I want to be a minimalist

I love the whole minimalist movement that’s going on right now.

I so want to be organized and purge all of my unnecessary belongings, to have “a place for everything and everything in its place.”

Here’s the problem, or rather problems:

I’m not a particularly neat person. My husband and kids are downright messy. They’re also hoarders. And while I love having things neat, I can’t seem to actually make that happen.

I know that sounds like an excuse, or laziness, but I’ve come to the conclusion that I genuinely lack the capacity to create order out of chaos. I look at a closet full of towels, sheets, blankets,board games, photo albums, and who knows what else and I am overwhelmed. I may start with a plan (that I got off of Pinterest!) but somewhere along the way it all becomes too much and I find things that don’t fit into the categories I’ve made, or don’t look right in the bins I’ve bought and now I’ve got to clean it all up because I’ve dragged evERYTHING OUT OF THE CLOSET AND IT’S JUST SITTING HERE IN THE LIVING ROOM IN PILES SO I STUFF IT INTO THE BINS AND CRAM IT IN THE CLOSET AND NOTHING IS BETTER!!!!!

And that is the story of how I reorganized my linen closet this week.

But seriously, I need things to be neat and orderly. My brain needs it. I look over the clutter that is my home and my eyelid starts twitching and I can’t focus on the things I so desperately need to get done! When I browse pictures of beautifully decorated homes and fantasize, I’m not looking at castles and mansions, I’m looking at small, neat, clean spaces with lovely accents to make it homey.

I wish I could get home.

I hate it

I hate today.

I haven’t slept.

I’ve gotten nothing done.

I’ve forgotten a bag at Hobby Lobby, dropped a pizza, given up on reading for school because I couldn’t concentrate, stared blankly in the grocery store until a kid from my church caught my attention (awkward), felt headachy and sick and I think I fell asleep on my couch for a few minutes but I’m not sure.

I hate bipolar and everything that goes with it.

Shared birthdays past

Tomorrow I’ll be 38.

I spent today celebrating with my family. Every year we get together for all of the March birthdays: mine, my younger sister Heather’s and her husband’s.

Growing up, it was always mine, Heather’s and my grandpa’s.

53778_10200528847497735_160756898_oMy birthday is on March 22 and my grandpa’s is on March 23, so I always felt a little bit special, almost sharing a birthday with him. And he went out of his way to make me feel special; waking me up early in the morning to go walking with  him, cleaning my perpetually dirty glasses for me and listening to me play the piano before I really knew how. I remember him once telling me that our close birthdays was one of the reasons that we could always see “eye to eye and tooth to tooth.” From the time I was little up through college and graduate school he would always tell me how smart I was and how he knew I would do something great with my life… and because he knew it, I knew it.

1970779_10202677627415155_713990103_nMy grandpa died 10 years ago this May, and while I miss him always, for some reason I miss him more this year. I’m not sure why that is.

Maybe because now, finally at 38, I may be starting to know what great things I’m going to do with my life. I’m such a different person than I was 10 years ago and I wish this wonderful, encouraging man was here to talk to about all of the things I have going on.

I’ll have my days with him again, and I can be content with that, but right now I just miss my grandpa.

A Favorite Shared

It’s cold and rainy and it feels like a sitting by the fire and relaxing kind of day. Today I just want to share something by one of my favorite poets, the great Mary Oliver.

Enjoy your Sunday.

The Journey

One day you finally knew
what you had to do, and began,
though the voices around you
kept shouting
their bad advice–
though the whole house
began to tremble
and you felt the old tug
at your ankles.
“Mend my life!”
each voice cried.
But you didn’t stop.
You knew what you had to do,
though the wind pried
with its stiff fingers
at the very foundations,
though their melancholy
was terrible.
It was already late
enough, and a wild night,
and the road full of fallen
branches and stones.
But little by little,
as you left their voices behind,
the stars began to burn
through the sheets of clouds,
and there was a new voice
which you slowly
recognized as your own,
that kept you company
as you strode deeper and deeper
into the world,
determined to do
the only thing you could do–
determined to save
the only life you could save.

A poem? A prayer?

I’m under attack, my attitude suffers.

Everyone around me suffers.

You’ve called me to something new and great, and now satan chips at me.

And I’m letting him.

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I’m tired, I’m angry, I’m frustrated.

I eat; I withdraw.

I don’t do your work or your will.

Father, I’m weary.

I’m irritated by family and friends.

I disagree with decisions being made at my church; what do I do with this?

It’s making me bitter and I complain, I curse, I snap at those close.

My witness is one of falseness and not joy.

Help me, Father.

I have work to do.

I don’t want to be bitter, I want to be loving; I want to serve you.

Help me, Father.