tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-85155461981389155402024-03-05T16:18:04.730-08:00Such is Life...yet we just keep on keepin' on...Jessiehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12758670327672101322noreply@blogger.comBlogger47125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8515546198138915540.post-66745709311029389962017-01-14T18:55:00.001-08:002017-01-14T18:56:18.138-08:00The Black BarrelSometimes, for no real fault of our own, we find ourselves stuck in a barrel. <br />
We look up, see the light, and think "Yeah, I can get back out, I just need to figure out how to climb."<br />
<br />
Next, we look around. "Oh, that's right" we think. "I don't know how to climb. And, I also have nothing to climb with. And, also I can't climb a straight solid wall." <br />
We stand at the bottom of that barrel, suddenly realizing we don't have a way out. <br />
<br />
We look up, and remember what the light felt like on our skin, but we can't feel it. We just hold the memory of it. We can see the sun, and the blue sky, and the clouds. We also watch the seasons change, and know when the temperature rises and falls. Yet, there we are. In the barrel. A little barrel with a dirt bottom, watching life move by us, wondering what it means to actively participate in it again.<br />
<br />
Sometimes we sit down in the barrel, and start playing with the dirt. We pick up rocks, and throw them at the sides, thinking maybe we can break through that way. Other times we just lay on the dirt, and stare upwards. Watching. Wondering. Waiting.<br />
<br />
The hardest days are the days we face plant in the dirt. Our face buries in it, and the dirt changes from dirt to mud as it soaks up the tears we can't stop. Sometimes we understand the tears. Other times they have no meaning. Maybe something happened outside the barrel, and we can sense it, but we don't understand it. Life is happening all around us, but we are removed from it. The barrel is both our prison guard, and our protector. Sometimes we think, "Maybe it's better in the barrel."<br />
Then we wonder if anyone realizes we are in there.<br />
<br />
Living with any kind of mental illness is like living in a little black barrel. It's isolating. It's terrifying, and every avenue to freedom literally looks and feels like a solid, straight wall.<br />
If you're in a barrel? Just breathe. Sometimes it takes awhile for someone to throw a rope. Sometimes, the rope is already waiting and it takes some time to see it. <br />
Just as it takes time for eyes to adjust to the dark, so must they readjust to the light. <br />
Try to live as much as you can in the mean time.<br />
<br />
Even if you're just observing, you won't be in the barrel forever. <br />
I know.<br />
<br />
I've been there.<br />
<br />
So when your barrel feels like the only friend you've ever known, look to your side. <br />
I'll lay down with you in the dirt until you can see the rope.<br />
<br />
And we will both climb out when you're ready.<br />
<br />
Jessiehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12758670327672101322noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8515546198138915540.post-24778584134731520442016-07-06T13:47:00.002-07:002016-07-06T14:04:36.255-07:00Breathe AlreadyHello world.<br />
Guess what?<br />
<br />
I'm tired of you.<br />
<br />
For real, though. You're irritating. You're a downer. You're negative SO much of the time, I just can't seem to show you that your entire life (literally) actually REVOLVES around the sun. Yeah, the sun. The brightest thing in this universe, you revolve around it. Granted, one part of you remains in the dark, while another sees the light, but as a whole? <br />
You are always in the light.<br />
<br />
That's right I said it. As a whole, the light is always shining on you. The dual nature of your existence means you can't always see it, or feel it, but it's always there. So just let it be, will you? When you feel that sun, really feel it. Soak it in for all it is worth. Then when the darkness comes, remember what the light feels like. Why? Because life is cyclical, and you will be in the dark as often as you are in the light. <br />
That's why.<br />
<br />
So world, listen here. Stop criticizing. Stop looking at all those other planets, and wishing you had what they have. You don't need to be like them.<br />
You know what you have that they don't?<br />
Life.<br />
<br />
You have life.<br />
Existence.<br />
Being.<br />
<br />
So breathe it in. Remember that existence, will you? Remember that although you may not be the closest thing to the sun, you can still see it. It's still there, shining on you. Remember that your existence is yours to claim. You are a part of this universe too. <br />
<br />
You just listen, world. Calm down, already. Those earthquakes you feel inside? Those torrential downpours, and floods that threaten to drown you? Even the desert winds, with their merciless heat. <br />
It's all a part of you.<br />
It gives you life.<br />
<br />
So breathe it in world. Look to the stars when the light of the sun sets on you.<br />
Remember the beauty of your existence.<br />
Not the criticism.<br />
Not the judgement.<br />
Don't you let those other planets tell you how to be, or why.<br />
They didn't make you.<br />
<br />
You just be.<br />
And I mean, really.<br />
Just be.<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />Jessiehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12758670327672101322noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8515546198138915540.post-82876186594637292942016-05-10T10:24:00.001-07:002016-05-10T10:30:04.233-07:00I'm the Wheat; I'm the TareI have been wrestling with this for the last eight months. What to say. Do I say anything? Does it matter? Why does it matter, and who does it matter to?<br />
Those answers vary. <br />
The biggest thing is that I never wanted to hurt anyone. I've kept silent because of this. People are hurt when they hear what I am about to say. The reasons vary, and the emotions jump from sadness, or anger, to confusion and inner conflict. The sadness and anger and confusion have their reasons. It's a cultural thing. It's a spiritual thing. Above everything, the biggest question people ask?<br />
"Why." <br />
The answer to that cannot be contained in one little blog post.<br />
<br />
I guess the question I will answer is "why now?" Why now. Why now, well, because there are so many people out there that just need someone else to talk to. There are so many people out there that need to discuss things, and work things out. But they are afraid to.<br />
Why are they afraid to?<br />
Because there's these "camps." The sides.<br />
Us vs them.<br />
Us vs them.<br />
<br />
So, here it is. I'm no longer a modern Mormon. I've left the LDS church as it stands today. I would say I'm no longer Mormon, but it's deeper than that. History would say I'm an "1830" Mormon.<br />
Confused? We can talk about that later.<br />
Because before you stop reading, or you move to lynch my character, please wait. <br />
Read on.<br />
Please.<br />
<br />
Everyone travels a road. A road that leads them to a truth in God they desperately need in their life. Some argue that this truth is in Mormonism. Some argue it's out of it. I'm in the middle of those arguments. Mormonism has some truth; so does everything else in the world. I've heard all kinds of things about the "wheat and the tares" lately. Us vs them. According to Mormons, I'm the tare. I'm deceived, and broken. According to other religions, I'm the wheat. I'm enlightened and whole.<br />
According to me? <br />
According to me I will simply declare as the publican does in Luke, <br />
"God be merciful to me, a sinner."<br />
<br />
Why now, well because I am so tired of the us vs them. I am so tired of the "yea here" and "lo there" of what is truth. God is truth. God is light.<br />
<br />
Now I recognize by putting this out there I am opening a door. A door for judgment, or ridicule. A door for the whispers in corners. But I've stood behind the door for too long. I need to open it. I need to live, to go outside. And with opening this door, I hope others will open their doors. I hope that by opening my heart, others will do the same. I hope that the accusations of who is this, or that, will end, and we can simply share in all our stories, and be a part of each others souls. <br />
<br />
In the end we are all human. In the end, we are all in this together. <br />
And in the end?<br />
In the end God will decide who I was, and who I am.<br />
<br />
I leave that to Him. <br />
<br />
Jessiehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12758670327672101322noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8515546198138915540.post-59845161813560090252016-03-17T14:47:00.000-07:002016-03-17T14:53:13.318-07:00The LabelEveryone has a different title. Something they label themselves as. Some self label with "single, and waiting for life, and maybe marriage." Others as "married, and waiting for life, maybe kids." Still, even more, might label themselves with "career oriented, family, life is good" or "no family, love life, job is fabulous, not waiting for anything."<br />
I have a title. It's called "married, life happened, waiting for who knows what."<br />
<br />
The "who knows what" changes almost daily. Sometimes the "waiting for" portion of the phrase gets omitted all together. Why am I writing today? Well, because "who knows what" became a whole lot of "what the" in the span of about two months. <br />
<br />
But right now? This very moment? <br />
I just want one thing.<br />
To be alone.<br />
<br />
My kids all woke up rather grumpy. One was very upset because he was hungry and isn't very good at making his own eggs yet, the other was yelling because he had to go to the bathroom so bad he couldn't get his pants off fast enough, and the third needed a diaper change. One person. That's me. The one. The ONE person to solve all three of those problems, as fast as possible, has only two hands. So you prioritize right? Bathroom first. Or? Well, pee. <br />
Lots of pee.<br />
<br />
The second? Diaper. No one likes soggy anything. Third? Food. We can always wait for food, even though our "hangry" voices might say otherwise. And that was just the first 20 minutes of the morning. That doesn't include the following 9 hours between then and now. <br />
<br />
To be completely honest, I shouldn't complain. <br />
But let's just throw that out the window.<br />
<br />
I'm TIRED!<br />
<br />
Sometimes I can't help it. Some days I just wasn't built for this label of mine. The married, mom, one. Life holds a lot of choices, and I made mine. It's true. But? Heaven knows. Some days I envy those single people. Or those married with no kids people. Or those job people. I envy their routine. I envy their ability to CHOOSE when they want to go to the bathroom, instead of holding it for 2 hours because it's impossible to do anything else BUT hold it. <br />
