TC Larson

Stories and Mischief

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Worship and Adore

19
Dec

IMG_4234

I’m going to say something that’s going to get me in trouble.

Don’t stress out, it’s not total heresy or anything, I don’t think. We can still be friends. Maybe you’ll even decide that you agree with me.

It’s just that sometimes it feels safer to worship Jesus than to adore him.

Whaaa?

See? Not total blasphemy or anything, but still might make you raise your eyebrow at me. It’s okay, I’m getting used to that reaction. Let me tell you what I’m thinking.

Sometimes — many times — it feels tenable to go through the required acts of contrition and penitence, offer the correct sacrifices, do the right acts of goodwill, all to a far-away God, because those are external acts that I perform rather than allowing anything uncontrollable happen to my heart. It’s brain work — performance enhancing brain work.

That’s not all up in my business the same way as the baby Jesus come to earth. Baby Jesus is closer. Baby Jesus is so soft, smells sweet like a baby should, and melts your hard heart when you hold him snuggled in your arms. It’s difficult to keep Baby Jesus at arm’s length.

Then there’s snaggle-toothed Jesus, who still has mostly baby teeth, and who’s front teeth are growing in way too big for his head and at a slightly alarming angle you just hope will straighten out once he looses the other teeth. He’s got such a tenderness to him, even as he’s trying to learn how to do things on his own and sometimes gets frustrated.

And teen-age Jesus — well, don’t even get me started. It tenderizes my heart, the way his body is outgrowing his maturity and he keeps knocking things over because he’s not used to being so big.

Come further up, come further in! ~C.S. Lewis, The Last Battle

To adore Jesus is to be invited to know him as you’d know another living person, not only some carved statue of him, to come further up and further in to interacting with him. To adore Jesus is to allow your gaze to land on him and remain there, taking in who he is, what makes him special. It’s to appreciate his acts of kindness, selflessness, gentleness, his wisdom and inclusion, his perfect humanness that makes us aspire to be the best versions of ourselves. It’s gushy love stuff, the stuff like when mom and dad share a smooch, and it sends kids running from the room, then makes them peek back around the corner.

It’s not that worship and adoration have to be mutually exclusive. And I’m using “worship” in a specific sense, which isn’t always the most accurate interpretation of the word. That aside, adoring Jesus brings him closer to us, doesn’t allow us to keep him at some high and lofty distance. And depending on your perspective, that can be either exhilarating or intimidating.

Today’s post is a linkup with Kate Motaung and Five Minute Friday. It’s fun to see what other people come up with in five minutes using the given word prompt. If you’re here for the first time, thank you for coming by! I hope you’ll consider checking in again to see what’s cookin’.

Question for you:  Do you think about “oh come let us adore him” at any other time of the year other than Christmas? What do you think about adoration and worship and their relationship?

Discussion: Comments {7} Filed Under: Faith, Five Minute Friday, Uncategorized

They’re your best Friends

6
Dec

The whole time I was growing up, my parents had a mantra. I’m one of four kids, and my parents tried to convince us that we were best friends. It was a tough sell, especially since I’m the oldest by four years, and growing up my attitude was that my next closest sibling was a smart aleck boy, and the other two were big babies.

Ripped my painstakingly crafted paper flowers. “That’s your brother. You are best friends.”

Followed me around copying everything I did. “That’s your sister. You are best friends.”

Threw a temper tantrum and wouldn’t stop knocking into stuff in the basement family room. “That’s your brother. You are best friends.”

Their point was to instill in us an appreciation for each other. We weren’t going to get out of interacting with one another, and there was a long-range vision at work — they wanted us to see that we would be in each other’s lives for just that — our entire lives — and we should see one another for our fun individual personalities.

This may seem an obvious truth, but the idea of being friends rather than only siblings widens the scope of interactions. It creates an expectation of enjoyment and of knowing each other more than just an obligatory way (“We’ve got to see them at Thanksgiving…hrumph, huff, puff.”). You trust in friends, you rely on friends, you like your friends. And planting the idea that siblings can be friends as well as brother and sister, it communicates something about the kind of relationship my parents had with their siblings, as well as what they hoped for their own children.

