Footsteps for Fertility 5K

Dear Family and Friends,

Most of you probably are aware that Nathan and I have been trying to conceive, but may not be aware that this journey has been a three year struggle. We’ve waited, prayed, hoped, taken various medications, and have undergone surgery. We’ve been to two fertility doctors and just this year received a disheartening diagnosis. It would be an understatement to say that this journey has been difficult and disappointing.

This year we’ll be faced with a heart-wrenching decision to end our pursuit in conceiving naturally and begin looking at other options that might be available. Before we go down that path, we will be participating in the Footsteps for Fertility 5k.

It takes place September 25, 2015 at 6pm in Eisenhower Park. We have created a team (Team Nerd Herd ) during the registration process so that our friends and family can participate with us.

It would mean the world to us if everyone would join us that evening to walk or run for the baby we hold in our hearts. With every registration each person will receive one complimentary ticket that may be entered for us to possibly be awarded a fertility grant. The process of awarding the grant is by random selection, but regardless of the outcome having the support of our friends and family is the most important award we could ever receive.

If you are out of town, busy that night, or dislike walking/running for a 5k you can still support us by taking part in the “Sleep-in for Fertility” option. And even though you are not participating in the event you will still receive a registration packet which will include a ticket for the fertility grant.  

To support us all you need to do is go to http://footstepsforfertility.org/events and register for the event in Texas, our team name is Team Nerd Herd. If you have any questions please feel free to ask either Nathan or myself.

We love every single one of you and thank you for your prayers and love.

Much love,

Mal and Nathan

Griefsgiving

Tomorrow is Thanksgiving. I know most people celebrate and acknowledge this holiday, but I've never really understood why. It's a food holiday. It's the day when all your family gets together and pigs out on good (and sometimes strange looking) food. Some families even gather around the TV to watch football. But at the core of this holiday it's always about the delicious food coma.

Oh.
And giving thanks.

I always hated that moment right before the prayer over the food where everyone was required to go around and say what they were most thankful for this year. We give thanks or as I like to call it: Humble Bragging.

Now I don't want to take away from the people who actually are giving thanks for the good in their life. Their genuine gratefulness while sitting in the tension of life is always a breath of fresh air, but most of the time I find myself listening to the "truly blessed' going on and on about how "thankful" they are for this thing and that thing and how much they have to brag be thankful for this year. And of course we all know if it's said with a sweet smile and a "Praise Jesus" it's not at all bragging.

I'm curious about what it would look like to have a Griefsgiving instead of a Thanksgiving.

Haha. I know, it's not a good "happy holiday" name and really, who wants to be apart of that lame, tear filled holiday.

Well.... I kinda do.

I'd like to be apart of a circle where we aren't desperately grabbing onto things to "feel" thankful for or humble bragging. A safe, circle with real people with real problems who say "This year has been a real shit storm because of... And today I am thankful that I didn't scream at my wife/husband/kids/dogs/cats/hamsters, or reduce myself into a pile of shameful lies about my body, or drink myself into oblivion or cut myself."

How would it be to stand in a circle where we can literally be thankful for the huge life-changing moments we  have, but don't share with people for fear of revealing our dark secrets and having judgement passed on us.

A friend of mine texted me this past week and asked me how gratitude felt amidst my grief and sorrow.

I sat staring at the message for awhile surprised by the question. I wasn't surprised that she had asked the question...she's one of the few people who would be brave enough to ask that question. It was surprising because of how kind that question felt to my heart. Here amidst all this shit of infertility and grief and one beautiful person stood up in that mess and offered my heart a chance to breathe. A brilliant glimmer of kindness. Someone had been loving enough to address the elephant in the room.

I responded that while I knew that there were things to be grateful for, it all felt forced and fake when I try to name anything.  

Forced and Fake.

I don't think that's what giving thanks is supposed to look like and yet all too often it does. I feel like I can't stand up and say that I am thankful that I had the energy to clean the house, or didn't pressure myself about the future or what the holidays are supposed to look like, or that my battle with self-harm isn't winning, or that I am even breathing at this very second because I don't want to die. But guess what? That's exactly what I am thankful for this year. Those things are real and brutally raw and honest.

Infertility has stolen so much from me these past couple years. My heart breaks every freaking day. I can't go to the mall and not run back into my car sobbing because I saw a beautiful mother holding her tiny baby. I struggle every day with fighting for my life, finding worth in myself, and figuring out what is real and true. It's a battle I was sure I would lose and yet, somehow, I'm still here.

So while everyone celebrates their Thanskgiving, me and my husband will be wrapping our arms around each other, taking a deep breath before being surrounded by everything our hearts ache for and we'll be having a private Griefsgiving in our hearts.

It might not catch on as a real holiday, but if you want to sit in the grief and be genuinely honest I'll be here today, tomorrow, and hopefully every day after that. We'll give a tearful thanks for what's been lost and what we're fighting for today.

The Fight For Life...

Choosing life and fighting to stay with that choice is hard. It's a battle that never seems to find an end.

In the past 2 years I've fought for different things. I've fought to dream, hope, believe, and trust. I've fought to keep going with trying to get pregnant even when there were no positive results. I've fought to stay calm during scary procedures and surgery. And finally I had to choose to fight for me. Fight to stay alive. I've had to put dreams in a cardboard box and place them in the storage room of my mind so that I can fight for life and not death.

I've put a lot of pressure on myself these past two months to heal quickly. I've fought against my grief and pain so that I can "get a grip" and "cope" better. And then I fought to stop numbing out to every single goddamn thing so that I can name truth about how I am really feeling. 

It's just one big fight that never ends. 

And all I can think about is how tired I am. 

How tired I am of fighting....especially when I have to fight for good things. 

N always reminds me how strong I am...that I've been fighting a long time...and I'm still here. 

I've been fighting in my late twenties to stay alive and not self harm. 

I've been fighting since my mid/late twenties to get pregnant. 

I've been fighting since my early twenties to deal my childhood/teenage baggage and fight the glorious fight of just being who I am. 

I was fighting in my late teens to believe that fairy tales did exist even though I was scared, lonely, naive, and just got a guy who wanted to get off and use me. 

I was fighting since my late teens to stay alive and not take the final exit. It had to get better, right? 

I was fighting in my late teens with an eating disorder, self-harming, and extreme self-contempt. 

I was fighting my whole childhood/teenage years to know if I was really loved and worth anything. 

I was fighting my whole childhood/teenage years with knowing I deserved to be seen and noticed and respected even thought no one else seemed to think that. 

