Six.

The other day when we were still in Seattle, Justin looked at me over a Red Robin cheeseburger and said, "This is why I love you." 

"What do you mean?" I asked, a little confused.

"Because here we are, in a completely new place, and you still wanted to eat at Red Robin. So I'm sitting here eating garlic fries right now." 

Sounds like a weird statement, but it has a short back story. 

On our 2nd anniversary, I mapped out this "all the cool kids are doing it" itinerary for our getaway. We waited in line for almost 2 hours to eat pancakes that were...well, good pancakes but pancakes nevertheless. And we ate at this farm-to-table restaurant that served us 6 olives on a hot skillet for $12. That's $2 per olive, ya'll. And they still had the break-your-teeth pits in them. If I'm paying you $2 an olive, please take the pit out you jerkface. 

After that trip, we had a come to Olive Jesus moment and decided that we just needed to be ourselves. We were Chili's people. We were Red Robin people. The chicken in their chicken fingers came from a farm somewhere and is now on our table. And that was good enough for us. 

When we started owning our marriage and doing what was right by us, the enjoyment factor went up exponentially. 

We go to PetSmart and look at kittens and chinchillas for date night. 

We eat at PF Chang's and go to the zoo EVERY TIME we hit Memphis. As far as we're concerned, those are the only two things it has to offer. 

Our hotel a few weeks ago had a mini kitchen and we acted like the Kardashians had nothing on us.

Justin asked what I wanted to do for our anniversary tomorrow and I said I wanted to walk around IKEA because I've never been. 

I booked him a massage for our anniversary and he acted like I had sold him into Fifty Shades of bondage. I bought some clothes today and told him it could be my anniversary present. As usual, my gift is received with confusion and he let me buy my own stuff. 

This is Us. This is how we work. 

He is the optimistic fixer to my spiral of world-ending panic,

He's the Chip to my Joanna, and

the punchline to my Facebook quote. 

Happy #6! Let's go to a chain restaurant and I'll continue to tell you we're not owning a chinchilla and a parakeet. 

Abundance.

We have begun the "Justin being gone for a week at a time" stage of this new job transition. The day after he left, I reverted back to my early-20s single days and hit up Wal-Mart for some microwave meals (they were organic and a dollar more- so I upped my lifestyle a little more to grown-up status, OK?) I even put the meals on a plate so it didn't seem quite so sad.

Before you go thinking I'm a pillar of health and stability, I feel inclined to mention that I also bought Toaster Strudels for breakfast because warm pastries and coffee get me out of bed in the morning. I won't apologize for that.

My brother, his wife and their new baby child are coming to live with us at the end of this month for 4 weeks while he completes his first medical school rotation at the hospital here. So when I wasn't eating Toaster Strudels, I was cleaning out and organizing pantries and closets so they'll think I have my life together. I got all Real Simple magazine in the guest bathroom and put cotton balls and Q-tips in a glass jar and clean towels in a basket. They'll never know two days ago that chemicals were seeping out of a paint can next to the half-used tube of toothpaste that prior guests "could use I guess if you forgot yours." 

I've also had ample time to sit and think. I'm starting to enjoy this new freedom I have allowed myself. While the physical freedom from past obligations and duties has been beneficial, the mental and emotional freedom that is starting to make its appearance is also a welcomed guest. 

I have tried to pinpoint what has been different about my spirit lately; what has entered my heart and started planting joy lately that wasn't there before. And then I read this excerpt from Lysa TerKeurst's "Uninvited" in a chapter called, "Her Success Does Not Threaten Mine":

"In my better moments, I did the right thing and celebrated with [my friends]. But then there were other moments. Hard moments. Moments when I felt my friends' lives were rushing past me in a flurry of met goals, new opportunities, and affirmations of their callings from God. It seemed the world was literally passing me by. In those moments, I said, 'Good for them.' But on the inside, I kept thinking, 'Ouch...that means less and less opportunity for me.' That raw essence of honest hurting rarely produces pretty thoughts."

That paragraph stopped me in my tracks. Me. She was describing me. She goes on to delve into Covey's "7 Habits of Highly Successful People" and the scarcity mentality and abundance mentality. 

