Beauty on the Backroads

Stories of grace for life's unexpected turns

Friendship

These 3 words could have ruined my night

It took a stern-but-playful command from my chiropractor to get me out of the house yesterday. It had been almost a week without the kids and I wasn’t really spending my days doing “me” things, at least not relaxing “me” things.

So because I had birthday money to spend, I went shopping, which is not exactly relaxing, but sometimes buying new clothes can be fun. I hit the clearance racks at a department store in search of shirts that are neither T-shirts nor fancy. Honestly, when it comes to clothes I would happily wear the same thing every day unless someone else was going to make the decisions for me. Getting dressed in the morning sucks up so much emotional energy for me. Again, why was I shopping?

When I’m not in a hurry (i.e. when the kids aren’t with me), I’m more likely to take some fashion risks and just try a bunch of stuff on whether I think I’ll like it or not. That’s how I ended up with two dresses in my hands, along with shirts and a pair of jeans. I don’t mind dresses, but rarely do I feel confident enough in myself to buy a new one.

I tried them both on and one was definitely a better fit than the other but since I had no in-person backup with me, I shared a couple of photos with an online tribe of sisters who overwhelmingly helped me pick the right one.

Here’s what it looked like on me when my husband and I went out later that night:

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Phil and I had a date planned and though I told him I wasn’t wearing a dress, I changed my mind after buying this pretty garment. ($13. I love a good deal.) We had theater tickets for a local production of Footloose, and because it was our city’s Fourth of July celebration, a whole street was lined with food trucks, which is what we planned to eat for dinner.

After finally making it downtown through numerous road closures, we were pushing it a little bit for time. We set out for the food trucks. The streets were crowded. People walking. Sitting on the curb or steps of businesses. Listening to music. Eating. It’s a lot for my senses to take in.

Which is why I’m surprised I even heard these three words at all. But I did.

We approached a corner and were getting ready to cross when I caught the words, “All dressed up,” uttered in not-the-nicest of tones. I so badly wanted to turn and look at the person who said them, but we were on a mission and I wanted to let it go.

I think she was talking about me, but maybe she wasn’t. I immediately felt shame for what I was wearing. And I wanted to go back to her and defend my decision to put on a dress. But it wouldn’t have helped anything, and I probably just would have been more upset about the whole thing.

See, I understand where these words come from. I’ve uttered them or similar things myself. It’s insecurity. Making someone else feel bad about themselves because I feel bad about myself. It’s horrible. I hate being the receiver of comments that are meant to tear down and too often I’m dishing it out, if not in public then in private.

It took a lot for me to put that dress on last night, and I’m not just taking about maneuvering my arms so I could reach the zipper. I rarely feel fabulous in a dress, but my sister-tribe on Facebook assured me I was. Even if they hadn’t, my husband appreciated my outfit. (Not that I solely dress for him. I don’t.) Last night I felt like a new woman. Dare I say, sexy?

I almost hate using that word because it has such negative connotation. It’s difficult in our society for a woman to feel confident and beautiful and sexy in what she’s wearing and not be labeled as something I don’t even want to type here. (Fill in the blank with your own least favorite derogatory word.)

Those three words truly could have ruined my night, even though I didn’t know the woman who said them. Hearing them made me so thankful for the women who continued to affirm me. Honestly, the three-word comment is one reason I might not have picked out the dress in the first place. But I’ve come a long way, and I still have a long way to go.

All that to say, thank you to the ladies who helped me walk in confidence. I hope I can be more like you in how I affirm and encourage other women. Because let’s face it, there are a lot of voices out there telling us things about ourselves that aren’t true.

Isn’t it time we tell each other some true things?

There is room enough for all of us to celebrate each other’s strengths without pointing out each other’s weaknesses. A woman who looks fabulous in a two-piece swimsuit doesn’t take anything away from me, even though I’m not yet comfortable in one. A woman who is following her dreams and succeeding takes nothing away from me and my dreams, even though they are not yet succeeding the way I want them to. A woman who is friendly and compassionate and easy with people takes nothing away from me, even though I am slow to approach new people and it takes me time to make new friends.

Whatever she has in abundance does not mean I lack or am lesser.

20160624_182550I’m going to wear the dress again. And again. No matter what anyone else says or thinks.

Because it’s less about the dress and more about how I feel on the inside.

Years ago, I wouldn’t have thought to try a dress that might make me noticeable. I wanted to hide because I didn’t like who I was, didn’t really know who I was. And now, I like the person I’m becoming, and I’m okay with getting noticed, even if it’s for the wrong reasons.

Has anything like this ever happened to you? How did you handle it?

I’m happy to report that I had a fabulous evening in my “hot dress.” And I’m looking forward to wearing it again.

Earth turns and turning the earth

A month ago we turned the earth in our backyard, a carefully mapped out plot of ground that would transform from grass to garden.2284

My husband gripped the tiller’s handles and passed over the patch once, twice, three times, turning up as many rocks as dirt. Our son gleefully collected all the rocks in a bucket, and with every bit of dirt turned up, a dream began to take shape.

