Dominoes

I've been a struggling soul lately.  I've been moving through the motions with as much grace as possible, yet, I feel cracked and bruised.  It's been a series of events--the collateral damage type that really dominoes out over the course of months.  With each tile that falls, the weight has pushed me deeper and deeper.

I've been doing the best that I can in the name of self care to keep my head up.  I've been reading a lot.  This morning, while filling the dishwasher, I was thinking to myself: I've been reading a lot.  This might be the summer of books.  I'm always complaining that I don't have enough time to read, now here I am reading close to an hour a day.  

And it fills me.

I've been running about 4x a week.  It's the first time that I've been regimented this way.  I'm finally making some speed and distance gains.  On the days that I'm struggling hard, I crank up the worship music.  I've had some interesting conversations with God while on the treadmill, road and trail.  There's been times when I've wanted to ditch the worship music and turn on Black Eyed Peas, instead, but because I often cling to the thing I most want to avoid, I keep the worship music cranked.  And what do you know?  God always gives me a word.  It might be the last 200 meters of my 4 mile run, but He shows up.

Yesterday, I took my oldest two downtown Portland to see a Pastor speak.  Pastor Frank was the lead pastor at the church we've attended most since Nate and I have been married.  He has dramatically changed my life in the way of Christian living and my relationship with God.  Last year, he stepped down as President of City Bible Church, and now spends his days writing, travelling the world, speaking and training up other pastors.  I went to Portland yesterday to hear from him.  I knew it would do my spirit good to hear from him.  And it did.  His sermon was on Expecting Supernatural Turnarounds.  Yes.  Exactly what I need, exactly what I'm praying for.  Being in the presence of God, hearing worship, worshiping, singing praise eased the weight on my heart--as rigid as it felt.  I could have stayed there all afternoon.

At the close of the service, Pastor Frank happened to come to the side of the ballroom where we were seated to give away some of his books.  It didn't seem that too many knew he'd be signing and giving the books away, as many had filtered out of the room before he made his way over.  I was the third in a short line and when I met with him he took my hands and offered to pray with me.  His words were comfort to my tired soul.  We agreed, I knew what to do.  Before I stepped away, I told him that his was the first church that I attended when I left the church that I was raised in.

"The first time I attended, I felt like I was home," I said.

I've thought about my saying that many times in the last 24 hours.  How many times has he heard someone say that?  How many people have finally come home during his years of preaching?

A multitude.

Today, while scrolling Instagram--not long after the fleeting thought that I should step away from social media for a time, I came across a post from a woman I went to grad school with.  The image showed her on top of a steep, rocky, mountain ridge with deep focus.  In her caption, one particular line stood out to me--"We train our bodies, but if we don't train our minds, we are missing an essential part of being successful at whatever challenge is in front of us."  It reminded me of all the years that I've pushed my body to conquer my latest challenge.  A half marathon, a Crossfit Hero WOD, hot yoga in a dank 105 degree carpeted room.  Gross.  I've always expected more from myself--the most from myself, and perhaps the cracking comes when I can't control the external.  The shitty hands, and having no recourse.  It's in this place of surrender that I fight so well, that I'm forced to wait, cling to grace and eventually, whisper Jesus.

God is training me in the area of my mind.  I know there's strength being summoned, and it's the strength that will carry me through the rough spots--now and in the future.  I've held some real shitty hands, and been in some terribly low places, and I know there is a silver lining.  The ability to connect with others, a compassion that has been placed within me for struggle when I see it, but also a toughness that pushes back and refuses to be taken down completely.

I'm not sure that the last domino has yet fallen.  The collateral damage is still fresh.

But like Pastor Frank said:

I know what to do.

Right now, it's self care and quieting the voices that don't sound much like grace.

