Knowing How to Fight.

I wrote the beginning of this entry a couple of weeks ago. However, it was not until today that I was able to complete the scattered thoughts that still dance within my mind.


June 2, 2015

I know I have not written in a while. That does not mean I have not written offline and on my own tangible pages. Sometimes, that is just more of what we might need.

There are days when we just feel inspired; today is not that day for me.

This is the last week of school.
This year has been difficult.
Incredibly difficult.
Today was one of those days that reminded me why.

I love my students. Today my heart broke. And I walked out the school doors with tears in my eyes. When I made it to my car, I found myself sobbing.
Not because I was tired.
Not because I felt done.

I cried because I felt so helpless.

Earlier in the day I found myself saying to my students, "If I teach you anything in this world, fight for what you believe in. And never give up." And today in my car, I felt a small moment of surrender... a moment of pain that comes in waves every now and then. It is the kind of moment that reminds me that, no matter how hard I might fight, I cannot fix them. I cannot change them. I cannot alter their circumstances...regardless of how much I might love them. I cannot be the cushion to their falls.

And I have to be alright with that. 

But I do not know if I will ever know how to do that. 

My heart does not quite settle into that thought. I do not think it knows how to do so.

June 22, 2015

After a few weeks of stepping outside of the classroom, it still does not change how I feel.

My heart gets excited thinking about the next school year.
My heart gets anxious thinking about the next school year.
My heart gets burdened thinking about the next school year.
However, my heart becomes hopeful.

My heart becomes hopeful.


As I reflect on my life, I find myself thinking about how, at some point, someone has taken a chance on me. That includes big chances and small chances, in every single avenue of my life.

Chances. So many chances.

It eases my fears to know that, no matter how many I have taken in my life on other people, there have been several souls who have taken some kind of chance on me. And I am reminded why I love what I get to do.

Each day we get a choice. Each day we get a chance.

And hallelujah for that.


-S
 

Looking Through the Lense.

I could spend a lot of time telling you about the things on which I wasted my time in life.

I could spend a lot of time reminiscing on the things in life that I should have done differently.

I could spend a lot of time explaining the reasons why life does not look like I would have told you five years ago.

I could spend a lot of time describing to you the way I should have said this and not that...on that one day.

But at some point, it will all end up being a waste of time spent about what I gave up, gave into, gave away, or gave too much of.

And we can look at life in a lot of different ways and from thousands of different angles and through millions of different lenses.

Yet, that will not change what is on the opposite side of the kaleidoscope: life. 

In several hundreds, thousands, millions, and billions of colorful pieces of mystery, sadness, joy, pain, excitement, adventure, and perpetual newness--some kind of vessel rests on the other side of the large Tree of Experience. On each piece of those branches drips a special dew of that effervescence of this gift of L-I-F-E.

I would like to think that each day is as hallucinogenic as one of those dramatic depictions that is displayed at the end of one those tubes that we used to twist in front of our eyes as a kid. We would move our hands, and we would be in awe at what was projected just four inches away from our eyes...almost as if we were looking into another world, another galaxy. Yet, in reality:  it is just a little cardboard tube with beaded fixtures at the end.

But, sometimes we need the simple to invite us to extravagant.

I love that I teach English. There are several reasons why I love what I get to do each day. However, I get to step into the world of my students. I get to share a part in the magic they create on paper. I get to share in their writing.

And that is something that is difficult to articulate. 

I have had students leave me awed with a deeper introspection to life, afraid in horror of what is behind that door, and in tears by the weight of emotion they created in a story about someone's journey. And these little souls are only fourteen.


Only fourteen. Whew.

I laugh most days with them. But on the days I get to take part in the little piece of their journey of creating new stories, of discovering poetry, and learning how to share their own story, I get to give my time. I get to listen. And that is the best way I know how to give. 


My hope is that they see life with the colorful treasures that are still ahead: a kaleidoscope of possibility.


And, hey, maybe you need that, too.

We need the clouds every now and then.

-S




P.S.. (Disclaimer: ONLY IF YOU WANT TO LAUGH)

This occurred when teaching one of my classes about color connotations and the purpose behind using colors to contribute to the tone and imagery of a passage.

Me: Brown. The color Brown carries a negative and positive connotation. When you think of "Brown," what do you think?

Student: (an immediate response) "Ker-plunk!"

Entire class of laughter ensues, including myself. 

Me: (Directing the question to student) Does that carry a negative or positive connotation?

Student: Depends. It can be either, just depending on the situation.


Yeah. That's teaching for you. You are welcome.

Party of Five.

I come from a family of the dramatic.

The passionate.
The romantic.
The zealous.
The fiery.
The dreaming.
The believing.
The fierce.

And, I say that with ammo in my hands, mind, and heart.

There is something about a birthday. Your birthday. Something that will always make you think, reflect, and ponder your past or your future...but never really your present.

