While I have been waking up to be with God so very many mornings this year, I do not feel with God. I feel like my anxiety around what I am unsure is okay and what I wish was  - is so large that that space of with God and nothing else seems to have eluded me for months and months and months. What I may hear from God cannot be scarier than what life feels like with this entanglement though - of feeling desperately eager and also terrified of what I may hear if I let my vigilant self- protection (aka anxiety) take a day off.

its day 2 of summer, and I am so so so so determined to be different for the summer. But i don't know how. how to be different when I am still equally lost. Different when the days feel eternal of hungry bodies and clothes on the floor and sunscreen and bug spray and boo boos to clean and wet bathing suits and sweaty heads. The days of endless activity direction and all of us trying to find new rhythms with no school and sports and not exactly knowing how to rest and play the way that it used to seem so easy. 

I know I am part of the problem because I create the circus of entertainment wanting my kids to always be having the best time -  wanting each day to seem FUN. Because I live for fun. So i activity direct the heck out of summer and my kids have no clue how to be bored because I have created patterns where they are used to the 10 ideas I will propose each morning. And yet I feel the dread of always having the new idea of the fun things to make life good. I have got to get out of this business. Not good for them, not good for me and the right idea doesn't seem to be the total opposite where I tell them I am tired of entertaining them, but somewhere in between where we create together. Somewhere in between where we learn more being together and less entertaining one another. i don't know how and I am almost 10 years into parenting. for the love. I cannot spend the day where I am trying to get them off my ankles and they are hoping for a few minutes of my eyes. where is the middle? 

i am often waiting to escape but i am finding the escapes less and less satisfying. How many episodes of Hart of Dixie will really help my sense of displacement in the world? This is how I know I am back to the beginning. This summer can't be different because I come up with all the spreadsheets of incredible FUN. This summer only stands a chance when I allow the spaciousness for connection with the Holy Spirit. When I let go of the tiny threads I am still holding and open the palms of my hands. i have to be more okay with the day whatever it holds. even if it is eternal and so far from what i pictured or hoped for this season, this is my day. this is the day the Lord has made. I don't know if i can go so far as to rejoicing and gladness but I want to eye that direction, because the day is of the Lord. So maybe I am less lost than I thought. 

Even this morning the alarm was set and my clothes were laid out for an early morning run. Much of the morning before the alarm even went off I was tossing and turning. I lacked comfort and I was sweating just laying there. Why thank you hormones. As an infertile woman I loathe against this monthly cycle and all that it brings to me.  And as a person preparing for a colonoscopy today, I am especially hot all over that it will be accompanied by this other body misery. So before the clock even turns to 6am, I have a choice about listening to my body. I begin thinking through all that I will need strength for in this day and as much as I want to run, always, I know it my heart of hearts it will take too much from me today. I will be on a clear liquid diet today so i can replenish what I would expend out there and I have a full day that will require me and my body to show up.

This is such hard work for me. To listen and to honor my body. To not be mad that it can't push through and even further to wonder how to convert my contempt toward these processes that are part of my journey - an autoimmune disease, a female cycle for an infertile body - and invite curiosity and kindness. To wonder what listening to this body looks like with particularity.  To consider what I know it wants and seeks as well as mindfulness of its limitations. 

In my life God has used these muscles and organs covered in skin to teach me more than I ever would have imagined - my body, my Jeremiah. He has invited me back to God's offering through acceptance and growth through treating my body with care. Through deep consciousnesses of the very breath I am so desperate for as I practice yoga or run - that breath that connects me back to myself and even more to my source of life. I never tire of hearing my own breath - fluid or panting - and appreciating that my very lungs need. They thrive on attention and not expect that they just perform. Sometimes I come home from a run and say, "it was in me today" and that typically means that the breath seemed effortless as I allowed my body to exert and fly through my neighborhood. Those mornings when my body is lining up with my desires and it feels so dang good. 

Also, my body has been the place to first ridicule God's work and force a false self. I had a couple decades that not only lacked acceptance but harshly disowned the voice and shape of my body. When it would speak to me of hunger, I would offer it disapproval. When it uttered desire, I offered it disdain. When it changed and grew into the form it was always meant for, I offered it contempt. There is so much ache for me over wishing I had another way through growing up in my body. I cannot really imagine if I had offered kindness to my body then, what it would have spoken to me or given to me in strength. Part of me releases it to the natural part of adolescence and coming of age, and part of me cannot possibly accept that that must include a turn against one's body. One's best resource for knowing. One's host to the divine Holy Spirit. No more, I think. No more. I want to hear all the roar in my belly and longing in my chest and give space to listen. My body still speaks. 

