Well, it's time for Five Minute Friday and usually I'd link up with Lisa-Jo, but her blog is broken, which may be the exact reason she chose broken for today's word prompt. So here we go.
Her heart was completely broken. It broke into a million tiny pieces the minute they placed him in her arms. It was the best kind of broken - propelled by the sheer force of joy at the safe arrival of her new son. The world had waited with her, and she'd have to share him with them soon enough, but at this moment it was her and her little family safely cocooned in the hospital suite.
She counted his fingers and toes and wondered which he would break just by boyhood shenanigans. She squeezed his chubby legs and envisioned keeping her fingers crossed that he wouldn't break a leg riding his horse or playing football. What young lady would break his heart for the first time?
His future lay ahead of him like a blank canvas. Not entirely blank, as his heritage prescribed the responsibilities he mantled simply by being born into this family. But as she held him close and felt the million pieces of her heart start to come back together, she purposed once again to protect him from the weight of his birthright even as he would learn to honor it and offer him a happy, bright upbringing filled with the opportunity to laugh with delight, run with joy and perhaps experience a bit of brokenness along the way.
There would be plenty of time for the inevitable brokenness of life in the years to come, but for now, right this moment, before the world even knew he had come, it was simply unbroken perfection.
Friday, July 26, 2013
Friday, July 19, 2013
Belong
Linking up today with Five Minute Friday. Today's word prompt is belong.
All she ever wanted was to belong. She was skinny, unkempt, neglected. She had spent the first 14 months of her life crated, outside, 24/7 until the uniformed officer came and took her away. It was loud in the new place, very loud until the lights dimmed at nighttime.
She had a family come visit and decide to take her home, but then they changed their minds. She didn't know why. She was ready to belong. She wasn't sad, though. By nature, she was just a happy girl. All the time, even when things went wrong.
And then one night, on a whim, a couple came to where she lived. At first, they walked right past her. They went behind the closed doors and then came back out, looking disappointed. Then the man stopped by her crate and said to the woman, "Can we look at her?" She turned on what bedraggled charm she had and blinked her big brown eyes. "Sure," said the woman who was with the man.
She couldn't believe it. Was she finally going to belong? The couple disappeared behind the doors again and then one of the workers came to get her. She grabbed a ball and pushed exuberantly into the room. BAM! She ran hard and slid right into the man.
And then she heard the woman say, "Well, that pretty much settles it. She's your girl."
She couldn't believe her ears. She was going to belong! She was going to be a daddy's girl! She was getting a new name! There was some talk about having to meet a big brother to make sure they got along, but she wasn't going to let that stand in her way. She'd be sure to be on her best behavior when he came to visit. It took her about two days to convince him that she belonged to the family, too, and she quickly found her way into her brother's heart and became his best pal.
At last, she belonged. She was home.
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All she ever wanted was to belong. She was skinny, unkempt, neglected. She had spent the first 14 months of her life crated, outside, 24/7 until the uniformed officer came and took her away. It was loud in the new place, very loud until the lights dimmed at nighttime.
She had a family come visit and decide to take her home, but then they changed their minds. She didn't know why. She was ready to belong. She wasn't sad, though. By nature, she was just a happy girl. All the time, even when things went wrong.
And then one night, on a whim, a couple came to where she lived. At first, they walked right past her. They went behind the closed doors and then came back out, looking disappointed. Then the man stopped by her crate and said to the woman, "Can we look at her?" She turned on what bedraggled charm she had and blinked her big brown eyes. "Sure," said the woman who was with the man.
She couldn't believe it. Was she finally going to belong? The couple disappeared behind the doors again and then one of the workers came to get her. She grabbed a ball and pushed exuberantly into the room. BAM! She ran hard and slid right into the man.
And then she heard the woman say, "Well, that pretty much settles it. She's your girl."
She couldn't believe her ears. She was going to belong! She was going to be a daddy's girl! She was getting a new name! There was some talk about having to meet a big brother to make sure they got along, but she wasn't going to let that stand in her way. She'd be sure to be on her best behavior when he came to visit. It took her about two days to convince him that she belonged to the family, too, and she quickly found her way into her brother's heart and became his best pal.
At last, she belonged. She was home.
Shelby meets her dad for the first time
On the boat with her brother and best friend, Cooper
Friday, July 12, 2013
Present
Linking up today with Five Minute Friday. Today's word prompt is present.