I fought my whole childhood/teenage years to keep from drowning in the noise and chaos of parents who were fighting and screaming constantly. 

I was fighting when I was a little bitty girl to keep from remembering something horrible and traumatic that occurred because everyone trusted this person to be alone with me. 

I was fighting when I was born to stay alive and not die in NICU. 

My whole life has felt like one fight after another. Since the day I came into this world I have been fighting. And more often then not I wonder whether it's worth it to keep fighting. 

My heart is tired and broken, but somehow it's still alive and beating. 

It's strange. 

And I guess astounding.   

Happiness.

I'm sitting here in the quiet surrounded by a half lit/half dark room. It's been another day of me sitting on the couch watching YouTube videos and Netflix bingeing. It's not unusual behavior...in fact...it's becoming the new norm in my life. The safety and quietness of my house contains my tears and pain without the questions or strange looks or the need to pretend.

This weekend I've had to pick myself up and push myself out the door with the desire to not miss the time offered to me by a friend. And on Monday night I gathered up the strength, slapped a smile on my face, pushed down the pain and went out to celebrate a dear friends birthday, but even up until all those moments I was wrapped up in blankets in the dark.

I don't feel happy.

Yet, when I post on Facebook or Instagram I look happy...and truth be told in those captured moments I was as close to happiness as I could possibly be.

I look at my face in the pictures from Monday and this weekend and good god, I look so happy. I want to run back and just sit in those moments forever. I even cried last night about how I just wish "I could be happy again."

I remember what true happiness feels like...it's just been a really, really, really long time since I have felt that deep in my bones. It's weird to me that I can feel some happiness...a temporary happiness and then as quickly as it was there it suddenly disappears again. Small moments that I make sure to snap a picture of so I can look back and puzzle over the smile that desperately is trying to mask the overwhelming pain I feel.

I wonder how it looks to other people who might know all or some of the pain I'm going through. Does it puzzle them that I can write/cry/isolate myself, but suddenly show up in a picture looking full of life and happiness? I feel conflicted between hiding forever in this darkness and not wanting to miss the life events of other's around me. Goddammit. I feel shame for looking/feeling happy and then coming home and stripping my clothes and mask off and falling into a depressed heap on the couch.

I lied about how happy I was. Or did I? Fuck if I know what's what anymore.

Am I happy? No.

Was I temporarily happy in those moments? Yes.

Why should I give a crap about what other's think? Because I'm afraid.

I just want to be happy again and not have this pain touch every part of my heart. I want to look at events and pictures and know that I was really truly happy in those moments and that I came home feeling elated and refreshed. I want to not push down the pain in a desperate attempt to show up as fun, carefree Mal so that no one is made uncomfortable by me or because of the feeling that if I miss showing up to this then I'll never get the moment back again.

Does this even make any sense?!
Screw it. It's back to Netflix for me...

Social Media & The Ache

Facebook, Instagram, Pinterest, and Twitter are just some of the social media outlets everyone uses on a daily basis. We can upload our lives with just a single click and create hundreds of boards ranging from our favorite celebrities to inspirational quotes to diy projects.

It's highly addictive and quite fun! 

On Facebook there are so many pictures of kindergarten/high school/college graduations, engagements,  weddings, pregnancy announcements, births, birthdays, etc. We "like" the pictures and celebrate with the customary "Yay!", "Congrats!", "So happy for you!". 

On Instagram we are surrounded by more pictures that say: "Look at my awesome relationship with my significant other", "Look at how healthy I eat", "Look at how much I work out", "Look at my cute dog/cat/bird/fish", "Look at how cute my baby is", "Look at my bestest friend", "Look at all my awesome adventures", etc. We tap on that little "heart" to like the picture and may or may not add a comment.   

On Pinterest we are greeted with hundreds of pins that show us what our friends are interested in right now. At this moment, my feed is full of recipes, all things concerning babies, vacation spots, nerdy things, home decorating ideas, more baby stuff, fashion, and a few more recipes.   

We love to show off who we are and what we are thinking about! I mean, come on, who doesn't.

 Okay...I can think of a few people. ;-) But more often then not we like to post, like, and share everything.  

I wonder though, how do we really feel about all of this? 

I know that it can't be easy for my single friends to see all of these dating posts and engagement/wedding pictures. I know that it can't be easy for any woman to see pictures of skinny girls who just finished a workout or is now eating more rabbit food. I know it's hard to not have contempt for the gorgeous #nomakeup selfies (I mean really?! How is that even fair?). I know that it's heartbreaking to see every pregnancy announcement, especially the precious little sonogram picture, and it's hard to see happy mommies posting all their cute baby selfies.  

All these things make "the ache" in our heart hurt a little more. It reminds us of how much we are longing for something and how once again someone else gets to enjoy what we hope for every day. We wonder whether those things will ever happen for us. 

Yes, we are happy for those around us. I don't want to take that away from anyone. 

But I do not want to forget the silent pain we all go through. The ache that is frequently ignored and dismissed by social media every day. 

Today I am sitting in a quiet house, still in my pjs with a heart full of unfulfilled longings. I scrolled through all my social media feeds and felt the ache widen so I closed it all down and decided to write what was on my heart. 

If you feel the ache after scrolling through your news feeds, if you feel forgotten or lonely, if you wonder if God is even listening to your heart, I want you know that I'm here with you. 

I'm sitting in the ache and I see you. 

Multiple Choice

When you ask me how I'm doing do you mean:

A) You are serious and actually want to know exactly how I am doing?
B)Asking because you want to see how good I should be doing?
C) Asking to be polite, but not really interested in the realness?

When you ask me if I've taken a pregnancy test because my period is late do you realize that:

A)   I'm now going to shut down emotionally.
B) I have taken more pregnancy tests then I would care to admit and taking one more and seeing a negative (again) is heartbreaking?
C) You make me feel stupid for sharing this personal thing with you.

When you ask me if I've considered adoption do you realize that:

A) You have asked an insensitive question?
B) You have completely dismissed my longing to give birth with my own body?
C) Yes, we have considered it and yes, we would like to adopt regardless of getting pregnant or not.

When you ask me "Are you feeling better yet?" do you realize that:

A) I did not stub my toe or catch a cold? I did not get pregnant once again.
B) That question makes me feel like you are rushing my grief to be over with?
C) You have dismissed almost 2 years of my grief and heartbreak in one question?

Do you realize that when I share something personal about my infertility experiences:

A) I do not want you to share it with others (no matter how small or big). This is my story to share.
B) There are no other options than (A).

