We sat in our bi monthly counseling session last night as my seven year old scribbled out a nightmare with blue and red crayolas, that had awakened her repetively from her sleep and triggered inexplicable crying.  “ I don’t want to talk about it, she explained, again.”  She eventually agreed, at our nagging requests, to draw out her nightmare on a white board “ So it doesn’t stay trapped inside,” the counselor promised.  In sum, her picture told the story of the fear of losing all that her tiny hands have attempted to hold onto…

 

My five year old then took her turn to share, that she no longer carries her blankie around, which she always needed and clung to for comfort.  “ I don’t even remember it,” she glowed as she told us.  “People used to call me a baby.  But I am not a baby anymore, or a half –child, either.”  We all laughed out loud. 

 

I stood in the doorway tonight talking to my ex husband about our upcoming move, my tentative plans.  I fought back tears, as I tried to explain the fuzzy details.  “ I cry a lot these days,” I said to him.  “ Trying to figure it all out, you know” “ I just don’t know what to do…” 

 

The battle has ended now, and on the field is strewn remnants of tattered things that tell the stories of “once beautiful”…

 

And as the inferno swells to engulf all that was left standing, if only on feeble limbs…I exhale once again.

 

 My heart adopts again the position of silence.   As I am listening… desperately, resolute to move only at the sound of His voice, His guiding; as I have no wisdom, or truth on my own…

 

The beautiful things that once covered, if only in slight, my defects …have all; finally been stripped away.   I am now entirely unclothed, exposed for what I am…imperfect.

 

Slowly, like my little one’s…I am learning to let go; no longer clinging like a half-child for something to cover me. Truba.  Lord… here am I.

 

 

 

 

 

 

I awakened on yesterday morning with sweaty little feet lying across my midsection.  I lay motionless, watching her breathe, and the beads of sweat sitting on her nose and forehead.  Her lip quivered every now and again.  She has grown so big. 

 

The day beckoned us as Jets swooped overhead.  We worked through the laundry that awaited us from the past week.   We bathed, combed curly locks and spooned flavored yogurts into our mouths.  As the garage door squeaked open and the little princesses piled into the blue Porsche…I was hopeful, that we would find something adventurous to occupy our Saturday.  Perhaps we would lose ourselves in a Barnes and noble, sipping tea and flipping through pages of words and images.  I opened my car door, and Shit!  For the third time my front tire was on a flat.  Every two weeks, the air leaks completely out.  Shh..I hush the little princesses. “ Mommy has a flat, everybody quiet.”  As if the absence of sound would have anything to do with the outcome.  Good thing, as it seems silence for them is a virtual impossibility.

 

 I drive ten miles an hour the two blocks to the gas station, apologizing to the drivers stuck behind me, waving them to go around.  We made it to the gas station, and seventy-five cents later had a fully aired tire.  I decided to make my way to the car shop to get the tire patched, or replaced…but ohh…the jets, air and water show.  Bodies were strewn almost the entire length of lakeshore drive.  The exits all closed.  My girlfriend called as the girls wondered, “ mommy why are we going this way?”  I had no answers for them, or her usual. “ How are things?”  I explained our day thus far, “ I just don’t have any answers, still,” I cried as I explained to her. 

 

The people gathered, all watching in wonder as the planes flew in formations, performing stunts…I couldn’t get anywhere on the expressway.  “I will call you later, “ and I headed back home, after driving twenty minutes and getting nowhere.

 

This morning my ex texted me, “ Thank you 4 our beautiful daughters.  I don’t know how you will take this, but I just wanted to tell you that.”  I returned his text with, “ ditto.”

 

I had nothing to give my little princesses this weekend.  “ Mommy is sad,” I explained.  When they asked why I explained, “ I’m just feeling very overwhelmed.”

 

 Later in the day, as they occupied themselves with dress up and play, they came in “ dressed as a zebra and a princess, “ they were going to a ball.  I giggled as they left my room and my five year old added in a whispery voice, “ oh and you’re the queen, just so you know.”

