Friday, October 5, 2012

UNDER CONSTRUCTION: Day 2 - What is the hypotenuse of a right angle?

And he called me his mathematician, it was perhaps one of my favorite roles in life, maybe the one I miss the very most.  I can still remember the way his eyes would light up, a smile washing over his face and he would chuckle that one of kind laugh before he would ease deeper into the language of building, which of course required a lesson in math.  It started with the same question every time, at every encounter.  He would scoop me up into his arms, or drop right to one knee where ever we were and then he'd ask "What is the hypotenuse of a right angle"?  And I would respond in a voice that only a 3 year old can mimic "It's the square root of the sum of the two sides squared".  Mastery, I had it down and I thirsted for the wisdom that he shared at every corner.  This was the way it always started.  From the time I could speak he was teaching me how to crunch a number, how to engineer a bridge, how to build a house, how to do the figuring from within my own mind without ever having to grab a pencil and paper.  I was his favorite student, teacher's pet, and I think I knew it.

My grandpa John, the foundation of my world, the one that remained strong and intact even when others cracked and crumbled.   In my humble opinion there was nothing he couldn't do.  He dreamed big but lived small.

Sometimes I hear the stories of his younger years, and more recently an old friend blessed me with a dvd made of home movies from the 50's and 60's.  It seems maybe he had a wild side a country mile wide but that was long before me.  He raised his family in Fort Seward operating John's Lodge, the local watering hole.  He had a small plane back in the day and though I never flew with him I have heard many a fabled tale over the years.  Eventually he moved to Willow Creek and bought The Forks, another local watering hole.  And that is where my story began.

I love him for the trips we made to the "gasoline store" for candy and the "two bits" he gave me to catch the ice cream man.  For the way he'd let me sit on his lap and steer the car as often as I liked.  I love him for his apple pie and the cinnamon crust that I still cannot make.  I love him for long, lazy summer days at Aunt Alice's pool where he'd throw quarter after quarter into the deep end to give me lessons in diving.  For the way he loved to sing really old cowboy music and play Anne Murray and Willie Nelson on the record player.  I still can't listen to Georgia or Snow Bird without tears rolling down my cheeks.  I love him for his trouser pants, pastel button up shirts, bald head and thick, black framed glasses.  I love him for showing me that it really can get so hot outside that you can fry an egg on the hood of a car.  I love him for the mad blackjack skills he taught me in the midst of math lessons, and the fact that he always made sure I walked away from the kitchen table with my pockets full.  I love him for his barbeque hamburgers full of bell pepper and onion, and for the way he loved to pick up Chinese take out from Raleys and would spend 10 minutes telling the cashier a story, even if there were 3 people in line behind him.  I love him for the driving lesson he gave me in the big yellow attempt to teach me to parallel park.  I told him there wasn't enough room but he insisted I "gun it".  I never argued with him so I gunned it right into the back of a parked car.  He just laughed, he always just laughed.  I love him for taking me to DMV on my 16th birthday and debating the system because he could see no reason why I should have to go to pay the fees and go to driving school when he had already taught me how to drive.  I love him for letting me stay up late and watch Johnny Carson.  And for giving up his place at her bedside so I could sit and hold my grandma's hand as she slipped off to heaven, and I know he did because he knew how much I needed it.  I love him for his big green parka and the budweiser can that he always had in hand.  I love him for the way he would pull the giant, wooden spoon off the kitchen wall and tell me to take "big bites".  I love him for the way he would break two eggs in a glass and swallow them down raw because it was the quickest way to eat breakfast.  I love him for the way he would get up when the phone rang at 3 a.m. to come rescue my sister and I from the phone booth on the corner when my parents were fighting.  And for always making sure we had a couple dimes to keep in our shoes under the bedroom window in case we needed to call him.  I love him for being my ride to school every time I missed the bus.  I love him for standing strong the day I blasted him with the words "I hate you" while I stood broken, enraged, angry, disappointed, abandoned and coming off too many days without sleep, ready to quiet everything in my world and make it all go away.  I love that he was the one who could speak reason and love to me long enough and hard enough to make me listen.  I love him for his washing machine hugs, forklifts, Eskimo kisses and eye winkers.  I love him for reminding me that even though I didn't walk down the aisle with my graduating class the way I should have, I was still his Valedictorian.  I love him for the way he cut my bangs with his barber clippers, at an angle and way too short.  I love him for waiting up to see me while I made the long, late drive the night before the surgery that eventually took him away.  I love him for begging me to bring him a beer and help him escape at the hospital in the days before he passed.  I love him for letting me stand on his feet while we danced when I was a little girl, and for the way he danced with me again the day my grandma left us behind.  I love him for giving me my grandma's wedding ring and accepting it back when he wasn't ready to part with it yet. 