I think one of the most significant gifts we can give one another is the gift of being present. That's not a new theory in this age of instant communication, chronic distraction that many of us find ourselves in. Since the advent of the smartphone, many have bemoaned the fact that is so easily allows us to avoid being present with the people we are with at any given moment. I recently got a new phone and I find myself intentionally leaving it on my desk or putting it aside. I even considered, gasp, not getting a smartphone at all. Many survive and even thrive without one.
But I think I realized the importance of the gift of being present when walking with Pam on her journey through cancer. Ironically, the motivation for getting a smartphone was to allow me to stay connected with clients and work when I was being present with her, sitting in waiting rooms waiting for her, spending the day with her while she napped, just spending time in the same place.
When someone you love is ill, it's hard sometimes to find your role, to know what you are to be doing. Many people love the one you love and all want to help and sometimes it can be frustrating when you want to serve in a way that someone else has already taken over. But one day, I had an epiphany. I said to Pam, "I've figured it out. My job, my gift, is to be ... to be present with you, to be in your home, to walk by your side. There are many doers, and I'm one of them, but my primary role is just to be." Not surprisingly, she'd come to the same realization, probably sooner than I had. This part of our story deserves a longer, more thought-through post than a Five Minute Friday entry, but it's what came to mind when I saw today's word prompt.
I've carried the lesson of being present with me ever since. In the big things - like going with a friend to the hospital/emergency room/test - I find it easier to be present than in the little things when I allow myself to be distracted by the day-to-day to-do lists that run through my mind non-stop. But I'll keep trying to improve my ability and desire to be present for it really is a gift.
I think one of the most significant gifts we can give one another is the gift of being present. That's not a new theory in this age of instant communication, chronic distraction that many of us find ourselves in. Since the advent of the smartphone, many have bemoaned the fact that is so easily allows us to avoid being present with the people we are with at any given moment. I recently got a new phone and I find myself intentionally leaving it on my desk or putting it aside. I even considered, gasp, not getting a smartphone at all. Many survive and even thrive without one.
But I think I realized the importance of the gift of being present when walking with Pam on her journey through cancer. Ironically, the motivation for getting a smartphone was to allow me to stay connected with clients and work when I was being present with her, sitting in waiting rooms waiting for her, spending the day with her while she napped, just spending time in the same place.
When someone you love is ill, it's hard sometimes to find your role, to know what you are to be doing. Many people love the one you love and all want to help and sometimes it can be frustrating when you want to serve in a way that someone else has already taken over. But one day, I had an epiphany. I said to Pam, "I've figured it out. My job, my gift, is to be ... to be present with you, to be in your home, to walk by your side. There are many doers, and I'm one of them, but my primary role is just to be." Not surprisingly, she'd come to the same realization, probably sooner than I had. This part of our story deserves a longer, more thought-through post than a Five Minute Friday entry, but it's what came to mind when I saw today's word prompt.
I've carried the lesson of being present with me ever since. In the big things - like going with a friend to the hospital/emergency room/test - I find it easier to be present than in the little things when I allow myself to be distracted by the day-to-day to-do lists that run through my mind non-stop. But I'll keep trying to improve my ability and desire to be present for it really is a gift.
Sunday, July 7, 2013
Beautiful
Even though it's Sunday, I'm linking up with the other writers over at Five Minute Friday. Today's word prompt is beautiful.
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We were enjoying breakfast on the cabin porch, taking in the beautiful view, when she quietly poked her head through the foliage. Quietly, the doe looked to the left, to the right, up toward where we were sitting. Deciding the coast was clear, she emerged from the woods and began gently walking across the yard. Ever vigilant, ever alert, stealthy.
We froze and willed the dogs to stay still and oblivious to the scene unfolding below us.
Then one little fawn, and another and a third emerged behind her, following their mama on this adventure wherever it would lead. Another doe brought up the rear of this unanticipated parade of beauty on the Fourth of July. Gently, they crossed the yard in single file until they disappeared again in the brush.
Beautiful comes in many shapes and sizes. It can come when and where we least expect it.
We were enjoying breakfast on the cabin porch, taking in the beautiful view, when she quietly poked her head through the foliage. Quietly, the doe looked to the left, to the right, up toward where we were sitting. Deciding the coast was clear, she emerged from the woods and began gently walking across the yard. Ever vigilant, ever alert, stealthy.
We froze and willed the dogs to stay still and oblivious to the scene unfolding below us.
Then one little fawn, and another and a third emerged behind her, following their mama on this adventure wherever it would lead. Another doe brought up the rear of this unanticipated parade of beauty on the Fourth of July. Gently, they crossed the yard in single file until they disappeared again in the brush.
Beautiful comes in many shapes and sizes. It can come when and where we least expect it.
