We  usually begin new adventures boldly. We wear all the best gear, we are equipped with energy, courage, and determination. We look fear in the face and lift our fists to it.  Our voices are strong when we tell the path, “ready or not, here we come!”

We strongly believe that we will be successful.

As days pass by, we lose fractions of ambition.  Our passion to boldly conquer fear as we trek on is much quieter.  Our voices are hoarse, and our spirits grow weaker daily.

Fears wreak havoc on our beliefs of success.

This is what motherhood has looked like for me.

I started a journal for each of my children as soon as I knew I was pregnant. I wrote to them often, daily sometimes, to share my thoughts and excitement about their arrival.

My plan was to write once a month, until the day of high school graduation. I was successful… for about 10 years.

Yesterday, I searched for the journal that was supposed to be gifted, as my oldest son graduated.

I found it in the bottom drawer of the old dresser, covered in dust, in the corner of the basement.

Needless to say, it wasn’t where I hoped I’d leave it when I began writing. It wasn’t as full, nor as complete as it should’ve been either.

The last date I wrote in it was 2011. That entry was two years after the entry before it.

As crazy as it sounds, as I began to read the words I wrote for my son, I slipped away, back to my motherhood beginning. I felt the flutters, in my mind, that I wrote about feeling in my pregnant belly. I felt the new, full joy I described as I watched my first baby sleep. I saw him as the gift he was to me then. I relived the trips to the zoo, the movies he loved, his favorite books, and the best memories we shared.

I recognized my almost-18-year-old son in the description of the 2-year-old who told me he was the boss! And the 3-year old who said, “Mom, I look good!,” as he admired himself in the mirror.

That beginning motherhood mom in the earliest pages of that journal was young, full of life. Fearless. Overflowing with love. I miss her!

At the same time though, I’m glad she grew up. She couldn’t have endured the rest of the journey. She needed to learn every lesson that presented itself, the moment it unfolded in her lap.

My early motherhood path ended on the pages of the journal. There were about 10 pages left. White, blank pages that felt like stone tablets. My next words would be etched as my final thoughts to him, in this context, forever.

It was difficult to decide which words were worthy, important, and relevant.

I told him about my biggest mistakes & regrets. I owned them, and apologized for the ones that affected him.

I told him how much I love him, and how that love has grown tremendously over the years.

Lastly, I encouraged him to live a bold life – a life full of energy, courage, and determination – a life without fear.

I attended a women’s retreat this past weekend.

I listened to the saddest, yet most inspiring stories of pain, tragic loss and heartache.

I learned that in the sadness, there was hope, when it was given permission to enter.

Through this hope, they found encouragement and promises.

As tears dripped down my cheeks, I watched their painful journeys unfold in raw, genuine, and real ways.

Their honesty allowed me to feel my pain in theirs. Bare. Exposed. Mask-free.

Innocence was shattered. Identities hidden. Dreams stolen. Hope lost.

Somehow, in the midst of the pain, they knew that God was there, with them. They spoke of moments where they knew their only strength flowed down from God.

The reason for the pain is incomprehensible, yet they accepted that it had a purpose.

God turned their pain into a vessel, a remedy, to help others who’ve experienced the same.

Sharing led to deeper healing. Deeper healing led to a passion to share.

We developed a strong connection. Our common denominator: pain.

I have a new admiration for women, and for their Creator.

Strong, bold women who walk alongside each other, hand in hand, supportive, and beautiful.

It is a beauty that lies deep within the pain, that blossoms when it is exposed, shared, permitted to be used.

Once used, it turns sadness into hope.

Recently, I was charging forward, as the bull toward the matador, minus the rage.

Heading toward a destruction I was unaware of, blinded.

I left discernment behind, waving to me in the rear view mirror, whispering “No!”

Deceit erupted from the volcano that looked dormant. It grabbed my hand again, and slew me across the molten rock.

Suddenly, I was aware of my surroundings, and the reason for being there.

It was necessary, it was all necessary so that I would halt.

My eyes had to see the true colors. My eyes weren’t objective enough in any other circumstance.

I doubted the power that was gifted to me.

I jumped off of the trap, and ran.

Once I was back at the well, drinking the living water, I had clarity.

Life was vibrant again.

The bull, exhausted, rested by the matador. A red cape was placed on the bull. The fight was over.

Good always wins, even when no one can see the battle.

From Ireland to Pennsylvania to Michigan. I am privileged to have known her, to be called her great-granddaughter.

Catherine Hayes was the kindest, most loving person I have ever met.

Her heart was in her eyes, as they smiled at me. The kind of smile that love spilled out of, all over everyone who knew her. It was the contagious kind. Infected our souls.

She carried a rosary, prayed often, and told me that Jesus loved me. I wasn’t sure what any of that meant, but I knew it was special. She was special.

If I could go back to revisit one day in my past, I would start the day in my mom’s car, on the way to Hazel Park. I would want to feel that childlike excitement, escalated anticipation, knowing that this visit would be just as great as the last time we shared with her.

I would cherish each step, opening the door, seeing her smile, being embraced in the most fragile yet enormously beautiful hug, the joy, the love that made my heart grow.

We would jump in the car, take her to McDonalds to get a hash brown (her favorite), then to the grocery store to buy orange drink and all the other treats she thought she needed to provide so we’d visit. How could she not realize that we visited just to be in her presence? To feel her love that seemed bigger than the world?

