The Beauty in the Background

"So, this is Christmas." 

I'm not even a fan of John Lennon's famous Christmas song, but it's just kind of where I am this season. War is over and I'm approaching my first Christmas as a single, newly divorced parent. I have to admit, I knew this was coming last year. I didn't have a timeline, but I knew the end was very near as our marriage labored to hold on through one more holiday. I tried my hardest to make Chloe's last Christmas with both her parents as carefree and wonderful as possible, but it was hard and everything felt unnatural. I was going through the motions and I constantly worried it showed. I wanted so much more for my daughter than vague memories of an  unhappy marriage between her parents. 

I still want so much more for her, but this is just where we are right now and despite it being one of the hardest things in the world, I've come to the reality that I'm going to have to trust God with this. Trusting him with myself is easy. Trusting him with a creature I made from scratch, and value more than my own life, is an entirely different matter.  So, what do you do when you worry your precious angel is not going to remember the good? I guess the only thing you can do: You reach back into your own memories, pick them apart and try to salvage your sanity by figuring out your own past perspective. 

I have some fantastic memories from my childhood. They are truly wondrous. Sometimes, I forget that I even have them; they get lost in my mind and then flood back with a trigger. Normally, it's a familiar smell or a phrase, and I sit back and marvel in amazement that I had ever forgotten something so near to my heart. It happened the other night in my sister's kitchen. We were talking about Tolkien and my dislike of all his books, save for one: The Hobbit. (I'm pretty certain some of you will quit reading my blog this very moment, but I can't help it; I just don't care for Tolkien. So, there.) Where was I? Oh, yes...my grandmother. She is the only reason I even like The Hobbit. She read it to my sister and me when we were little. It was a giant book with beautiful illustrations and it took us almost six months to get through it during our spend the night visits. My grandmother was a librarian and loved reading. She read to us all the time and I loved every minute of it, even when it was an author I didn't particularly like. I have many memories of listening to countless books, but my favorite memory is the night it snowed. 

There is probably something you should know about me. I love snow. As a child, my parents gave me a snowflake charm on a little, gold necklace because almost every evening from December to April, I asked my father the same question: Is it going to snow, tonight? I was the eternal optimist. 

As a kid, was there anything better than that moment when you woke up to freshly fallen snow? 

Growing up in Georgia, snow almost always fell at night because that was the only time it was cold enough. My sister and I would faithfully watch Guy Sharpe on 11Alive News as he made his predictions for snow. I would get so excited, I could barely sleep. Over and over again I would peer out my bedroom window to see if anything had fallen. I just couldn't stand it. The waiting was miserable and wonderful all at the same time. There was so much hope in the anticipation. Then morning would come, and if we were lucky, the world would be dim and quiet and still when we opened our eyes. We would race to the window and stare at the beautiful white snow that had silently fallen in the night. I have so many memories like this. They've all run together and now it's more of a feeling than a specific moment. That is, all of them but one. 

Sometimes, beautiful memories spark from ugliness. My grandfather died of cancer when I was seven years old. He was only 47. My grandmother had to say goodbye to her high school sweetheart and the love of her life. I can't imagine. The night it snowed must have happened the first winter after he died because my grandmother was still living in her bungalow, cedar clad house in Red Oak. I loved that house, but it had lost it's warmth and safeness after my grandfather died. I think she must have felt the same way because she had us over to spend the night often. Each time we came, she read from the latest book we were tackling. Her voice was calming and she always spoke with perfect inflection. I often found myself hanging on each word, completely wrapped up in the story.

On this particularly cold night, she chose Winnie-the-Pooh to read to us. I'm not talking about that craziness that's plastered all over the tacky baby section at Babies-R-Us. That nonsense disturbs me. I'm referring to the actual children's book written by A.A. Milne.  It's one of my favorites and as we sat down to read it, for what probably was my first time, I remember things felt different in her house. That night it was completely dark. Not even the little light above her stove was on. In fact, I'm certain there wasn't a single light on in the entire house. Instead, she read the book by the light of the lamp post my grandfather had installed when he realized he wasn't going to beat his cancer. He didn't want my grandmother walking into the house in the dark. We sat on the couch with our backs to the widow to use the light from the lamp and she read to us for what seemed like hours. I remember leaning into her and snuggling down. I was sleepy and it felt so safe to be sitting there, listening to the lilt of her voice. I'm not sure if it was the story itself or the safe feeling that made us so still, but we sat motionless as she started and finished the entire book. All the while, we sat with our backs to the world outside. 

