Archive for the 'Uniquely Me' Category
September 23, 2009 @ 6:22 am | Filed under: Family, Uniquely Me
So here’s the deal.
I had to write a food memoir for the Advanced Non-Fiction writing class I’m taking. As a self-proclaimed, card-carrying, exuberant foodie, there were about a zillion-and-one things that immediately popped into my head after receiving this assignment.
Long, laughter-filled dinner parties with friends, the way mom always made spaghetti and cherry pie for me on each and every birthday, Deviled eggs at Easter, patterning my own meatloaf recipe after my grandmother’s (secret ingredient is brown sugar!)
I could go on and on…
The long and short of it is that food is more than just an energy source. Mealtimes are a bonding experience and whether it’s as a family or amongst friends, a good meal paired with laughter and sharing is just about as good as it gets.
Maybe that’s why I have such a passion for cooking for those I love…
Maybe that’s why I want to run a B&B one day and have my guests return home with a happy tummy, happy heart, happy memories…
And because I am writing this post instead of doing homework, I am totally digressing…and let’s face it, folks, the homework’s not doing itself.
The following is the food memoir I finally decided on. This memory holds a special place all its own in my heart. I love how its the smallest moments, filled with the most insignificant of things, that are what we remember with the most clarity from our childhood.
Plus, I know that Kevin and our respective spouses will totally get a kick outta this one!
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The mid-summer Texas afternoon was near perfect: cloudless blue sky, sprawling green lawns, and all up and down Bayshore Drive, the squeals and laughter of neighborhood kids as we ran with abandon through whirling water sprinklers. The morning lay like a long, winding ribbon behind us, lazy yet loud, and we didn’t know any better than to expect the hours until dusk to be exactly the same. Then and only then, when mothers, one by one, would stand on front porches and call loudly for their respective kids, would we begrudgingly turn for home. Turning to yell an occasional promise of “Tomorrow! We’ll do it again tomorrow!” to our friends, we’d trudge home with bare, dirty feet, smudged grins, and a tummy rolling with hunger. This was a scene that was repeated more times than I can even count. Only one thing ever marred those priceless dinner hour memories. But that one thing…was big enough, horrid enough, smelly enough…that my brother, Kevin, and I—much to the horror of our mother—still talk about it today.
Homemade pickles.
If you’ve experienced pickle-making of the homemade variety, then you know exactly what I’m talking about. If you haven’t…let me explain. Pickles come from cucumbers and did we ever have some cucumbers growing in our backyard. I was a child of the seventies and it was not uncommon for a middle-class suburban family to grow their own vegetables in neat little rows against the back fence in those days. We were no different. Neat green clumps of lettuce, juicy red tomatoes, and the most prickly okra you’ve ever felt in your life found their way up through the earth in our backyard. Unfortunately for Kevin and me, cucumbers also grew in vast amounts. Sometimes they would grow so fast and multiply in number so quickly that my mother would carry brown paper bags full to eager neighbors.
Other times, she’d make…pickles.
There are no words to describe running up your driveway, tired and hungry from the hours spent outside, and being assaulted in the garage by the smell of vinegar and cucumbers! It is unique, to say the least, and the acidity and sourness blend in such a way that—truly—it can only be described as a stench. One whiff and I no longer had that boisterous eight-year-old appetite. Instead my tummy whirled and spun inside of my skinny little self and I’d beg to go to bed, gagging all the while. In hindsight, my brother and I kind of wonder if the pickle-making process was just Mom’s way of needing a quiet night with the kids tucked away early! I’d hold my nose during a quick shower while the warm, soapy water washed away the day’s grime but did absolutely nothing to dilute the smell that had such a talent for wafting its way from the kitchen into the farthest parts of our home. Scarcely dry, I’d jump into pajamas and make a run for my bed. Once there, it didn’t matter that it was ninety-five degrees outside or that the sun had yet to disappear completely behind the horizon. I’d go as far down in the bed as I could, pulling every stitch of covers up over my head, burrowing my face in the pillow. Praying for sleep to quickly deliver me from the smell, I’d almost always fall asleep wondering one simple thing. Why on earth did Mom go and ruin a perfectly wonderful summer day with a pot full of silly old cucumbers?