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hopeful Christmas blues

This year, Christmas came and went like a pit-stop for gas on a road trip.  Multiple times, I tried to fall into the spirit of things, but it felt as though my mind would retract each time I attempted to hone in on the season.  I was antsy and busy thinking of obligations and future meetings that must be had, worrying that my Etsy orders would make it in time for Christmas, and anticipating all that would resume again come Monday, while presenting Christmas to my family the best way I knew how, with cookie plates, Christmas Eve traditions, family time, and well, let's be honest, too many presents.  Too many, that it left me feeling like I had totally botched my attempt at balancing Santa and the true meaning of Christmas.  It was such a botch that I wonder if Santa will be landing his sleigh on our roof next year, or if he'll be accepting Christmas lists at all.  It sounds so dreadful, I know.

Truth be told, I've been feeling a bit blue since, and my mind is still reeling like a movie on repeat. I can't quite pin-point the offness that resides within, or how it managed to nestle itself in for more than a night's stay.  Sometimes during the day, like late yesterday afternoon on the way home from the grocery store, the glisten of lights on the houses reminded me of the season and the magic it usually brings.  When I returned home, I made it a point to turn the lights back on for these final days of the season and the year, and it helped.

Luckily, with this offness, I haven't felt hopeless, nor has it been pouring over the rest of the family.  Over the last few days, I've been struck with creative ideas that excite me plenty, and there is still promise in my work.  I've been attempting to write through it, to put words to the feelings so as to pull them back and place them in their blue box, for a different rainy day, but it hasn't yet been completely sorted.  It's as though my heart is still trying to recover the inspiration, the happiness, the struggle and the mystery of it all to be able to place it in the appropriate box--because it is all there, and is worth every ounce of feeling. 

Maybe I'm learning more than I realize, because as much as I try and divert from such times, I cling to them the same--expecting a rhyme or reason, the opportunity for growth, and ultimately a stronger moving forward.  Perfect segue into 2011, no?  Maybe it is because I am a planner, or that I'm a creative spirit struggling in a type-A body, that my heart resists the initial thought of such a transitional occurrence.  But when it must, it happens to me, and I sit there waiting for it to pass, for the transition to occur, and to find myself on the other side.  The hopeful thing about transition is that in hindsight, it usually always makes sense.

Today, I welcome the blues, the agitation that is stirring in my heart and ultimately the transition with open arms.  Doing so, has never hindered me before.

So you must not be frightened if a sadness rises up before you larger than any you have ever known, if a restiveness, like light and cloud shadow passes over your hands and over all that you do. You must think that something is happening with you, that life has not forgotten you, that it holds you in its hand; it will not let you fall.

Rainer Maria Rilke (1875 - 1926)

NOTE TO SELF: Now would be a good time to re-read "Letters to a Young Poet."

pouring over.

For the last five days, I've been careful.

Careful of my intake, careful of my outtake.

It can be a terribly draining task to solely provide for two little ones for extended periods of time, and truth be told, I've been nearly drained for months.

Husband is away hunting for a prize, and sustaining himself on my best-yet batch of energy bars,

Top Roman, chunky beef stew, and whatever else those hunting types insist on eating to survive the life outdoors.  He's with his Dad and his buddy, and each of them is an outdoors man through and through.  They've already been out for five days,

{that counts for something, eh?}  and Pops took down a "monster" buck yesterday. 

As a family, we are praying that Daddy brings home his prize. 

He gets something about every year, but still has yet to bring home "the prize"--the one worth mounting. 

I'm rooting for him. 

Each of us has a prize on the horizon,

 waiting to be brought home...

Husband has a few main life-focuses. 

This week, his eyes are on the antlers.

To each man his own.

So with my time, I've been tending to my children and to myself with much care.  Aware that I'm on the verge of exhaustion quite often, so often that there are moments when I wonder when it'll all come crashing down around me?  I've been laying quite low for the last five days. 

I've cleaned, cooked, cleaned some more, chased many a messes in effort to keep it clean, and have done mass amounts of laundry.  I've organized, wrote lists, sent various levels of correspondence, babysat, made returns, paid bills, created some book marks and sewed some baby bibs.  I've exercised, went to the mall, napped with the babies, exchanged emails with an acquaintance from long ago, attended the most lovely baby shower, mowed the lawn {my right arm is more sore from attempting to start a broken mower than from my Monday morning arm workout. hmm...}, and even moved myself a latter to climb to the top shelf of our garage, whilst full-knowing that Husband spotted a mouse in the garage before he left!

