Living with aging

In our society we are obsessed with thwarting death, with staying young for as long as possible. We cover up our grey hair, have our skin surgically stretched to remove wrinkles, receive injections to make us look plump where we used to, get hair implant therapy if our hair is thinning, use every sort of imaginable cream for every part of our body to " reduce the signs of aging" and have surgery to add something to our parts which may have shrunk or are sagging and other surgeries to thin parts that have gotten bigger then they used to be. So many women that I see at the beach are cosmetically enhanced. The skin on their legs is clearly many decades older then the buoyancy of their breasts. Why have an aging body when you can buy yourself a younger looking one?
It is simply consumerism taken to the next level. We are making idols out of our own bodies, sort of a combination of Frankenstein's monster and Baal worship.
You probably think I'm being too extreme. Why not have a "beautiful" body if you can afford one?

I have been living at my grandmother 's house for the past couple of months. She celebrated her 93rd birthday last month. Being around her has made me think about my own mortality more then I ever have before. She was once a baby like my little Allen. She had a mother who held her and cuddled her close, who felt about her the way I do about my little ones. Being with her reminds me that life here on earth is finite. It begins and it ends. It is an uncomfortable and unsettling reality. It is also exactly what all this culture of anti-aging is designed to help us avoid. The reality of aging and death. You might be a cosmetically created masterpiece of a corpse but you will still be dead. If we are preoccupied with our physical bodies we will come to death unprepared for the most important journey of of lives. Seeing the physical signs of aging reminds us that life is continuing on, that it is passing. Being with my grandma and seeing the changes that time has wrought on her physical form reminds me that one day I too will grow old. Will I spend my life trying to pretend that it won't happen or will I remember to treasure in my heart the greater reality that this world is not my home?

Old Clothes

Our little house is bursting at the seams. It is a two bedroom bungalow (that is realtorese for tiny house) occupied by seven people. I have been vigilant to keep the clutter at bay but there is only so much I have been able to do. We have no dressers or drawers in our bedrooms. They are just rooms for beds. The girls keep their clothes in fabric storage baskets on the counter in the laundry room while Bryan and I use the bookshelf in our room in lieu of a dresser. It has been nine and a half years of reorganizing, reassessing, and rearranging. Still it is never enough. There is always too much stuff for our home.
Today I tacked our laundry room with vigor. I separated, washed and dried, folded and hung. I also rearranged and removed things I can do without. I tackled boxes and boxes of baby clothes. Having had three girls in a row, I accumulated quite a collection of seersucker dresses with matching bloomers, pink and yellow sleepers decorated with flowers, and lacy Sunday clothes. It has been five years since I had needed most of these adorable outfits but I was loathe to get rid of them. My mother had somehow managed to save baby clothes from my childhood, and even some from her own. My grandmother is the daughter of a seamstress so many of those clothes had been made by her. It was delightful to put my daughters in dresses that had been made by my grandmother for my mother and were worn in turn by me. I wanted to keep my daughters’ clothes too carry on this tradition. Unfortunately I felt encumbered by them, tied by the responsibility to preserve all these garments. Many of the clothes that were my mother’s have now fallen apart after having been won by all three of my daughters. A lot of the clothes that I was saving were not handmade heirlooms, but I was holding onto them to comfort myself. I wanted to look at them and remember when each of my daughters wore each of these outfits. I felt that by keeping the clothes I would be keeping the memories, holding onto those precious little girls.
When I looked through the boxes today, it was all a blur. I felt ashamed. I should remember each girl distinctly. Instead I had only vague recollections of seeing the articles before. Only a few had any distinct connection for me, but those clothes were stained and worn.
So I let them go. Sure I kept a few special items. And yes I have a few more boxes to go through. Yet I feel glad to be rid of them. I am so grateful that I still have all three of my girls this side of heaven and don’t need to hang on to their old garments. They are growing up. It is the person they are now that I know and adore. I know that I loved them from the minute I held them for the first time. I know I only love them more now. I will let go of hoping to remember details that are lost to me. Those moments were investments in our souls. I may not be able to recall those moments clearly, but hanging onto old clothes can never fix that loss for me.

