Project 31 Day 30: Who is your role model as a woman?

Many woman have influenced me over the years. Their names and backgrounds are as varied as the reasons why I have looked up to them. First, there was Anne, you know, Anne Shirley from Anne of Green Gables? She was outgoing, gregarious, always up for a good time, insanely smart, clever, and always said exactly what she thought. I admired that about her. Plus, Gilbert Blythe adored her world. What girl didn't want to be like Anne? But try as I may to deny it, I was always more like Diana Barry. Quiet. Demure. Shy. Not exactly the kind of girl I wanted to be, even though it's the kind of girl I was.

As I got a bit older, though, I realized there were more important things than being the funny, clever, center of attention. Those girls tended to get into mischief, a minor detail I conveniently overlooked when I admired Anne as I did. I liked that I didn't get into much trouble. I was proud of it, actually. I liked following the rules. I also realized that there was more to beauty than just what the color of your hair was because believe it or not, there were other "Gilberts" out there who liked my hair just the way it was (shock of all shocks). I started turning my attentions to other women, real women, not just characters in a book. You know, like Rachel Green. On Friends.

Rachel was beautiful. She had style, she had class. Everyone loved her. She seemed to do no wrong. And if she did, it was "accidental" and her innocent little smile got her out of a world of trouble.  It was sort of endearing. But after awhile, I realized that in the end, I was more like Monica. Picky and anal, perhaps, but exceedingly loving and dependable. She loved to serve others, albeit in her own way, but she did it with a sort of dignity and ease that I admired.

And then, after Friends wrapped and reruns eventually took up permanent residence on TBS, I realized that these women, although they seemed real to me at the time, weren't so real after all. But Audrey Hepburn? Jackie Kennedy Onasis? Now those were actual, honest to goodness, not some created character, women. And I admired them for their style, dignity and grace (among other things). I still do. I also admire Mother Theresa for her unconditional love and for the way she gave her life to so many others. And I admire many qualities of other women who I actually have the privilege to know, women who have poured into my life and been a steadfast friends, and all of them, in their own way, are role models for me. But as much as I admire all of them, the truth is that the woman who is my real role model, the one who has been a model of what a woman is for, well, my whole life--that's my mom.

And I can't believe I don't have a picture of her to post! They're on our hard drive, so I'll dig them out later and post them here.

Until then, know this: in her smile is a picture of true femininity. She is full of love, overflowing with it, actually. She is nurturing and loving, encouraging and supportive. She shares in the joys and the sorrows of those she loves as if they were her own (because really, they are her joys and sorrows too).  She loves unconditionally, with her whole heart. She makes sacrifice after beautiful sacrifice, and she chooses what is better over what is easy.  And still, she isn't afraid to say no. She isn't afraid to set boundaries. She isn't afraid to speak up if she needs to. She isn't afraid to disagree. She isn't afraid to "tell it like it is" when the occasion calls for it, but she always wields the weapon of the tongue wisely. She is generous, kind, accepting. She is loyal, loving, and compassionate. She is a woman unlike anyone else I know, the perfect mother and life long role model for me, her imperfect little girl.

Mom, thank you for being you. Who you are has made me who I am, and I like who I am. I'm a really, really lucky lady to have you as a mom, mentor, role model, and friend. Thank you for your love, your sacrifice, your advice, your support, your encouragement, and your friendship. And, perhaps most of all, thank you for all those nights of scratching my back until I fell asleep, even though I'm sure there were many nights you were too tired to see straight, let alone spend extra time doing that for me. I understand that kind of love now. Thank you for teaching it to me by example. I love you bigger than the sky!

Project 31 Day 29: My Day, Today.

Day 29.  Write about "a day in the life of me."  (Pics are great!)

Beware. This entry is somewhat boring, as it recounts the daily monotony that I've come to enjoy as my new normal. As I sat here relaying the ins and outs of my day, it occurred to me that things sound sort of hum-drum, but even though there may be moments that feel somewhat hum-drum-like, the moments when everything feels right somehow make up for it. I say all that to say this: read at your own risk. If you get bored, I apologize. Come live a day in our life with us, though, and I promise you won't be bored. We do our best to make the most of each day by being silly, taking chances, trying new things, and exploring our surroundings.

I can't remember the last time I set my alarm clock. Ever since the girl came into my life, I haven't had a need for one. Her sweet murmuring gently stirs me from – or startles me out of – sleep every day, and although I do miss being able to hit the snooze button on my old alarm clock, I have to admit that I don't miss the alarm itself. I always hated it. 

Today was no different. At seven something this morning, the girl started stirring. I had been up with her at 2:30 (after having a bit of insomnia last night), so Joey did a wonderful thing for me—he got her up and gave her a morning bottle, and let me snooze for a few more precious minutes. When I got up, I saw father and daughter sitting in the serene morning light, quietly playing together and simply enjoying being together. It’s a treat for Addie to have play time with her daddy in the morning, and I could tell she was eating it up.

Soon, Joey reluctantly had to go get ready for work, so I found something to occupy Addie's attention while I stumbled through the kitchen in my endeavor to brew my morning coffee, get her breakfast ready, and load up Pandora with what would soon become the soundtrack to our morning. Disney songs played in the background as I sang and made silly faces at the girl while I spooned blueberry banana oatmeal into her anxious mouth. (Did you know there's a Disney station on Pandora? A recent discovery that makes me happy. And who wouldn't want to sing silly songs to this sweet girl?) And while I was in the midst of singing "Kiss the Girl," Joey kissed his girls goodbye and headed out the door.

