Persephone's Return.

My parents visited not too long ago.  It had been  7 months since we had seen each other, and in terms of the kids, that's a big chunk of time.  I can't describe how wonderful it was to have them here, to have a little piece of home living in the house, playing with the kids, seeing my life here.  There were moments when my heart would grow heavy, when the realization of what we were missing by living an ocean apart from our families struck me with subtle but powerful blows.  To be completely honest, I don't get home-sick much.  I've put down roots here, and it's not often that I look back to the States with remorse.  I think it's the lifestyle that we've found here; the slower life with less things, less chaos.  It suits all of us so much better than the fast, big life that is so common in America.  But having my parents here, it reminded me of things that are easy to forget when we are so far removed.  And it was a lovely reminder, and a painful one as they left.

But, while they were here, my wonderful mother got her hands dirty with me as we started a little fledgling garden.  We went over the basics, with the promise that she was just a skype-call away should I need help. Since she has left, most of the seeds we planted in little cups in the house have sprouted, each injecting me with a fierce pride that (even though it wasn't all that hard) my hands grew something, something that will sustain (even if only a little) my family when it matures.  I think the day when I pick the first fruit or veg that is ready for eating (because honestly, I have no idea which to expect first)... THAT will be a good day.  I think it may line up with the day I picked Paul up from the airport after his deployment, when my heart was screaming i love you i love you, but my head was screaming i did it i did it.

With the life that is springing up on my kitchen windowsills, so it is outside.  The weather is turning for the better, wrapping us in gentle breezes and warm sun, intoxicating us with the smell of the earth waking up.  The kids and I are shedding our winter skins, which were starting to rub at us all, being stuck inside with each other.  I'm still waiting for the other shoe to drop, for the rains to come back, for the wind to resume it's gusting, but I'm trying to live in the moment, enjoying this glimpse of spring.

Detour.

Sometimes... well, ok... a lot of the time, I look on my life with a mixed bag of emotions.  I am so thankful for everything that I have.  I can look behind me and see my parents and my brothers (and all those who branch off), all who love me and who make it so easy to love them in return, who have been faithful and true and steady.  I can look to my side to my husband, my children, all who are healthy and whole and full of goodness and honesty.  And I can look to my future, to all of the roads that are open, all the possibilities, all the potential.  I am surrounded by blessings.  I am entrenched in the fullness of life.

Usually, my sinful nature allows me the freedom to forget all of this and mope about the little things.  The kids didn't take naps.  I'm tired because I stayed up until midnight reading.  I'm hungry because the simplicity of having access to food not only when I needed it but when I certainly could go without led me to be a glutton of sorts and now I'm trying to correct that.  It's cold outside today.  Whine whine, sniffle sniffle.  But there are times when a great shame and humility comes pouring down on me, leaving me drenched with the stink of guilt for forgetting that I can worry about the little things because the big things aren't blocking my view. They are nicely tucked aside, pretty and lined up exactly where I expect them to be.  I don't have to worry about my husband being unfaithful, so I'll worry instead that he didn't say the exact thing I needed to hear that one time when I was feeling sorry for myself.  I don't have to worry about whether my children are going to survive the next 24 hours, so I'll worry instead about why they won't let me sit and have a warm cup coffee, making me *gasp* sit and play with them instead.  I don't have to worry about whether I will survive the next 24 hours, so instead I'll worry about how all the weight seems to be coming off my chest, and not my butt as I was hoping.


It seems, as I use the great power of hindsight to look back on my life thus far, that most of the grit and grime that I enjoy pointing back to while I hark about how I've had a hard life, too! are things that I've placed there myself, held there myself, fought to keep there myself.  It's a harsh self-analysis, but it's also giving me a freedom of sorts.  A freedom to start to pry my grip off of those things that hold me down, which is harder than one might think.  I've held on to these things for so long, it's like a skin has healed over, which I now I have to rip and tear and bite at until it lets loose.  One of the passages from C.S. Lewis' The Chronicles of Narnia reminds me of this.  It comes from The Voyage of the Dawn Treader, and it called out to me the very first time I read it, a full 5 years ago.  It speaks about one of the boys, Eustace, who had, quite unfortunately, turned himself into a dragon.  He started to peel off the layers of his skin in order to regain his boyhood, but after 3 layers, he was still left as a dragon.  Aslan came and told him that he would have to peel off this last layer.  

