Life in the Medium Lane

The dressing room was completely empty this morning as I prepared for my morning swim. I love a calm swimming pool…a quiet dressing room…perfect morning. As I walked out of the dressing room and into the pool, a little girl inside jumped for joy. Just me! I can pick ANY lane I want! YAY!

As I looked across the pool, with it’s quietly rippling surface, the six lane lines floating unassumingly along the top of the water, I glanced at the shallow end of the lap lanes…and felt all my exhilaration fall away. There, on the deck, at the end of the pool stood the label for each lane. You know the little yellow bi-fold signs that say “Fast,” “Medium,” and “Slow?” 

As I scanned those signs, I could almost hear the little girl inside cry out, “Nooooo!”

See, now I can’t choose any lane I want…I have to take the lane I’m “supposed” to be in. This is my paradigm.

Now freeze frame here for a moment. Picture me, standing in front of a completely open pool, thinking to my black and white conscience, I must choose the lane I am supposed to go in…medium, I think…yeah, I am a medium swimmer. To be quite honest, I have no frame of reference for which lane I should be in. I have never had someone tap me on the shoulder and say, “You really should be in the medium lane.” But I put myself there anyway. Because somewhere in the back of my mind I have the belief that I haven’t put in the time, effort or haven’t the skill to swim in the fast lane, and thus don’t deserve to be there.

Even when no one else is in the pool with me.

The weight of this revelation and the implication in my life sat with me as I stroked my way through my workout. With each stroke, I wondered how much faster I would have to swim to be a “fast swimmer.” I wondered who would have to define that for me? Would I ever believe it of myself, without acknowledgement from an outside expert? How do I hold myself back in my life due to this same belief?

And then, a single thought entered my mind and hung there in the splish splash rhythm of my freestyle stroke…a thought striking enough that I stopped swimming.

My adult, wise self had a meeting with that little girl inside. And said something to her that I have said to my children countless times before. Wise Cari said to Baby Girl Cari-

EVERYTHING is a choice. Choosing to follow the rules is a choice. Choosing to label myself a “medium” swimmer is a choice. Choosing to get into the “medium” lane is a choice AND choosing to believe that I am not good enough and must rely on someone else to tell me that I am is a choice. Now CHOOSE to stop doubting and CHOOSE to get your butt over to the fast lane.

Which is exactly what I did. Maybe just for today, I swam in the fast lane. Tomorrow, perhaps I will swim in the medium lane again. I did find myself pushing a little harder, resting a little less and being more conscious of the technical aspects of my stroke, and I realized that, frankly, I am not sure if I WANT to swim in the “fast” lane. However, whether I want it or not is not relevant to this post. What is most important is that, regardless of whether I want to live life in the fast lane or the medium lane, or even in the slow lane, I never forget that I have the power to CHOOSE.

Go Pluck Yourself

I grab the tweezers and lean in close to the mirror.  Bracing for the pain, I stretch the skin taut and take a firm hold on the stray hair- and then *pluck*!

OWWWWW! Man..that one smarted!

Let me just say before I jump into the life illustration, the woman who told me “the more you pluck, the thinner and less likely your eyebrows are to grow back” lied through her teeth!  But I whole-heartedly believed her because, well, she was one of those women who so obviously had suffered a vicious waxing/plucking accident losing any trace of brow in the process and overcompensated by drawing a crazy-high arch in the middle of her forehead with a pencil that clearly was not in the range of natural hair color.  But I’ve been plucking for years and so far, no luck in the “not growing back” department.

This morning when I was jerking short, fat-follicled hairs out of my eyebrows it occurred to me that habits-good and bad- are quite like my eyebrows.

1)      I have sparse, but super-long eyebrow hairs for the most part. I’m consistently doing the eyebrow version of the bald man’s comb-over. Kind of like the good habits I have, I’m often found stretching them, fitting them in places where they don’t necessarily belong in an effort to hide the places there is a lack.

