"Then say, “Save us, O God of our salvation, And gather us and deliver us from the nations, To give thanks to Your holy name, And glory in Your praise.” 1 Chronicles 16:35
After I downed my last swallow of an Argentinian Cabernet that I debated over buying based on the over $10 price tag, I looked at my husband and said, "Tomorrow I need some alone time and a good cry."
And so, after putting my dear friend who is recovering from two surgeries, five chemotherapy treatments, loss of her fertility and hair and on her sunrise flight home this morning, I have retreated into the corner of a coffee shop to weep over the headlines of the Sunday New York Times.
Not exactly the release of tears I needed.
Now in the spirit of the season of thankfulness, I fully understand my blessings are amazingly abundant and to look in the eyes of a thriving baby that came from the Lord and grew inside of me is to fully feel gratitude.
Still in the same held breath, to spend endless hours alongside that same bouncing boy with a voracious appetite for breast milk, egg yolk, crib paint, pinecones, and all things he can grasp with his razor sharp claws within his keen eagle eye, all whilst screaming in his carseat, stroller, high chair, my arms and within ear shot of anyone with an allergen to children desiring a quiet Saturday can take its toll.
I MISS MY FREEDOM. MY FREE TIME. MY FREE THINKING. MY FREE SPIRIT!!!
But in the quiet of the moment, with the last sip of my morning joe and a quick slap across my face, tears fill my aging eyes and I can quickly gain perspective.
Grateful can't convey my feelings or my (temporarily rattled) state of mind.
I am blessed more than ever and content in the current crazy chapter with a need for the proverbial bubble bath and occasional visits to my prior pre-baby life.
Sunday, December 1, 2013
Tuesday, November 19, 2013
A Good Romp
"Play is the highest form of research." Albert Einstein
My yoga instructor quoted Carl Jung this morning as she tried to align all of us to take our best breath yet. Jung said that the creation of something new is not accomplished by the intellect but by the play instinct acting from inner necessity.
The "Play Instinct" is a necessity.
My yoga instructor quoted Carl Jung this morning as she tried to align all of us to take our best breath yet. Jung said that the creation of something new is not accomplished by the intellect but by the play instinct acting from inner necessity.
The "Play Instinct" is a necessity.
Interesting.
It is indeed in play that we truly observe the world revolving and can be present in that miraculous fact. I have not been engaging in that highest level of learning in quite sometime...
Muddled in the laborious and task filled days of rearing a precocious eight month old I guess.
Don't get me wrong, being a literal whipping post for him to bite and pull up onto his wavering chubby feet 100 times before dawn has a certain appeal. But there comes a time when picking smashed bananas from his ample tufts of hair is not an enjoyable form of recreation and it begins to lose its luster.
But should it?
Don't get me wrong, being a literal whipping post for him to bite and pull up onto his wavering chubby feet 100 times before dawn has a certain appeal. But there comes a time when picking smashed bananas from his ample tufts of hair is not an enjoyable form of recreation and it begins to lose its luster.
But should it?
Could it be that play is not necessarily an action but a disengaging of a mindset that keeps us believing that there is only time for work and rest and work and rest.
The play is when we are our true authentic beings, surrendering to the kind of world and temperature in which we would most want to dwell. The play is when we are out best most efficient, contributing selves. The play is when we are truly aware.
The play is when we are our true authentic beings, surrendering to the kind of world and temperature in which we would most want to dwell. The play is when we are out best most efficient, contributing selves. The play is when we are truly aware.
I know myself well enough that the moment I step away from the musts and the shoulds and embrace the cans, I release in that joy. That same joy that we once lost ourselves in, only to look up to see the streetlights were illuminated and mom was calling us in for dinner. Play is when every little thing is gonna be alright. This hardened belief of a regimented life makes this exhausted Mommy dull and tarnished, giving a visual representation to the phrase "run ragged".
I want to feel like I just played Barbies for three hours without ceasing amongst the cooking, cleaning, tugging, pulling, and screaming.
I step outside my hole in which I've lived and behold...
But soft what light through yonder window breaks, it is the sun. The scrub brush turns a burnt amber before my eyes. I sit under the swaying pines and a radiant maple. Savoring the gingerbread syrup in my afternoon tea, a gentle breeze collides with the glow of the four o'clock light. A lone duck waits on the waters edge. I stretch out on a bench, take my best breath and say this is play.
I want to feel like I just played Barbies for three hours without ceasing amongst the cooking, cleaning, tugging, pulling, and screaming.
I step outside my hole in which I've lived and behold...
But soft what light through yonder window breaks, it is the sun. The scrub brush turns a burnt amber before my eyes. I sit under the swaying pines and a radiant maple. Savoring the gingerbread syrup in my afternoon tea, a gentle breeze collides with the glow of the four o'clock light. A lone duck waits on the waters edge. I stretch out on a bench, take my best breath and say this is play.
And where I long to stay.
Wednesday, October 30, 2013
Tuesday, October 29, 2013
Poked By My Pride And Joy Indeed
Raising an eight month old Hulk with sharp fingernails will learn you fast...
For further research...>>Parenting Not For the Faint of Heart.
Wednesday, October 23, 2013
The Fourth Generation
"Planted in the house of the Lord, They will flourish in the courts of our God. They will still yield fruit in old age; They shall be full of sap and very green, To declare that the Lord is upright; He is my rock, and there is no unrighteousness in Him." Psalm 92:13-15
The family just took two cars, two trains, and four planes to be with my Grandma in East Texas on her spry and still feisty, 95th birthday.
A testament she claims to be a product of clean living and a good Lord.
Those exhausting forty eight hours of entertaining an infant at 35,000 feet, cringing at him crawling on well traversed airport carpet, nursing him under cover and the attendants disapproving nose, willing him to nod off so I can catch my breath, not fighting the TSA who insisted on breaking the seal on all things baby, thanking the buxom woman at the gate for bouncing baby on her knee and providing all of us with a provocative visual, were worth every ache in my arm and pain in my neck as I placed my Grandma's Great Grandson in her arms and he reached out to touch her smiling face.
Thank you Lord for showing me once again that relationship is the only real meaning of life.
"Now I can go to Glory." Grandma
The family just took two cars, two trains, and four planes to be with my Grandma in East Texas on her spry and still feisty, 95th birthday.
A testament she claims to be a product of clean living and a good Lord.
Those exhausting forty eight hours of entertaining an infant at 35,000 feet, cringing at him crawling on well traversed airport carpet, nursing him under cover and the attendants disapproving nose, willing him to nod off so I can catch my breath, not fighting the TSA who insisted on breaking the seal on all things baby, thanking the buxom woman at the gate for bouncing baby on her knee and providing all of us with a provocative visual, were worth every ache in my arm and pain in my neck as I placed my Grandma's Great Grandson in her arms and he reached out to touch her smiling face.
Thank you Lord for showing me once again that relationship is the only real meaning of life.
"Now I can go to Glory." Grandma
Thursday, October 10, 2013
Water To WIne
"Praise be to the God and Father of our Lord Jesus Christ, who has blessed us in the heavenly realms with every spiritual blessing in Christ. For he chose us in him before the creation of the world to be holy and blameless in his sight. In love he predestined us for adoption to sonship through Jesus Christ, in accordance with his pleasure and will to the praise of his glorious grace, which he has freely given us in the One he loves. In him we have redemption through his blood, the forgiveness of sins, in accordance with the riches of God’s grace that he lavished on us. With all wisdom and understanding, he made known to us the mystery of his will according to his good pleasure, which he purposed in Christ, to be put into effect when the times reach their fulfillment to bring unity to all things in heaven and on earth under Christ." Ephesians 1:3-10
Turn your eyes upon Jesus.
Look full in his wonderful face.
And the things of Earth will go strangely dim.
In the light of His Glory and Grace.
The weather has finally turned in my coastal town. My fingertips are already in a chilling state. Rain falls for the third dismal day in a row. My baby sleeps fitfully under a blanket and his twenty pound body flexes as the first cough of his life overcomes him.
After wiping my face down from a projectile vomit alarm clock, I pour myself a cup of pumpkin coffee and read the disheartening news of the world.
Death benefits denied to a fallen Marine because of Government Shutdown. A nation paralyzed by elected officials hired to run our government.
Instead of biting my lip violently and swallowing the bile that's building, I open my Bible to Ephesians... and I am stricken with a joy unforeseen and certainly unexpected.
God is in it and will redeem it. And that's all I need to know.
Death benefits denied to a fallen Marine because of Government Shutdown. A nation paralyzed by elected officials hired to run our government.
Instead of biting my lip violently and swallowing the bile that's building, I open my Bible to Ephesians... and I am stricken with a joy unforeseen and certainly unexpected.
God is in it and will redeem it. And that's all I need to know.
So, I will cling to that Old Rugged Cross.
And exchange it someday for a crown.
Have you tried the no fail method to making lemonade from lemons?
Have you tried the no fail method to making lemonade from lemons?
Tuesday, October 8, 2013
Monday, October 7, 2013
A Remedy For Doom and Gloom
"You, God, are my God, earnestly I seek you; I thirst for you, my whole being longs for you, in a dry and parched land where there is no water." Psalm 63:1
Leaning on our own understanding hammers home the truth that NOTHING good can come when we are separated from God.
How's that for a Monday morning message?
These are dark days.
The collective psyche of this country's citizenry is at an all time low.
A beacon for how democracy ought to work has been snuffed out.
Dim is this moment, as I hang my head with visceral shame for and in the American Government.
Leaning on our own understanding hammers home the truth that NOTHING good can come when we are separated from God.
