States

I’m sorry I’ve been AWOL lately. I haven’t been in a good state of mind, and it’s hard to motivate yourself to log on, fight with passwords, and spill your heart when you don’t want to get off the couch. It’s also hard to be inspired to share your life when you’re not pleased with everything. A state of boredom, I suppose.

I’ve been so out-of-sorts lately, when I made the two and a half hour drive to see my best friend last weekend, I took no pictures. None. Not of the Pretty Prairie rodeo, not of us (relevant because we’ve been mentioning since my graduation that there are no pics of us together post-freshman year), not of his nice house or pretty scenery or adorable dogs (an Aussie-Lab and a 6 month old bloodhound that’s all feet and tongue), not of anything we did over the weekend. Well, I took one of the pie I made before I left, to tempt him for the second half of his day at work. Ornery? Yes. He deserves it.

I’m your typical girl. I like clothes, and shoes, and I’m slightly vain — even going to the dirt track races last night, I wanted to look presentable. I fuss over hair and makeup (not that you would know it by looking at me most days) and agonize over how clothes fit and how to make myself look even better. And yet, I avoid pictures. Not a huge self-portrait taker, not willing to give my camera to a stranger to take a full screen shot. I’m a voracious shutterbug, but not of myself… I have dozens of Oklahoma sunsets, the calf crop, the new trucks and combines, of craft projects from around the house, but I think there are maybe¬†two pics of the happy couple on our honeymoon. Is that normal?

I wonder if it’s because I’m in such a frustrated state that I don’t want to remember this time. I’m not happy with how my life is. I don’t know if I made bad choices to wind up where I am, or if I’m just a circumstance of bad luck. I refuse to admit that “it’s out of my control” and therefore feel personally responsible for my state of mind. It’s not my Better Half’s fault, not my boss’s, not my coworkers’. It’s not my family’s, it’s not my friends’, it’s not my hateful mother in law’s fault. The only person who can make sure that I’m happy is me. Even the grace of God is meaningless to my happiness if I choose to refuse it. So here I am. Miserable, and fully responsible.

In a state of confusion. With no pictures to prove it.

My Sunday morning

I’m a bit of a wayward Believer. My Facebook even says so – back in the days when you could fill in the blanks, instead of being put into the “Other” category for having anything more creative than “traditional orthodox Judaism”, my self-description was “(currently) non-practicing Believer” and I felt that fit me. Hence why I put it there… but I’ll save my rant on Facebook for another day.

I grew up in a Christian home. My dad is Catholic, my mom Protestant. Dad was more traditional in his beliefs, Mom more active. And more temperamental. We changed Christian churches several times, on the days Dad didn’t get me out of bed for 8 am Mass in Billings, or load us all up for 11 am Mass in Tonkawa with Grandma and my aunt, plus my uncle and his family most Sundays. I started attending a Wednesday night youth group in Blackwell at a small, non-denominational, very action-driven church that dissolved about a year after I started attending. Needless to say, my religious upbringing was not consistent. I grew up with an understanding of the Bible, a fear of God (until I was like 15, I was terrified to cuss in my internal monologues, for fear God would strike me down where I stood. Dunno where I got that idea.), and a genuine desire to do the right things.

My other half mirrors me in this — he has a bad taste in his mouth for organized religion and those infamous “Sunday Christians” and would much rather live his life the right way, doing good by people and following the Golden Rule, love your neighbors but lock your door style, without worrying if he’s following every Law in the Bible exactly right. A lukewarm approach to religion, perhaps, but a dang sight better than a lot of people you see.

I know a great number of Godly people, and I don’t mean to offend anyone by choosing a less-than-devout approach. I’m just framing our attitudes toward religion – being in church makes you no more a Christian than being in a garage makes you a car; religion is a personal relationship with our Creator, and at the end of the day, you answer to Him.

With that belief in mind, but still considering my upbringing, I still feel compelled to go to a church and fellowship with people. It just seems like the thing to do, to not rely 100% on my own understanding and interpretation of the Bible to be my moral compass. My other half does not feel this same compulsion, so pending projects in the shop take precedence over his soul on Sunday mornings. Last week, he told me, “it’s a cowboy church, it’s hay season, no one will mind if you show up without your husband.” But I couldn’t bring myself to do it… I’m not sure why. I went to a church by myself once in Indianapolis. One church, one weekend. But I still proved to myself that I’m not afraid to do things alone. Maybe I just feel like it’s something I should share with my other half. After all, it doesn’t make much sense to start a diet or a business without your spouse’s involvement and support – why embark on a serious attitude adjustment without him?

Obviously, the chicken in me won out again this week.

I found a blog, The Inspired Room, last night, and spent a few frustrating minutes on my smart phone eagerly devouring her home decor pics and inspiration before I gave up and resumed browsing on my PC this morning. After oohing and ahhing and setting my own brainstorm a’brewin, I noticed a link on the sidebar for another blog, Time Out, which is a blog of devotionals from a SAHM who shares her day to day adventures of being a mother, a wife, and a Godly individual. I read a couple really touching posts, and then ran across Queen of the Castle – the answer to my unspoken prayer. She reminded me of my favorite chapter – Proverbs 31 – and my guidelines for wife and mother and woman. Truly inspirational.

A flurry of motivation to scratch this blog of my own out for you (my… 3? devoted followers.) and I’m going to re-read my destiny, and get my butt into gear on taking care of the house. I’ve been feeling a bit purpose-less and in the way lately… maybe some devotional time is all it’ll take to get my optimism back on track.

Reading inspirational blogs, rediscovering beloved Scripture, and making a happy, cheerful, clean home for my loving husband. Sounds like a rewarding Sunday morning to me!

Just a Note

I know I’ve been amiss. Life just hasn’t called me lately. Every day is a beautiful day with my love, just not in the ‘share this with the universe’ way.

4th of July happens to be my favorite holiday. We have a perfect view of the north, west, and south skies to watch neighbors and distant towns shoot fireworks. That’s what I missed the most while I was in Stillwater. I always tried to go home for the 4th (the summer I was in Brazil it was tough, but I made it home from Kansas and Indy) just to drive down to the pasture with the best vantage point. There’s more trees here, but it’ll do.

I also get an extra weekend (in the,middle of the week!) to catch up on housework and projects (cafe curtains in progress!) and plan a fantastic party with friends down the road.

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I think this should count as a week’s serving of fruit. Wine counts as a fruit, right? I’m not normally a conneiseure (swype has no idea how to spell that) but I can make me a mean sangria from time to time… And food and fireworks and friends and family and fun and I just can’t wait! Since the Other Half got hay done today, maybe he can take it easy tomorrow when it gets hot. It worries me, him in that hot shop all day…

Happy 4th!