The Bully

Last week, someone was in my apartment while I was getting dressed. Every article of clothing I put on, they would comment.

"You shouldn't wear that. It makes you look fat."

"Pull your skirt down a little bit. I don't like how your knees look."

"That doesn't fit you like you used to. You shouldn't have stopped working out. Now you look frumpy and unattractive."

"That color makes your skin look weird. Why did you waste your money on that sweater?"

Finally, I was able to find an outfit that both I and this person were satisfied with.

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Then, came the hair and make-up.

"Your eyelashes are too short. You need better mascara."

"Don't wear eyeliner. You look like you're trying too hard."

"You should get those eyebrows waxed! They are SO not feminine. But, that makes sense, since you're not much of a lady."

"Dreadlocks? What were you thinking?!? That was such a mistake!"

"Your bangs look weird. You should swoop them the other way. Better yet- why do you even have bangs? They don't make you cool, just so you know..."
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Then, I looked at myself from all angles, trying to figure out what other people would think when they saw me. But, it didn't matter. The person that was standing next to me let me know what other people probably thought. It wasn't pretty.

I'll spare you this part, because it just got downright catty and nasty. And, to be honest, I don't really feel like reliving that on my blog.

I never stood up for myself. I never talked back. I just listened and accepted their words. I felt defeated and hurt; scarred and slightly humiliated. I can't explain why I never stood up for myself. Maybe the words are too familiar. Maybe I've grown accustomed to just taking it.

When I finally got in my Jeep and the other person had strapped into the seat next to me, I was on my way. Fully insecure, fully taking in this person's words, fully believing them.

Does this make you angry? Does it upset you that I would just take it? That I would believe the toxic words? That I would let it internally affect me? That I would take their words with me, strapped to my back like a L.L. Bean school bag? That I would slowly let their words become the filter that defined how I saw myself?

Don't be mistaken: This person has been abusing me for a long time. With words. Harsh. Blunt. Cruel. No feelings spared. Crippling in most social situations.
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Now for the truth: I am this person. I am this abusive person that judges everything about myself: My laugh, my teeth, my eyelashes, my glasses, my body. Every move I make, I critique myself. Harshly. "Don't laugh that loud. You'll draw attention to yourself." "Don't slouch; it makes you look fatter." "Don't sing too loud; you're off key."

The list goes on and on. And this is what I know: I am not alone. Women and men alike. We all abuse ourselves.

I didn't realize until last week when I was having lunch with a dear friend what I do to myself. We were talking about the abusive thoughts we have about ourselves and the analogy popped into my head of being bullied.

Recently, I was bullied by a literal person. Someone who thought they knew what they were up against. There were manymanymany things I wanted to say to this person, to tear them apart verbally. Although I did say some things that I wish I could take back, the majority of what I wanted to say, I refrained. I tried to be careful with my words.

Several times, I had to stop and pray. Were my words glorifying God? Was it my place to take them down? Was it my job to seek justice? One thing was clear: it's best not to fight dirty. I kept my head high. I stood up for myself. I felt proud that I didn't dissolve into a puddle like I did when I was bullied as a child.

But, now a thought occurs to me: Why do I bully myself? Why do I quickly "Oh NO you DIDN'T" when a person verbally attacks me, but I take abuse from myself??
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I don't have all the answers. But, I do know this: God has been super intentional about showing me who I am to Him. I have been so focused on not letting other people's words affect me. Maybe it's time I started silencing the voice inside myself too. Maybe it's time to look at myself in the mirror and use God's Word to build me up, the way I would for a friend.

How does this resonate with you? Do you find yourself picking yourself apart until there's nothing left?

We're a Catch

In the last 10 or so years of my life, I have dated a good number of men. Some were mistakes. Some were good relationships that just didn't work out; they weren't meant to be.

But, here I am. 31. Still single.

I've gone "back to the drawing board" more times than I want to think about. I have reevaluated my standards and my "list" so many times that there is nothing left to examine. I have also cried and screamed and been extremely frustrated with this one thought that keeps lingering.

Why do men keep "throwing me back?"

You know those fish that people catch and deem not quality enough to keep? Because they are too small, or female instead of male or the wrong type of fish.

Thrown back.
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This all changed a few days ago.

I was having a conversation with a good married friend about dating and at the end of the conversation, he added, "You're a catch."

I thought that he was talking about a specific guy we had been discussing, so I responded, "What? He's a catch?"

"No. You're a catch."

I felt a little uncomfortable, since I can't remember a time when anyone has told me that. But, hours later, God opened my eyes and the words sunk in. What truth!! I am a catch! I am someone worth keeping. Not throwing back, but keeping.

