Battle of Gratitude

In the presence of a dear friend, wave after wave of good news, hard fought goals now realized, freedom and celebration just within reach, the inner option to spiral into despair was only a breath away. Smelling its bitter breath and biting words: you’ll never succeed, her life is so much better, she’s so much more organized and driven, you aren’t working as hard… the battle required a quick pivot from desperation to inspiration. Choosing instead to soak in the positive truths, I sought gratitude: Grateful that hard work produced sweet rewards, grateful for children finding their way, grateful to have such a big-hearted, creative and inspiring friend, grateful for stolen moments to sip tea together. 

The easy option to remain in neutral allowing the dark untruths to take root, shifting to gratitude takes work. It seems whatever you focus on builds upon itself, good or bad, I prefer good. But good isn’t easy.  Good takes work. Some days, the only gratitude I can muster is the toothpaste on my brush… but it builds. Slowly at first, but then… gratitude for the minty taste, clean teeth, a fresh morning kiss, a husband that loves me, a new day, fresh possibilities, food in the pantry, a warm breakfast tea, the perfect mug, a flitting cardinal against grey trees, the sound of the washer, clean clothes, new adventures, a dog that takes quick cold-day pees, warm house, electric, a functional heater,  working from home, flexibility, avocado toast, a second cup of tea with a friend. Building and building until there’s no room for self-doubt, fear, and despair.

Despair now departed, listening with a grateful heart, newly inspired by my rewarded friend. 

Quietly sipping and smiling, today’s battle of gratitude silently won.

Deep Dog Thoughts

Even this non-dog person is noticing a shift in perspective in the company of dogs. During the simple process of daily care, important life lessons are being taught.   

 One… needs are revealed if you simply pay attention.  Charlie will request in dog speak his necessary potty breaks. Bernadine, however, nervously paces.  Often deep in thought or activity, I can easily overlook the speak or the pace and accidents happen.  Being more in the moment instead of far, far away, distracted, I would see the signs, hear the clues and take the proper next best step.  It’s more important to be present, alert and watch for the signs. 

Two… allow margin for the unexpected.  Odds are when lip gloss is applied, hair is perfect, the no-grass shoes are on and I’m ready to leave, dogs will have to go outside.  Best laid plans will often twist at the last moment. Change the shoes, grab the umbrella and out we go.  If I allowed a few extra minutes for the unexpected I wouldn’t feel rushed. 

Which leads me to three… you can’t rush things. Charlie has a routine, a sniff path that must be followed and no amount of rushing can speed the circuit. He’s gathering all the important data…who’s been here, what’s that smell, eat some grass, sniff old piles, tree, mailbox, fire hydrant. Like an old man and his paper over the morning coffee, things simply can’t be rushed. Frantic rush may arise, but neither dog responds… urges to hurry fall on deaf doggy ears. Life takes just the right amount of time and no amount of rushing will change the pace.

Lastly, and most weighty… love is unconditional.  Neither the contents of my day nor the fickle nature of my moods seem to change the depth of doggy love. Greeting me at the door, happy tails wagging, ready to lick and lean, they love with a love that isn’t often found in humans. Mistakes are never held against me, quickly forgotten with a belly rub or a back scratch.  

If I’m paying true attention, present and unrushed, there is much to learn from dogs. How to love, keeping it simple, take care of important stuff first, rest when needed… furry four-legged instructors, a coincidence dog backwards is God?

When the Heart Speaks

Hours into writing with nothing to show for it, frustrated. That evil inner dictator whispers you’re no writer, no comparison to my skilled writing friend, you should just pitch it. Scrap. It’s nothing.

What will you have me do next, Lord? Write. Ugg. I’ve tried with no luck.  Do it again.

Knowing others read what bubbles up often guards my words, filters my Christ-speak, tapping out what I think others will want to hear. The deeper truth is that when the heart speaks, the real connection happens. Soul echoes, now free, always seem to land where needed the most.  For that reason alone, I write.  Sharing fears, thoughts, experiences, for the sheer action of it, letting it free to find that soul in need.  Positive motion in the best possible and most authentic way I know, with true confidence that it finds where it should ultimately land.

