When I first started taking photography seriously I did a much better job of taking photos of our everyday. It was new and fun learning to use my “big girl” camera. Turns out we all have cameras in our pockets all the time now and I’ve gotten worse about doing this. Taking time to snap photos of all the little things that add up to all the big things. Because that’s how this equation of life works.

So today I decided to snap photos of the little things. The moments that made this day special. And really there are moments each and every day that make them all special, because each and every moment of every day is a gift.

Even in the midst of an ice storm, dirty dishes and losing power, there was laughter, kids playing (and fighting), and time together. There was memories made. And now documented.

I’d challenge you to use that camera in your pocket more, too. Because tomorrow isn’t guaranteed and the only photo you’ll regret not having is the one you didn’t take.

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I told my girl recently the best way to learn was by doing. I believe that, because I’ve lived it. ⁣
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If my 42 year-old self could go back to my 22⁣ year-old self, at first thought I’d tell her what she should do different. But then again, I wouldn’t. ⁣
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Because every move has led me to where I am today and I’m better for the lessons I’ve learned.⁣
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The only things I’d change are things I had no control over. I’d rather not have lived through hard losses, but I’m thankful for the years I had building memories and knowing love that made the voids so great. ⁣
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Instead of telling my younger self to take a different path, I’d tell her to walk it more carefully. ⁣
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I’d tell her to take more time to savor the small, because one day she’d realize that’s where the big really lies. ⁣
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I’d tell her to dream big, because no dream was too big for her God. ⁣
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I’d tell her it’s ok to be scared, but to jump the cliffs anyway – she has more strength than she realizes. ⁣
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I’d tell her to stop measuring herself against others and stand tall in the unique person she was created by a God who doesn’t make mistakes. ⁣
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I’d tell her to soak up the present, because the present is a gift. ⁣
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I’d tell her to keep her circle small, tightly knit and treasure her true friends. ⁣
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I’d tell her to not give up when things get hard, but let the hard be fuel to reap the rewards of pressing on. ⁣
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I’d tell her that things in life worth having don’t come free. Handouts build dependence; hard work builds character. And the best things in life can’t be bought, so be content with what you have. Your treasures have hearts and souls (but it’s ok to splurge on boots. They have soles, too.)⁣
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I’d tell her to give herself and others more grace, it smooths our flaws. (And speaking of smoothing flaws, start using moisturizer on your face now. You’ll thank me.)⁣
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I’d tell her to just keep going and today I’m telling myself and anyone listening the same. ⁣
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Today is a gift, y’all. Every day we open our eyes and take a breath is a gift. Let us use the time we have, living full while fully alive. If I get 42 more minutes or 42 more years, I pray I don’t forget that. ⁣
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The days are getting longer, but I can’t help but think lately how the days are getting shorter. Maybe it’s my age. This time in life watching my kids grow too fast and time slip by even faster. Some days I let it get the best of me. Worrying the days we’ve had so far haven’t been spent the way they should have been. Worrying I haven’t done the right things to put them on the right track.

I was talking with a friend recently struggling with motherhood and I told her she was right on track. That God was still in control and what the enemy means for bad, God can turn and use for good. Then I realized I needed the same message.

Life isn’t always easy. Parenthood is hard. Life is hard. Not everyday is sunshine and flowers, more often than not it’s mud and weeds. But it takes all of that to make life whole. And without the rain that brings the mud, we’d never have anything to harvest.

These are things I’m stewing on while stirring supper tonight. If you need the reminder, this as much for you as it is for me. Just know you’re never alone and doing the best we can is the best we can do.

So keep doing and keep going.

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In a way that’s hard to put in words, when my dish drainer is full of these things, my heart is full, too. 

I tried to explain in this months DTN/The Progressive Farmer magazine how these green glass dishes are filled with sweeter memories more than they are ever filled with food. And how even so, it all goes hand in hand. 

Because the things that remind us of the people and times we cherish most of all, are most of all important. 

Article here —> http://bit.ly/MemoryDishes

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Social media is a funny thing. It can be knock-your-socks-off awesome and it can be curl-up-in-fetal-position-crying-on-the-bathroom-floor awful. Sounds like motherhood, too, but that’s not really what I want to talk about. Actually, it kind of is, because all of it really does go hand-in-hand…except when we only see the good and not the reality of the in-between. Because the in-between of my own reality is that some days aren’t good. Some days stink around here – literally and figuratively. In and through it all, the one awesome part I’ve found about sharing the in-between on a variety of social mediums is that people relate and appreciate the real more than the “hi-lite reel” of the three seconds my kids weren’t actually trying to kill each other – or better yet, a still photo of them in a head-lock that could be quoted and mistaken as a hug.

