tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-54971416179336468162024-02-19T00:03:01.726-08:00Knight In Tarnished ArmorStephanie http://www.blogger.com/profile/16005190945571713236noreply@blogger.comBlogger116125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5497141617933646816.post-30740563808899407132022-09-27T17:31:00.000-07:002022-09-27T17:31:20.669-07:00Ode To Lauren Hough<p> </p><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 107%;">Dear Lauren,
<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 107%;">I’ve read
your book and am confident I’m your soulmate.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>Your words made me cry, laugh, relate, worry, want more, and fall in
love.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>There’s no doubt those words were
written to me…for me…as an effort to find me.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>Luckily for you, it worked!<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>As a
bonus, you became a New York times best seller.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>Seems like a grandiose plan to find me, but you’re not afraid of risks
or big actions.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I LOVE that about
you.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I know you so well.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Did I mention I read your book?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Every word.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>Yeah, yeah…I know it’s about a <i>portion</i> of your life, but I’m
intelligent and intuitive so I’ve filled in all the gaps.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Your life has been a shit show…same for me.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>We’re both better now…which of course isn’t
true but it’s what the world thinks so let’s just let them think that.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 107%;">Since you
haven’t met me yet, allow me to introduce myself.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I’m Stephanie.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Currently I live in Seattle but will be
packing soon to head your direction.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>I’ve never been to Austin and am so excited to get there!<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>In fact, I’ve never been to Texas.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>You’ve been working on your van for quite
some time in order to road trip in it, I’ll come and help you finish that.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I’m super organized, can write a great plan and
budget, and will for sure cure your procrastination on that project. <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 107%;">Oh,
yes.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I’m forgetting to introduce
myself.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I’m a little older than you, but
not enough for it to be an issue.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I’m
short, a natural red head…well…it used to be natural but age is not kind so now
there’s some help in keeping it red. I’m a bit chubby..but you know what they
say…more cushion less pushin…so really this is all for your comfort!<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I’m an aspiring writer – just one more thing
we have in common. When I get there we can spend hours on the porch reading and
writing together.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Do you have a porch? My
new friend Liwen told me I’m funny so there’s that.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I’ll keep you organized, cure procrastination
AND make you laugh. <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 107%;">OOH!!! My
email just dinged with a new message from you…hold on while I go read today’s
love letter….<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 107%;"><o:p> </o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><i><span style="background: white; color: #1a1a1a; font-family: Roboto; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 107%;">“You’re at a wedding and
someone says they love you. You’ve never seen them before. But they <span class="il">know</span> all about you. They ask about your family, in front
of your family. They <span class="il">know</span> all the wrong parts. All
the wrong names. You’re a liability now. You brought everyone in and tried to
draw a line they were already camping inside. What the fuck were you thinking. You <span class="il">know</span> what it feels like when they need to tell twitter
about you. When you’re something like a trophy, disheveled and wearing the
wrong t-shirts and in need of a shower, but a trophy nonetheless, or something
like it.” <o:p></o:p></span></i></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="background: white; color: #1a1a1a; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 107%; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin;"><o:p> </o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="background: white; color: #1a1a1a; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 107%; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin;">Wait….Are
there people out there who think they know you and love you <i>just </i>because
they read your book?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>How utterly
ridiculous can people be? <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></span><span style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 107%; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin;"><o:p></o:p></span></p>Stephanie http://www.blogger.com/profile/16005190945571713236noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5497141617933646816.post-64013219249267783842022-06-03T12:49:00.000-07:002022-06-03T12:49:00.826-07:00Talking About Vulnerability<p> </p><p style="background: white; line-height: 200%; margin: 0in; text-align: justify; text-indent: .5in;"><span style="color: black; mso-color-alt: windowtext;">I’ve been
having conversations about vulnerability lately and hearing the term used in
the media.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It seems to be the current catch
word. But are we using the word so much that it’s lost its…vulnerability?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>According to Webster vulnerability is “</span><span style="background: white; color: #202124;">the quality or state of being exposed to
the possibility of being attacked or harmed, either physically or emotionally”.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Brene Brown, the leader in research on shame
and vulnerability, defines it as “</span><span style="color: black; mso-color-alt: windowtext;">uncertainty, risk, and emotional exposure. But vulnerability is not
weakness; it's our most accurate measure of courage”.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></span><o:p></o:p></p>
<p style="background: white; line-height: 200%; margin: 0in; text-align: justify; text-indent: .5in;"><span style="color: black; mso-color-alt: windowtext;">While I’ve
been having these conversations <i>about</i> vulnerability, nothing about them <i>feels</i>
vulnerable.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I crave a certain level of
exposure, but it doesn’t work long or well if the other person isn’t also
willing to take risks.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Talking ‘about’ something, isn’t the same as ‘being’
something.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>How can we move from talking <i>about</i>
being vulnerable into <i>being</i> vulnerable? What are the steps necessary to
get there? </span><o:p></o:p></p>
<p style="background: white; line-height: 200%; margin: 0in; text-align: justify; text-indent: .5in;"><span style="color: black; mso-color-alt: windowtext;">First and
foremost, we must know ourselves and be comfortable with what we find. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>How can we possibly risk exposure if we haven’t
done the work ourselves?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>When I was a
social worker, my clients used to ask me why I was so okay sitting with their
shit.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>My answer? I learned to sit with
my own shit.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></span><o:p></o:p></p>
<p style="background: white; line-height: 200%; margin: 0in; text-align: justify; text-indent: .5in;"><span style="color: black; mso-color-alt: windowtext;">What I’m
craving, is someone who can sit with my shit.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>Someone who can hear my stories and remain.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Remain open. Remain interested.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Remain engaged.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Someone who is also willing to take the risk
and expose themselves to me.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Letting me
see their emotions…all of them. The positive and the negative.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Talk to me. Tell me what you think. About
everything. </span><o:p></o:p></p>
<p style="background: white; line-height: 200%; margin: 0in; text-align: justify; text-indent: .5in;"><span style="color: black; mso-color-alt: windowtext;">A one
sided relationship is never fun.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>While I
can be vulnerable and am willing to be, if the other person doesn’t follow and
share on a deep level, it’s not long before I’m retreating. Putting distance –
physically and emotionally – between us.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span></span><o:p></o:p></p>
<p style="background: white; line-height: 200%; margin: 0in; text-align: justify; text-indent: .5in;"><span style="color: black; mso-color-alt: windowtext;">For now, I’m
going to keep testing the waters.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Being
vulnerable.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Being real.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>And, hopefully, run into someone who wants to
reciprocate.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>What I’ve learned is, test
the waters. Share.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>But when the other
person isn’t wading into the deep waters with me, retreat before I drown.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></span><o:p></o:p></p>Stephanie http://www.blogger.com/profile/16005190945571713236noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5497141617933646816.post-346039671267391642022-01-11T18:21:00.001-08:002022-01-11T18:22:09.165-08:00Kindness Is My Religion<p> </p><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: times;"><span style="background: white; color: black; line-height: 107%; mso-color-alt: windowtext;">In
every religion I’m familiar with, in secular humanism and just good old fashioned
home training, treating other humans with kindness is a value embraced by
all.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></span><span style="background: white; line-height: 107%;"><o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: times;"><b><span style="background: white; color: black; line-height: 107%; mso-color-alt: windowtext;">Treat not others in ways that you yourself would find hurtful.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>– Buddhism </span></b><b><span style="background: white; line-height: 107%;"><o:p></o:p></span></b></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: times;"><i><span style="background: white; color: black; line-height: 107%; mso-color-alt: windowtext;">Consider what humanists aspire to be as ethical agents. ...
