August has always held me gently. Soft and strong, it once was a month that held so much pain but now every August quiet reflection and contemplation rises up and washes over me like the gentle breeze. If I could hold on to these sacred days, to the gentleness August brings, I would.
I feel like if August was a person she would be dripping in beads, wearing flowing fabrics and dancing with the puffs of air. Her laugh would sound like wind chimes clinking against one another on the porch long after dark when the air is only slightly rustled.
August, for me, has always felt like coming home, like peeling back the layers and peering into myself and finding things I never really knew I'd left there.
...
He stood with his guitar, singing in such a way that the air hung off the breath of magic and I knew I wanted to write like that. I wanted my not so elegant prose and poetry to drip off the branches of trees like dew drops, to mesmerize and simultaneously awe those around me. I feel the words inside me, and I want to one day reach that glistening shining spot of successful. I wish I knew what that looked like. But as I watched him play, choking on my words, my fingers aching for a pen, I knew I wanted this. Being an artist suddenly sounded like the most magical thing in the world.
I think as an artist there's always that someone better. There's that someone with a publishing deal, a fully completed manuscript that doesn't suck, with a concert venue or a next show or more followers. I call myself an artist but a lot of the time that feels like me out here, just doing my own thing, sometimes writing good things but a lot of the time writing bad things but always creating. And when there's someone else, someone else on this journey of artistry who is further along up the path than you are, who understands the solitary quest of creating, it's an inspiring and terrifying feeling.
As I watched him play, I also watched his girlfriend. My best friend when I was 4 years old, she reminds me of pieces of the past I almost forgot. She's grown now, and beautiful, and it's easier to think she has this life thing more figured out than I do. Maybe somewhere along the line we grew apart and she got the magical answer key and I got a series of questions. And I'm watching her and remembering when we were young, and how it was supposed to be different but she's here in this life I don't fit into effortlessly anymore. Sometimes I wish I did.
I wish my life was beautiful and grandeur instead of this clunky imitation I'm still learning how to stand inside and come home to at night.
There they are, these two, in the life I thought I was supposed to be living, the one I dreamed about. And he's singing about love and apologies, and I look across at the boy holding my hands. He looks up at me and smiles, and I smile, and I feel so in love in this moment I think my heart will burst out of my chest, will finally break free of the cage it's been contained in for so long and exist as its own vessel of love and light. This life, this love, it's not what I had imagined back when I was a little girl. It's messy, and loud, and not very elegant or graceful. But as I look at it, at him, I know it is the best poetry I have ever written to date. It is my proudest creation, what I never knew I needed. This wild and reckless love is more than enough.
"Love was just an empty room until I felt His heart in you."
...
The air smelled like coming home. The mountains stood tall to greet me, ready to breathe life into my lungs once again. As we hiked over rocky trails in sandals, unprepared but not unwilling visitors, my heart beat rapidly inside of my chest in a way that made me realize that these hills could do anything to me and it would not be unwelcomed. I think perhaps its genetic, this deep and true love for the wild unknown.
We ate lunch on the patio of this little vegan restaurant, which I loved and he didn't. The waitress had an Australian accent, and the people who passed by on the street were all kinds of foreign and familiar. When he stayed and ate I knew he loved me.
We walked the streets and I drank rich, strong black coffee. Musicians played on street corners. I was enchanted by this city, the way it extended rivers like veins, the way mountain peaks rose like the confidant gaze of the sure and steady. Even in the face of the unknown, it beckoned me to trust. It tickled the delicate underside of my heart, whispering courage into my bones, giving me strength for the journey.
...
I'm still marveling at how it feels to be accepted into a family not your own. As the girl who grew up with a disjointed illustration of family, the tender process of finding my own is not something I take lightly. The arms outstretched to welcome me, the goodbye hugs that speak of always being welcome here, the opening up of more than a home but a heart, it does not go unnoticed.
And in the final moments when the bags were all packed in the car and hugs were being given, his mother said to me, "You're our girl now too." and I realized what it's like to have homes scattered all around the country. And my heart swells.
...
The car ride home is long, filled with more undistinguishable moans, sighs and laughs than actual words. We listen to others talk and don't talk to each other. I feel the weight as I try to sort out the big topics in my mind, as I work through the matters of faith I began to give some attention to when August's #thisisagoodbody challenge was taking place, as I think about the huge and important blog post I'm writing. We spend the last hour laughing about nothing. We pull into the driveway exhausted and I'm not sure of the long days before me. I wish to hold on to these final, fleeting moments of summer.
Showing posts with label family. Show all posts
Showing posts with label family. Show all posts
Wednesday, September 2, 2015
Monday, June 29, 2015
When the mountains speak love
If my life is measured by summers, it is most definitely measured in these long, hot days running wild in the mountains on our annual summer trip to Miette.
Every time we roll up that windy mountain road, it feels a little bit more like coming home. The days are long, the mountains tall, the coffee strong, the time spent together as a family valuable and by the time I collapse into bed at the end of the day I am thoroughly exhausted.
There's always time for one more quick swim, one more hike, one more conversation.
Perhaps that's what I love most about these trips. It feels like there is always more.
Out there, nothing is lacking. There is never not enough. Even as we drive, I can feel the layers of heaviness surrounding my heart just melt away until we pull up to our little mountain kingdom and I am eye to eye, toe to toe with my real, honest self.
There's something about the truth that doesn't hide from me here.
This year we packed up the van and drove to our little mountain town. And even just sitting in the passenger seat of the boyfriend's truck with my bags packed and anticipation swirling around in the air, my heart almost burst at the thought of being surrounded by all the people I love so dearly for a whole weekend.
Sometimes, I think, this qualifies as magic.
There were mornings where all of us crammed into a tiny cabin to eat breakfast, still pajama clad and sleepy eyed. There were afternoons spent wading in the river, wandering through Jasper, swatting mosquitoes and hiking up to the old pool (which I still think is one of my favourite places on earth, and feels to me so much like poetry). There was kissing, and staying up late, jumping into the cold pool until all limbs were numb only to retreat back to the warm pool and sigh over the tingling feeling in hands and feet, stories were told and many rounds of catch played and over and over again I fell in love the way you fall asleep, slowly and then all at once.
I cried, because sometimes you can't hide from the truth. I collapsed from exhaustion. I let the mountain air and the sunshine heal my soul once again, and let it all remind me who I am.
I am so incredibly grateful for my family, and the memories we make in this place. I'm grateful that this year family stretched to include more of the people I love so much. I'm grateful for the life lessons learned around the breakfast table and over coffee and while sitting around with my people.
When I got my tattoo (a mountain) it symbolized a lot of things.
It was in memory of my cousin, an avid snowmobiler. His favourite place was in the mountains, and it was on this little mountain near Jasper that I have some of the best memories of our family.
It's because I feel most at home in the mountains, and to me they represent freedom and strength.
And it's because of that verse in Matthew that talks about having faith to move mountains.
As I spent this weekend loving, and telling the truth and healing my soul, my faith was also restored in some small way. My faith, not only in God, but in goodness and love and family and people, in the world and in myself.
If I could bottle up some of that magic I feel during our family trips to that mountain, I would. I would put it on a necklace and carry it with me every day.
We arrived home today, and I have new dreams tangled in my hair, fresh ideas stirring in my head and a wild, radical love taking root in my heart once again. I am so grateful for all of this.
"God is in the mountains. Impassible, immovable, jagged giants, separating the celestial from the terrestrial with eternal, diagonal certainty. As if silently monitoring the beating heart of the Creator from the universe's perfect birth. Stood in the thin air and the awe, one inhales God, involuntarily acknowledging that we are but fragments of a whole, a higher thing. The mountains remind me of my place, as a servant to truth and wonder. Yes, God is in the mountains. Perhaps the pulpit too and even in the piety of an atheist's sigh. I don't know, but I feel him in the mountains."
Every time we roll up that windy mountain road, it feels a little bit more like coming home. The days are long, the mountains tall, the coffee strong, the time spent together as a family valuable and by the time I collapse into bed at the end of the day I am thoroughly exhausted.
There's always time for one more quick swim, one more hike, one more conversation.
Perhaps that's what I love most about these trips. It feels like there is always more.
Out there, nothing is lacking. There is never not enough. Even as we drive, I can feel the layers of heaviness surrounding my heart just melt away until we pull up to our little mountain kingdom and I am eye to eye, toe to toe with my real, honest self.
There's something about the truth that doesn't hide from me here.
This year we packed up the van and drove to our little mountain town. And even just sitting in the passenger seat of the boyfriend's truck with my bags packed and anticipation swirling around in the air, my heart almost burst at the thought of being surrounded by all the people I love so dearly for a whole weekend.
Sometimes, I think, this qualifies as magic.
