pinning 101

There's so much stigma around Pinterest, isn't there? Like if I say I was looking on Pinterest last night, I'm tempted to feel this slight tinge of shame or patheticness. I hear Pinterest and even I, an avid user, associate it with women who are killing every second of free time shooting to be the world's record holder for most pins. And then they do nothing with it. Zilch.

This is why I've now committed to the art of sifting through Pinterest. Join me. The phrasing is significant. No longer am I wasting time on Pinterest. No longer am I pinning til my fingers bleed on Pinterest. No longer am I self-loathing on Pinterest. Ladies, let's engage in a little self-respect. 

First, this is no waste of time. We've got busy lives. We've got little people in our faces and husbands who have zero passion for aesthetics. We're tired, yet restless. We may have lost ourselves in the daily routine. We need to be spurred on, and Pinterest is our vehicle for doing so. Call it hormones, call it nesting, or call it a jackpot season of pins, but I have created more in the past few weeks than I have in a long time. With the help of my new favorite book, The Nesting Place, I decided to quit being miserable feeling like my hands were tied because I'm about to move and have a baby. So while mindless antenna TV is on in the background (we don't have cable - SOS) I am sifting. And like the card game SPIT, this is not to be done at a snail's pace. As a SPIT veteran, have you ever been forced to engage in a round or heaven forbid several rounds of the fast-paced card game with an amateur. This is pure torture. Analyzing every thumbnail that meets your eye has the same effect. No one has time for that nonsense. As you learn to sift like a pro, trust your eye and your brain and your heart, or whatever. Things will pop out to you (rise to the surface, if you will) - things you're naturally drawn to. And that's what we need to find. Gone are the days of you opening Pinterest, immediately seeing a pretty room and thinking oh I'll pin this I love it. Do you? Or do you feel like you should love it? Don't waste your time. Only pin what your gut (or eye or brain or heart or whatever) is telling you to pin. Once that pin sticks out, double-click that bad boy and check it for the good stuff. What you have then friends, is you. Oh, there she is again! You have a stronger sense of your style, your likes, your happiness.

Second, stop pinning so much. There's no formula here unfortunately. If you're a killer cook, your Food & Drink board full of 547 pins may be totally manageable and may even be enabling you to thrive in the kitchen. Cheers to you! On the other hand, if you're on the Paleo diet and not only do you have a board entitled Pour Some Sugar On Me, but it has 300+ pins - stop. This is unnecessary clutter taking up your life. You look at the pictures and you're stressed. There are way too many options and it's just not in your wheelhouse right now. Simply because your homepage feed is busting at the seams with friends' beloved recipe ideas doesn't mean they have to be yours. Let those friends cook you delicious food while you feel unburdened by all the cooking you should be doing. And sidenote, just because you pinned one "30 Best Winter Crockpot Meals" link doesn't mean you have to pin fifty more. Let's start with those 30 best winter ones and reevaluate when spring rolls around.

Lastly, no more self-loathing. A lot of people talk about Pinterest like they talk about Facebook - we're all painting a pretty picture of our lives that's completely unrealistic. As queen of discontentment (see previous post), I get that idea. But let's check our attitudes at the door. Thank God for people who are creating and doing and getting their so-called acts together so that I can be inspired. If we all did nothing and snapped pictures of our splattered cabinets or our unfolded laundry or our cluttered bookshelves, we'd most definitely be miserable. Sure we'd feel normal and less isolated but only for a brief time. I imagine I'd then slip into a deeper depression and embark on my second carton of Turkey Hill Double Dunker ice cream for the day and feel totally justified because people have finally stopped pinning workout routines and started pinning selfies of themselves smothered in dessert. But then I'd be really disgusting. So pin on, fitness giants. Let's use the beauty in the thumbnail to inspire and challenge ourselves, not to self-deprecate. Or just ignore it altogether. If it wasn't obvious by now, Pinterest issues are a symptom of much deeper self issues. Wonderful.

And now for a little of my own Pinterest inspiration creations. I will practice not apologizing for the imperfections. Posting these actually takes courage for me - would it for you, too? But I'm refusing to indulge in that old self-defeating way of living, instead remembering it's good to live in the imperfect, in what's really me.

content to rent

I am the queen of discontentment. Life feels like a constant battle against wanting to have more, be more, do more. Nothing is ever quite good enough or done enough. I'm constantly striving and planning and comparing. This is not a soul or a home characterized by peace and confidence and rest. I've known this about myself basically for forever. However, until my twenty-ninth birthday last month I don't feel like I had ever really put all the pieces together. 

