The Man on the Park Bench

Everyday at about 5:00pm I see the same man on the same park bench in town. He's never with anyone, and he never seems bored. We have obviously never talked. When I see him I am usually driving by with Bryton in the backseat, on our way home from errands or trips or all of the other chaos of life. It never fails though... as we drive by, probably going a little too fast, there he sits. Sometimes he has a book. Sometimes he's just sitting. Though we've never talked, I'd imagine he's pretty content. After all, he does this day after day after day.
And I don't understand it. On one hand, my life is so chaotic and so full of "things to do", I don't know how anyone just has the time to sit on a park bench... whether they are reading or not. On the other hand, I don't know why anyone would WANT to just sit on a park bench. How... boring! I mean, even when I have "down-time" I'm going to do SOMETHING during it, facebook, cooking, shopping, on a real pampering day maybe a hair cut or color. Something.
But on the other hand (pretending I have three), as I drive by the man on the park bench I am almost jealous. Jealous that he not only has the time to sit on a park bench, daily, but that he has the patience and "off-switch" required to do so. I must imagine that this particular gentleman, regardless of what has happened prior to 5:00 pm, finds his relaxation on that park bench. When the rest of the day is chaos, life happens for him there. I wonder what in my life is of the equivalent. Even when I'm resting I'm going. For pete's sake, I grind my teeth in my sleep, even when I'm sleeping I don't stop "going". Which brings me back to... my coffee house fetish. My coffee house fetish, though currently untapped, is my park bench. I may not be able to sit on a park bench and watch cars go by, or people go by, or birds for that matter. But I could sit in a coffee house, whether with a group or even by myself, and just sit. And not think about anything. Or worry about anything. Or want to go anywhere. I'm so glad Du Quoin has park benches, but seriously folks, we need a coffee house.

How Do Parents Do It?

So I'll admit it; I was one of those really insensitive females that would listen to the "sob stories" of the older, much wiser, females who were just heart broken that their children could do... *fill in the blank*, because they were getting so big. You know, they are the moms who cry when their babies go off to kindergarten, or the moms who take forever to start feeding their kids 'real food' because they just can't be that big yet. I mean, come on, growing up is part of life. I never understood it... until now.
So, granted, take Bryton's food away and the world may end, but I can but only guarantee that I stand no chance of making it through day 1 of kindergarten without shedding at least one tear. Five years old seems SOOOOOOOOOOOO far away... but my-lanta, he's almost one. My baby boy, our huge life adjustment, our "keep us up all nighter", is this stage ever gonna be over little boy, is almost one. The first year goes by soooo fast, and the changes that come so quickly give you little time to blink, let alone adjust. It seems like as soon as I figure out something he likes or doesn't like he's moved on from that and is ready for bigger and better things. I have a feeling I should just get used to this as his little life moves on.
From day 1 I've been VERY hesitant to "wish away" any stages. Don't get me wrong, it wasn't always easy. I don't exactly love being woken up 4 or 5 times through the night, but I tried to relish in it while I could just sit and hold him while he ate. I know someday he probably won't want me to hug him in public. I didn't enjoy his "collicky" epidsodes, but I'd be lying if I said that it didn't feel reallllly good that I was the one person who could calm him. I know that each little stage, each little moment, is going to come and go and I may never ever get that experience again. The thought that we may never have another baby to hold and love still shatters my heart, but it makes me ever more diligent to make sure I miss as little of Bryton's life as possible. I want to see the first steps, the first crawling... the first straight A's, his first basket, his first homerun, etc.
Our lives are really but a vapor. I don't know that I ever understood that until B came along. I mean, seriously, to go through life stages so quickly is something I had never seen before. I know I don't get it all right, but I know that I'm trying. God is teaching me more and more through my marriage and through parenthood, and I know that I'm going to be a better person because of the lessons taught to me by the world's sweetest little boy and by my amazing husband. God willing I get the opportunity to experience the firsts again.
-a

Almost Anniversary Time

I am a hopeless romantic. I can't help it. There is something in me that desires this "dancing in the moonlight, long walks on the beach, passionate pursuit" that, well, girls like. I guess it's no surprise, then, that I crave anniversaries. I look forward to it every year. It's another celebration of "we've made it", and love. It seems every year we can look back at obstacles and joys, difficulties and triumphs, but where would we be without both. The difficulties make us stronger and are opportunities for us to grow closer together, whereas the triumphs and joys give us something to celebrate, to dance around, to relish in. They are all important. Marriage has taught me so very much, mostly, that I am the sinner that I, at one time, thought I might not be. Even measuring myself up to my husband's "righteousness" can sometimes seem daunting and make me feel as a failure... and as far as scripture is concerned, his righteousness too, is as filthy rags. If I can't even compare to my husband, how can I ever begin to compare to the righteousness of Christ. Alongside that I can feel the constant struggle to be the "bride in white" that Christ desires, having the temptations of the world pull my from my bridegroom. Whether they be pride, busy-ness, self dependency, selfishness, and the list goes on, all can pull apart this relationship I've formed with this man that God had designed for me. I've learned that marriage isn't "for" us. Sure, we have the privilege of enjoying the benefits of it, but, as is everything, marriage exists completely to give God glory. When God isn't glorified in our marriage, how is our marriage to thrive? We are missing the soul mission of matrimony. (Say that 3 times fast.) Marriage holds analogous meaning time after time after time in scripture. Think about Song of Solomon. Think about the roles men and women hold in families. Think about the bride and the bridegroom meeting. Marriage has been a constant lesson, a constant blessing, and constant work. Not bad work, but work none-the-less. (I slept and dreamdt that life was joy, I woke and saw that life was duty, I acted and behold, duty was joy. - Tagore)
So, with that being said... I'd like to wish my husband a happy 4 Year Anniversary! Thanks for the hard work you put into our marriage and may we never cease trying to make each year better, more passionate, and more purposeful (giving God glory) than the one prior! I love you!

