Moved to Tears

This wee, sad girl is my mom. I wonder what has made her so distraught. My heart longs to scoop her up and hold her.

It is not often I see my mom in tears. Last week I had a rare opportunity to see what moves her so deeply that she will weep openly. It was beautiful!
Walk On with DJ Gregory

Sad Schools

Sundays are a mystery.

Growing up, Sundays consisted of scattered newspapers, football on low volume & last minute homework. (We kept it holy.) Usually by noon the Sunday Sad Schools would arrive.

What are the Sunday Sad Schools? It is the heaviness that Sunday brings. It creeps in...cold fingers wrapping around your heart, leaving you feeling lonely and disconnected. It's a wet, wool blanket that drapes your soul - a feeling you can't quite shake off. Even if you are around the ones you love most, the S.S.S. can still find you.

Yesterday, the S.S.S. found me in a way they haven't found in me in a long time. When I woke up, there they were!

I tried a nap. There they were when I awoke.

I tried drawing. Still there.

I tried staring out the window. Laying perfectly still in my bed, I breathed and just sat with the feeling. Maybe I could move through them? But alas...they were still there.

Out of desperation, I invited myself to my sister's house. She could save me! That's what sisters do!
Ironically, it was my beautiful 14 year old niece (age 3 in photo) who shifted my heart. We laid on her bed and talked, shared secrets, chewed gum and discussed the mysteries of the universe. Our conversation bounced between sacred and silly, punctuated with the occasional 'high five.' Be still, my grateful heart...the Sunday Sad Schools vanished. Thank you, Carmen!

Tuck In

My daughter has not had me tuck her in for the past two nights. Since the first of the year I have felt this day coming. Actually, I am surprised it has lasted as long as it has. She is almost 16! Yes, it is time, but my heart still says ouch. I want to cling! In the end, all it can be is another bittersweet victory in letting go.

Often my daughter asks why she doesn't appear in my artwork. She perpetually asks, "Which one am I?" If only she knew how much she has inspired me. No, she doesn't always appear as a figure, but her amazing (and sometimes ornery) spirit have carried me this far.

Mothering...a painful and beautiful honor. Chloe no longer needs me to tuck her in. A twinge of pain looms in my heart, but I am okay. I will let go.

The Messy Bed

For two days now I have not made my bed. In the two years my daughter and I have lived in our own apartment, I have made my bed ever day. It's true! (Sick days are the exception, of course.)
Every morning is the same: get up, brush teeth, drink water and make the bed. It makes me feel accomplished in the wee hours of the morning. I have done at least one visible feat for the day.
Yet, for the last two days it sits untouched. And I don't know why. It makes me sad. Climbing into bed isn't as much fun - you can't find the sheet and everything is frumpy and cattywampus.
Maybe it is a phase? Maybe I am trying to shake my comfort zone? When the bed is made I feel that all is well in the world...even if it is not.

I Don't Know

When I told people I was going to start this they would always ask, "What are you going to blog about?" I would answer, "I don't know."
'I don't know' - the answer I love and hate. When I was seven my mom told me I DON'T KNOW was never an acceptable answer. Two months ago she retracted that statement. Now I am free to use it!
What are you going to do when you daughter graduates from high school?
I don't know.
What are you going to do with your artwork?
I don't know.
What are your plans?
I don't know.
How is your friend with cancer? Is he going to be alright?
I don't know.

My love for the answer lies in the honest. I truly don't know.
My despise for the answer lies in the uncertainty. Do any of us truly know?
Part of my soul swims in mystery. And it is good. The other part searches for something to make sense...an answer...a guarantee. And there isn't one.
Lately, I have been spending too much time in the latter. For the moment, it is raining outside and my soul is appeased on this dark, wet morning. I can breathe.

How long will the rain last?
I don't know.

The Fool

A year ago these words came to me in a dream:

Don't come with all of your excuses. Come ready to be the Fool.

What? The Fool? I question myself enough without calling myself a Fool. Then came a realization! The Fool embraces adventure without the promise of a certain outcome. The Fool tries even if failure awaits. The Fool laughs and cries and dances and falls down, but then stands right back up to do it all over again. The Fool holds curiosity close to the heart: willing to learn and willing to admit they know nothing. The Fool is what I yearn to be!
In the past year, millions of excuses riddled my mind as to why I should NOT start a blog even though my heart longed for one. Even at this moment, I sit here in great trepidation, but my willingness to be the Fool consumes me. I thrilled. I am scared. I am here. I AM A FOOL!