MYNAMEISDIONNE.COM

MYNAMEISDIONNE.COM 2008-12-03T06:34:28Z http://mynameisdionne.com/atom.aspx Quick Blogcast Snap Shot tag:mynameisdionne.com,2008-11-26:c05ce58a-c0d9-465b-93dc-ffd1dc278397 Dionne dionne@mynameisdionne.com 2008-11-26T01:44:32Z 2008-11-26T01:28:00Z
As the bus pulls away and I resume my travel in it's wake, I peer back to see daddy tucking leaf brown hair girl into a the backseat of an SUV and I am transported to a time when I am hugely pregnant and vacuuming the carpet of our first house while our toddler stands on the couch and waves to his big sisters bright yellow school bus.

and I smile...

Dionne]]> Cookies tag:mynameisdionne.com,2008-11-17:82a73f26-2d68-4ecc-9a90-23dfbbae6c33 Dionne dionne@mynameisdionne.com 2008-11-17T21:36:26Z 2008-11-17T21:10:00Z Oatmeal Chocolate Chip. I think.

I mean, I think that is my favorite cookie. I like the hearty chewiness of the oatmeal part, and the sweet chocolatey part of the chip. However I also really like Peanut Butter cookies. They are both sweet AND salty - can't get much better, unless they are Peanut Butter Chocolate Chip Cookies.

Anyway, there is a point here. Cookies are made of multiple ingredients and when you eat a cookie, your taste buds are attuned to all the different flavors that meld together to make it taste just right. Mmmm, cookies...

You wouldn't expect to bite into an Oatmeal Chocolate Chip Cookie and taste pumpkin. Pumpkin is not a part of Oatmeal Chocolate Chip Cookies so it would make you pause and shudder briefly, even if you liked pumpkin. When you do bite into a cookie you expect it to taste, in a combined joyous kind of way, exactly like what it's ingredients are.

Let's say you bit into a sugar cookie. (Not my favorite, but I'm tired of typing Oatmeal Chocolate Chip Cookies). So bite into your sugar cookie and imagine that all you can taste is greasy unsalted butter. Bleh! It leaves a tasteless greasy film on your tongue and over your teeth and even though you can feel and hear the sugar crunching between your teeth, all you taste is greasy film. Urk. Swallow.... and take another bite. What? Yes, another bite. Why?

Because someone promised you 11 hours worth of hot, fresh, home made from scratch sugar cookies and you are here determined to find those cookies. After 45 minutes of taste testing cookie after cookie, you come across the real ones, the totally soft deliciously fragrant sugar/butter/vanilla combination you were promised. mmmm-mmmm! You eat that cookie slowly, licking crumbs from your fingertips and reach out to take another cookie from the same exact spot on the same exact plate as the 'real' cookie. You lift that treasure to your mouth and bite into pure salt. GAG!!!

You have just lived the first hour of my day. Promised perfect sugar cookies, and given grease and salt. With 10 hours of cookies left to go. It was a long, long, day. And I don't know if I can eat another cookie. No matter how much I get paid. ]]> Ask And You Will Recieve: The End tag:mynameisdionne.com,2008-11-11:da75ca2c-180f-4795-afc1-08a035eee1a8 Dionne dionne@mynameisdionne.com 2008-11-11T22:44:48Z 2008-11-11T22:11:00Z
FPMD = future potential mommy and daddy...

Her attachment to FPMD started from the moment that DCF placed her in our home for what was supposed to be a 10-day stay. FPMD were part of our small group from church so they were on hand to meet our new visitor right from the beginning. As time passed, they prayed with us for her, listened to our frustrations and fears, prayed on their own for her and even provided some childcare. Through DCF incompetence, mismanaged cases, and as 10 days became a year, as I experienced schedule changes and new jobs, my Meme began staying with FPMD often. So often that she had her own little shelf in their kitchen, her own little chair at their table, her own little toys and snacks and even an extra special little hide n seek spot in the corner. FPMD, who were once just Meme’s ‘friends’ and then her ‘babysitters’ went from being charmed by her, falling in love with her and then loving her, to wanting her as theirs. As Meme’s circumstances have roller-coastered through goals of reunification spiraling down to supervised visits, potential family guardianship, and finally adoption, FPMD’s love for her and her love for them, has cemented, grown, and flowered.

