Words fall from her lips like burnt umber from a tree in fall.
Sliding
    Gliding
Ever-so-gracefully down to the dewy grass of last nights passions.             

Inspiration, Magic, and Whimsy!

 connectedness

 beautiful leaf art 

 

 “To acquire the habit of reading is to construct for yourself a refuge from almost all the miseries of life.” ― W. Somerset Maugham

 experience

 even in death, there is beauty

lose yourself

 

earthy

 

making the best of those chilly nights

Fall is so full of magic!  Grab a good book, your family, and snuggle into a blanket with cocoa and love.  Experience the wonderment of walks.  Cozy up in warm clothes and get lost in the woods.  Let the explosions of color speak to you, and the whisper of the wind in the leaves caress the softness from inside of you.  Connect with the magic, and you will come alive.

Concrete World

The towering buildings, green shimmer of paint on the roadside signs directing my heap of a van on tires treading concrete.  Passing piles of rubbish and unused vehicles like landmarks on the side of the road.  The putrid smell of industry rolling from large metal smokestacks.  Concrete replacing grass.  Exhaust warnings instead of fresh air.  Man makes conveniences and outcreates himself with new conveniences, abandoning the old in heaps that are now eye sores.  Obsessed with 'better,' we leave 'good' to the landfills.  Boredom and fatigue birth obsessions that we don't have resources to keep up with.  Accumulated junk gets kicked to the curb, then replaced with more of its kind.  Instead of scrubbing the dust from the walls to rid us of the memory of what once was, we find something else to fill the lines. 
A perpetual state of want. 
An insatiable and impossible hunger to feed. 
Man cannot unbuild what's been built.  It has to go clutter some beautiful corner of this earth.  It's in our nature to create.  It's not a matter of shutting down that desire, it's a matter of the integrity of what we're producing.  Let's dump our desire to create into something that adds to the beauty.  Destruction and desolation are at every corner.  So before we buy or build, let's ask....does this matter.  If so...build it, forge it, birth it from your deepest desire.  Otherwise, let your gears keep working, leaving the piles of metal and puddles of oil unspent.  Let's learn to live more intentionally.  Making our world more meaningful, not more needy.  Our dreams of simplification and enjoyment will make each moment come alive and become a creation of its own.  Giving us renewed ambitions and a passion for life.

The white rick rack turns of the ribbing against the floral green and blue flow like the emotions of the generations past.  The back and forth curves, like the daughter of my great-grandmother.  She was strong, learned it from her mama, but the strength turned. My broken and abandoned grandmother took the apron with distrust and control. 

With a family of 10, she nourished them with meals from her garden, she made flannel diapers for her babies, read her Bible, and kept quiet through the boisterous beatings in the night.  Hard and repressed, she gave the apron to my mother.  The movement of the rick rack kept its independence and bordered stubbornness.  The deep pockets, a place to hide her prematurely weathered hands.  The fabric stayed cool, even with the heat of the oven, and internal elevation from all of the rushing, polishing, and folding.  She had an obsession with cleanliness that kept her busy. Avoiding herself, gaining control.

Three generations of women baked their husbands dinner in that apron.  They laid their children to sleep, whispered prayers, and hoped for a better tomorrow.  Like the women before me, I too have hidden myself in housework to keep my loose ends from spilling over.  The delicate white lace in loose loops across my back feels like the only thing holding me together at times.  We are all hurt women who know how to handle spilled milk, but never the mess of  tantrums or unkempt emotions.  I keep my pockets filled with the remnants I collect from my children-- a marble here, a matchbox car there.  When I feel buried in life, I fidget with those things, to remind myself of who I really want to be, despite my inherited inadequacies.

The apron stays tied until the groanings of the children become snores, and the work for the day is done.  Hung on an oxidized nail, crooked from the strength of the old house, down the steps of a white-washed cellar.  The neck hung like a ghost empty of it's soul.  A hauntingly beautiful garment.  It is as it is. The rips and tears are still there; patched over, and mended so skillfully that they are hidden under the hope of love that can still be felt, even under all of the messes.

Inspiration, Magic, and Whimsy!

 

the magic of fall

 

a fairy tale doorway

 

vulnerability 

 

never underestimate yourself

 

a great sweater

 

a sanctuary

 

bringing the outside in

 

 never stop believing in magic

Fifteen

15.  A sacred number among the Hebrew people.  The union of 10 and 5 is holy - a reverence, an utterance of Yod (10), Heh (5).  Yah-Weh.  Like our triune God, dispersing his nature from father to son to holy spirit, Hebrew numbers and letters are 1NT3RW0VEN all the same - like a ghost they move, in and out of each other.  Where letters share numbers, and numbers are letters.

