When words are not necessary

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I've never heard my grandmother's voice. Grandma Rosie, my dad's mother, had a stroke when I was little which left her unable to speak. She lived down the street from us which allowed me to visit her often. It was then, at a young age, that I learned that love does not require words.

I always felt closest to my Grandma Rosie than anyone else in my family. It seemed to be an unspoken pact between us that both of us as the black sheep of the family should stick together. Words were never necessary for us to understand the other. Our hearts were linked to intuitively know what the other needed.

When I was in elementary school she had another stoke and was moved to a convalescent center to help care for her. We visited her on Sunday's after church and it was always me she reached out to for a hug and a kiss on the cheek. It was towards the end of my time in elementary school, perhaps 5th of 6th grade, when she walked towards that bright light of heaven. My heart broke and I felt so lost without my rock. But I knew deep down that her voice had returned and she was speaking sweetly with our Heavenly Father.

I was reminded of this lesson again as an adult during my visit to India. I sponsor a lovely girl in Rishikesh so that she may have the same opportunities as the boys with her education. I was able to meet and visit with her at her school and was given permission for us to attend aarti together one night. Our English levels were not at the same level so we could speak in broken English but not carry on a long conversation.

This night was my first ever attendance of aarti and it was the most beautiful ceremony I've ever attended. Manju, my sponsored friend, would show me what to do as offerings and candles were passed around. The singing and chanting were stunning although I didn't know the words. I didn't need to know them because I could feel them. My heart was bursting at the seams with all the love and fellowship between all these strangers who accepted me right into their devotion.

Words were not necessary that night at aarti because I could feel the love, as with my grandmother. Language could have been a barrier but instead love built a bridge.

Hugs,

Green like Gracie's Pears

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As I'm reading the book Storycatcher my mind begins to wander back to my childhood. Growing up my parents would take my sister and I to my grandmother's house (my mom's mother) to spend the night or the weekend so they could enjoy some alone time, usually their anniversary. My grandmother could sit for hours recounting the stories of her life. I loved to sit and listen to her tales of long ago although some were told over and over. Oh how I wish I would have documented these stories to pass on to the next generation, for most of them have slipped from my memory ages ago.

Grandmother Gracie left this world a good twelve years ago and so went her recollections. I do recall a story she shared from her adult life from the garden that she spent much of her time. It's a bit silly but I love it because she told it and because she shared this with me since she knew how terrified I am of snakes. 

She was tending to the garden and a grass snake keep following her throughout the plot. She told the snake that she had no intention to exterminate it since it was harmless but she didn't like the way it kept looking at her and following her. Needless to say, after hours of the watchful eye of the snake she finally had to remove it. For the record, I never condone harming God's creatures but it was just plain funny to me to picture this snake weaving along the garden with her as she worked. 

I have no idea why this one trivial story remained with me throughout the years yet the parables slipped {or should I say slithered! LOL.} away. But it does remain along with the coziness I felt being cocooned in her handmade quilts and the aroma of French toast drifting from her cast iron skillet in the morning. Oh, and you can't forget her fried chicken. No one has ever been able to craft the most perfect fried chicken like she could. Let's not forget the pear tree next to her house that she would always remind us not to eat too many or else we'd get a stomachache. And, yes, we would eat too many and end up with a stomachache. The wisdom of grandmothers will never steer you wrong. 

Unfortunately, the stories are gone but I'm left with my memories of a fine, hardworking, Christian woman that I have been blessed to share the same eye color with (not with my immediate family of blues and brown) which happened to be her middle name and my son's favorite color - Green.

Hugs,

She Dreams.

As a child I enjoyed my own company over the companionship of others. When alone, I was free to allow my mind to gently wander to faraway destinations. I could be the princess trapped in the tower waiting for Prince Charming to slay the dragon and rescue her. I could be the rescuer of abused and neglected animals who found sanctuary in my well-maintained farm. I could be an Egyptian beauty, Bollywood royalty, or an admired actress. I often lived in my own head as I weaved dreamy stories of make-believe.

When did this dreaming cease to inspire me? I assume it was when I deduced that dreams are not reality and therefore hold no merit in real life. They were just stories - daydreams, fantasies, make-believe, nothing about them was even remotely tangible. Useless.

I allowed my need to conform to society's standard take precedence over my dream affinity. One would pull while I pushed the other. Fast forward to many moons later and the awareness slips over me as to the abundant value of dreaming. Now the truth is so blatantly clear.

Dreams are essential to manifesting a beautiful life.

