Something You Won’t Want to Miss…

promise.

I’m proud to announce my new blog addition! A while back I decided to write letters to my future children that are just the twinkle in our eyes. I wanted them to know who I was and what I was like as a young 20 something. I’ve been contemplating whether or not to make it public but after much consideration….its up and open! And…there is an awesome video you can’t miss. GO. WATCH. IT.

RIGHT HERE:

Visit: http://deartadpole.wordpress.com/  to read all the letters (pre-pregnancy and during) and to keep up with our ongoing 9 months!

Please DO NOT comment or reply after the facebook post. I kindly ask that you reply under the video! Thank-you!

When Injustice Reigns

Friends, 

I have consciously neglected this blog. I have felt the strings pull and heard the blog whisper “come back” but I ignored them. On purpose. Not from a lack of having anything to say but because there has been too much to share. 

I have been struggling with the mint. Honey has been running on low around here. 

White knuckled, I have been squeezed the life out of the mint leaf. Knowingly, I’ve done it. I’ve longed for a sip of honey and there have been times where I have gotten a little taste. Grace. But goodness, mint can be a bitter little devil. 

I can not share openly about why the bitter mint has taken over this past month due to confidentiality but I can share my hurt in general terms. I bet, you might be able to relate to them in some way. 

Justice is something that has been very important to me since I was a little girl. I remember making a petition in third grade because I thought our homework assignments were unrelated to what we were learning in class and I felt they were just busy work. I got a lot of signatures-ha. The next year, a stray dog started coming to our school playground every day and again, I made a petition asking the school to help us find it a good home. This sense to do the right thing is a part of my DNA. If you know my parents and family, you know why. I’m thankful for them instilling that into my heart. As I grow up, and my naivety  wears off, I realize more and more that the sense to bring justice and simply do the right thing is becoming more hard to come by. 

This has been my struggle the past month. Over and over again, I watched injustice reign. It took over and swept innocent people away. Along with others, I have trudged upstream the river of injustice. I have walked hand in hand with those who believe in truth and deserve more respect and honesty than what they received. I have shed tears, almost daily, because I witnessed hurt over and over again. When I thought there was no way that injustice could live another day, I was proven wrong. My trust in goodness, in humanity and even God was tested in ways I could barely handle. Yesterday, on my way to work I fought back anger, fear and anxiety. I called out to God and asked if goodness was still alive anymore. I missed my exit and became even more enraged and late to work.

I pulled up to a stop light and watched honey drip. Directly across from me a man jumped out of the driver seat of his truck, ran to a man on the sidewalk and exchanged words. Puzzled, I watched and wondered what was going on. I watch the man on the sidewalk set down his coffee, run to his truck, throw his backpack in the back and then I watch a lady from the sidewalk pick up his coffee. Is she stealing his coffee? Is the man hitching a ride with the man in the truck? And then I watch another lady from the other side of the street run to his truck without any notice. They all start pushing his truck. It must have broken down. 

It was if God said “Here, pull up a seat. Look, there is still goodness around.” Immediately, I burst into tears. I laughed a little too. 

Strangers, with planned days and early commutes stop to help a person in need. They did the right thing. It wasn’t convenient, it probably wasn’t a lot of fun but they chose the harder right over the easier wrong. So simple yet it can be so challenging to us at times. It restored my faith a bit and gave me the little hope I needed to pursue a really difficult day ahead. A little bit of honey to soothe the pain. 

I’m still holding onto the mint, sometimes even clenching it still, white knuckled. I am unsure when I will be able to let the bitter go. The unknown of this process is frustrating and tiring. However, I still have hope that goodness will win. I like what John Mayer has to say- “But I know the heart of life is good”. My morning times with God help me go forward with the day and I cling to the early morning whispers of the Spirit. I also cling to my community that pursues justice with me daily- the ones who get angry at injustice and have the courage to do something about it. I am so thankful for them. They are good for my soul. 

Mint and Honey: the bitter

Today, I kick off my Mint & Honey series with a deeper look at the bitter, the mint.