5 (Heh) breathes transformation, it draws us close and changes us.  Yod (10) is the open hand of God that gives and welcomes and hangs on to us.  It is from Yod that all other words are birthed.  They mimic God when he spoke and life became....Yod is in all words, their root, the anchor, the interwoven presence of God in everything that He created.  10 is all of creation because of Creator.

Hebrews say 9 + 6 to avoid accidental blasphemy, and to keep the name of YHWH holy.  But I say let 15 be as it is.  Say 10 + 5.  To summon the creator, our 1OV3R.  Where God is in us and through us, the root and ending.  Where we are held together in the matrimony of spirit and flesh.  Where our lives will continually circle back to Him.  Because we flow in and out of YHWH himself.

Planks and Cages

Today was the first day that has truly felt like fall.  Not just the cool 75 degrees, but the smell in the air, the wind in the leaves, and the hope in my heart.  While Justin worked, I took the boys to a small fall festival, followed by the park.  Immediately opening the park gate, River took off towards the tennis courts.  As Ahmi and Israel played their little hearts out, River entered the courts, and closed the chain link gate behind him.  Swinging, I looked up and saw his little face pressed against the fence, staring up at me.

'MOM!' he yelled as if I wasn't already directing my gaze towards him.  'MOM!  Yah in a tage!'  And I snickered because he had no clue that he was really the one that was confined.  And it hit me that the church does this very thing.  Where it stands in the dungeon, yelling faults at every passerby, thinking it will be a light of revelation and truth to people, some weird conduit of change, when really all it does is reveal its own cages.  Nobody needs to hear what they already are....they need to hear what they can become. 

The Bible says all of this a different way.  It cautions us to remove the plank from our own eyes before we should attempt to get the speck out of someone else's.  The key to life without hypocrisy is to be more concerned about your own faults and perceptions than that of others.  If you do this, you tend to feel less obligated to expose and warn everyone else of theirs.  Not to mention that it leaves a lot more room for love, relationship, and cultivation of a healthier and interdependent community of people.  Because that's what it's all about...the love.

Be in the Moment

Tides of people rush by with cell phones in hand.
Lovers stand beside one another, no longer glimpsing into each others eyes, but onto the bright lit screen of their smart phone.
People capture moments that are put on for a great hash tag.
Stop letting silly things lead your lives.
Walk into the depths of a forest and feel alive.
Drop the facades and technology for one day, to live in the moments that are real.
Enjoy the atmosphere around you without the need to orchestrate a great picture.
Who cares what others like!  Love what your spirit loves.
Forget all of the nonsense and just breathe in the life all around you.
Leave space for the static to turn to birdsong, and I promise you will be more alive.
Just be in the moment...for the sake of the moment alone.

Shiloh

His calloused hand seemed to swallow her tiny sepia toned fingers.  Her coarse hair, wild.  The kind of wild that says my daddy got me ready today.  Her soft pink dress grazed the concrete around her worn ballerina shoes.  They waited for the bus that was due in a few minutes.  They were catching a ride to the theater across town. 
A group of women passed, nodding at the unlikely duo.  He had a roughness about him; a look of worry set deep into his eyes.  She was like any toddler, oblivious of the world around her, humming to herself, staring down at her shoes.
'She's beautiful....let me guess....um, four?' the grandmotherly woman inquired as she eyed the little girl.
Impressed, he agreed.  'Yes, exactly.'
'Well, I have 13 grandchildren and 5 great grandchildren,' the woman humbly justified.  'She really is a doll, you keep her close,' she advised with a wink and a smile.
'Oh I will,' he assured her.  'I will.'
He uneasily glanced at his watch, trying to avoid anymore attention from passersby.  The bus should be here any minute.  Pulling her hand from his grasp, he decided it wouldn't hurt to let go a little.  She hopped onto the bench and began walking it like a balance beam.  His eyes kept a careful watch as she walked up and down the stripped wood, putting one foot directly in front of the other.  He was right there in case her curious feet darted out from the glass enclosure towards the street.
As he saw the bus nearing, he called to her.  'Shiloh.  Hey...Shiloh!  Come on,' he almost begged.
Unresponsive, he walked over to her and grabbed her hand and led her to the bus as it came to a hissing stop.  As she walked up each step, she felt the hand of this now familiar stranger upon her back.  She wondered if she was finally going home to the mother and father that were now becoming only a strange memory.

