This Side of Invisible

As harvest season is finally upon us--can I tell you how excited I am for cooler weather?--my thoughts have turned back to last fall as we harvested our own garden. Last year was the first year that we were able to have a garden.  My husband and I went from being college students to a military family and are now back to college students, therefore we have always lived in rentals or base housing, none of which allowed us to toil in the dirt.  This past summer, however, we were fortunate to live in a house where a raised bed was already in the backyard.  So it was that last May (late in the season in Texas, I came to find out), the kids and I set about preparing the soil with the help of my green-thumbed mother-in-law. It was thrilling, the dirt beneath our fingernails, the unearthed worms, the pleasure of a dark black, de-weeded bed ready for planting.  The kids were hard to contain at Lowe's as we picked out the plants for our garden.  Tomatoes, strawberries, peppers, eggplant,

The surest way to bring tears to my eyes: in your moment of vulnerability, tell me you love me.  I will feel honored, blessed beyond deserving and like the luckiest girl in the world.  This is something my husband gets. I'm going to tread lightly with this next thought, because I love the freedom we have to write whatever is in our hearts and I don't want to heard as only saying I don't think women should be writing about women's issues... but, I have to say, it makes me sad how few articles, blog posts and even status updates there are praising the good men of the world.  Good men, like my husband.  Good men that work long hours at thankless jobs... just like their wives.  Good men that pull double duty, going to school and working full-time... just like their wives.  Good men that love their children, sacrifice daily for their happiness... just like their wives.  Good men that are overwhelmed with the various and conflicting expectations placed on their shoulder

I had the opportunity to speak in church today.  And because this is my blog I get to share it here :) When Brother Willis called me last week and said, “I don’t know why, but the Lord won’t let this go… you’re supposed to give this talk,” I knew exactly why.   This lesson is one I have been fortunate enough to really learn over the last year.   This talk was, in fact, 33 years in making.   I have had a lot of time and multiple opportunities to learn these things.   And it has made all the difference in my life. In Mosiah chapter 4 we read: And again I say unto you as I have said before, that as ye have come to the knowledge of the glory of God, or if ye have known of his goodness and have tasted of his love, and have received a remission of your sins, which causeth such exceedingly great joy in your souls, even so I would that ye should remember, and always retain in remembrance, the greatness of God…  And behold, I say unto you that if ye do

I have come to realize lately how free I am. This is big. The last year has been an arduous journey to hell and back again.  I felt the fire and brimstone licking my very core as memories and awareness were forced upon me.  I gagged on the sulfurous fumes, my body racked with sobs, as I saw for the first time the many chains that bound my hands, my feet, indeed, my entire being.  I have fought against those chains, my fingers have bled with the effort of prying them off of me.  I have cried at night in exhaustion.  I have sat like a vegetable during the daytime, unable to move, paralyzed by the task of freeing myself. And here I am today, laughing in joy as I realize that those chains are falling off by the minute.  Every step I take, link by link they are losing their hold over me.  And now, in my newfound freedom I am ready.  I am daring greatly. “It is not the critic who counts; not the man who points out how the strong man stumbles, or where the doer of deeds could have

Please don't let anyone tell you that children on the Autistic Spectrum are incapable of empathy.  Ever. While it is true that some of their behavior would indicate that they are unable to get into others' heads and understand their pain and sorrow, their frustration and upsets, it simply isn't so.  It's been my experience that these are some of the most sensitive souls, feeling to the 'N'th degree what the rest of us feel.  It is this over-feeling that often blocks from view another's version of the story.  But that doesn't mean they are incapable of doing so. My beautifully ASDed boy reaches out in all the right moments. When we were alone and my husband was in basic training and I had my first miscarriage, Big Brother was only 10 months old.  And as I sat crying on the couch, wondering how my dear husband was going to take the news from his commander, my sweet son used his newfound skills to walk over to me and wipe my tears away.  He buried his

Make Lemonade? "If [When] life gives you lemons, don't settle for simply making lemonade-- make a glorious scene at a lemonade stand." ~Elizabeth Gilbert We all know the old saying, 'when life gives you lemons make lemonade', right?  I'm hear to tell how it's done. Life gives us lots and lots and lots of lemons.  Those bitter-sour moments of painful alertness that challenge our mood and our sanity.  Those trying times that in retrospect are sometimes humorous and sometimes even more painful.  There are times in my life where the stream of incoming lemon bombs is never-ending and exhausting.  For example, after months of being financially up the creak without a paddle, we are finally gaining some ground and then-LEMON BOMB-my husband got a flat, totally-irreparable tire on his way to work today... which will, without a doubt, rip our recently required paddles from our fists.  Thankfully, my take on lemons and my knowledge of lemonade-making ha