How Are You?

How many people do you pass by a day? Stop for a moment and think about those who surround you. You're at your workplace, brushing someone's shoulder in the hallway. Who are they? You're at your desk, co-workers are in your building, people are surrounding you, everywhere. Who do 'they' consist of? You go into Kroger and you say, "Pardon me," to the gal who nearly plummeted into your cart--who was she? You're a daughter or a son, a wife or husband, mom or dad; who do you come home to? Do you have family in town? Do you communicate often? Is your family living long distance from you, perhaps many miles away? How are they doing? 

Stop and pause. 
Close your eyes. 
 

Your top five friends. Who are they? How are they? Okay, now close your eyes again. Take a deep breath and count with me to ten. Open them. And now I want to know: 

How are YOU? 

When is the last time you were asked this question? Did you think to yourself, "I can't tell you. You wouldn't get it. My struggles are different from yours. You and I are complete opposites." So you probably responded with, "I'm good!" and hurried right along. But do you have someone, who when they ask this question, the sometimes dreaded three words, how are you, that you can honestly answer, not just with a socially acceptable one? 

While I was journaling tonight, what I continued to come back around to was this very question. And honestly? For the first time in a VERY long time, I was able to write that I am doing WELL. And even more honestly, that felt wrong to admit! How can I be doing 'good' when others are suffering? Surely something has to be wrong in my life? There has to be something wrong!

But you know what? My husband and I are HAPPY; we've been married for seven and a half years and let me tell you, the last two years have consisted of a lot of healing and reconciliation for us. Praise God, right!!? My kids are healthy and happy. Don't get me wrong, they are EXHAUSTING; but they're two and three and what kid isn't tiring? I have experienced a lot of growth in the last year. I've set boundaries in my heart and personal life from certain relationships because I *finally* listened to God's voice. I've said a lot more "no's" and a lot less "I'm sorry's," and this is OKAY because my Creator has given me direction. I've set huge goals and am at the beginning stages of living a life of purpose, and well?? 

I'm realizing that it is OKAY for this to be a season of goodness. 

But do you know what I think is so important? Honesty. Be real with someone in your life today. Can you? And if things are going well for you, share that goodness and encourage someone else. And if your friend answers YOU honestly, and maybe shares about the sadness or stresses in their life, listen! I may be completely different from you, have dreams that you think you can't relate to, be working a career that you can't understand; but I promise, God created us to have fellowship with one another, no matter our differences. And do you want to know what else? I sincerely want to know how you are! 

Are you struggling with anything today? Are you chasing perfect and wishing that life would just slow down? Are you filling your mind with guilt, comparison, or deeming yourself unworthy? 

One thing you need to know about me is that I am far from perfect. Above, when I said that things in my life are going well, didn't mean that life was going perfectly. Do I struggle with stress? Yes. Do I tend to be neurotic? Yep. Do I drink enough water? Never. Do I exercise as often as I think I "should?" Nope. Do I doubt my friendships, my relationships, my ability to be a mother and wife? Often, yes. But I can finally say with confidence that in this season, I am finding more to be positive about then negative, and this is HUGE for me. 

So again, how are you? 

And if you don't feel comfortable commenting below, shoot me an e-mail. How can I pray for you? In what ways can I encourage you? How can I be a friend, a listening ear, for you in your current season? Do you have praises that you need someone to rejoice with you over?! Maybe you need a virtual CONGRATULATIONS. Whatever you are thinking, right now, after reading this post, I pray that you will give it to God and share it with someone today. 

Thank you for walking with me, friends! And thank you for being YOU, because no matter what, YOU are great. 

Through the Stillness

Alright, ya'll. If any of you are big dreamers like myself, then I really think you should run, not walk, to your closest bookstore. Lara Casey wrote a book that honestly, I was attracted to because of the cover... I know, I know--"Don't judge a book by its' cover," right? However, this girl likes pretty things! So, the vibrant colors along with the title, Make it Happen, quickly caught my attention. I haven't opened a book in probably years (yes, that's true and yes, that's sad) but when I began reading this one, I couldn't put it down. She wrote everything that my heart was in need of hearing and she sincerely inspired me to continue dreaming BIG! 

