Blissdom 2010

I could tell you a lot about Blissdom.  I’m sure there will be hundreds of posts chronicling the sessions, the parties, the speakers, the food.  Well-written posts about friendships made and cultivated, the beautiful Opryland Hotel and Harry Connick, Jr will surely be out there, too.

And although those things were awesome and I learned so much and met so many, something bigger happened.

Somewhere inside me, in that quiet little place that I sometimes hesitate to share with even my closest friends,
I felt a movement, a revolution.

There were times this weekend when I laughed so hard I cried.
There were times when I was my normal, loud-mouth self.
There were times I stepped outside my comfort zone.

But often I found myself just being quiet.
Watching others.  Listening.
Listening to others and listening to that inner part of me that so frequently gets drowned out at home,
shushed and squashed by my to do list.

Blissdom was not a Christian conference.
Blissdom was not about religion or God.
Blissdom was not about growing in your faith
or becoming a better person.

But Blissdom was inspirational.
And Blissdom was educational.
And Blissdom changed me.

Over and over and over, whether in sessions or conversations or within my own mind,
the same three phrases kept re-surfacing:
Be authentic.
Be passionate.
Focus on what’s really important.

Not really novel concepts.  Not something I hadn’t heard a hundred times before.
But exactly what I needed to hear,
what I wanted to hear,
what I was ready to hear.

Several panelists talked about finding your voice, but I realized that in order to find my voice, I must first find me.
I’ve gotten lost in the shuffle.
I’ve gotten wrapped up in things that don’t matter.
I’ve let some influence me too much, and others not enough.

It’s time for a change.
Thanks, Blissdom.

Sometimes

Sometimes in order to succeed, you have to fail.

Sometimes in order to do accomplish something big, you have to accomplish something small first.

Sometimes accomplishing one big thing doesn’t matter, but accomplishing lots of little things do.

Sometimes you are torn between reality and desire, wrong and right, good and evil.

Sometimes…

Sometimes it’s hard.

Sometimes it’s hard to do what is right.

Especially when you’re not sure what right is.

Grace.  Compassion.  Love.  Equality.  Redemption.

Easy to say, hard to live.

But I’m trying.

Welcome Back!

You may have noticed(or not) that my blog was down for a few days while Mommy Geekology helped me get my geek on and redesign my blog.  (Really that means that she answered all eleventy-billion stupid questions I’ve asked recently, and she fixed things as I broke them while trying to play with CSS.  I really shouldn’t ever be allowed to play with CSS.)

And although I’m back up and running, I won’t around for a while because I’ll be packing for Blissdom!  And  trying to figure out if I can make some business cards since I waited too late to order them. (Oops!)  Any quick and fancy ideas?

ALSO…if you were subscribed to my blog in a feed reader, I think it may be a bit confused by the transition.  Could I kindly request you to delete the old one and sign up for the new one?  That’d be great.  I’d hate for you to miss these life-changing posts I’ve been writing lately.

I’m working on getting my blogroll back up, but I somehow managed to not save my list from the old blog.  There are so many blogs that I love to read and want you to know about!   Have one you want to share?  Leave a link in the comments and I’ll head over and check it out!

Right now…

No  time to grab the camera.

No time to write it down.

Just time enough to breathe it in and linger…

Sara Groves, This Peace
http://popup.lala.com/popup/504684671900119792

Every Single Night

Mama, are you ty-erd?

Yes, baby, I’m tired.

Are you going to bey-ad?

Yes, baby, I’m going to bed.

Mama, are you gonna go to sleep?

Yes, baby, I’m going to go to sleep.

Why?

Because I’m tired.

Am I your favorite free year old?

Yes.  You are my favorite three year old.

Mommy?

Yes?

You’re my favorite firty year old.

*smiles and giggles*
(both of us)

I love you.  Goodnight.

Goodnight, Mommy.

I’ll see you in my dreams.

I’ll come find you in the morning.

I can’t wait.

I love you, Lydia.

I love you, Mommy.

Goodnight, my love.

(This never gets old, and I hope I never forget it.)

This was written as part of the {W}rite of Passage Challenge.

Happy Birthday, Marshall!

When I look into your eyes, I see me as you see me.
You make me feel beautiful.
You make me feel worthy.
You make me feel full, happy, loved.

When I look into your eyes, I see your love for our children
And my emotions get caught in my throat and tears beg to be released.

When I look into your eyes, I see our past-
Where we’ve come from, how we’ve grown.
I see the good and the bad,
And I am grateful for both.

When I look into your eyes, I see our present-
Chaos may seem to rule,
But love and faith are really guiding our way.

When I look into your eyes, I see our future-
Birthdays, graduations, weddings,
Growing and learning together
But remaining true to ourselves.

I hope that when you look into my eyes that you feel handsome,
worthy, full, happy, loved.
Because you are.

(I didn’t post this on your birthday like I wanted to, but it’s cool…we can just pretend it’s today and have cake again, right?)