This is true for all of us. We are all catches. We all have qualities that are worth getting to know. We all have characteristics that will benefit someone's walk with God. And while I don't believe in soul mates or "the one," I do believe that we should all be looking for someone that we feel would add to us (and us to them).
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Let this sink in: God looks at you and He sees beauty. He sees His handiwork- His craftsmanship. He sees qualities of Himself. The freckles. The curly hair. The big feet. The awkward words. The clumsy movements. The bad posture. All of it. He sees all of it, and adores every last bit. He made your body and personality and brain. And He loves it. He adores it.

The next time you have a chance, look in the mirror. And not in the hurried, I-don't-like-how-I-look glance.

Take a long look.

And remember.

You're a catch.

The One About Emotions

If you have known me for more than 5 minutes, you will probably learn without me saying anything that I am a sensitive person. I have a high level of empathy, sometimes taking on the emotions of others. I also can be affected by situations with more severity than others. And sometimes, embarassingly enough, I lose complete control of said emotions and become that person.

"That Person"

You know that person that I am talking about. That person kind of freaks out about things that maybe they don't need to freak out about. That person deals with their emotions in an unhealthy way. Sometimes drinking or overeating or punching something/someone or breaking a lamp or road raging are involved. That person needs to get a grip. On Jesus. Like, for real.

Don't miss what I'm saying. I am that person. We are all that person at some point in time. But, sometimes I feel like I am that person more often than I am a holy vessel of God.

Sometimes, I feel like I run to ice cream or an ice cold soda before I run to God.

Sometimes, I feel like I may think that I am showing people who God is when really, I am showing them who I am. You know.... that person.
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This weekend, my Grammy fell down. She shattered and dislocated her poor, 84-year-old wrist. It was so sad! While she was in surgery, I had a lot of down time. I took that time to send my friend some encouragement from a study that I did on JOY. It was like this whole intricate word/usage-in-the-Bible/how-does-it-apply-to-me study. I got a lot out of it last year when I was terribly struggling with depression. In fact, I wrote an entire series on depression. You can find it here.

As I was reading what I wrote, so much stuck out to me. Not like a memory, but like a, "I don't remember writing that, but wow, does it resonate with me now" feelings. I realized then that so much of what God has been teaching me this last year has been a build-up. He was teaching me, even when I hadn't let myself belong to Him. He was guiding me, even when He knew I wouldn't obey. He was rallying my heart for one purpose: to know Him in a deeper way.

You're probably all, "Be quiet and tell me the thing that you read!"

Okay! Stop yelling!

Ready?

Here it is:

Psalm 51:10-12

“Create in me a pure heart, O God, and renew a steadfast spirit within me. Do not cast me from  your presence or take your Holy Spirit from me. Restore to me the joy of your salvation and grant me a willing spirit, to sustain me.

The Greeks feared emotions because they sought permanent balance. Hebrews take a different track. Emotions are the fodder of choice. I can let them drive me or I can coral them in the service of the King. Once, David allowed his emotions to carry him far from his King. Now, he seeks restoration and emotion is the train he rides to reach his goal.”

This is that part that gets me..."While no emotion is permanent, every emotion can draw us toward [God] or push us away. We are at liberty to choose.” (taken from http://www.skipmoen.com/)

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So, you're telling me that I in the middle of my raw emotions and freak-outs, I still have a choice what I do with those feelings? Yes.

So, if I'm depressed and I want to eat a whole container of ice cream because I feel like I deserve it, then I can stop myself before I even start? Yes.

So, if my husband/boyfriend/dad has just made me feel like crap again and all I want to do is drink, I can like.... not drink? Yes.

People, I have a choice. You have a choice. We all have a choice. And, it is possible to glorify God in the middle of what we are feeling. My friend shared with me that we can be angry/sad/depressed/etc. We are human and we have feelings. But, we (and I'm talking to myself too) need to train ourselves to stop and ask God, "What do You want me to do with this feeling?"

Believe this: He. Will. Tell. You.

He will.

He wants us to come to Him in our hour of need. He wants us to draw near to His heart. He wants us to draw from his strength and energy. He wants to fill us up so that we can handle what He has allowed in our lives.

He wants us.

He wants you.

He wants me.

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What about you? How do you deal with your emotions? Are you that person too?

Growing and Growing and Growing...

 When I moved back to Ohio a little more than a month ago, I didn't think that I would be farming. In fact, if my mom had said, "Hey! Let's dig up dirt and plant things! Then we can eat them later!" I would have laughed.

Well, I'm officially an urban farmer.

My mom had an idea to start a pallet garden, which basically means instead of tilling the ground and planting seeds, you create a series of small raised-beds from old pallets and plant your crop in the slats.

