happy, daily.

Day 365.

Tue, 02 Apr 2013 16:30:35 -0400

Day 365.

Palms Up.

Tue, 02 Apr 2013 16:28:57 -0400

I prayed a lot this year.

I always thought I had a pretty good relationship with Him, but was not so pleasantly surprised when I realized how far from the truth that actually was. But, when the ground you walk on is taken out from under you, it’s incredible how quickly you look up. And it’s incredible how quickly you feel His arms wrapped tightly around you, making sure you don’t fall.

So, when you’ve got yourself surrounded by someone as awesome as that, why wouldn’t you want to chat throughout the day? Over the coarse of the year, the prayers that once began as “Please, help take this engulfing rage away”, slowly turned to “Please continue to take this anger away, but thank you for taking it out quicker today, that was really nice.” Then, somehow, the pleas for the absence of pain became claims of gratitude. “Thank you for my new home.” “Thank you for this community.” “Thank you for a day without tears.” “Thank you for bringing so-and-so into my life.” Over the coarse of the year, the prayers changed alongside my heart, but there was one that stayed the same. One I could only dream of and hope for. There was one I never left out. Short and sweet, it was to “Please, make something beautiful from this. Please, show me why this had to happen.”

Writing this, the tears begin. I can’t help but cry. Because guys, He listened. He heard my cries, He heard my pleas, He heard the longing in my heart. Not only did He give me one reason as to why, but a long list that I am still trying to wrap my head and heart around. Not only did He make something beautiful, but He’s continuing to do so and add to it every waking day. From a girl who had a future planned with someone she thought she loved, starting down a road she felt was pretty neat, towards a life she figured good enough, He made something entirely more intricate than I ever thought possible. But that’s God. Capable of creating something better than we ourselves can ever fathom. Setting the bar higher than we can ever reach on our own. Making the impossible, possible. From a girl who thought life was just fine, He has taken broken pieces and turned her into someone with an entirely new understanding of what it means to be loved. An entirely new gratitude for the good moments in life, even if they last for but a blink of an eye. He has given me a life filled to the brim of new found hope, and gratitude, and faith. Knowing that He can in fact move mountains.

I thought I knew what love was. And I like to think I would not have said “Yes” had I not. But I truly believe my understanding of it as a whole is more honest, and more real than ever before. I like to think, that I now have a deeper sense of the importance of words, and the weight that they each entail, and how choosing the right ones can make all the difference in the world. I hope, that I will remember, that grace is important, and should be given more than it seems to be. I pray, that everything this year has taught me will stay with me, not slowly dissolving as I continue to heal over time. Because I don’t want to forget these past twelve months. I don’t want to ever feel less grateful for the people and things in my life than I do in this moment. I don’t want to overtime simply go through life. I want to live it, glorifying His name every step of the way.

I set out last year to heal. To choose happiness. To find the good in the bad. I remember at times really wishing there was a guidebook or step-by-step explanation as to how one is to go through what happened. I remember simply wanting someone to tell me “Do this, this, and this, and you’ll be golden!” I remember at times hoping it could all just fix itself. That the gifts would walk their merry way back to the store. That the feeling of being left at the curb would would one day magically disappear. That the two of them could just apologize already, so the idea of forgiving would at least be that much easier. But, no such book exists. I checked. And there is no way to simply do “This and that”. But I realized what I could do is make decisions that I would be okay with years down the road. What I could do, is make choices that I would be proud of, that weren’t out of spite, that simply felt right deep down in my heart. Not every decision was a winning bet. Not every action was perhaps how it should have been done in retrospect. But every step, every moment, every fumble, every mistake, it brought me here, standing at that imaginary finish line I once dreamt of. And I have to believe that it’s a combination of all of the above that had something to do with that. I have to believe that He guided me down the exact road He had waiting for me. I have to believe, that it all went exactly as it was supposed to.

I would be lying if I told you I knew exactly what this next year has in store. But that’s sort of the beauty of it all. Plus, Lord knows me planning things never quite goes overly well so I’ll stick with the idea that the unknown is darn right exciting. But one thing I can tell you, I have another goal. It’s not one focused entirely on healing or forgiving or working through pain. It’s not one that has a glorious finish line to cross. But one that is a mindset. One that I truly believe, is absolutely necessary.

It’s been a while since I’ve mentioned that book Love Does, but I can’t think of any other way I’d like to bring all of this together. I can’t think of any other way in which this journey in its entirety, should come to an end. In one chapter, Bob Goff brings up the idea of “palms up”. He says that whenever a client of his has to sit in court and answer questions, that they are given one direction; to place their hands upon their knees, keeping their palms up. It is then, he has found that any guard you had up slowly begins to crumble. It is then, that honesty is given more freely, and a sense of calmness are more accessible. According to Bob, it goes further than that. He states…

“I lean red this technique from Jesus actually. I used to walk around with my fists clinched, defensive, afraid people were going to take advantage of me. There are also so many evils in the world that caused me to clinch my fists. I wanted to be angry and swing at the horrible things people do to one another, especially the things done to kids. But it was Jesus who taught me there was nothing I could really lose if I had Him. He taught me to be palms up, just like He was. Palms up means you have nothing to hide and nothing to gain or lose. Palms up means you are strong enough to be vulnerable, even with your enemies. Even when you have been tremendously wronged. Jesus was palms up, to the end.”

Guys, this is what I want. Here, starting now, to live “palms up”. I want to experience this beautiful life He has created with open arms, not merely getting through it with my head down, hands clinched, keeping my heart tucked away, safe as can be.

So yes, I will continue to find my “happy” with every waking day, because really, how does one not find one thing a day that is pretty awesome in and of itself? But with that, I will be taking the first step into the rest of my life with an open heart, with an open mind, arms outstretched, and palms up.

Because I am ready. It’s time. To live, palms up.

xo.

Day 364.

Mon, 01 Apr 2013 00:08:00 -0400

Day 364.

When Heaven Crashes In.

Mon, 01 Apr 2013 00:02:37 -0400

How does one prepare for a day they have been waiting to experience all year long?

How does one celebrate a day that was once to hold such a different type of meaning?

How does one simply wrap their head around the idea that their one year of intentional healing is in fact, coming to an end?

Well, if you’re me, you start to freak out a little.

I wish I could tell you I felt nothing but pure excitement for what tomorrow holds. But that would be depriving the feelings sprinkled within me that should be acknowledged. Those of nerves, and sadness, and a little bit of fear. Now before we get too sad, I’ll tell you now that there are absolutely more good feelings than bad, but let’s save the best for last, shall we?

This time last year, in the two weeks leading up to April 1st, I felt I had to prepare. Now I didn’t exactly know what I was preparing for, perhaps a healing crusade of sorts, or a race to healing, but I felt I had to do all that I could to make sure I was ready. To do all that I could, to have all that I needed for the year before me. Well, those same feelings have come to visit, and these past weeks have been full of flashbacks and reflection. Going over what this past year has meant and entailed and taught. These past two weeks have been heavy, and hopeful, and full of questions. Asking myself, am I ready?