Happily, they were right, and my brothers and my sister and I are friends. We do enjoy each other’s company and especially in this season of learning how to live without our Dad, we are the only ones who truly “get it” about how hard this is. They are dear to me.

Now that we all have children of our own, I wonder how that “you’re best friends” mantra will play out for them. Looks like I’ve got a way to go to help my own kids to appreciate one another…

Child 1 to Child 2: I love you.  Child 2 to Child 1: I sort of like you.

Child 1 to Child 2: I love you.
Child 2 to Child 1: I sort of like you.

Today’s post is a link up with Five Minute Friday and Kate Motaung. Write for five minutes, no editing, no worrying, then link it up. You can read more posts at her site.

Question for you: do you get along with your siblings? Nobody’s perfect, of course, but if you desire a closer relationship with a sibling, is there one step you could take to foster that friendship? Can’t wait to hear from you in the comments!

 

Discussion: Comments {4} Filed Under: Family, Five Minute Friday, Friendship, Parenting, Uncategorized

Leave Me Alone

30
Oct

http://mrg.bz/60M4Kt

http://mrg.bz/60M4Kt

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“Leave me alone!”

I’m overwhelmed and don’t know how to handle this.

“Leave me alone!”

The things I’m feeling are so negative and seem out of control. I might say or do something that hurts you.

“Leave me alone.”

The things I have to say are not “nice” and I’m questioning everything. I won’t be satisified with any answer that comes too quickly or dismisses the grueling wrestling match I’m in right now.

“Leave me alone.”

Everything takes huge effort right now and I don’t have it in me to return your phone call or go out and about with you.

 I feel so isolated in my own thoughts and so mired in this place I can’t talk or think about anything else. I’m terrible company. I want to see you but I can’t pretend I’m my normal self.

“Leave me alone.”

Please tell me there’s a point at which this will lessen without me betraying the love for someone that makes this so difficult. Please tell me I’ll eventually be able to hold the memory of this person in my mind without feeling such pain. Please tell me that feeling less pain doesn’t indicate a loss of love.

“Leave me alone.”

Can I be this undone in front of you? If I do, will you leave me to figure it out all alone? If there’s a formula, I want to know it. If there’s a shortcut, I’m buying the map. It seems like I’m supposed to be doing something differently, or I wouldn’t feel so bad. I’m knocked over by how hard this is, and I’m freaked out I about what the future will be like. Will I ever regain my footing?

“Please don’t leave me alone.”

Please don’t leave me alone.

***||||*** 

This is a link-up with Kate Motaung and Five Minute Friday. Today’s prompt is “Leave” and the understanding is that people set a timer, write for five minutes and then share their post. It’s writing for the fun of it, with minimal editing or stressing out about getting everything just perfect. You can read other Five Minute Friday posts here.

Question time: when you’re in a hard spot, do you prefer to be left alone or do you invite people in? Which do you think is more beneficial to your emotional state? If you’re the one trying to support another person, how do you know when to leave them alone and when you need to barge in? I’ll be curious to hear your responses.

Discussion: Comments {6} Filed Under: Cancer Sucks, Five Minute Friday

Adornment and Partytime

24
Oct

At a thrift store I found fascinator hats. At least I’m pretty sure that’s what they’re called, or they’re in the style of a fascinator. Hang on, I’ll show you:

Not quite a hat, this one clips into your hair.

Not quite a hat, this one clips into your hair.

The thought of wearing one of these in public makes me happy. I don’t know if I’d actually have the guts to do it and just head over to the grocery store. You need a destination. Maybe the thing I’m drawn to is the joy of wearing something you like and not caring if other people like it. Maybe it’s the feathers, or the fact there might be an occasion associated with it, a happy reason to wear it.

