No Vacancy

  I packed her suitcases for her and sent her out the door.  She looked back with the eyes of a child.  Eyes that begged for a second chance, but I quickly shut the door and went back to baking.  Once the pie was in the oven and the aroma of sweet sugar and apples filled the air, I made my way upstairs to her room.  Her room was tidy as always. The top of the sheets were crisply and perfectly folded over the top of her old quilt.  The nightstand was free of clutter and only displayed her small black Bible and a picture of a serene landscape somewhere in France.  Although she was tidy and a bit of a neat freak she had always taken me by surprise in the times she was a bit abrasive and audaciously proclaimed her beliefs.

  She had been near and dear to me; helped me through the thicket and mazes of difficult times.  She was always patient and always there in her room when I needed her.  She wasn't the reason that I packed her suitcases.  A change had occurred in me somewhere between brokenness and bitterness.  I had stopped spending time with her and talking to her.  I no longer held on to her words of wisdom and love, but instead let each word fall through my fingers and dissolve.  As I looked out of her window part of me wished she would be walking back up the dusty drive way and toward the house. 

 Her room was so empty.  It was so unimportant without her to occupy it.  Without her between the walls, the room was simply four walls and a ceiling without sentimental value.  We had always joked that God had sent her my way just to keep me company.  Behind a haze of warm tears and see through curtains I wondered if perhaps it was true after all.  Before her, I had been in a dark and dangerous place.  Each day seemed like it was a routine- a routine that was too big for me to do alone.  It wasn't the mundane acts of getting dressed, brushing my teeth, and running errands that distressed me.  It was the aimless wondering in my mind that stained my pillow with tears each night. 

   Then, she showed up and shown a light on everything.  She didn't necessarily make my life perfect, but she helped me to manage.  I was led on a road of self-discovery by her.  She helped me to realize that life wasn't just meant to be lived, but it was meant to be enjoyed. She showed me that with her, I coud get through anything. She was the reason I woke up on mornings that followed horrific nights.  I suppose most of the people she had come into contact with before would describe her as a soft-spoken and gentle lady.  In my home and in my life she was more than what met the eye. She became a woman fierce with the pursuit of justice and love.  She helped me to hold on when letting go seemed like the best thing to do. 

   I had kicked her out.  I  had packed her bags and sent her walking.  She was sent away because I couldn't relate to her anymore.  A division in the form of my self-sufficiency had come between us.  I had to push her out of my life and then, I pushed her out of my front door.  Now, my house and my life were empty without her.  I had to find her.  The smell of cinnamon apples wafted into her vacant room and wrapped around me as I ran down the stairs.  I pushed through the screen door and ran onto the front porch and yelled out her name. 

   I heard my echo accompanied by the rusty creaking sound of the porch swing.  She was sitting on the swing with her suitcases and bags at her feet.  I smiled with relief and then cowered at the hurt on her face.  She wiped tears from her cheek and waited for me to speak.

"I need to get through this.  You're the only way I'm going to be able to.", I said as she stood up and picked up one of her suitcases. "I think that God really did send you here."

She looked at me and smiled, slightly biting her bottom lip.

"God did send me here... just for you.  That's why I never left."

I hugged her and held on tightly.  I held HOPE tightly and I never let her go again.   Homemade apple pie tasted so much better with HOPE there because I knew that HOPE was going to be there when I woke up the next morning and every morning after that.

The Art of Two Nikkis

       I don't write these entries for you, I write them for myself. The blessing and also the curse with being a writer is that eventually things have to come out. I have never been one to keep a journal.  The desire to express myself through common dialogue never appealed to me. Reliving my day chronologically from one page to the next was never my thing. I created other characters and other scenarios to live out what I was feeling that day or that week.  I have and always will be the type of person to use creative flair when I express my emotions through pen to paper.  I suppose the main reason is because that's just how I'm wired.  I'm meant to use allegories and complex characters to take people on a journey of understanding myself or one of self discovery.  I also hide behind my writing.  If I am not using words like "I", "me", and "mine" then I'm able to express myself without having to truly own up to how I feel.  It's like talking with a mask on.  I can say exactly what I want to say without anyone ever seeing my lips move.

      So, I am going to try a new approach.  I'm going to be completely and totally honest.  Again, this is for my own peace of mind.  I'm only sharing it publicly because I believe that there is always a chance that someone out there needs to hear what I have to say.  If I don't share then I risk them not being able to relate and move forward in their own life. If I share my writing and nobody benefits at all, then I can still take a deep breath and know that I have been honest with myself. 

