Prompt: “There is no box too big or strong He can’t destruct and make into a dance floor.”
I’ve put limits on you, O God,
Placed you in the confines of my mind.
The brick walls I mortared around you
are flimsy paper in your grasp.
I sense you picking at the packing tape of my pretty little box,
slowly loosening its grip.
It comes apart,
piece by piece,
and falls to the floor,
on which we dance…
FREE!
I’ve had a few friends graciously inquire about when I’m returning to my regularly scheduled blog programming.
The simple answer is, “I don’t know.”
I fully anticipated returning to it post-honeymoon with glee. But then moving happened. And name-change hassles happened. And work became overly stressful with my boss leaving (I still owe him a fitting farewell post). And 2 funerals popped up in a week at church. And I got diagnosed with Stage 2 adrenal failure. And …and…and…
When I thought repeatedly, “I really need to get a blog post up,” I wanted to cry since it was just one more thing on my ever-bulging plate. Needless to say, posting blogs got shoved to the back burner.
I always said that if my blog became a chore, I would quit. Right now, with my adrenal issues, I’m sad to say that many of my previous loves (including shopping) are now chores.
This is my season to be quiet. To invest in my marriage. To care for my ailing body. To focus my energies at work.
I beg of you this: Please don’t give up on me. I deeply desire to be back in my blogging routine. If I have things to say that I can formulate into coherent thoughts, I will share them, (You can expect one about turning 30…*sigh.) but they will likely be inconsistently scattered.
Please know that this is incredibly painful. For the last 2.5 years, I have loved godandshoes as a creative outlet for my writing. A way to form an online community and keep in touch with those I love who happen to be far away. It has been therapeutic to share my thoughts and have them affirmed (and sometimes challenged).
I covet your prayers and support.
“There is a time for everything, and a season for every activity under the heavens.” –Ecclesiastes 3:1
Today I will marry my best friend. It is surreal that this day is finally upon us, since we have been planning for 10 months now.
This last week, I’ve been processing the mere fact that we’re getting married – let alone the weight of that covenant. After all, I honestly never thought I would marry again. There was a time that I had closed the door to my heart and thrown away the hope of there ever being a key. Little did I know that the same door would swing wide open when I met Jonathan.
From our first 4-hour lunch at Carabba’s, our chemistry was apparent. I remember driving away from that meal thinking, “Wow – I had a great time! I’m sure I’ll never hear from him again.” That was just my dating luck, or so it seemed. We texted that evening, and we had our second date less than 48 hours later…
…but I struggled to believe this budding romance could really happen. After all, I was leaving the country and was sure he would forget about me. The night before I left, he handed me 10 letters, one for each day I was to be gone. THAT was the moment it sunk in that he really liked me. Not just any guy would be thoughtful (or motivated) enough to do such a thing.
Over the last 2 years, he has lavished me with his thoughtfulness and love time and time again. He brings me flowers. Rubs my feet when I’ve had a long day. Gives me cards and creative gifts (speaking my love language). He challenges my thought processes; loves my girls; joins in with my crazy detox diets. We simply love being together, and I’ve never been happier.
As I write this, just hours before we say “I do,” I’m nervous and excited. But more than anything, I feel like the luckiest girl in the world to marry my best friend.
I love you, Jonathan. Passionately.
(We leave tomorrow for our honeymoon. That being said, I’ll be taking a blog break for a while. I promise to post wedding pictures as soon as I can. I’m off to get hitched, y’all!)
The time had come to pack my beloved shoes. I had put it off and put it off, but it had to be done.
I decided to start with my boots, since they’re out of season anyway. I went to my closet and came back with an armful. I started putting them in a long, good-sized box. It wasn’t until I realized that they wouldn’t all fit in said box that I thought, “How many pairs of boots do I have, anyway?”
I own 8 pairs. That may sound like a high number, but when you think about it, it’s not really that many. I have knee boots, short boots, heeled boots, wedge boots, casual boots, and dress boots, all in a variety of browns and blacks. They’re all necessary, I assure you. They’re also not new… I still wear my first pair of boots that I got as a freshman in college. (It pays to have a steady shoe size!)
Next came my shoes (insert ominous music here). Whittling down 5 paper boxes full of shoes was harder than you might think. Even though they were merely moving from my closet to my dining room (so they weren’t completely unaccessible), I struggled to “part” with them, even for a week. How was I to choose what shoes I would and wouldn’t want to wear when I didn’t know what type of mood I’d be in? And I knew that as soon as I boxed up my bright green mules, that’s exactly what I would want to wear the next day. (I know how I operate…)
In the end, I only moved 2 boxes to the “move out pile.” I just couldn’t part with the rest, even for a few days. Am I a shoe lover? You bet! 🙂
My world is turning upside down in the next few days. For a girl who doesn’t necessarily like change, it has been a bit overwhelming.
I have been packing like crazy preparing for our move. The more I took pictures off the wall and put my belongings in boxes, the more it felt less like home and more like a sterile apartment. So I’ve been functioning (not very well – I don’t do well with disarray) in a partially-furnished apartment for weeks. I’ve had surprisingly strong reactions to seemingly simple things – realizing I won’t be able to use my return address labels (with my beloved green shoes) anymore, taking down the cards and pictures from my refrigerator front. I get teary. I assume I’m mourning my singleness and independence (which is ironic in and of itself since that’s what I feared so deeply after my divorce).
