Broken.

Every Friday, I {will try} to  participate in Lisa-Jo’s Five Minute Friday.

5-minute-friday-1What is Five Minute Friday?

1. Write for 5 minutes flat – no editing, no over thinking, no backtracking.

2. Link back here and invite others to join in.

3. And then absolutely, no ifs, ands or buts about it, you need to visit the person who linked up before you & encourage them in their comments. Seriously. That is, like, the rule. And the fun. And the heart of this community.

***

It’s hard some days to put one foot in front of the other.  And I don’t even live a hard life.  I’ve not gone through many of the painful events others close to me have had to endure.  And yet, I want no part of it more times than I probably should admit–this imperfect and fallen world.

But when I really reflect on it, I have to see I am part of the problem.  My imperfections and fallen nature lend itself to the world.  No, I’m not of it.  But why then do I so often let myself get sucked in?

I had the most beautiful conversation with my son this morning.  We spoke about all things faith, and I ask the same question for the many-th year in a row.  What’s so good about Good Friday?

We take turns sharing.  A 33-year-old and a 9-year-old fumbling there way through this spiritual journey.  I see the good.

It’s so easy and yet so hard to look back on the person I was.  Now, she was broken.  She didn’t care about others.  How could she when she barely cared about herself?

I’m still broken.  In a different way.  I grieve that girl that existed.  And I mourn my sins today.  Crying this morning was different.  I am in awe that He could choose me. That He would.  That He did.

His body upon a tree.

Carrying my sin.  My shame.  My guilt.

I need not carry it no more.  There is still a brokenness that must exist though.

It’s the only one I hope I always have.

33: The morbid, the good, and the just plain I’m too old [young?] for this.

Over a month ago I turned 33.

I made it to 30 without so much as a blink at the number that stared back at me.  I snickered at 31.  And then something happened a few weeks before I turned 32.  I read some science article that told me that my eggs were going to begin to deteriorate in an expedited fashion at that magical number.  Or something like that.

And it wasn’t even that I was trying to have a baby or really even wanted one.  It’s just that all the things that had been on the proverbial back burner, that years ago seemed I had so much time to think about, were flying smack into my face taunting, Make a choice. Make a decision. You’re getting old.  You’re running out of time. YOUR EGGS ARE DYING!@$#%

Dear Science, Don’t toy with a women’s biological clock. Love and kisses, Elissa.

I felt my age–though still so young to some–creeping up on me.

So this year was no better.  Just another year closer to running out of time of everything I want to accomplish.

Now don’t get me wrong.  I love my life and I am very, extremely, and utterly grateful for another year of life the Lord alone chooses to bless me with!  I feel I need to just insert that right now.

I’ll keep the morbid part short.  For some reason, I was reading a lot of blog posts and articles where someone died…and they were 33.  Now you might say, “Oh, you’re just noticing that because that’s the age you were turning.”  Um, no.  I didn’t notice that with 30.  Or 31.  Or 32.  So that freaked me out.  Was it a sign?  (Do I believe in signs?)

And then there’s the obviously glaring fact that Jesus Christ Himself was 33 when his time on earth was done.  That actually did not get me into such a morbid train of that.  But it did make me seriously consider my own mortality in the sense of, if this were my last year on earth, the last age I would ever turn, how would I be remembered?  What have I accomplished?  What will be my legacy?  Food for thought, for sure.

Okay, let me move on before I depress you anymore.  Actually I’m going to depress you in just a few more sentences.

First things first, that Saturday before my bday I planned a special girls afternoon out with some friends. I karaoked for the first time.  It was SOO funny.  As I noted on Facebook, “What happens at Christmas Karaoke stays in Christmas Karaoke.”  So no pictures (at least on a blog) and definitely no videos.  My friends made me so feel so special!  I felt grateful for those who responded to my requests that in lieu of gifts, a donation (like children’s clothing or hair barrettes) could be given toward an upcoming Dominican Republic missions trip my church does in July and those who did not follow the request and still gave me a little something. 😉

One thing I can always guarantee is how special my hubby will make my birthday.  This year was no exception as he took me for a night away to the beautiful The Inn at Fox Hollow.  It’s not like I lead a very stressful life, but if I’m home I will find something to do so it’s nice to just get away and not have to worry about anything.  It was SO comfortable.  We had an AMAZING dinner at Rare650.  Seriously, so good.  We do NOT eat out like that often at all, so it’s such a special treat.  We had such a nice, relaxing night and it was a great way to usher in 33.  I was so full from that dinner that I chose to sleep in and skip breakfast the next day.  We departed and Ivan took me to Ikea where I got to spend some birthday money.  I loved buying some things for the home, especially a new duvet for my bed that I had been searching for forever.

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I was so tired and full by the time this picture was taken.