I have often struggled with coping with my insecurities, fears and failures by smothering my circumstances in honey. I believe that this probably a pretty common and somewhat natural response to diversity but I also think this natural response has been nurtured and coaxed by our western culture. “How are you?” “Fine, thank-you.” and follows the normal pleasantries

If we went around answering how are you’s with “actually, life sucks right now” or “I’m really hurting and unsure how to handle life” we would first startle the asker and second startle ourselves. We would have to require more time, more dedication and more loyalty if we wanted to have these honest conversations. We would have to completely challenge our roots (especially our southern ones) and culture of conversation. Now, in no way am I suggesting we spill our hearts to all we greet. What I am trying to share though, is that we each need to come to a place of honesty with ourselves and with the people we share loyal relationships with.

There have been times when people I love and trust like my husband and mother have asked ” how are you” and instead of seizing an opportunity to share my hurt or worry, I chose the easier way out. “things are good” or “I’m doing great” when actually the opposite is true. And it’s not necessarily true that I’m trying to front for their sake or I’m consciously trying to shy away. If anything, I’m trying to convince myself that it’s all good. Most of the time, I do an excellent job.

And then I drown in the honey. I suffocate from it. Did you know that bees do the same thing? They can drown in their own labor that they worked so hard for. They drown in their own honey. The thing that gives them purpose and life kills them.

Isn’t it true for us too? The things we break our backs for (relationships, happiness, purpose) are the things we end up drowning in. And it is mostly likely because we approach these things with too much honey and not enough mint. We rather drown in the honey then hold up our bitter mint to the light.

We need the bitter. We need pain. We need hurt. It is healthy to grieve, it is healthy to cry it is healthy to be honest about what we are really going through. We need not be ashamed of the bitter mint because it what connects us to the rest of humanity. It influences and encourages community. The bitter is what usually inspires big movements. I get countless invitations to benefits, fundraisers, walks, runs to uplift a marginalized group or help a person who is struggling through cancer. People flock and join because of the bitter and when that happens the sweet, the honey, flows.

So today, I encourage those who cope with the bitter of life by drowning in the honey like myself to hold the mint with open palm. Find someone you trust to see it and carry it for you. Watch your relationships deepen, your sense of self open and the mint to taste a little bit less bitter. but don’t throw out all the honey. We need that too and we will chat about that more next time.

If you feel like if the bittermint of life is all too much and you find yourself drowning find help now. Seek counseling, seek loyalty and honesty and remember that there is always hope and that you are always loved.

Holding the mint up,
Sydney

Mint & Honey: the bittersweet

I want to speak about the bitter and the sweet. The mint and the honey. To breathe honesty into the hurt and to dance into the sweet.

Today I want to speak about a boy named Parker.

Three years ago, I began falling in love with a sweet baby boy. His eyes held holiness and the tiny creases in his hands held the dust of his Maker. He swept us all away.

Today his eyes hold mischief and his hands hold sticky dirt. Just this past week we were celebrating his sister’s birthday and as we watched a movie together he made a task of going and bringing Lucas and I two skittles. He made at least 12 different trips and each time he proudly handed over his tiny treasure we would thank him, praise him and then throw them over our backs as soon as he made another trip to the candy bar. We silently giggled each time and celebrated his inner boy.

I have watched his shoes get bigger, his personality burst through and his toys become more aggressive and intimidating.

I have sat at the dinner table and watched him stop the entire family at least four different times during the meal to pray over it. I have also watched the same little boy stuff bacon into that mouth of his as fast as he could while his mommy prayed over breakfast; proof that praying with your eyes wide open is far more glorious than closing them.

And now I begin to watch that not so little boy become an older brother. I’m not sure he is aware of it yet but it has already been set in motion as Katie’s bump grows a little more each day.

There is something holy about this baby growing business. I only know from watching the women
around me nurture the life within them. I can only imagine what it might be like. But from being in community and sharing alongside these Mommies, light just pours out. Even in the bitterness of pains and sickness as they sacrifice their body to bring someone into existence, there is light. The bitter and the sweet. The mint and the honey.