Where I Stand/Mass Apology

I'm just going to say this as a disclaimer for all my future posts or responses:  I do not aim to please people, but have learned (somewhat) to bridle my tongue...especially when I know my words will fall on deaf ears anyway.  I also try to follow the Spirit and not my own opinion.  It is rare that I say something from the heart and don't mean in from a stance of love.  So even when I am wrong, my intention is NEVER to be mean or hurtful.  I'm serious about this.  If it's something that I feel irritation over, than I wouldn't have told you until I was at a  peaceful place and can share with love and brotherhood.  But I cannot sit by and hear Christian's say things that are so off-the-wall anymore.  I want to be peaceful, but I also want to unveil Truth. 
Our culture has become so afraid of offending people, and I admit, that I have adopted this into my theology from the many times I was accused of 'not being a Christian' because I was not allowing myself to be a doormat.  I apologize for all future offenses that I may cause, and invite you to please put down your armor, and have a conversation with me if I say ANYTHING that you can't move forward without harboring in your heart. 
That being said, let's all try to (me included), hear Truth for what it is, no matter where or who it is coming from, and not get offended so easily to begin with.  We shouldn't fight each other, we should be standing together against the powers that be.  Let's let Truth infiltrate our hearts to a greater level of revolution.  So...sorry in advance.

The Beauty Scandal

This is the scandal of modern day beauty.  ^^^^^^^^^^^^^^  Insert any anorexic, white, model into this picture...it doesn't matter. This kind of beauty is more of an illusion than a true sentiment.   Smoke and mirrors, Photoshop, an unspoken vote of the masses.  Beauty is superficial, in-genuine, and completely void of meaning

Beauty can be deceptive.  For 'that which is striking and beautiful is not always good, but that which is good is always beautiful.'  Like the bite of an alluring apple.  You can't assume that beauty equals goodness.  If that were the case than society would be at its finest.  But if you look past the external, x-raying the heart of society, we'd realize it's not a heart at all, but a bunch of mechanical gears.  There's a rot that began as comparison and jealousy, giving way to consumerism and want, want, want.   

  

Beauty is life-giving, not exhausting.  It's not about keeping up with the masses, continually seeking the 'right' image, a stirring of discontent that belittles us as humans; a lie that says we are never good enough unless.  Unless.

It's not an irregularity or flaw that diminishes the value of something.  It's the ravenous appetite for lipstick and lace.  There is beauty all around, it's our job to search it out like a treasure.   We were designed in love.  We are physiologically unique.  Our beauty is fierce and cuts through the graffiti of popularity.  We have greatness in our hearts, so let's call that greatness from each other instead of cutting each other down because of mere image.  There is beauty in your details. in your thoughts, in your guts.  You hold the world inside of you, don't let diets and fads snuff that out.

  

Participate in the natural beauty that is all around you.  Hummingbirds and mountains.  Lands far, far away that are pregnant with life.  Live your life looking for the treasure where you think there is none.  That will be the place of deepest magic.  Where nothing is contrived, and the moments seem to stand still.  There you will find hope.  

Your heart holds more meaning than plump lips.  Be ravenous for the beauty in gesture and pleasantries rather than style and acceptability.  I promise you be more fulfilled than when you're wardrobe was at it's best.

'Beauty is not in the face, it is a light in the heart.' -Kahlil Gibran

'Her life improved dramatically when she decided to break the rules and find beauty where she'd been told there was none.'

Chasing Egypt

Since we've moved to Tennessee, life has been a bit of an adjustment.  I've said before that things sort of fell apart when we got here, and trust me, that seems like an understatement.  We felt called here...we KNOW we were called here, but the circumstantial crumbling gave us this nag inside that constantly questioned our decision.  IF we were called to be here, than WHY aren't we seeing this blessing that we knew would follow?  If, if, if...why, why, why?

I used to read the book of Exodus and scoff at the Israelite's attitudes when they were finally free of Pharaoh.  Who would possibly belittle their own escape?  Who would ever complain about freedom when they intimately knew the hardship of slavery?  It seemed unimaginable to me to feel anything but relief and the extraordinarily bright hope of their futures.  But I must say that I have currently mimicked their path.  When things looked more like a desert and less like a promised land, I sort of let myself fall apart.  I too, started longing for the familiarity of Egypt instead of the promises that are coming.

Through this, God began to expose my heart in ways that I didn't even know needed freeing, but He is faithful, and began unlocking.  I want the real thing, even if it means a lot of discomfort in the process.  I will never confuse discomfort with doubt anymore, and most importantly, I will never again long for the days that were oppressive.