I still don’t eat pickles.
The memories of those pickle-making summers, however, have turned out to be something I wouldn’t trade for any amount of money. The richness of shared family recollections, no matter how smelly, provide endless hours of laughter and reminiscing. Our spouses shake their heads every time Kevin or I bring up the subject of pickles, but even they are wiping away tears of laughter by the time the story has been told…one more time.
Not the pickles again!
Family, summertime memories, writing
September 14, 2009 @ 2:21 pm | Filed under: Uniquely Me
“Openness serves as a bridge to the world of others. It enables us to get involved with others, to understand the thoughts of others, to feel what others are feeling. In other words, if we’re open, we’re able to enter the existential world of others even if at times we can’t identify with someone’s particular world.” –Brennan Manning, The Wisdom of Tenderness
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There are so many days lately that I find myself craving more time. I fight resentment over the fact that - though writing is my calling - I have so little precious time to devote to it.
I know I am where I am supposed to be right now. I am truly thankful each and every day that I have no doubt about that. But my heart very often leans toward the words that seem to always lie in the recesses of my heart and mind, just waiting for me to mine them and spin them into gold threads for a future story.
Always the stories are there.
Always they call to me in the deep of the night and in the first whispers of morning.
I pray that they not lose patience with me, that these words will find a nest within my soul and cradle there until there moment in the sun.
Openness.
That’s what I endeavor to achieve right now.
September 3, 2009 @ 6:49 am | Filed under: Family, Uniquely Me, he said she said
“The life I touch for good or ill will touch another life, and that in turn another, until who knows where the trembling stops or in what far place my touch will be felt.” - Frederick Beuchner
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(journal entry from mid-May)
Tonight was a quiet evening. We sat in our (now) small living area - Mike in his chair, with his computer (doing sales call reports) and me in my spot on the sofa, with my computer (doing homework.) It was just a few minutes before nine when there was a knock on the door.
I think it startled us both. In the couple of weeks we’ve been here, we’ve not seen many people, let alone knocking on our door.
Mike set his computer aside and went to the door. Even though he was less than twenty feet away, I could neither see nor hear our visitor. I could only hear Mike’s side of the conversation.
“No, thanks, we don’t really need any this time.” He closed the door and locked it. “That was a local high school girl selling cookie dough for—”
He stopped mid-sentence and I can only guess it was because I had sprung up from my seat and was at his side when he turned around.
I opened my mouth and tried to find a voice for the overwhelming pull that had propelled me upward in the first place. I spit and sputtered, uttering words that seemed to come from out of nowhere. I’m pretty sure that ‘community’ and ‘witness’ and ‘part of the plan’ all came out of my mouth in that brief twenty second period, but I don’t know that it made any kind of sense at all.
Mike unlocked the door and stepped out into the breezeway outside our door, looking down the hallway for the girl. She was at the next apartment.
“Hey, I think my wife wants to buy some after all.” Mike beckoned her back.
I spent the next five minutes introducing myself to Kenesha, a striking African-American teen with the most beautiful blue eyes I think I’ve ever seen, and buying the white chocolate-macadamia cookie dough that - truly - we did not need. Even as we chatted, I was almost mesmerized by her personality, and I even had the briefest of seconds when I thought - again - how unlike me this was, to be so involved in an animated conversation with a complete stranger.
But there was an unspeakable pull toward this teen that began while I still sat on the sofa, before I’d even laid eyes on her, or heard her voice.
After I handed her the fourteen dollars for the cookie dough and then shut and locked the door, Mike chuckled from his chair. “Think we’ll ever see that cookie dough?”
I was silent, still kind of in awe at what had pulled me from my spot on the sofa in the first place. Somehow I knew it wasn’t really about the cookie dough at all. We sat in total silence for about five minutes. And then Mike spoke.
