Full. Real. Unfinished.

It is better as it is: I have failed but I can sleep; Though the pit I now am in is very dark and deep I can walk tomorrow's streets and can meet tomorrow's men Unashamed to face their gaze as I go to work again. I have lost the hope I had; in the dust are all my dreams, But my loss is not so great or so dreadful as it seems; I made my fight and though I failed I need not slink away For I do not have to fear what another man may say. They may call me over-bold, they may say that I was frail; They may tell I dared too much and was doomed at last to fail; They may talk my battle o'er and discuss it as they choose, But I did no brother wrong-- I'm the only one to lose. It is better as it is: I have kept my self-respect. I can walk tomorrow's streets meeting all men head erect. No man can charge his loss to a pledge I did not keep; I have no shame to regret: I have failed, but I can sleep. -Edgar A. Guest "The Loss Is Not So Great" When Day Is Done

There's a girl who cares for the world. She thinks about it every day. She's relentless about what could be done to bless someone and how to uplift and inspire. She works like it's nobody's business. She's constantly trying to build souls. Beauty and compassion fill the space around her. She's in this life for progress. She's working to help set us free. She won't do much unless it will impact someone for good. This girl needs to know that she matters. She needs to have space to feel. Her passion is fierce, and she's proud when she's wild and free.

The world is cruel and the world is kind Life is indifferent and life is loving The sun sets every eve and the sun rises every morn My body is out of sync and it always finds equilibrium It's going to break and it will all work out Sorrow abounds and there is much to smile about We will suffer and we will always be ok Love will break our hearts and love will always win Everything dies and life will prevail Fear abounds and faith works Despair exists and hope remains I am alone and they always provide

Dear Future Me, I don't know how it will look. I'm giving everything to make this work with Darin, and its 100% worth it if we can figure it out. I'd give anything, I'm giving everything- To be married to someone who makes it clear to me that I matter. To be married to someone who wants to reach for the best that life has to offer. Who wants to work to become more for himself and help create an environment where our kids can too. Who wants to work on our relationship. I'd give anything to feel united and supported. To feel like I don't need to go it alone because there's someone there next to me. Not behind me, but next to me. Walking at his own rhythm and not pulling me back because of it. Is it a dream that's unattainable? It feels so close. Like I could just simply reach out and touch it. But then like a mirage, it disappears. Now it's out of reach. I succumb to my reality of feeling like I'm going it alone. Married, but alone. Unsupported. In...

It was right about this time, 20 years ago, that I gave birth for the very first time. I'm smiling as I recall that day. I'm smiling because I feel proud of me then, proud of me now and of all the things in between. Motherhood has always been a crucible- changing, stretching and requiring me to grow- at a pace that's felt impossible at times. But I love growth. I don't mind discomfort, and I freaking adore my kids. For half of my life they've occupied the grandest parts of my heart. I'm smiling about that today.

Find the wind.   I woke up with this admonition after a day of remarkable storm. Find the wind. To me it means notice where things are blowing and move in for the ride. When I go where its already blowing, there's a surrender and trust. When I go where its already blowing, there's less energy expended and more distance covered. The wind represents wisdom blowing in from other people and other times. Like a story carried from one place to another, from one's life experience to another. There are messages of hope inside the wind. Good morning, my dear. Here's a new day.  Find the wind.

From the place where I'm sitting, I hear her cane thumping long before she's in sight. I'm feeling busied, hurried, tired from many commitments in my day. I've sat down to rest but the sitting-still makes me feel antsy. I wish there were someone to sit-still with. I feel flustered about my kids being on their phones; so I pick up my phone and begin to scroll. I feel lonely, I feel mad. I wonder if I have the right to blame anyone but me. And then I hear the thumping. Thump, step, step. Thump, step, step. I instinctively lay my phone down as a salute of respect. She's walking. Just. Walking. She's not texting five people, watching a webinar, stressing about her teens on their phones, rotating laundry, feeling lost about running an organization, planning grocery lists for birthdays and campouts or endlessly wrestling with the state of her marriage. She's just walking. Thump, step, step. Thump, step, step. I can feel my breath moving in and out. My hands now em...