-

Now listen this doesn't mean that there is no such thing as bossy and that those leaders get a free pass. It provides a new set of vocabulary around the labels and boxes that we put one another in as a way to understand the world. There will be some who are thrilled to follow an idea, and others who make it there mission to resist. GREAT, now we have the representation we need to make the world work. Leaders, followers, resisters and some in between trying to make peace - peacemakers. I have a memory walking up the hill from Edgewood Blvd. with one of my dearest friends and we were crushing ant hills on the way from my house to hers when she told me that her mom said I was too bossy and that she should find some other friends. And I ached. and ached and ached. Because I loved her so much AND my true self was always trying to create order in the world. I was at war with my design. 

Since then I have done story work to attempt to connect some dots of how I transformed my true self into an ideal self. I wanted to learn more of how this war with myself has left me as an adapted self today.  I could share story work and hours of therapy but recently have been a bit fascinated with the Enneagram tool. I am going to call it a tool for this reason - one, it is neither scientifically or psychologically backed at this time, HOWEVER, it has (debatably) centuries and for sure decades of use to lend further understanding into our motivations, fears and needs. It provides windows into hearts and minds of those we are close to and raising. And so I jumped into learning more and with 3 tests under my belt, a few books and a number of podcasts, I am an 8 w 7 for every side of Sunday.

And the thing is that as soon as I read the description, I thought, "NO!, when do i get to be something else?" And kindly God has said back to me, "never, because this is my good design."

FINE. I get it. I accept that when I walk into the room, I am wondering who is in charge, and the options are that either they will be deemed trustworthy to lead or I will want to create more order clarity and efficiency. I will respond to life from my gut to whatever is being said or done. My instincts are my go to, it doesn't mean I won't spend time in my head, I will, after the fact I will replay and replay conversations.  But when it is time to act, I am guided by instinct, and while I am aware of hearts and minds in the room, my brain is on rapid fire connecting dots trying to make sense of the world, wanting to support, empower and protect others.  If I sense injustice, I am on fire inside, and it usually comes right outside through direct expression of ideas and thoughts. I have not always received accolades for my assertiveness in a culture that has always medaled women that are quieter, less expressive.  And the thing I have also really come to understand is not only can I not help but communicate with confidence and directness, but I really appreciate that type of communication back. I love truth-telling. I love others guts. It doesn't make me unwoundable, in fact that is the other side. Much of the time because of my confidence others assume I can take anything and that is also not true, the other side of me is a tender mush. 

My 7 wing gives me the balance and also can fuel the fire of my 8ness because i want to live life so dang big. I want the next adventure, the next great whatever... all the time. And my expectations can be through the roof wanting the biggest best life ever and struggling so much with contentment and satisfaction. It is a drive and a curse. It makes rest hard. Life becomes all about anticipation and if there is nothing to really anticipate that discontentment becomes a regular bedfellow. My 7ness also shows off my enthusiasm, my energy and my invitation to go big or go home. Not a lot of complacent 7's. BUT too much of a good thing is actually too much and that is so hard for my 7 brain to know. I ALWAYS want  more. 

So, back to that convention center seat, I now see that hand raised high and I say to myself - "You are a leader. Its always been in you. And you may have a lot to learn about things like timing and delivery and constructive critisicm, but the way you enter a room and connect dots is a part of a real good design." God has and wants to use my wiring for Her good. And now, more than ever, I am available to that. I am so dang ready my 7 heart may explode. I am anticipating what is in store for me and praying for the patience as I wait. My 8 self will rise when it is time, I just know it will, and that has begun to shift my adapted self back to my true self with acceptance and kindness. 

Loving well is far more work than I ever imagined. There are the seasons when it feels like a breeze, when you hardly notice you're doing it because it naturally flows out of you. Then there are seasons where if no one asked you may not realize that really you are not participating in the loves in your life, what some may call steady, I would say it can also be complacency. Then there are those seasons when you tiptoe around or get real busy and avoidance becomes the norm. Many know the seasons where you are aware of every brick you carry, every dollar you earn, every laundry you fold, and the bitterness curls up on the sofa in your house. 

