The End of the Semester......

The end.  Of the first school semester of my girls' career and I look at her and marvel.  She walks tall and graceful through the halls.  She has gathered, for herself, a group of friends that want to be her friend as much as she wants to be theirs.  It is her community and I warm happy in my heart when I step into the school cafeteria and see her smile big as her face.  She enjoys her homework so much I miss her company but smile at her as she checks her grades each night online.  She has flowered and been watered in her spirit and I thank Him breathless sometimes.  "I can't imagine not going to school now, Mama."  Me either, girlie.

My girl in the west waits eager for her man to get there.  Their first Christmas together as a couple.  He has made her happy and I am so grateful for what they have.  They are best friends who talk and share their ideas and silly secrets freely.  He has made her feel safe and chosen.  He is who I prayed for for her when she lay her silky blonde little head on her pillow each night as a tiny girl.  I'm grateful to tears and hang up the phone from talking to her secure in knowing her heart is cared for.

My grandbaby is safely born and snuggled up in her parents' arms.....two people in whom I am confidently blessed to see follow Him in how they live and love.  They will make dynamite parents.  I am honored to be able to say they are my "kids".  They create and take lovely pictures and have made their own way through a fabulously challenging first year of marriage, shaking strong and resolute in Who has carried them.  I love them so.

I sit in my big green chair this first afternoon of Christmas break, my thinking spot inside my house and remember how I felt the first day of work at school, my cheeks blushed hot from happy joy and nervous energy.  Would they like me?  Would I find my place, my path, His path for me?  As it turns out, the answer is yes!  Yes!  Happy, giddy yes!  I've felt some pain, to be sure.  Some worry.  Some confusion.  But never doubt that I was put there by His hand.  And with each dagger that I put at His feet, daggers that threatened to stop my breathing, stop my spirit from Life......He has peeled back my protective skin that rushes to keep me bound in my own brand of safety and left me with tender new skin that hurts when it's cut.  And I have looked upward to Him with question marks running down mixed with the blood from living real.  THIS HURTS.  THIS SCARES ME.  HOW WILL YOU FIX THIS?  I scream the questions quiet in my brain as I pace the gym floor each morning.  "Abide."  The quiet word repeats itself until I fall down exhausted.  And surrendered.

This year; this impossible year that I named in January has surprised me with its unexpected journey.  And, as I type I sense that I am taking the impossible with me into the new year.  And I will name it "Sequel".  Because there's pictures half painted that I'm eager to see His brush pass over.

It's Christmastime......

It'll be different this year for Naomi and I.  Very different.  No daughters, save my girlie, will be here.  My Montana boy has already made the trek his budget will allow for this holiday time.  My two boys, one so close to leaving for the next year I can feel him starting to slip away already, his plans busily being made. will come by for awhile.  But, as motherhood goes, you work yourself out of a job and things change and there are friends and rounds to be made that year.  Time changes things.  And I'm okay with that.  I am.  I've learned to not place so much importance on one day; because it turns out each day is valuable time spent when you can find it.  I've grown to let go of expectations.  They tend to make me fretful and discontent.

I have Bea to think about now and this time next year, they will be closer and I can spill out Nana love in delicious children's books and cuddle time.  I can hardly get my brain around how that will feel.  My other girl gone west will also be home then.  She is moving back; she's lived the year she said she would and grown so strong in her faith it takes my breath away.  She comes back different, stronger, and in love.

So, my mama heart looks forward to the future; my deepest longing to nurture and bake and find quiet ways to love given a second round.  For this year, though, it will be quiet and I will spend Christmas Eve with havarti cheese and crackers and Polar Express.  Because every other day of the year, I've invested and been invested in.  And I can rest easy that I am loved.  And all is well.

Merry Christmas, friends....I love you all year long!

Untitled......