Do you realize that when you flippantly say "Don't worry about it. You'll get pregnant.":

A) I want to shake you hard and slap the shit out of you?
B) This is so hurtful and inconsiderate to my pain?
C) You have no right to say this because it may never happen and all it does is shame me and my body.

If I don't reply to a well meaning message of support: 

A) It does not mean I don't appreciate it. Quite the opposite. It's just that some times I feel a loss of words and a simple thank you feels impersonal and distant. I apologize if I don't respond...sometimes I feel to defeated to offer anything back.

When you say "You're so lucky to not have kids." or "You have no idea how hard it is.":

A) My heart feels physically stripped bare and beaten.
B) I would love to feel how hard it is.
C) No, I am not lucky that my body cannot give me the one thing I want most.

When you talk about how birth control is to blame for infertility do you realize: 

A) How hurtful that is? I took it for almost five years. Are you saying that it's my fault I'm not pregnant? If so then you need to go have a talk with Jesus. Stop being insensitive and uninformed!
B) That by saying this you show that you have not done any research about infertility and are just saying things you have heard or read on the internet.
C) bleeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeep. bleep. bleep. bleep.


I know it's hard to understand, but:

A) Every day is painful and hard. There are few good/easy days.
B) I want to be a mother so much. There is no erasing that ache.
C) I need support and love. It's lonely in the ocean of infertility. Very lonely.
D) I rarely ask for help, but that doesn't mean I don't need it. I do. Desperately.

Travel and Books

I have always wanted to travel.

I have been to a few places in the US and stepped outside to Puerto Rico and then in the complete opposite direction to Victoria, Canada and Prince Edward Island. I have a whole list of places and sites that my heart and eyes demand to experience.
Someday I will travel to every dream destination and soak up every moment.

Until then I must content myself with my fond memories of other worlds. These worlds are contained in every book I have ever read. My books have been a means of magical transportation since I was a little girl.

As a child I can remember living with orphaned siblings in a boxcar and solving crime with a girl named Nancy. I was friends with twin sisters in Sweet Valley and helped Miss Rumphuis plant lupines all over the countryside. On Rass Island I cried jealous, angry tears with another twin sister while we struggled over our insecurities of adolescent life. I was guided to a strange world by a tiny private detective named Lewis O. Ladybug and later I greedily ate Turkish Delight with a little boy while we rode with the White Witch.

It was a turning point in my life when I traveled to a small village in England to watch a small boy, by the name of David Copperfield, grow up. From then on the classics took me to Pemberley, Barton Cottage, Uppercross, Hartfield, Thornfield Hall, Limmeridge House, The Shire, and Green Gables. I ran with the likes of Lord Henry Wotton, Lady Chatterley, Dr. Jekyll, Mrs. de Winter, Jo March, Sir Percy and Giovanni and Beatrice. I became obsessed with Poe and his morbid, mysterious world. I let Christie take me by the hand and show me how crime was manipulative and evil, but in the end it didn't matter whether you were a French man or an old woman, crime would be solved.

Once I exhausted myself on traveling in the classics I decided it was time for a more modern era. From this point on I went on adventures where I was an amateur bounty hunter from New Jersey, a British beauty who has a major addiction to shopping, and a ruthless heiress who wanted land more than anything in the world. I witnessed the majesty and tragedy of King Henry VIII's court and gently walked through the life of a Geisha. My letter came from Hogwarts and I spent seven amazing years in a magical community. I found out that I was a demi-god and learned to outwit even the most cunning Gods. And lately I've sat in the great hall of Winterfell, grieved when my Khal died and rejoiced when my dragons helped conquer cities.

I may not have travelled to actual physical places, but through my precious book I have travelled to many places that maps and roads cannot carry you to.

I have never understood how people do not like to read. I love it with a passion. Reading is a magical conduit to great and beautiful experiences. You can join the characters in their adventure or you can become the character for an even more emotional experience. In my humble opinion, if you don't like reading then you are most assuredly doing it wrong.

There are cities both known and unknown and far away worlds waiting for you to explore and all you have to do is "take a look...it's in a book..."



"But you don't have to take 
     my word for it..."

Grieving Infertility

It has been 20 months since we started trying to conceive and I'm scared as we continue through this year with very little hope and few answers. In September of last year, we got our first diagnoses of infertility. My heart felt like a knife had been plunged into it as that tiny box was checked by my doctor. In that moment I just wanted to shout "Stop! Stop and take a second because this is a huge, emotionally hard moment for me.", but my voice got caught in my throat.

I have spent every month hoping, praying, and grieving.

Hoping that this month will bring us good news. Hoping that my body will regulate itself and do what it's supposed to do. Hoping that I can plan my pregnancy announcements. Hoping to experience pregnancy and all that it contains.

Praying for more hope and peace. Praying to see a positive instead of what feels like a death sentence. Praying to see that God cares for my heart and desires. Praying so hard that my heart is screaming and aching. Praying that the infertility tests reveal something. Praying that we can figure out why we can't get pregnant.

Grieving every negative test. Grieving each loss. Grieving the ache in my heart. Grieving the delay of my dream. Grieving every time I see baby pictures on FB and Instagram and every where I look. Grieving the intense loneliness. Grieving all the emotions that wreck my body and mind.

In the past year and a half I've had countless blood work tests and ultrasounds. They found cysts on both of my ovaries, but my first doctor didn't diagnose me with polycystic ovaries. I had an HSG done last year and was told repeatedly throughout the process that I had a tiny cervix and it was causing great difficult to get the procedure done. After all that intense pain, they said everything looked good and I didn't have any blockage. Once again, there was that "Oh see! Everything is good!", but I didn't feel happy. I just saw that I still don't have any answers.  I had more lab work done to see how my hormone levels were doing and despite the fact that my progesterone levels were incredibly low, my doctor continued to say it was nothing to worry about and just to keep trying.

We had N tested also and everything seemed find with his little guys. I won't lie and say that I wasn't disappointed. There was a part of me, whether right or wrong, that hoped that it was an issue on his part and not on mine. I wouldn't blame him at all. It would be a simple issue at that point. But so far everything was pointing to me...and I felt shame and blamed myself...even though I knew I shouldn't.

The next appointment consisted of saying that maybe I had endometriosis, but we would have to do surgery to figure that out. The plan laid before me was simple: do the surgery, TTC for six months, then try artificial insemination, and if all that failed then my doctor would send me to a fertility specialist. I left feeling so discouraged...so hopeless. I sat in the car and wept. I hate going to doctors appointments alone and in that moment the loneliness was crushing.

