#2 DONE

February 2013 will be held forever in my heart cupped hands.  God moved.  In me.  In my family.  In my boys.  He took these 28 days to shine.  It was a light so harvesty golden that I couldn't help but glean His glory. It was a light so simple & subtle that my eyes had to peer intently with a convicted precision to find it at times too.  And, finally, it was light like a flashlight unveiling the creaky floored attic of my insides.  Shining solely on the cobwebbed corners of my state.  With waft-like waves flailing, my hands had no choice but to physically knock down the evidence of complacency and neglect.  God moved.

My book for February was unofficially chosen by Kenny.  He came to me sometime in January with the idea that we read this book together.  We've never read the same book at the same time.  He had just recently finished In a Pit With a Lion on Snowy Day and wanted more of what Mark Batterson had to say.  I liked the idea of reading the same content at the same time, so I jumped on board.  I jumped on board is an understatement.

I want to speak to you in truth now.  I say you, but I know all too well it's just as much spoken as a resounding reminder for me regarding the cultivation of spirit and just exactly how God-awesome that is when you feel it.  Naysayers, beware.  This is for you too.  I speak it boldly and with a whole hearted conviction for all of us.  The weary.  The misplaced.  The misconstrued. The skeptic. 

I began reading this book when my heart seemed fastened in a dark and clouded place.  Dark like my expressions filed under "h" for honest here.  Clouded like no solutions in sight.  This uninvited guest known as "WTH is happening to me" was present when my red puffy eyes first met the printed text of Mark Batterson.

God infused.  Timely.  Targeted for growth.  Nail on the head.  I heeded these words.  All of them.  I listened & leaned.  I began unraveling the many inconsistencies of me.  

And, it felt so good.  Like fresh colored play dough clean and smooth in my hands, I  began shaping.  Forming new objects of myself.  Shredding away the extraneous scraps that no longer needed attachment.  Re-thinking the design.  Experimenting with the supple smush of second chance.  That's called grace.  

Poignancy personified itself.  In my thinking. In my believing.  In my direction.  In my faith.  To the  weary, the misplaced, the misconstrued and the skeptical naysayers, I experienced a God interested in making me His on a more personal level and for a greater purpose. He came through with a resounding, "I need you. I need your heart, your energy and your gifts for things far more important than being pungently saturated in your puny imperfections of this world."   

This book was a catalysis.  Kenny's simultaneous-book-read request was too.  The church we have consistently been visiting for the past 18 months chimed right in as well.  Coincidence?  No.  Powerful in the presence of the poor in spirit is exactly more like it.  His timing is almighty and undeniable.  Naysayers beware.  Grace knows no bounds.  Hand over your heavy.  Ask and He will absolutely defy your doubts.  My February is proof.  

Currently, I am reading this book as a follow up.  Kenny is taking the challenge right along side me.  I am overwhelmingly humbled and fervently grateful for Kenny's place in all of this.  I needed scooping up.  This isn't the first time.  This man comes through like clockwork.    

My prayer life is changing.  These prayers are specific.  They are abundant and resolute.  If you are on my list, I am giving you over to Him in high detail every.single.day.  

I can't wait to pray.  Did you hear me?  I CAN'T WAIT TO PRAY! It is my most favorite time of the day.  I fill up pages in my journal.  I talk out loud.  I cross off and re-write.  I accessorize my dreams with Him.  

I am seeking His face and His will like never before.  God knows me.  All of me.  And, just in case He doesn't, I am making it a point to tell Him more than I ever have.  In wait for big answers in my story book of requests to Him, I feel clear headed and hopeful.  But most of all, reliant.  I am learning more and more this walk is not meant for easy.  It's meant forever.  Moving with an eternal motive and saturation of His glory in this skin, that's what life is.  

Naysayers, beware. I speak boldly and with a whole hearted conviction for all of us.  The weary.  The misplaced.  The misconstrued. The skeptic. Grace knows no bounds.  Hand over your heavy.  Ask and He will absolutely defy your doubts.  My February is proof.  

