Gindi Vincent

The Dish on Career, Fashion, Faith, and Family

Another 40s Birthday, 2020-Style

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That nice red splotch is what’s left of my spider bite

I climbed another notch on the 40 to 50 ladder with my birthday yesterday.  One that lands me closer to the end of the decade rather than the beginning.  A non-birthday which turned into a lovely birthday because of precious people in my life. 

I haven’t written in a bit so there’s nothing over here on the blog that notes the freak issues that cropped up for me while doing hurricane recovery at the farm the past two weekends.  Weekend before last, some type of spider somehow got into/up/through my blue-jeaned-legs and bit my shin.  It went south pretty fast. By last Thursday, I booked a quick telemed visit with my doctor’s office because of the red, hot, oozing mess.  She prescribed oral and topical antibiotics to get it under control. 

Then, last Sunday at the farm, I developed a painful, itchy rash on my neck and chest. Plus my leg didn’t seem to be improving. 

So Bray and I got a big laugh yesterday morning when I said “Well this is what 4# looks like, you have a 7:45 am doctor’s visit for a freak rash!” (And Southern Living sent me an article on The Most Flattering Hairstyles for Mature Women…) I wouldn’t expect anything else from you, 2020!  And aging! 

Turns out, I was having a reaction to both the oral and topical antibiotic, but the bite was actually improving, it just had a rash on top of it.  Ha!  So no more antibiotics, and now I’m on steroids.  This morning, everything already looks a ton better and I slept through the night. 

With that as its backdrop, how could the birthday do anything but go up.  I worked all day, of course, because adult birthdays are far less glamorous than kid birthdays.  But my best friend sent me a little treat to encourage us to go out/get take out, and our other dear friend dropped off a beautiful gift.  My texts and IMs and social media was full of gracious words from kind friends from this season of life and all the past seasons too!  I love that.  It’s like seeing everyone at a wedding again. 

Bray picked up a Mediterranean feast per my wishes, and my mom delivered a yummy lemon cake for afterwards.  I haven’t written about it a lot here because my weight is just such an up and down battle for me, but I’ve been “dieting.”  I’m doing Beachbody shakes and work outs and I haven’t had a bite of sugar for three weeks so this was a fun little splurge. 

The best part though was sitting around after dinner with these people God has gifted me with and opening cards and presents.  My mom and little bit both picked out these gorgeous cards and wrote these long beautiful messages.  This is the first year a child went and selected their own card and she penned such a beautiful sentiment inside a lovely card that I cried right through the whole thing. 

Bray had a brutal day at work but showed up and did the birthday thing even though he is utterly wiped between the farm and work.  The kids went to school and cross country and are still tired from farm clean up, but they showed up and showered me with love and kindness.  My mom, and friends, and co-workers, all took time out to be such love and kindness.  A good friend of mine had delivered dinner to us the night before since I hadn’t had time to meal prep. TWO straight nights with zero cooking for me! As much as I love to cook, it was a fantastic break in this hectic season. 

The boys have a football scrimmage tonight and game on Saturday.  The kids have a cross country meet next week.  We’re navigating social distance and masks and a pandemic with reentry to school and sports and hurricane recovery.  It’s a lot and it’s good and it’s hard and it’s full. 

I started yesterday completely and utterly depleted.  I’m starting this morning restored.  Not because I suddenly got 12 hours of sleep or everything is different.  Everything is the same (except my rash!). But I remembered how extraordinarily good God is and how I have everything I need. 

I’m grateful to start this next year.  I’m thankful I get to. 

How We Heal

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There have been a lot of tears in our family the past week.  It was early Thursday morning we woke up to the news that the eye of Category 4 Hurricane Laura went right over the farm.  The reports put storm surge lower than initially projected but winds at 140-150 miles per hour sustained. 

The family was devastated.  But waiting with hopeful baited breath that things weren’t as bad as they might be. 

