for the love of the internet

shannan speaks to my heart.  for all of the ways a person could get lost in the world wide web.  for all of the bigness blogging has become.  for all of the ways a person could feel small on the internet.  she helps me feel connected.  she helps me feel heard.  she brings tears to my eyes and joy in my heart.  she is a champion, an inspirer, and a light in dark places.  thank you, always, for your faithful encouragement and beautiful words.  {flower patch farmgirl}

she also has the most amazing community of encouraging blogging friends.  not only is she a personal cheerleader to the little guy {me}, but she also links to a world of outside encouragement delivered straight to your laptop.  i was reading this article "during my lunch hour" at work, and it was much needed inspiration.  so glad i read about her.  write on writer.  {jen hatmaker}

when shannan says kind things about you, or just links to your blog, a whole new world of readers land at your doorstep.  a new friend has me thinking about all of the things.  her words are so relevant to my heart right now.  i love her idea of neighbors feeding neighbors.  {lori harris}

totally unrelated, but monumental nonetheless, this was the best advice i've read since, well, ever.  we all struggle with parenting the littles at times.  "come at me bro" parenting is my new favorite.  {rage against the mini-van}

have a happy weekend.  xoxo

beyond the storm

yesterday i wrote about grief.  i mean i wrote about it for a week.  because, you guys, i am writing again.  but i can't leave things on a bleak and heart rendering note.  there is always hope even in the midst of despair.

i thought about grief as i was driving over a terrifyingly, snowy, mountain pass on sunday night.  i left my loved ones behind, and i knew i should not attempt the drive.  in fact, my husband said don't go.  i started with no end in sight.  very little sight at all.  there was low visibility because the wind was blowing stronger than i've ever seen.  i was worried about a lot of things i couldn't pinpoint.  i was afraid, but i knew that if i could make it to town i would be able to make a choice about whether to turn around or continue on.  that was how i handled all the parts of my trip home.  there were treacherous points where turning back was not an option.  there were points where i could not see ahead or behind.  there was panic and a complete loss of control.  those were all the fearful feelings of the unknown.  i had to continue driving until i could see the lights at the bottom of the hill.

that, my friends, is hopeful.  grief is one of those terrifying things that everyone tells you you will get through.  and you don't know whether to believe them or not.  grief is another form of fear.  it likes to get you all balled up inside worrying with anticipation about what's next.  and the truth is you have no control.  and the reality is that you have to go through terrible weather, terrible seasons, to get to the light.  and if you know nothing else, hear this.  there is always light at the end of dark places.  you don't know when you will find it.  you don't know how you will find it.  but you will find it if you have faith and persevere.

the mom's prayer

this morning i stumbled out of bed and crawled under a blanket on the couch with my phone to check the "news."  there was a desperate cry out, dare i say shriek, from a boy for his mommy in the dark hours before dawn.  i cramped myself onto the edge of his twin bed and reached to comfort him in the midst of his nightmare.  he clamped his arm down on mine.  i was trapped.  it was all i could think about.  my hand stuck in his armpit.  i started to slowly relax the muscles in my hand so that it would be easier to remove when i made a break for it. then a little prayer came to mind as i watched the muscles on his face start to relax.

Lord, please let me be in this moment and not moving on to the next.  please let me love and be there for him, right now, as he needs me.  please help me to appreciate this moment and the comfort i can give to him.  let me focus on and remember the smell of his sweet breath as he starts to calm down.  let me remember how soft his face is as we lay here forehead to forehead and his eyes start to close.  let me savor in all the ways you have made me a mom to this boy who still needs me when he's scared.  please let me remember these sweet moments in the early morning before i'm distracted by everything else.  Amen.

and this is what you get when i wake up and check the news before i sit down to write.  a distraction.  a whisper.  a prayer.  and a blog post.

love that dog

my son loaned me a book - Love That Dog by Sharon Creech - to read this evening.  when a book touches him enough to share, i know it's a must read.  he once told me he wanted to be a writer, just like me.  not because writing was my career, but because it was my passion.  this book my son and i are now reading together, inspired him to write today.  (and me too).