{I'll show you what I was searching for and found, soon.}

Since Friday, I practically removed myself from blog-land and was okay with it,

and limited my time on Facebook.

I haven't read much of anything,

nor can I name one thing that I've watched...

Friends, I am not sure what I've been doing?

However, one thing that has been developing within me during this time,

is the thought that my children need me--more.

They've seen me moving at full-speed for some time.

Last night at the dinner table, Brooklynn talked about me "always working" and "never playing."

When I questioned her notion,

she named about five things that I am always doing...

and it hurt my heart.

It amazed me that at four, she sees where my attention goes throughout the day,

and that it is not always focused on her or her brother.

Although I feel lucky that they are such great playmates,

when she said it, she spurred change.

The struggle that I've been waging within, to keep up,

finally sorted itself out,

and simplifying become more simple.

Prioritize.

  And do the "extras" on my time and not theirs.

{Granted, the day brings many necessities,

and not all of them can be done while the little ones are asleep.}

This morning the thought crossed my mind~

this is all TEMPORARY, the neediness doesn't last forever,

and they'll be more grown-up than you'll be able to handle,

too soon.

Cherish.

This is what I've been learning the last five days,

and its been pouring into me heavy.

What's been pouring on your heart??

weheartit

together

you and me.
we are moving into something new--
something stronger.

you say iron sharpens iron,
and the ones he's worried about
he attempts to crumble.

i try to keep a few steps ahead,
but at times it feels like
i'm being attacked from every direction.
today, for a minute,
i felt like hiding.

but
you hang on
to me.
loving me.
me loving you.
encouraging me to move forward not back.
reminding me to keep my head up,
because the fight is worth it
and
the victory sweeter.

together.

-cbm



this moved me today.
you?

Wont you?

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A lot can happen in just two days

I found myself looking into the Praxis exam today. It's the exam that I'd have to take and pass before I could re-enroll in my graduate program to get my teaching certificate. I didn't think I'd ever go there again. When I withdrew from the program last year, I told myself teaching wasn't for me--especially if I'd have to teach for tests and worry about my job security the entire time. I'm not saying that teachers shouldn't have to prove themselves as good teachers to teach, because I agree. I just know that when I said I wanted to teach English it was because I love to write. Nothing seemed to suit me better than to show that there is a refuge and an outlet in writing. Now, English classes are being taught with test scores, school rankings, and job security in mind. Not my idea of a good time.

However, there is something I must admit. For me, having a teaching certificate appears to hold security. I have an English degree, but no teaching certificate. I realize that an English degree is very versatile, but with no teaching certificate, all I see are jobs with a flood of office work and papers to be filed. Again, not my idea of a good time. Even as much as I talk myself out of getting pushed around by daunting numbers within the school system, I can't help but re-consider the job that I was so sure that I'd have for eight years or so: teaching.

When I withdrew last May, I'd been highly troubled by the realization that teaching wasn't for me. After all, I'd considered myself a soon-to-be teacher for many years, and even took teaching English courses my junior and senior year of college. However, things would take a turn after I was accepted and began the Masters in Teaching program at Washington State University Vancouver, and while I spent four months attending classes feeling half-blank to the idea of policies and...politics within our schools.

As I wrote and wrote my way through the semester, I began to unravel that maybe it wasn't the teaching that I thought I would love, but is the writing that I love. So I took a plunge and withdrew. Then I went to the library and checked out a bunch of books on freelance writing. Then a few months later I received an email from Tim Perrin, a screenwriter, responding to a post that I wrote last May, where I quoted an excerpt from an article he wrote. He basically told me to quit putting off the thing I love; to quit saying I'll do it later when I have more time, because the amount of tomorrows is unknown. Stunned that an actual "writer" would send me such an email, or rather, an inspiring essay written solely to me, felt like another nudge in the direction I'd been dreaming about: writing. I emailed him back with much thanks. He emailed me again with another letter worthy of framing.

Then another couple of months later, I began my quest of writing my book proposal. Things would go great--success on the horizon; passion exploding from my fingers; an aching turned into advocacy--a reason for my pain.