     I have been sick for almost three years. It has been a very hard and complicated road.  It has taken a toll on me to say the least.  I am still going through testing to figure out what is going on with my body. If any of you reading this has a chronic or unexplained illness you will understand what I mean when I say that there is a grieving process in being ill.  It really is like you lose yourself, or at least you spend a lot of time feeling that way. There is denial- denying that anything is wrong and pushing your body to do far more than it is capable of.  Then, you spend the next day in bed denying that you did too much the day before.  There is anger- boy, is there anger!  You become angry at doctors for not figuring it out fast enough.  You become angry at yourself for not being healthy.  Anger with your loved ones sets in because no matter how often and how much you explain what's going on they still can't and never will fully understand.  Depression comes along and makes the denial and anger even more bitter.  Your hopes spike during the "good days" when your body feels fairly normal.  Then, when you wake up unable to think straight or get out of bed depression snuggles up next to you like a warm itchy blanket.

      On this journey, the past year has most defiantly been the hardest.  Matt and I have been on a crazy roller coaster ride- going from one doctor to the next, praying to God begging him for help and at the same time wondering if he even hears us, and waiting for something- anything to come up in blood tests. We are happy in Virginia and this move was much needed for the both of us.  We have been here since August and today I realized that everything has changed except for my heatlh.  I have been running non-stop doing things to the house we live in. We've painted, decorated, unpacked, and all that goes with moving into a new place. This afternoon, I realized how much my body has been neglected over the past couple of months.  I can't afford to busy myself that much.  I was naive I guess in thinking that a new move meant a "new" me. What does that even mean? A new me?

      I came to the conclusion today that I think of myself in two very different ways. There is the "Old Nikki"- she is the outgoing, confident, smart, approachable, God-loving, people-loving, fun-loving, pretty girl.  That is me before I became sick.  I cried for so long today because I was looking at old profile pictures on Facebook and I ran across one of Matt and me.  The photo was taken before I got sick.  We were in Virginia Beach for his sister's wedding.  We spent all morning walking around the Portsmouth area- chasing after each other, drinking coffee, and enjoying the hot July day. That was such a great day.  I can't remember the last time that Matt and I were able to spend an entire day out and about without me getting exhausted and us having to go home.  If I am able to stay out then I usually have to sit down a lot or I get to where I can't focus on what's going on. 

     Then, there is "Now Nikki"- she is exhausted, low, hesitant, God-resistant, people-resistant, introverted, broken, unable and ugly girl.  I came across another picture of my friend Courtney and me.  Courtney flew stand by from Seattle to Boston.  She visited Matt and I when we lived in Concord last summer.  It just so happened that when she visited that I was at my worst physically.  I was so humiliated that my health was the reason that we weren't able to do a lot when she was there.  I wasn't even well enough to sit and have a good conversation.  I just sat passively as she and Matt talked most of the time. There are pictures that remind me that I wasn't well when they were taken.  A lot of it has to do with my physical appearance- pale, exhausted, and feeble looking.  Most photos don't show how I felt when it was taken, but I know the truth.

     Comparison of "Old" and "Now" doesn't make sense to most people. It's an art- lying to yourself saying that an old or new you was better than how you are now.  It's cruel.  This entire entry sounds like a pitiful attempt to seek attention, but I am only being brutally honest with myself.  It sure has taken me long enough. 

    

The Helping House

This entry is special because it's about a special lady- we will call her Hope because that is what she symbolizes.

Hope had a daughter.  We will call the daughter Grace because that is what she brought to Hope's life. The day that Hope had Grace, she laid there in that hospital bed and her heart grew to hold all of the love that she had for her new little baby.  Grace had big beautiful blue eyes. They were the most beautiful eyes Hope had ever seen.  Grace's eyes were big and bright and full of so much sparkle. Hope sat there and day dreamed of future birthday parties, Christmases, and every special day in between.