Making less laudry (hopefully)

Emotions are such capricious things, coming and going without an apparent connection to current events. Sometimes I will look around at our cluttered laundry room overflowing with dirty clothes; more then even fits in the baskets, and feel totally overwhelmed and hopeless that I will ever be able to get it done. Other times however, I will feel exited about the prospect of devoting my day to laundry, knowing the sense of satisfaction I will feel when it is all put away (or at least most of it). What is the difference? Is it just lack of sleep, a poor diet and too much coffee? Or maybe not enough?
My overwhelmed feeling comes from feeling hopeless, that it will never be done, or if it is ever finished, there will just be another big mess again in a few days. Whenever I come up with a new laundry scheme I feel hopeful that things will be different and laundry will never take over my life again. It seems having a plan, no matter how ineffectual, keeps me from falling into despair.
So far all of my laundry schemes have failed, but the hope of a new plan always helps me tackle the mess with vigor. I hate laundry and would like nothing more then to have a laundry service pick it up once a week and bring it all back folded and ready to put away. But then I might miss out on this lesson about why I feel overwhelmed some days and hopeful others.
But know that I have learned this lesson, if you know of any good deals on laundry services, please let me know.

A return to writing

In the autumn of last year, I returned to writing a weekly column for our local paper, the Berthoud Surveyor. It has been a time or growth for me as a writer. The craft of writing is best cultivated by practice but there comes a time where the habit begins to feed itself. Instead of needing to make myself write, I need to find more oppertunities to write; one article a week is not enough.
So I have retuned to this blog as an outlet.
I am typing on my smart phone while I wrestle to keep our yougest son in my arms. I am earning my profile name right now.

My blanket

Sometimes there is so little that can be said. It is impossible to express such complicated emotions. It seems that in writing about some things their fullness would be lost. Facts alone illuminate and the reader's imagination must suffice.
I fully believed myself to no longer be pregnant. I had the feeling of closure that comes from accepting the inevitable. Then I found out that there is a heartbeat. My uterus has continued to grow as would be expected. So there is loss and joy all mixed up together, but I said I wouldn't try to explain. Everything is too intricately woven to be disassembled into distinct threads. Behold the blanket in all it's complexities.

When you're waiting

When you are waiting it seems like it will never be over. Waiting in line, waiting to see the doctor, waiting for the dawn when you cannot sleep, waiting for help to come, waiting for the midwife when you are in labor, waiting for a phone call, waiting to hear about a new job, waiting for medical test results, waiting, waiting, waiting...
When we wait we are not the ones in control of the situation. We can feel trapped and at the mercy of others. It is in the nature of waiting to feel unsure and to question ourselves. We can feel angry at others either for being ahead of us or for not having to wait. We can fall into despond as the waiting drags on with no clear termination.
And then it is over. You reach the front of the line, the letter comes in the mail, there is a knock on the door...your situation changes and you are no longer waiting. Now you know. However sad the news or disappointing the results may be, it is a relief.
Waiting is given to us. It is a kind of suffering. Then it is gone.

"Hope deferred maketh the heart sick; but when the desire cometh it is a tree of life." Proverbs 13:12

Something to enjoy

This weekend I have been trying to embrace my old self and find joy in the small things that my condition seemes to make me blind to. It is important to try, to struggle against the darkness.
As a mother of a growing family of four small children with a husband who does physical labor for a living as well as a lifestyle, food preparation consumes a lot of my daily ritual. Since the onset of my morning sickness a few months ago however, food preparation had changed from a creative joy into sheer drudgery. The smell of aromatic ingredients, the texture of raw meat, the environment of the kitchen were overwhelmingly unpleasant to all my senses. Strangly after the my first signs of an apparent miscarriage I have been able to stomach the experience of cooking much better.
This morning I made one of my favorite salads. I got the basic idea for it from a vegetable cookbook. Today I chopped up two firm but ripe avocados, two stalks of celery and two Braeburn apples. Then I stirred in about an eighth of a cup of walnut halves and an equal amount of raisins. I stirred it gently and then covered it with a simple dressing of mayonnaise (about a tablespoon), a third of a cup of milk, and a tablespoon of sugar. I stirred it enough to coat the vegetables so it turned a greenish hue from the avocados. I seriously could have eaten the entire bowl. The combination of crunchy veggies and creamy avocado with the slightly sweet dressing tasted life affirming somehow.
One thing is certain, that it is nourishing.