Then things would start to unravel. Struggle would bulldoze its way into our lives and the lives close to us, wiping out normalcy and contentment. A death, lies, an overdose, a relationship teetering on a break-up. I've been trying to gather some perspective here, but it feels like with all the uncertainty, the last thing I should be trying to do it start a career in a field where there is no certainty. In freelance writing, you are your own boss. You come up with the ideas, then work your ass off to bring them to fruition and to sell them, if they get sold at all. Then I envision myself crawling under the blanket of normalcy in at least a teaching career. See me running circles?

With my mind off-kilter and uncertainty looming over the once bright horizon, I write for answers. I reach out to you, my blogging friend, for encouragement. I write with hopes that by the end of this post, I'll have stumbled upon some realization--a thought that might catapult me back the other direction where the clouds were breaking and the horizon promised something clear and beautiful; when the thing I loved felt attainable, and positive affirmation whispered to me: you can. you can.

weheartit

If only every girl could hear this...

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This morning with a couple free moments to spare before the day began its snowball effect of children, meals, and cleaning, and as much writing as I can possibly squeeze in, I looked to my Glamour magazine for some eye candy to help wake my tired eyes. Free moments for such guilty pleasures are rare, and to prove this, I'll just tell you that I am on day three of even getting through the magazine!

During my escape, I came across the short editorial titled "The Most Important 433 Words to Read This Month." Enraptured with the title I continued to delve. Just three words in and she had me.

"Dear Emotional Creature,

I believe in you. I believe in your authenticity, your uniqueness, your intensity, your wilderness. I love the way you dye your hair purple, or hike up your short skirt, or blare your music while you lip-sync every memorized lyric. I love your restlessness and your hunger. You possess the energy that, if unleashed, could transform, inspire, and heal the world.

Everyone seems to have a certain way they want you to be — your mother, father, teachers, religious leaders, politicians, boyfriends, fashion gurus, celebrities, girlfriends. In reporting my new book, I learned a very disturbing statistic: 74% of young women say they are under pressure to please everyone.

I have done a lot of thinking about what it means to please: to be the wish or will of somebody other than yourself. To please the fashion setters, we starve ourselves. To please men, we push ourselves when we aren’t ready. To please our parents, we become insane over-achievers. If you are trying to please, how do you take responsibility for your own needs? How do you even know what your own needs are? The act of pleasing makes everything murky. We lose track of ourselves. We stop uttering declaratory sentences. We stop directing our lives. We forget what we know. We make everything OK rather than real.

I have had the good fortune to travel around the world. Everywhere I meet teenage girls and women giggling, laughing as they walk country roads or hang out on city streets. Electric girls. I see how their lives get hijacked, how their opinions and desires get denied and undone. So many of the women I have met are still struggling late into their lives to know their desires, to find their way.

Instead of trying to please, this is a challenge to provoke, to dare, to satisfy your own imagination and appetite. To take responsibility for who you are, to engage. Listen to the voice inside you that might want something different. It’s a call to your original self, to move at your own speed, to walk with your step, to wear your color.

It has taken me so many years to be OK with being different, with being this alive, this intense. I just don’t want you to have to wait that long.

Love,
Eve Ensler. "

If only Eve Ensler's encouragement, praise, understanding and advice could be heard by every girl, I believe there could be a re-awakening--for every girl and woman who is struggling in some way, small or big to live life deeply and richly AUTHENTIC.

For the last year, I've been attempting to peel back the layers of my own authenticity in the fullness that I know it exists, and try and examine where there are gaps and blank spaces. It is a daunting task to try and recover where along my path I may have been disrupted or deterred in living a FULL and authentic life. Because the truth is, I am still working to claim this sort of life for my self.

My teenage years were quite rough. School bullying and immense pressure to adhere to religious views that didn't necessarily line up with my spiritual beliefs are just two reasons that had me overcome. The pressure to-be or to not-be and to please others was consuming and devastating for me as a teenager. I felt like I had to grow up fast as I was challenged to ask myself BIG questions of WHO AM I? and WHO AM I NOT? (even when they say I am), while other kids appeared to be relishing in the moments of school sports and boy crushes. It caused many a storms and numerous gray clouds continued to hang their dreary loom over my life for many years.

