Full. Real. Unfinished.

Of course she will provide. She always  provides. She takes care of it. The messy, hard, inexplicable it. She shows up every damn time. Breathe. Trust. Let go.

As I peruse old journals from years past, it's fascinating that I've been wrestling with the same struggle for years and years and years. Motherhood.  Mission.  Me. Its theme has been playing since I became a mother.  With each passing year, it morphs and intensifies until it reaches a critical mass and I am compelled to make changes. The magnitude and soul-shaking need this time has left me questioning everything. My marriage is teetering precariously. I'm breathless at times. The wisdom inside me asks me to go deeper.  To shake off the belief that my children need me here.  It asks me to sever the chains of "they will suffer without my constant presence." She whispers, "Go Deeper." The layers underneath call me to provide evidence.  Fact check those please .  When there's no evidence to provide, the wisdom says, "Stay. Keep Looking." And the tears begin to flow. There she is.  I see her now. Little Laurisa.  Sad.  Worried.  Wantin...

Unravel Disengage Separate the threads. Come apart Disentangle Dissolve the complexity of it all. The unravelling will leave you naked. The nakeding will find you whole. The wholeness will bring you clarity. In the clarity, only love.

     Today it happened.  The fertilized egg found its way through the dark and scoped out a new home, where it would stay for the next nine months.          It did it so well.  It knew exactly what to do, and that it did.  It implanted, it multiplied.  It gave life.  But while new life took form, simultaneously something inside me died.  That day I lost something I loved so very much.     I never wanted to be so young when I settled down.  It was in no way my idea of fun.  I didn't want a baby.  Not to mention four.  Not yet.  Not then.  I wanted growth for myself.  I wanted school.  I wanted travel.  I wanted experience far, far away.  I wanted to be single.  That's what I wanted.     But alas, I kept hearing men say that life isn't about what I wanted.  They told me life was about what He wanted.  They told me He  wanted f...

 A friend shared a line from Rupi Kaur: "What is stronger Than the human heart Which shatters over and over And still lives" And I ponder all the versions of the shattering. Death.  Betrayal.  Loss.  Change.  Loneliness.  Abuse.  Growth. In amazement, I stare at the last word on my list.  Growth.  Growth means something must shatter.  A paradigm.  A belief.  A cell. And the shattering feels like hell.  But then, on second thought, it's hell that's do-able.  It's pain that I  think will become everlasting.  But it doesn't.  In the end, I am always ok.  In the writhing and the weeping and wailing and gnashing of teeth, I am o.k. So, either hell isn't as bad as my mind makes it out to be, or nothing can really feel like hell.  Because hell is final.  Without end. And growth-- isn't. It's just growth.  Cyclical waves of joy, hope, sorrow and mundane. It's growth. We shatter and live Shat...

Dearest Mother- I'm smiling at the thought of you.  I believe you want this for me.  I really  believe you want this for me. Grant me wisdom.  To separate what really matters most from all the rest.  If I'm not here (physically, but even more emotionally)- if I'm not here 100% of the time, there's things that will need to go.  Standards of perfection that must break.  Messiness that must be embraced. Grant me that wisdom.  To use my time with my children wisely.  With wisdom-- not perfection. I'm deeply afraid of mess.  Because of where I came from, I often fear that mess equals wrong.  I'm afraid of hurting my children.  Because of where I came from, this is the single greatest fear of my life. So, Mother- This takes massive courage for me.  To take time away from meeting every need my kids have and instead to leave it messy.  And then, to give that time to something that still looks largely unknown. Grant me discer...

I feel like one of the many. Like I'm standing in a huge circle of humanity. I'm standing here holding my hands over my heart, so I can touch its broken edges. I approach the circle suddenly. There I am. In this circle, I don't have to say a thing. I stand there with my hands over my heart, dense tears rolling down my neck. And without me saying a thing, they know- all the parents who have gone before, stand in solidarity. On their faces I read a deep, deep compassion. They know. There is no judgement here. This circle is too real for that. Like me, they know the wordless place I'm in. How everything can change in an instant. He said it out loud so I could hear it without ambivalence, "Mom, I don't want  to be with you. I've been with this family that I love for my whole life. I'm ready to move on now. It's time." And in a flashing moment, here I am. Broken-hearted. Grateful. Happy. Longing. Proud.

 I was always floating around in space.  Since the beginning of time.  Here I float. Only, I had the illusion of being grounded.  With deep deep roots.  And because of the grip I held on those roots, I didn't notice the floating. Enter 2021, wham! Safety rope, roots, rods of iron, any sense of sure and steady footing, gone. ... I'm still floating.  Exactly like before.  Just the way I came. But now I'm aware of the floating, and without the grip on the roots, there's nothing sure. I'm not kidding myself anymore.  I was always here floating.  Since the beginning of time.