How's that for a Monday morning message?
Monday, September 23, 2013
SLAP: Another Lesson In The Meaning of Life
“Blessed are those who mourn, for they shall be comforted.”Matthew 5:4
You know the expression, What a difference a day makes?
The weekend's events make the above statement the truest sentence in the world.
For shame on me. I write this with a heavy humbled heart....
One moment, I think I have found myself in the equivalent of my worst nightmare. The underworld of Mom's gathered in a Baptist Church basement eating chicken salad and coconut pie discussing the perils of parenthood. The maternal clan who lines up for their copy of the Raleigh Sunday paper for the triple coupon bounty. The Lysol wipe hoarders, the arts and crafts brigade, the stay at home posse commiserating the joys of children over a cup of lukewarm coffee.
I think, "This is my life?"
The next, I am strolling with my son on a gorgeous Saturday afternoon down an oak-lined neighborhood street when I'm stopped by a barrage of flashing blue lights and yellow police tape.
As distraught families explain in detail the sounds of the shots heard minutes before, detectives warn us to not disturb the bullet casings scattered at our feet. An 18 year old boy, gunned down in broad daylight, lies dead on the scene. A Mama has lost her baby.
This is the definition of anyone's worst nightmare.
I held my baby tight and rejoiced, "This is my life!"
Thank you Lord Jesus for the painful perspective and comfort this family as my boy and I take a short walk to be with them and their pain today.
I'm so sorry.
You know the expression, What a difference a day makes?
The weekend's events make the above statement the truest sentence in the world.
For shame on me. I write this with a heavy humbled heart....
One moment, I think I have found myself in the equivalent of my worst nightmare. The underworld of Mom's gathered in a Baptist Church basement eating chicken salad and coconut pie discussing the perils of parenthood. The maternal clan who lines up for their copy of the Raleigh Sunday paper for the triple coupon bounty. The Lysol wipe hoarders, the arts and crafts brigade, the stay at home posse commiserating the joys of children over a cup of lukewarm coffee.
I think, "This is my life?"
The next, I am strolling with my son on a gorgeous Saturday afternoon down an oak-lined neighborhood street when I'm stopped by a barrage of flashing blue lights and yellow police tape.
As distraught families explain in detail the sounds of the shots heard minutes before, detectives warn us to not disturb the bullet casings scattered at our feet. An 18 year old boy, gunned down in broad daylight, lies dead on the scene. A Mama has lost her baby.
This is the definition of anyone's worst nightmare.
I held my baby tight and rejoiced, "This is my life!"
Thank you Lord Jesus for the painful perspective and comfort this family as my boy and I take a short walk to be with them and their pain today.
I'm so sorry.
Wednesday, September 18, 2013
Just Enough, Thank You
"What do people gain from all their labors at which they toil under the sun? Generations come and generations go, but the earth remains forever. The sun rises and the sun sets, and hurries back to where it rises.
The wind blows to the south and turns to the north; round and round it goes,ever returning on its course. All streams flow into the sea, yet the sea is never full.
To the place the streams come from, there they return again.
The wind blows to the south and turns to the north; round and round it goes,ever returning on its course. All streams flow into the sea, yet the sea is never full.
To the place the streams come from, there they return again.
All things are wearisome, more than one can say.The eye never has enough of seeing, nor the ear its fill of hearing. What has been will be again,what has been done will be done again;
there is nothing new under the sun." Ecclesiastes 1:3-9
there is nothing new under the sun." Ecclesiastes 1:3-9
The wisest man in the world indeed. I do not need to read back over my BLAHg to know I've quoted this profound man and this stellar book times before. For believers and non-believers alike, it should rank high on best sellers lists, but alas Malcolm Gladwell still has people's ears.
Still it never ceases to amaze me the brilliance of King Solomon's writings and the truth they spout so poetically today.
Still it never ceases to amaze me the brilliance of King Solomon's writings and the truth they spout so poetically today.
It's been said that there are three kind of lives lived. Pleasant or Pleasure Seeking, Engaged or finding worth in work and role, or Meaningful which is using one's strengths for something larger than oneself. I admit for a long time I've been the peak experience, thrill seeker.
That joy is not sustainable. I'm learning this the hard way as baby=sunset bedtimes. And the notion that my one precious glass of Thank God He Is Asleep wine could quickly multiply its volume.
That joy is not sustainable. I'm learning this the hard way as baby=sunset bedtimes. And the notion that my one precious glass of Thank God He Is Asleep wine could quickly multiply its volume.
A recurring theme has been rearing its head in my limited life at the moment. It is pouring from my pastor's mouth, spilling out onto my yoga mat, and running through the pages of my library book. What are my boundaries? And at what length (detriment) will I go to reach and surpass them? This chasing after the wind to win the hearts of man or attain the possessions of one's neighbor has very little to do with personal satisfaction but more with a heaping spoonful of discontented grief.
I tackle this subject because I've had to answer the question of "What do I do?" lately. And my response has elicited a number of disinterested and sympathetic glazes.
What do I do? I put on my cape and tights and give myself pep talks along the likes of "I will not let my 20 pound six month old manipulate my emotions today."
Wouldn't it be nice if we could use the side of the pool to push off and glide through life's grace and gravity? Instead we toil and chase. Guilt and doubt in oneself gurgles up from the depths as if being the Mama I am to the boy I have, is not enough.
Trust me, it is.
Do you believe God can get you where you are supposed to be and will you be content when you get there?
I tackle this subject because I've had to answer the question of "What do I do?" lately. And my response has elicited a number of disinterested and sympathetic glazes.
What do I do? I put on my cape and tights and give myself pep talks along the likes of "I will not let my 20 pound six month old manipulate my emotions today."
Wouldn't it be nice if we could use the side of the pool to push off and glide through life's grace and gravity? Instead we toil and chase. Guilt and doubt in oneself gurgles up from the depths as if being the Mama I am to the boy I have, is not enough.
Trust me, it is.
Do you believe God can get you where you are supposed to be and will you be content when you get there?
Wednesday, September 11, 2013
What We Allow is What Will Continue
"We live now upon an island amid many perils, and our hands are more often upon the bowstring than upon the harp." Haldir from The Fellowship of the Ring, J.R.R Tolkien
Our vehicle's windows were smashed out with a bat last night, less than forty yards away from my baby's sleeping head. A simple case of vindictive vandalism.
I'm seething and not because of the inconvenience or the monetary loss. But because I've become a victim of this inconsequential world in which we've allowed. A byproduct of the haves and the entitled have nots is a fearless culture with a voracious appetite for instant gratification with no regard for how it is fed or the mess left behind.
We don't punish anymore!
And if I wasn't suffering from such lack a sleep, my fingers would have been wrapped so tightly around a trigger, that consequences wouldn't be a matter of discussion this early hour and the police report would look quite different.
Today, we remember the senseless and brutal attack on America's soil and our people twelve years ago. Benghazi's tragic events and their occurrence still goes unanswered. And now our nation sits on the brink of responding to the atrocities of a dictatorship and his use of chemical weapons on the innocent.
If America is the anchor for global security...will we be uphold our stance, have we become pacifists or are we just sick and tired of intervening in someone elses' war?
In the address to implore our support for an attack on Syria, Our President said last night "The United States Military does not do pinpricks." Any message we send will be received...
And in rare form, Obama spoke no truer words than "sometimes resolutions and statements of condemnation are simply not enough." Active retribution is required. **
But is it really up to us to enforce our rules of ideals and principles? The answer is yes.
But instead of being the world's neighborhood watchman, seems our own turf would be a better start. And even in that, we are missing the mark.
As I stood in the street scattered with broken glass, I told the responding police officer this morning very similar words. His tactics weren't working. That he had to do more than drive around the block an extra time to deter the criminals.
Or what we allow will continue.
**Disclaimer: This is not a pro-war post
Our vehicle's windows were smashed out with a bat last night, less than forty yards away from my baby's sleeping head. A simple case of vindictive vandalism.
I'm seething and not because of the inconvenience or the monetary loss. But because I've become a victim of this inconsequential world in which we've allowed. A byproduct of the haves and the entitled have nots is a fearless culture with a voracious appetite for instant gratification with no regard for how it is fed or the mess left behind.
We don't punish anymore!
And if I wasn't suffering from such lack a sleep, my fingers would have been wrapped so tightly around a trigger, that consequences wouldn't be a matter of discussion this early hour and the police report would look quite different.
Today, we remember the senseless and brutal attack on America's soil and our people twelve years ago. Benghazi's tragic events and their occurrence still goes unanswered. And now our nation sits on the brink of responding to the atrocities of a dictatorship and his use of chemical weapons on the innocent.
If America is the anchor for global security...will we be uphold our stance, have we become pacifists or are we just sick and tired of intervening in someone elses' war?
In the address to implore our support for an attack on Syria, Our President said last night "The United States Military does not do pinpricks." Any message we send will be received...
And in rare form, Obama spoke no truer words than "sometimes resolutions and statements of condemnation are simply not enough." Active retribution is required. **
But is it really up to us to enforce our rules of ideals and principles? The answer is yes.
But instead of being the world's neighborhood watchman, seems our own turf would be a better start. And even in that, we are missing the mark.
As I stood in the street scattered with broken glass, I told the responding police officer this morning very similar words. His tactics weren't working. That he had to do more than drive around the block an extra time to deter the criminals.
Or what we allow will continue.
**Disclaimer: This is not a pro-war post
Friday, September 6, 2013
Big Bird Was Smart
It turns out the "Mommy's Blog" arena is rather saturated. Apparently, I am not a novelty.