It took several weeks of strong signs pointing me to a certain direction. The direction of what my heart and gut were screaming: "Jump ship! Be true to what YOU want." So I did exactly that. I cancelled my next appointment with my doctor, called and cancelled the surgery plans, and called up a fertility specialist. Three months later, everything my first doctor had ignored was carefully looked at by my new specialist and I was diagnosed with PCOS. I've been taking Clomid and another medication (which I'm stopping because my body feels horrible on it) to help my body ovulate and do what it's supposed to.

And now I must keep waiting. Wait to see if my body does what it's supposed to do... wait to see if my hormones regulate... wait to see if this time I'll get pregnant. I'm hanging on so little hope right now.

We're coming up on our 7 year anniversary and two months later I'll be 28 years old. I never thought this is what life would look like. I never thought deciding to have a baby would end up looking like this. It feels like a slow death to my heart.
 

I'm not really sure what else to say right now... There just seems to be a lot of grief in my heart lately. Whenever someone says "How are you?" I always smile and say "I'm doing good!", but what I don't say is "I'm sad. Really, really sad."

"As soon as you stop thinking about it, then it happens." 

I seriously hate this quote.

It's something people offer others in order to be "helpful". It's one of those annoying placating phrases that they say when they have nothing else to offer.

I've noticed that the only people who say it are those who already have what the other person is longing for or they can't even possibly understand because they don't have it. Regardless it's always said by someone who hasn't ever felt that ache. I have never heard someone who is in the tension and feeling the ache ever offer those words to another in their situation.

Wonder why?

Because those are shitty words that make a person feel shame because their ache is too deep to just "stop thinking" about it.

I wish I could just stop thinking about wanting to have baby. I wish I could stop thinking about the fact that I have been trying for almost a year to get pregnant without any success. I wish I could stop feeling this overwhelming sadness and ache. I wish I could stop thinking about how badly I want to be a mother. I wish I stop feeling the ache every time I see the babies in my family and my friend's babies. I wish I could stop.
According to that phrase then maybe I will become pregnant if I just stop thinking about trying to get pregnant. Wow. My mind is blown.

If only it were that easy.

If only people would stop and think, "What if I were in their position? How would my heart feel if those words were offered to me?"

There is a huge gaping hole in my heart.
It widens more everyday.
My heart aches from its core.
The ache brings tears.
Sometimes there are enough tears to drown a city of mice.
And other days my tears are as dry as a ghost town.

There is a huge gaping hole in my heart.
Every crushed hope leaves a chasm of devastation in its wake.
My heart struggles to continue on this beaten path.
A scream catches in my throat.
The bees in my stomach sting harder.
Breathe in. Breathe out.
Its getting harder to breathe.

There is a huge gaping hole in my heart.
I'm tired of hearing nothing.
Or hearing a no.
Or whatever you call this.
I'm beat up.
I'm bruised.
I'm tired.
I'm lonely.
I'm here.
I'm present.
I'm trying.
I'm numb.
I'm pretending to see light in darkness.

There is a huge gaping hole in my heart.
Why does everything hurt.

I Remember....

Floating on the water and letting the other drag us around in circles in the pool.

Sitting half-way in the pool and eating Mint Oreos. 

Laughter. Lots of laughter. Laughter that erupted from our core. 

Walking in the woods and swinging on an old tire. 

Trying to scare each other at night. Oh the screaming that occurred! 

Whispering.

Competing at who could play the piano better.

Listening to Josh Groban. Pretty sure we were head over heals in love with him. 

The day she gave me our "Best Friend" ring as a Christmas gift. It carefully sits on my jewelry box.

 Her following me to my room and laughing at how Nate "couldn't keep his eyes off me" months before he and I started dating. 

Cutting out and playing with our paper dolls. 

Being sprawled out on the floor tracing pictures of the classic actors/actresses. 

Envying her ability to speak her mind so bravely. 

Feeling shame whenever she bluntly stated how small I was allowed to live. It was truth. But in light of how big she lived and how I didn't there was shame that would cause tears whenever I was in private. 

Sitting at a bakery and eating pastries. 

The disappointment I shut down when she wasn't present at my dress-fittings or showers. 

Acting like a "party-girl" in our relationship as we got older. Pushing and pulling. Running away before I could get hurt. Never acknowledging all the loss that occurred. 

How the gap kept widening and we didn't try to fight for what we had. 

The night I graduated from high school. What a fun night. Wearing tiaras and fairy wands. Dancing and laughing. Twirling around in our dresses. 

Debating who was better: Cary Grant or Clark Gable? Humphrey Bogart or Fred Astaire?

How protective she would get for me. 

Talking for hours and hours. 

Playing and being mischievous. 

Wrapping my arms around her so tightly. We hugged so often and so fiercely. It's surprising and shocking to realize that I have never hugged any friend so dearly and freely since those years. And ever since my physical contact with friends has been as minimal as possible. 

Being so angry. Not realizing that I just felt lonely and abandoned. 

Our code names were "Lucy and Ethel"

 Talking on the phone like there was no tomorrow.

The love we had for each other.

Seeing her in the hospital for the first time. It was scary and confusing. 

It was always just the two of us. We were the mis-fits in our other circles, but together we were inseparable and perfect. 

Growing up. Becoming very different people. 

Walking arm in arm through Boerne Main Street.

Sharing a love for imagination and for literature. 

Skipping around like idiots. 

Crying all day when I found out she died. 

All the regret. All the processing that took place...too late. So many unanswered questions. Words that will never be spoken face-to-face. 

I wish I could give her my face, my laughter, my tears, my words, and my love, but it's too late. 

We were too stubborn. Too scared. Too stupid. 

The good times are held dearly in my heart. 

The bad times still hurt. 

It will be one year in May. 

I still love her. Heart and Soul. 

Beautiful People and Best Moments

"You know when sometimes you meet someone so beautiful and then you actually talk to them and five minutes later they're as dull as a brick? Then there's other people, when you meet them you think, "Not bad. They're okay." And then you get to know them and... and their face just sort of becomes them. Like their personality's written all over it. And they just turn into something so beautiful."

-Amy Pond (Doctor Who)

There are few people in my life who fit this description, but as I let those words roll around in my mind their faces burn brightly. I wonder who in your life has "turned into something so beautiful"? It's a pretty awesome experience and since it's rather rare for me, the experience is noticed and treasured even more.   


