Heather Nestleroad's Blog, page 11

Thankful

I have never been able to figure out how one chooses just one thing to be thankful for each day.  In addition, I get that people want to express their thanksgiving the week or month of Thanksgiving on all the social networks for the world to see.  But I find myself wondering about the rest of the year. 
I think it is great to be thankful in November.  Keep being thankful clear ‘til New Years is over (when you haven’t kept up with the resolutions and you find that cake still tastes good in February.  I say be thankful for cake too).  My intent here is not to downplay any of it, but to ask the question that plagues me: What about the rest of the year?  Are you thankful then, too?  Are you conscious of the fact on June fifth what a blessing it is to wake up that day? 
I went through a bit of a spiritual overhaul at some point.  I made a conscious decision to be thankful and find the blessings in everyday life.  Good day or bad, whether I was running late or had a stomach issue, no matter if there was sunshine or rain, I will recognize that I wasn’t promised to live that day and that no matter what, I will be thankful.  I would hope that in talking to me, especially when you’re asking me about my family and friends, you would see my eyes light up when I speak about them.  I would hope that when you ask me about the journey God has set me on, you would notice the sheer awe I have about God’s decision to use me.  I am well aware of the fact that I am no one special and that there are others more qualified to do what I do, and yet here I sit shaking my head, tears flowing, because He chose me.  Me?  I am ill-equipped, I stumble over my words, I am weepy and I fail to be somebody anyone would choose for work of great importance.  I have often wondered what others see when they meet me. What I want others to see when they meet me, is my thankfulness and love for God’s blessings in my life.  What do I want for?  I am blessed beyond measure. To choose just one thing per day to be thankful for would be impossible.  I could no sooner choose a star from the sky or a book from my shelf.  I don’t know if I can even choose something to be unthankful for, although it may be easier. 
But even then, what would I choose?  My gray hair?  I don’t think so; I earned every one of those silver sparklers! I do have hair color, so who am I to complain?  Should I choose my stretch marks, which my loving children recommended I buy cream to get rid of?  I earned each of those too, carrying three of the best blessings God ever granted to me.  How about the extra pounds?  Even those I enjoyed gaining. Sure, I could do without them, and I am getting close to being annoyed enough to start shedding them … but whose fault were they?  The bakers of the world or the Mexican food restaurant I enjoy so much?  Food is not necessarily something to be unthankful for; it’s more something to take control of.  Arguing with the kids?  Nope. I argued with my mother until some of her last days, and I miss it.  Arguing is better than indifference any day.  Disagreements can spark learning and understanding.  Even for those,  I am thankful.
So to answer those who may wonder why, even though I write, yet I don’t participate in a “thankful a day” social media plan: yes, I am thankful.  Abundantly so.  The amount of thankfulness in my heart is overflowing.  When you give each day to God and ask him to bless it, how could your heart not be thankful?  

