A New Experience

Dear Readers...

I recently embarked on a journey, an entirely new experience.  I was intimidated before I even began, and in time, I would find that I was right to feel this way. 

You might be surprised to know that a woman in her forties has never been anywhere by herself. I've been in my home by myself for a few days.  I've traveled to destinations around the globe by myself. But I have never traveled to an unknown place and stayed alone. 

 Can I just say for the record, for those still living under a rock, still huddled at home, for those who have never traveled anywhere in 18 months....   Travel will steal your soul right about now.  People are everywhere.  You cannot breathe in the airports.  You just want a place to sit your fanny down and guess where you're gonna be....the floor. You're gonna be on the floor stuffed up between two abandoned wheelchairs, a trashcan and six of your closest strangers who are also audibly wondering, "How is it possible that the airport is this busy on a weekday in October?!"

I should have been prepared then for the well formed line of people stretching across the length of the parking garage at the sign marked "Avis Preferred."  But. I mean. Doesn't by definition "preferred" imply that some people will be excluded?  As I inched forward for 45 minutes, I had time to ruminate on my understanding of the definition as did my fellow inmates...errr... prisoners of time, otherwise known as weary travelers, most of them also for business. I also had plenty of opportunity to wonder why I didn't pack one of my 34 scarves for the occasion.  It certainly was not a balmy day in Portland, as drops of rain pelted the earth, my phone and my spirits.  I enjoy rain but I do not prefer to drive through it, in a strange car, in a strange place.  My spirits only worsened as I sat down in the red Hyundai and the smell of smoke assaulted my senses.  I mean no offense but one thing I cannot stand is the smell of stale smoke overlaid with air freshener.  I gagged a bit, and thought about making some demands, but waiting another hour didn't suit me.  I drove out of the parking garage, punching in what I hoped was the right hotel address and realizing all the while that the windshield wipers were no good.  My vision was obscured, blurred by water that would never quite clear in front of my eyes. I'm thinking of all the reasons that I would like to be at home, but I swallowed my frustration, clung tightly to my phone and the steering wheel, and did my best to follow the directions from Portland to Hillsboro.  

My hotel room was sufficient but I was sad to see there is no cream or sugar and only one packet of coffee; using the included coffeepot will be pointless. I went to work before breakfast was served in the lobby so that was disheartening, no breakfast and no coffee.  My first day at the job found me without my badge so I had to call to be let in. Then, I opened up my laptop and it wouldn't turn on.  I tried multiple times, but, alas, "fan error" was all it would say. Here I am, at the warehouse with colleagues I don't know and my computer won't work. I call IT and the say, "Go to your local IT or send us your computer." Luckily this site does have local IT, so I depart the warehouse, Google the office and set off.  Again, no badge, but they let me in and direct me to IT.  I'm nearing tears at this point... because technology just isn't where I want it and I'm embarrassed and stressed at all the things happening.  I will pause and say that I'm pretty good in most social situations, I can get on with a lot of people.  But.  IT? These people were not my jam. Condescending. Rude. Arrogant. As if my whole joy in life was to show up (as a site visitor) on their doorstep with a broken computer just to make their day.  I was very humble and contrite, my embarrassment notwithstanding, having no idea if I was indeed the cause.  "Put me at the bottom of the list, no problem, whatever works best" seemed to level my pal, Lenny, until he found out I didn't have Teams on my phone and he would have to call me. (I since added it but as I knew prior, it was a huge mistake...I don't actually want to know what's going on at work while I'm not working.)  Lenny called later to tell me it would be a few days and I could drop back by for a loaner.  It wasn't a great computer and I didn't have all the things I needed but I could at least contribute.  The part finally came in right before I came home.  I think Lenny was sad to see me go....he mustered some conversation about my trip and it wasn't all that hard to fix the issue and it was no big deal to help me out.  I think we had a small breakthrough. 

Work kept me busy. I pushed cranes into crates, used a power drill, burned my fingers on hot screws, spent hours with my arch nemesis: ratchet straps, and wrangled all sorts of lifting and hoisting devices for days.  And by day four, I realized my steal toes shoes were probably not the right size. I could barely walk around the last five hours of the day and I knew my toes were probably bleeding. I googled a grocery store, hobbled around grabbing band aids, Diet Coke, instant oatmeal, microwave soup and chocolate pudding. The recipe for a perfect weekend.  My poor toes.  My poor feet. I doctor them up and fall asleep early on a Friday night. 

Despite my crippling situation, I decided I at least need to go see one site while I'm here.  I chose the coast because the other option included a hike to a waterfall and that just wasn't possible.  Route 26 near the hotel is a three lane highway, if you can call it that with top speeds coming in at a chill 55mph, but 5 miles down it becomes a two lane road that heads up the mountain.  Drat. I know this life. Miles of cars just bumper to bumper with nowhere to pass.  I have no way to charge my phone so I turn off the navigation and tune the radio.  Do you know that I went thousands of miles Northwest and all I could get was a Spanish station?  I'm thinking...hum...I just....really?  As I settle into the languid tones of what must be a love song, I spy a round, brown ball in the middle of my dashboard.  The traffic is thick and there are so many empty cars on the sides of the road with hiking trails leading off in all directions. There is a constant speed up and brake pattern so I need to pay careful attention to the road, but my eyes continue to drift over....is it a ladybug?  It looks like a brown ladybug.  It would be common, in my experience, to see these in the fall.  I decide its a ladybug because the alternative option that is clamoring for my attention is unacceptable. 

The drive is beautiful.  Oregon is beautiful.  Simply put.  It is everything I imagined it would be, chilly, woodsy, damp and full of people with beards, backpacks, and dogs.  My destination is quite easy to find even without the use of Google, although I clearly brand myself as an explorer that should be held in high regard.  Do you see this license plate says "Washington?" I am clearly roaming far and wide so it's in your best interest to just...errr... yeah, give me a wide berth to parallel park in this tiny, highly congested seaside town.  Actually, never mind, I'll park over in the visitors center lot which has just the perfect, okay not perfect, sized spot for my compact car and I will carefully squeeze out the door and hobble the extra four blocks to the ocean.  Bleeding toes are of no consequence to explorers.  How else did we find the Pacific Ocean to begin with?  It's windy, but the sun is shining and the view of the relentless waves crashing against rock reminds me of the Creator who made it and knew that one day I would come to see it.  It was the one year anniversary of the day I moved to Texas and it was already feeling emotional.  In front of my eyes is beautiful proof of a perfect Creator, of a God that brings order and structure and design. And on this day in 2020, I couldn't have imagined I would be on the Oregon coast for it was never a thought in my mind to visit.   It was an embrace from the Almighty to hear the pounding of the tide and see His glorious masterpiece.  To close my eyes and know that He thinks of me, that He, even through this difficult year, continues to amaze me with the courses He sets me on...it was a gift on a tough day.

