LET'S BUILD, LADIES

My students tease me about this, but I am guilty of looking at all things metaphorically. This is both the English teacher's blessing and curse. It's a curse in that it causes me to WAY over think most things - and, well, nerd alert. But the blessing comes in the sudden, unexpected realization of life *aha* lessons being revealed in such, seemingly, small, ordinary moments.

Take this morning, for example. Nora, my oldest, is a fiercely independent two year old. I wonder where she gets that from. She woke up on a mission to build a house out of her blocks. For Anna and Elsa, of course. When Nora sets her heart on something, she tunes everything else out. She's a determined little gal, and I kinda, sorta love that about her. In the midst of Nora's construction, Finley, my one year old, began toting block after block from the bucket to her sister. "No," Nora defiantly declared. "I build house. Sissy no help!" 

In an effort to make sure she was the sole participant in constructing Anna and Elsa's new residence, Nora grabbed the house and began her relocation efforts from one table to another, taller table out of her sister's reach. Here's the clincher. The house was too big for her to move on her own and, in transit, it collapsed. 

I couldn't help but think Man, what do I miss out on when I reject help because of pride? 

What can we build for the kingdom of God if we accept help from our sisters?

Weakness is a Blessing

Alright, y'all. I'm gonna get real right now. I've been writing, deleting, and rewriting this post for way too long. Granted, I ate dinner, put two babies to bed, and watched about four full episodes of Friday Night Lights (a miracle in itself) at the same time, but it seems my writer's block is fitting for this post. Here's why.

If you've followed Yankee Belle for any amount of time, you know my posts are sporadic. Part of that is because I've given myself permission to let go of this dream for a while in order to direct my energy toward being a wife, mom, and teacher. That you likely know. You may also know that I don't occupy any set niche in the blogging world. Today, almost everyone is a blogger. Heck, I've even forced my high school students to blog about their research. While I love that bloggers are ubiquitous, because I love stories, it makes it easy for me to fall into the comparison trap. The inconsistency of my blog posts directly reflect the ups and downs of my confidence. (Can I just digress for a quick minute to say let's just collectively kick comparison in the teeth right now, ladies.) 

Y'all know I'm neither a creative or fashion stylist. I mess up brownies from a box and I can't even keep a cactus alive when my father is legitimately a world famous horticulturist. I haven't written a book or spoken at a conference. I didn't live the perfect Christian childhood. I've messed up, massively messed up, over and over again. To this day I still carry grief and regret around wth me from decisions I've made in high school.

Here's the thing. There is nothing, hear me loud and clear, nothing inherently wrong with me as a result of any of that. My problem lies in the fact that I gave into the lie that all of those things - and other "I can'ts" with which I identify on a daily basis - somehow made me lesser than. I believed that until I was a creative or more fashionable, a successful baker or kept cute plants alive long enough to post on Instagram, until I made it to the "other side" of my mistakes, regret, pain, and grief then I didn't have a platform on which to blog. That my words - my story - wasn't worthy of this space.

And then Ashlee Proffitt spoke at the one-day Influence Network Conference in Charlotte and the Lord rocked my world. As Ashlee shared her story of weakness, she read part of Psalm 23. In verses 4-5, David writes,

Even though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death, 

I will fear no evil,

for you are with me;

your rod and your staff,

they comfort me.

You prepare a table before me

in the presence of my enemies.

You anoint my head with oil;

my cup overflows.  [ESV]

Ashlee drew our attention to the fact that even when we are walking in the valley of the shadow of death, when we are still in the mess - the fear, hurt, lies, comparison, pain - He prepares a table before us. The Lord settles down with us in the very thick of it all. He doesn't wait until we're running through fields of green grass and fluttering butterflies just over the heath to fellowship with us. He meets us in the scary times in life and it is there where He causes our cup to overflow.

Weakness is a blessing. Y'all hear that? Moments of true, fall-to-your-knees weakness are blessings because it is when we have no where to turn, when that valley feels like it is closing in on us, that are forced to turn to Jesus. It is when we are still long enough to look to Him, we will see His grace. And when we bring that weakness into the light as we are called to do, others are able to see how great our God is. In doing so, our shared stories can bring glory to God.

If renewing your blog vows was a thing, I'd be doing that right now. I'd say, "Here I am, internet. Here's my story. I pray that my pride falls, comparison runs, and my story is told for the glory of God."

Amen. 

Tired Mom and Reverse Man

Finley turned one on Monday. One! We were at the tail end of a North Carolina snow shut down, thank you, Jonas, so I decided to put an end to cabin fever and venture out to celebrate. To where, you ask? None other than the mini play park at Concord Mills. I'm not sure who was left with more germs; us or the park. Either way, some good old fashioned fun was had, and I was hopeful for a lengthy nap time. Nora is now a pro on the slides and, thankfully, waiting in line. Finley has discovered the joy in her mother’s obnoxious yet enthusiastic “weeeeee”. Apparently my pre-nap strategy was not unique as I found myself in the company of  many, many moms.

One such mom looked remarkably familiar: faded yoga pants, slouchy t-shirt, ponytail, and heavy eyes. She was anchored by two snacking toddlers and a newborn demanding his next feeding. It was apparent she was where we’ve all been: the meeting of physical, mental, and emotional exhaustion. After several awkward and prolonged glances her way, I encountered a rather unique experience for me. I had the overwhelming urge to pray for her, for peace and the assurance that she is doing a great work. But I didn't. I chose to remain quiet before bribing my toddler with a cookie in hopes to avoid a parting meltdown.

I drove to the closest Starbucks drive thru in order to procure caffeine for me and celebratory chocolate chip cookies for the littles. Idling in line, I mentally chastised myself, assured I was a coward for failing to yield to my heart’s prompting. 

Then the oversized pickup truck in front of me started backing up. I couldn’t honk or reverse in time to avoid contact with his hitch (or at least what I think is called a hitch). We both got out to access the damage, but 5 mph doesn’t pack a big punch. As he returned to his Ford 100-something, I returned to my guilt and eagerly awaited my turn at the window.

Then the heart prompting snuck up on me again. Pay for the car behind you. Since Dave Ramsey always makes me feel like I need to err on the side of frugality, I decided against it. Alas, the store window slid to my left, and I was taken aback to learn that reverse man, as I will forever refer to him, paid for my order. My shoulders relaxed and a smile danced on my lips. Reverse man’s kindness felt good to receive.

Kindness feels good to receive, so give. Lesson learned.