For most people upon seeing someone wearing this, they might ask if it was a dare or if the person lost a bet. That’s totally understandable.

More than being caught in public with a crazy hair adornment, there’s something else that feels like a dare to me.

The idea makes my heart pound. I’m usually an extrovert, someone who enjoys meeting new people, making conversation, noise, crowds.

This idea overwhelms me and I try to make a plan for how I can get out of it.

The idea of going to a party is suddenly a terrible notion, something that’s to be avoided. Me, the extrovert, looks for excuses or overlapping commitments so I don’t have to stay too long. I imagine being in a room with people who I’ve had interactions with in the past, before my dad got sick. How can I possibly act as if nothing has shifted in the world since then? How can I fill the conversation on light, fluffy things when the hole of his absence looms large in every room I enter?

A hat. That’s the answer. An unusual hat. I need a hat as a distraction, as a conversation piece. That will let me steer any questioning up to my head.

Now you’ll know if you see me, that you should ask about the hat and then let me control the conversation. Deal?

Here are two more, just so you’ll be able to recognize me:

A fetching number in navy.

A fetching number in navy.

 

This one strikes me as the most wild.

This one strikes me as the most wild.

For our communal entertainment and because it’s Friday, let’s change things up. In the comments section tell me which headband/fascinator hat you’d wear and what it would take to get you to wear it in public. Can’t wait to see what you say!

Today was a linkup with Kate Motaung who is now the lovely host of Five Minute Friday. The word prompt was “dare” and if you want to read other posts, click here .

Discussion: Comments {12} Filed Under: Cancer Sucks, Five Minute Friday, Friendship, Mischief, Uncategorized

Easy conversations that aren’t easy

10
Oct

These days I’m becoming more aware of and surprised by the self-protection I engage in.

There were probably tendencies in this direction previously, but I’m noticing my limitations. I’m almost like someone who broke his leg and recently had the cast removed. He steps gingerly, more aware of uneven places in the yard or the spot where the concrete of the sidewalk heaved up to create a booby-trap that could easily trip him and reinjure his leg. There are topics I gloss over or sidestep because they’re fraught with emotional peril. And if I’m maintaining a fragile equilibrium, any sudden movement could topple me.

That means that even if someone asks because they care, because they want to know how I’m doing or how my family is doing, and this is done out of genuine concern and love, I have to choose how much to engage the conversation. It’s fairly easy to give a canned answer to many questions, and that’s appropriate for the casual acquaintance. Those who are closer friends, however, pose a different challenge. I’m pretty sure I’ve written about how people can’t win with me; either they don’t ask and I can’t believe we’re going to pretend as if everything is just as it once was. Or they DO ask, and I am in a place when I desperately want to avoid talking or even thinking about it and they just brought this up and what do they really want from me??

See? Persnickety, that’s what that is. Pure persnicketiness. Here, let me try to make it up to you with a cute picture.

http://mrg.bz/RpOLtY

Kittens wearing crowns make everything better.
http://mrg.bz/RpOLtY

Did that work?

Well, it was worth a try.

So basically, what it comes down to is this: don’t ask me how I’m doing, because in that instant I might not be doing very well and not want to talk about it because if I do I might cry and I don’t much like crying, especially if we’re out in public. Be aware, however, that if you DON’T ask how I’m doing I’ll probably be frustrated with you because it will seem to me that you’re one with the rest of the world that has everything continue on its merry way as if there was no significant disruption.

How about this as a solution? When we see one another, just slip me a note or a card that says you care and you hope today is a good day, and if I want to talk about it more in depth I can. You know, if we make these cards together, we could market them, since I can’t be the ONLY person who wishes such a thing existed. Maybe that could make up for the inconvenience and hassle of being forced to use them. You’ll get the majority of the profits, deal?

This is one of those time periods when caring about me is going to be really, really irritating.

This was supposed to be a post with Five Minute Friday but it seems to have taken a sharp turn into the domain of rant and ridiculousness. You know what? That’s what happens when you’re supposed to write for five minutes and not edit things. !!! Thanks for indulging me today.  