Long story short, people (like me) who were living with the scarcity mentality found it very difficult to be genuinely happy for others because they saw the world as one big pie. When people came up and got a slice, it meant less pie for you and everyone else. 

Since Covey's book was meant to address the business world, she searched the Bible for evidence of an abundant mentality and found it countless times, especially in the abundance of creation in Genesis 1. It left her feeling this way:

"As I studied these scriptures, I really felt like I was beginning to understand how this relates to my struggle with rejection. If I look at my dreams, desires, and hopes for the future as coming from a place of scarcity and the world's limited supply, it will constantly feed the notion that someone else's success is a threat to mine." 

It was after I read this that I realized that part of my newfound peace was this ability (that must have come from God because I sure didn't work on it) to separate my individual disappointments from comparable experiences that others were having. 

I was able to truly enjoy being an aunt and consider that as a fun adventure without feeding the irrational insecurity that I would soon be an awkward character in my family without a child. 

I was able to accept and celebrate a wonderful work opportunity for Justin, knowing that when I finally click with what I'm supposed to do, he will be overjoyed for me. 

My roles within friendships, family, and even marriage have changed over the last few years, but now I'm feeling hopeful about what that can mean, instead of an intense dread.

In fact, things I perceived as rejections suddenly became questionable to me. What if they weren't actually rejections at all? In the book, she says, "There is usually some element of protection wrapped in every rejection." Sometimes we find out when those closed doors were for protective purposes; sometimes we don't. But I'm trying to see the possibility that the things that I think I want might actually hinder what God wants for me. 

Because I serve a God of abundance. 

He didn't stick a proverbial bucket of fried chicken in the middle of the table and tell us to have at it. Anyone who grew up with teenage brothers knows this is how supper time works. To this day, I still eat lightning fast because of my training early on. You snooze, you lose half the casserole, why did you eat all the casserole, I hate you, I don't care if you had football practice. 

I'm not going to lie and pretend like there aren't still difficult days; or that every time someone's life advances or they have a baby, that there isn't sometimes a Facebook poke on my heart. 

But I'm slowly learning to use those pokes- not as a painful gesture- but a soft reminder that the God of abundance who blessed this person is the same one who dwells in me. And because of that, their abundance isn't robbing me; it can flow to, through, and from me. And sometimes, what is a bounty for them, might have been a burden for me. 

Remember all these things, friends. At least until we get to heaven where I am fairly certain there is a bottomless KFC buffet and pie for everyone. All the pies. 

Hotel Hermit

I'm fairly certain that the hotel maids think I'm like a La Quinta Inn Boo Radley. With the dogs here, I just put out a "Do Not Disturb" sign and just emerge when I need new towels or 4-in-1 shampoo/conditioner/body wash/lotion. On that note, you can NOT combine that many things and them all fulfill their faithful duties. LIES. Either that, or there is a mass conspiracy by beauty companies to lie to the American people and force unsuspecting women to own 4,798 separate products.

I had big plans to see the sights and sounds of this new city, but I think my body was like, "For this first week, enjoy living somewhere you don't have to clean. Oh and binge watch Big Little Lies." In my defense, it only had seven episodes. And it's based on a book so my BRAIN WAS GROWING.

I have a dorm-sized fridge and my snacks lying on top of it remind me of my freshman glory days. God and I struck a deal and this week, I have my 19-year-old metabolism back to celebrate my extra $60/week mini fridge. Holllla. I even got on to Justin for eating MY CHIPS. You have to fight for what is yours, just like on campus.

The events of this summer have zoomed by and I think it was nice to be a shut-in for a bit. At one point this summer, I was turning 31, directing part of VBS, had a nephew born, had a best friend have a baby, all while hoarding the secret that we might have to move. It was slightly maddening. But I survived by the grace of God and generic $4 Celexa.

The first night with the dogs was ROUGH, but they have slowly gotten used to being hotel hermits too. Now the lawn mower zips by our window and they sigh like it's old hat. We took them to the dog park yesterday, imagining them frolicking through the meadow but were met with dogs who licked weeds and meandered slowly and watched a graceful hunting dog sprint for Frisbees. Minnie barked at him and his owner said, "Man, she's scary!" While a joke, I had my first ping of pet parent defensiveness- like a mom at a play date.