There were mornings where all of us crammed into a tiny cabin to eat breakfast, still pajama clad and sleepy eyed. There were afternoons spent wading in the river, wandering through Jasper, swatting mosquitoes and hiking up to the old pool (which I still think is one of my favourite places on earth, and feels to me so much like poetry). There was kissing, and staying up late, jumping into the cold pool until all limbs were numb only to retreat back to the warm pool and sigh over the tingling feeling in hands and feet, stories were told and many rounds of catch played and over and over again I fell in love the way you fall asleep, slowly and then all at once.
I cried, because sometimes you can't hide from the truth. I collapsed from exhaustion. I let the mountain air and the sunshine heal my soul once again, and let it all remind me who I am.
I am so incredibly grateful for my family, and the memories we make in this place. I'm grateful that this year family stretched to include more of the people I love so much. I'm grateful for the life lessons learned around the breakfast table and over coffee and while sitting around with my people.
When I got my tattoo (a mountain) it symbolized a lot of things.
It was in memory of my cousin, an avid snowmobiler. His favourite place was in the mountains, and it was on this little mountain near Jasper that I have some of the best memories of our family.
It's because I feel most at home in the mountains, and to me they represent freedom and strength.
And it's because of that verse in Matthew that talks about having faith to move mountains.
As I spent this weekend loving, and telling the truth and healing my soul, my faith was also restored in some small way. My faith, not only in God, but in goodness and love and family and people, in the world and in myself.
If I could bottle up some of that magic I feel during our family trips to that mountain, I would. I would put it on a necklace and carry it with me every day.
We arrived home today, and I have new dreams tangled in my hair, fresh ideas stirring in my head and a wild, radical love taking root in my heart once again. I am so grateful for all of this.
"God is in the mountains. Impassible, immovable, jagged giants, separating the celestial from the terrestrial with eternal, diagonal certainty. As if silently monitoring the beating heart of the Creator from the universe's perfect birth. Stood in the thin air and the awe, one inhales God, involuntarily acknowledging that we are but fragments of a whole, a higher thing. The mountains remind me of my place, as a servant to truth and wonder. Yes, God is in the mountains. Perhaps the pulpit too and even in the piety of an atheist's sigh. I don't know, but I feel him in the mountains."
Tuesday, June 16, 2015
On summer and love
It's June and I'm tired of being brave.
I started measuring my life in summers about 3 years ago.
The summer before my senior year of high school, I craved pleasure. I did anything I thought would make me happy. Which included making some very bad decisions, and getting involved with things and people I shouldn't have. Funny enough I don't regret any of those things. They didn't make me happy but they made me stronger. They were the gateway to discovering what I really needed to get happy.
Last summer, the one sandwiched between my last year of high school and my first year of college, I learned how to pray. It sounds funny because I've spent my whole life going to church, but I realized last summer that means I've spent my whole life fitting into other people's rituals. I saw people that prayed and read their Bibles and had these great spiritual encounters and that was it for them, and I thought that I should fit into that mold, but every time I tried it felt less like finding grace and more like guilt and it got to the point where I wondered if God even existed. I looked into other religions, and actually found some pretty interesting things. I encountered God for the first time in a coffee shop. I made more mistakes, had even more breakthroughs, and created rituals and prayers that made me feel closer to God, instead of what everybody else thought I should do. I guess in a way I kind of redefined what spirituality and Christianity and God meant to me. It's still sort of out of the box, and unconventional, but I'm happier now than I was.
This summer, well this summer is still writing itself on my heart, but it's shaping up to be about love. I fell in love in January, which in and of itself was a huge adventure. In April love traveled to a different city, and it became phone calls and text messages. Now it's June and love is back but not really, and it's taking on a new form all together. The walls of love are being redefined as I must redefine what it means to be a daughter, a sister, a granddaughter, a niece, a friend, a girlfriend and a survivor. Relationships sure have a way of pulling at my heart, and sometimes it feels like pieces of my heart are no longer inside me but out there with the people I love and I can't seem to get all my heart in the same place. This summer has been a lot of time spent hunched over a notebook, or a keyboard, or anything I can get my hands on really trying to redefine what love means to me, the people I love and how love changes me.
Summer, though, always has a way of changing me, of breaking open my heart and forcing me to examine life and think about the hard things.
...
I was lucky enough to be able to attend the wedding of one of my friends this past Saturday. He married a beautiful girl, and I don't like to admit it but I cried at their wedding, because there are few things I find more beautiful than 2 people in love.
I remember the first time he told me about her, and how even then I think I knew because something in the way he talked about her was different.
...
There are a few things I've always been: independent, and emotional. I've spent a long time trying to make peace with these things.
I have a hard time confessing that I need people, maybe because part of me is convinced I still don't.
So a few days ago, when I confessed in a conversation with someone I love for the first time that maybe I need you I started to cry.
I've been trying to do more honest, real things lately. It's hard and heartbreaking and sometimes means crying at inopportune moments and having weird emotional reactions to just about everything. Something they never told me in school was that loving people is hard. It's not just hard because everyone you love holds a piece of your heart and its all just out there but because it's not always easy to choose to love people, or to allow them access to the ugliest parts of you and looking at their ugliest bits and trying to put them together to make something beautiful.
But even before I started dating, I always said I wanted love to be crazy and real or not at all. Perhaps I shouldn't have said that because that's literally what love is for me right now. It's crazy and real and messy and its full of fighting and crying and then loving and making up and it's close and it's far away and sometimes I wonder how my heart can stretch so far.
Sometimes, I guess, love looks a lot like saying "Maybe I need you."
...
A few nights ago I got to spend the evening with 2 lovely little girls. We painted pictures and told stories and talked about our dreams and laughed and it felt like I was spending time with old friends rather than 2 kids who had been placed in my care.
The whole night felt like magic, and I may have been guilty of wanting to keep them up past their bedtime so we could keep painting pictures and eating cereal and telling stories.
After they had gone to bed, I sat at the kitchen table and wrote about love.
Around the house were these little quotes, cut out and framed and oh so beautiful, and I couldn't help but notice as I marveled that many of them spoke of love.
Love, I decided, is something that must be insisted upon. Sometimes you have to put reminders in every room of the house, reminders to love well and that all of this heart opening is worth it because love is beautiful.
They always say love is a small word with big meanings but I never understood that until recently. Maybe I still don't understand it.
...
There's a canvas print hanging beside my bed with a quote from Gandhi. It says "Where there is love, there is life."
Love is hard, and there are moments when I feel it requires more of me than I have to give.
Love is also beautiful, breathtaking and life giving. Loving makes me brave, makes me strong, and sometimes it feels like the one thing I'm good at.
...
I sent him this message before he left for the week, the day after our conversation that included the words "Maybe I need you."
I said "I'm not good at a lot of things, and there are a lot of things someone else could do better than me, but one thing no one else can do is love you like I do."
And sometimes love makes me feel like the luckiest girl in the world. Because why do I get to love and be loved this much?
I started measuring my life in summers about 3 years ago.
The summer before my senior year of high school, I craved pleasure. I did anything I thought would make me happy. Which included making some very bad decisions, and getting involved with things and people I shouldn't have. Funny enough I don't regret any of those things. They didn't make me happy but they made me stronger. They were the gateway to discovering what I really needed to get happy.
Last summer, the one sandwiched between my last year of high school and my first year of college, I learned how to pray. It sounds funny because I've spent my whole life going to church, but I realized last summer that means I've spent my whole life fitting into other people's rituals. I saw people that prayed and read their Bibles and had these great spiritual encounters and that was it for them, and I thought that I should fit into that mold, but every time I tried it felt less like finding grace and more like guilt and it got to the point where I wondered if God even existed. I looked into other religions, and actually found some pretty interesting things. I encountered God for the first time in a coffee shop. I made more mistakes, had even more breakthroughs, and created rituals and prayers that made me feel closer to God, instead of what everybody else thought I should do. I guess in a way I kind of redefined what spirituality and Christianity and God meant to me. It's still sort of out of the box, and unconventional, but I'm happier now than I was.
This summer, well this summer is still writing itself on my heart, but it's shaping up to be about love. I fell in love in January, which in and of itself was a huge adventure. In April love traveled to a different city, and it became phone calls and text messages. Now it's June and love is back but not really, and it's taking on a new form all together. The walls of love are being redefined as I must redefine what it means to be a daughter, a sister, a granddaughter, a niece, a friend, a girlfriend and a survivor. Relationships sure have a way of pulling at my heart, and sometimes it feels like pieces of my heart are no longer inside me but out there with the people I love and I can't seem to get all my heart in the same place. This summer has been a lot of time spent hunched over a notebook, or a keyboard, or anything I can get my hands on really trying to redefine what love means to me, the people I love and how love changes me.
Summer, though, always has a way of changing me, of breaking open my heart and forcing me to examine life and think about the hard things.