This sounds like a beautiful love story triangle between a child who needs a home, a home that cannot keep her, and God opening up a home that can, a home He chose. It is a love story of course, but it’s also a story of unexpected loss. My loss. While Meme gained a future and a family like the one I had so faithfully prayed for, I lost my heart.

I did not know that I would ever fall, or could fall, so deeply in love with a child I did not even know. A child that I planned to give back as soon as DCF got her new placement set. Nevertheless, fall in love I did. I fell in love as deeply as her eyes are brown, as fully as her cheeks are round, as strong as her legs are sturdy, and as completely as any parent could ever.

It happened without my noticing though, and that is perhaps where the greatest tragedy lies. I missed out on the tender moments of falling and instead I just felt the impact... all at once. Because of the sneaky way that love grew us together, those ironic moments in which one wonders if God actually finds humor in us, I can only imagine that it happened sometime during a particularly unappealing diaper change or in the midst of a full out 6pm over tired tantrum. Perhaps love grew not when I dressed her in the too sweet red and white poppy raincoat with matching boots or in the gorgeous pale pink tulle-skirted Easter dress, but when I was on my knees scrubbing petrified pasta sauce from the floor in front of her high chair. Likely, given our individual temperaments, falling in love with this child happened when I was sweaty and frustrated, trying to wrestle her flailing body into her top-notch car seat. Not so likely in a moment of randomness when we each saw each other across a room and felt that relief of knowing that we belonged to each other; although that moment might have been the push that caused the fall.

I think our falling in love was a surprise to the both of us though. In my heart I feel that it might have happened just a week ago, on what had been a peaceful ordinary day marred only by one moment of willfulness on her part and the subsequent consequences meted out by me. That moment when, still shrieking in anger at me, she raced into my arms and flung herself against me with the secure knowledge that I would comfort her with the same hands that had just disciplined her. That is love blossomed. Indeed, aren’t those the qualities that every child of God desires for growth and blooming, adult and infant alike: belonging, comfort, security?

Though it has happened before, my prayers being answered that is, once again I am amazed at how God works things to His glory. Yes, my prayers for Meme have come to fruition. It may be that I have lost my heart in the process, but I have also laid bare my soul to God in a way I had long since felt unnecessary. And while I have heart ache ahead, I know I can find belonging, comfort, and security in my God. My adoptive Abba just waiting for me to fling myself into His arms even while shrieking in anger.

Dionne

]]> Ask and You Will Recieve: Part One tag:mynameisdionne.com,2008-11-09:343e5510-d02a-423e-9dd5-72a26ec71fa9 Dionne dionne@mynameisdionne.com 2008-11-09T21:07:16Z 2008-11-09T19:11:00Z A story for you...

There was a time in my life when most of my prayers were, “Please God let me get invited to…” and “Please God let me pass this test…” and even, “Please God, let him love me back…” Fortunately, that changed but still my prayers were less than regular, less than reliable, and less than they needed to be. In the past 7 years or so, I have definitely gotten better at communicating with God. I pray mostly during daytime hours, during long drives or in moments when I am able to drift off without anyone noticing. I enjoy praying. I am amazed in the ways God answers my prayers.

Every night for a years’ worth of nights now, I have held one particular baby girl, someone else’s baby girl, in my arms and prayed over her. I have prayed for Gods will to reign in her life, even told God that if it meant seeing this tiny one put back into the care of the ones who had hurt her, I would be submissive to Him. I want only to do His will. My prayers were for her life to be used by Him, for His purpose, and that I could be an instrument to assist Him. On the nights when my arms ached with the solid weight of her growing body; when I was exhausted from too many nights of hungry baby or wet diaper baby or teething baby; and when my voice was a gravelly murmur as I sang Amazing Grace for the umpteenth time; I prayed for her future. I asked God for it to be all, that as a parent of three of my own, I knew it could be.

Over the past year, there were nights, and days, when I cried as I prayed, and my prayers were desperate pleas for God to place his mighty angels around her to protect this child of His, pleas for her emotional safety and her development of bonding and attachment. While I never sunk low enough to pray that her parents would fail, there were admittedly times that I rejoiced when they did. I know their failures will hurt her deeply in the end, but I also have assurance that God can heal her completely. As this year passed and as I took my baby from snowsuit to rain boots to tiny sundresses and sandals, my prayers changed right along with her. Most recently, though still for God’s will to reign in her life, my prayers included asking Him to bless her bonding and attachment with a new mommy and daddy.