Newsflash: There are other women out there who have or had a six month old.
Here's an oldie but goodie proof of evidence.
Newsflash: There are other women out there who have or had a six month old.
Here's an oldie but goodie proof of evidence.
The Baby Syndrome
"The glory of young men is their strength, gray hair the splendor of the old." Proverbs 20:29
I talked with my spunky 95 year old Grandma today.
She's truly remarkable in ways I can only hope to glean.
She was bemoaning the fact that while she can't completely explain it, she misses living on her own.
A recent fall where she smashed her head on the oven door has "aged her" and motivated my Aunt to move her closer to her reach. Now, displaced from her sweet church, the trusty Suburban, a kitchen stocked with her pans, and the commissary at the Army base where she could buy her bread and prescriptions...she feels lost. And even though she plays piano for two praise and worship services, she just doesn't get out like she used to.
Not to mention, the Assisted Living Chef doesn't know"diddly squat" about food. Her runny eggs and breakfast sausage are the highlight of her day. Besides her well done pork patty, she would rather starve then eat his tasteless, flaccid vegetables. And the food committee she has formed can't seem to rally change.
She mourns her old friends who knew what true Scrabble competition meant and can't believe her insurance sends people to help her bathe and make her bed. TWO things she does well, simply enjoys, and tells them so.
To sum it up, she's lost her independence. The life she has known is over.
I told her I couldn't relate more.
I talked with my spunky 95 year old Grandma today.
She's truly remarkable in ways I can only hope to glean.
She was bemoaning the fact that while she can't completely explain it, she misses living on her own.
A recent fall where she smashed her head on the oven door has "aged her" and motivated my Aunt to move her closer to her reach. Now, displaced from her sweet church, the trusty Suburban, a kitchen stocked with her pans, and the commissary at the Army base where she could buy her bread and prescriptions...she feels lost. And even though she plays piano for two praise and worship services, she just doesn't get out like she used to.
Not to mention, the Assisted Living Chef doesn't know"diddly squat" about food. Her runny eggs and breakfast sausage are the highlight of her day. Besides her well done pork patty, she would rather starve then eat his tasteless, flaccid vegetables. And the food committee she has formed can't seem to rally change.
She mourns her old friends who knew what true Scrabble competition meant and can't believe her insurance sends people to help her bathe and make her bed. TWO things she does well, simply enjoys, and tells them so.
To sum it up, she's lost her independence. The life she has known is over.
I told her I couldn't relate more.
Wednesday, September 4, 2013
Tuesday, August 27, 2013
Action Talks and Bullshit Walks
Honestly, I am trying...When my task of thinning out North Carolina Garnet Sweet Potatoes with caffeine free breast milk is complete, I want to wax on about my thankfulness for a year complete in beautiful Wilmington or the hour of child like delight spent boogie boarding in a perfectly temped sea (sans child). The simple pleasure of my creamy coffee or the blessings I feel buying heirloom tomatoes on the Cape Fear River. But the god of this world rears his evil head and the suppressed angst pours out.
As America sits on the brink of bombing Syria and CNN's top story is Miley Cyrus' performance on an award show glorifying bad behavior and mediocre talent... I dig deep to extinguish the utter aggravation I feel towards our nation's state and mankind's participation in it.
You would have to be living in a dark, dank hole under a heavy rock to not see that US Foreign Policy in the Middle East is a disaster. Prior to the election, Obama assured us that he LOVED the Muslim people and because they in turn understood him, he would bring peace in our time. This surpasses all delusions. In truth, absolute carnage and blood fills the streets of Benghazi, Damascus, and now Cairo. The Muslim Brotherhood reigns and our heads are so buried in our phones or worse to take notice.
I struggle to juggle my new found (baby centered) agenda and adjust the sails for my changing winds andI remain constant in the determination to shed some light on a world gone astray.
Here's an excerpt from: Obama's long list of broken promises...>>
{There was also Mr. Obama’s pledge to stop the rise of the oceans. (It hasn’t.) To “remake the world” and to “heal the planet.” (Hardly.) To usher in a “new beginning” based on “mutual respect” with the Arab and Islamic world and “help answer the call for a new dawn in the Middle East.” (Come again?) To punish Syria if it crossed the “red line” of using chemical weapons. (The “red line” was crossed earlier this year–and nothing of consequence happened.) That as president “I don’t bluff.” (See the previous sentence on Syria.) And of course the much-ballyhooed Russian reset. (Tensions between Russia and the United States are increasing and examples of Russia undermining U.S. interests are multiplying.)And let’s not forget Mr. Obama’s promise to bring us together. (He is the most polarizing president in the history of Gallup polling.) Or his assurance to us that he would put an end to the type of politics that “breeds division and conflict and cynicism.” (All three have increased during the Obama presidency.)}
Sunday, August 11, 2013
A Sunday Sermon
"Yet you brought me out of the womb; you made me trust in you, even at my mother’s breast."
Psalm 22:9
No man can improve upon which God designed.
As I sit next to you while you indulge your appetite at your discretion, I will indulge my son's anywhere, anytime.
Preach on my friend!
We must stop these crazed half naked psychopaths from feeding their children...>>
Preach on my friend!
We must stop these crazed half naked psychopaths from feeding their children...>>
Friday, August 9, 2013
Thursday, August 1, 2013
Keep Calm and Carry On
"A woman giving birth to a child has pain because her time has come; but when her baby is born she forgets the anguish because of her joy that a child is born into the world." John 16:21
I read a recent blog post regarding the Duchess of Cambridge and its content pierced my heart in a way I would like to candidly and explicitly explain on mine.
After walking out of my Physical Therapist's office where I had an emotional release (scientific term for crying meltdown) after she manually unstuck my pelvis which was so misaligned that the tissue between my vagina and colon was having spasms so intense that my pelvic floor had seized up in protest of the pain. My uterus which is still sore is contracting at random and my breath so shallow as to keep my lower back stable from the ache of a cracked tailbone. The scar tissue incurred from a tear that pushing out a nine pound five ounce baby will bring says NO to penetration and my bulging hemorrhoids make a morning movement less than enjoyable.
Mind you, I've been in recovery from childbirth for five months. And I still have kangaroo's pouch.
In her first trimester, Kate Middleton suffered through months of hyperemesis gravidarum with intractable nausea in which she was hospitalized and fed an IV drip for her nourishment and the growing future Prince George. I know this because she did this under the watchful and preying eye of the world.
I laid naked on my couch in East Village in front of a window unit AC, vomiting every bit of my stomach contents (water and bile) into or onto whatever surface found in that moment's notice of nausea. I did this for twenty-one weeks. And not with grace.
Less than twenty-four hours after the delivery of another human being (no less a royal) in which she grew and carried among her adoring fans and brutal scoffers, the Duchess stepped into the face of public scrutiny, as a beaming beautiful new mum (in heels) and presented her new family with poise and style.
And what did the haters do? They criticize her appearance.
Never mind praise the miraculous occurrence or honor her blessed experience.
So tonight I'll pour my drink a little stronger, cut off a hunk of my Westminster Royal Addition Cheddar, and raise a glass from one strong mother to another.
Job well done!
I read a recent blog post regarding the Duchess of Cambridge and its content pierced my heart in a way I would like to candidly and explicitly explain on mine.
After walking out of my Physical Therapist's office where I had an emotional release (scientific term for crying meltdown) after she manually unstuck my pelvis which was so misaligned that the tissue between my vagina and colon was having spasms so intense that my pelvic floor had seized up in protest of the pain. My uterus which is still sore is contracting at random and my breath so shallow as to keep my lower back stable from the ache of a cracked tailbone. The scar tissue incurred from a tear that pushing out a nine pound five ounce baby will bring says NO to penetration and my bulging hemorrhoids make a morning movement less than enjoyable.
Mind you, I've been in recovery from childbirth for five months. And I still have kangaroo's pouch.
In her first trimester, Kate Middleton suffered through months of hyperemesis gravidarum with intractable nausea in which she was hospitalized and fed an IV drip for her nourishment and the growing future Prince George. I know this because she did this under the watchful and preying eye of the world.
I laid naked on my couch in East Village in front of a window unit AC, vomiting every bit of my stomach contents (water and bile) into or onto whatever surface found in that moment's notice of nausea. I did this for twenty-one weeks. And not with grace.
Less than twenty-four hours after the delivery of another human being (no less a royal) in which she grew and carried among her adoring fans and brutal scoffers, the Duchess stepped into the face of public scrutiny, as a beaming beautiful new mum (in heels) and presented her new family with poise and style.
And what did the haters do? They criticize her appearance.
Never mind praise the miraculous occurrence or honor her blessed experience.
So tonight I'll pour my drink a little stronger, cut off a hunk of my Westminster Royal Addition Cheddar, and raise a glass from one strong mother to another.
Job well done!
Tuesday, July 23, 2013
Unrecognizable
“For behold, I create new heavens and a new earth; And the former shall not be remembered or come to mind." Isaiah 65:17
Laser Focus. That is what is missing from my repertoire. Determined Jedi-like Laser Focus.
My brain matter consists of fried, mushy baby batter where the circuits cease to fire but glaze over at first sound of a whimper.
I'm a one trick pony in conversation and a walking National Geographic documentary as I spend most days with my breasts hanging out ready to be ravaged by the ravenous creature who now controls my every thought, word, and deed.
I relish him when he's awake, ogle him as he sleeps, and spend my down time pouring over pictures of his short past. I'm enthralled. And lost simultaneously. I recognize this common contradiction.