...
I was lucky enough to be able to attend the wedding of one of my friends this past Saturday. He married a beautiful girl, and I don't like to admit it but I cried at their wedding, because there are few things I find more beautiful than 2 people in love.
I remember the first time he told me about her, and how even then I think I knew because something in the way he talked about her was different.
...
There are a few things I've always been: independent, and emotional. I've spent a long time trying to make peace with these things.
I have a hard time confessing that I need people, maybe because part of me is convinced I still don't.
So a few days ago, when I confessed in a conversation with someone I love for the first time that maybe I need you I started to cry.
I've been trying to do more honest, real things lately. It's hard and heartbreaking and sometimes means crying at inopportune moments and having weird emotional reactions to just about everything. Something they never told me in school was that loving people is hard. It's not just hard because everyone you love holds a piece of your heart and its all just out there but because it's not always easy to choose to love people, or to allow them access to the ugliest parts of you and looking at their ugliest bits and trying to put them together to make something beautiful.
But even before I started dating, I always said I wanted love to be crazy and real or not at all. Perhaps I shouldn't have said that because that's literally what love is for me right now. It's crazy and real and messy and its full of fighting and crying and then loving and making up and it's close and it's far away and sometimes I wonder how my heart can stretch so far.
Sometimes, I guess, love looks a lot like saying "Maybe I need you."
...
A few nights ago I got to spend the evening with 2 lovely little girls. We painted pictures and told stories and talked about our dreams and laughed and it felt like I was spending time with old friends rather than 2 kids who had been placed in my care.
The whole night felt like magic, and I may have been guilty of wanting to keep them up past their bedtime so we could keep painting pictures and eating cereal and telling stories.
After they had gone to bed, I sat at the kitchen table and wrote about love.
Around the house were these little quotes, cut out and framed and oh so beautiful, and I couldn't help but notice as I marveled that many of them spoke of love.
Love, I decided, is something that must be insisted upon. Sometimes you have to put reminders in every room of the house, reminders to love well and that all of this heart opening is worth it because love is beautiful.
They always say love is a small word with big meanings but I never understood that until recently. Maybe I still don't understand it.
...
There's a canvas print hanging beside my bed with a quote from Gandhi. It says "Where there is love, there is life."
Love is hard, and there are moments when I feel it requires more of me than I have to give.
Love is also beautiful, breathtaking and life giving. Loving makes me brave, makes me strong, and sometimes it feels like the one thing I'm good at.
...
I sent him this message before he left for the week, the day after our conversation that included the words "Maybe I need you."
I said "I'm not good at a lot of things, and there are a lot of things someone else could do better than me, but one thing no one else can do is love you like I do."
And sometimes love makes me feel like the luckiest girl in the world. Because why do I get to love and be loved this much?
Sunday, June 7, 2015
It Takes a Village
I've heard it said at baby dedications and during conversations about parenting.
It takes a village to raise a child.
But I never realized how true that was until recently.
This past little while has been a trying one for me. My heart was broken in one fowl swoop, in shattering seconds I never expected.
And the past week has been about trying to pick up the pieces. It's meant a lot of private writings, reflections, crying, mind numbing Netflix marathons when I couldn't think anymore, and sometimes brokenly worshipping.
My prayers have often sounded a whole lot like Dear God, I don't understand. I'm broken. I can't do this. Help me.
A few years ago an amazing friend and mentor of mine told me that when words fail to simply pray Jesus, and I don't think she knows how much those small words of wisdom have meant to me in these last few years, especially in the times when it feels like my heart is breaking and I have no words.
I watch relationships change and my own heart is weathering it's own personal storm and what I know about love is changing.
I sat in church this morning, coffee in hand, and it felt like the words were being whispered over my dry, barren heart:
Come to me all who are weary and burdened and I will give you rest
And I don't know which part of that sounds better - the invitation for the weary and burdened or the promise of rest.
What I know about love is changing, yes, but I realized something else this morning.
Love is everywhere. It surrounds me, exists on every corner, and maybe it doesn't look the same as it once did but maybe it doesn't have to. Is it enough to believe in love at all?
This morning as I sat and listened and cried and prayed and held and worshipped, I thought about the love that surrounds me.
I never really understood the saying that it takes a village to raise a child but I do now. I'm not necessarily a child anymore, in the throes of learning how to read and write, but I see that it does take a village to raise up a person.
Without the love, support, tenderness and care extended to me by so many I am convinced I would still be down. It's easier to lay on the ground, to not make an effort to get up, to let defeat win one more time. What a good community does is they extend their hands, reaching down, pulling you up, proclaiming a strong "No" over your desire for defeat.
Their love, found on every corner, gives me strength to believe in love again. It points me back to the ultimate source of love.
And I am so grateful.
For the ones who step in, and step up, I am so grateful for you.
It truly does take a village, and I am so lucky to have you in mine.
It takes a village to raise a child.
But I never realized how true that was until recently.
This past little while has been a trying one for me. My heart was broken in one fowl swoop, in shattering seconds I never expected.
And the past week has been about trying to pick up the pieces. It's meant a lot of private writings, reflections, crying, mind numbing Netflix marathons when I couldn't think anymore, and sometimes brokenly worshipping.
My prayers have often sounded a whole lot like Dear God, I don't understand. I'm broken. I can't do this. Help me.
A few years ago an amazing friend and mentor of mine told me that when words fail to simply pray Jesus, and I don't think she knows how much those small words of wisdom have meant to me in these last few years, especially in the times when it feels like my heart is breaking and I have no words.
I watch relationships change and my own heart is weathering it's own personal storm and what I know about love is changing.
I sat in church this morning, coffee in hand, and it felt like the words were being whispered over my dry, barren heart:
Come to me all who are weary and burdened and I will give you rest
And I don't know which part of that sounds better - the invitation for the weary and burdened or the promise of rest.
What I know about love is changing, yes, but I realized something else this morning.
Love is everywhere. It surrounds me, exists on every corner, and maybe it doesn't look the same as it once did but maybe it doesn't have to. Is it enough to believe in love at all?
This morning as I sat and listened and cried and prayed and held and worshipped, I thought about the love that surrounds me.
I never really understood the saying that it takes a village to raise a child but I do now. I'm not necessarily a child anymore, in the throes of learning how to read and write, but I see that it does take a village to raise up a person.
Without the love, support, tenderness and care extended to me by so many I am convinced I would still be down. It's easier to lay on the ground, to not make an effort to get up, to let defeat win one more time. What a good community does is they extend their hands, reaching down, pulling you up, proclaiming a strong "No" over your desire for defeat.
Their love, found on every corner, gives me strength to believe in love again. It points me back to the ultimate source of love.
And I am so grateful.
For the ones who step in, and step up, I am so grateful for you.
It truly does take a village, and I am so lucky to have you in mine.
Monday, October 20, 2014
Dear Mom
Dear Mom,
This week I’ve been thinking a lot about where I come from. I used to think I never wanted to leave home. But here I am, almost all grown up and on my own for the first time, and I am reflecting on the foundation you and Dad laid for me during the first years of my life.
I was your first baby, and no one gave you the manual on how to be the best parent. I wasn’t the easiest child to raise, and I know you did the very best you could. You made mistakes, made up your own rules along the way, made memories that have lasted me a life time. Like they say there isn’t one way to be the best parent, but there are a hundred ways to be a good one.
People here have been pointing out things about me, and sometimes all I can think is Yeah, I got that from my mom. My smile, the way I care so deeply about people, the way I’m honest. I am the person I am today because of how you and Dad raised me.
I know I don’t always appreciate you enough, probably because I’m growing up and like to think I know everything. But the truth is I don’t know anything. As much as I like to think I can figure everything out on my own, I still need you sometimes. And sometimes I can figure things out on my own, because you taught me to be independent, to be smart and make good choices.
I am so grateful for all you’ve shown me, for all you’ve taught me. And as I walk through my life I want to always remember and appreciate the fact that I am who I am because of you.
I love you, Mom
From your daughter
This week I’ve been thinking a lot about where I come from. I used to think I never wanted to leave home. But here I am, almost all grown up and on my own for the first time, and I am reflecting on the foundation you and Dad laid for me during the first years of my life.
I was your first baby, and no one gave you the manual on how to be the best parent. I wasn’t the easiest child to raise, and I know you did the very best you could. You made mistakes, made up your own rules along the way, made memories that have lasted me a life time. Like they say there isn’t one way to be the best parent, but there are a hundred ways to be a good one.
People here have been pointing out things about me, and sometimes all I can think is Yeah, I got that from my mom. My smile, the way I care so deeply about people, the way I’m honest. I am the person I am today because of how you and Dad raised me.