While my answer is an absolute “Yes”, it is laced with a strand of sadness. Not that I am upset in the least to be where I am, but that to start a new chapter means to end the one you’re on. And sometimes, it’s a really good chapter. And sometimes, you don’t want to end a good thing. And other times, you don’t want to say goodbye to something you have grown comfortable within, because saying hello to something new is down right frightening. Sometimes, it’s easier to stay where you are.

This chapter must come to an end. Why? Because I did what I sought out to do. Because it is full to the brim of everything I hoped it would be. Good guys and bad ones. Victories and losses. Hope and despair. And in the end, and overwhelming sense of gratitude and love. This chapter, well, it’s simply that. A single section in the magnitude of those before me. So, if I loved this one so much, why wouldn’t I want to keep reading? Why wouldn’t I want to see what the next chapter has in store?

Today’s “happy” was in the same place I experienced it last year. Outside, celebrating all that He is.

The theme this year, was the idea of heaven crashing in. In other words, the moment the broken, dirty, and lonely world you are a part of is suddenly transformed into one full of beauty and grace. The moment, you let Him in. The moment, you choose to no longer go at it alone.

While the sermon was great, and the worship moving, it was the backdrop, of all things, that brought me to tears. Now picture this; huge sheets of metal, shards of wood, pieces of chain link fence, all nailed and put together, forming these overly tall, rectangular, wall like structures. They were uncomfortable to look at, and painful at best to be near. And while the meaning of art is entirely upon the viewer, if you ask me, I think it in a way, represents us. Broken, and painful, and really, just kind of a hot mess.

The moment that heaven crashes in, is the moment all of that is gone. The moment the dirt and grime is washed away, the moment the dark and sorrowful walls are replaced with incredibly clean and beautifully white ones. And this is what happened. In the blink of an eye, those once uncomfortable fortresses were turned around, and there before us, were new ones. Yes, they were still made of bits and pieces of found objects, but is that not what we are? A collaboration of moments and stories and experiences and past chapters of our own lives?

So why, exactly did I start crying? Because I realized that this past year, that was heaven crashing in. That was the time my once dark and grungy and nail bidden walls were turned into something new, something clean, something more intricately beautiful than I could have ever dreamed of. That was the time, that everything changed. So, me being me, watching those broken walls transform into something more true and real, I turned to tears, because the simple visual of dark to light, broken to whole, pain to peace brought everything back. This past year, came flooding around me. Images and memories from hard times and good. All of it. There in an instant. And I cried. Knowing that the transformation and turning is hard. Knowing that it’s painful. But also knowing that in the end, worth it all. I cried, feeling grateful for the turning in my heart. For the cleansing of my soul. For the uncomfortable fortress and shards of hurt becoming something else. Something more beautiful. Something more real. Something that feels a lot more like His love.

So, with heaven crashing in, with these old walls transformed, with my fingers itching to turn the next page, April 1st, I’m ready for you.

xo.

Day 350.

Sun, 24 Mar 2013 15:12:24 -0400

Day 350.

A Sidewalk Service.

Sun, 24 Mar 2013 15:11:35 -0400

I think forgiveness is a pretty big deal. Which is why I kind of didn’t want to say those three words, or at least go about “formally” forgiving, if there is such a thing, in the corner of a coffee shop. Even if it is a really cute coffee shop.

Call me theatrical, or sentimental, or anything else you choose, but I wanted to wait until today. The exact one year mark. I wanted to go to spot he proposed. And I wanted to say a few words once I got there. So yes, I kind of wanted to have a sidewalk service of sorts which is exactly what I began to refer to it as. I mean, if you’re going to forgive, why not go all out? And yes, fireworks did cross my mind.

Early to rise my sister and I were. Walking shoes on. And a pretty questionable idea as to how to get to where we wanted to go. A few miles later, we actually made it. But once we climbed the hill to the very top, I stopped, looked around, and asked, “Are you sure this is where he proposed? I mean, it might be…but…I think it is…right?” In that moment, we laughed, knowing that healing has in fact occurred, knowing that it’s a pretty good sign, that you’ll probably be just fine, if you question a place you once thought you’d never forget.

Finally feeling a solid 90% chance that it was the right street, and after a few pictures had been taken, we found a wall, climbed up top, and called it ours. From there, perched perfectly on the corner, a sliver of the city’s landscape could be seen, the spot where he once fell to one knee was safely before us, and after a few minutes of taking in my surroundings, and everything that was about to happen, a sidewalk service began.

In my attempt of creating a go-to list of verses to help in this road to forgiveness, I came across one of the verses either my Mom or his, I can’t remember which, were to read in our wedding. I remember loving it from the start, and now, after everything that has happened, I love it even more. I think that has been an interesting part of this year. Finding new things that I love with all my heart, but somehow, finding that I still have a love for things that I already held dear. But it’s with a new found love, with a new found meaning, and I think that’s pretty neat. With that said, this verse was perfect in every sense of the word to be read in that moment. So, there, perched atop a wall, on the corner of the street, it began…

“Therefore, as God’s chosen people, holy and dearly loved, clothe yourselves with compassion, kindness, humility, gentleness and patience. Bear with each other and forgive one another if any of you has a grievance against someone. Forgive as the Lord forgave you. And over all of these virtues put on love, which binds them together in perfect unity. Let the peace of Christ rule in your hearts, since as members of one body you were called to peace. And be thankful. Let the message of Christ dwell among you richly as you teach and admonish one another with all wisdom through psalms, hymns and songs from the Spirit, singing to God with gratitude in your hearts. And whatever you do, whether in word or deed, do it all in the name of the Lord, giving things to God through him.”

It was here the realization of everything began to feel more real. I questioned if what I was about to promise was something I was actually ready for. I questioned if it was something I would even be able to do or continue to do. It was here, that scenes and moments from this past year and the pain I once felt raced through my mind. And it was here, that I made the choice to do it. I made the choice, to begin forgiving.

My sister started a prayer, and after her words wrapped in love and hope came to an end, mine began. I thanked God for holding on to me, and for never letting go. I thanked Him for allowing me to experience each of these days, for bringing me here, for simply loving me. And then I told Him that I was ready. That I can’t do this alone. That I need Him to help guide me through this next chapter. But that I want to start. With Him.

I looked at my sister and said the words I’ve been scared to death, or refusing, or simply not wanting to hear, “I forgive them.”

No tears, no heart wrenching cries. And sadly, no fireworks. Call me a dreamer, but I was secretly hoping something would come through. We jumped off the wall, crossed the street, and started down the stairs towards breakfast. Because what could possibly got better with forgiveness than some really good pancakes? I’m not sure what I was expecting to feel, but I thought I would feel something, anything really. But there was nothing.

And then it happened. Step by step, my heart opened more, and a silent prayer began. Somewhere between the third and fourth flight of stairs down the world’s curviest roads, thanking Him for what He has done, for where He has brought me to, for the journey before me, I felt hope. Laced with excitement, and a whole lot of faith, it stayed there. In that moment, I knew I was going to be okay. That there were absolutely going to be moments and days where I don’t want to forgive, but I can do it. Because I’m ready. Because I have hope.

