Build: New Year, New Heights

It's January 29th and I am now sitting down to write up my New Year's thoughts. That should give you some notion of how the first 29 days of 2018 have been. Whoosh, and they're gone. That's the gist of it. This isn't me registering a complaint so much as me slowing down enough to acknowledge reality.

My 2018 word for the year is Build. Maybe it should be Breathe instead... but I'll stick with my first choice. Here's why.

Last year, my word was Worthy, and I somehow managed to blog about it before the new year even began. I spent the year attempting to recognize what investments of my attention and energy were worthy of those resources, and learning to say no to (or at least shift down the priority list) those things that didn't qualify as such. It was an exercise in both self-discipline and exploration. I found new ways to invest in myself, in becoming a better, stronger, healthier, happier version of me. I pushed myself over the edge of my previous efforts. In the course of 2017, I stretched and shifted until my comfort zone was expanded well beyond what I'd clung safely to in years past.

One key reality I noticed as 2017 came to a close was the lack of regrets I had about the year. Sure, there is always some wishful thinking about what more I could have tried or accomplished. That's bound to happen. Compared to December 31st in most of my adult years though, this was almost nil.

That is why my word for 2018 is Build. Because I don't want to let up. Because I want to take advantage of the gains made last year and push them to new levels this year. I will build on the foundation I've laid. I will nurture and grow what has taken root. Honestly, I'm pretty darn thrilled with the efforts of last year, and I desire to reach the close of 2018, God willing, having spent my twelve months building upward and outward.

When complacency creeps in, when there's an inkling of stagnancy in my days, I have to remember why I started. I have to remember! Remembering where I used to be; remembering what I set out to do in the first place; remembering why I started is all the impetus I need to keep building.

New heights can be frightening, but not as frightening as standing still or sliding backward.

Book Update Video

A new video update is up on my Facebook author page. Details on the novel coming soon, some much deserved words of gratitude, and Christmas wishes from me to you.

https://m.facebook.com/story.php?story_fbid=785890234954656&id=559352647608417

As long as you're there (wink, wink), click on the like and follow buttons to keep up with me on my author page.

Merry Christmas to you all!

More Than We Think We Are

I sat beside my sister at the funeral of our dear friend's mother. Our eyes fell on my sister's young daughter. She sat contentedly in the lap of her grandmother, beside us in the same church pew.

"She's so beautiful," my sister remarked, her eyes bright as she watched her daughter.

"She really is," I said, then voiced the next thought that filled my head, "People are always saying how beautiful our daughters are, and how they look exactly like us. Do you ever think that maybe we were more beautiful than we realized when we were younger?"

My sister reached over and squeezed my hand, voicing no response. She didn't need to reply. I knew. I knew the struggles she and I had navigated over the years. I knew what it took to eventually believe ourselves beautiful.

The funeral began with an old, familiar hymn, but the thought remained with me. As the priest blessed the family and friends filling the rows in the church, I couldn't shake the question: are we more beautiful than we realize?

I'd encountered a lot of beauty in the past week. Easily overlooked beauty. Misconstrued beauty.

It was there to see in the face and hands of my best friend. Exhausted, no makeup, eyes not long dry from the most recent of many tears, she greeted me with a long hug when I arrived at the hospital where she and her family kept vigil with her dying mother. We sat at her mother's bedside, talking in reserved voices that rose with emotion then quieted as her mother's ragged breathing fluctuated. My, she was beautiful. The love in her eyes. The gentleness in her fingers as they grazed the blankets of the bed in front of her. The aching tenderness in her glances at her mom. My friend had spent years caring for her mother. Years of tending to her needs, housing her, shuttling her to appointments, encouraging her, upholding her dignity. Loving her.

Then there was her mother, Connie, who lied dying beside us. If my friend hadn't let me into the room, I would not have known I was in the right place. She was unrecognizable, seemingly a shell of her former, spirited self. Seemingly. Except, if I kept my wits about me, I could see that she was still her whole self. She was still Connie, who battled cancer for all these years, never willing to give up. Through treatments and sickness and depression, through remissions and reoccurrences, she'd plodded onward. Yet, here she was. She wasn't a woman defeated. She was a woman ready. She was a woman ready to leave. She'd done her work and fought her battles. Her readiness was as beautiful as it was heartbreaking.