Or? Just going to the bathroom without an audience Seriously. Why? <br />
Just let me pee in peace.<br />
I envy the time they have to completely focus. I envy that they can actually get things done in a normal time frame. And oh.... Oh how I envy their silence. Their ability to eat a meal when it's still warm. Their ability to sit. To think. To dream and wonder. I do. I'll admit it. I envy other labels.<br />
There are days, like right now, where I would like to reach out, take someone else's label, and slap it on my own chest. <br />
<br />
But? Well. Life happens. Life happens, and sometimes we just have to wear our label proudly, like a triathlon number. We swim, we pedal, and we run. We think we are going to drown, we crash our bikes into trees, and we trip on rocks, but we keep going. We keep swimming, and pedaling, and running. Whatever life we happen to live, whatever part of the race we happen to be in, we are in it to the finish. <br />
So we go.<br />
Then? Then when it's over and we are all sweaty, and covered in dirt we can throw up our hands in victory and say "We did it!"<br />
<br />
Now for the shower.<br />
But......<br />
Can that one be alone at least?<br />
<br />
<br />Jessiehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12758670327672101322noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8515546198138915540.post-61871606646345576772016-03-02T09:28:00.001-08:002016-03-02T12:56:15.953-08:00The Dark WarriorLet's talk about this. Please. Let's get this out there. Open it. Bring it up. <br />
<br />
There are dark warriors among us. Maybe it's you. Maybe it's someone you know. The fight isn't as a physical illness. We don't see social media posts about how the battle is progressing, or how they are faring on a day to day basis. <br />
The struggle. <br />
The internal nature of it is invisible in almost every way.<br />
<br />
They act out; even lash out. They act strangely and we place them on a shelf of "well, that's just the way they are." Then tragedy strikes, and suddenly all the signs make sense. <br />
But the pain is unbearable.<br />
<br />
Let's talk about this. Please. <br />
<br />
I am a survivor of suicide. I never talk about it. I never bring it up. I don't. Why? Because those I love can't imagine what it is they did or didn't do for me to believe my life wasn't worth it. The truth is? It wasn't them. It isn't them. <br />
<br />
It wasn't because they didn't love me, or because they weren't there. Most of the time I didn't see it. I couldn't see it. And in that blindness I simply felt nothing. To myself? I was worthless. I saw the pain I caused others. I saw how they reacted to my stupid decisions. I wanted to change, to be different than I was, but I didn't know how. I was sad for no reason. I can't explain it. But there were days where simply breathing took everything I had. There were days I fought the thoughts; the desire to escape it all lured me. It called me. I would cry for hours, then I wouldn't cry for days; I was a shell. It was as though my will to live escaped with my tears. My smiles were empty. I was empty. Every day the next life tempted me with its option of being pain free. Whatever that next life held, it had to be better than where I was.<br />
To myself? I was a burden. I was useless.<br />
I was worthless.<br />
<br />
People were there. They were there often. I was told all the time "you know I'm here, right?" Yes, I knew. But I didn't. Why didn't I? I can't explain it. I knew I was loved. I knew I had purpose, but I didn't feel it. In fact, I often didn't feel at all. I felt nothing so often I believed I was nothing, and in my nothingness I could just drift away and no one would notice.<br />
<br />
I am a survivor of suicide. I walked the line many times. The details don't matter. What matters is that it happened. What matters is that I am here now. What matters is that my next life became this life, and all my tomorrow's were directly linked to my today. What matters is that this invisible battle requires openness. It requires speaking. What matters is that we say "Please help me" with words, not actions. Then others can act to help. <br />
We have to speak in order for others to listen. <br />
<br />
To the Dark Warriors;<br />
Do not be afraid to admit it. It isn't weakness. You are among the greatest, and the strongest. Do not be afraid to reach for a hand to lift you when you have fallen, and seek for those hands in every way you can. I know you feel nothing. Empty. But others don't feel empty about you. They will be empty without you. Do not let this life defeat you. You are a warrior. You can see in the shadows, and you have experienced the deepest secrets of the night. Do not relent when the black begins to cave in on you. Fight. Fight for yourself. Fight for your tomorrow. <br />
Clarity will come with the dawn. <br />
The light.<br />
<br />
You needn't fight alone. You needn't be alone. It is time to speak, Dark Warrior. Be heard, and the night won't be as painful. The numbness will fade. Life will begin to fill you again. Light will dispel the shadows. Eventually, you will win. Eventually, the night will be where you go to save those fighting. They will see you, and they will know you as you know them. As I know you. Let me fight beside you. Let me carry your sword when you are too weak to stand. Let me be the night watchman when you have nothing left to give. I know these shadows well, and I know they can be defeated.<br />
Let your heart be calm, Dark Warrior. Your day of sun is coming.<br />
<br />
It's coming.<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />Jessiehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12758670327672101322noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8515546198138915540.post-80902118778570091102016-02-22T06:41:00.000-08:002016-02-22T06:41:16.119-08:00Secrets BiteSo.<br />
Something happened this weekend that deserves to have a blog post dedicated to it.<br />
<br />
We were out on a hike in Arches, and since it wasn't a long one, we were walking slow. The slower hikes are the hikes that Jack and James become little chatter boxes. We literally cannot get a word in, even if we want to. Since they aren't out of breath, they think, "Hey! I'll just talk! And talk. And talk. And talk and talk and talk and talk." <br />
And I love it.<br />
<br />
As we were looping back from the "destination" of the hike to the trail head, James got into a very serious conversation with Cole. <br />
It was all about a secret.<br />
Now. Let me tell you a little about this three year old of mine. One? He has an incredible imagination. He will play for hours in all kinds of worlds, entirely of his own invention, and even his food becomes an actor in this game of life. As we walked along the trail, James proceeded to paint a very vivid picture of what a secret was like. <br />
"Secrets hide." He pointed along the darker parts of the trail, under trees, or behind bushes.<br />
"Secrets" he said, "are monsters." <br />
Then?<br />
"Sometimes secrets bite people."<br />
<br />
As the conversation continued, it became evident that James is in fact just three, as the secrets also attacked unsuspecting cars, and even flew around with the wind. To him, the world is nothing but a beautiful place filled with endless wonder.<br />
But those secrets became something tangible.<br />
Something to be reckoned with, and something to avoid.<br />
And those words burned themselves into my mind.<br />
Secrets bite people.<br />
<br />
I'm not real big with personal details, usually. Life changes. It flows, and moves, and has an elegance to it that can be rivaled with nothing else. If one were to look at my life, I cannot confess to how they might describe me. Nor do I know how I am spoken of by others. Truth be told, I don't speak to, or treat, myself with the dignity I should on occasion. Thankfully, my boys continually grant me introspection. With this one?<br />
I grabbed a torch, and walked to my shadows. <br />
<br />
Whenever I say or do anything, if I act with the intention of keeping it a secret in any way, should I have done so at all? Maybe once those words or deeds fly into the wind, they hide in dark places, and wait. They wait until a moment arises, then they attack. Do we speak, or act, at times without any intention of truly owning it? Do we silently hope that our moment will keep itself hidden? After all, these are the shadows. Our secrets take cover under trees, and behind bushes. But the truth doesn't lend itself to the dark, does it. We tread on a thin line thinking what we say or do will tend no harm to those who don't know any better. <br />
Sometimes it is something harmless. <br />
Sometimes it is not. <br />
And secrets bite.<br />
<br />
We need small reminders from the most innocent members of this world to realize what we should change, and how. I don't have many words of wisdom here, for I feel the words speak for themselves. <br />
Go on your own journey with it.<br />
Just remember.<br />
Sometimes secrets bite people.<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
Jessiehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12758670327672101322noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8515546198138915540.post-75402314672175996322015-12-09T11:54:00.000-08:002015-12-09T12:01:47.301-08:00When the World Sucks You DryGuys. I read the news. I shouldn't have, but I did, and it's done. I played the comparing game. One story was about this little family travelling the world. "Ohhh, I want to do that!" Another story was about turmoil in other parts of the country. How can I help? Can I help? I feel helpless.<br />
Then the stories throughout the world, both good and bad; they're endless!<br />
<br />
I got overwhelmed. My anxiety started rising. "What am I doing with my life?! So and so is chasing their dreams, this person is doing wonderful things to change the world, this other family always just 'has it together' and I'm sitting here with gum in my hair."<br />
<br />
What is success, really?<br />
Some would say any success that is associated with where God wants you to be is success.<br />
Well, okay. <br />
So what are dreams? <br />
Some will tell you to "wait for your dreams." God's timetable, etc. <br />
More often than not, we attribute things to God that aren't necessarily his fault, or his doing.<br />
Bad things happen. "Where is God?" <br />
Good things happen. "This came from God!" <br />
He's the bad guy, the good guy, and every guy in between in many cases. <br />
<br />