But, this year? Today, I sat in my present. In the presence of those special souls I call my family.

Thankful.

I'm thankful for a family that has taught me passion, romance, zeal, fire, dreaming, belief, and ferocity.

There are none like that nucleus of four that I call my family. 

My mother-the one with the heart of gold. She breathes in other peoples' pain, only to exhale compassion and safety. She just makes you feel better. Always. It's not in her DNA to make you feel anything different.

My father-the one who cares more than he knows how to say. He has taught me the lesson of what Henry David Thoreau would say, "Live the life you have imagined." He taught me dedication. He believes to be fulfilled, go for it. Go for it all.

My brother-the one who is full of zeal and passion. He is more than a success, he is a powerful force to be reckoned with. Trust me, ten times out of ten, you want him in your corner.

My sister- the one that I don't know how to put into words on most days. She is the passionate, beautiful, fierce one who dreams more than most. And believes more than most. Even when you don't believe. She does.

And for all four of these souls I get to call my family, I say, hallelujah. There just really aren't any other people on this earth like them.

They are my fighting force.

They are the ones who have taught me how to love beyond measure.
They are the ones who have taught me how to fight without restraint.

They are always a party.

Always a party of five.

-S

Monday is Coming.

I still remember how I felt before the first day of school every single year. Ever year I had that 'First Day' outfit spread across my dresser the night before. I still recall never being able to sleep. I remember the questions that raced through my head. But, I knew I was ready for the first day.

Because Monday was coming.

As I find myself now standing on the other side of that threshold of the school doors, I am still filled with excitement. Yes, the questions have changed that race through my head. But, I am ready.

Because Monday is coming.

I am ready to have students in my room before and after school asking me questions. I am ready to laugh with them. I am ready to struggle with them. I am ready to be frustrated. I am ready to succeed with them. I am ready to believe in them.

Because Monday is coming.

The days are slipping from our hands of summer vacation, and the 'First Day' is palpable. I tend to keep looking at my class rosters for changes and updates, because I want to know those kids already.

Because Monday is coming.

And I want to begin praying by name. For those hearts that will walk through those doors. For those desks that will be filled.  And for those faces that I will get to see every day. And for those special souls I will be privileged to call my students.

Because Monday is coming.

That's fine if some teachers read this and roll their eyes at what I am saying. That is fine if they believe that I haven't taught long enough to want to keep my summer break as long as possible. Keep rolling your eyes then, darling.  Because I'm ready.

Because Monday is coming.

When I worked at Sky Ranch, every Sunday we had new campers arrive. EVERY single Sunday. And I still remember feeling that same excitement every new week, even when we were exhausted. Because every new camper deserved that same energy as that first week did. We would pray over the bunks of the new kids arriving.

Because we all knew, Sunday was coming.

And that's how I feel about my students. Yet thankfully, I don't just get a week with them. I get 10 full months. Only 10 months. And how quickly that time escapes us. My heart is full. My heart is ready. And it better be.

Because Monday is coming.

-S

P.S. Part of this post is inspired from the video Sunday's Coming. Feel free to watch. :)

Backyard Beliefs.

Did you grow up believing in magic?

I did.

I was the kind of child who spent hours in the backyard with our two dogs, Lucy and Lion-O (Thundercats, named by my brother). I lived in an enchanted world that was not just a backyard full of grass and trees. No, that stone path led into another world full of mythical dreams, illusive characters, and a realm of imagination I can never get back.

When I would exit the house, I would enter into a land of twisted fantasy with dark and ominous trails that would lead to the witch's house. And nothing was the same when I was out there. In that yard I saved villages of people, all in one powerful swoop of my sword that projected fire. I met the love of my life. I killed the evil beasts. I overcame abusive rulers. I conquered demons of many powers. I discovered new life in simple pieces of nature. I salvaged lost souls of the forest.

And fine. Every now and then, I ate mud pies.

Because out there, anything was possible. Because out there, anything was available. Because out there, my mind didn't listen to anything or anyone else. Because out there, I was safe. No matter how dangerous of an eerie backwoods where I may have found myself "injured and alone," I was fine. The only danger that beheld itself was my own imagination. It became unsafe when it began to stay indoors.

When I stopped going into the backyard. When I stopped creating stories and living them out. Something happened. Something changed. I closed a piece of the chapter on my childhood. I said goodbye to my imaginary best friend. I said goodbye to the evil gremlins who looked like those of The Labyrinth. I said goodbye to various characters that were my sidekick, my enemy, my suitor, my partner in battle.

I don't write this in a state of sadness. I recall these memories with a fond recollection on the beauty that is childhood. I am reminded that when your creativity is crushed, a part of you is as well. I don't think I would like to write as much if I didn't get a chance to live out my imagination as a child. Because that's what writing is. Imagination on paper. Stories that you always wanted to tell. Or ones that are only able to be reproduced on lines.