I always thought I would feel lighter once the words left my lips, and I would be lying if I said I wasn’t a little sad that I didn’t instantly feel ten pounds less myself jumping down the wall. But as it turns out, walking away from everything, from where it all began is what I needed. As it turns out, moving forward, placing one foot in front of the other, thanking God for it all, that’s when it becomes real. That’s when you feel it. That’s when you realize, that forgiveness, feels an awful lot like hope. That’s when you keep walking, not knowing what is before you, but knowing that is more than okay. Because hope is enough.

xo.

Day 349.

Thu, 21 Mar 2013 23:16:41 -0400

Day 349.

Less Thorns. More Love.

Thu, 21 Mar 2013 23:07:00 -0400

I’ve had this crazy idea that somehow going back to the place where he proposed would help me heal. I’ve had this crazy idea that going back to the city that held more memories than one can hold with two hands would be necessary. I’ve had this crazy idea that taking a modern day pilgrimage with the sole purpose of letting go, of forgiving, of facing a place we once held dear would be in a sense, one of the final steps to this year. Well, I’m here. Deep in the heart of San Francisco. Sitting in the coffee shop we would start our days within, the one we went to the day he proposed, the one we sat at with our siblings, filling the space with laughter and our minds with memories. Here I am, flipping through more books than my backpack would probably prefer to hold, reflecting back on words, sentences, paragraphs that my heart found worthy over the past year. Here I am, trying to understand, what exactly has happened. Here I am, processing, hoping, and praying, for an open heart, that I may grasp in the fullest and truest of ways, where He has guided me to, what He has done in my life, and the extent in which my heart has been changed more than I ever thought possible.

Why now? Because it’s time. Tomorrow marks one year to the day my old life ended and this new one began. It marks one year since the day spent together felt “off”, since he broke into tears telling me what he had done, since I kissed him on the cheek, dramatically expressing that he had ruined my life. Tomorrow marks one year since I made a sad attempt of kicking his car, since I stumbled into the Big House, since I felt my world come crashing down in the most bone shattering and soul crushing ways. Tomorrow marks one year since I lay on that kitchen floor screaming from the bottom of my soul up to the moon, both refusing and incapable of moving, knowing when I did, it only meant the beginning of something I did not want anything to be a part of.

The idea of forgiveness is an odd thing. When I first began to think about it, I thought it was something I would wake up one day and feel I would be ready to do. I thought it was something that only time would allow, that would represent the end all to this things like pain and healing. Over the course of this past year, parts of that original thought have changed. I know now that chances are, I won’t be waking up any day soon with this incredible urge to forgive over my morning coffee. Chances are, I won’t cease to feel moments of pain or moments of healing or moments of anger. Chances are, I will feel the aftermath of what happened for years to come. And that’s okay. I think that’s one of the differences, or at least something that’s been somewhat hard to accept or come to terms with the past few months. That forgiving is going to be a process, a daily goal, in the simplest way possible, a promise. I can list handfuls of things right off the bat that I have deemed as “unfair”, and forgiveness at some point made it to the top. Somehow, I began to perceive it as a burden. Somehow, it began to be seen as this really heavy box, covered in thorns, and for some reason, I had to be the one to carry it for blocks on end, and it made me mad, because the two that hurt me didn’t have to even look at it.

Needless to say, I’ve been staring at that heavy, painful box. I’ve been walking around it, jumping over it, and perhaps a few times, even tried kicking it a few inches or two. But sitting here, in this moment, I’m starting to think that maybe I’ve been looking at it all wrong. Maybe those weren’t thorns after all. Maybe, it’s not as heavy as I originally thought. Maybe, I simply wasn’t ready to acknowledge it for all that it was, and truly, what was within in.

I am done perceiving forgiveness as a burden, as the item at the top of a list labeled “Unfair Entities”, as something that will only bring me bloody hands and pain. I am done, simply, done. I have been told that I have every right to still feel angry, to still feel hurt, to still find hardship in the idea of releasing it all, because “It hasn’t been that long!”. And I agree with that, but to a certain extent. For one year, I have gotten to feel angry, and hurt, and hold on tightly to the idea of not having to forgive, “Because they hurt me, and I get to feel this way!” For one year, I have gotten to be reminded of their actions, of what I lost, of what I felt was taken right out from under me. I have gotten to have be mad and stay mad, cursing their names. And maybe it’s just me, but I think one year of that is simply enough.

I spent the first part of my morning in the corner of this coffee shop, atop this wooden bench, rereading scripture, copying verse after verse into my journal, searching for anything in regards to forgiveness. I spent a straight hour, trying to find reasons as to why I should forgive, how it should happen, secretly hoping some sort of step by step process would make its way to me. Three full pages later, one hand beginning to cramp, and a heart feeling more okay than I originally thought it would, it hit me. While helpful, I didn’t need to be writing some script length, go-to list of reasons why or how to forgive. The moment I stopped writing my list and finally began to understand at an entirely new level of what it means to be loved by Him, of what is asked of me to do because of it, I smiled. Because it was then, I found my happy, knowing at the end of the day, I am asked simply, to love.

I am asked to not take an eye for an eye, to love those around me as I would like to be loved, to rid my heart of all bitterness and rage, to show my enemies kindness and grace, to have faith, and hope, and to lift my anxieties up to Him. Some of these are yes, harder than others, but within it all, I am asked to love. Why? Because He loves us. I think it is that mere fact alone that thinking of forgiveness is less threatening. Why? Because He has forgiven me for more. Everyday I have my doubts, my insecurities. I have moments where I don’t treat those around me as I would want to be treated, I have moments where my anger and fear gets the best of me. I question why things happen, and try to take my life into my own hands. I keep bits of bitterness and regret and put myself before those I know should be first. And what happens every day, even after all of this? After I continuously make the same mistakes, question the same events, react the same way? I am forgiven. Every day, I am given the opportunity to try again, to learn, to grow. Why? Because He loves me.

So at the end of it all, how do I not try to forgive two people that yes, hurt me, but more than anything, caused something that has brought me to a place of utter joy and gratitude? Their actions, their choices, allowed for me to experience brokenness, and in turn, an opportunity to rebuild, brick by brick, with someone who seriously knows how to build a house or two. I have gotten to be experience more of His grace, more of His love, more of His utter glory than I have in all my years combined. So I sit here, wondering, how do I not forgive that?

Today, I had a handful of realizations. First, I realized that the box is not as heavy, the thorns not as sharp, and forgiveness not as deathly detailed as I have for so long believed. I realized that I am in fact capable of lifting it, but not only that, taking it wherever it is I feel it needs to go. I realized, that I am ready to forgive. That I am meant to love and show love. I will say it again. I am meant to love. Good Lord, it feels good to say that. To break it down into the simplest form possible. Somehow, when it’s as simple as a few words, it keeps me from adding in my own excuses, my own commentary, my own anger. Somehow, when it’s as simple as a single sentence, any anxiety or fear or doubt of my placement on the healing scale or my ability or lack there of to go about forgiving, it vanishes. Because He loves me. He forgives me. Therefore, I too, should forgive and love.

