Austin Hydrate Hope Event

Chivalry and Chocolate

May 9, 2008

The other night Kent and I went to the movie. For some reason, that night I was extra aware of all the tiny little teens prancing around with their tan legs in my husband’s face. I am insecure about my body, that is no secret, but I usually let the teenagers off the hook, knowing that they too will have jell-o molds for butts someday…(evil sinister laughter) But on this night, they just seemed to be everywhere and my self-esteem was plummeting with every tight little bottom that wiggled past us. Of course, as we were walking up to the escalator at Market Street, a giggling gaggle of them came running up and hopped onto the escalator right in front of us. Their tiny hiney’s were all hanging out of their cut off denim shorts and mini skirts and both of us just looked at each other rolling our eyes, thinking the same thing, (Well, maybe not the same thing. I am sure Kent’s thought process did not include cutting any one’s legs off and giving them to the J. Crew store to use as mannequins) But I digress.

Needless to say, after a good dose of Baby Mama, I had forgotten all about my ridiculous insecurities. Kent suggested that since we had a little extra time, we should go get dessert and coffee. (Because everyone knows that stuffing your face with large amounts of sweet things will make you feel better about being fat). So we went over to Chocolatta and ordered our very favorite dessert in the world. Crepes with Nutella and Bananas!!! (The fruit makes it healthier) I was sitting at the table with this huge mound of chocolate beauty in from of me, waiting for Kent to come back with the forks and coffee. I was practically salivating, wishing I could just put my face in it and lap the whole thing up.

And what do you know, another gaggle of “them” walked in to the coffee shop. They were standing around the counter trying to decide what to order. I was sure it was a toss up between a non-fat/sugar free/decaf/soy latte or the fat free/sugar free/low carb mini muffin. I took one look at their skinniness and wanted to crawl under a rock, leaving my pile of calories and fat far behind me. I thought to myself, “Shellee, you are a grown woman. You can eat whatever dessert you want. They are cute and skinny now, but wait until they pop out a few kids. That short one over there already has dimples in her legs, she is bound to pork out someday!” I had almost talked myself out of hating them, when they became aware of me sitting right behind them.

I turned away quickly so they would not know I had been staring at them with disdain. Their eyes locked onto the dish of decadence sitting there before me, as I tried to pretend I could not see them. They did not even try to hide their disgust. They did the teenage girl thing and rolled their eyes, and “OMGed” each other, and one of them said, just loud enough for me to hear, “Oh my God, Lacy, look at that…Don’t order it. Don’t get thaaaat!” Lacy said, “Ewww… I know. Oh Gaawwd, we can’t eat that”. And yet another hottie turned her head away ever so slightly, though I could still see her face, as she dramatically whispered the words, “Fat Bitch!”, again just loud enough for me to over hear. All of the sudden, my face got hot, my legs went weak and my stomach no longer felt like indulging in dessert. I was back in the high school cafeteria, afraid to put cheese and sour cream on my baked potato because Jill Smith might think I was a cow! I wanted to throw up….all over their pink Prada!

They knew I had heard them. They could see the rage muscling up inside of me. They received my “eat-shit” look with a feigning, “sorry you had to hear that” look and scurried away to the other side of the counter, giggling and rolling their eyes with “sort-of” embarrassment, knowing that they had pissed off the short, chubby lady. I followed them with my evil eye all the way to the brownie display.

Kent walked up to the table just as they were walking away, and he could see that I was flustered. I began to recount the “incident”, thinking he would probably think it was funny and laugh it off. And let me just say that I was soooo wrong! I have never quite seen my husband like that. I seriously thought that he was going to scrap with some skinny-minis, right there in Chocolatta! I had to literally hold his hands down on the table calmly and tell him not to go say something. His protective response made it all worth it, though. I felt vindicated that my husband would defend my wobbly bits in the name of chivalry (and chocolate)!

Needless to say, the pain of their chiding did not affect us so deeply that we could not manage a few bites of our now cold dessert. Oh alright, we finished the whole thing and then licked the plate clean just to prove a point! But the best part about it, was when we walked out of the shop, we had to pass right by their table. And guess who had a double order of crepes on the table……and guess which mature adults said, “Mooooooo”, as we walked by and waved with a smiled!