And, if you had to grow up too fast, for that I'm sorry. If you were never able to experience those years in your own Wonderland, I really hope at some point you are able to embrace it. Or see it through the eyes of a child. Because, those years...Well, I learned a lot of things. Here are the three most important pieces of wisdom I would like to offer from my years outside:

1. You have nothing to lose. Do whatever you want.
2. You have nothing to lose. Do whatever you want.
3. And, it's not a wooden frog. That amphibian has seen its last days. Trust me. It's just a dead frog. Put it down. And walk away.

On the days that I feel ordinary or boring. I remember that girl. The one who would get lost in her own world. And I smile. Because, baby, let's remember our backyard years. Sometimes they help us move forward. Sometimes they inspire us now. Sometimes they put the magic back into our minds.

Wooden Frogs and Mud Pies.

-S

What I Don't Deserve.

Have you ever found yourself counting days that you don't want to lose? Moments you don't want to let go? Seconds that you'll never get back?

Last May, my life changed, because my mind changed, because well, ultimately... 

My heart changed.

And everything has been different since.

I write this with tears in my eyes and a nostalgic smile on my face.


And I blame it on three things: A letter, an email, and a Friday.

My first year of teaching has been everything I never thought it would be and everything I would love it to be. My students. Those rambunctious souls with deep and questioning thoughts. They leave me tired, yet thankful.

There was that one student. The day she read me a letter in front of 20 boys, I couldn't help but attempt to hold the tears, yet lost the battle for my cheeks to catch. In just months, I felt I had made a difference. In just months, my life had changed.

If only they all knew.

There are those students you find yourself constantly doing everything in your heart and soul to get  to try, to understand, or to comprehend. And at some point, you surrender them to the good Lord, and well, you pray. And mostly, you hope they will do alright on the state test. The results were delivered in an email. And what I saw on my computer screen brought a smile to my face. And well, to no surprise, I cried. No, that was a lie. I wept. And oh, I sobbed. With tears of sweet, sweet joy, I let those bad boys roll down my face. Because those few that were thought by some as ones who wouldn't make it, who wouldn't pass...They did. I rejoiced in that quiet moment in my classroom after school realizing that their stories become a piece of mine. And never will I believe one test defines their ability, but what a great moment it was to deliver that news to those students.

Their pain becomes my pain. And their success becomes my success.

It's not every year I'm going to get to teach a classroom full of all boys. Yes, ALL boys. But this year was my year. It was Friday. They were ready to go. I can't blame them. They have my class the last hour and half of the day, and the weekend was at their anxious finger tips. And then it happened. They decided to act up. They decided to get out of control. And my response was what changed their attitudes that following Monday. But in the moment, they didn't know how to respond. They didn't know what to do. They almost looked, upset with themselves...And that, I had never seen. Who knows? Maybe it was the way I didn't raise my voice. Maybe it was the way that I was very real with them all and told them that I loved them and I was deeply hurt and disappointed. Maybe it was the fact that my eyes were watering (I was not actually going to cry, but I was functioning off three hours of sleep the night before, so that did help my case). But, the sincerity in some of their apologies after reminded me one simple truth:

They all need grace. Every day. Because, I do too. Every day.

A letter. An email. A Friday. And every single day this past year, I have witnessed my world forever change in an irrevocable, unequivocal way, that only leads me to a place I have never found myself before: content.

For the first time in my life, I can say that I love what I get to do every day. I love that I get to spend my days staring into the eyes of young and brilliant minds, rather than staring at a computer screen for hours on end. I love that I get to know the little and big pieces of their lives. I love that they invite me in to share their stories--the good and bad.


A year ago I prayed on the way to work that if I never become a mother, the Lord would make me a different kind of mother. A spiritual mother. One who guides, loves, and speaks peace over youth. Now, I'm not going to say this is where I will stay forever; however, I do believe that if this is just the first chapter...I'm ready for a really long novel of adventure.

And I know that last statement was corny. But in the sophisticated words of Kate Winslet (because everything sounds better when you are British), "I like corny. I'm looking for corny in my life."

I believe in the power of loving until it hurts, giving others grace, and finding joy in what you do every day. And fine, I really enjoy the movie The Holiday.

Be Corny, be you.

-S

On Beauty.

I'm one to say I'm learning.

I'm a teacher, and I feel like I learn more than anything.

Every day there is something new, something different, something that makes me want to scream from my "please-hold-my-hand-I'm-scared," little corner of the fearful ones of the world. Because too many days these days, I'm learning more than anything.

I look in the mirror too much. I doubt too much. I care too much. I fear too much. I think too much. I hold on too much.

There are a lot of "things" that I do just a little too much of in the eyes of others.

And that's where everything I have believed for so long has collapsed before my eyes. I have cared for too many years, for too many hours, for too many minutes, for too many seconds what other people would say. "If I did this, or wow, if I did that...What would they think? Then what would happen? How would I be perceived? How would they feel?" And there is a pain that comes with this process. There is a pain that comes with this lifestyle.

