It's Like You're My Mirror

Hi.

So... Monday afternoon I had my first coffee in over a week.  I accomplished so much and was even awake to see Jered when he came home after work!  I grocery shopped, stocked up on new laundry products (boy laundry is so different from what I'm used to, and those armpit stains and smells have gone on for far too long), prepped tons of food (lettuce) for the week, and got down and dirty with some paints (Reba- I'm making some major headway on you-know-what!).

Last night we had friends over for dinner.  I was thrilled because I was only in charge of salad and chopping fruit.  Jered did the rest.  And guys!  He continues to amaze me.  He fried six catfish fillets, made his own seasoned breading, and even found a recipe for a delicious sauce that I would hesitate to call tartar sauce because I hate tartar sauce and what he made was awesome.  I couldn't help but continue to marvel over how well he did the entire time he and I cleaned up the kitchen.  It's the stuff food dreams are made of, people.

Ok, time to stop putting off what I really want to talk about.

You may have already gathered this, but marriage is on my brain about ninety percent of the time, and over the last few weeks, I've been amazed at how many times I need to hear something before it takes hold.  In this case it probably still hasn't.  Or at least I haven't learned how to live it.

I read/heard multiple times over the last few weeks that marriage is not to make us happy, but to make us holy.  This is counter to what the world teaches us and probably why divorce rates are so high.  Akin to this idea is the one that our spouse is something of a mirror for us because they have an uncanny ability to reveal our faults.

Like it or not, I'm being consistently reminded that this is a key part of marriage.  Not because we're supposed to pick each other apart, but because we're supposed to sharpen each other, to encourage each other to be more like Christ.

The problem then becomes how we do that.  And boy, I think I screw that up just about every time.

We were at church the weekend we visited my family when I heard it.  Basically: love is action.  I don't know why that wording struck me differently than "love is a choice" or "love is a verb," but it did.  I suppose he went into more detail about it which I don't recall now since it's been about three weeks.  (For the sake of balance, I just stumbled upon this great blog post that details the danger in thinking of love as only a verb.)

Previously I had always thought that no matter how angry I got at Jered, I would just choose to love him.  I will love him because I said I would.  And that's that.  "I'm ticked, but I love you.  You are my husband, and I will always love you."  Maybe I just think, "After all this, I'll still love you."

And while I think all of that is fine, a huge disconnect occurs when it doesn't extend to my actions.  Unfortunately that disconnect happens quite often.  I'm choosing to love my husband in my mind, but not actions or even the words I say to him.  If I think about love like I think about faith, the Bible says that faith without action is dead.  What does that make my love for Jered when I speak to him in anger?  When I let snide comments slip out?  When I hold on to my anger?

You've probably seen those articles with the shocking title like, "I Didn't Love My Wife When I Married Her" or something of that ilk.  It's true though, isn't it?  We don't really know what love is until we learn to do it when it's difficult.  Anyway, my desire is to always love my husband better than before.

I guess it's a good thing I have so much room for progress then.

Oh!  I almost forgot- Jered took me out for my belated birthday date, and boy, he did well.  First he took me to Famous Dave's and told me to forget about trying to eat healthy at all.  (This is like a foreign language for him.)  Yum, yum, yum.  And- look who was right behind us!  Jered obviously approved.

My surprise date involved us going to one of those pottery places.  If you haven't been to one, you go in and are faced with an enormous wall of shelves filled with different pottery pieces to choose from.  They have everything from mixing bowls to piggy banks.  I think my favorite part might have simply been the fact that Jered joined in on the fun with me.

   

To assuage any inquiries, no, it is not a dog dish, and no, it is not a pregnancy announcement.  It's just a dish that I'm going to use for jewelry. Haha.  Jered's shot glass is glazed orange and named after his truck.  (Now he has Big Walter and Little Walter.)

Well folks, I'll talk to you later.

Aim

Water

Hey.

I've been meaning to write, and I think my excuse boils down to caffeine withdrawal?  I've gone a full week without coffee now, which has been unheard of over the last year.  I'm pleased to tell you that it is going surprisingly well.  Although, this letter may end up all over the place.

I don't think I've told you the latest news.  It's kind of a big deal.  Jered wants us to go on a month long "cleanse" by eating only fish, fruits, and vegetables.  (Haha- I had you thinking it was something major right?)  Well, it is major to me because I love bread.  So much so, that for my birthday I chose Avanti's so that I could eat pizza bread and their normal bread.  Perhaps a little overkill, but it's so good I couldn't help myself.

While I haven't held to it entirely, this week has been a pretty significant change for me.  (I still partook of my breakfast granola/shredded wheat... and Jered and I had a turkey sandwich one night before small group, along with a very few fries and sips of Mountain Dew.)  Aside from a couple cod fillets, my lunches have been pure rabbit food.  (Albeit a large rabbit.)  So a few exceptions, but hey, it's only the trial run for the real deal- Jered hasn't started yet.