 

Tonight…my five year old prayed, “ Dear God, thank you for seashells, horses, and dragons…” 

 

Amen…I thought, amen.

 

In the early years of my faith, I was often genuinely appalled by the Israelites behavior towards God.  I often thought through the mind-blowing miracles they witnessed.  It baffled me to learn that after delivering them from years of long stretched slavery, parting the red sea right before them, and raining down food from heaven for them; that anything ever again could have had the capacity to distract their hearts, minds or souls for even the briefest millisecond…

 

Today, someone passed along the scipture, James: 1, which began:

 

“ Consider it a sheer gift when tests and challenges come at you from all sides.  You know that under pressure, your faith life is forced into the open and shows its true colors.”

 

Tears flooded from my eyes, as  my head dropped to my chest, and I realized that I…have had mind-blowing miracles in my life, too, on a daily basis.  The grace and provision of God’s faithfulness during this season of my life glinted through my thoughts.  HE has delivered me from a long stretch of bondage, that I hadn’t even known I was in.  Whenever I have found myself at the insurmountable impasses…HE has moved the ground before me and shone a light for me amidst the impenetrable fogs.  When it seemed I had lost everything, HE rained down great provisions…

 

Yet for so very long, my heart, mind and soul has been greatly distracted, and in being…I have not fully stood in wonder and awe at His miraculous hand in my humble, little life.

 

The longer I remain on this faith journey, through the mesmerizing moments, and the unkind inexplicable; through the awe and great devastations, through the reaching out and being held; the triumphs and gut renching failures; the moments of brilliance and undecipherable perplexities.  The seasons of timeless love, both irreplaceable and disappointing friendships and relationships; through the rage, even hatred, healing, dancing, weeping, dreaming, screaming, being…there has been immeasurable grace.

 

 And I have learned with full certainty…that I, like the Israelites, am prone to bend, to break, to show my true colors.  That I am, and will always be in desperate need…of a Savior. 

 

Caught in between the past and my dreams for the future, I was thinking this morning of all the people in the world who experience chronic physical ailments that keep them in an unending state of pain.

 

One person in particular that I knew and shared a season of life with…Ms. Linda, we all called her.  We met at the church where my family and I attended for years. She introduced herself to me one Sunday after I sang, she walked gingerly towards me and with an almost cinched jaw introduced herself and told me that she loved it when I sang.  When I was expecting my first daughter, she brought me a beautiful blanket which she had hand knitted in baby pink and soft yellow.  I was struck by her kindness, as well as the obvious physical condition she suffered from.  Linda is constantly in a state of excruciating pain.  She spends most of her time in bed, and there is little to nothing doctors are able to do to relieve her suffering.  Her pain is worsened by movement, and she walks slower than a child first finding its legs. 

 

For almost a year and half, my family had the privilege of picking Ms Linda up for church once a month.  It was the sweetest thing to watch my now ex husband meet her at her door, assume her pace, lock arms and escort her to the car.  He drove slowly when she was with us, and apologized whenever we hit potholes or bumps, as her discomfort became immediately obvious. 

 

Lying in bed this morning, as my chest pounded in a dull pain, aching from…well everything, in honesty; The news that It is finally time to leave the place I have known as home, the grief of missing my family and realizing that I always will, the struggle of being a single mom which shows no indication of slowing, the random inexplicable feelings of missing my father, the realization that I am alone, the frustration of not knowing what the next best thing is anymore…

 

Then I came to the thought, that Like Ms. Linda, there are some of us who walk through life with great emotional suffering.  Our Sky’s have fallen, yet we must find ways to continue through.  So we walk gingerly.  We cry ourselves to sleep, and awake with chest pains from where parts of our souls have been ripped out. 

 

I still have the beautiful blanket Ms Linda knitted for my daughters.  She has delicate, lovely hands.  She loves to sit for hours and hold newborn babies.  

