Eating, losing and all the in between.

It’s been almost a month since we last talked about weight loss, heart issues and all that other stuff. Live and in person? I am thinking about it and working through junk every single day. So Jessi and I are back at it today. Be sure to head over there, too!

In March, I chose to do a whole30. There were lots of reasons that you can read right here. The quick summary is that I saddle EV.ER.Y.THING with weight loss and how much and how quick and then I don’t lose anything. It’s going to be a lifelong battle for me.

I want to lose weight. I feel better when I’ve lost weight. I’m tired of being caught in an endless cycle of failure. I know that’s not how God intends for me to live.

But. The whys aren’t always right. In many corners of my heart the whys are acceptance and approval and swallowing the big fat lies about success and your body that our culture eschews through every media outlet. I’m trying to migrate to a place where I aim to glorify God in all that I do including what I choose to eat to nourish my body AND the commentary I allow to run across my brain about my appearance. I want to be constantly moving in the direction of taking all things to Him instead of stuffing or applying an ill-fitting band-aid, whatever my pace or however much I falter. Also? Grace. Just grace in the midst of recalibrating my heart and mind.

So. Life after whole30? On a regular basis, I still stay away from grains and legumes and soy and sugar and sugar substitutes and dairy (except for the occasional sprinkle of parmesan cheese). I have come to call the times where I stray exceptions. I’ve enjoyed a few exceptions over the last three weeks. I’ve tried to keep them as unplanned as possible and as unobtrusive as possible. No getting lost down the rabbit hole for days on end after a piece or two of pizza. I’ve also emotionally eaten two paleo muffins. Womp womp. I’m still trying to figure out if paleo baked goods are exceptions but I’m pretty clear on when I’m running to food because I’m sad or tired. It’s kind of anti-climactic, right? TWO! PALEO! MUFFINS! (Gold star if you can identify the movie influence.)

It feels a little wobbly on this side of limiting my food intake so much. It appears that I’m in a sort of maze where I just have to figure out how food effects me and allow that to motivate my choices. I don’t really know where I’m going except that I still need to learn what it looks like to choose food for its nourishment value instead of its distraction abilities. And that is my plan. To examine and surrender every opportunity and failure with food. To continue to choose non-processed, healthy foods. To take captive any thought that doesn’t fit under the banner of Christ’s grace and love toward me. To be diligent and rise early and make active choices. Practically without all the writer speak: stay close to whole30, get some kind of exercise for 30 minutes a day–three of those days being a jog (and I’d love to get consistent with some kind of resistance training, possibly HIIT) and confront emotional eating.

One tool I’d like to sharpen a bit is how I reward myself. Food is almost always a reward for hard work or a day gone off the rails because I deserve a treat after all of that. Instead, I’m going to try:

A walk.

Fresh flowers (bought or found).

A book.

A trip to the library.

New nail polish.

A coffee date (tea for me).

Writing.

A fresh list of fun things or hopes.

Creating something.

What about y’all? Any good ideas for rewards? Are you in this maze with me?

forced rest on a friday.

Here’s a fun fact.

All 3 feet 10 inches of a gidgety 8 year old girl can in fact contract the flu in the middle-endish part of April.

We’re on day three and half of being housebound. She’s pitiful.

Here’s something good, though. Of all my children, my girl is my kindred when it comes to being a homebody. She loves to be at home, to be in her room, to be with her people and outside of a school day and maybe gymnastics she mostly chooses to be here. We’ve had lots of quality time.

And I’ve gotten some good spring cleaning and rearranging done. Like a spice drawer. It makes me so happy. I totally copied a friend so I’m not really a genius.

I finally hung some stuff up around our tv. I did a bit of robbing Peter to pay Paul here and stole things from other walls that I don’t look at as much. It’s a hodge podge, really. My painted lady is a watercolor of my Gee Gee Mama (great grandmother) that my great aunt gave us for a wedding present. My mom cross-stitched the two Charleston cathedrals. The two family crests were my grandmother’s and the needlepoint cottage was my grandma’s. There’s room for one more teensy thing that I’ve yet to figure out.

All this? It’s what I’ve come to call forced rest. Good. Hard. Stir crazy. Rest.

Related: Can you have too many gallery walls?

what to do with a wild and bold heart (sort of).

It’s 4:08 on a Monday afternoon and my Grandmother’s table is strewn with blue copied spelling lists, books, notepads, pencils, permission slips. Up the stairs my strong-willed child goes in search of self control as I drop my forehead onto my arms. It’s afternoon and my body is still on preschool time. This is rest time, it keeps telling me. Yet, there are words to spell, poems to analyze, double digit numbers to divide and some sort of science homework.