“Fatso” by Jonatha Brooke and the Story

This song is one of my top five favorites! Go have a listen! You won’t be disappointed!

Pain (I Will Not Submit)

May 5, 2008

I have heard it said that when a person has been through a considerable amount of pain in their life, whether it be physical or emotional, that when something small happens like stubbing a toe, it can seem all at once both trivial and monumental. I believe this to be true.

I have told Kent on numerous occasions that when I bump my elbow or when I poke myself with a fork in the silverware drawer, I immediately go to a place of feeling defeated. I think, “Why me? Why does stuff like this always happen to meeee? Can’t I catch a break?” And then almost within the same instant, I think, “I have survived a massive car accident, years of surgery, two births and a miscarriage. Not to mention, ten years of marriage. This is nothing, Shellee. You can handle a silly little bump or bruise! I am woman, hear me roaaaaaaarrrrrrr!!!”

I think my body remembers the pain and says, with hands held up in protest, “No…no more…I am done. Leave me alone.” But my mind, my ever willful mind, tries to take over and say, “What is your problem? You are stronger than this. Don’t be a wimp. Wipe away those tears, pull up your big girl pants and get over it.”

Depending on the day (and my hormonal state), it’s a toss up of which one wins, body or brain. I am thankful, however, that with everyday passing day I am moving closer to becoming a person who knows pain, remembers pain and respects the lessons that pain has to offer, and yet daily rises up out of the remains, refusing to submit to it’s demands.

Laundry in the Key of B

May 1, 2008

Today I went to wash a load of towels. I loaded them all up in the washer, put my earth friendly detergent in and set the power button to the, “My towels have been sitting in a wet pile on the floor for way too many days in a row, have started to mildew and produce a funky smell around the house that you just can’t quite locate” Cycle. In other words, the very HOT and long cycle with an extra rinse. My finger was poised on the start button and then something my friend said on her blog the other day, about washing your laundry in cold water and using less energy, flashed across my brain waves. Arrrrgh! I wrestled with the thought for a moment, really needing to wash those towels in hot water, and walked out of the laundry room with out starting the load at all.

I realized in that moment how guilty of this ridiculous behavior I have become. I start something, usually a good something, and then somewhere within the process of completion, I become overwhelmed by all of the possibilities that might make it NOT worthwhile…and I QUIT! With information comes responsibility, yes. But also, with information comes overwhelm and shut down mode for me.

Even after I realized this about myself this morning, I sat down to practice playing my guitar and it happened again, but for different reasons. As it stands, I have some pretty mean C, G, A and D chords going on. I can even hammer out a few minor and suspended chords now and then when I have to. But today, I was working on a song and the dreaded B chord came upon me. I HATE that chord. I cannot do the required finger gymnastics it takes to accomplish that chord or almost any of the other chords in that key. I tried it a few times, decided I would never master it, thought about how I am really a sucky guitar player anyway, and that I should not be wasting time on getting better when I could be folding my laundry or preparing a delicious and healthful meal for my family. (insert heavy sarcasm)

I put my guitar down…and I QUIT.

I was sitting there on my couch feeling all the insecure feelings that come with the act of quitting. And then a tiny question popped into my mind that I always try to hammer into my kids, my husband and myself. Does the good outweigh the bad? (Which is what I think my friend was asking in her blog, anyway) I usually relate this to the food we eat, or the amount of TV my kids are watching, or the activities we are participating in as a family. When we have a “too much TV week”, I remind myself that my children are imaginative, active and intelligent little whipper snappers, who love to paint and read, climb trees and ride bikes and build forts. And that the dress up box never gets dusty for lack of use at our house. So if they bruise up a few brain cells watching some TV, I have to try and balance that somewhere in my mind with all the good things I “put into them”.

