sticks and stones can break my bones

but words can never hurt me

what a load of shit we try and sell children!

Words hurt - they hurt worse than just about anything.

I would gladly take a beating before I ever subjected myself to hateful words willingly.

some of the worst wounds i have ever faced were words said to sting - to hurt - to cut deep - and the did

some became the rules i lived by - some became the things i believed about myself, even though i could never quite see what they were saying

and still i battle believing the words people say in anger, or fear, or hatred. I still battle balancing the good words I hear daily with the hateful words I hear every now and again

amazing how one person can say something completely callous and uncaring and regardless of how little that person knows me - or how little significance they have in my daily life those words ring out in my head over and over despite the fact that i have heard words to the contrary every day of my life over and over again

and the good words stay with you - but they dont speak as loudly

i can remember people telling me they love me
or i am beautiful
why do you hide those eyes behind those dark glasses
nothing shines as bright as your smile
days just seem brighter when you are around
i love to hear you laugh
no one makes me laugh like you do
thanks for being my friend
thanks for being my momm
i love you

and yet - when it is quiet - if I am not careful - if i dont banish them - if i am not on guard against them i hear

you are so ugly
why would anyone love you
you are so lucky that anyone loves you
i will be more popular if you are not my friend
its a good thing the kids look like me -life will be easier for them that way
dont you ever shut up
what makes you think anyone ever wants to hear anything you say
snausages
because i have gotten to know you on many levels, and none of them are attractive

but those things are not the truth - not even close
and when it really gets quiet - and i remember to listen to the voice in my heart instead of the voices stuck in my head i know that

when i listen to those that love me instead of those that intend to just hurt me

i know

but when someone tells my darling daughter that words can't hurt - i have to look at her and tell her the truth

be careful what you say - you can't take it back - and words hurt harder and longer than any fist - any kick - any punch - any blow you will ever receive

I can also tell her that she can choose to believe what she wants

she can believe what she knows in her heart - or let the hateful words of petty pre-teens, angsty teenagers or angry sisters change who she believes herself to be.

sometimes there is a lesson in angry words - somethign to learn about how you react to things when you are reacting from fear -how you react to the world around you -

but never are there lessons to be learned about who you are at heart

never should you base your opinion of yourself on such hateful words
never should you judge your heart on those words
and never should you believe them about yourself - if you know that when you let your guard down - live in the moment and live in love you are a very different person

still watching those patterns

Okay - so I know regardless it's gonna hurt - i mean if it works - if it doesn't - good or bad - regardless I know it's gonna hurt some time.

so - I watch my choices - watch my decisions - watch the doors I choose to walk thru and the places I choose to open myself up.

When I decide to open up - even a little bit - I am still picking safe choices - okay makes sense in a warped and convuluted way. I mean if you were starting to train for a marathon you wouldn't try and run 26 miles the first day - would you?

So I start opening myself up it bits and pieces - little things here and there -showing more of who I am and less of the masks that keep me safe - and I start with people who were there when I started this process - and then I keep finding safe people - safe for whatever reason - because they sought me out - because they really dont expect much of me so I can just be real - and on some level safe because I can stop and look and see that they are incredibly closed down themselves, so they of coarse will fight to keep walls up and therefore my openess is really no risk - because they wont let me in

the problem is my old script says when they dont let me in that there then must be something wrong with me - they reject me because i am not good enough - so for a minute I let myself believe that - for a minute - in the moment - struggle with my worth because they either reject me out of hand or just subtlely reject me - they stay closed off - wont let me in - insult me in a grade-school kinda way - write rules that I cant keep track of - flip on and off like a light switch - live like 2 different people - the one I know and the one everyone else sees

and I let myself believe for a minute that it is my fault - something I have done wrong - something about me that brings out that behavior in other people

but really it is just them - their rules - thier script - their reaction to things that scare them, or upset them, or make them nervous or angry or whatever

As long as I am being me - I mean really being myself - and being open and honest and just allowing myself to be real and in the moment - then other people's reactions belong to them - and it isn't personal! i mean it's not about me!

