I'm trying to decide if I would ever be a recluse.
I feel certain the answer would be a resounding "No!"
There is something to peace and quiet. To the restfulness of solitude. I enjoy being alone, with a good book, or in the sanctuary of a bubble bath with the strains of The Moldau playing in the background. (I adore the romantic era composers.)
I think of those peaceful moments and wonder just how long I could survive all that peace. There must be a reason that solitary confinement has often been a punishment. I think perhaps we were all meant for a little chaos. The outward collision results in greater enjoyment of internal peace. I appreciate the rare occasions of bubble baths and candles more, when I am retreating from something.
And as a side note, I am learning more and more that waving the white flag is more than okay. It's how you maintain health. Retreat is an underrated word in my vocabulary and I'm making attempts to resolve that.
I haven't found too many friends that enjoy writing like myself, immersing themselves in written communication. I could get lost for hours. I've been considering how much I would enjoy a pen pal. Someone you could engage with thoughts about life. A heart you could hear and understand from the lost art of words on a page. I think we say more when we are not face to face. I think we feel more able to express those deep feelings, and upon expression, connection and deep intimacy is born, even if you never physically meet the person. Two kindred spirits, retreating, yet connecting.
In theory, I think it would be a beautiful way to spend a lifetime of friendship.
But I'm certain I would still need a friend to meet for cornbread.
Saturday, March 25, 2017
Monday, March 20, 2017
Everyone Needs A Thing
Is there something that you really need in your life? Something to which you often cling? It could be an addiction - good or bad. It could be a routine. It could be music. It could be a food. (Pie. It's definitely pie.) I think everyone probably has that one thing. Or seven.
One thing I need, more and more as the days past, is my church. I walk in the door and immediately feel a reduction in stress. I'm anxious to get there every Sunday morning. It smells really good when you walk in the door - because they sell legal addictive stimulants, or better (perhaps lesser) said, coffee. I don't know that many personally, but being with God's people, there is just nothing like it. Knowing that the people around you share your most precious thing - your faith - I. Love. It.
When you spend the majority of your time with people who do not understand your motivation, your heart, your passion....it feels good to exhale. Really exhale.
It took me several years to reconcile my disjointed feelings about church. I know all the songs like "Deep and Wide" and "This Little Light of Mine." (I would challenge you to a "Jr Church - Name That Tune" ANY day of the week.) I know all the lingo - eternal security/KJV/predestination/pre-mid-post-tribulation. I know all the mascots - like a singing songbook. I know how to sit still through a very long church service. I know what it is like to be raised in a culture of fear. As an adult, I had to wrestle with that. I had to come to terms with childhood questions, fears, and negative experiences. I am certain I won't ever overcome all the emotional obstacles of that hazy, yet distinct, reality; yet, I remain most grateful that my heart remained tender. It could have gone so many other ways, so many other directions.
One thing I pray most for my children is that they would have tender hearts. Tender toward others. Tender toward God. The world is in desperate need of strong, yet tender hearted, men. And this. This is what I see in the hearts that surround me on Sundays. Tender, grateful hearts. This is the environment I crave, and the environment in which I can thrive.
I enter church and find a deep balm for my soul. A salve that can't be fully explained, or found anywhere else. A resonance of love and assurance. A benediction of mercy, with the knowledge that I can walk unafraid through this life because one day, one day, death lost and love won.
When I leave church, I walk like a lion.
(Skillet - Google it)
(Turn it UP!)
One thing I need, more and more as the days past, is my church. I walk in the door and immediately feel a reduction in stress. I'm anxious to get there every Sunday morning. It smells really good when you walk in the door - because they sell legal addictive stimulants, or better (perhaps lesser) said, coffee. I don't know that many personally, but being with God's people, there is just nothing like it. Knowing that the people around you share your most precious thing - your faith - I. Love. It.
When you spend the majority of your time with people who do not understand your motivation, your heart, your passion....it feels good to exhale. Really exhale.
