Sammy #ftw

As I'm doing my favorite thing, writing, this guy comes in to have a moment. I may or may not have held him captive for a photo op. Just like everyone else in this family, he does not like having his picture made. He's a newer member and so loved by us. We're cat peeps. Who knew?!

I Am...The Autumn Days

The last week of the summer is upon us. Can you feel the change coming? I can always feel it. Every season has a distinct moment when the old blends into the new, yet often we don't even notice that we have gracefully passed, like a partner in dance, from one to another. This is my favored transition, the gradual blend of the longest, warmest days to the crisp shorter ones, where one is able to nestle in a cocoon of cotton that soothes the soul from the inside out. Soul soothing defines these days.

There is a song I heard in childhood that correlates lifespan to seasons. In the seasons of my life, I can relate to the gentle fading from summer to autumn. It might be a long season, may it be so, but the change is coming. I'm so grateful for I never feel more alive than I do in autumn. I can be the autumn days. No problem. It's the joy of being comfortable with you. It's the peace that comes from established relationships. It's the love that you can give and receive encircling your heart.

A snippet of the lyrics....

"I am the Autumn days, when changes come so many ways. Looking back I stand amazed that time has gone so quickly. When love is more than feelings, it's fixing bikes and painting ceilings. When you feel a cold when coming, I am the Autumn days."

I'm looking forward to the week ahead. I'll regroup with my tribe. I'll see my beloved babies who are ever growing toward the summer phase. Many hugs will be distributed because in case you were not heretofore aware, a hug communicates a volume of information in silence. It communicates what cannot be voiced. It covers the hurting parts and strengthens the well parts. Hugs. Thumbs up. I digress.

As the week passes, and the calendar fills in, and we each neglect to notice that one, just one, moment when summer ends and autumn begins, I'll be thinking of what is ahead. How can I fade into, and write, the autumn chapter well?

The answer summed up. Stand amazed that time passes so quickly. Therefore. Love is more than feelings.

Love: A Language

This might be what you look like when you are looking for inspiration. Or a friend.

Have you heard the theory that there are a few basic ways people give and receive love?

1) Physical Touch
2) Quality Time
3) Acts of Service
4) Gifts
5) Words of Affirmation

It is said that often we speak the language in which we would receive love. Which is amazing. Except the person we would like to shower with love might not understand or receive our gesture as love.

"Thanks so much for that blender, Lovie, but all I really wanted was for you to wash the dishes we already have..."


I think about it in relation to my spouse, my kids, my friends. I think about it in terms of myself. I do not think anyone in this house has the same primary love language which could add up to a mess of problems if we want to be well adjusted peeps. You should take a quick minute to think about these. Figure out which area makes you feel most appreciated or loved. Figure it out for the people around you. Start speaking love in ways they understand; it might make a big difference in your relationships!

Side note: You. Errrrr. May or may not find that you are an exclusively special person with all the needs and would fit into all the categories in all the hours of a day. And if you are this person, bless all the peeps who love you. Just bless. May God keep them in perfect peace. And give them long life. And energy.

Time

It's a gorgeous day in New York. It's a good day to be sitting, comfortably, in my kitchen, drinking a cup of coffee and looking at the trees. I'm also looking at my drying and yellowing tomato and pepper plants, thinking, "This season is just about over."

I had a goal this year. A goal to live intentionally. To live with thought and purpose, specifically regarding my family and friends. I considered, in January, the passing of time. How does it go so quickly? And when you are gone, does anyone even know you were here? In light of this, what matters most?

Living with purpose.

Such a noble goal.

Despite my best laid plans, I faltered. I did do some good things. I made good effort. But in review, I fell short. I let the chaos in. I let in life stresses. I let it disrupt my family. I did not even come close to maintaining an appropriate life balance, because while I was stripping myself down to the bone to deliver for everyone, I was unable to be fully engaged in any one task for either side. I'm still feeling the effects of that poor choice. Internally I feel like my tomato plants look. Spent. And I am ashamed. If I were to meet Jesus tonight, in my dirty bare feet, and not my Christmas shoes, I wouldn't be very proud of the last weeks of my life.

Live intentionally.

With thought and purpose.

I'm thinking about my long-term goals. Where I might see myself in 5 years. What I might be doing. But, mostly, I'm thinking about these next several weeks. I'm going to the movies, and dinner, with my husband. I will tell him his support and hard work do not go unnoticed. I'm going to smother him in hugs as is the right of every wife. Soon, I'm going to smother my kids in kisses and hugs. I will watch as they head off to the 5th and 3rd grades. I will embrace the practicing of the Saxophone in my house. I will sit in the rain at soccer. I will play all the games of Uno. I will meet that acquaintance for coffee. Or a movie. Friendship is a gift.

