Category: Uncategorized

 

Dear sir,

I want to tell you how much I enjoyed the story you shared of a loving mother who sacrificed to attend addiction recovery classes with her child three times a week.

I would also like to share with you–and this is done in the spirit of education not indignation–that though your story was moving and beautiful, it was told with some misconceptions.

You shared that this mother sacrificed so much for her child even though it wasn’t her biological child but her adopted child.

You spoke these words as if this fact made the story even more awe-inspiring.

“She did this for her adopted child.”  You said with wonder.

I understand–based on this misconception–that you probably haven’t experienced the joys that come from being in a family blessed by adoption.

I understand that you probably don’t know, how could you know, that when a mother has to fight to claim the babies God has reserved for her–whether that fight comes through the complications of pregnancy and delivery or if it comes through months or often years of feeling like she can’t fully breathe, relying on the Lord for oxygen, until the court date is set and the final papers are signed–that fight, that willingness to sacrifice all for that child never ends.

I can tell you that my mother fought for my adopted sister and that her mother’s heart beats the same for her as it does for me. Every wonder, worry, joy and celebration she has felt for me she has felt identically for her. I’ve witnessed it and I as a sister have felt it.

As a sister I cannot differentiate the feelings I have for one sibling from those I have for another. I would sacrifice for one as I would sacrifice for all. We are united, designated by God to be a forever family.

I would ask you to please continue to tell your story of the brave mother. She is an example to us all and she deserves recognition. Just understand–and again I say this with the highest respect–that her sacrifice does not hold greater value because it was done for her adopted rather than biological child because for her they are one and the same.

“I’m talking about your pants,” the man said with a touch of irritation. “They look good on you. They show off your hips and legs.”

“I’m complimenting you! Can’t a guy give a girl a compliment anymore? You should be flattered.”

~~”Wild” by Cheryl Strayed

“Mom was stalked at the swap meet today.”  My daughter Marlee said at the dinner table. “I thought she was going to get kidnapped.”

I’ve always tried to live a Christ centered life.  But the last few months I’ve put more of a concentrated effort into accomplishing this goal.

An unexpected perk of putting Christ first–really first–is that the underlying fear that has plagued me most of my life has softened.  The shell of distrust I’ve hidden beneath has cracked wide open.

“It mattereth not what becomes of me.”  I told the Lord in prayer.  “I just want to love all of thy children and go about doing good.”

I felt better, bolder and braver with a greater capacity to love my neighbor as myself, than ever before.  I felt whole.

That is, until Saturday.

I tried to brush off the sense of uneasiness and violation I felt after leaving the swap meet.  Tried to tell myself it wasn’t that bad.  Maybe the man that had followed me around with an overbearing disregard for personal boundaries and unwelcome advances was just trying to be friendly.  Perhaps he thought it complimentary. Perhaps he believed I would be flattered.

But–validated by Marlee’s observation at dinner–the stone I had worked all day to dislodge from the pit of my stomach returned.  And when night fell I lay awake in my bed.

I felt my desires to be out in the world, interacting with and loving God’s children, dissolve in a flood of memories.  Memories of other moments in my life when I felt stalked, pursued, ogled, trapped and violated.

“I can’t do it Lord.”  I said.  “I can’t trust enough to love enough.”

I was then reminded of a dream–a dream I wrote of in an earlier post— where I, encased in a bubble, was held in the palm of God’s hand.

“Fear thou not.” He spoke gently to me in my dream. “For I am with thee: be not dismayed; for I am thy God: I will strengthen thee; yea, I will help thee; yea, I will uphold thee with the right hand of my righteousness.”

Remembering this truth I see that though there have been many times–way too many–when I’ve felt stalked, pursued, ogled, trapped and violated, each time God has blessed me with the intuition or the intervention needed to be kept safe.

Or, with the ability to overcome.

I still have to fight to keep my heart softened and to withstand the temptation to feel angry or afraid.  Because I do get angry.  I sometimes feel afraid.

