Category: BraveGirlJournal

  • Purposes

    Purposes

    Only two months remaining in the year of purpose. At the beginning of this year, I was a little worried to focus on a word. While I hoped that I might have some sort of epiphany about my place on the planet, I also wondered if I should set careful expectations given how the year of freedom went.

    What I think about purpose has changed this year. Specifically three things.

    1. If we spend all our time focused on one big thing, like a job or something we might do, we risk spending months or even years thinking we don’t have a purpose or we’ve missed our purpose.

    2. We have an opportunity to live with purpose every day. If we waste time and energy on seeking one big thing, we’ll miss thousands of chances to make a difference in our world.

    3. Time and healing are the key ingredients to understanding the purpose of things, people and events in our lives.

    When something crappy inevitably happens, we can spend a lot of time caught up in whys. Or even what is the purpose of this? I think the better question to focus on is what is my purpose in this? Is it to take action, learn, pray, listen, bring peace, raise hell, set an example?

    Our purpose is not about one thing. It’s a thousand things in a thousand moments. We can have totally different purposes in moments 30 minutes apart. And our purpose in one season can change for the next season. My overarching purpose in the last decade has been to provide stability and a firm foundation for the girls, but as they are getting older now I can see that this purpose is winding down.

    I am excited about a new season where I might have a little space for things I’ve always loved or been interested in – to explore what my purpose might be in them and to explore what purpose they might have in me. Things like getting more involved in the community, advocacy, and working the polls on election days.

    However, as I am firmly middle-aged entering this next phase, purposes will now need to be between 6:30 am and 9 pm. I cannot even fake being at my best at midnight.

    A year or so ago I watched a sermon by Dharius Daniels and he said something I knew was for later and saved in a note on my phone: Your uniqueness will feel like awkwardness until you get to a season where God shows you its relevance. Another way to think about that might be your uniqueness will feel like awkwardness until you get to a season where God shows you its purpose. What if the things we sometimes think make us strange are the things we need to lean into so we can really fulfill our purpose(s)?

    Life changes. Purposes change. With each purpose fulfilled, our happiness grows and the puzzle that we are gets closer to finished, or whole. And suddenly one day in the middle of a purpose the person always staring back at us on Zoom is stronger, wiser, and braver.

    Sometimes I wonder if Zoom is my purpose.
  • Summer Summer Summer Time

    Summer Summer Summer Time

    I needed a little summer. Sleeping in later because no one has to be at school. Noses with freckles. BLTs with fresh tomatoes and dripping Miracle Whip.

    Except I hate the hot. I love all places with AC and fans and iced green tea. Middle aged women need the chill of fall evenings 24/7, every day of the year.

    Henry was so happy to have Ella home. While he loves anyone and everyone who will feed him, Ella is his favorite person. Also, a 19 pound cat is not an overweight cat – it’s a cat living his best life.

    Henry Fonda loves Ella Hope

    I loved the Olympics. The stories of resilience and sacrifice. I’m a softie old Mom now so I wanted every kid from every country to win. I cheered loudly at the TV when they did. I also shed a few tears when they didn’t. Nothing on The Hallmark Channel makes me cry. Everything about the Olympics makes me cry.

    The only thing funnier than Snoop Dog commentary at the Olympics is Snoop narrating Planet Earth videos.

    Audrey’s summer look was very similar to her winter look: side eye with a Starbucks pink drink in her hand. I threw out my strict rule about bikinis at 13 because I love watching her walk with confidence into the water park, completely uncaring of the scar on her abdomen.

    Pink Pink Pink Everything

    I think I finished filling an old but refinished toolbox for my family room – a box of tools that have helped me adapt, gave me guidance, or enabled me to fix things over the years. It has pieces from family near and far, from earth to heaven, that will always guide me with the hard work.

    The teddy bear has my Dad’s voice in it saying God Bless You while the locket was worn by my Mama when my Papa was fighting somewhere in Europe during WWII.

    It’s been over a year since the girls lost their Dad. They’d hoped to get the Dad gifts they’d given him over the years, maybe the disc golf disks they dyed with him, a couple of sweatshirts. Nope. Apparently some kinds of grief are so intense that it leads to redecorating instead of getting children a shirt that smells like their Dad.

    I stopped watching news. I still read news every day from a variety of sources to make sure there’s balance, but I will no longer click on stories about candidates for any office. This election is basically a repeat of the last one, and I’m not sure why we’re all behaving as if people are going to make different choices. Not filling my brain with “news” has done wonders for my hope and faith in humanity.

    VCU’s School of Nursing had 140 slots this year, and Ella was offered one. Watching your child find the thing that makes them happy, work toward that goal, and then achieve a huge step toward that goal is a whole new level of joy. At the same time, her anatomy final taught me never to seek her advice about any shoulder injuries.

    Ella got into the School of Nursing!

    This summer we saw anxiety then healing. Sadness then happiness. Chaos then rest. Faith then miracles. I shed no tears when I left Ella at VCU yesterday. In fact, my smile was so big. I walked away thanking God for who she’s becoming and for all of our progress and blessings. We all needed the healing of this summer and now we are stepping into the glory He promised.

  • Purple Lilies

    Purple Lilies

    Lilies.

    My favorite flower.

    When the girls were little and we first moved into this house, lilies were planted with the shrubbery that surrounds the house.

    Yellow. Pink. White. Purple. Orange.

    Calla. Day. Easter. Tiger.

    In spring 2018, I pulled them all up.

