The Ultimate Jitterbug.

Gran. Her name is actually Martha Goodsell, but everyone called her Gran. And for those that knew my Gran, know that she took great pride in calling herself a jitterbug. She would shake her fanny and wave her finger singing "Doot doot doot." Her life motto was to never let the grass grow beneath her feet. Safe to say that in her 80 some years of life, that was truly the case. She walked 3 miles everyday (even after a serious accident in which she was struck by a car). She was always riding her bike all over town to deliver the church bulletin and some flowers to those that were sick or living alone. Gran had this heart of gold making everyone around her feel like a treasure. 

It was one of the greatest gifts of my life to live by her and Poppa. They were such fixtures in our daily lives, that I often yearn for those days we could run through the gate to the back door to see what treats she had on the kitchen table or what pies had been baked that day. Gran's sweet tooth ran deeeeeep. She always had the good stuff. 

It is a rare gem to find people like Gran. Her heart was always for others. She spent countless hours on the phone for the church prayer chain. She was always making some kind of pom pom bear or craft for the church bizarre (basically a craft fair). Gran (and Poppa) made Sunday dinners feel like an experience. She had this knack for being able to create this safe space of love with an ear quick to listen. Gran was always at every event from our school concerts, sports events, art shows, you name it. She was there with bells on (or so it seemed). 

Throughout high school and college, Gran was also notorious for slipping me a bit of "coke money." She always had a stash of cash in her china cabinet tea cups. Whenever I had a bad day and was telling her about it at her dining room table where she often sat (the same dining table I now have and spend countless hours with my own family and now serves as my remote office), the conversation would end with her sweet words and a bit of coke money. She was always telling me to go buy a soda or a sweet treat. When I would tell her that sodas didn't cost $20, she would tell me to buy a few or to buy one for a friend. That was Gran to her core. Always looking for ways to make me (and countless others) smile. 

When I was living on campus during college, Gran would call my dorm room often, She would leave these messages saying it was Gran (as if I would forget) and that she loved me. If my roommate answered, she would tell them the same. I must admit that I often took those calls for granted. Looking back, I am amazed at her constant dedication to make those calls so often. And that I was always on her mind. What a gift not only to me but also to my roommates who still recall those calls with Gran. 

As I get older, I find myself striving to be more like her. I am nowhere close. She set the bar so high but one worthy of trying to reach. I want a faith like Gran. I want to have the same heart for others. Her unwavering sense of spirit, witty humor and pizazz for life are definitely an inspiration. 

I hope someday I can be Gran to my grandchildren. I hope that I can share the contagious zest for life that she had on the ready. I hope that I can look fear in the face and keep going as she so often did. We all need a bit of Gran. Grab an extra dessert. Send a friend some coke (or coffee) money just because. Or better yet, go share that treat with them and remind them how much they are truly loved in (and out of) this world. 

Queen Stella.

Stella von Daisy 

October 20, 2005 - June 5, 2020

Stella and I were together just shy of 14 years. When she jumped in my arms, fresh from my second surgery, she was about 15 more pounds than I was expecting and cream. I was expecting a tiny black dog ready to be named Oprah. A woman I had never met made the selfless decision to place Stella with me as she was in her dying days wanting her newly acquired shelter dog to have a forever owner.  When I brought this overgrown hair ball home, the hair of Jude, my roommate's dog was standing on end. I had no idea what it would mean to become the owner of this dog named Daisy. She would not be satisfied being my pet, nor did I want to be her owner. We instantly became family. After rebranding her as Stella von Daisy, she has by far been one of my life's greatest gifts. When I play the highlight reel from the last decade plus, she often takes centerstage.

Together, Stella and I have walked through my ovarian cancer diagnosis and recovery journey, endured a many heartaches, heartbreaks, lots of addresses, and everything in between. She was the source of my joy in her faithful friendship with her endless snuggles, kisses, snoring, and bed hogging. We walked many miles together, took our fair share of road trips, dodged a few shady characters, and through it all, she graciously embraced my countless photo shoots with props and costumes. With the many changes life brought this way in the last several years, she was the one constant.