They </span>wish always to respect their fellow human beings<span style="-webkit-text-stroke-width: 0px; float: none; font-variant-caps: normal; font-variant-ligatures: normal; orphans: 2; text-decoration-color: initial; text-decoration-style: initial; text-decoration-thickness: initial; widows: 2; word-spacing: 0px;">, to like them, to honor their strivings and to sympathize
with their feeling</span>. – Secular Humanism</i><b><i><span style="background: white; line-height: 107%;"><o:p></o:p></span></i></b></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: times;"><b><span style="background: white; color: black; line-height: 107%; mso-bidi-font-family: "Segoe UI"; mso-color-alt: windowtext;">So in everything, do to
others what you would have them do to you,</span><span style="-webkit-text-stroke-width: 0px; float: none; font-variant-caps: normal; font-variant-ligatures: normal; orphans: 2; text-align: start; text-decoration-color: initial; text-decoration-style: initial; text-decoration-thickness: initial; widows: 2; word-spacing: 0px;"> for this sums up the Law and the Prophets.</span>”
Matthew 7:12 - Christianity</b><b><span style="background: white; line-height: 107%; mso-bidi-font-family: "Segoe UI";"><o:p></o:p></span></b></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: times;"><i><span style="background: white; color: black; line-height: 107%; mso-bidi-font-family: "Open Sans"; mso-color-alt: windowtext;">We can be more tolerant,
more neighborly, more friendly, more of an example than we have been in the
past. Let us teach our children to treat others with friendship, respect, love,
and admiration. That will yield a far better result than will an attitude of
egotism and arrogance (President Gordon B. Hinckley, “</span></i><i><span style="line-height: 107%;"><a href="https://www.lds.org/general-conference/2000/04/a-time-of-new-beginnings?lang=eng" style="-webkit-text-stroke-width: 0px; box-sizing: border-box; font-variant-caps: normal; font-variant-ligatures: normal; orphans: 2; outline: 0px; text-size-adjust: 100%; widows: 2; word-spacing: 0px;" target="_blank"><span style="background: white; border: 1pt none windowtext; color: black; mso-bidi-font-family: "Open Sans"; mso-border-alt: none windowtext 0in; mso-color-alt: windowtext; padding: 0in;">A Time of New
Beginnings</span></a></span></i><i><span style="background: white; color: black; line-height: 107%; mso-bidi-font-family: "Open Sans"; mso-color-alt: windowtext;"><span style="-webkit-text-stroke-width: 0px; float: none; font-variant-caps: normal; font-variant-ligatures: normal; orphans: 2; text-decoration-color: initial; text-decoration-style: initial; text-decoration-thickness: initial; widows: 2; word-spacing: 0px;">,” (Apr. 2000 General Conference).</span> – Church
of Latter Day Saints</span></i><i><span style="background: white; line-height: 107%; mso-bidi-font-family: "Open Sans";"><o:p></o:p></span></i></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: times;"><b><span style="background: white; color: black; line-height: 107%; mso-bidi-font-family: "Open Sans"; mso-color-alt: windowtext;">“Ben Zoma asks, ‘Who is
worthy of honor?</span></b><b><span style="line-height: 107%; mso-bidi-font-family: "Open Sans";"><br style="-webkit-text-stroke-width: 0px; font-variant-caps: normal; font-variant-ligatures: normal; orphans: 2; text-align: start; text-decoration-color: initial; text-decoration-style: initial; text-decoration-thickness: initial; widows: 2; word-spacing: 0px;" />
<span style="background: white; color: black; mso-color-alt: windowtext;"><span style="-webkit-text-stroke-width: 0px; float: none; font-variant-caps: normal; font-variant-ligatures: normal; orphans: 2; text-align: start; text-decoration-color: initial; text-decoration-style: initial; text-decoration-thickness: initial; widows: 2; word-spacing: 0px;">The one who treats others with honor.’”</span></span><br style="-webkit-text-stroke-width: 0px; font-variant-caps: normal; font-variant-ligatures: normal; orphans: 2; text-align: start; text-decoration-color: initial; text-decoration-style: initial; text-decoration-thickness: initial; widows: 2; word-spacing: 0px;" />
<span style="background: white; color: black; mso-color-alt: windowtext;"><span style="-webkit-text-stroke-width: 0px; float: none; font-variant-caps: normal; font-variant-ligatures: normal; orphans: 2; text-align: start; text-decoration-color: initial; text-decoration-style: initial; text-decoration-thickness: initial; widows: 2; word-spacing: 0px;">Pirkei Avot (4:1)</span> - Judaism</span><span style="background: white;"><o:p></o:p></span></span></b></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: times;"><i><span style="background: white; color: black; line-height: 107%; mso-bidi-font-family: Arial; mso-color-alt: windowtext;">The Qur’an says, “Do not let the
hatred of others to you make you swerve to wrong and depart from justice. Be
just: that is next to piety.” (</span><strong><span style="font-weight: normal; mso-bidi-font-family: Arial;">Quran
Surah</span></strong><span style="-webkit-text-stroke-width: 0px; float: none; font-variant-caps: normal; font-variant-ligatures: normal; orphans: 2; text-decoration-color: initial; text-decoration-style: initial; text-decoration-thickness: initial; widows: 2; word-spacing: 0px;"> Al-Maa’idah, 5:8) That is, do not let your enmity for
your enemies exceed the limits and turn you away from justice in either words
or actions.</span> – Islam</i><i><span style="background: white; line-height: 107%; mso-bidi-font-family: Arial;"><o:p></o:p></span></i></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: times;"><span style="background: white; color: black; line-height: 107%; mso-bidi-font-family: Arial; mso-color-alt: windowtext;">Each of these religions also admonish us not to repay
evil with evil.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>1 Peter 3:9, </span><span style="background: white; color: black; line-height: 107%; mso-color-alt: windowtext;">Sunan al-Tirmidhī </span>,
Prophet Moroni admonished the Latter Day Saints to not respond with evil but
with kindness. While I know all this to be true, every once in a while, I
forget. <span style="background: white; line-height: 107%;"><o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: times;"><span style="background: white; color: black; line-height: 107%; mso-color-alt: windowtext;">The
other day I spoke with less than kindness to a customer service person at
Costco and it made my grandson laugh out loud. It wasn’t funny, he was just
shocked to hear it. It reminded me that I’m an example and he’s watching. </span><span style="background: white; line-height: 107%;"><o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: times;"><span style="background: white; color: black; line-height: 107%; mso-color-alt: windowtext;">Yesterday
I had to go to another office to pick up a check which had been delivered
there.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>As I walked in, I said “Hi, I
have a check to pick up.” One woman looked up but ignored me as if I hadn’t spoken.