Anyway, like you care about my meals.

A while ago, I mentioned to Jered that I think it's interesting that water captivates us so much.  Maybe because it's a source of life?  We seem to be drawn to it, no matter the size.  When I was a nanny, if the boys and I went walking a day after it rained, even if the majority of the sidewalk was dry, they couldn't help themselves from walking right through the out-of-the-way puddle.  When Jered and I are driving, my eye is constantly on the lookout for any kind of body of water.  When creeks and fields are flooded, for some reason, I have to stare at them the whole time it takes us to pass them.  Some of our favorite vacation memories are from when Dad when pull over on the highway in the mountains next to a stream, where we would climb out onto the rocks to see how far across we could get.  And don't even get me started on the beach.

Obviously, these days fishing plays a major part in that magnetism.  Jered and I went to a music in the park night this week, and while we were there we had to take a stroll to check out the water under the interstate overpass.  Because there might have been fish.  Wherever there is water, this boy tends to end up.

  

(It was a lovely evening by the way.)

We took the boat out to the lake last night and went fishing with friends.  It was a perfect, beautiful evening.  As Jered put it, "Couldn't a-ordered up a better ni-ight."  ( I hope you heard the southern drawl in there.)  Although he might have preferred catching some bigger fish.  And maybe the clouds of mosquitoes- thank goodness McKenna comes prepared with lots of Off.

 

(Not sure what was going on with my camera... I've never seen the photos turn out that way before.)

Tonight we are supposed to go on a makeup date for my birthday.  He's got something planned, but I don't know what it is yet.  I guess I'll have to fill you in on that next time.  

Until then,

Aim

Anniversary

Hi.

Well, over the last week and a half I've had multiple letters in mind to write to you.  I just haven't gotten around to them yet.  Today isn't the day because I want to make sure I can dedicate the amount of thought and time I'd like to them.

So you're getting a nice, short letter today.

Today is the fifteenth of July.

A year ago today, Jered started his job.  We can all thank Nate for documenting it, since I couldn't.

While it doesn't mark my one year anniversary as a Des Moines-ian (Des Moines-ite?), it certainly marks an important turning point in our life together.  

Not only was I facing the first length of time away from my husband since before we were married as I stayed in Chicago for two more weeks, but I was preparing to say goodbye to the city way of life I had surprisingly grown quite accustomed to.  Saying goodbye was much more difficult than I could have foreseen.  Especially since it involved leaving so many good people.

But we are loving our time here.  I've said it before, and I'll say it again: it's a good fit for us.  It's convenient, it's a sweet mix of country and city, we've found a church home, we've joined a great small group, and we're super close to our niece.  We like the pace here.

Whereas our first year of marriage seemed a little like playing around for a year while Jered finished school, this year has seemed more like a stare down with our future.  Making changes, making plans, and making decisions.  I'm incredibly anxious to see how God works in our upcoming third year.

Like I promised, nice and short.

Talk to you later.

Aim

Numbers

Hi.

Is it bizarre to think that we are now over half way through this year?  Seriously, where has it gone?

I remember sitting in junior high band, listening to Mr. Reavis explain why each year of our life seemed to go by faster and faster.  He explained that since we're a year older every spring, each year made up a smaller proportion of our life.  Maybe that seems like an obvious statement, but to the junior high version of this girl, it was an astounding revelation that made the whole world make sense in that moment.

I've found myself thinking a great deal about numbers this week.  (This is abnormal for me.  Math kind of dropped off the planet when I graduated from high school. - Sorry, Mrs. Dare.)

I downloaded the YouVersion Bible app on my phone, and purely by chance (on my part) I started on the first of January.  Typically I read each day's portion during my lunch break at work, and at the end it shows me what percentage of the Bible I've completed.  Yesterday I reached 50.1%.  (Aside from having to read the entire New Testament in college and the collection of Old Testament books I had read randomly before, this is the most I've read.  Or maybe more accurately, the most I've read in succession.)

The other day I was wondering how many books I've completed since the start of the year.  I've slowed down recently, but I think somewhere in the 10 to 15 range.  (Too low in my opinion.)

I don't know the number of shows I've had the opportunity to watch from start to finish since January, and I don't even want to know the number of hours I've spent doing so.  I could probably calculate an estimate, but I don't think I'd like the result.

The list goes on: How many miles have I run?  How many meals a week do I prepare?  How many dates have we gone on?  How many fights have we had?  How many pairs of shoes have I purchased?  How many projects have I finished?  How many times have I had to get those highlights touched up?  How many blog posts have I done?  How many, how many, how many?

