To the family past, and the family present, and the family future… I just want to express my gratitude.  I do not want to use words like sincere, or thankful, because I think words lose taste if they’re over used. I wish that words spoken or written could actually carry, and offer, feeling.

Some do.

There are people in our lives who have been family even when they aren’t related to us.  They shape us, and carry us through tough times.  They provide laughter, and cherished moments.  Sometimes, their influence is temporary, and fades.  Other times, they stay forever.

Family is who we are.  Who we have been, and are yet to be.

We take what was given to us – the moments, the laughter, the tears –  and we share it.  We pass on legacies daily.

I hope that every person who has ever gifted me with a moment that shaped me, and influenced my kids, the people that MADE us, knows the enormity of their lives in our hearts.  It hasn’t gone unnoticed.

As a baby, I was lifted over the fence to the loving arms of a neighbor, whom I still have the privilege to know.  I grew, and carried with me, smiles that were so tender they embedded themselves into my skin.  I hope I’ve shared them just the same. Friends took my hand when I thought my world crashed down in middle school, and again, they are still there for me to this day. My family, all of them, have stood by my side, in every moment.  Sometimes they tip-toed around my fragile self, sometimes they boldly told me to shape up when I needed to hear it, and sometimes we just sat, quietly, trying to survive.

I believe that none of the people that I call family are in my life on accident.  I know that we are here, in this exact place, with those that surround us, for a very big purpose.  We love each other the way we were meant to.  Our arms are perfectly strong enough to carry our present burdens.

It is all too beautiful to be placed by chance.

We are all here for that very big purpose.

Words can’t carry feelings, but we can.  I hope that every person in my life understands what I am trying to say.  You matter to me.  I love you deeply.

I will do my best to continue, daily, to pass on that legacy.

Happy Thanksgiving.

As a parent, if I don’t show my children what to do in times of trouble, who will? What will they turn to?

In my toughest moment, I turned to many wrong things.  I lost time, and I lost precious opportunities to teach my children how to handle struggles, trials, disappointment, and pain.

Once I realized this, I sunk into a pit that wrapped me up in hopelessness.  I thought that I lost the only time that I had.  I thought that my choices and what I turned to wrecked them.

One day, I shared these feelings with a close friend of mine.  She said something that struck me, and stayed with me, and gave me hope… She said that God is a redeemer of time.

I didn’t realize the depth of this when she first said it.  I had to see it to believe it.

I see it daily now.  My oldest child joined the Army, and it fits him perfectly.  He is exactly where he was created to be.  The puzzle pieces connected.  My choices didn’t wreck him.  The time I thought I had lost has been redeemed.  God was interested in his life.  He was able to guide him in spite of me.

The Redeemer of time showed up tonight when I was reading the Bible with my children.   This is a new thing, and we are going to try to stick with it this time around.  We just pick a random book and read a chapter, and then compare translations.

My son said, “God thinks of me??? LeBron James is pretty famous, and he doesn’t think of me, but God thinks of me?”

Time. Redeemed. Amazingly.

He understood, in that moment, what it took me 43 years to comprehend! The Creator of EVERYTHING loves me.  He created me, on purpose, uniquely, to do something special; something only I can do.  Exactly what that is remains a mystery to me, but I will continue to seek it, daily.

I also realized, inside this lesson about redemption, that this job (a.k.a. “life”) is too big to do on my own.  That is exactly why I don’t have to do it on my own…

God guided my oldest son to the place he was meant to be.  I believe He will do the same with me, and my children.

The time and opportunities that I thought I wrecked might have just merely been forks in the road.

When I thought I chose the wrong path, it wasn’t.

It happened to be the road I learned from, and met God on.

It turned out to be exactly where I was supposed to be, at that exact moment.

Redemption.  Purpose.  Mystery.  Beautiful.

I watched a movie yesterday, a classic, where a little girl looked past a man’s appearance, cynicism, and evil acts, to see his heart.  She took him by the hand, invited him over for Christmas dinner, and loved him in such a genuine way that he was transformed instantly!  This little girl taught me a valuable lesson.  She opened my eyes.

I read a book yesterday, a classic, that taught me to do the same.  The book is about a man who died young, while loving others the way that little girl loved the cynical man.  He taught others how to love, and how to genuinely care about others.  His love gave people new eyes, new hearts, and a purpose.  He died so that we could live.

