Washed in the Blood and covered in the ink

 On my morning scroll of Facebook I saw a close up picture of a woman from behind, her back on display wearing a strappy top.  She was fully tattooed.  At first glance I noticed the workmanship and talent it took to make such a big piece of art, wondered how many hours she sat through to accomplish her vision.  I thought it had been posted by the woman herself but upon reading the caption I realized this pic had been taken by a cowardly stranger and posted publicly for ridicule.  I’m acquainted with many of the  commenters, all “good Christian folks”  from Small Town, America.  Many have their church affiliation tagged proudly in their bios.  

      As a person who is both washed in the blood and covered in the ink, I’d like to offer my perspective.  Tattoos are a personal collection of expensive, permanent art.  Large pieces take multiple visits, precise planning and a lot of commitment. It’s a  decision that affects no one but the person whose skin the ink is in yet many feel compelled to comment on.

      Simple self expression can be a barrier when looking for a church home.  I worried about my tattoos when I first  visited my new church.  Thankfully I found a group of believers who could see my desire to get closer to God and not focus on my floral decorations.  I know who Jesus spent His time minerstering to.  I feel like today many of His rowdy young disciples may have sported a sleeve or two.  

     Some of the comments I’ve gotten over the years: “Why did you do that to yourself?” “I could never do that.” and my favorite “Please tell me you did that to yourself when you were younger and didn’t know any better.”.  The last one made me laugh.  I told the elderly lady who was so concerned with my skin that I could never do something as radical as have face tattoos.  The irony sailed right over her head as she looked at me from beneath her tattooed brows. 

      Tattoos can be fun trinkets and tiny mementos hidden on an ankle but they are also a way to mark life, death, trauma and overcoming hardships.  It’s an evolving art form that has been noted as far back as the human record extends. The tools, ink and artistry have developed to allow detailed expression and imagery that was impossible even 50 short years ago.

    Women’s bodies are not something to consume or be approved of by society at large.  I made a practice while raising my kids that we only comment on someone else’s body if it’s a five second issue.  Alerting someone that they have food in their teeth, an untied shoe or a zipper that needs attention is a kindness.  Telling  a person that you don’t like their body, their skin or appearance is a judgement.  I wish more adults knew this.  

     It saddens me that people waste time focusing on the outside of humans instead of caring about the contents of their hearts.    One year ago I met a beautiful woman while out shopping and we chatted.  She’s in her 80’s with a young and vibrant spirit. She invited me to her church and told me right where she’d be. Every Sunday 9 a.m., up front on the left.  I’m happy to say that’s where I’ve been sitting since.  

     If you’re decorated like me and curious about finding a group of believers that truly cares about the contents of your heart and the health of your spirit…. Come sit by me, every Sunday 9 o’clock, up front on the left.  If you find yourself compelled to sneak pics of strangers and make snarky remarks….. Come sit by me, every Sunday, up front on the left.  Let’s get you introduced to Jesus’ love.  It doesn’t sting with condemnation, He loves all of us the same and when you seek Him you’ll find a depth of peace that allows you to move through the world with much less hate.   Til then, bless your heart and I’ll be praying for you.

It’s so much more than mascara

                                   

      In a flurry of emails, texts and message from Y corporate yesterday it was confirmed that our flagship product, Touch Spray Foundation, is being pulled from the market due to production and manufacturing issues.  News travel fast, I’ve been talking with my core Tribe, we are all in shock and pretty upset.  we know this means we all lose over 50% of our sales.  After the economy the past three years, all of our sales have been cut in half each year just from the way life is been going. 

    

      My core group, the one that I go to conventions with,  My Tribe, they will be lifelong friends but I am still struggling knowing that I’m not gonna get to see them anymore it’s hard to get to a convention that you don’t have product to sell to fund your trip with I’m not blaming any of them and I hope they’re not blaming me, this has just been a really hard few years watching something that I worked so hard to build and grow and bring others into with me slip away.  I’m really going to miss this. 

     I know it’s just a direct sales company, that’s not what I’m going to miss. I’m going to miss the Tribe that I’ve built. We were all just trying to earn trips and pretty little shiny charms on a bracelets but ended up becoming family. Younique does it right.  I earned my first trip with them within two months of joining, but didn’t realize it til I got an email asking me to pick a date to come tour the new headquarters in Utah.  The first time I visited corporate I got to tour our brand new facilities go through and see how manufacturing shipping is all done. I worked out and had a tai chi lesson with the corporate leader of health and fitness. I had a make up lesson by a beautiful and talented artist who shared techniques and how to get the most from our products.  It was my first time traveling alone since I had become a mother. There were gifts left on my pillow every night in our hotel.  Little journals, ink pens, a T-shirt,  Younique has treated me like family by sending  cards in the mail, giving us gifts to mark accomplishments. It’s no wonder I felt loved, because those are all the ways that I show love to my own children. Tate’s charm bracelet is full of gymnastics and now soccer charms. Mine is full of goals that my friends helped me reach, charms from each state and country my Tribes visits.  

    More than any recognition or financial success Younique has helped me start my healing journey from an assault that happened 20 years ago this August on my birthday. I had stopped at a party I’d been invited to by a friend at the diner i started waiting table at in Phoenix.  I thought I’d  have a drink with my new coworkers because Brad was working late and  I didn’t want to spend my first birthday away from all my friends family in Louisiana alone.  I was given a laced drink and my life forever changed with what happened for the next 36 hours with three men from the diner I was waitressing at.  Brad had  reported  me missing after driving calling and looking for me when I didn’t make it home. Everything after that changed in me forever.  Sadly it changed our marriage forever too. 

    Younique helped to start healing me.  I stood on stage and received my Black Status award in front of 10,000 women on my 40th birthday. Recovery from sexual assault is possible. I’m living proof.  My son and daughter got to see their mom’s biggest professional accomplishment and be right there with me.  The broken young wife that struggled with shame and guilt from a violent assault kept going….. I had a failed suicide attempt in the weeks following my assault.  If I could go back and sit with my 24 year old self I would let her cry, I’d hold her and whisper over and over that it’s going to get better.   In my darkest hour I would have never believed I would survive to stand in a ball gown, being presented  a Tiffany’s necklace in front of my husband and children, then celebrate with 40 of my closest friends. I would hold the young wife I was then and tell her   “You don’t know it now, in your pain, while you’re trying to end your life, but you will grow life soon.  Tiffany I know you think your body will never quit hurting, you can’t sleep because you feel their hands on you as you drift off…. Keep holding on.  You will be holding a new baby boy in two years.  You will become stronger than any nightmare. When you grow to protect your child, you’ll become strong enough to protect yourself.  You’ll be so strong again, just hold on a little longer.”

     In my darkest moment, I would have not been able to imagine the stark contrast of the brighter future that awaited me because I just  held on. On stage is what I imagine Tate felt every time she won a gold medal. It was the best birthday I’ve ever had. I finally got to have a good one. My husband, my kids and 40 women that I got to know, train and love celebrated with me for me on my 40th.  This night was God. Nothing else could explain getting to have all of this on my actual birthday.  All the years I spent crying and pleading with god to not feel alone and relive that night…. God sent so many friends that on my 40th birth I was never alone, not even to go to the bathroom. I couldn’t see God in my life so he sent an army, he sent My Tribe to make me finally feel safe and loved on my birthday again.    