This is the here and now, and I can do nothing greater than fully invest in the lives of those around me.

Live intentionally. With thought and purpose. Friends. The time passes so quickly.

Dear Ang

In honor of my big brother turning 40 today, it would seem there is time and purpose to reminisce. And I think I would pen a letter to myself...

Dear Ang,

I can tell you that you are currently in a place you would never expect to live. It's not space, but sometimes it feels as foreign to you as that might be. You struggle to breathe here, but in due time, you are thriving.

What are the things I would tell you...

Henry the Second will be your most favorite car. Enjoy all the moments, road trips, and window smashings you will encounter. (Because apparently everyone else knows Henry rocks, too.)

When you become a mother, do ONLY what YOU want, and can, do. Do not listen, nor often seek, the advice of others. At least not until your kids hit the elementary years. Before that it's anybody's guess and your guess is just as good as the next guy, if not better. ☺

Higher education is a great avenue for success and an admirable achievement. It will, however, never define the person you are. Remember that when you compare yourself to others. For the next 20 years. You are going to be SUPER proud of that associates degree. 👍

Your life will not be anything like you imagined, and it will shape you to be strong and independent. Relish every difficult moment. You will not believe this for years to come, but, emotional or not, you are fierce. Truly. And sassy.

Most importantly, Ang, know that forgiveness will be one of your toughest lifelong battles. You know it today, and twenty years from now, it is not any better. Because everything is personal, it is hard to suture the wounds. Some people absolutely mean to harm you. And they will. But some people will hurt you as a byproduct. Do not be stubborn. Do NOT be stubborn. Be humble. Give grace. Be merciful. You will never be like Jesus with that strong will of yours... He knew how to be a rebel appropriately. You do not. 😂 Be moldable. Be gentle. FORGIVE. Let go. Today. And everyday.

You are in for a treat - you have two amazing children, a devoted husband, and friends from here-to-there who love your whole heart, despite your many flaws. You have been given beauty for ashes.

Love,
Ang

October Memories

Today I'm going to write about one of my chapters, one of the difficult ones. In retrospect there would be much that I would do differently, but, of course we are not blessed with the gift of hindsight in the present tense.

It was a beautiful October day. Can I tell you that October is my favorite month of the year? I actually might be satisfied if every day would begin crisply and slowly fade to balmy sunshine. Perhaps heaven will forever be colored and temperate as a desirable October day. On this particular morning, I was in the early stages of labor with my second son. My water broke 24 hours earlier and since contractions never started, pitocin was administered. I can assure you that if you never encountered pitocin, you are likely better off.

Ryan and I had been in Utah for a year and personal connections were difficult to come by. Noah was a day away from turning 2 and Ryan was at home keeping watch and attempting to find a suitable sitter. Labor, just like pregnancy, was not at all similar the second time as the first. My doctor was on vacation so a doctor I never met showed up around 0830 to say "hello" before proceeding to the office. I remember thinking, "Seriously, how on earth do you expect me to carry on a normal conversation when I can barely breathe right now?" He asked why I was alone and I explained Ryan would be coming soon, and he assured me they would call him when it was time and he'd be on his way. Dude. Whatever. Be gone because I can't even right now...

Labor progressed so.much.more.quickly this time. I see absolutely no reason to be a hero and had requested medical intervention, but, alas, anesthesiologists are in high demand. A nurse arrived to inquire on my status. Finding me shaking, teeth chattering, and shivering from head to toe, she asked if I was cold to which I responded, "no." She told the student nurse this was a sign I was transitioning, then asked why I was alone and if there was anyone she could call, to which I again responded, "no." She assured me I was doing fine,the medical Savior would be on his way, and promptly left the room. I wanted my mother, and my husband, so desperately in that moment. It wouldn't be the last time that day either.

Ryan arrived in time for the saving medical procedure. I cannot fully explain the instaneous relief it was to go from intense, painful, full body convulsions, to...peace. Maybe this is why people do drugs. Seriously. Ohmaword. Amazing. Fifteen minutes later the nurse was shocked to report I was ready to roll... I was discouraged because sleep sounded so much better, but then it was announced that the doctor was still at his office which bought me 45 minutes of peace. The only peace I would have for the rest of the day.

Aaron Michael made his entrance so quickly. A bolt of energy which is characteristic to this day. It didn't take long to see they were not pleased with my son. They allowed me a quick glance, and began to assess his vitals. "He is fine, but just having a little trouble breathing so we will send him down to the nursery" was the response I received moments later. Ryan was clearly conflicted as to where his allegiance should be. I absolutely did not want Aaron to be alone and told him he must go with them. The medical staff did all the necessary things and left the room. I laid there, alone, feeling my body return to normal. I wanted someone. I wanted my child. I wanted my mother. I wanted my husband. It felt so empty to give birth and be left in the same space, viewing the aftermath... With nothing.

