Noticing More Beauty

This Man of mine was a porn-addict. It may not seem my story to tell, but he bears no shame in it - having brought it to the light to be exposed and expunged and used by God for good in his life. It has been years now, but he tells me that every day he gets further from it, I become more beautiful in his eyes. Though the trap of pornography is usually about deeper issues than lust - often covering deep feelings of failure or inadequacy - it still warps the vision and the mind and imprints comparisons in secret places where there should be none. But these days, when I feel that even my best features have morphed into unrecognizability, his eyes still light up for me, bringing comfort and connection for us both. He is a slave no longer. In the perusing of these thoughts, it comes to me - I am an addict too. I don't seek the clothes-less figures. I seek the human approval. I have enslaved myself to the lust of likes and comments and digital friends. I justify my desi...

The first day of summer - the first full day of a week without my six oldest. The seasons are changing... I want this to be a time of relaxation and reset and rebirth, but something in me fears it won't happen - that it isn't possible; that they will come home and it will all be still as it was. As I look at what life would be without the six in it, I know I love them; I know I want them back; but... I don't want back the life we have had lately, fraught with tension, cross looks, hormone release, and lots of tears. I miss them. But perhaps I miss them because I miss the opportunities to do more, love more, engage more. Opportunities I didn't take often enough. That I missed. I miss the six because I have missed the opportunities. And then, I read two witnesses on the bread in the wilderness and I am convicted. Manna - no one, the wise fathers nor the up-and-coming children, knew what it was. But they ate it. They trusted God, and ate it. And ...

All I asked the tall boy was, "So... How are  you?"  Who knew it was that easy? My sister-in-law had spoken of a book telling of the impact on broken children of the simple act of eye contact. I thought of it as the son invaded my culinary corner, helping himself brazenly to bites of the dinner, not yet finished. He laughed at some joke of his own making and I sought his eyes - chiseled face like his father's but eyes like mine. Just a moment of connection before he turned back to taste another tidbit, so I made a quick attempt at small talk, "So...How are you?" He held my gaze just a second longer than before, but apparently it was enough to build a trust-bridge, for the next moment, he began gushing all the details of some conflict fought and then resolved, of new understanding between the brothers, of a change of heart. All this heart-talk from the teen mouth that usually flows with untimely humor or cutting sarcasm! Why have ...