My First Few Days on the No Pants November Challenge

A few days ago I joined in on the No Pants November challenge hosted by Our Wood Home. I usually don't participate in these kinds of things so it was definitely a purposeful, and personally stretching decision to do this. So far I am enjoying it.

Modesty is a large part of my life and my beliefs as a women of God, but beside all that it makes me feel unbelievably feminine to wear skirts and dresses. I mean,I guess you can feel that way in pants, but there is just something about a skirt and heels that pants don't even come close to. At least in my opinion
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I purposefully decided to go skirt-only a few years back. It wasn't because of my church. No one was preaching at me about wearing skirts. I just had this nagging feeling that maybe I was dressing for all the wrong people
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Yeah, yeah. I have read all the articles and blogs on how we need to be modest for our Christian brothers. Don't get me wrong, I think it is definitely helpful for a sister to dress modestly. We all know there is enough skin being plastered everywhere, and showed off without shame. More than that however, I think that we need to remember who we belong to. I think that when we remember that fact, the choices we make regarding clothing will change dramatically.

Oh, I hear some of you out there. "God accepts me just the way I am", you say. Yes. Yes He does, but don't you want to be your best? If crucifying the flesh(Galations 5:24) means letting go of pride, selfishness, anger, lust and numerous other things, then why can't it mean letting go of our vanity? And while we are at it, isn't it really pride and selfishness that hold us back from making better decisions with regards to dress?--- "I" want to look good. "I" want to impress people. "I" want to feel good.

 I. I. I.

It is interesting to me that to enter a court of law we must follow various dress codes, or we risk being kicked out. It is my understanding that the same is true for certain clubs even those that include golf. Golf! Yet we can't lay down our pride for the Creator of the universe. We are willing to wear anything, no matter how uncomfortable to be a part of a club, play golf, enter a court room and even have a job.

Think about that.

Those are the things that made me ponder and pray about how I dress. Will dressing modestly get me to heaven? No. Only salvation through Christ alone does that. Will I be greatly rewarded and blessed because of it? Honestly, I'm not sure; but I do know that laying everything down so that my whole life honors the God who so graciously saved me is worth every pain it may cost. He first loved me. I want to love, honor, respect and obey Him in every capacity. Even the way I dress.


BUT this post isn't about that. It's about what I wore during my first few days of the #OWHNoPantsNovember challenge.

I started the challenge a little late so I only have 4 outfits so far. If you go to you can check out my daily posts. I will also be checking in once a week on here and giving a brief over view of my outfits for the week.

This is what I wore on the very first day:

This is my favorite jean skirt for daily wear, so you may see a lot of it.

This was day 2:

I love this color combination, but next time I will choose flats instead of boots.

This was day 3 for me:

I was on my way to a missions conference at church.

This last one is today, or day 4:

There is that skirt again! 

I hope you join me on this challenge. It is a fun way to rethink skirts!  

And modestly for that matter.

If you want to join in (and I really hope you do!!) here are the rules:

I look forward to seeing your outfits!

~Jumara~

For the Love of Aprons

I like aprons. A lot.

I guess you could say that I love them. 

My apron collection. My mom made the  yellow one in the front.

Actually I REALLY love them
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There are about 32 aprons in this picture alone. I still have some in the wash. Not all of them are mine, however; some belong to the kids. Two or three have been outgrown by little girls that quickly became young ladies.  My mom knows just how much I enjoy them, and has used her excellent crafting and sewing skills to make me a few. She even made the girls a couple of them.

If you come for a visit you will probably see me wearing one. I try to save the nicer ones for visitors. I have great sturdy ones for doing hard cleaning jobs, and for even working outdoors. There is a vinyl one for the messiest jobs.

I like to think that when my kids are grown and gone the picture that they will have of me in their minds eye is: me in an apron laughing, singing, and cooking. Maybe even cleaning. Most likely with a kitchen towel or flour sack towel draped over one shoulder just in case.  

I am a homemaker. My work is never done. It starts when I wake up, early in the morning, and ends when I finally lay this tired body to bed. I really do have a "bed time", but it doesn't always work out.  Much of my time is spent in the kitchen preparing meals, canning, freezing or cleaning. Chances are, that if you have ever called me to chat, I was in the kitchen.  If I am not in it, I am not far from it. 

