Dear Dad,
You can come home now.
Mom and I are both done with the quiet, stillness of the house and this new reality. It's time for you to come home.
Right now I wouldn't even care if you gave me crap about the state of my living space or being a hermit and not getting up and moving when you think I should. I would welcome your rants on politics and "those people" or climate change and big box stores or...
I keep waiting for my phone to ring and for you to be on the other end, just checking in because it's been so long since we last talked. I keep waiting for an email with random things about your day to arrive in my inbox because you are away from home and you just need to check in with me.
I didn't realize how much I welcomed your swiveling in your chair when I walked in the front door at night, a smile on your face and a "Hi, Kiddo" ready for me as Rachel Maddow or Jon Stewart blared from the TV, until the last four months when you haven't been there...when I walk in the door to silence and realize, you aren't ever going to be there again.
It sucks. It hurts. I miss you so much. I just want you to come home, for this little corner of the world to be right again...I want my Daddy back.
Wednesday, September 10, 2014
Thursday, July 17, 2014
A post about the spaces in my soul
There's this space in my soul. It's the space where my secret fears and anxiety lives. It's the space where I hide my deepest insecurities. This space usually stays hidden, away from the prying eyes of others...even myself. Then other times the air in that space becomes thin and suddenly I am gasping for breath, desperate to keep the feelings of inadequacy at bay.
There's this space in my soul. A place where confidence gathers steam, where I find strength and hope and inspiration. This place, too, stays hidden until I suddenly burst forth from my quiet, introspective usual shell and stand.my.ground. At those times the air is violently churning, producing winds of unknown proportion in my soul and I can't let it out fast enough.
These days, I've found a new space in my soul, where grief resides. Where the pain is so deep, the ache is so profound I wonder when I will next be able to take a breath without air escaping around the lump in my throat. This place too, stays hidden, until the grief builds up and suddenly shuddering breaths of pain and sorrow escape, usually accompanied by a torrent of tears.
These days, I'm desperately longing for the space in my soul filled with joy to take over again. For the smile that I wear to be genuine again, not inadequately masking the sadness beneath. For the bubbles of air to happily flow from within, lightly and carefree. I don't want this place to be in my soul to be hidden. I want to let this place shine and yet, right now, it's not the time. The joy is still there, it's just covered up, muted, with the realities of life as other spaces in my soul take precedent.
Somewhere down the road...
There's this space in my soul. A place where confidence gathers steam, where I find strength and hope and inspiration. This place, too, stays hidden until I suddenly burst forth from my quiet, introspective usual shell and stand.my.ground. At those times the air is violently churning, producing winds of unknown proportion in my soul and I can't let it out fast enough.
These days, I've found a new space in my soul, where grief resides. Where the pain is so deep, the ache is so profound I wonder when I will next be able to take a breath without air escaping around the lump in my throat. This place too, stays hidden, until the grief builds up and suddenly shuddering breaths of pain and sorrow escape, usually accompanied by a torrent of tears.
These days, I'm desperately longing for the space in my soul filled with joy to take over again. For the smile that I wear to be genuine again, not inadequately masking the sadness beneath. For the bubbles of air to happily flow from within, lightly and carefree. I don't want this place to be in my soul to be hidden. I want to let this place shine and yet, right now, it's not the time. The joy is still there, it's just covered up, muted, with the realities of life as other spaces in my soul take precedent.
Somewhere down the road...
Sunday, November 24, 2013
How are you?
*I honestly don't know when this blog was started...probably back in August. Finishing it tonight...just look for the "*". That's where I pick up the story.*
"How are you doing?"
I seriously hate that question. My standard answer is "fine" but it's mostly a lie. Not fine is a more apt description. Just coasting is a better description.
I had coffee with a friend a few weeks ago. We talked about life and our mutual not-fine-ness and I wrote about it on my other blog. Last week I happened to be driving by the coffee shop, saw his car and decided that is where I wanted to be that day. So we had coffee again. One of his first comments to me was, "so you know that blog post"...yeah, I know, I'm really not fine.
Friday I washed the gray out of my hair and had a 2 hour therapy session with my Friend/Hair stylist. I went into the time knowing I wasn't fine and came out still knowing I wasn't fine but also knowing I wasn't alone in my struggles with life. Hal-le-frickin-lu-jah.