This is a fairly typical scene—and after it’s over, we get ready to explore our day. Today? Today she took a nap not long after breakfast, which let me take an invigorating shower and drink my coffee in the quiet of the morning. When she woke up, it was just about time for lunch, after which we loaded up the car and drove to the mall to meet Joey for his lunch break. We got my ring cleaned (a long-overdue necessity), shopped for a new lamp (which we didn’t actually find), and window shopped in the kids’ stores, drooling over the new fall fashions that would look so adorable on the girl, that I have to actually turn away from them so that I don’t start feeling like I’m a bad mom for not buying her a closet full of designer baby clothes. (I avoid the mall as much as I can because in all honesty? It sort of makes me feel bad about myself. I slip into feeling “less than,” as if I’m not good enough because I don’t have the latest greatest fashions, and neither does my child.) 

After the mall, we headed out to the grocery store to get formula (why am I always buying formula? The stuff goes so quickly!), and then Addie was ready for a nap by the time we got home. A bottle, a clean diaper, a sleep sack and a binky and Addie was down for the count. I had a few minutes to get a small bite to eat myself before she woke up, uncomfortable and irritated. The good news? She went right back to sleep when I picked her up and rocked her for a minute or two. Another 45 minutes was my own, and I used it to start working on our menu plan / grocery list for the next pay check.

After naptime, I confess that I turned on Veggie Tales and let Addie eat a small snack while watching it. A short time into it, though, a neighbor came over to drop off a book she’d told me about and a recipe she’d raved about. She and her 17 month old son came in and played with us for a little while, and before we knew it, it was nearly time for Joey to come home.

And so, I started washing dishes to make room for the dinner preparations while Addie played in her saucer and watched Sesame Beginnings. And then who should arrive? Joey, to his daughter’s delight. I think that is my most favorite time of the day—the moment when Joey comes home and Addie gets more excited than she has been through the whole day. It makes my heart smile, and I know it makes Joey’s heart soar.

Dinner time. Bath time. Bottle time. Bed time. It went fast this evening. And now here it is, just barely 7:00 and I am enjoying the quiet moment to record the ordinary goings on of my day. And although my life is fairly ordinary, I believe deep down in the heart of who I am that it’s actually quite extraordinary indeed, and I am blessed beyond what I could imagine would ever be possible. Life? Yep, it's pretty darn good.

Project 31 Day 28: Insecurity

Day 28.  Write about your insecurities as a woman.

Not so long ago, I wondered whether I would want to be friends with myself.

Have you ever done that? Sat back and thought about who you are--the good, the bad, the boring, the ordinary--and wondered if you would want to spend time with yourself if you happened to be someone else?  Would you accept an invitation to coffee, risking sitting in uncomfortable silence in hopes you would find a kindred spirit sitting across the table from you? I thought about this recently and I decided that yes, I would be friends with me.

It was a relief to come to that conclusion, actually. I cataloged myself, my strengths, my weaknesses, and I decided that I am beautifully imperfect, which makes me unique. Different. It gives me character. And those are the sorts of people I like to be friends with (don't you?).

When I was young, my babysitter Stephanie used to do all kinds of strange, out of the ordinary things to create fun for us, and we used to laugh at her and tell her she was weird. To this, she would reply, "I'm not weird; I'm gifted." And by saying so, she taught me that being true to yourself--who you really are at the core of yourself, quirkiness and all--is a beautiful gift to the world. There is no one else like you. There is no one else like me.

And yet, simply knowing this doesn't always help me feel confident. In fact, for most of my life, I have felt quite insecure about myself and about my gifts. I've questioned the way I look, the way I talk, the words I write, the things I create, the opinions I have. I've wondered if I'm ok--if I'm enough. I know I'm not alone in this. Women's hearts long to know they're enough. Pretty enough, clever enough, smart enough, original enough, intelligent enough. You name it, they wonder it.

 But enough for what? For whom? These are the questions I'm asking now. I've beaten myself up for years over the things that make me uniquely me.  Struggling with these things doesn't just go away with a snap of the fingers, but something that's helped me immensely is getting over myself. I've realized that the world is much bigger than just me (shocking, I know), and most people tend to struggle with the same things as I do. And if we all continue to let these thoughts and doubts take up precious time and space in our thought-life, won't we miss out on something much more important than these things? (Like, you know, other people?)

I came across this quote by Emily Dickinson today, and I love how her simple words capture the choice to put aside the doubt-filled self talk and choose instead to be available to the to being used to bring light and warmth into the life of someone else. 

They might not need me; but they might. I'll let my head be just in sight; 

a smile as small as mine might be precisely their necessity.
Emily Dickinson  

We aren't all the same. I'm not like you. You're not like me. Sometimes I might think I'm weird (or someone else might think I'm weird), but really, I'm gifted--and so are you. And my gifts might minister to your specific needs, just as yours might minister to mine. 

Project 31 Day 27: A Word of Encouragement

Sheesh--it's been over two months since I tackled a Project 31 topic. Oh well. Sometimes that sort of thing happens despite our best efforts, eh? In any case, here we go again.

