It ALL Happened So Fast...

 Little one.

My little one.

My dearest little one.

It's been 12 years since I decided to fight for your life.

Throwing caution to the wind.

Determined to trust God.

In everything.

During the longest 37 weeks of my life.

And you were worth it.

You are worth it.

You will always be worth it. 

Today you counted down the days until your half birthday.

You challenged yourself to better yourself.

You inhaled ice cream.

You squealed as you zoomed down slides.

And you cried real tears when you broke your glasses.

And that sound still pains me through and through.

And as a glasses wearing lifer, I knew how to comfort you.

And the tears dried.

And your breathing regulated. 

And you let me hold your hand as we crossed the street. 

And then you were okay.

And I wasn't.

When had it happened?

There was a time only a full breast would soothe you. 

And then you grew.

And you needed your back and belly rubbed.

And you grew more.

And you needed snuggles. 

And today?

Just your hand held.

And I wasn't ready.

And I didn't even know it.

And that hurts more than your cries.

I have never loved anyone so deeply and easily as I love you.

You are my favorite person and my truest love.

I would choose you in every life, every time.

I don't miss the 3 am feedings.

I never will.

But the cuddles? I could use a few more.

You're the best cuddler.

I pray I raise you into greatness.

That you never have to heal from me.

That you never wish I'd done things differently.

That you grow to appreciate every sacrifice.

And that you can always come to me for comfort. 

Perfectly Planned?

I'm finally participating in my church's corporate fast.

It's three weeks long.

No beef, pork, sweets, chips, and soda.

Week one?

Smooth sailing.

I was prepared.

The groceries were shopped.

The menu on the fridge. 

I sailed into week two.

More groceries.

More planning.

Strictly following the plan.

And then?

 The devil got busy.

Thursday at 9 am of week two?

A water main breaks.

It's currently day SEVEN without water.

The plans are no longer relevant. 

We have to figure out how to bathe, use the toilet, EAT!

There's less than minimal communication from the leasing office.

Me and mine are shuffling from family, to friends, back to family.

Laundry is delayed and growing.

Raw sewage fumes choke those who dare to stay put.

Neighbors' surprise becomes irritation becomes anger.

My friends are supportive and give aid.

My birth family provide tangible help.

My church family?

Prays. 

Even Jesus met physical needs.

I felt alone.

And embarrassed.

And convicted.

"Lord, don't let me get so holy that I'm no earthly good."

May I never be the reason someone feels the way I did...do.

People need people.

Before and after crisis. 

Just for survival.

We need to connect and stay connected.

And when crisis arises?

Our need becomes amplified.

I felt displaced and overwhelmed.

I felt rushed and unprepared. 

I felt like nothing I did mattered.

I needed to feel a sense of normalcy.

I needed to feel like I could fix or help some of this.

I wanted to quit the fast.

I'm an emotional eater.

But I didn't.

I stayed focused and calm.

Even though I didn't feel calm or focused.

I realized...

I've grown.

A few years ago,

I would have been distraught.

I would have been mean.

I would have been wild.

But I controlled what I could...

My thoughts, my actions, and my feelings. 

I kept myself busy with

Laundry, meals, lessons, books, cleaning, and being a polite house guest. 

Until finally, the water returned. 

We arrived at night.

Greeted by the acrid odor of urine.

It burned the nostrils, eyes, and throat. 

I addressed the smell and our hunger.

Before finally,

Walking through the feelings I had to suppress.

So that we could survive.

I crashed. Hard. 

Cleaning my home could wait.

Along with anything else that felt so much more significant a short while before. 

I won't quickly forget this experience.

God wants me to grow in how I trust Him.

My plans only matter if they align with His.

I'll be sure to remember this. 

Walking Away...

 Ain't no quit in me!

I will hold on even when my shoulders burn and my fingers bleed.

I will revisit a situation from every angle. TWICE.

I will stick it out with nothing but grit and lint rollers to my name.

I will fight and pray until I get on God's nerves.

But I won't quit.

And that's why I struggle to walk away.

Walking away is when you realize you are part of a fight that wasn't yours to begin with.

Walking away happens when the outcome is beyond you.

Walking away is needed when you've exhausted all of your resources, and nothing's changed.

And Sunday, I walked away.

I'm not going to fight older generations refusing to embrace their golden years by not stepping down.

I'm not going to quarrel with old saints.

I'm going to let them be their version of "great."

And that means, walking away.

I'll carry my sadness with me.

And work through it.

And I'll wait patiently until it's my time.

Because apparently, it's now time for me to walk away. 

And Another One...

 I thank God for letting me see another year.

My health ain't health-ing

And my wealth ain't wealth-ing.

But I'm here and in my right mind.

I was obedient in my charge last year.

I was immediately met with resistance. 

I was courageous in my charge.

And I taught, spread, and proclaimed the Gospel that is Jesus Christ.

I was studious in my charge.

And I put in the work and showed up ready to work.

And all of this left me feeling drained. 

Because at the end of the day, 

My earthly responsibilities don't stop because I answer God's calling on my life.

And I take my responsibilities seriously. 

And I got my sister to the alter.

And I made birthday cakes.

And I coordinated vacations.

And I got through another semester of homeschooling.

And I did an infinite amount of chores, particularly laundry.

And I cooked 90% of our meals.

And I magicked the holidays.

And through it all, God kept me.

