Divine by Design Blog

At the end of 2019, I read a New York Times story that would shape the first part of my 2020.  It was titled, “Do Not Disturb: How I Ditched My Phone and Unbroke My Brain.  It was published in early 2019 but didn’t find me until the end of the year.  It sparked a few questions for me and how I was functioning under the influence of all things revolving around my phone.  While I knew I wasn’t as dependent on my phone as the writer in the aforementioned story, I knew I was somewhat dependent.  Like food, we have to have our phones.  We need food to survive.  We can’t just stop eating.  That’s why food addiction is so prevalent.  Bottom line, we need to consume it in a healthy, balanced way.  Our phones are no different.  

So, I sprung into the new year with restricted access to my phone.  Early on, I realized how many things I used my phone for- email, bank accounts, social media, Bible, devotional, calendar, weather, news, stocks, Waze, Google Maps, GOOGLE, Kindle, Audible, August Lock, Lutron and the list goes on.  My phone was literally a portal to my world.  

I knew I was going to have to communicate some by phone, but for all the other things, well, I took it back to the old school.  The notion of that was exciting for me because “old school” for me is the 1990’s. I pondered life in general back then and without my phone.  Rewind, I did have a cell phone in the 90’s.  But, it was giant, expensive and only to be used in case of an emergency.  So, what did I do?  I opened up actual books, read the words and turned the pages.  I turned on lights with my fingers and opened doors with actual keys.  I peeked outside my window to get a sense of what the weather was going to be like.  If I had a question about something important like who Brad Pitt was dating, I pondered it instead of googling.  I used the navigation in my car (that I’d never used before) if I’d lost my way here in the concrete jungle.  And, I searched through my books to find a multitude of devotionals just waiting for me to dive into.  

I adapted to this easily.  It felt natural and also rewarding to be more resourceful and self reliant.  I didn’t need to start my morning off, opening app after app.  Instead, I was enjoying my evening with a good documentary and waking up to the sounds of the city while I prayed, meditated, stretched and read a little before starting my day.  To compensate for the time I spent on my phone, I was doing things that were fulfilling.  Like food, we can eat junk upon junk and never get full, or we can eat good food and be satisfied and full in the way it was intended to be consumed.   

But, I won’t lie, there were many times in the early days of my month long sabbatical with restricted use of my phone that I reached for it out of habit. And, where did I immediately go?  Facebook or Instagram.  As soon as it opened, I quickly shut it down and put my phone away- far, far away.  I knew that once I got on social media, I would be carried down a roaring rapid of information that I couldn’t get off of.  

As I reconnected with myself, I started feeling disconnected from my people.  You know, the people I kept up with day in and out on social media.  Though our interactions might have been somewhat superficial, I still felt in touch.  And, that was a good thing for me.  What was the newest finding on Alan’s sesame centered Facebook page, “Sesame In the City?”  How many months old was sweet little Baby Teagan (I missed seeing her cute little smile and dimples)?  What adorable thing was my sister and brother in law’s doodle, Rougie, doing today?  Was the Wills Point Tiger tennis team in full swing and whipping up on the competition?  These were things I actually missed.  The heartfelt stories, photographs of families on vacations, news of promotions, praise reports for good health,  encouraging scriptures and quotations and the simple thumbs up for “like” and heart for “love.”  For me, these things are heart warming and affirming, and I missed them.

But, the greater revelation for me was this. We may know from what we see on Facebook or Instagram, for example, that sweet little Baby Teagan is eight months old and smiling ear to ear, but what we can’t know is if she didn’t have a good night’s rest or if she’s got an ear infection or if her mom is tired and needing support.  No, we can’t know that by a photo on Facebook.  We can only know these things if we’re organically connecting people in conversation that exists ear to ear and heart to heart, not through a social media post.  I say it again and again, everything that glitters isn’t gold.  There’s a lot going on behind some of these posts and pictures that we’ll never know if we don’t connect on a deeper level.  And, why do we need to know these things?  Well, God may have appointed you to pray for or encourage a particular person or group of people.