So as I watch Parker unknowingly stepping into his God given role of big brother I catch the tiniest glimpse of how God must feel as we unknowingly step into our purposes. Parker will most likely feel the bitter and have to go through the growing pains of change. But boy will the honey flow when he learns what it means to be the big brother and discover the holiness in the eyes of the baby. We also know what the bitter feels like and sometimes all too much. We let the honey slip on by without savoring its’ sweetness while we sit white knuckled with the mint.

The mint and the honey are made for each other. They balance each other out and when combined they make the most delicious pairing. It’s funny how a cup of hot green tea can connect with the real of life. And to think I have been making my tea with mint and honey all these years. So sip with me won’t you and enjoy the bitter and the sweet.

And now I introduce you with my new blog name and series: Mint & Honey: the bittersweet
(because Mundane Glory isn’t working for me)

Each week I will talk about the bitter and the sweet. I will relish in the real and in the honest while dwelling in the sweet all at the same time. I open an invitation to you to do the same and invite you to partake!

Sydney Arden

On Coming out of the Lonely Places

I feel as if I have been paralyzed and lost to wander around life a small child. Why? Because my beloved Macbook died over a week ago. So we rushed it to the Mac Gods, prayed over it and it rose from the dead just like Jesus (okay, not really). But alas, I sit here in Ugly Mugs typing upon my long lost love of a Mac who has been beside me for the better part of 6 years storing my memories, love notes, and ramblings. It’s good to be back, with my Mac with a almond latte’ beside me and a dozen of dirty East Nashville hipsters surrounding me. Yes, life is normal again.

I need to be honest with you. With myself. A few years ago, I took a class that forever changed me, the way I see the world, the way I view myself and the many layers of Sydney. Spiritual Formation. Sophmore year. Dr. Curtis. That class tossed a stone in the water which cast a single ripple that continues to multiply and span out every day of my journey. There is no shore in sight to stop it either.

Here’s a summary of what I learned about myself:

I am a natural Introvert. 

I was pushed (by others but mostly myself) to be an extrovert. 

I am an expert at convincing myself that I am fine, strong, okay, unhurt, unbothered, peachy keen at times when I am not at all any of those things. 

So, therefore, I  am good at convincing others of this too. I’m a terrific actor. 

Until this realization, I was doing okay (or so I thought). There are times when I find myself sweeping the sh!t under the rug and going back to my typical coping mechanisms. Here they are:

I shut myself off.

From myself,

From others,

From people I dearly love.

I disappear.

Why? Because sometimes, when I feel most vulnerable it is much easier to maintain and control if I barricade myself in.

But, that is such a lie. It is of no help. Because when I barricade myself in, I allow the fear, the feeling of unworthiness, and guilt to manifest within my soul and I loose the chance of community to be a part of my healing.

I am learning that as a new found introvert that I do require a lot of time to myself. I start feeling overwhelmed when I have been around a lot of people for an extended period of time and just like Jesus, I feel the need too get away from the crowd and find a quiet place.

The difference between Jesus (and just a couple of other differences ) and I though is that he used that time to gather his wits, recharge so that he could go back to the needs of others. With me, I find so much comfort in the quiet place that I do not want to leave, I lock the doors and stay way longer than I should. I don’t answer my phone, I don’t go to events, I distance myself as much as possible and I get in a rut. A serious rut. I start believing that I have I am not good enough to go back to the people I love or that they have marked me off.

Friday morning I got a text from a dear friend. Claire invited me to go to a First Friday service where a group of our dance friends would be performing. Now, you must realize that I have been in a rut, a serious rut of shutting off others and building my cocoon. For whatever reason, I had this sudden realization and felt the need to break the cycle. I had a friend who thought I was worthy enough of sharing an evening with her. I could pass it up. I could just go home, put my sweats on and drown my long work day with Friends re-runs but I knew I had to break the cycle. I said yes. And I meant it. I didn’t want to flake, I couldn’t because it was my time to break the cycle.

