When You Can’t Bring Yourself to Throw Away a Scrap of Paper

Posted on July 1, 2012 by vanderbiltwife

We’re in the midst of moving once again, and in the repacking I just found a tub of miscellani that definitely had not been unpacked since we moved from Nashville, two and a half years ago.

Which of course begs the question: when is it time to let go?

It was mostly framed pictures, a few from our wedding and a few of friends not spoken to for years. Falling-apart frames and ones with itty-bitty pictures glued around the outside. Frames proclaiming the year 2004 and “i do!”

No longer newlyweds – our 8-year anniversary is in July – is it time to let these things pass on to younger thrift-store shoppers? I removed some of the pictures from frames, tucking them into albums, posting them to Facebook for a smile.

Some photos caused me to pause, like the one of my best friend’s mother dancing with exhilaration at my wedding. My friend is marrying in July – I am in her wedding as she was in mine – and her mom won’t be there. She succumbed to ovarian cancer three years ago.

And that thought makes me cling to the pieces of the box, wondering if there will come a time when I wish I hadn’t thrown away the slip of paper with a Chinese take-out order on it in my own mother’s handwriting. What if I need that piece of her? What if I bemoan the loss of a vanilla candle, a stuffed toy, a piece of newspaper in the coming months?

Why is it so difficult to part with “stuff”?

I so long for simplicity and vapidly declare my intention to weed out half of our belongings during this across-campus move. In my head, I believe it. But tugs of my heart won’t let me toss the loopy cursive of my mommy in the trash can.

What Do You Do When All Your Plans Fail?

Posted on June 10, 2012 by vanderbiltwife

source: darrenkw

There are times when I’m pretty sure the verse in Isaiah that says, “Make a plan and it will fail” was meant especially for me.

Short term and small things, like our Easter Week activities and this German food bonanza, both ruined by my own sickness. I seem to have a bad track record with Vacation Bible School: the first year we were here, I was struck with the mysterious gallstone or whatever it was. This year, strep throat.

And then there are the big things. Hey, let’s buy a house! Hmm, maybe that wasn’t the best idea we ever had. And in the meanwhile, let’s rent a house from a missionary … who has no idea about renter’s rights and brings me to full-out confrontation over some shrubbery. I was sure the second year Mr. V was at this school we would live on campus – we didn’t. It didn’t look at all promising for the third year – and then, a few days before school started, there we were, moving like crazy people.

We tried to have a baby, and that plan didn’t work for awhile. I wasn’t quite sure about having a second, and bam, there he was.

I’m not even sure why I make any plans anymore. I don’t, really. I mean yes, the day-to-day swimming lessons and coloring pages and trips to the zoo. But long-term? We’re saving money for a down payment. I half expect that economic collapse to really happen and to lose all the money we have. Cynical? Realistic? Pattern? I don’t know.

What I do know is that God’s timing has been right in every situation. I firmly believe we went through foreclosure so we can minister to others who have hit really hard times. I think David needed to be a little older when Libbie hit 3, so I could take care of her aggressive need for attention sometimes. Not to mention, I need those precious, early-toddler giggles, kisses, and belly laughs when I’m having a rough day.

I might regret making certain choices, but I try not to dwell on them, knowing that we can’t change what is in the past. We can only hold on to God’s promises for the future and forge ahead. Maybe every plan I make will fail. But it’s OK … because His won’t.

Fresh Beginnings

Posted on May 17, 2012 by vanderbiltwife

source: charlesfred

The end of the school year can be heard around campus, muffled by high-school giggles and stern teachers’ voices, insisting that there is still work to be done.

The indicators are everywhere. The seniors aren’t wearing uniforms. Signs line the patch of grass in front of the guard shack announcing concerts, awards ceremonies, uniform returns. The way you hear “only __ left” as you wonder outside toward your car and recall the last weeks of your own high school experience—12 years ago now.

We’ve made it through almost an entire school year here on campus. I have yet to find a routine cleaning our tiny apartment and we’re on the brink of moving to a new one (adding an extra bedroom and bathroom, and a parking space that isn’t a fifth of a mile from our home). I’m both ecstatic about moving and dreading the change of routine that comes with summer along with the change of location; with two little ones, change is a four-letter word. Acclimation does not come easily.

But I look and hope for another fresh start. Another chance to start out cleaner and neater and healthier. Has my life been anything but fresh starts for the last 8 years? Have I taken advantage of any of them?

I pray and beg and exercise for 10 minutes and look at the rings on my finger that have led me to join with a man and move with him. This will be the fifth home we’ve had in eight years of marriage. Five!

