2017 Year End Review

Every year, I do an year end review of sorts. It's nice to be reminded of what I walked through and where I'm at now. I've come a long way from where I started, but I'm nowhere near where I'm going to end up.

Here is 2017, in numbers and words.

365 – number of days in the past year.

12 – number of months.

4 – number of seasons (except in TN where we have Almost Summer, Summer, Still Summer, Christmas, and Holy Crap, I Thought This Was December, How is it STILL SUMMER, and OK, just go ahead and open the windows–no wait don't, there's a tornado, and There It Is! SNOW.... Wait, no it's gone.... 70 degrees and Ice Storms back to Summer...)

3 – number of biological kiddos who get to call me mom.

A dozen and counting – number of kiddos I get to call mine.

10,000,000 – number of times I messed up.

10,000,001 – number of times I was forgiven

Somewhere between 1 and 10,000 – number of times I got life wrong

Somewhere between 1 and 10,000 – number of times I got it right

Way more than 365 – number of kisses kissed.

Way more than 365 – number of hugs hugged.

About a billion – number of prayers prayed.

Daily – frequency of miracles witnessed. 

4 – number of blogs I wrote (including this one), thereby awakening a passion and calling I need to develop, foster, and cultivate. 

I WILL do better in the year (and years) to come in funneling the words that travel from my heart to head to print. I MUST be more disciplined. 

2 – (up from one last year) number of Audience of One Productions I've been in, thereby reigniting a passion and dream I though was long dead. 

And this time, I went a little bigger.

I will be more intentional in seeking out opportunities and availing myself to building, and walking in, the confidence I know is in me to do better and go bigger on the stage. It's in me. It always has been. I will not allow myself to think I'm less than what I am... which is READY. I'M BACK!

1 – REAL writing job that has allowed me to learn and grow and create. Which, in turn, has led to multiple leads and other work. The opportunity to do what I never knew I could; that honestly, I was scared of, came out of seemingly nowhere. I know that's not the case. Those seemingly out-of-nowhere instances happen a lot more now that they don't go unnoticed in my life. From nowhere, I'm going somewhere.

And, I like where I'm heading. 

1 – amazing, humble, gentle, supportive, risk taking, always stable, rock of a husband who has walked with me through the 20+ years leading up to this one. 

Lots – of friends, new and old, who are choosing to journey with me. 

2017 challenged me. It was messy and grand. It was full of surprises and the mundane. I cannot and will not say I loved every minute of it. I am not the same as when it opened. I'm grateful for its final curtain. It was a good run. I was not left wanting.

How has 2017 treated you? What are your hopes for 2018? What are you going to do to see them come to fruition? 

My prayer is that we don't live the same year twice.

2018 has the bar set high.  Bring it!

Rule Breakers

I'm sitting at a coffee shop. Listening to Of Mice And Men and Vance Joy. Drinking a caramel macchiato (the American Starbucks-y version, not the authentic one I hope to have when I grow up).
And writing a blog. That's a grown-up thing to do, right?

I'm supposed to be "working". Writing real stuff. Important stuff about pediatric root canals and geriatric dental issues and Prosthodontics, but I'm not.

Instead, I'm watching my first born sit with a group of 20-somethings discussing art with her favorite artist that she's been following on Instagram for a while. I'm in a corner, trying my best to not look creeper-ish, while in total awe and denial that my little girl is almost 17 and in her last year of high school. She has friends who are in their 20s. She has a real job. She makes to-do lists. Completes them. Then makes more lists. Then completes those. She bought her own vehicle. She pays for her own gas and insurance. She pays for her classes that she takes at the local university. I still haven't taught her anything. I think she's learned pretty much everything on her own.

She's better at adulting than me. Actually, I think she was born adulting. She's way beyond her years.
I'm 40 and I THINK I'm just now learning how to adult. Maybe.

I've also been in a little bit of a foggy place coming to grips with the fact that my middle child is 13 and in the throes of being a 13-year-old boy. He's handling it better than I am. He's a good kid. Kind. Respectful. Generous. Polite. Smart. Funny. And, if I'm being honest, he's becoming quite the handsome guy. He looks like his dad.

But, he acts like me.

