Woman At My Little One’s Field Trip Yesterday: “That mom’s been staring at her cell phone all morning. Poor kid.”

Me:  “Isn’t it awesome that she’s here for him, when it’s clear she has so much work to do? Lucky kid.”

“Sometimes heaven is just a new pair of glasses.”- Anne Lamott

I’ll often throw in a few that might sting a little.  Today they are almost all sting-y ones. That’s okay. When it comes to these – my job is to refuse to be a victim while ALSO refusing to victimize anybody else. I’d like to practice that art in my writing and in real life. Would you like to practice with me? Great.

So – If I post something here, that means that I’ve been able to come at it with truth and love. If you can, let’s avoid victimizing the question ask-ers with our outrage. It’s okay, really.

Let us begin.

1. Did you make up your marriage trouble to sell books?

No.

2. I have a sweating problem, too. What deodorant do you use?

I alternate between men’s Mitchum Roll- On and Secret Clinical Dry. I’m sure they both have stuff in them that will eventually kill me – but in the meantime, I’m SAVING LIVES. The people who have to spend time close to me are grateful to both companies.

3. You pretend to be “normal” but you wear designer dresses and you travel first class!

1.  I have to say that I’m tickled by this question because I have never – not once in my life – been accused of  pretending to be “normal.”  But I see where you’re going with this. Yes, I have a few BCBG dresses that I wore on my book tour.  I chose BCBG because at our mall, it’s the closest store to the parking garage. When I was in college, I originally chose to be a business major based on the fact that the business building was closest to my dorm. Yes, some folks would consider this lazy, but I consider it “energy conservation.” I’m like a scientist.  Anyway, I hated business classes, but  I like my dresses.

We should probably stop criticizing each other for our clothing choices. Men don’t do that and this might be partly why historically –  they’ve been able to get more done. They just have more time because they’re not busy worrying that someone might get upset that they’re wearing the wrong thing.

2.  Yes, I got upgraded to First Class once.  It was awesome for about ten minutes –  until I saw a soldier in uniform get on the plane and walk back to coach. We all clapped when he boarded which was nice, I suppose, but felt sort of hollow to me, since none of us were really offering any sort of sacrifice to honor the sacrifice he’d made. So when the flight attendant came around to give me EARLY DIET COKE AND PEANUTS (!) I asked her if she’d go back to the cabin and offer my first class seat to the soldier. At first the whole thing was quite awkward because the flight attendant didn’t understand what I was requesting. 

Has no one in first class ever offered her seat to a soldier before? I asked.

I’ve never seen it happen, she said, and I’ve been doing this for a decade.

Insane, I said.

When you put it that way, it does seem kind of silly, she said.

She went back to ask the soldier to come up to first class. He refused, but the folks around him gave him another round of applause. The flight attendant came back to tell me all about it. The older man sitting next to me got teary and told the flight attendant and me that he’d been a soldier too, and it felt like I’d just thanked him. I felt grateful that both soldiers knew that not only was somebody willing to clap for them, but to give up a little something for them.

I was also grateful that I got to stay in first class after all.  WIN/ WIN! KINDNESS! Bottomless coffee! Warm Towelettes!

My first class experience was awesome, but every other time I’ve flown – I’ve been in coach. Typically, I spend my time in coach divided three ways:

1. Planning exactly what I will do if the plane is taken over by terrorists. My plan is usually as follows:  FIRST I will attempt to convince the wayward terrorist that We Belong To Each Other and that actually, Love Wins. I’m always SURE that will work but on the off chance that it doesn’t- I’m ready. Plan B is  to attack the stubborn terrorists with my book and paper cut them to death. (Yet another reason to buy real books, not kindle/nook versions, people)
2. Searching for and glaring relentlessly at anyone who dares to glare at crying babies or screaming toddlers.
3. Stewing about how it seems men always take BOTH the arm rests even though we’re supposed to be sharing them and how sharing is caring and a sign of respect and that just because a person TAKES UP less space doesn’t mean she DESERVES LESS SPACE and that this arm rest thing is really a feminist issue.

Also, we should probably stop worrying about how other women travel. Men don’t do that – and perhaps this is why – historically, they’ve been able to get more done.

4. G- You are totally neurotic.

Okay – I’ve heard this one so many times that I finally Googled it. Here we go:

neu·rot·ic  (n-rtk, ny-)

Love!

