Balance

Oh, the elusive "Balance." If you could just find it and somehow maintain it. It seems to be a phantom or a dream or a ghost that you maybe once knew. It’s that torch you are trying to grasp as you run this race, yet you can never seem to catch up to it. The runners holding that torch are too fast and too perfect. 

Finding Balance is one of our primary quests. A worthy quest and an honorable quest. It’s the quest to get things right and find everything all at once. Peace, power, joy, serenity, spirituality, and strength. This particular quest, for a lot of us anyway, always seems to "end" in failure. We can never quite maintain any level of satisfaction or peace. The pendulum swings back and forth and back and forth and seems to knock over the most unpredictable things. We have to start over again. 

Balance is a Monet. When you look at balance in someone else’s life, you need to understand that what you are seeing is not fine details. You are seeing a big picture of beauty and perfection. If you got closer and you asked a few questions, you might see the truth. Her balance is a hodgepodge of details and spots and it’s not beautiful up close at all. At least not in the way you’re thinking. Balance isn’t about having everything all together at once. If that’s the balance you seek, you truly are chasing a phantom. There are too many things outside our control-too many contingencies in our lives-to achieve the perfection we seek. However, if we were to redefine Balance though the lense of reality, it’s presence on our lives has a chance of becoming a true companion. 

As perfectionists and people who have tendencies toward compulsive goal setting, there comes a time when you have to realize that if you continue to live that way you will never be satisfied. The balance you seek is elusive and the peace you require is impossible to obtain. Why? Becuase it’s not real. 

Perfection is not real. 

Perfection is not real. 

Perfection on this earth is not real. 

Perfection exists only outside of this life. 

So, what can we have here? What Balance do we get to know? 

Balance is not perfection. Balance is not meeting all goals each week and still managing to not lose our minds. On the other side of that coin, Balance is not an excuse for not setting and meeting goals that will enrich our lives and the lives of the people we love. Balance is not about accepting less. 

Balance is a journey that never ends. It begins each day and continues for the rest of our lives. It’s the beauty of setting goals and doing whatever it takes to succeed. It’s every single dot and stroke of paint on the canvas that ultimately creates the painting of our existence. It’s the relentless pursuit of happiness and the relentless acceptance of reality. It is accepting our own personal beauty and purpose while at the same time striving to get more out life life... striving to make our lives matter for something. Balance is realizing that your BEST probably looks different on any given day. Sometimes the well of energy seems full and sometimes it seems empty. Don’t compare your best during full times to the empty times. Either you are giving life your everything or you aren’t. Comparisons are the death of us. 

I always tell my girls when they have to run the mile: run until you think you might puke. Even if you lose, you’ll know that you didn’t hold back. Sometimes you’ll come in first, sometimes you’ll come in last, but each and every time you give it everything you’ve got. That’s balance. 

Don’t hold back. Understand that the mind, body, and spirit are fluid and ever-changing. True balance is accepting that sometimes you’re on top, sometimes you’re not, this can change daily and even hourly, and your job is to show up and give it all you have. That’s your canvas and your dots, fine strokes, broad stokes, and splotches. That’s your beauty. 

The Invisible Woman

Throughout my 14 years as a mother, I have been repeatedly amazed at how easily Motherhood becomes a beautiful and amazing identity on its own. It has this incredible power to bring out the very best in women, giving them these deep oceans of love they would never otherwise have known could be experienced. It's difficult to find the words to describe all the beauty and love that envelops a woman when she has children. In addition to all the wonder that Motherhood brings to women's lives, there's another side, however. It's the silent, "say nothing" side. Once a woman has children, her eyes are opened to all these wonders and most women are ill-prepared for the other side of that coin. All the love, devotion, and complete dedication to her children eventually put Mom in the shadows.  Motherhood has this ability to completely take over and essentially erase everything she was before the little one(s) arrived. I have felt compelled to write about this side because I see it happen all the time and no one talks about it! It’s taboo for a woman to admit she might miss certain aspects of herself that are long gone since she became a mom. I think all moms need to be reminded that, although being Mom is ONE of your callings, it is not the ONLY calling on your life. It is not your only talent, your only love, your only offering to the universe. 

