C is sitting at the same table as me as I shop online. She’s pestering me about every 4.3 seconds with, “YOU SHOULD POST!”
So… this is me posting.
Now look at these photos.
When I woke up this morning and rolled over to the open window the first thing I thought was, “what is that smell???”
smells like the first day out on the side porch. when we clean out winter storage, scrub floors, and drag around wicker furniture until our hearts content (or until mama come in and tells us just where each pice should go).
like main street; a walk to the bank.
smells like the nieces and nephews as they slip on their crocks and bolt out the door into the open yard.
smells like the fresh edge of denim as your worn out jeans transform into favorite cut off shorts.
like dirt on your hands as you weed out the garden for the first time this year, and mulch. it smells like mulch.
like 56 mph, windows down, belting keith urban like no one is listening.
or an open kitchen, sun on your face while you prep for an afternoon cook out.
smells like good things are supposed to smell.
I don’t care where you are; you know just what I’m talking about don’t you? It smells like summertime.
C doesn’t know i’m posting this, but by now its all over facebook so i might as well.
The fact they C and Little Brother are both SO FUNNY plus the fact that my heart is completely overwhelmed with love for them both means one thing – i laughed until i cried.
So enjoy. I certainly did!
I went home for a visit last week. It was grand.
Babies. Friends. Sisters. Mama’s cooking. Dad’s conversation. Such love in my heart.
I even brought this video back for you! (sorry – I’m really not a drummer. oh well.)
I’m not a fan of football really. Or of rooms with a lot of people in them. Or of a lot of noise.
S0 I sit a room away with a few others who are having quiet conversation and write this post. It’s going to be about basically nothing. Sorry… kinda… not..
We traveled this weekend. Two days in a giant vehicle pulling a giant trailer with all of our gear in it. Of course Oscar (the hiking pack) came along. He goes everywhere I go. Two nights of music playing and gospel sharing. Both of which I enjoy.
This is all of us on the road. (plus one little boy hiding in the back with some crayons)
As you may know I’ve acquired a new… addiction?
And today I tried something new – Orange Coke. My life with will never be the same.
I gave a friend a hair cut (Sister #3 – I didn’t say that and you didn’t see a thing ;] ).
We discovered a place downtown that delivers cookie as far as 3 miles as late as 3 am. we live 3.1 miles away. they still deliver.
One last note – I’d like to thank Madonna for not ruining the half time show (the only part of the super bowl I watch).
so here we are.
you and i.
wait. …how rude… let’s rewind.
…edur woh… .tiaw .i dna uoy .era ew ereh os
hi! i’m madison. that’s my name. you can call me May.
here’s “J” and i…
let me let you into my life for a quick sec.
tonight, our house cooked lots of random meals, blended lots of random fruit, ate random minty chocolate and wished we had lots of random ice cream.
but nothing beats french onion dip and a giant bag of ruffles.
He is above all. and worthy of it all.
I’m all alone in the office today. Usually our office looks like this..
On the “bright side” it FINALY snowed in New Haven. What they call snow makes me laugh…
Oh well. I had another Christmas song to post, but never did it. Whoops.
But – becuase of the title of the song, and the fact it finally snowed here – i thought it would still be appropriate to share it with you all today.
I stumbled upon this photo the other day and couldn’t help but laugh. We look so young!
This was a LONG time ago. I mean, basically forever ago. Aren’t we cute though?
The answer is yes, we are. And some things never change…
I tend to be a little bit selfish.
It’s true. I love me. I love my stuff. For example -
- I don’t want you sleeping in my bed if I’m gone for the night. Even if you make it very nicely I will know you slept there. It’s my bed. It’s my job to know. Plus – if you slept in it I’d probably have to prematurely wash the sheets.
- Please don’t move the books on my shelf. They are in order. It might not make sense to you, in fact – it probably wont make sense to you, but it does to me.
- If you want to wear my sweater, or anything else that belongs to me, it would probably (maybe) be okay, but ask me very very nicely first. And whatever you do don’t wash it. I’m allergic to Tide and am very carful about the things I put in the dryer.
- Dont finish off the last of my Arizona Ice Tea with Lemon. It have my name on it for a reason. It’s mine.
- If something of mine is in your way please don’t move it. You might break it. Or make it dirty. Contact me, and I will either instruct you on how to move it/where to put it or just come and do it myself.
- Please don’t interrupt me when I’m working on something. Obviously I’m busy and I’m prone to ignore you. Actually – I will ignore you.
Doing any of the above things (or not doing) is ASKING for me to have a bad attitude. Don’t believe me? Guarantee L & C witness to all things above.
(*raises glass* here’s to honesty)
There is one particular moment I can think of, to be vague- someone was using (incorrectly) something of mine that ]I particularly liked. I didn’t say anything bad or mean to them, that’s not “my style”. Instead I instantly had a bad attitude. Grumpy, grumpy, gills. Which – I convince myself I’m great at hiding, and carry on pretending like nothings wrong, while looking for the opportunity to ‘nicely’ reclaim what’s mine.