And no, I am not flattered.

But it’s a fight I’ll continue to make.

Because I want to go about doing good, traveling the world and showing love to all of God’s children. He has placed that seed into my heart.  A seed I never dared dream before.

And I intend to make it happen.

But I don’t intend to give up treasure hunting–even though I swore off it on Saturday–because I’m still obsessed with all things vintage and it’s fun to run into nostalgic goodies like this exact duplicate of my Senior prom dress. Which I guess is now somewhat vintage too.

 

When I first had the dream I wrote about in yesterday’s post, I was confused about the baby I had scooped out of the water.  Why a baby?  I wondered.

It then became clear to me that the baby represented the next generation or my responsibility to teach my children.

I have a responsibility to pull my children out of the water.  A task that becomes increasingly harder as the swimming pool grows ever larger. I must teach them to seek the dry ground for themselves.  To desire more than the empty promises of this world. I have to do better.

Which brings me to this throwback blog post from 2010.  On this day I was given a gift, a gentle reminder of the importance of my job as a mother.

Reflecting on my dream and now this post, I’m reminded that though my kids are older now and capable of independence, which gives me added independence of my own, my work is not yet complete.  My kids still walk on the edge–as do all who walk in this world–in danger of slipping into the water at any time.  And my job.  My one job. Is more important than ever.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

So good to know…

September 22, 2010

A strange thing happens when one becomes a small town person, and now I find myself saying things like, “Aww man, I don’t want to drive into town today.”  Into town? Really? Who am I?

Maybe it wouldn’t be so bad if I didn’t have to make round trips into town and back 20 times a day (slight exaggeration) but I do, across horrid, bumpy dirt roads no less.

So sometimes, after picking up one kid and waiting for another to finish music lessons or the like, I hang out in town instead of driving back and forth. This process often irritates me because I always have SO MUCH TO DO at home.

But on Monday I was given a gift. While hanging out in town watching my kids play at the park a sweet gift flooded my mind and my heart as I heard the Spirit whisper, “This is your one job. The most important job you will ever do.”

It wasn’t a warning voice as in, “This is your one job so you better not mess it up.” But a sweet reminder, a special feeling of permission given to me by a loving Father in Heaven that it was okay for me to put all other things aside because this, my one job, was what mattered the very most.

Now, because of this precious gift, when I’m with my kids I am really–WITH MY KIDS. The need for multitasking is gone. Because after all,

I only have one job.

 

 

 

I listened to the songs of Lauren Daigle today while I cleaned–something I do often–and heard her sing these words about the Lord,

“You’re not threatened by the war.  You’re not shaken by the storm.”

Reflecting on this truth I was reminded of a dream I had sixteen years ago. A dream so powerful, I felt moved to write it in my journal the next morning.

The dream began in a swimming pool where I and many others were having a wonderful time.  All of this changed when demons rushed in and began pulling people under the water to their deaths.

Then entered the scariest one of all.  It was the devil himself.  He looked at the death, fear and destruction and he smiled and laughed with delight.

Terrified, I jumped out of the pool then reached down and scooped a baby up out of the water.  Holding the baby close to me I ran.

The devil looked at me and laughed.  He told me to go ahead and run.  He said he would get me when he was finished with the others.  He knew where I’d be.  I couldn’t hide from him.

I ran through streets and ally ways but every time I looked back over my shoulder he was there, coming toward me.

Running into a tiny room, I slammed the door and while looking for something to barricade it with, I noticed there was a man sitting in the room with me. He was a well dressed man who brought with him a feeling of peace and calm.

I recognized him as a prophet of God. He had a very pleasant smile on his face and wasn’t worried at all even though the devil was headed toward our door.

He told me I didn’t need to barricade the door.  He told me to look at the door and pray mightily in the name of the Savior that it would not open.

The door began to shake and I began to pray.  Angered by my prayer, the devil tried with all of his might to open the door.

