Dear diary,
A couple months ago, at a local farmer's market [I attended fully expecting to come home with fresh produce and maybe a chicken or two, but apparently a "farmer's market" isn't a market where farmers sell their harvests... who'd have thought?], I met a lovely couple who were on a mission to bring skin-healthy products to the community in innovative ways. They were awesome. And so friendly.
I left their stand with some homemade sleepytime massage oil for the baby, peppermint beard oil [I don't have a beard, but it just smelled soooo good], and a sample tin of customized powdered dry shampoo that was not yet on their website for purchase. It's tailored to blend in with your hair color and absorb excess oil from your roots/scalp while nourishing your follicles. However that works. 🤷♀️ Dry shampoo has always been a mystery to me, but I was excited to try it.
Except I ended up forgetting that I had it.
Now, rewind... or fast forward... [whichever came first or last, I can't remember]...
For Christmas, my sister Tris put together thoughtful care packages for our oldest sister Jenn, and me. It had chapstick, sentimental jewelry, necessities, all sorts of things she knew we each liked, and a new kind of charcoal toothpaste that wasn't paste at all... it was more like black tooth dust. I was intrigued. What you do is, you moisten your toothbrush, coating it with some of the dust, and then brush your teeth as usual; the end result: a whiter, brighter, healthier smile.
No one prepared me for the 'during' result though. The dark dust turns into a ghastly liquid coating on your teeth that doesn't go away until you thoroughly brush and rinse. [I like to scare my husband sometimes and smile at him with my black-tar-looking teeth when he least expects it. It's hilarious. You should try it sometime.]
Fast-forward to this morning.
I saw a matte black unlabeled tin on our dresser and suddenly remembered what was in it... Oh, no! I never tried the dry shampoo powder! I didn't know if my hair really needed it, but I was determined to gather some feedback for the generous woman (Ashley? Lauren? Rachael? I can't remember her first name, unfortunately) who trusted me to supply her with an honest review and had already been waiting a long time for it.
The problem was... I didn't know how I was meant to apply it. I tried dabbing my fingertip into the mixture to see if my skin would be able to act as a transfer... nope. Then, I tried to tilt and tap some of it into my cupped hand to sprinkle over my head... but as soon as I did, an impressively large smoky cloud expanded into the air and all over my face... like you'd see in a cartoon where Wile E. Coyote waited just a little too long before throwing the stick of dynamite.
So, with hair-colored powder all over my face, I found my way to the bathroom, setting the tin down near the sink to search for a makeup powder-brush instead (I have no idea why that wasn't my initial course of action to begin with). As I reached down into the drawer, my "Look, if you don't get all of your butts out the door and into the car within the next 15 minutes (including the baby's), you'll have to duck under the live stream camera to get to your seats and potentially get called out by Pastor Trent for being late" alarm went off.
Shoot! I still had to brush my teeth, somehow get all of this dust off of my face, make a fresh bottle, and get the baby dressed...
Mom-mode kicked in. Multitasking upon multitasking. I set everything down and took care of the baby, reminding the girls not to forget their Bibles and to make sure they're dressed appropriately for the chilly weather, made a bottle with one hand while pouring cereal with another and balancing the baby on my hip while using the other one to close the pantry door. It was empowering. [In hindsight, I should've just asked my husband for help, who would have gladly lent a hand, but it's so easy to get into the misplaced mindset of "I've got this" for everything that sometimes we forget that we've got help.]
I set the baby down and rushed off to brush my teeth, turned on the faucet, ran the bristles under, and caught my reflection... UGH, powdered dry shampoo all over my face like a poorly-done spray tan... I forgot all about it! So I took my glasses off, picked up the powder brush with my other hand, and started gently coaxing the particles off my skin while dipping my toothbrush into the charcoal tin to start brushing my teeth.
