On missing someone…

I saw a friend today that I have not seen in almost six years.  We met, together with my family and another friend, for lunch.  The instant I saw him, it was as if I had just seen him last week.  We embraced and it was like no time had ever passed.  He found me a few months ago online and finally seeing him in person again after all this time was incredible.  He has and has not changed, not unlike myself.  It’s interesting to me how we can yearn for a friend, miss someone deeply; then in one instant see them and feel that surge of joy and excitement.  It’s a lovely fulfillment of a longing for the warmth of caring for someone.  I’ve been chatting with him online, even talking over Skype.  But nothing compares to the embrace, the tangible, the touch of a face-to-face interaction.

As I look forward to leaving soon for Acapulco, now less than five weeks, I reflect on what it means to miss someone.  I miss a lot of people.  I miss friends who I’ve not seen in far too long.  I miss friendships and interactions I have had.  But I feel a deep ache in my heart for how deeply I am going to miss my family when I leave.  This is part of the journey of going to Teacher Training, the missing.  It’s part of what will form me during those 9 weeks away.  But it still hurts.  During our year of engagement Dave and I were separated for six weeks.  I went away to (ironically) Mexico with YWAM to staff an outreach team.  I missed him the moment I got into the van.  I missed him all the way through Utah, Nevada, California, and into the Baja peninsula.  I missed him back into Arizona, New Mexico, and all the way back to Denver.  I missed him.  Badly.

I think we throw this term around a lot, I miss you.  I say it a lot.  I think I am saying it more now than I have in a long while.  But it means different things every time we say it.  What do we miss?  Why do we miss it?  It’s not just about missing the person, it’s about us.  It’s about our needs, our wants, our emotions that are somehow left unattended in the absence of the person or persons we are without for the time.  Missing is about not having the hug, not feeling the warmth of the other person beside you.  Missing is about not having the listening ear, the comforting buzz of a text message that reminds you they’re still…  there.  Missing is about me.

When I saw my friend, we both said the same thing.  Man, I have missed you! We both said it, and we both meant it.  I surely did miss him.  And even now, not five hours after saying goodbye to him, I miss him all over again.

In five weeks, I’ll be in Acapulco.  I’ll be preparing for my first full week of Teacher Training.  I will surely miss my husband, my beautiful sons, and my amazing friends.  I will miss my sister and my mom. I will miss so many people.  But if I am able to remember that they will eventually return to me, it makes the ache a little easier.  I will see my friend again.  And in November I will return to my family after Training.  I will see my friends and family again.  And I am sure, that by that time, I will have new people in my life to miss.  And so the cycle goes.

Where I am, where I’ve been, where I’m going…

I haven’t forgotten you blog.  It must seem that way.  The truth is my life has changed 100 percent in the past month and I’ve been so busy holding on for dear life that I haven’t had as much time to write for writing’s sake as I used to.  I am not complaining, of course, just sharing.

I’m sitting here, my entire house silent.  My guys are all asleep.  It’s not even that late, barely 10 pm.  But it’s been the kind of week that makes this day (Wednesday) feel like it should surely already be Friday.  It’s not, by the way.  Here we are mid-week, all of the life lived already in the past three days seem enough to fill several weeks for certain.

I’m on the eve of a massive life journey.  Really, if you get right to it, the journey began years ago.  Ten years ago, to be exact.  I always wanted to be a yoga teacher.  Now it’s finally happening.  I’m learning the Dialog, really, and it’s happening.  I’m going to class SO MUCH.  I’m preparing, thinking, planning, and praying.. a LOT.  This is who I am now.  Karen, the future Bikram Yoga teacher.  It doesn’t even feel strange.  It feels like the next place I put my foot on the road, the next rung on the ladder.  This is all part of who I am, and who I am meant to be.  My body is stronger, healthier, leaner than ever.  I am a yoga machine, and I like it.  In about six weeks I will board a plane and (eventually) arrive in Acapulco, Mexico.  I will then spend nine weeks immersed in this yoga that has saved my lfie.  I will sweat and sweat and sweat and sweat and sweat.  I will cry, and miss my family.  I will work, and learn, and hope, and think, and imagine life from a new perspecitve.  I will change whether I desire it or not.  I will allow the miracle of my God-given blessings to wash over me.  I will be thankful.

But this is all in the future.  And I am forced now, six weeks out from my departure, to remain present in this life.  I am mom, wife, friend, confidant.  I am who I will always be, and not  yet who I will become.  I have inside of me all the potential, and none of the experience.  It’s a strange station, but also a relief.  One day at a time, I am still here.

