Three Reasons to Stop Photoshopping Your Face

I had long resisted the urge to click on the "make-yourself-into-a-star" Facebook apps. I don't click on any of them as a general rule but... after the 15th person in my feed shared her transformation, my idle and itchy social media trigger finger just... clicked. 

What I already knew is that my friends' images had been changed in ways that made me the tiniest bit sad. They are beautiful women... but they don't look like that. And I battled with myself over the questions this raised for me...

Shouldn't we all be allowed to dress up and become the "princess" every once in a while? Can't we have a little fun? Isn't this what we would all look like if we had a boatload of cash to pour into cosmetics and salon appointments? 

But we don't. We don't. And I think it's important that we (or at least I) face the uncomfortable truth that I love photoshop and all the face-smoothing apps primarily because... they don't really look like me. I don't like my face or my teeth, the way I do my makeup, or my hairstyle. I never have. These apps take away all the discomfort of having my vanity pricked. 

I was raised in a American culture that taught me to be dissatisfied with all of myself and I went through intense periods of self-hatred. I hated looking in the mirror and was ashamed (this is hard to admit) to leave the house looking like me, with my skin and my figure and my everything. 

The picture above - a screenshot from that Facebook app - shows the face of a beautiful woman. Hollywood gorgeous. They used my picture and added my name but I know that's not me. It's a photoshopped me and what I might look like if I was a teenager with a professional team of stylists; or maybe with a talented cosmetic surgeon.

I shouldn't have clicked on that app but I did. I also spent too much time scrolling through Instagram and noticed far too many of us (women, that is) with obviously airbrushed wrinkles and smoothed laugh lines. We take the digital pen to the parts of us that we don't love before we are ready and willing to share with others... even though those who love us most already know our imperfections.

My heart sank and I headed right to my keyboard to share three reasons why you shouldn't photoshop yourself.

1. It's a lie.

Listen to me... You DO have crows' feet and gray sprinkled in that hair. The more you attack it and fuzz it out of your pictures, the more you communicate a lie to yourself: That you aren't okay the way you are.  

I'm not talking about using makeup and fashions to accentuate what is beautiful about you... I happen to think those can be important items in a feminine toolbox! There is absolutely nothing wrong with highlighting our natural beauty and and adding some color and props. But that's not the kind of photo correction I'm talking about. 

It is one thing to use a cool filter once in a while, stand in the best light, delete a big red mark on your nose, or find a flattering angle. It is another to paint over or change what is overwhelmingly real. And it is a lie straight from the enemy himself that you need to be something other than you are in order to be worthy of a ridiculous social media post... surrounded by millions of other terribly insecure people filtering their own faces.

2. You're hurting others.

Yes, it's true. Over time, we paint an unrealistic portrait of ourselves for others and contribute to the manic insecurity of the souls inhabiting the internet. I don't have to describe the comparison game for you because you already know all about it. It can crush us slowly over time. 

It's not necessarily something we can control, you know? It is an emotion that comes unbidden... this feeling of insecurity... or fear... or inadequacy. It is what we do with that emotion that makes all the difference. Does that emotion inspire joy, peace, confidence, and virtue in us? Or does it make us feel... irritable, angry, jealous, ugly, inadequate?

And aren't those latter emotions often the fruits of our social media explorations. We think we're fine and secure, but there is a deeper level at which we are learning about who we are and who others are as well. Who are we allowing to be our teachers and what are we teaching others? 

Ladies... Our friends love to see us looking beautiful. Go ahead and look like your gorgeous self! But if your 40-year old face isn't flat and smooth like a baby's (and most aren't), please allow us to see you anyway.

The truth is that it's not that important to others what YOU look like... each person is mostly just wrapped up in our own insecurities. If we see you, our beautiful friend, in all your weathered glory, it will be balm to our trembling souls. Those broken people who will find the flaws and pick at them and mock? They are dealing with their own deep insecurities and sufferings and I suspect their words are less to hurt us than to protect themselves. We don't have to let their baggage become our albatross. Let it go. Show your face. 

3. You are hurting your daughters

I recently watched several video projects put together by high schoolers. The goal was to document reactions to fellow students being called beautiful and to spread some joy. The most interesting thing about these videos for me was the surprise, delight, and sometimes even the pain that the compliment triggered. 