God is good and faithful to His children. My baby, my Meme, is this very moment staying several nights with her future potential mommy and daddy (FPMD). My Meme rejoices when she does a sleepover with these precious people. She is excited and can barely wave goodbye to me as she leaps from my arms into theirs. There is the odd time when she does cling to me, but she is, after all, still so young and it is only normal behavior for her to resist transitions.

And you must wait for more. In the meantime, ponder on a little tapas:

1 Thessalonians 5:17-18 (Amplified Bible)
17 Be unceasing in prayer [praying perseveringly]; 18 Thank [God] in everything [no matter what the circumstances may be, be thankful and give thanks], for this is the will of God for you [who are] in Christ Jesus [the Revealer and Mediator of that will].

The way to have creature comforts continued or restored, or the loss made up some other way, is cheerfully to resign them to God. Our prayers for our children are graciously and as fully answered when some of them die in their infancy, for they are well taken care of, and when others live. Matthew Henry's Concise Commentary

He answered their prayers, because they trusted in him (1 Chronicles)
So we fasted and petitioned our God about this, and he answered our prayer (Ezra)

http://www.godtube.com/view_video.php?viewkey=5a2e075a1a4a6e1b9770

Dionne

]]> Scripture tag:mynameisdionne.com,2008-10-18:d512757a-07d8-481d-91ae-ab3faaf7e1e0 Dionne dionne@mynameisdionne.com 2008-10-18T08:08:12Z 2008-10-18T07:43:00Z

The following scriptures were sent to me via a comment on a previous post. I decided to look at them a little in depth today and to free flow some thoughts as I read them. Join me?

1 Peter 1:6-7
In this you greatly rejoice, though now for a little while you may have had to suffer grief in all kinds of trials. 7 These have come so that your faith-- of greater worth than gold, which perishes even though refined by fire-- may be proved genuine and may result in praise, glory and honor when Jesus Christ is revealed.
My grief does indeed draw me closer to God. I realize, more and more, and each time so much more clearly, how nothing at all can comfort me for more than a brief moment, but that my trust in God and my constant turning to Him is what comforts me all the time, permanently. So, I guess it is true that I should greatly rejoice. For what TRULY matters? The day I stand before my King, the day my Jesus stands by my side as God looks upon my life - THAT is what truly matters. Today, every time I feel sad, grieved, burdened, and I turn to God, I will thank Him for the opportunity.
1 Peter 1:13
Therefore, prepare your minds for action; be self-controlled; set your hope fully on the grace to be given you when Jesus Christ is revealed.
Oh what would I ever do without Grace? I need it every hour of every day as my own innate humanity rears it's selfish hard attitude. I do prepare my mind for action: I read, I write, I ponder, I pray. I attempt to be self-controlled but struggle there mightily... and yes, setting my hope on Grace is all I can do. Without Grace, I'd be nowhere.
1 Peter 2:12
Live such good lives among the pagans that, though they accuse you of doing wrong, they may see your good deeds and glorify God on the day he visits us.
This is certainly a challenge. I want so much to be a light for Jesus, to just shine so that other people would indeed know that He is worth seeking... but as a human, as a female, my heart is so open to being hurt and my nature so open to being defensive and reactive. I want nothing more than to be that soft accepting body with the gentle smile and calm answer...but I struggle moment by moment. Today I will pray for thought - that I would think before acting/reacting. That I would shine for HIM and make others want that too.
1 Peter 2:19
For it is commendable if a man bears up under the pain of unjust suffering because he is conscious of God.
this is so not the same as "it is commendable to be independant, self fulfilling, and never needing help". And so many people view it that way. Bearing up is about kneeling down, accepting but praying, loving your prosecuter, but not becoming a door mat for them. Bearing up is to say, "gee, this stinks, but lets see what I can do with it". Today I will bear up, I will kneed down and I will pray.
1 Peter 2:21-23
To this you were called, because Christ suffered for you, leaving you an example, that you should follow in his steps. 22 "He committed no sin, and no deceit was found in his mouth." 23 When they hurled their insults at him, he did not retaliate; when he suffered, he made no threats. Instead, he entrusted himself to him who judges justly. Hmph. Yeah, I'd like to be Peter - with no inherent desire to retaliate, no desire to stand up and say, "But, wait, Listen!" Today? Today I will know that I commit sin, and I will know I am forgiven. Today I can try to accept insult and injustice with love and grace.
1 Peter 2:20
But if you suffer for doing good and you endure it, this is commendable before God.
Can you define endure?

