Jumbled Thoughts

Gentle readers.... 

I am always waiting for the perfect time to write my thoughts, and, frankly, there really isn't a perfect time. It's like waiting to have babies or waiting for the job you 100% want.  There is no good time for any of that, you just take the plunge.

 I only wrote one time in December which is maybe the least amount of writing I have done in quite some time.  There might be some lack of content, but mostly it is a feeling of limbo.  Neither here nor there, neither quite settled or unsettled.  It is hardest to express my thoughts and so I wait with expectation for some revelation to strike which will crack open the vault.

No revelation. No brilliant clarity.

But a pile of jumbled thoughts I have so in no particular order....

I'm not so sure about the job I'm doing. It stresses me out every day and it doesn't feel worth it.  I don't know what to do about it. 

I have been walking each day for some exercise and I so enjoy our new neighborhood - the Christmas decorations are unrivaled for any place I've lived.

It poured rain today and several storms with lightening and thunder came through. I loved every minute. You can't ever be lazy here because it is temperate and sunny every day; you feel guilty. It's probably going to be like this in heaven. 

My son has made his way back to me and now he is almost a man. Your kids leave you for a few years, locked in teenage separation, and then they come back and you realize it's almost time for them to leave the nest. He grew up while he was lost and is he ready and have I been successful? Three years is a vapor.... It feels a little like permanent loss. 

There are no friends in limbo, that continues to be a struggle for me. You can't rush it, there is no rushing it. The kindred spirits take their time, but eventually they come.  

I finally changed my google map setting for home this week. I'm tired of typing in the entire address when I want to find my way.  It felt like betrayal. All my starred places are now thousands of miles away. 

Someone that I love is dying. Right now. These are the final days. He will be letting go of this world and taking hold of the next.  This person taught me about chickadees and held my hand on many hikes. This person carried me on his shoulders more than once and always around the last bend of Monroe Falls. I love to hear him say my name. One day I will hear it again.  

I'm hardwired for my people. In all my thoughts...this is what lingers...  

Love. My people. Full and grateful heart. 

Never Alone

 Hello dear ones...

It is the first weekend in December. I'm sitting in bed, not feeling very well, and thinking about every last minute of this year and wondering how I made it to December 4th. 

I think only the love of good people and the grace of a good, good Father. 

I've written about the struggles of this year, both physically, starting off year 40 with surgery and medication to make one crazy;  emptying my life blood on the roof of 6 Temple Hills (someone please drive by and admire it); and then, emotionally, as I closed my life, watched my beloveds close theirs, and then all of us, painstakingly, beginning anew.  January and November were SO hard.  

This old lady has been on one heck of a journey. No more babies. No more leaking roof. No more peeling floor tiles.  No more pharmacy life. No more Scrabble games. No more mexicano date nights. No more colorful trees. No more pine needles. No more Grace friends. No flour. No diet coke. No mask free days. No church. No touching. No breathing. No coughing, sniffling, nor sneezing. 

You know what? Somehow I'm ending year 40 and 2020 with people who love me and Jesus as close as a whisper.   Somehow my dearest people have not abandoned me. They saw me cry a lot this year. They saw me during some (many) of my most anxiety filled days.  They know, like I know, it is with difficulty that we deal with the shifting of our core foundation, and it takes time. Our countenance does not improve overnight.  Our problems do not dissipate with the rising of the sun.  Little by little, though, we make it. And today, I see that I have come quite far down this road. 

In retrospect, I can see as always, God's hands in my life.  Never once did I walk alone. When I tried to hide and cry, God always caught my tears. And more often than not, my husband was not oblivious. (He's too good, that one.)  God bids us come and find rest. For the pandemic weary soul. For the one who is tired of being alone. For the one who is ready to be forgiven and free of guilt. Rest, and a companion for the journey. One who never tires of your desperate cries. "Is that you again, Angela? Come on over here and sit a spell. Breathe. Breathe. C'mon, I gave you the breath of life for a reason. Quit wasting it. Breathe. Yes, that's good, that's good. You can let go of your old life. You can do it. You can learn to like palm trees. You can learn to like SAP, it's not CFRx, but you can do it. You can choose in this life. I made you in My image and I gave you choice, and, specifically, I put a little bit of feisty sass in there. Year 41 is ahead, look ahead, for I am ahead. I'll be with you there. You're going to continue to miss the turn on Louis Henna Blvd, it's just your thing, but keep driving anyway."

Just like that, friends, just like that, I can breathe easier. The Author of my faith is all around.  He is in my past so clearly.  He is beside me and, most importantly, He is in front of me. The world is becoming very convoluted and uncertain, but I'm going toward a city not made with hands and you know what waits for me? A Savior. 

Peace is spoken into the night. All is well. 

Now that I'm quiet, now that I'm still....

The journey has been so difficult. I feel all the emotion my memory eyes can see. Here I am, though, with people who still love me and Jesus just a whisper away. 

It's been good, friends, it's been good. We develop so much in the valley years. Those people who remain only become more dear. Those lessons only add to wisdom. 

In this night, I'm choosing to say goodbye. 

I'll sip hazelnut flavored coffee. I'll tell Jesus I can what you have done here, you have answered my prayers. 

I'm not adventurous but I am learning perseverance. My will is synchronizing for the long term.  

Goodbye to the elementary years of my children. Goodbye to the place I reared them, the kitchen where I plastered their artwork.  Goodbye to the season that gave me the gift of perseverance. Goodbye to young motherhood. Goodbye to youthful perspective.

I am choosing the next step. I am ready to see these kids as drivers and workers. I am ready to make the turn on Louis Henna Blvd. I am ready for the next bend in my road. 

Thank you, Grief, for being with me all through this year. Thank you for helping me to feel. Thank you for helping me to say goodbye so that Joy arrives.  You are ever a faithful companion, but one day, when I get to the city not made with hands, you and I will part ways forever. 

I will look toward my Savior and all I will need is joy. 

Dear ones, thank you for remaining with me. For reading, for praying, for encouraging me this year. From the beginning when some dear souls snuck into NY in a snowstorm, before COVID, because of love; to the end, now with my little family in Texas, alone, and moving forward. Thank you for your friendship and love. May you also find Jesus meets you just where you need Him.  Merry Christmas! 

Waiting

After evaluation, I can note that I have made two significant mistakes with this move.

1) Underestimating the time it would take to process the shifting of the plates of my life.

2) Getting a new job so quickly. 

I have been winging each day, continuing to hope that the horizon of happiness is coming closer to me.  It would seem this is not the proper way for mental health. I have put myself smack in the middle of a full blown life without allowing for my two faithful companions to first fulfill their roles.  These two follow me all the days of my life; grief and joy. 

I am struggling in no small way to push forward. I believe I have cried every single day this week.  The worst part is that the tears are always just behind my eyes.  I feel like I will cry at any moment.  And then I do. And then I'm mad about it. 

Grief, my old friend, I recognize your creased face. Etched lines; pain filled eyes; small, sad mouth; your face is as familiar as my own. Come, old friend, I think you know the way.  Down the hall and maybe to the right....here we go, here is the room we want.  The hippocampus.  Look in there, isn't it something? Look at all those memories. Pathways upon pathways, mixed, jumbled, severed, dangling, and growing.  You know the places you have been prominent. It still smarts. You can see the memory, dark and then splintered gray.  Without you, friend, this room might be brighter, but it would not be richer. Your part in this journey is so significant.  It hurts when you are here, but you define and shape me. You develop compassion and empathy within me, right in this room.  Sometimes, like now, I need to sit with you and feel loss, fear, unhappiness, anxiety. I need to hold your hand and feel it. I need to know, outside this room, that it's okay to do just that. I need to invite you to come and visit for awhile each day. 

Right now, we're going to drive to 6 Temple Hills.  Doesn't the roof look great? Can you believe you did that? (Nope.) Weren't those boys so small as they ran off the school bus? (So very small and precious. Why is it over?) Wasn't it amazing that you welcomed friends through that door? (Yes, it was God appointed.) 

Wait, are we heading toward Orem? Those are some pretty swell rocks up that canyon. (Bittersweet. I can't take that one tonight.) Look at that adorable and quirky house. (It was so strange and wonderful.)  Grief, you have been here in many capacities; yet...   Hello, Joy. There you are. It took me awhile to find you, but here you are.  Your face is content; eyes, soft; lips, parted in a smile. Already I feel the shift in the atmosphere, I feel calm. You color the gray memories with peace.  You always visit us eventually. 

It's a long journey through this room, this life.  I'm not as young as once I was. I am more set in my ways than the last times I traveled this road; the experience is different. I really feel I probably can't do it again. Tennessee might now forever remain a dream in my heart.  

Grief must remain with me until I am spent of it. I hope I'll see Joy soon.  I hope the horizon comes to meet me. 

I hope I can do this.  

I hope. 

Small Seems Good

 I am bumbling my way through change, one day at a time, as you well know.  Today I couldn't help but remember at last year's Christmas party, Austin came up in conversation and 3/5 people (plus their families) at that table now live here.  I couldn't have imagined then where I would now be.

My constant struggle is feeling safe, secure and home. Literally every hour still feels full of stress and claustrophobia. I am not comfortable in my house, in my car, or anywhere I go. I don't remember feeling quite this much trouble last time.  I didn't like it, but I don't remember feeling like I couldn't get rest. Unfortunately, I wasn't blogging then so I can't check. 