 I turn toward home and decide the languid and melodic Espanol has set me up for enchiladas. I pick a place a few miles from the hotel, and it is only after I get my food that the ladybug awakens. And it's not a ladybug. And it moves very fast. And for the love why is it heading for the steering wheel?  I really am scared of my brown, multi eyed, road tripping spider companion. Internal terror at the thought it will somehow land on my body and....do what?  I'm trying to focus on the road in yet, more, unfamiliar territory but I can't bear the thought of it being on me, and I can't exactly get away from it.  I grab a napkin out of the bag and wing both spider and napkin toward the passenger door. It's only after I feel a measure of safety that I consider that I don't know where he has gone and I still have this vehicle for a few days. I spot my awful steel toed shoes on the floor and I'm certain I will have to dump him out of them in the morning.  Curses for getting a red car! Police and spiders alike are attracted to the svelte swift lines of crimson. 

Unfortunately for me, the next morning, after I spent several minutes in the dark parking lot trying to peer into my shoes and do the hokey pokey a few times, it was not the shoes.  As I sat behind the wheel, my friend descended from above and when I saw him dangling in front of my face, well, I didn't give a single thought to Charlotte as I sent him flying back across the car. Death was on my mind. Quick. Efficient. Death. I wondered how he could possibly be breathing in this smoke infested car anyway.  Did he not long for the fresh air of the country? Somewhere to spell "Some Pig?"  I tried to find him but I never saw him again and every single time I got into the car for the duration of the trip, I was haunted by "What if?"  

I feel wiser for having traveled alone. 

I learned how to be a big girl. 

I learned how lonely I would be if it were just me for the rest of my life. 

The best gift of all though....was walking out of the Austin airport, I was so thankful to be....home. 

Maybe You Wander

It's September...  

In this hot, oppressive Texas heat, I cannot feel a change in the weather.  Fall is not on its way, not for many months, if last year is any indication of how this one will play out.  I have to reprogram my thinking as it relates to the weather, and as it has related to a great many things in this year of our lord 2021.

I have written much less than I would desire, but the days tripped over each other with nothing very poignant to express and a general feeling of emptiness persisted.   As August ends and the days only get hotter, which frankly I cannot begin to understand, I have some thoughts threading through my heart.

1.  It is good to be lost, to question, and be uncertain.  This is a good and necessary place to find yourself periodically or routinely.  It is only when you are lost that you get to the heavy lifting of identity.  By identity I do not mean gender, please don't confuse that.  Identity is who you are with Christ, or without Christ, it is your core values, morals, and compass. 
2. Difficulty is established by the person feeling it, not the person observing it; and, perception shapes our feelings and response.  Someone might be witnessing a scene and believe there to be no difficulty experienced, but the person involved in the scene might be mired deep.  Perception largely guides our actions and feelings and it is not always a trusted ally.
3. It is quite painful and intimidating to have preceding generations leave you behind.  
4. Being with like-minded people, especially the community of faith, is one of the most essential things in which you can partake and for which you should prioritize.  It's like air and I have been gasping for 12 long months....
5. Eventually, the night ends.

There have been many days in which I wrestled with each of these thoughts; some days, more than one.  I would say that while I was desperate for understanding and wisdom; I wandered from faith.  No, I did not fully abandon my first love but I certainly was distant.  It is so terribly difficult to find yourself without a church home.  Sometimes staying home was easier than going and finding it again wasn't the right place.  I support the church online but it is just not the same, friends, it is not, and I would be willing to submit my position to debate.

This is a verse I recently read:

And the Lord said, “I will wait until you return."

And there it was.  Straight to my gasping, dying, dried of tears heart.  

Angela, I have been waiting for you.  You are floundering because you are starting to wander.

Angela, I am waiting.  I'm always waiting.  

Therein, I settled the decision in my heart and have started to put some roots down in a church.  I'm signed up for a weekly study, which I'm already sweating bullets about because I just can't do the ladies studies, ya know?  It's hard for me.  But here I go anyway because putting roots down is important and I have waited too long to begin.  

I have really struggled with the death of my grandfather in June.  His loss has left an oversized hole in my life; I could not have fully understood in advance the current of feelings that would unravel.  I now know that I am only one generation away from being "it."  There is only one buffer between me and being the one source of earthly wisdom, strength and godly character for the ones coming behind me.  

See thought #1, #2 and #4 and the supporting paragraphs.  Yeah...it's going to go real well, right?

Being prepared to lose one's parents and aunties/uncles is an entirely new reality and this just cements that this a pending action in my future.  That one buffer might remain for years or be gone in an instant and it has been very sobering indeed.  The truth is I don't feel ready.  I feel lonely already, does it even make sense?  Probably not, but I feel the gap is widening between me and them and I have lots of work to do to be ready, to be responsible and worthy.  

I then consider some things.....

I put a roof on my house.  This task is as recent as a year and I already cannot believe I did that.  I recently had the roof replaced in this Texas house and already I felt like I could pass some judgment.  "Good sir, I know you do this for cash, for pay, for a job, but I do it for the mere satisfaction of a job well done and I think I could pass along this roofing tip to you and your life will be immeasurably the better for it."  This thought goes as quickly as it comes and I am instantly grateful I am not on the roof of this house because it is the hardest work you might ever do.  Seriously.  

I traveled across the world and back, alone.  Little midwest Ang made her way to Singapore.  There were only a few flights that could go wrong (I only had a little trouble in Japan); still, I am not super anxious to run the earth as a solitary figure.  

I did a stint, or several stints, as a single parent.  (Here is where I ask the Lord once again to take me first.)  I can do it, but it certainly is not for the faint of heart.  Parenting is meant for two, thus the sperm and the egg, my friends.

I have uprooted my life three times and in all likelihood, I will do it again.  I have stopped and started three times, which might be insignificant or significant, depending on the reader.  To every rooting reader and myself, this is significant; a difficult and beautiful shaping of character and self.

I watched a little Tooker fight for breath in the NICU and I felt his little body struggle under the palm of my hand.  To leave him behind day after day, it surely took all the strength I had.  To keep up with this teenaged fun loving boy requires a separate but equal strength.

I survived the scrutiny of the child protective services of New York state.  A parental nightmare that I would not wish upon anyone.  For me, there is no other word to use but "survive."  It is deeply terrifying to know that it is possible that someone else has the power to strip you of your parental rights; further, it is a thing that brings deep and abiding shame.  

These are just a few snippets of different and difficult phases of my life; frankly, each of them rather terrifies me.  I don't want to do it, but I know that I HAVE done it.   I have done it because my friend walks the journey with me. He has promised to be here til the end of the age and He makes good on that promise.  He waits for me when I run ahead or simply lay down to mope.  I think the latter is the most likely of all the options because I'm not so much of a runner.  I am only as good as the One who goes with me and since He is good and He is the King, I should have nothing to fear.  I can do hard things. 

