Every Epiphany for the past few years, our church has given out stars with a single word on them, sort of like a Christian-inspired fortune cookie. You randomly pick your star out of the basket, prayerfully hoping that it gives you some guidance for the coming year. This year, my word was "kindness."
Kindness. What am I supposed to do with that? For those who don't know me, I am one of the kindest people you will meet (and the most humble, haha). Kindness is a very important value in my life, my raison d'etre - "Love your neighbor as yourself" and all that. I really believe in that, as hokey as it sounds. And yet, my star is kindness.
My five-year-old picked "ponder." Okay, so that actually fits. It would fit just about anyone, but hey, it's good for her. She (and most five-year-olds) need to stop and think once and awhile. My husband picked "serenity." Whoa, God, you are really challenging him this year, aren't you? I love my hubby dearly, but he struggles with deep, almost crippling, anxiety. He worries and worries and worries away. So, congratulations. Your star is perfect for you.
But kindness? What am I supposed to do with that? I know I am not a stellar (haha, pun intended) example all of the time, but I do pretty good for myself.
And yet. I judge. I tease. I ridicule. Is it always in fun? Or is it a self-preservation technique? Perhaps those are some of the questions that I must grapple with this year. What is kindness, truly? Am I living out the kindness to which I so desperately aspire? I know the answer is "no," and my excuse is that I am not perfect. I am a broken sinner who cannot measure up to the standard which Jesus has set and therefore need a savior. ...But do I truly believe that? Deep down? Or am I regurgitating years of Sunday School, Catechism, and sermons?
I don't know.
Monday, January 4, 2016
What's in a name?
It's 9:40 on a typical Monday night. My husband and babies are asleep. I have done the dishes, switched around the laundry. I am now enjoying a quiet mug (yes, coffee mug - keeping it real) of the finest moscato boxed wine, two slices of homemade bread with butter and honey in a pair of Smartwool socks, capri workout pants, sweater, and useless Fitbit watch. I really was put together this morning - Gap "curvy" jeans (secondhand), cute sweater, hair and makeup done. But after taking the kids out in snow this afternoon, my snow-covered jeans needed to dry and I needed something to cover my bottom. My choices were: skirts, shorts, or a pair of black maternity (eek!) capri workout pants. I actually have gotten rid of all of my maternity clothes since I am done having children, but these particular culottes have my heart and soul wrapped up in them. I bought them new (which I never do, because, face it - we are poor public servants), and they are the most comfortable pants IN THE ENTIRE WORLD. So capris in 20 degree Iowa January weather it was. With Smartwool socks because they are warm. And cozy. And Iowa.
But really, this is the first entry of my blog, and I had to come up with a name. What does "Rosy Pink Souvenir" really mean? Well, nothing. I have a song by the Okee Dokee Brothers (an AWESOME bluegrass-y children's band who I will completely fangirl over to you at any time) stuck in my head these days. It's called "The Train Song" and it's from their first album, Can You Canoe?. More importantly, though, one line has stuck with me: "Life is the souvenir for traveling the land." I have a gypsy heart. I love to travel. Luckily, I married someone who also has a deep wanderlust - we have moved six times in almost nine years of marriage and are looking to move a seventh time. Granted, we have only lived in four different towns, but housing is crazy in our current location, so we keep having to move to find a decent rental for our family of four.
Yes, rental. Ugh. We were homeowners, once upon a time, but followed a dream to a better place and lost our shirts on our first house. And I mean it. Like $80,000. For people who (at the time) made less than $50,000 a year each, and I was staying home with our firstborn, so it was more like $50,000 total, that was basically our whole lives. But we are risk takers with rose-colored glasses, so we moved in hopes of a better situation. And we found it in a picturesque Dutch town in the middle of Iowa. So here we stay. Our oldest is starting kindergarten next year, so I suppose we will plant ourselves for awhile and satisfy our wandering hearts with a yearly vacation. Maybe.
So, I am Kati, the author of Rosy Pink Souvenir, an undeniable optimist/pessimist/mother/wife/bibliophile/novice writer just trying to figure out my way in the world. I'm hoping my (mostly) rose-colored glasses lead my wandering heart to someplace magnificent. If only for awhile.
But really, this is the first entry of my blog, and I had to come up with a name. What does "Rosy Pink Souvenir" really mean? Well, nothing. I have a song by the Okee Dokee Brothers (an AWESOME bluegrass-y children's band who I will completely fangirl over to you at any time) stuck in my head these days. It's called "The Train Song" and it's from their first album, Can You Canoe?. More importantly, though, one line has stuck with me: "Life is the souvenir for traveling the land." I have a gypsy heart. I love to travel. Luckily, I married someone who also has a deep wanderlust - we have moved six times in almost nine years of marriage and are looking to move a seventh time. Granted, we have only lived in four different towns, but housing is crazy in our current location, so we keep having to move to find a decent rental for our family of four.
Yes, rental. Ugh. We were homeowners, once upon a time, but followed a dream to a better place and lost our shirts on our first house. And I mean it. Like $80,000. For people who (at the time) made less than $50,000 a year each, and I was staying home with our firstborn, so it was more like $50,000 total, that was basically our whole lives. But we are risk takers with rose-colored glasses, so we moved in hopes of a better situation. And we found it in a picturesque Dutch town in the middle of Iowa. So here we stay. Our oldest is starting kindergarten next year, so I suppose we will plant ourselves for awhile and satisfy our wandering hearts with a yearly vacation. Maybe.
So, I am Kati, the author of Rosy Pink Souvenir, an undeniable optimist/pessimist/mother/wife/bibliophile/novice writer just trying to figure out my way in the world. I'm hoping my (mostly) rose-colored glasses lead my wandering heart to someplace magnificent. If only for awhile.
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