Tonight, I decided I would try out my new-to-me bathtub.  After I worked all day followed by more cleaning and organization, I felt I deserved a few minutes to be a girl. 

Let me preface the rest of this story and/or posting by saying this: I am merely expressing my feelings and experiences. I fully understand that I am experiencing blessings, but I'm a bit at a loss for some of it. 

For example, the bathtub. 

I figured out how to get the plug working, got the water going; I prepared restful music, I stacked up some towels for drying and added a few for the luxury of pillowing my head against the surround. It's pretty exciting. A tub with surround for candles, perfume, flowers, whatever all the girls want these days.  I realized one must be careful when stepping into the full tub, it's actually pretty slippery (I don't remember this part from Pretty Woman... just saying) and I have PTSD from falling down the basement stairs earlier this year. My shoulder/arm still doesn't work right. Tubs might not be for senior citizens....  I'll keep that in mind. 

The water is perfect for Goldilocks, not too hot and not too cold. I get all settled and lay back. Halfway down I realize Houston has a problem. I'm not going to make it because my legs are already going up in the air. I hit the porcelain and slide right down the side and float in the water. Hum. This isn't how it looks in the movies for sure. I have to kick my legs to get back up to a sitting position. Let's try it again.  Take two.  I slide further back so I'm closer to the back edge. The shower is right behind me so I feel I can leverage it a bit if I can reach the glass and hold myself in the water. I stretch out my "bad" arm over my head and fwoomp...hit the porcelain, slide down and float. I literally cannot keep my body on the floor of the tub without pushing up the water with my hands like you would in a pool. Am I treading water in my bathtub? Is that....ermm.... becoming? I mean I don't see it in the movies.  Did Julia Roberts have an issue like this?  I can't turn on the relaxing music because I can't tough my phone now that I'm completely drenched and not just leisurely damp. I could probably swim around a bit but that defeats the purpose of relaxing my nerves.  Sigh. It's not in the cards today. I'm going to need to apply an apparatus to the tub so I can ground myself with my feet. You know. Like all beautiful, poised adult starlets. For the love. 

I'm not sure I'm cut out for some of this.  I'm kind of a simple person. You know hobbits, good earth and growing things, good food, good friends, a small life.  My Texas life does not feel small; I don't think it's going to be small.  

I'm standing on the edge, so timid to go farther, so afraid of a big life.  I don't know how to embrace it; I stand in Lowe's and cry for the comfort of my old home that already has the perfect colors of my life. I can't even visualize what paints this new season. 

Change is so hard. Being brave is so hard. A new life is so hard. 

One day at a time. One more cannon ball into the bathtub.  Humor finds its way through the tears. 

A phone call came today. A voice on the other end of the line telling me that I am loved. Someone cheering me on from the sidelines.  Oh, dear one, you know who you are.  Your voice touched all the wounded places in my heart.  

Remember encouragement, friends.  Remember the ones drowning in the bathtub. We are not okay.  Among other things, we need stilts, Snickers (no, wait, Butterfingers, because no one else in this house likes those), and a word from you.  

We need help to launch. We can't do it alone. 

Freezing the Snapshots

At The Beginning

Homewood Suites.  Fourth floor. Round Rock, Texas. I'm not sure I can define it as home but it will do for now. 

This is my least favorite part of the process and what I have been dreading the most. I was trying to prepare myself for the feeling of being stuck. Of knowing that this is not a fun situation or place to be.  Of wanting to go back but knowing that you can't. Of having nothing to do and no one to see. It summation, this is the part where you have no life and everyone that you know still has one.

It is the part that is lonely.  

It is also the part where you learn how to cope. No one will can help you with that, it's something you must do alone.

I have quickly learned that driving in Texas will not be enjoyable.  The roads, patterns, signals, and traffic make little sense. The drivers are terrible and I think it's because they just don't know any better. There are so many one way streets and the GPS is little to no help. It can never tell if you are on the freeway or the access road. As someone wisely told me not so long ago, "Technology just isn't where we want it yet."

Give yourself plenty of time to miss all the exits and streets so that you can arrive on time to your destination. I will try to wait to tackle the region until my car arrives, which should be tomorrow or Tuesday. I am better equipped to face the unknown in a car I know how to handle. I will show them how it is done in a professional, kind and aggressive manner. 

Preparing meals has been somewhat taxing for the first few days. Friday was the longest day of my life and yet, we still battled the grocery store for supplies and I cooked. Takeout would have been the better option.  We have one stockpot, one skillet, service for four, two burners, one microwave, and no oven.  I broke the only can opener, as soon as I closed it on the can. One last swipe was all the lifeblood it had to give and it went to its final rest. At this point it is 7pm CST and I have been up since 3am EST. I find a machete in the drawer that is quite sharp, actually, and request that my husband karate chop the can of tomatoes and kidney beans. It is harder than you might think to bust into cans. You'd think the goods would kinda ooze out through even a little space, but, no, it is nearly impossible to pry the tomatoes out.  Frustrating. This meal was frustrating, but in the end, after a long week of takeout and half meals and no eating, it felt amazing to eat something created at home. (Even though it took almost double the time to cook on the electric burner.) 

Yesterday we bought more things at the store including a mega toaster oven so we could bake and enjoy the "local" $16 cherry pie we purchased on Friday before we realized that we had no oven. Seriously, how could we make it a month without an oven? We also bought a vacuum because there is no housekeeping because of COVID.  Our newly purchased coffeepot should arrive today because all they have is a little instant one that you can't use regular coffee in. I felt like I was a little prepared from the last time we did this, but last time we definitely had more kitchen amenities. My favorite blankie, dishwasher pods, dish soap, and instapot will be arriving with my car and I packed a candle in my suitcase.  My bag got searched but they didn't steal it! It smells wonderful in here. 

You know what is not wonderful? Learning at 11:15pm that your beloved cat is chasing a cockroach around the room. Joyfully pacing to and fro and that little (actually really big) thing is chugging. I didn't even want to go to bed because I didn't know where it came from or where it was going. I didn't want the cat to bring it to bed. I didn't want to imagine more bugs in the bed, in the dark, when I could not see. I did not rest easy, but morning brings news of death and I am grateful. Should I report this? Is this just everyday news? Leave me a note in the comments. I hate bugs and I think my Texas life will be complicated.

I think today we will venture out and find an "authentic" dining experience and I shall sit by the pool and catch some rays.  I'll not quite be starting work yet, but soon. Getting the kids into school is also still a work in progress.  We have all agreed it would be so much easier if we could just move into a new house. But this timeframe is the time of testing, it separates the men from the boys, it determines your will to survive and thrive. Because if I didn't have that will? I would have given up at, "Uhh..haha....babe...I think Sam is chasing a cockroach." To lead your family through this time, to guide them amidst frustration and sadness, encourages strength and gives firm grounding for what is to come.  A good life can be built from a solid foundation. 

So.  I have a temporary oven, a new can opener, a vacuum, and a coffeepot. I have a candle. I have a dead bug that is being removed.  I have three people with me, all playing video games, and one cat that isn't quite settled yet.  I have two teenage birthdays to plan for next weekend, because birthdays don't want for better timing. 

This is the hard part, yet from the hard parts come the best stories that add to the foundation that forges bonds. Friendship. Family. All are cemented by memories, hard conversations, difficult times, and laughter.  

I was the only one not chuckling at the bug incident, but I did enjoy hearing the laughter and that everyone else was taking it in stride. 

These are my people. And we are on an adventure in the unknown parts of the world. 

We are at the beginning. 

At The End

This week has been busy, painful, joyful, and exhausting.  I am reminded time and again how it feels so much like the last time I did this. Naturally that dredges up wonderful and melancholy memories and feelings of my Utah based family. My brain is stacked, layer upon layer, with snippets and pieces of my life. My "rest" is infused with complicated dreams and I wake up each morning unsure what day it is and where I am. Getting two teenagers off to school is harder than I thought. I can't be sure how they survived without me all these years. I think it's probably been the same routine, I've just not been here to stress about their body getting on the bus on time. They seem to lack a particular sense of urgency.  All I know is I am NOT battling 2500 other parents at the HS/MS COVID cautious dropoff line. Get your behind on that bus, come hell or high water. 

I have cried every single day because. The people. The people are so kind and dear and "goodbye" is the hardest word spoken. 

I have been working to withdraw and enroll my kids for school. I'm tired of looking at my phone and trying to accomplish these tasks. You have no idea how much easier it would be to do this on a computer.  I think I'm almost to the finish line. Just need to place a couple calls today.   We are definitely going to need more technology in TX.   

In the early summer, we got a POD to put some of our stuff in storage while we listed and sold our home. They returned said POD, per our request, on Tuesday and plunked it right in the middle of the incoming lane. Not on the curb, not next to the curb, but literally in the middle of the road. We emptied it promptly and tried to get them to return to get it, but they said Friday was the best they could do.  Thankfully, we live in a small neighborhood with no outlet, so traffic is minimal. However, I knew someone would complain, and the state police would be at my door. Sure enough, they arrived yesterday, late afternoon.  The trooper was nice enough, he took our information, I assume filled out his report and departed.  Ticket's in the mail....  We'll see. (This morning the buses had difficulty getting around because someone parked right in front of it on the opposite side of the street.) Lordy, just get me out of here without one more blessed visit from the police. I've been in more trouble in NY state than anywhere. Y'all are serious up in here.  

