Eighteen and Thirty-Seven

Eighteen years old and at my mother's funeral, I refused to go into the sanctuary until they had closed the casket.  After watching my vibrant mother self-destruct to drugs, alcohol and depression, I had watcher her morph into another person and couldn't imagine seeing her dead body dressed up inside  a box.  I had to concentrate to muster up tears that day.  I couldn't cry.  Everyone came up to me tearful and full of sorrow, saying how sorry they were for me.  Yet, I remained stoic and numb.  Tears that ordinarily come easily for me did not come that day.

I had already mourned my mother's death in the two years prior to her passing.  Watching her change and succumb to addictions and several asshole men was a devastating thing to watch as a teenager.  I knew she was dying a little bit more with every passing day.  All of my tears had already been cried, so the day she died I almost felt relieved.  Some of my pain would stop because now my mother was dead and gone, not just avoiding me and cutting me out of her life because it was too hard to see me.

My marriage was like that.

The day I went down to the courthouse and filed for divorce, I pressed inward to search my feelings but I couldn't find sadness.  There was peace and then guilt for feeling peace.

According to some of my family and most of my friends, I should definitely not be feeling peace when I am stepping out of God's will and ending the covenant I made to my husband before God.  I was afraid to ask Him why I felt that way.  Had it come from Him or had He left me now that I had committed what some believe to be an unforgivable sin?  Does God allow us to feel His peace when we've committed the magnanimous sin of divorce?  I was scared to hear those answers.

Thirty-seven years old, no tears fell on the day I went to finalize the divorce.  Seeing the words "decree of divorce" with our names written in black and white brought more peace.  I breathed deeply and that familiar feeling of relief set in as I knew some of my pain would stop because our marriage was officially and legally over.  All that I had been holding and living with was no longer a burden I had to bear.  It felt good to let it go.

Now I hold the tension of relief and sorrow.  My ambivalent feelings of abundant happiness and dark sorrow have been difficult to navigate through.  Daily, I feel the weight of the pain and hurt I have caused my ex-husband, the boys and our family and friends.  Those are the places I easily find my tears again.  I've held both of my boys in my arms weeping with them saying I'm sorry, over and over again; giving them permission to feel whatever it is they do, even if it's anger or hurt towards me. I imagine that is something I will always carry as this was a decision that I did not come to quickly or easily.  And it was costly - just as costly as I imagined it would be.

Maybe we're all given a certain amount of tears meant to be cried over one thing or one person.  Or maybe the lack of them, or the running out of tears means our grief has moved into the phase of acceptance and something inside us moves forward with surprising ease.  Because during the really, really hard times, we felt our feelings and cried our tears and screamed our screams.  We didn't stuff or suppress them or numb them away with too much pizza or tumblers full of vodka.  We gave those feelings words and paintings, tattoos and photographs because we learned to turn pain into beauty.

Remaining present in the sad, gray moments and feeling my longings collide with reality was a daily fight for me, especially in my marriage.  But I fought, and I felt it and I know in the depth of my heart that I gave my all, my whole heart and whole effort to my marriage.

The shift came and the hard decision I wrestled with for so long was made, my soul was finally at rest.  And regardless of what anyone else thinks or believes or assumes - there is peace.

December Fifteenth

"God's reputation is on the line when it comes to your marriage."

My Grandfather spoke these words as he performed the wedding ceremony of my cousin and his beautiful bride.  Her elegant ivory dress fluttered in the mild December breeze.  I tried to focus on it and emotionally check out of hearing their wedding vows, but the heavy words he spoke managed to hit my chest like a sharp arrow.

I imagined the word G-O-D spelled out in beautiful sparkling letters on a plaque that you might find at a Home Goods store, lying in the mud, broken and damaged because I had put it there.  I was going to "drag his name through the mud" and ruin His good name because I was wanting to end my marriage.  Swallowing the ball in my throat, I heard a whisper of truth.  My reputation and goodness doesn't depend on yours.  I am still God and I am still good and I am still reputable.  Even if I mar the sanctity of marriage by choosing to divorce my husband?  Yes, even then.

Vivid memories of the same vows I made to my husband years before echoed in my mind.  I had promised my love and fidelity for better or worse, in sickness and in health, for richer and for poorer.  All of that until death.  We hadn't physically died, but something had.  It felt like I was married to a corpse.  I had told him that before, but being an emotional leper, it never motivated him enough to change or seek the care and counsel he needed on his own.

When my cousin and his new wife joyously walked back down the aisle, I felt the tension I was holding release a little.  I made it through the hardest part of the wedding as I consciously separated my heart from my body so I didn't sob and cause a scene.  I had wanted to break down and let everyone see how wrecked I was.  Someone in my family needed to know, but I knew it would break everyone's hearts.  My parents had divorced and I swore that I never would.  Telling my family was going to be the hardest part of the choice I was making.  It would come with devastatingly great cost and I knew which relationships would shift and look like silence and "disfellowship" because I was in sin.

As the night went on and margaritas flowed, I skipped around the wedding grounds like the social butterfly I was.  Mingling, drinking, dancing, laughing; taking the silly photo op pictures with ugly hats and large glasses.  I felt as sparkly as my sequined dress and felt aware of my beauty and magnetism of others to me.

That evening, when the tequila had settled in enough to make me bluntly honest, I found myself outside with my Robin for a smoke.  A habit that had been sneaking back in over the last few months when I felt the need to calm and de-stress.  I admitted all I was holding; that I was going to ask him for a divorce and couldn't be married to him anymore.  That I wanted my life to look different and I felt like staying married was killing my soul. I had done Bible studies and accountability groups.  I prayed the prayers and sought counsel and therapy.  I was honest and open with him how I was feeling and what I needed from him to make it work.  Nothing changed and nothing happened and I was just done.

She spoke words to me that night I'll never forget.  "When you're the outcast Jennifer, I'll be here for you.  I'll love you.  I'll understand.  When others have walked away, you'll have me."

The woman I once had contempt for because she started off as "the other woman," was now the only person with enough understanding and grace to truly love me in the midst of this.  God really does work all things together for our good.  He took what happened with my parents and my Robin and used it to care for me when I was in desperate need of unconditional love in the exact same place I swore I'd never find myself in.

Later that night, I danced my ass off.  My husband stood there and watched me and didn't cut in when another man asked to dance with me.

And that was my marriage.  Me out on the dance floor, vibrant and living.  And him standing by the wall, gray and watching me live.

