Moments

I have been given so many fat juicy kisses from the Lord the last couple weeks. Each time I feel something (dontcha hate those darn feelings) rise inside of me, I remember who thinks about me all the time. Who has MY best interest in mind. Who constantly affirms my strengths and smiles at times at my silly weaknesses. There are moments when I have to remember whose side I'm really on anyway.

Decided to snuggle with the little guy instead of doing homework tonight. For the first time in a long time I could only think about him and not everything else in my life that needed attention. I read him 8 books...yes...8... and did it with a smile. I only get this moment once and then it's gone.

What moments have you missed? How do you justify those moments?

With each new moment comes a new opportunity.

I have a lot of very difficult decisions in the new few months that need to be made. If you think of it, please pray for us.

I pray that peace comes with what God has called.

Enjoy your precious moments tonight.

I fell back in love with an old band that I was obsessed with in high school. Blue October. This song is addicting and brings back so many great memories. If you like this song check out "Hate me" and "Into the Ocean"

My Canterbury Tale

I had a melt down today. Not a little “I have PMS” melt down. An epic melt down.

I have been running on barely any sleep du to a terrible head cold that has now taken over every inch of my being. I laid in bed most of the night last night staring at a snoring peaceful Zac and I couldn’t help but feel annoyingly jealous. I laid in bed and stared at the clock ...I saw 2am…3:30am…4:30am… Time seemed to move in slow motion and I begged God that morning would just come already. At one point I was sure that I would pull an all nighter.

I got in the car and realized I had only put mascara on one eye and hadn’t brushed my hair. I had an early morning meeting at work, serious in nature, and mustering strength just to stay vertical was work in and of itself.

Finished up the meeting and headed to school and into my infamous Chaucer class with like the WORST professor ever. I don’t really mean that but really...who gives TESTS in a literature class! I was anxious for this class. We were getting back our midterms. I knew that I had rocked the essay and that the other portions of the test were difficult but I would “do fine.”

I found my seat and realized how closterphobic the classroom was with every single person showing up to class to receive their midterm back. I started shaking realizing a cup of coffee is not a sufficient form of breakfast. He lectured to all of us about The Pardoner’s Tale and the class stared anxiously. No one took notes. We just wanted our freaking tests.

He reached in a manila folder and pulled out a thick pile of tests. He then continued to lecture about how 12 people got A’s, 7 got B’s, 18 got C’s, 7 got D’s and 1 person got an F. I began to tense a bit realizing that the A and B range was small and I knew that a lot of people in my class were brilliant.

Great.

He handed on the tests one by one moving around the class in a dance like motion. Some students smiled as they stared at each page, others took one look and put it down never to be looked at again and then there was me.

“Mackenzie?”

I grabbed my test from his hand and looked on the cover. In big, fat, red Sharpie there was a D with a huge circle around it. Laughing at me.

I frantically flipped through the pages which revealed red ink after red ink. I am pretty sure my paper died a bloody and horrific death.

This being a third of my grade I began to panic. My headache moved from the back of my head into my ears, throat, nose and eyes. I was welling up and I needed to get out. As students began to leave we were required to turn our tests back in.

I literally threw mine into the pile as I stared my professor in the eye. He looked at me like he wanted to be sympathetic.

I stepped out of the classroom and began to sob. Not a little tear but an army of tears. The kind of uncontrollable sobs that you have when you can’t even articulate words.

I wasn’t just feeling upset... my entire body was violently tense as I tried to muster back sobs.

I had failed. Literally.

I sat outside on a cold green bench not able to attend my next class. I felt humiliated and mad that I couldn't get it together!!

I couldn’t believe that I had studied and failed.

My emotions hit me like a massive tidal wave that moved out of my soul and into harsh tears that were streaming down my face. I closed my eyes and tried to imagine what I should have done. Studied more. Slept less. Done...something!'

The wind blew against my cold tear stained face and the more I sat still the more I realized my actions.

At this point I am feeling ridiculous. I realize that this is just a grade but at the same time I have never received this bad of a grade. It stung and seeped into every inch of me.

I just didn’t measure up.

I have a hero complex. Not only do I take on WAY more than I should but I expect myself to be amazing at everything I do. I have this visual of me taking every test with ease, writing papers effortlessly and standing up on the stage at graduation with twelve ropes around my neck to show the world that not only did I accomplish going to school but I did it working 35 hours a week and being a wife and mother.

HA! In your face! I accomplished something when the odds were against me!! That is the feeling I want to have when I graduate! But does accomplishment have to "look" a certain way?

