Dear fellow lovers of Jesus,

Dear fellow lovers of Jesus,

Like many of us, I’m feeling a lot weary.

I, too, have so many thoughts on the current political environment. I’m not at a place where I am going to extend those thoughts gracefully and with mercy. Until then, I choose to be quiet on those things in this forum.

Will you try something with me today? Will you be the hands and feet of Jesus?

Instead of spending time posting/spewing political rhetoric from either side, I have a challenge. Use that time instead to extend a tangible kindness. Think outside of politics ourselves….how could we serve or help another?

Gather coats and blankets for the homeless, it looks like it’s going to get really cold.

Make cookies or brownies for a neighbor, use a box mix, nobody cares.

Do a chore for somebody in your house that you know they don’t enjoy doing.

Write a letter to someone you know might be lonely or struggling.

Send somebody a quote that will lift their spirits.

Just. Do. Something. Kind.

If you can’t muster the energy up to do this or just don’t have the inner resources, pray.

Need an idea of how to help? Send me a message! I promise that extending a kindness will also feed your own soul.

This really applies to everyone. I addressed it to Christians because what I have been observing is not what we are about. It is not what Jesus is about. Jesus was not a politician nor did he give any of us the power to determine who He personally selected. Thinking one has been appointed with this knowledge feels a bit arrogant.

Go be kind. Happy Tuesday!

Happy Halloween 2020

What an odd Halloween it has been.

My daughter had a friend over, so did I. A quiet evening at home…just like many of the others.

I’m sure my adult son is out with friends. I miss him.

I miss pre Covid days and I’m trying hard to extract the value of the Covid era.

I miss my littles and costumes and trick or treating and I miss working with littles.

Thank you to everyone who has shared fabulous pictures on Facebook, they were joy bringers.

I miss seeing my clients and connecting face to face.

I MISS MY PEOPLE. Waaah. I always try and remember not to “at least” people because I feel that diminishes the hurt they’re experiencing. I noticed that I kind of “at least” myself but right now I’m just gonna whine about it. I can be thankful and sad at the same time.

All that said…

I think if there was an emotion to feel today, I’ve felt it. 🤦‍♀️💯 Is it that damn mercury in retrograde or the upcoming election or Covid or my own personal thoughts?

I thought I was managing my stress but my body thought otherwise.

By evening, my busy mind caught up with me and I just felt ick and had a big ole nap.

Note to self…either deal with my feels or they deal with me.

Joy comes in the morning. Gratitude is here tonight….right along w my grumbles.

Debaucle Debate Debaucle Debate

I have recieved lots of feedback as of late in support of my outspokenness on social media regarding current recent world leaders and events. Most of it is a sincere encouragement to keep being transparent and vocal; as well as a few politely worded ‘encouragements’ that I think are probably more likely disguised shushes. Thus, I am certain everyone has waited with bated breath to hear my solid evaluation of last night’s debate.

A bit of background….politics have not interested me much in life. As I grow older, I have begun to seriously examine my own biases. In my field of work, it is evident that there needs to be change (alot of change). If that change is imperative and significant, (it is), then it becomes a part of my life work too. I realize I must pay attention to how things work and what trickles down from leadership into society. I must be educated and interested if I truly wish to promote change (I do). I’m learning, growing; hopefully bettering myself and my world.

I have never, ever, never watched a presidential debate unless it was required for a class. Even then, I tried hard to grasp the summary from friends rather than watch the tortuous event. Last night was the first debate that I was somewhat looking forward to watching; yet I was anxiously anticipating it all day long. I asked of all at home to please just let me watch, and be respectful of differing opinions. Lucky for me, my daughter curled up with me and watched maybe the first fifteen minutes. Then she said she had seen enough and went off to do her thing. (She had baked a special cake for dessert that made a specific declaration to our current president…love her tenacity). My sweet guest was asleep on the couch five minutes in, so I got the peace I had requested. Well…except for watching the debate…I wouldn’t really say that promoted peace within my spirit. I made it until the middle of the last question. At that point, I felt I had learned all I needed to learn from the debate, I meditated on the truth that God has our back no matter what and I headed off to bed.