This man, tall, skinny and seemingly frail was also the strongest man I have ever known.  The foundation he laid for me is the one I can always fall back on when a little remodel work needs to be done.  I love him for never doubting, never judging, never making me second guess where I stood in his heart because when I looked at his gentle, kind, sweet sparkling eyes I always, always knew I was number one and that was something I could take with me anywhere.


Monday, October 1, 2012


In an effort to recommit myself to regular blogging, I've decided it's time to dive headfirst into a writing challenge.  The idea is to pick one topic and write about it everyday for the next 31 days.  Keep it short and simple and then link up with The Nester and share as a way to inspire and create community.  MY GOAL is to just write everyday for 31 days, no over thinking, no over editing, and no judgment.  I chose a topic that will allow me much creativity in my posts.  Short and simple aren't really in my vocabulary so I will give it my best dressed effort and let my fingers do the rest.  My Topic:  UNDER CONSTRUCTION

 Day 1:  BuiLDinG ME    

Blueprints, the basis for every well planned building project.  Doesn't construction flow with a little more ease when you have a good set of plans to follow?  You see my plans have been designed, drafted and drawn.  They already traveled through plan check and were permitted.  A site plan was plotted and ground was broke.  Should be smooth sailing right, an easy build?  Not with this girl as project manager.  In 37 years I have perfected the art of change orders.  In the beginning the foundation work was out of my hands, you'll hear more about that later.  There were rooms built, stairs to nowhere, and many closets too, but we will come back to that another day.  We will take a peek through some of the windows, the ones that look straight into my heart.  A few have been shattered, some replaced with stained glass and others still empty, covered over with plastic and duct tape.  A work in progress, that is what I am. Somewhere between the beginning and the now were those middle phases of construction.  There were a few years that I used a whole lot of caution tape, dealt with condemnation, and eventually had to do a little demolition before I could remodel.  As you can imagine this meant more change orders and those things take time and certainly don't come without a price.  New construction and additions are well underway.  The foundation has been patched and the walls are being reinforced.  Everyday brings something new, finishes are being selected and sometimes the choices can overwhelm.  It's good to know that even if the walls come tumbling down we have the ability to start again and rebuild as many times as it takes.  The end product, something grand, something bigger than we could imagine, something intricate, beautiful and unique.  No two alike, each one of us individually designed and handcrafted by the master architect HIMSELF.  Isn't it amazing to know that HE has invested in our eternity.  If only it were easier to sit back and trust that HIS plans were right the first time.  That they were perfectly designed and drawn, ready to build exactly the way he had planned.  If only we believed that we were a masterpiece before we decided it would be best to take matters into our own hands.

Thursday, July 19, 2012



           UNSCRIPTED, UNEDITED, REAL.......
                          No over thinking, just a flash mob of folks who spend five minutes writing with fury, guts and glory, linking up in one place to share stories that pour from the heart.....this weeks topic is.........

         ENOUGH.........ready, set, GO!

Reminders and warnings that time is short, regrets can't be erased, your words too many spoken from wisdom and experience and regrets of your own, they are not enough.  They are heard, they are nagging, but they aren't understood.

That call that comes....the one that parts the hours between day and night.  That message that can't be erased, the one that tells you he has passed, and you read it and rub your eyes.  You read it again and for a moment you question the difference between reality and bad dreams.  But then you go through the dark, down the hall.  You don't knock on the door, you just walk in and you startle awake the boy who has just lost his fishing buddy, his opinionated but hilarious, calloused hand, scraped knuckle, hard working, tell it like it is while cheering you on, always there in every way that mattered, Gramps.  You watch, and you whisper, and reach out and console in all the ways you know how but your mom arms aren't big enough, and your love isn't loud enough to silence the sound of the tears that drop.

