The future used to be overwhelming, when I thought about too much of it.

Have you ever been in a pool with a deep end that suddenly drops off? Swimming along, touching down every few minutes to make sure you’re still safe.  And then… suddenly… you’re in the deep end.

I did this once, when I was 18, at a public pool, holding a baby I was taking care of.  I had no idea that I was walking toward the deep end, with the baby on my hip.  Talk about panic! I was going under.  The baby was going under.  Thank God someone saw me QUICKLY!  A complete stranger jumped into the pool and grabbed me, yanked me, to the edge of the pool.  I grabbed the ledge, and my feet felt the bottom, just in time.  The baby was ok.

This is what I feel like, when I think about too much of the future. So, I just take a slice.  I live in the moment because that is all I can handle.  I don’t consider this a weakness.  Just a lesson learned.

Most of what I know has been learned from my mistakes…

Don’t eat while laying down, even if your parents don’t know … you’ll choke on a graham cracker.

Look both ways before you cross the street, every time, even on a super fast Hot Wheels big wheel when you’re five years old … cars can’t see you until it’s almost too late.

Avoid bumps in the sidewalk when you’re rollerskating …you’ll end up horizontal with a headache and an image of your mom’s coffee mug etched in your mind forever.  FOREVER.

Be courageous.  Don’t let anyone change you.  Block guilt trips.  And people, if necessary.

Look fear in the face.  Don’t run from it.  It gains power when you run from it.  (Picture the snowballs that devour people on their path, in all of the winter cartoons and silly Christmas movies).  Fear will take you out if you let it.  Face it, put your fists up, and knock it out.   Every time it tries to convince you that you’re weak, just punch it in the face.  This is not fabricated…  fear is fueled by you.  If you let it convince you that you’re weak, you are the only one to blame.

Release anger.  Just like fear, it will try to control you.  The more anger you allow in, the stronger it gets.  (Picture an IV that injects cement into your heart).  Choose to let it go.  I know it is not easy.  I held onto it my whole life. I was angry about EVERYTHING – my parents’ divorce, my new weekend “schedule” that kept me from friends, my new “family,” moving, and then moving again.  I was angry at my mom, my dad, and my unrequested world.  This went on for a very long time.  The anger grew to what felt like a solid Eiffel Tower inside my heart.  Until I let it all go.

One day. at. a. time.

I received a letter from a true friend today. One who was there in my worst moments. Moments I’m not proud of. She never left my side, even though she knew who I truly was, the life I was living, in those worst moments.

Her unique friendship was silent when she knew I couldn’t handle the truth. Her support was strong, yet not forceful. Her eyes told me she knew my struggle. Her heart showed me she could relate, on many levels. She never judged me. I never felt “less than” anything around her.

I didn’t see her often, since I moved back to the area I grew up in, but I knew we’d always be friends.

If I had to choose one word to describe her, it would be “genuine.”

She’s the genuine friend I desire to be.

I’ve made, and reunited with, many friends along the way, but I think she set the standard for me.

She opened my eyes to what it truly means to be a friend.

I won’t mention her name, because she wouldn’t want me to. She enjoys being the quiet voice, behind the curtain.

I hope she knows who she is, and how much her friendship means to me, and has changed how I view true friendship.

I hope you have a friend, or two, or three, like this one that I have.

If not, be one.

Sincerely,

Annette

My daughter found my old journal.  Dates back to 2004.  I read every single page as if it were written by someone else.

It must have been written by someone else, because the person who wrote it is not me.

The struggle that she went through, daily, was not the way I remember it.

She was so frustrated with herself, for her anger, for her bitterness, and for the harsh words that she spoke.

As I read the words that this alter person wrote, I felt like I took a ride on that roller coaster again.  The one that I never wanted to know existed.

As I read, I kept thinking that I wish I had burned that journal.  If it no longer existed, I wouldn’t be re-experiencing the struggle.

I didn’t burn it though.  I kept it.

For some reason, I needed to read it all over again.  Today.

I needed to see that I am similar to who I was.

I had hope then, that it would all work out.

I prayed, hard, for a miracle.