Don't know where this is headed...

It is a horrible title for a blog isn't it? I really don't know what else to say though. Somewhere hidden inside of me is this creative, passionate, lyrical side of me that is being repressed by something. Fear maybe. Maybe regret. Maybe busy-ness, or worry. Or maybe a little bit of all of the above. So I feel like I'm this maze of a person, trying to find where I'm headed on the outside, but trying to figure me all out on the inside too. It is a difficult, complicated, tedious task. So when I title my blog "Don't know where this is headed," well, it's because I really don't.
We just returned from World Changers, Evansville, IN. As far as the World Changer's organization is concerned, I was extremely disappointed. The trip in general I would deem as a success. Our group united in an incredible way. It is like no group we have ever taken before. We (the girls) made some incredible friends from Montgomery, Alabama (we know, we're incredibly attracted to accents ;), and grew closer together as a church family / youth group. If nothing came out of WC besides these two things, it was successful. I've been very much inspired to "hang out" with the girls more... to not just invest in their lives but to be a part of them... that's really what it's all about, right? Being the visible Jesus to the best of my ability, well, let me rephrase, to allow Him to make Himself visible through me. I fall so short in trying to imitate Him.
We're now getting into the swing of things back at home, getting ready for VBS and then on to our anniversary, Aaron's birthday, and our vacation. (Which I'm really excited about... I desperately am in need of some romantic moments with my husband.)
As far as I'm concerned, I feel this great hunger inside of me for the Word. World Changer's left me empty. I need a fresh Word from God... a fresh revelation, a fresh promise that he hasn't forgotten me. I see Him working in my patience and I see Him teaching me a ton through parenthood (just like He has and is continuing to do through marriage), but I feel I need more. As hungry as I am for Him, I desire to be even more hungry, more empty, so that when God so chooses to fill me up I oooooze His goodness, His love, His Words.
I've found myself praying and thinking about Bryton often. I'm so afraid of this world that he will be living in during coming years. I pray daily that he'll find Jesus early and yearn and thirst and long for Him. It reminds me of our good friend Mark McConkey's song about his little girl. I'll post the lyrics below. Lord only knows what He has in store for this little boy who has my heart tied around his little finger. He's this little ball of potential that I have the privilege of holding, loving and nurturing. I pray God makes Him a mighty warrior, a winner of souls.
Here's the song:
The shade of morning
The light shines through
The sun rises quickly and kisses you
I've never witnessed a more beautiful sight
Than you waking slowly, your blue eyes seeing the light.
These early days, my wish for you
That you grow up righteous, grow up to be true
You'd find Him quickly, as your strength and your guide
Jesus revealed to you, your blue eyes seeing the light
May the Lord be your shepherd, may the Lord be your fill
May the Lord make you lie in green pastures
May he lead you by waters and restore your soul
May he guide you in paths of righteousness
Even though you may enter the valley of death
I know you will not fear, for you know he is near
He annoints you with oil and your cuppeth overflows
With goodness and love all the days of your life and you'll dwell in the house of the Lord - forever
Now this life goes by quickly I want to know
that you love Jesus more than your daddy,
jesus more than your mom
through trials and temptations may you always do right
with your gaze fixed upon him - your blue eyes seeing the light.

Pretty amazing huh. Yeah, I thought so.

