Earlier this year I spoke at a conference. I talked about gratitude, grace and joy. I was fully immersed in it and felt it down to my toes.
Then life got turned upside down and busy and somehow I forgot everything.
The last month or so has been a mess. I hate the rush of summer and the vortex that results and sucks up every minute and shreds my plans. I have let it consume me. I have been wallowing in self pity.
It all bubbled up and exploded last week when I threw a tantrum and in an attempt to keep from yelling I kicked the wall. My house that I love, that I built with my hands, that I poured myself into; I kicked it and put a hole in the wall and injured my foot.
It was stupid. The tantrum was stupid. I feel stupid.
But even more than that, I am angry at myself. I am angry that I allowed myself to get to the point that I would act that way.
I wasn't being grateful, I wasn't practicing grace and I certainly was no where near feeling joy.
I was cleaning today, which gave me time to think, and thinking always leads me here.
The house is 'weekend messy', so decided to clean my floors, because The Nester says if your floors are clean the rest of the house feels clean too, even if it isn’t.
I have found that it is pretty good advice, so when everything else feels chaotic, I clean the floors. Of course for me, cleaning the floors also means picking up the toys, shoes, clothes, etc. so that I can even begin to vacuum, which naturally leads to a cleaner home as well.
While cleaning up I began to think about how this blog has evolved over the years, from a desire to write like The Nester about home, into what it is now.
I started writing this blog when I was dreaming of building a new home. Then plans changed, life took turns, and we ended up in a home so different than I expected and so perfect for our family.
Somewhere along the way I realized that home wasn’t in the walls that went up or in the countertop choices…
I trust that, by now, you have all seen the commercial heard round the world. You know, the one that stopped all action and silenced a nation when the soft rumble of that voice drifted into living rooms on a Super Bowl Sunday.Yes that commercial. Paul Harvey's voice, unmistakable in its sincerity and beauty, spoke of a people whom work from sun up till sun down with no recognition. He spoke of a people whom care for their baby animals and pour their blood, sweat and tears into helping them grow. He spoke of a people, so foreign to many in the world today.He spoke of a people whom many have forgotten. He spoke of a people; my people. The farmer. I am a fourth generation farmer married to a fourth generation farmer. Together we are raising the fifth generation. We don't do it because its easy, it's not. The hours my husband spends working rival that of any doctor or lawyer I have ever met. We don't do it because it's profitable, some years it's all we can do to p…