Perhaps what we are meant to do is to work with what is already in our hands. It may seem quite simple but truthfully it is not what I usually focus on. My goals and dreams are bigger than what I can reach. I often pursue them while I sacrifice the now to achieve the future. I know what happens when I do that, life happens. No matter how I resist my current state and extend my hand to a higher calling, it always seems to pull me down to what is now calling my attention. The more I fight it, the more my hopes and goals take a hit, the more disappointed I am and the more of a failure I feel. If I begin to narrow these things to what is truly important, I may just may get somewhere.
I’d love to be a writer. One that actually has time to write on a daily basis, one that works on a novel and extends that even to other fields of writing. I would love to be that awesome business owner that seems to know how to increase sales and suck the juice out of every advertising venue. I would love to be that pilot that can log hours into destinations that become the center of new adventures and more writing. I could be the woman who speaks about God in a way that would set fire to hearts desiring more to know who He is and why He does the things He can only do. I would love to be that rocking mom that makes her kids laugh, enjoy their lives and feel inspired to make the right choices for their lives. I would love to be that woman who leaves her husband breathless and always thinking of her. I admit right now I am these things in some ways, small ways really. Nevertheless to try to be all of them, leaves me without accomplishing any of these.
I haven’t written in a long time and I guess part of that is that I’ve been trying too hard. I can be the writer that writes when inspiration comes or when I realize nothing fulfills like a good typing exercise. I do work slowly when I can at this small business I have when time allows. I am the pilot that dreams of being in the air and does what it can to stay connected until the money flows enough to help me fly. I do speak and encourage all that I meet to believe in a God that cares and is willing to love. I am the mom that flusters herself trying so hard to do all and do it well. Then I pause. When I take the time to bathe my babies while singing songs and making airplane noises while I brush their teeth, I do become someone I admire. My husband still says I keep him on his toes and thinks of me often.
Life happens, your expectations didn’t match your reality. My expectations did not match and to try to fight it with all my might, leads to missing out to what I have right now. So I pause and work with what is in my hands. It’s not perfect in the way that I would want it and though it was a tough day today I realized it. I sang with a giraffe puppet in my hands making my toddler laugh hysterically and it hits me. I can be this and this is pretty good. This is the woman I am and the one I want to be, one that uses what she has to live, embrace and bless.
So it begins, she thinks this morning she’ll sleep in and rest. The baby cries and calls her, she passes the ball. For weeks she desires to relaxation from her stressful life. Afterall, passing the ball is key to success in a team. Her teammate mumbles through the sheets, he’s sick. Tired from the day before she drags herself and smiles to the happy toddler who stretches his arms toward her. The day continues and subtle obstacles rise to the surface. She dodges the negativity and anger fits but her patience drips away. She chases the curious toddler around more obstacles. The first challenge of the day traps her behind closed doors. Alone battling the things that continue to pile, her strength weakens. She finds herself caged, her anger grows. She walks in circles. She comes up with quick games, which bore the little one. She walks outside and back inside. She thinks of a drive to somewhere, anywhere, but the car seat is not in the available car. She has no where she could go. Outside her window a beautiful day beckons her, if only there was a nearby park. Even nap time has no relief, as the baby boy refuses to sleep. Whether hunger, frustration or exhaustion, she giggles in her thoughts. She fantasizes on jumping on top of the weak husband while her child holds on to her leg. Ashamed at her thoughts she makes a call. She needs someone to bring about the right perspective, to help her calm her inward growls. She calls her mom.
Author’s note: Sometimes we just need to be children again and get help. Are you willing to be the kid and be guided in wisdom?
A lonely bench waits for lunch time when it feels alive again. At 12:05 on the dot two women sit on it. One of them begins to cry. She waves her arms in circles while her spit reaches three feet ahead of her. The bench stirs in the movement and feels the tremor of the woman’s legs as she speaks. The other woman sitting by her, listens and eats. On precise moments the listener sighs or gasps in disbelief. The first woman lists by order of bad to worse every detail of the hours before. She leans forward to show the attitude of her enemies and jumps up with her fist tall. She confesses her wishes to stand up and say what she thinks. At 12:15, they hug. Her tears refresh the bench. The first woman dries her tears and pulls out her lunch to eat. The second woman crosses her legs, leans back and takes in a deep breath. She stretches her arms wide to express the first words she heard today. She uncrossed her legs faces the other woman with a hand on her hip. She wags her pointing finger and rolls her eyes. The bench moves forward an inch hoping for a lift as the speaker’s anger rises. She continues to sway her hips and hold out her arms to prove the weight of the day on her shoulders. The first lady nods as she eats her meal. The second lady finishes her time with a question, had she done wrong? The first shakes her head. The time 12:25 and as they hug one more time they look to each others eyes, they can overcome the day. The bench watches them leave and inspired by their love decides today she will stand regardless of what the wind or rain say to her.
