.  I like the feeling of accomplishment when I see what I've completed, whether it be a giant stack of multi-colored copies or a basket of folded brochures.  I also like that I can spend time thinking really, really deep thoughts while I'm working, since usually these tasks don't require much concentration.  K, they're not always deep thoughts, just sometimes.  Like today.

One of the things I've loved to do since I was little is untangle things.  Whether it's a pile of string or a jumbled mess of jewelry, I like to carefully locate each knot and gently release it until whatever it is, usually a necklace, is ready to be used or worn again.  This can take minutes or hours.  My family has always marveled at this hobby, since I have never been what one would call "patient".  Still, if you have a tangled mess of anything, you can rest assured that I will fix it.  Like today. 

My 9 year old, Victoria, came running breathlessly to my office this morning, on her way to get her class picture taken.  She needed help with her earrings and hair.  I fixed her up and she dashed off to join her group.  About 5 minutes later, she was back.  She reached in her pocket and laid something metal in my hand.  I looked down to find her locket all tangled up, then realized she didn't have it on in the picture.  "Oh well," she said, "That's what I get for putting a delicate, double-stranded chain in my pocket.  I should've known better -- it's my favorite necklace."  I asked her why she didn't give it to me earlier to put on, and she said she forgot.  I told her I'd fix it, she nodded, and walked out with her head down.  I'm fairly sure she thought it was wrecked forever.  She's pretty dramatic like that. :) 

Even though I had a desk full of work to do, I decided to take a few minutes and redeem something that she thought she'd never get back.  As I spent the next 5 minutes unraveling the necklace from itself, I was struck by the powerful contradiction I was holding.  The tiny chain was quite delicate, yet it was also extremely strong.  How did that even make sense, and how could it relate to life -- MY life -- and all of its "tangles"?  

In the picture above, there are about 8 necklaces, a few earrings, and maybe a pin or two.  Each one is really pretty and has its own collection of memories.  Some are just perfect for a certain outfit, and most of them could be worn every day.  Except they can't.  All of these beautiful pieces sit in one complicated mess in the bottom of my jewelry box.  As much as I'd like to untangle them, it could take all day, and I do have a job.  I'm not sure how this happened, but I know it's rather defeating to look at.  How can so many great things wrap themselves into such a confusing arrangement?  Where do you start to undo what's been done?  Here's what I've learned and am still learning.  Also, I'm not talking just about necklaces anymore.

•    Untangling takes time.  No matter how a situation got messy, whether it's a relationship or a problem at work, it's going to take time to straighten it back out.  It takes concentration and focus to address each "knot" and smooth what was out of place.  Pulling harder to fix it faster only makes the knot tighter and the problem worse.
•    Untangling requires the right tools.  Depending on the material you're working with, you may be able to just use your fingers.  Or, a particularly stubborn knot may require tweezers!  In the same way, solving a problem may take plan A, and if that doesn't work, move to plan B -- or even C or D!  (I don't really have a clean jewelry-to-life parallel for this one, so just go with it.)  :)
•    Tangled doesn't equal ruined.  When Victoria handed me her necklace, she seemed to resign herself to never seeing the little silver heart with the ruby around her neck again.  The tangles were too many and too tight, and there was no way to undo the damage.  Life's problems can often feel that way.  At least they do to me.  How often do I use the words never, too late, hopeless, and pointless to describe situations that feel too big, too overwhelming, and too scary?  Very often.  I'm much too quick to write something off as a failure instead of giving it to the Lord and letting Him use it to help me grow.  I need to trust my Heavenly Father to straighten and sort me out in His way, His time, and for His glory.  He is always faithful, even in my most complicated tangles.
•    Tangles don't always make sense.  This is a big one for me.  I'm a very black and white person.  I like for questions to be answered quickly with concrete explanations.  Patience isn't my top-growing fruit of the Spirit, and I get nervous in situations that are painted in shades of gray.  I'm pretty sure this is why these are the areas that the Lord usually uses to teach me the biggest lessons.  That being said, in keeping with the necklace analogy, I don't always understand how certain "knots" appear.  When I sit and examine the mess before me, instead of working on a solution right away, I sit and analyze WHY it happened, especially if it defies my version of a logical explanation.  There is no benefit to me or anyone when I fret about the why's, what-ifs, and should've beens, yet I often stubbornly cling to my perceived right to know why things happen.   