Photobloggists

I was looking over some "successful" blogs today. They all seemed to have daily posts which were accompanied by photographs. When I think of blogs I think of the written word, but when I look at blogs it seems writers must also be photographers. I used to fancy myself a bit of an amateur photographer, but that was in the days of film and paper. I have gotten away from photography due to the move towards digital and my resistance to it. I enjoyed spending hours in my makeshift darkroom playing with exposure times and chemicals. I had the feeling of creating something from beginning to end, of fashioning it with my own hands. Photoshop programs are so intangible. There is no textile experience except that of ones hands against the hard plastic surface of a keyboard and or mouse.
We live in a culture of duplicity where people move forward with technology while many are also longing for a connection to the world. One that they can feel through their hands and smell with their nose (including the smell of manure). Photography seems to have fallen through the cracks of my straddled position, one foot online the other in the chicken coop. 
Maybe a digital camera is OK for me. Maybe I don't have to give up my visions of red lamps and developing trays. Maybe it all has a place and a purpose and adding one doesn't preclude embracing the other. Will those digital photos be real in the same way that my film prints are real to me? Is photoshoping, if that's a word, cheating? I want to capture the real world as I am seeing it, and not create an artificial one. I want to hold onto the vision of that moment because it will pass so quickly, all the while afraid of cheapening it with digital effects.

A reason to blog

"We read to know that we are not alone." -C.S.Lewis

After my last post I was left wondering why I blog about personal things that I would hesitate to mention to any but my closest friends. It is not that I am simply journaling to keep a record of life events for myself. I want people to read what I have written.
I write in hopes of being known and understood. I hope that people will read my words and that it will make some difference to them. I tend to isolate myself. I am not always good at maintaining friendships and keeping in touch. I can get lost in my thoughts, trapped by ideas that bind, confused by ideas that conflict, worried by my doubts, struggling for freedom. These are not easy things to share. Often the hearer does not know what to say in response. Sometimes the things people do say leave me unable to reply.
When I first started having symptoms of a miscarriage someone dear to me called me up. "It must be better this way, don't you think?"
What the heck do I say to that? Yes, my theology supports the belief that, "God works all things together for good to those who love the Lord and are called according to his purpose."  That does not mean I am ready to rejoice at my lose before it is even complete. I hate to make anyone upset or uncomfortable though, especially someone I cherish, so I stifled my feelings and made some mild noises of agreement.
With blogging no awkward silence or grimacing smiles need to be passed on. I can feel less alone without feeling trapped by my desire to please others. I can say what I think about and how I feel. I can share my beliefs and my struggles.
Maybe I am alone, but with writing I try to bridge the moat between myself and others that my inverted personality digs around me.

What am I waiting for?

I have been covered by a heaviness lately that is so pervasive that I don't even notice its presence unless it lifts. Then I can feel a brief lightness. I find myself singing and smiling and acting silly. Yet unnoticed it returns. I walk slower with weighted steps. I do not pay heed to the sunshine. I long to lie down and close my eyes.

Partly it is physical. My persistent "morning sickness" has turned to mourning sickness and back again. I do not know the condition of my pregnancy, whether the baby I am carrying has passed from this life or continues on. My midwife has suggested that waiting is the best course of action. Any tests that find me to be pregnant or that show a heartbeat can be falsely encouraging. Yes, there may be a heartbeat today, but there is a small likelihood that this will continue to be a viable pregnancy.

My symptoms are contradictory and sporadic and no matter how much I would like to think that I know my own body, I have to admit that I do not. There is a strange wisdom that comes with pregnancy and birth and sadly, with miscarriage as well. My body has a wisdom of which my conscious mind knows nothing. Not for any of my pregnancies did I know the moment of conception, when the spark of new life ignited and that one cell began the magical process of duplicating itself. I did not know the instant of implantation, that miraculous joining of a tiny life to mine. I certainly did not predict the time that my body would begin contractions and force my child from my womb. No more did I anticipate the cramping and bleeding that signaled the beginnings of a miscarriage. I know nothing about it, yet it is me. It is my body doing these things. It is not making a mistake neither is it confused. It is doing just what it needs to do.