“Do you ever get the feeling that we’re here for more than just the reasons we think we’re here?
Yes. Yes. Yes.
September 2, 2009 @ 6:35 am | Filed under: The Solid Rock, Uniquely Me
One of the great mind destroyers of college education is the belief that if it’s very complex, it’s very profound.” - Dennis Prager
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(originally journaled in early April 2009.)
The past few weeks have been surreal.
I can scarcely believe we are actually doing this. I keep waiting for the REAL me to rise up and say something along the lines of “what the…?” But there is nothing except certainty that is flowing smooth and easy inside of me.
Even as I pack the house in the late night hours when I’m all alone, moving through the rooms and hallways, I have no qualms about this decision. It’s the nighttime that is usually the breeding ground for fear and trepidation and - some nights - I keep waiting on it. But it’s a visitor that never knocks.
My logic tells me that surely I must have been konked on the head and awakened with some other woman’s rationale and emotions. This is NOT me. I worry. I fret. I resist change.
I’m emotional.
But the reality is that I’m calm and certain, in a way that I just can’t explain. In less than two weeks I will walk out of this house - this style of living - and I will walk into an apartment over an hour away. We will know no one. I will stay many, many nights by myself while Mike is on the road. I am leaving behind the concept that “bigger is better” and the theory that as I get older, my “things” should become bigger, nicer, finer…
I sit here tonight and wonder what happened to the woman I was. When I look in the mirror as I brush my teeth, I look the same. But I no longer recognize the inner woman. I don’t know her. I think I should be afraid.
But I’m not.
I go to bed with peace and awaken with a quiet excitement.
I don’t know what to expect, but I do know that I should be expectant.
(Two weeks later…)
Tomorrow the movers will come.
By this time tomorrow night, I will be preparing to spend my first night in Commerce. In an apartment. In a community that is so unlike any I’ve lived in before.
Boxes are packed and labeled. Many will go with us into our new home, but even more will go into storage. We are losing over 1400 square feet of living space with this move, so - in ways even we had not anticipated - simplicity is truly finding us.
It’s a funny thing. Sometimes the very thing we ask for, pray for, finds us and takes us by surprise. Very seldom is it packaged the way we’d imagined, or presented in a way we’d recognize.
But it is a gift, nonetheless, presented by Him, simply because we requested it.
There have been so many mini-miracles (is there such a thing? are they all huge, and that is why they are miracles…?) to transpire over the past couple of weeks that we have almost been amused. I’m pretty certain that I have both, laughed out loud and broken down and cried, because it further solidifies that this move is the one thing that needs to be done.
Even in the moments when my logic kicks in and I run through the mental list of just why this is a crazy move, and just who probably now thinks we’ve lost our minds, and where I’m headed…even in those moments I can’t ignore the obvious.
Too many things have aligned in short order. Too many people have unknowingly been a part of this plan. Too many past prayers and nights and days spent in restlessness -knowing that I was in the big middle of the deep, learning to swim and tread water, and yet not being able to see the other shore. In a crazy, crazy, definitely unforeseen way, I’ve reached the banks and I’m crawling ashore. It’s certainly not where I’d pictured myself washing up. The beach is not white and sandy like I prefer. The water is not crystal clear and cool to the touch. It’s not paradise. It’s not my dream.
But for some reason that I am still helpless to explain, it has become…home.
Tomorrow I go there.
life lessons, living simply, walk with God
August 31, 2009 @ 6:36 am | Filed under: Family, Soul Food, Uniquely Me
I’ve been the quietest I’ve been in years…maybe ever…these past several months.
As an aside - I’m sure if you were to ask Mike, he’d beg to differ with that last statement! I’ve been talking, for sure, as we’ve been planning, implementing those plans, and making various adjustments these past few months. But, other than journaling it and talking it out within our four walls, I’ve not been too vocal on much except surface…stuff.