Aprons not only stop the splatter, but they are great for wiping hands(mine or a child's) or little tear stained faces, and carrying eggs in from the coop.  They are wonderfully handy for doing crafts with the kids, or (you guessed it) processing deer. I especially love the ones with pockets.
The possibilities are endless!

I teach the children to wear aprons when working. I have some for the littles to wear when they "help" me in the kitchen making biscuits, or washing dishes. I cherish the act of tying on a little apron, and making sure it fits around the tiny waist and neck of a toddler. It is a small gesture, but for me it is one small way to make memories with the ones I love. I truly believe that sometimes the little things are the ones that make the biggest impact...and the most vivid memories.
It is a tradition that I hope they will one day pass on.

And no...they don't have to own 32.;)

What to do when your toddler gets up in the middle of the night.

  We have all been there.

Bedtime comes around, and the littles are bathed and dressed in adorable p.j.'s.  The bedtime story is read...and read again...and maybe just one more time.  Then, if you live in our house, they are "flown" to bed like super man, bat man or even spider man, complete with accompanying theme song. And of course they have to be wrapped up like a burrito...after we say our prayers.

Finally, the ritual is complete and you wander off thinking about all the wonderful things you are going to do with all of this free time.  

Dreams I tell ya. Just wispy dreams that fly away about 2 to 4 hours later.  

You know what you just heard, but you are in denial. 

It. 

Just.

Can't. 

Be.

But it's true. You heard those little feet hit the floor, and now they are heading your way.  

You brace yourself.  This will be easy. You can do this. You have done it before. You are the night night master. 

And he proves you wrong. At least for an hour or so. He has a cold. He is sniffly, and cranky, and wants to watch a movie "One day?" Or "In a minute." 

You are strong. You do not turn the movie on. You tell him calmly yet assertively that he must go to sleep.

It works. Almost. He squirms, tosses and turns. He wants to "play game" or "read a book one day". ("One day is the phrase of the week.)

Finally, after what seems like a lifetime he just falls asleep mid sentence. Just like that. Easy peasy. You knew you could do this! (You can barely make out Eye of the Tiger faintly in the background.) 

You tuck him back into bed, and that is when it hits you:

You are now wide awake.

Not groggy awake. No. This is full blown, I can take on the world, awake.

So, what do you do?

I will tell you what you do. You pray. You read. You pray some more. 

You contemplate washing a load of clothes, reorganizing the pantry and dusting the ceiling fans.  You did need to clean the baseboards didn't you?

You decide against it, and at some point(you aren't sure when) you fall asleep.

Ahhhh. Sleep.

Wait?! What's that sound?

My alarm clock already? 

Hmmm.  Well, I better get up. 

Chores and children await. 

So, what do you do when your toddler gets up in the middle of the night? You put him back to bed. That's what. And then you eventually go back to sleep so that you can start again on this beautiful parenting journey.

It's part of being a mom. A parent. An adult.

You do what you have to do, and you smile because you know that this season only lasts a short while. The snuggles, the questions, even wiping the little nose will eventually stop, and he won't need you in that capacity anymore.  

Ask me about it. My oldest is 20. That season is long gone for her.

It only lasts a little while. Do it with joy. Do it with gratitude. Do it with love. 

Then, after a few hours of sleep, wake up  prepared to do it all again. It's an honor. It's a privilege. 

Remember that.

That Time of Year

It's that time of year again:
   Deer season.

This marks a time of much added work for us as we process the deer my husband harvests. Although my husband hunts every year, this is actually only the second year in a row that we do this, so we are definitely still learning.  It takes a few hours to properly skin, clean and part out a deer.  The end result, however, is a freezer full of roasts, ground meat, steaks and sausage.  Last year we made deer jerky for the first time! I look forward to that again.

This also marks a time, when me and the children  are on our own for meals and pretty much everything else because Daniel is out in the woods hunting.  Not that you will hear me complaining because I definitely love the fresh venison!!