G

Since many of you are new here, (WELCOME HOME!) here’s our drive-by story-

We were a happy-ish, good enough family. I was the woohooo! one and Craig was the steady one. That worked for me. Then one day Craig told me some shocking News, and I learned that he was actually WOOHOO! too. So I had to be the steady one. I lost every single pretty idea I had about what marriage was supposed to look like, feel like, and stand for. I resented the living hell out of Craig for all of this.

We separated.

During those months it felt like the universe was revealing information to me a little bit at a time and I was responding the best I could. The universe was kind  to reveal things slowly. When I didn’t know what to do, I’d remind myself that “more will be revealed.” If I didn’t know what to do, it was just that I didn’t have all the necessary information yet. Like all BIG DECISIONS –  I didn’t really make any. Sometimes it feels like the BIG DECISIONS make themselves and we just have to wait to see how things unfold. This total loss of control is both a relief and disastrous.

One day, a couple of months after our separation, I knew it was time to reunite. I knew as certainly  as I knew when it was time to leave.

So we reunited. It was not a romantic reunion.

To me, I felt more like I was surrendering to something than making a bold decision. I certainly wasn’t surrendering to Craig. Maybe I was surrendering to the transformational power of committed love? No, I never thought I could change Craig or that he could change me. I suppose I was surrendering to hard work and hope. So it was a warrior’s surrender.

You know –this whole process has felt a lot like getting sober, actually. People don’t tell you that things are going to SUCK before they get better. So folks get sober and they feel like they’ve been duped. DRUNK WAS BETTER! DRUNK WAS BETTER! This hurts too much!! I’m so uncomfortable!! That’s how it feels, for a long time,  when two people are picking up the pieces of a busted up marriage.

After we reunited, everything sucked. I felt nothing, nothing, nothing except for jealousy towards every single couple on Earth who seemed to trust each other, enjoy each other’s company, and understand why they were married to each other. But I promised myself I’d just keep showing up. I did not force myself to smile or fake a damn thing. I just promised myself I’d show up and be honest. I’d be kind and brave. I’d do the next right thing.

Be kind and brave, Glennon – even when you’re afraid. Just do the next right thing, Glennon –  even when you’re really, really tired.

On the days I felt full of doubt (all the days) I forced myself to think about how marriages are living things – like trees –  and  how all living things are subject to the changes that seasons bring. How the most beautiful blossoming tree could be mistaken for dead-as-a-door-nail in the winter. But if you can stand the wait – and if you keep showing up to water that tree and if you keep a little faith even on the iciest days – that sucker might just bloom again. It might even be beautiful again.

Maybe.

I’m not sure what’s going on in my marriage these days, but I’m writing this essay because I think I might be seeing my first blossoms.

I left for a trip last week and when I opened up our minivan door at the airport – this is what I saw.

And I FELT something swelling up. It felt like hope.

And then when I got home, I found these little love notes hidden all around my room.

And I felt something that felt like love.

Is it possible that the barren ground is giving way to spring?

Maybe it’s a new season for us. Maybe.

Love.

P.S.  Just as I refused to be the poster child for Leaving, I also refuse to be the poster child for Staying. Life and relationships are complicated and messy and when we try to tidy them up with advice or generalizations- we offend, alienate and leave folks feeling misunderstood and alone. My only advice is this-

Drown out the external noise. Wait for the universe to reveal enough evidence to draw a conclusion. Be Still and Know. Wait for that teeny little nugget of Truth to arise- you know that nugget. It’s often the quietest but deepest voice inside us that insists we have to go even though staying is more comfortable or the one that requires us to stay when we’d prefer, at the moment,  to run for the hills.  Listen to your truthiest truth. Your truthiest truth sounds more like Love and Courage than Fear. Don’t ignore it. Don’t be afraid. Trust. 

God won’t invite us anywhere God’s not already waiting.

Love again.

This is Tish with her baby on our way to school this morning. I mean look at this child. SMILING. HAIR BRUSHED. DRESSED. WITH A DOLL WHO IS ALSO  DRESSED. I mean, seriously. We were rolling. We were on a FAMILY ROLL this morning. All five us in the car, ON TIME for school. Did I mention our hair was brushed???

What comes after pride, folks?

THE FALL. That’s what comes.