                            

    I became completely dependent on and driven by our work trips. I’ve earned seven incentive trips all over the world in the eight years I’ve been with Younique, I’ve even got to speak at a couple of conferences in Atlanta and here in Texas.  Booking a flight, picking up friends at the airport and heading off to a girls weekend  was my drug of choice.  We all got to learn and laugh together while  having a break from our daily lives. This will will forever be the best part of my life. Getting to be in the room with other mom as they just decompress laugh and cut up. I finally got to have fun, we all did. We actually acted like our kids while on vacation. We had an Indian leg wrestling tournament in our hotel room on one of our last trips. We all laughed so hard that joy leaked  from the corners of our eyes. Every year when that video pops up on my Facebook memories, I laugh and I give myself a few minutes to sit and remember just how much fun My Tribe has had.  I don’t know if the women who signed up under me know how much I love them.  They have each saved my life- God sent them to call, check-in, become my friends any time I felt alone.  When I had no light of my own they loaned me theirs and walked with me til I could find my way again.

                             

      I would go and be one of the older ladies at all of our conferences, the younger ladies having adapted to social media and technology more than a lot of us Gen X moms.  I am fiercely proud of the “old Broads” that have joined me. I see their names on on Top Ten Leaderboards out of 50,000 women… My Tribe worked harder and dominated. They outshined all while driving minivans, working full time, being room moms.  

       We all just met and decided to be friends, because we wanted the same things: a little bit of spending money,  a way to have a minute where we got to concentrate on ourselves.    For me, it was getting dressed every morning and talking to my friends on my Facebook lives. I got to know so many people by sharing my life while experimenting with putting make up on.  I realize it started to heal me. In many ways I began to have self-worth every time a new friend reached out and asked if I could help her feel prettier.  I’ll never stop helping women feel beautiful, that is a life’s mission of mine, aside from the makeup.

      I’ve helped direct women to our Haven Retreat for adult survivors of childhood sexual abuse. I began to get comfortable sharing information and telling parents how to protect their children by having plain and simple conversations to make sure they stayed safe. As my confidence grew I shared more.  People that may not buy make up have messaged me over the years to say thank you.   I helped them be able to talk to their child about boundaries, this is why sharing my story matters.  I need sharing I began to heal  a lot of my own past with an assault that happened when I was 24.

    It’s some times overwhelming, but I felt like I needed to share because I wanted other women to heal in the way that I had. I still don’t talk openly about the assault and prefer to not answer questions, its hard to visit in my mind.  But in sharing I’ve been messaged in the past three years by over 35 women disclosing their own assaults to me.  Some reached out to get information on what kind of therapy has helped me(EMDR). A few have made it to the Haven retreat to begin their healing journey. Sharing my story matters.

       I’ve connected with other leaders in Younique and we’ve been each other’s touch point over the past several years encouraging each other to continue seeking healing and recovery. I was able to hit my biggest career goals while getting help to stop drinking. After the assault I numbed with alcohol to be able to go to sleep, be in groups, and always to black out so I could forget my birthday. 

     Instead of feeling ousted or set apart when I quit drinking, My Tribe folded their arms around me.  They stayed with me every second of my first convention sober.  They didn’t let me go anywhere by myself when I was struggling with the social anxiety of being around thousands of people.   They literally held my hand as I learned to do life without wine. 

   Younique was and is the safest place I’ve ever been.  A company based on protecting children, run by mama bears.  It was built by a brother and sister, that wanted to provide a way to fund a healing program for adult who’ve been sexually molested as children. There couldn’t have been a more perfect place for me to wind up.  I signed up for a multi level marketing company because my friend sent me a used mascara. I wanted to go on a trip like she just got back from.  I didn’t know she was saving my life by telling me “I think you’d be great at doing what I do”.  At that moment she was my hope dealer and I’m forever grateful.  

      Working with bunch a of moms, slinging mascara has been one of the greatest joys of my life. We really did run the world for a few years. I will hold on now, just like I have had to learn to do in the past.  I go in and out of having faith in a God that I felt abandoned me on my 24th birthday.   I’m learning that he didn’t abandon me, in my darkest hours he was preparing My Tribe. I’m hard to reach, so it’s taken an  army of women to Uplift, Empower and Validate me until I could see God in my life again.  My Great Couselor couldn’t reach me  in church, I struggle in large groups and can’t hear God I’m being hyper vigilant.  The Creator literally made me a Haven and knew it had to be unique- all female- for me to be able to recover .  My Holy Spirit called in the right women to love me through til I could love myself again.

     We are taught to “Find your Why?”  Why do you do what you do? I thought I sold makeup to make money but I was wrong.  I do this to lead others to heal.  I share so parents can become comfortable talking to their kids, to point them to the Saprea.org site for tools to make talking easier.  The Spray Foundation my be retiring, but mascara saved my life.  A little tube of makeup has saved the  lives of many other survivors who are struggling. I will keep sharing, keeping telling women “I think you would be great at doing what I do”.  I’ll keep reaching out and maybe I’ll be someone else’s hope dealer because it has always been SO much more than mascara. 

Easy Like Sunday Morning

I always wished I was I was good wife, but I was really short tempered. 

       I wanted to use all my paints and be an artist but I was always running behind and couldn’t find time. 

       I’ve always worked out but couldn’t get down to my goal weight, would get frustrated and binge. I’d go off the rails for a couple weeks and then try to starve myself thin again when nothing fit. 

      Now I do most of things I always wanted. I didn’t find more time in the day, I’m able to wake up earlier. I realized I only paint for me.   It doesn’t have to be museum quality or even make sense.  As long as the 🎨 makes me happy then it’s successful.   My temper is still short but I’ve taken one huge stumbling block out of the way. Said goodbye to alcohol in 2018. Amazing that its absence is being filled in with things like Sunday morning fishing and watercolor dates with Brad.

     Stopping drinking took a lot of work for me. I used wine as a social crutch since my first sip back in the 90’s. I was totally functional. No DUI’s. Never even pulled over. Booze only ever made me less able to handle my own anxiety. I’m learning to accept that big groups are always gonna unsettle me, and that’s ok! 

     I’m so thankful to the moms who hosted Tate’s group yesterday for all the Homecoming festivities. Thanks for letting me contribute some snacks and makeup. My girl got to have an amazing night with her friends. I got to stop by and take pics then go grab pizza with Big Papa.  No booze required. 

       No hangover this morning, just sunshine, red fish and all the things I used to think weren’t possible for me when I was over indulging in Pinot Grigio.

 

The View from Behind

 The view from behind. 

    I love taking pics from my perspective on our trips. This year my view changed. Brad leads us in crowds, through cities and as a family. We have this larger than life man walking up front carving a path.  The safest place to be in behind his massive shoulders. When Turner and Tate grew too big to carry it was natural to put them behind Brad and take the caboose position. He leads, I keep my eyes on his shoulders and guard the two in between us. 

      Getting to know Turner and Tate as adults is one of the biggest pleasures of my life. They are both so intelligent, athletic, caring and each have their own brands of humor that impress and delight  me. 

       Tate is joy personified. She’s light and fun, always moving and dancing. Her sense of humor and ability to captivate with her charm will serve her well.  She’s beautiful with out a stitch of makeup, silly and to many people’s surprise is an academic powerhouse.  Listening to her practice her Spanish, how she’s been an interpreter for me has made my heart flutter.  She is the kind of confident I wish I could be.  Her heart is so big and her eyes don’t see people’s weaknesses. Tate lives up to being my bringer of joy.  Earlier this year when a panic attack hit me so hard that I couldn’t move or speak she reacted as an adult.  My tiny daughter held my hand and talked to me until I could get my breathing and heart rate under control.  It was the first time I had to lean on her as an equal and she was beyond gracious and caring.  She was cool, calm and collected. I saw her in the future that she has planed in that moment.  She embodied all the traits that will make her successful as a medical practitioner one day. 

