On triggers and matter seeds…

life shrinks or expands

So I’ve been procrastinating.  Doing every thing I possibly can to escape doing THIS — this writing thing.  Because I’m throwing a temper tantrum, a fit, I’m just kind of mad.  Because thoughts never come to me when it’s convenient.  They always come to me in the shower when I’m getting ready for work, and I jot down a few notes in my writing journal.  They come to me in the late, abysmally brutal hours of the evening — when most people’s minds have long since been asleep — and I jot a few notes in my writing journal.  They come to me when my house is loud, and I have a billion things to do — which is never conducive to anything — not even jotting a few notes down in my writing journal.  Never at acceptable hours of thought intervention.  Never, ever, never (insert foot stomping and moping about).  I mean, really.  What IS it like to be able to write when thoughts are lucid and they are just coming naturally and making sense.  Because, to this girl, that doesn’t come often.  Maybe I should just be thankful I have thoughts at all.  Ha!

So, I’m looking at these notes in my journal of REALLY important things that I just REALLY wanted to say — that were pressing on my heart, squeezing and squishing it to ouchiness and say-ing-ness — and it’s all Greek — it’s all pick any language you want.  Because the most awesome thing I always tell myself that I know isn’t true — but I just FEEL these things so strongly so MAYBE THIS TIME IT WILL BE is — I’ll remember that…

I think up some AMAZING blog posts.  They just never get written…  Do I get credit for that somewhere?  Heh, heh…

But for some of us, this writing thing isn’t a choice and we must–but for you, thank the Lord, the reading of it is…


So these past few weeks…


Total brain craziness… (my husband is free to laugh and think all the things he may think here–I’ll even allow a few lines  of blank space in honor of all of those free-floating thoughts he must be having — just for him…)



So, it was career day at school.  And who ever would have thunk that this would have been a trigger for this chicka.  Not this girl.  But it was.  We had an all staff activity in which we were instructed to fill out a sheet of paper that would tell the kids where we graduated from college, what we wanted to be when we grew up when we were little, and then give a little inspirational saying of some kind directed toward their furtherment of education and aspiring dreams.  We could also include graduation pics of us from college and from when we were small-ish.  We then posted these outside our classrooms.  I am making myself continue.  This just stinks…

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Simpson College Graduation 1998 – The to be husband and I


I loved school.  All of it.  From preschool to college, and I did it all with my all of all — stressing over every minute detail of everything.  Because I loved it.  Because knowledge was something concrete to me.  It was something I could prove I had.  It was a way I could be good.  A way I could show I was good.  It was something I was really good at — and I was going to go big places.  I was getting out of all this awfulness — with brains in my head and the most incessant work ethic– it was happening.  Despite MEQ and Calculus, it was happening.  I took all the AP classes.  School was always more important than anything else to me.  I say that like I had anything else.  Because I had to get out.  I had to go somewhere.  I had everything to prove to everyone who wasn’t looking or paying attention.  To no one who cared.  Because no one really did.  But this was for me.  This was for my siblings.  This was for us.  Because, by God, I was going to save them too.  I was getting the biggest house and coming back for them.  All.of.them.  And if you would have told me that graduating from Simpson in the top ten percent of my class with honors would have landed me a preschool para position somewhere in my distant future, I probably would have laughed — and probably been really discouraged.  God had other plans for this girl that had her entire life so meticulously planned.  He knew where I belonged.  He had my dream job all worked out for me.  Because nothing worked out as I had planned.  Things, for all intents and purposes, all fell apart.  They all fell apart before they fit perfectly back together again.  I couldn’t fix my family.  I couldn’t fix me.  I couldn’t fix a damn thing.  I wouldn’t even realize I was a “fixer” until my thirties.  And none of it would matter.  And ALL of it would matter.  And yet, it would — miraculously — all work out.  And I would have laughed in your face if you would have told me that too.