The pain of pleasing becomes a life of appeasing. And what did I learn to do?

"Smile, honey. It's just fine." Oh, the lines I learned. The script I created for my own utopia was one of elegant luster to my own, blind eyes.

But, oh dear...Did I get lost on a road of smiles that weren't real, lumps in the throat that weren't swallowed and words that weren't said.

And somewhere in the mix of the last 10 years of this blender, I created a smoothie of a fruitful mess.

On The Things That Shouldn't Matter.

I live for sunny days, Cheeze-Its and good stories.

I'm sorry if within my dreams I don't see myself spinning in circles in the middle of a green pasture, wearing all white surrounded by sunflowers (They may have been like that at one point). I wish I could call myself Daisy and dance on grass that would never wither or would never get muddy. But sadly, Reality, she is not always one to hold our hand and make things better. She tends to be a malicious, conniving terror to one that believes in the brighter days.

Mirrors are just lies of truths that we don't know how to accept the verdict that we were given. We know how to make it end, or we don't know how to make it last. But, we tend to long for the moments that we don't even understand. Moments that dance to create the rythyms within the drums of our delicate minds.

Windows, shutters, doors, all they do is hold the dust of memories. We have stared through one, shut another, walked through another only to compare what is or belongs on the other side of that threshold. And then what now? Sing your songs and believe in the dripping of the liquid that quenches the desperate thirst for so many years. Get up out of the sand, you don't belong in these mounds of faltering and inconsistency.

Oh, how we make the dramatic too dramatic. Let's help out the layman and put it in his terms:


Take a breath. Eat some pizza. Learn to relax.


Nothing is as bad as it seems until you let your life come undone at the seams. There will always be something. There will always be the person you don't know how to forgive. The place you are too afraid to go. That one thing you can never say. But someday, you'll learn to love that person. You'll go to that place. And you'll say that something without realizing.

And the amazing moment that you'll have with your sweet little soul? You'll realize something marvelous. Something breathtakingly spectacular: you lived.

Yeah. That's right.  You lived.

And you just took another breath. 

Go sit in the sun, read a good book, and eat some Cheeze-Its.

Maybe I'll see you there.


-S

On Quiet Roads.

In the city, silence is never something that shows up to the party. Highways are busy. Stoplights are backed-up and there is a nightly dose of sirens heard from one's apartment window. The only peace that is displayed is that of a vintage sign that hangs from a trendy door etched with the celebrated phrase, "Let It Be."

And sometimes, there is a need to retreat. Back to the roads first met. The ones that are sweet. The ones that invite one home and ask you to stay a while. The ones that carry the best conversations. The ones that like to tell stories. The ones that if they could open up to you, they would tell you about the first stop sign at which I stalled my Jeep. The path I used to ride my bike to school and the street on which my dad would follow me just to make sure I made it safely. The cul-de-sac that meets the pond that holds the memories of my many imaginary childhood friends, secret dreams and the bench that held me up through years of change. The place that kindled a spark in my soul and became a wildfire of believing in the impossible. The intangible. The unthinkable.

I still go back to these roads.

I go back to be inspired.
I go back to be reminded.
I go back to remember the dreams.

Because the dreams still matter.

And I can't ever let the heart of that girl go.

Those roads help me remember. Those roads teach me to forget. Those roads decorate my mind with years of crazy and calm. And mainly, they sing to me the lyrics of who I am and what will never and should never change.

And so, my dear friends, I encourage you to embrace your roads. The ones that make you come alive. Whatever they might look like; wherever they might be, go give them a visit. They are more kind than you think. Your soul wants it. Your heart needs it.

Let's let today not make sense. And go hit the road.


-S

On Standby.

When I was a child, I was unruly. I was wild. I ran without shoes on. I played in the middle of the road. I stayed out past dark. I would close my eyes and believe that by opening them I would travel through time. I was loud and lived in a world of ideas and creativity. Believing I was on the edge of "danger" and something beautiful. Life was different, because life just was.

And now I feel like I long for those days to return. I find myself holding my breath only to think that by the next one, something would be different.

Something would be different.

If you have ever traveled on standby, I think that is one of the most realistic parallels to life.

You are ready. Belongings in your hand. Heart on a mission to a destination. But your means of travel is tentative. Your time of departure is not for sure. You are waiting. You are not the first choice. You may not be the second. You may be number 58 out of 60 on a list of people who have come before you and have been waiting, in the same terminal, to return to the same place.

And you wait. On standby. You're told to wait. That eventually you will make it. 

Eventually.

We tend to wait for what we believe is still ahead. We hope for these new tomorrows to get us away from the scattered yesterdays, because anything would seem better than the messy "standby" todays. 

But if we are honest with ourselves--if we really sit and evaluate our thoughts--we are not good at embracing the time in the terminal.

