Monthly Archives: August 2015


Sometimes, God intervenes. We think we know our path. We’re all set with our plans and dreams, with our hopes and images. But what God has planned for us doesn’t always correlate. Do we accept that or fight it? When we know that God is so much smarter than we are, and we know that we don’t have all the answers, shouldn’t we have Faith that maybe, just maybe, God knows better than we do?

I didn’t plan to have two failed marriages, or two boys without fathers under our roof. I didn’t plan to be divorced twice, or to not know what direction my career would go after over two decades in one direction. But it happened. Should I question that, or realize that God knows better than I do?

When things happen in our lives that are unexpected, bold slap-you-in-the-face reminders that we aren’t officially in charge, that’s where Faith shines its brightest. We have to beleive that if a door is closing, God will open a window, becaue he has said that he wouldn’t give us more than we can handle. While that isn’t always comforting during our times of tribulation, it becomes very consoling after the dust settles, and our destinies become clear.

I have had moments, when I have absolutely KNOWN that THIS is my fate. I have felt God nudging me (or so I belived)) in a certain direction, only to discover that THIS was actually only a stepping stone to something much much further in the future. This was something that would prepare me for something even bigger that I ever even saw.

These are the moments defined by Faith. If we trust in the process, in God’s purpose for us, we will eventually accept what he has chosen for us. If not, we are left feeling like we’ve done something wrong, and then we have averted the point entirely. Each of us is here for a reason, for a person, or persons, and that’s known only by God himself. We have to believe that he does not intend to punish us, but to hand to us our greatest tools for what our future holds. We will never be unequipped. We are never alone. We are never without purpose. What we are to someone else can at best be a life-long companion, and in the least be a stepping stone. Whatever the case, we are here for a greater good. We just have to trust in His plan.


The problem with puddles

On the 2 year anniversary of your passing, I packed up my softest blanket, my silver journal, and my brightest memories of us, and after dropping Ethan off at summer camp, I went for a lake visit at the Cove. The sky was heaven blue with small wispy and puffy clouds just like you like, the kind that morph and fold into zoo animals and mythical creatures. This day preceded the blue moon, and had the feel of a rich autumn sunrise without the chill, but also without the typical July suffocation. Before jumping into my thoughts or frantically scribbling in my journal, I held the moment. I breathed in the water, the sparking dewdrops clinging to the grass, the leaves weighted down in morning moisture, almost floating on the lake’s surface.

That is when I felt you. The comfort of peace, like the moment when you’re trying to stay awake but finally surrender to sleep’s blissful coma. That numbness that only true contentment can grant us here on Earth. The closest I come to feeling what you no longer do, but almost can. And it was beautiful. It was a connection. It felt like your embrace. I thought, ‘this was what it felt like to be an infant in your arms’. The safety and serenity were immeasurable in that moment.

I remembered all of our summers on that lake and up in Lakes of the Four Seasons. I remembered grandpa spending a full day on the boat with us trying desparately to teach me to ski. It took 8 hours, but I’ve never lost it! We thought our time was as long and wide as expansive as the sea when really it was smaller than this lake. Our time together was just a small puddle; tiny and temporary, but it reveals itself every time the rains come, because there’s truly no forgetting who we loved, how we lived our days, and why we loved them as much as we did. And I love you mom. Then. Now. Forever and a day.