.mac :)

Mixed Breed

I like to cook.  I love the mixing and the motions that go into making something yummy.  Creating with food is rewarding.  I mean, I get nothing soulful from spaghettios in the microwave other than easy clean up, less time in the kitchen and processed awesomeness. And, you?  I would like to report that I have a steadfast scientific art to meals in our home, but I don't.  Yes, in my secret life of "Meghan the Great", I  would mimic the handful of friends I have who grade out  beyond rockstar. I have friends who plan their meals and grocery lists on a monthly basis.  I have friends who are utterly wicked freaktastic at clipping coupons and stockpiling like motha truckas.  I even have a friend who has pre-made homemade pancake mix in mason jars with the recipe twined around the top for guests who visit her family's home.  Coincidentally, her handwriting happens to be on the recipe card above.

And, I LOVE THESE FRIENDS.  I look up to them.  They inspire me to be more intentional.  More connected to our family's money and what it provides to the nourishment of our bodies.  On running a family fluidly, I am a mutt of sorts. I am.  I absolutely love the German Shepard pedigree status of creator/artist that I am.  But, I totally cross bred that gift with a scattered/semi-composed/quasi organized Chihuahua down the road.  Ewww, right?  I am but a fledgling in the "art of planned".  How about that for an oxymoron?  I aim to work on it.  I do.  Scratch that.  I am working on it.  S    l    o   w   l   y.

This recipe is one of my all-time easy favorites.  I beam each time I make it.  My taste buds bounce right out of my mouth just thinking about this concoction.  My sweet homegirl, Trisha, first made this dish for me at my house.  Allow me to explain how rockstar she is.  She and her daughter, Camdyn, came to stay with Eli and me the weekend before I was due to have Casey.  {I was big.  I was CAP LOCK PREGGERS. ABOUT TO POP IS AN UNDERSTATEMENT.  Go here for a looksee.}  That particular weekend Kenny, along with Trisha's husband and 11 other men, were on their annual cabin retreat.  Trisha took it upon herself to bring Camdyn down to stay with us just to make sure we were okay.  She drove 4.5 hours with a 22 month old and had a car LOADED with groceries to cook for us for the weekend so that I didn't have to. {And, she left me recipe cards for each meal she cooked.}   What the what?  I know.  That, my friends, is called friendship & compassion in action.  She will forever rank as one of my role models in so many ways.

I beam because this dish is freakin' awesome to taste.  It has fresh cilantro.  Need I say more?  Yes.  You garnish the dish with fresh shredded Parmesan cheese.  Um, I need a moment.       There.  I'm back.  I love this concoction because it's healthy too. I like LOVE donuts as much as the next doll, but I clock in overtime on things that I know my body deserves.  Good food makes me feel good.  Wine does too.  Moderation peeps.  

But, honestly, I would say the high marks this meal receives is for the memory it signifies each time that I make it.  I think about Trisha.  I think about her character and her selfless heart.  I think about a grocery laden car with a 22 month old and 4.5 hours just to help me.  To make my life a little easier.  Safer.  Just in case.  It's these people that I praise God for.  Not just then, but now too.  Those people that aren't necessarily a part of your everyday, but in your every now & again that provide a pillar of strength to you.  Through their outstretched arms and God given gifts, they press in upon your heart.  They make you more.  And, they don't even realize it.  It's just them. I am thankful for these connections.  I'm thankful for God's placement of so many outstanding characters in my walk here on Earth.  Through them, I learn so much about His love.  The Chihuahua in me is ever grateful for my homegirl, Trisha.