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I've always been horrible at keep journals. I start them and then eventually I stop. I started a private blog online for all my journalling needs and that lasted awhile...but, it has been three years since I've written in it. Wow. But I have started a new one and hopefully I'll keep up with that. I have been doing something rather different in a beautiful journal N gave me a couple years back. It's one of those gorgeous Italian old world journals. I've written non journally things in it. Stuff like a letter to my future son (hopefully there will be a son in my future so he can read it), a scene from my story, etc. But lately I've been writing in it every night. Not pages or paragraphs. Just a sentence or two. 


When I was on Pinterest a month ago, I saw there was a journal that was for you to record your "best" moment of the day. It stuck with me. I kept thinking about it and finally decided that I wanted to do that. I started a new page and titled it "Mal's Year of Moments". And for about a month I've faithful in writing down what I considered the "best" moment of the day. Some days it's really easy. And on the bad days...well...it's really hard to find something beautiful in the midst of the chaos. And for that very reason I have been determined to do this for a whole year. 


It's so easy to remember the good days. And it's so easy for me to slap a "bad" or "shitty" label on a day and throw it away discouraged and angry. But when you have to sit down and find a "best" moment from a chaotic or crap day it becomes a treasure hunt. Sometimes I've just wanted to give up and write "bad day...no good moment.", but I haven't and I'm glad. Whenever I sit there and quiet myself and slowly rewind through the day I am amazed at what I can find. "Best" moments don't always look like crazy happy or jumping up and down moments. Most of the time a "best" moment for me is a moment that is easily forgotten because it's quiet and thoughtful...or me just soaking in something beautiful. Sometimes a "best" moment in a bad day looks like me realizing that amidst the bad I was able to be kind to myself and I didn't think twice about it. 


Doing the Year of Moments Journal has felt kind to myself. And it's given me a different perspective at the end of each day. It's weird that I seem to find out more about myself when I give myself a "challenge" of sorts and I am wiling to stay dedicated to that challenge. 

A Question...

I was talking to a girl before one of my classes started and she asked why I had a band-aid on my toe. I laughed and told her about my toe accident and that because I wanted to wear sandals today I didn't want my half dead nail to be staring at people. We laughed about it and then she asked how long I had been married. I told her it would be 5 years in June (where has the time gone btw!). Of course that was proceeded with how old I was (25) and then a "wow! you got married young".

I guess I did. Everyone says that so I suppose it's true lol. But then I tell them that we knew each other for 8years before we started dating and that leads into me telling a short "our story" tale. I add that while I was young I was ready. Haha...very ready! I wasn't scared or nervous about enmeshing my life with this man. I was excited.

Then she looked at me and asked "Do you believe in true love?". I was kinda surprised by this question. Not in a "oh my gosh why would she ask that" type of way. I was surprised because in the time I've been married I've never been asked that question. I'm not even sure that before I got married anyone asked me that question.

I scanned her face to see if she was mocking me or something, but instead I was met with a curious and longing face. "Yes. Yes, I do.", I answered softly.  She went on to tell me that she found it hard to because she had been burned so many times and now she was in another relationship and didn't know where it would lead.  She asked how we made it work and I answered honestly. We make it work because we work at it. We don't have a perfect relationship. While we always love each other there are times when we don't like each other. But we have learned to communicate. We've learned to listen to not only what is being said, but what is not being said. We have had arguments, we have misunderstood each other. We have cried with each other. We have held the other and walked through the different "rooms" of our stories. We laugh a lot. We get each others quirkiness and uniqueness. We constantly are learning each other. We are best friends. We are lovers.

We didn't just get married and everything was perfect. Not at all. We had to learn all of this. We are still learning. Mistakes have been essential to experience. And almost five years later this man makes my heart jump and flutter with a deep passionate love. Yes, I do believe in true love.

It makes me sad when I'm met with question I can't answer about being single and finding "the one". I don't know what it's like for them. I know what it's like to be single until 20. I don't know what it's like to be single past that. I don't know what it's like to be in your 20's or older and not having your person. I can offer advice. Encouragement. I've learned a lot about a guy's mind from my husband and the guy friends I have. I can offer that, but my help can only go so far. And then I feel helpless. I wish I could offer more.

I believe in true love. I guess that's why I love Disney so much. True love exists. Someday your prince will come. No matter how your heart is grieving if you keep on believing the dream that you wish will come true.  It may not involve poisonous apples, lost glass slippers, enchanted castles, spindles, frogs, evil queens, life under the sea, or flying carpets. But who knows, maybe you're story will have some of that.

I do know what it feels like to think that you won't find your one. I know how much it hurts. How deep the ache runs. I know how lonely it is. I know that it's easier to settle for something less to fill the aching hole. It's easier to convince your self that it's worth it because if not then you'll be lonely and pathetic... even though you still feel all the more lonely and pathetic.

But I know the beauty of realizing there is someone who wants to put the glass slipper on your foot. The one who will fight through thorns and dragons. The one who will offer you true love's kiss. The one who wants to travel through the stars with you. The one who will offer your heart so much more than you could ever imagine.

And if I could go back in time, I would tell myself... "It's okay to cry kid. I know you feel like you won't get your prince. But I promise you, he is coming. And he'll sweep you off your feet when you least expect it. "

Yes, I believe in true love. Yes, I do.

What to write about...?

I've been trying to think about a blog post lately... I sat down last week and started writing one out, but my thoughts weren't flowing onto the computer correctly. I knew in my head what I wanted to say, but once my fingers started to type them out it came out jumbled lol. I still want to write that post...maybe I will later. :-)

Anywho, what to write...

How about tattoos? Okay! haha

I have had the major ink itch this year. I didn't get any new tattoos last year and now I'm going through withdrawals... like real bad. Haha! I have all these ideas floating around in my head and I have lots pinned on Pinterest. So far two are set in stone. Another two are getting in the process of being settled on. And I was joking around about one to Nate and he thought it would be freaking awesome so maybe that one will be added too. Hahah. Oh dear. I love tattoos.

They are the expression of my soul. Seriously.  They may mean absolutely nothing to the people in my life, but they mean a lot to me. Each one has a story associated with it. Most of the time I shorten the stories, leave more personal parts out, sometimes I just simplify it to the most basic form, and sometimes I tell the whole story.  Now when I say story... don't think that each one has an incredibly, emotional story. Nope. Some are simple stories. But a story that lets you know me a bit better if you want to take the time to listen closely.

If I had the money I would be covered in ink from neck to toe. I love when I see other people who have tattoos and those who are covered in them. I always want to ask the ones covered to tell me about their "ink journey", but I don't because I'm a shy person around strangers and it would be weird if a stranger asked another stranger that. Maybe not... maybe someday I'll be brave enough to!