Our life in Ohio wasn't horrible.  We were close to family, had a beautiful house, and had each other.  We were happy.  But there was always this desire and hunger for more.  More opportunity to do the things that we are passionate about doing, and that are a total dead end back home.  And that is certainly oppressive.  An undesirable, meager job that paid the bills....a decent life, but not the one that is really from our deepest desires.
We had the material things that we 'needed,' like our own house, a permanent place for our toothbrushes and clothes.  And that was enough to make me ask why.  So silly.  All I really missed about those days was a misconstrued idea of 'comfort.'

Now that I am aware, I have submitted to the process of being sculpted and refined, and I can honestly say that I am thankful for the way things happened.  I will claim this as our first major opportunity;  a bounding step towards finding our true place and hearts.  I will not long for the days that I felt oppression lying on my shoulders.  God has helped rid me of the idea of comfort that would've always been a revolving door that led back to me.  He has helped me trust Him and know Him more.  Above all, I am thankful that we have a God so gracious, that he even made us aware of the strategies against us, and that it won't take us 40 years to reach our destination. 

Oak

Through the damp soil, the push of roots sprawl deeper into the warm essence of earth.
A mature oak I am.  With roots deep, ready to break apart the sterile, concrete world around me.
Still recovering from a brutal fire passed, my scars are no longer visible - just another ring tucked deep inside of me.
I am not that person anymore.  Yet she is still there, buried under years of re growth.
I  grow towards the Son, and offer my shade in return.

So lay as a beggar beneath my branches.
Eat the fruit that is birthed from the anatomy of all that I am.
Wild things, come to me. Nest in my hair, for I am unmoved.
Grow with me, let our roots entangle to become vitally united.
So instead of one tree, we can become a forest.

Remnants of a Funeral

Open your eyes to how much of our lives are spent investing in our own deaths.  How much does it really cost us to die?
We feed our bodies poison, we smoke toxins, we inject chemicals to remain youthful, go under the knife to undermine age.  We infiltrate hate, and embrace every excessive way we find that makes us 'happy.' 
We feed on triggers of death.
We kill our spirits with lust and pornography, jealousy and want.  Desensitized hearts from violence and rage used in 'entertainment';  we break down the barrier that protects us from the profane.
Beauty and perfection have become a way of life.  Image has become too important.
We live in a world where we are blindly led to accept we can do ANYTHING that makes us 'happy' without consequence.  When our actions do catch up to us, we simply abandon them by inventing new methods of 'freedom.'
And we buy it.
With our hearts, and with our cold, hard, American cash.
We have deadened and numbed ourselves to the point where wrong no longer exists, we call it 'freedom.'
But who is really free?!
We can buy admiration, we can sell lies.  We fashion chains to have keys to sell.  We focus all our energy on extravagances that are killing us.
Each day we contribute to our own deaths;  we invest in our own decay, thinking we are secure....happy.
We believe we are fueled by life-giving blood.....but reality says we are only filled with a kind of formaldehyde;  a man-made product with the mark of America running through our cold veins to indefinitely preserve the idea that we are all just walking remnants of a funeral.

A 4th of July Rant

Sparklers have been around forever right?   When I was little, we cherished the moments that we were allowed to hold something that was actually on fire.  We would chase each other with them, freak out every time they had nearly burned to the end, afraid of getting sparks on our sticky cotton candy fingers, and sword fight with the blackened remnants.  Remembering how fun they were, we usually pick a few boxes up for our kids every year.  It's not a difficult task. You go to the grocery store and there are holiday kiosks littered with sparklers, pop it's, and smoke bombs. 

Last night I made a late night run to the store to get a few things for the 4th, sparklers included.  When I stalked the usual spots of the store and came up empty handed, I hunted down a sales clerk to help me.

Me: 'Excuse me, do you know where I can find the sparklers?'

Sales Clerk 1: 'What?'

Me: 'Sparklers?'

Sales Clerk: (confused look) 'No' (and then he walked away).

As rude as that was, I made my way to another part of the store to find them myself.  Still missing in action, I spot Associate #2.

Me: 'Excuse me, can you tell me where I can find sparklers?'

Sales Clerk 2: 'Find what?'

Me: 'Sparklers.'

Sales Clerk 2:  (confused look) 'Try the incense aisle.' (And he totally walked away)

What?!  Well I am certainly not wasting my time walking to the incense aisle.

There was some more aimless wandering and hunting down associate #3.

Me: 'Where can I find sparklers?'

Sales Clerk 3:  'Like the thing for your dog?'

Me: What?! So with a confused look, I walked away.