When we connect in an organic way, we learn ways in which we can better serve our tribe.  That brings up another question?  Do you know who your tribe is?  Knowing who the people are that God has placed in your life to support and serve you and you them is essential.  Recently, on a Facebook post, my beloved friend Tanisha gave a super sweet shout out to her cousin, friend and god mother to her daughter.  The person she was referring to is also my friend, Norma.   What she was saying to her was, “I know you’re someone I can count on because you’ve always been there for me and my daughter.  And, I’ve got you.”  Who’s got you?  Really ponder this, who are your people, your tribe.  

Once you know the answer to that question, then you know where your energy should be.  You can focus on these people, investing in them the way they’ve invested in you.  And, that may be by an occasional “like” or “heart” on Facebook or Instagram, but it will be more impactful when you’re involved in their day to day, leaning in, loving and serving in the way God’s called you to.

I could pretty much disregard most of the apps on my phone that I use to check this or that.  The vast majority of them are not necessary.  But, I cannot be without my phone in terms of connecting.  More than my phone being a portal to my life, it’s a portal to communicating with my tribe.  I love my tribe.  It’s filled with new friends and old friends, friends of friends, friends through business, friends with similar interests and family.  

In conclusion, restricted use of my phone was revelatory.  It put what’s important in life in perspective.  We can ditch our phones, but we need our people.  To every member of my tribe, thank you for reading this humble little “blob,” for liking and loving and sharing the things that are both on my heart and make it smile.  I see you.  You are special, important and loved.  Always and forever, be sure of this.

Stay divine, 

JL PARISH

P.S. The little cutie pictured on this blob is Teagan.  Her smile makes my day.  Can you see why I missed it.  Teagan’s mom and aunt and grandmother and great grandmother are all members of my tribe.  I love them, a lot!

There’s a small metal easel at the end of our bar filled with River’s artwork, all crinkled from paint, with streamers hanging off of it, perfectly imperfect.  Just behind it sits two containers of Advil and Tylenol for infants.  River’s not an infant anymore, so they’re in that spot until I think of who I can give them to.  Just in front of River’s artwork, there’s a photo that River’s “sister by choice” and neighbor, Ivy, took at his 2nd birthday party.  It’s small, in a neon green frame and has “to: River from: Ivy” written in fine black sharpie on the bottom of the frame.  And, last but not least is the Cucumber-Mint Burt’s Bees chapstick standing tall beside River’s 3×3 framed birthday portrait.  He lubes those plump lips up like a pro, and, in the process, works it around his entire face and Peaches pout before sticking his finger directly in the middle of it.  I pause before making this admission, but in a day when my lips are parched, I pick it up and smear it on my own fully knowing where it’s been.  

Two years ago, the thought of such a “mess” at the end of my bar would have sent me into a tailspin.  But, not today.  I’m becoming more comfortable in an environment that’s not staged for a home tour.  There’s a message in the mess.  That bar could be free and clear of everything I just described, but my home would be free and clear of the greatest joy giver of all.  And, that’s a trade I’d never want to make.

After giving birth and catching my breath enough to realize I needed new underwear (you know, the pull almost up to your ears, postpartum kind), I headed to Nordstrom where the sales person pointed me to these lovely knickers and assured me they would fit.  She was my size or bigger and said they were “one size fits all,” so I picked out a pair in each color and headed home to launder them.  The next day, I tried a pair on and they didn’t fit.  So, I reverted back to my old faithfuls. A week later, like the Little Engine That Could, I tried again. This time it was a success- perfect fit and, more importantly, the confirmation I needed to know that they were not “one size fits all EXCEPT for Jill Lide Parish.”  That evening, as I shed my clothes to get into the shower, I realized I’d been wearing my underwear backwards all day, and they fit me perfectly.  I digress.

My body isn’t what it was before giving birth to my big baby boy.  But, then again, I never had a Sports Illustrated swimsuit model’s body.  These days, there’s more of it.  Some parts are higher and others lower.  Nothing is in it’s rightful place.  One year ago, I would have shamed the h-e-double-hockey sticks out of myself.  But, not today.  I’m becoming grateful for this machine of a body that’s kept me alive for 43 years and carried and birthed the most precious gift of my lifetime.  Beauty isn’t about perfection.  It’s more about progression.  Growth and evolution are beautiful beyond compare.  

