To you, Mom

Downtown with my mom 2012

 This post is for moms. This post is for my mom. 

My mom is Anne. She is 63 years young. My mom was born in Cincinnati, Ohio. She's a preacher's daughter. She's in the middle of 5 kids. She's been a wife for almost 43 years. She is a hair stylist. She is a mom to 3 daughters and a grandma to 5 grandchildren. My mom is an artist, a writer, and great listener. She is a devoted friend. 

My mom stayed home with us when we grew up. I have memories of her making us forts out of blankets, cutting the crusts off my PB&J's, taking us to parks and loads of shopping trips. Like many moms, she sacrificed so much of herself for her children. She always made us a priority; so much so that I have a tendency to be somewhat self-centered (but this isn't about my shortcomings). :-)

I think she was tired a lot. She did it all.  I never even had chores. She ran our house and babysat a slew of kids at the same time. She never missed a single thing I was part of. She was a room mom, Campfire Girls leader, organized play dates and countless other social activities for me and my sisters.  She was always ready to give our hair the latest style and color--even if it was 10 PM and she was exhausted.  I don't even have many photos of us together because she was always taking the pictures (remember, pre-selfie days?!). When I was a senior in high school she chaperoned my class trip to Walden Pond in Massachusetts. It was the first time in my life I had her all to myself. I remember ordering Subway sandwiches for us to eat on the bus ride. I had to ask her what she wanted because I didn't even know what to order for her. To this day I am grateful for that trip. It was on that trip that I began to know her as a person--not just my mom. 

Having fun in Lake Cumberland

Over the years my mom and I have had our ups and downs--mostly ups, I think. But in all of it we are still so close. My mom was still the one I wanted near me when I became a mom. In those early days of motherhood when Elliot cried for 12 hours straight and maybe slept on and off another 10, I wanted my mom to tell me it was going to be OK. I looked to her for validation that I was doing something, anything, right. 

I can't begin to know how she did it all. She has always seemed to know the right thing to do, the right thing to say. To this day, I could ask her anything. I may not always want to hear what she has to say, but she's willing to listen and willing to share her experience, strength and hope with me. 

It's her dedication to me and to our family that's helped steer me toward being the kind of mom I strive to be. 

I hope on Mother's Day that she finds time to relax. I hope she finds moments to reflect on her own motherhood journey. I hope all moms do. We are all just trying to find our way, trying to do his mom thing the best we can. I think we need to encourage each other as women. We need to tell each other, as my mom has told me, "it's going to be OK. You're doing an amazing job."

Christmas 1978

One day we will be where I am today. I am grown and busy raising my own family. And one day my kids won't call as often as they want to. We might be separated by 500 miles, like I am with my mom. But with one call we will be connected.  When I get the chance to talk to my mom I am transported back to my younger years.  She's still my mom. 

On a day that celebrates mothers everywhere; I am a mom, but I am a daughter too. I will celebrate that. On Mother's Day I celebrate my mom and all that she is, and all that she will become. 

I love you Mom. 

“Making the decision to have a child - it is momentous. It is to decide forever to have your heart go walking around outside your body. ” ― Elizabeth Stone.

Thanks for reading. Happy Mother's Day. 

Spring Where Are You?

March 17, 2014: Virginia received yet another snow storm and then had yet another snow day.  The only thing living in our house that was overly excited by this was Thurman, our Golden Retriever.  Even our snow shovel is tired.  I saw a funny picture on Facebook today that had the Easter Bunny yelling for Santa to come get the snow.  It made me think...is this Jack Frost's joke to us because the retail industry is always rushing us on to the next holiday?  Of course I don't actually believe this, but it is comedic relief to the fact that a half a foot of snow fell in and around DC just one day after it was 70 degrees on the National Mall.  My kids have had 16 snow days this school year.  This has caused such commotion in the number of instructional hours that the school board voted last week to add an additional 25 minutes to each school day until the end of the school year.  The first day of the added time was to begin yesterday.  Yesterday was a snow day.  Is this funny to anyone else, or is it just me?  I have to find a way to laugh about this.  If I don't, I feel I will begin to develop a twitch and find myself living my own version of The Shining.  I half expect creepy twins to be waiting for me at the top of our stairs or decide it's a good idea to let Sydney and Elliot ride scooters in the house (I'd say Big Wheels, but we don't own them).