I know I don’t always appreciate you enough, probably because I’m growing up and like to think I know everything. But the truth is I don’t know anything. As much as I like to think I can figure everything out on my own, I still need you sometimes. And sometimes I can figure things out on my own, because you taught me to be independent, to be smart and make good choices.
I am so grateful for all you’ve shown me, for all you’ve taught me. And as I walk through my life I want to always remember and appreciate the fact that I am who I am because of you.
I love you, Mom
From your daughter
Monday, October 13, 2014
Thanksgiving (What I'm grateful for 2014)
Thanksgiving Weekend is coming to a close and I have yet to sit down and write the annual Thanksgiving post. You know, the one where I sit down and write about everything I'm grateful for.
Every time I sit down and try to write this, I end up at a loss for words. Not because I am struggling to find something that I'm grateful for, but because I am trying to find the words to convey the vast amount of gratitude that has filled me.
I remember years when thanksgiving would roll around and I would search for something, anything, to feel truly grateful for.
Life felt like loss, and I wondered if there would ever come a time when I would be truly happy again.
I am grateful
for the family I have just left at home: my dad who makes stupid jokes and sits on my feet when it's cold and I'm too lazy to get socks, my mom who takes the day off to go on crazy adventures with me, my beautiful sister who is filled with more light than most people I know, my brothers who amaze me every single day with new tricks and stories
for this place, the one I never thought I'd be in. Because I was never going to be the girl who went off to Bible School. But sometimes you hit a wall, and your second chance looks like an exit strategy.
and the people I've met in this place take my breath away with how beautiful and wonderful and loving they are.
I am grateful for late night conversations and homework parties and going on crazy spontaneous adventures. I am grateful for these people who enter into the trenches with me, who challenge me and push me and wake me up to things I didn't realize before. I am grateful for those who have seen me at my worst, my most broken, only to say I love you. And I am grateful for the ones who have taught me to be loving, to be gracious and kind. I am grateful for the ones who have taught me what it means to be loved.
I am grateful for my old friends, for those people that first reached into my night and loved me anyway, the ones that taught me it's ok to be honest, to have fun, to laugh and love and make messes.
I look at them now and I couldn't be more proud
I'm grateful for the losses, the really hard ones that knocked me to my knees and left me wondering if I would ever recover. I never did, but I have grown stronger in the broken places. I have grown kinder, softer, gentler, more loving and gracious. I am grateful for the memories, even if remembering sometimes hurts.
I am grateful that I am alive in this moment, that I am here and against all odds I made it
I made it here and I get to experience every single day what it means to be human
I am grateful for this
And you, I am grateful for you
Because you made it possible for me to be here. Your love and support and kindness and encouragement and refusal to give up on me made it possible for me to sit here and write this thanksgiving list.
And while the word itself will never feel like enough, I will say it anyway because it is the only one I have:
Thank you
Every time I sit down and try to write this, I end up at a loss for words. Not because I am struggling to find something that I'm grateful for, but because I am trying to find the words to convey the vast amount of gratitude that has filled me.
I remember years when thanksgiving would roll around and I would search for something, anything, to feel truly grateful for.
Life felt like loss, and I wondered if there would ever come a time when I would be truly happy again.
I am grateful
for the family I have just left at home: my dad who makes stupid jokes and sits on my feet when it's cold and I'm too lazy to get socks, my mom who takes the day off to go on crazy adventures with me, my beautiful sister who is filled with more light than most people I know, my brothers who amaze me every single day with new tricks and stories
for this place, the one I never thought I'd be in. Because I was never going to be the girl who went off to Bible School. But sometimes you hit a wall, and your second chance looks like an exit strategy.
and the people I've met in this place take my breath away with how beautiful and wonderful and loving they are.
I am grateful for late night conversations and homework parties and going on crazy spontaneous adventures. I am grateful for these people who enter into the trenches with me, who challenge me and push me and wake me up to things I didn't realize before. I am grateful for those who have seen me at my worst, my most broken, only to say I love you. And I am grateful for the ones who have taught me to be loving, to be gracious and kind. I am grateful for the ones who have taught me what it means to be loved.
I am grateful for my old friends, for those people that first reached into my night and loved me anyway, the ones that taught me it's ok to be honest, to have fun, to laugh and love and make messes.
I look at them now and I couldn't be more proud
I'm grateful for the losses, the really hard ones that knocked me to my knees and left me wondering if I would ever recover. I never did, but I have grown stronger in the broken places. I have grown kinder, softer, gentler, more loving and gracious. I am grateful for the memories, even if remembering sometimes hurts.
I am grateful that I am alive in this moment, that I am here and against all odds I made it
I made it here and I get to experience every single day what it means to be human
I am grateful for this
And you, I am grateful for you
Because you made it possible for me to be here. Your love and support and kindness and encouragement and refusal to give up on me made it possible for me to sit here and write this thanksgiving list.
And while the word itself will never feel like enough, I will say it anyway because it is the only one I have:
Thank you
Thursday, September 18, 2014
Five Minute Friday ~ Held
This is my first five minute Friday since arriving at college, and when I saw the word for this week I knew I had to write. Because in the midst of working my way through some pretty tough issues these past few weeks, I've also seen so many ways in which I am being held.
There are no words big enough to say how thankful I am at this time for the small ways in which I am being held, by my family at home, my new PRBI family and all the amazing connections I've made in my few weeks here. I am so grateful for each and every one of you, and the ways you hold me.
There are no words big enough to say how thankful I am at this time for the small ways in which I am being held, by my family at home, my new PRBI family and all the amazing connections I've made in my few weeks here. I am so grateful for each and every one of you, and the ways you hold me.
Because sometimes you can feel like an island
The past few days have been a struggle. Constantly I am
being convicted, pushed to grow, forced to move outside of my comfort zone. All
of it can feel like trying to navigate my way through a snow storm. I can
barely see two feet in front of me, and everything is vague and obscure as I
stumble through the nothingness, hopefully towards something.
And then something
happens. There is a hand, reaching into your storm. There are strong fingers
that wrap around yours when everything feels like too much. They pull you to
your feet, and nod, because they’ve been there too. And something about that
moment, the act of being held, however briefly, matters. It is enough to shed
some light on what is ahead. It’s not just me, standing alone in the storm, but
now there is a sense of togetherness.
And that connection,
it’s an anchor. It steadies me, reminds me that I can stand on my own two feet,
that sometimes the only way beyond is through. It points me back to the One who
is always standing there, reaching out His hand, waiting to pull me to my feet.
Sometimes when you
are fighting your way through the hard stuff in life, when you can’t even see
the next step, it’s a beautiful thing to just be held.
Saturday, May 10, 2014
Motherhood
This Mother's day I've found myself spending a lot of time thinking about motherhood
I've been writing poetry, not only about my mom but about other amazing mother's that I know, and what makes a mother, and different kinds of mothers, and the beautiful legacy left for me by all the strong, incredible women in my life
As I've wrestled through the concept of motherhood, and my own feelings regarding the subject, I also found myself faced with the question of what is womanhood?
It is something I am entering into, a road that has been paved for me by all the incredibly courageous women who have gone before me
Basically I'm trying to figure out what it all means
I have been lucky to have been surrounded by so many amazing women in my years who have taught me a lot about what it means to be a woman and also what it means to be human
And while this is still a journey I am trying to figure out for myself, and while these are still words that I need to find meaning to for myself, I have been lucky in having been able to see them so fully embodied by some of the people in my life
Because of the legacy left for me by these women, and mothers, I am able to begin my own journey, and have the courage to push off of their truths and find my own.
I am so thankful for my mama, and for all the beautiful women in my life who have showed me what it means to walk this journey
I am incredibly blessed
I've been writing poetry, not only about my mom but about other amazing mother's that I know, and what makes a mother, and different kinds of mothers, and the beautiful legacy left for me by all the strong, incredible women in my life
As I've wrestled through the concept of motherhood, and my own feelings regarding the subject, I also found myself faced with the question of what is womanhood?
It is something I am entering into, a road that has been paved for me by all the incredibly courageous women who have gone before me
Basically I'm trying to figure out what it all means
I have been lucky to have been surrounded by so many amazing women in my years who have taught me a lot about what it means to be a woman and also what it means to be human
And while this is still a journey I am trying to figure out for myself, and while these are still words that I need to find meaning to for myself, I have been lucky in having been able to see them so fully embodied by some of the people in my life
Because of the legacy left for me by these women, and mothers, I am able to begin my own journey, and have the courage to push off of their truths and find my own.
I am so thankful for my mama, and for all the beautiful women in my life who have showed me what it means to walk this journey
I am incredibly blessed
Monday, March 31, 2014
Where I stood
The sun warmed my shoulders as I sat at the kitchen table, listening to Missy Higgins and writing about nostalgia and hope and grief and everything beautiful.
March has been good to me, in a way I never expected.
The first words I wrote this month, as it came to me full of untold secrets, were "I'm not great at ending things."