It took me several years to reconcile my disjointed feelings about church. I know all the songs like "Deep and Wide" and "This Little Light of Mine." (I would challenge you to a "Jr Church - Name That Tune" ANY day of the week.) I know all the lingo - eternal security/KJV/predestination/pre-mid-post-tribulation. I know all the mascots - like a singing songbook. I know how to sit still through a very long church service. I know what it is like to be raised in a culture of fear. As an adult, I had to wrestle with that. I had to come to terms with childhood questions, fears, and negative experiences. I am certain I won't ever overcome all the emotional obstacles of that hazy, yet distinct, reality; yet, I remain most grateful that my heart remained tender. It could have gone so many other ways, so many other directions.
One thing I pray most for my children is that they would have tender hearts. Tender toward others. Tender toward God. The world is in desperate need of strong, yet tender hearted, men. And this. This is what I see in the hearts that surround me on Sundays. Tender, grateful hearts. This is the environment I crave, and the environment in which I can thrive.
I enter church and find a deep balm for my soul. A salve that can't be fully explained, or found anywhere else. A resonance of love and assurance. A benediction of mercy, with the knowledge that I can walk unafraid through this life because one day, one day, death lost and love won.
When I leave church, I walk like a lion.
(Skillet - Google it)
(Turn it UP!)
Friday, March 17, 2017
Week #982
A tough week for me.
A tough, tough week.
By the end, I was dragging myself to the finish line. Wait. Is there actually a finish line?
I haven't experienced this much insecurity in several years. It felt foreign. And familiar.
I questioned my motives, my priorities, my opinions, my ambition. I weighed my expectations as previously mentioned.
I longed for friendship. I longed for faith. I had a deep, deep longing for solace and comfort.
My spirit was/is broken.
I'm so broken.
In the midst of brokenness....
Ryan was on a business trip. We got 21 inches of snow. My independent streak is rusty but intact. I had a dinner date with my boys and we treated ourselves to double fudge Coca Cola cake. You never saw three forks move so fast in your whole life!
It was in these moments with my boys that I felt most at ease. They are both fairly discerning for their age group. They can converse well, understand deeper implications and naturally understand their mother's heart. Sometimes. Sometimes it's like I have mini adults in my home. I was so moved by their compassion, empathy, and true-to-male-fashion direct problem solving. I was given straightforward, sincere advice. And an extra bite of cake.
Who is raising these gems? Truly. I don't feel like I can take credit.
I'm still sifting through the shattered pieces; yet I am in awe that when I needed friendship, like lungs need air, I found it. In the hearts of my kids.
And it's another step in the cycle. A little foretaste of the years to come. But there is much to pass between now and then. I love the glimpses of hope. The little windows of time that capture moments to treasure.
I'm always going to remember this week. The snow. The cake. The heartbreak. The promise of the men I'm shaping.
And you know what? I think it might all be worth it.
A tough, tough week.
By the end, I was dragging myself to the finish line. Wait. Is there actually a finish line?
I haven't experienced this much insecurity in several years. It felt foreign. And familiar.
I questioned my motives, my priorities, my opinions, my ambition. I weighed my expectations as previously mentioned.
I longed for friendship. I longed for faith. I had a deep, deep longing for solace and comfort.
My spirit was/is broken.
I'm so broken.
In the midst of brokenness....
Ryan was on a business trip. We got 21 inches of snow. My independent streak is rusty but intact. I had a dinner date with my boys and we treated ourselves to double fudge Coca Cola cake. You never saw three forks move so fast in your whole life!
It was in these moments with my boys that I felt most at ease. They are both fairly discerning for their age group. They can converse well, understand deeper implications and naturally understand their mother's heart. Sometimes. Sometimes it's like I have mini adults in my home. I was so moved by their compassion, empathy, and true-to-male-fashion direct problem solving. I was given straightforward, sincere advice. And an extra bite of cake.
Who is raising these gems? Truly. I don't feel like I can take credit.
