Deb
Reader, Thinker, Writer, Lover.
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I was in yoga the other day, minding my own business as usual. I get in and out of there, not make eye contact, trying not to feel awkward whilst putting my thumbs to my third eye and saying, “Namaste.” I’m a crunchy, leftie, granola hippie, but that doesn’t mean I want to hang out with folks like me, for crying out loud. We’re weird and far too prone to violating personal space.

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Photo by Blaise Vonlanthen on Unsplash

Granted, it’s been a stressful couple of weeks, and I already have to defend my cooking nightly to my youngest. She came wandering into the kitchen as I was scrambling to cook dinner (and oh, P.S., hold the world together).

 

She innocently (?) said, “Hmm. It smells like coconut?” Now, I know she hates coconut, but she didn’t know I was using coconut flour to cook her favorite meal, chicken tenders. I snapped, “Yeah? Well it is! And if you don’t like it, you don’t have to eat it!” (And by snapped, I mean yelled.)

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You know what makes me anxious about my anxiety? The way it just happens to me. Like, I’m walking along in the garden of life, picking daisies and enjoying the warm sunshine on my back, when all of the sudden, I become aware of something lurking behind a bush. I catch movement out of the corner of my eye, but can never quite put my finger on it. I run through the questions in my mind: did I leave the gate open? Did I invite it in, somehow? Did I miss the warning signs that it was going to camp out in my body? Nope, nope, nope. It just happens, out of the blue, and that makes me anxious as hell. Anxious-er.
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I said:
Lord, come quickly.

It’s a favorite phrase of Christians – a sentiment that means, “It’s all too much, Jesus. Come back from the heavens and rescue us from this cesspool – this mess we live in. I can’t do it any more.”

And then, he said to me clearly:

I have already returned. It’s YOU. You are my way of saving the world.

But how? How do we save a world bent on destroying itself?

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September 28, 2017

Dear Daughter…

Written by Posted in Blog Posts Comments 1
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Photo by Daniela Rey on Unsplash

It used to be easy. Band-aids and kisses fixed skinned knees, a cuddle on the couch with your favorite book would cure a grumpy mood, a little extra time helping with homework would bring that math grade up to one we both felt better about. Brownies, movie nights, family time, commiserating and hating all the girls who hated you…easy fixes to problems we thought hard at the time.

But now, you are you. You have grown up ideas and grown up ways, but still with only the years of a fledgling. It’s no longer enough to kiss your wounds – now you’re learning on the hard road of experience, and I’m only there to encourage you, help pick up the pieces. I can offer that band-aid, but it seems insignificant and small compared to the hole I see in your heart. Read more…

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Do you know how many times I’ve said, “Are you kidding? I can’t WAIT until these kids are all out of the house! The cooking, the cleaning, the sassing? I won’t miss it at all!”

 

Approximately 7,476 times.

 

Do you know how many times I’ve been a liar, liar, pants on fire?

 

Approximately 7,476 times.

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I’m guilty of turning aside, afraid of offending, afraid of being wrong, afraid of rocking the boat. But recent events in America have me thinking about my silence and the excuses I have said to myself, or heard others say. I asked some wise folks, living and dead, what they had to say about justice, peace, and getting involved in the fray.

I’ll wait until it affects my family.

“The ends you serve that are selfish will take you no further than yourself but the ends you serve that are for all, in common, will take you into eternity.”
Marcus Garvey

 

I’ll wait until it affects my bank account.

“The opposite of poverty is not wealth. In too many places, the opposite of poverty is justice.”
Bryan Stevenson

 

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Have you ever looked at a photo of yourself, having the time of your life, and you forget all about the day and zero in on all of your body flaws? Yeah, me neither. ;) Like, I didn’t even notice the flabby belly, the squishy thighs, the too large shoulders, the chunky bum,  or the farmer’s tan, you guys.

Here’s a tale of competing voices – which one will win? Which one do I want to win?

 

Wow, I have the shoulders of a football player. Why do my traps grow so fast when I lift?

I just put 75 pounds over my head! FEAR THESE TRAPS, FOLKS.

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Let’s be real: I was never going to go to the Crossfit Games. I was a sliding-into-her-40s stay-at-home mom who was looking for something to help keep the weight off. It’s not Crossfit’s fault that I fell head over heels in love with something I could never be good at. It’s not Crossfit’s fault that I got serious about something I should have taken lightly, or pushed myself past what my body wanted, or hated myself for not being able to master double-unders.

 

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I always giggle and get a little searing pain in my heart when I read the Anne Lamott quote, “I’m not one of those Christians who is heavily into forgiveness,” and that if she could, she would write a book called All the People I Still Hate: A Christian Perspective. I giggle because it’s damn funny, brilliant writing; and I have that little searing pain in my heart because it hits way too close to home.

 

For someone who has a reputation of being generous and kind (at least that’s what I’m told), I have the ability to hold and nurse grudges as only a Taurus can. And what’s so flipping frustrating is that long after I think I’ve let something go, after I’ve been reminded how many times mercy has been shown to me, that grudge will rear its head at the least opportune time and flatten me. It pulls me down a rabbit hole and I’m crying and reaching for the edge to pull myself out, but it feels fruitless to fight the hurt.

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