I'm a big believer in agency. I'm a big believer in putting your big person pants on, throwing your pack on your back and stepping into the darkness. Sometimes you get lost in it. Sometimes you find light. I can tell you that when we decided to move to a smaller town, God was very quiet. I prayed about everything. I asked about everything. Is this right? Should we go here? What about our next step? <br />
Nothing.<br />
Silence.<br />
<br />
There have also been times in my life where I have yelled at God for his apparent lack of caring. "Where are you!? Why won't you answer me?! Why is life so hard all the time, and why aren't you helping me do anything about it??"<br />
Nothing.<br />
Silence.<br />
<br />
It's in those silent moments that I think, could it really be my choice?<br />
Is God really waiting on me, not the other way around?<br />
<br />
God has taught me something very, very important. <br />
Sometimes? The world will suck you dry.<br />
Sometimes the world will take everything you think you know, and burn it. <br />
Sometimes? <br />
Sometimes God won't do a darned thing.<br />
And it's the deepest lesson we could ever learn.<br />
We are supposed to experience this life. We are supposed to lift each other, and be good for the sake of being good. We shouldn't need to be told who we need to be, we should be for the sake of being, and love for the sake of loving. Sometimes, God lets the world go. He lets it spin, he lets your world spin, and he sits back and says, "Now, what are YOU going to DO about it?"<br />
It's not that he doesn't care.<br />
It is, in fact, quite the opposite.<br />
<br />
So to the news. To those stories of other people living a dream; your dream. <br />
To the horrors you read about, and the sorrow you feel inside. <br />
Listen. <br />
Maybe we shouldn't be saying "Oh, God, please do something about this." <br />
Listen.<br />
He might be saying the same thing to you.<br />
<br />
Jessiehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12758670327672101322noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8515546198138915540.post-26523948561525547592015-11-17T20:21:00.003-08:002015-11-17T20:31:31.098-08:00The Good GoodbyeNobody really likes goodbye. It's so final in its respect to moving on. Unless it's like a "see you later" kind of goodbye. We usually don't even include the "good" part of goodbye. It's more like "Yup. Love you too, buh bye." Or just simply, bye. <br />
<br />
But what about that good? Goodness. The news lately its littered with bad. Little good, lots of bad. Forget the news though, what about your life? Is it littered with good? Or bad? Is your life full? Or empty? When was the last time you looked at yourself in the mirror and said "Why, yes, it's good. I'm good." With that, have you ever REALLY considered what the phrase "I'm good" truly means? Are you good? <br />
Which good?<br />
<br />
The word 'good' in the English language is one loaded little word. There are so many ways it can be used, and with that, the definitions of each use are not limited. <br />
So?<br />
Let's begin with the first. To be desired, or approved of. Two? Possessing or displaying moral virtue. Three. Enjoyable, pleasant. Four. Thorough. Then the nouns! Morally righteous; benefit or advantage; merchandise.<br />
And of course the classic. "I'm not good, I'm well, thank you very much." <br />
....English language snobs....<br />
<br />
Like I said, loaded word. So what's the point. When you say, "I'm good." What do you mean? Imagine that mirror now. Do you feel the need to be approved of? Do you feel your moral compass is solid? Are you enjoying life? Is it beneficial for you? Are you good merchandise? <br />
Are you all of the above? <br />
When you say "I'm good" you are saying, "I approve of me, I'm moving forward with conviction and a strong moral code of compassion. I am not broken, I do not need others to tell me who I am, because I am, quite simply, good."<br />
<br />
Now for the bye. Life tends to litter our souls. We don't always do it on purpose, but we do tend to pick up random pieces of trash as we move along our path. It could be simple things. The nagging thoughts of negativity. The jeering ways of judgment. The callousness of removing charity and turning a blind eye. <br />
The worst one? <br />
Forgetting that we are good.<br />
<br />
Sometimes, the mirror will show us something that is clinging to our goodness, and sucking the light out of it. We often ignore it, thinking that time will fix it. Or worse? We assume we must deal with it simply because it is there.<br />
To this I say no.<br />
Remove it.<br />
<br />
It is time to remember when it is good to say goodbye so that we can be good. Sometimes it is okay to let go of something intrinsic; or even someone. <br />
Sometimes we have to.<br />
Sometimes the goodness inherent within our very nature is screaming to be set free. It doesn't want to be told how, or where, or why it needs to be; it just wants to be.<br />
It wants you to remember it is there.<br />
It's a part of you.<br />
It is you.<br />
<br />
You. <br />
You just need to be.<br />
Exist.<br />
<br />
Because you are good. <br />
And the world needs you.<br />
<br />Jessiehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12758670327672101322noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8515546198138915540.post-65560047375153807412015-11-02T08:20:00.002-08:002015-11-04T17:07:23.032-08:00Letting God GoThe title of this post may be misleading, but it is necessary.<br />
<br />
I couldn't sleep last night for a variety of reasons, but the biggest one was rooted in thought. I was in the middle of a conversation with God, when he said something to me.<br />
"Let me work in you."<br />
This thought has occurred to me before, and it's manifested itself in many ways. Last night though, the epiphany was huge. So much so, in fact, that it reduced me to tears of unspeakable gratitude and overwhelming assurity.<br />
<br />
It was time to let God go.<br />
<br />
Now when I say this, I do not mean it in the sense that I am releasing God from my life, forgetting him, or otherwise denying his existence. It is, in fact, quite the opposite. I am inviting him fully in my life, always remembering him, and acknowedging him in everything.<br />
I am letting him be as he is, where he is, and how he is. <br />
My entire life has been spent clinging to God, pleading for light and truth from him, and begging for release from trials or hardship. I've prayed to God, sought him out, and even held to him so tightly, he couldn't help me.<br />
He couldn't help me for the simple fact that I wouldn't let him, even though I was constantly asking for his hand to intervene.<br />
<br />
Let God go.<br />
<br />
Let Him fly. He is already in everything, everywhere. By releasing our grasp on him, he will then be able to consume every part of our lives.<br />
His grace will refine us.<br />
Every part.<br />
God is goodness, God is light. <br />
God is the end all, and be all, of all things.<br />
God is.<br />
<br />
God is in our souls.<br />
God is in me.<br />
God is in you.<br />
<br />
Too often we spend too much of our time and effort with a preconceived notion of who God is, why he is, where he exists and how he exists. If we love Him, we will let him go. We will cling to the simple reality that he just is, and in being he will perfect our lives, our thoughts and our light will become everything that he is. When we surrender our need to understand to the will of the master, the master will help us understand.<br />
He will guide.<br />
He will teach.<br />
We will love.<br />
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Let God go. Let God be. <br />
He is in you, He is in me; he just is.<br />
Release Him to be in your life.<br />
Release Him and the miraculous will find you.<br />
Release Him, and you will come to know him as you never have before.Jessiehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12758670327672101322noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8515546198138915540.post-7475756337265840422015-10-02T09:05:00.001-07:002015-10-02T09:16:07.217-07:00The Letter WithinHave you ever written a letter to yourself? I did it a lot when I was younger. At youth functions, or camps, we often wrote a letter to ourselves saying things like "Hey! How's life! What have you been up to the last five/ten/fifteen years?" A list of goals or certain things my past self wanted my present self to remember were then given. Something like, "Are you still chasing your dreams? What about goals 'x, y, z' have you accomplished those yet?"<br />
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I've been thinking about some of those letters lately. I actually found one the other day. It was written in what was probably the darkest time frame of my depression. I spoke a lot about God, and remembering to stay strong. It talked about loving without reservation, and being kind, and remembering that everyone wears an invisible pain to some degree. The end of the letter is what stuck with me, though. <br />
It said "Just remember. I believe in you, and I always will."</div>
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It's cheesy; I believe in myself. But then I took my mind back to that moment. I believed in me. Somewhere amid all that pain, and sorrow, a very tiny, very small, part of me believed I was going to make it. I took my mind back to the night the letter was written. I was in my room. It was late, and everyone was in bed. I had been crying, as was often the case, and I lay curled in middle of the floor. I never slept much in those days, and I was clinging onto a picture as if my life depended on it remaining in my hand. I sobbed, and asked God to take away the pain that no one could see. I begged him to just end the constant despair I felt, and to make me happy. <br />
"Just make me happy. Please. Just make me happy." <br />
I said it over and over and over again, as though by repetition it might come true.</div>
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I prayed for that every day. Make me happy. Make me better. Fix me; I'm broken. I talked to myself about how to change, and I constantly came up with game plans to bring myself out of the dark. On that night, as I was laying on the floor, I felt to write.</div>
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So I did. </div>
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"Life is hard. It's a fact that too many people just don't understand what it feels like to be covered in this blanket of sadness all the time. But remember when you weren't so sad? Remember when you could help other people, and lift them up? It's a gift to do that. Lifting others up is an important thing. You must lift. You must keep going. God is there, and He always will be. Remember, somewhere deep inside, you understand who you are. Hold on to that. Just remember. I believe in you, and I always will."</div>