I have allowed myself to be fooled over and over by the idea of a 50/50 marriage (If this is working for someone, please write me today). Many years of my marriage more closely resemble 80/20. Six years ago I remember a poignant moment in my car where I was sobbing on the phone with my sister and I needed to choose to step up in my marriage. To rise when Stephen was at one of his very lowest times. To not join the party of defeat but find ways to be a voice of grace, strength, and hope. I felt so sobered to realize how wrong I had been above love, thinking that so much was the reward and pleasure of it - which it is, but also to love well meant the deepest dive into my gut to show up for someone else. To show up when it wasn't feeling natural or reciprocated. That season changed me. I believe that season also changed Stephen. I participated and I stood witness and it was not all pretty but it was real and deep and textured. 

My pride led me to believe that I was likely to spend the marriage playing the 80% role. Thinking back over the last three years I bow my head at my naievite.  Even the season we are in now, one where I make it through days, they aren't peppy or particularly visionary, they are logistical and cyclically laborious, they are days when energy goes to two small humans - I am jarred by my own need. And also I am in awe of Stephen's 80%. I see him seeing me. I see him responding not always only in the ways that are natural to him but responding in ways that he knows will speak right to my heart. I see him giving us all he can when he can and i battle my pride and practice gratitude for him. 

This is the last week of my 30's. It's Valentine's and the beginning of Lent and my dad's 70th birthday. I have been feeling all the feels and my heart is overwhelmed. I came into the week weak. And I have found my way through these days because my partner has showed up over and over again. He decorated the house, he made homemade valentines for the kids and got me gifts for each day to make it like a Sue Wilson birthday week. I have been so energized by his care. I have accepted my need and received his 80%.  Let me tell you that is tough on these bones. AND it is love. It is this season. My disdain for my need and impatience with my ache do not help me grow as a person. My softening towards myself and receiving of help expand my heart. We are 16 years in and still learning new things all the time. That's love. I had it all wrong. 

I feel this invitation now to rethink 50/50 and to allow the seasons to be what they are. It's not just the love I share with Stephen, it's with others too.  To ebb and flow and ultimately invite us into what we most need to grow and change. 

Today marks the first day of Lent and I am going to practice showing up and not allowing myself to get lost in my current wilderness. I want to hear the voice of God calling me in this season and I want respond. 

My story well for the next 40 days includes growing up with information, hearing women, seeing children, staying in love, being needy, type 8, creating home, finding life’s work, and grief. These stories have faces and moments that are being held and I want to give them language so that I can understand more. For anyone who joins me, thank you. Witness to life is precious. And I’ll always take your thoughts, your cheers, your tears, your disagreements, I am as open as I’ve ever been and you are invited. 

When I ran into the living room in balmy Clearwater, Florida I was elated to see that Santa had come again! My cousins and I ran to find our stocking names and look below it where our big santa gift usually lay. The year I remember most clearly I got a bike  - one with a bell and fun sparkly things to go on the wheels for decorations. My stocking was full of M&M's with a few necessities like socks and shampoo. My brother or someone else always put comical things in the stockings as well like slimy gel fish tackle or rocks. It was some of the most memorable moments of collective joy for our family. 

Many in my family had special Christmas outfits. My mother wasn't above wearing light up Christmas earrings with her frosty the snowman blue sweater (all of December).  My grandfather and grandmother wore matching sweatshirts that I had made using puffy paint and each had a huge star in the middle. Considering my artistic skills, I can only imagine they were very "unique" but I felt such pride to give the sweatshirts to them. When I think of my Aunt Nanny and my cousins my mind flashes over endless Christmas PJ sets and slippers and socks with all the jolliness you could picture. 

My grandparents also led our family in a tradition of clue-writing on every gift that would be opened that day. For example, " To Beth From Dick, Clue: clickety clack. And she would spend like 10 minutes shaking the box, feeling the weight of the box, and on and on. My patience has always been too low to excel at this guessing game but the tradition led us to a day of lingering and opening presents on the floor and eating sausage balls and oranges for many hours.  Our family gave everything we had to make a really special Christmas day. And I loved it. 

Once the cousins got older and my grandparents passed away, our joint Christmases became less often. Still, our family tried to hold on to many of the Rowe traditions. This year we faced another major change in the rhythm, presence, and contribution of Christmas spectacular - we attempted to pull off all the special things without our matriarch.  Three days before Christmas marked the second year of her passing and the first marker of us attempting to actually carry on Christmas day.  Last year we all flew to Mexico, unable to imagine walking through stores and making egg casserole and coffee cake til the wee hours without her. No one was ready to fill in the gap.