When I was FIVE, I was just alive.*

Click picture to see pictures from our “birthday extravaganza”.

Today you are five.

Five years old.

I’m not sure I can bear it.

I really want to freeze time.

You are happy and carefree.

You are kind and loving, often ready to help others, perceptive beyond your years when you see someone in need.

I can’t keep up with your imagination.

Or your energy level.

But it’s contagious.

You ask for me to tell you stories, and together we create long, winding tales that make sense to no one besides ourselves.

You make up “languages” and teach them to your sister, and the two of you can communicate for hours using “whale speak” or “spanish”(which is not Spanish at all, but that’s what you call it).

You still love Lightning McQueen and Buzz and Woody, but you are anxiously awaiting the premiere of Chuggington. (I hope it’s better than Thomas.)

You ask questions.  Oh, with the questions…

You make me smile when you use big words, and I’m often amazed with the details you remember.

You love school.

You love getting your haircut, but I think it’s because you have a crush on “Miss” Leslie.

Your prayers are sweet.

Your hugs and kisses are big and sincere.

You are five.

You are a big boy.

You are still my baby.

Happy birthday, Carter!

*Thank you, A.A. Milne.

Serenity Sunday

For those of you who follow me on Facebook or flickr, I promise this the last I’m I’ll force this picture on you.

How to help Haiti by saying Hello **UPDATED**

Every year  I seem to miss National Delurker Day.  I promise myself that next year I’ll do it, but it comes and goes without a second thought.  But today I was reading some blogs and noticed that “Hey!  It’s Delurker Day! I should see how many of my lurkers I can get to delurk!”  (Ok, really?  I just like saying the word “lurker”.  I don’t know why.  It may be the influence of my children.  I may wait for them to get in the car today and then just start saying “lurkerlurkerlurkerlurker” like they do to me and see how long it takes them to snap.  Is that wrong?)

Anyway, onto National Delurker Day:

No, it’s not what you think…it’s a day where all you people who read my blog(I know you’re there…I see the numbers in my stat counter) and don’t comment can say “Hello!”.  I want to know that you’re out there.  I do.  I really do!

And I’m going to steal Emily’s idea for today and say that for every comment I get today, I will give $1 to Compassion(who is responding immediately) and $1 to Heifer International(who will be focusing on the rebuilding of Haiti).  This tragedy has touched my heart, and one of our own in this virtual community has been impacted specifically(her daughter is adopted from the area).

Let me know who’s out there…and help me do my little part to help Haiti.

*I grabbed this graphic from Greeblemonkey, who I’ve never read before today…but will from this day forward!  :-)

**UPDATED: I had 20 comments, so I donated $20 to Compassion and $20 to Heifer.  Thank you all.

The Job

A few weeks ago, I said I was going to take the {W}rite of Passage challenge.  I wrote one bad post that even I didn’t like, and I started writing another about lunch only to find that there was something bigger and more beautiful that wanted to come out of my heart and my mind.

But this week’s challenge, should I choose to accept it, is “The Job“.  So without further ado, Challenge #5 (with many, many ellipses…and parentheses).

We didn’t start out so well, you and I.  Well, I mean…the very first part wasn’t so bad, but then the pain and the screaming and surgery.  Yeah, that could have gone better.  Normal vaginal delivery with epidural.  Nothing fancy.  Nothing out of the ordinary.  Except…well, first we found out that you only had three toes on one foot.  That was a bit of a shocker, I must admit.  But nothing we couldn’t handle.  When the nurses got you ready to leave the room, everyone followed you down to the nursery.  Everyone except Jesse.  (God bless Jesse.)  She stayed by my side because…well, because that’s what best friends do.

“Hey Jess?  I’m hurting.  Like really, really hurting.”

She set off to find a nurse, who tried to convince me that it was just the epidural wearing off.  (Let me go ahead and tell you one thing about me: I’m generally a very nice person.  But if I’m hurting?  Well…there’s no guarantee.)  I then convinced her to take a look, and lo-and-behold she did something I wish upon no one else.  She took a big, scary, deep breath followed quickly by “I’ll be right back”.

The next part’s a bit of a pain-and-drug-induced blur for me.  Doctor rushes in, takes a look, pushes lots of major drugs.  I get yelled at by a tiny Asian anesthesiologist because I’d had a sip of Diet Coke, which was apparently going to kill me.  They rush me to the OR, and I am literally writhing in pain as they try to get me sedated.

For me, in my memories…there is nothing again until morning.  Surgery complete, pain meds on board, and I am finally able to hold you, to be with you, to cradle you in my arms like I’ve always dreamed of doing.  Just me and you.  And as I sit and try to memorize the details of your face, your perfect tiny face, I realize that this is what I was created to do.  All that I am, all that I’ve come through, all that I’ve learned, every moment of my life…has lead me to you; to the most important (and hardest) job I’ll ever have: Mommy.