Discussion: Comments {3} Filed Under: Cancer Sucks, Five Minute Friday, Uncategorized

Forgive me, I’m new at this

3
Oct

A week ago I was preparing to go with my husband on the longest vacation we’ve ever had. The kids did not get to come along, thereby making it also the longest time we’d ever been away from the kids. This was also the first time either of us had been to Central America. (Wait a minute — does Mexico count as Central America? Nevermind.) We’ve both travelled plenty over the course of our lives, and international travel is something we both enjoy, but it’s been a long time (ten years) so I felt a bit rusty.

Flight leaving at o'dark'hundred hours

Flight leaving at o’dark’hundred hours

There are other areas of life where I’m rusty, areas that need more attention. Something I’ve realized though? This past year has been filled with new experiences. I tend to associate “new” with “good” but as most of you know, Dear Readers, this year the new has been most decidedly NOT good. With the advent of my dad’s illness all the new has been really, really bad. Really bad. Worse than bad. In less than a year I watched my dad age before my eyes as his body was slowly overtaken by cancer. That’s a really painful new thing to experience. That’s something that makes my stomach churn and my breathing shallow. Never before has “new” been so awful.

It makes me realize that I’ve been living a charmed life up until now. And I knew it. I wasn’t calloused about it, and I was sympathetic to hard situations people experienced but it was as a spectator. I was aware that other people struggled, that there were hardships in the world. I appreciated the lack of drama and general positive vibe of my life. There were hard days, of course, but those didn’t threaten to become the rule; they were the exception.

Until now.

 

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In Costa Rica, there were sensory experiences that were totally new for me. Things that people living there must take for granted (as we all are prone to do when we’re around something all the time) were things out of a Dr. Seuss book for me. Vibrant colors and combinations practically bowled me over with their intensity. Sizes that dwarfed their houseplant cousins back at home. Extravagant beauty that bordered on garish to my Northern, reserved Midwestern sensibilities. It was like someone finally speaking their mind after years of holding back. It was wonderful.

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Feel that beachy-ness

For example, what the heck are these things? Check out these crazy things:

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These are fruits. True story.

See what I’m talking about? And the photo doesn’t even show the intensity of their color. They’re crazy!

 

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The new of now is a long road of learning. This thing has a wicked curve and it keeps knocking me on my butt. I’ve always associated my biggest emotions with positive ones: love, excitement, joy, anticipation. These have served me faithfully, and have shown up frequently over the years. Even another big emotion, anger, has been something I knew how to handle, learned how to address and release. But grief, sorrow, mourning, loss — these are intense emotions that are new to me.

I realize that makes me sound like an emotional toddler, and I suppose in some ways I am. I refuse to give extra nobility to these new emotions. There is nothing greater about these “negative” emotions than their positive counterparts. They’re just different. They’re difficult for me, but I’ve started to wonder if some people major in certain sets of emotions, getting shame mastered, for example, while neglecting security. Have I had more time invested in happiness and not been forced to take time learning to manage bereavement? Can you even learn how to handle it until you are forced to experience it? Isn’t it a bit like parenthood, which you can read up on but can’t fully grasp until it’s really happening, in real time, in your life?

http://mrg.bz/Fki1gt

http://mrg.bz/Fki1gt

The new stamps in my emotional passport are ones I wish I didn’t have to collect. And if you’re travelling in similar areas, let me say sincerely, I’m so sorry. This is so hard. This is so exhausting. We will get through it…but it won’t be on any convenient,predictable timeline. And that sucks on it’s own, and that’s not even counting the loss itself. That’s a loss of control and emotional order to our lives. But that’s the way it is for us now, so rather than fight against it, maybe we should conserve our energy for the long months ahead.  Remind me of that when I forget it, which will probably be next week or something, okay?

