I spent so much of the earlier part of my life not believing in fate. It seemed like a concept too contrived, created by Hollywood producers to sell movies by winning over audiences of overly hopeful romantics. To be honest, I struggled with my faith for the majority of my life. I think that all people struggle with their faith to a certain extent. There is some inherent part of human nature that fills us with the burning desire to be in control. To willingly offer this control up to some higher power, well that's just a notion that I think is difficult for a lot of human beings to grasp.
What I have realized is that while I may have control over my day to day decisions, there is no doubt that a path has been laid out for me. I don't think that God's plan is so strong that we can't alter it temporarily, but it has been proven to me in my life that I ultimately end up exactly where I am supposed to be. This is a conversation I have weekly with my seniors as we discuss their dreams...the next phases of their lives. I have been watching these amazing young people grappling so much with knowing what the right choice is. It is hard for me to explain to them that the right choice is the one they ultimately will make, that THAT choice is exactly the one they were destined to make all along.
I think this is why I have genuinely never felt nervous during a job interview. I have always embraced that I will end up where I am meant to be, that if I don't get a job it is because it wasn't what I was supposed to be doing in the long run. At some point the epiphany struck me like a ton of bricks; while I stubbornly resisted giving up my control to something greater it was happening right under my nose the entire time.
There is no doubt that God brought my husband into my life for a reason. Did I realize as a young girl watching her older neighbor that he was actually my soulmate? No. Not at all. The thought never really entered my mind. Yet at the same time there was always something about him that brought me magnetically to him. There is little doubt in my mind that someone somewhere all along knew that we would eventually figure it out. Even though I'd like to think we came together all on our own, my heart knows that this simply isn't true.
This is a notion that Mark would discuss with me repeatedly when I was going through the series of miscarriages I suffered. It was heartbreaking to feel that there was nothing I could do to prevent them from happening. I can remember so clearly him telling me in the calming way that only he could, that the baby I had lost had been lost for a reason. I never fully understood that until Maia and Macey were both born. If I hadn't lost the five babies before Maia, then I wouldn't have been blessed with my two girls. Despite the pain and suffering I went through, I would experience them all over again to have the priviledge of being their mom. God knew the children that were meant to come into my life, and I am grateful.
It sounds so cliche to say that everything happens for a reason but, quite plainly, it really does.
My path so far has been far from easy. Despite the success and peace that I have now found, getting to this place was far from glamorous. It reminds me of that country song, "God Blessed the Broken Road" which seems to encompass what I feel in my heart so clearly. The road that leads us to where we end up is most definitely going to be filled with pot holes and unpleasant surprises, but where it leads us makes that treacherous journey so worth it. For me it is not so much "in the journey" but the pot of gold that awaits me at the end.
It all began because two people fell in love...
Friday, August 27, 2010
Saturday, August 14, 2010
Orchids bloom
There is something so powerful about sharing your honest thoughts and emotions with other people. In recent weeks as I have started this blog and opened my soul to people around me, I have constantly wondered where this power is rooted. I think that it lies more in the raw truths of my observations than the choice of words I use to express them. When I write I don't think about how things SHOULD sound, I think about how they sound in my head or during conversation. Perhaps it is this element to my writing that makes it relatable to other people, although I really don't know.
The first poem I wrote was in the days following my grandmother's death. I was only eight years old at the time and grappling with how to process the sea of emotions swimming inside of my heart and head. Even though her death was as obvious as the fact that the sky is blue, it felt almost taboo to share my grief out loud with everyone else. In the immediate wake of a death there is a thick air clouding around everyone involved; it is this thick air that still leaves me as an adult feeling that I lack the right words to say to those involved. I know that my eight year old self felt this gray area, this purgatory of emotions, and responded by putting my thoughts on paper. I wasn't trying to be deep and thoughtful. I was just trying to purge my body of the emotions that were gnawing at my stomach. The poem, too personal to share, talks about the orchid blooming in our yard and how it signified that my grandmother was near. I still feel my grandmother's presence when my orchids bloom and it brings me a sense of peace that even though I may not see her, she is still here.
There is something vulnerable about opening yourself up to other people in your most raw form, but it is the connection that people feel with this rawness that brings the power to your words. At least, that is what I believe. I don't write for other people; I write for myself. It is an outlet for all of the things-stories, memories, beliefs, random thoughts-that are in my head to take a tangible form. Even though I may be vulnerable in this sharing I never feel vulnerable. Instead I feel empowered by the freedom that exposing my insides gives me.
