Just the facts, ma’am: audible answers to unspoken questions

My husband and I have very different communication styles. I’ve posted about this before. It is an ongoing thorny issue. He tends to approach conversation like a quiz: here’s the question; provide the corresponding answer and you get a star on your chart. I tend to wander a bit in my conversation. Often, when I answer a question he poses, I’m really answering the next question that I assume will follow the one he just asked. Because often, I know where the conversation is going. (Example: He asks about something we’ve planned for later this week. But my answer is about how those plans have shifted to next week, because I know that change impacts the information he’s seeking.) But he’s not ready for the second answer…he’s looking for the answer to his first question. And sometimes I get it wrong…sometimes I don’t know where he’s going, and answering a second, unasked question takes us in a completely different direction. Not that he’s in charge of all conversation in the house. But obviously, the person who poses a question has the right to an answer before the other person takes off on a tangent.

Are you confused yet?

Is this a Mars/Venus phenomena? Is this a personality type difference? He works in clinical healthcare, and spends his work hours seeking information. He’s programmed by career to look for the straightforward response…yes; no; something definite. I’m programmed, apparently, to a more round-about style of conversing. I’m not intentionally with-holding answers…just arriving at them in a very different fashion.

A few months ago we began writing out questions and answers when we were dealing with some personal issues. That helped, and seemed to be a way for us to break this conversation cycle that we so often repeat. But with the busy summer and hectic schedules, we let that technique slide. Last night we got into another one of those verbal spirals…it wasn’t so much the information that was the issue; it was the way we shared our thoughts. He feels dis-respected when I leap ahead of him in conversation. I feel edited by his need to have “just the facts.” Does he have a finite number of words he can hear from me? I have sometimes accused him of having a private script in mind, and I often go “off-script” because I’m not inside his head, reading my next assigned line. That’s unfair to him…I know he isn’t deliberately setting me up. But sometimes it feels that way.

That’s part of the issue…when we go down this path, the words quickly become unimportant. It is the feelings that rise to the surface and take control.

After long years of wrestling with this, we at least know to stop the escalation. Usually we give some quiet and space to each other. This morning, I’m going back to the writing tool. When I answer a question in writing, it forces me to slow down, to be deliberate in my response. My thought processes move quickly, sometimes too quickly to respond in the best way. At the risk of sounding sexist, based on personal observation, I think this character trait is more common to women than to men. But probably it is also a trait of personality style. Regardless, it causes friction in my relationship. And here’s the really thorny issue…on good days, I can hear the criticism that I am racing ahead with my answers. That I need to slow down and be fully present in the conversation as it happens instead of moving to where I perceive we are heading.

On a bad day, I feel personally affronted. Why can’t he just accept me for who I am? Why do I need to be edited, changed, filtered…(insert your own word here)?

But then I have to ask myself, honestly…how does this help? What is the point of the exchange? Do I have such a need for self-expression that I can’t alter my style to be more effective? Is this style so ingrained in me that I can’t change the way I speak?

Filtering through the lens of “how does this help?” always helps. Always makes me step back and see the bigger picture. The picture I want to see is one of effective communication. I want to be mature. I choose to change, even if the change is a struggle and one I’ve attempted, off and on, for many years. The reality that change is difficult and slow in coming doesn’t alter the reality that it is needed.

I wish I had a magic wand to wave when we get into these cycles. You would think by now we would be experts at talking to each other. We’ve practiced for nearly 32 years. But no, what we’re experts at is pushing each other’s buttons.

And so, back to the writing tool. I don’t expect to use this for every question/answer exchange we have…not possible! But it is a visible and physical reminder to me to slow my words, and so I’ll try to write, as I can, to work on this behavior again. As the wise say, you cannot change someone else, you can only change yourself. And with that acknowledgement comes acceptance. This is not about either of us being perfect or being right. It is about me becoming a better version of myself…more deliberate, intentional, and focused in my responses.

So here’s my call to action: am I alone in this? Does this happen to anyone else out there? Is my instinct that this is a bigger issue for women correct? And last, if you have any wisdom to share on this subject, please do!

I saw this on Pinterest recently…aahh, someone gets me!

My mind at work...

