SNORT

I'm participating in this year's A-Z challenge, and so will be posting daily about a subject focusing on a letter of the alphabet.

They say laughter is the best medicine, and if that's true, then I'm doped to the gills. I love to laugh, and I love being funny. It's like main-lining heroin. (I've never actually done heroin, so I'm just guessing here. It's called artistic license.)

Anyway, the best laughter is the kind you just can't control -- it has a crazed mind of its own, and you're helplessly in over your head. You giggle, you guffaw, you roar from the top of the precipice-- right there on the edge, you lose balance, topple over and dive right in. And next comes... the dreaded SNORT. That sets you off all over again. You laugh till tears run down your cheeks (and if you're a woman, they may run down your legs too. TMI? Come on, you know what I'm talking about. >wink<)

Milk spewing out of your nose, slapping your thigh (not your mama), holding your aching stomach, begging someone to STOP, stop, wait a minute, I've got to BREATHE -- man, those are signs of a good laugh and a good time. Laughter is a delight, a joy, the cherry on the top of life, a romp of the soul. I highly recommend it.

                                                                                                                              Who doesn't love laughing babies?        

                    

EXUBERANCE

I'm participating in this year's A-Z challenge, and so will be posting daily about a subject focusing on a letter of the alphabet.


Shortly before New Year's Day, when I was formulating my goals for 2013, I was asked to choose a word to describe what I dreamed for this year.  I thought long and hard, because I had so many disparate goals and I knew I wanted my word to encompass them.  I ultimately selected:
                                         

                                           EXUBERANCE 


Yup, this is how I want to embrace life:

Music jacked up,
arms wide open,
head flung back,
eyes, not squeezed shut in fear but
taking it all  in,
hair streaming back,
sweat dripping,
screaming at the top of my lungs,
leaping with total abandon
into the great unknown!!



                                                                     

                                                                                                                  Here


                                                                               

                                                                                                                  Here

                                                                           

                                                                                                                 Here

                                                                               

                                                                                                                   Here

                                                                               

                                                                                                                   Here


                                    EXHILARATION
                                    EXCITEMENT
                                    FERVOR 
                                    JOY


                          It just feels right.

BANDIT

I'm participating in this year's A-Z challenge, and so will be posting daily about a subject focusing on a letter of the alphabet.

BANDIT. Thieves are terrifying threats, but doesn't "bandit" sound comedic, like a little raccoon that sneaks onto your porch at midnight and dives headfirst into your container of birdseed? I had that happen once, actually. I was in the mountains, staying by myself out in the middle of nowhere, and in the middle of the night was awakened by fearsome thumping and scraping on the front porch. Heart in throat, I crept into the living room and peered out the huge bay windows into the darkness, and saw, illuminated by moonlight, the masked bandit's rump above the opening of my covered can of birdseed. He had a feast, and I'd almost had a heart attack.

There are many things that steal from our lives, perhaps not as cute or funny as my masked marauder, but marauders just as well. The stranger who laughs as you try something new in the gym. The driver who gesticulates furiously at you on the highway. The friend who says unkind things behind your back. The mother who can no longer remember your name. The child who brings you to tears by abandoning his faith. The husband who cheats.

So many incidences that pick you up, turn you over and over in their tiny paws, and take small, precise bites of your heart. When the thief of joy hits, life can sometimes feel like everything, every contact you have with others, goes wrong, ends badly, is hopeless.

                                                                       

                                                                              Here
Just like the raccoon on my porch, these bandits of our happiness come when we least expect it and seize their chance. Our tendency is to be on guard, to protect our valuables. But we can't lock up our love like a safe. Each small moment that we are unhappy, or angry, or frustrated, or despairing,  the bandits make off with something that can never be replaced. 

Instead, throw open the coffers of your heart. What is given freely can't be stolen. When you love in the face of hurts, in SPITE of the hurts, you affirm that life is a wide-open, generous force that cannot be conquered by the thieves of this world. Unmask the bandits. Recognize them for what they are, and no longer give them power over you. Love. Love again. And then love some more.

Rivers Of Joy

I have four children whom I love so much that sometimes I can't breathe. If I let my mind go there, I would live in a constant, paralyzing fear that something horrible will befall them. We live in that kind of world, you know, where unspeakably horrific things happen every day. But I don't think we're meant to live life in terror of the storms to come.

                                       
                                                                           Here

I'm not naive, though --I know firsthand that tragedy can strike out of the blue. Everyone has their crosses to bear, their personal sorrows. During the years we were optimistically trying to expand our family, I suffered six heartbreaking miscarriages. All took place around 9-12 weeks -- just long enough for me to be firmly entrenched in morning sickness, just far enough along to be deeply in love with that child.

It is so hard to to say good-bye to a child that you will never see or hold, to relinquish the yearning of your heart. If you are a mother, you understand what I am saying -- from the first second you learn you're pregnant, you dream that child into reality. Their hair color, eyes, voices, a little girl, a little boy...you conjure the hopes of the life you will have together. And then, so unexpectedly, so irretrievably,  one day can arrive when you realize something is very, very wrong, and there is pain, and then...oh, the depths of anguish... death.

                           

                                                                               Here

During my 6th miscarriage, in that lull of learning that yet another child had passed away and the long, dread-filled waiting for a natural miscarriage to happen, I heard a song that literally transformed my grief and my life. It was The Valley Song by Jars of Clay:

My pain was an ocean. I was tossed around on waves of sorrow, drowning in despair, only to be thrown onto the shore of complete desolation.

