Conjecture Rectified

Apparently, my Facebook statuses over the last few days caught somebody's, actually a few somebodies' attention. Here they are in case you missed them.

Evidently they caused quite a stir in some circles of our small town over the past few days. 

No one who has talked about them has asked me personally where the quotes were from, who said them, what they were in reference to, or why I shared them. 

They chose to draw their own conclusions, concoct silly scenarios, and share those publicly instead.

So let me rectify the conjecture in play. 

Why We Walk for the Waiting

Once upon a time, two sisters and their two brothers were waiting for their forever family.

And once upon a time, a family was waiting to be made whole.

And so the mom spent a crazy insane amount of time scouring Heart Galleries, making phone calls, and sending email inquiries about sibling groups of all sizes, shapes, and colors in almost every state.

One day, not too long after her search started, the mom saw the two sisters and their two brothers in the Arkansas Heart Gallery.

And she thought they were beautiful!

But no one could give her information because the family's home was not open for adoption yet.

What All In Looks Like

For years, my husband and I have had a running dialogue about my love language or the lack thereof.

Strike it up to mood, fancy, my ENFP personality, etc., but what spoke love to me seemed to change at the drop of a hat. 

So William made it his mission to nail it down, to pin me down to one of the BIG FIVE. And alas, it could not be done. And I honestly believed I did not have one. 

Until tonight. 

William named it. 

Not in a big "TAH-DAH" moment, but in a matter of fact, pass the salt, please way.

Kids played, dogs ran amuck, friends hung out, I cooked supper, and he swept the kitchen. 

And then he said, "I know your love language. Finally gotcha figured out."

Back turned, I grinned to myself thinking, "He's going to say acts of service. Keep trying bud."

"Oh yea?"

"Yep. You just need to know we're in this together."

I turned around.

"Doesn't matter what it is, you need to know we're 100% in it together. Writing, counseling, family, ministry, whatever, you just need to know we're both all in."

And just like that, I fell in love all over again. 

So can I show you what all in looks like?

Camp NaNoWriMo - A Novel in 30 Days

I love to write.

I want to write.

I am afraid to write.

All of the above are true statements. The last truer than the others.

I am afraid to write because I am afraid I will write crap.

Everybody says it's all crap in the beginning, that's the way it works, and then it gets good.

When you edit, when you rewrite.

And I just. cannot. stand. it.

I don't want to spend hours churning out piles of filthy, smelly, fly-swarming manure.

A Thank You Note to My Accuser

Dear You Know Who You Are,

And I mean that in the nicest way possible because even if we don't know who you are, obviously you know who you are. 

I wish I did because what I want more than anything is to take you by the hand and just simply say, 

You have no idea what you have done for our family!

Please take note of the fact I said FOR and not TO.

I'm quite sure it wasn't your intention, but you have given us a tremendous gift
albeit wrapped in lies delivered under the cloak of anonymity.

Sunday 3/3/13

5x10, a photo by DWest on Flickr.

Father to the fatherless,

defender of widows - this is God,

whose dwelling is holy.

God places the

lonely in families;

He sets the

prisoners free and

gives them joy.

Psalms 68:5-6 NLT

Linking up with

Jesus is my favorite feminist.

This is happening. Feminisms Fest is happening right now. And I want to be a part of it. 

I've started 6 count 'em 6 different posts about feminism tonight.

How do you reconcile what you thought with what you now know?

How do you pretend nothing has changed when everything has?

How do you articulate to others what is stirring so deep and screams so loud?

I can't. Maybe one day. But not now.

But Jesus can. And He did.

Sometimes

As the Father steps out, He reaches for the worn canvas tool bag waiting just beyond the door. 

Greeting the lush landscape with a soft smile gracing His weathered face, the large man gently strokes a leaf here, a bush there as He makes His way through His legacy coming to a stop at His destination. 

Admiring years of work, He lovingly recalls choosing the bonsai’s special container, the trimming and pruning of unorthodox parts, the uncomfortable grafting of strengthening material, and the recent slow tightening of the shape-conforming clamps, which He would remove today. 

Not all was done just for the tree's benefit, but some for those who would one day rest in its shade.

With its branches softly swaying in the warm breeze, the seemingly insignificant tiny tree bows in anticipation of the Master’s expert touch.  

written 09/10

I don't believe in Purgatory, but sometimes I choose it anyway.

I don't have a Catholic bone in my body so don't expect a dissertation or even close to accurate explanation of Purgatory.

If you googled purgatory and got me, well, you're here so stick around anyway.

 Purgatory by Heeman

Purgatory is defined as the in-between.
The place between heaven and hell.
A place or state of temporary suffering or misery.

I don't believe in the after-life reality of purgatory, but I do see it in the here and now.

And sometimes I choose it.

Get Still

At church, in the movie theatre, in the check out line, I can't tell you how many times I've hissed those words at my kids, "Get Still!"

And yet its one of the hardest things for me to do. 

Not physically, but mentally, and especially spiritually.

Just to get still. Just to listen. Just to be.