I can't take it personally - praise or criticism - not personal - when people are open and loving back or when they are mean and closed - it isnt personal

so I know it - and i catch it within minutes of the interaction - and yet.....i keep repeating the pattern

if someone can not be honest about themselves - their situation - they feel the need to create several realities and keep them all seperate and warn folks who cross over what is safe and what is not

or maybe they flip on and off like a light switch - kind one moment - cruel the next - flirty and fun one minute - cruel and disinterested the next - If I am the same in both instances - in all interactions then it isnt about me

it isn't personal

and I can't allow myself to let my self worth be tied up in other peoples reactions to me - good or bad - I just cant do it anymore

and yes - by sticking with safe folks who I know how they will react and I can continue to struggle with these old lessons and pretend not to understand is far safer than what will happen when someone decides to reciprocate my openness with their own

it is all terrifying

and all frustrating

makes my happy little cave for winter look really tempting

but I dont want that for myself

not anymore

the trouble with patterns

Here is the thing about patterns - once you see them you can't ignore them

try it sometime - once you see a pattern in the random swirl you will never see randomness again - you just can't

and once you identify a pattern in your life - you can never pretend it doesnt exist again

I keep seeing the same thing play out in my life - opening the door to relationships with people who are very much one way when one on one - but very different when around other people - or opening myself up to people who are so worried about the appearance of things that they change their behaviors, their level of honesty, their actions and reactions, even their definition of our relationship based on who is around, what others might think of the situation, and how it will work out for them in the end.

Sometimes it is simple little things - depending on their level of safety in the interaction they may change from incredibly flirtatious to giving the cold shoulder in a matter of minutes or from interaction to interaction - or despite me just being me- they say some of the most cold and evil things - and somehow I had it in my head that thier opinion of me mattered - like despite the fact that they really dont know me - or who i am that their opinion (or lack there of) meant more than the people who know me - and love me and tell me on a regular basis that they miss being around me - or maybe even my opinion of me......i mean I really like me - I think i am actually pretty fun - and their behavior - while it shouldnt have surprised me - really crushed my feelings there for a bit

these are people (yes - people as in more than one) who if you look at their life - and their choices you can see that they don't allow themselves to be happy - not really - they are either in self destructive patterns - or just keep themselves seperate from the rest of the world in some way - not only do they have figurative walls- in a lot of ways they keep physical barriers to intimacy up

maybe they aren't quite honest about their situation - or they filter the truth depending on who they are talking to - so to tell any story they are involved in you must first try and figure out how much of the truth they may have shared with the crowd you are in - sometimes you realize that in an effort to save face -or make sure they get what they need out of the situation they only reveal a partial truth - or only hint at what is really going on - and then when they finally come clean - and really open up about what is going on and admit that they weren't quite honest about things - and tell me how badly they feel about their lack of complete honesty - i listen to it - like their guilt has anything to do with their choices - instead of letting them know how angry I was with their lack of consideration for my feelings in the situation - I listened to their problems and then offered some advice - well maybe not advice but the guidance they were asking for - i was more worried about their feelings in the matter - and their feelings of guilt about their lack of honesty than I was about the fact that I had been treated disrespected

that is my pattern - I put myself in a position where when disrespcted or disregarded instead of standing up for myself - or taking a stand - or just flat out saying how i feel - I spend my energy worrying about how they feel that caused them to choose to react that way to me- and how I can accomodate them to make them more comfortable so they can be more open or honest - and it must be something I did or didnt are arent doing - because if I just understand and I just make sure they know they are accepted then they really will be more consistent in their treatment of my feelings - right???

and my friends sit and watch these interactions - and they ask me why i would consider allowing people to treat me this way- why I would tolerate that kind of disrespectful treatment

and the pattern is not honoring myself - not respecting myself and my value in a situation

not believing for every minute of every encounter that I am worthy

that is the trouble with patterns

once you identify them - you can't ignore them

even if you dont know how to fix them

thoughts after Obamas victory

Looking for a book to read - try this one

It has changed the way I look at the world. In it a very simple but mind blowing concept is discussed. The difference between power and force. That power is based in the truth - that it is self sustaining and based in love and faith and trust.

that force is based in fear and to lead by force there has to be a risk - something to lose - that a belief can be planted that unless you follow the force you will lose more than if you stand up for what you believe. It can not be self sustaining and is not a natural choice.

When I first heard Barack Obama speak I said that there was something about him - that he was leading from a place of power while I saw McCain leading from a very familiar place of force

I said I heard something in his words that spoke to me on a level I didnt realize was listening - that he touched something in me that was so real and so amazing

I heard power and I felt love and honor and faith and trust

and tonight listening to his acceptance speech and listening him invoke the words and the timbre of Lincoln and King.....and listening him talk about what we need to do - and how this victory and this job was ours - not just his

I just kept crying - sobbing really - I couldnt stop - many times during his speech I just broke down in waves of un-controllable tears - not tears of sadness - the kind of tears you cry at a wedding - or when a baby is born

it felt like hope - and a blessing and a long time coming

it felt like something I have been holding my breath for - something I have been waiting for for a long long time now

it felt like i was crying tears for a lot of people - not just for me - it felt like I was part of something bigger - a wave of hope and pride - of relief and joy - of celebration for a day that we thought would never come

and while I am so scared - so nervous - so afraid of what will happen and how people will react - I am so excited about the possibility of a country that is led by a man who expects and encourages us to be a part - and to be a part of something that is grounded in such power

clarity and confusion

They say we are all mirrors for one another
and what I see is just a reflection of what I am

they say we are here to provide learning opportunities
and life plays like a cd on repeat until my lesson is mastered

they say to be truely happy you must be enough for yourself
and until that day I will just keep attracting the pieces I am missing

they say if you know it and you dont do it then you dont know it
and then one day I do it
and I know it
and I live it

and I feel this amazing moment of power and clarity

and then I look around and realize that with clarity comes a new challenge

and with the challenge comes a new set of mirrors

clarity and confusion......

