my sister's gift of grace to me on her wedding day

I am the oldest of three children and while I have siblings,  I was raised like an only child. For many reasons, I grew up alone. 

People always told me that some day my siblings would be friends. I never once had reason to believe them. It always felt like it was me and then them. 

I got married when I was 23. I was a baby. There were wedding choices I made because at 23 I didn't see any other way. I eloped & to this day, I wouldn't change it. 

My baby sister got married this past weekend and for some reason, she chose me as her maid of honor.

There are things her wedding taught me that I had no idea I would learn, grace I received that I had no idea to anticipate. 

To quote my MoH speech, my sister & I are as different as night & day. 

She is Nordstrom while I am Marshall's.

She is fresh fruit while I am a snickers bar. 

She is a bull dog and I am cat. 

But, regardless of who we are, we are sisters. 

No one as been where I have been more than she has. 

No one gets our broken, healing story like she does. 

No one has survived the wreckage with me like she has. 

When I was first married, people loved to indirectly (& directly) give credit to my husband for saving me. He was the good people saw in me. Those who had watched my life from a close distance weren't able to see how far I had had to come to choose him. The courage and strength it took me is also my sister's.  She chose someone who loves her. Ultimately, that comes down to her; she saw her own worth first.  You can't choose what's best for you, what's healthiest, without knowing you yourself are worth it & deserving. For that I am so proud of her. 

My sister had every freedom, every reason, not to choose me to be her maid of honor; nothing except blood obligated her, yet she picked me. 

Post wedding I can't help but wonder, was she afraid I wouldn't come through on my duties? Did she have any doubts with her choice?  If she had freedom, would she have picked me all over again?

Here's what I learned from watching her navigate HER beautiful wedding day, she picked me on purpose & it was her choice. 

Like I said, my sister is a bulldog in the most loyal and strong of ways. You can't tell her to do something, she does it because she wants to. Why it didn't dawn on me that picking me wasn't excluded from that is beyond me. 

My sister showed strength and determination over her wedding day that I ran from. I have a persistent inability to honor my dreams & worry about others, cater to others, self sacrifice. That all meant that MY wedding day meant I had to run. My sister? She honored her dreams, her husband's wishes, included respect of all of her parents & stayed the course. She stayed. She dealt with whining, fits, expectations, immaturity, generosity, ALL of it. It wasn't easy, and she stayed the course. 

So there came her wedding day after months of planning & navigating problems. My sister stood in the face of anxiety when expectations didn't meet reality and while she asked for space from everyone else, she invited me in.  I was the one with her in the moments leading up to her vows, standing to gather her bouquet, and scooping up her dress for bathroom runs & helping her change for her honeymoon getaway. What right did I have to experience that with my sister? Honestly? None. What my baby sister did was show me grace. She trusted me to love her, serve her, and know how to be the calm she needed. 

I've been her sister for 30 years. I can shamefully assure you May 7th was the first day I had ever served her selflessly & whole heartedly. May 7th was the first time I loved on her the way I love on those nearest & dearest to me in their times of need. 

So, Sister, thank you for showing me grace. Thank you for choosing me, trusting me, inviting me in to your moment to let me love you the way I've always wanted to, to serve you in the way you deserve a sister to serve you, to intimately witness your courage & strength, and above all, to truly be your sister.  I am so deeply proud of you. 

Oh, & just so you know, "I could never love anyone as I love my sister." -Jo March. 

BE STILL

There have been only a couple of times I have had words stir on my heart without rest or understanding & recently was one of them.  

While I have known who Jesus is for my whole life, I didn't realize He was "mine" until I was twenty-two. For years I had lived on the borrowed understanding of His grace, love & mercy from my mom not quite understanding I could have something of my own with Him; not even knowing I was missing it until it became so real & personal that it changed my entire life.  At fourteen He made it clear He was protecting me, covering me, & walking ahead of me but I was too injured & broken to know how to take Him in; He waited. 

BE STILL; These words started circulating my existence in the every day a few months ago. I would feel them stir in me when I was frazzled, I'd scroll social media and the verse would appear multiple times a day, several times a week; BE STILL was permeating my vision. 

"Be still, and know that I am God." Psalm 46:10

There was an aspect of this message that I understood because of my relationship with Jesus, I was being asked to

• TRUST in Jesus
• WAIT on Him
• Be PATIENT 

but I didn't know what I was being asked to be still for or why? 

I thought I had it nailed, "Ok, God. I can do this with You. I know you're merciful & good. I know You make plans to prosper me. I know that what is meant for evil, You work for Your good. I know You have NEVER failed me, You have ALWAYS loved me & provided for me. I got this."

It became clear that the BE STILL was that our family's life was about to change.

Jesus was providing an opportunity for our family that we hadn't faced before. In 10 years we have experienced much job loss but never the opportunity to advance & choose to move into a new position because we were pursued, wanted, or needed. 

It's here my relationship, my SELF, my FAITH was challenged. 

I poured myself into bible journaling, podcasts, & the aggressive pursuit of His word in order to draw me closer to understanding what He wanted me to.  I had all the tools in my faith-arsenal to BE STILL, trust & wait. I had the gumption to exercise ASKING Jesus for BIG, BOLD, UNBELIEVABLE things and TRUSTING He WOULD make them happen. My failure, as it turns out, wasn't in the the ask, however, it was in that I unknowingly said "in MY timing, EXACTLY as I'm asking."

