sunshine

(my beautiful girls. first and third grade.)

My children are incredibly happy that we are moving home.

It's sort of ridiculous how happy they are, but I get it. Because I feel the exact same way. Most afternoons and evenings these past two weeks have been spent working on our new nest, which means that we don't see our children from the moment we park the car until the moment that it is time to leave. They are off running, exploring, playing with friends, poking holes in the ground with a big stick (That would be Jack. I don't understand boys.), covering their bodies in dirt. And they come back to our new nest when the sun is setting low. Exhausted, smiling, and in desperate need of a bath. And I think to myself what a beautiful childhood they are living. And while I know this season of childhood will not last forever, I desperately pray that the beautiful part does.

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I have shared before that the early years of my own childhood were beautiful. Idyllic, even. Family, friends, holidays, swimming, snow cones, dance lessons. I had seven years of sunshine. And I am grateful for the fact that the beginning of my story was strong. After seven years of working in the foster care world, I know that is not always the case. Many children only know darkness, so I will forever be thankful for the years where the sun shined brightly in my life. But the rain clouds were coming.

We moved to Texas when I was eight years old. We moved to the pink house, where our family would live until I headed off to college. I started second grade at Jane Long Elementary school and second grade was good. Second grade was where I fell in love with writing. With words. And I knew then that I wanted to change a small piece of the world through the writing of my words. Someday. Somehow.

But then came third grade, and along with it the first darkness in my life. In third grade I learned that children can be cruel. I learned that fitting in was more important than finding myself. Blending in better than becoming who God created me to be. Third grade was where I felt for the very first time in my life that perhaps God had made a mistake when he made me. In third grade there was no sunshine. I started to feel ill. All the time. And while I now know it was anxiety and depression induced, at the time it felt real. Nine years old and living began to feel too hard. I missed school more than I attended, and it was then that I learned the unhealthy habit of running away when life began to feel too overwhelming. Third grade started me down a path of darkness, and it would be years before I would be brave enough to let my light shine once more.

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So I look at my daughters, one of them the very same age I was when the darkness came, and the sunshine they still have makes my soul sing. To be honest,  one of the reasons we home school is to keep the sun shining in our children's lives for as long as is humanly possible. Or to keep the Son shining. Really, it's one in the same. My children do not live in a bubble. Living alongside foster children has taught them that there is pain and darkness in this world. But there has yet to be extreme pain and darkness in their world. I know it will eventually come. I am not naive. But my prayer is that when the darkness does come, my children are able to be rooted and strong. Rooted in God's Word and strong in their faith, so that they will not be easily swayed by the words and opinions of others.

Childhood can be cruel. It can be crushing. But it can also be beautiful. It can be sisters, and swing sets, and summer, and sunshine. And that is the gift that I want to give to my daughters. It is my prayer that the Son will always shine brightly in their lives. That even through the rain clouds life brings their way, that their lights would still shine. That is my prayer for these beautiful daughters of mine.

Life Story: The Early Years

 

I don't remember much about life before the age of seven, but my memories of those early years are happy ones. I was born to a dad, a mom, and an older brother of nearly four years. I was also born four weeks early, which seems funny (and a little bit ironic), because as it turns out, I have never arrived early for anything since! I am a perpetually late person (a fact which drives Boss crazy), but I suppose that I just couldn't wait to get a jump start on life. I also know that I was very much wanted. My parents were a bit older when they married and it took them a few years to get their family started. My mother had a miscarriage shortly before she conceived me, and I have often wondered at the thought that if she hadn't miscarried that particular child, then I would not exist.

My parents named me Kendra after my father, Ken. Kendra Leigh Ellis. The truth? I have never liked my name. And even to this day, I dislike introducing myself to others. My favorite name as a child was Tasula, and I spent many an hour dreaming about what it would have been like to have had a beautiful name like Tasula. Or Leslie. I was a fan of Leslie, too. My mothers other name choice for me was Summer, but she finally concluded that Summer Ellis sounded more like the name of a terrible disease, rather than the name of a little girl, so Kendra eventually won out.