Are you an old pro at difficult emotions, one with traditionally negative connotations? If so, what do you think about a tendency to excel at some emotions at the expense of others? And if you’re like me and someone who tends to lean towards the more pastel color emotions, is that your natural makeup or a conscious choice? I’m curious to hear your perspectives! 

This was supposed to be a link-up with Five Minute Friday and our new-ish host, Kate Motaung. I accidentally threw the rules out the window by writing for much longer than five minutes. Whoops!

Discussion: Comments {4} Filed Under: Cancer Sucks, Five Minute Friday, Uncategorized

Don’t listen to It

5
Sep

 

Renew Hope

Renew Hope by TC Larson

 

“You’re not good enough,” it whispers. “You’re fooling yourself.”

The words rise unbidden from the deep waters under the confident image you cultivate.

“That’s not so original.”

“This won’t turn into anything useful.”

“You’re wasting your time.”

The phrases overlap — before one finishes the next begins.

“So what if your heart sings while you even think about it? It’s a trifle. It’s a small, insignificant, pointless exercise.”

Words no one has spoken to you, words that come from within yourself bubble up and as they pop their toxicity pollutes your air until it feels like breathing through a heavy blanket.

Something inside you is nearly smothered with discouragement, something that was shining and hot is diminished, it’s gleam dulling. It is your dream, your hope, dying.

Until…

Your mind begins to repeat, “Don’t listen to it. Don’t listen to it. It doesn’t know. Don’t listen.” And in that small act of rebellion, something happens.

The thing itself unfurls. It’s size and scope have been concealed within the core that lay dormant. Now it begins to bloom.

It takes up more and more space, and the larger it expands, the less room there is for the tinny voices of doubt. Your spirit revolts against their reedy words until the strength of it drowns out anything but the beauty and pureness of that dream.

Fully stretched out, glowing and strong, it turns to you and asks, “What shall we do first?”

Today’s post is a link up for Five Minute Friday. So tell me, do you have any dreams which need tending?

 

 

Discussion: Comments {4} Filed Under: Five Minute Friday, Little Things Big Things

Striped Tights and Silver Bracelets

12
Jul

There was a girl in my high school who frequently wore black and white striped tights. You know the ones? They looked like the ones worn by the green witch in The Wizard of Oz. Most times she paired those tights with a black dress or skirt — black was the thing.

This girl was smart and friendly, and she did not want to fit in with the rest of the mainstream kids who were all about the perfectly smooth ponytail (how did they do it without any bumps?), socks that perfectly matched their shirts or the right balance of huge jeans to fitted tank top. She didn’t seem to care about any of that, and was in fact trying to be the opposite of the regularly scheduled programming.

http://mrg.bz/pA6Kca

http://mrg.bz/pA6Kca

It took me a while to notice that there were other people who wore the striped tights, or variants of them. The girl who had seems so independent and alternative at first, was still part of a crowd. She was just part of a different crowd than I was.

We both still wanted to belong.

We ALL want to belong.

I’m here to tell you that regardless of your smooth ponytail, your fancy silver bracelet with the dangling heart charm, your fit body, your acrylic nails, you and I both desire to be known. We both desire trustworthy friends. We both get tired and lash out at the people closest to us. You might do it with a more pulled-together outer façade, but when the makeup comes off and the shades are drawn, you look a whole lot like me.

That’s not meant to be an insult.

I want you to know that when you get done making everyone think you’ve got it all figured out, even if you get tired of working at that goal and want a temporary break, you can come talk to me. We’ll laugh about how we ever thought we had fooled anyone, and we’ll try to figure out why we thought we had to fool anyone in the first place. You can remind me to pull a comb through my hair and I can help you get dirt under those expensive nails. We can belong together because we ALL belong together. Most of us just haven’t discovered that quite yet.

Today I’m linking up with Lisa-jo Baker and doing Five Minute Friday…on a Saturday. It’s open to anyone, and if you want to read some other posts, go check it out: Click here to read more

What about YOU? Where do you feel most like you belong? Do you cultivate an environment of belonging when you’re with others?  What times have you felt like you haven’t belonged?