We are finally under contract in Texas. It took us seven offers, but the good Lord perfected it and we are pretty excited with the possibility. Inspections are underway and more negotiation will occur, but I think it will work out to be ours. It has a pool!  It has a very quiet and private backyard which is something we have never had. This current house has been great but there was a definite lack of backyard privacy and the neighbors liked to enjoy their tunes at a high volume. I mean, I'm okay with country music, but no one else in this house is remotely on board with that. I went wrong somewhere with these friends....  I like to think seven years in Texas ought to set them straight. Just remember....I was not the one who initiated this move. 

I have less than seven days in NY. The weather is blessed by God to see me out. The leaves are turning beautiful shades because of the cold snap; now it is warm, sunny and breathtaking to behold.  It is a beautiful way to transition to a place without the seasons.  I am looking out my windows and, certainly not, but, yes definitely, shedding a few tears as I type this. The home I raised my small children to teens is being packed up and the hour draws closer when it will be empty of all my things.  I will stand in it, alone or with my people, and I will play the memories that are indelibly printed in my heart. Food and soul satisfying laughter in this dining room. Migrated and drawn out Midwest goodbyes in this entryway.  Crazed squirrels and chipmunks running through this family room. On this deck I manhandled our giant Christmas tree, in the freezing rain, and basically broke my tailbone. Countless hours spent in love, anger, prayer, and joy in this old, chintzy kitchen. (new one can't count.) Prayers, heart to heart chats, and questionable cleanings in these boy bedrooms. A history of love and guests in this bedroom.  Love made and shared, and plans and dreams and life celebrated with my soulmate in this bedroom. It will all be empty and I will feel the full weight of the end. I will drive away. I will be crying. And I probably won't come back. 

To be at the end is something I can't quite define. It's better to leave it to the imagination. All your emotion is juxtaposed with logic, rationale and a complex combination of past, present and future, with some sadness as the central theme. 

To be at the beginning is something we can easily define.  Chaos despite organization. Excitement and fear for the unknown that is near. Uncertainty. Myriad emotions, but generally, sadness is not a theme. 

I will be both at the end and the beginning in seven days. It is a road I am dreading to take. Walk with me, Friends, and I won't feel as lonely. I will be able to tell you how it hurts, how it makes me roll my eyes, and how it makes me laugh. You can tell me how you were at the end once and what helped. You can tell me about what made your eyes roll today, and together, we will find the laughter in all the experiences. 

Stay with me. 

Ground Zero - New York

Gentle Readers....

Many are worried about the start of school, COVID, the election. These things are barely on my radar. School will technically start next week for my children, for two point five weeks and then we will move to a hotel in the south of France. Errrr...I mean the middle of hot, dusty, windy, brown, Texas.  If it sounds like I was unimpressed with my new digs....it's because I was. I am.  But. I also did not like Utah in the slightest when I arrived; although, at least it had a beautiful mountain range to spice it up. 

Don't worry. I will settle in. I will. I always allow myself the full rights and privileges of one mourning and grieving and it always involves some disdain.  Texas did not win my heart in the four days I was there, nor did I expect that it would. The internet was enough to tell me that it would not fulfill my environmental desires.   

I am stuck in limbo, neither living nor dead.  My days are long, and wonderfully, then painfully, then wonderfully, boring.  Moving is like dying and if you don't agree, then you have never closely encountered either one.  There is an almost imperceptible line that is crossed as you near the end. Persons with a terminal illness, who have been preparing, cross that line. The living watch and mourn and inch by inch distance is created from within the circle. The person leaving is accepting, understanding, and emotionally detaching from the life that was lived. Persons leaving one life, moving, cross that same invisible line in the sand. 

I knew it was coming. I was preparing. I've been prepared; but, nonetheless, it is hitting me quite painfully.  I have removed myself from all my obligations and the life around me continues without me in it. There is a bubble created from within the circle. I look out the windows toward my now old life and give a melancholy wave.  My life has already said its beautiful goodbye and these things can really only be dragged out so long. 

Limbo. 

Painfully alone. 

Painfully uncertain. 

It was always coming. I told people and they did not believe. "Oh, we'll do stuff. We'll make plans. We have plenty of time. We will stay in touch."

I have done this enough to understand the process.   

The bubble has been created. The line has been crossed. 

And so I wait to wake up to my new life.

What will it look like? I can't be certain. But I think it is going to be harder than I imagined it would be. 

Help me, Jesus, help me write the next chapters well.  

Ground Zero - Austin

I am sitting in a small bed in a room on the third floor of a hotel that is filled to capacity with residents that have fled a hurricane.

I reread that sentence to myself to bring rationality to what will follow.  

I am not fleeing my home.  I did not leave behind belongings and sentimental trinkets that I might permanently lose.  

I'm still crying anyway. I have waited until it is quiet and I am as alone as possible to empty my heart. 

Do you read great and wild stories of fantasy and intrigue? Mystery and heroes and death? Does it stir your soul? Can you see that the hero is always detached? There is a burden he bears that sets him apart from his counterparts.  He can't join in with the group though he would like to do so. He feels deep urgency, great responsibility, though his heart would rise, weight pushes down.

I feel a bit like my hero friend. Weights are tied to my fingers and my feet, and yet I push forward. I walk with my kids through a time of great upheaval, clinging to this verse..

And he said, "My presence shall go with thee, and I will give thee rest." Exodus 33:14

This life is so difficult, but I can hear Jesus whisper that the journey will always end in joy. It will ALWAYS end in joy. By that I mean heaven, of course. Every step of this life can be covered in pain and anguish, but death gives way to victory one day, and the Sun of Righteousness will rise and every tear will be forgotten.  

It's okay to cry.  It's okay to acknowledge pain. In fact, it's best to get it out there.  Talking with my son tonight, I shared some of that.  I thanked him for coming with me today and walking through houses for hours. He asked, "Why does it matter?" I said, "It matters because I am having a hard time with this. I don't like leaving my home. It's why I cried when I looked out the window and first saw the 'For Sale' sign in our yard. I'm losing my home. I can go through houses innumerable, but it only matters if the people who make it a home are there supporting and loving me, and helping me choose.  It doesn't matter if I spend 100,000 or 500,000 it will still be just a house. Love makes it a home." We had a little moment - I hope it helps him too because I know that he is struggling. 

I feel detached because I want to appear strong, but all of my insides are churning and as I listen to all the noise outside at 1230AM, panic rises in my throat and quiet sobs escape as I realize I am once again sitting at ground zero with no one to love me. It's too hard to start over.  It's too hard. 

I reread Exodus 33.  I think of the houses I walked through today and try to imagine my possessions inside.  I try to imagine cooking Thanksgiving dinner in that kitchen, or watching my son walk down those steps with his cap and gown.  The last phase is here. The one that brings my sons to adulthood.  I am one of the heros in this story - I must remain detached to complete the task that began one October morning in 2005.  I will not give in to the fear that would take me in this moment.  I lay down for a moment and stand back up to find my place. 

It's too hard to start over; it's a true statement. There is much that is hard in this life and knowing pain bears fruit in our character. I am so gentle with those far from home as I will forever be. Just today I told Ryan it will be most unusual for me to be buried somewhere because you will all move on from that place and no one will be there to visit me.  While there is no true resting place for my body, my soul all the more longs for heaven and the joy and rest that will be.  Better is one day with Jesus than thousands elsewhere. 

My tears are drying and I prepare to go to sleep so I can walk through more house trying to determine a future course. I feel like I'm not old enough to be doing this. To be preparing to launch my kids in a few years, to be trying to find the perfect high school and house that will be their final home with me.  It is so overwhelming. Am I making the right choices? Every hero has doubts. Every hero wonders what was the reason they should be selected. Not always does the hero learn why, but every good author that has selected the hero weaves a tale worth reading. 

I know I am merely on a journey and my tasks are to raise two children to love Jesus, and to show others who Jesus is. Everything that pops up, between the newly introduced fire ants (those hurt!) and the tears on my pillow add depth.  My fear has been calmed and replaced with the assurance that He makes me worthy of being read.  

Ground zero or not. Someone new is getting ready to pull up a chair, pour a glass of sweet tea, open my book to page one and read. All because God chose me to be an unlikely, detached hero, with a penchant for starting over.  

One Mississippi

It's getting to be late summer.  The days are hot and long and it seems it could go on forever.  Do you feel that way about summer days? For me, every day feels as though I am standing at the edge of a precipice. I could close my eyes, jump,

and fall forever and feel the heat and wind and breathe the smell of summer and open them to a new life. 

I asked my husband to take me on a motorcycle ride this week.  I needed to get away from my job, the disarray that is my house, and the glare of change that never fades to grey.  Partway down the street, I asked him to take a different route and take me out of town, because nothing compares to summer in the country. 

If I were any kind of writer I would be able to describe that first smell that greets you as you cross that invisible line between chaos and silence. I closed my eyes and breathed. For the first time in weeks. It smells like pine and oak; heat and fresh mown hay; cut grass and Queen Anne's lace, which is really just the smell of weeds, tall ones, that wave in a big field mixed with yellow wildflowers. It smells like lightening bugs, burning wood, cucumbers, and honeybees. 

I allowed myself to let go. 

It restores my soul.

One doesn't have to choose.  One can be a combination. A combination of the city and the country; of working and stay at home;  of take out and home cooked; of homebody and world traveler; of writer and reader.  

There are many things I want and all of these above apply.  I want to be classy  in New York City and snapping green beans on my porch. I want to work and make a difference and I want to stay home and cook all the meals and grow things.  I want to wear heels and be barefoot. 