Smoke and light beams came through the door as it came off of its hinges and pushed forward into the room.  I prayed harder and the door pushed back into place.  This went on and on.

All the while I looked to the prophet who would encourage me with his calm smile.  He was never afraid.

Finally the door shut completely for the last time.  I felt a sense of peace as the prophet touched my shoulder and, giving me one last smile, he was lifted up, disappearing inside of a very bright star.

I knew then that the battle was over.

This dream has always been a reminder to me–just as Lauren Daigle’s song was today–that neither God nor his disciples are threatened by the war or shaken by the storm.

I need never fear. But I must be mindful each day to get out of the water (the distractions and deceptions of this world) and come unto Him, the author of peace, my Savior Jesus Christ.

 

 

We stood on the outskirts of a great story.

Or so I thought.

A simple angle of the wall–one small step on the sidewalk–stood between us and our fifteen seconds of fame at the American Idol auditions last week.

Enforced by the presence of a security guard, we watched as all those who stood in line in front of us–chosen to participate in filming for the upcoming episodes–were led away to glory town.

“We almost had a story to tell.”  I thought as they filmed just beyond our reach.

“Look for us on American Idol.”  We could have said.  “We’re there.  In the cheering crowd.” We would have gushed.  “See right there?  That’s us!”

Though our backpack–positioned on the winner’s side–made the cut, he remained loyally by our sides as the simple angle of the wall, one small step on the sidewalk, robbed us of our story.

Or so I thought.

Until, struck with realization, I smiled. “But wait.  We do have a story.”  I said.

It’s not a story of fame and glory.  It’s a story of almost fame and glory. And almost stories can be great stories too.

I learned the power of almost stories at a family gathering in my early teen years when my Grandpa casually announced,

“I almost bought the land at the corner of Alma School and Southern once.”

Now, because the corner of Alma School and Southern was the most happening place in all of Mesa, Arizona at the time of this gathering, my Grandpa’s announcement caused an eruption that filled the room with an energy so electrifying that the memory of it makes my spine tickle even now.

Gasps, groans and hollers of disbelief followed by the most delicious side splitting laughter burst through the air as we all reflected on the knowledge that we had almost been a very wealthy family.

I loved that almost story moment and I wouldn’t trade it or any of the priceless moments spent in my Grandpa’s humble home for all the wealth in the world.

And though a story of American Idol fame would be a fun one to tell, an almost story made while spending the day with my girls is good enough for me.

I might even tell my grandchildren about it, at a future gathering of our own.

 

 

 

In honor of my mom’s birthday tomorrow I’ve decided to share this throwback writer’s workshop post from 2010.

While watching our old home movies recently, I couldn’t help but be impressed with my mother’s sewing skills. She really was a master.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Wednesday May 5, 2010

Thanks Mom…

WRITER’S WORKSHOP PROMPT:
Memories of Mom

Of course I have many, many memories of my mom (still making more too thankfully) but for some reason the first thought that came to my mind when I read this prompt was…
Dresses.

My mom was a master seamstress (I say was because she rarely sews anymore). She made all of our clothes growing up. All. of. them. And she did an amazing job.

I especially loved Easter because that meant new (often matching) dresses hand made by Mom for us to wear to church.

My mom sewed like this until we began to get older and needed (NEEDED) the mall in our lives.

And it was at the mall in oh so posh Scottsdale that another fond dress memory took place. It was there that my mom and I went to look for a dress for my senior prom and found the dress pictured above.

Though the details don’t show in the picture, this dress was sparkly, chic and gorgeous. My mom and I fell in love with it the minute I put it  on.

I remember it was over our budget but my mom wanted to buy it for me anyway. This was something that rarely happened and it made me feel special that she would do that for me.

On a side note:

I was not a froofy prom dress girl. See exhibit B, the above picture of my junior prom. Notice no froof. I liked sleek simplicity.