No longer comparing, no longer filtered, obediently tapping, the inner dictator succumbed, now silent. I spill it out, now set free, ready to be filled again.

The Good Stuff

Writing is my workout. 

It stretches and pulls my mind and heart in directions I wouldn’t willingly travel. It reveals garbage and replaces it with gold. The silly things that distract prefer to keep me numb and dumb, but when I sit still, quiet my mind and start moving over the keys, something shifts. Wisdom perches so fragile, content to join the party. I just need to be still….breathe…and listen.  The busy will come, but for now, I chill and I wait for the good stuff. In this space, I surrender the fight.  I needn’t work so hard, I needn’t let the busy distract. 

I simply need to be still. 

Not lazy, but still.  Still within the work, still is the work, still in my heart when the worry creeps near, still when I don’t understand.  I complicate it with busy, pointless distractions.  I fight the good stuff like a toddler with overcooked broccoli.  But here…when I’m tapping the keys, being still, the good stuff bubbles forth. 

For The Love of Dogs

I don’t even love dogs.

Let me start by saying I have a dog, Charlie, a Puggle.  I like him.  We rescued him from the York SPCA to provide the dog/childhood experience.  Tim grew up with a dog in the house, but my history with dogs involved gnarly German Shepherds behind a fence and the strong caution to stay far away. 

So when Cara asked me to join her on a dog shelter / book tour road trip for her new book Another Good Dog, my first thoughts weren't dogs.  Instead, they were:  1) I’d love a distraction from dropping my first born at college and 2) I’d love the rare opportunity to get two busy friends together in a vehicle for 7 days.   Add in my strong affinity to surround myself with passion-driven women, I was in. 

Immediately falling into the personal assistant role of tweeting, posting, and tagging, our first event was super easy, a dog-centric festival in downtown Arlington, Va.  Dogs everywhere you looked, small dogs, large dogs, even a dog that looked like Charlie.  Dogs with loving owners that carried them in totebags, snuggies, and baby carriages, clearly loved and adored.

And then came the other dogs.

The next day, we visited our first shelter, Lenoir County SPCA.  Girding my heart the best I could, the tears spewed out with zero warning. Dogs everywhere with no loving owners. No sweet bowtie collars, no perfect grooming.  Cold cages, concrete floors.  A small staff of women working tirelessly to clean and heal but the incoming exceeded the outgoing quickly creating maximum capacity.

There’s a quote I live by: When you know better, you do better.  You can’t un-see some of the things we saw or un-hear some of the stories told. Dropping off dogs to a kill shelter while families went on vacation knowing full well their dog would be killed.  Returning from vaca to find the family pup euthanized and leaving with a kitten instead.  I witnessed Cara transform into Superwoman on this trip.  A soul-stirring occurred that couldn’t be settled.  Reaching out immediately for community help,  it came in spades. Friends shipped much needed supplies to desperate shelters while volunteers rose up and fostered dogs.

Powerful truths witnessed:

1)      A handful of people, bonded together under one cause, can make a huge difference.

2)      Technology can be used for the Power of Good.

3)      Understanding a problem is one thing, actually doing something is altogether better.

4)      Dogs can undoubtedly see the depths of your soul.

5)      Never underestimate the power of a fired-up-woman.

6)      For every bad, there are many good people doing many good things.

7)      Sometimes you have to look hard for the good people doing good things.

8)      A sweet treat, delivered with love, can soothe the soul... as well as the pup.

9)      Eventually, you are rewarded for your hard work.

10)  Never, ever, ever, ever give up.

Lots to ponder during the long trip home…what’s my own personal passion?  What fires me up?  Which Good is most in need? Should we become a foster dog family?

One thing was for certain, Like transformed to Love towards Charlie.   