What else did I realize today? That the city of San Francisco has some crazy tradition the day before St. Patricks day. As it turns out, on this day of all days, hundreds of men and women alike dress as, wait for it, brides. Yep. On this day of intentional attempts at healing, on this day of my making of new memories, I swam in a sea of taffeta and silk, veils and trains, and absolutely, whole heartily, enjoyed every minute of it.

God has a great sense of humor, and I love that this past year has had more than it’s fair share of borderline awkward or “too soon” or simply ironic moments. And every time I simply laugh, sometimes to myself, others out loud for all to hear, and think “Touché.” Sure, being surrounded by brides could have been slightly horrifying, and yeah, maybe I could have broken down realizing that I’m not nearly as healed around people dressed as that than normally dressed, innocent bystanders. But I didn’t. I laughed. And took pictures. And yes, thanks to my sister’s kind words and questions, found myself in the middle of St. Patrick’s Day-San Franciscan brides, all of us, including the man holding his cigar in his hand, another throwing fabric in the air behind, smiled ear to ear. Because we were all there. Happy. And healed. Laughing. Because God can bring you smack dab into some really great moments.

xo.

Day 346.

Mon, 18 Mar 2013 01:03:43 -0400

Day 346.

Overdressed For A Wednesday.

Mon, 18 Mar 2013 01:01:38 -0400

I’ve talked about selling my dress, but the action ended the moment the words did.

I never found myself capable or willing to take the next step. Perhaps I thought it unfair, or simply did not want, to put the energy or effort into something I had just put energy or effort into finding in the first place. The dress, for months, has been stuffed in a closet. Out of sight, out of mind.

Well, I went into that closet. And out it went.

From the big house to this petite space it traveled. I have come to understand that it is just an excessive amount of taffeta, bits of lace, all stuffed into a big purple bag. I don’t have memories of it outside of the bridal salon, and I have to believe that helps. What I was not expecting though, was to find it hard to walk it through my door. I stood there, and instantly, felt two worlds crashing together. One representing a life I whole heartily thought I wanted, one representing a life I whole heartily know I am meant to lead. Without skipping a beat I placed the dress over the ledge before my door, and walked inside. I couldn’t do it.

So there it stayed, as I walked in circles around this space. Thoughts swirled through my head. “Why can’t I just bring it in? It’s a dress. You didn’t even wear it! Wait. Where am I going to put it?! No really, where is it going to go? Crap.” After the placement situation was handled, and my anxiety over the dress actually making it inside had subsided, off the ledge it went and upon a hook near my bed it hung. There, it stared at me. And I, at it. It was kind of like a terrible version of that game where you’re not supposed to be the first to blink. And with that, let’s just say it was touch and go, with no clear winner.

My “happy” today was while my Aunt was graciously taking pictures of the dress. As it turns out, when sold online, people use their wedding pictures as proof or examples of the dress. And as it also turns out, I don’t have any.

It may sound slightly dark or twisted, but I felt I needed to be the one in it. I knew it had the possibility of being difficult, but I thought it would be something good to overcome. Something to good to let go of, something to not let scare me. Also, I simply wanted to wear it again. Because I really did love that dress.

On it went, and outside we were. Middle of the street, lighting slowly becoming more and more perfect, my little cousin taking pictures of her own with a phone. I remember loving how it twirled, how it made me feel, the lace that met with these precious, delicate flowers at the waist. Picture after picture was taken, and I was surprisingly doing more than fine. Then, it came.

My Aunt saw it first, then yelled for my little cousin to grab her wallet. I looked over my shoulder, and there it was. An ice cream truck, headed right our way. Before I knew it there it was, pulled up against the curb. And there I was, asking the man how his day was, glancing over the countless options posted on the side, finally deciding on a chocolate sundae ice-cream something extravaganza.

It was in that moment, I felt with every ounce of my heart, my “happy”. Aunt snapping pictures, me laughing whole heartily, and a man in an ice-cream truck, never acknowledging that I was slightly overdressed for a Wednesday.

I am continuously in awe of what time can do, it’s ability to heal, and where it can take you to. Never did I think I would be healed enough to wear a dress that once represented so much. Never did I think I would have to. But more than anything, never did I think I would get to order an ice-cream out of a truck, in so much taffeta. And I ask you this, how does that not make you “happy”?

xo.

Day 320.

Mon, 18 Mar 2013 00:54:34 -0400

Day 320.

Yellow Walls and Pink Tape.

Wed, 20 Feb 2013 23:48:16 -0500

In June, I received an email from him.

I woke, and as I do every morning, glanced through everything on my phone that had occurred over then night. I woke, and as I was not expecting, felt my heart drop, stomach cringe, and body begin to shake, as my eyes fell upon his name appeared in my Inbox. I lay there, asking God for strength, because Lord only knew what was before me. I lay there, not sure if I could handle anymore.

I haven’t looked at the email since. Evidence enough that forgiveness hasn’t been given, because even thinking about it allows for shards of anger to surface. I haven’t looked at the email, because that means I am reading his thoughts and his words, I don’t want to give him any more of my time. Because I gave him my world, so no, I don’t want to give him one more minute of this new one that has been made.

But even with that, there are parts I remember clearly. I remember feeling his weightless words wrapped around an apology wash over me. I remember questioning his awe and jealously in how I have shown healing. I remember feeling numb as he wrote of the sorrow for what he has done, but unsure of how sorrowful he was if he was still with her. I remember laughing out loud, as he spoke of the unfairly idea of how one person can so effect another, knowing he will never realize how unfair it truly is. And I remember anger emerging, as he reminisced on the yellow walls we had painted over in the living room. I remember, him saying he thought of me whenever he saw that shade peaking out of the grey I begged him to quickly change it to.

I think it was around the idea of paint that I simply stopped. Stopped shaking, stopped biting my lip. Simply, stopped. It wasn’t pure anger I felt, more so pure quizzicality. Paint reminds you of me? Yellow, stupid, paint.

My thoughts were everywhere. Because how does someone ask another to spend roughly the rest of their life with them, and in turn, merely think of the idea of that person when paint, a terrible shade of a banana, is spattered on walls that, looking back, I did a terrible job painting? My thoughts were everywhere, because it was everything that reminded me of him. At the beginning, I couldn’t answer how I was doing, because I didn’t know. I couldn’t go to certain places, listen to certain songs, talk about certain things, because he was woven so deeply within it all. He got paint, and I got everything else.

Well, that was then. And now, I can happily tell you how I am. I can go to certain places, listen to certain songs, and talk about certain things, because he isn’t there. Everything else, is no longer woven with memories of him.

When I moved into this petite space, I was adamant of getting art on the walls. There was one infamous frame that refused to hold twenty different nails, resorting in a ring of duct tape for the first few months. Then there was the frame in the kitchen. I can’t for the life of me think of where this particular frame came from, but I do for the life of me know it in no way, shape, or form had a way of hanging on a wall. No little hook for a nail, no convenient tiny wire across. But as I said, I was adamant. I had art. I had a wall. It was happening. So what did I do? I grabbed a thing of floss, the roll of pink Hello Kitty duct tape, and MacGyver-ed my own picture frame wire. Did I think it was actually going to work? Okay, not exactly. But it did!