Even though my whole skin itches with what I could get done right this very minute, I’m learning to sit down with these little people. I’m learning to actually look at the papers and ask prodding, eye roll inducing questions. Im learning to close the screen, leave the phone in the kitchen and be wide eyed and waiting for a few minutes.

So today’s lines are battle lines and I’m weary.

Navigating life with a strong willed child can be very isolating. Sometimes your mess shows. I’ve had it happen in the most grace-filled places and in people-full parking lots on busy roads. Sometimes you feel like its your fault. Sometimes you feel unqualified. Sometimes you are bound to the worry that you’ll mess this whole thing up. You’re mostly always mindful of what it looks like from the outside.

I’ve learned something. A wild and bold heart will seldom think my way is best at first; not when that wild heart feels so very, very strongly about most everything. Somehow once I accepted that–OK–this is how we’re going to do life, there was a deep sigh and a lift in my shoulders. It doesn’t change the destination. It might change how we get there from time to time. It does mean that if we struggle and fight to get there I don’t feel like a failure anymore. Well, most of the time.

I’m learning to see opportunity. I’m learning to fight like crazy in loving ways. I’m learning to acknowledge that this is hard for both of us and point to Jesus. I’m learning to anticipate the times of battle by enjoying and loving this wild heart in its own way, not mine.

Anyway, I thought I’d reach my hand out today. Maybe this resonates with you. If it does I’m praying you’ll have grace for yourself and the journey. And that you’ll be unburdened by the fact that the best thing you can do with a wild and bold heart is to let it change you first.

winter gives way to spring.

Maybe it’s long walks on bright afternoons.

Maybe it’s the way all the world is on its tippy toes with forward motion. Green things. White things. Pink things. Tiny buds full of possibility.

Maybe it’s the way fresh air blows through a stale house.

Maybe it’s that my fourth grader is studying poetry. Poetry! And it’s my dear friend, Emily, and she’s so right that hope is feathered. Maybe it’s the way his eyes are stubborn with the belief that he just doesn’t get poetry but we’re talking about frigates and books and he’s just finished The Hobbit and he’s been to the Shire.

Maybe it’s the way hope does give flight. Maybe it’s giving voice to a dream and seeing my husband’s wide and dimpled grin as he prods the what ifs.

Maybe it’s that eight year old girls decide to make color coordinated fruit plates for snack.

Maybe it’s yard work and shovel driven soreness and the smell of compost.

Maybe it’s the way a five year old says something is bodderin’ him and toof.

Maybe it’s just me.

But maybe it’s you, too?

digging and planting.

I’ve been digging up portions of my yard this week, moving plants around and trying to figure out what I’m doing. I’m not very good at anything other than potted flowers and we aren’t going to make huge investments outside because we’ll never recoup them. I’d just like to even things out and make everything look neat.

I spent a few hours digging out a bed along our fence line that was full of blackberry vine, ivy and other crawling type things. It was the kind of work that warrants a plate full of steamy spaghetti and an evening on the couch. And now we’ve had a day of rain and lots left to do over the weekend.

This digging mimics a good bit of what’s been going on in my heart over the past few weeks. Sometimes I feel like I’m a tiny baby in my faith, still trying to work out what it looks like to trust and wait. Watching and learning what it means to count all things joy.

When I wrote about home in October something began in me that is still coursing. I’m still going back through each concept and applying layers upon layers. And reading, reading, reading. I have a feeling that it has felt so fresh recently because I’m going to be sharing even more about being settled and at home in your season very soon.

Next Tuesday night-at 9 pm EST-I’ll be offering a class through the Influence Network on all this jumble of heart stuff. It’s more generally about contentment but it still grows out of the Biblical concept that is home. Really, I’d like to call it a conversation more than anything. I’m certainly not qualified to be an expert as I’m still learning how to apply contentment to my daily life. It’s more like I’m sharing notes.

You can learn more about the class and sign up right here (you’ll receive a link on Tuesday to join in).

I’d love to have y’all be part of this conversation!

whole ladies: one month.

Well, it’s time for another awkward screen capture. Every time. But! The good news is that I finished my whole30 yesterday. I’m not sure I trust myself beyond these 30 days as I’ve felt lots of emotional reactions to foregoing many beloved foods. I talk about this in the video but I think I’ll be sticking pretty close to what I’ve been doing this month with possibly a cheat meal once a week.

I do feel great. I have lost weight (got on the scale this morning). It was so freeing to slide that thing away and not think about it for a month. I’m really leaning toward taking the same approach this month: food and heart first and then weighing after really working on the internal issues.

Let’s talk in the comments! Are you an emotional eater? Do you struggle with understanding what really makes you lovely? What were your struggles and victories this month?

Be sure to head over to Jessi’s for her part of this conversation.

a bit of everyday on a Saturday.

