When you walk away from a discipline some of the knowledge stays with you, in the forefront of your mind. You can pick up where you left off, no matter how long it has been, like riding a bike. It is a core skill, a talent, an extension of yourself that stays with you regardless of what your hopes and dreams are in your current life.
For me personally, art in the mediums of watercolor, chalk pastel, acrylic, and block printing are forever imprinted in my brain. What has not stayed in the forefront though is how to make things look refined.
I used to possess this skill, but like a muscle group this skill needs to be practiced in order to stay toned or honed I guess is a better way to say that. To be sharp, one must sharpen through effort and practice.
As I continue to get my sketchbook out, I’ve noticed a plateau and a desire to make the image on the page pop. Something to make it feel real, or call to me from within the composed piece. I’ve experimented with movement and pointillism. I’ve been blending, shading, and highlighting.
I like the highlighting, but have noticed that I am going through my white pastel at a higher speed than the rest which got me thinking. Did I always, when I was taking art classes, defer to white to make those highlights? Is there another way I have lost since I stopped practicing, that I am missing?
What about color theory? I used to mix acrylic paints in this way to achieve specific hues and richer colors that subtly told the story in my brush strokes. It added three-dimensionality to a 2D image. But, I thought to myself, how did I do that with pastels?
And so from there I have been getting in my sketchbook and shading swatches of color. I do these swatches in groups. Next, I shade a contrasting color on top and see what happens. What I am seeing is making me quite pleased. I see depth. Earthiness. I see more natural hues with darker and lighter colors blending in the swatch.
With this re-claimed knowledge, I am inspired to continue down this path of discovery to re-acquaint myself with these lost skills. I didn’t realize how much I missed art as a form of expression and coping. It brings me joy. I feel at home, but a home I haven’t visited in many years if that makes sense.
It’s interesting what sticks with us from childhood, and what becomes part of our identity. Being willing to accept who I am who is not a boss babe but a sensitive creative with a lot of ideas floating around in this noggin. I should give that part of me more time to explore, reflect, and create.
Do you have any hobbies that you have done since you were a child? If so, what motivates you to keep pursuing them?
I looked back through my posts the other day and realized it has been over a month since I shared a Bible Study post. I was surprised by this, but then I thought about it. Yeah, it makes sense, I’ve been aimless in my Bible reading. Opting to listen to the audio version on the Bible app rather than to sit down and have quiet time with the Lord. My reading routine in the morning has become a floating plan to whenever I take a break to be still with my Bible reading. As it goes life has gotten in the way and I’ve found myself fitting in a Bible listen at the end of the day while I get a shower, do my nightly planks, or while I work out. It’s been in the background, and I’ve wondered, am I getting as much out of this?
The Book of Daniel
It’s certainly been different. I’ve noticed that I am less likely to be familiar with the text, as in where in the chapter or book of the Bible I can find the information again. I don’t take notes because of the format change which has led to a decline in journalling about it. A positive is that I’ve been invigorated by this audio form in sections of my reading that have been confusing, laborious, and even a bit strange. Yes, I said strange and I am talking about the Bible. The last half of the book of Daniel is quite strange. It is a multi-chapter section of prophecy so otherworldly that Biblical scholars cannot perceive its full meaning. It has not been revealed to us yet or maybe it is not important for us to understand it, because as a 21st-century human maybe this prophecy from 600-500 B.C. simply isn’t applicable to us in the new covenant.
Even now as I begin to mention this section of Daniel I see an important point of my audio Bible listening illustrated – when I read this prophecy section my mind gets bogged down by what I am reading. I instinctively want to understand the text for the process of reading comprehension like they trained us in school but alas, I can’t fully understand it. In this process, my mind seems to get the loading screen of doom and I tend to get overwhelmed and stuck in one section of the Bible for a long time, fruitlessly. What I discovered while listening to the final chapters of the book of Daniel while riding the bike and other cardio exercises was that I could absorb the information in its strange form and let it be absorbed without getting bogged down. The narrator read the fantastical images as they were written in the text. My mind accepted it and took it in because it acknowledged the narrative nature of the text without needing to figure everything out before I accepted it.