December twenty-third

Two days before Christmas and twelve years to the day he had asked me to marry him, I sat across a table from my husband with my future aching thick in my throat.  It was time to give words to the tension that had been palpable between us for months, maybe years.  I didn't believe that it was a mere coincidence that this was the day I was also going to ask him for a divorce.  It was a tragic full circle moment and I felt acutely aware of our beginning and ending. I was trying to make it through the holidays before saying a word like DIVORCE.  After all, Christmastime isn't the time for marriages to end right?  The illusion of what wasn't there between us anymore felt like death to my soul and I couldn't go on any longer without speaking my truth.

The words came easily and without tears.  I reached deep for them because I felt guilty that I didn't have any to cry.  I had given him thousands of them over the years, most of which fell to the ground lonely and lost.  He cried more than I expected him to.  He wailed and sobbed and I had only ever heard him cry like that one other time when we had to give our dog away a few years back. I wasn't sure what to do or say.  Sorry didn't feel appropriate and I knew I couldn't fix whatever he was feeling.  He could tell I was firm and settled in my decision; that I was already gone and had been for a while.  He walked away from the table that night visibly rejected and wounded.  My emotions were all running one in to the other - relief and hope. Deep sorrow and heartache, especially for all I knew I would cause.

We went separate ways that night.  My phone started blowing up with text messages and phone calls from concerned friends he had already spoken to, shocked by the news.  It wasn't the time to talk or answer questions.  Desperate to feel something else that night, I put the conversation and my marriage on an emotional shelf to be looked at later.

I walked into a bar without my diamonds sparkling on my left ring finger.  I drank until I was warm and head fuzzy, and until someone elses's lips had touched my own.  And it was sad.

Snowfall

The last time I had a real encounter with snow was the winter of 1985 when I wasn't quite four years old.  I have vague memories of seeing it, though there are pictures of my tiny self wrapped in a white winter jacket and purple mittens standing next to a tiny, lumpy snowman that I built with my dad.  He recalls the night it snowed and the glee I expressed from watching it come down and land on the swing-set in our backyard.

Chances for snow, especially at Christmastime, are unheard of in south Texas.  Most holiday seasons are mild and cool and having a 75 degree day and barbecue for Christmas is more tradition for us than roasting chestnuts over an open fire because baby, it's cold outside.  Every year though, the Christmas dreamer in me wishes and hopes for snow, because nothing could be more magical than snow in December.  My boys pray and ask Jesus to make it snow every year and I usually explain that while He is in control of all things, Jesus isn't like a magician that you ask things for and he makes things appear magically.  Though every once in a while, He totally shows off because He is actually able to make things appear out of nowhere because He is Jesus.

In early December, we had a cold and rainy day and the forecasters were calling for snow that night.  I rolled my eyes and laughed it off until my social media blew up with everyone seeing snow in their area.  I stood outside for a while watching the light rain, feeling silly for hoping that it would actually snow.  As I stood and waited, I noticed a few floating flurries mixed with rain.  I stepped out on to my driveway and literally watched the rain turn into snowfall.  It changed in a breath and took mine away as it did.  Before I knew it, giant white, magical flakes were falling from the sky and landing on my nose.

Snow fell soft and beautiful.  It covered the grass and the trees, the bushes in our front yard and rested on the windshield wipers of my car.  I made snowballs with Tommy and Jacob, all of us gleefully laughing as we threw them at each other.  It was the first snowball fight for all of us.  We all got cold and our fingers went numb so we sat bundled up in blankets by the front door to watch it snow some more.  Todd had to work late that night and I noted that I was strangely relieved he wasn't there to share in the moment with us.

He would have wanted to kiss me in the snow. He hadn't kissed me since August, and I wouldn't have wanted that kiss.  Not from him.  Not now.  Not anymore.

It was December and it was snowing and I was Lorelai Gilmore with all of my giddiness.  Yet, my soul was aching with sorrow and I was holding it all on my own; a secret I wasn't ready to burden anyone with yet.  Not even my husband.  And perhaps I was still holding out and hoping that my marriage wasn't really over.  The Savior was coming and bringing with Him miracles and hope.  But was there hope for my marriage?  Did I even want there to be?

The whole experience left me feeling alive and breathless.  Surrounded by the snow He sent, I tucked the beauty of the moment into my heart and breathed it all in to remember it on the not so beautiful moments that were sure to come.  Sitting on my front porch bench, I looked up at the dark night sky and felt flake after flake fall to my face, mixing with my brokenhearted tears, and felt something settle within me.  I didn't need to be kissed in the snow to enjoy the magic and beauty of the moment.

God's love enveloped me that night.  The same God who knows the depths of my heart and still loves me.  And that was enough.  It would always be.

Golden Girl

My love affair with clothes and jewelry began as a little girl.  As soon as I was tall enough to reach my mother’s jewelry box on her bathroom counter, I would put all of her rings on my tiny fingers and pretend I was some luxuriously rich woman dripping with gold and diamonds who called everyone “Dahling.”  I would parade around in her fancy high heels and use the foyer of our house as my personal runway, loving the clip-clop sound the heels made on the tile floor. 

As I got older, I developed my own sense of style.  There were certainly the necessary faux pas that came with being a middle-school girl, as I believed black lip liner was a good idea and knee high socks with every outfit was a trendy choice.  To my mother's dismay, my favorite pair of earrings in the 6th grade were these lime green parrots I found at a mall jewelry store that specialized in gaudy plastic accessories.  With my backpack purse, fluffed-up bangs and parrots dangling from my ears, I was quite something to behold in 1993.  

Can we all just go back and give our 12 year-old selves a hug?  Bless our hearts.   

Over time, my love for both colorful and classic looks evolved as did my collection of shoes and scarves and my own jewelry box full of accessories.  Admittedly, I am somewhat of a jewelry-addict, which is a trait I obviously inherited from my mother.  Though if I’m honest, my jewelry box is not only a box, but a large frame to house my 60+ pairs of earrings and all of the necklaces I own. Accessories are like the sprinkles on top of a perfectly frosted cupcake; they complete and pull together every outfit.  Living in south Texas, one has to be creative in dressing for fall as the cool weather comes and goes and our afternoons get quite warm.  I have found that layering, finding lightweight cardigans and scarves, and things like ankle pants with flats or sandals are both functional and stylish for the season here.

Fall is such a sweet time for family traditions. When a big cold front makes it to our neck of the woods, I pull together my coziest pieces.  Dark jeans, and a plaid blanket scarf to match a flowing sweater vest.  It's the perfect outfit when I take my boys down to the pumpkin patch and end the day around our fire pit eating s'mores and making hand puppets on the fence in our backyard.

