National Novel Writing Month

National Novel Writing Month is something I participate in every year.  It is a crazy, masochistic challenge intended to make you question your sanity for the first 27 days of the month until inspiration finally hits and you race towards the finish line, attempting to beat the clock.  And then it's over; if you managed to succeed in hitting the 50,000 word goal, an elation like you have never felt settles over you, seconds before sheer exhaustion.

The idea for this years book was actually something born out of a couple of cocktails and a great conversation with one of my very best friends.  Amazing how that booze will just let loose a torrent of ideas, isn't it???  None the less, throughout the course of the evening, the seed was planted and started to take root.  Over the last couple of months, I have been a little remiss in my blogging as I began to gather material for my novel.  Some of the research was done via the Internet and books, but the majority came from people around me who were kind enough to share their stories.  I am not sure if I am more enthused or just overwhelmed, but either way I'm ready to dig in.

As the house countdown to the kick-off at midnight tonight, I thought I'd break from the sea of index cards laid out in front of me to say hello and explain why I might be a little more absent in the next 30 days or so.  Unless it is going amazingly well and I am way ahead, in which case I will be coming on to share my excitement.  I hope that all 10 of you who read this will be patient with me - I promise to return battle scarred and elated no later than December 1st.

Until then...wish me luck!

Why I Believe in Pride

This coming weekend is the Pride celebration in Atlanta.  I have attended before, but this is the first year that I will be marching in the actual parade.  I am a little anxious about it just because it is a big parade and I don't want to trip and fall or otherwise embarrass myself.  I have absolutely zero reservations about the reason behind the parade.  Which is quite a long way from where I was a few years ago.

For a long time (and sometimes still on my bad days) I was terrified that someone would learn my secret.  But then I started telling people, one at a time.  The more people I told the easier it got and the happier I became.  Little by little the weight of living a lie lifted off my shoulders.  When I stopped treating it like something to be ashamed of, people stop acting like it is something to be ashamed of.  When I stop worrying about other people's reactions and just speak to the fact of it - this is the person that i am spending my life with - it gets a little easier.  Somewhere in there I realized why people want to know other people's secrets.  Because it gives them power.  It is something to hold over another person's head, a way to control them.  That is the beauty of transparency and authenticity.  It removes the weight that someone should discover your secret because there is no secret there.  There is no need for a secret because I am not ashamed of any part of who I am.

I think that there is a sort of misconception about pride.  I am not proud that I am a lesbian - the part of pride that I think there is confusion around.  I am no more proud of being a lesbian than I am of being a blonde, of being 5'6", or of having blue eyes.  They are not things I chose to be, nor is this.  I am however, proud of how hard I work at my relationship.  I am proud of the fact that I am a good mom and I am raising a wonderful, loving daughter.  These are things that I am proud about and the reasons that I am going to walk in the pride parade this weekend.  Furthermore, they are the reasons that I will never lie about who I am dating.  I am proud of the fact that I am an honest woman, living an authentic life.  And that is something worth celebrating.

My faith is restored

So many times there are things that cause my faith in humanity to falter a little.  Or a lot.  This includes the general ugliness of people around me as well as more specifically targeted hatred towards the LGBT community.  Hop online for longer than five minutes and you will be bombarded with stories in which people are discriminated against and belittled because of their sexuality.  It is nearly impossible to remain naive to the controversy that is happening in Russia, as they have somehow managed to regress instead of moving forward.  It is incredibly disheartening that the worst of the damage so often is coming from the very people that proclaim God's love.  The basics of the message are horribly twisted.  God loves everyone - unless you are LGBT and then God hates you.  What?  You're gay?  Nope, no mercy for you!

Thank goodness that thicker skin I special ordered came in already, because it's going to come in handy.

In light of all that, it is so difficult to remain positive and optimistic about the changes that are happening.  But today, I came across this incredible website that has restored a little bit of my faith.  Inspired by the It Gets Better Project, the NALT (Not All Like That) Christians Project has been started.  The goal of this project is to tell the LGBT community that not all Christians are like that.  There is love and support out there.  Spirituality and sexuality are not mutually exclusive.  So many videos have been uploaded already and I am beyond certain that there will be more to come.  I strongly encourage anyone reading this to go check it out for yourself and then tell everyone you know to do the same.  It won't be often that I really passionately speak out about something like this, but I welcome the opportunity to do so today.  

Now I am off to do the same as I only made it through a handful of videos before I had to stop and share it and I am dying to get back and watch the rest of the them.  Please go check it out.  I have a feeling it will help restore your faith in humanity a little bit too.

Shaking It Up a Little

As a writer and semi-blogger I tend to spend my free hours scouring the internet for new things to read.  Oh, I have my standards for sure, and I will never give those up.  I read funny blogs, spiritual blogs, mommy blogs, and a ton of in between.  But lately I have been in search of something...different...I don't know exactly how to explain this mission exactly, but I know what I mean.  What's that you say?  You're not mind readers?  Man!  This would be so much easier if you were!  Could you get on that please?  Thank you.

In the meantime...I'll try to fumble my way through.  I've already discussed that my word for this year is awareness.  True to form, I have been working through things, delving deep into my psyche (a damn scary place) and uncovering bits and pieces that were more comfortable staying buried thankyouverymuch.  I have been leaning into Jesus in a way that I have not in a very long time.  I have been writing like a fiend, publishing a fraction of it here, and trying to finish a novel that has decided to take a completely different turn when I was oh, about 75% complete.  And somehow in the midst of all of that, I have been seeking something new to shake up my soul a little.  As if that wasn't enough, right?  But I am only going to push myself so far before I convince myself that I am good and it's time to be comfortable now.  So off I went in search of some new writers to keep pushing me forward, if that makes sense at all.

