emily p. freeman

Creating space for your soul to breathe so you can discern your next right thing.

the burden of potential

I am not what anyone would consider to be a green thumb. I love to look at flowers and pretty green plants and freshly cut grass in the springtime. But I haven’t a clue when it comes to actually planting them and keeping them alive. We received a large indoor floor plant (don’t know what it was) after we got married and I was pleased to see that it stayed alive for a good long time. My mother-in-law later confessed that she would water it when she came over to babysit.

It was about this time last year when The Man and I were looking for a house to buy. We pulled up to a sweet little cape cod and I was immediately intimidated, not necessarily by the house itself, but by the landscaping. The front yard was nice, but the backyard was especially pretty: a crepe myrtle here, day lilies standing nearly as tall as I was, some kind of blooming purple and pink flowers and bright, leafy green plants placed just so. I immediately decided I loved this house. We hadn’t seen the inside yet, but somehow, I just knew. If I was ever going to have a pretty yard, I would have to buy one ready-made. And this one was perfect. We ended up buying that house and now, one year later, are experiencing another spring with it in full bloom.

But I have to admit I am nervous. See, I remember how pretty it was last year when we first saw it and I fear that, since I haven’t a clue how to keep this yard pretty, it will eventually become…not pretty. The previous owners lived here for many years and were good at yard stuff. I know how nice this yard can be…but what if I can’t keep it that way?

Flashback to 2 months ago during the winter olympics: I didn’t realize I had fallen asleep until I woke up. Sasha Cohen was just “14 minutes away from taking the ice” (as evil NBC so strategically flashed on the screen to lure me in…it worked). I don’t remember who had just skated off the ice, but one of the commentators said something and the concept has stuck with me. He said something about the pressure associated with the burden of potential. And I’ve thought about how that can be such a trap.

I think that is where I am with this whole yard thing…I know its potential, but do I have what it takes to keep it there? How often in life am I kept from enjoying the fullness of what things are for fear of missing what they could be?

The irony of faith

I gave away a bag of baby girl clothes to a friend last week and I was happy to do it. This morning, I found myself wondering Did she like them? Will she use them? Maybe she’ll just sell them at the next consignment. One thing I didn’t do, though, was drive to her house, knock on her door, and ask her if she had received them or not. After all, I was there when she stepped on her porch and took my bag in gratitude. Why would I wonder if she had received them or not? Sounds silly, but don’t I wonder this very thing when I release things to the Lord?

In her book The Christian’s Secret of a Happy Life, Hannah Whitall Smith emphasizes the fact that with God, the rule is fact first, faith second and feeling last of all. What a liberating thought! You mean I don’t have to wait to feel as though the Lord has received that thing that I have so desperately wanted to surrender to him?

Begin to believe, and hold on to it steadfastly, that He has taken that which you have surrendered to Him. You positively must not wait to feel either that you have given yourself, or that God has taken you. You must simply believe it, and reckon it to be the case.

And as I take Him at His word, the feelings will inevitably follow.

In sickness and in health

six years and counting

It was the night of June 23, 2001 and my husband (of 4 hours) and I had just pulled away from our wedding reception. We sat closely in the way back of the limo somewhat surprised by the silence that greeted us as we watched our familiar town pass by through the window, the smiles and waves of those closest to us still a fresh memory. I remember looking down at my gown all gathered in my lap and then over at this man sitting close beside me with a crooked smile, both satisfied and loving, on his face. And in that moment an overwhelming and unexpected feeling swept fast through me: as a couple in love, we were finally free. Free to love and be loved without boundaries or fear of rejection. The way it was meant to be.

Fast forward five years to last night…sitting with my husband on the floor of our twin toddler’s nursery, he holding one and I the other. It was nearly 1 am and he had just cleaned out a crib full of throw up and I, seven months pregnant, was trying to navigate through my cloudy thoughts to decide what to do with a sick little girl in the middle of the night who was sure to throw up again, if not multiple times. It doesn’t matter how much time or money you spend when picking out cute bumper pads and pretty cribs for your babies. They all smell the same covered in last nights dinner.

She and I ended up in the living room and daddy took twin number 2 to the guest room with him…but because I couldn’t sleep for worrying about my daughter (and for fear of getting sick myself, if I’m completely honest) I began to think about my husband and about the transition from wedding to life. This is real life, I thought to myself. But I also realized something sweet and comforting as I tossed and turned on the couch. There is no place I’d rather be than sharing life with this man and these children in this place.

What a funny choice love can be. Why would I choose throw up and sleeplessness? Because this is life, real life…far removed from the lacy dress gathered in my lap, but no less sweet. It is all wrapped up in perspective. I like the way Paul Colman puts it: Life is where you are. And I choose to love it.

Sometimes you have to choose the pencils

She wanted the pencils, I could tell she did. Her daddy was sitting in the too-small chair in the children’s section of the bookstore and she was vacillating between a small, brightly colored and obviously educational activity book…or the set of pink princess pencils. She held them both, one in each hand and she quietly asked her daddy which one he thinks she should choose. He repeatedly told her it was her decision to make, she could choose either one. No sooner had the words come out of his mouth, than he was giving her a list of pros and cons about each potential choice: the pencils are pretty, but the activity book might last longer; the pencils have to be sharpened and then they get smaller and smaller, but the activity book has pages and pages of endless fun. “But the choice is yours to make,” he was sure to add.

I smiled to myself as I noticed the fathers’ inability to remain uninvolved in her decision. It was obvious to me which she would choose after his comments…what 5 year old would choose the pretty pencils after daddy clearly explained how impractical they were? I missed what happened next as my own daughter came up to me with several copies of the same board book and I realized she was rearranging the entire Sandra Boynton collection. I was somewhat glad for the distraction as it helped me maintain my cover.

When I looked up again at the daddy/daughter duo, I realized they were standing up to leave and she seemed very satisfied with herself. As they passed by me, I noticed in her hand she held the pretty princess pencils and in that moment, a strange realization came over me. I never would have chosen the pencils no matter how badly I had wanted them. And it made me think of all the other things that I do to please people or in attempts to make the “right” decision. Not only did the little girl make her own decision despite the implied frivolousness of that choice by her father, but her dad actually let her make that choice and seemed glad that she did so. And he was happy to buy the pencils for her.

I want to be more like that. Not making foolish decisions in haste or greed, but in those things where the outcome is neutral but the process is the point, I want to give myself permission to make the choice that is fun and exciting. I think as a kid I was always so worried about making the “wrong” choice in things that I had a hard time just being a kid. Sometimes you just have to choose the pencils. I think it is a liberating experience.

Calling all magic-bean-buyers

“If you are a dreamer, come in. If you are a dreamer, a wisher, a liar, a hoper, a prayer, a magic-bean-buyer. If you’re a pretender, come sit by my fire, for we have some flax-golden tales to spin. Come in! Come in!”

~Shel Silverstein

Filed Under: art

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