Day 27.  Write a blog to encourage someone and build their confidence.

So many names are popping into my mind right now. It seems that just about everyone I know who is a woman could do with a good dose of encouragement. I know I could. 

(Pause.)

I didn't think this through before starting. I hadn't really known this was the topic I would be tackling tonight, and although I've had many ideas of who to write this to (when I thought about it at the back of my mind since first starting the project), someone entirely different has taken up residence in my thoughts this evening, and as we all know when something like that happens, we ought to pay attention (don't we?).

So Miss Val, this one's for you.

The more I think about you, the more I wonder what in the world I could say to build your confidence.

After all, you're the one who has encouraged me, prayed for me, called me out on the truth of who I am, and called me up to the task of living out that truth--since the very first time we spoke. Do you remember it? Probably not, but I do. It was at a women's retreat a few years ago. You were ministering to many people at the same time, and with time, faces become fuzzy, words spoken in prayer fade from memory and take up residence in the heart of whoever the prayer was for, and time moves on.

But I remember. Not as clearly now as I used to, but I do remember this: You were one of the first people outside of my immediate circle of friends who encouraged me, without knowing much about me, to write. It was during the time in my life when the desire to do so was just beginning to peek its head through the hard soil of my timid heart, and perhaps you knew that somehow, because the words you spoke to me challenged me to break out of the self-protective barriers I had placed around myself, barriers that had kept me captive from the freedom that comes from living out my calling.

And not long after that, you met and befriended Joey and saw in him something special, something he didn't realize was there, something about which he was actually quite passionate. You called him out and called him up, encouraging him to take risks and be bold and discover and develop talents he had only dreamed about before then. You built him up in a way that no one had before.

These are only two examples, but I am certain there are countless others like these. I am certain of this because encouraging others is what you're about. It's who you are. You live your life in such a way that by simply being you, you encourage, build up, and inspire others to take a risk and see what happens when they start walking in their destiny.

I realize that we don't know each other very well (a fact that I very much hope will change), but what I do know of you, I admire. I respect. I enjoy. You are an example of what it means to be a confident, secure, vulnerable, and soft woman all at the same time. You are such a treasure, one that I'm sure God is jealous for, one that makes His heart smile with every thought He has for you.

In short, you matter. Your life matters. To me, yes, but to so many others as well. And tonight, may you sleep soundly in the peace that comes with knowing that.

Much love.

Project 31 Day 26: My Legacy

"What do you hope your grandchildren will say about you someday when you are gone?"

I've been pondering this for well over a week, trying to come up with something short and sweet that captures everything I hope generations after me will say about me and the life I lived. But I couldn't do it. Finally, I decided that a disjointed list of seemingly unrelated things is okay.  One beautiful, sweeping statement about what kind of legacy I hope to leave just won't cut it because I hope my grandchildren know me well enough to say lots of things about me--some funny, some quirky, some sweet and moving, like...

She smelled good. Not like an old lady at all.

You know how some families dread going to Grandma's house? Not me. I loved visiting her.

No one will ever make a better chocolate chip cookie. But if I'm lucky, I'll make them just as good as she did. 

I loved watching her dance in the kitchen with Grandpa. She couldn't dance worth anything, but Grandpa didn't care, and neither did she. I hope my husband and I love each other like that when we are as old as they are.

Her laugh was infectious. I cry when I laugh just like she did.

She loved life; she squeezed everything out of it that she could, and I know Jesus is going to greet her with open arms and say, "Well done."

With her, I felt safe and loved.

She taught me how to sing "I'm a Little Teapot," and she always had the best tea parties.

She couldn't carry a tune, but I loved listening to her sing.

She swore she didn't have favorites among us grandkids, but secretly I believe she liked me best. At least, that's the way she made me feel whenever I was with her.

I hope she knows how much I love her.

She believed in me, and she taught me to believe in myself. 

She made things beautiful.

I loved spending time with her.

I loved it when she read stories to me. She always did all the voices.

As much as she loved me, as much as she loved my mom, and as much as she loved Grandpa--she loved Jesus more. And she loved people the way He loves them.

I'll miss her.

Project 31 Day 25: Post a pic of your favorite comfy clothes

You know, I have so few pictures of me by myself, especially since Addie was born. I tend to shy away from the camera, so I guess it shouldn't be surprising. I don't feel at ease in front of it like some people do. I feel on the spot, under the microscope, and just generally exposed. 

I did find two pictures to share, though. The first is of me on our honeymoon, wearing a ball cap, layered t-shirts and my favorite jeans (the ones I talked about in previous posts). I loved this outfit because it was comfortable, but presentable. I always feel laid back and ready for whatever the day throws at me when I wear a ball cap like this.

 
This next picture is more recent, however. It's me in all my "morning glory"--unshowered, hair a mess, and in my old SJSU sweatshirt. I'm sure I'm wearing gray sweatpants, too, but I can't quite tell. She, however, is super cute, as always. What I love best about her outfit is that it is not only cute, it's very comfortable. Knit fabric. Stretch pants. She has no idea she's such a cutie in it--all she knows is that she feels like she's wearing jammies.

Lately I have been trying to reconcile my own need for comfort with wearing clothes that make me feel cute. It's a hard balance to strike when I don't have money stashed somewhere to go blow on a whole new wardrobe. I've been able to get a few things here and there, which is awesome, but I still gravitate toward my "tried and true" things that I know aren't doing me any favors, if you know what I mean. They're easy, I'm just at home, and they're comfortable.