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We could almost taste the cucumbers, see the bright red tomatoes hanging from the vines. A once-ordinary piece of land would become something extraordinary.

Now maybe a garden is nothing extraordinary to you. We come from a land where farms stretch as far as your eyes can see, where backyard gardens aren’t unheard of. Even where we live now, the land yields a bountiful harvest. Gardening, I thought, was nothing to write home about.

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This summer marks three years since we moved into the farmhouse. We only inhabit the first floor, and there’s no “farm” left. We are surrounded on all sides by houses and businesses. Only my imagination can conjure up images of what it used to be.

It is a partial dream, this rental home. The L-shaped porch is the envy of every new visitor and the only real reason I even considered looking at this property in the first place. We have license to care for the property as if it is our own, though it will always be someone else’s and eventually, someday, we will leave.

Maybe these are all reasons to not turn up the soil and plant a garden. We can’t take it with us, after all. Why should we bother settling in and planting when it will all be someone else’s?

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I think of the words often attributed to Martin Luther about if the world were to end tomorrow, he would plant a tree today. And the ones from a prophet who spoke to those in captivity:

Build houses and settle down; plant gardens and eat what they produce. … Also, seek the peace and prosperity of the city to which I have carried you into exile. Pray to the Lord for it, because if it prospers, you too will prosper.“

I have never been one to settle down easily. Though I long for a place to truly call “home,” I find that my heart, my mind, my feet begin to itch for wandering if I stay too long in one place. Too often I think that a new location will lead to a new me. If only we had our own house. If only we lived in a neighborhood. Then we could do the things we dream of.

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The last house we lived in, we stayed for five years. I was sure our stay would be a year or two at most. When I got my first job out of college, I thought maybe I’d stay for a few months. I was there for seven years. For whatever reason, my spirit wants to go, to move on, to find the next thing, yet God gives me reason to stay.

The earth turns on its axis and takes its turns around the sun. Days and years pass, each one different than I expected. I am still longing for a home of our own, a place we can plant ourselves and begin doing the work we believe God has called us to do.

But I’m beginning to see that the work is always in front of us, no matter the patch of earth we might inhabit.

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As we turned the soil, we drew attention. Our neighbors to the southwest offered us advice about putting a fence around the garden to keep the rabbits out. They watched as we toiled.

In the process of turning up the grass for the dirt below, our spade broke. Our gardening tools are limited at best, and as we dug and raked, another neighbor stopped by.

Three years, remember, we’ve lived here, and this man, I believe, runs the business behind our house. We have waved in passing, but I have never approached for conversation because that’s not what I do. It takes me months, years sometimes, to work up the nerve to talk to strangers, even if they are neighbors. It’s not because I’m stuck-up. I’m just terrified of making conversation, of being awkward in my attempts at friendship.

So it shocked me when this man crossed the parking lot behind our house and offered an array of gardening tools for us to use. We could keep them as long as we needed to. He told me his name, gave me his business card so we could call if we needed anything. We thanked him.

When the soil was ready, we shopped for plants and spent another evening putting them in the ground. Our neighbor to the northwest noticed and brought over a tomato plant, offering it to us to put in our garden. I don’t know if she doesn’t like tomatoes or didn’t have room in her garden or even if she has a garden or not. This neighbor we at least talk to and know her name. She enjoys our kids and makes conversation with all of us. We hadn’t planned on another tomato plant, but we made room.

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That same day, I think, some kids showed up from the apartment building nearby. One of the girls is a classmate of our daughter. We had no idea she lived there. They saw us outside and wondered what we were doing. They helped us water the plants and unroll the fencing. One of the girls said that she had a small plant she brought home from school.

“What are you going to do with it?” I asked.

She shrugged.

“Would you like to plant it here and come visit it and see how it’s doing?”

Her eyes widened and she ran home to get her little bean plant in a plastic cup. We planted it in the ground and watered it. It now has its own corner of the garden.

When the plants were all in the ground and the fence was all in place, I sat inside the house in awe of what had happened.

We planted a garden. No big deal. But for some reason it sparked something in our neighbors. We didn’t set out to plant a community garden but somehow planting a garden has fostered a sense of community.

We can’t wait to share the bounty of the garden with anyone and everyone.

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I struggle with wanting to do GREAT BIG THINGS for God. My husband has a degree from seminary. He manages a cafe. I’m a professional writer with two kids in my care. We have a heart to serve/encourage/minister but are not yet clear on what shape it will take.

Maybe we make it more complicated than we need to.

Maybe we just need to plant a garden. Show up. Stay. Invite people into something seemingly ordinary.

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I don’t know what God is going to do with this garden. It’s growing without much intervention, and the communal feel of it has worn off a bit in the meantime.

So, we actively wait for the fruit of our labors.

Maybe there is something holy in all of this staying and waiting.