The Arbiter

Okay, so maybe posting this short story will help me finish it... be kind! 

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I make my way towards the crowded subway station like a robot. Every Monday I start this journey again, I walk from my small apartment on the upper east side to the subway station. The commute to my middle class, low paying job is one of observation. With my earbuds in my ears I watch everyone as they pass me on their way to pay a debt that most will never see cease. It's routine, it's mundane... and I've always felt like I was made for more. My job as a photo editor for the city's newspaper keeps my routine in check. Either I'm editing photos of cute animals that saved a woman from a heart attack, or photos of the dangerous man caught in the wrong place in the wrong time. Every moment of this life is details.

As my feet hit the pavement of the stairs leading to my train I think that today could not be any different than any other Monday. I sometimes wonder if it will ever be different. I have imaginations of the train derailing somewhere down the line, not hurting a single person, but I get to call in and tell my boss that I won't be able to make it that day. Or I'll be the one to catch a lady being pick-pocketed and I can intervene, making good of a terrible situation. Maybe it's strange that I have such a vivid imagination at the age of 28.

Then I feel the hand on my shoulder. 

I turn to face a woman that I've never seen before, but she looks eerily familiar. She has long gray hair that holds her slender face like a picture frame, and blue eyes that are so deep you think you could fall into them.  Her face is lined with wrinkles in all the right places, laugh lines and those little brown spots on her cheek bones that suggest she climbed mountains and explored wildernesses. I take her all in. My eyes are trained to see the small details, and I find her's in an instant. 

"Hello." She says, smiling from ear to ear.

"Uh, hi..." My voice seems to stammer as I realize she is intentionally speaking to me. After imagining all the scenarios in my head to make my mundane an adventure, I never imagined a simple hello.

"I've seen you every day for almost a year now, and I thought that it was time for me to say hello to you. It took me a long time to find you, but I never could work up the courage until today to say hello." Her cheeks seem to illuminate as she speaks to me, and her strange blue eyes are like pools, deep and majestic and I'm certain that I've seen them before. Why is this so weird?

My mind can't seem to comprehend this. She's seen me almost every day for a year... and she was looking for me? The questions that flood my brain are unceasing. I have to speak to her, but all I can seem to do is stare. Speak Penny, speak!

"Oh yeah..." awkwardness floods my tone. "I take this train every day to my job off of 43rd, I'm surprised I've never seen you before." I try to match her level of creepiness, but it's just not working. This lady holds a special place of strangeness in the world. My self-preservation techniques are starting to kick in. 

"I like to watch everyone at the station, but I've never seen you before." Did I really just tell her that I'm a people watcher? I definitely matched her creepiness, but on a whole other level. "I write stories about them in my head... I pretend I know them."

Okay Penny, when I said speak I did not expect you to sound like you belong in an asylum. But her eyes never stop glowing and her smile still graces her face in the most beautiful way. 

She chuckles. "Oh, your vivid imagination has not changed one bit! I do the same thing, there is creativity that brings life in the imagination of one who has not out grown it."

Her statements confuse me. How in the world does this woman know me? And why does she look so familiar to me? Where has she been hiding that she sees me every day? The questions stop in my head abruptly as I realize that I have missed my train in this strange transaction. 

"Oh gosh, I'm sorry. I just missed my train, I'm going to be late for work!" I'm trying to sound panicked, but I secretly have been wishing for a moment like this. 

"Well, since you're going to be late... would you like to grab a cup of coffee with me?" Her inviting smile makes me want to skip work and just go. I don't know why but I want to know more about her. I want this to be my adventure. I want today to be my moment that something happens. Then without thinking I blurt out the words that would change my life, "Yeah, I would like that. By the way, my name is Penny."

"Penny, what a beautiful name! You can call me... Mrs. H." 

She had to think about that... what her name was. I don't understand it yet, but I'm going to figure her out. 

*          *          *          *          *

I grab my phone and call my boss and let them know that I just won't make it today. Something about trying to get to my train and not feeling well, so I missed it. Thinking back on it now, the conversation did not make sense at all. My boss quietly obliged to giving me the day off since I've never called in before. I felt a pang of guilt, but at the same time I have to know what this is all about. Plus, how dangerous could an old lady be?

Mrs. H and I walk back up the steps of the station and out onto the street. This part of town seems empty as most have gone to work already, and I realize that I have never really been out on a week day. There is something so beautiful to this occupied ghost town. Have I really missed the simple pleasures in life? 

