Listen by clicking below (ignoring my scratchy, still-cold-fighting voice)…
I’m pretty sure my face is plastered right next to the definition of oxymoron in Webster’s. If not, it should be. And somedays it would be found next to the word minus the “oxy.” I own that.
I wrote this little “oxymoronic” bio on my site a few years ago and it still holds true. Hang tight while I share that and then continue with some more thoughts…
I belong to no one but my Savior, Jesus Christ. I struggle daily with my selfish pride.
I love the security of my marriage and strong arms of my man. I am fiercely independent and stubborn to a fault.
I feel complete as a mother of two. I long to have gang loads more children.
I love to cook for and serve others. I am ecstatic to be taken out for a nice meal.
I anxiously await the coolness of fall after a long, hot summer. I can’t wait for the rebirth of spring after a long, cold winter.
I could spend hours on end watching old black and white movies. I feel sick if I stay cooped up inside more than a day.
I am a realist. I am a dreamer.
I often talk to myself. I sometimes answer back.
I love a hot cup of coffee. And a cold glass of milk.
I’m proud of being a born and bred North Carolinian. I also feel like I was supposed to be born out west, 100 years ago.
I don’t mind manure on my boots and dirt on my hands (no nails to get it under). I can dress up with the best of ’em and enjoy an occasion to.
I can change a flat truck tire…on the side of a major interstate…alone. I would rather not.
I was born with arched feet fit for a ballerina. I wouldn’t know a plié if it bit me in the…foot.
I took piano lessons for five years. I cannot play chop sticks without music to read (and probably not well even with it.)
I spent too much of my young adulthood in places I should not have. I’ve spent much of my recent years wishing I hadn’t.
My life is full of paradoxes. And I’m full of sin and struggles. But I’m redeemed. Forgiven. Saved. And I look forward to continuing to work out my faith a bit more through this blog. Thank you for indulging me.
I wanted to go back and change some of the words and re-arrange some of those thoughts, because “Hello!”, I hope I’m a bit better writer than I was three years ago. But, I’m going to leave it as is and strive for the bigger picture I’m trying to get across. Which is this…sometimes it’s ok to be in the middle. I’m finally owning that IT’S OK to strive for a happy-medium and live into who I am, not who others say I should be. Except for God, because what He says matters most, and He says I’m chosen and beloved. Period. Not that I have to fit into a mold that I see as I scroll through my feed everyday. He formed me exactly the way He wanted me – and He did the same with you.
This photo from my kitchen counter really says it best. Oxymorons galore…two “I Quit Sugar” cookbooks a few inches away from the sugar I use to make a gallon of sweet tea every day; and then there’s my poor friend Ree stuck between a paleo chef and a sugarless cook. I am torn between learning to cook just like my Granny and eat all the butter and all the biscuits and all the fried cornbread – and then I’m torn in wanting to live a healthier lifestyle, do all I can to make sure I’m here past 40 to see my kids have kids and treat my body more kind. As it is, I’ve decided that I’m going to find some common ground and dig my boots in. When I get a hankering for chicken stew and biscuits, I’m going to make it. But I’m also going to start incorporating healthier food into the mix, as well. And as of two Monday’s ago, I’m putting my body through heck for an hour-and-a-half in a conditioning class, leaving me unable to raise my arms to eat and my legs unable to walk until Friday. Which leaves a whole lot of room for ice cream on the weekend. And a “real” excuse to wear yoga pants on Mondays. Such a win-win. 🙂
I realize this may not be for everyone, but it’s a place in-between that I’m happy to find. If anyone needs a friend in the same place, I’m fist-pumping you. But only because it’s Friday and I can finally stretch my arm out again.