The Legacy that Lives

I pulled up to the old yet beautiful farm house with my Mom during my Michigan spring break trip. "Do you want to go see the farm?" she had asked. No one lives here any longer but she still has the key, and I was never able to truly say 'good-bye' after my Grandma's passing. Snow was falling around us (yes, in April!) but we drove the two minutes down the road anyway. She handed me the key and allowed me to be the first to enter. 

The entryway is first, where Gram's coat always hung, and her winter boots caught my eyes. The puffy, grey jacket, her head wrapped in a scarf and those black 'moon boots' are in most of my cold-weather childhood memories. "Wow, it's freezing," I said quietly. "But I can still envision her here." Whenever I walked up the wooden steps to the front porch, I was embraced with an overwhelming sense of love. This was my safe-haven, my home away from home, and as I walked, it all came flooding back.

The moment I walked in the front door, an array of senses always greeted me. This time wasn't much different, except the fact that the house was freezing cold (no utilities anymore) and I knew she wasn't sitting around the corner in her comfy lounge chair. As a kid, she and I spent a lot of our time together in the kitchen. I remember her garden and how I could spend hours helping her pick tomatoes straight from their vines. The kitchen window overlooked the space, where there were mounds of green and a tree-swing that swayed back and forth. She would carefully wash the vegetables in the sink and as she did, I sat at the pull-out wooden cutting board (that mind you, I thought was THE coolest appliance) eating sliced bananas with peanut butter.

There used to be a gray stool. Over the years different house cats thought it was the comfiest nap place, but for all of my childhood, I remember using the stool to sit at the cutting board. Gram would bake cookies like it was her job, as well as pies. As she baked or prepped meals, I sat and listened. I'm sure I chatted her ear off, talking about animals and my then-beginning dream of owning a horse. Bird trinkets and plants always had their home on that window-sill and I remember well her explaining the uniqueness between Cardinals and Bluejays. (The cutting board here isn't the original, luckily my mom actually took that for me to cherish as a keepsake. Pulling it out though regardless, brought back so many vivid pictures as I reminisced.) 

I'd obviously never been in the house with it empty. Things looked so much bigger to me without the antique furniture and large dining room table. The chandelier hung sturdily from its' normal spot. My brother Sean and I spent so many nights around the table, looking into the 'TV room' as we called it. We would play for hours during the day and beg Gram to spend the night. "Call your mom," she would say. "And we'll put out the couch bed for you if she says yes." I'm pretty sure Mom always said yes. Our houses were within walking distance to each other and it was never hard for us to come back home. 

I remember laughter within this room. My Uncle Steve, who lived all of his life here except when he attended college at MSU, would chase us around the table and deep belly laughs would explode from us. Everyone always has that 'one Uncle,' and he was ours. Grandma would close the double doors when Sean and I slept over and as soon as we woke, she would be making our breakfast in the kitchen. If she wasn't preparing food, she was sitting at the dining room table, with her Bible wide open. It was in this place that I learned so much about Jesus. I grew up with God loving parents, but I spent so many hours reading aloud from the large print Bible she had. We would memorize Scripture together and she would tell me stories about the people it talked about. We also listened to books on tape so regularly--I loved sitting beside her, having moments of peace and quiet.

The last memory I have with her, is in this room. My son Pierson was thirteen months old, and she was sipping some coffee at the table. I was pregnant with our daughter Reese and she rubbed my belly. "Can you see me?" I asked. "Oh I can see. That's a nice sized baby in there," she said. Reese was due just two months later but something inside of me knew Grandma wouldn't get to meet her. Pierson sat beside her, playing with her house phone. I swear whenever she saw him, she suddenly looked ten years younger. He brought her so much joy, so much life. When I left for college and would visit the Farm, I would say to Gram, "I'll see you next time I come home." She would shake her head and respond, "Oh I'm not sure about that, we'll have to see." I would laugh and hug her with my entire body weight as she sat in her armchair. My mom's phone call, a month before Reese was born, told me the news I had been dreading for so long. I have entries in a journal that I started keeping as a very young little girl, that wrote the prayer: "Please let Grandma live one more year," each New Years Eve. Finally, August 2013, Jesus decided He had answered that request long enough and it was time to take her Home. 

