don't let your dreams be dreams

when daylight savings time hits and the nights get shorter--too short to go on walks in the country or swing on our front porch and watch the sun go down--robert and i are forced to find other means of evening entertainment. 


this usually results in following at least one, if not a half dozen or so, new television shows. in the past, 24, LOST and desperate housewives have been our vices of choice. but recently, we have been indulging in a little guilty pleasure known as gold rush alaska. this discovery channel program follows six men who gave up everything to trek out to alaska and mine for gold. 

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when i first saw this, my immediate thought was "this sounds like the yukon trail computer game." please tell me someone else spent copious amounts of time in front of the screen as a tween playing this fabulous "oregon trail" spin-off.


i thought it ridiculous. and foolish. and, quite honestly, crazy. 


to leave home and risk everything--every single thing--for the mere chance that riches lie buried beneath the boulders. to spend a whole three weeks not mining, but building a machine to pan for gold, to sift through the silt and mud for tiny nuggets. 


however, upon further viewing, the show turned a corner, and my feelings toward it did too. 


the men brought their wives and children up to live with them in the wilderness. i watched one wife walk gingerly off the plane, taking in the snow-capped mountains and rivers around her. i watched as her husband led her to the cabin he had built for her, and i saw his daughter playing in the sand.

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and it hit me.


his dream isn't crazy at all. because it's his. it's solely and beautifully his, and that alone makes it worthwhile. and he's chasing it, which is more than i can say about myself half the time.


seeing him with his family cemented that for me. i saw the love in his crinkled brow wash the worry away from his wife's eyes. they understood each other. they got it. and who cared if i didn't get it? it wasn't mine to get.


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there's a piece of paper that i've been carrying around in my pocketbook for a week now. a simple name, scribbled down on the back of a take-out menu. a bra size. jean size. t-shirt size. a local woman that my bible study is sponsoring for christmas. a real, live woman, with real children, narrowed down to measurements and figures.


i've been scurrying about all week getting ready for christmas. almost every evening, i've found some reason to go to target, wal-mart or the shopping center, scrambling about for gifts and clothes for my family and friends. all the while, leaving that piece of paper zipped up. forgetting that a dream was inside there. 


a dream of a christmas without apologies to little faces. without shrugs and sighs of disappointment. without excitement shot down. without "maybe next year."


and it doesn't matter that i can't relate. that i don't understand or can't fathom. because, like the miner, her dream is singular. and it's not my place to try and identify. all i can do is help.


so i went shopping tonight. not for myself or my family. but for her. to do my part, my teeny, itsy part, to make sure her dreams.

aren't dreams anymore.

the good fight

robert and i had a fight the other day. 

a simple quarrel in the middle of the grocery store aisle. 

trying to hush and silence the rising volume in our voices as we grasped onto our salami. a little disagreement about whether to use cash or card to purchase our items. perhaps the lamest argument in history. 

but it escalated and resulted in hurt feelings. in a digging up of past wrongs, current struggles and worries about the future. we didn't speak the whole way home. and twenty minutes feels like eternity with the black highway rolling silently beneath your wheels. even pablo could sense something was wrong, and sounded a muffled whimper until we pulled into the driveway. 

and we worked it out. we sat on our sofa with the christmas lights twinkling. the television grumbling in the background, i positioned myself in the safe, warm crook of his strong arms. and we talked. honestly. rawly. for a long time. our voices loud in the air of the living room at midnight. and in the end, all was okay. we would have stayed up and talked all night, if we had to. and for a while there, i thought that very well might be what it took.

because we're not perfect. because we were tired. because sometimes, a healthy spat is needed in a relationship. of course there are deal-breakers. like hitting. and cheating. and lying. never okay. but a fight that forces you to look introspectively, to consult your actions and how they affect the ones you love? occasionally good for you.

because when i stood at the alter of the church i grew up in, my 21-year-old fingers, shaking with excitement and nerves, sliding on his wedding ring, i made a promise.

to love him. yes, in sickness and health, for better or for worse. but those are common words. they are holy and beautiful, but they need to be translated sometimes.

what that means is i will love you even if you wear a million white undershirts and our laundry pile is always twice the size of normal even though it's just us two. you will love me even if i forget you hate quiche and make a tuna casserole with eggs that ends up quite quiche-like. i will love you through layoffs, promotions, babies and grandbabies. through family deaths and births.