To me, I didn’t just get a D on that test. I felt that that D represented every part of my life. That my school work, my job, my mothering, my ability to be a wife wasn’t the way it “should be” or “could be” so therefore I once again had not measured up to my own (super unrealistic) expectations.

I drove home crying and carrying on like the inner victim in all of us enjoys to do. I talked to my mom for a good half hour on the phone and as I am talking (half sobbing) I realize even more how ridiculous I sound. A D is unfortunate. But it isn’t the end of the world.

I have traded in precious moments with my family that I never get back. THIS is what a working mom thinks about all the time.

I will give my child a better life but how can I measure the cost?

I have such a wonderful mom. She just listened and reminded me that the Lord sees and knows my heart.

Oh Lord, I struggle with my own identity. I am all “these” things and at times I just want to be the me I have let go into hibernation for awhile. My loves and passions are set on the back burner and today was a day that my inner selfishness wanted to come out for awhile. Got to keep those mental horses on reigns or they can run wild and skew one’s perspective.

When I hung up the phone with my mom, I walked into my house and took a forty five minute nap. I fell into a deep sleep and allowed my whole body to conform to every contour of my mattress.

An exhausted mind and body needs rest…and often. And I need to give myself a break and remember that.

The Jean Dilemma

I stared at an old pair of jeans for a good five minutes this morning. My laundry is billowing and there was one lonely pair of cute designer jeans left on a white hanger.

I didn’t want to put them on. The last time I put them on (6 months ago) I came to a sad realization that I should have NEVER bought jeans after I had been nursing the little guy for 6 months. Nursing him helped me lose my baby weight plus about 15 pounds.

It was awesome. I felt cute, sexy and curvy. I went on a shopping spree!! What was I thinking? I loved asking for clothes in a size I had never been before.

So I stared at the jeans some more. I cried the last time I put them on and was nervous about doing it again. Six months ago I couldn’t even get the zipper up. And it was a tragedy.

With no one in the house and big breath I reached for the hanger.

Those jeans represented to me a time when I felt better about myself. Being thin(ner) was the one thing I seemed to have during a time when I felt like I did not have control of anything. I was unwed, had a 4 month old, no professional schooling, no goals, no hopes, no dreams, living at my moms house, no money to my name…Big fat Nothing.

But I was skinny. And to me that was something.

I slid the jeans off of the hanger and stared at the patchwork on the pockets. There were no rips in the jeans, no tears, no strings hanging off the ends. They had probably been washed a handful of times…ever. Like somehow I bought them to be reminded of what I was capable of… not to actually wear them.

They had been sitting quietly in a corner of my closet and the Lord had a lesson for me that he had been waiting to show me.

Mackenzie…the closet is your heart.

I have kept a pair of jeans that do not fit me (and unless I lose 10 pounds they probably never will) and I have pushed them aside not wanting to address them. I feel that I have failed.

I sat on the floor jeans in my lap and began to cry. Often times the notion of what was good is in fact a very dark dreary time of our life. Through my rose covered glasses I saw a time when I physically had a presence. My hope of fitting into a pair of jeans that simply won’t fit is like wanting a life that was never good for me to begin with.

Your life then is not now. And this is a good thing. You are well…so start acting like it.

I didn’t put on the jeans. It didn’t matter anymore if I fit into them or not. I folded them up carefully and put them in a box of old clothes.

Always remember the hard times of your life…but do not glamorize them. Let God be glorified through them.

Besides… I like skirts better.

These Moments

Today as I was driving home…writing in my head… ☺ I began to think about my life five years ago. The friends I had. The moments we shared. More importantly, all the laughter that became of those moments.

These days when I see friends there are no new memories. We laugh about old times. We act that we are too close to just have small talk but that is where life is at. Recently I have felt an enormous loss. I disconnect from a life and friendships I once had that have now become fragmented memories in a diary.

I am at a different place.

I don’t enjoy it. There are nights Zac tells me to get out of the house…go see friends… do something! But I can’t. I am completely paralyzed.

Who would I see? Who do I ever see?


I miss my friends.

My life has become work, school, housework, family. Nothing else. I am not at a place in my life where I have any kind of energy to invest in new or even budding friendships. That makes me sad. I have never had a ton of girlfriends. I have always been the girl with just a handful of friends but no more. I am terrible at surface friendships… I always long for intimacy even in a friendship.

I feel at times that I have traded in laughable, silly, flirtatious nights for sweat pants and laundry. Trying to find any kind of delight or excitement in those two is impossible.