You know what I mean. It is uncomfortable. It is not what we want. We long for a different place. We are in the middle of it. We are caught in the chasm of the origin and destination.

Friends, I can't impart any wisdom on how the days would look different. All I do know is that, there is a longing for more in us all. An eternal longing. No, we're not home. Not just yet. So, we'll be in this terminal for a while. Might as well shake hands with the others, because at the end of the day, we will want to make sure they are able to make the flight.

And there might be turbulence. So don't hold your breath. Enjoy the flight.

S

Learning to Fall.

In our span of life, we're taught a lot.

On those lessons we're taught...we get to choose if we are going to listen.  And if we are going to remember.

However, a lot of it can't be taught.  It can't be told.  It has to be lived.

It has to be lived.

In our youth, we're told that "falling in love" is just something that is "young love." We're told that believing in these hopes and dreams of being something extravagant is attainable.  And so we fall.  We fall in love with a future that does not exist.  We fall in love with a dream of a life that isn't lived.

And we fall.  We tragically fall for something we don't have. Oh, what a slumber to awaken from.  To realize that not all of the dream was reality.

But what about the dreams?  In dreams, something special occurs.  That moment where the unexpected happens.  Where life becomes different.  And you learn the art of falling without falling.
--------

I recently went sky diving with one of my best friends.  It was a brilliant moment.  Not because I had it on a bucket list for my life.  Not because I wanted to fulfill one of the items on Tim McGraw's  "Live Like You Were Dying."  Because for a moment in my life, I fell freely in an open sky. I jumped out of a plane and smiled and laughed at the fact that the earth was below me.  I had nothing but an endless about of sky to my right and left and ground beneath me (and a 50+ year old man strapped to my back).

The amount of peace that came over what I want to say was my "heart and soul" really could have just been my body preparing to die as I looked out from the plane and saw the county of Fayetteville beneath me.  Regardless,  there is something about that moment.  About that day.  It reminded me that we fall a lot. We jump out of planes to say we did something beyond humanity.  We run with bulls to say that we survived something that is historical.  We adventure to corners of the earth because we want to be a sponge and soak it all in.

This side of heaven, we learn to fall.  Whether if we fall out of planes, into love, out of love, or into more of the days that we never knew could happen.  We are learning to fall.

And that isn't taught.  We learn to fall by living.

Happy falling.  Wear knee pads.

-S

Better Now Than Never.

On December 31st, at 11:59:50, we congregated around televisions or massive screens, at a dance floor, a bar, a downtown, an uptown, in a small intimate crowd, in a large screaming crowd, and we counted down. 10.9.8.7.6.5.4.3.2.1. And new numbers appeared before us: 2.0.1.3. 2013.

We wore hats, blew horns, hugged our friends, kissed our loved ones and celebrated the dropping of an intricately, 1000lbs + LED lit ball. We toasted to a new year. A new day. 

Some people planned ahead, weeks in advance for this day. They booked parties. They booked tables. The booked limos. Some people threw parties with an abundance of food, an abundance of drinks and an abundant crowd.

Some people planned the day of. They rallied their alliance and gathered at a house with an abundance of food, an abundance of drinks and a smaller crowd.

But what most did on that sparkly eve: they gathered to celebrate from something old to something new.

That's what you could say. That's what you could describe New Years Eve here in Western culture as: a sparkly party about a ball. 

I would say I'm the dazzling cynic in the corner of that party.  I would like to believe that NYE is a great tradition. Oh my, I even abbreviated it to "NYE." But year after year, I am always disappointed and I always wished I would have stayed home, eaten pizza and watched the kind of movies that I have already seen 15 times. Yet, this year...something was different. Right after I counted down with my small group of dancing heroes, I walked away for a moment and I found myself smiling. Not because of the fact that I love New Years celebrations. Not because I love watching the televised and glorious ball. Not because I loved the shoes I was wearing (that was a joke...it's like I was decided to insert knives into my heels). And not because I enjoy the countdown. 

I smiled because for the first time in many many years, I was able to look back upon the year and truly see something really great. I am not saying that past years have not been that, because some really have. But this has been a year. Oh golly, it has. But what a sweet sweet year it has been. Some rough truths. Some tear rivers cried. Some deep soul laughs. Some beautiful breakthroughs. And most of all, great community. I have made friends with some that I feel like I've known all my life. I have sat across the table from the hearts of faithful women and been encouraged more than ever. Grace has been showered over me in the purest and most tangible way that Jesus does through his sons and daughters. And I have seen how true He really is. How faithful He really is. And how much He really is a God of power.

I did not need a countdown to see all of this. But I remember writing this blog a year ago and being in a completely different spot. You'll even see, I described that year as a mess. But...He who promised is always faithful. So, to you, my people, may you be reminded that this side of heaven is what we get. So, let us gather and rejoice the old and celebrate the new for those that are won over to the Kingdom. We are the sparkly hat wearers, the horn blowers and the people that don't make sense. If you know what I mean, then you're one of them. And I'm glad you are. So, let's not count any more. Let's grab hands with those to our left and right, and go for it. A Kingdom awaits. You can ask Cinderella, just how you can ask everyone who celebrates a new year, it was never about the ball. It's about an adventure. It's about newness.