Enter Sarah Bessey.  Holy mother, her blog is rocking my world.  Since discovering it, I have been greedily reading every single free moment that I possibly have.  There are still so many archives that I have not quite managed to squeeze in and I can't wait to get my hands on them.  She has amazing insight and a style of writing that is easy to read, while touching you at the core.  Please, I urge you to go check her out.  I promise you will not be disappointed!

Cliffs

Once upon a time, in a very different season of my life, I wrote a post about cliffs.  Jumping off them and how painful it is when no net appears to break your fall.  Tonight as I was writing my daily words (more to come on that), I found that new perspective has woven it's way into my heart.  An excerpt from that entry is below.

Oh what a glorious feeling it is, the falling.  What a different feeling it is when there is a hand holding yours and you are jumping together and not alone.  What an amazing difference when there is no net that needs to appear because you're both tandem parachute jumping.  That is what falling in love feels like.  Jumping off a cliff together with a parachute.  The beginning is fast and furious, wind rushing, scary, hoping that the chute is going to open when you get to the right moment and pull the cord and even though you know it is definitely going to, you don't really KNOW that it is going to until you pull the cord.  And then when you finally do pull the cord, there's a jolt that knocks you back - there is a relief in that moment even though the movement is not exactly comfortable on your body - the chute opened.  You are both on the same page together.  And the rest of the way down is beautiful.  You can start breathing and relax a little and actually begin to take in the amazing scenery around you.  The majestic mountains in the distance with their snow covered peaks.  The beautiful sparkling crystal lakes and the green grassy plains joining with fields of wildflowers.  There is so much to take in and you lean into each other, silently, letting your hearts speak all the words that have not been created yet for the feelings that are flowing in those moments.  This is what cliff jumping is supposed to be.  When it's good, when it's right, this is what jumping and falling should feel like.

Take my hand darling, let's jump together...

My Side of the Street

In the interest of giving you a break from my rambling, I've invited some of my dear friends to guest post for me from time to time.  Below is the first from my dear, insightful friend, Christina.  Enjoy!

If given the choice, I will always choose heartache over troubled joys.  My heart can break and then break again, but my footing will always remain.  Slipping off this rock, is not an option.  Faltering during a moment of pain doesn't exist quite so much due to one's innate need to pillage on.  We fight to continue through pain, we search for the light at the end of the tunnel, we survive.  But to search for acceptance and praise for joy exhausts even the strongest willed individuals.  Rights and recognition for happiness, on aisle five right next to the canned regret, on sale today!  Nothing about happiness should seek out air to breathe.  At no point during celebration should hope be stamped out by evil and angst.  Rejoice in my amazement with all that you are or leave me alone to praise all things, with all that I am.  Rain on your own parade with your damaged goods sign and your defamed tongue.  

As for me, I will choose this side of the street, broken and painful, but numb and familiar, while defending the rights of those who find joy.  Squash you like the bugs you are for attempting to strip away the beautiful layers of paint on the glory of life's happy artwork.  Judge if you like, but my heart know's it's strengths, it's boundaries.  I am strong, I am fierce, I am here to rejoice in your light as I love you...And to protect you from those who try to stunt your glow. - All this watching from this, rather, my side of the street.

Freedom

It's time to let go.  It's time to purge.  It is time to release myself from the bonds that have held me in this place for far too long.  It is a scary thing to be bound by chains, to be held and stuck and unable to move.  It is a far scarier thing to find that the chains you thought held you were unlocked the whole time and that you are the one holding yourself in that place.  So often, we are the enemy.  You've heard the phrase, "you are your own worst enemy."  It is sheer TRUTH.  We bind and gag ourselves.  We hold ourselves still and remain silent, frozen in fear.  On the rare occasion that we actually find a way to move, most of us still pick up the chains and carry them with us - just in case we should ever need to remember that we were once bound by them.

How ridiculous we are.  How ridiculous I have been.

I am a writer.  Duh.  You know this already or you wouldn't be here reading this.  I have never thrown away anything I've written.  I have buried it in boxes, under the bed, in the attic.  I have mailed things to friends (and they to me) that are too painful to have under my roof with me, but I am not willing to part with because I might want it one day.  As I write this I realize that I am a hoarder. Not of things, though I do have my fair share of them, but of emotions.  And what is writing if not emotions poured out on paper?  By holding on to all of those things, I am allowing the feelings in them to continue to bind me to the past.  I speak of how grateful I am to be here.  To have been to the wars and fought and come out on the other side.  And yet, I hold on to the story of the wars so that I can re-live it if I have a whim to.  I cling tightly to them and hoard the feelings and words contained in them.  I tell you how much I have changed and how far I have come - look you can see it on paper!  I am not there anymore!  But how far have I really come if I can't release myself from the words that are chaining me to that place?

Perhaps not as far as I thought.

By holding on to those words, I am giving myself permission to beat myself up for mistakes made long ago.  I am allowing my heart to re-open wounds that have healed already.  I am an emotional cutter in these moments, self-inflicting pain that there is no need to cause.  And it has got to stop.  No one else is holding those mistakes against me.  No one else is screaming that I have done damage to those I love.  No one else is inflicting judgement.  No one.  It's all me.  Which is both freeing and humiliating in the same moment.

So I am letting go.  I am throwing away the chains that I have been secretly carrying around.  I will not allow them to hold me and weigh me down any longer.  The only way that I can do this is to throw them away. Literally.  This is frightening for me because I have never put in the garbage my own words before.  But they are no longer words on a page.  They are a battleground.  The scars of the battle are still with me and are continuing to heal with time.  But they cannot do that if I am living on the battleground.  It is harder than I thought it would be, to throw them away, and release them.  But the result is so, so, worth it.  Because there is beauty in the ashes.  And more importantly, perhaps most importantly...

There is freedom.

