If I never said thank you...

I saw a picture of myself today. Not in a creepy narcissistic way that I was stalking my own photographic journey, but because I am irresponsible and still haven't given the pictures back to my mom that I borrowed for the slideshow at my wedding. (yes that was two years ago...don't judge me).

Four years old, buck teeth (one of them black because I was really invested in taking the hillbilly look all the way). Sadly, I probably still have sunglasses that look like bug eyes. You're jealous, admit it. As you can see I was super classy, but that isn't what is important about this photo. What matters is my face. My smile. The calm assurance that lies behind that face. Behind that face is a heart beating with the confidence of the love it gets to soak up everyday. Simple, maybe, to you. Simple because you may assume every four year old should look this happy (and stylish).

But to me, it is everything. To me it is evidence of the overwhelming ache of love I feel in my soul for two people who have forever changed my life.

If I never said thank you, Mema and Pap, then I am crazy.

My childhood is not full of memories of anger, broken

families, fear, or betrayal. It is full of walks on a campground full of some of the most kind people I have ever known. It is full of summer nights catching lightning bugs and swinging on a playground. It is full of winters on a frozen lake, dinners full of every relative that means anything to me, cinnamon toast triangles and Mary Poppins on the record player. It is me working in the general store, riding my bike to borrow some eggs, and bedtime stories.

It is me coming to learn about who my God is.

There are no two people in this world who could ever outrank you on my list of awesomeness (maybe Jesus and Jared...). There is, very possibly, no one I have learned more from about who God is. About what a real family looks like. About

what love really, truly, in our souls, can do. About what it truly looks like to live in perfect love.

So, if I never said thank you, all I can do is say there aren't any words I can come up with.

You both are the reason I believe in marriage. You are the reason I strive to love my husband as unconditionally as possible, to invest in him as my teammate and trust him with all of my being. You are the reason I hope Jared and I can still hold hands when we are 72.

I know who God is because of you. My whole being is wrapped up in His story, His heart, and the desire to do everything in lieu of showing His people that there is a God that loves them and pursues them like crazy. You gave that to me...

I want to have kids because of the children you raised. I want to lead and love and instruct as you did. I want to watch my children become exactly who God made them to be, and, if I am lucky, watch them start families of their own and make me a grandparent.

And if I am lucky, my grandkids will think I am half the person you are. If I am lucky, they will have stories to tell of how much I sacrificed to make their lives as beautiful as I could. They will tell people about how much Jared and I loved God before, in, and through everything else. And it is then that I will know that I have succeed. It is then that I will know I have become, like you, exactly the kind of person God made us all to be.

So, if I never said thank you, I am not sure what else to say.

Mema and Pap, I love you. Thank you...

Being the age you are...

I distinctly remember this moment in sixth grade when I bought my first pair of "high heels".

I remember how long I felt like I had waited, since I was four and putting purple plastic heels on all my Barbie Doll's. I was in Target with my mom, I had just bought my first pair of dressy black pants from 5-7-9 (Yes, I was that cool) and, don't worry, they were bellbottoms. I was walking down what seemed like endless aisles of shoes that were just ok, until I saw them. The shoes were chunky grey sandals with silver flowers stitched intricately on the straps. In my head I saw my pink toe nails peeping out of these gray sandals that I would obviously be wearing with my very trendy black bell bottoms. The thought was so magical that I felt, for the first time, the lusty feeling of exhilaration that comes with wishing your life forward. The addiction of wishing we were "just a bit older" or "just can't wait to be in this stage of life because the one I am in right now is like winter death."

So the process of rushing through my life began. When I was in sixth grade, I just KNEW things would be better in 8th grade. When I was a freshman, I just had the determined thought that Junior year would be my year, the most life-altering finish line for the happiness I was looking for. I realized as a senior that I still hadn't quite made it, so I just figured it was because I set my sights too low, because how could I forget about college?

Often, comments from other people that range from "act your age" and "stop being so immature" to "what a little adult you are", have warped our view and pressured is in all kinds of really un-fun (yup I made that a word) and detrimental ways. And our growing stops being growing and starts taking life instead of giving it.

See, I feel like God knew what He was doing when He made our brains have to "learn things". He didn't accidentally make a sixth grader have a sixth grade understanding. God loves growth, in fact He celebrates it. Some of the first things He made were things that grow, and the last thing He made, us, is never DONE growing. God made us to be exactly the age we are, in our spirit, mind and heart, when we are that age. So what are we doing wishing our days in so many other directions?

As I have been sucked into the lie masquerading as "planning my future" "looking like an adult" and "being mature", I have watched my years actually fade away from me instead of give me life. But isn't that so backwards? I have this crazy ability to forget to learn from where I am, but more importantly to celebrate the age I am. To BE the age I am.

But wouldn't it be a magical, freeing, beautiful thing to let our children, our youth, our adults and our seniors be exactly the age they are? To let them be children and play. To let them date the wrong guy for two weeks, or lecture words of wisdom, because they have a few more years under their belt.