Were we really ready this year?... ah, no. But was it time to lead a new generation of Christmases, yes, achingly, yes. Ollie, Bea, Sadie, Hannah, and Mateo need magical memories too. And she would want NOTHING less for them. While I think my sister spent the entirety of Christmas in the kitchen prepping to spoil for the next feeding, I found myself often circling aimlessly. I am not sure what I contributed. Typically, I would be the one to at least buy everyone cheesy Christmas gear, but actually, I even forgot Santa. Seriously. Hannah got zero presents from Santa. Mateo got one and that is only because I remembered Santa at about 11pm on Christmas Eve and still had a present left to wrap for Mateo so naturally, that one became from Santa. But there were no big ticket items under the stockings that Santa left and not even any hidden in the tree. We dropped the key ball. 

How on Earth she made it seem so right I have no idea. How the morning sounded like Evie and smelled like sugar and citrus we gave it our best shot. What I am coming to realize is that we can't just repeat the actions of the Rowes or the Wilsons but that we morph what we can within our skill sets and memory. And then we grow it by what comes naturally to the Wilsons, Wilson-Roberts, and Osters sans Matriarch. It aint easy folks. It wasn't smooth, for peet sake, we left our Santa. But listen Ba led the kids in Happy Birthday Jesus song and we blew the candles out on the coffee cake. The memory of Amy's apple pie and Aaron's lamb on Christmas night surrounded by neighbors living in insecure housing with no family to celebrate with ended up making so much sense.  It ended up feeling just about right. We didn't bowl everyone over with magic but all the combined efforts and spirits communicated how much we long to create again together. To honor her memory, and to find our new morphed way of communicating what Christmas means to our families. 

We sat on opposite ends of her daybed and began creating a story together. I loved her face. I loved her imagination. I loved when she told me the word I picked was not the right one. I loved when she told that we needed to use (  ) "these things" to the part of the sentence I wrote that doesn't totally fit into the flow. I tried not to jump across the bed and hug her so tight that we were doing something together that felt so grown up and also felt like so my love language. I love to tell stories. I love to write. I often limit my imagination though and I loved that hers was big enough in places that I couldn't see out beyond all my brain walls. I felt the warmth of tangible delight that was soaring through the room. 

Ten minutes later an equally tangible but way way less lovely picture was also soaring through the room. When I returned to the family room, I asked Stephen what he was doing as his eyes were intent on the screen, he let me know he was really trying to figure out our budget. And something in the next sentence was about how we need to figure out how to make ends meet. Enter PANIC, HYSTERIA, and SHAME in unbound form spewing from yours truly. It was like ugly vomit. And I couldn't stop. And Stephen let me carry on in my ugly. My thoughts ranged from, "how can we still not make ends meet in Charlotte? I've got to get a job, this is ridiculous. I am going to sell out and get whatever work I can, dreaming is stupid. We HAVE to have money to survive here because our house is a money pit that has endless needs and in order to get any relief from the humdrum unbeauty I need to get out and do stuff and stuff costs money. and my clothes are old, my jeans have holes and my shoes are ancient, its nearing Christmas and our house looks like college furniture collection, and we have family coming and parties to host, and we can't be out of money and spiral and spiral and spiral....." I told you it was ugly. 

Not only do I sound and feel heinous but I have spewed venom towards the one person on my team in the world. I shot daggers at the person working his butt off to bring provision and delight to our family. Shame shower now ensuing. So like all smart people, I listen to his response and then I escape. The super sucky part is that his response was a reminder that we committed to each other to starting these conversations in gratitude. Gratitude for health, home, children, etc. etc. etc. We committed, just like a week ago,  to trusting that God has provided for us every single year of our lives and that we sit in a position of incredible wealth compared to much of the world. I'm now drenched in my own stench and he is totally right. His words aren't condemning or unkind. They are frustrated, which makes sense, but they are also gracious, it is still an invitation. I say, "you're right," and I escape to my room. 

And here I am this morning contemplating how on earth I go from a room of utter delight and blessing to the next room and spew venom. Why was that switch possible so fast? What on earth is in this body? Ache, longing, desire. and heaps and heaps and heaps of discontent. That I don't have answers today to make right. The story doesn' wrap up in a bow. The story is that I am in a throw down wrestling match with myself wanting to understand more of what tipped my hand so fast. I am twisting and turning wanting to know that when my head knows my heart and body don't follow. The divide is too great a gap right now and I have to tread the water to bridge them more closely.  And I don't think I like what's in the water. 