The true reason I wanted so badly to watch this debate had everything to do with my passions and nothing to do with the incumbents postions. I haven’t watched alot previously. I read endlessly about events yet I avoid the news and especially our current President as much as I humanly can. It’s all icky. As I said, I do my best to stay educated…just not through those modes.

I watched because I have seen endless clips, memes, statements, etc indicating that Mr. Biden is senile at best and has severe dementia at worst. I will advocate to the ends of the earth for those afflicted with dementia and for their families/loved ones. Dementia is no laughing matter and I take great personal offense at jokes at anyone’s expense in this arena. Simply.not.funny.

Since I had not watched many speeches with any of these gentleman, I wanted to assess for myself if I saw signs of dementia in Mr. Biden. I did this as someone who has worked with dementia and Alzheimer’s victims for a hefty season, as well as the daughter of a brave Daddy who fought a valiant battle with Alzheimer’s for 12 years. I did this as a person with a Master’s level education in counseling psychology in addition to years of professional experience. There’s my lens. In the end, if I am not Mr. Biden’s physician or someone he lives with, I only have the lens, not a final answer.

Instead of declaring my meager opinion on the debate, I’m drawn to another direction. Being an empathetic creature, I attempted to put myself in the position of Mr. Biden, President Trump and Moderator Chris. This was a fun little experiment.

Me as Moderator Chris: I am feeling a little intimidated by the President’s constant interruptions and blatant disregard for my role as moderator. I am feeling like he is trying to control the situation; make myself and Mr. Biden appear to be uneducated idiots; therefore he is bullying in the most disrespectful way. Now I am not only frustrated with my lack of ability to manage the debate, I am also feeling invisible because no one is really listening to me. The old tapes start playing and I alternate between being passive, aggresive and invisible…trying to find an assertive, leadership ground. I’m struggling. (this actually feels very close to a recent situation in my life that ended in a loss that left me broken hearted. I feel sad for Moderator Chris…like he is stuck between a rock and a hard place).

Me as President Trump: I am going to win at all costs. I am unable to find a state of homeostasis right now, so instead of focusing on the issues at hand, I am in attack mode. I am going to make Mr. Biden look as if he is incapable of answering and when he tries, I am going to speak louder than he. I am going to get the audience to focus on my greatness. I’m not sure they are focusing on my greatness, so I am going to throw in something the people really love. Football! Yes, that’s it. I saved football…all by my lonesome, I saved football. Oh…they are asking about white supremacy….that’s more than I prepared for. Shit. Stand by. The best I can do is reflect on heated arguments with my teenagers when we aren’t communicating from a healthy place. The goal is to show who is boss, no one gets anywhere. We are listening only to prepare our defense, not to listen. Admittedly, it’s difficult for me to feel too empathetic for one who seems to show no empathy, respect or compassion. Really, truly, difficult…but hey…football.

Me as Mr. Biden: I’m a little concerned because I know what they are saying about me and my cognitive abilities. I will need to work extra hard to ensure that the people hear me, and see that I am intellectually capable of handling the presidency. I am doing quite well. It’s really hard though. If I speak over this ass clown, then I am just as much of an ass clown. If I say nothing, it’s going to be said that I couldn’t process and didn’t know what to say. I am just going to stay as steady as I can. Until I have enough and tell the assclown to just shut up. I know that wasn’t very cooth, so I hope the people understand. I really want them to hear that I am for the people, all the people, independent from political affiliation. Did they hear me? This sucks.

All in all, this state of affairs is sad. I cannot stand the character of our President, he makes me want to vomit in my mouth. He is not someone I am proud to have my children look at as what a good leader is. We discuss what makes a good leader often. They know how I feel. They also are free to research, learn and discuss their thoughts. I am proud when they do, whether they differ or agree with me.