... Except... it wasn't the charcoal toothpaste container I'd dipped my toothbrush into. It was the dry shampoo tin right beside it... simultaneously, what I was now brushing into my scalp was powdered toothpaste.
They are NOT interchangeable.
So, we were a few minutes late to church today and my hair was a bit darker in a patch on top... and my mouth tasted like my hair was supposed to feel... but we showed up. And I didn't even mind ducking underneath the live feed camera... because we were surrounded by family and exactly where we were meant to be. No judgement, just love.
As Pastor Trent says, "If it's worth doing, it's worth doing poorly."
I don't think he means to purposely mess up or to not put forth a genuine effort... but rather, that if something is worth doing, it's worth it to take the first steps to get there... even if they're wobbly, imperfect, or nothing like you'd imagined... they're still steps in the right direction.
I'm not quite sure what the takeaway is... there were so many:
Wake up earlier and you'll have more time to get ready, ask for help instead of being pig-headed in thinking you can do it all yourself, make sure you know the accurate location of similarly-shaped containers before you take your glasses off, or even that right before church isn't a good time for experimenting with cosmetic samples...
But whatever it may be, we'll definitely be on time next Sunday and you're invited too.
Sincerely,
a perpetual work in progress,
me.
There's a little white trailer on the corner of our street, nestled right where the bus stops for the children to come home after school. For the past two years, I've stood there waiting just about every weekday... wobbling there during my pregnancy with Norah, pushing her in her stroller as an infant, and recently just carrying her in my arms since she's about outgrown her buggy and we're usually running 'late' (which ends up still being ridiculously early most days).
I've seen the gentleman who lives there, but only in passing... a simple wave and a smile, followed by, "Thank you for letting me stand here to wait for the bus every day!" and a gentle nod in reply. We don't share the same first language.
Some days, I find myself waiting there for half an hour or more before the bus comes... others, it's mere minutes... but there's no telling which it will be on any given day. And holding a squirming toddler-sized-infant can get quite cumbersome after a while... even as a mom (I know we're thought to have superpowers, but that one must've eluded me).
The wait can be exhausting sometimes though... and when we get back home, my arms often feel like melted Jello... but I can't complain. And wouldn't. After all, I could just drive the car down instead... but the fresh air sure is nice. The walk is nice too. And Norah likes to point, babble, and look at the scenery as we make our way down the street. 100% worth it.
Today, as we approached the tree we usually stand beneath, I noticed something else already waiting there. As we made our way closer, the details came into view... it was a simple handcrafted wooden stool chained to the tree so it couldn't get mistaken for roadside pickings and hauled away. And it was there for me.
No words exchanged... just a simple gesture in a neighbor's absence... from one person to another, as if to say, "I see you and I can help." I'm overwhelmed with gratitude.
God is good and people aren't all bad either. Thanks for the reminder.
Dear Mom,
I haven't stopped wishing you were here. And I know that's selfish, but looking back through our last messages has me feeling like I lost you all over again. Except the grief isn't the same. It's still raw, but without the denial.
I should probably take comfort in knowing I can talk to God about all of the things I still want to tell you... I feel like I'm in a conference call with Him when I write to you... He knows it all... down to how many tears I've cried missing you and the ones that were over other things. I'm just a person... one who cries a lot, apparently. You didn't though. Cry a lot, I mean... at least not that I ever saw.
I couldn't sleep... there's too much on my mind... and I know you'd tell me first to cast my cares... and I do, mostly... but sometimes a stray one slips through... and sometimes my fickle heart reels a few back. I'm a person.
I hadn't looked at our conversations here in a while... or maybe not as far back as I did today... and I just felt so ashamed. I was so wrapped up in something I was going through back then that seemed so hopeless at the time that I didn't even notice the change in your replies.
Your usual lengthy, thorough responses dwindling down to sentence fragments and stray emojis as the days went on... and I just kept going on about my problems... oblivious to yours... and that huge situation in my life... the one I was messaging about so much during your last weeks... it doesn't even matter anymore. It's irrelevant... I didn't know I was wasting our time together because I didn't think we were going to lose you. I trusted that we had more of it together.