In one of the videos, there was even a hostile response. "Shut up," she says. "I'm going to cut your face." Others immediately feel the need to argue. "No... no... I don't think so. Thank you, but...no."

These are children and young adults and yet the pain is evident. And I think the reasons are clear.

•  We have bought the lie that we are too deficient to be admired without a mask. 

•  We have been deeply hurt by others who perpetrate that lie. 

What does this have to do with our daughters? 

Let me ask you: Are we preaching with our actions what we claim to believe about the beauty and dignity our children and all of humanity (including ourselves)? Our children see what we are doing to our own pictures and and they also see what we are doing to theirs. It is teaching them about what we believe is necessary to be liked and loved. 

I am not advocating that we embarrass people by posting their image in unflattering ways and then tagging them on Facebook. Nope, that's pretty careless and awful. I've been on the receiving end of that! I'm also not saying that we can't use a mild filter for a special portrait. 

But they do know what they look like and they do notice if you've smoothed out or eliminated their "worst" features in your random Instagram post. You made their eyes bigger, their hair less frizzy, their nose thinner, their lips plumper. They know that you tinkered and they LIKE the result... but they also incorrectly identify that you fixed them because they needed fixing in order to be photo worthy. 

They don't. 

Unfortunately, our tinkering only confirms their belief that they do. Ah, yes... mommy doesn't like the circles under my eyes either. I'm glad she fixed that.

She's glad on on level; but on another level, it is a blow to the very soul. 

One of the most difficult aspects of having a visual social media presence for me (as a business owner with a need to be here) is having to put my face in front of a camera, especially now that my autoimmune disease periodically reveals itself on my face. (See my unfiltered pics HERE.) All of my teenage insecurities come pouring out and I realize that I've never really fully healed. I am still overcoming that self-hatred with time and care. The first step is to simply ignore the emotion and do what needs to be done, walking past my vanity and pride and learning true humility; but I pray that the next step is a gentle and loving acceptance of my God-given skin. 

I imagine that is one of the greatest potential blessings of old age... that we can no longer hide our physical flaws. We can finally stop messing with the filter and just focus on the soul. Finally ready to be loved. 

"Be on your guard, stand firm in the faith, be courageous, be strong. Your every act should be done with love." Corinthians 16:13-14

My Saint My Story: Jewelry With Purpose

I'm a firm believer in retail therapy but I think I need to define my terms. I don't mean that we should use frivolous shopping to temporarily soothe and cover up the difficulties of life. My definition of retail therapy is different...

Christian retail therapy is... Using our purchases to heal the marketplace, contribute in a substantive way to the needs of real people, and bring authentic value and beauty into our homes.

Can jewelry fall under that category? Yes! Let me introduce you to My Saint My Hero, their mission, and their jewelry. And then let you tell me how deeply a purchase impacts the world.

My first exposure to the jewelry from My Saint My Hero came when during a really difficult time this Summer. I was in the middle of a health crisis and struck hard by a new diagnosis. My brain was a fog, my body was drained, and my heart was so heavy. My dad and stepmom showed up in the middle of all that with a gift.

That gift was a Hail Mary Morse Code Prayer Rope necklace from My Saint My Hero. (See it on my Instagram.) It was so pretty... but the "therapy" part of that gift went even deeper as their kindness reached into my loneliness and sorry and touched my heart with a gift of faith. Blessed Mother has my back... I know it. 

I cried buckets... and then I went online to find this new-to-me company called My Saint My Hero...

Retail therapy, indeed! Every category contained physically beautiful outward expressions of faith. Not only that, but the artisans are real women with faces and names and needs. From the website:

The Mission of My Saint My Hero is to transform the world one life at a time through the experience of being blessed and sharing that blessing with others. With your purchases, you are empowering women of Medjugorje through meaningful work – helping them rise above war-torn poverty with the dignity of their beautiful trade.
 

Yeah... I can get behind that. 

And then I spotted the Holy Family Cuff bracelet and my feminine Catholic heart beat a little faster. Stunning! And when My Saint My Hero agreed to send me this beautiful piece to review, I stalked my mailman until it came!

I don't wear a lot of jewelry and perhaps that's one reason why I so thoroughly enjoy wearing pieces that reflect more fully who I am as woman of faith. I love the outward testimony to goodness and beauty. And I love that it is a constant reminder to me that I am made for something more. 

