3.14.23 7 Letters I Can’t Send: Twelve-Year-Old Me

Dear Twelve-Year-Old Me,

Hello there dolly. (I’ll call you that, because your gram does, and I know how much you love it.) Oh, precious. Where to begin with you. I could talk to you for pages and pages. If I knew you’d get this, I’d take the time to do it … alas, you will not. Still, let’s have a go at just a couple of topics, shall we?

First off, it might not always seem like it right now (I know it doesn’t), but your life is pretty charmed. You might have big glasses before they’re cool, bangs that don’t suit you at all, and headgear to go with your braces–but you’re still one lucky girl. You have a mom and a dad who support your whimsy and wit, who encourage your curiosity, creativity, and endless questions. Let me tell you, that is more of a gift than you can possibly imagine. Remember as much as you can about home, because it will become your anchor.

You know how you like to write journals and poems and prompts? Well, it’s more than just a phase. Keep writing. And save the drama for the page. When things are meant to be, they will be. I know how much you like to fantasize and daydream about forever, but don’t miss “for now.” For now is a lot of fun, and it’s the path to knowing yourself enough to make the right decisions later.

Speaking of right decisions–no, you didn’t meet him yet, but you will in a few years. I promise. And girl … he’s worth waiting for. Think sea-green eyes and a wolfish smile with a kind heart and brilliant brain. How you might ask? I’ll let you wait on fate for that one. It’s more fun if you don’t know.

There are a couple of things you already got right though. Your best friends don’t change. She stays. He stays. And you are better for knowing both of them. Your sister (who you idolize), you will someday find feels the same way about you! Your cousin remains “your person” forever. And your love of adventure and nature will take you across the world.

So chin up little one. Embrace the awkward–it will teach you to be humble. Laugh at the mistakes–you’ll make worse ones. Love yourself now–it’ll help you love me later. And above all, be grateful. You’ve got a beautiful journey ahead.

3.13.23 7 Letters I Can’t Send: Dear Perfectionism

“But I am learning that perfection isn’t what matters. In fact, it’s the very thing that can destroy you if you let it.” 
― Emily Giffin, Something Borrowed

Dear Perfectionism,

I am going to keep this letter short, because I do not believe you warrant any of my attention, though you certainly command it often enough. That being said, you have been making yourself known more and more as of late. And so, I would like to make one thing irrevocably clear–you can’t have her.

Throughout my life, you have haunted me like a vampiric shadow–leeching the light and the joy out of even the most accomplished moments. You have dwindled in the echoes of thoughts stuck-on-repeat and it has taken me decades to push you into background noise. Then, after all that work, you have the audacity to come back again, full-force, at her.

How dare you.

To haunt me was painful, but to make her precious mind your sordid sanctuary is unforgivable. She is everything good and beautiful in this world. She is every best-intention, every kind word, every hope for a better tomorrow, and I will not stand by and watch you beguile her with poisonous promises that bind her to an ideal that doesn’t exist.

Hear me clearly, Perfectionism, because I will only say this once. She will not fall to you … because she is strong. She has the legions of Heaven behind her, and what’s more–she sure as hell won’t be fighting you alone.

2.2.23 Seven Small Truths: Day Two

Here we are, day two of my seven days of tiny truths. Again, as I look at these mini-declarations, I realize that they really are fairy insignificant wonderings of mine, and yet–somehow–I feel like they say a lot about who I am or have become. As I look over them, I’m not sure that they are good or bad or even anything in-between, but they’ve offered me self-reflection, so … I suppose that is something. At the very least, they’ve made me curious if I am alone, or if you too have mini-truths to share.

So here we go again!

DAY TWO Truth: Bouquets of flowers, though beautiful, tend to make me sad. They remind me of endings as they are usually given at the culmination of something, be it nostalgic, a milestone, or an event much more painful. They are the pretty punctuation to an event, anniversary, or life. Sometimes the too-sweet smell of the freshly cut blossoms immediately turns to a lump in my throat. When given flowers, I tend to flip and dry them so they become something eternally lovely, instead of something I must watch die. 

Is that weird?