I can say goodbye to a generation of good people who were deeply loved.  I can take up my seat in the Golden Hall and make up a remnant of faith so long as I do not wander from my first love.

Friends, maybe this is you today.

Maybe you wander.....   

May you remember....  He waits for you.

And the Lord said, “I will wait until you return.

Home

I've just returned from a long trip, not vacation, just a trip in which I still worked but my body was in a different place.  

I experienced feelings of "being sick for home," in ways I have not felt in years.  True to the nature of being desperate for home, our flight was delayed and hope deferred was bitter.  All I wanted was to be in my house, with my cat, eating mexican food, and watching something I enjoy. I wanted a shower in my bathroom with my soap and shampoo, something new to wear that was not in my suitcase. I wanted to have the fan blowing me while I was under a soft blanket and I wanted, rest.  Quiet, calm, uninterrupted rest, for my body and soul.  I did make it home, later than anticipated, and some of the things I wanted, I got.  And I was very grateful. 

It was a lovely trip; we spent a good amount of time in central Ohio which is where our family started. We took our kids to our favorite Mexican restaurant - Senor Antonio's.  Noah was gumming tortilla chips there when he was barely sitting up and able to chew. We had to tip extra for the amount of food that landed on the floor, but the servers LOVED him; because, no baby has had a bigger, beautiful, more welcome smile for everyone than sweet baby Noah.  We went to the zoo for the first time in over a decade and it was my favorite day of the trip. We saw some interesting things as always present in nature, such as a giraffe drinking the urine of another giraffe which was not our favorite thing to witness. We walked a lot. We pointed and said, "Awww." We laughed. We paid $27 for soda and souvenir bottles. Every kid left with an overpriced toy from the gift shop.  It was a rare foursome moment and likely one of the last of its kind. For we aptly determined while we were there that the zoo is for strollers, babies and toddlers and there were 1.2 million of those; the teens were not equipped to deal.  I ate up every last minute of this four hour tour in which all four people agreed to the same outing, and enjoyed - an incredibly rare feat. 

I think this trip to the place of our founding is also one of the last, or is the last, of its kind. My son is going to start driving this week. He will get a job and his life will start to drift from mine. It will become less of a foursome and more of a threesome. 

It made the time with family, beautiful, and achingly melancholy. We haven't had a trip like this since we lived in Utah and had to make the journey by plane. We hugged grandparents for quite possibly the last time and we boated through a thunderstorm with siblings and cousins.  We celebrated a wedding and ruminated on a funeral. We told stories and drove miles in a legit minivan. In the end we said, "goodbye" and made our way home.

On this July day, my thoughts consider the past and the future, and the future seems so close and full of change.  Memories of the past feel like they are slipping through my fingers like rain.  Death feels closer than ever before. Goodbye feels more permanent in my vocabulary. 

And yet....it is middle age and there is much ahead.  A lot of change, but a lot of good.  One thing I learned on this trip, my kids are definitely marked by this late childhood relocation, but they are still adaptable. It is one of the things I take great pride in - the independence and adaptability of my children.  Their childhood of transience has not been easy and I personally would have hated it if mine were like that, but it has shaped them for an easier transition to adulthood I think. They might not love what is going on around them but they can, for the most part, rise to the occasion. 

I'm proud of these guys. I'm proud that we lived through a twelve day trip and in the end we still like each other.  

I consider motherhood with great joy and ponder anew what would my life have been if it looked another way...?  

God knows the past and He knows my future and He holds in all in perfect and holy hands.  

I can trust that. 

It's Been Fun

It's the morning hours, and yet, it is still night. We reference time in a different way than we reference the light and the dark.  One day there will be no darkness and time will be irrelevant. "One day" applies to me with certainty but the timeline is indefinite.  For one I deeply love, it's here. 

"One day" that has perhaps been considered with trepidation for it is unknown.  "One day" that we know, in faith, leads to life.  We let go and take hold. 

My Grandpa is dearly beloved and he is letting go of his tired body.  Time is just about past and will be no more, for an eternity with Jesus is about to begin.  It was entirely fitting, and a memory that will forever remain with me, that sees us seated around a table playing Scrabble and singing hymns to Grandpa in his final hours on this earth. The soothing voices of my Aunt and Uncle mingles with my mother's and the comfort of a childhood long bereft comes back. I can't explain it, simply to say, it's complicated and beautiful and no songs about Jesus and hope should be silenced.  Because, it will be worth it all...  Everything of this life fades at the nearness of eternity.  The dying understand that better than anyone.  I sat with my Grandpa quite a bit today and I know he saw heaven. He sat up, and his face completely changed and he reached out his arms.  His eyes that could not focus on my face in this life were seeing something. So precious is it to witness. Joy. Complete and full joy from someone almost non responsive for hours. In fact the word I would rather use is, "amazed." In his face I saw that he could not believe what he was seeing.  That memory is mine to keep.  

My last words were not super eloquent.  It went something like this....  " Hey Grandpa, it's Angela.  There are really only a few steps left between you and Jesus and that is such a good thing. You're almost there.   You've been the best Grandpa to all of us and we all love you. Thank you for teaching me to play and love the game of Scrabble. Thank you for teaching me to fish and sharing that passion with me.  I love you, I really love you and we will see you later, okay?  Yep, I ended that sucker on an interrogative.  But the point was, you and I both know we're  meeting up again. I didn't want it to be a long narrative because we writers could go for days and there just isn't that kind of time. 

I'm sitting in his house, remembering one of our last times together here; he was teaching me to make fudge. It was not entirely a lesson for frustration was edging in; I wasn't seemingly an adept student and he was having a little difficulty executing, but the fudge was delicious. It was also the last time we played Scrabble together. Precious memories, how they linger, how they ever flood my soul. In the stillness of the midnight, precious, sacred scenes unfold. 

To the popcorn and chocolate lover, to the hater of Hungarian dumplings, to the faithful and elect, to the one who said I was the best girl on Nimisila Road, to my Sunday dinner seated companion, to the one who told me at ten to aim a little higher than "McDonalds cashier," to the one who faithfully drove me to high school, to the triple word seeker, to the dispenser of "qua" and "za," to the Scrabble master at whose feet I learned to love the game that now defines me......

Goodbye. 

My sorrow is deep, but it is temporary.  For one day I too will let go, and take hold, and enter eternity where there is no darkness and time is irrelevant. We will be with Jesus, together, forever.

Grandpa's benediction for Grandma:

God's been good and it's been fun.

God's been good and it's been fun. A writer could say it no better.  

Broken

I am going to make a statement.

We live in a world full of intense pain and broken things.  

There isn't a way that we can slap a piece of apple pie on that and fix it.

Tonight I want to send out apple pies the world over and mend the broken pieces.  I'd throw in vanilla ice cream or whipped cream if I thought it could add an ounce of help.

