An Open Letter to my Kids 2021

It’s late on a beautiful Saturday afternoon in September. The sun is shining, we’ve been to a cross country invitational, made tacos, I got in a run, and we squeezed in a movie as a family. What else is left to do but write? In past years, I’ve written this open letter in July, but here we are in September, and I’m finding the months just flying by. So here I am, a little late, but determined to leave behind these memories for me, for my children, for our family, and for whoever else enjoys sharing in our story.

I wrote my first open letter to my children in 2016. Jace was seven, Jera was was four, and Jema wasn’t even a twinkle in my eye. Our world has changed since then, and then changed again. We experienced life changing losses, met educational and professional goals, we fell apart a few times and rebuilt something stronger and more genuine each step of the way. We have survived a pandemic and are still battling through the environment created in that chaos. Through it all, I have realized that I have the most blessed life, one in which God has given me what my heart needs and desires most: a relationship with Him, a marriage with my soul mate, and the three best kids in the world. So five years after I first began, I can’t wait to capture the special moments over the past year and what makes every day imperfectly perfect in our lives.

For Jace, my son:

You are twelve years old today, but not for long. It’s difficult to believe we are on the cusp of having a teenage son. In the same breath, you are so mature, responsible, and wise beyond your years, that it also makes perfect sense. Funny how life can be set at such a juxtaposition, too fast and too slow, all at the same time. The past year has been a blast with you as you started middle school sports. You participate in cross country and wrestling, and your dad and I love to watch you compete. You work hard and push yourself, but you also value sportsmanship. You’re the first to be proud of your friends for their good finishes and matches. That makes me proud of you. Just last week, you ran in your first half marathon with a relay team and brought home second place. While the recognition was nice, seeing you accomplish something so monumental was simply unbelievable. You encouraged your teammates, cheered for them, and shared in the spirit of the sport.

You also excel in your school work. You put in the work and bring home good grades. I don’t have to check in on you to make sure you do your homework or study for exams, because you set high standards for yourself. You make this parenting thing too easy for your dad and me. We are so thankful for your work ethic. And speaking of work ethic, you’re still bringing in the cash mowing yard after yard in the neighborhood. You talk with our neighbors as you work with them, making sure their lawns are the right height, that you’re mowing on the days they prefer, and that they’re happy with your service. They often tell me what a good boy you are, and I couldn’t agree with them more. You are outstanding in so many ways, and I’m not sure why I was so blessed to be your mother, but I’m grateful.

Some of your favorite things are running, wrestling, steak, takis, Shameless, fishing, and riding your bike. You are still a type A kid and keep your room pretty neat and tidy. You’re independent and helpful, but best of all, you have a big caring heart. This year you began attending The Well at Redemption Church. This was a big change for you, and I’m so proud of the ways that you’ve made choices for your faith to bring you closer to God. I see you share your faith with your friends and family, and that makes me so incredibly proud of you. You don’t shy away from difficult conversations and express yourself in such a respectful way. I see in you a tolerance and understanding for others. You are an old soul.

Jace, you are a wonderful son, a strong and faithful young man, determined and strong-willed. Thank you for being you, and for all of the joy you bring into my life.

For Jera, my daughter:

Jera, you are nine years old today. I sometimes forget that you are so much younger than your brother and cousins, because you can run with the big kids without missing a step. Your humor and reserved nature sometimes make you seem tougher than you are, but then I see your sweet feelings hurt, and I am reminded just how tender and sensitive you are. That hidden softness, the quiet shyness that you keep tucked away, makes me love you even more (if that is possible). Over the past year you have continued to excel in academics. You make excellent grades and just tried out for the spell bowl team. You have continued to play piano and take singing lessons, and you bring me to tears as you share your songs with others in church. You have such a sweet and beautiful voice and getting to watch you use your talent is a special joy in my life. You ran in Girls on the Run for the first time this year. I was so grateful to get to be your coach and run in the celebration 5k with you. I will carry those memories with me for the rest of my life.

You are also the most amazing big sister. Jema absolutely adores you and mimics your every move (and word). Patience can be difficult for you, but not when it comes to Jema. I see you share with her, encourage her, laugh with her, show her grace and kindness…I see you blooming into a wonderful, sweet young woman, and you’re so beautiful. Your thoughtfulness is one of my favorite of your attributes. You will write notes to your dad, bring me a snack, plan surprises for those you love. You look forward to birthdays and holidays, planning what presents you will get for others to make their day special. You shine in giving to others, and it’s an honor to see this wonderful part of your soul.

You have continued your love for cooking, and you’ve recently been blowing my mind with your culinary treats. You’re creative when you cook, whipping up everything from specialty coffees to fancy pasta dishes. You like to cook on your own, but don’t mind me being your sous-chef and helping with some chopping and, of course, the dishes. I also get to be a taste tester…every job has it’s perks.

In this moment you love Harry Potter, fidget toys, everything Halloween, slime, your stuffed animals, pillows and blankets, Toca Boca, and scary movies. I’ve seen you grow in responsibility, remembering to do your chores most of the time and sticking to your budget when we school shopped this year. It made me so proud of you to see you pick and choose what you wanted most as you learned the value of money and just how quickly it goes. You picked some of the cutest things for the school year, and it was a joy to watch your fashion show when we got home. I love that you find joy in small treasures, like the tiny crocheted pumpkins you found at the “junk store” which are now proudly displayed on your vanity. You are also always the first to volunteer to lead our family in prayer. Your willingness to pray and trust in God is inspiring, and I appreciate that so much about you.

Jera, I love your sweet heart, your style, and all of the ways you surprise me and bring me joy every single day. I am so proud of you and thankful to call you my daughter.

To Jema, my baby:

Jema Mae, you are two years old today. You may be the baby, but my child, you are also the queen. You are a mix of sassy and sweet that often keeps us guessing, but also completely melts our hearts. There is nothing greater in this life than when you hold my hand, when you crawl into my lap, or ask me to rock you. Our nighttime routine these days includes rocking in your room, singing Amazing Grace, and then you promptly asking to be tucked in. You still have your entire family at your beck and call, with your dad and me, your brother and your sister waiting for your next new word, funny face, silly dance move, or whatever your energetic little self musters up. You love to jump off the furniture, down the steps, and run down the hallway at your absolute fastest. You are happy, joyous and free, and you bring such a bright light to our lives.