Discussion: Comments {1} Filed Under: Five Minute Friday, Friendship, Uncategorized, Women

Not Yer Typical Grateful Mother’s Day Post

11
May

Breaking all the rules today: it’s Sunday, this will take more than five minutes, and I’m rolling two posts into one. Oh yeah – I’m also using improper grammar/vocabulary because I’m pretty sure “yer” isn’t an accepted dictionary word. Let it slide today my friends, will you?

I know I’m feeling contrary but I want to ask why mothers must feel bad for the fact there’s a day that celebrates them, why they must feel bad for the fact they were able to become mothers in one way or another, why in recent years we’ve started to feel we must celebrate in hushed tones rather than accept one specific day of appreciation?

It’s so typical Martyr Mom, isn’t it? “Oh no, no, sweetheart, I wouldn’t want to do anything for Mother’s Day. I might make someone feel bad if they weren’t a mother.” It’s a tricky spot to be in.

It’s a little bit like the way my sons feel when I compliment one of them. I tell Rex, “I really like the comic book you’re making.” Bobo hears that and comments, “You don’t like the thing I’m making.” Over and over, I assure them that if I compliment one of them, it has nothing to do with the other. Just because I say one of them is good at something, it doesn’t follow that the other is BAD at it, less than, or anything relating to them at all. It is just me calling out something about one individual. It isn’t a finite substance — as if there’s only so much talent available.

It may stem from some twisted old-timey notion that full womanhood is realized in motherhood, or that somehow women are redeemed through childbirth. We don’t have time to dig into the origins of that now, nor can we dwell on how that informs our current attitudes, but if a person is seen as forever less-than if they’re not a mother, then it’s no wonder there are some significant hang-ups surrounding it.

If you ask me, people would be smart to create their own personal Mother’s Days. Think of the brunch pandemonium we could avoid. Imagine the pick-me-up moms could get in northern regions where winter can drag on for way too long. Pop your own personal Mother’s Day in the middle of that, and break up the monotony. And does anyone save any money by purchasing flower baskets or earrings marketed around Mother’s Day? Not likely. Plus, I’ve got to say, I don’t really desire to hear “Happy Mother’s Day” from a pulpit or a person who is not somehow related to my mothering or somehow being my mother. There’s something about seeing Mother’s Day doggie leashes (Now Mom can walk the dog in style!) or Mother’s Day paperclips (Help keep Mom organized!) that detracts from the sincerity of the occasion anyways. However, Mother’s Day is firmly established now, and if the baseline is a Mother’s Day card that costs $5, you know that corporate America isn’t going be quick to give up Mother’s Day. It’s too big of a money maker.

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Instagram: tclmn

Instagram: tclmn

As I write this, I’m sitting at a restaurant, waiting for my mom. She’s supposed to meet me, but she’s lost. She gets lost a lot. She is more of an instinctual, landmark-reliant driver rather than a direction-following driver. Even if you write out directions for her, she doesn’t generally get there the way you map it out for her.

That sums up her approach to a lot of life. She doesn’t set out to challenge the status quo; it’s her inherent BS sniffer and her inquisitive mind that prompt her to ask the question on everyone’s minds, to say what no one else is willing to, or to proclaim that the Emperor isn’t wearing any clothes. Before they retired, she was a pastor’s wife (although, do you ever really stop being a pastor or a pastor’s wife, even after you retire? It’s kind of hardwired by that point.). She never did fit that stereotype, and that was a constant source of both pride and struggle for her. When people don’t know how to categorize you, it’s easier to just dismiss you as an anomaly rather than find a new spot for you in their minds.

