Finding My Glorious and Beauty Again

I turned thirty-four on Monday, and I found my beauty again yesterday morning. I stood before the mirror in the bathroom, going through my morning routine before work. Done with brushing my teeth and washing my face, on a whim, I then divested myself of every stitch of clothing before pulling down my hair to comb it out for the morning. As I did, I found something. A few somethings.

I found a sultry tilt to my head as I combed through my mahogany hair, now long again.

I found the seductive tumble and fall of my hair over my shoulders, falling  over the left side of my face like Jessica Rabbit’s famous red tresses.

I found the curve from my waist to my hip, not as sharp or hour-glassy as it used to be but still there.

I found the line of my jaw still strong, though I had sworn it was disappearing, much to my chagrin.

I was plainly surprised to find these things, these parts of me–to find me— beautiful, to think myself glorious after months of feeling utterly to the contrary. I was very surprised.

I saw my own beauty.

I found my glorious.

And I smiled at me.



Annotation to a Birthday

This is an annotation to “It’s That Time of Year Again”.

I finished the original post late last night but, even after I went to bed, it kept turning over in my head, this realization of happiness. I know that happiness is not only a feeling. It is a conscious choice. I realize that I am choosing to be happy. Is life always easy and a spoonful of sugar? No. There are days that are rough, difficult, lonely, and challenging. I know that, for Ben, teaching and pastoring can be a huge drain on his energy. Being at home with Elizabeth all day long, managing house and money, cleaning and errands and chores can all be a bit draining on me, too. Sometimes I do not know where to put my foot next, what is the next step to take, and that can be disheartening, the waiting. BUT I am choosing to be happy in the midst of it all.

We have so much to be thankful for. We have a home of our own, we have vehicles to transport us there and back again, Ben has good jobs, I am able to be with Elizabeth right now, and we live in a nice community with family close by. We are greatly blessed.  Granted, I could always want more, demand more in order to be happy – a bigger house, perfectly-manicured lawn,  a higher-paying job for Ben or myself, a different neighborhood. But I don’t want to put my happiness in things that can be taken away from me or lost. That’s not the point. Things or money or position aren’t happiness, they wouldn’t make me happy. I have a husband whom I love every single day, a daughter whom I adore, a family that is kind and generous and simply amazing, friends who bless my heart all the time…these are the things that matter in my life. It is for all of these things that I am thankful.

I am choosing to be happy every day. A friend of mine pointed out that choosing to be happy is a wonderful thing but so also is seeking out happiness. I don’ t know how much I seek it as much as cultivate it. As I consider it, I realize that I cultivate happiness in my writing, in trying to help and be there for others, being a helpmeet to Ben, teaching my daughter joy and encouraging her curiosity in the world, and in getting lost in the world of a good book now and again.

How do you cultivate happiness?


**EDITED 4-26-14**

The Truth About Birthdays

Pinterest is a fantasy world, in case you haven’t noticed. For the heck of it, I looked up ‘baby first birthdays’ (check it out for yourself) and looked through the pins that showed up. And I almost laughed out loud. Elizabeth’s first birthday looked NOTHING like these elegant, magazine-glossy affairs.

I had planned a simple, laid-back day with snuggles and cuddles and reflections on the past year, to be culminated with an afternoon nap to be fresh and ready for a family dinner at Johnny Carino’s that night. Yeah, that is NOT what happened. The morning was filled with errands, what should have taken perhaps two hours, took four, there was no nap when we got home, there were presents to wrap amidst amusing a rightfully sleepy baby. Then it was bathtime and getting ready time. The birthday girl did NOT want to get dressed, comb her hair, etc. Mommy ran through three outfits before she found one that she didn’t feel ridiculous in. Once we got everything packed and loaded up, including Elizabeth, we were fifteen minutes late leaving the house for dinner. She wasn’t happy being back in the car, naturally, and the rush hour traffic had begun. Even my husband beat us to the restaurant, coming from work, and he works about an hour away.

When we got to the restaurant, Ben took Elizabeth inside while I got the stuff out of the car. Naturally, as I’m getting out of the car, I drop her birthday presents. On the ground. In the mud. I could have cried right then and there, as I could have at many points that day. My mother handed me some tissues and I brushed them off as best I could. We got inside and found out that some family friends who had come had to leave at 6pm (it was almost five). We got Elizabeth situated and our drink orders placed (our server was patient and wonderful, thank you!). When Elizabeth’s milk came, I overfilled her sippy cup so when I went to screw on the lid, milk shot up into the air, only splishing her rather than soaking. Her bag got most of the wet. I sat there and just covered my face, again almost crying. Throughout dinner, Ben and I fed Elizabeth lots of bread and bites off our plates, though I know that she wasn’t getting as much food as she might normally. But she really seemed to like the bread and the milk at least.  Elizabeth suddenly decided that she had had enough of being in her high chair so I managed to free her and give her to our friends so they could cuddle her. They soon had to get ready to go so I had to rush along opening her presents from them, singing happy birthday and giving Elizabeth her birthday cupcake (we didn’t bother lighting it).

And there was my moment: watching Elizabeth stick her fingers in the frosting and eat bites of the cupcake as well as tasting her fingers. For a few minutes, I got to sit there and tape my girl and watch her enjoy her cupcake and frosting, eating far more daintily than I think I have ever seen a one year old eat cake. She did try to smoosh it towards the end but there was no huge mess.

On the whole, the day was not the best. I felt a great deal like a failure as a mommy, weary as a woman, and a shadow of a person, run off my feet and brain-weary. It was a ‘the universe hates me’ sort of day. But there was that moment and that moment made all the difference.