But what is it about an old sweatshirt that brings comfort? Sure, the fabric is warm, soft, cozy, and makes me comfortable in some ways, but it makes me uncomfortable in other ways. I don't feel good about myself when I wear them. I feel frumpy, like I've "let myself go," like I'm someone who just sort of gave up on my appearance. And feeling like that is uncomfortable. I know that's not the truth, but it's how I feel. And yet, when I feel like that, all I want to do is just curl up in my sweatshirt because it somehow comforts me. Weird cycle, I know.

Sometimes I come really close to getting rid of the sweatshirt. But I can't seem to bring myself to do it. Why not?

(No seriously, I'm asking.)

Maybe I'm making too much of this. Maybe it doesn't really matter at all. Maybe wearing a ratty sweatshirt and old sweatpants doesn't make one bit of difference. But maybe it does. Does it have an adverse effect on how I see myself, how I feel about myself? Does it change the way my husband sees me? (Probably not at the heart of how he feels, but I'd venture a guess that a baggy, old sweatshirt doesn't do him any favors, either.)

If my self image were thriving and healthy, would it make me feel better about wearing a baggy sweatshirt? Or would I still feel frumpy and unattractive? Or if it were a new sweatshirt, would that change things?

Something to think about.

Does anyone else have something like my SJSU sweatshirt that you just can't seem to get rid of? Am I the only one?

Project 31 Day 23: What are your strengths? What are your weaknesses?

Eek. I used to really hate this question. I mean, hate it. I've had to answer it so many times over the course of my adult life, and nearly every time I've thought to myself, "What in the world am I good at?" I've lived a lot of my life feeling inferior, as if I only have weaknesses, but not any strengths. Thankfully, I'm not in that place anymore. I've woken up to the invigorating truth that there actually are things I'm good at, shock of all shocks.

The funny thing about strengths and weaknesses is that often, they're almost one in the same. Either that, or very very closely related. This is the experience of my life, at least. Perhaps all strengths can slyly become a weakness if not kept in check? Is this just my own experience?

Anyway, here is my list of strengths, intertwined with my weaknesses.

1. I'm responsible, sometimes to a fault. Being motivated by my sense of responsibility can turn into being motivated by guilt if I'm not careful.

2. I have grace for people, but can sometimes let people off the hook for things for which they really should be held accountable.

3. I communicate best when I'm able to write things out. I express myself best that way. But I can use the written word as a crutch when I should boldly use my audible voice to say what needs to be said. Confrontation, along with talking in front of many people, isn't my strong suit, but using the written word has been a shield behind which I've hidden, thinking I'll be protected, when in reality, it sometimes just isn't the best way to communicate something.

4. I'm a good cook. I know how to make things work in the kitchen. I can make something out of seemingly nothing, intuitively knowing how to meld ingredients together to create something fantastic. It's one of the areas of my life where I'm the most confident. However, knowing that I'm generally a good cook, I still apologize for my food. What's that about? Insecurity. I'm completely insecure about it, even though I know I'm good at it. Why? Because I make mistakes. And I hate making mistakes.

5. I like to do things well, so much so that I've been called a perfectionist. Doing something right, producing something of quality and being proud of my handiwork is something that's important to me. Of course, this verges on perfectionism, which isn't really a strength, is it? Plus, I don't take criticism very well. Even though I appreaciate knowing when I'm not doing something right or doing something well, I often feel defeated when I receive even the most useful piece of constructive criticism, like I shouldn't give it another try because I'm just not good at whatever it is I messed up on. Vicious cycle.

I'm sure there are more. There are probably innumerable things that I could list here, if I took the time to continue listing them. But I think that these five things are the biggies.

Looking at this list, I realize that life is a process. Just because these are the things I struggle with right now does not mean I have to struggle with them always. Knowing my weaknesses gives me the freedom to pursue change in those areas. It's a process, yes, one that will take intentional effort. But won't it be worth it? To have my strengths truly be strengths, independent of the weaknesses that currently come along with them?

Almost sounds too good to be true. But I think that it actually is. True, I mean.

Thoughts?

Project 31 Day 17: Write about three things that make you happy.

Only three things? That is difficult. There are many, many things that make me happy, from finding a long-forgotten $5 bill in my coat pocket to having God speak very directly to me. After writing this, I realize that when I focus on the things that make me happy, I somehow forget about the things that don't make me happy. Perhaps I should write about things that make me happy more often. It might change my attitude a bit, which would be good since it is begging for a change these days. (Hmm. Do I hear a "Happiness Project" coming up?)

Anyway, when I started writing this afternoon, here were the first three things that came to my mind. In no particular order of "how happy" these make me, here is my list for today:

1. It makes me happy to watch dads love on and delight in their kids. I've always loved watching this, but now it's even more fun since I get to watch my husband with his daughter. It brings a smile to my face when I see men soften at the sight of their kids. Whenever I see a father who's totally in love with his children, it gives me hope that things aren't so bad after all. Plus, it reminds me that my Father in heaven loves me even more than those dads love their kids. Mind blowing.

