onbruisedknees

"Tell your story. Tell it on your bruised knees if you must, tell it at the risk of madness, scream it at the top of your lungs." –Andrew Lam

Category: summer

Because it’s ok to need…

I hate needy, clingy, high-maintenance women. I also hate that I am one of those wives. Because he was in the academy for the newlywed phase. Because schedules do not allow us to spend appropriate allotted time. Because I would like some normalcy. Because I hate that we were transferred. Because I know certain self-injury behaviors scare him and worry him and I cannot do them. Or I might do them. If I want attention. If I want to simply not be alone on a bad evening.

And he uses every stolen moment to cherish me. To ask if I’m ok. To Gesture of every tenderness. To show me love is a verb. I wonder when did I become so selfish?   

I could tell you it’s hard to be a law enforcement officer’s wife. A state trooper’s wife, in fact. But, heck, it’s hard to be anyone’s wife. Amen, sisters? Amen?

Does he want food, I wonder? Is he coming home for personal time? What shift is he working? When is overtime again? When is court? Is he actually off work or “off work” but working a seatbelt or drug detail? What were those sirens? Where? What county or counties or zones is he working tonight? Did I tell him to be careful and safe? Did I say I love you and kiss him like I meant it? If I call him right now will I break his concentration during a time when he should be concentrating on driving during a high-speed chase or reaching for his gun to stop a lunatic with a gun so he can come back home alive to me?  Will he ever come to bed? Will he EVER come to bed?

Fine. Then I will sleep in the living room floor. So that at the first eye-blink of morning I will know if he is home. And when he’s not working, I will sleep with him on the living room floor as he watches intense criminal-cop television shows too loudly and puts my nerves on edge even as he is physically beside me.

I will wait on him. I will wait on him to wake up so we can do something, anything that makes me feel alive and not trapped in a house with the blinds down and curtains drawn. I will leave the coffee brewing in the morning. I will move with him. I will listen to police politics, to crazy DUI stories, to tales of stupid citizens.

 I will adore him. I do adore him. For being others’ protection and hero and helper and defender and truth. And for being mine. I love him for what he is and does and believes. That you are not entitled. You must keep your kids safe in car-seats and safe in their general well-being. You don’t get to put others in danger. You do not get to bully. You do not get to try to pull any sort of crap.

My husband said to me, randomly, “It’s okay to need things.”  I’m not really sure what he meant. But I repeat it often, a little sweet incantation to myself. Okay to need people. To need some kind of healthy, not harmful fix to get through the day. Currently mine are caramel lattes because my appetite is zero. Currently it’s talks with Annie, my warrior. Currently it’s that snappy “Ho Hey” song from the Lumineers and a couple of too –truthful songs from The Band Perry’s Pioneer. It’s okay to need to call someone from back home and stop worrying about being a bother or wondering what to say.

Ok to need sunlight or a walk or a drive or a puppy. The need to lean way back into the solidness of him against a farmer’s fence at nightfall. And listen to the thunder and the heartbeats. And the wind. And the turkeys talkin’. Ok to need. Therapy or medicine or doctors or sex or Jesus or a good book or THE Good Book or people or an electric blanket or a really tight hug.   

Today at work, I needed. Something. So to see if it would help, I sat outside with the store’s phone in order to not miss any telephone orders and took out a bucket of starburst-colored roses and a handmade sign. Roses. $2.50

I felt like a kid with a lemonade stand selling some freshly squeezed J-O-Y.

And the northerners smiled. I people-watched happy customers spill out of the café.  Some spoke. Said hello. Talked about the sunshine. I said hun and darlin’ and sir and ma’am and southern phrases with extra twang. And they probably thought I was half charming and half crazy.

 I wheeled a homeless man across the street. I opened doors. Paid for a prom corsage for a special young lady.  Told myself I would look for opportunities to do something purposeful today. I’m not bragging about good deeds and believe works naturally spill out of grace instead of earn it. I’m trying to understand that whole ‘small things with great love’ idea. Trying to understand an extravagant grace. I’m trying to take care of others so I don’t harm myself. So that I take good care of myself. And that is Not. Selfish.  

And the northerners?  They’re a little different still. But humans can’t help but admire God’s beauty in those vivid bloomed-out roses. Older folks and young lovers and dog walkers and runners and passersby and mostly wide-eyed sweet latch-key kids stopped to admire. At least they talk to me. Look up to me. A role model until they ask about the boo-boos on my arms and I have to lie.

 I say feel spring in that warm breeze? Smell the good earth?  I kick off my shoes. Hopeful. I need bare feet. Such a long winter. They kick off their shoes, too. Sit with me on that little stoop.

We all need real light.

