What do we do with the images of our loved one's last moments? And just like that , news of political corruption, or some other headline, has taken over the airwaves. I live in San Antonio, Tx, less than an hour from the horrendous floods that, only a few short weeks ago, gripped the Nation's attention. While the Nation is moving on, those in central Texas who lost so much may be only beginning to experience the depth of their pain. Some are grieving multiple family members taken all at once, others, their only child, and still others, the center of their lives -  their home. There is so much about what these families are experiencing that is bringing back not only memories of my own loss, but lessons I took away from it. My first husband was a fisherman lost at sea when I was 24 years old.  A month went by before his body was recovered. His Captain's body was never found. The sound of Coast Guard helicopters, the front page news updates of the search, the drowning...there ...

I relate with this substack so much, The Writer's Calling . As I was commenting my number of words had surpassed the comment phase and entered blogpost territory.  So here I am, sharing my own writing process. A few months ago, after much prayer and prompting, I revived a blog that had been dormant for 16 years.  No, that is not a typo. I am always writing, but have not been blogging.  Because my blog has not been an active space, I also decided to start pushing it out there again. Just last week I decided to move my blog to Substack. Those three steps, publishing, pushing out and moving to Substack,  have added different layers of pressure in the writing process. I write and it sits, sometimes for days, as I am praying and often reworking, just as the substack above described. Please take the time to read it, by-the-way. It is very good! However, I don't have a time limit. I can post whenever I want because no one is really watching. I find ideas need to simmer and ...

During the last few days, the Kerrville floods, the overwhelming loss of life, children, husbands, fathers, brothers and sisters taken far too soon, has caused me to reflect on a single moment that I have spent years processing through my own grief-journey - the last goodbye.  I can't help but imagine Moms or Dads dropping their kids off at camp, little feet squirreling impatiently as they wait through the registration line. Little voices squealing as they notice their friend has just arrived. The tensions of keeping an 8 year-olds feet close by, while Mom runs over the details of packing; did I remember her toothbrush, swimsuit, towel, store money? How is she going to do without me? He is going to have so much fun! How am I going to spend the week? Swirling thought after thought, as Mom or Dad wrestles between the responsibilities of sending an 8 year-old off to camp and the ball of first-day-of-camp energy crying out to be unleashed.  Then the moment comes. Cars are unloaded...

Over the years I have often found myself repeating these same words: We are in a tough spot again... Christians so often reference the 11th hour, when our last-minute God seems to miraculously show up, not in our timing, but in  his,  so the saying goes. But what happens when he doesn't show up? What about those times when the thing we were sure he would not allow to happen actually DOES?  I recently received the following text from a close friend: And this is only one of several difficult things happening in their lives.  Last night I sat in a sermon, where my Pastor, Ed Newton, was talking about the 11:59 mark - but have hope, he said, because 12:01 is coming!  We are in a tough spot again...  He asked, who in the crowd are in an 11:59 moment? Raise your hands. Of course, I did. We are there! He spoke a word over the crowd, a prophetic word I believe, that 12:01 is coming. The dark night of the soul is almost over and a new day is about to dawn...

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...

Being a Mom Like chirping birds announcing morn' little feet arouse the dawn.  Clanging toys and banging doors, pirates, mermaids and messy floors.  Little voices and owie toes, little sobs crying little woes.  When the day waves its goodbye, and slumber greets the heavy eye  What would I have rather done, than nurture the soul of a little one?

Tears, gut-wrenching pain, stinging rain, hurting, bottling, hurtling, tossing, cheek-burning, soul-churning, silent, wailing, dark, flailing, pain. The precipice, chasm of deep, insanity, sleep. Permanent escape. Hurling through space, tethered to... Laughter, gut-splitting pain, cleansing rain, healing, washing, hurtling, tossing, cheek-burning, soul-churning, silent, wailing, bright, flailing, laughter.

Friday was a red day.  From the moment my eyelids lifted I sensed it coming - and the day did not disappoint. Company was coming, the kids were all energy and I was in an irritable, discouraged, self-pitying mood.  The children each took their turns waving their red flag in true matadorian style. I am not an angry person. True rage is probably the sin I struggle with least. Not this day, though. The house needed to be cleaned. Rounding up the kids to help was like herding a bunch of feral cats. All afternoon I fought off tears; from guilt, frustration and the pain of biting my venomous tongue lest the awful words pooling there leak through my clenched teeth.  Company was coming and I wanted to take the time for more than surface cleaning. Murphey's Law: if I sweep it under the rug, or stuff it in a closet, or fail to sweep under the cushions, or throw it all in a back room,  that is where the company will go and all that I try to hide will be revealed. So the stre...

Oswald Chambers Challenged me today to take no thought for my life; what I will eat or drink, or what I will wear. It is easy to think that God doesn't understand, or that my cares are not really concerns or worries . Am I truly to take no thought at all? How literally should I take this instruction: Take no thought for your life... Not too literally, I should think. I have to take some thought. I have discovered poor planning costs me more money, time and stress. Responsibility means considering in advance what I am feeding my family. I do not think this is what is meant. Jesus, when he was preparing for the last supper, instructed his disciples where and how to find the room and the meal they were to share. Once again I turn to my children to learn these lessons. It is said that unless we have the faith of a child we cannot enter the Kingdom of God. So I watch them, and they rarely give much advanced thought to what the next meal is going to be. Only when their little tummies a...