The woman with the check, one desk over, raised the check above her head with
one hand while never looking away from what she was doing. She raised the check
like a flag, waving it towards me without ever looking at me or uttering a
word.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></span><span style="background: white; line-height: 107%;"><o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: times;"><span style="background: white; color: black; line-height: 107%; mso-color-alt: windowtext;">Taking
the check being waved at me, I said “Thank you” and exited the building.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The level of disrespect and unkindness was
shocking. </span><span style="background: white; line-height: 107%;"><o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: times;"><span style="background: white; color: black; line-height: 107%; mso-color-alt: windowtext;">Granted,
these were the same women who said very derogatory and nasty things about me
just a few weeks ago…and I certainly don’t expect gushing kindness or welcoming
arms, but professional kindness…is that too much to ask? </span><span style="background: white; line-height: 107%;"><o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: times;"><span style="background: white; color: black; line-height: 107%; mso-color-alt: windowtext;">As
I drove away, I was seething.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>That level
of disrespect is something that angers me instantly. </span><span style="background: white; line-height: 107%;"><o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: times;"><span style="background: white; color: black; line-height: 107%; mso-color-alt: windowtext;">And
then I remembered my encounter with the customer service person at Costco.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></span><span style="background: white; line-height: 107%;"><o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: times;"><i><span style="background: white; color: black; line-height: 107%; mso-color-alt: windowtext;">Let he who is without sin cast the first stone. </span></i><i><span style="background: white; line-height: 107%;"><o:p></o:p></span></i></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: times;"><span style="background: white; color: black; line-height: 107%; mso-color-alt: windowtext;">Okay,
okay, I’m listening.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I get it. </span><span style="background: white; line-height: 107%;"><o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="background: white; color: black; font-family: times; line-height: 107%; mso-color-alt: windowtext;">So,
thank you ladies for reminding me that I fall short in living up to my own
values.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Lessons come in many forms.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></span><span style="background: white; font-family: "Bookman Old Style",serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;"><o:p></o:p></span></p>Stephanie http://www.blogger.com/profile/16005190945571713236noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5497141617933646816.post-16254297486358053302021-11-04T18:00:00.003-07:002021-11-04T18:00:26.859-07:00Origin Haiku<p> </p><p class="MsoNormal">Born in ‘63<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">The world at war over race<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">My parents with me <o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">It was always said<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">Some have kids, some have mistakes<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">They had two and two<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">Two kids who they love<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">And two unwanted mistakes <o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">Life is a gamble<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">Two kids to adore<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">Fifty/fifty chances there<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">Two more to regret<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">Mistake number One<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">Drugs and alcohol, she’s dead<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">Dear God, I miss You<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">Me, I’m Mistake Two<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">Not sure what to be and do<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">Seeking my own voice<o:p></o:p></p>Stephanie http://www.blogger.com/profile/16005190945571713236noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5497141617933646816.post-68128321004644311792021-10-23T07:45:00.000-07:002021-10-23T07:45:17.279-07:002 Timothy 2: 1- 15<p>When I was in 7th grade, age 11 for me, a contest was held to go to this bible camp in Estes Park Colorado. Even then, academics and travel were both something I was highly interested in. In order to be chosen for this camp, it was required to memorize 1 Timothy 2: 1 - 15 and be able to recite it at an interview. This whole section of Timothy is about studying, listening, learning, teaching and being a good servant. Aren’t those the best qualities of one who serves? Being willing to study, remain faithful, teach others and share knowledge without getting caught up in the ‘affairs of this life’? </p><p>My life has been one of service. To my partners, to my children, to educating others, to caring for prisoners and homeless people, people addicted to drugs and suffering from mental health issues. Being of service is where I thrive, it is what makes sense to me. Telling the truth about what’s working and what isn’t working makes sense to me. Telling the truth in order to educate and create change makes sense to me. </p><p>This makes sense to me in whatever capacity I’m working and serving. I may be doing accounting or paralegal work or real estate contracts but I’m still in service in those capacities. There’s still an opportunity for teaching and learning. There is always an opportunity to teach and to learn whether that’s from a couple whose been married for 45 years and refinancing their house, or the abused man who is getting a divorce and is afraid to say he’s been being abused, or the young entrepreneur who is chasing his passion but has no idea how to file taxes…all of these people have taught me something. Hopefully, I’ve taught them something as well. </p><p>This section of Timothy ends with the admonishment to ‘study to show thyself a workman who needeth not to be ashamed, rightly dividing the word of truth.’ Study…so I do a good job and I don’t need to be ashamed of standing in the truth. And then, divide that truth…Divide means to share or share in parts. Dividing the word of truth means sharing what you’ve learned. If you know something and I know something and we both share that knowledge, we each know more than we did before. Which is a good thing. </p><p>If we work for the same organization, are part of the same family, are working in a volunteer capacity, wherever it is we’re serving with others, there should be no competition. What should be happening is completely sharing information and supporting one another in our common goal. 1 Thessalonians 5:11 - Therefore encourage one another and lift one another up. Romans 15:2 Each of us should please our neighbors for their good, to build them up. </p><p>I’m not a Christian, don’t claim to be walking in faith. What I do know, is the Bible has many lessons of how to live a life that is peaceful and full of love. It’s filled with admonishments to serve the poor, serve your neighbors and to stand in love and truth even when you’re standing alone. There is a great lesson in Titus 3:10 about people who like to stir shit up and create divisiveness. As for a person who stirs up division, after warning him once and then twice, have nothing more to do with him. It’s pretty clear. Avoid quarreling, speak with kindness and show courtesy to all people. When someone acts a fool, call them out. Twice even. Give them a couple chances to correct. When they don’t, walk away. Have nothing to do with them. Don’t talk shit. Don’t be vindictive. Simply: don’t have anything to do with them. </p><p>Maybe I’m simplifying too much: be kind, continue to study and learn, live a life of service, share knowledge, love everyone, and walk away from people who like to create conflict. Seems like pretty simple lessons to lead a peaceful life. </p><p><br /></p>Stephanie http://www.blogger.com/profile/16005190945571713236noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5497141617933646816.post-67843697067491749292020-11-19T13:15:00.002-08:002020-11-19T13:37:13.384-08:00Opportunity<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: georgia;"><span style="background-color: white;">My birthday has become about loss. I cannot separate my birthday from my sister's death...they are intricately connected. For me, my birthday has become a time of reflection and not celebration. A time to consider what's important, what is worthy of a response and what isn't. Who are my priorities and who are not. Where/when/how I invest my time and emotions.</span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="background-color: white; font-family: georgia;">I am now older than my sister, which is extremely difficult for me. For two reasons: simply because I'm old and because it seems very odd that I've aged beyond my sister. </span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="background-color: white;"><span style="font-family: georgia;">For years, the time between Thanksgiving and christmas has been a time of reflection, of solitude, of NON celebration. In a way, Thanksgiving is the last meal before a month of fasting. One year, I spent my birthday stocking up and made a commitment to spend nothing for the entire month of December. The one exception was fuel for my car so that I could get to work. It was a really good month and very much brought into focus how conspicuous consumerism is pushed so hard, especially at this time of year. </span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: georgia;"><span style="background-color: white;">This year has been strange, difficult, full of learning, forced many of us to slow down, stay home, be reminded of what we really need. We've all been given the opportunity to see who we really want to see and speak to when social options are so limited. You never know who you're going to be when times are hard...unless you know who you are when times are not hard. Because that's who you are. That's who I am. We are who we are. Hard times don't make us who we are, they show us who we are. </span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: georgia;"><span style="background-color: white;">In addition to a world wide health crisis, I've had a personal health crisis which provided me the opportunity to ask myself hard questions. How have I lived? How do I want to live in the future? How do I want to die? Is there something in my past I've really avoided dealing with and need/want to? Are there people in my life I really don't want in my life? Is there anybody who isn't in my life that I miss and very much want to mend those relationships? </span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: georgia;"><span style="background-color: white;">While I've done some pretty cringe worthy things in my life, my life has been worth living. I've loved my kids with my entire soul and that in and of itself has made life worth being here. It's always been my contention that our children - without even trying - show us the best and worst of who we are. The incredible anger that can bubble up at person who can't even walk or talk...the insane amount of patience to answer 'why' 9,000 times in one day...the sheer will to keep going when exhaustion is overwhelming...the courage to apologize when you've messed up and it impacts them negatively...the straight face you have to keep when you actually feel like laughing heartily over something they think is soooo important and you realize that this 12 year old has no idea how inconsequential this really is...the most joy and passion ever experienced...the ability to be hurt to your core by the things they say TO you and ABOUT you...the power they have to incite guilt over the most mundane decision...the absolute love and joy when you hold your baby's baby...the emotions these people invoke are endless and the highest of the highs and the lowest of the lows and everything in between. </span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: georgia;"><span style="background-color: white;">This year, with my birthday a week away, the state back on socially restrictive measures, life being all kinds of weird and the future - at best - shaky, my plan is to celebrate. To have a hugely amazing meal with my family on Thanksgiving, to give thanks that even though I've taken some very wrong turns and made quite a mess of my life at times, I'm still here. There's still an opportunity to recover, to learn, to grow, to laugh, to love and to celebrate. </span></span></p>Stephanie http://www.blogger.com/profile/16005190945571713236noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5497141617933646816.post-58227126781350488512020-06-10T16:01:00.003-07:002020-06-10T16:01:46.000-07:003 Rounds of Enough <div class="p1" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; font-size: 25px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 3px;">
