Ever since I had kids I seem to be a bit more emotional with things like movies or music. Okay, a lot more emotional. Something about having kids changes a woman's heart to the point that almost everything we see or hear holds some sort of sentimental value. I can't explain it, I just know the feeling. Last year when I began listening to Christmas songs at the beginning of the season, I realized that they brought tears to my eyes. They were happy tears, and the feelings which came pouring out of my heart while I listened were powerful. I was already emotional because I was only a few short weeks away from Randall returning home early from deployment. I was so grateful that he would be home for Christmas, which was an answer to my prayers. Little Clay, at 10 months old, was growing so fast and all the singing about baby Jesus made me long for Clay to stay a baby forever. I was running out of time where he would still be able to fit on my lap when I rocked him. Furthermore, going back to baby Jesus (my favorite thing to say at Christmas time!), just the thought of a newborn baby, lying cold in a manger with not much to keep him warm, made my heart melt. I wanted so badly to take blankets and food to him as he layed there sleeping. After the holidays passed, I wondered if I would have the same emotions and tears for Christmas music in the years to come, or if it was just a fluke event because of the other things that were happening in my life that year. Needless to say, now that this Christmas season is upon us, it was not just a fluke.
This year, my joyful tears are not because of emotional life events taking place in my life, but because I think each year I am realizing more and more the true meaning of Christmas. One song, in particular, hits me right in the soft spot. This song is "Do You Hear What I Hear?" There are too many words to describe my emotions when I hear this song, but all of it has to do with the goodness that the tiny baby, Jesus Christ, brought to the world, to each and every one of us. Find it on the internet or one of your Christmas CDs. Listen to it closely, several times. Think about the meaning of the words and apply them to what you believe. See if it opens your heart to the meaning of the season. Write down what you feel. I want to know what you think.
Tuesday, November 30, 2010
Wednesday, November 10, 2010
What is the best life-changing decision you've made?
I grew up in a simple town in Ohio, no more than 45 minutes from anywhere either of my parents had lived. I saw both my close and extended family often and grew accustomed to frequent family gatherings. As a little girl and teenager, I wasn't sure what the future held for me but I was almost positive I would end up settling down in the same area so that I could remain close to family. I imagined that I would marry a guy who also lived in the area and we would live happily ever after surrounded by those we love. Fast forward to college, where I made a decision that would change all of those ideas forever.
Perhaps it was not a mindful decision, but rather an event that happened to me that changed my mind. I fell in love, and there was nothing I could do about it. I really didn't have a choice. When I first met Randall, he tried to explain to me what it meant that he was in the Marine Corps. I didn't understand much, other than that he would eventually be deployed once or twice. I knew hardly anything about the military, other than that my grandfather had served in WWII and my uncle had died in Vietnam. Although I always held these two people's accomplishments and sacrifices close to my heart, there wasn't much else I thought about when it came to the military. So when my relationship with Randall evolved to the point that I knew we had a future together, I was very naive and blind as to what I was stepping into.
Today, after several years of being a military wife, I have realized that the best decision I could have made, even if love actually made the decision for me, was becoming a part of the Marine Corps. Yes, I have had much anger and frustration over schedules, deployments, and not understanding why things are so demanding. But the joy, pride, and awe that comes along with it far outweigh the negatives. I have become, and am still becoming a better person because of the adjustments I have had to make within myself to accomodate being a military wife. The Marine Corps is good to us and, best of all, I can be at peace knowing that my family and friends are safe on their own soil. It is easy to take for granted all that the men and women of the Marine Corps do for their country, but when I remind myself of their will and determination to keep this country great, I am humbled. It is an amazing feeling, and an honor, to be a part of the few and the proud and I am so grateful that, along the way, someone or something made me say yes. To all the men and women out there who selflessly put your lives on the line for our security, Thank You.
HAPPY 235th BIRTHDAY MARINE CORPS!