There's nothing too magical about that story. It was what happened afterwards that is burned into my soul. When she finished, I remember turning around and glancing out the window. The bare, cold ground that had been nothing but sticks and brown grass when we had begun the book was now covered in snow. Covered.  It was pouring out of the sky and apparently had been for quite sometime. Joy overtook all of us. My grandmother hadn't expected the snowfall either and the West Virginia girl in her was thrilled to see the white wonderland outside. It was as beautiful as Narnia under the White Witch's reign and we danced outside under the giant falling flakes. It was complete and utter enchantment.

I do have a point; I promise. That night when we three sat down to read Winnie-the-Pooh, there was nothing but ugliness around us. My grandmother was reeling from the loss of her husband, my sister was mourning the loss of her favorite grandfather and I was coming to terms with the fact that life would never be the same again. We were in complete darkness, in every way possible...but we didn't see the beauty unfolding around us. We were so focused on one thing that we didn't see God's hand moving, even the elements themselves, to bring beauty into our world.

So, that's what I'm counting on this Christmas. God will make the ugly beautiful. He will fill in the darkness with beauty, regardless of our focus. 

"And we know that in all things God works for the good of those who love him, who have been called according to his purpose."

 I'm going to cling to that verse. Last Christmas was a struggle and this Christmas is the furthest from "traditional" one can get, but I'm certain God is working in the background to cover my sweet girl's memories with a beautiful blanket of white, glorious, perfect snow. And I refuse to focus on the ugly and ignore what He is doing in the background. He is doing wondrous things to shield her from the imperfections and leave her with beautiful memories.  This Christmas will be beautiful. He will do this for her. He will do this for me. He will do this for you. Regardless of what you're going through right now, God will bless you with seeing the beauty in it. And if everything in the background seems to be complete chaos, rest assured that God is working it all for your good. Beautiful chaos is still breathtaking. A million snowflakes falling haphazardly from the sky still create a something magnificent.  This is my prayer for all of us: That we see the beauty and cling to it always. 

The 5 Stages of Writer's Block

The 5 Stages of Writer's Block

1. I'M JUST GOING TO POWER THROUGH IT. 

Your initial gut reaction is complete and total denial that what you are writing is complete crap. (Yes, I used complete twice in my first sentence. This is a blog about writer's block. This sort of thing should be expected!) Instead, you keep rereading what you've written and think, "This isn't too bad." But in the end, it's the same as the time your Aunt Ethel dropped the bowl of banana pudding on the floor at the family reunion. For a brief moment everyone insists the desert can be saved, but soon it's realized that every piece of nastiness sticks to pudding. Sadly, you stare at your empty spoon while yumminess, mixed with pieces of hair and dirt, is scraped into the trashcan. (And secretly you are really pissed at Aunt Ethel. Forget the fact that she just had a hip replaced. The bitty shouldn't have taken on such a task of carrying the only dessert if she wasn't up for it.)

2. MAYBE SOME MUSIC WILL HELP

Music helps everything, right? So, let's listen to some tunes. You turn on Pandora or Spotify or whatever you think will help, and for the love of all that's sacred, it must be something mellow. After all, you are serious about your writing. You don't want to overpower the thoughts in your head that are surely coming. Does this help? Absolutely not. Instead, you get bored with your crunchy music and soon find yourself dancing around the room to "Check On It" by Beyoncé. Inevitably it happens; you see your reflection in a mirror and come to the sobering reality that shakin' your money maker isn't as awesome as it used to be. You can't figure out if you just can't move the same anymore or that it's just not pretty to see a 38 year old twerk. You call your best friend from college to ask her opinion and you make plans to go dancing to prove you've still got it.


3. I NEED TO EAT

Diets and healthy eating habits are going to suffer in this stage. It's pretty obvious. When you can't write, stuff your face with Devil Dogs and Ho Hos. In fact, you may want to make some homemade vanilla ice cream and then use that new fudge sauce recipe you found last week. It's yummy. You scarf it down, but after dancing so much your stomach really wasn't ready for that amount of sugar. You feel a little sick. Maybe you should lie down for a while until the queasy feeling subsides. As you lie there, you don't brainstorm because that would actually be productive. Instead, you contemplate really important things like the phrase "People lie down; chickens lay eggs." Or the fact that it annoys you to say "I am nauseated" when all you really want to say is "I am nauseous."


4. I THINK NOW IS A GOOD TIME TO SLEEP

Somewhere in between nauseated and getting upset at your "not so firm grasp" on effect vs affect, your eyelids get heavy and you decide a quick cat nap is a perfect idea. Before you know it you are...Zzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzz.

5. SECOND ATTEMPT - SAY A PRAYER AND TRY AGAIN!

You wake up with the strength needed to try this again. After reading something you've previously written that didn't all together suck (in hopes of regaining some confidence in yourself) you will begin step 5. You have covered all forms of procrastination and hopefully somewhere along the way, the writing gods have smiled upon you, cleared your mind and a muse has been discovered. You sit down in front of your screen and start pounding on the keys, all the while praying you're going to get it out this time....because you are so sick of it rolling around in that head of yours and SO terrified the cycle will start again.