And there is only One who offers newness.

-S

Side by Side.

When I went to college I had severe anxiety. I had closed the chapter on some of the best years of my life, only to take a new book off the shelves without really knowing what the pages contained.

Let us travel back to the beautiful years before the college life and paint on the canvas of where it all began.

For some, high school was misery, loss and awkward. For others, it was bliss, love and crazy. And to those of the former, I truly am sorry. Because I fall into that latter category.  Those years for me were everything memorable. Everything I keep in a treasure chest of the hearts and everything I want to keep in the stories of my own personal library. I didn't say the days were always great and the nights were endless during those times. I didn't say that I didn't lock myself into my closet and shed tears when Friends aired the final episode of all time. I didn't say that I didn't cut my hair into a bob thinking it would fix my emotions. So, please don't hear what I didn't say.

However, those are the years we'll never get back. And not to be completely loose and melodramatic with my words (hold your judgement, especially if you know me well) if I were an oyster, I would say that's where I found a lot the pearls that have made up the necklace of my life. (What? You know that sounds sweet).

And you know how some people say, "I never stayed friends with any of my friends after high school... You never will?" Well, to those people, I get to say (in a polite and sweet way), "You were in every possible way, wrong. Very, very wrong."

A lot of us spread out when it came time for college. Some here. Some there. Some in other states. We all made new friends, some forever friends that will always be there. But we stand grounded still holding hands during the rough pains and the much needed deep soul laughs. And no one can take that from us. And no one can tell us otherwise.

From state to state, we have learned the meaning of phone calls, emails, Skype, group texts, farewell parties and coming home parties. When someone knows every side of you. Every great decision and every single and many many many wrong decisions you have made. Regardless of it all, the ones who are going to be there to tell you to shut up when you're believing lies. To calm you down when you're overreacting. And knowing that sometimes you don't want words, you just want presence and company. Those are the people you keep around. Those are the ones you would die for and die with. Those are the ones that you prefer to look your worst around, because putting on normal clothes and having to go out in public is just not the best option.

So, order a pizza, drink some wine and celebrate the friendship of what will never change. Regardless of location, time and season---we're still here. We're still friends. And you can't change that. No need to lock yourself in a closet and cry, because this era of these friends doesn't have an end date.

-S

Just Because.

No matter what age we are going to find ourselves, I feel like we'll always miss something:

A loved one we lost
Something special that was tarnished
Specific eras of our lives that marked great moments
A younger version of ourselves

There is always something. But do you ever have that feeling on those quiet and cloudy days when you find yourself missing something you never had?

I think you know what I mean. I think I know what I mean. But I could never really explain what I mean. Understand?

It's that simple and sweet moment, when the world gets quiet around you. You find yourself opening up the dusty shoe boxes in your heart that you packed away for a simple and lonely day. Re-reading lines of pages that were flooded with young and vibrant passions. Young and vibrant dreams. And then you realize you traded in fire for a flashlight and beauty turned boring.

My dear sojourner, you're not alone. Your heart is welcomed here. 

I understand those feelings. Feelings of the different. Feelings of the failure. Feelings of the longing for more. Feelings that you feel are sometimes more annoying than you want them to be. You just want to exhale for once and not feel like you have been holding your breath for the last 26 years. I get those feelings. But again, they're feelings.

My feelings are not always my reality. My reality is clear even when my heart is blurry.

Growing up, I always felt like a mis-fit, inside. But if we're honest with ourselves, didn't a lot of us feel that way? That not everyone understood us? That we were the ones that wanted to stand out and change the world? We would go places. Everyone else was just too simple and just too normal.

But over time, we put things in more boxes and scattered them into the small corners we call our memory. We traded in the places we thought we would go and put on a new nametag. "Hi, Simple, meet Normal."

However, the dreams are still there. They will never leave, because they're waiting for you. As my dear comrade, Henry, once said:

If you have built castles in the air, your work need not be lost; that is where they should be. Now put the foundations under them. 

Come on, dear soul. Let's work on that foundation.

-S

Story Time.

I would like to say I'm a girl with imagination. A soul with stories. A dreamer that appears off her rocker. A singer for the quiet places. A color to a blank page. As I said, I would like to say these things and believe them to be true. Never did I tell you I was good at any of those...However, I am a story teller. Through and through. I could tell you a story off-the-cuff, fiction or true. You ask my why?

All I say: memory, baby. memory.