the plant lady

he settled in for a visit like most of the plant ladies had in the past.  he instructed the new/ old girl how to check for moistness, first, before she watered.  i remembered her red hair from the days before my maternity leave.  she was having a son and so was i.  i've wondered about her over the years.  i, sadly, thought that hard times had befallen her.  she was so teary and emotional before we parted ways.  things were not going well with the father.  she was losing her autonomy to him and the boy.  i remembered the smell of her patchouli from time to time and hoped that she made it past the baby blues.  that her man stepped up to the plate.  that she found the tides of motherhood an anchor to this world and not a stepping stone to the next.  i was giddy when the past rushed into my office like the smell of a college dorm room, all smiles and curly hair.  we have almost seven year old boys.

the gravity of the situation, however, had not sunk in.  now i know there is another seven year old boy in the world who just lost his grandma.  she was the one who filled that empty position for the last seven years, watering plants in our office.  i knew her.  she shared her family.  she gave me gardening advice.  she told me stories from the bar she worked at in her younger years.  i could sense when things were hard for her.  and she gave me the sweetest pep talk when things were hard for me.  i didn't get to say goodbye.  i took her presence for granted, and never realized that her extended absence had slowly turned into eternity.

he said, you knew both of their stories?  true, i am a receptacle for the happenings in other peoples lives.  i realize, only now, how nice it is to remember a stranger and recall them.  if my boundaries were tighter, i would never have known the pain of the us soldier with ptsd.  or the struggles of my neighbors.  or the despair of a missionary.  i feel fortunate to have heard these people.  they have taught me so much.  it's wonderful to take a few frames from a life and hold them up to the light for a second glance.  a memory.  who you are matters.  if only to me.   

new to us

so...we changed schools this year. it was kind of a big deal {for me}. 

this is a news clip of the principal and some teachers from our new school {you should watch it}.  i love to see teachers setting a living example for their students.  pushing beyond comfort zones.  trying something unimaginable.  my boys are living that out every day now.  they are struggling, but in a good way.  i see it changing them and i am thankful.  they will not be the only ones who grow this year.  we are learning lots too.

how does your garden grow?

there is something about the growing and stretching of our grapevine that gets me every year.  i see the tendrils reaching for the the light, and shrinking back in the darkness.  may we all aim for nothing less than the sky.  may we all bloom in our season.

colorado tree huggers

(i bought this michael hefner shirt here) 

oh, man.  my colorado is burning up again.  it is only june, friends, and not nearly as dry as last summer.  the wind has not been kind to the brave firefighters battling for land and homes.  we are on the flight path for the slurry bombers, and i want to go out and wave and cheer for them.  after almost a week, 2 lives, and 360 homes the fire is only a tiny bit contained.  last year, during the waldo canyon fire, a colorado company created wild fire tees.  they say that all proceeds will benefit the pikes peak community foundation created for the victims of the area wild fires.  a worthy and noble cause.  i saw a facebook friend was driving to colorado springs to donate clothes to a family who has lost everything.  every bit counts.

with the end of google reader rapidly approaching, i made the decision to switch over to bloglovin.  it was pretty seemless.  where will you be reading blogs after july 1?

Follow my blog with Bloglovin

front porch roller coaster

{image found here}

we had a front porch conversation that rivaled all front porch conversations.  teenager meets middle aged mom.  we talked about bullies and judgement and what not.  a real impromptu gut wrencher in the country.  my heart was topsy turvy as i laid these irretractable words on him - i want to know your bully.  what makes him tick.  i sized him up and let that soak in a bit.  after all, he was the one on the receiving end.  i just wanted to see where he landed on the subject; how heavy my words would sit on his shoulders.  let's just say he schooled me on compassion.  among the other wise things he said, this one dropped me to my knees:    i know what makes him tick.  he needs help, it's really bad for him.

and so it is at the precipice of a roller coaster's hill - we sit on top of the world with butterflies.  the ride is going smoothly, even when the gears are ratcheting up.  the view is beautiful, but our grip tightens.  stronger and stronger the nudging and heart rendering feelings indicate that.  this.   is. about.  to.  get.  crazy.  it's thrilling and terrifying, and there is no turning back.  the only way off the ride is to get past the scary part.

there have been many times fear has urged me to close my eyes and hold on tight to what my human heart knows.  in my mind's dark place, fear grows and corrodes and corrupts.  i have seen the truth, however painful, shine its light on fearful places.  rejection breeds loathing and acceptance fosters love.  on that front porch roller coaster hill, i confessed that i was not going to live in fear another day.  that i wanted to run towards the messy, ugly and uncomfortable, not away.  i can no longer close my eyes to what is in front of me.  fear festers and urges us to cling to the bar and scream against the unknown.   from the safety of the front porch we can let go of the bar, and open our eyes because love's light is there.  love will always win over fear and darkness.  for both victim and bully.  just and unjust.  righteous and sinner.  it is the only way off the roller coaster.