                                                                           
                                                                                Here
But through God's mercy, He gradually calmed that vast sea of grief and brought down my mountain of pain. It took years; it took complete resignation; it took my trust in Him to lead me through the terror of the storm. It wasn't easy. I had to let go of the pain -- no simple task -- and look for happiness wherever I could grasp it. But when I did -- slowly, tentatively, like a child  learning to swim -- I discovered those moments more and more. The fear-filled darkness of murky water gave way to crystalline peace as I -- faltering at first, then gaining strength -- put my toes into the water and finally, with a deep breath of faith, plunged in.  I'm not going to sugar-coat it -- pain can and will change a person forever. I remember reading during those dark days that "it can make me bitter, or it can make me better."  I fought hard, and continue to wrestle with it to this day, to choose "better."

                                                                             Here
                                                                           
But I have an unquenchable joy in my life now. Running has given me a clarity and peace of mind -- an unfettered happiness and enthusiasm for life that I never thought possible. When I put on my shoes, and it's just me and that road stretching endlessly before me, I have come to realize that each day IS a gift, a blank slate, an opportunity to share happiness, kindness and laughter with others. I am more compassionate now, because I know they all have their owns sorrows they shoulder. I feel an urgent need to help, to lighten their load,  to walk side by side with the wounded on their road to discovering life again after adversity. There is so much to live for, so much joy yet to come. All the tragedy and pain I've experienced has burned through my soul and taught me lessons I would never have learned otherwise. They've made me into who I am:  a woman grateful for the children I was blessed to bring to this world, thankful for the graces bestowed on me, and looking forward to meeting my other six babies. Although I no longer carry them in my womb, I forever carry them in my heart.

God is good.  I am His; I am sheltered in His loving arms, and my name is engraved on the palm of His hand. I trust Him to see me safely through my journey in life.

                                                                             Here

Above all else, I still look to the Heavens.

Guzzle, Slurp, Chug!!!

                                                                             Here    



Drink the wild air.

That's what I want us all to do.

Last night I got the sad news that a very dear former neighbor is in critical condition and not expected to make it to Easter. She is in her 90s and lived a good life. But still...

But still...

My heart is heavy.

I am not good at letting go of people. My father died when I was a sophomore in college and he was a mere 49. Now that I am 53, it is hard to carry the knowledge that I outlived him -- to imagine not having these past 4 years, not seeing my last child graduate from high school, not being at my children's weddings, not welcoming precious new members into our family, not celebrating milestones with my husband. I have been so blessed to have had this time with Vic and our kids, and I pray that we all delight in many more years of joy and laughter together. But still...you just never know.

I have had several of these good-byes in my life. My father first, a life-changing blow to a daddy's girl. (The hardest farewell to him was on my wedding day 2 years later, when I slow-stepped down that endless center aisle in the church by myself; it was his place to give me away and I didn't want anyone else to make that walk with me.) Then, later, I had 6 miscarriages, each loss a shiv to my heart. My grandfather passed away on a Valentine's Day shortly after I had our first daughter. My grandmother, who regaled me with stories of Jesus, lived an entire century. (Can you imagine her life and what she saw??) My father-in-law, who was Dad to me during all my long fatherless years, passed away 6 years ago. And most recently, my sister-in-law, the sister I never had, died unexpectedly and awfully, also only 49.

With each one, I had to figuratively pry my fingers open to let them go.  I do not want to say good-bye to the ones I love. (Who does?) I do not want to go through what's left of my existence longing to see their faces, yearning to hear their voices, wishing to say "I love you" one more time. I want to hang on, keep a piece of them with me, feel them close by my side.

And I have learned, with each death, something new all over again. They do not leave. They are tucked safely inside, living yet in the mansion of my heart, an infinite and enduring presence that can never die. Death, the great divider, cannot separate us after all. They are with me in all the choices I make, the words I speak, the life I live and the love I give.

This is why I urge you constantly to live life with arms wide open: I have learned how fragile, how tenuous the bond to life can be. In the tiniest, most diminutive fraction of a second, your life can explode with cataclysmic change. You will never be the same person you were. Life can still be absolutely amazing, filled with the hopeful possibility of happiness to come, but it will be altered. You will learn to live in a new world. There are no guarantees, no assurances that life now  will be there later. We are fireflies, winking out in a great darkness, and waking to shine brightly on the other side.
                                                                   

                                                                     Here

So drink deeply of that wild air and get deliriously drunk  on it. Guzzle, slurp, chug it all down. Love with every fiber of your being. Tell people you adore them every chance you get -- no, go out and MAKE those chances happen; do not wait. Shout it from the rooftops. Spread cheer. Laugh from your belly. Give bear hugs. Dance. Be kind. Embrace everything. Don't just follow your bliss -- live it with all the fiery passion that is in your soul. Seize every opportunity to fill your life and the ones of those around you with remarkable experiences and joyful memories. Remember your incredible, bountiful blessings every day. Forget about old hurts, past grudges, the anger of  bygone moments -- there simply isn't TIME for that anymore. Each second is counting down in our hourglass of life, and when that last grain of sand flows at lightning speed through the neck of the bottle, there's no turning it over and starting again.                                                                         

                                                                                     

                                                                     Here



LIVE YOUR LIFE. Start right now. Already precious seconds have flitted by.