"Three hearts woven together by the grace of everlasting love. The Sacred Heart of Jesus, the Immaculate Heart of Mary and the Pure Heart of Joseph represent the eternal love of family. Wear this bracelet as a reminder that your heart is woven together with your family and through this divine union you are called to echo the eternal love of God."

The Holy Family Cuff bracelet is so unique and beautiful. It is also very sturdy and has withstood the test of many sweet little fingers carrying it, stroking the smooth surface, and yes, dropping it! 

What a perfect gift to yourself or someone else who could use healing and restoration. Being able to purchase extras for ourselves and others is an indication of our abundance. When we make those fun purchases, let it be for the healing of our hearts and the world and have a direct and positive affect on the makers...

That is true retail therapy!

Purchase the Holy Family Cuff HERE and explore all of the fantastic offerings of My Saint My Hero. 

---

My Saint My Hero was founded on the belief that
God is real, prayer works and love heals. Our pieces are
wearable blessings that remind us we are loved.
We want My Saint My Hero to be more than a
Company, but a community, inspired by God to help transform
lives and make the world a better place. Crafted in love and
prayer, our wearable blessings empower women through
meaningful work.
Our prayer is that these pieces help awaken souls
to live in the presence of God and know:
I AM true, I AM good, I AM beautiful…
I AM BLESSED.

---

*I was not financially compensated for this post. I received a sample for review purposes. The opinions are completely my own based on my experience.*

How Stitch Fix is Healing the Marketplace

{This post contains affiliate links. More info Here.} 

Stitch Fix is an online styling service that delivers a personalized shopping experience where a personal stylist hand picks pieces to fit your tastes, needs and budget—and mails them directly to your door. 

I first turned to Stitch Fix to help me solve the problem of my outdated blue jeans. I stayed with Stitch Fix because they presented me with a valuable solution, a human touchpoint in the marketplace, and service that money can't buy.

As consumers, we are accustomed to being sold to, not cared for. So when one company breaks that mold, we notice... we soften... we hope a little more and trust a little more. We tell our friends about that one grocery bagger who remembers our name and the dentist who wished us a happy birthday. It is a reminder that it is the soul, not the body, that needs the greatest care and has the deepest void to fill. 

The story I'm going to share here is one of business leadership going the extra mile. You could say that it was strategic and helped them retain a customer... and you would be right. You could also say that only an authentic servant leader understands how to heal and serve someone they've never met... and you would be right. 

Perhaps it is the genius of womanhood that trickles down from the founder and touches everything. Regardless, here is my story...

---

A LITTLE BACKGROUND

After 15 years of actively seeking a diagnosis for my chronic illness, I finally have an answer. It came as a surprise after a lengthy period of "remission" during which I did everything right to heal my broken body. I dramatically changed my diet, lifestyle, and chemically toxic environment and put the unnamed beast into a cage. Until... it broke free.

I'm not really sure what triggered this flare. Probably stress, a little slipping of the diet, hormonal changes... just a complicated soup of little triggers that pushed my body and immune system in hyperdrive. Regardless, the autoimmune animal was uncaged and I entered into one of the most physically and mentally difficult periods of my life.

Thank God for maturity. (There are a lot of great things about being 40.) I came through okay. But it was intense and surprised me with a measure of grief that was wholly unanticipated. 

Months before this, I had placed my first order with Stitch Fix because I was a little desperate to update my one pair of floppy ill-fitting jeans. Walmart and Salvation Army had failed me and with 8 kids, I'm not inclined to leave the house to shop! I knew I would have to spend a little money to get a good fitting pair and so I decided to let a stylist at Stitch Fix be my muse.

My box came and it was absolutely perfect. I kept everything (and yes, my husband approved the splurge) but knew that I had to be more cautious with future spending. So I set the next shipment date to the furthest possible option and marked it in my planner, intending to cancel before the time came.

Well, the time did come... but it came in the middle of my health crisis during which my planner lay useless and untouched. My face was so swollen that I was unrecognizable. The butterfly rash on my cheeks had scabbed over. My body was on fire and I could barely eat. I spent days just crying, researching, and struggling with the difficulties of the flare, loss, and complications which accompanied the diagnosis. 

I always thought I would be relieved when diagnosis finally came. Instead, I was struck with a heavy grief. I didn't want THAT diagnosis. I wanted one I could wholly control. Where I didn't lose anything else. Something not as painful and as ugly. 