My rare outings consist of La Leche League meetings where other women not wearing bonnets and long skirts (much to some surprise) offer mother's milk on demand and ask questions like, "Why is he doing this?" And, "When will she stop?" It's amusing and numbing in the same breath. And impossible to not let the ghosts of past and present mothers serve as my guiding light of pure amazement.
I will not apologize to the non-parents or read articles about what I shouldn't say not to offend them. I was one of them. And now know the difference. The difference is the clock ticked for me before. And my days unfolded as such. Most pursuits were for pleasurable and material gain. Yet with a wave of his tiny hand, the timekeeper and energy spender has dictated a new world. One in which I find myself uncomfortable, resentful, delightfully affirmed, and hopelessly in love as the calendar pages tear off at rapid pace and I experience a life lived for someone else.
Don't pity my priorities. Or say I've fallen in with the masses.
I just might purchase a plastic toy, adopt primary colors as my new favorite pallet, or talk in a higher octave with a shit eating grin smeared across my face as I stare at this miraculous human occupying my time pie chart.
It's okay. It's my life. And bringing a new life into this world will change a person. Trust me, I know.
Now did I say I had no focus?
Laser Focus. That is what is missing from my repertoire. Determined Jedi-like Laser Focus.
My brain matter consists of fried, mushy baby batter where the circuits cease to fire but glaze over at first sound of a whimper.
I'm a one trick pony in conversation and a walking National Geographic documentary as I spend most days with my breasts hanging out ready to be ravaged by the ravenous creature who now controls my every thought, word, and deed.
I relish him when he's awake, ogle him as he sleeps, and spend my down time pouring over pictures of his short past. I'm enthralled. And lost simultaneously. I recognize this common contradiction.
My rare outings consist of La Leche League meetings where other women not wearing bonnets and long skirts (much to some surprise) offer mother's milk on demand and ask questions like, "Why is he doing this?" And, "When will she stop?" It's amusing and numbing in the same breath. And impossible to not let the ghosts of past and present mothers serve as my guiding light of pure amazement.
I will not apologize to the non-parents or read articles about what I shouldn't say not to offend them. I was one of them. And now know the difference. The difference is the clock ticked for me before. And my days unfolded as such. Most pursuits were for pleasurable and material gain. Yet with a wave of his tiny hand, the timekeeper and energy spender has dictated a new world. One in which I find myself uncomfortable, resentful, delightfully affirmed, and hopelessly in love as the calendar pages tear off at rapid pace and I experience a life lived for someone else.
Don't pity my priorities. Or say I've fallen in with the masses.
I just might purchase a plastic toy, adopt primary colors as my new favorite pallet, or talk in a higher octave with a shit eating grin smeared across my face as I stare at this miraculous human occupying my time pie chart.
It's okay. It's my life. And bringing a new life into this world will change a person. Trust me, I know.
Now did I say I had no focus?
Wednesday, July 10, 2013
Thursday, June 20, 2013
Thursday, June 13, 2013
The Under Sail Urge
"Those who work their land will have abundant food, but those who chase fantasies have no sense." Proverbs 12:11
Definition of Isolation.
Is it a baby that sucks vigorously and bangs on my breast like a tom tom drum every two hours? ( I round down) While being the victim of a one car family trapped behind a locked door, scared to crack a window for the coastal humidity will suck me and my drained body into a puddle of salty water. So I sit at port...with a 16 pounder attached to my soft body, rebuke daytime television, and take advantage of the rare quiet time to sift through rising air condition bills and soiled diaper covers.
What?
We've moved again. Yes, again. And my husband has positioned my writers desk under a front window (like I had it on St. Mark's) in hopes of higher spirits. A pathetic and far cry from the East Village color and a distant third to Walden Pond, I make no excuses for my lack of muse, creativity, and for that matter, discipline.
I wrap the boy up and strap him to my belly for a walkabout. It is 7 AM. The southern sun is still deceiving as it filters through the Live Oak's Spanish Moss. Production Trucks, Wardrobe Bitches, and the smell of the Grip's cigarette smoke lures me down the block. The sight of PA's walkie talkies and the sound of the generators working overtime to cool first team's trailers brings a bittersweet taste to my mouth and a sense of belonging I've been lacking.
How the hell can I miss this work?
And when can I get back?
Grand illusions of the dutiful housewife fade with the shade.
The wide open sea beckons me.
I clutch this sweet anchor around my neck and wonder just how long is his chain.
Definition of Isolation.
Is it a baby that sucks vigorously and bangs on my breast like a tom tom drum every two hours? ( I round down) While being the victim of a one car family trapped behind a locked door, scared to crack a window for the coastal humidity will suck me and my drained body into a puddle of salty water. So I sit at port...with a 16 pounder attached to my soft body, rebuke daytime television, and take advantage of the rare quiet time to sift through rising air condition bills and soiled diaper covers.
What?
We've moved again. Yes, again. And my husband has positioned my writers desk under a front window (like I had it on St. Mark's) in hopes of higher spirits. A pathetic and far cry from the East Village color and a distant third to Walden Pond, I make no excuses for my lack of muse, creativity, and for that matter, discipline.
I wrap the boy up and strap him to my belly for a walkabout. It is 7 AM. The southern sun is still deceiving as it filters through the Live Oak's Spanish Moss. Production Trucks, Wardrobe Bitches, and the smell of the Grip's cigarette smoke lures me down the block. The sight of PA's walkie talkies and the sound of the generators working overtime to cool first team's trailers brings a bittersweet taste to my mouth and a sense of belonging I've been lacking.
How the hell can I miss this work?
And when can I get back?
Grand illusions of the dutiful housewife fade with the shade.
The wide open sea beckons me.
I clutch this sweet anchor around my neck and wonder just how long is his chain.
Friday, May 17, 2013
Surprise! Your Messiah Has Failed
"He will not fail nor be discouraged, Till He has established justice in the earth; And the coastlands shall wait for His law.” Isaiah 42:4
Wake up America. Your president values your intelligence so little that he thinks you can continually be pacified with lip service. Continual lip service. He's angered, outraged, and will conduct thorough investigations to bring justice. Yet...no action.
Fifty percent of America is still clinging to the hope of his public speaking charisma while he back peddles from cover-ups and controversies. His Attorney General whose job it is to know, claims ignorance on every scandal that surfaces. And his White House Press Secretary just dwells in the sticky web of lies he's told to spin.
Mainstream media seems to have temporarily shaken off their brainwashed fog as they are bringing focus to their savior's sullen record. Washington Post calls him a Pinocchio. Democrat strategists say his double talk is bologna. And even the faithful followers cringe when he orders in The Marines to protect him from the raindrops showcasing the irony of the honorable protecting the disgraced.
But what's wrong with the citizen's of America who can't see this man is a traitor to his country and a betrayer of its people and why do they not care?
Wake up America. Your president values your intelligence so little that he thinks you can continually be pacified with lip service. Continual lip service. He's angered, outraged, and will conduct thorough investigations to bring justice. Yet...no action.
Fifty percent of America is still clinging to the hope of his public speaking charisma while he back peddles from cover-ups and controversies. His Attorney General whose job it is to know, claims ignorance on every scandal that surfaces. And his White House Press Secretary just dwells in the sticky web of lies he's told to spin.
Mainstream media seems to have temporarily shaken off their brainwashed fog as they are bringing focus to their savior's sullen record. Washington Post calls him a Pinocchio. Democrat strategists say his double talk is bologna. And even the faithful followers cringe when he orders in The Marines to protect him from the raindrops showcasing the irony of the honorable protecting the disgraced.
But what's wrong with the citizen's of America who can't see this man is a traitor to his country and a betrayer of its people and why do they not care?
Tuesday, May 14, 2013
Paranoid Conservatives?
Just how big is the breadth of this government's outreach?
Because I'm too exhausted to write it and I spend my down time washing breast milk spit up stains from my sheets, listen to John Stewart instead...
As much as he is still a progressive, it sure is comforting to hear his faith in t(his) administration and that they have no credibility.
Because I'm too exhausted to write it and I spend my down time washing breast milk spit up stains from my sheets, listen to John Stewart instead...
As much as he is still a progressive, it sure is comforting to hear his faith in t(his) administration and that they have no credibility.
Sunday, May 12, 2013
Some Mommy TIme
"Let your father and your mother be glad, And let her who bore you rejoice." Proverbs 23:25
I asked for a few hours alone.
A brief escape to breathe in the still silence.
Just to let my wrists uncurl from the carry position, straighten my neck from the soothing tuck, and feel the weightlessness in my fatigued arms.
To feel normal again.
But found this gift was greater.
I asked for a few hours alone.
A brief escape to breathe in the still silence.
Just to let my wrists uncurl from the carry position, straighten my neck from the soothing tuck, and feel the weightlessness in my fatigued arms.
To feel normal again.
But found this gift was greater.
In the words of my mom, "It takes one to know one..."
And now I know.
Happy Mother's Day to me and to God be the Glory for this precious baby I get to call my own.
Wednesday, May 8, 2013
Thursday, May 2, 2013
Who's Crying Now?
“I have held My peace a long time, I have been still and restrained Myself. Now I will cry like a woman in labor, I will pant and gasp at once." Isaiah 42:14
Today, he fought Beethoven's Fifth and the tried and true Hush Little Baby.
Yesterday, he fell victim to Appetite For Destruction's ripping guitar.
The day before, he squelched like a ravenous bird on the breast while I defended his Daddy's worth to my mom on speakerphone.