My granddaughter is letting everyone know she's going to arrive soon.  It could be tonight.  It might be tomorrow.  So we wait.  And I wait far away, several states away.  I have the heart, just not the money to go.  And I was fine with that.  I've learned, the years of being divorced and on my own being my teacher, that His grace is truly enough and when I don't have enough, I still do.  I know that sounds pious and terribly spiritual.  But to look around at what He's done for me, as I sit in a house that's way too big for me and have to think ahead of time which outfit to wear to work the next day because I have a closet full of them?  You see, when I kicked myself out of my marriage?  I expected to be kicked out of God's favor.  I deserved to live in a gutter.  That's what I believed.  Falling and failing caused me to feel His arms around me for the first time in my life.

So yeah.  I risk sounding like the church lady because this is one truth I have lived.  He is my rescuer.  He is also my provider.  He is my idea of a perfect man, if ever there was one.  He loves to surprise me, to show up just when I'd given up and dazzle me.  Today he whispered in the ear of someone who didn't fully understand what she was hearing.  "Give the money you were given to Tamara.  She needs it to go see her granddaughter."  The amazing part of this?  She had no idea I wasn't going to go, because she had no idea I could not afford it.  So, my Man, my heavenly Dad.......tapped a friend on the shoulder I haven't seen or spoken to in ages and used her willing heart to bless me.  He did that for me.  For me.  Can you imagine how pleased He is that one of His children listened to intently to bless another so quickly.  It makes me smile happy.

The past two weeks, I've stepped into the gym and looked up hungry for comfort. I've felt like such a failure.  I've cried lonely for hearts I broke and lost company that I treasured.  I slapped myself over and over for never getting it right.  For feeling like I would never grow up and be what He wanted me to be.  For not being able to love well.  I've seen faces once turned to me eager, now look the other way cold and I felt like I was going to throw up.  Father?  I broke what You gave me.  I'm scared I used up Your grace this time.  What if He won't help me make it right?  What if He somehow attaches school fees as an addendum to punishment like a heavenly congressman and I can't pay for those either?  What if my daughter can't finish out the school year?  What if all of this is my fault?

But....God.  Be still.  And know.  That I.  Am God.  

This morning as I walked the gym and sung "I'm no longer a slave to fear....I am a child of God." I sensed a presence.  His presence.  "I'm doing things You don't see.  Be still.  I will show you Who I am."  

I'll whisper all of this to Baby Beatrice when I see her.  And I look to the horizon for more of what He has.

Saying What You're Not

Many times I hear this.  "You're so brave and honest to say what you do.  It changes my walk and my perspective.  It makes me feel brave."  It's true I speak plain.  I am an open book, most of the time.  I can pull in fearful when someone intimidates me and self edit out of terror of their reaction.  I don't like it when people are angry with me or don't like me.  It makes me feel small and wrong.  And I scramble in unhealthy ways to make it go away.  But the truth is, what I feel doesn't define my character.  It's just sometimes hard to ignore.

But my words have become my "calling".  I tell quick whoever lays admiration at me feet, "Before you consider this a virtue, consider that I find myself told to do this by my Creator."  I fuel myself through writing and "work out my salvation" by sewing thoughts together.  It is true I enjoy that part.  The other?  The transparency?  The publishing of my guts?  I do it because it seems I'm "supposed to".

When I start to doubt I'm making sense,, doubt I'm doing any good, doubt I'm coming across as anything other than a needy fool.....just doubt?  He sends me you and your words show me what He is intending.  This that I do pulls people into my journey, pulls people to consider Him.  I find myself surrounded by a cloud of witnesses right here on earth.  He cloaks me with you and we form a community who gathers up close and opens our hearts to each other.

He's making us all brave, even if it's just to whisper, "I feel that too sometimes."  He's calling us to press on.  This life is hard.  It's harder still to feel afraid alone.  Or angry.  Or stupid.  Or joyful.  Or silly.

So I will cook up my word recipes and serve them up to you.  Please know how deeply it affects me when you swim up by my side in the life pool and whisper encouragement to me or tell me your own stories.  You become a part of holding up my arms to brave the doubt and continue my own calling.

I love you for that.

