Ten Years of Compost

I am reading 6 parenting books, 3 Psychology-type books, and not enough of my Bible lately. I have 3 other books that help me formulate prayers for my sons, daughters, and hubby, and Jesus is Calling is always read with my morning cup of cold-brew. You’d think with all these words going from paper to my brain that I’d be exploding with ideas to write about. But no.

When I was in college (completing degrees in writing and Psychology… ooo… yes… impressive… but not), one of my professors touched on the thought of composting ideas, an awful way of talking about “writer’s block.” When nothing innovative is coming to screen or paper, just give it time – let it compost.

Well, I’ve run with that for almost ten years now. I have written here and there, but nothing like I have in school (although I was paying thousands for that and for a degree).

I feel like one big mass of events and one unacknowledgable creature of emotions because I have not sat down to actually see what this composting period has done. As a girl that wrote out her emotions for clarity (because I have always struggled with identifying what each emotion really is), I have had no writing or thinking or evaluating attached to these years; just survival.

Can I just breathe?

Can I just sit for a moment and be raw?

That back there, that last decade of chaotic life-building events and moments, that was crazy hard.

And beautiful.

I’m nowhere near the Manda that started that journey. I have cracked and bent and collapsed and exploded and released and birthed so much; many days it’s just hard to even recognize myself.

And (I think) I’m okay with that. That’s probably normal. We change in every season of our lives – some seasons you stretch more than others. And sometimes I have stretched so much I feel a need to re-introduce myself (Ha! No, seriously.).

But I am now realizing all that back there, including my lack of Manda, is not so much what I have to “sort through,” but more like it’s time to use my compost…and move on…move up.

A definition of compost is “a decayed mixture of plants that is used to improve the soil in a garden.”

My decayed plants are anything and everything from these last years – singleness to marriage, infertility to a mother of four in five years, weight gain to weight loss (To weight gain! Hey, being real here.), births to deaths, unemployment and insurmountable bills to debt-free and flourishing. My decaying plants are all of that and more.

So what in the world do I do with all these piles of compost?

I don’t sort it; I work it into my garden to improve the soil. I work it in to improve my future plants, my future years, the future generations, my children and their children. I work it. I use it. I already learned from it (whether I acknowledged it or not) and now it’s time to plant something NEW.

I let the mass of decay just mix all in and look at it as a whole instead of parts.

I survived. I’m grateful. I learned a lot so I could survive, but I am ready to grow.

This is the realization of newness. Anticipation without looking back. Taking my past, painful and tender, and instead of mulling on it, building from it.

I feel a loud echo within saying “It. Is. Time.” and I think this may be the foundation of me living this year unapologetically.

Here I go!

(Thank you, Rebekah Lynn, for these quotes you shared.)

Unapologetic

I have spent most my life apologizing. For being too fat. Too slow. Too needy. Too desperate. Too motivated. Too unmotivated. For having no kids to having too many kids. I have felt many things in my life have been scrutinized. If it wasn’t picked apart by someone else, it was most definitely picked apart by me.

There have been some major victories in my life, ranging from “beating the odds” of having kids to losing over one hundred pounds. Perhaps my biggest miracle is life itself; some days and years I thought it would be great to just not exist. And in these victories, I have often hung my pride.

But you know what’s ridiculous? If there are any medals to be hung about anything, they just melt away within moments. In a blink, there’s a new day with new amazements and new reasons to just. not. be. enough. Humans are so fickle.

My best friend, Rebekah and I went on a short reading voyage of picking one theme word for 2018. It seemed sentimental and an inspiring thing to do and we flung our thoughts and emotions into it. Five short days later, we arrived at conclusions. For me, I chose the word free.

I loved the idea. I envisioned saying yes to things that I normally would shy away from, strutting with confidence and courage and anticipation. But then I feared the reality of attempting to be free. I thought about seeing pictures or rehashing conversations and a sudden squash of embarrassment filled my gut. A shame of feeling too chubby when viewing the pictures or feeling judged or misunderstood by things I said. So, it had to change. Free didn’t seem right.

One morning I stood before the mirror. I was looking at my belly of fat and excess skin. I was looking at my face and the new lines that were slowly appearing. I looked at my hair that was absorbing every ounce of iron from our well water which made it orange instead of blonde. I looked at my moles that seemed to be exploding off my body (thanks, Mom). I looked at my blue eyes and five tattoos and teeth that were more yellow than white due to my coffee addiction. And though my body stole most of my gaze, I felt a weird surrender.

I knew this girl.
I knew this woman.
I knew her story.
This was me.

Every ugly day has brought me a deeper beauty that could never be contained on a mere body of bones, skin, and fat. These “flaws” tell my story, my journey, and my struggles along the way.

My word had to change. It was time to be…unapologetic.

What if I owned her? What if I stood tall, satisfied, unreformed by society? What if I just committed to being me and not look around for anyone else’s approval or disapproval?

What. would. happen.

I told Rebekah that I just wasn’t sure how this word would play out or what it completely meant. I am only month two into unapologetic and have to admit, I am still debating the girth of the word. While I picked it for very clear reasons, it is something I wrestle with everyday. But just as quick as I stated my uncertainties, Rebekah said, “Well, we have all year to figure that out.”

And yes. Yes, we do.