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Happy 24th Birthday, Abby!

Oct 7, 2022 | Mothers and Daughters

Happy Birthday, sweet girl. Every year I wonder how it is possible that twelve months / fifty two weeks / three hundred and sixty five days have caused me to love you even more.  And yet, without fail, I do.

And these twelve months?

I have watched you embrace and embody courage, conviction, tenderness, vulnerability, strength, perseverence, grief, possibility, and promise.

I have watched you reach deep within to summon all these and then some as you have made hard decisions—choosing to consistently and bravely honor yourself.

I have watched you move across the country, establish a new home, and start a new job—demonstrating grace and hope in the midst of the inevitable struggles and stresses that can’t help but accompany these huge transitions.

I have watched you love and laugh, agonize and cry, question and doubt, pick and choose, fall down and rise up—over and over again.

Over and over again I have been amazed by you, humbled by you, grateful for you beyond what words can possibly express. And still I try . . .

I marvel at who you are and who you continue to become. I marvel at the fact that somehow, in the grand-and-miraculous scheme of things, I have the privilege of being your mom. And I marvel at the certainty that when another twelve months / fifty two weeks / three hundred and sixty five days have passed, I will love you more still.

Happy 24th Birthday, Abby. I love you.

Happy 24th Birthday, Emma Joy!

Oct 31, 2020 | Mothers and Daughters

Happy 24th Birthday, Emma Joy.Though I’ve written these missives every year for a very long time, this one feels different. It’s weightier. More significant. More poignant.

This is, of course, because tomorrow you and I will get in a rented SUV and begin our 3000+ mile journey that takes you to your new and amazing life. I am excited for you. I am beyond-proud of you. I am in awe of your strength and courage. And I am struggling to find the words to express how much I will miss you.

It’s a strange thing: wanting your child to make her own decisions, forge her own path, have the capacity and desire to move across the country for a new job, new friends, a new life. But it’s a knife’s edge. Just on the other side is the part of me that desperately wants to keep you close, safe, protected. I can’t have both. And in truth, I don’t want both – no matter how hard it is to let you go. I want you to be you, to go out and live the huge and loud and colorful and wild and brave and amazing life that is yours…that has always been yours.

I’ve watched as you’ve struggled with the binding restrictions of culture, religion, expectations, academics, family, gender, voice, and power. But unlike so many, you have broken those chains – defied them, every one – and stepped into yourself, your heart, your knowing, your story, your strength. In truth, you’ve been doing this for years now. Tomorrow marks but one more – one more link to loosen and let go of. It’s a beautiful thing to witness. You are.

No surprise: I’m in tears. And I’m reminded of the ones I shed when you were born; finally in my arms after years of waiting, nearly all hope extinguished. Tears of joy. The rush of love. The power of your presence. Today’s tears are different, to be sure – leaving my arms after years of being close, now every hope realized. But still the joy, the rush of love, the power of your presence…whether near or far.

There will be more tears, I’m sure. As we cross through state after state – getting closer to Kentucky and the future that calls you forward. As we haul boxes up three flights of stairs. As I embed images in my mind of your neighborhood, your home, your friends, your workplace, your world. As we buy groceries and staples and open Amazon boxes. As I hold you one last time (for now) before getting on a plane. As I fly back. As I walk into the future that calls me forward.

I’m not sad. (Well, maybe a little…) I’m grateful. I’m humbled. I’m amazed. I’m overwhelmed by the gift you’ve been to me. And no matter what or where, always, endlessly, forever in my heart…you are my heart.

I love you, sweet girl. Happy Birthday.

When Things Don’t Go as Planned

Feb 22, 2018 | Hope & Encouragement, Mothers and Daughters, My sort-of Sermons, Women's Voice & Power, Writing

I’ve been thinking a lot, even more than I normally do, about my daughters. About the trials and tribulations that, by necessity it would seem, visit every life. About how each and every one of these pains feel insurmountable to them right now. They are not. But neither of them know that yet.

