Wrong Side of the Tracks

When I arrived in Georgetown I didn't feel like my life was perfect at all. I had created certain expectations in my mind, and not a single strand of life here was living up to those expectations.


As the new kid in town I figured people would be calling me up, inviting me out for coffee and over for dinner, (surely everyone would want to know me!); we had found a house to rent, a house- not a basement suite, surely it would be glorious, (I wont even go into how I feel about this house); Nick was coming back where everyone knew his name and wanted to aid him in succeeding in life, look out countless blessings!


Let me take my foot out of my mouth for a moment and state for the record that we have been blessed beyond measure since arriving here. However, my Greatest Flaw spent the first year of our G-town experience in fine form.


Life had worn me out; physically, mentally, emotionally. I just wanted to revert to being small and have someone take care of me all the time.


I wanted new friends, but I didn't want to make the effort of the first invite.

I wanted deep relationships, but I didn't want to be vulnerable first.

I wanted to be blessed, but I didn't want to do the work of being a blessing.

And yet at the same time I did, I just wanted it all to be easy. I wanted to live reactively instead of proactively. I just wanted to move onto Easy Street for a little bit.


I wasn't myself when we first got here. I was lazy, apathetic, moody, and painfully shy. I chose to do the least amount of anything possible, I whined, I cried. I met the worst version of myself and although I didn't like her company, being with her was easy.

Then one day the switch flipped. I've been trying to figure out exactly when it happened, but haven't been a very disciplined journaler as of late and so can't put my finger on it. But I woke up and I felt rested, rejuvenated. I was ready to be me again. Being who you are is hard sometimes. We live in an incredibly critical world. But becoming who you are after being someone you are not is almost impossible. First impressions are so hard to re-write. I don't have any regrets in life, save this, choosing to be selfish instead of putting my best foot forward in August 2006.

Hopeless.

I think now is the perfect time to let you in on one of my greatest flaws. I am a hopeless romantic. Hopeless. I'm 28 and have watched A Cinderella Story a million times. Sydney White is on our movie channels this week and I watch it daily. Trust me when I say that Nick doesn't stand a chance, (although it would be nice for him to try......).

But the romantic in me goes far deeper than my relationship with my Prince Charming. It's about so much more than receiving roses, poetry, or those knock you off your feet surprises.

Although the commonly exploited theme in all movies romantic is the guy-gets-the-girl/ girl-gets-the-guy/everyone-lives-happily-ever-after; there is also an element that requires all of lifes trials and obstacles to be resolved and forgotten in a mere 120 minutes. Pause for a moment and think about how grand life would be if your Grandmother showed up on your front stoop and announced that Genovia is awaiting your arrival as their next Queen. Can't figure out how to get your hair salon straight-presto-it's taken care of. Lost all that baby weight but still can't justify the new wardrobe-huzzah-how about a walk in closet the size of your local 7/11. Were you the highschool geek-shazam-let's move you to another country where no one knows you and you can be whatever you want to be from this moment on.

This trend can also be referred to as Sitcom Seducery. Ran your hubby's new car into a light post? Just wait 30 minutes and the two of you will be laughing so hard your sides hurt while you wax the newer! even better! car that just showed up in your driveway. Teenage daughter running amuck? Don't worry the next door neighbor will take care of it for you.

I am a hopeless romantic. My life doesn't stand a chance. Curveballs have abounded in our mere six years of marriage, but those instant fixes, not so much. Where is Extreme Home Makover? Why doesn't TLC feature my crazy life? Where are the Home Made Simple Mavens? Surely I am deserving of someone to walk in my front door and zap away some of my worries, aren't I?

The thing about being a hopeless romantic is that it's not fair. It's not fair to the people in your life, but it's mostly not fair to yourself. My life kicks ass. Pure and simple. It is the PERFECT life for me, but too often I only realize that in retrospect.

Forging On.

I think I've finally recalled where I was heading with my last post in this vein.

