Family Ties

Today was a big day for my family. We moved Cameron, my youngest brother, to college. This means, for the first time, mom and Harry will be alone in their home. They are now empty nesters. Strange for them and for us, I'm sure.

We went to Terre Haute to help move Cameron into college. He's attending Rose Hulman Institute of Technology and I couldn't be more proud of him. He's always been a smart, kind, wonderful person. I've always been proud of the person he was and the person he has grown into.

My mom and stepdad raised their children well. I am a confident and happy woman, living a well-adjusted life. Cameron is way more confident than I ever was at his age. He's already unpacked and settled into his room. We moved furniture and helped organize things. We walked around the campus and took him to dinner. I left with an assignment - to make Cameron a new fleece blanket.

I love that he's only a little over an hour away from me. I love that he's smart and has already found something he's interested in doing as a career (me, I still haven't figured that out).

I know Cam will have a great college experience and he'll settle into a routine of working, studying, having fun and meeting new people. I am so excited to see the changes that will happen in his life and the man into which he will grow.

It's been a good day. I love my family!

Unlucky Number Thirteen

Today I'm convinced my brain makes connections of which I'm rarely aware. I hadn't been thinking about him. I hadn't been missing him. I hadn't been angry about him being gone.

And then I woke up today and I was sad-like crawl back into bed, don't want to get up, just want to cry my little eyes out, sad. And I couldn't figure out why. I had a dr. appointment, and knew it would lead to surgery, so that wasn't it. The puppy is healthy and happy. My husband is healthy and happy. My family is doing well, so why the sudden desire to cry?

And then my brain reminded me. Today is the day. Thirteen years ago, my daddy died. It wasn't expected and it wasn't pretty. It was horrible and hard and too much for my 17 year old brain and heart to really understand. I didn't deal with it, didn't really process it, for years. But, I have now. I thought that would make it easier. But, the truth is, it's hard. There are days that go by where all I want in the whole world is to call him up and tell him about my life. There are days when I would walk through darkness and back just to get another hug, hear his laugh, or have one more conversation.

And, today, I feel for my sister and my two brothers. Their dad has been gone for over 1/2 of their lives now. How much of him do they remember? Do they remember the silly stuff we did, the rhasta music, the big bear hugs? Do they remember Sunday morning rituals and the joys of sharing a bathroom? Do they remember how his eyes gleamed when he laughed and how much, how very much, he loved his babies?

He wasn't perfect. In fact, he was far from it. But, he was dad. And today, I miss him. A lot.

My "Broken Hallelujah"

For years, music has moved me. It doesn't take long for a song to speak to me and make me laugh, cry or want to fall in love all over again. That said, it's been awhile since a song really got to me. And then, out of nowhere, I heard Mandisa sing "Broken Hallelujah" and lost it. It's really an amazing song. Here are the words:

With my love and my sadness
I come before You Lord
My heart’s in a thousand pieces
Maybe even more

Yet I trust in this moment
You’re with me somehow
And You’ve always been faithful
So Lord even now

When all that I can sing
Is a broken hallelujah
When my only offering
Is shattered praise
Still a song of adoration
Will rise up from these ruins
I will worship You and give You thanks
Even when my only praise
Is a broken hallelujah

Oh Father, You have given
Much more than I deserve
And I have felt Your hand of blessing
On me at every turn

How could I doubt Your goodness
Your wisdom, Your grace
So Lord hear my heart
In this painful place

When all that I can sing
Is a broken hallelujah
When my only offering
Is shattered praise
Still a song of adoration
Will rise up from these ruins
I will worship You and give You thanks
Even when my only praise
Is a broken hallelujah

Hallelujah
I lift my voice
Your Spirit moves
I raise my hands
I reach for You

When all that I can sing
Is a broken hallelujah
When my only offering
Is shattered praise
Still a song of adoration
Will rise up from these ruins
I will worship You and give You thanks
Even when my only praise
Is a broken hallelujah

I don't know about you, but I've walked that road a thousand times in my life. I constantly struggle with feeling like what I have to give God just isn't - enough. What I have to give my friends isn't - enough. What I have to give my husand isn't - enough. What I have to give my family isn't - enough. What I have to give my puppy isn't - enough.