<br /></div>
<div class="p2" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; font-size: 19px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal;">
<span class="s2">Round 1</span></div>
<div class="p2" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; font-size: 19px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal;">
<span class="s2">You have mistaken my kindness for weakness</span></div>
<div class="p2" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; font-size: 19px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal;">
<span class="s2">And </span></div>
<div class="p2" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; font-size: 19px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal;">
<span class="s2">My silence for ignorance</span></div>
<div class="p2" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; font-size: 19px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal;">
<span class="s2">I am neither weak nor dumb</span></div>
<div class="p2" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; font-size: 19px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal;">
<span class="s2">Your eyes meet mine</span></div>
<div class="p2" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; font-size: 19px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal;">
<span class="s2">As we exchange a knowing look</span></div>
<div class="p2" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; font-size: 19px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal;">
<span class="s2">A silent look that says so much </span></div>
<div class="p2" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; font-size: 19px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal;">
<span class="s2">You pause</span></div>
<div class="p2" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; font-size: 19px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal;">
<span class="s2">Wait</span></div>
<div class="p2" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; font-size: 19px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal;">
<span class="s2">Expecting a reaction</span></div>
<div class="p2" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; font-size: 19px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal;">
<span class="s2">My eyes are saying so much</span></div>
<div class="p2" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; font-size: 19px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal;">
<span class="s2">You know</span></div>
<div class="p2" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; font-size: 19px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal;">
<span class="s2">I know</span></div>
<div class="p2" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; font-size: 19px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal;">
<span class="s2">That is enough </span></div>
<div class="p3" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; font-size: 19px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; min-height: 22.7px;">
<span class="s2"></span><br /></div>
<div class="p2" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; font-size: 19px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal;">
<span class="s2">Round 2</span></div>
<div class="p2" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; font-size: 19px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal;">
<span class="s2">You have assumed my silence is compliance </span></div>
<div class="p2" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; font-size: 19px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal;">
<span class="s2">And that I am complicit, kindly unaware</span></div>
<div class="p2" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; font-size: 19px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal;">
<span class="s2">We lock eyes</span></div>
<div class="p2" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; font-size: 19px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal;">
<span class="s2">We are not looking at one another</span></div>
<div class="p2" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; font-size: 19px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal;">
<span class="s2">We are locked in battle with one other</span></div>
<div class="p2" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; font-size: 19px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal;">
<span class="s2">My defiant eyes let you know</span></div>
<div class="p2" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; font-size: 19px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal;">
<span class="s2">I am neither complicit</span></div>
<div class="p2" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; font-size: 19px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal;">
<span class="s2">Nor compliant</span></div>
<div class="p2" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; font-size: 19px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal;">
<span class="s2">I’m very aware</span></div>
<div class="p2" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; font-size: 19px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal;">
<span class="s2">You’ve done me wrong</span></div>
<div class="p2" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; font-size: 19px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal;">
<span class="s2">I know</span></div>
<div class="p2" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; font-size: 19px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal;">
<span class="s2">You know</span></div>
<div class="p2" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; font-size: 19px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal;">
<span class="s2">Have you done enough?</span></div>
<div class="p3" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; font-size: 19px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; min-height: 22.7px;">
<span class="s2"></span><br /></div>
<div class="p2" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; font-size: 19px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal;">
<span class="s2">Round 3</span></div>
<div class="p2" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; font-size: 19px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal;">
<span class="s2">As I quietly put my clothes in a bag</span></div>
<div class="p2" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; font-size: 19px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal;">
<span class="s2">You are watching </span></div>
<div class="p2" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; font-size: 19px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal;">
<span class="s2">Stunned into your own silence</span></div>
<div class="p2" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; font-size: 19px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal;">
<span class="s2">We have looked at one another</span></div>
<div class="p2" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; font-size: 19px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal;">
<span class="s2">Locked eyes with one another </span></div>
<div class="p2" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; font-size: 19px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal;">
<span class="s2">We’ve been silent </span></div>
<div class="p2" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; font-size: 19px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal;">
<span class="s2">We’ve spoken</span></div>
<div class="p2" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; font-size: 19px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal;">
<span class="s2">You’ve repented</span></div>
<div class="p2" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; font-size: 19px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal;">
<span class="s2">I’ve forgiven</span></div>
<div class="p2" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; font-size: 19px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal;">
<span class="s2">You mistook my kindness for weakness</span></div>
<div class="p2" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; font-size: 19px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal;">
<span class="s2">I’ve given Enough</span></div>
<div class="p2" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; font-size: 19px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal;">
<span class="s2">I’ve taken Enough</span></div>
<div class="p2" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; font-size: 19px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal;">
<span class="s2">I’ve had Enough</span></div>
<div class="p3" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; font-size: 19px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; min-height: 22.7px;">
<span class="s2"></span><br /></div>
<div class="p3" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; font-size: 19px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; min-height: 22.7px;">
<span class="s2"></span><br /></div>
<div class="p3" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; font-size: 19px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; min-height: 22.7px;">
<span class="s2"></span><br /></div>
<div class="p3" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; font-size: 19px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; min-height: 22.7px;">
<span class="s2"></span><br /></div>
<br />
<div class="p4" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; font-size: 19px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 8px; margin-top: 9px;">
<span class="s2"></span></div>
<br />
<div class="p3" style="-webkit-tap-highlight-color: rgba(26, 26, 26, 0.301961); -webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; -webkit-text-stroke-width: 0px; caret-color: rgb(0, 0, 0); color: black; font-size: 19px; font-stretch: normal; font-style: normal; font-variant-caps: normal; font-weight: normal; letter-spacing: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 22.7px; orphans: auto; text-align: start; text-decoration: none; text-indent: 0px; text-transform: none; white-space: normal; widows: auto; word-spacing: 0px;">
<span class="s2" style="font-size: 19px; font-style: normal; font-weight: normal;"></span><br /></div>
Stephanie http://www.blogger.com/profile/16005190945571713236noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5497141617933646816.post-38819416249102917772020-04-21T15:56:00.002-07:002020-04-21T16:07:38.191-07:00The Game of LoveHe wrote as if it was about her.<br />
<br />
This was his con. To make every “her” feel she was THE her. HIS her.<br />
<br />
This was his gift and HER curse.<br />
<br />
Because if you actually read the words and didn’t get caught up in the con, every word was about HIM and he said very loudly and very clearly: There was no HER.<br />
<br />
He studied women. Spoke with women. Remembered women. So his sweeping generalities and flowing script cast a wide net. EVERY woman could relate. See something of herself reflected. Their unhealthy mirror made them believe the depth of his knowledge was a show of his attention to and intentions with HER. <br />
<br />
But his inbox was full of DM’s from so many HERS. Because each one of them believed that what THEY shared was special, her response was sent to him privately. In his inbox. Email. Text message. His phone blowing up with the notifications. His ego swelling with each response.<br />