     This is the trip that my position in line changed. Instead of grouping Turner in the middle, my six foot tall, almost grown man of a son gently placed his hand on my back and moved me to the middle.  I looked up at him and said OK I trust you.  It’s not just walking in a different order, it was him growing into the man he is meant to be. He has moved me to the inside of the sidewalk away from traffic, kept watchful eyes on his sister and I.  Turner works alongside Brad as a powerful sentinel guarding our little family in crowds, emergencies or just daily life.  I placed my hand on the crook of my baby boy’s arm and let him step into the space I usually hold as protector.  Turner is adventurous in a way that few people can be. To truly experience life you have to have an assured nature. I get lost in my own anxiety and worries. My son knows his abilities, works on himself tirelessly to become the most powerful version of himself he can be. His energy is so much like his father’s.  Quiet power, a depth of understanding of his surroundings and ability to read a room that makes everyone around him feel more at ease.  His focus and intensity on his goals makes my heart swell. 

       Being mindful, going to therapy to help me get out of my head and into my life gave me the gift of seeing the moment our positions in line changed.  It wasn’t a simple rearranging, it was allowing my son to step up into being a young man.  I’ve been overwhelmed and awed by how loved I feel by my husband and kids. I didn’t know that many survivors of sexual abuse/assault also struggle with feeling connected.  I internalized that what happened to me was bad, therefore I must be bad.  I’ve always felt like a fraud or fake.  I woke up every day thinking that Brad would figure it out. Surely he would know I was a bad person because I felt bad and empty on the inside.  I’ve worried that I would ruin my kids from the minute I knew I was pregnant with them. I read every parenting book I could, I wanted to do right by them.  I’ve failed all three in many ways over the years. I tried to be a good mom while being in internal chaos. I drank too long and far too much in hopes of quieting the ghosts that walk through my mind daily.  I’ve had an incredibly quick temper,  been a perfectionist and unable to relax even at home.  I went to therapy as a last ditch effort to get some relief from myself.  I didn’t know that I would end up opening up to my family. I thought by pretending I was perfect that I was protecting them, instead I was keeping them at arms length. I didn’t know that by keeping my past and my struggles bottled up I was also keeping myself from being able to take in the love they have always offered me. 

      I cried early this morning in our hotel room. Brad and I were quietly talking about how amazing yesterday was with the kids and all the adventures.  I told him this is the best trip of my life.  I let go of controlling every aspect. I was up front with all of them about the triggers I have in crowds and unfamiliar surroundings.  It wasn’t a weight for them to carry like I always believed it would be.  They acknowledged my worries, assured me that we are all here to keep each other safe and have helped  me enjoy the trip right along side them.  I was IN every moment yesterday, not in my head. I told Brad this morning that I don’t know why sharing with them made it possible to receive their love and finally feel it in my heart.  He said it’s because I no longer have to work so hard to put up a false front of perfection or confidence. My family knows me and loves me anyway.  All of my darkest secrets that I have judged and blamed myself for lost all their power when brought into the light of love. 

      I have to write it all down to fully understand and process it. I share my healing journey because others who shared theirs gave me hope until I was ready to start the work for myself.  I’m learning that sharing your struggles doesn’t mean that you are going to cause the same hurt you are feeling to the ones you love.  For me, it’s let me be a much more honest and vulnerable person.  The love I now take in and deeply feel was always there.  I was unable to access it while I was lost in shame and guilt.   Therapy helped me let go of the shame and know that I wasn’t guilty for what happened.  Now I feel the love I always hoped for. 

    If you or someone you love is suffering from the after effects of sexual abuse or assault please visit The Younique Foundation page to find resources to help start your healing journey.  If you survived, the worst is over now it’s tome to start living.  Life can be so beautiful, I know you can’t imagine it yet. Borrow my belief that you can heal- I know it’s possible because I’m living  proof. 

Making muffins

         If you had ever told me that I would sit in my kitchen on a Monday morning crying and full of gratitude I would never have believed you.   Monday’s were always just the start of the next week. Hopeful but with pressure for perfection. If I only cleaned enough, cooked enough, overworked myself to prove to my family that I deserved their love…….. then it could be a good week.  My happiness depended on total perfection, otherwise I didn’t do enough to be loveable. 

      Today I sit after cooking the weeks’ breakfasts but it’s different.  I enjoyed cooking and and packing up  Brad’s  food because I focused on how much he loves me while preparing it. 

      I loved mixing up muffins to bake for our kids. I smiled and thought of what an amazing cook my mother in law is. She bakes these muffins for my kids when we visit, they like them just like Brad did when he was little. She cares for our kids and that love has flowed all the way across decades and miles.  I enjoyed cooking because a really good mom showed me how to turn breakfast into an expression of care. Thank you Mrs Kathy for all of your examples of loving kindness. 

       I have texted friends to ask for help this week- something that I would have judged myself for before. Reaching out today was still awkward and scary…… but my friends are really amazing people.  They way I’ve been held up and loved even when I feel really  broken has surprised and started to heal me. It’s ok to struggle. It’s not ok to struggle alone. Now I understand that. 

      Healing can look exactly the same as any other day. What is different is how I feel in my daily life. This morning I cooked and cleaned not because I was putting pressure on myself to do enough to be worthy of love.  This morning I enjoyed menial tasks and let my heart focus on who I was wanting to care for by doing them. 

       The muffins get made either way. Now I just feel deep joy and an unexpected happiness on a random Monday. Spontaneous love and joy- not because I earned it- but because I am worthy of love no matter if I bake muffins or not. 💜

Now it’s real

 Trigger Warning- Sexual Assault. 

***This is really personal but I NEEDED to know how other survivors live and cope. So here’s how I stayed alive and came back into my body and right mind this morning. If you are a survivor reading this, you are not alone and with help life can get so much better. If you need help on where to find support message me. I can try to help point you in a safe direction ***

      Today’s work out challenged me more mentally than anything.  I was laying on a bench doing dumbbell pullovers. Nothing fancy. I had 30 pounds over head and two men walked up about 4 feet away from my toes. Talking, loud deep voices- just normal gym stuff. They didn’t disrespect my personal space at all. To any onlooker it was just a normal morning. 

     Laying down on the bench I froze, completely paralyzed. I couldn’t move the weight. I couldn’t set the dumbbell down. The sides of my vision started closing in and going black. I knew I was starting to panic. Shallow breath and my heart sent sparks of terror through my body. I was trapped and unable to help myself sit up. 

        The thing about “dealing with” your trauma is that you fully know and understand what you’ve lived through. This feeling has happened in almost every gym I’ve gone to. Any time I’m laying down and feel vulnerable. If I hear or see a strange male in my periphery, if they  walk too close,  I am sent into internal chaos.  My mind shapes present day into the scene I floated above, detached from my body while two men assaulted me. 

        Before getting help to recognize the signs of a flashback I would start to feel all of this and launch into fight or flight. I’ve walked out of gyms mid workout, doubled the weight I was lifting in hopes of feeling stronger or bitten someone’s head off for literally nothing.  Never understanding why I had a sudden wash of panic. Blamed myself for just being weak and crazy, then had to fight through the confusion the rest of the day. The gym is supposed to be my happy place but I’ve spent a fair amount of time running away from shadows of things that happened a long time ago all while trying to workout. 

    Now with a LOT of help I’m learning to slow my mind down and notice when these pictures and anxiety take over. I looked for Papa and mouthed the words “I’m not ok.”  I wish I could have just set the weight down and acted normal.  He didn’t embarrass me. Didn’t make me feel stupid, which is what I fear when I reach out for help. He simply took the weight from my hand so I didn’t drop it on my face. Helped me sit up and asked if we needed to leave. He stayed calm for me when I couldn’t. 

