Thursday, March 18, 2010

This is the First Day of Our Acquaintance...

I wrote this last December when I was comtemplating starting this blog.  It is out of sync, but I keep seeing it sitting there when I go to my list of posts.  I almost feel like I HAVE to post it.  Know what I mean?

December 1, 2009

Tonight I sit on my hearth warmed by the fire and a cup of hot green tea scented with jasmine flowers. My evening with my children was exactly what I needed. I watched them play nicely with one another and listened while they laughed. A mommy happy place. Homework was completed with no arguments. Sleepyheads went to bed with little fuss and fell fast asleep following the nightly routine that ends with "Rubby, patty, rubby, patty." Bliss.


Text rolls into my inbox, and the chime calls me to get out of my warm seat. I am wishing it is a spicy text from my husband or a quick reminder about upcoming lunch plans with a friend, but I am certain when I see the sender's name that the message delivered is much weightier. "Daddy has gone to heaven." My heart is now heavy for my dear friend. On Friday, he was doing well, looking spritely. This morning he fell backward in the kitchen and hit his head on the floor dislodging the bones carefully fused in his infancy. His brain flooded with blood, and now he sits with his Father. She is floundering in her unexpected, fresh grief. A Daddy's Girl left without her daddy. What can I say to her that will mean anything? I tell her I love her. There is really nothing else to say. She says thank you and that she loves me, too. I could tell her that he's in a better place or that it's all part of God's plan or that it's comforting to know that she will get to see him again, but I don't because I hate it when people utter such stupid things at life's crucial moments. Sometimes saying too little is far better than saying too much. At least that is my motto for tonight. You just don't know where each day will take you.  She will never be without her Father, and neither will I.


Before I get too far ahead of myself... a proper introduction is in order.


I am Reckless, a 39 year old SAHM living in a middle class neighborhood in a bedroom community deep in the heart of Texas. I spend my days taking care of my salesman husband, my 2 elementary school aged daughters and my preschool son. I cook, I clean, I do carpool, I volunteer for the PTA, I talk on the phone with my mom, my sister, and my friends, I go out for girls night and talk about my kids; basically, I'm boring as anything. Except that I'm not really. You have to believe me. Okay, I cannot require or coerce you to do anything, but just play along, k?

Life is for the most part crazy good; I am content. Like many of you, I consider myself blessedly normal with a side order of crazy. I have inherited crazy on both sides, so I come by it honestly. There is no sense trying to keep those skeletons in my closet. If I bring them out now, they will be less likely to scare you in the future. Dress 'em up in Sunday finest and parade them around. Maybe even take them to Walmart.

I am who I am. Like it or... Well, just like it. And aside from the spartan, generic demographics listed above, I am a follower of Jesus, but I am not very good at it. In fact, I stink. I fall down; I get up. Christ compels me to continue to come closer until I may be covered by His dust. Continually, I am humbled and amazed that He calls me salt of the earth, light of the world, His child, His friend. Apart from His grace, I am absolutely nothing.
Twice I have been in love. Does that make me a two-timer? Sorry, I just couldn't resist the pun... Once with the man I hoped to marry who couldn't love me and once with the man I did marry who thinks I am the hottest thing on wheels (or heels, perhaps).  Knowing about these two men is central to knowing me.  The first is a big part of my story and actually completely intertwined in my personal redemption story.  I can't extricate the first man from my life.  Although I have no contact with him, some days I wish I could.  Maybe I will explain him more, maybe not.  My husband is far from perfect, but I love him. And, surprisingly, he loves me. People always expect him to be married to Barbie. I am no Barbie. Petite pants are too long on me. Brunette. Hazel eyes. Not the Homecoming Queen. Not a cheerleader. Not even close. At least I have a small waist.  Wouldn't want to disappoint on all accounts. 
I'm not very organized; I detest this about myself, but I know it has to do with the creative process. You can't start to work on something only to have to clean it up minutes later. The process is thwarted. I have dust on my baseboards. I have been known to drink out of the orange juice container on occasion. I let my kids watch too much TV on some days and eat a piece of candy before breakfast because it is a Tuesday--let's celebrate. I would much rather eat Zingers than fruits or vegetables. I hate to exercise, but I want to stay in my size 2 jeans. Some days I see myself as absolutely, devastatingly gorgeous (and of course, those are the pictures I will share...) and other days I want to wear a paper bag over my head. I love eighties music. I love seventies music. I think Bruce Willis is still hot, much hotter than Brad ever thought about being. I hope my children grow up to be mediocre people like their parents, but I secretly know that my youngest has the personality to be some sort of celebrity. I will hide that secret from him because I don't want fame or fortune or any of the things that go with them for my children.  That's me, ugly parts and all. If there is something you want to know, just ask.

