“Wisdom is with age the aged and understanding in length of days.” Job 12:12
At 53 years old, I wish I could tell my 17-year-old self the following:
God is a good God. You don’t have to strive to win His approval; you just need to be in relationship with Him, because He loves you.
Enjoy the college cafeteria, because after figuring out what to cook for more than 11,000 dinners, the decision about what you want for dinner is not so glamorous.
There will be good times and challenging times, but remember, each season is just a season.
Wear sunscreen and reapply it often.
Stop buying so much stuff! Eventually most of it ends up being donated, at your yard sale, or, even worse, in the landfill!
There is no book that tells you what to expect during menopause, but I hope that by the time your daughter reaches this stage, a book will have finally been published; written, of course, by a woman.
Relationships matter, so spend more time cultivating them.
Choose where you spend your time carefully: outdoors, being creative, and giving back to your community.
Remember the three R’s: read, read more, and read more often.
No relationship is ever meant to be your all: not your spouse, your children, and not your friends. Only God is meant to fulfill you.
Marriage can be hard, but it also can be a lot of fun. Make sure you laugh often, chill together, forgive continuously, and have adventures.
Celebrate the big moments and the small victories.
Life is extraordinarily ordinary and that is okay.
Sleep for 7 to 9 hours; the rest is good for both your mental and physical health.
Some of the movies, fashion choices, and music you loved at 17 didn’t stand the test of time –who cares, look at those memories as good, (Yes, I had pictures of Knight Rider David Hasselhoff on my wall along with Tom Wopat form Dukes of Hazard, and Andrew Macarthy from Pretty in Pink)
Fruit is nature’s candy when it is in season. Buy it then and indulge it.
Lots of people including yourself will have negative opinions about your body, stop listening to those voices, Express kindness to your body.
Kindness costs nothing, be generous with it and express it to everyone.
“He is like a tree planted by streams of water that yields its fruit in season, and its leaf does not wither. In all that he does, he prospers.” Psalm 1:3 ESV
A new cookie recipe captured my family’s heart. It wasn’t the decadent brown butter chocolate chip cookie that made every other chocolate chip subpar. It wasn’t Dorie Greenspan’s World Peace cookie, which is the perfect blend of buttery, salty, chocolatey goodness. It was an ordinary cookie that is often overlooked at church potlucks: the oatmeal raisin cookie. I have used a friend’s recipe for years which she got from a Walt Disney cookbook, and it is delicious. I included that cookie on Christmas platters, thinking that maybe it would tip the scales slightly from sugar overload to a health food store vibe. This new recipe, from one of my favorite bakers, Zoe Francois, turned that oatmeal raisin cookie upside down. She starts by browning the butter and then adds her secret weapon. While the butter is still sizzling in the pot with its nutty fragrance filling the air, you add cinnamon, and for 15 seconds, you let it bloom. This simple step allows the cinnamon to intensify in flavor and permeate the cookie, adding a subtle richness that elevates the recipe. They were so popular, the next day my daughter asked for the recipe.
Right now, everything is blooming in central PA. For about three weeks, the trees that lined my street displayed white blossoms, making our ride home feel like a majestic welcome. Daffodils have come and gone, and now tulips are reigning in our neighborhood. The yellow, red, and orange cups open as the sun rises, reminding me God’s mercies are new every day. This burst of blooms brightens my day after a long gray winter. Despite the havoc the pollen is creating in my red, itchy eyes, I am still delighted spring has arrived.
Spring always feels like possibilities: new life, new beginnings, and new growth. Despite my delight, the sluggishness of winter still clings to my body and mind. This may be due to the trifecta of circumstances in my life: an RA flare, menopausal insomnia and Vitamin D deficiency. Add in my usual seasonal depression, it’s been a hard time. Each day I wake up exhausted and fake my usual perkiness in both my work and personal life. By the end of the day, I stop pretending, and slump into my hibernation mode. But even with pretending, it is evident in my lack of writing. I find it easier to scroll on Instagram looking for inspiration than to put my fingers to the keyboard. It is evident by the dark circles under my droopy eyelids. It is evident when I am more content to stay home on weekends than leave my house.
I recognize that some of what I am feeling is due to some health issues beyond my control. I have started a new medicine for my RA, which should make a difference in six more weeks. I am also taking a prescription dose of Vitamin D, which should also make a difference. I recognize that depression can be a serious issue that needs intervention from a physician and/or a therapist. I am not at that point, but I do need to make some changes that help create some natural serotonin and dopamine in my life.
Due to the severity of my RA flare, any additional exercise beyond my normal daily activity seemed impossible in the past year. Getting out of bed in the morning was a major accomplishment with achy and swollen joints taking up all my physical energy. I am starting to see some differences with the medicine regime I am on, and I am planning to join the YMCA soon. I think swimming will be good for my joints and some mild weight training will help build strength. Terry and I both miss our regular walks, and plan on incorporating that back into our lives as well, finding new parks and trails to explore. Just moving alone should help increase my dopamine.
We recently enjoyed two lectures by an area bookstore owner on the history of our local library. After dinner, I mustered up enough energy to go to the lectures despite the enticements my cozy couch whispered to me. After each lecture, I felt energized, conversing about the Bosler family, stained glass, and artist Edward Burne-Jones. This reminded me that it is important to explore. Micro adventures to area gardens, bookstores, and museums will inspire and breathe life into me, dialing up my serotonin levels.
Beyond medicine, exercise, and micro adventures, I need to prioritize creativity in my life. For me, that comes in several different forms, including cooking and writing. On a recent podcast, Aimee Nezhukumatathil, author of Bite by Bite, remarked that we have “26 letters to make magic with” and speculated about the infinite number of spices we can use to make a dish. Scrolling on Instagram, no matter how curated my feed is, has become a habit that leaves me depleted and exhausted. I know this, I have written about this in the past. But when you are not feeling well, it is too easy to stay checked out instead of living. I have at my fingertips, the ability to write essays or books that inspire or encourage others. I have in my spice cabinet the ability to create meals that expose Terry and I to new cultures and cuisines.
There is scientific research that demonstrates how creativity affects your mental status. Often, when engaging in creative pursuits, you enter a “flow state” where you lose track of time while doing something you enjoy. This happens to all sorts of creatives, and when in this flow state, you reach a level of calmness that reduces stress. At the same time, it energizes you, increasing your capacity throughout the day. It also helps you process your emotions and increases your empathy. Therapists are starting to use more dance, music, and art therapy to help people with depression and post-traumatic stress. Finally, by being creative, you increase your brain’s plasticity. This will help you process information better in the future, building more connections across your brain.
My husband has been a witness to my struggles the past year. He has seen me wince in pain when I struggle to find a comfortable position in bed. He has seen me sitting in the car while he runs in to get something at my former happy place, Target. He has seen me mask my tiredness by pretending to be ok, when I am not. Additionally, he has picked up the slack: cooking, running errands, and cleaning.
Terry also knows what fulfills me. And in his own gentle way, he reminded me a few weeks ago by sending me a Substack screen shot. It came from Joshua Luke Smith, reminding himself of the importance of writing. I will not quote it all, but it included these lines: “I am a writer, and this week, I will write. I will type, until what is within me exists beyond me. I will not make excuses about time or talent.” He followed that with another quote from Kyle Worley, “The writer has to love the world enough to ignore it so that they might illuminate it.” These simple quotes reminded me of the importance of creating. They pushed me forward into setting aside more time to write.
