August's End...

Here we are, the last week of August. Can you believe...?

It has been a hot, hot month here in east Tennessee, with 90+ degree temps almost the entire time, with heat indexes in the triple digits.  Not exactly the sort of weather my garden and pots thrive on, but I have managed to keep everything alive, except a couple of stray, smallish pots of red petunias.  (And by the way...red just didn't do it for me this year.  I thought it would, but it didn't.  That's what I get for departing from my signature white and yellow!  Red is good for accent, but not for the main display...)

Hummingbirds are everywhere, now, hovering all around the cottage, sipping from the feeders, the Zinnia Garden, from the crepe myrtles, those bleh red petunias that haven't expired yet - see previous paragraph - and the butterfly bush.  Oh, how I love me some hummers.

Funny thing, life is.  I usually am in a hurry to see August go.  September is my favorite month of the whole year, and August has, in the past, been my least favorite.  But this year...I'm a bit peevish about saying goodbye to sweet August, heat index notwithstanding.  I've grown partial to those languid Southern summer afternoons, I think.

Note to self:  plant massive drifts of Rudbeckia next year.  Go whole hog.  It weathers the heat beautifully, looks outstanding and so "cottage-y", and is a can't-miss.  Five drifts of it this year were not enough.  I think it needs to be my "repeater" - the element of the garden that repeats itself, unifying the whole scheme.

So much to tell you about, gentle reader!  I want you to hear about how easy it is to make artisan bread at home.  I want to tell you all about the best fashion blog - one that unashamedly is pro-modesty.  I for one am so tired of seeing women, old and young, dressed skimpily.  No woman ever, evvvvver gets dressed by "accident".  It is always on purpose.  So.  What are we saying, girls, when our shorts are cut "up to there" and our shirts "down to there" and everything is tight and revealing?

Does pretty equal revealing?  Or is revealing just...well, revealing?  A girl with a great personality doesn't need nudity to get by.

Just sayin'.

If I could sit down with the teenage girl or the woman who is dressed inappropriately, and really speak my mind, I'd say something like this: "Methinks thou hast unresolved sexual issues, darlin'.  How about getting before the Lord and resolving them?  Hmmm?  For the sake of love for the Father, and respect for the body of Christ?"

Or, how about this:  "GROW UP, SWEETHEART!  WE CAN'T ALL BE FOURTEEN FOREVER!"

What else was it I want to tell you about?  Whew - that rant sidetracked me, butt good.  (Am I the only one who loves a great pun?)

Oh - more about living a hand-made sort of life.  I tire easily these days of anything deliberately impressive or deliberately charming.  I hunger for authentically inviting...real warmth of soul and surroundings.

Seems like everything I am trying to say wants to turn into a rant of sorts - I think "that time of August" is upon me.  Estrogen devils running amok in my brain.  Or its the homeschooling.  Yeah.  Might be that.

And it is only week one.  God help me, and give me dark chocolate.

What is your imaginary idea of the perfect girlfriend?  I have about a zillion best friends (actually only four or five) who are my "best", each one for a different reason.

Oh, and shoot me on the spot if I ever utter or type the word "bestie".  Gah.

Nevermind, there I go again.  I need my appointment with female hormone reset to hurry up and get here, before I kill someone for having bad breath.

Anyhoo, like a beautiful collage, when I take what I love best about each best friend, and paste it all together, I have the perfect girlfriend.  Which means, I already have "her"...she just exists in several bodies.

But she would give me dark chocolate right now.  And say exquisitely ponderful things (yes, ponderful with a "p"), and funny things, and she'd dose me with a beautiful Merlot.  She'd inspire me to love myself more, and take all the crap with a grain of salt.

Ew.  That last metaphor, I'm not sure about.  I spit it off the top of my head, which is another metaphor I find disturbing.

Dear reader, I need to go to bed.  Thank you, from my heart's bottom, for stopping by.

Vulgarity-not what it used to be

Today, when we hear the term "vulgar", we think of horrible language - swearing and the like.  At one time, the more common definition of vulgar was this ~

•common: of or associated with the great masses of people;
•common: being or characteristic of or appropriate to everyday language

So.  We see that vulgar also means simply common.  A bit uneducated, rough around the edges and unsophisticated.  (yes, I know that is an incomplete sentence.  I know.  It bugs me too, but since I know the rules, I can break them.)