I found myself crushed. More than that actually, I removed myself from that table with Jesus & I decided to lay face down on the couch giving Him the cold shoulder. 

Why?

He asked me to wait LONGER than I had been prepared to. He had a plan that was BETTER than what I was asking for, yet, because I was so locked into MY specifics, I felt like the opportunity wasn't blessed or ordained. What I wanted was for it to be EASY, for the story to be a TESTIMONY & it seemed like it was just a test; a chance for me to eat a slice of humble faith pie. 

It has been an incredibly overwhelming "moment" I've been having with God. Until this past Sunday, sitting at church, I couldn't let myself off the hook for my failure. While I KNEW God forgave me, I couldn't forgive myself. The enemy had me caught in my own net with lies on repeat: I failed my Father, & I embarrassed myself before Jesus.

But here's what TRUTH says:

• "You are God of forgiveness, always ready to pardon, gracious and merciful, slow to become angry, and full of love & mercy." Nehemiah 9:17
• "You do not stay angry forever but delight to show mercy." Micah 7:18
• "God is merciful & quick to forgive" Isaiah 55:7

I didn't FEEL forgiven & my guilt removed me from closeness with my Father. I cannot tell you how achingly lonely the prison has been. I couldn't unlock the gate. I stared off into the distance of something I knew I had but I wasn't released -- I was holding on but Jesus had already given me the freedom.  God forgives immediately & completely. 

BE STILL. I see the other side now. I didn't pass that test but it has become a new testimony. 

**for a wonderful message called MERCY FORGIVES, click here**

Season of Awakening

I started September fresh. Yes, the kids were back in school, but I had made some intentional decisions to make room for what mattered most by removing some of the things that mattered least. He is working in that space I have given Him.

I have realized this is a new season for me & it is a Season of Awakening. I'm not filling every nook and cranny of my time with to-do's but instead with just-be's. I find myself standing at times staring in all directions, "What should I do now?" And with those questions, there are choices: rest, read, be productive, play, invest in relationships, sow into others, meet with Me's; I have the freedom to choose and enjoy each one. I am not wrapped up in have-to's, idol obligation, self-striving, or insignificant distraction, but living in the the gift of now. 

I wish I could recap this last 8 hours of this day in a way that bled truth so vulnerable; so vulnerable you'd share in my heavy eyes but know my full heart that comes only from His love. I fear it may be impossible but I will try. 

It was 7:10am and I felt a gentle shake on my back.  Face planted firmly in the warmth of our bed, I bemoaned morning coming so quickly. I threw my legs over the bed, rubbed my eyes, & swooped my sweater over my shoulders, "Get in gear, Allegra, we're behind for a Monday morning with minions who need breakfast before school," I thought groggily. 

Cheerios. Coffee. Pack Lunches. Shoes on. Backpacks remembered. Out the door. 

7:49am, "Bye, baby, I love you!" I said as I cranked my head to the back seat. I say it because I mean it AND because I want to see my second graders face stare back silently saying, "moooommmm!!!"

I was looking forward to this day! I was thankful for this day. Just give me a cup of coffee and I would KNOW I meant that. 

9:00am, prepare for the dramatic drop off of my pre-schooler. He does not like letting me go. He cries and clings like those who know him wouldn't even believe. My baby.

"Oh, I'm SO lucky to be his mama. I'm so thankful Jesus that I get to be the one who takes him to school and picks him up. Thank you," I pray internally as his tears wet my neck. 

9:18am, I'm on the way to meet my Monday Mama for we are going to indulge in coffee and a mall hour. The sun is high, the leaves on the trees are starting to shift from granny smith to fuji & I turn the worship music on because there's nothing I want more than just to praise this morning:

I need you like the rain 
Come to me and sing again 
I long for your love so much 
I've wanted your pure touch

You are beautiful, beautiful 
You are beautiful, beautiful 
So beautiful, beautiful

I find my right hand reaching up as my left hand holds the wheel: half in heaven, half at the wheel. I lose myself in that worship moment not caring who drives behind or ahead of me wondering if I'm crazy. This moment is mine to be with Jesus & all I want to do is sing each word like I am before Him; He has given me this day, this life, and I am going to thank him for it. I am awakened to His mercy & grace.

11:03am I have found two pairs of pants that fit me in amazing ways & I'm shuffling the GAP sale section with my nearest telling her, "Jesus is REALLY showing me things," not even paying attention to the fact others can hear me. (The conversation is genuine but my volume may have been fueled by caffeine.)

11:30am ....need....deep, aching need creeps in. The smack of real life that steals your breath, makes you incompetent at knowing how to use your phone jolts me. I need HIM & I need him NOW.

I can lose myself in the worship song that starts to play...

Call my name
And I will answer 
All you need
It's here inside my arms
Just breathe
And you'll be safe and sound with me

I hear Ben Rector's song in my mind:

This isn't easy
This isn't clear
And you don't need Jesus
Til you're here
Then confusion and the doubts you had
Up and walk away

I tell Jesus, "I KNOW you! You had me dig my well today so when I was thirsty this afternoon I would KNOW. I would remember I NEED you, God, to love the gifts and mourn the hurt. Thank you for being my Father who loves me, holds me, lifts me up, walks ahead, supports behind, cheers me on, tells me when I'm wrong," and brings me to His chest. 

This season....be with me always....

3:23pm I am tired but I know truth. I am waiting but I know goodness. I'm writing to Jesus: I love you. NOTHING changes You. Thank You. 