The well meaners whisper in my ear to let him cry it out. He's a wild horse that needs to be broken.
Today, he fought Beethoven's Fifth and the tried and true Hush Little Baby.
Yesterday, he fell victim to Appetite For Destruction's ripping guitar.
The day before, he squelched like a ravenous bird on the breast while I defended his Daddy's worth to my mom on speakerphone.
The well meaners whisper in my ear to let him cry it out. He's a wild horse that needs to be broken.
I remind them, a foal can fend for himself the moment he is born. My boy is defenseless.
And wound free.
And wound free.
Unlike the rest of us who carry our open sores into every relationship and down every twisting road. Our family of origin baggage weighs us down and affects the sturdiness of the walls we build and the severity of the hearts we break.
I question at what point does a parent recklessly decide to project their unmet needs and longings onto the innocent? And at what cost do they gamble? Has their lack been restored by abandoning or abusing as well?
I question at what point does a parent recklessly decide to project their unmet needs and longings onto the innocent? And at what cost do they gamble? Has their lack been restored by abandoning or abusing as well?
I cry out.
Let those around me twist in fury and writhe with shame if they second guess my merit as a mother or the caliber of my choices. The curtain will close and your loud words will fall on deaf ears.
I hear his whimper even in the silence and vow that healing begins. This is my family and my chance. The boundary lines once etched in sand are now drawn in permanent marker.
And I scream, "not this child."
Let those around me twist in fury and writhe with shame if they second guess my merit as a mother or the caliber of my choices. The curtain will close and your loud words will fall on deaf ears.
He's succumbed to slumber at last, next to my heart, with hopefully a sound reassurance of his security in my love.
I whisper.
I whisper.
Friday, April 19, 2013
No More Apologies
"And my God will meet all your needs according to the riches of his glory in Christ Jesus." Philippians 4:19
Dear precious son of mine,
I write this to you from my knees.
You left the Lord and His angels six weeks ago.
And while I am blessed beyond measure to have you, I am so sorry your peaceful existence has ceased.
I'm sorry you have come into a suffering world where hate and violence reign supreme. Where members of the human race disregard the true miracle of human life and take it without a regretful glance or mournful thought.
I'm sorry your chin quivers when you cry.
I'm sorry your fists clench in pain with gas from my Tabasco Sauce addiction.
I'm sorry I don't get to you before you call out for me. Or when I have to put you down. Or when I can't soothe you with my words.
I'm sorry I yell at your Daddy because his world has not changed as much as mine.
I'm sorry I tell you to stop when you are just doing what you know how to do.
I'm sorry.
Your Mama is flesh. And fails often.
I love you and I'm doing the best I can.
Dear precious son of mine,
I write this to you from my knees.
You left the Lord and His angels six weeks ago.
And while I am blessed beyond measure to have you, I am so sorry your peaceful existence has ceased.
I'm sorry you have come into a suffering world where hate and violence reign supreme. Where members of the human race disregard the true miracle of human life and take it without a regretful glance or mournful thought.
I'm sorry your chin quivers when you cry.
I'm sorry your fists clench in pain with gas from my Tabasco Sauce addiction.
I'm sorry I don't get to you before you call out for me. Or when I have to put you down. Or when I can't soothe you with my words.
I'm sorry I yell at your Daddy because his world has not changed as much as mine.
I'm sorry I tell you to stop when you are just doing what you know how to do.
I'm sorry.
Your Mama is flesh. And fails often.
I love you and I'm doing the best I can.
Monday, April 8, 2013
One Month
In diapers, in spit ups, in sleepless nights...
In gas pain, in swadddles, in loss of my hands.
In feedings, in sucklings, in why are you crying?
How do you measure a month?
In pee pee, in poo poo, in loads of laundry?
In cold food, in pacing, in bouncing on my knee.
In long hugs, and back pats, constant burping and sighing...
How do you measure a month in your life?
I'm not gone. I'm just consumed.
In gas pain, in swadddles, in loss of my hands.
In feedings, in sucklings, in why are you crying?
How do you measure a month?
In pee pee, in poo poo, in loads of laundry?
In cold food, in pacing, in bouncing on my knee.
In long hugs, and back pats, constant burping and sighing...
How do you measure a month in your life?
I'm not gone. I'm just consumed.
Thursday, March 21, 2013
And Then There Were Three
"For you make me glad by your deeds, Lord; I sing for joy at what your hands have done." Psalm 92:4
My son is two weeks old today. My son.
Just those words are miraculous.
But the real flesh, blood, and soul are beyond my comprehension. I heard the advice. I listened to the experienced. But never in my wildest dreams did I believe something so natural that occurs so often could be seen as surreal.
It's all true... You don't know until it happens to you. And when it does, nothing else matters more than that being in which God created specifically for you.
These last 14 days have disappeared into a nursing, sleep deprived, dirty diaper haze and I remind myself to stare into his eyes, to relish his skin on my skin, and to not take these moments for granted because they are truly ONCE in our lifetime. So I will continue to weep tears onto his smooth cheeks and vow not to miss this.
I thought I'd share my birth story. I thought wrong.
Despite the fact, I would like to and have forgotten a good portion of the 50+ hours of labor I spent on my hands and knees moaning through painful uterine contractions that never seemed to progress or digress, the actual birth is as vivid and glorious as one would hope. And it's uniquely mine to keep.
13 songs...
57 minutes and 31 seconds
That's how long it took from my bag of waters breaking to his sweet shoulders slipping into this world and straight into my loving arms. And I've got his arrival set list committed to memory.
Natural Mystic 3:26 Bob Marley
Bad Luck Blue Eyes Goodbye 6:28 The Black Crowes
Joey 4:11 Concrete Blonde
Warehouse 7:06 Dave Matthews Band
Welcome To The Boomtown 5:32 David & David
Roadhouse Blues 4:04 The Doors
Honeysuckle Blue 4:51 Drivin 'N' Cryin
Mona Lisas and Mad Hatters 5:01 Elton John
Me And The Devil Blues 2:56 Eric Clapton
You Turn Me On I'm A Radio 2:40 Joni Mitchell
Somebody's Baby 4:03 Jackson Browne
Dog Days Are Over 4:13 Florence + The Machine
Psycho Killer 4:20 Talking Heads
Welcome my little Rock-N-Roller and into the soundtrack of my life.
**Bonus Nursing Tracks
Mr. Brownstone
Do You Wanna Touch Me?
Cowboy
Pow Pow
Everyone Deserves Music
My son is two weeks old today. My son.
Just those words are miraculous.
But the real flesh, blood, and soul are beyond my comprehension. I heard the advice. I listened to the experienced. But never in my wildest dreams did I believe something so natural that occurs so often could be seen as surreal.
It's all true... You don't know until it happens to you. And when it does, nothing else matters more than that being in which God created specifically for you.
These last 14 days have disappeared into a nursing, sleep deprived, dirty diaper haze and I remind myself to stare into his eyes, to relish his skin on my skin, and to not take these moments for granted because they are truly ONCE in our lifetime. So I will continue to weep tears onto his smooth cheeks and vow not to miss this.
I thought I'd share my birth story. I thought wrong.
Despite the fact, I would like to and have forgotten a good portion of the 50+ hours of labor I spent on my hands and knees moaning through painful uterine contractions that never seemed to progress or digress, the actual birth is as vivid and glorious as one would hope. And it's uniquely mine to keep.
13 songs...
57 minutes and 31 seconds
That's how long it took from my bag of waters breaking to his sweet shoulders slipping into this world and straight into my loving arms. And I've got his arrival set list committed to memory.
Natural Mystic 3:26 Bob Marley
Bad Luck Blue Eyes Goodbye 6:28 The Black Crowes
Joey 4:11 Concrete Blonde
Warehouse 7:06 Dave Matthews Band
Welcome To The Boomtown 5:32 David & David
Roadhouse Blues 4:04 The Doors
Honeysuckle Blue 4:51 Drivin 'N' Cryin
Mona Lisas and Mad Hatters 5:01 Elton John
Me And The Devil Blues 2:56 Eric Clapton
You Turn Me On I'm A Radio 2:40 Joni Mitchell
Somebody's Baby 4:03 Jackson Browne
Dog Days Are Over 4:13 Florence + The Machine
Psycho Killer 4:20 Talking Heads
Welcome my little Rock-N-Roller and into the soundtrack of my life.
**Bonus Nursing Tracks
Mr. Brownstone
Do You Wanna Touch Me?
Cowboy
Pow Pow
Everyone Deserves Music
Friday, March 1, 2013
Non Focused Awareness
"Wait for the Lord; be strong, and let your heart take courage; wait for the Lord!" Psalm 27:14
The day circled in red and mediated on for the last nine months has come to pass. An hourglass whose sand falls at a steady cadence on an even surface is as elusive as the Dodo Bird in his nest. Time ticks away these subsequent calendar days and my moments of absentmindedness kick into high gear. Gears that have stalled or decided that neutral was the optimal position. I've reached an anterior position, as the bug's head presses further into my pelvis making my bathroom breaks more noticeable. Speaking of notice, wasn't February 27th explicitly spelled out as the cut and dry eviction date? Who didn't get the memo? Are God and Baby taking a certain amount of delight in their closed door conversation that keeps me on the fringe? The brink of insanity? I'm ready to kick in the lock and seize my property. You can have my breasts, I want my freedom of movement. I want my uterus back. A uterus that freezes up every time my cell phone pings another question from inquiring minds. No, I haven't had my baby yet. No, I haven't as you so delicately asked, popped out my kid. How's about I pop a mother's little helper and sleep until labor? Oh sleep....A bygone era. A time of restful repose. A quiet world where pineapple was a fruit, not a cervix softening means to an end that I blend with ice and chug with chilling anticipation. Is anticipation making me late? It's certainly keeping me waiting.