I get upset when people judge others with tattoos. I once read a blog post that said that people with tattoos were "rebellious, edgy, and untrustworthy". I got angry at first and then had to laugh. How shallow and sad that someone is too afraid of what they don't understand... if you would just talk to us you would realize that we are perfectly normal people who love life passionately. We take small glimpses of our soul, the good and bad, and display it for the world to see. We risk rude stares, narrow minded comments, and misunderstanding all so we can have a constant reminder of who we are. Now I know that not everyone gets tattoos that mean something to them. I know a lot of people who ended up with stuff because they had a little too much to drink or they were young and "being stupid".  There are plenty of those tattoos regrets. Funny thing is that they still have a story associated with them. And I always enjoy hearing about those... It's still a chance to get to know people better!

I plan on having a bunch of ink on me. And as for the "what happens when you are an old wrinkly grandma?" Well...I'll be a hell of an awesome old wrinkly grandma with my grandkids. And it's not like I'm going to suddenly look like a bulldog when I'm old! Hahah! I will have tattoos when I'm an old lady and will love telling my grandkids about them when they ask "hey grandma, what's that one for?" and I'm going to love listening to their tattoo stories and um yeah, I will be the cool grandma going to get more! Hahaha I can just see myself doing that! ;-P

I think tattoos should be your personal choice. Now I'm all for saying yes when someone asks if they should get one, but I am a firm believer that you should get something that means something to you... something that you want to have on you for the rest of your life. And if you don't like tattoos well that's okay too! Just don't pass judgement on those of us who do.

Anywho, I am hoping this year will bring me some awesome ink. I was planning on going to get two done this week, but I'm going to wait till after Spring Break. Ocean water and sun probably aren't a good mix for a freshly done tattoo. I just like to play on the safe side.

And someday, I'm going to cross something off my bucket list. I'm going to LA and having Kat von D tattoo me. I already have the tattoo picked out. It will probably be expensive as heck, but it will be so worth it. I love that woman. All covered in her tattoos and in her punked out clothes, she seems to show how a tattooed woman can still be a strong, and feminine women. You can disagree with me lol, but that's why this is my personal opinion. I have read some stuff of hers and watched her show and she has such a sweet heart for really listening to people's stories while tattooing. It's pretty awesome to me. I can't wait to enter High Voltage one day and have her do the most awesomest tattoo on my back. And yeah, I'm so getting lots of pictures and hugging her and probably will get teary eyed from all the awesome happening. :-)

Kat von D

Until then I'll keep adding to my "story collection". And if you ever want to know the real stories behind my ink just ask me. I can't guarantee you'll be impressed hahah, but if you listen closely I can guarantee that you will know me a lot better.

Change...

I'm sitting in my living room thinking about all the change that has occurred in my life this year and the change that will continue to happen.

I have finished my first semester back at college and I am registered for my next semester...and...if everything works out I'll graduate Spring 2013. Three semester left. Well...for my associates, but for me that's pretty awesome. And pretty exciting.

See...That's an example of good change. Change I welcome and embrace. And there's still more good change that I'm looking forward to. And some scary, but good change that could happen in a year or two. Change that feels redemptive and new and exciting. There are so many new things N and I are pursuing and hoping for together. The journey of good change feels like a good cup of hot chocolate...it warms my soul and soaks my heart in a delightful bubble bath.

But there's change that doesn't feel so good. Change that leaves me curious and nervous. Change that leaves holes in my life. Change that leaves me sad and pondering things quietly in my heart. Change that leaves me with unspoken words of hurt and anger. Change that I don't want to talk about because instead of just saying what's on my heart I chose words carefully and cheat myself and those involved out of seeing my tears, my anger, and my thoughts.

Careful. That's my word for myself this past months. I have become careful. Careful to not rock the boat. Careful to not be too much for those around me. Careful to not ask for anything. Careful to contain my "negative" emotions. Careful to not give my opinion because it's not really wanted. Careful to not become hyper-vigilant, but realizing that it's a losing battle in some situations. Careful to just talk about the great and happy things around me. Careful to not expect anything so I won't be surprised (it's stupid to say I won't be disappointed...I will...but at least I won't be surprised.)

Auuuuugh.

This was supposed to be a happier, lighter, I-think-I-need-to-blog-again post... Apparently out of the fingertips the heart floweth. ;-)

What happened to the days of a good cry over coffee in Starbucks?

The Three Princesses...

 There have been two Disney movies that have connected with me my almost 25 years. Everyone I know loves Belle, Ariel, Jasmine...and the other gals, but my two favorite have always been Cinderella and Mulan.

Back when I was little I used to watch Cinderella religiously. I had all her songs memorized and when I was cleaning up...when I was getting dressed...when I was sewing...I saw myself as her...dreaming and waiting. I used to close my eyes and hope that when I opened them again my Fairy Godmother would be there singing and a beautiful dress would be swirling around me. I even learned all the songs on the piano and would play them over and over again while singing and looking out the dining room window where our piano was positioned. I'd always remember "have faith in your dreams and someday your rainbow will smiling through...no matter how your heart is grieving...if you keep on believing...the dream that you wish will come true." No one could order me to stop dreaming.

One a sillier note I always wanted a cat like Lucifer...and I got one. :-)

And when Nate and I had our first kiss back when we were dating (and what an freaking awesome kiss was that?! yumm!) and I waltzed back inside my house and into my room...I kid you not...I literally was singing softly to myself "So this is love".

I have two copies of Cinderella. One my mom bought me...the other I stole from my grandmother because her cover was newer. I'm not proud I was a little thief...but it was Cinderella...

Then another movie came out and I saw it a million times in theater. I even had a Mulan birthday party.
Here was girl (and she had black hair just like me!!) who was insecure, but was hoping and struggling to be herself...to find who she was. A girl who chose a hard path to prove herself a worthy woman. A woman who could fight along with the boys and still be so tender and beautiful. And...she got her "prince" at the end too...

I know people make fun of the Reflection song, but that song still to this day makes me tear up. It pulls at something so deep inside of me...and as a girl struggling to keep dreaming and who had no clue who she was...that song was written for my little heart. As silly as it might be, I would sing it in the mirror hoping that at that moment maybe...just maybe...my reflection would show who I was inside...

   

I not only had a favorite princess who encouraged me to dream passionately, but a warrior princess (she's a princess in my opinion!) who fought valiantly with strength, courage, and beauty.

I plan on watching these two movies with my little girls someday...and even reading to them about the real Fau Mulan.

So I've loved these movies...each so different, but perfectly connectable to my heart. I seriously have thought no other Disney movie could share a spot with these two... Until...