The Season of Awakening. 

Housefires says it best for today: 

Oh, I've heard a thousand stories of
what they think you're like

but I've heard the tender whisper of love in the dead of night You tell me that you're pleased and that I'm never alone You're a Good, Good Father It's who you are
I'm waiting Jesus & you know what for. As I wait, I thank you for friends who show up, love that reigns true, & the truth that it is only You who can fix the unfixable. 

Am I There Yet?

The freeway went on for miles. It's amazing how enjoyable a road trip can be without a million stops for the bathroom & sans, "Are we there yet?" on repeat. Two empty car seats in the back & as many Starbucks drive thru's as we could stomach on a 6 hour drive. Just the two of us. 

"So, what exactly are we going to do?" He asked me from the driver seat. The sun beat down on my bare feat bugging him as they rested on the dash. 

"Well I have the schedule, but I don't really know what to expect," I replied. 

The husband & I were headed to Northern California to meet up with my grandparents & directors of a board called New Day for Children.

I come from a personal background that consists of a passion for the voiceless. It lead me to major in Women's Studies and pursue volunteer work with Women's Shelters and the like. I saw what New Day was about & accepted my Grandparent's offer to be on site with them. 

Away from the office and the daily grind,  my husband had the head & heart space to hear what we were doing. I read to him as the miles ticked by:

New Day for Children has taken a multi-faceted approach to meet the unique needs of the girls rescued, combining shelter, education and therapy to help heal mind, body and spirit. We provide education, restorative care and therapeutic services to girls’ ages 10-18 who have been victimized by Commercial Sexual Exploitation (CSE). Our goal is to care for the girls and help them recapture their childhoods, while building their self- esteem and confidence.

We heard the words, we gasped at the stories, we broke the silence of our own thoughts with made up games: "What would you do if you won this week's mega million?" (This is a game I love to play with my best friend, too).

We arrived in the brown, dry face of Northern California early that evening to stretch our legs & eat dinner with my Grandparents before a day ahead coming face to face with the strongest girls I have ever. ever. met.

There's something that happens for me in the wake of knowing I am about to have my heart changed forever; I go numb. It's as if the anticipation of the unforeseen trumps all of my ability to imagine. 

I lay awake that night with the TV tuning out my thoughts just enough to hear only my mind's thundering whispers. Since March of this year, God has been working in me and with me on some pending questions: what on earth was my over priced education all about? Why do I have a passion for the problem of the voiceless if it's one that scares my husband? How am I supposed to use that soft spot in my heart for His kingdom as a mom and a wife? And then there were the questions I wasn't....I am not...ready to ask still because I know how my Father works. He is good and He is merciful. He waits for me to make the ask & when I overcome my own fear, He answers. 

---------

Morning broke & my stomach growled. I battled the blackout curtains & my sweet husband,

"Just five more minutes," I begged.

I needed five more minutes to pretend that I had any speck of understanding of these girls pasts. I needed five minutes to buckle before Jesus, 

"Father, you KNOW me. You KNOW what I'm doing right now. I'm shutting it off to survive what will break my heart. Help me see these girls not for their broken past but for their daunting ability to survive the unsurvivable!"

---------

The ride into the undisclosed location was informative. We asked questions of the Founding Directors about the girls, their current home, & the program.  Our days plan included lunch with the girls in the mess hall, a tour of the grounds, & dinner in town with the girls {*Which is a really, really big treat for them}. Somewhere in there I would have the chance to teach them how to do Jamberry Nails. 

I imagined our visit must make the girls feel like fish.  There they are swimming in a fish bowl with spectators eyeing them building the glass partition of normal life deeper between them & the outside world. I wanted....I needed....to bring that wall down. I could not bring myself to stare as an outsider. I wanted them to know they could just be.

Those girls changed my heart. I choked down the knot in my throat the whole day. There was the unspoken between us that Nails & being a girl overrode; they weren't broken to me, they were like me. They laughed with each other, asked me which nail wraps would be best, were right at my side asking me to help them, asking about my life, asking one to do their hair and another to fix their eyebrows, 

"Do these shoes look good with these jeans?" one asked

"Oh, sorry!" one apologized as her braids hit me in the face as she turned.

"Don't be sorry! I'm jealous your hair is that long," I laughed back. 

I was as familiar as the chairs they sat on that day. Needed yet unnoticed. Thank you, Jesus. 

---------

I haven't known how to process everything I still feel. The knot is still sitting in my throat taunting me, "LET IT OUT". But I'm not there yet. 

One of the most fascinating things that one of the Director's shared with me was this, 

We encourage the girls to find one person in the program they trust to tell their story too. Other than that, they keep their past as a part of their therapy and their life in the program focused on feeling again, even if it's anger, and building the courage to hope and dream for their future. 

As I sat with a dear friend today over coffee processing how God works, what He calls us each into, & what we are supposed to do with that,  I thought again about that statement and wondered:

WHO WOULD I BE IF I stopped worrying about people needing to know where my feet have walked? 

WHO WOULD I BE IF I just allowed myself to rest in what I say Jesus has done: renewed & reawakened me.

WHO WOULD I BE IF I just focused on living out my present & my future. 

WHO WOULD I TELL PEOPLE I AM if I couldn't tell them who I was?