Since it's one of the best times of the year to be outside, I often meet my girlfriends for coffee or a soup and sandwich lunch together.  On the pleasant fall days that get a little warmer, I might wear a dress with a cardigan, a draped scarf and boots. Mustard is one of my favorite fall colors and I love to pair this cardigan with navy or plum colored tops too.

I am always in the mood for new jewelry. As if by magic, there somehow seems to be room in my jewelry box for more, just as it was with my mother.  I live by the motto that one can never have too many shoes or accessories!  My friends over at AUrate, have some beautiful gold pieces that would be the perfect accents to my fall wardrobe.  AUrate has pieces that are both modern and timeless, classic and fresh, with a stunning simplicity in design.  Their unique style and handmade pieces, such as their gorgeous earrings, can dress up an outfit as well as accent casual looks just like mine.

Not only do they have the loveliest designs, but they are a wonderful company that cares about quality, care and giving back.  It is so inspiring to read about women who are changing the way business is run by emphasizing the things that matter the most.

There is still a little girl inside of me who loves all things golden and sparkly.  It's been a while since I've put a ring on every finger and the lime green parrot earrings were retired by the end of middle school.  My grown up self continues to love the sound of my fancy high heels on a tile floor.  And every time I pull together an outfit with the perfect accessories, I'm reminded of my mother and how I hoped to emulate her beauty.

With its golden trees and amber sunlight, autumn always takes me back to memories of my mother.  No matter the season, wearing a pair of dangling earrings or clutching my dainty gold chains, is like having a piece of her with me all the time. 

Setting Timers and Leaning In

Her text message came when I was sitting in the waiting room of my doctor's office.  The phones were ringing and the floor was cold and I was was wondering why I had to fill out my personal information for the eighteenth time.  My body was writhing with anxiety and dread and I thought a time or three about walking out the door and not going through with this appointment.  All of those feelings and emotions were mounting when I saw the tiny envelope on my phone with her name on it.

I ran into so-and-so and found out we were all mutual friends and thought I'd check in say hello.  How is your new job? How are you?

My heart began to ache and I pushed back tears that were begging to be cried.  Wanting to be both honest and vague, I replied that I was in a hard season in many different places and that I was currently at the doctor and hopeful about getting some care.  Her reply was kind and gracious, because she had always been those things.  I know it seems like a lifetime since we've been close friends, but if you ever need anything I'm here.

"Jennifer?"  The nurse called my name and my phone went back into my purse.  It was time to get on the scale and take my blood pressure and I could feel shame enveloping me about the current state of my body and overall health.  In the midst of my appointment, my thoughts went back to my friend and her words.  Memories of our closeness and sweet friendship and how she had been such a steady  place of encouragement and truth for me flooded my mind.  The sorrowful memories of our church split, our disagreement and conflict, and our precious friendship that fell apart and faded away, was a tangible place of pain.  What felt like a lifetime to her, somehow felt like only yesterday to me.

Instead of deleting the messages, I saved them on my phone knowing I needed to sit with sadness and allow for more tears in this place that is still a source of deep loss and grief for me.  One quiet Sunday morning while I sipped coffee out of my favorite mug, hands holding on to comfort, I set a timer on my phone for ten minutes and opened up our text messages from that day.  Tears came easily and they weren't the quiet kind that softly roll down your cheeks.  They were wet and messy, accompanied by snot and sobs and a small pile of tissues.  It's been over two years and I wondered if it would ever stop hurting this badly. Would I ever stop missing her?  Would I ever stop regretting all of the words I wish I would have said back then about how much she had meant to me?

My phone timer went off and I breathed deeply.  I wiped my eyes and blew my nose again and deleted the text messages. 

Lately, I've purposed to make space to lean in to painful places and to give myself actual time to feel and cry.  Setting a timer is helpful because not only is there an ending to sitting with pain and sadness, but my body is learning that it can make it through those hard feelings without the need to self-harm or emotionally check out to life.  It might seem like a bizarre practice, but it is a necessary kindness for my heart.

How do you lean in to pain?

Watercolors and Worship

Colorful threads and the wooden wheel holding the white cross-stitching fabric still laid there on the floor.  A partially stitched outline of what was supposed to be a glass mason jar holding pastel flowers, tiny scissors and a case to hold my threading needles all reminded me of my effort to care for my heart and soul.  I remember cross-stitching when I was young.  It felt easy then and I remember my mom doing several of these growing up.  I thought it could maybe be my thing.  I needed something to do with my hands that wasn't eating chips and something for my mind to stay present as I had spent most of my free time in a comatose state watching Netflix.  After walking the crafting aisles, I made my selection at Hobby Lobby for the project and decided this was going to pull me out of whatever thing I seemed to be stuck in.

I had the brilliant idea that I would stitch this beautiful design and frame it and give it to my friend Ellen who had encouraged me to spend the same amount of money on myself in the name of self-care as I was for self-harm.  I imagined her crying and opening the lovely gift knowing all of the hours I didn't spend eating or drinking and it would be lovely and good for us both.

But then it took me 20 minutes to get the stupid fabric attached to the wheel the right way.  Another 10 to thread the needle, and then I realized how much math and counting went into cross-stitching.  I stupidly read some of the instructions and tips after I had started an outline of the jar and realized I was supposed to do that last.

"F*ck this!"  I threw it on the floor that night exasperated and feeling foolish.  How could I think something like cross-stitching was ever going to be my thing?  Would anything bring me to life and vibrancy again?  I felt like I was dying a slow and miserable death in the corner of my bedroom each night with a drink and a snack, until I finally felt sleepy enough to go to bed.

 A few weeks later, I found myself at Hobby Lobby again with my boys, perusing the craft aisles waiting for something to speak to me.  I was trying to not buy porcelain pumpkins or Christmas ornaments and found myself in the painting section surrounded my acrylics and oils, pastels and brushes, and blank canvases ready for art and beauty.  Some watercolor pencils drew my attention and I remembered being in the seventh grade, sketching out designs with those pencils and watching it come to life with water and a brush.  I wondered if I might be any good at it.  What did I know about watercolors or painting or art for that matter?

I made my purchases that day of watercolors and watercolor pencils, a thick pad made for that kind of paint, and a few brushes I didn't know much about but that looked important.  Pinterest offered ideas and tips for getting started, different techniques and some basics for beginners and I sat there in awe of others created beauties doubting I could ever create anything that beautiful.  Comparison always there to steal joy and possibility and hope and it was there with me as I sat there with my unopened art supplies. I didn't get started right away.  I was afraid it was going to end in a pile on my bedroom floor like my forsaken cross-stitching project and maybe it was better not to try again.

