Withdrawal from Wthdrawal

Remember that time when you took the challenge to not eat sugar for 3 weeks, and not just sugar, but gluten and milk?

What kind of self torture is that?

Remember how sad you were... and a little bored?

But you did it, thinking you would be back to sugar in no time...until the 3 weeks were up and then you were so scared to even think about eating sugar again because now you know for sure how much you depended on it to entertain you, to keep you company, to distract you from the hard things, and what if you can't just have it occasionally without eating all of it?

Yep.

And not only that, remember how it made you wonder if there were other things in your life that you could give up; other things that are a waste of time and talents?

You know...

those things that you tell yourself you deserve to do....or eat, because you've worked so hard all day and you've earned it?

How does that even make sense?

Here, you've worked incredibly hard, now go do something that is going to negate at least half of the work you've done...you deserve it.

What kind of self-hate talk is that?

Remember that?

Please, remember that.

My Newly Broken Heart

At first it was just a stretching, pulling, relaxing and constriction…the natural and nauseating beginning pains of child birth.  The way it is supposed to be. No child would stay in the womb forever…no mother would want it so.

This separation begins, it pulls and stretches until she slips free and with all that new beginning, there is a new breaking of my heart.

It's a good broken, a necessary broken, to cleave you must first be broken kind of broken... pieces bond together as again and again she latches on for nourishment. My soldered heart, beating stronger in this new bond.....

I stare at her grey eyes...

                        and I can't imagine how....

                                        her flesh came from my flesh, my thoughts, my actions....

How could she not be a piece of my soul?

My life put on hold, my life just begun... to hold and love and continue to create someone from this new piece of my newly broken heart.

The breaking continues, slower now, but seems so fast as one moment right after another she chooses her path, breaking and cleaving only to sever again.

She fails, and we break together. We share the pieces of our always breaking hearts and build again something different, maybe stronger.

She succeeds, and my heart bursts into a billion new pieces of joy and she scoops it up and adds it to her own. 

And that bond heart is new and sinewy and strong and it stretches and somehow is still a part of me and I can't help but hold it close. Like the newbie I am, I hold too tight and she pulls even harder until I let go too soon and she falls slipping through my clenched fingertips. We pick up and brush off and patch up and move on. Constantly recreating as we learn that whatever she is, she is still a part of me to hold with open hands.

Day after day she builds her own heart, beating strong and sure and sometimes scared. She takes pieces from here and pieces from there, some light and some dark, building and breaking, blood flowing with passion and poison.

 She doesn't give up, although sometimes I think she has, my preference for speed threatening to rush what can't be rushed. Even that speed she must have a piece of... that impatience that I'm still working out of my own heart...she takes that too, and leaps and falls maimed... but leaps again.

I feel her heart even when I can’t see her; her fears and hurts, jagged lacerations in my own heart, telling me she is breaking. I can't fix her, she rightly claimed that piece for herself, it's natural and nauseating....but assuredly, the broken pieces drum the rhythm that she came from something stronger and infinitely sure... 

and we bond through the broken
both cleaving, leaning
on the Infinite Broken Heart.

Then without warning she makes that final tug and I feel the wind sucked out of me as my whole body contracts and on its own, pushes her out. It should be familiar....

...no child would stay in womb forever, no mother would want it so...

but the pain is raw and I am left with open, empty hands as this time, she bonds with someone new.

Is this what joy is?

My heart misses her pieces everyday and breaks a little more as I try to find all the pieces to build a whole heart. It works.... mostly, and life drums on and my blood pumps through my veins and my smile is still there...but barely. 

I do smile... we share so many heart pieces....I smile because I know she is a part of me still and someday....when she feels that first stretching and pulling and inevitable first tear, 

I will feel it too...

and my heart will gladly break again for her newly broken heart.

Sometimes it sucks

I run more than walk. It's my natural state. Today I headed out looking for the sun on my face and the need for new thoughts to pump through me like oxygen filled blood. My running feet on the ground did not disappoint and it felt like I was coming back to myself...

I needed that.

Then the reality of my malnutritioned body gave way and my sleep deprived soul gave in and the cold wind blew stronger than the suns rays and tormented me from all directions.

But this too is my running, this too is why I crave it. Sometimes it sucks and that is as real as any other part of me. It's not meant to always be sunny and 50 degrees with a cool breeze right when you start to get sweaty. Nope sometimes it sucks, and that's just fine.

I sometimes try to photograph how my run feels, to capture somehow, the change of mind and direction it can bring to my soul. It never really works that well, because I have to stop running to get a good shot and then it's just not the same. So at least to document, if not capture, I snapped a few today, because this is a day I will remember. The sunlight through the trees, the winding road up ahead, a hill to keep things interesting and and the bird crap that just missed my head and landed on my running leg.