As an introvert, I struggle to see people as anything other than a challenge.  I struggle to speak to strangers, and I’d rather just smile at them.  I have a friend who is the opposite, an extrovert.  Every time we go out, she talks to people! Every person she meets!  It’s amazing to watch.  The people she speaks to, the people that are used to being treated like servants without souls, light up.  She speaks to them, and makes them feel valuable. She has also opened my eyes.

As children, we had wide eyes, big dreams, passion, and purpose.  Growing up, life hit us in the face like that unexpected snowball, or freight train, and we lost sight of our purpose.  We found a heavy shield to hold up, to walk the streets with.  We climbed inside our turtle shells, interacting and walking about only when necessary, to protect ourselves.  We isolated ourselves from the world, out of fear, and we watched it go by from our seat by the window where we felt safe.

In that book that I read, there were people who, (after their teacher died), stood up against the snowballs and the freight trains.  They faced life, and their fears, with the greatest boldness I’d ever seen.  Their purpose to love others drove them to shed their outer shells.  They left the doors and windows to their homes wide open, and invited people in.  They invited these people over for Christmas dinner, and loved them in such a genuine way that they saw their hearts transformed. Daily.

I believe that our purpose on this earth is to live like the little girl in the movie, and the fearless warriors in the book.  I know this cannot be accomplished on our own.  I believe that the teacher who died young left a gift for us.  When this gift is accepted, it gives us the power to love others genuinely.  The gift allows us to open the doors so that hearts can be transformed. The gift provides our purpose.

Recently, I looked in the mirror and saw myself fourteen years ago, during the worst years of my marriage.

At first, I thought it was someone else.  I didn’t recognize the me that I was during that timeframe.  In my mind, previous to that moment, I was the victim.  Innocent.

Lovingly, the mirror revealed to me that I was NOT innocent, and I was NOT the only victim.

I saw myself, in the mirror, holding a bow, shooting arrows.  Every time I spoke, the bow would release an arrow.  Every time I spoke, the arrow pierced him.  The arrows had letters on them.  The letters formed these words as they entered his body:

H-A-T-E

D-I-S-G-U-S-T

A-N-N-O-Y-I-N-G

W-O-R-T-H-L-E-S-S

The mirror continued to reveal my former, married self, to me.

I was building a wall, made of bricks, in the mirror.

Each brick was labeled:

“DO NOT FORGIVE”

“HOLD ON TO ANGER”

“DESTROY HIM”

“WALK AWAY”

Brick upon brick upon brick, placed between us, until the wall was complete, and the marriage was over.

It was easier to portray myself as the victim, and pretend that I was innocent, whenever anyone asked me what happened.  I never had to tell the whole story, the arrows, the bricks, the destruction.  Pity accumulated, and victim became my identity.

Until I looked in that mirror recently.

As soon as I saw who I truly was, I told him.  As soon as I told him, he agreed with me.

Miraculously, as soon as I told him, I was freed from it all.

FORGIVEN

The weight of every brick was lifted from me.

The arrows, gone.

Something else happened in that moment…

He apologized.

He said that even though I did my part to chase him away, his actions were not justified.

I didn’t realize how much power those words held.

“I’M SORRY FOR WHAT I DID”

“ME TOO”

I walked back to the mirror.

I looked different.

Free of the arrows, the bricks, the anger, the bitterness, the hate, and most importantly – the victim identity.

I owned my part.

I saw myself.

I wore a new identity:

FORGIVEN

We are human. We all make MISTAKES.

Some mistakes are small, and we can just keep going, because they were just a hiccup. Some MISTAKES are HUGE and they change our lives FOREVER.

If we didn’t make mistakes, we wouldn’t be human.  Right?

Hmmm. So, what do we do about it?

We can’t stop making mistakes.  As much as we’d all like to be perfect, we aren’t.  Our mistakes are inevitable.

I think our only choice is to accept it.  Try not to make as many as we did the year before, learn from them, and move up. Eventually, we will make less mistakes. Eventually, we will learn.  Eventually we will have acquired WISDOM.  If we are bold enough to achieve it.

I’d have to say, after reflecting on this idea for a long time, that my biggest mistake is un-forgiveness.  It is the one thing that had the ability to seep into every crevice of my soul.  It spread like a wildfire, and destroyed me.  Not just the me that was, but the me I wanted to be, and eventually the current me.  It took everything, and left nothing.

