Saturday, July 06, 2013
Wednesday, July 03, 2013
Tell me your story please.
Waiting on a breathless prayer.
It’s just a cardigan I pull closer over my arms and across my chest. A security dawning myself as I glance over at another trigger, another spill. I've spent time hiding in the closet of life and have made masks out of mothballs that have been left from rovings of wool.
Instead of opening the floodgates. Finding myself from the depths of an ocean of words. I pull out of the closet - for a night - dawning a midsummer nights dream. Maybe one more night- thoughtful. One more distraction to bear the weight of heat.
I have courage, but I’m trying to wear myself small. The murmur of the weak made strong in the breaking. Bravery unknots all my fears of failure. I laugh, breathe deep..
Anxiety turns fear inside out. To become stronger than ourselves. All I have stirring are intentional answers all wildly rolled together. Breathless. Everything running all down…
In the beginning, yes, breathless. In the end all I remember is taking the first step.
This is the reason I've never dived in. Invited that scared little girl over for a playtime. Her courage is our story. And when a trigger is pushed she calls in the troops. The one who is her only testimony. Standing up to fight instead of cowering in the corners.
Courage lives in our heart. Encompassing all that is watering our soul.
The wine glass in my hand stains red and I hear the word-Enabled.
Something rises up in me and the red wine splashes the wall and a witness is wide eyed. All while a terror streams down the walls as the glass shatters..
My Mother was never enabled. Although accusations caused myself and her to be beaten until unconscious so many times that we eventually found the courage with the help of my young uncle. To runaway. Through ravines and hiding under parked cars. I was 4.
My first memory was my mother fighting a man off of me, and myself being spanked until I saw .. Well nothing. She was admitted in the hospital numerous times and the hospital staff contacted my Grandmother. A nurse at the time. My grandparents made the long trek to see us way up in the Northern tundra. 16 hours. Only to be told they were not allowed on the property. Not allowed to visit. No pictures. Nothing.
The story is loud, loaded and frightening. The story has faces and bodies ravaged by domestic violence and pedophiles.
But I will now tap into the courage that had always been there. Growing roots planted long ago.
I see the gentleness behind your eyes. The lack of judgement. The grace to accept all things wholly old & new. Immediately the exhale slowly releases the memories bound up tight.
Now in whispers I remember the reason we came to this place tonight. The adventurous heart is longing to be with the people. Listening to their stories. Giving them voices.. Again. Some for the very first time.
But chances are I may regret this. Opening pandoras box. This life is worth it.
Who will join me? Sit together perhaps with a screen between us or a coffee wafting warm and inviting. Daring the silence. Exploring the risk that terror will be reminded to be watered with tears.
And prayers match the grieving, the waiting and pursuing. All where my heart lies right now. On the outside looking in I want to wear who I am.
My friend thank you for seeing me.
It’s just a cardigan I pull closer over my arms and across my chest. A security dawning myself as I glance over at another trigger, another spill. I've spent time hiding in the closet of life and have made masks out of mothballs that have been left from rovings of wool.
Instead of opening the floodgates. Finding myself from the depths of an ocean of words. I pull out of the closet - for a night - dawning a midsummer nights dream. Maybe one more night- thoughtful. One more distraction to bear the weight of heat.
I have courage, but I’m trying to wear myself small. The murmur of the weak made strong in the breaking. Bravery unknots all my fears of failure. I laugh, breathe deep..
Anxiety turns fear inside out. To become stronger than ourselves. All I have stirring are intentional answers all wildly rolled together. Breathless. Everything running all down…
In the beginning, yes, breathless. In the end all I remember is taking the first step.
This is the reason I've never dived in. Invited that scared little girl over for a playtime. Her courage is our story. And when a trigger is pushed she calls in the troops. The one who is her only testimony. Standing up to fight instead of cowering in the corners.
Courage lives in our heart. Encompassing all that is watering our soul.
The wine glass in my hand stains red and I hear the word-Enabled.
Something rises up in me and the red wine splashes the wall and a witness is wide eyed. All while a terror streams down the walls as the glass shatters..
My Mother was never enabled. Although accusations caused myself and her to be beaten until unconscious so many times that we eventually found the courage with the help of my young uncle. To runaway. Through ravines and hiding under parked cars. I was 4.
My first memory was my mother fighting a man off of me, and myself being spanked until I saw .. Well nothing. She was admitted in the hospital numerous times and the hospital staff contacted my Grandmother. A nurse at the time. My grandparents made the long trek to see us way up in the Northern tundra. 16 hours. Only to be told they were not allowed on the property. Not allowed to visit. No pictures. Nothing.