Me: 'Do you carry sparklers?' I curmudgeonly asked the final employee that I had patience for.

Sales Clerk #4: 'Sparkler? What is a sparkler?'

Me:  'You know, the sticks that look like incense (thanks clerk 2) that you light...and they sparkle...?

Absolutely not!  Nobody knew what I was talking about.  How is that even possible?  Maybe since fireworks are legal in Tennessee, they don't tamper with that weak stuff.  Regardless, I left 30 minutes later,empty handed, incredibly irritated, and slightly amused.

Happy sparkler-free (and super rainy) Fourth!

photo credit

Say Whaat?!

 

'River...spit that Band-Aid out!  No, it's NOT yummy!'

'No Israel, you may not shut yourself in the deep freeze.  It doesn't matter that you'll never know how dark it is, it's unsafe.'

'It's not polite to say that something smells like butt hole.'

'River, do not freeze me when I am talking to you.'

'Superman, before you fly away, I need to change your diaper.'

"Israel stop!  River isn't saying 'eat butts,' he's saying 'it's broke."

'River, songs about butt holes aren't nice songs.'

Apparently people like hearing our home's craziness, so here is the last month's insanity.

(His beautiful, effortless stroll is charged by a dying mother)

The morning has been temperamental, but beautiful;  the only time of day it's not ridden with the dank humidity that sucks the breath from your lungs.   

As of late, I have been trying to condition myself to run long distance.  For me, although I am desperately out of shape right now, it is the most relaxing form of exercise outside of my very casual relationship with Pilates. I've been at it for two weeks now, and I am feeling pretty good.  Well....after I got over the initial feeling of death.

I am not old, but I definitely don't have the metabolism (or superb eating habits) I once had.  It's not just about numbers to me. I am interested only in feeling better and becoming healthier.  I was told about this app for distance training called Couch to 5k, and was convinced it would actually help.  So a free download later, and I am on Day 2.  It's 25 minutes total (for now).  Starting with a five minute warm up walk, (after stretching of course...my shins didn't like me on week 1 of trying to get in shape), then the next 15 minutes are filled with intervals of 1 minute runs and 1.5 minute power walks, ending again with a 5 minute catchyourfreakingbreath walk.

The app interrupts The Avett Brothers and Andrew Bird to instruct me how fast my legs should be moving. The first few runs are easy.  I feel kind of cocky.  But as my tenth minute of this kind of route ensues, I am ready to kill myself when I hear the *ding* that is bossing me into running again.  This is only made harder by the fact that I am pushing a NON lightweight jogging stroller with 62 pounds of child PLUS stroller weight.  In addition to those factors, we live in a 5 mile radius exempt of flat, straight roads, so uphill it is!

As the cute little robins fly and chirp overhead, I laugh as I envision a more realistic scene that involves vultures.  To make matters worse, there's this spot on the trail that smells like a rotting animal...may I remind you it's hot out?  Very hot!  So as I exhale my breath of life, I inhale the stench of death.  

Today was a bit easier.  I only had one child with me; the lighter, 20 pound one. And although this is only Day 2 of Couch to 5k, I have been building my stamina the past 2 weeks.  I had to learn to slow my pace a bit too.  With long legs, my natural stride encourages me to sprint, but my lungs beg for me to s l o w  

d o w n.

I'm gonna keep chugging along, thankful that my lungs and legs are healthy enough to withstand the brutality and exileration of exercise, and someday soon be able to actually run a 5k and feel accomplished.  Go me!

Nothing Missing, Nothing Broken

The idols you carry were born as burdens; a millstone around your neck in a rising sea of life.
Where free men choose to be enslaved; work, work, work.
Gold and silver...worthless over blood and broken back.
Cut down the totem pole which exalts your own name, and walk in the lightness of my love.
A carved stone, a figure of wood, they cannot save you.
But my life has been laid down; sacrificed...so that freedom can be born.
Shalom to you.
No wishes or what ifs.
Your life is laid out before you.  All that you have to do is find it....in me.
Where nothing's missing.  Nothing's broken.
Nothing is left to fate or chance, because I swallowed the darkness whole, then called out your name.
I call you FREE.

Contents of a Diaper

The contents of River's diaper includes, but is not limited to: a frog, Noah, Baloo, a snake, a cowboy and walrus, Swampfire ( yes, River defiled one of Israel's Ben Ten action figures), and a few other miscellaneous pieces and parts of toys, making a grand total of 12.  12!!!