Right now, flowers are blooming due to the warmth of the sun. Heat applied to the cinnamon bloomed the spicy flavor to permeate the cookie. Terry’s gentle prodding was the heat to nudge me into blooming again as a writer.
We are all creatives, and as creatives, we sometimes have slumps or challenging seasons. But just as spring is an indicator of new life, let this piece remind you to go create. Whether it is picking up your camera to get the perfect shot, finding your paint brush to paint a landscape, strumming your guitar, crocheting a blanket, or writing a poem, spend time finding something creative to do. Soon, your creativity will permeate goodness throughout your life.
“When I look at your heavens, the work of your fingers, the moon and the stars, which you have set in place, what is man that you are mindful of him, and the son of man that you care for him?” Psalm 8:3-4
In the 1970’s, having a copy of the World Book Encyclopedias was as important as having a 45-inch flat screen TV today. Despite earning below the poverty line, my mother made monthly payments for us to have those treasures of knowledge, and the Childcraft books that came with it. These beige embossed vinyl books captured my imagination. I would peruse the first volume, pouring over the nursery rhymes making my way through longer poems flanked by delightful artwork. I explored the other volumes, but always came back to the poetry volume reciting Simple Simon Met A Pieman and envisioning magical forests while reading The Sugarplum Tree by Eugene Field. Something about poets’ distinct words conjured up images for me that seemed otherworldly compared to the harsh reality of life. My love for Volume 1 was imprinted with the oils of my fingers, making the embossed covers look worn and beloved.
I stopped reading poetry around age nine. I don’t know what stopped me from delighting in words. It is possible life just became too hard. I didn’t have the time to slow down and let the poets romance me because I was too busy keeping secrets. It could be that in English classes we poured over structure and rhyming schemes, making poetry seem mechanical. It may have been that the areas where poetry touches, feelings and nature, were not familiar or restorative to me. All I know is, for many years, I stopped engaging in my childhood friend, poetry.
Later, with my children, I explored poetry while home educating them. Charlotte Mason, one of my major educational influences, remarked that “poetry could cultivate the seeing eye, the hearing ear, the generous heart.” We read a free verse picture book titled Daring Dog and Captain Cat where family pets had nighttime adventures. As I read the book aloud and found the rhythm, I delighted in the images the author painted with words, like “kitchen pans banging breakfast songs.” Yet, I held poetry at a distance, still believing that my lack of intelligence or imagination prevented us from forming a relationship.
Ann Voskamp, and her poetic prose best seller One Thousand Gifts: A Dare To Live Fully Right Now slowly enticed me back to poetry. Her descriptions of soap suds dancing in the air, and the colors of sunrise captured my senses. I, too, began to write down things I was grateful for, paying attention to how the steaming cup of coffee warmed my hand and soul. I too, listened to the songs of birds chirping and the smell of lilacs wafting across my patio. And, like Ann, “when I’m always looking for the next glimpse of glory, I slow and enter.” This created the soil where my love and appreciation for poetry could grow and thrive.
Later, when I was experiencing a lot of life transitions, I was encouraged by authors like Joy and Sarah Clarkson to start reading poetry once again. I picked an anthology, The Four Seasons Poems, edited by J.D. McClatchy in spring of 2018. This compact book, from a series called Everyman’s Library Pocket Poets, stayed at my bedside for a year. Regularly, I would read a poem aloud, listening to how the words danced across my lips, savoring the images the poets created. Sometimes, I could smell the plowed spring earth ready to bear seeds, feel the soft summer wind brush my hair across my face, hear the crickets play their fiddles in fall, and see the giant snowflakes flutter to the ground. As I did this, I found myself paying more attention to the world around me and feeling more appreciative of God, the creator of all things beautiful.
This small book opened up a new world. I began to crave poetry and found both old and modern poets I loved. Christine Rossetti, Wendell Berry, Mary Oliver and Maggie Smith soon became treasured friends. I encouraged my husband to join me, and soon we were reading poems aloud to each other in the evening. I started to open my imagination to answer Mary Oliver’s question in The Summer Day “Tell me, what is it you plan to do with your one wild and precious life?” I started to think harder about where I lived and how I can create community because of Wendell Berry’s insights. I contemplated how I can contribute to making this world beautiful by reading Maggie Smith’s Good Bones. Each poet helped me adjust to the transitions in my life and see that I had a full life ahead of me.
I also saw how poetry can address justice, body positivity, and other issues our world faces today. Amanda Gorman called for “unity, collaboration, and togetherness” as she recited her poem The Hill We Climb at the 2021 Biden inauguration. With her bright yellow coat, she stood elegantly and resolute capturing the hearts of Americans. Kwame Alexander connects young African American men to the importance of family by using sports analogies in his visual poems. Lindsay Rush addresses the stereotypes and stigma women feel in her book of poetry A Bit Much.
My husband tried tiramisu years ago and was disappointed. After two attempts, he concluded that he didn’t like this famous Italian dessert. We then heard others drool and rave about our friend Nate’s famous tiramisu. Everyone requests this dessert from him, and some unashamedly eat it before the main meal at church dinners. After a couple of years hearing about all the fuss and gentle prodding from me, Terry decided to give it a try. His first bite into this rum, espresso, creamy mascarpone concoction opened his eyes to this Italian treasure. The reality is he did like tiramisu, he just needed to find the right recipe for his taste buds.
I have heard from many people resolute about their distaste of poetry for much the same reasons I had vocalized in the past. But like Terry’s experience with tiramisu, it may take some trial and error for you to find the right poet or poem to speak to you. As a Christian, we should challenge ourselves to read poetry because it is a writing technique God used in the Bible. He knew the power of imagery and expressing emotions speaks to the heart of all people. Audre Lorde says “poetry is not a luxury. It is the vital necessity of our existence.”
Here are a few ideas on how to engage in a poetic relationship. Start in Psalms, and although we lose some of the rhythm due to translation, read a few aloud. Pay attention to the imagery and emotions being expressed, and how vulnerable the writer was being. Then, look at some anthologies, like a poem about seasons or gardens, or even a poem a day. Read the poem aloud following the punctuation, it may feel awkward the first few times, but eventually you will feel the heart of the poem. If it describes plants or places or animals you are unfamiliar with, look those images up. I had no idea what a snowdrop looked like until we explored Winterthur Gardens. Now, all the late winter/early spring poems about the snowdrop flower make sense. If reading a book of poetry seems to be daunting, explore some poetry podcasts that read a poem aloud such as Slowdown or Daily Poem. Finally, if one poem does not speak to you, leave it behind. But if it does, take the time to savor the words and images. Maybe even annotate the poem by underling the lines that jump out at you. Also, explore some modern poets like the ones I mentioned in this blog post. Keep trying, because one day you will find a poem that speaks to you.
It is National Poetry Month, so give a poem a try. I promise you will like it!
