Going Forward

I Chose 

Sorrow for 2 precious children I  loved and lost. 

But going forward I choose 

Celebration for the chance  I had to love them. 

I Chose

Fear of my little sisters’ future, and of mine without them. 

But going forward I choose

Faith that God will take care of them and me

I Chose

Bitterness at the people who took away our greatest Joys

But going forward I choose

Forgiveness and a hope that what they did was the right thing

I Chose

Selfishness, believing my Love doesn’t need to be part of  my pain

But going forward I choose

Sharing my hurts with him, understanding that when I hurt, he hurts too 

I Chose

To bury the amazing happy memories that make me miss my tinyGirls incomprehensibly

But going forward I choose

To remember and to rejoice in the memories and in the love and bond of sisterhood that we share 

My dreams

Bring them to my mind almost every night and I wake up with Fire Girl and Flower Girl vivid in my mind and my heart crying. 

I Chose 

To use these dreams and thoughts to make me sad, to remind me of what I lost. 

But going forward I choose

To think of them when I wake up, with a prayer for their happiness and safety and to cherish my memories of them as a precious gift

I’m not the only one mourning the loss of people I love. Loss comes to different in so many different ways, I see now, and, it seems, no matter how much you know it’s coming it’s always unexpected.  Love and tears to you who are mourning the loss of someone you love. The Sunset Watcher

A Promise Breaker

Do you keep all the promises you made to yourself ? I don’t. While going through a pile of childhood memorabilia I ran across a 10 year old list of “Things I’ll Never Do When I’m [An Adult]” I was a idealist 13 year old and a child of a missionary too, remember that. 

(some of) The Things I’ll Never Do

Say bad words. 

Wear high heels

Talk bad about people

Flirt with boys

Drive fast

Listen to (bad) music 

Be cliquey 

Be snobby 

Drive anything but a GMC [vehicle].

Be ashamed of my religion

Dress immodestly 

Have a boyfriend 

Be on my phone a lot 

Wear expensive clothes 

Be proud 

Be unkind

I broke all but one or two of those righteous idealism’s in a matter of a year or two and I never quite made it to adulthood with even one of those goals to my name. And. I survived growing up. And.  I survived being a teenager. And. Here I am. I didn’t make too many massive irreversible mistakes. And in fact, I might even say I’m a better person for having done most of these things. Committing each “sin” made me realize either why it’s not so bad or why it’s something I don’t feel comfortable doing l, and has helped me grow and understand how I should live and how God wants me to live. No, I’m not perfect, but I have learned a lot. And yes, I’m a person who, unfortunately, learns from my own mistakes and not from other people’s. 

For one thing, it didn’t take long til I came to my senses and realized FORD was a lot better than any Chevy product. Much later, I adopted and, even later, finally conquered the disgusting habit of swearing and today it’s not really something I deal with much. I wear high heels (though not impossibly so), I drive fast (but not when there’s a possibility of moose hiding on the roadway in the darkness). I’ve spent too much time listening to, thinking about and talking about popular secular song lyrics and melodies and it’s taken too long for me to understand that a lot of these don’t do anything (good) for me. I wear visible signs of my beliefs and that’s been something I’ve wrestled with too. I don’t like standing out and being so different from other people and, sadly, I’ve been ashamed of my beliefs. Time and different happenings in my life have contrived to  change this and teach me to treasure these outward symbols of my love for God. They are a treasure: a tattoo, not a brand. I’ve been a proud person, a snobby person, and unkind person; not sure I’ve conquered any of these. I have spent time on my phone that I should have spent connecting with the people around me. I did flirt with a boy once and that turned out well for me; he’s now my husband and now I can flirt with him every day! 

I don’t think I’ve covered everything on that list yet but that’s okay. This isn’t confession time nor is this to say I’m perfect. It’s just musings, ways I’ve grown and changed in the last 10 years. It’s fun to look back over time and see how life has changed me. It hasn’t all been easy and in fact quite the opposite at different times, but I’m alive and happy and my life is quite beautiful. 

I Wanna Wear Rags Too

I was a rich first world child growing up in a poverty stricken third world country when I first met Them. They were just ordinary people, same as me, but something set them apart from any people I had met before. They wore rags. And they wore them regally. They lived in hovels, some of them, but they didn't complain that they wanted palaces. They sometimes didn't have enough food, but they kept on with their normal every day lives, as if buoyed by the knowledge that this famine wouldn't last forever. They made poor look luxe. They wore their torn faded clothes with  grace. They swept the dirt floors of their houses, and the hard packed ground around them, carefully. Every day. And on the days when there wasn't sufficient food, they shared what they had with people who were hungrier than they. 

These people were my friends and I wanted to be like them. I started wearing rags too. I loved my faded torn clothes (my mother didn't like them as well as I did!) and wore them as much as possible. I started to use a safety pin to mend broken seams, i tied fraying edges of a hole together to make it a little less of a hole, I began treasure each hole, fray, fade, tear and bleach spot and flaunt them proudly. It was suddenly cool wear broken shoes to town (My mother still disagreed!); it made me feel like I was one with my rag wearing friends. What I didn't really understand then, was that these clothes helped me identify, helped bridge the gap between my first world self and my third world friends. I didn't think of it that way as a 12 year old. I just wanted to fit in. Wearing rags was cool.  

