Ugly Plants

I buy flowers from the clearance section at Lowe’s.

I wish I could say that I felt convicted to save ugly plants because of some benevolent desire to nurture the dying flowers of Brazos County, but this is not an act of compassion. This is an act of frugality.

Ugly plants are cheap. The same flowers that sell for $3 sell for $.50 in the clearance section. Sure, they’ve lost their flowers. They may die. They won’t look fantastic the moment you plant them in the ground.  You may not know what colors the blooms will be; however, with patience, you eventually get your garden. Eventually, you get tiny bursts of color that you may–or may not–have expected. It’s wonderful. I definitely recommend it.

Recently, I found this forgotten picture on a saved draft in my WordPress account:

I remember seeing the flower, and purposefully stopping to take a picture.

“I can make a blog post out of this.” I thought.

But the flower slipped my mind–as did the purpose of the blog post–and eventually, spring turned to summer, summer to fall, fall to winter…And here we are. We’ve had a few freezes that have long since killed the poor plant (I’m not exactly the world’s most talented gardener). I feel as though this photo means more to me now than it did before, and frankly, I’m glad that it was forgotten until now.

This semester has been one of the most difficult few months I have ever had. I’m trying to be patient with myself–to remind myself that I am young and my life is constantly changing in the biggest of ways–but frankly, I’m disappointed. I’m struggling with the same old anxiety, the same old depression, the same old perfectionism that chips away at who God has built me to be. I’m going to be vulnerable with you guys and tell you: God and I aren’t talking as much as we used to. I have so much resentment in my anxious heart. I’m working on it. I feel wounded. I asked God to provide for me in a specific way, and it didn’t work out the way I had planned (shocker). You would think, one surprise daughter and one foster child later, that I would take God’s plan for me in stride. Though I have come a long way, I’m still learning. I’m still growing. God is pruning me (or Satan is attacking me. Or both. Who knows). If it wasn’t for the community of believers around me, I would have succumbed to the belief that I was a forgotten plant at Lowe’s, rotting in the Texas heat.

But I’m not.

And neither are you.

I may be the ugly plant at Lowe’s, but I’m most definitely not forgotten. And neither are you.

God loves you. He sees you. He’s the guy that buys flowers from the clearance section. He’s the gardener that sees the wilted and the dying and he transplants them and brings them back to life. He doesn’t do it because he’s cheap.  God the Creator doesn’t have to do anything for us that he doesn’t want to. He does it because he sees the potential in us–he sees what we can be–and he uses his infinite wisdom to prune us, mold us, and shape us into who we were meant to be all along. He buys us because we are worth the effort (yes, even you). And damn, it hurts. But the results are incredible.

Love,

Sarah E.B. Christison

Anxious Believer

Reformed Ugly Plant

 

 

Water Hose Parenting

Friends,

It’s been so long since I have had the time and mental energy to write.

I miss it more than anything.

So much has changed over the summer: We added a foster child to our family. I went back to work…For two different schools! A friend and I began a special needs ministry at our church. Zoe began walking, had a first birthday, and started preschool (all within the span of a week and half). Our rhythm is different and our days are longer and busier, but it’s good, I think. The past two years, we were in a season of laying things down. We needed to refocus on what was important, and prepare ourselves for parenting. Now, we are in a season of saying, “yes” to what God has to offer us. Sometimes I miss the sweet Sabbath and rest that the last year has brought to us, but I’m thankful for the path God has put me on, and I’m excited to see the growth that will come with it. But saying, “yes” is risky. Saying, “yes” means I will mess up. For someone with an anxiety disorder, the thought of letting other people down is debilitating. Going back to work means someone besides my sweet husband will know when I fail.

A few weeks ago, I was recovering from a week where nothing was going my way. The games I had worked so hard to schedule were canceled. I had miscommunication with my spouse, and it ended up stressing everyone out. I forgot to put my jeans in the dryer, so I showed up to work soaking wet. You know, the usual.

When I got  home from my job at the preschool, I changed into comfy clothes and stripped Zoe down to her birthday suit. We went outside so she could play with her new, fancy water-tables. I sat her down, turned on the hose, and collapsed on the bench to breath.

“What. A. Day.”

I picked a podcast to listen to while we played, and when I looked up, she wasn’t even near the water tables. She was playing with the hose, smiling and laughing harder than I had seen her in a long time. She was perfectly content with simplicity.