I am asked often if I miss my normal life.  I’m still not sure what this means.  The only thing I can surmise is that maybe people wonder if I miss the old life, before I leapt off the cliff and went for my dreams.  I can’t figure out why I would miss that, but I suppose it’s something to ask.  The answer is no, I miss nothing.  I don’t miss the old person.  I don’t miss having “more time to myself when I wasn’t going to yoga all the time.”  Nope, I don’t miss that at all.  This is normal to me now, whatever ‘normal’ is anyway.  Normal always sounds a little bit like a cop-out or an excuse people offer themselves for the doubts and fear they carry over living life just underneath their true potential.  But I might just be projecting…

So Where am I?  Right where I’m meant to be.  Where have I been?  I’ve been here all along, but in a coccoon of sorts.  Changing, going through my metamorphosis.  Where am I going?  In the literal, I am going to Mexico soon for 9 weeks.

I will always be here.  I will always be.  But I hope that when I look back, I see new scenery each time.

Tender

Tomorrow is June 10. Tomorrow my youngest son Eli starts preschool. I can hardly believe it. He’s only 2 and a half, and yet here we are. I remember the day he was born, and all the little milestones. This is another one. The first time my son will be regularly in the care of another woman. It’s not that I am unhappy, or regretful of my decision. I just feel a little tender. He’s my baby. But here I am, putting his name all over his backpack with the dinosaurs, his little lunch box, and his nap mat. Everything bears his name or his initials. This is the rule, so as to keep it all straight. I’ve done this before, with Simon, last Fall. But for some reason, my heart didn’t quite ache as much. I guess still having one at home left me with a little bit of a net. My sons are growing up. It’s a reality that isn’t really new. But to me, it’s fresh. His little tennis shoes are laced, his backpack packed with extras for his big day, everything’s in place. Everything but the weepy mamma.

They really do grow up too fast.. Believe it.

You deserve to know..

It’s been a crazy few days. Dave took this week off. Ten whole days of not working. Awesome. And yet, five days in to this “vacation,” I feel far less rested than you might imagine. I’ve been telling everyone (who will listen) that we are having a non-vacation type of vacation. Basically, what that means, is that we are doing all the junk that everyone should do when they take time off of work – but don’t. So since I can’t be sitting in a hammock somewhere in the middle of nowhere watching the tides roll in, I rationalize my pain by saying “I’m being productive!!!” Yay me.

Don’t feel too sorry for me, just yet. I had an ah-MAY-zing time seeing Ernie Halter at the House Show on Sunday. Definitely one of the coolest concert atmospheres I’ve experienced. Ernie played with Josh Hoge and an incredible guitarist (whose name I cannot remember to save my life).. Jordan, I think his name was Jordan. I loved it. And man, can those guys sing. You can see my very amateur videos here.

So, with the House Show behind me and a huge week of “vacation” ahead I made a split decision on Monday.. I chopped my hair off. Ten inches to be exact. Now, it will never be this straight again, friends. But it sure looked great right after it was cut.

It’s a nice change, right? I like it so far. But I still keep trying to put my hair up about every five minutes. Old habits die hard.

In addition to the haircut, we have all been to the dentist. And as of tomorrow morning my lovely sweet car will be back in the game with shiny new brakes and nicely maintained innards. I almost sound responsible (gasp).

Tomorrow we might actually do something fun, and vacation-y. We’ve been tossing around the idea of the Zoo. But let’s be honest folks, I hate the zoo. And since the summer is here and she ain’t leaving, we might just be content to wander aimlessly through Ikea or go see a movie. Anything that involves air conditioning.

And seriously can we talk about the heat?? I know, I know. I live in TX and yeah, I know.. Save it, OK? I get it. It’s TEXAS. But let’s remember that it’s ONLY May 21st and HELLO 96 degrees??? What have I done so wrong in my life as to deserve this? I mean, it’s ironic right? I love hot yoga. And yeah, the yoga room is a nice cool 105 degrees. But come ON! *dies*

Alright I will stop.  I won’t complain.  Because I have five more days of vacation.  And since the car will be done, the teeth polished up, what else is there to do??

Life is good..

No Bad News.

Life has been moving at an incredible pace lately. There are many many days I don’t even have time to stop and think about what day it is or what month.. I attribute much of this to just being a mother of two small children. Time flies, life goes by so fast. My boys are growing up. They’re literally changing right in front of me. Sometimes it makes me sad, but most days it just makes me proud. I am proud of my life, proud of my kids, proud of what’s becoming of us.

