...moved...

I moved! I'm over at coffeecrazie.wordpress.com :) Visit me there!

Calling all parents to just say no...

...& 'yes' to judgement-free parenting!

Parenthood is not always easy and it is even more challenging when comparison and confusion whisper doubts regarding all the choices we make. I understand the impact our decisions can have on our children and that a certain level of concern is out of love for our kids!  But it can become immobilizing to live in shame and fear of the future. It keeps us from experiencing the goodness and beauty that also live in this season!

Whenever I wrestle with feelings of 'bad mom' guilt, I am ever so grateful to a God who reminds me of so many things...so many times. He often replaces the lies of failure with truth: "I made you and I made your child. I gave this child to you, and trust me, I would do it all over again." It is this gift He offers to me: to surrender and leave the decisions I make - in life and with my children - to Him!

So sometimes we will live in survival mode and sometimes we will enjoy the kodak moments. Sometimes we will hit bumps in the road and we will fall but I encourage you to not stay there. Let's get back up again and learn and figure this out together. I am ever so grateful to my grace filled community, for the encouragement they give and for the honest and open conversations we've had. Grateful for the freedom to choose and love on our families!

Here's to doing the best we can and asking God to make up the rest.

http://ctworkingmoms.com/campaign-for-judgement-free-motherhood/
Posted by CT Working Moms on Friday, October 30, 2015

where light and shadow join hands

There is a special hour in the autumn morning where the sun finds it's place to rest in it's celestial sphere. Light and shadow join hands, falling long and warm on the floor while the sounds of leaves and trees and birds and bees dance in the midst of them. All is calm.  I feel the eagerness of the inviting scene embrace every inch of my being as I deliberately and gently walk throughout each room, allowing the tender whimsy of the morning to weave and wrap about. My soul finds rest and relief in the warm embrace sooner than the eruption of life that inhabit these walls can come to existence. It offers but a few moments to capture my breath, to stand in awe of the silence and to wholly appreciate that each morning brings the beauty of life and the man of my dreams and children to love.  

These quiet moments are rare and they are short lived. They last but for a moment as each day is new.  Yet, I am grateful for them. I do not feel bitter for their passing because it awakens memories and brings to mind that though this day may bring fights and falls and cries and hurts we will also laugh and dance and sing and heal.  In our home we will create a world where we can bring our differences and experience wholeness, where we can bring our hurts and experience healing, where we can bring our shame and experience honor, and where we can bring our failures and experience acceptance, one that is certain and true.  I want to teach and live and believe that where there is hate and injustice and destruction, there can be celebration and reconciliation and restoration. It is there that hope has set its anchor. Trustworthy and sure.  This hope that we will experience together and extend to our family and our friends and our neighbors. Where light and shadow join hands. A place of belonging and of value and of joy and of love.

Where I met God

I recall a time when I was a different sort of woman, sitting alongside an abandoned part of a rocky beach, watching the quiet scene; a broken sort. Angry and confused and hurt. It was one of those moments where you know He exists but the weariness in your soul pulls you away from belief. I did not know what to do with Him. I refused to speak. It was hard to listen. I remember digging my toes under the sand and dust and gravel and dirt, feeling myself fall beneath the surface, immersing myself into pain, watching the chaos of the scene envelop my own.  The rippling waves crashing into rocks, bathing the coastline, splattering on shells. The only distractions were the occasional small stones I would flick out into the great expanse. Yet it was here in the quiet moments, in the darkness and brokenness, that I was able to once again hear God speak. I wouldn't open my Bible but He would penetrate through with words I had buried deep from our initial relationship. From the books of the Bible that displayed stories of broken relationships and of darkness, of healing and forgiveness. Words about the heavy hurts and insecurities I was carrying and how God was longing for me to allow Him to carry them for me. Truths about who He is, about my being someone He made and about the why and about how I was somehow special to Him. Loved even. About what He did to show me. Despite all the crazy I have seen and done, can one even imagine? It was there that hope began to sprout, where it glimmered and glowed in the darkness, where something inside became new. Sometimes I look back on that time in my life with mixed feelings; although it was truly low and difficult, it was still a turning point in my life. It was a change that I could not have done without. We must experience those moments of humility and I am eternally grateful for it. It was there that I met God.