2. It makes me happy when the kitchen is clean. There's something satisfying about a clean, organized kitchen. There's something very annoying about a dirty kitchen. Besides, when you love to cook as much as I do, a dirty kitchen is often a hindrance to the creative process. (Yes, for me, cooking is a creative outlet. I know it's a loathsome chore for some, but not for me. It's my haven.) It makes me even happier when someone else does the dishes.

3. My husband makes me happy. He is pretty much awesome, and he makes me happy in so many ways every day. No, he's not the romantic hero of an epic love story who sweeps me off my feet every day (cause let's face it, that would get a little boring after awhile), but by being in my life, he makes my every day extraordinary. Even on days when our lives get busy and we get sidetracked with a thousand things that get in the way of focusing on us, he still makes me happy. He makes me laugh, he loosens me up, and he reminds me that I don't have to be so serious all the time. He makes me proud because he is a man of integrity, ingenuity, passion and commitment. He is goofy, intelligent, quirky, and talented; he is handsome, stylish, romantic and artistic. But when I first met him, I didn't see any of those things. It took a long time for me to wake up to the wonderful man that he is. I'm happy to say that I still often find myself looking at him from across the room thinking to myself, "How did I ever miss this? He makes me so happy."

Project 31 Day 8: Have a beauty secret? Share, please!

My secret beauty weapon? Her name is Christy.

I went through a season in my life--a very long season, might I add--in which I was, admittedly, pretty clueless about fashion. I honestly thought that I just liked simple, classic styles, but looking back? I liked boring styles. Why? Because they were safe.

Christy introduced me to fashion that wasn't so safe. She taught me how to be bold, how to take risks, how to embrace the things that I have and to play up my assets. It took a lot of coaching, but she finally convinced me that color was actually a good thing to add to a wardrobe (who would have thought?).

I'm happy to share her with you, but I think that probably most of you actually have a Christy in your life. She's my best friend, and I know all of you have a best friend (right?). If you don't, I highly suggest them. They're pretty awesome. A best friend will be very, very honest about what makes you look fat. She'll also be honest when something actually makes you look fabulous. It might take a bit of convincing, but eventually, you'll believe her because you'll remember that she wouldn't lie to you about stuff like that.

Christy also reminds me of who I really am. She speaks truth into my life and encourages me to be authentically myself. I find that it's when I spend my time living in that place, instead of hiding in my little corner of insecurity, I am free from the worry about or preoccupation with the way I look or how other people think I look. Having a friend like that is priceless. Irreplaceable.

So my tip to all of you? Listen to your best friend. Believe her when she tells you that something you never thought you could pull off actually does look good on you. Trust her enough to accept her advice when she tells you your favorite college sweatshirt just needs to be retired. It will pay off, I promise.

But more than that, make sure you return the favor. Remember that beauty isn't always just about asking for fashion advice or a free hair cut, but give those to her when she needs them. Remember that beauty invites, comforts, and inspires. Make sure that you invite your best friend to go shopping with you; offer comfort when she's hurting, and just be yourself, authentically, completely--because it will inspire her to do the same.

Project 31 Day 7: Write a blog to encourage another beautiful woman.

This one's dedicated to all my fellow "Captividians."

It feels like a lifetime ago that we sat in Miss Joni's living room, a mixed bouquet of women from so many walks of life, all unique and beautiful in our own ways, and all united by one thing: a deep desire to restore our feminine hearts to their original vitality.

As I write this, the song "Beautiful" by Mercy Me just started playing. I've heard it so many times in the past couple of weeks; the first time was just after I'd had a battle with myself over my self-image. I was feeling distinctly unbeautiful one evening, and the next day I heard this song on the radio several times in one day. It seemed to always be on whenever I turned on the radio. After about the fourth time, I finally realized that hearing it that many times--almost in a row--wasn't exactly normal, so I stopped to listen to the words long enough to figure out that God was definitely sending me a message. Now, as I write to all of you, it's on again--and I believe God is sending a reminder to all of you, too--that you're breathtaking. Lovely. Cherished. Beautiful. My dear friend Ashley posted a lovely video montage set to this song and posted it on her own blog. You can see it here, and I really encourage you to take the time watch it. 

I know how easy it is to forget the truth about yourself. I've been battling with losing perspective, with losing track of the truth, and I know some of you have probably been walking through a season where you've lost sight of who you really are, too. If you're like me and you've forgotten the truth, or are having a hard time believing the truth even though you know it, then I hope this will jog your memory and encourage you to take a big risk and believe what God says is actually true.

The truth is this: "You are altogether beautiful, my love; there is no flaw in you." (Song of Solomon 4:7).

What does that mean, exactly? That you're perfect? Certainly not. But you're perfectly made. Everything about you is just as God wanted it to be. He made you to be a breathtaking beauty who gently allures, an ezer kenegdo who courageously comes alongside, and a warrior princess who boldly battles in the face of the enemy. You're the captivating crown of creation.

You are altogether beautiful. Remember it. Live it. And pass it on.

Project 31: Day 6--Has the world's definition of beauty ever jaded you?

Sure it has. It currently is, in fact.

Sometimes I catch myself viewing girls the world defines as "pretty" or "beautiful" with a sort of cynicism, thinking all sorts of ugly thoughts about them, the world that thinks they're beautiful, and even myself in comparison. From my vantage point, there has always been a club of sorts, a society of those girls, the girls who everyone wants to be, strives to be. The girls who seem to always be perfect, in style, and, well, rude (gasp! Did I just say that?).