So there I sat in the church pew, wondering over how many different ways we miss the beauty. Wondering why we can't see it.

I want to see it. I want my spouse to see it. I want my children to see it. I want you to see it. This life, it's so much more beautiful than we think. Its beauty is only surpassed by the people, by us. We are more, much more beautiful than we think we are.

Turning: Hodgepodge Thoughts on Birthdays and Our Unwritten Stories

Let's review the week, shall we? Two days ago, my daughter turned 2 1/2. Yesterday, my son turned 4. Tomorrow, I turn 36. These realities march through my brain and I find myself stuck on the word "turn."

There are numerous meanings of the word (dictionary.com listed 40 definitions in the "verb (used with object)" category alone!), but the ones that initially come to mind when I think about "turn" have to do with a change in direction.

Turning a corner.
Turning around.
Turning toward.

Turning causes a tangible change. It involves a departure from one direction or place and an arrival in or movement toward another. But the turning of age? Intangible change.

We can turn another year older yet turn no corners, take no new directions, nor move toward anything different. Unless we choose otherwise, a birthday will do nothing but advance a digit on our annual odometer.

More than I typically do at birthday time, I am reflecting on all the turning that happened in the past year. Tangible changes abounded during this trip around the sun.

The big standout is the change from a writer continuing to wonder if she'll ever publish her novel that she started ten years ago to a writer publishing her first novel. This birthday is the one year anniversary of my first attendance of a writer's conference, which included a pitch meeting with the acquisitions editor of Bold Vision Books, which led to a request for a full book proposal, which led to a publishing contract offer, which led to my current state as an author about to be published. Honestly, I went to that conference simply hoping to feel like I belonged in that club of writers who are serious about their writing. The experience exceeded my measly expectation by a million miles.

(Side note: I don't know if any other christian writers read this blog, but if so, I recommend considering the Maranatha Christian Writers Conference in Muskegon, MI.)

Beyond this dream-fulfilling turn during age 35, I also began a new position with my company (which I kind of love), lost more than fifteen pounds, ran my first 10K and a couple more 5K races, created a Facebook Author page as a home base for promoting my writing, entered the Twitter world as another online presence as an author, transitioned to primarily blogging fiction pieces, and, you know, continued to learn how to love my husband and raise my children.

It's been a year to remember. A year to celebrate. A year to motivate.

The truth is, for the very first time, I have not looked forward to my birthday. The very first time. 30 didn't bother me. 35 didn't bother me. 36, however, has bothered me. When I set out to choose some words for a post here, that was the primary force behind it: I was feeling bothered. The discontented thoughts were muddled and emotional. After writing a few paragraphs, I stopped. I deleted it all. I forced myself to turn my mind from those thoughts and gain a more reasonable perspective.

This post is not what I originally conceived it to be. Instead, this is me on the last day of 35, ready for what's next. My discontent and dread regarding my birthday has turned into excitement and ambition for the potential of the next 365 days. They are 365 pages of my story unwritten thus far. I'm ready to write and turn each one.

Because the Saints Said So: Find a Friend (St. Thomas Aquinas)

Friendship is the source of the greatest pleasures, and without friends even the most agreeable pursuits become tedious. (St. Thomas Aquinas)

"Even the most agreeable pursuits become tedious." Isn't that the truth? What is your agreeable, tedious pursuit? That aspect of life that is rich with worth, a source of joy, yet as days pass there is an element of the mundane. For me, it is motherhood and writing. Both endeavors are reservoirs of goodness in my life, but, boy oh boy, can they become tedious. The nitty gritty becomes a nuisance. The repetitive details become boring. The depth to which I must dig to find my motivation becomes deeper.

With friends, though, what a difference there can be.

Friendship is indeed a source of great pleasure. Genuine friendship is life-giving. It builds up. It highlights and enhances your strengths, while meeting you in your weaknesses. Friendship finds common ground in the agreeable, yet tedious bits of life. Besides that, friendship is just plain fun! It offers laughter, smiles, mutually loved activities. Friends are shoulders for leaning, hands for holding, minds for collaborating. "Iron sharpens iron; one man sharpens another" (Proverbs 27:17).

I don't think I need to expound on this much further. It rings too true for us all to require a lot of explanation. I'll only add, say thank you to a friend today. Or two, or three. Love them, and be grateful.