By throwing a rug over a significant part of me, I was denying myself the possibility of any of these dreams coming true. I was concealing a vital part of who I am. My makeup, my nature, my being. I was
consequently preventing my musings from ever taking flight. Not to say that I would ever be a princess in a tower but my limiting beliefs were preventing more realistic visions to emerge, take shape, and come into fruition.

My renewed faith in vision work is opening new doors that I never could have imagined possible. I CAN start my own business. I CAN travel the world. I CAN {fill in the blank}. Nothing is preventing me from achieving these goals but me. I've decided to get out of my own way and let the dreaming begin.

I dream of running through a field of wildflowers. I'm laughing, dancing, and filled with joy.

I dream of gathering my tribe of sacred souls, a woven kinship of blessed women. I imagine it to feel like home.

I dream of nomadic wandering, discovering distant lands while spreading love sweet love.

I dream of rising with the sun and bowing to her glory. Good morning, beautiful day. I am here.

I dream of witnessing her set at dusk. Until we meet again, we agree.

I dream of crashing waves washing over me. Letting it all wash away. Renewed.

I dream of freedom. I dream of purpose. I dream of love.

I dream.

Hugs,

My Story :: Part II

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My son is now twelve and a lot has happened since his birth. We went to live with some friends for a few months but I knew I needed to fly solo. I got a new apartment for the two of us and slowly met my neighbors who immediately looked out for me. My son had colic so those first few months were a living hell. He cried and I cried. Eventually the crying stopped and we began to get to know each other. My life had a purpose and it was to care for this amazing being.

Unfortunately, I was unable to reenlist for another Navy tour due to my single-mother status and lack of family support. I debated on staying in Virginia Beach where I was currently stationed but after my parents came to visit and encouraged me to come home I decided to do that. Finally, my family wanted to be a family! At the time I was dating a guy that lived upstairs from me. We decided to end things but the night before I was to drive back home he made the decision to go with me. We set off for this new life together as a family of three to Florida.

After I got home I learned that the reason my parents wanted me back here was to take on my sister and her two kids. She doesn’t work and relies on child support and welfare. Hmm…a two bedroom townhouse with two adults and three children (the ‘rents didn’t know about the boyfriend until this point). The math just didn’t add up. I was hurt once I learned this ulterior motive.

After working several dead-end jobs and struggling to make ends meet I finally got a decent job. It took a while to dig myself back out of debt while carrying the load of the family. I eventually kicked the boyfriend to the curb and life started to get much better. I paid off my car, bought my house, a finished my bachelor’s degree (in communications, mostly marketing) – all before thirty. Things were looking up.

Along the way, I met a guy through work who I fell for hard even though my heart told me it was a mistake. We were together for several years although we had several breakups along the way. One night I was driving back from open house at my son’s school, just me and my son. It occurred to me that it would always be this way. The boyfriend would never commit to me and I would always be a single mom. That night I ended things on the phone and his words were, “I understand.” I think those words hurt more than anything because they were so nonchalant and lacking in emotion. This was when my food addiction began. I learned that if I stuffed myself with enough food that the crying and heartbreak would cease, at least temporarily.

At some point I met the next guy whom I dated for a couple years off and on. This relationship was intense, to say the least. This guy would end up being Ex #2. Can you see the pattern of destruction here? I couldn’t at the time. I was eating to shove down my emotions, never dealt with that pain, and jumped on the next train. We were married for all of three months before I finally realized what I had done. Sadly, I can say at our wedding I realized I was making a mistake but I ignored it and figured we could work it out. During our separation I started talking to the before mentioned ex and had hope that we could work things out. I was telling myself lies.

We met back up but I could tell that he was bothered by my larger weight. He didn’t say it but I could feel the elephant in the room and it was me. I was already on the road to self-destruction there was no turning back now. We stayed friends even though deep down I hoped things would work out eventually. During this time my son went to live with his dad who lives nowhere near Florida. My divorce became final after six or seven months of marriage. I went to India to find myself. It was the greatest adventure but I didn’t find myself there. Honestly, I’m still searching. Before I went to India I discovered that I loved art. It was not something I had spent any time on before and with my son getting to know his dad I had more time on my hands.

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At some point, the ex who wouldn’t commit decided to commit. To another woman. My heart was broken into a million pieces. Our friendship ended and they got married. I assume they still are but it’s been a year since he and I have talked. Ex #2 and I tried another go at it but the damage was already done. I’ve been by myself since. Most of the time I’m okay with that. I realize I have a lot of internal work to do before I can be a good partner to another. That doesn’t mean things don’t get lonely. My son spends the summers and Christmas breaks with me. I realize it’s not the typical custody arrangement but it works for us. I raised Donovan alone for the first nine or ten years of his life and now it’s his dad’s turn. He has a stepmom and a little brother and he is loved tremendously.