My mind at work…

Mama and Rilo

Stephanie and Riley play a name game. Riley, who knows Stephanie prefers “Mommy” to “Mama,” sometimes says “Mama” just to see Stephanie’s reaction. Stephanie responds by saying “Rilo!” They go back and forth a few times before they fall into silly laughter. It’s fun to watch. I couldn’t have guessed that it would be so meaningful to me to see my daughter in the role of mom. I see the ways she parents like me and I have to admit, it is gratifying…makes me feel that I must have done some things right. I see the ways she is a better parent than I was and it is humbling. She is more consistent: firm, but not too firm. She’s more organized. She probably has an advantage dealing with the demands of parenting as she’s practiced the required skills on middle school math students. In my opinion, anyone who can face middle school every day can handle the single digit ages with one hand tied.

In the ongoing reveal that comes with each stage of life and parenting…now playing that role to a 26 and (gasp!) 29 year old…I’m struck with the epiphany: the more things change, the more they remain the same. In the position of the in-between generation I see how my mom and my daughter experience life….what has changed, what hasn’t. I hear my daughter say the things I said: how quickly children grow, how you can’t believe they’re already a year old, two, three….fill in the blank. My mom talks about how things were when she had children…no car seats, no seat belts, no disposable diapers, she was a stay-at-home-mom. My daughter has two car seats, has used disposable diapers, and by choice, is moving to cloth. She has a sitter for the school months when she works as a teacher. She makes baby food and takes the kids to the gym. But regardless of the externals of life, the work and joys of parenting children are really timeless.

Somehow, like a kaleidoscope turning, the pieces fall into place. I see my place in the continuum. Looking through photos of my children’s baby days, toddler days, school days, it seems like yesterday that I was the young mom; and, it seems like a lifetime ago that I was the young mom. Reminds me again, as Gretchen Rubin says, “the days are long, but the years are short.”

Stephanie and the little ones, Riley and Jack, just spent a week with us. It was delicious to see them and be part of the minute-to-minute, day-to-day. We picked strawberries, made jam, went to the library, the pool, saw fish, did a little shopping, watched Disney princesses, read books, made cupcakes, snuggled, played, splashed, and snapped photos. The days were long. But watching Riley, already three years old, and little Jack, cuddly six month old getting ready to crawl, I know: the years will be short. There’s no way to slow it down. The lesson of life is to savor the moment, drink in the details…their funny words or looks, the precious flashes of childhood that are often buried in all the work of childhood…the memories that write themselves on the heart and cement the bond between generations, parent to child, parent to child.

Riley and Jack in Alaska, Summer, 2013

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Jack on the lawn

Kiss from Jack

Kiss from Jack

Strawberries!

Strawberries!

Taste test

Taste test

Sheila, Stephanie & Jack (Photo by Riley)

Sheila, Stephanie & Jack (Photo by Riley)

PB's catch

PB’s catch

Pool time

Pool time

Happy Jack!

Happy Jack!

Ruffled feathers!

Ruffled feathers!

Riley girl

Riley girl

Shopping on the docks

Shopping on the docks

No defenses

I’m learning to live without defenses. I’ll probably still be learning this when I’m 80, or 100, or 53…doesn’t matter the age I ultimately achieve, the lesson will be ongoing, I’m sure of that. I’ve touched on this before, one of my recurring themes. It is recurring because the lessons are never-ending, and just when I think I’ve rounded a corner, there’s another opportunity to learn all over again.

And what does it mean, to live without defenses? It does NOT mean to live weak. It does NOT mean to be a door-mat, or a “yes” person, or to avoid all conflict. It DOES mean that I choose to offer grace and understanding when someone differs with me. I choose to give the benefit of doubt to intention, even to action. I choose to live strong, and to live with expectation.

Expectation is tricky. Sometimes my expectations have created disappointment: in myself, in others, in circumstances. But when the expectation is adjusted…now lowered, but adjusted…to seeing the potential that is unleashed by my actions…the real joy begins. What circumstances can I change, or impact, or better, or encourage, or simply comfort, if I act out of strength rather than defensiveness?

It’s a life-posture that’s deliberate choice, throughout my day, weaving through my interactions and thoughts.

It helps me to consider: what am I feeding myself? what am I showing those around me? how do I handle hurt, disappointment, sadness?

The only way I can make sense of life is to believe that we each have purpose, and we find the purpose and our gifts by sharing and giving with abandon. It is growth of faith. For me, the faith is in God, in the perfect grace I can only imperfectly copy, and the spark of miracle in everyday life.

The goal, the aspiration, doesn’t make me saintly, or superior…it keeps me grounded in gratitude, and challenges me to adopt an attitude of graciousness.