When I shut out the noise around me, good or bad, I can truly focus. Regain some clarity, perspective. There is a tranquility of spirit these days and - while it is something new for me - it is definitely something I hope to keep.
There is one area though that I am resolving to bolster even more. It is one of my weaknesses: time management. I want so much to do well in so many different areas that I find I am constantly tending to the urgent and - in the process - often ignoring the important.
Putting out fires is necessary, goodness knows, but what I so often perceive as being a burning forest usually turns out to be nothing more than smoldering embers. And sometimes when I get back to the important, the passion, the energy and the drive has already been spent.
My heartbeat lately has been to find God and then join Him in what He is doing. In this protected, tender space that is my life right now, I feel a real need to maximize the time. To not only be productive in my work, school, church and family life, but to really be cognizant as I go through my day of the people around me. What they are facing. Decisions they are making. Hurts they have.
My life has slowed, for sure. I don’t know that I will ever truly understand the scope of what this time is about for me. I feel almost certain that, at the very least, I won’t glimpse the meaning until I’ve faithfully trodded this path until I come to the next leg of the journey.
The last thing I want to do is to fill this time with busyness instead of progress. There are some things - some people - that I can do nothing about, nothing for. Some things just need to be left alone. I’m trying to learn that, accept it.
Only then can I cultivate the important. I want to grow a garden during this time, and nourish it with time spent with Him, time spent in reflection, time shared with loved ones, and time in knowledge and understanding.
Today begins the new fall term and, with it, I am starting a new book. I’m excited about both…and also nervous about both. Beginnings - as fresh and fun and exciting as they can be - aren’t really my forte. But they are crucial and I know that these first days will set the stage for the next weeks and months. I want those months to be productive ones. And I know what it will take for that productivity to even have a fighting chance.
This morning I lay it all down, all the components that make up ME.
I ask for eyes to see the realities.
Ears to hear His voice.
A heart to love without borders.
And arms strong enough to cradle it all.
Family, living simply, school stories
August 27, 2009 @ 7:08 am | Filed under: Uniquely Me
“The first step towards getting somewhere is to decide that you are not going to stay where you are.” - John Pierpont Morgan
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It was the Friday after the New Year. 2009.
We drove east on I-30, headed towards TAMU-Commerce. I had a two-o’clock with my new advisor, and Mike tagged along just for the ride. For several months I had kept a running list of pros and cons for switching schools. There was a huge part of me that resisted. Probably the part of me that normally can’t stand change. But it had become all too clear that I had two choices: change schools or settle for the major that I didn’t really want.
Sometimes I question my decision to even go back to school. As much as I enjoy it, the time and energy it takes sometimes exhaust me. I miss the massive amounts of writing time that I used to take for granted. I miss spending lots of time with friends. I could live the rest of my life without finishing school, without teaching…and my life would still be full, vibrant and happy. It’s not as though I need to do this.
Yet…I do need to.
I’m not sure when or where I knew it, I only know that somewhere along the way I intuitively knew that this was something I was meant to do. As the first couple of years slid by, I have alternatively loved/despised school, but I’ve not wavered about the fact that it was something I needed to do.
So on this Friday I was scheduled to meet with Dr. Bolin and chart the remainder of my school career. Even as we drove, I commented several times that - really - the drive is not bad. Already I was assimilating myself to the realization that I would be on this very road a lot as I commuted back and forth.
Looking back, we have no clue who made the first move, spoke that first word…For someone who marks milestones by emotions and feelings, I have no memory of this particular milestone. It’s very odd. I only know that something happened along the drive that day. I looked out the window as we passed a certain section of town and I felt a pull. A sense of somehow belonging. Of somehow having a sense of purpose there.
I couldn’t identify what it was that I was experiencing and it never occurred to me then to voice it. I simply attended my meeting, made academic plans and then we drove home.
It was much later - back home - that the surreal began to take place. We looked at one another and it was Mike who spoke first.
“I…I felt something today.”
I didn’t question his words or the tone with which they were spoken.
