"It's About the Journey"

A couple of weeks ago I planned a fun family evening out at an orchard festival all-inclusive with a band I really wanted to hear. I'm thinking outdoor music under the stars, fun, festive, everyone happy!

The night was a series of disasters.

As a professional event planner/coordinator extraordinaire, I felt badly that my sensational plans flopped miserably, and there was no redeeming the evening.

"I'm sorry," I said head hung in hopelessness [looking quite pitiful I'm betting]. He said, "It's fine. It's not about the destination, it's about the journey."  *fairy dust* *hearts* *butterflies*

Another day goes by and another moment happens where he makes my heart so incredibly happy even in not-so-pleasant circumstances.

Moments

The Moment

Lysa Terkeust (Encouragement for Today)

 

"And yet I will show you the most excellent way. If I speak in the tongues of men or of angels, but do not have love, I am only a resounding gong or a clanging cymbal." (1 Corinthians 12:31 – 13:1 NIV)

Each morning, I have a routine with my husband. It's simple. Nothing profound. Nothing for which we'd ever stop and snap a picture.

It's just a moment.

He asks me to help him pick a tie. He then goes away to fuss with this fixture of his professional job. Soon, he returns with a flipped up collar and a pressed down, knotted tie. He needs gentle hands to fold the collar over. Actually, he doesn't need. He wants gentle hands to fold the collar over.

And I do.

It's just a moment.

But it's a moment when we follow the "excellent way" of love. In the intersection of this moment, we're once again saying to each other: I love you; I love you too.

Now, please don't get an overly idyllic picture in your head of our marriage. Heavens, no. We have plenty of those "growth opportunity" moments too.

But this moment with the tie, it's like a spot of glue ever tightening the bond between us day by day. It's so simple, and yet something I would miss with the deepest ache imaginable if today were the last of the moments.

If today.

Tears slip as I think about this. Dear God, help me think about this. Let me snap a hundred of these moments with the lens of my heart to be stored and appreciated and thought of as the great treasure they are.

Let my mind park there.

Let my heart relish there.

Let my mouth dare to whisper what a joy this is. I love you. I love us. I love this moment each day.

Our relationship isn't perfect; no relationship is perfect. We're two very strong-willed people with vastly different approaches to life. And, oh, how easy it would be to list all the differences. He likes the towel hanging in the same spot. I am more creative. But I stop the list there.

I stop because great love isn't two people finding the perfect match in one another. Great love is two people making the choice to be a match. A decision. To fold his collar and snap the heart lens and find myself grateful to the point of tears. Tears of relishing today are so much better than tears of what was missed.

It's just a moment.