Stella and I were far more connected than words can ever explain. She sensed when things were amiss and what she lacked in words, she communicated through love and loyalty. Dogs are so in tune that they can sense a drop of blood in a swimming pool of water. Pretty sure Stella always knew what I needed. 

It also became quickly apparent that Stella also took up residence in the hearts of Jack and Thomas. She showed them the same love and devotion, knowing we all were part of our own little family. 

Stella's photos still take up some serious rent in my phone, but more importantly my heart. This dog invaded every nook and cranny of life. She was my therapy dog. My best friend. My navigator. My filter. My sounding board. My counterpart. My joy. My life. My baby. 

I am thankful for all that Stella represented in my life and for all of the wonderful years we had together. I am also grateful for the many things I learned through her. Stella will always be the queen of my world, but she now reigns from the castle in the sky. 

Where Are The Bodies Buried?

Do you have those friends that know where the bodies are buried? Of course I don't mean that literally, but who knows all of the tea in your life? I am not talking about the "What do you want to be when you grow up?" kind of conversations. I am talking about the hard stuff. Like "Do you want to be buried or cremated?" and "Who will be guardian of your kids should something happen?" Are you having those hard conversations with anyone? They are uncomfortable, awkward, and often painful, but they need to be had. 

I have had these conversations a lot more recently. There were (and are) a lot of tears. It has been painful, but surprisingly, somewhat therapeutic. It becomes less awkward as we talk and it spurs on all kinds of interesting things to be learned from each other. It is almost like we should have parties at each others' houses to say this is where I keep the checkbook, this is where the passwords are, and this is what  I want when _______ (you fill in the blank). 

It is also a reminder that there is so much value to living in community. As we have all been living in such isolation for the year, that community has become fragmented and distanced. I am guilty of it for sure. I get lost in the land of plastic toys and bubble machines in our backyard, trying to get through the day without worrying if one of us contracted COVID-19 and what our jobs will look like tomorrow. I have been guilty of not leaving voicemails. Preferring a text over a phone call. And email over Zoom. But I have been stopped in my tracks. I am making the phone calls to say the things I mean. I am writing the longer messages to tell people that they are on my heart and mind. I am asking people to come help us care for our son so that we are not always walking in that alone. There is such beauty in the fellowship and also such release from all of the pressures being able to share in those precious moments of life. The other night I asked my mother-in-law and sister-in-law to come help me with Thomas' dinner and night routine. It turned out to be a memory forever etched in my brain as we sat in his room and sang songs. He loved the audience and I loved that he was able to see that there are so many people caring for him and loving him. 

So many times I have found myself saying we need to pause and say what is on our hearts. We need to share where the "bodies are buried." Life is hard enough that we shouldn't be walking it alone. 

Pulling Weeds.

Growing up, we lived one house away from my grandparents. What a gift to my sister and I (and probably to my grandparents too). Every day from kindergarten to my senior year, I went to their house for breakfast every single day. We had assigned days for the menu, Mondays and Wednesdays were for my choice of cereal, Tuesdays and Thursdays were eggs any style and Fridays were for French toast. One thing to note was that my Poppa also fresh squeezed orange juice for me every morning. If you have ever squeezed oranges by hand, you will know that this is a true labor of love. It takes a lot of time and also energy. And yet, every morning, my fresh squeezed juice was waiting. 

There are a lot of memories I have with my grandparents - too many to ever put into words. An incredibly vivid memory of Gran and Pops was their yard. They had a fairly good sized yard by Southern California standards and every inch had been touched by their hands, whether it was my Gran's roses and sweet pea garden or the countless hand laid bricks by my Poppa. He also had a pretty incredible greenhouse which was always fun for hide and seek. 

Poppa's cactus flower

Since we spent so much time at their house, we often found my Poppa out in the yard picking weeds. I used to think it was so cool because he had these little special hand tools for the tough ones, but he mostly used his leathered hands to pull them out. One thing I remember distinctly was the importance of pulling the weeds by the roots to make sure that you pulled it out completely. Without the root, you were just scratching the surface and the weed would grow right back. 