He said come unto me and find rest for my soul for His yoke is easy and His burden is light. But my climbing weight is a burden. And despite my better self, I ask will he/she be worth the wait?
Every day you get one more yard
You take it on faith, you take it to the heart
The waiting is the hardest part....
The day circled in red and mediated on for the last nine months has come to pass. An hourglass whose sand falls at a steady cadence on an even surface is as elusive as the Dodo Bird in his nest. Time ticks away these subsequent calendar days and my moments of absentmindedness kick into high gear. Gears that have stalled or decided that neutral was the optimal position. I've reached an anterior position, as the bug's head presses further into my pelvis making my bathroom breaks more noticeable. Speaking of notice, wasn't February 27th explicitly spelled out as the cut and dry eviction date? Who didn't get the memo? Are God and Baby taking a certain amount of delight in their closed door conversation that keeps me on the fringe? The brink of insanity? I'm ready to kick in the lock and seize my property. You can have my breasts, I want my freedom of movement. I want my uterus back. A uterus that freezes up every time my cell phone pings another question from inquiring minds. No, I haven't had my baby yet. No, I haven't as you so delicately asked, popped out my kid. How's about I pop a mother's little helper and sleep until labor? Oh sleep....A bygone era. A time of restful repose. A quiet world where pineapple was a fruit, not a cervix softening means to an end that I blend with ice and chug with chilling anticipation. Is anticipation making me late? It's certainly keeping me waiting.
He said come unto me and find rest for my soul for His yoke is easy and His burden is light. But my climbing weight is a burden. And despite my better self, I ask will he/she be worth the wait?
Every day you get one more yard
You take it on faith, you take it to the heart
The waiting is the hardest part....
T. Petty
Why WIlmington?
Since we left grand ole Gotham, I've answered this question in a variety of ways, citing a number of reasons.
This article in Garden and Gun counts them out without the defenses...>>
This article in Garden and Gun counts them out without the defenses...>>
Sunday, February 24, 2013
My Brothers In Christ
They said they wouldn't, now they are, and just like that...they're all sold out.
Looks like I'll be scalping with a baby on board.
Looks like I'll be scalping with a baby on board.
Thursday, February 21, 2013
This Is Your Brain on Pregnancy
"Behold, children are a heritage from the Lord, the fruit of the womb a reward." Psalm 127:3
I'm drawn to the color orange these days. I think it has to do with my longing for the infamous cup of Mud Coffee Coco sludge with steamed half and half I'd treat myself to on a frosty morning on 9th Street with the sun filtering through the hope springs eternal Ginkgos.
That's one answer.
The other could be, the accent wall in what will become baby's room is orange. And I find myself staring at it, slack jaw with anticipation for the moment again when I can savor a hot, dark cup of Joe that doesn't make my heart race with jitters and turn my already burning chest on cinder blocks into an active environment of pure lava.
Until then, I will sip this faint brown water, bang on my computer keys, and sing in a shrill voice "Those Were The Days, when all it took was ground beans to makes me smile and some good, primitive, sex to get my uterus to contract.
Now, I just focus on it.
And like I watched pot. It doesn't boil.
Here's what has been the biggest surprise of the powerful life force growing inside me...
In my last month, I have managed to shrug off celebrities and posers Barak Obama and Tiger Woods engaging in a game of golf on an exclusive course on yet another presidential vacation despite press corps' aggravation.
And this woman who painted Zeta Reticule aliens on my college apartment walls, who is passionate about the moon and stars and drinks from a Roswell mug, just simply uttered the words Asteroid and Meteor as if I was saying hello and goodbye.
Cop killers, lovers quarrels, decomposing bodies in hotel's drinking water cisterns, liberals hypocrisy of turning the other cheek to their savior's love for killer drones all have become muted background noise in a once deafening world.
And as the lost and rather loudworld has continued to spin around me, the more I've gone inward.
The more I've resided inside, the more peaceful I've become.
And in this relative peace, I've realized that while my pelvis seizes up and my middleweight MMA Fighter clobbers and kicks my rib cage well after the bell has rung...in the words of Metallica great James Hatfield...because of this new being...NOTHING ELSE MATTERS.
"Trust I seek and I find in you
I'm drawn to the color orange these days. I think it has to do with my longing for the infamous cup of Mud Coffee Coco sludge with steamed half and half I'd treat myself to on a frosty morning on 9th Street with the sun filtering through the hope springs eternal Ginkgos.
That's one answer.
The other could be, the accent wall in what will become baby's room is orange. And I find myself staring at it, slack jaw with anticipation for the moment again when I can savor a hot, dark cup of Joe that doesn't make my heart race with jitters and turn my already burning chest on cinder blocks into an active environment of pure lava.
Until then, I will sip this faint brown water, bang on my computer keys, and sing in a shrill voice "Those Were The Days, when all it took was ground beans to makes me smile and some good, primitive, sex to get my uterus to contract.
Now, I just focus on it.
And like I watched pot. It doesn't boil.
Here's what has been the biggest surprise of the powerful life force growing inside me...
In my last month, I have managed to shrug off celebrities and posers Barak Obama and Tiger Woods engaging in a game of golf on an exclusive course on yet another presidential vacation despite press corps' aggravation.
And this woman who painted Zeta Reticule aliens on my college apartment walls, who is passionate about the moon and stars and drinks from a Roswell mug, just simply uttered the words Asteroid and Meteor as if I was saying hello and goodbye.
Cop killers, lovers quarrels, decomposing bodies in hotel's drinking water cisterns, liberals hypocrisy of turning the other cheek to their savior's love for killer drones all have become muted background noise in a once deafening world.
And as the lost and rather loudworld has continued to spin around me, the more I've gone inward.
The more I've resided inside, the more peaceful I've become.
And in this relative peace, I've realized that while my pelvis seizes up and my middleweight MMA Fighter clobbers and kicks my rib cage well after the bell has rung...in the words of Metallica great James Hatfield...because of this new being...NOTHING ELSE MATTERS.
"Trust I seek and I find in you
Every day for us something new
Open mind for a different view
And nothing else matters..."
Open mind for a different view
And nothing else matters..."
Tuesday, February 12, 2013
A Taste of Dixie Dandy
"Remain in me, as I also remain in you. No branch can bear fruit by itself; it must remain in the vine. Neither can you bear fruit unless you remain in me." John 15:4
And just like that, all became quiet and quaint on our southern front.
It's been six months since we left the northeast and two wicked storms later, we seem to have been warmly embraced by our town as my tap root grows a green shoot and looks for water and sturdy soil.
In the last rather social week, we've wept on our knees with other believers in the parlor of a Pre-Civil War Antebellum home, all claiming that nothing but the blood of Jesus is our redeeming salvation.
Discussed with a handful of couples dwelling in the land of breeders that corporal punishment is alive and well and exactly what's missing in the world of entitled Godless ones...
Sipped scotch (club soda) on the porch of one of the South's oldest private clubs with two other Manhattanite transplants. As the unseasonably warm sun sunk over the cobblestones and into the ripples of the Cape Fear River, we clinked our glasses in an unspoken agreement that we were all glad to have left the madness behind.
Shared heaping bowls of greasy Pad Thai with other expectant parents, while comparing gun and ammo ownership, appreciation, and the depleting stock of local artillery shops who just can't keep up with young family's recent demands.
And then ultimately, along with our unborn baby, we were showered with the generous love and hospitality of the residents of our "Old Money" street where a lifetime member of Junior League and Garden club presented us a big yellow bow clad heirloom rocking chair, which belonged to her recently passed son, kissed my mouth, and said I'll be your local Grandma.
I choked back my homemade pimento cheese and smoked pork rib roll, looked at my husband, and said..."Could we may finally be home?"
And just like that, all became quiet and quaint on our southern front.
It's been six months since we left the northeast and two wicked storms later, we seem to have been warmly embraced by our town as my tap root grows a green shoot and looks for water and sturdy soil.
In the last rather social week, we've wept on our knees with other believers in the parlor of a Pre-Civil War Antebellum home, all claiming that nothing but the blood of Jesus is our redeeming salvation.
Discussed with a handful of couples dwelling in the land of breeders that corporal punishment is alive and well and exactly what's missing in the world of entitled Godless ones...
Sipped scotch (club soda) on the porch of one of the South's oldest private clubs with two other Manhattanite transplants. As the unseasonably warm sun sunk over the cobblestones and into the ripples of the Cape Fear River, we clinked our glasses in an unspoken agreement that we were all glad to have left the madness behind.
Shared heaping bowls of greasy Pad Thai with other expectant parents, while comparing gun and ammo ownership, appreciation, and the depleting stock of local artillery shops who just can't keep up with young family's recent demands.
And then ultimately, along with our unborn baby, we were showered with the generous love and hospitality of the residents of our "Old Money" street where a lifetime member of Junior League and Garden club presented us a big yellow bow clad heirloom rocking chair, which belonged to her recently passed son, kissed my mouth, and said I'll be your local Grandma.
I choked back my homemade pimento cheese and smoked pork rib roll, looked at my husband, and said..."Could we may finally be home?"
Thursday, February 7, 2013
It Helps and Hurts the Anticipation
"People talk about how painful contractions are because they're so strong. But what we want woman to know is that the strength of that contraction is the strength of their own bodies. They are as strong as the contraction is. And so they are able to manage it."
