postheadericon Fly High


Last Tuesday, I received a phone call that I wasn't prepared for. This world lost one of the brightest lights I have ever had the great pleasure of knowing. Isaac, you touched my life in ways you will probably never know or understand, but I have been forever changed by knowing you.

Brent and Michaela, I am so proud of you. Not only because you raised an incredible young man in Isaac, and are continuing to do so in Brady and James. But also because you have show such courage, grace, strength, hope, and humility in the face of something I cannot even imagine. Thank you for letting me be a part of your lives and for offering me such love. I love you more than I can express. While my words pale in comparisson to yours, I hope they bring a glimmer of who Isaac was to me and countless others.

Fly High

They say pictures are worth a thousand words

And I say yours are worth a million
As I sift through all these old photographs
I think how your name means “He who laughs”

They say that only the good die young
And I say that you were one of the best
I wasn’t ready to say goodbye
When God called you home to be by His side

They say one day we will meet again
And I say I’ll rejoice when that day comes
You found your Easter hope before me
And now you can rest in eternal peace

God says that He calls us each by name
And I say He welcomed you home, Isaac
I hope you danced with Jesus that night
With your mismatched socks and your eyes so bright

God says you’ll dwell in His house forever
And I say one day I’ll join you there
Until then, my friend, let the angels sing
Fly high, Sir Isaac; on eagles’ wings

Last Updated (Thursday, 07 September 2017 13:09)

 

postheadericon Inside a Panic Attack


It’s almost instantaneous as I push the ignition button. The tears well up in my eyes and start to pour over my eyelids and race down my cheeks. I back out of the parking spot anyway and start to drive. I’m on autopilot as I steer my car toward the exit of the school parking lot.

My heart starts pounding and feels like it might explode right out of my chest. Breathe, I tell myself, just breathe. But the more I try to do that, the less I feel like I can. No air is getting in, or at least that’s what I think. What is it that my therapist told me? Focus on what I can see. I look down at the steering wheel. I see the Mazda logo. It’s shiny…silver…pretty. I begin to trace my finger over it slowly. 10…9…8…but before I get to 7, the voice is back.

“She’s mad at you. Surely you screwed everything up again.”

Ugh. I bang my head against the steering wheel. I hate myself. Ouch. I deserved that.

No, focus on the facts. Not the lies.

I see the Mazda logo. I start tracing again. 7…6…

“She didn’t say she loves you. So clearly, she doesn’t. There’s a fact for you.”

God dammit. Why?! The tears are pouring so hard now. I can’t control the sobbing. I should probably pull over. I can’t see the road anymore. It’s like driving through a monsoon with the rain so close to my face that I have no prayer of seeing through it.

Snap out of it! I slam my head into the steering wheel again out of pure frustration and in hopes that I can knock this lying son of a bitch out of my freaking head. I just want to scream!

Breathe.

Think.

5…4…3…

What…breathe…are…breathe…the…breathe…facts…breathe…

I pull off at the next exit and let myself cry. My therapist told me that it’s okay to let myself cry. I scroll back through my phone to find some supportive texts. Focus on the facts. My safe people. The ones who know everything. She didn’t tell me she loves me today, but that doesn’t mean she doesn’t. The facts.

1 – It’s summer.

2 – We’re all busy.

3 – It’s not as easy for some people to express their feelings in words as it is for me.

4 – Actions speak louder than words anyway, let them.

5 – No matter what, God loves me and that is where my identity is found.

Breathe…2…1…

“There is no fear in love, but perfect love drives out fear.”
- 1 John 4:18a

Last Updated (Tuesday, 20 June 2017 13:09)

 

postheadericon Grounded on a Sweet Spring Evening

It's been two years and two months since I've posted on this blog... But I suppose now is as good of a night as any. Today was a bit of a rough day for me, but I was blessed to be able to relax at home with my parents for a couple of hours this evening. As we sat on the deck, I worked through a "grounding exercise," or so my therapist calls it, in my head. As I drove home a couple of hours later, this is what came out of me...

I see the orange breasts of the orioles fluttering midair as they fight, or perhaps dance.

I see a strong and sturdy knight staring back at me through his mask; protector of the garden.

I see a blue jay swoop to the ground so quickly that I wince as I prepare for him to get injured with the impact, but land so gracefully my breath catches in my throat.

I see a watering can. Its metal shell a cold, stark contrast to all the life happening around it.

I see a lazy, black dog relaxing at my feet. His deep, slow breaths filling me with a sense of calm as I feel a rhythm to this evening emerging.

I hear water running in the fountains. Dripping and splashing. The memory of buying one with my dad last summer brings a smile to my face as I close my eyes and let myself focus on only the water...the healing and cleansing water.

I hear birds chirp all around me. Are they communicating with each other? With me? Amazing grace, oh what a sweet, sweet sound!

I hear the soft breeze rustle through the trees. Like God and like love, I cannot see the wind. But I hear it. I sense and feel it. I know it's all around me.

I hear my own breath. As I begin to think about it, I hear myself hold it for only just a moment. But then I hear the rhythm again. I find peace in my own body.

I smell my mom's bug spray. It's comforting somehow. It smells like baby powder with a hint of something...vanilla, maybe? It reminds me of her and transports me instantly to the golf course.

I smell barbeque sauce, sweet and tangy, wafting from the kitchen. I don't really even like barbeque sauce, but I cherish quiet, casual, unplanned evenings like this with just Mom and Dad so I don't mind.

I smell spring. The air a mixture of flowers, fresh rain, humidity (how do I even smell that?), sweat, and jelly all colliding together.

I taste Mom's iced tea on my tongue. Somehow bitter, but just a tiny bit sweet. Cool and refreshing as I let it slowly pour down my sore, dry, tired throat.

I taste the bug spray that still hangs in the air. Vanilla, definitely vanilla.

I feel content. Loved. Home.

Last Updated (Thursday, 25 May 2017 20:57)