I have an extra amount of respect for those I know who live in climates where it is a long, cold winter.  To my friend in Minnesota, you are a hearty soul.  May you find your winter's thaw in yummy things like potato soup and warm blankets.  Growing up in the winters of Central Ohio I can remember the old window panes in my room forming small ice crystals on the inside on particularly cold nights.  I would scratch at the bits of frost and watch it melt down the cold panes.  I was fascinated by this.  I loved winter.  Sledding, hot chocolate, and the excitement of snow.  Now, as an adult, I have a countdown to the pool opening.  As of today, it's 67 days.  In 67 days I will yell "grab a towel and some flip flops" instead of working up a sweat stuffing Elliot into gloves and snow boots.  If for some reason it still hasn't warmed up, I will sit poolside with our infamous heat dish.  

So here's to an end to winter, to long summer days and warm evenings.  Bring on the fireflies, the cherry blossoms and the long OUTDOOR runs I have planned.  I can't wait to break up with the treadmill. 

Thanks for reading.

Thurman and his heat dish

St. Patrick's Day Snow Storm

Don't Let Go!

There I am showing off a very
70's towel I gave my dad as a gift

Do you consider yourself to be a happy person?  Is happiness something you feel often, or does it elude you?  Some friends and I were talking about happiness and I was surprised at the responses.  Some felt fearful of being happy; like once you "achieved happiness" it was then something you had to live up to, or an unobtainable level in the game of life.  Another shared that happiness is overrated and that happy people must be covering up for pain they really feel underneath.  Still another considered herself to be happy because she makes a choice to be happy.  When I began to share my own thoughts, a memory catapulted its way to the forefront of my mind.  Words spoke from me that I was not expecting to share.  I'm sharing it again here.

Growing up, we vacationed each summer on Lake Cumberland, Kentucky.  It's the most serene place I have been.  Lake Cumberland is 700 feet deep and boasts a beautiful wooded shoreline. The summer when I was 5 my dad taught me to water ski.  He purchased a pair of red youth-sized skis.  He worked on a system of small white ropes that held the skis parallel once the skier was wearing them.  I remember being in the water with him.  I was sitting in the water with my feet squished into the rubber boot part of the skis, the tips of the skis peaking out of the water.  My life vest was riding up from the push of the lake water and pushing against the bottom of my earlobes.  A long ski rope was tied to the back of our boat.  My dad, also in skis, put my hands around the handle of the ski rope and said "whatever you do, don't let go of the rope."  He put his hands over my hands to reinforce that letting go was not an option.  He then hollered to my mom to put the boat in gear.  The boat jerked forward with force pulling me and my skis with it.  It seemed like gallons of water hit me in the face.  I don't recall how many times we went through this before I actually was able to get up on the water, but it was within that first day of trying.  It was scary, but I remember it as victorious and I was happy.  How amazing because it wasn't even what I had set out to share, yet there it was...one of my happiest memories and something that brings me back to happiness.

I don't consider myself a "happy person" by nature.  I will admit my baseline probably falls just shy of a half empty glass many days.  I'm hard on myself and I have to combat that each day (read about that here and also where I find joy by reading this).  Happiness to me isn't a destination, it's a means of travel.  I don't look at happiness as an achievement, but something to seek out.  Happiness is something I work toward.  I don't have to feel it every moment of every day.  I'm learning to look for things that create happiness within me.  It's small things like hot coffee in the morning, fluffy clouds in a summer sky, the sound of my kids laughing together, inside jokes that John and I share that make me laugh year after year, and ALL of the Kid President videos.  It's also bigger things like meaningful conversations with my Gram; marking off 13 years of marriage this year to the love of my life; witnessing the inner strength of my dad; and being a mom. 

What I've learned is that I cannot let go--much like that ski rope.  If I stop trying to seek out happiness chances are I'll stop finding it.  It's just like that verse from the book of Matthew, seek and you will find." I'm grateful for the flooding of that memory and the meaning it has taken in my heart.  Ten gallons of water in the face at 5 years old, was worth the happiness I felt once I was on top of the water.  Like Kid President says, "I want to be on the road that leads to awesome."

Where is your happiness?

 A link to Kid President:  http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=l-gQLqv9f4o

Thanks for reading.

When A Moment Changes Everything

My sweeties

On Thursday of last week I substitute taught in Sydney's 1st grade class.  1st graders are charismatic, eager to learn, full of wonder, and love, love, love to hug.  Sydney got up from her seat in regular intervals to hug me.  This insured many of her classmates followed her lead.  It made my heart full.  Little did I know how much I would still be thinking about those hugs today.

