Emmanuel

Good morning, dear ones.

It's early on Christmas morning.  The house is quiet (and chilly!).  I'd like to make a toasty fire but it's a loud process.  I love my tree this year; some years are better than others and it's just a special kind of beautiful this time.  I'm usually the only partaker in the trimming; I guess it's not an activity for boys.  I guess this might be one reason mother's appreciate daughters - sharing the joys of holidays.  Men are not so sentimental and emotional.

I almost always struggle at Christmas.  I struggle with my idea of what it should look like versus what it does look like.  In my mind it should involve big families, tasty finger foods, funeral potatoes, cookies for days, fudge, strawberry pretzel salad, Christmas punch, maybe wassail, games for hours, hugs, gifts, and the general feeling of love and acceptance.

Christmas in my house doesn't look much like my description of perfection.  I've done a terrible job of raising my children - they aren't very interested in board games. They also don't like funeral potatoes too much.  Four people can't eat strawberry pretzel salad so I often opt out.  We don't have cookies for days, in fact, I think there might be just 13 sugar cookies left right now.  Christmas is four people, not sixteen,  we will have some gifts, and in 5 hours I'll be sitting in a movie theater watching Star Wars with 3 of my favorite people who are anxiously awaiting that unveiling. (More on what might have been a better option later.)

I have made huge strides, though, in "growing up." This entails minimizing expectation, stepping away from living in Christmas past, and embracing what is.

We often say "Christmas isn't about the gifts." But it absolutely is about the gifts.  If Christmas were not about the gifts we wouldn't be staying up until midnight on Christmas Eve wrapping and piling an explosion in our living rooms.  We wouldn't be worrying about that Prime order that didn't make it by December 25th.  We wouldn't stress over equal gifts per child divided by the cost and multiplied by the common denominator of Santa.

As devout Christians as we were, we rarely went to church on Christmas Eve when I was a child. It was all about family and fun for the Eve in my mind.  We always read the Christmas story and did Advent before opening our gifts on Christmas day, of course.  You know what I have loved since moving to NY? We always go to Christmas Eve service. I'm usually running straight from work to church and it is always worth it.  My church nails it every year.  They put so much love and effort into everything because they know how many non church attenders will attend simply because "it's the thing to do at Christmas."

Last night, for maybe the first time, I realized how precious it was to be with Jesus on Christmas Eve.  I wasn't thinking about gifts.  I wasn't thinking about the missing cookies, potatoes, and Scrabble.  I held a lighted candle in a dark church, knowing deep within my soul that Emmanuel was here.  Jesus was enjoying spending Christmas with me. The peace and joy I felt was priceless. You can't buy that, dear ones, no store carries peace.

I make Christmas so difficult.  I often focus on what is not rather than what is.  I focus on how it looks different or less or lonely-ish.

Emmanuel is here.  It doesn't matter what the celebration looks like.  It doesn't matter what explosion or non explosion in the living room looks like.  It doesn't matter that Scrabble will stay in the box.  It doesn't matter that there are no cookies.  It doesn't matter that because you live in a house full of males that you are going to see Star Wars instead of Little Women.  You can take one for the team.

Emmanuel: God with us forever.

We say "Jesus is all we need" but do we mean it?  I think we often don't mean it. We want things, perfect holidays, not to be lonely, wealth, health, and happiness. When we don't get them, we are disgruntled.  We say, "It's not about the gifts" as we continuously exemplify to our children and families by living room explosions that gifts ARE what matters.

Emmanuel.  It doesn't change.  God chose to be with us.  I'm finally starting to feel Christmas for what it is.

Treasured

I sometimes can't imagine a different life than the one I've had.  I think most people looking from the outside in would peg it as a bit peculiar because it certainly was unorthodox.  It doesn't look anything like the lives described to me by the people I've met.  It looks quiet, ordinary and unspectacular.  I'm not certain how it's possible I am nearing forty when I was reared without television, movies, jeans and jewelry.  Yet, here I am nearing forty, living with little concept of ET and a warehouse of stories, aches, memories, and griefs.

Already I see the many mistakes I've made in the rearview mirror; they multiply more than I care to admit, but I also see grace that shines through the days and minutes of a past I often want to forget. When it's painful or sad or when I think of the stupid things I have said or done, I close my eyes, shake my head, and try to think of something else.  I have a lot of these moments because I'm far less than perfect and I have a very good memory.

It is a treasured thing to be witness to a life that is waning.  I know I have often spoken of death and what it is to taste it in small doses; I have not experienced it much.  It is so impactful to watch the pieces moving, the roles that people play, and to feel the memories with all your senses.  It is both bitter and sweet and having a window into the process prepares me for the future.

It takes grace to be aged, it is for the strong, not the weak, of heart.  It looks lonely.  It looks frightening. It looks overwhelming. Understanding first hand what you wondered it would be like your whole life is, well, anti- climatic. It isn't at all what you had hoped and you more than likely wish you could turn the ticking clock back even just five years please.

I made fudge with my eighty three year old grandfather yesterday.  Fudge is his specialty and really is a far cry from special when my hand is involved in the process.  It turned out well, despite a few snafus, and when I looked at his face at the end, tears came to my eyes.  Remember this, Angela.  Remember this moment of victory in a life that ever draws near to an end. It's not over, but it's getting difficult, and once joyful tasks cause anxiety and stress.  This should be easy, but it is hard, and yet, he is happy to be doing this with you.  Remember the feel of his hand in yours; it is not the confident hand of a younger man but of an old and uncertain one, one that once held your entire body in his hand.

Stories have been told.  Memories have been shared. Twice he asked if I wrote a book yet and twice, with great emotion, he said I really needed to do it.   Tears have come.   I look at this man and he is crying because he loves me.  I am crying because I love him.  And I look back on my life.  I look back on my mistakes.  I look back on painful events. I look back on a little girl with blonde pigtails, blue eyes, and a book as a forever companion, and I know she is far from perfect today, but everything she now is, she owes to God and the legacy of family.  To be loved is no small thing.

Who needs ET?

A Highlight of My Life: Part 2

I have been waiting for the right time to share more of my travels with you. Something about writing, you have to be in the right frame of mind to do it right and well and I've been rather out of sorts the last few weeks.

My least favorite part of flying is landing.  Next to landing is taxiing. Upon arrival to Amsterdam, I was not feeling well.  Actually most of the flight I was not feeling well.  I'll assume it was the sweaty, stressful marathon in Washington.  We taxied for 20+-are-you-kidding-me minutes to the gate.  Even upon approach they mentioned how far away we would be from the airport and how long it would take for us to get there.  I needed to get off the plane.  I needed fresh air.

Customs was a breeze and I was hoping to find Ryan by the Burger King as he said he would be.  I didn't have much cell battery or international service so winging it, I was.  He was there.  With flowers. (and a Coke Light which is NOT a Diet Coke)  I am such a girl. And my husband knows it.  I carted those flowers from hotel to hotel and I even brought one purple bloom home with me.  It now resides in my Bible where all the precious items are kept.  

I stayed up all the first day watching TV in Dutch and occasionally finding a show in English; nope, not Castle, of course, but Truckers take Manhatten in case you were wondering. Fascinating.  Riveting stuff.  Truly.  I might have snoozed a minute or two.  Don't tell Ryan.  One thing I learned quite quickly from the first day in the first hotel, is that 1) there is little privacy in Europe and 2) the elevators are SO tiny.  I mean two suitcases, two book bags, one giant and one dwarf and that is ALL you will fit, but alas, no, three more friends want to join you and join you they will.  (smh….huh uh...I ain't doin it.  Can I decline you entering?  Is it rude to mash the "close door" button like it's my job?)   As for the privacy, two hotels where we stayed had glass bathrooms.  GLASS bathrooms. Everything is clear.  Literally.  Could I have like 3.6 minutes alone? Or is that too much to ask?  There is nowhere to hide, y'all, nowheres.  

We enjoyed such warm and wonderful hospitality by our former boss in the comfort of her home.  A simple and lovely meal was served; something I would like to try to emulate.  The Dutch have mastered the art of entertaining in simplicity.  Soup, bread, spirits, coffee and conversation.  The hours passed so quickly and I do mean hours....we might have overstayed our welcome, but the conversation flowed so easily and it was so peaceful.  I got props from her children when they heard I tried a frinkendel (it's like fried sausage) and fries with mayonnaise. That's right, fried dipped in mayonnaise. A Dutch treat.  I got to see the ASML home campus and we escaped The Netherlands without killing any bikers which is no small task.  They be zipping around like they own the planet.  So.many.bikers.  Doesn't anyone take a car anymore?!

Berlin was SO enjoyable. It truly was a highlight of my trip even though it was a big, smelly city.  History beckons around every corner and I was enthralled with all of it.  We toured an underground bunker which incidentally is just off the subway line.  You could hear the trains underneath you and it absolutely sounded like airplanes above you.  You could easily put yourself in the place of those here before.  It must have been so scary. Cool artifacts were in cases - Nazi uniform pins, helmets, artwork from the Nazi perspective, games.  Our tour guide was phenomenal - definitely go if you have the chance.  It must be said that I had the most amazing hamburger in Berlin!  Maybe the best one I have ever eaten.  I'm okay with eating "American" in Germany because Burgermeister was worth it.  Right here, right now, I'm going to drop a truth bomb.  The traffic is ridiculous.  Not like a little ridiculous, whew it was rough, but like what-in-the-heck-are-these-friends-doing ridiculous. I knew I was going to be in good hands when my husband got me through Berlin safely.  