It’s okay to need grace. Did you know that’s why I named my puppy Gracie? See, I learn more about grace from her than I do under a steeple. My Grace leaps—leaps– into my arms. And how can she be so sure I’ll catch her? She attaches herself to me like a little puppy hug around the neck. Covers me and licks me clean. Finds within me favor and mercy unconditionally. When I get lost, she finds me. Grace. Amazing.       

Item of Clothing Kept for the Memory

The dress bought on our first anniversary.

Patterns of white, brown, and tan.
The length of the floor.
 Fit the hips like second skin.
 Too sleek for any sort of garments
underneath.
 And I danced.
 The girl stops apologizing
 for the woman she is.
 For dancing the way she wants to.
For all that is natural.
 Free. Fierce. Feminine.
He peels off my tribal dress.
Fingers undone ringlets damp with sweat.
 Flings all of the heat and the rhythm
to the crisp-cool sheets
 of bed.

credit: via pinterest

  

Flowers and Students

Flowers and students.

 The comparison has been mulling in my mind since I started working at the flower shop. The first contrast I noticed: Flowers don’t talk back. Flowers smell nicer than high school boys who have English class right after P.E. Flowers don’t produce heaps of papers to grade. Flowers don’t trigger panic attacks—well, not usually. But the similarities between flowers and students go much deeper than their differences.  

In a few days, I’ll have the privilege of catching up with a friend who is a young, first-year, full-time high school English teacher. She also has a long commute. She’s also a newlywed. And I would not trade spots with her. The term “zombie” comes to mind when I describe myself in those days. And currently, I feel pretty peaceful in this season and supremely lucky to work for and with the people I’ve met.

 I feel lucky to still create atmosphere and to create an experience (which was always one of my favorite parts of teaching).

I feel lucky to still put good ideas to use.

To still learn.  

 To come home and still have energy. (This concept is a new one).

 To enjoy my husband. (The best perk of it all).

 Lucky to have freedom and flexibility.

 To enjoy my “me” time. It feels like a selfish season, almost. But I will embrace it. I will store it up. I will remember it fondly when kids are screaming and I don’t have enough time to even take a peaceful shower. I will remember. As I walk around the shop and shower the plants that don’t talk back.  

I talk back to God’s plan, His seasons. What a trap. September and we’re so ready for autumn (my favorite, I admit) that we’ve dismissed the blessings of summer. So ready for autumn and so afraid of winter. And already dreaming of spring. Stop. Sip. Drink it in. Every season has its beauty.   

 But I’ll also tell my friend that what she’s doing—teaching– is the most fulfilling reward in the world. And that fulfillment still carries me. And when I visit my Memorial, too, while I am home—I will cry. I will cry the whole time. At the first regal sight of the building. At the sight of their faces. At the last hug goodbye. At God’s plan that I don’t understand.

Then I will return to creating. God creates beautiful flowers; God creates beautiful kids. Teachers and florists simply attempt to arrange, tweak, and enhance what is already there and already beautiful. Former students and current kids I tutor, you had it in you all along, loves. You just needed the confidence to become you. Teachers and florists pour faith into their “arrangements.” We pour love. Time. Creativity. Hope. We hope our arrangements are used for good purposes. Exciting ones. We pray they don’t wilt. We also know how much they bless others. They just have to get out of the display case and out of that big cooler in the back. We have to let them go. Go. To the hospital rooms of the sick. To the weddings. To the anniversary events. To the restaurant where the boy’s crush works. To the families of the grieving. To the business of the one who feared she was forgotten on her birthday. To your table. To splash a dark time with color. To say you’re sorry. And Thank you. and Just Because and You are Loved.

Purposes. They aren’t always used for the big things. But every purpose? Every season? Important. Perfect. Meaningful. Beautiful. Just as it should be.  

"Where? Down in my heart!" 237- 255

237. all-ages whiffle ball game
238. eating a hot dog under a white tent
239.  bluegrass on the porch
240. policeman visits (my policeman)
241. swimming invitations
242. fruit
243.  the clarity of knowing at least who I am not and what I am not supposed to do. and the hopeful waiting that who I am and what I am supposed to do will be revealed
244. sunglasses at night
245. sweet introductions
246. Sunday journal buddies
247. new Sunday school material
248. standing in my kitchen flipping pancakes
249. forgetting the world now and then
250. wild blue Wisconsin flowers by the roadside
251. cards and crafts from our favorite six-year-old
252. love reminders
253. the love that wilt not let me go
254. new friends who thoughtfully ask me to come along for the ride
255. slow steady rain 

Words from Woodbine

I live in a village called Woodbine. A dear friend thinks the name would make a great title for one of the novels I dream of writing.  Woodbine consists of about eighteen houses, three odd antique shops, and a neighbor who chops wood daily and owns a penned up Saint Bernard, a turkey in his shed, and some chickens.