Two weeks later I sat at the Brave On conference for Red Tent Living and listened to my friend Libby speak about the heart and soul, how poetry has been her outlet for both pain and beauty.  I was captivated at her words and remembering my untouched watercolors at home.  I knew I needed to go home and try again.  Maybe it would be a big mess and I would have no clue what I was doing, and it would like like a seventh grader's art work and I would find yet another place to speak harshly to myself rather than speak of care or kindness.

Finally, the day came when I felt brave enough to set up all my supplies and try my hand at watercolor for the first time in 24 years.  I turned on some light piano music in the background and sat for a moment at the blank paper and colors that surrounded me.  And then I began.  Using some of the pencils and some of the brushes with my palette of water colors I began drawing out trees in the four seasons.  The golds and reds of autumns, the bare branches of winter, the new life of spring and the vibrant green of summer. 

With every stroke of color, I could literally feel something inside of me both settle and come to life at the same time.  I realized how forgiving watercolor is.  The whole point of it is to be a little messy and unfinished.  There are few hard lines and little structure as the water and paints bleed and run into complete loveliness.  I felt like a girl again, creating something beautiful for no reason other than because I could.  As my trees took shape and color, I remembered that I am an artist.  I may be a bookkeeper for a living, and be a little obsessive about meal-planning and scheduling our calendars, but I am an artist.  My days might be full of work and mothering, and tending to a home that never stays tidy or clean, but I am an artist.  I may have dreams that died long ago and part of me that died with them, but I'm still here and I am an artist.


My beauty and brokenness painted all over a page and I didn't want to stop.  I called my piece Sunday Morning Worship because it felt like just that. Offering my heart up to God in both my praise and heartache, of thankfulness and longing.  Remembering how good He is in every season, even if I forget that He is.

My friend Libby said something that stayed with me and makes me smile every time I remember it:

"Take your shame and your pain, and turn it into a freaking work of art."  And I did just that.  I plan to do it again.

How could you turn your shame and pain into a work of art?

Anxiety and the next right thing

A few weeks ago, I noticed a joke I had been making about myself a lot.

"OMG," I would say.  Talking like a text message or a Facebook comment.  "OMG.  I mean, my anxiety is so bad right now, I should probably be medicated!"  And then I would laugh and leave the other person wondering if they were supposed to laugh too or if they should maybe be concerned for me.

I was sitting with those questions myself.  Is this funny, or should I be concerned?

After several months of dealing with anxiety and PTSD like symptoms, I heard myself say the same joking sentence in a group of women I met before the Brave On conference with Red Tent Living.  And maybe it sounded differently because a woman who sat across from me at the table has seen me before.  Her eyes showed compassion and concern and I think I heard myself say it seriously for the first time.

My anxiety is so bad right now.  
I should probably be medicated.

At the conference, a fellow Red Tent Living writer talked about doing the next right thing.  I have heard the same truth spoken from one of my favorite bloggers turned authors and activists, Glennon Doyle.  I wrote down in my journal that evening asking myself that question.

What is the next right thing?

Immediately I knew that going to the doctor about my anxiety was the next right thing.  Self-medicating and ignoring whatever was going on for me has not been working out well.  I needed help and it was okay to ask for it.  I made an appointment with my doctor the following week.  The day of the appointment, the nurse was attempting to summarize why I was there and what I had been experiencing.  I started crying and I couldn't talk.  Her eyes grew wide and she said, "That's okay.  I'll just let you talk to the doctor."  She proceeded to type several sentences into the computer which left me feeling like she was writing up some kind of assumption or judgement of me and how crazy I was.

I wanted to run out of the room.  I almost did once.  But, I sat there and waited until the friendly face of my doctor came into my room, sat down and handed me a box of tissues.  "What's going on Jennifer?  Todd has told me a little bit, but what's been happening for you?"

Through my tears I began to share what my anxiety has looked and felt like over the last few months.

The insomnia and nightmares.  Waking up when I do sleep because I think I hear my children screaming in their bedrooms.  Bursting into uncontrollable tears about small things, like messing up the sauce that went with my Greek Lemon Chicken recipe.  Screaming and yelling at my boys all the time and about everything.  And overwhelming moments that I assume are anxiety or panic attacks that feel exactly like my body felt when going through withdrawls from the narcotics I was on for almost half a year.  I wring my hands and arms and legs and I feel like I'm trying to escape my body and I can't begin to describe how awful it feels and how crazy it makes me. And I confessed that if I sleep, I can only sleep with alcohol.  I knew that was a habit that I desperately and quickly needed to break.

She made a plan for me and my care.  While these things are mostly trial and error as we figure out what works, I felt a glimmer of hope that the ball was rolling.  I had shared with someone the hell I've been living with inside of my head, what I had been doing to cope and live with it, and I asked for help. She scheduled several different blood tests in addition to starting me on some new medications.  She recommended a sleep aid that isn't addictive or habit-forming.  And ya'll - by the grace of God, it has been working.  I get sleepy and fall asleep and sleep.  ALL. NIGHT.  LONG.  While I wake up groggy, I'm grateful to have slept at all - and without having to drink myself to sleep.

Realizing that anxiety was becoming a prominent and ongoing problem for me felt like defeat.  I've always thought I should be stronger or to somehow manage all of this on a spiritual level.  I've heard growing up in church my whole life that we can do all things through Christ!  And we are more than conquerors!  And to cast all your cares upon Him and not to worry or be anxious.  I thought that knowing Jesus, meant not struggling with anxiety like I was.

I've been learning though, that knowing Jesus means living with anxiety and seeing that He meets me in the middle of it.  Knowing Jesus and living with anxiety means admitting and owning my own frailty and weakness because that is when He is strong in me.  I've learned that being strong here doesn't mean I won't have anxiety attacks or insomnia.  Being strong here means asking for help and getting myself the care my body and mind desperately needs.

It's easy to feel like a hot mess. It's easy to believe I am hopeless especially when health or life seems to roll from one struggle to the next.  And it's easy to get overwhelmed when I see how long the journey is ahead of me for all that I am facing with health and wellness.

But the wise words of wise women I deeply admire are resonating deeply within me:  Do the next right thing.  

Aren't those words both motivating and comforting?  Not thinking about the 34 steps that need to happen after this first one.  Just stay right here, the next right thing, this day.

So, I'm trying to have those five simple words be my current life mantra. Not just with my anxiety and overall health, but in every facet of my life. Do the next right thing.

What is your next right thing?