When you are standing at the edge of a precipice, right before you jump, there is a feeling of excitement, you have so many options in front of you. Anything is possible.  Change is here. 

You can close your eyes and all the way down you get to decide what will be next. 

You breathe in at that invisible line between chaos and silence.  And you know that no matter what you choose this line will always be home. 

You smile, strap in, and prepare to enjoy all the beautiful moments ahead.  The people and life that want to help you say goodbye. 

This is the now. This is goodbye. This chaos is a beautiful summation of a life that was created.  

Breathe. One Mississippi. Two Mississippi.

Goodbye. 

The Overflow

Memories, reflections, and words flow from my eyes and my heart.

Seasons are what this life is all about.  Think back on your own life and you will be able to see seasons, a span of time dedicated to this person or that thing. You will also notice that they rise and fall and ebb and flow like rivers eroding a path that has become the journey of your life.

One thing I vowed at the age of twenty-six as I stood in the upstairs bedroom of a beautiful home on O' Fallon's Way, I will commit to this path with my heart. My mind currently refuses to acknowledge the events but my heart will own this path.

I made that commitment between God and myself.  I committed to honor my husband and his choices for our family. (God has blessed that commitment - I have gotten to do a lot of cool things.) I committed to creating community in the places I find myself.  I committed to loving the people God would put in my path and make from them,  a family.  I have found that my style, while seemingly commonplace to myself, is a bit unusual to most people.  I have come to believe that it is something that God gifted me with, perhaps born out of our pact
or put there as He knit me in my mother's womb.  Either way, He gave me a good hearty dose of emotional intelligence, I can read people and situations, well.  I can relate on many levels so there are not too many people that fall outside my realm of social competence and I love it.  I love people. I love digging down in there and helping you find that thing you didn't know you needed - God and relationships.

It is my belief that God wrote this into my DNA because He knew, unlike myself, that the river of my life was going to stretch out and wind toward the horizon for miles.  He is so, so good.  Friends, if you don't know Him like I know Him, I encourage you to search, He promises to be found.  Your life will never be the same and you will be blessed to have a companion for the journey.

Seasons end. So quickly and abruptly you could tailspin from the surprise.  The courage to face the ending of  a season comes and goes. It's a process, dear ones, and I am still learning how to be courageous.

I vowed to move my tents. I vowed to love.  I vowed to build community. Wherever I find myself.  I did not vow to go without tears.  I did not vow to go without feeling.

I would not trade, for one moment, the path of my life.  My sense of independence is something I once dreamed to have. My will to survive runs deep. My heart is scattered the world over and still beats within, ready to embrace the next adventure. 

I will raise my children in a tri-fold experience,  through three sets of states, cultures, and people, which is quite interesting to me.  This is the final stage, the one that brings them to manhood.  Then the current might be able to slow... 

God goes before me.

Behind me is joy, sorrow, people, adventures, food, growth, tears and love.

Thank you for being part of my story. The  chapters that have included you filled my heart, and now overflow.

The Next Adventure

I'm going on an adventure.

I am trying to find the time to get the words right, but there is not adequate time.

I'm going on an adventure and I'm running pell mell toward the unknown.

I don't know many people that have oft had the chance to look at the future and have zero ideas about what it will be like.  This scenario is different than: "I don't know if it will rain next week or if I will meet my maker."  It is more like: "I have chosen a different life and I will move my oxen, my cattle and my tents to the mountain region to secure good relationship."  I have never laid eyes on said "mountainous" region. I have never felt the scorching of that sun.  Yet every day I wake and all my efforts are in pursuit of reaching it, and reaching it as quickly as possible.

It is somewhat rare, I believe, this position in which I find myself.  I'm dreaming of home without the knowledge of truly just what it will be. It can be exciting, certainly, and it feels freeing because Angela 2.0 is possible. But we all know, actually, it will just be Angela in a different place.

I love that God writes my story - He has killer plot twists.  He knows how to wring emotion from every scene.  He knows just how to turn the page and close a chapter.  His comedic timing is spotless and His dramatic flair is everything.  The chapters of my life are not very redundant; I am never quite certain what to expect.

I am not spontaneous.  Not really at all. I would settle for the quiet earth and growing things and words.  I would sip tea and bore you for hours every Tuesday afternoon with meaningless and meaningful chatter.  I would sacrifice affluence for a quiet life.  I would choose love and friendship above the pen and paper.   I am not complicated, but am complicatingly simple.

Therefore. I would stay.  I would stay in the quiet and established.  I would not push for the wild and unknown parts of the world. Dragons can come to me if they need vanquishing.  I can dance in this silver forest just as well as any other.

And then, one random Wednesday, the Author amends His story just so at the most unlikely of moments...

I know I can trust Him for He always writes a wonderful ending.  He will give me tears for He knows I need them.  He will give me laughter for such is the medicine of life. He will walk my journey and weave a story, born in His heart and for the purpose of reaching people, until we meet in an yet undisclosed chapter (trust me - it's already written).

I must go on an adventure.  I am taking a small fellowship with me.  I shan't be returning.  But, oh, the sights that are ahead!  I should only embrace the time that is given me for all to soon the book will be dusty.

Goodbye to this season.  It took almost everything I had to give, and then some, but eventually the purpose of the chapter was realized. Good has been done here.  Love has blossomed.  And I leave with a heavier heart than I ever thought possible. 

I hope we meet again for my Tuesdays will always need an ear and tea is always at the ready. 

Middle Roof

Saturday night.  I love quiet Saturday nights.  I like to be in my home, with a good book or movie, a lighted candle, and peace.

Tonight is no exception.  But this week I have definitely earned my respite.  This week I can only lay on this couch with the combined assistance of acetaminophen and ibuprofen. Today I look like Samwise Gamgee at the end of The Return of the King. I have a severe red/brown tan line on both legs about 6 inches up from my ankles. The rest of my legs are pale and full of bruises, deep scratches, and grime. My finger nails are full of tar and grease and I can't get them clean. My face is deeply tanned and sunburned and peeling.  I have had little sleep and I have wandered through the days, sometimes, in a mental fog, but always with sheer determination and stubborn will.

I did not spend this vacation in Middle Earth but instead, I worked toward putting a new roof on my house.

I learned much. I cried a little.

First and foremost I learned: you do not tear off the old roofing wearing shorts.  It is imperative that you follow this rule. I wear shorts one day out of every year; gung ho to not have those attractive tan lines, I decided that day for 2020 was day one of this project. This poor decision yielded what we would go on to loosely term, fiberglass butt. Are you familiar with fiberglass?  I was not too familiar but I find I am now well versed and will add this to my resume.  After 5 hours of digging off shingles and tar paper, I learned a few things.  Fiberglass is slick as snot. Those particles are like marbles under your feet. When your legs are tired and you sit to work, those particles dig into all your pores and scratch your skin as you constantly slide down the roof. The end result of hours of removing shingles and sliding around in fiberglass is this: your thighs are burning, every muscle is aching, as you lower yourself to the toilet to relieve yourself ten thousand knives simultaneously pierce
your skin. That is fiberglass butt. It will remain with you for days. (Do you know how much time you spend on your buns if you are afraid of heights and are roofing?) You will never forget what it feels like.

I wear these tan lines like a badge of honor because I purposely did not put another pair of shorts on for the entire project.

We rented a 35' boom lift which saved our lives. The kids were able to help get the shingles and boards up to the roof without us expending more energy.  We had a lot of water damage and it took a lot of time to replace the boards.  Noah was a pro on the saw and it was such a joy to work with him and see what skills he learned in tech.  When he speaks about how to proceed with the saw, it is with clarity, authority, and logic and I follow his lead. Ryan stayed up on the roof and the boys and I worked together to get the cut boards into the lift and up to the roof.  Our neighbors sat in their pool and stared at us all day. I was never so envious of their pool as I was on this day.

We encountered several days of scorching heat which delayed our project.  On Tuesday about 4:00, I started to feel unwell. We are laying shingles on the backside upper roof at this time. Our home faces east so this means we are now in the the direct sun at the hottest part of the day. I know we only have so many workers and so many days; I try to talk myself out of it.  But within minutes it is all I can do to get the strength to crawl up the roof and throw myself onto the other side and sprawl out. It is a good 15* cooler on that side, and I find all I want to do is throw up about 4 times and go to sleep. Maybe eternally. Aaron is in the boom quick on the drinks but we have run out of water bottles and I am offered a cherry Coke which I take without hesitation and suck down.  (I hate cherry flavored anything.) I hobble to the lift and Aaron takes good care of me for the next 30 minutes.  He puts his arm around my shoulder and tells me all the way to the ground that I am doing a good job. He helps me inside and gives me specific instructions for heat exhaustion.  He is so conscientious and again, like Noah, authoritarian.  I wonder who raised such good kids and when they grew up to tell me what to do.  I made it through and went back up to complete the day.  I prayed multiple times that God would grant us cooler weather on Wednesday so we could get ahead in the project.  The kids and I sat joking that we were the entertainment of the street as our neighbors across the street sat in their front yard watching us. When one guy left, Aaron quipped, "Well, there he goes for the popcorn."  I got Noah to perform a little macarena with me and I think they enjoyed it.

