Eight Lavender Roses

A couple months ago, my Sweetie and I celebrated our 8th Anniversary. And I knew what was coming…because every year he gives me the same thing.

Every year on our Anniversary, my Sweetie presents me with an arrangement of lavender roses — one for every year that we have been married. This year, when he came home with the arrangement, it was huge. Partially because the florist had messed up the original order — which my sweetie placed two weeks in advance — and she felt terrible when he explained the reason for the order and the importance of having lavender roses and not “lavender-esque flowers”, and partially because eight years is a significant amount of time.

That’s one of the things that I love about the rose gift. It’s a physical symbol of the growth of our marriage. The first few years, the arrangements were very small. Because, let’s face it, there’s only so much you can add to an arrangment of one rose, without overshadowing the rose. And the vases were small because that’s all that was necessary. And I loved them. The simplicity. The beauty. The reminder.

But now, eight long-stemmed, lavender sterling roses take up some room. And they require a large vase. And it reminds me…eight years of marriage. That’s a big thing.

I can’t wait for our 50th anniversary! My sweetie and I talked this year about the fact that he should probably start saving now for that arrangement!

And there are other things that I love about receiving roses every year. For one, it’s predictable, which is terribly romantic. Lavender roses are not always easy to find…at least not true lavender roses. It takes thought. It takes preparation. It takes dedication. It takes remembrance. All very romantic qualities. And I can anticipate what’s coming. I get to wonder what the vase will look like, what the arrangement will be, and when my Sweetie will give them to me.

Plus, I love that the roses build anticipation for the anniversary years that would otherwise slip by less noticed. Half a dozen roses…that was fun. And our 12th anniversary, that will be a milestone to remember! The year of two dozen roses will probably stand out in my mind as much as our 25th anniversary the next year. It’s just fun.

The gift of roses represents who my husband is and some of the many qualities that I love him for. He’s romantic. He’s dependable. He’s thoughtful. He’s prepared. And he doesn’t settle for lavender-esque!

As deeply as I know him and love him, he still surprises me every year. He always lives up to the anticipation.

Quick/Easy Recipe: Hamburger Dip

This is a yummy recipe that I adopted from my friend Jessica.  Jessica told me the ingredients in the recipe, but I never wrote them down, so this may be a slightly different variation than hers, but either way, it’s good.  Chips and Dip aren’t usually what I would consider a meal, but this recipe is very filling.  Served with a green salad, everyone’s satisfied!

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Jessica’s Hamburger Dip

1 lb hamburger, browned
1 can (15 oz?) refried beans
1 can (15 oz) diced tomatoes
1 cup sour cream
1 cup shredded cheese (your choice.  Cheddar works well)
1 cup salsa

In a skillet, combine the hamburger, refried beans, tomatoes and salsa.  Warm through.  Add the sour cream and cheese and heat until cheese is melted.

Serve with tortilla chips.

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This is a wonderful meal for those summer evenings when the kids have been playing outside and I just don’t want to go inside to make dinner until the last minute.  And, it is easily adapted to all tastes (mild salsa, no salsa, salsa with green chilies, etc.)

Enjoy!

An epiphany…of sorts

I’ve been doing a lot of thinking lately. Thinking about life. Thinking about priorities. Thinking about my relationship with God and with everyone around me. Lots of thinking. Which is good’ish.

I’ve also been busy. Crazy busy. Trying to get everything done. By myself. A self-imposed punishment, if you will, for not being the mother, the wife, the friend, the child of God, that I know I am supposed to be. I’m taking on too many responsibilities, and thus, I’m lacking in everything I do. And to make up for the lack, I continue to take on more responsibility, trying to do penance in my heart. Trying to prove myself adequate.

But it’s all worthless. All futile. And I’ve been missing the big picture. I have been trying to prove that I can be disciplined and fit everything in. But I’ve made the mistake of making it all about me. It isn’t all about me.

I’ve had a warped view of God. Miniscule. Distorted. I still do. But it’s like a small light is beginning to shine. Like an idea that you almost have. I know it’s there, but I haven’t quite grasped it. I just have to focus on it, and wait. Slowly, it will come into view.

Over the past week, my job has been rather consuming. I’ve put in more hours than usual and they have been consuming hours. Hours where I can’t focus on anything else. And the kids have been bored. Can’t blame them. When Mama zones into work, life can be pretty boring. And so they’ve pestered. They asked for tv, xbox, gameboy, anything to distract. Anything to entertain. And then I become ugly mommy. Because I don’t like being pestered. And they just don’t understand how much I need to get done. Me. By myself.

God’s been bringing the concept of idols into my mind constantly lately. Hmmmm. The bible study I’m doing right now, all about idols. Yesterday’s sermon, about the consequences of letting idols slip into your life. Self-sufficiency is an idol for me. The need to do everything myself. My inability to depend on anyone else is in itself a dependency upon a false idol. And it destroys me.

I sometimes cry out to God asking him why I can’t hear him speaking to me. Then I stop to breath and I start to hear everything that he’s been saying that I’ve just been talking over. This has been one of those weeks.

This morning, I started cleaning the kitchen. It was in desperate need. Seriously desperate. Martha Stewart would have been very disappointed in the state of my house 2 hours ago. And as I started to work, I started assigning the kids tasks as well. And, for the most part, they accepted the tasks with vigor, going above and beyond what I had asked them to do. And the house was cleaned more quickly than I could have done on my own. And that was my epiphany.

Not that I can use my kids as forced labor, helping to accomplish more in one day. No. The fact that by involving them. By not doing everything myself and grumping at them for being in the way and pestering me about their boredom. By giving them something productive to do, they felt important. They wanted to prove to me that they could do what I had asked…and more. They wanted to be like me.

But I don’t want them to be like me. I’m not a very good example. But I want to be. I too want to prove myself. I want to prove to God that I can go above and beyond the small tasks that he gives me. That I can be worthy of bigger tasks.

But I’m beginning to realize that I can’t be ready for God’s tasks until I let go of some of mine. I have to give up. I have to give up control, self-sufficiency, independence, security. I have to give up my life. Because who I am cannot co-exist with who God wants me to be.

I cannot be the mother that God wants to me to be — training up my children in the way they should go — if I am consumed with doing everything myself.

I cannot be the wife that God wants me to be — humble, supportive, honoring — if I am overwhelmed and absorbed in my own world of self-imposed busyness.

I’m still struggling. Too much of myself is still fighting for control. It scares me to let go.

But I’m aware. I’m listening. And God is speaking.

Watching Scottie Grow

I have so many thoughts swirling through my head that I would love to be sharing here, but time just keeps flying by too quickly.  Right now, we are enjoying a wonderful visit from Scott’s family and are being completely recharged just from having them here. 

Quick story for you.  The other day, Scott and the rest of the family were outside playing and grilling while Mama D. and I were inside preparing potato salad and chatting.  As we were chatting, we were also listening to some music on the computer.  As the song changed, we began listening to “Watching Scottie Grow”,  which, I found out for the first time, is how Scott’s folks decided on his name.  Yep.  They were listening to this song while Mom was expecting…and the rest is history!