We stayed the least amount of time in the Czech Republic.  And here is where we almost met Jesus face-to-face.  From the front desk of the hotel we received information on getting to the old town and we were able to purchase tickets for the public transit as well.  They called a driver to take us to the tram station which was about a ten minute drive.  He rounded the corner and abruptly stopped and dumped us off on the side of the road.  (I don't think he "had much English" and I have zero Czech.) We found the tram station and off we went on our journey.  Prague: Old Town is more than you hope or imagine it will be.  Architecture, culture, sounds, flavors...you know this is the place for dreams and writing.  The statues on St. Charles bridge whisper and beckon you toward shadow, toward quiet, the soft lights shine on the water and the street musicians transport your soul to another time.  When we left old town behind us we missed our tram stop.  No matter how hard you try, public transport in a different language is tricky.  We didn't have to wait long for the next tram and soon we found ourselves on the same familiar side of the road waiting for our young driving friend.  He did not, however, make the same return trip to the hotel; instead, he made a left turn when we expected he would take a right turn and we headed down a bumpy road.  As we passed by the "end of the line" bus stop, I thought we must be picking up other guests who had chosen to take the bus to old town.  Nope.  We headed straight off the road into the bushes.  The driver seemed to have little care for the vehicle as we hit every single hole known to man.  I looked through the windshield and I saw only trees whipping the glass.  I started giggling uncontrollably because I knew we were about to die in the Czech Republic.  No one really knew our itinerary, no one knew which hotel we were at.  No one would call to check up on us for a week.  Good gracious how did we even know this guy worked for the hotel?  How did we put our trust in complete strangers to care for us and get us to where we needed to be?  I twisted the ring on my finger and considered he might take that...   It might be worth some Czech crowns.  We headed up the mountain, rapidly, ruts and holes, zero suspension and then whipped around a corner....to our hotel.  We threw some tip money at him and bolted.  I giggled the whole way to our room.  And breathed a sigh of relief. 

I begin to consider anew what "winging it" looks like.  It looks like death on the outskirts of Prague with your best friend.   I know for the tenth time in four days that this adventure is completely random. It is intimidating.  And each moment is indelibly imprinted.  

A Highlight of My Life: Part 1

Friends, it has been a busy season.  October and June have got to be the worst months of the year for hectic chaos.  While I am not a fan of the old "turn the clocks back," I almost welcome the dark, quiet reprieve of November.   It means you are allowed to rest, in your sweatpants, with a cup of coffee on a Tuesday night at 1830.  No one is going to judge you because, guess what, they are doing the same thing.

People have asked me repeatedly to write about my experiences these last few weeks. I haven't had quite the right amount of time, but now I might be able to take a deep breath, and write.

If we're good friends then you will know I have just celebrated my fifteenth wedding anniversary. All you need to know is that this means I was married at the ripe age of 10 for I am far too young to have all that sage wisdom and experience.  Not quite true, but the time indeed has gone so quickly.  The person I was then, thank goodness, I am not today.  The person I am today, thank goodness, my husband still loves.  He is perfect for me in every way except height and something really has to give about that.  It was quite difficult to scurry after him like a church mouse as he traipsed around Europe.  God has shown great mercy and favor over my marriage and I am grateful for that gift.  So much living in these years, may there be more to come.

I have been trying to join Ryan on his business trips to Europe for years.  All the wives have been and I had yet to darken the door of a plane and get there.  It was decided, when Ryan received a voucher for travel after a flight delay, that this would be the year I could go.  I was set to join him six days into his trip. On the day of travel, we experienced torrential rains in upstate.  It rained and rained buckets but it did not occur to me that I would experience travel delay until I got to the airport, and in fact, experienced travel delay.  Nothing could dampen my spirits as I heartily ordered from the Chick Fil A menu and plopped down to enjoy southern hospitality for the first time in months.  It looked like I was going to be re-routed through Frankfurt, adding an additional layover to my itinerary.  I wasn't overly pleased, because it was going to be a long flight time and I'm a lonely solo flyer, but still I persisted in feeling joy when all around me angry people roasted the customer service agents.  I met a mouse friend at Gate A3, who I promptly named Gus-Gus because I was headed to see a fairy tale castle.  It felt like kismet.  

Upon landing at Dulles, my almost dead phone prompts me that my flight will be leaving in approximately 45 minutes.  Relief washed over me with the knowledge that the arriving plane I was to depart my international leg on was also delayed into Dulles. I might avoid the Frankfurt reroute and make my original timeline.  But we taxied.  And taxied.  My stress level is rising because I've never been to Dulles, and although Ryan gave me the rundown it just wasn't going to be easy with limited time.  I deplaned at ground level and walked into the forsaken, back alley bowels of the airport in terminal A.  Hello?  Buehler? Buehler?  Is this an airport or what?!  It's so quiet.  There is no McDonalds.  I run through what appears to be several switchbacks.  Up and back, up and back, through hallways. Forever.   Following the signs for....that's right....terminal D.  For the love.  

Got my video game running guy mojo going on....and I head down, down, down to the train that will take me to terminals C and D.  I hop on the right train and check my phone, the battery percentage is in the teens but my time until departure is not too bad.  The train stops and most of the passengers get off and I stay on.  This is most likely not a good sign but I'm committed.....to heading straight back to where I started.  Apparently, I was supposed to get out at C and then walk to D from there.  No problem, I'm cc1ool as cucumber as I nonchalantly hop off this train and walk back to my starting point to try again.  Peeps got no idea that I'm riding circles around the airport, because if they do that means they too are as lost as I.  I enjoy that 90 second train ride as I prepare to sprint for the next 15 minutes.  And, sprint I do, from C1 to D26.  It's like the movies. I run up all the stairs, avoiding the escalators, and just keep running.  I'm basically dying.  Literally. To get to Europe.  I cannot wait here for four hours, take an 8 hour flight to Frankfurt, wait there for four hours and take a flight to Amsterdam.  My life suddenly, as I see it, is over if I do not make this flight.  People stare. All the people turn and stare as I run.  I'm struck at the oddness because if people are running anywhere, it's definitely in an airport.  This is not unusual. I'm going with it being my video game running guy stride that is likely no on YouTube somewhere...   As I am about to physically pass from this life at D23, three gates from my destination, I turn my head to the right and see 5 doors that appear to be entrances from security or something.  Here, I realize, is where that blessed people mover car object thing that only lives at Dulles, lands. 

It's sole purpose is to carry folks from Terminal A to Terminal D.  

Let me say that again.  It's sole purpose is to transport Angela from A1 to D23 in probably eight minutes.  Of sitting down.  No trains. No stairs. No CPR needed. 

I am the very last person that boards the flight bound for Amsterdam, but not before taking four precious minutes to buy a bag of Reese Pieces and Twizzlers that will be our mainstay snackies for all 1600+ miles by car across Europe.

I can already tell this is going to be one of the highlights of my life, because I clearly have absolutely no idea what I'm doing.  

Prepare for take-off.

Enough for Reese Cups

October is here.  It came in so quickly, just like I always say.  You never notice the exact moment when summer relinquishes its hold and you are in the middle of autumn color and chill.

Each step of the journey wearies me, as if old age is upon me too fast. I crunch about in the day to day, weary, oh so weary.  I'm not sure if my peers and colleagues quite feel the same aches in body and soul.

I've had a lovely three day weekend, full of respite but actually not respite.  It is an annual tradition for my family to try to gather in the fall and spend a few days together.  If you are familiar with us, you might be able to picture it, if you are not so familiar you might wonder what it looks like.  The time is meant to strengthen ties, to eat lots of good food, to rest, to fulfill some wanderlust, to argue, to conquer or suffer defeat, to know that this group bound by blood is also eternally bound by friendship.

If you are not parted by distance, if you are not part of a larger family, then the scenes might not play and replay the same for you as it does for me.  I always look forward to the time, more so, as years pass.  You can't understand what it is to age in the heart until you are, in fact, aging in the heart.  The seasons continue to pass so quickly, the seasons are draining me, especially the season I will be in for the next solid 3-4 years.   Everywhere I turn, people need support.  I am the supporter, the giver, the leader meeting needs, the listener, the adviser.  I don't mind the role. I don't mind the responsibility.  I think though, that for a solid three weeks now, I'm trying to give on empty.  I'm waiting on the edge of the group, peering in, wanting to participate, but feeling unable to dive in despite my desperation for my bucket to be filled.

You must already know that I am the youngest in my family for we are dear friends.  In that role, I am cared for and protected.  I might not quite know how the world works because I am to young, but one day, I will know.  The others will help me.  It is their role to provide for me.  Into this world I step a few times per year.  Already the roles are changing and that dynamic is not nearly as pronounced as it once was.  I am more an equal, it will continue to change.

Four households converging into one is recipe for disaster.  Nothing can change that.  Four sets of house rules, four sets of shower schedules, four sets of food and beverage needs, four sets of hierarchy into one chaotic, strong willed engine that powers through the extended family experience.  What I know is this, we can, have and will survive the 45 minute whirlwind pack-up with our love for each other still intact.  If you can survive that, you can enter the gates of Mordor without fear.

Do we discard the leftover salad?