We also boast bee keepers, a shade tree mechanic, farmers, and piano composers. We have Belted Galloway cows, a mean German shepherd who terrorizes my puppy, an abundance of rhubarb plants, a Christ-filled church, and a Pepsi machine. In my backyard, there is a championship golf course and a clubhouse. Yes, in my backyard. Yes, in the little village.

This morning I put on my shoes; I needed a transfer of energy– more movement in my body and more stillness in my mind. I walked the golf cart path on the course for the first time. I simply followed the pavement without having to think. So easy. No choosing. No hesitation. No questions. Oh, how I’ve complicated the paths by wondering and wandering. My prayers have been simple lately. ‘Thank you, thank you. Help me, help me. Lead me. Lead me.”
Lead me.  

the one where i write about going home. and coming back.

click on the link, ya’ll. Wide Open Spaces:
http://www.lafamily.com/life-after-college/imperfectly-grand/wide-open-spaces

169-236 i hope you dance….wildly, joyfully, undignified

169. how he mows the hard parts for me in the yard (steep hills, around the obstacles, etc.). teamwork.
170. wet chapstick kisses
171. the way he looks in that uniform. sigh.
172. quick trips in the truck
173. the way stella’s knows my usual– veggie omelet, wheat toast instead of hash browns, lots of coffee (and i get the coffee as soon as i sit down).
174. frappes from e-town coffee (maybe i like them a little too much).

175. friends of all ages; bonds with all ages ❤
176. my kids i subbed nearly knocking me over in a group hug at the ballpark.
177.  1$ ice cream and nineteen flavors to choose from
178. the fact that the northern townspeople don’t look like strangers anymore
179. funny faces

180. rain. and sun.
181. farmers markets
182. toddler in a store who ran over to me, reached up her hands and said, “up.” so i picked her up. because what else was there to do? i have no idea who she was, but she was darling.
183. finding things to be thankful for whether i’m with josh or just by myself or with a whole group of people. starting to feel comfortable in all of those different scenarios and knowing i need a balance of all of them.
184. call from a speech coach (and the sweet woman who passed my name along to him!) so excited to be involved with speech again.
185. blaring carrie underwood in my car.
186. when girls from church don’t let me sit alone in the back all by myself.
187. chilly night wrapped in blankets around firepit with friends. i. felt. so. cozy.
188. i want this simple testimony (like enoch had) for my own life: that i pleased God.
189. heart stirrings
190. cowboy boots

191. kid grins

192. Tate’s bridge, old memories
193. the Case sister-in-laws. i may not be a Case, but they definitely make me feel like a sister. and i adore them.

194. seeing a lightness, a peace, and a joy in a dear friend.
195. wedding vows and reception speeches.
196. sitting on his lap
197. the loving questions my nephews ask.
198. Jovie and Josh playing basketball. jovie went nuts.
199. “Aunt Melissa, will you scratch my back? I don’t care that I’m eleven.”
200. goodbye hugs that turn into 3 and 4 and 5
201. when grandpa Earnie calls me Missy
202. big blue bows, white dresses, tiny pearl bracelets

203. yellow
204. encouragement that makes me believe (from the beautiful kristi glover).
205. my sister-in-law’s baby belly (!). my first niece is coming in a few months! i’m already in love with her. and yes, i’ve already bought her outfits.
206. clever sweet children’s books
207. my big and tough brother-in-law who wants pink and frills and bows int he hair of his first baby girl.
208.my sister’s determination during therapy to get her knee back in shape. she’s kickin’ butt.
209. double dates.
210. long front porches
211. pork chops
212. vibrant green–the way the leaves canopy the backroads.
213. four wheelers, jeeps, go-karts

214. “i’ll stand before the Lord of song with nothing on my tongue but hallelujah.” that song and especially that line gives me chills. http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ooZonYCkz-Q
215. story tellers. even when they are stories i’ve heard many times before.
216. taking our dog down south with us.

217. a very well-behaved jovie at the vet!
218. sonic cherry limeades (it’s like summer in a cup)
219. book in my lap, dog at my feet
220. the sound of a waterfall

221. lightening bugs
222.  hearing “you look good, well-rested, refreshed” and more importantly, feeling well
223. lemon bars and cherry pie
224. the exotic landscaping and relaxing world-of-its-own oasis tucked away in bone gap, IL
225. lake passes
226. sneaky ear piercing shenanigans in church bathrooms

227. a one-year-old’s face smeared with chocolate cake

228.  sweet peas
229. country chic shindigs
230. watermelon
231. tennis championships
232. artsy photography http://alishasims.com/ check out her site! you’ll be enchanted. i’m super impressed by her creativity.
233. the south
234. sisters

235. the way home is just in us…and reawakened often
236. dancing with joy. with wild abandon. “i will dance, i will sing…nothing, Lord, is hindering this passion in my soul…and i’ll become even more undignified than this.”