“Learn to do good; seek justice, correct oppression; bring justice to the fatherless, plead the widow’s cause.” Isaiah 1:17
As I write the epilogue, we are deep into the editing process. Thoughts race through my mind. Did I miss something? Should I have written certain chapters with more vulnerability? Did I address all the areas I hoped to cover? And the list continues. But my husband keeps reminding me that I need to close the book. And he’s right. This book was never meant to be an exhaustive window into my healing process, because it is fluid, and I continue to grow. Nor was this book meant to be a comprehensive overview of all the therapeutic models that have helped me and could help other victims. Just as the home remodeling shows edit hours and hours of footage down to a 44-minute show, I also must edit all the heart, soul, and mind material that I have dealt with in my healing process. I can’t cover everything, and some things are still so raw and vulnerable that I am not ready to share them with the world.
I therefore close with a thought that Rachael Denhollander, a victim of sexual assault, shared in her victim impact statement at the sentencing hearing of Olympic Gymnastics doctor, Larry Nassar. She asked the judge, “So what is a little girl worth?”1 This later became the title of her own memoir about sexual assault. It is a simple question but one with many layers to it. And it’s a question I ask you, my readers: What is a little girl worth?
I know the answer is not found in the voices of perpetrators who crush victims. It is not found in people who lack insight and knowledge of how to handle trauma. It is only found in the gospel. As Christians, we can and should be a support system that has confronted and dealt with our own misconceptions about sexual assault and has created a safe place for victims to heal.
I ask you, again: What is a little girl, a little boy, a woman, or a man worth? Are you willing to arm yourself with knowledge and material that will help educate and inform you on the effects of trauma? Are you willing to let experts like Rachael Denhollander, Dan Allender, and Chanel Miller educate you on the harm this kind of trauma did in their lives and the lives of others? Only one of these is a licensed therapist. Their expertise is not based on the letters after their names, it’s based on their own experiences with sexual assault. All too often, victims are further dismissed for being a sexual assault advocate. Rachael Denhollander said in her impact statement, “Once it became known that I too had experienced sexual assault, people close to me used it as an excuse to brush off my concerns when I advocated for others who had been abused, saying I was just obsessed because of what I had gone through.”2 I also have experienced this dismissal. But who better to understand and advocate for a victim’s rights than a person who has experienced it herself?
So once again, I ask you: What is the person sitting next to you in church worth? What is the person in your small group worth? What is your sister worth? What is your neighbor worth? If they are valuable and made in the image of God, will you invest some time to unpack sexual assault in more depth? I have included in this epilogue a list of books and podcasts that have helped shape me and correct my own misconceptions about sexual assault, rape, and harassment. Not all these are written by Christians, but truth is truth, no matter the source. Take some time to read a few of these books, or, if you prefer, download them as audiobooks. Listen to a few of the podcasts. It will help inform your compassion and empathy.
List of Resources
Books:The Wounded Heart: Hope For Adult Victims of Childhood Sexual Abuse: Dr. Dan B. Allender; What is a Girl Worth?: My Story of Breaking the Silence and Exposing the Truth about Larry Nassar and USA Gymnastics: Rachael Denhollander; What My Bones Know: A Memoir of Healing from Complex Trauma: Stephanie Foo; Rid of My Disgrace: Hope and Healing for Victims of Sexual Assault: Justin S. Holcomb and Lindsey A. Holcomb; She Said: Breaking the Sexual Harassment Story that Helped Ignite a Movement: Jodi Kantor and Megan Twohey; The Body Keeps the Score: Brain, Mind, and Body in the Healing of Trauma: Dr. Bessel van der Kolk; Know My Name: Chanel Miller; All My Knotted-Up life: A Memoir: Beth Moore
Podcasts:The Healing Trauma Podcast: Monique Koven; Java with Juli: Dr. Juli Slattery; The Place We Find Ourselves: Adam Young; The Allender Center Podcast: Dan Allender and Rachael Clinton Chen
“Do nothing from selfish ambition or conceit, but in humility count others more significant than yourselves.” Philippians 2:3
Recently, an acquaintance asked a question in a judgmental tone that upset me, “Now that you are working, are you finally going to get a second car?” I instantly felt like I had to explain my choices and justify the decisions my husband and I have made. Instead, I remembered some of the work I have done, and that not everyone deserves an explanation, especially when they have already formed their own opinion. I replied “no” and moved the conversation in a different direction.
For many, our almost 29 years of marriage may seem like we are in the dark ages, with our choice to have only one vehicle. For most of the time, Terry has worked within 5 to 10 minutes from our home. This made it convenient when I had appointments or home school activities. I would just take him to work in the morning and continue my day. I also lived close to parks and the library, putting a lot of miles on my stroller odometer. Money was tight, and keeping up a second car was not something that fit into our budget.
For the past 10 years, other than during the pandemic interruption, my husband has commuted 45-60 minutes to work. This made appointments a little bit challenging, but again we found ways to work around those obstacles. I was providing childcare for a family, who had an extra vehicle which I used for taking their kids to appointments and school. They generously allowed me to use it for my own appointments as well. I lived close to my family doctor and chose to walk to her office on a few occasions. Also, my children were driving and had purchased their own cars, so occasionally they helped with a few errands.
The one-car family idea became a little more challenging when I took a part-time job, and for 9 months, I drove more than I had driven in the past 5 years. We knew all the miles we were putting on our car were not sustainable, so we moved closer to my work. Two months later, Terry accepted a new position making both of our commutes 5-6 minutes in the same direction from our home. We have decided that the cost of a second car is not important to our lives, using the extra money for travel and day excursions.
I know that Women’s History month is over, but I want to end this series on how we can support all women in their choices concerning their marital status, if or when they are going to have children, whether they choose to stay home or work while raising children, and how they decide to educate their children. All of these have elicited some strong opinions in the church and have caused women to go both on the offense and on the defense. Within all these areas, we even micro-judge whether they breastfeed, what they feed their family, and what they let their children watch.
Years ago, while in college, I made some arrogant statements over time to a dear friend about the importance of higher education and being career oriented. With her usual grace, she wrote a letter to me, sharing with me how my opinions had demeaned her choice to be a stay-at-home mom, and that there was room for both of us to have our goals without tearing each other down. I instantly felt bad and apologized. Ironically, I didn’t learn my lesson when I made the decision to stay home with my kids and home-educate. I soon found myself on the other side of the table, judging working moms. This view was reinforced by my insulated circle of friends and acquaintances, all of us reading books by home education leaders and listening to Christian talk-radio shows (this was before podcasts were a thing).
Recently, I had a few people hang up on me as I was making phone calls for donations to a local nonprofit. The first time, I was offended but quickly remembered I have done the same to various other organizations trying to raise funds. I cushioned the hang up by saying I was not interested and ended the call before the person had a chance to respond. Now, being on the other side of the call, I realized even a cushioned hang-up felt rude.
Author Tyler Merrit says in his book I Take My Coffee Black, “proximity breeds empathy. And with empathy, humanity has a fighting chance.” My sister, Cheryl, entered college slightly later than her peers. She finished her bachelor’s degree and went on to complete her master’s degree. She later found a great job at a major university. She then decided to pursue her law degree, while getting married, followed by having two children. After having her children, she continued working full-time while finishing her law degree. I saw how hard she worked towards achieving her goals. I also knew how much she loved her children and wanted what was best for them. She wanted them to have healthy, whole lives supported by a loving mother. Her goals in parenting were not different from mine. What was different was the application, and that didn’t make either of our approaches better than the other.