Maybe because of my love of pallets, or maybe my sudden desire to be more productive with my time, I quickly agreed and hopped on the tailwinds of her excitement.


 I collected manymany pallets (okay, like 10 or so) and we got our garden-planning-hats on. Three kinds of lettuce/leafy veggies. Two kinds of zucchini. Beans. Peas. Watermelon. Pumpkins. Tomatos. It's all happening in our backyard.

Because I have a very limited income, and wanted to help my mom be as resourceful as possible, I talked her into starting seedlings indoors in cardboard tubes. We incubated them in a clear storage container and once their roots began pushing past the bottom of the tubes, looking for more soil, I transplanted them to containers.
 I've always had a blacker-than-black thumb. Like, I would bring a plant home and it would die of fright, just knowing that I was responsible for it. I am just not good at taking care of something that can't tell me when it's hungry! Fish. Lizards. Plants. They all die.

So, I was pleasantly surprised when one, two, three then four little buds started peeking above the soil. I actually teared-up a little bit.

Once the had graduated to their containers, they really started to flourish!
 This week, we will be putting our tiny little, adorable seedlings into the ground. We have the pallets prepped with weed-control fabric to keep the soil from leaking out the bottom and sides and we are excited!

My goal is to harvest seeds from each item the plants produce. That way, we can save even more money next year!

Another project we are doing is planting a Sunflower Fort. If you have never seen one of these amazing things, check out this link. It's every country girl's dream come true! So what if I live in the city. It's happening!!!

I've felt really motivated to try to create a relaxing, refreshing backyard for my mom to enjoy. Who knows what relationships it will help build with those around us!

As I've been spending more and more time outside, I have felt myself more motivated. I've felt empowered. I feel like I'm able to do more than I've given myself credit for in the past.

I think that some women have the mindset that they are less-than. And once we meet our "other half," we are able to be productive and live full lives. I have been in that camp of people before. What I have found over the years is that I actually feel more confident when I'm single than when I'm seriously dating someone.

I'm not sure exactly why that is, and I'm not sure the "why" is important. The cool thing is that because I'm single now, I find myself pushed to accomplish things that otherwise my "other half" might do for me. And in these moments of independence, I feel strong and smart and a different kind of joy.

So over the next few months, as I establish spots of peace and tranquility here in New Rome, I am excited to see what God has for me. And my mom. And our neighbors.

For those of you who are interested in a more detailed update of what is going on here in Ohio, please email me at cardigan.sweater1@gmail.com.

Lost in Ohio

Okay, well.... I'm not really lost.

But, I have been preoccupied for the last month. Family. Unpacking. Cleaning. Organizing.

The whole nine yards.

Plus.... We don't have internet and my computer cord is busted.

So, needless to say, blogging has been a goal about halfway down a list of many goals for the near future. The list also includes (in no particular order):

- Being 100% unpacked and settled in
- Tightening up and doing some dreadlock maintenance
- Painting my bedroom furniture
- Listing my grandma's dolls on Ebay to help her sell them
- Getting our garden going (this is something that I have been actually able to work on)
- Sending letters to dear friends in VA
- Sending a postcard to the school I worked at in VA
- Helping my mom organize her house (Definitely feel like I'm living in an episode of Clean Sweep!)

And that is maybe 1/3 of it... but I will spare you :)
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Needless to say, once my computer is up and running, getting back on track with my blog will definitely be a priority. Until then, I am taking one day at a time, and enjoying the moments with my family.

**If you would like to have access to regular updates on what is going on in Ohio, please let me know and I can give you more information.**

Until next time,

Lindsay

"Beef Cows" Don't Go on Vacation... They Die

 

(Told in six scenes)

Once upon a time, I was traumatized by my mother. Well, if we're honest, I was traumatized by my mother repeatedly. Take for example when I innocently asked her what a tampon was. That conversation left me in tears and vowing never evereverevereverever to have sex. Ever. This is not that story, though. That will come at a later time, because I actually just now remembered that it even happened. And, it is quite funny. So, why not share it with the public?

This story is about how I came to know the difference between a cow raised for beef and a cows raised for milk. I am not sure the technical, rural farm terms. I just call them "Beef Cows" and "Dairy Cows." If I'm incorrect, don't judge me. If I'm right, by all means, please praise me openly in public with confetti and parades.

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Scene 1 gives some background for the typical relationship that I would have with "my" cows.

I grew up across from a cow farm. Every once in a while, I would get brave and cross our street to feed the cows a blade or two of grass. Then I would get grossed out as they cleaned out their noses with their long, slimy tongues and make a sound that was a cross between a wretch and a scream and sprint back to the safety of my yard.