As you know, I have recently transplanted to Texas; the past seven months have been intense.  There have been so many days that I wasn't sure how to safely wade through the waters.    I would get to a point that I would literally be crying so hard that I couldn't breathe.  We have a "water closet" and I would go in there and sit on the toilet, cry into my hands, rock back and forth and will myself to stop sobbing.  I can try to explain all the reasons this timeframe is harder or different than previous relocations or other periods of stress in my life. I can try to explain that I was trying so hard to cope well and lead by example for my teenagers only to find the buildup had to have a release.  I'm actually not going to explain it because I don't have to give an explanation.  Everyone has a limit.  Let me say it again, "Everyone has a limit."

Gentle reader, when you reach your threshold, whatever it is, know that pain and stress needs an outlet.  Strength does not lie in keeping stoic, rather, I would say strength lies in the ability to process and get that garbage on its way.  

I haven't been sleeping well this week and I'm, again, learning a new job.  I've basically been a new employee for seven months and it is getting really old.  It is always traumatic for me to learn something new because I try to cram it all in there in a short amount of time so that I can be perfect before anyone notices a thing.  I can't live like this, y'all.  I am toast.  So at 2:07 am this morning when I was awakened and instantly my mind was alert and tracking all the delivery numbers, exam schedules, dentist appointments, travel arrangements, and new curtains...  I thought of broken pieces, shattered lives, and Jesus.

It is quite possible that I thought of you.

I have received no shortage of pain filled stories in the last several months; there is literally no end to the sorrow.  Stories start to match and my mind drifted from one person to another to another.  I must say, I felt so hopeless, like the dark was strangling me.  And then I started praying.

It is quite possible that I prayed for you.

And what I said to Jesus was something like this.....  "Do you know how much pain is in this world?  Do you know what people do to other people?  Do you cry tears like we do?  You have the power to step in and literally solve world peace - do you ache to do it?  Are you yearning today to make everything new?  Does time heal all wounds?  Do broken people rise again?  Why is coping so difficult?  Why can't I go to sleep?  Why is it 110* in this room?"  And then verses of scripture and individuals came to mind and I started praying in earnest.  You know what, gentle readers, Jesus does care about the pain in the world.  I believe that He does ache to make everything new and wipe away our tears, but that day is yet future.

For now, we have to process.  For now, we have to sit in the water closet and deal.  

We live in a world full of intense pain and broken things, but I pray God will draw you near and mend the pieces of your life.  I pray that you would know His love for you.  I pray that forgiveness and mercy would shine through your heart leading to peace.  I pray, in a most desperate way, that we all find faith, and God then keeps us firm in it until the day we draw our last breath or He comes again.

Conditioning

 Gentle readers....

It's been awhile. It's been just a little while since I have jotted some ideas down on paper. You know how I have longed to be a writer and you might respond, "If you are writing, you're a writer."  I think I desired it to be more of a profession, something I could pursue with a bow toward influence.  I am not certain how many people want to camp at my feet and listen to my tales, but I could see myself as a speaker. I think in order to pursue this line of work, within your scope, you must have an indefinite supply of material. In a frank conversation with myself, I determined that I don't have that. Words are not always with me, not all moments are for sharing, and I do reach a place where there is silence.  

I'm emerging from this quiet place, to peer out and say a few words today. 

Being a person of authentic nature, the first things I want to say are: "Put down the pizza slice" and "Don't get out of shape physically." Paying the piper at the end of the line is no fun. You should hear me huffing and gasping for breath while Autumn puts me through the wringer, and, under my breath, because I can't actually verbalize anything, I'm cursing every slice of pizza known to man. Also, I can be found trying to determine how the entire body is supposed to side balance on the forearm  and a toe and then dip down to the ground and go back up again.  What voodoo sorcery is this?  If my weight is being held up by my tiny toes and my broken shoulder is a "supporting" cast member while my butt is headed toward the ground, then it,  and all the weight in the middle, is just gonna stay there, it isn't going back up. For the love, have you ever? This just isn't the type of stuff you can do if you consume pizza.  These are the days of our lives.  My life.  Desk jobs wreak havoc and my neighborhood constitutionals, well, that's just not quite doing the trick.  I say again, "Don't eat pizza if you don't want to be the one following the 'modifier' which in video exercise jargon means 'the one who is less than or, essentially, out of shape.' " 

Life moves forward in Texas. We recovered from the winter storm, fixed the things that were broken; and, cut down the magnolia tree, shrubs and palms that were not salvageable.  I'm a little sad because I was quite excited about palms in the landscape.  I imagine you won't be able to get your hands on one this summer. We'll see.  Soon we'll be swimming often and wishing for more shade to hide from the sunshine. 

I've been reflecting in recent weeks about condition. Condition can be defined as an "existing state," and it could relate to a variety of nouns.  We have talked about my physical condition which clearly is existing in a "modifier" state.  We can talk about the state of our beautiful country; long may our rights and freedoms stand, which were bought with the blood of patriots that even yet might cry out from the ground - "Give me liberty or give me death."  Forever in peace may Old Glory wave.  America, you are beautiful, and I love you. I am proud to have served you as a patriot and I am proud to be branded a daughter of this nation that allows me to pursue life, love and happiness.  

It's the condition of men that I dwell upon most in these quiet moments and some of that correlates with the state of our beautiful country.  I see hardness settling into the bones of man. A hardness that is difficult to reverse. I see a hardness developing in myself and I call attention to it. There is a key difference between firm and hard. You can be firm in your values without being hard; I see that line blurring around me and sometimes, within me.  It can be difficult to divide right and wrong.  It can be difficult to discern. It can be difficult to know your enemy. My friends, gentle readers, when we find ourselves unable to know, it is perilous indeed.  I pray continuously that God will soften hearts. My heart. The hearts of my son's. The hearts of mankind.  We need God. Oh, how we need God to change lives. Please, Jesus, let me hear your voice. The voice of Truth over everything else. Give me discernment. Help me be salt and light in a world that daily, increasingly, does not want light.  Show me how I can do it better. I am growing unable to bear what I see around me.  Help me be soft in heart. To you. To the world you came to save. Whatever else I am purposed for, I am made to stand in the gap and represent Jesus to the condition of men that is hardening.  

Whatever small corner I am in, I still have a sphere to influence. I don't need a stage. I don't need a book. I need only to speak truth and love.  Love travels faster than the speed of light, no? And you know what spells love? P-I-Z-Z-A.  And thus we have come full circle. Catch me outside and we'll share a slice and chat. Because I love pizza and people.  I do my best work here.

Picture Me

I have been dedicated to employing a task oriented coping strategy for the past 6 months.    I have been very emotionally compromised; I would recognize it, detach, and formulate a task or a plan to deal with the issue.  I even wrote out my thoughts and plans for addressing some of these issues.

I'm sitting here, at my computer, crying and wondering how many more plans I should make.  How many more tasks should I assign myself?  At some point, I think I turn back to emotional coping.   I bought myself a book today.  An entirely depressing book that included these words somewhere on the cover: Forty, Fat, Fatigue and Hormones.  