Wednesday was just as hot.  As I sat with Noah on the roof about 4:00, facing the street, I said, "Well, Jesus, I guess it was a hard "no" on the weather shift, huh?" Within moments, I watched two cars pull up in front of my house and three grown men piled out.  God's response, "Daughter, I love you more than a mere weather shift.  I want to give you the better gift. I am providing you with unexpected help."  And I sat on the mountaintop and cried.  Just a few salty, grimy tears but with a heart full of gratitude.

It was just the encouragement I needed to carry on.  We still needed to do the entire lower roof, including replacing boards.  I slept only three hours that night because I kept dreaming I was falling off the roof, but I was at Lowe's at 6am to get supplies and a sweet tea to treat myself. We worked so hard that day. The kids and I did the drip edge, underlayment, snow/ice guard, and the starter shingles while Ryan and a teammate did the boards.  I pushed and pushed and pushed, I did not take a break all day.  My will is very strong, my friends, and I kept repeating this line I read: "A man who is a man goes on until he can go no further - then he goes twice as far."  My body is pretty broken and my mind is going, I started making stupid mistakes because I just can't concentrate.  Aaron was helping me cut and I realized I cut it way too short and I look into his eyes and I'm trying to keep from crying.  He instantly understands and his look of deep pity goes straight to my heart.  He whispers, "I'm sorry, Mom" over and over.  I take a minute to let the exhaustion and stress leak from my eyes.  Noah reaches over from the other side of the roof and pats my arm. I repeat to my kids for the hundredth time this week: "You can do hard things. You keep going even when you want to give up."  I take a deep breath and plunge onward.

Friends...with the help of others, cooler weather, and strong determination...we finished on Thursday night at 9:20. 

I am still recovering.  I might have some PTSD. It was the hardest thing I have ever done. Physically for sure. Maybe also mentally.  But the sweetest memories of working alongside my family live forever. My kids were amazing. My husband taught each of us some skills. We took time to learn, to joke, to have some fun. We only got through this project as a team with all members pulling some weight.  We depended on each other and the other teammate always delivered.

That kind of fulfilled trust, binds.

I am so proud of us.

I have fiberglass butt, burns on my thighs from the hot shingles, dehydration, sunburned skin, parched lips.....and joy.

Because Frodo and Sam had each other at the end of all things.

And I have Ryan, Noah, and Aaron.  ❤️

A Heart Full of Hugs

Does your heart ever feel so full that you wonder how much more will fit?  Does it compress and weigh and sigh and swell and adjust?

My heart is so full of many things that for days now it just runs right out of my eyes and down my face.  Unbidden. Random. Unexpected. Silent.  Sometimes the silent tears hurt the most.

Life just stopped unceremoniously one Friday in March. It just stopped. You know what I mean, the entire country got up, went about their work, came home that evening and stopped.  I remember that day and how it felt. I drove a friend home after work and I was feeling a lot of emotions.  I could tell my life was changing in an instant and I was having difficulty processing what it would all mean.  It was very surreal, somehow I knew it would be permanent or semi-permanent in some ways and my life would not be the same. I didn't know how to face it and I was grateful to not be alone that day.

A main function of being a parent is to celebrate your kids.  It is to champion them, lead them, cheer for them and then push them out of the nest.  So many parents are missing opportunities to celebrate.  Right now, tears stream down my face at the loss.  It is a significant loss and we are allowed to feel it.  Not only are we allowed, but we should take the time to grieve it fully.  Not one word of criticism about "people's lives matter more than your milestone." Not one word of that in this space.  In this space we validate emotion and feelings.  We take time because we know if it is not processed right and well it will be baggage in a hot minute that we will carry with us to the next stage.  Friends, we always want to keep our baggage light, we want to unpack it often.

I only have middle schoolers but they both are struggling in their own ways. My son has chosen not to pursue jazz his Freshman year because he wants to add another course and there are only so many timeslots.  He was going to have a jazz festival, he was going to play in NYC and with those great final memories, he was going to say "goodbye" to jazz which he truly enjoys.  He is mourning that I think, not with tears like me, but a piece of his heart is disappointed and as his mother I want to fix that.   He is supposed to "move up" in a ceremony in which he would have played some jazz, and dressed up. He asked me last night if I was going to play "Pomp and Circumstance" for him and without hesitation I said, "yes," which means I have to dig out the keyboard, find some sheet music, and start practicing.  He gave me a hug.  Which isn't unprecedented. But kinda.  (He feels the teen separation hard right now.) I died a thousand deaths.

Boy scout camp is canceled and I know his career as a boy scout is now over. He's been expressing it for awhile but it's been a forced commitment.  I wanted him to go to camp, have a good last memory because I know next summer he is almost sixteen and a sophomore and I will not force him longer.  One day in March his career was simply over without announcement, without fanfare or one more merit badge.

My friends are postponing long dreamed of weddings.  My heart aches for the bride dying to wear her dress.  I once was dying to wear my dress. I feel that.  My niece should be graduating high school.  I should be in Ohio celebrating her.  I once graduated and was anxious to have my family celebrate me.  I keenly feel that.

Friends, what are we supposed to do with this mountain of unexpected grief and unrealized celebration?

First we are going to allow ourselves to grieve.  My son hugged me hard and when he pulled back I hugged him harder.  We will feel the grief.  We will talk about it.  We will find ways to celebrate.  We will not be silenced by anyone that thinks our priories are misaligned.  My sons, my husband, this time, is my priority.

Second, we will find ways to move forward. There is nothing new under the sun so many people before us, moved on.

We will move on somehow.  But give yourself space to grieve.  You can do that here.  You can pop over to my house.  I am allowing company.   I am allowing tears.

For one day we got up and our whole life changed.

And that needs hugs.

The Voice of Truth

The Sunday night blues are getting worse.

I've always had them. Almost always.

Sunday night. The evening you spend thinking about returning to work and wishing it wasn't a thing.

It's so much worse now.

I have to wear a mask all day.  I have to take my temperature before I begin my shift. I have to take the temperature of visitors entering the building.  Extra duties, extra drama.

It's not that I'm afraid to be out. I'm not afraid. I just cannot put into appropriate words how exhausting it is.  Every task you undertake is an ordeal. It's three extra steps to do one thing. Nothing is simple anymore.

Each day it gets harder to keep your sense of humor. I'm not totally gone because I can share that I'm now thinking about giving up coffee.  When you have to smell your own coffee breath all day it gives you renewed appreciation for your loved ones and helps you consider other beverage options.

I hate losing my sense of humor.  It is the one thing to which you must hold tight, your humor. It is what allows you to make it through, and once it is gone, the only remaining thing to lose is hope.

The opinions are many. Too many.  The dialogue, q and a sessions, "read this from my doctor friend," the theories, the articles...  I've given up trying to process what is accurate.  I don't believe it is within my scope to know it. The world and all its sources have proven untrustworthy time and again. The opinions of anyone are just that.

I know in whom I have believed.  His word.  His voice.  Is the truth.  As I go through the day, if I step back, as if stepping outside my body, I see the noise. Yes, you read it correctly, I "see" the noise. It looks like emotion. It looks like a train. It looks like a storm in which the eye is never quite reached. It looks like barren wasteland. It looks like deprivation.  It looks like tears.  I step back in and, in slow motion, the words I need to hear come toward me. The truth slices deeply through the noise. 

"Angela, beloved daughter, you seek a home to come, here you have no continuing city.  Ask me for wisdom and I will give it freely.  Lean into me. Listen to my voice. This present world is full of trouble, it always will be.  I give you peace to carry with you. Remember my joy. It's here.  I'm walking with you each day.  You never go anywhere alone. I made oceans and trees and stars and I hold your hand. Do not listen to the chaos.  Do not be disheartened by the noise.  You get to walk like a lion today.  I will fulfill a purpose in your day.  As you wear that mask, take your temperature, hear the opinions and politics, roll your eyes, and start to feel discouraged, remember I put you in year 40 in the year 2020 in this New York culture for a specific reason.  You can't see it.  You don't know what good is possibly going to come from clocking into work each day.  But what you do every day bears witness to God.  So do it right. Do it well.  Shine a light in dark places.  The dark will try to overcome you but it can't.  Because you, Angela, beloved daughter, carry the light of the world with you.  You bring hope when all the lights are going out.  Be excited that it's Monday. You get to be an influencer.  I am with you. Even to the end of the age."

Let's roll.

War Stories

Dear readers...

It's Sunday.  It's quite difficult to differentiate the days of the week sometimes.  Sundays traditionally do not look like today has been.  Everyone talks about what they will do "when this is over."  One can only guess and only time will tell just when that will be. Because I live in New York....it might not ever be over.

We have had some fun experiences with friends.  We've participated in video wars, food wars, and camping wars.  In a nutshell, taking and sending videos of dinners/what we're doing/challenges.  We have received gifts of food on our porch and we have given gifts of food.  We put up a tent in the living room and camped out overnight and so did our niece (at her house in Ohio).  For the record, our camping trip was last night and my body isn't recovered. You can do a lot of things to keep purpose and meaning. 

If we are old and dear friends, I probably have already laid out my well intentioned plan.  My best strategy by far was to remove myself from social media.  Just like a brave soul walks directly into what everyone else runs from, I'm doing the same in the opposite, and it doesn't require bravery.  While many have flocked to social media several minutes/hours of the day, pouring over posts/news/gossip/memes, I simply made the decision to remove it from my routine.  What blessed peace.  For now, it is proving to be one of the best strategies I could employ. 