Now, as an adult, living in my homeland, I still use a few of those live-with-less ways I learned in Africa. I sometimes safety pin a hole I don't have time to fix (my mother still disapproves!), I like to wear my boots until they have holes the snow melts into, things like that. But mostly I don't wanna wear rags.  Mostly I like to replace my clothes before they're entirely worn, I like to dress relatively nicely when In public, I have a dozen or more pairs of shoes for every season. Mostly I like this way of life but sometimes  on the rare occasion I wish for the less complex lifestyle of my childhood -torn dresses, limited wardrobe options and few trends to stay ahead of. 

Maybe it's nostalgia. Maybe it's the minimalist in me. 

(The thought seemed like a good one. Never could write it out like I was thinking it tho. It's still sort of stuck in my busy Christmas brain. But this is what you get. Til next time, TSW)

The Small is the Big

Some days feelings are clouds and emotions that start out small are suddenly massive and choking my day with their fog. Anger some days, impatience others. Utter fatigue for some days. Defeat some days, some days of sadness. Apprehension steals days too and usually is followed by a day or two of fear. 

But then some days are just happy. 

And on those days, small things make happy. Small things like morning hugs and fast bacon and eggs. Small things like a lovely singing time (lovely mostly because I could just listen), like a speedy and easy math class, like COoperation. Small things like wise advice, like a child asking for help, like understanding. Small things like a husband who washes the floor, like a midnight walk, like a day in the city. Small things like an ounce of sudden hope in the darkness. 

And when small things make happy, small things are my big. 

When in Need of Tears

When in need of tears,  remember the  children you aren't allowed to hold anymore. Replay conversations with them in your mind. Find all the scenes and happenings you lived with them and relive those happiness moments. Look at lots of old pictures and videos of those darlings. Listen to the hundreds of messages and recordings those children sent, talking, singing, being crazy. The tears will come.

Monsters

Not my words today, but words from my little (not-so-little) sister, who is a sage one. Thanks for sharing this, Sister.

It's the middle of the night. The deep breathing of sleeping humans is scattered thruout the house. Until a child's waking cry breaks the silence. It grows louder until she succeeds to rouse the sister <me> next to her. 'What's the matter?' I ask. 'Why are u crying?'
'Monsters,' she whimpers. Just 'Monsters.'
'It's OK, baby,' I whisper back. 'It was just a dream. Monsters aren't real.'
How wrong I was.

 Everybody has at least one monster that makes its home under their bed. Some people call these monsters Satan. Some people call them Sin. Some people give them names like Pride and Selfishness and Mean-ness and Disobedience and Jealousy. I just call them monsters. These are not ordinary child-version monsters. These monters are not visible to the eye. Not tangible. But they are just as scary.
 This monster of mine can change its appreance. It can be huge or tiny. It can be red or it can be black. And it can do a myriad of different things. Sometimes this monster convinces me to do things I shouldn't do. It sees me talking and convinces me to get mad when I think someone else is wrong and I'm right. It sees me crying and convinces me that I have a harder life than other people. It sees me doing someone else's job and convinces me that I'm better than that someone else. It sees me at the mall and convinces me to wear clothes that are not approved of by my parents. It convinces me to think unkind thoughts about people and to treat them unkindly too. It sees me hurt and convinces me that maybe if I would have said and done something else than maybe my life would have turned out different. Better.
 But sometimes I fight this monster. Not by myself. If I try by myself it torments me worse. Instead I ask for the help of one certain Soldier. Together we can wound him and chase him away. But I always have to be careful because this monster never will die. It will keep on attacking me and convincing me to do wrong. The only way to keep him away is to follow my Soldier and do what he tells me.
 My own monster isn't the only one that can hurt me. Other people's monsters that live under their beds hurt me too. Sometimes they hurt me by convincing their person to say something mean. Or they convince their person to make up lies to take my little sisters away. But I can't blame these people. I also have a monster. And because our monters can change size and shape, no monster is worse or better than any other. I hate monsters.

Memories. Two little girls. Hugs. Temper tantrums. Kisses. Scratches. Mischievous glints in two pairs of sparkling eyes. Time outs. Wise words spoken solemnly (repeated after Daddy). A few hurtful words rashly shouted. Yes monsters are real. But love is also real. And stronger.

We Need Fire Back

God, we need Fire back. You still have her but we don't. You still get to hear her 6 year old laughter and listen to her imaginative stories. Why can't we ? You get to comfort her when she's sad. We'd love another opportunity to put our arms around her and tell her loving comforting words when she cries. How come she has to live away from us ? Do you hug her when she's sad ? Give her a hug from me today.  Do you kiss her owies better when  she's hurt ? Kiss her for me today. Do you sit beside her when she's lonely for her family, wrapping Your arms around her and promising her she can see them again ? Please do that for me today. We know Your love for Fire is even bigger than ours. Love her for us today, God. And please bring her back soon.