Almonds, Malfunctions, and Oops I Did it Again

The last week or so has been pretty big.  We took our oldest daughter to visit a college and then we celebrated our next in line with a birthday dinner.  
As we climbed in bed and snuggled in for the night, my husband and I were talking about the day.  My skin has been really dry, so I commented that perhaps I should take some vitamin E, which he found to be amusing, because I rarely remember to take any vitamins.  (Fortunately, I don’t have any health issues that require me to take medicine regularly, as I would forget to take those too.) He asked me if my grandma had recommended that I take a vitamin E.  I said no, but it seemed likely that she would be the person who would say that. 
As a child, when I would spend the night at grandma’s, the next morning I would have a vitamin C, a vitamin E, and an almond waiting with my breakfast.  My husband then asked, “Why an almond?  Like a peanut?”  To which I replied, “No. Like an ALMOND.”  He said, “Well, I didn't know if you meant like the nut, or something else.”  I replied, “I didn't realize that almonds came in any other form!” and began to giggle.  He then said that he was done with the conversation, and I giggled myself to sleep.   
This week at work I had a wardrobe malfunction. My first thought was, I wonder how Janet Jackson would handle this situation.  I mention her only because of the area in which I was having the malfunction. While I didn't actually reveal any skin, I did happen to notice that I was a little more, let’s say, comfortable than I should have been.  I looked down and noticed that one side was hanging a bit lower than the other side.  (At which point the song “Do your ears hang low, do they wobble to and fro” played in my head.)  The problem was that I had no time to go and try to figure out the problem.  I chose to ignore it and to stay busy, that way no one would be able to notice that anything was out of sorts. 
After going to lunch with a friend, and then to the store (I kept my coat on), I got home where I could properly investigate.  The bra that I had chosen in the dark that morning was already having issues.  One wire in, one wire out, then somewhere in the course of the day, the strap broke too.  Not came undone --  as it was a convertible bra that could be switched around --- no, it just plain broke.  This was the straw that broke the bra’s strap, and it was retired to the trash.  I will be shopping for a new favorite very soon.  I asked the teacher I work with the next day if she had noticed my wardrobe malfunction.  She hadn't.  Which leaves me with the question:  Which is worse: having a wardrobe malfunction of this magnitude, or having one, but no one can tell?  Think about it.
I injured myself twice in the past two weeks, both times while attempting to prepare dinner.   The first time I couldn't find the can opener that should have been in the counter top kitchen tool spinny thing  (the technical name for it).  I proceeded to go searching through drawers to find it, and  sliced open my thumb on an apple corer (it’s sharp without its cover, which is probably also hiding in the drawer). Then I whacked the top of my hand on the corner of the counter, so I got to go to school with a round bandage on my hand; you know, the kind you would put over a wart  (Hello granny, can I help you?) 
So as you can see, I’m very gifted when it comes to food preparation and all things domestic.  Not.  Shall we discuss how I keep putting clothes in the dryer, in an attempt to remove wrinkles from our clothes, because if I use the iron, I will burn myself?  I am incapable of ironing without causing bodily harm.  This would also be why I have short hair, so I don’t have to go near a curling iron.
Friday at school while walking out to the playground for recess with the children, I tripped and fell.  There is a place in the sidewalk that is uneven, a fact I am aware of and have made a mental note of.  Friday however, as I was walking out with my head turned, telling the children I would help them zip up their coats, I tripped over the raised-up sidewalk.  While they were asking me if I was OK, the only thing I could think was, “Mr. Kimble, are you all right?” (From Kindergarten Cop, “It’s not a tumor!”)  I did manage to pick myself up and finish out recess duty.  After the children were safely in their classroom again, I informed the teacher that I had fallen and would be going to take care of that.  I went to the office to tell the social worker that I had fallen down, and that I would require a bandage.  She took me to the nurse’s office, and on the way there, poked her head into the principal’s office to inform him of my mishap.  He told her to get some Neosporin. 
When she couldn't find it, he came in and wanted to see the area in question, which was my knee.  (I then started doing a mental calculation as to the last time I shaved my legs.  I am married and it is cold.  I knew it wasn't that morning.)  He then proceeded to bandage my hairy knee, himself.  He didn't notice the hair, though, I’m pretty sure, as he was simultaneously talking to a student, and the social worker, who commented that I was biting my jacket and shaking.  The good news is I can now bend my knee, so Christmas shopping should not be a problem.
So my first accident report was on me, which is par for the course.  I find all of it quite amusing.  I am accident-prone obviously, but I am also very blessed. Even with all the silliness that is my life, it all makes sense to me because I know I’m in the right spot with all the right people.                                                                                                                                                                                