Over those years, I attempted to confront the struggle that was happening inside me, and understand where I let myself down and how my vulnerability made me susceptible to an enormous lack of confidence, depression and unhealthy relationships. Grappling with the situation felt like a battle that I may never win nor understand. I remember thinking...I'll get to it all one day. I know it all has to be sorted out, but, right now, I am too tired. I'll do it when I have the energy. Eventually, it was through a series of people, life-altering events and a new-found faith that I began to heal and was able to begin to create my authentic life.

I was both surprised and not at Ensler's statistic that "74 percent of young women say they are under pressure to please everyone."

One day when I was living in Utah during my first two years of college, I went to the scrapbook store. I was big into scrap booking at the time and spent much of my free time creating memory books for the years gone by. While I waited in line to make my purchases, my eyes could hardly ignore the fact that behind the cash register on a tall shelf were twelve or so glass canisters of different flavored home-made suckers--and beautiful I might add. I deliberated for a few moments, scanning over their flavor names, but as with many other instances in life, I struggled to make a decision. So instead of asking the kind employee to add a sucker to my bag of goodies, I decided I didn't care anyway and headed for home.

When I returned back to my apartment and found my roommate, Heather, whom I've known since second grade, I began to explain the sucker saga. It wasn't because I was suckerless that I was upset. It was the sheer fact that I felt so frazzled and indecisive when trying to choose a flavor that I could hardly believe that it stressed me out the way it did. Actually, it stressed me out so much, that I opted to ditch the whole idea and deprive myself of the sweet indulgence!

Silly sucker story, I know, but it was then that I realized that something was seriously wrong with my ability to make decisions for myself, and do so decisively...and when appropriate--quickly.

The reason that I share this sucker story is that I've been in that place when I wanted to please the masses. I wanted to be this, that and more, and the results were devastating to my contentment. I was frazzled, frustrated, living life less-than authentic. I was gaping in places that needed fulfillment. I tuned out of my own life and was living elsewhere, listening to others, contributing to their life, while failing my own. I did so until it all became too painful and I began unraveling even further than I thought possible, and began to see that the living and breathing I'm doing is for my SELF. I realized, as much as it seemed that others' happiness meant my happiness, I was wrong. I had been living a false belief that needed a quick overhaul.

My roommate, Heather found my sucker story silly, too, but she caught wind of the fact that I was teetering on the edge of some big changes. A couple of days later, with all of the love and kindness in her heart, Heather came to me with not one, but THREE suckers! "Now you don't have to choose just one!" she said. She was right! Who said I could only have one?

I'll never forget Heather's thoughtfulness and kindness that day, or the support she gave me when I packed my bags and moved back to Washington the following summer without her. She's been just one of the many who have watched me struggle and fall and climb back up time and time again. She's a gem of a friend and I will attest that she is an AUTHENTIC soul, who encourages others to be the same.

Becoming more each and every day,
~C

FYI: I wrote most of this post over two weeks ago--sorry for the delay.

Tears, Fire & Oxygen

Yesterday, I had a meltdown.  Husband happened to be in the vicinity when it happened and was able to talk me through, as I took deep breaths and blinked my eyes--a lot.  You know, the trick to keep them from pouring out like fountains?

Passion is a force of contradictory measure. It can catapult you onto a blazing trail of infinite possibility or become so over-stimulating that it stops you dead in your tracks with a dear-in-the-headlights sort if fear.  And because passion comes from the soul, any work derived from this place, is considered by many to be soul work. So when dealing with such work and feeling that 100% is not being given to the cause, it can bring moments of upheaval and panic that only near-meltdowns seem to remedy or Husbands and friends and family members can encourage through. Yesterday, my Husband did so with tender-boldness.

Husband is known for being matter-of-fact.  He's a cut to the chase kind of guy--he shoots from the hip so to speak.  I can always count on him to offer up his opinion and I have learned to value his constructive criticism (almost).  He's not one to sugar-coat just because he loves you, in fact, because he loves you so, he'll tell you the truth if he feels you'll be better off for it, even if it hurts a little.