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Time is a gift. It's taken me many years to find this peace, and a great deal of soul searching, but once God became my ultimate light, everything else just faded away. Time and God have been gracious in their healing of my heart. I am fully aware that many do not believe they will find peace, or contentment, in this life. My own experience has led me to believe that this is not meant to be. I once believed that a forever sadness was my own fate. But something was trying to show me I could beat it. Something deep within was pointing towards my path and saying "just keep walking." </div>
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These times are persistent in their desire to pull us down, and make us wallow in a world of self doubt and confusion. Peace will come to those who actively seek it. It may not be peace from outside influence or even inner pain, but it can exist within the heart, and soul. Life cannot be lived unless it is has true purpose. What is your purpose? No one else can answer that question for you. You have a path, and a calling. You have a reason for being here. No one can give you that reason, and it cannot be an external reason. It has to come from somewhere deep inside. Something within must lead you, and that lead must speak to you more loudly than any other voice.</div>
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The very depths of our being cry out in their need to be more. We are powerful, and vibrant. We must arise, and change, and hope, and cry, and change again, and build, and dream, and break, and build again. We are not meant to be molded by our circumstances, our weaknesses, or our trials. We are not meant to bend to the will of a negative, and decaying world. </div>
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We are meant to stand in God, and mold ourselves.</div>
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Find that inner light and cling to it, then let it grow.</div>
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Fight. Forgive. Frame the world around you to be more than it is; lift.</div>
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"Be the change you want to see in the world."</div>
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If you are quiet enough, your time will come. Keep going. Keep fighting for your voice.</div>
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And remember. </div>
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Believe in you.</div>
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Always. </div>
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Jessiehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12758670327672101322noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8515546198138915540.post-39974828392046423092015-06-26T10:31:00.002-07:002015-06-26T10:31:23.386-07:00One Secret, No MoreI have a secret. Doesn't everyone?<br />
I have a new coping mechanism. It's miraculous in many ways. First of all, I get teased. I get teased because my choice of music as of late consists of "new age relaxation." Aka? Enya. Yanni. Yiruma. It's soul soothing. Yes, I said it.<br />
Soul. Soothing.<br />
<br />
Well, we don't live in a huge place. So, not huge place mixed with two rambunctious, occasional unbearable fit throwing boys? Then there's the baby. (Surprisingly enough, he is my link to sanity as of late.) And, sometimes a puppy. Another side note?<br />
Puppy is often calmer than said boys.<br />
<br />
So let's take this morning as an example. Cole had to work, and he already had his hours in. Strike one. Strike two, Jack got up at 6, and had a late night. Strike three came when I opened the door to James's room and was assaulted by this smell. After that, the strikes kept falling. Baby wouldn't calm down. "Hold me. ALWAYS!" is his mantra today. Jack and James are tired and overly bored. And puppy wants attention.<br />
Strike. Strike. Strike. Strike.......<br />
<br />
Enter headphones.<br />
<br />
All of the sudden, I see the chaos, but I can't hear it. All I hear is "River Runs Through You" and "Orinoco Flow." If I close my eyes for 5 seconds, I am transported to whatever visual the music can make. It's peaceful.<br />
It's serene.<br />
I want to be where my headphones take me.<br />
<br />
Then I open my eyes again and the chaos is still there.<br />
But it's now manageable.<br />
<br />
I'm tired. All the time, I'm tired. If you aren't a mother and you want to be one? Buckle up.<br />
If you are a mother and you can relate. High five. Now let's hug it out.<br />
<br />
I've been told I am remarkably patient with my sons. The truth is, I'm not. I'm imaginative. When I can feel the crazy starting to set in, I just zone out of one sense. Mothers have like 20 senses anyway, so zoning out one to be lifted to another place is completely acceptable.<br />
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In the meantime. Don't judge me.<br />
Love me.<br />
Love everyone.<br />
We are, all of us, having a hard time in different ways.Jessiehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12758670327672101322noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8515546198138915540.post-58631758647995225402015-05-08T10:35:00.001-07:002015-05-08T10:35:35.437-07:00If God Could Tell YouI officially feel like I've hit being a mom. I know I've been a mom for nearly 6 years now, but today I feel it. When I think about my mom and how she would say "oh, I look so old" growing up, I can visualize her. I can see her pointing out her flaws, I can see the scars, and the lines, and the tired eyes. <br />
I see her in all her beautiful glory, and wonder. <br />
I see her. <br />
Now I look in the mirror, and I see her again.<br />
<br />
I'm young. I know that. I'm still very, very young. But today? Today I feel...not old...but aged somehow. Coen is 5 weeks old, and he's our last. I had surgery this last week to make that "official" and now I look at him, and I think, "Wow. You're it. You're where my mommy stages end." I will grow with them all, now. My cycle of momminess won't start over with another little one, each stage will end as Coen grows.<br />
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I'm sure many mothers could read this and think, "Oh, honey, you have NO idea." I'm sure I will look into the mirror many, many times and see another woman standing before me. I know it will happen. I do. But today? Today I looked in that mirror and I no longer saw a young woman. <br />
For the first time in my life, I saw my lines. I saw my scars. I saw my sags, and stretch marks.<br />
I saw my experiences printed like a map upon my body.<br />
I saw myself through the eyes of a younger version of me.<br />
I'm different.<br />
I've changed.<br />
<br />
I remember thinking as a child that I wished my mom could just see herself as I saw her. She was so perfect in my eyes, regardless of what she'd been through, how much physical or mental weight she carried, or if she felt her body or her life was lopsided or out of sync. <br />
My mind traveled to those memories today.<br />
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There's a certain amount of mourning that has to be done in life, I think. As we grow, certain things happen, or don't happen. Our bodies, like our lives, change in so many ways and sometimes so drastically, that we are forced to look in the mirror and face what we see.<br />
Our eyes will travel along the scars, or the sags, or the areas we find wanting, and we will either accept what we see, or seek to change it to make it better.<br />
The balance comes in knowing when to change, and when to let alone what is already beautiful.<br />
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Today, I do. I feel aged. I feel the experiences that have made me who I am. I don't feel weighed down, or broken, but I do feel different somehow. I feel as though a chapter on my life has closed, and the next chapter awaits my arrival. It's difficult to explain, and the mixture of emotions is likewise confusing. But it's there.<br />
It's there.<br />
I hope though, just as I hoped my mom could see, that I will see myself, and my life, as my children do. <br />
"Mom, you're so beautiful." <br />
In all our glory and wonder.<br />
We are; we are beautiful.</div>
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Jessiehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12758670327672101322noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8515546198138915540.post-17496663948567995932015-03-20T11:02:00.000-07:002015-03-20T11:18:04.307-07:00Knock SoftlySo. Children. They're crazy.<br />
The last four days I have been in perpetual "labor" with no progression. It's frustrating, it's disheartening and it's draining. Then there's the kids. The sick ones. <br />
The ones that have been sick over and over and over again this season.<br />
This week. It's been crazy.<br />
<br />
Well, true to form this morning, we either get what I like to call "the side of James we would rather hide in a closet" or "James." This morning we got the former. He was very very angry, and no matter what I did he wouldn't stop being angry.<br />
It all started with a shirt. I gave him two shirts to pick from. He didn't want either, he wanted a shirt that was dirty. Pick your battles right? I chose this one. I said, "No, it's dirty. You can wear one of these." Enter crazy child. He screamed, and yelled, and threw the shirts at me. So what did I do? I left his room.<br />
And I shut the door behind me.<br />
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For the next hour and a half James banged on the door, and cried "Mommy, get back here!" and cried, and yelled, and cried, and screamed. What did I do? <br />
I ate breakfast with Jack.<br />
We had a wonderful conversation about dementors and the differences between the Star Wars theme song and the Harry Potter theme song.<br />
It was relaxing, though the background noise of "get my shirt" wasn't all too appealing.<br />
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After about an hour of the charade with James, I decided perhaps it was time to try and help him calm down. (No, he hadn't calmed down yet.) I went to his door, and sat down outside of it. I just sat there, and listened to his rantings and ravings. I sat there and listened to him blame me for being mean, and alternating between screaming my name in anger, and pleading for me to listen.<br />
A half hour I sat there, outside his unlocked door, and listened, gently saying his name over and over again. Quietly repeating, "James, I'm right here. Please calm down."<br />
Then I softly knocked.<br />
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He stopped crying. I softly knocked again. I would like to say he knocked back, or opened the door, but no, he yelled at me for knocking and continued his fit.<br />