Friday I subbed for a teacher who splits his time between 4th and 5th graders.  He assists with instruction and has a small group of students who come to his room for support.  I liked it because it meant that I got to work in small groups, something I enjoy.  One of my duties to cover for this teacher was being present in the drop off line for parents who drive their kids to school.  I stood outside in the cold morning air, winter sun was shining through leafless trees.  I held onto my warm coffee mug and offered my "good morning" and "happy Friday" to the students as they got out of the cars in and walked into school.  I watched parents hug their kids over car seats and bulky winter coats.  I watched younger students turn to wave or give one last smile before darting off through the school doors.  I saw a few parents roll down the passenger window of the car to holler "I love you" or "have a good day."  I felt filled by this experience.  

I hadn't really thought of the drop off to school as personal, but it is.  It's in those tender moments that we, as parents, live out that remarkable quote, which President Obama so eloquently reminded us of when he spoke at a prayer vigil in Newtown on Sunday evening.  It was Elizabeth Stone who said, "Making the decision to have a child - it is momentous. It is to decide forever to have your heart go walking around outside your body."  We watch our children walk into school or board their school bus and part of us goes with them.  Part of ourselves is always with them.  It's the best parts. The parts that love and are filled with curiosity.

Near the end of the school day on Friday I had about 5 minutes to quickly check my email.  I read a short message from John alerting me that there had been a school shooting and not to turn on the TV in from of Elliot and Sydney.  John isn't always so direct, so I pulled up a news website and read the horrible headline. My heart sank and I logged off.  There is a song called "When A Moment Changes Everything" by David Gray that immediately flooded my thoughts.  How very, sadly, heartbreakingly true.  

Friday night we ordered pizza, ate together around our island in the kitchen.  We got some of the Christmas cookies out of the freezer and ate them.  I looked deeper into my kids' eyes.  I slowed down--a lot.  We sat all together on one couch and watched a silly movie.  John and I needed that.  And, our kids needed it.

My kids have no understanding of the horrible things some people are capable of.  For that, I am grateful.  I want to freeze time; make it stand still so that they never have to learn about this or other sadness.

As parents we feel this tragedy.  Our hearts break when we see the pictures of those adorable 1st graders.  This is an unimaginable tragedy.  I find myself just staring at Sydney.  But what do we do?  I can share what has bubbled to the surface of our hearts.  

A few months ago John began talking to me about adopting a mission statement for our family.  This statement would be visible when we enter our house and when guests are in our home.  We've kept the conversation open and I have been praying about it.  We agree on the foundation of what we want this statement to encompass.  Last night as Sydney and I were finishing up a craft I heard John writing on the chalkboard-pantry door.  I knew it was John because I heard Elliot ask, "what does that mean?"  John read the statement to Elliot.  Sydney ran out into the kitchen and read it herself.  I stayed in the craft room.  I closed my eyes and whispered "thank you."  

You see for me this was a moment when John was leading our family.  It was a moment when he solidified what our little family stands for.  It was a moment that will change everything.  The statement reads: We don't take the easy way out.

What the statement means is, we don't give up.  It means, we do the right thing, even when the right thing isn't the easy thing.  It means we stay true to who we are. 

I'm certain we will have some battles over the years as we stay true to this mission statement.  We will be tested by the kids time and time again.  But, I will not give into the easy thing.  

As far as Elliot is concerned...it would be easier not to kiss his cheek when I drop them off in the morning, as he sometimes pulls away because it's "embarrassing."  It would be easier to give in on our "no playing Xbox games rated 'M' rule," but we won't.  As far as Sydney goes...well, time will present challenges with her.  She's only 6 and it's not too difficult yet.  

What I saw in the drop off line Friday was so many parents not taking the easy way out.  They were saying the "I love yous" and giving the hugs--probably to some kids that wanted to pull away.   My kids mean too much to me to take the easy way out.  As that quote said, when we have a child our heart goes walking around outside of our body.  My kids are the reason I put my own career on hold, as so many of us moms do.  They are the reason I swallow my pride and drive a minivan (gulp!).  They are the reason John works long hours.  Let's face it, being a parent is the toughest job we'll ever love.

Let's all bind together to do something good for our families as a result of this unspeakable event.  Hug our kids tighter and tell them what they mean to us.  Not because it's easy, but because it's the right thing to do.   

Thank you for reading.

