Sugar and Spice

I started this blog on Tuesday but ran out of time to finish it (or so I thought). Seems like the ending was not written yet and so I had to wait. Over the weekend, the girls found a butterfly (moth?) with a wounded wing. They came peeling into the kitchen looking for plastic ware they could poke holes in for a habitat. They gently placed the broken butterfly in the dish, gave it a flower (to eat?) and a paper towel soaked in water (to drink). I’m not sure about the flag, but knowing them I’m sure it was for add some pizazz. Little sister checked on her patient faithfully each day and even wrote notes to the neighbor-girl and put them in her mailbox with updates (“are [sic] butterfly is doing good;” “gave her some water to drink”).  On Tuesday morning, as I was leaving for work I did a check for myself and came to realization that our patient had died. I took the photo you see and immediately started having a deep, internal philosophical debate about whether to tos...

I am 17-days away from doing one of the craziest, grab-life-by-the-horns, may-be-having-a-midlife-crisis, I'll be 40 in two and a half months things I've ever done. I'm traveling all the way to the Southern California desert by myself to meet 7 other women whom I have never met and with whom I will be sharing a tent for two-nights while we take turns running through the day and night through the trails in the Los Coyotes Reservation. What was I thinking? (Reference back to the upcoming anniversary of my birth 4-decades ago). I'm terrified. My training has not been what I wanted. I've seriously considered dropping out. There is a very nice alternate who I am sure would be happy to take my place. I've got a list of reasons a mile long why I should NOT go and do this thing. The list does not even include the half-joking reasons some of my friends have offered (this second list includes, among other things, coyotes, mountain lions, and human trafficking rings ...

Mother's Day 2019 was perfectly boring. It was an overcast, eat too much after church, take a nap, and go to the library kind of afternoon and I could not have asked for anything more. Mother's Day always brings with it bittersweet memories of the two little loves that allow me to celebrate this occasion. As kids do, they are getting big. I did not get one Mother's Day gift that had a hand print on it. It was a tinge sad. Like Mother's Day, the nearing end of school also makes me wax nostalgic. How could they be so old? Am I doing all the things to make them healthy, successful and most of all happy? I have been reading and thinking a lot about Grace lately. In the context of mothering, I need a lot of it; yet, until lately I'm not sure I had a real understanding of it (or as much of an understanding as one can have of something like Grace). Anyone who really knows me knows that I am a doer, a pleaser, an achiever, and a ball of anxious worry hidden behind...

The last parade had rolled. Bleary eyed we sat in the pew waiting for ashes and forgiveness. She sat next to me coloring in her own little world; a world where sin is sneaking a cookie before dinner. We listen to the Word: “Be not like the hypocrites…” thoughts of dinner and laundry interrupting the well worn verses. She whispers loudly in the way that only a child can “who are the hypocrites?” I shush her; in the way that only a mother can. She whispers even louder urgently even, “BUT WHO ARE THE HYPOCRITES” She is not just listening like the rest of us. She is hearing The Word of God. She needs to know who they are, so she can be sure she is not like them, Tears flood my eyes. My throat closes,  chest tight. I kiss the top of her head, but I cannot answer. I cannot even whisper it softly, because the answer is I am them, baby. All of us are. But not you, Not yet. Be not like them, my love. Keep listen...

"Repentance breaks our hearts a little." I'm not sure whether it is an exact quote or just a very close paraphrase from the sermon I heard Sunday. That sermon - that church - that moment was one of those times I knew I was right where I was supposed to be and that hearing someone saying something God needed me to hear. Repentance is not for those who fancy themselves a mighty fortress. Repentance is also not for the weak - which is what I have been despite my best efforts otherwise. Repentance is for the brave and faithful. Because repentance will break us - it has to break us - because only when we break does Christ have a way to enter. And that is what Advent is about - Christ entering our lives. He has already entered once, thousands of years ago, on Christmas morning. He IS risen - meaning He wants to enter our lives each and every day and just awaits the opening we prepare. And He is going to come again to call all of his creation back to Him. This is the thril...

There has been a lot of talk lately about winning and the costs of winning. It is apparent from any news source that the battles lines have been clearly drawn and politics is no longer (was it ever?) about doing good or right. It is about winning. Winning at any cost and at all costs. I have to admit I find it hard to watch the news since I've become a mother and even more so lately, as a mother of girls. What do I tell them about society? How do I convince them (myself?) that there is good? Better question, is there good? How do I explain the proclamation of victory made by people who have hurt others, whose "win" has cost someone their dignity, their rights, their safety? How can I insure that same price is never paid at the expense of my daughters? I have to remind myself that the real battle has already been won, though it has not been completed. Though it is not near, we know the end. It is done. Jesus was and is victorious and he will come again to claim that vi...

Today is the first official day of summer break for the girls. We all got to sleep in a little and still had time for crafts and smoothie-making before I had to leave for work. It is always hard to leave, but this morning was something more. I felt almost paralyzed as I went to kiss them goodbye. I had to fight back tears and try not to squeeze them too tight or too long, which would give away my heart-gripping fear of letting them go at all. After the events of the weekend, the last few weeks, the last few years, I have finally had to come to terms with the fact that I am raising my beautiful girls in a world where they are not safe. They are not safe at school, not safe at sleepovers, just simply not safe. I have always counted myself so fortunate to have been born, merely by chance, in this country. But now, now my heart aches much like I imagine mothers' hearts in third world nations have ached for years. I have to acknowledge that my country allows children to be killed a...