Being a Mommy

Motherhood is so complex.  It is the most wonderful, terrifying, rewarding & exhausting thing on the planet.  It is full of rock star moments and times where one more "why" will drive you to the brink of insanity; the line between those two things is wafer thin and can change in an instant.  It is adjusting to a child who has been like clockwork for nearly four years and has recently decided that 6 a.m. is a better hour to rise than 7 a.m. was.

And still the beautiful creature sitting in my lap this morning astounds me.  Overwhelming love flows through me and fills my heart with joy.  I know that this is one of those kairos moments where standard time stands still.  The clock telling me there are showers to be had, breakfast to be made and work to get to, slows to a stop.  I study every inch of her, trying to memorize exactly how she looks in this moment.

Tiny little perfect fingers intertwine with mine and I am struck by how olive her skin is up against my oh-so-pale color.  Big brown eyes stare back at me - sleep still clinging to the corners of her lashes.  Long brown hair falls on her face and she impatiently brushes it out of her way.  Ruby earrings peek out from the most perfect ears God ever made.  She yawns and snuggles into my chest proclaiming, "I like you mama."

My heart melts as I whisper back that I like her too.  In fact, she is the coolest kid in the world.  I want nothing more than to call a time-out and freeze in this moment for just a little longer.  It is these moments that are what mommies live for.  I held her a little tighter savoring each second.  And then I heard her sweet voice whisper, "Mama?  I just tooted on you" and then giggle hysterically in the way only a small child can do.  Reality snapped back into focus and time started slowly moving again. 

A perfect picture of motherhood indeed.

A to Z

I stumbled across this survey the other day and while I am not normally a fan, thought it would be fun!

A is for Age: 31

B is for Burger of Choice: Bacon Cheeseburger from Collegiate!

C is for Car you Drive: A red beat up Trailblazer named Jimmy

D is for Dogs Name: No dogs, no cats, no pets period.  I have a three year old that keeps me busy

E is for Essential Item you use Everyday: Coffee Maker or French Press...I know this shocks all of you

F is for Favorite TV Show: Way too many...Greys, Scandal, Suits, Necessary Roughness, Jeopardy...no wonder I'm so pale...

G is for favorite Game: Apples to Apples, the Dice Game, and Scrabble.  ACTUAL Scrabble people!

H is for Hometown: San Diego for the first several years; now and forevermore Atlanta

I is for Instruments you play: Um...I used to play the flute...now I play the radio and I am pretty amazing at it

J is for Juice: Pineapple-Orange

K is for person you want to Kiss: N of course...who else!?  Unless Alaina's sweet face counts because I could kiss that forever.

L is for Last Restaurant you ate at: Flying Biscuit 

M is for Muppet: I DON'T DO MUPPETS.  EVER.  PERIOD.

N is for Number of Piercings: Two holes in each ear, cartilage in one, and I used to have my tongue pierced.  Not so much now.

O is for Overnight Hospital Stays: Just the one when I had Alaina

P is for People you were with today: My sweet child this morning and then N later!

Q is for what you do in your Quiet time: Usually read, write, or work on a blanket

R is for biggest Regret: I have none.  Not that I don't wish I might have used a kinder word or been more compassionate with someone, but it took every single moment of this journey to bring me to the now.  And now, this moment, is perfectly exactly what it should be.

S is for Status: Tired...oh that's not what they're talking about?  Ahhh...then: In a relationship

T is for Time you woke up: 5:30 a.m. thanks to my alarm that actually went off, unlike my wake-up call... 

U is for what you consider Unique: Laughter.  We all do it, but every single laugh is completely different

V is for favorite Vegetable: Asparagus, Squash, Onions and Mushrooms

W is for Worst Habit: Procrastination.  Easily my biggest downfall in life.

X is for number of X-Rays you've had: None so far this year.  Two CT's, but no x-rays

Z is for Zodiac: Aquarius

Artwork

I love art, any and all kinds.  Photography, sketches, people, places, doesn't matter.  I love it all.  While I do enjoy the beauty of the absolute, my favorite is easily abstract pieces.  There's something about staring at a piece that can speak to your soul without being specific.  Just last night I fell in love with a piece and I can't tell you what or why it caught my attention, but I couldn't take my eyes off of it.  It was unlike any piece that I've ever owned, more bold and fiery than I usually prefer, but stunningly beautiful.  The longer I stood there and looked at it, the more I loved it.  And the beauty of art is simply that I didn't have to have a reason why I loved it.  There is no reason to try to put it into words or describe it.  All I know is that it spoke to my soul and my brain acknowledges that as an acceptable response.

Why is it then that I struggle to do the same with N?  Just as the artwork did, she captured my attention immediately.  She is uniquely different than anyone I have ever met before, beautiful, intelligent, compassionate, sexy and genuinely kind.  The more I watch her, the more I get to know her, the more I am captivated by her.  There's an innate ease, confidence perhaps, that just radiates from within her.  And yet my brain is constantly searching for some concrete explanation for the way that I am responding to her.  I keep staring at the picture in my brain and I just can't get it to focus.  Sometime in the wee hours of the morning I took a step back and all of a sudden it became so clear that the reason it was out of focus is that I was standing too close.  It was like those magic eye pictures that you can't see at all until you get to the right spot and then it's right in front of you.

This startling realization gave me incredible clarity.  At the end of the day is love really so different than art?  Isn't it just another type of expression?  It comes in different forms, different colors; it has the ability to evoke a powerful response with just a glance.  It is beautifully abstract and fluid.  And I am very certain that if done right, with the same consideration, intensity and passion that is poured into art, will tell its' story for hundreds of years to come.

A Lifetime of Bows

My daughter was very very sick when she was born.  She had to be transferred to Children's Healthcare and spent a total of six weeks in the NICU before we were able to bring her home.  This was from the post the night that I came home from the hospital without her.  She was still on a paralytic so we could not touch her, nor had she opened her eyes or wiggled or moved at all.  She was on 95% oxygen supplement and they were hours away from putting her on ECMO, which is essentially life support for infants.