Some people would dial it down and break it apart to the level that we humans are just a pile of hormones, chemical responses that drive our choices and define us.  I think we are a little more than that.  I also think it can't hurt to see what the hormone gurus have to say for the aging female heading into menopause.  This is where it gets real and you know who your friends are.  If they can handle you during a rough ten year patch, well, by golly, they're in for life.  (I mean you probably only have 25 more of them anyway.) My life is just beginning, but in fact, I'm an old lady.  (Except for when I took Noah to the school today and someone thought I was also getting a vision and hearing screen today.  "Yes, thank you, I am a high school student, here for my vision screening.  Thank you very much."  Let's be honest, it's probably because he is about 10 inches taller than me, but whatever.)

In retrospect, had I known what was coming after the move, I would have been more afraid.  And this is why the good Lord does not show us the entire hallway.  He lights our path just a few steps at a time.  We would be far too overwhelmed to know the whole of our life or even the whole of one chapter.  

I am working through this, whatever it is, fatigue, hormones, stressors I feel unequipped to deal with.  One day at a time.  Each evening I really do congratulate myself for getting through another day.  I walk the neighborhood and I pray; I thank God for this new and hard life that I know He will use to build my character, my faith, and expand my influence.  I know with certainty that He gathers my tears and toil and one day in the future He will hand them back to me as a beautiful canvas. A precious life chapter.  He knows the end at the beginning and He leads us to it.

It brings me to the idea of endings.  I just found out that a friend of mine passed away last week.  Incidentally at the time of her passing, I was wondering just where she was at in her cancer journey.  Clearly it is not someone I am deeply connected to in this stage of my life, but the time we were in each other's lives was very special.  I just sat and stared and tried to wrap my mind around it.  Mary isn't that much older than I am; she has a son.  And last week she met Jesus.  There is one thing to aging and it is this, I can only expect to receive news like this more and more and more.  People are  going to be at the end of their life as I ever move toward the end of mine. 

I close my eyes and picture Mary.  Beautiful.  Tall.  Blonde.  I would sit in church between Mary and her sister, Laurie, and I was basically an armrest.  We had many, many laughs.  People sometimes just keep me around for the comedic relief and not much else; I don't always have the wisdom.  In this case, I brought the entertainment.  I would often mention, in a passed note, during the last 15 minutes of the sermon that I really could go for a Big Mac and did they also agree?  Their eyes would light up and their shoulders would be shaking with laughter, and they'd whisper..."Stop it!"  I know it is isn't proper and I am rightfully ashamed of my drifting mind, but I can still hear their laughter.  I still remember the sound of those whispers.  

I close my eyes and picture Mary.  Beautiful. Tall. Blonde. Perfectly healed and seeing the face of her Savior.  Her mind was not drifting.  I am certain she was not whispering.  Laughing, though, I'd put money on it.  I know last Tuesday was not a bad day for Mary.  It was the first day she truly lived.

I think of the day when people will find out that I have passed from this life.  I am vain enough to hope that at least one person will be sad that I am no longer here, but I hope it will not linger and time will ease the pain sooner than later.

My hope:

1) My children will dig deep, leave out anger, and take hold of hope and Jesus (No matter when it happens, it is hard to lose a parent.)

2)  Ryan will know he has been the love of my life, but it is never wrong to have more than one love in a lifetime.

3) My friends will remember what has been my passion and they will pursue Jesus so that we can be together again one day.

4) I hope that you will close your eyes and picture Angela.  (Fatigued. Forty. Hormonal. Whatever you picture...)  Maybe this is what you will see.... Tears are supposed to be no more but I can't imagine it any other way because my eyes are the window to my soul....  Tears of joy and completeness as I lay my eyes on the One who has led me all the way to this moment.  He not only hands me a beautiful, redeemed chapter of time but opens the entire book built with tears and toil that He has lovingly authored.  I finished; joy is here for good.   It will not be a bad day for Angela. It will the first day that I truly begin to live. 

Friends, we journey through this life and it is hard.  We have some hard patches.  I am stuck in a hard patch that I am dutifully trying to find ways to dig out of.  Maybe it is fruitless.  Maybe the point is to learn how to engage ALL the coping strategies for harder days are coming.  I don't know, I don't know.

I do firmly know what is in my future.  I know that I will see Mary again; I will hear her laugh.  I will pass her notes but probably not during the sermon because in the presence of the Almighty we will likely not be so frivolous.  

No matter the journey to get there, cancer, COVID, floods, famine, ice storms, darkness, chaos, warfare that battles for the soul....   We keep our eyes on the finisher of our faith.  We take our stand here. For Jesus. For what is right. We persevere.

And then we stand before Jesus - the One to whom all authority is given.

We live.

The End.

Green Leaves

This weekend has been filled with balmy, tempered winds. The green leaves are falling like snow, blowing here and there, finally settling and cocooning my sweet purple, yellow and white survivors in the front flower bed. It smells deeply fresh, like late spring, and I am soaking it up with the windows open and the vacuum rolling to and fro.  A cloud has settled, in my soul, in my bones. 

I learned this week that my youngest son has surpassed me in height. This guy spends his time in seclusion - for that is the phase he is in.   I know he will come back to me and when he does, well, he will have forever left Tooker behind.  Both my children now look down to me and, honestly, nothing could have prepared me for the feeling that accompanies that knowledge.  Forever gone. Forever independent of mother. I knew, of course, it would happen one day. I knew it, but, I didn't know the hug your child gives you from above is like receiving comfort rather than giving comfort. That transition, well, it feels like permanency, and it feels like I didn't get the opportunity to celebrate the last moment I was the giver.  It bowled me over. Literally.  It will now be, "I'm hugging my mom because that is what a good son does. I'm hugging my mom because she needs my reassurance that she is still treasured."  

My oldest son caught me as I feel off his skateboard this week.  HE caught ME.  The baby with the million dollar smile is now a man child, trying to share his passion with me, and when I fail, he is catching me.  He and I spent hours this week talking about about a variety of topics.  I listened to him and thought, "It is so strange to talk to your child like an upcoming equal. He has his own thoughts, feelings, instincts, drive, conceived notions. When did it all happen?"  

All this Texas time I feel stuck in a time/space continuum, as though I have not come from anywhere, nor am I going anywhere.  I feel almost entirely separate from my own life and then there are this intense moments in which I feel like this Texas time has catapulted me too far into my future.  It's too much.  It's too fast.  I'm not ready.  And so this cloud has settled in which I have tried to recall every childish voice, mannerism and story.  I looked at the past and the present and spent time trying to marry the two in my mind. 

