Do we still consider ourselves in the midst of a pandemic? At the tail end? Does your cat’s tail shake oddly sometimes, too?
These are questions I ask myself. I just told someone this week my spirit animal is a squirrel. It feels accurate.
Continue readingI want to preface all of this by saying that only on one or two occasions was I invited to tell some kind of story. I’m recalling a movie where a woman sat in front of a group of children at a library and took her story-telling to a level exceeding inappropriate for the little ones – she was dealing with … things. I had to applaud her, though, because in that moment she needed to voice her story. I think that’s what brings me here today. I’m not telling a story for an audience. I’m telling a story for me. Because I’ve learned that in my own journey, there is no better way for me to get it out other than to write (type, I know).
Continue readingYou guys. We have a year of high school under our belts. In what will surely go down in history as the most chaotic, confusing, and challenging of all school years, we did it. And I say ‘we’ because I’m the mom and I will take some of the credit.
Continue readingGoodness gracious it’s been a minute. Hi, how are you? Me? Ummm, how long do you have? I’ll just say that I have so many swirly twirly thoughts that I haven’t been able to cobble any one thing together into something I think may be worth sharing, but tonight? I just want to share some William.
Continue readingI just turned 41. And it’s after 9:30. So, either this will be short or I’ll word vomit all over and publish with the uncertainty of it making any sense. Are you as excited as I am to see where we end up?
Continue readingI still catch myself asking the question, ‘is this year real life?’ more than I’d like to admit. But apparently it is and aren’t we all just figuring it out as we go?
Continue readingOk, humans. I need to preface all of this with an acknowledgment that I’ve spent a significant amount of time debating clicking ‘Publish.’ Because we might not be on the same page. I also want to make it 10000% clear that I believe in humanity as a whole. And I also support those whose role is to protect and serve. In fact, I personally know and love some of them. But, it is possible you might not like what I’ve poured out here. And, it’s ok. And also? Going back to something I’d shared a while back, I can’t give one single crap about that. Finally, I truly believe we can still be friends. The world would be so boring if we all felt the same. Amiright?
Continue readingOh, 2020. Although it feels like 17 months ago now that the calendar changed, I remember how much hope you held. And now? Well, now I think you’re kind of a jerk. And it’s only June.
In hindsight, how many times have we heard ‘don’t get your hopes up.’ And how many times do we do exactly the opposite because, things! They hold such promise! And I turned 40 at the Grand Canyon! And Connor had a golden birthday! And my dad turned 70! And Connor finished middle school! And Alyssa graduated from college! And we were going on trips!
And that’s where that word that rhymes with zovonatirus broke everything. Because we had a grand family trip planned (after the other trip CJ and I had to cancel) to one of my very favorite places in all of the entire universe (which my familiarity of travel-wise is fairly small, but still) … Colorado. We were planning on leaving this coming Monday.
And while it is really, really difficult to put my hopes back down about a hot air balloon ride in the middle of Rocky Mountain country (wut?!), there is still cause for celebration. And this is where I’ll peel my temper tantrum-throwing body off the floor to share something really sweet.
These two? They’ve been married for 50 years. 5.0. Fifty. Weren’t they adorable? That was February 14, 1970. The day my dad proposed. And for the record, my mom was still in high school.
Now, I can’t sit here and pretend I know the secret to a staying power like theirs because … I’ll just say that I will likely NEVER be married for 50 years (yo! potential husbands! we are running out of timmmmme!). But, just like Forrest Gump, I know what love is.
And it’s what they’ve got.
My devotional actually led me to the love chapter this morning. You know … the one they read at all the weddings. I’ve been especially taken with The Passion Translation as of late and the seventh verse hit me in a special kind of way.
Love is a safe place of shelter, for it never stops believing the best for others. Love never takes failure as defeat, for it never gives up. 1 Cor. 13:7 (TPT)
I should have asked them what the trick is to tolerating the same human being for that.freaking.long but after watching them for the past forty years, I have a few ideas. I’ll be as brief as I can (grab a pencil and some paper, too. it’s a golden list. duh.)