I knew.
life lessons, living simply, school stories
August 26, 2009 @ 9:19 am | Filed under: The Solid Rock, Uniquely Me
“The optimist sees opportunity in every danger; the pessimist sees danger in every opportunity.” — Winston Churchill
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Be still and know that I am God. - Psalm 46:10
I knew that change was coming to my life.
Normally, I don’t do change. At least not with any kind of ladylike grace at all. It usually involves a bit of kicking and screaming, asking why, and - more often than not - results in lots of hot tears.
Why is it that some lessons are just so hard to learn?
My heart is a tricky place. Just when I think I have all its rooms cleaned up and ready to pass inspection, I trip and fall over something I thought I had already picked up and put away properly.
When I want too much, I become a very unhappy woman. And it’s never things that get me twisted, it’s matters of the heart, a longing for that one, single, solitary place inside of me that has yet to be satisfied…
It was during times alone with Him that I began to ask for simplicity.
And it was in the darkness of those hours before Him, when I could no longer hide and found myself stripping off everything that was trying to bind my mind, my emotions, my purpose, that His voice found me.
He began to uncover the makeshift bandages I had placed over bruised spots. His fingers caressed the scars, and He spoke whispers of comfort that moved a long-needed breeze through my soul.
For the past year I have been so acutely aware that I was being prepared for something. In almost everything I took a part in, it was shown - again and again and again - that I was to walk out into the deep and that I was to do just this one thing.
One thing at a time.
I have found that if you do that ONE THING and then the NEXT one, and then the NEXT one…before you know it life has evolved, situations have evolved and…I have evolved. And evolution equals change.
One day that still quiet voice penetrated to the depths of my heart; I listened, sensing an important message.
Simplicity, I can give you.
I instinctively knew I should stiffen at those words, but I no longer had the energy. Wasn’t I on my face, tears streaking my face, my throat raw from the time spent with Him - acknowledging that my ways needed to fade away so that HIS way could be made clear?
The struggle within me died in those moments of surrender. I didn’t know where He would lead. I didn’t know what He would have me do.
I only knew that I could no longer hide. Could no longer numb the pain. Could no longer live a life that was merely reactive.
I rose to my feet, not knowing anything more than I had said yes.
To what, I didn’t know.
August 25, 2009 @ 10:32 am | Filed under: Uniquely Me
(Hey Robyn. Hey Denise. Here ya go, ladies… 
I posted this song here a while back, and also to my personal online journal and - I have to say - it’s the song that has lived in my heart since.
Waiting is sometimes the hardest thing to do. Ever.
I’ve been quiet here for a while. My friends think I’ve abandoned blogging. I’m not sure what my readers think. This is my effort to share the story of a true revolution. And one in progress, at that. This is the story of the past few months and what has happened, and is, happening in the Wilder home and hearts.
This is the story of a home that gave up ’simply living’ in order to begin ‘living simply’ and what we’re discovering in the process.
There is so much more woven into the fabric of this story than mere catch phrases of the hour. It is more than a return to the simple things; instead, it is a return to the First Love, to His call on our lives. It is the tale of our journey of faith. It’s a journey that changes just a bit everyday, just enough to continually surprise us in good ways, in uncomfortable ways, and in all ways in between.
I think that God must surely look down on me in some of my less-than-finer-moments and wish that this daughter of His wasn’t quite as feisty as I can be at times. The truth is that He’d been trying to talk to me for a while, but I’d not really cared to have the type of conversation I knew He wanted.
I was in hiding.
But it didn’t work. Not for long. My soul can only take so much distance before I run to Him, fall on my face, and cry out for His touch once again.
I needed to be quiet for a while; needed to get to that place of solitude where His voice was all I heard and His touch all I craved.
And so I got quiet. Got quiet here, and got quiet quiet in life, trying instead to tune in solely to the people and responsibilities that He’s placed in my hands, my heart - my life.
In upcoming blog posts I will endeavor to chronicle what happened next. I’m not quite sure in what order, if any, they will be told.