Or is it?

~~~

 

My most profound routine moments in the midst of all that is good in my life with him is in the final kiss before we part ways.

It is that simple kiss ... dare I whisper, "I love you. I miss you already. You are so incredibly important in my life. Did I say I love you?"

It is the moment I want time to stop and the world to slip away.

It is our routine. Day by day.

My bows and congrats to Lysa's post today in admiration, heartfelt appreciation, and mutual respect of the simple moments in life that mean everything.



Not the Sharpest Crayon

Home from school, both my girls were frustrated from their day. We were in the living room with testy conversations bordering on the verge of argument at one more snippy comment.

Then it came out, Brooke brought home her midterm papers. The very reason and purpose behind her negativity.  

I was relieved her grades didn't match her attitude.

Mariah is usually pretty simple and transparent to figure out. Given the amount of food she ate when she got home, I venture it is safe to say that hormones are playing on her day of accumulating frustrations.

Mariah walks out of the room.

"It's a good thing Mariah is so pretty and sweet, because she isn't the sharpest crayon in the box," Brooke proudly puts out there. That would be Brooke's safe attack once she left the room because Mariah had made a few snotty comments to her.

"Brooke, let's remove that stereotype from your sister." She is pretty. She is sweet [Just not real pleasant at the moment.] Mariah is bright, with strengths in other areas than academics. She just has to work harder than natural Brooke. She is not pretty and dumb by any means.

Nice tactic, distracting me from her midterm papers.

From Success to Significance

Finally, my study course From Success to Significance, When the Pursuit of Success Isn't Enough begins tomorrow.

This is my own personal journey of wanting to find significance after having a successful career path, establishing a home, and raising my daughters.

What is my personal significance and purpose?

What do I call "significant" in a world where others call success financial gain. Especially when its always been my mantra, "Everything important to me in life, money cannot buy."  I still mean that.

My quest has already begun being a desire I have wished to pursue. Tomorrow I begin my deep dive with a group of other like-minded people and I'm really looking forward to it.

"Referred to as the Halftime journey, this is a pause in the middle of life to reflect on our first half - who we have become - and to discover what we want at the end of life and to redirect our time, talent, and treasure toward something significant." - From Success to Significance

To have a taste of success from an established career and financial comfort, to have my soul long for something deeper, more lasting.

My self-assessment, Halftime journey has already begun in my desires. To focus and find my niche in life is one of my important pursuits to significance.

You only get one life so you mind as well live it right.

March 23rd An Extraordinary Day

Some mornings become extraordinary and my path is forever changed.

March 23, 2013 I received a friend request on Facebook from a boy I was beyond excited to hear from 20 years ago. The rest ... well, is my 6 month journey and life change later.

It makes me think of countless, ordinary mornings that I woke up to know what my day will presumably look like with basic million choices to make to direct my path.

What about that morning. March 23rd. To wake up to another normal day unaware the universe has lined up in my favor and my life was about to significantly change in all the ways that I've always dreamt about, but had given up on.

A specific day chosen in life that a forever change began.

I don't say forever, because I am guaranteed forever with him, there are no guarantees. I say forever changed because I simply am.

This journey is everything I've always wanted. Every lesson in life I've learned, every what not-to-do has been lavishly poured into this relationship with him. That's the beauty of experience. Wisdom.

I say forever because should I get him forever, what is bound on earth is bound in heaven. That means for eternity. Should I not get him forever ... I've seen, experienced, and believed again on what I had lost hope in. Love.

Today is incredibly important to me and a bzillion thanks go up to God for him.

Hallelujah





Hal·le·lu·jah

  

   1. Praise to God

   2. A shout of joy, praise, or gratitude

   3. An exclamation of praise to the Lord

 

 

It’s not a cry you can hear at night
It’s not somebody who has seen the light
It’s a cold and it’s a broken Hallelujah

 

It's Hallelujah regardless of your circumstances.

 

Hand's down my favorite version of this song ...

 

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=uSc_MXC5hsU

 

 

"Hallelujah"

I've heard there was a secret chord
That David played, and it pleased the Lord
But you don't really care for music, do you?
It goes like this
The fourth, the fifth
The minor fall, the major lift
The baffled king composing Hallelujah

Hallelujah, Hallelujah
Hallelujah, Hallelujah

Your faith was strong but you needed proof
You saw her bathing on the roof
Her beauty in the moonlight overthrew you
She tied you to a kitchen chair
She broke your throne, and she cut your hair
And from your lips she drew the Hallelujah

Hallelujah, Hallelujah
Hallelujah, Hallelujah

Baby I have been here before
I know this room, I've walked this floor
I used to live alone before I knew you.