On a semi-whim I put this book called The Nesting Place on a makeshift birthday list for my mother-in-law. I had seen a decorating blogger post a picture of her own copy on instagram and googled it to find out more. Once I saw there were rave reviews by Sherry Petersik of Young House Love (a blog I'm nothing short of obsessed over) and Ann Voskamp author of One Thousand Gifts (a real swift kick in the pants toward a life of gratefulness), I knew I had to check it out. The subtitle of the book is, it doesn't have to be perfect to be beautiful. As I sat boiling over with resentment of my current rental in all it's cat-smelling, post-foreclosure, potentially-fatal-heat glory, I knew this book had my name written all over it.

True to form, my mother-in-law stuck to the list. I started reading immediately and didn't want to put it down. You should note, I don't like to read and pretty much can't stand when avid readers say they aren't able to put a book down. Like, come on people. Sleep, food, TV, staring off into space - anything is more enticing than reading indefinitely. Except this time when I was reading I actually didn't want to put it down. Whoops. So within a couple days I had the whole thing read and my life was changed. 100% serious.

As a mom of soon-to-be two who has been married for close to seven years, I've felt a real blow to my pride as I've sold a condo (not even a house, a condo) and moved into a rental that's much smaller and older than our condo, than our friends' houses, than my expectations for myself. Even worse, we say we made the choice to save money, but the whole truth is we don't even have the money to rent. It's dire around here. So much shame and embarrassment. It's not what I hoped for or dreamed of. This is not the house or the lifestyle I want, especially living in the west end of Richmond, VA.

I live my life constantly looking to the next thing. I couldn't wait to sell our condo. I can't wait to get out of this rental and into the one next door. But really, I can't wait to get out of rental next door because it's old and small and still not what my life should look like. When we get to the next place after that, then we can finally feel at home, settled, content. As if life has all these guarantees and entitlements. As if I can't serve my family and my God where I am right now. 

This author spoke to my soul. In eighteen years of marriage she's lived in fourteen different homes - the majority of which have been rentals. They've lived in huge, beautiful homes and apartments smaller than mine with a family bigger than mine. She writes with humility and authenticity and faith. What I love about the book is that it is both practical and spiritual. She gives real, approachable tips for decorating and creating, but maybe even more significant is her take on contentment and presence and tying the idea of what makes a home and our hearts together. There's so much good stuff, I could go on forever. There was one page I dog-eared, and it reads:

You will look back and have fond memories of the rental you currently despise. And choosing a less than ideal home in order to have the kind of home life, financial peace, or family circumstance you want is not the kind of decision you look back on and regret. Remind yourself that you are being intentional. Choosing to rent just might be a gift after all.

This book gave me the freedom to run towards the idea of creating a home and creating it now. I know I have it in me - this desire for creativity and aesthetics and atmosphere - but I always feel like it's a purposeless desire. This wise woman has allowed me to think about and open my eyes to the value of creating an intentional space here. Life will continue to be miserable if I continue to wait until the next best thing to satisfy me and bring contentment. What kind of space do I want my family and friends to be in while they're between these walls? I want them to feel safe, comfortable, welcomed. I want to be intentional and relaxed. I don't want to waste my time and energy apologizing for the imperfections or wishing them away. I firmly believe our lives don't have to be perfect to be beautiful - why should my home be any different?

You guys, listen to how crazy I am. We were having a new babysitter come watch Surrey. I made sure to text this sweet high schooler ahead of time so I could go over the details of the evening, but more importantly so I could already start apologizing for my home (see also my life). In all my insecurity and discontentment and fear I warned her it smells of cat and reassured her that we're moving out soon. What would she think of our family compared to other much wealthier families at the church we go to? I'm sure she's babysat for other families. They probably have a dining room, we don't. An entryway, a pantry, cable TV. Nope, we don't have 'em. That night when she got here I almost immediately started apologizing for my lamps. MY LAMPS. One is green and one is black. I had every intention of spray painting them so that they'd look uniform and perfect, but once we knew we weren't staying in this place I miraculously held off (patience, along with contentment, is not my strength). Here this precious teenager was having to handle my lamp issue. God forbid someone would leave my home thinking I actually live this way, thinking I would actually put a black and green lamp with the rest of my living room decor.

This is not what life is about. Stop the crazy. Embrace the imperfection. Rise above the circumstances and trust Jesus. 

But seriously guys, don't put a black and green lamp together...