Now should I go back and take notes? Yes, I need to definitely go back through that section because it has some descriptions of creatures that are more bizarre than DNAmy’s Cuddle Buddies combinations. The images are like Pokemon come to life and I want to try to make sense of it again. But I learned something valuable, if there is a section I feel discouraged by because of its height of difficulty or simply the language being used, listening to it is a viable option. So I tested this again.
Paul’s Correspondence with Corinth
My hypothesis proved fruitful. Listening to confusing first-century A.D. letters from the Roman Empire can certainly become easier to understand if they are read to you. Why? I believe it is because they are written with different grammatical standards and trends due to their translation and age that make it sometimes painful for a 21st-century reader. Think about Shakespeare or the Greek Tragedies – would you rather see them performed or read them to yourself? Unless you are Rory Gilmore, I would say the performance option is going to be the popular choice. Honestly, this made a huge difference. Paul is a fantastic speaker, he also uses continual run-on sentences. But if you take the context back to a letter that was read to the congregation, well then, we don’t write the same way we speak, do we? It helped me simply understand the point of his sentences. To glean the correct information and accept the information which specifically tries my patience. I’m referring to the case of certain passages addressing the women of Corinth that are difficult to get on board for in my modern Western context because they seem to muddy the waters.
Now the Apostles did disagree on things and both points of view are recorded in the canonical Bible, but context also plays a role which makes reading these sections, like 1 & 2 Corinthians a bit of a chore. These letters were written to address specific happenings with specific people and as such because they are letters yet included in the Bible, this makes understanding whether it applies to all of us to this day or just the women of this 1st century congregation is higher than my mind works. There is a lot of reading by faith and prayer because if I don’t I just get frustrated by the confusion.
Random Acts of Audio
I would highly recommend switching between reading the Bible with your physical book and listening to audio versions. Last night, I listened to the narrator read through the Book of Joel and most of Amos, which are books that are not cheery. God is both angry and disappointed in His people and that can be hard to read at times. Not only for the prophecy of destruction but for the pain God is feeling because His people have rejected Him and rejected Him for centuries. When a relationship is disrespected and treated as less than over and over again, there is acute pain. Studying the Bible has a transformative power in which you begin to see things through God’s perspective and not your own. It is sad thinking about how my Heavenly Father was betrayed by his children and yet is bound by His righteousness and justice to cast out evil. It reminds me that relationships, done badly are filled with pain for both parties. I’m not sure if I would have understood all the meaning contained within Joel and Amos’ words if I had read them instead of hearing them being read. There was repetition to their narrative structure that was evident as they were being spoken, as the prophets Joel and Amos would have done in the 5th and 7th centuries B.C. Interesting stuff, right?
Do you remember that scene in You’ve Got Mail when Kathleen Kelly and Joe Fox are at that dinner party, and he is antagonizing her and all she can do is stare at him? Later on, she emails NY152, and Shopgirl reveals how frustrating it is that she happens to freeze when someone pushes her buttons, and instead of having anything in reply her mind goes blank. I was thinking about this scene over the weekend as I had not one but two encounters with rude behavior.
The first was on Saturday, in Joann Fabrics. As I browsed the clearance fabric in a narrow aisle cluttered by overhanging fabric bolts making even one person in the aisle feel cramped, a woman who was probably a Gen-X to my Millenial, pushed her cart down the aisle and proceeded like a flash flood to move forward. Not saying anything, she kept walking, and walking, until I felt her cart in my leg and then she started saying in a syrupy voice “So sorry, excuse me.” She continued to push until I realized, she wasn’t apologizing, I was going to be moving or getting run down by a cart. The idea of not physically moving me out of the way did not exist in her mind. At that moment, all I could think of was “Where am I supposed to go?” which was ignored and I skedaddled out the aisle and watched her not even look at the section I was in and carry on to the next aisle where she did the same thing. I was baffled. I thought the behavior was coming from a pushy desire to get the fabric I was looking through, and now I think she didn’t even noticed that it was there or that other people existed in the store.