Over the coarse of the past nine months, the floss has stretched out a little, and now, as I stand before that frame, I can see that bright pink duct tape peaking out over that little nail. I could absolutely add some new, tighter floss, hiding the fluorescent hue behind that black frame. But I don’t want to. Why? Because seeing it makes me smile. That pink tape reminds me of a time where I felt broken, unsure, but strong enough to work with what I had. It reminds of where this all began, staring obstacles and backless picture frames right in the eye. That pink tape, reminds me that He gives us everything we could possibly need to not only survive but thrive, even if at first glance, it seems like you are down a few things, or ten.

I love that pink duct tape. I love that frame that by the grace of God has stayed upon that kitchen wall. I love those moments of “happy” I feel looking at it. I am not ashamed or mad or embarrassed by what happened. Yes, it had moments of pain, and hurt, but with that, it had just as many moments of joy and growth. Yes, it has made a mark on my heart that may or may not be everlasting, either of which I will graciously accept and wear proudly. I am not ashamed, because I feel way to grateful for anything else. And that pink tape, it reminds me of a time I didn’t feel as happy as I do now. But I smile, because I was too stubborn to sit and feel sorry for myself that I got a frame that couldn’t hang on a wall. Because gosh darn it, I had hope. And floss. And tape. And apparently, God thought that was all I would need. And he was so right.

A part of me still finds frustration in being remembered because of paint, but an even bigger part of me is okay with that. Because whenever that bit of yellow is looked upon, I’m pretty sure it isn’t happy thoughts that are reminisced upon. I’m pretty sure, it isn’t the most encouraging of reminders.

But I get to see pink tape, peaking out behind a frame. I get to think happy thoughts, reminiscing on a moment of strength and determination to make something work. I get to feel encouraged, knowing that a little hope goes a long way. And a piece of floss, surprisingly, just as far.

xo.

Day 323.

Wed, 20 Feb 2013 23:39:19 -0500

Day 323.

Room For Endless Twirls.

Wed, 20 Feb 2013 22:05:59 -0500

I have found that my healing, and my storage shed, are in fact alike.

The thought came a few days back, rummaging through the few boxes that sprinkle the ground. I was so excited, packing up a number of things that were heading to anthers home, heading towards new memories, better uses. The thought came, and began to snowball until now.

And yes, these are things I think about.

My healing, and storage shed, both emerged from a shattering world. Both were not the easiest of sorts to accept and face. Both have been stared at and contemplated for more time than I’d like to admit, secretly, and not so secretly, hoping they would both sort of just work themselves out. At the beginning of both, you are literally faced with a wall of crap. Where to start is like attempting to solve the worlds most trying questions. But over time, it happens. One box at a time. Things are sifted through and narrowed down. People come in every now and then, helping you with what they can, leaving with a box or two. Over time, the wall is not so scary, and somehow, you begin to see the floor. Over time, you have time to move around.

With both, when I lifted up that door to the shed, when I put down the wall to my pain, magic happened. Things were then able to be worked out and through. It didn’t happen over night, nor did they need to. For things would get missed, looked over, and would simply be an easy fix at its finest. Both, deserved some thought, and time.

That storage shed was full of things that meant something to me. Things that represented the world I was reveling in. That storage shed was full of memories, of a future, of us. And in order to clear it out, I had to come to a place where I was okay with letting go. At the beginning, I maybe let go of a thing here or there, but deep down, I don’t think I was ready to rid of that life, nor the things that represented it. At the beginning, I wasn’t ready to say goodbye to everything I knew, everything I was familiar with. Now, they are just that, things. Things that at one time represented us and a life that I loved, but things that proudly, have nothing on me any more.

Healing means letting go of things that no longer define you. It means growing, and making space in your heart and soul. Space, for things even more incredible than the ones you somehow, at some point, release. Healing means asking for help, because moving things about and getting rid of can be hard on one person alone, and really, isn’t something you have to necessarily face by your lonesome. I truly believe God brings people into your life to help with such tasks, because He wants us to feel loved, to feel supported, to know we are anything but alone. Healing means lifting doors up and bringing walls down. It means a few scrapes, and a little dirt under your nails. But it also means that amazing feeling at the end, when you get to look around and realize how much room you have. Room to do all those cartwheels and endless twirls you never could before. Go Ahead! There are no piles of junk, no boxes stacked up higher than the moon to stop you.

Just you, and plenty of room to grow.

My “happy”, was reveling in the space before me, knowing how much has been let go of. Knowing, that those boxes no longer feel like a weight on my heart and soul. Knowing, that healing can in fact happen. And space, can in fact be made.

xo.

Easier With A Light On.

Mon, 11 Feb 2013 01:05:00 -0500

I think I’ve shifted slowly into a less than positive outlook.

Not that I have been walking around looking and sounding like a Negative Nancy, but I have found I have been looking at, or concentrating on the negative aspects of certain things, rather than the abundant amount of positive ones that go along with it, hand in hand.

It has to do with relationships. I remember growing up, going through middle and high school, feeling this terrible need for acceptance. So much energy was placed into overanalyzing and replaying conversations in my head. So much thought was put into trying to understand what he or she really meant by the words they just chose to use. Are we really as good of friends as I feel we are? Does he kind of maybe like me back? Did she really say that about me? Why, I would ask myself. Why do I care so excessively much? And to this day, I find myself asking the same question.

I was excited to get out into the ever so popular “real world” and kiss the emotional tugs of needing acceptance from my youth goodbye. Well, I am finally in the “real world”, and those tugs are still present.

I continue to hark on the idea that age is but a number. So I suppose it should not come to such a surprise that the experiences I thought should end at an exact age are continuing further than expected. For as it turns out, insecurities, anxieties, fears, and yes, the need to feel accepted by those around you do not in fact suddenly stop. We are human, and all of the above are a part of that.

I have found myself with this dire need to feel accepted over these past few weeks. Not sure why it entirely started, my Momma pointed out, simply, that I am in a state of transition. I have left a job I called home for years, and with that, the faces I saw daily are not as visible. I have started at a place where I am known as “Ms. Allison”, rather than the ever so familiar “Alli” I have grown accustomed to in my twenty-five years on God’s green earth. The people at my old home knew what happened, the people in my new one don’t. My old home knew me. And this new one, well, we’re starting from scratch.

Leaving a place you called home is not the easiest of things to do, even if in your heart of hearts you know it was for the best. A huge part of me still wants to be a member of that family. Still wants to see them every day, still wants to laugh with them, still wants to feel a part of it all. But what I felt was a slight possibility in leaving I feel now is slowly but surly happening; it all changes. You don’t in fact see them everyday, you’re not laughing, or stressing together. Slowly, you aren’t exactly a part of it anymore, and slowly you don’t feel like the same member of the family you once thought you were. Taking that and walking into a place that is all new, quizzically asking yourself where you fit in, secretly holding onto the fear that maybe you won’t find a place in this new family at all. It’s hard. And it’s a transition. And I can’t get over wanting those around me to think I’m cool enough or funny enough or nice enough to spend time with, to get to know more.

