One of those days

Open-minded will never be enough. Open-hearted is the end-game, but it’s scary as hell. Vulnerable, unprotected, no guarantees my bones will knit back together to protect me from pain.

On Juggling

Whenever Jayci joins me as a helper in the baby room at church, her favorite trick is showing the little ones how she can “juggle.” She holds two balls, one in each hand. She throws one up and catches it, then the next. Eventually, she speeds up the process just a little, but never enough to qualify as anything resembling real juggling. I understand this style of juggling, it is how I feel basically all the time. Things need to be a little slower, and there should be fewer balls, in order for me to juggle them successfully. 

Pepper

Thankfully, my parents eventually relented and bought me a loyal friend in a hyper yellow labrador puppy. Pepper was not well-trained and only stopped barking at night when my dad would throw on his fuzzy robe and march outside with a cup of water to throw across her brow.

Memory Holes

I’m pretty sure my memory is as airtight as a colander, perhaps the faded plastic wedding gift from nearly 12 years ago. Last week, We finally threw it away, it had been cracked across the handle for months.

The Trouble with Writing

The trouble with writing every single day is that sometimes I have nothing to say. I suppose this is not strictly true, because I have plenty rolling around in my head and heart. The problem is that not all stories are mine to tell. This is the lesson I’ve learned (and keep learning) the hard way.

Body Talk

Of course this conversation matters, because everyone is having it. Whether or not we use our words, we all declare the relative value of a body by the magazines we read, the accounts we follow, the insistent beep she can hear from her bed every time I step on the scale.

Morning Lattes

I am not a morning person. Occasionally, rarely, the stars and my alarm align and I am able to slip from my warm bed before anyone else. I do love the hush of the morning on these days, when the quiet envelops the house and I am alone but not.

Becoming

I have been thinking about all the things that help us become who we are. The pieces of our lives that we hold on to, and the things we are forced to let go. The ashes scattered in our side yard, and the children who teach us about surrender. . .