Check out the all the road trip details here:  Another Good Dog 

Buy the book because it's amazing, here:  Another Good Dog Book

 

Built for This

She’s been built for this moment.  Shifting into neutral, hugging the wall until she spoke directions…hang the clothing, open this box, fold the towels, letting her take the lead.  She stepped right into the position as if it were custom built for her. It was.  She came into this world an old soul… twenty years old on day one. So my soul was at peace amidst the drastic change.  It was, however, the little things that made me crumble.  All moved in, the college conveniently organized back to back freshmen events, leaving parents to explore and wander separate from their babes, ripping the band-aid off quickly.  

Away from her, I cried. Failed attempt after attempt to craft the perfect sloppy top bun left me looking and feeling lop-sided.  She always artfully twisted my hair in seemingly the simplest ways. Her favorite songs playing in the hotel lobby…who will keep me current with the freshest tunes? Feeling quite selfish, shifting instead to the growth and memories she has already begun to experience.

This must be what true love is all about…loving someone so much that it breaks your fragile heart to part, but realizing they are so much better for the distance all the same. 

A peaceful separation, no gushes of tears, no dramatic scenes… just singular awareness: no longer a need to leave the light on, an empty bedroom, one less head to count at bedtime.  Go and grow, sweet girl.

Obedient in the Do.

Not quite knowing where to start, I begin to hit the keys in the motion of writing until the words begin to flow.  Sometimes that’s how all the best things seem to start…a brave foot forward not knowing the end result.  Giving God something to work with, a tiny seed that can grow into something all together different. So I quietly tap each key until the black curves form words and the clustered words form sentences and the sentences garner thought, imagination, ideas, creativity, inspiration, guidance.  But the most important motion is the decision to Do.  Status quo would be maintained without the Do.  Nothing changes without the Do.  The giving up transferred to giving in…a sweet surrender to knowing I’ll be met halfway as long as a bravely Do.  I don’t have all the answers, I certainly don’t know where each step will lead, but I’ll clearly never know if I never Do.  So,  I carve quiet moments out of my day…sitting in the car with the door cracked open, soft breeze on my toes, waiting for Cole to finish baseball practice.  Open the laptop and begin to hit the keys.  Obedient in the Do.       

Love is Kind

In a deep dig to find the true meaning of Love, I was giddy to see Kindness was next up.  Kindness comes so naturally to me.  A smile to a stranger, a door held open, and paying for the next car in line at Starbucks is light and fluffy and oh so simple.  All surface level stuff, though, I realized upon closer look.  Googling Kindness in Scripture, the first hit revealed Don’t Grow Weary in Doing Good.  Have I ever grown weary in being Kind?  For sure. Often. It’s so simple to offer up kindness towards someone that I connect with, a kindred spirit, or someone to admire. BUT. To those I disagree, conflict with, or who grate my soul, there is no kindness to spare.  Notoriously, I withdraw and withhold kindness from those sorts.  It’s not as if I’m blatantly unkind, more like the switch of interaction is turned off all together. They will not receive a glance, a nod, a smile, an ear.  Ouch. Wanting to save the best of me for the best around me, seemed noble at the time.  While I’m in full disclosure, I’ve have often used the ‘don’t cast your pearls before swine’ in a convenient way to curb interaction…so many missed opportunities to be kind. 

Stretching to fit inside this corrected definition of Love, it seems being Kind should include those I’ve distanced.  I’ve known it down deep all along…it’s just so much easier to be selective.  But there’s a more authentic version of Kindness I’m missing.  My mind is screaming ‘I don’t wanna’… what if they don’t receive my kindness, or what if they don’t respond the way I expect?  There’s nothing that says be kind only to those that receive it well.  Kindness leaves me with a satisfied, content, proud vibe and that’s the medicine I want to ingest daily.  How they respond is not my battle. 

A second Google search on Scripture Kindness revealed it’s something that needs to be put on.  Action words here.  Kindness isn’t always a natural, inborn thing.   It’s something which needs to be picked up, dusted off (especially in the case of those I’ve distanced), and thrown on. My kindness cloak clearly needs an upgrade and extension.  

