Spotting a lizard on the retaining wall = fun
Spotting 5 lizards at once, all of them staring at you = creepy
Showing posts with label The move. Show all posts
Showing posts with label The move. Show all posts
Friday, March 26, 2010
Saturday, March 13, 2010
Hanging in the balance
We're pushing into my least favorite territory in the entire moving process: picture hanging. I hate picture hanging. I don't know where to put things, so they all end up in the center of a wall, or, if there are more than one thing, splitting the wall evenly. Herein lies the problem: I'm a perfectionist. I have to measure five times to make a mark on the wall. Then once I've made that mark, I have to check it three more times because I don't trust my own mark. Was I not there one minute ago measuring and making that very mark? Then I put it up and obsess about the fact that it's not exactly perfect. Nothing is ever exactly perfect. It's too high. It's too low. Did I really mark it there? Really?
In our last house, having let months lapse with pictures lined up along our hall waiting to be hung, the morning of my grad school graduation party arrived. I couldn't bear to leave them on the floor, so empowered by my new and totally non-related degree (plus a sense of urgency and some Hawaii-bound carelessness), I took and hammer and pounded in a dozen nails in random places, hung everything, and called it a day. I can remember my dad--from whom I inherited most of my perfectionist tendencies--standing at the end of the hall with his mouth agape. But the pictures were hung! Immediately! And they weren't all in the center of the wall, or splitting it, or anything. In fact, there was nothing organized about them at all. And yes, that did bother me for the rest of our time there. So while I got the job done without belaboring the details, it bothered me all the same.
In my bible study, we've been talking a lot about generational sin. These are things that get past down from generation to generation--ancient ruins, as in Isaiah 61:4, and sour grapes, as in Ezekial 18:2. Think big things, like depression and addiction, and small things, like perfectionism and people-pleasing. I'm sure one or two must come to mind. They're things I take as given--I got my obsessive attention to detail from my dad, for instance, and my people-pleasing from my mom. Good traits, except they become who I am, preventing God from honestly showing me. They are really traits that I have taken from them, things that I am now carrying on my own, and they weigh me down. God cannot do with me what He wants--at least not as effectively--when I'm carrying burdens that weren't really mine to begin with. And to be fair, they probably weren't my parents' either. The kicker? if I continue to carry them, M and K will pick them up too. That's how generation sin works (Exodus 20:5).
It seems like it would be such a relief to just lay them down, except that, as mentioned earlier this week, it's a lot less about letting go and much more about prying them from my grabby little fingers. The haphazard picture hanging didn't solve anything, because I really didn't let go of that obsessive quest for perfection. This is, again, a job for someone bigger than me, and one that I know that I have to take on, as much as possible, one finger at a time, or risk passing these burdens along yet again. It boosts my spirits that the Bible promises that we can stop this cycle: "But suppose this son has a son who sees all the sins his father commits, and though he sees them, he does not do such things... He will not die for his father's sin; he will surely live" (Ezek. 18:14, 17). If I can see these sins, if I can manage to "get a new heart and a new spirit" (Ezek. 18:31), I can pass along this heart to the next generation--to a thousand generations (Exodus 20:6). It's worth prying, hard as it might be.
Or in today's case, hammering without obsession but not without care, accepting and letting go, and perhaps using that need to hold on to grab the hand of God, who can hopefully lead me someone just a little more important. We'll see how that gets things hung.
In our last house, having let months lapse with pictures lined up along our hall waiting to be hung, the morning of my grad school graduation party arrived. I couldn't bear to leave them on the floor, so empowered by my new and totally non-related degree (plus a sense of urgency and some Hawaii-bound carelessness), I took and hammer and pounded in a dozen nails in random places, hung everything, and called it a day. I can remember my dad--from whom I inherited most of my perfectionist tendencies--standing at the end of the hall with his mouth agape. But the pictures were hung! Immediately! And they weren't all in the center of the wall, or splitting it, or anything. In fact, there was nothing organized about them at all. And yes, that did bother me for the rest of our time there. So while I got the job done without belaboring the details, it bothered me all the same.
In my bible study, we've been talking a lot about generational sin. These are things that get past down from generation to generation--ancient ruins, as in Isaiah 61:4, and sour grapes, as in Ezekial 18:2. Think big things, like depression and addiction, and small things, like perfectionism and people-pleasing. I'm sure one or two must come to mind. They're things I take as given--I got my obsessive attention to detail from my dad, for instance, and my people-pleasing from my mom. Good traits, except they become who I am, preventing God from honestly showing me. They are really traits that I have taken from them, things that I am now carrying on my own, and they weigh me down. God cannot do with me what He wants--at least not as effectively--when I'm carrying burdens that weren't really mine to begin with. And to be fair, they probably weren't my parents' either. The kicker? if I continue to carry them, M and K will pick them up too. That's how generation sin works (Exodus 20:5).