unraveling reverie

I made a visit to the local bookstore few nights back, gathering quiet moments and hot sips of coffee between the click-clacking of keys from spilling thoughts hitting the screen and sacred spaces found with strangers. The sounds of middle-aged women with their game pieces hitting a table and of teenage giggles flittering on about a boy offered an amusing soundtrack. Without looking up, we shared a bond between these unadulterated moments, and minus the eye contact or corresponding nod, we acknowledged the worlds we were from, are in and will soon return to as foreign and yet suspiciously familial.

I smiled as I looked down at my journal and laptop and coffee and books and though I had spread them out with such abandon, they appeared interlaced with a inexplicable united friendship. I felt light and grateful and secure and whole and all those things I long to feel more often than not and I found my thoughts were unraveling themselves to mirror the gloriously messy display placed so wittingly before me. 

I picked up my pen and felt warm. I was eager to write again.

morning muse

The sounds of chaos meet the maddening silence in a clumsy reunion. There is a chill in the air. Breathing out a sigh that goes deeper than the bond between mother and child, the resulting steam swirls up, it's tendrils groping the air with freedom and wanderlust. The kitchen is the birthplace of this morning religion and the comfort that fills my warm cup will soon find its way to my heart, burrowing beneath the layers of chill and bone, circling outward until it has met its purpose. The sun looks down with a familiar grin, winking at the lazy routine. Every morning starts off with the same hesitation, the same timidity as though meeting a lover for the first time, uncertain of what is to come. Seeking the comfort of what was known and yet drawn forward all the same. It is accepting the madness that will transform the shy child inside, as if you know the world will only continue to revolve if you move forward with it. If you accept that what the day brings will inevitably become part of the story. So you choose to oblige with eyes closed and full acceptance until the morning smiles a new chapter to existence and you whisper grateful words to the one who anchors your soul. 

...and you are ready to start the day.

Taking a Time Out

 - - From 2013 - -


So October has started and it is well on it's way, and we are still in the middle of renovations. Rooms are coming together and they look fab, but it's just exhausting not really being "at home" in your own home.

Sooo. Here we are.

As you may have noticed, I have been offline for a while already. It just hasn't been very easy to find a few moments to write in between the kids and managing our home with contractors and workers parading in and around the house.  Although there are thoughts upon thoughts coupled with the eclectic musings dancing within the confines of my ruminating head.

So here I am officially letting you know that I just going to take a brief "time out" from my blog until further notice. Perhaps until the time my home is back in order, or perhaps even a bit sooner - but at least when I feel like I am able (and willing) to do so again.

Hopefully not for too long. I love writing on here.

Like Notes on a Page of Music

There is something beautiful about a billion stars

held steady by a God who knows what He is doing.

They hang there, the stars, like notes on a page

of music, free-form verse, silent mysteries swirling in the

blue like jazz.

And as I lay there, it occurred to me that God is up there

somewhere. Of course, I had always known He was,

but this time I felt it. I realized it.

The way a person realizes they are hungry or thirsty.

The knowledge of God seeped out of my brain

and into my heart.

I imagined Him looking down on this earth, half angry

because His beloved mankind had cheated on Him,

had committed adultery, and yet

hopelessly in love with her, drunk with

love for her."

- Donald Miller. Blue Like Jazz.

Goodbye Summer...

So remember that list of summertime tasks I told you about? Well here's the update and also why I haven't been around the entire month of August:

not our actual blueprint

We are renovating our house! 

It all happened kinda fast.  We had a few quotes, and a discouraging report after another until we finally got someone in to help us out.

Thus we packed up and moved out. That was over three weeks ago.