Over the years Hope tirelessly decorated for those parties and those Christmases. Hope's dreams were coming true.  Grace was Hope's perfect little helper and her small little hands helped her mama with all the big tasks.  There were things that came up that Hope had never thought of that day in the hospital. There was the time that Grace broke her wrist riding her bike on that hot summer day. All of those horrible stomach bugs that came along. Hope found herself up in the middle of the night washing Grace's sheets and favorite teddy bear. Hope always wondered how that Grace would bounce back to being herself the next day while she was lying in bed exhausted and totally spent from the night before. Grace's eyes were full of love and sincerity as she brought paper cups full of water to her mom and made her homemade 'Get Well' cards.

Grace became more and more beautiful and it seemed that years were passing in a day's time.  Hope started noticing that Grace didn't sleep with her teddy bear anymore, but instead had him tucked away on her closet shelf.  Grace spent more time at friends' houses and less time with Hope.  Hope wasn't depressed by this, but took time to do fun things for Grace and her friends.  One time, Hope planned a huge elaborate sleepover for Grace and four of her friends.  She made each room a new station of fun.  The dining room became a huge buffet of homemade cupcakes and make-your-own-pizzas.  The master bathroom became a mini spa with countless nail polish colors and face masks.  The living room became an endless movie night where all five girls eventually fell asleep the next morning.  The next day, Grace's eyes were full of exhaustion and a small twinkle of the fun she had.

The next three years were tough ones for Hope and Grace.  There were many arguments that involved slamming doors and shouting from the first floor to the second floor.  There were mornings that Grace was told to change clothes before leaving for school and mornings when Grace would wear those same outfits just to make Hope mad. Boys were added into the mix and that made Hope wish for Grace's toddler years.  All of the boys that Grace attracted seemed to be jerks.  Hope couldn't understand why Grace didn't have higher standards and at least try to find a nice boy.  Grace seemed to ignore her mom for the most part of the next year.  When hormones settled a bit and Grace realized that she really did need her mom's help, things began to look up.  Grace hugged her mom- her eyes full of tears and in her own teenage way she apologized.

Years passed and with them a lot of things came and went.  College came one September with the change of the leaves and also a change in Grace.  Grace fell in love.  When she called and told Hope, Hope was a little less than enthusiastic. "Grace, I just dropped you off two weeks ago!", Hope had said.  Their conversation lasted long enough for Hope to be convinced and for dinner to burn as she got all of the girly details from Grace.  It was a year before Grace brought her boyfriend home with her and it was another three years before they got married.  He was openly accepted into the family and Hope realized that she was getting further and further away from those hospital bed day dreams. 

On Grace's wedding day Hope was more nervous than she had been on her own wedding day twenty-six years before. She walked into Grace's old room where Grace was getting ready.  As soon as Hope saw Grace she couldn't believe that it was her little girl standing before her.  Grace was wearing white like most brides do, but she looked nothing like any other bride Hope had ever seen.  She was the most beautiful bride that Hope had ever seen.  Grace's soft blond curls draped softly onto her collar bones.  The dress gently hugged each curve of her body and the long white gloves elegantly extended to her elbows.  Her smile was perfect- not just from those years of wearing braces, but it was perfectly portraying her joy. Grace's eyes met her mother's as Hope walked up to her.  Grace's eyes were full of happy tears.

Grace had five successful years in her career as a nurse.  She loved serving people at their lowest point and helping families that were in desperate need of love and support.  Grace witnessed babies taking their first breath and sometimes them taking their last breath.  With a few years of witnessing the frailty of life, Grace decided she wanted children of her own. Grace and her husband had two beautiful children over a time period of three years.  Both children were healthy and both were the love of Grace's life.  The eldest was a little boy that had Grace's small round nose and freckled cheeks.  Grace's little girl had her smile and blond curls.  Grace told Hope that out of all of the blessings in her life, that her children were set apart in their own special category.  Grace's heart had grown to hold more love just like Hope's had thirty years prior. Grace's eyes were always full of love and pride when she bragged about her children.

Grace planned birthday parties and decorated for Christmases just like her mom had all of those years.  Hope was always just a call away and Grace saw spending time with her mom as a chance to make up for her years as a teenager.  They shopped together and Hope would help with parenting advice.  Over those few years Hope and Grace became something more than mother and daughter- they became friends.