It seems like it would be such a relief to just lay them down, except that, as mentioned earlier this week, it's a lot less about letting go and much more about prying them from my grabby little fingers. The haphazard picture hanging didn't solve anything, because I really didn't let go of that obsessive quest for perfection. This is, again, a job for someone bigger than me, and one that I know that I have to take on, as much as possible, one finger at a time, or risk passing these burdens along yet again. It boosts my spirits that the Bible promises that we can stop this cycle: "But suppose this son has a son who sees all the sins his father commits, and though he sees them, he does not do such things... He will not die for his father's sin; he will surely live" (Ezek. 18:14, 17). If I can see these sins, if I can manage to "get a new heart and a new spirit" (Ezek. 18:31), I can pass along this heart to the next generation--to a thousand generations (Exodus 20:6). It's worth prying, hard as it might be.
Or in today's case, hammering without obsession but not without care, accepting and letting go, and perhaps using that need to hold on to grab the hand of God, who can hopefully lead me someone just a little more important. We'll see how that gets things hung.
Saturday, March 6, 2010
And we emerge!
It's sad when the most relaxing part of your week was getting your teeth cleaned.
I can't believe that it's been a week since the move began, but we are finally feeling settled in the new house. This means that both cars are parked in the garage, most of the boxes have been unpacked, and the clutter has settled down into a level that might just be confused for my household's general chaos. Sure, we have loads more sorting out to do, but I'm feeling ready to let B go back to work and our lives drift back to (new) normal.
I'm lying.
It hasn't been the quietest of weeks, move or not, what with ear infections in both kids, a giant castle cake for a friend, B's birthday coming up, and a men's party at church for which I provided desserts. I hate chaos. I hate not knowing where things are. I hate that the house still smells of the previous owner's dogs. I hate spending money on more things, even if they are necessary, and I hate that the cake didn't turn out perfect, as I always think it should. Above all, I'm so, so tired of keeping up a cheerful and encouraging front, feeling like I must carry the discombobulated weary on my back. If I lay down, would anyone carry me?
As with all things, it will get better. Over time. Over a long, long time. We praise God that he brought us here, because we love the house. And while we're loving it, we'll get it all sorted out, with a bit more prayer. We have a saying in our house: patience is a virtue; it's just not mine. But maybe now that God's got us in the right place, He's gonna work on that next.
I can't believe that it's been a week since the move began, but we are finally feeling settled in the new house. This means that both cars are parked in the garage, most of the boxes have been unpacked, and the clutter has settled down into a level that might just be confused for my household's general chaos. Sure, we have loads more sorting out to do, but I'm feeling ready to let B go back to work and our lives drift back to (new) normal.
I'm lying.
It hasn't been the quietest of weeks, move or not, what with ear infections in both kids, a giant castle cake for a friend, B's birthday coming up, and a men's party at church for which I provided desserts. I hate chaos. I hate not knowing where things are. I hate that the house still smells of the previous owner's dogs. I hate spending money on more things, even if they are necessary, and I hate that the cake didn't turn out perfect, as I always think it should. Above all, I'm so, so tired of keeping up a cheerful and encouraging front, feeling like I must carry the discombobulated weary on my back. If I lay down, would anyone carry me?
As with all things, it will get better. Over time. Over a long, long time. We praise God that he brought us here, because we love the house. And while we're loving it, we'll get it all sorted out, with a bit more prayer. We have a saying in our house: patience is a virtue; it's just not mine. But maybe now that God's got us in the right place, He's gonna work on that next.
Thursday, February 25, 2010
Hair today, gone tomorrow
When you* are in the middle of a crazy move, and tolerating unexpected additional amounts of stress and torment, you might think that this would be a great time to get a haircut, because it will immediately boost your spirits. DO NOT. Have chocolate or take a long walk. Do anything else, because if you go and get your haircut in the week of "If it can go wrong, it will", well, just take a guess at what will happen.
If you do, against all good sense, get yourself into the sort of crying/miserable shock, try not to focus on the fact that the hair you have been so patiently growing out is now up to your ears. And especially ignore that it's only some of that hair, leaving you with a mullet-y sort of poof. Instead focus on the positives, like hair will grow, and the key to your new house is sitting on the table, and you can finally pack up all those last bits because, come Monday, you'll be starting new. Starting new is good.