I felt like me feeding the cows meant that we bonded. Sometimes the cows would go on vacation for a while, but then they always came back to eat my long blades of grass and taunt me with their booger-tongues.
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Scene 2 is a conversation with my mother.

I'm not sure what age I was when I declared to my mom that I had named one of the cows "Buster." She went along for a few moments with me. Then, she quietly told me that the cows that I grew up mooing to and feeding grass were probably not the same cows that I saw before they went on vacation.

In my innocence, I thought, "Oh, poor mom. She just doesn't know things like I do. Poor thing. I will just try to show her that they are the same cows."

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Scene 4 is my mission to inform my mom.

All the cows had tags on their ears. I knew that these were like a name-tag that you would wear on the first day of school, except at school, they didn't make you wear your name-tag as an earring.

I thought that if I could just make a cow be best friends with me, then she would see that the same cows live at the farm for always. Just like us. Except they didn't have a tree house. That would just be silly.

So, I braved crossing the street.

I went over to feed the cows a few blades of grass. I started referring to them by the numbers on their earrings.

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Scene 5 is another conversation with my mother.

Although an entire year hadn't gone by, I wanted to make sure that my mom knew that I was about to help teach her something. My mom was my mom. She was an adult. Adults don't always like it when kids tell them that they are wrong. So, I wanted to prepare her for the situation to make it less awkward. It was the right thing to do, right?

Me: "Hey, Mommy. I have something to tell you."

Mom: "Okay."

Me: "Remember how you told me that the cows are different when they come back?"

Mom: "No."

Me: "You did."

Mom: "Okay."

(Clearly my mom had been just as concerned about this topic as I had)

Me: "Well, I am going to show you that they are the same cows."

Mom: "But, they're not. You can't show me that because they are completely different cows."

Me: "They are NOT! They are my cow friends!"

Mom: "Maybe these are your cow friends, but then they go away, and they don't come back."

Me: "No they don't! Friends don't do that!"

Mom: "Honey, we need to talk."

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Scene 6 is me being traumatized.

My mother decided that it was her duty to keep me informed. In that moment, she made a decision that scarred me for years. Well, okay, that's not true. The truth was that it only freaked me out for a day or two, but in the moment, it felt like I was going to be sad forever.

My mom said, "You know how when we grill hamburgers and those taste good? Or when we stop and get fast food? Or when we have steak and baked potatoes? That is beef."

She paused to give me a moment to process.

"Where do you think beef comes from?"

Me: "From beef."

Mom: "Right. But, beef is made of something. Like how mashed potatoes are made from potatoes. Beef is meat. It comes from an animal. Do you know what animal?"

Me: "No....."

At this point, a dim lightbulb was being lit. I was starting to get it, but not ready to admit where she was going with all this "beef comes from animals" talk.

Mom: "Beef comes from cows. The cows across the street are not 'Dairy Cows,' that we get milk from. If cows are not 'Dairy Cows,' then they are 'Beef Cows' and we eat them."

Pause for processing.

Mom: "Are you understanding what I'm saying?"

I understood.

I swore off beef for the rest of my life. That lasted about a week.

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And that is how I learned that "Beef Cows" don't go on vacation. They die. And then I eat them.

Tick Tock...

Twelve Days. Twelve short days until I embark on a new journey. It seems like just a few short months ago, I was moving to Lynchburg to start over. My plan was to attend grad school and enjoy the mountains. God's plan was so much bigger.

He needed to mend old wounds. He needed to show me Himself in all aspects of life. He needed to walk me through messes, mistakes and sin. He needed to reveal to me that I wasn't truley His. He needed to show me what it was to stop running. He needed to show me love.... friendship.... surrender.

And boy, did He ever!

So, now I am moving back to Ohio not defeated as though things didn't work out here in Lynchburg, but as a New Creation. I am not the same person that I was when I came here. I belong to My Creator, My King, My God. I am His daughtor.

And maybe Ohio is colder and flatter and it doesn't have quite as many any mountains.... but it's where He told me to go. And so I'm going and holding onto His promises, expecting miracles and opportunities to give away what was given to me.

In 15 months, He has changed me, and I am forever grateful.

As my time here draws to a close, I am finding that He is showing me how to tie up loose ends and have the conversations that need to be had. So that I can drive out of this town with the knowledge that I did my best to honor Him in all areas of my life- including moving back to Ohio.

I will be cherishing every person, every hug, every inside joke, every opportunity and taking nothing for granted.

Lynchburg, you have been good to me. So very good.

You will always be a special part of "home" for me.