the thinker

i was watching part of the 60 minute clip on The Lost Boys of the sudan.  my oldest son walked into the living room and announced, “i’m in here…” which is the adult’s cue to turn off the news.  it’s not that i want to shelter him from the world.  in fact, just the opposite.  at the same time, i want him to have his innocence for as long as he can.  one morning i stopped watching the today show because they repeatedly rolled a clip of cheerleaders beating up another girl.  over and over.  it hurts my heart to watch those types of situations sensationalized on tv.  it was about that time, we just gave up on watching the nightly news, too.  hard to watch, hard to explain.

my son was born with a question in his mouth.  and he wasn’t able to verbalize it until he was nearly a year old.  but he started speaking early, and he has never stopped asking questions since.  he is a complex thinker, but is at the social level of kids his age.  burp and fart {i do not like that word} jokes are his thing, but he alienates himself when he explains scientifically why burping and farting {i do not like that word} happen.  and.  it’s really hard to explain things to him in a manner that doesn’t create an awkward social situation with his peers when he repeats what we’ve told him.  i digress.

so we are watching the story of The Lost Boys, and I am tensed waiting for the barrage.  it is the first time in our recorded history that i have just rolled with the news thing and faced the it head on.  the issue is powerful and moving.  not sensational.  just deep and gut wrenching.  “mommy, what is genocide?  what does back lash mean?  why did the boys have to fight?  did they have guns?  did those children kill people?  why would a government do that?  why would an army kidnap children?  what if they got on an airplane and flew to the US?  why did others not save them?  and on and on and on…”  i worked hard to keep the answers simple-ish, but i used the word kill, and wipe out, extinct, etc.  he was a bit freaked out as you can tell by his questions.  genocide, the most reprehensible thought, going through the mind of my once innocent baby now turned eight. 

then he sat straight up and looked at me and said, “i get the point.  if something happened to our neighbors down the street, we should help because we are able.”  he totally gets it.

 

then he told me all about how he saw the Easter Bunny last night in his room.  "mommy, what emotion do easter bunnies have?  how high can they jump?"  complex comprehension brought right down to a second grade level.  i love that boy for his wide open mind.  

life is art

second fiddle.  oh, the words hit me deep. 

we are programmed from a very young age to succeed in ways that may or may not come natural to us.  we are asked to put aside our tendencies that appear weak.  honesty, integrity, truth, honor.  we put ourselves in an elite grouping.  and put everyone else in the other category.  we look for wealth, power, achievement, success, WINNING, at all costs.  even our soul.  

i want to believe i have a servant's heart.  i am a servant.  both literally and figuratively.  i sit at my desk every day and more often than not i am confused and conflicted. as i move towards a greater comfort level in my heart, i ask for an answer to this question:  what is the reason i come here day after day, unappreciated and often times disrespected?  

i say i am a servant, but i sit at their table and watch the crisis ensue.  it is a crisis that borders on neglect, but she wants for nothing.  it is the crisis of lost opportunities when the world is her oyster.  it is the missed birthday, the forgotten phone call, the words misspoken.  she is no less needy than others.  she requires love and care and honesty, integrity, truth and honor like everyone else.  i have given my heart to her, the one with the most and least abundance.  and, giving that to her should not feel "less than" sitting at the top  of her father's kingdom.

second fiddle.  {servant's heart.  obedient.  honorable.}  it's not exactly "leaning in."  it's not what feminist mothers hoped would become of us.  we are not rising to the top of the corporate ladder in the ways they envisioned.  but we are lifting up the needy with our honesty.  we are using our integrity to bolster the weak of heart.  we are using Truth to set the pace.  and we are succeeding when they are honored for their accomplishments.  the second fiddle may not be selected for the solo, but it is every bit as necessary to the success of the orchestra.

home

"here it comes, it's a light a beautiful light.  over the horizon into our eyes..." ~ jason mraz

93 million miles...have you listened to it?  here's the link.  soak it in, friends.  and look at beautiful colorado.  red rocks is an amazing place.

"we've come a long way to belong here, to share this view of the night, a glorious night, over the horizon is another bright sky." ~ jason mraz

all week i played this song.  over and over on my long drive to the city.  i prayed and prayed for someone close to my heart.  i prayed for the people he would inevitably face.  i prayed that he would find his way back home.