    Instead of completely freezing and going mute I was able talk to him and get grounded. 

I have to talk out loud and tell myself:

“I’m safe now. The room/people around me made me have a sudden memory of the men that raped me.  I lived through that already and it’s over.  It is NOT happening again even though inside my chest and abdomen feel like it is.  This is just stored up fear. It’s not from today. This fear is not from right now. It’s from a long time ago and from horrible people. I didn’t deserve that and I am stronger now. This is a feeling- all feelings have a beginning, middle and end.  I can just take deep breaths and know that I’m here, safe and this will pass. I am ok now. No one is allowed to touch me with out my permission. “

      I may have to walk myself through that speech a couple times but the jolt of adrenaline that makes my heart race and my Apple Watch ask if I’m on a treadmill workout- all that will pass if I allow it. 

     Not dealing with all of this has about killed me.  None of this is easy to share about.  I’ve been told by family that it’s all in the past and I should just forget about it, move on because it was so long ago.  Survivors pretend for years that it didn’t happen. I pretended it didn’t happen for years and I almost lost my life while trying to live in denial. It’s embarrassing, makes me feel so gross and covered in shame. What if someone knows that happened to me? But I own it now. It happened to me, I was raped.  

       I didn’t ask for it. I didn’t go anywhere alone, I wasn’t around strangers, I didn’t break the safety rules, I wasn’t dressed provocative. Even following all the rules we are taught I was still a victim. Not my fault, no longer my shame. 

    I’m effing tough as nails for not dying during a long, violent assault. I’m thankful now that I was able to carry this anxiety and panic for so many years without taking my own life. 

      When I say it has been a struggle, it has been greater than any obstacle I could imagine to just keep living while trying to “look happy” on the outside. I can’t force the happy facade anymore. Now I simply deal with what each day brings.  Some are wonderful and calm, some are frustrating, some days are just days and that’s OK too. 

    Now I see the panic for what it is, allow it and know there can be peace and safety on the other side. I have reactions in other places that are more tied to my childhood events and those are harder to control for right now.  But it’s the same process- notice the fear, ask what sparked it, talk myself through the panic and know that I’m grown and able to protect myself and my children. 

Healing is messy. It’s painful. It’s so hard...... but there is a comfort and peace that washes over me after the panic drains out. If I stand in the fear and allow it, then powerful gratitude washes over me.  Now I can see all my blessings  as the cloud of fear evaporates. I can take a deep breath and feel Brad’s  hand on my back. I know that he loves me now. Fear kept me from being able to feel any emotion for a long time. Healing means dealing with all the bad emotions so love can finally get into my hardened heart. 

      Still navigating what is and is not ok to share. I won’t carry this shame anymore. I will speak up as a survivor. If it’s offensive, scroll on.  If this is something you are dealing with I’m sharing so it becomes easier for all of us. - 1 out of every 4 women in the United States will be sexually assaulted by the age of 18. Many, like me, will survive childhood sexual abuse and assaults as an adult. I speak up to bring awareness. I speak up to throw hope out there- healing does actually happen. If life is really, really hard right now it’s time to look for help. 

      You don’t have to carry this kind of shit alone. It’s shit, literal shit that you can deal with and then quit carrying.  Walking, talking, living with out that heavy burden is possible.

Tate is joy.

     Cried this morning watching Tate. This is her very last time on the floor. She did it big- won gold on the

floor and second all around gold and silver in all events. Covid changed all of our lives, Tate’s the most.  She practiced and did online workouts every day for 3 months. These aren’t the kind of skills you can keep up from home. 

       She lost her favorite coach, her best friends and the sport she was made for. She sat and thought long and hard when the world began to open back up. Not a single girl from her group went back. Gymnast don’t take off, they can’t. One missed week of practice on bars took at least a month to overcome and work back to. 

    The thought of starting from scratch with out Coach Tami and all of the young women from her team was just not possible. 

     I know this is small in the grand scheme of things. We are so fortunate, but that doesn’t take away the fact that she was SO GOOD. 

    I laugh when I say I want to be Tate when I grow up, but I am very serious. She’s the hardest worker I know. She’s braver than any person I’ve ever met. I can’t imagine leaping blindly backwards on a balance beam and trusting my own abilities to know I’ll land. 

     The amount of sheer determination to walk into a tryout to a new sport you don’t know and do your best in spite of being scared of looking stupid is huge. She’s made it on the B or C team for volleyball and basketball. Walked on and picked up a tennis racket for the first time the day before tryouts and came in 4th out of 27 girls. She is just badass.  It’s has to be humbling to be one of the top in the nation in your sport. To not only make it to regionals but medal at the top competition in your sport, then have it all pulled out from under you. 

      Tate shows up. She showed up 6 days a week for hours long practices. She trained every day, homework in the car, two hour daily commute and still pulled a 4.0 in school. Worked through injuries and smiled the whole time. I was so worried for her when the world shut down. I worried this would crush her to lose the sport that she lived for. I’ve learned never to doubt her.  The same dedication she had for gymnastics is still hers. She has just put it into learning new sports, building a new network of friends, trying every single sport she can. 

     I’ll say this over and over : Tate means bringer of joy. I was scared to be pregnant after losing a baby before her. I had no idea the little 8lb baby we brought home would grow into such a determined, powerful, silly, smart, witty young lady. I thought she would bring us joy, I didn’t know she would also bring joy to herself in any situation.  You ARE  joy sweet Tater and I love you more than you know. 

Worth the risk

 Blessings in the germs. 

I hate that my boy has the flu. Hate that he’s uncomfortable, feverish and aching. In the middle of his sickness I am thankful for the bright silver lining. 

     My son is now a teenager. Every day he wakes up a little farther from me. More independent, more worldly, and tearfully- less mine. The flu at 13 is no different than the flu at 2. Everything in me wants to comfort him. Shockingly he also needs me still. 

    I’ll take every hug. If he wants me to sit next to him- that’s exactly where I’ll be. The same way that my busy toddler would get sick and, for a moment, let me hold him..... my man child is sick and will let me hold him. I’d risk flu and a lot worse just to be able to wrap my arms around him and smell his hair. 

     Papa is headed to Pennsylvania, leaving an empty place. Of course I told my boy to grab his pillow and sleep in my bed. The day is coming when he won’t need to be near me when he’s sick. Watching him grow up and apart from me has been the most beautiful pain I’ve ever known. 

    Tonight I lay here listening to Turner  breathing and coughing- so very thankful. Thank You God for a husband who will drive a thousand miles in a day for the job that supports us. Thank You Father for giving me a son who looks grown but will still let me hold him. Thank You Savior for seeing us through 2015 and letting us come through it together as a family.   

      Good night moon..... and all the creatures great and small. I drift off to sleep next to a sick boy, but I have a very full and grateful heart.