I cannot will my baby to live. I cannot will the miscarriage to complete itself. I do not even know which I should be hoping for at this point.

"I hear you are expecting."
"Yes, I am expecting. But I know not what to expect."

I suppose all of my life is like this. My body is doing millions of things every second over which I have no conscious control. I am integrally connected to this world by a physical body. It is not just a cage for my spirit, it is me.

The Apostles Creed states "I believe... in the resurrection of the body and the life everlasting." We are this flesh and this blood. We need it to be complete. It carries in it wisdom put there by God the Creator. Sin has marred it all but the wisdom of the Creator shines through in the magic of pregnancy, birth, and even in miscarriage. It weighs my heart with much heaviness yet I cannot help but to observe it with wonder.

Competative homemaking

Sometimes I feel this undercurrent between mothers, an unspoken rivalry. Sure we are friendly and want the best for each other, but we sort of wish that the women next to us wasn't more organised then us, or didn't keep a neater house, or wasn't so incredibly crafty. If you happen to be the most organised, patient and "successful" mother in your circle of friends, it might not bother you. But, if you are like me, it can really become grating. I see other mothers doing it to themselves and that is what saddens me the most. To me they seem to be pressuring themselves to be "better" homemakers and their value is all wrapped up in this endeavor. I am not being critical. I have to fight the ugly green monster myself. When someone posts a photo of their latest homemade creation, I feel a twinge of bitterness rise up within me. I look around at my kitchen counters ornamented with dirty dishes, the floors littered with dog hair and paper scraps and my piles of laundry in every stage of laundering and wonder "What is wrong with me? Why are other women able to accomplish so much while I seem to be struggling just to deal with basic housekeeping?"
I console myself with comfortable answers, but the fact is, if those women had identical circumstances to my own, they would still accomplish these great feats of homemaking. They are more organised and determined. I feel my will weakening at the sight of my laundry room's condition. I fall to questioning myself and determine to never let this happen again, although I know it will. Before children (BC), I was a decent housekeeper and a somewhat diligent pursuer of the domestic arts. Now, I am the head of our very own disaster cleanup crew.
But what does it matter? Why am I rating myself along a scale of domestic efficiency? It's not like I am competing with anyone to keep my job, or fighting for that next big promotion.
I am  sitting on our futon, typing on my laptop (which is missing a few keys) while my little son snuggles into my arm. This is a great job. Sure I would enjoy our house more if it was cleaner and more organised, but that is not reflective of my value. I think it is fun to bake beautiful meals and desserts, knit and sew, and tend our little backyard menagerie. They are valuable pursuits but they do not give me value.
I do not think I am alone in this struggle. It seems to me that there are many wives and mothers who are comparing their domestic accomplishments to those of their friends and feeling the need to outdo one another. So what if you handmade every single Christmas present for everyone you know? So what if you made twenty different kinds of Christmas cookies all from scratch with butter you churned yourself and placed them in tins that you decoupaged, and then wrapped them up in your own hand stamped, hand made wrapping paper? I just hoped you enjoyed it and didn't do it because you felt you needed to impress someone.
I guess I wish as women we were not competing with one another for the "homemaker of the year" award. At least don't bother competing with me.You've already won.