So now here we are. We travel here and there, from one friend's home, to another. To a parent's place and back.  The month of August had us live like vagabonds but we pray daily to be back in our own home again.

But in the middle of our comparably 'homeless' situation, we have been reminded of the blessings in our life. Like friends and family that would take us in (and I mean, all four of us crazies) and provide in oh the so many, many ways - big and small.  It's been so touching.

We are so grateful.

Also, like with any renovation story I have heard (or witnessed) there are those expectations, timelines, and promises… all not happening as planned.  On top of all that, it really is quite a task to lug your home in your car from one place to another along with two toddlers who don't quite understand why we are not in our own house.  But even through all the crazy that is happening, it is hard to stay upset about timelines and unkept promises when we experience peace in the middle of it all.  Can't help but be reminded of an extraordinary God who made a promise to be with us and he has yet to break it.

Good looking out Big Guy!

We are truly grateful.  As far as the work being done: we learn to put our foot down when we need to and thank God for the provision in the meantime. Hopefully I can post an update about our return sooner than later!

had to just post a pic of my tj. he really is cute, even though he truly is a troublemaker.

Sweetly quiet.

The boys are out with their grandparents, and I am left alone, cuddled on a firm, but soft, dark, leather couch in their home. My hands are in love; tightly holding on to their warm mug of chai tea. Swirls of steam rise and the strands of comfort wrap themselves around my arms, making their way to the tips of my toes.

The sounds of squawking birds grab my attention and I watch as they make every attempt to escape the incoming storm. They fly off. I am left alone again. I close my eyes and sink deeper into the couch, releasing myself from high-functioning expectations, and instead coaxing them to enjoy the moment.  Just let yourself be.

There aren't any obnoxious voices ricocheting off the walls. No pitter patter of teeny-tiny feet. Listen to the lovely absence of relentless chatter. Did you notice the damaging thuds from incessant, acrobatic stunts have ceased?

The silence is sweet. 

Sip. Ahhhhh…

It's just me, my cup and an ignorant ceiling fan left whirling away.

Ordinary Greatness

Sighing, the light air chases the whispy strands of hair that have been dancing around her face. She leans over her little one, one arm restraining him from twisting and turning, the other flying back and forth, wiping and folding, preparing to cover him back up.  His "no, no, no's" finally morph into the screams she is much more familiar with, and he whips his body around.  Those little legs, kicking. Those arms, punching the air.

Exasperated, she leans back, resting on the heels of her feet. Why is this such a battle? Who knew a fresh diaper would cause such strife?  She allows the back of her hand to wipe the front of her brow, and pushes back her falling hair.  Sigh.  She's spent. Exhausted.  It's the end of the day, she realizes. She just wants to give in.

She strains her neck, searching for her other half and gathers up the items covering the floor to hand over.  Enter scene: her eldest son.  The inquisitive three-year old looks quizzically at his tantrum-throwing brother on the floor, and then rests his eyes on her.  He is holding a shiny, new gadget. Looks like a book light. Oh yes, most likely the one she had tucked away, hidden in a drawer, probably from her night stand.

She hears her husband, and returns to relinquish her noble duties.  She has it all nearly bundled together and barely misses the growing light beside her; a brilliant star shining against the black of the night.  The boy, under no obligation but his own, kneels down next to his little brother and offers him a chance at the shiny, metallic prize.  The littlest hands reach it and just as immediately as the chaos began, the calm returns.  Exhale.

Pausing the task at hand, she glances up to soak in his innocent, beautiful face. "Aw Cj, that was so nice. You are one, good, big brother! Thank you."  His dad, kneels down, places his hands on his small shoulders and looks him square in the eye, "You. Are amazing." The toddler looks over at his parents, obviously unaware of his act of altruism until that moment. He starts, "well he just…" His tiny voice fades and he reaches up, his arms extending towards both mom and dad.  Completely overcome by the unexpected reaction from his parents, the sweet little voice returns,

"I love you guys soooo much."