Yeah, sometimes it sucks, but that's perfect and I want to live it all.

I hugged my little one goodby today. My toes cold on the driveway and my heart lodged in my throat. This one who has been a part of me from the beginning, my blood her blood creating her flesh. I remember just looking at her for hours not believing that she was mine...even just for this moment.

This moment that went too fast. This bueatuful girl, this girl that has turned me inside out, this girl that has made me be 100 percent sure of who I am before I could show her who she is...

my daughter, my friend...

I passed this piece of my heart off to him and they drove away.

Go with your gut

The gut is the new brain, have you heard?

Control your gut and you control the chemicals and hormones released in your body and brain.
Control the release of chemicals and hormones and you control your feelings and emotions.
Control your feelings and emotions and you control your thoughts.
Control your thoughts and you control your actions.
Control your actions and you control your destiny...

....or something like that.

Go with your gut...
I felt it in my gut...
My gut feeling...

Put the good stuff in...a wide variety and copious amounts.
Flush the bad stuff out. Movement is crucial.

Any serious runner already knows this. Train the lungs to breath deep and fast, the heart to pump effectively strong, the muscles to find stored energy in hidden places...but the gut...the gut is where it's at...the inner most strength. Those critical moments when all else is failing and done, your brain will play tricks on you to find an excuse to give up...compleate justification at the moment.  How bad do you want this? Just on the serface with the latest running gear soaked with sweat, or does it go deeper? Pass the working muscles and organs....is it in your gut?

"Let thy bowels be full of charity..., and let virtue garnish thy thoughts unceasingly; then shall thy confidence wax strong in the presence of  God.~Doctrine & Covenants 121:45

Charity in my gut. Is this my inner most desire? A force that can overcome fatigue, brain fog, and a broken heart.

Put the good stuff in.
Serve.
Pray.
Read.
Ponder.
Hope.

Flush the bad stuff out.
Repent.
Let go.
Forgive.
Find His rest.

Go with your gut.

Flowers Shmowers

Slow down they say,

Take time to enjoy it they say….

But my feet pound the earth and eyes grapple the horizon and I am revived.

Just because you don't take time to smell the flowers doesn't mean you didn't enjoy the trail.

superlative

satan likes to whisper 
"wicked, unworthy, waste"
i listen
running in the dark
black shadows press
consume.

do i have a choice?

distant light
not yet pink
i think maybe
he lies.

breathe deep
run faster
not panic...
need

need to suck deeper
wake sleeping places.
legs and heart that want more
elevate me to runner's high,
superlative.

light encircles 
dark shadows.

beauty outlines 
the dim unknown.

illumination clarifies 
what once was feared.

fierce crave awakes...
faster,
i need to go faster. 
use it all til i'm empty
ready to be taken
filled with what matters.

autumn's claim burns gold
leaves and grass blaze around me
celebrating light
bright and warmth
full on my face

i seek it
suck it in
savor it
praise it

Random Acts of Kindness...Year 5

I'm often surprised at how real, deep and even overwhelming the grief can still be. It's been five years. Five years to get used to not calling her when silly things happen. Five years to get used to not seeing her at family gatherings. Five years to get used to not sharing my life with her. I've done a lot in the last five years, but getting used to having my sister gone is not one of them.

However, I do have a better understanding of where she is and what she's doing. A better understanding of Heavenly Father's love for all his children. A better understanding of the comfort given by the Savior's atonement. A better understanding of how all life's mess can make me a better person....and that is why I love Random Acts of Kindness.

Random Act of Kindness began as a way to remember Ruth, Nick and Audrey, because that's how they lived, because that's how we were blessed during our initial loss, and because now that's how we choose to live our lives.

Now, when I feel that gaping hole threatening to rip me clear through, I can think kindness instead of pain.  Sometimes it comes on fast, when I need a quick save....hurry, smile at the next person you see.... make eye contact....say hello...ask and listen about how they are, what they need. And sometimes it is a little more deliberate, following through on a phone call or an invitation I've put off way too long. Little by little neurons are trained to be kind instead of hurt, to look out instead of in.

As the kindness habits grow it is impossible to not see the kindness I receive. A good friend taking my kids overnight, not just feeding and housing them, but caring and comforting....even taking my son to soccer practice. Ten total kids and she still manages to take mine to soccer. She is kind, I am grateful.