Just like me, she sacrificed her finances and personal time to meet the needs of her growing family. I chose to have one car; she chose to spend money on an excellent daycare for her children. I made some sacrifices with my professional goals, while she limited her opportunities so she could be fully present in the evening with her kids. We both stayed home with our sick kids, giving them the extra cuddles they needed. We both took our children to the library, created family traditions, and researched the best ways to raise our children.
I saw how hard my sister worked, and continues to work, as a mom while still excelling in her chosen career. Being close to her gave me insight into working moms. Just like stay-at-home moms, they love their children passionately. Their reasons for working are to help provide for their family, achieve some professional goals, and some may have no other option as single parents. No matter what their reason is, this doesn’t make them less of a mother. It just means they work differently than stay-at-home moms.
I remember going to camp where competition between cabins was fierce. We created chants about our cabin name, often belittling the different cabins, hoping to win the coveted Best Cabin award at the end of the week. This was fine for a one-week experience as a middle-schooler. The stakes are higher when we continue as adults to put ourselves into camps of our different choices in marriage, children, work, and education. We automatically create an “us vs. them” culture which leads to belittling attitudes and judgements. But Paul reminds us there is a different way to operate. He states in Galatians 3:28, “There is neither Jew nor Greek, there is neither slave no free, there is no male and female, for you are all one in Christ Jesus.” Paul was teaching a principle that our differences don’t separate us from Christ, and in turn, shouldn’t separate us from each other.
Sienna Miller, who welcomed a new baby at age 41, addressed the ageism question in Hollywood. She pointed out that she gets a lot of negative feedback on how “old” she was to be having a baby. She also pointed out that stars like Robert De Niro and Al Pacino, who welcomed children at 79 at 83 respectively, were celebrated instead of questioned on their geriatric age. Though these arguments plague Hollywood, can’t we of the Christian faith do better? Let’s cheer on mothers who embrace motherhood at older ages. Let’s support those who choose to remain single by embracing them into the greater family of God. Let’s champion those mothers who choose to use formula. Let’s recognize that all parents want the best education for their children, and that they have a right to delegate that to private or public schools.
Again, like all the other topics I have discussed in the last three blogs, this can only happen when I personally identify the ways I have judged other women in the past and choose to be supportive in the future. I have some amazing friends who parent passionately and have made different choices than I did. I have some amazing friends that are single, who support the kingdom in so many tangible ways and their choices should be validated. It’s time to embrace the differences so we can chant the hashtag of International Women’s Day, let’s #AccelerateAction, by recognizing that these differences make us a more effective body of Christ. This proximity to differences will increase our empathy, and in turn, our witness.
We have one car, and we are content with our choice. I chose to raise my family the way God called us to as a family unit, which resulted in me staying home, home educating, and a limited income. Our way was right for our family, but not for everyone. In the future, I want to champion my friends and families who make different choices than me.
“Give her of the fruit of her hands, and let her works praise her in the gates.” Proverbs 31:31 ESV
For our first Pennsylvania Thanksgiving, both my sisters and my in-laws made the trek from Wisconsin, Nebraska, and Illinois to celebrate with us. We had our traditional turkey feast and squeezed in an early Christmas with everyone as well. To keep the season festive, I made everyone’s favorite Christmas treats: Hershey Kiss Cookies, Peanut Butter Balls, Haystacks, Thumbprints and Carrot Cookies. My sister’s boyfriend came with her, and I assumed he would find a cookie amongst our favorites that he would like. When I noticed that Jamin was passing on the cookies, he politely shared that he didn’t like nuts, peanut butter, or carrots in cookies. I felt bad and promised the next holiday we had together, I would bake his favorite cookie or treat. I asked what he liked, half expecting him to announce sugar or gingerbread cookies. His eyes lit up and he exclaimed, “Cornflake Wreaths!” He explained that he and his mother had a tradition of making these treats, and he emphasized the importance of the red-hot candies. Terry snickered in the background, because he had been asking for years to add these same treats to the holiday baking list. I half-heartedly agreed but kept putting them at the bottom of the list.
So, next Christmas, I finally decided to make Cornflake Wreaths for Terry. I looked up the recipe and immediately presumed there was a mistake: 1 tsp. of green food coloring? Surely, that was a misprint, since food coloring is typically measured by drops. I adjusted the food coloring, added a few extra drops, then attempted to form the wreaths. When it was all said and done, my blob-shaped wreaths were the shade of a sick Grinch. I snapped a picture and sent it to Jamin asking what I did wrong. He informed me that buttered hands were necessary to shape the wreaths. He also said a lot of green food coloring was necessary to get the right shade. And when you think you have enough, add some extra.
There is a new poet, Lindsay Rush, known on Instagram as Mary Oliver’s drunken cousin, who wrote a poem that went viral and has since become my poetic life mantra. It is titled “She’s A Bit Much.” She takes a common insult made about women and turns it into a compliment. She compares the insulted women to confetti, sprinkles, and the bonus French fry at the bottom of the bag, someone we are to celebrate, and she ends with the line, “Aren’t we lucky she’s here.” Her poem points to a bigger truth: insults made about women, such as she is a bit much, too bossy, manipulative, too driven, not feminine enough, etc., are more about putting women into a box that minimizes their God-given attributes when they should be celebrated.
As I child, I was labeled as bossy by some adults in my circle. I had budding leaderships skills, and needed adult guidance to help develop those skills in a healthy manner. Yes, some children with leadership skills can develop into narcissistic dictators, but most children just need adults to help them recognize that being a leader is not just giving orders but inviting others along to accomplish a goal for the greater good. It is interesting that boys are rarely described as bossy; words like charismatic or having leadership potential are used instead.
I have also been accused, in some circles, of being “too much” and have had conversations with other women who have also been unjustly accused of this as well. Introverted, mild mannered Christian women are held up as the more palatable and less offensive role models. According to the Bible, we are all expected to be humble, gracious, and gentle. Those character traits are not just limited to the female gender. But somehow, we associate those traits with quiet females. I think I can be “too much” in some people’s eyes but still exhibit the fruits of humility, graciousness, and gentleness in my life. It is just how those fruits are manifested that might be different than some of my introverted friends.
The point is, we label women with negative traits that we rarely use to describe men, and somehow, we think that it is okay. Although I don’t like being called bossy or “too much”, I find myself putting other women into a box with the label “brassy.” These so-called “brassy” women boldly state their opinions or ask for what they need from others without qualifications. We all need to learn a level of hospitality and be careful that we are asking and not demanding. Being bold and direct are not bad traits, and I must be careful that I am not labeling a bold woman as brassy when I don’t apply the same standard to men.
Like most consumers, I can be drawn in by certain labels. Terms like “sustainable,” “supports local farmers,” and “produced in small batches” are like catnip to me. I also look for labels in a bookstore and rush to the poetry, memoirs, and literary fiction sections, avoiding the fantasy and science fiction shelves. These labels help me pursue what I am looking for. But when we broadly label women negatively, we impose limits on what we think they can and should achieve, which can sometimes become self-imposed limits.