I wanted to capture an everyday moment that occurred earlier this evening… written for this week's writing prompt: Falling at Studio 30+

Sparta! The debriefing.

WE. ARE. SPARTA!

The scorching heat greeted us as we stepped out of the car at the Blue Mountain Ski Resort in Palmerton, Pennsylvania to stretch our legs and rub our necks.  The blazing sun took but a moment to hide and we embraced the opportunity to glance up at the goliath looming overhead. We gazed at it in awe before our mouths slowly dropped in disbelief. The face of the mountain looked at us with a sneaky grin and I could almost see it snarl and laugh mercilessly as each of us took a step forward, towards our impending doom.  We came to the realization that the minuscule beings crawling at the top were actually members of our own human race.  They were participating in the very same run we were about to embark on.

THE FIRST MILE.

…"the Pennsylvania [Spartan] Sprint has long been regarded and argued as being the hardest Sprint on the circuit, something all too evident as many racers new to the Spartan Race series were to discover…"

Gulp. Wasn't that the truth.  For me,  the hardest part was the very first mile.  The clouds covered most of the sky while we prepped for the race, but the sun thought it best to peek its face right when we began.  I started to get dizzy as we started up the incline {even though I drank more water than usual and even downed a bottle of gatorade prior to our start time}. Honestly though, I think I was just not ready for that uphill battle; crawling up the rocky surface. Trying to race straight up a mountain - a ski mountain for that matter - and then through steep forest terrain was not a easy feat. There weren't many paved roads on this course. The direct heat added to our dehydration and to my weakening body.

After that initial climb, and consequently inhaling a jug at the water aid station, I was able to find a rhythm. I was determined to keep it. It was hard. There was a lot more mountain to climb {and I'm talking at a 45 degree angle} and then some more WITH a 35+ pound sandbag.  Oh yah, that's right, scaling a cliff with added weight. Thanks for that. Oh and wait, "some more" just doesn't quite capture the length of that incline. I remember looking up and gasping, "um guys, I don't see an end to this thing... how far are we supposed to go up?!! Ohgod, we are going to die … no one is going to find us." 

I felt like we were being forced to trek on, if we wanted to live, with no end in sight.

Literally.

THERE IS BEAUTY.

But there were a few sweet spots found smack dab in the middle of this suffering too.  To take those we-are-gonna-die-right-here-right-now-and-no-one-will-ever-find-us moments, and then turn them around to see the God-created beauty at our fingertips, well it was amazing. I remember throwing my sandbag down halfway up that mountain and muttering "I'm just ...going to ...sit …now."

I did. I turned around and saw all these other spartan racers clawing their way uphill and I cheered them on. I told them they were beasts. I was proud of them. I was proud of us. I was proud of me. This piece of the race was probably the hardest part for me, but it was also where I was able to just sit for about 80 seconds. I just absorbed the breathtaking picture of the sky, the rolling hills and the trees below and thought this is grand-spanking-gorgeous.

 .  .  .

How does that happen? Even in the midst of difficulty, of pain and brokenness, are we wired to still experience beauty, a sweetness of sorts; goodness? Even if it's but for a moment?

 .  .  .

Well, the rest of the climb was still brutal. I remember finally reaching the top {it was a miracle!} and wondering if labor was as difficult as scaling that massive rock.

In that moment, I honestly couldn't remember.

WE FINISHED THE RACE.

After a few more hazardous, upward challenges, we started the trek downhill. It was less tenuous but still extremely steep. I slid a few times. Almost twisted a leg. I got through most of the obstacles, which included {but were not limited to} crawling under barbed wire, swimming in a mud-filled lake, and scaling several walls.  Also, I absolutely owe the Spartan Race kings more burpees than I would like to admit.