Now reader, the reason I am sharing this is not to rant or put her down, but to discuss the frustration I have in my own mind that I freeze in these situations. My mind goes blank like Kathleen Kelly and I wish it didn’t not because I want to be a mouthpiece of malice towards people I find rude, but instead to have any way of voicing a change. To have the maturity and the wherewithal to speak in wisdom and inspire people like this to re-think their behavior so that instead of being the person everyone in the store was avoiding, this woman could be a person bringing warmth and good energy to the group. But I can’t think of a single thing in those moments. I can’t even stand my ground respectfully without getting scared. I wish I could be a better person.
Now the next day, stuck in bumper-to-bumper traffic due to road work, the unthinkable happened. We were merged into the left lane due to the right lane closure for road work and a woman who was old enough to be my mom, screamed down the right lane refusing to merge until she ran out of pavement. That is when she began to throw her Audi SUV, not a cheap vehicle, into the two-foot gap between us and the next car. We had nowhere to go and she continued pushing. She stared us down and began telling us that she was getting in and that’s that. She came within inches of taking off the right front side of our car, and it was only prevented by the traffic in front moving forward at the exact time. I was verklempt and rising in anger at the wastefulness of her actions. I don’t know the financial situation she has, but paying off my car has never felt easy. Making the progress I have has felt like a miracle because I bought it used in 2021 and it was marked up due to the car shortage, but we needed a running car. I would never willingly use it as a battering ram because I have to be first in a merge lane, because it is worth too much to me to treat it like an expendable accessory. It gets me from point A to point B and I am grateful to have it. I would never want to take someone’s transportation away to get one spot ahead in a merge lane.
That situation was just a bad moment, that happens because people can be pretty crappy, but I’ve replayed the moment in my head and wished there was some way in those crazy highway moments to diffuse people. Make them see reason and remember that these big life-altering actions, don’t have to happen. You can back off and apologize and people will respect you for it. How can we inspire change on the road and inside the aisle of the store? I wish I knew.
This year has been weird, weird because I tried something new. I took a step back and let something that had felt out of my control for years be out of my control. I stopped pushing, trying, fighting, and shape-shifting. Instead, I waited. I took my hands off of my relationship with my mom and submitted it to God. I was at rock bottom, our relationship hit an all-time low in January. We were no longer Rory and Lorelai, we were Emily and Lorelai careening towards Emily and Gran. Things were bad. Our communication was broken, and both of us seemed to be unbothered by the problems, allowing it to be the status quo. For just shy of a decade our relationship had been in a bad place. My life took a wrong turn when I was in college and never righted its course. We were no longer pals, but secretive enemies.
I thought this was the final destination for our relationship. I was not hopeful. I put it down and left it. For months I barely spoke to my mom. For six months we did not see each other. It was the longest break we ever took. Even when I moved 14 hours away, we saw each other within 5 months. The distance was too far. This year it felt like I lived on the other side of the world. It pushed me to be still to process what I was doing wrong and to realize what I wished our relationship could be like.
When my mom had surgery this summer, the thought of a complication taking her away woke me up out of this experiment in distance. I visited her and it was strained, but doing a normal thing, like visiting your mom after surgery, seemed to bring a little normalcy back to our unbridled mess. As she recovered our relationship ebbed and flowed like tides. One day we’d be comfortable, warm, and friendly. The next it was cold, distant, irritating. I began to wonder if the small bit of hope was just that a small taste. That maybe it was what it was, and I needed to adjust my expectations. Could we get along in my adulthood? I was uncertain and began to think that maybe my mom was my best friend as a kid because I was young and different. Like my personality and needs have changed and that was how it was. I began to encourage myself to accept it, but I didn’t like it.
But then August and September came and something changed. They came to visit us, and we went to visit them. We stayed for the weekend and went to a familiar fall haunt, the Antiques in the Woods show in Ohio. I had fun, I remembered the past times we had together at this event, and I met a friend of my mom and grandma’s who told me how much they loved my mom. They told me stories of moments I missed over the past decade when I was not interested in spending time with my mom and painted a portrait I hadn’t seen in a while. They reminded me of who my mom could be and why I was always so proud to have her be my chaperone on school trips or invite friends over to my house because my mom can be really cool and a sweetheart. All the baggage of grief, growing pains, family fights, moves, it had all clouded my vision. I was seeing through the eyes of pain and past, I wasn’t seeing her in real-time.