Today Springtime arrived bringing her blossoms and gnats and afternoon filtered sunshine. We stuck close to home and threw tennis balls on the roof of the building next door. The dog barked at every single squirrel on our block. Then he sat down all slumped up next to me and watched our youngest scramble to catch his falling, falling roof pitched ball.

Somewhere in my spirit this week, Springtime has been being born, too. I’ve been putting my hands to creating more and there is so much hope in that; in sitting down to forge something out of what you already have. One afternoon I finished off a few things in my girl’s room while I had her older brother keep her busy. After what felt like eons, I called her up to surprise her with pom pom trimmed curtains and a bright bedskirt and her paintings framed. Somehow I’d let that go for a year. And this morning I felt extra inspired so I put together some pillowcases from vintage trim I stashed from my former business and some Swiss dot I bought on sale last week. Now I want to make a million more.

Would y’all like to see more of my home? Sometimes I feel fuzzy about what I should post here.

I missed posting an update about Whole Ladies this week and I’ve been thinking about you all and how you encouraged me last week. I survived that birthday even though my van smelled like pizza for days after. It went off without much extra attention or explaining and I think my girl felt extra special. I also know that I have a very stubborn heart. I still feel mad over what I can’t have, especially when I’m tired or even when I’m wanting to celebrate. I am going to have to find the medium between enjoying good, quality food and rewarding myself with food. After our family left on Saturday I decided to cook up the most delicious meal as a consolation for not even getting a bite of strawberry cake. Straw!Berry!Cake! I burnt the burgers. The side dish was just meh. And I was reminded that rewarding myself with food is the same old escapism.

And then, tonight, my husband helped me do the very complicated act of counting 30 days and I realized that I actually won’t be done until Tuesday night instead of Monday night. So I don’t feel very much like I’m winning because I have been living for Tuesday morning and all of its possibilities. I’m a little scared of what freedom will mean except for the fact that my body will definitely react when I reintroduce food. So maybe that’s just as important: realizing how that junk really makes me feel instead of idealizing the day when I will get to eat my beloved parmesan cheese again.

How are you all doing on your health journeys?

Some other random things about this day: we dyed eggs. I bought brown eggs which was a personal affront to our youngest. Somehow he survived and we were able to get the depth of color somewhat close to his expectations.

I got to decorate a handful of eggs and I’m so very thankful that even though we are on the precipice of pre-teen (really, I think we’re already there) everyone sat down and was enthusiastic about trying all kinds of different techniques. Also? Our youngest two spent fifteen tear and grumble filled minutes holding hands and sitting very closely in the pursuit of harmony. I’m not sure it was going anywhere good. In the end, Daddy swooped in and settled it all.

Today is a waiting day. Christ rested and waited in all of His power for His Resurrection morning. And tomorrow will be full of celebration. We invited a friend over to eat with us. It’s something we’ve done for the past few years for friends who are far from home in different types of ways. I really wanted to sew up some new napkins and all of the sudden I’m so very sure that I need placemats. I even got out my Grandmother’s tablecloth which always seemed so stuffy to me but Grover scratched the tabletop last week so it’s kind of necessary and now I realize I kind of like it. In the end I decided everything was lovely. Lovely enough. I copied Edie a bit for the place settings and called it a day. And my knives are facing the wrong way. Or are they? I can’t even remember.

Tomorrow is the Hope and Healing day. I pray you enjoy a beautiful Easter Sunday.

To my bright-burning girl on your 8th birthday.

Eight and half years ago your Daddy and I stared at a tiny black and white screen with furrowed brows and tense white knuckles. You were there, bouncing around and being a bit shy.

When we finally met you months later you were the tiniest bit of a thing. Your legs, always crossed, were so teensy that we worried they would crumble. Your tiny little head was covered in brown fuzz. You were lost in the bassinet.

From the very get-go we were told you’d be small.

And you are. Shortest in your grade. Shortest on your basketball team. Shortest in the league. Your feet barely grew a shoe size this year.

You are small.

But you are fierce. Strong. Stubborn. Persistent. Lovely.

I wanted a little girl to hold and dress up. I wanted to braid hair and giggle and pinch rosy cheeks. I got all those things.

But I got more.

I’m more than thankful for your brothers but you are the one who brought me low so that I was just a loamy bit of dirt for God to do the rebuilding. We have fought for each other, you and I. And I’m so glad for the fight. So glad to know that we found a way.

Because even when we are obstinate and battle ready, I can always look at your bright, bright eyes and love them. Always. They are like saucers full of spilled out coffee and your eyebrows dance so wonderfully there above them. And then there is the chirrupy bird-like way you tell me about your life. It is grace personified.

I hope so much that you learn to love well. That you won’t settle for the kind of love that is what you get out of it: approval, acceptance, identity, temporary happiness. It’s the kind that always leaves lingering loneliness.