It's hard to describe the powerful feeling that came over me when I threw my legs over the final 10 foot wall and fell to the earth below. I could see the finish line ahead. It was glorious. I felt warm all over {or perhaps that was from the pounding sun and the mud baking into my skin}.  The five of us just ran into each other's arms and held on for a good long few moments before we tackled our final obstacle together. We broke out into a full sprint for the last few feet and leapt over the burning rocks. After 4 point some miles of crazie {it felt like 15!} and three hours of moving non-stop; after all of that, it was such a savoring feeling to finish. To conquer.

We were a team and we had completed this mission together, through the sweat and tears and bruises. It was awesome.

MY REASON FOR RACING.

When I first signed up, I had a whole bucket full list of reasons for doing so.  A lot of people asked me why I would do something so ridiculous, so extreme.  Was I trying to prove something? Perhaps. I mean, not so much for fame and glory.  Not in the way I would have once done so.

I had mentioned in a previous post about having re-visited some parts of my past and it has been a long and painful journey.  I have wanted to quit at times, but like this race, I am part of a team, and we inspire each other to move forward, to dig deep, to push on.

Getting to the end of such a brutal race was hugely empowering for me. To see how I could set my mind to something, how I could push past the pain when it hurt the most, how I could dig deeper when I didn't have any energy left, and how I could pray when I had no breath. I could continue.  I was encouraged to see that through the dirt and the pain, there is hope. There is freedom.  It gives me assurance for the here and now, that I will one day stand up and throw my hands in the air and look back at all the mountains, the beatings, the obstacles - the crap - that I had to go through, and shout a victorious roar. I will see the finish line. I will see an end.

It will be epic.

Freedom is real. We can dream big. There is an end even when we can't see it. There is hope to cross the finish line.

I feel stronger today than I did the day before.  I certainly don't owe it all to the spartan race, but I am definitely glad I ran it and that I gave it all I got.

Cookies and crumbs

I was talking to some friends the other day and I shared how becoming a mother of 2 {boys especially} has grown me into a mom less obsessed with first impressions and more engaged with patience and real connection.

I mean, let's be honest, most of us who are parents will admit that before having our precious little ones, we had envisioned these ridiculously unrealistic snapshots of our future with children.

They would follow all the rules. They wouldn't argue back. They would eat food that was deemed appropriate for mealtimes. They would eat all of said food.  Candy and cake would never be consumed. They would sit at the table like good little boys and girls and not run around in circles, and scream in each other's faces and climb on furniture.

They would go to sleep when it was their bedtime. They would play nice with everyone and share with their friends. They would figure out how to use the potty on their own and learn their A, B, C's and 1, 2, 3's and geometry all too quickly.

They would never spill anything on the couches, or carpets, or on every surface imaginable. They wouldn't think of walking around the house eating junk food. Toys would go back right where they belonged after being played with. They would make their own beds. The clean up song would be sung with eagerness and joy as they moved from putting toys away to perhaps tidying and wiping down the rest of the house.

They would never hurt each other. If they did {accidentally, obviously}, they would take the initiative, give themselves a time out and offer an honest apology, with perhaps a plea for forgiveness.

Okay, so maybe a few of these are more than a dream away.

Either way, I'm less and less interested in displaying my children as showpieces and more interested in allowing them to learn and grow at their own pace, & in a fun, safe and trusted environment.

I'm finding out that this involves a few learning points for me in the meantime. 

1. It means that it sometimes isn't about me and it IS about them. 

2. It means that it's okay to be okay with the "messy" {even if everyone around you looks at you and your kids with eyebrows raised} and to patiently teach my kids as they learn at their own pace.

3. It means replacing those polished doorknobs and sparkling floors sometimes with spots and stains; the granola and veggies with cookies and crumbs.

I know it's a process and I'm still learning, but I hope I'm getting it.

Shmorgishborg

So I'm averaging about five posts a month. I think I need to maybe make a resolution to get at least 10 posts or so out there to be considered a blogger. I duno. Honestly, at the end of the day, I'm really okay with whatever and however it turns out, but sometimes I feel like if I don't keep up, it defines my reliability or credibility or something.