One of the happenings in our family that gives me cause to pause and wonder about the rules we create for society is how often the children cry foul when it comes to food distribution. We have a 17 year-old male in our family, followed by five females aged 15, 9, 8, and 7 yr old twins. Then a 6 yr old boy and 5 year old girl. It is not possible to determine how much each of these children eat based on their gender or ages. It is not even possible to determine based on their likes and dislikes. Yet, Regardless of whatever factors might come into play, the younger children insist that they all be given equal portions of everything served or it's not "fair". There is, however, one factor that matters, and that is whether or not I am the one serving the food. This is intriguing to me... If I am doling the portions out it better all be the same portions, and they all develop an eagle eye for fairness. If I place the food on the table and they choose what the portions are there...

The rallying cry goes forth from the kitchen: "Brownies!" Like a swarm of ants returning to their nest, little ones scurry to the table and find their place among the other wide eyes and salivating tongues. One is particularly energetic; he has been making regular journey's to worship at the brownie pan since the night before. His hopes finally realized, he intensely tracks knife to plate waiting for the turn to be his. At last, one chocolaty-brown-fudge-filled rectangle of pleasure is delivered to the round altar before him, "Hey! She got more than me!" Knife returns. Sliver of brownie transfers from his plate to "hers". Tears well up in light of the horror before him, "You're right. She does. " The protest storm gathers strength as accusations of unfairness threaten to cool the warm motherly winds. I reason my way through his complaints, as best as I can reason with a six year-old brownie worshiper. "I try my best to be equal. L...

My husband inquired of me the other day, "Do you remember the fruity pebble incident?" Some family moments become legendary; the fruity pebble incident is one such moment in our family. It began one evening at bedtime: 4 year old dutifully brushing teeth. Father dutifully checking in on brushing four year old notices something amiss in the food pantry as he passes by. Cereal bag, turned just so, opened just a crack, a still small voice whispers to dutiful Father, "Check the brushing child." Momentary argument, "She's already brushed any sneaky evidence away." Still small voice,"Check anyway." Upon inquiry dutiful father is reassured by brushing child, "No Daddy, I didn't sneak into the fruity pebbles. "Are you sure?" After several such reassurances, dutiful father mercifully chooses the bottom of the grave being dug by brushing child. Lo and behold brushing child has indeed left evidence of her sin. There, hidden from her ...

It is a challenge raising six kids that are only four years apart from each other. Each phase has challenges of its own and requires ingenuity, creativity and patience. Changing diapers and keeping little tots safe in the house was different from the challenge of schooling and chores. I have recently reestablished a strategy that I used when they were young, and it has transformed the way our house is running. When they were small I lived by the "divide and conquer" method. Setting two at various stations (a coloring table, a dress up room, a painting station, playdough, free play...) kept them occupied. We switched every 1/2 hour. That was about as long as their little attention spans could last. I don't know when I stopped doing this, but I have rediscovered it and "divide and conquer" has once again transformed our once chaotic lifestyle into an orderly and productive home. The stations have changed : they are now chores , school and free time . Not only d...

I have to confess: my spiritual life has been somewhat lackluster lately. There just didn't seem to be the passion there to keep going. I was being smothered by daily life. Sinking in the quicksand of indecision, I was losing day after day as laundry and dishes and children sank deeper and deeper with me... I wanted God to be my Mary Poppins, to pop in and sing me a song and quickly make it all right and whisk me away somewhere lovely and happy. But that is not His way. He is faithful, even when we are not, and hears our deep sighs.... Without fanfare or umbrella He did arrive one day; in His own fashion He arrived in my inbox. It was right before New Years and Ann Voskamp wrote a piece on the grace of God as he fills in the old tracks we have laid for ourselves and she gave some very prudent advice on how to proceed to lay down new tracks for the new year. Grace covering yesterday's mistakes (yes I like that) and 5 steps to lay new tracks for the new year. No New Year's ...

Mid morning, house a-buzz with the energy of the day, 5-year- old traces well-worn path to mama's room proudly presenting one of several like-gifts of the day: "Mama, look what I have for you." A page brightly and carefully colored, all 5-year-old. Temptation rises: another color page. I get several a day from 5, 6, 7, 7, 8 and 9 year old. The temptation to minimize her gift fades with the realization of her true gift: eyes meeting I give a little thank-you -for thinking -of -me hug nestled in a word of praise. A moment to show her that she matters to me as well. The gift, if I am present in the moment and not caught up in the chaos around me, is oh so much more than a paper with colors. She is thinking of me. Racing through the day, do I pause and receive the ordinary gifts God gives, the ones I have several of already; meeting His eyes, giving him a little thank-you-for-thinking-of-me hug nestled in a word of praise? Am I present in the moment? Or do I run by and...

I have nothing to say. I am a blank slate. For days now my word well has been dry, My tongue has been stuck like thick black ink pasted to bottle sides. Ideas, once overflowing and running freely, circle without color. Scribble, circle, scribble. Nope. No ink. Muse. Pause. Silence. Where they've gone and when they will return there is no telling. My thoughts sit on opposite sides of the porch swing and stare, moving in tandem but not daring to inch too close lest they unite and form an idea. So I'll wait and swing and hope that one day soon my thoughts and ideas and words will run freely once again.

A friend led me here. She forwarded a very timely word from Ann Voskamp a few weeks ago. I continued to follow her thoughts and found myself desiring to leave a comment here or there. In order to do so I had to create my own space and join. I do have a story, as everyone does. Soon I will sit down and take the time to write it out. In the mean time the creation of this blog page caused me to stop and meditate on who I am and what it is I might have to say. It's been so long since I've had any deep adult interactions. Mine all take the form of nurse, referee, teacher or confidant. I hope to find some friends here. I really have appreciated Ann Voskamp and her beautiful words, photos and music. I think this page has staying power for me. We'll see....