The nurses returned, helped me to get up, and took me to the maternity ward. I passed the nursery on the way but I could see nothing. They helped me into bed, much like a brokenhearted child, and made their exit. Still I waited. Alone. Looking out the window at the gorgeous multi colored tree. I made all the calls, which felt hollow, it felt surreal to announce a birth that was possibly questionable. I kept telling everyone the baby would be fine. Right? Just a little trouble breathing. Right? Breathing is not essential to life. Just a minor detail. It would be two, very long, very lonely, hours before Ryan returned with the news that it didn't look good and they were admitting our son.

In the coming hours we would learn that Aaron had pneumonia. They were treating him with antibiotics. I did not lay eyes on my new son for twenty-four hours. Twenty-four. Hours. It would be seventy two before I could hold him. Can you imagine a mother's heart at this point? A mother wants to look at her child. A mother wants to hold her child. To be denied the right to do so is to deny breath. Aaron spent two, physically and emotionally draining, expensive, weeks in the NICU. Many nights I wanted to pull out all the cords, and carry my child home like every mother is supposed to do. Many, many gut wrenching, tearful nights. The NICU is an emotional journey. It never goes straight from sick to well. More like, "sick" to "better" to "more sick" to "amazing" to "terrible" to "sick." I had to commit my son to the One who loves him more than I do. I had to trust He would hold him when I could not. No. Easy. Task. My mommy heart still feels the pings of all those lonely, uncertain hours. I hate that the birth of my child is forever shrouded in those painful memories. It should have been joyful. With lots of people to celebrate. It should have been filled with love and support and balloons.

Today I would have done things a little differently. I would have made more demands. I would not have been as passive. But the truth is, I see how this event greatly helped to shape my independence. Something I would need in the coming years. Something I am still proud to have. My baby son is none the worse for wear despite the less than ideal circumstances surrounding his arrival. In fact, he might be stronger because of it. Because nobody puts baby in a corner. Nobody.

I Think I've Made A Mistake

Mistakes. We all make them. We hurt the people that we love. We hurt ourselves. Life is full of moments of mess. Of navigating the unpleasant waters. I currently find myself in such a place.

I recently was presented with a situation, an opportunity, as I saw it,to be a resolution. I am definitely a female, sharing very,very few characteristics with the male gender, except this one, I like solving problems. I want to fix all the situations. I am an observer, and as previously stated, an excellent reader of people. I read emotions, faces, motives, and put together the puzzle behind the puzzle. I'm fascinated with the "why" of action and how that contributes to the whole. I'm fascinated with people. Plain and simple. Pair this fascination with pride, and problem solving, and you could take on the world.

In my quest for world domination, I think I might have been too proud to see one truth, as it relates to this situation. I am not always the one. The "if you could just see what the work of my hands will produce and then you will know I am right for the job" person... I have long, long, long been an over extender, saying "yes" to all the committees and projects, because surely everyone can benefit from all my wealth of expertise. I know, right? It is difficult to strip away the layers and find the truth. It is difficult, always, to admit fault. Specifically when you desire perfection. But in this place, we are being real. We are being transparent. So, friends, I see, so clearly, today, that I am not the resolution. It hurts. It hurts my pride, but mostly it hurts my heart.

What do you do? When you find yourself in the unpleasant situation of...I've made a mistake... The more difficult task is here. The road is hardest when your heart hurts, your pride stings, and you must admit that you were wrong. We celebrate warriors for hard won victories. We champion those who never give up. We repeat these mantras to ourselves as we #die to win at life. But in the quiet spaces, we can see the character that is established when warriors can be humble. Surrender requires more strength than brawn. Than self righteous pride. It is so.much.harder to give voice to the statement...I am not the one. The glory belongs to another. I did not, or can not, do the right things.

Life is full of moments of mess, yes, but these are the quiet spaces, the spaces where we are strong.

Humility is hard won, but rarely sought. What a shame.

Leaving On A Jet Plane

It's the last day of vacation. I'm doing laundry, which is definitely indicative of a return to reality. I've taken off that ragged baggage tag in preparation for a new one. It's always been interesting to me how airports are bittersweet. One direction is exciting and one way, not so much. The same is true of baggage tags. I was so glad to see that last baggage tag go on and now I rather dread seeing the next one applied. It means a small,but precious period of time has come to a close.

One thing I have learned over the last few days is that time is a great big plow. In its wake it leaves many things upturned and the sun, rain, and seasons bake, grow and shape our lives. It has been somewhat painful to see. It reminds me that we can never return to the former things. And if we are honest, that is usually a good thing. The best part, though, in observing what time has wrought is what remains. After seasons of grief, joy, loneliness, happiness, helplessness, pain... Love. Love is what remains. I love, and am loved, just as much now, as then. I see that I will always have these friends. Time change. Distance. Life. These keep us from constant interaction. But when we make the effort to reconnect, the bonds remain. It's amazing to see.