It began quietly unfolding as I wrote of bad haircuts, watching Julia Robert's movies and saying goodbye. I wrote about grief, pain, still (always) trying to analyze the hole in my chest that came from losing too many people and things that I love.
I fought with myself, constantly wrestling against the idea that there had to be something more, examining my pain under a microscope and trying to make sense of it.
I tried to find myself amidst the unknown, often stumbling over my own edges.
And then there came a moment, and maybe they all come something like this, where I tripped over myself and fell into what I had been looking for.
For a brief moment in time, there was nothing left to say. No apologies sneaking out in the form of poetry, no love letters slipping out of the pen every time it hit the paper. There was just the sound of my heart, and I was learning how to listen to it.
During this month of March I often fought between my heart and my head. I felt like I needed constant reassurance that everything was ok and that I was ok.
And I encountered something I am still trying to explain, and can only describe as radical grace.
In my running away from myself I ran face first, full speed into radical grace, radical faith, radical love and hope.
I had some real, honest conversations with people about my life and where I've been and where I want to go, and maybe I was a little bit surprised by the responses I got. Because sometimes if you give people a chance, they will surprise you and it will be great.
For the first time in forever I realized how loved I am (even if that's something I am still trying to understand)
I laughed and cried and struggled and fought against myself and for myself a lot this month. I got real, got scared, got excited, got honest, got loved.
And I made some big decisions about my future, which are slowly unfolding into something beautiful.
For me, I think March was about beginning that journey to find myself, and listening to my heart and being honest about that. And while that's been my intention I definitely experienced it in a really real and crazy way.
Listening to Missy Higgins and writing in the sunshine was a perfect way for me to wrap up this beautiful, crazy month of grace.
And while I don't know what the next month or few months or year will hold for me I can only hope it involves more of this radical kind of love, and grace and faith. I can only hope it involves more of this being cracked open, because this, I am learning, is how the light gets in.
Even if it's painful
Even if it's hard
I am learning to open myself up to the light and to love and to others and to myself
Sit down on the top there. After all, you climbed all the way up. You did that. Not me. Not your past. You: here and now. It was a steep climb and you almost fell but you didn't. Go on and sit down. And when the trees ask you to stay awhile, tell them "yes, yes, I plan to. In fact, I have always been here. I have always been the light
March has been good to me, in a way I never expected.
The first words I wrote this month, as it came to me full of untold secrets, were "I'm not great at ending things."
It began quietly unfolding as I wrote of bad haircuts, watching Julia Robert's movies and saying goodbye. I wrote about grief, pain, still (always) trying to analyze the hole in my chest that came from losing too many people and things that I love.
I fought with myself, constantly wrestling against the idea that there had to be something more, examining my pain under a microscope and trying to make sense of it.
I tried to find myself amidst the unknown, often stumbling over my own edges.
And then there came a moment, and maybe they all come something like this, where I tripped over myself and fell into what I had been looking for.
For a brief moment in time, there was nothing left to say. No apologies sneaking out in the form of poetry, no love letters slipping out of the pen every time it hit the paper. There was just the sound of my heart, and I was learning how to listen to it.
During this month of March I often fought between my heart and my head. I felt like I needed constant reassurance that everything was ok and that I was ok.
And I encountered something I am still trying to explain, and can only describe as radical grace.
In my running away from myself I ran face first, full speed into radical grace, radical faith, radical love and hope.
I had some real, honest conversations with people about my life and where I've been and where I want to go, and maybe I was a little bit surprised by the responses I got. Because sometimes if you give people a chance, they will surprise you and it will be great.
For the first time in forever I realized how loved I am (even if that's something I am still trying to understand)
I laughed and cried and struggled and fought against myself and for myself a lot this month. I got real, got scared, got excited, got honest, got loved.
And I made some big decisions about my future, which are slowly unfolding into something beautiful.
For me, I think March was about beginning that journey to find myself, and listening to my heart and being honest about that. And while that's been my intention I definitely experienced it in a really real and crazy way.
Listening to Missy Higgins and writing in the sunshine was a perfect way for me to wrap up this beautiful, crazy month of grace.
And while I don't know what the next month or few months or year will hold for me I can only hope it involves more of this radical kind of love, and grace and faith. I can only hope it involves more of this being cracked open, because this, I am learning, is how the light gets in.
Even if it's painful
Even if it's hard
I am learning to open myself up to the light and to love and to others and to myself
Sit down on the top there. After all, you climbed all the way up. You did that. Not me. Not your past. You: here and now. It was a steep climb and you almost fell but you didn't. Go on and sit down. And when the trees ask you to stay awhile, tell them "yes, yes, I plan to. In fact, I have always been here. I have always been the light
Wednesday, January 29, 2014
Here's to the good times (A thank you letter)
This is a thank you letter
This is a thank you letter to the world that birthed me, that raised me up to become the person I am today, to the trees and the rocks and the flowers and the ocean, to the stars that formed me and then called my name, reminding me that I always belong somewhere, this one is for you.
This is a thank you letter to those who were present that night when I was born, for the doctor who said "It's a girl!", for the nurses who cleaned me up and set me in my parent's arms, who made me the most special, newest human on earth for brief seconds, this one is for you.
This is a thank you letter for my parents who chose life, who decorated my nursery and took pictures of my firsts that would fill my baby book to remind me that I didn't have only lasts, but also firsts, who stood beside my bedside time and time again, tirelessly, late into the night, standing guard like soldiers, this one is for you.
This is a thank you letter to the friends I had growing up, who taught me the basics of human interaction. Even though we were just silly kids, I always believed we could be something more.
This one is for the people who bruised my heart, the ones I can still count off on my fingers. They say you always remember the bad things more than the good things and I guess they're right. I still remember it all. But thank you anyway, because you showed me who I could be.
This one is for the missions team that summer when I was 14, who were there for me when I needed someone, who taught me that love is really the strongest force of all.
This one is for the people who told me I couldn't do it. I proved you wrong, thank you for pushing me to try.
This is a thank you to the poets, the philosophers, the kind souls who touched me with their light and reminded me that we are not alone on this gauntlet, who encouraged me, listened to me, and laughed with me. Without you I wouldn't be half the creative mind I am.
This is a thank you for the friends that saved me, the best friends who remind me who I am even when I forget
For the friends I met when I decided to fearlessly step out of my comfort zone this year, who endured stress and teachers and tests with me, but also so many laughs, debates, questions and who connected with me in such an amazing way
For the people that don't quite fit, who are pushing against labels and boxes, this one is for you
This is for the ones who told me it was ok to be loud, to use my voice, to be passionate and opinionated and fierce
This is a thank you to all the boys I wrote poems about
This is a thank you to all the amazingly strong women who taught me what it means to be a woman, to be strong and smart and kind
Here's to John Green videos on bad days, late night conversations and music
This is a thank you to the doctors who saved me, the friends who saved me, the family that saved me, the words that saved me
This is for the teachers that inspired me, the poets that moved me, the moments that screamed Remember this
Here's to road trips, country music, taking adventures and writing about them
This is a thank you to the boy on the bus that one summer, the boy in the hospital waiting room, the boy in Chapters with a book and headphones, this is for all the people who's stories I've told without knowing their names
You matter
Thank you
Here's to the good times
This is a thank you letter to the world that birthed me, that raised me up to become the person I am today, to the trees and the rocks and the flowers and the ocean, to the stars that formed me and then called my name, reminding me that I always belong somewhere, this one is for you.
This is a thank you letter to those who were present that night when I was born, for the doctor who said "It's a girl!", for the nurses who cleaned me up and set me in my parent's arms, who made me the most special, newest human on earth for brief seconds, this one is for you.
This is a thank you letter for my parents who chose life, who decorated my nursery and took pictures of my firsts that would fill my baby book to remind me that I didn't have only lasts, but also firsts, who stood beside my bedside time and time again, tirelessly, late into the night, standing guard like soldiers, this one is for you.
This is a thank you letter to the friends I had growing up, who taught me the basics of human interaction. Even though we were just silly kids, I always believed we could be something more.
This one is for the people who bruised my heart, the ones I can still count off on my fingers. They say you always remember the bad things more than the good things and I guess they're right. I still remember it all. But thank you anyway, because you showed me who I could be.
This one is for the missions team that summer when I was 14, who were there for me when I needed someone, who taught me that love is really the strongest force of all.
This one is for the people who told me I couldn't do it. I proved you wrong, thank you for pushing me to try.
This is a thank you to the poets, the philosophers, the kind souls who touched me with their light and reminded me that we are not alone on this gauntlet, who encouraged me, listened to me, and laughed with me. Without you I wouldn't be half the creative mind I am.