Not even six months ago, I’d say I was addicted to people.  Or, more specifically, pleasing people.  Long after River came into this world, I was still on the people pleasing hamster wheel, and I was tired.  So.  Very.  Tired.  I had so few boundaries with people.  I don’t mean that I was allowing people to abuse me.  That wasn’t the case.  But, if you needed a place to stay for seven days, of course you could stay with me.  Or, if you needed to unload every negative thought you’ve ever had in life, I’d sit on the phone with you for five hours listening intently.  Oh, and, last but not least, if you told me you were going to arrive at my home for a visit or a restaurant for dinner and were three hours late, I’d smile and say, “No problem,” meanwhile wasting away because I was waiting to eat or drink or whatever my brain told me was appropriate to do or not do in my people pleasing interaction.  Relentless in my pursuit of pleasing people, I hit a wall.  Hard. Y’all, I hit the wall HARD.  And, when that happened, I had to take a true inventory of myself and why I was doing what I was doing.  In my wholehearted attempt to please people, I was falling short.  Ill in that attempt and completely exhausted, I surrendered.  

I’m becoming more in tune with my own needs.  Not that I don’t care about the needs of others.  I’m just clearer on what I need to function and be a decent wife and mother. Currently, little to nothing comes before that.  The people in life that really count also really understand.  

There have been a gazillion epiphanies in this motherhood journey.  And, truth be told, some felt like moments and others felt like seasons.  They weren’t all easily learned or accepted.  But, they were necessary. I’m not who I used to be, and I’m not certain of where I’m going.  All I can say is this, I’m becoming.  

I’m constant in prayer and knee deep in God’s word because in becoming who He’s called me to be, I know I must do His will.  Fully embracing the gift of life He’s given me and honoring it by caring for myself and those entrusted to my care is my full-time spiritual appointment.  While I may fall short in the eyes of others, I don’t want to fall short in the eyes of God.

Two days ago, I was dropping River off at his classroom with his rock star teachers, when Miss Bridget says, “Wait, Mom.  River wants to give you something.”  And, out he walked with a laminated card with his picture and poem followed by a plant in a beautiful pot with his colorful finger prints all over it.  With a Kermit sized frog in my throat, I said to myself, “Do not cry.  You will look like the amateur of a mom that you really are.”  

Moms, I’m still very much an amateur.  You raise the bar for mommas like me.  Cheers to becoming.  Because of your growth and evolution, the very seeds you’ve planted will follow.  Keep nurturing them, and watch what they become.  Happy Mother’s Day!  You are God’s gift to this world.

Stay Divine, 

JL PARISH

A couple of weeks ago, I signed up for “Repurposed” at my church.  It’s a training program designed to help you find your God-given purpose.  Several of my friends had gone through this training experience, and I was excited to take part in it until I received an email with a pre-training assignment.  In this assignment, my task was to list my top ten “high points” and “low points” in life.  Ugh, my mind immediately went to the low points, and I really behooved having to recount them.  Then, onto my “high points” which was, of course, so fun.  The magic, outside of actually qualifying your top ten high and low points in forty-two years of life, was connecting them.  They call these connections “hinge moments.”  From that, one thing was clear, if God brings you to it, He’ll also bring you through it.  Every single high and every single low prove one thing, God’s faithfulness.

In life’s mountain top moments, we understand God’s plan fully, right?  He is great and greatly to be praised.  But, in the valleys, we plead with him for understanding and resolution.  His ways are so mysterious.  And, mysterious(ness) is alluring when you’re on the periphery of it but not in the middle of it.  All of our life’s experiences are purposeful and necessary for our evolution earthside.  Now, it’s easy to say that when all’s right in the world.  The challenge is maintaining that same understanding, rather, mindset when life throws us lemons (big, fat, giant lemons). 

Many moons ago a beloved human being/co-worker/friend, grabbed a piece of printer paper and pen and wrote the loveliest verse on it to give to me.  It read, “The heart of a man plans his way, but the Lord establishes his steps (Proverbs 16:9)”  She was moving onto the next adventure, but, in her heart, felt the calling to share that verse with me.  To this day, I have that very piece of paper that Tonya K. Dunn-Harris gave to me, and I treasure that truth like I treasure her.  She and I shared a lot of life’s highs and lows.  We laughed and cried.  We wondered what was next.  I’m grateful that God’s divine plan brought us together, or, as she would stay, “that she was one of my steps.”  