Uh, no, I think there are starving children in Africa.

Well I know that I don't have the space to take it back because all my ice is gone.

Does this sock belong to your child?

Go back in that bathroom, someone left the soap in the shower.

Who threw away my cup of coffee?!

Wait, why is this salad on the counter?

Don't throw that out!!

Where is the charger for my phone?

Where is the charger for my Kindle?

Where is the charger for my kids' phone?

Kids, go back upstairs and clean that room.

Babe, you left your sweatshirt on the dock.

Nope, not my sweatshirt.  Ask the kids.

For the love, why is the salad still not being dealt with?

No, that is not my sweatshirt.

I'm throwing the salad out, last call.

Again, no, on the sweatshirt.

Have you seen my sweatshirt?  Yep, Ryan is looking for the owner.

YOU ARE THROWING AWAY THE SALAD?!!?!?

And.....that's a wrap, we'll see you next year.

It is so much fun.  It is so much chaos.  It can also have a lot of angst in the middle. But in the end it comes out right.  It fills your bucket, even if you feel like you have to force yourself into it because you don't have the energy.

At the end, at the very end, when the house is quiet....  It's early morning. Your room is in China with the mice and cold breeze, so you trek through the dark to use the bathroom in Switzerland.  You stay in France because it's easier than going back to bed, in the dark, down the twisty stairs.  You broke your foot once trying that nonsense.

You are bundled up on the couch, reading, the light is just beginning to show over the lake.  Your mom comes in, smiles and walks over to hand you a Reese cup.  You tell yourself to remember this.  "Remember this, Angela."  You remember hearing just yesterday from your stepfather's lips that your mother loves to eat Reese cups for breakfast.  She walks over to the window. "Remember, this, Angela, remember what she looks like as she watches the sun rise.  It's just you. Her. The lake."  This snapshot of time is so tiny, so tiny, and so precious.  It doesn't really mean anything at all, and yet it does.  You are almost 40 and you are her baby and she is giving you a Reese cup at 0630 in a quiet house on Keuka Lake in NY.  And she is beautiful.

Hold onto this moment.

Do this every chance that you get.

Even if you think you are rather grumpy and not quite right.  And currently emotionally empty.

Enter the gates of Mordor without fear because the group beside you loves you.  Enough for Reese cups.

Grace Flows Down and Covers Me

It's Monday, isn't it?  

Can you just feel that it's Monday?

I can think of several things I should be doing, but, alas, I'm sitting at the keyboard, emptying my heart. Because indeed it is Monday and I feel heavy.

I've been burdened the last few weeks with the idea of "measuring up" to Jesus.  Do you know what I mean?  Have you been there?

I legitimately have been talking to myself all day about it.  Things like, "I can't believe you still cannot let that go" or "Why are you so opinionated?" or "Why do you think you know best?"  That last one, though, for real.  Ryan says, "That's why you're the boss because you always know the right thing to do."  He says that because I say that.  Drivers say that.  People with a "driving" personality - they think quickly, they know they are right, they plunge ahead with decisions and people usually follow.

But.  I don't think Jesus is like that.  I believe He has more compassion.  I believe He has more consideration.  He is humble. 

I don't know but I wonder if I run over people.  In my life.  Do I run people over without consideration?  I'm "in charge" in a variety of places and I have a lot of people that I lead in different capacities.  In some ways, I'm used to "giving orders" and I wonder if all these jobs stack up and lend itself to overbearing.  

I've really been struggling with the idea of following Christ for years and feeling like I'm nothing like Him.  I'm supposed to be like Him but I think I must not appear anything like Him to those around me. I feel weakness instead of strength.  I feel like I'm letting Him down.  I know that if anyone is watching me, and they are, they must be disappointed too.  I should be a better person than I am.

In all this mess, in all this sorting, I've been reading in my devotions about peace in God's presence.  About meeting Jesus face to face each day, how He delights in knowing me.

When I feel like the ugly black sheep in God's family....

This is what I hear....

Under my mercy come and wait
until we are standing face to face
I see no stain on you my child....

I have many, many flaws but I'm seen without stain because of Jesus.  He knows I'm hopeless, He knows I'm never going to get there, so He says I, Angela, am enough for you.  I am enough.  I paid your debt because I love you.  The best way to be like me is to know me, to spend time with me.  To find and feel my peace in this world full of trouble.

Today, especially, I feel so undeserving of such grace and mercy.  

South of the Mason Dixon

Have I ever mentioned that I do all my writing on a smart phone?

One tiny little screen. No spellcheck.  No clear visual.  No great ability to backspace or delete.  

I've officially set myself up a bit of an office space.  It's for the whole family really, but how much easier to access things you would like to view...  I can shut the door and write in private.  I can backspace to my heart's content.  Delete whole paragraphs with just a few clicks.  It's amazing, and permanent, which helps guide me to a space and place of writing more often, which in turn is fulfilling.  Right now I am thinking about going downstairs for a cup of coffee to complete the scenario but I believe I should hold off on that.

Tomorrow is the first day of a new school year and my kids are feeling anxious.  No one is quite ready and honestly, I am not quite ready either.  The next several weeks are going to be busy, full of good things, but tiring, nonetheless.  I feel like this summer, unlike most, flew by.  I am often ready for the fall season and barely give the passing of summer a nod, but this year, I'm a little depressed.  

It is safe to say that I have firmly established a place in the northeast.  With each passing year, roots have spread and gained good ground, but they are not deep enough yet to keep me from casting a wandering eye toward other places.  South.  My heart seems like it was always meant to be there. Somewhere south of the Mason Dixon line there lies a space for plants, deep green grass, big trees, a big porch with a swing, and a kitchen that smells like pumpkin pie and coffee. I'm sitting in that kitchen and writing a letter to you, dear friend. It would go something like this..

Dear (insert your name here),

It truly is amazing that I am sitting in this place today. I  have been dreaming of it my whole life.  I do not regret the years leading to this moment for they have been full of life, full of people that grow older and dearer in my soul, and full of learning.  I am much wiser today than when I started out on this journey of ten million steps that led to none of the spaces I entered into the itinerary.  How can you enter something and go to the opposite place?  It's still a mystery to me but that God alone orchestrates my life.  I hope to tell my children the stories one day. I hope to explain to them how a man  (or woman) can set about something and the end result will look so much different and more beautiful than anticipated. I would not have traveled to Utah.  I would not have sent a husband to war.  I would not have denied myself the opportunity to become a nurse. I would not have had miserable pregnancies that, in essence, shortened the family I planned.  I would not have moved to New York.  I would not have put up with being treated poorly at work, always feeling for some reason that I needed to stay.  I would not have denied myself the job opportunity I so desired. I would not have ended up back at the same job.

Oh, dear one, I set out to conquer the world.  I was going to be a nurse, married with 3-4 children, living in northeast Ohio, but with my eye on the south. I was going to eat Sunday dinner with my family each week.  I was going to have game nights with my siblings and my kids were going to thrive in the network of family.  I was going to be successful at all the things I put my hands to doing.

You know what?  None of my plans included writing.  It was never a dream to dust off or an ambition to pursue.  Writing was borne out of the deep and dark loneliness that I encountered in Eagle Mountain.  It was a way to reach out and communicate with others not living right outside my door.  It brought me immeasurable relief to tell the stories of my life.  I didn't have to know someone was listening, I just had to know that it was going out somewhere.  Writing has proven to be a passion I didn't know I wanted or needed and that came to me so gently through the unfolding of the plan.

It's just like my Jesus to allow me the opportunity to have a wonderful job, a job that was equal to my strengths and surrounded me with people to love and serve.  A job that was refreshing when I needed it and a job that ultimately brought healing to my heart.  At this job, I came face to face with my enemies, the people that I swore to hate with every fiber of my being but prayed to be able to love and forgive.  Can you imagine seeing the person that you despised every day?  A person who hurt you so deeply?    Imagine a moment so divinely orchestrated that you could look them in the eye, offer your hand and your heart for a second time, and show them the love they do not deserve, but need.  I didn't think it was possible, but Jesus gave me a gift.  He gave me a temporary job that might just have been for this specific purpose alone, for he completely closed the door for the job to continue, although it was originally planned that it would. He saw my pain, He heard my prayers, and He formed a plan to heal my heart. I still think of the pain of being turned into CPS, but it does no hurt nearly in the way it once did.  Not nearly the same and all because I took a temporary job.  Strange, isn't it?  But it's just the thing I am going to tell these boys of mine, it's just like Jesus, sons, you can trust that He will answer and it almost never is like what you are expecting.  Keep that in mind when you heart is full of sorrow. 

I do go on so, this letter is quite long by now,  but there lies so much evidence of God in my years and it feels good to tell you.  I know you will understand for we have been friends for quite some time.  My ability to chatter endlessly certainly doesn't surprise you and you always graciously say how much you enjoy listening.  It's probably not at all true but I am thankful you indulge me.  

I'm sitting in this kitchen years later than I anticipated. In retrospect, my sphere of influence has been far greater than I could have imagined. My heart has known such change, joy, service, honor, fullness.  God has given me far more than I was willing to reach.  I would have kept myself in a tight, confined space and He opened up the world to a chubby, short, blue eyed girl from the Midwest.