Maybe I'm thinking about numbers even more because my birthday is at the end of the week, and I'm thinking that 27 seems much closer to 30 than 26 did.  It's just like Mr. Reavis warned us.  Time has seemed to plow on without me.  I don't feel like I should be this age already.

(This was taken on my 6th birthday, otherwise known as the year I got a frog as a gift.)

I feel the need to take stock of where I am and what I've accomplished.  I don't want to get to the end of the year and feel like I've wasted it, much less the end of my life.  I don't want to look back and regret not doing more of what I loved or more of what really mattered when I had the chance.

I guess half of a year is still plenty of time.  Not that the first half hasn't been fantastic- it has.  But I feel like everything always has room for improvement, and that I'd like to rearrange some of those numbers to make them reflect six months of my life in a way I'd like better.

Some people think that New Year's resolutions are silly because people should just be acting on those changes daily.  Sometimes I agree with that.  I wish that every day I woke up and thought about how to make the most of it or what I needed to do to accomplish my goals, but the truth is that life happens.  We get caught up in the busyness and the mundane, and every once in a while we just have to reevaluate where we are.

So that's where I am today.  Staring down the big 2-7, with 184 days behind me in 2014.

Here's to the 181 days left this year!

Aim

Worst Day of My Life

Hello.

Today is the final prompt for the writing challenge!  It took us long enough, but here we are.  I'm curious how it will feel to go back to normal writing after three-ish months of using prompts.

(On a completely unrelated note, I'm coming to the conclusion that I make my coffee far too strong as I am experiencing extreme jitters and a racing heart.  Yipes.  Time to start downing as much water as possible.)

The final prompt is "a vivid memory."  I struggled with deciding on one.  Particularly because I would like to tell you a new one, but after four years, I'm having trouble remembering what I've told you already.  I'm also torn between telling you an old memory versus a new one.  Choosing a newer one seems a little like cheating since it's fresher in my mind.
Many of my older memories are of that dreamlike quality.  You know, where you sometimes wonder if you made it up.  Like the time at Uncle Larry and Aunt Judy's when we were having a family reunion of sorts.  I was about three years old.  I have visions of playing in the yard near a wooden fence, throwing up, lying on the floor in a hallway, and watching Sleeping Beauty. 
Anyway, that would be an example of what this letter is not supposed to be about.
A vivid memory: receiving my first bicycle.
It was my birthday.  Mom walked me down the stairs, obviously excited about whatever was waiting for me in the living room.  We came to the lower landing and saw Dad riding a hot pink and white bicycle around the downstairs.  And I. was. crushed.
I know- I'm a terrible daughter.  There's my dad, a full grown man, riding a hot pink bicycle inside the house with the most gigantic grin on his face.  He was so excited and bursting to give me that gift, and I cried because I was afraid to ride without training wheels.
They eventually talked me into going down to the library parking lot where Dad tried his best to help me learn.  I remember several such outings to the church parking lot and the driveway at The Farm, and feeling the same dread every time the idea was brought up. 
"I don't see what the problem is, Aimee.  Look at me- it's so easy!"
(We don't remember the authenticity of this fact, but doesn't it just look like Katie is totally strutting her stuff back there on her trike?  When we found this photo, she captioned it with the quote she imagined herself taunting me with.)
I am happy to tell you that eventually I learned to love my bike.  I remember many afternoons with Ellyn and Katie, speeding through the neighborhood, flying down huge hills.  We would spend hours going up and down the large, smooth hill that was First Christian Church's parking lot.  I even upgraded to this super cool white bike that had different colored paint splatters all over it.  It was awesome.  That is, until someone stole it off of our front porch.  (Devastation ensued.)
My dad knew that a bicycle would be a means to "freedom" and fun.  He knew if I could just put my trust in him to keep me from falling at first, if I tried to learn, if I gained confidence in my ability, that I would enjoy the benefits of riding a bike.  And I'm sure that somewhere in there was a message that if I did fall, he would be there to help me back up again because he loved me.
I suppose this memory stuck out to me because it's chock full of life lessons that I need to be reminded of today.  Reminders to persevere through struggles, to keep practicing the difficult stuff, to stretch and try new things.  
It's also a reminder that I don't have to do it alone.  I can trust in my Heavenly Father and my loved ones to support me and help me when I stumble.  They are in my corner cheering me on, wanting the best for me.  They are ready with the band-aids just in case, along with a pat on the back and the encouragement to get right back up and try again.
Today I'm so thankful for the bike that I once loathed so much.  I'm thankful that my dad knew best, just as I'm thankful that God knows best in my life today.  And I'm increasingly thankful that they try to help me to see what they see.
Talk to you later.
Aim