Best Laid Plans

What a laugh! Sit by the fire and listen to music and read while sipping on a Chai Latte……right. When I got home from work the men folk were circling the kitchen with their fangs out. They had kind of a ‘feed or be eaten’ look in their eyes…. For some odd reason those words from Proverbs 31 started screaming in my head “she gets up while its still dark and provides food for her family”…seriously??? so I was compelled to scour the freezer looking for something to appease their ravenous appetites. I cooked things no woman trying to lose weight should ever have to cook – let alone inhale…perogies smothered in butter and onions, green beans sautéed in butter and sea salt, sweet and sour meatballs….Oy! Now I find myself cleaning the stove top, the kitchen and doing the dishes – who knew you had to use that many pots and pans to make a simple meal and I am stuck in the kitchen with the leftovers…quick into the outside fridge. “She watches over her household and does not eat the bread of idleness”….well she doesn’t eat bread at all if she knows what’s good for her…seriously do you think sitting by the fire, reading and listening to music sounds like idleness??? Why is it haunting me? Lucky for me, Mike did go out to Okotoks to meet a friend for coffee and the kids are bailing to go to a movie so I will have the house to myself….so I WILL take that bath even though my hands are already pruned from doing the dishes. I’ll use the water when I am done to scrub the tub that way it won’t be considered idleness. Best laid plans and all that.

Repost from March 2014

Guilty until Proven Innocent

Is anybody else tired of feeling guilty all the the time for everything? Probably not. That’s probably just my unique dysfunction. But I can’t remember a time of not feeling guilty about at least one thing at any given moment. Very often several things simultaneously. Unless it’s the 30 seconds after confession before I rejoin the imperfect world with all its imperfect people and imperfect circumstances.

My husband kisses me goodbye as he leaves for work at 7:15 and I’m still in bed. Guilt. My kids are both gone to work when I finally emerge from my room. Guilt. My eighty-six year old mother can’t join me for coffee because she is at work. Guilt. I come home from somewhere and my husband is doing his own laundry. Guilt. My clothes are getting very tight. Guilt. I see my six pairs of jogging shoes sitting around the house and wonder why I am not out jogging. Guilt. (This one is really messed up because, in reality, if I’m going to feel guilt it should be because I even have six pairs of joggers. ) My adult kids struggle with issues I should have realized and addressed when they were littles. Guilt. I’m at Starbucks/Chapters in the middle of the day reading, writing, planning my pathetic non-life. Guilt. I’m sitting in my comfy writing and reading chair and realize it’s 2:30am. Guilt. I don’t feel like going to church today. Guilt. (Why not? It’s not like I have something better to do.) No supper made again tonite (because I was too busy sitting around feeling guilty). Guilt. I haven’t really cleaned for three weeks. Guilt. I’m reading a good book, sipping on an peach green tea lemonade and crunching my favorite sweet BBQ chips (a very small one serving bag). Guilt. I’m putting regular gas in my Infiniti because its cheaper than mid grade (which makes the car perform better) because I only have $20 for gas until next pay. Guilt. My basement is loaded to the rafters with card making supplies, fabric for clothes and quilting, self help books, business magazines, exercise equipment and weights and I sit here and read and journal or pin things on Pinterest. Guilt. I have piles of unread books scattered around the house. Guilt.

I always feel like I should be doing something else. That I should be someone else. That I should be thinking about something else. Guilt. Guilt. Guilt.

So I’m going to go paint. Still… Guilt. I’m not Michael Angelo or Leonardo DaVinci. I’m not Monet or Picasso (thank the Lord). What right have I got to paint? What right have I got to write? I’m not C.S. Lewis or J.R. Tolkien or Robert Louise Stevenson. Heck… I’m not even J.K Rowling. So maybe I’ll go cook and test and make up recipes. Who do I think I am? Julia Child? Gordon Ramsey? Martha Stewart? Well I’m almost Martha Stewart…. without all the hired help. I shouldn’t have time for this nonsense (interpreted by some as worthwhile pursuits). I should be at work and bringing home the bacon. Literally. I should be bringing it home with mid grade gas and cooking it and serving it. Throwing in the laundry and going to bed at 10:30pm so I can get up for ‘work’ (outside the home) and do it all over again tomorrow. Would that eliminate the guilt?

Probably not because I always felt guilty working in an office because I felt that somehow I sold out to my creative skills. That I had missed my calling.