I've seen your flag on the marble arch
Love is not a victory march
It's a cold and it's a broken Hallelujah

Hallelujah, Hallelujah
Hallelujah, Hallelujah

There was a time when you let me know
What's really going on below
But now you never show it to me, do you?
And remember when I moved in you
The holy dove was moving too
And every breath we drew was Hallelujah

Hallelujah, Hallelujah
Hallelujah, Hallelujah

Maybe there’s a God above
But all I’ve ever learned from love
Was how to shoot at someone who outdrew you
It’s not a cry you can hear at night
It’s not somebody who has seen the light
It’s a cold and it’s a broken Hallelujah

Hallelujah, Hallelujah
Hallelujah, Hallelujah

You say I took the name in vain
I don't even know the name
But if I did, well, really, what's it to you?
There's a blaze of light in every word
It doesn't matter which you heard
The holy or the broken Hallelujah

Hallelujah, Hallelujah
Hallelujah, Hallelujah

I did my best, it wasn't much
I couldn't feel, so I tried to touch
I've told the truth, I didn't come to fool you
And even though it all went wrong
I'll stand before the Lord of Song
With nothing on my tongue but Hallelujah

Hallelujah, Hallelujah
Hallelujah, Hallelujah
Hallelujah, Hallelujah
Hallelujah, Hallelujah
Hallelujah, Hallelujah
Hallelujah, Hallelujah
Hallelujah, Hallelujah
Hallelujah, Hallelujah
Hallelujah

Terms of Endearment

Terms of endearment are the language of love and affection for me.

I have an endless arsenal of terms ready to be lavishly shared on those closest to my heart. For me, it is saying I love you and adore you in other words.

And as much as I love words, I don't use them lightly.

The absence of these terms almost sets the tone that I am not-in-a-good-place. Almost like a temperature gauge when warmth and affection are lacking things feel a bit colder. Formal names are used when my arsenal feels depleted. A chill is in the air.

Love is a verb. It is a choice. I choose to lavishly love those most important to me.

Where your treasure is, there your heart will be also. Where my words are, my heart is.

Sometimes it flows naturally and sometimes it takes a heart push for myself sometimes, because I don't always feel as if I want to cover others in grace. Sometimes I don't have anything nice to say.

Love says I choose to though.

It is like a magical invisible cord that keeps my heart connected.

Sweet Baby Scent

Being 13 is going to be the death of me or perhaps her.

Unlikeable is the term that jumps to my mind quite often. I always say, "I love you" because I always will, no matter what. Loving is easy, liking someone is a totally different game.

I've struggled with this a lot.

It was a weird situation that ended me up in the library with the most perfect book in my hands and perfect timing, God On a Harley. I lost myself in this book one evening and the message hit home in many ways that I needed.

Wanting, needing that same experience again, I asked a librarian if they had any other books from the same author and they did, Heaven in High Gear. I liked the way she wrote in her book with her words and I wanted more.

Much to my surprise, this second book was actually the sequel to God On a Harley even though it didn't say so. *happy sigh*

Heather is with God when she heard a baby cry and found the little bundle in a bed of twigs and leaves. Her instincts and emotions in the words written pulled me into her scene as she picked up this baby with unmistakable femininity knowing the little bundle was a girl. Pulling her in her arms, breathing in her sweet baby scent and holding her close, she kissed her soft blond peach fuzz little head nestled in her arms close to her body feeling her breathe. Aware of her toothless smile and her little pink mouth. Her tiny fingers tangled in her hair. Helpless and perfect.

The scene was a flashback for me as if I could almost feel Brooke in my arms as a baby. Easier days when she was sweet, innocent, lovable and cuddly.

Abandoned, I needed that reminder.  I needed reminded that everyone needs the physical touch of hugs, kisses, affection and love.

I am the one in her world who displays loving affection towards her. If I don't provide it to her, she doesn't get it.

Life happens. Trauma happens. Unlikeable happens.

She is still my baby girl who has just lost her way.

The Threshold to Freedom

I heard an interesting perspective said on Today when a woman was interviewed because she had escaped from a polygamist community against all odds.

Raised in a situation that she believed what was the "right way" something inside her knew something was very off.

Her internal radar stayed consistent with her that things weren't right. Scared, she had to choose to flee from everything that she knew to escape into a world she knew nothing about while she believed she was compromising her own eternal salvation and eternal damnation. Still that choice was better than where she was. 

She touched on being stuck and said, "People look so long at their situation as a dead end, when it is actually the their threshold to freedom."

I couldn't agree more.

Karmageddon

When Brooke was a baby, she was super easy. I could put her down, go about chores, and almost forget about her. Not that I did, but she was always so happy and content.

Then she turned two and I questioned myself on how I could have successfully raised one child painlessly through what some call the terrible twos (obviously it was a matter of who had the strongest will, I thought) to have a second child that became the poster child of the terrible twos.