Sometimes that's not so fun for me. Or, him. We clash on some things because we're both very strong personalities. That's not necessarily bad. It's just something we get to navigate and figure out how and when to concede and compromise. It's a process and a journey, for sure, but there isn't any other kid on the planet that I'd rather be on this road with. He's a good human. And, good humans do extraordinary things.

There's also the 10-year-old knower of all things interesting and trivial. He's an observer. He watches. And opines. He has a HUGE vocabulary and understands deeper things than a 10-year-old should. He's an old soul. He's a fan of gardening and 1000 piece puzzles and he's always cold. He's going to sit behind a computer some day and probably make a lot of zeros on his paychecks. He'll do smartical things and make the world smarter too.

People tell me that I have "good kids'. I do. Most of the time.
One woman, whom I deeply respect, told me on a Sunday at church that I have great kids. I told her to text me that on a random Thursday at 2 pm because I might need the reminder.
She did. The following Thursday at 2:04.
I needed the reminder.

Here's the thing. It's kind of a big thing. Or, maybe not, but whatever.
It's the thing about how teenagers are supposed to be angst ridden and disrespectful and terrible.
And, the other thing...The one about how we're not supposed to be their friends, just their parent.

Who made those rules? Why do we have to follow them? Why do otherwise respectful, kind, good kids have to become horrible hermity hooligans when they hit 13? Why do we as parents have to stop liking our kids and just start punishing and disciplining the spirit and passion out of them?

I'm by no means a childhood development expert. Not a psychologist. Not formally educated on the subject. So, my opinions and questions are exactly that. Opinions and questions.

The only school I've been trained in is the one I created by literally making my own students and test subjects. They have no clue that I'm making up the curricula as I go. Everyone is alive and for the most part, we all like each other, so I think we're doing pretty good.
We had conversations early on in pubescence that just because there's this unwritten rule that they had to be ridiculously rebellious teenage mutant creaturesque versions of themselves, that it didn't mean they had to follow it. One of them told me that if they were going to rebel, they might as well rebel against that. I'm on board with that kind of rebellion.

Some rules were meant to be broken. That's definitely one of them.
And, there's the other one about not being their friend. I broke that one too.

Please don't get me wrong. We have our DAYS. Holy Lord who created emotions and growing pains, do we have our days, but it's just that. A bad day. Sometimes, not even a day. Maybe a few hours. Or, a morning. It happens.
We yell. We scream. We cry. We let our words get away from us.
And slam doors. And cuss. And want to run away.

That last part is usually just me.

Then, we deal. We pray raw prayers. We apologize. We forgive. We move on.
We refuse to live there. Even if we camp out there over night, WE REFUSE TO LIVE THERE.

There's no reason to dig a pit to which you know you will go back and willingly hurl yourself into.

I'm not an expert. And, if you're still reading, I sure do wish that I could give you a cookie and some sort of drink or reward for letting me go on this long.

My take away from raising "good kids" so far is that good kids don't just happen. I cannot tell you how many conversations that I've had with their Creator about how He designed them and why on earth He thought that it was a good idea that I mom them. I fail. A whole stinkin' lot. If it wasn't for their dad being as close to Superman as non-super hero-ly possible and The Creator and Lover of their souls and mine, I'd probably be a staple on the nightly news. Prayer works, y'all. It does. We're all living proof of that.

Friendship and breaking the rules helps too.

Thank You, Tiny Infant Baby Jesus for growing up into a teenager who grew into a man whoso loved the world that He gave Himself. Help me help my kids grow into the teenagers that grow into revolutionaries that change the world. Their world. My world. And the world you gave them to play, live, and work in.

Amen.


What have been your experiences with your teenagers? What are your concerns? What are your victories? Failures? Advice?

Leave your stories in the comments.

Concerning Charlottesville

                                   
Just yesterday, before Charlottesville made it above the fold, I had a conversation with a friend of color about the unjust and unsolicited "advice" he's gotten from people because of his skin.

We weren't talking about the 50s. Or the 60s. Or 70s, 80s, 90s, or early 2000s.

We were talking about today.

"You boys from around here?
....You plannin' on stayin'?
.....You better not be back here when I go down there and come back....."