I shouldn’t have said that. Guilt. I shouldn’t have done that. Guilt. I shouldn’t have thought that. Guilt. What’s inside eventually comes out. Guilt. I live in Canada not Syberia or Syria. Guilt. I live in a beautiful home. Guilt. I can soak in the tub anytime I want to. Guilt. I can sit by the fireplace and enjoy the warmth (ok, sweltering heat-menopause) while a snow blizzard envelops the land outside. Guilt. I have a wonderful husband and two amazing kids who all speak to me and, from all appearances, love me while thousands of other families suffer estrangement and unforgiveness and revenge. Guilt.

There is no condemnation in Christ Jesus!

Oh.

Refocus my guilt into gratefulness, thanksgiving and praise for all my blessings? I am here in these circumstances ‘for such as time as this? I’ ve been given permission by the creator to create? The Lord has proved me righteous which is the same as innocent? I’ve been proven innocent afterall. No more guilt. Well, I’m working on that.

A Funny Thing Happened on our Way Back to Calgary

In truth, it wasn’t really that funny at all. At the time, it was quite tragic.  We had lived in Toronto for four years while Mike finished up his Chiropractic degree, with the plan to move back to Calgary to go into business with a chiropractic friend.  We were poor as church mice during our tenure in Toronto.  I was working to put Mike through college and for some insane reason we thought this might be a good time to have a baby.  Well we had that baby and I returned to work at a wonderful place called the Four Seasons head office.  I didn’t breathe a word  about the fact that we were returning to Calgary in two years time.  I decided to make it sound like this clever idea just came up a couple of months before Mike’s graduation.  You’d have done the same thing.

Anyhoo,  we didn’t really have all that much by way of worldly possessions…we had our clothes, our weddings gifts, our babies stuff and a few personal effects.  Most of our furniture was dragged into our dwelling from someone’s front yard or back alley because that’s the way of things in Toronto.  If you don’t want it, you haul it out into your front yard and scavengers like us come by at night and drag it home.  So the furniture just went back out onto our front lawn and disappeared.
We did need a way to get our few things back to Calgary however and our car wasn’t large enough so Mike came up with the brilliant idea to purchase our landlords skidoo trailer and convert it into a homemade UHaul.  I begged him not to do this thing. I implored that we just rent a Uhaul but he would have none of it.  We were poor people and we had to do the most cost effective thing. So night after night I could hear him hammering and banging around in the driveway into the wee hours of the morning. I rather reminded me of Noah building the Ark.  Neighbors gathered round to see what was being created.  Mike built up the walls and even made the front roof portion slanted so there wouldn’t be so much drag from the wind.  In theory it was a clever idea.  Then he proceeded to spray paint the entire thing silver.  To make it look more like a UHaul? Protection from the elements?  He might have just painted an orange line across it while he was at it.  So two nights before we were supposed to embark on our journey, Mike loaded our stuff into the trailer – two by two (we didn’t actually have two of everything) and took the trailer out for a test drive.  The problem was this….the trailer’s tires were of the size that would haul a skidoo, not all of our crap.  Mike came in to bed, sleeping bags on the floor at this point, and was quite stressed.  It’s too heavy, he said.  Just too heavy.  The tires can’t take it.
We decided to unload some of the heavier items the next day, package them up and send them home by train (I’m wondering why we didn’t just sent it all home by train). That evening, we waved good-bye to our home in Scarborough and drove to Mississauga where we would spend the night at my sister’s.  I believe we had someone follow us on the 401 and they reported, at the other end, that our tiny little skidoo tires were slanting outwards all the way.  But it was too late, we’d spend all our money and all we had was enough for the gas to Calgary and a couple of stop overs on the way so we had to go through with it. We parked at my sisters and slept and subconsciously prayed all through that pouring, rainy night.  We got up in the morning, said our goodbyes and off we went.
We made it about twenty miles out of Mississauga when -kaboom – the tires exploded and the trailer dropped to the pavement.  It wasn’t the tornado of clothes and bedding that I had imagined it being when I had pondered this in my mind for many weeks. Mike managed to pull the car and trailer over to the side of the highway and we shut the car off.  Andrew (our then two year old) leaned forward and asked “What’s everybody crying about?”.
What were we going to do now?  Mike spotted a farm house in the distance and decided to walk over to get help (we didn’t have cell phones back then).  Before long a tow truck appeared to tow us to the closest gas station in a rinky dink little town, where Andrew and I spend the afternoon, drinking chocolate milk, until temporary tires were put on the trailer and we inched our way back to Mississauga.  We were instructed to go no further than Mississauga.  By the time we arrived back at my sisters everyone was just getting home from work and wondering what we were doing there.  So we explained our plight and brainstormed for solutions.
Mike had remembered a friend from our church had wanted to buy this skidoo trailer (when it was still a skidoo trailer) because he wanted it for, of all things, his skidoo.  So Mike called him up and explained situation and lo and behold, the guy still wanted it.  So we unloaded it and he came by and got it and paid us for it.  Guess what we did next?  We rented a UHaul.  We like to do things the hard way.  We like to make memories.  We could only afford the smaller UHaul so we still had to unload some more things at my sisters.   We left them with a gas BBQ and some small furniture and I can’t remember what else and loaded up the UHaul.  Side note:  all the rain the first night leaked into the trailer and into our boxes and caused all the colors on many of our clothes to run onto others.  Fun times.  As you can imagine,  I wasn’t amused.
Long story even longer,  we did finally make our way back to Calgary in one piece after that.  God has a sense of humor or maybe it was just coincidence but when we were in Kelowna that summer visiting Mike’s parents, we passed a motor-home sitting on the side of the road and the contents of that motor-home were strewn all over the highway and ditches.  I know it wasn’t appropriate but Mike and I just howled (when we should have been feeling their pain.) That could have been us.  That was the exact picture I had in my mind when I contemplated our tires blowing up.
I have many more similar stories of our life together and our ‘memories’ (think Eugene Levy’s voice in the Father of the Bride II).  Each experience seemed like the end of the world, at the time, but here we are twenty nine years later, surviving and thriving and doing OK.  God has been faithful and He has made us resilient and we have learned many lessons through the school of hard knocks.  There have been mountain top experiences but most of our lives have been lived in the valley’s (or wandering around in the desert for 40 years)  and that doesn’t really seem to be changing.  We are in the valley at the moment, looking forward to our next mountain top experience, but we are slugging it through with the rest of you.  Each of these experiences, changes us.  For the better I hope.  Makes us stronger.  Makes us wiser.  Imprints memories in our hearts.  And when people say to you, in a few years, you will laugh about this, they are right.    Its only ‘not funny’ in the moment, but truly it was hilarious.