Perhaps it was not a mindful decision, but rather an event that happened to me that changed my mind. I fell in love, and there was nothing I could do about it. I really didn't have a choice. When I first met Randall, he tried to explain to me what it meant that he was in the Marine Corps. I didn't understand much, other than that he would eventually be deployed once or twice. I knew hardly anything about the military, other than that my grandfather had served in WWII and my uncle had died in Vietnam. Although I always held these two people's accomplishments and sacrifices close to my heart, there wasn't much else I thought about when it came to the military. So when my relationship with Randall evolved to the point that I knew we had a future together, I was very naive and blind as to what I was stepping into.
Today, after several years of being a military wife, I have realized that the best decision I could have made, even if love actually made the decision for me, was becoming a part of the Marine Corps. Yes, I have had much anger and frustration over schedules, deployments, and not understanding why things are so demanding. But the joy, pride, and awe that comes along with it far outweigh the negatives. I have become, and am still becoming a better person because of the adjustments I have had to make within myself to accomodate being a military wife. The Marine Corps is good to us and, best of all, I can be at peace knowing that my family and friends are safe on their own soil. It is easy to take for granted all that the men and women of the Marine Corps do for their country, but when I remind myself of their will and determination to keep this country great, I am humbled. It is an amazing feeling, and an honor, to be a part of the few and the proud and I am so grateful that, along the way, someone or something made me say yes. To all the men and women out there who selflessly put your lives on the line for our security, Thank You.
HAPPY 235th BIRTHDAY MARINE CORPS!
Wednesday, October 20, 2010
Who is your Role Model?
Webster's dictionary defines a role model as "a person whose behavior in a particular role is imitated by others." For me, this definition is somewhat lacking. Yes, a role model is someone whose behavior we want to imitate, but it also goes far beyond that. It is someone whose entire self is desireable--whom he/she is as a person, what he/she feels inside, what he believes, and the general essence he exudes on a constant basis. Basically, for me, a role model is someone whose entire being I strive to emulate.
My role model is my grandmother. She was somebody whose entire being, in my eyes, was perfect. I never once saw her angry or upset, nor did I ever hear her raise her voice. Her door was always open to visitors, whether close friends or more distant acquaintances, and when they arrived she welcomed them with a plate of food and something nice to drink. My grandmother always knew the right things to say, or at least what not to say when it came to conversation with others. She seemed to truly know what it meant to treat someone how she herself would want to be treated. Grandma was a devout Catholic who must have strived to follow God as best she could, based on her unfalteringly compassionate character. Her heart was made of gold, I am sure, and it emitted a constant stream of love to those for whom she cared.
Growing up, I was lucky enough to visit my grandma often. She played with me all the time and taught me many things. My brother and I loved sleeping over at her house because we got to do crafts, play games, tell jokes with her and Papa, eat lots of snacks, and stay up late. In the morning she would make us Eggo waffles which, for some reason, tasted so much better at her house than our house. Her toaster was magical! Grandma was very talented in the kitchen. Not only did she make wonderful meals, but almost everything was made from scratch and she herself canned the vegetables that Papa grew in his garden. I have never tasted better saurkraut than what Grandma made! But there was something about this miraculous woman which went beyond the playing and laughing and cooking that I noticed at a very young age. She was always so calm and peaceful, never angry or upset. If she did harbor any bad feelings, she did a very good job at keeping that away from my brother and me. I am sure there were times that she was stressed or sad, but she never let it show. It was evident that she had a strong grasp on what was important in life and what could be put aside. Now that is what I call a strong woman.
Today, I often think about my grandmother and her strong character. I long to resemble her gracefulness and compassion. Many times I feel a strong desire to offer hospitality or advice to others, or simply to find the right words to say when a friend is in need. I have been practicing more home-cooking (although much healthier than hers) instead of using a lot of pre-packaged or preserved foods. I make sure my family knows I love them, just as she made sure we knew her love for us. But I still have a long way to go before I can put myself on the same pedestle as my grandma. She raised the bar high, and I hope one day to raise it even higher. It's a big goal, but also the best goal I can have for my life as a whole--to encompass everything which is meaningful and put aside the things which are trivial. This woman, my grandma, has always been and will forever be my role model.
