This Side of Invisible

In the memorable words of Dr. Ian Malcolm played by the incomprable Jeff Goldblum, "Life finds a way." Even when we don't want it to, when we can't keep up, when we're exhausted... it just keeps coming. Life simply happens. But we must remember that we are created to be agents of action, not simply objects to be acted upon. Life comes at us unbidden, but we too can create the life we want. We can be the life unbidden. Life isn't merely something that happens around us, it's not just a force happening to us. Life happens within us. And with each exhale, we can speak life into existence all around us. We just have to be intentional, choosing moment to moment how to expend our energy. You are a child of God, the Great Creator; the DNA of creation makes up your every molecule. Don't wait to be bidden. Don't wait for approval. Listen to the beating of your own lifeforce. What life will you release into the world today? Now available: Life...

It’s that time of year again. STAAR is here. We’ve had a lot of complaining, questioning, and even some crying at our house this week. Let me let you in on a little secret, teachers don’t like it either. And, like you, we pray that someday legislation will do away with state-mandated testing. But that day isn’t today, so here’s what I hope my children (and my students) will learn from taking the STAAR test. These state-mandated tests aren’t everything, but I want you to do your best. I promise you can learn a great many things through this experience if you do. #1. I hope you learn that you can do hard things. These tests are hard y’all! And regardless of the outcome, you do it; you tackle the monstrous challenge again and again and again.  You forge through figurative language, fraction problems, and facts. Armed with only a pencil, you slay the dragon every year. Multiple times. You’re a knight, a ninja, a new-aged rock star! And don’t you forget it! Mom and dad are proud o...

I wrote the following a year and a half ago. " We believe in being honest, true, chaste, benevolent, virtuous, and in doing good to all men; indeed, we may say that we follow the admonition of Paul- We believe all things, we hope all things, we have endured many things, and hope to be able to endure all things. If there is anything virtuous, lovely, or of good report or praiseworthy, we seek after these things." Articles of Faith #13 It's ironic almost to the point of laughter that this is the scripture we have have been focusing on this month in Primary, children's Sunday school. Almost. "We have endured many things, and hope to be able to endure all things." It makes me want to laugh... if only to keep from crying. It's no secret that life in the Marrott household is never dull. In our nearly fifteen years of marriage we've endured: twelve moves (to include those of the international variety), several separations (of the military variety),...

This time last year, I was salivating for a new year full of opportunity. I was aching for new chances to learn, to grow, to prove myself, to improve myself. And I had this great plan to help me accomplish all these dreams I had: I was going to have a word for my new year. I was going to research my word, dive into my word and let it guide me through my year. This word had to be perfect, had to sum up all the things I wanted to be, to do, to gain. I found the perfect word. Fixed. I mean, that word was so many things. I defined how I wanted to feel, what I wanted to become, how I wanted to live. I wanted to be fixed mentally and emotionally, healed from past hurts and freed from those things that had once haunted me. I wanted to be fixed in my course of moving towards financial peace and prosperity. I wanted to be fixed in my ways of believing in myself, allowing myself to dream, allowing myself to achieve. I wanted to be fixed, firmly rooted in my life, present every moment, t...

Anyone that follows my blog... ehem, all two of you... has probably noticed that the tone has changed over the last year. I've written less and what I have written, some of it has been almost cryptic. There's a reason for that. I've been struggling with this question: How do I write my story when it involves so many others? Perhaps this is the answer: Also, Ernest Hemingway said, "Write hard and clear about what hurts." So here it is:  I was sexual abused as a child. The pit of snakes in my stomach are alive and biting after typing that for all the world to see. So much shame. And yet, I feel empowered. Strength is running through my veins at the liberation that owning this statement brings. It's not that I need to wear it as a badge, but not being able to have an open dialogue about it is suffocating. And yet, having an open dialogue about it often leaves me feeling too exposed. Ya know? Vulnerability hang-overs suck. Mostly, I...

Mixed Messages by Aimee Rae Ellington MIXED MESSAGES      MIXED MESSAGES           MIXED MESSAGES Dinner is served.     "All is well."              All is not well!     "Stop whimpering! You are fine!"             I am NOT fine.                 NO, I'M IN PAIN!!!     "Sit down and eat your supper."             It hurts to sit down                    can't you tell                            didn't you hear my screams                                     can't you feel my PAIN??? "Clean up your plate.      Don't you appreciate how hard your mother...

Looking back now, it’s all so obvious. But you know what they say about hindsight… The first time I cut my own hair, we were living in Wyoming, it was summer and I was hot. I was tired of trying to grow my hair out and we didn’t have money that day for me to go to a salon, so I just started chopping. It was liberating. Setting myself free from my heavy, overlong tresses. Okay, let’s be honest, my hair was just reaching my shoulders, but anyone that knows me knows that I’ve had short hair for over fifteen years. It’s just me. Though, there may be a mental block as to why that is… hmmm, I’ll have to ponder that one. I remember feeling like a new woman after giving myself that first haircut. Something inside me felt lighter, a little less stressed, a little less painful. That should have been my first clue. Well, that and the timing… it was a remarkably stressful time for me. Over the past seven years, I’ve continued to sporadically cut my hair. Though it’s gone from ...

The house is quiet… mostly. Except for the whispers of my boys who are determined not to sleep. Not that I can blame them, there’s a pretty awesome thunderstorm happening right now. I’m sitting in my dark office, watching lightning illuminate the world outside the large picture window. The almost dead, but refusing to die tree in the front yard is rocking rather precariously over my husband’s car. If I close my eyes and listen, I can hear the sophisticated symphony of the storm: wind whooshing, thunder rumbling soft and low in the distance, and rain slapping and tapping and patting the world around me. It’s a lovely lullaby. And yet, I can’t sleep. It's ironic that just a week or so after Bruncle was admitted to a residential treatment facility I was approached about publishing this essay about him. It was almost painful to say "Yes, I'd love to have it published" when it seemed to be null and void. It's not. Not completely anyway, but it felt li...