Morning sickness

Morning sickness seems to distill things for me, daily priorities mostly. There is just so much that I can do before I find myself shivering and gagging. I have to eat every two hours or so, otherwise I will find it almost impossible to eat at all. Leaning over and dealing with laundry goes way to the bottom of my list. Expecting another child however has sent my mind reeling. We currently live in a 2 bedroom, 1 bathroom house that is just under 1000 square feet. We have 4 children already crammed into their little 10 by 11 bedroom. What are we thinking? At first I just comforted myself with the usual maxims, "People all over the world live in huts the size of our kitchen and have larger families then ours...We thought the house would be too small to have baby number 3 and baby number 4 here, and we all live here now. I guess we can fit another baby too...Be content with such things as ye have (Hebrews 13:5 excerpt.)
As much as I believe these things to be true, my spirit has become restless. I want to move on before this next baby is born at the end of the coming summer. I want to be settled in a bigger nest, closer to our families, within walking distance of the Paulins Kil Trail. I can just see the trail stretched out in both directions. It is a long stretch of reclaimed railroad tract. It is mostly level, with steady grade changes, and it meanders along the Paulins Kil, a wide generous creek that makes it's way through northeast NJ to the Delaware River. I could hop on the trail and make my way in either direction to family. I have walked on it countess hours of my life and if I miss anything about NJ it is the quiet hours of reflection on that tract of apparent wilderness that waited just outside my door.
In this regards the Internet can be a very dangerous enemy to the virtue of contentment. I can spend hours browsing the Internet seeing what houses are for sale, where they are, how much they cost, and how you can attempt to fund your hopes. Fuel for my restless mind. Did I find someplace I wanted? Sure. Did I connive a way that we might be able to finagle it? Of course. Is our current home in salable condition? NO. The noose around my neck, the place that ties me here when have I wanted to be gone years ago, our house. Our too small, adorable but unfinished 'bungalow" keeps us from our family, and from being able to move back east. So I found a miraculous place, so cheep something must be terribly wrong with it. It is located right where I want it to be. My restless mind wakes me up. At 3:30 in the morning I lay with my stomach quivering from morning sickness, burping into my pillow, unable to stop my mind from trying to figure it out, trying to make it happen in my imagination so that somehow it will become a reality.
If "godliness with contentment is great gain" should I even want anything else? Should I be thankful for what I have and forget that we will, Lord willing, soon have 5 children sharing one room? I am actually asking. Che sara, sara, right?
Or should I beseech the Lord to answer my prayers? Should I come before Him, and like the persistent widow in the parable, just not leave his door until I get an answer? I tried that before and I got his answer on that account, NO. Does that mean that sort of importunity doesn't work? Should I just "let go and let God?"

You can check out my old blog www.buyingbackthefarm.blogspot.com to see the back story to this one. It is long and very personal and some of you may think, very misled. God was good to give the answers he did. It would have been wrong for our family. Maybe he was preparing me for something else? Maybe for contentment.

Acceptence

Earlier this year I was taking part in a regular yoga practice at a nearby yoga studio. One of the things I appreciated the most about practicing in this class setting was that all the teachers focused on the theme of acceptance. Yoga, they said, was the discipline of practicing the physical asanas with the body that we had that day, not the one we hoped to have in the future or wished we had now. Accepting where we were physically and being grateful for what our bodies were capable of, instead of comparing ourselves to another yoga student or to our "ideal" self is at the heart of what these teachers believed yoga to be. Since I am a follower of my Lord and Saviour Jesus Christ, I do not hold with the spiritual path of yoga to lead us into divine truth and peace. I do however look to see the seeds of God's truth that have been claimed and distorted through the lens of this world.
As Christians we should be always striving to die to our sin nature and to allow the work of the Holy spirit in our lives as we seek to have the mind of Christ. But in my daily life I find myself often being distracted from this true goal to those of temporal value. How much of my time do I spend wishing I were a better housekeeper? Or how about the time I spend imagining what certain other people would think about the state of my house? I am often trying to see my house through the eyes of my house guests. I may be perfectly content with the state of my home until someone stops by or is planning to come over. Then every imperfection of my home stands out to me with neon brilliance. 

"But godliness with contentment is great gain. For we brought nothing into this world, and it is certain we can carry nothing out. And having food and raiment let us be therewith content." 1 Timothy 6-8

That is not very much, just food and clothing. I have a house, lots of food, tons of clothes, more then one vehicle, a cell phone, a computer, dishes, dessert food, chocolate, coffee, ten flavors of tea, organic free range eggs, designer hair care products...well you get the idea. Having such abundance doesn't keep me from focusing on the things I don't have, or from wishing the things I had were different.  The very next verse says...

"But they that will be rich fall into temptation and a snare, and into many foolish and hurtful lusts, which drown men in destruction and perdition. For the love of money is the root of all evil; which while some coveted after, they have erred from the faith, and pierced themselves through with many sorrows." I Timothy 6:9-10

There is no gentle, understanding words here to allow room for sin. Discontent is SIN and it draws me away from the true focus of the surrendered life in Christ.

