Noticing More Beauty

" List three fears... Now imagine they floated away in three hot air balloons.  What would you be free to do? " The exercise is in the colorful journal of random instructions that promise to help me live more present but not try to be perfect. Most pages are palatably light and fluffy, but this one challenges me. I find myself chewing on the question. I know what I'm afraid of, that's the easy part: failure - letting others down; the opinion of others - not as much as I have been afraid, but the snake is not dead; disappointing God - really, how to only pick three? But the daydream that I could let those parts of my soul-fabric float away and be left with a new-found freedom doesn't easily resonate. I would be free to ... to what? Honestly, not one thing comes to mind! Aren't my fears the motivations that keep me doing the things I should? If I didn't fear failing as a mother, what would motivate me to put my all into my kids? Doesn't ...

Part 1: I took the eight to see the Grandma recently admitted to the hospital. She, with the name of Grace but the sometimes gruff exterior that threatened to belie it. The last of my parents' parents - with the doleful predictions from the doctors. The heart that had enabled her to live and love so fiercely was nearing the number of beats allotted to it. She beamed at us and gave her signature greeting, "How are my babies?" - referring to those fitting the description and to those of us many (many!) years from babyhood. The sunshine streamed in to light up her grey-white hair and her face that it had weathered so thoroughly.  She turned to the youngest of us, her favorite of the twins, "Grandma is going on a long trip. She's going to Joshua Tree to be with Grandad and the dogs." I instantly cringed at her unorthodox ideas about the end of life and opened my mouth to reassure her of the place she would have with her Heavenly Father, but the ...

She is sure she loves horses - the sweet middle child so often overlooked in her quiet comings and goings and unwillingness to rock the boat. And so the forward from a friend caught my eye - a rodeo camp {FREE} - all experiences (or lack thereof) welcome.  Those blue eyes lit up, of course, and her courage to face this exciting but foreign experience surprised me. Then we got to the selection process - choosing her activities: goat tying - " maybe ," team roping - " ok ," break-away roping - " what's that ?" (mom's wisdom: " no clue !"), steer riding - " Mom, I want to live !" And no amount of teasing, arguing, or cajoling by the younger brother ("Why else would you go to a rodeo camp?!") could convince her to check that box as even her third possibility. And really, I agreed with her - the new was exciting, but no need to venture into truly unknown and scary territory! As I recounted the story to...

   Winter and Fall played together today - I stayed near the window to see. Fall brought her leaves and Winter his sticks and they brandished them furiously. They played in the wind and they drew on the clouds and altered a nearby hill. And when daylight was done, they painted the sky in color and vibrance and chill. As dark settled in, the Winter remained to play with his toys through the night. His fun left the ground where the two friends had played all covered in crystals of white. The Sun rose on Winter alone in the yard, the time for friendship had passed; Fall packed her color and tokens of Summer, and left her last leaves on the grass. ~Kerrie C.

The day is cold and dark and dreary, It rains and the wind is never weary, The vine still clings to the moldering wall, But at every gust, the dead leaves fall, And the day is dark and dreary... The winter rains have begun. The cold wet blew steadily last night, pouring down the panes and collecting in puddles, sounding incessantly on the roof. There is a thought dripping in my mind this morning as well, chilling my mood. It repeats, over and over, with deliberate monotony, the name I call myself after the conversation before sleep, "Failure. Failure. Failure." And I reach for the blanket of shame and retreat behind the barrier of guilt, habitually donning an icy demeanor to keep him at arm's length - The Man who misfortuned to speak the concern that resounded like disappointment in my ears. We have been here before. These cold, wintery days have come in seasons past as well. My prevalent insecurities have made me prone to hear opportunities f...