In the form of a kind but stern police officer who did not even seem to NOTICE that clearly he had just pulled over THE BEST MOMMY IN THE WORLD.

We told the truth when we arrived in the attendance office. Because we might be traffic criminals, but we are HONEST criminals.

Amma wrote her own slip. I can’t do all three, EVERY TIME. I’m proud of her penmanship. It’s important to look for the good.

Happy Weekend, Monks.

Love -
G (TBMITW)

The other night when Craig got home from work, I went to the bookstore to blow off some steam. Not a bar called The Bookstore…the actual book store. Borders. I know, somebody stop me.

Anyway…I’m sitting in the café with my latte and a pile of classic novels that I plan to start reading just as soon as I get caught up on the Gosselins…when I notice this guy across the cafe staring at me.

Here was my first thought:

OH MY GOSH maybe he recognizes me from the blog!!! Maybe I am ACTUALLY FAMOUS but I am just so humble and grounded that I don’t even know it. But then I remembered that the only two men who read my blog are my dad and my neighbor Pablo, and this guy didn’t look like either of them.

So my next thought was this:

YEP. I STILL GOT IT. LOOK AT THIS GUY. HE CAN’T GET ENOUGH OF ME.

And then, while I was mentally rehearsing how to relay this story to Craig, thus proving my desirability beyond a shadow of a doubt, the guy stood up and started walking toward me.

Oh, no. Oooooooh noooooooo. I am secretly terrified of boys.

“Excuse me ma’am? Ma’am? I’m sorry to interrupt you.”

“Umm…that’s okay.”

“I just thought you might want to know. When you went to get your drink I couldn’t help but notice that you have stickers all over your back. There’s like twenty of them back there.”

Thank you, Tish. Thank you very much.

Dear G,

I am getting nervous on my end, starting to tape a couple interviews already. Seeing a counselor to help with panic attacks. I once hung up on a live interview being simulcast around the country–and then ran around the house and  took all the phones off the hook.

Love,
H

I MEAN –  WHAT’S NOT TO LOVE ABOUT THIS LADY?

Monkees, Meet Miss Heather Kopp:  Monkee, friend, author, mama, recovering drunk, and Shame Slayer.

Somehow this being Glennon’s blog, it seems entirely appropriate for me to start off with a confession: This is the second post I wrote for you. I wanted so much to impress you and make you like me that my first post felt a little posy to me, like I was writing instead of just talking.

What’s that about? The reason I love Glennon’s blog is because she’s a writer who doesn’t “write.” It was her honest voice that first resonated with me, not her obvious talent for words.

But vulnerability isn’t as easy as we can make it seem. At least, it’s not for me. I’m entirely capable of using apparent transparency—Look at me telling you everything!—as a shield, a trendy trick, an invitation to make you say, Look how real she is. Sometimes, I reek of authenticity.

The reason all this matters to me so much is that as a recovering alcoholic who once lived a double life as a secret Christian drunk, my message has a lot to do with coming out of hiding and getting honest with myself and God and others.

At the heart of my story is a battle with shame and the power of a lie that told me that I would literally die of mortification if anyone ever knew my secret.

What I’ve since learned—and what people like Glennon and Brené Brown are so good at teaching us—is that shame is what happens when we hide, not when we finally show our faces.

A favorite passage of mine in early sobriety was this one from Psalms: “Those who look to him are radiant; their faces are never covered with shame.”

The greatest shock of my life was to discover that the exposure of the very secret that I thought would kill me brought me the greatest relief. It turns out that when you give up on looking good, no one can make you feel bad.

This is part of why I wrote Sober Mercies. Because when I am determined to hide, I harm myself, and in a roundabout way I hurt you too. When I smile and pretend that I’m okay even though I had a huge drunken row with my husband last night, some part of you hears me say, “It’s not okay to not be okay.”

We hear a lot of talk these days about people coming out of the closet. I rejoice every time some brave person decides to risk everything on the crazy hope that people will love them as much if not more when they learn who they really are.

I was in the closet—literally—for more than twelve years. My perpetually messy closet was where I hid my alcohol inside my tall boots or wrapped inside old sweaters. I often drank there, too—standing in the dark, guzzling as fast as I could so that my husband wouldn’t miss me downstairs.

It takes what it takes for most of us to come out of hiding. But here’s what else I’m learning. Big secrets don’t matter any more than smaller ones. It’s not so much the surrendering up of salacious affairs or headline-grabbing hypocrisy that makes us honest.