Chapter by chapter I found myself thinking, "This is so me," and "Yes, I can do big things!" When I was a kid, I used to sneak out to the hall night light to read books late at night. I found myself going to bed during our most recent spring break Michigan trip, and I just couldn't sleep. I would turn my bedside night light on, or if my husband was already sawing logs (usually he was), I tiptoed to my parents large upstairs living room. I continued turning pages, finishing chapters and before I knew it, I reached the part she titled: "Evaluate Your Life."

While my kids napped, I slowly read this section of her book and decided to journal my thoughts along the way. "Your worries today can directly affect what you write next, so don't shove them under the table" (148). I mean really, how often do you have a worry or a thought, and just run past it? Not all things are worth worrying over and Matthew 6:34 says, "For do not worry about tomorrow, for tomorrow will worry about itself. Each day has its' own trouble."  However, when you are seeking the right words, direction in your thoughts and creative passions, I think it is important to slow down and think through them. Not lose sleep, necessarily; but process. What are you worried about? What do you need to ponder on in order to walk through this season of life effectively? I thought through and responded to some of her prompts that I'll share you with here: 

• How are you feeling physically? 
• What are your thoughts about your workplace? 
• How are your relationships? 
• Are you using God's gifts and how are your creative passions?  
• How is your physical space treating you?  
• How is your relationship with God? 

Do you want to know my BIGGEST dream? The one that I've always deemed 'too big' or 'too grand?'

I want a sixteen hand Thoroughbred horse. I want it to be Bay in color with a little speck of white on his face. I want him to be calm, but spunky. I want to jump hurdles and ride openly through fields and on trails. I want to wake up at six a.m. and greet him in the stall, as he's still lying down from a good night's sleep. I want to kiss his soft muzzle and wrap my arms around his giant neck, as I sit bareback across him. I want to watch my kids lead him across his pasture, to photograph their sweetness as they learn and discover the healing that he brings to their hearts. But I also want a large farmhouse. White, with a wrap around porch. I want to enjoy coffee there with my husband, and watch many sunsets on our horizon. 

But it's too big. 
It's too hard. 
It's too much money. 
It's not possible with our budget. 
I'll be forty before it happens. 
But... 

What if it's not though? What if getting there isn't impossible? What if I trusted Jesus that He created me with the desires burning in my heart for a reason? For HIS reasons?! What if I allowed my faith to move me forward, instead of using it as an excuse to hold me back?  

I've been a city dweller for TEN years now-- TEN! I was the girl lying on a giant trampoline, alone, watching the clouds pass overhead. I always had a journal, and I was always writing. My closest neighbors were my family members, My brother and I romped through corn fields and picked soybeans when the seasons changed. We were barefoot, always, as we chased and dreamed. And now it's quite the opposite: I've gotten used to a three mile drive to the grocery store, a Target within ten minutes, and I can almost reach out our windows to touch the neighbors' houses. My heart longs for things of my past, but the city has also done me well. 

Instead of telling myself that my biggest dreams can't happen, I am learning whole-heartedly what patience and contentment in our current life looks and feels like. I am way more at peace this year than I was last. I check Zillow and Realtor.com weekly, but I'm also okay giving this huge chunk of my heart to God. Lara said, "Stillness is hard, isn't it? We don't want to be still...But stillness enables us to move forward with a purpose. It allows us to be intentional instead of reactionary" (154).  

What are you waiting for? What does your heart beat for? Maybe it is to climb up the corporate ladder? Maybe it's trying to figure out what Motherhood looks like in this current season? Maybe it's wedding or event planning. Maybe it's the opposite of mine and you long to move TO the city! I can only share with you because I am in the learning phase of this myself, but while waiting is difficult, it is also so important! During this season, God is doing SO much work on your heart and in your soul, if you can just let Him. It is incredibly hard for me to believe that He actually wants to give me my dream horse and house, but what if He does? I've decided to dig deeper and to believe that my fear of failure and disappointment should never outweigh the possibilities of the future.  