"sometimes it may seem dark, but the absence of the light is the necessary part.  just know, you are never alone.  you can always come back home." ~ jason mraz

i got the sweetest email from a friend.  what he said made me think of this song even more.  we wander when we are lost, but we can always find home.  we can always be found.

"you can see that your home's inside of you.  just know that wherever you go, no you're never alone.  you will always get back home." ~jason mraz

have the most amazing weekend, sweet blog readers.  xo

ordinary

i still have haiti pumping through my heart.  as long as i live it will never leave me.  it's the important part about going, i believe.  being connected to a place and its people.  in fact, my facebook was bouncing with haitian wedding pictures all.  day.  long.  i love the balance of life in a third world country.  so much beauty sitting on the outskirts of things that are hard to stomach.  so much gut and gumption of humanity you see there.  so much keep on, keepin on.  we are all ordinary yet delicate, like the concrete flowers in haiti.  we persevere and persist despite the conditions.

in the hallway at school today i listened to a particular child read me her big words.  she giggled at the silliness in the stories.  she sounded things out.  she whizzed through her sight words.  twice her sister walked by us, glancing as she passed.  i saw big tears in her eyes, and i know why.  she is a neighbor in our small town fishbowl.  i find dichotomy in the two girls.  one too young to have a care in the world, the other too young to hold such a heavy burden.

i go worlds away to offer love and kindness, but find it painful to see what is going on in my own backyard.  i see a beautiful life on the brink of devastation and i don't know how to help.  i have no answers.  it is times like these, be it a small town or a third world country, i am reminded that i am just one ordinary person.  one ordinary person who is sometimes of comfort, and other times helpless.  an ordinary person who believes going can mean across the street.  an ordinary person hoping that concrete flowers persevere and persist in colorado, as they do in haiti.

i am here now

i am at the dining room table with one lamp on, and the curtains wide open.  i know that my neighbors peek at me.  i do.  they comment on what they've seen.  nice dinner you had.  sewing something colorful.  reading to the boys. 

it would creep me out if i lived in the city.  or if i didn't love them to pieces.

but this is where i am.  on a country corner with a new halogen street light that screams las vegas.  with neighbors who become family by proximity and familiarity.  man children who meet in a garage on thursdays.  kids and dogs who play in the field.  i am here now. 

i have been at the dining room table every morning for the past three weeks.  i wake up and quickly get ready for work.  make some coffee.  i sit and i read and think and sometimes write.  i want the first words i hear and think in the morning to be pure of heart and untainted by the weather.  i want those quiet moments to guide my day. 

i am here now.  words that have been playing in my mind for weeks.   they pop in my head at random times.  i have read them repeatedly.  they are those kind of words.  whispered in your ear before your eyes flutter open in the morning.  i am here now.  you are sitting at my table by proximity and familiarity.  and you are watching through the curtains.  i haven't much to offer, but i am here now.

on a side note.  i have been writing this post for literally weeks.  i have no idea what i'm trying to say.  my words feel vague and nebulous, but for some reason weigh like gravity.  i guess i am here now means living with intention and being present in the moment.  to make a long story short.  simply being.  no more, no less.  knowing that littles, neighbors, a community, may be watching through the dark glass at dawn, while i sit at the dining room table with the curtains wide open.    the end.

on faith and hope

 

almost two years ago to this day, my life started to change.  i wandered into a giant church and i sat quietly as the pastor talked about the five things God uses to grow your faith.  i wasn't there by accident.  i was told to get a blessing so that maybe my mind would be at ease about going.  i had never felt so moved.  i sat in my chair and silent tears poured down my face.  how was it that i hadn't been to a church in so long, and yet this message was tailored for my heart?  i had always wanted to help those in need, but i had not imagined that it would take me to haiti.  i had not imagined it would take me to church.  and i will admit it.  i was pretty scared.  so i sat in my chair.  ugly crying among strangers.  afraid and alone.

 

i'm a comfort zone kind of girl.  i fly under the radar.  i apologize for goodness.  i speak when spoken to.  as the sermon was coming to an end, i knew what i had to do.  only because someone gave me specific instructions.  walk to the front of the sanctuary.  find the pastor (turns out there were more than one at this church).  tell him where you are going.  tell him you are afraid.  ask him to bless you.  and that is what i did.  it became my first practice in asking for help and trusting the outcome to something bigger than myself.