Black Bean & Salsa Noodle Soup

• 3 cans (14 oz. each) vegetable broth
• 1 jar (16 oz.) salsa
• 1 can (15 oz.) black beans, drained. (I use 2)
• 1 can (11. oz.) whole kernel corn, drained
• 1 package (5 oz.) Japanese curly noodles or spaghetti noodles
• 1/3 cup chopped fresh cilantro
• 1 tablespoon lime
• 1 teaspoon chili powder
• 1/4 teaspoon pepper
• 2 tablespoons shredded Parmesan cheese

1.  Heat broth to boiling in large sauce pan.  Stir in remaining ingredients except cheese.  Reduce to medium heat.

2.  Cook 5-6 minutes, stirring occasionally until noodles are tender. Sprinkle with cheese.

6 servings
220 calories
2 grams of fat
8 grams of fiber
0 mg cholesterol


.mac :)

{life jacket}

This life is one wave after another, Eli.  It's rockin' the boat.  It's diving in when you're just not sure of the water's temperature.  It's moving.  Forward.  Backward.  Forward again.  Even the calmest waters have the consistency of rhythm; there is a current deep within us all. Ripples run through us. It's His master plan.  The ripples.  The ever churning swirls beneath.  He put them in us all.  To be stirred.  To create a noise and to make a splash.  Be purposeful in your endeavors.  Don't shy away from the unknown. Stay not in the boat out of fear.  Yes, it's true.  We are designed to sink.  Without physical motion in concordance with an astute awareness of our surroundings as well as our breaths, we will plunge deep.  Be purposeful. Aware.  Ready.  Ready for the awesomeness of the ride. The peaks and the pits. The wind and the water around you. The weightlessness inside the movement. Freedom.  Hold on all while you're letting go. He forever will be your life jacket.  

Make waves, Eli Garrett. 

Make waves.

Mama :)

{week 48:  my 2 in 52}

{missed}

Places and people.  Dang, God is good.  The above is an image of a place the boys and I adore.  We frequented our little heaven hideaway on the regular and in all seasons too mind you.  Just a 10 minute stint from our old home, this was a place of freedom and natural bliss.  I've written about this spot here and here and here and here.  Yes,  this spot has a history of happy.

This place is not perfect. It's a public state park.  Hence, from time to time, you may spot an individual with a house arrest ankle cuff monitor. You will most definitely feel, at times, that you are literally inside a tattoo catalog browsing for your next ink.  On several occasions, I have stepped in as an unbeknownst volunteer lifeguard/stand-in attentive mom to the handfuls of little ones left in the water with 100% accident proof will protect you from anything arm floaties.  Yes, this place may just be considered a nose-in-the-air to those with country club pool passes.  But, not for us.  We like it.  Maybe it's because it brings me the same kinda feeling that the place I adored when I was I little girl gave me.

{Summer 2011}

But, the place is just for starters.  The people that were a part of our hideaway are perhaps what made it most magical.  We.miss.these.people.  Above is the last trip we made to our lake before moving 2.5 hours away.  Arlene and her kiddos, Brayden & McKenzie, were our rock steadys.  They lived just a street over from us.  She and her husband, E.K., have a huge chapter written in our lives on Hillcrest Road.  Arlene and I were all the time heading out on adventures.  This post is just tiny example of the impromptu goodness we had being neighbors and great friends.  My boys miss their Brayden.  His silly antics and his happy heart.  I miss Arlene.  Her huge ticker and her hilarious ideas for fun are irreplaceable.  The green ball.  Christmas night dinners.  Easter egg hunts.  Devotion times.  The back porch.  Yes, I miss her.  Then there's Sarah.  She and her little ones, Garyn & Ansley.  I've written about her here when the most wonderful thing had happened for their family. And, again here as a memory of great times together.  Sarah's heart is precious. The boys love Garyn & his world renown Wii games.  Sarah, Arlene and I were a trio of good deal finding.  The first Saturday of the month it was guaranteed that we were together and creating a great ruckus of fun for 1/2 off weekend at the ever infamous Goodwill. Don't believe me?  Check out our good times for yourself.  And, on the topic of together, who can forget the Batstreet Boys?

{Summer 2012}

Last summer, the boys and I made a trip back to our magical. We were fortunate enough to have all in tow for another great memory to mark in our record books.  Silly things like time and miles stand in the way of what used to be our regular routine.  I'm thankful for trips back.  I'm thankful for friendships that make you better.  For out loud laughter that secures you in times when a smile is so very missed.  It's these memories that let you know you are loved by a heavenly Father who's in the spoiling business.