To be continued. 

So very little that he gets to choose at this point and the rules of the world appear to be baffling to him. For example, yelling "NO!" back at your mother when she makes a request like "go potty" or "put your shoes on" is actually not an option. These requests are not questions and the timing of which they take place are nearly never at your discretion, they are to be done as fast as the words leave my mouth before I give up and you are walking barefoot and it hurts with all the pokey things on the ground. 

I too feel baffled by our days figuring out this world together. It often has me feeling quite unstable. At the dinner table tonight, Mateo invited me to play a game of the switching face expressions which actually had me belly laughing. He recently discovered the art of fake laughing, and he took it to a new level when he abruptly stopped laughing and made a serious face, then back to laughing, then back to serious, then back to laughing. Which I actually found so wildly entertaining watching him navigate with his grey toothed fake laugh. It brought deep laughter to my giggles which were supposed to only last 20 seconds before turning serious so I lost that game. In those moments I fall for him so deeply, he is so inviting and warm and it truly takes SO VERY little to have him feel joined and therefore delighted. Still those moments can be rare in days I can't stop. 

Last but not least of my three short Teo anecdotes of the day, is that he seems to have take after his sister a bit in his keen awareness of moods and lack of appreciation for bad tones. He has begun reading faces very quickly and you ask, "what matter mom?" (or anyone that you can tell seems off). It kind of stops me in my tracks when I realize he sees so well and that building emotional intelligence begins so very young and can be honored. He also seems aware when words are too harsh and the tone is heavy, and yesterday when I was speaking in that firm tone with not as encouraging words, he began a cry and said, "don't talk like that with those words at me." I was mad, you had been disobedient, and yet I also scared you. And you called me for my unkindness and high volume. And I think you were right, I shouldn't talk at that pitch with those words to you - thanks for calling me out - mr. 3 years old. 

So, all this to say, my stay-conscious stay-at-home battle continues, and yet, "I see you Mateo," you are bright and emotional and loving. These days are so dang complicated and while there are many I wish away, there are some, when I see crystal clear the sacredness of these moments I get to share with you over bugs, fake laughter, and loud tones. My mother always told me she learned so much from us kids and for a long time I thought she seemed wise enough and she was just being nice.  Now I am coming to realize that hands down the greatest teachers of my last six months are 3 and 9. Good Lord, may I keep up and open. 

That line is so perfect for summer, where we get the chance to be idle and blessed. This morning I am reflecting on where we have been this summer. This is the longest summer likely I’ll ever have with the children. We started summer in mid May when we made our move across country. At the dinner table last night we were all sharing favorite memories of the summer and things we got to do and our summer included a LOT; Here is some of what we recollected - cross country move, 3 camps for Hannah, a visit to Whitewater Center, Carowinds, a week in the Outer Banks, a trip to Ohio and the loss of Stephen’s first grandparent, a family camping trip in NC mountains, 2 graduation gatherings, a July 4th lake day, time with Ba, Nana, Papa and Uncle, a visit from the Crouches & Cochrans, we bought a house, we stayed at the Ashton, we went to Litchfield Beach, we swam and swam in our own backyard money pit pool, we went to First Ward Park, 7th St Market, Romare Bearden Park,ImaginOn, Anne Springs Close Greenway, Freedom Park, Charlotte Knights Baseball game and every other spot we could discover in Charlotte. 

I found myself staring this summer which sounds incredibly odd to write but typically I resist moments that seem unproductive but I have been so blessed by them. i have watched birds, seen an Owl and a Hawk in our backyard along with all of our Cardinal friends, i watched the waves and remained in awe of the expanse and mystery of the ocean, i have run into the sunroom to watch thunderstorms and felt the exhilaration of thunder and heavy rain. 

It feels ridiculous to want to want a medal today for something millions of mothers do for much longer, but I am proud of me and the kids this summer. I think on the whole we had a sweet summer. I had my moments for sure.for sure. I seem to struggle with the transition the most while these two humans seemed game for each day, and also very open to be with each other. Of course, Hannah loved time retconning with old friends and not a 3 year old but she also laughed and played with him more than I could have even pictured. Mateo’s delight for “my hannah” is through the roof. We told him last night that Hannah was going back to school today and all he could say was “what? no!” 