I'm still sifting through the shattered pieces; yet I am in awe that when I needed friendship, like lungs need air, I found it. In the hearts of my kids.
And it's another step in the cycle. A little foretaste of the years to come. But there is much to pass between now and then. I love the glimpses of hope. The little windows of time that capture moments to treasure.
I'm always going to remember this week. The snow. The cake. The heartbreak. The promise of the men I'm shaping.
And you know what? I think it might all be worth it.
Sunday, March 12, 2017
Have Less Expectation
Friends, why are we so hard on ourselves? Why can none of us give ourselves a break? If it's not one thing it's another. We should be over this. We should not have done that. We should be "farther along" in life. We should have pursued a different dream. We should have taken that chance opportunity. The list can go on....
I am post high school twenty years this June. And the ride has been so eventful. And it looks NOTHING like what I had anticipated. And it's been awful, and wonderful, and blase, and exhausting and exhilarating. Through it all I always point to, "Well, I WAS going to do that..."
It took a conversation with my son today to give me some perspective. The lad is following exactly in his mother's footsteps to his own detriment. He is so hard on himself. I tell him all the time he is doing well but it doesn't get past his head to the place it matters. His heart. Just. Like. His. Mother. He's watching and his mother is failing to show him how to navigate. He's watching, observing, and listening.
I currently feel stuck in a very hard place. I do not desire success so much as I feel failure. I absolutely fear being less than my expectations. No truer statement can I make than this: I could never live up to my own expectations. And this is the legacy I am leaving for my children.
The best words in the Bible? Jesus wept. (Insert somewhat chuckle-ly emoji/somewhat serious emoji) I take that seriously and weep periodically just for good measure. This has been one of those weeks. It's good to feel. When you've lost the ability to feel those hard times, you might as well hang it up.
I'm working hard. Yes. For what?
My path isn't what I expected. Does that matter?
My children are learning what they live. What am I teaching?
And through these thoughts, as they all tumble out in what may not be a logical order, I'm still being hard on myself. I'm placing myself in the category of failure as a parent.
And it feels so much worse to fail in this arena.
And I'm weeping.
I'm going to have to do better. I need to let perfection go. I need to fail more and find some comfort in that locale.
Realizing that, as I had to reassure my son, my first priority is him. A job I signed up for many years ago.
Let go to live more. To live better. To have more fun.
When I attend my reunion, I might not be nearly as successful as my peers, but I certainly have life lessons to spare. And the joy and heaviness of parenting two boys through life.
I am post high school twenty years this June. And the ride has been so eventful. And it looks NOTHING like what I had anticipated. And it's been awful, and wonderful, and blase, and exhausting and exhilarating. Through it all I always point to, "Well, I WAS going to do that..."
It took a conversation with my son today to give me some perspective. The lad is following exactly in his mother's footsteps to his own detriment. He is so hard on himself. I tell him all the time he is doing well but it doesn't get past his head to the place it matters. His heart. Just. Like. His. Mother. He's watching and his mother is failing to show him how to navigate. He's watching, observing, and listening.
I currently feel stuck in a very hard place. I do not desire success so much as I feel failure. I absolutely fear being less than my expectations. No truer statement can I make than this: I could never live up to my own expectations. And this is the legacy I am leaving for my children.
The best words in the Bible? Jesus wept. (Insert somewhat chuckle-ly emoji/somewhat serious emoji) I take that seriously and weep periodically just for good measure. This has been one of those weeks. It's good to feel. When you've lost the ability to feel those hard times, you might as well hang it up.
I'm working hard. Yes. For what?
My path isn't what I expected. Does that matter?
My children are learning what they live. What am I teaching?
And through these thoughts, as they all tumble out in what may not be a logical order, I'm still being hard on myself. I'm placing myself in the category of failure as a parent.
And it feels so much worse to fail in this arena.
And I'm weeping.
I'm going to have to do better. I need to let perfection go. I need to fail more and find some comfort in that locale.