I’m glad I did because as I sat in that larger than life cathedral and watched God in the dance and heard God in the music, I sought God in my heart. I was moved. I cried. And for the first time in a while I felt alive and a lot more like the Sydney I was made to be. Claire, if your reading this I prayed during that service a prayer of thankfulness for your loyal friendship. Thank-you for being a friend who is honest and willing to hold my life up to the light for what it truly is and allow me to help you with the same.

So, my encouragement to you because I know I need to hear it too, is realize that we are worthy. You are worthy. Of friendship, of love, of joy. We all need times to go away from the crowd and gather ourselves but let us not be stuck there. May we not suffocate in the lonely places. May we have the courage to say yes, to go, to share with the ones we love. And may we be the Claire who simply invites the friend out of the lonely place to share an evening with them.

-Sydney

You are my witnesses

You are my witnesses.

We are not witnesses because we saw God in the sunlight that filtered through the tree branches, or because we heard the most beautiful harmony of voices or because we read words from ancient scripture. We are witnesses because of the God spark that was fanned into flame when we experienced these moments. We are witnesses because these holy moments stirred our souls so much that it convicted us to do something, to be the person we were called to be, to share something worth sharing.

As of lately, I have been witness to a whole lot of spiritual abuse committed by Christians. These Christians feel convicted, passionate and called to “save” the lost in ways that can only be called abuse. When we hear about Christians on the news, it usually isn’t about the good they are doing but because of the radical methods of witnessing. It is loud, it is discouraging and it is truly heart breaking. It is at times hard for me to associate myself as a Christian when I know of the hateful evangelical ministries being carried out on a daily basis. There are days when I feel like these types of Christians are too loud, too powerful and that they might just ruin any chance for the ones of us who only want to join in community with others and love. However, there have been more days as of late that hope has won out in my heart. The more I challenge the hate and nervously lift up the vail, the more voices join with me. The more I ask “Is this really what Jesus desired?” the more I hear of others who desire his mission- to love all, accept all and join in community with them.

Jesus has become more and more supernatural as I have grown up. For some reason, perhaps because of our media driven culture, Jesus’ divinity has taken precedence over his humanness. I don’t know about you but the Jesus I resonate with is the very human one. The Jesus that got angry with injustice, the Jesus that wept of the death of a friend, the Jesus that was harassed by religious leaders, the Jesus who got weary and had to be alone to gather his wits, the Jesus who took time to talk to the lowly woman, to the insignificant children, to the diseased, to the hard to love, and to the man hanging beside him on the cross. I can relate to that Jesus. I can be challenged by that Jesus.

In Matthew 24 we truly see his humanness in the most unlikely of events:

³⁶While they were talking about this, Jesus himself stood among them and said to them, “Peace be with you.” ³⁷They were startled and terrified, and thought that they were seeing a ghost. ³⁸He said to them, “Why are you frightened, and why do doubts arise in your hearts? ³⁹Look at my hands and my feet; see that it is I myself. Touch me and see; for a ghost does not have flesh and bones as you see that I have.” ⁴⁰And when he had said this, he showed them his hands and his feet. ⁴¹While in their joy they were disbelieving and still wondering, he said to them, “Have you anything here to eat?” ⁴²They gave him a piece of broiled fish,⁴³and he took it and ate in their presence.

It wasn’t a ghost, a supernatural being. It was a man who had real wounds, flesh broken and apparently a hungry appetite. Broiled Fish. Eating is a human experience we can all relate to, and I love that the author included this little tidbit of information. The fact that he asked if there was anything to eat and picked up a piece of broiled fish first made me laugh but called my attention to the nature of Jesus. He was real. He was broken. He was hungry. I know that Jesus.

Later into the passage it says:

“⁴⁵Then he opened their minds to understand the scriptures, ⁴⁶and he said to them, “Thus it is written, that the Messiah is to suffer and to rise from the dead on the third day, ⁴⁷and that repentance and forgiveness of sins is to be proclaimed in his name to all nations, beginning from Jerusalem. ⁴⁸You are witnesses of these things.”