I am so sick of it rolling around in this head of mine!!!

Trusting Your Heart And The Gifts God Has Placed In It

Forewarning: I've had this blog titled "Damn Blog" all week because it's been SO hard to write. I've struggled with putting this into words but I'm determined to get this out of me...even if it sounds trite. I've been avoiding it for days, so let's just swallow the medicine and get this over with.  

This week I found myself in the middle of a completely unexpected conversation. I have the propensity of frequently walking straight into them without even glancing for oncoming traffic. Can anyone else identify with me? Every thing is just fine and then all of a sudden you're looking around like a Talking Heads song and thinking, "How did I get here?" That was me. One minute it was small talk and then I was asked a really personal question. Those things tend to happen when you get divorced. People are curious and for the most part I am always obliged to answer, but this question was different. It hit such a nerve that I instantly found myself in an internal struggle: Do I keep this shallow and skim the surface or do I bare my soul? Anyone who knows me well, knows my final decision. For me, small talk isn't an option; it's torture. And if someone asks me a question, I will be as transparent as I can.  It's one of those innate traits God has placed in my heart and try as I may, I can't find a way to get rid of it. We all know Psalm 139:13. "For you created my inmost being; you knit me together in my mother's womb." I love that verse when talking about babies that have been prayed for and pregnancies that were struggles, but it makes me squirm when I think about it in regards to my own self. You see, I've really struggled lately with the gifts God put in my heart when he was stitching it closed. They are sewn up tight in my very soul and I've longed to loosen the thread and pull them out, but I just can't seem to figure out how. I am, by nature, three things.

1. Transparent
                           2. Honest
                                             And...
                                                       3. Trusting to a fault

The last one has really kicked my butt over the past year. It has been my struggle. Even in the face of precious friends who were telling me their worries, I continued to trust when I shouldn't have. And now I am left feeling a bit betrayed by my own heart. That's such a strange feeling. It's rendered me a bit wary. Any innocuous thought and I begin second guessing myself. I'm not really use to that. I'm trying to figure out how to trust myself again and learn from my past mistakes. And in all this, one question keeps coming to mind: 

What do we do when our God given gifts end up getting us hurt? 

We have all had it happen. You do something meant for good and end up getting bad in return. It's not a fun feeling and it comes in many forms. If you are a giver and someone selfishly takes, what do you do? If you bear burdens for others but feel abandoned, how do you reconcile that? If you are a good friend and you are betrayed, how do you recover? If you blindly trust and are made a fool, what do you make of the experience? It makes you question if you should be so vulnerable again and risk the pain. Should you? As much as I'm working through this myself, the answer is Absolutely.  And here's what I'm coming to realize is needed in order to work this out in the every day: 

1. Realize It Wasn't the Gift that Hurt You: 

All the gifts that God has put in us are beautiful and precious. We can't blame them or ourselves for the betrayal. We live in a fallen world and we must learn to thrive in it. Turning on the inner most parts of our spirit isn't the answer. Every good gift is from God and they are meant to be embraced.

2. Pray for Discernment: 

This one is easy. If you've been hurt by your sincere, godly actions, pray for God to give you wisdom. Wisdom is needed to see when and where to use the talents you've been entrusted with. It's not always easy, but it can be easier when we ask for divine guidance. 

3. Learn From Your Mistakes: 

He gave us a memory for a reason. If we don't learn from past experiences, we will be certain to repeat them.

4. Keep Doing What God has Put in Your Heart: 

Regardless of your trepidation, keep moving forward. Never stop pursuing what your heart longs to do. If you stop, you will only hurt yourself. Whatever the fears may be, push through them. Ultimately, that will bring you the most joy and God will bless your obedience. 

5. And If You See Your Gift in Someone You Love....

Rejoice! Ugh. This is THE HARDEST one for me. My daughter has the sweetest heart I've ever seen. She trusts more sincerely than even I do and she is always trying to help. Last week, I watched her spend her time at a birthday party making sandwiches for the band. I wasn't filled with pride. I winced because it was something I would do. I struggled with not wanting her to be like me and my heart still feels this way. I can't get it to jump on board with what I know to be true in my head. I'm still in process because I've given a lot and have struggled over the past year of realizing it wasn't accepted the way I wished. That is just wrong thinking. Regardless of how I feel, I'm determined to do the right thing. Instead of wanting to change her, I am dutifully bound to guide her. If she is going to be a trusting person with a servant's heart, I will teach her to pray before acting and trust with discernment. I will teach her to use her gifts the way God desires...and I will learn to do the same. Most of all, I will (above all else) trust in the one who has created me. We should all be so lucky to use the gifts God has given us, even if that's a bit scary. 

