Unrefined, Unpressed; Redefined, Redressed

I want to be unrefined.

The unrefined ladies draw me in with their too-loud laughter and lack of concern for the prim and proper. They let their hair down and walk out in the rain, face up to the sky. They roll their sleeves up and dig down in the dirt, hands one with the earth.

The unrefined know the moments of life that require ankles to cross but live for the moments that beg for feet to dance. Oh, that the joys of this life would flow through me with unrefined abandon and that the children in my home would know to put napkins on their laps and elbows off the table but let them ask what’s the fun in all this dancing through life if the dance has to be refined?

I need to be unpressed.

Work presses me in the day. Chores press me in the evening. The loves of my life are left with an over-pressed mother who loses patience too easy and an over-pressed wife who finds solace in silence rather than comfort in dialogue.

How do we press back against the demands, the requirements, the necessities of life? How does is become bearable, doable, and dare I dream it to be loveable? I want to unpress the pressing. Simply stop. Step away. And come back unpressed.

I long to be redefined.

I’m redefining time-well-spent to mean laughter with my babies, dates with my husband, and prayers with my God. Too often we find ourselves simply trying to meet the demands of life and while the laundry, and dishes, and work are spitting out their demands, the people wearing that laundry and eating off those dishes and benefitting from the money that work produces are missing the quality of our time. They get the hand held up while we take a call—I’ll be there in a minute—or the date rescheduled for next week—when things will be less busy—or the prayers pushed back till bedtime—woke up late…again—and when will time-well-spent mean that it is spent on the ones that matter most?

This life begs to be redressed.

Raincoats in the sunshine because the forecast says thunderstorms. Tank tops in the cold because the weatherman warns of  a heatwave. Boots on the beach and flip flops in the snow because the other is where we will be walking tomorrow. Preparations for the next can make the now so uncomfortable and when did I start looking at what the next day, week, year may require and ignore what this current moment is offering?

He asks me to be clothed in righteousness but this current wardrobe feels more like worry, judgement, envy, and distrust and why do I allow all of this to sit in my closet and be pulled on each morning?

How is it that our faces can wear a smile while our chests heave under the weight of a burden-bearing overcoat? I know the days can’t all be clothed in morning glories and evening breezes but don’t we have some control over how we dress our life and don’t we know the One that can clothe us anew in grace and mercy each day?

Redressed. Perhaps the hardest one of all. The burdens on our shoulders and the weights around our ankles are there and on some level will always be. That is life, after all. But this life, this brutiful life, begs to be redressed in a way that allows us to move, to run, to dance beneath it all. That coat has buttons and those shoes have laces so that they can be taken off once in a while. I’m taking them off today and putting on something a little lighter. Perhaps they’ll be slipped on again tomorrow. Who knows.

But for today, if only for today, I’m choosing to be unrefined, unpressed, redefined, and redressed. Let’s dance.

Dos and Don’ts of Self-Tanner

Vanity took over this morning and I decided I wasn’t quite tan enough for a Florida girl wrapping up summer. It’s already August for pete’s sake and I’m barely past the winter-white skin tone. Since going to the beach now requires time off of work and hours worth of preparation for the kids-in-tow, I decided to break out the self-tanner sample I got at Sephora a while back.

Having used self-tanners before and knowing that they can leave, how you say, not-so-natural streaks and dark spots if not applied with care and attention, I took my time with the application.

I was thrilled that my legs weren’t resembling the hue of a sweet potato, as I’d feared, and decided to move on to my arms since this was going so well! My arms and shoulders took on a warm sun-kissed glow and I was applying the self-tanner so carefully that I took an extra two minutes to extend the glow to my face. I made a mental note to get the full-size bottle the next time I hit up Sephora.

Ten minutes later, I’m done.

I examined my handiwork and congratulated myself on a streak-free, end-of-summer glow! That’s when I saw my hands. My palms were the most unnatural shade of brown that any white girl should have. I grabbed the soap and a loofa and started scrubbing. The brown didn’t budge. I grabbed the self-tanner bottle to read the back. Clear as day:

“Wash hands often when applying to your whole body so as not to stain palms.”

WHY DIDN’T I READ THE BACK FIRST?!?!?!

So now I’ve got a great summer glow happening, but I’m really glad we’ve moved from high-fives to fist bumps. Not that I do either, really. But if I come across anyone wanting to high-five me in the next few days it might be a little awkward. First, because they are still high-fiving people in 2012 but also because of this:

There is a reason for directions on self-tanner.