Now whether you actually believe that he physically rose from the dead (because there is much debate about this in theological and exegetical studies) we can all find common ground in that Jesus might not physically exist anymore but he is resurrected and alive in each one of us when we stand up for the marginalized, or when we celebrate the life of another or when we do the harder right over the easier wrong. Jesus is real and it is made evident when we weep over the loss of a friend, when we get angry at injustice, when we take time to heal the heart of a broken hearted family member, when we feel weary of living out our calling and have to walk away and be alone for a while, when we get criticized in how we minister to others, when our flesh and bones are broken and wounded. This is when we fulfill Jesus’ calling of being witnesses. We don’t need smoke and mirrors or a supernatural message to reach out to those around us. All we need is the courage to act out real love in real situations to real people.

Have you ever been a victim of extreme evangelism? (Street corner, Billboards, Bumper Stickers, Radio, Emails, Flyers etc.) If so, what type of emotions did you experience?

What does it mean to be called to witness?

In what  ways do you feel called to witness?

Has your ways of witnessing evolved and changed throughout your journey?

Faith I Can’t Hold

From a Freshman design project about spiritual abuse and sexism.

I envy the type of faith and theology I used to uphold. It was so much easier. Black and white was far more comforting. I could write it down, list it out, define it and show it to you. Here, see? Chapter 3 verse 16.

Now, I hardly can keep up. I can’t get my hands around it, I can’t hold it. It spirals out of control, whizzes around, transforms into something even more elusive before I can find it again. But I can’t stop chasing it even though I know catching it isn’t an option and one I don’t even want. I revel in catching glimpses though, I glory dance. I get hungrier for more so I run faster, harder; I leap. I sometimes fall.

I always get back up.

Wanting more.

Needing more.

Knowledge, truth, understanding, love.

More God truth.

More world truth.

More me truth.

More purpose.

And I find it, in places I don’t expect, in people I don’t expect.

Not in steeples

Not in robes

Not behind pulpits.

So, I run, tumble, fall, dance and rest in this glory filled journey.

[More than a Wedding] On Building a Marriage

I was never that little girl who doodled about her dream wedding. I never thought about what colors I would use, what type of dress I might wear or the man I would marry.

I was far too busy playing under the trees that were scattered over 11 acres around our 150 year old farm house. I would choreograph countless dances and pretend the wind was my music. I would boss my little sister around and pretend school among the fallen leaves and tree stumps. I would go on adventures, pack up the red wagon with sandwiches, juicy juices and walkie talkies and head down to the bottom less spring that was on the other side of our field. I never stopped dreaming, imagining, pretending, dancing. I was told I could change the world. And I whole heartedly believed it.

 Now, don’t get me wrong, I loved to plan. It became a hobby. I planned every one of my birthdays since I was five. I planned my own baptism like it was a wedding. Carefully I  chose  the appropriate invitations, paper and guests and the pool party that immediately followed. I suppose I thought if I was going to go down in the water I should invite everyone else too as well. Even now, I plan. I plan youth group events, I plan dates, I plan what I am going to wear tomorrow and the goals I want to accomplish for the week.

Never did I plan on falling in love. I didn’t even try. Actually, I ran as fast as I could from it in the beginning. Falling in love required me to be vulnerable, self-aware, other-aware, co-existent with another. I was fearful of losing my natural born independence and sassiness. I struggled with allowing someone to take care of me. I was hesitant to share my my flaws and my unique talents with someone. No longer was I choreographing a solo beneath the trees; I had to learn to partner, to trust another with my weight. The fear of being dropped hindered me us. I had to become familiar with the words us, we, together. I wasn’t sure I wanted to grow up…with someone else.