With all the new skills that I am learning (and working on learning) such as canning, freezing and drying food it makes for endless days.
Productive days.
And I am thankful for that.

Somehow I am even managing to catch up on herbal salve making.  I am so behind!  I can honestly say that I do not have one jar of any of my favorite salves right now.  By the end of the week, however, that will change.  I am currently working on some almond oil infused with calendula flowers that will be made into what is probably my all time favorite salve: Calendula Salve.  My kids love this stuff!  You should have seen their faces when they realized we were out of it. One day I hope to see them making it for themselves.

Right now, at this moment, I am embracing this season.  All of it, from the falling leaves to the clear blue skies and crisp autumn air to the deer processing.

I hope I am teaching my children to do the same.

A Real Family

Not all families sit down together to eat their meals.
For a lot of people this may seem obvious. For my children, until a couple of years ago, it was not.

We have always strived to eat at least one meal together every day.  Most days we manage at least two.  On the best days we eat all three meals of the day together, at the table, as a family. It is a lovely tradition that I deeply cherish for many reasons.

The first and most glaring reason is that, as a child, my family never ate together. Blame it on the fact that we were a military family and my father was always gone.  Blame it on the fact that many Hispanic families have their children eat at a separate table. Whatever the reason, it didn't happen, but when my children came along we decided that that would change.  And it did.

Another reason is that I enjoy spending time with my children.  Now that many of them are older they help me cook and it makes the whole experience that much more enjoyable. Sitting at the table with real dishes and cutlery, along with a warm, home cooked meal is an experience in itself. There are few things in this world that I find more comforting; but knowing that it all came about with the help of my children is priceless.  These are memories that I will carry with me for many years to come.

The day I think my children realized how special this tradition truly is happened several years ago.  A little girl from our neighborhood had  come over to play and eat dinner with us.  Let's just say that I knew her home life was less than ideal, but nevertheless she was a kindhearted, beautiful, polite child. As dinner time approached I had the children set the table as usual.  Eventually dinner was placed on the center of the table, and everyone was washed up, seated and ready to eat.  Daniel led the family in prayer and then, of course, we began to enjoy our meal.

I am not sure what I cooked that day, or if it was especially delicious or even if the meat was dry.  I don't remember what we were wearing, or whether it was spring or summer; but there is one specific thing that I do remember.  It is something that I will never forget.  It is something I hope my children never forget.

There we were, enjoying our dinner meal as usual, and enjoying each others company when this little girl takes a breath, sits back and says, "So this is what a real family is like!"

A real family.

I believe that all children want a real family.  It doesn't mean that a family without a father or a mother is any less of a family.  Nor does it mean that there should be more than one child to make it any more "real".  A real family can even consist of grandparents or guardians.  I don't think it was the people she was so impressed with that day.  I believe it was the genuine fellowship that she saw.

We slowed down that day, as we do everyday, to stop and look at eachother and really talk.  By that time it was a habit.  It was something we did, and still do, everyday.  We didn't think much of it. Honestly, most days, we probably still don't; but the fact is that we do it.  The fact is, that on that day, we did it.

And this child saw it.

And I realized just how truly blessed I am.

As I looked around at my children that day, I said a little prayer inside.  I asked God to never let them take the small things for granted.  I asked that they would never take our family meals for granted.  I prayed that they would one day carry on this simple tradition of sitting down together with their family.  I prayed that they would always take the time to be a real family.

May you take the time today to sit down to a meal together as a family.  You might just have paper plates and sandwiches.  There might just be two of you who comprise your little family. All of those details really don't matter.

What matters is being together.

It's talking to each other.

It's being a real family.

Rain, Rain...

It's raining today.  This means that parts of the driveway will become mush rendering it almost impassable.  Most outdoor duties have been halted.  There will be no laundry hung to dry in the winter sun, and no firewood will be cut or chopped.

Many people get depressed on rainy days.  Some simply complain about it.  Others hate it, but I have learned that life is too short, too precious, too beautiful to ignore the simple beauty of rain.

It is an often ignored gift, and many times an overlooked blessing.

Still, I love the rain.  