Am I the only one who's ever thought that?

In my observations lately, the world's definition of beauty seems to come with a pass to be discourteous to anyone who isn't "in their club." I admit there are likely many exceptions to this, but it seems that whenever I see someone who the world defines as beautiful, she happens to exhibit some sort of entitlement complex. Her behavior seems to say, "The world owes me this. I deserve that. I get to step all over you, because I am better than you."

The idea that someone is better because they are physically attractive makes me mad. And tired. And frustrated with my own beauty, because it will never measure up. It's too much work to keep up with a girl like that.

And then, in my moments of clarity, I acknowledge that there is a longing to be beautiful that runs deep within me, but I remind myself that the kind of beautiful I want to be is so much richer, complex, and multi-faceted than just the way I look on the outside. Oh, being pretty on the outside is certainly part of it, but it's not all of it, so why do I feel pressure to embody the world's definition of beautiful?

I'm not sure. I guess it's just hard to be in the world and not of it sometimes. I think we all have a deep longing to be accepted, to be acceptable, to be loved, and to be loveable. And the world seems to tell us that the only way we can be those things is if we fit this erroneous definition they've given to the word beauty.

I'm not sure where I'm going with all this; my thoughts on this feel unfinished, but I'm not sure where to go next. I guess the truth is that I'm at a loss for how to make my mind right about all this stuff. It's a battle I've fought for so long, and I'm tired of it. I feel like I've asked the Lord to make this right in my heart for a long time, and every once in awhile, I feel like he has, but then there are those dark moments when I catch myself being cynical or feeling really terrible about myself. Why is it that I can see the real beauty in other women, but I have such a hard time seeing it in myself?

I think I'll end with that question. It's a question I'm going to ask myself a lot this week as I try to sort through all this. I'm going to start looking for the answer (and I'll let you know when I find it).

Project 31 Day 5: Write a blog thanking someone who has made your heart come alive.

I remember it so well: the way the late afternoon sun poured through the slits of the blinds covering my parents' bedroom window; the exact spot on the foot of the bed where we sat, myself between my parents; the way I was so absolutely sure I really wanted you to come live in my heart (even though at that time, I wasn't really sure what that actually meant quite yet).

Since that day, we've had an up and down relationship, haven't we? More ups than downs, but still--I haven't always held up my end of our relationship with the same resolve I had that first day, and for that, I'm sorry.

When I was younger, you weren't a question. You were truth-- accepted without reservation, deeply convinced as I was of you. You were in the songs I sang, the prayers I said, the books I read, the flowers I picked, the stories I told, and the sunsets I watched. I knew who you were, and I was absolutely certain that like the songs said, you did love me--but looking back, I'm not sure that I really knew you. 

When I got a little older, you were woven into my history, so much so that there was no me without you. And then my heart got hurt pretty badly. Instead of running to you for help, I questioned you. I didn't understand you. I wondered why such a thing could happen to me. I don't know that I ever said that I blamed you, but I think deep down in my hurting little heart, I did. If you loved me, certainly this wouldn't have happened to me.

I remember crying out to you in a way that I hadn’t ever cried out to you before. But that’s all it was: crying. In bed. In my car. In the shower. Wherever I happened to find myself alone, I cried. But I didn’t feel like I ever got a response, really. Or if I did, I didn’t hear it; at that point, my complaints and hurt and frustration and anguish were too loud.

Eventually, my heart closed down. Sealed itself off from you. Cringed when I heard your name. Got
angry when good things happened to other people. I eventually began to believe that either you forgot about me, or you just didn't care much about what happened to me.

And then, you showed up. You met me in my basement, the lowest place I’d ever been, the place where I’d been hiding for so long that it had become my new normal. When I finally got quiet enough to hear you, I heard your voice right next to me in that dark place and I realized you had been with me all along. And on that day of recognition, you turned on the light, climbed the stairs, opened the door, and asked me to climb the stairs and walk out the door with you. You didn’t force me; you invited me. You didn’t yell; you whispered. You didn’t scold; you comforted. You didn’t shun; you embraced.

You spoke to my heart in a way that made it come alive. You gave me a reason to live, a reason to love, a reason to take chances and to dream and to desire again. And you still do, every day.

Thank you for sitting in the dark with me. Thank you for urging me to leave that lonely place and for challenging me to take the first step. Thank you for holding my heart in your hands, and thank you that I can trust you to do that. Thank you for your love. Thank you for the dreams you have for me. Thank you for the grace you’ve shown me. Thank you for the life that flows from your heart into my own.

I love being your girl.

Project 31 Day 4: Post a picture of yourself in your favorite outfit

I admit it. I'm cheating.

This picture is definitely not recent. Definitely.

But the truth is that I just don't have a favorite outfit right now, unless you count my ratty old SJSU sweatshirt and my new sweatpants I got for Christmas. But that's a favorite because it's comfy, not because it makes me feel the least bit attractive.

Without a current favorite outfit, I kept putting this post off, swearing up and down that I'd just choose something--anything--that I sort of like enough to post. I kept coming up empty. Instead, I decided to go a different direction, and this is what I came up with.