Realizing that, as I had to reassure my son, my first priority is him. A job I signed up for many years ago.
Let go to live more. To live better. To have more fun.
When I attend my reunion, I might not be nearly as successful as my peers, but I certainly have life lessons to spare. And the joy and heaviness of parenting two boys through life.
Saturday, February 25, 2017
The Fairer Sex
One thing, among many if I'm honest, that irritates me is when I hear women complain about men. And marriage. Yes, it may occasionally be funny as it is obvious that there are many differences between men and women, but overwhelmingly, the opinion seems to be men just cannot do, and be, right. When did women collectively and individually decide that they are superior?
In my corner of the world. In my little cul-de-sac in upstate New York. I find this message so damaging. Long term. What are we teaching little girls? The women who follow behind us... What will they lose?
I am a strong woman. Very independent. Capable of many things. You should see me move a trashcan up a hill while on crutches. Seriously. You should have seen that. It was one for the books. I am a strong, independent woman, who just so happens to find strength in the protection of a man. Friends, note here that that trust does not come easily or lightly, strong and independent women take their time in forking over the pieces and bits and control of their heart to another.
I know my own identity as an individual, and yet, that identity only increases by the grounding I receive in the stability of the love of my husband. I've been married for twelve years. Just twelve. And so far, I can honestly say there has not been one day that I considered it a drudgery or "so much work and effort" in the context that it is an unhappy experience. I do not think my husband is an idiot who does stupid man things. In fact, if I allow him the opportunity to speak, he amazes me with his wisdom. I'm learning to say less so he can say more. When he says more my heart finds safety. Strong people need safety. A place where one can weep and still be counted a warrior.
I want to raise my boys to appreciate a strong woman. To let her have strength. But be a man that God intends. The role of strength, honor, and protection for women. Say all you want about women's rights, blah, blah, blah, but it is not in the power of a woman but in the power of a man. A man usually sets the course of a woman's life, for good or bad, starting with Dad.
Girls, it's not very popular right now to think you are less than a man. And I'm not suggesting that you are "less than" so much as "worthy" of being cherished and honored by a man. Allow yourself to have that. Take a break from girl power and strength and.... Breathe. A man naturally wants to honor you. The fairer sex. Let that happen. Mothers raise your sons to fulfill and be proud of that role. Mothers raise your daughters with these expectations.
As a strong woman, I can just as easily pay for the bill without blinking an eye. But there definitely is a special feeling when the bill is paid on your behalf. Honored. "Let ME take care of YOU." Cherished. You aren't going to lose, dear nieces, dear girlfriends everywhere, you are going to flourish.
In my corner of the world. In my little cul-de-sac in upstate New York. I find this message so damaging. Long term. What are we teaching little girls? The women who follow behind us... What will they lose?
I am a strong woman. Very independent. Capable of many things. You should see me move a trashcan up a hill while on crutches. Seriously. You should have seen that. It was one for the books. I am a strong, independent woman, who just so happens to find strength in the protection of a man. Friends, note here that that trust does not come easily or lightly, strong and independent women take their time in forking over the pieces and bits and control of their heart to another.
I know my own identity as an individual, and yet, that identity only increases by the grounding I receive in the stability of the love of my husband. I've been married for twelve years. Just twelve. And so far, I can honestly say there has not been one day that I considered it a drudgery or "so much work and effort" in the context that it is an unhappy experience. I do not think my husband is an idiot who does stupid man things. In fact, if I allow him the opportunity to speak, he amazes me with his wisdom. I'm learning to say less so he can say more. When he says more my heart finds safety. Strong people need safety. A place where one can weep and still be counted a warrior.
I want to raise my boys to appreciate a strong woman. To let her have strength. But be a man that God intends. The role of strength, honor, and protection for women. Say all you want about women's rights, blah, blah, blah, but it is not in the power of a woman but in the power of a man. A man usually sets the course of a woman's life, for good or bad, starting with Dad.