No Brainer!

I sat down to journal my cares and stresses away this morning. I was looking forward to a good old fashioned pity party. I was hoping to arrouse God’s compassion toward me and to hear Him say “there, there… you don’t deserve all this difficulty. I’m going to wave my magic wand and fix this all up for you”. I was in search of clarity and some semblance of peace and possibly even some small scale healing of some sort, when this thought hit me square in the middle of my victim mentality. I am not a victim. I am not at the mercy of my circumstances. I’m not at the mercy of my failures either. God still has a plan for me and it’s not to harm me, it’s to prosper me. To give me a future and a hope.

I started out drafting Psalm 151 and realized this prayer would be much more like Lamentations 6. I set out to unload my heartbroken story of woe to God and the more pages I filled the more I was aware of a thought that was gaining momentum and volume. I was reminded that I had a free will. This free will was a gift that I could use however I chose to. I could use it to destroy myself or I could use it to invite God into the middle of my mess.

Why would I use this gift to undermine myself? Why would I use it to discourage myself? Why would I use it to feel sorry for myself? Would these mindsets solve or change any of my problems into victories? A resounding no. Did I enjoy wasting my time in time consuming thoughts that would bury me alive? Another resounding no!

I have a choice. I get to choose how I respond to every circumstance that crosses my path. I get to choose my thoughts about these circumstances. Thus, I get to choose what I am going to do about it. I love our pastor’s closing words at the end of every sermon, What is God speaking to you about? And what are you going to do about it? Such empowering, liberating, thought provoking words.

I don’t ‘have’ to choose, I ‘get’ to choose. Even though my theology and personal philosophy is that I want God in control of my life, there is still a certain degree of control I have over myself. Self-control is one of the fruits of the Spirit. Self-control by its very definition suggests that I control myself. I control my thoughts which in turn control my responses and actions. My choice.

What will I choose this day? I am not at the mercy of my circumstances. Or my feelings, for that matter. I can override destructive feelings and thoughts by developing self control. I can do all things through Christ that strengthens me. Sit here in the middle of my mess and feel sorry for myself? Wasting valuable days and not getting anywhere? OR make the choice to remember who I am in Christ and realize my hopes and dreams empowered by God’s wisdom and peace? No brainer.