Hello There, August

You guys, it's August. In case you haven't checked your calendar, now you know. It's August. When it arrived yesterday, I thought all my usual start-of-a-new-month thoughts: How did this happen? Where did last month go? This year is disappearing! Those bounced rapidly through my head, then cleared out for a new thought:

We are a full month closer to the release of my debut novel. Yes, that's right. It's getting so close that I have a small fit of nerves followed by giddy smiles each time I think about it.

The manuscript has been with my editor for a month now. In another 1 to 2 months, I'll begin the work of reviewing changes suggested or requested. It's been even harder than I expected to keep my hands off the manuscript in the meantime. When you're accustomed to working on something that you love, it doesn't come all that naturally to suddenly label it off-limits. The silver lining is how much I'm looking forward to collaborating with the editor on final changes. Based on experiences of fellow authors, that process can be a bit painful, so I'm glad to go into it with anticipation rather than dread.

Until the book comes in December, I'll do my best to provide other sources of reading pleasure. Keep coming back here for flash fiction pieces and attempted insights into the mystery that we call life. In one form or another, I do hope to share a short story with you soon, and you can always find me by following my Facebook author page.

August is full of heat, sun, thunderstorms, beaches, and reluctant preparation for autumn. It is a month of vigorous tug-of-war between lingering in one season while tipping toward the next. Thank you for spending a bit of these days, heady and sweet, with me on my rambling written excursions.

Do Not Laugh - Thoughts on Compliments, Selfies, and Psalm 139:14

My three and a half year old son walked into my bedroom as I finished combing my hair. Mentally, I was running through what remained of readying ourselves for the day. I was distracted and about to send him back out with instructions to brush his teeth so we could leave on time.

 

He cut me off with his words, "Mommy, you look beautiful. You should take a picture."

 

Immediately, a voice spoke in my head, "Do not laugh."

 

I had to close my mouth because that was the exact response I was about to make. I looked my son in the eye and smiled. I said, "thank you, peanut," and put my comb away.

 

He remained at my side, waiting. "Take a picture."

 

The voice was there again. "Do not laugh."

 

Don't laugh at his admiration for you. Don't dismiss the clarity with which he sees you; clarity that is fogged up in you by years of insecurities. I didn't laugh. Instead, I took the picture. He asked to see it. Satisfied, he gave me one more heart-stealing smile, then bounded away to see what his sister was up to elsewhere.

 

Honestly, I almost deleted the photo. What did I need it for? I saw the roundness of the belly where I'd love for it to be flatter; the softness of the arms where I wish they were toned. I saw the gray hairs I don't pull out anymore. I saw the migraine behind my eyes, and the thick glasses because I didn't feel like putting in my contacts when I could barely stand to have my eyes open in the daylight. I saw the awkward half-smile because selfies seem meant for younger, perkier people.

 

Why didn't I delete the photo? I didn't delete it because of a hunch that every mom ever caught off guard by their child's admiration could relate to the thoughts filling my head. I even had a feeling that the dads out there can relate to it all, perhaps when their children look at them with unwavering confidence in their strength and capabilities. I didn't delete the photo because, while the things I saw in it are real and true, the things my son sees are real and true as well.

 

I not only saved the photo, but decided to share it here because of Psalm 139:14, "I will give thanks to You, for I am fearfully and wonderfully made; wonderful are your works, and my soul knows it well."

 

Years aged.

Extra pounds carried.

Hair grayed and thinned.

Body tired.

Pains and illnesses endured.

Patience lost.

Voice raised.

Mistakes made.

Weaknesses experienced.

 

None of these eliminate the truth my child sees and accepts about me, or your child about you: that I am, and you are, "fearfully and wonderfully made."

 

The next time you encounter that truth, whatever the source, don't laugh it off. Don't dismiss it or argue against it, mentally or aloud. Hear it. Be grateful for it. Let it sink in until you can say, "my soul knows it well."

Under Time's Thumb

We are perched on the peak of summertime. It is the start of the weeks of heaviest heat, with air that wets your skin when you exit the air conditioning. It is now, at the height, that the signals of summer's temporary condition begin appearing. The longest hours of daylight undetectably recede. The hayfields are cut and rolled into buffalo-sized bales. Cornstalks reach shoulder height and store's stock harvests of school supplies.