Somewhere in the last year or so, I realized that I was mad at God for not answering my prayers the way I wanted them to be answered.  I realized that in that anger, I left God.  I knew that when I left God, my life spiraled even further out of control than it had when I was married, praying for a miracle.

I realized that when I returned to God, it was as if I never left.  That’s the miracle.

I walked away, but God did not let go.

The journal confirmed that for me.  On the first page, I wrote this:

“We are like the waves that crash down on each other, tossing to and fro, trying to break through our own boundaries. We think we are smarter than the boundary. We think our power is greater than our own boundaries.  I love watching the waves crash into the water as they come closer and closer to the shore.  No matter how big they seem, out there, they always seem to give up before they hit the shore. We are like the waves, out at sea, destructive, fierce, and full of a power that we feed.   Our power (sin) breaks boundaries that were placed to protect us. God’s love is like the shore.  He allows us to wreak havoc on ourselves, yet, He loves us too much to let our sin overtake the shore. He won’t let go, no matter what.  When we stop, and see His beauty, we see a life that is full of depth and beauty.  In his protective boundaries, there is a beauty that we cannot create. When the waves reach the shore, the power becomes peace. There is calm. He carries us.”

I heard myself again, in those first words. That is how I knew that it was the me before the storm.  Someone with the hope that I have again.

I am so thankful that God did not let go, and that He allowed this journal to show me who I was before, and how much I relied on Him.

I know there is much more to learn, and that the lessons are endless.

I’m thankful for a God who I can trust, and for the hard lessons that I’ve learned so far.

I’m ready to trust Him again.  To accept His answers, and not expect them to match my own.

I know His embrace is much more valuable than anything this world has to offer.

I never want to experience letting go again.

Life is so scary without the creator of the waves to carry me to the calm shore.

Life without God is Life without peace.

Superhero costumes, always worn with a pair of red rubber boots, were his daily outfits from age 2 through age 8.

He sought adventure constantly, always pretending we were all in danger so he could save us!

He stopped wearing the costumes, but he never stopped seeking adventure.

As the years flew by, it seemed like life did not intrigue him and he sought something more exciting.

He struggled to choose his future path when faced with that decision in high school, until…

He became the hero once again.

The costumes were put away when they no longer fit, but the one he wears now carries honor.

It was earned, and its value will continue to increase as the years carry on.

His early childhood goal of saving us has become his reality, and he is willing to give his life to do so.

I didn’t know then, how much that cape meant to him… now I see that the superhero “spark” became what defines him.

Son. Soldier. Super Hero.

We were singing, dancing, and experiencing excitement this morning.  We heard a story about a shepherd in the field who saw an angel, and followed a star to where a baby was born.

The man who was telling the story asked a group of 3 year olds, “who was the baby that the shepherd was talking about?”

These boisterous children yelled, “JESUS!”

The man asked, “who is JESUS? And why is his birth such a big deal?”

One little girl, with big blue eyes, and wisdom beyond herself exclaimed, “Because Jesus is God’s son!!!”

I wish I could’ve captured the excitement in that room today.  It was such a vivid picture of “the faith of a child,” that Jesus spoke about.  It was breathtaking, and beautiful.

These children understand the message clearer than most adults do! Including me!

They realize the “big deal” that the baby’s birth is.

Their excitement is contagious.

Words are not giving the experience the attention it deserves.

The children have memorized John 3:16, pointing up to the sky when they say, “For God,” and then they wrap their little arms around themselves to say, “loved the world so much,” and then they extend their little arms out, palms up to say, “that he gave His only Son.”

I love spending time with these children. Their unexpected, random hugs melt my heart, and fill it at the same time.

Their trust, even though we’ve just met for the first time, is amazing, and not taken for granted.  I’m honored.   They welcome me into their worlds for an hour.  It is quite an honor to be a part of.

One little, girl, with big brown eyes, curly hair, and a bright smile, looked right into my eyes, and then at her mom, and said, “I can’t wait to come back next week.  I really like it here!” (and it was her first time there).

Such an honor to be part of it all.

