It Just Is.

Mysterious. Beautiful. Confusing. Risky. Seductive. Worthy. Conservative. Comfortable. Complex. Free. Awkward. Mature. Giddy. Exotic. Childish. Annoying. Reserved. Colorful. Insensible. Playful. Classy. Chaotic. Spontaneous. Careless. Original. Reckless.

It's an inexperienced collaboration, a frightening connection, a scary commitment, an uneasy vulnerability.

It's what my parents have, what makes Hollywood money, what forms fairytales, what causes butterflies.

It's irrational and unreasonable.

It's overflowing, uncontrollable, can't-wipe-the-smile-off-your-face joy.
It's overpowering, unbearable, rather-be-dead-than-hurt-this-much pain.

It's the "no one else" and "never again," the "now and forever," the "let's grow old together," the "you take the remote," the "go out with the guys," the "I'll do the dishes," the "let's watch the game," the "forever's not long enough," the "you're all I need."

It's the "is this worth it" and "you don't get it," the "what were we thinking," the "why don't you listen," the "don't you even care," the "you're so selfish," the "I think I want out," the "you don't trust me," the "why didn't you tell me," the "do you still love me."

It's the good with the bad, the rights with the wrongs, the laughs with the tears.

It's the "I will if you will," the give and take, the meet in the middle.

It's all I am and all I'm not.
It's all I have and all I desire.
It's all I want and all I need.

It just is.

With just a clap

In my tiny, cupped hands I held the power that controls the universe. 

I didn't realize it was even possible until that one moment when everything in the world was under my direction and command.

I was likely 8 or 9, and it was December 24, the night my dad's side always celebrates Christmas. I remember driving home late, or what seemed late, that frosty, winter night. Just after embarking on our twenty minute drive home, my mom sadly remembers we'd forgotten to turn on our Christmas lights.

Even as a child, I knew Christmas was a magical time of year. It was when special things happened. Extraordinary things. It started with the birth of Jesus, the most extraordinary of all, and carried through the centuries. This night, I wanted something extraordinary to happen. With everything in me, I believed that if I prayed, God would give me the power to turn on the Christmas lights at my house with a single, red-gloved clap.

I cupped my hands and recited this prayer until I was just two blocks from my house: Please give me the power to turn on the Christmas lights. Please give me the power to turn on the Christmas lights. Over and over I said it, truly believing I would receive the power to do this absurd, insignificant task.

Now, some 14 years later, I can't remember the last time I had that kind of faith in anything. Yes, I have faith in God, but do I pray like I prayed then, believing that God would answer anything? Yes, I have faith in myself, but do I believe I'll actually ever make my dreams come true and live a life that makes a difference? Yes, I have faith in my friendships, but do I honestly think they'll last through life's many seasons in this huge world?

That December night just two blocks away from my house having prayed the entire way home, I clapped my hands. As we turned onto our road nearing the house, we saw it lit up, illuminating the black, velvety sky around it. I just smiled as my mom said she guessed we did remember to turn on the lights. I knew the truth. I was the one who turned the Christmas lights on. It was my belief that made it happen. For that one instant God had given me the power to do something completely out of my control.

The following week I was out playing in the snow and decided I wanted to fly. I knew I could do it if I prayed for God to give me the power. So I did just that. I trampled through the snow in my back yard with cupped hands praying this: God, please give me the power to fly. God, please give me the power to fly.

After what I deemed a sufficient amount of time, I climbed up on a picnic table, clapped my nearly frostbitten hands, held my arms up like Superman and jumped fully expecting to soar through the chilly air.

I didn't. I jumped and fell to the ground. So I walked around and prayed the same prayer for even longer, thinking maybe I didn't give God enough time to put the power in my hands and being very careful to keep my fingers squeezed tightly together so no power could fall through.

I tried it again and the same thing happened. I fell. I didn't understand, but it didn't bother me. I just accepted I wasn't supposed to fly. As much as I wanted to, I couldn't do it. And I was okay with that.

After reminiscing on this incident in my life I've decided something: Lessons can always be learned from those who approach the world with a youthful mind and attitude.

Tree vs. Garden

Life is whirlwind.

There are days I want to go back to being a careless, Barbie-loving, eight-year-old girl, and there are days I can't wait to be a still-cool, seasoned, forty-eight-year-old wife and mom. Times when I wouldn't want to be anywhere but where I am now, and times when I'd like to be anywhere but where I am now. Moments when I dream of living in far away, foreign land, traveling my life away and having stories people only hear of in movies, and moments when an old farm house back in the woods with acres of land occupied by corn, beans and cows is all I want.

Some people grow up with dreams embedded in them, like a tree they planted in their heart back in elementary school or maybe even before. Every big decision was made with that tree in mind, thinking the best way to care and nurture it. As they grow and mature, the tree grows and matures. It only strengthens its roots during the droughts and famines. (It is people with dreams like that, that I envy.) But it's during the tough times, the storms of life, that determine how strong the tree is...or is it how much the person really wants that tree? Regardless, there are some that give up on their tree, letting the winds and roars of reality uproot as if it were only sitting on the surface. Of course it hurts, but sometimes life does hurt. Those people who let their dream go are left to find a new one, and then work over-time to make it grow as much as their last one, pouring hours into growth and development. Sometimes it works out, and sometimes they have to start all over again.

Then there are the other type of people; MY type of people. Instead of planting a tree in elementary school, we chose to plant a garden. Why only plant a tree when you can plant an infinite amount of flowers or vegetables? That way if one doesn't turn out, then there are back-ups, plan Bs. And after all, most flowers and veggies aren't rooted all that deep in the soil, so it doesn't hurt if one has to be uprooted. For better or worse, my garden has served me well thus far; however, I think things are changing. I don't have a favorite plant. I don't know how to pick one to stick with. I'm not clinging to anything specific. I don't have one solid, deep-rooted dream, and the worst part is I don't know what to do about it.

So for now, I wait. Wait in the uncertainty of what is next, the confusion of why a garden and not a tree and the peace that it will all work out.