Does it change anything if it is?

When I was a little girl, I attended many funerals. I think that is where it all began. Then it was performances. Then it was corsages. Then a series of wonder-filled events that I didn’t want to end, that did.

Maybe it’s less about flowers and more about the impermanence of beautiful things. Still … I recognize that beautiful things are sometimes so because they are impermanent. As Robert Frost said, “Nothing gold can stay.” Isn’t that what makes for the truly perfect moments, the magnificent colors and blooms … the fact that we know we are witnessing something precious and fleeting?

What about you? How do you feel about the bittersweetness of temporary treasures?

Gratefully yours,

Elle

1.22.23 2:00 am Friend

“… and she embraced the chaos as it painted her life with purpose.” – J.H. Hard

It was 2:13 am

and we’d talked for four hours

(four hours and nine minutes)

and the funny thing is …

it wasn’t enough

We could have kept on talking

until the moon and the sun switched places

again

Everything and nothing at all

tears

and tantrums

confessions

and conundrums

secrets

and surreptitious truths

Each of them weighted equally

as the minutes ticked

as the clock struck

done

All I could think, was how grateful I am

to have this gift in my life

a kindred

who knows both what is possible

and unlikely

but trades dreams … and wishes … and prayers with me anyway

Therein lies the true magic

the believing that four hours of life shared in conversation

changes things

because it does

It allows us to carry on

to keep moving forward in both the mundane and miraculous

May each one of us be so lucky

as to have a four-hour-conversation

and a 2:00 am friend

7.23.22 Fifteen

“She did not believe he could have really gone, because for her, to leave the person you loved was impossible.” Jodi Lynn Anderson

Dear boy,

Today is your birthday, and I am on the other side of the world. I have never, in all glorious 15 years of you, been away from you for as long, as far, and as monumental an occasion as the day God gave you to me. My, but love hurts.

Even though I’m not with you, there are a few things you should know … fifteen things actually.

1. Your kindness humbled and astounds me.

2. I love the way your mischief smile trails a wake of dimples across your face. No one has a chance against that smile.

3. Your passion for people is inspiring. You make others comfortable just by being you!

4. I love the way you love your sister. Fiercely. Protectively. And with best-friend-status joy.

5. You have your daddy’s sense of calm measure. It will and has already served you well.

6. I adore that you love board games as much as I do, even if I never win.

7. The way you carry on a conversation brings me such pride. You are charm itself.

8. Every time I tell someone who didn’t know I was your mom, that you are my son, they literally tell me how awesome you are. I glow. What else can I possibly do?

9. Your curiosity is contagious and wonderful.

10. Sometimes, my favorite thing is just a hug from you. Somehow, they’re never long enough.

11. I truly believe the world is better for having you in it.

12. I love seeing your tenacious and audacious sense of hope and possibility. Nothing keeps you down.

13. Your sense of purpose in this life is wise beyond your years. I wish I could bottle your character.

14. You are always polite. No one can say that, but you seem to be the rule’s exception.

15. Being your mom is ultimately, irrevocably, and inarguably, my greatest gift.

I wish, as ever, to slow time … to be with you without the constant knowing that the moments, and minutes, and days carry on. It would seem, birthday boy, that not all wishes come true … but God, I am so grateful for the wish-come-true of you.

Love you to Neverland,

Mom

5.15.20 If My Mother Taught Me Anything

If my mother taught me anything … and she taught me everything … but nothing that mattered so much as this – to have faith. It is perhaps, paradoxically, the easiest and hardest thing to do. On one hand, I have found that life without it, to me, is depleted of meaning. But on the other hand, sometimes faith requires oh-so-much more courage than I feel I have. Still, silently screaming, I hold on as tight as I can to this truth … believing with the wishes wished on a thousand stars, with the prayers offered up of ten thousand prayers, that faith will be enough.

And it has been. Life has never left me hopeless, because it is not only this life I hope in. People have never disappointed me to the point of despair, because it is not only their love that I cling to.

I pray you too … in the midst of everything, of anything, can hold tight to faith. If you cannot find some, you may borrow some of mine. My mother taught me that too.