I better close for now.  It must be time to start frying the chicken to go with this here pie.  I sure do miss seeing your face.  Come for a visit.  There is always a place for you with me.  We'll talk about the hard things and then we'll look for the places that God shines His light.  We know we're getting older and the grey hairs are coming, but this journey continues to be joyous, and full of surprises.

Lovingly Yours,

Ang

A Pastime Much Like The Present

It's not a new statement that I continue to go through transition as a parent, as a wife, as an aging woman.  I was told awhile ago to come up with some hobbies, so far, one thing I've decided to pursue, is gardening.  I have always loved gardens - I visit them in almost every city (vacation) I go to if I'm permitted and indulged.  Unfortunately, I never know what plants and flowers to have in my own.  I think I can see myself tooling around with one of those little green carts. I can see myself taking tea and writing in a space I have created for rest and enjoyment. It's going to take some research and possibly more garden visitations to understand what I need to do, but it is a firm goal. Down the road I shall be a gardener like Samwise. Send all your tips and strategies to NY c/o The Old Acre.

I wonder, though, if gardening is actually an art that lives in the soul. Like writing.  Can you learn how to be a gardener, sure, but it is something that is innate?  Are all the best ones "naturals?"

I love that we are individually gifted.  Each person has special God given talents and we get to use those for encouragement and enjoyment.  There is nothing more affirming than when someone tells you, "You are so talented at ____" or "You have touched my life with _____." It's a compliment that starts at the surface and drip drops all the way to coat your soul.  Compliments that take a little time to digest are my favorite.  I'm not very good at accepting compliments initially, but you can bet, as only a writer can, I mull over your words until my brain and heart connect them, and then I'll smile, even though it might be 2 am.

You know what else I love?  That we can share with others the things with which we are gifted.  You can help me to understand gardening, or sports, or math.  The latter being fairly unlikely actually.  It is actually a very good bonding mechanism - sharing and learning - or it could totally ruin a relationship.  Tread carefully.  But truly it is a special experience to learn with someone who is gifted and passionate.

I'm a writer who hopes one day to become a gardener.  To walk among the things that you helped raise from a tiny seed.  It's like a second chance at motherhood; gardening brings out some of those same experiences, joys and woes.  Like your children, you know the seasons are temporary and you get to soak them up.  Your plants brighten your days and enhance your years.  Just like your kids you hope they will always come back. To your heart.

Chances Are

I believe that there are moments that change lives. Can you think of any?  Can you point back to a day that changed the arc of your life?  Maybe it's an event, maybe it's meeting a special person.

We live day by day in moments, spaces of time that mostly are not defining, in fact, they are usually pretty ho hum. But in every life there are specific seconds that change the journey.

Finding out I was going to become a mother was one such moment.  To say I was overwhelmed is an understatement, frankly I was certain I was too broken to be any good at this job.  I worried for months and then I worried through labor, which wasn't exactly short but was doable, and then I worried through pushing which was not short and was not doable.  When my peanut was finally handed to me, I knew there would be no end to worry.  And I knew I would forever be grateful.

Arriving in Utah in August of 2006 was heart wrenching, sending my mother home on a plane after our cross country drive was more than I felt I could bear.  The weight of loneliness ate through my heart day after day living in the west desert.  It was the very beginning of a molding process that would end with confidence and a strength I never knew was possible.  God really had a sovereign plan for this time in my life; He knew I had it in me all along because He put it there.  I would have never willingly chosen that path and I am grateful for a Father who has His hand upon my life.

Bringing home a pet seems simple and yet, it was a brand new experience that I never knew I needed.   I am such a pile of goo with this guy and as far as I'm concerned he can have anything he wants.  It's like being a Grandma in your thirties.  This baby son has mellowed me and Lord knows I need it.

You can't imagine the changes that come sweeping down through a life.  If we all knew what was coming we'd hide away never to see the sun or feel the falling leaves.  What a shame. Life cannot be predicted and that's a good thing,  for some of the best things in my life have been unplanned and sometimes, initially unwelcome.

Tomorrow has brand new moments.

Tomorrow has change.

Chances are something will change the trajectory of your life.

It's exciting, no?

Expressionless

I have a secret.

Buried deep in my heart is an ocean of words.

Can I tell you another secret?

Sometimes it is hard for me to express myself.

And it's the hardest usually when it's the most important.

I want to curl up with you and unburden my heart, but mostly I want to hold it all inside.  For all my words, for all my talking,  I often don't want to share.  Not with many people. Sometimes not with anyone.  

It has been an unusual week, the demands have proven to be too much and I mercifully succumbed this evening to quiet, candles, respite and tears. 

I can't exactly name my feelings for they are many.  To be asked, "What's the matter?" is ludicrous for I simply couldn't answer.  I can tell you a few things in specific but it is the larger, overwhelming picture that haunts me this night. 

I have too many responsibilities at my paid job.

I have too many responsibilities at my church job. 

I am pulled in too many directions everywhere I turn, and I resent it. Greatly. 

I have not recovered from the exhaustion of working so many hours coupled with a very quick road trip to Ohio to visit precious relatives, (some also from out of state), and then heading straight into a 12 hour inventory.  I was physically ill for a solid day, but it was worth it.  

My great aunt passed away and her funeral was Tuesday.  I can't stop thinking about it, and her.  I hope some nice things were said, and yet, I worry it was not entirely so.  Because the first thing anyone would ever say about her was, "She was downright mean."  A hard, hard women indeed, to the core, and I wish I knew the story of how it came to be.  Everyone has a story and people become what they live and what they endure.  She was the last surviving person in her family, and that in itself must be sad.  

My kids are at cousin camp and I received amazing pictures today of a fishing trip. The very first photo was of my aunt (in town for the funeral) and my two sons.  She had a big smile and looked so much like my Grandma that I instantly burst into tears. Followed was a photo of my grandpa with my sons.  He loves to fish and I love, love, that he is with them today.  He looks old; my heart cannot contain the love I feel, it slides down my cheeks unchecked and soaks my shirt.  I know that time is precious and my children will have this memory of him.  I'm grateful.

I'm a writer at heart, yet sometimes I can't explain.  Sometimes I just need you to know as you sit here with me in the quiet.  Look in my eyes, read the silence, and let it fall between us as the crickets sing outside the window, and the candle flickers into the summer night.

Riders of the Storm

It's another stormy summer evening.  Summer storms are delicious, except when they wreck and ruin your prize umbrella which in turn caused you to shed tears more than once; they crop up quickly, beautiful and powerful, and they bring a restlessness to my soul. I want to watch and listen, hear and see, but instinctively, I want to chase it. I want to harness those lights and create beautiful things, I want to feel the excitement and rage of thunder, well, I could wax poetic but basically I want to go on a rampage like the game "Rampage" that I played in 1988.  Nom, nom, eat some people out of the buildings.  Slam, slam, crush it and destroy it.

I imagine the possibility of riding a storm. High on the clouds, like a chariot, running the sky and unleashing the soul.  Storms give me a raw, untamed feeling and it's like I know I've met my match.

I can't tell you the number of times I have heard that I am "too upright" and I should "loosen up." "Don't hold your tongue." "Speak your mind." "Relax and enjoy."

You know what I think?

The storm is who I am.  I am instinctive, reactive, strong willed, passionate and you will not beat me back. Even when I have lost, I will fight.  I will do battle long after I have been told to quit.

Remember that firework I was telling you about?

The firework lights up a summer night.

A storm ravages it.

With the help of Jesus, perhaps I'm somewhere in the middle.  Along the way I am still learning to temper...

But on a hot, humid summer night, I want to unleash the soul and light up the rain.

Raw. Powerful. Beautiful. The words and emotions that would swirl and blow through the trees as the thunder answers back.

I am a storm contained in a pair of size two shoes.  I am lucky enough to be loved by a few good people anyway.

The Death of Aloe

I have an aloe plant.  I got it for more than one reason, but mainly as a living decoration that seemed to brighten and cheer up the space.  It didn't require dusting as an object would, which in my house, frankly, if you are an object that needs dusting you might as well hang up your hat; so, it doesn't require dusting and it doesn't require much water, and it always brings a smile to my face when I am at the sink.

This week as I was checking on my aloe friend, I reached out to touch one of the new shoots and the entire plant fell into my hand. I was rather bummed at the turn of events but brought the pot into the kitchen and disposed of the plant.  Moments later as I was preparing dinner, my son drops through and says, "Ahh, so you found out about the aloe plant, huh?" and he continued on his way.

Let's take pause right here.  Basically this is all you need to know about parenting.

Everything eventually comes to light.  Maybe in 47 years or 47 minutes.

I followed him and inquired about my beautiful, still green but dead, friend.  "You knew the plant was dead and you just propped it up and left it there?"  "Yeah, sure, I just didn't know what to do with it, so I tried to rebury it."

I think this is not unique in life.  I encounter death more than I am willing to acknowledge or admit. It comes in many forms: relational, spiritual, physical, mental.  I am quick to either 1)ignore it or 2) prop it up a bit and assume it will hold.  Sometimes death occurs at such a long and slow pace I am not even aware it has happened.  When was the last time I opened my Bible?  When was the last time I cleared my calendar for a friend?   Now, I really wanted to phone a friend before I typed more so I would be good there but isn't that exactly a "prop it up" scenario?  That certainly doesn't fix anything, and the trite response lends to an even deeper truth, "if that is my fix, how much does it mean in the first place?"  Motive is important.  I submit that motive is often more important than action.  The numerous people who have heard an empty "I love you," can attest.  Don't say it unless you mean it, right?  We all know that.  If your intent and heart are not fully there than the action and words mean nothing.