Quite frankly (dad! lol), I could go on and on with what I’ve witnessed in a marriage that spans 50 years, but here’s the very simple truth …
You just don’t give up. That’s it.
How many times do you think my parents failed each other? I’m guessing at least a few. But both of them; both of those young and adorable ‘children’ decided on June 12, 1970 that they were choosing each other. They were choosing to be each other’s safe place of shelter. And they were choosing that regardless of anything this completely questionable and seemingly unraveling world could throw at them, they were going to make that choice to fight for the other day in and day out forever and ever amen.
Love never gives up.
I love you and your love, D & C. I pray that some day I can have something like you do, if only so that I can show you that I DO know what love is. It’s what you’ve got, even if I have to break up your arguments over how to operate the FF button.
Cheers to your golden day. And to many, many more. ❤
How is that for an attention-grabbing headline? I’m just teasing. I mean, can we not use this time to talk about the news? At all? Ok, deal. I honestly do have a reason for you to celebrate today, though. Ready?
Continue readingI read a book a couple years ago that quickly came to mind this morning as I considered how I could humbly and even remotely honor the mamas.
See, I consider myself so incredibly fortunate to have a number of women in my life that fulfill the role of a mama. To be clear, I have one mama. More on that later. But I also fully believe that you do not have to have given birth to another human to be a mama. I’ve witnessed the incredible pain of women who have battled infertility only to never have the opportunity to conceive a child. Those women (and men who stand alongside them) have the heart of a parent.
I’ve seen women who have had to carry on through miscarriages and loss near, at or after giving birth; some experiencing loss after their child reaches their teens or even their twenties. Nothing takes away their role of being a mama.
And then there are mamas who choose not to birth biological children (for one reason or another) and yet opt to pour their heart and soul into children who were birthed by another and, out of some circumstance, made available to love. (These women are true heroes, by the way.) Mamas still.
The women in my life have been shaped by many of the paths to becoming a mama noted above but they chose to love me like a mama without giving birth to me. (And I bet to all high heaven they are surely glad they didn’t get the privilege of being my actual parent. Only God could have prepared the two I got for that monumental task.) I started going through all the names in my mind and it was actually a bit overwhelming.
I’m so grateful and blessed beyond measure. I have women who have held me during intense shake crying; women who have silently prayed for me (some even with paper reminders in their own prayer room); women who have spoken such life to me that I can’t put words to it and then of course, just women who have befriended me with such sweet tenderness that they still call me friend despite my constant sucking at being a friend back.
To all of these mamas, I just humbly whisper ‘thank you.’ (Like with tears and red cheeks but you already knew about all that because you chose to know me.) And because I’m getting up there in years, I’m going to forego the actual list. I don’t want to forget anyone. But I feel like you know who you are. And that I love the crap out of you.
Finally, there is my own mom. The one who gave me life. I will NEVER be able to be the daughter I feel like you deserve. Thank God for Nikki, right? I mean, I know I have given you more to worry about, to stress over, to be fearful of, to shake your head about, to find a padded room to step into over and to likely just want to run outside and shake your fist at heaven and say, ‘whyyyyyy me, God?! whyyyyy?’ And yet, you have loved me in the way that only a fierce-hearted mama can. You have chosen to love me despite my myriad of flaws, to show me kindness when I didn’t deserve it, to fight for me when I couldn’t fight for myself, to demonstrate what a successful professional woman looks like, to stand next to your man in the dirt pile (figuratively and literally), to speak up for injustice and give generously to those who need it (even when it doesn’t make any sense at all) and to rise up from a pile of freaking ashes, dust myself off and realize that I can take another step. And of course, how to give all of that to a child of my own. I will never feel adequate or equipped. But, I’m doing my best.
Mostly, though? You’ve shown me what a Godly woman looks like; how that Proverbs 31 woman comes to life. You are her. And I will always be the lucky one for having such an inspiring example in my immediate (non-socially distant) circle. I love you, mama.
Finally, for all the fierce-hearted women out there, I want to share with you the intro to that book I mentioned … the words I take line by line and write about in my own journal. To remind myself of who this woman is and who I aspire to be. Happy Mother’s Day, mamas.
a brand new ending 