“Hurt people hurt people. That’s how pain patterns get passed on, generation after generation after generation. Break the chain today. Meet anger with sympathy, contempt with compassion, cruelty with kindness. Greet grimaces with smiles. Forgive and forget about finding fault. Love is the weapon of the future.” Yehuda Berg

I’ve been fortunate, and have experienced a lot more love in my life than hurt. But the lesson still applies. I can’t pretend to know how people who have suffered great injury and loss at the hands of others can adopt this stance. But I know that this is one of the secrets of the universe, and healing, paying forward, and joy, stem from this choice.

Another rabbi once said:

If you forgive other people…your Father will also forgive you  ~ The Great Physician

Forgiving, living without defenses, showing grace and patience…these words come across as passive. The behavior is anything but. I find I need much more strength to bite my tongue, to show kindness when I’m struggling, to assume the best when I suspect the worst. Am I living authentically? Absolutely not! The authentic me is not the nicest person I know. The authentic me is often grouchy, rude, intolerant, impatient, selfish…pretty, huh?

Am I living intentionally? Yes. What I choose to show the world is the person I want to be, and am trying to become. Always, always, the first thing to recognize is that this is not about perfection…I’ll never be that. I have to forgive myself as often as I forgive those around me. I don’t have life all sorted out and neatly packaged. This is about the trying, the choosing, and the goal. And that’s all it can be about. Because this is no magic formula to get what I want out of people or my circumstances. Simply put, living without defenses is the formula for changing myself.

Sunday miracle: the pulse of life

I saw this short video today and was fascinated by the images, and the potential for this technology in our lives. Watch it and be amazed! We’re all pulsing with color, all the time. We just didn’t know it.

Pulse of Life

I wish I could show you, when you are lonely or in the darkness, the astonishing light of your own being. ~ Hafiz

The luxury of time

I could spend some time here!

I could spend some time here!

 

There is more to life than simply increasing its speed.    ~ Mahatma Gandhi

What is the luxury of time? My own definition…no rushing, no scurrying about. Time to linger over coffee, or a decadent dessert, or a long conversation, sitting in my rocking chair, looking out over the water. Time to be. The luxury of time is not a treat of the every day. I sometimes encounter it on a Saturday morning, or evenings, after dinner is done and my day is settling about me.

Luxury is usually associated with possessions and money. A study I read suggested that beyond a basic level of comfort, more money, more stuff, doesn’t really create more happiness.

But time. Now there’s a luxury that money can’t buy. Or sometimes it can, but often it doesn’t. Often, more money means less time.

 

Time is the coin of your life. It is the only coin you have, and only you can determine how it will be spent. Be careful lest you let other people spend it for you. ~ Carl Sandburg

 

I come from a long line of doers. I am hard-wired to make lists, to find pleasure in things done. Stillness has been an acquired taste. Because the value of stillness isn’t to be found in items neatly checked off, I was once suspicious of it. Was I wasting time if I produced nothing visible? But I learned. I learned that I can rush getting errands done, or chores finished. But I can’t rush being.

Dreaming and planning and creativity require time. Time to think, and time to produce. But more than that, bountiful time is a state of mind. I find when I match my pace to the rhythm of intention, I’m more at ease. I find my stride with the day’s demands. The best way to have more time is to be thoughtful about  the spending of it. Like any resource, time can be depleted, wasted, frittered away. Carving out opportunity to replenish myself requires careful planning. I plan and organize time so I can be frivolous with it elsewhere in my week.

The reward of the hustle-bustle is the slow and easy.

I’ll admit…a little luxury goes a long way, and I can enjoy that pleasure in almost any form: luxury of place, or of food, or beautiful views. But luxury of time…now that’s the real thing.

“There’s never enough time to do all the nothing you want.” ~ Bill Watterson 

Early spring in Alaska

First bloom of spring

My first bloom of spring

Never cut a tree down in the wintertime. Never make a negative decision in the low time. Never make your most important decisions when you are in your worst moods. Wait. Be patient The storm will pass. The spring will come.  ~ Robert H. Schuller

Clouds moving in

Clouds moving in

Sunshine breaking through

Sunshine breaking through

Sunset

Sunset

Going to a wedding

So, we have a family wedding coming up in a few weeks. First, a disclaimer…I’m absolutely delighted for the bride and groom. Happy to be attending, and really, I’m very supportive of everyone involved!