More practical gleanings from this book to come in the future, including my crazy feather lamp.

naming number two

You may not know that we chose our daughter's middle name using a deck of cards. We were waivering on names for far too long and a couple weeks prior to her birth we decided to settle it once and for all. Jeremiah's inner math passion rose to the surface and before I knew it we each were assigned odds or evens for our name of choice and after some made up rules we were looking to win best of five. I won. Bam. There was a witness, so it's legit. As for her first name, we really love the movie The Holiday and got the idea from part of the location of the movie - Surrey, England. Turns out Harry Potter was also born in Surrey? Who knows, I hate wizardry, but Jeremiah loves it. So there you have it - Surrey Gray. Names we liked that we thought were unique but not too crazy. Nothing ultra deep or meaningful, but perfect for her nonetheless.

That was then, this is now. Baby boy is being born into a drastically different marriage. When you go through something that almost - that in the world's eyes should - break up your marriage and your home, but God has chosen to give you a story of redemption, your perspective on life changes. Even your perspective on baby names.

One of the many grieving points for me post-news was the thought of having more kids. We were never settled on how many kids we'd want to have exactly, but we knew we wanted at least one more. But now what? Did we have any right to bring another life into this world? If we couldn't have a successful marriage, how could we be successful parents? How long would it take to heal, to be well enough to even consider another? Would Surrey ever get a chance to have a sibling - have we ruined her chances? Would we have to wait til she was like ten - would that be enough time? What would people think of us? Surely everyone would think it's a horrific idea.

Last fall (about nine months after receiving the news) I saw a counselor. I felt foolish even bringing the idea up for discussion to her. Did she think I was absolutely nuts for even considering a conversation about more kids? Would she be able to keep her therapist poker face in the presence of such crazy thinking? Fortunately for me she was Jesus incarnate and God used her to change my life in so many ways. She never flinched. She listened, she asked further questions, she gave me the space to think and feel and speak freely. I talked with her about how scary it could be. To be pregnant again knowing that last time I was pregnant there was major hidden damage going on. To have a newborn again knowing that last time I had a newborn I had a husband who wasn't 100% with me. But on the other hand, what a redemptive piece another baby's life could play in our story. That we could have a second chance at birth and life - one characterized by unity and joy and grace. How deeply special and significant that could be for our family.

And it's one of those things. One of those dang comparison things. A question of who I am pleasing and trusting and giving my life to. What's God telling me about this nutty, beautiful journey he has us on? What does God have for us personally in our marriage? Not what does everyone around us (those with the details of what happened and those who are totally clueless) have to say about it. Of course it is good and right to seek wise counsel and God for sure uses the voices and hearts of trusted people around us, but to seek only that instead of God himself can blur our vision.

Not coincidentally around that same time at a moms group I go to the speaker spoke about the redemptive story of Ruth and Boaz. That redemption came in an unexpected form and finally through a baby - an actual symbol of what the Lord had done. The heavens then parted above my head in Richmond, VA and the angelic choice voices began. The story, the counseling, and tons of other little reminders gave me reassurance in the midst of all the questioning. Our marriage and our family isn't punished forever. Who are we to withhold the grace of Jesus from ourselves or others?

A couple months prior I read Judah Smith's book Jesus Is ___. Also a life-changer. For the first time I really learned about grace and it truly renewed my soul. In the midst of hell on earth I didn't want to read books that made me feel more guilt or shame or books that gave me steps to have a holier marriage (steps that I'd inevitably fail to meet). I needed to hear about Jesus. Bare-boned saving faith. And in that book Judah says:

"Actually, self-inflicted punishment in the name of religion feels good, in a sick sort of way. You feel like you are paying for your sin. It's less embarrassing that way. You don't feel so in debt to grace. But it's futile and unnecessary. Why insist on paying for what Jesus already purchased? I made a conscious decision to rest in the grace of Jesus and to believe in his forgiveness. It wasn't "greasy grace." I wasn't denying my sin. I wasn't justifying ongoing sin in the name of grace. It was the truth. Biblical, theological, doctrinal truth. I was righteous. I was forgiven. My church and my family didn't need me to beat myself up, to refuse to let God use me, just because I didn't feel that I deserved it. They needed me to 'be strong in the grace that is in Christ Jesus' (2 Tim 2:1)."

If and when God let Jeremiah and I know that another baby is what he had for us, there was no reason to continue the self-righteous cycle of punishment for punishment's sake. Later in the fall, after many conversations, we decided to be open-handed with it (see also go off birth control). Shortly after, I found out I was pregnant - when I seriously thought it was physically impossible that it could have happened. TMI. No, I'm not saying I'm the second virgin Mary, but I am saying I believe in a God who has wisdom and power far beyond my own.