 

This morning, her strength and fortitude have inspired me to push through the suffering of today and amidst the pain… to make something beautiful.

 

Thank you Ms Linda…

 

The proverbial family road trips, whisking past countryside and rocks chiseled by the artistic hands of time.  The echo of melodic song humming through the car in a harmony perfectly layered.  Laughter that thrusts us back to an exact moment, and place and smell.  The irreplaceable having of your family and those you love all within arms reach.  Touching, loving, being…

 

Then, hours later, the songs have been overdone, and the keys have lost their tune.  The laughter has turned into nagging and the smell has grown musty.  Legs are sticking now to hot leather seats, as sweat pools gather beneath them. 

 

Are we there yet?  At that wonderful place we are driving towards, holding out for.  That place where we will get out of the car and the rush of knowing this is it, will overwhelm us with an undeniable realization.

 

I have held it past all the pee stops I could see, and tried to occupy myself with books and things of interest.  But I’m getting tired.  And the rest is never as sound leaning my head sideways against a half rolled down window.

 

And so, the little girl wants to know…How much farther?  How much farther till we get there…

 

 

The day was absolutely gorgeous.  The girls and I ventured an hour into Indiana, to a dairy farm.  We watched the mind-blowing birth of two calves.  The girls vacillated between amazement and disgust.  We learned that a cow has four stomachs and regurgitates its food from its second stomach to rechew its cud.  We learned that when cows are producing milk, they are milked from what is called their “ teets.”  We looked at one another with giggles. 

 

My oldest daughter climbed a towering rock wall with me.  I, body lengths ahead of her shouted, “ You can do it, just keep pushing.”  I watched her leave her fears farther behind her than she had ever been willing to do before, that was something to behold. 

 

The sun set on the drive home and we prayed, “ God thanks for the amazing gifts you allow us to experience.” 

 

At dinner tonight, my youngest looked at me and said, “ mommy…it’s weird when we have sleepovers at daddy’s and come back to your house.  It’s like I don’t know you anymore.  “  I sat astounded by her five year old intelligence and rubbed her chubby little hand…” Sweetie, we’ll always know each other…no matter where we go.” 

 

There is so much we are all attempting to understand, to wrap our complex thoughts around.  I suppose, we must make sure to take time to watch the sunsets; to be amazed by the moments of brilliance and awe.

 

 

 

 

It was the end of the workweek, and at the persistent suggestion of our manager, my   teammates and I all headed out to volunteer with a local non-for profit organization that builds homes for underprivileged families. 

 

We sat in the lobby sipping iced coffees awaiting the bus that was to transport us to the worksite.  “ Where are we going to be working?”  Was the question buzzing about.  “ Somewhere deep on the south side, “ was the clearest answer we got. 

 

We began the drive south of the city, peering out the windows whisking past zip codes we hear about frequently on the evening news.  After twenty minutes of driving, we exited the highway and began slowly through neighborhoods that wore the sobering face of poverty, and hummed the disturbing melody of complex deficiencies.  Dilapidated houses stood as the backdrop of motionless people gathered on street corners, waiting; watching for the illusive.  A hush swept over the bus as my co-workers and I watched in awe at the foreign devastation of such dearth. 

 

One house in particular, stood cripply with rotting windows, and exhausted wood that had hung way too far past it’s prime.  Someone whispered, “ I can’t believe that people actually live like that.” 

 

We arrived at the home where we would work for the next six hours, pouring concrete and sanding walls.  Someone pointed out the neighbor’s home, which was noted as being comparable to the conditions of those in third world countries. 

 

We were bussed to the local McDonald’s to use the restrooms when we needed to.  As the neighborhood was “unsafe,” and we shouldn’t venture through on our own.