I have been pulling weeds with Thomas in our backyard and these memories of my Poppa come flooding back. Thomas loves to throw all of the weeds into the trash. He is incredibly helpful. But I find myself passing on Poppa's wisdom about getting the weeds at the roots. I am not sure Thomas understands just yet, but I hope to keep finding ways for him to recall these kinds of life lessons. 

What a metaphor for life. We have to get at the root of everything and with all that our world has faced in recent months, we have a lot to root out. But also to continue the work, one root at a time. It is not a job we can just mow right over. It is slow and painstaking, but worth it because you want the grass to grow and thrive. 

Keep pulling the weeds. Get at the root. And teach others to help you. It is better when the work is done together.

Motherhood.

When I was younger and people asked me about my life, I sketched out that I would be married by the 
time I was 22, probably teaching and driving a Volvo of some sort with 3-ish kids in tow. They say that if you want to see God laugh, you should tell Him your plans. I guess I make God laugh a lot because of all those dreams, the only thing to ring true was that I was a teacher, but even that has changed. I did not marry my high school sweetheart as I planned. Instead, I would endure a number of relationships, many of which were unhealthy and toxic to my goals and dreams. It wasn't until I was almost 39 that I became a wife to the man I viewed as my last attempt at online dating. Turns out he was one of the good guys. Pretty thankful I didn't give up looking before he crossed my phone screen.

And though I do not have 3-ish kids thanks to a cancer diagnosis and a completely altered plan, I was a dog mama to the most precious fur baby of all for 13+ years and after I turned 40, I finally held my precious baby boy. Thank you God for modern medicine that helped make him happen. Thomas is truly one of my life's greatest gifts and one of my proudest accomplishments. Not a day goes by that I don't thank God for him. The days are long, and the years are short, but I want to bottle up each memory as a treasure to revisit always. 

It is my goal to always show Thomas (and his dad) just how much I love him, but also how to be the best human he can be. I want to watch him grow, learn, and love life forever. I look forward to the days he starts to make decisions about his future. If he decides to go to college, where will he choose? What career path does he have in mind? Will he get married? Does he have kids? (The thought of hugging my future grandbabies sounds delicious.) Will he travel? Where will he live? Ultimately, any decision he makes, I am his biggest cheerleader. May he always know that he makes his mama proud and that my love for him is endless. 

But there are definitely some things I also want to teach him...

 

1. Love God. First and foremost. If you put God as the center of your life, your every decision, your path will always be made straight. It won't always be easy and the road may be narrow, but trust me, it is the road you want. God is always good. He is always faithful. His ways are higher than our own. And His plan will always be better - it may not always make sense, but trust it. 

2. Be a gentleman. Always. Open doors. Offer your seat, your jacket, a helping hand. It is not because others are weak, but because you value them more and want to be respectful and helpful. 

3. Dream bigger. 

4. Laugh a lot. 

5. Find a partner that honors you, respects you, supports you, and cherishes you. You are a treasure. Reciprocate these things. 

6. Give gifts for no reason. 

7. Speak your mind. Respectfully. 

8. Be spontaneous. Take the road trip. Dive in. Stay up late. Catch the sunset or the sunrise. 

9. Be memorable in the best way possible. 

10. Call your mom (and dad). Often. 

11. Say "I love you." Mean it. 

12. Lead with integrity. Never expect someone to do something you won't do so work harder and smarter, but don't let work be the reason you miss the important stuff.

13. Rise above the challenges. 

14. Know your worth. 

15. Wear sunscreen. 

16. Have a strong handshake but also a big hug ready when needed. 

17. Remember it is ok to cry. 

18. Never stop reading, including your Bible. 

19. Watch "Mr. Magorium's Wonder Emporium." It is one of my all-time favorites. And remember, before you reach your final act, that your life is an occasion. Rise to it. 

19. Always hug your mama. 

I love you infinity, Thomas. Mama has a lot more things to share with you, but for now, this will do. 

Mamas, hugs your babies tight tonight. Thank God for these precious gifts. And those of you that aren't mamas, but hope to be, I see you. I know the ache in the waiting. God's plans are always better. Always. 

Twelve.