We hung out with them again recently and went to Erie Bluffs State Park. I remembered how much I loved traveling with my mom. When the trip began my plan was to show her Erie in hopes that she would like a place I was considering moving to, but instead, I felt this pull to not leave again. I felt this peace to remain where I am and be comfortable in the familiar and close proximity to home. To not be afraid of staying close to home and not be scared or ashamed of my roots. I’ve learned a lot this year and I feel immense gratitude for the process of how I learned because if I had not fully walked away, my eyes may have stayed clouded in the lens of the past instead of looking toward the future and appreciating what is right in front of me. My Lorelai to my Rory, my home that still remains, the ideal mom-dad-dog-plus a husband that fits like a missing puzzle piece, the family I always wanted. I just needed to wait and be open to things getting better.
Will we probably fight again? Oh most definitely, but have I learned you can repair what is broken. Yes. And that is what I am grateful for. That might be the most important life lesson because it teaches resiliency.
A memory from 2001, the drive around the ring of Kerry. This is a view, near Slea Head looking towards the An Fear Marbh (The Sleeping Giant/Dead Man) Island. A quick sketch made with chalk pastels. At the time, I didn’t understand the grandeur of what I was staring at when I was eight, but now the beauty of Ireland’s scenery lives rent-free in my mind.
I’ve been sewing for three years as a full-time apprentice after being laid off. I’ve mentioned this before in #1 – Welcome and #3 – First Sewing Project and it’s been a quick learning curve from hand-sewing, paper patterns, pattern drafting, and machine sewing, but one skill has eluded me for three years. That is the working buttonhole with professional-looking buttonholes! Not my crappy buttonholes that look like an animal chewed a hole through the fabric and I hastily sewed some thread around it, no I’m talking about secure, there for the long haul, even button holes. Well-anchored and secure fasteners of fashion! Well, I figured it out thanks to YouTube and I am incredibly happy!
This shirt has a working placket of buttons and buttonholes, with a self-drafted shirt front and back panels, collar, and sleeves with a gusset for a more fitted sleeve shape. I finished the sleeves with a cuff for added pizazz. This shirt is made from buffalo plaid flannel from Mood Fabrics that sat in my fabric stash for 11 months waiting for the right project. At first, I bought it to make a two-piece pj set, which then was revised into matching pj pants for Kyle and me, and was further revised into pj pants for Kyle and a flannel shirt for me.
I love this print because it has Canadian Geese, Caribou, and Elk. Elk hold a special place in my heart because of where my husband is from, Caribou makes me think of the song Long Time Running by The Tragically Hip, the red plaid makes me think of my Canadian heritage, and Canadian Geese are my comfort animals.
I’m sure that sounds weird but I will elaborate. When I was 10, my mom had this amazing opportunity to go to Ireland through her work. Although it was only for 10 days, it really scared me because I had never been away from her that long. I was used to not seeing my dad for months, but my mom was always there for me. On the day her trip began, my grandparents took me mini-golfing and while we were there this little baby Canadian Goose, gosling I guess, followed me around through our entire game. It was my little buddy. I named it Popcorn. The owners of the course said they had never seen this happen before. If it hadn’t been a wild animal, I would have asked to adopt it.
Fast forward fifteen years later and I’m living in Savannah, Georgia. I moved closer to get to know my dad who lived in Savannah and I had a falling out with my mom in the process. My grandparents are now sick and I’m feeling lost. Each time I went to prayer meeting at Compassion Christian there was a flock of Canadian Geese in the parking lot. It was July and August, not prime migration time. It was odd, and I felt like they were there for me. A reminder that God was with me even when I was feeling lost and homesick.
Two years later, my grandpa passed away, the world was shut down and I felt lonely and lost in Meadville, unsure of how to feel home again. My grandma was now a widow and grieving, we didn’t know it yet but she was starting to move towards heaven, as she would in December of that year. I began to notice something each day at 4 pm, a lone goose or a flying V of Canadian Geese will fly directly over our house. Every day. This continues for a year. I even moved to a new place within that year and it still happened. When that goose or group of geese approached my house, I would hear the honk and I would run outside to watch it fly. In that moment I felt a feeling of comfort, like I could feel God’s presence with me so intensely. Just like a parent’s presence can make you feel safe, I felt that.