God is good, friends. Always. Even and especially when you may not feel it. I'm praying for you and I more than welcome you to pray for me as well. (Hey, maybe you know someone who wants to donate a beautiful horse farm my way!? Ha ha!) 

Here's to uncomfortable waiting. To the unknown, to the stagnant pauses that make us wince. Here's to big things happening in our lives, to dreaming and believing because we were created for SO MUCH MORE! 

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. 

Blueberry Goodness: A Pie to Welcome Spring

2015 was the year that I managed to keep a New Years Resolution for the first time EVER. If you followed my journey on Instagram, you can find the collection of posts under #piesbyashley.

Here we are, well into another new year, but  I wanted to share one of these goodies with you today! Currently in Kentucky, it is pouring rain, dark and dreary; however, this pie is sure to warm up your house AND mood. Inspired by my Grandmother (who lived to be one-hundred years old), blueberry pies are my absolute favorite traditional pie. I was blessed to inherit a couple of her journals and as I turned the pages I would often read bits like this:

"Baked four pies (blueberry) today. Put two in the freezer, ate one, and gave Beth one for the kids. Hope I can get at least four in the freezer. They're so nice to have ready in case of unexpected company..." [August 2, 1996).

My mom baked pies often as well. Living in Michigan, my summers were filled with fresh blueberries and warm, home-made blueberry pies. I have to say for this one, I highly recommend a from-scratch pie crust. There were several times I needed to buy a store bought one (I would often remember the last day of the month that I needed to bake in order to stand true to my Resolution!) After I post the recipe, I'll also share my devastating story that goes along with this particular blueberry pie, so keep reading!

Standard Crust {the recipe my mom and Grandma always used}
*This recipe makes two pie crusts so that you can use one for the lattice topping, should you choose*
2/3C + 2 tablespoons shortening
2C all-purpose flour
1 teaspoon salt
4 to 5 tablespoons COLD water

Directions for the crust:
Cut the shortening into flour and salt until particles are size of small peas.
Sprinkle in the water, 1 TBS at a time, tossing with a fork until all flour is moistened and pastry almost cleans sides of bowl (1-2 TBS can be added if necessary).
Gather the pastry into a ball; divide pastry into halves and shape into two rounds (since this is for a two crust recipe).
Roll pastry two inches larger than inverted pie plate with floured stockinet-covered rolling pin.
Fold pastry into quarters; unfold and ease into plate, pressing firmly against bottom and side.
Put the second crust once flattened into the fridge until you are finished making the filling.

Filling Ingredients (for an 8 inch pie)
1/3 C sugar
1/4 C all-purpose flour
1/2 teaspoon ground cinnamon
3C fresh blueberries
1 teaspoon lemon juice
1 Tablespoon margarine or butter

Directions:
Heat oven to 425-degrees.
Mix the sugar, flour and cinnamon and then stir in blueberries.
Pour into the prepared pie crust and sprinkle with lemon juice and dot with butter.
Cover the top crust however you prefer (i.e. lattice or covered with holes poked through)
Bake until crust is brown and juice begins to bubble through the top crust, 35-45 minutes.
*Cover the edges with 2-3 inch strip of foil if edges are getting too brown*
Allow the pie to cool and then voila! Enjoy with your favorite scoop of ice cream! 

I was SUPER proud of this pie. A homemade crust, the beautiful lattice on top, the juicy and bubbly blueberry goodness... So I enjoyed one slice that evening for dinner, as did my kids. We all loved it and sang this recipe many praises. We went to Church the next morning and left the pie pushed back on our kitchen counter. Well... lo and behold, when we came back from the service, the pie dish remained (somehow!!?) on the counter, but the contents were no longer THERE!!!

Our ginormous Chocolate Lab had helped himself to my tasty treat and the blueberry goodness was no more... I actually sat on our steps and when my husband said, "Ash, I'm SO sorry!" I replied, "I am going to need a minute."

Lesson learned, dog. Lesson learned. And next time I make this heavenly pastry, I will NOT be leaving it on the kitchen counter unattended!