Never. Ever. Never

The last time we did this I promised I would never do it again.  Ever.  Never.  Ever.  But here I sit, enjoying the peace of the morning with my coffee and the birds dreading the work ahead of me.  Two nasty words…Garage Sale.  Ick.  I now clearly remember why I said never when we finished up the last one.

I’ve been up to my eyeballs in price stickers and sharpies for the past week.  Every single toy {and I do mean every single one} that I pull out of a box, rescue from a top shelf or pull from the black hole pit of the closet of the hoarder child, suddenly becomes the most amazing thing anyone has ever seen & “we can’t possibly be selling this prized possession, Mom!”.  Puppy dog eyes and pouty lips and all.  Serious.  Haven’t seen it since we moved two moves ago, but it is the most important thing in life.  “Do we really have to sell it, Mom?”  Yes.  Gone.  Less is more, my child.  Less is more!

I have very little sentimental attachment to anything.  I actually think it might be a problem and perhaps when I’m old and my children won’t come visit me because I sold the junk at the back of the closet at a garage sale in 2015 thus ruining their life forever, I’ll wish I had kept more than one tote of mementos.  {deep breath}  But as for now, I’m content with just the basics – coming home from the hospital outfit, first shoes, hospital bands, a really nice picture with a hand or foot print-whatever fits in the hope chest on top of my wedding dress.  That’ll have to do when I’m old and alone.

But the garage sale.  Ugh!  The word even makes me anxious.  So much to get done.  Hauling it all out of the house to the barn, setting it all up on tables, pricing it all, watching people pick through it in a barn that’s likely to be sitting at about 150ºF and negotiating for quarters.  Sounds like a delightful way to spend a couple of days.  And in the end, if I’m real lucky, I might have $50 more than I have today.  Yay!  And I’ll repeat “we are never doing this again.  Ever.  Never!”

Hello!

A blank page on a blank blog.  It’s a bit intimidating really.  What if I fill this page, this blog, with nonsense?  What if I say something that’s incorrect?  What if I say something that makes me look & sound stupid?  Or makes you think I’m a dork?  What if my punctuation is wrong and my run-on sentences are too much for you to follow?  {heads up – they will be}.

I lost my voice.  I had it. And then I didn’t.  Back then, I worried little about the words that I typed being wrong or bad or dork-like.  I just spilled my heart onto the page.  Sometimes it was beautiful & sometimes it was ugly & awful. Adventures…everyday held it all.  I wrote.  And learned.  And tried.  Until I lost my voice.  I was overcome with the feeling that the grace of others was inadequate to cover the words I stuck on these pages.  I could hear them {if only in my head} reminding me that I didn’t know that much, that I was wrong, that I was {in fact} a dork.  It was no one really making me feel that way.  Only me.  Me getting all up inside my head and telling myself that my words didn’t matter.  But I was wrong.  I have something to say.

It’ll be beautiful.  Sometimes.  I wish it was all the time, but honestly, it’s going to be hit n’ miss.  There will be mistakes and venting and unbeautiful stuff. Just like life.  Please hang in there with me.  Hear me & hear my heart.  Call me out when I’m being ugly.  And celebrate the beautiful stuff {it might be a short party}.

I’m excited to fill this blog up with me.  With what’s inside.  Chickens and family and gardens and food and running and God.  That’s what I have inside-ready to let out.