You watch him shatter.  Little pieces that turn big quickly, piercing the heart of a mom who can't be enough to a hurt that is so deep.  And you cry and acknowledge and offer and understand, and it hurts and it aches and it makes you angry and sad and you remember that pain, you've walked through it too.  You remember that only HE is enough.  So you turn and hide, dropping to you knees in your heart and you speak fast and pleading for HIS presence, for the peace and the comfort only HE can give.  You beg that the hurt is only big enough to remind him of a love that was bigger and that the tears only fall long enough to remind him of the laughs that they shared on the lakes that they fished.

You realize that the 20 years he called him Gramps is suppose to be enough, when right now it just isn't.

He calls from the side of the road, late in the night on the drive back home from the first goodbye.  You answer the phone in tears, already knowing that your words and your love aren't enough to quiet the tears on the other end but you try anyway, speaking and soothing and praying and pleading with the only one who is enough to bring the healing.

Friday, July 6, 2012


MMM, It's been a while, too long in fact.  Five Minute Fridays with Lisa-Jo.  The day of the week when we gather around, throw caution to the wind and write for five minutes flat.  No over thinking, no editing, no back tracking, just finger painting with our words.  Then link up, pass the plate and encourage the one who shared before you.  Ready, Set, GO!

This weeks prompt...STORY!

Oh yes, THIS STORY OF MINE, the one that begins with once upon a time......through adventure and comedy, action and drama, births and deaths, abuse and romance, a life that knows tribulation but dances in celebration of the triumphs.

From the country to the city and back again, the plot is unfolding.  The scenes have been written.  A wild cast of characters in THIS STORY OF MINE.  Some shattered and broken, some shiny and new.  Each one soldered together, a kaleidoscope of color, shapes and sizes, these heroes and villains who illustrate the everyday I tiptoe through. 

There are pages, whole chapters in fact that I once wished to erase, to edit and rewrite, to rip out and crumble.  Oh but that was before the season of now.  The season in which HE shows me that without those pages I couldn't be here.  For this is the chapter that HE has punctuated with surrender, grace, mercy, faith, hope and TRUST.  This divine author has written a page turner, but I am flipping the pages as slowly as I can.  Marinating in every moment, listening to the sweet, beautiful music, and breathing in life and love.  When this story ends and the final page is turned, the real fairytale will only be just beginning.

John 1:1 ~In the beginning was the Word, and the Word was with God, and the Word was God.


Monday, June 11, 2012


Okay, many of you have read this before.  It is something I wrote two years ago for Brandon's 18th birthday and high school graduation.  Here we are, same season, 2 years later.  How is it possible that I have a son turning 20? is unbelievable the way time flies.  While it seems that it should get easier each year to let go a little bit more, it doesn't.  The grip he has on my heart just gets tighter and tighter.  I re-read this today while thinking about him and the fact that as of tomorrow he will no longer be a teenager.....


Once upon a time, I dreamed of a baby, and God blessed me with you.
First I fell in love with the idea of you, then I heard your beautiful heartbeat and I was hooked.  The day you arrived, you forever changed my world and everything that mattered.

Once upon a time, I swaddled you tightly and carried you home,
and you cried, and you cried and you cried, but only at 2 a.m., and I loved you even more.

Once upon a time, I did nothing all day long but hold you in my arms and sing to you. The first time you gazed so deeply into my heart and smiled, my insides melted and ached with overwhelming joy, and I loved you even more.

Once upon a time, at barely 9 months old you stumbled awkwardly across Grandma Judy's living room, wearing a yellow blanket sleeper. Not a step or two but the whole distance, and that's when I realized the world better watch out because you were amazing.

Once upon a time we spent hours chasing butterflies across the backyard, stomping in puddles, pushing trucks through the dirt, and squealing with laughter. And you sampled your first ribs, and pickles and lemons and I giggled at the look on your face.

Once upon a time, you twirled across the stage and dazzled the judges with your dimples, and they crowned you Mr. Hawaiian Tropic Prince and I was delighted.

Once upon a time we moved to Oregon, and I dropped you off at daycare for the very first time. You waved goodbye with such confidence, and I cried. Then came kindergarten and again you trotted down the hall wondering why I had to walk you to class and you couldn't go on your own. And I knew you would be okay but I held your hand anyway.

Once upon a time I watched your first t-ball game, and then indoor soccer, and I realized your were an athlete, I was in awe of you.