The Middle Sister

Home in Grandview for a football game

I am a  middle sister.  I'm not the oldest.  I'm not the youngest.  Four years younger than Amy and five years older than Emily.  I am the middle.  Growing up I learned from my older sisters mishaps; and, I was able to influence my younger sister.  Other middles I have met complain about being the forgotten child.  There are times I guess that this could be true, but I look at more like the bridge between two destinations.  To visit either destination it makes the trip easier to have that bridge.  There are times when my sisters don't see eye to eye.  My older sister is artistic, the social one.  She is outgoing and adventurous--she enjoys taking risks.  My younger sister is disciplined and quieter.  She likes familiar things and routines.  They are very different, but they are also the same.  They are both amazing cooks.  They are extremely sentimental (I am too by the way.  I'm wring this with a lump in my throat.).  They laugh until they cry.  They love their children fiercely.  I get to be that bridge that brings the two together.  I do a pretty good job at this.  Heck, writing about that family role landed us as guests on the Oprah Show in 2002 (that's a story for another blog entry though). 

Aunt Jeanette, Gram & Aunt Betty:  Spaulding Family Reunion, Colorado 1995

A super cool thing about our family is that my dear, sweet grandmother is also from a family of three girls.  My Gram is also a middle sister.  She, like me, is sandwiched between her older, Jeanette and her younger, Betty Lou.  I've spent my life admiring the bond they share.  They can finish each other’s sentences and make each other laugh.  They each have deep faith in God and a love for family that transcends everything.  They are masters at making sense of God's plans for their lives.  They are each so very remarkable. 

This past week was the first time our family truly came face to face with the possibility of losing one of these treasures.  My Great Aunt Jeanette is recovering from a stroke.  Right now she is unable to speak.  I feel sad when I think of the conversations that may go unspoken.  But, I am focusing on the fact that my Gram and my Great Aunt Betty remain positive.  

Colorado 1995

I've been thinking over the past week about being an old lady with my sisters.  Will we walk arm and arm like I have seen my Gram do with her sisters?  Will we fill in those missing details of the family stories like they do?  We, like my Gram and her sisters, are spread apart across the country.  We FaceTime and text to ease the distance but we miss each other deeply.  There is something extraordinary about aging with someone who has known you your entire life.  My little sister is starting to get laugh lines around her mouth.  She may not be happy about this, but for me it signifies that we’ve seen each other through decades of life.  

There aren't enough words on a blog to express what my sisters mean to me.  How could I ever put into words what it means to be crying and angry with someone one minute and best friends the next?  It's like the ultimate example of true forgiveness.  No matter how much I could mess up my life they would pick me up and tell me everything is going to be OK.  It's just what we do.  

Christmas 1981

I spent years of my life attempting to create my identity separate from my sisters.  As a freshman in high school I spent that year breaking away from being “Amy’s little sister.”  I’ve probably pushed my little sister, harder than sometimes needed, to create her own identity too.   But, over this past week I have found myself profoundly grateful for both of them.  You see, I am still the middle sister; the center sister--that bridge.  But, I see it differently now.  There has to be a middle. Without it, nothing can ever truly be whole. Because it is not just the space between, but also what holds everything together.

I love you Amy and Emily.

Thank you for reading.

Hiking in the Hocking Hills

Remembering Mary

My mother-in-law passed away very unexpectedly on Saturday morning.  She was 76 years old.  Our family is deeply saddened by this loss.  We returned last night from being in Ohio to be with family, friends and to honor her life in a memorial service.  Seeing old friends was comforting; and being with extended family always leaves me feeling very loved. 

My in-laws were so very special to me.  I loved them as much as my own parents.  I'm finding some comfort now in knowing that they are together.  They will celebrate their 50th wedding anniversary on June 2nd among the stars in the sky.

I spoke at the memorial service Saturday.  I am posting what I wrote and read at the service here on the blog. 

Thank you to each of you who has prayed for our family.

Think for a minute of your mother-in-law.  What thoughts or feelings come to mind?  Unfortunately, for many of us it might not be pleasant.  Society even stereotypes mother-in-laws in a negative light.  I even remember a movie that was released a few years ago called Monster-in-Law.  Lucky for me, I never had to relate to such characteristics.  My mother-in-law, Mary, was very kind.  Mary was so supportive to me and was someone I could really lean on. 

As I have reflected on my feelings the past few days I have come to the conclusion that there are two parts of Mary’s character that really stand out to me.  Mary was very sentimental and very consistent.  When I think of what I want Elliot and Sydney to remember about Mary, it’s these two characteristics.  That may sound like a dry way to describe someone but I have reasons for both and I promise there is nothing dry about it. 