I am beginning to think they go hand in hand.

Some days I see my struggle so clearly

I see what I want - I feel so good to be me - in my life - with my struggles and my victories - with my friends and my daughters - with my cats and my life

I know what it feels like to love every piece of me- even the pieces I don't particularly like

and I wonder if I will ever get to a place where I don't let the reactions of some people......people who somehow I have attached extreme importance to their acceptance of me.....where their reactions - or lack of reactions - don't affect so negatively

and when i walk away - and realize that they got me again in that moment I am so frustrated that they did

the funny thing is when i lay down at night and snuggle up in my down comforter while the kitten attacks my feet and the big cat tries to get her to settle down I am content. I am so happy.

Not that I want to go to bed alone for the rest of my life - but at the end of the day I make me happy - I am enough and I make me smile - and I know that someday someone else who is enough for themselves will want to share space and time with me - and it will be good

and when the enigma wrapped up in a riddle who just manages to push enough of my buttons in all the right and all the wrong ways reacts cooly it unnerves me - and then I leave and I think about it - and I am still happy with me - and who I am - and who I am in the presence of others

and I wonder how the riddle got to me

and i wonder if I will ever be able to not be gotten

and then I have that moment of clarity - that leads to confusion - that leads to clarity

don't boo....just vote

It was a year ago that I met a man named Mike. Mike works with this amazing lady named Kathy and together they asked a lot of questions and told a lot of stories that completely changed the way I think about the world and my place in it.

I was able to get out of my head for a minute and realize that the pain and sadness and the anger I felt were only as powerful as I let them be. That the love I have always felt for people is really not love until I give it away. That life can be different - for me and for everyone around me, if only I give it a chance.

tonight I took my eldest daughter to listen to Barack Obama speak. I have never been a political rally kind of girl. I have gotten out of taking her to every other rally that has been around town. I have honestly had work to do those days and no way to reschedule the appointments, but I am not for a second going to pretend I wasn't relieved that we couldnt go.

I am not a huge political person - I HATE the finger pointing and the back biting and the slander thrown from camp to camp. I can't stand the bashing adn the name calling and the fact that it seems to be more about explaining why the other guy sucks then why the guy infront of you can do a good job.

Tonight I heard Barack Obama. He talked about what he wants to do. He talked about what he can do. He actually thanked John McCain for his service and his sacrifice. He thanked him for the good things he has done, but he said that he thinks McCain is not the man we need. Then instead of bashing McCain to hell and back he talked about the choices McCain made and why Obama feels that other choices would have been better. Then Sen Obama proceeded to tell us what he would do.

At one point he mentioned what McCain had done and the crowd started to boo - what an ugly sound. My stomach dropped and I was sure I was in for more hate speech and fear mongering - but then he said something that literally made me tear up. He said "Hey now....don't boo - Just Vote!"

I almost jumped out of my bleacher seat !! Here is a man teaching a crowd of people what their mothers should have taught them in childhood. Don't bash - dont get ugly - dont be hateful or rude or mean - do something to change it!

Life is really that simple - if you don't like what you are getting - then do something to change it

i listened a whole new way after that - this man not only believes in something different - he believes that there is a new way.

I thought about all the really good people who seem to be enthralled with the McCain ticket
and i realize that there were probably really good women who didn't understand why other women thought the right to vote was important

and there were probably really good men who felt the same

and if you could ask them today if given the chance they could go back and change their mind and their actions - they might take you up on that offer

but maybe not

so I hope that on tuesday my country will cast their vote for a new kind of election

for a new kind of campaign - for a way of life that doesnt involve hate speech and fear mongering

and maybe things can be different

and maybe in being different we can find more peace

love that life is full of mirrors

So I have been swimming in frustration lately - so many places i see people shutting down - it seems like I will meet someone - find them incredibly interesting - and they will start a conversation - open a door that looks like it might lead to friendship - or something - and then just shut down - completely -

It happens over and over - in all venues and aspects of my life

and finally I was just so frustrated - I wondered what I was doing that kept people from feeling like they could let me in - What was wrong with me that people didnt want me to be a part of their world

and then it occurs to me - was it them? or was it me?

do I let people in? do I really open myself up? do I really let myself need people?

when is the last time I told someone I needed something?
when is the last time I let someone help me?
when is the last time I admitted that I can't do it all by myself?