It’s not that I want to stay in Sunblest forever (I don’t). It’s that this has been my home for 5 years. The girls and I have traditions that I’m not sure will translate to the new place. Sophie has a box (literally – just an empty box) that sits under my desk in the bedroom. It’s her hiding place. She loves that thing and retreats there often. Likewise, every morning as I exit the bathroom after doing my hair, I call, “Okay Girls!” They race toward the kitchen because they know they’re about to get their treat for the day. And when I get home from work, Sophie greets me on the counter while Cloe is on the floor. Every time.
I went on a walk in Holland Park a few weeks ago; it’s the “circle park” that I’ve visited often. Tears came to my eyes, thinking of the times I’ve walked (and run) around it before. The people I’ve smiled at. The dogs I’ve avoided. I have a running path here, and I’ve figured out the places I can go when I’m craving nature.
I know the back roads well enough that I can get around traffic, school buses, and construction. I know the gas stations on my way to work – and the good places to pick up coffee. I’ll have to find a new grocery store, a new dry cleaner, and a new nail salon.
I’m sure I’ll figure out new traditions at the new place with my girls and find new running paths (after all, it’s right on the Monon) and places to retreat in nature. I don’t doubt that I’ll figure out the back roads (eventually) and discover new eateries and coffee houses and places to get my nails done. It’s just going to be different… and it will be good.
In the meantime, though, packing has been such sweet sorrow…
When I was at Taylor, I got to know a girl named Nicole. She was sweet, smart, beautiful, and a Communications major, so we often had classes together. We lost touch after college, but we reconnected on Facebook a few years ago.
Nicole and her hubby are currently in Durham, England, while Nathan finishes his PhD. I faithfully read Nicole’s blog, which often includes her great finds at “charity shops,” England’s version of thrift stores. Several months ago, I commented on one of Nicole’s charity shop gems – an adorable Jackie O wool jacket.
Fast forward to last week…I received a package in the mail. I was somewhat confused since I didn’t remember ordering anything. I was even more confused when I noticed it had a “Customs Declaration” that said it included “used clothing.” Hmmm…
Nicole sent me the gorgeous jacket! She also included an adorable floral dress. While it fits, it also happens to be see-through material, so I won’t be sporting it any time soon.
Thank you, Nicole, for your thoughtfulness, generosity, and friendship! You have great taste in clothing, for which I’m grateful! 🙂
Jonathan and I received a wedding RSVP via e-mail a few weeks ago that deeply hurt us. This person shared that their family would not be attending our wedding due to their belief that they consider my re-marriage adultery. Verses like 1 Corinthians 7:10-11 and Matthew 19:8-9 were thrown in my face.
What the family didn’t know is that I e-mailed my Teaching Pastor here at Grace with those same verses when Jonathan and I began getting more serious over a year ago. Tim explained that Paul was addressing the specific problem of Corinthian women who were leaving their husbands (oftentimes new Christians leaving their unbelieving spouces). Back in the day, women were considered property, so even if they left, they were still “owned” by their husband. Women legally couldn’t remarry since they always belonged to the husband.
Today, we have the legal right to divorce, and (thankfully) I never was – nor am I now – the property of my ex-husband. Perhaps the most appropriate sentences from my pastor’s response were, “I don’t believe that when we say that this verse in the Bible is addressing something far more complicated than we can see on the surface we are not running rough-shod over the Bible… This scripture, if used against you at this time in your life, would be taking something written for a specific time and place and using it as a sledge hammer in our time and place without understanding the principles behind the things Paul says.”
I responded to the RSVP, explaining Tim’s insight into the cultural context of the Bible. I further clarified that though the primary reason I left my ex-husband was due to abuse, he was guilty of sexual immorality in our marriage (part of the Matthew verse quoted). His pornography problem, his raping me, and his near-arrest for voyeurism all qualify as sexual immorality, thus qualifying me for re-marriage.
The family never responded to my e-mail. I’m offended that they assumed I ignored those verses in the Bible; hurt by their legalism and judgment; and angry that they are selfishly making this day about them, not about loving and supporting our marriage. But, frankly, if that’s their stance, then I don’t want them there.
Sunblest has been my home for the last 5 years. It’s the place I “grew up” post-divorce, where I’ve done the majority of my healing, the space I searched and found myself. My counselor challenged me to write about some of the lessons I’ve learned as a way of commemorating my time there – and perhaps providing some closure. Below are just a small sampling of the lessons I’ve learned during my years in Fishers. I’ve learned…
To cherish every day I’m granted to parent my girls (post Sophie falling out the window and Cloe’s allergic reaction last summer)
To be aware of my surroundings (post-mugging)
To be more open – on and off my blog – and accepted by others (post my “I’m not going to trust anyone” life)
To have girlfriends (post previously having mostly male friends)
To set physical goals and achieve them (post running 4 mini-marathons, lifting, and detox-ing)
To drive in the “big city” (post many close calls and getting lost more times than I can count)
To love and be loved (post walling myself off and not being open to love)
“What size shoe do you wear?” my co-worker asked. I complimented her on her outfit, which launched an entire conversation about clothing and accessories, including Charming Charlie’s, a new store close to work that I’ve been told I need to check out.
“7.5 or 8,” I responded. “Why?”
“Oh, you’re my size! I cleaned out my closet and have some shoes I’m going to get rid of. I think you might like them.”
“REALLY?” My eyes became saucers.
Sure enough, the next day at work I received a bag with TWO new pairs of shoes! In my size! That are cute!
And that’s how a co-worker made my day!
I'm just a girl who loves God and shoes 