Why am I saying any of this on blog where people can read it and then worry about my not-fine-ness? It's not to have people tell me how to be fine, or analyze my problems or tell me they are worrying. If I was asking for any of that, this post would be on the other blog where more people visit and tend to comment. No, what I really need is to just say, "out loud", that I am not fine.
*I'm coasting. I'm putting one foot in front of the other. I go to work. I go to work at my other job. I go to youth group. I go home. I try really hard not to expect too much from other people and expect a lot of myself. I don't hate my job but I don't love it. I'm tired of the commute. I'm stressed about money and Christmas and wondering who thought it was okay to have four national holidays in the span of two months (I'm blaming people who are on salary and get paid days off, not someone who gets paid by the hours worked with no paid holidays.) I'm not fine. I'm not awful. I'm in between, in limbo, in a seemingly endless transition to I-don't-know-what-or-where. I'm decidedly not fine.
But for the record, the next time anyone asks, "How are you?" my response will be, "I'm fine."
"How are you doing?"
I seriously hate that question. My standard answer is "fine" but it's mostly a lie. Not fine is a more apt description. Just coasting is a better description.
I had coffee with a friend a few weeks ago. We talked about life and our mutual not-fine-ness and I wrote about it on my other blog. Last week I happened to be driving by the coffee shop, saw his car and decided that is where I wanted to be that day. So we had coffee again. One of his first comments to me was, "so you know that blog post"...yeah, I know, I'm really not fine.
Friday I washed the gray out of my hair and had a 2 hour therapy session with my Friend/Hair stylist. I went into the time knowing I wasn't fine and came out still knowing I wasn't fine but also knowing I wasn't alone in my struggles with life. Hal-le-frickin-lu-jah.
Why am I saying any of this on blog where people can read it and then worry about my not-fine-ness? It's not to have people tell me how to be fine, or analyze my problems or tell me they are worrying. If I was asking for any of that, this post would be on the other blog where more people visit and tend to comment. No, what I really need is to just say, "out loud", that I am not fine.
*I'm coasting. I'm putting one foot in front of the other. I go to work. I go to work at my other job. I go to youth group. I go home. I try really hard not to expect too much from other people and expect a lot of myself. I don't hate my job but I don't love it. I'm tired of the commute. I'm stressed about money and Christmas and wondering who thought it was okay to have four national holidays in the span of two months (I'm blaming people who are on salary and get paid days off, not someone who gets paid by the hours worked with no paid holidays.) I'm not fine. I'm not awful. I'm in between, in limbo, in a seemingly endless transition to I-don't-know-what-or-where. I'm decidedly not fine.
But for the record, the next time anyone asks, "How are you?" my response will be, "I'm fine."
Wednesday, May 8, 2013
A post about letter openers
So, here's the thing. In this job I get to open envelopes.
When I started, the gentleman who was supplying the office gave me a couple of letter openers. They looked something like this, but they had his business information on it (yes, shameless self promotion!).
I was using those letter openers just fine. Then one day, one shot off the desk and behind the drawer cabinet and so I was down to one. No biggie, it's not like these things wear out quickly.
That one, though, had a tendency to, um, well, slice through whatever was in envelope. Now, I could blame it on the people who folded and inserted the letter into the envelope the incorrect way, or I can woman-up and admit, I got a little zealous with the opener. Whatever.
After about 3 times of this happening and my admitting it to the office manager here (I have this habit of telling people some of my stupid mistakes. Sometimes I think I take authenticity too far), she gave me a letter opener that looked like this.
It's all plastic. No more sliced up letters.
One afternoon, the office manager walked in as I was opening envelopes. She asked me how my new letter opener was working and I said "It's working great!" and as I opened the next letter I SNAPPED THE LETTER OPENER IN HALF!!!
I now open a letters with half a plastic letter opener. Because I am just that awesome.
When I started, the gentleman who was supplying the office gave me a couple of letter openers. They looked something like this, but they had his business information on it (yes, shameless self promotion!).
I was using those letter openers just fine. Then one day, one shot off the desk and behind the drawer cabinet and so I was down to one. No biggie, it's not like these things wear out quickly.
That one, though, had a tendency to, um, well, slice through whatever was in envelope. Now, I could blame it on the people who folded and inserted the letter into the envelope the incorrect way, or I can woman-up and admit, I got a little zealous with the opener. Whatever.
After about 3 times of this happening and my admitting it to the office manager here (I have this habit of telling people some of my stupid mistakes. Sometimes I think I take authenticity too far), she gave me a letter opener that looked like this.