I have left myself and come back many times this summer. It has been too much to process the loss and the hope some days. So I have just operated and the disconnect I have felt from God, from myself, from my family on those days where I am not going in haven’t been pretty. So my intention now as we move into a new season is increased consciousness. I have no desire to just operate and survive any longer, I am quite ready to live very very present.  I am ready to start new things and dig deep.  It has been a long long time since I have felt that capacity - so, may it be so. See ya summer, it has been big. 

I try to think of conversations I hold most precious and I often picture ones like blueberry crisp in the ovens. The goodness just busts out. And its crazy messy and runs all in the nooks and crannies. Its a delight and there is always clean up. That's the thing. Those are my favorite conversations - unrehearsed, a bit from the gut, true, even if laced with humor, they are true to the person not sculpted so perfectly for the audience, and they dabble in the mess, in the unknown. The reverse, that really wears me down, are the conversations that share and take back before they can even finish sharing, they solve, they soothe and they start putting their thoughts in reverse and changing them. because they cannot wait for the blueberry to pop, its too scary and hot and sloppy. and they are too afraid that if i see the slop I will not be able to look. or they will not be able to look. either way they protect from the both the goodness and the mess. 

So anywho, long way of saying, I'd like to reconnect and get back into those conversations that invite both the slop and the delight. I'd also like to eat a blueberry crisp now after thinking of it all morning. 

I am not landing. I cannot find footing. And I am mad at myself that my grounding isn't working. And I am frustrated with myself that a choice we knew and we made that does offer goodness can still be this hard. I do not feel the right to be as grumpy as I actually have been. I know this ground and still, I cannot put my feet down. I feel resistant, scared, discontent and disoriented. I find complaints are always near my tongue. And I need to let go and land but I am dangling. I want to look across the pool and see your face and BE WITH YOU. My people, most especially Stephen, are getting the sharp leftovers of my brain as I attempt to land. 

Is there space for my disappointment? Is there space enough for me to absorb the mass transition so I can move on well? Is there a way to accept the radical change to our daily rhythms? Should I have known better? How many missteps did we make? How am I currently making up for the ache? How do I make right the fire in the crossover without burning all my people? Can I reconcile the competing voices in my head - one of kindness to myself that I am still in transition whiplash after a huge last few months and the second voice full of impatience and disdain for the bad attitude and discontent for what at the end of the day are first world problems (we have ample food, shelter, health, community, and work). 

That's where I am this Monday morning. Wanting to start a new week refreshed and open and optimistic. And facing the reality that I'm dangling still and there is work in my heart and mind to find footing again. And I need kindness and acceptance for myself and for my people to start again today. 

"I knew we were going the whole time," Stephen says with a grin as I am flying down the back country roads. I laughed, and said, "what, seriously!" He went on to say that although I had come up with every practical and responsible reason that we shouldn't go down to the free spot at the beach and crash with his parents, that when the the last minute to pass came there was no way I was going to pass. I totally cracked up. Pain in the butt to be known too well, also a pain the butt to be partnered with someone who has the patience for me to come around on my own time. 

We are currently in the 6th bed/house/city since we left N 64th St. in Seattle.  The kids and me have been to Edmonds, Ballard, Atlanta, Charlotte, Greenville and now Litchfield. Its been wild and I confess that when we meet our truck again and get to build our bed again n the house where we actually may live for more than 2 years... I will be pumped. But also, there is this adventure and spontaneity in me that has kind of liked this nomadic trail the kids and I have been on in the last 30 days. AND I am as proud of these two small humans in my life. They have been incredible and game for the ride. And that gives me such joy and hope for our future because they have two parents that like to keep it fresh. 

So, after speeding down the very familiar beach roads, knowing when to take the 25 mile/hr seriously as we passed through Florence and Sumnter and so on, we arrived to the smell of the ocean. My heart seriously leapt and it has been a happy happy 36 hours for me. Stephen's parents greeted us downstairs the condo and we went up and were changed into bathing suits as fast as we could. We poured beers, found sunscreen, sunglasses and flip flops and made our way down to the the wide white sandy beach. Stephen, Nana and the kids were in the water before i barely got the chairs and towels sorted. And I looked out and felt such happiness. 