And I thought Kindness would be the easiest. 

Love is Patient

There’s a huge wall hanging at my front entrance that quotes the popular wedding and funeral scripture from Corinthians 13... Love is Patient, Love is Kind.  Oftentimes, I scurry past juggling schedules, scrubbing baseball pants, coordinating events and meals. It whispers to me Be Still, so today I steady myself and let the words flow.  That scripture echoes in my mind as a list of things to achieve, attributes I wish to master…the true definitions of love.  I see it, I hear it, but I don’t often live it.  So I start at the very beginning…

Love is Patient

I don’t feel very patient. I want what I want, when I want it, often a petulant toddler, minus the tantrum.  Mostly internal, the bulk of the battle is played out in my mind and patience is the first to run thin, which is likely why it tops the list.  Patience for others ranks 7 (a small handful rank 2) while patience for self ranges 2-8 depending on the day or the minute.  Patience implies that all things will improve, hope for things not yet seen.  Patience, then, must require a knowing that someone bigger and better than me has every single detail covered and arranged. So, patience is a surrender not a strive. In moments when I require a dragon’s dose of patience, I have to surrender in equal amounts. In real or contrived crisis, I typically surrender, but quickly grab it back.  I got this, I can figure it out, work harder, take deeper breaths, use better words, get more done, research and dig deep. The grabbing and the doing only creating more flurry, even less patience.  Savoring this realization, it dawns on me that either  I question my definition of God or I question His definition of me. No doubt he sees and supports others, but for me He clearly is busy, I am insignificant, invisible.  He has a world of other issues to resolve…I can help by taking care of business.  Looping back, in order to show love as patience, I’ll require a more accurate definition of who God really is and how he sees me in order to surrender and not immediately reclaim the reigns.   

Drilling Down Deep

I’m easily distracted, equal parts deep thought and shiny objects.  There are times, though, that require a deep drilled down focus.  Tiny little moments that could easily scurry by and otherwise be lost forever. Impromptu dinner with friends, the hibachi grill flames could have easily distracted, loud conversations from other tables, the wine, my own busy brain could have very simply overlooked tiny tears from a quiet soul three seats over.  Sharing her worried heart over an unwell parent, conversations began to split and drift.  One tiny movement, a hand raised to swipe under her eyeglass…something easily overlooked or dismissed instead drilled me down and pulled me in. Deeper questions asked, conversation resumed… desiring the friend to feel heard and loved.

 Closer to home, Maya leaves for college in what will seem like a few short breaths and I’m drilling down… not wanting to loose a single fleeting moment.  Shows are paused, hearing about her day, her friends, discussions at church, sharing favorites…I’m savoring moments. The easy option would be to stay nose deep in my book or phone…attention takes effort. Always looking, always listening, asking that second, third, or fourth question.  Not surface level stuff… I want the meatier variety, stories that created smiles or tears. Yes, I know the cold has overstayed it’s welcome, but I want to hear what brings joy, the cravings of life, what inspires and scares.  Not wanting to miss a single thing, I’m drilling down deep. 

Bravely Step Forward

Today, I spoke words to a camera as part of a recording meant to encourage and uplift women at an upcoming retreat.  Immediately honored, the words easily spilled days in advance.  However, the day I need it most, my computer seizes.  Unable to print my speech, I head to church to meet the videographer…my inner critic loudly proclaiming that I’m no speaker, clearly no writer, completely unworthy, not to mention unorganized.  Squashing it and moving forward, deciding my written speech is not participating, my bullet notes will have to do…but when I glance at my notes, instant blur, nothing made sense.   Test anxiety pummeled me, my mind drew complete blanks. My heart pulsed through my ears. As she continued to set up the camera, I nervously babbled and alternated deep breaths.  Pulling her in the loop, I admit my nervous thoughts and press forward with winging it.  Camera poised, microphone balanced, lighting flattering, bullet notes visible...she pressed record and I exhale.  The deep desire of my heart is helping ladies feel beautiful so I pictured them on the other side of the aperture…right there, inches away.  All nervousness melted and the words spilled easily.  Roughly following the bullet notes retained my focus, but new concepts dropped in, too.  One word flowed into another, sharing lessons, tips and some heart to heart. 