Girls, it's not very popular right now to think you are less than a man. And I'm not suggesting that you are "less than" so much as "worthy" of being cherished and honored by a man. Allow yourself to have that. Take a break from girl power and strength and.... Breathe. A man naturally wants to honor you. The fairer sex. Let that happen. Mothers raise your sons to fulfill and be proud of that role. Mothers raise your daughters with these expectations.
As a strong woman, I can just as easily pay for the bill without blinking an eye. But there definitely is a special feeling when the bill is paid on your behalf. Honored. "Let ME take care of YOU." Cherished. You aren't going to lose, dear nieces, dear girlfriends everywhere, you are going to flourish.
Wednesday, February 8, 2017
This One Is For The Parents
I love being a mother.
I think God had this in his heart when he created me. I am a natural caregiver. It comes so easily from my heart to others.
Those early days were exhausting, and some of the best and worst moments of my life. For example, the day that my oldest son, at the age of two, sprayed his younger brother, who was chilling in his crib, in the face with cleaning chemicals. His eyes were basically glued shut for 24 hours. I maybe got 457th place in the category "worst mom of the year" in 2008. By 2010, I hadn't improved very much, and son #2 was once again on the losing end of a war with his brother, and was being seen by the doctor for a large puss filled blister on his face that housed 4 large splinters of wood from a "sword fight." Seriously. Seriously. What in the world?! But, truly, the countless moments that I spent rocking and kissing babies was far more rewarding than the embarrassing moments I spent defending myself in the office of my children's pediatrician. You just never knew what each day would bring as the mother of littles. I often wish I could go back, as the person I am today, and redo a lot of those moments. I think I would do it better. Most certainly I would.
But we only get to live life in the present tense though. And the stage of parenting that I am in now, I'm definitely rocking it, as I did shaking in my shoes with a screaming baby who couldn't see. I have all the wisdom I need. Said no mother ever. In ten years I will look back and know all the things I should do. I will know that this stage is the best, and you can't get these years back, and an empty nest is weird. Because. In ten years, I will have essentially launched, hopefully successfully, two sons. Ten years. That's it. I will be 47, and ohmaword, have the potential to be a Grandma. Ohmaword. It's true. But let's hope not.
Today my real life scenario is all about the emotions. Dealing with complex issues of how to deal. How to manage action, reaction, repercussions, and thought processes. I get you, friends, I get you. When you tell me that I'm hard to deal with because. emotions. I get you. It might have taken me 37 years to fully comprehend that I am a handful, but I'm there. I. Am. Tracking. Thank you for your grace. Thank you for loving me anyway. Truly.
I'm exhausted every day because I work all the hours and come home to mold and guide. And it's hard. And it requires effort. It requires coaxing, encouraging, and vigilance. Because you could just let this moment and that moment slip, but then what? Let the moody silence go because you can't even, or stop and address it? I know next gen me will have all the answers. I wish I could be her. 50 is the new 20, right? But no, I will not wish away a whisper of this vaporous life.
These sweet, sweet sons of mine are my whole heart. (I know I am completely over-the-top biased, but they are so lovable.) I see they are uncertain of themselves and this new world. I see it is difficult to make the transition to life as a process that I engage and do, rather than receive. It's a big leap. Uncharted. Intimidating.
I'm in for the ride, kiddos, Mommy is here. We're quickly approaching the "Don't touch me" phase. We're past the "Rock me" phase. So while we're stuck somewhere in the middle, somewhere that it's okay to hug that hurt today, but don't ask me about school tomorrow, know Mommy's heart is always for you. That it has always been for you. It has been my greatest joy to watch over you (or try to...Sorry Aaron). And as the distance between you and me begins to expand, know that as it is a hard transition for you, it is also a hard transition for me. In almost equal parts I want to hold you tight and watch you fly.
All I can ask. All I can hope. Is that in the end....