Lucas danced in and graciously and patiently helped me vulnerably peel back my layers as I tried to do the same for him. He never tried to tower over me. And when he tried to pay for all of our dates I sassily pulled out my purse; he used to hate that. He wanted to be the best man he could be for me…and he was and is. He quickly learned that being the best man for me wasn’t doing everything for me but allowing me to join in and do things together. Being the best man for me didn’t mean he had to lead me, direct me, or be the headship of our relationship. We found rest and peace in equality. Becoming his equal and him becoming mine is the most important life breathing act we have, has and will continue to live out. When we consciously made had that conversation at the beginning of our love falling we drastically reduced the opportunity for competition, control, hierarchy and manipulation. We decided to dance with sweet abandon. We said hell to a led waltz. We wouldn’t be slaves to submission.

Now, of course, we have our struggles. Oh, have we had our struggles already. But we struggle together and not under the heel of one another. We find the embrace of our hands and the locking of our eyes and remind each other we were made to do this together. Us, we, together. Those words have made themselves at home in my heart now and keep making more and more room to do so every day of marriage.

Someone, who I unfortunately can not remember told me something very, very important at the very beginning of our engagement. This person told me that planning a marriage was far more important than planning a wedding. Planning a wedding was easy in comparison to planning a marriage. I could imagine, envision and dream up the most beautiful wedding (which, although I am biased, our wedding was so breath-taking and spirit- filled) and I could easily put those plans into action. Whether if it was collecting broaches for my broach bouquet or trying on dresses I could fulfill that plan with little effort. But planning a marriage that rests on equality, breathes love in and breathes forgiveness out, holds pain and struggle up to the light and remembers the words us, we, together takes more than dollar bills, a wedding planner or a hot glue gun. It takes back breaking work, an extreme amount of vulnerability, honesty and unconditional forgiveness. Sometimes, it seems impossible and sometimes it just is. We fall short of forgiveness and we lit bitterness creep in. We break down. But we break down together. Us, we, together.  

So, although planning my wedding was a time I will always cherish and adore; I hope planning our marriage takes precedence. I hope that love always wins even when it doesn’t seem it will. I hope equality always reigns. I hope that our children will better understand real love, God, forgiveness, compassion, communion, service, selflessness and adoration because of the love they see us share with one another. I hope we always value each other’s worth, talents, gifts, flaws and uplift and celebrate them. Together.

Us, we, together.

Dear Lucas, 

           You are my beloved and I am yours. I can close my eyes and remember how much God’s Spirit enveloped me as I walked down the aisle to meet you. The wind was spectacular and it literally took my breath away- I felt God. The wind reminded me of the the days when I used to dance solo under the trees as a little girl, I felt God then too. When my eyes met yours, no longer was I fearful of abandoning my independence because with you, I knew I didn’t have to. You embraced it. You celebrated it and encouraged me to become more of the person I was created to be- you still challenge me to do this every day. There were so many holy moments on our wedding day- the wind, the spontaneous slow dance during our ceremony, the tears on your cheek, they way you watched me walk to you under that God filled tree, your hands in mine and mine in yours, the whispers you breathed into my ear. May we take these holy moments into every single moment of our marriage. Grunt. 

Us, We, Together

Mrs. Hutson

                                                                                                                                 

                                                                                                                                                   

Marching into April (ooh, see what I did there, ay?)

Ha! What a ridiculous subject title!

Well March Photo A Day Challenge is over. I did pretty well I think, only missing a couple of days when I just plum forgot. Now April has arrived, and so has the new photo challenge list from fat mum slim!

Join me, won’t you?

April 4: someone that makes me smile:

 

he also makes this southern woman swoon.

We have been together four years and married for less than one. Some of you may know of the terrifying news we received a few weeks ago. A lot of you know the story but I would like to vulnerably share the layers under it. This is very personal but I feel the need to share honestly about we’re going through, because this life is real and what we are going through is real. 