This is 40...Well...Me at 40

I’m 40.  When did that happen?  I mean, I know the date of my birthday.  I know it happened, I just cannot figure out when I got to be so old. 
When I was a kid, I remember having to go to bed at 9 p.m.  I remember having to be home before dark.  I remember wishing time would pass faster so I could have my driver’s license, and today, my daughter was driving ME around.  Granted, I was telling her to stay in her lines like she was coloring and to remember the brake, but still, she was driving me, and not the other way around.
I used to dream of the day when I would leave home.  I would go to Chicago, live in the big city, and never come home again.  I would be very chic and I would have lots of friends and ride in taxis.  When I was a teenager, I don’t think I ever aged in my imagination past twenty I didn’t dream of turning 21 because I was never interested in drinking.  Up until the second semester of my senior year, I didn’t fantasize of having a husband and children either, but that changed when I met my future husband. Then I did dream of being married.  (The children part came shortly after we got married when he looked at me crosswise and I got pregnant.)
I don’t think anyone dreams of what life will be like at forty.  Teenagers don’t think, “When I’m forty, I’m going to … sail around the world.” Or “When I’m forty I’m going to learn how to play backgammon.” It’s just not done. 
This is forty.  My hair is short.  My hair has been short for a while now, but in my family when we women get old, we cut our hair.  I have now been every size between a size 3 to a 16.  There are parts of my body that have fallen and need extra support to stay up.  There is a side of my hair that grows faster and thicker than the other and the opposite side the back tends to flip up.  I wonder if my freckles are still considered freckles, or if they will become age spots.  My eyebrows no longer grow like they used to; only random strays here and there that I can pluck out myself.  Spandex is my friend.  I use Clinique but wonder if I shouldn’t be using Oil of Olay (AKA, Oil of Old Lady) instead. 
I say the phrase “Well, how ‘bout that!” all the time now.  I have surpassed sounding like my mother and have gone straight to sounding like my grandmother.  I think that makes me an overachiever, doesn’t it?  My daughter, had she had a less dramatic mother, should have her license by now.  She doesn’t, because I have been too afraid to let her drive me around.  I’m getting a little better about it.  Maybe when she is seventeen, I will even let her drive at night or when it rains… or maybe not.  I may need a little longer.  She may need a little longer.  My middle child is right behind her; she will have driver’s ed next summer.  And she was just learning how to ride a bike last week.  OK, I know it was a minute ago. 
My baby?  My baby is going to be in double digits.  DOUBLE DIGITS!  He’s my baby.  I know I was rocking him to sleep just yesterday.  Today I turn around and I am only a head taller than he is.  Granted I’m not especially tall, but still. 
In the blink of an eye, it’s not me learning to drive, and it isn’t me dreaming of leaving home and going off to college, or even just driving to the mall alone.
My dreams are more along the lines of going up the stairs without my knees creaking.  Wondering how long I can go between coloring my hair.  If I don’t color my hair, how long until my entire head is grey?  Will I be 45?  50? 60?  Will I be doing commercials for urinary incontinence?  If I work at the school long enough, will it be “grandma hugs” I give the children, or will I still be able to give mommy hugs when I’m old enough to be a grandma?    
If that isn’t enough when I take the kids out for recess at school I yell at them to stay off the grass and stay on the sidewalk till we get onto the playground.  I ask my children if they were born in barns.  I have said to them to close the door I don’t want to heat/air condition the outdoors.  I have become one of the biggest cliché’s in motherhood.  This last weekend I went on a date with my husband and I reached over with a napkin to wipe his face.  (This did not earn me any favors.  He was a bit put out with me for that one.)
Where did the time go?  When I was younger the time seemed to pass so slowly.  I thought I would never get grown.  Now I’m grown and all I want is for time to slow down.  It seems to pass so quickly.  Days run over each other.  Weeks are suddenly months that are gone and years are gone in a blink.  I look in the mirror and I see wrinkles that weren’t there before.  I look at my children and I am looking up instead of down to look into their eyes.  Even the cats seem to be aging rapidly. 
We start out and we think we have so much time to do so many things.  The fact is we don’t know how much time we have and the older we get the less we have left.  We have to decide how we are going to spend what we have.  I think I will spend mine enjoying the teenagers telling me I’m old.   I will love it when I get to repay the favor someday.  I will keep searching for the perfect hair color, refuse to grow my hair out to wear buns, avoid skirts, skorts, and dresses that go well with aprons.  I will keep blowing bubbles when I chew gum and enjoy every jam session when I’m home alone.  Maybe I will need depends someday but doesn’t that just mean I get to dance longer without stopping to go “gotta go gotta go gotta go right now.”?  The sun shines brighter when you look at every day as a gift. 
Maybe forty won’t be so bad, after all I have a new haircut, I am narrowing in on the best hair color, and I can make big bubbles even with Trident gum.  The upside is I’m old enough I don’t have to apologize for enjoying it.