Today marks my twelfth cancer-versary. TWELVE years ago, a phone call from my doctor, diagnosing me with Stage III ovarian cancer, forever changing my life. That moment will never be lost in my memory bank. In the first year, there were so many days and moments to process emotions and to get my game plan in place. However, every year after, I have chosen to "celebrate" this day. In some ways it feels like an additional birthday as it is a reminder of another year that the cancer has stayed at bay.

I used to do a little campaign to friends and family on this day to wear teal (#fortheloveofovaries). Scrolling through my Facebook memories, it has been a sweet reminder of so many that have walked in this journey with me. The countless folks that wore teal, or sent photos of something teal, or inspirational quotes. The power of those gestures will always spark a feeling of such joy, strength, and encouragement.

And so today, once again, I set aside some time to think, reflect, and count my blessings. I choose to see this day as a day to stand in solidarity with those fighting in the cancer battle and to honor those that have passed on fighting the good fight. I think of the caregivers. I remember the doctors. And I pray for the families that have lost loved ones to cancer. I know your pain. There aren't words to take that pain away, but I can tell you that cancer can't ever rob you of the memories you shared with those loved ones. Honor them by keeping their stories alive.

Rather than let cancer rob me of joy, I have continued to allow it to be part of my story as a survivor, but survivor's guilt is real. There are often more questions than answers. And the emotions are still a constant navigation.

It seems like yesterday, I was recently engaged and trying to get a fertility plan in place. And so this year takes on new meaning in my cancer journey as I stare at my newborn on the baby monitor while I jot down these thoughts. There is a physical reminder that sleeps in the next room adding another chapter to my continuing story. I guess sometimes things do go as planned (or even better than the plan). This newborn I was told would most likely never come to be, is here and healthy. This miraculous gift of motherhood, I will never take for granted. This baby boy is yet another reason to never give up hope and to know that stories often take unexpected turns that can lead to some of the most rewarding and precious chapters.

So here is to year twelve. For the love of ovaries and another year with gratitude.

Where Has the Time Gone?

It has been way too long since I have sat down to write. I guess that is what happens in the midst of a whirlwind year and then some from getting engaged, to married, and now a pregnancy (!!!). Not to mention a few more address changes (not starting that kind of chapter again!). And I have officially become Catholic. Of course, we have had so many other things mixed in to all of that like a fabulous honeymoon, Stella having two different surgeries, my mother getting married and moving to Idaho, as well as making memories with friends and family. It is evident that we do not believe in dull moments in our household. I suppose I am the one that bring that piece to the relationship as I married the most stable and steady man on the planet.

Poppa Tom

Though there has been much to celebrate, there is also a lot that has been lost. Sadly, my father-in-law has gone to his eternal home in July of 2017 after a brief battle with cancer. That was a very hard goodbye. I will forever consider myself blessed to have married into this family and to get to call him my father-in-law. Just as I think my own dad hung the moon, Poppa Tom definitely made me feel like I had just the right place in the family, marrying his only son. We also sadly lost Jack's cousin, Michael, in the fall, and not even a year after Tom's passing, my uncle Ed has joined them in heaven with his unexpected earthly departure in April.

Our original due date was November 6,
but we are now scheduled
for our c-section on October 15. 

As the days, weeks, and months have flown by, here we are about 6 weeks away from meeting our little boy (Stella is going to be a big sister!). This pregnancy has gone so quickly in many respects, but in other ways (like the lack of sleep, the endless appointments, and the bouts of "morning" sickness), it has inched by. I can't believe that I am going to be a mom! Finding out I was pregnant was one of the greatest moments of my life as I was crying in the bathroom texting my friend Julie the photo of the pee stick in the early morning hours, while Jack was still quite asleep in our room unbeknownst to my bathroom activities. I am sure that my tears were a lovely way to wake up as he didn't know what was going on. One of my favorite moments in this pregnancy besides announcing it and all the fun milestones, I enjoyed the reaction of our doctor when we told him that the pregnancy test was positive. He was quite surprised, saying our news was "remarkable." It was as if we hadn't been planning this whole thing and meeting with him for countless appointments prior to making it actually happen. I guess the odds were somewhat stacked against us, but we know that God is bigger and He did not disappoint. And of course, I believe that God has a sense of humor, considering it no coincidence that our original due date also marks the birthday of my late grandma (Nancy). And then finding out that we were having a boy just days before Jack's birthday and our first anniversary was literal icing on the cake.