I don't want to wear a face mask everywhere I go, but it's now basically required.  I don't want to battle with my kids about routine and the need to shower every day regardless if you step foot outside the door. I don't want to go to work every day and come home to a house full of people who haven't left and pick up (some) pieces on top of everything else. It's exhausting some days and some days those I have left behind knock it out of the park. We're all just living one day.

It's still life.  It still has purpose and meaning. And I am still required to rise up and meet it.

Today is Sunday.  There is sunshine. And my group text message affirms my life and reminds me I am still very secure at the bottom of the food chain where my farming skills are mocked, and no one can EVER forget that I threw a pickle in 1987. 

Look. I'm not likely to plant only one row of corn in the future, but I honestly can't say I won't throw another vegetable.  These are the days of our life. 

Each day has meaning and we can still enjoy those whom we hold dear.

Embrace today.  Mask or not.  Me? My man is going to take me on a motorcycle ride and we are going to see the world. And eat ice cream.

Walking the Streets

I have had many joyous days.  I can say with confidence that my forty years have been beautiful.  I have loved and had the love of one good man.  I have loved and had the love of two sons.  If today would be the day I meet Jesus, I would leave this beautiful life knowing that the best still waits for me.

Death is walking the streets.  He can be seen more plainly than before, and as he goes he leaves a trail of bodies waiting to be placed in mass graves.  Mass graves.  Two words we don't often place together when we describe life in suburban America.  Still Death walks.  Slowly and surely through our streets.  As he goes he twists and turns, taking this one and that one, and leaving one behind. His methods are ruthless, steady, and final.  Devastation and heartache is all you will find when his work is complete.  You would do well to fear such an opponent, for once you have engaged, there will be no recovery.

But what if.

What if Death walked the streets. Ruthless. Steady. Twisting. Turning. Wreaking havoc and devastation, but the poison of finality was no more.....?

Death is the great enemy because of finality.

There are no more baby snuggles. There are no more fudgesicles on a hot day.  No more bike rides through the park.  No more arms enfolding.  No more hands to hold.  No more smiles reaching to bright eyes. No more juicy apples.  No more snowflakes melting on cheeks.

Final.

But.... Once upon a time....  Death, haughty and fierce, waiting since the garden, brought his top game with all its fury and force. And he surrendered to One.

Death walks the streets.  Our streets. Piling bodies to the left and right.  But we can have hope beyond death.  He will twist and turn and mount sorrow upon sorrow but it is not the end.

Softly, tenderly, Jesus says, "Your sin? It's a big problem.  It separates us and it costs a life. But
I paid for it.  Your heart? I want it for my own. Your life? I laid mine down so you could keep it. Believe in me. Believe in the One that sent me. I am the First and the Last. I am the Beginning and the End. I will make all things new. Come."

Hope beyond death.  The news you will not see on CNN.

The cities on the hill, we are getting tired, shining out in the chaos in few numbers.  Still we hold our one candle high in the hopes that it will start another.  We pray that it will be so.  Hope is here.  Take hold of it.

My one beautiful life has been a gift.  One I don't relish relinquishing.  But I know when I cross from this life to the next, Jesus will be waiting.

Can you say the same?

Food for thought as Death walks our streets.

Take A Bullet

Good Morning from New York!

Quite possibly the corona capital of the US...or close to it. I'm sitting on the couch in a quiet house because I'm not making my teenagers get up yet and my husband is already "working" in his very quickly converted home office.  Do you know what?  Before Amazon stopped shipping all of the things we want, they made a fortune in home office equipment sales.  A fortune.

My life is changing this week and I have only complained to the people I love most, multiple times.  My anticipated frustrations are very likely coming to fruition and the reason I am frustrated is they could be (somewhat) avoided by leaders being leaders and getting the thing organized.  Friends, if you hold a leadership position, think long and hard about your delivery and your skills and when you find them lacking, fix it.  For the love, FIX IT.  I'm sorry to the people I love most.  The truth about me is I only need to vent when people aren't doing things right.  When everyone is doing things the way I want, it's all good.  I'm the boss because my way is right.  I am very successful at most of the things I do so take note, okay?  (Please to my new readers....read that in the context it's presented. It's half truth/ half jest/half exasperation.  Of course I'm not always right...there is about 2% give or take.)

To combat this....I'm going to share some of my story from our European tour.  Remember that?

Now. Now.  I am giving you the full chance and opportunity to opt out right now.  This has some details and tiddly bits that might make you uncomfortable.  This is for the ladies in the group, but read on, if you are so inclined.


I went to Europe in October.  I met Ryan there and we traveled through 5 countries and it was amazing.  I am so, so grateful I got to have that experience.  Again, for any new readers, I am not really equipped to be outside the borders of America. I hope I will do okay in heaven, but time will tell. (Please make it a teensy bit like America). Also I am not trying to be offensive, this is just my front line experience as reported by myself .

Do you know you have to pay to use the bathroom in Europe?! Like literally carry coinage, put it in a machine, get a ticket, and proceed to stall #3.  Never have I ever....  Reasons this doesn't work for me.  1)I never carry cash. Never. I would have to buy stock in Depends.  2) It is time consuming! Sometimes
you are desperate and you just so happen to be in line behind an American who can't get their life in order.  I suggest that Taco Bell stay stateside.   3) Going to the bathroom is a specific God given right.  If someone is charging, the money had better be going to the work of Jesus.

My very first time needing to use a toilet, (and incidentally they just put it right on the outside sign: TOILETS. No sugarcoating: RESTROOMS.) I was in Germany at Neuschweinsten castle.  Being at a tourist destination, the line was longish and we had men and women waiting. The separation between men and women toilets is very scarce.  I also am not on board with this.  Ryan didn't join so I was anxiously watching everyone in front of me.  How were they operating the coin machine? Did they push any buttons?  Is there any English on the machine?  The line stopped for awhile, then people ducked under the gates and proceeded to the stalls. Me and one other guy remained and in came a large, loud German man.  I am sweating bullets because I really need to use the restroom.  Apparently the machine is broken and he is here to save the day; he is not allowing the two poor souls in line to get a freebie.  He seems to fix it up and the guy in front of me puts his money in, and pushes the button, just like everyone before him.  He proceeds.  I do exactly the same thing, desperate to get behind a closed door.

He yells. "NEIN. NEIN. NEIN."

My face is literally the sheepish emoji with the teeth.  Uhhh....

He bangs the machine.  Speaks in German

Sheepish emoji.

Speaks in German and waves arms.

I believe I figured it out. The button was the rejected coin dispenser.  Like for PacMan.

I am still trying to determine if he was angry because I was technologically challenged or because I was arrogantly daring to use a bathroom stall for free.

Literally every person in front of me did that.  I was merely following suit.  Now....what was I saying about leadership....  Hum.  I guess there are more people than just myself who don't know how to pay to use the potty.

I recently had surgery and this surgery was a direct result of my European tour.  And this is the part for the ladies....  Seriously, you can't be angry with me if you choose to continue...

You can imagine that of course I would get my period on my dream European vacation.  If I were like most people who breeze right through it, fine.  But alas, there is no breezing.  Picture you are driving through Europe in a rented car, with limited supplies of underwear and clothes, you pretty much have no idea where you are going, and you are the passenger (the passenger cannot always express the direness adequately.) You don't know where the rest stops are, everything is in a different language, you are constantly being rerouted for construction, and you brought no protection with you.  I mean...for the love.

I was so stressed out, certain I'd be scrubbing seats...with what, I can be certain. Kleenex and spit? We looked for a place to stop.  I didn't want to waste time at the wrong stops, but we had no choice.  I didn't want to get out of the car... I was sure it was too late.  I'm tearing up.  And there was nothing at the store.  We proceed a few miles farther, which if we found nothing, meant we had to go twenty miles back to the freeway and my life was over.

I'd like to interject that my husband is my favorite.  He handled me like a champ. All the way through Europe and he never complained.  It was a very unfortunate complication that could have ruined the trip but he was so.very.understanding.and.patient.  Triple gold star.

God in his divine Providence provided at the next stop. Ladies, I couldn't understand what was in my hands.  60 tampons in this tiny box?! Extra absorbent, no less? What was this madness?

We made it to the hotel, I rush to the bathroom,  I open the box, and out pops a bullet.

Legit.

I audibly speak my thoughts.

 Ryan asks if everything is okay.

"Uhh...I guess. Actually I'm not sure. I'm forty years old and about to learn a new old process. I have an extra absorbent bullet in my hand.  I will have to read the directions."   5 months later my mind is still blown.

Ladies, it's very difficult to unwrap the plastic around said bullet.  I wasted a few of the precious at a couple rest stops in Switzerland because those suckers slipped right out of my hands.  I was not retrieving them....cool runnings, man. (You'll know what that means if you've seen the movie. Watch it during isolation.)

You have to twist and turn it to expand the product and then no applicator.  It starts to look a little less like a bullet but all I can say is the manufacturers must not understand what it is to be traipsing through Europe with a heavy cycle, using paid stressful toilets, where you don't have a lot of time, and where all the goods and services are public and...no applicators.


"Oh hello, good sir, don't mind me.  Just slipping right over here to the sink to wash my hands.  No, no one was murdered today.  Yet."

Oh. My. Word.

I took my trusty $45 duffel bag to Europe.  I bought it at Walmart in 2011 before I went to Singapore.  It's been all over, it's a trusted good friend.  Take that, all you expensive luggage brands.  It was just canvas over a frame, very simple.  As I started to pack for the trip home, I realized my box of bullets wasn't going to fit. I emptied the box into the bag and stuffed the extra gifts and things in. Upon check in I noticed the bag had a somewhat large hole near the handle.  You could look right inside the bag. I mentioned it to the lady, and all she would do is make me sign s paper stating the airline didn't make the hole.  No tape? Really? In 2019?