Home Sweet Home

This weekend marks the 8th anniversary of moving into our brand spanking new house. With its brand new sleuter and black and white checkerboard ceramic tiles. Dark wood cupboards and maple floors. Trimmed with black lacquer woodwork and sparkling chrome hardware, it was a glorious sight to behold. A flick of the switch fireplace, an attached garage, a real pantry, and an ensuite bathroom in the master bedroom complete the picture. These were all luxuries we had not previously enjoyed living in older, used homes. Receiving the keys to our very own new home (ok, the bank still owns a good portion of it) was a euphoric moment in time.

I can’t believe, in the blink of an eye, eight years have passed since that unforgettable move. I still consider this to be a new home even though we have already had to begin fixing or replacing things. I was so grateful for the opportunity to choose the colours and design of our new house instead of having a fixer upper on our hands. Not that that wouldn’t have had its charms as Chip and Joanna Gaines can testify to. But so refreshing to have everything the way I wanted it the day we moved in. Sure, I can think of a lot of things I would have changed or that would have worked better but one doesn’t know these things until they lived in a place for a bit and have experienced life there. This house is mostly a blessing and a joy.

At the time, I thought I was moving into a palace and was very excited and grateful. I have to say, that even now, when I wake up in our cavernous master bedroom with attached ensuite bathroom, I get the feeling I’m staying at the Four Seasons and am thinking of calling for room service (I’ll be waiting a long time).  And then there is my walkin closet, which my mother refers to as the ‘inner sanctum’. Sometimes it is exactly that for me and not just anybody gets invited into its glory. Yes I have to share it with Mike but I’ve allowed him only a tiny portion of this prime real estate. Important decisions are made within its walls. Who am I going to imitate today? Anna Wintour? Nina Garcia? Olivia Palermo? Iris Apfel? (Google them).

I’ve organized and purged the pantry many times in the past 8 years, turning it into a Whole 30 or Daniel plan friendly food storage space using Martha Stewart organizing tips. Sometimes I just stand in there, with the light on, marvelling at this grand use of space complete with transom window door. Such a clever way to hide unsightly, but necessary boxes, bags, cans and other delectable treasures.

And what a pleasure it is to settle myself in the drivers seat of my car on a blustery rainy day with out going outside and ruining my hair, which turns into a frizzy mess if it makes contact with any moisture. And… this fireplace. I can’t even imagine living without it now. AlI have to do is click the switch and I have real fire illuminating the main floor living space while flickers of light dance in the shadows on the walls as I sit in my comfy favorite chair and write this blog. This fireplace truly warms up the whole house eventually. Such a sweet welcome after struggling with the elements to get groceries or shovel the sidewalk. Very often we turn it on in the summer as well just for its calming effect.

At this point you may be thinking I’m describing some magnificent mansion or… you may be thinking ‘so what?’, sounds like every other house in town. I have to admit, going by my emotional attachment to this wood and mortar structure, you’d wonder if I was describing the Palace of Versailles. But no. Just a humble dwelling place that has become our home over the past 8 years. Home to heated and thought provoking discussions. A place where nourishment and nurturing are provided. A comforting place to come to after a long work day. A familiar coziness after a vacation. A shelter from the storms of life and sometimes the setting for them. A haven of safety and love. A refuge and a respite. Four walls filled with laughter and sometimes tears. The setting for glorious celebrations and extended hospitality. The blessing of a home is to be shared and currently I share mine with with the three adults closest to my heart. Does it get any better than this?

 

 

Just as I Am

‘For God so loved the world that He gave His only begotten son that whosoever believed in Him should not perish but have everlasting life’.  John 3:16

Billy Graham’s son, Franklin, said at his fathers funeral, that Billy used that verse in every single one of his sermons. That was the foundation and inspiration of Billy Grahams ministry.

I watched a live stream of the funeral of this mighty man of God several times yesterday. And I actually witnessed President Trump smile and laugh several times during the service. He comes across as quite approachable and unscary when he smiles at a funeral endued with the power of the Holy Spirit. Those 2300 invited dignitaries and guests were standing on holy ground in Charlotte, North Carolina yesterday afternoon (and enjoying much better weather than we were, I might add).

The first 30 minutes of beautiful piano music, played by a very talented older gentleman, set the tone for the afternoon. He played a long medley of all the most loved hymns I’ve ever had the joy of singing and humming. I was actually surprised he had the stamina to play that long. He never missed a beat. (Pun intended). I’m not sure if that was planned or if it was just taking the dignitaries and family that long to arrive and compose themselves. I imagined him having a long list of hymns set on the piano with instructions to just keep playing until everyone that was supposed to be there had arrived. It was telling to watch the expressions and whispering of the guests while cameras scanned the crowd during this interlude. I actually spotted someone I knew from Calgary at the service as the television cameras scanned the crowd. I was jealous.