Sunday Thoughts

For three Saturdays in a row now, I've made our bed.  I'm not really sure why though because I've never quite seen the point in making ones bed to only use it again that very night.  It seems silly to go through the motions of tucking in sheets and fluffing up pillows and making it look nice, only for all of that to end up on the ground.  In fact, people who make their beds on a daily basis baffle me.  Please tell me, why go through the trouble of doing that every day?

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I've decided that being a grown up is incredibly lame.  A few weeks ago, I woke up to a flat tire which then led to the purchase of four brand new ones and a front and rear break job for my car.  I also had to buy a plane ticket and book a hotel room for a conference next month and so we basically said goodbye to all of our savings.  That particular weekend ended with a trip to the mailbox where I was lucky enough to receive a jury summons.  And I have no issue doing my civic duties, but I do feel like my name sure gets drawn an awful lot in comparison to others I know.  This is my fourth time to serve and my husband has been summoned once.  Last time, I actually had to serve on a jury and at this exact time in my life, I don't have any emotional space for a trial so I'm kind of hoping for a long day of book-reading and pretending I'm an introvert.

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It's weird how life brings people in and out of your lives.  Friendships that fizzled or failed or just stopped for one reason or another, reconnect.  I found myself at breakfast on Saturday morning with a gal who I lost touch with years ago.  We both find ourselves feeling the exact same feelings but her in her singleness and mine in my marriage.  It was good to cry together over coffee and eggs.  Somewhere between the french toast and the tears, I was reminded that we are all struggling with something, and we are only alone if we let ourselves be. 

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My son went to church dressed like this today. 

There was a point earlier in motherhood, where I wouldn't have dreamed of letting my child walk out the door in this condition.  He told me the other day that wearing pants makes him feel like a man and I'm pretty sure he feels six feet tall in a pair of jeans.   He asks to wear button down shirts and he has asked for more ties and this kid - he is something.  I'm learning to relax and roll with it, because he is teaching me how.  Isn't that funny?  We have kids and think that we're the teachers, when really, they're the ones that end up teaching us.

~~~~

I am preparing for the Brave On conference with Red Tent Living next month where I am going to sit on a panel and talk about self-care.  This comes in the middle of the year where I have battled with self-harm, depression, loneliness, pain and addiction in ways that I haven't in a long time.  And I don't understand how God even has me in this specific role, but I'm hoping to find some kind of words to share that don't leave me blubbering on stage, but not feeling like a fraud either. 