The first report coming out Friday was that the structures were standing.  Unfortunately, that was not to be the case.  All three barns were destroyed.  Fortunately, the bayou house, which is my father in law’s historic childhood home moved to sit on the bayou, was still standing although damaged.  The camp house was missing siding and roof.  And Bray’s parents home was assaulted by the wind – siding pulled off, holes in the roof, water in the walls, windows blown out, and the dining room wall actually bowed out. 

The family came in waves.  Delicately driving between downed power lines and trees.  The electricity infrastructure for SW Louisiana has been destroyed.  It will be months for the smaller communities to have power restored

The kids went through Hurricane Harvey in Houston when they were seven.  Packed up their belongings in a trash bag and evacuated with kind emergency response personnel from around the country.  But our house survived.  Miraculously.  They came home and unpacked and helped others rebuild. 

They haven’t had to rebuild themselves. 

In the midst of the emotional upheaval of this year, a global pandemic, racial injustice, political vitriol of an election year, we just didn’t have the bandwidth left for a super destructor hurricane. 

Heck, my last blog posts were about disappointment, fear and sadness – and that was BEFORE the hurricane! 

Those posts were inspired at the farm and featured pictures from our time there just a few weeks ago.  Lord knows I’ve written from the farm a hundred times.  I can still see this walk from the hay barn with the baby in this post, On Bones and Wood, Down Here at the Farm.  Summers with preschoolers reminding me I’m not a farm girl despite my love of the quietude, and littles playing in mud puddles and feeding cows.  Their newfound obsession with farm life at two years old. 

They carry all that with them.  So after a long weekend of cleaning up debris, and another long weekend of clean up ahead of them, they were all in tears and exhausted last night.

We also just went back to school which adds to the exhaustion, AND we’d just finished Where the Red Fern Grows for school which added to their emotional fragility.  As I held each one, cycling from child to child (they rarely are all crying at the same time, I’d forgotten how hard that is), one voiced the question they all held:  Why did the farm have to get destroyed? Why did the barns get destroyed?  It will never be the same. 

I don’t know, I replied.  I’ve found when we don’t have the answers, it’s best not to gin up an inauthentic one.  This is one of those early opportunities where they learn God doesn’t always answer our prayers like we wanted.  He is still there though. His plans are still “to give you a hope and a future.” (Jeremiah 29:11-13)

I wrote on Facebook Friday night, just before we drove to Louisiana the next morning:
Gratitude: thankful in all circumstances.
Well, I guess this week was meant to test that.
Monday: Needed a root canal through my new crown. Grateful to have access and ability to pay for the procedure.
Tuesday: School suddenly released so we could prepare for a major hurricane. Grateful we are one of the few families whose kids can even go back to school.
Thursday: major hurricane eye goes over the family farm leaving a disaster behind. Grateful for a big family who are all going out to rebuild and friends and neighbors to volunteer cots and food to take.
Thursday: Two kids health issues crop up requiring different pediatric specialists. Grateful I live in a city with extraordinary access to health care – appointments Monday and Tuesday.
Friday: First pictures from the farm. Heartbreaking. Then we lose power at our home in Houston. Grateful we are getting to practice what it will be like with no power this weekend at the farm and grateful we can get in tomorrow.
#imtappedout #ineverythinggivethanks #gratitudeiswork

How do we heal? 

From whatever has attacked.

We heal through our tears. It’s critical we allow them to flow.  Boy, girl, man, woman, we need to make space to grieve.

We heal through our faith.  God sustains us even when, especially when, the outcome is different from what we hoped. 

We heal through gratitude.  Giving thanks in the midst of a storm is hard.  The Bible tells us to bring the SACRIFICE of praise, because it is a sacrifice.  But finding those things to be thankful for heal.

I know we have too many to name. The people who have come around the extended family with offers of physical labor, supplies, prayers, and money to rebuild have overwhelmed us all. The kids school has been such a safe and comforting place for them to be during the week. We have a home with power and food to come back to when many of those in Lousiana, including my in-laws, do not. We have a hope, the faith that anchors my soul.