"Where do you want to go?" I ask casually as if talking to an old friend.

"There's a sweet place on the corner about two blocks down. I found it when I got here, and I go there frequently! It's a quaint little place really." 

I'm guessing she's not from the city, no one around here would ever use the word quaint. 

"Yeah, The Brewers House! I know that place, my husband and I go there sometimes to unwind after work." Suddenly I wonder if she has seen us, if she's been watching us there too. Does she know Matt? Has she been watching him too? Shudders go down my spine as I realize I am walking to a coffee shop with a complete stranger. Granted she has got to be pushing 65, but who knows what she's capable of. The voices of reason are attempting to rouse my newly deaf ears. 

I begin to imagine she has a team of men waiting out back of the coffee shop with a rusted up van waiting to kidnap me and drive me from New York to Mexico to be sold and never be seen again. My palms are sweaty and I have to wipe them off on my pants. She notices my gesture of nervousness and speaks calmly. "I haven't been in a city in a long time, well not since I came here to find you. My husband and I used to live in a city right after we got married, but we decided that just was not the life for us." 

Our small talk about simple details have brought us to the coffee shop before I could realize where we were. She holds the door open for me and we walk in together. As we pass the threshold I realize that she is the same height as me. Almost down the the tallest hair on our head. 

We find ourselves a seat in the back of the shop away from the voices of those who are already in deep conversation, or those who sit behind laptops working away. I envy those that get to work from home... I'd certainly be here every day. We sit at a small round table. The kind of table that is made for intimate dates or solo coffee excursions. I think she realizes that I'm feeling uncomfortable again because she begins to talk with that voice so full of wisdom. Soft and comforting, her words cut through me.

"Never grow old. It's not all it's cut out to be." The corners of her eyes curve downwards as I see the smile leave her for the first time since we met. "You know, it's so overwhelming that I finally get to talk to you. I've waited for so long. Mr. H was never sure if it would work, but I assured him that I'd find you. I had to find you."

The sweetness in her voice is the only thing that steadies me when she speaks strange mysteries like that. I want her to cut to the chase, why is she here?

"So, I have to ask you Mrs. H. Why exactly have you been watching me for a year? Where are you from? How do you know me?" My tone is starting to demand answers and I realize that I should probably apologize for coming off so crass, but I just can't seem to spit the words out.

"I understand how strange this all may seem. Let me tell you a little about myself. For the last 37 years I have been living in the mountains of Colorado with my husband. We packed up and moved after we realized that we just could not keep doing life in the city. Something always seemed to be missing to us. We tried hard to make it work in the city, but we were both so unhappy. We were dying for adventure. Our lives always seemed to cry out for more, and our marriage was paying for it."

The way she speaks draws me in. Her voice sounds so familiar, like someone I've know for years. Maybe I've dreamt of her, but this just seems so surreal. I breathe slow as she tells me more about her life with her husband and those beautiful mountains. My imagination paints a picture that seems almost too beautiful to behold. But it's not just the mountains that captivate me, it's the stories about her life with her husband and sweet kids. It seems to me that her life has been one that I've longed to live.

"I must be talking too much, I hardly know anything about you!" She excitedly awaits for my response.

"Oh, well... I mean, my life just isn't that interesting. Not like your's anyways." I suddenly feel the urge to make up some crazy story about my life to interest her. Something in her eyes demands honesty though.

"Right now it's just Matt and I. He works in computers and technology, and I work for a newspaper company editing photos. I am trained to make pictures look their very best. It's nothing special, but I like what I do." I look down at the table as I fumble for more words, but I realize that I'm just not that interesting.

"That sounds like a good life." Her eyes meet mine and I'm annoyed by the tone she gives me. What does she mean that's a "good" life!? It's a great life! 

I'm miserable! 

I'm bored with it.

She's right. Whatever she's implying, or what I think she's implying... she's right.

"You should really believe in Matt." Her words linger pregnant with intent. And I'm over the hiding, whatever it is she's keeping from me.

"Okay, that's enough! You have to stop this little hinting game, you need to tell me who you are or I'm out!" My face goes hot with anger. I can't stand this any longer.

My hands are squeezing my coffee mug as I wait in anticipation the words that will leave her mouth, if it were not made of ceramic I would surely crush it. Her hands reach down for her purse and I'm on edge waiting with karate like hands. I don't know a lick of martial arts, but I'm certainly ready to pretend.