~~~~

My heart can't hardly bear the news.  I find myself sitting in disbelief that so much hatred and racism exists today in our country because I have been so sheltered from it being from where I am.  I grew up with friends of all colors of skin and only learned about segregation and prejudice in lessons in school about slavery and Martin Luther King and Adolf Hitler and the Holocaust.  I'm just sick.  As a white person who has lived in ignorance for so long, I almost feel embarrassed for all that I've been blind to and unaware of.  I don't know what to do or what to say or how to be a part of something that can offer real change.  I'm so, so grieved.  I'm grieved not only that there exists such evil hatred and white supremacy bullshit in this country, but that I've been so blind and ignorant that it's always been there and I haven't ever seen it because I've grown up in my own measures of safety and privilege. 

~~~~

Here I sit on a Sunday night surrounded by baskets of unfolded laundry, and Legos that my boys didn't put away.  I feel chaos in my home, my marriage, my country.  Things feel unsettled and broken and dug open, as if a digger has plowed up our front lawn.  And I don't know what to fix or where to start, or where all of the trying to put anything together will even lead me.  But, I can make my bed.  And I guess that's a start.

Early morning stream of thoughts

Four o'clock this morning, Jacob came into my room sniffling quietly.  I called him over to my bed and asked him what was wrong and between my grogginess and his quiet whispers, gathered that he had some kind of bad dream about Oma (his grandmother) leaving him and that he had also fallen out of bed.  I tucked him back into bed with kisses and prayers and went to lay back down except that my mind was already alert and racing.

I need to look for a new home daycare.  He's not happy there and I've got to find something different for my boy.

Is Tommy's field trip next Thursday, or is it Friday? I've got to make sure to put his lunch in a brown sack and not his lunchbox that day.  I need to remember to text his teacher.  Ugh, I feel so out of touch with what's going on for him at school.  

Did he do his reading homework last night?  I didn't check it.  I wonder if his handwriting is better and if he is slowing down to write like I've been instructing him to do.

I can't believe school will be out in a month.  I still have to figure out what to do with Tommy on Wednesdays and Fridays.  What am I going to do?  I'm so bummed I won't have Fridays off in the summers like I used to at my old job.  I'm going to miss that time with the boys.  They're going to miss me.  I'm missing everything.

Gosh, summer is right around the corner.  Where has this year gone already?   Oh crap, I need to mail out that 941 form for my boss.  I need to get that done by Friday. That's tomorrow, shit.  So I'll do that today.  *sigh*

But yea, summer.  

Bathing suits.  

I've gained weight.  Damn bathing suits and bellies and double chins.  I hate my body.  Wait, no, I don't hate my body.  I can't say that to myself anymore.  I need to say kind things to my body.  Oh, I suck at this "being kind to myself thing."  Why does it have to be so hard to take care of ourselves and our bodies and minds?  

Oh I'm so tired, I wish I could fall asleep for another hour before it's time to get up.

I need to remind Todd to call the mortgage company to find out where to send our payment to.  How did I lose the bill?  Did I accidentally throw it out?  I'm such an idiot sometimes.  Oh and I need to pay that other bill online because if I mail it out now, it will be late.  I hate money.  I guess I don't hate money, I hate the lack of money.  We need to get out of debt.  Always feels like we're getting nowhere because we get hit with something else like Todd's new tires.  

I'm going to need new tires for my car this year too.  Ugh.  And I'm just waiting for our AC to break.  Dad made it sound like it may not make it another summer.  If I have to pay for tires and I still need a plane ticket for the conference in September and we still haven't replaced our fence, and what if Todd's truck breaks down again?  Or my car?  My car isn't under warranty like his is.  I feel like it's just a matter of time before that happens. 

Why do I always think that way?  Always waiting for the other shoe to drop.  I guess I think that because the other shoe always ends up dropping.  

How is that a saying?  Who drops shoes?  What does that even mean?  

Shoes.  What am I going to wear to work today?  I don't want to wear my sandals with that outfit because I need to paint my toenails again.  Can I wear flats with that?  I need to get some new brown ones.

Ugh, I'm tired.  This is stupid.  I'm just going to get up.

And so I did.  I made a cup of coffee and perused Facebook at 5am.  It offered me to the usual counterfeit for connection and gave me another list of things to do.  Another stream of thoughts flooded in about wanting to try a new facial product because my skin is gross and then wondering if everybody in the world is selling stuff on the side now and using Facebook to promote their products.  Why does that annoy me so much?  And who is Ann Coulter again and what side is she on?  And what side am I on?  I don't even know anymore.

Springtime

We have a rosebud tree right outside of our living room window.  Every spring it sprouts tiny pink flowers on it's branches, that in a few week's time, give way to heart-shaped leaves, bright green and silky.  I look forward to watching it every year.  It loses it's leaves in November and stays barren and gray for months, until early March when I notice that it's about ready to burst forth with it's tiny, beautiful blossoms.

Spring always seems to come with some kind of transformation, and not just for my tree.  All of me - heart, body and soul - knows that it's a season of beginnings and new birth. It's the time of year when I'm most accepting of change. I always have wished that the new year started in March rather than in January, because I'm more apt to setting goals and trying new things when the sun is shining and I'm surrounded by the beauty of wildflowers and things turning green and alive.  And my March birthday always feels like the invitation to a fresh start.

Recently, I quit my job.  The one super close to home where I worked part-time and only during the hours Tommy was in school so that I could be home in the afternoons.  For almost four years I had a pretty great schedule that allowed my life as a wife, mom and employee to feel more balanced.  But as some jobs tend to go, I grew out of it.  It no longer was a good fit for me, and so I quit and quickly found something new.  And while I had to give up a schedule that I loved, and would have to start over somewhere else and earn my way back up to having a paid vacation, I knew a change was needed and so, I made one.   I am starting fresh.  It is hard, and it is good.

One of my favorite blogger/authors, Kelle Hampton wrote recently on an Instagram photo, "I love the energy in fresh starts and the fact that we can create them as often as we like."  Kelle writes over at Enjoying the Small Things.  I have read her blog for years and her story-telling and writing style feels like an open window, spring breeze and sunshine pouring in.  And anytime I meet a person like that, I tend to surround myself with them - even if it's through written words, because I thrive on sunshine.

I've been thinking about fresh starts and where I can create a few of them this spring.  Making lists, and practicing mindfulness, paying attention to my daily and nightly habits.  Making notes, some on pen and paper, about where I feel angst or stress, peace, calm and joy. I find myself wanting to try new things too - a Bible study, a hairstyle, a recipe.  Maybe take a writing course or join a book club. New things always sound inviting in the spring, don't they?  My mind is buzzing with ideas, my heart dizzy with daydreams.

Springtime always comes with invitations to new life.  And I never forget to RSVP.

A pre-internet Prom

I have come to the conclusion that I was fortunate to be in high school during the dark ages.  You know, before the internet and texting.  And memes.  If my teenage self had a Facebook my freshman year, I'm fairly certain it would have sounded a bit like this:

"OMG.  Ryan walked me to my locker today!  He is so cute.  He totally likes me."  

"OMG.  Ryan gave me his pager number!  He is soooooo cute!" 

"So, the pager number Ryan gave me was fake.  I can't believe he did that to me.  Oh well, I can't stay mad, because he is SO cute!"

"Ryan starting going out with some other girl today named Courtney.  I already hate her.  My heart is broken!"  #butheissocute

Lawd.  I'm so glad I can keep all of that to the confines of my journals and the handwritten folded up paper notes that my friends and I traded between classes.  Also, as a side-note, Courtney and Ryan broke up by the end of sophomore year and she and I ended up being best friends, so it all worked out in the end. 

I never did have any boyfriends in high school.  I had plenty of guy friends, but dating and romantic relationships came later for me.  I almost had a boyfriend once named Goober but he didn't know I liked him and he ended up going steady with a girl named Krissy who was a total brat that bullied me in gym class every day.  I was probably spared though, because who really wants their first boyfriend's name to be Goober?