Dying for Forgiveness

It's a whirly wind of an evening and my girl and I are already in our pajamas.  She has tired all over her and her first "real" high school finals to study for.  We bought our dinner and brought it home to eat cozy on the couch.  I stopped at the store and replenished the candy for "my kids" at school tomorrow and it sits ready in the back seat of my car.   I'm settled in thinking through the day; the snapshot moments that my mind plays back.

I couldn't sleep last night;  part caffeine, part menopause, part the weighty matter of waiting on forgiveness from someone rolling around in my mind.   Another friend sleepless popped up in a tiny message on my computer screen.  "How do you handle rejection?", she asks in the middle of the night and I laugh soft to myself.  Irony.  "I don't sleep," I say.  "Give them time."  I saw my own words on the screen and had my own answer.

My friend brought me Starbucks and we sat for a happy hour talking in the store, our words punctuated by the occasional kid that stopped by for a hug or a scoop into the candy bowl.  We talked all things that we understood about each other and I told her I'd felt like disappearing lately; fighting it.  "I haven't been to church in three weeks.  I'm just not wanting to step out.  I feel like Vincent in Starry, Starry Night.  This world just feels too harsh to me."  I shrugged and saw her look off distant and fight back tears.  "I need you there.  It comforts me to see you."  I was startled that someone would say that about my presence in a big church building.  It caused me to sit up straight with resolve.  "Alright then.  I'll be there."

Then another friend, and we danced the happy dance that her new house would be hers to nest in before Christmas after all.    We each have  girls who are becoming fast friends and an eagerness to strip off what isn't real and get straight to the heart of a matter.  We've both learned hard things the past week and cried shared tears of lessons humbling.  She tells me of the cupcakes she needs to run to get to pass out to her sons' class for his birthday and waves a cheerful smile as she passes out the door.

I walk to the teacher's lounge and happened upon a Christmas lunch prepared for all of us at the school and felt grateful for the lasagna and warm bread; comfort on a plate.  It was fun to sit across from teachers' I don't often have a chance to listen to and hear their stories.  I stopped to visit the accountant,  self described anti social who I hit it off with royal right from the start, and we talked how to pay for school when I didn't know if I could.  It's funny how the least likely person can be your cheerleader for the day.

I checked the clock.  It was time for the boy's class to head to their room and stop by the store for candy.  I wanted to be there.  I'd sat hopeful each day for two weeks since the day I wounded him with my words,  and watched him pass me by without a glance.  I wanted to give him a chance to change his mind.  Today, he walked through the door.  I took in air surprised but didn't move.  I was afraid I'd scare him away.  He pawed through the candy bowl with his classmates, staring down fixed and avoiding my gaze.  He chose a piece and walked back out without a word.  After class, he showed up again.  This time I took the end of my pen and touched his arm just slightly.  "I know you're here.  And I'm glad.  I know it's not what you feel like doing.  I recognize the choice."  I hoped my pen had written that on his heart.

I remembered his father's words.  "Be patient, Tamara."  This was a messy business.   I was dying for forgiveness.  I was glad that my Father had already died for mine.

Ruminating Like a Cow

I'm chewing cud over here like a mad cow.  It's what I do.  It's also who I am so I do not apologize.  I am a thinker, a writer, a lover of people and what and who they are.  I am passionate when I care and sometimes it comes out all wrong and sounds like angry.   I will stay right there in your dirt while you sling it.  I will be the first to grab you and hug you when you throw the last clod, worn out mad or hurt, and wrap my arms around you even if it's me you're mad at.  When I love, I love even with the enamel on my teeth.  I'm worse than an old coon dog.  I will always come home to roost with you.

I am irritating that way.  I know that.  I love to know what you're thinking.  I love knowing what you like on your hamburger.  I love knowing that if you're mad at me you'll yell at me if you have to.  Because then I know we're safe for each other.   I am not someone to hold at a distance.  I laugh easy, I cry easier, I listen close, I pay forward in spades with hugs and empathy.  I make food and be silly and curl up by fires and roast marshmallows until they're black and laugh at your jokes. I like the zoo and speaking nonsense. But at the end of the day, I won't be held at a distance.  Distance feels like strangers.  It makes me feel like an intruder; like I'm being punished.  Like a waste of time and reason.  It feels like the invitation to the door.