I wish I had a fairy godmother. I wish, perhaps, that I had a time machine. A way to transport a message back to myself about being patient, waiting on my brain cells to kick in and being free in who God made me to be for exactly that moment. Ah to be content in being the age we are. To tell our past selves never to rush the days because, actually, the days will eventually seem like they are rushing themselves. To look at the small things as beautiful rights of passage at the RIGHT time, never too early or too late. What confidence we would carry into each stage of our life! There is something magical about being the age you are, celebrating your wisdom, learning your lessons and being exactly the person God intended you to be in the moment.

It's like texting, only for your body...

What's better than a t-shirt that says things like "I'm with Stupid", or "Kiss Me, I'm Irish". Well... if we're honest, probably lots of things, but mostly these awesome "Candy Cuffs" crafted and personalized by none other than Foster Weld (http://blog.fosterweld.com/blog/steph-norwood/attention-ladies-want-a-free-30-gift-card)

I have probably wasted 2 years of my life trying to figure out the subtle ways to get my husband to ask me on a date. It's not that he doesn't care, or is clueless, but ladies, I have learned the hard way subtlety is like a foreign language with no english translation in man world. So, dang it, gimme a candy cuff that says "Ask Me" and I will wear that thing loud and proud. Nothing like an obvious hint to get a great date, eh?

And what's more, since our communication skills have advanced to the world of texting (since having a conversation face to face seems to have gone out of style...) what better way to save those little texting fingers of yours, which are most likely exhausted from all their hard work these days, than to wear what you've been trying to say all along? Less effort and more obvious. It's like texting for your body, the next step in the wide world of personal communication. Get on the bus everyone!

For more info about a fab free giveaway, check out this lovely ladies site!

http://thecraftysideoflife.blogspot.com/2011/03/foster-weld-30-gift-card-giveaway.html

love

cait

because underneath it, we all want the same thing...

Religion is a breeding ground
Where the Devil's work is deeply found,
With teeth as sharp as cathedral spires,
Slowly sinking in.

God knows that I've been naive
But I think it makes him proud of me.
Now it's so hard to separate
My disappointments from his name.

Because shadows stretch behind the truth,
Where stained glass offers broken clues
And fear ties knots and pulls them tight.
It leaves us paralyzed.

But in the end such tired words will rest.
The truth will reroute the narrow things they've said.
The marionette strings will lower and untie
And out of the ashes, love will be realized.

God knows that we've been naive
And a bit nearsighted to say the least.
It's broken glass at children's feet
That gets swept aside unexpectedly

Sorry, not sorry...

When I was about 6 years old I learned the magic "healing" of an apology. I learned that when I said those two words "I'm sorry", or "my fault" that I had an unending power over conflict. That all of a sudden everything was solved and I could continue on my way, with all my friends and life band-aids perfectly in tact. That I would never have to face a problem head on again, because all it took were those two magic words to make everything better. It was like being invincible to the little "life bullets" that we all get shot with every once in a while. But not me. No, not Caitlin in her nifty little Keds and scrunchy...I had found a way around it.

I kept reaffirming this belief by tracing it to scripture. And scripture was sometimes (accidentally) used by others to teach me that, despite the exhaustion of my soul, I was doing the right thing by letting everyone suck me dry. By "loving others first", by "being selfless and being last in the kingdom", by "putting others needs above my own." Essentially the most important part being overlooked, that being honest with myself was just as important. And so, as many can attest to, I have become a chronic apologizer. Literally. You could step on my toe, and I will be the first to jump in before you have a second to breathe in oxygen, I will say "Oh, I am sorry." For what? For standing? For breathing? Who knows. All I know is that I have spent my whole life being sorry.

I have spent the last three years reaping the scars, opening the wounds, and facing head on the exhaustion this has burned into my life. And I have made a decision. Sorry, but I am not sorry. Not anymore. My grandma said something wise to me today, as she always does. She is like a little fortune cookie that is 4 feet tall and minus the cookie part. But still...wise as ever.

She said "There is absolute truth, no doubt. But sometimes, with people, that is a bit harder to say. You have to remember that what is shown to you, through someone's words and actions, is truth to you until you are told otherwise, because it is all you perceive. Sometimes, what you perceive is the only truth you know until you know otherwise. And that is valid and valuable. You shouldn't have to feel bad about that because it is the only message you are getting, and what you think and feel about it matters just as much as what it is."

Thanks Mema, for being my fortune cookie. And thanks, dear friends who have, for validating me in knowing that I don't have to be sorry anymore.

Dear Life...

A few things.

I guess I should start by saying thanks for sticking by me. You know...keeping me going even when I do the stupid things that could possibly ruin you. When I make bad choices that affect your friends...sorry for that. But I am grateful for you. Because I feel like our journey has just started and it has already been a beautiful one.

I just want to add that sometimes, I don't feel quite prepared for where you are taking me. The little things you surprise me with aren't always as fun or pleasant as you try and make them, and sometimes I don't do a good job handling the bumps in the road.

Also, I am still learning. I get overwhelmed a little too easy, and, if I am honest, can't juggle very many commitments. I don't think that makes me immature, naive, or silly. I just like to really invest deeply and I tend to spread myself too thin if I try to do too much. Just not my gift. I will keep trying though. I know I tend to forget things a little too often and show up a little too late to everything, but I promise, right now, I am doing all I can.

stick with me...