My belly has grown to the size of a basketball as I am halfway through week 30, to which I am daily giving thanks for the healthy baby that lives within me (along with a handful of pesky fibroids). He is constantly kickboxing or disco dancing, which is always fun (except when it keeps me up all night). Amazing that half an ovary and a cancer history still allows for modern science and God's hand to give us a somewhat "normal" pregnancy through just one (very long round) of a successful fertility treatment. Other than being diagnosed with anemia and a placenta previa, I am beyond grateful that all has been relatively smooth throughout the last 7 1/2 months and our boy is healthy (with really long legs).

Our miracle baby.

I am also thankful for a husband that has been championing us through all of the stages of pregnancy with his patience and attentiveness. He was an excellent nurse getting us to this point with the daily doses of shots and medications that had to be perfectly administered for us to even get here. He has made sure that my baths are not too hot, that there is ice cream in the freezer, entertained my chili cheese fries craving, and secured me with the right amount of pillows when I try to sleep. It will be exciting to see him enter this chapter as a dad. I know that this boy will be lucky to have him and I am counting my blessings that we get to add this baby to our family.

Throughout the pregnancy, it has been another reminder of the great village we have around us, as if we could ever forget. We have felt the prayers. We have experienced the joys, the love, the generosity, the care, concern, and the uncontainable excitement.  We have been blessed through two very special baby showers given by people so incredibly dear to me / us. We have been showered with so many special gifts, love, and positive energy as we get ready for this baby's arrival. It is a lot like getting married when you feel so much love and support for such a season of life, but this time your love produces a tiny human claiming the hearts of us all.

Though I know we will soon be swimming in poopy diapers, endless feedings, and piles of laundry, I hope to carve out a bit more time to document this next chapter. I don't want to lose sight of the precious memories and moments to come.

Thankful for our growing miracle.


*And for those of you in the midst of infertility, for what it is worth, I see you. It is a gnarly roller coaster of emotions, appointments and decisions. Whatever path you are choosing to take, I support you. I am in your corner. I am praying for you and with you. Loving on you. Hoping for you. And willing to sit through any of the stages with you. I am willing to share our own path for those that may want to reach out for thoughts, advice, tips, and tricks. Again, for what it is all worth as I am not an expert, but a fellow sister that has been on the journey. xo.

One Thing Remains.

And I mean that in more ways than one. Every song this morning was a reminder of God's faithfulness. Count it no coincidence that it was en route to the fertility doctor appointment these songs played. I wish I could say I was in the "go get 'em" mindset, but the weekend was a blip on the radar and though I had a great time with my future mother-in-law and my youngest sister-in-law doing wedding things, I feel like the weekend was overshadowed by a sick puppy and a broken down truck. Mind you said sick puppy woke me every hour last night to go outside to be sick. So when the radio played a series of songs that were pretty much hand-selected for me, I was stopped in my tracks to remember life is beautiful, even in the chaos.

The fertility appointment had a bit of pleasant news as one of the growths is no longer seen on the ultrasound. And the other growth looks to be a bit smaller, which is also a great indication. We are waiting on bloodwork to see if we can start the meds, but at least I am hopeful. Cancer is not spreading today. For that, I have a grateful heart. And that broken truck turned out to only be a dead battery.

And then on my way to work after the appointment, this was the song bringing me to tears.

"One Thing Remains"

Higher than the mountains that I face
Stronger than the power of the grave
Constant through the trial and the change
One thing remains

Your love never fails, it never gives up
It never runs out on me

On and on and on and on it goes
For it overwhelms and satisfies my soul
And I never ever have to be afraid
One thing remains

Your love never fails, it never gives up 
It never runs out on me

Your love

Folks, one thing remains. His love (and only *one smaller* growth).

3,653 Days.

Ten years. It is crazy to think it has been a decade. I need to let that sit for a minute. Today crept up on me. I mean, I knew the day was coming, but I think I was desperately trying to ignore it. It is hard to admit or even accept that 10 years ago today, I was diagnosed with Stage III Ovarian Cancer, and just a few weeks shy of the huge decade milestone (the day after we got engaged actually), I have learned that the jerk is back. My remaining ovary has joined the cancer party and got itself a tumor and has decided to party it up in there. Jerk.