and yes, i will love you through fights at the grocery store. especially ones that result in making up over reruns of E! news and hot cider.

because the fact is, this man still sleeps to the left of me. he is mine and i am forever his. constantly learning and growing with him. this wasn't our first fight and it won't be our last. we're not done with little challenges.

but we're not done loving, either. 

as long as we both shall live.

my heart on my sleeve

it's snowing here in north carolina. by snowing i  mean a nasty slush of rain/snow/sleet, just enough to deem the roads undriveable, and warrant a two-hour delay from work. yesterday, the air around my town was getting ready for this. this beautiful, once-or-twice a year treat of long mornings spent sleeping under quilts, snowman-building in the afternoon sun, and sipping hot coffee in front of the television.

the air dipped into freezing yesterday. my car struggled to start in this newfound chill. my toes were ice blocks as soon as i stepped onto the wooden floorboards beneath my bed. when i left the house yesterday morning, i remembered leaving my favorite jacket at mama and dad's. my cream white pea coat with oversized buttons. it sat warm and unused, a mere few miles away.

so i reached for another coat, then quickly put it back and went for a different one. i couldn't take this one. my vintage, waffle-texture long coat with a single gold clasp at the neck. i didn't leave it behind because of the weather. a little rain wouldn't hurt it. i didn't leave it because of its weight. it's plenty heavy enough to shield me from the winds that sang through my trees.

honestly, i left it behind because i really don't like it anymore. it's not that soft. there's a slight yellow circle-shaped stain on the back. the clasp is hard to manage and tends to come undone easily.

but i'd never give it away.  i can't even put it in my shop. because every time i look at it, i remember.

dipping my toes in the pacific ocean for the first time this past autumn. standing in my bare feet in the hazy, gray glow that permeated cannon beach, oregon. i swear, the scene was almost european, with birds decorating the sand and water the color of slate. it was gorgeous.

as we hastily pulled into our motel, i grabbed that coat out of the trunk and ran, hand in hand, with robert. literally chasing the sunset, we hurried to the beach, over cobblestone streets and a cove of sea brush, finally arriving to this:

i was wearing the coat then, and so i will hold onto it now. on it is the sea spray and memories of my trip, and perhaps a few crumbs from the boysenberry scone i devoured moments before that picture of me was taken.

so i'll keep it in my closet. for that reason alone.

like the curious george boxer shorts i got in the 7th grade, on our family's only trip to disneyworld. they have a flap in the front and i'm certain they are for boys, but i've held onto them. because when i look at the image of george, wearing his spacesuit and floating around on the fabric, i remember that vacation. the heat that just sat on top of the atmosphere and almost suffocated us. riding the rock n' roller coaster with my mama, my hips hurting the entire rest of the trip after that initial jolt. my dad's sweet laugh and my sister's fright and nerves as we approached each ride. 

isn't it funny how we associate so many memories with clothes? i think that's why i love vintage so much, because you can almost feel the decades in the fibers. and i'm so happy and thankful for those precious souls who donate their clothes to thrift stores, so i can happily snatch them up and make my own memories in them.

so the coat sits in the closet. 

smashed between my jeans and winter sweaters. collecting dust. 

maybe one day i can pass it down to my daughter, and tell her, over a steaming pot of coffee, how her mama and daddy interlocked fingers and ran into the ocean. how we chased  the sun and raced with nature together. i hope she'll be able to feel the love, my heart, on the sleeves.

because it's there. and just because i don't wear it anymore doesn't mean it's gone. just like when i close my eyes, i can still see oregon.

because memories embed themselves in the most unexpected of places. in the chipped red paint of my desk, the one i painted outside one warm spring evening. in the pupils of pablo's eyes. and in the threads of clothing.

yes, especially in the threads of clothing.

love is a mixed tape

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i have a 25 minute drive home from work. not too long, just the exact right amount of time to really get into a mixed cd. to let the songs wash over me, free me of deadline-induced stress and coffee-induced anxiety.

yesterday was one of those days. i was driving on the highway, with dusk chasing me outside my window. the air was arctic outside, but my heater was on at my toes, and i was enveloped in my pea coat and scarf. then, i looked up.

the sky was baby pink with swirls of iris. the setting sun gave off a full-sky glow as it sank, illuminating the colors and deepening their brilliance. it was magnificent. the kind of beautiful you want your sunsets to be.