Author note: I often see as a woman how much criticism we experience on a daily basis and we need a listener to bounce off the negativity and encourage us. On a day when all things go wrong the friend that listens, though a hard task, relieves the speaker’s tight and wounded heart. Could you be the listener regardless of the advice that yearns to come out? or How do you respond when unsolicited advice is given freely but you were not heard?
Every scream affects an individual differently. For one particular individual it unfolds a series of trials. The first scream stuns her, she quickly relies on a quick fix, a soother. It works except it’s not lasting. The second scream she leans forward to search in her bag of tricks any object of interest. She succeeds but the glory fades. The next scream and she positions the advances of technology for entertainment. The interest held but for a few moments. The preceding scream and the obvious complains come to mind. Perhaps hunger or thirst are the culprits. Each remedy however produces a higher pitch. Blankets, bounces, funny faces could not stop it. She is it. The one she hoped she would never be, the mother with the inconsolable child. At this time she feels the moans of the other passengers, as she pounds her thinking cap for another idea. Nothing would work and she could not control it. Every scream increased her desire to cry and scream herself.
Have you been it too?
At first to impress or to continue conversation every bit of detail seems fitting. It speaks with freedom and comfort of all subjects. There is no question about consequences, nor interpretation. Expressing honesty in its purest form is the only wise choice. There are no restraints when the heart means well. Then, reason arrives and the words once spoken through the lips of another sound ill. All the secrets become public knowledge. A fool quick to speak becomes the shame of transparency. If only restrains came with the mouth and tongue then regret could not chase another soft heart away.
Her life is full of predictability. She wakes up and lies down at the same hours, she follows all of her appointments and every interaction is like the last. Recently, she notices her companions do not look familiar and she does not remember the regular events of the day. Her daily tasks seem unimportant and she would rather sleep than stay awake to see nothing of value happen. She writes diligently in her diary every event as the day progresses and the next day she reviews it with detail. Only the meals, clothes and familiar faces bring comfort. Though frustration with her current state looms over her head, she keeps every day on the same pace. One day she could not remember anything from the day before, but she knew her diary would help. She grabs it and reads it aloud to her family member on her visit. She reads about her lunch and talk with Ivy down a few doors. She reads also about the letter she wrote to the president. Her visitor draws closer to hear the story. She goes on to read what she wrote the president on the current state of war. She plainly states that her family could lose their home unless the president takes action and ends the war. She leans forward to show the president’s response. He thanked her for her concern and assured her that he was doing the best he could to make life safer for her family. She smiles as she remembers that day, then a frown sneaks in. She becomes aware of the time. The event did not take place the day before. She was nine years old when she wrote to the president. She tries to change the conversation and looks about the room for somewhere to rest her tired eyes. Her visitor begins to ask her for more details on the president’s letter. She did not know her grandmother as well as she thought. The slip of time revealed a new depth to her life. The current troubles did not remind her of failure for she fascinates her granddaughter with fearless stories of her past.
May your past of this year, reveal a wiser individual in the coming year. Happy New Year!
She stands. The wind blows picking up her hair and pulling it to all directions. Her dress pushes against the front of her body. Small pieces of paper and metal fly past her cheeks while a single speck of dirt spreads on her forehead. Tiny rocks and pebbles scrape her legs and nose. Her dress struggles on her. It doesn’t know whether to hang on or be set loose by the force beckoning it. Her eyes rest closed. She doesn’t clench her teeth. She doesn’t close her fists. Every flying object bruises her arms but she doesn’t complain. She can feel the strength of the storm. She can also feel the weakness in her body. Others walk by her and feel nothing, see her but ignore her. The sun does not scorch them nor do they feel their own weaknesses. She does know her frailty and does feel the pain and yet she stands resolute.