My aloe plant is in the garbage.

The flower pot is siting forlornly in the kitchen waiting for me to remove the dirt and begin anew.

I'm letting it sit there.

It is reminding me to more carefully tend what is mine.

Aloe 2.0 will cost less than $5, but what of the value of friendship? What of the value of our physical health?  What of the value of God who has so clearly demonstrated his love for us?

I have consumed three bottles of water today.  You can only gauge the significance of this if you are a personal friend.  I drink very little fluid on any given day and water is the last thing I would choose.  I am making an extremely conscious effort to improve this for my health.

I have not phoned a friend, but I had meaningful conversations with my children and husband.

To Jesus, whom I should surrender all....  I've not had a lot of conversation today.  Spiritual death is the worst and yet the easiest in this life.  We rush and rush doing all sorts of  profitable "busyness" and crash into....nothing.

I'm going to keep the empty flower pot in my kitchen a little longer.

Propped up relationships mean little.

Read that Bible.  Phone a friend.  Oh, and sneak in some sweet tea.  I heard from a friend that water is overrated.

Going Forward

It is a particularly cool summer afternoon after a very hot and humid holiday week.  It feels perfect for retrospect and writing because as you know writers write when they have something to say, and when it's time to talk, you might want to sit a spell and listen.

Have you ever stopped to consider that life is lived in expectation of the future?  I might have always known this and maybe this isn't the first time I have slammed into this realization like a wall.  Nonetheless, I am sitting here with an overwhelming fear of what is next.

If I have lived my entire life going toward something, what starts to happen when the future is the now and nothing seems to lie ahead...?

I grew up.

I got married.

I had babies.

I graduated from college.

I moved from place to place.

I mostly raised my babies.

What then is the next large yet future event?  Death? Yikes.

Death hardly seems like an appropriate topic on such a mild, sun soaked afternoon.

The middle years are tough.  Struggling for purpose, struggling to understand place, letting go, trying to retain beauty, and all the while hoping you appear successful.  Can I share a small secret?  I feel like I am fading.  A life probably doesn't shine from start to finish - there are moments of brilliance and glory and there are patches and pieces of hum.  I am in the right place at the right time; I still feel that way; but, I long to see down the road just a fair piece.

Are my big moments all gone?  Are pictures and frozen snapshots of time all that remain of a life lived in pursuit of the next?

I don't want to find myself emptynesting and lost.  And, yet, I know that is absolutely, exactly what I will be.  I will be sad, empty, joyful, exhausted. And lost.  (One can only hope I will also feel a measure of success in the launching of my children.)

The middle years are so busy that parents, particularly mother's, neglect to plan for what happens next.  Will I just be staying in the same job? Will I move?  Will I dust off a goal or two? I'm afraid as I sit here in an empty house with let-down-post-holiday-gathering blues.  Is this what the future looks like?

I can't see down the road a fair piece. But I already have a feeling that the path is not straight and as perfect as I could write it to be. It will rise and drop sharply. It will be filled with pain.  It will be covered with rain and clouds and strewn with the most beautiful red, yellow and pink memories.   I will struggle to find my identity as it winds.  I will need more love and understanding than has heretofore been necessary, for living vicariously through life events will become a thing of the past.

You hope when you reach the middle that you have made some friends that will carry you through this part of the journey.  Good, solid friends.  The ones that know the stories.

I hope they're here. 

Because I'm afraid of the middle.

Sparks

I'd like to speak with eloquence today but I'm not certain it is possible.

I'm coming full circle in the rotation that showcases one of my greatest strengths is also the greatest weakness that leads to the slow bleed out of the body.

I am a firework.  Have I ever told you that?  God intends me for more than that, he built me to sustain and bear the burdens, but, alas, I am a firework.

My colors are bright and brilliant, oh yes, a  beautiful, passionate, ambitious burst of purple, green and blue explodes and shimmers in the night sky.  I burn white hot in pursuit of perfection. To be the fix you need at the right moment.  You need a gap filled, I will fill it.  I am always the right person for the job.  I will take charge and manage and solve and fix.  I will help you make connections.  I will work tirelessly to bring people together. I will singlehandedly solve world peace.  I have passion and zeal that I rarely see mirrored in others.

And I think that is a good thing. 

Because my strength is my greatest weakness.

June kicked my butt.  It took every ounce of strength and focus I had to give and left me crying and bleeding.  My life is pouring out of me as I speak.  My body is broken and exhausted, rather than sleeping my brain is going at 200% thinking of all the things that my body simply refuses to do in preparation for my incoming company.

Perhaps my spark is brilliant and beautiful, but it is flawed. 

It never met a middle ground that it understood. 

It must go one way or the other.  It sees only black and white.

Moderation. Grey. Tempered.  It cannot see through this lens.

I am really, really good at some things.  Some of these things bring me deep and abiding joy which should be a part of every life.  But a lesson this middle aged firecracker needs to learn is that sometimes it's okay to stay in the box or lay low.  Life can still be full and meaningful in the middle. Ground level fireworks are still hot. They still sputter and burn and glow. 

It's hard to repress that need to be in the sky.  To jump headfirst into the deep end.  To go all in every time.  Moderation seems equivalent to mediocrity and that is one word I hope no one utters at my funeral. 

I must learn though that it is far better to be mediocre than to fall short.  It is far better to spark a little than to race head over heels to the stars and then...nothing.

I want to be purple and green and blue.  I want to be the answer to the question you ask. I want to be the chunk that fits right into the hole of your life. I want....so many things. 

Right now.  I don't have the energy required to make the cup of coffee I'd like to taste.

Dud.

June Musings

This time of year is so incredibly busy. It's hard to keep up.  Anybody else feeling that way? It seems like it should be the slow and easy days of summer but we aren't quite there yet.

Each day I'm racing home from work, late to make dinner, late to get someone somewhere, I pass by a small, quiet cemetery nestled on the corner under tree cover.  It looks serene, which is not at all what I imagine my life appears to be.  Every day as I make the turn like Cruella de Vil hot on the trail of Dalmatian offspring, I see an old man sitting on the seat of his walker, staring at a grave marker.  There is always a somewhat younger woman with him.  Sometimes she is standing off to the side under the shade tree.  Sometimes she holds the umbrella for him. Sometimes she sits next to him in a camp chair.  That's right.  A camp chair. Like they are going to be here for awhile. I believe it too because the the times I pass are quite varied.

His head is often bowed.  And as I have continually observed, my head often is, too.  I think about it.  I think about what has happened in his life.  He has clearly lost someone who meant a great to him.  Maybe a spouse. A child. A friend.

He might, of course, have some extra time on his hands, he might be retired, but his dedication has made an impact on me.  He is mourning. Clearly.  And might I suggest he is doing it well?  The rest of us, we say we have to mourn on the fly, and it's partly true, we do have responsibilities to manage so we tuck any type of grief we encounter away as quickly as it comes. But what if we took some time to visit that wound?  What if we took some time to stare that marker in the face? What if we camped out with it in a deluge holding tightly to a yellow umbrella?  Would we gain some clarity?  Would we find relief?  Would we empty our hearts of the sorrow that strangles our voice?

I do not think my friend comes daily to be tortured.  He comes daily to seek peace, to empty his heart, to speak words or feel silence.  He comes to remember.  He comes to be as close as possible to what he has lost.   Maybe his tears mingle with the rain and water the grass that is now growing there.  But each day I imagine he goes back home grateful that he went.

I do not know this man or his story.  But while it seems like I am deep in the land of the living, I am thinking of deeper things.  Inhaling a deep breath of the summer air.  Listening to the birds.  Whispering words of love.  Eating an extra cookie. Working through some grief.

I've got a few things to tackle.  A few things to work out.  Now is the time.  Each afternoon is an opportunity.

You just never know how or when you might influence someone.  This man will never know the difference he made for me as I just casually observed his goings about.  But each day I now search for him and hope to catch a glimpse of his visit. Cruella has left the building.

He is daily reminding me of the good gifts I have.  I want to embrace and enjoy each one with a full and grateful heart.  For one day it is possible I will be doing the same as he.  And if so, may it be such a positive influence on someone as he has been for me. 

A Worthy Cause

All gave some.  Some gave all.

It's a great tune that talks about sacrifice, ultimately the sacrifice of one's life in benefit to a cause they consider greater, and worthy. 

I'm not certain that my heart was made strong enough for the role I consider most sacred.  It is a ginormous pile of mush.  Just a pile.  I can't do anything with it. I would try to be stoic and cold, the old, ice in-your-veins approach.  But mothering got me like. Emotional gamut.  

I am so in love with these sweet boys of mine.  I enjoy their company; they are very funny.  I want to appropriately listen to all the stories, while making dinner, while mentally checking off the "to-do" list, while thinking about what I forgot to do at work.  But I can't appropriately listen and do all those other things.  They know exactly when I'm not focused, and they take it personally, as they should.  They deserve full attention as I would give to any friend, colleague or boss that was needing to speak with me. More importantly, they need it more.  I'm so in tune with the "El Nino" winds of child rearing. It's changing so much, every day, every hour is picking up speed, and I feel it.  I feel it.

