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Dazzled

Night was just falling as I drove to G.T.'s hockey game.  The guys had gone on ahead, so I was alone in the car.  Suddenly, a brilliant shooting star blazed through the sky, its flaming tail streaking after it in an awesome display.  I gasped involuntarily at the sight, and said "Look at THAT!" even though no one was with me.  And in almost the same moment as it appeared, it was gone, swallowed by the inky darkness as if it had never burned through the atmosphere.  I came to a stoplight and continued to stare at the sky, blinking in disbelief.  Did I really see it, or was it just my imagination?

The suddenness of the star's glorious death left me feeling oddly unsettled.  In that split-second encounter I was amazed, dazzled and awestruck by the vastness of the universe, and humbled by my own insignificance in light of it.  Fragments of scripture rushed at me, like loose musical notes of a song you can't quite remember.

"The heavens declare the glory of God..."

"He placed the stars in the heavens..."

"He knows them by name..."

"We are like the grass, which today is and tomorrow is gone..."

The light turned green and I continued on my way, pondering both the brevity of life and the hockey game that would be played that night.  It seemed like God had sliced through my busyness to remind me that He, the Eternal One, beckons me to look up and see His handiwork.  He calls me to seek Him.  He pulls me toward Himself.  He waits.  And most of the time I'm oblivious to His voice.

The last scripture fragment floated, then settled on my heart.  "He has set eternity in the hearts of men..."  When I got home that night I eagerly opened Ecclesiastes to read the rest of the passage. What a feast for my spirit.

"He has made everything beautiful in its time.  He has also set eternity in the hearts of men; yet they cannot fathom what God has done from beginning to end.  I know that there is nothing better for men than to be happy and do good while they live.  That everyone may eat and drink, and find satisfaction in all his toil - this is the gift of God."

Our brief lives are filled with things like hockey games, committees, work, and activities.  In light of eternity I suppose most of them are pretty silly.  But they are also gifts to be enjoyed and appreciated. 

There is beauty in seeing your children play and learn. 

There is satisfaction in a job well done. 

There is joy in being with others. 

And in the midst of it there is God, working His eternal plans in our lives. 

Sometimes it just takes a falling star to remember it.

Where did the week go?

It's been such a busy couple of weeks at our house.  G.T. had spring break last week, and the college kids have theirs this week.  It is fun to have a house full of activity, a sink full of dishes and back room full of plates, cups and wrappers.  Just like old times.  No wonder I'm tired!  These people keep such late hours...STARTING movies when old Dad and Mom are heading off to bed.

I'm so disappointed that I haven't had any time to sit and blog or read other blogs!  I have several things on my mind to share but I just can't bring myself to rip a post off without spending an inordinate amount of time pondering my words.  Oh, it's hard being a perfectionist*.  You understand, don't you?

I must run out the door and do a little something called "work**," but I am hoping to get back to my little laptop soon to try and catch up on my swirling random thoughts.

Blessings,

Rachel Anne

* "selective perfectionist"

** "work" in this instance meaning getting paid for a set of responsibilities.  In no way does this imply that sets of responsibilities that do not receive monetary compensation are in any way, shape or form less important or less worthy of the term "work."  Hey, we're women.  We work, man!

The Truth Hurts

Teenagers will tell it to you straight up. 

And it hurts. 

The other day while I was driving my 13 year old son somewhere, I reached over to put my Pepsi in the cup holder.  G.T. looked at my hand and recoiled.

"EEEWW! Old Lady hands!" he exclaimed as he made an X with his fingers and shrunk close to the door.

I examined my hands.  Yep, they are looking a little aged.  (My skin was dry that day....ahem.)

"Yeah," I admitted.  "That's because they've gotten a lot of sun damage." 

But he wasn't done.  He continued, "You know, it's SAD when a kid sees his parents getting old right before his very eyes!  I mean, Dad is past what you would consider balding. Face it,"  He paused and then delivered his blow.

"HE'S BALD!"

Ouch.

Me, minus ten

Dawn, over at fymoments, just celebrated her 33rd birthday this week.  Reading her post brought me back to my own 33rd birthday, and made me relive some of those same feelings she expressed so eloquently.  It is hard to believe that 10 years have gone by since then, and yet so many changes have taken place I had to pause for a moment to grasp it all.