Which brings us to the memory of my most important dress of all.

They say every girl dreams of her wedding day. Well every girl but me.

I was pretty nonchalant about the whole wedding planning business. “Whatever” seemed to be my motto (but I’ll save that story for another post). So I’m very lucky that my mom used her keen eye to find a large, boxie wedding gown (much too big for me) on the sales rack of a bridal boutique, then immediately see the potential in its beautiful beaded fabric.

We snatched up that dress, took it to a seamstress and had it made into a gorgeous gown just for me (with not too much froof. Small bell, no train…you know).

I love being a girl (you can be girly without liking froof) and I owe much of this to the example of my mother who, from my earliest memories, made it fun to get dressed up and be pretty.

 

 

“I signed up to audition for American Idol.”  Jamie told me a few months ago.  “It’s on my bucket list.”

So yesterday Jamie, Easton and I found ourselves in Scottsdale livin’ the dream.  And what fun we had.

“I do not leap or jump for the landing.  I leap for the experience through the air. Because we cannot predict the landing.”  ~Brene Brown

I’ve shared this quote before.  I thought I believed it. But yesterday.  Yesterday it really clicked for me.

Yesterday Jamie took the leap, pulling Easton and me up with her to soar.

We soared through moments of the most fantastic people watching and long lines spent with interesting, kind and hilarious dreamers.  We soared through pleasant, supportive interactions with the American Idol staff and through the soul rousing energy felt when a large crowd comes together in the unity of song.  We soared as we finally reached the front of the line and while watching Jamie disappear behind the doors to her audition.

We soared through our day–giddy in the altitude–before gliding downward, landing softly, gratefully on the ground.

Jamie walked away with an item checked off her bucket list and I–through Jamie’s example–walked away with a new found desire for more experience through the air.

“What if everything in life could be like this?”  I asked my girls on our drive home,  “What if we were never attached to the outcome?  What if we did everything simply for the experience of doing it?  No pressure.  No fear.  Just experience.  What fun we would have.”

I then shared with them my resolve to leap.  More fully.  More often.

I’ll do it simply for the experience.  No pressure.  No fear.  Just experience.

And what fun I will have!

 

 

 

I love watering day.  I never thought I’d be able to say that.  I’ve killed too many plants to believe it possible.

But this summer I decided to try again.

And this summer my plants began to die.

Again.

I felt discouraged and went back to believing I simply do not posses a green thumb.

“Pray over  your plants.”  The prompting came often.

I ignored it.

I ignored it, believing I did not have time to study it out in my mind.  I ignored it, feeling I didn’t want to spend hours learning about plant care. Especially when everything I had learned or been taught in the past had ultimately failed.

I didn’t know how I could pray for help if I wasn’t willing to do my part.

But the promptings wouldn’t stop.  So I stopped.

And I prayed.

The answer came in the form of a short, simple Youtube video.  Why I hadn’t considered Youtube before I cannot say.  But oh the success I have found from the things I learned there.

Now, visiting my plants throughout my house and on my porch each morning fills me with joy.

And I love watering day.

Today I face new challenges. Challenges much bigger and seemingly more impossible than developing a green thumb. But today I do not ignore the prompting to pray.  Because I know If God is willing to help me with His most simple creations, He is certain to help me with a creation born in His own image.

“Are not five sparrows sold for two farthings, and not one of them is forgotten before God?

But even the very hairs of your head are all numbered.  Fear not therefore: ye are of more value than many sparrows.”

I know as I work to continually align my will with God’s I will witness miracles.  I already have.

And when I look at my thriving plants, plants that were an impossible dream to me just a few months ago, I remember to walk in faith and marvel not at what God can do.

 

 

Lamell Lewis is the owner of the happiest place on the mountain.  My happy place.  Lamell helped me to overcome the depression that threatened to destroy me when I moved to this small town by offering the most glorious antiques and collectibles I’ve used to personalize my home and make it my own.