Once upon a time I chased you through the tunnels, and down the slides at Superplay. We discovered Sand Lake and camped, and camped and camped. You yelled to go faster as we tore through the dunes in our sand rail, you had no fear. We celebrated birthdays 3, 4 and 5 and I loved you even more.

Once upon a time our lives changed, and we met a man who loved us both with all his heart. You gained a sister who would turn out to be your worst enemy and very best friend, depending on the day. And that is when my squeaky clean, city boy, went country and began his journey to who he was always meant to be. And I loved you even more.


Once upon a time you asked for a chainsaw for your 8th birthday, and then you fell your first tree in our front yard, and I was scared. You rode on the CAT, and played in the dirt. You caught 1 fish, then 2 and it became a hobby.

Once upon a time you and a boy named Zach, and girl named Chelsea were inseparable. You rode bicycles down hills and hunted for squirrels. You learned the hard way, that you must eat what you hunt, while you barbequed a blue jay.


Once upon a time, you wanted to play football, you were 8, and weighed 52 lbs. We spent all day Sundays on the football field for the next 6 years. We made lifelong friendships on those sidelines. Those Sundays were my favorites.

And then you turned 9, and we bought you a dirtbike. We watched you climb on, take off, and go full speed ahead, right into the side of my car, and I laughed, I just couldn't help it.

Once upon a time you turned 10, and sat upon your papa Kenny's lap while he gifted you your very first gun, and a hunter was born. It was a very special day, and we have the picture to prove it.

Once upon a time you were 11, and I doubted my skills as a parent, I was researching military school, and then you turned 12, and we survived.

Once upon a time we spent days at the beach running in waves, and weeks at the mountain learning to board, and in those vacations we made memories that will last me a lifetime.


Once upon a time, we moved to Redway and met Missy, Jeff, Savannah and Grant, and they became your second family. Although it has never been easy to share you, they have always been there for you and loved you like their own. For that I can never thank them enough, and will eternally be grateful, because you have not only one family to love you, but two. You are a lucky guy.




Once upon a time you headed off to high school and four years of your life have passed by far too quickly. I have watched you wrestle and run, play football , basketball and baseball. It was sitting on the sidelines that I learned and I realized I will always be your biggest cheerleader and fan, and sometimes your toughest critic.

Once upon a time you shot your first buck, and your first turkey, caught your first fish in Alaska, and brought home wild pig for the dinner table. You always seem your happiest when heading off to Nanny's ranch or on to the river for a weekend outdoor adventure, and that is such a big part of what makes you so special.


Once upon a time, you turned 16 and learned to drive, and I was frightened, and appreciative that I wasn't the one teaching you. Once upon a time you stepped of the school bus and into your truck, and I didn't want you to grow up because time was passing too quickly.

Once upon a time you went to your first prom and had your first girlfriend, you were so handsome. You went to your first parties and I worried, and never slept a wink until you were safely home.

Once upon a time you stepped onto the field as a high school quarterback, something you earned and deserved. I took way too many pictures because I was so excited.

Once upon a time I stood by your side while you said goodbye to your grandma, the tears fell freely and my heart broke because I couldn't take away the pain.



Once upon a time you thought I was the meanest, toughest, strictest mom in the world, and I prayed for wisdom. Every boundary I have set, rule I have made, NO I have shouted has been with your best interest at heart. I know that it is hard to believe, and right now you don't understand, but someday you will.........I am the meanest mom ever because I love you more than life itself.


Once upon a time I heard parents talk about how excited they were for their kids to graduate, move out, and become independent, and I just didn't understand. I want the opposite, to stop time, to keep you close and to never have to let you go.


Once upon a time, I wished for a baby and God gave me you...and for that I am humbled. I know that you are destined for great things, and you can have everything you dream of in life. Letting go of control and watching you do it on your own will be very difficult for me. I know you are ready even though I am not. No matter what road you travel, always remember that home is just around the bend, and I will always be there for you with my arms and my heart wide open. I will never be able to express to you how much I love and how proud you make me. I am so excited to see the once upon a times that lie ahead while you make the journey to your happily ever after.


Monday, May 7, 2012



Wildflowers we are.  A random, whimsical, elegant, and anything but simple group of ladies.  A bouquet so colorful, vibrant and full of life. 

These ladies are my sisters, MY HEART SISTERS.  These ladies, all but one, were not women I knew by more than sight.  Yet here they are, my sweet circle of love.