While you can be quite commanding when it comes to the remote control and which of your shows we are going to watch, you are also ridiculously laid back. You get carted around to piano lessons and cross country meets, to wrestling matches and camping trips, and you go with the flow each step of the way. You enjoy our many adventures and like seeing new people and places. You are such a good child in fact, that your dad and I revel in the fact that we got so lucky three times.

Your favorite things today are Monster House, dinosaurs, sidewalk chalk, bubbles, going for walks and to the park, Booba, and hanging with your big sister. You also love your brother, although you seem to enjoy giving him a hard time. You love coloring and make me laugh each and every time that you point out and tell me that you’ve colored the animal’s ‘butt’. You attend speech therapy weekly and of all the words you’ve learned, I get a kick out of fact that ‘butt’ is one you use often. You love your sessions with your speech therapist and always look forward to playing with her. We are amazed at the growth and many new words and phrases you’ve learned in the past few months. You are my sidekick and especially enjoy helping me to water the plants. You are a great little helper. You have such a cool little personality and getting to know you is an unexpected blessing for which I will be forever grateful.

Jema, the Jem, Jem-Bim, your dad and I love you so very much. Thank you for the many precious moments, the laughs, and for reminding us that God’s plan is so perfect. You are the last piece of our family puzzle, and you make us complete.

I can’t imagine what the next year will bring our family, and I choose not to spend too much energy thinking about that. Instead, I will keep my focus on today. On the sweet little dumpling sitting next to me, snacking on her graham cracker and asserting very clearly to me that the snack is “mine” and she will not be sharing. On the funny and gentle girl in her room redesigning her Toca Boca house for the ump-teenth time. On the young man kicking back relaxing downstairs after running his heart out this morning. And perhaps most importantly, on the man who made this life possible, my loving and kind husband. For today, everything is just right, and for that I thank God. If you took the time to read about my family today, I hope you will also take the time to tell yours just how special they are. When we have each other, we truly have everything.

Who Will You Be?

The drive to work is a crazy one. You see, I didn’t plan the spacing of my children well…actually, I didn’t plan the spacing of my children at all. So here I am, blessed with one middle-schooler, one elementary-schooler, and one toddler. My morning commute consists of a stop at the sitters, then waiting in line at the middle school to drop my son, and then carting over to the elementary school and waiting in line to drop off my daughter. Then I have about 15 minutes to cut across town in morning traffic and get to work. It’s a bit of a rat race without a doubt.

Full Back Seat, Full Heart

This morning as my 15-minute commute from school to home commenced, I approached a four-way stop that is inevitably always backed up with traffic. From my spot about 10 cars back, I could see a car stalled in the intersection with it’s caution lights blinking. I could see a young girl, standing nervously by her car. Slowly, each car drove around the pair, the young girl and her stalled vehicle, and went on their way. In that moment, I stopped and prayed for her…that she had help on the way, that her car would begin to work, that if I could be of service, I would have eyes to see how.

As I inched my way forward, a van stopped by the girl and traffic came to a halt. The vehicle blocked my view, and I couldn’t see what was happening. Minutes ticked by, and I figured the help I had prayed for had arrived. Then I heard a horn honk from another waiting vehicle, the van pulled away, and traffic began to flow.

As I pulled up to the stalled vehicle still sitting in the center of the intersection, a lady near my age stood awkwardly next to the car. I could read on her face the discomfort of standing in the middle of the street, so I rolled down my window and asked if I could help. She shared that the car belonged to a young girl. The girl had been standing next to her car crying, and some kind passer-by had stopped to pick her up and take her to get help. The woman had agreed to stand next to the car until someone could arrive to help move it.

As I pulled away I thought about the community we live in. I thought about how blessed we are to know that when our children have trouble, not one, but many good samaritans will step in to help. The truly incredible thing is that I don’t believe this is unique to my small town. The willingness to help, the love for a stranger, the ability to ignore one’s own discomfort to bring comfort to someone else, anyone else, these are traits of our human race. We don’t give credit often enough for the kindness and goodness in each of us.

Photo by Carl Attard on Pexels.com

I couldn’t help but think about the person who honked their horn. I assume they could see the same scene that I saw and make the same assumptions that I had made. We saw someone having a very bad morning. I imagined that perhaps the “honker’s” job doesn’t have understanding or flexibility if they happen to run late, or they have an appointment that is vital and they must be on-time, or they have a child in the car about to be tardy because they can’t move in traffic. The truth is there could be about a million reasons that the person felt so rushed that they had to honk their horn.

I also thought that maybe, just maybe, the person was habitually late, that maybe they had been late so many times, that this time would be the time they would get in trouble, that their prior choices had placed them in a position where they couldn’t have eyes to see the needs of others. I’ve been that person too. Perhaps this day is God’s way of reminding them to take control of the days that go smoothly, get out of bed on time, approach the day with sanity, because there will be other days when circumstances are beyond our control…and on those days, we want to have eyes that see beyond ourselves.

I thought about all of the players in the story…

The young girl in need, relying on the kindness of strangers.

The passer-by, whose plans changed because they had eyes that could see another’s need.

The woman who stood next to a stranger’s car in the middle of traffic just to be kind.

The person in the car honking their horn because they couldn’t see beyond themselves

And me, the witness to these events.

I could have driven by this scene, not seen these people, certainly I didn’t have to share this story with you. But what I saw this morning was God’s work in our lives, and how can I keep that to myself?

And now, I ask you, who will you be when this story plays out in front of you?

Will you be the person who stops and prays?

Will you stop and help?

Will you stand uncomfortably in the crowd?

Will you witness and share?

Or will you rush by unseeing? Are you living your life in a way to prepare you to have the time and spirit to stop and see?

No one is perfect. Heaven knows I become impatient, that I’m notoriously late at all times, that being kind under pressure is a minute-by-minute struggle for me. We’re not designed to be perfect. I do believe we’re capable of seeing blessings in every moment, the good, the bad, and the stressful. My hope is that I can learn in every moment the lesson that is being laid out for me, that I can always recognize my part, and that I’m always blessed with eyes that see.

When There Are No Words

How does one write about the end of a life well lived?

How do I write about a person who burned more brightly than words can describe, who loved deeply and honestly, who had a zest for life that translated to anyone that was lucky enough to share a moment with her?

How do I put into words a woman who was strong and brave? For those of us who watched her journey with cancer over the past three years, we came to understand the true depth of Roberta’s strength and determination as she fought for more time with the family she loved so much.