Remember your passion for painting or running or writing? What about your love of sunsets, poetry, great books or movies, or live music? What about your silliness, love for beer, wine, good whiskey, or baking? These talents, hobbies, and fascinations do not need to conform to the confines of Motherhood, where they can only be enjoyed in such a way that they compliment your role as a mother. Actually, I believe they need to continue to be their own beautiful and amazing beings within you. They are lives of their own. Sure, your talents and hobbies can be used to benefit your family, but I am a firm believer in developing and indulging these facets of ourselves outside our roles as mothers and/or wives. 

Making the time whenever possible to reconnect with yourself does not make you a bad mother. It makes you an incredible mother. It recenters and refocuses you in ways that nothing else can because it brings you back to who you are and the Self you have known most intimately your entire life. It causes you to reflect and develop in important ways that your role as a mother could never challenge. One of the most important things that maintaining your Pre-Mom passions does is allow you to remain visible to yourself. 

 

Women who become invisible to themselves are much more likely to become invisible to others--namely their partners. If you can’t see you, how can your partner? If you are lost in the eternal loop of eat, sleep, care for children, repeat, how do you think that will effect your partner and, ultimately, your children? But, I digress and need to refocus: how will the Mommy Loop effect you? How does it effect you? When is the last time you felt truly accomplished? When is the last time you felt your passion like fire and it caused your heart to pound with anticipation? When is the last time you set yourself apart from one role and stepped into another? When is the last time you went to bed at night feeling and seeing the full beauty of your soul? 

 
Full-time focus on children and family is insufficient to sustain the deep heart of a woman. We need more. The reason is because we are MORE than mothers. We are more than wives.

We are friends, artists, atheletes, musicians, dancers, singers, creators, daughters, professionals, and dreamers. We are talent, love, empathy, listening ears, hilarious jokesters, and brilliant problem solvers. All these compartments of our souls contribute to our roles as mothers and partners. They bring color to a world where all our roles converge, and are used to enhance the lives of our families. If you are not setting aside time to remain visible, to develop and adore and challenge yourself, your family is missing out. Then one day when your little ones fly away, you will be left looking in their mirror and wondering who the woman staring back is. 

 

My mother once told me that I was like a prism, full of colors and lights and angles. I never forgot that, and I’ve used it to refocus myself throughout my years as a mother. Yes, I am their mother and I am his wife, and they are my world...but my world is a big place, full of colors and shapes and angles that reflect from my soul. There is more to me than them.  

It’s not just me, ladies. You, too, are like prisms. 

 

Stay bright. 

 

Shadowy Figures: Postpartum Fog

This entry might seem like its only for the mamas, but listen here, fellas: please read on. 

At almost eight months postpartum, I say with all the love in my heart that the first year of a baby’s life is a bit of a show. Not for the baby, mind you, but for the Mama. Nothing can really prepare women for the months that follow childbirth, and I imagine it’s different and unique for each and every birth.

It seems like the mom plate grows ever smaller, but continues to be stacked ever higher. Recently, as I sat drinking my coffee and reading during my normal o’dark hundred routine, I found myself repeatedly asking, “What is the matter with me?” For the last eight months, I struggled with ups and downs. I felt emotionally drained, overworked, under appreciated, and like I was constantly coming up short in every way. Try as I might to be Supermom, whatever that means, I went to bed every night overwhelmed by my thoughts of all the things I didn’t do right that day. My temper was too short or I was too lenient or I didn’t work out or something didn’t go right at work. I began each morning feeling like I couldn’t breathe and I was about to embark on another marathon day, which would only conclude with me having further knowledge that I wasn’t good enough. 