Spoiling business is just exactly the case.  I am thankful for these people.  For this place.  For the memories that minimize the miles between us.  {missed}.  Most certainly.  

.mac :)

{brand}

{shirt in hand posted about here & here.  Stellar purchase might I add.}

I've been thinking a lot about the word brand lately.  Thinking long spells on this 5 letter example of synergy, it's true.  This ponderation has consumed my precious times reserved for journaling and meditation cleaning the blasted kitchen after dinner and folding never ending piles of laundry.

brand |brand|

noun

1 a type of product manufactured by a particular company under a particular name : a new brand of detergent.

• a brand name : the company will market computer software under its own brand.

2 an identifying mark burned on livestock or (esp. formerly) criminals or slaves with a branding iron.

• archaic a branding iron.

• figurative a habit, trait, or quality that causes someone public shame or disgrace : the brand of Paula's alcoholism.

Both definitions have me consumed.  I'm on a see-saw with these 5 letters maneuvering my weight shift just enough to balance each meaning into a harmonized state of equilibrium with myself.  You see, brand is a big deal to me.  What with my booming entrepreneurial Goodwill spokes model pursuit and then again with just the who I want people to know is the quality behind k.Mac, the digestion of 'name' is critical.  I look for brands.  I scour encyclopedia-ed racks of used garments & accessories on quite the regular tip.  In musty-overcompensated-with-Lysol drenched establishments, I seek out the notable variety.  The Ann Taylor.  The infamous Banana.  The Gap.  The Limited.  The Boden.  The Ralph Lauren too.  Like a hungry lioness, I patrol the purged and reprocessed with skilled strategy.  And, once in sight, I collapse vehemently on the golden prize of brand.  I look not for stains or tears until phase 2 of my procurement process.   Experience settles it; keenly, brand and I are acquainted.

My pursuit of the "low miles; one owner" wannabes is not bigoted, mind you.  I am abundantly the ambassador of equality when it comes to style worthy potential. Into the buggy goes anything that fits the possible bill of 'real darn cute'.  It's phase 3 where the rubber meets the road of ready-or-not recyclability with regards to my wallet.

And, this is where this post sits nicely down on its haunches of just what the heck I aim to say.  I'm noticing.  Yes, this see-saw ride is doing more than just creating a dizzier best dressed of me.  Brands that are well known for their tags {high end name brands} leave me with buggys of much smaller sizes and yet with more room for wiggling.  Their fit is truer in form.  Their shape is contoured and suitably appropriate.  

Articles of clothing that one would consider a sub-scale in the hierarchy of fashion have a tighter fit with a higher numerical output on the tag.  Their fit is awry more often than not.  Sleeves are a tad shorter.  Inseams are a bit snugger.  Length is inevitably an issue.  Brand, swift & clever-like, pontificates its two-sided teeter-toter masterfully.  No weight shifting needed by me; equilibrium has arrived.

brand |brand|

noun

2 an identifying mark burned on livestock or (esp. formerly) criminals or slaves with a branding iron.

• archaic a branding iron.

• figurative a habit, trait, or quality that causes someone public shame or disgrace : the brand of Paula's alcoholism.

The mark you leave.  What will it be?  Truer in form or snug in the inseam?  Will you concern yourself with the number on the inside secretly wishing your could wear your article reversed outward for all the world to see? Is that your reason for living this day-to-day?  To feel that your innards are synonymous with a number on a tag?   Will you seek the good in quality even if it means rummaging or waiting it out until the perfect piece finds you with the pocketbook to purchase?  Or, will you satiate your substance with the sub par to sidle through your everyday?  What will be your brand?  

And, what about others?  Will you be able to spot their stitched tags of upscale?  Will these woven brand names of theirs make more of you?  Or, will you settle for the issue of odd length and premature ending sleeves only to say your spoken for and somewhat supported?