"But thou, O man of god, flee these things; and follow after righteousness, godliness, faith, love patience, meekness." 1 Timothy 6:11

Acceptance and contentment come from the same root. To accept things as they are and to be thankful for the gifts that I am already the recipient of will lead to an attitude of contentment. If I am content with what I have been given, I will have more energy to focus on personal godliness. Just as in yoga class I was focusing on being thankful for my body and not comparing it, I should be thankful for my home and God's many provisions for our family, and not comparing them. "But godliness with contentment is great gain."  To attempt godliness without contentment would be truly unprofitable. Why look to worldly goods when I am offered great gain?

Simple contentment

“Do all things without murmurings or disputings" Philippians 2:14

 

“Be careful for nothing; but in every thing by prayer and supplication with thanksgiving let your requests be made known unto God. And the peace of God, which passeth all understanding, shall keep your hearts and minds through Christ Jesus.." Philippians 4:6-7

“But godliness with contentment is great gain.” 1 Timothy 6:6

I am currently reading a book entitled “Thrive: Finding Happiness the Blue Zones Way”. I heard it referred to on The Splendid Table podcast . The author was being interviewed about any correlation between diet and happiness. This intrigued me, so I requested a copy of this book through interlibrary loan. I was expecting it to be a bit more scholarly in it’s approach. More then a research report, it is written in the popular “self-help” style familiar in today's American culture. I was not looking for an answer to the plaguing question, “How can I be happier?” I am unsure that this is a question that a follower of Christ should even be asking. Still, I was curious to know what type of research went into this project, and what conclusions popular science had come to.

I have only just begun the book, but am compelled by this concept of happiness. I have always believed that followers of Christ should be the happiest of people. No, I thought that they should be joyful. When I think of happy people I picture a party with people joking, laughing, sharing pleasant company. When I think of joy, I imagine a solitary person reflecting on truth, or a couple seeing the world through the eyes of their young child. Joy is a state of being. Happiness is an emotion.

Of course I could be wrong and the two may be synonymous. Yet joy and peace seem connected in a way that happiness does not.

"Thou wilt shew me the path of life: in thy presence is fullness of joy; at thy right hand there are pleasures for evermore." Psalm 16:11

"Peace I leave with you, my peace I give unto you: not as the world giveth, give I unto you. Let not your heart be troubled, neither let it be afraid." John 14:27

Maybe the peace that the "world giveth" is what the scientists are referring to as happiness. It is based in situation and circumstance. Someone may perceive themselves as content, happy, peaceful and full of joy, but “Folly is joy to him that is destitute of wisdom." Proverbs 15:21

I am reminded of the women at the well and Jesus’ promise of living water. Never thirsting again…is he referring to true peace and contentment? Out of these would surely flow thankfulness. And in it’s wake joy would remain.

As American’s we grow up believing that we are capable of greatness and should strive for it. We should go to the moon, cure cancer, make a million, be famous, leave our mark on society… In contrast I find my heart crying out, "As for me, I am poor and needy, but the Lord takes thought for me. You are my help and my deliverer; do not delay, O my God!” Psalm 40:17

Some are surely called on to do mighty acts, but for most of us this standard of greatness leaves us discontent with our accomplishments and lifestyles. Freedom is a huge responsibility. Unlike societies where our place is determined by the rulers or government, most of us have chosen this life. Some of our choices have been active whereas others came to us by default through our inaction, laziness, or poor judgment. Because of this things that are out of our control can get confused and mislabeled. Ceasing to strive for more can feel like we are giving up. We have trouble being content because it can seem complacent, even lazy.

If we live a life of godliness and contentment we may experience less worldly success then if we were striving for it. If we give thanks for what we have, we will probably have less desire to acquire more. Discontent can be a great motivator, but it comes at great cost. It robs us of a gift from our Lord, his peace.

If I am seeking a simpler life I need to be cultivating an attitude of contentment and joy. I will only find this like the women at the well did two thousand years ago. I will find it by listening to the voice of Jesus.

A simple life?

I recently picked up a used book entitled “ A Women’s Guide to a Simpler Life” by Andrea Van Steenhouse. A lot of the thoughts and ideas that the author touches on really resonate with me. I found myself feeling confirmed in choices that I had been making for my own life. My heart was resonating with what she was saying as truth. Feelings however can be deceptive and I should be weighing this book in the scales of scripture not emotion.