It's all plastic. No more sliced up letters.
One afternoon, the office manager walked in as I was opening envelopes. She asked me how my new letter opener was working and I said "It's working great!" and as I opened the next letter I SNAPPED THE LETTER OPENER IN HALF!!!
I now open a letters with half a plastic letter opener. Because I am just that awesome.
Sunday, April 14, 2013
A post about blog silence
Well hello, long neglected blog. I still do exist. I have many things to say as well but by the time I get around to opening this window and typing, well, the day catches up with me and I lose momentum. I bore myself with my words and that ain't good!
There may be a touch of writers block happening. It maybe that I'm not ready to type out what my heart and brain have been stewing on lo these many months. Simple laziness is a factor, in all honesty. By in large, the most problematic thing for me, though, has been this nagging tiredness. The inability to coherently follow one thought to another in this forum.
And so, there is a blog silence...
There may be a touch of writers block happening. It maybe that I'm not ready to type out what my heart and brain have been stewing on lo these many months. Simple laziness is a factor, in all honesty. By in large, the most problematic thing for me, though, has been this nagging tiredness. The inability to coherently follow one thought to another in this forum.
And so, there is a blog silence...
Monday, February 18, 2013
A post about jello
My mother cannot make jello. She can make a flourless chocolate cake that will blow your mind, amazing chili, fabulous enchiladas and rolls that melt in your mouth. I told her the other night that she has ruined applesauce...because I will never be able to buy it in the store again. My godsons will go through a jar of her homemade jam in a morning if they are left alone with the jar. My Mother, though, cannot make jello. It's a mystery. One day years (and years and years and years) from now I will put the following on her headstone--"a great wife, mom, grandma, friend and cook but could not make jello. That darn jello just would not jell".
Okay, maybe I exaggerate a little...about the headstone. I don't hold it against Mom that her jello won't jell. It's become a joke but I hope she knows we just like to joke with her about her jello. We don't mean anything by it. She's fabulous at so much more, the non-jelling jello is doesn't even matter.
Besides cooking, my Mother is an amazing quilter, has the ability to make small talk with just about anyone and was an excellent Youth Director's Mom. She went on many youth trips and they all loved her. She could walk into a room on youth group night and the kids would rush her for hugs. That is an inherent gift.
We all have talents and gifts, things that we are inherently good at and things we have worked really hard to become good at. There are times, though, when we lose sight of the things we are good at and just focus on the things we struggle with, the talents and gifts that don't come naturally, that take a lot out of us and the things we berate ourselves for in the middle of the night when we wake up from a sound sleep to stare into the darkness for hours.
I've had a few of those nights in the last 11 months. Nights when I woke up and knew I had messed something up, really bad, and dreaded going into work. There was one week where I worked myself up so much, I had a full blown panic attack on the way to work. I used a cultivated talent to figure out it was a panic attack...I looked it up on the internet. :)
Working outside of my gifting and natural talents isn't so much a bad thing. There are days when I definitely feel stretched beyond my limits and I am quick to point out when I don't feel secure with something. But those moments when I work within my gifting and talents, those moments are priceless. Unfortunately, I don't wake up in the middle of the night thinking about the worship service that flowed so smoothly because I operated out of what I knew and with the talent I've been given and didn't worry about anything. No, I wake up worrying about things that do not come easy, things I work hard to perfect and things that I spend time berating myself not being good at. This is my humanity.
Today, I pulled out my recipe book and began the process of making a King Cake. I love to bake and tackling a yeasty King Cake is a fun challenge. I get a little nervous using yeast but there were four extra packets so if packet one didn't work I would try again. The yeast bloomed, the mixture came together and soon I was kneading the dough. For 10 minutes I pushed and pulled and used a lot of wrist and forearm to smooth out the dough. As I write, the dough is rising, I hope, and soon I will form and fill the cake and let it rise again. I have no control over the rising process. I just sit back and wait, hoping the skills I am perfecting have done the work needed for a successful outcome.
As I was kneading the dough I started talking to God. I started with words that are familiar to our conversations and moved into unexplored territory. The words stopped flowing when I said aloud that which has been niggling at the back of my conscious...words reminding me of the gifts and talents I have that have been pushed to the background while I try to, well, make jello. It's just not jelling.