I love...

     the sound of rain as it hits the roof. 

     how it looks washing down the hill in rivulets, and how it raises the level of the creek.   

     the smell it leaves behind. 

     how greens seem greener and reds seem redder.
     how everything seems more vibrant after a rain.  

     the feel of it on my face.

     puddles. 

     watching children play in it splashing and stomping in puddles with unadulterated joy.

     the sense of new beginnings after a rain.

     the appearance of a rainbow in the clouds after a good, long rain.

     how it washes away the dust and grime.

I didn't always feel this way. For a long time I wasn't a fan of rain.  It made everything wet. It ruined my shoes.  It mixed with this red Georgia clay turning it into a goopy mess that clung to everything and muddied my floors.  It made the days look dreary.  Everything seemed seemed gray, or worse: Georgia clay red.

  

But then one day I went dancing.
Well, more like running and laughing, but to me it was like dancing. I danced in the rain.

I don't know what happened exactly.  I was looking out at all the mess the rain was making, and something came over me.  I grabbed my daughters hand and I ran.  I ran right out the front door onto the porch and down the porch steps into the pouring rain.  An I felt free.  I felt joy.  It was amazing. The best part is that my beautiful girl didn't blink.  She ran with me and she laughed.  And then I laughed. We held hands and spun around and around our skirts twirling in the rain, our faces to the sky. We ran half way up the hill trying to dodge the slickest muddy spots, and then I stopped.  I stopped and I breathed in the freshest air I had in a very long time.  I looked around and I finally saw it.  I saw the gift that this rain truly was.  The gift that rain truly is.

I guess the reality is that I do know what happened that day.  God answered my prayer, and I received His gift of joy once again with open arms.  I had been going through such a dry spell.  My life was unusually stressful at that time and I had let it get the best of me.
So here I was dancing in the rain while His joy washed over me, and I wouldn't change a thing about it.  When I walked back into the house, the backs of my legs splattered with mud, my hair dripping and my clothes soaked, I walked in a different person. I was refreshed and full of joy.

I know. I know this all might make me sound crazy. I get it, but the next time it rains stop and watch it for a moment. Maybe, just maybe, you will go out in the rain facing the sky with outstretched arms like a child, and take it in as the gift that it truly is.

There are so many truly evil things in this world. Don't take it out on the rain.  Ignore the urge to complain about it. Thank God for eyes to see it, ears to hear it and skin to feel its cooling drops. 

It's learning to be grateful for even the most mundane things, like rain, that makes room for real joy in your life.

Take time to be grateful for it. 

Better yet go dancing in it.  You'll thank me later.

Seeing Red

   It swirls, flies, and blows with every minute wisp of wind.  Nothing is untouched, no matter how well guarded.  Nothing is safe.  It creeps into every crevice imaginable.  There is no escaping it. It leaves its inevitably permanent mark on everything it comes in contact with.   During the driest of times it is swept up by the wind and transformed into miniature versions of terrifying twisters.  Well, maybe not terrifying.  Unless you know what it is capable of.
   If you live in Georgia, you know what I am talking about.  If not, then maybe you have heard of it.  Songs have been written about it.   Shirts have been sold in a strange sort of remembrance of it.  There is nothing to stop it from causing it irreparable damage.
  
   Red Georgia clay.

   Unless you have been subjected to the wrath of this southern menace you cannot fathom the destruction that follows it.  All of my clothes bares its mark.  Shoes?  Ha!  There are no white shoes in our home.  Even our white goats have taken on an unusual reddish hue.
   The moving of dirt in preparation for the house made it worse.  Now, when it rains, little red rivers come flowing down the hill.  I believe that there is nothing more slippery than wet Georgia clay.  The dogs have been known to slip and slide through it on a rainy day.  Yours truly has toppled, in a most ungraceful manner, to the gooey ground on at least one illfated occasion.
   Wet or dry there is nothing endearing to me about Georgia clay. There is nothing fun about red mop water, red bath water, red dog water, red…well, you get the picture.  Bleach does virtually nothing to combat it.  No amount of soaking rids clothes of its red stamp.  If you are outside for more than just a few minutes you can rest assured that you too will be enveloped in red.
 
Red dust, red goo, red mud, red splatters. 
Red, red, red.