I don’t have many complaints lately. I think that’s a good thing, a sign that either I am learning to be more tolerant or my life just really is that good. Either way, it’s a good thing.

I was reading back over old blogs and I realized I hadn’t made a “Thankful” list in a while. So, for posterity, here goes.

I am thankful that I am healthy.
I am thankful for delicious, whole, raw food.
I am thankful for yoga.
I am thankful for my studio, the teachers, and the classes.
I am thankful for this incredible body that is changing everyday.
I am thankful for friends.
I am thankful for my kitchen (even the fruit flies).
I am thankful for people far away even though I miss them desperately.
I am thankful for heartache that teaches me to be stronger.
I am thankful for the ability to take care of my family.
I am thankful for my children.
I am thankful for Dave.
I am thankful for music, songs, signing, playing, and making noise..
I am thankful that Spring has arrived.
I am thankful that it’s going to be warm enough to swim really soon.
I am thankful that I can be strong even when I have no idea where the strength comes from.
I am thankful for the sun.
I am thankful for God.
I am thankful for this journey.

I had the best time today catching up with a close friend. We sat and chatted, and it was wonderful. I treasure times like this because they are rare. But Leigh Anne is the kind of friend that no matter how long it’s been, it doesn’t matter. It was fun to sit and laugh. It really reminded me of why we’re friends, why we’re close. She’s one of the strongest women I know. I admire her so much, and I look forward to the day we can have more time together. Leigh Anne has been a friend for a long time. She was around when I got started as a mother, she was there for the birth of my second child, and our kids have been friends for what seems like forever. I love her so much. And I hope she reads this and knows it.

Not that you asked, but yoga is going well. I’ve been practicing very regularly and loving it. I’m feeling very at peace about my progress and practice. It’s never been my goal to coast along, but it is nice to feel a little more settled. I am progressing, and I feel great.

Today is the beginning of Passover. We have been invited to a Seder tomorrow evening. This will be my first time to attend a Seder and I am totally excited. I’ll keep you posted.

And since this is one of those rambly blog posts, I will leave you with this little video. It’s a trailer for a movie I can’t wait to see called Enlighten Up!. Enjoy!

Down came the rain..

This is a story I have never really told. It’s something I rarely tell anyone about. But it’s something that I have been thinking about. It’s part of my journey right now. And somehow I feel that by writing about it, and sharing it, I honor the memory of this terribly painful time of my life.

I think having children is a wonderful thing. I believe every child is a blessing. Pregnancy, birth, and babies are passions of mine. I love it, really. My first son, Simon, was a tough kid. He was born 2 weeks late, refused to breastfeed for weeks, and screamed for six months straight. He was tough. But I managed. I had mild depression with Simon. I found one of my best friends during that time, someone I still love and depend on deeply. But the cloud passed rather quickly the first time. And I rarely recall the real hardships of having him. My second son, Eli, was completely different.

Eli was born a bit late. His labor was horribly long and painful. I remember laying in my bed, right after he was born and just crying. He was finally here.. I was exhausted, and stayed that way for a long time. Eli was not a happy baby. He had a high-pitched scream that astounded anyone that heard it. It was one of the first noises he made and it made the hair on my neck stand on end. My husband commented about it the first time he heard it and could not believe such a small animal was making such a terrifying noise. Eli nursed straight away. He was seemingly starving all the time, endlessly fussy, and always unhappy.

The first few weeks of his life are a blur for me. I remember the midwives coming back to see me the next day after he was born. I remember him fattening up, and growing out of his baby clothes at an astounding rate. He was in perfect health. Gleaming and gorgeous. But he was so… unhappy. I remember trying so hard just to get him to stop. Just for a moment, I longed for him to stop screaming. Eli never simply cried, never the gentle “wahhh” of a newborn. Eli screamed with all of Hell’s fury. And to this day, if he makes that sound I feel every muscle in my body tighten.

Mothering, as it turns out, is far more than diapers, feedings, and naptime. I knew this, having had a former child. Who, as it was; proved to be a total angel for me during those early months. Simon would watch his brother scream, watch me panic, and sit so incredibly quiet and happy you would swear he was either deaf or a wax figure. It must have been a blessing straight from God. Simon was my Godsend. He went to sleep at naptime, ate his lunch, helped pick up toys, and brought me endless bottles of water when I was parked on the sofa nursing his brother. He was only 2.