Let me explain with a brief story. Out at camp, when I worked with teenage inner-city girls, we walked and talked to activities. Or sometimes, we walked. And, well, OK, I sang. On one particular day, I was singing, with my "soulful Aretha Franklin" type voice--at least I thought I was. This is what happened:

Me: (singing deeply and with soul..I won't even type out what I sang...just imagine...just try)
Kadeedra: Girl, you off!
Me: Oh, no! Was I out of key on that?
Kadeedra: Nah, girl. YOU. YOU OFF!

And there you have it. At that moment, I was relieved that she didn't think I was off-key, rather that Kadeedra just thought I was crazy. That I could live with. That I could be at peace with knowing that I was "off."

I'm not going to write a blog post on how the "off" women change the world, because well, some of them really don't at all. Some of them just hang out in their off corner of the world and turn themselves off. But what this post is about is about a story. About any story. Because kid, your today is a story. Your yesterday is story. Each hour of your life makes up a part of a story. Some people don't know which chapters to share and which chapters to leave out.

There are no rules in the library of life. The only thing that is promoted here is something you were taught in kindergarten: share. Please share.

I write because I remember. I record it because I can. The only difference between our stories and the fiction of the world...No one can skip through all the middle only to read your last page and decide if you're "worth the read." Because honey, you are worth the read, because you are worth the write. The Author is a credible source, I promise.

I'm going to the library. You want to join? It's alright if you're off.

-S

On Waiting.

There are many events and circumstances in life that we can't always control:

Someone dying
Losing a job
Natural disasters
Unreciprocated love
Other people's decisions

Those are just some things. Some. However, in the process of a lot these issues we buckle up and face in life, we find ourselves always doing the same thing: waiting. 

You are either waiting on someone or something.

And there you are. Waiting for that phone call. Waiting for that email. Waiting for the storm to end. Waiting for the pain to go away. Waiting for that person to stop walking down a self-destructive path. Waiting for the light to turn green. Waiting for the sun to come up. And so you wait.

Or someone is waiting on you.

And there they are. They wait for you to call. They wait for you to email. They wait on you to say yes. They wait on you to say no. They wait on you to show up. They wait on you to leave. And so they wait.

You wait. They wait.

We wait and we wade. We wait through it all and wade through the waters, saying "Lord, help us." And sometimes, that is all we can do. That is all we can know to do--call upon the One who controls it all.

There is no way around it and I do not think I will ever have some deep revelation about it other than, you learn to wait.

And in the moments of waiting, a new story comes into the picture that has you endlessly turning the pages for the next chapters. And before you knew it, your waiting is no longer. And one story closed as a new one has begun. So what now? Eh, put in the bookmark, take a deep breath and let's go outside.


 

What I'm Not.

No, I'm not engaged.
No, I'm not married.
No, I'm not buying a house.
No, I'm not having a baby.
No, I'm not living out my dream job.


The 20s are funny. This time is a funny one. I still wake up concerned with what to eat for breakfast rather than my child crying. I still plan my week according to my own time and schedule and not with my husband. I still live in an apartment and pay rent. I still work at a job that I never saw myself doing.

And you know what? I'm good with this, people.

I am beyond happy for the people I know that have everything that I listed above, blessings and love to you all, truly. I have most likely danced at your weddings, invited myself over to your house and babysat your children and convinced them I'm the coolest aunt regardless if we're blood related or not.

And to the ones that are the "not list" with me, let's hang out.

S

To the seasoned and the troubled: Hold on

She sings in riddles. She writes in phrases.
But what if all these words were empty vases?

From shadows to sunshines, mystery is unveiled.
And she dances to the simple.

She hopes in numbers. She remembers in story.
And the yesterday and the tomorrow become a faded glory.

From muck and sackcloth, hope prevails.
And she stands on a rock in the middle of a dark place.

She breathes in desperation. She exhales a jaded fear.
And she clings to a truth that is forever near.

From weary to different, peace calms.
And she breathes.

She breathes.

To the Zoo.

So, it’s been some time. Sorry? I could tell you that “I’ve been so busy,” that “life is just crazy right now,” or that “I’ve barely had any time to do anything lately.” I could tell you that. I could. But I won’t. Because why? You make time for what you want to make time for. That’s why I get mad at myself if I ever find myself saying that to someone. That’s why sometimes relationships and friendships can be a hard pill to swallow, especially when the person on the reciprocating end, well, just doesn't reciprocate. It’s not that they don’t care about you, but well, they’re not making time for you.  That’s life, baby. But rejoice, there are those that do care. With all that I say, I haven’t blogged lately because I have not wanted to blog. I have not wanted to type out my thoughts or feelings or viewpoints. Rather, this sweet little era of blogging silence has been extremely loud in my little corner of the world. Much to live and many mental photos taken. Laughs shared. Tears cried. And breakthroughs. And from these moments, with pen in hand, I wrote. 

So really, you could say I have been “blogging”, but just off the record and undisclosed. Only for my maker and me. But, dear friends, thank you for your patience, for your support and for your quiet reads. Because I know there have been many of you checking this daily—to see when the next entry would post. And each day, a teeny little piece of hope chipped away. That, or your life was the same. 

