Positively (Im)perfect

Around here, Autism Spectrum Disorder, Level 1—also called Asperger’s Syndrome—is a person. Here, Autism awareness is simply a part of everyday life. It’s the gift of someone who reflects the brilliance & creativity of the Creator—with his own intricate thoughts & experiences, joys & disappointments, dreams & imaginings, strengths, & weaknesses—just like every other person. It’s learning how to think in a new way, communicate in a new way. It’s learning how to empathize, understand, react, & see in new ways. It’s big marvels & little worries. It’s little marvels & big worries. It’s once-overwhelming unseens that are now just our daily normal, like the trek back & forth to ABA therapy that became a surprising time of family bonding. It’s the usual meetings & phone calls. It’s the pivotal moments of mama bear advocacy, where—despite the fire in my belly—I wonder if I’ll ever be strong enough, equipped enough, educated enough, effective

One year ago I wrote a post on the reality of wrinkles. Fast forward 1 year, when life has heaped on more joy, stress, suffering, learning, more freckles-turned-age-spots, and of course, more wrinkles. I’d be lying if I said wasn’t still tempted by sparkly, smoothing filters, products & treatments touting age-defying magic, the pressure to hit the pause button on this gradual process of aging. But I also know that this is temptation over truth. Illusion over reality. Superficiality and pride over authenticity & wisdom enough to consider the long view. So I’m reminding myself of truth today: my life-lines are the visible manifestation of the sometimes invisible crucible of life experience — a lifetime of moments layered upon years of building character, strength, faith, & wisdom. It’s hard to withstand the world’s pressure to conform & compete in the pageantry of physical “flawlessness” as a prerequisite for acceptance; but peeling back the layers reveals

Choosing Hope. When I found this article in one of my Endometriosis Facebook groups last week, I intended only to hit "share." But as I started writing words that I hoped would help others listen -- so that God willing, other women may be saved the same length and depth and breadth of unnecessary suffering as me--it was as if a dam broke open. 18 years of suffering poured forth into possibly the longest Facebook "status" I've ever shared. But for good reason. The more I learn along this journey, the more I understand that some information bears repeating. So I've copied both my words and the linked article here in hopes that it will more quickly ripple out to the women who so desperately need it. " Hear me loud and clear. Hear me through the 18 years—more than half my life—of suffering in pain so intense that even morphine barely took the edge off. Hear me as I echo every single word the woman who wrote this article has bravely shared . 

I. HATE. WAITINGGGG!” I actually yelled this aloud the other day in a painfully weak moment {thankfully no one else was around to witness my crazy}. Despite all the reflections on Advent and waiting, despite getting my world rocked that morning by my friend Mave's incredible Blessed is She devotion about God’s timing , and feeling utter peace in my soul—proclaiming to the world that “Jesus is in the waiting!”—only hours later I was once again cursing the wait and having an internal tantrum that would put a threenager to shame. Because human nature is a fickle and powerful thing. I’m in this weird space where there simply aren’t enough hours in the day and I desperately need more time, yet I’m also just aching to skip ahead to certain days that my heart has been hanging onto—almost as if life itself depended upon it—days that, in my mind, will bring happiness, hope, and maybe even healing. But I realized something today—it all finds its roots in my desire for control. I’ve set

Yesterday, my husband did the most exceptionally loving thing. He cleaned the windshield. You see, we were driving home from a weekend in the mountains, which had, naturally, caused our windshield to collect a fair amount of used-to-be-bugs. Also dirt: copious amounts from our time spent exploring the loveliest places on God's green earth--which, naturally, involved driving down some mud-puddle-covered, out-of-the-way roads. And on the way home we were going be driving past (or, rather, through) another one of these breathtaking places: a narrow canyon with rugged walls reaching toward the heavens, anchored at the bottom by a singing, snaking river. And, because I'm...well, me ... naturally, I wanted to get some good clear pictures and videos of it all. So I asked my husband in passing to run the wipers over the windshield smears or something of the sort, I can't quite remember. All I knew was shortly after we'd merged on to the highway with a fully fueled