An appointment with her doctor changed Grace's life in a day.  She was diagnosed with 'Stage Four Colon Cancer'.  The announcement brought Hope to her knees, but Grace wasn't easily broken.  For nine months she fought and she fought hard.  Grace went through treatments and did everything she could to improve her health.  She stayed optimistic despite what the doctors were telling her.  They said it was only a matter of time until the cancer would take her life.  Grace lived as if it were only a matter of time until she was well again.  Grace prayed more, took time to breathe more deeply, and hugged her children and husband more tightly than she had ever before.  Grace reserved all of her fears for Hope.  She would tell Hope how scared she was and how she was afraid to leave her children.  Grace knew that Hope was a safe place.  She always had been.  Grace's eyes were tired and weary,  but still full of love.

Hope held Grace's hand when Grace took her last breath.  In the silence of her hospital room, Hope held Grace's hand and Grace's husband gently kissed his wife's cheek for the last time and then walked out of the room crying.  Hope held Grace's small hand in the hospital bed just as she had the day Grace was born. Hope remembered Grace's eyes looking up at her just minutes before- Grace's eyes were full of peace and knowledge of a better place.

It has been a very difficult year for Hope, but she is using Grace's death to bring hope and life to other families in the East Tennessee area.  When Grace died, her husband and two children moved out of their home and bought a home closer to his parents.  Hope has a dream to turn Grace's home into a cottage for families of cancer patients to live in while that patient seeks treatment.  Hope dreams to make the cottage comfortable and a place of hope for those families.  Most families have to stay within the walls of the hospital during their loved one's course of treatment.  The cottage will provide a place for weary family members to rest at the end of the day.  It will be their home during their time in the area. Hope dreams that many families will have the opportunity to find rest and love in Grace's cottage. 

Hope is currently searching for used furniture, decor, kitchenware, and all other household necessities to make the cottage a reality. For ways to help, please contact me via Facebook or my e-mail: kristinanewbauer@hotmail.com . Cash or check donations are welcome.  If you live in the East Tennessee area and would like to donate furniture, non-perishable foods, or household items please ask me how.

Your used items could help furnish 'The House of Hope and Grace' and bring love and God's hope to so many hurting families.

Pearls For A Gypsy

    I have always loved pearls.  As a little girl I would take costume jewelry and put the necklaces in layers around my neck and walk around the house in my "pearls".  Nothing seems impossible when you're a kid.  A single tree in your back yard becomes a jungle.  Mud becomes tasty filling for a pie.  Rocks become jewels and every pointy one is obviously an arrow head used by Indians long ago.  It's as we get older that the possibility that things can in fact be impossible sets in.  We realize that the tree is much smaller than it used to look.  Those necklaces I wore with pride went from being precious to being forgotten.

   I have a real set of pearls now.  My best friend gave them to me as a gift for being her Matron of Honor.  They are tucked away in the box that they came in and occasionally I will wear them on a date with Matt.  So, how is it that something I adored as a child and dreamed of now sets in the back of a drawer? I finally got the real thing, but somehow I feel that they are too fragile to enjoy. It's ironic how things turn out, isn't it?  We dream and yearn for things, but once we achieve that goal, get that thing, or find that perfect relationship we settle into a state of complacency. 

   I chose the name "Pearls For A Gypsy" originally because I love pearls and have traveled a lot.  The more I think on the phrase, though, I find a deeper meaning in it.  Perhaps it's to convey the fact that we wander from one thing to another.  We aim for this goal and that one.  We yearn for one prized possession after another. Maybe you have something in your life that has gone unappreciated- something that is lying in a drawer collecting dust while you are collecting more things.  I'm not speaking of material things, but things of greater value- friendships, relationships, dreams, and aspirations.  Things that have come into your grasp and into your life, but aren't being appreciated.

   We are meant to enjoy those rare "pearls"- to fully be thankful for them.  I'm going to take mine out of their boxes now and wear them with innocent childlike gratitude.

  

God's Calling Is Tomorrow's News

Painting walls has given me a lot of time to think.  Maybe the exposure to paint fumes isn't such a bad thing.  As I was painting the bathroom I was thinking of how much I would HATE to be a professional painter. Then, I started weighing the pros and cons of hiring a professional painter to paint for me or at least have a painter bring me refills on blueberry coffee and tell me that I'm doing a good job. Then, I realized how ridiculous of an idea that was and that being a professional painter may not be such a bad gig after all.  You would get to make something plain really artsy and beautiful.  You get time alone and you don't really have to work directly with anyone (which would be great for those PMS moments).

