For My Babies

 Hanna

Gabby

Jacob

 Josie

YOU are what makes my Mother's Day happy!

If I could sing, I'd sing this for you.

My heart is yours.

LOVE,

Mom

~ ~ ~

One more thing...

Happy Mother's Day,

Mom.

I love you too!

Do you hear what I hear? Part 2

Last night I took Gabby to an awards ceremony where she won a red ribbon for her gorgeous painted tissue paper collage of a blue jay. I am thrilled. Not just that she was awarded, but that young artist like her have this opportunity to showcase their art and be recognized for their gifts.

Next week Hanna will have the opportunity to showcase her photography too. I am so glad. These budding artists of mine need these opportunities in their life. They need to get the message that art is important, that their creativity has significance. They need to know it matters.

I need to know too.

~ ~ ~

In school, 

I was the girl who could draw.

Academics? Average.

Sports?  Not so much.

Music?  So-so.

Socially?  Super shy.

Art was my thing to be good at.

 (painted this from a "how to paint" book for my Dad in middle school)

My friends knew it.

My teachers knew it.

My parents knew it.

Then came high school in a town that was over 30 miles away.

Nobody there knew it.

How could they really? 

I think there was an art room.

But no art teacher.

No art classes.

Without a way to grow it or show it, my gift was mostly hidden away.

My senior year I finally had the opportunity to display some art in the school hallway.

(oooh....the fashion phase-- probably copied from the Spiegel catalog)

Afterwards, a teacher said to me,

"I had NO idea! There's a whole other side of you I never knew."

Yep.  

Except to me it wasn't just a side. 

(painted this in high school. it was basically copied from an illustration in a book. 

mom framed it and hung it an the wall. are you noticing I copied things?  that's how you teach yourself!)

I'm so thankful I had my parent's encouragement and support. 

They signed me up for whatever art classes you could find in my small town, 

sent me away to art camp, and framed my artwork to hang on the walls.  

But my formative and art-less high school experience sent me a different message:

Art doesn't matter here.
Sorry.
Should've played sports.
Should've played in the band.
Should've been the smart one.

Somewhere down deep the message my heart heard was this:

If art doesn't matter,
 then maybe...

neither does my gift.

There it is.

  

Do you hear it?

The lie that mingles so closely with what we believe to be true. 

 It's sneaky like that and hard to recognize.

It's subtle enough for you to accept it without a fight.

I didn't see it then, but I see it now.

The lie was just beginning to slither it's roots down into the foundation of my heart.

~ ~ ~



"The story of your life is the long and brutal assault on your heart
by the one who knows what you could be and fears it."
~John Eldredge, Waking the Dead

(Read Part 1 HERE)

Sunday Slide

You might think this is a strange picture for a Sunday Slide,

 but let me tell you what I remember.

1. Always having a Saturday night bath for church on Sunday.

2. Yellow vinyl dining chairs that stuck to your bare legs.

3. Sitting in said vinyl chairs to watch TV.  Who ever heard of sitting on a sofa?

4. Leaning over the vinyl chairs to watch TV like Sue and Jeff are here. 

    That's what you do when your TV is  located in the dining room.

5. Staring at the TV the same way my kids do. 

    Anyone else still have nightmares from watching "Land of the Lost?"

6. That lovely carpet--even in the kitchen. Please explain the logic of a carpeted kitchen?

7. The mid-century modern decor. Apparently mint green trim goes with everything.

8. Always the paper grocery bag on the kitchen counter for a garbage can.  Why?

10. Crunchy candy cake decorations that Mom always put on our birthday cake. 

      I think that is what I'm snacking on in the picture.

There. Not bad for one picture. 

Wasn't that fun? Now I'll give YOU a turn!  

You get ten points for each little memory you can add for the following picture.  Ready? Set? Go!!!!

Sunday Slide

Once again, no time to write this week.  

But I figure the least I can do is give my family some more pictures.

Who can name all these kids? I think I can!  But what is the center of attention here???

 I think there's a few old neighbors out there 

that might remember these blasts from the past.

Matt and the girls?

Remember making clothesline forts? And remember the drinking fountain?

This was my favorite shirt ever. I'd still wear it if I could. 

What's the deal with the hair, girls?  I know mine was a homemade job.  

What's your excuse?  Hee-hee! ;)

There's more where that came from.  I really need to dig out some more!!!  

Sunday Slide

I've gotten a sweet request for another edition of Sunday Slides.