I am not certain about Mr. Biden, though I am certain he is a safer, more stable choice for my vote. I saw no evidence of dementia during this dumb debate. I saw him exercise patience and speak with dignity and respect for the most part (when he was allowed to speak).

Moderator Chris…well; I think he needs to ‘man up’ a bit if he is going to take on these tasks. In all fairness, it was a tough job no matter who was doing it.

Looking forward to the next debates. I wonder if I could sign up to moderate.

LET HOPE TAKE FLIGHT

I hate needles. So much so, that I opted out of epidurals and had natural deliveries with both of my children. Needles mean that a person with medical expertise is going to take over my body. Needles mean I am helpless. Needles mean I am powerless. Needles have meant that my body has betrayed me and I am going to get poked and prodded. Needles have symbolized a lack of control and fear in my past. This is all due to my medical history starting at birth. Although I am 48 years young and quiet understanding that all the pokies in my past have been to help rather than harm me; I still HATE needles.

It’s easy to imagine my sweet momma’s expression when I told her I wanted a tattoo for my birthday this year. She laughed in surprised response and reminded me that I hated needles and probably wouldn’t enjoy a tattoo. I thought this was all the more reason to get one. I wasn’t trying to prove anything to anyone. This tattoo was something I felt a need to do for myself. After all, life begins out of our comfort zones, right?

I had a plethora of ideas and feedback about what I should do. I was all over the board with my options. Then, as most things do, it came to me very clearly. Rather than spend all of this blog explaining what I did not do, I would love to share my experience as well as what I did do and why.

I chose to get a hummingbird with the words, “I’m a love a you.” I chose to have it on the inside of my wrist so that I can look at it often and remember. Here’s the backstory…

My brother Brent passed away in 1987. Every single year, starting then, a hummingbird has appeared to my mom or a member of our family on the week of the anniversary of his death. We have always felt like it was a sign that Brent was okay. It has always happened at the craziest of times and seems to be an isolated event. Even this year, in the home I had been in for only 4 months…I was sitting on my deck in the morning drinking coffee and thinking about how many years Brent had been gone. Right then, a little hummingbird hovered around my head and then to my plants. That is the only time I have seen a hummingbird here…until tonight…but that’s another story.

I looked up hummingbird symbolism and meaning. I found that in Native American cultures, hummingbirds are seen as healers, bringers of love, good luck and joy. In central America, they bring love to the person who spots them. In various cultures, hummingbirds are considered to be messengers from heaven, gently nudging us to move on and release the burden of people or things that can no longer be part of our lives. Lastly, and my favorite was the folklore indicating that a hummingbird is a sign that a loved one who has passed away has successfully made it to the other side and is doing just fine. (LOVE).

Hummingbirds generally symbolize joy, playfulness and adaptability; tireless in their effort to find sweetness and as a reminder to pursue our dreams and not allow obstacles to stop us…regardless of distance. They are whimsical. They are magical. They flit from place to place. They fly so freely. I have been set free from so very much. The hummingbird and I seem synchronous in nature. Everything fits.

Then….”I’m a love a you.” This is something my Daddy and Momma said to each other. My daughter and I were talking in the car. I had decided on a hummingbird yet I felt something was missing. She reminded me of this phrase. That was it. A perfect honor to my parents; they are all about the love. I smile every time my heart hears them say, “I’m a love a you.” If I can love others (starting with my children) as much as they loved each other and their cherished ones, I will have lived my life well.

I had the most fabulous tattoo artist and human being help me through this process. I survived and we had the best conversation the whole time I was getting inked. That is not what I imagined would happen. Masked in the covid area and getting a tattoo can’t keep meaningful human connection away!

I keep trying to decide what it felt like. Not painful really. Maybe uncomfortable and aggravating describe the sensation best for me. It was a phenomenal experience. I am incredibly proud of myself for doing this. Earlier today, when I was chatting with my daughter, she made me pinky promise to her demand that I ‘not chicken out’.