My personal plan for every single day is for it to go along perfectly, but I know that is not God’s plan.  He uses people, things and experiences to sharpen us.  And, why do we need to be sharpened?  So that we can live out His purposes for us on earth and bring His kingdom the glory it deserves.  That thought alone really makes me want to SHOUT FOR JOY!  It is true, God doesn’t waste a thing.  

My friend and family member by choice, Donna Rankin Whitehead, had a stem cell transplant this last year.  I don’t know if you know much about it, but it’s a serious, serious thing and THE absolute miracle in modern medicine.  I hated more than anything in the world to see her go through that, but, listen here, what I experienced watching her go through that changed me.  And, it changed other people.  You would never see her without a smile on her face.  You would never catch her with a bad attitude.  You would never see her treat the angels attending to her with anything but kindness.  You would never see her without makeup (God love a Texas woman).  She was going through the valley of valleys and putting on a clinic for all the world to see.  I weep as I type this part.  Her smile, positive attitude, kindness toward others, appreciation for all those who helped her in any capacity and her FAITH made me better.  It made everyone around her better.  Never, ever, ever would I have wished such a difficult time on Donna, but, I know one thing for sure, God established that step.  He knew she was strong enough to take it and that her faith would move mountains while others watched in amazement.  The angels in heaven must do the Texas Two-Step every time they hear her name because she brought a kind of glory to God’s kingdom that is rare and precious.

Friends, today and every day that follows, remember Proverbs 16:9.  Our life’s purpose is really revealed in our own personal highs and lows.  We have a choice as to how we see those moments and how we use them to help, heal, lift up others.  And, if you look around at the world and it all seems bright and shiny, remember this, no matter how good someone else’s life looks, they’ve been through the valley(s), too.  They could be like Donna, in the valley with lipstick on and super-sized faith.  We are all more alike than we are different.  Better yet, we are all God’s, and that makes the journey even sweeter.

Stay Divine, 

JL PARISH

I was in Virginia Beach, Virginia meeting up with two of my very best friends, Kelly and Holly, at the boardwalk. It was a lovely day. Water was glistening and sun was shining just as it should be when you’re sharing a day with your people. They wanted to take the ferry over to a restaurant and bar, and, although I wasn’t quite ready to go with them, I decided to just ride over with them and then ride the ferry back. Once the ferry stopped, Kelly and Holly stepped off and I stayed on. The captain said, “Everyone off.” I stayed on. He said, “Everyone off and that means you, too, ma’am.” I said, “I was just riding over with my friends. I’m riding back so that I can get to my Dad. He’s disabled.” The driver replied, “I’m sorry. It’s policy. Everyone has to get off the ferry.”

When I woke from that dream, tears were streaming down my face. I knew that the day was coming, and faster than I’d hoped, when I’d no longer be able to get to my Dad- to see him, talk to him, joke with him, seek his counsel, love on him, spoil him, just BE with him. Well into my second trimester, I hustled to get myself ready and waddled to my car to hurriedly get to my Dad who, since August of 2016, had been living in a skilled nursing facility not far from his actual home he shared with my Mom. When I got there, he was resting and looked somewhat grey. I let him know I was there, sugared him up, stroked his hair and encouraged him to rest as I sat in a chair by his bed.

Less than five minutes into the quiet of sitting with him, he spoke loud and clear. Because my Dad suffered a debilitating stroke almost five years prior, speaking loud and clear was a feat. It was something he was able to do on occasion, something he’d worked so hard to regain with years of speech therapy. He said, “I’m dying. And, I’m ready to go.” I stood up, leaned over him and asked if he’d repeat what I thought he said. And, again, he said, “I’m dying. And, I’m ready to go.” I let him know, with tears falling out of my eyes like rain upon him, that losing him would be very hard on me. He looked away. Then I said, “You know, Jimmy (that’s what we called him), only God knows when it’s our time. So, while we’re here, we’ve got to live it up and love it up. Now, when it is your time, you know where you’re going, right?” He replied, “Yes.” I said, “Well, ok. I’m glad we got that out of the way. Now, tell me this. Are you going to hang around to meet this baby (his grandson)?” Once again, he nodded and replied “Yes.” As sure as he was that he was going to heaven when it was his time, he was also sure and downright determined to meet my son, his grandson.