I will tell you - that I rely on myself becuase i am the only person who has never let me down

but am i really serving myself by not allowing myself to ask for help?
am I just letting myself down?

If you know it, but you dont do it - then you dont know it

If you always do what you always did you always get what you always got

If I want something different in my life I have to be willing to risk living in a different way

shit

now I have to prove I know it

Hot Dog!

a new old addiction

So recently I have decided that I deserve to have more words in my life. I have been reading for as long as I can remember - I honestly don't remember not having books around.

I remember being bored with the books at school and trying to read my Dad's books, but being mysteries filled with sex and violence he encouraged me to find something different - and I spent the summer reading Agatha Christie. TONS of them.

I remember finding the Sweet Valley High Series and begging for books every week - watching my parents try to figure out how to slow down my consumption of books -because I did devour them.

And then for a long time I didnt read at all - almost like I was punishing myself - I do that from time to time

and I began reading a few years ago -but bubble gum mostly - left over detective novels from my Dad - things to fill and pass the time - nothing serious - nothing that i could get lost in - just soemthing to keep my mind busy

lately I am reading things different - and reading different things

I have been getting lost again - lost in the words - in the pictures they paint - the feelings - the people - the worlds

just lost

and I forgot what it was like to read like this

and I love it

who gets to define culture

Holy Cow!

Seriously - I almost became unglued - he said pro abortion - like there is anyone in this world who has ever had to face that decision who decided that abortion was a great solution - like there is a woman who has had to ponder that choice who chose it as easily as she chooses the coffee she buys at Starbucks or the kind of gum she wants

like it is heart wrenching to consider and even when you choose life - like your child doesn't look at you one day and ask if you thought about it - like if you choose an abortion you aren't haunted for the rest of your life - that you dont look at children and figure out how old that child would have been - i am so grateful that i haven't had to experience that myself - but I do know a few people who have - and do - they still live with that pain

and i live with the fact that i had to make the choice - i mean you have met Fele and Em - you know my choice - but do you know the nights i sat up and pondered that? the nights I sat there stroking a belly that didnt even show signs of pregnancy talking to a collection of cells and apologizing that I was even thinking of choosing my life over theirs

do you know what that does? but if I hadn't chosen this life - if I hadn't chosen those girls - if someone had told me that i had no choice in that decision - that the newly defined american culture dicated that I suck it up and raise these children - can you even imagine how angry I would be at them -because this life has been hard - how cheated I could have felt of felt like i was punished becuase the birth control wasn't effective in my case - oops guess that implant idea was not a good method - or because the condom broke - not because I wasnt careful - but becuase I was that 2%

and when I worked two and three jobs - and I went without to make sure they had - and when I stayed awake nights worrying about doing it all myself - and when I am overwhelmed and there is no one to say - hey Jenn - dont worry I got you on this one - and when the child support doesnt arrive like it is supposed to

if i hadn't been able to say - yeah - this sucks - but it was such the right choice - that this is hard, but they are so worth it - that I couldnt say - hey I am SO glad that I chose my girls.

One day my then 14 year old daughter was getting really upset over a pro-life rant that was happening on TV - my father looked at her and said- hey - your mother is pro-life - and aren't you lucky she is

my little girl looked him straight in the eye and said - nope - my Mom is pro-choice - and she knew that chosing her life is a very different thing than having to pay the price and accepting responsibility for an obligation becuase you made a mistake

that is another thing she knows - when she was little she asked if she was a mistake - and I told her that she (and her sister) were a surprise - she asked what the difference was - and I told her a mistake is something that you wouldn't repeat - a surprise is something that you didnt know you wanted until you got it.

that man sat at that table tonight running for the highest office in the land and said that we needed to change the american culture - like he had the answers for the "culture" of all the people who live in this land

and the sad thing is that attitude is so un-american - apparently he didnt watch his School House Rock


My grandmother came from Russia
A satchel on her knee,
My grandfather had his father's cap
He brought from Italy.
They'd heard about a country
Where life might let them win,
They paid the fare to America
And there they melted in.

are you singing yet?

seriously - it was just too much

can you hear ms murray

I sit quietly surrounded by the din of the alley
and watch the dance

It is a dance, repeated time and time again generation after generation.

these steps are new, but familiar
The beat has changed as new partners bring their own drummer to the party

the drummers struggle for a mutual beat

mambos follow waltzes
salsa blends with a fox trot
a little boot scoot boogie becomes a tango

the answer isn't in the ability to dance

the question is .....do they want to sustain it?

you again?