Over dinner with my Momma a few nights back, I couldn’t hold in my tears anymore. I cried, because the relationships I once saw as strong and important to my heart, seem to be slipping. I cried, because the fear that maybe they meant more to me than they did to them was becoming more and more real. I cried, because not feeling worthy of friendship sucks.

To paint yet another picture, I feel I am at this really big party, lets say, at someones house. In one room is my old home. Everyone is familiar in that room, and names that are being dropped and spoke of I’m familiar with, but there are some stories being reminisced on that are hard to follow, because I wasn’t there to witness it. There are inside jokes, that I simply don’t understand, because I just wasn’t there. In the next room is my new home. I recognize most of the faces, but there are only a few at this point I feel comfortable enough to sit down and really talk to. I find comfort in these few, grateful for their kindness, and excited for these new friendships.

So there it is, lots of laughter in the house, lots of noise, lots of conversation. And there I am, in the doorway between two. One foot in one room, another foot in the other. I keep looking side to side, not sure which one to place the other foot towards. Either room I know would be fine, but what I really want, what I keep standing there hoping for, is for someone to simply call my name. For someone to notice that I’m standing in the doorway. For someone to genuinely say to me: 1. “I miss you! How have you been?!” or 2. “I haven’t had a chance to meet you yet, I’m so and so.” But I don’t hear my name, so I stand there, and try to figure out where to go.

Today though, a light went on. And I mean this in the most literal sense possible. I realized, I’ve been looking at it all wrong.

A few months back, the light in my refrigerator stopped working. Figuring the light burnt out, and having never changed such a light, I left it, because it was easier than anything else. So I’ve had this really dark refrigerator for months on end, and on countless occasions, I’ve really wished I could see what all is in there. But, I didn’t do anything about it.

Today, while stuffing the most beautifully rich green spinach and kale into the top shelf of said dark space, I jolted the light by accident. And in that moment, by the grace of God, the light turned on instantly, shining bright as day. I stood back and laughed. After all this time, all it needed was a jolt?! I stood there, starring at that light, and it hit me. What else in my life simply needs a jolt? What else can experience such change by simply nudging it a bit?

It’s so easy to get into the flow of a routine, and with that, a mindset. It’s so easy to wake every morning, do life, fall asleep, repeat, and let things stay the same. It’s easy to go for months with a dark refrigerator. Because that’s simply how things are. I realized, this is how I have been, standing in the doorway, searching for acceptance, searching for people to cherish me as much as I cherish them. I realized, that it is my attitude, that needs a jolt.

Rather than waiting for those in both rooms to call my name, why don’t I give theirs a try? Rather than looking for one “home”, why don’t I cherish the old one, experience the new one, and call them both the same? Rather than searching for acceptance, why don’t I accept my own heart, confirm in my own soul I am in fact worthy, and love myself, instead of asking others to do it for me?

Yes, I feel I am in a state of transition, but with that, an attitude adjustment is needed. A nudge or jolt, or slight shift is in fact, probably for the best. Because life is much easier when you take your eyes off of the need for acceptance, and simply love yourself. And it’s even easier with a light on.

Realizing this, watching this light turn on, it is absolutely my “happy”.

xo.

Mile Fifteen.

Tue, 05 Feb 2013 01:09:29 -0500

I feel stuck.

This past week has been great, it really has. I’ve found a “happy” every day, and with every day, I cherish them more and more. I’ve gotten to write on the whiteboard in class for the first time in this new career, which yes, isn’t an overly large deal, but incredibly fun nonetheless. I’ve taught a lesson on simple division, done more yoga in one week than the past month combined, and made a mean rosemary chicken. I’ve had a conversation with my landlord over the phone, one I believed was to be centered around why rent was a day late, only to find he simply wanted to check on me. Solely wanted to make sure I was okay, because he and his wife haven’t seen me in some time. I’ve got to catch up with Motorcycle Mark and meet a new tenant while doing laundry. I’ve gone to the Farmer’s Market with a co-worker and her husband, leaving with a bundle of kale that Lord only knows what I’ll do with it. I’ve had peaceful moments in my petite space, catching up on this incredible series called Chicago Fire, and I’ve had a few tears, ones that seemed to leave just as quickly as they came. This past week has been great. Really. But still, I feel stuck.

I bought this huge desk calendar that I has found a home on the inside of my Murphy bed closet, nailed to the door. It’s huge, and beautiful, and is a perfect example of my dire inner need to plan. To be prepared. To know what’s ahead of me at all times. I spent an entire night with my best fine tipped Sharpie, placing with my most pristine penmanship birthdays, holidays, and joyous events. I spent an entire evening trying to take control of something that I know deep down, I myself have litte control over. But still, I try.

A few days ago I ripped down the month of January and smiled as I saw the first of February before me. The first will forever have a new meaning to it. Or at least it has for this year. Because with every new month, with every first that I get the honor of participating in, I am one month closer to April 1st. I am one month closer to this one year mark. This year of firsts, of new beginnings. This year dedicated to healing, to finding myself again. So yes, besides the part where rent is due, I love the first of the month.

This month though, it was different. There I was, staring at the month of February, and as I peaked onto the page below, I saw this square that was decorated, full of love and excitement. March 17th. The night my world changed. I guess what I’m trying to say is that this year is almost done. That While April 1st is two pages away in my huge calendar, it’s coming. And in all honesty, I’m not sure how ready I am for it. I knew from the beginning that all of the pain and fear and worry and hurt and anger wasn’t going to diminish after twelve months. I knew, that things would resurface, that there would be some scar tissue. But maybe my head forgot to forward that message along to my heart, because right now, my heart is freaking out.

It’s not all going to end April 1st. Yes, things have healed and will continue to do so, but really, new things will most likely appear, in all new forms. I was explaining to my Momma my thoughts on this, and the only way I could put it was that alligator game I grew up playing at arcades. The one where you’re giving this cushiony hammer and you beat the crap out of the alligator as he goes back and forth and through different openings. I remember the game being fun, but also frustrating, because you use all this energy hitting that stupid alligator and look, he’s over there now! By the end you’re tired and worked up and if you were me, shoulders up to your ears because alligator hunting is incredibly stressful.

I suppose I feel stuck because I know what the next step is, and I’m not sure if I’m there yet. If I have the strength to take that leap, or if I’m actually truly ready. I feel scared. And nervous. And comfortable where I am now. I feel stuck, because in my heart the next step is forgiveness. And while hitting alligators is exhausting, this is an entirely different league. Less alligator stress, more moving mountains strain.