Mom is opinionated, curious, adventurous, spontaneous, restless, loyal, and sensitive. She thinks non-linearly, which can make the linear people around her a little crazy. And let’s admit it, she is a little nuts. She’s random, resourceful, freakin’ hilarious, and sometimes doesn’t know when to quit. She’s one of those who underestimates the power of her words because she underestimates her significance. That underestimation can lead to misunderstandings, and coupled with a zinger or two, it can be a dangerous combination. On the one hand, she’s surprised that anything she’d have to say would actually mean something important to anyone, and on the other hand she’s hurt when it isn’t heard. She’s contradictory that way. Oh crap. Didn’t I say at the beginning of this that I was feeling contrary? I AM becoming my mother!

I’m grateful for her. She’s an unceasing cheerleader, and sees the potential for good things for all her kids. She believes in you, even when you don’t have the courage to believe in yourself.

I’m grateful there’s a special day created that helps people take time to acknowledge the mothers in their lives. On top of that, I’m grateful for the many people who have been mother-types to me throughout my life, for the women who modeled serving behind the scenes, and those who modeled leading from up front. I’m grateful for the people who helped me when things were hard, the people who teamed with me to try something new, who fed my hair-brained schemes and picked me up after epic failures. These may not have all been women, but in many senses these people played a mother role in my life.

From the objections I raised about feeling bad about being a mother on Mother’s Day, I know you’re questioning my sensitivity to those for whom this is a difficult day. It’s not that we shouldn’t have Mother’s Day, nor should we exalt motherhood. A woman is more than her ovaries, and a woman need not have a child to be fully actualized. Not every woman wants to be a mother. I know there are women out there who long to be mothers and cannot, those who have become mothers and could not raise that child, adoptions that have fallen through, heartache that seems bottomless. These things don’t stop being a part of us when this day passes. I hope we can all be kind to the varied circumstances of others, and not assume that our story is the story of every person we meet, easy story or difficult story.

We can all be mothers to one another. We can be tender, we can be tough, we can be supportive, we can be stern. Even if we didn’t have those loving mothers in our lives, we can find them. They are out there. You may already have one in your life and just never viewed him/her as such. You might have an opportunity to mother someone (you don’t have to call it that) and help them find their footing, their voice, or their stride. That is an important role. Do not diminish it just because it doesn’t involve an infant.

Let’s all become the best people we can be, and inspire one another to take those leaps of faith that are done so much more easily with the support of others.

You can do it. I can do it.

We are better together.

Happy Mother’s Day.

Discussion: Comments {2} Filed Under: Church Life, Family, Five Minute Friday, Motherhood, Uncategorized, Women

Maybe we’re all undiscovered artists

11
Apr

If you ask me if I can paint, I’ll tell you no.

But it isn’t true.

Ask me if I’m an artist, I’ll shake my head.

But it isn’t true.

I see pictures in my mind, my eyes a camera to freeze the slant of light coming through my window, the odd placement of a torn shirt in treetop, the wind blowing through a cornfield, my daughter in a crazy self-picked outfit flying down the road on her bike.Smoke in light window

Bike pattern dots outside

My words describe these pictures in the stories I write, wrestle down that one feeling and pin it to the mat. Even in my conversations, the right word is important, and sometimes only a word-picture will convey the idea in my head.

YOU are an artist, you with your art classes, composition knowledge, knowing how to use and pronounce “gesso” (or even just knowing what it IS). I can’t be an artist. How presumptuous of me to even think I could be, in any medium, in any form.

Wait, though.

What if…?

If we strip away the mystery, the intimidation, the pressure to make something that looks like something else, the ideal of perfection, the definition of it being someone with one ear wearing a beret, we are all artists.

We’re just too fearful to pick up a brush.

Do you consider yourself an artist in any form of the word? Don’t dismiss this idea – sit with it for a minute. Many different things can be a form of art…you might be an artist and not even realize it.

This is a linkup with Lisa-jo Baker (http://lisajobaker.com) and Five Minute Friday. Check it out and you’ll see all sorts of different posts. These short posts on Fridays are a fun habit I’ve gotten into.

Discussion: Comments {3} Filed Under: Five Minute Friday, Mischief, Uncategorized

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