I get tired of the merry-go-round sometimes

and just when I am sure I can't deal with one more thing - I realize that if I would just learn the lesson I could get off the damned merry-go-round and play on the swings for a bit

If I would learn to recognize it before I took the bait I could have a different response - a different experience - but as long as I behave the same way with the same choices and the same concerns all wrapped up in the same fears I will forever be stuck on the merry-go-round

and once I see that the rest is easy

see the bait - ignore the bait - difuse the situation - leave thier shit on the table and own my own

and today it worked

so yea me

a late start

The cacophony of ring tones begins at 543 exactly

A quiet digital samba joined by a driving electronic rock beat
the duet playing out betweeen the blessings of snooze

My own quiet bell joins the frey and I crawl from my down-filled cocoon
Climbing over the piles of a teenage filing system
turning an ankle on a stack of clothes deceptively hiding last months Cosmo and Glamour

I make the gentle good morning noises that seem to be genetically encoded in my sleepy mind
cooing and clucking at my brood to start their day

I turn on lights
yank pillows
Ruffle blankets
tickle feet
poke bellies
stroke a sleepy head of long brown hair remembering how beautiful it was before the dye

they burrow deeper into their own cocoons
muttering about the evils of english teachers and the tortures of math tests

they are just stretching
just one more minuting
just grumbling and grousing


the hour has come
the bus will leave without you
it is a long walk


You should wake us up earlier, they tell me

630 is much to late to start

living forever, wildly in love and loved wildly

What a concept!

And it works - if you let it.

Just living in love every day - loving who you are and where you are

people respond to it - they can't help themselves - who wouldn't want to spend time with someone who chooses to be happy and live a life filled with love and respect?

I always wonder why I forget things like that...such simple things

and then I have these days that make me so sad - i mean just miserable sad - and the truth is that I forgot to be happy - I forgot to live my life like I love myself - and those around me were just picking up on it.....they couldnt help themselves - I mean if I don't want to be in my own skin - why would they want to be a part of it?

but today I remembered why I enjoy waking up in the morning. I remembered what it was about myself that makes me smile - and makes me laugh - and makes me love what I see in the mirror and hear on the phone - I remember that perfection is for someone else to worry about because where I am and what I am doing is absolutely perfect - and then once I remembered it I just believed it - and then I lived it

and it works

a new start

So, because I believe it is important to always do things that move life forward and to cut ties to things that tend to prevent personal growth - I killed my myspace profile. Long story......lots of reasons.....very important - but I lost my blog.

I loved having a place to just empty my head - a place to pour out the words that seem to bounce around like the ball in a game of pong. It is a beautiful thing, having a place to record those words. I watch the things that stop me - the things that bottle me up and prevent me from living clearly just disappear....the words start flowing...the ball starts banging around and hitting those blocks just making them disappear.

So I have started a new place - a new venue to poor out my words.

thanks for stopping by

a new brush

Standing before a blank canvas.....

New paint pots before me filling my head with the unique smell of fresh acrylic

The white of a blank slate
glaring in its brightness....
Terrifying in it's emptiness

I am told I can fill it however I like - that is when the trepidation begins

a new canvas - a new start - a new chance

the hues - the strokes - the composition

all open to my whim, my desire, my will

I reach into my arsenal - the collection of tools picked up over the years

And for the first time I take a good look at my brushes - they are bent and broken from years of misuse

Bristles are missing - gaps and holes affecting the strokes I will make -
the lines I leave - the story I tell

angles are off - some don't have handles - some look in pretty good shape, but I know how they were cobbled together and just don't trust them to do the job

I take a deep breath

and slowly dip my hands into the paint - I use a new tool

I embrace the broken bristles and make a new design

watch the shades mix and mingle into new colors

my colors

The canvas fills slowly and deliberately

false starts and hesitation blend with confidence and creativity

It's not perfect, but neither am I

My hands are caked in paint - colors mix under my nails forming shades I have never seen before....but the canvas swirls to life

a new picture

a new day

a new tool


A new brush

bull durham

I believe in honesty, but not without compassion.

I believe in tact, but not if it means I can’t mean what I say the first time.

I believe in trust, but often get nervous with the vulnerability it creates.

I believe in faith, but worry about the blindness it often involves.

I believe in second chances, but not without ensuring I can survive the pain…… again.

I believe in giving all I have to all I do…

But I also have learned to appreciate the need to recharge and revitalize in an almost selfish way from time to time.

I can’t believe the myth of one true love; for I have found that my life has many loves that go by different names in different times.

I believe in being cautious, but wish I could just jump in.

And I believe that regardless of what the future holds, I know that I am enough. That I have lessons to learn, light to shine, skills to practice and days to fill with passion and joy.