This is a thank you for the friends that saved me, the best friends who remind me who I am even when I forget
For the friends I met when I decided to fearlessly step out of my comfort zone this year, who endured stress and teachers and tests with me, but also so many laughs, debates, questions and who connected with me in such an amazing way
For the people that don't quite fit, who are pushing against labels and boxes, this one is for you
This is for the ones who told me it was ok to be loud, to use my voice, to be passionate and opinionated and fierce
This is a thank you to all the boys I wrote poems about
This is a thank you to all the amazingly strong women who taught me what it means to be a woman, to be strong and smart and kind
Here's to John Green videos on bad days, late night conversations and music
This is a thank you to the doctors who saved me, the friends who saved me, the family that saved me, the words that saved me
This is for the teachers that inspired me, the poets that moved me, the moments that screamed Remember this
Here's to road trips, country music, taking adventures and writing about them
This is a thank you to the boy on the bus that one summer, the boy in the hospital waiting room, the boy in Chapters with a book and headphones, this is for all the people who's stories I've told without knowing their names
You matter
Thank you
Here's to the good times
Saturday, June 22, 2013
Jump
I've been thinking lately about how life is short. I mean, it's not, it's long and the days seem long and the months seem long but looking back there somehow wasn't enough time for me to say the things I needed to say before it was too late.
A few months ago, I made a promise. Under a March sky with the snow crunching under my boots and horse hair on my coat, I promised I would learn from my mistakes. Instead of thinking about the words I never got to say, I would do something about it. I would say what I needed to say because the only thing guaranteed is this moment.
I'm learning the value of relationships. Within the past few days I have had friends challenge me on the topic of honesty. And I'm learning being honest isn't a bad thing. Saying what you need to say isn't wrong. Even if you have no idea how things will turn out. Even if it changes everything, and even if it changes nothing. Honesty is brave and speaking your truth (over coffee or late night texts) is brave. Not letting a moment go by without letting the people you love know that you love them, that's pretty brave in my opinion.
Sometimes that's life. Standing on the edge of a cliff and jumping, even if you don't know what's waiting on the other side. I heard a quote once that said "You don't know where to go but you know you can't stay here."
And so you jump.
Even if you don't know what comes next, you jump.
You have to jump into people and trust they'll be there to catch you
Even if you blurt out your thoughts in a way that isn't pretty or neat or polite
Even if you tell them the deepest, darkest parts of your story
You have to say what you need to say and take that jump, trusting that people will catch you when you do.
You know what people I mean. They're my people. They are the people that accept my random outbursts with grace. They're the people who give me a huge reality check when I need one or tell me to get some sleep, saying things will look better in the morning. They're the people who help me remember who I really am. Sometimes they're the people who keep me from doing something really stupid, and sometimes they do the stupid things with me, things we can all laugh about years from now. They put up with me writing about them all the time. These are my people.
And I'm learning to let them in. I'm learning to say what I need to say and trust that, in the end, they'll still be here. Because they love me, not who I pretend to be.
So that's where I am: being real, being honest, being brave, loving wildly and fully and learning to trust that my people will be there even when...
I'm learning what it means to jump
Sunday, May 26, 2013
The Best of Times
I'm going to take a minute to brag about my amazing friends...This weekend, I have watched my friends take some pretty big steps, including graduation and baptisms. I watch them and I am so proud of the people they are, and I know they're headed for amazing things.
A few years ago I didn't think I would find friends like this. I remember telling my mom once that I didn't need friends, I was just fine on my own. And I did like isolation, because there wasn't this chance of being hurt. I was guarded and while it was lonely I thought it would hurt less.
I didn't believe in anyone, or anything. I was a mess (I'm still kind of a mess. I think I'll always be somewhat of a mess).
And then I came here. And I met people who proved to me that not all people are going to hurt me. I met people who loved me without knowing anything about me, who looked at me and didn't see all those things that had happened or all the labels I had had before.
And for the first time in a really long time, I started to let people in. I started to trust people again.
After I met these people, I had people that I knew would stand by me and love me (and weren't obligated to!)
I'm not going to say I made it easy. I spent years battling the monsters that lurked inside my own head. I'm still fighting those monsters. But my friends never gave up on me, and that means more to me than they'll ever know. From texts that said Get ready, we're going out to a group of them showing up on my doorstep and making me come out of the basement and actually do something and youth group events where I didn't want to go but ended up being so glad I did.
And when I started to isolate myself, I got the comments, "Hey, we missed you at youth group, you should come this Friday!" Most of the time I wouldn't listen, but sometimes I would.
My friends loved me back to life when I wanted to curl up in the corner and sleep my life away. They encourage me and support me and, I may be just a little biased when I say I think they are the best group of friends a person could ask for.
And now I'm watching as we all grow up; some graduating this year, some getting ready to enter our final year of high school, some just getting another year older. We're all getting ready to move on, spread our wings and learn how to fly.
When someone told me high school would be the best time of my life, I laughed. I didn't believe him.
And, in all honesty, high school has been hard. But the relationships I've made during these high school years have been priceless. These friends have become my family, and I know that wherever I go I'll always have them.
The best of times is always changing and while I wish I could freeze time and stay here forever, with these people I never thought I'd find, in this place I didn't know if I would ever be lucky enough to be at, life doesn't stop for anyone and this weekend has been proof of that. We just have to be ready, for a new best time.
I watched my friends graduate and get baptized and I can't help but be so so proud of them, of all of us, of the people we are becoming and where we are headed.
So, my friends, thank you. You all mean more to me than you'll ever know and I am so proud of each one of you. You guys are pretty awesome.
The future is coming, life isn't slowing down for anyone, and the best of times is now.
Friday, May 10, 2013
Do You Believe in Magic?
I always was writing stories.
I remember writing this one story when I was younger inspired by my Grandma. It was about a wishing well.
There was this little girl who was staying at her Grandma's house for the summer and at night, her Grandma would sit beside her on the bed and they would name all the teddy bears lined up on the shelf for the tenth time that night and Grandma would sing.
Right behind the house there was this well, and one day the Grandma gave the little girl a special coin to throw into the well, something she'd gotten as a girl. And so the little girl threw this coin into the well and made a wish. She wished for her family to be together. And, ending as all good fairytales do, the story ended with the little girl's parents coming home and her family getting to be together.
I remember writing this story, with all my spelling mistakes and grammatical errors, and thinking about my Grandma. I thought about the nights I would sleep over at their house and fall asleep on her pale pink sheets after naming her teddy bears for the tenth time that night as she would sing softly to me.
This was back when life was magical, when fairytales came true and little girls could grow wings and fly. In fairytales, anything could happen. Ordinary girls could become princesses and mice could sew dresses and dancing around the living room with Grandma was like being at a ball.
There was this one day back when I was in fifth grade and I was doing my math and I was so frustrated and mad. And then Grandma would come and she would tell me that I needed to do my best and keep a positive attitude and maybe one day I wouldn't hate math so much. That didn't really happen, but she did tell me something else. She told me that even if there was this one thing I hated, there would be more things I loved, and I needed to hold onto those things. Love always wins.
My Grandma taught me about fairytales. She taught me about playing jokes and dancing around the living room and love.
And then somewhere along the way I lost that belief in fairytales. Stories didn't always have happy endings and life wasn't all magical mice and dancingin the living room at the ball.
There was no one there to remind me to believe in love and a little magic. And so I just forgot.
But before she died, my Grandma gave me this snow globe. Inside is 2 little birds and when you wind it up it plays His eye is on the Sparrow. I keep it on my bookshelf and on those days when I'm feeling less than magical, I shake it up and turn it on and let it play. Sometimes I'll twirl around my room, pretending I'm 6 again. Sometimes I'll just watch the snowflakes fall.
But by the time the song ends I'm reminded of a world where things are much more magical than they first seem. Where I'm never too old to believe in Once Upon A Time.
I never told her how the story ends. But here's a little hint:
Dear Grandma: Once upon a time your little girl learned to fly.
I remember writing this one story when I was younger inspired by my Grandma. It was about a wishing well.
There was this little girl who was staying at her Grandma's house for the summer and at night, her Grandma would sit beside her on the bed and they would name all the teddy bears lined up on the shelf for the tenth time that night and Grandma would sing.
Right behind the house there was this well, and one day the Grandma gave the little girl a special coin to throw into the well, something she'd gotten as a girl. And so the little girl threw this coin into the well and made a wish. She wished for her family to be together. And, ending as all good fairytales do, the story ended with the little girl's parents coming home and her family getting to be together.I remember writing this story, with all my spelling mistakes and grammatical errors, and thinking about my Grandma. I thought about the nights I would sleep over at their house and fall asleep on her pale pink sheets after naming her teddy bears for the tenth time that night as she would sing softly to me.
This was back when life was magical, when fairytales came true and little girls could grow wings and fly. In fairytales, anything could happen. Ordinary girls could become princesses and mice could sew dresses and dancing around the living room with Grandma was like being at a ball.