I lay on my bed and tears covered my cheeks. The day disappeared into a vortex as I processed it all. The Book of Forgiving was in my hands and on my chest. I would read, then lay it down to cry. Then read, then lay it down to cry. I was cleaning out. Cleaning out house from decades of dust. Looking in the very back corners and inviting it all to go. It scared the shit out of me. This had been my story for so long. It was my identity. It protected me. It validated me. Giving up the story of victim felt like suicide. I remember drawing a picture of what the moment felt like. I was standing at the edge of a chasm. A gargantuan size canyon. I was looking over at the other side and could see a vision of the things I craved. Peace. Joy. Love. It was all there. It was always there. But it wasn't here. It was there. It was all mine if I wanted it. It wasn't complicated or tricky. In fact, I could have as much of it as I wanted also because there were no limits. There was sufficient fo...

You miss the rhythm and the every-six-month assurance You miss the camaraderie and the feeling of belonging You miss the experience of being uplifted and knowing you have the truth You miss the surety of the answers You miss their familiar voices and music and the safety that no matter what, you should follow You miss communal emotion You miss it all. so. much. Here's to the lonely ones, a benediction just for you: May you feel the steady assurance of your beating heart and know the depth of your belonging May you be lifted through inspiration  and may you align with truth As you journey, may you find strength in soothing voices and always follow the music of your soul May you trust that your loneliness will guide you To the certainty of faith The vision of hope and the knowledge of love That your spirit may be whole once again Amen

Show us how to lead Tell us life still feels good Respect your body- fiercely Reverence your graying hair Share your stories of strength and struggle Remind us we're gonna be alright Tell us you believe in us Tell us we're doing it well Show us how to trust ourselves Model how to rise Remind us of our wisdom Remember how you felt back when Trust in your abilities and gifts Step up on the mantle We're famished for your guidance Lead us Please

The strings of your sweater fall between my fingers.  My nose moves furiously from spot to spot- hoping to get a tiny scent of you.  My heart sinks.  It's been too long.  For five months, the sweater has been hanging with all my clothes.  So now it smells like me.  Damn it. Why didn't I box it up air-tight?  Why didn't I put it in a shrink-wrapped case so it could forever be embedded with you? Just one little scent and I'd be there: in your house in my nightgown, feeling so, so safe. Just one little scent and I'd be there: grown and carrying my baby upstairs. Knowing you'd laugh out loud with joy at his face and look adoringly into mine. Just one little scent and we'd be there: adventuring together.  I'd pack the car; you'd pack the snacks.  I'd pack the kids; you'd pack the kisses. When I think of what it feels like to be mothered, I only have to think of you. You gave me confidence when I was shaky.  You loved my kids as yours.  W...

What love feels like to me is a leap in my chest.  It feels like tension.  A gentle pulling from opposite sides of my body.  Like a rubber band slowly stretching and releasing, my heart beats.  It feels like something I should act on, but instead must hold.  Just hold inside and feel.  Feel.  Feel.  Feel the tension.  Don't do  anything.  Just feel. To me, love tastes like a surprise.  The flavors are unfamiliar, deeply satisfying and full of delight.  I slowly savor while hoping I can binge forever.  Both are true.  Everything is true.  I want it all. What love looks like to me is madness.  Like my mind has melted into an unrecognizable mush and is misfiring left and right.  Rationality, order, logic- nowhere to be found.  Pop!  Bang!  Crack!  The embers look dangerous.  The sparks are hot. To me, love smells like my grandma's sweater.  The smell enters my body as air...

I need you now. Right here. In my bedroom at 11pm on this random Tuesday evening, I need you now. Give me your lap, a large and spacious place to rest. Give me your arms around my body, embrace me as I touch them. Give me your kiss, a soft reassurance that I am seen. Give me your gaze, your eyes tell me I am known.  I'm not the first to feel the bigness of all this.  You know.  Your eyes show me that I am not alone. Give me your smile, the shape of your mouth reassures me that this is ok.  I'm falling apart, but your smile tells me that the million pieces of me will all be restored. They will come back together. They will heal. In my bedroom on this random Tuesday evening, I need you now.

