Why's it so dusty...

I sit. Staring. Trying to get my fingers to communicate the thoughts mixed up between my heart and my head. I can't even sift through the mental and emotional boxes scattered across the confusion I call a brain, and yet I hope that my fingers can magically categorize and inventory all that is happening.

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This lids dusty. *cough cough* Really dusty! That's what I thought. "The Lottery." This box contains all those exotic trips, time offs from work, dreams of grand adventures. A huge house, many children, - both adopted and natural. The beach house. The vacation house....yes. We probably shouldn't open this lid...

Over here is the "Options" box. I try not to visit this one too much, but keep it close for easy access. There are job options in here. Housing options. Children options. Areas where we can improve or do something different that would benefit our family.

Is this a box? Oh yes. This is what I call "Drama." Need I say more? It's been kicked, tossed, damaged and bruised. I get so stinking sick of this box I could just scream! There are memories of nasty comments and cutting remarks. There are engraved plaques of pointed out failures and rulers of just missing the mark. There are awards for the "biggest loser" and IOU's to those we love. I get so frustrated with this box and the hurt that it tells of, especially from those where "blood flows thicker than water." It's more full than it should be, and that's unfortunate, for these things are never forgotten - especially between those you once trusted and held in high regard. You just don't do that to family. This box has been abused and all because of pride and selfish ambition. Can we throw this one away, please?

Ahhh...the "Creative" box. I love this box! I want to make this box a little bigger so I can fully crawl inside and be enveloped by all of the creative juices that continually flow. I desire to see my creative visions of home and entertainment come alive - to relax in the comfort of pure creative makings. I want to smell nothing else but the hot glue gun, scraps of paper, or hear the constant sound of, what would be, my sewing machine making beautiful masterpieces. I want to splatter acrylic paint across my jeans and call it a work of art! I love to escape to this box. Unfortunately, this box has more cobwebs than I'd like to admit.

This box is a mess. Actually, I need to get an over sized, Rubbermaid tub for this box. The sides are busting at the seams; the duct tape will no longer hold it all together. "Real Life." The bills. The priorities. The schedules. It's all out of control with no way to reign it all in. The minutes that fly by. The hours that turn into days that seem wasted through the toil of everyday labor. The wants that slip through the cracks, as the list of needs grow longer. The headaches that plague from who knows where. It's all there. Bursting at the seams. Ready to explode at anytime. This one we hide, under a pretty, fuzzy blanket, so no one can see the true chaos that we call "real life."

It shines. I polish it. It's "Family." I crave the time when I can pull the lid of this box and let all the contents escape into pure perfection. I crave the moments when we gather around the table for dinner and talk to Jesus, thanking him for all of our blessings. I love the moments where we sit to watch Jeopardy and Mia tries to talk louder than the volume of the TV. I love sitting by the bathtub as I watch Mia splash with so much excitement that she topples over in the most un-graceful way possible. I love wrapping up my little "papoose" in her purple towel and carrying her to daddy for her "wet kisses." I love driving in the car as Casey and I sing made up songs to Mia Bella. I love listening to my handsome husband tickle Mia to the point of hysterical giggling. I love listening to Casey's baby voice as he whispers sweet nothings to our beautiful daughter. I'm proud to be known as Mrs. Casey Gerster, and proud to be known as Mia's mommy.

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I'm exhausted. No more box hunting for now.