Keep on Keeping On

      I went in to to talk with Turner tonight. He was mid Zoom meeting with his football coach and team.  This isn’t what football practice is supposed to look like.
    As the numbers of cases rise in our area, I am a little scared. This prolonged surreal spilt of am I worrying enough/am I worrying too much is wearing all of us down.
     We are choosing to keep Tate home for now. The risk of going back to gymnastics just doesn’t make sense right now.  How long does this virus live in a chalk bucket?  A porous gym floor can’t really be disinfected,  as much as we would like to wish it could.  It has been so hard to tell her no. It doesn’t matter that the gym is opening today, you can’t go. We love you. We know you miss your friends and your coaches, we miss them too.
     Mentally preparing next year’s Varsity players is good, but what are we preparing them for?  Can you see social distancing happening in a dog pile on the football field? Ok boys, hold your breath through each play, no more huddles, spread out.
      I applaud the coaches trying to keep teams who haven’t seen each other in months together. Gyms who hold online conditioning sessions have my heart. It’s amazing for my kids to see their people. To try to keep some of the “normal” in their day.
     For now I will keep praying for the researchers, doctors, nurses and front line. Also praying for the other Mamas who walk the fine line between trying to comfort with “next school year with be so much better” and “I don’t want you to be surprised if there isn’t a football/gymnastics season this year”.
      Washing my hands, trying to be considerate of everyone’s space when we do go out and about. Missing a lot of the things that we all used to take for granted. Until we get to sit on hard bleachers, drive too far for meets, cheer til we lose our voices, sit with the Village, get after game Big Man Squad pics and hug the girls as they leave practice we will just keep on keeping on.

     

Goodbye to the Girls

Ok kind of weird to share about, but I’m weird so here goes 🤷🏻‍♀️

     My breast implants that I got back in 2000 have been recalled. Some personal health issues, the recall, avoiding a higher cancer risk and sparing my lower back helped me make the decision to explant.

       I am an anxious person, so worrying about the surgery is to be expected. What I didn’t expect is to feel like I’m mourning the loss of my breasts. Yes, I know it’s shallow. I chose to get these implants twenty years ago for cosmetic reasons. I was assured I’d always be able to get mammograms and no one ever mentioned them causing a rare cancer.

      I never felt particularly “womanly”.  I was a tomboy with a fairly athletic build and felt like a dude. Call me captain of the itty bitty titty committee. I was picked on, comments about  my figure, or lack there of, were made all the time.  Men, other women, even my grandmothers, all felt fine with letting me know I was not well endowed. Some were meant to hurt me, most weren’t meant maliciously but stung none the less. My flat chest was something I hated, hid and camouflaged. Victoria’s Secret was that I was always wrapped in several inches of wonder foam (I doubt it was really a secret).

      I decided to get “boob job”.  I did my due diligence, researched doctors. I wrote up a long list of questions to be answered. Made sure I could nurse babies if I got implants inserted under the muscle. I made sure my doctor was an accredited member of all the right boards. I researched his malpractice records and the reputation of the surgical center.

       After my surgery I was pleased with the results. I recovered quickly and loved  my new womanly shape. It was intoxicating to fill out a tank top. I felt so confident in a bikini finally.  I was a little shocked that life in general really didn’t change all that much. My internal feeling of happiness didn’t go up, and I really thought it would. I just knew if I could fix this one thing that I had fixated on for so long that everything would be different, except it wasn’t. The only thing that changed was my bra size and getting a little more attention from men that I could care less about. I felt like the 360cc’s of saline had insulated me from hurtful comments.

       Brad and I had been dating for over a year when I had my surgery. He was opposed to it at first, not a boob guy 🤣. He was worried I would change and leave him. I didn’t want to change my appearance for him or for anyone. I wanted to feel happy and confident. I was chasing the idea that a perfect body would make me happy.

      I’m extremely lucky that my surgery was an easy one. I went from a 34AA to a 34D in just a matter of hours. After college and marriage I really didn’t think of my chest as much. Life was busy, we were moving, learning to be married.

    When I got pregnant the only thing I worried about was being able to attempt to nurse. I didn’t have strong feelings one way or another about breast feeding, but I am lazy and didn’t want to be up at night fixing bottles. When we had Turner I am so glad I gave nursing a try. I breast fed both of our babies for 18 months. It was one of the best experiences of my life. Neither Turner or Tate has ever had an ounce of formula.  I think doing what works for you and your family is the most important thing. Nursing just worked for us.  I loved that bond I had with my babies. I loved our time together, quiet nights holding them. I cherished the early morning snuggles that belonged to just the two of us, but that much nursing definitely took a toll on my body. Having implants and adding nursing made me have comical proportions. Loose skin and stretch marks were such a small price to pay for so many happy moments. That connection made me happier than I had ever felt.

      Now 15 years later it’s not the perky breasts of the summer of 2000 I’m mourning. It’s the thought of having a lot of what I held my babies against taken away. My “girls” put in a lot of work. They fed two healthy babies for 3 solid years. They’ve held babies, teased my husband, they’ve been squeezed into party dresses, been pushed back up for the occasional date night, they’ve been cussed for making swimsuit shopping so difficult and been smack dab in the middle of every single hug that I have given for over half my life. It’s scary thinking of being left with nothing.

       I know it’s vain. I know I am not my bra size. I know happiness is not dependent on my figure. My happiness didn’t change when I got them, I suspect the same will be true when I loose them.  This surgery isn’t one I am looking forward to the physical results after. This time going under I’m hoping to have a healthier future. Lessen my chances of cancer and auto immune issues while saving my lower back as a bonus. Even though my head knows it’s silly, my ego is still fretting loudly.

      Having the first surgeon I met with tell me I won’t look like a woman anymore with out replacing the implants was hard. Fearing the scaring, worrying if my husband will still want me. It is all a lot of emotion to sit in. Brad has proven his love for me over and over. We have been through so much together, I doubt this will even make the top ten of our trials, but still I worry.

     I’m still a tomboy, my shape will just match my vibe soon. I will always love working out and I pray to keep my muscular arms as long as I can. I also pray I feel confident rocking dude arms when I don’t have the Jessica Rabbit ta-tas to offset them.

      It’s important how I go through this. I have a very athletic, beautiful daughter watching me. I want her to see me embrace my natural figure. I don’t want her to think her body is lacking in any way, because it’s not. She is so much more confident than I ever was, but I know she notices everything. I want Tate to see me love a body that will soon be a much more realistic example of her physical future. It is so important that I love myself, so I can model self acceptance for her.

        Having my son saved me. When I had a child I truly understood God’s love and sacrifice for me. Having a daughter forced me to love myself in many ways I never had. Tate watches what I eat. I had to get help and learn to cope with my disordered eating. Having Tate forced me to deal with my eating disorders. I couldn’t model those horrible behaviors to her. I had to learn to enjoy cookies, learn moderation. I had to become able to eat out, off plan and not weigh and measure every ounce of food I consumed. I had to make myself eat for enjoyment, not starve for punishment. Having Tate saved my life in the same way having Turner helped to save my soul.

      This is all the rambling of an over thinking mom who is worried about what I’ll see when I wake up from surgery. Can I love my new shape? How hard of an adjustment will it be to go from a 34DDD to a 34A?  Why does it matter? God don’t make junk. He does make paths for me to show me what I need to do. He helps me learn the lessons I need to be ready for the next season.

     I’m sharing this so I feel less alone. I’m sharing for the other women who go through this kind of self doubt and self criticism. I get lost in my worry and have always felt better once I let it out. So if you a little less of me, this is why. The plan is to go in during the first week of May. Prayers and good vibes are so appreciated. I found a great surgeon who specializes in safe removal of the implants and all affected tissues. I’ve prayed about it, I felt safe and comfortable with this surgeon. We’ve talked about it as a family and all agree it’s the right time. My Mom and Dad agree too and are the biggest support. After talking with Mama today I felt a  peace wash over me and knew this was the next right thing.

    Here’s to 2020 and all the small things it brings. Smaller me, smaller worry, less in between me and my family when I hug them, and smaller fears. 💜

I see you Mama

Mama, I see you. Weary from sleepless nights with a colicky baby. I see you hanging on by a thread from arguing with a hard headed toddler for the 4th hour in a row. I see your long stretch of loneliness when you feel trapped by nap time for years on end.