It's hard. None of this is easy for me. To be in constant conflict of myself isn't the most fun, but I am working towards the goal. I refuse to let fear change my heart. I can only learn, grown and trust in the one who has given me a big heart. And for now...that's all I can do. 

Just Like Linus: Sitting in a Pumpkin Patch and Waiting for Something That's Not Coming

Last week when I posted my blog, I mentioned I wasn't ready to talk about my day. Well, that turned into not wanting to talk about my week. But as promised, I'm talking about everything on here, so...let's talk about last week. Bear with me though, this is very raw and it won't be the most eloquently thing I've written. I just need to get this out because I am closing the door on the past seven maddening days feeling a bit punch drunk.

Last week, in the span of 48 hours, these two things happened. One: I was accused of being a crazy stalker by my ex-husband and his girlfriend. And Two: I had my first fender bender. Ugh. When it rains, it pours. I wonder which topic you guys would like to hear about first. Fender bender? No? Girlfriend? Yeah. Our marriage is only over by two weeks and there's a girlfriend. Well, she was in the picture before the divorce was finalized, but I'm certain anyone with a brain can figure that out. But, I digress. Where was I? Oh yeah...stalker. I spent four hours Wednesday trying to prove I hadn't done something I had rudely been accused of doing. There were many text messages, emails, screen shots, and phone calls to Verizon wireless. After a ridiculously long battle, I cleared my name and all parties went to their perspective corners. But I limped to mine. I've never been accused of something like that before and having it come from someone who has known me for fifteen years was infuriating. It left me shell-shocked and I could barely sleep that night. Thursday morning on the way to work,  I plowed right into someone at an intersection. My week was complete. The first day I had been innocent and labeled guilty and the next day I was just guilty. Halloween is one of my absolute favorite holidays, but this year it's starting to seem like a bit of a nightmare than spooky fun. I've talked about "comfort movies" before. Last week, I needed some Charlie Brown.

I love It's the Great Pumpkin, Charlie Brown. We watch it every year, without fail. It's a classic; I own the box set. But there is one thing with Linus that has always stressed me out. He missed all the fun while waiting for something that never came. As a child, it caused

such anxiety as I watched Lucy collect candy for her "blockhead brother." I wondered if she was really going to give it to him or if his entire night would be a complete waste. Even Sally bailed in an angry tirade after realizing she had missed out on her Halloween fun. Bless his heart. I just felt so sorry for him. Sitting patiently, hoping he had picked the sincerest pumpkin patch. Hoping that all his efforts were going to pay off and he would be rewarded with good things. And the worst part was that he never realized he was wasting his time. In his mind, there was nowhere else he wanted to be.


I'm in the process of trying to figure out exactly where I want to be. I've really struggled with anger over the events of last week. I'm still angry about them even as I type this. It only confirmed what I have feared for quite awhile: time has been wasted. I've felt very defeated with thoughts that I wasted a lot of time, stuck in my own pumpkin patch waiting for something that wasn't coming. It's left me frustrated with myself for not seeing this years ago. No one likes to feel like that. Realizing you've wasted your time is one of the hardest feelings to reconcile. It dashes your hopes and if you aren't careful, it can build some serious bitterness. Everyone has moments of feeling like they've spent a lot of time spinning their wheels, whether it's a job that's not a passion, a friendship that wasn't healthy or a marriage that met a demise after years of struggle. And sometimes, even after we've left that pumpkin patch, we find ourselves moved into another one that's not much better and it's scary to think about camping out in it too long.


I woke up the other day and realized I have moved into another little patch of earth, surrounded by orange, winter squash. What I'm waiting for is a bit unclear. Despite what my heart wants to do, I'm struggling to move on, but I know staying angry isn't doing me any good and I'm done letting someone else delegate my emotions. Done. So, until I can conquer this, I have to remember Linus. Even though he spent his night sitting in the cold with a somewhat hostile Sally, he refused to change his perspective. He kept his focus and refused to see it as wasted time. Instead, he chose to focus on what he was learning in the moment. His faith never faltered. Grant it, his faith was in a big, floating pumpkin that passed out gifts; nonetheless, he had faith. So do I. I must cling to what I know is true and He is someone much bigger than me. Someone who wants good things for me. I must have faith that my wasted time wasn't truly wasted. And after I get the wind knocked out of me, I have to remember to be more like Linus and focus on the good. Focus on the positive. Focus on the gifts I have received from my sweet Savior without even having to sit in a pumpkin patch all night to prove myself. I don't have to be the most sincere. I don't have to be the best. He wants good things for me even when I'm knee deep in tissues from crying tears of rage. He loves me despite finding myself in the wrong patch. And last, but certainly not least, if I find myself sitting in that wrong pumpkin patch,  I am blessed to have a family that won't let me sit in it for too long without coming to pull me out. May we all be this blessed.



