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.