They, them, whoever, the predecessors of 'rents since the dawn of time...they don't tell you.  They don't tell you how it will be.  Like, for example, what it will be like when you have a baby.  They keep all those nasty details hidden.  I needed to know some stuff, peeps, and they, them held out on me.  "No, Dr. OBGYN, I do not have any questions.". Do you know why?  Because I don't know what I don't know.  And, I will tell you now that I would have preferred to know I was going to have to wear Mommy sized pull-ups for days to account for blood loss.  I mean. I feel someone should have told me because I had.no.idea. Mommy and me diapers. It's a thing. 

You know what else they don't tell you.  How difficult it will be to watch your child in pain.  We have had a lot of low points recently. Both of my sons have had a tough few weeks dealing with new situations that involve disappointment and loss.  I want to teach them coping strategies. I want to help them learn how to process emotion, how to work through disappointment.  But I feel like Paul in Romans...what I want to do, I'm not doing.  I am crying.  I am crying for your broken heart. I, too, feel broken. How does a broken person help another broken person?  Maybe all they learn from me is that crying is okay.  That taking some time to feel pain with others strengthens bonds.  That Mom's know the heart of a child.

My heart.  It's a pile of mush.  I have no way to make it strong.  But it beats with love.  A lot of love. For two sweet boys who will be gone too soon. The winds are picking up.  I'm focusing on the faces that I see before me as they ever rise above me.

I think they, them, whoever...  They don't tell everything because you just can't understand until you understand.  You can't know until you know.

Mom's give some. Mom's give all. We lay our lives down in service with full and happy hearts for the exchange in joy, satisfaction, and even pain, is a greater cause.  It is worthwhile.  You often hear that we hate it and we love it and we can't explain it.  It's all true.  It's hard to be needed all the time.  It's hard to find personal space. It's hard to not have guilt about finding some personal space.  It's hard to feel like you wasted a precious chance at Uno because of the personal space.

It's hard.  My body and soul feel like they were not made strong enough for the role.

Maybe that's okay.  Maybe it's okay.

Because maybe they see a lion where I see a broken lamb.

Joy Comes

My dear readers, it has been an unusual day.

This weekend has been so busy and full.  As I got up this morning, with a major NyQuil hangover, I prayed God to give me strength to make it to 1pm.  I just need to be strong until then and I will come home and crash in my bed.  The Lord was good to help me do just that.  I have rested today, large pieces of time in the darkness of dreams.

But before I made it to this haven of rest, at the end of a busy weekend, I encountered a few things that made me emotional.

As I have probably mentioned I lead a team of volunteers at church.  I am experiencing a long term shortage of volunteers which means I am working every Sunday.  This means I wear a name tag 6/7 days per week . I'm always "on." I'm always out there pushing and engaging.  I'm getting so worn down. I'm getting very tired. But can I share how many good things have come to me these past three months?

I pushed my team to participate in a 6k with me, to help build community with each other, and simultaneously help a good cause; we raised funds for digging wells in under privileged places.  I walked 4 miles with one of my volunteers and learned so much about her, her family, her life.  I soaked up all the words that she would share with me.  When we crossed the finish line, I felt so much more than fresh water realized.  Connection. Difference. Impact.  From one heart to another.

Today, another dear volunteer, asked if Ryan and I would have dinner with her and her boyfriend.  I have not had much opportunity to get to know her yet and was fairly surprised at her request.  Absolutely. Yes. Without hesitation or reservation.  She is looking for connection and she chose me.  I was taken aback.  I have been trying so hard to engage and involve my team.  To get them to create community, because when you feel community, you can give community.  Our role on the hospitality team means this is so vital.

Today I was also asked to bring two sweet elderly ladies to church.  I had to juggle a lot of things (ask someone to pick up Aaron from class, leave early, speed my way to the senior residence...) but so touching was it that they were so emotional about being able to attend.  They asked how college was going for me and proclaimed my youth and beauty...I'm delighted they were oblivious to my grey hair and middle aged Mommy wrinkles.  On and on they talked, in heavy accents, about their lives, and.. "Now did you tell me that school is going well and where did you say you come from?"  They want me to come in and meet their baby dogs and see their apartments but for now, mercy, they just aren't feeling so well.  I got hugs and kisses and maybe Bingo and I'll call you soon.

I cried tears on the way home.  It doesn't happen so often these days, but I cried from the joy of a full and wonderful weekend.

Readers. It's working.  I'm so tired.  But it's working.

After six long, long years, the life I have been trying to carve and create...it's coming to fruition.   God is graciously allowing me the opportunity to see places that I am making a positive difference.  As barely functioning as I was this morning,  I felt I am exactly in all the right places at the right time.  This is just where Jesus wants me to be.  In this state, in this city, in this job, in this church...  I don't often feel "the stars are aligned just so" but today I knew it to be true.  My sphere of influence is created.  I know what I am to do.

God gave me the joy of satisfaction and fulfillment.  The "Daughter, you are beloved and worthy, and this is who I have called you to be, this is the role you are meant to play for my kingdom. This is your time in this place and no one else can do what you can do. So shine your light before men..."

I have been waiting such a long, long time to be in this place.  Streams in the desert, indeed.

Our God is so faithful.  He always gives beauty for ashes.  He redeems pain and time and turns it to us again.

Joy comes...when you least expect it.

Lasagna Tuesdays

Sunday evenings. Time for reflection.  I think if I lived near to my family, it would be the best time of the week for gathering and visiting.

I often imagine what my life would be like if I lived near to my family.  Wouldn't it be lovely to invite someone over for a meal on Tuesday?   What if the kids could have routine sleepovers with their cousins? What if we could do the annual hiking spree?  What if I could eat an occasional chicken dinner or hit up The Hartville Kitchen  for a legit meal?

How has the life I provided for my children been different - has it been better or worse by living all over?   Time is always on my mind these days, each day seems to be precious and fleeting.  I don't think I am spending nearly enough time with loved ones.  I feel it in my soul.  I'm almost to the "old" generation.  The generation I remember so clearly as all my cousins graduated and I was last.  The "aunts and uncles" generation.  The "adults" who manage and run the funerals.  That's me.  I'm the adult. I'm the middle aging one.  My nephews and nieces are graduating and moving out/on.  It's too late for cousin sleepovers.

Every time I look at Noah, he seems taller.  He is becoming so lanky - all legs like his father. All traces of childhood boy are gone.  How can it be?  He is taller than me which makes it difficult for me to say "Get over here and hug your Mom." I can reach into the past and hold baby Noah close.  I smell his sweet baby smell. I hear his little voice.

Aaron is himself graduating from elementary in a few weeks.  Off to middle school.  Out of his mother's heart and into puberty.  Say it isn't so.  Say we'll stay in this moment.  Say we'll go back to "Chee" baby and  monkey boy who as a toddler would routinely climb to the top of the swing set.

It's okay that we have made a life where we found ourselves planted. We have made wonderful memories with many people in many parts of the world.  A sign of being in the aged group is talking woefully about reaching into the past.  But another sign of being in the aged group is that you realize how precious is time and how precious is memory.  You decide to do and not dream.  You invite friends for lasagna on Tuesday.  ( Although they are not nearly as likely to attend as, say, your sister would.)  You go on the vacation you talk about.  You have a bonfire and s'mores because you want to.

In the end, life is what you make it. You can dream and wonder.  And you can do.

I'm grateful to be in the "aunts and uncles" generation - the one I remember observing - because it means I now have the means to do.

Scrabble Mondays.  Lasagna Tuesdays.  Bonfire Wednesdays. Concert Thursdays. Baseball Fridays.

Let's make some memories this year!

Parking Lot Couch

I learned something about myself. Or, rather, I finally admitted something.

I never feel more alone in this life than when I am in a sea of women.

I feel sad, awkward, and lonely.

I paid $30 to attend a women's conference at church.  As a team leader I felt like I needed to support the initiative.  Further, I felt like I should be trying to make some friends. Finally, I thought I might receive encouragement from God.

I stayed for 60 minutes.  Guess where I am? Sitting in my car in a random parking lot.  "Talk to your neighbor and be vulnerable about this first session" they said.

Nope. No. Seriously no.

That is not my bag.

I feel deeply. I embrace authenticity. But do not tell me to get "touchy feely" with a table of strange women. Even if they love Jesus.

I've tried the group of women thing many times, but the truth is, I don't acclimate.  I can't participate.  I have nothing remarkable to say.  I grow increasingly uncomfortable as this knowledge settles in my soul.  I'm a people person so it feels painful. I can firmly and pleasantly hold my own in just about any other social situation you would throw at me.

Because I like to diagnose everything, I'm trying to determine why I'm having such a strong reaction.  Does it really matter that I'm more a 1:3orless ratio person?  The answer is no.  If it makes me uncomfortable and unhappy, I should not feel as though I have to do it.

But guess what.  I do.  I feel it is outlined somewhere that good Christian ladies are required to gather and do these types of things. It appears that everyone is enjoying it. I look around and there is abandon and joy on each face, and it is all I can do to remain rooted in my spot and not dash for the door.  (Except this time I did. And I have loved Jesus since I was 7.)  I have a difficult time when I believe I fall outside expected guidelines; the ingrained pressure I feel to perform as expected in all things is an elephant on my chest. "Angela, I'm sure God wants you to attend this conference" and off I go, never mind that I have been dreading it for weeks.