I am feeling well again now and reigning in the triggers in my lifestyle, but being in the middle of that flare was an intense suffering that I was not prepared for. 

STITCH FIX SHOWS UP

In the middle of that struggle, my second Stitch Fix box showed up on my doorstep and I gasped in an "oops!" kind of way. I had forgotten to cancel! Well, I can send it all back easily enough, I thought. But first... I'll just try it all on. And I did.

I took off my old t-shirt from college and my worn athletic shorts, and tried on the bounty that my stylist had picked out just for me. She had looked at my Pinterest boards and read my preferences. She understood. And as the pretty fabrics and prints touched my skin, I started to cry. 

Big fat tears fell down my ugly swollen cheeks as I admired those beautiful clothes. There was a lovely necklace, too... and for the first time in a long time, I felt soft and pretty.

Maybe it won't surprise the reader to know that I kept everything. 

Then I wrote a little note to my stylist. I told her that even though I know it is her job to select nice clothes for customers, that her talent and time mean something greater than just "a job." I told her how her work had touched my life. And that night, I thanked God for women in the workplace... who love others with their intuitive genius of service.

Perhaps you're thinking that I'm a big bowl of melodramatic emotional mush. Perhaps you're right. But in those moments when we are isolated with our suffering and pain, the details of life are large... and have the power to inhibit or expand healing.

After I wrote that note, I put away my new clothes, set my next Stitch Fix date for the farthest possible shipment, marked it on my calendar, and let the moment fall into the abyss of my occupied mind.

Until a couple weeks later...

There was a knock at my front door and a box containing the most beautiful lilies and irises from Benchmark Bouquets was placed on my stoop. I looked for the card to see which of my incredible and loving family members or friends sent this to me...

But it wasn't someone who loves me or even knows me. It was from the team at Stitch Fix.

The wording wasn't intimate but anyone who has suffered understands... someone knew that a broken heart needs flowers and made the decision to send them.

The pic below isn't the best quality since it was snapped quickly with the camera on an aging iPad; and my face is hidden intentionally since I wasn't ready to display the outward expression of autoimmune disease (I will share more at some point) and tears. But it was taken shortly after I pulled those flowers out of their box. They reminded me of the sweet dress that my stylist had chosen for me and I wanted to remember and to share. 

What is love? Is it just an emotion? If so, then Stitch Fix people don't really love me. They don't even know me. But if love is what I believe it is - the action of helping a person to achieve their greatest good - then I don't know... maybe there is love in the marketplace after all.

Father Robert Sirico once said:

"That's what the vocation of business is: to look for opportunities to serve."

To the entire Stitch Fix team... Keep serving well with the best of who you are and you will change the marketplace. You will have set the bar high and have, in this one moment, not only touched my life, but taught me how to be a better businesswoman. Never change.

To my readers who would love to give Stitch Fix a try...  I highly recommend it. It is customizable with the benefit of having a real person working with you. Returns and exchanges are free and easy (I returned one thing for a different size and it was a piece of cake).

And for the healing mother who really doesn't have the time or energy to go looking to splurge for something new and pretty, it is honestly a real pleasure and valuable resource. That's really what this blog is about... Finding healing and joy in the midst of the storm... and providing resources for helping us attain that goal.

Do you know a woman (or man) who could use a Stitch Fix gift card pick-me-up? This would be such a unique and special gift for a pregnant or postpartum mom feeling a bit blah. Or someone who has been feeling unwell. Stitch Fix Gift Card

I'm giving thanks today for Stitch Fix in the online marketplace... where it is still possible to buy something pretty with the personal service of a real human being. 

Lularoe Madison Skirt Review (The LulaRose Garden)

It's no secret that I love Lularoe clothing...

I love the versatile and happy pieces. 
I love the  flexible sizing.
I love that I feel like I'm wearing my PJ's all the time in the soft fabrics.
I love that LuLaRoe is direct marketing (because I love direct marketing!) and that I get to support family business while I shop.
I love that each item fits so creatively into my wardrobe. 

And today, I particularly love this Madison skirt that came to me from Susana at the LulaRose Garden. I wanted to try a Madison and she wanted to see how it would fit into my existing wardrobe. Twist my arm!