Tuesday, February 5, 2013
Thursday, January 31, 2013
My Man, My Muscle
"In this same way, husbands ought to love their wives as their own bodies. He who loves his wife loves himself. After all, no one ever hated their own body, but they feed and care for their body, just as Christ does the church." Ephesians 5:28-29
I've been threatening to write about my husband for quite some time.
It has been six months since he rallied the troops ( a puny green wife and a perpetually stoned superintendent) to move our belongings down the sticky marble steps of our walk up tenement and into the back of a disturbingly Manhattan priced moving truck.
Since the 1200 miles and through an equal amount of vomiting episodes, he has worked tirelessly in scrubbing, moving, hanging, yanking, designing, clipping, painting, and constructing to make our house a home. He's fought the roaches and won, worn out the stairs to the attic, and remained steadfast in answering my daily question of what's for dinner?
Besides attending every appointment, he has soldiered up and smiled when I exclaimed yes to natural childbirth and signed my rights away to most unnecessary medical interventions, knowing full well he married an iconoclast.
He's dutifully engaged in a nine week class, agreed with me in marveling at the miracles of the uterus and breast, and repeatedly told me (his big mama) that my bulging belly and rippling thighs are beautiful and we should take pictures.
He has shouldered the hormone surges, name calling, and blubbering F bomb spells that rear their head at four in the morning. He has rubbed my back and headed into the guest room night after night to give me and my ampleness some space.
He has encouraged me to wear my uniform of XL turquoise sweats from morning to night, jumped at the chance to use his God given semen to "soften my cervix" and waited patiently while this baby hippo hoisted and willed myself up onto the bed and into the mood.
But last night his devotion as a partner and soon to be father took on a new level when he propped me up on pillows, regulated my breathing, greased up his hands, and administered the perineum massage.
If you don't know....google it.
Now, is that true love?
Thank you Baby! I couldn't and wouldn't do it without you.
"Now ladies if you got a man and he treat you real good
Ain't you gonna flex every chance that you get?
Mary J. Blige
Ain't you gonna flex every chance that you get?
Mary J. Blige
I've been threatening to write about my husband for quite some time.
It has been six months since he rallied the troops ( a puny green wife and a perpetually stoned superintendent) to move our belongings down the sticky marble steps of our walk up tenement and into the back of a disturbingly Manhattan priced moving truck.
Since the 1200 miles and through an equal amount of vomiting episodes, he has worked tirelessly in scrubbing, moving, hanging, yanking, designing, clipping, painting, and constructing to make our house a home. He's fought the roaches and won, worn out the stairs to the attic, and remained steadfast in answering my daily question of what's for dinner?
Besides attending every appointment, he has soldiered up and smiled when I exclaimed yes to natural childbirth and signed my rights away to most unnecessary medical interventions, knowing full well he married an iconoclast.
He's dutifully engaged in a nine week class, agreed with me in marveling at the miracles of the uterus and breast, and repeatedly told me (his big mama) that my bulging belly and rippling thighs are beautiful and we should take pictures.
He has shouldered the hormone surges, name calling, and blubbering F bomb spells that rear their head at four in the morning. He has rubbed my back and headed into the guest room night after night to give me and my ampleness some space.
He has encouraged me to wear my uniform of XL turquoise sweats from morning to night, jumped at the chance to use his God given semen to "soften my cervix" and waited patiently while this baby hippo hoisted and willed myself up onto the bed and into the mood.
But last night his devotion as a partner and soon to be father took on a new level when he propped me up on pillows, regulated my breathing, greased up his hands, and administered the perineum massage.
If you don't know....google it.
Now, is that true love?
Thank you Baby! I couldn't and wouldn't do it without you.
Wednesday, January 30, 2013
BILL COSBY HAS DONE IT AGAIN.
His latest...
"They're standing on the corner and they can't speak English.
I can't even talk the way these people talk:
Why you ain't,
Where you is,
What he drive,
Where he stay,
Where he work,
Who you be...
And I blamed the kid until I heard the mother talk.
And then I heard the father talk.
Everybody knows it's important to speak English except these knuckleheads. You can't be a doctor with that kind of crap coming out of your mouth.
In fact you will never get any kind of job making a decent living.
People marched and were hit in the face with rocks to get an education, and now we've got these knuckleheads walking around.
The lower economic people are not holding up their end in this deal.
These people are not parenting. They are buying things for kids.
$500 sneakers for what?
And they won't spend $200 for Hooked on Phonics.
I am talking about these people who cry when their son is standing there in an orange suit.
Where were you when he was 2?
Where were you when he was 12?
Where were you when he was 18 and how come you didn't know that he had a pistol?
And where is the father? Or who is his father?
People putting their clothes on backward:
Isn't that a sign of something gone wrong?
People with their hats on backward, pants down around the crack, isn't that a sign of something?
Isn't it a sign of something when she has her dress all the way up and got all type of needles [piercing] going through her body?
What part of Africa did this come from??
We are not Africans. Those people are not Africans; they don't know a thing about Africa .....
I say this all of the time. It would be like white people saying they are European-American. That is totally stupid.
I was born here, and so were my parents and grand parents and, very likely my great grandparents. I don't have any connection to Africa, no more than white Americans have to Germany , Scotland , England , Ireland , or the Netherlands . The same applies to 99 percent of all the black Americans as regards to Africa . So stop, already! ! !
With names like Shaniqua, Taliqua and Mohammed and all of that crap ......... And all of them are in jail.
Brown or black versus the Board of Education is no longer the white person's problem.
We have got to take the neighborhood back.
People used to be ashamed. Today a woman has eight children with eight different 'husbands' -- or men or whatever you call them now.
We have millionaire football players who cannot read.
We have million-dollar basketball players who can't write two paragraphs. We, as black folks have to do a better job.
Someone working at Wal-Mart with seven kids, you are hurting us.
We have to start holding each other to a higher standard..
We cannot blame the white people any longer."
"They're standing on the corner and they can't speak English.
I can't even talk the way these people talk:
Why you ain't,
Where you is,
What he drive,
Where he stay,
Where he work,
Who you be...
And I blamed the kid until I heard the mother talk.
And then I heard the father talk.
Everybody knows it's important to speak English except these knuckleheads. You can't be a doctor with that kind of crap coming out of your mouth.
In fact you will never get any kind of job making a decent living.
People marched and were hit in the face with rocks to get an education, and now we've got these knuckleheads walking around.
The lower economic people are not holding up their end in this deal.
These people are not parenting. They are buying things for kids.
$500 sneakers for what?
And they won't spend $200 for Hooked on Phonics.
I am talking about these people who cry when their son is standing there in an orange suit.
Where were you when he was 2?
Where were you when he was 12?
Where were you when he was 18 and how come you didn't know that he had a pistol?
And where is the father? Or who is his father?
People putting their clothes on backward:
Isn't that a sign of something gone wrong?
People with their hats on backward, pants down around the crack, isn't that a sign of something?
Isn't it a sign of something when she has her dress all the way up and got all type of needles [piercing] going through her body?
What part of Africa did this come from??
We are not Africans. Those people are not Africans; they don't know a thing about Africa .....
I say this all of the time. It would be like white people saying they are European-American. That is totally stupid.
I was born here, and so were my parents and grand parents and, very likely my great grandparents. I don't have any connection to Africa, no more than white Americans have to Germany , Scotland , England , Ireland , or the Netherlands . The same applies to 99 percent of all the black Americans as regards to Africa . So stop, already! ! !
With names like Shaniqua, Taliqua and Mohammed and all of that crap ......... And all of them are in jail.
Brown or black versus the Board of Education is no longer the white person's problem.
We have got to take the neighborhood back.
People used to be ashamed. Today a woman has eight children with eight different 'husbands' -- or men or whatever you call them now.
We have millionaire football players who cannot read.
We have million-dollar basketball players who can't write two paragraphs. We, as black folks have to do a better job.
Someone working at Wal-Mart with seven kids, you are hurting us.
We have to start holding each other to a higher standard..
We cannot blame the white people any longer."
Dr. William Henry 'Bill' Cosby, Jr.
Today's Times
"Men have been taught that the highest virtue is not to achieve, but to give. Yet one cannot give that which has not been created. Creation comes before distribution - or there will be nothing to distribute. The need of the creator comes before the need of any possible beneficiary. Yet we are taught to admire the second-hander who dispenses gifts he has not produced above the man who made the gifts possible. We praise an act of charity. We shrug at an act of achievement."
Ayn Rand
1943
A small excerpt of genius from The Fountainhead.
And so glad I took the time.
Monday, January 21, 2013
Content of Character
"Nothing in the world is more dangerous than sincere ignorance and conscientious stupidity.” MLK
Four years ago today I boarded a half full flight to New York City to fulfill a dream I had. In those short hours spread out in coach, I jotted down the first entry to this blog on that momentous day. It has since tracked my progress and measured my growth by actions and deed's in accordance with God's and often times my will. Sprinkled with some failures and trimmed with my own triumphs, I can see what God has changed in me and still how far I have to go.
Four years ago today, President Barak Obama took the high office as our Commander in Chief and President of the United States. I wrote about my hopes for him and what fruit he might bear. And through his term, on these virtual pages, I have candidly and factually documented his works for the American people and his self serving agenda.
Today, the 47 percent (that's right) of approving sheep will coral themselves into our nation's capital and in front of their boob tubes to once again glorify the most liberal (not to be confused with progressive) leader we have ever encountered and forget the blinding fact that we are more divided as equals than ever. While they wave their flags of hope and gaze blank eyed at their Messiah, the fact he has added six trillion dollars to our national debt as we wallow in (his words) the worst recession since the great depression isn't even a consideration.