The faith of a child is beautiful.  It seems like they’re so close to Him.  I believe that it might be the fruit of their innocent faith.  They know God in a way that we forget.  They believe that He will do everything He has told us He will.

“The Kingdom of God belongs to the children. Truly I say to you, whoever does not receive the Kingdom of God like a child will not enter it at all.” (Mark 10:14-15)

My gifts aren’t under the tree this year.  They’re right in front of me.

Right choices (finally), genuine smiles, cherished moments, tears, the breathe of life that is no longer taken for granted.

The struggles that reap endurance, the pain that sees a rainbow.

A spark received from giving that ignites an excitement that spreads joy.

Help that is given, and received with gratitude, that results in unexpected success at school. “Mom, we won!”

Graduation from something that tested one to the core.  Walking proud, with honor.  Being proud of such a great accomplishment.  Letting go of the man he has become.  Watching him soar.

Trust given, confiding in and leaning on each other. Family.

Friends, a.k.a. “my squad,” (according to my daughter) who have pulled me forward even when my heels were digging into the mud.  Friends who know I’m stubborn, and love me anyway.

This year, my eyes are open.  My mind is clear.  I am standing tall. I am holding on.

Watching my children grow older, and realizing how much they love me.  Each one in their own unique way.  Being able to discuss the big questions about life with them.  Seeing their strengths develop.  Hoping they will believe in themselves as much as I believe in them.

This moment, as I watch my children put ornaments on the tree, I love that they are asking when we received each one.  I love being present with them.

“How old were you when you made this one with Grandma?”

“Remember when Grandma came to the school to have lunch with me every day?”

“I made this one with that babysitter who ran down the street trying to catch me when I tried to run away from her.”

“How do you remember so much about these ornaments?”

“We should start buying some ornaments for our brother, so he can accumulate, remember, and cherish them like this someday.”

This year, I have a greater appreciation for the gifts that are right in front of me.

This year, I realize that no matter what we buy, no matter how beautiful the wrapping, the item inside doesn’t compare to the gifts that can’t be wrapped.

The gifts this year are priceless, and held within our hearts.

I missed out, on the life that I longed for, because I was in a hurry to live the life that I thought might pass me by.

I remember telling people that I just had to be married before I turned twenty five, or else… I’d turn into a pumpkin.

The lonely pumpkin left in the patch.

Seems ridiculous now.  Because it was!

I wish I could’ve taken that trip to the future, with Ebenezer Scrooge.  Some things I wouldn’t change, because they make me who I am today.  I would just tell the narrator to let those things stay, and weave the lesson into the story.

The main thing I would change, if I could, is my mindset.  My hurry.

I’ve always been in a hurry.  I’ve always wanted to experience the most of whatever it is that is happening.  I don’t want to miss something great by choosing to do something not as great.  So, I’ve placed pieces of myself (hardly ever being completely anywhere) in the places where I’ve felt were great.  Instead of being completely in one place, and experiencing it fully, I’ve hazardously bounced around like Tigger (but maybe not quite that jolly).

In my race to be married before the ripe old age of twenty five, I raced into something I didn’t completely think through.  I didn’t think about the masters degree I would never get, or the person I didn’t know well enough to know what the future would hold.  I didn’t think about how my kids would survive a me that didn’t think it through.  Ultimately, I didn’t think at all.  I just felt like I’d miss out if I didn’t just hurry.

If you’ve read this far, you might be asking yourself , “why is she writing about this AGAIN?”

Well, I’ll tell you…

Recently, I spent time with two people who fell in love in college.  The kind of love that lasts a lifetime.  The kind of love I wish I had, just once.

I’m not jealous though, not in an unhealthy way.  I am sincerely happy for them.  They deserve every ounce of love that pours out over, or pours out into, each other.  They have weathered the storms, and their love for each other has remained strong.

It was refreshing to see that there are people who still believe in the kind of love where your person makes you a better person.  The kind of love where two people can affect the world MORE together.

They have learned to grow in ways that the other person needed them to.  One saw that the hardships of life had the ability to take away a part of who the other once was, but still held on to the hope that it would come back someday.