What I didn’t know then was that I was waist deep in Postpartum Depression. I had no idea that my delirious frustration, rage, and anxiety was a chemical problem. I denied it. I only let a few people into my life during that dark time. I isolated myself at home, and I was desperately lonely. I prayed for the day I wouldn’t feel so resentful for having a child as difficult as Eli. I was lost, and felt that I would have this screaming infant forever. I never thought it would end. I coped with my depression in many many unhealthy ways. I ate poorly, watched too much TV and retreated into myself.

What nobody tells you about Postpartum Depression is how it always feels like it’s your fault. I always felt that somehow I was doing something wrong. I couldn’t get him to stop crying. I couldn’t make him happy. I couldn’t sleep, I couldn’t shower. I felt it was my fault. I was a terrible mother, and he would be forever scarred by my blinding incompetence.

That was over 2 years ago. Eli is now a happy, adjusted, and rarely makes “that noise.” What I have never told people is how alone I was. I never tell this story. I never talk about the hours of screaming. I never mention how I would lay him in the bassinet and walk outside and cry. That’s simply not something you talk about.

People wonder, why I don’t want more kids. They look at the two that I have, so healthy and perfect. I did have two very healthy pregnancies, and two relatively easy births. What nobody knows is about those six or seven months. And yes, it lasted that long. Those long, unforgiving months of hell. But I never find it appropriate to mention that in polite conversation. Somehow I doubt anyone wants to really know that.

There were many things that pulled me out of my depression. Yoga was the main thing. I firmly believe it saved my life. It gave me a reason to wake up, and try. I will never forget the profound difference I felt after that first class. I was a human again. And I will never ever forget to be thankful for that. My friends and family were always there for me. There were plenty of people I never reached out to that I should have.

For me, Postpartum Depression was a veil of darkness. It was a constant rainstorm. Even to this day, I feel scarred by it. Writing this feels raw and painful. I recall the endless days, nights, sitting and waiting. I would watch the clock for the second I knew Dave would be home. I would beg my sister to come see me, anything.. Anyone to be there, to help me not feel so alone. I was lost. I think many women are. They have no compass to help them.

What I hope is that by sharing the truth of my story, I can bring understanding. I am just one mother. But this is who I am. It is part of me, part of what makes me who I am. And now, my story is out there. And in that, I feel a little bit more free. And a whole lot less alone.

Autism touches everyone.

This post is written in honor of Autism Awareness Month and will be featured at Momologue .

I recently read this article entitled The Vaccine-Autism Court Document Every American Should Read from The Huffington Post and it stopped me dead in my tracks. I decided to blog for Autism in April for many reasons. Reasons that are personal and familiar. But also, because I believe that Autism touches everyone.

Autism used to be a faraway idea for me. I didn’t know much about it for most of my young adult life. I grew up going to school not knowing a single person affected by this phenomenon. Now that I have my own children, and several nephews, I have had a lot of personal “touches” of Autism.

I would be lying if I didn’t tell you that I do believe – emphatically – in the Autism/Vaccine connection. The more I read, learn, and see; the greater my belief becomes. You could ask me on any given day how I feel about vaccines and my reaction will always be the same. I believe they do more harm than good in the modern way they are used. I believe they are linked to more problems than benefits, and I also believe that parents are vastly underinformed about the long term affects of vaccinating their children. But this blog post isn’t about vaccines, it’s about Autism.

So let me tell you about one of the children in my life. Let me tell you about my experience with Autism, and the way I have seen it change lives forever. Since this child is not my own, but my nephew, the dates and specifics are a bit cloudy for me. Hopefully you can forgive that and see the story beyond it..

Meet Christian, my nephew. He’s a gorgeous boy. He’s full of life and energy. He and his twin Aaron were born very premature. Very premature. They both spent many months in the NICU hooked up to more machines than I could ever count. My sister would tell you every single specific of that time of her life. She could tell you their birth weights and how they struggled to survive. I was only a bystander during that time, but I remember it vividly. The day they came home, their first bottles, their first birthday.

Christian was developing normally. He was eating, talking, doing very well. Sometime around his second birthday he received an MMR and everything changed. I have heard parents of Autistic children describe the gradual retreat of their children. I have heard from my sister the story of how he changed, gradually and all at once. I have cried over the frustration I have seen her work through. I have watched, and prayed, and cried.. All the way. I don’t recall exactly when Christian was officially deemed “Autistic” but it wasn’t much later. Perhaps sometime around age three. My sister has spent the past five years trying everything she can find to make his life easier. She’s take him to clinic after clinic, changed diets, worked, cried, prayed, and yelled. She’s done it all. It’s her battle, but it has touched me in so many ways.

