Have You Ever Seen A Tumbleweed?

I have. Literally and figuratively.

I am a rooter married to one.

As such, I find myself in migration patterns, and currently consider myself more than halfway through the current one. While the transition periods are difficult, I have learned that this type of moveable effort is actually quite good for me. I've lived in various parts of the country, something I never thought I would do. My family tends to stay put in one specific area, and to this day, my immediate family all lives within a few miles of each other.

I've been thinking about the person who moved to Utah at the ripe old age of 26. I trekked across the country on I-80 for three days, in a '96 Ford Explorer holding some belongings, my mother, and my infant son, and following a 36 foot Penske truck.  What a trip!  Gas was outrageous at the time. The scenery was, and shall always be, boring. Lots of corn. Lots of windmills. Lots of cattle. Lots of. Nothing.

I remember crying some as we drove along. Sometimes Noah joined in with me if it was time to eat. He was a pure angel on that trip. The sunniest of dispositions you would ever find resided in that sweet boy. His smile lit up an entire room. Or car.

I learned that one should be mindful of the gas gauge. I learned that the amazing "oasis" called "Little America" was a joke to a Midwesterner, but pure, unadulterated truth to a person from Wyoming. I laughed a lot as the miles added up, enjoying the presence of my mother, with the stresses of the pre-moving process behind us. But, as the miles left in front of that well used vehicle became less than the miles behind, my anxiety increased. As we crossed the state line, my heart sank. Mom knew. And she let me sort it out in silence. Noah had no pertinent comments to add so he kept to himself. And we rode thus for quite some time.

We had some difficulty finding our new place out in the wilderness of Eagle Mountain. And by the time we arrived it was late afternoon. The house was gorgeous. It really was. Placed on a postage stamp of .11 acres, was a 4 bedroom, 3 bath house with a very nice kitchen and open floor plan. I'd still love to live in that house, in just about ANY place but Eagle Mountain. Eagle Mountain is where social lives go to die. (I apologize to any of my EM readers, but you have to admit, a decade ago it did not have nearly the connections it has today.)

I was basically a hermit the year we lived there. I didn't know too many people. I was expecting Aaron which meant I was vomiting daily/hourly(minutely?)for eight months. Ryan left several times for civilian and military trainings. I don't know how I survived that. Just me. And baby Noah. And. No one. Honestly, I try to picture that year and I see snippets, but it was a blur of housework, baby tending, lawn mowing, desperate loneliness, and the horror that is pregnancy.

I did survive. And the years that followed became precious to me. The memories and friendships will last through my lifetime.

New York has proven to have many of the same, but also many different transitions. At more than halfway, (I don't​ know if we are really counting but Tennessee is calling) I have some memories, and some kindred spirits that happened along my way.  True friends. Scrabble players.  Also some truly difficult times and experiences.  A lot of personal growth.

The summation is a life lived. Experienced. Rooted. Uprooted. Loved. Re-loved. I can't believe some of the things I've done. And I am certain I can't believe some of the things I will do.

It's exciting and intimidating and usually not too boring.

I am hoping at my next stop, the stop where the cost of living is less astronomical, I can devote myself to writing as more than a hobby.

Perhaps I am also becoming a tumbleweed....

Should I Write An Advice Column?

What are your thoughts about love?

Do you believe in love-at-first-sight?

Do you believe love heals all things?

Do you believe love is worth seeking?

Do you believe love happens only once?

Do you believe that you are worthy of love?

Do you know what love is and what love is not?

I have nieces, nephews, cousins, "adopted" kids in my heart that are on the threshold of life. The message the world spreads about love is so deceiving. Dear all-special-people-in-my-life, please ponder some things with me a few moments. I wear reading glasses now so I am aged and have leveled up in wisdom. Please laugh it up, enjoy, and then allow me to share with you my experience.

First. Love at first sight is a complete myth. It does not mean that you are not "carefree or romantic enough" when you wisely dismiss this notion. Your "heart" might tell you otherwise but I caution you to think with your head in this matter. Your visual attraction to someone means nothing about your ability to care for them personally.

Secondly. Love does not heal all things. Love covers a multitude of things. A multitude. Love forgives, and forgives, and forgives. But it does not erase the scars and deep wounds. Those linger. And sometimes they linger for a lifetime. Remember that. Our words and actions last.

Thirdly. I would unequivocally tell you that love is worth seeking, but be sure you know what it is and what it is not. Seek understanding. Seek compatability. Seek comfortable silence. Seek laughter. Please, please remember that physical attraction, while important, does not win the day. I remember, a lifetime ago, "falling" (in my mind) for a pair of deep brown eyes. This person and I could not have been more incompatible with the exception of our ability to banter. I was gullible, and I could not see past the two things that seemed like a solid bargain; I wasted a lot of writing time in that pursuit. I would now tell a much younger Angela to be watchful of the people who would use you, pay more heed to what you want, and all talk should be taken with a grain of salt. Words have so much more power than we give credit. Do yourself a big favor in potential relationships. Measure them carefully. Weigh them. And disregard the disingenuous honeyed.