What matters is one woman saying to another, “This is how I really am today. How about you?”

Let’s walk in the light together, with faces unashamed.

Heather’s book, Sober Mercies: how love caught up with a Christian drunk is available here. Visit Heather at HeatherKopp.com.

AND MONKEES! HEATHER’S PUBLISHER HAS GENEROUSLY AGREED TO GIVE-AWAY 50 COPIES OF SOBER MERCIES TO MONKEES!
Thank you if you entered the giveaway!

With Faces Unashamed,

Heather and Glennon

Love, G and The Whole Monkee Family

Click here to see a list of teen homes across the United States that could use your support.  If you know of an organization that would like to be added to the list, please have a staff member of the home contact Monkee See–Monkee Do directly.

We’re also celebrating Mother’s Day over at Amazon today – head over to read my essay about Mothering as a spiritual practice.

All the love I’ve got  - from my tired, grateful heart to yours.

Happy Mama’s Day, mamas.

Love, G

I can’t take it in. Refuse to.  I find it supremely difficult to keep a good enough home, feed my family good enough food, and dress everyone in good enough outfits without keeping a file of ways to do these things PERFECTLY and FABULOUSLY and AMAZINGLY in my mental/computer file.

I don’t want to be perfect or fabulous or amazing. I just want to be good enough with a little relaxing time left over.

And here’s the other thing- I’ve never even made my children an ugly pancake. And now folks are posting pictures of month-long projects during which they create a different pancake animal theme each morning.

And by the way, what happened to bananas for breakfast?? And why aren’t you people freaking out in the morning and frantically searching for socks and lunch boxes and generally ruing the day you were born every morning like I am?

And while we’re on the subject of morning . . . what’s wrong with bananas for breakfast!? They’re healthy, cheap, delicious without cooking, and they come with their own wrapper. That’s good stuff. Are we too good for BANANAS?

Now listen, I had this banana vs “Noah’s Ark pancakes” for breakfast conversation with a dear friend who eats, sleeps, and breathes Pinterest. I told her about my banana-solution-to-all-culinary-challenges thing. And she listened politely. She seemed to understand. And the next day she sent me a picture of her kids with bananas on their plates. I smiled. But then I immediately stopped smiling because  I noticed that the bananas SAID STUFF ON THEM. One kid’s banana said “GOOD MORNING, HONEY” and the other’s said “RISE AND SHINE, SUNSHINE!” on it. In black letters.

And so I wrote back to my friend and said “what the sam hill is on your bananas?”

And she told me that on PINTEREST she learned that if you write letters with a tooth pick on a banana peel at night, the letters will magically appear on the banana in the morning.

Do you see what happened there?

Pinterest ruined bananas.

Now we’re all going to have to write NOTES on our  bananas and if we hold out, our kid will be the boring banana kid. Unloved, really.

Now. Having said all of this, I should mention two things:

1. Most of my friends love Pinterest. I love my friends. If you love Pinterest, I love you too. Please feel free to make my kids some stuff.
2. I’ve never actually BEEN on Pinterest. I tried once, but it said I needed an invitation to join and I felt like that was kind of snooty so I never went back.
3. Even so, Momastery has a Pinterest account. My dear friend Allison whipped up some of our quotes and favorite books and all kinds of inspiring, wonderful (not-panic-inducing) things and put them on there. I’ve never seen our account but I’ve heard it’s lovely. You should definitely go there — Allison says it’s here. I’m not so sure how to get myself there,  but if I ever do go, I’m definitely going to add some texty bananas and my gourmet nuggets.
4. That’s all I got. There’s a great article below about the Pinsanity. We’re in it.

That was four things.

Pin On, Warriors.

I guess.

Love, G

P.S.  In the [P]interest of doing something kind and easy for yourself today . . . 25% off all Momastery gear!  And it’s all already made!   PLUS, EVERY PENNY GOES TO MAINTAIN YOUR MOMASTERY! (When they’re gone, they’re gone. We must rest.).