Don't be afraid to comment! It's good for you...

]]> Don't Worry, Be Happy tag:mynameisdionne.com,2008-10-15:ea61cc2f-7beb-45ce-8127-e8c723c52582 Dionne dionne@mynameisdionne.com 2008-10-15T22:13:53Z 2008-10-15T23:07:00Z I write.

I write the words ~~that make the whole world sing~~ that are in my heart. That means I don't always write the words that have been processed through logical thinking in my brain.

Did I think about how other people would interpret my words? No.
Did I think about how other people might feel about what I said? Not really.
Did I anticipate how any specific person might be offended? Nooooo, I didn't actually.
Did I consider how... well, whatever. The point is, regardless the question, it's likely that the answer is no.

Not that I'm not thoughtful, but that I rarely hold back what it is I am thinking/feeling. This can be a problem in print because, even with the prolific use of creative italics and font sizes, it's difficult to capture the meaning behind the words. The meaning behind the words is usually expressed in tone of voice, volume, and facial/body expression... things that can't be expressed via email or blog post.

"What's up today?" in an email can be deciphered as, "What are you doing? Where are you going? When will you be back? Why won't you tell me? Why do I have to ask? What am I s'posed to do now?" instead of a gentle and interested, genuinely caring question.

I have heard, more than once, that I should be a little more cautious in what I write or in how I say things. Maybe someday I'll figure out more precisely how to do that. I know I need to guard my tongue and my mouth, I understand the wildfire and tempest that can be wrought by one word... yet this is such a hard thing for me.

Somebody read my blog for the first time recently and was left feeling saddened by how sad I seemed to be. I was really bewildered because I hadn't really thought of any of my posts being particularly expressive of MY level of, or lack thereof, sadness. I went back and reread as many posts as I could, searching for the things that made me look sad. And I gotta say, I just didn't see it.

I might write about emotional things, and about things that are serious and sad, but not so much about ME being sad... I think. Maybe that's just my perception! At any rate, what i really wanted to say to the person who read my blog is this: Don't worry... be happy!

Don't worry about me - don't hurt FOR me, just be happy... and if I write deep or stirring things? It's because I feel them, but not because I'm so sad... I'm actually pretty happy most of the time!

I love you!

Dionne]]> Humble Pie tag:mynameisdionne.com,2008-10-08:27deaeb7-95c6-4771-ada8-5db7fd9d8d38 Dionne dionne@mynameisdionne.com 2008-10-08T22:10:16Z 2008-10-08T20:56:00Z Humble, according to the Merriam-Webster Dictionary, is defined as:
1: not proud or haughty : not arrogant or assertive 2: reflecting, expressing, or offered in a spirit of deference or submission (a humble apology) 3 a: ranking low in a hierarchy or scale.

Humble Pie, according to the same, is defined as: a figurative serving of humiliation usually in the form of a forced submission, apology, or retraction —often used in the phrase "eat humble pie".

And if you don't want to eat Humble Pie? Might I humbly offer you the chance to eat crow? Or perhaps to eat your own hat? (http://www.worldwidewords.org/articles/eatcrow.htm)

Well, I got the chance to eat an entire pie created out of humble crow the other night. It was hard to chew, harder to swallow, and took a long time to digest. It made my stomach hurt and my eyes watered. It was truly a horrible thing to have to do. I must say though, having done it thoroughly, that the eating and digesting part of it has left me completely cleansed and emptied. I feel renewed - I might go so far as to say that if you are ever offered the opportunity to consume some, that you grab the nearest fork and dig right in. Sin in your life has a way of dragging you down and eroding you whether you acknowledge it or not. I have to clearly state that I am not looking forward to ever having to eat this dish again, but don't mind admitting to the clarity I feel now.

I hurt someone very close to me. I hurt her thoughtlessly and yet not necessarily accidentally. I'm not entirely sure what happened but only that my tongue got away from me and on more than one occasion I am ashamed to confess that I used my words and attitude to diminish instead of lift up one of my own sisters in Christ. When it was finally brought to my attention what I'd done, I was engulfed by shame. I had been aware for two days that I'd done something wrong, but was unsure what and had spent those two days in mental anguish wondering what sin exactly I'd committed. Finally, on the very edge of hysteria, I dragged the mess out from the darkness and set it smack dab in the middle of Gods light. And my friend stood by with a fork and knife watching me eat. A mutual friend stood by with a napkin and a toothpick. Our other friend watched with horror and amusement, a glass of water in hand...which she drank by herself. The moment was endless.