I'm a casual gal most of the time but I also enjoy feeling pretty. This skirt dresses up or down quickly and easily and comfortably...

First I pulled out a dressier tee and a pair of heels to go with my Madison. Add a simple necklace and I'm ready for church, a business meeting, or a party. The fabric of this skirt is so smooth and soft that I couldn't help a giving it a twirl...

I'm about 5'6" and 115 lbs and this Madison is an XS. It's a perfect fit at my natural waist. For a size chart, check out Susana's Facebook shop page. 

I switched out the dressy tee with a white burnout tee and added a favorite lace headband and  sandals. Casual comfort-loving girl meets Lularoe. When a skirt is more comfy than a pair of jean shorts, we have a sweet outfit for running to the store, for a play date, or to daily Mass. 

Why yes, I do walk on logs just for the fun of it... 

And since I live in the Northeast, what was formerly an 80-degree day is now a 60-degree evening, I had to give the Madison a go in my Fall favorites: denim and short boots. 

The versatility of the LuLaRoe pieces is fantastic and I'm not even going to tell you how many I own. My favorites are the Maxi, the Azure, and now... the Madison. These soft skirts are the feminine equivalent to the yoga pant. 

Oh... did I mention the pockets yet? I didn't? There are POCKETS! Two of them. This is truly the perfect sweet and functional mom skirt. And it comes in MANY different colors and sizes. 

Shopping for LuLaRoe is unique and super fun. If you've never shopped on Facebook, it's very simple. Simply join the LuLaRose Garden shop page, be the first to comment "sold" on any item you want to buy, and fill out the linked purchase form. 

Susana Starbuck is the sweetest gal and shopping with her is a joy. You don't have to buy anything if you join her page... just window shop to your heart's content and when that one special piece comes along, you'll be ready to go. 

The LuLaRose Garden with Susana Starbuck

The One Word All Men Should Know

The couple and their two young children rolled past me through the Target aisles saying the most hilarious things to each other along the way. I kept my ears wide open and wasn't disappointed by the steady stream of fun. The husband was astonished by how expensive men's underwear was. The wife was weighing the pros and cons of preshrunk cotton. The babbling children let loose a marvelous torrent of comments about pretty much everything.

We crossed paths in the shoe section and again in the toys and then for one final adventure at the ladies' dressing rooms. I was no longer at a safe snickering distance as I sat waiting for my oldest daughter to try on clothes. Instead, I had a front row ticket to a scene I shall not soon forget.

I arrived at the dressing rooms first and was seated on one of the round orange stools at the entrance and was waiting for my daughter to try on her clothes and model them for me. The entertaining couple arrived shortly after and the young wife marched forward with an armful of clothes and through the door directly in front of me. A couple minutes later, she emerged, dressed in a long grey maxi skirt. I couldn't help but notice. She was about 3 feet away from me and I found myself the monkey in the middle between the spouses. She looked over my head at him and said loudly: 

"Wow. This skirt makes my thighs look MASSIVE! Don't you think so, Honey?"

Now, this may simply be my personality, but in that situation, the inclination to stare straight at her thighs and reply was strong in me. She did ask a question after all. But I immediately looked away in order to protect us all. It was an almost impossible feat since she was directly in front of me, so I craned my neck to look down the hall, hoping desperately that my daughter would appear. I could not hold my awkward pose of feigned ignorance much longer. Then she spoke again...

"I mean... don't you think that this just really makes my thighs look TOTALLY FAT?"

I looked. I could hardly help it. I took just a little peek while I rested my neck. I quickly returned to my daughter-searching, wishing desperately that the woman would release me from my strange dressing room prison. I couldn't keep the ridiculous neck turn going any longer and swung myself completely around on the chair. I was no longer looking at the woman…. but now was directly facing her tortured man.

I knew that skirt was not particularly flattering. She knew it. He knew it. Yes, it did accentuate her fullness of leg. Yes, it did make them look rather larger than they had previously looked in her shopping attire of basic blue jeans. And this man... this poor man... what could he possibly say? I held my breath and waited. I could see no escape for him. He would either have to flat out lie or... or... I simply couldn't think what he might say. And then he said it...

Mmmmrrrrr..... Mmmrrrr.

And that was all. I don't know what it meant. I don't think anyone knew what it meant. Regardless, it was genius and it saved his neck. She threw up her hands in exasperation and said...

