Category Archives: self

Late for Lent

Written on March 5, 2012 by Bridget in self

I typically take Lent very seriously.
The symbolism weighs heavy on my heart and always pushes me into a cycle of introspection.
I’ve given up a variety of things. (Diet Coke, meat, yelling, makeup).
I’ve also taken up some things. (Kindness, giving, living purposely).

But this year I was overwhelmed with getting ready to leave my family behind for 5 days
And I was in Nashville on Ash Wednesday and it just kinda flewrightbyme before I realized it.
And then I got home and I was hugging and cuddling and editing and uploading.
(I still haven’t completely unpacked.)
And I kinda convinced myself that it was too late.
If I didn’t start on DAY ONE, I can’t start at all.
But that’s silly, isn’t it?
The point of Lent is not that we deny ourselves something just because we’re “supposed to”
But because of the self-examination it provides us.
(And it will take much more than 40 days for me to complete the process of self-examination!)
And so now, nearly two weeks late, I’m finding my stride again.
And I am sitting here with pen and paper and writing.
Writing for me, but also writing for God.
And they are words that will stay in the holy of holies of my heart.
And they are words that will be written down and tucked away.
Whispers from my heart to my God.

So for Lent, I give up nothing but my time.
And I will use it to glorify my God with words that aren’t big enough or bold enough or sacred enough.
But my God knows that it isn’t the words that matter, but the heart behind them.
And that heart is big enough, bold enough, sacred enough.
That heart is enough…
I am enough.
Because I was created by God.
And so were you.

Thanks be to God!

Finding Myself Under All The Glitter

Written on February 9, 2012 by Bridget in Bridget Blogs, self

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There are moments that you look back on and realize that while they seemed rather insignificant at the time, they were indeed fairly pivotal in your story line. And then there are moments that blow the doors wide open and announce “THIS IS IMPORTANT!” Blissdom’10 was – for me – most certainly the latter.

I could write volumes about the things you can do and see and learn at Blissdom. I could talk about what to pack and what to bring and how to not get lost. (Those are all great things to know, especially if you’ve never been before.) But the thing that no one can prepare you for is the emotion. No one tells you that you should come to Blissdom expecting to come home changed.

Here’s the post I wrote right after I got home from Blissdom that year. I can re-read this and bring back every single one of those feelings. And I cannot wait to be back in Nashville and see what awaits us all this year.

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.

Reason #429,650,912 That I Love the Internet

Written on February 1, 2012 by Bridget in Bridget Blogs, self

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So often I find myself begging time to slow down. But then there are days (like yesterday) when all I wanted to do was hit fast forward. There was too much crying and too much whining from them. And not enough patience and forgiveness from me. It made for a very long day.

As someone who stays home with littles, I don’t have the opportunity to have much adult interaction. Sure, I see people at school drop off and pick up, but it’s a little quick chat here and there. I occasionally go to lunch with friends, but if you’ve ever been to lunch with me and my crew you know that the conversation is staccato at best and there are a lot of interruptions.
“Sit down and eat”
“Do not touch that lady’s hair again!”
“Oh! Don’t pick that up off the floor and ea…too late.”

But this is where social media comes in. Social media platforms are an integral part of my life. It’s my connection with the real world. And so I post. I post a lot. ( Too much for some, I know. Just hide me if you want. I’ll never know.) And I connect with real! live! adults! And we laugh at my kids together and talk about important issues and tell jokes and make witty observations. Those are the things I miss most about working outside the home. Social media gives me the chance to have a little of that. It makes this stay-at-home gig seem not quite so lonely – especially on a day like yesterday.

Yesterday, in the midst of all the tears and snotty mumbles, I got an email from a company I am working with on a post and it asked a lot of reflective questions. One of them asked how friends would describe you. I’ve never been good at those, so I reached out to my friends on Facebook.

i need help Reason #429,650,912 That I Love the Internet

And boy, oh boy, did my friends come through. On a day when I was feeling like quite the failure, I found a big boost in an unexpected place. You guys picked me up without even knowing it. Words like engaging, vivacious, talented, artsy, faithful, generous, personable, inspiring, confident, cheerful and creative, smart and compassionate, strong and honest. Wow! (Y’all are too kind.)

I don’t say this to brag on myself but to brag on you, on this community. You can find experts that tell you that all this hyper-connectivity is bad for us. That we aren’t created to handle this many relationships. But I disagree. My online friends have become my real life friends. I’ve reconnected with some great friends I had lost contact with and I have cultivated friendships with people who were once just acquaintances. Staying at home is lonely. But you guys make it less so. And I’m thankful for each one of you.

Shush.

Written on January 31, 2012 by Bridget in self

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I see you hurting and I want to rush to you and fix it.
Tears slowly drip – one by one.
The strain in your voice tries to hold it all in.
And I want nothing more to stroke your hair and shush you.
It’s gonna be alright.
It’ll be okay.
Shh-shh-shh…

Where you are…
Where you are right now?
It’s lonely.
I know. Oh, I know.
And it hurts.
Oh, my how it hurts.
I’ve been there.
And – in some ways – I am still here.
(Is one ever in complete remission?)