I can tell you she was always the life of the party, with all of the dance moves. She was a woman who could make you laugh when you wanted to cry and who would be there for you all the way, a woman who loved her friends and family fiercely, deeply and honestly. Roberta was soft, gentle and kind. She wouldn’t take less than she deserved, and wouldn’t allow those around her to do so either.

How do I write about Roberta…how do I capture my friend in a way that honors such an incredible life? How do I tell you about the way Roberta loved? I can share about the way she gave the best hugs. That kind of hug is the one that my heart yearns for today. I can tell you that she had a way of pulling you in so snuggly, wrapping you in her love, leaving you with a kiss every single time, and the simple, comforting knowledge that someone in the world loves you for just the person that you are.

How do I tell you about the laughter, so much laughter and light? Roberta lit up the room with her beautiful smile and a presence that made life so much more fun. What are the words that will tell of the moments of love, kindness, humor, and understanding that are countless? Where are the words that tell of the kind of life Roberta lived, and the kind of person she was?

I can start by recounting the many blessed and loving relationships. For my mother-in-law, Roberta, there were many.

Perhaps the relationship I admire most in Roberta’s life is the 40-year marriage full of love, respect, kindness and care with her husband, Tim. I saw in my in-law’s marriage a patience for one another, the knowledge that neither individual was perfect, but together they created a perfect balance. Him reserved where she was open, her soft in the places he was tougher and vice versa. They shared a certain playfulness with one another, facing this life with a humor that made the good times even greater, and that made the difficult times a little easier to bear. Their lifetime together that began with a little tennis match would grow to include a shared passion for supporting their children and then grandchildren, and giving them a foundation of love, hard work, joy and acceptance. Over the last few years and then even more so in the past few weeks, I had the privilege of witnessing the strength of Tim and Roberta’s bond. I heard Tim say he knew Roberta was the one from that first date. I saw how blessed they were to share this life, and that they were the best thing to ever happen to each other. Their love, their deep commitment to one another, is something that continues on beyond this world, beyond this life.

Then there was the relationship with her children, the patient, tender way she loved her daughter and son, always understanding and appreciating them for the people that they are. She just “got” them in the way only a mother does. What I learned from Roberta, what I saw that made her so incredibly special as a mother, was the way she truly wanted her children to be happy in this life. Not in the easy way of happiness, not in the material things, but in the difficult way. She wanted happiness for them in the way that only comes from following your heart, sometimes away from the things others may expect from them, but towards the people God designed them to be. Roberta only asked of her children to be authentically themselves, knowing that is the only path that would lead them to a happy and fulfilled life. She accepted them, she loved them, and she celebrated them as God made them, and I only hope I can be the same kind of mom for my own children, Roberta’s grandchildren.

Roberta’s relationship with her grandkids was also a special one to watch. She came so far from the day over eleven years ago when she thought maybe she was “too young to be a grandma.” Well, she was right. Roberta was never a “grandma”. She was our one and only Mamaw Birdie and she cherished every moment with her grandchildren. She was there for all the moments, for births, birthday parties, preschool graduations, ball games and school programs, for holiday traditions, and for big celebrations. Most importantly, Mamaw Birdie was there for the small everyday moments. She was there to give love, attention and just to hold her grand babies. This is one of my last memories of Roberta. In her last days, when her legs were too weak to carry her, when her speech had failed her, when her energy was so limited, she held out her hands to hold her tiny grand baby, and she held her granddaughter tightly to her chest. I will take that moment with me forever.

There was the bond with her siblings, the laughs, the stories, a special connection that develops only after sharing a lifetime together. Every family gathering is filled with stories of childhood memories, of teenage shenanigans, of the joint learning of raising young families together. A few new stories have been laid on me this week, like the way Roberta would make her younger siblings lick the bottom of her foot as a punishment when they were little (and I can only imagine what her baby brother did to deserve that!). When life got tough for Roberta or when she had a joy to share, her brothers and sister were the first she’d want to share with. I loved watching them together, giving one another a hard time about…well about everything, and loving one another hard. My mind takes me to a place where I can only imagine what Curt and Betty witnessed as parents with this crew of rambunctious, fun and loving children. Roberta, being the oldest, was often a source of strength for her siblings. She understood what each of them needed and was there for them without hesitation. Roberta knew how to stand next to someone, to kindly hold their hand or to nudge them in the right direction when needed (gently or more directly in the “Bert” sort of way). She gave guidance throughout life’s many ups and downs. Roberta understood exactly how to be a friend.

There is nothing I could write that would capture the character of Roberta Lee Hafele. The are no words that can explain what she meant to her family and friends, to those of us that were lucky enough to love her in this life. I began this by asking how one writes about the end of a life well- lived. The answer is that I don’t. I don’t write about the end, because for a life like Roberta’s, there is no end. Roberta lives on in our hearts. She shares a part of our souls. She continues on in the stories and memories that we share. We have no doubt that Roberta is saving a seat for each of us in heaven, her favorite music playing, the dance floor cleared, ready to meet us again when it’s time. Until that day, we hold on to the abundance of love she gave during her life here on earth, and we all carry a piece of Roberta…of “Bert”…of “Otis”…or to me, of Mamaw Birdie…we carry her with us, changed for the better because she is there tucked away within our hearts.

Letting Go

Happy 2019, Folks.  I pitifully spent much of my evening last night watching everyone’s celebrations from the comfort of my cozy bed in my pajamas.  I also sat and timed contractions for 36 minutes that were around seven minutes apart and lasted for 45 seconds at a time.  I waited anxiously for the contractions to get closer together, more painful or last longer…but to no avail.  At 40 weeks and five days pregnant, I am truly beginning to feel like round, uncomfortable and tired is my new permanent state of being.  I’ve actually googled to see if there is a possibility that I will never go into labor.  The internet says no, but I’m having my doubts.

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I’ve spent the last few days trying to get a handle on the past year, and what this particular new year means to me.  I have always been a big fan of the new year season with all of its potential and promise, but this year, I’ve had a difficult time coming to terms with what the previous year meant to me and what I want the coming year to be.  For me 2018 is a bit of a blur with both tremendous moments and terrible heartache.  Such is life.

When I focus on the good, I see that I graduated with my Master’s Degree, I made a career move that I’m ecstatic about, and I made a human being (who is currently stubbornly refusing to be born).  These are big moments which I should be excited and proud of….and I am, but I find that I feel a little detached from these accomplishments, as though they  happened to someone else.

