15 to life

My husband and I just celebrated our 15 year wedding anniversary. In this day and age, I consider that a big deal and I feel like celebrating and sharing that with others today. By God's grace, we have survived and thrived through what many marriages have not. I wrote him a poem, albeit corny, filled with things only he and I really understand, but I thought I would share in the hope of hopes - that others be encouraged and know it's possible to be in this place 15 years after the ceremony.

We got this. We own it.
It's still you and me at 15... and I believe the best is yet to be, babe
Cause we're on a roll of lovin' and laughin', hangin' and playin', dancin' and creating...
You're my coffee fiend, spider-lovin, quipin' machine and decoder
You're my salsa and rhythm composer...adding spice and tempo to my willful

To this ragamuffin, Barnabus has nothing on you
My legionnaire, my iron, and my cheesy fondue
You are my triple threat: a walking dictionary, thesaurus, and editor
Without you, I would have little to say
Less learned, and no filter.

We've biked, hiked, camped, and climbed
Jogged, strolled, lingered, and loitered
Outstaying X-files, Smallville, and Boston Legal
Grooving on Cranberries, OTR, Denison, & VOL,
Sting, Peter, Brooke, and The National
...to name a few

Been almost busted, sidetracked, and bankrupt
Beheld copious births and bereavements, and worshipped
Amid learning to engage, empathize, embrace, brainstorm, bargain, swap, and boost up
While tangled with hormones, diet, and haircuts

We've traveled to Africa, Netherlands, Arkansas, California,
Colorado, Florida, Oklahoma, Gehenna...and back
Illinois, Tennessee, Texas, Carolina's all on this fast track.
I have journeyed 15+ years behind, in front of, and beside you

I have loved you. I have liked you. I am loving and liking you more, still...

So...
We got this. We own it.
It's still you and me at 15... and I believe the best is yet to be, babe
Cause we're on a roll of lovin' and laughin', hangin' and playin', dancin' and creating...

Unstitched

The seams of my brain are coming apart stitch by stitch.
I'm a cliche and am disintegrating into the mist.
I believe I have held too loosely to things, and the little I had is drifting.
Drifting to God know's where...the land of the pathetic I suppose.

I fear I have been lost in myself for years.
Where I once saw a line in the sand, I now see only erosion.
Where I once could declare who I was, I somehow seem to know less or
...care less.
I am bored with myself, my aches, my thoughts.
In these present moments I see only comparison and envy, and all the qualities that I don't possess.

I've been here before, and have come back bedecked and bedazzled-
what now seems like a past reincarnated and lovely self...
Shouldn't I be farther in this life by now?
I'm supposing the Maker needs to rip and frazzle for a reason.
I'm surprised by how much I've seen of him lately and I wait in suspicion of his workings.
My ability to trust has been shaken again, because I have been shaken.
I feel as though I have no beginning or end.
I am a vague mess, at best conspicuous
at worst ...invisible.

Broken?

Over the last week I have heard two different men say, "Everyone knows they are broken." I did not prompt this response, they just came up in the context of what was being discussed. And it's been nagging at me...really? Maybe I am off or maybe my definition of "knowing ones self as broken" looks very different from theirs. I'm still trying to figure it out at the moment and don't have the energy to do so just yet. But I would like to hear your thoughts, definition, etc. Got any?

My daughter told me a boy told her friend that she smells.
She told him "That's not very nice." He replied, "Why are you always so kind?"
In the moment I was proud of her for attempting to protect her friend, confront the wrong, and speak her mind.
However, I was also taken back by the boys choice of words...kind.
He didn't say "nice"...and I am grateful.

Nice announces to me "successful" socialization, an appeasing others attitude, with a shallow and spineless understanding of any truth; to put it frankly, a cowardliness. There is death in it.

Kind declares to me, thoughtful, helpful, merciful, honest, and alive with grace. It rings like a bell in my ears that maybe my daughter gets something, that so many us don't or have lost. Kindness speaks as an expression of the tension between the truth and tenderness. It acknowledges the broken and still see's the beauty. It's the harder higher road.

And it's lovely, especially on her...

So I was inspired by this...and I thought that I would try my hand at
"What I know". Though I am not ready to do the "spoken" piece just yet...

I fear death. I fear explosions. I fear that I will be evaluated and determined to have had no value.

I fear expectations placed on me, of being misunderstood. I fear seeing pain in my children and husband's eyes.

I hate death.

I hate war and I hate lies... because death is imminent.

I dislike interruptions, injustice, intolerance, ignorance, arrogance, extravagance, vengeance, substance...abuse.

After many years of drought, I finally enjoy a good cry.

I am fascinated by the physics of people: their choices and others response to their choices.

I often choose transparency, even when it throws you for a loop.

I choose cheese. I choose bacon. These items together makes any food edible.

I choose design. I choose order. These two things makes any space palatable.

I enjoy good writing, despite my own inadequacies. I enjoy a good conversation, despite your inadequacies.

I delight in pop-ups and puppets, kittens and kites, bubbles and Brooke (Waggoner), ranunculus and calculus (nah).