I looked at Ryan.

I said: "I love this bag.  He's been a great traveling companion, he got me on the bus in Malaysia, he got me to Salt Lake City,  but I am fully prepared to leave him and all my worldly goods behind in Chicago.  Because if he comes down the belt spraying bullets, I am not playing 52 pickup. I repeat, that's a hard no. Do we have an accord?"

We clasped hands and walked to security.  Laughing the entire way.  We are meant for each other.

This is how I know that I will make it through this pandemic and this life.  I have a great companion. His name is Ryan.

Toilet Paper - Could There Be Another Title?

Good evening, dear friends, and unknown readers....

You are safe here.  I don't know who comes and goes with any regularity.

These last seven days have been most irregular.  Would it surprise you if I said I haven't been to the grocery store in 9 days? I am not the one buying toilet paper.  I am not the one buying bread. I am not afraid of not having bread although I love it dearly.  (I am the tiniest bit discouraged at the thought of no tea.)

I don't know what is going on out there.  Is it a blockbuster movie come to life to change the course of our life?  Is it the beginning of the Lord's return? Is it merely an illness and nothing else? Is the government actually turning itself upside down and inside out to the delight and full extent of every conspiracy theorist's thought?

I don't know.

I am not that deluded, nor am I that smart.

Friends. I don't NEED to know.  I don't need to be smarter than the government.  I don't need to be smarter than the CDC.  I don't need to have watched every movie Steven Spielberg or Stephen King ever inspired.

I am a daughter of the only King.  With that comes specific peace.

I don't want the government to turn upside down. I don't want martial law enforced or anything remotely close to that. I don't want to be without toilet paper (specifically two ply) or bread or cereal. (I'm a hungry type person.) I don't want a zombie to bite my head off or a mist to overtake me whereupon I find myself in the mouth of a 7 headed monster with eighteen rows of teeth. I also don't want to not be able to go to church or the library or Chili's.  Look.  None of that sounds appealing to me.

But I do not fear it. I do not fear any of what is going on.

I've often wondered about the "peace that passes understanding" that is described and preached and others more devout and holy than myself, talk about. When will I have it? When does it apply?  Will I recognize it? Is it a way of life rather than an abstract idea? I'm certainly not a candidate for this although Jesus says I am.

Guess what?  Emotional Angela, the one they always worry about being stable and able to handle life, emotional Angela....    does not feel emotional.  (Except the tiniest bit about the tea thing)

This is the peace that passes understanding.

It's here.  And you can have it.

You don't have to delve into the drama and trauma.  You don't have to worry and wonder.

You can fix your eyes on the perfecter of your faith and walk in peace.

No matter what happens, you can already know the end of the story.  You can get to live in heaven with Jesus who has been building and planning for your arrival since before the foundation of the earth.

It's an interesting and strange time, it might get more interesting and strange, but you can know peace.  Peace that passes understanding.  That's the presence of Jesus.  He probably isn't going to bring me any tea but He's taking me to heaven one day and He is along for this ride wherever it's going.

May He continue to give me the courage to sit on a hill and the grace to shine well.

Baby Of Mine

Forty is kicking my ass.  Typically I would not use the word "ass," but writers must choose the exact word for the moment, and "ass" is it.  I am not entirely sure how the good Lord feels about that word as a noun for the "gluteal region" rather than an animal, but perhaps we'll have a conversation about that some day.

Mid-life crisis might be a thing.

So much is happening in quick succession that I don't have time to quite recover.  The timing of all these events is uncanny and I am honestly not a fan of one thing after another after another.

I'm raising boys. There have been many difficult moments over the years, but unless I forget some key things, and God has probably graciously allowed that so as to save my sanity, middle school years trump it all to date.  I have always been pleased at the age gap of my children, but I have one entering and one departing this school year and it's more than I can take.  Many times, from those who have gone before, I have been told that eighth grade is the hardest.  It's true.  It's tough. And it's tough that the other guy who is supposed to be on my team is turning.

There is a distinct line, a pivotal, defining moment in the life of every boy.  It is the moment that his mother no longer holds the moon.  My last baby crossed that line last Wednesday and I have not recovered.  I cried the entire way to work that day.  I've cried every day since.  I keep telling myself  "You, Angela, have nerves of steel. Somewhere, deep down inside of you, you have nerves of steel that will shelter your heart from the pain your beloved child wants to impart."  I'm still looking.  I know it's there... Slightly out of reach for now.

My job as a parent is to raise two dependent babies to independent adulthood.  They need to be able to understand who God is, they need to respect His authority and the authority of anyone who oversees them, they need to be productive, hardworking, kind, generous and many other lovely adjectives. In order to be successful, I am not permitted to be friends with my child.

If my son dislikes me because I have not given him what he desires, I do not get to yield.  He may try to punish me and still I do not get to yield.  My only job is to stick to the established guidelines and not cave to emotion.

Son, I see you.  I see that you are growing and expanding your horizons.  It has been my greatest joy to watch you do just these very things since day one. It has also been my greatest joy to hold the moon for you, and your brother, although it was getting a little heavy.  It is difficult to live up to such a high standard.  I am re-living each moment that I was your first choice.  It was truly a gift. I know this separation has to happen because we are not going to be roommates until you are forty.  Going through these changes with both you and your brother, pretty much simultaneously, is, well, my least favorite event in all my parenting years.  I need to call your Grandpa and your Grandma and tell them "thanks" for getting me from Point A to Point B all those years ago.  I also need to make some apologies.  I'll expect the same from you in about thirty years.  One thing you should know, beloved son, I really do have nerves of steel.  I will not yield. Today, I am not your friend, but I hope that one day somewhere down the road that I will be.

You are so precious to me....

Cute as can be...

Baby of mine...

Winter Is Not Forever

It's a cold Thursday in February.  Winter has been forever this year.  Would you agree?  I think it feels this way because it's been wintry in my life, winds blowing through the pieces of my life and scattering all my best laid plans.

These are my best laid plans: love God, love others, and eat.

It's pretty simple really, and just like no one person can manage to follow just ten basic commandments down to the letter, I can't manage these plans.

In recent weeks my ability to cope with others was at an all time low.  Summed up in few words: if you can't get your act together, I can't help you.  I was razor thin on patience and hog fat on judgment.  I'm not proud of that.

Adding to that....  I was hiding from church. I didn't want to go.  I didn't want to visit with people. I didn't want to concentrate and sit through a service.  Summed up in few words: because I am feeling confusing feelings, I can't worship.  I'm not proud of that either.

As you most certainly must know, I am from the Midwest.  America's heartland.  Apple pie flows like honey and chicken is best served fried.  My people do food; everything comes together with, and through, food.  Eating is truly one of life's joys and I embrace that sentiment.  I am completely unmotivated to craft a meal.  Can we just eat cereal and eggs? Every day?

It's winter, and while my joy is returning, I find myself aimless.  Many uncertainties cloud the future and I am not quite sure which direction my feet will go.  I don't live in the world that is colored in gray, only in black or white does it make sense. When the path in front of me seems to diverge, I get nervous.

I'm centering.  I'm starting slow.

One foot in front of the other.

Spending time in God's word.

A favorite passage:

"And behold, the Lord passed by, and a great and strong wind tore into the mountains and broke the rocks in pieces before the Lord, but the Lord was not in the wind; and after the wind an earthquake, but the Lord was not in the earthquake; and after the earthquake a fire, but the Lord was not in the fire; and after the fire a still small voice."

A still small voice.  Reminds me that faith gets shaken. Trials will be ever present. Friends will forsake.  My only sure foundation, the only place I can find fulfillment and certainty is in a nail pierced hand that continuously stretches toward mine. 

Oh how He loves you and me. In still, small ways.  Such as when my son made me dinner tonight.  What a treat to not have to craft a  meal after a very long day at work.  It's okay with me that it was eggs because I offered eggs for every day. 

In still, small ways I am collecting my plans, thoughts, and directions.  I am remembering that God's plans supercede my own always.  I will not be frightened because many blessings have come to me in this way. 

I am realigning and will embrace the current state of single parenthood that stretches before me.  It is not new, but an old path.  One that starts to fit like a glove. An exhausting, demanding glove.

Winter is not forever.  Summer lasts also but a season, and so it will pass from one to the next before I know it.  I will change with it and see what new horizons dawn.

The Eternal Rhyme

Tonight is about reflection.

We have to take the time necessary to process our feelings.  We women can't be rushed. Write that down.  It's important to process your emotion, how you feel about circumstances or trauma.  Until it's processed, it eats the interior of your soul and given time, can crush your spirit. 

Deal with your emotion. Always.  It is the only choice to make.  Do not put a pin in it. Do not table it indefinitely. 

My life as you may know is currently unraveling in emotion, personal distress, and physical chaos.  As of today, my body is no longer able to physically bear children.  My family was complete, in my mind, several years ago, but it does not allay the subsequent sadness that accompanies a final reality.  