As I sat there saying his name again and again, all while softly knocking, hoping he would open the door and talk to me, I suddenly saw the connection.<br />
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How often have I shut my own door and yelled and screamed at God because he wasn't giving me what I wanted? How often have I thrown blessings he wanted to give me back in his face in spite, as if to say, "I don't want your clean clothes. Give me my dirty ones!"<br />
How often am I so upset that I don't hear him gently knocking, and softly saying my name?<br />
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Probably more than I'd like to admit. I'd like to hope that time is teaching me to calm down quicker, and look for the light faster. I'd like to hope that. <br />
As we grow older we sometimes act as though we know everything.<br />
My crazy kids are teaching me daily that I don't know a whole heck of a lot.<br />
Or I'm very forgetful.<br />
It takes time, it takes patience, and it takes an indescribable amount of faith to get a good grasp on life, then to move forward with that new understanding.<br />
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Eventually the noise fades. Eventually the clarity comes.<br />
It did with James; it just took about two hours.<br />
He did figure it out though.<br />
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Children. They're crazy.<br />
But I wouldn't have them any other way.Jessiehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12758670327672101322noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8515546198138915540.post-91116262948784249162015-02-26T13:55:00.004-08:002015-02-26T21:17:29.177-08:00That One Time I Lost ItSo this is a dirty laundry post. You know, the kind where you have one of those guilt ridden days because you did something you weren't so proud of? Yeah. Dirty laundry day.<br />
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Allow me to set the scene for you. This morning, Cole's alarm went off (5:30 am). It does this every morning, except on weekends, and it almost always pulls me out of a very deep, dreamy sleep. Well, Jack gets up at 6, so there's not much me time in the morning. I try to pull my bed-headed self together so I can function in the role of mother, but sometimes it just doesn't work.<br />
Some mornings I feel like breaking things.<br />
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Flash forward to 8 am, time for Jack to go to school. The morning went well, considering. Breakfast was alright, I didn't look too homeless walking out the door (I actually brushed my hair) and James resembled something of a well taken care of child. We get to the school, and Jack informs me that his water bottle is in the lunch room. My response? Go get it.<br />
"But mom, class is starting, you go get it!"<br />
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No.<br />
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Some little button got pushed. Something happened. Something broke. I may have heard the snap, I don't really know. The next thing I knew, I had Jack thrown over my shoulder (in front of the entire school, Jack's teacher, and the principal), and I was marching his sassy little behind to the lunchroom to get the water bottle. The entire time, Jack was screaming. I felt like a she hulk; eight months pregnant, toting a 50 pound sack of solidness to the lunch room. <br />
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When I put Jack down, I said, "Go get your water bottle." He cried, and yelled that he didn't want to, and pointed to where he had left it. I just pointed in return, much like the ominous ghost from Christmas past. No words, stoic face, finger pointing in water bottle direction.<br />
Jack flopped on the ground, and continued to throw a fit.<br />
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(PS? The #&%@ water bottle was like TEN feet away!!!)<br />
<br />
Long story short, Jack may or may not have gotten pushed in the right direction, he may or may not have face planted in the process, and after many crocodile tears he may or may not have been late to class. <br />
I'll neither confirm nor deny what happened.<br />
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The point is, he is 5. He is 5, and he threw a tantrum over a bottle of water.<br />
The point is, I am 27. I am 27 and I threw a fit over my 5 year old throwing a tantrum over a bottle of water.<br />
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The point is, there is no point. Sometimes life just dazes you over, and you move forward like a hulk, with some kind of baggage thrown over your shoulder. All the while the world is staring at you thinking, "What in the world?..." Some days it really is just about surviving. Breathing, focusing on what you can focus on and hoping the rest of the day somehow works itself out.<br />
Other days are clearer.<br />
You can enjoy the clarity of those days.<br />
That clarity helps you march your way through the blurry times.<br />
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You know, the ones where you throw a tantrum like a toddler then sleep it off.<br />
We've all done it.<br />
Well, at least I'll admit to it.<br />
Here's to a clearer day tomorrow.<br />
And maybe my kids will actually decide to sleep in.<br />
<br />Jessiehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12758670327672101322noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8515546198138915540.post-13649302635212063142015-02-18T08:54:00.000-08:002015-02-18T08:54:09.184-08:00An Open Letter to GodDear God,<br />
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I've written to you before, both physically and "mentally" if you will. I have a confession to make. I'm just a little frustrated. I'm not frustrated with life per se, and I'm not angry by any means, life is what it is, and I have come to understand in greater lengths what it means to "build your own destiny." Forge your own path, align yourself with the universe, etc etc. <br />
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We talk a lot about free will down here. I have these decisions I can make. I make them, then there are consequences, whether good or bad, and that's that. I've been taught, and I do indeed still believe, that you have a certain path you want me to follow. An intrinsic one. It's taken me quite a few years to understand the whole follow your heart phrase. "Be who you are meant to be, climb that ladder and do what you are meant to do." Or, so I hear you say sometimes. <br />
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Well, here's the deal. My heart, this thing that beats inside my chest. It is my life force, physically. Sometimes my heart leads me one way, a way I feel you pulling me, a way I feel you pushing me even, and yet? Well, there are other voices, voices that claim you are telling them something that is the opposite of what I feel. So who's right? We are, all of us, prone to weakness in almost every way possible. We are, all of us, given an inner moral compass that leads us, and guides our paths, and helps us attain this invisible potential.<br />
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I look to you in everything, and in every way. I often think to myself, how can I go wrong if I am always doing what this inner moral compass of mine is directing me to do? How indeed. You see, this world? This world so full of different religions, and black and white areas, and that ever elusive "moderate" zone? That grey area. The one everyone tells me I can't, for the sake of humanity, stay in. We cannot, period, be in the grey zone. There is good, and there is bad. Period.<br />
We cannot hold the white, and the black.<br />
But my heart.<br />
The heart you gave me, the one I give to you in every way I know how.<br />
Is there not good, and truth, and wonder in almost EVERYTHING in this life?<br />
Why can't the grey zone exist? Why can't there be good, and truth, and wonder in everything? <br />
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Why?<br />
Was that your idea? <br />
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I don't feel like it was. Or is. At least, that's what my heart tells me. And you're in there, aren't you? You're in there just like you are in everything else in this life. You're in the wind as it blows through the trees. You're in the sand under my feet. You are my life force. <br />
You are in me.<br />
You are everywhere.<br />
<br />
So aren't you in that grey zone? <br />
Does the God I understand hold true to the God other people feel, and hear, or see? <br />
I'm just tired. I'm tired of all those voices telling me what, or how, or why I should believe or not believe. I understand that tools, and knowledge, are necessary. We can't understand the whole unless we have all the parts. I don't claim to have all the parts, nor do I claim to comprehend the end result. All I know is what I know, what I've learned, and how I've learned it. Others are given different paths to come to the same end as me.<br />
Who am I to judge how they get there if they don't judge how I get there?<br />
We are, all of us, in the grey zone in one way or another.<br />
<br />
I don't know if there is a solution. I guess I just needed to vent to you. Maybe other people feel the same way I do, and maybe they don't. I know many on both sides. It's a difficult thing being labeled a "fence sitter." Fence sitters belong nowhere, and everywhere, all at once.<br />
I'm coming to grips with it.<br />
And I'll keep following that inner compass of mine, wherever it may lead.<br />
Just stay with me, okay?<br />
<br />
As long as I know you are in my heart, I will know that what I am doing, and who I am becoming is exactly as it should be.<br />
Regardless of what other people think.<br />
<br />
Love, Jess<br />
<br />Jessiehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12758670327672101322noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8515546198138915540.post-68641259234202106842015-01-12T09:30:00.001-08:002015-01-12T09:56:42.280-08:00The Creepy MomSo last night I sat in my sons room and watched them sleep. I did, I just sat there and stared at them. I watched their little chests rise and fall, and I listened to Jack snore. I thought about this other little guy, the one waiting to come, and then I thought, "Oh man. Three boys. What has Cole gotten me into."<br />
(I know it's not Cole's fault; I like to tease him about it anyway.)<br />
<br />
Well, this morning my mom sent me a message asking me how I was doing. I said I felt fat. Between the physical limitations with this pregnancy, and the holidays, I do, I feel fat. She responded, "You're not fat! You're pregnant! Enjoy it since this is your last time." Oh. I'm enjoying it. Hence why I feel fat. I didn't say I WAS fat, though the weight gain is clearly obvious (as is the belly). I simply said I FELT that way. <br />