One of the most controversial women today, Meghan, the Duchess of Sussex, addressed these labels or archetypes on a podcast she did in 2022. She understands firsthand how labels can destroy when the media and trolls describe her as a “gold-digger,” “fake,” “family destroyer” and far worse. She interviewed some women, including Serena Williams, Paris Hilton, and Mariah Carey, exploring the origins and consequences of being labeled ambitious, a bimbo, or a diva. These women shared how they have let go of the negativity and, in some cases, changed the definition to a positive one. One thing from her podcast that stuck with me is when Serena Williams talked about negativity in relation to a woman being described as ambitious. Serena explained how for a long time that label hadn’t impacted her until she met her husband. But then people started describing her ambition in a negative light. “So, since I’ve felt the negativity behind it (referring to ambition), it’s really hard to un-feel it. I can’t unsee it, either, in the millions of girls and women who make themselves smaller, so much smaller—on a regular basis.”
Serena articulated something that I believe most women have felt in their lifetime, and I have no doubt that all the young women I care about have also felt it. When we are labeled as too much, bossy, brassy, and not feminine enough, we often find ourselves becoming smaller, shrinking our influence, agency, ambition, drive, and talents. This often leads us to imposter syndrome where we think we don’t measure up. We then start to second guess our instincts and minimize the character traits that reflect our creator.
Years ago, my husband had a meeting with some people and the subject of me came up. I had been feeling for a while that I was doing something wrong and felt like I was being pushed out of what I deemed the inner circle. Terry directly asked if there was an issue with me. The people in the meeting immediately said no, but one person qualified that sometimes, “Sherry can be too much.” They continued, implying that I can swoop in and get a job done, almost making the “too much” more palatable. But clearly, no one in the room but my husband believed this was a good trait.
Later, when I heard that I was “too much”, I instantly felt swallowed by shame. Hadn’t I written prayers time and time again in my journal asking God to help me be meek and mild? Hadn’t I come to this same group, bearing my soul in one of the worst moments in my life, and pursuing God with humility? Hadn’t I become smaller, hiding my natural extroverted inclinations to fit in with this group? Apparently, despite my best efforts, I was still “too much.” At that point, I was still desperately trying to fit in, so instead of affirming that my “too much” was enough for God, I did the opposite. I became smaller by being less talkative, less present, less involved, and less joyful.
There is one woman in the Bible who did not shrink in a time of need. Esther and her people were facing total annihilation. At first, when confronted by her cousin Mordecai to address the king, Esther started to shrink. Yes, she was the queen, but she still had to submit to the king. Boldly approaching his throne without being called for might lead to her own death. But Mordecai challenged her with these words found in Esther 4:14, “For if you keep silent at this time, relief and deliverance will rise for the Jews from another place, but you and your father’s house will perish. And who knows whether you have not come to the kingdom for such a time as this.” Esther thought about what he said, and replied with a plan, ending with “and if I perish, I perish.”
Esther decided to go big and be who she was called to be, realizing that shrinking will lead to certain death, but the unknown gave her agency, allowing her to call the shots. By being who God called her to be, she was able to command the king’s attention and save her people and herself. I wonder how many of us women have shrunk in times we were needed because of what others have said about us, and how that leads to us slowly dying inside, never fully living the life we are called into.
In the circle that thought I was “too much”, I was slowly dying and becoming less of who I am. But I am no longer in that circle and have found a safe place to be all that God has called me to be. Yes, I still have character traits that must be balanced and smoothed out. But God’s guidance will help me fully be the woman He created.
I need to talk more about these issues with my friends. When I hear a woman being labeled, I should challenge the speaker with grace, trying to expose how these labels constrict, damage, and restrict women. I also need to address my own complicity in the problem, making sure I don’t fall into the trap of labeling others. I can encourage young women to be exactly who God made them, growing in true inward holiness. This will help #AccelerateAction in removing gender biases.
Sometimes, we need extra food coloring to make things right. Sometimes we need to turn insults into something positive like Lindsay Rush does in her poetry. But we always need women to operate exactly as they were designed; not labeled in a way that brings death but brings life.
“I praise you, for I am fearfully and wonderfully. Wonderful are your works; my soul knows it very well. My frame was not hidden from you, when I was being made in secret, intricately woven in the depths of the earth.” Psalm 139:14-15
I can smell spring in the air, the faintest scent of dirt exhaling after its long winter slumber, while birds sing their morning songs. The air is still cool, but the sun and the wind whisper warm breezes, hugging my body. Even my music playlists are changing, from the mellow rhythms of yacht music to the upbeat melodies of Cole Poter and Frank Sinatra. To commemorate spring and offset my curmudgeon attitude due to daylight savings time, I bought myself some grocery store flowers. It started when a small bundle of daffodils smiled at me from their bucket. Then I saw another bouquet, full of light pink and white flowers that physically embodied the sounds of robins chirping. Initially, I was going to bundle both bouquets together. I later decided to spread the joy in four separate vases, creating expectant hopes of spring around my home.
The kinds of flowers a person is drawn to are a unique fingerprint of their personality. My mother-in-law loved impatiens, geraniums, and pansies, flowers that grew abundantly, giving her a lot of blooms for her budget. My mother loves ordinary carnations because they last a long time, allowing her to savor the blooms. My daughter’s love for ranunculus helped determine that she would have a spring wedding, so that her bouquet would drip with the delicate pink and yellow blooms. I love daisies because, as Meg Ryan’s character asked in You Got Mail,“Don’t you think daisies are the friendliest flower?”
It is interesting that God designed flowers to be unique. Some have massive heads with lots of tiny individual flowers like hydrangeas, some have intricate patterns like dahlias, and some are just little cups of joy like buttercups. There are even different varieties amongst the same species. Soon, pockets of daffodils will fill fields with sunshine, but if you look closely, you will see some with bright yellow heads, while others are the color of butter. Some will have curvy petals, while others will be fringed with lace. I am delighted our God, in His master artistry, took the time to create flowers unique and individualistic.
In the past few years, I have been on a journey to better health. I have had some setbacks in the last two years, gaining back a lot of the weight I had lost. But I am choosing not to focus just on numbers but on being more active, gaining strength, and becoming more flexible. I am also choosing not to be ashamed of the body I am living in and have bought clothes that fit me well and make me feel comfortable. But as much as I am working towards not being ashamed, I have still let other people around me make comments that demeaned me and others about the size of our bodies. I let the comments slip by, wishing now I had been courageous enough to address how these comments harm women.
One of the comments had to do with a local theater production an acquaintance saw. He noted that the production was good but commented that the female lead seemed too “big for the role.” He felt her size made her less believable as a love interest, although she could sing and dance “well enough.” I listened in disbelief. I am sure that, even in local productions, there were several women trying out for this role. I am also sure that some of the women would have fit his idea of what the lead should look like. But this woman was chosen above every other option because she was the most talented for this role. Additionally, I am curious how “big” this woman really was? Were his perceptions of “big” defined by his narrow view of how a woman should look?
The second comment was made directly to me about me. A different acquaintance of mine looked at the back cover of my book and asked if I dug out my “yearbook photo” for my picture. He didn’t comment on the fact that publishing a book is a major accomplishment. He didn’t remark on how brave I was for addressing a difficult subject or how well my daughter had designed the cover. His only response was pointing out rather unsubtly that I had gained weight. Again, I was stunned by his remarks and started to justify my choice of picture and even casually remarked that I recognized I had gained weight. Meanwhile, he quickly put the book down and started rambling about his upcoming adventure. I left that conversation demeaned.