I will push you past your comfort zone to take your hand and walk you into light you may not have seen before.  Because sometimes my flashlight shines brighter than yours.  I will stand close to you when you shine your light on me.  Because that's why God puts us in each others' lives.  And I will be the last to resist that.  I warm myself by the light He puts in you.  I want to challenge and be challenged.  Else why?

So "don't stand so close to me" if you don't want me wiping the mud off your hands after you've yelled at me and thrown the pickle off of your hamburger.  I don't know any other way to be but all in.  I will do the diddy wop dance to make you laugh.  I will send you cards with little tiny people holding balloons that look pitiful to make you know that I miss you.  I will draw pictures in the steam of your window until you let me in.

I like red onions on my hambuger

Lessons From the Week

I'm just home from seeing my boy graduate college.  It took him seven years but not for not being full of living.  He spent a year in Africa in film school, He joined the navy reserves so he could help finance his own college studies.  He rode a helicopter and took news footage.  The boy was busy.  But today, he has that behind him and Africa in front of him.

I sat across from my boys' father at dinner and whispered gratitude heavenward that we'd come to the place where we could join forces and love our kids with no animosity and send then skyrocketing to their lives happy.  It has been a bumpy journey but we've learned how to navigate the turbulence of the early years of divorce and come to a place of peace and positive regard.

I fought hard this week with assumptions and selfish ambition.  With insecurities I thought were in the distance.  It loomed large and I lashed out harsh at a boy I love and broke trust that feels like I'll never be able to mend.  I learned that what I wanted was more important to me in that moment; to feel okay with everything, to speak truth reckless without wrapping it in gentle.  I taste regret and a knot forms in my stomach as it churns acid.  I'm not enough to want to forgive, I "hear" in my head and I struggle to lay it to rest.  I don't know what the future holds, and I've no choice but to abide and accept what will be.  It niggles like worms in my brain.  I'll never be enough to love, plays singsong mocking in my head.  Go to the back of the line.  Game over.  You lose.  Send in the replacements.  I can never quite shake the feeling that when I mess up, I'm gone.

And it's then that I realize, it's still about me.  And I bring what I can't shake to Him.  Again and again.  He has me in His hands.  I believe that.  When will I ever be all the way together?  I saw the assault of social media on my spirit and my mind start to lie to me and busy me up with too many words and not enough "likes" and it was pathetic.  I learned I need to work to hear truth and sometimes I need to use the off button to stop the advertisements.

"Our whole class loves you!"  "I see Jesus in you"  "Do you realize how people are drawn to you?"  "NO,"  I say flatly.  I cut, I wound, I attack. I'm replaceable.  But  I put these affirmations in my heart box and receive them from my Papa God.  He's putting His hand on me; not to point to me.  To reassure my fumbling self this week....."Rest easy, my girl.  I am showing Myself strong in your weak.  That's as it should be.  I have you right where I want you.  In the palm of My hand, pliable, teachable, fallible, tender. You are not a failure.  I'm using your heart as My home."

I've pressed on hard to hear from God.  I've told Him I meant business.  That I wanted to know what He wanted me to learn.  And I wasn't kidding.  And He answered me and I swallowed hard like a sore throat.  I got taught because I asked Him to.  I learned He really is listening.  And He teaches until we "get it".

So.  Yeah.  It's been a week.  And I am a little sore of heart and mind.  I'm tired from thinking.  I feel like a pest with God and my friends, this wrestling and working out I've done.  But I know that my heart belongs to Him.  That much I learned for sure.  Because when I do wrong the first place I run is Him.  I wish I could smile prettier.  I wish my resume was exciting.  I wish my Facebook page, my writing, my presentation made me seem like I am sewn up confident all the time and I don't need.  I wish I had a more shapely derriere and comely shape instead of my skinny self.  I wish.

I've learned?   I'm none of that and to strive to be any of it wears me thin and I forget to be what I am.  I stop trying so hard.  And find that I'm loved after all.  Still.  That shapely butt would be nice.