Maybe that is the true value of reflection.  We work incredibly hard to reach our goals, and then when all of that work translates to the end goal, we’re done.  It’s over.  We move on to the next thing and the past months or years of focus and dedication fade quickly to the background as life’s next dilemma or joy takes over.

As I move into 2019, I will take the time here to reflect not only on my successes, but also on what those successes taught me:

  • Finishing my MBA taught me that I have a unique kind of perseverance that allows me to stay the course when things become especially difficult.  I learned that I truly love to learn, and without a learning process of some sort in my life, I feel stale and stagnated.  I learned that to succeed, I need the support of my friends and family.  I learned that even when it feels impossible to do, I have to make my children and family my number one priority.
  • Moving into the Recruiting/Human Resource Field taught me the importance of living for the experience, not the final outcome.  I experienced some bumps and bruises along the path to my current position.  There were moments that I felt angry and bitter about the process, and I could have allowed myself to sit in that moment.  Instead, I chose to value what each experience taught me and move forward with that sentiment in mind.  Although I couldn’t see how things would work out, I had faith that they would.  That faith carried me through to the place where I am today, and I couldn’t be more thrilled to start a new professional adventure this year.
  • I made a human, ya’ll. 2018 has brought the unexpected, and the greatest of all of my 33 years of life’s surprises has to be the blessing of my third child. This pregnancy has taught me that my plans don’t matter.  Talk about a humbling experience.  My 2018 plans included maintaining a healthy, vegan diet, completing a half marathon, and focusing 100% on my career.  My 2018 reality included pregnancy food aversions so severe and pregnancy induced anemia which made me so sick, that I became desperate enough to eat anything my body would tolerate, including meat, dairy and eggs.  The year included fifty pounds of weight gain that have made walking to the refrigerator a challenge, let alone the thought of running anywhere.  2018 brought the realization that my career will never, and should never, be the center of my focus.  I am a wife, a mom, a daughter, a sister, a friend.  My career is important to me, but none of that success matters if I’m not the person I need to be at home.

Even as I write this, I am coming to terms with an epiphany that what this year has really taught me is that I need to appreciate the moments in life and spend less energy in a future that isn’t promised.  That for all it’s worth and although I will always be a “planner”, this life is not a planned event.  That I have no control over what is next or what 2019 will bring (although I’m hoping that the most immediate arrival for the new year will be this baby!).  And that while this life is difficult and beautiful at the same time, the very best thing I can do is to get down on my knees and put it all in God’s hands.

I need to appreciate the moments in life and spend less energy in a future that isn’t promised

close up of hands

For the New Year, for 2019, my resolution will be to trust, to pray every day to let go and let God, to focus on the moment and enjoy each second for what it is.  I hope to get back into shape, to put some energy into my art work, continue to write and journal, continue to find those parts of myself that have taken a back seat while I’ve worked to build a career and family over the past decade…but most importantly, I hope to remember and be thankful for the fact that I am not in control.  I certainly lost sight of this in 2018, and it is liberating to let it go in 2019.

I hope to remember and be thankful for the fact that I am not in control

I am wishing my readers a blessed year full of love and all of life’s happiness.  I hope that faith and family carry you through the difficult times ahead, and that you are present and engaged for all of the joyous miracles that are in store for you.  Take the time to reflect today on what has been, and how it has changed you.  Every experience holds a lesson for us.  My hope for you is that you take those lessons and spend a moment in thankfulness for them.  Happy New Year!

I leave you with some of my happiest 2018 moments:

Heaven is a Place on Earth

It’s hard to believe that December is in full swing.  This is always a crazy busy time of year for each of us, but this year in December, I will be welcoming our third child to the world.  I am on the countdown, and with two weeks and four days left until my due date, I am ready.  Or so I thought…

red ceramic mug on white mat beside notebook

This morning in particular was pure chaos.  My older two children had their annual Christmas play at church.  With the best of intentions we called it an early night last night, knowing we would need to be up bright and early to prepare.  Five pregnant lady bathroom breaks and two and a half hours of insomnia at 2 a.m. later, it was morning, and I found myself struggling to roll my round little belly out of bed to start the day.  When I finally made it to my feet, I woke to find the mountain of dishes I had ignored the day before still waiting on me. With no clean forks to my name, I had to start my day with dishes just so I could feed my kids breakfast.  Forty minutes later I was cooking eggs over-easy, just the way the kiddos like them, and to my dismay, I broke two yolks which never happens.  Eventually breakfast was served, kids were dressed, we were ten minutes late to Sunday School but we prevailed and we made it.  I had ended up with an entire fifteen minutes to shower myself, dress, makeup, and do something with my hair before rushing out the door.

And it was then that it hit me…in two weeks, I will still have all of these things to do PLUS a newborn baby to nurse and dress and care for.  How had this not dawned on me before 37 weeks of pregnancy?  I had spent months picturing the snuggles, knowing I had sleepless nights coming, knowing having a newborn after all of this time will be an adjustment, but it hadn’t become reality until this morning.

In my anxiousness, my grouchiness, and waddling in nine-months-pregnant-glory into church, I was having the “Oh sh*t” moment of realization of what is to come.  I sat in the pew this morning, finally having delivered my children to their posts for the Christmas program, and then I began to watch them, donning white alter robes, angel wings and halos.

I watched my ten-year-old son sing each song, although at his age, he hates being on stage dressed as an angel with every fiber of his being.  My heart grew just knowing what a truly good boy my husband and I have raised.  Then I watched my six-year-old sing with all her heart, the gaps where her recently lost teeth belong, peeping out behind her sweet little lips with every note.  She had her first speaking part in which she grasped the microphone and said, “Wow, I’ll never forget this night. Heaven is a place on Earth.”  From the mouths of babes.  I knew in that moment, in this moment now, that she is right.

In the haste of the season, in all of the to-dos, it is so easy to lose our focus.  We get so caught up in the decorations, in the gifts and wrapping, in the carrying on of tradition, in the “have-to’s” and “need-to’s” that we can’t see the heaven that is right in front of us.  As much as I was cursing inside my head the entire morning as I let the hustle of the day erode my patience, I am so thankful for the gift of watching my children this morning, serving in our church in the most beautiful way, bringing to mind the purpose of the season, and reminding us all that heaven is truly a place on Earth.

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In two weeks, or two days….who knows….I will become a mother for the third time.  Things will be difficult, I will be tired beyond words, I will have less time for myself, for my husband, for my other two kids, but what I will gain is immeasurable.  And the truth is that no matter how much I “ready” myself, we are never truly ready for God’s greatest gifts in our lives…and that is what makes them so incredibly remarkable.