Photo by AGBPhotographics

So. Why did I decide to post this picture? Well, because I'm wearing my absolute favorite jeans in it, the ones that I always felt like a knockout in whenever I wore them, the ones that currently don't fit (sigh), along with my favorite peep toe patent leather heels from White House Black Market that made me feel sassy whenever I wore them. I miss them terribly. I just gave them away because they too do not fit anymore, and I haven't quite gotten over it yet. (I really wasn't expecting my feet to grow during pregnancy, but, alas, they did. At least I know I will eventually be able to wear these jeans again. The shoes? Not so much.)


So again, I ask, why did I post this picture? Perhaps because this was a time in my life when I felt really pretty. This is one of our engagement pictures, and when it was taken, I was basking in the knowledge that I was about to be a bride. Brides are absolutely stunning, aren't they? And not just on the outside, although brides seem to always look pretty. It's more than outward beauty though. They have this glow that seems to emanate from the inside out, making them exude beauty in a way that seems to fade away sometime between "I do" and the return to reality. But why? Maybe it's because it's at that time, perhaps more than at any other time in our lives, that we know how beautiful, loved, seen, treasured, cherished we are. But the sad part about all of that is that we aren't any less beautiful, loved, seen, treasured or cherished as a bride than we are at any other time in our lives, not really. Maybe in some ways, sure, but Jesus sees us that way always, from the moment our little hearts start to beat.

Sometimes I feel like I'm not nearly as beautiful as I was when this picture was taken. Other times, I remind myself that there are so many new beautiful things about me that I didn't have when that picture was taken. I guess feeling beautiful is just that--a feeling. And can't we feel beautiful because of other things about us besides our outward appearance? Can we feel beautiful when we do something we know is right? Can we feel beautiful when we've accomplished something hard? Can we feel beautiful when we lend a hand to someone in need?

Don't get me wrong--feeling beautiful on the outside is important, but knowing that we're beautiful for more than just what we look like is important too. I struggle with this everyday, to be honest. But I'm making space in my heart to start to believe the fact that there are some pretty awesome things about myself that make me beautiful besides my favorite jeans and a pair of killer heels. It's when I'm in that place that I choose to begin accepting myself as a beautiful woman again.

But I still really like this picture. And I really want to be able to wear those jeans again ;)

Project 31 Day 3: Who is someone you know that inspires beauty?

I've thought long and hard about this (well, since yesterday at least), and I've tossed around many a name as I've tried to decide who to write about today. Stephanie, you're the one whose name keeps making its way to the forefront of my thinking. So Steph, this post is for you.

I guess the short way to introduce who Stephanie was in my life is to say that she was my babysitter when I was a kid, but the truth is, she was far more than that. She was really much more like a sister to me; I never had a sister of my own, and I wanted one more than I wanted a lot of things. But Stephanie was my surrogate, the one who stood in the place where a big sister would have stood, if I had one. She was the one who taught me about make up, listened to my stories about my major crushes on boys, and crashed my slumber parties. She played with my hair and taught me how to make silly faces. She showed me what it meant to be a lady, but to be a goofy one at that. We used to tell her she was weird, but she would always reply "I'm not weird, I'm gifted." She had dreams--big ones, dreams that made me realize it was not only ok to have big aspirations, it was necessary. I remember wanting to be like her, so much so that I played tennis in high school (just like her) and went to Biola University for a small part of my undergraduate career (just like her).

So how does she inspire beauty? She inspires beauty by being fully and completely herself. She may have had her bouts of self-doubt or insecurity over the years, but even if she did, she was always authentic about it. She found who she was in Christ and encourages other women to do the same. She is a compassion incarnate, talented to no end, and totally and completely in love with Jesus. She has three beautiful little girls who adore her world and will grow in the knowledge of Jesus as they model themselves after their mother.

Stephanie, thank you for inspiring me to find my own true beauty, to take pride in the quirkiness of who I am, and to always put Christ first in my life. Thank you for being brave enough to be yourself and to encourage me to do the same.

Project 31 Day 2: What makes you uniquely you?

I know I'm late. Yesterday was a busy day. Joey's brother and sister-in-law were in town, and I was far too exhausted to sit down and write this out by the time they left last night. I'm trying hard not to beat myself up about it (see below). Oh well. I guess I'm just a day behind. I'll try to catch up tomorrow!

Ok, down to business. What makes me unique? That's a question I've been trying to answer for a long time. I think when we're so familiar with our own selves, sometimes we just feel, well, normal (don't we?). Either that, or just ordinary. To look for the things about myself that are special is hard because to me, they're just, well, me. So, here's a quick list of things that make me me.