Mow the Yard, Maybe

I really love the song Call Me Maybe.  I feel better about that fact now that I know that I am not actually old enough to be the artist’s mother.  (Thanks to Wikipedia)  The song’s lyrics don’t really apply to me, so I thought it would be fun to try a rewrite of the catchy hit.  This way it applies to my life and makes a little bit more sense for me to sing it.  I also added a few notes and rewrites of my rewrites for your amusement.
Mow the Yard, Maybe
I threw a ball and it fell                       (Of course it fell, have you seen me throw a ball?)    Where it landed I can’t tell                  (Tall grass?  Nearsightedness?  Combination?)I looked to my kid as it fell                  (He should have been watching)And now it’s in my way                       (Kind of like the swings on the swing set)I might find it in a ditch                         (Which wouldn’t be so bad because I’m scared to mow the ditch.)With small toys and trash scattered amiss      (What?)I didn’t want to look for this                        (You got that right!)But now it’s in my wayThe ball’s bounce wasn’t holdin                  (Hello, I’m Heather and I’m not sporty.)The tall grass is all that’s showin                  (Good news!  No dandelions!)Hot day wind was blowin                           (It was dusty)  Where do you think it went don’t be lazy      (Get over here and help me!)Hey it rained this morning and this is crazy   (Is it?  Is it really?)But I’ll get my mower and mow already        (You are welcome neighborhood watch dogs.)It’s hard to look right at my yard I’ve been lazy        (Nearsighted, remember?)       But I’ll get my mower and mow it maybe            (I wonder if we have gas?)Hey it rained this morning and this is crazy But here’s my mower, so mow the yard maybe      (You volunteered right?)And all the other neighbors mowed already          (Of course they did.  Overachievers!)So I’ll get my mower and mow maybe                (I’ll do it myself.)You took your time helping to find the ball          (Slow poke)It took no time to mow at all                          (I was singing and dancing so it was fun.)You gave me no help at all                 (Was it my singing or the dancing that deterred you?)So still it’s in my way                               (I’ll just mow around it.)My skin got sun burned and pealed            (Aloe please?)In the sun and the pain is real                         (Ouch!)I didn’t know I would feel it                          (I’m quick)But now the pain is in my way                       (Again aloe?)The ball’s bounce wasn’t holdin                     (yeah yeah)The tall grass is all that’s showinHot day wind was blowinWhere do you think it went I’ve been so lazy?Hey it rained this morning and this is crazyBut I’ll get my mower and mow alreadyIt’s hard to look right at my yard I’ve been so lazyBut I’ll get my mower and mow it maybeHey it rained this morning and this is crazy But here’s my mower, so mow the yard maybeAnd all the other neighbors mowed alreadySo I’ll get my mower and mow maybeBefore I mowed my yard                               Before I mowed my yardThe grass was so tall                                       It looked so badThe grass was so tall                                       It looked so badThe grass was so so tall                                   It looked so so badBefore I mowed my yard                               Before I mowed my yardThe grass was so tall                                       It looked so badAnd you should know that                             And you should know thatIt was so so tall                                               It looked so so badTall tall tall                                                      Bad, bad, badIt’s hard to look right at my yard I’ve been so lazyBut here’s my mower, so mow the yard maybeHey it rained this morning and this is crazyBut I’ll get my mower and mow alreadyAnd all the other neighbors mowed alreadySo I’ll get my mower and mow maybeBefore I mowed my yardThe grass was so tallThe grass was so tall The grass was so so tallBefore I mowed my yard The grass was so tallAnd you should know that So mow my yard, maybe
So much fun to write, I would like to insert that this week we mowed first.  We felt like rock stars for an entire four hours.  Then the neighbors came home and went to work on their yards.  Those four hours were AWESOME!  We celebrated our small victory with ice cream.

An Overly Dramatic Teen and a Sermon on the Bed

My first book’s subtitle is “And Other Observations from an Overly Dramatic Mom,” so it shouldn’t come as any surprise that my teenage girls are overly dramatic as well.  The most recent instance happened with my middle child, as she was upset about someone who had answered a question for her.  She had been to youth group and someone asked a question.  She didn’t respond quickly enough so someone answered for her to the best of their ability.  Because the answer was not fully correct, she felt it wasn’t that person’s place to answer for her. 
It’s partly her fault, anyway. She has a bad habit of not answering direct questions.  Don’t expect a response from her unless she is in the mood to talk.  If she isn’t in the mood, she tends to stare at you like you just dropped down from another planet, like she thinks 1) you are stupid for not calling ahead to ask her a question or 2) for showing up to talk to her in the first place.  Imagine how this goes over when she is in trouble and I am disciplining her.  I have explained to her many times that she needs to be quicker with her answers.  I also explained that she was being excessively dramatic about the situation, and it wasn’t really that big of a deal. 
High school is punishment enough for a quiet kid.  In my effort to get my quiet girls to open up and blossom into the lovely ladies I know they must be (deep down where only God and I can see), I have them go to Youth Group.  They are put into small groups and are really expected to open up and share with others.  In my mind, which is really just a playground for all sorts of mayhem, I think this is good. 
When I am giving my sermons on the bed, I tend to tell stories about my own experiences and I also like to give a math lesson.  Although math is not my strong suit, I am delighted when I am able to do quick math on the fly.  I have explained to my children that high school is only 180 days per year. There are 365 days in a year total, and really in the greater scheme of things, high school isn’t that long of a time in your life. So they shouldn’t get so worked up about things.  One day they will blink, and it will be over. At that point, they will look in the mirror and try to figure out how they got to be so old as to have teenagers themselves. (Something I do daily.) 
I started a new job this year, so in trying to explain that it’s OK to talk to new or different people, I told her about my job.  How I didn’t know what I was getting into necessarily, but I had heard different things, so I had a starting point.  Truth be told, I knew names, but only the names of a few of the people in the building.  It can be just as hard for an adult as it is for a young person to make new friends.  The secret, I told her, was that you have to understand just one key point about all people.  ALL people are just trying to find their way in the world.  Some are better at it than others, but the fact is that we are all alike in our humanness, and in our humanness none of us is perfect.  As soon as you get that part of reality, it makes it a lot easier to talk to people.
I also shared that I was given a bag of Hershey Hugs from the teacher I work with, and that I often walk down the hallway on my way to make copies and hand some out to people.  Some of them I know better than others, but I think that everyone can use a hug now and then.  Why not go up to people and hand them a chocolate hug, and wish them a good day?  If I arrive at my building early,  I go room to room and drop a hug on everyone’s desk.  When I’m not early, I pass them out to those I pass in the hall. 
I may or may not ever be a part of the group that is already there, as some of them have worked together for years. But even so, how much better is it to smile and say hello or hand someone a chocolate hug, than to go through the halls worrying about fitting in?  I don’t concern myself with that stuff anymore. 
I explained to my daughter that it doesn’t matter if I fit in. What matters is if I’m doing a good job and I’m bringing glory to God.  The way I figure it, if she goes to school and she smiles and talks to whomever she comes in contact with, and she is right with God, everything else will fall into place. 
She said that if the Mayans were correct and the end of the world comes this year, high school isn’t going to matter much.  I told her that I don’t believe that the Mayans were privy to when Jesus was going to come back and take us to heaven, but even if they were, it’s a much better use of her time to live each day as God has intended, than to worry about what anyone else thinks of her. 
And if the Mayans were correct (and not just tired of writing and counting as I suspect), then what a great day it will be when we do get to go to heaven and be at home with our Father at last.