Gasping for air, beneath the heavy weight that un-forgiveness held over me, I let go.

I let go of the reasons that stopped me from forgiving… I released the pain that I thought would protect me, the insecurities that I thought were healed, and the fear that I thought was my shield.  Once the false reasons were stripped away, and it was just me, I was powerless.  I thought.

The crazy thing is this: I was more powerless WITH un-forgiveness than I was without it.

Once I let it go, my strength came back.  A strength from within.  A strength that became a gift.  To everyone I forgave… including myself.

It became a gift because it was first gifted to me…

In essence, then, it is the ultimate re-gifted gift.

It happens when we all make MISTAKES.

It is so easy to lose hope when life attempts to take you out.

What would it take to feel secure, no matter what? How can hope be guaranteed? How can hope be an anchor?

My friend Christy and I were terrified when we were carried away by the current in Lake Huron.  As young, boy crazy on-the-prowl teenage girls, we thought we were stronger than that current.  We were warned by everyone (all of the wise adults on the boat) that we would NOT be ok if we weren’t tied to the boat that was anchored.  We untied the rope anyway…

At first, we were laughing as our tubes floated further and further away from the boat.  We even waved, mockingly, at the wise adults who looked panicked.  We honestly thought we were fine! The current picked up and we floated further away… faster.

Big, fast, speeding boats couldn’t see us beyond the waves.  The water suddenly felt freezing cold.  We weren’t able to steer our tubes away from the dangers with our hands or are feet.  We lost hope, as were up against the current that seemed to gain strength by the second.

Reality finally set in, and we freaked out, together, at the exact same time.  I think we might’ve even cried.

My step-dad and my uncles risked their lives to swim toward us, as fast as they could.  Somehow, they made it to us in time.  They managed to pull us to shore, against the current, safe.

The boat was anchored, and secure.

As I look back on that day, I see that our hope was anchored. We had hope when we were connected to the boat.  As soon as we loosened, untied, and released ourselves from the anchor, we lost all hope.

In a way, I see God as that anchor.

Every time I let go, when I am exhausted, too weak to fight the battle, I get caught in the strong current.

I lose hope.

As soon as I realize that I let go, and that life without God is too hard to fight, I am welcomed back in, lovingly.

There is a scripture verse that states this: “We who have taken refuge would have strong encouragement to take hold of the hope set before us.  This hope we have as an anchor of the soul.” (Hebrews 6:18-19).

So, to answer the question, “what would it take to feel secure no matter what?,” I believe it takes a strong connection to the only One who can provide that hope.

This life isn’t easy, and for me, it is impossible to walk through alone.  I’ve found hope in God.  He will always rescue me, and He has never let go. He is the anchor of my soul.

My thoughts are all over the place, and a bit messy.  So, tonight I’m just gonna write.  I am not going to think or plan or edit.  Just gonna write. Sometimes its the only way I can clear my head and get things straight.

I’ve been watching too much TV.  Great shows (This is Us, I binged watched all seasons and am all caught up, and Parenthood, season 2, not binge watching). It’s been therapeutic.  I’ve been able to relate to every character in one way or another.  The writers of these shows have a unique ability to see inside my soul and dig out memories, feelings, and raw emotions that I didn’t even know were there.  Some days it was a volcano eruption of tears that were stuck inside my soul.  I thought the volcano, those memories, were dormant. Sleeping.  Hidden.  Under the rug.  Nope. They bubbled up and exploded.  The cool thing was that once they were out, felt again, they were out.  Exposed.  And this new part of me, the part that wanted to deal with the raw emotions that dripped down my cheeks in the form of heavy tears that held heavy memories, was ok with that.  Dealing with it.  I didn’t shove it all back down.  I grabbed the rug and threw it away! No more sweeping.  Memories fly up, emotions stormed in, and it was ok.  I can handle this.  I need to.

When I wasn’t watching TV, I was at urgent care.  Oldest daughter – sprained ankle. Walking cast for 3 weeks.  She also bought her first car (the next day), with her own money.  Back to urgent care for my son who was wrestling a towel away from his buddy, (the towel happened to be wrapped around my son’s finger when it was yanked away), and *snap* his finger is fractured. Left hand, ring finger.  So he can still go to school and work.  Hopefully it will be healed in time to try out for the basketball team.  Something he has been dreaming of doing for a very long time.  Trying out and making the team.  I believe he can.  He’s determined and he practices everyday.