Excuses, excuses.
Anyway, aside from that, I have been dealing with and working through some things & stuff over the last several weeks, much of which involves processing through some broken, past, childhood ...and adult ...experiences. I think I properly excused myself over the last few months to process it all offline in a safe community {love you guys!!} rather than gushing it all on here.  For now, it's probably better this way, trust me.

Summertime!
In the meantime, our family of four has been embracing the summer as best as we can. Albeit it’s been chock full of crazie at times, there are definitely some moments that have been sweet and savory.  I mean, honestly it is no different than any other season, except that I am sporting a deeper tan than I have ever been able to in a while.  Good times.

The Home Office
J and I are finally tackling our home office and it is starting to take shape (J is probably more excited than me; he's been looking forward to a fully functional home office for quite some time). I like getting my hands dirty at home and I enjoy that delicious feeling of productivity and accomplishment at the end of a hard working day. Engaging in this activity together is simply icing on the cake.

Backyard 
We have some wasps invading our backyard space, so I'm waiting for the exterminator (or 'terminator' as Cj refers to them) to come in and do what they do. I hope to play a little back there, with the boys of course, but more so with function and design.  I have been lusting over some oasis-like-backyards and coveting my own. I will receive an immense amount of satisfaction once my herbs getting planted. Yes, yes, I understand the summer is half over. I still want to plant them.

Cj
Ahh, my loving 3 year old (going on 12) is at a darling stage with his "excuse me?"'s and "may I go potty?" {Yes, the potty.  It's happened!  I know, I'm excited about it too.} Anyway, I can't help but chuckle or just stop and stare at him sometimes. I often wonder how long it will last and grieve a bit if I start to dwell on a future that has yet to happen. Sometimes it takes me a while before I can shake it off and figure out ways to treasure the now.

Tj
Finally making his place in the world and piecing together some words, or maybe phrases… or really at the very least just use one or two in context like “paaish” (please) and “taa-shu” (thank you). "Nooo" is always readily accessible and “ahh whaa daaiiee” (I want daddy) is his favorite, especially when he sees me greet him in the morning.  Thanks son. I appreciate the love.

The most recent episode involved this little guy somehow taking down a gallon of extra virgin olive oil (it wasn't full) and then proceeding to pour it all over himself and the carpet while I was in the kitchen cooking.
.:: Sigh::.  I think I just have to expect this kind of crazie with two toddler boys.  When I finally found him and all the evidence on and surrounding him, I honestly wasn’t even shocked. I pretty much said “yup, thaaat’s about right” and just got straight to cleaning.  I had to take a picture; he was just down right proud with himself (and that dimple is so darn charming).

Shows how far I’ve come from cherishing a spic and span house to embracing the spots and stains.

Okay probably not embracing it, per se. Learning to live with and accept (for now) is a better way of putting it.

Wordfilled Wednesday

I had to post this because Cj always tells his dad on his way out for work in the morning to be sure to catch the bad guys. { I may have at one time told him that his dad was a superhero during the day, I duno, I'm not sure =P  }.

Anyway, this is EXACTLY what Cj is thinking when his dad leaves for work in the morning. I'm certain of it.

Pew…Pew, I got you!

Growing up, I wasn't really into 'girlie' things. I had a doll or two, and liked art and reading but I was more into climbing trees, chasing "the bad guys" with my brother or riding my bike down this steep, narrow path in the woods behind our house to show up the neighborhood kids at not falling off.

I usually fell. Okay, I always did.

Now, here I am, a mom of two toddler boys who are constantly jumping, running and chasing (usually me). Especially since Cj is really into superheroes, our days are now filled with capes and mayhem.  Tj just likes all the pew-pewing that goes on.  Honestly, it IS fun, but just for about two minutes.  Then I'm reminded of my once-upon-a-time rough and tumble childhood and am made very much aware that I grew out of that phase a long time ago.  I start looking for an inhaler that I do not own and start dreaming of a quiet hammock with a glass of wine and a good book to read.