And so, dear reader, I have spent the last two days trying to refill my love bucket. The bucket that my husband knows, and likes to say, is so large, maybe larger than most.  (Simply meaning, I have a lot to give but I need a lot poured back in.  It's a big four lane highway.)  Between work and the stresses of the winter storm, and the personal losses of the last couple weeks, I feel my soul laid low and bare.  I read a book in it's entirety - 564 pages - in one day.  I ate silver dollar pancakes, which are my favorite, and which Ryan made just for me. Does anyone really like pancakes that are as big as a plate? I submit they just don't taste as good.  He knows food is the way to my heart; I am pretty girly but I also have some man tendencies, and that is one.  Ryan also got our old lava lamp working and it was comforting to watch it swirl and glob and blob; it reminds me of my childhood.  

I continue to wonder how the settling will be.  When will I feel it?  When will it be complete?  This disconnect seems foreign.  Is it completely new or have I just forgotten how lost you become?  I guess maybe what I forgot is every move has been its own phase of child rearing.  It has compounded the issues and this phase is the one in which I let my children go.  It is compounding the feelings of loss, and increasing the feelings of instability.  

I didn't count on that.  A marked flaw in the master plan.  

What if I still lived in NY?  What would it look like?  What would I be doing?  Would I be happy? Would my kids be happy?  Or would we all be longing for a change we didn't know we needed?

Please, Jesus, send a sign that we are in the right place.  Send us some old friends that take forever to grow.  Or, help us to watch the green leaves falling to the earth like snow, in February, with an appreciation of the deep smells of late spring.

One Thousand Nights

A warm hello to my dear readers....

I think many of you have been battling some colder conditions and some difficult times.  It warrants the need and desire to come in close and converse with a dear friend.  I, for one, do not so much subscribe to the "keep distant" philosophy that has been circulating for nigh on twelve months.  Can you believe it?  Twelve months upcoming.  I could not have expected it, and as you might guess, I can still remember what I was wearing that first and fateful Friday.  (It is these details that has earned me a name in my family.  How and why do you remember stuff like that?  Dear ones,  I cannot say.)

A life lived in distance is no life at all and that is all I will say on the matter. 

If you are still near my fireside....

Let us embark on the tale of a thousand nights....

Perhaps, perhaps it was not quite so long as that but it seemed it, surely as I am sitting here with my reading glasses and a stick of Trident.

I am newly transplanted to central Texas, still settling, still learning what is my favorite local restaurant, still adjusting to the yielding yellow arrow.  I have never lived in a southern climate and it has been a most unique experience.  I did not have it fully in my heart to embrace a warm Christmas; although, it did have a perk of walking the beautiful neighborhoods full of amazing light displays.  We don't all put that much heart into it in the cold areas of the world.  Upon relocating, I could not have anticipated the winter experience that was ahead for me.

The power in our home went out in the early hours of Monday morning.  I was already slated to be off for President's day and it was feeling like a bummer of a day off.  I had worked all day Saturday painting my bedroom and Sunday was spent cleaning the house and preparing for company that did not arrive.  Monday was the day of rest and I had visions of a couch, a blanket, sleep, and movies.  It is amazing how little you rest when calamity strikes.  There isn't anything you can do, so that couch, blanket, sleep thing could still have been on the agenda but it decidedly was not.   We had little cell service that day and certainly it felt like we were an island.  We cooked dinner by candlelight and hoped for better days ahead.

Tuesday dragged on and it was colder and colder.  We decided we would drive to San Antonio to see if we could acquire a generator.  It was a two hour trip; the warm car and cell service was delicious.    The weather conditions were much better down there and we were hopeful.  We spent a good deal of time calling and trying several stores, but alas, it was not fruitful.  The Home Depot had a line, manned by store personnel, for the plumbing aisle.  The women's restroom was completely unusable but not labeled out of service.  I could only venture a guess that the locals without power might be coming to use the restroom at the store.  They all overflowed.  (I never saw so many men going into the men's restroom - I had to wait on the MEN to come out.  Write it down.)  My bladder suffered.  We stopped at three other locations but no one was allowing anyone inside.  And so I thought of other things and rode home to Round Rock in silence. I drank hot tea, took ZQuil, crawled under 4 layers of covers and, mercifully, slept.

By Wednesday, I had this thing figured out.  Layers.  Layers win the day.  I read most of the day and played games with my kiddos in the evening.  It was miserable yet pleasant by the company I kept for the teenagers have ventured to the side of their mama.  We had mashed potatoes and pork roast so dinner was quite pleasant.  I never knew how well I could mash potatoes with a whisk until I had to do so. ( I do not like lumpy mashed potatoes - they must be smooth.) It became humorous and memorable to see the kids and Ryan roaming around with headlamps, to see how much hot chocolate and hot tea four people could go through in three days, to see how eventually everyone accepts the fate that is dealt.  I can still see my baby son cuddled up with me on the couch; I don't know when last his head was on my shoulder for more than three seconds.  I can see my oldest son teaching me card games that he learned at boy scout camp. I can see my husband cooking, and eating, breakfast for dinner for possibly the only night of my entire life.  These are some precious takeaways from some very stressful days.  For, as I said, we are not made to rest when calamity strikes.  We are constantly trying to find and reach ahead to the end solution.

Seeing the trees, the sidewalks, driveways, roadways...  Ice upon ice upon ice.  I have never seen such ice accretion in any of the states I have lived.  It's been something to see and something I will always remember.   I prayed Jesus to watch over my pansies and my Egret friend who looked so, so cold each standing in the near frozen pond.  I anxiously await a glimpse of Edgar and the sight of my pansies when they are unwrapped.  I believe God cares about even the little things. 

Our power returned Thursday by God's good grace.  The agenda for the day was fuel and food of which we only acquired fuel.  I've never seen a store devoid of groceries.  Aisle upon aisle upon aisle of empty shelves as though the Grinch stopped by and bent over to pick up that last bulb of yogurt and tucked it into his sack.  What an unusual experience.  The reports I gather indicate it might be this way for awhile so perhaps the days ahead will be a little more testing, because I simply did not stockpile for the end of the seventh age.  I am a hobbit and it will be slightly difficult to lay off some of the options of elevensies, lunch, dinner, tea and supper.

It has been a hard, but precious week.  Stress was evident, but what I know of hardships is that it bonds people.  The best camping trips are the ones that are actually unpleasant.  Twenty years later it is the "rained for 96 hours straight in '86" that will be dug out of memory and passed around rather than the "three uneventful days of sunshine and sailing in June of '92."  The best and worst come at us; we sort it out and we soldier on with the people at our left and right.

I've lived a thousand nights in 5 days and the tale is not over just yet.

I leave you, for now, with these final words that will forever conjure memories of a record setting winter storm in central Texas, in the year 2021, when I was a mother of two teenaged sons and the wife of one good man.

"Forget vegetables. All we're going to need is beans, bacon, and whiskey." 

Stress Management: Take One

When we are completely stressed and overwhelmed, we need an outlet.  For me that outlet would typically be writing.