My hope for you this holiday season is that each of you experience the joys of this Christmas with as little stress, anxiety and worry as possible.  That in the moments of feeling overwhelmed, you are able to look for the everyday miracles that we are given…after all, heaven truly is a place on Earth.

The Good

Thursday was a bad day.  The bad mojo actually started on Wednesday evening, when I made the unwise decision to binge watch Bachelor in Paradise instead of going to sleep at a decent hour.  I’m six months pregnant and sleep is my very best of friends, so I have no idea why I thought it would work out to stay up until 11:30 to see who got a rose.  Temporary insanity…wait, scratch that…Bachelor insanity.  I swear, those producers know what they are doing!

So I woke up groggy on Thursday morning, wishing I had thought more about my wellness than my reality television addiction.  And while I set with my coffee trying to readjust my attitude, my husband woke for the day, also in a very foul mood.  We’ve been married for a while now (just celebrated 12 years of marriage).  But even prior to marriage, we had discovered that morning is just not a good time for us.  I know other couples wake together, roll over and look lovingly into one another’s eyes, but that just isn’t us.  We have an understanding in the morning that we just don’t speak to each other.  He gives me my time to adjust to the world, and I give him his.  It works out perfectly for us.  This Thursday however, my husband dearest decided on his own to break our sacred agreement, and he unloaded his frustrations to me at 5:30 in the morning.  Ugh.  Not to sound like the worst wife ever, but I don’t even want to think about my own frustrations at that hour.  He realized his folly and apologized before giving me my morning kiss goodbye and heading out the door for the day.

I began the day’s routine, waking up my son.  Then off to my daughter’s room.  Sitting on the edge of her bed, I kiss her forehead and immediately feel the heat radiating from her tiny body.  Fever…there’s no mistaking it.  She wakes, telling me her throat hurts and sure enough, the thermometer confirms what my ther-MOM-meter already detected: 101.2 degrees.  What to do now?

My mom-planning starts to spin.  I begin to make phone calls and send texts.  I need to talk to my boss, arrange for someone to cover my responsibilities for the work day, find someone to stay with my daughter for an hour while I go to a scheduled OB appointment, write my son a note so that he can walk home from school instead of taking the bus to the sitters, call the school and let them know my daughter will be absent today, message my husband and ask him to request a vacation day for tomorrow just in case there isn’t a quick recovery this go-around.  These are the things that parents go through when life throws a curve ball, the thinking-on-our-feet, the quick reactions to make sure everything in life just keeps on moving along smoothly…we never miss a beat.

I saw my son off to school and snuggled my daughter, and I let the frustration of the unplanned, unscheduled day go.  I let it roll off my shoulders and I focused on my daughter…my puny, sore-throated, coughing, feverish, precious, little daughter.  That is the moment that my phone dinged.  A message, I had a message.  My husband messages me “I’m coming home at 9.  My machine is down today.  You can go to work today.  My work issue should be better tomorrow.”

What?!

Wait….what?!

To be clear, I am an administrative assistant.  I have to communicate with a minimum of five different people to be out for one day.  I had sent all of the messages.  I had made all of the calls.  I had everything lined out to be off of work on Thursday and back to work on Friday.  And now, that was all for nothing.  My mom-mind was spinning….if the husband was off today, then he couldn’t be off tomorrow, then I need to be off tomorrow, so I need to go in today, so I need to call my father-in-law and let him know I don’t need a sitter for my doctor’s appointment, I need to send five more text messages and….ugh, I need to take off my fuzzy pants and shower and brush my teeth, and make the switch yet again from mommy-mode to professional-work-Melissa-mode.  Again, my day turned upside down, and I felt like I was just along for the ride.

I sucked it up.  I showered.  I dressed.  I gave my husband a frosty welcome home.  I was sad, unhappy, frustrated.  There are other things brewing in our life as well.  And to be honest, while all of these circumstantial life events may have shaded my and my husband’s mood for this day, the real culprit…the real, gut-wrenching, terrifying, hard thing in our lives in this moment, in this season, has nothing to do with the happenings of Thursday.

My mother-in-law has been battling renal cell carcinoma for two and half years now.  She has faced brain surgeries, kidney surgeries, radiation treatments, and recently we had moved on to immunotherapy treatments.  I write “we”, but that is a lie.  She has faced these horrible things.  She has been the strong one.  She has endured.  She has survived these ugly things, and we have only been here to support, love and pray for her.  Because that is all there is that we can do.  The immunotherapy was supposed to be the saving grace, the magical medicine that would keep the cancer at bay so she can continue to enjoy this life with us.  We got the news a few days prior that the immunotherapy did not work.

I hesitate to share this at all, because this is not my story.  This is her story, but if I’m going to be completely honest with my readers, this is such a raw, close and intense part of our life, that I have to share.  I have to give you the full picture of the good and the scary parts of our lives.  We are not at the end of this story.  My mother-in-law has an appointment with MD Anderson this month.  She is strong and amazing, and all of the wonderful things that the rest of us can only hope that we have inside of ourselves.  She is truly a rock for us many times, although that is so backwards…we should be a rock for her.  But that’s not the truth.  This is our reality.  She is the strong one.

I left for my OB appointment with all of the weight of the world sitting squarely on my shoulders.  I felt heavy, sad…I felt like I was failing…at life.  My heart hurt.  My soul ached.  I sat in the waiting room.  This was my 23 week appointment.  At my 19 week appointment, we had an anatomy scan in which the doctor was able to clear everything for our little growing bud, except for her heart.  She was still just too small to get a clear picture of her heart structure.  So here I was at my 23 week appointment, heading to get another ultrasound, so that we could clear her heart, showing four beautiful chambers, working just the way they should.  I laid on the table with the lights dimmed, the tech placed the scanner on my belly, and on the screen appeared my baby, my third child, my second daughter, my beautiful blessing.  She had grown over the four weeks and her heart was bright and clear, pumping away, beating like the most beautiful drum.  And then I got to see her face, her perfect sweet little chin, her upturned nose (just like her sister’s), the sweet curve of her cheeks…and I realized, that this moment, this moment was good.

this moment was good

And isn’t that how life is?  The quote popped into my mind, “Every day may not be good, but there is something good in every day.”  There is so much that is hard in life, so much that drains us and breaks us.  There are moments we want to give up.  There are moments that we cry, and scream, and times that we hate the things we are going through.  But even on the worst days, we are given these beautiful moments.  Even on the worst days, I can look at my son, at my daughter, at my baby bump, at my silly dogs, at my sweet husband, I can look to my parents, my siblings, my in-laws, our family, the cousins.  I can pull back to the memories, the trips, the beaches, the rides in a teacup, the hugs from a princess.  We can feel the breeze on our face, the sun on our skin, the floor beneath our feet.  We can find the good in the worst of times.  That ability is what makes us as humans so very unique, so resilient, so incredible.  The ability to find the good is truly our gift, and it is what makes this life possible.