But…

I’ve been in pre-wedding mode for weeks now. Never mind that the spotlight is on the bride. What am I going to wear? And do I have time to diet away my ever-present five ten seven pounds that tend to show up in the least desirable places? Wonder if I could do it in an intense weekend of air and water? (You know, that’s the diet plan heavy on the air, light on the water.) I’m not worried about healthy…this qualifies as an emergency diet…just going for effect here. I always think I’m going to start this process well in advance, but as time dwindles down, I begin to make bargains with myself…I’ll workout EVERY day. I promise. I’ll skip ALL desserts. I promise. I’ll eat ONLY protein, no carbs. Well, there’s obviously a pattern here. Probably should have started this last year. Clearly, I need a personal trainer who will stand over me and take the chocolate from my hand. Who says it’s easy to lose five ten seven pounds? Hardest thing in the world if you ask me! It’s stressing me quite a bit already, as you might imagine. But I figure…I can accomplish a lot with two weeks of being strict with myself. Right now I’m in pre-diet mode. Contemplating it. Thinking about it. Looking at my favorite Pinterest food pins to sort of get it out of my system. Because once I start down the path of air and water, (no chocolate!) I have to maintain it pretty much throughout the event. You don’t want to have a premature launch when you’re facing that kind of commitment.

So…

Here’s the likely picture of the big day. Riley is the flower girl (Stephanie’s hoping that isn’t a mistake…you know two-year-olds…could be a lovely showing, or a meltdown that would frighten the Huns). That means Stephanie will be focused on Riley, and that leaves me with Jack. (Matt is staying in Seattle, happily sadly not getting to attend the out-of-state event. I think he’s just pleased that he’s not going to be flying with a toddler and an infant, but maybe I’m misjudging.) Rob prefers to do his bonding with kids once they can walk, so I’m guessing I’ll be holding the baby, and he’ll be standing just far enough away to miss any potential splatter impact. That’s ok with me…if I position Jack just right, I may not have to worry about that pesky dieting. Regardless, I can see it now. I should choose a dress that goes well with baby formula. I already know I’ll be wearing it at some point.

Well…

Rob says the main thing is to witness the event, smile for the photos, and deliver the gift…I think I can do all that without a problem. Got the gift, and I’ll be smiling. Now I just need to find a dress…hmmm…shoes…jewelry….jacket? Wedding’s in March. Purse? Appointment for hair cut…Good thing I’ve got a few weeks yet. Or maybe I’ll just go shopping for an oversized baby blanket and Jack and I’ll wear the same thing. That’s the plan…a soft baby blue for the two of us. Nothing like babies and weddings, huh?

Uh oh…

Now this is a sobering thought…may need to reconsider my dieting plan…this would be just my luck!

When we lose twenty pounds… we may be losing the twenty best pounds we have!  We may be losing the pounds that contain our genius, our humanity, our love and honesty.  ~Woody Allen

Why I blog

Writing is easy: All you do is sit staring at a blank sheet of paper until drops of blood form on your forehead.” ~Gene Fowler

It’s been a quiet Saturday in Metlakatla. That is to say, Rob is on call, and I’m online. I’m contemplating creating another site for business use, and I’m feeling drawn to the WordPress.org side of the universe for the new venture. As much as I love the ease of WordPress.com, (this blog will stay on the .com side) there’s no doubt that the .org option provides more flexibility. You can use plugins that aren’t available for the .com. I’m learning about a whole new world that exists, if I’m willing to do a little more of the set up myself.

Sometimes when I find I’ve spent pretty much my whole Saturday poking around online, following this link and that link, I begin to wonder…is it worth it? Am I neglecting real life for a fake digital version? The answer could be yes, if you look at a specific day or period of time. I tend to dive in and stay in the depths for long stretches, until I have to come up for air, food, bathroom or bed. Other days I don’t live there at all…my digital forays are confined to sites I’m viewing for work, or for life needs…travel or orders or the like.

The reality is that blogging started as a distraction for me. It was a good way for me to learn some new skills and take my mind off things that I couldn’t face at the moment. Some of that has changed in the past couple of years. It’s no longer an escape. It has become a joy, and a pleasure, and it keeps me on a learning curve with no end in sight. I didn’t foresee the connections I would find, or the sense of kindred spirit that I feel when I read someone else’s blog and feel an instant bond. Because I’m out there too, in the digital world, sharing my voice, my thoughts, my days. Not life-changing, not prize-winning…but connected, in the fragile way that on-line connections are formed.