May passion be the wind
That leads you through your days
And may conviction keep you strong
Guide you on your way
May there be many moments
That make your life so sweet
Oh, but more than memories
I pray that God would fill your heart with dreams
And that faith gives you the courage
To dare to do great things
I'm here for you whatever this life brings
So let my love give you roots
And help you find your wings
I think God had this in his heart when he created me. I am a natural caregiver. It comes so easily from my heart to others.
Those early days were exhausting, and some of the best and worst moments of my life. For example, the day that my oldest son, at the age of two, sprayed his younger brother, who was chilling in his crib, in the face with cleaning chemicals. His eyes were basically glued shut for 24 hours. I maybe got 457th place in the category "worst mom of the year" in 2008. By 2010, I hadn't improved very much, and son #2 was once again on the losing end of a war with his brother, and was being seen by the doctor for a large puss filled blister on his face that housed 4 large splinters of wood from a "sword fight." Seriously. Seriously. What in the world?! But, truly, the countless moments that I spent rocking and kissing babies was far more rewarding than the embarrassing moments I spent defending myself in the office of my children's pediatrician. You just never knew what each day would bring as the mother of littles. I often wish I could go back, as the person I am today, and redo a lot of those moments. I think I would do it better. Most certainly I would.
But we only get to live life in the present tense though. And the stage of parenting that I am in now, I'm definitely rocking it, as I did shaking in my shoes with a screaming baby who couldn't see. I have all the wisdom I need. Said no mother ever. In ten years I will look back and know all the things I should do. I will know that this stage is the best, and you can't get these years back, and an empty nest is weird. Because. In ten years, I will have essentially launched, hopefully successfully, two sons. Ten years. That's it. I will be 47, and ohmaword, have the potential to be a Grandma. Ohmaword. It's true. But let's hope not.
Today my real life scenario is all about the emotions. Dealing with complex issues of how to deal. How to manage action, reaction, repercussions, and thought processes. I get you, friends, I get you. When you tell me that I'm hard to deal with because. emotions. I get you. It might have taken me 37 years to fully comprehend that I am a handful, but I'm there. I. Am. Tracking. Thank you for your grace. Thank you for loving me anyway. Truly.
I'm exhausted every day because I work all the hours and come home to mold and guide. And it's hard. And it requires effort. It requires coaxing, encouraging, and vigilance. Because you could just let this moment and that moment slip, but then what? Let the moody silence go because you can't even, or stop and address it? I know next gen me will have all the answers. I wish I could be her. 50 is the new 20, right? But no, I will not wish away a whisper of this vaporous life.
These sweet, sweet sons of mine are my whole heart. (I know I am completely over-the-top biased, but they are so lovable.) I see they are uncertain of themselves and this new world. I see it is difficult to make the transition to life as a process that I engage and do, rather than receive. It's a big leap. Uncharted. Intimidating.
I'm in for the ride, kiddos, Mommy is here. We're quickly approaching the "Don't touch me" phase. We're past the "Rock me" phase. So while we're stuck somewhere in the middle, somewhere that it's okay to hug that hurt today, but don't ask me about school tomorrow, know Mommy's heart is always for you. That it has always been for you. It has been my greatest joy to watch over you (or try to...Sorry Aaron). And as the distance between you and me begins to expand, know that as it is a hard transition for you, it is also a hard transition for me. In almost equal parts I want to hold you tight and watch you fly.
All I can ask. All I can hope. Is that in the end....
May passion be the wind
That leads you through your days
And may conviction keep you strong
Guide you on your way
May there be many moments
That make your life so sweet
Oh, but more than memories
I pray that God would fill your heart with dreams
And that faith gives you the courage
To dare to do great things
I'm here for you whatever this life brings
So let my love give you roots
And help you find your wings
Wednesday, February 1, 2017
Have you ever thrown a pickle?
Do you take pause, dear readers, do you take pause and consider your influence? Each person has a sphere of influence whether they realize it exists, or understand the implications of the impact. The words you use. The body language you employ. The company you keep. These all express you. People are reading. People are interpreting.
Influence.
