A Half-Mowed Lawn

Let’s chat.

I have avoided writing (once again) because I haven’t taken the time to invest into this blog or what I really want it to be. The truth is, I don't know what I want it to be.

I literally debate writing on a daily basis, but too many things have taken precedence to my writing lately. What things you may ask? 

Probably unpacking (or probably not since I have avoided it like the plague…) It turns out I’m pretty much a hoarder, and I am really awful at throwing things away.  It also turns out that moving three days before you leave the country for two weeks,  and then unpacking from that trip as well can be quite challenging. I’ll be lucky if I can find my nice clothes by August. 

Or maybe I’ve been too busy refinishing old furniture, divulging in good conversation, decorating our living room and kitchen, playing sand volleyball, and buying front porch plants with my mama. 

Or maybe instead of writing I’ve been wrestling with my trip to Rwanda and everything I saw and everything the Lord taught me while I was there and is still teaching me now. I’ve dabbled in writing about this experience, but I just can’t articulate what is going through my heart quite yet… 

Or maybe I’ve been too busy playing golf, rollerblading, washing cars, playing soccer and volleyball, eating a lot, and relishing in the precious time spent with my best friend, Andrea.

Or maybe instead of writing, I’ve been mowing our ridiculously long, thick grass with our beloved lawn mower that absolutely hates my guts. I seriously pray the entire time I’m mowing in hopes that the Lord will show His sweet mercy and grace and allow me to cut for a mere 15 minutes before the thing stops working altogether. Phew. No resentment built up in that relationship at all... Especially since I've mowed a whopping ONE time which happened to stretch its duration over three grueling days. Three days that felt like ten.

**on a side note—I may or may not have a habit of giving too many pumps to prime the engine and flood it every time I try to start it--Praise Jesus for husbands and fathers!! 

Or maybe I’ve just been living life with my man—grilling everything possible on our new grill, eating dinner every night on our front porch, attending weekend weddings, catching up with old friends, playing sand volleyball, eating popsicles, and enjoying our new, partially unpacked home together!

(I am also painfully aware of my annoying tendency to remain consistent in tense and phrasing when writing in lists… Kevin will probably make fun of me later.) I also feel it necessary to include that since moving in, Kevin has taken over the role of "baker" and has used our oven more than I have in our home! Hello, brownies!

And now that I have drug you through a not-so-brief update on everything I’ve been doing BESIDES writing. Here are a few of the conversations that go on inside this sweet little head of mine any time I even ponder the idea of writing for this blog:

Who cares. Who cares about the things I have to say, and why does it matter? 

You care. And Kevin cares. You’ll look back on this time and you’ll want to remember the lessons you are learning about being a wife, a teacher, a new home owner, and a child of God. 

How personal should I really get? How much should I share? How vulnerable can I be in front of an invisible audience? Or worse yet—a tangible audience?

No one has to read your blog. This is your space. You can make it what you want. Four people actually follow your blog. You aren't a super star.

What if it’s stupid? What if I become too “preachy”? What if other people judge me for what I write?

Well. I don’t really have answers for these questions that resound in my mind, and I guess this is where I am at. I am going to write stupid stuff. I am going to write about silly things that happen to me at school and in our marriage, and I’m going to write about the things the Holy Spirit is teaching me. And realistically, I probably won't write at all when I get busy.

I don’t have gluten free, dairy free, or calorie free recipes.
I don’t know how to sew, or craft, or DIY anything.
I don’t have any workout tips or tricks.
I don’t have cute kids to write about.
I procrastinate and can be rather hypocritical.
I can’t even spell correctly.

I have honestly feared this space because I get embarrassed when people talk about it. I don't know why I do. When people say, “I read your blog!” I get all sorts of twisted up because rather than appreciating the time they took to read the words I have written, I get super goofy and wonder what they thought, or why they said something, or whatever crazy, weirdo stuff I can concoct in my head. 

I'm insecure about my writing. My ideas. This space.

But I’m here, people. This is me. I think I’ve just accepted that I am a crazy, weirdo. So, deal with it. Don’t bring any expectations or anticipation when visiting this blog—because you will be let down. Just like a kid on Christmas. (okay, maybe I am being a little dramatic)

“Assumptions suck. They’re like expectations. Assumptions and expectations will kill any relationship, so let’s you and me not go there, okay?”

          –A Tale for the Time Being

I couldn’t have said it better myself.

 I just had to shoot things straight--not for you, but for me. If we're really going to get to know one another, and if I'm really going to open up, then you need to know that a I'm a verbal processor and extremely selfish. Most of the things I say and do are for my own selfish sanity. I hope and pray that you, like my husband, will give me grace as we walk this journey together.  

And what better way to start a journey than with a half-mowed lawn?

The struggle is REAL.

Our neighbors judge us. You can, too.