My experience with Christian varies. At times he is bright, loving, and funny. Other times he is moody, somber, and quiet. I recognize within him so many brilliant things. I believe he understands much about life. I believe he is happy, and I believe that he is at peace.

I often struggle, like many people, to train myself away from seeing Autistic children as “disabled.” I try to remember that whatever his challenges may be – that he is simply different, and special. Christian will face many hurdles in his life. He will find discrimination, and surely have to overcome far more than I can ever imagine. But I believe that he touches people.

Autistic children are beautiful. They are creative, they are funny, and they are endearing. Christian is no different. He is at times a handful, as any child is, but immediately lovable.

One day, I do hope there is an answer for Autism. I hope that there are answers for why this affects so many children, and their families. But for now, I can be thankful to know my nephew and the way his autism has touched my life.

One Conversation

I stole this idea shamelessly from Shellee. I think it’s beautiful.

I want to find the strength to really be the person I am made to be.
I want to learn how to be more patient.
I want to understand more about You and why You love me.
I want to be fully healthy and whole.
I want to be a yoga teacher.
I want to give everything I can to ending the suffering around me.
I want to share more of Your Love.

I want..

I hate that I am constantly reaching my limits.
I hate that I get so angry so easily.
I hate that I cannot write music the way I would like to.
I hate that I don’t have enough time in the day to do all the things I would like to do.
I hate the times that I walk away from my husband angry.
I hate that I can’t imagine a day when I won’t have to struggle for peace.
I hate that I can’t end the illness in my family.
I hate that I have passed on bad habits to my children and I don’t yet know how to change them.
I hate that I have addictions (even the small ones) that keep me distant from God.
I hate to be late, I hate to be tired, I hate to be hungry..

I hate…

I need to believe that my life will make sense.
I need to love as deeply as possible.
I need to have time to myself.
I need space to breathe.
I need to pay my bills, and care for my family.
I need to read,write, sing, pray, work, and move..
I need yoga.
I need to sweat.
I need to travel.
I need to understand more about Your plan for me.
I need to learn more music.
I need sex, passion, and intimacy..
I need late nights and early mornings.
I need dinners with friends and Sunday morning bagels.

I need…

I fear that I will never be as great of a mother that people think that I am.
I fear my children will resent the things I ask of them.
I fear losing control.
I fear never understanding why things happen.
I fear losing my husband.
I fear losing my children.
I fear losing my home, our jobs, and all that we have..
I fear loss.
I fear becoming just like the person I resent.
I fear that some days my anger will get out of control.
I fear losing out on Your love.
I fear that I have said too much, been too honest, and tried too hard.
I fear death.

I fear…

I love my life.
I love my family.
I love that I can do things with my body that people cannot believe.
I love that I have found something that makes me feel new..
I love yoga.
I love music, writing, singing, sex, dancing, food, and fresh air.
I love being in bed with nothing to do but talk to Dave.
I love movies, books, and time alone.
I love driving.
I love that I have been to so many places.
I love the strength I see in my friends.
I love that no matter how hard things get, I have so many people around me that will pick me up and encourage me.
I love community.
I love babies.
I love chocolate.
I love going to sleep after a hot shower.
I love that one day everything will make sense.
I love that my future is secure.
I love God.
I love knowing that Dave loves me.
I love Dave.
I love that my husband is finally realizing his dream by going to school.
I love kisses from my kids…