And now it's over, and love replaces pain. Though I'm sure my friend may have a little tenderness that will need time to heal, I also know her heart belongs to God and she has forgiven me. And her forgiveness was worth every bite I choked down. I can't imagine my life in the absence of her forgiveness - and so I asked God for forgiveness too and am the grateful of recipient of Mercy and Grace.]]> Afraid of the Dark tag:mynameisdionne.com,2008-10-03:84385033-6b52-4737-bf94-9810392e5b67 Dionne dionne@mynameisdionne.com 2008-10-03T02:41:38Z 2008-10-03T02:30:00Z
I've been thinking lately about trust. I was listening to a book on tape by Max Lucado and one section of it was about trust, or rather our innate inability to fully trust in God to provide. As my mind assimilated all of the thoughts I surfed through during my day, and as my subconcious assigned those thoughts to the trust or not trust categories, I kept thinking, "Yeah, but..."

"Yeah, I trust God to meet my financial needs, but aren't I supposed to step up and do the work I'm called to do?" "Yeah, I trust God to fulfill my desires and wants, but what about learning to be content with what we have?" "Yeah, I trust God, to show me the right choice to make, but I'm not really worrying about this I'm just considering all my options." My problem? I have too much 'but' in my life.

Enough with the "yeah, but..." I am ordering myself. Enough. I will pray and listen. I will read and watch. I will let go and let happen. And when I am afraid of the dark, and my mind says "yeah, God will protect you, but what if it's His will that nine inch long razors spring from the floor and slice you up painfully and leave you an invalid who is dependant on your children and ultimately becomes homeless and dies in and underground subway in NYC and isn't discovered for a gazillion years? Then what? Huh? Huh? Then what???" I will stop, breathe deep, and think of God's great mercy and unending grace. I will remember all the painful things I've experienced, and how truly painful they could have been if I hadn't known our God already.

When I am afraid of the dark, I will call out to God. I will trust in Him that whatever happens will be only to glorify Him... that my prayers alone would be enough reason for the the fear.

What are you afraid of?]]> Broken tag:mynameisdionne.com,2008-09-24:e82c26bd-7477-44b8-88e0-24f4bdcbea12 Dionne dionne@mynameisdionne.com 2008-09-24T22:51:02Z 2008-09-24T22:24:00Z
I wore a cast. My arm healed. And it grew. And if I have problems with it now and then, no one seems to think it's of any importance that I broke it when I was 5 - apparently if the breaking happened when you were young and bendy, it doesn't impact you when you are older and more brittle. Regardless, my elbow is no longer broken.

When I was 9, someone tried to break in to our house. They tried to break open a locked door, some windows, and to break through our safety. Although they didn't manage to enter our house, to harm us or steal from us, our safety had indeed been broken. Sometimes, no matter how young and bendy you are, the breaking of something lasts a lifetime. I'll never forget that night. Regardless, I've never actually had my doors and windows broken.

We had some exchange students from China for two weeks. It was a few years ago and it was awesome. One of the girls didn't speak english as well as the other, and it was to this slower, more shy, and more humble girl that I found my heart drawn to. I took them shopping one day and she didn't have any money with her. She kept exclaiming, "oh, I wan' to buy that, but I is broken! Oh my mother so mad at me, I so broken! She say, where you money at? I say, I buy the ice cream of colors and now I am broken!" (pardon me, I get carried away trying to describe this - it was soooo funny!) Broken meant... no money, "broke". But really she was only without her money, not really completely drained of funds. Her wallet wasn't really broken... just empty.

Occasionally now one of us in our family will toss out the "I so broken" phrase to demonstrate our pathetic wallets. It usually brings about a laugh. An ironic laugh. A laugh that says, "yeh, you so broken cuz you so stoopid!" Regardless, it usually means that someone isn't truly broken, just a little bent up.

I know someone who is actually really in all possible ways, broken. Tonight that person is a festering pounding aching broken mass. That person is crying, hurting, begging... and broken. The sad part is that I can see that there is still breaking left to happen. It's scary too - to know that however bottomed out this person feels, that there is deeper yet still to go. Pray with me won't you? Pray for all the broken ones around you tonight, all the half broken ones, all the half healed ones... all the ones that only God can repair. Pray with me.

