Wednesday, January 11, 2012


1988. Playing baseball with garden tools in the front yard. (genius, huh?)I am the youngest of four, a title that holds beauty and pain all at the same time, so of course, I was the catcher. Strike one- I was out. Garden hoe to the lip.

1990. I am in front of our hometown hospital, walking along the brick entry way, waiting for my dad to get out of surgery. My brother tells me to be careful, I tell him to shut up, BAM. Busted knee.

1991. Breckenridge, Co. Leaning back in a barstool. My mother tells me not to. I do anyway, cause of course, I know better, and BAM. Busted chin.

1991. Eufaula, America. Cousins reunion. My sister sat and squished my club crackers. I got pissed off cause no one was disciplining her, and ran out of the door. Funny thing, those doors with hydrolicks (sp). BAM- busted eyebrow.

April 2001. Back surgery. Scar from neck to hip, over to other hip. Yes- this too was an accident of stupidity, and almost cost me my mobility.

October 2008/March 2010. Two of my most favorite scars. My csections scars from the births of my beautiful boys.

We all have stories to tell. Scars that reflect where we have been, and what we've learned. Battle wounds of a sort. Some are visible. Some aren't. Some are external, some are internal, but both are the same. No matter how much motivation you have, a scar is a scar, and will not disappear. They are there forever. To remind you of a hard lesson learned, or remind you of when your heart was broken. They may not be equal in form, but they all have a story to tell if you'll let them.

I love my scars and would never attempt to cover up one of them. It's just the beginning of my story. I will continue to get them. I will continue to make mistakes in my life. Every day. I probably don't and won't handle things the way people would like for them to be handled. But you know what? It's MY scar. Inside or out, it's fate is in my hands. I'm in charge of me, and you are in charge of you.

My three year old understands this, and he still poops his pants.

Be conscious. Be thoughtful. Lift one another up, don't have eyes like daggers. It takes so much more energy to hate than it does to love. You just don't know what the story is behind the scar of another.

Be kind. If not for any other reason, let it be because you never know the story a scar of another may tell if you let it. It may represent something completely different than what you first assumed. It may change your life.

Remember that Jesus guy?

Sunday, January 8, 2012

a new day

Ahh.. the holidays are over.  I couldn't help but be happy about that this year.  Over the years, I have witnessed people get older and start to resent the holidays.  Too much togetherness, it's a pain to decorate, gotta fight the crowds, yada yada.. I hated this. I have always loved the holidays. Love seeing family and friends, LOVE to decorate my house with what I thought was its most beautiful appearance.  Until this year.  This year was different.

John and I only get the kids 3 gifts each year.  That is what Jesus was given, so I think it a) reminds all of us why we really do all of this in the first place, for Him, and B) helps them to understand and appreciate what they are getting. they aren't just throwing things to the side to get to the next gift. Of course, Santa has his own ideas in mind, and I can't help what he brings.

I love seeing people I don't normally see.  It's funny really, we live in a town of 40K, but sometimes don't see family members that live here until the holidays roll around. Maybe its not funny, maybe its pathetic. I don't know.

I took down all of my decorations on the 26th.  I couldn't take it anymore. I felt like the walls were closing in on me. Maybe John's minimalistic view on decorating/everything is finally rubbing off on me.

What I did experience this year makes it the most magical one yet. I experienced the magic that I don't remember feeling since I was little.  Don't get me wrong, I concentrate on the real meaning of Christmas every year, and that in itself brings its own magical and beautiful feeling, but with little ones, Santa is something else entirely. And this year, the boys finally got it.

Watching them Christmas morning is something I will never forget- and it has been my most beautiful Christmas yet. Will just couldn't believe that Santa remembered what he asked for, and that since he was a good boy (cough cough... ) he got it! Santa, in my opinion, is very forgiving of the terrible 3's.

With the new year brings new changes for most. A new beginning- a new chance to start over.  What I have tried to focus on this year, instead of resolutions (which I fail at- every.single. year.) is to remember not to be so hard on myself.  With each new day God promises us renewal- a new start- a new chance. Every day. Why wait for this to be once a year, when we can have it every morning? My quest and promise to myself is to remember this every morning in my quiet time.  Grace, forgiveness, and renewal is available to me every day, and I will continue to be thankful for that.

I hope each of you are successful in your resolutions.  If you aren't, remember- tomorrow is a new day.