I have realized at times that I have juxtaposed these two lives as being completely opposite of one another. I still struggle with the idea of actually enjoying family life. I love my life as a wife and mother but at times I feel like you can’t be silly or have fun if you are those things.

Life is so freaking serious now.

Car problems, school money, textbooks, bills, rent, grocery shopping and solemn behavior seems to rule most of my life.

I’m trying to figure out if this is an attitude that must be changed or inherently just my personality.

I play, I laugh and I wrestle with someone who can’t have an adult conversation back with me. Zac and I see each other exhausted and if either of us has extra time…we just spend it with one another.

Is it just me or does this seem incredibly out of whack??!!

It has nothing to do with not loving the poeople in my life and everything to do with not understanding why everyone things that life like this is ok?

I always look at Zac and tell him that our time will come in fifteen years… maybe.

But how skewed is that?

I suppose it has been a rough week and I suppose that I may be a bit on the emotional side, however; I feel dissatisfied.

I miss friendships. I miss my life being about me at times. I stare at myself in the mirror sometimes and wonder when I will feel like life is truly enjoyable and not just “nice”.

I am grateful for my life and people who love me. Truly.

Tonight has just been a lonely night.

I miss my friends. I miss a blank agenda. I miss adventures. I miss alone time. I miss staying out late. I miss laughing.

It’s just not that season of my life anymore.

Thank you Lord for blessing me. Please remind me of all that you have blessed me with… how quickly I can forget.

You always listen.

Amen

Writing

Writing has always been MY thing. When I did not have anything else to run to, anyone else to talk to I would always have my writing. My writing these days consists more along the topics of “Please do a close reading of how Malcom X was feeling in prison…” or “How does postmodern text A compare/contrast to postmodern text B.”

Bleh.

These days I write in my head as I am driving. When the cool breeze rushes through the drive side window. I put my arm out the window and turn down the music. There is something so mystical about a car drive when it is the dark of the morning. No headlights for miles. Just me, and the open road.



I reflect.

On everything.

For a few minutes as I write intently in my head the chaos of the world slips away. Writing helps me believe. It helps me see light in a situation that is sterile black. It creates a series of events that are scattered yet fluid as they come to me.

My greatest writing I have never written. I can not articulate on paper. It is those moments as I hear the hum of the engine that I feel alive. Rejuvenated. Encouraged.

I sense that peace is coming and someday I will indeed write again.

But for now, I just take a drive.

Enough?

Last week I sat through a fantastically trashy movie… Sex and the City 2… I was excited for the fashion, fun, girls and a silly plot that my mind could tune out to. However a scene in particular left me deep in thought as a left the theatre.

I guess something struck a chord with me sitting through Carrie, Miranda, Samantha and Charlotte’s silly antics.

There was a scene when Miranda (I swear I’m not spoiling anything) and Charlotte are on vacation and have a couple drinks together. Miranda asks if she can confess something. She had just quit her job and had been full time at home with her son who was roughly eight years old. She confessed…

I love my son and I care for him deeply… but it’s not enough.

Wow Miranda… took the words right out of my mouth. I pondered this for awhile. I felt the same way. I always remember growing up the disdain I had toward babysitting and was never asked. Tati was the go-to girl. ☺ I never enjoyed volunteering at the church nursery like the other girls did. I didn’t like kids. Not in a mean way… I just didn’t. As an eleven year old I would rather sit with the adults than play outside.

As a mother now I still battle the mom title. I believe every woman is capable of being a nurturing mother but some women defiantly are more at ease with motherhood.

I am not.

I suppose this may sound selfish and I truly don’t mean it to. If my only role was mother I would be disappointed in myself. I am not minimizing the women who do it because gee whiz is it a job! But for me, it’s not enough. I know people are the most important things in life... especially family. I recognize accomplishments are fleeting and family is forever. Hence... my struggle.

I don’t want lots of kids. I don’t desire to be a soccer mom. I never want to own a mini-van. I try to reason with Cohen like he is an adult for goodness sake.

I love Cohen and care for him deeply… but it is not enough. And that at times sounds so sour coming out of my mouth.

Some of that needs to be refined in me but truthfully a lot of that feeling stems from who I am.

I don’t want a big family life and recently I have had to come to terms with where I am at as a woman/wife/mom/friend/coworker… It is difficult to walk these things out. Especially when I admire so many mothers that sacrifice everything for their children. Their hopes, dreams, schooling and passions. I just... don't get that.

I applaud the women who choose to make motherhood their life and passion. Motherhood is not for the faint hearted.

I just never would. And I'm coming to terms with that.