The ability to find the good is truly our gift, and it is what makes this life possible.

Wherever you are today, whatever life has thrown your way, whatever difficult, unfair thing, I challenge you to find the good.  Hug the good, kiss the good, absorb it into your being, absolutely squish it into yourself until you feel it inside, and you are no longer observing it, but feeling the good.  And if you can’t seem to find the good, I challenge you to be it.  Be the good because I guarantee those around you are in need of it.  We are capable.  We are survivors.  We are strong.  We are the good.

Best Mom Ever Status????

Something has occurred in my household numerous times over the last….well, I’m not even sure how long…as long as I remember, I guess.  I’ll be snuggling my children on the couch, or at bedtime, or we’ll be sitting down to supper, or we’ll be doing nothing in particular, and my children, my son or my daughter, will look at me and declare, “You’re the best mom ever.”  The statement throws me off every single time.  I usually respond with, “Well I do love you with all of my heart.”  I don’t say thank you, I don’t own that title, I don’t feel deserving…instead, I feel a kind of guilt sweep over me, thinking “No, no I’m the not the best mom ever. I could be so much better.”

Have you ever felt that?  That feeling that you’re being credited with something that just isn’t yours to own…and by the person/people that you love more than anything else on this planet.  Those people that you owe everything to because they bring you the most happiness, the most contentment, the most joy.  A feeling of shame because you can’t or won’t do more for them.  That feeling, that shameful, guilty feeling is the one that sweeps over me, when my beautiful children look to me, thinking that I am someone that I am just not.

That feeling, that shameful, guilty feeling is the one that sweeps over me, when my beautiful children look to me, thinking that I am someone that I am just not.

Here are the things that keep me from owning that “Best Mom” status…these are the things that make me feel guilty and less than:

  1. I don’t listen.  I don’t listen to my children.  I started a tradition a long time ago with my children for them to tell me each day about their high and low moment.  I did this out of fear that they would grow up and not talk to me about their lives, so I thought I would open the communication channels early.  Let me tell you, talking is not a problem in my house.  My children talk all the time, non-stop, every moment…about sports cars, YouTube videos, music, video games, friends, teachers, cell phones, animals…you get the idea.  And some times, more times than I care to admit, I nod my head without listening, because I can’t take it all in…knowing full and well a day will come when their chatter won’t fill every moment of my life.  Knowing I shouldn’t take this for granted, but still, I don’t listen.
  2. I feed them crap.  Not literal crap, but you know…poptarts, cereal, Beefaroni, Ramen Noodles, lunchables.  I know these are not healthy choices…far from organic or natural…definitely not fresh or nutritious.  My children deserve healthy, wholesome, nutritious food, and I try to get those things to them them regularly.  But I also just settle for feeding them the instant, easy junk because, well because…it’s instant and easy.  No other excuses.  Along these same lines, I also don’t fix my kids’ lunch for school.  No fancy, pretty bento lunches for the Hafele children.  My daughter actually asked to bring lunch to school the other day, and I just said “No” for no other reason than I don’t want to fix my kids’ school lunch every single evening…or ever.
  3. I haven’t exercised with my kids for a long time.  In the past, I have had great parenting moments where my kids and I ride bikes,go for runs, walk to the park and do all of these great active things together.  But I’ve not had one of those moments for a long time.  For a while because I was finishing my MBA, and now because I’m pregnant and out of shape, but they deserve to have a mom who gets down and plays with them on their level.  The fact that I can’t and haven’t done that, makes me feel nothing short of horrible.
  4. I love to go to work.  I love my job and my career and working.  Even if I had the option to stay home with my children financially, I don’t think that I would.  I love spending time with my children, but my career is fulfilling for me as an unique human being.  I feel challenged by and excited for my career  in a way that is 100% my own, and I’m not willing to give that up.  I grew up in a household where my mother stayed home from work to raise me, so this is a tough one for me.  Don’t my children deserve that same focus and dedication?  Does it make me a bad mom that I’m not willing to sacrifice my professional aspirations to be a full time mom?
  5. I don’t remind them to brush their teeth every single night, I forget to give my daughter her allergy medicine some mornings, I don’t always remember to clean their ears or trim their nails, my daughter’s finger nails aren’t painted, she doesn’t have ear rings in, I don’t watch my son practice ball in our yard, I don’t craft them homemade items, I don’t scrapbook for them, I never finished either of their baby books, I fail at turning in their paperwork 5/10 times, I watch movies with them that other parents would think are too mature for them, I listen to music with them that has cuss words in it, I feel irritated when I have to stop my podcast in the morning because my bathroom has been overrun by my children, sometimes I just want a break and then I miss them like crazy when they’re gone, some days I don’t want to do tuck-ins at bedtime, sometimes I feel overwhelmed by the responsibility, and 100,000,000 other things I that do wrong or at least not perfectly.

This list could go on forever.  But the truth is that I love my children deeply and wildly.  I thank God for them every single day, even when I’m tired and overwhelmed.  And for all of my faults, I truly do the best that I can.  My logical side tells me that God made these children just for me, He is all-knowing, and He would never put them in my hands if I wasn’t the best mom for them.

My logical side tells me that God made these children just for me, He is all-knowing, and He would never put them in my hands if I wasn’t the best mom for them.

So certainly, I am not perfect, and the older I get the less I try for perfection.  But maybe through the laughter we share, through the hugs and the kisses, through the silly faces and dances, through the homecooked meals and dinners at the table that I do get accomplished, through setting an example for them of what hard work and passion looks like, through dedication and devotion to their father, through forgiveness and understanding, through real conversations about the joyous and hard things in life, through moments in the garden, through movie nights on the couch, through family fun days…maybe through these moments, I deserve the best mom status.  Best for them, my children, my gift, my greatest accomplishment.  Maybe next time I hear those words, I can feel pride and not shame.  Maybe I can say thank you, smile, and let them know they are the best children too.