I have one picture from graduating from college.  One.  My parents were very late.  I’m not sure they even took any pictures.  A professor friend took it of Marty and I.  After being frustrated at what she perceived to be my parent’s complete apathy towards my accomplishments, she told them they should be very proud.  They didn’t say those words to me that day.  It wasn’t enough.  None of it was ever enough.  They didn’t come to honors convocation.  When I called to invite them, I didn’t know what I was being honored for.  We weren’t told.  We were simply asked to come.  Since I couldn’t tell my father specifically what the honor was for, he didn’t believe me and didn’t think it was worth their time.  I was given two honors for my graduating class.  I was stunned.  Part of me also wondered if there was a mix up of some kind.  And they didn’t care to be there.  Twenty minutes away.  I called to let them know I had gotten honors in English and the Humanities for my class.  I was called a liar.  I was called a whore — I mean, someone as dumb as me MUST have slept with half of the professors to get honors in anything, right (despite the fact that the professors may have been women — so I must have been bisexual as well)?  All this crazy was so normal.  So, it was okay.  This was the pattern.  I changed out of my dress immediately following the ceremony and ran for two and half hours.  Because that’s what girls whose parents don’t come to honors convocation and get called liars and whores by their fathers do after they win awards.  They run their brains off.  And I would run my brain off until my body could physically run no more — who knew that would be at the age of 38.

Graduation was supposed to be a prove it to them time.  It obviously wasn’t.  I was still what they said I always had been — despite the four years I had managed and struggled to prove them wrong.  Because, as my father said, it was just an arbitrary measure of the intelligence of man anyway.  Still stupid.  Would always BE stupid.  You would think I would have learned at this point to just accept myself for who I really was and move on (it seems so simple to people on the outside of things) — but I had many more “maybe this time” moments with my parents.  It took me such a long time to realize that I just had to walk the hell away.  It took me a long time to realize that all of this crazy was abuse.  It took me a long time to realize that all the things, all the big things and all the little things — all of the all of the things — that had happened to me from birth to forever — were NOT my fault, were NOT because I was stupid, were NOT because of anything I had done at all or anything that I was lacking…  It’s taken a very long time for all of the things…  There will always be things.   We’re all still working on things.  And that’s okay…

One piece of golden rod paper.  One all staff assignment.  Tremendous trigger.  One awful night.  Just sitting there.  Looking at that graduation picture.  Realizing what that one photo was to me.  IS to me.  Because sometimes, even to this very day — what was still seems so very unreal.

But the flipping fantastic hallelujah glory of it all is this.  It’s not all gloom and doom and sadness.  I think the amazing thing about love and faith and life is this — more often than not, you do not find your dreams, but your dreams find you.  And life just kind of works out just as it should — imperfectly perfect — beautiful in its time.  And that’s the insane miracle of it all.  Breathe, let go, and know someone bigger than you has got this, sister.  And all that crap you went through?  It’ll be used for something.  Something beautiful, and something good.  And you don’t have to have that all figured out or know that either.  He’ll make that known — and he’ll make that THE MOST beautiful — in its time.  I promise.

All the crushing — it’s not to break you — it’s to make you the most incredible and precious and shiny person.  And you’re going to shine for him, and for so many others.  And after walking through all that fire — you’re really not going to care — maybe at first — maybe A LOT at first — but as you grow and as you push through all that concrete — you’re not going to give a damn what any shine snuffer is going to think.  You’re going to shine regardless.  Because there is something SO freaking amazing about knowing exactly who you are and who made you and what your purpose is.  There is something so innately strong in that.  You will be brave.  You won’t always FEEL brave — but you will be brave regardless.  Know this.

I found an old picture of this little blond girl from kindergarten.  I still feel like that scared little have to be perfect and living in fear girl some days.  She’s deep down inside there from time to time.  That really yucky feeling comes with triggers like golden rod employee wide assignments.  I looked at that picture and was sad for her.  I was so sad for the carefree little girl she was never able to be.  But I was also able to smile.  Because the little girl in that picture had NO IDEA what AMAZING and HUGE things God had in store for her.  Tears dried and assignment over.  Please do NOT ask me to do it again.  At least for another year.

Speaking of AMAZING and HUGE…

Anyone who knows this crazy girl knows how much I love my G.  Not my six-year-old G who I love with all my everything, my OTHER G (smile).  Glennon Doyle Melton.  And I got to hear her speak (oh my goodness she is THE MOST INCREDIBLE!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!) and meet her and like HUG HER FOR REAL this past week.  Yes, my everything is still reeling!  Still trying to process how this all actually happened.  I mean, I KNOW how it did, I just can’t even really believe it did…

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Shaking. Like, I might not be able to breathe, but can you sign my book of yours that I’ve read only like eleven times?


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I told her I loved her. Actually I said, “would it be weird to tell you that I love you.” cause I am the biggest DORK like that — oh goodness!!!


