Christy's Desk

This is my desk. I designed this desk three years ago. It is just now being built.
I don't really know why it's taken so long to get the project underway, but now that it's nearing the finish, I am really excited! The top is an old door that was laying around in my house when I bought it three years ago. I knew instantly that it would be a desk, as soon as I found the right bits of salvage to finish it off. I have searched for something for it to stand on: table legs, stair ballusters, and fence posts on ebay and in thrift stores and antique malls in so many places! But I found just the right pair of chippy, old farm table legs last month. You can't imagine how excited I was! I love old junk - especially junk that once was useful. Aprons, canning jars, windows - they're all gorgeous projects-in-the-making to me! I guess I believe in their intrinsic value, and I love to see them find new purpose. I love the stories that are bound up within their fibers. I'll probably never know what the stories are, but I love them just the same.
Some of the most important men in my life - my daddy, my husband and the oldest of my brothers - put a lot of sweat into my lovely desk yesterday. They thought I was a little crazy when I told them what I wanted to do. I'm frankly grateful that my husband didn't resent the hours I spent scouring for those table legs (or the shocking amount of money I invested in them!). Even my dad, who is a creative, talented craftsman, thought the whole thing was a little iffy. But the nods of approval started to flow as they explored different methods of constructing, and the pieces were put in their proper places. My dad even said he was surprised at how cool this project turned out to be. Do you have any idea how hard it is to surprise my dad?!?
I'll post some photos when it's all done. But for now, it makes me smile just to think of it sitting in the workshop, with its newly-attached feet on the ground, waiting for me to bring it back home!

Christy's Afternoon

Hey! I wrote a story about my afternoon yesterday. It may sound strange, but it's all true. If you lived in my house, you would understand!

My Afternoon

It was one of those rare, agenda-free, homemade-lunch afternoons
I sat in my husband’s recliner, poring over a new cookbook, when out of the corner of my mind’s eye, I caught a glimpse of something irresistible!

There was a cuddly little nap edging toward me!

I knew that if I stayed in the embrace of the chair, I would need a blanket to welcome it.
But, if I got up to forage for a blanket, the skittish critter would be frightened away for good.

So I crept away to my as-yet-unmade bed.

I gently un-tousled the heavy quilts and slipped under them and waited.
Naps are funny things. They’ll only come to you if you’re not interested in them.

So I pretended very hard that I wasn’t.

The phone rang and spooked it, so I reluctantly got out of bed and gave up.
My children offered sympathy, but I think they were mostly disappointed that they would once again be under my supervision.

So my daughter took my hand and led me back to bed.

She vowed to help me. She said that if I was snuggling her, perhaps I’d look disinterested enough. This would allow the nap to feel safer in its approach.
We lay there, whispering love like mothers and daughters do, each caressing the face of the other.

“Naps are invisible, you know,” she whispered.

“They sneak up from behind,” she said, and she made a pair of legs from two of her fingers. “What happens next?” I asked. “Do they sit on your head and smother you to sleep?”
“No, silly!” she said, tip-toeing the finger-legs up my cheek. “They creep, creep, creep…..

“And jump into your eye!” she exclaimed, poking me in the left one.

“OH!” I said, startled. I realized now that she was perhaps not helping as much as her good intention had promised she would.
So we enlisted the aid of her big brother. He would rather have both of us girls completely infested with naps.

That would make world domination much easier.

We girls explained the art of nap-hunting; how you must be still, alert, and nonchalant.
This art is, however, wasted on little boys. What erupted upon his entrance was a burst of guttural sound and violent movement.

Naps don’t like that sort of thing.

With an exasperated sigh, I owned the fact that this would not be the afternoon I had planned. But I did manage to surrender to the moment that presented itself. All three of us lay there, our minds no longer occupied with the hunt.
And there came flying overhead an entire flock of squealing, flapping, noisy giggles! We held out our arms in invitation.

They landed on our heads and nearly smothered us!

Woman on the Edge

Welcome to the blog for Woman on the Edge!! We exist to challenge women to live their lives with abandon. Here are some thoughts about being a woman on the edge!!

So, What Now??

When I find myself asking this question, I know I’m on the edge. How did I get to this edge in the first place? The paths I’ve chosen have all led me here, some in winding, roundabout ways. As a woman at thirty, I’m no longer a child and I’ve shed the cloak of adolescent immaturity. I’ve been through some pain and I’ve been down in a few pits. Life has surprised me with it’s messiness. I think when we reach the point where we should be living out all those little girl dreams, and we realize that those dreams have died or that once they become reality, they feel nothing like we imagined they would, then we are left with the question: What now? I see this as the edge.

I picture the edge as a dangerous place, the possibility of a fall always looming. At the edge, I’ve come away from the safe center of protective barriers I’ve created and the secure place everyone expects me to be in. I can no longer hide behind facades I’ve set up for my own protection. To get to the edge, I’ve seen fortresses crumble, the fortresses of my own idealism. I’ve witnessed the death of my happily ever after, I’ve faced the monsters of my mistakes, and I’ve dueled with my own shortcomings. I’ve removed the armor of numbness and allowed myself to deeply feel disappointment and heartache. In utter exhaustion, I’ve accepted my faults and embraced what life has really become for me. I look up from the ground and ask “What now?” I’m finally ready to explore the edge. I’m finally free, unencumbered by expectations, and I’m ready to feel, to learn, to really live. It’s here at the edge that I come face to face with my own desperate need, and it’s here I pick up the mantle of grace I’ve been carrying for years and begin to wear it because I’ve finally seen how naked I am without it. I realize that the One who has gently pulled me to the edge is the One who will keep me from tumbling over the edge. I fully understand that I must throw myself before Him with complete abandon, and I am keenly aware of how much I want to do so. I invited Him to walk with me years ago, and now He alone remains with me, having always known the faults I have just now come to accept.

In many ways I feel I’m awake for the first time. Having seen the worst of me, I see the better parts of me more vividly. Having allowed myself to acknowledge my disappointments, I feel my joys more powerfully. Sick of passing the responsibility for my happiness to other people, I’m ready to take ownership of my life. Every nerve stands on end as I explore the world around me with virgin wonder. I love more intensely, I express more passionately, and I give more freely. My arms open, my face turned up, I’m more complete than ever and I’m ready to forge ahead on life’s journey. I’m at the edge, Christ and me. I’m living in reckless abandon to Him and feeling alive for the first time. I’ve finally stopped striving to give Him a perfect me, and just given Him all of me. How odd that in taking my most dangerous risk, I finally feel true security. Life is good here, better than I ever thought it could be.