This one is for you, Sue -- a few vacation slides in random order.

Bring back memories??? Hope you like it.  

(I'll be waiting for that comment you promised!)

I think this is the picture you were thinking of...

Do you hear what I hear? Part 1

The perfectionist in me cringes at this picture of my work because the lighting really highlights the textures. It's a mixed media collage.  It's meant to have texture.  There is character and beauty in those lines. But my perfectionism tends to see those lines as flaws. My instinct is to want to "fix" it.  Make it pretty.  And nice. And flawless.

I haven't posted in seven weeks.  Partly because I'm trying to spend more time with my art. Partly because I'm a perfectionist. Mostly because I'm afraid. I'm afraid because I can only write what's on my heart, and my heart has been under reconstruction this year. Reconstruction is always messy. It's not a pretty process. I can't present you with something nice and flawless.

Who wants to admit that in the blog land of the steadfast, the faithful, the heroic, the inspirational, the helpful, the hopeful, and the perfectly polished?  Not me!  I'd rather not write, not share, not speak, until I'm all fixed up and the heart project is complete and I can share the good news and the lessons learned and we can all live happily ever after.

Who wants to hit the "publish" button knowing that the person sitting behind you at the next game may very well know what is going on behind your pleasant smile and the friendly "how are you?"  It's a small town where I live.  I don't think many people here do a lot of blog reading, but every now and then I get a comment, "Oh! I just read your blog!"  When that happens, I don't know whether to be happy or run and hide.

You see, I come from a long line of very quiet Dutch people who faithfully and respectfully kept their thoughts and feelings and problems to themselves.  After a lifetime of practice, I do an exceptionally good job of wearing the masks too.  I don't like to rock that boat. Or is it a wooden shoe?

(trying to pose like the ancestors)

Blogging could easily become a mask for me--a lovely mask where I could safely write and edit and delete every single word and picture until I have the perfectly polished presentation of my thoughts. Given enough time and tools I could always pick the perfect words to say. That's not real life.  That's not real me. I don't want to be that kind of blogger. I don't ever want anyone to visit my blog and find an edited perfected blog version of me. There are blogs that I don't read anymore for that very reason.  Their seemingly perfect "everything" leaves me feeling envious and  inadequate as a wife, mother, artist, blogger, and friend. Yuck.

So I struggle sometimes trying to find the balance. 

 Being real without being depressing. 

 Being honest without whining.
Sharing without preaching.

 But mostly I wonder...does it really matter?
I read what I've written and this is what I hear:

"Who really cares?"

"It's not important."

"It's not good enough."

"Why even try?"

"It doesn't matter."

"Someone else does it better."


I hear it all the time.

Do you hear it too?
When you write? When you draw?  When you paint? When you build? When you sing?
When you sew? When you play your song? When you send that letter?
When you bake that pie? When you snap that picture? When you hit that ball?
 When you lace up your shoes? When you pick up the phone? When you teach your kids?
When you offer to help? When you deliver those cookies?
When you do that thing that makes your heart sing?

I used to think that it was the voice of insecurity, a lack of confidence, or perfectionism talking. 

I used to think that maybe it was true.

It's not.

It's a bunch of lies.


And I'm not going to listen to it anymore.

(to be continued...in less than 7 weeks)

"The thief comes only to steal and kill and destroy; 

I have come that they may have life, and have it to the full."

~ Jesus of Nazareth,  John 10:10 

This is the Day

"Listen to your life.  See it for the fathomless mystery it is.
In the boredom and pain of it, no less than in the excitement and gladness:
touch, taste, smell your way to the holy and hidden heart of it,
because in the last analysis all moments are key moments,
and life itself is grace."


~Frederick Buechner, Now and Then: a Memoir of Vocation

 Some days I'm just trying to maneuver through the crazy that life throws at me.

The calendar is full of scribbled reminders of where to be and who does what and when.

Still... I forget, I mess up, I drop the ball.

Other days I'm home, but not really here.
I'm off wandering around in my head and in my heart,
looking back and missing what was,
longing for what could have been,
mourning over what will not be.

But more than anything,
I waste my todays wondering about my tomorrows.

I've been told that I'm a patient person,

 but what I really want to be is a
 present person.
Present in the present.

Today is where it's at.
The right here.  The right now.
Tomorrow doesn't come with guarantees.

But today?

Well, it's a gift still waiting to be unwrapped.
And the Giver knows exactly what we need.