Being a fitness lover and someone who is constantly exploring the worlds of nutrition and working out, I found myself lacking in those arenas, too (I write that like the feelings are past tense. They aren't). I wasn’t pushing myself hard enough at the gym, or I was pushing too hard, or I wasn’t even making it to the gym at all. The world of fit moms is a norm to me, and here I was, falling dramatically short of the goals. While I sat and researched postpartum workouts and the best ways to fuel breastfeeding moms, I bombarded myself with pictures of these incredible women who managed to drop weight and run marathons within three months of giving birth. Meanwhile, I sat there on my couch feeling like a deflated mess of a woman; lost, sensitive, and exhausted. In this world of fitness and goals and rebounding, I wasn’t even fit to read the articles. 

It wasn’t until last week when I found a crucial moment of grace. Being eight months postpartum, it never entered my mind that hormonal fluctuations are still very real for my body.  It never entered my mind that broken sleep takes its toll over time. It never entered my mind that the world of incredible fit moms is not a reality for the vast majority of women. It never occurred to me that being a mom of three very different little ladies can be just as draining as joyful. I needed these reality checks.

This fog that I live in seems to be The Fog. The Big Fog. The Fog from which many women never rebound. The Fog that rests on us as we desperately try to be everything to everyone.

 
The Fog that none of us really talk about because either we are ashamed or we don’t understand or, like me, we didn’t see. I couldn’t see the forest for the trees. I couldn’t see that there is actually a legit reason for my sadness on some days and my delight on others. Hormones!! They don’t magically regulate themselves within the first three months postpartum. They can sometimes take a year or even longer. As mothers, we are not only contending with smaller, yet ridiculously overloaded plates, but we are contending with hormonal changes over which we have zero control. We are up against nature. As if nature and responsibility weren’t enough, it becomes more interesting: we add the pressures of dropping weight within a few months, breastfeeding, working, play dates, a clean home, Baby’s First Everything, pictures, and “me time,” “him time,” “their time,” and and and and....

Fast forwarded five years, and as mama sends her little ones off to kindergarten, her heart and mind have been so worn out over time that the new normal is exhausted and “not enough.” They say that some women never recover from postpartum depression or postpartum blues, and I believe it. The drastic shifts in hormones paired with the pressures we undertake is a recipe for disaster if it’s left unacknowledged and unchecked. 

I know that a lot of woman read this blog and I hope that, as you read it, you will embrace with every ounce of your being that you are a warrior. You are battling both outside and inside forces and you are winning each day. Enjoy your great days and understand the darker ones. Chances are that the dark days--the sad, foggy ones--are not even your fault. Nature stacked the deck against us when it comes to hormones and the only way to really “deal” with them is to see them for what they are: large, shadowy figures that come and go without warning. They are powerful and they can suck the air out of a room. However, they are not a reflection of who we are or the reality of the lives we lead. They take something small, like missing a workout or losing your temper one day, and magnify it to something much bigger than it needs to be. They are like those long, summer shadows we get at sunset. Huge and daunting, but nothing like the real person standing there. We can’t beat them and we can’t minimize them. But we can watch them from a different place. I learned a visual for guided meditation that can help here. These moments, these shadows, are like passing traffic as we sit on the sidelines. The ideal is that we see them, we acknowledge them, and we allow them to continue and pass, just like watching traffic. They are a presence and they are real, but with focus and discipline we can let them pass by. We don’t have to wrestle them (losing battle). We don’t have to pretend they don’t exist (losing battle). Their presence does not make us weak (reality check). 

And for the men out there: yes, you can help. No, I am not about to tell you that your woman needs a spa day or a massage. Not that she’d say No to the offer, however, the answer is much more simple. Gratitude and encouragement go a long way. Please, please, please take the time to acknowledge. Say Thank You. Tell her you see what a rock star she is. Pay attention to how hard she’s working and TELL HER you appreciate it. TELL HER when she looks beautiful to you. Seriously, the kind words and encouragement can ease an aching mind more than you can imagine.

These are my eight-months-later thoughts. Lest anyone believe I totally have my shit together, nothing could be farther from the truth. I stand connected with moms of yesterday, today, and forever, battling the hormones, the exhaustion, and the expectations. I say that the shadowy figures will do what they do, but we are mothers and we soldier on. 