I’m as guilty as the next person scrolling through perfectly coiffed kids and homes and yards and dogs and wanting what “they” have – except in reality, their life is in no way 100% perfectly coiffed. And for what it’s worth, “coif” is a really fun word to type and say. Hopefully I’ve spelled and used it correctly here.

At the risk of further digressing, what I’m really trying to say is that I like being real, sharing real and seeing and hearing your own real, because real is what matters. Real is where we grow from, learn from and encourage from. Sometimes I think my real is too real – like when I video myself and can’t help but cry, because my feelings tend to grow sleeves and I tend to wear them at the most awkward times. But that’s me. That might not be you. You might never cry, you might not like hugs and you might not see everything the way I do – but I bet we share something in common. And that’s what I love finding out. There’s a place in this life we all intersect in some way. There’s something that connects us and it’s awesome when we find it with someone we would assume it didn’t exist with.

I’ve broken way too many rules of grammar and repeated some words here way too often, but I feel better having said all of this. If anyone has read or listened all the way to this point, I wish I could give you a hug. Unless you don’t like hugs, then maybe a fist bump…or air high-five (or whatever that’s called.) Either way, I appreciate you hearing me out and I’m here to hear you out, too. We are all in this crazy life together and I reckon when we start sharing more of our real, we’ll be on our way to really sharing.

Last year I started a vlog – and recorded four whopping videos. A year later I decided I’d try again. Consistent inconsistency is my go-to in life. If you are in for the consistent crazy of farm life, mom life and “just life” – shared inconsistently – you’re invited to tag along and subscribe here on my YouTube channel. (And of course I cried on the first one back – see below …but I get it out of the way and then laugh hysterically at a backfiring mower. I just can’t be the only one who loves a good backfire. Right? :D)

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There was a day I didn’t know if I’d have kids. Not that I didn’t want them, but life was what it was and I didn’t see how or when they would ever be a real possibility. And then God made me a mother and life definitely wasn’t what it was anymore.

My first child was more than a gift, he was a life-saver. When I got pregnant with him, I was in a relationship, but not a marriage. I was in a place of rock-bottom and then sitting on my favorite sitting rock on our farm’s creek six months pregnant, I realized it was time to look up and surrender. So, I did. Jesus saved me that day and a few months later I became a mom.

Learning to be a mom wasn’t – and still isn’t – easy. But it’s the most rewarding, hardest job I’ve ever had. More than six years of college. More than ten years in the corporate world. More than wrangling the blasted 36-year old hay rake I had to deal with yesterday. Motherhood is hard. Motherhood is beautiful.

A couple of years into being a mom and juggling the corporate grind, I had an opportunity to interview for a “bigger, better” corporate job. They flew me to St. Louis as one of three position finalists and I honestly thought I was about to be doing something great for our little family. It would mean more time away, but the opportunity for more “things” – and that was enticing. I sat in the airport on the way home and prayed that if it wasn’t what God wanted for me, I wouldn’t get it. But inside, I really wanted it. Fortunately, God knew better.

If I had taken that job, another child wouldn’t have been a possibility. I thought I was ok with that. After not getting the job, I realized another child was exactly what we needed to make our family complete – and that’s what our little girl did. She made our family complete.

Today is her last day of kindergarten at a school she’s been in for three years with several children and teachers she’s spent the majority of her days with. She’s sad about leaving. I’m sad about her leaving. But in the end, this is just another step towards all the other steps God already has laid out.

Sometimes it’s hard to see the hay for the grass, it all just runs together and looks the same. Life gets busy and lines get blurred. But to get the most out of this one life we get, we have to stop. Stop and remember what’s important, I mean what’s really important. And then we have to let that dictate where and how we move forward. Each life chapter holds it’s own sweet memories, it’s own sweet beauty.

I personally think it’s ok to stop and relish the past. Cry a few tears if that’s what comes. Write a few words if that’s what helps. That’s where I’m at today. Crying and writing. Tomorrow will start a new chapter that will hold it’s own special moments and one day I’ll be looking back on this one and crying a few tears, maybe writing a few words as we move to the next again.

And that’s the glory of it all – life is about moving on. It’s about changing and growing into who we were created to be. It’s a journey, with mountains and valleys, sometimes droughts and floods. But it’s a journey worth the hard. Days like today remind me that moving forward is a necessary part of life, and even if the next step hurts a little, the view from the top of the hill will be worth the climb. 

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If I’ve said it once, I’ve said it (or at least thought it) a thousand times. This motherhood gig is hard.

It’s tiring and trying.
It’s long days and sometimes longer nights.
It’s worry-filled as much as it’s wonder-ful.