To be honest though, I really do enjoy the time with them because there is something relational happening when I get to engage with them during active play. Its sweet, and organic and fun.  But at times I really just want to sit back and watch the two of them go at it. Also through all of this, I realized that I am much more interested in creating a scenario, whereas they are just caught up in the "I got you" part of it.

Oh, and the chasing…and the running…and the beating me down.

Wait, I already told you they like the "Gotcha" part.
Sigh.  Boys.

Well, it's good cardio, I'll tell you that much.

I foresee a super-hero filled summer.

Starring Role of a Small Life

What explanation is there except that she felt obligated to hide behind the plastic smile and not mess up the Sandra Dee costume she so proudly wore.  In doing so, all of her failures were kept secret.

It wasn't anyone's business anyway.

Eventually those secrets and compromises became so comfortable to be around, she wore them like her favorite pair of blue jeans. If she drank too much, flirted or messed around, she was discreet and no one was the wiser.

She ignored the voice that constantly nudged her to stop. She wrestled with it a bit, and perhaps a bit too aggressively. She was enslaved to the thrill.  However, the countdown to confession was just beginning. The hushed lifestyle was starting to get too heavy, too messy, and far too big to hide.  She tried to push it back, but the deceit just bulged through somewhere else. It was only a matter of time before the swell would break.

Then the inevitable happened. The bubble burst and the sins, the scandal, the comfortable compromises that were protected and held onto so tightly for so long finally spilled out.  All those secrets that were stashed away in the darkest corners of her deepest closets were suddenly laid bare, item by item, on the largest billboards of the busiest highways for the entire world to see.

What could she say?  Everyone saw her plainly. Everyone could see she wasn't who they thought she was. Her family, her friends...

...her husband.

She wasn't who she had claimed to be.

. . .

Once upon a time there was a girl who was graceful and charming, playful and unique.  She was someone everyone wanted to be or wanted to be with.  Her reputation flourished and her pride grew with it, where sex and alcohol and glory were much more alluring, where she was convinced she was something she wasn't, where in her heart she felt empty and alone.

Yes, she was a star. Except, she played the leading role of an incredibly, insignificant and small life.

...written for this week's writing prompt : Swell and Unique at studio 30+

Wordless Wednesday

'smile travie'

'roaaaarrrrr'

too. cool.

love my tj =)

my handsome guys

we are family ...

Rain Therapy

Ahh…the sound of rain. Right now, the kids are asleep, the house is quiet, the sun has finally gone down for the night, and a sweet breeze is kissing my face.  The window is propped up and there are those oh so beautiful sounds streaming in: the whispering wind, the pitter patter of water droplets, the approaching cars sloshing through our road.

Sloshing. What a strange word.
I think I like saying it more than anything else. Sloshing.
Sloshhh.ing.


Okay it's out of my system. Just ignore all of that.

Sooo, yes I know I've mentioned before how much I adore the rain. Thunderstorms more specifically.  I find it to be almost therapeutic. Some of you know what I am talking about.

It can be a beautiful experience.

I know, I know, the rain can be a pain at times. It's not always fun to get through (J and I should know. We have lost more cars in the 'watch-for-flooding-spots' - where apparently we weren't, I guess, watching), it can be a bit inconvenient (especially if you just had your hair straightened. i'm serious.), uncomfortable (you try walking through wet grass in high heels) and chaotic at times (let's face it, no one seems to know how to drive in the rain).

But it offers something new. From bleak skies to beauty all around.
A clean slate. A fresh start.

An opportunity to grow.

Something about it reminds me that restoration doesn't just come without some pain or effort, even hurt. It can be miserable and uncomfortable and inconvenient and chaotic….but when we get through to the other side, sometimes we can look back and knowingly smile at the process. It's when we are in the midst of it, that it's hard.

It IS hard. It's okay to feel that.
To say that.

Not everything is easy peasy.

But then I like to be reminded of what redemption looks like and how beautiful it is when we realize where we are going and how the journey is a big part of us getting there.

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Wordfilled Wednesdays