Sort of like the Greek language in which the Scriptures were written - God made sure His very word was written in common vernacular.  "Vulgar" Greek. 

Only the religious object to the "vulgar" in that sense.  Even today, it is only.  the. religious. 

Religious high brows would never think of raising their voices or truly doing community with common people.  No, they exist to help and benefit the common man.  Self aware magnanimity, which is no real largeness of soul at all.

I ran across a quote today by Dorothy Sayers - somewhat of a heroine of mine.  She was an incredibly astute thinker.  In this particular piece, she was writing about the Latin language, and the way it ceased to "morph" and adapt to changing times, and thus became what some mistakenly consider a "dead language".

But the quote - Sayer's line of thinking - makes me consider other than just the Latin language.  Here is the quote:

"Contamination" and "barbarism" are one set of names for (the fact that language adapts to vernacular and even slang):  another name is "vitality".  Everything  which is alive tends to break out into vulgarity at times.  Only the dead and embalmed can preserve forever their changeless marmoreal dignity."

Know what else this makes me think of?  (My mind is forever at the mercy of its associations.  But that is okay - Robert Frost considered this an indication of keen creative intelligence...)

"The Son of Man came eating and drinking, and they say, ‘Look, a glutton and a winebibber, a friend of tax collectors and sinners!’ But wisdom is justified by her children."

Very God laid aside His Great Glory...and "broke out into vulgarity" to become a man.  Alive...He is alive!

Last Year of Home School

And so this is it.  A career that began with my daughters, almost 20 years ago, ends this May, upon the graduation of my youngest son.  All my children have only, ever, been home educated.  From kindergarten through graduation, all the reading, writing, and math skills have been learned at home.

This is my very last year as a full time home educator.  We start this week - Isaac and I - with a review of basic Geometry and Algebra II, along with a DVD teaching series by John Bevere for Bible class, and some light essay writing...just to get going.  Then, we'll launch into anatomy and physiology, and we'll get his 1/2 credit of economics in by Christmas.

I am doing one thing slightly different this year:  I am journaling from my perspective as a parent-educator about how wonderful this experience can be.  I'm free-writing, stream of consciousness style, digging deep into my heart of hearts, and putting down in writing what the school year would look like, what the semester would look like, what the week would look like, what the day would look like, if I could design it any way I wanted...no budget, no restraints, no issues.  I'm pretending like I have zero baggage, no lack of resources, and an amazing grace overshadowing this whole endeavor.

Then, after I'm done imagining it...I'm going to live it.  I'm wondering just how big my God can be.

Here's a bit of visual inspiration for my fellow home educators (a stalwart lot, we are!)...we've outgrown this idea somewhat here at my house, but I will be taking this idea and tweaking it for myself soon!

I'm so glad I didn't quit home schooling when it stopped being cute and gratifying.  You know...as your kids get older, they outgrow the "learning centers" and the lovely nature tables get replaced with desktop computers and bulky textbooks, and it all gets a bit grueling and...not cute.  When the kids get a little mouthy and aren't overwhelmed with gratitude at your sacrifice in staying home to drill them in their theorems and Latin declensions.  When science isn't as simple as a nature walk and a field guide.  When you aren't so impressed with yourself as teacher anymore, and the enthusiasm seems to be waning and government or some sort of institutional education looks so inviting. 

When someone becomes prodigal, graduates from your home school full of potential, but doesn't go on to college - and in fact takes all those hours of music lessons and leadership training, and begins to play in bars all over your city.  Even then.  Even then, I am so glad we didn't give up.

I don't know how this year will turn out.  This is a communication from the uncertainty of the front lines, not some safe observation from hindsight.

But, come what may, I am already glad I didn't quit.

This is it.  It all comes down to this year.  You won't waste a prayer on the Atchley family, gentle reader!

Starting Here at Home

...this isn't my home, but it is my dream home...no, I don't dream of big houses, tho' I could dream anything I want to ...I've always loved small. Small is the new big, ya'll...trust me. (Unless you have a vision to truly have a Hospitality House - something akin to a retreat center for family and friends, thus your large spaces are graciously and regularly shared with others! ) Homes that are too big for their true purposes, a.k.a. McMansions, are now passe - post with recent quotes from top architects and interior designers forthcoming! Top designer advice? "Think outside the granite box" when it comes to surfaces. In short, pretentious consumption is not the atmosphere you want to go for, if you are blessed with any sort of home building or home improvement project. Instead, think "hand made living", think kinship and earthy and light and airy and simple. And yes...you can dream of "small".

