Stumbling Towards Perfect

When I was in college (and I use that term lightly, since I was, at that time, a single mom who was taking night classes over an hour away and never graduated), I had a friend who was always on the lookout for some sort of antique pink wedgwood china. She'd scour antique malls and rummage sales, attend vritually every estate sale in the tri-state area and planned vacations around flea markets. When she was successful she'd bound into class like a little kid jumping off the ferris wheel at the local fair. You will not believe what happened! she'd practically scream, and we would all settle in for a detailed account of the successful purchase of a dessert bowl or service plate. Because it was never just about the plate; it was always about the journey to find the plate.   It was a set that had originally adorned her grandmother's table, belonging before that to her great-grandmother, and she always assumed that the love she held in her heart for the bone china meticulous...

With each child I gave birth to, I found it impossible to figure out how to successfully shower within the first four days. I was sore and tired and filled with these overwhelming emotions that threatened to consume me. And I didn't want to leave the side of this new life force - not even for a second - not even when people offered to arrange for it to happen, not even when people suggested it should happen. I wanted to be selfish in my emotional connection. I wanted nothing else and no one else to interrupt what God had allowed. This baby was mine. This experience was mine. And I wanted to breathe it all in by myself; fill every cell of my body with the knowledge that no one, no matter how hard they tried, could ever begin to feel the complexities of the love that pulsed through my veins.   Then one day I showered. It was quick and cursory and born out of necessity and I quickly changed into the sweat pants and baggy shirt that looked eerily similar to the sweat pants and baggy sh...

I have a love/hate relationship with New Year's.  On the one hand, getting sloshed and insluting your wife or driving drunk and wrapping your car around a tree just doesn't seem like the right way to celebrate anything in life. I also have a hard time with the comments that stem along the line of  we made it through this year! because what about the ones that didn't make it through the year? In my admittedly oversensitive heart you just called a bunch of my loved ones failures and they are nothing of the sort. They simply didn't have the choice to finish off the calendar year here on earth. And that hurts. Thanks for the reminder. But on the other hand, I love a makeover. There is something incredibly empowering  about washing over the old color of a wall with a new one, symbolizing a new start, a fresh start, a chance to finally get it right. Resolution suggestions abound the interwebs: lose 10 pounds, stop smoking, drink more water, save $10,000 and finally take that ...

For my 40th birthday, my friends threw me the most epic surprise party ever. I usually pride myself on having this sixth sense that those around me are keeping things from me, but not this time. I was honestly 100% taken by surprise. It was the best party anyone could ever throw for me.  But what's perfect for me doesn't mean it's perfect for anyone else. Discussing it, my friend Ginger explained she would absolutely hate being the center of attention like that. She preferred something small and low key, more intimate with less fanfare. And that's exactly how her 40th went. It was absolutely perfect for her. Perfect location, perfect size, perfect fun. My friend Kim turns 40 next. You'll remember Kim as being referred to as My Rock. When the police officer looked down at me, hand on my shoulder, and asked, "who is your rock?" I answered, "Kim. My friend Kim." And we called her. She was at work but she answered. "Avery's dead," I sob...

This picture has been printed in various community newspapers in the past two years. It shows my precious daughter, Avery - second from the right - smiling with her sweet friends at a sleepover at Katie's house. Too soon after this picture was taken, Avery passed away as the result of a car accident. Too soon after Avery died, another little girl in this photo was called home to be with Jesus. You guys. My heart. Lilly, the precocious young lady on the far right on this photo with her arm around Avery, was full of so much life it is impossible to think she would ever leave this earth. She cracked jokes and asked bold questions. She laughed out loud and made me shake my head at how insanely wise she was about things you wouldn't think a kid her age would be. She never made any excuses for herself and taught me a great many things about being bold. She played football with the boys. She played hard. She played good . She played real good . And just like that. Gone...

This afternoon I was driving through town and caught a glimpse of the sun in the sky. It's cold here in Wisconsin. Snow has fallen, but the sun came out, temperatures warmed and snow turned to water. The sky had been hazy. Foggy, almost. But there, in the middle of the sky, was the most perfect circle of light. The sphere was so bright. The edges clean and crisp. Like someone had literally drawn a perfect circle and shaded it bright. I pulled off to the side of the road to take a photo of it. I grabbed my phone, took off my sunglasses, and exited the car to find the perfect shot. Except the sun circle was gone. Vanished. In it's place was a bright haze of light among the fog and clouds but nothing like the amazing, perfectly shaped sphere in the sky. Disappointed, I hopped back in my car. Pulled on my sunglasses and took one last glance out my window before putting the car in drive. And there it was again! It was my sunglasses that allowed me to see (forgive me, b...

I find the easiest way to learn about people is to listen to what they have to say. Everyone has something to say. It's just that sometimes, they stop talking out loud once they feel no one's listening. When I go to Haiti {I've been three times now}, I find myself sitting quietly a lot. Just sitting. Sooner or later a kid or two will show up. Then another. And another. Usually it's the boys. Mostly they talk about silly things. Teasing each other about their hair and who is going to "grow it tall." Laughing about who was outwitted on the soccer field. They're all boy; hitting and nudging and pushing and bumping into each other. But other times they grow silent. Quiet. Like they're thinking so hard about things but aren't sure how to talk about it. Like saying it out loud will somehow cause them to lose their train of thought. And so we sit. Not saying anything at all. Side by side. And then there are the times when they're full o...