Working from home.

When you first start a family and all your sense are filled to overflowing with the sweet smell of all things Johnson & Johnson, the sweet touch of a (clean) baby's bum, the amazing taste of living a worthwhile life, and the sight of all the melt-your-heart-moments of parenting; you begin to feel that working from home is the. best. option. ever. Suddenly you're reading entrepreneurial websites and magazines, trying to figure out how to create the income you need out of old dish rags. After successfully navigating the first three months of a child's life you begin to feel like superwoman, surely you can do anything!

There are a lot of times that working from home is not all that it's imagined to be, (at least by me). Even though I am at home all day with my kids I've missed many firsts. Like when Belle was little and started saying 'hello', (her first word), I honestly thought it was part of the dictation I was transcribing. Even now on days when I have to get work done, I only see them playing out back through the window as I glance up every few seconds. Balance is constantly elusive as I'm working for my paying gig, but see the tasks of my un-paying gig piling up. Not to mention the sleep deprivation. I've been so blessed with good sleepers, and from really early on, and yet I am up until two or even three a.m. a good share of nights just trying to get everything done.

For so long I felt like I stradled two lives. One in which it was my sole responsibility to bring in a certain amount of bacon, one in which it was my sole responsibility to cook the bacon. The division between the two, a blur. I sit here at my computer to upload pictures, try to keep them organized and share them with the world. I also sit here, sometimes, and get paid by the minute. Not to mention that I want to sit here to do things purely for my own pleasure.

I have about 500 square feet that are my home, my office, my life. The 'mommy' hat never comes off, even when I'm 'at work'. The domestic to-do list doesn't fade into the background, even when I'm focused on typing 90+ words a minute. Within me exists a constant nagging voice; 'is this really what I am supposed to be doing at this exact minute?'.

I don't think working from home is any harder than working outside of the home, or any harder than just, (and I say that completely sarcastically), being a stay at home mom. I think all lives have a degree of hard. I work because the choices we've made lead to responsibilities we must endure.

When I arrived in Georgetown I was standing on the precipice of an entire year of not working. Due to the graciousness of my previous employer I had worked enough hours to entitle me to mat leave benefits. For 12 whole months I was going to be a full time parent, a full time wife, a domestic goddess. The possibilities were all coming up roses.

Ideally Speaking

While I am keenly aware that children come into existence on God's timing I have always pictured my children close in age. It's true that I desired to have my babies 18 months apart on purpose. My siblings and I aren't close in age and there's always been a gap between us simply because we've always been at different stages of life. I graduated from college the year my sister graduated from the eighth grade. Nick and his brother are also a few years apart and been in very different places throughout their lives.

We wanted close friendships for our children and hoped that having them close in age would set a good foundation for that. I mean high school is already a completely different world now than when I attended, I can only imagine what it will be like for my children and how great for them to have someone to experience it with. I will never truly 'get it', but at least their siblings will have the same frame of reference.

Being a mom of three children this small is hard work, but anything worth working for is worth working hard for. I didn't know how many people it would bother to witness a woman with three small children. On three separate occasions a random stranger has quipped: "Looks like you need to get a new hobby!" directly to my face. I didn't realize how many people would be baffled to find me out of the house! "alone"! with three small children! and still smiling!

But I didn't expect, or even desire, to be their primary caregiver. In today's society two income families seem to be the norm and I figured that I would continue in my line of office administratin while Nick became a youth pastor and we'd partner with a wonderful daycare to raise our babes. I'm one of those women who actually likes day cares and thinks Early Childhood Educators are unsung heroes.

It's not that I don't want to be responsible for my children, it's not that I don't believe myself capable, it's not even that I don't feel up to the challenge.

The thing for me is that although first steps and first words and first foods are exciting and momentus; the first step will be followed by a million more, and the first word by a billion more, and the first food by a trillion more. And anyone can help a baby learn to walk and talk and eat.