She lets out a belly laugh that brings strange peace. "Calm down! I know you don't know karate, and I know I've upset you and frightened you, I'm sorry." It's funny that she knows that about me. Her fragile worn hands bring out a wallet. She begins to rifle through it as I see her grab a few small items. An old coin and some photos. What in the world, is this woman out of her mind?

"Now, what I am about to show you is not to frighten you by any means. When I was your age I went through the exact same thing, so I know the fear that is racing through you right now." Her sweet words are falling over me in a strange way.

"It's sweet that you feel like you can identify with me, but until you prove to me who you are I don't believe you for a second." My tone still strikes angry. Fearful anger racks my body as I'm prepared for this lunatic to be on with it already.

Those hands worn with adventure slide the old worn coin across the table. I pick it up and my eyes have to adjust for a moment as I take in all of the information on the tiny keepsake. As soon as I pick up the coin I recognize it. My fingers turn it over and over again. I reach down for my wallet and remove the coin that I've had since I was a child. My grandfather gave it to me right before he passed away. It was an old WW2 Navy Coin. He was given the coin for his honorable service in the war. It was a one in a million item, or so he told me. 

Then it hits me.

I begin to shake as I look up at her and realize why I've known her. 

The coin is identical to mine. The same spots from years of wear, and not to mention her convincing hiding spot. As I turn the coins over I see the name that I was waiting to see. Bruce A Worthington II. This is impossible.  

She's me.

"I know you. I am you." The words slide gracefully from her mouth like they were practiced for years. 

This is insane. Either I had too much to drink last night, or I'm dreaming. Maybe I'm even in a coma somewhere and this is the life that I have imagined for myself to make everything more interesting. Leave it to me to make a coma interesting. 

She senses the sliver of doubt still present in my mind and slides me her driver's license. I pick up the Colorado state issued ID and see her name and date of birth. Everything matches. I have got to wake up.

"I know this seems strange, but it's true. When I met you last you were my age. It really took some convincing for me too, and she warned me that it would be more difficult with you. I suppose this has been going on for some time now." Her words still sit strangely smooth with me. I can't even begin to think of words to say to her. 

"Here are some photos I think you should see." She slides them face down to me, four photos in total.

The first picture I turn over is a man in his early 50's it seems. The photo is worn, but the smile on the man is one that I'm ever so familiar with. It's Matt. Even at that age he has a way of captivating me. The only strange thing is that the Matt that I know is in his late 20's too. I'm terrified to even turn over the last three. I have an odd feeling that these are lives I have yet to know.

The first one is a girl, and in the photo she looks to be around 17. Though I've never met her before I would recognize those eyes anywhere. Those deep blue pools reflect back at me and an ache shoots through my chest. She has Matt's forehead and chin. Her long beautiful hair covers her shoulders, and I know immediately that she is mine. 

I can't wait any longer, I turn over the last two at the same time. Each is a photo of a boy. One who looks to be 15 or so and the other around 12. My boys! I've seen them before in dreams that I have had, but they were never this old. I see the familiar twinkle in their eyes that I've seen a million times before when I've looked at Matt. It's such a joy to see them, but my heart beats hard at the ache I feel over them. Tears start to roll down my cheeks. 

"Matt and I have had trouble getting pregnant. I was certain we wouldn't have children at all." I haven't settled this whole situation yet, but something in me gives permission to be honest with this version of myself. I begin to shudder and shake my head. This is not real.

"I just... I don't believe it, I've been drugged... this isn't possible. Time travel is not real." I stammer my words as I push myself away from the table. 

"Pen, wait... don't go. I really need to talk to you. Things are not okay where you're at right now. You can't stay here. You have things to do." 

She's reeling me in again. Why is this happening? 

"You have to make a decision Pen, what's it going to be?" 

There she goes demanding something from me again.

"I can't... I just..."

My heart is pounding in my chest... I am demanding arbitration... from myself.

The Battle Within

There's a cry rumbling from the deepest parts of my soul. I can feel as it shakes me wide awake. It's been a long time since I've listened to the cry. 

It started as I saw myself standing shattered before Him. Like velvet His voice whispered to my soul, "Baby girl, are you okay?" With eyes wide and heart abandoned I look up at Him and say "No, I'm not okay." I. Am. Not. Okay. And He nods in full acknowledgement of that fact that He already knew. In His sovereign love, He knew. I am left undone, standing with feet cold on sea of glass and I know that this is only the beginning. 

