The Sound Of Thunder

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I recently saw a sign encouraging us to "be the thunder in the storm". 

I had to stop and think on that- it sounds all empowering and good, but what does that really mean? Are we to be loud? Are we to suck the air deep into our lungs and let it out again with a resounding boom? Leave the air around us vibrating as we scream and scream and scream until the world is drowned out?

I think we may need to be ready to speak loudly, but thunder isn't always overpowering in order to be firm and heard. It may not be as spectacular as the lightning, but it also isn't leaving the place in flames when it crashes down. 

Be more substance and less flash.  Thunder doesn't always boom- sometimes its merely a whisper on the edge of the storm. 

Sometimes a loud voice is needed to be heard over the din, but more often its the simple rumbling of "its okay, I'm here" that a friend needs at that very moment before the skies break open and the world drowns in tears.

Be present. Be there. Even if you aren't seen.

The Power of One Little Word

One little word. The holidays. The two would not mix. 

One little word and the promise I made to myself, let alone to all of you was laid to waste in scattered ruins.

One little word that stymied me, following me and throwing up mental roadblocks day after day which then extended month after month. 

The seasons changed. Winter became spring, and spring, that ever-growing season began bustling away towards summer. 

One little word. 

And I was flummoxed. I was its mental hostage. It turned its hate-filled eyes my way and lifted a club menacingly over my head. 

But that's silly, you say. Words aren't angry, hateful or damaging. Well, yes they can be that way... depending on how the recipient takes them... or how you presented them. 

"Any other word!" I cried. 

I even dreamt of putting the chosen piece of paper back into the box and drawing a new one. Or better yet, throwing the chosen word away. But how would that be fair? After all, I am supposed to be writing about anything and everything that comes from its innocent clay form. 

 

I let it laugh at me. I let it stifle my creativity. I let it win. 

This one word, to a girl who loves words, was going to be my undoing. 

Until today... 

 Today I looked at my computer and said, "You will not defeat me. My creativity may have been bashed about and battered, but it is not broken!" 

Quite the statement....perhaps I should have shouted the words, making them my rallying cry. 

"YOU WILL NOT DEFEAT ME!" 

And I, in surprise sat down, logged in, and wrote this. 

It only took minutes and then it was done. Short. Sweet. And not the least bit scary after all. Why did I allow this to hang over me for so long? 

What is it about a word...six tiny letters... that stopped me from moving forward? 

That, I cannot say. Perhaps just its meaning. It's defining presence. But no more. Begone word, until you are drawn once more on some future day. 

And for you, gentle readers... I am here. 

Today was brought to you by the word, BASHED.

My Homeland

The idea that I have been pondering for some time now is "My Homeland".

Homeland.... an idea that could embrace a myriad of things.

Is it my country, or is that too grand of a scale?  Is it the state that I live in, or the city?  Is it where I was born, or where I currently live?  Can it change over the years, or does it remain unchanging with the passing of time?  Where do I find it?  Does it somehow lodge itself inside of me and become a part of my being?

Over a decade ago I came across a phrase that I loved, and painted on a wooden board which has hung in every home I have had since.

"Home is where your story begins" 

I still believe that, but, perhaps if I were to paint this signpost again, I would expand on it.  Perhaps it should read, "Home is where your story begins and it guides you chapter by chapter in the epic that is your life".  Its a bit wordy, but that doesn't make it any less true.

For many, homeland is what you use to identify yourself, as in "I'm an American".  We sometimes feel the need to narrow that down, where my husband, after identifying himself as a Texan, would elaborate "I'm from San Antonio".  There is a certain pride and emotion in the places and things we identify ourselves with.  We are not just the place that we are from, but who and what we associate ourselves with.  For me, "I am a Mormon" is an important part of my identity.  

My personal homeland is a complex thing, added to over the years, layer upon layer, like some pearl forming deep within the core of my being; an integral part of me that has helped me develop into the person that I am.  It is the thing within that defines me, a reserve within me that I can draw upon when I find myself on rocky shoals and in need of solid ground.  

My core, built from my experiences consists not only of places, but of things, memories, people... all of which have influenced me for good or ill in my life.  Not all of the experiences are pleasant, but all have, in some way, brought me strength or peace.  The darker sides of that core are still there.... a childhood of abusive words and bullying left me for a long time struggling to feel a positive self worth.  A former destructive marriage partner at one point had me struggling with issues of trust.  While these experiences are part of me, and always will be, that pearl is continually building up.  Like the natural pearl, some of these experiences will cause bulging on one side or another, but the layers built since those experiences are ones that have proven time and again that I have an inner strength and resiliency.  I may not have wanted some of those memories and experiences, but I have changed them to where they now help, rather than hinder me.

So who am I?  What things do I identify as my own personal "Homeland"?

Well, silly as it may sound, I am part of a global family, one who shares the lands and waters of this marvelous blue ball we call Earth.  I am an American, and am proud of the fact that my forebears worked to come to this land where I have so many freedoms and opportunities available to me.

I was born in California, but I am, in my heart, a Washingtonian as I was raised in its mountains and forests, and nestled amongst its rolling hills of wheat, barley and alfalfa.  My heart and soul still thrills at seeing the tall grasses waving in the breeze like some vast, rolling green inland sea.  I find peace in the sound of the wind as it roars through the trees, giving them voice to call out to their brothers in century-slow voices.  I love experiencing things in nature that others do not seem to notice.