<br />
And the con became a solid way of life. The question is: who is he trying to CONvince? Himself or all the otHERS?Stephanie http://www.blogger.com/profile/16005190945571713236noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5497141617933646816.post-69232127227398179652020-03-26T10:33:00.003-07:002020-03-26T10:33:26.770-07:00Miscommunication <br />
I gave you my hope<br />
You took my body<br />
I wanted you Whole<br />
You wanted a hole<br />
A hole in you satisfied<br />
A hole in me filled<br />
So you filled me with semen<br />
And as you were leavin<br />
I finally came<br />
Came to my senses<br />
And stopped believing<br />
We wanted the same thing<br />
I crave the spiritual<br />
You’re stuck in the physicalStephanie http://www.blogger.com/profile/16005190945571713236noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5497141617933646816.post-49896343255600713612020-03-26T10:10:00.003-07:002020-03-26T10:10:34.950-07:00Can You Feel ThatI feel you inside me<br />
Even though you’re hundreds of miles away<br />
Lay back. Close your eyes.<br />
Can you feel that?<br />
Can you feel me as you fill me?<br />
Fill my mind with knowledge.<br />
Fill my spirit with love.<br />
Fill my body with craving.<br />
Touch yourself.<br />
Can you feel that?<br />
Feel me, as you fill me.Stephanie http://www.blogger.com/profile/16005190945571713236noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5497141617933646816.post-22066289123948123092020-03-25T13:19:00.003-07:002020-03-25T13:19:36.657-07:00We MatteredHe entered my body through every hole<br />
Feeling me so deeply He found my Soul<br />
Finding the edge of my passion and pain<br />
Taking me beyond every limit releasing the strain<br />
Prostrate on the floor naked and exposed<br />
My body an offering and a prayer<br />
Kneeling at his feet<br />
My surrender complete<br />
He Came<br />
I Lived<br />
We MatteredStephanie http://www.blogger.com/profile/16005190945571713236noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5497141617933646816.post-40962096173856066722019-12-25T06:40:00.000-08:002019-12-25T06:40:16.083-08:00Wounded Women<div class="p1" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; color: #454545; font-size: 17.1px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal;">
<span class="s1" style="font-size: 17.14px;">The young mom whose own mom chose meth and alcohol over being a mom and she is now learning to be a mom, without a mom. </span></div>
<div class="p1" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; color: #454545; font-size: 17.1px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal;">
<span class="s1" style="font-size: 17.14px;">The young adult woman who bounces from family member to family member in search of belonging and her ‘place’ in the world. Never quite sure where she fits in, struggling to define ‘self’ in a split family. </span></div>
<div class="p1" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; color: #454545; font-size: 17.1px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal;">
<span class="s1" style="font-size: 17.14px;">The working mom who is emotionally drained and physically stretched who comes home to a son that is challenging and demands every ounce of reserves to parent. She feels alone and questions how she can be so brilliant at work and yet not have answers for her own son.</span></div>
<div class="p1" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; color: #454545; font-size: 17.1px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal;">
<span class="s1" style="font-size: 17.14px;">The single woman who travels the world in almost complete solitude and fear because her experiences have taught her that no one can be trusted. </span></div>
<div class="p1" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; color: #454545; font-size: 17.1px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal;">
<span class="s1" style="font-size: 17.14px;">The woman who is a pillar of her community yet fights an internal battle that she numbs with alcohol and no one knows. </span></div>
<div class="p1" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; color: #454545; font-size: 17.1px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal;">
<span class="s1" style="font-size: 17.14px;">The middle aged woman who fights a battle with depression, wears scars on her face that tell of past experiences and struggles daily to overcome past failures. </span></div>
<div class="p1" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; color: #454545; font-size: 17.1px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal;">
<span class="s1" style="font-size: 17.14px;">The woman who is homeless yet puts on business clothes every day to go to a job that doesn’t pay enough to cover rent and daycare...she chooses daycare to keep her kids safe when she can’t be with them. </span></div>
<div class="p1" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; color: #454545; font-size: 17.1px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal;">
<span class="s1" style="font-size: 17.14px;">The 20, 30, 40, 50 something female who swiped right looking for some sort of love and connection and now lays next to this stranger filled with grief and embarrassment at her actions. Her self worth plummets as she walks to her car and wonders when she’ll give up this chase. </span></div>
<div class="p1" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; color: #454545; font-size: 17.1px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal;">
<span class="s1" style="font-size: 17.14px;">The wife, whose marriage from the outside looks fine, but she hasn’t touched her husband and he hasn’t touched her in months. <span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span>They barely speak. <span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span>They gave up fighting years ago. What remains is apathy and loneliness. </span></div>
<div class="p2" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; color: #454545; font-size: 17.1px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; min-height: 20.5px;">
<span class="s1" style="font-size: 17.14px;"></span>The 80 year old who lives alone, husband passed, kids grown and distant, fighting the battle of a decaying body while her heart and mind are still vital. Struggling to accomplish even the simplest of tasks, defeated and disgusted with the ravages of age. </div>
<div class="p2" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; color: #454545; font-size: 17.1px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; min-height: 20.5px;">
<br /></div>
<div class="p1" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; color: #454545; font-size: 17.1px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal;">
<span class="s1" style="font-size: 17.14px;">We see these wounded women every day. At work. At the store. <span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span>In the mirror.</span></div>
<div class="p2" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; color: #454545; font-size: 17.1px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; min-height: 20.5px;">
<span class="s1" style="font-size: 17.14px;"></span><br /></div>
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<span class="s1" style="font-size: 17.14px;">They - we, I - walk among you every day. We are not carrying signs, marching in rallies, posting hashtags crying me too. We are fighting the fight to carry these wounds while we care for our partners, children and co-workers. <span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span>We carry these wounds while simultaneously searching for healing and a life that makes sense. </span></div>
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<span class="s1" style="font-size: 17.14px;">The wounds become scars and no longer openly bleed. <span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span>We warrior on as partners, mothers, workers...wounded. </span></div>
Stephanie http://www.blogger.com/profile/16005190945571713236noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5497141617933646816.post-44916026912896531302019-10-13T08:44:00.001-07:002019-10-13T09:02:27.003-07:00ObstaclesYesterday I took a walk by the river. It was beautiful. Serene. I climbed over rocks, walked on sandy shores and contemplated my life and which direction it was flowing to. As I walked, I noticed the sounds of the river changing, getting louder, making more noise, creating more friction. I kept walking and the river got quiet, still flowing, still moving in the right direction, just more smoothly and without all the racket.<br />
<br />
It was the obstacles that created the noise. The river didn't change, it kept flowing in the direction it was created to flow in, it just got noisy and rough when there were obstacles in its path. Rocks. Branches. Debris. These things caused all the noise and turbulence in the river. In many ways these obstacles make the river more beautiful, more fun, more daring. In some ways, they change the direction of the flow for a bit, but eventually the river continues to flow in the direction it is intended to flow. Never departing from its natural course.<br />
<br />
My life is like that river. It gets noisy and disturbed when there are obstacles blocking my path. Sometimes those obstacles make it beautiful, daring, more fun to ride for a while. Eventually, those obstacles and distractions have to get out of the way so that I can get on with my natural flow and head in the direction I was intended to go.<br />
<br />
Recognizing obstacles for what they are, moving around them, continuing to flow and reach my destination is one of the great challenges of life. Realizing those obstacles are not ME...they are just there to rough up the river for a while and as life goes on, those obstacles change and disappear. <br />
<br />
Don't get stuck in those rough spots...Ride them out and just keep flowing.Stephanie http://www.blogger.com/profile/16005190945571713236noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5497141617933646816.post-55996826514486896212019-03-23T19:12:00.000-07:002019-03-23T19:12:25.142-07:00Mortar and GoldYears ago I fell apart into a million little pieces. I picked up the pieces, put them in a box and put the box on a shelf. Oregon. Washington. Mexico. Louisiana. California. Alaska. I travelled and or lived in all these places lugging the box of pieces with me, but never opening the lid to look inside. It’s the pieces of me I couldn’t be.<br />
<br />
It’s years later. I’ve sat still for a bit, took the box off the shelf, opened the lid and looked at the pieces of who I used to be and wonder how to put myself back together. When you open a puzzle box there’s a picture on the cover to guide you and the pieces are cut to fit together just so. This box doesn’t have a picture and the pieces aren’t cut to fit together just so. There are big pieces. Small pieces. Some with extremely sharp edges. Some shattered but not broken. Some shattered into such small pieces they’re barely visible.<br />
<br />
If there’s no picture and the pieces don’t fit just so, how do I put the pieces back together? How do I become whole again? Masons use mortar. A workable paste used to bind building blocks together. Used to fill in all the irregular gaps and sometimes used to add decoration. In Japan they practice Kintsugi- the art of precious scars. Broken pottery is repaired with gold making the brokeness a thing of beauty.<br />
<br />
I found the courage to take this box of broken pieces off the shelf. I took the lid off and I’m looking at the pieces of me. I’m holding the brokenness with forgiveness and compassion. Now how do I put the pieces back together? What’s the mortar used to hold my pieces in place and fill in irregular gaps? What do I use for gold to fill in the cracks and make my brokenness a thing of beauty?Stephanie http://www.blogger.com/profile/16005190945571713236noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5497141617933646816.post-79296079764720314412018-11-25T13:47:00.001-08:002018-11-25T13:47:34.769-08:00PiecesYour voice<br />
Your touch<br />
Your eyes<br />
That look<br />
The challenge<br />
The joy<br />
My rudder<br />
My future<br />
I look for you everywhere<br />
in everyone<br />
There is no you in them<br />
You set the standard<br />
became the standard<br />
I gave you pieces of me<br />