Beyond #METOO

I hesitate to post this one because the topic is oh so sensitive. But as a mother of three girls, I have spent countless hours reflecting on it.

The entire #metoo movement has peaked and, I think, is probably on its decline. The time for reckoning has come and we can seldom watch the news without hearing another story outing some perverted opportunist. None of it's new to us women. We’ve known all along that things are different for us and our lives are a perpetual balancing act of self-assertion and accepting societal “norms” (gag). It seems that we have, once again, found ourselves on some shaky, barely established solid ground where we sort of come together in the interest of our common good. The story seems the same, however. As is our typical fashion, we love to undermine ourselves. We are no different from men in that way. There are the great ones who are beyond reproach, but they are shoved into the shadows while the disgusting pigs among them shine bright lights of privilege, dominance, and selfishness. For us women, we have our moment in the spotlight, we pick up traction, and then BOOM, there are many among us who shine bright lights of entitlement, ignorance, and band waggoning. Undermine, undermine, undermine. 

Women are not being taught to be warriors. (Neither are men, incidentally). Our society doesn’t want warriors. We want heroes. A warrior is different. 

A warrior IS beyond reproach, in her work, in her home, and in her head and heart. She needs no explanations or introductions. She walks a path of humble strength. Her power surrounds her as its own formidable presence. She is integrity, kindness, truth, and determination. She strives for perfection in all that she does and she never settles for anything less. Her mistakes are learning points and the scars of her sorrows become badges of honor. She stands atop her own mountain, queen of her universe, and respect follows her wherever she goes. She need not ever fear conflict because she is steadfast in her steps which walk a line of honor and strength. Woe is he, or anyone really, who  foolishly steps over the line. Her wisdom will determine her response, which is swift, powerful, and unequivocal. 

The challenge that #metoo encounters is that it’s short-sighted. There is a difference between asserting ourselves from a position of anger verses a position of power. Anger can be an amazing tool with a fire that burns hot enough to fuel any movement; however it is not enough by itself to sustain change. Understanding that all change can and will be consistently undermined by the bottom-feeders among us, if we don’t live as warriors we will never be able to achieve the kind of change and balance we deserve for ourselves. The same goes for men. The bottom-feeders among them will always hold them back from the greatness to which they are called. When I think of “male warriors” I almost laugh to myself because those species pretty much don’t exist in our society. I have the same feeling when I think of women, too. Leading a movement doesn’t make you a Leader and a Warrior for change. Without integrity, your movement is a house of cards. 

If we are going to say "Time’s Up,"  we need to realize the implications of that. It means time's up on raising our daughters to accept anything less than excellence from themselves. It means having difficult conversations and setting examples and empowering them to do great things. It means teaching them that they are owed absolutely nothing and that it’s on them to earn everything. It’s telling them that dignity doesn’t start after college, it starts right now. It means that anger is embraced as a fuel for the flame, but can never be the flame itself.  It means admitting our own mistakes, failures,and short-comings and making decisions to rectify all things moving forward. It means setting new mantras and goals, which are rooted in our hearts and heads by seeds of love, power, determination, and honor. 

Honor. Live with honor and respond to all things with honor. Women need to seek greatness relentlessly. #metoo has started the conversations and the reckoning, but it’s not enough. We need a change of heart and a fortitude of spirit that reaches beyond this generation.

Time Flies

Thursday, February 8, 2018

Naomi, age 4

People take the liberty of saying a lot of things to new parents, most of which aren’t helpful at all. Actually, they also take the liberty of saying some downright horrible things to parents. Some of my favorites include all the wonderful “Just wait” statements, which are a combination of condescending, damning, and nasty all at once. “Just wait....

“Until the terrible twos.”

“Until she learns how to talk...she’ll never stop,”

“Until she becomes a teenager.”

“Until she brings home her first boyfriend.”