Here's the thing....  My life pattern has a lot of consistent elements which means there is little to say. The last four months feel like the equivalent of years.  NY feels like 633 years ago. When did I last look upon your face? When did I last hold you? When did I last toast a new journey? Why is my life in the slowest motion of all time?  

There are some good things, I have recently mentioned them, but otherwise my life sometimes feels like groundhog day and I don't have a lot to talk about. I rarely leave the house.  I haven't done anything cool.  I do the same things every day.  And this racks up some stress over here. Lavender soap, lavender candles, lavender cream....lay it on me. I will use it all. 

I have to really force myself (and I'm rather unsuccessful) to not reach backward.  Don't chase people. Don't text.  Just let it be.  It's so hard for me. I have to verbally tell myself....stay here.  Focus here.  Continue to live this day.  At some point, something will change in this new place.  You already know it takes years to build old friends. It takes years to build "home." Nothing has changed with that, but do give yourself the point that pandemic feelings/situations are a brand new factor in this equation. 

Middle age is about structure and process, I think we covered that in an earlier session.  Thereby, my process to combat stress and sameness and claustrophobia is to write what I am feeling, pray for purpose - Jesus, give me a wheel to take (and let me drink coffee),  keep walking, and start to plan one weekly activity for myself that is outside the home. (Drive ten miles west, avoiding cow pies take selfie with steer, come home - you know, something like that)

Step One:

Today, I am really stressed and the feeling I want to verbalize is: trapped.  I feel trapped in my work. I feel unable to correct the situation because I am deeply entrenched, not entirely respected, and my stress is intensified by feeling unable to convey the emotion I feel from myself to a third party that is not invested in the same work.  (Readers - you are now my third party. You are my  peeps and you are listening to me unravel my tale of woe. Thank you.) 

Step Two:

Jesus, thank you for listening to me everyday.  Thank you for always being a party, although you are not third because you are deeply invested in all that I do. Please show me what I can do for you.  Send me someone who needs love, send me a note that says "serve here," send me a neighbor that needs some cookies.  I need some purpose, please give it. Amen.

Step Three:

I did not walk as much as I should have today. 

Step Four:

My outing this weekend will be to visit and take a photo of Georgetown Square. (Maybe I will go there by motorcycle.) 

I feel better already. 

Friends. You might see more of this type of expression as I work through my pandemic move experience.  It's taxing some days, but I have a step by step plan to deal with my stress rather than let it consume me. Cheers, middle age, kicking butt and taking names.  

Feel free to send any scavenger hunt ideas for my weekly activity.  I'll find every steer in Texas. Just for you. 

A Bridge

Today is the last day in January and for the first time in my life, well, probably not the very first, I walked outside in a t-shirt and enjoyed the warmth of the sun and the cooling of the breeze.  Neighbors were pruning bushes, walking dogs, and rising bikes.  My "neighbor" about 15 houses up the street was in his garage with he doors open, watching television, so all was right. I count it odd when I don't see him and/or the television playing.  Enjoying such a day lifted my spirit. 

Reminiscing has been the mindset of the last few days.  Messners the country over have been celebrating and remembering with each other, the life of one man.  He called me "Angelina" and I allowed it.  To me, he represents affability, calm and thoughtful candor, humor laced wisdom, intelligence with humility, and a deep agape love.  Two summers ago this man, in his mid eighties texted me and asked me to come see him at a family reunion that was being planned. Without hesitation I made the 16 hour round-trip over the course of one day off work to attend.  I saw him this past August and as we said "goodbye," this is the last thing he said to me, "You always come.  No matter where you go, you always come back. I really like that."   You are dearly beloved, Uncle Neal, and I would always come if within my power to do so.  As another dear family member said to me, "it's about affection, not obligation."  What a gift to love and be loved. It paints a life with color, with purpose, with joy. 

Nothing says "life celebration" like the pulling out of old photos.  I went through some old photos and walked down some old trails this weekend.  My life has had some odd twists.  While I explore this, please note if you hold a place in my family, this path is from my personal perspective and is not meant to color your perception or dishonor those whom it involves....  

My parents grew up together. Their parents were good friends and spent a lot of time with each other as I understand it.  It is from this co-heritage that I come.  This means that there is a lot of history over a lot of years.  I kind of love it. The nineties were difficult because of it, but I appreciate it nonetheless.  I think when my parents divorced, it was difficult for my grandparents. Relationally, things are always challenging and then this happens and I am certain it is easy to gravitate and shelter your own child.  You take sides. You feel almost honor bound and vengeful to do so. I get it. I'm a parent and blood is thicker than water as they say, right?

I think before my grandmother died, my other grandma visited her and maybe some things were worked out. I can't and won't speak more to what I don't know.  This is the point that I find with joy on this trail.  This co-heritage is a heritage of faith.  This means that we all have the same past, and we are all going to the same heaven.  Both sides of my family know all about the other sides. When someone dies, I know I'll see both sides there. For all of my life there will be continued crossover and, no pun intended, for better or worse, I can think of nothing better.  I do not diminish the difficulty, because it's not perfect, nor will it ever be. It's awkward, sometimes, still to this day.  Where should I go? Where should I sit? Do I look like I am being preferential? I am the queen of small talk, do I need to employ that to fill the conversation gap?  But, part of this agape love that we need to have means we belong to Christ, we need to act like Christ.  I've seen some clear demonstrations in my family and it makes me so proud and happy for this heritage, joint heirs with Jesus and joined as family on this earth. 

Nothing says eighties birthday like boxed cake and sliced neopolitan ice cream.  Nothing says family like picnics with pop - Dad's Root Beer to be exact-  (you guys know I say "soda" now, right?) and fried chicken. While I went through photos, I smiled and cringed.  I remembered what it felt like as a child to be part of this family.  I remembered what it felt like to be torn in the middle of this family.  I remembered what it felt like to know I would always be a part of two worlds and welcomed nonetheless.  Part of that emotional unification came from the man we celebrate and honor this week.  He became a bridge that crossed a divide. 

Uncle Neal, it is clear that you are dear to many. More eloquent words than I can speak will be spoken of you in the coming days.  It is still true that if you asked for me today I would be on a plane tomorrow.  It is true that I would have welcomed you to Texas though you did not wish to come. It is true that I would have met you in the alternative location of San Diego.  It is true that I have adored you my whole life.  It is true that your presence will be deeply missed.  

It is true that we will meet again.

Until then.....  

How is life?

Life begins at forty.

It's a quote I've heard.  

I think what is meant...is that you're getting into the rhythm of your life when you are in your forties. You understand money better (sometimes.) Maybe you are able to do a 401k, maybe you are farther down the path of your job or career. Maybe you understand relationships better, friend or lover or familial. I think the statement is true, at least in some regard, for all.  You have at least learned a thing or two in the last twenty years that will aid you in the future.  You at least know what to avoid, if not what to embrace, thereby, you are getting into the rhythm. 