So enjoy your Halloween, my fellow Charlie Brown lovers. Sit in the right pumpkin patch and hope for the good things that are coming.

Fearfully Fearless: Facing the Darkness and Being Okay with Being Afraid

“There were all kinds of things I was afraid of at first, ranging from grizzly bears to ‘mean’ horses and gun-fighters; but by acting as if I was not afraid I gradually ceased to be afraid.”
                                                                                              - Theodore Roosevelt 

I recently watched a documentary on The Roosevelts and was struck by the amazing character and bravery of our 26th president, Theodore Roosevelt. One of the bravest men in our nation's history was fearful? Who knew! I have to admit, I've never faced bears or gun-fighters, but a few weekends ago I face one of my biggest, scariest, most ridiculous fears - The Dark. I capitalize the words because for me, darkness is a living thing that stalks me on a regular basis. For my other nyctophobics, can I get an "amen?" I actually thought I broke my foot a few years ago after taking a flying leap onto my bed and missing my landing because I was too afraid to rationally walk across the room after turning off the light before bedtime. It's been a fear since I was a little girl and although it seems silly, it's very real to me.

Up until last weekend, I didn't think that this childhood fear affected anyone but myself. I mean after all, who cares if I turn on lights anytime I go into a dark room? It wasn't until my daughter had a complete meltdown over going outside after dark to retrieve a book that I came to the sobering reality that she literally watches EVERYTHING I do. At first I was frustrated that she wouldn't do something so simple as go onto the back porch to get a book. I wasn't asking too much of her and yet she was clinging to me as I desperately tried to force her out the door. Crying, she begged me to come with her as I continually told her how safe she was. I explained to her that there was nothing to fear, but she was having none of it. Finally, exasperated and ready to show her how ridiculous she was being, I picked her up, carried her to the back porch and sat her down on the couch. Through sobs, she begged me to take her back inside. She didn't even feel safe with me beside her! And then she uttered a phrase I hated hearing escape my precious girl's mouth, "I'm afraid of the what's out in the woods; it's so dark!"

I peered out into the darkness and strained to see the edge of the woods past the barn, out of the reach of the porch lights. I felt her pain. We live on 12 acres and the majority of it is thick, ominous forest, but the mom in me had to tell her differently. I reassured her that there was no reason to be afraid and that she was perfectly safe. At this point, there were more people on the porch. Chloe had a friend staying the night and she had come downstairs to see why Chloe had vanished. I knew at that moment I had a choice: either validate my daughter's fears, go back inside and lock the doors to be safe or show her what bravery really looked like. The two girls were both standing apprehensively on the porch when I took my first step towards the darkness to prove there was nothing to fear.

Probably shouldn't have read this so much as a kid.

It was a quick walk through the backyard, past the barn, and then I was standing at the edge of the deep, dark woods. No flashlight. No moon. No hand to hold. No one else, except four curious eyes intently watching me from the porch. I glanced back at them and then turned to face the night. I sighed. This was not what I wanted to do, but I knew it had to be done. I had two options: I could live in fear or I could move forward. I took a deep breath and then took one step past the treeline. My heart was racing, but I refused to give in to my anxiety. With each step the lights grew dimmer and the forest enveloped me.  Further and further in I went until it was just me. No lights and no sounds other than the things that go bump in the night. I closed my eyes and stood in that moment. I was definitely scared, but I felt stronger than I had ever felt in my life. I was fearfully fearless and it was amazing. With every strange sound and snapping twig, I dug my feet into the earth and refused to budge. This was my Goliath and I was facing it head on. 

I'm not sure how long I stood there. It seemed like an eternity and a split second all at the same time. Eventually, Chloe began calling my name and I turned to leave. I took strength in turning my back on the thing that scared me the most. I know it sounds crazy, but I came out of those woods with a completely new perspective. 

There are many scary things I've faced this year. I haven't stood without trembling, but I think that's fine. I've decided that it's okay to be fearfully fearless. It's how we respond to being afraid that is important. I think the fear let's us know we are stretching ourselves. I want to stretch. I want to grow. I think moms do this all the time and it's good for our children to see us face our fears. And I think it's good, dare I say beneficial, for our children to see us scared. To act like we aren't afraid robs us of the chance to show them exactly how brave we can be. To act like our souls are at such peace that fear is impossible is deceitful...because it's just not true. It doesn't have to be the dark we fear. It can be getting a flu shot or petting a snake at the zoo's reptile exhibit. Or leaving a man who clearly no longer loves you. Whatever it is, it's okay to be afraid, but dig your heals in and face it. My child knows I'm afraid of the dark. She now knows that I'd face it to prove to her it's okay to be scared and still stand boldly to tackle my Goliath.