This is one area of my life in which I spend a lot of time reflecting. I realize that this life is passing away. Soon Angela will be just a memory. Soon her high pitched voice will be silent, her blue eyes will stare unseeing, her "pen" will be still, and for-the-love she will finally stop eating all the carbohydrates she can find. I so desperately wish that I could attend my own funeral. Ya know? Listen in and roll my eyes at the stories. Aside from the pickle story being told verbatim, I cannot begin to fathom which memories will be vibrant and which have paled.
If you follow my life, if we're close friends, or barely acquaintances, you likely know that I am not afraid to let it all hang out. I am stubborn. I am opinionated. I think more of myself than I should sometimes. Sometimes the opposite. I'm pessimistic - the chocolate bar is always half gone. I love Diet Coke and sweet tea and coffee and hate water. (My future plans do not include visiting the desert.) I have had many, many life experiences which means I have a treasure trove of stories. (Perhaps rather than a novel I should write about my life... But, again, that is what a blog is for!) I have done some ridiculous things. I almost died in the desert. For realz. Which is why I refuse to return.
I don't know what others would share about me. But it would be so neat to hear. When I reflect on who I am, when I close my eyes in this world, and open them in the next, this is what I hope you will see...
Food. We gotta mention food. Food is the universal bonding agent. I hope you know how much joy I received in having you for a meal in my home. I hope you will invite others in the same manner. It's so important.
Caring. I hope you felt cared about by me. I hope you felt empathy for your woes, and your joys.
Joy. I hope I made you laugh. Laughing is so fun. It's so necessary.
Passion. I hope my passion is evident. For so many things. Talking is one. Oh. My. Word.
God. I hope that somewhere in my life you will have seen even a small glimpse of who he is. That you will know he exists. That his love for you is relentless. That you are beloved.
These are areas that I hope will be my legacy, and by so declaring, I pursue these. I won't be around to hear if I have been successful, but one thing I know, someone will laugh at least once at the pickle story. As told by Fred, Robert, Chris, or Joyce.
Influence.
This is one area of my life in which I spend a lot of time reflecting. I realize that this life is passing away. Soon Angela will be just a memory. Soon her high pitched voice will be silent, her blue eyes will stare unseeing, her "pen" will be still, and for-the-love she will finally stop eating all the carbohydrates she can find. I so desperately wish that I could attend my own funeral. Ya know? Listen in and roll my eyes at the stories. Aside from the pickle story being told verbatim, I cannot begin to fathom which memories will be vibrant and which have paled.
If you follow my life, if we're close friends, or barely acquaintances, you likely know that I am not afraid to let it all hang out. I am stubborn. I am opinionated. I think more of myself than I should sometimes. Sometimes the opposite. I'm pessimistic - the chocolate bar is always half gone. I love Diet Coke and sweet tea and coffee and hate water. (My future plans do not include visiting the desert.) I have had many, many life experiences which means I have a treasure trove of stories. (Perhaps rather than a novel I should write about my life... But, again, that is what a blog is for!) I have done some ridiculous things. I almost died in the desert. For realz. Which is why I refuse to return.
I don't know what others would share about me. But it would be so neat to hear. When I reflect on who I am, when I close my eyes in this world, and open them in the next, this is what I hope you will see...
Food. We gotta mention food. Food is the universal bonding agent. I hope you know how much joy I received in having you for a meal in my home. I hope you will invite others in the same manner. It's so important.
Caring. I hope you felt cared about by me. I hope you felt empathy for your woes, and your joys.
Joy. I hope I made you laugh. Laughing is so fun. It's so necessary.
Passion. I hope my passion is evident. For so many things. Talking is one. Oh. My. Word.
God. I hope that somewhere in my life you will have seen even a small glimpse of who he is. That you will know he exists. That his love for you is relentless. That you are beloved.
These are areas that I hope will be my legacy, and by so declaring, I pursue these. I won't be around to hear if I have been successful, but one thing I know, someone will laugh at least once at the pickle story. As told by Fred, Robert, Chris, or Joyce.
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