So this: an open letter to my girls (and maybe to you, as well).

Sweet girl:

I know you hold a picture in your mind as to how your story “should” go, at the very least, how you want it to go. It might be one you began to create when you were so very young (which doesn’t seem all that long ago to me) – nurtured and nuanced over these past years: you’ll be safe, you’ll b  nurtured, you’ll be protected, you’ll be loved. It might be more specific: the white picket fence, the 2.5 kids, the perfect job-body-marriage-bank account. And it might be all of these and then some – including a strong-and-sustained sense of what, quite frankly, just seems right and fair: happiness, ease, satisfaction, fun, and a lack of struggle and pain. There’s nothing wrong with these pictures. They are beautiful manifestations of your desire, your longing for all that’s possible, your hope.

But reality doesn’t always (if often) comply. Life doesn’t always (if often) go as planned,
dreamed, or even pictured.

And when that dissonance arrives? I know, sweet girl: it hurts.

“So?” you ask. “Now what?”

Maybe, for now, allowing the hurt is what matters most. It’s completely acceptable: feeling sad and forlorn, lost and confused, discombobulated by the curves thrown your way. Yes, for now.

“For how long?”

I wish I knew.

But here’s what I do know:

You let go, or at least loosen your grip on how it all “should” be. Even more, you hold on – with all the conviction and determination you can muster. Yes, this I
know for sure: you hold on to you.

That is enough. Because you are.

You are strong enough to weather any set-back – including this one. You are brave enough to manage every emotion – whether fleeting or seeming to take up roost. You are tenacious enough to grab onto the tail end of hope and wrangle it back into its rightful place in your psyche, your perspective, your present tense. You are tender enough to make room for grief while trusting its healing power. You are bold enough to get up again tomorrow, to stand tall, to face all that awaits (within and without), and to step forward – no matter how tentatively – into the life that is yours, the one that spreads out before you in all its unknown, in all its possibility, and yes, right now, in all its poignant ache.

I know you aren’t buying most of this, that you don’t quite believe me. Not yet. That’s
OK.

In the meantime, you can hold on to me. Because I do know a few things that I’ll hold in trust and reserve until you are ready to try them on and take them in:

  • Things don’t always go as planned and they do get better. I promise.
  • What feels like forever, isn’t. I promise.
  • What seems a mess, might very well be, but it will turn into beauty. I promise.
  • Every bit of this is part of your story, a chapter you’ll look back on fondly (eventually) – aware that it formed you in profound and powerful ways. I promise.
  • It won’t always hurt as much as it does right now. I promise.
  • Though you doubt me in this moment, I’m right about this: you are more than enough. I promise.

Little consolation, I get it. Still, my heart on your behalf. Still and again, hold on, sweet girl. When things don’t go as planned you can rest assured that you are yet to live into a picture, a story, and a life beyond imagining.

How can I say such a thing with any degree of con dence, let alone sanity? Well, almost exclusively because of you.

When I was your age, I could not have possibly imagined a picture, story, or life that was big enough, vast enough, amazing enough to include you. I could not have
dreamed this big or believed I could love this deeply. And I could not have known that I was enough to bear my own disappointments, shattered dreams, mislaid plans, and broken hearts. But I was. And I am.

As are you.

So hold on, sweet girl. I promise: it’s all going to be OK.

Before Valentine’s Day

Feb 7, 2018 | Hope & Encouragement, My sort-of Sermons

I have an ambivalent relationship with Valentine’s Day.

When young(er), I wished and prayed that I would have a Valentine by the time the day arrived. I was almost always disappointed. Much, much later, when I married at 31, I chose Valentine’s Day for the wedding itself. That changed my position and perspective. Every year, as our anniversary rolled around, I was (mostly) able to see the day in a positive and heart-warming way. After 14 of annual celebrations, we separated then divorced, the former occurring just weeks before the marking of our 15th year. That Valentine’s Day was significant – not a celebration, but certainly a marker not about relationship with another, but with myself; not about another’s love, but my own – for me. And now, 10+ years later, I admittedly vacillate between the wishing/praying of my younger years and an almost complete disconnect from the day itself.