It is stunning to me that in 2025, despite all the work that has been done in this area, women are still being judged by our size, appearance, and age. We celebrate women such as Andie McDowell who decided to go grey naturally, and Pamela Anderson who decide to walk the red-carpet sans makeup. Yet, Millie Bobbie Brown, a 21-year-old actress, was trolled by critics as “aging badly.” Keely Shaye Bronsan, the wife of actor Pierce Bronsan, is often pictured with before and after pictures, pointing out her weight gain. And if a celebrity has recently lost weight, the assumption is made that she used Ozempic.
I remember writing the author’s biography for my book. As Terry was helping me with the correct wording about where I lived, he added the words “Sherry currently lives in south-central Pennsylvania.” I reacted viscerally to that statement and stated rather emphatically, “I don’t want to take up that much space in my author’s biography. Where I live is not the most interesting thing about me!” I feel the same about my appearance and weight loss/gain; that is not the most interesting thing about me. How I love and care for my family, what I write about, my job as a volunteer coordinator, my passions, and, most importantly, my faith are far more interesting than whether I choose to dye my graying hair, or whether the numbers on the scale have increased or decreased. I do enjoy wearing a nice outfit and taking the time to care for my skin and hair, so I feel confident in accomplishing the things I want to in my world. I do want to move towards a healthier lifestyle so I can live a long and active life. But I don’t want to be defined by my age or my size anymore. And I will no longer tolerate comments made by others that demean me or the women around me.
Ilona Maher is one of the most body-positive role models for women. Maher won a bronze with her American Rugby team at the Paris Olympics this past summer. One of the comments on her social media speculated that she had a BMI of 30. Maher pushed back in a viral TikTok video, confirming she had a BMI of 29.3. She went on to say that the BMI was designed to represent males and was not an accurate representation of what a healthy female athlete’s body looks like. She also stated her weight boldly, remarking that she was not meant to live in a small body. Finally, she stated to the naysayer, “I am going to the Olympics, and you are not!”
If God designed flowers so uniquely, why can’t we accept that women live in different sized bodies, have different facial features, and have different shapes? Why are little girls in middle school still struggling with eating disorders and cutting due to bullying about how they look? Why is “You look fat!” the worst thing you can say to a woman or a girl? And why do we still think appearance, no matter the age, is the most interesting thing about a woman? I am sick of hearing people’s first remarks about a girl or a woman being “She is so pretty,” and then extolling her character, talents, and skills only as secondary considerations. When people remark about a young man, they lead with his character, skills and talents, and rarely address his looks. Will this ever change?
It can only change if I admit how I contribute to the problem. I can work on changing my own language and make sure my comments about women and girls address the character, skills, and talents they offer our world. When I am faced with demeaning comments about women related to their appearances, I can challenge the offender with kindness and curiosity, hoping to make them aware of how their comments demean women. Finally, I can keep addressing the subject with women in my community, hoping that little by little, we can move the conversation forward and #Accelerateaction in conversations about gender bias.
One thing I know for certain is that God made hydrangeas, tulips, and bluebells to be different. And if He was so careful to design flowers differently, I have no doubt that He designed humans to look differently as well, and I believe He looks at His creation and declares it good. It is my responsibility to live well in the body I have been given!
“Judge not, that you be not judged.” Matthew 7:1 ESV
During my junior year of college, I had a full schedule. Along with being promoted to a new role as a Program Assistant and other extracurricular activities, I had the toughest class of my psychology major: a research and methods course. Often when I moved around my small campus, my head was down, thinking about the list of things I still needed to accomplish before the day ended. At the end of the school year, I met a freshman with whom I would be working in a summer program for underprivileged high school students. We quickly became friends, and she introduced me to a new, up-and-coming store: Bath & Body Works. Later that summer, she shared how she had tried to make my acquaintance before and, after being ignored a few times, she thought I was pretentious. I was taken aback by this assessment, and it was the first time I realized that I didn’t always appear warm and friendly. I quickly apologized, remembering how often my head was down and my list was long. Unfortunately, at the time, I was not mature enough to recognize that I needed to find healthier ways to deal with my stress and to avoid alienating people.
Since then, I have learned that when I am busy, I tend to have a Jekyll and Hyde transformation, shifting from the warm, friendly Sherry to busy, task-oriented Sherry. Even how I move about my world is different. I go from engaging in conversation with total strangers and inviting people into my home for peanut butter and jelly sandwiches (this was when my children were little) to being laser focused on what needs to be done and barking orders at others. This Mr. Hyde conversion is not my best side, and the various members of my immediate family have often been the ones who faced the brunt of this ugliness. And if you meet me at this time, you might not be enticed enough by the peanut butter jelly sandwiches to come over and visit with me.
Despite being busy with a newborn, I remember the1998 Bill Clinton and Monica Lewinsky scandal blowing up across the different broadcast and cable news networks. Before social media platforms existed, we still managed to be inundated with images of the infamous blue dress and clips of her phone conversations with a so-called friend. Next, we watched as President Clinton denied any sexual relationship, later apologized, and then faced impeachment. For years afterwards, every comedian and talk show host had a joke about Monica Lewinsky, criticizing her body, intelligence, and character. I laughed at some of the jokes and formed my own opinions of her.
But in 1998, we had no common language for the concepts of power differential, body shaming, or trauma. We didn’t understand that critical thinking is not yet fully developed in young adults, resulting in one intern’s naïve idea of love turning into the biggest mistake of her life. Today, I listened to Lewinsky tell her own story on her new podcast, Reclaiming by Monica Lewinsky. My views of Monica Lewinsky had been shifting for the last few years, and I knew I had misjudged her. But it was devastating hearing how hard it has been for her to move forward in her life, find a career, or even be in a healthy relationship because of a mistake she made when her impulse control was not yet fully developed. What was even harder to face was my culpability in her demise. I, along with the rest of the public, had misjudged and mischaracterized her.
This Saturday is International Women’s Day, a day with its roots in women protesting to receive better pay and improved working conditions. It started in the United States and moved across Europe as more women protested poor working conditions, wage gaps, and the inability to vote. In 1975, it was recognized by the United Nations as a day to support gender equality. The theme this year is #AccelerateAction, engaging in concrete ways to improve gender equality. There are still nations like Iran and Afghanistan where girls can’t receive education beyond elementary school, women are not allowed to own businesses, and women can’t leave their homes to have lunch with a friend. I can’t do much about those problems, except bring awareness of those human rights violations, support organizations that are trying to make a change, and vote in ways that address these issues. But I can do one thing that is noted on the International Women’s Day website: I can “call out stereotypes, challenge discrimination, question bias, celebrate women’s success…and share our knowledge and encouragement with others.” But to do this well, I need to recognize my own biases and the ways I need to change to address these issues.
Over the next three weeks, in honor of International Women’s Day, I am going to address issues of body image/body shaming, labeling, and judging women’s paths in life. I have touched on these areas in the past, but I am hoping to examine them from a fresh perspective with some personal anecdotes, pop cultural references, and Biblical principles. I also want to highlight why I, as a Christian, should and can do better about these issues. I hope you will join me in this series and hear how I am evolving.