I still run from the dark. If I had to walk into the woods right now I'd have to conquer that fear all over again. But now I know I can do it. And Chloe knows that, too. 

She Told My Secret: Recognizing Safe Friends, Letting the Mean Girls Go and Teaching Our Girls to do the Same

It's hard to believe it's been almost twenty years since I was a freshman in college. I'm not even sure where the time has gone, but here I am staring down the barrel of my 38th birthday. I remember my freshman year as if it were yesterday. My roommate and I shared a dorm room no bigger than a standard walk-in closet. It was tiny and cramped, but I had never felt so much space and freedom in my entire life. I was one of those proverbial "late bloomers" who never dated in high school. I wanted nothing more than to go off to college, spread my wings and fall in love. And I did. It was everything I'd hoped it would be. There were moments so wondrous, I can't even begin to explain them, and yet it wasn't the best part of my college experience by far. I remember meeting girls who chased nothing but the affection of boys. They craved pillow talk and romance and I'm certain they missed the most amazing thing about that brief time in our lives. Oh, I got my pillow talk, but it was literal. It was the late night talks with my roommate as we fell asleep in the early hours of the morning. There is something magical about two girls sharing their secrets in the dead of night. Lying on those two twin beds, only four feet apart, we talked about everything imaginable. There was no topic of conversation we shied away from. 

Over a span of four years, I was blessed to become inseparable best friends with four amazing girls. They were my rock and they knew everything about me. There was no secret they didn't keep, and I, the same for them. We went through everything together. We found love and lost it. We found love, again. We cried tears of laughter and tears of such sorrow it's hard to want to remember it. We borrowed each others clothes and gave advice before big dates. We learned what it was like to be responsible and trepidly navigated the world of adulthood together. We have inside jokes that no one will ever understand and that's completely fine with us. I'm still friends with these four, precious girls. Some of them live ten minutes away, while others live halfway across the country. Wherever they are, know that a part of my heart is with them because they hold it within their own. 

Although I've made truly amazing friends since leaving those beloved days, it will never be the same as the ones that saw me through those four years. It will always be a different kind of depth that can't be attained in the fast paced, child-focused lives we speed through now. It's just a different season that brings different joys and that's okay. That's why childhood friendships are so incomparable. That's why time can pass and it seems like nothing has changed between us. It's a bond that has many layers and depths that no longer exist in our lives. We've changed and so has the ability to connect on such a vulnerable level. That's not to say I haven't made amazing friends as an adult. I certainly have, but I think we can all agree that childhood friends are just different. 

Last year my daughter Chloe reached two milestones within weeks of one another. She had her first real crush on a boy and her first betrayal by a friend who told that boy that Chloe like him. My sweet girl experienced her first mean, unsafe girl. The story she had told didn't hint of an accidental slip of the tongue. It was deliberate and I knew it, yet I found myself telling her to forgive and forget. After all, people (especially children)  make mistakes and it is our job to forgive. I encouraged her to let it go and remain friends. My child, who is seldom bold, looked straight at me and said, "No. She didn't keep my secret." The words hit me in the stomach like a fist and my initial reaction was to protest, but then I stopped and thought for a minute. Exactly what was I asking my daughter to do? Why was I asking her to remain friends with an unsafe girl? Had I not learned anything in college? My friends are still toting secrets of mine from almost twenty years ago and I lose no sleep at night worrying if they are going to accidentally tell someone! My child deserved better than a girl who didn't hold tight to information Chloe considered precious. This hadn't been the first story of betrayal from the same girl. The others had been much smaller, but they had still happened. It occurred to me that I was trying to get my daughter to  "make nice" when I needed to encourage her to be bold and demand more of her friends. She deserved better. 

Now, I really want you to hear me on this. I know children are still learning how to be friends. They are growing up and part of that process is making mistakes. I get that. But as Maya Angelou said, "When a person shows you who they are, believe them the first time." I want more for my daughter than rough years of trying to decipher mean girl behavior. She is wise beyond her years and if she's realized to slough off unsafe friends and keep striving for the friendships she knows she deserves, then I should encourage that. She is a good friend. She is a safe friend. She deserves the same in return. But there are so many girls who just don't get this. They stay in friendships that aren't safe and continually don't understand what should be  expected of their most valuable relationships. To me, there are four simple things a friend will always do, and if they don't do them, they are not a true, safe friend. 


