A little over a month ago I started this Blog. I’ve noticed some traffic – visits, likes, comments, follows – THANK YOU!
I have always liked reading and writing (Love of Writing). On May 8, 2017 my beautiful, 30 year old daughter went to heaven after a 10 month battle with cancer. I plummeted (not out yet) into a deep hole of sorrow and grief. Writing has become a source of “vomiting” my grief and pain onto paper. Typing onto a Blog is part of my process of trusting “my voice” to the outside world.
I’m a woman of faith, who loves her family, likes to have fun AND humor and sarcasm are, well part of me. I write about the good, the bad and the ugly…and the “really?!” “seriously?!” moments of my entire life.
Thank you for joining me on my life journey. Whether you peek in or stay a while, I am thankful for you.
The PEN is READY, what will come out next…
Primp and proper, not a tear on her dress.
Upright, stoic…strike a pose.
Flawless skin, not a hair out of place.
Shoulders back, neck so stiff…smile…painted on face.
Oh, the illusion of the porcelain doll.
Noise noise, constant noise!
Always connected; always engaged,
missing the moment at hand.
Can you be still for a moment?
What do you fear?
Do you know whose beside you?
Do you even care?
Can you see beyond the screen?
Can you hear the whisper from within?
Can you be present?
just for a moment,
just for a while.
What if I am different?
What if I am different than “you”?
I like spicy, flavorful Mexican food, so my hot dog will not have the “regular” ketchup and mustard, but will be overloaded with bacon, onion, tomatoes and jalapeños.
I will take a quiet, peaceful walk in the mountains over a sandy beach.
I would rather sit with “you” in a quiet place, and eat and talk and laugh and cry. Than be in a group, frazzled by all the chattering noise.
Solitude is my friend, my rest; the place where I can just be. I don’t have to be rescued from it. It doesn’t mean I’m shutting down, heck I can shut down in a crowded place.
We are all different. We are all fearfully and wonderfully made. The beauty in a collage with all the different faces, colors and sequence.
There is beauty in differences! There is peace in just being me!
Running, running…always running. Have I ever stopped? Has it taken a different form? More than half a century of living, or attempting to live or what has it been? Am I still the same? Am I different?
Memories of a 9 (or was it 10) year old, “running away” cause her “no” wasn’t sufficient. Then shutting up about what happened because she was afraid of the outcome, of the repercussions.
Then her louder “NO” explodes into a cry for help, for understanding, for protection. She finally opens her mouth and speaks, only to be told to SHUT UP.
She runs away attempting to find a refuge, only to end up used and abused and cast away like a used, filthy rag. Really?! She was only 14.
My mind is filled with voices, lots and lots of voices…”SHUT UP!”, I scream.
I’m tired! I don’t want to run anymore. I just want to be STILL…
Remember the Dad I told you about?
Allow me to tell you another story. A story about a Father.
Once upon a time there was a Father who had two sons. His youngest son started to get an itch for seeing what was out beyond the home front. So he went to his Father and asked for his share of the inheritance. Funny thing to ask, don’t you think? The “normal” course of life is that one gets an inheritance when the person giving it to you has passed. Anyhow, you can see this son was itching to get out from under his Father.
The Father agreed and off the son went.
And, live it up the son did! Partied and squandered all that the Father gave him and then some. He ended up in the poor house, destitute. He “decides” to go home. He had no other choice. I believe if he did he would still be out “living la vida loca”.
He heads home, probably rehearsing what he will say to his Father.
“…while he [the son] was still a long way off, his Father saw him and was filled with compassion for him; he ran to his son, threw his arms around him and kissed him…’Let’s have a feast and celebrate. For this son of mine was dead and is alive again’…” -Luke 15:20-23
The contrast between Dad and this Father is night and day.
One Rejects! The other Embraces!
For the “girl” in me, this contrast has given me HOPE!
“A father’s love for his daughter is a preservative against a thousand ills seeking to infect the innocence of her life.” – Byron Yawn
Running, running…always running.
Reaching for the goal, the price.
Reaching for tomorrow.
Blinded to the here and now.
Missing out on TODAY.