Friday I hold one of the eight babies and dream and stir about the upcoming weekend. The chance to soak up time with my other half and fill my tank so that I can run the next week when I only have a few hours with him each night. By Friday, I’m sputtering. I remember feeling unsettled all of a sudden, so I check my purse for my phone. Missed calls. A text. It reads “Hey honey, I am on the way to the doctor’s. I accidently pricked myself with a needle at work. Call me”. I freeze. Breath is hard to find. The room whirls and closes in. I call with shaken hands. He seems so cool. So unbothered. So him. I in turn, become more me. My imagination sweeps me away and I envision the worst. I get frustrated that he seems so okay and unaware. I try my best to self soothe. I ask. I ask questions. I ask a lot of questions. He has no answers. he calms me. (so backward and selfish I think to myself)  I wait. I consume myself with the babies or at least I try. I smile at them and laugh but it seems so fake and so shallow because it is. I wait to hear if the patient has HIV. Co workers assure me that it will be okay. I nod. I cringe because I know how real life can be. The phone rings. I cry. I wish I hadn’t tried to convince myself that the patient wasn’t because it made it all the more dramatic and painful that the patient was and is. I run to the bathroom and sob. Feeling more scared than I ever have. Fear didn’t creep in, it raided through setting up camp in every corner of my head and heart. I called my mom. I cried some more. She prayed. I breathed. I splashed cold water onto my blotchy, red face. I looked like hell. I felt it too. I collected myself. Went back to my babies. They smile at my arrival, not caring that I look like a crazy women. I talk with the other women, one compliments my earrings and I remember thinking how earrings were useless and stupid right now. I wanted to rip them out. Instead, I thanked the compliment and realized that she was trying to soothe and love me. He feels so far away. Like he flew to Australia and left me here. I need to see him. feel him. hear his voice in the same room. We go to lunch and I bask in his presence. The world is right again. We are together. We can rule this world. This mountain. This Hell. I ask a million more questions. I want to know not what just the doctor said but what he was like. Did he have good character? Answers are vague with no assurance. We won’t know a thing for six months. The waiting is awful. That is a long time for fear to hang around…it’s already building mansions in my mind. We have changed. Together is different. No longer can we be spontaneous or flitty. We are over cautious.We are nervous. We are fear stricken. We think I am pregnant. I wonder if this was our last shot. I take a test. I take 5 tests. 3 look positive. 3 blurry crosses. 2 vertical lines. I throw up. I wait. I really become angry at having to wait. 4 days late. 5th day I sob at the sight of hope dashed. The red reminder is so cruel. Everyone else goes about normally, while I silently scream. People celebrate their new bellies all around me. I morn the loss of hope, again. I become paralyzed, emotionless. I wander around. I sleep a lot. I cry when no one is looking. I try my hardest to be happy for others. Fear is so loud. Six months is so far away. I cling to him more than ever. We wait. 

The Extra in the Ordinary

If you are a Facebook friend, Twitter or Lightbox follower then you might have noticed an abundance of photos pouring out from myself.

That would be because I’m on a mission.

A challenge.

An endeavor to find holiness in the mundane. To capture beauty in a cup of morning coffee or hope in the crook of a smile.

We walk by miracles. We pass by the extraordinary in pursuit of getting things done. By the end of the day most of our tasks are completed but our souls, our creative minds, are left unfulfilled; thirsty for a drop of awareness. We are wandering blind.

So my mission is extravagant but the means are ordinary and simple. I ask you to join in with me if you go to sleep dehydrated from the mundane and thirsty for holiness.

This is what you will need:

A camera (most of us have them in our pockets and purses- pull out that cell phone!)

An aware mind and open heart.

This guide:

[Source]

You do not have to use this, but I find that it helps me focus and gives me inspiration. I also find that it has just been a starting point for me- I am pulling out my camera phone all the time now!

If you have an Android phone like myself, than I highly recommend the app called Lightbox. It is Android’s best version of Instagram.

If you do decide to join me, would you let me know in my comment box below with your Twitter handle, Lightbox & FB username? I would love to follow your journey and pictures! Don’t forget to hashtag # your photo with #marchphotoaday and @fatmumslim (she created this list and has a fab blog).

So, to sign out this post I will leave you with today’s challenge.

18. A corner of your home 

My other findings:

 

 

Beauty in the mess.