And I have to thank my friend, Kerry.  Who is THE MOST amazing.  Seriously.  Incredible warrior momma.  Love you.  This momma turned the pain of losing her baby girl into the miracle of saving babies all over the nation by starting the organization “Count The Kicks” with other grieving mommies.  They are all the.most.amazing.  It was a day that changed my life.  I was in a room of struggle, encouragement, love, laughter, and light that was blown all the more open with fabulous hope.  Holy hell, I did not want to leave!  I wanted to live in that room forever!

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She is so beautiful. She is so brave. She is so everything.


And I was able to share this day with a forever friend.  I don’t have many of those.  As much as I have been moved around this little cosmos of a world, I don’t have a plethora of life long sisters.  And this sister, well, she means the world to me.  So, it was just a freaking day full of special.  I didn’t want it to end.  Ever.  So I keep reliving it in my heart.  HUGE treasure.  Still a bit surreal.  Bucket completely overflowing.  So.much.joy.

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Kari, Glennon, and I. Heart overflowing.


And before this amazing G day, friend day, revel in imperfection and how we can serve and love each other day– I spent a great deal of time meditating (cause I was going to meet G — dear God, I was going to meet G!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!).  I meditate to lose the heaviness of my bones.  To lose the heaviness of what it feels like to be me.  It’s like praying, but you’re not asking God for anything.  You’re just super, duper affirming that he’s there.  It’s like being face to face with him — no skin, no bones.  Just that you that is really you.  Your soul — saying, hey God, it’s me, Ang.  And I’m taking this moment, this day — for what ever it has to offer, what ever it has to teach me — the good, the bad, the ALL that it is for EXACTLY what it is — and I PRAISE you for it — I truly THANK YOU for ALL of it — and I accept it JUST AS IT IS — and I accept me just as I am — and I will find the good of both — just as they are — for all that they are.  And I breathe.  Through my soul.  Because bones and skin are such heavy things.  They are such heavy things because they have to be — they are holding back souls that know they do not belong caged.  Meditation lets me out.  It allows me to be closer to God.  It’s one big long prayer where you’re not sitting next to the receiver–you’re holding hands.  And I meditate also on those I love, for those I love, and on all that I am thankful.  And that is one precious way to start the day, my friends, one precious way… ❤

The thing about life is, no matter what we try to tell our children–  you really do not have to have it all figured out.  As my Glennon says, just do the next right thing.  One step at a time, we do the next right thing — and then we’ll get there.  Where ever that there is — we’ll get there — to that perfectly thought out place that God has destined for us.  The trick is to do our best enjoying that bumpy journey.  For taking it for what it is.  For taking US for who WE are.  And not to be scared to try because we’ve had a rough beginning — because our entry to this life hasn’t been so perfect.  Here’s my take.  Sometimes we know HOW to do things because we have been so aggressively shown the best way NOT to.  Read me?  Find the good, sister.  Find the good.  You always can.  Even if it’s a hard lesson.  You always can.

And hey — you’ve got this.  Even when you don’t.  In fact, it’s all working out better when it’s falling apart.  Because then you don’t have expectations.  And you’re not relying solely on yourself and your own strength.  You’re just hoping to make it to tomorrow.  And hope is a mighty thing, isn’t it?  And we should all just be really thankful and blessed by our tomorrows.  Really.  For that sun that comes up.  For the smiles of the freaking amazing people who love our guts no.matter.what — or hell, even because of what.

You can do it.  Expect good things.  Even when bad things come.  Because they will.  They most certainly will.  But you can handle it all.  Always.  Even when you can’t.  Because you are you.  And you know who you are.  And you know who he created you to be.  And even if you don’t know the ALL of that yet (because who does — we are such infinite creatures) — you’re good with that mystery.  Mystery is good too.  In fact, mystery is pretty fabulous.  It is its own miracle.

And the coolest thing ever is that we have this seed, a seed of the divine, ever-growing and living inside of us.  And nothing can snuff that out.  That power is real.  And too often we are afraid of that power.  Don’t be afraid of your light.  Shine on.  Please be brave and shine on.  You’ve got so much magic.  It’s real.  Smile.  The fact that your heart is beating, that you are breathing — purpose, friend.  What are you going to do with that? You matter.  Every circumstance and situation that you go through in this life — it all matters.  It all waters that seed.

they didn't know we were seeds

Those triggers.  Even those triggers can water that seed and be used for good.  Pain.  Sunshine.  It all waters the seed.