"I don't even know WHY I asked you. Men know nothing about fashion."

She turned on her heel and headed back into the dressing room.  I could not look at her husband. No, I could not. No good would have come of it at all. But I did hear him release the lungful of air that he had been holding ever since he last spoke, and I made haste to get my daughter and scram.

I learned some big lessons in those two minutes outside the dressing room and I'm sharing just because I think you ought to know:

1) Husbands have a tough job.

2) Supercalifragilisticexpialidocious has a modern day counterpart (although rather dumbed down) and all men would do well to learn it. And finally...

3) If the husband says Mmmmrrrr... don't buy the skirt.

When the Giver is Changed by the Gift {Catholic Bedroom Makeover}

I never thought I would invite you into my bedroom. It really isn't my way. Something about publicly sharing the space that veils the sacred beauty of my vocation causes me to pause reflexively. Not out of prudery, but out of reverence. I changed my mind only because I want to share a story of blessing - when I risked a little to give a gift and discovered that I had neglected more than just my bedroom decor... but also the joy of having a beautiful space that my husband and I can truly call our own.

It began during a texting blitz with my dear friend, Lena (from Joyfilled Family). I confessed to being in a bit of a funk, a bit oppressed by my own failures... and by an ego that was reluctant to handle even one more apology and humble admission. Write down, she said, something that you would like to accomplish just for yourself. That one was easy. I have a lot of those. But there was one that stood out above the rest: I want a clean and beautiful home. A tall order. Okay, she said. Pick one room. That was easy, too. My bedroom. My ugly bedroom that looked the same as the day we moved in several years ago. My bedroom that looked more like a sterile bachelor pad than a woman's domain. 

I know nothing about interior decorating. We have lived simply and frugally and in a state of transition for many years due to house moves and construction. As I pondered the possibilities, I began to see the truth: the state of my room had far less to do with frugality than it did with my failure to "hold the space" for my husband and myself. "Hold the space" is doula language... always popping up randomly in my mind when I feel protective, defensive... but it fits. Even with babies sharing our beds, I should have held that space against the encroaching noise and clutter and crazy. It is my domain... and my husband deserves peace. 

So I began to plan. I would make it a Christmas surprise and use a fortuitous overnight trip planned by my husband to conquer my room and take it back for him. I've never surprised him before and I was nervous as Lena mentored me through the world of color and bedding. Create a new Pinterest board, she said. Twist my arm! I said. And I began.

Part of the way into my planning, I had a grace-filled conversation with Jennifer Buckley of Graceful Living {at Home} in which she told me about her decorating services and edesign consulting services. I already love her website and her vision for a Christ-centered home. When she offered to work with me, I was giddy... and also terrified. My budget was tiny as far as decorating goes. My timeframe would be even tinier. I told her that it would be a bit like a reality show in which we have neither enough time nor enough resources to bring a plan together. But she said, let's do it. And we did. The photo above was taken at the time of our Skype consultation. 

I want to offer a disclaimer here: Jen offered me many wonderful suggestions and counsels that I was unable to implement either because of financial or time constraints. She is a master of repurposing but I still had to purchase paint and all new bedding which ate up my budget pretty quickly. She promised me that if I followed 85% of everything she suggested, that I would have a knockout room. I'm not sure that I hit that 85% but I tried... and anything you might think is goofy or wrongly considered? It's all me. Jen is a master. If you are looking for help, I can't recommend her highly enough. Check out her stunning blog at Graceful Living {at Home}

Because this was a surprise, it was pretty challenging to secretly purchase and stash a bedroom full of stuff. The picture below is some of what I showed to Jen during our consultation before I had to stash it all away in nooks and crannies to hide again. She nixed the gray pillows, suggesting a "pop of color" instead and we made our way through the rest of the items and space together.

Below is a "before" shot. The walls were green-ish/tan-ish.... I never could decide which and just described them to myself as drab. When I first sent these photos to Jen, I was pretty embarrassed as I realized the extent of my neglect. For almost twenty years, I have used frugality as an excuse to neglect our space. I embraced the moment with what humility I could muster and just began.

Please pardon my poor quality photos. They were taken with an ipad (no flash) at different times of different days during a dreary and dim Ohio Winter with terrible room lighting. I hope you can glean some of the affect from what I have here...