and my mixed cd was playing iron and wine's "passing afternoon." the sunset's magic was intensified. peace and serenity were restored in my weary heart. and i was reminded. of the power of music. to restore, humor, lighten and soothe. to conjure up old memories and heal new hurts.

so i began to think. of the songs that mean the most to me. and i came up with this playlist. now, it should be noted these are iconic songs in my life right now. if i would have made a playlist 10 years ago, it would have included such gems as "jumpin' jumpin'" by destiny's child and "story of a girl" by nine days. both great songs. both should remain circa the year 2000.

so please take a listen:

1.florida: patty griffin. my former co-worker ellie used to listen to patty while we worked on proposals. ellie is the kind of girl you always want to be. she's elegant, kind-hearted and has the sweetest speaking voice. this song reminds me of her, and of my first real job. in my first real office. with my first real co-worker. later, robert and i put this song on one of our favorite mixed cds, and have played it so.many.times in the car since.


2. la cienega just smiled: ryan adams. because ryan adams songs make me feel melancholy in a strangely pleasant way. because this song is haunting and gorgeous. because a few months ago, i went to los angeles and stood at the top of la cienega boulevard and thought about these lyrics.


3. passing afternoon: iron and wine. this is my all-time favorite song. similar to the way i remember where i was when i learned princess diana, JFK jr, heath ledger, and michael jackson died, i remember exactly what i was doing when this song first came on. i was studying with robert. in the secret space behind the book stacks in the library. the clandestine room with leather chairs that only cool kids knew about. this song encapsulates my college years. i love it for this line alone: "there are things that drift away, like our endless, numbered days."


4. california: joni mitchell. i played this as robert and i crossed over the california state line on our road trip a few months ago. with the windows down on our rental car and my bare feet hanging out the window, i threw my hands in the air and robert laid on the horn. i've never felt more alive.


5. cape canaveral: conor oberst. our first road trip as a married couple was to myrtle beach. nothing fancy, especially not in the middle of winter, when we sneaked there for our valentine's day getaway. i played this song on the way down, in the middle of the night after the circus. we had learned all the words by the time we arrived, we played it so many times. this song reminds me of that sweet, nerve-wracking feeling of being on the cusp of something great. we were just starting out and getting our toes wet together, and this song was the beginning.


6. so-so: brooke waggoner. this is one of my little brother's favorite artists. i took him to brooke's concert once, but we got there late and almost missed the entire show. we didn't even get to see her perform this song. this one reminds me of clint, and his incredible zest for life and excellent taste in music. all the concerts we've traveled to together, and all the unexpected fun we've had.


7. shape of a heart: jackson browne. i played this the first autumn we got pablo. i remember dancing in the kitchen in my socks, with his furry body in my arms, tail dangling against my stomach. still unsure how to hold him, still awkwardly wrapping my arms around his torso. we danced together to this song and in the course of those three minutes, i became a mama.


8. the book of right-ON: joanna newsom. see #6. we made the concert this time, in asheville. thanks, clint!


9. something good this way comes: jakob dylan. jakob has had my heart since the wallflowers sang "one headlight." there's something so distinctively beautiful about his voice. so different from his father's, but with that same gorgeous gravel. i also played this song on our first road trip to the beach. it reminds me of salty air, ferry rides, and dinner boat cruises.


10. clean getaway: maria taylor. because the honesty in her voice is heartbreaking. simple as that.


so there you have it! enjoy. i hope these songs bring as much comfort and happiness to your day as they have brought to my 20s. i love how songs are soundtracks, as corny as that may sound. when you can't go back in time, at least you can press rewind.

rest for the weary

i never liked taking naps.

in kindergarten, we had a designated nap time. each of us had our padded mats. mine was cherry red on one side and royal blue on the other. like the underside of a pillow on a balmy summer night, one side of the mat was always cooler, pressing softly against the concrete floor.

but while all the other kids were slumbering for that blissful hour or so, i was wide awake. i tell you, i could not have been more alert if my life had depended on it. as soon as the lights dimmed and the shuffling of little feet began, my mind would start to race. not in the frantic, worried way it does now, late at night when i'm the only one awake, but just race with excitement. with the idea that i was the only one in the room who wasn't asleep. i felt responsible. i felt like i should be doing something. i felt too keenly aware of my surroundings.  i think it has a large part to do with my stutter. even back then, i was a bundle of nervous energy.