This time of year always, always brings restlessness. My spirit is swirled up in a mixture of urgency to savor now, and serene anticipation of the transition that is ahead. I hesitate to admit that autumn will be welcome on my doorstep, not wanting summer to think I wish it gone.

Is that the way of all things? All the things under time's thumb?

Maybe I play the comparison game too readily. When it's something so entirely out of my control as the movement of the seasons, does it matter which is better? Or which I prefer? All that matters is what is.

On Camera - Book Update

It was late. I was tired, and feeling all the feels. Here's a video update on this week's big step toward getting my novel, Full of Days, to you all. Click here: Late Night Confessions (i.e. Book Update)

The Paper in My Purse

There's this paper that I keep folded up and tucked away in my purse. It is a bit of treasure that I bring with me practically everywhere. I think I've gone through five purses in the last seven years, and that paper has found its place in each one. Today, I unfolded it for the first time in perhaps a year and read each beautiful word printed upon it.

The black ink is still clear on the paper, but the yellowing of its edges has begun. The creases are tearing. It felt a bit delicate in my fingers today. 

The lines that fill this page were written by my husband, long before he was my husband. I still remember my awe when he sent me the first two stanzas, a mere two weeks after our first date. If I've ever come close to swooning, that was the moment. Here I was, lingering in the dawn of our coupledom, wading in and testing the waters. Then, he offers this collection of words born in his heart and pulls me under.

Love requires taking chances. It requires wading into deeper waters and losing sight of your former shore. My husband more than anyone else has taught me this. Love also, for me, requires words. Words of beauty and truth. Every time I look at this worn page in the pocket of my purse, I'm thankful my husband understood that from the start.

The Heart of Life is Good

This is one of my favorite photos. Sure, I have others that better capture my children's faces and smiles. This one, though, captures life.

Some things have me thinking hard on the matter of life. It started with the suicide bomber cruelly choosing the concert in Manchester as his target and killing twenty-two adults, teens, and children. It continued with the news of the twenty-eight adults and children violently martyred in Egypt when they refused to deny their belief in Christ. Numerous others were injured in these attacks. Countless more were directly affected and traumatized.

And so, I think about life. Life as it is now, in this world in which my husband and I are raising our little children. In the midst of this thinking, I came across that photo. It's a recent one, taken at my kids' first time at a major league baseball game. All I have to do is look at it and I relive that night. We bought the tickets on a whim when we saw a low cost deal for some upcoming games. I was excited, as I always am when I attend a baseball game, but I was also worried. Would the kids enjoy themselves or be overwhelmed by the size and the noise of the place? Would they get bored and whine? Would they complain about having to stay in their seats for too long? Would they be too tired the next day? Typical motherhood worries.

My worry was silenced by their wonder: the wonder on their small faces when we entered the stadium; when the crowd stood clapping for the first time; when the fireworks were lit to celebrate each home run; when my son kept his eyes on the pitcher and batter as I explained  a little of the game and he was rewarded with witnessing a hit to the outfield; when the racing sausages and the 7th inning stretch brought everyone to their feet in unity. The pair of them enjoyed every minute. They were thrilled at being part of something so much bigger than themselves.

So many things could have gone wrong. They didn't, but they could have. I think of the dozens of concerts my friends and I have attended from the time we were teenagers to the present without a doubt that we'd arrive back home safely. I think of the pilgrimages we've made to churches and retreats without the looming threat of being attacked for our beliefs. I think of the number of people in that baseball stadium with no thought of whether or not someone might make us a target. So many things could go wrong.

If the fears and worries win, we must withdraw from what is bigger than ourselves. That's what it comes down to, I suppose. Being part of what is bigger than ourselves is at the heart of life, and life cannot be sustained without the heart.

There's things you need to hear

So turn off your tears and listen

Pain throws your heart to the ground

Love turns the whole thing around

No it won't all go the way it should

But I know the heart of life is good

John Mayer

Seven Years Ago

Seven years ago on this day, I went to dinner with my sister, our mutual best friends, and the husband of one of those friends. We ate at one of our favorite restaurants, Good Company, in Appleton, WI. The hostess seated us around a large circular table in the front section of the first floor of the large, two-story restaurant. Later that evening we would attend a concert at a local church. Our conversations probably ran through a gamut of topics. I don't know. I only remember one.