...and then I get to thinking that if I'd have just listened and casted my cares from the start, I wouldn't have been too blinded by the overwhelm of my own life to ask you more about yours. And we'd have fonder conversations to remember... but that's selfish, too... because you don't need to remember them... I do.
I know I can't change it. The outcome. And I know that I should learn from it... but here I am again... wishing I could talk to you about my life. Not that I'd have called you at 1 in the morning anyway... but somehow just knowing I had the option to was reassurance enough.
So I'll close my eyes, work harder on casting my cares (1 Peter 5:7) without reeling them back in, and wake up with more answers than I had when I fell asleep.
I'm sorry for the times I took you for granted... I don't anymore... because I can't.
I miss you something terrible, Mom.
Love always,
"Pookie"
Dear love,
Do you know why I get so caught up looking at you sometimes?
It's because I don't always see you the way the mirror does. Sometimes I glance over and see the version of you that first showed me what it meant to love someone.
I see 10-year-old you and it makes me feel like 9-year-old me... back before life got complicated and relationships hurt.
I look over and see a memory... a silly little candle wish on a homemade banana cake that I'd marry you someday. The first birthday wish I ever remember making. It was you.
And there you are.
I can't help but to still be amazed by it all... you're my wish come true.
Dear Mom,
I'm actually doing it. I've been a bit nervous to share this with anyone because I wasn't sure I was going to go through with it, but I am. It's confirmed.
A couple months ago, I went to open up a document in Microsoft Word... and it wouldn't work. Something about needing to be licensed and yadda yadda... and when I looked up how to go about renewing it, I saw a promotion about enrolled students being able to have free access to Microsoft Office. "Heh, wouldn't that be nice!"
A seed was planted in such a silly way
...but nonetheless, it grew.
I thought about it. And then I thought about it again. And then I saw an ad for a university days later that sounded like exactly what I'd be looking for... IF I were actually looking... even though I wasn't.
It went from, "Well, there's no harm in applying, right?" to "Okay, well I was accepted into the program, but that doesn't mean I have to do it..." to, "I can fill out the FAFSA just to see how it pans out... but that doesn't mean anything..." to "I'll hypothetically budget for it...time-wise, too" to, "let's see how many credits would transfer" to, "hmm... I'll map out class requirements... just to see" to, "okay...this is actually doable!" to, "Wow, I'm back to being a full-time student again... let's do this!"
If anyone would have asked me months ago if I'd be going back to finish my English degree, I'd have brushed them off with reason after reason about how I'm needed more in my other roles and that maybe one day, I'd pursue the dreams I had for myself before life unfolded otherwise, but who knows when.
And then I'd have been thinking about it wistfully for hours afterwards-- the subtle heartache of wanting more, but not feeling like those wants are justified... or even that they're selfish. So they get buried again. And again. And again. You know how I am.
I prayed about it, though. I didn't realize how long I actually had been praying over it... the silent kind of heartbeat prayer that only God can hear... but He does hear them.
I brought it up to Nathan when the idea was just a little sproutling. He encouraged me to go for it... just the nudge I needed.
So I start in January. Already sent in the photo for my ID and all. 💜
I know you'd be happy for me, Mom. You'd say you always knew I had it in me and you'd be there for the times it might feel overwhelming or I start to doubt. And then you'd make some joke about the time I had to get an ID photo taken... in PA... the DMV. Hah! Yeah, I remember it. And I'll cast my cares.I miss you, Mom.
Love always,
"Pookie"
Dear Mom,
It’s been a while since I’ve had so much to say to ‘you’ openly. Some might take it as a sign that I started to close off… to compartmentalize my grief. Others might assume it means I’ve reached a transition from sorrow to acceptance. The reality is that I haven’t started missing or thinking of you any less; I’ve just been talking to God more. Directly. We’ve been hashing it out.