1. A True Friend Will Always Tell you the Truth

My best friend Jamie doesn't shy away from telling me how it is. Sometimes, I wish she'd coddle me a bit more, but I always know I will get the truth from her. Last week, I found myself in a shouting match with her on the phone because she told me how wrong I was in taking a (now somewhat famous) red shirt from my soon to be ex's house. Yes. I'm not always proud of my behavior, but as I've stated before: this blog, if not anything, will be honest. In the end, she was right and I knew I had to be the bigger person and return it. She didn't tell me what I wanted to hear. She spoke truth into my aching heart and even though I didn't want to hear it, I listened. A true friend not only tells you the truth, but screams it until you hear. 

2. A True Friend Always Listens

Even if it's to tell you you're wrong, a friend will hear you out. My best friend Shelley has a gift when it comes to a listening ear. She has such a quiet, sincere spirit and I know she will always listen without judgment. In college, and even today, I've always known I could tell her anything and she would not only hear me out, but try and help me solve my problem.

3. A True Friend Always Builds You Up and Never Tears You Down

My friend Kara has been an encourager since the first day I met her. I've never known anyone who can look at the bright side of even the murkiest situations. I adore her for always seeing the positive in me, even when there's not a lot of positive to see. She has always encouraged, while speaking truth in a way that doesn't tear down. She always points her friends towards their best and encourages them to be everything she believes them to be.

4. A True Friend Always Want the Best for You

Shari, the roommate I spoke of earlier, has always wanted the best for me. Sometimes it was at midnight when she refused to let me walk to my car alone and sometimes it was at a party she dragged me out of because she realized we had no business being there. Wanting the best for a friend sometimes means standing your ground and not letting them do something you know isn't good for them. And if they are a true friend, even if they get mad, they will listen to you. 

Almost a year ago, I sat on the back porch of my best friend Shari's house and cried for everything I was losing. I had just left my husband and reconciliation was nowhere on the horizon. She let me drink wine, look at college scrapbooks and just cry my eyes out. I didn't have words, only tears. I didn't know how to explain everything that I felt, but I knew she understood. I will never forget her looking at me and simply saying, "I just want what's best for you." I knew she meant it. 

And so I sit here pondering how lucky I am to have met such amazing girls during a time I thought was only going to be about boys. It's so funny how life works out. Twenty years later and I somehow missed one of the most important lessons I could teach my daughter. Blessed with amazing friends, and she's the one who had to remind me of how important it is to choose your friends wisely. We spend so much time teaching our girls how to date and what they should and shouldn't expect from a man, but we seldom stop and tell them what to expect from a friend. 

Sweet, precious young girls - you deserve so much more than a bad friend. There are so many people in this world; don't waste your time on the wrong ones. Do not settle for a convenient friend. Do not be foolish enough to be content with someone who tickles your ears. Never choose someone who runs too fast or flies too high. They may seem shiny and new, but they will burn out and take you with them if you are not careful. The book of Isaiah says, Whether you turn to the right or to the left, your ears will hear a voice behind you, saying, "This is the way; walk in it.” God has placed a still, small voice within you for your own protection. Listen to it. Heed it. Choose friends who are like-minded. Girls who will build you up and not tear you down. Girls who will lead you towards good things and away from bad. These are the girls worthy of hearing your secrets, because these are the girls who will keep them safe. Choose wisely, be a good friend and tackle this messy world together. 

And They Used Bon Ami!

Mrs. Hutchinson and Mrs. Cobb

It's a pretty well-known fact that I have a "comfort food" list a mile long and at the top of that list is ice cream. When life overwhelms me, I immediately reach for it. Once, in high school, I ate an entire half gallon of Mayfield's Mint Chocolate Chip in one sitting. That's 64 ounces, people! I know what you're thinking. "Girl's got issues." Maybe so, but I'd like to think I've curbed my cravings a bit since realizing my metabolism just can't keep up with that craziness anymore. 

Aside from Ramen Noodles (yes, I said Ramen Noodles), ice cream and countless other evils, I have another form of comfort: The Ghost and Mr. Chicken. It's the mint chocolate chip of movies and I've loved it since I was a little girl. Ever heard of it? It's a classic Don Knotts movie from 1966 about a wannabe reporter who stumbles upon the story of his career when he spends the night in a house rumored to be haunted with the ghost of Mr. Simmons, a organ playing eccentric who killed his wife and then himself. In the movie, there is talk of how the ivory keys of the organ are stained with blood, despite being cleaned. And almost every single time cleaning the stubborn stains is mentioned, Mrs. Cobb adds, "And they used Bon Ami!" Over and over again Mrs. Cobb informs anyone who will listen that despite the best efforts possible, nothing could be done. It's one of my favorite things about the movie. It's funny to watch, but the other night when I was watching it, I starting thinking about Mrs. Cobb and her need to continually shout the same message over and over again. If this were real life, anyone within earshot of her would cringe and roll their eyes every time she opened her mouth to repeat herself. And then another thought crept into my brain and it hasn't left since then: Is that me? 