I told them about a coworker who lately was offering frequent smiles and inquiries into how my day was faring. Occasionally he invited me to join a group of peers for lunch. Sometimes the flirtation was clear but more often he left the impression of straightforward, genuine friendliness. After encountering him each workday, I usually wondered two things: was I assuming too much about his interest and, if not, then why the hell was he interested in me? I'd sit in my chair behind the reception desk, running reports, handling mail, and finding ways to pass the slower hours. He'd walk by to reach our adjacent show room, on his way to fix whatever technical issue had cropped up on one of the machines. Eye contact, smile, small talk or a joke, then the day rolled along.

I consistently turned down the invitations to lunch. I kept the small talk brief. I silently questioned why this guy bothered to talk to me. My skepticism was not because I was clueless - which might have been excusable considering my lack of adult dating experience - but because I was afraid. Oh, how I was afraid. All the seeds for that fear were planted in earlier years, having nothing to do with this man and everything to do with me.

At dinner that night, as we waited for our entrees to arrive, my closest friends listened to me talk about this man. Eventually, one of them interrupted me with a single demand: the next time he invited me to lunch, I had to say yes. I laughed and she asserted the demand more vehemently while the others added their support. They did not relent until I agreed.

I spent the rest of that Saturday evening negotiating with the fears in my head. I spent the remainder of the weekend debating whether or not I hoped my coworker would invite me to lunch just one more time. The following Tuesday I shared a meal with my husband for the first time.

The cave you fear to enter holds the treasure you seek.

Joseph Campbell



A couple months after that first lunch date.

And 6 1/2 years later.

Because the Saints Said So: We Shall Be Content (St. Timothy)

I have a love affair with rocking chairs. They are the bubble baths and comfort food of the furniture world. It is a dream of mine to own a home with enough space for rocking chairs in nearly every room, plus the front porch and back patio, of course. I was in an airport once that had a row of about twenty white rocking chairs facing the windows, backs to the bustling crowds. The time spent there waiting for my flight was one of my trip's highlights. There are days when I have a hard time slowing down to pause with my family instead of continuously attacking my to-do list. If I can direct myself to a rocking chair and sit, I am much more likely to lengthen the pause. Balanced by the rhythm of the chair, I can breathe a little deeper and allow my heart to feel content.

As human beings made by God for life with God, we crave contentment. We long for the peaceful satisfaction that can only come in full when we reach our eternal home. Oh, but how great a share of contentment can be ours now!

We must pursue contentment. The usual take on the matter tends more toward the idea that we have to stop doing, stop moving, stop trying at so many things if we are to experience contentment. Essentially, we must simply do less. We must suspend our pursuits. I am suggesting that we need not suspend, but rather change. Change what we are doing; change what we are moving toward; change what we are trying at if we are to exist in a contented state.

There is great gain in godliness with contentment; for we brought nothing into the world, and we cannot take anything out of the world; but if we have food and clothing, with these we shall be content. - 1 Timothy 6:6-8

"Godliness with contentment," i.e. becoming our true, full, made-in-God's-image selves with peaceful and grateful hearts and minds: this is a goal worthy of us all. It requires a purified perspective on life's genuine needs and true purposes.

Pursuing contentment means rooting out the things that detract and distract from contentment. What those things are will vary from person to person, and even change from year to year during the course of life. Right now, for me, the biggest detraction is things, literally. Stuff. Unnecessary belongings taking up the precious space of our family's small home. So, I am pursuing contentment. I am detaching myself from objects. I am realizing what we don't need, or even want. I am letting go and clearing out, and it is a relief. This process is leading me to greater satisfaction with our home and gratefulness for our needs being met. It feeds contentment.

Your pursuit of contentment may look quite different than mine. It could be detaching yourself from damaging relationships. It might involve setting your feet toward a calling that requires the sacrifice of a comfortable (or dissatisfying but secure) job. Maybe it is changing the way you spend your time, or doing whatever is needed to eliminate immoral habits. Maybe it is taking an honest look at how you treat yourself and your body, then altering both your perspective and your actions.

Contentment is blocked by a variety of things but it coexists consistently with three things: detachment, gratitude, and perspective. Cultivate these and contentment will sprout in abundance.

Meanwhile, if you want to feel the contentment as it takes root, I recommend a good rocking chair.

