Bees in My Bonnet

  When I come to myself - Realize there is a self to come to, A space, a moment, an in-between - I find surprise - there is a me beyond the doing. The doing of things is necessary, A blessing, even. But a self that thinks, That feels the ground beneath my feet That beholds beauty and is awestruck, This is a gift - the first gift to me Is me. I am taken with the Giver - From His hand come all good things. But would He not have me welcome this first gift? To know it, receive it, accept it? I think He would.

 I was about 15 when I first read the small tract-pamphlet, "My Heart, Christ's Home" and I'm not quite sure how I felt about the message it brought. I think I cringed a little. It felt like I was tempted to hide parts of myself from God, for fear or shame of what He must think of me. It evoked something contrary in me...something...amiss? I can't quite place words to describe my misgivings. Even so, it left a seed - a thought-seed - in me, to germinate, ponder, and dialogue in prayer, asking, "Lord, are You welcome in every crevice of my heart?" And I lay that before God and we explore together, even the darkest corners of my soul. I believe in the exploring there is grace. And discovery - not so much for God - surely, He knows what's there before I do.  Many years later, I discovered Theresa of Avila's Interior Castle. It harkened back to that germinating seed - is my heart Christ's home? Her writing drew me in differently somehow. I suppos...

 23 years ago today I woke up and felt miserable - I think I had vomitted in the night and I phoned Sam first thing in the morning. "I don't think I can get married today," I said. This was, of course, disheartening to him. But I gingerly drank some weak tea, handed my Dad a folded up plastic bag to keep in his pocket while he walked me down the aisle, and proceeded to prepare for our wedding later that day. It was Easter Sunday - a day full of hope, joy, and resurrection celebration. Maybe I was hoping that Easter would represent our marriage - the resurrection power of Christ infused into our union. Easter is a day of hope fulfilled, faith becoming sight, the unbelievable becoming real. That's essentially what I felt marriage was going to be.  And I don't intend to dampen the romantic notions I had but I must say, these were indeed, romantic sentiments. Marriage has turned out to be gritty, challenging, (rewarding, yes!), hard work, stretching, painful, on the n...

  I am a person in process – never quite done I suppose We find our start in life with a Mother. I have a Mother, who had a Mother.  I am a Mother Imperfectly Mothered, I Mother. Yet mostly I don’t know what it is I’m doing or how to keep doing it. But there is no out – No quitting! No vacation! – This permanent job. Yet because of my own Mother-wound Deep, still unhealed – I undertake a journey; A walk through the interior and find a need, a lack, a soul-longing. What is this yearning – how does it shape me in this moment? It tells me I have unfinished business Never complete this side of the mansion in the sky. It tells me this hunger in my soul – both gift and burden – A yoke easy pressing about me – weight assures me weariness is real. I do not imagine the load.   And a voice whispering Divine Love assures me: “The hungry are fed and never sent away empty.” I welcome, with joy, this news. My heart overflows with hope: “Oh please, dear Love, never send me away at all! ...

                                        I haven't ceased to write.  No. I have merely withdrawn to cultivate the land of words that lies buried deep beneath the life I've lived. The temptation is to compare - my life isn't yours. Others have greater gifts. Order. Organization. Discipline. My weakness is that of fear of trying. Fear of trying and failing. Maybe just failing altogether. And yet, if 'facing our fears' is the kind of advice given for such dreads as failure, it seems I should come out ahead. There's this thing called 'impostor syndrome.' With me, perhaps I'd like to drop the second word of that phrase, and merely stick with 'impostor' because the 'syndrome' part seems to indicate it is merely an experience, rather than a reality. Please...don't. Don't jump in here with explanations of how I am all that great (because it is my God that is great). And the sense of bein...

 I'm going to let a bee fly out of my bonnet just now, so brace yourself. The term 'Best Practice' annoys me. It annoys me A LOT. It has burned me. I've used it myself; I've had it promoted to me. I've seen it in research, in literature, in pseudo-guru-speak jargon. And now I think I finally have the courage to push back. Hang On a minute!! Isn't 'Best Practice' automatically, by its very literal nature, completely warranted as acceptable? Doesn't everyone want to follow 'Best Practice' in every situation? Actually, No. No, we don't. And I'll tell you why. Because it's arrogant, proud, assuming, and lacking in nuance. It lacks a 'here and now' understanding of things. Sure, there's probably times where 'best practice' is helpful. If you are a clinician of some sort, and following a static experimental process; if you are a professional whose work is to follow exacting procedures, fine, go ahead, and consult...

I notice there are lots of articles out there for parents to address how to raise a kid who has A.D.D. or is on the Autism spectrum. And for good reason! There are unique challenges and difficulties that arise in helping a child to grow whose brain wiring and personality are different than the norm. I get that. Mostly because I was  that child, and I have  that/those child(ren).  I used to write a lot as a child - sometimes inventing imaginative stories, sometimes just chronicling my life. It was a way I could cope with all the world around me. And I dreamed of being a writer someday - of putting my thoughts on paper and seeing them reflected back to me, and imagining others would read my words, and they would land in other hearts. Like an arrow going out from my inner life and landing in the soul of another. And as I grew and had my struggles, and faced my woes (I was a lamenting type of soul from very young, apparently), I made a sacred vow to myself. 'Never forget.' Ne...