 

like so many in haiti have done.

 

three years ago, the lives of the people living in haiti changed forever.  and they still ask for help.  and they still look for blessing.  it is a slow process.  i'm sure they feel forsaken.  and yet every day they go out and build and repair and grow.  despite the fear.  despite the hardship.  i still find so much hope in that.  i still feel as moved today as i did back then.

 

when next i meet my friends in haiti, we will have changed.  i imagine i won't be repairing what has been damaged as much as reinforcing what exists.

 

read about my first trip to haiti here.

listen

i have been listening a lot lately.  waiting for something to come to me.  for so long i was moved to write.  i would dream up dreamy words to blog away.  and then the awesomeness left me.  it makes me think...remember when i used to have things to say?  i was sitting in the quagmire that is my desk.  avoiding certain phone calls.  crunching numbers.  handing down tax estimates.  painstakingly working amidst the people who walk in and out of my space.

 

our computers crashed.  and time stopped, with me panting near the finish of a deadline.  i was forced to stop.  i could not read the news on the internet.  i could not work.  my lunch was non-existent. 

i was sitting at my desk when the numbers stopped talking, and my mind moved to a slower speed.  and i stopped to listen to a man whom i adore in an officey sort of way.

he took in a baby who is now a boy. 

he said, i am a single man,  not a single dad.  just a man.  with a boy.
think about that...does not fit in with married couples, has a hard time on play dates with moms, cannot hang with the guys, hard to date, bribes other moms to set up group play dates because parents aren't sure what to make of him. 

he is excluded on so many levels of the boy's life because he doesn't fit anyone's standard as a parent. except the state says he's in charge.  it is far from a sacrifice, but he has given everything for the boy. 

he is humble.  and by that i mean he has no idea what he's done.  i told him he was amazing.  and he passed it off.  then i mentioned that he fixed the cycle that left a boy's family broken.  he helped change the course of a life, and all those who follow will benefit.  that is no small thing.  and as i listenened i looked at him and prayed so hard that he would be blessed like he has blessed that child.  he is amazing.  i love how God is using him.  and i love that i heard his story.

msm: hands

i had the great fortune to take photos of a family dear to my heart.  i anguished over my equipment and lighting.  i have no experience.  and yet i knew i would not fail.  we saw this shot at the same time. i eased off the couch and into position like i knew what i was doing. while they cooed at their little lulu, i snapped and snapped, trying not to disturb the moment. trying not to remind them of my intrusion.  i looked at my friend. tears pouring down her face.

 

i cried long and hard as i edited their faces.  their family in total.  when i see this photo i will always think of how much life is held in our hands.  not only blood flowing through veins.  but love.  a marriage.  girls.  babies.  a life's work.  a world without end. 

to the sea

 

when i saw this picture from our recent family trip to the sea, i wanted to go back to my quiet time at the beach.  i found the ocean to be completely methodical and extraordinarily grand and healing.  the tide ebbs, the tide flows.  out with the old, in with the new.  breathe in.  breathe out.  as small as a world and as large as alone.  i found these wonderful words this morning and they reminded me of the peace in letting go.   

maggie and milly and molly and may

maggie and millie and molly and may
went down to the beach (to play one day)

 

and maggie discovered a shell that sang
so sweetly she couldn't remember her troubles, and

 

millie befriended a stranded star
whose rays five languid fingers were;

 

and molly was chased by a horrible thing
which raced sideways while blowing bubbles: and

 

may came home with a smooth round stone
as small as a world and as large as alone.

 

For whatever we lose (like a you or a me)
it's always ourselves we find in the sea.

e.e. cummings

voice

this photo gets to the heart of my battle with fear.  i am so thankful for the days when i use my voice {because i don't always have the courage}. when i use my words to the benefit of others {because my tongue can be sharp}.  when all i can think of is negative, my words are carefully chosen {i can be opinionated}. 

Source: imgfave.com via Shannan on Pinterest

my voice may shake, but it is getting stronger. it takes some practice. it takes a growing confidence and sense of self. but it feels amazing and free.

for all

i saw the statue of liberty for the first time this year.  a striking symbol of our freedom on the eastern shore.  lighting the way for weary travelers.  giving hope to the oppressed.  where the tired and poor found relief. the ostracized, a home. the shunned, the free thinkers, the revolutionaries a refuge.  liberty and justice for all.  that is something to be thankful for.