Missing Your Chance... Or Not

I have a vivid memory of sitting on my sister's living room floor watching her open her birthday gifts. One from me was a bookmark with a George Eliot quote that read, "It is never too late to be what you might have been." She unwrapped and read it then looked at me with wet eyes and asked, "Do you really believe that?" I nodded. She was in her early thirties and was at the start of a remarkable overhaul of her life. She was among the first people to convince me that there is never a good excuse to believe you've missed your chance to be who you long to be.

Which brings me to Easter. I intended to write a blog for Easter. A few non-coalesced themes floated around my mind. I even told myself it'd be best to write it early and schedule it to post on Easter. Hours and days passed and then the chance was gone. It was Monday and Tuesday and Wednesday and now, here I am talking about my unfulfilled intentions.

And it is still Easter.

In the faith I practice and believe in wholeheartedly, we celebrate Easter for a full season. This season happens to be fifty days. Fifty days of joy, of a special call to gratitude for the gift of salvation, and of reflecting inwardly on the great miracle of Easter.

The memory of my sister and the reality that I missed my chance yet didn't miss my chance to write something for you all for Easter has me boarding a train of thought I'll ask you to ride with me. Here it is: could anything possibly be more appropriate to Easter than to consider how what we might assume is missed or finished is far from being so?

An arrest and beating; a turning of the tide of popularity and acceptance; a crucifixion and a grave: all indeed appeared finished.

We forget that our knowledge is partial. We cannot see the full picture or understand the complete, intricate plan. We forget that the shocking empty grave and mystical appearance of the resurrected Christ was not a shock to the One who orchestrated it all. If Easter is teaching me a particular lesson this year it is to never assume that the chance has come and gone to be who I am meant to be and live as I am called to live. The dream, the goal, the change: whatever it might be that you have resigned to past opportunities and assumed must be let go, think again.

The Father above ordained the day of your beginning. Do not concern yourself with identifying endings along the way, or even the final ending He also ordains (which even then will not be a true ending, if grace allows). He gives us our chances in abundance. Some we squander and some we take. Forgive yourself the former and be encouraged by the latter. Then start taking more and squandering less, and leave the rest to God.

Maybe Someday; Maybe Now

Ten months ago, at 34 1/2 years old, I began to run. Although this was an entirely new activity, it wasn't a momentous decision that stands out in my memory. It was a vague desire for a fresh exercise routine. It was frustration with my body and a need for an energy outlet. It was a craving for alone time that was genuinely beneficial, not pampering. It was a wondering what I might be capable of if I tried.

Ten months ago, I could jog half a mile before requiring an interval of walking. Two days ago, I ran a full 10K race.

No walking. No stopping. I ran 6.2 miles. Ten months ago, this accomplishment was not even in my sights. The suggestion of it would have evoked laughter. Yet here I am, able to say I did it and beginning to think about when I might do it again and how much better I could do it the next time around.

What's your "I wonder if I'm capable of this" scenario? You know you have one. Maybe you have more than one.

Here's another of mine: Ten years ago, give or take a few months, I began writing a story. That, in itself, was not a new endeavor. I'd written the starts of several stories. I'd toyed with the idea of writing a book. I lived for 20+ years with the persistent desire to write but without the gumption to pursue it at full tilt. Then ten years ago, I started this story. Unlike with the others, I didn't stop.

After 1 1/2 years, I had a legitimate first draft of a 126,000 word novel. Now I have a book publishing contract for my much revised, thoroughly edited, still imperfect 102,000 word draft of that story.

What's your "maybe someday" endeavor?

Today is someday. So is tomorrow. Whatever the reasons for your waiting, there are reasons to begin.

The incredible thing about trying is the way it snowballs. Efforts made produce belief in possibilities. Goals met give birth to new goals. Pride in accomplishments erodes doubt in yourself.

One of the hardest lessons I had to learn along the routes of both of these accomplishments is I have no idea what I am capable of. None of us do. Persevering toward the finish line of a goal is the only way to chip away at that ignorance. Then, when seemingly impossible goals are reached, a continued awareness that you still don't know your full capabilities will drive you to continue choosing now over leaving it to someday.

Apostles of Joy

Yesterday, I witnessed the appearance of pure joy on the rosy cheeked face of my daughter. Again and again, her expression lit up like she was standing in the path of a sunbeam. Her smile flashed as wide as she could make it. Her laughter burst forth contagiously until I was giggling in unison.