Sundays

I woke this morning in a little bit of a haze. With only four hours of sleep my mind was not clearing easily. The schedule of the day floating before me....a staggard flow chart in purple and green.....glimpses of last night floating thru my memory.....Sundays from the past, present and future all flowing together in my brain.

Days like today my imagination works like a little black box theater. Everything is close up and personal, but your seat is back far enough that the action is removed enough for you to take it all in. I lay there painting pictures in my mind - past, present and future - memories and desires mingling together. It made for a nice dreamy morning while I tried to avoid starting the day.


It has been a long held belief of mine that Sundays were made for sex and sleep. Not normal sleep - or normal sex. I am not talking about napping on the couch through the afternoon while HGTV plays in the background after banging your old man at halftime (not that there is anything inately wrong with that - but it isn't what I want from a Sunday)

I am talking about one of those Sundays that are filled with an all day sex and sleep marathon. A day where sex and sleep mingle and become almost interchangable, so if you were the type to tell stories out of school you might wonder where the sex ended and the napping begins.

The kind of sex that begins with wandering fingers and a slowly roaming mouth....across the body of your sleeping lover.....waking him before he wakes

The kind of love making that begins before you are fully aroused from sleep's grip...giving it a dream-like cast that is hard to overcome, not that you really try

the kind of sex where orgasm is an eventuality, not an immediate goal. Where love is expressed with carresses and sighs, pressure and the mere presence of flesh on flesh. The kind of sex that just kind of pauses while you are all entwined, and you find later that you drifted off to sleep while he stroked your hair and filled your heart with words of love in that deep rich baritone that you hear in your dreams.

You wake to begin again, only to find you are starving. Even trips to the kitchen can not stop the playing, the touching, the exploring and the kissing.

that poor kitchen counter never saw it coming

Eventually your hunger is satisfiied, but your desire is not and with the music blaring throughout the house the days activities reach the cresendo they have been building to all day - the likes of which you hoped to reach, but never really thought was possible.

At some point you need to get cleaned up, so off to the showers you go - but again this just provides means and opportunity. Eventually you pull it together, gather the children from whatever far corners they have been hanging out in all day and carry on

It is the kind of Sunday that leaves you smiling until sometime Wednesday afternoon.

It is the kind of Sunday I just can't seem to get out of my head today

the edge of a cliff

Have you ever stood at the edge of a cliff?
Full moon behind you
blue light surrounding you
and the deep warm water below

just jump

you watch the water ebb and flow
the swirls and whirls
there are dark places,
but those aren't as scary as they once were

you know the water is warm and inviting
comforting and carressing
peaceful and promising

just jump

you feel the moon above
surrounding you
pulling you
reminding you of all that is holding you back

the pain
the fear
the empty promises and broken trusts

just jump

you know all that is possible in the water
you know it is a risk
a gamble
that it just might hurt

but somewhere - deep in the darkest corners
where the moon's light just doesn't quite reach
you see hope
you see light
and just maybe......love

and you jump

the birth of a church

The kitchen is by far my favorite room in any building. In this one, I sit with my back to wall where a sink will soon stand. I can close my eyes and remember the tree that was here. Not that I remember that there were trees here, I remember the very tree that stood in this spot. It was a Saturday of course, that is our “work day,” and I was walking in the woods that were known as “the property” with Mike Frank and my Dad. They were telling me all about the building. They walked me around the property, pointing at little yellow and orange flags and telling me what they were marking. They told me about wings and “els” and dimensions using technical language that was wasted on my ears. Then we stopped at this tree, the one I remember. I leaned against it while listening to Mike. He told me we were in the kitchen and that a sink would be where I was standing. It wasn’t much of a tree, but it could support my weight. The bark was smooth, the kind I liked to sit and peel when I was a young girl. There weren’t many leaves on the tree, but it had tall branches, like it was trying very hard to reach up in this forest to survive. I was up to my ankles in mud trying to imagine this kitchen I am now sitting in. Let me tell you I didn’t even come close.

The room I am sitting in today has a concrete slab floor that is covered with drywall dust and blobs of drywall mud. The splatter is obviously a result of the efforts to cover the million and one screws in the wall. There is a gritty feel to the dust and it easily spreads to any available clean surface. We have a table in the kitchen for meals on work days and there are still a few ladders here. The pantry doors have not been framed in, as we are waiting final measurements for the doors, so I can still see the 2x4’s peeking out from the drywall in the closet area. The air is thick with drywall dust and the smell is a comfortable one to me. It smells of my Dad’s projects. You can smell the raw odor of wood and drywall, of mud and glue and other bonding materials. The air is filled with that incredible scent that only a power tool can make and hearing my Dad in the background, I remember what it was like to grow up as his carpentry apprentice.