These guidelines for a simpler life are either based on godly principles or worldly ones. This then leads me to question my deeper presupposition, that a simple life is pleasing to the Lord. What if I am wrong and my search for simplicity is a selfish one? I have always held it to be virtuous to strive for simplicity. Now I am left wondering…

Quiet

It is rarely quiet here. Unfortunatly it is often my own voice I hear, repremanding, becoming impatient, yelling when the children come to me arguing. Right now we have 8 people living in our 2 bedroom house. It is going to be noisy. Yet I yearn for the quiet life, time when I can think, time to be creative, time to reflect. I lived a life full of quiet until I had children. Then into my life they came with all their laughing, yelling, whining, bickering, singing, stomping, crying and complaining. I want it this way, but I need to do it better. I need to foster an environment of contentment, of internal quiet.

"Whose adorning let it not be that outward adorning...but the hidden man of the heart, in that which is not corruptible, even the ornament of a meek and quiet spirit, which is in the sight of God of great price." 1 Peter 3:3-4

It was quiet here when I started writing. It was the deep quiet of nap time; sleeping baby, sleeping 3 year old, sleeping 4 year old. My 5 and 7 year old were peacefully doing their own activities. It was quiet.

Now they are all awake. I want to bring that quietness in. I will water it with my own spirit of contentment. I will shine upon it with the light of a thankful smile. I will surrender my will to that of my Heavenly Father who says "Peace,be still" (Mark 4:39).

100 things

I have a dear friend who is attempting an almost impossible task in our possession obsessed society; to have only 100 personal items. She is taking her time but that is her goal. Only 100 personal items includes toiletries, shoes, clothes, nick-knacks, etc. It does not included family heirlooms, tool for work, food items, kitchen tools, or transportation. Her question has been "Does this thing serve me, or do I serve it?"

I plan on applying this code of thought to laundry right now. I will let you know how it goes.

OK, I forgot we still have to do school. I guess I'll have to start after lunch.

Do you think sorting laundry counts as schooling?

Just joking.

Cutting out Writing

So in an attempt to simplify my life, writing got the axe. Maybe not the best choice, but if you saw my house right now after a few hours of writing, you would understand my choice. I struggle for balance and peace between housework and personal endevors. Writing is so much more valuable to me then sorting and folding laundry, but my husband needs clean socks for work (not to mention underpants). I have added a regular yoga practice to my routine and getting out of the house a few times a week and exersizing has helped my patience and clarity of mind. I wish I could say it had done a viable job of improving my figure but I have been eating to beat the band.

Days 35-?

OK, so I have gotten a bit behind with this project. I started composing this post weeks ago, and posted it by accident. I intended to fix it that day. Well, that was July 6th and today is July 26th!

I need to get on the ball!

Actually, what I probably need to do is get rid of the ball.

More on this soon...

I promise.

Day 31-34

We have returned home. There has been very little time to get back to the physical aspect of my program. Instead, I have been working to maintain the changes that I implemented last month. My closet is still neat and conveniently organised. I have weeded through all of my daughters' toys and clothing. The local thrift store has been the recipient of many of our extra belongings. Still, there is too much. I feel weighed down every time I look into my laundry room (thankfully it has a door). Our closets and drawers have plenty to wear in them, yet the floor of my laundry room is covered with washable items. One large pile of dirty laundry (mountain may be a better term) and and smaller pile of clean laundry. No matter how many times I reorganise this room, no matter how many times I "catch up" on all the laundry, it always turns back into this; the seat of clutter for the whole house. It drives me crazy. I let it steal my joy. How ridiculous of me...
Maybe getting rid of things, possessions, is only an outward manifestation of an inward quest. Maybe I want to reduce the physical clutter in my life because my spirit needs decluttering. It is no use doing one without focusing on the other. I need to clear my mind of the wasted thoughts; the worry, the what ifs, and the comparisons. It seems to me now, that mental discipline is what I need to work on if I wish to live a truly simple life. Or should I just try to reorganise my laundry room one more time. That would probably be easier, but even if I could keep my laundry room neat as a pin and all the clothes washed and put away, would something else sneak in and upset me? Would it be the dishes after dinner or the dust bunnies under the bed? How does the external order of my environment really effect my internal peace? And should it? The quest continues.