A few short months has woven us together, a patchwork quilt of personalities, talents, hopes and struggles.  The way the fabric of our lives is being stitched together is a blessing I delight in.  Each one of us handpicked and sewn together right at the heart. Together we make beautiful art.  It's these ladies that warm my heart and wrap my soul with a tenderness that you can't find just anywhere.

A door that has been opened, no knocking required.  A circle that stands, coffee cups in hand just waiting to greet the next to arrive.  The warm cup of coffee handed off with a sly smile to waiting hands.  It is slipping off your shoes and nibbling on tasty treats baked so full of love that you just can't get enough.  It is looking for dust to doodle in and knowing that someday you really will get to hand write a message to be found later.

It is the way each conversation weaves and dances so eloquently through tears and laughter, and laughter and tears.  It is getting real, even if sometimes our real isn't so shiny.  It is showing our imperfections and being scooped up by encouraging hands and tender hearts.  It is listening and really hearing the desires, struggles and triumphs of women who are walking by faith, hand in hand.  It is laughing over the err of our human ways.  It is getting lost in HIS WORD.  It is the way we all seem to circle the same sentence and underline the same verse.  It is studying and learning and growing with sisters who are passionate about their love for Christ. 

It is the moment we all bow our heads or turn our faces to HIS presence and we pray, and we pray and we pray.  We lift up each other.  We pray for blessings, salvation, healing, and understanding for our families and loved ones.  We give praise for the way he has drawn us together and created a beautiful symphony in our voices, each picking up where another has left off.  

It is looking at the clock with shock and awe, and the feeling of disappointment that three hours has passed and we are just getting started.

It is this circle of women that I am most thankful for in this season of my life.  They were planted in the garden of my heart at exactly the right time, and as our friendship blooms I can't help but feel grateful for these ladies I sweetly think of as my heart sisters.

Thursday, March 8, 2012


Linking up again (and a day early this time, instead of a week late) with Lisa Jo for another 5 Minute Friday!

Around here we write for five minutes flat on Fridays.  We lie down in our words and make snow angels.We try to remember what it was like to just write without worrying if it’s just right or not.



Wrung out and dry, not a drop left to spare.  I poured myself out until there was little left, then much to my despair with my typical clumsiness I knocked over my glass leaving it empty and my soul parched.

One of those days, or maybe it was the week, the kind that takes away but never gives back.

It is my fault really for not taking the time I need to to replenish my glass and nourish my mind.

I ran so quickly from task to task that I forgot to stop and fill myself up.

It was coffee spilled on my way out the door.  A hole through the bottom of my already ragged shoes.  It was the lunches I forgot to pack because I was scrubbing fresh mud out of the carpet and yelling about wet shoes.  It was showing up 10 minutes late and realizing I left my files at home.  It was preparing breakfast but not getting to iron my clothes.  It was a phone ringing with such vigor and repetition that I cursed out loud, more than once.  It was missing my workout.  It was committing to things that I will have to beg, borrow and steal the time for.  It was a short temper with those who didn't deserve it.  It was the magically reappearing laundry pile.  It was allowing myself to get caught up in business that isn't mine.  It was friends who needed a shoulder, a dollar, a hug, a lunch, a place to breastfeed, a minute of my time or maybe 2 hours.  It was me getting lost in social media when it was the last place I belonged.  It was mixing up when to practice no and who to tell yes.  It was a whole lot of meetings, each one important, but how did they all end up in the same week?  It was online courses, license renewals, and more, more, more tax prep.  It was allowing myself to make mountains out of mole hills.  It was me, not making time for the things that I know I need in my life.

Matthew 4:4  Man shall not live on bread alone, but on every word that comes from the mouth of God.



I call it an ache.  So summed up by the very definitions of the word, all three of them in fact.  I ache, I suffer a dull sustained pain, feel sympathy and compassion, but mostly I yearn painfully.  Yes, I have an ache. 

It is an ache that wraps around my heart and squeezes so tightly I have to stop to catch my breath.  It overtakes me in the moments I don't see it coming.  It's brought on by celebrations of big firsts and accomplishments in which we celebrate lasts.

It catches me as I fight back tears that threaten to flow like a river if I don't blink quickly enough. 

Sometimes dull and repetitive, a familiar feeling that I just can't shake.  And sometimes it comes with a sharpness so piercing I don't have time to run from it.