There are times when the weight of it comes to bear. And there are times I wonder if my mom felt the same. 

She didn’t know she wouldn’t be here to tell me, and I didn’t know I would need to ask. When she died a few weeks after I graduated college, I didn’t even know who I was then, let alone that I’d one day be a mom with all the questions and doubts and fears that a girl still needs a mother for well past her childhood.

It’s a strange thing, walking into motherhood without the one who gave you life still holding your hand. It can be lonely and raw and feel all a bit unfair somedays.

Maybe your mom died like mine. Maybe your mom left on her own accord. Maybe your mom is sick and doesn’t have the capacity or will or both to be a mom anymore. If for any reason you are also a motherless mother, I’m here to say I get it. And maybe we can just sit in this place together?

Maybe your mom is still very much a part of your life. Maybe your mom helps you through the hard and is an integral part of your children’s lives. But maybe you still feel the weight of motherhood in all it’s heavy and could still use someone else speaking truth and love into your life through the changing seasons motherhood brings?

Sometimes the best thing we can say and hear is, “Me too.”
Sometimes the best friend we can be is just a friend to “be.”

A couple of weeks ago I needed a friend to just “be,” so I called the one friend that I can cry with, laugh with and “be” with easier than most and we sat on my porch for a couple of hours and did just that. We laughed. We cried. We just were. And it was like salve for my weary soul.

I like to think if my mom was still here, she would come running when I called. I actually know she would and somedays that hurts worse than anything, because she’s not just a phone call away. But God has given me people in her place – not to take her place, but to take a seat on the porch and help fill the void. And I can look back over the years and see all the people He’s put in my life that have helped bridge the gap and answer questions and love me like a mother would.

There will never be another who is my mom, but there are people who are like a mother and I hope I can be the same to someone or some many before my time is up. There is power in loving others out of a love you’ve known and lost and there is power in loving others through the love of the One who never leaves nor forsakes.

My Mother’s Day wish this year and most every year since being without mine is that neither her memory, nor her legacy would be lost. And in learning to live into the role of a mother having been loved and raised by a really great one, I think that wish is granted.

I mess up more than most and most every day. But when my girl can lie next to me in bed at night like she did recently, snuggle up close and tell me in her sweet 6 year-old voice that she forgives me for the mistakes I made that day, I guess I’m a step ahead. Maybe the biggest thing we can all give one another – and most importantly ourselves – is grace. And every now and then a cup of coffee and some time on the porch to work out the hard together. The invitation is open.

xoxo

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I belong to no one but my Savior, Jesus Christ.
I struggle daily with my selfish pride.
I love the security of my marriage and strong arms of my man.
I am fiercely independent and stubborn to a fault.
I feel complete as a mother of two.
I long to have gang loads more children.
I love to cook for and serve others.
I am ecstatic to be taken out for a nice meal.
I anxiously await the coolness of fall after a long, hot summer.
I can’t wait for the rebirth of spring after a long, cold winter.
I could spend hours on end watching old black and white movies.
I feel sick if I stay cooped up inside more than a day.
I am a realist. I am a dreamer.
I often talk to myself.
I sometimes answer back.
I love a hot cup of coffee. And a cold glass of milk.
I’m proud of being a born and bred North Carolinian. I also feel like I was supposed to be born out west, 100 years ago.
I don’t mind manure on my boots and dirt on my hands (no nails to get it under).
I can dress up with the best of ’em and enjoy an occasion to.
I can change a flat truck tire…on the side of a major interstate…alone. I would rather not.
I was born with arched feet fit for a ballerina. I wouldn’t know a plié if it bit me in the…foot.
I took piano lessons for five years. I cannot play chop sticks without music to read (and probably not well even with it.)
I spent too much of my young adulthood in places I should not have. I’ve spent much of my recent years wishing I hadn’t.

My life is full of paradoxes. And I’m full of sin and struggles. But I’m redeemed. Forgiven. Saved. And I look forward to continuing to work out my faith a bit more through this blog. Thank you for indulging me.

I wanted to go back and change some of the words and re-arrange some of those thoughts, because “Hello!”, I hope I’m a bit better writer than I was three years ago. But, I’m going to leave it as is and strive for the bigger picture I’m trying to get across. Which is this…sometimesit’s ok to be in the middle. I’m finally owning that IT’S OK to strive for a happy-medium and live into who I am, not who others say I should be. Except for God, because what He says matters most, and He says I’m chosen and beloved. Period. Not that I have to fit into a mold that I see as I scroll through my feed everyday. He formed me exactly the way He wanted me – and He did the same with you. 