I covet those who can pull off a good prank, have a sixth sense for being "present", and has the constant and consistent energy of the Tortoise.

I experience a sense of peace when I take in the glow of a tree after a rain, sit at a creek, sleep in...

My heart skips a beat, two and three for my red headed trio. My brain turns to mush over the concept of Grace.

I am unfortunately more aware of my stomach's presence than ever. My feet believe they have so much more to do.

This is me for now and has been, but I reserve the right to change for later or sooner.

So, what do you know?

PleaseConvinceMe Blog: Can We Sin in Heaven?

Thought this was an interesting post and wanted to share.

PleaseConvinceMe Blog: Can We Sin in Heaven?

Comparison is the thief of Joy

Comparison is the thief of Joy - Dwight Edwards...

I feel as though I could sit and think about this quote for days, maybe weeks, and ponder the myriad of ways this holds true. All it takes is looking at my 'closet' (hole in the wall really), turning on the television, listening to Pandora, looking at Facebook, or walking out the door and I can subtly find myself discontent...or grandly. I hate admitting this. Really I do because it reveals that I am in a weak place. I used to think I was better than this. Actually, I think I was - at least in a better place. It was during a time that Grace rang loudly in my ears. As time and flesh would have it, they seemed to have become deafened, or at least desensitized.

But before you think I am poo-pooing all of these methods of communications and self expression, please know that I am not. I don't believe that it's inherently bad, quite the opposite actually...just that it has the power to amplify wounds already within us and, well, steal our joy in a way that we may not be paying attention. I for one, am becoming increasingly aware of it again and am trying to figure out my place as it relates to technology. Which is partly why I've not posted much lately.

In particular, I am curious of the present and future research on the effects of Facebook, blogs, and twitter, etc in this idea of comparison and thievery. Oh my goodness! Even as I type this I find myself robotically checking FB status updates. *hand slap* Seriously. I can do this without realizing it and without realizing its effects on my spirit. How do you feel when you get off FB or after reading a blog? Do you feel connected? Uplifted? Encouraged or inspired? Known? I can feel these things but I can also feel like a voyeur of sorts. Generally, but not always, I'm seeing the 'good' stuff... or what seems good to me, or what that person believes to be their good stuff. I'm often left wanting what they have in some way... Am I the only one? Or am I reading the wrong stuff maybe?

No, really with FB, tweets, blogs, etc people have created their own personal 'spin' on their life. For the most part it is a micro form of marketing, is it not? It is in large part how the Kardashian's can make $65 million in a year in our society. We're so curious, we want to figure out how we measure up. At least to those we care about, by those we give power to as people of influence in our life. In the name of connectedness, information, and aspiration are we really hurting ourself somehow by following? These days people are able to gain power and influence... and at alarming speed, whether they deserve it or not and whether they want it or not. And, quite simply, some of us are better at it than others.

I'm not knocking it though. I covet it really. That's kind of my whole point. I want what they have; to be heard, but I struggle to believe myself worthy. Now this is terribly embarrassing to admit, because it feels weak - but it's my truth. What's lying underneath this is that I want to be known and validated. I do not believe that this is a bad thing to desire. I believe that this is a God given void, and ultimately God filled. Yet being followed by mere mortals in some way seems evidence of validation. Look how many "likes" they got. I believe this is ultimately not truth, but this is where my struggle lies. There is the tension with this newfound technology between my spirit and flesh. And dare I say that I do not think I'm alone?

Following others status or blogs is just another new way for me, and I'm guessing others, to feel inadequate. I find myself reading others stati? status? statuses? and blogs and measuring. And then when I attempt to write my own...oh MY, the insecurities and feelings that rise up and choke the voice (voice = joy) out of me. So I don't, for fear that they are incomplete, are not clever or flattering, or have been or will be said better by someone else. These are the messages I send myself, often unbeknownst to me. It is quite the feat just to hit "publish post" and pray I spelled everything correctly....like feat. Let alone maintain my authentic voice, my truest self as I know myself to be in this moment. But like everyone else, I am on a journey. I can only do my part in expressing myself as I am presently, with both known and unknown shortcomings included. As I do so in this way, I can only hope that I am not causing anyone else to inappropriately feel discontent, while embracing my own joy. I am not worthy of anyone's covet, and on my better days I do not wish those feelings upon anyone. At my core, my sincere ache is to walk side by side, hand in hand, voice with voice, and ear to ear "as is" on this journey with you.

Sidenote...If I'm going to continue this, I am going to have to work on brevity. (:

Son of Laughter

Currently, I am reading this. I don't remember why I checked it out. I know that I was browsing online at the Library for parenting books, yet I can't remember how I found this particular book. I would certainly not want to emulate much of the parenting skills found here.... Anyway, it called to me in some way. Maybe because it 's authored by Buechner, of whom I would like to believe is a close friend though we've never met. Maybe it was because my son's middle name is "Laughter" aka, Isaac, which is who the title is referring. I am not sure. But what I do know, is being half way into it I am loving it. It makes me uncomfortable, it is thoughtful and though provoking. It is providing skin and guts to a biblical narrative I've heard numerous times and it's as though it's through the eyes of Jacob. Fascinating.