At the beginning, I was all about forgiveness. I bought books on it, I prayed about it, I had it as the light at the end of the tunnel, as crossing the finish line. And okay, lets paint another picture here. Let’s say this forgiveness thing is a marathon. I feel like I’m at mile fifteen. There’s a water station and they’re giving out free snacks and there’s this really great view on the side. I’m tired, because I’ve just run fifteen miles, and I’m comfortable, obviously because of the free snack. Other runners come and go, and I keep hearing about the finish line. How the view is even more incredible, and how you don’t just get free snacks but an entire meal. And do I even need to mention the free shirt? I’m hearing all of these things, and I know with every fiber of me that they are all true in every sense. But I’m tired. And hungry. And stopping for a bit seems nice. I know, the finish line is everything they are saying and more. I know, how beautiful and miraculous it will feel to across it. But I don’t know about the miles between here and there. Because really, there’s a little bit of a ground to still cover. So as I mentally prepare for said ground, I’ll stand here, and drink more water.

I’m sorry if that picture got a little blurry, but I guess I’m just trying to say I’m hesitant about the pain and strength it’s going to take to take all of this further. To go that extra distance, to find myself in a place where forgiveness is in reach. I know also, that once I do have my fingers wrapped around forgiveness, that that’s not the end either. That saying those three heavy and intricately deep words of “I forgive you” is more of a promise to forgive, continuously, because that’s what it is. Not “Hey, don’t sweat it, we’re all good.” and never think about it again. This is going to be something I will be meeting and greeting over the years, and when I do decide to forgive, that is me saying “Okay, for some reason this is really hurting me today, but I forgive it, just as I did yesterday, and just as I will tomorrow.” Forgiveness doesn’t mean rainbows and butterflies. It means promising to release and pour grace upon something that hurt you. It means work. And right now, I’m still mad at them.

I hope I’m not portraying this terrible idea of forgiveness, because it is anything but that. I believe in forgiveness with all my heart. I believe it is what will allow me to heal in a way I won’t be able to otherwise. I believe, simply, it is my duty to do so. I believe that forgiveness should not be taken lightly. That when it is given, it is given. For good.

I want to forgive. And I want to cross that finish line. I want to see that view everyone is talking about, and I want that free shirt. I want to get to a place where I feel I am ready to promise forgiveness. I will continue to pray for the strength to get there. To put one foot in front of the other, inching me closer bit by bit. But for now, I’ll be at mile fifteen, mentally preparing for the ground still to cover, but full of hope, because I know it will be done.

xo.

Let Me Bloom Already!

Sat, 26 Jan 2013 18:46:04 -0500

It’s been ten days. Ten days since I have written. I promised myself I would not miss a day. But I feel over the past two months, I have been slowly lacking.

A part of me finds some peace in this, that the need to write every day is no longer the sole way for me to make it through the day. A part of me, is excited, that I now feel I am at a place where I have so many things to choose from every waking day that make me smile, make me feel joy and peace and strength and gratitude for living. A part of me, can not fathom experiencing a more beautiful life.

But there is another part of me that is disappointed in myself. For making a promise not only to myself but to you. And I have lacked, or failed, or let a number of people down. And it is that last part that has always gotten me in life. Disappointing those around me. So here I am, apologizing for breaking my promise, and making new one. I promise to tell you what is happening in my life. I promise to tell you how I am healing, how I am growing, the things I find interesting or peculiar or frightening along the way. I can not promise that it will be every day like I once did, but I do promise to not let so much time go between like I have allowed. While I am happy I have begun to experience full and happy and heartwarming days, I am not healed enough that writing can stop in its entirety. Nor is that what I want. I want to write. And I will continue to do so, and I hope in some way, some shape, some form, you will continue to grow and heal and find whatever it is you’re looking for, with me.

So here we are. Let’s catch up. Shall we?

My “happys” over the past week and some change have been lovely. I have gone to a farmers market with a new co-worker and her husband, I have cheered as hockey season has begun once more. I have been fit for those funny looking shoes with the clips at the bottom, taking the whole bike riding thing up a level. I have had two nights of “Movies with Maddie”, and felt strength on a day I felt anything but (thanks yoga!). I have learned what to do if and when there are back to back days of seizures during class, and I have celebrated another year of my beautiful Momma’s life. I have had a heart to heart with one of my Dad’s, crying as he told me to enjoy this time in my life, because it’s only going to be like this once. I experienced the same incredible peace hearing “Bless the Lord O’ My Soul” on the way to work, wiping away tears, remembering how thankful I was to feel just a little less broken my first night back in church, and feeling even more thankful knowing how far away that time was. I have witnessed the exact moment a student grasped the concept of “rounding up”, beaming as he flew through the rest of his worksheet, knowing what I just experienced is the sole reason for it all.

The past ten days I feel I have been living. Not just getting through the day, but living. Really living.

It has also been ten days since Dan and I have spoke. And somehow, I am really doing okay. It hasn’t been the source of tears since the night of our conversation, which I myself am surprised to say. I think more than anything, I have accepted that everything is going to be okay, whatever that “everything” is. I feel that somehow, I am able to walk away from it feeling more gratitude than anger, more peace than anxiety. I am in His hands. And I am okay.

Last weekend, in an attempt to further organize parts of my petite space, I came across a letter one of my sisters wrote after everything had happened. I sat on the floor of my living room/dining room/bedroom and wept. It’s interesting, how this is one thing that has stayed the same since the beginning. As time goes by, I cry over the act of my ex less and less, but write me letter, an email, a Facebook message, something from your heart to mine? I bawl. Because I don’t know what else to do. Because the amount of gratitude I feel to be even a minuscule part of this all, because you took time to touch my life, no words can even come close to express my joy. So I cry. And this letter I found, it was no different. My sister may hate this, but I’d like to share a bit of what she wrote. Why? Because I am moved so deeply by her words. Because the amount of truth and wisdom from an individual whose age is truly but a number, is simply awe-inspiring. Because rereading it, after months of healing and time, I still find comfort within it. And I hope, you might too.

“I know that life does not make sense sometimes. We want to know why certain things happen, why God allows them to. And truth be told, we may never know, or perhaps just find out when we are not expecting to. The beauty of this is that we don’t need to know all the details, all the reasons, as long as the truth of Christ is in our hearts.

Through Christ, we are free. We are free to be made new. We are free to strengthen our relationship with him, whole heartily and with child-like wonder. With him, we are given the chance to be made new, God takes care of the rest. You are entering a new season of life. A season of many firsts, of new opportunities, new faces. Coincidentally, your season of life came right along with the perfect season; Spring. You are growing, just as the flowers in the fields are. You are being made new. It may feel like you are nowhere near blooming. But I hope you know of and feel the seed that has been planted in your heart. A seed that God himself planted. It is one watered with love, with hope, and with utmost faith. Sometimes your tears will have to water this seed, and that’s okay. Sometimes, it will be watered by tears of those around you, by words of guidance, and love from them. But no matter how it is being watered, the seed is growing. I have seen this hope inside you; keep that planted in your heart.”

