The Fabric of My Life

Have you ever stopped to think about how our lives are made up of intricately woven events?  That, if just one of those events were missing, the whole tapestry would have been altered?  It's almost overwhelming when you stop to think about every chance encounter that led to you being you.

I've taken up the hobby of researching my family's history.  Thanks to ancestry.com, I've been able to trace my roots back several centuries.  I've met a lot of memorable characters along the way.  I've learned of the struggles of my people.  I've come to a new appreciation for the life I have today.

You don't have to go back very far to find suffering in most families.  Times were hard.  It wasn't uncommon for children to die young.  I'm fascinated by these people from which I come.  I'm inspired by their strong spirits to overcome adversity.

One such man in my family tree is my great-great-grandfather, Lewis Cass Horn.  He was born in 1839 in Pennsylvania.  Some thirty years later, he walked  to southern Missouri.  Some time after arriving in Missouri, he met his wife, who had grown up just twenty miles from him in Pennsylvania.  God most certainly had a hand in this.  He homesteaded eighty acres and ran four farms.  He drove hogs on foot to a town over twenty miles away, in order to ship them to Kansas City to market for three cents per pound.  He grew wheat and corn, raised cattle and hogs, grew apples and peaches.  He and his wife would dry some of their fruit and can other.  They even canned apples in gallon buckets!  They would take their apples to town by wagon and team to sell them.  He plowed his fields with a yoke of steer, which he later also shipped to Kansas City for market.  He was a Mason, as well as a teacher at times.  His wife raised sheep, sheared them, washed wool, spun wool, and wove her own cloth in order to make her sons' clothing.  She also wove carpets.  She made her own soap from hickory wood ashes, meat scraps, scraps from butchering, and lye.  She had to walk to a nearby spring to wash her laundry with washboards.  At times, she would wash her laundry in an iron pot in the yard over a fire.  She made cider from apples and sorghum molasses by the barrel from cane that she grew. 

I find it exhausting just typing everything that these two did.  Life was hard.  Nothing came easy.  If either of these individuals had become so overwhelmed as to leave the other, I would not be here today.  Instead, they persevered.  Their faith was strong.  Their boys survived.  The boys went on to marry and face struggles of their own.  Still, those folks pressed on.  This is just one small slice of my family tree.  There are many more stories similar to theirs.  Because of them, I am here. 

All of this just makes me reflective about every choice I make in my life.  If I had not gone cruising with girlfriends in 1991, the course of my life would have been much different.  If we hadn't stopped these strange boys and invited them to cruise with us, my kids wouldn't be here.  The weight of future generations lies on our shoulders and our decisions.  And the direction of our ancestors make up the tapestry that is our life.  I am thankful for all of those who have gone ahead of me.  I am thankful for every decision made...bad or good.  All of them have led to the road I am on. 

The trick is....

Do you remember the trick baby doll bottles?  They look like they're full of milk until you turn them upside down.  The bottle appears to drain empty, but it fills right back up when you turn it upright again.  I've decided that someone has installed trick laundry hampers around here. 

I'm going to be honest.  I don't stay on top of my laundry every single day usually.  However, this week, I decided to start each day by doing the laundry from the day before...thus keeping our laundry completely caught up.  Normally, I would wait until someone runs out of something.  Inevitably, it's towels.  We own a LOT of towels, but they dwindle down to nothing in record time around here.  So they are usually the trigger for a load of laundry.  Socks and underwear are also usual suspects. 

Each kid has a hamper in their room, along with hampers in both bathrooms and the utility room.  It's pretty common for three of the five baskets to be full before I tear into the chore.  You see, I hate to fold and put away laundry.  More than that, I hate to iron.  So I have to be in the right frame of mind to do my laundry efficiently.  I am definitely one of those people who occasionally leaves a load in the dryer and in the washer.  I know the smell of clothes that have stayed in the washer overnight.  It's not pleasant.  I'm guilty of restarting the dryer a half dozen times, over a few days, to de-wrinkle the same clothes inside.

In light of my usual lackadaisical attitude towards laundry, I was feeling proud of my intentions to stay on top of this chore.  Today is day four, and I'm feeling discouraged.  I swear that my laundry hampers have that same trick effect installed as those baby bottles.  I empty them into the washer, set them back up, and they instantly refill.  I do not know how four people go through so many clothes!  I should really say three people.  I'm lucky to get Brady to change clothes from day to day.  I am not even kidding when I say that Robbie might wear four different outfits every single day.  Reuben is usually good for at least two.  I'm guilty of a couple, myself.  It's absolutely ridiculous. 

I have such respect for the ladies of yonder years that had to do their laundry by hand.  You can bet those people weren't wearing two, three, or four different outfits per day!  If I had to do our laundry by hand, you had better wear every outfit at least three times before giving it to me to wash! 

I understand why my grandma wore the same dresses over and over again.  I spent a lot of my childhood in her home.  Her life was very routine.  Thinking back on it, I don't remember her doing laundry very often.  She understood the value of wearing something until it truly needed cleaned.  Some of my fondest memories of her home are centered around her yearly cleaning of her rag rugs.  She had hand-made rag rugs scattered around her house.  Once a year, she would take them down to the basement and wash them with her old wringer washer.  I LOVED that washer.  It was PINK!  It was the only time she would use it.  She had a standard washer and dryer for regular laundry, but she kept her wringer washer in order to wash those rugs.  We'd drag out the old metal wash tubs to wash them by hand, then the wringer would be used to squeeze out the excess water.  I can still remember watching her feed those rugs through the wringer, only to catch them on the other side.  We'd take them out to the clothesline, which seemed a mile long, to hang them to dry.  I so wish that I had that washer today.  When she had to sell her home, one of the other family members got it.  What a treasure it is!