Billy’s family spoke so well. They all clearly have the gift and love of the Lord. They spoke well by oratory standards but also spoke well in regards to content. I was mesmerized. I was riveted to the screen of my iPad. I sensed in my spirit this was a significant milestone in God’s plan for the planet. Billy Graham was most definitely a modern day prophet or disciple. If the Bible writings continued into our era Billy Graham would have been a lead character in them. Future generations would read about Billy the way we read about Moses or Daniel or Paul. I’m sure of it.

I loved how Billy’s sister, Jean, quipped about having the home they grew up in right there in front of them during the funeral. She also mentioned how much he was loved by everyone in attendance but how she had loved him the longest as his last surviving sibling. I was inspired by the poem that Gigi, his eldest daughter (I mean the one he loved the longest) read, written by her mother at 13 in regards to finding a man like Billy. Anne’s prophetic reference to Moses and Joshua was spine tingling. Likening her dad to Moses and his role of delivering people from slavery. After Moses, Joshua, which means Jesus. Implying Jesus’ coming may be our next marker in history. Ruth’s vulnerability was poignant and raw and spoke of her fathers resemblance to our Lord. Ned’s humor was timely and refreshing. Then, Franklin. The most powerful words from his mouth, in my opinion, were these: if this were your funeral, would you be in heaven? If that statement didn’t make everyone think seriously about their eternal destiny, I’m not sure what would. If I weren’t already a believer, I would have been after considering that statement.

I thought everyone in the world had heard of Billy Graham but Mike mentioned at work that Billy Graham had passed away and his receptionist said, “Whose that?”  In all fairness, there are famous singing groups all over the world that I have never heard of because that type of  thing just isn’t on my radar.  I guess Billy Graham wasn’t on hers.

I never had the privilege of being at one of Billy Grahams crusades. My mom used to always watch them on TV, often suggesting that we listen in as well. If Billy Graham was on one channel and Hockey night in Canada was on the other, then she forewarned my dad that we would be watching Billy Graham. Because in those days we only had one TV and two channels. I can remember, at times, finding it quite boring in its simplicity.  Billy Graham was not a sensationalist.  And it’s true, he always had a Bible in his hand even if he wasn’t looking at it. The message was always the same. Jesus loves you and died for your sins and wants you to have eternal life. Would you like to give your heart to him tonight? Then ‘Just as I Am’  would be sung. Now, I want to give my heart to the Lord every time I hear that song.

Just as I am. That’s what it’s all about folks. As Billy’s daughter, Ruth, testified, Just as I am. We don’t have to pretty ourselves up for God. He loves us just as we are, warts and sins and selfishness and all. Billy Grahams message was simple. He didn’t bury it in a sea of theology. Anyone could understand it. Anyone could come. Anyone could believe. And millions did.

 

Snowy Friday Evening

It’s been a snowy Friday day as well. I’ve actually not left the house today at all. It was glorious. It was snowing when I went to bed last night and it was snowing when I got up and it was snowing every time I looked out the window today. I reasoned that that was a good enough excuse to linger under the covers and lollygag for a bit. This might be my last Friday to stay at home and do nothing. I’ve signed up to do temp work so I never know where that will take me. I enjoyed the warmth and comfort of my bed until mother nature forced me out into the chilly tile floor. I gave thanks for this state of affairs.

Once I’d made my way down to the kitchen I turned on the fireplace and decided to finish up a painting I’d started. I actually do have oodles of chores and obligations to complete but why do today what you can do tomorrow? You might still figure out a way to get out of it. That’s not my usual modus operandi but consistency and predictability get boring. I gave thanks for having these options.

I don’t even know if it was cold today but it sure looked cold so I decided to warm myself up by soaking in a long hot sudsy bath, complete with candles and a cool beverage. Again I gave thanks for these blessed circumstances. As I was relaxing and sorting out my issues (aka talking out loud to God and explaining things to him, in case He didn’t already know) the live stream of Billy Grahams funeral came on my iPad which was sitting in the middle of the bathroom floor. So I watched that for two hours. (More on that later). I gave thanks for this mighty man of God.

