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Sadly, I’ve had a Oprah fantasy for quite some time now. In my fantasy, I am not an expert on anything, but instead a two time lottery winner who had gave all the winnings away to ministries I believe in, to family, friends, random people who needed it. One of my life goals is to give a million dollars away – at once – in my lifetime. Winning the lottery would enable to give away more than that. And my segment would be about that – not so much about me – but about the people who were helped by the money, or the ministries and what they do for others and how viewers could help.
However, if I was to be booked as an “expert” on something, it would be this: Living simply in an unsimple world. My book, “The Art of Living Simply” combines practical knowledge with wisdom to help you live simply in all facets of your life – your finances, career, family, relationships, home, diet and more. This has been a huge passion for my life – living an organized, uncluttered, organic/green life with a morally and spiritually consciousness as the foundation.
I am going to expand on this at a later time.
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Green bean casserole, yeast rolls, mom’s mashed potatoes, the tree lit with white not colored lights, one big present you ask for every year, Christmas Eve service at Forest Hill, Christmas morning at my parents, Christmas afternoon at his, dinner at the Wynne’s, then games, usually mafia, sometimes spades, eating desserts late into the night, the “kids” in the living room, the parents in the den, mom and Brenda in the kitchen cleaning up…
Tradition used to equate comfort, something familiar, schedules, things to check off a list. As a child traditions were only executed around major holidays – Christmas, Easter, Thanksgiving. I can predict where I’d be on each day, what I’d eat, what was expected of me to do, to wear. I used to like it so much and then as I merged with another and gained a new family, started to resent it. The tradition I was faced with didn’t lend itself to flexibility. Tradition is held as some sort of sacred spiritual mantle – you don’t question it, or tweak it or even fix it if it’s broken. I can hear my uncle saying around the Thanksgiving turkey when my cousin (who’s a vegan) complained that we should not have turkey as the main course, “Because we always do, dammit!” When my sister in law asked her mother if we could forgo birthday gifts to save money, she was scowled at. You get my drift.
Tradition, or customs as some people call it, were originally meant to be passed down from generation to generation as a way of communicating important information because there was no writing system (or those people passing the traditions could not read or write). There was something symbolic in the tradition, something that we should pay attention to, remember as we do it because at the very foundation there is something sacred or unalterable about it. Maybe turkey is sacred. Maybe green bean casserole is. I doubt it. They’re not to me. What is sacred, what I want to pass on, in words and in actions is not food, decorations or a schedule of events to attend. What I want as tradition is this:
I take the wafer, the cup, I hear the words “body and blood”, I pray as I eat: Lord manifest yourself in me, I rub his feet with water, dry them slowly with a rag, I bow my head before meals even in public, even if people are looking, I read Psalm 23 when I have no peace, I pray out loud in the car before my day begins, pray with my husband before sleep. I want every tradition to be sacred, to be about the man who gave me life.
I’ve really struggled writing this week and last so bear with me on this post.
I bought new boots Sunday afternoon. I saved up for them, looked at styles extensively and weighed my options – leather or suede, brown or black (or purple! or grey!), flat or heels, plain or buckles. You ladies know how many choices there are. I ended up with a reddish brown leather pair, adjustable buckles on the calf for when you tuck in jeans (can make it wider) or for tights (can make it snug), 1/2 inch heel. I love them. They are incredibly comfortable and stylish and I have worn them everyday since. I planned all my outfits around them, and show them off to everyone I know who will appreciate them – the ladies in the break-room at work, my girlfriends, the lady in the checkout lane at the store. I’m proud of my choice.
However, the VERY first day I scruffed not one, but both shoes. I am not the most graceful walker at times and now I have marks on both boots – right on the toe. The marks are tiny, but it makes me both sad and really, really pissed that I already messed them up.
I must admit I am a perfectionist. I like things to be just so – the blanket folded a specific way, the pillows tossed a specific way, the dishes stacked, the folders organized, the boxes lined up – you get my drift. I can be anal. I know it’s something I need to work on. But what surprises me is how lazy I can also be – I’ll let the house turn into what looks like a heap of trash, papers, clothes, shoes, dog toys and dishes then freak out and obsess over every minor detail of cleaning, straightening and putting things away.
I know that at the end of the day nothing is perfect, will be perfect or stay perfect for very long. There are always messes to clean, blankets to refold, things to throw out. And in my life, this fact brings me a lot of comfort. I truly get upset when things don’t go the way I played them out in my mind – not just because I have control issues, but also because I don’t like disappointing anyone. I want to be viewed as perfect, or at least as someone who has their crap together. Or maybe a person who has just minor issues, but the most part has their crap together. An 8 or a 9 if 10 equals perfection.
This is all hoped for. I know God doesn’t want me to strive like this for other people – this sort of mentality is very unGodly because it basically says that I care more about people’s opinions than the Lord’s. It is also unGodly because it’s self-focused and really, aren’t people totally immersed in their own lives? I have to be pretty self-centered to think that others are always thinking about me and what I’m doing or reacting to me because of ME, not whatever is going on in their life.
This is a huge mental struggle for me – the balance between wanting things to be perfect and the fact that they never will be. And my heart struggle is the execution of this – striving for perfection in God’s eyes as opposed to man’s. My boots are where I am going to start on addressing this. I worked hard for them and love them, and they’re no longer “perfect”, but I have to be ok with that. The only perfection in my life is Christ.
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