As I walked, Mom started to share her memories. There's no other person I could have done this with than my mother--Gram was her very best friend. They spoke daily on the phone, multiple times a day, just as I do with her. She told me how as kids, they listened through the vents to their parents conversations, how she sat at the same pull-out cutting board as she watched her mom de-seed fresh green beans. Through these walls, deep within the wood and wallpaper, my mom grew from child to woman; from daughter to mother; from mother to grandma herself. 

We walked around the corner and there was Gram's teeny tiny bedroom. I laughed and said, "I still don't know how she ever shared this room with Grandpa!" I was six months old when my Grandpa passed away. The memories I have here include lying in Gram's full-sized water bed. We would listen to lullabies on tape or stories being told, and she would always pray aloud. I remember being semi freaked out when I realized she had dentures and she would need to take them out each night. She also had hearing aides that she needed to take out, but she always waited until the last minute when I slept over. 

We walked to the stairs. For whatever reason, holidays are what stood out to me when I got to them. The wooden steps, they seemed never-ending when I was small. I remember a Christmas spent there with a ton of my cousins, some even from California. I was so young, but I remember cracking up at my cousin Sherry, who was one from Cali. Sean and I and some of the others sat in the stairwell there and she told us all sorts of stories, including one about a guardian angel. I then remember (and am now laughing at the weirdness in my sporadic memories) my Uncle Steve teaching us the song, "Comet - it makes your teeth turn green! Comet - it tastes like gasoline! Comet - it makes you vomit...So buy some and vomit, today!" We thought this was hysterical and went around the house chanting the rhyme. 

Upstairs there are two bedrooms and a bathroom. My mom switched bedrooms as a child, but in the blue one, she said she spent hours writing and journaling. My Grandpa even turned her little closet into a "writing nook," and strung an extension cord uniquely so that she could have a lamp.

She sighed as we walked through and said she would be awake until sometimes three in the morning (as she got older) just writing here. She told me about her childhood fear, which I had never known: she wasn't ever scared of monsters under the bed, but foxes! She would run and jump from the hallway into the bed. It amazed me to think of the children who once lived here. The bedrooms that housed them, the memories that exist for the eight who called it a home. I always either slept with Gram in her water bed or on the couch bed with my brother. I never came upstairs much, but it's so sweet to think of my mom here, once a little girl, journaling her fears and happiness.  

When Mom had originally asked if I wanted to visit the Farm, she warned me that it would be cold. At this point I was starting to shiver a little because I hadn't taken into consideration that seriously... there was no HEAT in the house anymore. We made our way back to the stairs and I told her I wanted to sit just for a second. I wanted to look into the dining room and envision Gram all over again.

Like everybody else, my life isn't and wasn't perfect. I remember many fights that I had at home, that resulted in me running across the corn field to this place. Gram would hold me tightly and now as I write remembering, tears are finding their escape. She had the firmest grip--"Let's just pray," she would say. On her lap I would sit, even in my teenager years, and she would stroke my hair and listen to my sorrows. When she met my husband Asa, she would squeeze him tightly too, and I knew she was relieved that I had found him. 

Grandma was a widow for twenty eight years. One of my visits with her, I found a handful of her old journals. "Gram, can I have one of these?" I asked. "Oh sure," she responded. "I'm not sure what's in there that's interesting but you're welcome." I took one leather bound journal and the moment I began it, I couldn't put it down. One of the entries she wrote from the tree-swing. She talked about how she "missed her John." Not once did I ever hear my Grandma complain. Not once did I look at her in her elderly age and think she was ever weak. 

Often, I have days with my two toddlers, who are fifteen months apart, and I want to scream. They are wonderful and hilarious, but gosh they are exhausting and draining too. One of the times I remember her the most is when I am mopping our hundred year old wooden floors--I remember her voice, about how a "good old fashioned mop and bucket of soapy water cleans the best." I usually pause and close my eyes...Gram raised EIGHT children in this house--EIGHT. She had a servant's heart, a righteous laugh and warm hugs for anyone who was blessed to enter. 