2)      I have a uni-brow.  It’s tragic, but true.  I have tons of eyebrow in places where I clearly don’t want them to be (think soul patch in the middle of my forehead.) Like bad habits and sin, I have to regularly pluck these lil devils- sometimes daily- to keep them from cropping up where they are not wanted.

3)      Sometimes good ones have to be trimmed or plucked for the good of the overall brow.  Every now and then there are a couple of hairs that are normally well-behaved, that just won’t conform to the comb-over. Most of the time I trim these, in the hopes that they will continue to grow in a way that works with the whole brow- but sometimes the good ones have to be plucked out to make room for an even better one to grow.  Much like habits, sometimes you need to change even a good, successful habit in order to make room for an awesome one.

4)      Plucking hurts. Sometimes it makes my eyes water and leaves a red mark.  Sometimes I barely notice it.  Most of the time, the hairs I have to pluck over and over again are less painful to weed out.  Just like behaviors and habits and sin that have to die each day as we grow and change and groom ourselves to be beautiful reflections of God’s image, those things we have to pluck out each day become less painful in the long run.

So there you have it- life lessons from eyebrow plucking.

What about you? What habits do you need to pluck out today?

Expectations Can Get You Lost

“It’s A-L-M-O-O Street .”

“Got it, Alamo St.”

“No…No…Al-moo…you know, moo like a cow.”

“Oh, ok. I’ve got it Alamo. Thanks.”

*Sigh*

That’s a package that’s not likely to make it here....

I blogging about expectations and final destinations over at Strings Attached...Won't you come join me?

Following My Own Rules

Hmmmm.....so tonight I learned a valuable lesson- I am a very smart mom.  Who knew?

Probably has something to do with coming from a long line of smart moms and dads and having a fabulous husband to bounce ideas off of, but nevertheless, I learned tonight that I might have a tiny smidge of insight into parenting. I totally ROCK! :-)

Ok, I can't take all the credit...my husband helps too.

Today, I learned that I set some pretty awesome rules sometimes! You see, in our quest to be more structured in our evening routine and hopefully (in some round about logic) prevent the perpetual tardiness we experienced last school year, Charlie and I instituted a new rule in our home.

No computer, TV, or video games until 7 pm, and only after all school and extracurricular assignments are complete.  


I ain't gonna lie though...I was terrified when we called the family meeting to discuss the new rules.  I just knew the kids would whine and complain and we would have to fight EVERY night to keep the rule in place. And the beauty is WE HAVEN"T! For over a week now, they have accepted the rule and all that it entails as law and haven't bucked it once.

But in the interest of full disclosure and tying this allegory up nicely- I have to be honest. I haven't followed my own rule. Nope, I Facebook while I am waiting for dinner to cook and check and return email while the kids are doing homework. Or I did.  But God got a hold of me and I realized that I wasn't following my own rules.  I wasn't willing to lead from the front...OUCH!

So tonight I decided to discipline myself and unplug until 7 pm...And it turns out- I am a very smart mom.  I knew what I was doing when I set that rule in place! I sit here, at 9:30 pm with the dishes done, the living room cleaned, the downstairs vacuumed, lunches packed for tomorrow, dinner prepared, eaten around the dinner table and put away AND I ventured down the street to connect with a friend I haven't seen in a while....All before 7 PM.   I just gave myself back two hours of my day I had forgotten I had.  I totally rock!

What about you? What rules do you set for others, but don't follow yourself? 

Guest Post- Joy the Color of Fireflies

My sweet friend, Holley Gerth, who blogs her heart at Heart to Heart with Holley, has a way of making my heart sing, "Amen, Sister!" with her words.  I want to share some of them with you today! If they make yours sing too, won't you go leave her a comment on here or over at her bloggy home.

Joy the Color of Fireflies

The sky is inky blue, a swirl of dark and light. Day and night do a slow dance before the moon rises high above the trees. The music we can't hear beckons the fireflies from their hiding places. One by one they appear, little lights twinkling against the backdrop of an early summer evening.

I first caught fireflies as a girl of seven or so. Taking my brother and I to the porch, my grandmother handed us a mason jar. "Be gentle," I'm sure she told us.