Our memories of Mary will include things like:

• She and Gary’s trips to visit us in Virginia
• The kids’ excitement to get their Target gift cards in the mail for Christmas
• Homemade meals including the best pot roast and noodles you could ever eat
• Berk’s County Filling at Thanksgiving
• Fancy bakery cakes for the kids’ birthdays
• Bacon sandwiches on cinnamon bread for breakfast
• Chinese takeout lunches
•  Rotolo’s pizza dinners (I think we have a record set for the number of pizza's ordered from their phone number)
  
• Watching Dancing with the Stars together with an occasional glass of wine; Mary's with an ice cube
  
•  Reading cooking magazines and collecting recipes

Mary absolutely loved to cook.  She would plan out the meals for our visits and have all the grocery shopping done a week before we arrived.  Every time we talked on the phone she was excited to share each meal she had and what she planned to cook next. 

One verse keeps making its way into my head and my heart.  It’s Luke 12:34 and it says “for where your treasure is, there will your heart be also.”  Mary loved cooking for sure, but what she really treasured was her family.  This was so evident as we went through some things in her room this past week.  She saved everything with family significance.  She even treasured things that may not have been deserving of being treasured.  Mary’s heart was her family, her treasure.

That’s why on our birthdays we received the most beautiful cards, and she sent them a week early—she treasured us.  That’s why she stayed with me for a week after Sydney and Elliot were born; cooking potato rivil soup, doing laundry, and cleaning my house—she treasured being a grandma.  That’s why on the day John left Ohio to move to Virginia she was so open with her emotions (which was not something she often did)—she treasured being a mom to her son.  That’s why she checked Laura’s Facebook almost hourly and loved having her all to herself on Laura’s days off—she treasured being connected to her daughter.  That’s why she anticipated Sue’s early morning phone calls—she treasured that time visiting on the phone; chatting about cooking and hearing Sue tell her about the animals at the shelter.  Sue, she treasured having you in her life.

This treasuring was a consistent nature that Mary had.  Her consistency comforts me.  I always knew that when I walked into the house I would find Mary sitting in her chair in the dining room, watching one of her favorite shows, ready to cook the next meal.  She had such a routine about her days and her life.  But it wasn’t routine out of habit—it was part of her consistent nature.  I think it was because she knew where her treasure was…it wasn’t on outside things or things that would fade away like fads or material things.  She treasured us, we had her heart and in that she was able to live life so consistently. 

Mary loved the blog I write.  I found a folder in the house of the blog posts that she had printed out.  I reread an entry that I wrote about Gary’s passing.  In that entry I quoted something from Anne Lamott, one of my favorite authors.  I will close with that quote because it is so fitting for today.

"You will lose someone you can’t live without, and your heart will be badly broken, and the bad news is that you never completely get over the loss of your beloved. But this is also the good news. They live forever in your broken heart that doesn’t seal back up. And you come through. It’s like having a broken leg that never heals perfectly—that still hurts when the weather gets cold, but you learn to dance with the limp."

Where Are Your Roots?

Grandpa Dex delivering milk

Roots.  Some roots run really deep.  I’m amazed by the strength of some roots.  They hold strong and run deep.  A dandelion may only be a few inches tall, but removing it from the soil will sometimes show a plant with roots twice as long as the flower.  I realized the other day, as I was working though a study for my women’s Lifegroup, that I have some strong roots.  And, that can be good, but it can also impede my growth if I am not aware of how deeply I may be rooted in one area.

I have this t-shirt that has an outline of the state of Ohio (the great Buckeye State).  Near the bottom of the state line roots are growing out.  The shirt reads “Ohio Roots.”  I am proud of this shirt.  My Ohio roots go way back.  My great-grandfather, Dexter John Spaulding, was born in Ohio 116 years ago this year.  I was fortunate enough to know this great man.  He was raised by corn farmers in an area of Ohio where the soil is rich.  When we went to college he received an award for his corn farming skills.  My uncle has the framed certificate that Grandpa Dexter was awarded that reads “corn is king.”  He went on to become a dairy farmer.  On that farm was where he and my great-grandmother, Louella, raised my amazing grandma and her 2 remarkable sisters.  Spaulding Dairy was well known in Fulton County, Ohio.