And after...
I've since moved the photo frame from the candle shelf. I preferred the simple shining 8-day candle to more clutter...

I had removed my obnoxiously large dresser mirror a month prior and pulled this unused mirror from storage. I assumed it would go horizontally but Jen immediately had me turn it upright. I told her about my plan for my wedding photos and she sent me a photo from Pinterest showing how to arrange them symmetrically. 

I wanted wedding photos. I wanted a reminder of that young, reckless love that says I do give everything and more forever and ever. And as I cropped, printed, and transferred the pictures onto wood frames, I fell into that teenage love again. My heart began to expand. And I wept more than once at the stale, drab neglect that had begun to crowd in with the random toys and clutter.

My dresser has always said a lot about me. Always full of stuff. Random and scattered. Some of it meaningful, much of it wasteful. The books I have read and reread and intended to read. The spot where the varnish had been eaten through by a broken glow stick that a child had bit into...

... now transformed into a different angle of my heart - the one I gave naively to my husband 18 years ago and have been working on giving more completely and deeply ever since.... 

Of course Blessed Mother should be there. We walked into a Catholic gift shop in South Bend, Indiana on our first wedding anniversary and the Chief bought me this statue of the Bavarian Madonna. It was an extravagant purchase at a time when Weaver chicken patties on buns was our "meat" meal of the week. I remember that it was $50 and how nervous I was that I would drop it accidentally! is one of the few possessions I think I would cry over if it were broken. It was in our room at the beginning... and now it is back.

There are many holy cards and devotions that I cherish. For some reason, this particular "Special Act of Sorrow" is among them. I once saw a gentleman at church handing one to Father and I peeked over his shoulder to see what it was. When I saw that he had a stack of them, I asked him if I could have one. On the surface, it seems sobering and I suppose it is. But it also draws my heart to a place of humility which is where I most easily meet my God of mercy and JOY. When I hold nothing back - no sorrow or regret - I embrace the sweetness of my vocation with a happiness that is beyond description. The mystery of the Cross, I suppose. The prayer is a refinement I offer for my husband and I decided to bring it out of hiding... right next to the rosary he bought me several years ago. The pretty one with roses he saw me admiring in the case and surprised me with later...

First time craft projects don't always go my way but this one went just fine. I bought wood canvases, printed out black and white inkjet photos, used gel medium to transfer the image and a matte Mod Podge finish. I used the instructions here. I enjoyed the project and because I found a sale, was able to put each one together for about $10 a piece. The runner was leftover fabric from the curtains.

I always thought a pretty bed was simply a nice blanket spread over some relatively soft pillows. I'm either easy to please or just uneducated in the finer points of nice decor. Lena and Jen introduced me to the world of throw pillows, and in spite of my tendency to just get all matchy matchy with the neutrals... I bought a little color.

My 13-year old son can't fathom the idea of having pillows on the bed that aren't going to be used and kept asking why, why, why?? I was stumped. Until it dawned on me that they certainly can be used! Just not all at the same time. Which brought me to a perplexing question: What does one do with decorative pillows when one is sleeping? I bought a basket from target and it works just fine...

Does my husband care about the many man hours I put into picking out just the right duvet cover that looked like the one I coveted from Pottery Barn but cost half as much? I'm sure he would consider it a waste. I struggled with it myself and felt irritated with the seemingly endless search for... stuff. But those hours transformed me. Forced me to examine my original purpose and see that, yes, I am building a sanctuary. That is my domain and I claim it in love.

The blank wall behind the bed perplexed me. I had no idea what to put there. My original idea called for a shelf with pictures but Jen nixed it. No, she said. The bed is the focal point and the decoration behind it should accent, not overtake it. She suggested something round-ish or some beautiful words. She had a vision but I remained lost, caught between the pretty round wall hangings at Target and my desire to have that space filled with someone more purposeful. More Christ-focused...

I went to three stores searching, feeling a bit frantic to finish the planning. I spent another large chunk of time online wading through all the religious wall art I could find. And I found the Sacred Heart in iron. I thought it a little too Mexican for my tastes but I bought it anyway. When it arrived, it looked terrible on my ugly drab wall... but I kept it anyway. What a difference a gray makes. We think it's perfect...