---------

For more information on New Day for Children 

or to donate to their efforts

click

HERE

restoration

It's 2015. The hype that comes with the conclusion of one year and the start of another didn't have it's usual zest for me this year. The Christmas season left me worn down & hyper sensitive to noise (not exactly ideal with two babes 6 & 3). While so many blessings encompassed the ending of 2014, I couldn't shake the physical & mental fatigue that had taken over me.

For the past several years I have shied away from lengthy resolutions & instead focused on a word like renew, intentional, or this year's: RESTORATION. 

I long deeply to restore.

Spiritually, I crave restoration in my connection with Jesus.

Physically, I want desperately to restore my body to a healthy state.

Emotionally, I will always need to restore my heart when I discover new areas that call me to grow. 

Mentally, I need to restore my self image. 

So I came upon a binder I had misplaced and left untouched. It was filled with "powersheets" and the aim of "goal setting." Lara Casey poured time, effort, and intention into a tool that I could only DREAM of creating one day. Six months of homework for the soul covering action plans, dreams, & self focus. 

I opened it and stared. For the first time, filling out forms felt....daunting. Because, truthfully, I don't have a lot of the answers. As someone who spends an enormous amount of time in my own head, I felt alarmingly stunted. 

I feel a lot of doubt lately. A lot of fear that I don't see NEW on the horizon, timidity that I may be being asked to stay in one place for awhile, frustration that I'm becoming accustomed to things in a physical place I need to stay new longer. But I'm trying, and this is the meek start to a lot of immensely dream-freezing thoughts I'm sifting through.... 

It's shockingly vulnerable to let myself write all of that down; to unlock that which I know is there but pretend is not. Seeing it, facing it, means I'm calling myself out. Letting the ink drip out of my fingertips means it exists. 

I have no answers. I have only the knowledge that I am wading in the deep end wondering when my feet will touch bottom. I need to give myself permission to feel this, put my hands into it, and see what the wheel and I spin into art together. I want to stand and walk out the door, let the clay slop down and unform but I will try to be here, deep into "this,  knowing I'm not a potter but a puddle of confusion. I will SEEK restoration so I can love who He already loves so dearly, then I will be set free!

The Gift of Experience

Christmas is coming.

I love this season for the magic it brings. Twinkling lights, Rosie Thomas Christmas music, the smell of a fresh turkish fur, chilly weather, decorations, & the spirit of intention; that's what I see in the still small anticipatory moments. I fear however, like every month, the time ushers past me too quickly and I'm caught up in the navigation of daily life with the added holiday agenda.

Already I am dreaming of Christmas morning and seeing the faces of some of those I love opening up presents. I have spent possibly too much time considering just what to wrap up for them before purchasing. Then there's the worry that my children will MISS the reason of the season: Jesus. That I will miss JESUS in the season!

Yesterday, in an epic toy explosion we call KK, we had the chance to examine every single toy we own strewn out around the living room. Wide eyed, my husband and I stared at each other: this is NOT what we want!

I shared, "Sweetie, I really WANT to ask people NOT to get our children toys for Christmas," and he acquiesced.

Now before you think I'm a horrible mother trying to strip the magic of Santa's delivery or rob grandparents of their ability to love long distance, it's NOT that I want to rob my children, it's quite the opposite, I want to GIVE to my children. I am not against the idea of gifting (after all, it's MY very own love language. I LOVE gift giving). What I want though for my children is the gift of experience.

I know, Skylanders are an experience (a technologically odd one but an experience none the less), blocks expand the mind, remote helicopters are fun (for dad), & nerf guns are fabulous but they all lose their magic. Each toy that was so highly coveted soon becomes a thing of the past and only remembered if in generations to come they are resurrected again, like Ninja Turtles or Strawberry Shortcake. What takes longer to dissipate, what builds bonds, what grows relationships is the gift of experience.

From my childhood, what I cherish most now is the gift my grandma gave of The Candy Cane Tree. Before she arrived at our house, she'd hang a barren tree with dozens of candy canes. All three of us would line up at the end of the street and at the word GO would race down and strip the tree of it's new peppermint leaves and see who won the "who got the most!" contest. I remember all of the clothes we would get and between cousins our eyes would meet and silently say, "I can't wait to return this with you on our after-Christmas shopping trip!" I LOVE the annual gift my Aunt and Uncle gave us of family bowling WITH team shirts. And of course, there is always the gift of Christmas Dinner at the castle. Gifts of love, time, & laughter that just STICK in my heart like cinnamon roll frosting on my fingers.

I don't want my children to relive my experience and the magic it brought me. I want them to have their own. I want them to be sown into with opportunity: college support, swimming lessons, a chance to go to the movie theater, an art class, a pottery painting hour, a date for a shake at Sonic, a trip to Dutch Brothers for a hot chocolate. Some of these experiences are less than $5 and give the gift of living life outside of our own financial ability to provide or sustain.

The humbling part is that I realize in writing this that my wish to dictate what is given to my children is selfish. I want to orchestrate the love that is sent to them, given to them, doted upon them to fit within my parenting dreams.

In this moment, I stare at the sea of legos, the ninja turtle figurines, and the endless supply of hot wheels and wonder, is this not relational experience too between brothers? Perhaps I am off base. The heart of this rant, however, is my acknowledgement that time is invaluable and what an amazing opportunity to gift others in our lives with small gifts to encourage relationship. At the very epicenter of my heart is the desire to spend less time frustrated at the chaos of cleaning & more time GIVING LIFE to my family in the art of making memories.

{Looking for ideas on how to give non-toy gifts?? Check out this post!}

Recovering from Recovery

We have come through to the other side of Kheler's post surgical recovery! 