So after thinking that thought all the way through to the end of it’s tunnel, I came the the ever-glowing light. I realize that this question cannot pertain to every little area of life, but I do think that it is a good “tool” to stash in your belt on those days when you feel like a worthless P.O.S. mother, wife, house keeper, friend, daughter, or just plain human. If you can realize and appreciate more of the good “stuff” that you are putting in, then maybe…just maybe, the tater tots and slushies might not seem so bad. All I know is that today, that question was enough to get my sorry ass up off the couch and back into the laundry room. I now have a beautiful pile of folded towels that got washed in hot water to protect my family from mildew exposure, which were washed in earth friendly detergent, not covered in petroleum based fabric softener and will be used more than once to cut down on water consumption. Also, I finished writing my song…It’s in the key of G…like every other song I have ever written on the guitar! Praise the Lord and pass the Capo!

“Super-Love” (a truthful lullaby)

April 28, 2008

(for Q and Z-my Super Heroes)

verse

I want to protect you. I want to tell you everything will be OK.

I want to make it better. I want to tell you all the pain will go away.

But I can’t do that. I’m not magic!

I can’t do that. I’m not fantastic!

chorus

I’m just human

I’m just like you

I’m just human

And I just love you

verse

I want to be your hero. I want to sling the bad guys to the moon.

I want to build a force field, to encircle and encompass every inch of you.

But I can’t do that. I’m not magic!

I can’t do that. I’m not fantastic!

chorus

I’m just human

I’m just like you

I’m just human

And I just love you

And I might hurt you

Saying things I ought not to

Cause I’m just human

But I’ll always love you

bridge

Close your eyes-tonight we’ll fly-

across the moon-baby me and you-

Hopefully my “super-love” will do!

I love you!

This One Moment

April 25, 2008

I thought it only fitting to counter the Marvin Gaye post with one that shows the other side of “us”. The side where we don’t want to do bodily harm to each other in the middle of the night.

I am here. He is here. Soft breathing…I hear him slipping into dreams. His breath moves in and out, cradling my back. His arms engulf me.

Peace begins it’s decent upon me. A sigh of relief fills in the holes I have been digging today.

Blinking back the tears of relief, fighting off the sleep, I wait impatiently for my rest to come.

Just hours ago, we were two people, busy and distracted, moving hurriedly in and out of each other’s worlds.

Just moments ago, we were thinking our own thoughts, speaking our own minds, designing our tomorrow.

But then it comes, this one moment!

This one last moment of each day when we fall into each other, weary and wounded- yet all the world becomes a blur.

When nothing else seems to matter as much as the quiet breathing that falls into a nameless rhythm, as we drift off together- - to a place of healing, until the sun breaks again.

This moment is mine. This moment is his. If it did not exist, we would not exist as we do!

“I Saw What I Saw” by Sara Groves

April 24, 2008

Oh….. how I love me some Sara Groves!!! I stumbled on this video last night and just had to share it. My heart softens a little more everyday, as God shows me what it really means to love Him. Bible studies, small groups, church picnics and hand raising worship services are nothing if my hands are not reaching out to serve others. This is a hard lesson for me to learn. (As I have openly admitted on numerous occasions to housing a selfish heart )

I like how Matt and Kent put it. “The same hands that reach up in worship should be the same hands that reach out and serve!” Sounds simple…but are we really doing it?????

Honeysuckle Chains

April 23, 2008

There is a road I drive on every day between my house and my life. For the past couple of days I have had this strange nostalgic feeling as I curve down it’s windy twists and turns. I start to catch this sweet smell, my mind spins for a second and then it is gone. I thought maybe it was just a feeling that brought back memories of when I was a kid, driving on this road to my grandparents lake house. But I have driven this road now for two years and never had this feeling. So why now? Why this week?

Today it came barreling at me out of nowhere. In fact, I was not even thinking about it at the time. I was driving with the windows cracked, listening to a Beverley Cleary audio book with my kids, thinking about my grocery list. And then I smelled it again, only this time it was so much stronger. The sweet and fresh smell of honeysuckle permeated my nostrils. I blinked…almost squinting, struggling for the memory to make itself known. I thought about how much I love the smell of fresh honeysuckle…And then I was back. I was seven years old, in the backyard of our little green house, pumping on an old rusty swing with my best friend Clay. A long and flowing honeysuckle chain around my neck. I remembered the Jordache jeans I was wearing. The rainbow shirt with the white collar. The snaggly tooth that hung conspicuously over my lip. And the pure joy that I felt as I kicked higher and higher on that swing, trying to see over Clay’s fence. All the while, my necklace flapping back and forth in my face. My body creating a breeze that carried the fragrance permanently into my soul’s memory!