When I was two months old my family moved over seas to Saudi Arabia. My dad was in oil, and when the opportunity arose for the transfer, my parents decided to take it. I admire that about my parents. They weren't afraid to take a risk, to leave behind everything that was comfortable and familiar, to chase opportunity and the life that they desired. They just packed up our family and we went. Or maybe they were scared. But they didn't let fear stop them, and that is what I admire the most. (I can't tell you how many times I have allowed fear to stop me from chasing my dreams.)

My mom likes to remind me that I spent my very first Christmas, December of 1982, in a double wide trailer, our Christmas tree a piece of green and brown felt that she attached to the wall. And you know what? Even though I don't remember that Christmas (obviously), that is one of my very favorite stories from my childhood. Because it speaks of simplicity and creativity. Two things I think every heart longs for, whether that heart belongs to a one year old, or someone who is thirty. We may not have had much that first Christmas we spent in the desert, but together, it sure did seem like we had it all.

My other preschool memories include typical childhood activities. Swimming, eating pizza at the snack bar, eating Popsicles (a lady sold them in ANY flavor you could desire in those little paper water cups that were shaped like a cone), playing with little friends who lived down the street, Daisy Troop, and holidays. Holidays were a BIG deal when I was small. Halloween, especially. We would plan our costumes weeks in advance (my mom would dress up, too!), and then the whole elementary school would have a huge parade. Holidays have always held a happy place in my heart.

Apparently, we took AMAZING trips during the early years of my life. Pity that I don't remember a thing about them. We visited Egypt, Africa, Amsterdam, Switzerland, Hawaii (twice), New Zealand, Singapore, and I am sure many others that my brain is having trouble recalling now that I am thirty. Want to know what I do remember about those trips? Souvenirs.That's right. Apparently, I was a souvenir junkie. And my most treasured trip souvenir? A hot pink fanny pack with black palm trees from Hawaii. Yes, please. And every year we would come back for a re pat to the United States where we would visit extended family and shop for things we could not buy in the desert.

Other random things I recall from my early childhood in the 1980's? Tee ties, those large plastic ties you could wear on the end of your shirt. Slap bracelets, Keds, neon colored striped socks, our tiny church that was made up of other believers. And I can't forget the homemade birthday parties! My mom would do it all. The cake, the games (duck duck goose, pin the tail on the donkey, jelly bean toss), and we ALWAYS had a pinata. My mom rocked it in the birthday department.

We moved back to the States in 1989 right after I had finished Kindergarten. I was seven years old. My family took one of the last flights out before the fighting in Desert Storm began.  People in the compound where we lived were beginning to practice drills that involved gas masks, so I believe my parents decided that it was time for us to go. My mom and dad wanted to live anywhere but in Texas, so we headed to Atlanta Georgia, where the next part of my story picks up. Although that is another story for another day.

I once read somewhere that childhood is the most beautiful of all life's seasons, and for me, I can honestly say that was true. I may not remember much, but when I close my eyes and travel back in my mind, I can feel the comfort, protection, belonging, and innocence. Everything that a young child should feel. So I thank my parents for that. For my strong, happy, carefree beginning in this world. Because foundations are important. They set the tone for the entire structure that is being built. My parents gave me the right footing on which to build my life, and I now strive daily to do the same for my own precious children. I want to give my children the best of the very best. I want to give them this great, big, amazing world right at the tips of their fingers. I want to cook them delicious homemade meals, to surround them with rich books, meaningful music, wise conversation. I want to lead them on adventures, to inspire creativity in their souls. I want their months to be filled with memory making, each season of their lives steeped in tradition. I want to serve them the good life on a silver platter, complete with a bright red cherry on top. Except for the fact that I don't like cherries. So at our house, life would simply be topped with hot fudge. But whatever. You get my point. I want to make this season of my children's lives beautiful. Just like my parents did for me.