We made it! 

It wasn't like we expected, yet we didn't actually know what to expect.

It was hard. 

You know how doctors give you those "there's a 10% chance x, y, & z could happen" statistics and you think, "Well, THOSE are great odds!"? 

Well, they ARE good odds, but we weren't the 90%, we were the 10%. 

I circled my emotional drain multiple times a day. 

Each morning I started my day on my 1/8' of the bed with the verbal proclamation, "I can't do this!" and I meant it. It wasn't a hypothetical statement, it was one I believed in my core. 

It turns out, we have a VERY strong willed, determined, and stubborn son. All three years of him convinced us that he will become a doesn't-take-dookie Navy Seal Commander. That kid had my husband and I, two people on the same team, convinced the other was an under cover spy working for the enemy. 

We had a son who had become a popsciletarian, anti-beverage, and could be a poster child for DARE...he WOULD NOT take the drugs! I mean, bravo to him, I hope it stays that way, but in this particular season, we were practically {no, we actually were} pinning him down, blowing air up his nostrils to get him to open his mouth long enough to super-soak his throat with hydrocodone only to watch him volcanically erupt it back in our direction. Did you get winded by the ridiculous length of that sentence? It was worse in real life.

In all of it's empty, ugly, exhausting, heart breaking misery though, there was life being planted for us. 

The only comparison I have now for what we went through and now being on the other side is that it was like depression. When you are depressed, truly, dark hole, desolate depressed, you can't even fathom what a smile feels like or remember what happiness FEELS like. People TELL you you will feel it again, but the numbness has spread too deep. 

This was like that. I KNEW it was temporary, but I COULD NOT see the light. I could NOT get on my knees and pray...I could only beg. My prayers became like tick marks on a prison wall, "Just make it stop. Make.It.Stop!" I KNEW there was an ending, but I didn't see how we were going to feel normal again. And in ALL of that, I felt greedy for taking up air space with God. 

Who was I to be praying for a fever, a bleeding throat, a child who was fighting me to get better when there are others with so much more persistent pain? 

I found myself void of the reality that this inconsequential moment in my life MATTERED to Him.

But that's where He worked. 

He climbed in the holes others were keeping Him FOR me. 

He lived in my neighbor who lovingly shared her empathy and was my guide through this. He used her as the echo reminding me, "You're not alone!"

He breathed through my best friend who sat on the other end of the phone letting me be angry and telling me, "I'm sorry," which was exactly what I needed...just to vent.

He lifted me up through my girl friends as we tri-talked via group chat in facebook. When I went silent, they said, "Get real with us!"

He hugged me & spread His covering over me through the servants heart of a friend who put together a meal train, made treat and present deliveries and showed up at the ER the second time Kheler had to go in.

He stared me in the face each time I opened my door and found a balloon, stuffed animal, gift, flowers or a note from a complete stranger wishing us well.

My friend Carin wrote the most beautiful blog & included a bit about our walk through this recovery. She wrote, "I felt like walking behind her that week with a sign pointing at her that read 'BE NICE! She hasn't slept in a week and her baby boy is really really sick. Buy her a coffee.'" And it made me CLING to the reality that we are LOVED, we are PROVIDED for, we MATTER. It makes me want to LOVE out harder, more compassionately, more sacrificially, more intentionally than ever.

It was dark. It is light again. We each have our seasons where we need someone behind us with a sign. Who are you holding the sign for right now? Who do you need to hold a sign for? Are you the one who needs the sign? 

Know this, the sun always shines again.

Heat, Heat, Go Away

I spent another evening, night, and now this morning deep in thought.

I've been chastising my self for how I was made; that I was made to love cool, calm climates & detest the heat.

I get that this must sound ridiculous, but I feel this ache in me today that I quite seriously wilt in personality & capability to function when the temperature is above 80.

My best friend loves when it's 75 degrees at a minimum.

I LOVE when it's 65 degrees at a maximum.

We have always made jokes about it.

Yes, I am a California girl

BUT

I'm a California Coast girl which means that 75 is often breezy but mostly, the weather is cool, calm, and collected 365 days a year.

When we moved to Oregon, I worshiped the rain.

I was vocal about my love of the grey skies and surprised to find that "the overwhelming amount of rain" was really all hype because it's not that bad.... for ME.

Last night we went to family camp at church.

It's not a spend-the-night camp, but just an evening to interact and be intentional with the kids.

For weeks I have been anticipating this event.

Not like, "oh yay I'm so excited!" but like, "oh my gosh! I just don't know if I can DO this!"

It's ok if you're rolling your eyes

I read that and I think, "Duh-RAMA!"

But here's the thing,

I know my self.

Ever since I was young, the heat evaporates who I am.

And last night, I felt truly ashamed by that truth.

Internally I was telling myself how ridiculous I was & I walked away feeling like the worst mom, wife, and church member.  No one said anything to make me feel that way! I just DID.

I found myself wanting to apologize for who I was that evening and explain, God just didn't make me for heat.

But is that real?

Did God not make me for the heat?

I don't know if I buy that.

I just know that the Allegra you get if we're in a coffee shop is ME and who I am if we're outside and I'm sweating is like meeting three-year old me (at BEST).

So if God made us uniquely with gifts or passions for varying things like communicating, art, hiking, gardening, writing, or public speaking, could He also make us uniquely made for climates that bring out the best or worst in our human spirits?

I'm feeling silly for feeling crummy about who I am today....