The best part is that their love would be just as strong, even if that stolen part never returned, because that is just how strong this love is.

It grows with them, even when they change.  It increases in the tough times, and chooses not to decrease.  Ever.

After spending time with these two people, I have been inspired.  Again.

I wonder if God allowed me to spend time there to show me this lesson.  I wonder if He wanted me to see that He loves me this same way.  I wonder if He wanted me to see that through all of life’s ups and downs, and all of the times I pushed Him away, He still loves me.

I believe that He loves me just as much as He did the day He was creating me.  Some days it is nearly impossible to imagine a smile on His face, since He could see my whole life in that moment.  My hurried life.

I feel it though, that amazing love, when I am not in a hurry.

When I stop, sit quietly, and listen… I hear that immense love.

My heart fills up, and my peace returns.

Go slow.  Listen.  Think it through.

Just be who I was created to be – full of a love that is immeasurable.

An amazing love, that is not in a hurry.

Slowly, it never runs out.

One of my favorite conversations with my mom went something like this:

Mom: “I wish you would’ve listened to me.”

Me: “I know. Me too.”

Mom: “But you had to go through it to learn from it.”

Me: “I know.”

Mom: “I just wish you could’ve learned from it when you watched me go through it.”

Me: “I know. Me too.”

Here’s my favorite part:  We both smiled at each other, with loving eyes that held the stories that made us who we are today.

A message to my daughters: no matter what I say, you will do what I do.  I know this.  Yet, I stumble.  My feet, my hands, my mouth, my thoughts will choose the wrong path sometimes.

I always have, and always will, apologize.  You always have, and hopefully always will,   forgive.

I’ll never forget the day that my daughter begged me to change my mind.  She knew me better than I did.

My daughter saw things that I couldn’t see, because I was zooming past the red flags that were staring me in the face.  Eyes wide open, yet forced shut with ignorance.

I lost her trust that day.

Thankfully, the bad decision I made didn’t last very long.

A year later, we revisited the conversation my mother and I had previously…

My daughter: “I wish you would’ve listened to me.”

Me: “I know. Me too.”

My daughter: “But you had to go through it to learn from it.”

Me: “I know.”

My daughter: “I will listen to my future daughter if she ever begs me to change my mind.”

Me: “I hope so.”

Favorite part: the smile, with loving eyes that tell the stories of who we are today.

I met a child today who has Asperger’s Syndrome.  We had quite the conversation! We started our discussion about dinosaurs (their proper names, features, best attributes, which one was his favorite, and the many reasons why), we moved on to discuss people (who he felt helped him the most), and then he told me about God.  This young child told me that he knew God loves him, but that he is mad at God.  He didn’t want to tell me why, so we moved on to the next topic.

My name was “hey, come here” during our conversation, and I didn’t mind at all.  I was intrigued by his intellect, and rewarded with his interest in sharing this conversation.

Recently, I watched a show where one of the main characters also has Asperger’s Syndrome.  The show took me through the parent’s initial realization, chosen treatments, available programs, and endless challenges that they faced as a family.

In college, I was honored to work with children who were diagnosed with Autism. We worked on increasing social skills through imaginative play.  The children invited me into their world, every time we met, once they deemed me safe and worthy.

Closer to home, on a more personal level, I have a nephew who has Asperger’s Syndrome.  He is amazing.  I love his personality, his intellect, his ambition, and his unique outlook on life.  He builds virtual rollercoasters, detailed artwork, and worlds that only a chosen few may enter.  I have had the privilege of entering a few of these worlds, and I do not take the honor lightly.  He occasionally sends me inquisitive texts, asking me to replay information that he has previously provided.  Sometimes, I impress him by remembering the requested information.   If not, he is forgiving, and offers additional lessons.  Either way, I am honored, again, to be a part of his world for a moment.

This morning, my world was revived by the young boy I met.

While writing about the young boy I met, I was reminded of how much I loved my college internship experience.

I look forward to my nephew’s next “text quiz,” and invitation to the world that he is most likely in the middle of building.

We are all uniquely created.  Our differences make us the most beautiful patches in the loveliest quilt ever made – all sewn together to tell our story.