I used to just smile and take it. I likened it to those people who have nothing useful to say, so they feel the need to tell you that you look tired or that you need to smile. They are the same types of people who want to tell you that once you get married, your life stops; once you have children, your life stops; weekends on the soccer field are a burden; and the life which is the typical “be all end all” for most of us completely exhausts them to the point that they can’t wait to go back to work on Monday mornings. These people are in a perpetual state of “woe is me.” 

Recently, since having Hope, I’ve found that these ridiculous comments don’t bother nearly as much as this one, specific, well-meaning observation. When I am out alone with Hope, people make the assumption that she is my first and only, and feel the need to tell me, “Cherish every day because it goes by fast!”  I just smile and acknowledge and move on. But that particular comment is painful because it’s so true. Without knowing it, those people step on my feelings every single time. 

Naomi, just shy of 2-years-old

Yes, I know it goes fast. In the blink of an eye, I went from watching Naomi take her first steps to reminding her that her high school orientation starts at 6pm. As she goes through my closet to pick out one of my shirts that she’d rather wear than one of hers, my mind’s eye sees her come running into my room beaming with pride because she dressed herself for the first time. I have moments of panic because I only have four more years before she’s considered an “adult” and she can do as she pleases. All the hard work we put in to teaching her, loving  her, guiding her, disciplining her, and playing with her is coming to its grand crescendo before she begins a whole new song. I find that when people make nasty comments about teenagers, I feel instantly defensive and resentful. If there is any drawback whatsoever to MY teenager, it’s that she’s so sweet and amazing that I can’t imagine having a home without her in it. 

It’s a surreal experience, having one in diapers and the other starting high school. They are both my babies. They are both innocent, pink, little people who own me and require my whole heart and all the love, affection, reassurance, protection, playfulness, guidance, and patience I have. The only difference is that Naomi stands on the precipice of something wildly new and free, and once she jumps, there is very little I can do to protect her anymore. It’s absolutely terrifying. 

I can only hope that she’s prepared. And, at the same time, that somehow I’m prepared. 

Naomi, Age 5

But, is any mom ever really prepared? I guess so. I mean, at some point during the pregnancy with her, I was ready for her to get the heck out so we could move on to the next phase. Maybe this will be the same. Maybe I’ll transition from mostly fear  to excitement over her journey, our friendship, her successes, her developments, and her adventures. Maybe having a teenager is like a pregnancy. It starts with fear and anxiety, and then at some point, an overwhelming desire to move on sets in and both mother and child are all, “Let’s do this.” Then, the birth- the crucial transition-and boom, you begin something new with an infant. Then, with a toddler; a preschooler; a kinder; a middle school student; a teenager; an adult. Then Mother’s role transitions to that of a friend and sage adviser. I guess it all comes naturally. 

But it goes so fast. 

Advent 2017: The Waiting Place

I interrupt my “regular” baby adventure for the yearly Advent Blog. I have been writing these Advent blogs for a few years now and the entire season of Advent is my absolute favorite time of year. Since the girls were small, I have made a point to teach them about Advent and the true meaning of Christmas, so much that I never did the whole “Santa Claus” gig with them. We have a really nice Advent calendar and behind each door are little pieces of chocolate that they get to eat after we read the daily verse. Seriously, we have been doing this for years. But this year, I decided not to put the calendar out. The girls asked why and I told them it’s clear that they are not at all interested in Advent. They are only interested in getting the chocolate candies behind each door during Advent. Then Rachel asks, “What’s Advent anyway?” 

 

Really? I’d typically call that a Mom Fail, but I refuse to accept responsibility for that bullshit. Where has she been all these years?

I’m back at square one of putting out the Advent calendar and watching Charlie Brown Christmas twice a week for the duration of the season.  “That’s what Christmas is all about, Charlie Brown.” See, kids?!?! 

It’s the candles of Hope, Peace, Joy,and Love, respectively. But I can’t think about Advent without thinking about Waiting. That’s what Advent is. It’s a time of waiting and preparation. The discipline of waiting is almost completely lost in our society. We are almost incapable of waiting anymore. Everything needs to happen NOW and, if it doesn’t, we quickly switch gears and move on to the next.  But what if we looked at Waiting differently? The transitions that occur during our times of waiting are where all the beauty lies in our changes. I believe that Waiting is an entity and life of its own, and can be beautiful, like the moments just before the sunrise. 