My revelation for today isn't new, it's a reminder of who I am, of who God created me to be and is a piece of the puzzle I am working at putting together on this journey...somewhere down the road.
Okay, maybe I exaggerate a little...about the headstone. I don't hold it against Mom that her jello won't jell. It's become a joke but I hope she knows we just like to joke with her about her jello. We don't mean anything by it. She's fabulous at so much more, the non-jelling jello is doesn't even matter.
Besides cooking, my Mother is an amazing quilter, has the ability to make small talk with just about anyone and was an excellent Youth Director's Mom. She went on many youth trips and they all loved her. She could walk into a room on youth group night and the kids would rush her for hugs. That is an inherent gift.
We all have talents and gifts, things that we are inherently good at and things we have worked really hard to become good at. There are times, though, when we lose sight of the things we are good at and just focus on the things we struggle with, the talents and gifts that don't come naturally, that take a lot out of us and the things we berate ourselves for in the middle of the night when we wake up from a sound sleep to stare into the darkness for hours.
I've had a few of those nights in the last 11 months. Nights when I woke up and knew I had messed something up, really bad, and dreaded going into work. There was one week where I worked myself up so much, I had a full blown panic attack on the way to work. I used a cultivated talent to figure out it was a panic attack...I looked it up on the internet. :)
Working outside of my gifting and natural talents isn't so much a bad thing. There are days when I definitely feel stretched beyond my limits and I am quick to point out when I don't feel secure with something. But those moments when I work within my gifting and talents, those moments are priceless. Unfortunately, I don't wake up in the middle of the night thinking about the worship service that flowed so smoothly because I operated out of what I knew and with the talent I've been given and didn't worry about anything. No, I wake up worrying about things that do not come easy, things I work hard to perfect and things that I spend time berating myself not being good at. This is my humanity.
Today, I pulled out my recipe book and began the process of making a King Cake. I love to bake and tackling a yeasty King Cake is a fun challenge. I get a little nervous using yeast but there were four extra packets so if packet one didn't work I would try again. The yeast bloomed, the mixture came together and soon I was kneading the dough. For 10 minutes I pushed and pulled and used a lot of wrist and forearm to smooth out the dough. As I write, the dough is rising, I hope, and soon I will form and fill the cake and let it rise again. I have no control over the rising process. I just sit back and wait, hoping the skills I am perfecting have done the work needed for a successful outcome.
As I was kneading the dough I started talking to God. I started with words that are familiar to our conversations and moved into unexplored territory. The words stopped flowing when I said aloud that which has been niggling at the back of my conscious...words reminding me of the gifts and talents I have that have been pushed to the background while I try to, well, make jello. It's just not jelling.
My revelation for today isn't new, it's a reminder of who I am, of who God created me to be and is a piece of the puzzle I am working at putting together on this journey...somewhere down the road.
Sunday, January 13, 2013
A post from the desert
A wise friend said recently, "Brittany, you've been wandering in the desert for a long time and it seems to me that you keep trying to return to Egypt."
CRAP.
Today the new Pastor spoke about the Israelites traveling through the desert and how God provided manna (bread) for them EVERY DAY while they wandered in the desert.
CRAP.
There is truth to what my wise friend said (don't tell him I called him that, okay? He'll get a big head)...there is a part of me that longs to return to Egypt.
There is truth to the what the Pastor said...God is providing manna for me EVERY DAY as I wander in the desert.
So, y'all, will you pray for me to:
A.) let go of Egypt
B.) remember that God is providing
C.) be open to whatever is next?
Because my fears are definitely ruling my judgement and my eyes have been blinded but are beginning to clear and the numb lump of something that has been my heart is beginning to feel again.
This growing up stuff is hard.
CRAP.
Today the new Pastor spoke about the Israelites traveling through the desert and how God provided manna (bread) for them EVERY DAY while they wandered in the desert.
CRAP.
There is truth to what my wise friend said (don't tell him I called him that, okay? He'll get a big head)...there is a part of me that longs to return to Egypt.
There is truth to the what the Pastor said...God is providing manna for me EVERY DAY as I wander in the desert.
So, y'all, will you pray for me to:
A.) let go of Egypt
B.) remember that God is providing
C.) be open to whatever is next?
Because my fears are definitely ruling my judgement and my eyes have been blinded but are beginning to clear and the numb lump of something that has been my heart is beginning to feel again.
This growing up stuff is hard.
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