       I see you mama the first time that big kid comes home from school in tears because of a situation you have no control over and you feel helpless. I see you when you want to stop the earth from turning to keep your baby from being in pain.

     I see you feeling lost in your new identity as  “just a mom”.  I am with you  learning to love and accept the body that created the little miracle that is now making us  pull our hair out. I am with you when your 12 year old let’s you know that you are dumb, cringy, and out of touch.

      Just know those moments are passing, they all are. Then there the moments that go by so fast and you just want them to last a little longer. I see your heart grow Mama when that soon to be young man asks for advice. I feel your pride when he includes you. I feel the warm glow you feel when they flash you a smile. I love the big moments too, winning medals, defeating the home town rivals on the football field. Days like today are my all time favorite. A workout or when they share a song they love.

       The good times and moments make it so worth all the tears. It’s here Mama. All the hard days and long nights fade in your memory. Hold these moments. Take pics. Flood your feed, don’t worry about it being annoying. You’ll need these to pop up on your memories, I know I do. Today was a workout, simple as that. Some sweat and smiles with a young man that I’m getting to know as he gets to know himself. A smile, a fist bump and my heart is full. For one hour it was just my baby and me. He was mine again for just a moment.

     I see you Mama. Learning to let go. I’m here with you in the beautiful pain of them growing up too fast. My heart aches with yours as they head towards their future and we worry together about being left in the past.  I see you Mama, smiling with tears in your eyes because they don’t need you like they used to.  Keep as many of these moments tucked away as you can Mama, it goes so fast.

A Man Gave Me a Ring........ but it wasn’t my husband

A man gave me a ring for Valentine’s Day and it wasn’t my husband.

         I bawled like a baby at 6:15 this morning. My son walked into the kitchen, mumbled “Happy Valentine’s Day” hugged me quickly and pulled this beautiful ring out of his pocket. He handed it to me and walked out to go eat his breakfast.

      I have seen him working on this ring for a few months. Saw the metal shavings in the garage. Showed him where some obscure files were when he asked.  I figured it was for his girlfriend.

      This started out its life as a quarter. Worth less than a dollar, certainly no fortune. Time spent with a loving creator filing it down, shaping it and look....... It’s PRICELESS.

       I hugged Turner and told him how much this means to me. Then I went in my room and squalled like a baby, so overcome with gratitude. He’s a boy who growing into a man far faster than I’m comfortable with. He can be moody, withdrawn. The next day he is all smiles and talking to me.

    Neither of us have ever done this before.  I’ve never been the mom of a teenage young man. He’s never been a fifteen in a world that is always sending messages about who he should be. We are walking gently next to each other in this stage. I’m trying to give him freedom while letting him know I am here no matter what. He is trying to show me he’s responsible while still being a child.

        Parenthood is exquisite pain. The sharpest joy I have ever felt. So intense it stops my heart. It’s like walking outside when it’s -15°. It’s beautiful but takes your breath. The pain comes from knowing it’s just passing. Time is passing, relentlessly. I can’t hold on to any one stage no matter how much I want to.

      So far every season is my favorite. It’s the only promise that keeps me sane. Don’t loose your mind because they aren’t sweet little kindergarteners any more, look how much fun you can have with them now! The hugs and kisses are fewer but the conversations are more meaningful. The laughs aren’t from the physical comedy of toddler shenanigans. Now the laughs are from sharp wit and shared inside family jokes.

     Just like Turner worked on this quarter to transform it from mere pocket change into one of my most treasured pieces of jewelry, God is shaping me. My Creator knows the fears and joys of my heart. The fear of my kids growing up and not needing me. The joys of watching them both become self sufficient, good people.

         The rough patches in my path have just been my creator smoothing down my rough edges. He sees the sharp parts and knows how to turn them into treasures.

       Thank you Turner for this. It will forever be my most cherished Valentine. The ring is beautiful. Seeing generosity in your actions, how you have God in your heart, those are the real treasures in my life.

Crepe Myrtles and Crowns

  
     I worked for five and a half hours today in the front flowerbeds.  This is one of my most favorite things to do, even when the heat index is well above one hundred and ten degrees.  I have unknowingly passed this love on to Turner and Tate.  They used to "help" by handing me tools and picking up toys out of the yard.  Now my two stick of dynamite are old enough to really take on some of the work.  Turner has stolen mowing.  I haven't mowed once all summer.  Tate can use the electric weed eater like a champ.  This still leaves pulling weeds, pruning shrubs, planting and what not for me.  We make an absolutely unstoppable trio. 
     Today my TNT worked with me for a good three hours.  We've been gone for over two weeks and the yard was looking worse for wear.  As the temperature climbed I saw my babies starting to wilt.  We had had plenty of water breaks, but this is my passion not theirs.  Turner had started to become itchy, Tate had red cheeks, so I ordered them inside.  They put up a good argument but I told them I still love being outside and listening to my book, so I'd be inside in a little while.  I stayed outside soaking up the blessed sun, listening to a beautiful book, and tending the roses, hibiscus, and crepe myrtles that I love. 
    My children allow me the time I need to decompress.  They know how much I need to be outside, in the sun.  I'll never be thankful enough for receiving such a gift.  While I work out my stress I am all too aware that they watch my every move.  Tate is my little nurse.  She brought me water and paper towels to wipe my face every half hour or so.  Tate is my "new soul".  Where Turner is an old soul- calm, cautious, alert.  Tate is new- ready for adventure, wild, silly, and full of wonder.  Even with all Tate's energy she is very contemplative.
     After working and cleaning up I was driving her to her best friend's house for a sleepover and we talked about our day.  She asked if all the work was done, what else we needed to work on, and why I trimmed the Crepe Myrtles?  I told her what was left, what I wanted to work on tomorrow, and I slowed down to show her a yard with the kind of beautiful trees I wanted our little saplings to grow into.  We all know the house on the corner, it is easily the prettiest yard in our neighborhood.  Classically beautiful landscaping, well trimmed trees, and lush green grass.  I showed Tate how tall and beautiful the Crepe Myrtles in that yard were.  We talked about pruning, cutting away dead blooms, and why the trees can't just be left to grow on their own.  Just a few houses down we slowed to look are the same type of trees that hadn't been lovingly tended.  They still had beautiful blooms, they still provided some shade, but they just weren't as polished and beautiful as the trees in our favorite yard. 
     Stories make more sense to me than just plain facts and figures.  I always try to relate lessons to my kids in a story.  If they can learn to take lessons from their every day world, I think they will turn out as OK people.  So I told Tate that those Crepe Myrtles are just like people.  All trees have the potential to grow straight and tall, provide shade, and some can even have beautiful flowers for us to enjoy.  Likewise, all people can grow up to be good, God like, and better the people around them.  I asked her if she could tell what made the difference in how the trees grew?  How did one tree grow tall, elegant, and look like it was wearing a crown- while the same type of tree just a few blocks away grew bushy and gnarled?  My thoughtful sweet Tater said she knew it had something to do with pruning, but how do you prune a person?
    I asked if she had rules- yes. So the rules Papa and I give her take away things like sassy mouth- that is like cutting away a gnarled up branch. We talked about rules being like pruning.  How our rules take away the small undergrowth that keeps those trees from being tall and giving comforting shade.  She was connecting the analogy, so I stuck with it.  What is the fertilizer?  It's something all trees need to grow tall and strong.  God.  All people need God to continuing growing, loving, and blooming.  Tate gets it.  She said God is like our fertilizer, we grow when He is in our hearts.  Yes mam, we absolutely do. So with pruning to cut away the gnarled up unwanted branches, and fertilizer to grow a tree tall and strong- what else does a tree need? The sun.  So we talked about what The Son does for us? A tree can't live with out it's sun.  Nor can we live eternally without our Son. 
    I suppose Jesus could run and jump and be in anyone's heart without their parents helping put Him there, but I know that's why He is in mine.  My parents read Bible stories to me and my sister every night.  They lead Sunday school, they taught Vacation Bible school, they let me see their relationship with God and gave me a pattern to use for my own life.  I hope I am doing that with my TNT.  I love the t-shirt that says "I love Jesus, but I cuss a little".  It's what I am trying to impart to my kids.  No matter how hard we try, none of us will ever be perfect enough to get in to heaven on our own.  At some point in their lives my children  will have that feeling that they have messed up so fantastically that they can never be forgiven.  I need them to know that Our God is so powerful, He can forgive all of it.  If Jesus still brushes past me in my daily life, even though I cuss a little, sin a lot, and fail Him daily- then He can forgive anything my TNT may encounter. 
      From now on when we drive past the beautiful yard with its tall elegant crepe myrtles, I hope Tate thinks of today.  I hope she sees the rules we set for her as the pruning she will need.  I hope taking away her gnarled limbs and giving her the fertilizer needed sets her up to accept the Son who will give her eternal life.  I hope both my children grow tall, give shade and shelter to those who need a spot to rest, and they both wear a blossoming crown of beauty and the flowers of our Savior's love for all to see.  My fears get the best of me more often than not.  I fear failing as a mom, fear failing as a daughter, fear not being enough.  But on some days when my stories click in my children's minds- I know I'm not doing this alone.  The Son is shining to guide my way, my tangled branches were taken care of by parents who loved me enough to help cut away the bad that had plenty of potential to grow, and my God is always there to feed the seeds of good that were planted long ago. 
  