Love you all to pieces. ❤

For all your pieces.

Shine on.

Just keep shining.

One day at a time.


breaking your heart

Dear G…

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Dear Glennon,

I’ve been meaning to sit down and write this for a very long time.  You know, forever.  And I chicken out each time because the moment is never perfect — because my boys are always too loud, my schedule always too insane, my mind never clear enough, and you are just so amazing (I’m so nervous!!!) — and I know I’ll never — ever — be able to say it just right — just how much you mean to me and just how much I love you — without sounding super crazy.  I’m pretty sure I just accomplished THAT!  I also just pleaded with my boys to do their best to teeter on the verge of quiet — and they just told me they are going to have their own version of the super bowl in their room, so, yeah…  total peace.  This should go well… (if we don’t have to make an ER trip in this blizzard that has just taken over, life will be good).  Max says they’ll move some of the furniture to make it safer.  I’m comforted…

As I listen to my twelve year old’s bedroom being rearranged into a football stadium, I realize there will never be an absolutely perfect time, and I’m pretty certain my mind will never be clear, so we just show up anyway.  Someone pretty freaking amazing taught me that, so with that– here I jump…

I think it’s really important to tell people how incredible they are, those people who have made extraordinary impacts in your life, who fill you up, lift you up, and point your face to heaven — those people who not only restore your faith but remind you what it is to have faith in the first place.  Because, all too often, we don’t get to hear the good stuff.  Nope.  For some reason time isn’t taken for that.  So, I think that’s really important–giving that good stuff a voice — that we take the time to point out what’s shining.  And damn, G, you shine so bright.

I found you years ago, through this blog called Momastery.  I’m sure you’re familiar, heh, heh.  I poured over every single word — crying, connecting, laughing, and all at once, I felt like I KNEW you.  And even more incredibly, I felt like you knew ME.  All of my pieces.  If you only knew what an absolute miracle that feeling was.  And this, this was a place where this crazy, broken, tired, spent and used up girl belonged.  And not only belonged–but was okay.  Maybe even MORE than okay.  So, I bought a Monkee sweatshirt, and “we can do hard things” became one of my every other breaths and daily yogic mantras.  So my very first appreciation of thanks is this — thanks for being my space maker.  Sometimes we all just need to know that we have our own space and we’re not taking up anyone else’s who could make better use of it.  This is ours, and it’s really okay for us to be present in it — just as we are.  Thank you for that.  You helped me take a breath, realize that, and those words on those pages pulled me up to try another day.  That was just the beginning…

I’d also like to thank you for living your Jesus.  See, he’s my Jesus too, but I don’t think others see him or we reflect him until we live him — until we are his hands and feet.  Going to church on Sundays shows people we worship him, yes, but living our lives FOR him?  Well, that’s an entirely different story.  I was raised in the church, but I was never saved by the church.  And churches are a great place to connect with believers, praise and get filled up again, I so believe this — but living Jesus, showing Jesus, giving Jesus — this is an everyday, every minute thing — in how we treat people, love people, help people, inspire people (you get it).  It’s a verb, a doing thing — and our lives should move people to want to know our Jesus.  You not only make me want to know him more, you inspire me to shine the God in me so bright — because this love thing IS a really big deal.  It’s not just some sentimental Hallmark garbage.  It really is everything.  Jesus went so far as to say they will know us by our love — and that love word — man, that’s the BIGGEST verb in the whole entire world.  Thanks for screaming from the mountain tops — let’s get to doing it, people!!!  Thanks for living and shining Jesus and inviting us all to do the same.  We can make such a difference.  We can be miracles for each other.  In all the darkness that is, we can be a light.