"My soul trusts in You; and in the shadow of Your wings I will make my refuge, until these calamities have passed by."  Psalm 57:1

He is good ALL the time and we are resting in His love and peace tonight.

Sweet Jesus, I ask that you put your healing touch on our baby girl.  You are the Ultimate Physician and there is no doctor on this earth who can heal her the way that you can.  Touch her with your hands and let her feel nothing but love pouring over her.  We are placing her life in your hands, Lord.

As I was writing the above post, this song came on by David Crowder:

Lord I'm tired, so tired from walking

And Lord I'm so alone

And Lord the dark is creeping in

Creeping up to swallow me

I think I'll stop, rest here awhile

And this is all that I can say right now

And this is all that I can give

And this is all that I can say right now

And this is all that I can give, it's my everything

The song goes on for a couple more verses, but you get the gist.  I published the post and walked into her room, locking the door behind me.  I laid down in the middle of her floor and sobbed into the blanket that I had made for her because I didn't think she was ever going to get to use it.  I literally cried so hard that I broke the blood vessels under my eyes.  (Bear in mind also, that I had abdominal surgery two days prior and still had stitches in my belly).  I finally got up after a couple of hours because it was time to pump milk again.  The next day I went to the NICU and sat there, looking at her tiny little body, put a pink bow in her hair and prayed that it would not be the only bow I ever got to put in her hair.  Please, please, please Lord, give me a lifetime of bows with her.  Those words.  Those exact words.

This morning we were standing in the bathroom brushing our hair together and she asked me to braid hers.  In typical rushed mommy fashion, I was about to say no, that we were running late, and this song came on  my ipod.  I stared into my daughters perfectly healthy, beautiful face and heard This is what you prayed for...stop and savor it.  And I did.  I braided her hair and kissed her sweet freckled cheeks and we went to school five minutes later, incredibly aware of just how different life could be right now.

Thank You, Lord, for showing me a glimpse of Your glory this morning.  Thank you for reminding me to savor these moments with my daughter that are passing with alarming speed.  More than anything though, thank You, thank You for giving me a lifetime of bows...

I could not ask for more

You all know the song.  I could not ask for more, blah, blah, blah.  I have always, always hated that song.  Everyone in my age bracket was using it for a wedding song and were all dreamy and in love.  I (ever the cynic), rolled my eyes and kept right on wishing for more, hoping for more, dreaming of more.  In fact the more I tried to convince myself that I had everything I could possibly ask for, the more my heart protested that there were SO many things that I was missing.

I set out on a journey.  I found a boy who was a dear friend and who had been chasing me pretty much since he met me.  I looked at him and thought, "no one will ever love me as much as he does.  After all, he's been chasing me for YEARS even though I have given him no indication that I wanted to date him."  In fact, I went to my senior prom with said boy and I am fairly certain that the video is floating around somewhere in which I said that I wouldn't marry him if he was the last man on earth.  So, what did I do?

I married him.  And I bought a house.  And I had a baby.  Because that's what you do.  And this thing over here that I had stuck a pin in?  It decided it didn't want to be pinned anymore.  

Fast forward through a lot of years and a lot of crap and a lot of back story that is in no way shape or form interesting...because I'm nothing if not succinct.  HA!

Today I was humming along to this tune in my head and all of a sudden I realized that it was THAT song.  The one I hated.  And all of a sudden.

I got it.

I packed a lunch and kissed goodbye to a beautiful woman that I am falling for in a ridiculous way.  I put on a new skirt and new shirt that I bought this weekend (guilt free).  I left my white picket fence house and went to work at my completely stable job.  I had a very surreal conversation with my ex-husband about his impending engagement with his new girlfriend.  I talked about diamonds and honeymoons and if my child was going to be a flower girl.  And I felt nothing but thrilled for him to find someone who made him happy.  I picked up my amazing kid from daycare who calls me mother and is pretty much the best thing on the planet.

I literally have every single thing that I could possibly have ever dreamed of, along with some things that are everything I didn't know I wanted. And finally, I understand what all those silly girls were talking about all those years ago.

I have all I've waited for and I could not ask for more.

Guarding the Fortress

Many people talk about putting walls up to guard themselves.  I don't have walls defending my heart.  I have a fortress, surrounded by a moat, with another impenetrable wall on the outside of that.  Just for good measure, there's a fire breathing dragon to scorch anyone who might consider trying to scale those walls before they even get close.  There are but a precious few that have made it past the dragon and inside the wall; those that have, drowned long before they made it across the moat.  There have been a couple that came close and probably could have made the trek if I would have offered a life preserver.  But why would I want to do that?  If they can't figure out how to get across on their own, too bad.  Sorry!  Better luck with your next castle.

You can imagine my surprise when someone showed up who managed to make it past the dragon, easily swam the distance across the moat, politely knocked on the door of the fortress and asked to be let in.  My brain raced for a reason to say no, because I NEVER let people in my fortress.  But as hard as I tried, I could not come up with one reason, rational or otherwise that I shouldn't let her in.  So I opened the door.  And in she breezed as if she'd been there all her life.  This is great, she said.  I really, really like the entry way.  Now may I see the rest of the rooms?  One at a time of course, no need to rush.  But I do want to see them all eventually.

Again my brain raced with a reason to keep her exactly where she stood.  She was IN the fortress after all.  Wasn't that enough?  Was it really necessary to show her the rest of the rooms?  What next?  Then is she going to want free reign of the entire property?  As I stood with my head and heart warring, she patiently took me by the hand and started walking.  One step at a time we strolled into the first room.  Her thumb rubbed circles over the back of my hand and she murmured soft soothing words as she paused and looked around.  It's beautiful, she said.  Please tell me about it.  Her quiet encouragement was exactly what I needed.  I took a deep breath and started talking.  I find myself in an unexpected place of peace.  I want to wander all of the rooms with her and explore all the acres of beautiful land.  And for the first time in a long time, there's nothing guarding the fortress.

