Archive for the ‘process’ Category

One Story

Saturday, September 12th, 2009

Last night I wandered in Target for a bit after dropping the boys off at their dad’s. They love spending time with him so it’s a nice relaxer at the end of the week. I meandered down the book aisle where I would normally salivate at all the possible adventures hidden behind each jacket. Something was missing. There was no lack of beautiful fonts, intriging titles and captivating images but there was no appeal. More than a promise of escape the books seemed to be in competition with my own life.

As not every thought can be plastered on a blog, I’ve written some of my journey and emailed it to a friend. She knows me well and has a knack for hearing my heart. “You need to keep writing”, she encouraged yesterday. I think as artists, we often get stuck in our minds if we don’t put the brush to the canvas or the melody in the air or the fingers to the keyboard.

So, last night as tiredness cloaked my brain, I feared that reading even one sentence of another person’s life (real or ficticious) would crowd out the words of my own story. It is an odd thing how writing can tell me who I am and where I’ve been. But it does. It pieces together the fragments, frayed ends and all. And oddly, as I stood there in the aisle, too tired to smile, too frayed to care, when normally I’d want an escape I was so completely satisfied and excited to be in a moment where the story of my life and all of it’s glory and mess and Love and heartache and redemption was the only one I wanted to read.

Not surprisingly, by the time I left the store this song was dancing around in my head and I smiled at how perfectly art imitates life and vise versa. Click the picture and enjoy the reminder that yours too is a journey just as vivid as those books on the shelf. 🙂



Pretty, it ain’t

Monday, August 10th, 2009

For the last 2 weeks, I’ve been sharing my 2 bedroom apartment with my soon to be ex-husband. His apartment will be ready in a week. I share the living room with what seems like 2 tons of boxes delivered 2 days ago. I share my bathroom with 2 cats. I share my futon with my laptop and the occasional snack. And I’m trying very hard to share the best of me with my 2 boys.

All the while, I find myself wanting to document this great, quiet, confident change, this coming of age [though middle it may be] with grace and dignity. I want to tell a tale of great balance and character as I move forward ….but you know, it is real life. It is my life and it is loud and clangy and when it IS quiet, well, it’s the clamy handed, nervous eye twitching kind of quiet. I’m constantly trying to remind myself to “cling not to the things you normally seek for security”. So, instead of buying pretty, shiney things, I just wander and wander for hours upon hours down the aisles of Target telling myself, “nope. no. unuh. don’t need it.” Instead of splurging on Starbucks, I get an empty cup from Panera for less than 2 bucks and fill it with sugars, skim milk and dark roast and act like it tastes just as good. I sip this going down the lanes of Target.

As I wait for said roomate and his belongings to move out, my sons’ schools to start, my school to start, my new church to be found, my weight to be lost, my hair to grow out,  my new “life” to begin, I find that I’m tempted to pick up old bondage and shake it like a package under the Christmas tree. Funny how waiting can make standards drop and dreams fade. 

You know, all of my life I’ve struggled with that desire for change to be “pretty”. It is what is and pretty it ain’t but maybe that’s where grace shines through…knowing it’s strong enough for my knee-knocking growth. Hoping. 🙂

song o hoping
click the worrier for song o hopin’


Tuesday, October 14th, 2008

If I could look the fearful in the eye, I would tell them to be brave. Not because they feel brave but because they want something better. There’s a deception in fear. It tells us to pull back and hide in the shadows of guilt cast down from our walls of lies. We think if we can just stay there that somehow we’ll be safe. Maybe temporarily. Maybe.

I think of a quote I heard forever ago, “He is no fool who gives up what he cannot keep to gain what he cannot lose.” [Jim Elliot] Maybe sometimes the thing we think promises us safety is the very thing that’ll tear us down in the end. What if coming clean meant somehow we really could start over, really could have a new beginning, a second chance? What if admitting we’re broken meant we could become whole? I know how that sounds but seriously ~ What if finally asking for help is the one thing you’ll end up being so proud of?

What if all it takes ( to get from here/misery to there/a better place) is not knowing what to do but just saying, “I have no idea how to fix this but I’m here and I’ll do what it takes.”   I believe that all of us, deep inside, have what it takes to do the things we fear. That will look different for each of us and it may mean one thing today and another tomorrow – but we don’t have to worry about tomorrow. What’s the scarey thing you need to do today?  Somewhere, in this world or beyond there is enough grace out there – for all of our mistakes, all of our lies. Come clean – we’re all weak. We’ve all screwed up. Some of us more than others. Hiding behind it doesn’t lessen the guilt or the consequences. It only makes it more difficult, more isolating.

No doubt – it will get more difficult for a while. There’ll be moments of it feeling like “all hell’s broke loose”. But what is more like your idea of hell ~ being in constant fear, wondering when your world is going to come crashing down, wondering how it’s going to happen? Or seeing it crashing down but knowing help is on its way?                  ….You can do this.

…all of us, deep inside, have what it takes to do the things we fear.