At 33, my youngest child was three.  At that point he was still permanently attached to my leg.  He was a very needy baby and sometimes drained the life right out of me.  I was certain he would be a wimpy mama's boy with that kind of start.  One day, he heard the girls walk in the door from school and he ran to me and threw his arms around me.  He scowled at his sisters and yelled, "NO!  MY Mommy!"  He wasn't about to share me.  How times have changed! He's turned out to be an independent, manly man of a teenager and is no longer adhered to my side, which is a good thing when you have to go to school everyday.

Back then, I was pretty sure I would never be able to compete for a decent job in the marketplace, should I ever need to return to it.  I felt that my youth was fading fast, and with it any chance for success.  Well, that was silly, I can see that now. The fading youth part didn't really start to happen for another decade (like right about NOW), but to be honest, I was scared about the fact that I never finished a degree and that I'd already spent several years at home.  My brain had disintegrated into mush with all the diapers and tea parties so it was not looking good. In the following ten years I DID have to start working again, but it has not been in the corporate world, and my lack of degree has never been a problem. I still want that piece of paper, but it will have to wait a bit longer.   The good news is, your brain cells regenerate after your kids are potty trained.

In 1997, I had just picked up a paint brush for the first time, just to have a little fun. I had no idea that my hobby would turn out to be my living! I just thought painted flower pots and birdhouses would make nice presents for my friends. That's the part that still surprises me. You just never know what twists life will take.

Dawn shared about birthday disappointments and I remembered my own. That very year was an UNhappy Birthday for me. Tom and I were going through a tough time in our marriage and it is hard to feel celebratory when you don't want to be with the person you pledged to go through life with. I knew that neither of us would actually leave, but still. I remember the tears, the hurt and the anger from that day and even now I don't like to think about it. It was one of those times that you have to trust that you'll eventually come through and be better for it on the other side. Birthdays can bring out a lot of emotion, good and bad.  Thank God there is cake to help you through.

There have been other changes.  The girls have made it all the way through school and are now in college.  One is even married!  Ten years ago, it was hard to imagine my ten and eight year olds as young adults, but here they are.  I wish I could say that I did a fabulous job as a parent, but the reality is that I simply muddled through: being more REactive than PROactive, leaving too many things to chance, and doing a lot of praying. 

We moved from our little neighborhood to an old house on a little acreage.  We started our business for real.  We changed churches.  We endured financial hardship and physical strain.  We lost a baby.  These years between 33 and 43 have been hard but wonderful.  I've needed a lot of encouragement to keep going, to keep looking for the beauty in every day.  It's always been there, even in the difficult times, and I'm thankful for the people who helped me along the way.

The next ten years may bring changes that I dread:  Body-shaping undergarments to fight the downward sagging.  Hot flashes and glasses, more gray hair to cover, and more reasons to consider Botox.  But they may bring changes that will hold great joy:  grandchildren, freedom to travel, new opportunities and chances to help others.  I might even get that degree. I hope that remembering the past and God's surpassing faithfulness will help me embrace the future, whatever it may hold.  Perhaps 53 will be the new 40! 

Welcome to my Barn House

This photo of our house, done for a school project by Elle, made me realize that I have been remiss in telling you about where we live. 

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

Just a few miles from the Dallas suburbia, down a winding road and past a big pond, take a left at the first dirt drive and come on up the dusty road to my Barn House.  Set back from the road and surrounded by ancient cedars and burr oak trees, this home is our funky oasis in a busy world.

I say "funky," because it defies all sense of modern style and panache.  Built in the 1970's, its orange and brown sculptured shag carpet was the first thing to go when we moved in.  We slathered new paint on the high-gloss white walls, disguising the oddly textured walls with color.  The loud blue and gray linoleum kitchen floor got a coat of paint and sealer in a frenzied afternoon of a "Stop the 70's Madness" rampage.  We changed out some bathroom fixtures and Tom tamed the jungle that was the yard.

And that's about where our time and money ran out.  So we shrug and laugh at our postage-stamp sized kitchen, with its tiny passageway in and out.  The dark paneling in certain areas of the house is ALMOST back in style and we accept this blast from the past as "retro."  We have outdated plumbing, odd bathrooms and peculiar features, but somehow the idiosyncracies of this barn have endeared it to us.