Over the few minutes it has taken to write this, I've realized that I shouldn't be complaining about doing my laundry in my modern convenience washer and dryer.  I should be thankful that I have such luxuries.  I guess I shall go for now and see to those clothes in the washer!

Calling? Oh, Calling?......Please call, again!

Do you believe that everyone has a calling in life?  I've always thought it to be true.  However, I'm 38 years old and don't feel like I've found mine.  Shouldn't I know what my calling is by now??  I'm wondering if I've missed it.   Did my calling call, and I ignored the call?

I know that, as a Christian, I have a divine calling to spread the Gospel.  Every Christian should feel the call to spread the word of Jesus Christ.  We are to be fishers of men, after all.  I do feel that call.  I fail miserably at it most of the time, but God continues to place that urging within me.  This, however, is not the type of calling of which I speak.  I know it is the calling for some.  Some are called into a life of ministry, and that is the type of calling I mean.  Those people are relatively few, though.  I know that I am not meant to preach God's word as a pastor.  I am not meant to travel the world, singing of God's love to crowds of people.  I do enjoy singing on occasion at church, but I don't feel a calling to go beyond that in the world of public ministry for a means of livelihood.

The calling I am talking about is much less important work but fulfilling, nonetheless.  Maybe a better word for it would be passion.  I desire to be passionate about doing something.  I chose, many years ago, to be a stay-at-home mom.  I felt that it was my calling.  I wouldn't trade that for anything.  I was blessed to be able to be the one who provided the day-to-day care for my babies.  Now, my youngest "baby" is eleven, and my contentment with just being a mommy has waned.  I know there is something more I should be doing.  I'm not looking to make any great contributions to the world.  I'm just looking for that something that makes me eager to wake up in the morning and get my day started. 

Have you found your calling?  What does it feel like to know that you are fulfilling your calling?  I hope that my calling is still out there somewhere and chooses to call me one day.    

Tattoo or not to tattoo??

I realized, as I read back over some older posts, that I haven't addressed my tattoos here yet.  My last post about a tattoo was about the idea of a tattoo.  I had decided what I would want as a tattoo.  At the time, I wanted "...for when I am weak, then am I strong."  I still love this verse and plan to have it inked someday.  In the meantime, I have ventured into the world of tattoos twice. 

My first tattoo was something that came to me rather suddenly, but I was certain that I wanted it.  It's the simple word "Forgiven" with reference to the Bible verse "1 John 1:9" below it.  It's on the inside of my left wrist.  You see, there are multiple messages in this tattoo for me. 

First and foremost, it's a reminder of my need to stay right with God.  "If we confess our sins, He is faithful and just to forgive us our sins and to cleanse us from all unrighteousness."  I realize that most people wouldn't think a permanent reminder inked on their skin is necessary.  I respect that opinion.  However, for me, it is exactly what I wanted and needed. 

That little word, "forgiven," is also a reminder for me to be more forgiving of others.  I fail miserably at this one a lot of the time.  I'm all too often quick to judge and slow to forgive.  This is something that I know I need to work on.  There have been times when I've been tempted to wallow in hurt or anger towards someone, and I've looked at my wrist as a reminder to leave the past in the past.

Lastly, it's a not-so-subtle reminder to forgive myself.  I am my own worst enemy.  I know every sinful thought and deed that I do.  I know my failures inside and out.  I am very hard on myself, and I feel the weight of my failures and disappointments continually.  I need reminding that I am forgiven.  I am a child of God.  If He can forgive me, I should forgive myself and try to be better.  This all comes back to asking for God's forgiveness in hopes of being able to move past my own criticism. 

So, while this is a small and simple tattoo, its meaning is great in my life.  Others' opinion of it are inconsequential to me.  I love it.

My second tattoo is on the inside of my right wrist.  It is the infinity symbol with the letters "R" & "A" entwined in it with a small red heart between them. 

Reuben and I have been a couple since 1991.  We were just kids when we started dating.  Some three years later, we married and began this journey into adulthood together.  Over the years, we both failed each other in various ways.  Our relationship became something that we just did.  We didn't appreciate each other in the way that we should.  Shortly after my first tattoo, we managed to reignite that spark that we had barely nursed along all these years.  We both realized that we needed the other one.  We recommitted ourselves to this life together.  Reuben finally started wearing a wedding ring (see an earlier post about marriage and rings,) and I wanted a symbol of my dedication to our love.  I was no longer going to just coast along in this life together.  I was "all in," to use a poker term.  This tattoo is my reminder that it's normal for married couples to find themselves in a rut, but we have to be sure to stop and fully appreciate our spouse for all they are to us.  This is a lifetime commitment and one that I won't take lightly.

I know some people believe that God disapproves of tattoos.  I've only found one passage in the Bible about tattoos.  It references tattoos as part of a funeral ritual.  I don't know for certain how God feels about my tattoos, but I do know that what they symbolize in my life are things of which He approves.  I wear them proudly and will most likely add to them over the years to come. 

 

I'm pretty witty, if I do say so myself!

So, I haven't been on my blog in FOREVER.  I decided to click on it today and see if I could find some inspiration to write.  I got caught up in reading my old posts and realized something...I can be pretty entertaining!  The sad thing is that I can read these with completely fresh eyes, because my memory is terrible.  I've forgotten what I've written in the past!  Anywho...I'm still waiting for that inspiration to hit.  In the meantime, scroll through some of the old posts.  They're not too bad, if I do say so myself.  :)