  


This is going to have a be a 2-parter... to be continued...

Young, in Love, and Without a Clue

See these two?

They have no clue.  About pretty much everything.  

It's December 1999.  He's 23, she's 20.  They've been dating for a little over 2 months and about 4 hours after this picture was taken, they'd be officially engaged.  In fact, this is the engagement picture that went in the paper.  They are so happy, so in love, and so blissfully unaware of what real life is all about.  You know, the life you live after the wedding planning and the parties.  The life that happens after picking out a house, apartment, one-room duplex and counting the minutes til you both live there.  The life you start living when the big day you marry your best friend in front of everyone you love and the honeymoon are over.  That life.

This picture sits on my dresser, and it's been on my dresser for over 11 years.  (I'm not taking a picture of the back-- it's too dusty, and velvet's hard to clean!)  Every time I see it, I smile.  I also usually shake my head.  If Chris and I happen to see it together, we look at each other and laugh.  At us.  At them.  I laugh because I know that my biggest concern that night was the fact that my boyfriend/soon-to-be fiance came to pick me up for our InterVarsity semi-formal in deck shoes -- without socks!!  He laughs because our daughters don't recognize him (Is THAT Dad?!) and because neither one of us had ever made a real decision.  As in the kind of decision that costs A LOT of money.  

Lest it seem like we look back at that time sarcastically or without love, I need to say that I love this picture.  I love pictures that show hope.  Young love.  Excitement.  And this one has all of that.  While I normally can't stand pictures of myself, this one doesn't bother me.  In spite of the bangs.  It's a wonderful reminder of trust.  We didn't know much about what being grown-ups was all about.  But we knew that God had brought us together, and we trusted His plan for us.  Even though we had no idea what it was. 

I encourage you to find something that reminds you of the hope and the excitement you had for something, whether it's "way back when" or just "back when".  Think back, what was God showing you?  What were you trusting Him for?  What were you beginning or looking forward to?  He had a plan for you then and He has a plan for you now.

We have had so many life lessons over these past 12 years together, and they are worth sharing-- especially if we can prevent others from making some very stupid mistakes unintended errors of judgment!  I'll share them in time. 

We've learned that life, real life, is hard.  It's messy and scary.  It's unpredictable and confusing.  The more "life" I live, the more of God I see.  Because of this, and who He is, I know that this life is beautiful and full.  It is His gift to me.  And because of that, I smile.  And I laugh.  A lot.  My girls are hilarious.  But we'll get to them later. 

   

Poisoned, Overwatered, and Sunburned... One Leaf Left

In August of 2008, I was preparing to re-enter the workforce after being home with my girls for several years.  So many things were changing at once, and even though I was excited, I was nervous too.  In the span of a few weeks, I had interviewed for one position, been hired for another, and was now preparing to teach 3rd grade.  At a luncheon just before school started, I was introduced to my co-teacher, Jodi. (3rd grade is team taught, with one teacher responsible for Language Arts and the other for Science, Math, and Social Studies.)  She and I found common ground quickly, and although I don't remember all we talked about, it felt like we were old friends.  We were glad to learn that we each had 2 girls, and I was glad that hers were older than mine so she could give me advice-- she has!

A few days later, I found myself in a bright yellow classroom with shiny, white floors, big windows, and about a million thoughts in my head.  I wasn't sure what to do first, so I stood there for a minute to take it in.  Something on my desk caught my attention.  I found a sweet card from Jodi next to a pretty green plant with delicate red flowers.  Even though I hardly knew anyone at that point, I felt like I was home.  That plant became a precious treasure to me that day for what it represented: friendship, endurance, and promise.

