I wish we could stop growing up. Well, I don’t mean die, I just mean stop growing up as in older. Wouldn’t it have been awesome to have had a pause button to press at the best parts of our life so we could linger there longer? Wow. And the rules said we only had
healing
The Anchor or the Oar.
When someone reaches out for help,we can be an anchor or an oar,we can weigh them down,or we can help them get to shore. We can be the darknessor a lantern burning bright,we can push them deeper inor lead them with our light. We can hold them downor a ladder we can be,we can leave
The Dark Road.
The girl who writes these words is a happy girl. I want to spread joy, laughter, and hope as much as I can. And be real. Life was not always joy, laughter, or even hopeful for me, and sharing where I was before versus where I am today… now that’s hope! When I was going
The Imperfect Christmas
I wanted everything to be perfect this Christmas. We’d made plans for the 23rd almost a year ago, I sent reminders throughout the year, reminded everybody at Thanksgiving. I was the most excited and hopeful I’d been for the holiday in a few years. Our children were all coming, the blending of which is still
The Untouchable Gift
I read a quote a while back and can’t remember now exactly how it went but the idea of it has stuck with me for weeks. It’s about love and how we can feel it but not touch it. When it rains, we can feel it physically. We can dance in it, feel nourished by
Bloom again.
I want joy after pain,sun after the rain.I want to learn from them, grow from them,understand why they came. Was it to make a stronger me?To make things clearer so that I could see?To learn that I could always survive?To appreciate more just being alive? I may never know, I have to let that go,and
The Suitcase
It’s the first week of January, and as I wake up, it’s still dark outside. I lay in bed thinking how the new year is already a few days old; time is a thief. The house is quiet, and the bed feels so good, but the coffee is calling my name. As I shuffle
Grace is the Thread
You are like a fabric
woven through the years
with threads of joys and triumphs
sewn together with many tears.
The colors don’t always match,
some bright, some dark, some deep,
together though, they blend and hold,
as your memories they keep.