I love Jesus. He's my everything.
I really, really, really love chocolate. I especially love chocolate covered strawberries.
I hate chocolate combined with either raspberry or orange. Ew.
I am a good listener.
I cry a lot, especially when I laugh. My friends call them Rachel Tears.
I'm a not-so-closet Harry Potter fan. (Seriously, I'm a Harry Potter nerd.)
I pretty much always give a disclaimer when I'm talking to someone, about, well, anything. (Except for when I really mean it. Wait, is that a disclaimer?)
I say I'm sorry far too often, for things that (usually) don't warrant it.
I am an optimist when it comes to other people, but a pessimist when it comes to myself.
I have many, many books. Tons. I love them. But most of the books on my shelf are either unread, or only 50% read. I keep a stack on my nightstand that very nearly topples over every day, but having them there is a comfort, in a way. I get lost in them, learn from them, am inspired by them, and find rest in them.
I tend to beat myself up about things (see introduction to this post for an example...).
I'm a middle child--I have two brothers, no sisters. My brothers are best friends now, and I've always longed to have a sister of my own, one who is my best friend. Even though that dream will never become a reality, I've been blessed with many, many girlfriends who are like sisters to me.
I'm a peacemaker.
I'm an encourager.
I hate trying on jeans. Bain of my existence.
I love to explore, to learn new things, to stretch my mind and expand my understanding.
I love pretty things.
I'm really sorry, but I'm just not a dog person. Actually, I'm not much of an animal person. They're beautiful creatures, but ... well, can I just admire and appreciate them from a distance?
I love to get lost: in books, in old movies, in new places, in the beauty of the night sky, in my husband's arms.
I hate flying. HATE it. But I love to travel. 
I'm quite easy going, but I can be incredibly stubborn about a few things when my mind is made up.
I love to cook, but I usually apologize for what I think is the mediocre quality of what I make (see? I told you I apologize a lot!)
It takes me a long time to make a decision, but once made, I'm pretty committed to it.
My feet are always cold when I get into bed.
I love to learn about health and wellness, and really like teaching people that cooking healthy does not require sacrificing flavor. To me, it simply enhances it (when done well!)
I love wandering through farmers markets.
I have a little beauty mark below my left eye--and I secretly adore it.
I'm a dreamer.
I love to write. It's where my the jumbled mess inside my head takes shape and begins to make sense.

I'm sure there are many other things that make me uniquely me. But for now, I think that'll do.

Project 31 Day 1: What Does Beauty Mean to You?

I honestly thought this would be easy.

Writing about what beauty means to me doesn't seem like it should be difficult; after all, we all have our own ideas of what beauty is (don't we?).

But as I sit here writing about how I feel about it, what it means to me, I keep coming back to the lies I believed about it for a long time, the lies from which I thought I'd broken free, the lies that somehow wormed their way back into my subconscious over the past several months.

Several years ago, I (like so many of you) read Captivating by John & Stasi Elderidge, and it changed my life in many ways. It was a tool God used to set my heart free, to tell me what he really thought of me, and to create a new intimacy between us, an intimacy that I had only dreamed of prior to that. Reading that true beauty is a feminine heart fully alive brought freedom to my weary soul. I didn't have to strive for a definition of beauty that was unrealistic, twisted, untrue. To be beautiful, I simply had to be me, my authentic self. I was beautiful because of who God is.

But over the years, and especially in the last several months when body changed as my pregnancy progressed, I slowly began to forget that beauty is more than the way my physical self appears. I somehow let the world's idea of beauty creep back in and twist my view of myself; when I looked in the mirror, what I saw became a distorted view of who I really was. No longer did I feel pretty. No longer did I feel valuable. No longer did I feel like I was living up to the girl that my husband fell in love with. After all, he thought she was pretty beautiful, and yet here I was, this distorted version of myself--how could he, or anyone else, find anything beautiful in me?

When I think about how we describe God as being beautiful, I realize that we cannot see his face. We see awe-inspiring manifestations of who he is, but we cannot physically see him. And yet, he's beautiful. What he does is beautiful. His heart is beautiful. Who he is is beautiful.

The truth is this: beauty does have a physical side to it. There are pretty things in the world, women included. But just "being pretty" isn't the same as being beautiful. Pretty is one thing; it's what we see with our eyes. And yes, I think as women, we want to be pretty, to feel it and to know that there's someone who thinks we're pretty, too. But beauty is not limited to the physical. Beauty makes us stop and stare in amazement. Beauty makes us experience wonder, amazement. It is awe-inspiring and encourages life to be fully lived and enjoyed. It brings comfort, solace, hope. Beauty captures hearts and imaginations. It's what takes our breath away.

Beauty is the quiet of the morning, the smell of coffee brewing, the sounds of life around me yawning and stirring and waking to the new day.
Beauty is second chances.
Beauty is the sunset and the star-studded night sky that follows.
Beauty is the first time my baby smiled at me. It is feeling her grasp my finger and watching her smile at me while she nurses.
Beauty is the knowledge that the Lord not only knows my name, but thinks I'm pretty great.
Beauty is the hope that life will go on, that things will get better, and that I get to experience each new day with my husband standing beside me, holding my hand.
Beauty is being attuned to what is going on in the hearts of someone else and doing something meaningful to minister to their needs.
Beauty is a flower budding in the early spring, reminding us that new life follows death.
Beauty is the mingling of flavors in a new recipe.
Beauty is the promise of love shared.
Beauty so much more...but like my friend Ashley said today in her own Day 1 entry, beauty simply is.

And perhaps that's the way God designed it, to be a mystery that invites us unto himself, that draws us closer to him.

Project 31

Project 31--What a perfect follow-up to the things that happened last weekend when beauty was so heavily on my heart. Little did I know that beauty--true, authentic beauty--was on the hearts and minds of so many other women. Being part of a larger movement toward beauty makes my role in it feel more important, bigger than just my own little journey in my own little world. It feels like there's a war being waged against the lies that have taken hold of so many hearts and minds for far too long (and it's about time, isn't it?). I choose today to begin a journey toward the truth, to rediscover the real meaning of beauty alongside so many others. (Thank you to She Breathes Deeply for the Project 31 challenge!)