The old barns are such an important part of my memories as well. At one point my Uncle had horses there (they of course had them when my mom was young too), but I remember first horse rides, first horse falls, and the moment I fell in love with a Thoroughbred mix. Through the pastures I played 'tag' with a beautiful Arabian colt, I was trampled by a foal, and I had to say my first good-bye to a beautiful white horse named Joy, who suffered from colic. 

On the silo my Grandpa had hand painted this verse: "Christ died for our sins according to the scriptures," (1 Corinthians 15:30). Mom and I walked through the barns, stopping to talk about the many sheep that were born and raised there; the hay still somehow smelled fresh and I while I walked, I managed to get some poop on the bottom of my boot. "Only you," my mom laughed. We looked around the empty fields. No kittens, no ewes, no horses, no fences. So what still exists? Her legacy. Almost the entire city of Allegan knows and remembers Wilma Rouse, as well as her husband John. 

Now more than ever, do I believe that God allows the seasons in our lives to change just as He does with the seasons in nature. Right now, spring is trying to figure out its' path--do the trees bloom, or will it continue to snow a while longer? Hearts may ache, and we may question why, but our Creator knows. There may be pain and sadness with sharing this story, but there are also beautiful stories and happy memories that need to be heard and THOSE will never die. 

Raise a Powerful, Positive, Princess: Why NOT?!

Self-sufficient, smart, daring, brave and bold--would you be okay if these were the adjectives that described your daughter?

Do you want to teach her how to overcome trials and tribulations, and that she can be triumphant over big AND small obstacles?

Then why do Princesses get so much flack?

Recently I've read a few posts that have just made my skin crawl with their animosity towards Disney, or the word "princess" in general. I am an Eighties Babe and I remember well the sing-along-songs like, "Tale as Old as Time...." that I hummed, all the while I was playing tractors and getting muddy with my older brother. I played dress-up for hours and there is a home video of me at two-years old exclaiming, "I'm GARGEOUS!" Should my parents have panicked that their toddler displayed some self-confidence, that I felt 'pretty' in pink tutus or high heeled shoes?  I watched Beauty and the Beast on repeat. I found strength in Belle's free-thinking character, her bravery that was nothing short of admirable, her courage that ultimately restored the Beast's kingdom. I loved Disney princesses and WARNING: I still turned out okay.

Last Saturday we had morning cartoons on. I was cleaning up dishes and the kids were quietly playing with toys on the living room floor. The TV volume was turned down low, but suddenly I heard upbeat music bursting from the speakers. I tiptoed to where they stood; my son and daughter were swaying back and forth and exclaimed, "Ooohhhh I like this one!" Before my eyes played a collection of Disney Princess movies, and the narrator saying: "For every girl who dreams BIG, there's a Princess out there..." Across the screen rolled Rapunzel from Tangled and a young girl climbing a rope, Merida from Brave and a young girl shooting a bow and arrow, along with many other real-life Princess comparisons. The Script's "You Can Be the Greatest" playing in the background made me tear up as I watched not only my daughter, but my SON dance to the promise: "Be believers, be leaders, be astronauts, be champions..."

It ended and my toddlers clapped. My son went back to his Lego tower and my daughter continued to twirl around:  "Dream big, Princess," I laughed. A Princess isn't weak! She doesn't have to be a damsel in distress. She isn't flighty or stupid. The word doesn't have to be stereotyped with pink fluff and someone who stares at herself in a mirror all day long. It may have been a while since you've watched any Princess movies, maybe you haven't seen any of them at all. Here's a refresher:

Cinderella: she was treated like crud by a cruel and unloving stepmother. Her stepsisters were, um.. well, there's a word for girls like that--YET, she maintained a seriously upbeat demeanor and spent her days choosing joy over sorrow.
Belle: you know I love her! She walks through town with her nose in a book and could care less about the fact that she is deemed 'the prettiest girl in town.' She has a love and adoration for her hardworking father, she is smart, witty and displays act after act of courage and bravery. She sacrifices her life to save her dad's and because she never judged a book by its' cover, she was able to fall in love with the man trapped under the Beast's body.
Anna: my new favorite, was born into royalty, but this didn't confine her to shallowness or arrogance. She sets out on a dangerous mission to save her sister and displays nothing but courage. She portrays an optimistic and determined mindset. At first she was desperate to be loved, but as the story continues, she matures and slowly began to understand how the world worked. I think Elsa is probably viewed as the main 'Princess' in this movie but Anna is by far the heroine.
Merida: first, holy awesome hair! But seriously, aside from beautiful, flaming locks, she has mad archery skills and is a headstrong teen with a royal upbringing. She is admired for her willpower, her sense of wild and she is a gal who independently problem solves. The plot does not involve a  romantic love interest and while some may disagree, I think Merida is a teenager that twenty-first century girls can learn from.

