It’s not the obvious reason. The one where I’m actually a mother now. At 36 years old, I’m finally a mom, following many, many years of infertility. That would be a good enough reason to bring back Mother’s Day, I guess. But the real reason is more complicated.
Some people find it difficult to understand why the absence of children causes tangible grief for a woman who wants to be a mom, since there isn’t a physical person to miss. But it is a grief. And it will always be a part of me. Maybe I’ll write more about this some time.
Continue reading “Why I stopped boycotting Mother’s Day”
“Out of the anguish of his soul he shall see and be satisfied.”
Make your list.
Those things you don’t have.
The things you’ve done wrong.
The things the world has done to you.
The things you could never accept. Not in a million years.
Continue reading “Poem: Griefs”
I see the clouds. Gray and foreboding.
Covering the sky.
They hover. And long for release.
The day closes. The sky goes dark.
The clouds remain, but blend into the darkness.
Continue reading “Poem: I see the clouds”
The sun rises
despite the best efforts of the clouds.
A new day introduces
Continue reading “Morning”
——Yesterday would have been Dorothy Speigle’s 97th birthday. She passed away in January of this year. In her memory, I’m posting the eulogy I shared at her funeral.——
I’m the youngest of her three granddaughters. We all adored her.
I called her Momaw, but she’s been known by many names in her long life. Dorothy. Sister. Aunt. Dot. Dorosha. Mama. Hobie. Grandma. Great Grandma. In the last few weeks, hospice nurses have been coming in and out of her house. My mom told me that one of them commented that there was so much love in Momaw’s house.
Continue reading “Remembering Momaw”
The rocks were covered with green moss.
Above and below.
The water broke in white puffs.
Forward and back.
I opened my eyes.
They blinked in submission to the sun.
But I didn’t care.
It began that day.
Continue reading “Forward and Back”
Apparently, turkeys are like babies and weddings. Everyone has
a traumatic story wisdom from a past experience and is just waiting for an excuse to share it. Once people knew I wanted to roast my own turkey, friends were mostly encouraging at first. I heard a chorus of “You can do it!” and started to believe it myself.
But then, the warnings began:
- “Make sure you get a fresh turkey.” Oh, wait, I already bought a frozen one. Oops. I thought I was doing good just to think about getting my turkey before the stores ran out of them. (Note: It was actually Harry that remembered.)
- “Don’t forget to brine it. That’s how they have the best flavor. Brining.” Oh, wait, you can’t brine a turkey that’s been frozen. Continue reading “My turkey story”
Don’t worry, Mom. We’re not moving again.
But, we sure have done a lot of that in the last few years — four years to be exact. It was four years ago this month that we put our house on the market in Nashville. Since then, we’ve had two seasons as nomad-fundraisers, two years in India, a very unsettled year in Nashville and a little over six months in Seattle.
I’ve learned a lot about saying goodbye — none of it the easy way. A few random thoughts that Harry promises me aren’t too preachy: Continue reading “A time to say goodbye”
Sometimes it’s better not to think too much.
I am the worst kind of planner — the kind who thinks it’s actually possible to have a perfect plan, the kind who feels a sense of failure when the plan doesn’t work, thinking if I could only plan a bit better,
I would always be in control of everything and everyone life would always be comfortable and pain-free.
If I had thought about all of the things that could go wrong on my adventure in the city, I wouldn’t have met the guy from East Africa who was waiting for bus #36 or noticed that Psychadeli Cafe was selling freshly made masala dosas for $6 (by the way, these cost like 50 cents in India and my mouth is watering just thinking about them). I also wouldn’t have
stood at the wrong bus stop for 30 minutes wondering why my bus never showed and remembering how to assess my safety and considered the challenges homeless people must face. Continue reading “Learning to live”
I wrote some about grief in my last post and will probably write more another time. In fact, you may get tired of hearing me talk about grief, because it’s something God is using to strip away the parts of my soul He wants to restore.
Allowing myself to grieve is submitting to the life God is giving me. And, no, it’s not easy or passive. It’s painful. A submission of my mind and will to see my circumstances as God’s faithful provision. A stark contrast to my instinctive toddler response of sitting in the middle of the living room, screaming, “I don’t want this. Give me what I want and give it to me now!” or the one where I’m withdrawn, curled up in bed and can’t remember the steps to starting my day.
I love this hymn, Whate’er my God Ordains is Right. I’ve posted the words below. Continue reading “Whate’er my God ordains is right”