There was this one day back when I was in fifth grade and I was doing my math and I was so frustrated and mad. And then Grandma would come and she would tell me that I needed to do my best and keep a positive attitude and maybe one day I wouldn't hate math so much. That didn't really happen, but she did tell me something else. She told me that even if there was this one thing I hated, there would be more things I loved, and I needed to hold onto those things. Love always wins.
My Grandma taught me about fairytales. She taught me about playing jokes and dancing around the living room and love.
And then somewhere along the way I lost that belief in fairytales. Stories didn't always have happy endings and life wasn't all magical mice and dancing
There was no one there to remind me to believe in love and a little magic. And so I just forgot.
But before she died, my Grandma gave me this snow globe. Inside is 2 little birds and when you wind it up it plays His eye is on the Sparrow. I keep it on my bookshelf and on those days when I'm feeling less than magical, I shake it up and turn it on and let it play. Sometimes I'll twirl around my room, pretending I'm 6 again. Sometimes I'll just watch the snowflakes fall.
But by the time the song ends I'm reminded of a world where things are much more magical than they first seem. Where I'm never too old to believe in Once Upon A Time.
I never told her how the story ends. But here's a little hint:
Dear Grandma: Once upon a time your little girl learned to fly.
Sunday, April 14, 2013
The future, memories and an 18th birthday party
My life is happening right now and it's big and exciting but it's also scary and there's a million different options and choosing one feels like the slamming of thousands of doors.
I've been feeling like everyone around me knows what they're doing, maybe for college or maybe just for the summer. Everyone's moving forward and I've been feeling like I'm being left behind.
Tonight was my friend's 18th birthday party. We laughed and watched him drink his first beer and scratch lottery tickets and we played games and I realized in that moment that these are the times I want to remember.
When I think back on high school, I want to remember this. I want to remember sing alongs around the kitchen table and bad jokes and the sound of laughter. I want to remember these people and how it felt to be comfortable and for one moment the future didn't matter and the past didn't matter and all those messy emotions didn't matter. All that mattered was that I was there, in that moment, surrounded by the people I love and who love me, laughing and making memories.
The future is here and it's now and it's waiting for me and I'm realizing I'll only have these high school days for a little while longer. There's a group graduating this spring, and then next year I'll graduate and life is moving so fast and all that's guaranteed is right now, this moment.
I want to spend that moment making memories.
I know I'll look back on these years and see the hurt. The time I got diagnosed or the time my cousin died and all the times I fell and it hurt and my heart got broken and scarred. They carry an enormous weight. But I believe love carries an even bigger weight and when I look back on these days that's what I want to remember. I want to remember birthday parties and dance offs and sing alongs. I want to remember bonfires and baseball games and those people that made all of high school worth it.
I want to remember these people who are sewn into the fabric of my life. They are my family. They've seen me at my worst, and love me anyway. They've held me while I've cried and made me laugh so hard I could barely breathe. These are the people who have claimed me, in good times and in bad. These are the people that are bearing witness to my life.
And that's what family is. That's what love is. It's being there for the big moments, and the little everyday ones. It's putting up with someone's bad qualities because, somehow, they complete you.
Love is a leap of faith and I'm learning a soft landing isn't always guaranteed. Sometimes love is going to hurt and it will be messy and hard.
But holding yourself back, away from that love doesn't make anything any easier. Trying to separate yourself from the people you care about because you're growing up and separation is inevitable doesn't make the goodbye not come.
The brave thing is loving those people and making enough memories to carry you through the growing up years, the moving out and moving on and leaving behind this comfortable high school life. Some things don't last forever, but some things, like memories, do. And I only have one chance to make these memories and I don't want to look back and wonder why I held myself back from love. I want to be there for the moments I can, the birthday parties and the laughter around the kitchen table.
This evening, at my friend's birthday party, I wasn't looking backwards or forwards. I was just losing myself in the here, the now, these moments that are guaranteed and filling them with as much laughter and love as I know how so that one day, when the growing up and the leaving does happen, I have these memories.
Tonight I realized everyone at that party is my family and that I don't want to spend my life standing on the outside, holding myself back from love because I'm fearful of getting hurt.
The future is coming, whether I like it or not. And I want to be excited for it. I want to live and laugh and love with my heart wide open. I want more moments laughing with friends around the kitchen table and making jokes over the chip bowl and having those moments that are so perfect that I think I'll miss if I blink in the wrong instant.
I want to make memories while I have the chance, because the future isn't guaranteed and all I have is right now.
And this moment is made for living and dancing and singing and being brave and opening yourself up to love, even if it hurts sometimes.
In the end it's worth it. In the end none of the little things matter and all those fights and the tears, they don't mean anything. The only thing that matters are the people sitting across from you at the table at the 18th birthday party, the people who claim you and bear witness to your life, and making memories that will last forever.
And it's times like this that give me the courage and bravery to face my future.
The future is coming, looming big and bright
And I, for one, can't wait
Friday, March 8, 2013
Gone too soon
And so I'll sit here and do my best to piece words together like pearls on a string, hoping that when they're all together it makes something... coherent.
I hope you know how you changed my life
I hope you know how much I looked up to you, how you were my childhood hero
I hope you know I remember all the times we played F.B.I in the basement of your house, and how you always let me make up the crimes because you knew it was my favorite, and how you'd be Jack and I'd be Sue.
I hope you know that you're the one person in this world that's taught me most about forgiveness and mercy, something I'll never forget.
I hope you know that I love you, that family is stronger than anything, and you were a part of mine.
Thursday, March 7, 2013
Fix a Heart
I used to think grief robbed me of all my words
I'm realizing that's wrong
grief doesn't rob me of my words, it gives me too many
And I delicatly sort through each word in the English language trying to find the right ones to express how i feel
most of the time i end up saying nothing at all
sometimes i write and my heartbreak comes through and i bleed red all down the page
I'm sorting through these words, trying to pick out the ones that will explain how this happened, or how I'm feeling, or why...
I was broken. And I tried to tie up my heart with string and bandages and stop the bleeding, stitching it back together with jagged stitches. My broken heart was forever stained by what happened...
And then he died. And I don't know how life can change in the blink of an eye.
And she's coming home, on a flight that will arrive tonight
And now we wait. We wait and hold vigil and pray and cry and try to use all the words in the English language to make sense of this. And, in our own way, we're all searching for that one secret that holds all the answers to mending a broken heart.
I'm realizing that's wrong
grief doesn't rob me of my words, it gives me too many
And I delicatly sort through each word in the English language trying to find the right ones to express how i feel
most of the time i end up saying nothing at all
sometimes i write and my heartbreak comes through and i bleed red all down the page
I'm sorting through these words, trying to pick out the ones that will explain how this happened, or how I'm feeling, or why...
I was broken. And I tried to tie up my heart with string and bandages and stop the bleeding, stitching it back together with jagged stitches. My broken heart was forever stained by what happened...
And then he died. And I don't know how life can change in the blink of an eye.
And she's coming home, on a flight that will arrive tonight
And now we wait. We wait and hold vigil and pray and cry and try to use all the words in the English language to make sense of this. And, in our own way, we're all searching for that one secret that holds all the answers to mending a broken heart.
Friday, January 11, 2013
The Love List
I've spent almost the whole week trying to figure out how to write this post.
Basically, it goes a little something like this...
I love my life!
I am really happy right now. I have energy again (Yay!) and I feel better and I'm just excited and alive and it's pretty awesome.
So what changed?
I started taking back control and being creative. Whenever I don't have one of these two things - whenever I feel out of control or when I lack creativity - I go into a pretty messy place. I easily get overwhelmed and I start to freak out.
I started eating better (I'm trying to go for a more alkaline diet, starting with the green juice I make and drink in the morning that, around here, we jokingly call my happy juice) and, at the beginning of January, I started this writing program called 750 words where I write 750 words a day.
I've just been having a really good week.
Here's a few of the things I'm loving this week:
* My parents. After talking to and seeing the lives of some other patients with chronic illness and their families, it makes me really grateful for mine. I think everyone has complaints about what their parents could have done differently, but all things considered my parents handled my being sick pretty well, and I am so grateful for that.
* I love my green juice.
* I love it that the semester is almost over! Don't like studying for finals, but I'm so excited for a new semester and a new start.
* I love this video: What it's like being chronically ill, incase you ever wondered
* And I love my life!
Basically, it goes a little something like this...
I love my life!
I am really happy right now. I have energy again (Yay!) and I feel better and I'm just excited and alive and it's pretty awesome.
So what changed?
I started taking back control and being creative. Whenever I don't have one of these two things - whenever I feel out of control or when I lack creativity - I go into a pretty messy place. I easily get overwhelmed and I start to freak out.