When I was a kid we used to visit the family farm on weekends.  The acres of land seemed to stretch beyond what the eye could see.  The farm house was surrounded by huge walnut trees.  I remember gathering up the walnuts still snug in their outer green skins.  As a kid, that farm was heavenly—a place to run free, get dirty and make memories.  Grandpa “Dex” as everyone called him was a gentle, God-loving man.  He bought us mini crullers to eat for breakfast, played cards with us for hours, and took us bowling in the evenings.  He was a great bowler, a lefty.  This southpaw trait passed on to my mom and now to Elliot and one of my nieces.  Roots have a way of growing deep into families too.

I never dreamed I would live life outside of Ohio.  I always assumed I would raise a family in the familiar Buckeye state.  My roots were planted.  There are times though that God calls us out of the familiar.  In 2000 I moved out of Ohio to follow John, my own Buckeye, when he took a job in Virginia.  Love makes your heart grow in new ways, new roots.   

I spent many months, even parts of some years after that move, working through tears and growth—weeping as the author of the study calls it (referring to Ruth 1:7-14).  I realized after reading that passage, that part of what made that move so difficult were roots.  Firm roots in Ohio made it really difficult to plant new ones in Virginia.  I was weeping over my roots without moving forward at the same time.  It’s okay to have roots in Ohio, it’s where I was born and raised.  It’s okay to weep over that loss or to feel homesick, which I still do some days.  What I cannot do though is not have forward movement at the same time…I need to love Virginia too.  I can say that in the past 5 years I have grown to.  After all, it’s where my kids’ roots are.  Kelly Minter, the author of the study, wrote “Although there will be weeping in this life, the direction in which we weep is what truly matters.  God sees your tears.  Cry them, wipe them, feel them, but don’t let them stop you.  It’s possible to cry and walk.” 

We all face loss, pain, heartache and difficult things and places in life.  We have to keep walking forward though.  If we stop moving forward we will face defeat. 

I used to say “I’m a Buckeye at heart.”  I think now I will think of myself as a Buckeye at the root, but a Virginian at heart. 

Thanks for reading.

My Ohio Roots T-Shirt

This Is My Story

Circle S Farm near Columbus October 2010

As many readers of this blog know, I was raised in Central Ohio.  I grew up just minutes from downtown Columbus.  Grandview Heights is a quaint suburb that boasts trendy restaurants and tree-lined streets with sidewalks and street lamps.  Older Craftsman style homes sit close together shaded by big, old trees.  It’s an area of Columbus that is sought after.  It’s safe, quiet, and represents the “American Dream.”  It may appear as if each house replicates the one beside it.  Nothing particular stands out…it has this almost monochromatic appearance. But, behind every door of every home is a story.  I have a story.

I have two sisters.  I am sandwiched in the middle.  My parents started dating when they were 16.  They married 2 months after graduating from high school.  They are still married today.  Life in our house had a lot of ups and a lot of downs.  That statement isn’t uncommon from many others—I realize that, but we hid pain.  

I have an alcoholic in my life.  It’s something that has had a profound effect on my life. 

My family has been healing over the past 2 1/2 years.  We have shared our story. A story of addiction.  A story of pain.  A story of recovery. 

I couldn’t have predicted this.  I couldn’t have predicted a rock bottom and from that bottom an ability to see God’s plan for life.  It had been one of those prayers you pray for years.  The kind of prayer that sometimes makes you feel angry with God because you wonder if you are being heard.  I prayed for change.  I prayed for peace. I prayed for healing.  I am assured that God heard my prayers.  God felt the pain from my heart.  Like Matthew Barnett wrote, "rock bottom is where God takes us to recreate us."

There have been so many times in my life that I wished for a different scenario.  There have been times when I asked “why me?” or “why these circumstances?”  I don’t know if I will ever have complete answers to those questions, but in more recent years I have actually found myself grateful for what I lived through (not every day but most days).

I work my own program of recovery through Al-Anon.  Al-Anon is a program for friends and family members that have been affected by someone’s use of drugs and/or alcohol.   It’s sort of like a mutual support group.  I feel like an equal when I am there.  There is no judgment; it feels safe.  It’s been healing and has allowed me to grow.  I can’t imagine growing up in a situation that caused pain, but having nowhere to turn to heal.  It has been the best 12 steps I have taken. 

My older sister posted this today on her Facebook, “Everyone has a story.  Even when we're part of someone else's story, we may not see it the same.  Sometimes we need to hear one tell their own story to really appreciate their journey.”

I agree with my sister...when we really listen to another person’s story we can really appreciate their journey.  This post is just a piece of mine.

If you want more information on Al-Anon click here.  Thank you for reading.