Poverty and unemployment have risen exponentially... He has disregarded the Constitution and deemed it a mere annoyance, in a selfish decision to issue 23 executive orders in the pursuit of tighter gun control. This latest assault attacks our individual rights and represents blatant defiance of our of checks and balances.
Furthermore, EVERY SINGLE ONE OF US is taking home less from our earned paycheck. And in an unfounded, unheard of non-action, He hasn't even proposed a budget in his entire presidency.
Can we all BAHHH like sheep together?
And here's the real rub for those who think it is prolific poetic justice that this far left, half black president is sworn in on Dr. Martin Luther King Day.
Four years ago today I boarded a half full flight to New York City to fulfill a dream I had. In those short hours spread out in coach, I jotted down the first entry to this blog on that momentous day. It has since tracked my progress and measured my growth by actions and deed's in accordance with God's and often times my will. Sprinkled with some failures and trimmed with my own triumphs, I can see what God has changed in me and still how far I have to go.
Four years ago today, President Barak Obama took the high office as our Commander in Chief and President of the United States. I wrote about my hopes for him and what fruit he might bear. And through his term, on these virtual pages, I have candidly and factually documented his works for the American people and his self serving agenda.
Today, the 47 percent (that's right) of approving sheep will coral themselves into our nation's capital and in front of their boob tubes to once again glorify the most liberal (not to be confused with progressive) leader we have ever encountered and forget the blinding fact that we are more divided as equals than ever. While they wave their flags of hope and gaze blank eyed at their Messiah, the fact he has added six trillion dollars to our national debt as we wallow in (his words) the worst recession since the great depression isn't even a consideration.
Poverty and unemployment have risen exponentially... He has disregarded the Constitution and deemed it a mere annoyance, in a selfish decision to issue 23 executive orders in the pursuit of tighter gun control. This latest assault attacks our individual rights and represents blatant defiance of our of checks and balances.
Furthermore, EVERY SINGLE ONE OF US is taking home less from our earned paycheck. And in an unfounded, unheard of non-action, He hasn't even proposed a budget in his entire presidency.
Can we all BAHHH like sheep together?
And here's the real rub for those who think it is prolific poetic justice that this far left, half black president is sworn in on Dr. Martin Luther King Day.
MLK was conservative and is weeping at where we are as a people.
The majority of his message in his charismatic civil rights movement was that of the institution of church and religion. His core beliefs, like overwhelming power and necessity of faith-based association and self-government based on truth and moral law, are profoundly conservative. The absolute opposite of this president!!
For Martin Luther King, individual freedom depended upon civic responsibility and content of character. Not giving privileges or handouts to special interest groups or minority races.
For Martin Luther King, individual freedom depended upon civic responsibility and content of character. Not giving privileges or handouts to special interest groups or minority races.
Do you know what I think is slavery, living off the government and not your own will.
Have we really come so far?
King aimed to unite a divided America strictly based on the goals of our Founding Fathers, not to change fundamentally unjust public policies to favor groups (the non-wealthy or the non-white).
Now, how has our situation improved?
King aimed to unite a divided America strictly based on the goals of our Founding Fathers, not to change fundamentally unjust public policies to favor groups (the non-wealthy or the non-white).
King led with love, not racial hatred. Obama incites racial division based on haves and have nots.
"His Dream" echoes that of the Founders: "all men are created equal and endowed by their creator with certain inalienable rights that among them are life, liberty and the pursuit of happiness."
This president wants to take points away from those who ran harder and faster.
Wednesday, January 16, 2013
His Dictatorship
At the end of a painful first term, he exercises executive order once again. And state officials say fuck you.
I SO DISLIKE THIS MAN...>>
I SO DISLIKE THIS MAN...>>
Friday, January 11, 2013
Wise Guy With Wisdom
"Do not be conformed to this world, but be transformed by the renewal of your mind, that by testing you may discern what is the will of God, what is good and acceptable and perfect." Romans 12:12
A recent visit from one of our favorite couples, a Brooklyn born Italian and Queens bred Yugoslavian got me thinking about New York and its standout uniqueness from the rest of the world. They had driven the Eastern seaboard on a quick snow bird escape and landed on our humble doorstep with the sheer wonderful intensity that can only come from their urban abode. With a familiar vowel pattern and Burrough specific accent she simply said, "It's so dauk everywhere else, I guess we awrrr just so spoiled in New Yawk."
Spoiled. What a funny way of describing the lack of light pollution and street lamps in other big towns and small cities scattered beneath their Empire State. "I mean whaut do people do to entertain themselves heeeya, rub two sticks togetter...We awrr spoiled."
A sense of sadness set in as we stood there hugging on our rather dark wooded lot. A knowing that if you aren't a part of it, you're missing it. I've experienced the dizzying elation of complete captivation NY handed me. And these days, I feel so far removed from all things intoxicating. Yet the more we talked, the narrower the focus of thought became evident and an image of my true self appeared in my forefront as J.R.R Tolkiens words washed over me and cleansed my clouded thoughts.
~All that is gold does not glitter, not all those who wander are lost.~
I've known different. I've tread other paths. I have thrived in a fly speck in Southern Indiana, dwelt in luxury in a Caribbean seaside villa, survived in a rat infested tool shed, shown grace on a cold concrete floor of an African coffee plantation, grew too fast in an inner city, chased a dream at the epicenter of the world, and am now growing a family in a small coastal town.
Limited scope is a cup of poison I have refused to drink, instead choosing to get drunk on the growing pains and pleasures of expanding my world's horizon. This has been right for me.
Spoiled? Just Blessed.
A recent visit from one of our favorite couples, a Brooklyn born Italian and Queens bred Yugoslavian got me thinking about New York and its standout uniqueness from the rest of the world. They had driven the Eastern seaboard on a quick snow bird escape and landed on our humble doorstep with the sheer wonderful intensity that can only come from their urban abode. With a familiar vowel pattern and Burrough specific accent she simply said, "It's so dauk everywhere else, I guess we awrrr just so spoiled in New Yawk."
Spoiled. What a funny way of describing the lack of light pollution and street lamps in other big towns and small cities scattered beneath their Empire State. "I mean whaut do people do to entertain themselves heeeya, rub two sticks togetter...We awrr spoiled."
A sense of sadness set in as we stood there hugging on our rather dark wooded lot. A knowing that if you aren't a part of it, you're missing it. I've experienced the dizzying elation of complete captivation NY handed me. And these days, I feel so far removed from all things intoxicating. Yet the more we talked, the narrower the focus of thought became evident and an image of my true self appeared in my forefront as J.R.R Tolkiens words washed over me and cleansed my clouded thoughts.
~All that is gold does not glitter, not all those who wander are lost.~
I've known different. I've tread other paths. I have thrived in a fly speck in Southern Indiana, dwelt in luxury in a Caribbean seaside villa, survived in a rat infested tool shed, shown grace on a cold concrete floor of an African coffee plantation, grew too fast in an inner city, chased a dream at the epicenter of the world, and am now growing a family in a small coastal town.
Limited scope is a cup of poison I have refused to drink, instead choosing to get drunk on the growing pains and pleasures of expanding my world's horizon. This has been right for me.
Spoiled? Just Blessed.
Sunday, January 6, 2013
Searching My Heart And Testing My Mind
I stare at this blinking cursor everyday, willing the words to unveil themselves in my grand purpose and meaning in this life. The vocabulary doesn't materialize. The inspiration fails to surface. I blame it on the lack of visual stimulus and pine tree blinders inhibiting me from waxing poetically about all the freaky people making the beauty in the world. I blame the deliberate protection of my unborn fetus on me swallowing the bitter taste of fierce anger I feel about our political state and my reluctance to spell it out. I question the validity of my opinion, of my blog, and the adverse affect my thoughts, deeds, and words may have on one's I love or those I've yet to reach. I feel a lacking in this behavior. Still, I sit in silence and let the power of a blank screen have more control over me than the good word I know and the good life I live.
And then...
This is what the Lord says:
“Cursed is the one who trusts in man,
who draws strength from mere flesh
and whose heart turns away from the Lord.
That person will be like a bush in the wastelands;
they will not see prosperity when it comes.
They will dwell in the parched places of the desert,
in a salt land where no one lives.
“But blessed is the one who trusts in the Lord,
whose confidence is in him.
They will be like a tree planted by the water
that sends out its roots by the stream.
It does not fear when heat comes;
its leaves are always green.
It has no worries in a year of drought
and never fails to bear fruit.”
The heart is deceitful above all things
and beyond cure.
And then...
This is what the Lord says:
“Cursed is the one who trusts in man,
who draws strength from mere flesh
and whose heart turns away from the Lord.
That person will be like a bush in the wastelands;
they will not see prosperity when it comes.
They will dwell in the parched places of the desert,
in a salt land where no one lives.
“But blessed is the one who trusts in the Lord,
whose confidence is in him.
They will be like a tree planted by the water
that sends out its roots by the stream.
It does not fear when heat comes;
its leaves are always green.
It has no worries in a year of drought
and never fails to bear fruit.”
The heart is deceitful above all things
and beyond cure.
Who can understand it?
Jeremiah 17:5-9
Tuesday, January 1, 2013
My One Word
"And this is love: that we walk in obedience to his commands. As you have heard from the beginning, his command is that you walk in love." 2 John 1:6
OBEDIENCE
What do you hope God will change in you?
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