My not okay-ness is rousing my soul to ask soul-stirring questions that demand answers. Answers that only lead to more questions. Sunsets that only lead to more sunrises. The day in, day out mundane is being blown apart by this realization that I am not okay right now. It's not a "I'm not okay, please help me.", it's a "I'm not okay, don't help me, this is how it's supposed to be!" This small moment of clarity has shown me the depth of my incoherency for the last midnight hour. But oh beloved, how the sun does rise!!! 

The Church is TOO okay. He is whispering that same deafening question to her, but instead of responding in a way that would provoke a depth charge she instead smooths over the question. What this beautiful bride doesn't realize is that she is not okay, and although her bold-faced statement in lieu of brokenness cries "DON'T WORRY ABOUT ME, I AM OKAY!" Her heart cries in reality "I am not okay!" I know. I know this cry.

I am her. I have been her, this broken bride. And now I wait and listen for the sound of the cry to arise. Here in this moment of coherency, I can hear loudly the true cry of my heart. I am not okay that the church hurts in a way she has never before with unprecedented numbers of uncaring members. I am not okay that the plumb line has been removed in light of rising tolerance. I am not okay that love has been replaced by some faux fairy tale of a Christ that won't judge sin. I am not okay that my heart BURNS to be loved!! I am not okay that I have yet to see the more.

You see this is the battle within my soul, to sit idly by while inside I am dying. Dying to know why I am not okay. Dying to know why He already knows how to ask me the questions that provoke me to burning. He is pushing me to provoking... provoking His bride to awaken from this slumber and find peace in the "not-okayness" of her heart. 

I challenge you beloved, if you are "okay" with where you are let Him ask you if you're okay. Let Him prod your heart into a place of heat. Warm your soul to Him, hunger and thirst again. There is peace in not being satisfied. 

Wife: Protect his heart.

                               

As I was innocently scrolling through my Facebook this morning I happened upon a post that someone on my friend's list had liked. You know, the post that randomly jumps out at you while you're just trying to mind-numbingly scroll down the page. Yeah, that one. 

I've seen too many to count... and too many have been "liked" or "shared" by people on my friend's list. Let's lay aside my basic concern for those who like or share these posts, as they proclaim Christ, and get to an issue that is altogether bigger than we may realize. While I typically report these posts to Facebook in hopes to stand for righteousness and truth, and I usually get a good response from Facebook and they remove the item, but today was a totally different story. They told me that while my concern had been heard, they deemed the post safe to be on Facebook and fine to be seen by their community. Whomever that may be. 

What was the post you may ask? Well the subject to the video said something along the lines of (and I paraphrase) "If God didn't create women to be looked at..." and proceeded to show women as they "twerked" with their backsides exposed to a man who watched. And we're talking a room full of women in front of this man. 

Stop.

Stop right there. My heart lept out of my chest and I broke instantly for those women! Those women who were not only being objectified by the man in the video... but then also that same objectification being perpetuated all throughout social media! WHY!? 

Then I heard very quickly and sternly in my spirit, "Krystle, what would you do if Jonathan saw this before you?" 

I sank.

I quickly reported the video as inappropriate, but all I could think of was, "what if my husband had been innocently scrolling through Facebook too and happened upon pornographic material?" I couldn't bear the thought if I had just kept on scrolling, ingoring that post... and ignoring all the men's hearts out there that I have a right as a Christian woman to protect. No it's not my job to police the internet, but I am called to stand for righteousness and truth in the atmosphere that I have influence over. After all, we are called to be thermostats, not thermometors. We mustn't just judge the temperature of a culture, but rather be ones who change it!

We must be a city set upon a hill! 

One of my roles as a good wife is to protect my husband. To protect his heart, and his mind... to help guard him from the schemes of the enemy. With lust and perversion running rampant in our society I must stand watch with him over the temptation to sin. Wives, we fight this battle with our husbands together! If you think for a second it is only their fight, then we have been sorely mistaken. We are called to help protect the intimacy in our lives... and anything that comes between that is like a wedge forcing two hearts away from each other. One body, one flesh, one fight... together. For marriage. 

And if you're not married... you still have a right to protect the men around you. Those hearts belong to someone else. They are someone's husband. Someone's father. We can help them win the battle if we help them protect the importance of purity and holiness. 