"DRAMA!"

;-)

high dives and puddle jumps

This is one of those posts where I feel like it could rub people the wrong way. One that puts my heart out there to potentially be cracked, but I feel it churning and when that happens, it has to come out with all of it's truth & good intention.

My son is turning three.

It's the age old tale for me of making sure everyone is included, no one is left out, and most of all my children only know love.

The tale is a twisted one with bumps and bruises from falls {high dives and puddle jumps} but it all comes down to divorce.

My parents couldn't be more opposite people, both amazing in their own right of being, but oil and vinegar always separate even IF you shake them up for a bit.

I remember when my first son was coming into the world - I worried not only about my in laws but my two sets of parents. Managing expectations and taking personal responsibility for the emotion management of others is something I can't seem to grow out of. I wear it like the five extra pounds I want to shed but can't quite commit to working off. So the burden sits there, like a noose.

Six years of grandchildren's' birthdays later, I still become achingly aware of the crevice of pain that IS my family. Not my husband's or my children's', but my past that always comes knocking. While I have learned to navigate through it, there is still a five year old girl in me who never gets used to watching her mommy & daddy hate each other.

Most of my life, I've lived near with or near my mom.

31 years of it actually.

For one year, I've lived near my dad.

Growing our friendship, sharing the ins and outs of the little things vs. one week a year relational saturation.

Now my mom is the visitor, the the home field belongs to my dad.

I am the field manager.

I am acutely aware of the precautions that need to be established, the traffic signs that need to be put up to avoid any encounter pre-game.

This year, there isn't a pre-game...no party, no birth for anyone to be forced to co-mingle at the center of the field for; there's just a one sided coin toss:

mom wins one week.

see you in a bit, dad.

The pink elephant in the room LOOMS there.

We all pretend fifteen miles away is one thousand, that every day grandparent roles haven't switched, and a state line doesn't divide us.

I am five on the inside, thirty-two on the outside.

I am a mom who desperately wants my children to be protected from the bad relationships that DO exist in their extended family.

I am the mom who struggles to answer their questions: 

"Who's your mommy & who's your Daddy, mommy?"

I am the daughter who probably won't ever reconcile the pain it causes me but I will continually unload the burden on Jesus to show me how to love like a grown woman, not a hurt child.

My son is turning three.

Separate celebrations will happen because it's best for everyone involved;

But wouldn't it be amazing IF we could all lay the burden down and BE love for that little boy in one place, at one time, all together?

It would.

A Love Letter to My Home

Dear "Red House"

I have wanted to write this letter to you for a long time, but I just couldn't wrap my heart around the concept of it; the concept of really saying goodbye. I knew that leaving you wasn't an "I'll see you again soon," but a, "thank you for the time we shared" and it burned my eyes and choked my throat.

I wanted to tuck a handwritten note into your eves for only you to know, but I was raw & sore with goodbyes I could barely say. I wanted you to keep a piece of truth in your foundation so that no matter where time took you, you would know, that you ARE loved and always will be.

When I met you, you were so broken. You were abandoned and unloved, forgotten and cast aside. When I saw you, I knew, I knew I wanted to share my life with you. I wanted you to shape me and change me in all the ways that I would do the same for you. I wanted to love you whole as I knew you would do for me.

People might think I'm crazy for loving you so, but it's something I can't explain. You were home. You were the first time I had hope that I could plant roots. Where people saw dust and broken bones, I saw scabs that would heal & scars that would mend. You were my vision, dream home, and you became my reality.

Our first night with you was spent as a family of three on a mattress in your living room. We cuddled there nursing our first born through a high fever on memorial day weekend. You sheltered us then. 

We brought our second born home to you. You let me shape a nursery and dream a room up that I missed with my first. You answered this quiet little dream of mine that lived loudly in my soul.

You hosted our friends and families. You stayed up with me during the sleepless nights. We gave you your white kitchen and you gave it back to us. You shared laughter, arguments, and sorrows with us. 

If your walls could talk....

You let Christan protect you & give me my dream with his hand made white picket fence. You kept my babies safe while they laughed and played in your yard. You entertained us on the lawn for afternoon wine picnics with the neighbors. You were our office & our nest.

Dreams became REAL with you, within you.

So, my dear sweet "Red House" as our boy named you, I love you.

I will always love you.

You could not have inherited a better new family to love and to love you back. You are sheltering them as you sheltered us. They are shaping you as you are shaping them. 

You are no longer a house, you are a home.

With love, 

The family who will always know you as home

I'm God's Toddler

Writer's block is one way of putting my thought process into a phrase.
It's been MORE than what I can't get to come out of my fingers though, it's been what I can't get my heart to retain, my ears to hear & my will to obey. I have been utterly...defiant.

It's been quite a year. 2012 was ushered in with high hopes like most years are (no one starts them thinking, "I'm so excited for how much this is going to suck!") The months before it had their challenges but I was facing them, tackling them--I was down right conquering them! With a nearly-four year old & my 4 month old, I was facing getting healthy--emotionally, mentally, spiritually healthy. God was holding me & I was gripping him--He was my crutch and my guide through this place I was utterly and desperately alone in. That label "post partum depression" was a temporary tattoo on my wrist--I wouldn't allow it to be permanent. I would quite literally, survive it. I would very physically fight it. I would with every ounce of my core, I would emotionally face it.