Fourthly. Everyone is worthy of love.

Period.

Beware of those telling you that you must change to receive their affection. These beans are not your beans. Move on. Quickly.

Lastly, the question I do not feel qualified to remotely address.

Do you believe love happens only once?

If Ryan dies tomorrow, I'm not sure I would ever find someone willing to love me like he does. It seems once-in-a-lifetime. He knows all there is to know, I irritate him, I make him listen to all the talking, but I buy us Dunkin Donuts, and I bring him drinks while he watches TV. He says things, after 12 years, that melt my heart, like, "You are the whole package."

Can someone love you enough to tolerate you, but also thoroughly enjoy who you are....once? More than once?

I hope there are ever so many opportunities for love... but do grab the opportunities that you find. Cherish them for as long as you have breath. Work at resolution. Be willing to lessen your pride. Allow yourself to forgive.

Love deeply.

And laugh. Laugh.

Simply, Thank You

I've been surprised often in my life during times of sadness and discouragement. When the load has been quite heavy, someone has come alongside to share the burden and walk a spell. These walkers and I have had quite a time. We've chatted. We've grown. We've laughed. We've loved. We've lost touch...

But we have lived in parts of the others' story.

I lived in your story. And you have lived in mine.

I know who you are. I know your names. Your voices. Your faces.

I would be remiss if I did not herein express my heartfelt gratitude for all those who have walked with me. We have traveled many roads and experienced a variety of seasons. I know that because of you my heart is strong from burden bearing. My hands are worn just so from holding yours in moments of comfort and prayer.

Memories are sweet, and painful. Scenes from the long past haunt me, but interlaced are patches of smiles, and hugs, and folded notes, and shared chocolate.

Thank you for loving me fiercely even though I am flawed. It's such a gift. The very best gift you can offer another soul. That, and a 5th Avenue, of course.

I look forward to all the future kindred spirits that will drift across my path. God is writing our stories for the perfect time.

Find A Lighthouse

Technology, gadgets and gizmos are fairly beyond me.

I've seen few movies that were made prior to say, 1997, which incidentally is the year I graduated high school. (Shout out to my MCS peeps.)

I love the idea of technology. I enjoy my phone, some social media, GPS (because I lack any positive sense of direction.), and the idea that things can be done more quickly and efficiently.

I find I don't feel entirely comfortable in a world with technology. I couldn't do one blessed thing in Excel for you. I can barely scan a document and send it. I'll likely never apply for a job that has to do with office work because I am more a laborer with my hands. A legacy I've received from a simpler time.

With these constraints, few people understand me. I think often I am judged as less intelligent, less effective, less sure. Certainly in some cases all of the above apply. But I would caution you to not dismiss me so readily. If the task is equal to my strengths, you will not find a more dedicated soul. I find I am addicted to the idea of excellence. To the pursuit of accomplishment.

Accomplishment comes in so many ways, and I have been mentally pursuing what will best define me. Change? Growth? Do I need to hoe a new row? How much water and sunshine am I pouring in? What result do I see after the pursuit of excellence?

Down this avenue, I feel mentors are an excellent resource. An outside, guiding force with no agenda. Providing insight without emotion or investments, other than concern for your well being. These types of relationships will prove invaluable over the course of your lifetime. I think grandparents fall right in line in this category.

I saw a photo of my grandparents today and the immediate joy and heartache I felt was overwhelming. I miss the opportunity to visit their home, to drop in unannounced, to grab a snack from the snack drawer. Simple times. For simple people.

I feel very anxious for the wisdom of age to pour into my life. I am not less intelligent, but I am less certain.

I think I need to take a trip to visit my Grandpa. He gives the best hugs of anyone I have ever known. In his embrace I am the safest and most cherished that I will ever be. (This does not discount other relationships, but it acknowledges the deep assurance I have in this one.) He is the king of Scrabble and he taught me to love the game. He steered me from working at McDonald's which might now be unfortunate for him since he eats there and I could potentially get him a sweet discount. He loves fried chicken, hot sauce, and Texas sheetcake as much as I do. I adore him with my whole heart and his advice is always spot on.

Grandparents are a lighthouse. A built in mentoring program by God for when we are drifting, worried, or unsure. I will forever be thankful for the gift of all of them in my life.

Now I need to get to Atlanta...

Writing For A Lifetime

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.

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!)

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.