Being pregnant was such a gift. I mean, in general, it’s just such an incredible gift. The greater gift was that, not only had I waited a long time to have a child, but that, in a season when my Dad’s life was coming to an end, a new life was taking shape. And, by the absolute grace of God, he not only allowed me to be the recipient of such a gift but to share it with Jimmy. Every single time I’d see him, I’d raise my shirt, show him my belly and get close enough for him to touch it. Though he couldn’t remember my actual name since his stroke, he knew me, who I was to him and that, by golly, I was having a baby. He was, in the sweetest way, completely and totally invested in this kiddo growing inside of me. My sister, Susan, would tell me that when she’d come to see him, he would often use his good hand to show her how far out my bump was. To this day, envisioning that, makes my heart swell.

As I got closer to my due date, Jimmy was declining. But, again, he was on the baby train, waiting patiently to learn about the arrival of his youngest grandchild. And, just one week after River was born, we were able to make the trip out to see Jimmy. He was weak. I was weak. We were all making a concerted effort for Jimmy to meet River and, more importantly, for River to meet my Dad, his Grandad. It was a precious, precious time. I don’t know, quite frankly, if I’d ever been so proud and grateful to share something with him. God had blessed my husband and I with a child, my parents and his parents with a grandchild and, while Jimmy had the desire and determination to meet River, a very sovereign God persevered him through the final weeks of his life to meet his grandson.

Two weeks later, Jimmy finished “living it up and loving it up” here on earth and made the ultimate trip to be with his Savior. The word “bittersweet” could not be more fitting for that season in my life. I’d lost the second Dad I was so graciously given. And, I’d become a mother to River all in a matter of weeks.

You see Jimmy was our “other Dad.” My biological father and first Dad in life passed when I was seven years old. He was a wonderful human being and father to my sister and I. And, in the mausoleum of my mind, I preserved him as saint. Lord knows, he was very human, and I’m sure he would not want to be remembered that way. Nevertheless, I kept him pretty perfect in my heart and mind. So, when Jimmy came along, three years after my Dad’s passing, I wasn’t sure how that was going to work. I mean, I had a Dad. He passed away. But, he was still, first and foremost, MY Dad, and Jimmy coming into the picture was absolutely not, in my mind, going to compromise that.

But, in true Jimmy fashion, he had the emotional intelligence to pick up on both mine and my sister’s feelings of who OUR Dad was. He made it clear on more than one occasion that he would never take the place of our Dad, who was, in his words, “a great man.” But, that he’d like to love us, too. That was conflicting for me and probably my sister for many years. In my mind, I needed to keep them separate. There’s my Dad and, then, there’s Jimmy. And, I like him. I want to love him. But, he needs to know his place.

Thirty-one years later, nobody knew his place better. Over time, he’d become the king of our hearts. After being married to a lovely woman, Shirley, for many years (and, way before my Mom came into his life) and conceiving and raising two of the most beautiful girls inside and out, our “sisters by love,” Vicki and Pam, he married my Mom. And, along with his new (and, quite a bit younger ) wife, he inherited two kids who were resistant to any man other than their Dad being in their lives and home.

And, you know what, Jimmy rocked it. Day in and out, he edified us, encouraged us, corrected us and loved us. He didn’t have to, but he did. And, it paid off in spades for us and him. As he would say, he had “two daughters by blood and two daughters by love.” We were not bound to Jimmy genetically, but through thirty-one years of life with him, we were and will always be bound to him by spirit.

In our grief, it’s so hard to find a silver lining. But, the truth is, in order to find that silver lining, there’s got to be a cloudy day. After losing our beloved Dad, God sent us an unlikely angel in Jimmy who loved us up and raised us up in our Dad’s physical absence. And, in the wake of losing Jimmy, God delivered the most precious baby boy in River. The greatest gift is that God saw to it that Jimmy was able to meet his grandson before he made the ultimate trip to heaven.

While my heart grieves, my mind knows that, without question, I was twice blessed with the two greatest Dads that any child could ever ask for. I also feel pressed to find the silver lining, cling to the blessing that both my Dads were and will always be and pour every ounce of love they blessed me with into this beautiful baby boy.