The ping of "I CAN MAKE FUN OF MY DOG BUT YOU CAN'T. YOU DON'T KNOW HER HEART. Also, her #2s are small. So take that!"

Luckily, it quickly faded.

Justin, as expected, is off to the races and is already very busy. But he is energized and hopeful about what he can add to their company and is thankful that their enthusiasm and culture is allowing him to do that. I met several of the employees at a minor league baseball game the other night and I was very impressed with their personalities and takes on life. Conversations came pretty natural and I avoided (I think) being the awkward turtle that I am.

SMALL TALK IS MY NIGHTMARE.

Especially the "What do you do?" question. Somehow God's face shone upon me and no one asked me that. But I instantly panic and usually say something like, "I don't work but I do stuff with church and I like to write. I had a job once but was laid off and my short break turned into a long break and we do OK with just his salary so I watch my dogs. That's what I do. What do you do?"

"I'm a neurosurgeon and I have 4 small children. Balance is hard."

OK BYE. I'M GETTING A HOT DOG.

Thanks for reading my random rambling. I never want this blog to turn into a perpetual sad devotional so I like to throw in the occasional lighter fare. So here it is.

Thanks again for all your love and support. Now I need to get something to drink out of the mini fridge...

Free.

We drove down to Franklin, TN yesterday since Justin started his new job today. I told myself that- on the weeks I joined him- I would use that extra time to get more writing in or even explore places online that need freelance writers. 

While my dogs aren't spazzing at every creak the hotel makes, I thought I would try to spit something out. Their frequent wake-up calls last night and this morning haven't left me as clear-headed and inspired as I had hoped, but I have the ability to make an excuse every day if I let myself. 

I just finished the book, "You are Free," by Rebekah Lyons. She touches on all the areas of her life that were once crippled by anxiety and depression and discusses her journey to freedom. I read it from the perspective of the still crippled and was intrigued by the idea of freedom. 

The past several weeks have been a blur. Justin received a couple job opportunities that would have launched us into drastically different areas. When asked if I had peace about any of the possible paths, I responded with a very honest: "I don't know what peace even feels like." It's true though. I have often been envious of people who felt God's nudging or calling to do something or go somewhere. I feel like I'm such a ball of tension that gentle whispers and nudges don't often get through. 

This followed me into my church life too. I didn't have a clear direction for what I should be doing so I piled a random assortment of ministries and duties on my plate. I figured one of them would give me purpose. I juggled them all for years, many times doing them out of obligation, until I had a breaking point this spring. Justin and my friends encouraged me to just walk away and find where I actually belong.

So that's where I am now. On the journey to being set free. 

I have always battled with the miraculous or inwardly scoffed at something being a "God thing." I guess because it's become so distorted in our society. Vulnerability and humility are also not friends of anxiety so anything in our spiritual lives that seems like God reaching out to us is often met with cynicism. 

A couple weeks ago, in the middle of the night, I woke up. Those of you who know me realize that I am not alert or coherent until about 11 a.m. after some coffee. But this time I was. I felt like I should go into the bathroom and say a prayer. I'm not one to pray aloud or even feel prompted to pray. But these simple words came out:

"God, please heal me. If I'm not healed of my physical problems, please heal my heart so I can move forward and be strong." 

That was early Sunday morning. When I got to church that day, at the end of service, the pastor ending service decided to pray for anyone who needed healing, physical or spiritual. It's not something that we've ever done that I remember. For the first time in a long time, that seemed like a nudge. I had somehow unwound enough to feel a tug- to hear an "I heard you." 

>>>>>>>

The night before Justin had to give an answer to one of his offers, he got a call out of the blue from this company. Many on the management team were Christians and serve in different roles within their own churches. They had searched "engineer" and "church," and came across Justin's name. Knowing he had other opportunities available, they sped up their process and made him an offer in two days. 