Brooke made life miserable. For one year I couldn't go to a restaurant, because it wasn't fair to other paying customers. For one year, many times my parents asked me to take my girls and go home, that they'd had enough of her. For one year, I remember pulling the car over to yank Brooke out of a car seat for her back arching, piercing screams because her chocolate milk in her bottle ran out during a 10 minute car ride and she didn't appreciate the confines of a car seat.

Oh yes, I went there! Chocolate milk in a bottle to buy me as much quiet in driving time as possible.

One year. It felt like a lifetime.

Now Brooke is 13 and daily I am reminded of her terrible twos.

I'm building an arsenal of consequences.

The middle school called yesterday, which was my 3rd form of contact in the 3 days of this week, saying that Brooke was in the clinic.

Actually, the phone call came more like, "Hi, this is Chris from the clinic ..." It's hard to sound etiquette appropriate on the phone when aggravation sets in. [Insert frustrated sigh]

Chris said Brooke threw up twice, but when she pulled her student file she saw the note from last year stating unless they "see it" I'm not picking Brooke up.

I know, that's gross. Brooke learned last year that throwing up will get a free pass home. Until I caught on to this game of hers. Saying you threw up isn't the same as the real thing. She wasn't fevered yesterday and I refused to come get her yesterday.

My thought is, if you can walk to the clinic and claim you threw up twice in their bathroom, you really didn't throw up. I want proof and sound effects heard in the office.

My sympathies are gone. Welcome to karmageddon.

Pruning Season

With a high tolerance for a lot of stuff, lately I find myself getting glimpses into others peoples lives that has me racing back to my bubble of a world called home.

Lives everywhere out of control by selfish, narcissistic, control freaks that do daily damage to their families and homes.

I feel like Punxsutawney Phil not wanting to pop my head out of my home until February 2nd, 2014.

Home is a place of refuge and rejuvenation and I feel like I could honestly prune these dead branches out of my life because they simply add nothing and the weight of their branches are so brittle that they could easily break off at the slightest of winds.

Just yesterday, I had a plant that has refused to grow and thrive in my yard and as a girl that doesn't give up on anything with a vein of life in it, I yanked it right out of the ground. I was simply tired of looking at its lifeless branches that refused to look healthy no matter where I planted it, watered it, and tended to it.

So I yanked it out of the ground tossed it in the trash and replaced it with a vibrant autumn mum with pink flowers that are ready to burst open any moment.

My flower bed looks better already.

I feel as if I am brushing the dust off my hands and am ready to face tomorrow. Pruning season.

My Dawn

Since my Mariah was tiny, I have referred to her as "my Mariah."  She is mine. 

Then Brooke came and I refer to them as "my girls" or that way individually. Always claiming possession of them.

Not many people do this and I always catch it when another does the same.

Today on the phone I couldn't help but notice my grandmother does the very same thing with me. She is forever telling me stories about her conversations with others "my Dawn ... this" and "my Dawn ... that" in so many of her conversations.

Claiming possession intended as a most loving endearment.

Sharing with others who is most important in ones life.

Separation Anxiety

True to start of the school year fashion, I end up at the middle school for Brooke at least 2x per week plus phone calls.

It's called separation anxiety.

Oh, the high-maintenanceness of it all (an official new word) and honestly, it's exhausting.

We are in week #3 of the start of the school year and yesterday I stepped up to the security camera, pressed the button to notify the staff to buzz me in, to have the secretary say, "Brooke's mom, please step closer to the camera."  I must have been standing too far away, but it is the "Brooke's mom" that is the embarrassing part. They know me and my little frequent flier all too well.

Today I am back. This will go on another couple of weeks until I bribe, threaten, and refuse, then and only then Brooke will make it through one milestone week at a time without me.

Then, I called my grandmother who I hadn't spoke to for well over a week who was frantically worried when she heard me say, "Hi, Grandma!"

"Are you okay? Where have you been? Were you sick?"  The questions made me feel guiltier than I felt prior to calling. After I assured her I was fine, it's just been a busy week and apologized for not calling sooner, she asked about my girls and I vented my frustrations of Brooke's separation anxiety at the start of every flippin' school year.

My grandmother confesses, "I understand [said in an understanding quiet tone], I feel the same way about you that she does when I don't hear from you. It's because I love you and we have such a good relationship that I need you, too."

One Day Closer

Good news, I am one day closer to getting a job!

No, a job has not come available, but a positive outlook must agree that I am one day closer.

Then I thought ... of all those endless nights, days, weeks, months, years, and decades that turned into my life. I knew then I was always one day closer to falling in love. Just when the shifting happened and I accepted it would never happen, it did.

I made it.

It has been almost 6 months since our paths crossed 20 years later.