Zoe didn’t need a fancy toy or any special attention. She just needed me, the water hose, and my time. In that moment, I realized how much grace my relationship with my daughter has to offer. There are so many times that I don’t feel like I’m not enough for my kids. There’s so many times I feel like I fail them, and I’ve let them down. Instead of getting angry or upset with me, she leans in for a hug. She trusts me, and she forgives me again, and again (sounds like another relationship I am all too familiar with).

Going back to work has made me feel so torn between the different roles I am trying to fill. What if, in all of the chaos, I let my children down? If going back to work has taught me anything, it’s this: Children aren’t as complicated as we make them out to be. As a culture, we spend so much time and money trying to make things, “fun” and “exciting” and “new” for our kids. How refreshing is it to hear that our kids don’t need the excess? They need raw, real relationships–just like we do. They need to spend time with you, and they need to know that they can count on you when they fail. Quit stressing out about the toy when you know they’re going to have more fun with the box. Quit worrying about filling the water-table and just give them the water hose.

Love,

Sarah

A Little Bit Stressed

A Lot Loved

I Love You And I Won’t Let You Eat Sticks

Yesterday was grocery day.

I love grocery day.

Kylar has tried more than once to convince me to use grocery pickup, but now that I’m not working, I just can’t bring myself to do it.

I look forward to Mondays. I’ve made friends with the people at the butcher counter, and the old lady that gives out samples always smiles and talks to Zoe when we stop by. I look forward to strolling the aisles with Zoe smiling in my grocery basket as I describe everything around us.

“This is a zucchini, Zoe. See the green skin? I’ll roast it for dinner tonight, but only you and I will eat it. You’re dad doesn’t touch vegetables unless I cut them up and throw them in his fried rice… The strawberries don’t look good today, so we’re going to pass… One more stop before we go home! Can’t forget the Dr. Pepper…”

You get the gist.

Yesterday was a hard day for Zoe. She is teething. She was inconsolable during the car ride to HEB. I pulled over to make her a bottle, but all she did was chew on the nipple. I could tell she was in a lot of pain, and it hurt my heart. We had to cut our grocery trip short because she was visibly uncomfortable. When we got home, I pulled a screaming child out of her car seat, and grabbed as many grocery bags as I could fit into my hand. As I closed the trunk, I heard a “Crash!” I looked down, and see a puddle of red tomato sauce in my driveway, with tiny shards of glass shattered everywhere.

I took a deep breath.

I set my groceries down in the driveway, and dropped Zoe in the grass nearby. I figured I could get the majority of the glass picked up now, then I would figure out a way to get the rest of it after Zoe went down for her nap. I tossed most of it in the dumpster when I looked up and saw my sweet daughter chewing on a stick from the yard. She had the biggest smile on her dirt-covered face–she had finally figured out a way to soothe her pain by herself.

I smiled to myself and grabbed a teething biscuit out of the car. I’m all for letting my kid explore, but I can only let her eat sticks for so long. It’s good fiber, I guess. I unwrapped the teething biscuit and offered it to her. She kept smiling as she turned away. She was content with her stick. I took another deep breath, and removed the stick from her mouth.

She screamed some sort of banshee scream that I had never heard before. She. Was. Angry.

She was so angry, she failed to notice the teething cookie that I was frantically trying to give to her. Finally, as she was taking a deep breath to let out another wail, I shoved it in her mouth. Her eyes widened as she bit down. She smiled again. Her eyes were now red and her cheeks were stained, but she was content. This time, with something that was meant for a nine month old to chew on.  “I love you,” I smiled, “and I’m not going to let you eat sticks.”

I felt so connected to Zoe in that moment. How often have I happily chewed on my own stick? How often has God come along and removed it in anticipation of something better? How often have I screamed and yelled, shouting angrily at God, saying, “Why did you take the one thing I had away from me?” How often has God had to wave a teething biscuit in my face, saying, “If you would just calm down, you would see I have something better in store for you.” How many times do I need to be reminded to be still and wait for the glory of God to reveal itself? How many times has God looked me lovingly in the eyes and said, “I love you, and I’m not going to let you eat sticks.”

Since moving to College Station, I have lost so many things.

-My health

-My independence and freedom

-Financial security

-My physical beauty

-My sanity

But really. It hasn’t been an easy couple of years. Looking back, I see so many times God was begging me to give him my sticks. I see God taking my loneliness and giving me new friendships that encourage and sustain me. I see God taking my pride and making me rely on my husband for help; thus strengthening our new marriage in it’s own unique and beautiful way. I see God taking my life plan, that–while good in it’s own right–was not what was meant to be.

Friends, give God your sticks.

See what gifts he gives you in return.