Moving Through a Year to Celebrate Here & Now

I remember walking in the neighborhood around this time last year when I crossed paths with a woman I had met a few times. She didn't remember and quickly apologized. I said what I always say, "I am never offended if someone asks my name again and again. We all have a lot going on." Her response was thought-provoking: "I have begun practicing 'Presence,' so I don't always remember things that happened a while ago because I am busy focusing on the here and now." "I thought that was simply called getting older," I confessed as we parted ways.

I think about that conversation once more this morning as I find myself deep in another chapter of The Stories We Tell by Joanna Gaines. I have said in recent episodes that this book has really become a textbook of sorts for this particular season of our lives. I am shocked at how often she and I use the same words and share some of the same thought patterns. It is comforting to follow her lead. That being said, I am also reading Yesteryear by Caro Claire Burke. One is non-fiction, and the latter is "fictionish," which offers good balance for me. In Yesteryear, we get a glimpse behind the influencer curtain, and I rest assured that there must be a team of people helping those who seem to have it all together. There is no way 1 person or even a couple could accomplish making 1,000 endeavors look so easy.

Joanna's writing, however, is deeply personal. I believe the ink touched the page in her laundry room and found its way to me for such a time as this. I am thankful.

One of my favorite things to tell people when they marvel at our brevity or our outlandishness in stepping out of jobs, health insurance, and our family is this: "If we don't embrace and move with the change in our lives, then we will die in nostalgia." This idea also helps me avoid putting unrealistic expectations on our kids. We have learned to celebrate seasons rather than specific days. We have let go of what was once so incredibly important to Rick and me: the notion of being consistent and steady. Being deeply rooted served us well for a good number of years, and today we are finding new steadiness as our roots gain breadth rather than depth.

Joanna has even given me a new term to consider: "Outcome-oriented." If you know me and listen to Tapestry for long, you will know I am a box-checking, vision-board, list-making kind of girl. I confess that I am an active meditator, meaning I may be cleaning our house while really thinking deeply about something else. My mother has told me for most of my life that I cannot sit still. "You always have to be doing something," she would say. Only that didn't feel like a compliment. It seemed more like I was incapable of being still and focusing on the important things in life. After all, Jesus tells Martha that her housewarming and hospitality are indeed important, but it is Mary whom He shines his heavenly light on when He says she has done the more important thing by sitting and listening. But it is true, I am wired to move. To do. To get to the outcome that I feel is best. Today I celebrate knowing that I am both of those things. I am active and attentive. Others can't always see that from the outside looking in.

I remember several years ago when, during a sermon, a Pastor said, "To have potential at 20 is a beautiful thing, but to still have it in your 50's is a bit sad." I understood and believe he meant untapped potential, even though it was poorly worded. It challenged me to actively meditate on this idea of potential. I made peace with the fact that potential is doled out throughout our lives. The underlying desires of my heart resonate and are refined as I walk with the Lord, and He changes my heart. But it is true, I have kept on moving, getting things done, creating goals, and pursuing outcomes. Today I celebrate knowing I have been equipped with everything I have needed in each season, and what once looked messy or like stalled potential now looks patient in the knowing that all things come according to God's will and what is best for me.

This week, Joanna's words, the memory of that sermon, and Jesus Calling came together in order for me to step back and listen to the lesson, listen for the teacher.

Jesus Calling 9.13 - Give your mind a break from habitual judging. You form judgements about this situation, that situation, this person, that person, yourself, even the weather - as if judging were the main function of your life.

When I read this, I immediately asked, am I really judging or simply observing? What I found was this is how I make choices every day; I look, I judge, and then I move. I saw how so many of these "judgements" or observations are habitual. I celebrate today the very fact of a changed focus. My judgement and observations come from a much lighter heart, knowing that we are tightly held. I know that there is no way I can hold all of the details required for a proper judgement. But I know a guy.

The Stories We Tell: I have to fight off tendencies to control the narrative. This has meant unlearning decades of being outcome-oriented, and I gather I'm not alone. Consider the way we bring in a new year, thinking about the goals we want to achieve, asking ourselves where we want to be at the end of that year, at the end of 5 years, 10. The last scene of a movie, a final page of a book, the finished meal on the table - we judge a lot of things on how they turn out. And through all of this, it seems we've learned to glorify the outcome of something far more than the defining moments that got us there; the spark that caught our heart's interest in the first place, the times we wanted to give up but didn't, even the beauty of embracing change along the way, the courage and intent it took to stick with something we believed in.

To glorify the outcome rather than the defining moments that got us there. This has been so true for me. Today I celebrate the very fact that my focus has changed over these past few years. I no longer gauge success by a finished product, and that is so freeing. Rick and I have had the privilege of renovating this small place in the mountains where we get to call home. I remember the day when we christened our mistakes as character and left it at that. Today I look from where I sit and not only see character, but I remember a mattress in the living room for a few months as we made a pathway to the bathroom out of rugs to avoid splinters in our feet. I see a kitchen island where there was once not even a countertop to cover the pipes, and yet French music played as we had a candlelit dinner on a card table nearby. We did that, and I was present for all of it.

And then the sermon - In these days when it is so easy to compare and contrast our lives to others, have I missed the mark? Could I have published a book by now? What am I thinking? Owning a shop at 56? I should have pursued this years ago and would have if I were serious. Shouldn't a workout routine be more established than my cholesterol numbers? When is the Lord going to truly tame my tongue?

Today I celebrate knowing that if a shop is meant to be ours, it will be.

If I am meant to publish a book, then I will.

I have cut my cholesterol numbers in half and soon will pull up my brave girl pants to have the CT scan to show what is going on in my arteries, if anything at all.

I am quick-witted, which sometimes warrants an apology but most of the time is simply good fun.

Being all the things I have been has served my family and me well, I believe. And now, call it "practicing presence" or simply getting a bit older, I find myself right here and right now, leaning into trust more than a list. Waiting for my heart to quicken at an invitation rather than looking for a box to be checked. It is disorienting, but I am coming around.

The beauty of writing is to see that this has been a long time coming.

I am not too late. I have not missed the mark. I am not worrying about the outcome. I am doing my best to choose good things to do and say and read and watch and eat. And love, the most important thing. I am also trading yokes for one a bit lighter and funnier. To quote a line from Theo of Golden, "It sounds like stones hitting the ground."

In the Stories we tell, Joanna goes on to say this: I am learning that we can have all sorts of endings, but we also arrive there as a different version of ourselves based on the path we choose. I think this is profound. And true.

Margot will be gone for 1 year on September 19th. I know it sounds a bit weird, but as I write these words, I almost get a sense that she and I are together. Having gone to the other side, to discover just how well we are looked after when we don't get distraught over all the things out of our control. I think she wants me to know just how much there is to celebrate right here and right now.