I received a call from my oldest son at boot camp.  I felt like I was dreaming.  He told us he will be stationed state side for the next 3 years.  Not deployed.  Definitely a dream. Prayers that my heart prayed without my mind formulating them.  Pretty cool.  He told me that the lacrosse balls he asked for came in handy.  Not for massaging his back though, as they were intended for when the request was made.  No.  He sold them! The lacrosse balls that I bought extra of, and shipped them with clear instructions to share them or give them to someone who needs them… sold.  Well, it was great to hear his voice.  He’s not who he was when he left, that is for sure.  And I’m ok with that. I can’t wait to meet him.  The new version.  I always knew he was capable of great things.  I just didn’t know how great.  I am so very proud of him.  16 days until I see him!

My struggle right now is this feeling of being alone.  I don’t want to call it loneliness because I don’t think it qualifies as loneliness.  Just alone.  I think I’ve come to terms with it, but yesterday, it won.  I was so angry I broke a plate.  I think I actually wanted it to break because when it did, I wasn’t even mad.  It kind of felt like a victory.  Strange I know.  My thought in that broken plate moment was, “huh, that was one of the last plates from my marriage. It lasted a long time.  Way to go little plate, I hope you enjoyed your days as the whole plate that you were.” I also enjoyed throwing it away.  All three pieces of it. Before the alone feeling took over I was draining pasta in my glass pot, a hand me down pot that someone gave me when I got divorced.  The pasta was in the strainer and I clinked the strainer into the glass pot, to force the water from the pasta.  The pot broke.  I wasn’t mad.  My kids said, “what did you think was going to happen when you were slamming them together???”  I laughed, and enjoyed throwing it away.  It was my popcorn pot too though, so I was a little sad.

My mom is on vacation.  I wonder if that is why my kids are fracturing and spraining bones and muscles.  It must be related.  She is not allowed to leave, ever again.

Oh, my youngest daughter grew a few inches taller, and has braces.  On her teeth. She is growing up way too fast.

I keep seeing them 10 years from now.  in my mind.  A recurring thought I suppose, or image. I know it goes by fast and I can’t stop it.  So I’m just watching it.

I have this strange feeling that I’m on a train. Not the fancy train with seats and tables and big hats and poofy dresses, but the box car train. Instead of landscape scenes I’m watching my life. My current life, a few seconds later. I’m not sure if it’s old age, or if I’m just a little bit disconnected at the moment, but I’m not in it the way I know I have been before. I’m in watching mode. Still close enough to be there but not inside.

If I jump out of the box car I’d be missing out. If I join them I might miss out too. There are so many things happening that I feel like the best way to see it all is from a few seconds back. For now.

We are where we are, in our houses, on our street, interacting with the people we see, on purpose.

It is not a coincidence, nor an accident, that this house is exactly where it is.  Next to, and across from, the exact houses that our neighbors live in.

I believe that we, as humans, are meant to affect each other.  Help each other.  Be a community. Be friendly, available, and present.

Its easy to choose to pull the shades down, get lost in our favorite show for hours, as the days spin past. Unaffected by us. I just did this last week.  When I was all caught up on the favorite show, I pulled the shades up, and felt… disconnected.

What did I miss? Whose footprints are these? Where was I supposed to be?

I’ll never know I guess.

Life.  I missed being a part of someone’s life.  I wasn’t looking. I didn’t see or hear, because I was focused on me, with the shades down, blocking the path.

My children are learning this as well.  The friends that are placed on their path, walking side by side with them, are not there just because they had nowhere else to go. They were placed there.  We were placed there. On purpose. Together. For a reason.

Life gets busy, but our needs remain.

Tonight, my eyes saw and my ears heard a painful plea.  A young boy wanted to feel important.

I want to believe that he was met with, and felt, kindness.  I hope that kindness is the reason he didn’t want to go home.  He shared his pain with us because he needed to feel affirmed.  He placed his heart on the table so that we could fill it up, and pray that it would be mended.

I was reminded tonight, when I looked into the eyes of this child, that the mission field isn’t always miles away, across the world, where food and water are scarce.  The mission field is right here, where food and water abound, but love and joy are lacking.

I’m reminded of Mother Theresa’s prayer – that God would give her eyes to see people the way that He sees them, and a heart to love them the way He loves them.

“Whom shall I send, and who will go for Us?” God asked in Isaiah 6:8

“Here am I. Send me!”