You’re probably wondering why I suddenly decided to share my story. The truth is I was reading Susannah Conway’s latest book, This I Know, over the weekend and she talked about how we tend to only share the parts of ourselves on our blogs that we want others to see. In other words, we’re inclined to sweep the less beautiful parts of ourselves under the rug, out of view. I know that I do this. I’m completely honest with the things I share but I don’t expose my dirty laundry. The problem is that dirty laundry is what’s made me who I am. So here I am stripping off the layers to reveal myself, flaws and all.

There are a few more parts I should add to this story. I still struggle with myself over the God that the church from my childhood forced upon me and the God that as an adult I’ve learned is a more loving Father. Although I can’t help but question the things in my life that the church preached as being sinful but I get to decide now. I know the basic right from wrongs and live my life according to those.

I’m still struggling with my weight but I make more of an effort to notice why I’m eating. Also, depression and social anxiety have been key players in my life for as long as I remember. I know those are the deep dark secrets that most people fear sharing with others. I’ve kept quiet about it for so long because of the stigma attached. I also know that there is no reason to be ashamed. We all have a cross to bear and this is mine. I recently started a new treatment plan after the one I was on for many years was no longer working. As discussed with a girlfriend, it’s like when your shampoo stops working and you have to switch them up.

This time with myself has given me a lot of insight into my destructive patterns. I realized that the guys that are all gaga over me I tend to throw away easily. The guys who seem uninterested or broken themselves I dive right in trying to fix him or fix myself. In Susannah's book (page 178) she talks about how we look for validation in relationships by being needy when we're insecure with ourselves. Not knowing our own worth we need others to love us and not leave us. This new found self-awareness is vital to my healing and recovery.

So here I am – stripped bare. These are my truths. I speak them bravely but I no longer choose to be defined by them. This is where the next chapter in my story begins.

My Story :: Part I

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I want to tell you a story…and it’s the story of my life. It seems like I’ve lived a thousand years but the truth is, it has only begun.

I was born in 1976 to a poor family in a poor town. Our family was held together by a God-fearing religion that I often refer to as a cult. I didn’t understand this God who would place so many restrictions on his children and call it love. I woke many nights from nightmares of dangling over hell or of a multitude of snakes slithering over my body. My biggest fear in this world is snakes and the church taught us that a snake represents satan.

Because of the strict worldly limitations placed by the church, I never felt like I belonged. I hated going to school even though I was an honor roll student. I would fake being sick so I could go home early from school. My mother would tell me to go back to class but if I went behind her back and called my grandmother she would send for me. I was the closest to her out of all my family even though I’ve never heard her voice. She had a stroke in which she lost her speech. Around my fifth grade year, another stroke took her life.

My family life was tough not only because of our religion but because I never fit in there either. Most families have bonds that tie them together but somehow we seemed to lack those bonds. I was the “black sheep” and “snob” in my family. I haven’t decided if those are hurtful or empowering words.

I left home the day I turned sixteen and was legally emancipated several days later. It was also at sixteen that I married for the first time. We were married for two torturous years before I finally had enough and walked out. I filed for divorce the following week which was granted almost a year later. While we argued over the divorce, Ex #1 stated words that haunt me to this day. He said, “The only reason you were with me and married me was to get out of your parents house.” I think he may have been right.

I carried on and finished high school while working full time. I started a respiratory care program at the community college but found myself struggling to pay for tuition. At this point I was also drinking heavily and hanging out in clubs often. I had an epiphany one night while out clubbing. I noticed the older crowds were the exact same people I would see there every time I was out. I also noticed how drugs were running rampant in both the younger and older crowds. I didn’t want either of these groups to be me.

At the age of twenty-one, I decided to join the U.S. Navy and see the world. Halfway through my four year enlistment I found out I was pregnant. I was in shock and terrified. I was honestly never sure if I wanted to have kids but throughout my pregnancy I came to terms with my doubt and looked forward to my son’s arrival. His father walked out towards the beginning of my pregnancy. I was left alone with an apartment I could barely afford and a baby on the way. It was beyond words the fear I felt during this time. The best descriptive would be devastated.

I began packing up my apartment to move in with some friends temporarily when I went into labor. My son was born the next night. I lay awake the night of his birth watching him as he slept. I knew I needed to get sleep while I could but I was a mixture of emotions – excited, scared, and in awe of this little person I carried inside me all these months. I knew this would be the start of the next chapter in my life.