I started eating better (I'm trying to go for a more alkaline diet, starting with the green juice I make and drink in the morning that, around here, we jokingly call my happy juice) and, at the beginning of January, I started this writing program called 750 words where I write 750 words a day.
I've just been having a really good week.
Here's a few of the things I'm loving this week:
* My parents. After talking to and seeing the lives of some other patients with chronic illness and their families, it makes me really grateful for mine. I think everyone has complaints about what their parents could have done differently, but all things considered my parents handled my being sick pretty well, and I am so grateful for that.
* I love my green juice.
* I love it that the semester is almost over! Don't like studying for finals, but I'm so excited for a new semester and a new start.
* I love this video: What it's like being chronically ill, incase you ever wondered
Thursday, November 29, 2012
Gilead: a place of healing
It was like cancer.I wrote something before I got diagnosed and I wrote that it was like tunnel vision, like I was obsessed with this one thing. It consumed me, and my life became about this one thing. It was like a cancer in my body, destroying me, poisoning everything good until it became only about this one thing.
A while ago I was reading this book and it was talking about casting out demons. It was the first time I really got it. It was talking about, when Jesus cast out demons in the Bible, people were no longer a slave to their insanity. While Jesus did physically heal a lot of people, somehow I don't think that's the point. I think it's about no longer being a slave to that insanity inside your head. It's about being free.
Dysautonomia isn't a form of cancer, but for me it destroyed everything good and beautiful in my life. For a long time, I guess I was a slave to the destruction and chaos that was surrounding me. I remember multiple times during my undiagnosed stage just crying out to God and wondering how much was enough? When would I finally be able to stop feeling like everything good I had was being taken away from me?
Healing isn't a one time deal, which I am still figuring out. It isn't about a one time surrender. It's about daily, hourly even, lifting our hands in surrender.
At my (Mom's friend? Former youth leader? mother of the 2 awesome girls I love to death? role model?) anyway, at her baby shower my mom was asked to give the devotional. She was talking about the passage in Exodus 17, when whenever Moses had his hands raised, his side was winning the battle, but whenever he lowered them, they began to lose. So his friends came along side him and held up his arms.
It reminded me a lot of chronic illness, and the battle that goes on every single day. Without surrender, the internal cancer wins, and everything begins to fall apart. But in that surrender, with hands raised, the demons are cast out, and I am no longer a slave to that insanity in my head.
With hands raised, He comes in like life saving chemotherapy, or radiation or a bone marrow transplant. He comes in and rescues me. When I live in complete surrender, the destruction can't pull me under.
I am being asked to walk on water. I am being asked to continually keep my hands raised, even when I'm tired, even when I'm sick and nauseated and every muscle in my body screams, even when my blood doesn't flow where it's supposed to, even when I am in so much pain I can barely breathe. Even then I am asked to surrender. Even then I am asked to say, "Not my will be done but yours."
And I can't do that alone. Over the past 2 and a half months since being diagnosed, I've had some of the most amazing, unexpected people step in to my life and help me keep my hands raised. They have loved me in to a place where I want to find healing, fought for me and with me, reminded me of who I am, but more importantly who my God is. I am so grateful for these people.
I don't know is physical healing will ever come. I don't know if there will ever be a cure for Dysautonomia, or for GSD. But as long as I keep my hands raised, I can win this battle. As long as I keep my eyes on Him and let Him cast out my demons and breathe life into my body when I have all but given up then I can be free from this internal cancer that threatens to poison everything good.
The hurt meets the healer, demons are cast out, and I am set free.
Daily, hourly, moment by moment I surrender. I look into the eyes of the only one who can really heal me, not only my sick body but also the stuff going on inside my head.
With hands raised, I surrender all I am for all He is. In surrender I find healing. In healing I find hope. And in hope, I find freedom.
And then head spins "Where is God in this mess?" and the heart knows the answer, "Right here."
God is right here with us, and He knows
This pain is what He did for us, willing. He knows this hurt because He chose it to save us.
Friday, November 23, 2012
The Greatest Thing...
So I read Eva Markvoort's blog these past few days. All of it. From when she started writing in 2006 to when she died in 2010.
I don't know why I started reading her blog, or why when I started I read through it all.
Pages and pages, so many entries written by a vibrant red headed girl.
She wrote about having CF, about her lung transplant, about rejection, about life, and love.
And I read all these entries. I read them as I was sitting in front of my computer after Taylor's memorial chat on SBW and when the pain in my stomach was so bad I thought maybe my appendix had burst.
I read them on my phone by the bathroom light as insomnia and pain kept me from sleeping.
I read them in the afternoon's, when I was too exhausted to do much and I wasn't sure why.
I finished reading them tonight...
I am amazed by this girl. Reading through her entries, she's gone some of the same places I have. I wonder, if I go there again, I could catch some of her crazy strength. I want some...
***
It was US Thanksgiving yesterday, and I've been reading posts by my US friends sharing what they're thankful for. Even though Canadian thanksgiving was a month ago, I am still so grateful.
I am thankful for love.
***
I was pondering this thought during my late night reading of Eva's blog. Eva loved, a lot, which maybe was what got me thinking about love.
I'm loved too, a lot.
These past few days I'm just feeling it. This love is giving me hope and strength and courage.
I've had so many people reminding me in this past month that I am loved. Being loved makes me happy.
I made this little collection of cards on my wall. Eva had one, which is what gave me the idea. It's my wall of love. It's filled with cards and pictures by people who love me, and little things that remind me of being loved. It's pretty small right now (a dozen or so cards) but every time I look at it it makes me smile. There's cards my parents made for me in the hospital playroom when I was little, a birthday card I got in the mail today, letters and cards my friends made for me when I had my scopes last November, a birthday card I kept from my 9th Birthday that my Grandma wrote a poem in, a big huge card everybody at my old school signed for me when I came out of my coma, a card my 2 friends from SBW sent me. There's the little string of old bravery beads I used to tell my story when I was in the hospital the beginning of this month.
They all make me feel loved. It's pretty awesome.
There's not really a point to this post, no meaningful message, just love. Maybe love is the most meaningful message of all.
The greatest thing you'll ever learn is just to love and be loved in return
I don't know why I started reading her blog, or why when I started I read through it all.
Pages and pages, so many entries written by a vibrant red headed girl.
She wrote about having CF, about her lung transplant, about rejection, about life, and love.
And I read all these entries. I read them as I was sitting in front of my computer after Taylor's memorial chat on SBW and when the pain in my stomach was so bad I thought maybe my appendix had burst.
I read them on my phone by the bathroom light as insomnia and pain kept me from sleeping.
I read them in the afternoon's, when I was too exhausted to do much and I wasn't sure why.
I finished reading them tonight...
I am amazed by this girl. Reading through her entries, she's gone some of the same places I have. I wonder, if I go there again, I could catch some of her crazy strength. I want some...
***
It was US Thanksgiving yesterday, and I've been reading posts by my US friends sharing what they're thankful for. Even though Canadian thanksgiving was a month ago, I am still so grateful.
I am thankful for love.
***
I was pondering this thought during my late night reading of Eva's blog. Eva loved, a lot, which maybe was what got me thinking about love.
I'm loved too, a lot.
These past few days I'm just feeling it. This love is giving me hope and strength and courage.
I've had so many people reminding me in this past month that I am loved. Being loved makes me happy.
I made this little collection of cards on my wall. Eva had one, which is what gave me the idea. It's my wall of love. It's filled with cards and pictures by people who love me, and little things that remind me of being loved. It's pretty small right now (a dozen or so cards) but every time I look at it it makes me smile. There's cards my parents made for me in the hospital playroom when I was little, a birthday card I got in the mail today, letters and cards my friends made for me when I had my scopes last November, a birthday card I kept from my 9th Birthday that my Grandma wrote a poem in, a big huge card everybody at my old school signed for me when I came out of my coma, a card my 2 friends from SBW sent me. There's the little string of old bravery beads I used to tell my story when I was in the hospital the beginning of this month.
They all make me feel loved. It's pretty awesome.
There's not really a point to this post, no meaningful message, just love. Maybe love is the most meaningful message of all.
The greatest thing you'll ever learn is just to love and be loved in return
Sunday, June 17, 2012
Daddy, did I ever tell you...
Daddy, did I ever tell you that I am so proud to be your daughter?
Daddy, did I ever tell you I love you to the moon and back?
Daddy, did I ever tell you that I am so thankful that God gave me to you and mom?
Daddy, did I ever tell you that I am so thankful that you stayed with me on those long nights in the hospital?
Daddy, did I ever tell you that you still scare away all my monsters and make me feel better?
Daddy, did I ever tell you that, because of the person you are, I am a better person?
Daddy, did I tell you enough that I love you?
Because I do, daddy, I love you. I love you so much, and I am so thankful that God let me be your daughter.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)