There is a garden in every childhood, an enchanted place where colors are brighter, the air softer, and the morning more fragrant than ever again. ~Elizabeth Lawrence

It Is Time

(image found here)

Item number one, on my 30 Before During 30 list (found here ), was to lose the last ten pounds of baby weight that I had been carrying around since, well, since I began having children eight years ago. Sad, I know, but oh so true. Those last ten pounds and I had become friends. Best buds. Partners in crime (we could (still can) demolish a cupcake faster than most people can get theirs out of its liner). Together, my last ten pounds and I, we could do anything. Anything except fit into a smaller dress size. And so the time had come for us to part. You know that quote some friends come into your life for a reason, others only for a season? Well, there was no good reason that I continued to lug around those last ten pounds, friend or no friend, so that must have meant that our season together needed to come to an end. And quickly. So I added losing those last ten pounds to my 30 During 30 list. Right up there at the very top! Because it was important to me. Because it was something that I really, really wanted to do.

(Now here is the part where I update you on my progress. Are you ready for it? If not, quit reading here and head on your merry way.)

The truth is that I have not lost even one of those blasted pounds. Zip. Zilch. Nada. They remain right where you last saw them, smack dab on my hips. A few on my thighs (my extra pounds don't like to play favorites). But I can tell you that our friendship is deteriorating faster than I can eat a cupcake. Which is pretty darn fast. And I think I am finally finding my resolve, deep within, to start back up on my journey of weight loss. I think weight loss is a tough journey for most, and the same is true for me. If not even more so, for me. Because for me, it isn't about depriving myself of my beloved cupcakes. It isn't about having to drive past my favorite restaurants without stopping to head inside. For me, weight loss is hard, because it takes me to a scary place. A place I don't care to revisit. A place that is not a part of my current life, at least not on the outside. Thinking about weight loss, and dieting, takes me back ten years to days where I was out of control. To days where binging, and purging, and restricting were part of my everyday. To the days where my eating disorder consumed my life.

But those days, as hard as they were, as ugly as they were, are part of my story. And I think that it's time that I tell my story. Or at least record it here. Maybe sharing my story will help others. Maybe it will help me. Because while I no longer binge, or purge, or restrict, sometimes (even ten years later) my brain still gets consumed with the thought of it all. Especially, like now, when I try to diet. Because my brain tells me how easy it would be. My body knows how to get rid of those extra pounds quickly. And losing weight the healthy way, the correct way, feels like too much work. So much harder, actually, than my old ways of going about things. But I am not the same person that I was ten years ago. I am stronger. I am more whole. I now see that I am God's creation, put here to point other's to Him. And if I ever forget that (which I sometimes do), my children remind me. Not verbally, of course, but all I have to do is look into their eyes and know that I am NEVER returning to those dark days. No matter how hard it feels, I WILL lose these last ten pounds in a healthy way. And on those days where it is particularly hard? I will come here and write. Little pieces of my story at a time. Visiting the past, remembering, so that I can move forward and be more of the woman that I want to be.

So goodbye, last ten pounds (for always). And goodbye cupcakes (for now). It was fun while it lasted. But now it is time for something new.

30 During 30

Image Found Here

Remember my 30 Before 30 post? I wrote it last April, three months before my 30th birthday. Three months before I was certain that my life was going to change forever. Because I loved my twenties. LOVED them. I met Boss and my children in my twenties, my most favorite people on this planet. So my twenties were the best years of my life, to date. And I didn't want to leave them behind. Turning 30 sounded dull. Turning 30 sounded boring. Turning 30 sounded OLD. And I wasn't ready to be old, so I came up with a list. A list of 30 cool things (to me), 30 important things (to me), that I wanted to do before I actually turned the big 30. I was determined to make the most of my last days in my twenties. A carpe diem sort of thing.

However, as it usually does, life happened. And the items on my list didn't. Not most of them, anyway. But the list never strayed far from my mind, so I have decided that I am going to try and complete it once more. 30 During 30. It still sounds nice, I think. And twelve months to complete the list sounds a whole lot better than three. Because when you are old (like me), you tend to move a bit slower. It's quite rough, this aging thing, but I'm hanging in there. Still seizing the days (though many of them have been seized from the couch this summer, if I am being completely honest), still making the most of each moment, still dreaming big dreams and striving to life the life I have imagined. I'll be sure to keep you posted as I plug along!