Someday, our kitchen will receive the overhaul it is crying out for.  But until then, it plays host to parties of high school and college students, holiday dinners for 25, and everyday suppers for our family.  What it lacks in size is more than made up for in counter space (faux-wood, of course) and ample cupboards.

The "Back Room," as we call it, is a large, spacious room that is home to comfy couches, the piano and keyboard, the family computer and the TV.  It is sort of an all-purpose room where most of the activity takes place.  We love it.  A lot of living has happened in this room.

Overlooking the Back Room is a loft, accessible by spiral staircase.  The loft is my own space, a priceless jewel for which I waited almost 24 years to have.  I wish I could do more dreaming and writing in this tucked-away cubby, but alas, I have to spend most of my time working up here.

All the bedrooms and closets are upstairs under the eaves, which offer sloped ceilings to complicate furniture arrangements.  Still, there is something rather sweet about laying in bed and feeling cradled by the eaves and walls of this funny house.

The irony of working in incredibly magnificent homes each day and then coming home to a quirky, outdated Barn House has caused us to chuckle many times.  While we appreciate the beauty and craftsmanship that go into those multi-million dollar mansions, there is something to be said for the simple life.  The pond and the pasture, the creek bed and the woods, they make us forget about the laminate counter tops and linoleum floors.  True, the septic system only works MOST of the time, and the hot and cold faucets are backwards.  But the songbirds that wake us at ungodly hours remind us that we enjoy a unique slice of disappearing life in America.  We can sit in our breezeway, enjoy a glass of iced tea and look out onto a field of wildflowers and native grasses.  The spring leaves will soon obscure our nearest neighbor's floodlight, and a walk to the mailbox feels like you really went somewhere.

We had always dreamed of being far out in the country, living a rural life and doing things like baking our own bread from scratch.  Instead, we found this Barn House, just a few miles down the road from the city, yet a whole world away.  It has charmed us with its lack of pretense and understated style.  It will never be a trophy house, and will never grace the cover of a magazine.  No one will ever walk in and be impressed with its architectural design.

But here you will always be welcomed in, always be allowed to Be Yourself.  When you live in a Barn House you cannot possibly put on airs, and when you visit us you must leave yours behind as well. Somehow, something strange and wonderful happens when you come up the drive.  As you emerge from the tunnel of trees by the pond and see the yellow house standing there in all its humble glory, there is a sense of belonging that comes over you.  You know instinctively that there is no need to wear a facade, no need to pretend to be something you're not.  The house is what it is, and there's something mighty refreshing about that.  This place says something to your soul. That you will be accepted, just the way you are. 

I guess that's why we love our old Barn House.  And I hope you'll stop in often for a visit.  I welcome your company.

Rachel Anne 

Wouldn'tya know?

Come on in!  I've been looking forward to this party!

But wouldn'tya know that things go wrong, RIGHT WHEN YOU'RE EXPECTING VISITORS?  It never fails that in the last-minute scramble to spiff things up, the dog will vomit on the carpet or you realize that you have no toilet paper in the house.  Or you are missing the key ingredient to that special dish you wanted to impress your friends with.  Or you forget to put makeup on.  It's a terrible feeling when the doorbell rings and you are still rushing around to get things presentable.

Well, in honor of the 5 Minutes for Mom blog party, I thought I'd add a couple of new things to my website, www.artifexstudio.net , just to spruce up the place. With all the new friends stopping by, I wanted to put my best foot forward. Suddenly, with a click of a button, my "Enter Site" button disappeared, and now you can't access any of the online galleries!  Here I am, donating a personalized wall plaque for the drawings and thought people might want to check out what kind of art we do...BUT NO!  NO ONE GETS TO SEE ANYTHING!

Trust me, I can make you a charming wall plaque!  But you'll have to take my word for it, because now you can't actually see for yourself.

So much for the do-it-yourself website design.  I will try and spend some time resurrecting my "Enter Site" button.  It's in there somewhere, and I'll find it if its the last thing I do!

In the meantime, make yourself at home here and feel free to put your feet up.  I hope you'll leave a comment with a link to your blog or website so we can get to know each other!

So again, WELCOME and pardon me while I catch my breath.  And while I move the newspaper so you have a place to sit down....

Rachel Anne

***UPDATE:  Problem solved!*** (I pat my hair into place and smooth my shirt.  Ahem. Is my lipstick on?)