But the first piano recital could be the last, and the first basketball try out could crush a spirit, and first heartache may snuff a soul. And I don't want to be absent from those firsts, to be there for the first five years and absent for the next fifteen.

I would gladly choose to miss a first step in order to cheer from the sidelines for my daughter with two left feet as she trips down the soccer field, smiling, because she knows I chose to be there for those steps.

I would have gladly made that choice.

And on the Sixth Day....

Genesis says that 'on the sixth day God created man'. And he created woman to be man's helpmate.



I, myself, have always been independant and although I had a few highschool crushes I never dated anyone. That was fine with me, (on most days, I mean eveyone has their moments of weakness). It would have been nice to have taken some test drives, but I wasn't looking to purchase, finance or lease a heap of metal that would drain my bank account, cause me grief and leave me stuck on the shoulder when I really needed to rely on it.



I knew lots of nice guys but I was afraid the only guy in highschool who wasn't looking to simply get some would be the guy to ask me out, and I'd be stuck staring at the same face every morning for the next 70 years. I didn't want to be a heart breaker, and I didn't want to carry around much heart ache. Granted that was most likely some defensive tactic I brainwashed myself with to deny that fact that; as one guy friend put it, 'I'm just looking to have fun now, but when I'm looking to settle down-I'll find you.' I'd like to believe I wasn't a geek in highschool, but, well, let's say the jury's still out on that one.



But in my second year of college I was very content with who I was becoming, surrounded by great friends and contentedly living vicariously through everyone else who was sampling the meat at the CBC market. One day I sat in the same place for almost an entire day and in the afternoon Nick sat down next to me and would. not. leave.



I've shared the rest of that story before, (along with longer versions of my previous two entries, but in order to understand the present you sometimes have to reflect on the past), and the end result is that I've felt what it's like to be loved and chosen every day for the last six years and I am indescribably blessed by that. So much so that even if something tragic where to happen to Nick I would look for love again, (Please don't misread this sentence, I'm just trying to emphasize that having felt love I can now see how I mislead my self in my youth).



I have been completely converted from independant to part of a team, not just through the act of marriage but by the softening of my heart to be let myself be loved.

Then God Stepped In.

I needed a change of scenery and so I travelled. I travelled the insane distance of down three blocks and across the street. I took up residence at the Bible College. In a few short months it became clear that these seeming unfortunate events were by divine design and I was exactly where I was supposed to be.

Being submerged in the Bible College Bubble is hard to explain, but so awesome. There are cliques, the hot girls, the jocks, the musicians, the intellectuals- but it's totally not highschool. There are all these people who are Christians but while in love with God are also crazy about NKOTB and there are wedding magazines everywhere. Even though we each believe John 3:16 with our whole hearts there is still heartache, struggle, confusion.

Yet the walls literally ooze with encouragement and the fine line between friend and family is blurred. As a girl who has often felt 'on the outside looking in' I felt completely accepted and it was totally addictive.

While there Ephesians 2:10 became my truth: "for we are God's masterpiece, created in Christ Jesus to do good works, which God prepared in advance for us to do.". I clung to that as I looked inside to discover who I am and to revel and glory in my self. I even have it tattooed on my body, (in the form of a butterfly). It was my greatest comfort and has become my greatest challenge.

Simply Pieces

When I was in the twelfth grade I had a vision of my ideal future. I had been taking an Interior Decorating elective which I loved and, according to my teacher, was pretty good at. I wanted to be an Interior Designer, but not just any Interior Designer, I planned on becoming the female version of Nate Berkus. By day I would hunt for furniture, demolish the interiors of homes, search through paint samples and carpet swatches- turning the homes of the rich and famous into exquisite havens. By night I would be at black tie fundraisers and parties planned by Colin Cowie. I would have dresses by Versace and shoes by Choo and I would have places to wear them.

(I must confess that this 'plan' was all fantasy. Though I was completely sold out to it, I hadn't thought it through).