Friday, June 28, 2013
In Between
It's time for Five Minute Friday. Today's writing prompt is in between.
Except for the first four years of my life, I've always been in between. In those earliest years, I was the little sister and the youngest child and grandchild. And then my brother came along. He arrived as Hurricane Agnes roared and swirled and danced angrily around us our little house on Halleck Street. I remember waiting with my older brother and our neighbor, "Aunt Al," for my dad to come home and reveal the arrival of a little sister or brother. I was terribly upset that I had another brother ... not because brothers were bad; more likely because I wanted a real life doll to put in my baby carriage with Raggedy Ann and Andy
Forty-some years later (how can that be?), I'm glad I grew up in between two brothers. If I'd had a sister, I fear that we would have been the fighting, mean kind of sisters, not the Hallmark ideal of sisters who share secrets and giggle over boys. God, thankfully, blessed me with friends who are my chosen sisters.
But back to the brothers. We each very different, but in some ways the same. I can see the indelible markings of our birth order and upbringing - either because of or in spite of - in our personalities and life choices. Our beliefs span the political spectrum (which can lead to lively interactions that give me a headache). Two of us live near one another, one is far away. One is single, one is married with two younger children, one is an empty nester after having helped raise step-kids. We majored in sociology, business and political science in college. We all love to read (thanks to our mother's commitment to taking us to the library). Our personalities are different, which can be very good and very challenging. We are not emotionally open with one another, we're not a touchy-feely, bare-your-emotions siblings.
But this I know. When the chips are down, I know my brothers have my back and I hope they know I have theirs. Sometimes it's the simple things like listening, sending an encouraging card or e-mail, or saying "I'm proud of you." Sometimes it's the bigger, tangible things like showing up at a funeral of a sibling's dearest friend or taking over a responsibility when one of us has a crisis in our immediate family.
During my growing up years, I wasn't thankful for growing up between two brothers. And while some of those frustrations still intermittently rear their childish heads, my perspective now shows me that in between is right where I'm supposed to be.
Except for the first four years of my life, I've always been in between. In those earliest years, I was the little sister and the youngest child and grandchild. And then my brother came along. He arrived as Hurricane Agnes roared and swirled and danced angrily around us our little house on Halleck Street. I remember waiting with my older brother and our neighbor, "Aunt Al," for my dad to come home and reveal the arrival of a little sister or brother. I was terribly upset that I had another brother ... not because brothers were bad; more likely because I wanted a real life doll to put in my baby carriage with Raggedy Ann and Andy
Forty-some years later (how can that be?), I'm glad I grew up in between two brothers. If I'd had a sister, I fear that we would have been the fighting, mean kind of sisters, not the Hallmark ideal of sisters who share secrets and giggle over boys. God, thankfully, blessed me with friends who are my chosen sisters.
But back to the brothers. We each very different, but in some ways the same. I can see the indelible markings of our birth order and upbringing - either because of or in spite of - in our personalities and life choices. Our beliefs span the political spectrum (which can lead to lively interactions that give me a headache). Two of us live near one another, one is far away. One is single, one is married with two younger children, one is an empty nester after having helped raise step-kids. We majored in sociology, business and political science in college. We all love to read (thanks to our mother's commitment to taking us to the library). Our personalities are different, which can be very good and very challenging. We are not emotionally open with one another, we're not a touchy-feely, bare-your-emotions siblings.
But this I know. When the chips are down, I know my brothers have my back and I hope they know I have theirs. Sometimes it's the simple things like listening, sending an encouraging card or e-mail, or saying "I'm proud of you." Sometimes it's the bigger, tangible things like showing up at a funeral of a sibling's dearest friend or taking over a responsibility when one of us has a crisis in our immediate family.
During my growing up years, I wasn't thankful for growing up between two brothers. And while some of those frustrations still intermittently rear their childish heads, my perspective now shows me that in between is right where I'm supposed to be.
Friday, June 21, 2013
Rhythm
It's time for Five Minute Friday once again. Today's word is rhythm.
It all goes well until the rhythm is broken. Broken by a squirrel, a rabbit, a dog, a motorcycle, a bicycle or a person. So many opportunities for cadence to be disrupted.
When Shelby girl joined our family, the humane society trainer warned me that we may not be able to walk her together with Cooper. That lasted all of about three days. While walking is my primary form of exercise -- OK, only form of exercise -- I don't have all day to walk two big dogs separately. They quickly found their rhythm and walk together well.
Until a distraction appears. And then it's all I can do to wrangle Cooper in, attempt to open Shelby's locked jaw to remove whatever "treasure" she's determined to hold onto, call out an apology if needed to a fellow pedestrian. (My neighbor and I think we should have shirts that read, "Just wave. Don't speak. It'll disturb the dog.")