Sometimes I’m intimidated. There are a lot of smart people out there with amazing sites; blogs with humor that seems to pour out of every syllable; writers with insight, calling, passion…you name it. I recognize, with honesty, humility, and just a touch of envy, I’ll never measure up to a lot of what I see. And yet, part of the fun is in the variety, the challenge to improve, learn, grow. Sometimes I feel like I have a tiger by the tail. Keeping up with technology…no, I’m not keeping up, I’m just barely on the cusp of using what’s available…sometimes I think the biggest hurdle is I don’t even know what I don’t know. Sometimes the challenge is making time for a self-imposed chore that isn’t even generating income. But I don’t really see blogging like that. It isn’t a chore…more like my own little baby that is nurtured with my time and attention. As to income…well, not all payments are in the form of money. Maybe I have three tigers in hand. Or maybe it’s just one tiger with three tails…I don’t know. But I do know that though there’s nothing demanding that I blog, I’ll keep doing it. It stretches me…lures me into technology I would never learn about without this impetus; makes me think about new possibilities…surely not a bad thing for my early 50s?

Sometimes I think all this is leading me somewhere. Some day I’ll look back and connect the dots. Or not. Maybe this is nothing more than self-expression, and a little engine for vanity and fulfillment. Except that doesn’t feel quite right either. While I don’t kid myself that I’m speaking to anyone else in particular, I don’t think I’m just writing to see my own words. Well, at least I have the angst that goes with writing…and the questions. Is anybody out there? And if so, is my writing worth reading? Or just empty words?

One thing I’ve learned from reading other blogs…a lot of the things that I wonder, others wonder. My questions and feelings are rarely unique. I suppose there’s value in recognizing that a) I’m not alone and b) I’m not often original and c) there’s a wonderful feeling of camaraderie that comes over me when I read something that I could have written. Or maybe just wrote…the funny thing is, sometimes that happens, no plagiarism involved or intended. I think there are so many writers putting out content online…it seems inevitable that some of us are  thinking and writing similar things.

There’s a quote  (of course, a quote!) I like that resonates with me. From the movie, You’ve Got Mail, the character, Kathleen Kelly says:

 Sometimes I wonder about my life. I lead a small life – well, valuable, but small – and sometimes I wonder, do I do it because I like it, or because I haven’t been brave? So much of what I see reminds me of something I read in a book, when shouldn’t it be the other way around? I don’t really want an answer. I just want to send this cosmic question out into the void.

See you out there!

Riley’s table

Riley, two-year-old princess and budding dictator, came to visit at Thanksgiving, bringing her parents along. Believe me, a two-year-old is always the star of the show, whatever the personality or parenting style may be. This is not to say that she is intentionally allowed to run wild, or take over…there’s a lot of effort going into training, molding, shaping, squashing, and occasionally silencing the little angel. I say all of this with a smile on my face and a wealth of love in my heart. She is a joy, and a bundle of energy, and a two-year-old. I know, I already said that…but it bears repeating.

So on her visit to Gram and PB’s house…she had been to Alaska once before, when she was about eight months, but she wasn’t really mobile yet, so that hardly counts…she explored a bit…got comfy with all the rooms and beds and spaces under the breakfast bench in the kitchen, and craftily hid small toys in places that would take me months to discover. I like to think that we’ll be fully recovered before her next trip.

Her most lasting gift, other than the photos we took, was a small inscription on my pine coffee table. Now, I’ve had this table and some matching pieces since the early 90s…these are classic, traditional Southern-Living-look pieces that have served me well, and migrated about the country from Michigan to Colorado to Alaska with scarcely a mark. But now, the coffee table has met Riley.

On the afternoon of Thanksgiving, I was doing something in the kitchen (my native habitat), when I heard an outburst of “NO RILEY, DON’T DO THAT!” coming from the living room. I rushed in to see if she was ok…not really concerned about anything but her…and saw that she had very thoughtfully been signing the coffee table with a blue ball point pen. This is her handiwork:

Riley’s signature

And although I immediately (truly!) recognized that it was her toddler attempt to leave a memento of her stay, and I also (immediately!) realized that the table just grew in value to me…after all, it was only valuable to me anyway…I must admit, I did give it a good polishing with a variety of products, hoping to at least remove the blue from the marks…I knew those were carved to last.

Well, I didn’t get the blue out, and now, as I look across the surface, that’s pretty much all I see anymore. But it’s growing on me. I’ve already decided that Riley will inherit this piece…whatever else I have to leave to her, she’s getting this table. It’s solid, and it’s hers. She put her stamp on it. And I’m ok with that.