You smell familiar while My tired body rests on your solid ground You inspire me to more as You calm me with your steady hand My head rests on your sandy breast and You hold me without judgement Caress my face with wind Smother me in warmth Pierce me with quiet You are  Mother

It all makes perfect sense to me.  You spent the last nine years of your life trying to protect your children from the world.  You spent a decade making it your full-time job, and you succeeded.  They are amazingly kind human beings. You feel anxious, because you don't want that all to mean nothing. You don't want them hurt.  You don't want their innocence lost.   This comes out of love for them…but, there’s a love that goes even deeper. The deepest kind of love speaks a truer truth: "They're gonna be hurt.  Innocence must be lost.  Sit next to them on the ground.  Squeeze their hand in the dark.  Model how to rise.  Continue to show up.  Welcome discomfort.  Feel the fullness of being human.  Trust that you're resilient.  Trust that they are too. You are simply a witness to their story.   Hold it sacred.  It's not yours.   THEY are not yours.  Bless them on their way."

Last night Gary came home from a school dance, curled up on my bed and cried. From 2:00-3:00 am, I did nothing but hug him and rub his back. We didn't talk. I still don't know what caused the tears. This morning I sit and wonder what it would be like to be him. For 16 years he had a plan to leave on a mission when he turned 18. A year ago that plan changed, and now a new plan has yet to emerge. He's in the messy middle- Act 2 of the 3 Act play. It's the time where we flail and struggle. It's dreadfully uncomfortable. And if we are brave enough to stay and not run or numb- It's the time where we witness what we're truly capable of.

Today is the first day in my life that all of my kids are in school.  So, in essence, I've been a mother for 17.5 years, and never had a day that felt like today.  I felt anxious in the morning.  I had to remind myself again and again that this is about love .  They took their first steps with confident nervousness and I felt so proud of them. When I walked back inside my empty home, I could instantly hear the silence.  It enveloped me like a peaceful embrace.  While it held me, it whispered in my ear, "Good work, mama.  You've done a great, great work." It was as if the silence knew.  Or my home knew. She knew how much I've sacrificed.  She knew how many years I've been surrounded by children, and she knew how long those years felt at times.  She knew this was a first for me, and she smiled warmly and said, "Welcome back." Back home to myself.  Back to a life I choose.  Back to a life that I now know belongs to me. The quiet s...

I've been a writer for over 30 years.  And I'm 37.  My entire life I've written and written and written.  Desk drawers and boxes now overflow with journals and notebooks of essays, narratives, poetry and blog articles.  I just can't stop. Writing to me is a salve.  It's like pouring cool Benadryl Gel on fresh mosquito bites.  It feels like holding a steaming cup of tea to my chest on a stiff, cool morning.  To me, writing is everything soft, soothing, and real.  It highlights the color in my otherwise gray life.  It opens space for love.  It brings with it something holy that I can't quite put my fingers on. Natalie Goldberg's perspective, "This is what it is to be a writer: to be the carrier of details that make up history... our task is to say a holy yes to the real things of our life as they exist-- the real truth of who we are... Writing is a deeply political act, because you are not just staying in the heat of your own emotions....

Good morning, Beautiful One. No, not good morning. Fantastic morning! Exuberant morning! Holy, anointed, awe-inspiring morning! You are here again. Faithful as ever. Steady as nothing else. Steadier THAN anything else. I love your steadiness. You come every 24 hours. Regardless of what's transpired in the past. You come. You show up full. Giving your whole self to the world. And you warm us all. All 7.8 billion of us-- all trillion of the other living things. I'm sure it's more than a trillion. Maybe a trillion trillion living things. All full of life because of YOU. Now THAT is something to hold space for. Holy Ground that's a tad bit bigger than me. Sometimes I think about how long you've been carrying this mantle. How you rose for Adolf Hitler and you rose for Viktor Frankl. At. the. very. same. time. How you rose for Caesar Augustus and your rose for Jesus. How you rose for my grandmother. And her grandmother. And hers. For some reason this...

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.