The story is loud, loaded and frightening. The story has faces and bodies ravaged by domestic violence and pedophiles.
But I will now tap into the courage that had always been there. Growing roots planted long ago.
I see the gentleness behind your eyes. The lack of judgement. The grace to accept all things wholly old & new. Immediately the exhale slowly releases the memories bound up tight.
Now in whispers I remember the reason we came to this place tonight. The adventurous heart is longing to be with the people. Listening to their stories. Giving them voices.. Again. Some for the very first time.
But chances are I may regret this. Opening pandoras box. This life is worth it.
Who will join me? Sit together perhaps with a screen between us or a coffee wafting warm and inviting. Daring the silence. Exploring the risk that terror will be reminded to be watered with tears.
And prayers match the grieving, the waiting and pursuing. All where my heart lies right now. On the outside looking in I want to wear who I am.
My friend thank you for seeing me.
Sunday, December 09, 2012
Sunday, October 28, 2012
Time after time I understand how many layers our hearts hold.
Our hearts hold layers just as a tree holds leaves. Each one falling slowly. Sometimes not at all welcomed, pushed along with the force of a gusty wind. Renewing our lives as we grow stronger and walk confidently. The roots grow deeper. Seemingly compared to the words we hear along the way. Carving and shaping not only ourselves but each one that we get to share our homes with.
This little pixie in the middle. We celebrate broken fevers, a sleep full night. A dry bed and an inch taller in her height. This almost 5 year old. I close my eyes sometimes and make wishes. One in which we will cherish these seemingly insurmountable accomplishments ~always.
When we travel through months & years of healing. Deep conversations sometimes hold the weight of the world. This moment:
Dear Son, I want to write you a letter. One that has taken a long time to write. I know that sometimes other people, even your friends, don't always have your best interests in mind. In your vulnerability more of your precious innocence has been lost. Your art was found in the wrong place. You are home with us, from school, to really let that sink in. To learn from this occasion. Thank you for your honesty. And for apologizing to all those that were affected. For this I am completely proud of you. We want to direct your art in a more positive direction. One day you'll know that we as your parents were there. And we understand. There are so many things tumbling around in my heart that I want to tell you. But for now let me sum it up: I love you. I appreciate you. I value your life. I believe you will lead an incredible life. An artist you are. You were created perfect by your Artist. Wholly, unconditionally loved. Please know always that you are not alone.
Love, Mom
Friday, October 12, 2012
'For Real' Baby Sling Pattern
This is from a very special request, and a go ahead from one of my dear baby wearing friends. A 'For Real' baby sling pattern has arrived for wee infants. ~Recommended for up to 15lbs.~ Carrying your baby in a sling will help you be hands free for many little tasks throughout the day as a busy mama. Baby slings are often made from woven fabric, such as hemp or fleece. This one is made from 100% wool yarn. The wool I use, especially for patterns, are found locally at the Custom Woolen Mills .
Enjoy a cozy cuddle while baby and you stay toasty during the often chilly months this time of year brings.
Beginners & Knitters everywhere can pick up this pattern with ease. Enjoy!
You will need:
-US size 10.5 (6.5 or 7mm) needles.
-2 skeins of Lopi or bulky weight wool.
-When selecting yarn for your baby sling, find a 100 percent wool yarn that felts well.
-An extra needle for bind off.
Pattern:
Cast on with long tail method -30st
Knit first row
Continue Stst (knit 1 row, purl 1 row) until it measures 8"
Increase:
RS Kfb1 *K1 M1* cont. to last st Kfb1 (60st)
Purl first row
Cont. Stst for 30"
Decrease:
RS When garment is 37"
K2tog all across (30st)
Purl first row
Cont. Stst until the garment is 47" long.
*Cast off with 3 needle bind off
*Note: another option is to bind-off, then graft ends together, using a mattress stitch method.
Weave in loose yarn.
To give your finished sling more security, and you peace of mind, felt your finished knit sling. This will shrink the size down to give it more structure.
Have you ever felted? I assure you it's yet another hobby that gives satisfaction with the finished project. Plus there are many ways to embellish it to give an original appeal.
Felt the sling:
Place it in an old pillowcase and add it and a few pair of jeans (preferably) to a top-loading washing machine. Wash the sling in hot water with mild detergent. After the laundry cycle is finished, remove the sling from it's pillowcase. Then give it a really good tug into shape, and let it dry on a clean dark bath towel.
Happy knitting (& felting)!
Monday, October 01, 2012
October 1. *Gratitudes
*heartfelt gifts
*golden hue
*learning to dance
*turning over new leaves
*accepting change
*enveloping in warmth
Sunday, August 26, 2012
Thursday, July 19, 2012
Bucket List
This week has been overflowing with firsts. I am entirely thankful and feel lighter than ever before.