10 months have come and gone & I hear whispers of God's voice now. I'm pretty sure what happened is what I tend to let happen--I ached for Him & needed Him and there He was, loving me loudly! He had me in his grasp and I wasn't going to let go...but then I got my feet on the ground. I saw myself in the mirror and I for the first time in my life could say, "I see myself! I'm strong! I did it! I am healthy!" I was PROUD of me (am proud of me!). In those moments, I slowly distanced myself from my NEED for him. I wasn't desperate anymore so I gave Him a hug and backed off a bit. He became a distant relative that I love, enjoy being with, but don't pursue daily...weekly...monthly...

Lay off...emergency appendectomy...another lay off...death...melanoma... the hits were coming now but I wasn't on my knees, I wasn't angry or yelling at God, I was just numb. I wasn't feeling like I had to survive & I stopped chasing Him. I could hear my heart saying, "go to Him" but then I'd tune out--I was resisting with excuses: I'm too busy. I'm too tired. If I had just an hour alone each day... The more I resisted & excused myself from the table with Him, the quieter He got & the louder the world got. The trivial things that are just a part of life became another check on the list of issues but I just wouldn't go to Him.

Why? Inside me I was letting lies mull & the scent filled my soul with a tale that I did not deserve His saving...again. I could hear my thoughts blister with failure as His daughter, feel the ache that I only went to Him in need, and the guilt that I was only here to burden Him. Last night, as I called out to my son to listen to me (for the third time!) I felt frustrated, "Why is my child choosing to ignore me?" but within minutes, I was kissing my child on his perfect nose and filling with awe because I love my son. In that flash, I felt it--that striking, stunning reminder, "I love you, daughter, even more than you love your own son!"

The numbness, resistance, & excuses are slowly subsiding. In one still, small moment His voice that hasn't stopped speaking broke through my avoidance: He loves me even when I ignore Him. He adores me even when I misbehave. I cherishes me even when He watches me making mistakes.

I need Him.

the most amazing journey

the most amazing journeys i have been on in my life are the ones in which i learn about myself.
the ones where i meet myself for what feels like the first time
the ones i can't believe i am where i am
the ones where i am more alone and more found than ever.

if i calculated this journey from start to finish, it's as if i've always been on it, i just seemed to hit pause at times.
it's once i've arrived, or experienced a renewal, that i can connect the dots and see:
it all has had a purpose
and above that
i'm grateful for it

now

i have new life again
i'm in the land of the living
and i've worked my @$$ off to get here.

it's light again
it's freedom, confidence, joy, & a voice.

a new voice.

it's like learning how to talk again
it's taking my thoughts from paper to lips
i've never heard my voice out loud before
and it's new
it's new not to be an eruption and instead be life
i'm learning the sound of respect, the sound of words in the moment, the sounds of living as it happens.
a prison of words locked away inside
words that had scrolled itself into knots of indecipherable tangles
is now being unwrapped slowly...S L O W L Y
with intention, peace, effort & constancy.
with CHOICE.

i'm slipping into who i am now
and with it,
a new voice comes
slowly
steadily
un-silenced.

From Love to Loved

I am haunted by the existence of the past tense
how the thoughts we share of each other can change from is to was.

In one swift moment, any of us can be in the moment of saying "I love you" and then, without even realizing the clock is ticking away your time, force you to say, "I loved you."

We move from making memories to simply remembering them, cherishing them, boxing them up afraid we'll forget them, pulling them up, begging for more and hoping the ones we have aren't ones we wish we could undo.
In the past three months I have cried as two women changed from women I know to women I have known.
A hammer to the heart.
There it is.
They are no longer here and somehow the world is still allowed to turn.

I replay the weekend and my heart can't catch up with my head.

Love is an act we can all relate to: butterflies, obsession, excitement.
Sadness, Anger, Frustration all tied by the same ability to understand what they look like
but grief?
No.
Grief will strip you down and even take your shoes so when you try to run, you feel every awkward step as you break down and are exposed.
None of us process it the same & the spectrum is shocking.

How raw do we become?
How deeply to we unravel?
How together do we remain?

Am I allowed to hurt this badly?
Am I close enough to the loss to cry if they are not?
Why are they laughing & smiling?

I want to be alone.
They are afraid to be.
I lose myself in my head.
They lose themselves in a glass hoping each sip numbs this...
this reality
for just a little bit longer.

The chaos swirls and those still here are forced to admit
it's over now.
But we dance, eat, breathe, and move in the shell of where she lived
and it feels wrong.
It feels WRONG.
She died here.
Everywhere are stitches of her love sewn into the walls and the post it notes stuck around the walls because there was time...
they thought.

We live here.
She lived here.
We are waiting to rise.
She has risen.

Grief.
I love(d) her.

Surviving Division

What am I afraid to say, speak, and give light to here?

Who am I afraid I will offend, hurt, wound?
Everything.
Everyone.
There are some things, some people, one can define by brokenness.
Likewise, there are moments, or hearts, one can define by survival.
I am survival.
I am survival with scars that can be ripped open, scabs that can be peeled back, by the shards of glass that hide under rugs survival has carpeted over.
At the end of the day though, I am strength, determination, and Saved.

I was born to two and became one in a unit of 5.
5 one day became 4.
4 one day became 5...times two.
Then 5 became 3 with 2 remaining that floated between 4 and 5.
One 5 always missed one and one 3 often missing 2.
It's the math of divorce & division.
You find your number and you fight to survive in a broken whole.
And then one day, if you fight, you become 1.
1 apart from the broken division who can stand as an independent whole.