Dust, A Sexy Appliance, and God Cleans My Soul

I read somewhere that “dust gives a home a warm fuzzy feeling.”  Now, if I’m being truthful, I probably read that on Facebook or Pinterest.  I was thinking of this statement as we spent our Labor Day weekend cleaning our home.  I mean, serious cleaning. We emptied out bedrooms and swept, dusted, and rearranged.  We carried out bags of trash and things to give away.  The bedrooms look great!  Today we were given an extra day off school, due to fog.  With that extra time, we finished the last bedroom, then I proceeded to clean my office to the level of tolerable, and rearrange the man cave. When that was done, I mowed the yard. 
The reason this all came about was that the level of dust in this house probably could have blanketed a third-world country.  The dust and cat hair under the beds alone was so bad; you would have thought we had a Yeti living here. 
I’m not sure how this happens.  We are relatively clean people.  We sweep, but we sweep what we can see.  Actually, my daughter sweeps; it’s her chore.  My son, who is nine, is in charge of dusting.  That may be a clue in this mystery.  I’m not even going to get into what may be happening in the bathrooms, as I haven’t gotten that far yet.  My other daughter is in charge of cleaning those.  My job, aside from my day job, cooking all the food, and the running kids around, is laundry and mopping.  The laundry gets done.  The mopping is sketchy.  I need to work on that.  Or maybe I could trade with the boy and do the dusting, and try him out on the mopping?  Hmm… I may be on to something here.
I read in a book once about a house that was self-cleaning.  Imagine, a self-cleaning house.  It probably involves some technology that I won’t figure out. Just this year, we bought a stove with a self-cleaning oven, and I don’t know how to use it yet.  I will tell you that I am a huge fan of the flat top cooking area.  That is also my job to clean and it is a breeze compared to the other stove.  It is also stainless steel, and I’m pretty sure it is the sexiest kitchen appliance around.  That was my comment to my husband when it was delivered.  “That is the sexiest appliance I’ve ever seen.”  (So I don’t get out much; sue me.) 
It feels so nice when things are cleaned up around the house, don’t you think? I try to keep things clean, but inevitably I will find a cobweb or some dust somewhere that I missed. Something always happens and the clean house isn’t so clean anymore. The cats will come in and shed all over the freshly-swept carpet. Kids tromp through the house with their friends, and in just moments, leave a trail of dirty dishes, food wrappers, half-opened backpacks and Legos in their wake.
I think it feels that way with life sometimes too. You are going along just fine, then there is some dust or a cobweb that happens to dirty things up. As often as I try to clean up my soul, I can’t get it ever completely done. Just like I can clean the house and it just gets dirty again, I can attend worship and listen to worship music, but I cannot get rid of the cobwebs and dust in my soul; not forever. Only God can do that.
Only when we give ourselves over to Him completely can we feel truly cleaned up and free. I’m so glad I can count on my God to cover that part. Because the cat just shed on the floor again, and I have my hands full.