Friday, June 22, 2012
Permission to be ourselves.
I'm standing at the window and the leaves catch my eye. Sunshine through the trees reflecting off the dew on the freshly mowed grass. Ever wonder what's pulling on your heart strings? That somehow in this moment we're witnessing a miracle.
When you hear the words: well done. You are the exception. What does that look like? Hello world. Let me share myself with the corners that are hidden away. Waiting for someone to hold out their hand and to hold theirs. God's grace. Right here. Right on this path, where I stand. I'm not going to ask.. where now? I'm ready. Now show me the way.
What does it look like to flow through life, with a family at home? Permission to be ourselves is the most generous sort of self love around.
It is a process, and a struggle to push through the untangling of what you are 'supposed to' do. Isn't that how life always shows us. Are you ready? This spot reserved right where you are on earth was given to us. A gift. I want to give back where my heart strings lead.
Rain writes the perspective.. Let your life be a poem. Something stirs that has been buried. Hidden now with dust. This key has unlocked truths. "when I say be creative, I don't mean you should all go and become great painters and great poets. I simply mean let your life be a painting, let your life be a poem." -Osho
To give back is how I want to live unafraid. To write without abandon, knit, bead, sew.. and giveaway. To hold the hands and listen to the ones without a voice. To give them an identity, offer compassion, and write their stories. To place shoes on their feet, watch them dance and join in. Music :: poetry of movement throughout the earth. Connections. Meeting ones who cry out ((Notice me)). Electrifying feelings of emotion.
We all have a story to tell. Really. Here in this space I am unfolding mine.
I remember the choosing, before the questions of why? The choice to follow a hidden journey. Its still there. But the difference is He made me, knowing all of who I am in the constant changing of the tides in life. He chose to set out a light that rises and sets. This sun that gloriously shines. Right here in my chest He set this heart that is beating. A pulse that is full of the knowledge that He is always for me. When at times I have been blind, there has always been a Truth. You are not just chosen to live this life, you are fully loved. Every single speck. I will do this.
Monday, May 21, 2012
Tuesday, April 17, 2012
Guest Post. Happy Birthday!
Dear Alicia,
I know you like numbers, so on your birthday, I worked some out for you.
Today marks three and a half decades since you were born.
When you were born, there were four point two billion people on earth.
Now there are seven billion.
You've seen seven leap years.
You've experienced four hundred and twenty full moons.
You've been around for twelve thousand, seven hundred and eighty four sunrises and sunsets.
The minute hand has traveled around the clock three hundred six thousand, eight hundred and sixteen times since you were born
Thirty five times, you've circled the sun.
That's a travel distance of twenty billion, four hundred twenty million, forty nine thousand, six hundred and seventy miles.
A journey that has lasted eighteen million, four hundred eight thousand, nine hundred and sixty minutes.
Just surviving all that is a cause worth celebrating, I mean, those are some pretty impressive statistics. But that's nowhere near the whole story. On this, your thirty fifth time around the sun, there are other numbers that begin to tell other stories about you. Such as...
One Hundred and Sixty - the distance in feet that you survived in a truck, tumbling over a cliff in the Rockies.
Eleven fingers and thumbs (well, now ten).
One mother.
No father.
One Sister, one brother.
Thirty (or more) relocations.
One husband.
One marriage.
Fourteen Years.
Seven pregnancies.
Four children.
The story begins to unfold here, but even still, there's so much more that the numbers can't tell. The countless meals, diaper changes, arguments, tears, laughs, sorrows, losses, gains dreams, nightmares, fears, friends, births, deaths and every experience in between can't be understood by quantifying them as statistics. Your journey is such a unique combination of everything that it can only be understood in the context of story.
Every good story has chapters where the main character experiences hardship. If there's no difficulty, hurt, pain or trials, the story gets dull and we end up not caring to find out what happens in the last chapters. But in a truly great story, when the main character overcomes against the odds (as they alsways do in the best stories) the stark contrast between the adversity and the triumph is what makes our hearts leap. We want to come back and read that story again and again because it becomes an anchor of hope to everyone else who identifies.
This is a year of milestones for you. A year of breakthrough. A year of conquering. A year of taking back territory, of tearing down walls, facing fears, storming past inhibitions, saying goodbye to chains, locks and lies and taking claim of what is rightfully yours - your life. Your freedom to live, to be healthy, to have joy, to celebrate, to wear bright colors, to dance, to sing, to walk a hundred miles, to absorb love, to share love, to speak boldly, to live the width.