It won’t happen overnight. And we’ll have setbacks. We’ll live with the sadness and disappointment and fear I just wrote about. Then, little by little, we’ll see the restoration from the ruin.

I have a hope, found in your name. I have a strength, found in your grace. Your faithfulness, My fortress, Over and over.
Make way through the waters. Walk me through the fire. Do what you are famous for:

The First Day of Fifth Grade -2020-Style

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Every year, I write you on your first day of school.

I’m overwhelmed with so many emotions today. 

The times we live in. 

The way you’re going back to school. 

The fact that you GET to go back to school. 

Little did we know when we flew off for our Grand Canyon Spring Break trip, you would not return to school for five months. 

Five months. 

You. Are. Amazing.  Each of you are such extraordinary humans. 

This has been a hard five months.  Distance learning.  Life shut down.  Sports canceled. Friend play dates ever so rare.  So many days of the same.  A mommy who lost her patience a long time ago. 

And still.  You rose to the occasion.  You’ve had hard stuff to face in your young lives.  You came into our world as tiny fighters.  You’ve grown a lot, but you still fight and your resilience puts mine to shame.  Bagging up your belongings at the age of 7 because we thought our house would flood during Harvey.  Watching, and helping, your city rebuild.  Then, just a couple of years later, seeing the news report deaths and crisis and unrest and dissension.  Living through a pandemic.

But you, you each found joy.  You each laughed and ran and played and fought and lived life so fully.  I continue to be overwhelmed with the honor of having a front row seat. 

I have less advice this year.  You probably could give me some. 

To you, my oldest: You are brave and competitive and persistent and passionate.  You marshal all of those incredible God-given talents this year.  I know there were some disappointments thrown at you, and you’re carrying some of those right now, but throw them off.  That’s right.  The year is on now.  And you are going to shine because you have proved over and over that you work so hard to cross the finish line.  Just like I told you last night when we were visiting at bedtime before prayers, you were the first one to climb out of the crib, the first to learn how to turn the door knob and escape, the one most committed to succeed at swim team even though none of you could get to the other end because the pool was oh so long and cold.  You push through kiddo and that will equip you to thrive this year.  I know we butt heads darling boy, but it’s only because we both speak our minds. Do it your way. Forge your own path.

To you, my darling girl: I am utterly smitten with the young woman you are growing into.  You are methodical and curious and patient and introspective and massively creative.  Your creativity is going to serve you well this year.  When you crash into a hard wall, you just create your way around it.  Find a different path.  Learn a different way.  What a gift God gave you with a teacher who knows you already and who is crazy about you and sees your talents and gifts.  This year, it will be transformative.  And you will bring such joy and laughter and conscience to that classroom.  You, the one who took the only counterpoint in a controversial debate assignment last year, will be the one to speak your mind.  Driven by justice, you will just grow more and more socially conscious and you will bring people to Jesus because they will see Him shining in you.  Just. Be. You.

And to you, my baby:  Ha, you are so far from a baby now, it must drive you nuts to own that moniker.  Your deep insight and intellect and ability to see beyond what people say to what they feel and what drives them is going to give you such a talent for thriving in 5th grade and all the grades to come.  I know it makes life hard sometimes, to feel so deeply what others feel; to pick up on hurt and loss and bear some of it on your own soul.  But you are so very strong.  Not just physically strong, but emotionally strong to your depths.  You crave knowledge.  That will grow into wisdom and you will bring insight to the classroom. You will share others worries too. Don’t hold on to them.  Let the worry fall away and hand it over to Jesus.  You thrive because you were born to learn and grow and share and lead.  I couldn’t be more astonished at who you have become. 

During my prayer time this morning, I was listening to Elevation Worship music.  Praying The Blessing over each of you.  And then Resurrecting came on.  This line is in one verse: The fear that held us now gives way, To Him who is our peace.