Elle

4.21.20 Tenacity

“Carry each other’s burdens.” Galatians 6:2

My favorite illustrator and great friend, P. Marin, once posted her word of the year … I fell in love with it and, after seeing it, asked if she could illustrate my favorite word on commission. Thus, this delightful little creature was born! P. Marin said, “It’s you,” and I’ve never been so flattered!

So … from her and I … hang on friends … this won’t last forever and we believe you’ve got all the grace, moxie, and tenacity to carry on. If you’re feeling weak or overwhelmed, send me a note and I’ll send some words to shield you. I’m hanging on, and until you can strengthen your grip, let others help carry you. All my love.

Elle

 

4.9.20 Just for You

There is too much noise

sometimes –

always.

Too much talk and chaos,

too much static in-between perspectives bent far

too right

or left.

And I wonder if we are losing our ability …

to value the wisdom in silence –

in the word not spoken,

in the opinion not shared.

How much greater is a story with an audience intent on listening to it –

taking it in for what it is,

and isn’t

as opposed to a version of that story …

twisted and conformed to a standardless society.

I wonder … do people even want the truth?

Or just truth according to a circumstance they can rally behind.

Amazing how little the world changes …

even after spinning two thousand times.

There was too much noise then too,

too many voices of people intent on holding power

just to keep others powerless.

In the chaos of following traditions

and superstitions …

they missed it.

They missed Him.

The orator who spoke stories that stirred the Spirit to action.

The gentleman who remained silent in times He could have condemned.

The brother who was paradoxically the hero called villain

in an attempt to protect.

How do we stay so confused when we have answers?

How do we remain so hazed in the season of hope?

There is too much noise

sometimes –

always. 

But if you lean into the stillness …

if you seek the whispered stories …

if you trace the living history …

the wisdom of silence will find you.

And you’ll fall into a truth

lived just for you.

3.23.20 Small Fib

Dear Grandma:

Hello to you one of my all-time-favorite people in the history of ever and always. Grandma, there is SO much happening here on earth, and I wish for all the world you were here because I could really use some of your jubilant nature … some of your can-do-moxie, and one of your famous don’t-let-go hugs. But in the same breath, I am relieved that you are nestled in the grace of heaven, far from any more trials.

If we were together though, I know what you would say … and that is the blessing of knowing someone as special as you for so long … you’ve imprinted on my very spirit, and I can still hear you. If you were here, I’d start to cry. You would sweep my hair aside, put my head on your shoulder, rub my back and call me dolly. You would not only let me cry, but you would cry with me, wiping my tears just as fast as they fell, and planting kisses on my cheeks.

I would tell you how hard it is to be away from people I love, and you would remind me of the many people you had to say goodbye to. You would tell me that it is because love hurts, and sometimes pain is good. I would tell you that hiding and feeling trapped isn’t fair, and you would remind me that there was a time in history you lived through where people had to hide for much worse reasons than sickness. I would ask you how to deal with the dark thoughts and feelings that come, and you would tell me that joy is a choice, and it is about high time I start doing something fun.

If I were the me I imagine … the one who always came to you when I was feeling sad or scared, I know exactly what you’d do next. You’d scoop me onto your lap (even though I was nearly always taller than you) and you’d swing me back until our legs reached the sky and we dissolved into a fit of giggles. Then, you’d suggest we try on some of your jewelry … the best pieces you kept tucked in the boxes beneath your bed. I’d ask you to tell me all of your love stories, and you’d tell me small bits and pieces … just enough to keep me wondering at the girl you were, who stole hearts without meaning to, just by being you.

Grandma do you know how much I love you? How much I miss you? Still. Always. I love that you found a way to balance mischief and melancholy. You did not have an easy life … but somehow, you always found your way into another “dandy” time. I promise to do the same, and I promise to take as many with me as I can on each frolicking adventure into my imagination.

If I were with you, I’d ask you to never leave Grandma … and you’d squeeze my hand white-knuckle tight (like you always did) and you’d lie to me and say, “I’m not going anywhere.” Maybe just for today Gram I’m going to pretend that you’re not SO very far away … I might tell myself that I got to see you yesterday, and I can’t be so selfish with your time today. Do you think it’d be okay just this once to lie?