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Back to last night. Last night while I was staring at my boys sleeping I thought, "This is endearing. And creepy. I'm kind of a creepy mom." I'm not creepy in a hauntingly, terrifying, or spooky sense. Although, I am sure had my sons woken up while I was watching them they may have argued otherwise. I, for one, have a mild panic attack when I wake up to find a face staring at me in the middle of the night. <br />
It's a harmless face, usually. <br />
One that says something like, "Mom, I need a drink." <br />
Or "Mom, James threw up in the bed."<br />
No, I'm more of a "let me see how uncomfortable I can make you right now" creepy.<br />
<br />
I make them clean their rooms. Soooo creepy. I make them help with chores. They are 5 and 2. It's rude; I'm a jerk. I also make them clean up their pee when they miss the toilet. I am in charge of their waste when it is in a diaper, not after. Balance of power, you see. They get agitated about it, but who's the boss? Creepy mom.<br />
Creepy mom makes them eat what's for dinner; eat it or go to bed. Creepy mom gives them hardly any candy. Don't go all progressive parent on me, they get goodies, I'm not the devil. <br />
(C'mon, I'm the bakery queen. They get treats, trust me.)<br />
We play outside, we don't play video games all the time. I play with them, but I also make them use their imagination. <br />
Creepy mom needs to do her own creepy things sometimes.<br />
<br />
Why do I do these things? Well, back to the pregnancy deal. I feel like it. I am a big follower of how I feel. I think about it, research it if I can, I "mull it over," then I let my heart lead. And if I don't know how I feel about something? That's when meditation or a lot of "oh $#!& that wasn't the best option" moments come into play. <br />
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With my kids? I follow my heart, and my gut, and my head. I follow this intrinsic path because no one knows my kids like I know them. They hold half of me, and I know myself relatively well. Therefore? I know at least half of them.<br />
God made it that way. <br />
Google can't decide what's best for a child it doesn't know.<br />
Momma knows best. Period.<br />
Sometimes I think we forget that. Sometimes I think we forget how gifted we really are, especially when it comes to the life we've been given. For me? It's motherhood. If I really take the time to actually TAKE the time and try what I think is best, it's usually what's right.<br />
My heart doesn't lie to me.<br />
I just need to stop being too afraid to follow it.<br />
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As for my kids? Well, with their learning curves and tantrums, their growing pains, their aha moments, and any owie, sickness or heartache they might experience, I will be there.<br />
I may not always know what's best, but I will always know what to do if I am quiet enough to listen.<br />
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I'm supposed to give them what they need to be the best they can be, but I can't make them into something they're not. I myself am constantly growing, and so will they.<br />
So I'm a creepy mom.<br />
One day?<br />
One day I hope my boys will be creepy dads.<br />
But if they're not I know they will do exactly what they were meant to do.<br />
And I wouldn't have it any other way.<br />
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Jessiehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12758670327672101322noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8515546198138915540.post-62910600876018405102015-01-05T09:30:00.001-08:002015-01-05T14:55:46.502-08:00Small EnoughSometimes life makes me feel very small. The feeling of being small doesn't necessarily have anything to do with my physical stature, but more my mental, emotional or spiritual state of being. This last month there have been some experiences. I won't go into detail, but I will say that these experiences have left me looking for deeper meaning. <br />
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They've left me with more understanding eyes, and a softer heart.<br />
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Sometimes life has a way of forcing you to realize that being small is really what matters. Quotes concerning the "small things" are ever prevalent, particularly since the new year has commenced and everyone is setting new goals, and reaching for dreams again. Reaching, stretching, and bringing ourselves to the brink of a greater good is always, well, good. </div>
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But in our quest to stretch ourselves to greater lengths, we sometimes become blind to the small things. </div>
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Tiny details make a difference when we step back and see the bigger picture.</div>
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In my life, those small things are, quite literally, little. It's very easy to let life distract us from what's important, and life had been doing just that a couple months ago. I was distracted, and I was distracted by a lot of things. <br />
In truth, they didn't really matter. </div>
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They mattered, yes, but compared to other things they didn't matter nearly as much.</div>
<div>
We all want to inspire others; we all want to inspire ourselves. We all want to become something greater, or better, than we are now. We all usually have good intentions, and as we inspire ourselves, or others, we either become more focused on truth, or completely lost in what we think is truth.</div>
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Living requires balance. We cannot stand focused if we are leaning too much towards the future, backwards in the past, or looking from side to side imagining what it could be like to travel the path of another.</div>
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Life is the master of distraction, and the teacher of truth.</div>
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It's up to us to focus; it's up to us to quiet our minds enough to really listen to what life is trying to teach. </div>
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What we get from life depends wholly on how we choose to learn from it. </div>
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<br /></div>
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My small things are front and center now. It's not much to the eyes of many others, but when I get down on my knees and play with the hot wheels, or I sit for over an hour pretending to be the purple monster, my small moments become monumental.</div>
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Whatever the present provides, or however it happens to be presenting itself, is the only thing I can control. This moment, this now, this is what I have complete control over. I will continue to reach, and stretch, and dance, and sing with life. I will still make goals, and desire dreams. </div>
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I will still look forward to tomorrow.</div>
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But moderation matters. </div>
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<br /></div>
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Today, and hopefully every day, I intend to be small enough. </div>
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Small enough to truly hear. </div>
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Small enough to better see, and small enough to understand the bigger picture.</div>
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<br /></div>
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Sometimes, life makes me feel very small.</div>
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And that isn't necessarily a bad thing. </div>
</div>
Jessiehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12758670327672101322noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8515546198138915540.post-24809850583522201192014-11-20T19:39:00.000-08:002014-11-20T19:56:11.201-08:00Ready NowI was driving home from work just now, and I was listening to the radio. (Old fashioned, I get it, most people plug in whatever electronic device they can to avoid commercials.) Anyway, we live in a small town, and as such, the "seek" button really just bounces around between like 5 stations. As it was "searching" for that perfect song for me to sing along with, I pulled into our parking lot, and parked. Just as I was turning the car off, one line came out of those speakers.<br />
<br />
"Lord, I'm ready now."<br />
<br />
The engine stopped, the words stuck, and I happened to look at the steering wheel.<br />
The words "coast set" for the cruise control on the car then etched themselves into my mind just as the song had. <br />
<br />
I didn't turn the car back on to actually hear the song, but I did just sit in the cold for a moment. I started thinking about that "coast set" button, and the single line from whatever song happened to be on the radio echoed in my mind over, and over, and over again. <br />
<br />
"Lord, I'm ready now."<br />
Coast set.<br />
<br />
I started thinking about life, and how often I talk to God in my own way. I don't always pray, nor do I really emphasize any religious aspect of my life. I just live, and in living, I talk to God. I think about Him, I think about the natural order, or logical rightness, of things. Sometimes things make sense, and other times they don't. Sometimes I accept what I cannot change, and other times I bull forward until what I feel is right finds its place in my heart.<br />
<br />
Coast set.<br />
<br />
Then there are those moments that I forget I am even driving. I get into a lane, stop focusing on everything around me, and set my cruise. I forget about it all, and what really needs focus is suddenly front and center. "Lord I'm ready now." Coast set.<br />
<br />
Now I can't say that everyone sees strange or personal signs in everything they do in life. Some people say we find what we search for. Some people search for deeper meaning in their life in many different ways. I don't believe any one way is right, and another wrong. In my mind, as long as you are simply searching for greater purpose, and in turn a greater self awareness in your life, then you are doing everything right. My life happens to incorporate God. Everywhere. In everything.<br />
But my statement to God is usually more phrased as a question. Lord, am I ready now? Am I focusing too much on my speed, or my destination, or even (and maybe especially) the people around me? Do I give in to road rage, and anger more often than I should in my hurry to rush through the day to day, thus forgetting the time I have to coast along? Not coast in a lazy, idle, sense, but coast in the sense of ease as I move through whatever challenges, or blessings, life happens to give me.<br />