and this pattern of not napping continued. my friends would go home and take naps after school. occupied with cheerleading and homework, that thought never entered my mind. but it wasn't because i didn't want to, didn't long to. i watched in envy as my father napped on lazy sunday afternoons. he'd lay across the living room floor, a sunbeam tickling his forehead. i would be on the computer, typing away at microsoft encarta.

then i met robert, and everything changed.

in our seven years together, he has taught me much. how to change a tire. how to appreciate the dave matthews band, pearl jam and ben folds. how to love unconditionally and honestly keep no record of wrongs. and, most importantly, how to relax, and, specifically, how to nap.

robert takes the most excellent naps. it takes him all of .5 seconds to fall asleep, and once he does, he immediately enters this deep, delicious rest, no matter how long the respite. it's a work of art, really, how his arms slide over his head, his chin tilts to the left and his lips part just slightly, letting out a slow, controlled collection of sighs.

through him, i have learned to appreciate the indulgence of rest. we are humans, not machines. i think it is such a lovely fact that our bodies aren't designed to go nonstop. we absolutely have to sleep. so why not make the most of it? our bedroom is tiny, with white walls and two doors that make way too much noise. there's a shed light right outside our window that flickers on at the slightest breeze. pablo is routinely at my feet, spinning around and pawing the covers. but we make it a point to rest in that space. we have a king bed, soft sheets and heavy blankets. i have a heating pad, velvety socks and a well-loved pillowcase. and it's home.

so i urge you, indulge in what makes you feel rested. you'll be infinitely more prepared to take on the day. everything will get done in due time-rushing typically only slows the process. it might mean leaving those last few dishes in the sink. that extra pile of laundry in the hamper. that glow of the laptop at midnight, beckoning you to check your e-mail. because rest--good, solid, sweet sleep, is the backbone of living, playing and working. you can't have one without the other. i've learned this. it seems robert's teachings have also affected another member of the family:

you don't have to take a nap every day, but letting go is such a freeing, beautiful feeling. when i realized i simply can't do it all, it all became more manageable. so try it. linger a bit longer in the bathtub than usual. heck, just take.a.bath. with the days getting shorter and darkness creeping in earlier, relish in these days, and enjoy earlier bedtimes. because you need it. your body craves it. and chances are, you deserve it.

a mustard seed

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 "I tell you the truth, if you have faith as small as a mustard seed, you can say to this mountain, 'Move from here to there' and it will move. Nothing will be impossible for you." -Matthew 17:20

From behind my desk, I watched the clock strike 6:30 p.m. My boss and I were some of the only employees left in the building. We had been working painstakingly since 8 a.m. on a big proposal that, if won, could mean great things for our company. For more than 10 hours, we had hole punched, typed, edited and formatted until the project was complete. The only problem? We were in North Carolina and it had to arrive in Georgia by the next afternoon. We had to deliver it via FedEx. In our area, the last delivery time is typically no later than 6:30 p.m.

We browsed the Internet until we found a self-serve drop box nearby that was open until 7:00. We had less than half an hour. My boss hurriedly scribbled the address on a sticky note. In my haste to get out the door, it fell to the floor and was locked behind me. "Lewis!" I yelled across the parking lot. "What was the address again?" He hesitated for a moment, then yelled back "7027 Albert Pick Road!" With a broken GPS and a terrible sense of direction, I headed toward where I thought the road was. As I drove, I began to pray, Lord I'm not sure where I'm going. This is all riding on me now. Please help me find this place.

To my great surprise, I found the road on my first try. However, my satisfaction quickly dwindled when I looked around me. The road was home to a huge business park. Dozens of office buildings lined its side streets, each with its address hidden behind towering shade trees. The place was empty, as most of its businesses shut down at 5:00. Dodging roundabouts and merging lanes, I entered from the east side. Almost immediately, I found Building 7027. I had less than 10 minutes to go but was feeling pretty confident. Then, I circled the building five times. No drop box in sight.

I swerved in the vacant parking lot and desperately ran up to the door. Locked and dark inside. With less than five minutes to go, I hopped in my car and started the long, sad process of giving up. I searched on my phone for other local FedEx offices, telling myself that this was hopeless. I prayed again. Lord. We have worked so hard on this. Please help me find the drop box! All of a sudden, I looked up. A light went on in a building across the park. A completely random, unmarked building. It was the only lighted building as far as I could see. I thought to myself, if there are lights on, maybe there will be someone in there who can point in the right direction. Immediately, I drove over, ran up to the front door, package in tow, and found that it opened into a vast lobby with nothing but elevators on both sides.