Friends, I know this “blob” is heavier than most. But, it’s really a declaration of gratitude and great reminder that though sometimes the clouds seem to roll in, there’s always a silver lining if we look hard enough.

Just as I encourage myself, I encourage each of you to look for it. Reach for it. Live it. Life is short and precious. BE the sunshine, the blessing of a silver lining in someone’s cloudy day.

Stay Divine,

JL PARISH

Just four short days after giving birth to an 8 lb 11 oz hambone of a baby boy, River Williams Parish, my husband and I were up and off to see the pediatrician. Lawdhammercy, what a feat! It seemed like it took us an eternity to wake, feed, burp, change, dress, load and head out. Once we were in the car and around the block, River started to cry. But, not to worry, his Mom, yours truly, is in the back with him singing every Beatles song I can recall because, who can cry when hearing the Beatles? River can. Yes, apparently, even the sweet sound of the Beatles couldn’t soothe River. Then there was the diaper bag… You know, the one we forgot. My husband said, “Jill, do you really think he’s going to need a diaper change between the time we leave, make the appointment and get back home?” I nod my head, “Yes, he’ll probably need fifteen. My-lanta!”

We finally get to the parking lot of the pediatrician’s office. Of course, there’s nowhere to park. So, my husband parks illegally. Friends, let me tell you this one thing, I’m a rule follower. Not parking in an actual parking space challenged everything in me. We get out of our illegally parked car, and Patrick, my husband, trucks it across the parking lot with baby in tow while I move at a snail speed behind him. “Wait,” I yell at Patrick. A car was pulling out near where we were illegally parked. “Give me the keys, and I’ll get the car parked in that space.” And, without a thought, my tall, brawny, linebackeresque husband hell mary’d the keys over his shoulder and into the sky so high that I completely lost sight of them. I threw my arms up in the air and I shrieked, “ARE. YOU. EXPLICATIVE (don’t judge). KIDDING. ME.” Poor Patrick looked back at me like he’d seen the devil then forged into the office to a) get our son checked into his first appointment ever and b) get the heck away from his wildly hormonal and sleep deprived wife.

I bent down to pick up the keys (which seemed like it took twenty-five minutes) and, as I stood up, a car pulled into the spot I’d planned to move into and, from periphery, I see the most perfect looking, young, energetic, boss of a Momma be-bop up the stairs with her baby. Let me guess, we’re going to the same office. Glory be! I walked in, sat down quietly beside my doll of a husband and baby and looked to my left to find the perfect looking Momma who, witnessed my meltdown, sitting right beside me with her perfect baby and perfect diaper bag that she actually remembered. We exchanged pleasantries. I wanted to crawl under my chair, but I wasn’t in good enough physical condition to do so, and, if I did, I might sleep through River’s appointment.

The last three months have been comprised of countless “Humble me, Lord” moments. Though I was as prepared mind, body and spirit as I could be in the forty weeks and one day that I carried River, I now know that nothing can really prepare you for motherhood. And, as fixated as I was on this precious gift of an angel boy that God so generously blessed my husband and I with, I was also completely overwhelmed with the elation and exhaustion that comes with having a newborn baby. Oh, and the diapers and butt paste, well wishes and gifts, fluctuating hormones and on demand feedings. There have been and continue to be so many things happening and changing that I still cannot compute them all.

I think sleep deprivation must be by design. It forces you to forget all the hurdles and remember every smile, every coo and every single warm snuggle. I can barely remember a day without River. Having him is my greatest reward, and, as cliche as it may sound, my greatest adventure.

Being a Mom for such a short period of time has changed me, challenged my purpose and exposed my shortcomings. I wish I could tell you that I’ve got it all together, but I’d be lying. What I can tell you is I know today that, above all, I’m River’s Mom, and that’s the greatest title I’ll ever hold. No other responsibility will ever trump him. My sole purpose in life is to love him, care for him and raise him up to know the God that created him. And, though my shortcomings are infinite in number, I hope the best in me, the God in me, will shine through in such a way that the bad sifts through like sand and the good flows into this baby boy like water.