At final words, air kisses sent, I hopped from my perch and signed off.  Worry gone, inner critic quiet, peace reigned. Honored to play one small part in encouraging women towards their best self, I was thankful that the words flowed and that the inner critic was squashed.  For me, it was an affirmation of continuing to bravely step forward regardless of fear. 

Keep it Simple

Months of morning zen time have left me angry and empty.  Maybe I’m not doing it right, maybe it’s just not for me.  For months now, I’ve risen at 5am, giving myself a good 90 minutes of reading, writing, meditating, doing yoga…and within 5 short minutes, I’m frazzled and frustrated again.  Feeling like one important and very crucial part was missing, I added 5 min of worship music…one song.  Looking back, it was like talking to your best friend for a mere 5 minutes.  It’s just impossible.  Nothing good can come of it, there’s simply not enough time to talk, then listen, then talk some more.  I added two songs, but still time felt out of proportion.  The dreaming and staring over magazine cut-out vision boards and aligning my chakra just seemed like worshiping the bark and not the tree.  

So I cleared the decks and went back to basics.  I was working too hard to drawl my own vision into reality, striving, pushing, when all I really need to do is Love God, and Love Others.  Keep it simple.  I still rise early in the morning, but now, it’s a long conversation with a good friend.  Worship music, reading, filling a gratitude journal, praying over family, friends, our schools, our church, my neighbors, our government, then myself.  He’s got this creative way of bending and stretching me until I’m in the right place…it’s a gut feeling, a holy nudge, an unsatisfied itch…He’ll keep at it until I’m adjusted.  I can keep trying to do it my own way, but my version is never as good, as efficient, as fruitful.  I complicate things, when it’s best to keep it simple.

13 Years of Bruises

For 13 years, our bed has sat in the exact same spot.  In a wide loop from bedroom door to bathroom, my shin will inevitably hit the edge of the platform frame once a week.  Why only now have I decided to move the bed? So long it has occupied that spot, I’ve memorized the wide loop in a number of 5 quick steps. My fingers trace the edge in the dark to avoid the thump. It makes absolutely no sense to keep it in that spot, but there it sits, four deep wells of comfortable dips in the carpet and 13 years of shin bruises. Comfort and familiarity shouldn’t be the only reason to avoid change.  So this weekend, Tim will begrudgingly oblige as we shuffle the bed to an alternate wall.  In a chain of events, every other piece of furniture will find new dips on the carpet.

Pulling Cole from the standard routine of high school education is the glaring culprit to this fresh awareness of routine rut. With new eyes on all actions and placements, what else is wasteful, inefficient, pointless?  Constantly looking for a new and alternative way to accomplish the same tired task, smarter ways to do things are waiting to be discovered. Small things, like moving a lamp to a spot where I frequently read, switching stacks of dishes to a smarter cabinet.  What bigger things need adjustment? 

Baby steps…starting with the bed and a future free of shin bruises.    

Six Months

I’ve got Six short months.

Just yesterday we had that long distance comfort between birth and college.  Now it’s a mere Six months away.  Six months of action, memories, sweet words, learning, wisdom.  She came into this world like a calm 20 year old…like she’s always meant to be here, bound to make great change, wiser than this world.  She’ll manage all matter of big and tiny details just perfectly on her own…the best kind of learning often is hands on.  My main focus has always been to make sure she’s comfortable in her own skin.  That she knows who and whose she is.  That she carries a confidence that is unshaken by this untethered world, a lesson that never ends.