I’m a work in progress.
My God is amazing, the guiding light of my life.
This is not the journey I thought I’d take.
I don’t know where I’m going. I don’t know what will rise up to greet me along the way. I know…nothing, really.
Except that I am waiting - always waiting - and, for the first time in a long while, my thoughts have stilled, my heart has quieted, my soul has found peace.
This is the story of how it began.
How I gave up simply living, in order to begin living simply.
May 28, 2009 @ 9:43 am | Filed under: Uniquely Me
You must decide for yourself to whom and when you give access to your interior life. For years, you have permitted others to walk in and out of your life according to their needs and desires. Thus you were no longer master in your own house, and you felt increasingly used. So, too, you quickly became tired, irritated, angry and resentful.
Think of a medieval castle surrounded by a moat. The drawbridge is the only access to the interior of the castle. The lord of the castle must have the power to decide when to draw the bridge and when to let it down. Without such power, he can become the victim of enemies, strangers, and wanderers. He will never feel at peace in his own castle.
It is important for you to control your own drawbridge. There must be times when you keep your bridge drawn and have the opportunity to be alone, or with those to whom you feel close. Never allow yourself to become public property where anyone can walk in and out at will. You might think you are being generous to anyone who wants to enter or leave, but you will soon find yourself losing your soul.
When you claim for yourself the power over your drawbridge, you will discover new joy and peace in your heart and find yourself able to share that joy and peace with others.
-Henri Nouwen, The Inner Voice of Love
May 20, 2009 @ 10:09 am | Filed under: The Solid Rock, Uniquely Me
What in the world…?
I pulled my cell phone from the charger a few days ago and stared down at it. I had just one bar. How could that be?
For the third time in about as many days I noticed that my phone was steadily losing its charge. Adding stop in to get your phone checked out was pretty much the last thing I wanted to put on my ever growing to-do list.
I was puzzled. The phone was not that old, nor had the battery been giving me any previous problems.
I’m a creature of habit, nothing if not predictable. Every night for the past year that we’ve been living in this house, I have plugged my phone into the same spot to charge overnight. Without fail. If I’m home, then my phone is on the charger.
So my frustration stemmed mainly from knowing that I’d soon have the hassle of making the stop at the phone place, and not so much from anything else. I plunked my phone into my purse and moved to finish my chores before heading out to run errands.
It was sometime in the next half hour or so - as I pushed the vacuum cleaner across the carpet in my bedroom - when it hit me. I snapped the off button on the vacuum and practically ran over to where my charger lay.
I had to get down on my hands and knees to follow its cord around the small table and behind another piece of furniture until…
I gave a gentle tug and the entire cord popped out in front of me.
IT WASN’T PLUGGED INTO THE POWER SOURCE.
As I sat there on the floor, holding the charger and feeling quite stupid at this point, God began to speak to me. In those few minutes of alone time in the big middle of mundane chores and household duties, He layed out an object lesson for me that I don’t think I’ll forget anytime soon.
This is how you become when you go too long without being plugged into my power.
The guilt was immediate because I knew exactly what He meant. The past few weeks had been harried ones. The pace had been frantic, the burdens quite heavy, and the emotions have run rampant.
And yet - in the middle of all this - I guess I felt I had enough “stored up” energy to power me through it all. I prayed, but the words were hurried and my heart wasn’t always all the way in it. I made enough of an effort to spend time with Him that I guess I convinced myself that I was indeed fine. Just like my phone, I was plugged in as far as I could see.
But…
I WASN’T PLUGGED INTO THE POWER SOURCE.
Not the way I should have been. Certainly not the way I am used to. And definitely not the way I needed to be if I want to continue to be the wife, mom, friend, leader, etc… that I know I am called to be.
It’s been several days now and I cannot pass by where my phone lies being charged without thinking back on this lesson. God stopped me on that day and in that way that only He has with me, He slowed me, soothed me, and redirected my thoughts. My intents. My heartbeat.
He, very simply put, energized me.