I get a head of myself on a daily, weekly, monthly basis. I try to take everything into my own hands. I try to heal on my own terms. But reading this, it painted this most beautiful picture in my head. Reading this, I feel everything is put just that much more into perspective. I see March and April as a pile of dirt. Sure, there may be a seed or two under there somewhere, but I’m too busy crying and trying to figure out what exactly just happened to worry about it. Then May comes along, the petite space is found, and hey, theres this green little thing poking out of the dirt. Nice. Then summer comes and I am smiling more, finding bits about myself I never knew. Running isn’t as terrible as I thought. And was that a first date you just went on? Life is starting to feel more like my own. Then look! That green thing is getting taller! Winter comes, plane tickets are bought, a race is run. I go blonde, because being in control of some change is a pretty good feeling. New friends are made, a road I know is my very own is cherished. I trade in that apron for a school. I have a purpose. I cry some more, sad over a few twists and turns. But still, hope is there. And that tall green stem? It’s standing strong. There’s no petals on top, but it looks like it’s getting close.

I would be lying if I told you there were never days I simply want to yell “Let me bloom already!”, because trust me, they happen. But when I look at it in this way, why would I not want to try and be as patient as I possibly can manage? Why would I want to skip out on time to grow, on sunshine, on nourishment, on all the things that are going to make the end result even that more incredible? Why, would I want to force myself to be ready, to bloom, before I have experienced and processed everything I need in order to truly do so.

I’ve been blessed with this thing I refer to as my village. It’s the people He has surrounded me with, of those I am not quite sure how I would have made it through this past year without. I love my village. Because the people it is made up of are the most eclectic, loving group you can imagine. Because the people are new and old friends alike, friends of friends, neighbors, co-workers. It is lady who works at the dry cleaners who makes me laugh every time we talk. It is my landlord and his wife. It is each of you that have shared similar experiences, a broken heart, words of hope and wisdom with me.

Realizing it now, this village, it’s my environment. It’s the nourishment I need to make something spurt out of the dirt. And it’s the kindness and gentleness and words of wisdom that keep it standing strong, slowly reaching towards the sun. The tears of joy and pain and uncertainty quench its thirst. And it’s compassion and love and His guidance that shine brightly upon it, giving it energy and warmth. It is my environment, that makes this growth possible, that makes it all possible.

I pray that you find your environment. That you find the things in life that nourish your soul, that enable you to feel strong and able. I hope, that you surround yourself with those that shower you with compassion and grace, that support you in your growth. That you find a source of sound judgment and wisdom, one that brings you peace on the days full of anything but. I pray, that when you find it, or begin to search for it, that you cherish it with all that you are.

More than anything, I pray that you have the patience to let the growth happen. That you remember how incredible it all is going to be. That while dirt may be all you see now, it won’t be forever. Because inside you is planted something beautiful. And it’s worth waiting for.

xo.

Enough For Now.

Sat, 26 Jan 2013 16:47:42 -0500

In the days after our goodbye, we’ve talked. Not everyday, as we thought spacing out phone calls would be wise.

But tonight, in a conversation that began so normal, ended so differently. In one fell swoop.

He said he cared about me so much that he has to let me go. Because as much as it hurst and will hurt, it is what’s for the best. Because I am not ready. Because I want to heal. Because I still need feel this desire to grow. And all of the above would only be harder in the murky waters the two of us were knee deep in.

It was no surprise that tears were the only thing I could mange as I starred at the wooden bowl of pinecones on my trunk of a coffee table before me. I sat and I cried. Because more than anything I felt I was losing my friend. I have made it through this past week because I knew that no matter what, we would have our friendship. I knew we could still talk if something exciting happened, or if I simply wanted to say “Hi”. But now, that is gone too.

I didn’t get it at first. But I do now. That the normal friendship I was so looking forward to, it’s not possible. Because those feelings for each other are still there. And going from talking every day to every few, it doesn’t change them. And how do I grow and heal with all of this? With not wanting or feeling capable of handling something so serious? With still having this person in my life?

After nearly four months of phone calls, you would really think we would saying goodbye down to a science. But somehow, each goodbye only got harder. And tonight, it was nearly impossible. Because rather than saying something along the lines of “Talk to you tomorrow!” it was more “Talk to you…later…”. It was heavy, and sad, and hurt, and was laced with uncertainty. Because I don’t know when or if I’ll be ready. We may talk in a month or a year, and how are you supposed to say goodbye to someone with that in mind?

Somehow, the goodbyes began and in the same fashion as every conversation has ever ended, there was a pause, followed by those familiar words, “Good night, Al.” And in the same fashion as I have always responded, I paused, took in a deep breath, and wished him a “Good night, Dan.”

In one fell swoop, I lost my friend. A friend that cares about me to the extent they put my own well being before their own. A friend, that was a great, great friend.

I set down my phone, cried for a bit, then thanked Him for all of it. For the chance to have Dan in my life. For his friendship, for the opportunity to grow within it all. Then I asked for strength, for guidance, as I know there is still much ahead on this little road of mine.

Not knowing exactly what to do with myself, but feeling the need to not stare at the bowl of pinecones any longer, I decided on grocery shopping. And while walking out with a box of Wheat Thins and Ziploc bags isn’t exactly grocery shopping at its finest, the walking helped and the quietness of the store so late at night gave me the opportunity to think.

Somewhere between the bread aisle and freezer section, I felt that oh so familiar, minuscule glimmer of hope. It was a subtle feeling, but it was there. It was my “happy”, knowing that while this isn’t how I thought it would be, it is exactly how it should be. Because whether I like it or not, even if it hurts like heck, and if I don’t truly grasp its full understanding or reasoning, it is preparing me to be the person I am meant to be. And for now, that is enough for me know.

xo.

Day 289.

Sat, 26 Jan 2013 16:20:17 -0500

Day 289.

Not Just Stickers.

Mon, 21 Jan 2013 16:59:00 -0500

Today was the first day back at work and I don’t think I have ever been so excited to say that.

I did my best yesterday to prepare for this week, for getting back in the swing of things. This of coarse entailed picking up the van, deciding on a first day back to school outfit (yes I am acknowledging this as a real thing), and sifting through the dollar bin at Target for stickers. All of these things made me giddier as the day went on, because I was going back to work. And I can’t wait.

I started an incentive type program on my van. If you have a good ride in the morning you earn one sticker, if you have a good ride in the afternoon, you earn another. Flying by the seat of my pants on how to go about it, I decided that a few minutes before you are to be dropped off, you are handed the bag of stickers, and you are told whether you get to pick one or two. At first, I saw them simply as stickers. As mere pictures that looked cute, as something that maybe could be seen as fun.

I was way off.

These are not just stickers, but an opportunity to decorate your shirt or daily point sheet from school. It is a time to yourself, to sift through endless choices of things you like. Rockets? Tractors? Dinosaurs? Ships? Take your pick! They are something to work towards, something that represents how truly awesome you are. These, are not just stickers.

My “happy” today was the drive home, listening to and glancing back as the students each picked their very own stickers. You would think they were digging around for precious jewels, and I suppose in a way, they were, because they cherished it just the same. They were excited about it, and were proud of their choices, which left me up front, driving a van, smiling on the inside and out, knowing that these, are not just stickers.

xo.