To all the Moms out there, my ten gallon hat is off to you. We exist because of you. The good and the glorious things in this life are a byproduct of all the goodness you’ve poured into your little ones. When I struggle, I know that you have walked before me in the same struggle. And, when I look at my baby and smile and he smiles back, I bask in the same joy you have so many times before. Babies are God’s gift and a great reminder that a little bit of heaven resides in all of us.

Stay Divine,

JL PARISH

I got married a little later in life. My husband, too. We were married for a couple of years before we started trying to conceive. Biologically, it probably wasn’t the smartest thing to do, wait, that is. But, we were both old enough to have seen enough marriages fall apart early on. So, it made sense to be as responsible as possible and make sure we could tolerate each other for a couple years. Things didn’t happen quickly for us in terms of getting pregnant. We sought out a great fertility doctor to put us (mainly moi) through a slew of tests to see if a baby was in our future. I became extremely anxious. Two days in a row, I thought I was having a heart attack. Both days, my husband trucked me into the doctor’s office. Both days, they said, “this is anxiety.”

Anxiety. Anxiety that I might not be able to give my precious husband a child. Anxiety that he picked the wrong girl. Anxiety that this could change the course of my relationship with him. Friends, it was a rough time. And, it was all me. My husband put absolutely no pressure on me whatsoever. One day, when I expressed to him tearfully all my anxious feelings, he kindly yet sternly replied, “We’re ok. You and I are ok. I’m not worried about this, and I don’t want you to be either. When I played basketball, I missed every single shot I overthought. Let’s relax. Be normal.”

I had never heard such comforting words. And, I had also never realized how much I loved my husband. I took that command and carried on with life- loving my husband, my family, my friends, my work with JL PARISH and all the adventure that was to come. I also prayed, “God, if it is your will, I know it will be done. If it is not, I will be the best god parent to my three god children and one god dog and the best aunt to my nephew and, soon to be niece.” And, you know what, I left it there.

Months and months down the line, my husband and I finished a dream project. It had consumed much energy and creativity, but it was a beautiful labor of love. Five days after we’d made the final touches on that dream project, I was pregnant. How could this be? “Surely, this cannot be,” I thought. And, yet it was.

Joy unfurled between my husband and I. My Mom having to get off of the phone after we told her and “call us back in twenty minutes” because, in her words, “she had to cry and get ahold of herself.” My sister screaming, then going into the very, very ugly “Oprah Cry.” My brother-in-law falling to his knees, face turning red and crying tears of joy. And, my mother and father-in-law, glassy eyed, beaming from ear to ear, saying, “We knew it. We knew it all along.” Friends and co-workers and neighbors and perfect strangers extended that same joy from well wishes to thoughtful, precious, generous gifts.

At 39 weeks and 4 days, I sit here with thighs that touch as if they’re best friends, a belly that could rival any Cave City watermelon, boobs that have never been bigger but never looked smaller and a smile that’s never been wider. I am blessed beyond measure. And, I hinge all my hope in my Creator, the same one that made possible, what at one point, seemed impossible. As the saying goes, “I do not know what the future may hold, but I know who holds the future.” And, my husband and I are counting on that same God as we enter the uncertainty that comes with labor and delivery, oh, and actually raising a child. Sweet Baby Jesus, be with me. Be with my husband. Be with my family. And, be with this baby that we will soon meet.

While I share personal things here, this one is just a bit more so… you know, personal. But, I share it because I think we all have things in life that we’re striving for. All the time I say to myself, “Trust in Him, Jill.” Then, I find myself hopelessly fumbling around in my own humanity thwarted with fear and anxiety only to return to that same thought, “Trust in Him, Jill.” While His ways are not our own, His ways are perfect. While His timing is not our timing, His timing is perfect. He is a faithful, on time, able God. He isn’t a passive God but an active one. We must never forget that. And, the best part about God is that he’s accessible to us all- no matter how far we are from him, we are still within His reach, His grasp to pick us up and re-direct our path.

There’s nobody like God. Nobody as faithful. Nobody as powerful. Nobody as creative. Nobody, no, nobody like God. And, you know what else, there’s NOBODY like you. We are each created in His image, put on this planet to be used for His purposes, and we are ALL perfect in His sight.

Friends, be blessed by the message of hope today that we have because of who our God is. May we all share in one another’s blessings, scattering joy wherever we can. And, may our hope be hinged on the Creator of All.