The desire doesn't wain, it cannot be chased away by logic or common sense.  It is the dull, sustained, yearning pain born of my want to watch my belly stretch and feel the sensations of new life growing.  My want to sit in the dark at 2:00 a.m. gazing into my baby's eyes.  My want to bring just one more into this world so that I can continue to experience the same firsts I have already walked through, while I celebrate the lasts with the ones that are growing.

But it is also the sympathy and compassion I feel for those who have the ache without the ability or possibility to satisfy it.  It is the sadness that makes me feel selfish because I already have four but I desperately want more.  

Hearing the blessed news of my friends, observing the trials and wonders of a journey through pregnancy, staring at those newborn photos that remind us how precious and fragile new life is, celebrating the first birthday's of toddlers and watching last babies enroll in kindergarten.  They are mixed blessings and reminders that I am not alone in my aches.

Saturday, March 3, 2012

Birthday Boy

It was July 10th, nearly 10 years ago, that I took a home pregnancy test which FINALLY revealed two pink lines.  Just 3 weeks prior I sat in my doctors office crying because we had been trying, and I mean really, really trying for the prior 15 months with lack of success.  And so it began, a not so easy journey to Ryan.

My pregnancy didn't go quite as planned, I was sicker than I ever dreamed possible, and had to have IV fluids a few times just to keep myself hydrated.  Instead of gaining weight I was losing.  At week 19 we had an ultrasound in which our little one not so discreetly, showed off his boy parts, and his passion for thumb sucking.  Unfortunately the ultrasound also showed a two-vessel umbilical cord which is rare but often signifies major heart defects, chromosomal defects, and cleft lip and palate.  The doctors in our area did not have the expertise to handle our situation so we set off to Stanford to undergo echo-cardiograms and genetic testing and counseling.  The results came in and we were assured that all looked well physically and our best option was to monitor the pregnancy closely, which we did with bi-weekly ultrasounds and non-stress tests in the hospital 2-3 days a week for the next 5 months.  We had another scare at about month 7 where the ultrasound technician identified what he thought was an abnormality with the way Ryan's aorta was formed.  Again, after further evaluation we were once again reassured all was well, other than the fact that we had a rapidly growing baby and too much amniotic fluid.  Week 32 or 33 brought preterm labor and another trip to the hospital.  By now I was VERY large and VERY uncomfortable, and definitely done being pregnant.  It wasn't the fairytale experience I planned.  When my doctor decided it was best to induce at the beginning of week 37 I didn't hesitate.

It was a Monday morning, March 3, 2003 (03/03/03) that we checked in to the hospital to bring our little boy into this great big world.  My sister flew in from Portland and Matt's mom came to help me through the hard stuff.  They induced at 7 a.m., and the labor was all smile and giggles.  Okay, not really.  It was grueling and hard and painful.  But, GO TEAM, I had great support (even if they all talked way too much).  Six hours later at 1:07 p.m. Ryan Matthew Willison made his entrance.  The delivery was a little scary with Ryan getting stuck in the birth canal, one of my hips getting pulled from the socket, Ryan's collarbone being broken and then WOW, there he was, all 9 pounds, 10 ounces of him, slightly bruised and sporting thick, black hair that was so long it hung below his ears.  It is funny how the minute they lay that baby on your chest the pain of what you went through to get them here just disappears.

And then it happens, you climb into bed one night and when you wake up it is 9 years later.  Children grow TOO fast, way too fast.  No matter how we try to slow the clock, stop the calendar, and hold on, time just flies by.  I spend so many moments taking mental snapshots and cataloging away memories, little bits that I don't ever want to forget.