He showed me that even though I kept saying I understood and wasn’t mad at Him for ‘taking you away’… it was all just words; I didn’t actually understand, and I was actually furious. First at God, then at me, then at God, then at God AND me… marinating in the guilt that maybe if I were a ‘more Christiany Christian’ at the time (whatever that means) … maybe if my prayers held more weight… if I pleaded more… if I were louder… then maybe you’d still be here. You’re not though. Nothing is changing that. And that was silly of me to think, but I’m also human.
Remember when I was a little girl and I used to take turns in the pages of my diary writing, “Dear God,” then the next one would start off with, “Dear Jesus,” cycling through the trinity ‘so no one would feel left out’? I did that more recently with my frustration too… except I didn’t have the endearing nature of childhood naivety to obscure my intent. It was adult immaturity… a pachyderm ‘hiding’ behind a bonsai. I was bitter towards Them ‘all’. Shaken, but not stirred.
I stopped writing for a while. Internal suffocation. I don’t know if I did it as a subconscious effort to ‘punish’ myself… to sever my passion, my habitual outlet, to ‘punish’ God by keeping it all in (which is futile, really, because none of our thoughts or actions are hidden: Psalm 139), or because I just felt like none of it really mattered anymore… the same emotions cycled on repeat… who would want to relive it all in words, too?
I need to start writing again. But not about the same things as before—not the cataclysmic spectrum of past relationships, or the woes of a broken heart: passive-aggressive verbal arson. I see now that it was all just self-gratifying hollow justification for plank-eyed indignation—no matter how eloquently penned. I’m not going to live there anymore. The pain. The sorrow. It shook me without harvest.
I have a new purpose—or perhaps, I’m finally discovering one that was there all along. It wasn’t writer’s block… it was an intentional shift of focus—I was looking down when what I really needed was to be reaching up.
Yesterday, I heard Pastor Art Thomas say something that resonated quite loudly: “There’s life wherever the rivers flow.” And it brought to mind the very last song I ever sang at your bedside:
All who are thirsty, all who are weak
Come to the fountainDip your heart in the streams of life
Let the pain and the sorrow be washed away
In the waves of His mercy
As deep cries out to deep
We sing, come, Lord Jesus, come
Holy Spirit, come.
As I sing it again now, I realize that I was the one who was thirsty. I was the one who was weak. I was the one whose heart needed new life… a new purpose… all I needed to do was to let go of all the wrong things and fully embrace the right One.
You already figured it out.
I miss you, Mom… but we’re in good hands. And so are you.
Love always,
“Pookie”
Dear Diary,
One of my most favorite books to read as a child was, "The Secret Garden." I was even more excited when we got to read it in elementary school... and again, when I found out that we would be using class time to watch the video (yes, on VHS)... and even MORE excited to hear that included with the video was a dainty silver locket.
There was a catch, though... it only came with one locket, but there were more than twenty students in each class. The prize needed to be given away fairly, so one of the teachers mentioned writing names on slips of paper, leaving the outcome to chance. But my heart was set on that little necklace and I didn't like those odds. I had to do something about it.
So, generally-shy little me worked up the nerve to raise my hand and suggest a different idea: a trivia competition. We would all be quizzed about the book, and the winner would keep the locket. "Plus, it'll save paper from being wasted." I was determined.
The odds were much better now and I knew the book from cover to cover.
I also knew exactly what I wanted to do with the locket when I won it. Not "if"... "when".
And I did.
I remember racing home from the bus with my shiny new treasure, digging out photos I'd been collecting, measuring the space I needed to fill, and getting to work.
It was perfect. I wore it to school every day after that for the longest time.
Fast-forward more than twenty years... tonight, my oldest sister, Jenn, walked up to me with a smirk while I was rocking Norah to sleep.