Reese is a two-year old who excitedly shrieks when she sees a frilly dress. She is obsessed with her light pink, ballerina outfit and will grab it off the hanger in her closet, bring it to us pleading, "Put it on?? Put it on me, PLEASE?!" She sings Rachel Platten's Fight Song on repeat. When I hear her little voice saying, "My power's turned on, starting right now I'll BE strong! I've got my fight songgggggg..." I hear the voice of a child who is being raised to believe she can choose the path ahead of her. She can wear the glass slipper but it doesn't have to define who she is as a woman. She can be quiet or chatty, extroverted or meek. She can climb mountains on weekends or choose a desk job with average hours; heck, she can do both! She can dance or play softball, ride horses or raise pigs. She can love princesses and drive a race car.

Is there any cheesiness in most of the fairy tales we read or watch? Of course! But there is also some strength and dignity. And if these old (and new) favorites have taught me to do anything at all, it was to dream--and that is one attribute I pray never fades away.

To my children, I will be with you every SINGLE step of the way. When you fall, when you rise, when you laugh and when you cry. It'll take you a while to figure out what you've been called to in this life and you'll realize your Mama is still trying to figure it out, even as I age. But I promise-- YOU being YOU is the most beautiful story that will ever be told in the pages of my book.

After you've read this, PLEASE click this link and watch the commercial that I refer to above: Dream Big Princess

Hurry Up to Wait

"Hurry UP!" I'll often say as I backseat drive with Asa (my husband). "You could have made it through that light," I've sighed. The cars in front of us are at a stand-still behind a train. "You want me to hurry up just to wait?" he'll respond.

I do this ALL. THE. TIME. Hurry up to wait. I'm impatient! I know it is obnoxious and far from righteous! I try to be a good listener, and most of the time I think my friends would vouch that I am; but when it comes to actions and time on the clock, I hurry. I'll catch myself on walks with the kids, "Hurry up, Reese," I'll rush my two-year old on our way to the playground. Why am I hurrying her? She's a 'stop and smell the roses' kinda girl, but what's wrong with that when we just have time to kill before Dad is home? Climbing in and out of the car, "Hurry up!" I'll exclaim to my still small toddlers. I know they're doing their best, that their tiny legs can only move so fast. I know I need to chill OUT.

And now I am at a point in my life where what I hear God say is this: just wait and just LISTEN.

Okay, God, I'll wait. And I'll listen. But then I forgot to adhere to that promise.

Do you want in on a little secret? Okay it's not little--it's actually huge. And I've been trying to contain my excitement but it's time to just let that loose: next school year, I get to just be Mom. Yup! Next school year I am taking some time off from teaching to focus first on my kids + in the midst of it, I'll get to dig deeper into photography + writing. There are still some kinks to work out, but for the most part, it is looking like after September I'll be able to take some time off to focus on these things. And I know I have heard God's voice in this direction. My husband has heard God's voice in this direction; and together we've decided, this just makes sense! Will it be breezy? Not at all! And our bank account will obviously be the deciding factor of when I need to return to the classroom... but this is the first time in a VERY long time that I have heard His voice say, 'Go ahead and jump. You can't see the future, but I can. And I'll walk with you every step of the way in figuring it out.'

But beyond this, which mind you is HUGE... I'm waiting to hear His voice. Let's be real--being honest is difficult. It's awkward, it kind of makes us want to gag, and social media for the most part, portrays the opposite of authenticity. But in this space, I promised to strive to be real and raw. I would write my emotions, my feelings, my thoughts and then I would take a leap by sharing it with YOU. So honestly? I'm at a weird time in my life. My friendships feel weird, our church situation is weird, my goals and hopes, it all just feels out of sorts.