With sounds of classical music playing and fresh flowers filling my writing nook hands swimming in dishwater and befuddled by where the freakin' match to the umpteen millionth sweat sock is, I ponder my brand.  I ask these questions whole heartily and-in-the-face dead on too.  I want to be a brand of stature.  Me.  I want to be the true fit.  The tag reached for.  I want to be that for myself and for others.  I want it just as much for k.Mac too.  And, my biggest wish?  My biggest wish is that no matter where I am situated, I can always be found.  On Goodwill racks.  In storefronts on mannequins under spot lights galore.  Or in driveways for Saturday morning yard sales.

Me.
{my brand}

.mac

{saturate}

She wore tangerine tights?  Yes.  A far cry from an itsy bitsy tiny weeny yellow polka dot bikini I know.  It's winter and I was on a mission to color block like a mad dog. Mission accomplished wouldn't you agree?  It's time.  Time to let out all of what I have hoopty cooped up on the inside of my meticulously categorized & ever efficient cerebral filing cabinet highly trafficked scratched on & circled around Steno Pad noggin notes.

The year is twenty-to-the-thirteen and I am aiming to be a connector.  Of joy.  Of growth.  Of reality.  Of tangerine tight wearing.  I need you to feel my need for speed if you haven't already. Go here to powder puff your nose in the ladies' room of me if you will.  Once you freshen up, I'll be waiting for you just outside.   Look for me.  I'll be the one wearing tangerine tights.

My word for January was {saturate}.  I love this word so very much.  It's definitively discerning if you ask me.  It leaves not a quandary one in the mind; it exemplifies 100%.  It's over the top and I like it. My start to a new year needed gusto and the word {saturate} said "Holla if you hear me, girl."  I resounded with a, "Loud & clear, Mamacita."

My mission for January is below.  I wanted to put together a January billboard so to speak.  You know, something to keep me focused.  The pleated skirt-megaphone carrying-bloomer wearing combination of this layout below did just this for me this month.  It reminded me time and again of my whys and my wheres and my what fors too.

* GIVE IT OUT.

Love is free.  It's not hard.  It will never be taxed.  It spreads like wildfire.  So why in the hell would I want to keep it in?  I do more often than I care to admit.  Way too many times am I guilty of snobbery to the ones I love.  I  get so sucked into the sarlacc of tunnel vision that I neglect to hand out my heart tickets.  And, you know they expire like Cinderella's glass slippers and glitter get up at the stroke of midnight every night?  Yep, they do. And, you can't get them back either.  This is how I chose to look at my January.  I looked at each day with an opportunity to hand out the tickets from my heart good for that day only.  That analogy did wonders.  I prayed every morning that I hand out as many as I possibly could to whom ever crossed my path.  Guess what?  I giggled more.  I found funny in myself.  I saw my boys in a more joyful light.  My Kenny was missed even more the times he was away at work.  By giving the free in my heart away, my ticker racked up in return.

* CONSIDER THE COST.

Faith is all up on me right now.  It's like God's just called a timeout and changed from a 2-3 zone to a man-to-man.  And, Faith? Well, she's guarding me.  I am praying for Him to shake me in greater ways.  And, He is.  I want to find balance more in my life.  I am praying more specifically about this.  I am asking Him to give me the wisdom to know when and to know how.  I want to work smarter for k.Mac.  My hours can't be forever & a day and all the time.  I am one.  I want my work to be joyful and to be exceptional and to be anticipated.  To me & to my clients.  I want to know when it is time to head to bed and call it a day or when it's past due for a little R&R time for me.  I am a worker bee by nature. Like, I seriously have issues with work and all.the.time.  My internal is off kilter when it comes to quitting time.  I am seeking Him to help me.  He is.  My days and nights are taking on a more fluid shape with regards to timing.  My down time is fueling me more for the quality of work I want to have behind my brand.  The cost of overworked is more work.  The rested are ready & reminded of the joy & passion behind what they choose to do.

* FACE IT.

There are things that bring you down.  Things you want to be different but are out of your hands entirely.  Things that no matter what you do, you find yourself in the exact same spot.  It is frustrating and disheartening for the overachiever in me.  And, that's just it.  I don't have to overachieve with these things.  I can't spew rainbows from my mouth over & again and expect a different outcome.  What can I do?  I can be me.  I can remind myself that we all have those wishfuls that just aren't there.  Maybe one day they will be. Maybe not.  Chasing down these dark hearted hangovers leaves you with an empty bottle of Tylenol and reeking breath.  Stop it.