That's Why I Married You

Have you ever had a friend who really wasn't your friend, they were your "person"?  One who just gets you in a way that no one else on the planet does?  I have been unbelievably blessed to have a person like this.  She knows my magic and my mistakes, my feisty and my flaws.  This morning I was reminded once again that she is pretty fantastic.  Several years ago she found me a Starbucks in a foreign city when I was so desperate for coffee that I would have traded my first born for a cup.  As she pulled in I exclaimed with glee, "THAT.  That right there is why I married you."  It stuck and became our phrase anytime one of us is exceptionally amazing.   So to my Mississippi...here are just a few of the reasons why I married you:

• You always having the answers I need, like how to make "monkey-away" spray for the imaginary monkeys that are giving my daughter nightmares.  
• You call me Betty McSunshine.  
• You bonded with me over our crazy-ass mothers.
• You get tipsy on one glass of sangria and sing "California Gurls" at the top of your lungs in my car (you sound just like Katy Perry)!
• You married the man who pumps your gas; my heart rests easier knowing that he takes care of you.  And he makes pretty babies...just sayin.
• You aim low and moved when my kid was dying so that I could learn how to rely on my own strength instead of yours.
• You understand that sobbing over a list of items to pack for Europe has absolutely nothing to do with the list of items to pack.
• You made me get the job at the hospital.  
• You don't think I'm weird when I call you up at 11:30 in the morning and say "Goose DIES and Maverick lives happily ever after".  
• You kick my butt and tell me that I need to straighten up and get right with Jesus when I stray too far off the path.  
• You ran to New Orleans with me when I desperately needed to bolt. 
• You never asked what "SO BAD" meant. You just listened and hoped that one day I would shed a little light.  
• You always send me your family schedule (school plays, band performances, doctors appointments, etc.) so I feel like I'm in the loop even though we're a thousand miles apart.  
• You sit on the couch with me while we ignore each other.  

Things will change, babies will grow, houses will be moved, unpacked, boxed up again, and one day those boxes might actually be mine instead of yours.  Miles will be driven listening to Betty's Road Trip Mix and we will teach our children not to sing the bad words.  We will get old and forget each others birthdays and maybe even names.  But I will never, ever forget that I married you first.

Looking Back

I was looking for something in an archive of old writing earlier.  As I skimmed and browsed, I happened to stumble across this:

I so envy the people who know exactly what their dreams are.  Those people who know exactly who they are and what they desire out of life.  Their unshakable confidence makes me insane with jealousy.  Not because they are smarter, or prettier, or more talented, but because they are SO sure of what they want.  Even if the pathway to get there is broken, they have a destination to aim for, a direction to walk in.  I long for a moment of that kind of clarity.  Just once, I would like to feel that sure of myself instead of the crippling self-doubt that tells me every decision I am making is the wrong one.

I hope that one day I will find that girl and truly love her for all of the things that make her uniquely "her", completely and unconditionally.  Maybe one day...

I sat back in my chair aching for the girl behind these words, hardly believing that they were my own.  I was about to continue skimming when I happened to note the date that I wrote these: April 8, 2011.  Exactly two years ago today.  How on earth did I get from there to here?  I can't remember ever noticing the change.  I didn't wake up one day happy and bursting with self-confidence,  yet nothing in me identifies with the words written above. The most painful thing about self-discovery and assurance is that it is solitary.  No one can make those decisions for you; it's a road you take all by yourself.  But I wish so much that I could sit down with that girl and chat with her for a few minutes.  I so badly want to gather her up in a hug and try to ease some of the pain that she is carrying.  

Oh sweetie, it doesn't matter if you know what direction you're walking in, it matters that you keep walking.  You don't have to have a specific dream as long as you're open to new possibilities that the world might send your way.  No one has all the answers; You are not supposed to know them all.  But you must commit to seeking them with all your heart.  The more transparent and authentic you are (even if only with yourself), the more you will feel your spirit begin to sing.  Don't shut people out who love you, even if they don't know how to help, they mean well.  Lean on them when you cannot hold yourself up anymore.  I promise that it will get easier.  Hang in there.  You are better than this moment in time.    You may not know it yet, but I do.  For you see, I have been there.

Word of the Year

New Years resolutions have always been a lost concept to me.  If I didn't have the drive or intent to make a change when I woke up on December 31st, am I really going to wake up with new resolve to change because it's January 1st now?  Not likely.  I do believe that change is good though and my compromise has been to choose a word of the year each year.  Why am I writing about my word of the year in April?  Because this year, my word is 'awareness'.

In the past I have chosen words like 'fearless' and 'present' that are more easily defined and focused on.  When it came time to start thinking about my word for this year, I bounced many around in my brain and 'awareness' kept surfacing.  Awareness?  Am I supposed to raise awareness?  Be aware of my surroundings?  I mean, I usually am.  I pay attention. I don't wander into dark parking garages alone.   No, that's not going to work for me.  I continued to focus on other words trying to make one that I liked better feel right.  I realized during this that my inner voice is FAR more stubborn than I am.  And so my word for this year was born.  I had no idea just how much it was going to shape the coming months.

We are only one-quarter of the way through the year and I have already seen huge progress and had many "light-bulb" moments where everything suddenly makes sense and becomes clear.  Some I have written about, some I have not, and they are too numerous to share every one.  As I was sitting here this morning, having yet another of these moments (more to come on that later), I was suddenly so grateful that this word chose me this year.  That it kept coming to the surface and demanding to be chosen when I wasn't sure that it was the right one.  Because it is the right one.  In fact, it just might be the most perfect one yet.

What do you say?

Last night was one of the longest nights of my life.  To be quite honest, I don't even know how to begin processing it.  I really don't. 