Seniors sing of new beginnings and jeans and dorm rooms. I consider a bed that is truly our own—that I don’t have to share with toddlers unless I want to—and a bathroom that my child has no reason to use or be in. Of cleansing and simplicity and painted walls and butterflies and dinosaurs.

I say amen to the fact that “Great is his faithfulness; his mercies begin afresh each morning” (Lamentations 3:33, NLT). Every morning, a fresh start. A new breath. Whether you’re 18 or 30, 8 or 98, they are always new and waiting.

It’s about time I grasped ahold of that fact.

Just Write.

Posted on September 27, 2011 by vanderbiltwife

Libbie is on the couch, a barely touched graham cracker in her hand. For two nights in a row, she’s spiked a fever right at bedtime. The first night she slept in her bed, our bed, the loveseat. Last night with me in the big bed. Mr. V assigned to the couch.

David slept for 12 hours, but I woke many times to re-cover my sickie, push back her sweaty hair.

Sweat-soaked in yellow footed pajamas, she asked to be rocked at 10 pm last night. Rocked. My almost-three-year-old. I rocked.

David woke this morning to suck greedily on a breast that can’t seem to stop getting clogged ducts. Pain. The nurse at the doctor thinks I want permission to stop nursing, but I just want relief. I want to know why I appear to be the only woman in the world who has no problems breastfeeding at first but lots of problems starting around eight months.

His teeth are little razorblades; and while I am grateful he hasn’t bit the breast that feeds him, he has taken a good gnaw at my chin. Four little teeth with two more coming in. He looks like a fourth-grader with the growing-in two front teeth of different lengths.

I have piles and piles and piles of boxes and I am too embarrassed about it to call maintenance to come fix our main AC unit, which just growls instead of blows. This morning it’s cool and not bothersome, but our 80-degree days are leaving me sweaty. I still have one more load at the house, but that would involve emptying out the car. And when should I do that, with a baby and a sick little one?

This week is the finish of moving, and a big quick editing job, and unpacking that probably won’t happen.

But I still need to write. So here it is.

{Oh hey! I have two guest posts up today: 10 Burning Questions I Have for PBS/Sprout at Mama Loves Her Shows and Fruity Squash Puree at Once a Month Mom.}
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Still Held

Posted on September 22, 2011 by vanderbiltwife

I let myself look at the pictures one last time.

I don’t even feel the tears until I see the smiling faces of our 24-year-old selves, grinning with satisfaction. “I really feel like we’re not being wasteful,” I said. “We got what we could afford and we’ll use all the space.”

Eleven-hundred and seventy square feet that we felt like we owned, even if after a year Mr. V calculated we only really “owned” the tiny half bathroom.

I’ve learned a lot about ownership over the past months.

Two years ago – maybe even two months ago – I would have told you that foreclosure was not an option for us. Our credit scores have already been super high. We’ve always tried to make smart financial choices.

We foreclose today.

__________

When I wrote this or this, I would have never imagined the road would end in foreclosure. Never.

But lately I’ve faced the fact that foreclosure is not the worst thing that could happen to us.

I praise, in the midst of the pain.

We were provided this apartment and new home, which will give us the ability to pay cash for the next seven years.

We have clothes and food and the ability to send our children to school.

We have a Savior who knows our every need and is providing.

Through all the pain and trial, I believe that as much as I did two years ago. He is enough.

I started this journey with the belief that God would work it all out for His good and it would be a way I could minister to others. It may not be how I thought, but it still is. He is the I AM. The End.

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The End of Menu Plan Monday?

Posted on August 22, 2011 by vanderbiltwife

Could it be the end of Menu Plan Mondays at Vanderbilt Wife? Truthfully … I’m not sure.

So here’s what’s happening in our life that’s taking precedence over blogging.

Mr. V and I have hoped and prayed since we found out he got his current job that we would be able to live on campus at the school where he teaches. It is a private school with both boarding and local students, so there are dorms and they have dorm parents.

April and May passed this year, and for the second year we realized we would not be moving onto campus for the fall. We sucked it up and I made plans to paint some of our current rental house, do whatever was needed to make it feel a little more ours.

Two weeks ago, we got word that there “might” be a place for us on campus. It was last Wednesday before we had the affirmation that yes, we would be able to move on for this school year. The school year starts tomorrow, August 22. We were able to start moving in Saturday the 20th.

So, yeah.

Part of the deal of living on-campus and performing dorm parent duties is that our whole family can eat in the dining hall, three meals a day, every day. It blows my mind that I don’t ever have to cook if I don’t want to.

I have a difficult time picturing me being able to get my kids and myself dressed and to the dining hall in time for breakfast. But as for lunch and dinner, I think we’ll eat there most of the time.