Skip Day

   My mornings with the kids are very routine.  Everything from the time they rise to the things I make for breakfast.  We all run quite smoothly on routine.  Our routine has developed over years and it grows and fluctuates as the kids get older.  I am very lucky, my sweet Tater and my Turner B. get themselves going with little prodding from me. 
     Part of our daily routine is our car ride prayer time.  Now, I'm not saying this is the most holy of motherly practices- its simply our routine.  Some mornings I don't feel like leading the prayer.  Some mornings actually pray "Dear Heavenly Father I pray for my kids to stop fighting so I don't have to tear their behinds up when the get home from school."  Not exactly my most shining moment, but motherhood is full of tarnish.  Thankfully most mornings all of our prayers aren't laced with threats, they are more based on guiding each of us through our day.  I am hoping that me talking to God out loud with my kids everyday will help them to always be comfortable doing the same.
     Last Friday our morning went off with out a hitch.  Kids were good, no fights erupted while they brushed their teeth.  We got in the Jeep on time, each said our morning prayer.  Just an all around good and average Friday morning for the TBC's.  We drop Tater off first.  She always hops up to kiss me and we say our I love you's.  Depending on the amount of sibling warfare that has taken place each morning my kids may or may not tell each other goodbye.  Some mornings they are still bickering as the door closes behind Tate.  Last Friday Turner mumbled an "I love you Tate" as she got out to bounce into school.  That simple little phrase mumbled under his breath made my heart swell. 
     Turner and I pulled out and headed to his school.  I mentioned to him that it was nice of him to tell Tater that he loved her.  He said "I just wanted to cheer her up, she's still sad about Saraphina".  Tate's  hamster had passed away the week before.  That tiny little act not only cheered up Tater, but it made it almost impossible for me to let Turner out of the car. 
      Turner and I had talked about maybe having a skip day, just he and I.  Last Friday seemed like the perfect day to spend time, just me and my Turner B.  Like bandits Turner and I pulled right past his school.  What did we do with this awesome day full of possible adventures?   I offered to go to the movies, go out to lunch, something fun.  Nope, he knew I had planned on cleaning out the garage.  So, the two of us spent a glorious day pulling everything out of the garage together,  we enjoyed the sunshine, we organized, and most importantly we talked.  Turner and a I have an ease that comes when its just the two of us.  We both enjoy working on things together, much the way I always enjoyed working on things with my Dad.  Busy hands make for easy conversations.  We worked all day.  We got filthy, laughed, rearranged, organized, and made the garage a big functional masterpiece. I pray that I always have this easy bond with my kids.  I pray that we always enjoy time spent working together and talking.  I have no idea if Turner will remember the day spent cleaning the garage out fondly.  I know that the day I spent working with my boy will go down as one of my all time favorite skip days. Letting him stay home with me may have been selfish- not for having his help - but for storing away a memory of he and I all day uninterrupted together.  I'll be selfish if that's the case.  I cant wait to steal Tater away. Maybe clean out closets, or wiping down baseboards would give me an entire day of conversations with the world's most beautiful girl.  I think we all need a skip day now and again, a break from our routines.  I love that I have such fun little people to steal away for the day, I can't wait for the next.