I adore my Ry guy.  I love him for his uniqueness.  He is nine years old, wearing a men's size 7 shoe.  He is a giant, but a sweet, gentle, sensitive giant.  There is so much of him that screams boy-boy, rough and tumble.  He loves to hunt, fish, dig in the dirt, where camo, take things apart, build things out of nothing and play basketball.  But he also loves to draw, sew, paint, and cook.  He says some day he wants to open a bookstore that will also serve lunch and dinner and have art shows at night.  He plans to build a big house on his nanny's ranch with a covered walkway that joins his house to hers.  There is something so special about his heart.  He is absolutely the most intuitive, compassionate, sweet and sensitive boy I know, especially for his age.  He is the kid on the playground who is ultra aware of how others around him are feeling.  I have been told time and again how he will seek out others who are sad, lonely or left out and ask them to play.  He isn't afraid to speak up when he sees someone treating someone wrong.  My guess is he could be a force to be reckoned with, but it isn't in his heart to cause someone else hurt.  Needless to say, the moment football turned to tackling he realized it wasn't his sport, even though he is built like a linebacker.  Ryan never looks at someone and notices their flaws, he never questions a persons difference, disability, skin color or weight.  He takes everyone as they come and welcomes them with open arms.  He loves to help out at home and is always quick to offer up his services in the kitchen preparing dinner, packing lunches or clearing the table.   He is just that kind of a boy.  A sparkly, shiny, significant little gemstone who makes my whole world brighter.  Happy 9th Birthday Ry's to you.  May every little hope, dream, wish you ever have come true.

Thursday, February 23, 2012


DELIGHT....DELIGHT....DELIGHT!  Finally getting around to last weeks 5 minute Friday.  Only a week a late, but done nonetheless.

Strong coffee and sweet cream, sipped in silence and sunshine.

The symphony of laughter that punctuates a car ride with two silly boys telling jokes.

Slipping into a steamy bubble bath up to your chin.

The sound of my daddy's voice on the other end of the phone when the miles between us get in the way.

Matt's arms, anytime, anywhere.

Hot apple pie, and vanilla ice cream.

Having six chairs filled at the dinner table.


Hot sand and blue water.

A book that can hold your attention so long you regret it the next morning.

Deep tissue massage.


Memories of eye winkers, washing machine hugs, and math lessons from the wisest man and my biggest fan.

Grandma's home cooking and my ability to duplicate it.

Lyrics and loud music.


Cinnamon rolls.

Loving my mom in spite of herself.

Friends that meets my needs for every reason, in every season and those that are mine for a lifetime.
Muscle cars.


Sunsets, mountains, and the changing of leaves in the fall.

Weekends at the lake, sleeping in a tent, star filled skies.

Finding love.

Being a mom to the most amazing 4 kids on the face of the planet.

Sundays that start with church and end with family.

Wrapping words up and then spilling them out all over a page.



Trust.  To place your confidence in someone or something.  To rely on and believe in.

Trust.  Easily shattered, broken, revoked.

To trust is to surrender, to open yourself to vulnerability, to erase the doubt.

Trust is the sister of faith.  The two walk hand in hand.  Trusting is easy, until suddenly it isn't.

Betrayal, the ugly enemy that murders trust.  Dishonesty, disloyalty, deception.  Deep, dark words.  Actions that wound us, sometimes leaving us scarred and unable to heal.

From the moment we take our first breaths we must trust.  We trust our mothers to satisfy our hunger, to soothe our cries, to nourish our souls.  We trust our fathers to protect us and lead us.  We trust our siblings to show us friendship, our teachers to educate, our doctors to heal. 

We grow, engaging in friendships, and dancing through relationships.  We hand over hearts to other humans. We trust.

Trust is so easily broken.  Our secrets our shared, gossip gives way, infidelity, substance abuse, lies are told, promises are broken.  When trust has fractured our hearts and shattered our belief, it can be difficult to gather the fragments that are left and begin piecing them back together. 

To heal, to live, to love.....we must first learn to trust, again.
 "Trust in the Lord with all your heart, and lean not on your own understanding; in all your ways acknowledge Him, and He shall direct your paths." Proverbs 3:5-6

Monday, January 30, 2012


The frightful feeling of being underwater.  The way emotions and hard times can wash over you like a fierce, crashing wave.  It leaves you struggling, disoriented, ears muffled, eyes blurry, chest tight and heart racing.  The way you grow weary, so tired, while you struggle to reach the surface.  Murky waters, uncharted territory that you cannot navigate.  Sometimes coming up for air just long enough to breathe before being pulled back under, fighting the current, kicking your way toward the surface but running out of energy to continue.


Haven't we all been here at sometime in our lives?  Underwater looks and feels so different to all of us.  As unique as the journey that takes us below the surface.  The loss of a loved one, dear to the heart, whether through death or divorce, calendars filled with obligations that we can't keep up with, projects we can't complete, raising children, false friendships that wound us, loss of employment or inability to find work, financial difficulties, car trouble, illness, children with special needs.  Sometimes we walk into these waters, one small step at a time, not quite realizing how quickly the water will be over our head.  Other times we are plunged backward, sinking below the surface before we have a chance to realize what is happening.  It doesn't matter how we get there, what matters is how we get out.