Mike and I decided we would not go to a movie tonite since he’d had enough snow and cold just getting home for work. I made breakfast for dinner. I threw together a bunch of ingredients that resulted in a hash type of omelette. I think I’ll call it Snowy Friday Breakfast-for-Dinner Hash. It was perfect. We topped it with ketchup. Shhh. Ketchup IS the icing on the cake of eggs and hash browns. Can you blame us? I didn’t think the ketchup police would be out on such an evening. They were probably digging their vehicles out of a snow bank. I gave thanks for God’s provision.

Mike was thoroughly engaged in hockey and curling so I made my way down stairs to my studio to make decorations for an upcoming event and watched Billy Grahams funeral again. At about midnight I turned off the fireplace, shut off all the lights, made sure the doors were locked, took a picture of the backyard because it looked beautiful and proceeded to sit on my daughters bed and write this while she was in the shower. The scent of candles and fruity body wash filling the air as she showered in her adjoining powder room. I gave thanks that both of my adult children were sleeping under my roof tonite.

And that’s a snowy, cold day in the life of an unemployed, aspiring artist and writer, who loves the Lord and her family like Billy Graham did. Who loves to paint and write and cook and create and pray out loud when no one is home. And I gave thanks for all these blessings and more as I crawled into bed and snuggled up to my snoring warm husband. I really DO have it all.

 

This is Us!

Much like the increasingly popular TV show, this IS us. Can you watch an episode without crying? Or a range of other intense emotions rising up within? Probably not. Because This Is Us, is us. What they portray going through is so dangerously close to home. Almost everybody can relate to somebody on the show. This is a real family with real issues. Ok they’re not real but they are doing a darn good job of convincing us that they are. And those tribulations and dysfunctions… us! All of us. This show is a good dose of free therapy (unless your paying for a Shaw channel package to get the show). Still a pretty good deal.

Struggling with weight issues and careers. Failures and death of dreams. Death of loved ones and loss of fathers. Loss of homes. Foster parenting. Adoption. Race issues within the same family. Addictions. Cancer and homosexuality. Rebellion. Depression. Sibling rivalry. Step parents. Parenting, period. Wow. These are not crimes but such as is common to man. This type of drama helps us know we are not alone gives us strength to carry on. And that’s why millions of viewers tune in every week.

I think the reason we all get so emotional about each episode is because there is eventually some issue that you are going to be able to relate to more than you ever thought. You thought that wasn’t a problem for you. Or you were over that. Or you were above that. You’ve been living inside your head because you are convinced there is no way anybody has ever thought these things or felt this way before and you don’t want anyone to find out how weird you are. Wrongo!

I really appreciate the technique of the flashback. It reminds us that who we are today is rooted in what we experienced back then. We have been moulded, shaped and affected by our environment and relationships all along the way. No denying. I’m sure most of us walk away pondering many things in our hearts. And if your particular dysfunction hasn’t come up yet… keep watching.

We fall in love with these characters because they are so raw and real. They are us! I’m going to create a sequel called ‘We are them!’ And now we are more comfortable admitting that ‘this is us’. Just as we are. Raw and real. No pretenses. No phoniness. None of them set out to cause pain or to fail or to be vindictive or conniving. They were just trying to cope.

We don’t have it all together either. Not me, not my family. We deal with life as it happens. Oh sure, we try to be proactive as opposed to reactive but there are just some things that you could never have anticipated and that you just have to deal with as it happens. My childhood was great but not perfect and I’m sure how I react and cope with issues today, at 60, have much to do with the things that happened to me when I was young. I know we like to portray a rosie demeanor over social media but let’s face it, if anyone’s life looks perfect it’s a facade and if anyone claims perfection its a lie.

But it’s each of these trials, struggles, surprises, poignant moments and forged memories that make up a life. We live in the valleys, not on the mountain tops. Life can be difficult. It can be tough slogging at times. There are times when we have no answers. No reasonable solutions. There are times when we are on the top of our game and have our ducks in a row. And for a few short moments we can bask in sunshine on the top of the mountain until it all comes crashing down again, those ducks are prone to wander off. They don’t like being in a row longer than it takes to get a picture of them. Just enough proof that there are good times to keep us going through the bad.

This is me. A life full of gratitude and at times forgetting myself and complaining for a moment. A life full of wonderful memories but negativity often creeping in. A life full of amazing family and friends but also snippets of damaged relationship. A life overflowing with love most of the time but tiny leaks of resentment and selfishness making their way through. A life marked with much success and fulfillment but overshadowed at times by failure and self reproach. This is me. This is life. This is us.