As such, I consider myself a country girl, and one of simple pleasures.  As I said before, I am a Mormon and feel blessed to count myself among such a wonderful congregation of people.  

I am a wife, and while I have not been blessed with children of my own, that has not stopped me from being a mothering presence to those in need of it.  I am a part of my family here, and I love them dearly.  Home is never felt stronger for me than when I am near my loved ones and when we are together.

I am a friend and confidant.  

There are so many things tied up into what I consider my own personal definition of home that there is no way to fully explain it to you, as home is something that has to be felt in the heart.  And, sadly, most of us are judged on our outward appearance as the things of the heart just cannot be fully expressed in words.  Its taken a long time for me to find peace with that idea... that there are just some things that people are unable to know.

As a child, when I was bullied it was hard to think good about myself, because I did not have that reserve developed.  I would hide myself away to cry and wonder what it was about me that made me so different that it would subject me to ridicule.  It couldn't have been just my weight, because some of the kids who teased me were overweight themselves, or had other such defects that should have made them the subject of teases and taunting.  I took it to mean that there was something lacking in me... and for years I allowed that to define me.  I still found my simple pleasures, but I told myself that they were silly little imaginings and that I should let such childish things go... that I had to grow up.

I am glad that I never really got around to taking my own advice, because my imagination is a strong part of who I am.  It is what forms me into the creative person that I am today.  It has also shown me compassion towards others... even those that are not kind to me, and respect for others, even when they are different from me.

Most importantly, I am me.  Just me.... simple sometimes, and complex others. I am the culmination of my experiences and thoughts, and I can choose what I will allow myself to keep bright and shiny on the surface for any to see or what to allow to sink to the depths, to be let go of and be replaced with things more suitable to my nature and what I want to be.  

I am home, and I carry it within me, wherever I roam in life.  All this and more encapsulated within and yet flowing throughout my core; freely shared with those around me.  Home is what you make of it... it is the things that you allow to define yourself and your relationship to the world that surrounds you.  It is an ever-growing and ever-expanding place within your heart that you never need let go of, and yet is infinite enough to share time and time again.

Home is love.

   

Wounds

Not all wounds are visible.

For example, I was at work the other day when my retired boss came in with his 5 year old grandson.

The grandson, who is absolutely adorable by the way, asked me if I was pregnant, because, hey, his mom is pregnant.

I replied that I wasn't.

He looked at me for a moment and then said, "Well, you have kids, right?"

My old boss looked appalled, but I smiled and answered, "No, I don't have kids. I do have cats though... does that count?"

"No," he retorted. "Only dogs count."

"Bummer... I don't have dogs."

"I have a dog. She's a little dog."

"Oh, so she's your little sister, right?"

"No! She's A DOG!"

Ah, the humor that is lost on little kids....

Later that day I received a text from my sister in which she asked me to guess who was pregnant. Excitedly I called her, eager to offer my congratulations, when she hesitantly told me it was a joke and that she was just now typing the reply "Kate Middleton."

Curses.

We talked about her having children in the future, and how I was moving closer to her and would be willing to watch kids anytime. We even cracked a joke about how she's going to get my name for the family Christmas drawing next year and how she'd better get cracking if she's going to provide me with the kid that I want so badly as my present.

Yeah, I was all but demanding space in my sister's womb so I can have kids.... I am definitely shameless.

The subject of kids keeps coming up around me. The boss's daughter is pregnant, the other boss's son is getting married to a gal who has a couple of children. My brother is having their second child, and I live in Utah where pretty much every other woman you see is either pregnant, toting around a baby or both.

Its been awhile since I've really been sorrowful over the fact that I can't have children... a feat that unwed teens accomplish daily all over this country. A feat that, despite education or love, or desire, I can't just achieve for myself. So it breaks my heart when I see people treating their children like something that they are burdened with, rather than the blessing that they are.

I am a firm believer that children should not only have two parents whenever possible, but that they should be allowed as much of a stable home as you can provide for them. Now that my husband and I have been married for a year I feel better about looking into adoption. With our moving home in the year to come it will be awhile before we are settled enough to adopt, but I also have to take into consideration the fact that I am no spring chicken. Maybe adoption isn't a step that will end up working out for us, and maybe I won't ever have children in this life, but at least I have the comfort that there are children in my life in one form or another.

That still doesn't stop the green-eyed monster of jealousy from rearing its ugly head every now and again.

I may keep a smile on my face, but I miss the family that I have not been afforded in this life. I am grateful for what I have been given, but I still can't help wishing for more.

So does that make me a monster? No, of course not. It simply adds me to the rank of all the women in the world who would love to have children, yet are unable to. The despair it can cause is intense and it can overwhelm you at any time. I know many wonderful women who are in the same boat that I am, and I have no idea why those who would make for some truly wonderful parents are unable to have children, when so many children are unwanted and abandoned.

So if you do have children, please take a moment to reflect on how blessed you are. Be mindful of those of us who are unable to share that particular joy, and everyone, please treasure every moment you have with your loved ones, no matter how close or far they are. You never know just how long you'll have with them.