Harbor

Is there somewhere I can go where I can outrun myself?
A place of unwinding clocks;  where time stands still, creeping in and setting like a fog in the night.
Can I lose myself there for a while?
Can I attach myself to the wind; my name in your breath that you try so hard to breathe in?
Can I travel to the starlight that I glimpse from time-to-time behind your eyes?
Where constellations dance and glow, and I flicker like the fireflies, begging to be noticed.
Can I lose myself so helplessly, that the corners become rounded, and the lightening and the thunder turn from threats to glimpses of light upon my path?
Can I lay my shadow to rest in the brilliance of your smile, as you rock me into slumber by the warmth and fire of your heart?

Nighttime Ninja

Outside the crescent moon hung so brightly.  The stars had taken their posture in the black of night.  The gentle hum of cicada and flicker of firefly reminded me it was summer.  I lay in the sanctuary of my bed, reflecting on the goodness the day gifted me with, and before I knew it, my subconscious overtook my thoughts and began to whisper to me by starlight.

Just as my deepest desires began to dance with the fanciful foolishness of dreams, I was curtly and violently awoken.  The sharp of an elbow met the very vulnerable depression of where my throat is greeted by my collar bone.  Gasping to catch my breath, I guarded my neck with one hand.  Half anticipating another blow, I held out the other hand before my face.  As my breath returned I screamed for my husband.

    "Michael!'  I hollered as he frantically jolted from his sleep.  The sound of my voice begged for his help, and also for answers of this unexplained midnight attack.  He shot up like the arm of a catapult ready for battle.  A blow to his temple ensued, as he grabbed his head and fell back into the once sacred and safe haven of our sheets. 

Our eyes were still adjusting to the darkness in hopes of glimpsing our perpetrator. Suddenly there were horrible wails that made our eyes again forget to focus.  The haunting and explosive bursts of machine gun sobs.  An indiscriminate language broke out, interrupted only by the haunting cries of the night.

    'What is that? Do you feel that?'  my husband inquired, as the coldness of our wet and soiled bedding crept slowly, overtaking the dry fabric of our pants. 

    'I don't know,' I began to cry.  Fear and confusion overtook my heart, like the blackness swallows the light of day.  Palpitations, sweat, my sore and aching throat, the salt of tears streaming into my mouth, and the disorientation of my surroundings, left me almost begging for this intruder to have his way so that he can finally just leave. 

A thunderous commotion came from the hallway.  Expecting to see another aggressive intruder, I was surprised to see the silhouette of my oldest son in the doorway.  Struck with panic, I feared for his future if he interrupted our trespassers deeds.

    "Hide!!!' I demanded of him.  Alarmed at the fear in my voice, he reached for the light switch.  The moment of truth had come.  He flipped on the light, and in shock we all sat staring at our thrashing and frenzied two-year-old who was urine drenched and sleepwalking.  Michael grabbed his more threatening half, while I held his arms at his sides.   We spoke loud and firm while hugging him, doing everything in our power to bring him out of this irrepressible dream state that had turned him into a nighttime ninja.

The World is in Your Hands

 Find photo credit  here (top text added by me)

Hope

The damp, still air suspends morning wishes.

Stagnating stale words of days long ago.

Heavy in the air now,

the magic of hope floods in with the warmth and light of the sun.

Your kingdom is coming, I can feel the change.

My insides churn.

My heart quickens at the call of my voice from your lips.

Take me.

Prophesy, words of life.

Tell me what I cannot see.

Let me borrow your grace as you revive my heart with hope.
A hope that is branded to my bones,
and accentuates the promises I see nearing in the distance.

365 Days

One year ago today this precious little creature was born.  He is so laid back, incredibly goofy with his weird little faces, and above all, brings so much joy to all of us.  Whether he is waving hello, trying to steal River's bottle, biting me and laughing, playing peek-a-boo, or scratching River to get his toy back...he is so uniquely him.  Happy Birthday Ahmi Blu!

Ahmi's Favorites...

Food-> homemade sweet peas and yogi bites

Toy -> drum sticks (I dare you to take them away from him)

Game -> being chased

Music -> dude LOVES to get down, doesn't matter the music.  And the boy LOVES to sing

He loves his bath, his brothers, throwing things on the floor and making you fetch them, fake crying, experimenting with facial expressions, and spitting food on unsuspecting passersby.

Ahmi's um, Not So Favorites...

Food -> still gags on green beans

He HATES being confined to a stroller or crib

He will head butt or scratch you when pushed around (just ask River), and he doesn't like it if you get in the way of him and his mommy.