Then she watched and smiled from the edge of the flowerbed in a wheelchair.(She had polio at age 29, younger than I am now.)

I don't know where these creatures live, what they do in the winter, why they come again...but I do know each one is like a bright and beautiful memory floating through the air.

And, because of this, I still catch those flickers of brightness even though childhood has long gone. I place them (gently, yes) into jars, water bottles, whatever I can find. When I have twenty or so I let them go and watch the homemade fireworks display.

Saturday I did this for the first time of the season. Our dear friends, Sean and Kim, were there. We sat on the patio and as the fireflies appeared, I begged my guests to go with me. Sean joined the chase while Mark and Kim watched from the patio at our crazy zig-zags across the yard.

In my firefly moments I feel more alive, happy, and closer to heaven than I do almost any other time all year. It's as if everything that's sweet, good, and right is made real in tiny flashes of light as I think of my Grandma and all she taught me of joy.

In the hospital after being told she would never walk again, her pastor said,"Frances, you can choose to let this make you bitter or better." She would tell me again and again with a twinkle in her eyes, "I chose better."

My Nana knew joy, like a firefly, flits about you. But if you are serious about it, you must pursue it. And she knew joy, like a firefly, often comes surrounded by darkness. Perhaps that is what makes it so brilliant and beautiful.

Yes, on the porch beneath a summer sky I still sense my grandmother's smile. And as the last lingering firefly disappears into the night I smile too...knowing I'm sure to find it (and joy) another summer evening or, when least expected, it will once more find me.

What's a little thing that brings you joy?

The Tight-Clenched Fist

“Pressure kills everything it touches.” – John Eldredge

PUSH THROUGH!

That’s my instinct…Go til I drop. Do it all.

Don’t say “No!”

Or

“I quit!”

or heaven forbid

“I can’t!”

I surrender. Please, help me. These are not part of my standard vocabulary. They should be…but they aren’t.

I guess I thought if my cup running over was a good thing, my plate running over would be even better!

I am doing some of the most rewarding work in my life, but it is also some of the most exhausting. I have had to be super disciplined with my schedule, specifically creating time to write. The problem with that? “Pressure kills everything it touches.”- especially creativity.

I am back to stealing moments of quiet, quick breaths above water before being buried by the next wave. I am drowning in a sea of my own created chaos, trying to impose some sense of order with an iron fist, and I realized that “pressure kills.”

So here I am, Lord, opening the tight-clenched fist. Softening to you, again. Letting go of the control, I surrender, Lord. Guide me with your peace, Lord. Let your words flow through me again…and help me to create the time and space to share them. I invite you into this controlling place of my heart and ask you to heal me here. Show me the why and the how of it. Show me, guide me, help me restore order to our lives. Dear Father,everything I have is yours. I give it all to you.

What about you? What is it that you control with an iron fist? What is God asking you to surrender?

Guest Post- When You Don't Know the Next Step

Holley Gerth is one of my new favorite authors...who am I kidding? She's one of my new favorite people. This post is from her blog, Heart to Heart with Holley, and it spoke to me volumes about where I am in my walk right now. I am honored to share it with you!

When you don't know the next step...

I see you peering down the path.

Wondering, can I do this?

Am I enough?

Yes to both.

And then asking, Do I take this step?

I've asked this question too...staring at the ceiling in the night, over coffee with friends, driving in my car.

Then I think of this verse, this bit of wisdom from Proverbs 19:21--

You can make many plans, but the Lord's purpose will prevail.

If we've prayed, asked wise counsel, then we can go with confidence. Even if our first step is imperfect, perhaps not even in quite the right direction, God will align us with His purpose by the end.

But here's the thing.

You can't redirect someone who is standing still.

Yes, there are seasons for staying.

This is about the seasons of going, setting out, those times when your heart is restless and your feet are ready.

If that's you then go without fear.

God is with you, for you, behind you, and ahead of you.

And even if you lose your way for a bit. Even if you grow weary. Even if you don't know which direction to go at times. His purposes will prevail.

Take that step, woman of courage.

And know that love goes with you all the way.