I caught myself at it again while driving--lost in thought with eyebrows furrowed and face scrunched, worrying over something big. Immediately I relaxed my face, sighing and rubbing the crease between my brows--as if that would erase the line that I could literally feel deepening every time I caught myself in a deep-thinking scowl. Just a few weeks prior, I'd gotten up one fated morning, and--quite suddenly it seemed--met a new face in the mirror. It looked hauntingly like mine, but was definitely not the altogether spry young face I'd known for so long. Of course, in many was I still consider myself pretty darn young at my current thirty-something years. And I've always been in the camp that it's better to grow old gracefully, embracing it bit by bit, instead of trying to fight it. But it's one thing to know this in the back your mind, and quite another to so unexpectedly and literally arrive face to face with the gathering evidence that we are, in fac

Lent. Sweet, dear, long-awaited Lent. Oh, it's here--loud and clear. A few days ago, I wrote a nicely-packaged little sentiment about my Lenten goals before logging off social media for the season. It went something like this: I'm giving up social media for the first time! I'm hoping to be back for the Alleluia chorus with: • better time management   • a more vibrant prayer life   • renewed effort in nourishing one-on-one relationships   • & better discipline in first serving the people in front of my face who need me before I dive in to connect with those on my screen. I then came here and started this little ditty of a post to expand upon those points - so I could tell you that even though Facebook is officially meh, I knew it would still challenge me because social media has led me to some incredible community and amazing relationships, some even turning into real-life local friends. But then I was going to concede that I don't need to furth

I've always admired people who can say "no." The ones who aren't malicious or selfish about it, but not apologetic either. They know when something needs to be a "no" and they say so. Easy as that. Me, I have a real hard time with no. It seems I've always been on the struggle train with balance and boundaries. Which is funny, because with my time at a rather unconventional school (and career) I was supposed to master that kind of pressure and prioritize in the midst of it; one of my biggest laments from my full-time army days was that everything was always a priority, but nothing was ever prioritized. Yet I am--and always have been--a people pleaser and helper, and sadly I think I've reverted to the EVERYTHINGISAPRIORITY! mentality in my own head as of late. Conceptually, I know that I can't (and shouldn't) do it all--that I can't be everything to everyone. But in the moment, my actions and attitude show a different truth. The messag

The end of the year totally snuck up on me again, and I know I'll soon be accosted with all sorts of reminders that I need to make resolutions or goals in addition to remembering that I need to write a 5 instead of a 4 on the date that I never know anyway. I'm almost tempted to say that I'm boycotting resolutions in 2015, but that's not entirely true. Instead, I've decided on a focus for the new year based on what's drained the most energy and potential for growth out of family this past year: health. Physical health, emotional health, mental health, spiritual health. It's all tied together, and it's all taken a hit this past year, not just for me but for a number of us in the family. Though it took awhile--probably far longer than it should have--I'm finally at a point where I'm willing to do something about it. After all, with a new job and insurance come new possibilities...kind of. I'm actually still in the dark about most of th

I turned 30 last week. I’m not sure what my “younger” self thought 30 would be like, but the whole 30 thing definitely happened a lot sooner, was a lot less foreboding, and was much less of a big deal than I think I imagined. As far as “sooner,” I certainly feel a lot younger than I used to think 30 was (although my body's still acting way too old and frail internally for its external appearance). As far as “not foreboding,” I’m actually very happy to finally join the decade in which the rest of my sea of mom-friends exist (although I don’t love the gray hairs that come with the territory). And as far as “not a big deal,” the day involved much less fanfare than it could have, and for that I’m very grateful. At least now. My loving husband asked me a few months ago what I wanted to do for the ‘big’ day, and I had something in mind that was nice, but a little more pricey than our current situation allows—and, after getting all pouty thinking about what I “couldn’t have