There are a couple of things to consider when it comes to Waiting. One thing is the perspective waiting can give us. It takes our faulty and egotistical sense of control and puts us back to where we belong in the universe. Being in control and in charge of everything sounds good on paper, however that kind of power is something we are not equipped to handle.  It’s stressful and we inevitably fail. When the reset button is hit during times of waiting, we are reminded--oftentimes very unceremoniously--that we are not in charge. We can’t dictate the future, and thank goodness for that. As we wait, it helps to remember that when we are in charge of everything, that’s when we tend to screw up the most. 

Another thing about waiting is that it has a partner which cannot be forgotten or ignored. This partner also helps to give waiting its purpose. This partner brings a level of sanity as we experience The Waiting Place. This partner is Preparation. 

Waiting without preparation can contribute to feelings of hopelessness, lack of purpose, and loss.  Deliberate preparation is a sanity saver.  When we are preparing during times of transition, that’s when we can see and develop the true content of our character. That’s when our power and our strength get to shine. I don’t see your strength while you are standing on top of a mountain. I see your strength as you climb that mountain. As we climb our mountains and we encounter storms and foul weather, and we are forced to wait out these storms, we have options. We can sit there and do nothing except focus on the storm or we can prepare for what we are going to do when the sun rises again. Even resting is preparation. Rest, watch, wait, plan. Or, alternatively, work, progress, build the self, and be ready. Both approaches are preparation during times of waiting. I believe we are given the wisdom to know how to effectively wait, whether it be a restful wait or an active wait. 

Then, in addition to perspective and preparation, there is Faith. Faith is such a crucial element in sustaining us as we move through transition. One thing I have always resented hearing is the trite phrase, “Everything happens for a reason.” It seems like this is almost always said when life has turned into absolute hell;  when the pain is almost too much to carry and we are experiencing such profound heartache that it’s hard to see any light at the end of the tunnel. Then, you get some “well-meaning” mouth-breather who offers those comforting and insightful words. I’ve always wanted to respond with my own comfort and insight during moments like those... but my words consist of an even shorter, more poignant phrase which leaves no room for interpretation. And those two words are not “Happy birthday.” I digress...

That sentiment is so horribly communicated, however, during Advent we are reminded of the events surrounding the birth of Christ. How scared must Mary and Joseph have been? And Elizabeth, elderly and pregnant with John the Baptist? All they had at the time was Faith. Faith that what they believed to be true was actually the Truth.  Even after the birth of Christ, Joseph and Mary would wait around 30 years to see that what the angel told them about their son was the truth. 

We can’t just hope that things will get better. We have to have faith. We have to believe that there is a purpose for our lives and our moments--all  our moments. We have to have faith that the purpose is good, regardless of the events that transpire. This faith, this belief, is what helps us to prepare for the next part in our story. 

Advent: prepare with faith in your hearts that your Waiting Place has a purpose. Your Waiting Place has meaning. Your Waiting Place carries your soul from where you are to where you belong. Your job is to be ready for whatever lies in store for you, whatever it may be. 

Holding onto Hope

See what I did there?

This blog was a little harder for me to write because capturing, in writing, all that Hope is required me to dig deeper than I usually do. I feel compelled to write her story because, not only will she read it one day, but her story is one that everyone should read. 

Between 2011 and 2016, I had a recurring violent nightmare that I was on the ground in the midst of the wreckage of a plane crash. I was the only one there and I was surrounded by body parts and dead people. I was frantically trying to find survivors, while at the same time picking up the broken pieces of people's bodies and attempting to put them back together. It didn’t matter that they were already dead. I had to help them and I had to clean this horrific and tragic mess. I would awake sweating and panicked and the images I saw never left my mind. Each time I had this dream, it was more gory and violent and terrifying. 

There was never a doubt that this nightmare was my subconscious metaphor for what was happening to my life. 