The Next Big Thing

I received an email from my publisher with the headline: You’re The Next Big Thing!  What?!? Me?  The next big thing?  I’m not sure that is possible.  (Of course, anything that God ordains is possible and probable. I’d just have to believe it could happen to ME.) I started thinking about the possibility of being a “Big Thing.”  I wondered if it would get me a better table at restaurants.  I wondered if I could finally get mail delivery.  I sat and fantasized about being Julia Roberts in Pretty Woman; the part where she was able to go shopping and buy whatever she wanted, and told the sales woman she had make a big mistake when she had refused to help her.  Then the kids started yelling something about me having to feed them every day and homework needed to be checked and laundry needed to be done … and I realized it would be a while before I was ever that big of a thing.
I was tagged by the wonderfully talented Lenore Skomal.  If you haven’t checked her out, head on over to http://www.lenoreskomal.com/—you won’t be disappointed.  Thank you for the confidence you have showed in me, Lenore. I am humbled and inspired to hopefully prove you right. So without further ado, here we go:1. What is the working title of your book?God Has Better Things to Do than My Laundry (and other observations from an overly dramatic mom) 2. Where did the idea come from for the book?I have been writing it for about three years, not knowing at the time that it would one day become a book, yet secretly fantasizing of one day having it published into a book.  I just recorded life stories and lessons learned. 
3. What genre does your book fall under?Nonfiction: Christian/Humor
4. Which actors would you choose to play your characters in a movie rendition?I have given this some thought, actually; it’s fun to think about. We are huge movie buffs in our family (hence, the Pretty Woman reference above), and my children and I like to talk about this sort of thing.  Sometimes life is too silly not to think about the movie version. 
I would be played by Lauren Graham. “Vaughn” would be played by Paul Rudd. “Daphne” would be played by Madeline Carroll. “Megan” would be played by Elle Fanning. “Scotty” would be played by John Paul Ruttan. My best friend: Melissa Peterman.
5. What is the one-sentence synopsis of your book?Married mom of three tries to navigate the teenage years while keeping her faith intact; chaos ensues.  (You did want a fragmented sentence, yes?)
6. Will your book be self-published or represented by an agency?Published with PublishSavvy, headed up by the lovely and talented Shannon Janeczek.  You can find her here: http://www.publishsavvy.com/
7.  How long did it take you to write the first draft of your manuscript?Three years and two weeks.
8. What other books would you compare this story to within your genre?I guess other momblogger-type books... except this one has a lot about my faith in it as well.
9. Who or what inspired you to write this book?My family inspires the stories, and God set it all in motion.
10. What else about your book might pique the reader’s interest?I think it helps to know we aren’t alone in our journeys as moms/women of faith. I also think it might boost a reader’s ego to know none of us is really doing any of it “right.”
To pay it forward, I am excited to tag some very talented people.  Get ready ladies, to repost these questions with your answers (on a Wednesday in the next few weeks), because now you are The Next Big Thing!
Autumn Rosen (https://www.facebook.com/AutumnRosenauthorpage)A E Rought (http://aerought.blogspot.com/)Jeanette Levellie (http://www.goodreads.com/author/show/5784219.Jeanette_Levellie)Jackie Papandrew (https://www.facebook.com/LaughsnLaundry)Deborah Hutto Bateman (https://www.facebook.com/deborah.huttobateman)