And thank you for showing me that this light can shine through broken.  And, that broken is beautiful — and that all of us may really be a little broken — not just this crazy girl — and maybe, quite possibly, the craziest thing we can do is to hide that, not admit that — and the most sane thing we can do is embrace all that is authentic and shine the hell out of our broken.  You inspired me to commit to this one word — authentic.  I want to live an authentic self and I strive for this every day.  Most of my life I had spent trying to be what I thought everyone else had wanted me to be so that they would be happy and accept me.  The funny thing about that is, those people are never truly happy with you.  You will never be enough for them — and that tight rope of things you must be and the checklist of all the things you must do to appease them just gets higher and longer.  It’s exhausting.  And that’s not love.  And that’s not life.  And that’s one hell of a prison — an incredibly suffocating prison.  Authenticity breaks through this prison, even through fear — and yes, at first I thought I might stop breathing all together.  But I didn’t.  I found out that God still loved me.  And I wasn’t anyone’s puppet.  Relationships became real.  It was hard.  It was brutal.  It was amazing.  Authenticity.  Always.  I wrote little pieces of my story in this blog.  Somehow, I became lighter.  Somehow, I became free.  Thanks for giving me the courage to do that.  It wasn’t all amazing.  There was a little bit of backlash from people who cherish the façade of perfect, but I had the Bible and this fabulous book called, “Carry On, Warrior.”  And carry on we can.

And I had to carry on with people I wanted to run away from.  Harmful people, even the ones that are supposed to love you — even the ones that say they love you and ‘only want what’s best for you’– that are toxic to you — ouch.  When you stop doing everything they say, when you start wanting real, it can get so very ugly.  But I was, in a way, ready for this.  When I began going through therapy many, many years ago for a lifetime of abuse and abuse I was still wading through (I was still learning what was okay and not okay to accept from other people), I was diagnosed with depression and I was also struggling with an eating disorder.  I didn’t really understand the words or the flood of everything that was hitting me.  It was a torrent of — there really are no words — to wade and rage through.  I won’t get into all the details of my childhood and life with you right here, G, we’ll just say it was really crappy — and there are so many survivors of really crappy out there.  We moved around a lot and were secluded often when we stayed in one place — outside of the church.   My father thrived in the church.  In fact, my father’s “style” of parenting was championed as a zealous love for God.  This was holy.  This was my cross to bear for being the sinner that I was from birth to what ever age I survived to be.  I didn’t know any different.  So, the proverbial shit really hit the fan when I went to college and I began to see, to understand — that other families — moreover, that no other families — worked like mine.  It was a deep pit, crashing down, dizzy, numbing, painful, stuff.  Not that the living in it was butterflies and rainbows.  That was hell.  I wanted to die.  But I was afraid of the real hell (you know, the eternal one), and I was raised to believe that every good Christian knows that if you commit suicide you go to hell, right?  There were some days that I toyed with the notion of which hell could be worse, and I really don’t care who judges me for that.  You didn’t walk it.

There is something so substantially damaging about abuse — and I guess that should go without saying — but sometimes I feel the need to reiterate it as I don’t think we guard our precious ones enough in this world where it has become so fucking common place.  It becomes a regular part of your life — your day-to-day — your pattern — even how you see yourself.  It changes your infrastructure — your makeup inside.  And this abuse is most often coupled with psychological abuse — and the most damaging realization that follows you throughout your entire life — that your parents didn’t love you — the people who were meant to give you the unconditional kind of love resented the fact that you were even breathing.  I mean, there has GOT to be something intrinsically wrong with you, right?  It’s a horrific mind worm that one battles — rages against — constantly — and you pulled this little girl out of that so many times.  Let’s just say your book has been read seven times and counting (highlighted, written on, and folded pages — sticky notes of quotes are all over my home)…  You might get a chuckle out of this — even our Pete the Elf was involved in bringing back some of your quotes to my boys from the North Pole with their cookies and treasures.  The kid in me and my children are also inspired by you.  This momma needs them to know what she feels in her heart and cannot always say.  Thanks for giving me those words.  (My oldest has read “A Mountain I’m Willing To Die On” — still go back to that piece SO many times…).

I digress, I do this — a lot —

So, when you decide to go for real, for authenticity always — you need to surround yourself with light.  You are one of my constant lights.  Because you will hear a lot of crap.  When I first went on medication eons ago, just to put one foot in front of the other style — one comment my now husband heard during a Christmas gathering was, “Angie’s on Buspar?  You know I heard that’s what they give cocaine addicts in rehab.”  And after I had to make a clean break from my family to heal and, quite honestly, be SAFE, and I began to stand up for myself in other areas of my life that I hadn’t before — I was dealt comments like this one, “Look at all of the problems your family has.  None of your family talks to you.  Kind of makes me wonder.  Hmmmmm.”  And those comments?  I’d like to say I was super strong and flew right over them with grace and wisdom.  But I didn’t.  They set me back.  I doubted myself.  The negative voices that had literally been pounded into my head since infancy surfaced — you are just wrong.  Everything about you is WRONG.  You don’t have a right to your heart or to your voice.  Just shut up!  Then G, you know what you did?  You gave me my voice back.