I am not a strong swimmer.  I mean, I can get myself from one end of the pool to the other but that's about it.  No one is going to ask me to be a lifeguard.  I am completely and totally unequipped to jump in and pull someone to safety.  But what do you do if you are the only one there and someone is drowning?  You jump.  I jumped.  Praying the entire time.  Only it wasn't into the water, it was into a very unstable conversation.

I am so grateful that there are people in this world that are cut out to work on a crisis hotline; I am very aware that I am not one of them.  What are you supposed to say?  Is sympathy in order or does that only enable?  Will tough love get their attention or break them down completely?  How do you convince someone that they are not alone and their life is worthwhile?  What do you say?  Something.  Anything.  I racked my sleep deprived brain for wisdom and prayed that somehow the words that I was saying were making a difference.  Long term, I am not so sure that they did, but we made it through the night, which is all I can ask for right now.  Only time will tell what is going to happen in the future.  

So today as my brain tries to process everything, I am left with just this one question...What do you say when there are no words?

Who I Am

I originally wrote this post on May 2, 2011.   Many times people sum up who they are and it is only a snapshot of who they are at that moment.  It does not get past the external layers of what truly makes us who we are.  I have been there.  I have written things and looked back and been unrecognizable even to myself.  This was written at a very tumultuous time in my life, and I am unbelievably happy to say that when I read it, I still recognize the girl who wrote it...

I am Stephanie.

I am Betty McSunshine, Ashley, Kiwi, Alice, Georgia, Pima, Steph, Stephie to none, thank God.

I am Queen of the Nicknames.

I am mom, daughter, sister, niece, friend, lover.

I am a little exhausted, but mostly invigorated.  Life is a precious gift and I don’t want to waste a second of it.

I am an imperfect person.

I am giving myself permission to be an imperfect person.  It is not an excuse to be lazy, selfish or intentionally hurtful, but a realization that I am human, and as such, will always fall short.  If my house is not spotless at the end of the day, if the laundry isn’t all caught up, if I didn’t cook my daughter a gourmet meal, or get the pictures hung or the flowers watered, it is OK.  The world will not cease to exist because my bed went unmade for the 12^th day in a row.  I cannot be everything, do everything, please everyone.  It is impossible and unreasonable to ask that of myself.

I am a good friend and I am fiercely loyal.  If you need me, I am here.  Regardless of the day, the time, the reason, if you call me, I will come.  No questions asked.  I am forgiving but I don’t forget if you hurt me or my family.

I am a judgment-free zone.  I may disagree, it may not be what I would have chosen, but I respect that we all have the freedom to make our own choices.  I will never judge you.  In return however, I ask that you not judge me.  I absolutely refuse to build relationships with those who do.

I am bold and intense.  I am loud and my brain has no filter.  I am going to say something that hurts your feelings at some point.  I am going to apologize for hurting you, because I am truly sorry that I did.  I am never going to be intentionally mean.

I am addicted to post-it notes and quotes.  Lucky for me they go together so well.

I am a creative soul.  I love to make jewelry, cards, things for the house, etc.  My favorite thing to make is baby blankets.  As I sit with the soft yarn intertwined around my fingers, I pray for the child it is going to.  That it will keep them warm and offer them security.  I secretly hope that they keep it always and pass it down to their own babies.

I am brave.  I am also terrified.  Of so much I don’t even know where to start.  But I refuse to give in to the fear.  So, I put on my big girl panties and move forward, one tiny step at a time.

I am a believer in Jesus.  I believe that He loves me always.  I believe that He loves you always.  I am so thankful that he extends grace and mercy to a train-wreck like me.

I am in love with my daughter.  I am the mom who stares at her in awe and wonder.  I am so proud of her and the little person she is already becoming.  I am her protector and I am always surprised at just how quickly that shield flies up.

I am incredibly blessed by amazing friends.  Marcel Proust said, “Let us be grateful to those who make us happy; they are the charming gardeners who make our souls blossom.”  My friends dry my tears, make me laugh, love me when I’m unlovable.  They even hold me tightly while it storms and cover my ears when it thunders.  Did I mention I am scared of storms?  I am a sissy.

I am a writer.  I write every single day, even if it’s just for 5 minutes.  I want to publish the novel I am working on.  It is the first one that I believe actually has the potential to not suck.  I dream of the day that I can hold my book in my hands and weep because I actually freakin’ did it.

I am at peace the second my toes hit the shore of the Pacific Ocean.  As the freezing water rushes past my ankles, my toes dig in a little deeper and root themselves to the spot.  All extraneous noise dies, the voices in my head shut up, and all that surrounds me is the whipping wind and crashing waves.  This is what happiness sounds like.  I am blissful.

I am me and I am the only me there will ever be.  I am strong and true and brave.

I am ME.

Love in the Home

"Love in the Home"

If I live in a house of spotless beauty with everything in it's place,

But have not love, I am a housekeeper - not a homemaker.

If I have time for waxing, polishing and decorative achievements,

But have not love, my children learn cleanliness - not godliness.

Love leaves the dust in search of a child's laugh.

Love smiles at the tiny fingerprints on a newly cleaned window.

Love wipes away tears before it wipes up the spilled milk.

Love picks up the child before it picks up the toys.

Love is present through the trials.

Love reprimands, reproves, and is responsive.

Love crawls with the baby, walks with the toddler, runs with the child,

Then stands aside to let the youth walk into adulthood.

Love is the key that opens salvation's message in a child's heart.

Before I became a mother I took glory in my house of perfection.

Now I rest in God's perfection of HIS glory.

As a mother, there is much I must teach my child,

But the greatest of all is love.

~Author Unknown

Spring Fever

It's spring fever.  That is what the name of it is.  And when you've got it, you want - oh, you don't quite know what it is you do want, but it just fairly makes your heart ache, you want it so!   ~ Mark Twain

It is beautiful outside and spring fever abounds around me.  Each person I talk to has a little extra energy radiating off them, yet somehow, the atmosphere as a whole is more relaxed.  There's no rush to be anywhere or do anything.  I can't quite put my finger on it.  It's almost as if everyone knows there is something wonderful around the corner and they're all just waiting for the universe to reveal it.