And above all, big or small, let the spirit of your home be one of shared community, an atmosphere of grace that celebrates the perfectly imperfect!

Accompany me today, O Spirit invisible, in all my goings, but stay with me also when I am in my own home and among my kindred. Forbid that I should fail to show to those nearest to me the sympathy and consideration which Thy grace enables me to show to others with whom I have to do. Forbid that I should refuse to my own household the courtesy and politeness which I think proper to show to strangers.




Let charity today begin at home.
-Baillie

Have a Faith, Friends, and Family-Filled Weekend!

May this be a metaphor for your weekend...(a proverbial bowl of cherries!)

Make plans, make friends, make love, make cookies...your weekend can be this beautiful!  It isn't too late to "make" it happen!  Be sure to share the blessing of kinship, the surprise of grace and glory, the comfort of community.

"Make" it a good weekend, gentle reader.  I pray God's best and brightest for you and yours!

The Friendships of Women

I can't resist sharing this with you - written by Ann Voskamp.  You'll find this both at her blog A Holy Experience, and over at In Courage.

I feel so blessed to have faithful girlfriends in my life - and I know of few greater goals than to be a faithful friend, who values and lives continuity.

Enjoy!

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

When Lissa Turscott slid down her bus window and whipped that baseball hard, I felt the thud in my back and the smash of my heart and I hunched over to catch the pieces all shattering.

I heard her friends all slapping her on the back in congratulations as the bus moaned away.

Some bruises break the vessels skin deep and others just break souls and Lissa and Judith and Alexa and all the girls with the teased bangs, they were the ones sashaying to the latest Madonna songs and I was the mocked girl wearing polyester pants from the Sally Ann.

I’ve been rejected and I’ve skirted wide circles around women and maybe you know something about wide berths and big circles?

The skittish circles you make at church teas around the buffet table looking for another cracker and hoping no one makes eye contact?

The way you carry a book to the kids’ swimming lessons like a piece of armour so no one gets close enough to trample on your still bruised heart?

The imaginary and very real boundaries you draw around your life like a barbed wire fence?

And when you’ve been hurt, you’re making sure that won’t be happening any time soon and you keep this wary distance from anywhere where you’d have to show the bare underbelly of your tender heart. But no one tells you that the shields you carry to keep you safe, become the the steel cages that keep you alone.

And then sometimes along comes someone who lays a hand on your shield, who sticks her hand through the bars of your protective cage... and quietly waits. And for you.

She’s a woman like Tonia who every day sends me lines of her thoughts. I get brave and send back mine. For five years, we write letters and exchange bits of our lives. I begin to trust the places with no shields. And I begin to see the beauty of women and the way their words have movement and action and meaning and you can always trust what moves, what reaches out, trust the words that migrate down to the muscle and touches skin.

She’s a woman like Marlene who shows up unexpected in the middle of some crazy morning with a bouquet of yellow roses in hand and she says she believes in me and God and whatever is to come and she prays before she leaves. I dry her roses and this is what I will preserve, a friendship that gives like this because there’s no currency in the world that can buy you this and this is the only treasure worth storing up, love.

She’s a woman like Megan and I open a note from her and I laugh wonder when I find this picture of her holding a square of cardboard scrawled with the words, “Run the Race, friend!” and another picture too, her holding the back side of the cardboard and the words, “You can do it!”

And we can. We can do it.

We can believe that God alone is our security and love is always worth the risk and there is no better investment than reaching out to someone and locking arms and unlocking your heart. No better investment than finding the time for friendship and the courage to be real and the humility to say we’re sorry. And distrust can cost us the very richest life of all and the price for being safe can be too expensive and friendship is the only thing that will show up at our funerals.

We can do life together and we can laugh about babies who pee on Sunday skirts and boys who lose piano books and daughters who try on seven outfits before deciding on anything and their bedroom floor is proof of it, and we can drive each other to doctor appointments and bring soup when the flu season hits and we can see something on a shelf that whispered the other’s name and we can wrap it up and give it on any day at all for no reason at all but to celebrate a kindred sister.