I love…

Vulnerability

There’s something about standing in a room of about 50 people with less clothing than I generally wear and stretching, moving, and sweating that makes me feel – well, vulnerable. But honestly it’s not the physical vulnerability that has been getting to me lately. I can handle the skin, and the sweat, I can even handle the smell and awkwardness of the room. I can look past all of that. My clothes sticking to me, my hair messed up, every inch of me sweating.. I can look past all of that. But something has been happening to me lately in that room.. A deeper vulnerability. Twice in the past few days my eyes have welled with tears during class. Both times it has happened at exactly the same time in class. And both times I have been overcome with this feeling that I cannot hide. I lay on my mat, in Savasana, feeling the tears run down my face.. Of course, my one saving grace is that I am so sweaty, I am certain hardly anyone notices. But I do, and I feel vulnerable, naked, exposed. I manage pretty well in class all the way up to this point. I can get through the majority of the class feeling “with it..” I can ignore my urges to respond to every distraction. I can ignore almost everything. But there I am, after Ustrasana, feeling raw and emotional. Most yogis say that when you encounter this in your practice, it is a sign that you are opening up to more depth, letting go, and becoming more aware. I have read people say that this IS the yoga. Ustrasana, Camel Pose, is the deepest backbend in the Bikram Beginning series. It opens the entire front side of the body. Many believe that this is where we store emotion, we remain hunched over, protecting ourselves. So when we open our chest and the front of our bodies, we open up all of those hidden emotions, sensations, and it all comes out. I have had every imaginable response to this posture. But I do believe this is the first time I have had tears. I can’t even connect them to anything right now. Maybe this week more will come out and I will be able to identify more of what’s going on. It’s a little uncomfortable in the meantime, though, all this vulnerability.

It’s been a rough Monday. I’m not feeling particularly “cheerful” and it’s just been a long hard day. I’m struggling right now with how I am reacting to a certain “situation” with one of my kids. Without going into detail, I feel pushed and angry about it. I never know how I am going to react to it when it happens. My feelings of vulnerability extend to this situation too. Today I broke down in tears over this issue right in front of Simon. He cried too, with me. Maybe that’s what we need. It’s not even a depressed kind of crying. Just a release. Sometimes tears are all you have. Today, I have tears. And that’s OK right?

I am glad this day is over.  I am glad I have had the day I have had because it means tomorrow will be better – or at least different.  It means that I am still alive, and well, and living.  And all of those things are good.

Namaste.

And so it goes…

One of the hardest parts about being a mom is that you never know from one moment to the next what your life is going to be like. Some days are hard, some are easy. Some days everything falls into place. The kids are happy, the house is clean, life seems to be at peace. But most of the time, it’s chaos. At least some level of chaos. And you are forced to find peace in the middle of it. I am learning lately to embrace my chaos. I love it mostly. I love my rowdy kids. I love the hectic schedule, I love that we have such a full life that at times it seems that we never stop. I love that, I do. But I have to remember always to try to balance that. I have to find the middle ground. This morning I woke up to go to class and wanted to go back to sleep. SO Badly I wanted to go back to sleep. I even told myself I could go back to sleep and skip class. But my mind woke me up. Must do this, must send that email, need to call this person, must collect items for fundraiser.. (sigh) Even at 4:15 am, my mind was racing. So, alas, I did not go back to sleep. Instead I woke up and went to class. I was grumpy about it because well, I was hoping to just get that giddy “oh boy I get to drift back off to sleep” feeling. But even today, when I wanted it the most, it didn’t happen. There are these moments during the day. I call them “sanity moments”. Sometimes they happen during naptime. Sometimes they happen when the kids are occupied with something. Sometimes I am playing piano and singing. Often they happen during class. It’s a brief moment of total “quiet”.. My mind stops, for just a moment. I just become totally present and aware and all my thoughts stop. Usually, however brief this moment is, it is over before I even know it. Second set, kids need something, phone rings, alarm goes off.. Something. But I am trying lately to just let go and enjoy them, no matter how small they are.

Today is the beginning of Lent. I have waffled a lot in my life about the observance of this season. I was not raised to observe it in the way most do. But I have been intrigued this year about the idea of this “season” of Lent. Lent is the 40 days leading up to the Resurrection of Christ (Easter) and is often marked with fasting and prayer or other forms of self sacrifice. It is not uncommon for believers to “give up” something for Lent in observance of this time. But for me, this year, I am adding to my Lenten season. I was speaking with a Catholic friend yesterday about Lent and she reminded me that Lent is as much about growth as it is about sacrifice. What can I do in this 40 days to grow and draw closer to God? I have decided this year for Lent, I am going to spend time each day meditating. I will read, pray, and meditate daily during this time. Mostly to add to my own personal times with God, but also with purpose. What does God have to say to me right now? I’ve been a little distant and my times away with God have been lacking. So what better way to reinvest myself than with this dedication?

Memento homo, quia pulvis es, et in pulverem reverteris… Remember, O man, that you are dust, and unto dust you shall return. Gen 3.19

Today is Ash Wednesday. Today I will spend time meditating on this scripture. I am encouraged, because I know that this season is going to be beautiful for me.. But more than that I am comforted by the familiarity of a season that I know brings so much hope and life.

Blessings