This week...I watched Tangled. I had heard it was good, but I'm "grown up" now and if I'm going to do animated movies...well...no one can hold a candle the old school movies and now to Pixar. But it was on Netflix for Instant viewing so I thought "Why not?!". Seriously, by the end of the movie, I was in tears. Another movie princess crept in and tugged at me. Love, Adventure, Dreaming.

There were so many places that connected to my story. I found myself laughing at Rapunzel when she did things that reminded me of her and tearing up when things happened to her that happened to me. Of course I have no idea what it's like to have golden, long ass hair, but that's neither here nor there lol.

I've now watched it twice. Once by myself and tonight again with N. Even he liked it! And this scene, even the second time around, brings tears to my eyes.  {Hmm...well I tried to embed it, but it won't work so please...please click on the link and watch it! I think it's so beautiful and tear worthy...but that's just me...}

I See The Light

Now I have three favorite princesses. Three to share with my future little princesses. I can see us having a "war" outside and fighting like Mulan or having tea while Cinderella sweetly sings or curled up, drinking hot chocolate while Rapunzel shows us that adventure is out there for us. And really, just three to remind myself that you're never too old to have three favorite princesses...

And what's even better...they were all right...my prince did come. Guess Disney knows what they were talkin' about. :-)

Today

Today I am sitting in more questions than I had yesterday...

Today my heart is fighting to not give in to the sadness that is lingering around the edges...

Today I am so excited about the vacation that is coming up in two days...

Today I am not overwhelmed by all that I need to get for our trip because we took care of it last night...

Today I am wondering why I asked all those questions yesterday...

Today I am glad my husband was there because if he wasn't I would have lost control of my emotions...

Today my heart feels the loss of that year so much more...

Today my voice feels small...quiet...

Today I am sitting in the realization that six years ago God began to whisper to my hurting heart "I Am. I Am listening."

Today I am trying to make a list entitled "Ten things I know to be true about myself" and I'm failing miserably at coming up with more than two things...

Today I am going to make sure I keep busy...

Today I am hurt and disappointed...

Today my tears still want to come out...but I keep trying hard to hold them back...

Today I am so thankful for my husband...and I'm thankful he took me on a surprise date last night...

Today......all I can do is be me.... and according to my husband "me" is pretty awesome...but it's kinda hard to believe that right now...

Little Tidbits of Thought

1. This is totally random. I thought I'd see what 10 songs would pop up on my Itunes Library and this was the order:

Firework - Katy Perry

Sunrise - Nicole Nordeman

Better - Regina Spektor

4 In the Morning - Gwen Stefani

Resentment- Beyonce

Ready - Kelly Clarkson

I Gotta Feeling - Black Eyed Peas

Littlest Things - Lily Allen

Daydreamer - Adele

Shoots and Ladders - Korn

Man...Hahaha....I love how it started with Katy Perry and ended with Korn. Their styles of music couldn't be further apart than... well... than a chocolate chip cookie and a rock. :-)

2. I finished reading Mommie, Dearest. It's not a long book, but it took me a whole weekend to get through. I really should've been finished with it in like two days ago. But it's intense. It's not a book you can just run through. Reading about someone's abuse is not something I can just "run through". And yeah, in case you were wondering it's written by Joan Crawford's daughter Christina Crawford. I'm not even going to say if all the stuff written is true or not because it's not my story. I do find it interesting that regardless of our stories the vows and messages, the ways we learn to survive and so on are so very similar. It makes my heart hurt for my own story and for others.

3.

"I believe in the sun even when it is not shining...

in love even when I am alone...

and in God even when He is silent."

{Inscription found scratched in a wall in Germany by someone hiding from Nazi concentration camps.}

I saw this written on a block (it's a medium size square block that holds three tea candles at the top...it's beautiful!!) at Hallmark a couple weeks ago. I remember looking at it and just standing there. Those words were so powerful. Those words do not always feel true to me, but I desperately desire them to feel true all the time. I went ahead and bought it because I knew it's something I needed to see. Everyday. A constant reminder. Every time I look at it the world seems to just stop... I feel a quiet calm enter my being. It's a hushed stillness. A reminder that my God is always there. Even when I feel His silence so strongly. And I can believe that He's always here with every once of my being. It's easy to write that...and easy to believe in the good times...but it's hard to hold onto those words so tightly and believe them every day...no matter what.

4. Conversation A:

(I'm in the kitchen tearing and cutting up junk mail)

Nate: Babe...what are you tearing up??

Me: MY DIGNITY!!!

(said very dramatically while throwing paper in air)

Nate: Hahahahahaha!

(he comes up behind me and wraps his arms around me)

Nate: Oh Babe, I love you. Hahah.

Conversation B:

(the first part of this conversation was me telling Nate about a movie I saw on TCM about this dude who pretended to be crazy to get into an asylum to solve a murder and then at the end he goes crazy himself.)

Me: What would you do if I started seeing things that weren't there?

Nate: Well. I'd take you to a Psychologist.

Me: No. You would take me to a Psychiatrist.

Nate: What's the difference?

Me: A Psychiatrist can prescribe you medication.

Nate: Well at least the first could ask you about your feelings to figure out why you were crazy.

Me: Well it's a good thing I'm not. I mean, come on, if I were crazy would I be seeing that cat run across the street??

Nate: Where? (looks for cat on street then sees my mischievous face) Hahahaha! I cannot believe I just fell for that!!

Me: (i couldn't stop laughing at this point)

I'm so glad I can make my husband laugh with my goofiness! :-)

Um. Wow. Part 2

Remember my Um. Wow. post? I didn't want to write anything about it until I knew for sure that it was going to happen. And it did this weekend.

Like I've mentioned before in a previous post piano has been a part of my story. It's a long story I really don't get into because it feels like a lot. But the catch up version is I liked playing the piano as a hobby, but that wasn't a option for my parents. It was piano lessons and piano dreams and piano careers etc that they wanted for me. It was exhausting and hard because no one would ever listen to me...No one wanted to hear what I wanted. I took piano for 12 years, went to college for three years as a Music Major, and taught piano for six years. Finally in 2008, I put an end to it. I stood up for me. I needed to detox, I needed to find me, and as long as I was living someone else's dream that would never happen.

