Raising Magnolias

I don’t read blogs.

Friends are always sending me blogs and I think, what a great blog, what a thoughtful friend.

And then I don’t read it.

The only blog I’ve ever read faithfully was Ann Voskamp’s A Holy Experience and I even had to take a break from her because sometimes I would forget that I wasn’t Ann.

The words and thoughts and beliefs. They can blur and I forget.

And I think I’m the genius because I started naming graces and counting graces and saying graces and then I remember.

Oh yea. That was Ann.

My ex-wife-in-law (and I have two, and out of courtesy and respecting their privacy, I won’t say which one). Anyway. She sent me a blog once about how to be a step-mother.

And I did read it. I remember something about boundaries but here’s what I think.

If you let someone else set your boundaries, they become limitations.

Set them yourself and they become principles.

And I probably read that.

On somebody else’s blog.

And if I could’ve crumpled up the step-mother blog and thrown into our fireplace, I would have.

Except you can’t crumple words on a computer and our fireplace, while lovely, doesn’t.

Actually.

Work.

Anyway, I was introduced to a new blog by author Peggy Nolan. I’m tiptoeing my way in. Currently, I’m only reading blogs about books that she recommends and once such book, “Everyday Sacred” by Sue Bender says this:

“I had to trust there was a reason I had to write and I didn’t have to have it all figured out to begin. I would find what I was looking for along the way.”

I love this.

SHe doesn’t say, there was a reason I wanted to right, needed to write, felt led to write. She says. There was a reason I had to write.

And it may not hit me for weeks on end and then I have.

To.

Write.

And when I start? I trust that I will figure out along the way.

When I make someone mad, it’s usually because they don’t read the whole thing. They get stuck with me at the beginning when I’m still trying to find my way.

Read blogs. Don’t read blogs.

Whatever.

But if you read, read to the end.

And then decide if I’ve made you mad. 🙂

Last night I couldn’t sleep. And when I can’t sleep, I blog in my head. I will literally write in my head for hours. Sometimes when I try to turn it off, I’ll think of A-Z scriptures.

Arise and shine, let the glory of the Lord…
Blessed are the peacemakers for they shall inherit the earth
Cast your cares upon the Lord for he cares for you.
Delight yourself in the Lord and he will give you the desires of your heart.
Every good and perfect gift comes from the Lord.

I know why I can’t sleep.

My husband’s ex-wife likes to to call him. And again, there are two, so I love being able write this without any fear of hurting someone.

She likes to call him. This. I don’t get.

I never call my ex-husband. I talk to him. We sit together at ballgames. We save seats, even.

But I don’t call him. I don’t need to hear his voice and talk things through.

This.

Is why Jesus gave us texting. 🙂

So I lay in bed last night trying to figure out why I care.

I blogged in my head.

And I still cared.

I did my A-Z thing.

And I still cared.

And then I thought, what the Hell?

I seriously. Do. not. care.

Yes I do.

We re-positioned and my husband held on a little bit tighter. I slept with my children for most of the past 10 years so without being unkind or over-sharing, I will just tell you, we sleep close.

What’s that song? This is what it means, to be held—

Ok, so for some reason, she needs to call him. She needs to hear his voice, talk it through, plan it out, I don’t know. He is a very good listener and has an overly compassionate heart, so whatever.

I get it.

She needs to hear his voice. And I do care.

But thanks to the fact that she ended their marriage, I get to fall asleep in his strong arms.

And if I quit blogging in my head, and quiet my racing mind, you know what I get to hear?

What I need to hear?

His heartbeat.

And that crazy naming graces that Ann taught me to do, I name them now.

How did it all turn around—

That his heart would beat for me.

From the book of Mark, the father cries out, “I believe, Lord! Help my unbelief!”

“I don’t care Lord! Help me not to care.”

Forgetting

Tonight I was driving away from Clemmons park. Clemmons park is at the end of Teakwood road. Annabelle’s house sits on Teakwood road.

If you’re newer to my blog, Annabelle’s house was my house.

Our house.

Until it became his house.

And I’m there almost daily. Dropping books, picking up baseball cleats, la la la.

But today it was hard. That was my house.

Last week, a blogger for Huffington Post, Peggy Nolan wrote this:

“Forget where you thought you were going.”

Somedays it’s harder to forget.

Where you thought you were going.

Today was my mom’s birthday. I want to be in Arkansas celebrating with her.

My children are at their Dad’s.

On Teakwood.

My husband is with his youngest son, the one I can’t name as my own.

And I’m just sitting here.

Trying to forget.

Where I thought I was going.

Tomorrow will be better.

Tomorrow I will remember to “forget where I thought I was going.”

Tonight, though I’ll sleep tonight in the arms of a man who loves me. He doesn’t know it, but with each kind word he gives to my children and with each sacrificial gesture and with each act of love, yes, he doesn’t know it, but everyday that he loves me, he helps me forget just a little bit more.