You stand up, you walk out, you choose a new life.
You choose to Saved.

I am not afraid to speak or give light to my rebirth.
Truly Saved.
I cannot be afraid to wound when I only speak of what my truth is.
My truth is light, love, and everlasting life.
He defined me by forgiveness, divine intervention, & healing.
And on this earth, I do carry scars.
Scars that can be reopened by the brokenness of others.
Scabs that can be peeled back by my own memories.

Today I saw a scar and I shed tears--
for the division of the original 5 and all the 1's and 2's within the 7 key players.
Another 2 will exist together and on the outside I stand.
But theirs is not mine and I cherish what my 2 is.
Sadness exists for what is
but as quickly as it hurts, I bandage the wound and acknowledge it's real and move on.
No sense wishing for something new.
This is the reality of an original 2 that birthed a web of 7 and all were original victims but none must remain there unless they choose it.

I choose survival.

image found here

Anywhere But Near

{a slice of fiction}

She sat across the table from him lost in thought. Her head was slightly tilted as she played with the shape of her wrist and spoke, "There's something about me that I can't figure out. I always want to be somewhere else. It's a need, a craving."

He looked at her as he always did, with love and patience and he asked, "Why?"

"I don't know," she said, "Maybe it's because home was always a relative term or maybe it's how God made me. I want that place to come back to but if I don't leave frequently I feel like I'll die."

She crawled inside her heart and dug around shuffling the dusty travel itineraries stuck in scrapbooks with receipts from ristorante's she ate at alone and photos she took with people that were just a train stop on her journey. They felt good as she pulled up each one: Australia's Kangaroo Island and the smell of Eucalyptus lapsed into the taste of fresh yogurt in New Zealand and the sound of a good rugby match. The shine and bump of cobblestone under her feet tingled her memory of Norway and the taste of waffles & fresh water as she drifted in a fjord on her way to London's churches and china stores. Italy came and stayed awhile as she inhaled a cigarette, drank red wine, & bought her daily mele on the way to school. The taste she swore she'd never know sat on her tongue as the memories of Greece came to play and took her all the way to Peru where dirt stuck in her fingernails & laughs echo through Macchu Pichu. Her heart was pounding and she realized, she was addicted to the rush and she began to cry.

"I just can't breathe here. The world is out there waiting to teach me more about who I am. It is wanting me to remember how strong I am, how beautiful life really is and what it's all about."

Her whispers came in echoes as he reached a hand out to hers and spoke, "I'm listening."

"Whenever I leave a place in life, I can't go back. It's as if I look back and all I can see is how ugly I was, how much better I could have been. When I'm on an adventure, it's not like that. What I see is how strong I am, how blessed I am. That's what traveling gives me, a place I want to go back to because I see the good about me. I tackle fear, I do the impossible, and I succeed. That doesn't happen for me anywhere else but out there. I need to go out there. I need to go with you," she begged with a quietly explosive passion.

And as only he could, he said, "I love you," and it opened to door to the abyss of forever.

Fill in the Blanks....

For some reason, something mindless like this post is just what I needed!

I am: currently reinventing my understanding of who I am and what loving/being loved really mean.

I think: I want to do and be more than I have time for.

I know: I am a good person with my own talents, but I often look out and wish they looked like someone else's.

I want: a plethora of crafting supplies and a room all my own.

I wish: I could give my husband and son more of me--more of the best of me--and still have time for myself.

I hate: folding laundry but have no problem with throwing it in the washer!

I miss: a lot of things, but mostly, freedom.

I fear: missing the moments that matter the most- a chance to say I love you or a new word from my son's mouth.

I feel: hungry for a denver omelette, like planning a two week trip to Italy, and crafting for an entire weekend!

I hear: William Fitzsimmons on my iTunes

I smell: Maple & Brown Sugar oatmeal

I crave: a little alone time with my husband in silence doing nothing and having nothing to do.

I search: on Etsy for things to create with way more often than I should.

I wonder: what Jesus feels when He looks at me.

I regret: not handling my transition into motherhood better.

I love: my family, to travel, write, dream, a good bargain, a hunt for vintage goods, my cousins-I don't think any one could understand how much I love them, SWEETS,

I ache: for all the things I want to be and endlessly fall short of this perfection I have deemed necessary and attainable.

I care: way too deeply what others think of me.

I always: leave my clothes on the hamper or my chaise lounge- I actually annoy myself when I do it.

I am not: aggressive.

I believe: I am loved. I am good.

I dance: a little in the car when a good song comes on.

I sing: ALL the time but love it most when it's with my husband on the floor of our son's room while he tries to put the guitar picks in the guitar.

I cry: at least once a month.

I don't always: eat very healthy. Woops.

I fight: myself more than anyone else could.

I write: to work my way through my heart.

I lose: everything I'm in need of at any given moment-keys, sunglasses, mind...

I never: want to travel back to the orient again.

I confuse: my son and husband's names all the time. Now they're both "babe" and I just hope the right one listens to me.

I listen: to music and dissect lyrics daily. I love words.

I can usually be found: at a computer ;)

I am scared: I will never really understand my own worth.

I need: the ability to freeze time and do all there is to do in life without missing anything!

I am happy about: celebrating my 2nd 4th Wedding Anniversary to my husband on Thursday. ;) (I'll wait and see how many of you ask me about this one ;)

I hope: my son will be a Godly man who never wonders whether or not he was LOVED.