In 2008, I didn't enroll again at college. In 2008, I told my boss that at the end of the semester I would no longer be teaching piano. In 2008, I packed up all my music, turned off the light in my studio room, and closed the door for good. In 2008, I made a commitment that I wouldn't touch the piano again until I wanted to. In 2008, I told Evil enough...enough of whispering lies into my ears each time I touched those keys...enough of me drowning in contempt and shame...Enough...No more. For years, I had been forced to do something I didn't want to do. And finally I realized that Mal deserved something better. I deserved to voice my opinion and make it heard. So I walked away.

And I was happy. It felt so good to be away from piano. I knew I did the right thing.

Then exactly one year later I sat down at my old piano and played a bit. It felt good...I enjoyed playing whatever was still lodged in my little brain. But just as easy as it was to sit and play, it was just as easy to get up and walk away again. Yeah, it did feel good. And yeah, I realized that I still enjoyed playing. But I wasn't ready yet. It felt like a taste of hope. A taste of what it would be like to someday just sit and play for fun without any expectations. I got up, smiled and remembered the good things about me playing and knew that someday...maybe someday I'd come back, but today wasn't that day.

2010 came and went with me still remembering, processing, and being content in not playing. And then 2011 arrived. With Nate's new job he's always getting these little gift cards for just being awesome (okay it's not really for that...more like being good at referrals, but I like my reason better!) and he had two for Best Buy. So in January we went to see what he could get there. We looked and looked and finally we decided on a movie (I know...so impressive haha).

But that's not even the point... While we were meandering I saw they had digital keyboards. I walked over to one, noticed it wasn't working (which was good to me...It's a big pet peeve for me when people disturb the shopping peace by making noise on instruments or toys or singing cards...) and did a few scales. I can't even describe what happened inside of me. It was just like this warm feeling washed over me... Kinda like in LOTR when Aragorn gives the King Theoden of Rohan his sword so that he can wake from the stupor he's been in because of Wormtongue.

Something just came alive. I wanted to play again. I wanted a piano again. I was ready to start over just for me. So God and I had a talk where I let Him know what He already knew. I was ready to play again, but wondered how I could. We don't have the money to just drop on a keyboard. I needed a full key, hammer weighted with pedals and sounds like a grand freakin piano, keyboard. That costs a lot of money. So an idea popped into my head. What if I asked my parents to sell my old piano and take that money to help towards a new one that would actually fit in our place. It felt very risky, but I stepped out and did it.

I called my dad the next night and the next day my mom was calling me. I usually don't answer the phone when I'm getting ready (trying to put makeup on and shouting "what? I can't hear you...talk louder!" into the speaker isn't exactly fun), but this time I did. I could feel my anger rising when I realized there had been a miscommunication. Usually when I get angry I spout off with some retort. This time I didn't. I just listened. Hah. Good thing because little did I know how that miscommuncation would benefit me. So because of what my mom thought was going on she had called a family friend to get info on these keyboards. And then God showed up like freaking Gandalf at Helm's Deep (hmm..I'm really in a LOTR mood lol). The family friend informed my mom that he would gladly give one of his digital keyboard to me as a gift. Um. Wow.

Did I believe her at first? Oh no. I mean how could God be that good to me? What just happened wasn't possible in real life. Things like that don't happen...least of all to me. But it did.

After I finished talking with my mom I sat there dumbfounded. God you know all the pain in that part of my story. When I tell it it's a quick, sometimes unfeeling, sometimes contemptuous way of telling it. The truth is there were so many little lies Evil was successful in drilling into my brain with each stroke of those keys. There is a lot of pain...and hurt... And that's not something I like sharing and being vulnerable about with people. What makes the tears fill up in my eyes is God knew how many tears were shed, books were thrown across the room, hurtful words people hurled at me like "you're handicapped because your hands are too small", back spasms I had from playing for hours at a time, dreams that were smothered from something I didn't want to do.
He knew I needed a break. He knew I needed to walk away and let it burn up so a couple years later I could scoop out a precious piece that was hidden in all the crappy ashes.
In a matter of a week I went from content in not playing to hungry about playing just for me to God giving me a gift that showed me He cared beyond words. He cared. He cared...

I've always struggled if God even cares about certain parts of my story. That week I experienced the truth in this area of my story. He really, truly cares...

I finally got my piano this week. It's so awesome. I pulled out all my books and have played through some of them. It's amazing to think that I still remember so much after all this time. I had to sit at that piano and just thank Him. I won't be playing for people...I won't be teaching again...I won't do anything I don't want to do... I'll just be playing in the quietness of my upstairs. It's finally a hobby. It's finally what I always wanted it to be. I think it's finally what He always wanted it to be for me... My heart is full and tender from His love and care.

Yes, Mal. You are passionately loved by the God of the Universe.

Um. Wow.

Waiting...

I've been thinking of something I could write about today. It seems that a common theme on the blogs I've been reading is about some form of waiting. I was looking through some pictures when I ran across this one. I thought it was a good visual of the stages we are in when we are waiting.





I see the first seal at the bottom as someone who has decided to risk getting out of their pool of "xyz". They are weary from fighting. Exhausted. Breathing is about all they can do right now. They are just now experiencing life outside of the pool. Their heart is full of questions...anger and fear and ambivalence are taking a seat at this new table. Raw is what feels the truest. Even places of numbness can still exist. Getting out of the pool was HUGE...but that's all they can muster. Hope? Hope is just feeling right now...its a mixture of fighting and resting. It's complicated.

The second seal has taken a big risk in getting up from the fear and exhaustion. Hope now looks like believing there is so much more. But it's something like looking around the corner. You're up...your feeling...your hopeful...but cautious. Is it worth it to walk up to the door. You've heard all the right answers to your heart's questions...maybe you know them inside&out, but can you believe them. Can you take them to the door and ask "Please? See me. Hear me. I'm ready. Please open this door." This seal is hopeful. But is waiting around the corner. Desiring to step out.

The third seal is risking everything. Standing at the door...hope in hands...asking loudly. Waiting for an answer. Waiting completely vulnerable...hiding behind nothing... It's hard to be there. It hurts like hell most of the time. You know someone is behind there...someone is listening. But you'll keep waiting. Hoping that door will open. Refusing to run behind the corner...refusing to give up and lay down...refusing to jump back into your pool because somehow you'll be covered and safe. You wait because there is something glorious in the pain and questions. There is something beautiful to be heard in your heart's cry.


I wonder where you're at today? Which seal are you? Are you just breathing? Peeking around the corner? Or standing at the door?

I've been to all these places...sometimes I do a little dance between standing at the door to running back behind the corner. Sometimes I just say "F*ck this. I'm too scared." And jump back into my pool. It's a process. A journey. A slow painful dance that teaches me that standing at the door is so worth it. If only I risk it all to wait.