Before I continue, I need to tell you that I do not have horticultural skills.  None.  My mom has given me two orchids over the years, and both times, the blossoms fell off, the plants shriveled up painfully, and I gave them back to her for rehab.  Orchids love my mom and they perk right up as soon as they realize they're safe-- and away from me.  I'm not a faithful "waterer", nor am I "attentive" to things like light levels and temperature.  

 Because of this, the only flowers I have much success with are these.  I only have to keep the vase full, enjoy their fragrance, and then get rid of them when...

 
...they look like this.




(Yes, these are two different bouquets, and no, I'm not passing them off as the same.  I'm just impressed I still had Valentine's Day flowers to use in my illustration!  I got 8 days out of these!!)






Not knowing my track record, it was good that the plant Jodi gave me was a succulent.  Succulents, like cactuses (cacti?), only need to be watered about once a week, are fairly hardy, and do well indoors.  Mine was a Euphorbia, which basically means, "plant with poisonous, milky sap."  We didn't know that for a few years, though, so no worries.  :)  I don't have a picture of it from the beginning of our relationship, but the picture below will give you a good idea of what it looked like.

For about a year, the happy plant lived on my desk among 40 sweet children.  It was repeatedly knocked off of my desk, spilling dirt all over the floor.  I'm sure that over time, the potting mix became equal parts soil and pencil shavings, but that was ok.  It grew steadily taller, kept blooming, and made me feel like "the little Botanist that could."  When it came time for summer break, I packed up my room and brought my friend home for the summer.  

Mistake #1.

Still unaware of the poison lurking in its stems, I decided to keep the plant at home, in spite of the fact that my cats sometimes chew on leaves.  Thankfully, they never did, and it continued to look lovely on my kitchen counter.  Until it didn't.

Gradually, my trusty succulent started looking pretty pathetic.  The leaves would start growing, only to shrivel up, turn brown, and fall off.  I hadn't seen any flowers in months and it just didn't seem to be doing well.  Re-potting seemed like a logical next step, much like giving someone on tv IV fluids for pretty much any ailment whatsover.  I bought a cute pot, found some dirt in the garage, and did the transplant.  Later that night, I proudly reenacted the whole event for Chris - every detail - and showed him the dirt I used.  It was at this point that I realized I used outside potting soil, which the label explained to be hazardous to indoor plants as the fertilizer could burn roots.

Mistake #2.

We released the plant from its toxic pot, rinsed the roots, and replanted it in normal dirt from the backyard, which was mostly sand.  Without doing any research at all, I decided that a thorough watering would be the next step to restoring good health.  Within a week's time, the leaves began turning yellow and gave up one by one.  Every morning, I'd find more laying limp on the counter.  Through investigation, I realized that the combination of the sand and the small hole in the pot had made draining inadequate impossible.  I had created a bog.  Oops.  

Mistake #-- Wait-- I'm going to lump the next mistake together with this one.

What's the best way to dry out a drowning plant?  Use a hair dryer?  Give it a tumble on extra dry low?  Dump the dirt and start again?  I'm not sure, but I'll tell you what NOT to do.  Don't put it outside on a scorching July day.  If you do, 

this will happen.

Mistakes #3 & 4.









In the course of a few weeks, I had taken a healthy plant and poisoned its roots, drowned it, then sunburned its leaves.  After I baked it for 2 days, every leaf fell off except one.  (He's a fighter!)  At this point, there was only one thing left to do: look for help on the internet.  It would have simply been too easy to do that first, and then I wouldn't have this wonderful story to tell you.

After about 2 minutes of research, I learned that all it needed originally was a little more light.  What I did would have been the equivalent of taking a trip to the sun to boost your vitamin D levels!  The solution was simple and I had totally missed it; I needed to take my plant - what was left of it - back to school.

Sure enough, tiny leaves began sprouting at the top of some really sad-looking stems.  Not a looker anymore, this plant.  Not to others, anyway.  But to me - especially to me (I knew what I had done to it!) - it was a picture of perseverance and God's plan for redemption in spite of our mistakes.  No matter how often we mess up, or how badly, He is there to redeem and restore us.  As he sustains us and provides for us each day, we grow.  The leaves, though tiny, grew toward the light as they were made to do.  Through His creation, my Father was illustrating His love for me. 