Ladies (Christian and not) love to get together.  They love it.  I've witnessed it time and again. They pour wine, they talk, they complain, they celebrate, they love; and they are so very anxious to plan the next event.  They find themselves in a group and I lose myself.  Why am I an anomaly?  I want to want to do that, in any of the capacities I'm speaking of.  But if you watch closely....I'm sitting at the back or the edge, I'm quiet and reserved, I am uncomfortable. 

Right now. Today.  I am going to be okay with this. I will no longer put myself where I cannot thrive.  I love the people and if they love me they will understand.

I know that God understands.  Because the best part of my faith is that it is personal.  It's a close relationship with the creator of the stars.  My interaction isn't required to be corporate. I don't have to go to someone else in order to reach Him.  He is right here.  As close as my next breath.  And He rejoices over me - look for it - that is in the Bible.  Maybe He even whispered, "It's okay to run, Ang, you gave it a try, and I'm proud of you."

This is the kind of faith you can put stock in. You don't have to be showy. You don't have to earn it (thank goodness because I just fell short).  God is close.  He is so close, friends.  He comes to the groups and he comes to the one. He is cheering for you on this journey.  He longs to love and rejoice over you just as you are.  A struggle bus party of one who sits outside Price Chopper. 

It's a good takeaway as we head into the weekend....   And He isn't the only one.  I thrive in those small, intimate groups.  I'd be happy to sit with you in the parking lot and figure it out...

What Draws You?

I have had a long standing, deeply passionate love affair with the theater.  There isn't anything I don't want to see.  (Okay, I can think of maybe one.)  I'm going to see The Phantom of the Opera in a couple weeks which is by far one of my most favorites to see.  The music. The passion. The costumes. The sets.  Love.

Theater is powerful - slowly, yet tantalizingly, it draws the observer into the plot; it weaves a web of intrigue or suspense, humor and love, and ever seeks to wrap you firmly in a cocoon of emotional brilliance.  

It's on my bucket list for this current year to see an opera at The Metropolitan Opera House. I want to buy a new dress for the occasion and real heels from Cinderella of Boston. For one beautiful and glorious evening be transferred to a place where music sets the soul on fire and reveals its nature, where the cares of life melt away in the lust for justice and the quest for love.  It all comes down to love, right?  Love drives theater (and specifically, opera).  Love in all its forms, but largely, romantic. 

I want all the romance you can dream up.  You can buy me a milkshake. You can casually offer to sit on the inside of the Scrambler and whisper, "Just let go." Have you felt that rush of joy at the abandon of letting yourself slam against a rock of safety over and over? It makes me blush and giggle but the speed of the ride, the wind, and a safe place always make me want to plunk down three tickets to ride the Scrambler.  

I don't let go often enough. Not nearly often enough.  

The theater gives me the chance to do just that.  I can release all those hormones and chemicals that I'm required to keep at bay at all times.  I allow myself to be swept through the notes, drowned in the words, only to rise and applaud those who gave me this gift. 

Maybe theater doesn't do it for you. Maybe you'll never listen to the strains of La traviata.  But there is something or someone who helps you let go.  Even for an hour it allows peace to cover your head. Even for a few minutes they brighten the room of your soul.

Keep these close.  Embrace the gift.  Allow yourself to enjoy.  For life is made for such as this. 

Strength For Your Day

Readers, one thing that is especially dear, and I don't know if you have encountered this...

I am finding strength for my days.  Unlike any other time in my life.  I am encountering stressors but without an emotional response.  I am doing a lot of things during a time of relative health, but I am meeting most, okay at least many, of my obligations.  I'm very busy but I am not overwhelmed.

I believe a few things are responsible for this change.

I took a relative sabbatical.  Meaning I left a toxic job and environment.  One that had drained me of all energy and hope.  I made the hard choice to leave that mess and pursue a new adventure.  Something for me. A way to stretch and see what I am capable of doing.  If you are a dedicated reader, you know my soul flourished and I loved all it offered.   It was a needed break, although I was not sitting on an island in Tahiti sipping a soda.

I spent time with other people in a way that allowed me to observe life experience and expectation.  I listened more than I spoke.  I approached time with others as a way to learn.  As an avid speaker, it is natural for me to lead conversations rather than wait for others. Those who are more inclined to observe and listen rather than strike out first are just swept along in the wake of USS Ang.  

Lastly, I spent more time focusing on my faith and service. I went to Bible study.  I stepped into a leadership role at church with a team of volunteers, which put me in close proximity to strong followers of Jesus and good mentors.  I put some action to my "good intentions list" and the ripple effects are worth watching.  I don't just say, "I love Jesus" - I am living it alongside others.  The closer your relationship with Jesus is the more assured you naturally are.  You dwell in safety, Jesus has already walked this way, and the stressors of this life are capped with a temporal lens.  

Strength for my days.  Ability to cope and teach coping.  Big strides for the emotionally laden friends among us.

Think about these things, should you fall within such a category.  

If your job stresses you, strongly pursue something else.  Use the "sabbatical" time as an opportunity to grow and work on longer term goals if the new job isn't the height of your dreams.  Don't stay stuck.  It took me a long time to jump and I do not regret the fall.

Learn with and about others.  Listen a lot. Hear the words and experiences.  It will help shape you and enhance your perspective.  Even good, dear, old friends have things in their closet that you don't know yet.  Big or small.  Be the person who can listen and learn about mayonnaise on french fries.

Most importantly - Jesus.  Find him.  He is the key to all your life happiness.  Many things in this life masquerade as Him, but there is only One.  He will heal your heart and you will find wholeness of which you have only dreamed.  Get plugged in - not everybody is doing it but they should!

Thanks for encouraging me as I share my heart.  I've missed writing.  

My Week

With this post, I'm returning from the longest hiatus I have taken since beginning my blog almost two years ago.

2019 has been a rough go.  The last six weeks primarily have kicked my trash.  We do take for granted what it is to be and feel healthy.  I know we do. 

I have been feeling sick for two full weeks.  Some days are better than others, and some days are dreadful.  I feel fine if I don't eat, so for a couple days I didn't eat anything.  I'd get desperate some days and have a couple goldfish crackers around 11am and that was all it would take for my stomach to be in so much pain.  Monday I made an apple pie for my family and of course, the abdominal pain set in since I had tried to eat a little dinner. I didn't eat pie that night, but buddy, by the next night I was so hungry I didn't care.  I inhaled the slice like it was the last thing I would eat.  I savored nary a morsel yet fully enjoyed every last bite. Forty-five minutes later, and for the next several hours, I cursed every apple I'd ever met. 

During this difficult time, my car battery decided to give up the ghost.  This week has been full of appointments and not enough time to replace said battery, so I have been carting around an old battery and jumper cables to keep my car plugging along.  Tuesday I was in downtown Troy for a jazz concert with Noah. I was very careful in my parallel parking so I could have room to jumpstart. (Incidentally, we were the youngest attendees by about 20 years.  It's okay, it was an amazing concert!)

Last night I had plans to get together with a friend.  I ate a bagel and had half an iced coffee.  By the time I bid my friend farewell, I.was.dying. I was in Saratoga which is my least favorite place to be.  It was raining.  It was dark. And I had 17 miles before I would run out of gas.  My car started on its own so that was one blessing in my favor. Saratoga is a bit of a distance from my home and there were not so many gas station around me so I set off on the only way I know...the freeway.  I was sure I was going to throw up in the car.  I could barely focus on the road. I was practicing all the Lamaze breathing, certain this kind of pain was equal to childbirth.   I was ten miles from home and ten miles from E when I got off the freeway and headed down Route 9 certain there would be a gas station.  Nothing. Cuz for the love there just isn't one when you need one!  7, 6, 5....  All I could think was how upset Ryan would be if he had to bring me fuel for the car. He is always lecturing me about "running it down to fumes."

At 4 miles to spare, I found "Little America" in upstate New York.  A tiny oasis in the middle of nowhere that was completely packed.  Every pump occupied with casual Sunday pumpers. Each one turned to stare as I waited patiently for a turn, but none seemed inclined to hurry.  It's at this point I am questioning some life choices.  I should have called my friends more often.  I should have taken my kids to Jamaica. I opened the car door, leaned out, and prayed Jesus take me now.  Little America cleared out fast.

Enjoy good health, Friends, and never take it for granted. Enjoy good friends too, because they are the ones who will bring you fuel when you are throwing up, in the rain, in the dark, alongside the road on Route 9.

Mondays and Hay

I am writing a blog by candlelight.

It's a bit exciting and would probably more so be if I were using pen and paper.

The house is quiet and dark.

In the dark I am a hopeless dreamer. 

I would be simple and carefree, laying on a mound of hay bales eating an apple with a dear friend, reading literature.  I must interject here that there is something so special about a barn full of hay. Oh the places you can hide! You can find a tiny corner where the sun peaks through the holes; you can sit and spread out your skirts and feel the scratchy hay and warm sun on your bare legs.  The smell is dusty but sweet and it feels delicious but uniquely forbidden. 

I would be courageous. In the face of opposition, I would be strong.  I would fight for the weak because I fear nothing.  It's not true, of course, I fear, but in dreams, actions, intentions and outcomes are perfect.  It feels powerful, unlikely, and lends a sense of impracticality.  Having no fear is dangerous and lacks imagination.  It is the balance of fear in tension with purpose that makes passion rise. 