I notice the kindness that comes even when there wasn't a need.  The kind that comes for no other reason but that you are loved. I was up early, so happy to be spending time with my husband, but wishing just a little I could be with my family as well. We were on a morning run in a strange and beautiful park. We ran up and around huge red rocks and reached the top in time to see the sunrise. It was red from all the smoke from summer fires, and made for an amazing view. Who knew this was what my sisters were doing at the same moment...waiting for that sunrise...it wasn't planned to all be there together miles apart, but there we were. Even God couldn't resist getting in on a day of Random Acts of Kindness.

Rosalie's Eyes

I remember the last time I went to the Barrus Family Reunion. I was maybe 10 and I knew nobody. It was awkward.  There were kids running all over the park and my parents kept saying, "They're all your cousins, just go play with them." But I didn't.  I was relieved when it was finally time to go.

Twenty years later I am ready to try again. I want to know more of the woman whose eyes I share. 

It all starts the same, with so many smiling faces....familiar but unknown and I keep thinking, "They're all your cousins, just go talk to them." 

And I do, a little. Mostly, I read histories posted on the walls, trying to connect the lines from them to me and wonder at the lives behind the dates and places.

I giggle when my dad's cousin and partner in crime starts teasing my daughter...she has no idea who he is and when I tell her of the mischief he and my dad used to get into, her eyes grow wide with surprise. And this is why I came. I am just not a mom anymore than my dad is just a grandpa, just as she will not always be a little girl. I want her to know that. I want to know that. Connecting these lives adds perspective and inriches our heritage.

Later, there was an unexpected surprise from a man I had never met. He sat down next to me with a plate of food and continued a conversation with my dad. After a while he asked who I was and I pointed at my dad and said I was his. He didn't offer any introduction so I ventured a guess based on his wrinkles and a smile that looks like hers. "Are you Rosalie's brother?" My dad confirms that this is his uncle Ruel, the one he was named for.  I had assumed his name came more from his grandfather....I'm not sure I even knew he had an uncle by that name.

Then I get the story.

He had been over three months in a prison camp in Germany with conditions that left him as thin as a rail when the tanks rolled in to pull them out. "Anyone here from California? Anyone here from New York? Anyone here from Idaho? And just like that he was free again. That same month my dad was born.

Again, I get to know different parts of these lives I admire. What it must have been like for my grandma as a young mother, worried about her little brother in a prison so far away...what it must have been like for her little brother in a prison so far away.

Later I got to see the house where my Grandma was raised, and my dad was born,  the two huge pine trees still towering in front. My dad looks for a long time with eyes handed down from his mom and I wish I could see his thoughts.

I've seen this house before, but it seemed so much easier this time to picture my grandma there as a little girl, now that I see my own little girl playing in the ditch, making clover rings and giggling; seeing it all with eyes just like hers.

Fighting Fires

Phew, that was a close one. 

I sigh relief as the stench of burned ashes blows off with the wind. Another disaster averted, it probably wasn't as bad as I thought...

the flames not as high as I imagined.... 

..surely there was no real danger. The few burns will heal quickly with proper coverings. 

I turn off the water and go get cleaned up, not wanting to investigate the cause. Preferring instead to believe that it was just a freak accident...

happenstance. 

Flare ups are bound to happen, but next time I'll be prepared and see the warning signs...

..catch it before it ignites, fireproof the surrounding dry tinder. 

I know I've got this.... 

I shiver as the hot wind blows through the charred, gutted shell.

3D Views

She was southern personified. Elegant, gracious, welcoming and kind....and I didn't see it coming. I had watched her for two years and been a recipient of her kindness, and I knew she was good. Her children all grown with kids of their own, she still lived a life of service. On a car ride with 6 other women through a tunnel of trees she offered a single act of kindness with a heartfelt plea. She told her story of ache and sorrow, problems we never would have guessed; the burdens only a mother can carry when her children struggle to find their way. I suppose it wasn't such a strange story, similar things happen every day, but what it did in me, I'll never forget. To have someone like her ask for help, for a shoulder, for her sound to be heard....

from someone like me...

it spun me around, and I saw in 3D what before had been a pencil sketch. This woman of strength and beauty had also been ripped and torn, and she was real. And if it was so for her, why not every other woman I knew?

Since then, I have had the privilege to know many other women who have lived a full life and fought a good fight, and I love to hear their stories. They show me purpose in what I am doing now. Purpose in the day to day, purpose in climbing the mountains, purpose in fighting with everything I've got for what I've got, and purpose in doing it together.

I suppose they could just smile and wave from the sidelines, covering their scars with the excuses of old age, but they don't, they share the good, the bad and the ugly, and that act of kindness gives me hope that one day I'll have some stories to tell of my own...

in high depth resolution.

wordfull wednesdays @ chocolateonmycranium

Some Things Never Change, But Some Things...