The first poem I wrote was in the days following my grandmother's death. I was only eight years old at the time and grappling with how to process the sea of emotions swimming inside of my heart and head. Even though her death was as obvious as the fact that the sky is blue, it felt almost taboo to share my grief out loud with everyone else. In the immediate wake of a death there is a thick air clouding around everyone involved; it is this thick air that still leaves me as an adult feeling that I lack the right words to say to those involved. I know that my eight year old self felt this gray area, this purgatory of emotions, and responded by putting my thoughts on paper. I wasn't trying to be deep and thoughtful. I was just trying to purge my body of the emotions that were gnawing at my stomach. The poem, too personal to share, talks about the orchid blooming in our yard and how it signified that my grandmother was near. I still feel my grandmother's presence when my orchids bloom and it brings me a sense of peace that even though I may not see her, she is still here.
There is something vulnerable about opening yourself up to other people in your most raw form, but it is the connection that people feel with this rawness that brings the power to your words. At least, that is what I believe. I don't write for other people; I write for myself. It is an outlet for all of the things-stories, memories, beliefs, random thoughts-that are in my head to take a tangible form. Even though I may be vulnerable in this sharing I never feel vulnerable. Instead I feel empowered by the freedom that exposing my insides gives me.
Friday, August 13, 2010
The invisible mom
I read an article once about a woman who called herself the "Invisible Mom", and it really left an impression on me. Although I would love for my children to offer me unsolicited appreciation for the voluminous number of tasks I do for them each day (is this not any mother's utopia?), I really feel much more effective as an invisible mom. My goal in motherhood is to instill in my children good values and morals, to teach them how to be happy and productive members of society. There's an old saying that parents should aim for their children to "live in fear" of them, but I've decided that this is not utlimately what I want as a mother. I want my children to make the right choices just because they feel right, not because they are afraid of mom's wrath. When I silently observe my children being good people I know that this is because their hearts are enveloped by the arms of their invisible mom.
I have struggled in recent weeks with my demanding work load and questioning whether or not my children will still receive enough from their invisible "invisible" mom when I work a 14 hour work day. Life is ultimately about balance, but I think there is something valuable in my children being able to watch me throw my passion into something other than them. I do not say this in criticism of the many stay-at-home moms out there (talk about a never-ending and often unappreciated job), but more as a revelation about my own character. For years I struggled with the fact that I like to work and questioning if this made me less of a mother. I know the women in my mother's generation who grew up in the quintessential 50s households are bracing their hearts right now, but it is the truth. I love my children and my family; they are primary in every decision I make throughout the day. That doesn't change that I enjoy having an element of my life that I can claim as just my own. In a household where I rarely get to eat my own dinner or use the restroom uninterrupted, having my very own space all to myself...well that is just another blessing on my list! I hope that as adults my children will know that as much as my heart ached for them when I couldn't be with them every hour of their little lives, my heart also swells with pride for being able to give them a supportive foundation to leap from. We all make sacrifices in this life, it is just a matter of making the most constructive sacrifices for your family.
I know that I live the American dream and, every day, I am thankful for the opportunity to blossom into the kind of human being and mother that I have always longed to be, invisible as that may make me.
I have struggled in recent weeks with my demanding work load and questioning whether or not my children will still receive enough from their invisible "invisible" mom when I work a 14 hour work day. Life is ultimately about balance, but I think there is something valuable in my children being able to watch me throw my passion into something other than them. I do not say this in criticism of the many stay-at-home moms out there (talk about a never-ending and often unappreciated job), but more as a revelation about my own character. For years I struggled with the fact that I like to work and questioning if this made me less of a mother. I know the women in my mother's generation who grew up in the quintessential 50s households are bracing their hearts right now, but it is the truth. I love my children and my family; they are primary in every decision I make throughout the day. That doesn't change that I enjoy having an element of my life that I can claim as just my own. In a household where I rarely get to eat my own dinner or use the restroom uninterrupted, having my very own space all to myself...well that is just another blessing on my list! I hope that as adults my children will know that as much as my heart ached for them when I couldn't be with them every hour of their little lives, my heart also swells with pride for being able to give them a supportive foundation to leap from. We all make sacrifices in this life, it is just a matter of making the most constructive sacrifices for your family.
I know that I live the American dream and, every day, I am thankful for the opportunity to blossom into the kind of human being and mother that I have always longed to be, invisible as that may make me.
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