He told me of a billboard that was on an interstate that read something along the lines of:

"A black man was shot and killed here because he was out here after dark.
Verdict: NOT GUILTY"

He also told me of the downright bigotry and prejudice that he faces in his own neighborhood that he's lived in his entire adult life.

Not only because he's not white,
but because his wife is.
And shock of all shock, their kids are mixed.

Apparently, people don't take too kindly to kids who don't have their mama's milky white skin tone but look closer to their daddy's rich, darker shade.

He told me how a "neighbor" of his keeps confusing him with "the other black guy" in the neighborhood, even though the other guy looks nothing like him and stands a good 5 or 6 inches taller and is of a slimmer build.

HOW IS THIS STILL HAPPENING??

By the way, all black people DON'T look the same, in case anyone is confused.

This is not a matter of education.
Education can't save.

This is not a matter of colorblindness.
God isn't colorblind. Otherwise, we'd all have the same melanin.

This is not even a matter of seeing eye to eye.
You can stand with someone at eye level and never even look at them.

It's a matter of seeing INTO each other's eyes.

It's a matter of seeing color and celebrating its beauty. Its story. Its history.

And, it's a matter of valuing someone else above ourselves.

Until we realize that this kind of stuff DOES happen, even if it doesn't happen to us, we actually perpetuate the brokenness.

Just because we get to live in a bubble doesn't mean that everyone floats above it all.

It's time to commit.

Called Scared

Have you ever been scared to do something you know that you're supposed to do? Called to do? And you know it's a completely unfounded fear because, well, you're CALLED to do it. And you know you're called to do it because you have been running from it - and it always, ALWAYS - catches up with you, beckoning you back to the path you've so painstakingly avoided. 

You can't get away from a calling. You can run, but you can't hide. 
Have you tried it? 
It's impossible.

I know from experience.

It's been almost a year since I posted my last blog. I actually just went back and read it. It speaks to this very issue. 
It screamed at me, really....Through a megaphone....Plugged into an amp. 

Almost a YEAR that I've been running from this whole writing thing. I know it may not seem like a big deal to you, but it's massive to me. Many a night I've been up with words swirling around in my mind that need to be released. Those words have gotten trapped in my heart. They need an escape. 

I need an escape. 

Even if no one reads or listens, I'm certain that my calling is wrapped up in words. Tangled up, maybe. I'm learning that the only way to unravel my thoughts is to write them out. I'm learning to be obedient to my calling. I'm deciding to follow the lead of the One who whispers in my ear. He calls out. I follow His words. Which, surprisingly enough, He turns into MY words. 

Crazy how the God of the universe speaks to us in our own language. 
Through our own filter. 

It's taken a while for me to get used to hearing His thoughts and not dismissing them. 
Sometimes I think, "Noooooo, that's not YOU, that's just my wishful thinking"... Or, "Nooooo, that's WAY TOO BIG or WAY TOO INCREDIBLE a goal"... 
Or - the one that throws me for a loop almost every time - "That's ridiculous for me to even DREAM of doing or having THAT..."

Funny thing is, is that The Creator of ALL GOOD GIFTS wants us to have His good gifts! He wants us to follow our calling. After all, He's the one who has called us! 

If we choose to not think the thoughts, or accept the gifts, that He wants us to have, then we by default, are choosing to not accept the life He has in store for us. We choose to hold onto mediocrity. We choose to live mundane, monotonous, boring, unremarkable lives. We choose insipid and tasteless. We choose blah. 

So, I've decided to do myself a favor and heed my calling. It will bring me freedom. Maybe it may lead others to their freedom as well.

I was scared. Still am. I'm gonna do it scared. 

Are you running from something? Do you KNOW you're calling? Do you know what you're supposed to do? What is it? Speak it out. Call it forth! Name it. Decide to do it. 

Even if you have to do it scared!

Join the club. I think you'll find that you're in good company. We are all here for a purpose. We have a calling. 
                             


And, I'm pretty certain that the One who called you won't let you fall. 

In The Middle

Have you ever been in the middle of something? That's a really dumb question, I know. Of COURSE, you've been in the middle of something. If you're breathing, you're in the middle.