Panic sets in and we flail, and we fight, peering up through murky waters, churned by our own hands.  We want to regain be be saved from what lies beneath.

And then the moment of clarity, the calm that interrupts our storm, the gentle reminder that we need only to surrender.

Matthew 11:28-30
“Come to me, all you who are weary and burdened, and I will give you rest.  Take my yoke upon you and learn from me, for I am gentle and humble in heart, and you will find rest for your souls. For my yoke is easy and my burden is light.”

When I feel like my world is underwater, when I am drowning, I turn to him.  Unfortunately, this is usually after I have wriggled into my wet suit (the one that is too small), made an unsightly attempt at snorkeling while swallowing and choking, lost a flipper while kicking furiously toward what I believe to be the surface.  All the while splashing around in circles, going nowhere fast. 

 Then, as I grow weary I remember.........he didn't intend for me to do this alone.  I surrender and I pray and I trust and I know that he hears.  He doesn't always rescue me as quickly as I would like, but he is a God that is faithful, sovereign, and eternal.  He has promised he will never leave my side.  I am the one who has turned away, not him.  When I remember that I cannot do it alone, and I settle down long enough to hear his voice, he reminds me to take his hand and just keep swimming.

Friday, January 27, 2012

Like Sand Through The Hour Glass

Sixty seconds in a minute, sixty minutes in an hour, hours turned to days, and days to weeks.........okay well I think you get the point.  Time, where does it go? January already.  I feel as though I just purchased my 2011 calendar and began dreaming of all the things I would get done last year.

Have I accomplished much of what I dreamed I would this year?  Probably not.  My bedroom walls are still the same white they were when we built our house 10 years ago.  Disneyland didn't happen (again), and we didn't make it snowboarding, nor did I spend every weekend of my summer skimming across the lake behind the boat and roasting marshmallows around the campfire.  The kitchen remodel is not done, the yard is not landscaped, and my scrapbook stuff is still stacked neatly on the closet shelf.  It turns out that I'm okay with that (on most days).

When I wasn't so busy, being busy I made a conscious effort to find quiet moments for myself, and that has made all the difference.  Well that, and the fact that after 14 years in Southern Humboldt I finally found a little church that is beginning to feel like home.

It is true, time passes.....seasons change, children grow, parents age, friendships stretch, babies are born and loved ones pass on.  I so often have told myself, eye on the prize........hang in there Clover, things are going to slow down and when they do........

What I didn't realize is that I was living my days like a hamster stuck in a wheel, or a robot going through the motions, crossing tasks off the to do list, just waiting to get through this week, and wrap up that event.  To finish up one more meeting or one last project before I opened my eyes and lived a little.  Constantly telling myself that maybe next year I would get around to all those things I wanted to do.

Last year was one of awakening.  Life is to short to wait for the right moment to appreciate the abundance and the gifts that surround us everyday, in every moment.  When you live a life of gratitude, and you choose to embrace what is good, you can find beauty in every situation.   It doesn't mean you will always find joy in everything, but instead of focusing on a list of what is wrong, try to find the one thing that is right.  Just doing so brings peace and strength to endure even the most difficult situations. 

I learned this, hands on, the hard way, in those first few weeks of August right after my mom's car accident.  It wasn't always easy, but with each new challenge I was able to step back and find something positive to focus on, always looking for what I could give thanks for amidst a crisis that threatened to crack my foundation.  The reality is, no matter what we are going through, things can always be worse, and we must learn to be thankful for what we have rather than hungry for what we don't.

The days are brighter when I put on my rose colored glasses.  Even when I don't feel like smiling, I try to paste a grin on anyway, say hello to someone I pass on the street, offer up a compliment.  Bringing pleasure and a smile to the face of someone else always lifts my own spirits.

In the end it doesn't matter what we have or where we've been.  What matters are the moments that make memories....that leave footprints.... that lead to smiles....It's about learning to love the hand prints on the front door, the dirt on the welcome mat, the dust on the ceiling fan, and the list that never ends, because that is proof that I am too busy living to notice what is still waiting to be done.