Let's start with friendships:
I grew up with the best friends EVER. A group of girls and I have known each other since we were teeny, tiny four-year-olds. We went to church together, school together, lived at each others houses and then when eighteen hit, we all moved away. Different colleges, states, phases of life... some have kids, others don't. Some are married while others remain single. Though we're all the same age, we are all in a different phase of life. We keep in touch; texts, e-mails, sporadic phone calls, but obviously, it's different. I've written before about seasons of friendships--God has blessed me generously with women throughout time, that were all there at the right time. When I entered my first pregnancy, I had women within the church who were having babies at the same time. There were hundreds of middle of the night texts, sob-fests to each other, venting speals and at the end of the day, I knew they were by my side and could understand when it felt no one else could. The same went for my second pregnancy, a couple women who were always just there. But now I'm in a different stage; two toddlers, our church family has drastically changed, we are busy working parents and I have been missing so badly, having a close-knit group of girlfriends. I know I can call, text, comment on Instagram to ANY of the sweet women in my life, but my heart longs for that one girl. Have you ever watched Grey's Anatomy? Please say yes... Meredith calls Christina Yang, 'her person.' That's their theme, their friendship, how we as viewers refer to them. Maybe it's not practical for an almost twenty-eight-year old married woman/mom of two kids, but I want it--the type of friendship that knows when to bring a pint of ice cream over to empathize or the bottle of champagne to celebrate. I long for this, but a friendship like that takes TIME. It take lots of pursuing, lots of patience and lots of grace. Friendships are NOT to be hurried because if they become that way, usually they fizzle out. So: I've been asking the Lord to steer my heart, give me peace in my current relationships, and to just help me wait. ("Be still in the presence of the Lord and wait patiently for Him to act."- Psalm 37:7)

And now, Church:
Years ago, Asa and I left the Church he was raised in for twenty + years. There was a LOT that went into that deciding factor and for the first year of our marriage, we argued a LOT over theology, scripture, and how we understood these things. We walked in to a college church plant back in 2010 and after hearing the pastor speak, we both knew we had heard God say, "This is your new home." It was during that year that we also heard Him tell us that buying our first home in one of the worst zip codes in the nation, was His will. After our first walk-through in the house (which I knew I wanted just from the photos), we walked around the park. We watched a teenage girl get tackled by her mom and seconds later, police officers were crowded around. Tears streamed down my face not because I was scared, but because my heart was screaming, "You are needed HERE." Shortly after we purchased it, a prostitute broke into our home as I nursed my newborn son. My husband was getting groceries, she was strung out on drugs and as one arm shielded Pierson (my son), the other pointed her to the back door. Instead of feeling like it was time to look elsewhere for home-sweet-home, both Asa and I heard our Lord say, "I am here." Back to what this means for me church wise--I love our church. I love the people who call it home and our pastors have started an incredible mission. Recently though, we went through a merger and while I understand why it was necessary, my heart has been grieving the surplus of friends and families who have left. Before the merger, my heart had already experienced this; as lots of our friends made the decision to find somewhere else that had larger kids' ministries. I got it, we were still largely a College Church at this time, but our kids were young enough where they were still doing okay and loving where we were at. Zero for Two: that's how I have been feeling. I've said so many goodbyes and I have lost contact with so many people who were dear to my heart. I'm just at a weird place figuring out where God has ME in all of this. Where do I fit in? Where is my calling? Where am I needed? Regardless, this is not a decision to be rushed--church seeking or deciding. It's a matter that needs to be prayed upon, continuously; it is something that requires a ton of discussion and then honestly, a period of waiting. So: I have been asking Him to be my voice, to guide my spirit and that he will fulfill the immense void that I feel. ("I wait expectantly, trusting God to help, for he has promised."-Psalm 105:5)