And, the more I feel like what I have to give isn't enough, the more I feel like a 'failure' and the more it makes me sad. I know, I know, you can't be everything to everyone all the time, but i still want to be! You can ask my mom, when things didn't come easily to me, i just gave up on them. Some of that is still true. (and if you read any of my exhausted and bedraggled posts when we first got the puppy, you know how close I came to giving up on that, too!)

So take that stress that has somehow become part of who I am and add the deepest desire to always be enough for God - and you have why we all need faith. Coming to grips with the fact that my little bit of a hallelujah, my little bit of praise, of adoration, of love, is enough for God makes my mind reel.

When I'm sad and feeling down, whatever little bit I can give to God He maginifies and makes more.

When I'm frustrated and hurt, my praises through clenched teeth are still sweet sounds.

When I'm confused and beaten down, my tearful cries are music to His ears.

When all I have isn't enough for me (in my eyes), somehow giving it to Him makes it abundantly more.

Somewhere Beyond Today

There are a million thoughts running around my in my head. Most are jumbled and confused - half sentences that are starting to define my life and my passions. I see myself from the outside looking in - full of unfinished projects, unfulfilled dreams and unresting plans.


I've been restless lately. I've been longing. I just don't know what for. For me, life is about the moments, the mysteries and the promises (I tried to find another M word, really I did).


Lately, I guess I've found myself wanting...something...and just not sure what it is. And, I don't like the feeling of wanting. I like being content. Because, I have a good life. I have love, friendship, family and faith. I have a husband who makes me feel loved and beautiful, even when I feel unlovable and ugly. I have a family that encourages me to find my own bliss, to be who I am supposed to be. I have a life most people would love to have, and I hate wanting it to be something more than what it is.


I recognize the feelings - it usually happens when I get too comfortable in my life. And, you could say I'm very comfortable in my life, even though some of it is very new. So as I sit here trying to figure out what I am longing for...I'll just keeping toward tomorrow, knowing that things will always change and nothing stays the same for long.

The Porch Swing

The Porch Swing.

It was old. Blue. Torn cushions. Missing springs. Seemed to lean a little to one direction.
For 3.5 years of my life, it was also home.

That porch swing welcomed me to the campus house the very first time I worked up the guts to visit. It's hard to separate my memories of college from the old, somewhat rusty, swing that hung from the house at 707 E. 8th Street.

I remember sitting there with Paul, introducing myself to him and getting to know more about CSF.

I remember sitting there as friendships with Auburn, Liz, Mike, Tristan, Vince & Stephanie grew. And then, so many more friends came into the picture.

That porch swing was the center of my world through a broken engagement, a broken heart and a new found strength. I sat there talking with friends, watching the sun set. And, on more than one morning, I was still sitting there, still talking, when the sun rose again.

We laughed a lot on that porch swing. We talked of our dreams, our hopes, our plans. We cried our way through disappointments, disasters and personal demons. We bared our souls and we braved our fears.

For me, the porch swing was safe. It was where I could be myself, all of me, even the scared, unsure, overweight, uncomfortable me. It was where I went to find God, to be still with Him, and to listen to Him. Sometimes He spoke through books and prayers - but usually He spoke through friends.

Swinging there, my first opinions about all things important to my faith were formed. Not that they all stayed the same, but it was the first place where I asked the tough questions and felt safe to explore the answers.

I don't remember all the conversations, but I treasure the friends that came from those talks. I know it wasn't all serious, and it wasn't all frivolous.

It was on that porch swing, on that porch, that I discovered the depth and breadth of the people I was blessed to call my friends in college. I learned their dreams, their plans, their fears, their secrets. And, in return I shared mine, too.

I miss a lot about college sometimes. I miss my friends and living within 50 feet of people that I held so dear.

But, mostly, I miss that porch swing and all the promises it held.