As we are preparing to add a new human to the mix of our daily lives it is becoming apparent to me what my weaknesses are. I am not good at envisioning. Don't ask me to pick out the perfect paint colors or what piece of furniture is going to go where. I cannot tell you. Literally. My brain stops functioning and sends me into high alert mode: "FIND SOMEONE WHO KNOWS!" Same goes for organizing, purging closets, making space... I don't even trust myself with a measuring tape.
A high school teacher of mine saw an art project I did once and said "Wow! You're such a smart girl, but your art is terrible!" Don't feel bad for me. It was and is absolutely true. When I used to draw people, my brother would ask 'why are their arms coming out of their heads?' And I had no clue what he was talking about. Um hello?! This is what REAL people look like in REAL LIFE!! Duh.
My friends and family are gifted beyond the capacity of normal people in these areas that I'm not, and the only logical explanation to me is that God knew how bad I would suck at these things so in turn gave me people who are above and beyond. They all know how to share with and beautify the world in practical, tangible ways. I so desperately want to, too.
If I focus on how useless my crafty skills are I get trapped in this cage of fear that my children will live these awful childhoods because their mom did nothing creative worth remembering.
But, then I remember my own childhood. My mom made me wear red tights with my blue, black, and white plaid, Catholic school uniform. Red does not go with that particular color scheme. My room was the color of Pepto Bismol. My birthday parties were filled with friends and family, but never themes--at least none I remember. I played outside all summer long. My days were filled with baseball with the boys on the block, hide and seek, riding bikes to the little store to buy candy. My childhood wasn't filled with Pinterest worthy moments or fashion or crafts, but they were FILLED. Mostly with love and adventure.
I remember how the smell of my moms makeup made me feel safe. How she would pray for all of us kids, how I would lay my head in her lap and how I used to watch her put her jewelry on and couldn't wait to be just like her. I remember how my dad would braid my hair and never missed a single game of any of the sports I played. How my brothers and me would sleep in the living room in sleeping bags on Friday nights as I tried to stay awake for all of TGIF. Or how we made forts with couch cushions and would run from the hallway and bounce off them. How any day spent with my cousins was a great one. I remember family barbecues and the feeling of grass between my toes while running through sprinklers on hot summer days. I didn't need Pinterest. I just needed real life. I would suck the marrow completely dry out of each day only to find it completely replenished again and again by a very normal childhood.
I want this for my kids. For them to remember the smell of the beach, the cool stickiness of watermelon dripping off their fingers. To remember that their days were filled with love and adventure with friends and family. To know a mom who was passionate about them. Who loved Jesus and children and people from different parts of the world. Who placed high importance on loyalty and friendships. Who loved reading and writing and learning about people's stories. Who was a safe and steady place when their world was filled with chaos and always gave them the best advice. Who sang at the top of her lungs in the car, made pancakes for lunch on Fridays and played with their hair as they fell asleep.
Real life.
It's about giving this world the things that you are passionate about, that light a fire in you, that you know was knit inside of you in order to explode outside of you.
Be generous and set your gifts ablaze, paint the world in new, vibrant colors that are authentic to only you and share them in real life.
Because not all great things--
can be shared on Pinterest.
A high school teacher of mine saw an art project I did once and said "Wow! You're such a smart girl, but your art is terrible!" Don't feel bad for me. It was and is absolutely true. When I used to draw people, my brother would ask 'why are their arms coming out of their heads?' And I had no clue what he was talking about. Um hello?! This is what REAL people look like in REAL LIFE!! Duh.
My friends and family are gifted beyond the capacity of normal people in these areas that I'm not, and the only logical explanation to me is that God knew how bad I would suck at these things so in turn gave me people who are above and beyond. They all know how to share with and beautify the world in practical, tangible ways. I so desperately want to, too.
If I focus on how useless my crafty skills are I get trapped in this cage of fear that my children will live these awful childhoods because their mom did nothing creative worth remembering.
But, then I remember my own childhood. My mom made me wear red tights with my blue, black, and white plaid, Catholic school uniform. Red does not go with that particular color scheme. My room was the color of Pepto Bismol. My birthday parties were filled with friends and family, but never themes--at least none I remember. I played outside all summer long. My days were filled with baseball with the boys on the block, hide and seek, riding bikes to the little store to buy candy. My childhood wasn't filled with Pinterest worthy moments or fashion or crafts, but they were FILLED. Mostly with love and adventure.
I remember how the smell of my moms makeup made me feel safe. How she would pray for all of us kids, how I would lay my head in her lap and how I used to watch her put her jewelry on and couldn't wait to be just like her. I remember how my dad would braid my hair and never missed a single game of any of the sports I played. How my brothers and me would sleep in the living room in sleeping bags on Friday nights as I tried to stay awake for all of TGIF. Or how we made forts with couch cushions and would run from the hallway and bounce off them. How any day spent with my cousins was a great one. I remember family barbecues and the feeling of grass between my toes while running through sprinklers on hot summer days. I didn't need Pinterest. I just needed real life. I would suck the marrow completely dry out of each day only to find it completely replenished again and again by a very normal childhood.
I want this for my kids. For them to remember the smell of the beach, the cool stickiness of watermelon dripping off their fingers. To remember that their days were filled with love and adventure with friends and family. To know a mom who was passionate about them. Who loved Jesus and children and people from different parts of the world. Who placed high importance on loyalty and friendships. Who loved reading and writing and learning about people's stories. Who was a safe and steady place when their world was filled with chaos and always gave them the best advice. Who sang at the top of her lungs in the car, made pancakes for lunch on Fridays and played with their hair as they fell asleep.
Real life.
It's about giving this world the things that you are passionate about, that light a fire in you, that you know was knit inside of you in order to explode outside of you.
Be generous and set your gifts ablaze, paint the world in new, vibrant colors that are authentic to only you and share them in real life.
Because not all great things--
can be shared on Pinterest.
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