When the Comfort Zone Is No Longer An Option

When the comfort zone is no longer an option, then what? 
Lately, I have been so comfortable.  I cannot even put into words the level of comfort that I have in my comfort zone.  When they say a man’s house is his castle, I totally get it.  I love my house.  I don’t live in a mansion and I don’t have maid service, but I have a nice-sized house, with kids and husband who sometimes do chores.  I have three cats that don’t use the flower beds around my house for a litter box.   I have spots of grass that are missing from my yard from where we dumped things like oil or paint in the yard and it killed the grass.  I have weeds that grow taller than my flowers.  I have an office that will never be organized, and every spring we have ants.  The floors squeak upstairs in the bedrooms, there is a gap in one area of the hardwood floor.  None of this matters; I love every square inch of it.  I even love the spiders that sometimes find a home in the corner of the bathroom.  It’s comfortable here, it’s home.When I am home, I watch TV,  play games on the computer (Free Cell and Spider Solitaire are my favorites), sing songs on the Wii.  I like to go on bike rides with the kids, and take walks.  Sometimes, I write. 
I also go to a large church, partly because I can blend in.  I have friends there, but I would venture to say there are far more that do not know me than do.  I talk to my friends before Sunday school and after, but never do I talk in class if I can help it.  I go to bible studies, and I don’t talk in class.  I am really good at talking to strangers, one on one.  I go to malls and make friends with the girls at the Clinique counter.  I go to restaurants and make friends with the wait staff.  It’s comfortable.I enjoy working with children, but I don’t want to teach; I want to be the aide.  I decide what I will order at a restaurant, once I see what others are ordering.  I will go this weekend to Women of Faith and I will be in awe of the women who can travel around and speak with such eloquence in front of our group, but I don’t want to be a speaker.  I would go to lunch with them and have a conversation and be friends with any of them, but I don’t want to do what they do.
I like my routine.  I like knowing what’s around the corner, that each day is not too much different than the day before.  There are just different evening activities with the kids to go to.  I dream at night, but I like dreams to stay dreams (I normally don’t remember them anyway).  I forget things.  I block things.  I like to be in my comfort zone.
But what if the comfort zone isn’t an option?  What if the call from Him is to do more?  How do you even know for sure what the call is?  What if it’s a wrong number?  Seriously.  I had to get up in front of people and speak last month.   I cannot remember being more terrified.  I don’t want to repeat the experience.  I survived it, sure, but the stress was painful.  I’m still not sure if it was more painful for me, or for those who had to endure listening to me. 
This Sunday in Sunday school, we divided up in groups of men and women.  In our groups, we were given questions to answer about comfort zones.  I had, to this point in the year, spoken during class just one time.  That one time did not go so well because I made a poorly-timed joke. I thought it was pretty funny until everyone looked at me like I just grew three heads. 
I was asked to tell about my experience in public speaking, as an example of being outside of my comfort zone.  I tried to get out of it, since just talking to the class was going out of my comfort zone.  I tried to answer; then I answered poorly. Later, when we were back as a large group, the small group threw me under the bus and made me tell the story again.  I'm not sure there was an improvement.
I’m struggling.  My fear consumes me.  I haven’t glimpsed the future and I don’t know what it holds.  I feel as though I’m in a battle and I’m tired.  I am afraid that I’m going to be told to run, and I don’t have the right shoes.  I don’t have the compass, I haven’t been given the map, and I don’t have a smartphone with turn-by-turn instructions.  I don’t have that iPhone lady to tell me what I’m supposed to do.  I’m not equipped and I’m not even sure I’m called.  I don’t even know how to tell if you are called.  People who are called are at least equipped enough to recognize the call, right?  If you get a call from God, how do you explain that the creator of the universe must not realize that you are the wrong gal?  I know!  It’s a crazy thing to say.  God doesn’t make mistakes.  I know that.  But does He not pay attention?  Does He not realize that I’m just trying to blend in here?  That I’m just the typist; I’m not doing the dictation, and I’m not the illustrator either.  I’m broken.
I don’t know that I want to inspire people.  I don’t even necessarily want people to know I exist. Yet I wonder if, when I die, my family will sit around and tell stories about me just to each other, because no one will show up for the funeral.  I’m a blender inner, not a stander outer.  Blender inners don’t inspire people to do anything.  They blend.  They live, they hang out in their comfort zones and live their lives, and then they die.  The end.  That is MY plan.  This plan will make for a smaller buffet at the funeral, I understand.  It is my plan nonetheless.
But what if it isn’t God’s plan?  What if I don’t follow His plan, but follow my own?  What if I do follow His plan and He realizes I’m going to let Him down?  How do you bounce back from that?  No thanks.  I’m comfortable, right here where I am, in my comfort zone.  Surely that is where I’ll stay.  Don’t you think?

A Journey, A Book...