Dear Insecure, Unstable, Unlovable Girl, It’s not you. It’s me. Honest. I’ve outgrown your skin. I’m too big to live wrapped up tight in your shell, being an observer in my own life. I want to be the main character in my story. I’m no longer content to pass through my days listening to the voices in my head that write my life for me. I want to create my own magic. I’ve met this man. He’s a good man. He makes me laugh. He shows me all the ways I’m beautiful. He grounds me with his kisses and loves me inside my mess. But sometimes, I feel so lonely even when I’m wrapped in his arms. Then, late at night, I cry. I don’t want to cry anymore. I’m exhausted. I want to laugh all the time. To smile every moment, even in the chaotic, disappointing ones. I want to smile because I’m me. And being me is good. Being me is enough. I want to be present with my family, really present. I want to see and taste and smell them in the seconds that we share together. I want to experience ev...

Let's be clear, I'm not God. Nor am I His spokesperson. But I have studied His words for the majority of my life. I've poured my heart out to Him. I have listened to His still, small voice. And, I hope, I've learned a few things about Him. Of course, I could be wrong... but as I understand it--in my understanding of God's love for His children--this is why He doesn't save all the starving orphans, all the children born into abuse, all the mothers who lose their little ones, all the little ones who never get to take their first breath of Earthly air, all the fathers who mourn the innocence of their children gone to the wiles of addiction and fornication, all the parents that never get to experience children of their own, all the men and women that lose their jobs, their families, their lives, all His children that experience pain in all its gloriously pervasive forms... Because God doesn't keep any of his children home. What does that mean? Let me expla...

*I began writing this last month, but have been stalling finishing, because vulnerability is scary and it's sacred.  I don't write this lightly, but I write it in hopes that somewhere someone else needs to hear what I have to say. Three years ago, my father died.  It was January 4, 2011.  On January 6, 2011, I called my husband and said, "Congratulations, we have a 400 lb.. 12 year old.  He's a mess, but he's ours."  And I smiled. And I cried.  Because as those words came out of my mouth, the reality set in: our lives would never be the same.  I was scared to death.  I was having second thoughts.  I was anxious about how we would actually do this.  And then a peace settled back into me as God reminded me that no matter what happened next, this was the right thing to do and He was with us every step of the way. And He has been.  But that doesn't mean it's been pleasant... or pretty... or calm... or happy.  It's been a very...

There is verse of scripture that reads:   " for the  Spirit  speaketh the  truth  and lieth not. Wherefore, it speaketh of things as they really  are , and of things as they really will be; wherefore, these things are manifested unto us  plainly , for the salvation of our souls. " ( Jacob 4:13 )  And this morning as I lounged in my bed, refusing to get out from under my down comforter, there was a bit of truth running around in my head.  A touch of something as it really is that has been nagging at me and, finally, I was able to give it a name. Romance. Wait.  What? That's right, I'm talking about romance.  Can the Spirit teach us about such things?  Certainly. You see, I posted this to facebook two nights ago:   "Writing poetry by firelight. My world is rather romantic. Or it would be if boys weren't having a bionicle war at my feet,  the laundry from winter ice storm adventures wasn't piling up ...

It was a dreary English January morning, the sky was an oppressive grey and cold, wet mist enveloped everything. The kids had mad cabin fever and my husband was deployed to an unnamable location.  We were nearing the end of a trying Christmas holiday--everyone had had strep, which, when you have a child with Asperger's and the doctor wants a throat culture means you've just gone to Hell and Back; Thing 1 had climbed atop a radiator and pulled it off the wall, dumping gallon upon gallon of boiling black water onto the office floor; it was our first holiday without Daddy, you get the picture--and I was pushing aside my guilt and instead allowing myself to revel in excitement that the kids would soon be going back to school. And then, red gatorade. My arch nemesis. I hate red drinks.  Whoever invented them... is not my favorite person. An entire 20 oz bottle of red gatorade spilled on my  my landlord's carpet!  In the middle of the living room.  No furniture ...

I'm woman enough to admit that last week I had a small nervous breakdown.  A mini meltdown, if you will.  It seems a bit silly now in retrospect, but I assure you it wasn't silly in the slightest last week. All my life I have been a busy body.  I don't mean the gossipy, busy body; I mean the real deal, genuine body that must be busy doing something meaningful.  As a young child it was gymnastics or dance or both, plus t-ball, then later softball.  I started babysitting when I was eleven.  Not just here-and-there, but nearly every weekend and on many occasions over night.  I played volleyball, basketball and was a cheerleader in middle school and I was a peer tutor.  In high school, I was involved in color guard, cheerleading, youth camps, leadership camps, more peer tutoring, drama club, church youth group, early morning bible study, the drug-free group at school, student council and I worked at Burger King and babysat on the side.  In coll...

There are those in the world that caution against looking back.  And I see the wisdom in that counsel... usually.  I understand that dwelling on the past hinders your movement forward.  But here's the thing, these last few days, I've learned the beauty and the value of letting yourself look back. This last weekend was General Conference for our church.  Basically, it's a televised conference (from Salt Lake City) in which our church leaders speak to us.  For those of us fortunate enough to live in areas where we have access to cable, satellite or the internet, it usually means we get to have 10 hours of church in our pajamas :)  For me, this weekend, it meant two days straight of having everyone home and 10 hours of trying to get kids to stay quiet.  It was a glorious, albeit long, weekend. Conference was great.  Don't get me wrong, I'm not complaining in the least about that.  And my kids were great and I love them, sometimes it's actual...