I would be an accomplished musician.  With long, brown curls and a beautiful black lace, floor length dress, I would perform before a large audience.  All my passion would come through my arms, fingers, breath and crescendo with deep, evocative soul stirring music.  Nightly I would be removed from Earth and my soul would be carried along to the stars with melody and lyric.  This is not forbidden or dangerous.  This is beauty as is only given to a few.

I like watching the candle flicker and dance.  It does only as it can to survive and keep flame.  It bring me to reality that I am sitting up in the dark, writing. 

I'm not anything so wonderful as I imagine I might be. 

But the whole of writing is to dream and inspire.  To peak inside a reality and feel it wash over your senses and ingrain itself in your being. To live another life if only for a few moments.  To  taste abandonment which is so distant in the monotony of today. 

A mini present for Monday.  Picture yourself in a grey, weathered barn.  Hay bales stacked to the ceiling.  Climb up the ladder and swing yourself over. Crawl on all fours to the corner.  You will find a little space to squeeze between a bale and the wall.  Pick a friend that is waiting there just for you.  As you approach, their face lights up, as they simultaneously hand you a crisp Gala for snacking.  Here you will spend your Monday afternoon. Unplugged.

Your heart as only you can give, offered.   Your dreams quietly spoken and safely tucked into the bosom of another.  It's okay that nothing changes.  It's okay if none of those dreams come to fruition. 

You have tasted abandon.  Freedom. In the middle of a Monday. 

This is the gift of writing.

A Higher Plan

The brain is amazing.  I think you will agree when you consider all the functions it performs just to get you through each day.  Each lobe has specific jobs and interpretations, and yet, they still must coordinate in complex relationships to relay information.  No area is an island.

It's interesting to note that our identity is locked in brain waves, our emotions locked in chemicals, so that adjustments, even minor ones, may alter who we are known to be.

Does it then scare you that we seem fragile?  Our very selves wrapped up in chemicals, neurons, and complex pathways that might not always function just right.  We think that is a yet future concern if we are "young," but it is possible that tomorrow we wake and find it not be the case.

God has not often presented trial to me in the form of illness or medical need.  I lead a relatively healthy life to this point, for which I am thankful, but in recent months and weeks I have been feeling unwell as I shared in an earlier post.  I received a diagnosis yesterday and treatment and management are now under way.  I am taking some prescribed medication and it is already having an effect. Tiny white pills are actually changing me.  It's fascinating, truly, what the body and mind do and how we respond.

As a nursing assistant, on clinical rotation I worked in an Alzheimer's unit.  It was far from a pleasant experience.  I was seven months pregnant and one of the patients became irate and began shoving and hitting me.  My balance wasn't great because I am a short person and by this point in my pregnancy my center of gravity was difficult to locate.  All ended well, without serious consequence, but I never forgot her face.  How upset she was.  How completely lost and alone.  How she then rocked and hugged all eight of her baby dolls which I was told seemed to represent her children.  She thought I was going to hurt her child, and while her mind was struggling with reason, her protective instincts were intact, and perhaps overcompensating for the lack of clear thought. Maybe somehow deep inside she knew this wasn't quite right or perhaps her mind was so shrouded in grey that it was not possible to decipher any of it.  I think about her.  I wonder what she was like at forty.  I wonder about her eight children.  Once her mind was clear, and her life, vibrant, I suspect.

Movies are dedicated to the topic.  The Notebook being quite popular with the ladies.  Of course it is enchanting to think that someone will love you even when you've lost yourself.  Of course we want to believe that someone will stay the course because they still know you.

I think losing the person you know yourself to be would be so painful.

I think being lost inside yourself would be so lonely.

And, yet, I believe that there are people walking around looking "normal" but feeling these exact feelings.  People I see every day, uncertain, lonely, and worse, unloved.

The mind is a powerful thing.  We are wrapped up in our emotions, neurons, and chemical balance.  But we are also managers of our souls.  A deep part of us that is looking for answers, seeking hope and life.  I believe the soul overrides and outlives the temporal.  I believe the soul lives forever.  The hope I have in mine is what spurs me to help the lonely, to show certainty, and to love.

We are not guaranteed to keep ourselves just as we are.  Time will change us.  Our strongest thing - our mind and will can be altered.

But our soul.  That can be kept by God above.  See a higher plan, dear friend, in this world.  Seek hope and life to fill your soul.

Tell the stories. Make the confessions.  Free yourself from the chains that would bind you.

Grace we cannot understand will meet you.

Your life will never be the same.

I leave you with a quote:
"To love another person is to see the face of God."

Siblings

Sometimes I look up to the heavens and try to picture what it's like beyond the stars.

Sometimes I take a little pause in my day and contemplate eternity.  

Sometimes I like to eat all four bars of a peanut butter Twix.  (You have no idea how much I love the PB ones....caramel has nothing on it.)

Sometimes I fall asleep on the couch.

Sometimes I wake up at 0500 on a Saturday morning. (Like today)

Sometimes right in the middle of the day I get lost in memories and I have to shake myself from reverie.

I love the studies of human behavior and personality. I love to observe people and understand what drives them and makes them unique.  I believe that some of our behaviors and pieces of our personality are shaped by our learned and ingrained emotional response. Childhood experience goes a long way in developing, for good or bad, how we will perceive the world and the people in it.  

I think I've mentioned the birth order of my family.  I am the youngest of three children and the only girl. All kinds of ammo with that information.  Drama for days.  We are all three less than four years apart in age, and I think we were probably a lot to deal with.  Ever so many stories of mischief and it is always interesting to sit around as adults and hear what the others remember.  Some things I have forgotten. Some things I don't recall even as I'm being described as a pickle throwing, explosive-but-darling angel.  I am feisty to the core;  I would not deny it, and I believe it has some correlation to birth order.

What is a little princess to do when she is always the prisoner tied up with ropes to the treehouse? Seriously, could I once have been the outlaw?  Just once?   A princess might also routinely be sent out as a messenger to ask for "group" permissions because it is believed she can elicit a positive response. This task is ALWAYS given to the baby of the family.  I have seen it with my own children. I would hear plotting in the background and into the kitchen, eyes dancing, came Aaron.

Siblings make life.  It just would not be the same without them.  I often wished I had given my kids one more pal to lean on, but I just physically couldn't swing it. A sibling is someone who shapes your views; someone who knows all the dirt; someone who understands your roots; someone who shares DNA of the body and/or the soul; someone who loves you without question.  The loyalty that you find in a sibling is worth all the bars of Twix, hands down.

I often am lost in reverie. I see a small girl with blonde, stringy pigtails, a walking advertisement for Dr. Pepper with an "I'm a Pepper" shirt atop a pink triple layered skirt.  She is a fireball that for the love will not stop talking and will not sit in her seat on the bus. She eats all the peanut butter and chocolate off the Twix and eats the dry wafer last. She is the youngest child, the only girl.  She is a prisoner.  She throws pickles. She is very feisty.

Sometimes when she looks up to the heavens and wonders what it's like beyond the stars....

Sometimes when she takes a pause in her day and contemplates eternity...

Deep in her soul she knows how fiercely and protectively she is loved...and she hopes that all of her siblings will find out with her what eternity holds in the heavens. 

Three Positives

For a Saturday, I am feeling so empty.  Feeling empty makes it hard to write.  This week has left me thinking that I am going through motions each day without depth.  My work is just a job,  it neither excites me nor leaves me fulfilled in any particular way.  I just go there, do some work, and go home.  Parenting is hard right now.  Really hard.  It takes a great deal of effort not to be offended.  But today I had to go to my room and cry, for the look my child that I birthed with love gave me hurt all the way down to my soul.  Physically I feel lousy every single day.  I haven't breathed through my nose in eight months.  Have you ever tried to eat without being able to breathe through your nose?  Have you ever tried eating plus talking without being able to breathe through your nose? It's really hard to enjoy a social meal so I might as well eat alone.  Regardless that I take a Zyrtec every night like the doctor suggested, I don't sleep well, and every day people ask me if I'm sick.  It's just the new older version of me, friends, unless unbeknownst to me, I have respiratory cancer.

It's a tough day, maybe a tough season.  Life always has a rhythm. I think I might be in the low section.  Chocolate does me no good because I can't really taste it.  It's in these moments you ponder.  You look for the positives to give some semblance of balance and order.

One positive, I went to the dentist this week and made it out alive. You really need to be able to breathe through your nose at the dentist.  There were two separate moments that I thought I would literally drown in my own saliva and Listerine. 

Second positive, texts I received this week have literally saved some of my days by bringing comic relief and love.

Third positive, and quite possibly the best one of all, when I am upset, my husband lets me crawl into his lap, lay my head on his chest, and cry.  He tells me these days of parenting and working and striving are long and twisted.  He tells me there is no straight course.  But there is an end.  I lay there, letting his words ease over the aches and pains of being a working, sinus laden, mother.  And I believe he is so wise.

And I believe I can carry on.  For tomorrow is another day.  It is full of new, mysterious things that might amount to simply: church, cleaning, groceries, and a Redbox. And lots of tissues.

It is repetitive and tough, couched in drudgery, this season.  But I will continue to look for the positives, because there will be many.  God will post little signs along the way to announce His presence.  To establish His peace in my heart.  He is here. In this season.  Maybe one day soon He will allow me to taste chocolate.