This Side of Invisible

Today is D-Day, a day that never really meant anything to me.  Just some distant event in a long bygone war that I had no part in. I'd read about it in high school, briefly studied it in college and seen and heard reference to it on the news over the years, but I never felt connected to it.  That was, until I met my husband. A few days after we met, I drove from Idaho to Utah with Geoff (a four hour drive each way, a nine-hour round trip).  We talked of many things on that drive, but what I remember the most is how Geoffrey spoke of his granddad, John Henry Davies.  He was a large, Welsh man, a boxer in the Royal Navy.  He had died just over a year before I met my husband and Geoff had gone to see him before his death, had been there when he died.  There was so much loved wrapped around the words Geoff used to describe his granddad.  He told me of the last conversation they had; it was mostly one way as his grandfather could no longer speak and could...

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...

When I was pregnant with my first, I read several books, like What To Expect when You're Expecting , and the like.  I'd been babysitting since I was 10 and had taken care of countless infants.  I thought I'd had most things figured out.  Of course, like most new mothers, I was wrong in this assumption. There was a time, shortly after my son was born, where every evening when my husband came home from work, I would hand him the baby, and promptly lock myself in the bathroom, where I'd wallow in a hot bath, crying myself dry.  I'd lay there weeping in the tub, leaking from my eyes and my swollen breast as my  baby boy cried out in the hall and my husband asked through the too-thin door how long I'd be and if I could come out soon as the baby was hungry... again. That kid nursed every hour on the hour, for at least 40 minutes. Every day. For nearly a month. And I wondered how it was that my life had come to this: I was nothing more than a dairy cow.  Plu...

Today I learned that Congress is trying to cut my spouse's military retirement by 124K.  This literally makes me sick.  Our politicians have become so out of touch with America and its people; it's maddening.  So I wrote to my Senators in hopes that they might reconnect with the military families of America... if only through my little one here in Texas.  And I hope that no matter what the cause is, that you will write to your senators and congressmen, that you will picket, that you will organize groups to lobby, that, whether or not you agree with me politically, you will find something that matters to you and that you will do something, anything, about it, to help maintain a government for the people and by the people.  Throw tea for all I care, just do something. I sent the follwing letter to Senator Ted Cruz: Dear Senator Cruz, First of all, you are my hero for fighting the Affordable Care Act and all its unconstitutional ridiculousness.  Se...

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 ...