So as we are in the midst of engagement bliss (no, seriously--this is such a great chapter), we are also facing some serious decision making for our future family. As much as we would love new dishes, towels and pots and pans, can we register for new ovaries? Eggs? Can that please be a thing? It is a strange dichotomy to be planning a wedding but also undergoing fertility treatments. I am trying to keep it kind of out of site, out of mind, but the fridge full of medications is not easy to ignore. Our hopes are to harvest my remaining eggs before having my remaining ovary removed, which also means surgery before the wedding. Not ideal, but it is the best plan of action as of now.

In reflecting on the past decade, I am thankful for all of you that have lent support in these years. For those that sported teal proudly on this day to show your love and to also bring awareness to this silent beast. Each year has been a mixed bag of emotions. Early on in this battle, my support system was small and sporadic. I spent many days (and months) in a fog, feeling ashamed for a diagnosis in which I had zero control. Today, I am fighting my battle with an army. I am blessed by those that have been added to my life to make this journey a joy. I am not fighting this battle alone or behind closed doors. I get to warrior on with battle scars to show that I am a survivor. This jerk doesn't get to win.

We are getting married in April (eeeeeeek!). I get to live a dream. I have the most amazing partner to share life. I will wear my wedding dress even if I am fresh from surgery and my body is not the ideal shape I had hoped for such a day. Who cares? Instead, I am going to focus on God's blessings, all of the good vibes, light, and the love around us. I get to dance with my favorite human surrounded by my village of people that I love and adore. I can't wait.

I am sure that there will be some rough roads ahead with this pending fertility process (while wedding planning). But joys. I will count it all joy.

And to you cancer, I hate you. Your party is almost over. I will conquer it so that a new party can begin.

xo.

Thanks, Plenty of Fish.

Disclaimer: This is our dating story leading to our proposal. It could include mushy details and/or be somewhat longwinded. Read at your own risk, especially knowing I have deemed 2016 as the Year of Adventure.

So let's begin by saying, thanks Plenty of Fish. We have a match. And if I do say so myself, a very good one. In fact, we are one of the statistics that prove the successes of online dating, but not without our share of entertaining curveballs.

To be honest, I was ready to throw in the online towel after a very colorful string of dates (Besides the non-committal type, I had the likes of those that forgot to mention they were still married, had multiple unmentioned children, excessive neck tattoos or rap sheets a mile long. And we won't even get started about the guy claiming to be the next Christian Grey...insert major eye rolling and ewwww). I was over it. My dating history could be a never-ending season of The Bachelorette. Each bachelor had a nickname. I knew that soon I would end up on the news or running for my life in this dating drama.

So it was when I stumbled across Jack's profile, I found myself quickly amused by his interests and likes which included family, craft beer, blueberries, broken-in jeans, green tea, hiking, and sharks with lasers (huh?!--but sold.). It was easy to see his quirky personality I could easily be attracted to, but also his authenticity that was quickly communicated.

I decided to add him to my favorite list without hesitation. But being that he said he wanted his matches to say more than a few words, I needed to craft the perfect balance of sarcasm and interest to catch his eye. To my negligence however, it alerted him that I added him to my favorites but with no message. And if you know Jack, he was quick on the draw with a punchy message to me about it. Fast forward a few messages of wit and sarcasm to when he (finally) asked for my phone number. At this point, I felt pretty good that he was not going to chop me up into bits or steal my dog or my identity. I gave him my number.

But you guys, I gave him the wrong area code. Oh balls. He thought I was a mail order bride scamming him for money. True story. I was waiting for this thing to crash and burn, but he let me try again with the right phone number so that we could talk, which we did. I had to drive to a grocery store parking lot just to talk to him because I didn't get any reception in my house and God forbid I drop the call a million times. He would've definitely abandoned ship.