My heart reaches out to yours.
And I hope, I pray that your heart can hear mine.
Because I want you to hear.
I want you to hear how powerful and brave you are.
And I want you to hear how loving and caring and kind you are.
(Those things can’t be counted with statistics or dollar signs,
but they are the things that really matter.)
And I want you to hear how you’ve changed me.
How your words and your actions have pulled me up when I was low.

I needed you.
I need you.
And you need me.
(And that’s as it should be.)

It’s my turn to be needed.
And it’s your time to just be.

Shh-shh-shh.
It’ll be alright.
~for more just write posts visit heather

Little Words

Written on January 27, 2012 by Bridget in self

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When we finally get them all to bed, his phone rings.
A sick kid, one who lives close by.
So he slips on his shoes and heads out the door.
(House calls in 2012.
I don’t imagine that happens often.
And it makes my heart swell with pride.)

The wind blows the raindrops onto my bedroom window.
I should go edit those pictures, I think.
But instead I slip on my pjs and brush my teeth.

I flinch just a bit when I hear the garage door start to open.
(I am so easily startled when he isn’t here.)

“Kid looks pretty sick.”
“Oh, yeah?”
“Yeah. May have to admit him.”
And he’s out the door again.

I’ll just lie down and read until he gets back, I tell myself.
After one paragraph, the words begin dancing on the page and I realize that my eyes are crossing.
It’s 8:30.

*****

I hear him shuffling around in the other room and glance at the clock.
It’s well after midnight and he hasn’t been home long.
He realizes I’m awake and we lie in bed and chat in the dark.

This is what intimacy really is.
These moments when you aren’t even touching but you are closer than ever.

The chatter dies off and his breathing becomes slow and steady.

I knew it would happen like this.
I knew if I fell asleep that early, I’d wake up and be wide awake.

It’s even quieter at 3am than it is at midnight.
Or at least it seems that way, save the wind chimes.

I take advantage of the silence and let my mind roam freely.
And I write words that have been aching to come out – most of which will never be read by any other eyes.
And I edit pictures that have been sitting and waiting – most of which will never be printed out to enjoy.

I wish I had more time and resources to devote to both of them.
But part of my heart breaks when I realize that one day I’ll have plenty of time but no subjects.

Babies don’t keep.
It rattles around in my head again.
And I think of Katie Granju’s words, her story (and his).
And I am grateful for this day.
And these children.
And I am certain that today I
“made sure that our children
were protected
and educated
and loved as fiercely as we know how to love them.”

For a second time, my day winds down.
And I close my eyes and whisper big prayers with little words.
Amen and amen.

Babies don’t keep.

Written on January 20, 2012 by Bridget in self

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I knew that It was coming and I knew that this time…this time?
I was gonna fight.
And I was gonna fight harder than ever.
And I was gonna win, dammit.

And so I looked at the things around me.
—
Things I wanted and didn’t have.
Things I had and didn’t want.
—
And I realized that there were times – many times – when I was merely treading water.
And I was doing things that I hated and I was trying to make them perfect and it just wasn’t working.
And I looked at my children and remembered my dream, the dream that changed it all…
And the enormity of time crashed down on me.

Many times, I’d heard “babies don’t keep”
And I’m quite certain I muttered it myself a time or two.
But all of a sudden, the words spun around me as time rushed past me so quickly that I fell down.
I stumbled and struggled to get up and I looked around me.
And my baby, my sweet first-born baby, looked back at me.
He is seven. S-E-V-E-N.
No, no…babies don’t keep.
But I will keep them.
I will soak up the moments with them.
And, for them, I will say yes*.
And, for them, I will say no.
And though it may be selfish, I am also saying yes and no for me.
I want them to remember this.
I want to remember this.
And in order to remember it, we have to actually do it.
And so we stay up past bedtime and break our own rules,
we read scripture and say prayers,
learn to ride bikes and celebrate milestones.

And I sort through my To Do’s and To Dont’s
and I write – for them, for me
And I hold my baby in my arms and drink her in.

Babies won’t keep.
No, no…they really won’t.
The chores will always be there tomorrow.

*Words from months ago kept coming to my mind and I scoured page after page and archive after archive of blog after blog because I couldn’t remember who had written it, but I should have known it was her. Hers are words that settle down into your heart-soul and hide there, waiting for you to need them.

I know what you’re trying to do.

Written on January 19, 2012 by Bridget in self

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Before Thanksgiving, I hit a wall.
I was tired. I was frustrated.
I was not the person I wanted to be.
I snapped at my children.
Turned away from my husband.
Cocooned myself within myself.

And then something happened.

I spoke not a word to anyone.
I made changes both big and small,
Some for forever and some for the now.

And though I’d been feeling that relentless tug of depression,
I knew, I knew that this was it.
This was my moment to push it away and say,
“I will not let you win. I will not.”