I went to a "celebration of life" this past weekend for a woman I didn't know.
Susan.
Oh, how I wish I could have known her. She seemed to be the type of person you would want around when you're living your happiest moments... or your darkest ones. She breathed life. And she obviously lived it well.

I know and love, to my very core, her son and daughter-in-law. They are truly some of my most favorite people walking around on this planet. If they are anything like their mom (and they are), then I'm honestly convinced that they exude Mrs. Susan's essence. They can't help it. She lives on in them. And their kids. She left a legacy. It's who she was and what she was about.

At her celebration, a phrase stuck out to me. I can't remember who said it as there were many speakers and people who shared stories. Of course people are going to say sweet things and tell funny anecdotes and share lessons learned. It's what we're all supposed to do in moments and events such as this. We laugh. We cry. We remember. And we learn. And we glean. And we grow. And we're changed.

The phrase "in the middle" was used in a message by one of her friends. In The Middle.
As in, we are all given a birth day. And, we're all assigned a day to die.

But, what are we doing in the middle?

Right now, I'm in the middle of Mt. WashMore. And Mt. FoldMore. In an hour or so, I'll be in the middle of working on dinner. I'm in the middle of trying to finish up our school year. I'm in the middle of a teenage girl learning to drive. Of a prepubescent boy navigating through hormonal hell. Of his little brother, The Hulk, who is always hungry and on the very edge of HANGRY at any given moment. I'm in the middle of ACT scores and multiplication facts and cursive handwriting and foreign languages. I'm in the middle of trying to figure out how year 17 is sneaking up on my marriage. I'm in the middle of falling in love with my best friend over and over and over again. I'm in the middle of bills and stretching pennies out so far that they beg for mercy. I'm in the middle training a dog to SIT at the door and not BOLT out of it. I'm in the middle of raising my kids to be good, kind, respectful, loving, friendly, relationship driven, purpose finding, human beings. I'm in the middle of making healthier lifestyle choices. I'm in the middle of watching babies grow into toddlers who grow into preschoolers who grow into students who grow into learners who grow into thinkers.

I'm in the middle.
I'm still trying to figure out what I'm supposed to do with it.

It seems to me that everywhere I look, people have figured out how and where to spend their middle. We've all been given time and resources. We've all been given an assignment. We've all been given cheerleaders to help us to navigate through our years. We all have a purpose.
We all get a middle.

Where are you in yours? Do you have any advice? Questions? Goals?
Is there anything you know you HAVE to do? Is there anything that you WANT to do before the middle turns into the end? How do you know you're where you're supposed to be, doing what you're supposed to be doing?

The question of being "in the middle" was clearly answered by Mrs. Susan, and by those who knew her and were loved by her. Her middle was spent well. Her middle made a difference. Her middle gave way to new beginnings.

Through someone I've never met, I've been changed. I've been made better.

Here's to you, Mrs. Susan!

For living in the middle.

Quirks and All

Isn't it cool how looking back at where we came from or what we've been through motivates us to keep moving forward? Our past can be a cruel reminder of our shortcomings. Or, it can be a springboard to catapult us into our best and most amazing self.

I came across something I scribbled down last year. It was nothing spectacular really, just my thoughts at the end of a very long, emotional week. The thing is though, that it is so profound to me. It was then. Even more so now. Maybe it's because I'm another year older. Maybe it's because I'm getting more comfortable with myself - My quirkiness and brokeness and confidence and shortcomings and strengths and personality.
My Who I Am-ness.
My Me-ness.
My Bree-ness.

So, here it is. I remember this moment like it happened this morning. My husband is one of the most amazing, gentle, and patient humans I know. Our story is incredible and I'll tell you about it sometime, but for now, here is where I was at this exact time last year....

....I've had an incredibly emotional week. The events, some expected and some surprising, left me very reflective. I've been found wanting in areas of growth, but my cup runneth over as far as love is concerned.

My husband, Trey, has proven himself over and over and over again as the lover and keeper and resolute protector of my heart.
At one point, I was questioning where I "fit". I know I have a strong personality and with such a "gift" (that's what we'll call it), comes lots of opportunities to be misunderstood on some level. I usually need to be explained. In some instances, damage control needs to be done. In any event, it's usually my mouth that does the confusing, leaving my heart wide open to be blindsided.