I'm dreading the goodbyes that come today and tomorrow. I brought my sunglasses and scarf just for this purpose.

FYI - when you are on a plane, and your heart is full of grief, your sunglasses and scarf will bring you comfort. You will care not about the people around you. Your eyes and nose will rain tears and snot. You will be a big, unattractive mess, but these things will ease this dark passage. I recommend them for every journey you take that will end in heartache.

Friends, as I sit here in these few quiet moments, looking at the phenomenal mountains my God made, and consider the hours ahead... My heart aches. Just. aches. I don't know when next I will see these dear-to-me faces. What I do know is this. You should give your heart away. In huge chunks. Reach out. Today. Invite people into your home. Invite people into your life. Give love. Give lots of love. You will never be sorry. The cost is great. For sure. No matter how the story ends, though, the journey through is precious, and paved with very good things. And, more often than not I believe, you will find yourself a treasure - friendship. Guard it well. Water it. And the joy and pain will follow you all the days of your life.

Worth it. Worth every minute.

I Know Exactly Who I Am

I'm taking a big trip soon. I'm revisiting an old season and it has me very excited, yet extremely pensive. And not one bit nervous. This old season began just exactly ten years ago, give 10 days. Oh, to look back that far, friends, it makes me cringe. In big, big ways. The Angela of today is not the Angela of then. Thank goodness! (God bless you, Ryan.)

Aging requires a great deal of grace. It isn't easy to find yourself going through physical, perhaps some mental, changes. No one particularly desires to lose the ability to read a book without visual aid. I haven't progressed to the point where I have encountered many negative physical changes, except for this cursed "tennis elbow" that might cause me to drop a precious plate of fried chicken. (Say it isn't so!) What I absolutely love most about the aging process is the myriad experiences that sharpen wit, increase courage, leverage focus, and develop self.

This is exactly what the 30s decade looks like. Finding self. It's not an easy process to look at all the facets of your life - your body, your personality, your past, your present, your feelings, your family, your abilities, your faults - and acknowledge. Acknowledge the good things. Acknowledge the bad things. Name the things you like. Face the things you do not like. Honestly, I do not think you can begin this process any earlier, because, experience is the catalyst for maturation. Maturation is the key for accepting self.

To quote a 90's-ish country song...(because three quarters of my heart will always belong to Reba, George, Colin, Jo Dee, Tim, Martina, Kenny, Deanna......)

I know exactly who I am.

More importantly, I really like, and accept, who I am, which is the harder distinction of the two. Angela from ten years ago...errr...not so much.

I can tell you that very recently at 36.5 years of age, I have declared that I only like my eggs boiled or over hard. Not scrambled. Not runny. Gooey eggs make me gag. There. I said it.

I will never ever be the person who drinks the spinach shakes and climbs mountains. I have not the slightest interest in pursuing either of those available options, yet I have never in my life experienced more confidence in the person that I am, in appearance, more than I do today. I will do my best to periodically lay off the chips and salsa...but Chili's for realz with the rewards and bottomless spicy goodness.... For the love.

Reading has been my gateway for life and I hope it always will be.

Expressing myself through writing is an amazing outlet for such an emotionally driven person - I feel certain I should have been doing this much sooner. I love it. Words flow so easily and naturally for me, unlike many other pursuits.

I am very cognizant of my abilities and my faults, which, incidentally, I think everyone should be; but, because I am a perfectionist,  I choose to see my faults so much more vividly.

I hate for people to see me cry. Just. Hate. It. I prefer to do all my bawling in private, so if you ever see me crying, please don't ask, please don't hug, please don't chase me down, act like you see nothing and move on. I will not be able to get a grip until you stop saying all the words of care and concern. Yesterday, when I had given up the ghost, and cried every 8 minutes in front of all the peoole of all the worlds, I sat in the restaraunt across from Ryan and let the tears fall, unchecked, which I never do unless I'm completely alone, and Ryan said this to me, "You pick up on all the emotions and words from the people around you, and you take that on yourself, you take everything that comes your way so personally. And that makes you a good person. You are a good person." I'm not sure about the last statements, but, yes. Just yes. I read people very well. This is a total final summation of me. Emotions. Words.

When I go on this trip, and revisit this old season, I will be a very different person than the person who left. And that is a good thing. I'm not nervous because the people to whom I return love me deeply. Bless them. Bless them for seeing something in me that I didn't. Because when I look back at me, I cringe. But when they look back at me, they see love.

I can't wait.