Over the last several weeks I have been attending vocational classes in Information Technology. I get up in the morning and as I am getting ready to go to class, I look in the bathroom and mirror to do my hair and makeup. I then go into my bedroom, and get dressed. I hate getting dressed. I don't like how much I weigh, how my clothes fit, or the options I have had as the spring is turning to summer. Summer meaning that I can't cover my curves and bulges with sweaters and loose clothing. Summer is a miserable time.  Once I get to the building there are two sets of double doors leading into the building. It's the worst part of my day. The reflection in those double doors makes me look fatter than any other reflection I see. But I march on, because that what people do. I am on my way to class. By the time I get off the elevator on the 8th floor my mind has generally turned to something else.  After class I drive home. Where I am currently renting there is a glass storm-door t...

I look toward the horizon. I see the storm coming, I feel winds of change across my soul.  I've been here before.  I smell the enemy, waiting to shred lessons unfurled.  I sense from deep within, to watch darkening clouds, to flee the pelting rain, Is to fail to learn the lesson; to stand soaking in unnecessary pain. From the past I have learned few storms are outrun, tattering unfurling sails.  The lessons that come in the storm, the sun soon reveals.  When the storm has passed, it is then more gentle winds carry me along;  And the sails unfurled, the lessons learned, take me to where I belong. 

Yet God so loved... that He said no to His own most beloved son's request,  "Father, if there is any other way..." We are the recipients of that most famous, "No" And aren't we forever grateful....

70 Days. 70 days that feel like 70 years. 70 days a fisherman’s Widow, a title unbefitting a 24 year-old. 70 days of   gut-wrenching tears, unwanted change, rage, and depression.   Seeking a few hours away, a few hours to forget, I step out of the building on Table Bluff.   Across the small field of grass, I see a stand of trees clumped together, like a group of gossiping church ladies after Sunday service.    Behind me I hear the hum of fifty chattering voices bustling about, preparing to share a common meal. The crisp ocean breeze stings my cheek and wisps my hair. The salty smell simultaneously consoles and depresses me, binding me to this sacred place.    The bright sun high overhead invites me from the shadow of the doorway. The distant lapping of ocean waves calls me to traverse the short jaunt from the cold, protective building to the mystery beyond the trees. Like a teenager hesitant to break into a new crowd, anxiety rises within me a...