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Seriously, the lobster didn’t stand a chance.

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BEST part.  I am trying to recreate this delicious bed in my own home.  Eight pillows. 8!@  I’ve discovered that’s the ultimate number for bed comfort.

Obviously, little man stayed at my parent’s.  When we got there, we realized he was sick.  Mom didn’t want to trouble us and thought it was manageable   He had difficulty breathing and his chest was hurting.  We’ve experienced this for years now, but the chest hurting indicates it’s serious.  Ivan ran home to get his nebulizer but after two treatments, Ivan himself was the one to say we needed to get him to the ER.

We had reservations at the most amazing Brazilian steakhouse that we had to cancel.  But as I wrote on Facebook that night, I had had a wonderful day thus far but when your child is ill, it’s no longer about you!  And off we went to the ER.

We spent a number of hours there while Goob got the proper treatment he needed.  Once his chest starts hurting, I know he needs a steroid.  The machine will do nothing.  It’s not worth making him suffer through the night just to wait for a regular doctor’s appointment the next day.

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Good times.

We got home late, but providentially Ive and I had already taken off that Tuesday as little man had no school and we just wanted to be together.  We made up my missed birthday dinner with my parents that night and my birthday festivities concluded.  Seriously, even with the minor hiccup, I remained grateful and immensely joyful for the many, many blessings in my life.

So since turning 33, it’s been eventful to say the least.

One week after Goob’s illness, I got…SHINGLES.

Seriously, isn’t that an old people disease?

Oh my, am I the old person now?  I thought I was too young for stuff like this.

Apparently not.

But seriously, a lot of down time had me realizing my age and notably the age of my parents.  I can distinctly remember a time when I felt I had soooo many years ahead of me.  Seriously, I can think back to being, say 15, and something like 33 feeling soooo far away.  I can’t believe I’m that age already.  And my dad?  Next year, he’ll be the age my grandmother was the first “big” party we ever gave her.  70.  70!?  I just can’t believe it.  It feels surreal how quickly life is passing by.

I’m looking at life more and more through my son’s eyes.  Being in his 30’s is just a foreign concept to him.  He think it’s hundreds of years away.

Oh, no, dear boy.  It comes upon you more quickly than you know it.  And maybe even before you’re ready to handle it.

*Sigh*

At least it’s all been a good reminder to value the time I do have and to make the most of it.

Here’s to 33.  The good; the bad.

Shingles and all.

Pass the prune juice.

Remember.

I’m participating in Lisa-Jo’s Five Minute Friday for the first time.

Since stumbling upon her blog, I’ve wanted to.  But this blog and writing thing, as much as it pounds within my heart, it’s never really made its mark in the busyness of life.  Intent to change that, I was determined to participate in the new year.  The first Friday came and went and within a few Fridays, my world changed forever.

And because of that and the word prompt for today, there’s no better time to start.

What is Five Minute Friday?

5-minute-friday-1

1. Write for 5 minutes flat – no editing, no over thinking, no backtracking.
2. Link back here and invite others to join in.
3. And then absolutely, no ifs, ands or buts about it, you need to visit the person who linked up before you & encourage them in their comments. Seriously. That is, like, the rule. And the fun. And the heart of this community.

***

Remember is a powerful word.  A word full of choices.  In any situation, I can choose to remember the good or I can choose to remember the bad.

I can remember that I did not really make an effort to reach out.  And remember my lack of faith in sharing my beliefs with you.  I can remember that I did not try to spend more time with you four years ago.  And why didn’t I give you a special gift, just for you?  Or take one single picture of us?

But those rememberings hurt.  And while I think they have their place, I want to remember mostly the good and especially the “how can I learn to be better from those hard things I remember?”

I remember your love of life.  And it makes me want to live harder.  I remember how nothing made you happier than being with your friends.  And so when I’m too lazy to even pick up a phone or send a quick text, I remember how you would have always dropped everything to be there for someone you cared about, so I will do that too.  I remember you plucking away at guitar strings and it makes me want to stop watching bad reality TV and pick up the one I have that hasn’t been plucked since my fingers were 9.  I’ll listen to music, for that’s how you best communicated–with lyrics that spoke of emotions perhaps you could not say otherwise.

I’ll remember summers spent chasing you around, picking you up, watching you grow into a fiercely independent little thing.  Rollerblading around grandma’s driveway and climbing walls to pet the horses that sauntered by.  (Yeah, we’re from a pretty rural town.)

I’ll remember how through death I’ve been given new life in the form of a closer dependency on the Lord than I’ve ever known.  I’ve read my Bible more, prayed harder, and listened more intently to others since you left.

And it’s because of you that I will remember these things.

Missing you every day, Andri.  But I love that God has given us the ability to remember.