I am so glad my friend in college laid aside her preconceived notions about me to become my friend. Her friendship, as brief as it was, enriched my life beyond fruity smelling lotions. I know how it feels to be misjudged, and I need to remind myself not to make judgments of others based on my own limited information about that person. My participation in shaming Monica Lewinsky certainly didn’t embody Christian principles and exacerbated her future struggles. But I know better now, and I want to continue to accelerate action to help move the dial forward in treating all women with equality.
“Whatever is good and perfect comes comes down to us from God our Father, who created all lights in the heavens.” James 1:17 NLT
I discovered guacamole way too late in life. Tony, a friend of mine who has lived in Arizona for many years, made the dish about 17 years ago at his mother’s holiday gathering in Wisconsin. The vibrant green stood out against the platters of brown and yellow: summer sausage, crackers, and cheese. I had recently discovered avocado at a local restaurant where it was added to a grilled cheese, elevating an ordinary sandwich with a fresh grassy note and a creamy texture. I couldn’t wait to try avocados in other ways, so I was magnetically drawn to the guacamole. My first bite transported me from the cold, bitter Wisconsin winter of slush and brown snow to a land of perpetual sunshine where I could feel the warm breezes whisper their song against my body. I had to know the secret to this magic green delight.
I asked Tony for the recipe, hoping to replicate this at home as soon as possible. Tony shared that he had mashed avocados with fresh lime juice and salt. He then folded in fresh tomatoes and onions. Finally, he added chopped cilantro, and adjusted the seasonings as needed. It sounded so simple, and within a day, I was buying the ingredients. My first batch wasn’t perfect, but after many attempts, I, too, was making the transformative guacamole for myself, adding it to our famous Collins’ fajita dinner. But for many years, when I went out for Southwestern or Mexican food, I refused to pay extra for guacamole. It may have been partially because our budget was tight, but it ran deeper. And this “not paying extra for guacamole” showed up in all sorts of ways in my life. It showed up in the old, tattered clothes I kept in my closet, or when I made all the cookies my family liked, putting the raspberry Linzers that I loved last on the list. It showed up during a vacation where I spent all my time cooking and cleaning, feeling resentful inside while everyone else was having a great time. The underlying reason for all of this was I didn’t feel I deserved the extras that made life joyful. After all, wasn’t I Christian? Shouldn’t my only joy be found in serving Christ and benefiting the kingdom of God?
The Bible emphasizes throughout scripture that we are to be servants; humble and loving our neighbors as ourselves. When we contrast that with what fills our social media feeds, secular magazine articles, and podcasts, the differences seem to be in direct opposition. The memes about mommies needing wine time, and the self-care movement, along with the need to set aside “Me-Time” seem rooted in selfishness, indulgence, and pride. Often, these messages cause us to pivot the other direction where we perceive ourselves to be selfless, sacrificial, and humble. But in the last few years, I have been asking myself: is that pivot to the opposite end of the spectrum really what God was calling for? Do we really understand the principles of God, or are we trying to measure things according to standards rooted in Puritanical thinking that set an unrealistically high bar? Did God really object to me splurging on guacamole? And why do I use the word splurge? Is that word itself implying extravagance that I don’t deserve?
I think the key to all these answers is what is in my heart and how I perceive God. The Bible clearly recognizes the importance of self-care. Jesus himself departed from the crowds occasionally to refuel and recharge himself. This sets an example for us to make sure we get adequate rest and recognize our limitations. I am consistently reminded of the importance of rest because my Rheumatoid Arthritis causes inflammation in my joints when I am too busy and not taking care of myself. I also recognize that I am not the person who should help someone move because of my physical limitations. Instead, I can bring a meal to a family after they have moved. But self-care becomes indulgence when I know I could help with something and make excuses as to why I can’t: I’m too busy, it’s a big ask, or I’ll wait to see if someone else volunteers.
There may be seasons where I am too busy, but I must ask myself some hard questions before I determine how busy I am: how much time do I spend reading or watching or scrolling? None of those things are bad, but it may inform me how well I manage my time. I also must ask myself if I’m only helping when it is convenient in my schedule? Finally, if I am waiting for someone else to volunteer, there is a strong chance that someone won’t, and maybe the whisper I am hearing is God calling me to an act of service.
Loving my neighbor, as exemplified by the Good Samaritan, is sometimes a big ask in relation to our resources and time. The Samaritan saw a Jewish man lying on the road, beaten and barely holding on to life. The Bible says the Samaritan had compassion, which in Greek was the word splagchnixomai. It truly is a fun word to pronounce, with an interesting definition. It implies that he was moved with a deep compassion from his bowels. This doesn’t mean you contort your face like you are constipated to demonstrate your compassion. The bowels were considered the seat of your mercy and pity. This compassion was so deep, it moved the Samaritan to action. He bandaged the man, cleaning up the dirt and blood caked on the man’s body. He took him into the city, stayed with him overnight and paid the bill for the man’s expenses until the man was healed. He did not do this because he was obligated and checked off the boxes for being a good Samaritan. Instead, he took care of this man because he had empathy for the man’s vulnerability. When I serve out of obligation, I am no different than the Levite or the Priest that passed by. I am exactly like the Pharisees bragging about my gifts before God. But when I love my neighbors as God calls me to, I will be moved with compassion to action. There is no indication that the Samaritan checked his schedule to see if he had the time to care for the man on the roadside. There is no record that he had an abundant bank balance. Instead, he loved his neighbor well because he coupled his empathy with action. If I am truly seeking the kingdom of God, there will be times I will be moved with compassion to love my neighbor well, and I won’t count the cost. I will act decisively with a heart towards my neighbor’s vulnerability. But when I am resentful of serving, that’s an indication that my heart is not in the right place.
As a Christian, we need to position ourselves in humility, but does this mean we don’t deserve good things? The answer to that question has a lot to do with what I believe about God and myself. I would like to say that I drew this conclusion freely, but I struggled with finding the right answer, and I phoned a pastor friend, Mike Kemper, who helped me examine this rightly. Mike reminded me that we have a good God who promised the Hebrews a land that flowed with milk and honey, “not water and protein powder.” God gives us good gifts, and for me that may mean guacamole and the means to afford it. When I receive a good gift from God, I can express my gratitude like David and so many of the psalmists did. It reminds me that my God is generous with His goodness and mercy. When I get into a place where I feel like I deserve something, I start to elevate myself and move into the position of the provider. It places me at the center, instead of God.
So, where does this leave me with the guacamole, tattered clothes, raspberry Linzers and the endless meal preparation when I am on vacation. First, I am the daughter of a good Father who wants to lavish blessings on me. If I remain in a place of gratitude and live within my means, I think the extra $2.75 for guacamole is just fine. He created me to love the mixture of avocado with lime and the right genes to enjoy the fresh taste of cilantro, unlike my husband who thinks it tastes like soap. I don’t think God expects me to stay in tattered clothing, but I also need to balance that with contentment and an eye on my budget. Going into debt for fashion, furniture, cars, or anything is an indication that I don’t trust God. It’s okay to make a cookie you like during the holidays, that also brings festivity to the platter without artificial colors. It also means I need to voice my own desires for a vacation, where I am not in the kitchen all the time, and where I am getting the same rest and rejuvenation everyone else is getting.
“Yes, please, I want the guacamole!” will be my answer for the near future! (Unless we get into a trade war with Mexico, where tariffs make avocados a luxury item! But that is a totally different discussion.)