I can’t get back<br />
Pieces that left holes<br />
no one else can fill<br />
Pieces - rearranged - into a<br />
different kind of wholeStephanie http://www.blogger.com/profile/16005190945571713236noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5497141617933646816.post-13790599726135410612018-09-16T20:36:00.003-07:002018-09-16T20:38:48.375-07:00Impossible CravingsWhy is that we want things that we intellectually know are bad for us? Too much food - or the wrong food. Too much alcohol. The wrong boyfriend or girlfriend. When we know it's going to hurt us, when we have already been hurt, when we know the outcome is never going to change, why do we still have these impossible cravings?<br />
<br />
My hands shake, my heart races, my stomach knots up...and I want him so badly that I can't focus on what's in front of me. Just look at the menu, just order your dinner...don't look at the picture that just popped up, don't re-read the last text for the millionth time, don't order another glass of wine in an effort to ease this...just order dinner and get out of here.<br />
<br />
Why does this still happen? How long do we have these complicated, impossible cravings for things that hurt us?<br />
<br />
Jodi Picoult: "What we all want, really, is to be loved. That craving drives our worst behavior".<br />
<br />
Why is that? Why does a craving to be loved, desired, appreciated drive us to act like our worse selves? Perhaps because rejection is one of the worst feelings in the world...even when the person rejecting us is nowhere near worthy of our affections.<br />
<br />
Rumi:<br />
<br />
I choose to love you in silence<br />
For in silence I find no rejection<br />
<br />
I choose to love you in loneliness<br />
For in loneliness no one owns you but me<br />
<br />
I choose to adore you from a distance<br />
For distance will shield me from pain<br />
<br />
I choose to kiss you in the wind<br />
For the wind is gentler than my lips<br />
<br />
I choose to hold you in my dreams<br />
For in my dreams, you have no endStephanie http://www.blogger.com/profile/16005190945571713236noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5497141617933646816.post-6730411786022487742018-06-28T15:16:00.002-07:002018-06-28T15:17:00.016-07:00Spiritual Autobiography<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; margin-left: .05in;">
<span style="font-family: "Century Gothic","sans-serif";"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> H</span>ow does one begin an autobiography about
spirituality?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>What I think of writing is
a “religion” autobiography, but is that really spirituality? My search for
spirituality continues, so the autobiography is quite incomplete.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>In many ways, my spirituality does in fact
begin with my early religious experiences.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; margin-left: .05in;">
<span style="font-family: "Century Gothic","sans-serif";"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>My family was one steeped in fundamentalist christianity
and white supremacy, which in my mind still go hand in hand. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Not the same white privilege that all white
people enjoy through no accomplishment of their own, but the inherent belief
that white people are supreme.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Superior
to all others and possess the manifest destiny to not only conquer the world,
but to save it as well.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; margin-left: .05in;">
<span style="font-family: "Century Gothic","sans-serif";"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>The church I was born into and attended until beyond my
marriage was called the Church of the Nazarene.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>So named I suppose after Christ of Nazareth, the original Nazarene.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The church was one of legalism, based
completely on performance.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The belief
system was one founded on “original sin.”<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>Everyone was born wicked, wrong, and sinful and in order to gain
redemption, Jesus Christ was the way, the truth, and the life.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>No one came to God other than through
Christ.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Salvation was full and free, but
must be asked for and once found could also be lost.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; margin-left: .05in;">
<span style="font-family: "Century Gothic","sans-serif";"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>Salvation was not guaranteed and if you sinned, than you
must ask again for salvation.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>At some
point (a point I never reached) one could arrive at “sanctification.”<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>To my understanding, this kind of meant the
second level of salvation; that once this has occurred, the person no longer
sinned.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>(I may have this understanding
wrong.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>By the time I reached the age
that this was part of my thinking, I had begun to think the entire process was
a crock of shit.)<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>My church believed in
baptism has an outward sign that one had died and been reborn through the
resurrected Christ. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; margin-left: .05in;">
<span style="font-family: "Century Gothic","sans-serif";"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>From a very early age I attempted to “be” a good
girl.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>To behave accordingly and not
sin.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>For a female, this behavior
included submission to my parents, the
church elders, and any other adult simply because they were an adult. Age
automatically made them wiser. My father was the church treasurer and sat on
the board, my mother was the pastor’s secretary and cleaned the church on Saturdays.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>We attended church twice on Sundays and again
for mid-week prayer meeting on Wednesdays.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>Annually there was a week-long revival, which we attended nightly.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>What exactly we were being revived from is
still unclear.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; margin-left: .05in;">
<span style="font-family: "Century Gothic","sans-serif";"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>The sermons were geared toward making people feel like
failures.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Feeling as if you were not
good enough.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>That just being you with
all your human foibles was somehow wrong.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>Every Sunday the pastor led an alter call for anyone who wanted to get
saved.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Without fail, the song we sang was
“Just As I Am.”<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“Just as I am without
one plea, but that thy blood was shed for me.”<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>I can still hear the haunting tune in my head.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Several times as a child and young adult, I
was “saved.”<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It never stuck.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I lived my entire life as a backslidden christian.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; margin-left: .05in;">
<span style="font-family: "Century Gothic","sans-serif";"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>After several failed attempts at redemption, being voted
out of church membership for having divorced, and re-thinking a lot of
teaching, I left the church with a pretty big chip on my shoulder and a
sizeable contempt for God.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Many times
throughout my life I have lain awake in the dark and screamed out to god for
proof of his existence.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>(In my world,
God and all related to him were white males.)<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>Equally as many times I have cried out in the dark about how much I
hated god.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Actually said “Fuck You” and
told him to stay away.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Even more times
I’ve blamed myself fully for the wrong turns my life has taken for having said
those words. Deep in my soul, it is hard to let go of the belief that I told
God to fuck off one too many times and he has truly turned his back on me,
rejecting me beyond hearing my cries for help or the need for proof of his
existence.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; margin-left: .05in;">
<span style="font-family: "Century Gothic","sans-serif";"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>Do I actually believe this?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Honestly, I don’t know.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I would like to say I don’t, but sitting
here now writing these words, I feel sadness in my soul.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Some belief, some regret, some thing still
lingers there. I want to know a connection with a source of peace and power
greater than myself or something I can name. I want to trust in something that
I cannot see – have faith.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Trusting in
things I can see, feel, and smell is difficult for me.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Trusting in humans who give me their word is
something I struggle with on a daily basis. How then do I trust in something
that is not tangible?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; margin-left: .05in;">
<span style="font-family: "Century Gothic","sans-serif";"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>The search continues for the ability to trust something
outside myself, and at times to even trust myself.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Early teachings haunt me, leading me to
question myself and my ability to reason. Fear enters my being at the mention
of “women’s religion.”<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>This means wikka
to mean, which means an attachment to satan.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>Whether or not this is true, I have no idea. I’m afraid to explore. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; margin-left: .05in;">
<span style="font-family: "Century Gothic","sans-serif";"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>Hell has a hold on me.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>I fear eternal damnation more than I fear that there may be no god.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Like almost all things christian, this is not
rational.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Intellectually I know that,
but emotionally I cannot escape the feelings of fear.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Every once in a while the thought that today
may be the day of the rapture and I’m going to be left behind, enters my head
and I wonder what the world will be.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>All
these earthquakes happening recently are signs of the end times.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>And then, I think that’s why George Bush is
president again because christians have an irrational fear based on irrational
beliefs and elected an irrational president to carry out an irrational system
based on manifest destiny.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>And we wind
up back at white supremacy where this all started.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>A vicious circle of fear and irrationality
that keeps my mind anything from quiet, my spirit far from content, and my