As for Facebook... I don't think I'll be on much anymore... it's disappointing to see a "family" friendly website allow such trash into their community. I will continue to report and flag anything that I see in hopes that I can at least protect the man that protects me. Praying for peace and restoration to those that struggle with this.

Are you pregnant yet?

        

I'm 24, I have a handome husband, beautiful house, a dog and two children. My life is what I always dreamt it would be... everything has worked as I always thought it would have!

What a beautiful life! 

It's only a dream, a wish of what could have would have been... if only I had stuck to the plan. The reality is I am 28, I have a handsome husband, a beautiful apartment and two dogs... quite a stones throw from where I once dreamed I would be as a little girl. And my heart aches...

It's hard to explain the pain that I feel when I have to answer questions about pregnancy, family and children. And I know that no one means harm, but my heart still beats for my desires to be fulfilled, and I know they will be one day, however right now... it hurts. Ever since I can remember I have dreamt of being a Mommy and raising a beautiful family while LOVING every second of it. There was even a time in my life when doctors and my parents were unsure that I would even be able to conceive due to the possibility of having Turner Syndrome, and I will never forget the day that I found out that I was normal... it was a beautiful relief to a grief that I had carried silently with me from childhood. Though I was barely a teenager when I found out I would be able to have children one day all I could do a lot of times was dream of what my family would be like one day. 

I had it written down on paper... every detail! Names, genders, house design... you name it! Everything was leading up to the biggest let down of my life! Or the life I had created in my head according to Western Christian standards. It wasn't a let down all at once, but it was year after year after I had turned 24. That's when the questions started. The questions that would thwart me into a place that I wasn't at yet... questions that would always try to give me a title that God hadn't given me yet. It started with friends and family asking if there was a "special someone". And in my line of sight... there was NO ONE! No one seemed to fit that bill of "husband material". After the questions started, my heart began searching... everywhere. I would watch guys at church as they prayed or worshipped and I would think "is that him? I like the way he worships/prays..." or "I wonder if he knows I exist, maybe I should pray in front of him, surely that would attract him." These questions bombarded my heart long after they were asked, and I tried hard to push them down. 

It was by the grace of God that I was able to ignore these questions for a time after dealing with day to day anxiety and heartache of still being single. Through tears at night in conversation to God I would tell Him that this wasn't how I planned it all to go!

Then I met him! Handsome husband came waltzing into my life... well he was boyfriend and fiance first, but it seemed like out of nowhere he appeared, even though I knew him for years as a friend before we ever considered any type of relationship. It wasn't long after our simple commitment became public, and before I knew it family members were asking me if he was the "one", and though I answered that I thought so I really had no idea. The Lord confirmed to me over the course of our relationship that he was in fact the one that had been chosen for me, but even before I could say "I do." there were those who were beckoning me into being a wife long before I had rightfully had been given the title of one. It was hard to have a chance to be girlfriend and fiance when the questions and standards around me were forcing me to think of marriage before it were even an option. 

So then we were married... we have rented a beautiful little apartment, and although we had each other we felt the need to add to our little family. We weren't quite ready yet for parenthood, so we got a dog! And then another! Everything seemed to be going well, but no matter what friend I hadn't seen in months or what family members I had the honor of visiting with, the questions started to come again. The catapulting of titles were thrown onto me that I hadn't been given the honor to carry just yet. This fateful question started just moments after we were married even. Before I could ever see boxers on my floor inside out, before I could ever hear belching after a delicious meal... and before I could ever share my life with this man I just gave my life to. 

At first it didn't bother me because I had asked this quesiton of friends who were recently married too. Innocently enough I had conversations with old roommates about starting a family, while forcefully putting in my two cents of when they should try to have children. It just seems like the natural filler question for couples who have just started their lives together. But little did I realize the damage it was doing to my heart... until recently it was asked of me.

"So, are you pregnant yet? When are you guys going to have children?"

The question hit me hard as I saw an old friend standing in front of me holding her belly with child, and there I was with just my husband and two dogs. And I found myself with my husband at the local grocery store breaking down in the salsa aisle because I wasn't fulfilling my calling as a woman. Now don't get me wrong, I am beyond blessed and overjoyed at what the Lord has given me at this point of my life. But it was as if my heart couldn't help but go there. That dream where I am 24, with a house, husband, two kids and a dog. And then I snap back violently into the present and there is a deep aching in my heart for what I know is a promise yet to come. I have come to realize that these questions have been forcing me to imagine titles and giftings that the Lord hasn't allowed me to step into just yet for whatever reason... and I am learning how to grieve while trying to conceive. I know that while although Jesus has given me hope for tomorrow, I still have to deal with my flesh that desired things long before they were in existance. 