* DELETE DRAMA.

Out of thread?  Get more.  Just made the trip. Cussing and stomping loudly followed by an overwhelming pity party.  Deal with it and do it again.  Forgot milk?  Stomp your feet and throw a big fat hissy in the parking lot.  Suck it up and go back in and get it.  Worried about the boys? Lay up all night and talk to forty gajillion people for their advice. Think realistically about their health, progress and happiness.  Pray for wisdom and guidance.  Give your best.  Have to pay a late fine for your electric bill?  Moan and groan over it to the point of ridiculous.  Pay it.  Many of my energies are spent out on wasted issues.  Less drama for this mama and more problem solving and priority setting is needed.  The boys need to see efficiency from me.  They need to see a human too.  The grace practiced  in mistake makings is powerful. For all.

* SINK INTO THAT SMILE.

I have one you know.  And, my parents were even awesome enough to give me braces.  It's one of Kenny's favorite things about me.  There's lots to smile about too.  Smiling is free.  It creates an energy that sends warmth. I pearled it up this month.  Yes, I did.  I concentrated on my smile and who needed it. Who deserved it.  How it felt to give it.  And, the feelings on the inside that created these corners up. Genius lies in what God gives you for free.  The more I sank down into that smile of mine and what it stood for, the more it seemed I held my shoulders back.  The more ready my hands were to help or to hold. Freely, I sunk.  More in love with Him.  More in love with me.  

* CHANGE THE GAME.

I don't brush my teeth but once a day.  There. I said it.  BUT, it's a whole new ball game thanks to January's {saturate}.  I took this month to get down and dirty in certain areas of my life.  I now have 41 days under my belt as a morning and nighttime teeth brusher thankyouverymuch.  I also apply moisturizer to my face twice daily.  I have read one book.  Yep.  Count it.  I am working on my nightly routine of reading before bed with that coach of mine.  Kenny, the boys and I have started a nightly family devotion. It is precious time reading God's word with our two.  They are quizzical and immersed in our times each night.  God's preparing 2 new students for His glory I do believe.  I have begun a bible study on Wednesday nights about raising boys.  Kenny is attending one on finances for our family.  And, the boys have joined AWANA.  I'm exercising differently.  Running 3-4 times a week and interchanging the runs with core strength training.  Our homeschool routine is different as well.  The boys and I have a more regimented schedule of elapsed learning time so to better use my afternoon time for design work and sewing.  Kenny and I also ventured into the world of the iPhone.  It was a splurge for us, but one we budgeted and are completely enjoying too might I add.  An overall change of the game has amped me up.  I am loving the newness and turnover of good that has come from some simple shifts, decisions and work towards new habits & routines.  

Below are what I like to call the morals of  my January's {saturate}:

Below are some examples of my morale boosts for January:

Gap brand navy blue/white pinstripe oxford:  $1.25 GW

New Boundaries brand gray vest:  $1.00 GW

Limited brand denim pencil skirt:  $1.50 GW

Ann Klein brand tights (IN THE PACKAGE STILL):  $.25 GW

scarf:  $.25 GW

gray suede booties:  FREE (gift)

TOTAL COST OF ENSEMBLE:  $4.25

* GW = Goodwill

I'm gonna pop some tags. Only got twenty dollars in my pocket.