This is so the place that I am in today.  The weather is finally starting to warm up a little and the trees and flowers are starting to bloom.  The anticipation of summer hangs in the air.  Longer days.  Lazy evenings on a back porch with a glass of wine, watching the fireflies dance as the sun goes down.  There are hammocks to be napped in, grills to be fired up, and picnics to be had.  If you listen closely enough, you can almost hear the waves of the beach crashing, beckoning you to visit their sandy shores.  It's almost here.

Can you feel it?

The Beauty of Secrets

I have a secret.

And I don't want to tell you what it is.

Not because I am in any way ashamed; quite the opposite in fact.

It is because I don't want anyone to taint it.

Once I tell someone a secret, it's never quite the same again.  

The moment I found out I was pregnant, I was instantly ecstatic and yet dreaded telling people.  For those moments, it was just us.  No advice, no questions, no opinions, just the two of us in blissful happiness. 

So many people are quick to assess, evaluate, and judge before they even begin to consider the weight their words carry.

Too many. 

Perfection is found in the imperfections of who we are.  The moments that we deem perfect for us, don't need scrutiny from the outside world. 

The value of those moments transcends what anyone else has to say about them.

I have a secret.

I think I shall savor it a little while longer.

Have a Little Faith

I write.  I am a writer.  When verbal words fail me, I sit and craft sentences that much more accurately portray all that I am feeling.  And yet, I sit here tonight and words are somehow failing me.  I have written and deleted and pondered and written and deleted again.  My fingers have been hovering over the keys, dancing in mid-air as if they are itching to sort out what this heart of mine is feeling. And still all that comes out on my blank screen is that somehow the words are still a jumble.

I am really and truly content with this place that I am in.  I met someone.  Well, technically we met awhile ago, but have recently reconnected.  And I can honestly say that this happiness has everything and nothing to do with her.  Yes, we are having happy moments together.  Many joyful and laughter filled moments that are nothing short of wonderful.  We are getting to know each other and it is really, really lovely. 

You see, I am the jaded sort.  Dark and twisty.  Very cynical, this heart of mine, always waiting for the other shoe to drop.  Waiting for the people I trust to betray me, which experience has told me is almost a certainty.  And here is this amazing woman who has walked into my life again and she is so real, so genuine that she is restoring my faith in humanity a little bit.   I know not why or how, I only know that it is truth.  Oh, how I want to analyze and break it down and understand.   But how do I explain the unexplainable?  From somewhere in the deep recess of my brain I hear a chuckle.  

Have a little faith, my child.  Stop, and just have a little faith.

In the hour that I've been sitting here staring at the screen, that is the first thing that makes sense.  Can I do it? Can I stop and just be?  That goes against everything I am.  How can there be clarity and awareness without seeking answers?  It is then that I am reminded of the Indigo Girls lyric, "the less I seek my source for some definitive, the closer I am to fine."  So I smile to myself as I close my laptop, no closer to any real understanding than I was when I opened it. Tonight I have everything I need.  As for the rest of the answers...I'll just have to have a little faith.

I Am Not Worthy

Denial, Anger, Bargaining, Depression, Acceptance.

The five stages of grief.  I move through them, circling, rewinding, progressing, repeating the first four steps so many times I lose count.  I feel as though I have moved on to acceptance.  I let my guard down a fraction of an inch to exhale, but grief is a sneaky bitch.  She reaches out an iron fist to squeeze my heart once again.  There are times that I can see the blow coming and can shield myself from the brunt of it.  But she has caught me in a moment of vulnerability and I am blind sided by the force with which it struck me.  My breath catches in my lungs, frozen in place, while tears well up in my eyes.  I don't even realize that they are streaming down my face until the collar of my shirt is soaked with them.  I feel a hand reach out to grasp mine and that is my undoing.  The breath that has been frozen releases in a sob as I bury my face in her neck.  Time stands still.  I feel nothing but the waves of grief washing over me.  As the pain subsides and the clock begins to move again, I am acutely aware of a voice whispering in my ear. I love you.  I am here.  Always.  I love you.  No matter what happens, I will always be here.  I love you.  I am here. I love you. I am here. I love you.  Her arms are around me and she is gently rocking my broken body back and forth, stroking my hair, soothing my soul. The abundant love that is so freely shared humbles me.  

Here tonight in this space I feel the love that passes all understanding.  I feel the grace of God in human form.  An angel that has stood in the divide and covered the gap. 

I am reminded again that the pain of what I have lost cannot begin to compare with the magnitude of what I have gained.  

I am not worthy. 

I am not worthy.

Becoming Real

“What is REAL?" asked the Velveteen Rabbit one day... "Does it mean having things that buzz inside you and a stick-out handle?"

"Real isn't how you are made," said the Skin Horse. "It's a thing that happens to you. When [someone] loves you for a long, long time, not just to play with, but REALLY loves you, then you become Real."

"Does it hurt?" asked the Rabbit.

"Sometimes," said the Skin Horse, for he was always truthful. "When you are Real you don't mind being hurt."

"Does it happen all at once, like being wound up," he asked, "or bit by bit?"

"It doesn't happen all at once," said the Skin Horse. "You become. It takes a long time. That's why it doesn't often happen to people who break easily, or have sharp edges, or who have to be carefully kept.

"Generally, by the time you are Real, most of your hair has been loved off, and your eyes drop out and you get loose in the joints and very shabby. But these things don't matter at all, because once you are Real you can't be ugly, except to people who don't understand... once you are Real you can't become unreal again. It lasts for always.”