    Years passed. Five years, to be exact. No lilies.

    Until last year, 2023, when some of them reappeared at the end of May.

    Just the purple ones.

    Ella and I wondered…how? Is it a sign of something?

    Among other things, lilies symbolize wonder and respect for things beyond the everyday world. Also sympathy, beauty, and rebirth.

    Are they a message from one or all of the Dads we lost last year?

    The lilies are back again. Just beginning to bloom, and just the purple ones.

    Yesterday as I noticed, and snapped a couple photos, a dragonfly landed on me and then hovered around.

    In some cultures, dragonflies are viewed as the actual soul or spirit of a loved one who has come back to see them. They are also symbols of spiritual awakening, rebirth, and immortality.

    A comforting message. A big hug. A symbol of hope. Prayers answered.

  • Crankypants Notes

    Crankypants Notes

    Hurry up and wait is the current story of my life. Rush to get into the parent pickup line, then wait while teens saunter to cars filled with other rushing parents. Rush to the airport, then wait because the plane isn’t even there yet.

    I generally make notes while I wait, and the tone of those messages is greatly impacted by the music choice I’ve made that day. Hollow Coves and worship music produce calm and thoughtful words, while The Beastie Boys might lead to firm or cynical words.

    My notes usually go somewhere later – logged in a contact management system, pasted into a journal, or sent in an email. But occasionally I open my notes and find that my screen is full of oddball entries that had nowhere to go. They are just mini-rants from days I did not choose peace, or my crankypants notes.

    Emus are supposedly docile. Except the females.
    They are the queens of crankypants.

    1. My box of Raisinettes has never made it through the previews. Also, $5 for a box of Raisinettes is highway robbery, so I will continue to buy movie candy at Target and sneak it into the theater.

    2. The time for living my best life is half over. I will waste none of it eating asparagus or honeydew, wearing a bra that’s uncomfortable, or drinking cheap wine.

    3. When you’re young, bras can be cute or sexy. When you’re old, bras have a job to do.

    4. Top 3 things that are not going to work for me: places without AC, anything starting after 8 pm, and people who don’t choose my girls or put my girls first.

    5. In a presentation about growth optimization, I will spend a dumb amount of time thinking that I missed the opportunity to establish evenly distributed growth of menopause pounds.

    6. Value propositions aren’t just important at work, when reviewing contracts and partnerships. We need to fully understand what we and others bring to the table. And then not waste time.

    7 Pruning is a critical component of growth.

    Your 15 minutes are up.

    8. Grief photos don’t include makeup; those are called sadfishing photos.

    9. If it takes alcohol for you to get up and dance, just don’t dance. It’s not good.

    10. If someone who deals with criminals tells you “(person) has done some of the shadiest shit I’ve ever seen,” what level of shady even is that? It turns out there’s a name for it: white collar shady. Won’t the real shady please stand up?

    Emus are one of the dumbest birds on the planet. I guess the message in that is time spent being a crankypants is when we’re at our dumbest.

    Hangry Emu
  • Green

    Green

    The year of firsts is done.

    We’ve celebrated all the birthdays and holidays without our Dads and Grandpas. Sometimes we stared at empty seats. Sometimes we took fancy dishes to the couch so a meal seemed nothing like it did before, in a layout where no one was missing. Sometimes we spoke their names. Sometimes we didn’t. Sometimes we cried and sometimes we couldn’t.

    Grief is not just about physical separation, a loved one being in another location and not accessible to you. It’s also about what the people who are gone will miss in your life and what you will miss out on because of their absence. For little girls who always assume their Dad will walk them down the aisle one day, grief involves reimagining how big events might go. Grief is about accepting what is, and the loss of what might have been.

    Part of why grief is different for each of us is that we process loss and change differently, but also that whoever we’re grieving was a dozen different people. They may or may not have been different with different people, but it’s more that each of us sees others through our own lens – the lens of who we are. Every single person who knows us might describe us differently based on how they encountered us, how we treated them, what they needed from us, what we needed from them. Some people would tell you I cry easily, others would say I’m cold and stay focused. They are both right. One person’s “what a great gal” is another’s “she was a real b word.”

    Humans are complicated. Sometimes we hurt people, sometimes unintentionally and sometimes intentionally. Sometimes we love extravagantly. Sometimes we offer anger and sometimes we offer grace. We can all grieve the same person and yet grieve different people, because we grieve imperfect people.

    Acknowledging that your loved one wasn’t perfect does not mean you love them any less. It isn’t something we need to feel badly about – it shows that we love with grace.

    The easiest grieving, if there is such a thing, is by people of faith for other people of faith. We don’t miss them any less but we know with certainty where that person is, that they are happy, and that we will see them again. One of the toughest is a child for a parent. Children seemingly go through the same stages as adults, but the foundation and security adults have isn’t firmly established yet for young people.

    Grief will not end now that the firsts are behind us. Perhaps it will actually get tougher because its timing is not as predictable or because forever settles in. While it seems like we’ve reached a mile marker of some sort, I’m not sure it really means or feels like anything.

    What does feel right is that the end of the first year is also the end of winter, and the beginning of spring. One of the colors my Dad loved was green. In the springtime he’d say look at how green everything is! and point out that trees are the most green this time of year. Green is the color of life and rebirth. Of renewal and growth. It’s yellow and blue mixed, or the combination of warmth and hope with calm and strength and peace.

    Green is the color of forward.

    He makes me lie down in green pastures,
    he leads me beside still waters, He restores my soul. Psalm 23