I will look at this tattoo daily and cherish it’s story. Whether only I know it or share it with others; it represents the love that has always embraced me, who I am, and who I have the freedom to be. “I’m a love a you” also is a tangible reminder that not only am I surrounded by love, I love myself.

I can do hard things.

p.s. Tonight, I was standing outside by the moonflowers with my kiddos. Guess who came to visit us but a dancing little hummingbird?

Hope has taken flight.

Lovely Me

I did a thing today… I’m going to write about it before I lose my nerve.

I went to the pool in a black two piece swimsuit. I love two pieces for so many reasons, they are the next best thing to being naked in the water (because that’s illegal in the community pool).

However, I hate my stomach with a vengeance and would never intentionally show it off. Sometimes though, full coverage suits make it look even worse than it is by trying to squish me up in places that need not be squished. Still, I try to find the best full coverage swimsuit I can to hide my body.

I’m so sick of hiding. I’m sick of hiding my thoughts. I’m weary of hiding my opinions. I am tired of shrinking down to appease things that don’t even deserve my appeasement.. I

I fear judgment that people look at me and think I have no business in a two-piece suit. When I stop and think about it, it’s pretty egocentric to think everybody at the pool is going to be looking at me and concerned about what I’m wearing.. If that is their biggest concern, kudos to them and I suggest they get a life.

I enjoyed the pool today more than I have all season long. I wasn’t tugging at my swimsuit trying to get it perfect nor was I trying to hide myself… There is nothing to hide.

I want my daughter and her friends to see me modeling a healthy self image. I fear that I have not always been in this place. I want them to see me being authentic in every way and that includes in the journey to love my own body as the strong, healthy, perfectly imperfect storage for my soul that it is.

I also think Stella is going to be pretty proud of me for not wearing my usual “grandma“ swimsuits. (I think that’s pretty harsh. LOL!)

I’ve been on a journey to get healthier the past few years and I have made huge strides. I am still a work in progress… we all are.

Whether I have been working on myself or not though, I deserve to enjoy my body free from shame, guilt, and disgust. My body is a miraculous and beautiful creation.

It’s been lovely today to focus on what I am rather than what I am not. I’m learning.💕

I’m not in need of accolades. My prayer is that this pings somebody else who also struggles with body image. I hope they are encouraged to look in the mirror and see that they too are a beautiful and miraculous creation.

Another Inside Job

One of my favorites. You could really substitute any word for “love”. Try happiness, peace, grace, mercy….even friendship. You get the idea.

Whatever the word, it is our own task to find the barriers within ourselves that keep us from experiencing it. It’s never another persons role nor is it our job to decide for others what they need to do.

Currently, my personal word is acceptance. “My task is not to seek acceptance, but merely to seek and find all the barriers within myself that I have built against it.“

If I do not feel accepted by somebody else, I don’t feel safe inside myself or with them. I have tended in the past to become the perfect chameleon in order to appease another persons need for comfort or my endless need for acceptance. After all, if somebody else does not accept me or some thing I have done, how can I accept myself? I must have been wrong.

I’m learning that that acceptance only needs to come from me and not from somebody else. It’s an inside job. I would have said, “self acceptance” but that doesn’t apply solely because I have to except that I don’t need acceptance from people outside of myself.

For me, it boils down to this… Trying to seek God in everything. Trying to remember that He loves and accepts me right where I am. Trying to remember that this is all I need. Trying to remember that I am enough in Him.

What’s the word that would fit here for you?

Bruised

Goodness, life is hard sometimes isn’t it?
 
Last night I went to bed with a heart feeling as bruised as my black and blue booty.
 
Covid times just add an extra layer of what if’s to my ever wondering mind. Add that to a little unexpected chaos, uncomfortable growing pains, restless sleep, deeply hurting friends and hard conversations..I hit my pillow last night with a sense of grief and loss, wondering where my hope and faith are. How can I stand in the gap for others when I am not doing so for myself? I can’t.
 