I’d say this is probably my favorite item in my wardrobe right now. Thank you, dear reader, for hanging out with me today. I hope you feel safe and loved today.
I want this post to be as real as possible. As I am currently tapping these keys into letters on this virtual page, I am uncertain if this will actually get posted. I don’t write enough and I think that is because I get too into my head. Perfectionism takes hold and I let the ideas flow out of my brain and into the atmosphere. I let myself talk my creative mind out of ideas that may be wonderful. I stumble and overthink. I’ve been thinking about what’s on my mind today for a couple months now, actually a couple years if I take stock. Okay, here it goes.
I’m bad at going to church, I’m not even sure if I like it or have ever liked it. Yikes. I said it. But I want to be different because I would like to have a community in my town and also keep a teachable spirit throughout my life.
Early on, church and school melded into one – private Christian education. That remained a constant throughout my time at college. Becoming an adult and reflecting on my time in church communities across various denominations has confused me more than it has filled me with an appetite to go. I feel shame for my feelings and I’m also concerned that if I called out the reasons in the circles that have left me feeling this way they would shut their ears until I “repented” and then they would still not hear me out.
Denominations I have attended or interacted with at school or in life: Reformed Presbyterian Christian Missionary Alliance Nazerene Catholic Orthodox Reformed Presbyterian Russian Orthodox Greek Orthodox Presbyterian USA Seventh Day Adventist Presbyterian split from USA Evangelical Presbyterian Non-Denominational Presbyterian PCA Baptist Pentecostal Methodist Anglican Lutheran Mennonite Amish
It’s quite the cross-section, spanning North America and Europe. Through these different church doctrinal cultures, I have been the weird kid with no siblings. The weird kid with a single mom. The weird kids with divorced parents. The weird kid who lives with her grandparents. The weird kid with no dad. The weird kid with catholic family members, whom my Reformed Presbyterian friends and family could not approve of. I’ve been the one who is uncomfortable by how Protestants self-righteously look down on Catholic and Orthodox friends. I’ve been the one who has felt out of place.
The girl who has been questioned, privately and publically about my faith because I like art and want to become a fashion designer. I have been questioned about my faith because I do not have children yet I am married. I have been questioned about my faith when I was the breadwinner of my relationship temporarily because my husband took an opportunity that temporarily had a pay cut. I’ve been questioned about my faith because of tattoos, ear piercings, fashion choices, and clip-in purple hair extensions. My salvation has been mocked because I sing hymns instead of psalms.
I’ve encountered churches that would not let me join or take communion unless my husband was first a member. I’ve encountered people who are self-righteous about their Pentecostal experiences. I’ve also attended churches where the pastor looks like an MTV cast member and preaches that your life will be full of wealth and privilege like him if you listen to him. I’ve heard sermons teach unbiblical things for the sake of social capital and popularity. I’ve encountered out-of-touch snobbery and generosity from humble people.
I’ve genuinely enjoyed four churches – the Spanish service in Paris at a very old church, Pastor Knapp’s preaching at First Presbyterian Church in an old stained glass stone church, SOMA in a random basement of building seated at tables instead of pews so that you could have a meal afterward (it was an inner city mission in my hometown), Compassion Christian with their rockband and folding chairs. My first thought after writing that is to realize that the “church” really doesn’t matter to me, it’s the people and their kindness. Their love for the Lord and his Word by which they are seeking to be Christ-like instead of being Christian – my favorite descriptor, not.
I have no idea what the point of sharing this is other than the fact that it is on my heart, and I feel led to talk about it because I don’t want to feel dread at the thought of joining a church, but I currently do. I don’t feel dread of stepping foot in a church or listening to a sermon and worshipping God. I’m not afraid to be identified with Christ or to share my testimony. But dang, the cliques, the judgment, and the bickering of the people in the church have really messed with my perception of the church. I’m not a snowflake for feeling that way, and I’m also not living in sin, I just know there is more I could be doing for the Kingdom of God if I joined a church that I will be missing out on if I can’t seem to get past this pothole in the road. It’s like a massive February pothole on a Pittsburgh road that might swallow your car hole if you hit it right.