A lot of people can say, “That’s the time my life fell apart,” and I am one of them. The timeline is easy for me to recall, and it remains so raw that each memory still brings tears to my eyes. When my sweet cousin took her life at the end of 2010, my universe turned on its side. The violent ending to her beautiful and kind Self called All Things Good into question. She was only 18, and I’d spent her entire life loving her. The whole family had. Everyone who knew her had. She was wonderful. But if Anita had lived in such darkness for so long, which we later learned when we found her journal, then the truth of the universe was clearly not Truth at all. Her death predicated a series of events that left the world I had spent my adult life building completely decimated. By the end of 2011, the pillars of my soul-house had crashed and my landscape burned. Each loss took reality and morphed it into something unrecognizable. By December of that year, there was nothing left of the world as I had known it. I had been reduced to believing that if I could just make my bed in the morning, that might be the best accomplishment I would have that day. 

While my faith was so shaken that only a sliver of it remained, I still prayed the most simple prayer of, “Help me.” I knew of only one, steadfast purpose, and that was my role as Mom. During those years, the girls and I experienced huge changes. In addition to the tragic losses I was somewhat able to protect them from, our family was going through a divorce and my new career required us to move across the country. Although my world was obliterated, I knew I was responsible for maintaining the weather in theirs.

Children are powerful and it’s no wonder Christ likes them the most. My role as a mother would turn out to be the force that sustained me through the next several years. That reality was one which hadn’t changed at all. Our bond was the truest beauty I had ever seen and it was one that I  was determined to focus on. Being a mother was the anchor that kept me from floating away into oblivion. They were light, life, and purpose. We did everything together as we experienced a new life in a strange place. While I had gone out on dates here and there, I would ultimately end up sitting there thinking, “Yeah, I’d rather be at home with Naomi and Rachel. You suck.” So, I stopped wasting my time dating. I wasn’t fit for it anyway, and I knew that. My focus was still on picking up that wreckage and putting things back together. Apart from the corners of my heart that were devoted to my job and my calling as a mother, there was nothing left of it to give to anyone. Its tenderness and sorrow regulated me to accepting that putting one foot in front of the other was all I could really do. 

I somehow knew this wasn’t the end of the line for me. Mostly because I believed that if Anita had held on a little longer, it wouldn’t have been the end of the line for her. So I had this belief that, one day, I’d come up for air and feel the sun again. 

It turns out that as soon as I felt glimmers of warmth, like the storm had finally begun to pass, and my heart was finally on the mend, Dan walked into my life. Just a month before we started dating, I had told a dear friend that I felt like I had something to offer and I was ready to give my newly repaired heart to someone. 

That was less than three years ago.  

Because Naomi and Rachel were everything that was perfect, I knew beyond any doubt that I was finished having children. I never second-guessed that decision. They were the Be All, End All and our relationship was a beauty that was its own amazing universe. 

However, there was one thing that those years of hell had taught me, and that was the reality that Reality can change in an instant. 

I don’t recall exactly when my heart softened to the idea of having another child, but I do know that as my love for Dan grew, I was more and more receptive to doing anything that would make him happy. Anything. 

When we found out we were having a little girl, her name was a no-brainer. She is a miracle. She is "You never know what can happen" personified.  She is the sunrise after the hurricane. Through the years, I had written about and explored the concepts and practices of hoping. I had hoped that when I  said, “If God isn’t the God of second, third, millionth chances, then the entire Bible is a lie,” that I was right about the God I had come to doubt. Naomi and Rachel were my redemption. Then there was more.  Then there was Dan....and after that, there was the family we created... and then there was this perfect baby girl. 

She is evidence that when it feels like the end of the line, we never really know what tomorrow will bring.  She is a life that never entered my mind. She is Divine Plans that were bigger and better than mine could ever be. She is a bright landscape after the controlled burn. She is steady breaths, one foot in front of the other; waiting, waiting, waiting; praying, praying, praying; perseverance through plane wreckage and swimming upstream; determination,  grace, joy, and redemption. She is....

Hope.