Such was this instance that caused me to question why God made me with such a personality that can be misunderstood. I'm a bit of a "square peg" or whatever the saying is.
After reassuring me that I'm a gift, and after questioning him for the 100th time, Trey's most vulnerable, honest, and raw response was--

"You BELONG with me. You FIT with me. That's all that matters."

That came out of the mouth of my husband. My best friend. The ONE who knows me the best from the inside out. The one who chose me. The one who KEEPS choosing me. The one who fights for and with me. The one who sometimes misunderstands me, but seeks to find understanding, not just for his sake, but mine.
His heart knows mine.
And I know his.

And we understand each other.

And I love how my hand and heart fit beautifully, comfortably, safely inside his.

There's no one else I'd rather fit with....

....There is still no other person that understands me more intimately than this man. He knows me and gets me. On so many deep levels.

I'm getting comfortable with myself now.
I'm ok with who I am becoming and sometimes more surprisingly, I'm ok with who I'm not becoming.
I'm thankful that I'm allowed to be me. God allows me to be who I am. So much so, that he put me with a man who is comfortable with and celebrates all of me. I'm loved. Not just by a man who "gets" me, but by a God who designed me. He doesn't make mistakes, not even accidental, quirky ones!

If I've learned anything this year, it's that it is ok to embrace the quirky. And just be who I was designed to be.
I don't think anyone else could handle it.

And nobody else could handle being you, so you do it.

Quirks and all!
                                           
                              

                                                               

So It Begins

I turned 39 today. That's weird. It just is. People are supposed to be wise and have it all together by now, right? One more year to 40. That's when we're REALLY supposed to be grown up and mature. I've only got a year to get my act together. God has a neat project in store for Himself. And me.

Cool stuff usually happens on my birthday. Kind of like a universal, cosmic gift happens almost every single year. No joke. Last year was one of my favorite gifts. We were able to help get a sweet friend and her kids out of a pretty nasty situation. We spent the morning of my birthday moving her, the kids, their cat, and the bunny to safety. That night a surprise party was planned, and totally executed, without any hiccups by my sneaky, sneaky husband. One of THE BEST and most emotional and exhausting birthdays ever! I wouldn't have it any other way.

This year, however, has been bittersweet. Last week, there were two deaths.
Cancer.
Both of them.

I don't know why I get to have another birthday. My friend was just a few days away from hers when she had to leave behind her baby and husband. One of our best friends "lost" his mom less than two weeks after being diagnosed with stage 4 killer beast whatever. She's not 'lost' though. We know exactly where she is. And I'm willing to bet, that she is exactly where she's always wanted to be.
 
So, I'm at this weird, in between age, of losing friends and losing parents. It's surreal.
 
Don't get me wrong, I'm incredibly grateful to wake up to another year. I have been married to, who I KNOW is one of God's most patient, humble, kind, brilliant and passionate creatures. He's My Favorite. He makes every day and every night worth waking up and going to sleep. My kids are our greatest and most humbling, awe inspiring, insanity and thought provoking creations. They are part of our Crazy. It's a good thing we do Crazy right! I love it and only think "What the heck was I thinking when I signed up for this?" maybe once or twice a day now.  It's progress. A WIN, for sure.

What do I do with my 39th year though? I haven't really done anything spectacular as far as breathtaking experiences or exploring the world goes. Although, my husband is in missions. He could tell you some jaw dropping stories. Ask him sometime. Mind. Blowing. I'm pretty awesome at doing laundry and feeding my kids. I'm also a kick butt friend. I'm good at the little stuff. I suppose it's the little stuff that adds up. I'll just keep doing more of that. I like doing it. My 39th year will be more of me being me and doing what I'm doing.

Oh, and this blog.

Because when I asked my Creator what He had in store for me this year and what was He planning for my birthday, He told me "You're going to write the blog you've been talking about doing for YEARS. No more talking about it. No more making excuses as to why you can't do it. No more waiting to be ready or qualified or having something to say. You're going to DO it. Year 39 is a year of DOING while BEING. Stop being a little girl and put your big girl panties on and DO it."

Well played, God. Well played. And Yes Sir, I'm on it.

So it begins. Happy Birthday to me!