                                         -Macklemore

A sprinkling of my favorite January Goodwill finds:

Ann Taylor brand jacket:  $3.25

Gray and black pinstriped Fedora:  $1.25

Ann Taylor brand charcoal gray linen pants:  $1.99

Lerner New York brand punky greenish yellow gathered sleeved sweater:  $1.25

Carhart overalls for Eli:  $3.25

My January Grade Card:

Let me hear you now:

Color blocking like a mad dog,

.mac :)

{it}

Passion.  Life's "that's it" for each of us has ever the playful heart.  Peek-a-boo like, your inner mojo can be hidden.  Impatient & anxious, it rests behind cubby holes and inside cluttered closets.  It pokes out from under crumpled rock piles as you go along the mundane.  You know, the mind management otherwise known as your space here on Earth.  For those acutely aware of time & journey, unveiling tiny tidbits of their most masterful is like magic. Early on, these are the little ones who are lost in story.  The ones buried in blocks or mystified with eyes behind microscopes fervently flipping the pages of books for the simple sake of knowledge. They're the ones ones shooting ghost ball jump shots or making last second touchdown catches in living rooms. The kiddos cloaked in constant costume.  It's there for them.  And, they know it.  They feel it.  It's as if they can't live without it.  It. Their passion perfectly placed for soaring in the who God keenly created them to be. It pulses out of them. These are the magical ones. The special. The ones who innately know their it.  

I'd like to think many of us knew our magical at an early age.  God spoils us like that.  I blame the methodical mindset of maturity for the suffocation of passion.  Life's hustle simply flattens us.  Schedules and scores squelch out the joy in the God given great for many of us.  Lucky are the ones still cloaked in costume and mystified by the magnified of the lens.  

{Casey reading to Eli  his first published book.}

I was one of the lucky for awhile.  A stuffed animal owl and eagle were my wildlife rescues in my very own television show about endangered species.  It aired at least 3 times a week in my back yard.  I was the sequined bodice lead majorette in countless Macy's Thanksgiving Day parades. I performed in sold out stages across America as a Rockette.  I wrote television jingles and screenplays too.  With the two button duo press, I recorded and directed radio shows on my cassette recorder with my brother and the neighborhood kids. I wrote journals full of soap opera scripts.  I advertised markdown sales for TG&Y. I choreographed a multitude of dance routines to the sounds of the Judds, Madonna, Tiffany and Debbie Gibson.

 {A collection of the boys' writing journals.}

But then things like formal lessons of "You have to learn with the right hand to twirl the baton not the left" and "Don't you think you would like to play basketball better?" found their way into my heart.  My it changed. I slid into a world of the succumb.  Breathes became more shallow and life's color turned to sepia for a bit.  Confidence lessened and insecurities increased in this left handed little girl.

{Eli reading to Casey his fourth published book}

But, God's got a way of giving back to you what is rightfully yours.  I took a detour from my inner me. It's not that I didn't excel in my off road excursion. I did. It's just my heart had inner most happy elsewhere.  And, when that innermost sidled back into its comfy spot on the couch of me?  The pillow cushions possessed the warmth of its presence long ago as if it had never left.

I create.  That's my it.  It's like breathing to me.  I love expressing emotions.  I move. I write.  Rules like "you have to twirl with your right hand" run a pesky parallel to "you can't write a sentence without this grammatical rule in tact".  My it does not exist for red markings or measure ups.  

And, the more I reunite with the little girl ever present in her back yard studio/stage of dreams, the more of the best me I become.  For myself.  For my family.  For others.

{I began writing journals with them when they were 3 years old.}

My innate sense of creating is a strength. God wouldn't have given it to me if it wasn't.  The gift of writing is a joy that I can't help but share.   Only this time it's not scripts for back yard radio shows, for the latest sale on TG&Y's storefront window or for soap opera screenplays.  It's for my boys. I am using my it to teach them.  To teach them that words have a profound purpose on paper. With eyes as their staircase, words wind upward into corners of minds and down deep into souls.  They open up new worlds, mold hearts and make more of people in wonderful ways.  For better.  For happier.  For good.  

I write this post for confidence's sake.  I write it as a reminder too. We all have a passion.  It's inside each of us and naturally born.  Find it.  Don't forget it if you're like me and lost it for a time.  Don't hide it.  As parents, don't stifle it in your children.  Savor it in yourselves and your little ones growing.  Celebrate who they are with a resounding joy that banishes all preset rules and fancy mainstream ways of saying "you can't".  

Impatient & anxious, it rests behind cubby holes and inside cluttered closets.  It pokes out from under crumpled rock piles as you go along the mundane. 

Don't let it.

.mac :)