Our family is a hot mess right now.  Ryan blew into town for the weekend, from Phoenix, bringing with him some type of flu bug.  I fought hard all weekend against any such disease so as not to delay my procedure for a second time. Noah succumbed.  Poor, sweet Noah who has the regular immunity of a horse, was hard hit. Man down.  He has been worrying all evening about missing a second day of school.  I understand his duress.  Ryan is going out of town in the morning, so I rallied him, as patient zero, to help me change the bedding, clean the bathroom and Lysol the teenage room.  I'm still trying not to succumb to germs on top of surgical difficulty.  I'm also attempting to keep Aaron clear of it, but he prefers to take tommorow off school thank you very much, and he has declined vitamin support. 

Today's recovery has been more difficult than I anticipated.  My doctor said: "You'll be fine with some Ibuprofen." Well. If you mean by an entire bottle of such, okay agreed. All the while, juggling laundry; flu bug detox; dishes that amount when nobody cares about life; emptying garbage and pushing fluids and pills; both for myself and others, I'm thinking that I'm due to high school orientation this week, and I will have no more babies.  My life is chaotic and precious; my girl parts have always been an issue, but God still blessed me with two amazing sons, and the ride ever draws nears an end.  It's a hot mess that I have been privileged to manage, and one that is denied to some.  My arms feel the slightest bit empty of sweet baby smiles and cuddles as my aching insides yearn for relief.

I see the night when I broke my foot as Ryan prepared to deploy with his unit for Operation Iraqi Freedom.  It was the night of Aaron's second birthday.  I have very strict rules that all kids must begin potty training by 2 - no exceptions. Broken bones and missing husbands included.  It is pure parental nonsense that one "wait until the child is ready" for toilet training.  You wait much past the beginning stages of two, my friend, and you are in for a battle of endless wills that will have you changing large sized, kucka smelling poop diapers and wishing you had the foresight to begin earlier.  Aaron gave me a run for my money. Literally.  He ran all over the house peeing, quite gleefully, while I chased him on crutches.  It was a hot mess. But in three weeks I was still the boss and his little buns were faithfully seated on the toilet. And I was still on crutches.

I see the night we brought Noah home from the hospital.  We were terrible parents. (I was.)  He never stopped crying and I was thinking we might want to send him back.  New parents are exhausted.  It takes a lot of hours, physical pain, little rest, and little sustenance to bring a baby forth.  Once that precious bundle is in your arms, it does not cease to demand.  I gave up, friends.  I'm not proud but on that night in question, I gave up.  I turned the bright light on right in Ryan's face, laid the baby on him, and I said: "Here is your son, do something with him."  And I promptly went to sleep.  

I see so many nights as I reflect and process my emotion.  One wild adventure of motherhood that had a clear beginning and now has a definitive end.  Oh, indeed my time with the title "Mother" continues, because someone will have to call a teenager off school tomorrow and do more laundry and try to make some food.  But the window has closed on the past.  The window that brings love to life and gives the night owls human company.

A beautiful season closed today.

I feel a sense of loss for what was.  How is it that far back in memory?

I feel anxiety for the limited time ahead.  Am I still a terrible parent, do they know what they need to know?

I feel intense joy for what has been mine.  "Can we do it all over again? One more of those disgusting slobber "sugar" kisses that only a mother loves?

I have a precious and chaotic life with one handsome husband who does battle for me, who stands alongside in the parental trenches, and who today called me beautiful in all my haggard post-op ugliness.  You can't put a price on that.

I have a precious and chaotic life with Noah Ryan and Aaron Michael, aged 14 and 12, respectively.  I remember much and I forget much about the days of our lives.  I do know that welcoming these two into my heart was so very easy and launching them will be the most difficult thing I will do.

"How very special are we, for just a moment to be, part of life's eternal rhyme....."

The Winds of February

February.  I welcome you.  For this January was the longest and darkest I have known in some time.

Not all seasons of this precious life are brimming with happiness, cheer and goodwill.  Not all seasons have laughter, banter, and blessing.  Some seasons require daily or hourly attention to the course in front of us.  Put your foot here.  Put your foot here.  Jesus, help me to keep doing this thing called life.  Give me strength.  Meet me here.  Jesus, I need you. This is my January season. So long it was.

What I can appreciate about these seasons of life....  What gives me hope...  The people who meet you where you are.  They bend down to your stooped level, they look in your eyes, though you are desperately trying to look elsewhere because you are ashamed, and they stay.  They agree that it's not looking so great in this place.  They  serve you when you cannot serve yourself.  They care for your heart when you have forgotten how. And unselfishly they stay.

I have had doctor appointments in the double digits for the past 8 weeks. My personal space has been violated repeatedly.  Just one blessed time I would prefer to keep my clothes on thank you very much and I would prefer not to be manhandled with instruments, hands, and knives.  I want all the people to stay three feet away from me for the next two weeks.  I understand health is important.  I understand the need to endure such times. But as I became a middle aged person all I could see was: "This is my future.  For the next years that God gives me, I'm never going to get to keep my clothes on."  Colonoscopies, mammograms, cancer screenings, blood work, stress tests, ultrasounds, physicals...   I'm currently over it and it's just going to be that way for awhile.(Thank you, Jesus, for my life, I do treasure it even though I am exhaustified.)

It's been so discouraging.  I've been really, really low, which is atypical of my nature. I have to encourage myself to get to work.  Maybe you can get a cookie..?  I have to encourage myself to get to church. Maybe you can get a coffee?

Such times come to each of us.  None of us are without trial.  I hope you have people that meet you in the Not So Great place.  I hope you have people that stay.  To be chosen during such a time speaks volumes. By their actions, someone says, "I know you cannot reciprocate but I am giving to you anyway."   It's such a powerful thing to serve the broken.  You will be immeasurably blessed to give without expectation to receive.  And, to the person who cannot give back, you will have changed the course of their day or possibly their life.

February we're glad to see you.  We're glad to know that no season is permanent this side of heaven.  We like for the good seasons to stay a long while and the low seasons to exit quickly, but there are no guarantees.  We lift our cup of tea in honor of the broken everywhere.  We lift our hearts in thanksgiving for those who choose to stay. 

Aging Up

Today I'm aging up. 

It is a particularly cold day in upstate.  Every January I question my purpose in being in this part of the country.  Why does it have to be so cold?  I never take a birthday off work.  I don't want to waste precious days so early in the year; it's just not right.  However, this year, I decided that I would take some time to invest in rest and peace. My plan did not actually come to fruition but, sometimes, a diverted path leads to blessing. Remember that, when you feel like you are not going in the direction you intend.  My life has been full as the result of many a diverted path.

My husband planned a lovely celebration for me which was a surprise and not quite such a humble gathering. Two days later I finally have the time to sort through the emotional wreckage and draw out some data.

1) I am not at all ungrateful for the love and effort on the part of so many to execute this plan.  I've been in your shoes; I know it takes work.

2) Plan to give some grace when you are throwing a surprise party.  You are placing A LOT of expectation on the receiver.  Like all your hopes, dreams, and money pinned to one outcome.  It is an overwhelming amount of pressure to receive well.  We don't all succeed in living up to the perfect reception. I've thrown many surprise gatherings, always with the intention to bless, but it never occurred to me to consider the pressure it places.  I really will be much more thoughtful about it in the future.

3) Givers generally don't receive well. We simply don't know how to do it. I am in a season of life where I only want to receive; I  am burned out in all areas of my life, yet I can't manage to rest and receive.

4) I am still extremely and almost-sick-to-my-stomach embarrassed that I could not handle the pressure. So many dear-to-me faces all staring and hopeful.  My mind couldn't comprehend what my eyes were seeing.  There is my Mom who should be in Georgia.  There is my Dad who should be in Florida. My brothers from Ohio. My Aunt and Uncle from New Jersey.   My friends who should be in Utah and Idaho.  I can't translate in such quick succession what it means that they are in a restaurant, hours after a January snow storm, two miles from my house.

If you don't yet know the answer.... 

It's love.

They have pinned all their hopes and dreams on me for love.  I am unable to sustain the weight of the money, time, and effort spent.  I don't know how to receive these gifts so generous and selfless.

I am reminded that it is a privilege to age.  Each milestone should be welcomed and I intend to live with that philosophy. But what makes it truly a privilege is the investment you make....

My husband said many wonderful things this morning while I'm still trying to wrap my mind around it and inquire on how my sanity appeared to the masses.   He said: "You deserve this and so much more. You pour your whole life into this family.   You gave a piece of yourself to every person in that room. I didn't have to try too hard to get people to come and you can see for yourself how far people were willing to go."

Gentle readers, it was a little bit like my own "George Bailey" moment. (There is no insinuation that I have saved any one's life.)

Gentle readers, know that it was difficult for me to receive well, but my heart (eyes) is overflowing. 

Gentle readers, if I can continue to push and push on this one issue....give yourself away.  Invest in other people.  Be passionate about connecting with others.  Pursue Jesus - the community you will find there lasts an eternity. 

My life is a privilege because of investment.  People have invested in me for forty years.  In turn, I learned how to output investment which generates other investors and brings us all together in one spot.

Jesus is the greatest investor.  He gave His life to save mine and calls me His own.  There is no greater security blanket from which to begin an investment company.  I encourage you to do the same.

I am grateful for every person who came to see me.  I am grateful for every person who was perhaps invited and unable to attend.  I am grateful for every person perhaps not invited because guest lists can only be so long, but who would have been willing to come.   It deeply warms my heart, it makes me lose every shred of my dignity in the corner of the restaurant, it gives me hope for every tomorrow.

I feel undeserving of such an outpouring.  Such humble thanks I give for the gift of love that cannot be demanded, bought or sold, only freely given.  May it give me renewed energy to forward the gift to others.