I hope you know that you are fearful in the way you have been woven together. Every small stitch and over-under in you is characterized by the Hand that weaves all things. And I pray that out of that wonder, you will be able to love fiercely. I hope it’s the kind of sacrificial love that is an everyday, hard, rough, raw and beautiful kind of love. I hope you love to the pain.

I hope and pray that your bright eyes will be honed to seek out the hurting and the lost, that you will move into others with the same kind of persistence that even now you use so well. Oh how I dream that you will never let insecurity hold you hostage, that instead you will walk in the loveliness of knowing Who made you so very well. I know you will encounter seasons that will try to rob you of this lovely way of knowing yourself. I pray and whisper it over you, this way you were pieced together in the most intentional way, and I ask for belief.

One of my greatest joys is to find little slips of paper pieced together, marker drawn cards, special cuttings and other projects that spill out of your swirling brain. Sometimes you will doubt these gifts, this way of leaning in to your calling. You will feel too small or too young or too different or too similar. Believe strong, little one. This gift of making beauty from your heart is part of God’s story for you.

In this world we connect boys and competitiveness. But it’s there, too, for girls in silent ways and it almost always ends in not-good-enoughs and be-betters. This competition–this comparison–it is the bold and angry kind of thief that smashes through your life even in the bright hours of a beautiful day with your joy in one hand and a sucker punch to the gut in the other. It robs and it bullies and it pushes into the kind of packs that hide and dull the wonderful way you were made. But Grace? It is the bolted gate. Lean in heavily, little one.

And you will fail. You will fail and fumble and feel wobbly on your life legs. I pray that you make mistakes knowing this: failure is not a commentary on who you are. It is not to be feared. Failure is a beginning and you are worth it. You are worth giant dreams and huge falls because I AM has made you and He has called you good. I pray that you won’t fear conflict, either. Conflict is not an end. It is an opportunity to work out how to love and love well. You are worth conflict, too.

And all these things push me to my knees often. In the kitchen over a pot of sweating onions. In the morning when I catch the first cold breath of day. At night when my eyes are limp with the heaviness of life in a day. I pray for you and for your brothers that somehow God will use the mess in me. How I lose my temper. How I do cry over spilled milk. How I say no because I’m too tired to clean up the mess tonight. How I have to cup your childhood-full face in my hands and apologize over and over. I fumble and falter and He makes new and I pray that you see how there is a beautiful banner over me. It’s the banner of grace, of lifted burdens, of new wineskin and hope.

Also? I really hope you learn to laugh like your daddy.

these stars of mine.

On a fresh Spring morning, the dog and I fumble down the steps and out into the world. It’s still at least an hour from dawn and we are trotting through this sleeping giant playing our morning song.

It’s the soft plodding of my shoes hitting asphalt and cement over and over again. It’s the sharp tinkling of his tags against the metal clasp on his leash, gentle and melodic and full of his simple joy.

The sky is still the dark, deep blue of eventide and the wind is just barely carrying what will be the fragrant assault of the blooming season.

God begins His daily work, the beautiful and complex work of His hands: He wakes up the world. My song changes.

It’s the call and response of the Whipporwill, Lark, Wren, Blue Jay, Dove, Owl, Robin. How I can’t even begin to draw lines around one chirrup before another begins. How the soft wind blows the wisps of hair off my damp brow.

I am Abraham.

These are my stars.

Days walking in an unknown direction. Promises and dreams and hopes so full and pressed tight that I can’t hold them in. When the answer tarries. When I don’t feel His goodness, His light, His hope. In the dark of night.

I am Abraham.

These are my stars.

I have only to look. If He sends me where I don’t know. If He changes all my dreams. If He always answers with not-yets. If His goodness and light and hope feel far. If darkness surrounds me.

I have only to listen. I can’t count the beautiful ways He has made music through these feathered, winged things. I can’t count.

And even if all these things, I will always want to love the One who took bumpy skin and wispy feathers and tiny eyes and scrawny legs and put the melodic breath of a symphony inside.

Always.

whole ladies: halfway

It’s Wednesday and that means it’s time to talk Whole Ladies again. Jessi’s got a post up today, too, so be sure to head over there.

Somehow here I am with another video. It’s probably because y’all were so nice. But. Let’s just acknowledge one thing: I get the most awkward screen captures ever. This week’s video is a little longer.

New Project 7 from ellen parker on Vimeo.

You can read more about Whole30 right here. Read my other posts right here.

This week we really, really enjoyed Venison Butternut Squash Chili, Berry Breakfast Sausage and Carrot Souffle. I’m too lazy to dig up pictures.

Ok. You’re turn. Smiley face.

sweetwater