The burden I had been carrying seemed lifted and I was finally able to tell him that I think what I was finally feeling was peace. 

Things are speeding up. Things are changing. Things are scary. But I'm trying to find the freedom to be vulnerable. The freedom to actually believe healing can happen if God and I team up on it. 

And most of all, the freedom to finally find my place and my purpose. To be continued :) 

Dog Mom Blog: A Parody

I would probably start off with a video blog (I think they call them vlogs these days. Unless that is already archaic). I would be sitting at a tall marble island with a glass of wine at 10 a.m. and behind me, you would see a chandelier, tall staircase, and an immaculate Better Homes and Gardens living room. I would tell you about how little time I have to do ANYTHING. My life is completely consumed by my two dogs, Fiona and Minnie. Every minute of every day is taken up by their relentless neediness. You know, except for the two hours I have to make this vlog. And the two hours I had to perfectly curling wand my hair and contour my face. Those four hours of complete freedom don't count. Do you feel me, moms? 

_____________________________________________

Next, I would then move over to my written blog. I would probably share this horrific crime scene that is my dogs' food bowls. I would probably say something like this:

Organic, non-GMO, veterinarian-recommended food in a bowl that matches the color scheme of my kitchen and THIS is the thanks I get. The cheapest Purina chicken nuggets it is from now on. The dog mom at the pet store who gave me the side eye for looking at hard-to-digest rawhides can just shove her Fromm where the sun don't shine. You get me? We've all been there. Walking at the park when our dog decides to pop a squat on the sidewalk. LIKE YOUR DOG DOESN'T POOP, JANICE. And yes. I put my dogs in pajamas from time to time. SO SUE ME. Oh, this rant started because they left some food in their bowl? Oops. I guess I'm on track to being a real blogger. 

__________________________________________________________________

I would next bring my written voice down to a soft whisper. 

Dog mommas, I understand. Your hearts are tired. All you want is a quiet bath. But toys, how they squeak. And with every squeak, you lose a little more of yourself. Is it a lizard? Is it a neon iguana? I don't know. But all I know is that I want it- and it's giant squeaker box- dead.

I can't eat a meal without four eyes staring up at me wanting some of my sandwich. What was it like to eat a sandwich without an audience? I don't know. And neither do you, precious dog momma. 

Why am I talking to you like you're a gentle lamb who has no other name than dog momma? I don't know, dog momma. It's just what I do. 

There will come a day when you long for the squeak of a lizard iguana hybrid animal. But that squeak will no longer be there. So enjoy the squeaks, precious dog momma. 

________________________________________________________

To conclude, back to my vlog. Are you ready for a funny comparison of how being a dog mom is just like your clubbing days? Do you want to hear a pep talk about how it's OK if your dog's collar isn't designer? Well, look no more: join me in my... CAR. I will be videoing myself from the comfort of my luxury SUV (did I mention how hard my life is? And how I never have any time to myself?)

Farewell, dog mommas. And always remember: it's OK not to be perfect. And then tell everyone about it. 

Peace. Now give me 4.6K likes. Thanks. 

Road Kill & Street Chicken

My closest friends in this world know that there are two Ashtons they have to learn to love: normal Ashton and Panic Ashton. Panic Ashton, while in action, is a terrifying, what-in-the-world-is-she-doing monstrosity of spazz like you've never seen. But afterwards, she will make you laugh your head off. She will make herself laugh her own head off.

So Panic Ashton has been making more appearances lately. For those who read my Facebook post yesterday, you know that I heated a pan on high and poured tomato sauce in, resulting in World War Tomato Sauce. I looked like I had been shot multiple times, but I smelled like ketchup so it wasn't all bad.

What you don't know is what else happened yesterday. Something that makes tomato bullets seem like child's play.

I'll set the scene.

It was my turn to take dinner to a new mom at church. So I get an Aldi's paper bag out and load it with Mexican chicken, garlic bread, and a bag of salad. Easy peasy. On the road I go.

The entrance to her apartment complex is hidden in an alley so I wasn't sure if I was at the right place (there are many apartments in this area). So I get out, call her and tell her to open her door so I can see if I'm at the right place.