Then…I got to wake up this morning. I went outside to see the bright sun peeking out and feel the warm air on my skin. I remembered…this waking to a new day is a privilege not to be taken for granted.
 
I took a hot shower while singing loudly and off key. The lyrics rolled out of my heart and off my tongue. I was surprised at the loudness of my own voice; yearning to be heard. Thank God no one is home and only God and the animals (poor animals) could hear my shower symphony.
 
I’m thankful AND I’m hurting. I’m learning AND I’m imperfect. I’m open AND I have healthy boundaries. I’m feeling stuck AND I’m capable of getting unstuck. I’m making choices AND not everyone is going to approve. I must honor my heart AND it sucks that this means displeasing people I love.
 
There are endless dichotomies. Ultimately, I know my heart, motives and intent better than any other human; I have the choices.
 
Today I will choose to honor my moments, make the best of them, treasure those closest to me and hold on to the little bit of hope and mustard seed of faith I still have. Today, this is what my brave looks like.
 
Reminder to self…bruises heal.

A Tribute to Friendship, Sex, & Milkshakes

Thankful tears flowed from my eyes this morning as I thanked a friend for being the blessing he is in my life.

He is my imperfect friend who has no pressure to live up to anything but being him, because his perfectly imperfect genuine self is a rarity.

Take a big, beautiful heart and add in compassion; understanding; trustworthy; humor; integrity; wisdom;hysterical; God loving; creative man who is well dressed and super fun ..there is my dear friend.  See?  Rare.

He accepts me as is.  He loves me as is.  He might sometimes be disappointed for my choices and how they will affect me; at the same time, he is not disappointed in me.  Big difference.

He encourages me to be the best version of me I can be while never loving me any less as I travel my journey and sometimes behave like a dumbass. (true story) We speak truth to one another; even when truth is ugly feeling.  The thing is…when truth is spoken in love and safety is present…it’s a sacred treasure.  He challenges me when it’s uncomfortable and would be much easier to not.

He knows my everything.  My everything is safe with him.  He has never played judge and jury to me.  That is magical.  We’ve all been in a place that we believed we were truly safe with someone…until a dreaded, unexpected moment illuminates a reality that safety has been an illusion.  There was not acceptance and love of who you are; perhaps there was acceptance and love for who they want you to be.  That is not magical, it sucks.

Laughter, tears, and everything in between are welcome. He is proud of my accomplishments, generous with his encouragements, okay with my sunshine as well as my melancholy and super fun to go to the grocery store with.  He loves sex (not with me), milkshakes, animals, learning and laughter.  The countless endless conversations we have will never have sufficient words to let him know that he is cooler and more than he will ever grasp.

I hope and pray I provide the same for him.  There are perhaps 10 people in my world outside of my family that I have this type of friendship with.  I intend to ensure they always know how deeply I love them.

As I expressed my gratitude to my precious friend this morning, my heart was pinged.  Is this not how our God designed us to be in relation with one another?   We are made in His image, right?  I know God loves me.  He made me.  He knows my heart, he knows the numbers of hairs on my head for goodness sake.  He knows my journey.  God weeps with me, rejoices with me, and loves me in the messy middle (which is where my humanness seems to have me living the majority of the time).

Beloved human connections (could, should, can) mirror our relationship with God.  We are God’s heart, walking outside of His body but still in Him.  Our loves are the same…pieces of our heart walking outside of our body but always in us.

True Friendship…it’s a beautiful form of intimacy.  In our individuality, we are still all reflections of each other.  In our separateness, we are still made to be unified.  How cool is my God?  Not only does he offer me unconditional love and friendship through Him…he gives me that in real live humans.

The reciprocity of real friendship is the ultimate legacy to leave with another.  This type of friendship has impacted my life profoundly for the better.

I am grateful to have even one friend of this caliber in my life; sex and milkshakes too.