Yesterday during my meltdown, Husband listened to my brief scenario of frustrations and demanded that I pick up the pieces. "I've seen that fire blazing under your @$$ since Tim Perrin emailed you a few months ago, and you've brought your expectations to a new level," he said. "Don't go dropping everything you have ever hoped for, now, because I've told all my friends--my wife's a writer, and we're not in this to look like idiots."  Besides being called an idiot, he did a good job of knocking some sense into me in that no-B.S.-sort of-way that I love him for. And he didn't say it because his friends really care if I ever write a thing, but because he knows that to live my life fulfilled, I must write.

He also reminded me that when a fire rages, there is no denying it the oxygen to burn. Time and care are just a few of the necessities that will keep it carefully maintained and flourishing in the night, providing warmth to the soul.

I've also realized that when you're dealing with grand aspirations and the makings of dreams, life and choices appear much more fragile than before. It reminds me of the preface to 'The Alchemist' when Paulo Cohelo talks about the main reasons why people quit seeking their dreams. It's because they are afraid to lose them, he says.  I don't want this fire for the written word to go out on me; I've gotta keep tending to it.  And there is payoff in the work--I know I'll keep warm by the fire.

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Broken Wholeness

I've been blog-hopping quite a bit lately. I'm on a quest for inspiring souls, the kind who leap, sing, and dance. The sort who hide nothing and bare their heart open. Vulnerable yet trusting souls; the very sort I wish to be.

How will I get there? I ask myself. Read more self-care books, re-connect with friends who I've become distanced from along the way? Meet with a therapist? Should I write until there are no more words coming out of me with hopes that the healing will somehow transpire between the lines? Should I take up yoga, learn massage, or pick up that old guitar and learn to play so I can sing those sad tunes? Should I say sorry, or force myself open to those who I am not close with, but feel I should be? Should I pray more often, or make a truce--between my heart and the parts broken?

Are our hearts ever whole? Or are they a Mosaic of the mess, the madness, the dreams, the love; cracked here and there, uneven and jagged--each it's own; incapable of being replicated or whole? Does each heart have pieces missing...given...or taken? Is there but one who hasn't suffered a break?

I hate to dwell on the aches and pains, but I'd like to settle the score with a few of them. How must one go about reclaiming those parts, when for so long, the underpinnings of her thoughts have been shadowed by years of false-belief and suppression; insomuch, that broken fragments have created a cozy home in her self-conscious and pay visit in her dreams.

Broken Wholeness by cassdav3 on Polyvore.com

Wild Mind

I'm headed to sleep now, friends. The plan is to get up early and hit the lake for an early morning run--so early that I wont be side-tracked by the babies and all their early morning needs. Nate's agreed to Daddy-duty early-style.

I think I'll take Dandelion Wine to bed with me with hopes that my dreams will be as pleasant and summery as the book cover proclaims the novel to be.

My day was off from the start. I woke to realize that I had bothersome dreams--the kind that fit the profile of:

insecurity. sadness. confusion.

I always wonder what dreams like this are for and why they come to me?? Do you give much thought to yours?

Waking to such dreams never lends the easiest segue into my morning routine; however, I took to my journal to fight this small battle...

The door slams as he enters.
Floor cracking as he steps.
He makes his way to where I lie,
looming over my head;
robbing me of the pleasantries ensued throughout my day;
reminding me that it's not gone.
The broken remains are still with me.
When I wake,
I reach to gather them in solemn silence.

I'm not sure why I have such dreams? Why I need the extra reminder in my sleep that I've been broken before and that I am vulnerable, still? These dreams are stocked full of emotion yet hardly any words. I guess I could go on a dream quest for answers, but I am not sure what good it would do? It would be silly to expect that while my mind runs rampant throughout the daytime, it would lie down with me at night. Wild mind.

The day continued to whip me around like tumbleweed on a highway. Maybe it was him, maybe I. Maybe the dream, that certain question at dinner? What makes my heart ache being presented to me multiple times in one day. This girl can only take so much. It's been one of those achy, solemn, frustrating, sad days.