I love going to Lamell’s.

So when he retired two years ago, auctioning off all of his wares, I was bummed to say the least.

But then the heavens parted and the sun shone down, bringing joy to my broken heart.  Lamell came back!

Going to Lamell’s has become one of my favorite birthday traditions.  Each year on or near my birthday Rick gifts me a wad of cash, takes me to Lamell’s and says, “Be free my little hoarder.  Be free.”

Only he doesn’t really call me a hoarder because I’m not a hoarder. Not really.  Which is why I do not now own this amazing dresser found on this years birthday trip.

I wish I owned it–wish I could see it everyday–because when we met, this dresser and I, the energy between us was overwhelming.

“I’ve seen that smile somewhere before, I’ve heard that voice before, It seems we’ve talked like this before.”

That type of energy comes from some sort of nostalgic connection and when I feel it I know I’ll love and cherish that item FOREVER.

My house is sprinkled with forever items that make my heart smile.

But because I’m not a hoarder–not really–and I don’t have a place in my home for the forever dresser, we parted ways, agreeing to hold each other always in our memories.

I’m currently learning to separate myself from ego, participating in daily exercises to help me accomplish this.  Two recent exercises required me to look around and say this:

1. Nothing I see in this room [on this street, from this window, in this place] means anything.

2. I have given everything I see in this room [on this street, from this window, in this place] all the meaning that it has for me.

Reflecting on these exercises made me realize that I gave the forever dresser (and all of my things) meaning.  I gave it meaning because of how it made me feel.  It made me feel happy because it reminded me of my grandparents’ home and my grandparents’ home was always a happy place.

I gave it meaning because it represented love.

I am not what I see in this room [on this street, from this window (in this mirror) in this place] I am love.

But I’ll still keep visiting Lamell’s, even though I’m not a hoarder.  Not really.

Because love lives there.

 

 

Hey Dad,

Well. I made it.

Forty-nine.

I’m officially older than you.

I’m going to like year forty-nine, just as I’ve loved every year before.  I have you to thank for that.  When you left so young I learned that aging is not something to mourn.  It’s a gift.  A gift that was denied you.  A gift I will honor as long as it’s mine.

We had a conversation once–you and I–before you were sick, before any of us knew your life would be short.  You told me you didn’t like that your eyes were starting to show their age.  Didn’t like the bags that were forming beneath them.  You said you might look into getting them fixed someday.

The thing is I never thought about age when I looked into your eyes. All I ever saw was a sparkle.  A sparkle for life and for those you loved. Your eyes made me feel loved.  Nothing else mattered.

I try to remember that as I age, when I think I might want to get something fixed.  I try to remember that if my face shows a sparkle–for life and for those I love–if love shines through my eyes and makes others feel special, nothing else matters.

So I’ll continue forward in joy, accumulating new wrinkles and bags–wrinkles and bags I would love to see on you now–while I work toward having an extraordinary soul instead of an extraordinary face.

It’s all I’ve ever wanted you know, to have an extraordinary soul.

This my forty-ninth year is filled with new challenges. You know what they are.  I feel you with me, helping me through them.  I’m grateful for that.

I’m grateful for the challenges too.  I know they’ll change me.  They already have.  I’m having to grow, to fight, to tap into all of the gifts afforded to me as a child of God.  It’s exhausting, scary and exciting all at the same time.  I love to see what God can do.

I’m grateful to you and Mom for showing me how to sacrifice in charity and love.  Your example gives me the strength I need now.  Thank you.

And thank you for the Christmas of 1986 and my beautiful Karmann Ghia.  My kids surprised me with DVD copies of our old home movies for my birthday.  I loved seeing that sparkle in your eyes as you talked about gifting me that car.

Thank you for being my dad.  Thank you for loving me.

And thank you for being with me now, for guiding me through this life. Because even though I’m now older than you, I still need you.  I need you more than ever.

And I love you always.