D ]]> Tapas tag:mynameisdionne.com,2008-09-09:79a86b83-172e-44a3-b5fd-7a303b362077 Dionne dionne@mynameisdionne.com 2008-09-14T23:45:39Z 2008-09-09T22:45:00Z
Sigh...

Anyway, Tapas is something I experienced and would love to try again. But tapas also seems to fit the way in wich I am about to write - small edible treats meant for savoring and sharing, not to appease hunger, but to encourage communication. A long explanation for: don't have anything big to say but want to blog anyway.

Fall is in the air and I am, once again, amazed at the way God has created everything to work together so that we can see the distinct changes of the season and we've had just enough of the one to be happy to see the next. Fall is my favorite season - the way the air is crisp and cool and the sun is gentle, the sedate warmer colors coming out, the coziness of a fleece jacket that's been stashed away - too thin for winter, and way to warm for summer. I love the smell of woodsmoke in the air, and look forward to baking again. It's easy to think gracious thoughts of God, to spend time in His presence when I'm so peaceful and happy - it's also a harsh reminder of how being with God takes discipline and intention, how it's harder to do sometimes when it seems there is little to be thankful for. I hope to add Intention as my next focus, along with my continued focus on authenticity.

I was reading the 29 Gifts Challenge late last night. I'd skimmed it before and was excited, but then forgot all about it. I went looking last night and the word that popped out so often was "intention". Not just that you would be a loving giving person - and for some that is there natural disposition anyway - but that you would intentionally think about how and what to give away. Last night I stopped and bought an overpriced bag of delicious little individual chocolates. Today I gave a handful to my daughter and told her to give them to her teachers, the principal, the secretary: and to tell them to have a 'bliss'full day. She was excited to do it, and I took the rest of the chocolates to the baby's daycare and let her give one to each of her teachers and on my way out I dispersed the rest of them. It was sweet to me, to give such a simple little drop of goodness to some really good people.

Every year at my kids' school, I volunteer for a handful of things. Cookie baking, PTA, classroom helper, helping with special projects... whatever. Every year they have a volunteer appreciation lunch. Every year I think, "eh, I haven't really done all that much so I'll skip it..." No biggie. I'm not really connected with the other parents and am not the standard suburban minivan driving PTA mom so I'm actually just satisfied with knowing that my kids were pleased to see me at their school doing things once in a while. This year, my church had a Volunteer Appreciation Night. It was going to be big, bright, fun, with entertainment and gooo-oood food! I was so psyched! Couldn't wait. Wrote it on my calendar, circled it, looked forward to reconnecting with some friends... and then promptly forgot all about it. Driving home from grocery shopping last Tuesday night, being a total goofball with my kids, laughing and singing and creating a mild ruckus, I drove past the church and saw the full parking lot, the lights all on, and I thought, "ohhh, they are having some fun and I didn't get invited to jo--- OH NO! I Forgot The Dinner!!!" I tell you, I nearly wept. I was so dissapointed. My son tried to console me, "it's ok mom, WE appreciate you anyway!" God is good and gracious to allow a heart to be healed by a 12 year old boy! I sure hope my friends had a good time and enjoyed the good food. I went home, had some hot cheesy Ziti made by my friend Sue, and continued to laugh and be goofy with my kids. I appreciated them.

The saga with my 18 year old daughter continues. She moved in with her boyfriend and because my heart was broken (and humbled!) by her actions, I tried really hard to just be straightforward and honest with her. My husband and I had decided to withhold any and all financial help, to the point of not providing the kids with any cookware or extra linens etc. They were responsible for securing a moving truck, loading and unloading it all, and rearranging the empty spaces left behind. They did it all. Aside from some transportation I provide when it's convenient for me, we've really offered nothing other than listening ears, sympathy for the hard times, and only the occasional sarcastic remark.

