Leaving A Trail of Beauty

Do you ever just feel too tired to be grateful? Everything feels like an effort, and your one day feels like you've lived several? That's me today. I've been up since before dawn and segmented my day in such varied parts I feel like they've each been a day. Let me share how God filled my tank through each segment today: I finally got my mammogram -- after three tries at three different locations, this one met my insurance requirement and found me a worthy candidate to be squooshed. I know it's a little early, but make your appointment now to be seen during Breast Cancer Awareness month in October. I had a little time to enjoy the cool morning breezes before temperatures soared again into the mid-90's. Hmm . . . it didn't used to be this hot at this time of year . . . I got a chance to spend some good time with my son and then some concentrated time writing. Poppy got to go to the vet, and getting her nails trimmed was my favorite so far! Ma

I often feel like this. I try to stand out but end up wanting to disappear altogether. If you mention the word "follow" I cringe. Though leading is far from my jam, I am not a great follower or one I think you'd want to follow. I often fade away entirely when called on to step forward to a place with everyone's eyes on me. I hear I need to have a "following" as a working writer who wants to eventually publish anything you can hold in your hands in book form, and I immediately hear this chorus of taunts rise up in unison and then break out in solos from within the fluff of my brain: You've made too many mistakes for anyone to follow you. You're divorced for goodness' sake. Why would anyone listen to what you have to say? You're too old. You're broken. You're messed up. You're not pretty enough. You're not thin enough. You're too much. You're not enough . . . From my perspective, I fall short in so

Have you ever just wanted to take a photo from another angle? I know I have. For whatever reason I think it will be more flattering, more easily viewable, gentler somehow to my sometimes fragile spirit. Some days are that way as well. I've been having one of those today. I'd like to just be able to look at it from a different angle and have it not ache so much deep down in my soul -- that place I rarely if ever go with y'all. It started this morning while trolling through Instagram stories and Emily is sharing snippets from today's "Next Right Thing" podcast. I'm literally slayed by the first strains of the "Friends" theme song today. ( still haven't been able to go back and listen to the whole episode . . .  but I will. ) It's the 25th anniversary week of the premiere, apparently. I remember exactly where I was the first time I watched it and its companion/neighbor "Mad About You" with newlyweds, Paul and Jamie B

Let's be perfectly honest and gut-level REAL today. I DON'T feel thankful. at. ALL. I woke up this way: Frustrated Anxious Irritated Angry Exasperated Grumpy Eyes burning Nose stuffy Feet pain-filled from their first contact with the floor Ears ringing and itchy ( maybe somebody's talking about me says the old wive's tale) Not a wife A mother to adults who selectively adult and set my teeth on edge A new puppy mom to a quickly growing and energetic one who is also on my last nerve today. Annoyed that I am still blogging here even though I bought my domain and have been spending my pennies since July on a website where I still feel like a guest, can't figure out how to even set up a blog, or make the whole thing private so my failure in this venture isn't out there for everyone's eyes or WORSE no one's eyes ever to see. Soooo . . . what to do with my crabby, cranky, ungrateful self? My worries are so miniscule in comparison to

I'm just going to be really honest. I feel utterly and completely guilty for not being more grateful than I am. I've spent the last 72 minutes giving myself a headache over a website I started working on almost two months ago and still have yet to figure out. At this point I don't even know how to unpublish it! To my dismay, it has been visible to the public for weeks without my knowing it. Talk about feeling like you showed up  to the party without getting dressed first or really knowing you'd arrived at all! I keep coming back here to this familiar place with its familiar format to let my words spill from my keyboard and find their way onto your screens. So, enough of my bellyaching! Let me make some space for thankfulness, turn my bleary-eyed gaze and my heart toward what God has been doing, and leave a trail of beauty rather than griping about something I cannot change in the next five minutes. Here's how God has been filling my tank (or what I am t

( a time to intentionally redirect my gaze & give testimony to the ways God blesses me each week) I have been keenly aware of how my attitude may shift in new season beginning this week. Though I had no clue when I walked out the door of my former job that I would spend the next almost four months under-employed and awaiting God's provision in an up close and personal fashion I'd experienced almost exactly two years ago -- I can now draw comparisons and contrasts in how that time was oh so different from its counterpart. Those musings may show up in another post soon, but let's get right to the focus of this post -- THANKFULNESS.  How has God been faithfully filling my tank? Providing me with a fantastic job as the nanny of a sweet baby boy and his older brother, who is in pre-K. I get to spend my days singing, reading board books that I remember all too well from my days as a mama to the pre-talking crowd, and taking strolls around the neighb

Seen and known. We all long to be seen and known. In our quest for this reality, We are hopeful. We invest ourselves. We are present-- Ever present. We make eye contact. We listen. We catalog tidbits and nuggets Gaining ground, getting close. All a strategy in the seeing All a pursuit of the knowing. We know so much . . . And so little. Our longing hearts Seek more. Not just the seeing Not just the knowing. Seen and known. We want what we cannot make. We give, but with no giving back; We cannot take. We feel the lack. And so we still sit alone. Seen and known.