I envisioned going to school in New York City and assumed I'd start off all Coyote Ugly: rank apartment on the Lower East Side; um...dancing... to pay my tuition, working hard all day and all night to pull it together. But at the end I'd have my credentials, no student loans, a padded bank account and I'd be at the center of the artistic universe.

Getting established in the field of design would not be problematic as I would obviously be amazing and in no time I'd be living in a swanky loft on the Upper East Side attending weekly soirees and jet setting all over the world to decorate for the who's-who on every continent.

I've always wanted to be a mom, but not a wife, and so once life was humming happily at warp speed I planned on hopping over to the neighborhood sperm bank and ordering my brunette, blue eyed triplets from a donor named Don Juan whom I would raise with the aid of my chef, maid, nanny and personal assistant and my life would be one hundred percent perfect and complete.

Back in my reality a few unfortunate events occurred which left me broke and believing I would spend my life, um....dancing....on the Lower East Side becuase all I was worth were the singles I would be shamelessly begging for on a pole instead of a street corner.....

Setting the Stage

For as long as Nick and I have thought about having children we've always been a family of six and from the day I found out I was pregnant for the first time, all four of my children were already born in my heart. Before we decided to open the window of possibility in the arena of babies we got our lives together on paper: mom with a college degree to fall back on- check; manageable debt load with plan to eradicate-check; three months worth of living expenses in savings-check; dad standing on doorstep of career-check; solid foundation of marriage and faith-check. A wise person once told me that you can never be fully prepared for three things: marriage, kids and death. With the first two you come to a point where you just leap. Do your best to set the stage and let the performance begin. Life is not a dress rehearsal and the show must go on.

When Nick and I began our journey of conceiving we both felt it would be a winding road. Neither of us expected to get pregnant and stay pregnant easily and thought false alarms, miscarriages and complications would be our reality. It wasn't something we feared, but something we were prepared to accept. We have a healthy respect for the holiness of life and that we are not in control. Shortly after we decided to start our family we were privy to the pain and anquish of a tragic miscarriage in the lives of dear friends. As we cried for them and interceeded for them we began to truly ask if it was worth it. Was it worth it to open ourselves up to the potential for such pain in the hope of receiving uncontainable joy.

To completely blow us out of the water I found out I was pregnant just weeks later. I took the HPT while Nick was in Mexico on a missions trip and could hardly contain myself. I tried to calm myself down by planning the perfect way of telling Nick. We were house sitting a beautiful house at the time which provided the perfect setting for a candle lit supper under the guise of welcoming him home, at which point I could share the wonderful news and we would both spend the next nine months smitten and glowing like only expectant parents can.

Nick came home from Mexico completely fired up from his first short term missions trip and began tossing about ideas such as putting all our possessions in storage and squatting in Tijuana so we could build homes for poverty stricken Mexican people and help out local missionaries. His face was so full of excitement and all I wanted to do was grant his every wish no matter how crazy. But instead I blurted; "um, how about we stay here and have a baby instead?".

It only took a few hours, (and modern conveniences like running water), for Nick's source of joy to change from missions work to fatherhood. We ended our time in St. Albert, AB on a very high note. Everything was falling into place so smoothly for us to start living the Canadian style American dream. Nick's internship had been just the right mix of challenges and successes to solidify our faith in God's calling to full time ministry and we stood with one foot in a college dorm and the other in a nursery just waiting to take that last step into the domain of Grown-Up.

We moved to Calgary on the wings of well wishes with the beautiful 'come back chorus' ringing in our ears. Completely invigorated by the previous 12 months we stepped sure footed into the final lap. We felt secure in our plans and our preparations; the future was full of bright, bright, bright sunshiney days.

Merely days later we began the swift descent that usually accompanies a lesson from the Almighty and one by one all our wordly securities were stripped away. Un-employed mom-check; drained savings account-check; increasing debt with no end in sight-check; seeming insurmountable academic challenges-check; foundation's limits being tested-check.....