We run in the afternoon heat, soft rubber under foot, lap after lap and even 12 years later the smell, the taste of the heat reflecting from the track is like yesterday, and I am the same. The same person who loves to run, to push past tired legs, to compete and finish stronger than planned, and I am different. My mind is more sure of who I am and what I want. Solid confidence not defeated by the coming and goings of others.

Home with just one and loving the funny conversations and his dependence on my friendship, I am the same. The same as when the oldest was the only one at home and we were best friends all day and had all the time in the world, and I am different. When not careful, I can easily fill the hours and never have enough time to push him on the swings or read with him curled and heavy on my lap for hours.

I feel a little stir of excitement as I guide my niece through the algebra unknowns and I feel in awe at the truth of it all, and I am the same. The same person who discovered this math love through pure accident and reveled in learning the language of it all, and I am different. Still excited, I read the foreign text that has been unused for a decade, I fight fear and wonder if it will ever be preferred tongue again.

I hold the chubby babe of my friend and smell that smell; I swear I can feel milk in my breasts, I am the same. The same one who sat for hours and months, staring...still staring at the wonder that was created inside me, and I long for more of this divine role and soft cooing sounds, and I am different. Understanding the evolution of my divine roll and acceptance settling in as a young girls dreams collide with reality, and I begin to feel that it's ok.

In This Shape

As a young wife, before stretch marks and nursing bras, I ran. On a trail through cedar and sage, miles stretching out behind, I made plans with a friend.  With tight abs and short shorts we exposed our naivete as we planned it all out, it was simply really, run a marathon between each baby, just to make sure we stayed in shape.

And so I ran a marathon.

It was the hardest thing I had ever done....until about six hours before the birth of my oldest child, at that point I looked back on those miles run for strength and found they were marathons short of what I was about to experience.



I haven't run a marathon since...had no desire to really, suprisingly content to stay in the shape of a mother. But now that mother shape is changing, my youngest is now three and sleeps in late...

so I run again.

I find friends who like to run and who read books about running marthons, and again we plan. And now I run miles and miles on Saturday morning and try to ignore little aches and pains, not wanting to give them encouragement, and I wonder just a little bit how hard it will be....

A marthon in this shape that I am in.

Layton Marathon, October 9, 2010

Carnal Confession

 

OK, I admit it.

I like pretty things.

Not that you’d see me dressed up for a run, or even in pantyhose at church, but I do appreciate beauty when I see it.

Have you ever been surprised at where pretty shows up?

I know my morning run will be pretty; even in the dark chill the stars are amazing.

I know the mountains can take my breath away at any given moment…and they jump at the chance.

I know my kids are adorable (and funny, and smart, and not afraid to use any or all of these traits to get out of trouble).

But yesterday, I was surprised by the pretty…didn’t see it coming…but I hit my breaks fast to take another look.

I know, just a truck. I’m not even into trucks…really…

…or so I thought.

 

But I am jonesing sure would enjoy a drive.

Waking Up

I built something. 

It’s not perfect, but that was never the point. It wasn’t really cheap, but that wasn’t really the point either. So why did I shell out $200 for lumber and hardware only to neglect my house, kids and spouse for a whole week and only end up with an OK piece of furniture?

It was fun.

It seriously awoke this part of me that has been hibernating for years…neglected as I juggled babies, toddlers and relocating …and babies, toddlers and relocating. In fact, as I was bending down to hammer in an odd nail, I had a little flash back, of the last time I had attempted such a thing...last time when I bent down it was a strain to reach over my growing stomach and I only had a hand saw, and two year old Rose as a helper. The closet I built then wasn’t perfect either, but every time I looked at it I couldn’t help but smile.

This time all the kids got to help. Sunshine bravely held boards while I cut, Hup did a lot of the hammering and even showed Laser Boy some tricks of the trade. Rose helped paint exactly the way I asked her to, except for not leaving a little of the under color visible; she said it was just sloppy painting and she wouldn’t do it.

The hinges were a little tricky…I’ll know better next time, and the paint needs some touch up, but overall I’m giddy. And now, even two weeks after I finished my book shelf, I can’t walk by it (crooked doors and all) without a little smile.





Plans and loads of more ideas @ Knock Off Wood

Can you hear me now?

I haven't seen my sister in a long time and I miss her. I don't know if I can remember what it was like just to pick up the phone and call her. But sometimes, she comes and whispers something in my ear or even hangs out for a while. Sometimes I'm too busy to even realize she was here until I think back and hear her laughter and encouraging spunk mingled throughout my ordinary day; as real as the laundry, and I gratefully fold and tuck those memories away with the others.