One woman was exiting the lobby from the other side. "Excuse me!" I yelled, but she walked out the door without stopping. Confused and lost, I started to walk back to my car when something caught my eye. There was a little room off to the right, no larger than an office cubicle. As I entered it, my heart leapt. There, nestled in the tiniest of spaces, was the drop box, with a bold, beautiful sign that said "Today's Delivery has NOT Occurred Yet." Tears of relief and thanksgiving welled up in my eyes.


The proposal was successfully delivered that afternoon. I quickly put it in the box and slammed the lid, but not before placing my shaking hand on the cool metal and saying a prayer of gratitude to the Great Deliverer Himself.
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faith comes in all forms and is a pivotal part of many religions. for me, it is belief in things unseen and a hope for my future. it doesn't always come in such a grand way as i experienced that day. sometimes it's a shout, yes. but most of the time, it's simply a whisper. a soft echoing into my soul that speaks peace to my being. it comes in the kitchen, when i'm preparing supper after a long day. in the bedroom, when i'm on my knees in prayer late at night. in the conference room, as my shaking hands grasp presentation papers. and through it, i feel Christ assure me. lead me.


this was a story about faith. an aha moment in my spiritual walk. a tangible, loud confirmation of the power of prayer. but more often than not, faith is a quiet space. it is finding the power to believe in those moments between the ahas,  in the deep, dark crevices of life and the lowest of devastating wells, that faith truly finds its foothold, and its power to move mountains. and i'm so thankful it does. because sometimes, that's all i can muster. the faith of a mustard seed. but sometimes, that's all it takes.

finding the good.

you tell them-we've all got meanness in us, but we've got goodness too. and the only thing worth living for is the good.

-where the heart is

while leaving the post office yesterday, i walked behind a woman. she in her navy slacks and blazer. me in my peacoat and scarf. my steps matched hers on the cold cement floor, both of us making a racket in our high heels, like angry ladybugs flickering over a light bulb.

and i knew she saw me. felt my presence behind her, as much as i felt the presence of the man behind me, walking slower than us, falling a few steps behind.

so it came as a surprise when she opened the door and let its heavy weight sling back in my face, not pausing or looking behind her. talking on her cell phone and hurrying to her sedan. in her defense, perhaps i'm wrong and she didn't see me, in which case my emotions were totally unmerited. but in that moment, with my lunch hour almost over and my chilly hands stuffed into my pockets, i felt my heart sink. i backed away quickly enough to avoid any impact. but what an impact it made.

i turned and held the door for the man behind me and was rewarded with his gentle half-smile. he was older, much older and was taking his time getting to his car. i waited while he shuffled to the exit.

and i realized that humans are humans. we make mistakes. we are forgetful, jealous, rude and unkind at times. but we're good too. and like natalie portman so beautiful narrarates to ashley judd, that's the only part that's worth anything at all.

so yesterday evening, while christmas shopping with robert, i looked for it. the good, that is.

and i found it.

in the bald man ringing the salvation army bell outside the grocery store, wind rippling at his jeans. in his smile and friendly "have a blessed day."

in the sweet woman behind the sushi counter who giggled when i said we didn't know how to use chopsticks. the way she piled extra forks and knives on our plates as if to make up for our lack of skills.

in the store clerk passing out fresh cranberry oatmeal cookies while we shopped. in her unassuming red sweater and black slacks, begging us to try one, explaining how they were freshly baked.

in my kind neighbor. paralyzed from the waist down and lying in bed for two years. her overwhelming gratitude for my notary services. talking about the importance of coupons, sharing the love of Christ with me through her eyes.

in my mama, greeting me this evening with more brightly colored tights and a new oreo dessert. making her home a place i want to come back to, again and again.

there's so much good--so much beauty--in this world, that i sometimes don't know what to do with it all. so i do what i can. i gather it up and spread it. some of it i keep in my heart for times like today. when people slam the door in my face. when people disappoint and hurt me, or worse-when i hurt others. it's my own little cushion from life's hard blows.

it's just that simple. trust in the kindness of people. there are certainly some rotten ones out there, but unlike apples, a few can't spoil the bunch. because the bunch is inheritently, totally,

beautifully.

good.

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