Why this memory? Why this day? I have smelled honeysuckle a million times since then and never recalled this. Sense of smell…what a strange and wonderful gift!

I don’t know where that flower is hiding within the back roads of Conroe. But you can be sure I will be driving down that road with my windows open, head hanging out like my brother’s yellow lab, lapping up all the honeysuckle I can file away in my olfactory system . You never know when another memory might want to hang on for a future ride.

Do you have a Honeysuckle story/memory?

A Social Commentary! (from Conroe, TX)

April 20, 2008

I was walking out of First Baptist after dropping my kids off at school this morning. I saw these two sweet little old ladies laboriously getting out of their car and approaching the door with their hands full. Of course, being the good citizen of Conroe that I am, I hurried to the door to open it for them. One was in a wheel chair, her lap full of trays and paper goods. The other was bent over in what appeared to be a painful hunchbacked position. She too had her hands full, with a box of shiny golden table decorations and after dinner mints. They were so cute together, going in to set up for the Ladies Luncheon that happens weekly at the Baptist church! I gave them a sweet smile and said, “Good morning, Ladies!” They reciprocated and then pointed out in a bellowing voice, “Good timing! I guess it was our lucky day. I don’t know whether we’s a made it in if you’da not shown up.” I laughed in my sweet, “being nice to old ladies laugh” and said that I too was glad I was there to help. And I truly was. It made me smile. I thought to myself, “I sure hope some 34 year old whipper snapper takes the time to hold a door open for me someday, if I am in a wheel chair.” I made sure they were in. I fixed the ficus tree and the entrance rug they had tangled with. And I closed the door behind them, waving a friendly good-bye. I turned to go to my car and there under the awning, attached to the fellowship hall where the luncheon was being held, was the little old ladies’ blue Oldsmobile……

Covered in Confederate Flag stickers!

Power in the Blood???

April 16, 2008

I wrote this a few weeks ago…I have hesitated in posting it for some reason. Only tonight, has it found it’s rightful place deep-deep inside of me, when I am feeling utterly powerless. My husband is lands away and my heart is stricken with worry and fear tonight, for the first time since he has been gone. It is in this state of weakness that I am finally able to find an honest place for words such as these.

Power in the Blood. I listen to those words boldly spoken. Poured from the deepest groans of the human spirit. Sung by congregations. Chanted by youth groups at rallies. Even on bumper stickers- these powerful words resound.

Is it a battle cry? Is it a claim to put my stake in? Or is it a promise from the most magnificent of moments in all of the earth’s history? And where, oh where are these words within my spirit? Why can’t I cry these words out to You, Oh God? Why can’t I cry them out for all the world to hear? Why is my soul anguished and hesitant to speak of the Lord who is my Great Redeemer?

Am I ashamed of You? Am I angry with You? Am I indifferent to You? Am I so self consumed, that all things earthly have cluttered up my spirit, blurring my view of You? Am I just blind and deaf and dumb? I want to yell a resounding “No!” to all of these. Alas, I cannot.

I walk beneath the stars, breeze brushing against my face, and I know You are there. I lay on the soft wet ground, toes pressing down into the soggy grass, and I know You are there. I laugh and giggle with my precious children, and I KNOW, I KNOW, I KNOW, You are there!!! So why do I wonder aloud, “Are You there”??? What is it in me that is keeping me from fully embracing You, Oh God? From embracing Your love, Your grace, and Your acceptance of me?

Power.

It is simply a power struggle! Power in my blood. The ever elusive power that I assume I have over myself and my domain. How can there ever TRULY be Power in the Blood, if forever I am powerfully flexing my muscle at You, waving it around in Your face?

“There is Power, Power, wonder working Power in the precious Blood of the Lamb!”

I hear this! I speak this! I believe this!

Sing to Jesus by Frenando Ortega

(I could have posted “Power in the Blood”, but this just seems more fitting, as it talks of “My Great Redeemer”! You don’t have to take the time to listen to the whole thing, but I would love it if you could at least listen to the versus…as they were part of the ‘digging process’ of this post!)