And some of these people are still in my life.  Because they have to be.  But you have also taught me how to deal with that.  Because every part of me wants to just not have to.  Because I feel like I’ve had to deal with more than my share of mean and ignorant and narcissistic manipulation.  So I repeat this to myself, over and over again.  “I am confident because I am a child of God.  I am humble because I believe that everyone else is too.”  In fact, I made it into a magnet on my fridge.  I can appreciate these people in small doses, because there really is beauty in everyone.  There is.  I can find it.  And if I struggle, God can help me.  Some people have really pretty eyelashes — smile.  Everyone has their own journey.  Everyone is accountable for their walk.  Just as I am for mine.  God sees it all.  No one “gets away” with anything.  So I can appreciate and find beauty in everyone, I can view this beauty where and when I feel safe, but I don’t have to invite everyone to my dance party — because there WILL be dancing, G!  Thanks for getting this girl’s feet dancing again (currently Taylor Swift’s “Shake It Off” is our favorite groove)!

Trust the journey.  Three little words.  SO easy, and yet SO hard.  I have to trust MY journey.  Like going outside my front door journey.  Putting myself out there, only to get my heart broken again, get made fun of, shamed — but it’s okay.  Not because I’m strong, but because the light in me is.  And what ever happens, I’ll be okay.  Because, holy hell, I HAVE been.  I have survived.  And more than that, I have THRIVED.  And this life — it’s a freaking miracle.  Every single breathing day.  And the miracles we have in each other?  We’re all walking light houses of God’s love, baby.  Incredible, isn’t it? And so what if it isn’t pretty right now — at this very minute.   He makes all things beautiful in his time.  It’s been a verse I’ve always clung to.  But what do we do in the mean time?  And this “meantime” place is also where you’ve helped me hang, lovely one.  Yes, he makes all things beautiful in his time — and in this mean time, we are SO beautiful — SO beautifully and so wonderfully made — JUST AS WE ARE — so easy, and yet, so hard to grasp and understand for some of us.  And we have to just trust this journey.  And while we’re trusting, it’s really okay to enjoy it too.  Thanks for that.

And while I may always be a mess on this journey that I’m trusting, my mess doesn’t define me — I am so much more than all of this crazy — and I can use my crazy mess for good.  It’s kind of like my hidden super power — and on some days it’s not so hidden — ha!  It drives me inward, but it also drives me to care and that caring drives me to do.  So it’s all good.  In his time.  It’s all good.

And as my youngest’s name is Griffyn, so his nickname is G, and as I talk about you both so frequently (my Facebook posts are all about my Jesus, my family, my Glennon, and yoga), I’m sure this will be confusing to my very little family of readers at first.  And I laugh sometimes because you both are so much alike — it really is okay that I am comparing you to my six-year-old, isn’t it?  His heart is just so full of empathy and love for others and he is always sharing that — always — at school, home, the grocery store — where EVER we go.  The two phrases he says most often are that he wishes he could hug the WHOLE world, and that love is the answer for everything (which he frequently brings up while doing math homework as well).  He’s spreading his sunshine.  So really, ‘it ain’t nothing but a G thang…’

I know that you don’t know me and I really don’t know you, yet you have been such an incredible part of my life for so many years — and you continue to be.  You are one of the pieces to my puzzle — the people pieces that God puts in our lives to help us see the bigger picture more clearly.  And I love you and I pray for you — for strength, for courage, for peace — for all the big things, that really aren’t things — the soul things — that you have given me.  And I know you’re not perfect, and you’re not on a pedestal — those things are too tall and fragile and induce falling.  Nope, you’re in my heart — which is kind of a crazy place to be — but hey, there’s glitter, dancing, and sunshine in all of it too (and lots of coffee).  Love you, and thanks — for, well, everything. ❤

“When it’s dark, be the one who turns on the light.”

Joseph, Brooklyn, N.Y., age 9

365 Days Of Wonder

Mr. Browne’s Book Of Precepts

R.J. Palacio

PS — Just to let you know, the Seahawks won the pretend Superbowl game going on upstairs, which I only had to stop and referee twice — and I also unplugged one toilet whilst writing this letter.  Life with boys.  Reff-ing and unplugging things while outpouring my heart in thanks.  If that’s not a metaphor for life…

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