Fast forward a few calls to our first date, which involved craft beer and walking through town, talking endlessly. We had a few more dates like that when I realized this guy was legit. Strange thing was that I couldn't nickname this guy. He was in a league all of his own. He was speaking my language and perhaps I was speaking his. Somewhere along the lines we decided to shut down our profiles and do this thing. Over the course of the next months, we met families, endured a few career shifts and changes, and then my unexpected cancer news earlier this year. Jack never wavered from any of challenge presented. He has stood by the fact that we are better together, like our own wolfpack, especially once you add Stella ("we're the three best friends...").

Four hundred and eighty-four days after our first conversation, Jack was on his knee in the Orange Circle, right near home and the place of many memories, proposing to me wearing a usual oversized cotton tunic and favorite broken-in jeans kind of glory with the cotton still taped to our arms from earlier blood work we had done (talk about a hot date...). Funny that I had been focused on lunch all morning, while he had been focused on making sure there was still a ring in his pocket. Needless to say, I freaked out (a lot) when I saw Jack on his knee. I had absolutely NO clue it was coming. But that is exactly as I would dream it and then some. Especially when I kept asking what the heck he was doing as it felt so surreal hearing the magical marry me words. And of course, I cried (and freaked out) even more when I saw the ring he had designed for me. With my entire being, my answer is, was, and always will be YES!


I am still on Cloud Infinity with my favorite human (and our favorite puppy, Stella). The proposal was completely perfect. Good job, Jack. All the feelings happening here for us. It is all so overwhelming in the very best way. This has been one insane ride I wouldn't trade for the world. I have decided to nickname him: Husband. It has a good ring to it (pun *sort of* unintended).

In the end, I get to be this guy's forever bride, even if I did unintentionally give him the wrong phone number. He's got the right one now.

So, thanks Plenty of Fish. You can officially delete our dating profiles because we are getting MARRIED!

Love is Love.

It is with a heavy heart that I think of the victims and families of Orlando. And as I mentioned in my letter to the Facebook world (whatever that means), I am not sad because many are of the LGBT community, but I mourn because they are human beings. It is sickening that there are people that live in fear for any reason. That is the tragedy.

The feeling of exclusion is real. We have all felt it to one extent or another, whether we were chosen last for the elementary school kickball team, or that time we were new to a school or group and sat alone at lunch time because we didn't yet have any friends. Or maybe it was the one time you stood alone in a classroom debate. Reasons somewhat irrelevant now, but at the time, the hurt and/or solitude was quite real. In recent years, I reflect on my tenure as a teacher in a local Christian school. I distinctly remember feeling excluded because I was not of the same heritage as the majority within the school, nor did I belong to the same church denomination, in addition to dating someone of a different race. I distinctly remember a conversation with an administrator about something as trivial as the color of my nail polish, which was greatly frowned upon because it was "different." In no way did I live in fear for my life for such things, but I know I didn't fit. I felt the exclusion. And that exclusion has definitely defined my views and I begrudgingly say that my sentiments of that experience are not fondly recalled. And of course, my feelings pale in comparison to those that live in fear daily because of race or lifestyle. I can't even begin to fathom what it must be like to be hated or mistreated due to orientation or race. The feeling of fear or intimidation is no way to live as a human. For ANY reason. It is saddening that friends within the LGBT community have suffered such fear and alienation. And for what?

I see some of these same patterns of judgment and divisions within the church. There are those quick to judge because of one's background, past, religious beliefs, lifestyle, etc. I see friends that have to live in secret for fear of losing their jobs, which is disheartening. Fellow Christians that are dismissed for their beliefs or pains ignored because they live "differently" than the next person in the pew. And as I am no expert, nor do I stand on a soapbox claiming to be perfect, I do know enough of my Bible to know that Jesus loved all people. He loved lepers, prostitutes, fishermen, tax collectors, priests, everyone. Jesus was all about love. Jesus was love. Jesus is love. His very action on the cross was love. And beyond His calling for us to love our neighbors (which is everyone), He also calls us to mourn with those that mourn. This is a precious time we can all stand united in our mourning with the people of Orlando. With people that are hurting all over this world. For whatever reason. It is our opportunity to be the very hands and feet of love to each other in every situation.