I desire children. They seem so close that I can almost reach out and grab them, but yet it is still not so in my life. You don't have to ask if I want to start a family, or if I am pregnant. I already feel the burden of being a mother, long before my children will ever arrive. This is my purpose in life. 

There needs to be grace for new wives. We need your moments of interest in our lives, and not questions desiring answers that we have no clue how to answer just yet. We know that you are just being kind and caring about what you think fits our best interests, but there are some of us who just haven't gotten there yet. We don't need the title of mother when we are just trying to walk out wife. Or even just girlfriends not yet wives. Questions are good, but just let us soak in who we are created to be for the moment. 

In all Chaos, Peace.

        

How do I find You here? In the midst of the storm, where do I look for You? These gale force winds are knocking me hard. My mind feels more like a bloody battlefield than a storm crossed horizon. While there is beauty in a lightening filled sky... a bloodied field is terrifying. Men die, and families grieve. I'm somewhere between storm tossed and fighting for my very life. The grieving process has already begun.

And all I asked was for revival to come. 

Why doesn't anyone ask these questions? Why aren't more wives grieved over the fact that they don't know how to do it? There's no answers... and my heart is searching hard to find them. Alone. Who cries the crucified ugly cry for revival? 

Unless a grain of wheat falls into the earth and dies, it remains alone; but if it dies, it bears much fruit.

And so I find myself dying. There is a strange pulling in my heart that says not to let go, that says to maintain the face, maintain the "good life". But in all of the beauty of desiring the Kingdom of Heaven there is an ugly forcefullness that desires a sacrifice. The heave of breath upon the altar that says, "I will gladly spend and be spent..." just for Your Kingdom, oh great King. 

But terrified my eyes look into the horizon. Bright flashes of lightening and peels of thunder nearly split sky from earth. And I am dandelion waving in the wind... seed spent until all is gone. And this is where beauty happens... in all the seeds falling to the ground alone... and I am seed falling to the ground to die. Everything changes so quickly... and before my heart can have time to grieve the time spent as a flower... the sprouts are coming forth. Hundreds of beautiful seeds that died alone, yet now bear forth beautiful flowers. 

It's a beautiful image that passes before my eyes... and although the answers come, so do the questions. There's no book or "how to" on welcoming revival into your home while folding laundry. There's no class or lecture on how to love your husband well while pushing through into the Holy of Holies. And the flesh of my heart would say that I can only do one well... and at the end of the day I choose to love Jesus well in hopes that I would love my husband well. Most voices would spill complements or even suggestions from their lips, but there's no heart of a woman that I know that is pressing in for the answers... how do I steward revival and my home well? If my husband is called to reach the nations... how do I reach our little nation first. This little nation, the tribe of our family. The hearts that will one day mean more to us than any other on this earth. 

Jesus I want to see human trafficking end! I want to see abortion end! I want to see revival in the earth! But I don't want any of those things if I cannot see my family before the throne with eyes beholding Him highly exalted. Our one day family standing upon the sea of glass in adoration to the King. 

How do I find You here in this Jesus? How do I learn to be a mother now? How do I learn to stir up and host revival now? In this place, in my storm. Help me find peace.

An open letter to Moms: Finding peace in the fear.

         

Dear Mom,

I know you're scared... I catch the fear stricken gaze every once in awhile and sense the tremble in your heart that wonders if your love will carry me far enough for long enough. I know you're scared, but everything is going to be okay. Do you know that? It will all be okay. If my heart could paint sentences my love for you would be like your favorite summer morning, sunrise all ablaze against a dark unlit sky. Coral hues and baby blues, shining against the darkness of a night that was rough against my sails. Do you see it? 

I know you've felt inadequate and imperfect, but those moments of uncertainty are some of my favorites. The moments when you didn't quite know it all, but together we figured it out. I was learning to walk wide eyed and alive as a child, and you were learning to walk all wided eyed, opened hearted as a mother. Sometimes my curiosity stretched you thin until you thought you would burst and sometimes you loved me despite the questions that my heart frequently pushed. You didn't have the answers, but I didn't know that. Do you remember the moments when I was a child and you wished me busy just for a moment of peace and quiet? I don't. I only remember those moments of love. Moments where you wished for quiet and I wished for words... and there you loved me well. In grace you held my heart just a moment longer.