It is just such a weird concept to think about not cooking that I can’t quite grasp it. I imagine that I will cook one or two dinners at home a week, but I don’t know. We are simply going to roll with the punches and see how it goes.

I’m thinking that there won’t be a Menu Plan Monday here anymore. And that’s OK. I feel it was mostly for me to keep up with what I needed to cook that week, although it did drive some traffic here.

With the expected lack of cooking, I plan to rev up my baking some. I’ve promised Mr. V that his night of dorm duty each week I will deliver some treat for the students. So perhaps I will feature a weekly “treat” here on VW. I adore baking, but the problem has always been that I like baking more than I should be eating baked goods. It will be great to have teenaged boys I can feed!

We are so excited about this new phase in our life and I can’t wait to share what I can with you.

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Welcome, 2011.

Posted on January 2, 2011 by vanderbiltwife

It wears me out to think about the last two years.

If you’ve been reading my blog for any length of time, you know our story. If not, you can read about here or here or here.

I’m not sure what I would have done if two years ago I knew we would be living in limbo for such a long time. Struggling financially, worrying over a house that won’t sell. Still living so very far from any family.

It was not what I had planned.

But in 2010, I moved to Chattanooga. I became a stay-at-home-mom. We found an amazing church home that is thriving and where God is moving. We conceived and brought another child into the world.

If I let myself think about the things that weigh me down, I panic. Every day I have to choose to focus on the blessings of being where I am, right now. Even if that place is Limbo, Tennessee; population: family of 4.

I can’t help but think that Jesus lived here, too (well, not Tennessee). What must have passed through His mind as He waited those 30 years for His ministry to begin? Was He anxious? (Doubtful.) Did He wonder if the right time would ever come?

I am glad He understands.

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One Year Later, Still Waiting

Posted on May 17, 2010 by vanderbiltwife

It’s been a year this week since I wrote the post revealing our move to Chattanooga.

After seven long months of job searching for Mr. V, I cannot tell you how relieved I was by that news.

I didn’t know we wouldn’t sell our house. That I wouldn’t move to Chattanooga until January. That I would miss my co-workers but not my job. That the intense peace I had during Mr. V’s job search would dissipate along with my faith that I would ever get to move.

There are many things I wish I could say are all better, all wrapped up. But they aren’t. We’re still, a year later, living somewhere in the in-between. Living in the wait.

Many, many days I tell God that I promise I’ve learned my lesson and could He just make it all better now?

Which is probably all the more reason to still be sitting here, hanging out, waiting.

Thank you for hanging in there with me, hoping and praying, and learning to trust a little more each day.

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Where Are You From?

Posted on March 17, 2010 by vanderbiltwife

As a transport to a new city, the question I get asked constantly is “Where are you from?”

I hate, despise, and detest all forms of the question. Because really, how much do they TRULY want to know?

Short answer: I lived in Nashville for 5 1/2 years.

Long answer (deep breath):

Well, I was born in Dayton, Ohio. I lived in Indiana. I grew up in Richmond, Virginia–no, not Richmond, Indiana, or Kentucky, or anywhere else. Then my husband and I moved to Nashville after college.

Mr. V was born in Pennsylvania, grew up in South Carolina, then his parents moved back to PA but he never really lived there.

Them: “Oh, so your parents are in Virginia and his are in Pennsylvania?”

Me: Oh, no. My parents moved to Pennsylvania about four years ago, and they lived really near my in-laws, but now my in-laws live in North Carolina. And my dad has no idea what’s going on with his job, so only God knows where they’ll live in a year.

Oh, and we go to Dayton for Thanksgiving. All of my grandparents and many of my other relatives live there.

Them: “Um, OK. See ya later!!” (rushes off hurriedly)

It’s not THAT confusing, right?

Heh. Some days I wish we had grown up in the same place, all of our families still lived there, and this was an easy situation to explain. But we’re Modern America, and I’d never trade in any of my life experience, no matter how crazy it is. I choose to believe it makes me well-rounded.

Does anyone else dread being asked this question?

Click on photo for source.
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We Made It!

Posted on January 13, 2010 by vanderbiltwife

The last few days have been grueling. Libbie has no clue what’s going on. But we’re in our Chattanooga house and trying to get unpacked some before leaving for PA on Sunday. Oh my.

Won’t have consistent Internet until tomorrow afternoon, so I’ll catch up later! Just wanted to let you know us and our stuff got here OK.

And if any companies would like me to review a crib … Libbie’s got damaged on the way here and is being held together with duct tape. Seriously, companies, e-mail me!