This photo from my kitchen counter really says it best. Oxymorons galore…two “I Quit Sugar” cookbooks a few inches away from the sugar I use to make a gallon of sweet tea every day; and then there’s my poor friend Ree stuck between a paleo chef and a sugarless cook. I am torn between learning to cook just like my Granny and eat all the butter and all the biscuits and all the fried cornbread – and then I’m torn in wanting to live a healthier lifestyle, do all I can to make sure I’m here past 40 to see my kids have kids and treat my body more kind. As it is, I’ve decided that I’m going to find some common ground and dig my boots in. When I get a hankering for chicken stew and biscuits, I’m going to make it. But I’m also going to start incorporating healthier food into the mix, as well. And as of two Monday’s ago, I’m putting my body through heck for an hour-and-a-half in a conditioning class, leaving me unable to raise my arms to eat and my legs unable to walk until Friday. Which leaves a whole lot of room for ice cream on the weekend. And a “real” excuse to wear yoga pants on Mondays. Such a win-win.

I realize this may not be for everyone, but it’s a place in-between that I’m happy to find. If anyone needs a friend in the same place, I’m fist-pumping you. But only because it’s Friday and I can finally stretch my arm out again.

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(An aside…That’s a strange memory. Evidently I chewed a lot of gum, because I also remember not spitting my gum out and waking up with it in my hair from time to time. Thus the little cat-shaped ceramic nightstand addition, I suppose. Did any other child of the late 70’s or early 80’s have one of those? I feel like I’ll be alone in this. And I completely digress…)

The irony is that the bedtime scene at our house, just like suppertime and bath-time, always rolls around and it rolls much the same as it did for my own parents. Every single night. It’s funny how I never paid that much attention to these daily nuances until I became a parent and had little ones begging for food, and then begging not to have to take a bath, followed by another round of begging to not be put to sleep and then one more episode of begging me not to leave them. But there is two of them and one of me, so we’ve reached a happy medium of late. We start by reading a chapter of a book in big brother’s bed together, tuck him in, pray and say goodnight and then I head to little sister’s bed to read another chapter of a book and tuck her in and say goodnight. Except little sister is a lot like her mommy was as a child and doesn’t want me to leave, so I stay a while and pray a while until she falls asleep.But by this time, I’m tired. I’m seriously tired and when I get seriously tired and try to read or pray, crazy things can happen.

Insert cupcake hats.

One recent evening my girl was requesting specific prayer to not have any dreams (she doesn’t like dreaming anything – she just wants to sleep. I can appreciate this!). So, I began to pray and the next thing I knew I was startled awake with the words “cupcake hats” coming out of my mouth. I hadn’t finished the first sentence before entering a dream-like state of my own and I was praying for none other than cupcake hats. No doubt a cupcake hat would be awesome if it existed, but it took us both by surprise. For the next ten minutes she and I both laughed hysterically, as she kept repeating the phrase over and over incredulously. Deep-belly-soul-hearty-laughter. And if this indication of my own ability to have ridiculous dreams are any indication of what hers could be, no wonder she’s been asking God to make them stop. :OThis mom-life is hard and tiring and I feel so often like I’m royally messing up. I tell myself that we should have better routines at our house (or any kind of routine, for that matter.). I compare our home and life to others that seem to have it all together. You know, the ones whose kids go to bed at 7am and sleep for 10.5 hours, brush their teeth without asking (I completely forgot to insert that nightmare of the bedtime routine), wake up on cloud nine,  pack their own snack for school and clothe themselves (including finding two matching socks that don’t feel “weird” and that they haven’t worn the last four days in a row, because there are only two pairs of non-weird pairs of socks in a drawer of 36 pairs).And then I stop. And I remember the laughing about cupcake hats and how even in my state of weariness and sometimes overwhelming chaos, there is an equal amount of grace. And I thank God for these sometimes long days and longer nights, because I know one day I’ll be sitting in a quiet house on a quiet night, wishing them back.No matter what our days and nights of motherhood look like, they look exactly the way God knew they would – and He made us parents anyway.How about that sweet thought? He knew we wouldn’t always get it right, but He graciously doles out second, third and thousand chances to try again. And sometimes, those imperfect moments become the best ones of all.    

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Life is precious y’all and it’s even more precious when we take time to see it in the same Light as the One who gives it.

For me, that reminder comes through my lens on a bumpy dirt ride with the people I love the best in the place I love most. It also comes when I take time to step away from my camera telling other people’s stories and get behind it as telling my own. Because fifty and one-hundred and fifty years from now, the legacy I leave will be best lived through the story God wrote in my own life and through my own people.What reminds you how precious life really is? I’d love to hear that piece of your own story. <3

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