Philippians 1:3  “I thank my God upon every remembrance of you.”

 

In the meantime

In the meantime….

My downstairs toilet made a gurgling noise two nights ago.  There was nothing in the toilet so I flushed it to see if the noise would stop.  Instead of flushing down, water rose to the top.  Despite my professional plunger efforts, the water would not go down.

I shut the water valve to the toilet off before running to home depot (literally across the street)  to purchase Green Goblin to destroy the issue…I thought.  I always used this in our old home and had great success.  Anywho…never had to use the Green Goblin as I returned home and saw that the toilet had drained.  Whew.  Bullet dodged.

I made a quick trip to Walmart (a block away) to grab a few groceries…maybe gone 20 minutes.  I came back to such a surprise!  Poop water (aka sewage…aka Class 3 according to the restoration man) had flooded every crevice from the downstairs bathroom, down the hall, down the stairs into my split level living room and into the living room.

An.explosion.of.poop.  Everybody’s poop.  Thank God my adrenaline was pumping so hard that I didn’t have time to stop and reflect on the new floor covering.  I knew my friend was on his way over so we could watch a movie and have dinner.  Honestly, my first thoughts were that he was going to gross out and leave me here to deal with this.  I would need to call my brother or my ex husband.

I had begun laying towels everywhere when friend (we will call him D) walked in.  I yelled for him to be careful.  Without explanation; he knew what was on the floor.  Instead of leaving, he grabbed towels and started helping me with the mess.  Together we cleaned, using every single towel, sheet and blanket that we could find.  I know…gross.

We had almost everything cleaned.  I began my second round of sanitizing laundry and we decided to go to Home Depot for a big mop.  We made another expedient trip there, grabbed a mop and $5 mop  bucket (Did you know some mop buckets cost $70 or more?)

We came home, ready to mop and sanitize; shower and order dinner…in that order!  Can you imagine the expletives that sounded when we walked in to find that sudsy water had now flooded the entire living room floor? As a matter of fact, that water was still shooting out of the sink in the bar area as well as from underneath the sink where the pipes are.

We did our best to keep up but it would not stop (yes, D shut the water valve under the sink off).  He mopped, and I (with gloved hands) squeezed the mop….since I didn’t buy the $70 bucket with the squeezee apparatus.  We were our own Saturday Night Live episode…from back in the good ole days…when SNL was super funny!

D told me to shut the washing machine off when he surmised that is where the water was coming from.  He was correct.  The pouring of water stopped.  Finally.  The floor was soaked, we were drenched in water and poo water and all the yuck; still we were laughing.  So thankful for D’s presence and willingness to help….sometimes we need a friend to help us not become blithering balls of tears curled up in the fetal position, right?  Sometimes those friends are the same ones laying curled up with us…but that’s for another post.

I felt that the floor needed just one more round with the mop.  D told me we had done all we could for the night; the floor was slippery and I needed to stay off of it so I didn’t fall.  I know I have balance issues, true.  I didn’t realize the floor was quite as slippery as it was.

Being a tiny bit of a stubborn soul, I decided yes to one more round with the mop.  I headed down the steps into the living room.  My bare feet gave way to the wet floor.  There I was…on my bottom, sliding down the hard, sharp edged stairs.  One, two, three, I hit each of them with my booty, tailbone and right hip.  Ouch.

This was reminiscent of being a little kid who loved sliding down the carpeted stairs on her booty.  Reminiscent because I slid down so easily; yet entirely a different experience.  D helped me up.  Kind of.  As much as I would allow. Falling tends to make me feel fearful…too much passing out as a kid.  Yuck.

Anyway….I had attempted to call my property management company emergency number several times, as well as their office, when this was happening.  I never got a call back.  I finally reached out the the owner of my condo and told him.  He was sending a plumber in the morning.  I felt it needed to be right then, but I am not the decider of all things.