I wonder when as a society, as a world, we will stop fighting over bathrooms, or what box is checked on forms, and what we wear, look like, or prefer. Rather, I pray our children will learn more than to "tolerate" others, but to love people for the fact that they are human. It would be a dream to honor ALL cultures, beliefs, and communities that have a foundation rooted in love rather than hate. That somehow we could love as God does.

Please understand that this philosophy does not indicate that every child deserves a trophy. (That ideology is going to lead to some real issues for society.) It simply means that we do not need to come from a place of hate. That people are awarded jobs because they are qualified not because they meet a particular quota. Or that they are not excluded because they are "different." It means that when people want to join together for a common cause, that there is not a deeply rooted sense of fear of violence, retaliation, or hate. This idea is based on the fact that we are all created uniquely, with our common thread as human beings created in the image of God. We are in no means perfect and one group or race is not superior to another. We are created equally. And rather than burn books, crosses, buildings, or flags, or dodge bullets in a concert halls or nightclubs, or suffer from any other senseless acts of crime and violence, my prayer is that the pitchforks get put away. For good.

Hug your fellow humans. Love on people. Share a meal. Make the needed phone calls. Bury the differences. Embrace the commonalities. For whatever it is worth, I see you. I hear you. I love you.

Love is love. It is as simple and as complicated as that.

Reset Button and then Reset Again. Then one more time.

Oh balls...it has been one heck of a wild ride since leaving my job weeks ago. And just when I thought I had it all figured out, I have had to hit the reset button not once, not twice, but three times until I could finally get it right. It is no accident that in the last few weeks I have learned that I've been running 100 mph for so long that now everyone seems snail paced.I have also learned how to check my ego, how to value my worth, and that the grass is not always greener. But through it all, I am strong and I am finding my groove again.

I am thankful that I have met some amazing people along the way in the recent journey. Genuinely good people that I wish nothing but good on. This is more about learning that since leaving the teaching profession, my heart has not been settled. As I was so heavily involved with my kids as a teacher and coach, I have yearned (without realizing), that I find such joy in helping people. It is in my nature to serve and support. I have a need to be needed. The dichotomy comes in my creative brain that thrives in chaos. It has created such a challenge professionally as I find that one is sacrificed for the other. In a perfect and hopeful world, both will find equal place.

What I have learned in recent weeks is that the man I do life with is incredibly patient, kind, supportive and all things good for me. As I tend to find myself on the roller coaster time and time again, he stands by while I loop around one too many times without an I told you so on his breath (though I think he keeps those thoughts quietly in his back pocket). Bless him for enduring. And for his bouts of humor.

I have also learned that I'm impatient and often in the worst ways. I knew this about myself but have had to finally admit it begrudgingly. It does cause for a few eye rolls.

I am learning that doing life with intention is not easy. Life is messy. Sometimes life sucks, but life is also beautiful. There is a lot of hurt in the midst, but I have hope in the healing. Life can be chaos, but there is calm before and after the storms. I color in chaos.

In putting down roots again, there is vulnerability. True commitment stays, even when things get ugly. You can't run or hide when things get tough or uncomfortable. I want to be in it for the long haul. I want moments of joy to be etched in my memory bank as a well of resource when there are moments of drought.

For the most part, I am back in my own skin. My body is still somewhat tired (especially after starting Pure Barre, but I'll save that for a future post) but my soul is reenergized. Travel has done my heart well. I've spent time in Idaho with some of my favies and also took a long overdue vacation with an open ended agenda. It was an incredible coastal trip with my favorite companion. Lots of outdoor adventures, food indulges, and some great wine with amazing weather in the quaintest cabin made for moments to treasure along with the rocks and shells we brought home.

All to say, I'm indulging in my art again, getting healthy, cooking a lot (and actually well!), and enjoying the company I keep. Like the year I moved 8 times, and the year I went through meeting a ton of new people in my relationship transition, this Year of Adventure has led to significant professional change(s). But like the other changes, I'm finding myself in an even better place than I would imagine as it is opening the future for good.

So I will keep on dreaming. I will take the risks. And live just on the outskirts of my comfort zone. I will breathe deeply. I will look for joy, even in the desert moments. I encourage you to do the same. Trust me. It's where you find the treasure.