PPS. I think the tone of this essay is a bit defeated and snarky and while I’m too tired to rewrite the darn thing I just wanted to acknowledge that.  I love you love you love you Pinteresty crafty friends. You know that right? I’m just trying to resist our culture’s recent suggestion that the best way to be a good mom is through intricate crafts and expensive decor and fabulous outfits. That is ONE way to express oneself as a mother –  just not at all the only way. Perhaps I should have just SAID that instead of all the stuff about bananas and pancakes. There are a million ways to kneel and kiss the ground, and making beautiful pancakes for your babies is DEFINITELY one of them.

Click to watch the interview

Dismiss the voices of perfection and competition. They are loud but quite unenlightened. They’d have you waste your entire life.

]]> http://momastery.com/blog/2013/05/08/dismissal/feed/ 46 http://momastery.com/blog/2013/05/08/dismissal/?utm_source=rss&utm_medium=rss&utm_campaign=dismissal http://feedproxy.google.com/~r/Momastery/~3/AoduysFudAo/ http://momastery.com/blog/2013/05/07/momastory-a-guest-post-from-julie/#comments Tue, 07 May 2013 12:45:38 +0000 Glennon http://momastery.com/blog/?p=4986 ... continue]]> Monkees, you’re in for a treat today! Meet Julie from Rants From Mommyland. Parents Magazine just named Julie the Funniest Blogger in the Universe…or something like that – but what I love about Julie is that her heart is as big as her humor. You’re just gonna love her. Monkees – Julie.

Hi and waving!

I’m Julie and I’m a Monkee. I came across one of Glennon’s posts on Facebook two years ago (it was “A Mountain I’m Willing to Die On”) and as I read it, I found myself sobbing in my living room. It put everything into words that I’d been unable to articulate. I shared it everywhere with wild exclamations like: “THIS! THIS YOU GUYS!! THIS FOREVER!! Fist pump of awesomeness BECAUSE THIS!!”

A couple of weeks later, after reading everything on Momastery, I sent G an email telling her how much her words meant to me and she sent me a very kind reply. I had been feeling lost. Disconnected to my faith and the need I’d always felt to be useful and good. At the time, all I was feeling was: “WHY AREN’T YOU PEOPLE FLUSHING THE POTTY?! GAH!!” and “ANOTHER EAR INFECTION – ARE YOU SERIOUS?”

Glennon’s words (and your comments) reminded who I was. Strike that. Reminded me who I want to be. I felt like I’d found my Yoprah (Yoda/Oprah). Since then, Glennon has mentored me through doing several love projects on my blog and I’ve been so grateful for her insight. When she asked me to write a post for you while she was on book tour, I got scared. Because I’m awkward and inappropriate even when I’m trying to act like a grown up. I say curse words by accident. I was going to screw up this opportunity to talk you and offend the community that meant so much to me. Sigh… I had no idea where to start.

But here’s the thing. I believe in signs. I looked up and saw one. It said “We Can Do Hard Things”.* And I realized that you guys believe in signs, too. Literally. So I wrote a post for you about signs – three little signs that hang in my house.

*Underneath the “we can do hard things” sign was a post it note on which was scrawled “that’s what she said”. This tells you everything you need to know about me.

Okay, Here We Go….

I’m pretty open about the fact that I’m not a good parent.

That doesn’t mean that I don’t like being a mom or that I don’t love my kids. It’s sort of the opposite of that. I love them so much that if I think about too hard, I’ll start ugly crying and by the time I stop, I’ll look like Garfield.

But I get distracted by things like cooking dinner and my job and Facebook. I maybe say things to my kids in a snarly voice that upon further reflection, I should not have said. I try to be present and calm and nurturing but I just cannot seem to be that person every day. On a good day, I can be that person for an hour at a time. I carpe Kairos whenever I can but it can be hard to remember to do that with three kids and two jobs and one husband and assorted critters. But that’s an excuse.

I like to vent about the stupid things that drive me crazy. There is debate as to whether or not venting is a good thing. That’s why I started blogging, to try to put all the little things that were driving me crazy into some sort of manageable perspective. To try to turn them into something funny, so I’m forced to see the absurdity of it all and laugh about it. That’s my go to – turning things into a joke.

But for a while even that wasn’t working. And all the little things I couldn’t laugh at were starting to gather around me in quickly growing piles of anxiety, and feeling overwhelmed, and not knowing where to start, and eventually frustration, resentment, and anger.

And sometimes it would all be too much and I would just LOSE IT. And I would find myself yelling at my kids in a voice I couldn’t believe was my own. And then I would look at them, and hear myself, and feel the ripples that my loss of control caused as they washed over our home. And I would feel gut wrenching shame and regret for not showing the self-control required to be the mother they deserve.