As I peek around the wall, I see the Sanctuary space open before me. There are three large windows that look out over Amelia–Olive Branch Road. The center window has a clear view of the old cross that has stood on the property for years, marking the place for the community we are building today. Carol is high on a ladder scraping the stickers from the glass so tomorrow when we hold our Easter Sunrise Service at the site, we can see the glorious sun shine into His space uninterrupted by annoying yellow and white stickers. The feet of her ladder rest on the worship platform that will hold our altar. It is accessible by a ramp so that mobility will never be a question when it comes to participation in the worship service. A week or two ago there was pink insulation covered with brown paper peeking between the framing members all over this room. Today it is almost completely covered with drywall. On the wall behind me that leads to the kitchen there is insulation that is more yellow in color. Dad said it has to do with fire protection. He explained why and the codes involved, but I will spare you those details. Bob the Builder and Thos are on the people lift hanging drywall against the ceiling on that wall. It is amazing; they have just covered the last of the visible insulation. The excitement is palpable it looks so completed, until you look up. The ceiling will be this beautiful light wood boards that have been spray-finished by dozens of volunteers at Anderson Hills Woodworking. Now it is trusses and insulation and vents. That is okay, though; compared to the muddy forest we started with, this is just incredible. Chris is walking around unbelievably soon after surgery to reattach his calf muscle. He never seems to stop, which is good because he keeps us coordinated. I watch folks sweep up piles of drywall dust in preparation for tomorrow’s festivities. Frances picks up scraps while Paul washes windows. What a miracle!

I walk toward the foyer, passing Judy and Les on my left. They are chatting outside the utility room. There is no drywall here yet. Wires and pipes hang from the walls and vents from the ceiling where a ladder is folded down allowing access to the attic space. Bob excuses himself as he passes through with a handful of something or other. That man is amazing, regardless of what is going on and what needs to be done; he always finds the perfect way to be productive. The little utility room that holds the circuit breaker box is straight ahead. That thick dark red goop that Mike used to put around the pipes is visible and it reminds me of taffy that melted in the sun and then hardened in the cold night air. The breaker box is installed and copper piping is visible between the insulation layers. It is amazing that such a little room can control so many important things, but then again so many things are amazing here.

The foyer is up a slight step. From what I understand there will be no step here when the building is complete. They left the level difference to accommodate a wood floor in the sanctuary space, but today there is a step. I try not to trip as I seem to every time I make this walk. On my left, there are entrances to the restrooms. The urinal sits outside the men’s room door waiting for two strong men and a boy to heft it out of sight for tomorrow’s festivities. I hear someone making a wise crack that we can use it for a holy water font. That is why we survive this project; there is always someone to make you laugh. The main entrance doors are just beyond the rest rooms, and looking out those doors you can see the “cornerstone”. It is a beautiful stone-looking plate that announces this project was underway in 2004. It is hard to believe that it started life as a scrap of plywood. I try to imagine the kids that years from now will hang out here waiting for chatting parents to finish up with coffee hour. As they lean against it will they have any idea how proud and excited we were to find this stone here when we came to work? I imagine no one will ever know. They will look and say “Wow, this church has only been here that long?”

The foyer doubles as the staging area. There are tools strewn across a make shift table, an obvious attempt to organize and put away is under way here. There is a movable scaffold that is also covered with tools and supplies. With a couple of dozen volunteers and tools owned by multiple owners, keeping things straight is a daily task. I can see where Dad has started packing away the tools that we no longer need to make way for the toys we will need for the next stage. I see five buckets of drywall mud stacked beneath the tool table. Have you ever played with drywall mud? It is SO soft and smooth and creamy between your hands. I love to play with it, but today I resist. Maybe I will come and help put the mud on the walls so I can dig my hands into the bucket and feel the soft cold mud squish between my fingers. It makes clean up a little tough but the joy makes it well worth the extra effort. The drywall dust isn’t so bad over here. It may be because this drywall has been hung for a week or two, or maybe because the door opens here more often. It doesn’t much matter why, but as I wander into the “el” wing Mike and Dad have described for so long I notice that I breathe much easier.

I peek into the largest of the four rooms in this wing. It is someday going to be the room we use for meetings and gatherings and other such events, but today it is a virtual lumber-palooza. This room smells like the old lumber stores I used to visit when I was a kid. It is all treated wood so the smell isn’t pure. I can smell the chemical scent of the varnish or whatever finish they sprayed on at Anderson Hills Woodworking. The ceiling lumber is stacked and acclimating to the ambient temperature. As Chris has explained, it is important for the wood to slowly be brought to the same temperature as the space it will be in and regulate itself before it is placed, otherwise it will shift and crack and not get along well with the ceiling. It seems to be adjusting well so I sneak out and leave it to settle.