What’s my inspiration now? Simple: We Bought a Zoo. Man, what a good movie. I love cats and I love that you can see the face of a domesticated kitten in a huge ferocious tiger. That’s comforting to me. No? 

There is a scene in this movie that is pure truth. It takes place when Dylan and his dad (Matt Damon) begin screaming at each other. Dylan was upset that they uprooted their lives, moved out to the middle of nowhere to start a zoo and the fact that his mom passed away. He’s angry. He’s hurt.

Matt, even though he is sad too that he lost his wife, is upset with Dylan that he keeps moping around and that he keeps feeling sorry for himself when no one else is doing that. He tells him that he needs help with Dylan’s little sister. And then, the pinnacle of the emotions erupted. Matt, yelling to Dylan, “I need your help! Help me, help me!”

And Dylan’s response, “Help ME! Help ME!”

Now, some loved this movie. Some thought it was cheesy. I don’t care with either "somes" say. This moment is brilliant. Why? Because it’s need for need. It’s hurt for hurt. And it’s all expressed in two lines.

That was the breaking moment in the father-son relationship in this movie. From there you begin to see them communicate in a weird way—but having an understanding with each other.

Why did I find this so fascinating? Because when we express our needs and say that we need help, it brings a vulnerability to the surface that some might never know or never understand, unless we just say it. Help me. Help me.

It was the painful and tearful plea from the son that really demonstrated to me how we are the children and are dying for the help of a father, a real Father. A Father that doesn’t need our help at all. A Father that knows what we need . A Father that meets our needs. A Father that is our help. A Father that will hold our hearts in pain. A Father that will rejoice with us in victories. And a Father whose love is more powerful than the ferocity of any lion. A Father that will never stop fighting for us.

So what now? I know kids, let's go buy a zoo.

-S

Life in Resolutions. Or Not.

And again. Another year down. Another year we can breathe in and exhale and think, "Wow. It already happened."

For some, 2011 was incredible. You got married. You had babies. You fell in love. You got the job of your dreams. You travelled to places you have always wanted to go.You accomplished something that you had on your bucket list.

For others, 2011 was a year of pain. You lost someone close to you. You lost your job. You accrued more debt. All you feel like that happened this year was that you were becoming accustomed to the feeling of loss and pain.

Either way, whatever kind of year it was for you: You made it. You're still breathing. You're still here.

You can ask any of my friends, but I really do not like New Years. I believe it is overrated and another excuse to get a large crowd of people into a small place to celebrate really nothing at all but the clock ticking to a new second. I know, I'm kind of cynical and sometimes seem depressing about certain concepts in life. But really I'm not. Well, think what you want. The main point that kills me about a new year is the "resolutions." Don't misunderstand me, I do not think that resolutions and goals are wrong. But the fact that we have the wait until January 1 to realize that we need to change something. We need to better something. We need to do this more or do this less. Or lose that. Or accomplish this. I find that exhausting. I think it is great for those who set a goal and accomplish it throughout the year. Way to go! But the world does not care about the goals you set. The world does not care about the people in your family. The world does not care about the places you want to travel. Baby, the world does not care about you.

You can disagree with me all you want. Go ahead. I'm the one typing and you're the one still reading. But the fact of the matter is for those I mentioned who had the great year and for the ones who are thankful they still have a roof over their heads, we all need one thing: hope.


There is only One who brings Hope. And this hope is not just on January 1, 2012. This hope is every day. This hope is all the time.

I will be very honest: I think I am the most angry with myself I have been in a very long time. For many reasons that I will not write about because that is not what matters. What matters is that I can rejoice in a hope in something better. A hope that is bigger. A hope that is Jesus. The One who cares about the goals you set. The One who cares about the people in your family. The One who cares about the places you want to travel. The One who cares about you.

So, I'm into rap. Well kind of. Certain songs. But there is this one Christian rap song called, Hero, by Trip Lee featuring Jai (I want her voice. I pray for it). When I go running I listen to this song on repeat. And there are two lines that I love:

Jesus succeeded in every part of life that we failed. 
You're my hero. You've already saved the day. You're my hero.

In spite of my mess that I look back on and call 2011--He's my hero. And there are small blessings and big blessings that I know I sometimes overlook or do not always see at first. And I really really need Him. Like really really. And of course, I have a lot to "work on." But thank God that He has saved the day. He has saved this crazy mess here and loves me as messy as I might be. And He loves you as messy as you might be. He died for us "messies" so that we could be made a new creation and live for Him. To help the other messes know that there is more to this life than accomplishing one of our resolutions for the next year.

Well, I guess I'll be trite and say, "Happy New Year." Or just "Happy New Day," I guess. I know, that's good stuff, huh? Breathe it in. You never know if we'll get a tomorrow.

-S