I guess the point of this post is to bring community to the other ones like me who simply do not feel heard or welcome to voice the church hurt that they have. The ones who are struggling to separate who God is from these crazy humans running the operation called church. Can we help each other?
*Trigger Warning – weight, self-worth, ED, sizing* No worries if this one is not for you ❤
I wasn’t planning to write about this, mainly because I felt so ashamed a month ago when I visited my local outlets with an expectant heart to find the perfect baggy jeans to match my YesStyle inspiration photos, instead of finding what I wanted I got my butt handed to me by the un-standardization of standardized sizing and underwhelming offerings of American denim in 2023. Yeah, it was that kind of trip.
Rude Awakening
So I knew I would not find exactly what I was looking for because I was inspired by the offerings of Korean brands YesStyle and Acubi Club, and American fashion is different. I also knew that the reflection in the mirror would not look like what the photos looked like because I’m Irish-German-Canadian and not Korean, I am built differently. That was fine. I’m also not the same size as most K-pop idols because I’m not in my late teens-early twenties, plus the addition of age, stress, and developing intolerance to milk and casein protein, my body put on some weight. I’m not happy about it but I’m working on it so that I can lose the weight and keep it off.
With all that in mind, I forgot that there has been a shift in the desired body type since the last time I bought jeans. Slim-thick and curvy hips are out, heroin chic is in. Yikes. I say yikes because the last time this body type was during the y2k era and 2000s, but at least we had stretchy hip hugger jeans. Some of these jeans I tried on that were for Fall 2023 had the 1990s baggy shape but with ridged denim and were cut exclusively for a straight up and down body shape. One of the stores I found the most disappointing was Aeropostale. Now I know this is skewed to junior’s sizing, but it had the most potential because of the aesthetic of the styles they advertized across their store. There is an Acubi and K-fashion vibe to it, including a variety of cargo pants, compared to American Eagle which was also at my outlet but had an entirely different aesthetic. But, Aeropostale was frustrating for one reason alone – inconsistent sizing.
As I combed through the denim offerings, looking for the biggest size to have the most oversized look I could, I overheard a group of high schoolers who had just tried on jeans and were worriedly sifting through the pants for a bigger size. Two to three sizes bigger as the very slim teenagers worried nothing was going to fit them. I should have heeded this warning, but instead I loaded my arm with options and headed to the dressing room, much like Mort as he scampers, unaware up the beach as the shark tried to bite him.
It did not go well. One pair I got somewhat on my body but it was nowhere near close to zippering. The other ones simply would not go over my thighs, the so-called baggy jeans feeling a lot more like a recycled mom jeans pattern from 2019 instead of the baggy skater jeans of the late 1990s and early 2000s. (Trust me, I remember wearing both and the mom jeans were heckin’ uncomfortable.)
Confidence in Tatters
I kept calm and carried on to Wrangler which was a mistake because the women’s jeans were fitted, hourglass-shaped, and no longer stretchy. Can someone explain how curve-hugging jeans are supposed to do that when they are rigid denim? Anyways. The men’s jeans fit fine, but not what I was looking for. With the wind out of my sails, Kyle suggested Old Navy. At this point, I was afraid of jeans and women’s sizing. As I walked through Old Navy I grabbed sizes bigger than I ever tried before, grasping at straws in hopes that something would work. Ironically last season’s jeans gave me what I was looking for. I found success in the clearance section and purchased my Acubi-style jeans for $10. It was a screamin’ deal. It also was an ego gut punch as I bought jeans three sizes up from where I thought I would be. I selected two pairs and they are each a different size yet they fit me the same. Please, make it make sense!
Although I was happy to have found a style dupe, I felt this sense of dread about the other pants in my wardrobe. Was it the clothing or had my body changed again? Were my handcrafted, self-drafted, un-sized clothing pieces wrecking my ability to feel comfortable in standardized sizing? It left me in a terrible headspace where I pinballed between unworthiness and an unhinged desire to punish my body with intense workouts and restrictive diets. All over vanity. I don’t like how easily I put my worth in my outward appearance. This trivial experience weighed on my mind and affected my August.