And here we are, less than three weeks away from bringing a baby boy into this family. We're of course stressed (remember, we're moving out of our cat rental less than a week beforehand; also, I may still be traumatized from newborn #1) but we are thrilled. And grateful. We are confident that this is another piece of God's redemption in a story once marred with a lot of sin and brokenness. 

Baby boy's gotta have a name. And call me crazy, but this time around I thought we should rise above the card games. Not because Surrey isn't a joy and a blessing and the best thing ever. She is. But our marriage and our family is defined differently now and we want to bear witness to that with this kid. For months I had been searching for cool-to-us names with godly meanings - total bust. I didn't want any in-your-face Bible names like Boaz or Ebenezer, even though those meanings were killer. So rise above the deck of cards we did. This time around what solidified our middle name choice was red lettering on the back of a shiny 18-wheeler on the interstate. Our children are so lucky to have such thoughtful parents. It said "Braddock" and nothing else. I told Jeremiah, maybe it's a sign, since before we knew Surrey was a girl we considered that name briefly. So I pulled up the baby name meaning on my phone: dweller by the broad oak. Well if that wasn't the stupidest meaning I had ever heard. Another failed name attempt. Until it hit me moments after - it, being the Holy Spirit I should come to find out. I followed the nudging and looked up Isaiah 61:1-3:

"The Spirit of the Sovereign Lord is on me, because the Lord has anointed me to proclaim good news to the poor. He has sent me to bind up the brokenhearted, to proclaim freedom for the captives and release from darkness for the prisoners, to proclaim the year of the Lord's favor and the day of vengeance of our God, to comfort all who mourn, and provide for those who grieve in Zion - to bestow on them a crown of beauty instead of ashes, the oil of joy instead of mourning, and a garment of praise instead of a spirit of despair. They will be called oaks of righteousness, a planting of the Lord for the display of his splendor."

End of story.

nesting

We've all heard of the term nesting. It sounds peaceful and sentimental and lovely. I picture this non-swollen pregnant woman with perfectly done hair gently folding fresh, expensive onesies and placing little porcelain Precious Moments dolls on a shelf. Everything is white and serene and calm.

Friends, let's get real. Picture that scene. Now picture the complete opposite. Now label that opposite picture with my name and add an additional side scene with my husband grasping for sanity and my toddler being parented by Disney and PBS (or sleeping in a drawer - more on the crib to big girl bed transition another time). 

That's real deal life in the Link home right now. Because, you see, we live in a rental that smells like cat and we're moving four days before my scheduled induction (and of course there's the possibility that, God forbid, the child comes naturally beforehand). Our nursery (see also, holding cell) is a certified wreck. There are currently three floor lamps, two strollers, two bins of Jeremiah's summer school supplies, and one busted standing AC unit from our dear landlords from when the AC didn't work for over a month housed in there - among a slew of other garbage. Check out instagram for the full effect. And yes, I'm still battling a minor case of PTSD from the AC ordeal, thank you for asking.

I'd love to be the peaceful mother nesting til her heart's content, but people, the poor boy doesn't technically even have a room yet. And our rental smells like cat. I just googled nesting to make sure it's an actual thing and that I'm not crazy for having this desire. Oh it's a thing; however, apparently most normal women nest in productive baby-prep ways. Doing loads of laundry, deep cleaning, freezing meals, etc. Not one place have I read sew new pillow covers, reupholster chairs for the first time, spray paint anything that's not nailed down. If you're one of my loyal followers and have read the one and only post before this, you recall that I hate sewing and spray painting. I'm nesting like an actual insane person. Because not sure if I mentioned this, but our rental smells like cat. Not only that, our clothes smell like cat. We smell like cat. I'm not exaggerating. We went away to my in-laws for the weekend and I smelled my clothes when we got there. Cat. What would solidify my insanity once and for all is if I were to do the typical laundry and cleaning type of nesting and expect different results - in this case, expect things to actually be clean. Baby boy ain't getting a crib sheet on his bed til we're out of this dump. And if he comes early, I suppose it'll build up his immune system and we won't have to worry about pet allergies later in life. Fingers crossed.

So for those of you crushing under the weight of the non-swollen nesting fantasy, take heart. Next time you question how prepared you are or if you'll be ready for the arrival of your precious child, picture me in all my reality. Picture my poor husband, spray painting a chair coral. Picture my traumatized resilient toddler, singing along to commercial jingles because she's seen them enough to know them. And rest assured I may not be swollen this time around (thank you, Jesus), but you better believe I'm on my third outfit of the day because I'm sweating that much.