Shinning in the Dark

    Have you ever noticed how unappealing Christmas lights are in the day time? Tangles of wires, bulbs who's light can't be seen for the sun.  But, as sun sets those webs of wire and dim little bulbs transform.  They shine, they twinkle, and together they make the night beautiful and full of hope. 
    Life of late feels like those Christmas lights with a harsh unforgiving light shining on them.  I can see all the tangles and  I focus on all the ugly.   I haven't been able to see the light or feel its warmth.  I'm going through a divorce.  We are all going through a divorce.   I haven't felt much of the holiday spirit yet.  I am sad, worried, and exhausted.
      For my Turner B. and My Sweet Tater I'm trying to go about all our routines, all of our traditions as best I can.   For the past four years we have participated in RACK'd, which stands for Random Acts of Christmas Kindness.   I love it because it is ours- The kids get so into it, it helps focus them on something besides the "I wants" of the holiday and helps them think about the "I can give".  Every year we have had a family meeting in November and planned out each day - What verse will be included, who we will RACK, what supplies to gather.  Each day has been written on the calendar.  This year I just haven't been on top of it.  There was no meeting in November.  Our verses are not written out, our supplies are not gathered.  I've felt like my sadness is forcing me to just get by, not flourish.   The adjustments of new living arrangements, trying to comfort my children, trying to comfort myself- its taking all of my energy.  It feels dark.  I feel like I am letting my kids down. 
      Last weekend I was home alone.  Did you know how quiet a house can be when the the two people who hung the moon and the stars aren't in it?  I was crying, wallowing in my sadness when my phone rang and it was a fried inviting me to come eat dinner.  I said no, I just couldn't pull myself together.  She didn't take no for an answer.  After another phone call and threats to come physically pick me up I went and had a family meal, without my family.  Going places with out my kids feels wrong.  Like I just don't fit, half of me is missing.  My entire identity is that of Mom.  Last weekend I was welcomed with open arms to dinner, and I was with friends who turned into family.  They loved me through my tears and a small light pierced the dark.
    On December first, at seven at night I thought we wouldn't make our first day to RACK someone.  But, sitting in the front seat waiting to be delivered to wrestling practice was my Christmas miracle.  Turner and I were talking and he said lets put coins in a vending machine.  I actually had a dollar in quarters in my wallet, so we looked for a coke machine on the way to practice.  No luck.  We did see a news paper machine and decided to use it.  I wrote "Go tell it on the mountain, that Jesus Christ is born" on a scrap of paper.  We put the coins in the machine and prayed quickly that it would bless the right person.  It took a dark moment of doubting myself to see that beautiful  sparkling light given to me by my son. 
    December second came and it was a typical rushed morning, peeling out of the driveway trying to make it to schools on time.  My day was full of making orders, sorting through make up, and coffee with a friend.  I've been withdrawn.  I don't feel like myself so I haven't been as social with my friends.  But I had promised to meet for breakfast, so I made myself go.  I worry, a lot.  I run on caffeine and anxiety.  I am pretty good at smiling, but once I'm emotionally exhausted even that becomes hard.  Breakfast turned out to be wonderful.  All the worry I carry over people passing judgment just slipped away.  I sat with my girlfriend and we talked.  I needed that, even though I resisted going.  Worry shared is burden lifted.  My friend took some of my worry off my shoulders, and I saw another tiny shinning light in the dark. 
       After I had picked the kids up later that day we were in the afternoon swing, homework, snacks, signing papers.  I was hurrying to get Tate ready for gymnastics practice.  I was upstairs looking for a leotard for her and she yelled "We haven't RACK'd anyone, have we?" I answered no.  Truthfully, I was hoping to skip it.  I just didn't have it in me to come up with something in the middle of our crazy busy day.  Tate flew up the stairs and asked to hurry up and find her a hand lotion.  My Sweet Tater is full of energy, but along with her energy there is the deepest most caring heart.  I gave her one of the lotions out of my supply.  She ran out saying she was RACKing our mailman.  Just like that both my kids were out the door, chasing a mail truck.  They caught him and told him Merry Christmas, and to keep his hands from getting chapped.  I could feel the warmth of the glow of that light that came on to chase away the dark.
     God seems to answer the prayers we are too weary to pray.  He knows my heart.  He sent His Son to save my soul, and He sent my kids and my friends to save me too.  Every phone call, every text, every card and message- is a light. Together they chase away the darkness.  Even when I just can't talk anymore, having a friend who is willing to just sit beside me  lights another bulb.  In the brightest and happiest times of my life I wouldn't have been able to see the beauty of all of these lights.  Our lives need the dark times, at least mine does.  I needed to have the heartbreaking darkness to be able to see each tiny twinkling light.  To see each light that has been lit from my children, my parents, my sister, and every friend.  All of those lights are beautiful.  They are the hope and grace that I needed in this dark time.  God sends the Light, even when you aren't strong enough to ask for it.  This Christmas I will stand back and bask in the glow of all of the lights my Lord has sent to me.  Family, both new and old, friendships that carry me when I am weary, my kids- who refuse to let me fail.  My lights are beautiful, I am forever thankful for the dark that let me see just how bright all of my blessings are.
   
   

As snow gently fell

    God visits me in the strangest places. He's at school in the pick up line, when a child is kind to a classmate and holds open a door.  He shows Himself to me in the stranger who lets me merge into their lane and waves with happiness in traffic. God brushes past me in the faces of strangers who smile kindly as they walk by in the grocery store. I know it's Him. He makes sure I know He is there.  But oddly enough, today God came and sat next to me in church. 

     I listen in church. I want to learn and to understand. I take notes. I doodle on my bulletin. I hear about God. But I am not sure if I've ever felt Him beside me like I did today. 

    The message was about finding God's will for your life. I took notes. It all made sense and had so many references to scripture, such a beautifully written and thought out sermon. BUT, My God came and sat with me, held me, when our pastor started talking about how his children opened his heart to the world.  

      I've never shared my "testimony". I have always worried that all people see in me is my sin. My short comings. My failures. I've always loved God, but having my son was when I actually met Him. 

  I was "saved" and baptized right after my Pawpaw died. I was eleven. If heaven was real, and it is where my Pawpaw was, I needed my ticket. 

    I have always attended church, I know the hymns. I love how it feels to be in  a room of believers, but it took having my own son to actually feel what God suffered for me. 

      The most perfect day of my life was spent sitting on our love seat holding my new born son. Right next to the window, the beautiful snow covered landscape like something out of a movie.  Watching  snow fall, hearing the beautiful silence that a blanket of snow brings. I held Turner for hours that day. I saw God in his perfect little self. I saw what real, true love is. I held this perfect life in my hands and knew I would spend the rest of my life serving and protecting him. 

    God loves me more than I can ever understand. He loves me no matter how awful I am. No matter how arrogant, no matter how bad my temper, no matter how lazy I am when  I need to worship Him. It took holding my son to see and feel that kind of love. 

     Turner saved me in so many ways. He let me see the value in love. A friend shared a blog post with me about trying to love every single person in your life like they are a child. Treat them as if they are doing their very best, because they are. That advice along with the advice I got from a bible study --- pray to God like talking to your parent. Pray like a small child. Petition Him, talk to Him often. Keep a line of communication open. Set aside a time to listen. And bring Him EVERYTHING!  Don't keep small things from God. It's a learning process. It needs time and faith.

         I'm trying to remember all the times GOD came near me. 'if I could just touch the hem of His garment". 

     I hear His garments rustle. I feel the air they displace as He walks by. Having my children made me aware. He was always there, I just wasn't ready to listen. 

       I was truly saved the day the

snow  gently fell. When God used quiet and stillness to show me the beauty and peace He made for me. He came to sit by me today. I hope I didn't disappoint Him.  I hope He comes near again.  I hope His love for me is truly bigger than all my sin. I hope to hear his garments as He walks near again. 

Uplift, Empower, Validate

   I survived. The kids survived. Really, I think I was the only one in danger of not making it through the first week of school.  TnT loved the first week back, I did not. But with new school years comes so much more new. My gypsy soul loves new- new places, new faces, new songs, new outlooks, new hopes. 

    I recently became a Presenter for Younique.  What a crazy idea?! Build a company that builds women up. I have been welcomed with open arms. Do I know what I'm doing yet? Nope. Do I believe in the product? Absolutely. Did I need this in my life? More than I am comfortable admitting. Joining a company who's mission statement is to Uplift, Empower, and Validate is what I needed.  

    I'm new. I'm the new girl, always. And it's hard. But,  I've lived in Texas for three years. My newness has worn off. So has my  filter. Every year that passes I have less care of offending  or embarrassing  myself. Every birthday brings the ability to hug longer and harder. Because if I am hugging you, chances are I love you. And if I love you, I know one of us is needing that too tight,  too long hug kind of hug. 

    This last week has been very hard. Watching My Sweet Tater fret over her first gymnastics competition, I am not sure who was more nervous, me or her.  But I saw every mother at the gym meet with the same glittering tears in their eyes. And I love being in that club with each of you. My heart soared with each of your girls. Not every tear in my eyes was for my Tate.  Some  were for the girl who hit her back flip flop for the first time, some were for girl who struggled on bars. Being a mother opened my heart in ways I can't still can't understand. 

     As my children get older I'm also noticing how much I love their  friends.  The friends who are older than Tate, but still came by to give her flowers for her first gym meet. They thought they were just being nice to my daughter. They don't know that they gave my heart hope. A sweet gesture for the youngest child in our group of friends, no doubt. But it was so much more. I saw goodness in those girls yesterday.  Teenagers scare me. I pray everyday that the teen years  go smoothly for Turner and Tate. I also pray that my children remain safe, and most importantly maintain that "goodness".  The older girls that sweetly include my Tater in everything and call her their little sister are what I pray for. All of their parents should be so proud. They are raising amazing kids with big hearts, and they all give me such hope. 

    Now we are in week two of school, week two of learning how to uplift, empower, and validate through my new work family. I'm taking notes from the "big sisters" God put in Tate's life. Some kids know how important it is to build each other up- and I'm thankful for each of them.