― Margery Williams, The Velveteen Rabbit or How Toys Become Real

Over the course of the last few years, I have been on quite a journey.  In the process, I have come to know myself, the real me, better than I could have ever imagined.  As I've traveled through this space, I have hesitated to tell my story because telling the story made it real.  As long as I didn't talk about it, even to myself, it wasn't real.  It was fear of the unknown, fear of other peoples judgement, fear of their ignorance that kept whispering, "No one wants to see this part of you.  They won't understand.  They will think you are ugly and it will never be the same again once you say it out loud."  However, there came a point where I couldn't breathe any longer because this secret was suffocating me.  I began to tell my story.  To own my truth.  To be transparent and vulnerable to those that I hold dearest to me. 

It was during this time that I picked up a copy of 'The Velveteen Rabbit' for my daughter.  It sat on her shelf for the longest time before we read it.  The night came that it was the choice book, and we began to read.  When I came to the section that I have quoted above, my heart stopped and the light bulb in my head switched on.  How could I have ever thought that being real was a bad thing?  When I started to truly love and accept myself, I became real and there is nothing about it that is ugly.  The bumps and bruises, the battle scars, they don't matter.  They mean I have fought for something and that is beautiful.  Tears streamed down my face as that realization dawned on me.  Sitting there in a tiny bed with a toddler on my lap, I had one of the most amazing revelations of my life.  I offered up a prayer of gratitude as I wept at all of the beautiful real life around me.  Sweet, chubby fingers reached up to dry my face as I tried to explain that sometimes mommies cry when they are happy too.  

There will still be people that will not understand, who will think that this real is ugly.  But there are many more who love me so hard, that they have given me the courage to be real.  Those who don't see anything but the beauty in becoming real.  

To those who saw the beauty before I did, I am, and always will be, eternally grateful.

The Ending

"Great is the art of the beginning, but greater is the art of ending."

~Henry Wadsworth Longfellow

I have been thinking about this a lot lately, the ending of things.  Whether it's a relationship, a friendship, a job, or any other ending, we tend to handle it badly.  Even though change is truly the only constant in life, so it's inevitable that things are going to change.  If you're anything like me, you play what-if's for the next 6 months, and wonder why, what, how things could have gone differently.  I used to make myself crazy this way!  It has not been until very recently that I really got some clarity on the subject.

Instead of dreading change and fearing the ending of things, we should treat them as necessary steps to the new beginning of something else.  With grapevines, there is a pruning that must take place in order for the vines to produce grapes.  Every season, cuts are made so the rest of the vine may flourish and bear fruit.  In life, I am hesitant to make these cuts, to sever the ties.  It is extremely painful and difficult.  However, I am learning that evaluating where cuts need to be made is essential to living a full and rich life that will be fruitful.  Bad habits that need to be cut, a toxic work environment needs to be cut, someone with constant negativity needs to be cut.  Not necessarily cut out of your life, especially if it is a person, but putting the boundary there that allows you to step back from the influence it has on your life and your ability to move forward.

By being aware of what feeds us and being willing to end the things that are holding us back, we are truly able to begin to grow and move on to the bright new beginning that is just waiting for us to step into it.

The Road Not Taken

One of my favorite poems has always been "The Road Not Taken" by Robert Frost.  The whole thing is truly beautiful but it is the end that gets me every time.

Two roads diverged in a wood, and I, I took the one less traveled by, And that has made all the difference.

I did not take the road less traveled.  I took the path that society was nudging me towards and tried to be joyful about the scenery.  For many years I lied about being happy, to everyone, and on many days, to myself.  I ignored the little voice in the pit of my soul telling me that I was on the wrong path.  And I continued on that road until the day that I physically couldn't make myself do it any longer.

I took a deep breath, and a sharp turn to the right.  It was terrifying.  The darkness that lay between the road behind me and the road I hoped was ahead.  I prayed for just a glimmer of light at the end of the tunnel to give me peace that I was headed in the right direction still.  It was during that time that I came across this picture:

I sent it on to my best friend who promptly responded back that she would just go out and catch me some fireflies to light the way.  It was exactly what I needed to keep pressing on.  Two and a half years later I have made it through the woods, and found my new path.  It has not been easy but it has been so, so worth it.  I have made mistakes and followed detours, but these unexpected turns have left me to the life that was waiting around the bend. 

And life is good. 

Introductions

Let me begin by saying hello to any of the poor souls who have unwittingly stumbled across this blog.  I have tried this whole blogging thing before on more than one occasion.  Each time I began with enthusiasm determined to write consistently and not let anything get in my way.  So off I went and I wrote about all the slivers of my life that I could share.  The things that weren't so pretty or made other people uncomfortable got stuffed away.  In fact, I remember once writing that I wished no one knew that it was "me" who was writing so that I could write whatever I want.  Which sparked an idea...I could create an anonymous blog that no one knew was me and use that as a safe space.  But I found that was just as unsatisfying as the first venture.  Finally, out of sheer frustration, I threw my hands up in the air and just quit writing altogether.  

Clearly, the actions of a mature and reasonable adult.

Ahem.

It was during this non-writing time that my therapist called me a "discouraged perfectionist".  I scoffed slightly at anything with the word perfectionist in it; anyone who is reading this and has seen my home can attest!  But she went on to explain that the discouraged perfectionist is someone with all of the same type-A tendencies of the perfectionist..are all or nothing people who have realized that if they can't make it perfect they don't want to do it at all.  So we choose nothing.  People, this is me right down to the core.  She then went on to say that no one in my life, (my daughter, my friends, my boss, my family) needs me to be perfect. They need me to be good enough, and I am.

What a revelation that was!  It still pains me to let go of my perfectionist thoughts, but I am learning to forgive myself for my many imperfections.  Along with this, came the itching desire to start writing again...this time for me...the whole and real me.  So here I am, beginning fresh, with only the promise of transparency.

Welcome and thank you for joining me.  It's so nice to meet you.  :)