*I mean, "me," of course. Because who else would get into this situation? But it feels better to make it into some sort of helpful lesson for others. Makes it slightly less like a personal dump, anyway.
If you do, against all good sense, get yourself into the sort of crying/miserable shock, try not to focus on the fact that the hair you have been so patiently growing out is now up to your ears. And especially ignore that it's only some of that hair, leaving you with a mullet-y sort of poof. Instead focus on the positives, like hair will grow, and the key to your new house is sitting on the table, and you can finally pack up all those last bits because, come Monday, you'll be starting new. Starting new is good.
*I mean, "me," of course. Because who else would get into this situation? But it feels better to make it into some sort of helpful lesson for others. Makes it slightly less like a personal dump, anyway.
Wednesday, February 24, 2010
Because it's important to challenge yourself
Just in case this week wasn't crazy enough, let's add an ear infection! Oh, what the heck--let's add two! And while we're at it, throw some asthma on top of it! Let it keep us up all night long! Insert additional witty exclamation here! It masks the lack of sleep! And insanity!
Monday, February 22, 2010
Packing the unpackables
With less than a week until we move, we spent much of the weekend packing up all the nooks and crannies of our home. We're excited to go--ready, in fact--especially since we don't technically own our house anymore (which lends it's own secret pleasures: "What's that funny smell in here?" "I don't know, it's not our house." etc., etc.). In turn, the rooms have taken on an echo, as though they are longing for their shelves to be refilled. Don't worry, precious house--it's coming soon enough.
What seems strange to me are the things you leave behind in a house, the things you absolutely cannot take with you even though they belong to you just as much as any book or chair. Like the stain on the garage entrance to the house. To the new owners, it will look like some Jackson Pollack splatter, but I know it's from my thirtieth birthday dinner with my friends, buttery Moroccan juice from a leftover promptly consumed--that was one good meal, night, memory. There's a raised spot on the kitchen floor where the cooler leaked. We didn't notice because my sister and her kids were here, and we were frantically trying to get all the little ones clean before bed while I dealt with the plumber. Seems my sister took off the faucet in the tub with the water running full blast. During that episode, I also learned that you can in fact get hot water from a neighbor using a cooler, and that you shouldn't leave a leaky cooler on your brand new laminate floor. It's probably less noticeable now because there's a fine haze of scratches from those silly ride-on fire trucks that the kids cannot give up, even though M's knees are tucked to his chest when he rides them.
There are, of course, the intangibles. Any house is full of them, but especially one that has housed small children. I went into labor in the inexplicably large second bedroom, sequestered with a cough. It was K's first stop after eight long days in the NICU, and where we introduced her to M, who regarded her with warranted suspicion. It was in these rooms that both kids learned to walk--K got led around gently while M got pushed back and forth in the still empty but carpeted sun room--and later that we played endless rounds of chase over the circuitous floor plan. Birthdays, holidays, play dates, and countless firsts all owe their backdrop to this house. But these memories come with us, packed in our minds. It's the tangibles that I leave behind that make me ever-so-wistful, the marks we've left on this landscape that are the signs of good use and great love, marks that will be regarded as nothing more than curiosities by the new owners, if at all.
I try to see them, then, as my gifts, a legacy of happy living to bless the people who will come to add to them, overwrite them, and ignore them with the best of intentions. They are the echo of our lives, a reflection of the interconnection between us all, and a way to gift them with a little bit of our life abundant. And I look forward to creating new marks galore on the home we eagerly anticipate. There's just the matter of finishing all that real packing first.
What seems strange to me are the things you leave behind in a house, the things you absolutely cannot take with you even though they belong to you just as much as any book or chair. Like the stain on the garage entrance to the house. To the new owners, it will look like some Jackson Pollack splatter, but I know it's from my thirtieth birthday dinner with my friends, buttery Moroccan juice from a leftover promptly consumed--that was one good meal, night, memory. There's a raised spot on the kitchen floor where the cooler leaked. We didn't notice because my sister and her kids were here, and we were frantically trying to get all the little ones clean before bed while I dealt with the plumber. Seems my sister took off the faucet in the tub with the water running full blast. During that episode, I also learned that you can in fact get hot water from a neighbor using a cooler, and that you shouldn't leave a leaky cooler on your brand new laminate floor. It's probably less noticeable now because there's a fine haze of scratches from those silly ride-on fire trucks that the kids cannot give up, even though M's knees are tucked to his chest when he rides them.