Stay Divine,
JL PARISH

I don’t know about y’all, but I wait to get everything in my house in order an hour before I know someone is coming over. And, I do mean everything. My routine consists of pushing all my piles of stuff into one localized and unseen area like a closet or drawer. I sprint around the house with my Shark hand vac, sucking up all the visible clumps of dog hair and dirt. Then, I methodically run hot water in one side of my kitchen sink before pouring “lavender scent” Fabuloso into it. Why? So that it will seem as if “Jill, the good housekeeper” arduously mopped before her guests arrival. The pillows, of course, are fluffed, flowers are watered (there’s no sight more lovely than my well watered, dead flowers) and the most fabulous candle in the house is lit. So, when my guests walk through the door, their pathway is clear of dog hair, guided by the light of that fabulous candle into my living room where they can smell my oh so clean floors (wink, wink). June Cleaver’s got nothing on this girl.

The truth is, June Cleaver’s got everything on this girl. I cannot pour enough “lavender scent” Fabuloso into my sink to fool people into thinking that I’ve mopped my floors because I haven’t. The bottom line is, I’m not perfect. And, my home isn’t perfect. No matter how hard I try to create an illusion of perfection, I will always and forever fall short. That’s a cold, hard fact.

I think perfection is like the plague. We all have it on some level. The questions is, “how sick is it making us?” Photographs on social media are posted with filters, ensuring the perfect light for the perfect pic of our perfect, non-aging, gloriously happy face. We’re able to create an image of what we want people to see from the traveling yogi to the die hard Democrat to the parent of the most athletic child in the world. Or, on the other side, we see the perfect depiction of the damsel in total distress with the passive “prayers please,” to indicate that something’s wrong without telling us so that we’ll ask, ask, ask. Why would one do that? Because their Pinterest perfect posts were not even enough. Now, we have to sink to a new level of getting people to notice us.

The truth is, we’re all struggling- struggling to be the perfect this or that. We work so hard to create an illusion that will impress others when, in fact, we’ve got piles of our own “stuff” spilling out of drawers and busting out of closets. And, the worst part is, it’s exhausting. A zillion times over, I’ve said and continue to say that we’re living in a world that works day in and out to make us something other than what we really are. I have a problem with that. I’m not June Cleaver. I never will be. I need to stop creating the illusion that I am. I don’t even have a Jello Mold anyway (Alan Boring, don’t you dare judge me). So, who the heck did I think I was fooling?

I want to be me. Good old, hot mess, well intended, “lavender scent” Fabuloso loving me. And, I want the attention of those who know the real me and still want to be a part of my life. I don’t want to have to be somebody else. I want to be me. And, you know what else I want? In 2017, I want you to join me in being YOU. Not the Pinterest perfect version of you, but the real YOU. Because that’s who’s loved and respected.

In the last year or so, a beloved friend of mine and awesomely positive Facebook Buddy, Jennifer Barnett McCann has shared her journey. She is quick to let you know that it hasn’t been an easy one and that, leading up to it, she didn’t necessarily like the person she was at times, but that, darnit, she was on the journey and getting better. I’ve been so inspired by her soul truthfulness, her choice to see sunshine instead of storm clouds and the audacity to stand in that truth, own it, tell it and transform others by it. It’s gritty. And, there’s something about that that really appeals to me. She’s not striving for perfection. She’s striving to be better.

I wonder what our lives would look like collectively, if we all simply followed suit and stood in our own truths. If, instead of living perfectly, we lived truthfully- each day striving to be better, not perfect. How beautifully imperfect we would be. And, instead of creating the illusion of a clean house or perfect life, that we’d live in the “grit” a bit more, appreciating the here and now and being present for what is and what’s to come.

Here’s to an imperfect 2017. One that’s filled with impromptu visits from family and friends, stepping into our unclean homes. Bodies that aren’t ready for swimsuit season but put their bathing suit on and cannonball into the water with reckless abandon. Photographs that may not show our best side but, instead, show the fun time we were having. Stories of hearts filled and hearts broken. And, instead of sharing what we think others want to know about us, we share who and what we really are, both good and bad. Adios to 2016’s Pinterest perfect mentality and hello to an imperfectly, perfect, downright gritty, beautiful 2017.

Happy New Year,
JL PARISH