intellect saying fuck you to the entire system of belief outside myself.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />Stephanie http://www.blogger.com/profile/16005190945571713236noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5497141617933646816.post-84243251879926938182017-04-07T17:54:00.000-07:002017-04-07T17:54:29.505-07:00Goodbye Has Never Been My Strong SuitI rarely say goodbye...I've rarely been in a position to say goodbye...My belief system allows for second, third, fourth...as many as needed...chances to get things right. A great deal of my life has been dedicated to people (including myself) who have made wrong turns, countless mistakes and repeated bad choices. Much of my income has been earned helping those people embrace who they are and not beat themselves up for what they did, or didn't, do and to subsequently choose a new path, or perhaps just a less harmful path. Goodbye and endings have never been my strong suit.<br />
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Talking, listening, showing, forgiving, waiting, working, trying new strategies, calling for help, seeking advice...basically staying in some sort of action has always been the better choice. One thing I rarely do, is give up. Endings are not my strong suit.<br />
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My sister said goodbye...I said goodbye to my sister. Perhaps people think it strange that it's been more than 2 years and there is still a huge, hollow, aloneness that follows me. I've tried, worked, strategized, called for help, sought advice, taken all the actions that I know in order to navigate this new territory. Saying goodbye has never been my strong suit.<br />
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The past eight months have been spent learning the process of letting go. I sought advice. I talked. I cried. I waited. I questioned. I waited some more. I looked for new paths. I attempted to embrace everyone involved with compassion and understanding.<br />
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My belief system does not allow for holding grudges. Which adds to my inability to say goodbye...there's always a chance. There's always a chance that things will improve. There's always a possibility that something will change. My belief system looks for the good in what's happening rather than in what's wrong. I look for the lesson rather than focus on blaming someone else for how I feel or behave. I thank the Universe for sending the person to teach me what I need to know and learn. <br />
<br />
One of the reasons my sister died was her inability to say goodbye...to put an end to things that were killing her. Maybe holding on at her own expense was her stubborn pride in thinking she was strong enough to overcome, strong enough to manage, strong enough to not let that which was killing her...kill her. Maybe learning to let go and say goodbye is something she and I both have not been good at.<br />
<br />
Goodbye has never been my strong suit....Killing myself to hold on isn't a good idea either. <br />
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<br />Stephanie http://www.blogger.com/profile/16005190945571713236noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5497141617933646816.post-64829837944739545752017-03-20T16:23:00.001-07:002017-03-20T16:23:10.258-07:00There Are No WordsI’ve never known a feeling so full or a place so perfect. I want to write, but it’s indescribable. Wordless. There are not adequate words to describe what happens when his lips touch mine, when his hands touch my skin…when he’s inside me. No one does anything to earn this feeling…nor does anyone do anything to conjure it up. It just happens. Unexpectedly and without effort.<br />
<br />
It starts the moment I open the door and my heart stops. For just the briefest of seconds, the world stands still. It sounds so cliché…a 1950’s movie in black and white. Then, my heart beats, my eyes smile and he is in my space. It doesn’t matter where that space is when he’s in it…a table, a car, a couch, a lake, a tent, a rock…as long as he’s in my space. <br />
<br />
Shared time and space. Doesn’t cost a thing and is worth more than any treasure. <br />
<br />
I want to find words to write what it feels like to sleep with him…but there are no words. It is the most peaceful, restful, perfect sleep. The feeling of my head on his chest, or in his neck, feeling his warmth, his heart beat, his gentle snore...the length of his body completely against mine, his arm wrapped around me, his hand resting on my waist…there is no safer place, no more perfect place. I sleep soundly and instantly. It is perfection…free from any flaws and defects. Whatever else may be right or wrong in our lives, this moment, right here, wrapped up with him is pure perfection. <br />
<br />
His hands are the stabilizing force for my shattered heart. His mouth quenches an unspoken hunger for connection. His body is a comforter for my fear. Where he is, is where I want to be. I crave him in a way that is extreme. Thoughts of him consume me in my sleep and distract me in my days. He is my first thought every morning and my last thought every night. <br />
<br />
There are no words to convey how much space he takes up in my head and my heart. I never thought this was real…that there was one person who could change everything I ever thought about love. It is at once completely satisfying while creating an unquenchable desire. A feeling so big there are no words to define it. <br />
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<br />Stephanie http://www.blogger.com/profile/16005190945571713236noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5497141617933646816.post-54329709147239704442016-12-20T20:04:00.001-08:002016-12-20T20:04:34.033-08:00If We Knew It Was The Last TimeI've been thinking a great deal about endings...the end of the year...the end of a book...the end of a life...the end of a relationship...endings. <div>
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<div>
If we knew this was the end, would we do things differently? If I knew this would be the last thing I ever wrote, would I write something different? If I knew this conversation would be the last conversation with you, would I say something else? If I knew this was the last kiss, would I kiss you differently? If I knew this was the last time I was ever going to have sex with you, would I do something else....more of something... less? If this was the last book I could ever read, would I still choose to read this book? </div>
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They say endings are just new beginnings, but sometimes endings are just endings. Sometimes there is no new beginning, no do over, no chance to speak again, read again, kiss again or be naked with a person again. </div>
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So, if you knew, if I knew, this was the last word, is this what I would write? If this is the last conversation, is this the one I want to have? If that was the last kiss, was it a good one? </div>
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Yes...this is what I would write. No, that conversation probably wasn't the one I would have chosen to have if I knew it was the last one. Yes, that kiss was amazing and even though I didn't know it was the last one, it was a good one. No, if I had known that was the last time I'd be naked with that person, I would have made it more special. A better place...a better atmosphere...a better ending. </div>
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Yet, I know that when I speak to people I care about, they know for sure I care about them. My family is sure I love them. My friends are sure I value them. I left my job today in good spirits and they know I enjoy it. That last kiss...it was good. That last naked time...as perfect as every time before. Late at night, when the world is quiet, I know my kids are confident that I love them. Late at night, when the world is not so quiet and thoughts scatter, my friends know they can call and together we will gather those scattered thoughts. Late at night, when sleep won't come, and life feels anything but perfect, there will be memories of perfection and there can be confidence that one person out there in the world thinks that you are exactly perfect. </div>
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There has to be endings. But if we take the time to have true conversations, write the right words, kiss with our whole self, tell the people in our lives how much we love them, and show appreciation for perfection, those endings can be good rather than bad, peaceful rather than full of loss. </div>
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I believe it's better to say all the mushy, ridiculous, goofy, girly, sentimental, over the top things rather than reach an ending and not have said them. So, if these were the last words I ever wrote, then know that I love my family, chose the book, kissed with my whole soul and experienced perfection. </div>
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This is an ending. But just of this...it's not the end of everything. </div>
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Stephanie http://www.blogger.com/profile/16005190945571713236noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5497141617933646816.post-15150422530568256232016-12-04T13:17:00.003-08:002016-12-04T13:17:34.816-08:00BrokenIn 7th grade, by my calculations somewhere around 40 years ago, we took a field trip to the state capital in Sacramento. Even then, I loved old things. I bought a super old, ceramic medicine dispenser and a Vaseline container from an antique shop. At age 18 when I got married, those items, an old thermometer and usually a candle have sat on the back of the toilet everywhere I've lived...which has been a lot of places! I've raised five kids, had rambunctious boys in my house, had tons of people use the bathroom and that little antique ceramic medicine dispenser has been unscathed...until I lived with people who didn't respect me, value my things, or understand the meaning of memories in symbols. <br />
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Someone in that house broke it. And left it. On the ground. Next to the toilet. And never had the decency to say "Hey, Steph, I broke your thing on accident." I found it..and I cried. I picked up the pieces that could be put back together. When I left, I brought the broken pieces with me. In this apartment, the broken pieces have sat on the back of the toilet...with a candle, the Vaseline container, the old thermometer. Today, for some reason, I decided to super glue it back together. There are some chips missing, there is a huge crack, but it's as whole as it's ever going to be. <br />
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Two years ago today, a decision was made to turn off my sister's life support. By far, the hardest, worst, most painful decision I've ever made in my life. I broke that day. And for two years I've been broken in pieces. I may look like I'm not broken, but I am. I may sit in the place I'm supposed to sit, where I've always been, but I'm broken. <br />
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What is the super glue that puts me back together? There's a huge crack where my sister used to be. There are chips gone that will forever be missing. But what's the glue that puts the pieces of me back together? <br />
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Is this as whole as I'm ever going to be?<br />
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<br />Stephanie http://www.blogger.com/profile/16005190945571713236noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5497141617933646816.post-19339528408403726722016-10-03T22:51:00.000-07:002016-10-03T22:54:01.098-07:00Less Than PerfectMost people would tell you that perfection doesn't exist...but it does. I've felt it. I've felt it so deeply that I was left speechless, without the ability to think and quivering from the sheer realization that perfection does exist and I just had it.<br />
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Knowing that perfection does exist, knowing that I will never again search for it because I've had it, what matters for me now is less than perfection. I want the fight, the passion, the vulnerability, the rawness, the mess that anything less than perfection requires. Perfect is wrapped up neat, tidy, not messy, not a struggle. Perfection is easy...simple...not complicated...it's purely perfect with no downside.<br />