Curveballs

Sometimes life throws them at you. Or God throws them at you. Or life throws them at you and God helps you through them. It's that whole perfect will / permissive will thing, and personally, it's not something I have the energy to think about right now.
One way or another, life takes some unexpected turns and it seems to happen at somewhat inconvenient times.
Just recently I was contacted via facebook by my real dad's fiance. For those of you who don't know, it's been about 20 years since I've had ANY contact with my real father. Bruce has always been my dad, will always be my dad, and has been the only one who has shown much interest in me. Well, this contact obviously came as a great surprise. She had contacted me for him (he doesn't have facebook, though is considering it now, beautiful), to tell me my grandmother (who I greatly enjoyed and was the ONLY one I have any memory of from that side of my family) had passed away. They informed me of the times of the visitation and funeral and put the ball in my court as to whether I wanted to come or not. For those of you who don't know my dilema, imagine for yourself for a moment that an individual denied you time and time again and then finally said, "hey, gonna be in town friday if you want to meet up... with all of my family, with brothers and sisters you didn't know you had and a whole lot of ppl who remember you but you don't remember, yeah, the day after tomorrow... Friday." Ummm, difficult. Not to mention on top of the whole scenario I worry completely about my dad... Bruce's... reaction to my decision. If I did choose to go what kind of hurt would that bring him. A great deal as I'm told. And of course, here comes my Biblical perspective.
It's the biological dad and the adoptive dad, in every sense of the word for me. The adopted dad raised me... brought me, went to dance recitals and ball games, congratulated on straight A's and on celebrated on birth days, took me to the zoo, to tropical sno, sat with me when I was sick. The biological one, well, he did nothing of value except assist in bringing me to be. And the thought, from the adopted dad, if I then wanted to find out what this biological dad was all about, can't be good. It's like us, as Christians... we are adopted into God's family. We relish in all of the rewards of the family, all of the joys of being a part, made His own, loved as if I'd been born in myself... and then temptation rears its ugly head and I become curious to what this other side of me is. It was the sin I was born into... isn't that who I really am? You see the correlation here?
Anyway, I decided not to go to the funeral. Not because I think my real dad is sin or anything... I just didn't feel like the appropriate time to meet and greet with family I've not seen in 20 years was at my grandma's funeral. I want it to be a time to celebrate her life... not our reuniting.
So anyway, there's my two cents.
-a

Another Side of Me

There’s something you all don’t know about me, something I barely know about myself as I’ve only experienced this “other” side of me temporarily, at different times on the road. I don’t know what exactly I would call myself, but I’m a sucker for the city (though I don’t know that I would want to live their permanently), but I’m also a sucker for coffeehouses. Yep, coffeehouses. The amazing thing, I really don’t like coffee. When we visit Starbucks I consistently order the Strawberries and Crème Frappacino. I’ve wavered from this only once in my life, during the Christmas season, and ordered basically some steamed apple juice with cinnamon flavoring and whipped cream. I retreated quickly and went back to my Frap.
Nonetheless, there’s something wonderful about coffeehouses. I don’t know what it is, but the environment enthralls me. To be able to go in, hang out in your own secluded little corner, comfy corner I may add, hang out on your Macbook and carry on small talk (if accompanied), or just be (if you’re alone) is beautiful. I love the freedom of it. In fact, I can assure you if there was a coffeehouse near my home, I’d pack B up in his stroller in the morning, throw my hair up in a bun, grab my Macbook and off we’d stroll to hang out for an hour or so. It’s beautiful, isn’t it? In fact, I think if I could pursue my dream career, like, really dreaming here, ok, I would write, write, write my little heart out for publications and periodicals, newspapers and newsletters, by myself every morning in the comfort of a coffeehouse. I like to get out too much to stay at home, and the nostalgia of the coffeehouse would be the perfect environment for an aspiring writer, don’t you think? In a perfect world I’d make enough with my writing to afford to take Bryton to a sitter for a few hours, and to enjoy my morning cup of... well, whatever I could find that’s not caffeinated, and write. I’d be a part time writer, full time mom, and full time helper of my husband in the youth. The glory shines around the idea. What a thought.
Maybe I’m a nerd, but the idea really intrigues me. Even when I think about “fun” nights out I even consider poetry bars or jazz clubs, just to hang out, mellow out (without alcohol of course), and enjoy my kind of good “art”. Maybe I’m eclectic, or maybe I enjoy too much a slower more easy going lifestyle. Either way, I would love to pursue the thought of it all. Now someone just needs to open up a coffeehouse a few blocks down, and I need to land some writing gigs that pay well enough for me to frequent them and give me something to ponder over while I’m there.
Until next time –
A

Addictions Can Be To More than Just Substances

They can be to swaddlers too. Hi, my name is Alicia and my son and I are addicted to swaddling. They tell you a lot of things as new parents, when it comes to sleep, a lot of times you hear, whatever works (except putting them in bed with you). Well, I can honestly say that Bryton has not once slept the night with us in our bed... not even a nap. However, what worked for his sleeping, was swaddling. It has worked since 3 months. He hated it when he was smaller. But at three months it did the trick. And at four. And at five. And at six, and well, now at seven. When he turned four months we got him an actual swaddler instead of using a blanket. We got it big so he could have it forever, and he has. Now I have nightmares of my 18 year old waiting patiently for me to swaddle him before he can take a nap on Sunday afternoon after church and every night before bed. AGHHHHH! What have we done!? Apparently too much of a good thing is still too much. So, we are currently, and when I say currently I mean right this very second, trying the transition to the sleep sack. He is still "in" something, but his arms are free and free to flail him awake. So far we've made it an hour into what is usually a two hour nap. We're going to fight this addiction if it's the last thing I do. After all, he's become quite the Huidini at getting out of the stupid thing... I'm literally winded after I've wrapped him to the point of his not being able to breathe so that his arms stay in at least until I leave the room. It's time to cross the threshold here.
So anyway, that's the newest adventures in the addictions of the seven month old.
Until next time ...