Joking aside, it’s really a great metaphor for the experience of parenting (and now grand-parenting) in general…These little people mark on your heart, little knowing or understanding that they’re leaving a permanent imprint of themselves in your life. Some marks are more on the order of medals, others are definitely scars. But the surface and the marks are unique to the parent and child. (Or grandparent…I keep forgetting I’m in the second category now.) I’ll never look at my coffee table without a reminder of the little girl who signed it. And truly, even though the marks are blue, and don’t really belong in my color scheme, because she put them there, they’re right at home in my space, and in my heart.

If you had an essentially happy childhood, that tends to dwell with you. Tracy Kidder

Healing on a beach

We came down to Mexico last week…an escape from late winter in SE Alaska, and a chance to see the sun and feel the warmth of a breeze instead of the buffeting of the wind. We had no plans, as usual. Most of our vacation escapes are low key…reading, resting, just being. We don’t need a lot of entertainment. We need time with no structure. IMG_0005

We vary our days between sitting by the pool, walking the beach, sleeping in and reading or catching up with on-line chores. Rob is studying for his upcoming boards test. I work on projects…designing a business card, writing a proposal. Nothing earth-shaking.

Somewhere in the resting, the recovery, we share. We talk a bit about what we’re reading, how we’re growing. We do this in our “normal” life too…of course we do. We connect on quiet Saturdays, or Sunday afternoons. But there’s something about the slow pace of a vacation week. Or maybe it’s the rhythmic presence of the ocean. Things begin to come out. We soften, open up. We become vulnerable.

We have been healing for a while now. I know the date we broke apart. It was September 12, 2010. That was the day we separated, in heart, although not quite at that moment in body. That came a little later that fall, at the end of October. What a time of awakening that was! It was a time like no other in my life, an experience that became precious to me: for the insight, for the honesty, for the truth that came out of it. IMG_0007

The funny thing is, I couldn’t tell you the exact date we came back together. It was in May of 2011. But the date isn’t branded on my heart. We just returned…to each other, to the relationship, to trying. We’re still trying.

The whys and hows aren’t important now, and anyway, wouldn’t be important to anyone but we two…I don’t need to share every detail. But I will share this: it was worth it. Every moment, every hurt, every loss. Because out of it, I grew, and he grew. We became better and stronger. As people and as a couple. It was a hard-fought battle, and to tell the truth, there are times we’re still fighting it. Maybe we always will be.

But this is my pearl of great price: I have wisdom now that came from that time of suffering. It isn’t wisdom of pride, it is wisdom of humility. I don’t have it all sorted out, neatly packaged, nicely arranged. I do my best, I make mistakes, and I forgive. And that’s all. That has been enormously freeing….just that, to know that I’m doing the best I can, and to let go of everything else. I’ve taken down my defenses. I’m standing with my hands open, my heart bare. It feels good to give, and to be open, regardless of what comes. To just do the right thing.

Just when I think I’ve come to the end of the reconciling experience…that we’re neatly put back together, that I’ve gotten my growth out of this…something else appears. It isn’t necessarily about the relationship itself, but it is as if, once I faced myself and those issues honestly, whole new worlds began to open up. Sometimes I’m inspired, and sometimes I’m so humbled.

I began this blog in the midst of heartache, at a time when I needed to stake a claim to the good of life, and to the positive. I needed to say “I will not be poisoned by bitterness.” The joy of reaching out, finding others, discovering – it has been a significant part of the healing process for me. As is my style, the next post may be some light-hearted thing…a funny cartoon, or a recipe. I’m not someone given to the depths. But now and then, just now and then, I have to acknowledge: I’ve been down, and I’ve been out. And I’m so grateful to have come through, to have found grace and peace and joy. And even now, I know, there are no guarantees. But there is hope. If there is one message I have to share, it is this: don’t give up on anyone or anything. Don’t write the end of the story before it writes itself. It may surprise you. I would never have believed, on September 12, 2010, that I would write these words today. Life is good, not perfect. Love is wonderful, not perfect. Nothing is perfect. But it’s all good.

“Yes, I decided, a man can truly change. The events of the past year have taught me much about myself, and a few universal truths. I learned, for instance, that while wounds can be inflicted easily upon those we love, it’s often much more difficult to heal them. Yet the process of healing those wounds provided the richest experience of my life, leading me to believe that while I’ve often overestimated what I could accomplish in a day, I had underestimated what I could do in a year. But most of all, I learned that it’s possible for two people to fall in love all over again, even when there’s been a lifetime of disappointment between them.” Nicholas Sparks, The Wedding

“I am not what I ought to be. I am not what I want to be. I am not what I hope to be. But still, I am not what I used to be. And by the grace of God, I am what I am.” John Newton