I no longer wanted to catalog styling my handmade pieces. I felt like hiding from the blog as my inner monologue was pretty nasty towards myself, I didn’t feel comfortable in my own skin. I just wanted to hide until I could force my body into the current shape of the moment. I felt old and fat. I’m neither of those things, but the inner critic consumed me.
The Plan
For the next week, I pushed myself to dial back my bad habits, portion down my plate, and cut back on sweets. I took it a little too far and had to let myself have a cookie because I realized I was spiraling to a really unhealthy place where I believed I needed to earn my food (90s American diet culture, anyone?)
One positive that came from this diet push was to break free from the fear of tracking my calories burned and distance on the exercise bike, instead of it being restrictive I found it motivating. I even reached a pace of 3 min/mile. It was so exciting! The experience showed me that I needed to make simple swaps because my cardio was good and the muscles underneath some of my chubby bits were getting strong, I just needed to tone and get leaner.
Now of course, just as we make progress in life, discouragement rears its ugly head. I cut my leg on the bike so I had to pause riding for a week, which of course broke the habit I built. I began lifting the set of weights we had for exercise instead and hit myself on the shoulder. I got an angry ingrown toenail making my planks painful and a stomach bug to boot. All in the span of 10 days, life is good. But in the meantime I started doing wall sits every day and planks most days. I can do a wall sit for 1 minute to 1 minute and 30 seconds. My plank time has also increased from 30 seconds to a minute. My posture is improving, my mind is growing stronger, and I am seeing results in my arms, legs, and waistline. I don’t mind the portion control at all actually I’ve enjoyed getting healthier and eating more fruit like bananas with my oatmeal. Popcorn is my go-to evening snack and I let myself have a piece of dark chocolate or two in the afternoon slump.
I feel agency again in my own body. I’ve learned that the weight I put on is not out of my control, and I can change the shape of my body with discipline, not restriction and punishment. Exercising is more of a mental thing than a physical task, and when I am struggling to stay motivated to push myself I remind myself that I can do anything for 30 seconds. I’m going to apply that mindset to life when it gets scary.
It should have been a compliment or even a point of affectionate doting that instead of buying shorts from the outlets or the myriad of options online, my husband wanted me to make him a pair of shorts to replace an old pair. Instead, the mere thought filled me with dread. Shorts? Menswear shorts? I can barely make my own shorts! (Not true, I’ve made eleven attempts at this point and only a few tries did not pan out.) I don’t have the right pattern! (Also not true, I do, a very good one that is classic and versatile in silhouette for pants and shorts.)
Both of us could see through my excuses and my lame attempt at avoiding a task that would make me grow and apply the skills I have learned this year. A good thing to do. Economical and customizable. A win-win scenario. I was feeling confident. His encouragement and confidence in me was brimming. The fabric selected a quality, not too heavy cut of canvas material. And yet, my overachieving penchant to be the best pushed me forward, to the pages of Mood’s online store. Another two cuts of fabric were ordered in a sturdy striped shirting of gray and another of green.
Yet they sat in my stash as I pondered. I hemmed and I hawed, until one day the pattern called to me from my sewing stash. Afraid I would deny the voice for another month, on that June day I cleared my table and grabbed my scissors ready for a fabric fight. I carefully spread the fabric across the horizontal expanse and with purpose, I dug out the first pattern piece. The front, cut two, mind the seat curve. Again with the back, the waistband, and then I remembered I promised him pockets. Pockets and a zip fly. Oh dear, how could I forget such a crucial step? In a flurry of tissue paper patterns and fabric scraps, I dug through the bigger offcuts until a pocket was procured. I rinsed and repeated twice until a stack of short building materials and a dusting of scraps fell beneath my feet.
I’m not sure why pockets intimidate me so, I think it could be how they are inserted. You must make them even, strong, and seated on the hips just right so that they tuck into the pants without creating wonky bulk or disturbing the line of the garment. They’re not hard to do with my sewing machine, yet I avoid them like a wasp flying at my head. Zippers too create such a fine finish, compared to the chore that is buttons and buttonhole creation, yet I’ve stayed away from those two in 2023. I think we get into comfort zones and become afraid of stepping out, even though we have the skills and are fully prepared for the next step, we just forget to move. It’s a shame because, without those friendly pushes from people who love us, we may never venture into a new great thing.