And though reading the words makes it sound easy, it was not.
It is not.

I imagine that it never will be.
Because even when things are bright and sunny, you know that dark and dreary will come.
And you wait and you wait and you wait.
And the waiting pulls you down and instead of hiding from It, you unknowingly run straight into Its trap.

But this time it was I who played the trick.
This time it was I who called It out and said,
“I know what you’re trying to do and it’s not gonna work!”

(If only it were always that easy.)

(I am grateful that this time it was.)

And it was good.

Written on January 17, 2012 by Bridget in self

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It wasn’t like I’d walked completely out of the building and down the street.
But I did excuse myself and slip off to the restroom to stare at myself in the mirror.
For longer than I should have, longer than was reasonable.

Rounding the corner, my eyes scanned the room…
Expecting the seat to be empty.
But it was not.
It.
was.
not.

I gently slid into my seat and looked into the face of God -
The one I knew with my heart would wait for me,
But the one I’d let my mind convince me would be gone.
Tears prickled in my eyes, but instead of obstructing my view, it seemed to make things clearer.
And more brilliant, as if the skies had burst wide open and rained stars into the room.
I was here. And God was here.
And it was quiet.

There were no cheers or loud rejoicing as we eased back into the conversations I’d so hastily put on hold.
There was no pat on the back or ‘attagirl’s.
God knew that those scare me off.
I would blush an unflattering blush…
And feel even more self-conscious than I already did.

And it was here, in this perfect quiet moment…that I saw bits of my life all at once.
Here I was, my 32-year-old self, but I was lying in my grandmother’s lap
with her gnarled, rheumatic fingers dancing on my skin.
I was nine, but I found myself sitting on the edge of my bed in my college apartment, quickly typing messages to a new love.
And I was 25, and though – in this chronos time of mine, of ours – I should have been cradling a newborn,
I was sitting in my chair, reading a book and glancing at my own now-gnarled and rheumatic fingers.
I notice a strand of stray hair fallen into my eye.
It was no longer shiny auburn, but shimmering silver in the sunlight.

For a moment, for this one moment, I had a glimpse of this kairos time that is beyond my comprehension,
This God-time that I can’t even begin to grasp.
It was here, suspended in this God-moment, that the words
“And it was good”
flipped from words on a page to writing on my heart.

As quickly as the moment began, the dream ended.
The bubble burst.
And I was just plain old me again.
Except I wasn’t.
I was changed.
And it was good.

**Linking up with Heather‘s Just Write.
There are so many beautiful words there.
Take time to click and read.

To Do

Written on December 29, 2011 by Bridget in Parenting, self

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I wake up and start jotting down my to do list, in random order:

dishes
laundry
move train to Asa’s room
call Daddy about doll house
call friend who just had surgery
get soup in slow cooker
rearrange bonus room
more chores
more chores
etc.

And I get up and move over one load of laundry, get morning drinks and breakfast served.
Then plan to start on the list.

Instead, however, I find myself answering questions and refereeing disagreements, changing diapers and assembling (and reassembling) the train track (again). (At least I got it moved, right?)

And I find myself frustrated with them, frustrated with me.
Wanting to yell, “Can’t I just get ONE thing done? Just ONE thing?”

But I take a deep breath, scratch the to do list and make another one:

Play with the doll house with Lydia
Read The Body book with Carter
Watch the train go ’round and ’round and ’round with Asa
Have a tea party with Anna Alden
Fix lunch and eat it under the table with the children
Put the baby down for a nap and do an art project with the bigs
Blow up the punching bag toy (again)
Watch Asa beat the snot out of it
Go through all the Disney apps on sale with the big two
Upload new apps onto their ipods
Get tonight’s soup in the slow cooker

Instead of frustrated, I’m happy.
Instead of crying, we’re all laughing.
Instead of clean, my house is a disaster.
(And I’m okay with that.)
(For now.)

Words That Hold Me (Back)

Written on December 13, 2011 by Bridget in self

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“It’s about being, not doing,”
I mumble to myself and glance up at all there is to do.
So much stuff to do.
So many places to go.
So many things to finish.

The to-do list taps me on one shoulder
And laughs when I look over the other.

I stop what I’m doing to read with the children,
to play with them,
to go places
and see things
and do things
and just be all there.
And it is good.
Oh.so.good.
And I am happy.
Oh.so.happy.

But when I get back, it’s all still there – waiting. waiting. waiting.

I start a project and get distracted by another.

I don’t have time to read, to write.
I need to read, to write, to create.
I tend to lose myself without my words to define me.

But then I wonder…is that so bad after all?
To just be – with no words there to remind you of all you do.
With no definitions to smother you with all that you already are.
With no notions to hold you back from being, just being.

I write for me.
I write to remember.
I write to absolve my soul.
I write to heal my heart and make sense of it all.

But those same words that heal me and hold me together also hold me back.

It’s about being, not doing. (Or writing.)

-Written as part of Just Write.