When our rhythm is broken, I am easily frustrated, just like when the routine of my days is unexpectedly disrupted and doesn't go the way I planned. This is one of the many life lessons I've learned while walking my dogs.
Be flexible. Do the best to keep the rhythm, but when life skips a beat, keep on walking until you're back in sync.
It all goes well until the rhythm is broken. Broken by a squirrel, a rabbit, a dog, a motorcycle, a bicycle or a person. So many opportunities for cadence to be disrupted.
When Shelby girl joined our family, the humane society trainer warned me that we may not be able to walk her together with Cooper. That lasted all of about three days. While walking is my primary form of exercise -- OK, only form of exercise -- I don't have all day to walk two big dogs separately. They quickly found their rhythm and walk together well.
Until a distraction appears. And then it's all I can do to wrangle Cooper in, attempt to open Shelby's locked jaw to remove whatever "treasure" she's determined to hold onto, call out an apology if needed to a fellow pedestrian. (My neighbor and I think we should have shirts that read, "Just wave. Don't speak. It'll disturb the dog.")
When our rhythm is broken, I am easily frustrated, just like when the routine of my days is unexpectedly disrupted and doesn't go the way I planned. This is one of the many life lessons I've learned while walking my dogs.
Be flexible. Do the best to keep the rhythm, but when life skips a beat, keep on walking until you're back in sync.
Friday, June 14, 2013
Listen
Linking up today with Lisa-Jo over at Five Minute Friday. Today's word prompt is listen.
A few weeks ago, I received the above Pinterest pin from a dear friend. We've been friends for more than two decades, and for most of those years we've lived at some geographic distance. Initially, it was a manageable two hours, but then her family decided to move to an entirely different coast (!) so our time together is more infrequent than ever.
But when we are together, we pick up right where we left off. And that generally includes going out to dinner or to the beach or to the park and just being together ... while we listen to other people's conversations. I don't think of this as eavesdropping, exactly. It's more of story collecting. Our first year out of college, when we lived close enough to meet for dinner, Friday nights would usually find us enjoying dinner out ... and saying very few words to each other. Oh, the stories we've heard.
And while I find listening to strangers most delightful when she and I are together, I find myself listening to others fairly often. When I was out for a birthday dinner with my husband, we were in a charming restaurant with fabulous food and seated in close proximity to our fellow diners. It was impossible not to overhear the conversations taking place around us. We were seated beside a charming older couple, probably in their 80s, with New York accents. Their interactions intrigued me and I couldn't help but listen. (Note: My husband gets my listening issue and sometimes joins right in with me.) Their conversation turned toward the temperature debate that is present in so many marriages.
Wife: You have spent all of your married years turning off the heat and I have spent my married years turning it back on. I remember when we had a wee baby at home and you left for work and when you left, turned off all the heat which I found to be very inconsiderate of you ...
Husband: Mmm...
Wife: ... which may have been why I burned your shorts in the oven.
You cannot script dialogue that fabulous!
A few weeks ago, I received the above Pinterest pin from a dear friend. We've been friends for more than two decades, and for most of those years we've lived at some geographic distance. Initially, it was a manageable two hours, but then her family decided to move to an entirely different coast (!) so our time together is more infrequent than ever.
But when we are together, we pick up right where we left off. And that generally includes going out to dinner or to the beach or to the park and just being together ... while we listen to other people's conversations. I don't think of this as eavesdropping, exactly. It's more of story collecting. Our first year out of college, when we lived close enough to meet for dinner, Friday nights would usually find us enjoying dinner out ... and saying very few words to each other. Oh, the stories we've heard.
And while I find listening to strangers most delightful when she and I are together, I find myself listening to others fairly often. When I was out for a birthday dinner with my husband, we were in a charming restaurant with fabulous food and seated in close proximity to our fellow diners. It was impossible not to overhear the conversations taking place around us. We were seated beside a charming older couple, probably in their 80s, with New York accents. Their interactions intrigued me and I couldn't help but listen. (Note: My husband gets my listening issue and sometimes joins right in with me.) Their conversation turned toward the temperature debate that is present in so many marriages.
Wife: You have spent all of your married years turning off the heat and I have spent my married years turning it back on. I remember when we had a wee baby at home and you left for work and when you left, turned off all the heat which I found to be very inconsiderate of you ...
Husband: Mmm...
Wife: ... which may have been why I burned your shorts in the oven.
You cannot script dialogue that fabulous!
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