St. Teresa of Calcutta stated that "joy is a net of love by which we catch souls."

"Man cannot live without joy," according to St. Thomas Aquinas.

Pope Francis advised that all Christians ought to be "apostles of joy."

What brought on my daughter's supreme display of joy? Bubbles. That's all. To her two year old mind, they were wondrous works of art, wrought by magic and created expressly for her. I sat in a chair on our little deck outside the living room blowing bubbles. Even when she was ready to move on to other activities, I kept going. I didn't want it to end. I needed to witness her joy.

In the hours since, I've contemplated both her joy and my reaction to it. That sort of joy arises when something unexpected and incredible appears before us. It's easy to see why it exists in children as young as my daughter: everything is still new and unexpected at that age. Young children are easily impressed and easily pleased.

 

I am already sad for the days when I begin to recognize in my children a departure from this manner of encountering the world. It will happen though. Fewer and fewer things will feel unexpected or incredible. Must it be that way though? Could I, at 35 years old, experience that uninhibited, simple joy more often? Could joyful become one of my trademark attributes?

 

It's worth finding out the answer to those questions. Joy adds vigor and spirit to daily living. It inspires gratitude, hope, and contentment - as well as arises from the same. It spreads from person to person, improving the quality of life further and further down the chain of people with whom we are each linked. Rediscovering a way of joy is worth the effort.

 

How do we become characterized by joyfulness in a manner that harkens back to that abundant childhood joy?

1. Realize every earthly beauty was made for you but you have not earned any of it. Do you realize the world didn't have to be made beautiful? God could design creation however he pleased. Purely functional might have been the only standard. Beautiful, enjoyable, fun, wondrous, exciting, incredible - God gave creation these aspects for our edification and, most importantly, for us to know Him through creation. He did it for you. He made the colors, textures, scents, and sounds for you. He gave you comprehension of these realities so that you might share in His nature. This He did entirely out of love for you. Encountering your world with this perspective can cast it all in a light that leads to joy.
2. Engage now and do so without self-consciousness. We are trained to multi-task; to be efficient and productive. We plan. We prep. We do, do, do. We miss so much. Engage in the present moment as thoroughly as you can manage. My husband has been working on teaching me this for years now. Be present and don't apologize for doing so. A reaction of joy can feel embarrassing, and what a sad statement that is about our accepted mentality! Lose the shame over experiencing joyful wonder at the bits of beauty and goodness that are taken for granted by many people.
3. Believe your joy is a gift to others. They need it. Your family, friends, coworkers; the person sitting in the church pew with you; the cashier at the grocery store; the elderly man hobbling past you on the sidewalk; the tired parent handling the kids at the park. All of them need your joy. Your children need you to derive joy from their silliness. Your spouse needs to laugh with you and perhaps be reminded of the beauty shadowed by the daily grind. Your friends need a voice that replaces cynicism with joy. It is no surprise we become numb to the goodness available to us in life. Our senses are battered by harshness at every turn and joy is a healing balm.

An apostle of joy is a person who allows joy to be a defining theme of their life and who will carry that joy into the presence of anyone within their influence. If you don't know where to begin, start with gratitude. Gratitude begets joy. And when you need an extra boost, watch a the face of a child chasing bubbles. I promise you won't be disappointed.

Not Damaged - A Note to Moms

Today, I came across an online article about a mother who photographed her torso after the birth of her second child. She took a photo at 24 hours post-birth, then a new one at 1 week, 4 weeks, 10 weeks, 14 weeks, and so on. As opposed to yet another "look at me, I look amazing in only a short period of time" sort of social media post, this mom wanted to show the public a realistic, normal transformation post birth. When I clicked on the article to read it, I felt proud of this woman. I was glad that by her brave choice to share those photos, more people might understand the reality of a woman's body.

While I was proud of the woman and her intention though, I was disappointed in the author of the article. Not only disappointed, I was angered. The brief paragraphs written to accompany each successive photo were filled with the same language that I see in every article about a mother's post-partum body.

Damaged. Fix. Ruin. Recover.