"The very first tear he made was so deep that I thought it had gone right into my heart.  And when he began pulling the skin off, it hurt worse than anything I've ever felt.  The only thing that made me able to bear it was just the pleasure of feeling the stuff peel off.  You know- if you've ever picked the scab off a sore place.  It hurts like billy-oh but it is fun to see it coming away... He peeled the beastly stuff right off - just as I thought I'd done it myself the other three times, only they hadn't hurt - and there it was, lying on the grass: only ever so much thicker, and darker, and more knobbly-looking than the others had been."

Changing things that you've grown attached to, even if they aren't healthy or good or right, is a hard painful process.  The only way that it is done effectively and efficiently, to a point where change is actually possible, is to cling to the One who has the power to cut at the heart, peeling off the layers which have grown dark and poisonous.   Because only He is strong enough not only to take it off, but also to heal the raw skin beneath.  So that's what I must do.  Step back and allow Him to rip my hands free from the poison in my life, and to heal my inevitable wounds.  Only then will I be whole, free to live my life without guilt, and with a mindset to use the blessings in my life to bless those around me.

This post is not what I had in mind when I sat down to write.  The title was "Detour" because I had intentions of writing about a certain detour that my otherwise blessed life had taken recently, which dragged me through the valleys face-down, bleeding, and otherwise incapacitated.  I'll save that post for another day.  I'll keep the title as it is though.  Because it seems to me that that is exactly what this post ended up being: a Detour.

 

A Comfy Mess.

A Comfy Mess. by LRinas featuring browning boots

If I could I would pull this out and wear it for the rest of the year. Even the jean vest.

(ps- this site is oddly fun and addicting... if you need a time-waster, try it!)

Addition. Or not.

There are days in my life that leave me breathless, with a sore back and unwashed hair, looking back at my house that is neither organized nor clean, wondering how it is I stumbled down this road. It's in those times, shuffling up the stairs with a basket of laundry that I am almost positive made it through the washer, peeling a child or two off of my legs while ignoring the "CARRRIIIEED!!! CARRRIIIEEEEEEEED!!!" cries and the attempts to go all dead weight on me so I won't put them down... those times have my uterus clamping down on itself, willing my insides to just shut down, stop working, dry up. Two is enough.

But there are other days, when all I hear are giggles, everyone eats their entire lunch, and when Eli poops, nothing but butterflies fill his diaper. Rainbows fill my eyes, and I imagine things like my family of 10 skipping through a field of wild flowers while singing about Doe's and Ray's and Fa La La's, all wearing matching jumpsuits I made from my size 8 clothing that no longer fits me. Paul is carrying a basket full of sandwiches I cut into little hearts, and apple juice that's not watered down because I just felt THAT NICE. And while a little corner of my brain wonders how it is I've sunken so far down into the domestic role, the rest is wondering how I am going to ask Paul to work until he's 95 so we can get all of our kids through college.

I flip back and forth at the drop of a hat (well, more realistically, at the drop of a cup full of milk that I have repeatedly asked to be set down on the table to avoid doing EXACTLY THAT). I think that some people might say that since I am having any doubts at all, that maybe we should just be done and be thankful for what we have. After all, everything is so convenient for a family of four. Throw a third into the mix, and everything gets all crowded and awkward. But there are others, I know, that say because I am still left wondering if the next one is going to have bright blue eyes like Alex and Eli, and have gone so far as to scout out some names.... I don't know. Maybe we aren't done. As of right now, more would be nice.

If I could just avoid being pregnant for nine months, the decision would be so easy. I don't want to puke. I don't want heartburn. I am making good headway on my weight loss and I don't want that to not only come to a screeching halt, but actually reverse. I really REALLY don't want to puke. I enjoy regularly scheduled bowel movements. I enjoy being able to cut my toenails without being winded after.

And I enjoy not puking.

But... 10 kids singing harmony while eating little tiny sandwiches. Hard to pass up.

Christmas Happenings.

Merry Christmas from the Rinas Family.