I am encountering another click around the sun this week. 

Today, my new ENT prescribed me a round of steroids because my uvula is in worse shape than an aged man (read: entirely too large - can you even swallow? Also read: your husband must love you if he can handle the snoring that led you to this point. He really does.) and my poor deviated septum (which of my brother's broke my nose as a child?) and enlarged turbinates give me a slim chance of breathing. 

I am a week into giving up my favorite beverages. Coffee and Diet Coke (everything carbonated). RIP to my best pals.  You brought me joy when I ate a slice of za and when I greeted the day or closed the day or just needed a friend.  In my hands you were the present to help me with the present.  It hasn't been too bad, actually, but it is a conscious decision to choose something else.  Mostly, it was habit and not need, mostly it was a desire.  This is not necessarily a permanent choice and this is not a declaration of: this is my resolution for a new me because it's January.  This is: I'm aged (rather, in my rhythm) and heartburn is literally killing me and so I'm giving this a go to see if the change helps and if I want to continue pursuit. 

I am on day 18 of a 60 day plan to read scripture every day.  Can I tell you how many days I failed already? Can I tell you? At least 8. I "catch up" but it's still an "L" in my rhythm.  Schedule your priorities, that's the ticket, and here I sit, not scheduling it.  Why is it so hard to read scripture? Why is it so hard to want to hear Jesus talking to me? Because everything else is so loud. Because I allow it.  I put my kids wanting, finally, to speak to me above that time. I put extra sleep above it. I put mealtimes above it because darn it, it's hard to think of an alternate beverage. 

I am on a plan to walk 2-3 miles per day around the neighborhood(s).  Texas is going to be my jam because I LOVE this. I love this so much. Walking and looking and seeing and smelling (darn it, someone is grilling EVERY day and why does it smell SO good down here?! They are killing me) and enjoying being outside daily in a way I never have before.   Guess what, I'm getting smarter, audio sermons and scripture.  Loving so, so much this time for a small bit of health but to enjoy God, the scenery/landscapes and any family member that chooses to join.  In Winter! I've acclimated already... so quick....so lame. 

A rhythm....

Life is full of them. 

Life begins at forty. Or changes begin at forty. 

For me the rhythm has been to look ahead to foresee all that might lay in wait. Planning always for "when work slows down," or "when my child wants to engage," or "when I have this dream kitchen," or "when I find the kindred spirit whom my heart will love." 

I have wasted time in the fruitless pursuit of the "when" that never comes.  

Life begins when you're forty.

In this rhythm I am setting, I am swinging for the fences.  (Baseball peeps, you know what that means?)  

Live. With everything. 

No holds barred. Knock on the child's door. Pick up that Bible again. Walk out your front door. See the doctor regularly and, yes, do the allergy testing AGAIN and take the therapy or have surgery on your nose, do it.  Your husband, your uvula, your kids, your soul, your body and mind will feel abundant. 

This is the life, the rhythm, to which you have been called.  Abundant life while in this temporary place (read: Texas or Earth.). I'm really excited about this phase. 

I feel tired because I haven't slept well in ages and yet not so, because these steroids are the bomb diggity.  But here I must close....

We only have so many clicks around the sun. I am so conscious of this every January.  I have repeatedly failed to be consistent in many areas of my life. 

Abundant life is mine for the taking.  I choose and sacrifice and make the moments in preparation for what God has in store. 

This rhythm, my life...grateful for every year I am given. One day, all these things mentioned will amount to a hill of beans save this....my soul. 

It lives forever and will be one day in the presence of Jesus.  Angela. For the love. Do this part well. This next click, please, do it well. 

One Small Candle

For me there is something so sacred about the space we create to express ourselves.   Each person has something that they employ for the expression, and when they are doing this one thing, they are fully themselves.

Writing is as personal an expression as any, and when a writer invites you into their space, such as through a book, forum, or blog, if you are patient, you will see a piece of their soul emerge.  I consider this a sacred space, but I do not fear the invitation of others into it; although, at times, I think some have withdrawn based on the content.  

This content today spills from my very heart onto this page.  

Humility is so lacking in the world around us, and this lack of humility is what will be the demise of men.  Man desires to be right above all else.  He will tout his opinion, he will declare his thoughts, and if he says it loudly enough, by golly, he will curry favor among his peers and be lauded above those who do not share his opinion.  He wants to be on top. He wants everyone to know that he is right.  Thus, social media takes the world into its hands and wraps it in a cloak of darkness.

The world has become loud and so to win it, we almost have to be quiet. Almost.

Like when a speaker will whisper and "FOMO" kicks in and the rustles quiet so that what is being said can be heard.

I know that the hope the world needs is Jesus.  It is less self and more, much more, of Jesus.

I hold my little candle within the cloak of darkness.  I feel squished.  I feel squashed.  I feel that I want to be as loud as everyone else who does not follow their own advice they so freely give.  I bite my tongue so many times, I am certain I taste my own blood, for want of sharing my opinions.  

The cacophony of self will continue and only get worse in the days and years to come, we cannot and should not expect it to be otherwise.  It is with prayerful purpose that I hold my tongue and choose to raise the banner of Jesus.   

I hold my little candle in a darkening world and pray the love I feel for you radiates. May it pour past opinions, feelings, darkness, and self.  I pray that in me, you will see a glimpse of the Savior who loves you even more than me.  

I am a daughter of the King and I walk this earth with the certain hope of the finished story.  

Middle Perspective

I am comfortably in the middle. I don't know why middle children complain because the middle is quite nice actually. Expectations are low. Production is high. Anything is possible in the middle. 

I am most comfortably in middle age at this point. While I do mourn the passing of time and that my Big Littles are going to be out of the house in the next few years, I find my own self quite grounded. 

Friends, the twenties are the worst years of your life.  It's a fact and if, for some reason, that was the opposite for you then consider the rest of your life on the downward slope. For the rest of us, life is increasingly better the older you get. You grow so much in the twenties and thirties so by the forties you are enjoying the knowledge of who you are and what you want to pursue in this life. Many times that leads to the "midlife" crisis where you realize that job you are doing because your 'rents paid your college tuition isn't at all what you want to do with your life and you change careers.  I never really had a career so I am not plagued by job doubt or regret; I do already know I am passionate about writing. 

Aside from the aging of the body, and the subsequent changes that occur, I have never felt more beautiful and confident in my own skin. I picture myself daily in reading glasses with a smile and a mug in my hands and it fits.  I am firmly moving into more of a matron status and it is the best thing since sliced bread.  Matrons. We're smart. We're confident.  We're capable. We're in the middle. We know what we want. We aren't afraid to pursue it.  The twenties and thirties drift away and we are left with life and the understanding that has been elusive. Aging is better. When you can put the insecurities of your earlier years behind you, it frees you to be effective.  And I think that's what middle people are, effective. 

Tell all your friends...celebrate all the birthdays.