I’ve been failing on my job recently…a bit distracted, wastefully busy.  All good intentions, but the priority is misaligned.  She should have always been closer to the top…but she quietly takes care so well, I took her for granted.  Not wanting to workout with her because I’m a morning gal…selfish.  Headphones in and YouTube stares…isolated.  Reclining after dinner…unhealthy.  For a mere six months, she still needs me. Headphones are being tucked away, screens are being limited, feet and minds are moving.   Six months of filling her confidence bucket to overflowing.  Six months of endless love and listening.  I’ve got Six months.

Today We Jump

Today is the day we make a move in a strange and unknown direction. Research, conversations, prayers, lists, visits…I’ve done more digging on this single decision than all of my biggest decisions combined.  Marriage, children, home-ownership, starting a business…all followed my gut. This decision, however, affects more than myself, so I’ve lingered in the safe places for a bit longer. At some point, an action is required…a blind step in some direction. I can stew and simmer, dig and deliberate but today’s the day we jump. 

Maya & Cole are two completely different glorious beings.  From day one, they’ve required different styles of parenting, different ways to reason, different motivations, different definitions of love. It's no surprise that they also have different ways of learning.  Today I submit paperwork that releases him from school and we begin the wild world of home-schooling.

So many fears.  Again, that negative voice speaks I’m no teacher, you may fail, he may suffer, others will judge.  Those fears apply to almost any decision.  The way I understand it, decision making has one final outcome.  Finding a thousand opinions in favor and equal amounts against, the pros and cons list may possibly equal out.  We can remain in the status-quo safe places or we can follow another path.  Ultimately, after all the digging, diving, and solid hours of prayer, one foot must finally move in front of the other.  No longer satisfied in the safe places, today we jump. 

Battle for Perspective

I was grumpy this weekend. Overwhelm, frustration or simple hunger delivered me to an unhappy place.  Deciding to separate myself for some deep breaths and a chance to find peaceful ground, I stepped into the shower to shake off the funk.  So often, the shower is exactly where wisdom falls.  Vulnerable, exposed, no distractions, that still small voice seems so much clearer.  That morning, perhaps even in that moment, a young bride was saying forever goodbye to her 38 year old husband.  Suffering, hospital-bound, he missed the birth of their daughter.  His eyes never laid gaze on her tiny hands.  A new widow finding new normal without her love.  Closing my eyes, I picture waves of love washing over her.  Sending a complete stranger love predictably refreshing my own buckets, my own annoyance now seems so insignificant.  New perspective gained, I’m able to face the world again.  Downstairs, Tim recounts the viral letter from a dying 27 year old Cancer patient. Affirmation to shake off the small stuff, yet again.  

It’s the annoying, petty, insignificant stuff that blocks the action of love, of living.  Constantly returning to distract.  For me, it’s mom guilt, body image, future worries, long to-do lists, work overwhelm, friend guilt, wife guilt, more guilt.  Get out of my way, petty, for proper perspective. 

Gratitude. Love.  Sending it, thinking it, being it, speaking it, living it, savoring it.  I want to sit protected in that place, safe from small annoyances and big griefs, but the world and insecurity happens. It seems the answer is to locate the petty, name it, squash it, then savor gratitude, receive and send love. Then repeat.  It’s a constant battle to regain perspective, a worthy battle, no doubt. A battle within which I’m likely not alone.   

A Good Stretch

I’ve been stretching lately.  Not only a morning yoga routine to get my mind and muscles moving, but also stretching conversations, comfort zones…asking the hard questions.  Safer to stick to the generally prescribed conversation topics, I’ve recently veered from comfortable into honest and what emerged on the other side was nothing short of delightful. 

An unexpected date night with Tim produced the generic topics of children, but once depleted, the quiet settled.  Not satisfied with the quiet, the questions came…then another and another. A healthy balance of listening, commenting, and contributing turned historically triggered and guarded conversations into a better, healthier version. It was

exactly what we both needed.  Soon enough, the babes will depart to build their own lives and we’ll return to us.  After years of kid-focused living, that could be a little awkward…I’m thrilled to find these bread crumbs back to the beginning. 