“During the Cuban Missile Crisis, President Kennedy received two letters from the Kremlin.   One was aggressive, the other gentler.   And because Kennedy said to his men, ‘Let’s respond to the saner message’, we didn’t get blown up, or have to blow up the world.”   Anne Lamott continues, “So, I try to respond to the kinder voice.” The aggressive voice says that I’ve lost my Goddamn mind.   That it literally must have fallen alongside the road while driving across the country this summer.   That I am not to be trusted.   That one singular, selfish mistake could lead to an eternity of suffering.   Eternal loneliness.   “How could I have been so… thoughtless?”   The aggressive voice says I need to keep my membership intact in order to save my family.   It’s me.   Or them.   The aggressive voice says I can’t have both.   It says that I can’t make decisions for myself.   That there are blind spots.   And shadows. ...

The world is kind. Life is loving. The sun rises every day. My body always finds equilibrium. Homeostasis is a thing. Love is real. It will all work out. There is much to smile about. We will always be ok. Love will always win. Life will prevail. Faith works. Hope remains. They always provide.

I am solid ground I can walk into fire and emerge alive I connect to Source and funnel its wisdom I speak for God She lives in me I rise to the occasion again and again

Laying next to her in her bed, Olivia asked me, "Mom, what does the whole planet start with?"  I sat, wondering where she was going with this.  In the silent space, she thought.  Then she continued, "Was it a bunch of moms?  So they could have all the babies?"  I smiled.  She's thinking. How shocked would she be if I answered her the way christianity expects me to? "No honey.  Humankind didn't start with moms.  Humankind came from a man.  Who told a man.  To make a man.  Women came from that man.  You  came from that man." Of course, I could only respond with what was real in my heart.  “I don’t know my love.  It sure seems that way, doesn’t it?”  I kissed her forehead.  “Keep on asking girl, keep on asking.”

Dear Body: Hi!  How are you? I am so grateful for you.  You are my biggest fan.  You take whatever I give you and you try to make it good.  You let me know what you like, what you prefer, but then you make everything good.  You quietly go about your work.  I'm sorry for treating you so poorly sometimes.  I know you forgive me.  You are miraculous. Body,  I love how you speak first.  You speak to my Knowing before my brain does, and because of that, I know I can always trust you.  I love how you constantly speak to me of the next best thing.  You speak, I listen, We heal.  Your ability to heal is one of my very favorite things about you.  It inspires me.  It brings me hope. Body, thank you for all the physical sensations that make up my wild, beautiful life.  Emotions are what give my life flavor; thank you for them.  Thank you for the feeling of hard exercise.  Thank you for the feeling of orgasm....

 Their doctrine does not feel kind.  In my core, it feels yucky.  Stagnant.  It makes me spin.  It makes me question myself.  In my uncertainty, I go nowhere.  I make zero progress.  I feel confused.  Worried.  Frightened.  Sad.     I'm standing in a fun house.  On the outside there's happy music, colorful flowers, smiling faces.  It's so inviting.  Inside it's a maze of deceptive mirrors and alluring promises.  So much to love- it entices me everywhere.  With my head held high I try to move forward, but inevitably slam face first into mirrors that I didn't know were there.  BAM!     I turn in another direction, moving a little slower this time and guarding my now aching head.  BAM!     The force is intense, bruises forming on my forehead.  I begin to speak up.  I rally the leaders for help. I try to warn the people.  But no one does a thing.  Stran...

“Well yeah, that must be easy for YOU to teach women to love their bodies.    It would be easy for ME also if my body looked like yours.” It felt like a stab in the back.    I felt my face get hot.    I felt stumped for words.    I didn’t say a thing. I knew this acquaintance of mine didn’t mean to be rude.    I was caught off guard by her comment, but when I thought about it later, it didn’t surprise me.    I used to believe the same thing.    I used to feel that if I could just  CHANGE  my body,  THEN  I could love it.    It’s taken a lot of soul work to get to where I am today, to a place where I love my body  deeply ,  fully, unconditionally. I was unprepared to respond when we were together, but my dear new friend, can I have a second chance?    I’m ready to respond now.    And I see you. I see that from where you are standing, from your point of view, i...

Some mornings, I just want to write. Not cause I have much to say, but because the process of writing brings me joy. Writing makes me feel connected to something solid. It's like an anchor that produces love. When I write, my mind can rest. Like a meditation in itself. My thoughts no longer wild and free, instead they come together with a unified purpose--- to create something beautiful. I join forces with a flow that is bigger than I am, and the pen moves from left to right. It's a moving meditation. So grounding. So centering. So revealing. When I write, I get to see ME. It's a breathtaking sight to behold.

I was standing in the checkout line with my 4-year-old daughter, when the man who was bagging groceries started playing a game.   The man would hold out his hand for a high-five, and just when Olivia attempted to hit it, he’d pull it away.    I looked down at her to gauge her feelings about this “game” as she squealed with delight.    She loved it. Again, and again, they played!    His hand extended towards her, asking for a five and then outbursts of laughter as she missed.    They played together happily for a minute or two. And then, she was done. I watched as every part of her body spoke that she was done.    She moved away from him and came close to me.    She didn’t look at him or try to slap his outstretched hand anymore.    She stopped laughing.   I bent down to talk to her.    “Olivia, are you done playing that game?”    She nodded. I turned to the man and said with a smile, “She...