Tag Archives: freedom

Three Dimes, Three Words, plus One More

Sometimes to look up, you have to look back. It is that way today. I have to look back to yesterday to understand where I am in the moment and to hold confidence in what is to come.

This is not easy.

Yesterday was hard.

As I walked through it, I found three dimes in three separate locations. If you know my story with the dimes, then you know the meaning. Short version, it is how I am reminded that God sees me and will provide for all of the needs.

So finding three separate dimes throughout the day was especially meaningful.

There were also words.

Three different voices, each wise, each with a unique perspective, spoke truth and kindness to my heart. Via text, in person, and through email, I felt seen by sisters who care.

In my pocket on the way to a conversation was a fourth dime preparing me to believe that God was with me in that space, also.

It was hard. These days there is always one more thing that feels as if it will be the one that breaks me past the point of all repair. But it didn’t and it doesn’t. I should have broken beyond repair long ago, but I am still here. Changed, but still here.

Today a voice from yesterday met me with lunch and conversation and affirmation and dreams, with hope in her eyes. She listened and heard and saw me and spoke truth.

There is freedom in being seen and loved in the middle of the mess. Of knowing it’s not all on me, in spite of what I may think or feel.

To look up over lunch carried into the studio and meet eyes that see is a sweet gift.

It is what bolsters me on to keep going and gives me the courage to engage.

Mother’s Day Booty Call

Dark chocolate, wine, nature, invitation to embrace my calling, I am seen by my children this Mother’s Day and every day. I feel loved all year long by the best kids. I do not need a specific day to remind me.

Still, they show up with surprises. Some with their presence, some with a text, some with a call. Loaves of dark chocolate babka (not pictured) draw waves of laughter, because Baab. Of course it is a fitting type of Mother’s Day specialty bread.

We tear into it together with delight. Then bemoan our stomachs being full of chocolate and rich, glutenous bread.

I have learned to rest on Mother’s Day. I have come to a place of deeper healing and kindness in my mothering story. What once was a struggle has become a challenge, an honest one, at that. Engagement with my narrative has brought deeper healing to my heart.

I have learned to repair with my children. They extend grace upon grace upon grace.

We laugh and cry and discover more inside jokes. Older siblings heal through youngers, as they name similar feelings and childhood anxieties and process them together. It is a beautiful mess.

So on this day set aside to honor mothers, which can feel fabricated and false, I marvel at the booty arranged on the table. My people love me well. They love me with their thoughtfulness and presence. They love me by feeling freedom to celebrate with their other mothers. Oh, how I love the others who mother them.

It brings me deep joy to see my adults living their lives in freedom as individuals. Whether with me in person or by text or by call or in spirit, the space we give one another is a gift. There is big space.

Now I do not want Mother’s Day to end. I want it to last and last, and in many ways, it does. Every day feels like Mother’s Day.

I look forward to a card arriving in the mail this week. I anticipate goodness with a son and his girlfriend joining us for a favorite dinner on Wednesday. The sun goes down on the day, and my heart feels full and so very blessed.

That is the greatest gift of all.