I know this masked up, classroom isolated, year can look a little scary.  But we serve a God who is in the resurrection business. He will be your peace.  You follow the rules to keep you safe, then make your own way.  Grow, thrive, learn, and I’m right here, praying for you and rooting for you and wildly proud of you!

Sadness

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Saturday, I wrote about disappointment based on a real life disappointing scenario I saw happen at the farm. 

The next day, I wrote about fear because of one more real life situation. 

Today, I’m writing about sadness since we had yet another circumstance unfold that helped me understand it more. 

When I woke up with the desire to write on Saturday, after two months, I didn’t know there would be more than one blog post.  I certainly didn’t intend to write a series based on rather hard emotions. 

Well, now that I’m in an apparent series, I’m really rooting for tomorrow to be a real life JOY scenario so I can write about something to cheer us all up!!!

You’ve probably seen one version or another of the feelings wheel I have pictured above.  Core emotions are things like sadness or joy and then the emotions take different forms from there. Seeing versions of this has helped me process what has come out of my kids (heck, anyone) and recognize a reaction might look like one thing but truly be something else at its core. 

But right now, we have a core emotion that looks like a core emotion. 

Sadness.

I have a child who is sad today.  This sadness hit because of something that is happening, none of us have any control over it, and sadness is a perfectly appropriate response for it. 

In fact, when I spoke to the child’s siblings about this situation that caused the sadness, each of them (entirely separate from the other, at different times of the day) cried!  They each said, “oh no, mom, that isn’t fair, I could handle that but not [insert name]!”  I was really hoping to enlist each of them to help me stay upbeat about the circumstance, but their little tear-filled eyes made me dubious they would do much good.

There were a few things that could have mitigated the sadness, but the situation unfolded such that each of these mitigating options went the other way.  Sadness compounded. 

This is what hit me as I was dealing with the situation unfolding.  Every instinct in me wanted to “pretty it up.”  Let me put on my fixer hat and figure out a way to “solve the problem.”  I was trying to “silver lining” it for this sweet child.  Hey hey, I felt like I was dancing, it’s going to be fine, and you’ll end up having fun, and there’s all this good we can’t see right now, yadayadayada.

What I realized, fairly quickly: Wrong Response!  What this child needed was not a father’s, “hey don’t cry,” but instead a mother’s, “I am really sorry. This is hard. I know it isn’t what you wanted.  It’s okay to be sad – I will be sad with you.”  And then sit there, patiently absorbing whatever big reactions came out. 

It was also okay for the other two siblings to cry and be sad for their third wombmate.  I didn’t need to dismiss them and say, “HEY, cheer up here, I need your help salvaging this situation!!!”  The better response was, “Man, you guys sure are lucky to have each other.  You understand what is hard on each other, and I’m so thankful for your compassion and empathy in this hard circumstance.” 

Yet again, a valuable life lesson gleaned from parenting through the hard.  Once more, a lot of real life relevance in 2020. 

I listened to one of my best friend’s cry yesterday because of a lot of really sad things happening in her life right now.  They are hard things, some very hard, and some less hard which feel harder because of all the crap surrounding it.  Instead of looking for a silver lining or trying to fix the series of unfortunate events, my response was similar to my response to my child.  “I am really sorry. This is hard. I know it isn’t what you wanted.  It’s okay to be sad – I will be sad with you.”

If you are sad, it is okay to be sad.  This has been a sad year. We’ve watched explosions and unjust deaths and a global pandemic upend our lives and our plans and our schools.  We’ve felt trapped and isolated and that leads to sadness. 

Here is my one request: Find Someone Who Will Share Your Sadness.  Do not be sad alone.  If you need a person to share your sadness with, then I would be more than happy to visit with you.  Sharing this burden does not remove the burden, but it does weigh less heavy when you have someone to walk the path with you. 

You don’t have to pretty it up.  We will, I firmly believe, be okay and come out of this, but in the middle of the dark valley, we are all allowed to cry and suffer.  Just don’t do it alone. 