Directly across from this door is another of my favorite rooms. There is a metal grid window in the wall so you can peek into the nursery. That window is now filled with permits and passed inspections, our victories along the way. I walk into the nursery and along the half wall that deters little tots from running out of the door. This will be an incredible space. In my mind’s eye I can see the bright colors on the wall of the pictures the kids will draw, the Veggie Tales books strewn across the floor with the Duplo blocks that were abandoned when the person keeping the nursery started to tell them a great story and a rocking chair or two for singing crabby little ones to sleep. I can’t wait until we can clean out the two tons of stuff that we are keeping in this room and make it into the beautiful room it will be.

Next door there is a storage room where we are keeping the grill we used for cook outs last summer. Here is another pull down ladder that leads to the attic space; this one is folded up and almost invisible except for the rope handle hanging down. It is dark in here as there are no windows and very little light shines through from the hall way. Not stumble-around-blindly dark, but dark nonetheless. There is just one room left, the vicar’s office. It has two windows and a beautiful light shines into this room. It feels like an office, you can see that the other rooms were designed for people to be in or for stuff to be in while this one is very obviously designed for the day to day base of operations. I can almost see where the two desks will sit, angled so the vicar and receptionist can work in their own little worlds and still pause to chat when the mood strikes. I can see the vicar excusing herself to go speak with an upset parishioner in the nursery where it will be quiet so the receptionist can carry on with the business of the day. I can hear the phones ring and see the bulletin boards with events and plans and announcements, this of course in my mind’s eye. Today I see my Dad and Becky shaving down the drywall around the door frame preparing it for the final instillation of 2x4’s to ready the frame to hold a door. Becky stops to point out the flooring samples for the sanctuary space. She shows me the one the committee has chosen and tells me why. It is a fine grade maple that is unfinished. She goes on to tell me that it is the highest quality in our price range and that it is untreated and can hold a stain so it can have the look we want. It looks good up close and from far away so I suppose the committee made a good choice. She also shows me this deep mahogany/cherry color that is against the wall. She is unsure what that color will be used for but we throw crazy ideas back and forth until Dad gives us his patented raised eye-brow. For a moment we are 12 and 7 again and break into a fit of giggles. After all what good is a day without an eyebrow raise?

I start to make my way back to the front door. Everyone is hard at work building the dream they have carried for so long. I think about the men and women who work 5 days a week at their daily grind and spend their Saturday here making this dream a reality. I think about the families that will laugh here, growing in their faith as they grow together. I think about the folks that will wander in looking for answers and finding the only answer that matters. I think about the community that will come together for births and deaths and weddings, the folks that will laugh and cry and love each other, creating families from strangers. This building is a miracle in so many respects, in the people that made it, the faith that sustained the community’s dreams for so long, and the little things that just seem to keep happening when people are starting to believe that a building on Amelia-Olive Branch for the Good Samaritans is much like the Holy Land is to the Jews, always for next year. I hope you can see my miracle here, and who knows?, Maybe you will come see it for yourself some Saturday. I have a better idea. Wait for us to be done; you can come ring the rafters with us. Alleluia!

The Skin You're In

Some days your skin just fits better than other days. On the average day we walk around in skin that fits like the perfect pair of jeans – a little give when you need it – just tight enough to make your ass look good, but not so tight it cuts you up the middle – Its comfortable – it fits – its good- Today I ask nothing special of anyone – I can handle what they give me – I can take what comes - People can come and go – it’s okay – I don’t need anyone close – but I don’t need them to go away – the world seems manageable today

It works

Then there are those huge days in your life – a new baby – a new job – a new lease on life – your skin is suddenly small – you are so full of your accomplishment it feels as if you might burst wide open – it’s tight, yet still magically comfortable – it works and it is still good - Today I want everyone closer – be here – celebrate with me – celebrate me – tell me you see what I see today – I might not see it tomorrow – I want proof - stay close enough that I wont burst – keep me in – keep me grounded – keep me here

It works

The days I dread are the days that it just doesn’t fit. You spend your whole day tucking and twisting, pinching and puffing, turning and avoiding so no one realizes that you can’t fill your own skin – so no one notices that you just aren’t enough – so no one sees that you aren’t what they think you are – those days are uncomfortable, scary, and not so good
Today I want everyone gone – I want space – I want to hide what I think they might see – I don’t want them to know – What if they don’t like me this way – what if they see that the shucking and jiving – the laugh and the smile are there to make them comfortable – what if they find out that I am small, and weak – that I am scared and unsure – that the bravado is to keep them away – I speak first so I have the home court advantage – I walk strong and tall so no one will question – because if they did I might not have what it takes to back the walk- Go away – let me be – don’t ask- wait until it fits.
It works