All of that to say that I started thinking of professions.  I thought of all of the careers that would interest me and all of the ones that I would loathe.  Professions then moved me into thinking of "God's calling".  I know some people that are totally designed for what they do- whether it's a profession they hold or volunteer opportunities that they fill.  I know people that have given up the "American Dream" and moved to third world countries to be an aide to those in need.  I commend those people for being so sure of what they are meant to do and following it with rare audacity. 

My brain threw up a red flag, though, when I was thinking of "God's calling" (as it's referred to in the Christian community).  Do I believe that everyone is given specific abilities and talents? Yes.  Do I believe that each of us can use those talents in a way that is only specific to us? Absolutely! Are certain people meant to go to certain places to reach certain people groups? No doubt!

But, I also believe that Christians use "God's calling" as a means to put life on hold. How many days and years are wasted as someone waits for "God's calling on their life"!  I think that the whole concept is a bit misused.  We should want God's best for our lives, but his "calling" is for us to treat those around us with love and respect.  It's to take his love to the broken.  Why can't we live in that?  Why does it always have to look bigger and better?  We try to find a "calling" that we feel we deserve.

 God, you only want me to live in this small little town the rest of my life? What about Africa?  What about finding a cure for cancer?  What about helping the orphans?  You only want me to be a mom?  What about helping build homes in places devastated by the hurricane? 

I used to agonize over what "God's calling" on my life was when I was a teenager.  I kept knots in my stomach over it and I couldn't come to any conclusion on what God wanted me to do.  I had it all wrong.  I don't believe that God will make you anxious and keep you in a state of nausea over what he wants you to do.  God isn't God to you if you are worried about finding "his calling.  I believe God gives you a desire and from there it sparks into something great.  God has given me a desire to write, so that is what I am going to do.  I'm not always going to be writing to the Christian community.  Is God offended by that? No, I don't think so because sometimes as Christians we spend a little too much time in our inner circle.  My writing isn't always going to be evangelistic, but it is going to share hope with those that need it (all of us do). 

We need to stop waiting for God's calling like it's going to be tomorrow's news.  He has given us tools to work with TODAY.  Maybe we need to stop analyzing it like it's something that needs to be decoded.  Do today what you're waiting to do tomorrow.  Move with audacity and courage. 

Some are meant to be in India and some in Africa. We're all meant to be proactive.

Fallin' for Fall

Well, a lot has changed since May when I made my last entry.

    We were living almost as North as possible in the USA (obviously Maine is further North than we were in New Hampshire, but I make the argument that if you live in New Hampshire then you might as well live in Maine. If you live in Maine, then you might as well live in Canada.). In August we relocated to Northern Virginia. Now, we're about 30 miles from Obama and all of the horrible traffic leading to Pennsylvania Avenue. Matt and I have been on a lot of adventures together, but this one has been our favorite so far.

    New Hampshire has a sweet place in our hearts. The friends and experiences we had there are priceless. Everything that happened in New Hampshire prepared us for life here and for the years to come. As the season is changing, our lives are changing as well.  The leaves will be changing soon and the muggy hot air of Summer is transitioning into a crisp coolness that gently brushes your face. I have always been a Summer girl. The hot air and prolonged days of Summer have always had my affection.  It's a season of fun and of endless possibilities.  There aren't limitations to what a Summer can bring. 

    Maybe it is the fact that I'm getting older (I'm an old 24 year old now!) or maybe it's the fact that I'm learning to be content and make the best of the small things in life.  I'm realizing that Fall brings something that Summer doesn't. It brings a noticeable and beautiful change. It allows time for rest from the heat and in the grand scheme of things- it makes Summer possible for the next year.  I've found a lot of joy in baking Fall goodies and wearing my old favorite pair of jeans again.  Fall reminds me of the first few months that Matt and I were married.  By the first week in September 2009 in New Hampshire the air was crisp and cool and we were forced to wear sweaters.  That Fall we adjusted to married life and enjoyed every apple orchard in New Hampshire. We had enough apples to make pies for months!

This Fall Matt and I are renting a house 600 miles from where we lived last Fall. It has been so much fun working on home projects together. Every weekend we are covered in paint and/or dirt as we make this house our home.We are now close enough to both sides of the family to visit for a weekend. That in itself is priceless. The change that has come with this move has been so refreshing.  We are without complaints and full of hope for what this season of our life together will bring.

For all of you that read this- thank you for being involved in every season of our marriage and for your love and support.  

*The photo was taken Fall 2008 in Johnson City, TN*