All while the sun was shining.

Another Life Lesson

Last night as I was winding down--blogging, writing emails, and planning an upcoming party, I turned to our local online newspaper for my final reading for the night. I guess I will NEVER do this again, as my night ended with reading the most harrowing & heart-wrenching story. You've heard of the two-year-old who was saved during the terrorist attack in Mumbai, right? When I clicked on the latest update on the story, it showed a picture of the boy crying in the arms of a man. The article went on to describe in detail the Nanny's account of the attack that killed the mother and father (the rabbi and his wife). When the boy was found he was at the bodies of his parents, soaked up to his knees in blood, crying. Immediately upon reading this, I held my face and began to cry. The tears came down, and I found myself trying to control the sadness that had taken over my body.

So why do I tell you this? I tell you this because I realized after that moment of sadness that normally I wouldn't react this way. Because of this, there is something enormous to be said about how desensitized, on a human level, we've become to the violence and terror that our world is enduring. The fact that 99% of the time that I read such stories, (which I do often, because I read a lot,) and that I hardly flinch and then move on, is a critical issue. The issue of one becoming desensitized has been compounding and plaguing our country for decades and decades, and is an issue that is sure to continue.

As I said, the reaction of mine during this reading is sadly out of character. This leads me to my next concern: how will our children feel, or will they feel at all? Will they understand or see the world without the violence, or is it so gravely attached to the understanding of what world means? How can a child, who is known for his or her fresh innocence and whose immediate response is to speak truth, have a chance or one at all when most everything surrounding him or her is polluted and ravaged with violence and sadness? It's hardly seems fair to me that this makes up a huge portion of the world that we bring our babies into?

Although these thoughts run rampant inside me, gratefully I have my faith to turn to, and I am comforted to know that there is a plan in all this. Although there are no answers or promises for tomorrow, there is reason, and it is His reason. Having that faith and to be sure enough that the worries for today are not for tomorrow, but are for Him to address in the right timing, is key thought-process for me. I will never understand all this or begin to understand how I should react or how to exactly address these issues with my children. I just know that tough times lay ahead, and the world will continue to unravel and there will be many more trying times and people who will endure such times. The most I can confirm for myself is that I will do the very best I can to do, for my family and my children, today, so that tomorrow might be better.

I realize that recanting this to you, will do no more for you than what it did for me. It is both tragic and disturbing. I wrote this because I was touched, and it's moments like these that are pivotal in the growth of my spirit, and are important moments for me to reflect on. God is always trying to teach us.

A Motif of Struggle 12/19/2008

It may be blatantly obvious, but I’ve just come to the realization that there is a most common motif that haunts my writing. Within the beginning and ends of my posts lies the struggle that the writer in me is suffering. However, I don’t believe this is an uncommon struggle, especially among other mothers, and anyone else who is, as Annie Dillard would say, “balancing life in it’s free-fall.”

It was a depressing day, a couple of years ago after having Brooklynn, that I felt so debilitated to even attempt to live the normalcy of my previous life. Instead my mind would give me cruel flashbacks of all things that I had so incessantly filled my days with, but could no longer catch a break to enjoy. It’s a struggle gathering all of the things that you are--a wife, new mom, friend, daughter, individual, and on the list goes. . .to organize into an order so that you will feel the most rewarded, complete, or just plain old sane. However, I am not sure that if in time, this ever becomes sorted.

So I guess here I am to give one more ode to this motif and explain that the writer in me is still struggling.

What about you?  How do you balance all the things you are?

My No Good Very Bad Morning 10/15/07

Dreamt a horrible dream of losing Brooklynn in the mall

Car wont start

Can’t get to gym before the kids club closes for the morning

A one-question phone call turns into a long-winded mess and me utterly annoyed

Feel resentful and nagged

Get a letter from the IRS about a payment I already paid

IRS tells me bank reversed the transaction

Banker gives her unnecessary rendition of what could have happened

Pay IRS bill again instead this time with a late fee

Mind fills with rage for IRS