Would I like to have this day marked with roses, chocolate, a sweet card, a romantic dinner? Of course. And is any/all of that predicated on someone else? Uh, no.

So, before Valentine’s Day arrives, I’m asking myself some questions. Maybe you could as well.

  • In relationship, can I remain clear and committed to all the places my passion lies – and for whom, all the ways it is expressed within and through me? Will I express it – in articulate, even lavish ways?
  • Out of relationship (and frankly, even in), will I refrain from bitterness or caustic cynicism; instead, smiling generously and genuinely at those who are captivated by this day, grateful that love still holds sway, still conquers all, still survives and thrives?
  • Will I treat myself to the gift I most want to receive? A leather-bound journal. A beautiful ring. A good bottle of wine. A weekend away. An exercise routine. An Instant Pot. A quiet day of writing.
  • Will I courageously ask for what I most want? An honest conversation. A conflict resolved. A decision made.
  • Can I, will I, wholeheartedly declare-and-believe that I am whole, complete, and worthy of love – first and foremost my own?
  • Will I recall, recite, and recommit to these two truths: I am not too much and I am more than enough?

It’s estimated that more than 1 billion Valentine’s Day cards are sent each year, And, not surprisingly, women purchase approximately 85 percent of them. Given such, let’s buy and send them to our girlfriends, our sisters, our daughters, our mothers, ourselves. Not because we feel the need to mark such an arbitrary date and contrived “holiday,” but because we deserve to make it our own.

Toward that end – making the day our own – let’s boldly declare our love (to others and self) whether roses are delivered or not. Not because it’s Valentine’s Day, but because it’s who and how we are: strong, glorious, expressive women who do not shy from telling our truth, from giving our heart, from risking everything on behalf of what matters most.

So before Valentine’s Day – and in preparation, know this: you are worth the greeting, every sentiment held within, and all the love (and then some) that you can possibly bear.

Champagne on a Tuesday

Oct 31, 2017 | Mothers and Daughters, My sort-of Sermons

My oldest daughter, Emma Joy, turns 21 today. Yes, Halloween. I can still picture her, just placed in my arms, with her hospital-donned hat; it was tied with two bows: one strand of black yarn and one strand of orange.

So many things have changed since that all- night of labor and blessed morning delivery; so many experiences, emotions, stories, “life,” that have made her into the miraculous, amazing, and powerful-and- tender presence and person that is her. The baby. The girl. The teenager. The college student. The young woman.

But this has not changed: I am as taken and overwhelmed by her now as I was 21 years ago; as grateful and humbled and thrilled and yes, as teary and emotional.

I will pour myself a glass of champagne today.

And though the two of us are not together, I will toast her – knowing (and thrilled) that she is enjoying toasts of her own, on her own, with friends who see her for the miraculous and amazing and powerful-and-tender woman she is, friends who love her deeply.

In a few days, I will drive to her college town. We will raise a glass together – her now of legal drinking age, me picking up the tab.

I find this hard to believe, hard to imagine: how could this day possibly be here? But then, that’s exactly what I felt the day I found out I was pregnant…after years of infertility and disappointment.

It is appropriate and right to not wait until Champagne Friday or our across-the-table presence from one another, to offer this toast; personalized and perfect for my now-grown girl:

You have done enough, Emma Joy. You have listened enough. You have said enough. You have cared enough. You have created enough. You have given enough. You have stood for enough. You have loved enough.

You ARE ENOUGH! Always and in every way.

And every bit of this was true the moment my eyes met yours, 21 years ago.

Happy Birthday, sweet girl. Oh, how I love you.

*clink*