Who is your role model?
My role model is my grandmother. She was somebody whose entire being, in my eyes, was perfect. I never once saw her angry or upset, nor did I ever hear her raise her voice. Her door was always open to visitors, whether close friends or more distant acquaintances, and when they arrived she welcomed them with a plate of food and something nice to drink. My grandmother always knew the right things to say, or at least what not to say when it came to conversation with others. She seemed to truly know what it meant to treat someone how she herself would want to be treated. Grandma was a devout Catholic who must have strived to follow God as best she could, based on her unfalteringly compassionate character. Her heart was made of gold, I am sure, and it emitted a constant stream of love to those for whom she cared.
Growing up, I was lucky enough to visit my grandma often. She played with me all the time and taught me many things. My brother and I loved sleeping over at her house because we got to do crafts, play games, tell jokes with her and Papa, eat lots of snacks, and stay up late. In the morning she would make us Eggo waffles which, for some reason, tasted so much better at her house than our house. Her toaster was magical! Grandma was very talented in the kitchen. Not only did she make wonderful meals, but almost everything was made from scratch and she herself canned the vegetables that Papa grew in his garden. I have never tasted better saurkraut than what Grandma made! But there was something about this miraculous woman which went beyond the playing and laughing and cooking that I noticed at a very young age. She was always so calm and peaceful, never angry or upset. If she did harbor any bad feelings, she did a very good job at keeping that away from my brother and me. I am sure there were times that she was stressed or sad, but she never let it show. It was evident that she had a strong grasp on what was important in life and what could be put aside. Now that is what I call a strong woman.
Today, I often think about my grandmother and her strong character. I long to resemble her gracefulness and compassion. Many times I feel a strong desire to offer hospitality or advice to others, or simply to find the right words to say when a friend is in need. I have been practicing more home-cooking (although much healthier than hers) instead of using a lot of pre-packaged or preserved foods. I make sure my family knows I love them, just as she made sure we knew her love for us. But I still have a long way to go before I can put myself on the same pedestle as my grandma. She raised the bar high, and I hope one day to raise it even higher. It's a big goal, but also the best goal I can have for my life as a whole--to encompass everything which is meaningful and put aside the things which are trivial. This woman, my grandma, has always been and will forever be my role model.
Who is your role model?
Monday, October 11, 2010
What are/were your first signs of aging?
I have never been one to make a huge deal about getting older. When I was little, I remember wondering why so many adults refused to admit their ages and I vowed to never be that way. For me, the longer we are alive, the more we know and the wiser we become. Getting older is something to celebrate rather than be embarrassed about. But the number of years we bear is not the only thing people complain about when it comes to aging. Fine lines, wrinkles, and skin that is less than elastic, to put it in gentle terms, are real and there is no fighting mother nature. We all want to keep our healthy, youthful appearances forever but, let's face it, this is just not going to happen. We do have a choice, however, to embrace our changes and think of them as signs of wisdom, grace, and beauty. After all, laugh lines and crows feet only emerge if you've laughed and smiled through your life.
Still in my twenties, I have so far only developed some signs of aging, but they have evolved quickly. Since my kids were born, I have quickly noticed more and more changes that I know are not just temporary. When I look closely at my face, I now understand what the commercials and magazine articles are talking about when they market firmer skin, smoother lines, and even skin tone. It doesn't take long for that youthful glow to melt into something which requires snazzy makeup tricks and special products to uphold. But the changes in my face are not the first signs of aging I have noticed. No, the first sign of aging I remember noticing is much more meaningful to me. I am not even sure when I first noticed it, but when I did I wasn't sad or anxious or stressed about it. I was happy. This first sign of aging was in my hands.