Love you friends.  Absolutely planning for joy to come in the morning. 

Weeping may endure for a night, but joy comes in the morning.  Psalm 30:5

(Wheel courtesy of Gottman)

Fear

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I write a lot about fear.

It’s one of my tormentors.

I’ve mentioned this before, but I come from a long line of worriers, and I think I’m actually a little better than they even were.

Past blogs have tackled the difference between being fearful or scared, fear and worry that grips you over your kids, getting caught up in the minutiae and paralyzed by fear, and heck, I even wrote an entire 10 part bible study series called Breaking Fear!

After yesterday’s post on how we are all disappointed, I woke up this morning, ready to write again, and this word sat on me. Again.

Fear.

What really got me thinking about it was watching little bit on horseback with her brothers last night.

You see, she has been obsessed with horses since I can remember. She was on grandpa’s horse, Batman, as soon as she could walk, I have pictures on her walls of her on the assorted horses from farm and ranch life the past ten years.

But there’s a break in those photos. Probably for about two years.

We had family friends at the farm. She was riding with her friend who was two years younger. The saddle must not have been cinched tight enough, and when they brought Peanut in for some water, the saddle slid sideways and both girls fell onto the concrete base of the water trough. They were bumped up with a few minor boo-boos, but there was longer term damage.

Fear set in.

Something in her little brain told her that getting back up on the horse could result in her falling and getting hurt again. So when they would saddle the horses, she would decline the invitation. In time, she would be led around by her dad or aunt, but she wouldn’t just take off on a horse like she had done before the fall.

She still loved horses. But fear stopped her from doing what she wanted to do.

I think we are all intimately acquainted with fear these days. In addition to whatever political or justice fears we may have, every one of us (around the world) are united by a fear of a tiny spiky virus we know as COVID-19.

That fear is resulting in numerous reactions from complete isolation for fear of infection to complete denial of consequences and acting like nothing has changed.

Fear has shadowed our decisions about what to do about sending our kids to school or not. (I’m fearful they’ll get sick or get us sick if they go 🆚 I’m fearful they’ll struggle emotionally if they don’t have social interaction.)

Fear has set in to our workplaces. Our churches. Our neighborhoods.

And since fear sells, Lord knows that the news is using fear, on both sides of the political spectrum and even in apolitical spaces.

So what do we do about it?

I sat with that question this morning while my daughter threw on her boots and raced out with her brothers to saddle horses and go chase a bull that got loose (that sentence gives me fear!).

She chooses the gentlest horse now. She doesn’t get in the pens with the cows where the horse is more likely to hop or kick. Her horse doesn’t gallop quite as quickly as the ones the boys ride, and she’s happy about that.

She has chosen to do what she loves again, but to do it safely.

Could she still get hurt? Absolutely. Does she know that? Of course.

But she has chosen a course of action that enables her to get back to her first love: horses. Her passion was bigger than her fear, eventually.

This will look different for each of us.

What drives me, what will beat back my fear, will be different than what drives you to overcome your fears.

I wrote yesterday I’ve been stuck in a bog. Maybe some of that bog was disappointment but a huge big sticky mess of it was fear.

We are making the best decisions we can. And our decisions will look different than yours. We decided to send our kids back to school. We are some of the few who actually have that as an option and our small private school has done so much to keep the amazing teachers and students safe. The boys are slowly putting their toes back into the sports world, outdoors of course, while little bit will wait until basketball season (which we pray will be able to proceed, but we know none of us know).

I pray for wisdom. For wisdom to make wise choices that are greater than the fear buzzing in my brain. I know Matthew 6 tells me I cannot add a single hour to my life by worrying.

I pray I would remember the 2 Timothy 1 gift God has already given me: God has not given us a spirit of fear, but of power and of love and of a sound mind.

The Ephesians 6 strength.

The 1 John 4 love.

I’ll slowly get back on my horse armed with strength and love and a sound mind and ride off in the direction God leads.