 

My breathing was deep and slow.  I was frozen within myself, and hadn’t the courage to tell a soul…that three blocks away from where we were…was the home I knew as a little girl, where my grandmother lived still.  That the streets we drove down to the restrooms, were the streets of my childhood; where I rode my shiny purple bicycle for hours on end, whipping past the gargantuan weeping willow trees that hung low on the end of my block.  I hadn’t the courage to tell them that this is where I was from.  And my eyes looked now at this place with a knowing I never had as a child…

 

There are days that feel so stagnant to me.  As if I am walking; moving in slow motion.  But that day, I was reminded of where the starting line actually was and I realize how very far I been carried.  Hours later, as we wait for the bus to arrive again…I watch the neighborhood kids sloshing about in the water sprinklers; and I dream for them…I hope for them…I pray for them…I was them.

Being a single mom is a job I admittedly am utterly overwhelmed with.  The constant burden of uncertainty and imbalance…always teetering between moments of clarity and light and overriding heartbreak and sadness. 

 

On yesterday the girls counselor told me that I have made a great deal of progress in making peace with what I am unable to control, and that it has created stability and safety for the girls emotionally.  I had to fight back the tears…as her words felt like nails, solidifying this still surreal reality for us.  We are making peace with the unreasonable, choosing diplomacy for the sake of a greater Love and Truth…

 

I lay in my daughter’s bed this afternoon… simply exhausted.  Fighting to keep my eyelids open as they pranced around in ruffly dress up clothes, they were going to a wedding.  My lids opening and closing… allowing my imagination to consider the ease and safety of a total emotional retreat; as in great contrast healing involves allowing ourselves to over and again be exposed to the truth and experience of our pain.  And the pain… has become exhausting. 

 

And just as It peaks… the precious faces of my little girls whispering silly nothings to me come into focus…and I am beckoned; strengthened beyond myself…reengaged again, like a wounded soldier knowing that breaking is not an option.  And that all this… it will all be worth it, will all find some semblance of place.  And that some day looking back, I will know with full certainty that being a single mom…was perhaps the greatest and most significant sacrifice of my entire life. 

I think it has been a while since my last post.  My last week has been very intense…I started a new job in a brand new industry, and my tiny brain is spinning.

I do want to take the time to acknowledge how God has answered so many of my prayers.  I had so much concern and headache over the last few months about health insurance, and finding a way to produce an income, as well as the logistics of balancing it all. 

Well, happy to report I have great insurance now, through my new job.  And my new job is an incredible opportunity…I  only have to figure it all out quickly and translate that learning into performance : >

God continues to give me peace amidst undesireable circumstance, and that is probably what  I am most grateful for today!

Today…I wanted to take the opportunity to talk about all the ways God has shown up in my life, and I am taking it step by step…knowing that he is hovering over me like a father holding up his infant learning how to walk…step by wobbly, amazing step.

The adage that time heals all things is one I have thought on a lot lately…I have found this generalization to be incongruent with my life.  As I approach the benchmark of growing another year older, I realize that time now separates me from so many of the painful events that have transpired throughout my life…yet, there are mornings when the daylight breaks and I feel the hang over of all the damage and happenings tabbed from years past.  It is because of this sobering recurrence, I am led to the belief and understanding that healing is a…commitment.  An intentional undertaking of an individual to move from one place to the next best place honestly. To genuinely see ourselves and process where we are and what the true anchors are that keep us in those places.   It can be painful and raw at times, making us want to flinch and even emotionally retract from our own existences…but the commitment to our process; healing, keeps us engaged and willing to approach whatever the next moment, hour, daylight brings. 

 

And as daylight breaks, I breathe deeply, ask God for guidance for the where’s and the who’s…I let go of all that grips at my heart and thoughts, the anxieties, disappointments, fears and insecurities.  I make peace with all I have no power over, and ask for wisdom in handling all that I do. I remember that I am fortunate in so many ways and meditate on that realization.   I open my heart and mind to the option of a new day, hope, dreams love, healing…then I reach for the next moment, and once again make peace with my life…as daylight breaks.