“Not that I speak in regard to need, for I have learned in whatever state I am, to be content.” Philippians 4:12 NKJV
Almost 27 years ago, I had a moment when I was about to lose it; not just a minor eruption, but one comparable to Mt. Vesuvius. I was in labor expecting my first child, after a challenging pregnancy. The whole pregnancy had been filled with relentless nausea along with chronic fatigue. For the last trimester I endured constant heartburn, and now I started labor with help from Pitocin. I was focused on trying natural labor, and in the last stages, I was ready to push my bundle of joy out into the world. Nothing in my life prepared me for that first push, and I started shaking uncontrollably as if I was going into shock. Scared, I looked into my husband’s eyes and cried “I can’t do this!” The nurse, who had delivered lots of babies and dealt with hysterical women in the past, spoke firmly to me, “You have no choice, there is no other way right now for your baby to come, you have to continue.” Those simple words snapped me back to reality, helping me push on through the next 35 minutes. Soon, I was holding my son, experiencing complete joy at the wonder of his little body.
Two weeks ago, I shared that we moved. It had been a move anticipated for a while, waiting for the right place to become available. We had been slowly purging our stuff, deciding how many blankets we needed for guests. We donated five of the Trivial Pursuit games, keeping only two. We simplified our holiday décor by keeping only what we loved. We gave away some items and sold others. When we found a place in Carlisle at the end of October, we knew we needed to do more purging. Our new place was maintenance free; sans yard or patio. That meant everything in our garage needed to go. We also had a craft table speckled with the colors of previous projects that needed to disappear, along with all the craft paint. Since the new place was smaller, my “forever table” that I blogged about, needed to be sold as well.
Parting with stuff wasn’t as hard as I expected, except the table. But when the young couple delighted over the table as an ideal place to gather for the holidays, I felt like my forever table was going to a good home. As each item left my home, I looked forward to creating a new space, with a more modern feel and less heavy footprint than my previous more traditional style.
The actual moving day went smoothly. My son-in-law and daughter arrived early, helping us finish last-minute tasks like filling nail holes in the walls and taking down curtain rods. With my amazing moving crew of friends and family, the truck was loaded and on the road in less than an hour. We started a little after 9:00, and after a 40-minute drive to our new place, we were unloaded and eating pizza by 12:15. Feeling a bit overwhelmed by all the boxes, both Terry and I needed some time to get our bearings, and declined offers to stay and help unpack.
By Monday morning, I was about to lose it, just like I did 27 years ago. I hadn’t slept well in days, and I accidentally hit the rinse button too many times on the washer, leading me to believe it wasn’t working. After resolving that issue, I felt at a loss with my kitchen. The more boxes I unpacked, the more obstacles I saw. By no means did my last home have a large, modern kitchen with a butler’s pantry to store all the needed items for a serious foodie and entertainer. But I did have a decent kitchen, where I could store my everyday items in an organized fashion, loose and carefree. Where were my cute little porcelain snack bowls going to go, how was I going to fit all my serving dishes in the cupboards, and where was the immersion blender and food processor going to fit?
My sweet daughter arrived, venti coffee in hand, offering to help me unpack. I started to cry, feeling overwhelmed. She spoke calmly to me and started to inspect my new cupboards. She shifted things around and stacked things on top of each other and spoke firmly, “Mom, you have enough space, you just need to stack things.” Those simple words snapped me back to reality and propelled me forward. Quickly, I found ways to fit my kitchen items into my much smaller space. I even started to get a vision of what we wanted the home to look like and found a shaggy white rug to warm up the living room, along with the perfect little electric fireplace to anchor the space. With a limited budget, we found a bench on Facebook Marketplace to put our shoes in when leaving, keeping the rug pristine. We also found a round dining room table to fit our space, until we can afford the one we want.
I don’t live in my dream home, the open concept cottage with arched doorways and built-in nooks to display my growing cookbook collection. But I do live in a home where I can dream big and create a space where others feel welcomed. This can be done on any budget, in any size home, with patience and perseverance. But whether I live in my dream home or a place where I can dream big, the key to creating a welcoming space is to be content.
I haven’t always felt content, but over the years, I have learned how to cultivate contentment. It started when my friends purchased their first homes, and we were still renting. I was truly happy for them, but it hit a part of me that felt like I was a failure in how we managed our money. At those times, I came to the Lord with those hard feelings and asked Him to make me truly content and to be a cheerleader for the accomplishments of my friends. If I saw myself being critical of anything about their homes, or how they handled their finances, I went back to my knees, asking God to help me act right, even if I didn’t always feel right. I didn’t always do this well, and I sometimes offered critical comments, but when I saw that ugly critic rising, I went back to God. Overtime, through prayer and honest examination of my heart, I saw myself becoming more content with where I was in my life.
That doesn’t mean that when others have made some off-putting comments to me, they haven’t hit hard. One person recently asked after coming to my new home, “Is this just a stepping stone?” I knew that the person wasn’t offering criticism. They responded with what they believed to be some encouragement when I explained that we had no yard. But at that moment, some deep spot in me felt a dull ache, and after the person left, I had to examine what I was feeling.
The reality is when something is not your dream, you must mourn what you have lost or what you have not yet received. I lost a beautiful yard where we had cultivated trees, flowers, and plants. Now, I have a townhouse with little real estate for potted plants. That is a loss, and it is okay to grieve that loss. But I must guard my heart that grief doesn’t turn into bitterness which will result in discontentment. I do this by grieving and letting go.
As we were unpacking, we realized our much smaller linen closet would not hold what we had kept in two full bathroom linen closets at the previous place. We counted 32 washcloths between two people. Even when we have company, we do have a washer where we can throw in a load of towels and washcloths to make sure we are keeping on top of everything during the visit. So, we limited ourselves to a reasonable amount and donated the rest to Community CARES, the homeless shelter where I work. And after a little rearranging, we were able to make the rest fit.
It is not lost on me that my move took place when so many people lost their homes due to the California wildfires. Some of these were beautiful homes with architectural details that can’t be replicated. Other homes were small bungalows where families lived extraordinarily simple lives. But for everyone, the destruction of their homes and communities is devastating and traumatic. They lost photos of treasured family moments, baby books filled with milestones, and objects that held memories. I may have to do some rearranging, but currently, all the important items that I treasure are finding places in my new home. And with that, I can practice gratitude for my space. The writer of Hebrews records in 13:5 (NKJV), “Let your conduct be without covetousness; be content with such things you have.” My conduct, even in the deep-down places of my soul, needs to be free from desiring or coveting what I don’t have. Instead, it needs to show contentment with what I do have.
It is a new season for the Collins, and we have had a few visitors in our new home. One friend brought a meal made by her youngest daughter and some of her friends that not only nourished our bodies but also our souls with their homemade glitter cards. Some dear friends dropped off some ice cream from our favorite local ice cream shop. My daughter made alfredo from scratch in my home, while my son-in-law helped my husband put together some final pieces of furniture. Maggie also gave me a basket full of welcome home gifts, including a plant. Another friend stopped by with her two little ones to visit, and her 8-year-old helped my husband put together a shelf. Each visit reminded me that this is a home where people feel welcomed, and I believe they feel welcomed partially by my sense of contentment
By Sherry Collins 