Before I knew it, I was over both Ryan and Goober, and was suddenly a senior in high school.  And PROM was imminent.  

It seemed like prom was a couple's only kind of event, but I didn't let my lack of boyfriend discourage me.  I optimistically purchased two tickets and asked a buddy of mine at church to go with me.  A date, a dress and a dinner reservation at Spaghetti Warehouse (because that was my idea of a fancy restaurant in 1999) and I was all set.  The night before prom, I phoned my date (because texting wasn't invented yet) to make sure he had his tux and was good to go, but when I finally got an answer at his house, his mom answered in tears.  Through her sobs, she managed to tell me that there had been some family drama and he left the house.

Ya'll.  My prom date ran away from home.  Like, for serious.

I sobbed to my dad and told him I didn't know what I was going to do.  This was the very worst thing that could have happened and I was devastated.  He got me calmed down and told me to move forward with getting ready for prom and it would all be okay.  And because he was my daddy, I totally believed him.

My hair was done up in it's perfect curly up do that I had envisioned, with just the right amount of ringlets around my face and neck.  My nails were done for the first time in my entire life and my dress was beautiful.  It was all great, except for the slight little hiccup of not having a date and everything.  Also, I had 437 bobby pins holding my hair together, and I could feel 432 of them.

By the time I was dressed and ready to go, my dad told me he found me a prom date.  I remember feeling both excitement and sheer panic hearing this news, but because my dad was (and sometimes, still is) pretty awesome, I knew he wouldn't have chosen anyone lame or awful.  When we drove up to a friend's house to pick up my mystery date, I breathed a sigh of relief.  His name was Teddy and we were friends from church as well.  After hearing from my dad, Teddy ran out to buy me a corsage and dusted off his school issued orchestra tuxedo.

All of it was the sweetest:  My dad was totally the hero coming to my rescue so that I didn't have to go alone.  And Teddy being a stellar guy and not only escorting me, but being a complete gentleman all night.

And I won't lie.  It was a bit a lot awkward too. 

Up until that night, Teddy and I had most of our encounters with one another at church youth group where we played crazy games, like mattress surfing and chubby bunny.  And suddenly, we were in formal wear and had to practice acting like real grown-ups.

 I dug these out of my old scrapbook from my attic.  You're welcome.

When we finally arrived at prom, I had this realization that prom is essentially a dance, and I guess I kind of forgot about that part in between dress shopping and my ex-date running away from home.  Teddy and I found ourselves on the dance floor, swaying to the tunes of Boys II Men's, "I'll Make Love to You," and that's when one or both of us decided we were done with the dancing.

We decided to ditch the dance and meet up with friends for post-dancing snacks, but only after we took our super awkward prom picture.  Our prom theme was "Imperial Dreams" which translated to some kind of oriental-paper-lantern-nod-to-China type of theme where they actually put origami and packets of chopsticks on the table for decorations.  (Clearly, I was not in charge of planning this thing).

I present to you: 
Jennifer and Teddy

"Imperial Dreams"
 Prom 1999 

Prom is a totally different thing all together now than it was then.  It's totally cool to go with a group of friends and not just a date, and prom dress trends are so much more fun than they were in the 90's.  Not to mention the internet!  The Black Tux is making prom even easier with their awesome suit and tuxedo rentals.  Did you know that online tux rentals were even a thing?  Fellow friends of the dark ages, can you just imagine what prom planning would have been like had we had the interwebs at our fingertips?!  Just look at how much has changed between then and now?  (Holy smokes, when did I get old?)

Both my dad and Teddy are forever my heroes for going out of their way to make sure my senior prom actually got to happen.  Looking back, it was a bit of a bummer that my prom didn't turn out like I had originally planned. But you know what?  It was prom, and I get to say that I went.  My senior prom is a sweet, quirky and slightly pathetic memory.  And it's all mine.

The time I threw myself a birthday party

Last Sunday I turned 36.  For some reason, 36 sounds much older than 35 and I sort of forgot I had even turned 35 because I had boycotted my birthday last year for the first time in the history of my life.  I was between surgeries and I couldn't eat food and was living exclusively on protein shakes and the occasional decadent bowl of Spaghettios now and again when I was desperate to put food in my mouth.  And lets be honest, Spaghettios are only "sort of" food.  But celebrating a birthday without chocolate cake or any kind of food I could actually chew, didn't sound like a birthday I wanted to have.  So I ignored turning 35 and vowed to party it up the next year.

Now, anyone who knows me, knows I am not the kind of person who waits around for people to ask me what I'm doing for my birthday or make a plan.  I'm usually like, "Hey!  Um, my birthday is coming and here's what I want to do!"  And I also have a hard time with friends who want to keep their birthdays "low-key" or "simple," probably because I am neither low-key or simple and I look for all the reasons in everyday life to party.  It's who I am and I don't apologize for it.

And I did.  I so did.  I sent out real invitations - the paper kind that you write on and require postage stamps.  I promised myself I wasn't going to choose a theme, because once I choose a theme, I can get a little carried away.  But then I was at Walmart and passed by all of the fun fiesta things and I realized how much I love chips and salsa and margaritas, and a birthday fiesta seemed to be quite fitting.

(Also, if you don't know why our local Walmarts carry a surplus of fiesta related things this time of year, than you are probably not from San Antonio.  The whole city has a week-long party in April to salute the heroes of the battles of the Alamo and San Jacinto.  What it feels like though, is celebrating our Latin-American culture by cracking confetti eggs on each other's head and eating all the delicious Mexican food in the land.  Also, others may drink a few too many margaritas, but I digress.)

A fiesta felt like the perfect choice.  I had much to celebrate, including being alive and being much healthier than I was this time last year.  Fiesta's bright and vibrant colors suited my current season and so I put up decorations, just for me.

I invited my dearest friends and family.  We wore tiny sombreros and ate chips and queso and we played hilarious games.  Pie in the face showdown is epic.  And very messy.  It's a new family favorite.

The night was full of laughter and fun and I decided throwing myself a birthday party was probably one of the best ideas I ever had.

A week later, I woke up and I was 36.  My kitchen contained remnants of crushed tortilla chips on the floor, sticky counters from dripped margarita mix, and plastic yellow cups some tipped over on their side.  All of it made me smile.

There are days that I get up and look in the mirror and remember that I am a woman now.  And maybe that's an odd thing to say, but I feel like I've spent so many years figuring out what it even means to be a woman.  There are days when I still feel 11 or 16 or 22 and perhaps that's how life goes.  The older we get, we are just made up of all of the ages we've ever been.  There is still a little girl inside of me that loves play and magic and dress up.  A teenager that lived so quiet and depressed that wants to live life now like she would have then if she had been happy and confident.  And the young adult who still desires to live life or make choices that aren't the best ones, but feel like the fun ones. 

Someone told me the other day that I sparkle.  I let her compliment hit me and allowed myself accept her words that felt redeeming and glorious. There were so many years and seasons before where that wouldn't have been or felt true of me.

I'll be married eleven years this June.  I have two boys, a mortgage and a full-time job.  I'm a Star Wars nerd and geek out over Marvel superheroes and I love action movies and Bruno Mars' music.  I enjoy folding laundry and sitting in the sunshine and being by the ocean is my ultimate happy place.  I love chocolate-chocolate cupcakes and reading good books and drinking bold coffee with cream.  I am outgoing, naturally loud and am never one to shy away from the spotlight.  And I believe that it is only by God's grace and love that I am who I am and where I am today.  I'd be lost without Jesus. 

Also, I believe in party hats.

I am 36.  I'm grateful, happy.  And sparkling.

Dear January,

Christmas is back in the attic.  Our house and our routines are returning back to normal.  And winter has forgotten to come to Texas.  I suppose this is mostly okay, since I'm not a fan of winter.  I'm only sort of bummed about such warm weather because it's too hot to wear my new leggings and cute boots.  Also, my legs are far too white for the shorts and sandals I've been sporting.