You're doing such a beautifully great job. The way you love me so well... you've seen everything in me. You're the one human on this earth that has known me the longest. Your's was the first voice I heard, and your heartbeat was the first that lulled me to sleep as I floated safe in amniotic ocean. These may  not be words your heart dwells on in the midst of chaos and calamity, but they still ring true through the ages. As a child I believed your heart beat for me... as an adult I know it must be true. I catch it in your graceful gaze every once in awhile. 

I know you're afraid that time will get away from you. You see my moments at birthdays, weddings and sometimes funerals. You've seen my first steps, first win, and first kiss... moments held together by the love of a mother. Can you see it yet? Can you see the perfect portrayal of love? Can you see the moments of trying when you didn't know how to love? There He is. He is in the moments of fear giving your heart grace to beat for those curious eyes that look up in question. He is in your words as you reach out for me bruised and broken. He is in your arms as you hold a painful teenage heart... and He is the grace when you forgive me for crying hateful words in your direction. He is the perfect Parent teaching you how to love me well, and there in the heart of the greatest Father... there is a mother! You.

I'm sorry I haven't always had the eloquent words to tell you how I've felt since the first time you ever held me in those warm arms. But it rings true... how I love you! The one who has seen me all, heard me all, and still you love me! In my wickedness still your heart beat for mine... and He stood behind you pushing love hard through you in the moments when you thought you would lose it all. His arms stretched wide to love you more than you could ever love me! What a beatiful display!

So I know you're scared you aren't doing the perfect job. I know the house isn't clean, and dishes aren't done. But there is a greater accomplishment you've made. You have loved me well!

Thank you Mom!

To the moon and back!

Forever your baby. 

Eyes wide like oceans.

Alive? Breath deepening in my lungs, and I almost have to convince myself that I've been doing this since I've left placenta. Breathing. Taking in the next of life, moment by moment. Inhale, exhale. Breathing, living. Sometimes I wonder with eyes wide like oceans if I'm living or just drowning in the overwhelming life. Am I living the full life? Or am I just surviving, barely sitting with chin above surface breathing between waves that take my breath away. Wonder child in me is trying to figure this all out... will you walk with me?

The Man with fire in His eyes once said that He came that we might have life, and life more abundantly. That He came to give the full life. With arms stretched wide on beam wooden and splintered, He intended for life to come coursing through my veins. Do I sometimes squander the full life? My hands fumbling the moment of sunrises more beautiful than paintings from Picasso and I forget... I forget the eucharisteo life. The thanksgiving that brings me into His courts... the thanksgiving that brings the very life into my lungs. In the rare moments when I remember I am like child wild eyed and ablaze with wonder. How did I forget in the first place? 

My memory is like that of a fresh winter powder... beautiful and extravagent, until the sun comes and it's all wiped away. The surrounding heat of the moment melt the beautiful hand stroked painting and I won't remember again until that beautiful fresh cloud hits the earth again... and I wonder why I ever forgot in the first place. Only to forget again. Then cold stinging air hits my lungs and I remember! I want to live!!! I want to live life to the full. I want to live what that Man spoke of. Full life... this time, I won't forget.  I am set free!

Life springs humerous into the mind of created ones, reminding us suddenly to live. Sometimes we find out when our body wrinkles and bones shatter under weight of life, and sometimes we are like babes finding out when the breath in our lungs is still new. No matter the years that life places upon our frames, we are lucky to know... life is meant to be lived! And lived full. Hands are meant to bring healing to wounds deep. Mouths are meant to speak words of forgiveness forever. And eyes are meant to adore every sunset that graces that horizontal frame between earth and sky. And to utter the words between moments of living for thanksgiving to the One who came to give life, and life more abundantly. 

What if today you chose to live?  

Would you remember every moment for thanksgiving? Or would your mind play like eraser on slate forgetting every beautiful stroke of the pen? I dare you today... I dare me... to live life to the full... to inhale deep in the moment of living. I want to know what life smells like, what it looks like and what it sounds like! I want to be like Sherlock around corners with spy glass in hand waiting for the moments that I get to search out the glory of the King. And my pen will find paper, and I will write... thanksgiving to the King! 

What if today you chose to live?