In Jeremiah 29, the Lord is speaking to the Israelites who had survived the exile from Jerusalem to Babylon.  He spoke His promise to them in their time of darkness and desolation, a promise of His continued faithfulness to meet their every need.  One of my favorite verses, Jeremiah 29:11, came to mind every time I looked at this plant: 

"For I know the plans I have for you," declares the Lord, 

"plans to prosper you and not to harm you, 

plans to give you hope and a future."

I am a visual learner.  I don't always pick up on subtle lessons.  This was definitely not a subtle lesson.  I tell everyone about this plant.  If you mention it to almost any of my coworkers, they'll tell you about the "one leaf" and what this plant means to me.  

My plant lives in my office now, on the corner of my desk where everyone can see it.  It's happy here, especially since it spent the summer on the windowsill "gaining strength", with my friend Marsha giving it just the right amount of water.

Here it is today, getting a little sun.  I propped it up with coffee straws, but that just adds character, don't you think?

What reminds you of His faithfulness when you feel like you have only one leaf left?

If it isn't easy, is it worth it?

Today was my first day as a real blogger.  I woke up like an 8 year old on Christmas morning, and ran to the computer to check my "stats."  I quickly shared my scheduled post to facebook (apparently, it no longer automatically feeds), and prepared myself for an abundance of comment love and tons of reads.  I just knew that as soon as I got home from work, I would be on the computer all night responding the the folks that loved my cat so much they had to know more about her.  Truthfully, I'm kidding.  I knew a few people would see it like my husband and my parents (although I'm not really sure if they know about it), but how many people can you really draw in with ONE story-- about a cat getting injured?  Building a readership takes time, and that's only if anyone cares what you're talking about.  While I can't promise to "wow" you, I hope that you'll keep coming back to see more of what I've been blessed to see and get to know the people I love, and what I'm learning life really means.

 With that goal in mind, I came home and set out to learn even more about blogger and how I could make this look better and more professional.  (I do spend a lot of time at work on such things, so I figured it would go as well at home.)  I figured wrong.  First, I saw that I didn't "share" correctly.  Instead of the blog title accompanied by a cute pic on the left, all I got was a long html string of code.  My friend Google?  No help.  I kept toggling back and forth between tabs, trying new things to make it look right, and just got more frustrated.  I realized I hadn't checked how many "reads" I had for the day, so I checked.  Imagine my delight to see that in the last 5 minutes, 16 people using Firefox had read MY blog?!  I knew cats were the ticket to greatness!  I smiled on back over to what I was doing, which was learning to write html code.  In 5 minutes.  I refreshed the page a few more times.  Still messed up.  The stats page was still open, so I refreshed that too.  19 reads!  Wow!  This was unbelieva---  .... wait... I was using Firefox...  Did you know that when you view your own page it inflates your stats like creating imaginary friends boosts your number of facebook friends to astronomical levels?  Well it does.  Bummer for me.  Guess I'll write about the dog next.

Seriously though, I wanted to know all the ins and outs of this whole Blogdom right away, and I wanted it to be easy.  Some of it is, some of it's not.  I still can't figure out how to post/share to fb correctly, and if someone can help me, I'll send you a scarf.  :)  I couldn't get the comments to work, and I don't know what a favicon is.  Not even sure if that's how you spell it.  In my frustration, I suddenly saw a great teaching moment for myself.  Like everything else in life, easy isn't always part of the plan.  Does that make it less worth it?  No way.  It's worth it to me to just know that I have followed through with something, and I'm glad that my girls are already thinking of great stories they want me to tell.

The teacher in me loves to turn everything into an analogy or an example, so I think this captures what I'm trying to say.  I want to grow my seed of a blog into a tree -- our school logo is a tree -- and even if I inadvertently water it with my own editing, I'm happy with that.