Part of our homecoming was to see family more. Part of homecoming was to get to the beach more. And to actually get after it so much after landing the plane two weeks ago just thrills my heart. And also part of the homecoming for me was to continue in my courage and self love that had grown while in Seattle. To go to the beach and take off my shirt and feel good for what was underneath. To sit down and see the wide strong legs, painted but chipped toenails, softer than usual middle and makeupless face and say Ashley this is all good. To sit in the chair without squirming but in an accepting and kind way... oh my gosh.... it made me exhale. We can grow. We can change. We can become over and over and over again. There can be new truths about ourselves. Ahhhh, today was a good day. 

I mean, in some ways, it was like God was like... "welcome home!"  We were just so glad to all 4 be living in the same city and under the same roof that it wasn't going to take a ton to make us giddy.  This landing spot was AWESOME.  From the moment we walked in late on a Sunday night and I saw the glow of the city coming out of the huge windows encasing the entire apartment, I thought, thank you Jesus! I'll let the pics speak for themselves so two last thoughts -  My heart needed confirmation of wise return (It actually needs it like 10 times everyday at this point) and there really was something in the richness of being in our old hood for our first ten days back AND receiving the lavishness of our place AS WELL as the utter richness to be welcomed back into our community's lives. Again, thank you Jesus. 

This morning I had a conversation with our son that went something like this: 

"Buddy, you can't touch the stove." 
   "Why?" 
"Because it's hot and you'll burn yourself." 
   "Why?" 
"Why is it hot or why will it burn you?"
   "Yeah." 
"I don't know how to answer that."
   "Why?"
"Because."
   "Why?" 
"Just don't touch the oven, okay buddy ?"
   "Why?"
 ...

"Why" is the question. Buddy asks it in response to just about everything? It starts as a curiosity but continues as a matter of repetition. I think that underneath these "whys" is a desire to understand the world around him and how he fits. During this transition, this word has come to be his favorite, and I wonder if it's driven by the disruption watching a house get packed up, saying lots of goodbyes, and cross-country move and all that that it entails. 

I see it and hear it from Kiddo as well. Her whys are much harder and sometimes more subtle, and most often unsaid. 

"Why did we move across the country anyways?" 
"Why would someone break into our home and bust my piggy bank?"
"Why do I have to leave a friend?"
"Why did we leave in the first place?"
"Why are there mean people in the world?"  

The frustrating part is that I don't have answers, either ample ones for Buddy or adequate ones for Kiddo, much less a desire to engage their curiosity. But I get it. As our bodies, minds, souls, our family make this move from West to East, we are hungry for understanding. I crave answers and affirmations. There are so many unknowns, questions left unanswered, new ones that we can't even begin to process. And I don't want silence or 'because' for an answer either. So I'm going to engage. I'm going to listen to their questions and enter the dialogue, and I'm also going to start asking them again. I think dreaming is important and dreaming starts with questions. 

SO

One of the hardest things about trying to write about daily life and set a rhythm of remembering is also telling the truth of the day. And words aren't coming as easily the last few days. One of my dearest friends lost her dad this week. I felt almost a panic to wish away what I can imagine with far more vividness than I wish of the finality of letting someone go. When every single moment is seared in a surreal reality of a place you could never fully take your mind until it is fully there because the sting is so great, the gravity of loss quite unimaginable. No matter the perfectness of the relationship with the person or not, when they are gone there is a shift in the earth. And I am learning that once you have felt that shift with your own feet that small tremors return when the details of someone you love's loss is described to you. I want to be careful what I say here because I am still processing - for my friend - for my self  - for all my close friends who have lost a parent too soon. I want to be careful I speak less and hear her more. Each of our experience so different that part of my tremors this week is asking myself if i can set aside what i know, even when the memories are crashing back,  to hear what is real for my precious dear friend so that I may know her and her loss more fully.  

So for today, i was glad to get soaked and try to process what i know my body is holding for someone i love and also for the way the grief finds its way back into my bloodline with force. To be continued. 