The following photo was taken just three minutes before my husband walked in the door. I had worked for 11 straight hours and couldn't imagine what he would think of it. (Apparently, hecouldn't imagine either because I really did manage to surprise him.) I was not as concerned about what he would think of the details as I was if he would understand my heart. I put a letter in his Christmas stocking and waited...

The room is small so it's a bit tough to get a good shot of everything. And the ipad made it tough to get a good shot of anything. One aspect of the project that I never completed was the lighting. Jen made some wonderful recommendations but when it came down to it, my budget was blown. So it's a very dim room... for now. The Chief and I will get to it eventually.

I was really stumped for curtains because I wanted a pretty sheer but also something that blocked light in a non-ugly way. Jen recommended burlap to match other items in the room. I hate sewing burlap so I found a burlap-like tablecloth, added light blocking panels behind and hemmed. 

Jen also suggested taking the curtain rod close to the ceiling and beyond the sides of the window to give the impression of greater size... and using a single panel swept to the more open side of the wall. I love the affect... and I totally love the feminine sheers...

There was a consensus among my female mentors (co-conspirators) that the cherry wood paper organizer on the top of the Chief's dresser had to go since it was a less than attractive focal point. I took it away but I wasn't sure how that would go over. I replaced it with a file box on the floor which I have yet to fill. Presumably, he doesn't mind since he hasn't said anything. Or perhaps I should just presume that he loves me. Lots.

Another dark shot taken shortly before he came home....

I don't know if I mentioned yet that I worked for 11 straight hours on this room from start to finish and ate while standing up. And perhaps it goes without saying how grateful I am to my Dad without whom I couldn't have done it and who stuck it out the whole day. And maybe I didn't mention that I was so sore the next day that I could hardly move. But... this...

I had the best motivation for following through. A gift of love to my husband. A Christmas love letter. Delivered imperfectly but with my whole heart. In reparation for all of the big and small hurts that I have caused over the years. For withholding the best of myself in selfishness. Eighteen years is a lot of time to live with someone... a lot of time to hurt. And a lot of time to bless and be blessed. I worked intentionally, offering it up in reparation and in gratitude for every moment of growth and absolute bliss...

This is a picture of the old wood waiting to be covered with three coats of white paint that still didn't cover all the way. The garage sale Amish cabinet that I looked at constantly in the preceding weeks wondering if he would really mind if I painted everything white as snow...

Another shot of the waiting below. I called in an early Christmas gift (because some dads will do things like that when you need them) and took a risk on a wall fireplace heater. The kids and I saw one on HGTV once and we wondered... if we would hate it or love it. Crash was determined to make it happen, called Grandpa, and we eventually fired it up. The cabinet above was painted, reassembled and the punched tin vegetables covered in leftover fabric from the curtains...

The heater has been a blessing in our cold Ohio Winter. And the fireplace affect inviting and pretty. No regrets. There are many little details that I could not finish because of time or budget constraints. Like brass doorknobs and closet knobs that didn't quite fit when I tried to replace them. And paint that needs touching up because we did the whole room in 11 hours. And the switch plates that we just replaced last week. And the white shadowbox shelves that didn't get installed above his dresser. No matching tables and lamps. A few displaced items.

One little surprise was finding this lion on top of the cabinet. It was from the Chief's childhood and the kids absconded with it many years ago. But one of them apparently remembered that this was Dad's lion... and they returned it, not even knowing that it had been in our room at the very beginning, before they were a twinkle in Daddy's eye...

I don't know whether Lena or Jen would like my corner shelf. But I painted it and insisted on it. Once upon a time, we had a single blessed candle burning perpetually in our home under our living room crucifix. Those were simpler times when children didn't break things daily or hit volleyballs against the walls. I wanted that candle back. And it is now in our room where no chaos is permitted...

When I was a younger mother, I did not see how I had made an idol out of my motherhood. How my children had become the barometer of my happiness. Now that I am older and I am feeling the sting of the many little rejections that children eventually will deliver straight to the heart, I am brought abruptly back to reality: I have given my heart to this man. And when my kids leave and make me proud and break my heart and continue to turn my hair gray, this man will remain my own. For better or for worse. And I pray that I will always be able to offer him a sanctuary. So I have made a little light for our room...

And I'll close with that. Pulling the veil back over the holy place where we find peace and consolation in the midst of a life of great big suffering joy.

Update: A year and a half later, our 8th child was born in this room by the light of this blessed candle.