14/52

Week 14 - May 29, 2013

Israel - a boy after my own heart

River - being friendly

Ahmi - eating things

The Transient Me

Atoms make up molecules, which make up cells, which in turn make up tissues, which make up organs, which I suppose make up 'me.'  Moody, irrefutable, inconceivable, me.  But who am I really?  Am I the substance of all the pieces of my body?  Am I nothing more than the value of a brain or breasts? 

Every year my body goes through some cosmic system of recycling itself.  Little shards of me lifting and escaping from the life it wants no part of; those traitorous bastards.  They could at least make my life a little easier by taking  pieces of my memories with them.  My body reorganizes itself like one of those asshole puzzles that only leaves one piece open, while the rest lay jumbled and chaotic with a fragmented picture that makes no sense.  And as my pieces rearrange themselves, I can feel it.  Part of my heart becoming my eyes, leaving me with a bleeding vision of reality.  The atoms are just doing their job, trying to do me a favor really, to keep me alive and intact, but all I can understand of it, is that I am dispersing and becoming someone new every day.  But is that someone evolving?  Because most times, it feels more like revolving.                                                   
It's creepy to think that my atoms were somewhere before me.  I guess it could be exciting.  I could pretend that a few of my atoms came from Einstein.  But in all probability, they most likely came from rat shit.  The real kicker is that the dying parts of me are contaminating someone else.  And that's kind of funny, in a depressing sort of way.  But wherever I have come from, and wherever those tiny pieces of me may go, I know that I have somehow been destined to be me.  The me of mountainous bouts of oddities and eccentricities that make me question my atoms origins.  Take for example, my most recent convergences with Strange.  The kind of strange that has me fairly convinced I am losing my mind.  Well, I'm aware that I am losing pieces of my mind, but now I'm convinced it is all happening a lot more aggressively. 

I awoke the other  morning with a charred arm.  It wasn't painful as if I'd actually been burned, but it sure smelled like it.  I investigated my room, wondering if I had somehow caught something on fire that didn't throw the entire room up in flames.  Nothing suspect.  I then proceeded to inspect the kitchen.   But no signs of any late night, sleep-walking kinds of cooking.  So as I chucked it up to 'weird,' I also forgot about it pretty quickly.

I worked, came home, ate dinner, showered, and fell into my bed.  I had weird dreams that I was a Rubik's cube and that the stars were all laughing at me.  Just a typical night's sleep.  I awoke to another strange and mysterious mark that I discovered as I was hazily making my way to the shower.  I caught a glimpse of this new injury in the metallic mirror that hangs over my bathroom sink.  As I catatonically undressed, there it was.  Okay, I thought, what is going on?!  The same mark as my arm.  Black, painless, but a sweet odor of old smoke.  This is going beyond the typical encounters of oddness.  But what am I supposed to do?  Let a doctor prod me with instruments and weird questions?  I'm pretty sure whatever judgments I would incur from the medical world would only prove that I would welcome the weirdness over allowing them to become a significant part of me.  They can keep their atoms to themselves.  I ignore the marks, distance myself from reality, and continue on in tedium.

As I am leaving for work, I feel this tingling sensation in my arm, the charred one under the guise of long sleeves.  I hate it when my limbs fall asleep.  I wonder if there is an exchange going on right in that very moment.  But I lose that thought as the sensation intensifies. No amount of rubbing can talk it out of the hysteric pain that deepens.  I open the car door and thrust myself onto the velvety interior,  hoping to shake, rub, and smack the numbing out of my arm.  Simultaneously, my side begins to burn.  It started as the kind of hot that warns you of impending danger.  The hot that doesn't quite sear your skin, but lets you know the danger is close and very real.  It quickly progressed to the burning yourself on a stove kind of pain, then quickly felt like I was engulfed in flames. 

As my car began to smell of ash, I looked down at my arm and side and with one quick burst or raw pain, was overwhelmed with the red of flames.  I could feel the atoms trying to escape, as I sat there, aware that I was being haunted by the impossible.  Seeing myself lit up in the rear view somehow felt like deja vu.  I heard the slight whisper of my name from the sky, and as the flames engulfed me, I realized that the stars just wanted me back.  So I stopped fighting; submitted, and let myself go where I was intended to be.  A place where my revolving has purpose, a place where the darkness can no longer consume me.  My source that I had so deeply forgotten.  A light in the darkness....for now.