I call myself Reckless because I'm learning to love people recklessly.  Not reckless dangerous, but reckless as in without constraints or regardless of the cost.  Those constraints would come mainly from me.  Nobody likes to be hurt.  And that's where the abandon part comes in.  I'm working on abandoning the natural impulse to not let people into my life. Practicing the art of hospitality even when the house is not perfect or my kids are being rude can be difficult.  I'm working on it.  I should not have people in my life who I call friends that have not been to my house in five years.  When a friend said a few weeks ago that she had never been to my house, I got that stab.  I realized, I'm doing it again.  I'm closing all the doors, locking them, putting on the chain.  I just don't want to live like that; I have already lived that life.      

Hence, the blog...  I'll have no idea who will actually read it, but it will help me chronicle my successes and failures in loving God, loving my family, loving the people who I encounter.  And, I'll be turning 40 next year.  I'm not handling that prospect particularly well.  In the past, I have always loved birthdays and never minded adding another year to my age.  I have always believed that growing older is better than the alternative.  My personal motto has always been:  "Don't let the wrinkles spoil your twinkle." 

I am trying to figure out just when and where I came to be this person. At one time, I camped out under the stars at Joshua Tree, climbed the rocks and enjoyed the view from the precipice, went scuba diving, drove across the country, attended great rock concerts, hopped on the back of a motorcycle with no helmet, saw big musical productions regularly, used erudite multi-syllabic vocabulary with confidence, visited art museums, and wrote poem after poem after poem. Then, somewhere along the way, I stopped. I don't know why I turned into this ultra-cautious person who I think is a little afraid of life. Or maybe I do. It's part of the journey, I suppose. I mean if I have all the answers, that's no fun, right? Just agree with me here. Good.
In the past year and a half, I have become determined to live differently--to be authentic, transparent, and in general, share the wreck of Reckless. I have a past, I have a present, and I have future. Some of it is sordid and steamy (you knew there had to be some steam for me to be reckless, right?). Some of it is sad or despicable or mean or loving or pee-in-your-jumpsuit-hilarious. Hop in the back of my convertible, and let's take a ride. Get in. You're invited. Really, I'll move all the junk off the seat if you will sit down.

March 18, 2010

Sad.  Just sad.  Sometimes broken hurts more on one day than another.  I'm being bombarded with the idea that often I am not present in the moment.  Would being more "present" be a present for me?  Why am I afraid to unwrap this gift?  Afterall, I love gifts.  Who doesn't want a gift... unless it's from my father-in-law, and then trust me, you don't want it. 

3 comments:

  1. Well blow me down, sista NOG!!! I'm actually giddy and my heart is pumping a bit faster on this Monday-After-Spring-Break at 6:13AM knowing that you have a blog. My, my. I know I'm gonna love reading YOU! Maybe we can even have a few Thelma & Louise moments. OK, let's just stick with Lucy & Ethel. I'm Lucy. She's got a cuter nose than Ethel.

    ReplyDelete
  2. Hey, I know you are skinny and all, but really.....your profile pic (at least on my computer) can be a bit bigger than 8mm wide. All I'm getting is your middle from the top of your forehead to your chin. No sides. LOL!!

    ReplyDelete
  3. I loved reading this, and I love YOU!

    ReplyDelete