He kept me cool when it was hot and warm during the cold.

God kept me alert and wise.

God kept me clothed, sheltered, and fed.

During a recession. 

God kept me strong enough to put in the work whenever I could,

and wise enough to lean on Him when I couldn't.

2023 was a year of learning and of being kept.

And as grateful as I am for what I've learned and grown to understand,

I promise I'll be just as grateful if 2024 was easier.

I am so tired and could use a break.

For an entire year. 

Give me a break from medical issues.

I'll gladly take a break from being broke. 

Break me away from recession and inflation.

Matter fact, let's call it what it is, PRICE GAUGING! 

But the reality is, 2024 is an election year.

So here comes the shenanigans.

Lord, we need you now more than ever before. 

We need you in our coming and going.

We need your guidance, protection, and love.

I need your favor.

So that I can sit here a year from now proclaiming your dopeness. 

Silently Suffering

 I almost popped.

I'd been pushed passed my capacity.

I've been mistreated for months,

for speaking the truth. 

I squashed delusions and was deemed crazy.

I snatched gas away from those who tried to light me ablaze and was referred to as difficult.

I addressed lies about me head on and was told I was stirring the pot.

I stood in my morals, refusing to be moved and was labeled a jerk.

And I kept walking.

And I kept working.

And I kept learning.

Forgiveness is free,

but forgetting comes at a price I'm not going to pay. 

I will never forget being made to feel small and the work it took to regrow myself.

I will never forget how the people who claim to love me gave me the silent treatment for months. 

I will never forget how those same people tried to turn me against my sister.

I refuse to forget.

Because there are lessons in these experiences.

I refuse to disbelieve who a person is when they reveal themselves. 

And I also refuse to continue to suffer silently.

It's so lonely over there. 

And it hurts too.

I thank God for the wisdom to know when to walk away.

"It's above me now."

Purple Pain

 Twenty-Two years ago,

It was awakened inside of me, 

At the scene of the car accident,

That created a perpetual anxiety,

Whenever I drive. 

Looking back on things,

With everything I know now at my disposal,

It all makes sense.

Being sick,

All. Of. The. Time.

Skin and scalp problems.

Joint deterioration. 

Physical over-reactions to stress. Like gray hair in 10th grade.

Super low blood pressure.

Weight fluctuations.

And pain. 

Pain that sucked the air out of my lungs. 

Pain that made it unbearable to stand, sit, lie down.

Breathe.

Pain that sent me to the ER one Thanksgiving. 

Pain caused by stress. 

It was awakened and thriving,

Invisible and nameless.

Until I tested positive for arthritis,

At 24-years-old.

And 8 vials of blood.

And 2 weeks later.

I had a diagnosis. 

Poor me.

Handed a death sentence I paid to receive. 

And politely thanked the doctor for handing it to me.

Left to grieve the life I'd planned for myself.

Alone.

Believers were the worst. 

Challenging my faith.

Deciding it was weak since my body was.

The audacity. 

My family was a close second.

Completely unsupportive and dismissive. 

Uncertain and afraid,

I made a series of decisions,

That forever changed my life. 

I carried a soul.

Sacrificed what little health I had.

For 37 weeks and a day,

Terrified to misstep. 

I've never desired a person's cries.

Not until that August morning.

Lying paralyzed from the waist down,

On a table,

In a brightly lit,

Sterile room,

Surrounded by strangers,

And my mom.

Holding my breath.

Relief only available at the sound of a cry.

Survival. 

Mode. 

Activated.

Until I die. 

Survival is imperative.

Point blank.

Period.

It's been more than 11 years since I prayed to hear that cry.

Eleven years of operating in exhaustion,

Out of love.

Unconditionally. 

Eleven years of provision.

Eleven years of becoming mentally healed and whole.

Eleven years of teachable moments,

New recipes,

Sleepless nights,

Cleaning extra laundry and mess,

Of cuddles,

Of fierce protectiveness. 

And of a decline in health.

This awakened beast only takes short naps,

Every once in a while. 

Shadows of ferocious flares never leave me.

A constant reminder of weakness and pain. 

And God.

Who gives me strength.

Each day,

Of each week,

Of each month,

Of each year,

For the 11 years that I've wished I hadn't taken the first 26 for granted.

For the next unknown number of years, I'll spend grateful,

For the 11 years I've already been gifted.

   

The Holidays are Coming...

 People keep talking about Christmas trees as if there's no turkeys to cook.

As if there isn't homework to complete.

Or practices to attend.

And shows to performs.

People act as if there are no children whose candy intake must be monitored.

As if Jesus' birthday is the only one left to celebrate.

As if there is no work involved in sending out Christmas cards.

As if all other responsibilities are gone.

And it's all making my head spin.

I do too much to calendar hop.

I have to focus on one thing at a time.

And so many of my things are so back-to-back that I barely have time to breathe deeply during the in-betweens. 

And then there's the guilt.

My kid won't get a lot of things for Christmas.

There may not be a huge feast.

Or a new dress and shoes.

And then there's the gratitude.

Because by the grace of God.

We won't be hungry.

Or homeless.

There will be a couple of presents.

And a new experience.

And an old tradition.

And a time to shine.

And an opportunity to serve. 

And a small break from the day-to-day rush.

And togetherness.

And I hope we can all find some reason to celebrate during this upcoming holiday season.