The word choices in this and other articles make clear the accepted perspective that a woman's body has been damaged by pregnancy. Her body is flawed now and needs to be fixed. The appearance of her physical form was good before pregnancy and bad now. I have even seen it stated as strongly as saying her body has been ruined. Every bit of body advice post-partum is geared toward recovering your pre-pregnancy form.

It took until my second pregnancy before I fully realized the error of this way of thinking. It bothered me before that, needling at my brain that there was something off. Somewhere along the way my second time around though, it clicked. Plain and simple, if you'll allow me to say so, it's bullshit.

Pregnancy did not damage your body; pregnancy changed your body. You don't need to be fixed. Your physical form is not ruined. Lastly, now that you've had a child (or two or four), nothing else in your life will ever be the same as it was pre-pregnancy, so why, oh why, are you told your body should be the exception?

Your body was specially designed to accomplish pregnancy, to carry and deliver a child. Many women are unable to do this since there are many factors that contribute to it occurring, so please, when you are blessed to be one who can and does accomplish this great feat, do not fall into the trap of believing you've ruined your body in the process! Our culture claims that we must teach girls to accept their bodies as they are, to be proud of their figures and not succumb to the pressure of airbrushed supermodel expectations. How can we ever instill in our girls a genuine, lasting respect for their bodies while perpetuating the current attitude toward the changes caused by pregnancy? Pregnancy and birth, while far from the only incredible abilities of a woman's body, are the pinnacle of the unique, amazing design of a woman.

Stop comparing yourself to other mothers whom you think have 'recovered' better than you have after pregnancy. Scoff at those who would label your stretch marks as flaws. Tune out those who wonder why you haven't fixed your abs yet. And please, please, correct those who refer to the physical effects of pregnancy as damage. Aim for health and strength, but do so with your eyes open to the reality that having a child has changed your body just as it changes everything else in life.

Saying Yes

I did it. I signed the book contract that was offered to me recently for the publication of my debut novel. Let's just make a list of all the words that come to mind when I try to describe my current state:

• Excited
• Relieved
• Nervous
• Peaceful
• Floating
• Thrilled
• Scared
• Thankful
• Eager

All the feels, as the kids say these days! After reviewing the contract and researching its terms and language, as well as communicating with the publisher on questions I needed answered (and being satisfied with their clarifying responses), I said yes to my dream.

I've been saying yes for years. At the start, when it was yet another story idea taking shape in my imagination but this time something caused me to follow through on it. Then the year and a half spent writing the first rough (so, so rough) first draft. Oh, the hours spent and chai teas consumed at Copper Rock coffee house in Appleton! I swear, I need to arrange an author reading there. After the initial rejections from publishers when I naively submitted my barely edited draft to them, I kept saying yes. Through the years of gradual editing and fitting in writing time in tiny, occasional increments, still I said yes. And throughout 2016, when I made it a year of heavily editing the manuscript and learning skills I needed as a writer, I continued saying yes.

Over and over, I said yes because that is the only way to fulfill the dream of your heart. If there's another way, I don't know it. Today, I said yes to a publisher. It's the yes that's waited for me here, biding its time until I showed up to meet it. Each yes led to this one.

There's This One Song

There's this one song, this one single song, that does everything for me that I could possibly need when I listen to it. It holds me like a lullaby. It serenades me like a lover. It moves me like a great work of art. It makes me smile and makes me sigh.

Is it not an incredible privilege that we are designed to experience art in such a manner? And not only that we can comprehend the beauty and genius in art while it inspires emotional reactions and provokes new thoughts, but also that we are each unique in our experiences of it. The song I speak of may have little effect on you. The painting or symphony or film you love dearly, I may not like. The favorite novel, the beloved play, the incredible sculpture, or the enthralling music - they are not the same from one to another. We each have our own "songs" that hold ineffable power over us.

Oh, the glory of such variety in both artists and recipients of art.

When I listen to that song I am thankful we are made in the image of the original Artist. We are His finest work, His masterpieces. In turn then every piece of beauty and creativity that comes forth from humanity is an offshoot of His artistry. I hope there is a piece of art, a reflection of His artwork, that has reached you like this song has me. We are each greater for the "songs" that reach our hearts.

Thank Yous and News! (A Video Blog)

There's a first time for everything! My first video post is here:

https://m.facebook.com/story.php?story_fbid=614267115450303&id=559352647608417

If you have five minutes to spare, take a look. I have a message for my readers and a bit of news too!