As a child, I always remember being very aware of my hands, how they were shaped and what they looked like. I remember thinking that when I grew bigger, my hands would grow too and I would be able to do more with them. As the years passed, I did do a lot with my hands. I played the flute in band (I know, I was a big dork!), I played volleyball, I could write and eventually type, I learned how to use tools and change the oil in my car, and the list goes on. So when I noticed my hands getting fine lines, freckles, increased dryness, and little scars that didn't fade all the way, I became thoughtful. I thought about how hard my hands had worked over the first twenty-some years of my life, and how accomplished I have been able to become because of them. They are my means to doing everything, and my brace when I stumble. Now, as a mother, I use my hands everyday to care for my children. They are the guide when a hand needs holding, the tools through which I can teach and play, and the gentle touch that can wipe tears away. I like to think that every touch sends a little bit more love from my heart into theirs. Each day I look at their little hands and watch as they learn to use them in so many different ways. They are so plump and full of life. Someday their hands, too, will begin to age. And I hope that they notice it and think back on all that their own hands have accomplished and smile.
Still in my twenties, I have so far only developed some signs of aging, but they have evolved quickly. Since my kids were born, I have quickly noticed more and more changes that I know are not just temporary. When I look closely at my face, I now understand what the commercials and magazine articles are talking about when they market firmer skin, smoother lines, and even skin tone. It doesn't take long for that youthful glow to melt into something which requires snazzy makeup tricks and special products to uphold. But the changes in my face are not the first signs of aging I have noticed. No, the first sign of aging I remember noticing is much more meaningful to me. I am not even sure when I first noticed it, but when I did I wasn't sad or anxious or stressed about it. I was happy. This first sign of aging was in my hands.
As a child, I always remember being very aware of my hands, how they were shaped and what they looked like. I remember thinking that when I grew bigger, my hands would grow too and I would be able to do more with them. As the years passed, I did do a lot with my hands. I played the flute in band (I know, I was a big dork!), I played volleyball, I could write and eventually type, I learned how to use tools and change the oil in my car, and the list goes on. So when I noticed my hands getting fine lines, freckles, increased dryness, and little scars that didn't fade all the way, I became thoughtful. I thought about how hard my hands had worked over the first twenty-some years of my life, and how accomplished I have been able to become because of them. They are my means to doing everything, and my brace when I stumble. Now, as a mother, I use my hands everyday to care for my children. They are the guide when a hand needs holding, the tools through which I can teach and play, and the gentle touch that can wipe tears away. I like to think that every touch sends a little bit more love from my heart into theirs. Each day I look at their little hands and watch as they learn to use them in so many different ways. They are so plump and full of life. Someday their hands, too, will begin to age. And I hope that they notice it and think back on all that their own hands have accomplished and smile.
Saturday, September 18, 2010
Who would you pick to serenade you?
We are a music nation. Most of us likely don't drive anywhere without turning on the radio. MP3 players and high tech phones allow us to take music everywhere with us. The types of music available to listen to seem infinite. Music, for me, is very inspirational. It doesn't matter if I'm listening to trendy pop songs, old-time standards, or country. There are certain songs or certain singers that ignite a spark inside that causes me to grasp the great things in my life right now, or bring about my fun, partying nature, or provoke me to reminisce about past times. So my question is, who, out of all the famous singers out there, would you pick to serenade you? Who's voice or music lyrics move you the most?
My singer is Ne-Yo. He has a great voice, but more than that his songs are so energizing. His style ranges from up-beat dance music to romantic, slow-jam type songs, and he himself has a charisma about him that is striking. Even if I don't know one of his songs too well, I still will sit there just to listen to his voice. He is definitely my number one pick of singers who I would love to serenade me!
Second runner up, is John Mayer. However, not for any other reason than the sound of his voice (I'm not quite sure what the ladies see in his physical appearance!)
What do you think?
My singer is Ne-Yo. He has a great voice, but more than that his songs are so energizing. His style ranges from up-beat dance music to romantic, slow-jam type songs, and he himself has a charisma about him that is striking. Even if I don't know one of his songs too well, I still will sit there just to listen to his voice. He is definitely my number one pick of singers who I would love to serenade me!
Second runner up, is John Mayer. However, not for any other reason than the sound of his voice (I'm not quite sure what the ladies see in his physical appearance!)
What do you think?
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