Maybe I can say thank you, smile, and let them know they are the best children too.

Maybe we all can do just that…and take pride that our children see us as we actually are, not in the flawed ways that we see ourselves.

Full Circle

Parallel lines…two lines traveling side by side, having the same distance between them. Tonight I’m thinking of all of the parallels in my life. There are so many that I know there is more to this life than chance.

I think of the moments. The moment at 17 when I was falling madly in love with the man that I now call my husband, and we were dating only a few weeks when we realized we didn’t yet have a song. We were in his truck, a tan and brown Chevy S-10. I have no doubt that there was some type of rap playing in the background, and for no particular reason, we both decided that “Time After Time” by Cindy Lauper would be our song. I think about that conversation and that decision, what made us arrive at that song choice, a song that was every bit of 15 years old at the time. I know it’s what we wanted, for one another to be that person, to be there for one another, to pick each other up when we fall, to ground one another for a lifetime. And by some miracle of fate, that is what we got. But in that moment, there is no way we could know what that song would come to mean to us.

Some nine years later, we rushed to an emergency room. I had been carrying a high risk pregnancy, and I was miscarrying. There was no doubt. We arrived, we went through the motions, we sat in a waiting room for a doctor, and the world went silent. And then, over a small radio left playing in the room, Cindy Lauper came on the line, and she sang to us, “If you fall, I will catch you. I’ll be waiting time after time. If you’re lost, you can look and you will find me, time after time.” In that moment of tragedy and simultaneous comfort, I knew we would be okay.

In that moment of tragedy and simultaneous comfort, I knew we would be okay.

Then there are other, lighter moments. Like the moment when my husband and I were still in the “getting to know you” stage, and again we were cruising around in my 1994, forest green Camaro (we both lived with our parents and therefore spent a tremendous amount of time in our cars!). I had Prince’s “Kiss” blasting, and was quietly amused that my sweet boyfriend wasn’t turning the song or horrified by my off-key singing. When we began to enter the city limits, he leaned ever so casually forward and very inconspicuously adjusted the volume down. I smiled to myself. I’m not sure exactly what it is about that moment that made me fall more in love with him, but it did, and that memory is still extremely vivid for me.

Today, 16 years later, as I drive my kids to school every day, my 5-year old daughter picks out a song choice and then begs me to “turn it up how she likes it!” Which I of course oblige. And then, as we make a left onto my son’s school’s road, he so quietly leans forward and adjusts the volume down. I smile to myself. I look to my passenger-side seat, and I see his father there, some 16 years ago, and I love them both, my boy and his dad, just for being who they are. It melts my heart.

There are so many parallels from the past to the present. The way my daughter consistently puts the emphasis on the wrong syllable when she speaks, and her brother can’t help but giggle and point it out (much to her astonishment, as she is certain that she is correct, and he in fact, is wrong), much the same way that I had not the slightest clue that I wasn’t saying the words Tylenol, elephant and volume wrong, until I met their father, and he couldn’t help but grin every time those words came out of my mouth.

There are so many small moments that are of little significance at the time, but then later, I find myself coming full circle. It is truly amazing. Albert Einstein’s said, “There are only two ways to live your life. One is as though nothing is a miracle. The other is as though everything is a miracle.” (Smart guy…)

I see miracles every single day. I see them in the most ordinary moments, in the moments that a stranger would be completely blind to, because I have the gift of history. I can see how every moment in my life brought me to this day, to these every day little miracles. The parallels between who I once was and who I am now, between the small moments then that are playing back into beautiful moments today, the parallels in what I once was blind to, but today have the gift of sight. I’m blessed to see so many things come full circle in this life, and it is a miracle each and every time.

“There are only two ways to live your life. One is as though nothing is a miracle. The other is as though everything is a miracle.”

– Albert Einstein

I hope you see a miracle today, in your life, in yourself, your partner, your children. I hope you can open your eyes to see that this life is a beautiful thing.

5 Things I’m just so OVER in my 30s

It’s my BIRTHDAY!  Woot woot!  That’s right, I’m celebrating my own birthday…and I’m not sorry.  I turn 33 today, and I have planned a massage, lunch with my two favorite people in the world (my mom and #1 sister….she’s my only sister but still my favorite), and some shopping for ME!  I took the day off work, which I have never done before, and decided to just enjoy my special day.  I’ve always loved birthdays, and I’ve put countless amounts of time and energy into celebrating those people around me.  However, I have never felt comfortable doing the same for myself.  But this year is different.  I’m totally and completely thankful for another birthday, for another year of this life, and I’m going to celebrate my life and all of the time I’ve been given.

My birthday, and all of this free time this morning, got me to thinking about how much I’ve changed since my teens and 20’s.  Inwardly, I’m the same bubbly, obnoxiously positive, and reserved person.  But outwardly, my habits and lifestyle have changed.   I’m thinking about all of the things that I’m just so OVER (and glad to be over) in my 30’s.  Here are my top 5:

  1. Late nights – Am I the only one who loves crawling into bed at 9:00….errrr, 8:30…..errrr, 8:00…..errrr, okay, okay, as soon as I possibly can?????  Late nights just aren’t gratifying when a five year old is staring at you at 6:00 a.m. waiting for her chocolate milk.  And mornings…I seriously love mornings.  All of the potential of a new day waiting for me.  The calmness of a sleepy world.  Why stay up late and miss out on the fabulousness of morning?  In my 30’s I am so OVER late nights.
  2. Cheeseburgers – And french fries, and deep fried oreos, and chicken strips…shall I go on?  In my 30’s, I eat healthy (aside from the cheesecake I indulged in last night).  But seriously, I make healthier choices, not because I have to, but because I want to.  I’m not trying to stay skinny.  I’m not trying to follow a fad.  I truly care about my health and quality of life.  In my 30’s I’ve found that when I eat better I feel better, and I’m so thankful for that revelation and the desire to make better choices for myself.  This is coming from the former “Queen of the Thickburger” (sorry Hardee’s), and I never thought the day would come, but I’m so OVER cheeseburgers.
  3. Needy People – I’ve had a lot of great people in my life over the years, and I’m thankful for each experience and how it’s shaped who I am and the life I’ve had.  However, in my younger years, I was drawn to people that I wanted to help/fix.  I had many wonderful friendships, but some relationships were draining.  I learned a lot, but friendship for me, in my 30’s, has changed.  Today I’m drawn to friends who challenge me to be a better, stronger, more mature and kinder me.  I want friends who challenge me to think differently, to try new and exciting experiences, and who want a reciprocal relationship in which we both grow together, learning and vibing off one another.  In my 30’s, I’m not interested in fixing anyone.  I’m interested in laughing and learning with my friends, and I’m thankful I have some amazing people in my life fill that space in my heart/mind/soul.
  4. Trends – Trendy clothes, trendy diets, trendy social media, blah, blah, blah.  In my 30’s trends make me tired.  I’ve become a fan of the tried and true.  I want my clothes to be classy, I want my food to be healthy, and I want my communication to be real life.  I value my time and energy.  In my 30’s I’m not interested in being cool or hip.  I’m interested in being me.  Doing the things I love, the way I love to do them.  I’m so OVER trends.
  5. Birthday modesty – As you’ve seen above, I’m pumped it’s my birthday, and I’m okay with that.  I’m so over birthday modesty.  And this why…the fact that we were born….that we were created should be celebrated.  We need to celebrate the fact that our existence isn’t random, we are not accidental, we are not the result of chaos.  Instead, our creator took the care, thoughtfulness, humor and creative effort to design each strength and weakness that we possess.  He did this all in an effort to prepare us for the path that He has made for us.  How can we not celebrate our special day, the day we were born and began this amazing journey?  I’m so OVER birthday modesty….I could not be more grateful for my birthday today.