Then the inner monologue would start: What is the matter with you? You just screamed at them to stop screaming. It is all your fault. Of course they’re nasty to each other, did you hear the way you just spoke to them? You’re a tyrant. You’re a nag and a bully. They were perfect when you got them and you’re ruining them. Ruining them.

I hate the inner monologue. If you have one, please don’t listen to it. Your inner monologue is a dick. Listen to me. Listen to the small part of my brain that actually likes me. The part that I can hear if I listen hard enough.

“Just apologize for yelling. Explain why’re upset. Tell them you love them. Shake it off and begin again. This time use your nice voice and remember that you’re all they have.”

If there was one thing that sustained me through the parts of my childhood that were unpleasant, it was the certain knowledge that my mother loved me. I knew she loved me so much she didn’t even know what to do with it. That love kept me whole.

Now that I’m a parent, I get it. I get how you can love with your whole soul and still make mistakes.

So I listen hard to the little good voice. Then I do what it tells me. And that’s when I can forgive myself. That’s when I can start over. Every day is a new chance to do that. Every deep breath is a chance to do that. That’s how I parent. I love with my whole heart and try every day to keep my perspective, to find what’s funny, and to not be too big an asshole. It’s so much harder than it sounds.

I need help with this. So I made a set of reminders for myself and I gave them as gifts to my children. They’re ugly but they do the trick. They are three little painted signs that say three little painted words. They do not say “I love you”.

Here is what they say: No Matter What.

And I took these three little signs and I hung them above the doors of their rooms, where they could see them from almost every angle. So they could see them when I tuck them in at night. Or when I’m telling them they’ve just made a bad choice and they need some time to think it over. Or when they’re making too much noise and they have to decide between being quiet or a closed door.

Because they know that’s how we love them, their father and I. No matter what. And there is no “but” associated with it. It just is and it applies to every eventuality.

When you’re good.

When you don’t listen.

At 3am when you’re up for the fourth time.

When you’re being sweet.

When you hit your sister.

When it takes you 400 tries to just go to sleep.

When you are so deep in a tantrum that you can’t even hear me.

When you’re angry and defiant.

When you forget to flush.

In sickness and in health.

Even lice.

When you forget every single thing that you are supposed to remember.

If you decide you’re suddenly too cool to play with the toys we spent five years collecting for you.

When you hit a home run!

If you’re mean to other people.

If other people are mean to you.

If you fail a class.

If you have no friends.

If you have too many friends and I hate all of them.

If you’re fat.

If you’re beautiful (AND YOU ARE).

If you crash our car.

If I find weed in your sock drawer.

If you never call me back and always ask for money.

If you decide to vote like your father.

Gay or straight.

If you never come home on break.

If you totally f*&k everything up.

If you do things that astound even your grandparents.

If you disapprove of how we live.

If you choose someone who is the complete opposite of me.

If I lose you.

If I’m lost.

It does not matter.

Lately, so many things seem possible. Particularly the bad things, the ones I don’t want to think about. Why couldn’t they happen to us? Of course they could. We must accept that the world is an uncertain place. But this one thing is certain and I take great comfort in that.

And my kids… They keep getting bigger and more complicated. They’re growing up faster than I can deal with. I will not lower my expectations of them in terms of kindness, respect and hard work. This will cause problems sometimes. I’ll try not to yell, but I’ll probably lose my temper at some point. I will make mistakes and so will they. We’ll apologize and start over. And while I’m not always good at being their mom, I will wake up every day trying to do this job better. I will never give up and I will never stop doing that, even if we are parted.

And all I can hope is that they know, as I did, that I love them with my whole heart. No matter what.

*************************

Isn’t she great, Monkees? I know.  Here’s the thing. Julie’s not only funny, she’s got a huge heart  and she’s determined to use it in service of women. She’s been working her tail off on a huge service project this Mother’s Day. She’s used her funny to create 14 awesome Mother’s Day ecards for the Real World. The more these eCards get shared this week, the more money her sponsor Sweet Relish will donate to Shelter House – an organization that provides transitional housing and services for families experiencing homelessness and domestic violence. Using our talents to serve women – doesn’t that sounds familiar and perfect???

Go check them out and if you love them, share them!