Your story is worth reading. And this is the day that you became unafraid to tell it.
I'm proud of you.
I love you.
Happy Birthday.
P.S. There's one last number to take note of... it's the balance of our bank account and it's not a very big number right about now, so I hope you don't mind that I haven't bought you a present yet. I want to take/send you shoe shopping or bra shopping or well, just shopping in general, so gimme a couple days and a few pianos to tune, and we'll make it happen.
I know you like numbers, so on your birthday, I worked some out for you.
Today marks three and a half decades since you were born.
When you were born, there were four point two billion people on earth.
Now there are seven billion.
You've seen seven leap years.
You've experienced four hundred and twenty full moons.
You've been around for twelve thousand, seven hundred and eighty four sunrises and sunsets.
The minute hand has traveled around the clock three hundred six thousand, eight hundred and sixteen times since you were born
Thirty five times, you've circled the sun.
That's a travel distance of twenty billion, four hundred twenty million, forty nine thousand, six hundred and seventy miles.
A journey that has lasted eighteen million, four hundred eight thousand, nine hundred and sixty minutes.
Just surviving all that is a cause worth celebrating, I mean, those are some pretty impressive statistics. But that's nowhere near the whole story. On this, your thirty fifth time around the sun, there are other numbers that begin to tell other stories about you. Such as...
One Hundred and Sixty - the distance in feet that you survived in a truck, tumbling over a cliff in the Rockies.
Eleven fingers and thumbs (well, now ten).
One mother.
No father.
One Sister, one brother.
Thirty (or more) relocations.
One husband.
One marriage.
Fourteen Years.
Seven pregnancies.
Four children.
The story begins to unfold here, but even still, there's so much more that the numbers can't tell. The countless meals, diaper changes, arguments, tears, laughs, sorrows, losses, gains dreams, nightmares, fears, friends, births, deaths and every experience in between can't be understood by quantifying them as statistics. Your journey is such a unique combination of everything that it can only be understood in the context of story.
Every good story has chapters where the main character experiences hardship. If there's no difficulty, hurt, pain or trials, the story gets dull and we end up not caring to find out what happens in the last chapters. But in a truly great story, when the main character overcomes against the odds (as they alsways do in the best stories) the stark contrast between the adversity and the triumph is what makes our hearts leap. We want to come back and read that story again and again because it becomes an anchor of hope to everyone else who identifies.
This is a year of milestones for you. A year of breakthrough. A year of conquering. A year of taking back territory, of tearing down walls, facing fears, storming past inhibitions, saying goodbye to chains, locks and lies and taking claim of what is rightfully yours - your life. Your freedom to live, to be healthy, to have joy, to celebrate, to wear bright colors, to dance, to sing, to walk a hundred miles, to absorb love, to share love, to speak boldly, to live the width.
Your story is worth reading. And this is the day that you became unafraid to tell it.
I'm proud of you.
I love you.
Happy Birthday.
P.S. There's one last number to take note of... it's the balance of our bank account and it's not a very big number right about now, so I hope you don't mind that I haven't bought you a present yet. I want to take/send you shoe shopping or bra shopping or well, just shopping in general, so gimme a couple days and a few pianos to tune, and we'll make it happen.
Sunday, April 01, 2012
April 1
I hear your words before you say them. "Come on in!" The way you greet us, with a grand smile. For years I wondered in awe.. How you knew, just how to welcome my heart.
Through the door I watch as children scurry around, throwing their coats at us, their selves at the familiar. And you can't wait until we all gather together, within your home.
You watch each of your grandchildren with an articulate heart. You are one who learns their quirks, their needs, the way they open up in new circumstances. Thank you for sharing your own thoughts from your heart.
Thank you for being my Mom.
We know each other on another level. One where I was afraid of rejection, and held you at arms length. One where 15 years has taught us that there is beauty in perseverance in the eyes of both beholders.
This is a monumental year. The year we celebrate all that you have travelled through to get here.
Happy Birthday, Celebrating 60 years!!
I love you, Mom.
Alicia
Through the door I watch as children scurry around, throwing their coats at us, their selves at the familiar. And you can't wait until we all gather together, within your home.
You watch each of your grandchildren with an articulate heart. You are one who learns their quirks, their needs, the way they open up in new circumstances. Thank you for sharing your own thoughts from your heart.
Thank you for being my Mom.
We know each other on another level. One where I was afraid of rejection, and held you at arms length. One where 15 years has taught us that there is beauty in perseverance in the eyes of both beholders.
This is a monumental year. The year we celebrate all that you have travelled through to get here.
Happy Birthday, Celebrating 60 years!!
I love you, Mom.
Alicia
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