Then again, over a decadent dinner with a dear friend, conversation freely flowed.  Often easy to take friends for granted, I stretched to carve out a little time to lavish, to absorb, to celebrate.  I stretched again with honest conversation…the easy path would be to simply agree, yet conversations lead to unexpected places with each fresh perspective.   No false airs, no expectation, no end game, easy conversation, laughter leading to insight, honesty. Dreams, goals, worries, revelations, histories, all things worthy to share with a good friend. All things layering into a better version of me and a healthier definition of friendship. 

Great things lay on the other side of a good stretch.

Lessons Learned

Two weeks without writing is leaving me itchy inside. So much to spill so let’s begin the brain dump. 

Buying gifts days before Christmas left us without a shopping cart, so instead,  the store offered us a body sized clear bag…and when anyone gives you a body sized bag it must be filled.  (Brilliant marketing, Bonton).  Shortly afterwards, an employee noticed me struggling and offered to stash my finds at the front counter.  Instant relief.  Her name was Lisa, so that was easy for me to remember. Once we finally cashed out, there was Lisa again, offering her sweet smile and since I’m all about customer service and love finding it’s rare appearance, I made sure to tell her how happy I was.  She saw a customer struggling, stepped up to help, offered refreshing chatter, and a smile.  I was grateful and she was overwhelmed by my feedback.  She got teary and offered me a hug telling me she was going thru some stressful situations outside of work and really needed to hear something positive that day. Lesson learned:  Freely offer sincere compliments because you never know who might really need one. 

Over Christmas, we jetted to Las Vegas to explore, laugh and make new memories.  The concept that we were headed to sin-city on the holiest of holidays wasn’t lost on me.  The start was a bit questionable…three parking tickets, a hotel mix-up, a 2-hour flight delay and a seat that wouldn’t recline.  But like anywhere you travel, there is potential for both good and bad…the art is to find the good.  And we found it in spades (excuse the Vegas pun)… The kids climbing magnificent mountains boasting striking layers of multi-colored rocks, sweet Norma in Target with her southern drawl and sassy round black glasses, bent-over-belly-laughing with the checkout gal at the absolute best BBQ joint ever, taking turns being pampered in a luxurious automated spa chair, savoring hand crafted cocktails with dear friends after a long day of sensory overload, enjoying artful story telling of cross country adventures by visiting family members. Lesson relearned:  Look for the good…it’s always there. 

Part of the reason we travel over Christmas is to make new memories to enhance (they never really replace, nor would I want them to) the final days spent with Mom before she passed on January 2, 2015.  Yesterday was three years.  Close friends have marked that date on their calendar and sent thoughtful texts checking in. I was okay yesterday…productive, positive.  When tears didn’t come all day, I wondered if that was the last of it… is this how it will be moving forward?  Incrementally lighter each day…THEN today, I heard her song on the way home from a ridiculously lovely trip to Trader Joes.  I Can Only Imagine by Mercy Me had me with deep thoughts and wet face.  I like to imagine her experiencing sheer bliss every moment, holding babies that were delivered stillborn until their mammas can join them (she was a Maternity nurse and while she never shared stories, I know she remembered each one)…I see her strolling thru gardens of lilacs, her soft sweet hands entwined with Jesus, I see her young, vibrant, colorful, twinkly-eye smiling.  I can only imagine.  Instantly thankful that she hand picked that song…I can only imagine the comfort it gave her and the comfort it now gives me.  Lesson learned: The difference between sadness and joy is often a slight shift of perspective. 

It’s been a long holiday of lessons learned and relearned.  I’m one beyond blessed gal and if you’re still reading, I want to say thank you.  Thank you for sharing this journey with me.  You are pretty awesome stuff and I’m sure you have stories of your own…I’d like to hear them. Put it out there... someone needs to hear it and will perhaps learn lessons alongside you as well.  xo