It's true, everyone has to vent when they are going through a crisis. Sometimes it's a text message or a phone call, and then sometimes it's cornering a co-worker in the supply closet to spill your latest frustrations.  Who does that? Um...wait...I do. I've had a lot to say about this divorce. I've had a lot to say about the man who just didn't seem to care that his family was falling apart. I've wanted everyone to know that I did everything I felt I could do and nothing (not even Bon Ami) worked. I have had many different stories and rants, but they all come down to the same message. And as much as I hate to admit it, I'm Mrs. Cobb and I'm shouting, "I'm hurt and he's stupid!" over and over again. I've got to stop. I AM hurt and he IS stupid, but this horse has been beat to death. I need to put down the riding crop and move on to a different topic of conversation. The trouble is, that's easier said than done. I find myself saying things like, "Okay, this is the last thing I'm going to say," but it never is. I'm beginning to justify what I'm about to say before I even say it. I'll start texts messages (group messages so EVERYONE can enjoy) with, "I'm having a moment" or "I know I just vented yesterday, but..." It's got to stop. So this is my next big hurtle. I have to silence the continuous comments and get off this loop. It's not healthy. What's done is done and there is no moving forward when I'm continually walking in a circle. Prayer folks! I need Jesus! Some days I need vodka, but every day I need Jesus. Turning this circle into a straight line is going to be the hardest thing I've ever done.  I somehow feel that if I quit talking about how hurt I am, everyone is going to forget I'm hurting. And as selfish as it sounds, that scares me. But, fear cannot rule my life anymore than obsessive venting can. So, I'm getting off the merry go round. I can already say with certainty that I won't have this mastered by the end of the week, but I will master it. And for my core friends, you will still hear a rant from time to time, but I refuse to give this anymore of my life. As cliché as it sounds, life really is too short. So here's to pleasant, uncomplicated conversations in my near future. They are long overdue. 

Walking Tall and No Longer Hiding my Left Hand

So here it is. For months now I've been struggling and today in church, I almost capsized. It was the perfect storm and I sailed directly into it. Maybe it was this weekend and the garbage it produced, or maybe it was the fact that my daughter was having a clingy moment in "big church" with me instead of downstairs in her youth group. MAYBE it was the fact that it was baptismal day (I always cry, even when complete strangers get baptized), or it could have been because they played a beautiful version of I Surrender All. There were too many factors to blame just one, but as I've said, I found myself in a storm. For a while there, I honestly thought I was holding it together, but the speaker at the end was the coup de grace. The current series at my church is called "Selfie" and part of the sermon involved social media and how we try so hard to portray perfect lives. The speaker asked, "What is hiding behind those perfect selfie smiles?" This is not a new question; we've all wondered the same thing while scrolling through Instagram and Facebook. Sometimes it's a way to feel okay about someone's 3rd trip to Disney in one summer while we are home-bound for the duration of June through August. While other times it's out of genuine concern when we know a back story. Regardless of the source of wondering, we often find ourselves comparing the hidden, worst parts of ours lives to everyone else's best facade. Ahhhhh...it's what we all do and we do it so well. We compare our worst to someone's best. But today, listening to the speaker, I was overwhelmed with conviction. I have tried for too long to keep up appearances. It's been exhausting and ridiculously unfair. In that moment I decided I was done with being that girl. Done.

Because here's the truth:  In two weeks, my divorce to my husband of 13 years will be finalized. It's been an 8 month process and that statement still sounds surreal when I say it. Nonetheless, it is what it is. This hasn't been the greatest year and I have tried to carry myself through it with as much grace as I could muster. I've had THE MOST amazing support group. My friends and family have championed around me in ways I can only describe as lifesaving. I am beyond grateful. I have tried for months not to let this "leak" on Facebook because I was so scared of how it would look. I was so frightened at the idea of looking imperfect and let's face it, no one wants to "air their dirty laundry." It makes you look a little crazy. I get that. I don't feel like doing it either, but I don't want to continue trying to act like everything is perfect. So, here's my decree. I'm going to take the next 12 months and figure this all out. It's a new journey, but I'm done tiptoeing in hopes to stay hidden. I don't believe anyone's ever completely blameless in any circumstance, but I did nothing to warrant where I've found myself. And I'm tired of skirting around that as well. I am not going to slink to a shadowy corner and hope no one sees me. This is my life. It's messy and emotional and I'm treading on ground I never imagined I would walk upon. So on this journey, I'm going to celebrate it all, the pretty and the ugly. I'm no longer going to contribute to someone else's struggle because I'm running in circles trying to get the perfect selfie and post the best, most flattering shot. I'm just going to be myself. It's a simple statement, but there is so much power in just accepting who you are and where you're at in life. I'm determined to believe myself when I say, "this is going to be fun!" Warts, feathers and all - you're about to see them.