Recently my heart was totally convicted that I was wrong. I had, for all intents and purposes, abandoned my daughter. She was in no way really ready to make this huge leap, but yet in my heart I know some of the underlying reasons she chose to do it. My withholding of "help" showed more like desertion, abandonment, lack of love, and also it just didn't sit well in my own spirit, making me overly angry and irritable and hurt in my interactions with her. I finally listened to my heart, to my mom voice, to the gentle prodding of a loving, merciful, and grace bestowing God - the ultimate parent. I began stuffing everything I could find that wasn't useful to me into plastic shopping bags. Extra spatulas, a muffin tin, a baking dish. Extra plastic cups, straws, plastic utensils and a handful of paper napkins. I loaded up with cleaning rags, old bathmats, old sheets and pillowcases, various knick-knacks like small baskets, votive candles and holders, a memo pad and a stamp and ink pad, blank notecards... I had a blast! I culled through our toiletries and added bar soap, shampoo and conditioner, some tylenol and ibuprofen as well as some cough syrup. And I gave them too her... and stayed long enough to help her rearrange her living room. We had such a fun time! Since then, I've intentionally called her when I felt like it, stopped by after work, drove out to pick her up for church (which was only 40 minutes out of my way but, gas: 3.49 a gallon, travel coffee mug: 2.99, your childs potential salvation? Priceless...) and eagerly answered my phone when I saw her number pop up on caller id. It feels so good to be authentically loving again!

We had a funeral in our backyard. It was appropriately rainy and windy and gloomy as our family of 5 (baby was asleep in her crib) huddled around the muddysand hole that my husband had shoveled out. I placed our ~~beloved~~ ~~dearly departed~~ ~~will be greatly missed~~ dead cat into the hole, and tucked in the blankets snugly around his ~~soft furry~~ ~~still shiney coated~~ cold stiff body. I tried to wrap him up so that the... um... leakage of body fluid... um... was, ahem, um, unnoticeable. It took more than a couple blankets. No one told me that was gonna happen! We laid our kitty to rest, gave him an automatic squeaky mouse for comfort (and then proceeded to giggle every time the stinkin' mouse started randomly squeaking when dirt fell on him) and said a little poem. Listening to my daughter choke out the poem in her bravest and most stoic way was.. well... I'd like to say that it was beautiful, heart warming, and filled me with pride, but really it was just so dang cute that I wanted to kiss every freckle on her face in a fit of smoochies. Yes, well. So we put the dirt back in on in the hole and raked some leaves over it before placing some seashells (I dunno, that's what my daughter wanted) on his little grave. Poor Kitty. May he rest in peace and not be dug up by the coyote that tried to eat him last week... and may I never be conned into a teensy sweet kitten again (because, you know, they grow up and pee all over the house and are nuisances!)

I reformulated a resume. I mean, MY resume. It was all professional and dated and bulleted and highlighted my successes, my goals, my accomplishments... and it was both boring, and not getting me any work. So I redid it. I made it authentic and personable, still showcasing my skills and qualities but written for a human person, not a Hiring Personell Professional. I already got 3 hits so it must've worked. I'm thinking more and more about what people NEED in their lives - what kinds of relationships or connections and how I can incorporate the desire to meet that need with the need to produce some income. Y'know, again, God is just amazing in His ways. He is such a sly guy tho'! Who knew all this agonizing over using His gifts to me would end up with me actually using them, and getting paid. Well, I suppose God knew... but wow is it awesome to see it all come together. Not so awesome to have to slap myself and say, "well duh!"

I had one of the most enjoyable moments recently - an evening with a friend - and it was the kind of friend where it didn't really matter that, even though we were out in public, my baby was a screaming ball of exhaustion, that I ended up with guacamole all over my shoulders from baby's face, and streaks of boogers on my black knit pants, and my makeup was smeared off and my hair was in it's humidly out of control state, and that our children were both running around emmiting dangerous toxic fumes from their diapers while we giggled ourselves silly over some coffee. I'm sure the employees of the place we went were alternately pleased to see us go, and aghast at the 'treasure' they found in their trash can underneath the cash register in the back corner. Ahem. Forgive me Lord, while I giggle some more. A couple of things were immensely adorable and worth mentioning - watching my baby walk forward to a huge shelf full of toys, somehow ram her forehead smack dab into a protruding shelf, reel back with a stunned expression, and then just sort of vaguely wander off to find something else. Then watching my baby try to jump off of a step. Her cohort was bravely leaping, arms flailing, off the ginormous 4 inch step and she so badly wanted to do it too... only she's too, um, well, robust, to get her feet off the ground. So she would toddle up to the edge, lift her arms up, bend and straighten her knees, clap for herself, and then step gracelessly down off the ledge only to run around and do it again. That is serious talent my friend!

Enjoy the tapas, leave your own behind (it's all about sharing!) and have yourselves a day blessed with peace, light, laughter, and the unstained image of a round toddler clapping for ~~herself~~ you.]]>