I received a birthday card yesterday from my co-workers, and it truly touched my heart.  It says:

Celebrating you. On birthdays, we honor our beginnings and remember that in God’s eyes, we have a place in this world no one else has.  Your birthday is a reminder that God put you here for a purpose.

How amazing.  My childhood was magical.  My teens were adventurous and also tumultuous (as everyone’s are).  My 20’s were too much fun and transformational.  And my 30’s….well, so far, my 30’s are just right.

I hope you enjoy your birthday this year (feel free to celebrate yourself…you have my permission).  Every day we are given is a blessing.

 

My Dash

Today marks the first day of my freedom….for approximately 30 days to come.  Yesterday morning I submitted my final paper for MNGT 681 – Strategic and International Management, class number eight of 10 and the capstone of my MBA program.  The past seven weeks have been challenging to say the least.  30+ hours of course work, 40+ hours of “work” work, and of course, family.  I have been tired, stressed, stretched to my limit (and my very supportive, amazing, sweet husband has too).  But life keeps on going, even when you take on too much.  Life moves on, ready or not…as mine certainly did.

In the past seven weeks, we lost Jace’s most beloved pet hamster, Butterscotch.  On a rare night alone, my husband and I decided to go out for a little wine and dinner.  On our way home my husband mentioned he forgot that he had let our pet cat, Molly, inside the house.  You see, Molly was once an inside cat, but after my daughter’s cat allergies arose, and exasperated by Molly’s awful temperament and propensity to pee on our bed when she wasn’t pleased with us, Molly become an outside cat.   So, Phil had let Molly in for old time’s sake and forgot to put her out when we left for dinner.  Arriving home, I bolted for the restroom, which tends to happen after a few glasses of wine.  From upon the porcelain throne, I hear my husband mutter, “OH MY GODDDD.”  From the restroom I shouted, “What???!!” To which he returned, “It’s the worst possible thing you could imagine.”  There, left lovingly by my husband’s bedside as a sweet little gift, was Butterscotch, dead.  Molly was prancing around the house as though she was really something fantastic.  I’m not sure if it was the wine or the thought of telling Jace that Butterscotch was no more, but that night I sat in the kitchen and cried for a while.  Jace took it well, and much to my own amazement, in place of Butterscotch, we now have two hamsters, because little sister needed a hamster too.  Our family continues to grow, fuzzy as it may be, Phil, Melissa, Jace, Jera, Rusty (dog), Molly (cat), Oreo (hamster) and Angel (hamster) keep on moving forward.

In other news, my oldest son, Jace, turned nine years old this week.  As absolutely crazy as it seems that I can have a nine-year old (yes, that is half way to 18), in the same breath it seems so right.  When I look at my son today, I see a boy, not the baby and toddler that I used to see.  I see someone with his own thoughts and opinions, someone who is considerate and kind, someone who is quirky in the best way.  I see someone who is gaining an understanding of this world, both its beauty and its cruelty.  He isn’t the same tiny boy he used to be, which in moments makes me sad, but  also so proud.  I couldn’t be prouder of the young man he is growing into. Time keeps moving forward.

Now Christmas in the Hafele house has begun.  The tree is up, the presents are bought (mostly), the month is filled with Christmas-fun plans.  The elves are back….and they’ve multiplied.  We first began with Zart, the original Elf on the Shelf.  Then in year three, Zart went missing.  We then brought in Millie and Willie, one for Jace and one for Jera, of course.  Then in year four, Zart turned back up and we had Zart, Willie and Millie.  Ater my grandma passed away recently, the kids wanted Great-Grandma’s elves to remember her by, so three more elves came to live with us.  Today we have six, you read that right, SIX elves to stash around the house.  Thankfully, I let Jace in on the little secret this year, and he has had a blast helping us to hide the elves for Jera.  As much as I thought it would be sad to tell him the truth about the Elves on Shelf, he has genuinely enjoyed being the giver of joy this year.  Another sign of what a special boy he is.  And every once in a while, Zart hides somewhere special for Jace to find….just for old time’s sake.

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My next class begins January 8th, and I plan to enjoy each and every second until then.  And then, when I’m back to the 70+ hour work weeks, I will try to enjoy every moment then too.  I look back at the last seven weeks, look back over the past year and a half in the MBA Program, back at the last 10+ years of working full-time, at the past 15 years of my relationship with my husband…I think back to the time of my childhood, of my parents and all of the love we shared, to my siblings and cousins and all of the laughs…I look back and I’m in awe.  I’m in awe to be where I am today with so many blessings.  I’m in awe that so much time has passed and at times it feels like it’s only been an instant.  I’m brought back to my Pastor’s sermon from last week where she recited the poem “The Dash”….if you haven’t read it, the poem talks about how a headstone marks the date of birth and the date of death, but those dates really aren’t important at all.  What is important, what really matters is the ‘dash’.  What are we going to do with our dash?  How will we spend it?  I hope to make the most of my dash.  That is what I strive for every day.  I hope you do too.

Happy holidays and a merry Christmas to all of my readers.  I pray that you are filled with the sacred spirit of this season and that your dash is everything that you were created to be.