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Having experienced perfection, I know what I want is the downside. I want less than perfect. I want messy, emotional, laughter, loyalty, vulnerability, friendship, passion...all the ups and downs that anything less than perfect requires. <br />
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For ever, for always, I will have perfect memories. I will smile when people say perfect doesn't exist because I know it does. I will smell certain smells, hear certain sounds, see certain sights and know that perfect exists. <br />
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Last night as I walked away from the sunset, I looked back over my shoulder and saw perfection. A beautiful, amazing and perfect picture. I smiled. A deep, from my soul, smile full of gratitude for having experienced this perfect sunset after a perfect day. And I yearned for more...in the moment of perfection I yearned for me. I yearned for less than perfect. I yearned for something that doesn't always have to be tidy and neat and perfect. I yearned for the ability to be messy and say everything in whatever way it comes out knowing that being less than perfect is okay. I experienced perfection last night...and it was perfect. <br />
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I want more than and less than perfect. I want to be left breathless with wonder. I want to be curious about what comes next. I want to have the unpredictability that less than perfect brings. Raw humanity...tears, struggles...the stuff that passion is made of...that's what I want to experience. <br />
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I want to sit at a table with someone I just met and laugh until tears come. I want to be so anxious to know more that even after five hours of non stop talking, there' still way more to say and hear. I want to be surprised by the shared imperfections. I want my less than perfect self being welcomed by another less than perfect self. This is the stuff that less than perfect brings. <br />
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I have been blessed to have experienced perfection and it is perfect. More perfect than my wildest imagination. <br />
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I want more than and less than perfect.Stephanie http://www.blogger.com/profile/16005190945571713236noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5497141617933646816.post-8182677285410845452016-09-06T20:11:00.000-07:002016-09-08T16:26:01.196-07:00Standing On The Edge - Part IIWe were standing on the edge, looking at the wide expanse of the future in front of us.<br />
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'Take my hand' he said. 'Take a leap of faith with me. Jump in. Both feet. I got you.'</div>
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I took his hand, took one precarious step in his direction, then stopped. I stood still for a moment. I could feel the warmth of his hand, could hear the timbre in his voice saying "I got you". </div>
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For the longest, that's what I wanted - someone who got me. Someone who chose me in every circumstance. Now, here I was, being offered exactly what I'd asked for. No equivocations, no compromises, no games...just a straight up commitment to choose me every day.</div>
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'Take a leap of faith. I got you.'</div>
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I took his hand, took a step in his direction and then, like Lot's wife, I looked back. I looked back to my recent past and realized there's a ghost lurking there. There's a ghost of 'what ifs'. There's the lure of perfection. There's the ghost of a different choice...a choice I'm still making every day. </div>
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I could feel his hand, see his eyes meeting mine, feel his breath on my skin, hear his voice in my ear: 'I got you'. </div>
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The sound of that was like a siren calling a ship to crash on her rocks. It was passionate, enticing, surreal, and exactly what most people wait to hear. 'I choose you in every circumstance.'</div>
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I walked away from the edge, turned my eyes from the vast expanse of the future, felt the moment from the inside out. I could feel the warmth of his hand, I could feel his breath on my skin, I could hear the sound of his voice in my ear, I could see his eyes pleading with mine...and could feel my heart beating to a different rhythm, could feel the sound of another voice, the lure of perfection, the embodiment of an ideal. </div>
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I dropped his hand. I moved away from the sound of his voice. I found the sound of my own voice. I felt the beat of my heart. I heard myself say:</div>
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"I choose me. I choose to look at the vast expanse of the future and take a path that makes sense to no one but me. I choose to follow the beat of my heart and see where it leads."<br />
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But the ideal is not real. It's an idea I created in my head, willed to come true and know that perfection is just something to be enjoyed momentarily. Perfection happens...that I now know. What I also know is that when love looks you in the eye and says 'take a leap of faith with me', you leap towards love. You follow the beat of your heart as it learns to beat in rhythm with another. You leave behind what if's and if only's and you move towards the vast expanse of your future. <br />
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So, I listen to the sound of my heart beat, recognize the sound of my own voice saying 'just breathe and trust the path you're on. Trust a journey you may not understand.'<br />
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Stephanie http://www.blogger.com/profile/16005190945571713236noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5497141617933646816.post-40996695208236135642016-08-26T18:32:00.000-07:002016-08-26T18:32:26.603-07:00A Reason, A Season, A Lifetime<div style="text-align: center;">
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When we learn the lesson, we say thank you and move on. </div>
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When the season changes, we say thank you and move on...or...</div>
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We spend a life time giving and receiving gratitude. </div>
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It's important to know the difference between people who are intended to teach us lessons, or see us through a season, rather than spend a life time with. Sometimes we - meaning me - confuse the teachers or seasonal companions as life time people. It's in trusting our gut when it says 'hey, you've learned all the lessons you can from this person'...or 'hey, the season is over, you don't need this crutch anymore'. Listening to what my Soul needs versus what my body or material needs may be. </div>
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Even though it can be difficult to tell the teachers goodbye, when the lessons are learned the purpose is served and it's time to say gratefully and graciously say goodbye. Knowing that the lessons have prepared me to be a better woman for the lifetime people. </div>
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When the season is over and it's time for a change, like cleaning out the closet, no matter how long the task is avoided, eventually it has to be done. When the fit no longer works, when the comfort is no longer there, it's time to say goodbye. You wouldn't wear a wool sweater on a 90 degree day...it's important to know what is appropriate for the season and act accordingly. </div>
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When my soul is too wounded for deep emotional connections, people come into my life to attend to the physical and material leaving me space to heal my soul. There's no demand for me to give anything of my soul, my heart, or my emotions. But when that season of healing has ended and my soul is ready for meaningful connections, the season for light and breezy is over. It's time to cuddle up, get close and get deep. </div>
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The lesson people, the ones here to teach me something, can last a day, a week, six months. Six months...six months of lessons learned. Maybe six months is a season and a reason...lessons learned, healing created, gratitude given. </div>
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The season is changing, the reason is clear. Thank you...thank you...thank you. It's time to head for deeper waters. Deeper waters where the surface waves don't have such an impact. Deeper waters where a myriad of life sources are waiting to be discovered. </div>
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If you're afraid of the water, I'd recommend not getting in. My waters run deep. </div>
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Stephanie http://www.blogger.com/profile/16005190945571713236noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5497141617933646816.post-10171119393195324422016-08-19T18:05:00.001-07:002016-08-19T18:08:26.459-07:00BrokeHow many times can something break, before it's broken? <br />
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Damaged</div>
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Totalled</div>
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Irreparable</div>
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Beyond Repair</div>
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<i><b>Can broken be beautiful? </b></i><br />
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There is a Japanese tradition called 'kintsugi' in which broken items are repaired with either gold or silver plating making the object more beautiful and the brokenness becomes part of the object's story and beauty. Without the brokenness, it wouldn't be beautiful.<br />
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While I continue to break, stuff around me breaks and I stay broke, I'm learning to repair the brokenness with something more beautiful. Making my brokenness part of my beauty. Filling in the cracks with kindness, respect, perspective, gentleness, forgiveness and compassion...for myself and those around me.<br />
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Life is amazing and beautiful and hard and joyful and sad and perfect - in equal measure. There are moments where I feel pure perfection and those moments allow me to escape...to stop thinking...to just be in this moment at this time. While I'm so incredibly thankful for those moments, I know they are temporary and cannot sustain me. Conversation, connectedness, compassion...those are the things that are the gold to fill in my cracks. <br />
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Collage is an amazing art form that takes pieces of things that seemingly don't belong together and creates something beautiful of the pieces. My life is much like a collage...a collage of moves, and love and success and failure and passion and humor and people who seemingly don't belong together and yet have helped to form the collage of me. <br />
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I'm thankful for the perfect escapes. I'm thankful for the friend who seems to text - out of the blue at the most amazing moments - to say 'you're a beautiful and amazing woman and I love you'. I'm thankful for the friend who I call to say 'I was thinking about something you said the other day.....' and he says "No one has ever thought of me that way before". I'm thankful for my family who continues to love in such an unconditional manner that it amazes me. I'm thankful for my friend who calls me just to tell me she loves me...after more than twenty years, she still loves me. Those the kinds of connection, compassion and conversation that are the gold in the cracks of my heart.<br />
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So I may be broke, but I'm not beyond repair. My repairs are making me more beautiful as I learn to embrace broken and create a life-collage out of the pieces.<br />
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<br />Stephanie http://www.blogger.com/profile/16005190945571713236noreply@blogger.com0