The In Between's:
How often have you heard me joke that all I want for Christmas is a horse? Except that it's not a joke... my heart beats everything horse! If you have ever been to the Kentucky Derby Museum with me, then you've actually witnessed me tear up in their wrap-around movie theater, where they play the movie The Greatest Race. Horses are the reason I moved from Michigan to Kentucky and they've always been my happy place. My heart longs for open fields, an old barn and a horse or two to house inside it. I want my kids to grow up opening their back door without worrying about a car flying past them. For barn kittens to be loved on, chickens to gather eggs from and a front porch worth sitting on as we sip coffee and overlook the pastures. As I approach my tenth year in this city (WHOA!) none of that is yet feasible. We've looked endlessly at properties on 1+ acre but every single thing has been unrealistic and out of our price range. Sometimes I get so down in the dumps, and I fear that my dream will never be a reality...This passion doesn't go away, it has not yet been stifled and honestly, over the years it's a fire that has burned even hotter inside my heart. But it is not something that I can rush. With our family practically going to one income next year, I know that this dream probably needs to be put on hold even longer. Maybe God will totally surprise us, but waiting for answers is a necessary step. Time, money, location... all such huge factors that at times, have me so restless. ("Wait for the Lord. Be strong and take courage, yes, wait for Him."-Psalm 27:14)

True Beauty

I was recently asked a question that I have since, pondered a lot: "If you could give your daughter one beauty tip, what would it be?"

Well, before I could answer this, I had to first decide, what IS beauty? The answer ranges so diversely for all of us. And with social media so prevalent, we have the ability to control how we want ourselves to be portrayed. What you think is beautiful, I might not. But I think even in our differences, we can come to a common ground: beauty is the heart. What's your day-to-day look like? Do you love others well? Do you treat those around you with love and respect? What is your heart thinking? If there was a way we could see it outside your chest, what are the types of things it would be filled with? Jealousy, anger, resentment, conceit, lust, selfishness, pride... I think we all agree that those are not beautiful characteristics. 

So then, what do I want to teach my children about beauty? I have two toddlers and I want to teach them both very similar things, but I have to say that there is definitely more of an emphasis on how my daughter will learn this concept and that she will learn much of it from me. This makes sense, not because my husband is absent or hands-off (he is such the opposite of that!) but because every single day she watches me very intently. At two-and-a-half, she watches me put on makeup and mimics everything I do. She uses the powder brush across her cheeks, she pretends to put on mascara and to straighten or curl her hair. She is observing every single thing I do to get ready. As she grows older, my intent is to teach her that beauty is not the products she puts on--these things are okay; clearly, I enjoy wearing makeup, but they do not define her. I want her to find beauty in her strength, her laughter, her joy, her adventurous soul. Because if at the end of the day, she grows up and only thinks she is beautiful by the worlds' definition, I have failed.

I want my daughter to know that over the years, she will endure many changes. Whether she has children of her own or not, her body will go through so many transformations. She never knew the Ashley before babies. She doesn't yet notice my stretch marks, nor does she know that they are a part of me that didn't used to be. Will she fear marks of her own? Or will she see that her mom can love herself in spite of them, so she then can too...At two-and-a-half, she doesn't see fault. She doesn't know about numbers on a scale and she isn't yet insecure how clothes fit. As she grows, I want to help her embrace the fact that though her opinion of those things may change, her heart holds the most beauty.

As a toddler, her heart is so sweet. She is sensitive and right now, has many fears that she is working bravely to overcome (like her paranoia of bugs!) She has a servant's heart, replying with, "Sure!" and "Okay!" when asked to do a chore. She has the desire to make people happy, to love us and her brother well. She adores to be held and to cuddle- last night as we rocked, she stroked the sides of my cheek so softly as I sang her nightly lullaby. What will her heart be when she is five? What will she be as a teenager? Outward beauty is subjective; the texture of our skin, it changes. Some of us get stretch marks, others don't. The composure of our hair, that changes too. Our body types--all so different, so unique. But our inward beauty, I pray that still shines. I hope that even when she questions the body she is given, that she will thank her Creator for giving her such a beautiful and strong heart and soul.

It is no small task, raising a daughter. She will forever look to me, with her inquisitive hazel eyes; and when she does, I pray she sees a woman who encouraged her to pursue her passion, who helped her use her voice in times of weakness and who loved the heck out of her every step of the way. My one beauty tip that I give to my daughter then, is to start with simply seeking a beautiful heart.