In early December of 2011, I embarked on a journey.  It wasn’t an exotic overseas vacation; more of a personal quest.   I got in contact with an editor/publisher about developing a book.  This would bring about the fruition of a dream, one that in my wildest imagination I didn’t believe could or would come true.  I love to dream, and  I like to dream big.  I am most comfortable, however, with dreams that remain dreams, because dreams that come true bring change.  Change can be scary.  Don’t misunderstand - I know change is inevitable.  And that it can bring about life-altering changes for the better.  The idea of better can paralyze you with fear. 
As it turns out, my book got finished, and is now going to a second printing.  I spent the week before the book launch in a complete state of panic.  Fear almost rendered me immobile.  When the day arrived, though, I was surrounded by friends and family. But I was still afraid.  Every fiber of my being was yelling “Run and hide.” 
I spend a lot of time in front of my computer. I am quite comfortable talking on the phone and having conversations with strangers - on a one-on-one basis.  Large groups scare me;  I try to avoid them.  At the book launch, I was expected to read aloud from my book. I stepped up to the podium and did what I had to do.  My hands were shaking, and yet when I see pictures of the event now, I used them when I spoke.  The video is twelve minutes of me, reading, looking only a bit nervous.  In the greater scheme of things in life, it seems silly, and yet it was so far out of my comfort zone, the reading seemed like 2 hours by the time it  was finished. 
When I think about that day now, I can’t think of anything I would have changed.  It was perfect.  The people who love me were there.  The support that surrounded me that day were inconceivable to me.  I didn’t run, throw up, or wet myself, and really those were the highest expectations I had.  It’s funny how God can surpass all of our expectations.  Expectations we didn’t even know we had. 
I don’t know what happens from here.  When I  dreamed of publishing a book, before this year, I didn’t dream about what would happen past the actual publication.  I didn’t even dream of telling anyone I had published a book.  I think the main dream I had was that I would finish something that I had wanted to do, not for anyone else, but for me.  The book is even available on all e-readers and the paperback is at the local Christian bookstore.  That is far beyond any of my expectations.  The original idea was for me to have one print copy, and for my grandmother to have one.  So the rest of it is all an additional blessing that my Father has given me. 
I’m still worried about change.  I’m a work in progress - what can I say?  In my head, I enter negotiations with Him.  ·         “OK God.  I realize that I don’t know the full plan, but … if you could eliminate any public speaking from the plan, that would be great.”  ·         “OK God. I realize that I have to learn to fully rely on you and that you will never leave me nor forsake me, but… if you could make sure that I don’t have to travel, that would be great.”
Of course, if God were to call me to travel and speak in public again, without thinking about it, I would go.  I may not be comfortable with it, but He hasn’t promised to never take me from my comfort zone.  I am very aware of the amount of growth that I still need to do.  He is aware of my fear and that I prefer staying where I am.   Maybe I am to go no farther than I have at this moment in time.  I would be happy with that, and yet I wonder… if He has brought me this far, and I choose to not follow where He leads, what will I miss?  Even though I am a scared and imperfect servant, what more could He use me for?

The Lifeboat

I had a dream last night that I was driving down the road and there was water on the road.  Along the way there appeared a boy in a boat that was driving down the road.  I called him Jimmy and asked him what he thought of all the water on the road.  He said he wasn’t concerned because he had a boat and that he would travel beside me in case I needed to get in.  When I woke up I looked outside to see if there was water on the road.  The driveway looked like it had rained but I didn’t see any standing water.  I was relieved because I don’t know anyone named Jimmy that has a small wooden boat that can travel on dry land as well as in the water.
What is interesting about this dream is that I remembered it.  Usually if I remember the dream when I wake up it is gone by the time my feet hit the floor.  I am not a dream interpreter, but I would venture a guess as to what this dream was telling me.  I remember thinking that if the water were to continue to rise I might be in some trouble.  Jimmy seemed as though we were friends and that he was there to help me.  I have felt very overwhelmed lately.  I think perhaps the dream was a reminder.  Not that I shouldn’t drive when there is water rising on the road, that part I’ve got, but maybe a reminder that I should know that I’m not alone.  Maybe I don’t have any little friends named Jimmy with a boat to travel the road with me when the water gets too deep, but I do have something better.
I have someone who is always there.  Someone who is traveling this road called life beside me, who loves me, who wants me to grow into something beautiful, who when the water rises can calm the roughest seas.  I have a Heavenly Father.  I have a boat I just have to remember who the Captain is, and it’s not me.  This is good because I can’t pilot a boat.  I would run it aground.  It is hard not being able to see the map to see where the boat is going sure, but I’m not sure that if I were privy to that information it would help my anxiety.  I’m thinking it would make it worse.  I also think it would defeat the purpose.  How do you grow if you know the plans?  How do you learn to trust if you can see what lies ahead?
I don’t know if that is the proper analysis of my dream or not.  Maybe it was just raining and my subconscious was messing with me.  Maybe I’ve read too many jokes about a boy named Jimmy and maybe I’m way off.  I’m not sure.  All I know is that I can still see the dream as clearly now as I did when I dreamed it.  I also know that I feel better knowing that even if I’m wrong I choose to believe that the interpretation is something more than just about a boy in a boat.  That my lifeline is still intact, my redeemer is still the captain and I’m just along for the ride and even if the ride comes to an end, it was quite a ride.  It was mine, unique and special and just for me and the boat traveled right beside me waiting to catch me when and if I fell.  That is good enough for me.