I'm different now. I suppose loss changes anyone, you see things differently, appreciate things you never noticed, and cherish more what is really important.

But it's more than that.

I'm a different person without her here. Bad or good...probably a little of both, but definitely different. I see more of myself, I'm more responsible for my decisions and more accepting of my shortcomings. I feel more united with all kinds of people and more confident on my own.

She stopped by last week and stuck around a while, reminding me of funny songs to teach my kids, helped me do a spring cleaning on my list of priorities, and celebrated new found grit.

I'll always miss her...she left an un-fillable hole. She made me a better person when she was here and when she left. In some ways I like this form of communication better. Simple and uncluttered. Better than any phone plan available.

The Dare

It was cold this morning,
running in the half light of the moon.

It's winter, I know, it's supposed to be cold...but there was something in the wind

the cold wind
that felt like a breeze...something springish.


It's supposed to snow on Sunday, but I couldn't resist. I fed the animals in my shirtsleeves grinning at the not-so-slanted sun...
and dared it to be spring.

Have You Heard?

Is it so strange to feel connected to a tree? Scraggly, hanging bark, mere sticks in the ground..."just part of the yard"...could it be more?

Farmer payers answered with weighty blessings...too much of a good thing? "No, never...but oh, we will miss that tree."

Circled rings, shaded rest, horses, huts and high places. Even before coming alive with giggling grand kids, it was ours.

We stood on branches too thin to grin at the whole world from it's very top, rode it's horse branches and shelled pea mountains in it's shade. We mowed under it's branches as it scratched at bare arms, dozed, laughed and could hardly wait to share it with our kids...adding one more circled ring.

Good times, good memories, and if that was all it would be enough...but I've always felt more...heard more...maybe I'm just feeling sentimental, or waxing poetic, but how do you explain a language to one who has never heard? And if you have, then my words are inadequate.

I have heard whispered peace as I walked under pine boughs...a homesick college girl. I have heard branches beseeching to be climbed every time I ran by, until I finally succumbed, to the surprise of my fiance. I have quietly conversed with willowy treetops as I nursed my babies. I heard live oaks gently awakening my hibernating soul.

Spiritual connection with nature is not a new thought, as Eliza R. Snow wrote of the sacrifice of the Savior, she included the human reactions of the elements.

"The sun in shame withdrew it light!

Earth trembled, and all nature sighed

In dread response, "A God has died!"

~Eliza R. Snow, Behold the Great Redeemer Die

I remember a family grieving for a mountain on fire; more than just fear of lost crops, but the knowledge that a dear friend would never be the same again.

I hear trees, they speak to me, but I believe all nature can encourage, comfort and lift our eyes heavenward; visual symbols of reaching branches and elevated mountain peaks or simple words of praise only our hearts can understand, it is all a simple conversation of gratitude, dependence and love...just waiting to be had.

". . . as long as there are movement and harmony, there are words."~Shannon Hale

Passion or Drudgery

Is it possible to change something you do simply because you love it, into something you do for a purpose, without losing the enjoyment?

Excuse me, your fly is open.

Oh the embarrassment when those words are whispered in your ear. Face flushed, you try to find a way to quickly, discretely zip.

As bad as this is, it is always so much worse to get home and realize you were exposed all day and not a single friend thought to tell you.

So it is with my blog. I was so excited to get online with my new computer (oh, the stress!) only to find my blog was in shambles on my new screen. Text and graphics overlapping and things all askew....sigh....so, I guess I have a lot to learn about formatting my blog, but AT LEAST I KNOW now.

The moral of the story is: Please tell me if I'm exposed!

Thanks :-)

Stubborn Beauty

This tree has caught my eye all week. It's our cherry tree that we planted just over a year ago. While all the other trees are busy undressing, preparing for winter bed, it stands defiant; clinging to it's autumn negligee, refusing to go unnoticed.

Yesterday, as the sun lay low, I could resist no longer. Putting my house on self-pilot, I grabbed my camera and ran out to catch the last bit of light glowing through it's leaves before the early winter dim cooled the show.

I spent the night up and down with sick kids and once, as I again sought slumber, I thought about the tree and connected. This was not just any tree.

This was her tree.

Snow blew in hard through the night and covered the still covered tree beautifully, and I smile.

Three trees were planted to visually remind that they are still close; roots mingled in our soil and branches reaching to the sun.

The kids laughed and named this one Audrey, after the youngest.
She was stubborn just like her mom.

Ongoing gratitude list, #5.