I’m glad Kyle believed in me and didn’t let me avoid this project because these shorts gave me such a sense of accomplishment! I now want to insert pockets into the garments chose not to, mostly my own clothes. I want to sew with more care moving forward so that the items I make have more polish. My skillset is leveled up to do this, I don’t have to hide in simple projects anymore. Pockets are friends, and zippers are a fun challenge. Buttonholes are still foes though, at least for now.
After Daniel and some prayer for direction, I landed on 1 Corinthians as the next place in the Bible I felt the Lord leading me to wander through. The first chapter of 1 Corinthians, a familiar book, really stuck out to me; honestly, I haven’t been seeing things the same way since. I’ll explain.
A little background on this book and my faith journey, when I was a kid I got this book and the book of Chronicles confused all the time although they are about vastly different things. The Corinthians being addressed here are members of a church in Corinth, an ancient city located in south-central Greece. This is one of two letters written to the church by Paul. He knew the people and addressed specific issues being raised in communication between him and the members. It is also a look into how the early church navigated living in a multi-cultural world in the Roman Empire that was not a Christian culture. It is an example the modern church can use to look to for direction in our current-day issues that are not unlike the ones faced by the Corinthian believers because we are all fallen humans, so there are bound to be problems in how we live in community together.
Therein is the rub. Some modern believers take the conversations in the letters of Paul verbatim and copy and paste the ancient scenario into their current day with mixed results, sometimes as a weapon and sometimes in love, it’s a complex thing that gets oversimplified based on who is teaching it. Actually, it sounds a lot like the passage I read in 1 Corinthians 1:10-17.
I appeal to you, brothers, by the name of our Lord Jesus Christ, that all of you agree, and that there be no divisions among you, but that you be united in the same mind and the same judgment. For it has been reported to me by Chloe’s people that there is quarreling among you, my brothers. What I mean is that each one of you says, “I follow Paul,” or “I follow Apollos,” or “I follow Cephas,” or “I follow Christ.” Is Christ divided? Was Paul crucified for you? Or were you baptized in the name of Paul? I thank God that I baptized none of you except Crispus and Gaius, so that no one may say that you were baptized in my name. (I did baptize also the household of Stephanas. Beyond that, I do not know whether I baptized anyone else.) For Christ did not send me to baptize but to preach the gospel, and not with words of eloquent wisdom, lest the cross of Christ be emptied of its power.
1 Corinthians 1: 10-17 ESV
I tend to be less excited when I start reading through a book of the Bible when it is a book that pastors and teachers seem to loop through, like the gospels, 1 & 2 Corinthians, Romans, Acts, 1&2 Thessalonians, Galatians, Ephesians, Philippians and 1&2 Timothy, etc because those sermons feel like they are washed across the pages like a lacquer keeping me from getting in the pages and their intrinsic message from God. The new level of podcasts and social media commentary on the Bible being shared at rapid fire is making it worse in my opinion. There are so many people’s hands on it and their words of interpretation live rent-free in our heads more than God’s understanding.
Now I’m not trying to pick, obviously, the word needs to be taught and all these tools we have at our disposal should be utilized instead of ignored. People are literally doing their best and I appreciate them for the work that they do and acknowledge that it’s a tough thing to understand and teach. I guess what struck me from a place of frustration was the inward conviction of – well if you weren’t understanding My Word through the words of other people and were following me first, the teaching and opinions of others second, maybe you wouldn’t have this problem, hm? Ouch. Yeah, I’m guilty of that. But thankfully those kinds of moments of conviction from the Holy Spirit are an invitation to dive deeper, there is a way forward to get back on track and I love that about the Lord. He never leaves us where he finds us, we choose not to move forward but His hand is always open to take the next step.
This was kind of a short reflection on my read through 1 Corinthians 1, but I hope that it encourages you in its conciseness. What I gleaned from it was simple. Follow me.
I hope wherever you are you are safe, loved, and know that your creator sees you. You are special. ❤ Until next time.