Do I trust enough?<br />
Do I give enough?<br />
Am I enough?<br />
<br />
The song, and my steering wheel button, were both a small but gentle reminder from my everywhere God. Life can be messy, and that's okay. His advice should be sought, and that's okay. He wants me near, He wants you near. But He also wants us to move. He wants us to go.<br />
He wants us to stop asking, sometimes.<br />
Lord, am I ready? Don't just ask, do. Move. Go.<br />
Declare it with confidence, and zeal, then grab onto your life and cruise.<br />
I'm ready now.<br />
Coast set. Jessiehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12758670327672101322noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8515546198138915540.post-42855241667470046422014-10-24T19:59:00.001-07:002014-10-24T20:07:04.298-07:00Just CrySometimes I am just not a strong person. Sometimes, I can't see through the fog of a bad day. A bad week. A bad month. Sometimes? Sometimes any regret I have ever had consumes my dreams. Sometimes? Sometimes I just want to lay down, curl up, and cry.<br />
<br />
Have you ever found yourself in this cycle of life where you go around, and around, and around, and life changes, you even change, but a very small part of your heart just remains broken? Just broken. Many know my past; many even know my past mistakes. We all have them. We all have these regrets, these horrible decisions we wish we could just take back. We have all hurt people, sometimes seemingly unforgivably, and we've all (usually) found ways to mend what could be mended then moved forward with hope for a brighter future. <br />
<br />
Time has taught me something about regret. Sometimes? Sometimes it never leaves. We forgive, we are forgiven, but this tiny ache tends to carry itself within that broken part of our heart without any kind of outlet. It sneaks up without warning, and in the strangest of circumstances. We think, "That was so long ago! Why is it still bothering me?!" Well, sometimes? Sometimes it bothers you, sometimes it bothers me, to remind us that we are indeed broken.<br />
We are broken, and that's okay.<br />
<br />
Now, I am a spiritual person, so before you go Christian on me, trust me, I've done all that. Also, therapy. Don't go there either. But I've had an epiphany tonight. An epiphany about this regret; this ache. It may never fully heal. It may never go away. When I think about the people I hurt? Good, wonderful, people. When I think about the things that happened? It's emotionally, and excruciatingly, suffocating. Sometimes, I have to stop, and sit. Sometimes I think about picking up the phone and saying I'm sorry all over again. But then I remember where they are in life; they've moved on. And truthfully? So have I. <br />
<br />
Even with growth, the pain of the past will never fully leave. On the road we travel, we often find ourselves looking back and wondering how we might have made the journey smoother. Then we look forward and wonder what mountains lay ahead. The truth of the past lies in who we've become because of it. Have we changed? Have we grown? Have we removed the toxic negativity of broken dreams, shattered hearts, and unfulfilled wishes? Where we are now matters more than where we have been, but where we have been led us to where we are now. <br />
Don't be ashamed of it.<br />
Don't hide from it.<br />
Embrace it.<br />
And remember?<br />
When that little ache finds its way into your thoughts, and you find yourself wondering how you could have been better?<br />
Just cry.<br />
And be better now.<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />Jessiehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12758670327672101322noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8515546198138915540.post-43109793104768886032014-10-10T09:43:00.001-07:002014-10-10T09:43:57.867-07:00It's Your SoulSo we live in a new place. It's a beautiful place. But? Believe it or not, I am shy. I am. And? Getting to know "new moms" is akin to dating. How should I look? What kind of first impression am I giving? Do I really care what they think? Sort of. Maybe a little. Not a lot, but some.<br />
Seriously. Dating.<br />
<br />
In fact, today when I dropped Jack off at school I had on no makeup (let's face it, that's a daily deal) and I wasn't wearing a bra. Yup. No bra. No makeup. I guess I really am a "granola cruncher." Now I just need a Subaru.<br />
<br />
Anyway, getting to know people has been a slow process. I kind of hide in a little shell until you really get to know me. I think a lot of people do it, I am sure I am not the only one. Needless to say I guess I come off as a bit "come offish." I have gotten to know this one really neat lady, though. Her name is Sarah. We've talked a few times, but nothing in depth. She did tell me though that she is an artist. As she was describing her art, she began to tear up, and said, "Sometimes it's hard to let yourself out there like that. You open yourself up, and people can rip you apart."<br />
<br />
Well, this weekend is the "art weekend" here in Moab. I asked her today if she was going to be showing any of her art. She replied quietly, "I don't know. Maybe."<br />
I responded,<br />
"Don't be afraid of what other people think. Just remember, it's your soul. Not theirs."<br />
<br />
It's your soul. It's my soul. As I was driving home, I thought about it more. It's my soul, not theirs. Like Sarah, I often get shy when it comes to any talent I feel I might have. I also get shy about who I am. Today for example, with this post. I am putting it out for anyone in the world to judge. They may hate it, they may like it, I may never know which. But? Shouldn't I just do it anyway?<br />
Shouldn't I exemplify who I am inside by simply being me? Whoever I decide that me should be on any given day?<br />
It's my soul. Not theirs.<br />
<br />
We live in a world that is so annoyingly loud sometimes it becomes very difficult to hear anything other than the tantrums of others. It is in moments like today; moments. I see the world around me. I really look at my own life, and I remember who I am deep down. Sometimes I am a bra-less, make-up-less, granola cruncher that wouldn't mind sitting under waterfalls, singing along with a band of hippies. Other days I feel more grounded as I sit with my sons and remember my pride in the role of mother, and my stay at home status. <br />
I am me, and I am many different variations at many different times. <br />
And? That's okay.<br />
<br />
Be proud of who you are, and share it with the world around you. You are not talent-less, nor are you required to fit any other mold than the one God created for you. You are you. And that?<br />
That is a beautiful thing. <br />
It's your soul. Not theirs.<br />
<br />
<br />
Jessiehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12758670327672101322noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8515546198138915540.post-76667698873760012052014-07-15T08:54:00.000-07:002014-07-15T11:20:48.272-07:00Knowing I thought I knew what it meant to be a mother; a woman. I thought I understood how to control my emotions; my thoughts. I thought I knew that taking care of tiny people was something I would grow accustomed to, and every day I would find it a little bit easier. I thought I knew.<br />
I didn't know.<br />
<br />
We all know that as humans we are repetitive little creatures. We learn a lesson, then we forget it, then we learn again. We all have this very unpleasant side. A side that shows itself in uncomfortable situations. Uncomfortable, unpleasant situations. I do my best to control it. But sometimes the burr is too much to handle. Sometimes I find myself slipping. I slip into that ugly. I slip into the ugly part of my unpleasant self. It's often for merely a moment, but the moment is enough to provide a stark reminder of how much I have to work on.<br />
How much I have to grow.<br />
<br />
It's days like today, mornings like this morning, where I find myself sitting. I find myself sitting, rubbing my temples and thinking, "Good Heaven, it's only 930 am." There are days like today where I envy those who have silence. I envy the quiet The peace. On days like this people tell me in their age old wisdom, "Oh, but you will miss this." No. I won't miss this. I will miss the tiny people, sure, but I won't miss the screaming. I won't miss the yelling. I won't miss the messes, the illogical debates with toddlers in a control battle, and I won't miss hearing every 5 minutes, "I'm hungry. I need another snack." <br />
That I do know.<br />
<br />
What I also know, however, is what I will miss. I will miss a lot of things, but grant me the right to complain a little, will you? I don't know many things, I have a lot of room to grow, but I am also not naive. <br />
Imperfect as I am, I do recognize that these hellish moments will not last. <br />
I do recognize that time is precious, and I do my best to make the most of it. <br />
I don't know many things, but I am aware that in my flawed self it is okay to sit here. <br />
It is okay to breathe and look forward to the future.<br />
<br />
I will never be done learning. I will never be done growing. <br />
As a woman, as a mother. <br />
Sometimes I might think I have a handle on my life. As soon as that happens, rest assured God will remind me of the importance in holding on. He did just that today. I thought I knew; I didn't know.<br />
I am flawed; I am incomplete.<br />
It's true.<br />
And I am okay with that.<br />
<br />
<br />
Jessiehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12758670327672101322noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8515546198138915540.post-38819097963194286202014-06-07T10:39:00.002-07:002014-07-16T07:19:29.856-07:00SeeGrowing up I was always taught not to judge a person; ever. Not by the way they look, not by the way they act, not ever. Live and let live, or so the saying goes.<br />
<br />
What is the measure of a man? Or woman? Humanity itself? The world is so full of emotion. The world is so full of opinion. I put on a swimsuit, uncovering what is often covered and wonder, "do they notice the scars?" I put on a mask of emotion then wonder, "can they tell that I am broken today?" We smile. We cry. We laugh. We hurt.<br />
We judge.<br />
<br />
The examples are many and everyone at some point has been on one end or the other. Sometimes it's a simple statement. "Look at what that person is wearing; or not wearing." We point. We snicker.<br />
We're rude.<br />
<br />
The truth is the scars cannot be seen; what is broken is often hidden. Can you see my heart? Do you know who I am? If you do not, here is my heart.<br />
