The election results are in, and my first question:
what now?
May God bless us all.
Wednesday, November 9, 2016
Wednesday, August 17, 2016
Frustration
I had plans for today. But some things got in the way. Like sadness. Disappointment. Misunderstanding. Illness. When I'm unable to make things happen that leads to frustration. I used to believe frustration was a state that required immediate fixing. I've learned now that frustration means I am uncomfortable with the present state of things, and that simply means opportunities for growth. No need to hurry, just need to focus and work through.
Let's grow then.
Let's grow then.
Tuesday, August 16, 2016
The foreign concept of help.
I am exhausted.
There. I said it. I am one of those people that will readily say that I'm tired, but I never admit the depth of the tiredness or admit that there is a point where I might need help. I've learned that I'm one of those people that never wants to be indebted to others, so I find that even in times of need that I simply won't ask.
I'm pretty sure that that's not healthy, but it certainly feels better knowing that someone can't hold my moments of weakness over my head.
And in that admission, there is my revelation. When did requiring help become a weakness? I read this very enlightening article about self-care, and realized that I don't do much of that. I've not dabbled in the lovely art of spending time on making me happy, and when I do rest, I feel guilty about what I'm not doing for others. Then the guilt compounds into over compensation, hovering (to my loved ones' dismay), exhaustion, and subsequently there will be no help given because none will be requested.
That needs to change. I want for my children to always let me know when they need help. It pains me to think they would hurt or struggle when the help I could provide would be done without question. I believe I will actively work on the concept of asking for help when I need it, because let's face it, even a superwoman needs rest sometimes.
Bless.
"Nobody, but nobody can make it out here alone." --Maya Angelou
There. I said it. I am one of those people that will readily say that I'm tired, but I never admit the depth of the tiredness or admit that there is a point where I might need help. I've learned that I'm one of those people that never wants to be indebted to others, so I find that even in times of need that I simply won't ask.
I'm pretty sure that that's not healthy, but it certainly feels better knowing that someone can't hold my moments of weakness over my head.
And in that admission, there is my revelation. When did requiring help become a weakness? I read this very enlightening article about self-care, and realized that I don't do much of that. I've not dabbled in the lovely art of spending time on making me happy, and when I do rest, I feel guilty about what I'm not doing for others. Then the guilt compounds into over compensation, hovering (to my loved ones' dismay), exhaustion, and subsequently there will be no help given because none will be requested.
That needs to change. I want for my children to always let me know when they need help. It pains me to think they would hurt or struggle when the help I could provide would be done without question. I believe I will actively work on the concept of asking for help when I need it, because let's face it, even a superwoman needs rest sometimes.
Bless.
"Nobody, but nobody can make it out here alone." --Maya Angelou
The Transforming Nature of True Love
They flood the various timelines across the limited span of my social media accounts--posts about rescued animals being taken in by kindhearted people, soldiers surprising overjoyed family members upon their return to the States, that ridiculously heartwarming Asian commercial series about the sacrifice of poor parents, and basically 98.99 percent of what I read on Humans of New York. I need these posts to rest alongside the terrible news that we are bombarded with every day.
Today I thought about my Mommy, which I often do, when I returned to work. I am an adult, but there is no lonelier feeling than being on this planet knowing that she is not a phone call away. A few weeks ago when I was in San Diego with my sons at an amusement park, there was a teenage girl that climbed the stairs to the zipline platform. Her mother and aunt stood below and encouraged her to take the chance and zipline across. She couldn't do it. As she climbed down the stairs the two women talked about how proud they were of her to even climb that high. Apparently she had a fear of heights. When she reached the ground floor, she ran into her mother's arms and cried. Her aunt cried. And I, the lady intently watching this touching moment, cried too. Mom wiped away her tears and assured her that she did not embarrass herself, but consequently, had only moved closer to conquering her fears. I have held that scene in my pocket since then.
That moment made me think about my own mom and how her love changed me in ways that I could never fully articulate. One such example is when I returned home to Las Vegas after being away for a couple of years. I was under so much stress that I had lost almost thirty pounds and not even realized it. This was significant because I was already small. I had a belt around a pair of size 0 jeans. When I walked off the plane and fell into her arms she began to cry. It startled me because my mom wasn't a crier, and I knew that she wasn't crying tears of joy. She was crying because she said that she wished she could have protected me from whatever caused me to come back looking like a "shadow of her baby girl." She took a day off from work to take me to every single doctor she could think of, and fed me like only mothers can. She hugged me longer, looked into my eyes a little deeper, and called me several times a day to make sure I was fine. And so was the manner of her love for the next six months. If I search my mental Rolodex, I am pretty sure that I looked and felt the best than I ever had in my life at that time. I needed that love to get me back to where I needed to be.
Such is love. I am a reflection of the love that the Most High and my loved ones have lavished upon me. If I do anything that is considered great in this world I know and credit the source. I know its unending power and ability to transform. Love is an incredible teacher if we only take time to listen, learn, and apply. I've had 36 years of class, and I am always taking notes.
Bless.
1 John 4:8
Today I thought about my Mommy, which I often do, when I returned to work. I am an adult, but there is no lonelier feeling than being on this planet knowing that she is not a phone call away. A few weeks ago when I was in San Diego with my sons at an amusement park, there was a teenage girl that climbed the stairs to the zipline platform. Her mother and aunt stood below and encouraged her to take the chance and zipline across. She couldn't do it. As she climbed down the stairs the two women talked about how proud they were of her to even climb that high. Apparently she had a fear of heights. When she reached the ground floor, she ran into her mother's arms and cried. Her aunt cried. And I, the lady intently watching this touching moment, cried too. Mom wiped away her tears and assured her that she did not embarrass herself, but consequently, had only moved closer to conquering her fears. I have held that scene in my pocket since then.
That moment made me think about my own mom and how her love changed me in ways that I could never fully articulate. One such example is when I returned home to Las Vegas after being away for a couple of years. I was under so much stress that I had lost almost thirty pounds and not even realized it. This was significant because I was already small. I had a belt around a pair of size 0 jeans. When I walked off the plane and fell into her arms she began to cry. It startled me because my mom wasn't a crier, and I knew that she wasn't crying tears of joy. She was crying because she said that she wished she could have protected me from whatever caused me to come back looking like a "shadow of her baby girl." She took a day off from work to take me to every single doctor she could think of, and fed me like only mothers can. She hugged me longer, looked into my eyes a little deeper, and called me several times a day to make sure I was fine. And so was the manner of her love for the next six months. If I search my mental Rolodex, I am pretty sure that I looked and felt the best than I ever had in my life at that time. I needed that love to get me back to where I needed to be.
Such is love. I am a reflection of the love that the Most High and my loved ones have lavished upon me. If I do anything that is considered great in this world I know and credit the source. I know its unending power and ability to transform. Love is an incredible teacher if we only take time to listen, learn, and apply. I've had 36 years of class, and I am always taking notes.
Bless.
1 John 4:8
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