I agreed to the makeup mother's day in part because i wanted sleep and be irreresponsible pretty dang bad after the last few months. In short, I single-parented for approximately 35 days while packing up a house and caring for the bouncy temperaments of two children trying to navigate a mass transition. No probs. So...... it felt like one of those years that the day to be un-in-charge sounded pretty stellar. I actually find that mother's day can be a real bind. In part you really want this day where the kids are empathetic kind helpful humans with no boogers or poop cuddling with you, taking walks together, and eating all your favorite foods for a day. And on the other hand because you know that option A is nonexistent, than you want to find the few ways you can be fully indulgent ALONE.  For example:  sleeping in, going to the bathroom alone and uninterrupted, taking a shower alone and uninterrupted, going on a run, having a mimosa that makes you so relaxed that you sneak in a few pages of a book you have been trying to finish since your child turned 2 and then fall back asleep, and then the rest of the day doesn't matter as long as you get a full 12 hours not being the first line of defense. Is that super self indulged? Maybe. Does it also sound amazing? For me, right now, yes. 

The bind comes in a few ways, one - the kids are confused because they assume mother's day includes them and don't know why you suddenly tell them to ask their father about everything. And two, im confused because i want to stare at them and love on them and being fully out of control gets awkward for everyone after about 4 hours so i start slowing inserting opinions when im not asked. 

How lucky is my family? Ha. I love um. And shockingly it turns out with all my quirks and party hopes, they love me back. 

The Journey By David Whyte

Above the mountains
the geese turn into
the light again

Painting their
black silhouettes
on an open sky.

Sometimes everything
has to be
inscribed across
the heavens

so you can find
the one line
already written
inside you.

Sometimes it takes
a great sky
to find that

first, bright
and indescribable
wedge of freedom
in your own heart.

Sometimes with
the bones of the black
sticks left when the fire
has gone out

someone has written
something new
in the ashes of your life.

You are not leaving.
Even as the light fades quickly now,
you are arriving.

Wild Geese

You do not have to be good.

You do not have to walk on your knees

for a hundred miles through the desert repenting.

You only have to let the soft animal of your body

love what it loves.

Tell me about despair, yours, and I will tell you mine.

Meanwhile the world goes on.

Meanwhile the sun and the clear pebbles of the rain

are moving across the landscapes, 

over the prairies and the deep trees,

the mountains and the rivers.

Meanwhile the wild geese, high in the clean blue air,

are heading home again.

Whoever you are, no matter how lonely, 

the world offers itself to your imagination,

calls to you like the wild geese, harsh and exciting  

over and over announcing your place 

in the family of things.

from Dream Work by Mary Oliver 

And this connects to yesterday's post on Grub Club - E is GC member #13. The first friday dinners began with a 3 small babies and has grown by 10 more amazing miniatures. And the reason I write is not in anyway to boast of my special group but more to honor what I have come to learn in the last five years after leaving these dear bigs and smalls. We all need each other. In the world at large, yes, but even more so in the world in the day in and day out.  Life witnessed creates this depth and texture that is so very sweet.  

Ive been prideful to mask my need to belong, regularly, deeply and with delight. No one wants to name need and also it is very very hard to have your heart met well in this world. To add fun on top of a well met heart is like Disneyland but not fantasy. You know what I mean? My pasts speaks to how I either had my expectations so high that most in my life were set up to fail from the start. Or I puffed my chest and garnered all the independence I could to not need too badly, to not inconvenience anyone too much or want their company too often. In fact, where I have experienced a part of culture that says that needing is weak or asking for so much of people is too much, I actually think our need is what makes us human. And sharing that humanity with one another makes us all feel so much stronger in the world to get out there and do all the other badassery we have to get up too. 

My friend didn't ask me to come watch her girls today. But Hannah and I knew we wanted to be there.  When we arrived another good friend and her daughter were there too, and my heart smiled. I wondered what it meant to my friend to have others see her daughter grow up, to watch her daughter knock out her dance routine and glow. I wondered what it felt like to her daughters to have two extra Aunts and friends in the crowd cheering them. Its tiny, and its huge. And I wonder if we could all risk confessing our need more often as well as showing up unasked more often. 

At first couples would miss a month without too much thought, as life is so full, and suddenly we found that we were all changing our schedules to attempt to be in town for the grub club weekends. I'd love to say more so this blog will be continued, but I write about it today because tonight was our return to the table in a new way. Although in the last five years we have continued to prioritize breaking bread and playing with this group at least once a year, we really missed the monthly gatherings. What came into clear view once we were separated (why does that always happen?) was that these amazing couples are one of the most generous & unique gifts God has given to us in our lives. It was pretty surreal to return to the table with these folks and know we can come back again next month, heck, we can be back on the schedule to host. So, I'm all sorts of tired but I go to bed surprised and delighted by the welcome and open arms to our families return to these precious families. (miss you MUCHO fergs).