She does. Don't see anyone. Realize I'm at the wrong place.

Some kids are staring at me at this point while I get in my car and loop around the block to find the right place. WHY ARE YOU STARING AT ME, KIDS? MIND YOUR OWN! (I later learn why they're staring at me).

Get to the right apartment and reach over to get the food. THERE IS NO MORE PAPER BAG.

Instant flashback of me putting the paper bag of food on the roof while I waited for her to come to the door of the other apartment. Ya'll. I DROVE DOWN THE ROAD WITH FOOD ON MY CAR AND IT FELL OFF. I was involved in a Mexican chicken drive-by murder.

Instant panic sets in. I am shaking and twitching and all the other fun things that come, batteries included, with Panic Ashton. I drive back to the other apartment and I can't find the bag of food on the ground anywhere. MORE PANIC. The kids are STILL STARING AT ME. Because they now know me as the girl who sent Mexican chicken flying off my roof. Panic Ashton almost asked them if they had seen my Mexican chicken, but regular Ashton took over for a brief moment and said, "That's stupid. They're kids. Don't bring their innocence into this."

I call Justin and I say, "Something very bad has happened and I no longer have the food. Please go to Dairy Queen and get them some chicken tenders. I need you to do this."

He has learned to not ask Panic Ashton questions so he just said, "Come home and I'll take it from here."

I get home, sit on the couch, and nurse my adrenaline rush headache while Justin goes to bring them fast food. Several minutes later, he arrives home holding a paper bag. "I found this in the middle of the road on the way back."

I open it up and laugh.

The Mexican chicken is mangled but it is all still in the container. "Well, at least you have lunch for the rest of the week," he said.

When I told my friend (who LOVES Panic Ashton) this story, she said,  "That recipe will forever be called street chicken to me."

Oh for the love of street chicken. I ate it today for lunch and it was quite tasty for Jonesboro roadkill.

I was going to try to roll this into a spiritual analogy about how anxious people struggle with the concept of peace and what it feels like, but I don't think even the best preacher can follow STREET CHICKEN.

So I'll just pray for peace, less Panic Ashton visits, and that all of you who put up with me in this state will receive extra jewels in your crown when you hit heaven's gates.

In the Middle

In many areas of my life, I feel like I'm kind of stuck in the middle. I'm not really a newlywed anymore, but I'm not submerged in the early trenches of parenting. Twenty-somethings seem light-years away from me but I'm barely in my 30s. I can see myself in modern worship music but a part of me is planted in the comfort and reassurance of old hymns. 

The current social and political climate has made me feel no different. I celebrate with women around the world today. While I long for equality and empowerment, the other half of me fights some of the messages I'm inundated with along the way. 

I can pinpoint the beginning of my discomfort and it began with the breast cancer awareness marketing several years ago. "Save the Boobies!" was on t-shirts, bracelets and hats. Vague Facebook posts, laden with sexual innuendos, made their rounds all in the name of awareness. Women who boycotted a Disney movie were now posting, "I like it on the table" as their status. 

Somewhere along the way, we equated our bodies and body parts with who we are as women. We don't want to be objectified or labeled, but we have made a tragic disease about how we look in a bikini top. 

And it has only escalated in recent years. The women's marches around the world were impressive; they were a wonderful display of bravery and an accurate demand for equality in areas that are still lacking for us. 

But, in my opinion, we have let our own body objectification get in the way once again. It creates a noise so loud that it causes people to turn away and miss the point completely.

I can't say to the world that I am more than my genitalia and then walk around town dressed as my own private parts. I can't demand that the world treat me with respect and then repeat vulgarity on a poster board.

This behavior alienates a whole class of women who feel pressured to say "Not my march" when they might have asked important questions and gained information instead. 

If we want to be taken seriously; if we want to be seen as equal and capable, we need to focus on the voice that makes us powerful instead of the body part that makes us female. 

I pray that God gives us all wisdom as we tread these sensitive times. These are important days, months and years ahead. And standing up will be our duty. 

But let's stand on our virtues; let's stand on the God-given gifts we possess as women. 

Only then will our chants rise above the noise.