And we can hold each other’s fragility and we can forgive each other when we crack an artery, and our hearts will break, and we can pray and grant grace and begin again because we've tasted mercy and His name is Jesus.

I am learning to reach out my hand.

And long after Lissa Turscott, on one fine spring day in the summer of my life, I meet a woman, a woman who loves women, a woman who helped build a certain cyber beach house I know, and she drives me up and down and around the winding backroads of Arkansas and I ramble all awkward and thick tongued in her passenger seat and I wish for the luxury of a wall somewhere just to be a flower.

We share a no-fat sticky bun together on a Monday morning with a glass of orange juice and we don't believe for a New York minute that that sticky sweet won't find our hips. We laugh. I meet her friends. They are wondrous. My mouth feels dry. She drives me to the airport. And when I am back home on the farm, she writes me a letter, and I keep it.

“You have been hurt by women. I could see the pain in your eyes… And I've never done this before but... I feel prompted to make you a promise of friendship."

"I promise I will never speak an unkind word to or about you. I will never be jealous of you. I will never compete with you. I will never abandon or betray you. I will love you. I will pray for you. I will do all I can to help you go far and wide in the Kingdom.


I will accept you as you are, always. I will be loyal to you. Before our loving God of grace, you have my words and my heart in friendship for this life and forever with Him.”

And our God is a love body and He hates amputations and He sutures our wounds together with the silver threads of community. And I have found healing here. Trust asks us to live (in) Courage.

In this place, we kneel down beside you. In this place, we reach out our hands. In this place, can you hear us whisper? “You have been hurt. We can see the pain in your eyes —- We offer you a promise of friendship.”

In the places of sisters and sinners and souls made saints, we make big circles around women and together we watch each other's backs and together we bend down when one hunches over in pain and together we pick up the shards of the hearts all shattered.

Because this is the promise of friendship that the true sisterhood always makes good on.This we can do.

And by God's good grace, we will.

By Ann Voskamp, http://www.aholyexperience.com/

When You Are A Hammer...

...everyone else looks like a nail.

This past year, due to several situations I had run up against, not the least of which is my relationship with my boys, I began to read all I can, from a Biblical worldview, about dealing with difficult people.

First of all, allow me to say this:  we are all dysfunctional.  Every single one of us.  We were born in sin, born wrong, and we will be growing and struggling out of that wrong-ness until  heaven...until we "know as we are known".  We all see through a glass darkly.

The difference between a normal level of dysfunction, and a toxic level of dysfunction, however, is the acknowledgement of dysfunction's existence.  Some people just won't own up to their stuff.

Those of us who know we can be whack jobs have the unfortunate experience of having to work through dealing with those who insist they are far too __________ (fill in the blank with "educated" or "spiritual" or "affluent" or "happy") to be a whack job. Or, we have the unfortunate experience of dealing with those who insist it is our fault they are a whack job - or, richer still, the difficult person insists they are the normal one, and you are the whack job.  And they can be very convincing.

It is confusing, because dysfunctional, difficult people can be so likable and seemingly functional with everyone else but the people they torment.  (Which, by the way, is the textbook definition of dysfunctional...when a person does not function normally in many of their significant relationships, or does not function normally for very long - for example, they make it one to five years in a new friendship, but cannot be consistent beyond that set point.)

One symptom of a dysfunctional person is when you notice that, over time, everyone in their life has an issue with the truth.  Their father is a liar.  Their brother is a liar.  Their daughter is a liar.  Their boss twists the truth.  Their girlfriend is a manipulator.  Old friends lie about them.  Everyone manipulates.  Everyone lies.

Everyone looks like a nail, when you are the hammer.

Be assured that the person with the lying issue is the one pointing the finger.  And don't even bother confronting them unless you are very, very vested in the relationship, and are willing to be mistreated, because another symptom of a dysfunctional person is they don't change their mind.  Talking does nothing for them, long term.  Talking only brings about short term relief...after a matter of hours or days, the dysfunctional person just resets to the old thought patterns.

There's more symptoms - very eye opening.  I'll share them in another blog post.  But for now, if you are dealing with a difficult, manipulative, controlling person, you aren't crazy.  And there is help, just not necessarily what you think help looks like.

Hang in there.  Relationships, healthy ones, are so worth it!