13/52

 

Week 13 - May 18, 2013

River - enjoys being naked

Israel - making arrows

Ahmi - loves playing peek-a-boo and biting people

Mother's Day

On Children
  ~Kahlil Gibran

Your children are not your children.
They are the sons and daughters of Life's longing for itself.
They come through you but not from you,
And though they are with you yet they belong not to you.
You may give them your love but not your thoughts,
For they have their own thoughts.
You may house their bodies but not their souls,
For their souls dwell in the house of tomorrow,
which you cannot visit, not even in your dreams.
You may strive to be like them,
but seek not to make them like you.
For life goes not backward nor tarries with yesterday.
You are the bows from which your children
as living arrows are sent forth.
The archer sees the mark upon the path of the infinite,
and He bends you with His might
that His arrows may go swift and far.
Let your bending in the archer's hand be for gladness;
For even as He loves the arrow that flies,
so He loves also the bow that is stable.

These are the truest sentiments on what nurturing children really look like to me.  If you want to be a good mother, know that you are not creating or controlling your children, but that you are granting them space to discover all of the goodness and kindness that they already are.  For we are meant to be stewards over our children, not makers.  Remind your children that who they are, and the way that they love you is why it is such a joy to be a mother in the first place.

Happy Mother's Day! 


(This is also a beautiful, and very real rendition of motherhood.)

My Bookshelf Lately

To me there is nothing quite like a little bit of quiet and a good book.  These are off of my bookshelf, my most recent reads, and I have to say they were all quite potent.

'A Tale for the Time Being,' was probably my favorite.  A story rich in symbolism, spirituality, and a tenderness that makes you cling to all of the good things in life.  The story was so beautifully and intelligently crafted that most times I felt swept away in the poetry of it all.  

'The Fault in Your Stars,' is a book for young adults, but is hard to perceive that way when read.  It is a not-so-typical look into tragedy and a heartwarming tale of love at its best.

'Wild' is a mesmerizing memoir about a woman who was lost by life's hardships, and then saved through her journey on the Pacific Crest Trail.  It is beautifully graphic with detail, and written more like poetry or prose. There was a rhythm in her writing that was engaging, and an honesty that was relieving.  

'Little Bee' was well written but also very traumatic to read.  It was a beautiful, but hard story of two women brought together by a horrible set of life-altering circumstances.  Unfortunately, circumstances that reflect a real image of a lot of lives in Africa.

Leave a comment....I would love to hear what you have been reading lately!

Because Sometimes It Rains

Earthworms bearing vulnerable to the cracked walks of civilization.
Old notes on vinyl gracing the air around our dancing feet.
Three thriving boys surviving in their makeshift tents and imagined hunger around pretend campfires....while their real hunger for living life is fed.
Hiding with each other under blankets while movies can be heard overhead...
All because sometimes it rains.

12/52

Week 12 - April 28, 2013
River - loved this bee
Ahmi -loves fresh air
Israel - the cool kid in town

Kid Conversations

All day I have the privilege of hearing fragments of really great conversations between the boys.  Here are the ones that really stand on their own.

Israel: What does my belly button taste like?
River: Um...Untel Tayub (Uncle Caleb)

Israel to Uncle Caleb: 'You give the best wedgies!'

'Tool Meat!' River says to me with a smile. (I was wrist deep in raw beef while making meatloaf for dinner)

River has recently learned to unbuckle himself while in his booster seat in the car.  This conversation took place after he stumbled backwards from my abrupt stop.
River: 'Heeeey...dot bush!'
Israel: 'I didn't push you River....that's just the physics of driving.'

'River why are you crying....I just licked you.  You lick me all day.!' 

Contents

The contents of River's dirty face includes:   snail guts, pizza sauce, guacamole, dirt, grease, something sticky, and a booger.  It's only 11 o'clock too. 
Ready to leave the house, I say...'River, let's go change your shirt, the one you have on is really dirty.'
'Gno not,' argues the little dirty two-year-old.
I successfully get him indoors, wash his face and hands, and convince him that his moon shirt is totally worth trading for the dirty striped shirt he currently dons.
He gets his cool 'moom' shirt on and is instantly amazed at the glowing letters scrawled across the front.  We head upstairs to find shoes, me ahead of the little twerp who lumbers agonizingly slow up the steps.  I reach the top, turn the corner, and immediately hear *thunk* followed by wailing.  As I turn to investigate the cause of the crying, I notice that River has run into the wall because he is so distracted by the words 'shoot for the moon' across his glowing chest.
That's funny, but even as he lay on the floor oh-so-dramatically, he was holding his head and still staring at his tee.  It's going to be a long and funny day.

A Weekend in Pictures

There were hugs, kisses, bugs and worms held, snails collected, parks played in, and little boys chased until we all dropped. Here are a few moments of our lovely weekend.