We've known each other awhile and you know by now that you and August or my least favorite months out of the year.  I'm sorry I think you're so lame, but you usually come with long, cold, sunless and boring days.  This weird winter has come with the opportunity for change.  And I write the word "opportunity," but how I really feel about it is like winter has come to screw me over, or winter has come to scoff at me, or winter has come to torture me with change. Do you ever feel like that January? 

I've been talking to myself saying things like, "Okay Jennifer, this sucks.  Yep.  This is pretty shitty actually.  But we're okay.  Today, we are okay right?  So let's take a moment and breathe.  You want to be angry and sad?  Okay, let's do that.  Let's feel angry and sad.  You can feel angry and sad and not open the pantry or pour a drink.  Let's take a minute and think about the situation and then we'll sit down and make a plan and sort it out together."  And maybe that inner dialogue is totally weird and I'm possibly a crazy person, but sometimes, self-care means having to walk myself through something difficult as  if my sane, logical, kind self is grabbing my crazy, anxious, irrational self by the hand.  It would be like April or June coming to grab your hand and tell you that everything is going to be alright.

The last time I was with you January, we were in the hospital.  And I can't tell you how glad I am to NOT be in the hospital.  That was the worst January ever, no offense.

Why does it seem that when life finally shakes out a bit and you start feeling settled from the last place that shook the crap out of you, that something new comes and you're back to that same place of starting anew or readjusting all over again?  I suppose it would be dull to have everything the same for so long and that's what makes seasons or change or spontaneity so wonderful.  But, I guess I get a little weary sometimes with all of the change and having to keep changing right along with it.

And if I have to keep changing and things have to keep changing, can't I at least have some decent weather so I can wear my cute leggings January? 

If change is inevitable and I have to constantly keep growing and being stretched, than I want to at least look cute doing it.

Thank you for your considerations.

Sincerely,
Jennifer

2016: Year End Review, Survey Style

I suppose 2016 will go down as the year in history that kicked all of our asses.  Didn't it though?  It just wouldn't stop.  I have yet to meet a person that was like, "Yea!  2016 was my jam!  It did me good!"  I wanted to write something poetic and full of deep reflection, but you know what?  I really just want to tell 2016 to f'*&% off and be done with it. Based on my use of profanity as of late, 2016 has made me into something of a potty mouth.  Regardless, I thought it would be fun though to take a look back at 2016 survey style as I close down ye old blog for the year.  After searching the interwebs about questions to encourage year-end reflections, I found several, some serious and some light-hearted, of things I most definitely want to remember about 2016, and some I also might want to forget.

What am I most proud of this year? 

My health and fitness.  Though I still have a ways to go, I have started and maintained new habits in regards to my eating and exercising that I have never kept up for as long as I've had.  It feels SO good to head into a new year with good habits already in motion so I have a place to keep building on rather than feeling like I have to start from scratch.  My weight loss and fitness goals feel attainable this year and I'm excited to keep pressing on.

Where am I feeling stuck?

My job/career/work.  I am good at my job as a bookkeeper, and it has proved to be a good income for my family.  But I also deeply long to have a job that needs some of my creative talents too.  This is a place I want to be open to taking some risks and thinking outside the box.

Where do I need to allow myself grace?

As a mother.  I am so hard on myself for all that I get wrong or mess up.  I worry about not being all that my boys need me to be and I feel like I'm failing them.

How did I spend my free time?

Netflix.  Way too much Netflix.  There might be a New Year's resolution in there somewhere.

When have I felt the most alive?

At the beach.

When I'm running (to be interpreted as a very slow jog).

During worship.

What is the hardest decision I made this year?

Leaving our church.  It was and remains to be the most gut-wrenching decision we've been faced with in the last several years.  Severed relationships and devastating wounds.  It has SUCKED.

What do I need to let go of? 

Trying to fit in places where I don't belong.

What old habits would I like to release?

Biting my nails.  Comparing myself to other people. 

What new habits would I like to cultivate?

Family devotions on a daily basis where we have a time focused on our faith and prayer.

Creating more time for reading and writing.

      

What were some of my favorite memories this year?

Getting to be a part of the IF:Gathering even though I was still sick.

My first date night with Todd when I was well again.   

Family karaoke day.

Being at the beach with Todd.

Poppy blowing out exploding candles on his birthday cake.

Christmas cookie decorating with my family.  

What was the single most challenging thing that happened?

My illness, surgery and recovery.

What was an unexpected joy this past year?

After being sick for so long and becoming well again, I have a new appreciation for the things that I am able to do like cooking, cleaning, and exercise.  Just being able to take care of my family and care for my home after not being able to for so long, has brought me so much joy.

What was an unexpected obstacle? 

A struggle with pain medications and alcohol that I never saw coming.  Very grateful for help and healing in this place the last couple of months.

Pick three words to describe this past year 

Expensive.  HARD.  Rewarding.

Who were your most valuable relationships with?

Todd, my boys, Sarah, Shelly.

What was your single biggest time waster in your life this past year?

Facebook, Pinterest and Netflix.  And being on my phone.  *sigh*

What was the best way you used your time this past year?

Playing with my boys, exercising, and having sex with my husband.

What new things did you discover about yourself?

That I can be disciplined, I can do and get through hard things, that I have an inner-athlete that's been trying to get out.  And that I'm not a republican.

What was the best news you received this year?

"Yes, you can eat now." (After months of living on a liquid diet).

What, or who, are you most thankful for?

My husband and boys, a handful of faithful and precious friends, God's unending grace, improved health, and having all I need and then some.  

What was the best movie you saw this year?

Captain America: Civil War.  I'm a superhero-loving geek at heart.

What was your favorite compliment that you received this year?

That I seem so joyful and at peace.  And knowing that it was really true.

What little things did you most enjoy during your day-to-day life?

Morning coffee, sitting around the dinner table with my little family, singing to Jacob before bedtime, building Legos with Tommy, Todd kissing my neck when I'm cooking in the kitchen.

Was there anything you did for the very first time in your life this year?

Other than undergo surgery?  No.  But, I do have a short bucket list of some things I would like to do and try next year. And skydiving is totally on that list....

What was your favorite moment spent with your friends?

Riding on giant stuffed animals in the mall with Tiffany and Canadia.

How did your overall outlook on life evolve?  

I think I could write an entire blog post just on this question.  I think my overall outlook on life changed and evolved in so many different places.  After my illness and recovery, I felt a deeper sense of gratitude to simply go about my every day life.  So many of us take our health and wellness for granted and that isn't something I want to lose sight of again.  After a tumultuous year politically and seeing so many tragic events occur in our nation and the world, I have been faced with overwhelming convictions of my role to bring peace and love and charity into the lives of others who are hurting.  I am beginning to change my passive stance to a more active one.

What advice would you give your early 2016 self if you could?

"It's gonna be a hell of a ride girl, hang on tight!"

What do you want the overarching theme for your 2017 to be?

Reach, strive and don't quit.   

Always be humble and kind.   

Be joy and peace and bring it to others.

What do you want your everyday life to be like?

Continue with healthy eating and exercise habits.

Lose my shit less with my boys.

Less Netflix and wasting time on my phone.

Being more present, even if it hurts to be.  

What are your hopes, dreams and goals for 2017?

Finish a half marathon, take a creative writing course, pay off some debt and save more money, throw myself a big birthday party, go skydiving, buy a sexy red dress, be more involved with my children in giving back to our community and those in need.

It really was a doozy of a year for me personally, but it was also a year of extreme growth and humility as a person, and for that, I am grateful.  Looking forward to a new year with fresh eyes, an encouraged heart and deeper resolve.  May 2017 be filled with an abundance of blessings and unending grace to get us through the hard times.

Happy New Year!

(Oh, and f*%& off 2016!!)