There are, of course, the intangibles. Any house is full of them, but especially one that has housed small children. I went into labor in the inexplicably large second bedroom, sequestered with a cough. It was K's first stop after eight long days in the NICU, and where we introduced her to M, who regarded her with warranted suspicion. It was in these rooms that both kids learned to walk--K got led around gently while M got pushed back and forth in the still empty but carpeted sun room--and later that we played endless rounds of chase over the circuitous floor plan. Birthdays, holidays, play dates, and countless firsts all owe their backdrop to this house. But these memories come with us, packed in our minds. It's the tangibles that I leave behind that make me ever-so-wistful, the marks we've left on this landscape that are the signs of good use and great love, marks that will be regarded as nothing more than curiosities by the new owners, if at all.
I try to see them, then, as my gifts, a legacy of happy living to bless the people who will come to add to them, overwrite them, and ignore them with the best of intentions. They are the echo of our lives, a reflection of the interconnection between us all, and a way to gift them with a little bit of our life abundant. And I look forward to creating new marks galore on the home we eagerly anticipate. There's just the matter of finishing all that real packing first.
Sunday, January 17, 2010
God in Action
(1) Drive through a neighborhood on a whim. Tell one of B's coworkers that we were in his neighborhood, at which point he mentions he'll be selling his house in a few months and that we should look at it after the holidays if we're serious.
(2) Get all excited about the way God put the most amazing opportunity in our hands: dream house in dream neighborhood, etc.
(3) Talk to said coworker after holidays, only to find that he's changed his mind. Wonder why God would dangle said opportunity only to take it away.
(4) Decide that, since we've gotten all excited, we might as well look into other options. For information's sake, of course.
(5) Pick an agent, only to discover that he won't be back in town for us to sign with and we'll have to wait until Monday. Wonder why he wouldn't tell you this information ahead of time.
(6) Spend the time, somewhat bummed, driving around just checking out options.
(7) Stumble upon an open house, fall in love, and discover that since we haven't signed with an agent yet, we'll get a better deal by selling our house through her.
(8) Frantically get our house ready to sell while going back and forth over the house we want.
(9) Buy said house. Three days on the market, sell your house to first-time Christian couple buyers who want to use it for their fellowships and day care and just think it's the most perfect house ever (which is was, really). Without even having to fix all those things we thought would keep us from selling!
(10) Realize, looking back, that all those pieces--all those mistakes and frustrations and missteps--were there to put us all in the right place at the right time.
I know that not everyone will see my week the way I see it. But having lived it, I cannot help but see God's hand in everything. I wish I weren't in awe, that I could say that I always trust that God will work everything out perfectly. Logically, I know He will. In practice, though, I'm must more likely to worry/puzzle/fix.
Still: one week. One crazy, unexpected week. And we're on the move, hopefully, in a month or two. I feel so blessed, so in awe, so very very lucky. I'm also tired. So very tired. I'm probably one of the few people in San Diego looking forward to a quiet week of rain.
(2) Get all excited about the way God put the most amazing opportunity in our hands: dream house in dream neighborhood, etc.
(3) Talk to said coworker after holidays, only to find that he's changed his mind. Wonder why God would dangle said opportunity only to take it away.
(4) Decide that, since we've gotten all excited, we might as well look into other options. For information's sake, of course.
(5) Pick an agent, only to discover that he won't be back in town for us to sign with and we'll have to wait until Monday. Wonder why he wouldn't tell you this information ahead of time.
(6) Spend the time, somewhat bummed, driving around just checking out options.
(7) Stumble upon an open house, fall in love, and discover that since we haven't signed with an agent yet, we'll get a better deal by selling our house through her.
(8) Frantically get our house ready to sell while going back and forth over the house we want.
(9) Buy said house. Three days on the market, sell your house to first-time Christian couple buyers who want to use it for their fellowships and day care and just think it's the most perfect house ever (which is was, really). Without even having to fix all those things we thought would keep us from selling!
(10) Realize, looking back, that all those pieces--all those mistakes and frustrations and missteps--were there to put us all in the right place at the right time.
I know that not everyone will see my week the way I see it. But having lived it, I cannot help but see God's hand in everything. I wish I weren't in awe, that I could say that I always trust that God will work everything out perfectly. Logically, I know He will. In practice, though, I'm must more likely to worry/puzzle/fix.
Still: one week. One crazy, unexpected week. And we're on the move, hopefully, in a month or two. I feel so blessed, so in awe, so very very lucky. I'm also tired. So very tired. I'm probably one of the few people in San Diego looking forward to a quiet week of rain.
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