In the morning, the property management company called.  By now, I was fuming that they had not called me and been a part of any of this.  Long story short, the office person tends to be extremely rude, makes me feel like a criminal any time I report something and now was asking numerous questions that supported her past behavior.  I felt she was trying to make this my fault.

I sent an email of complaint and asked for her supervisors number.  I did not get that yet.  I have gotten a sudden amount of kindness when she speaks to me.  I still want to speak with the supervisor.

The restoration company is now ripping out the entire living room floor bc of the class 3 damage.  When the owner was speaking with the property management company, she asked him to step away from me to talk.  This was obvious and confirmed when I asked him about it later. My mistrust in her affirmed in that moment.

Thank God the plumber found NOTHING in the system that was not supposed to be there.  I was well aware that if the clog were due to feminine products, we would be responsible.  (We grew up with a very touchy septic system and our Daddy drilled it into our heads that only toilet paper went down the toilet.  If there was a clog, we girls knew the first question from Dad would be; “Did you flush anything that shouldn’t be flushed?”) My daughter and I are both extremely cautious about this as are our guests (at least we make them aware…I never have actually accompanied anyone on their potty break).  Still…lots of teenage girls so that was a thought on my side too.

I am sure the property company management (PMP} lady dislikes me.  Or she likes to pretend she dislikes me for fun?  At this point, the owner might dislike me too and I hate that possibility.

PMP lady has told me the owner is frustrated with all of ‘my issues’.  I reminded PMP lady that with exception to one issue and this, everything I have turned in has been existent since before we moved in on March 24 of this year.  It takes me several times to get a response and then several weeks for them to provide the cheapest solution possible.  I’m sure the owner is paying them and I wonder if this is just how the system always works.

Enough of that!  Last night, the precious people from the restoration company were working hard well past 8 pm.  I came downstairs to get a drink and didn’t realize that it was wet at the bottom of the stairs.

I was made aware of the wetness as my bottom again made contact with the ground, magically, I bounced off the same areas this go round too!  The people working were super kind and tried to help me up.  I assured them I was fine and just needed a moment.

Truly not their fault, I just didn’t anticipate the wet floor.  I am moving around like a little ole lady this morning!  Lol but not really lol.

Here it is…no matter who is pleased with me or not (and lately it seems like a lot more not than this lady is comfortable with)…I’m okay.

God has my back and He is Good.  All of the time.  Even as I walk through literal s*h&t, he provides a tangible friend here for me and always His mighty love.  The question remains as always…will I accept it?

Still, my bum hurts.

A tribute to my brother

Thirty three years ago today, my brother Brent passed away.   He was killed in a motorcycle accident at the young age of 27.

I was in Tennessee with Mom, Dad and our dachsund Schatze when it happened.

Looking back….the trip was ‘off’ from the get go.  My Grandma had been very upset with me for choosing to go with my parents rather than stay with her.  Our little Schatze hurt her back on the way to Tennessee.  The air just felt unusually tense.  It was too hot.  Something in the motor home broke.  We came home from the Grand Ole Opry and there was a message to visit the office.  My Dad got the call.  The news was devastating.

Today is not for recounting all the ugly details. I’ve done that before and truly, there is no use going to that painful place today. The interesting thing is that I journaled about every moment during the trip.  Even without looking back, the memories are as vivid in my mind as if they had happened yesterday.

Today is for acknowledging my brother.  A beautiful, artistic soul who has been said to have been born ahead of his time.  A creative, warm spirit that I was just beginning to really get to know. A man who served his country and loved living overseas.

I miss him terribly.  I often wonder what he would be like today and wish I’d gotten to know him as an adult; and that my children could’ve known their cool uncle. I am incredibly thankful for his presence in my life for any amount of time.  Time.  Treasure it.

Suffice it to say, there is a space in many hearts that will always be only for Brent Eugene Suppes.  He is extraordinarily missed.

As his wife always says, “Forever Young”.  True story.

God bless you everyone.  Breathe in the moments, for the moments are all we have.