"Close your eyes and open your hand..."
"Is it a bug? I swear Jenn, if it's something alive again, I'm going to get you back!"
"No, it's not... trust me. You'll like this one."
And I did.
I knew from first sight what it was because I remembered how hard I worked to get it. You don't easily forget something like that. And I knew what was inside because it took quite a while to find pictures with the proper cutable dimensions to fit ... this was back when you had to wait days or weeks for photos to be developed from rolls of film, back when the concept of "one-hour photo" was a myth for us common folk, and back when you couldn't just press a button to print whatever size image you needed.
I was sentimental even as a kid... and look where we are now... same boy, same girl... only now, with a family of our own.
Sincerely,
me.
Dear Mom,
We visited you today; it was my first time since the funeral... and Norah Jane's first ever... outside of the womb, at least. The girls would have loved to have been there too, but you know how summers go. They miss you a lot. We all do.
I know that we don't need to be at the cemetery to talk to you. But in a way, just being there makes you feel closer. Or maybe it makes me feel closer to you.
Could you hear your little namesake babbling half-words as she reached her hand toward the roses Dad lovingly arranged in front of your headstone? I could almost hear the wind carry your motherly whisper to caution her fragile fingertips away from the thorns. We had a moment... or few.
If I could've stayed longer, I'd have shared more... reminisced more... confided more... we have so much to talk about. A little girl never stops needing her Momma even when that girl stops being so little anymore.
It was nice to 'see' you... if only for a little while so the Janes could 'meet'. ♡
I miss you, Mom.
Love always,
"Pookie"
Dear Mom,
I'm getting baptized tonight at the beach. I never really told anyone, but it's always been a special dream of mine... to get baptized in the ocean... it's happening!
I remember being baptized when I was 8... and although I meant it with my whole heart then, nervously pinching my nose in the pool-- anticipating Pastor Angelo tipping me back into the water... so much has happened since that day in my imperfect-but-perpetually-forgiven life...my skittish mind... my changeable heart... and while God has been with me every moment since... every step of the way... even the times I've strayed and put my trust in myself instead of Him, or in my own thoughts... my own understanding... my own strength... He's held onto me and never let me go... I need to show Him that I'm holding on this time too... all in. ♡
I know you'll be there. Thank you for teaching me how to talk to Jesus when I was a little girl. Both you and Dad. We have a lot to catch up on, but until then...
I still miss you so much, Mom.
Love always,
"Pookie"
Dear Mom,
The morning started off normal enough. Fed the baby, helped Aria get ready for school and to the bus on time, strapped Norah into her car seat, made sure Machaela didn't forget anything, and started the car.
Your Van Morrison CD had been playing for a while, so I switched albums to Lauren Daigle ... the one you introduced me to back in 2019 when I was struggling in the aftermath of life-altering chaos. I pressed shuffle.
"Still Rolling Stones" started playing as Machaela buckled her seat belt and made sure she had her mask. She said that she thought it would be a great song to sing for the next talent show at school. I asked her if she knew what "You're still rolling stones" meant... so we discussed lyrics as we waited for the light to turn green at the intersection. By then, the song "Rescue" came on:
I hear you whisper underneath your breath
I hear your SOS, your SOS"The light turned green and my foot pressed down on the gas pedal.
I will send out an army to find you
In the middle of the darkest night
Except, there was a car coming from the other way that should've been slowing down; it wasn't. It was running the perpendicular red light while I was driving through the green one. The car stopped just in time. I don't know how it was able to do that as fast as it was charging through the intersection, but it did.
"It's true, I will rescue you" ... the song kept playing.
And I was reminded exactly how it happened.
When I pulled back into the driveway, I parked the car and tears started streaming down my face. I heard a sweet voice singing, "Look Up Child"... and when I did... I saw you there. I miss you, Mom.
Love always,
"Pookie"
Kaleidoscopic Grace 