This time – someone picked up on my bad attidude. Someone I respect and admire more than basically the entire population (no joke, she makes top 12 at least). She questioned my grumpy face. Probably said something along the lines of, “Little Girl. What’s wrong with your pretty face? Why are you frowning?” (she always calls me Little Girl. don’t tell her, but i don’t mind it.). I probably responded with something along the lines of, “I’m not a little girl. Those are mine and they are wrong.” Because my selfish motives didn’t care about the rest.
Then she gave me the best peice of advice I’ve possibly ever received.
She squeezed my hand. In a way I would recognize even if I didn’t know it was her. A way that say’s ‘I know little girl… I know’. A way that makes me believe her. And trust her. The familiar way she has so many times before. Then she said, “Little girl, you can not love things more than you love Jesus and people. You just can’t do it. It’s not about us. It’s about Him, and that means it’s about them. People. Love the people, not things. The things don’t matter. Okay?”
I nodded, said ‘okay’, you know – all the right things. But truthfully, I didn’t think about it much. Not right then at least. I was still thinking about the misuse of my things, and the battle she just provoked in my head and heart. I think I decided it would be best to just walk away. Which I probably did resentfully. And then refuse to think about any of it.
But everyday I think about what she said. Everyday.
“You can not love things
more than you love
Jesus and people.”
Everyday I remind myself of that.
Everyday I let it take a big whack at my selfishness and pride.
Everyday it’s something I cling to and strive to live by.
Everyday that puts life into perspective in such a way that makes me want to be less selfish.
There’s always room for improvement. and growth. and things to work on.
Everyday little pieces of selfishness peak through. And that’s where Jesus comes into play. Again. And again. And Again. And you know? Again still. Everyday. Breaking my selfishness and softening my heart. Breaking my pride and teaching me humility.
Everyday Christ does a work in my heart. Teaching me. Showing me. To die to self. To live for him. To serve and love others. Oh boy, sometimes it’s so hard.
But - (just because I haven’t used the word ‘everyday’ enough) Everyday the reminder of that truth, in such a simple way, is the best piece of advice I have ever received.
Meet my friend Hannah:
She is a writer. a brilliant writer. And one of the coolest girls i know. What you’ll read next is something she did as a spoken word. She does other really cool things too though. So when you have a few moments please please check out her blog.
anyway, Please enjoy this (i know i did!)-
If I sink back into the shoes of my 7-year-old self, sequined to the mark the debut of the church’s Christmas Pageant, then I was the star of the show.
The top of the program. Signing autographs outside the dressing room until the sun kissed down behind the hills.
I. Was. A Shepherd.
A sheet on my head. A staff in my hand. Standing off to the side of a stage just like this.
Should have been staring up at the sky, up a Tiny Tinfoil Star Tied Tight to a Spot Light. A galactic ball of energy that, when stripped down to the bare-boned simplicity of it all, simply whispered, “Follow.” To shepherds like me, counting sheep to pass the time. Follow. A King is Born. A King is Born.
But instead I stared at Mary with a beady-eyed look of Envy Perched up in my Pupils as a I craved to be the one to stand shaking in my sandals as a Golden-Glinted Gabriel stood by a kettle in my kitchen and told me I would birth a baby.
A baby born with ten fingers, ten toes, two eyes & one nose. Just to Save a Soul Like Me.
And some would call him Son of Man, and you might say E-Man-Nu-El. But for right now, let’s just call him Baby. Baby, let’s just call him Jesus.
I’d have traded all my Christmas presents to be the one to stand with the pink bed sheet on my head and the pastor’s baby in my arms. I’d have cradled that baby & rocked it. The way the New York City Transit Line Rocks a Thousand Single Tired Souls to Sleep in Just One Sitting.
I’d have swallowed every rule in swaddling until… until I realized the Mandatory Matter of the Mary in the Manger that Night. For she would be the one to go out to find the words to pair with the teeny, tiny words that she collected so furiously like sea glass to somehow form a lullaby.
Which is really just a Single-Stranded Melody for a King that Deserves a Symphony.
I would have slid down from the back of the donkey, a sweaty little boy whose name was really Teddy, and we all knew he wanted to be a wise man but he got down on Hands & Knees to Carry a Marry to a Bethlehem that Didn’t Know Her.
Wait, I would have said. And poured out into a crowd of people just like this, to as people Just Like You.. And You..
What do I say? And how do I sing? Because my vocal chords aint strong enough and I’ve not got the bones of Billie Holiday, and my breath? It just aint thick enough to Sing a Song for the Son of Man, E-Man-Nu-El.
I’d have searched until I found the one to pull me in by the pink bed sheet on my head and say,
Mary, you be strong. And Mary, Don’t You Cry. And don’t you doubt these aching, breaking arms of yours. For your knees might shake, but your arms are strong. And they? Well, they were made to cradle a King.
You suck in your breath, you pull back your shoulders, and you sing for the baby whose cries will crack the mountaintops. You sing for the child who already knows all his Little Children and has the Holes in His Hands to prove he loves them so.
Be you 7-years-old, a shepherd staring up at the sky, or someone standing on a stage just like this. Wishing she had more to give her King than a Single-Stranded Melody for the One that Deserves a Symphony.
Still, you suck in your breath, you pull back your shoulders, and you sing.