“It’s just a small fib,” you’d say. “No harm in that dolly.”

Oh Gram, meet me in a dream soon okay? Maybe tomorrow? So we can go bumming? So we can have a laugh and “get along real good,” like you always said we did. I know I just got to see you yesterday … but I might need tomorrow too.

I love you. I miss you. I need you still.

Tootaloo!

 

2.11.20 Damsel in a Ditch

“I’m a damsel, I’m in distress, I can handle this. Have a nice day!”

– Meg, from Disney’s Hercules 

So I very, very rarely post twice in one week let alone two days in a row, but today warranted a post my friends! Trust me.

I love the picture above because it is the story of my life. No … there’s nothing wrong with your eyes, it is a blur, because that is the speed of life, and in my experience, trying to focus for even a second doesn’t really seem plausible. Today was no different. Maybe someday my memories will be in focus, and when they are, I hope I remember today.

So I dashed home from work to get home on time for my son’s personal tutor (he wanted to learn Japanese … GO HIM! So we hired someone wonderful to come once a week). She was pulling in as I was pulling in. He had lesson, and as soon as she left, we needed to get to soccer – but my daughter wasn’t done with her shower on time (she never is). Then, she was ready but he was “getting his socks.” That took another five minutes and so we were running behind.

Fast forward to thirty minutes later … we are nearly to the soccer field (new place, far, far away) and Google Maps tells me to do a U-turn. No. I did not miss my turn, this state I live in just has the absolute WORST road infrastructure and U-turns are as common as turning right or left. Let me back up and tell you now, most practices were canceled today because of the EXTREME rain we’ve been having. There was no track, no after school sports, no girls’ soccer … but oh yes. We still had boys soccer. Back to the road. I take my U-turn, knowing that my wheel will dip a smidge past the asphalt to the grass, but I see a few tire tracks and assume (yes, I know what assuming does) that it’ll be fine. So I get a bit of grass in my wheel.

Nope.

I got stuck. BIG TIME! My left-front wheel immediately sinks in about three inches below the lip of the asphalt. I try. And try. And try some more, furthering my predicament at every acceleration. My son, at this point says, “Oh no. Mom. Don’t worry. Are we stuck? Should I text my coach?” I told him sure, not knowing until later that he texted the entire team, “We are in a ditch.” Awesome. I’m that parent. The “ditch” parent. The “we-were-already-going-to-be-late-and-now-we-are-late-from-being-stuck- in-a-ditch,” parent! Here comes the damsel!

While I don’t like playing this role in the least … sometimes it is just true. Everyone needs help sometimes. This was my time. And you know what? God delivered. I wasn’t there more than two minutes when an angel in a Subway t-shirt walked across this suburban street. “Hey there,” he said, “I saw you through the window of my house right there,” he pointed behind him, “and I thought you might need help.”

I told him I wasn’t sure what to do and he said, “You get in and I’ll push.” He tried and tried some more and asked me if I had anything like a book or magazine I could put under the wheel. I gave him the one flimsy magazine I had, but nothing doing. Then he said, “I might have a piece of wood back by my house, I’ll put it under for some traction.” He just wouldn’t leave me alone and I could have cried. At that moment, a truck pulled up and another man jumped out and said, “I have some rope if you want, I think I could pull you out.” Then he signaled another truck filled with guys he worked with.

In a matter of minutes there were six men pushing my car up over that lip. I never wished more that I had something to give in my astonished gratitude. A whole host of angels descended and graced me with smiles and “no problems,” like they saved damsels every day. I promised to pay it forward and this is my first attempt to do so.

Be strong enough to accept when miracles happen – they’re among us, in Subway t-shirts, and muddy work boots. In tired, over-worked faces of men who stopped simply because they knew a damsel when they saw one, and had too much integrity as gentlemen to stand by and watch.

Thank you to my heroes.

Thank you God for miracles.

Thank you life for making me a damsel in a ditch.

 

Go be someone’s miracle today,

Elle