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.