Take it. Feel it. Touch it. Hold it.<br />
Hold me.<br />
Hold humanity.<br />
Hold decency.<br />
<br />
See my heart? Take it. Touch it. Feel it. Hold it.<br />
See me. See me as a whole. See you. See you as a whole.<br />
Look in the mirror, then look around. Goodness can be found everywhere. Greatness is in everyone. Don't snicker. Don't point. Love.<br />
My opinion is not your opinion, and yours is not mine. Are we different? Yes.<br />
Must we point it out? Must we rely only on our differing demons?<br />
Must we cling to a constant barrage of disdain or anger in an attempt to "fix" what we deem to be wrong in another?<br />
Why must we be so opinionated? Why must we be so harsh? Where is kindness? Where is decency?<br />
Find it again.<br />
<br />
Take the heart. Touch it. Feel it. When you see, see wholly, not partially.<br />
Love truly, love deeply.<br />
Love the difference.<br />
The world needs a great deal more of it.<br />
Hold humanity. Hold decency.<br />
Be kind.<br />
<div>
<br /></div>
Jessiehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12758670327672101322noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8515546198138915540.post-39387875575445027352014-05-30T07:31:00.001-07:002014-05-30T07:31:19.484-07:00Second Isn't SpecialSecond, it seems, isn't special. When it comes to the order of birth, I was the second child. I never minded being the second child. My parents would say (and I can attest to this line as a parent myself), "I did a lot with the first that I wouldn't do with the second." Doing something for the first time brings with it many mistakes. As a parent, I made many mistakes with Jack. I still do. Why? He is the first. Almost everything done with him is done for the first time. But with James? It's most likely been done before.<div>
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Now, the purpose of this post isn't to point out that the second child in a family isn't special. As a second child myself, I can attest this isn't the case. The point of this post is to show that in the world, second is never quite first. Second place is never first place. Second in line means you have to wait. If you are number two, then you aren't number one, and there is something wrong with that. If you are number two, then you didn't work hard enough. You didn't do enough.</div>
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<br /></div>
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With that, doing something for the second time doesn't hold the same magic. Most would say, "Been there, done that." Some things are cool enough to do over and over again, it's true. (Disneyland, anyone?) But it seems, for the most part, if it's a second time, it isn't special. </div>
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And that bothers me.</div>
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What's wrong with second? Have we become so desensitized to what it means to put someone, or something, else first? As a parent, it's done every day. Whether you want to or not, you put those little people you care for first, period. If you don't? Well, if you don't the disasters that would follow could essentially be deadly. You have to. It is in that "have to" we sometimes lose sight of how special being second really is. When you are second you get to be a witness to the first.</div>
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Sometimes we get so caught up in what it means to take care of ourselves, we put what we want or what we do first, and we forget to remember there are more important things. In this technological age, too many technological things get in the way. Life is noisy, and in that noise we become deaf to what really matters. Open your ears, open your eyes. Being second means many things. If you are second, then you can put someone else first. Being second reminds you of humanity, and weakness. Being second means you can be better. Having seconds means you were grateful for the first. </div>
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Second is sacred.</div>
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As with all things, balance. It is okay to be first sometimes. But remember; time is measured with seconds. Time is all that we have on this earth. If our seconds are sacred, then our time is well spent.</div>
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And that makes second special. </div>
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Jessiehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12758670327672101322noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8515546198138915540.post-32242296804177746762014-04-21T10:41:00.000-07:002014-04-22T11:06:43.756-07:00ListenThere is this voice. Sometimes it's loud. Sometimes it's quiet. Sometimes this voice is in my head; sometimes this voice sounds its opinion from the middle of my heart. I even find this voice in the pit of my stomach. This voice isn't limited to my own body, either. Sometimes I can hear it in the wind, or the trees. The point is, the voice is everywhere and it is nowhere.<br />
But it always brings me back to my center. <br />
<br />
Today has been a Monday. Mondays tend to live up to their name in being a lethargic, why can't it still be the weekend, day. The voice won't let alone. <br />
"Listen" it says. <br />
My husband lost a friend over the weekend; listen. <br />
My kids won't stop fighting; listen. <br />
My mental and physical tanks are constantly drained; listen. <br />
<br />
The thoughts in my head. Being a mother requires more sacrifice than I ever imagined; listen. Why do we wear so many hats to be so many different things in so many different ways? Men and women go to work then come home, then they wake up and do it all over again. Other men and women stay home and raise children to grow up, and their children will then grow to do the same thing over and over again. <br />
What's the point? <br />
Listen. <br />
<br />
Listen to what? The heart? The head? What if they are fighting? Do I listen to my gut? The conflict within concerning life and its purpose seems to ebb and flow like the wind in the trees. Do I listen to that? <br />
Listen. Listen. Listen.<br />
<br />
Everything is so loud. The opinions of every individual in the world sits at our fingertips; the constant need for more. Society seems to wake up every day unsatisfied; life will never be satisfying enough. It's hard not to listen to that. More. <br />
There must be more. <br />
"I am missing something, somewhere, somehow" says society. <br />
More.<br />
<br />
Everything is so loud. The wind in the trees. It's so calm, and the trees sway as if dancing with the wind. Ebb and flow. Calm. Everything is so loud; calm. Hear it. My youngest was screaming at lunch, my oldest sang "if you're happy and you know it, clap your hands" trying to help. Screaming, and singing. The screaming, the singing. Ebb and flow, listen. Like the trees with the wind, dance. <br />
Sway. <br />
Let life flow through you. Let life be you.<br />
<br />
Just listen. <br />
<br />
Jessiehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12758670327672101322noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8515546198138915540.post-62432505015600040942014-01-21T11:00:00.001-08:002014-01-22T07:02:43.290-08:00Begin AgainThere is something to be said about experience. There is something to be said about learning. The simple truth of life these days is this; everything I think I know, or every realization I have made in life, tends to repeat itself in multiple, varying forms. <br />
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<br /></div>
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I read a blog post this morning about a young mother who is discovering how beautiful she is through the eyes of her 5 month old daughter. <br />
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I remember those days. I remember when Jack was first born, then James, and watching my body change. I remember thinking those negative thoughts (sometimes I still do) then replacing them with, "but look at what was created because of it?!" I remember berating, then forgiving, then berating and forgiving myself time after time as I stumbled through those first parenting years. (Also something I still do) </div>
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My thought process seems to begin again. Over and over and over and over and over again.</div>
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<br /></div>
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There are moments of clarity in this life that cannot be described with words. Moments where you look at yourself, and your life, and you find this absolute contentment and assurance that everything is exactly as it should be. </div>
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Then a week later you think. "Well. What the #@!! happened here...."</div>
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<br /></div>
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Fact. I am a mother. Fact. I have been through some "stuff." Fact. I have overcome that "stuff."</div>
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Fact. Never in my life will I completely understand why, regardless of what has been overcome, the constant nature of endurance never, ever ends.</div>
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<br /></div>
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Some days I look to God and, with all the gratitude I can possibly muster in my heart, thank Him profusely for everything He gives me, and humbly admit to myself that I will never know why He feels to give so much to one so unworthy.<br />
Some days I look to God and, with all the confusion of a mortal being, I exclaim with a broken heart all the frustration, pain, and pleading in my soul, begging Him to stop pushing me so hard in so many different ways.</div>
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Some days I am bathed in light.</div>
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Some days I am lost in darkness.</div>
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<br /></div>
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I am human. I am weak. I find peace and understanding with life, and then I lose it. My life will ever begin again. I will always learn something new, then forget the complete value of the lesson learned, and learn the same lesson in a new way on a different day. </div>
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Today I am grateful for that; I am grateful, and frustrated, with my begin again's. </div>
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Over, and over, and over, again. </div>
</div>
Jessiehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12758670327672101322noreply@blogger.com0