On our way back to her house, she’d speak of flowers. I’d pay attention this time. So I could fill my yard with all of her favorites. So we could still visit, among them, while we sipped our orange drink.

We’d say our goodbyes, our “can’t wait to see you next time!,” and wave until the car was too far down the street to see her anymore.

In these moments, Catherine Hayes taught me something powerful. She taught me unconditional love, compassion, and kindness. My mom taught me the same.

Happy Mother’s Day, Grandma Hayes.

Happy Mother’s Day, Mom.

You are both cherished gifts.

To my children,

In my search for happiness, I set you on a shelf. I cared for you, and I made sure you were safe. However, I didn’t spend quality time with you.

My eyes didn’t see that then though.

I thought that once I was happy, I could be a good mom.

As you’re aware, I didn’t achieve the ideal relationship, the one I thought would make me happy.

Each person that entered our lives altered them.

Slowly, sadly, our strings frayed.

I stepped further and further away from the shelf, in my pursuit.

You climbed off of the shelf eventually, seeking the validation and acceptance that I failed to provide.

Thankfully, the distance was short-lived. You were protected, and forgiving. You loved me through it.

My eyes are open now. My heart sees you.

It wasn’t happiness that would make me a better mom. It was peace.

My dearest single friends,

It is not a relationship with a man, or a woman, that you seek.

The emptiness, loneliness, and longing that you experience cannot be relieved, nor fulfilled, by any man or woman.

The disappointment that causes your most painful, heart wrenching tears can end.

There is hope.

The promises inside this hope are not false.

As you stated, we were created, designed, and wired with a desire for companionship. The companionship of a man, or woman, once found, still isn’t enough!

A man, or woman, no matter how great he/she is, cannot comfort you enough. He is incapable of loving you enough. He is lacking the ability to meet our every need.

Children long to be unconditionally loved by their parents – to spend quality time with, and to just BE close to them. Ideally, by design, the feeling is reciprocated by their parents. In this same way, our Creator longs to be with us. It is THIS relationship alone that will satisfy our hunger for companionship, comfort, and unconditional love.

No matter how great the man or woman you find is, you will continue to feel empty until you seek the One who created the emptiness in you.

Your Creator loves you with such an angst that He sent His Son to die for you. He paid the ultimate price so that He could fill that emptiness.

I only know this because I’ve tried. While I was running away from Him, I sought fulfillment from man.

Man wasn’t created to meet the needs of our soul.

This letter is a plea.

My heartfelt plea, to you, is to stop running away from the only One who can meet your every need. Run to Him. His arms are open wide.

He will welcome you home, with a party that your soul has never experienced before! You will feel complete, fulfilled, unconditionally loved, amazingly desired.

You’ll feel like you’re finally Home. I promise.

Sincerely yours,

Annette

Took me a few minutes to understand that phrase.  Once I did, I was inspired.  Janette Oke deserves all the credit.  I heard it while watching the Netflix series, “When Calls the Heart,” based on her novels.

A young boy in this series, named Cody, said it to his teacher who was bullying another student.  The teacher wanted the other student to hold her pencil correctly, so he kept ripping it out of her hands (when she continuously held it the way that worked for her) and snapping it in half.  Pencil after pencil after pencil.  Cody was infuriated!  He mustered up the courage to stop the teacher, he walked right up to him, put his hand out for the young girl to join him, and they left the classroom together!  All of the students stood up, in the middle of a test, and followed Cody out.  These students (a.k.a. “good people”) stopped the bad thing from happening!

Can you imagine what this world would be like if we stood up for each other this way? Instead of being afraid to be bold, from fear of not being accepted, we do SOMETHING.

Intervene, follow your gut, take risks, know that doing NOTHING will always result in bad things happening.

This idea was driven home while I was reading “Do Hard Things,” by Alex & Brett Harris. Their advice is as follows: fight the natural/easy road, battle discouragement and complacency, do more than what is required, get over your fear of failure, do not compare your achievements to others, the smallest things are usually the hardest – integrity, devotion, and embracing trials.  Lastly, they recommend living your best life by leaving nothing untried – you get stronger even when you fail.

I believe that only great things can happen if we choose to go against the norm. Choose to NOT do nothing.  Choose to do the hard things, with the gravel filling our shoes, instead of taking the easy, boring paved road.  In choosing this route, we will be fulfilled.  Our lives will matter.  We will find purpose.

People often ask me about my career. I usually say that I work for a company that provides custom and power wheelchairs. My title is Funding Specialist. I request and carefully review the required paperwork – progress notes, letters of medical necessity, and detailed prescriptions. Sometimes I have to request the paperwork several times before it meets the requirements of the insurance company. The process can take months. When the paperwork is satisfactory, I submit it for prior authorization.

My favorite moments are those that include an approval. That phone call, letting the client know that the wait is over, and the quality of their life will soon improve, is beyond rewarding. It’s exhilarating!

We have a little party, over the phone, to celebrate the great news!

Sometimes, I’m able to join the ATP for the delivery of the wheelchair.

Every time, the smiles and the gratitude we are met with are life changing.

A transformation takes place in my heart. I receive my reward in full.

I’m extremely grateful for a career that allows me to be a part of the process, and to be fulfilled.