10.13.17 “Team Moccasin” Give Away

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“I think perhaps love thrives on chance and unlikely circumstance. Life also thrives on these principles – and is life not love? And love not life?” – Brandon Boyd

Lately I’ve felt like there aren’t enough love stories in the world. We hear plenty of hate, and an overabundance of greed, anarchy, and discontent – but love? Well, she’s been a bit quiet recently. It seems as though anger has the loudest voice, but that doesn’t seem like a good enough reason to listen to it.

Do you know what would be utterly magical? Giving voice to love. Sharing stories that imbue delight, inspire the heart, and focus our minds back to their intended settings. My mom and dad just so happen to be such a love story, and although it may not be my tale to tell, I don’t think they’d mind, just this once, if passed along their unconventional narrative, for the sake of putting out a little more endearment into the world.

It all began when she was a teenager. Like any girl of her age, she loved to frequent the local mall with her friends, and there, was besotted by a boy with shoulder-length hair and playful blue eyes. He worked for an upscale men’s clothing store, and was “dressed to the nines,” so-to-speak. She found a way to make conversation, and she liked what she heard as well as saw. They talked and dated for a few weeks, and that was that. Smitten.

Fast forward another week or so, and to her surprise, who came off the bus but her handsome (who she thought was older but now realized was not) young man. Only he was not her young man at all. This kid had on a t-shirt and jeans with moccasins of all things! She was devastated that he was not the polished guy from the shop, but a local, every-day high schooler who had succumbed to the fad of wearing sleepwear out of doors! Regrettably, his charms were no match for the vanity of fashion.

And that was it. Their brief infatuation was crushed by a wardrobe malfunction.

If the story had ended there, (as most assumed it had) neither myself or my sister would’ve been born. As it is, God has a sense of humor, and He often uses fate to deliver it. A handful of  years later, that same girl happened to be at a party with the moccasin boy she’d all-but-forgotten.

That night (thankfully) he was fully dressed with socks and proper shoes, and his charms once again tempted her interest. Only her honor prevented her from accepting his number, as she had been seeing someone else for some time. Gratefully, her best friend also happened to be at the party, and she had no qualms about compromising my mother’s reputation. She promptly gave my father mom’s number, and a few days later, he called.

I’m thankful for the days without caller ID, because my mom, unknowingly, answered the phone that night, and talked to my dad for hours early into the morning. And just like that, within half a day, they’d both taken the first step into falling in love.

I happen to love their love story. Though my mom feigns embarrassment, it’s nice to know that even she wasn’t perfect once upon a time. My dad uses this beginning to win us all over every time he tells it. About a year ago, I told my own children, and they declared they were “Team Moccasin” from the get-go. We like to think it is a little bit of cosmic karma that we’re still able to tease about this story every time any of us wears our slipper feet out-of-doors.

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Mom and dad have been married over forty-years now, and whether in heels or sandals, Converse or construction boots, they’ve remained grounded in following the path of love worn in by a lifetime of walking in the same direction.

It would be an honor to hear your generational love stories. As an incentive to share, I will write a poem based on your shared love story for the commenter that my family votes “most swoon-worthy!” It will be my next post and (if you share your address through my contact me page) I will send you a personalized print of it.

I will also link all of the shared love stories to my next blog post so that everyone will get to read your precious words, thus spreading love exponentially around the world.

LOVE WELL …  for it is all that amounts to any value in this life.

Elle

9.30.17 Let Me Be Aware

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About ten or so years ago, I came across a poem that said everything I should say to my husband on a daily basis. I printed it out, and put it somewhere “safe” and then we moved and I lost it. All I remembered of it was a line … “Someday I shall wish … more than all the world, for your return.” And I remembered thinking that I never wanted to have that feeling, that relentless ache of NOT saying what I should have. 

Fast forward ten years, and miraculously, a friend gave me a stack of quotes as a gift. One of the quotes, as you might serendipitously guess, was the one I’d been searching and combing the internet for for all of these past years. I immediately looked it up, and this week, I was so very, very glad to have it, so I could read it to the man who not only has my heart, but has fiercely protected it since we met. 

Please share this video message, this poem, and this life with someone you hold just as dear. 

9.20.17 Down to Sleep

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Dearest friends …

I know that I just posted a day ago, but my heart is so heavy for this weary world. Please pray with me below. Please share this with anyone whom you think would care to join us. Please believe that tomorrow is another day, the sun will rise, and that even in the bleakest of times, hope remains alight. 

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Down to Sleep 

Now I lay me down to sleep

I pray the Lord this Earth will keep

and steal the dangers from the night        HURRICANES: HARVEY IRMA, JOSE, MARIA

as darkness quenches out the light

 

Now I lay me down to stay

among the wreckage, come what may

and feeling tremors do not fear           EARTHQUAKES: JAPAN, MEXICO CITY

for all the lives we’re losing here

 

Now I lay me down to dream

that nightmares aren’t quite what they seem

and all the men who make our choices        GLOBAL POLITICAL UPHEAVAL  

hear our screams, and pleas, and voices

 

Now I lay me down to cry

for those who can’t see eye to eye

and those whose skin has sad affected    EXTREMISM, RACISM, TERRORISM

racist views and minds defected

 

Now I lay me down to wait

until all hope can conquer hate

and if I die before I wake       RELIGIOUS DIVISION, ENTITLEMENT, ISOLATIONISM

please pray to God, for this world’s sake

 

I’d love to hear your thoughts, your prayers, your reactions, and your comments below. Be blessed dear ones. Grace surrounds you.

Elle

8.21.17 Analog Heart

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A really good friend of mine is getting divorced. It is both as blunt and pointed as that. I think one of the hardest things is that this person is not one to whom anyone could say they, “saw it coming.” And every time I think about the hurt – I hurt. What’s more is that I’ve seen this fragile, tender soul fall in waves of believing what writer Tonya Hurley once said, “If you expect nothing, you can never be disappointed.”

But that’s no way to live – and it’s not the identity one is meant to claim. It is not what any of us should be made to deal with. We should have expectations. We should believe that love is what it says it is, and will stay simply because it promised it would.

As I’m learning, this is not so. Apparently, some love, when it is unrequited and given up on, does end. Leaning into this friendship in ways of support, and listening to broken stories I don’t understand, this poem came to me.

An analog relates to a mechanism that requires a voltage or pressure to perform; it seemed a weakened, but still beating heart applied. So this is for my friend, who knows above all things the proverbial truth that, “Hope dies last.” Let your heart beat on – weak, but steady. For someday it will be filled again. It will rise to the point of a great crescendo. It, like you, will carry on.

Analog Heart

You – now equal parts ash and ice

who stumbles between the

purity of being tested in fire –

and the bitterest chill of indifference

You – beating fiercely as your

gears remain locked …

who feels the minutes pass –

hears every tick that slowly

grinds,

yet sees no discernible change

You – built to race,

built to fill and turn keys of

crimson and scarlet –

doors closed long enough

for filaments of light to become dull

You – filled to fracture with

memory – this moment –

even if it is all you’re capable of –

… stay …

… endure …

beat one time,

and let the echo of once

remind you how to carry on again

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Please share this with anyone whose heart is, or has been near to breaking. Remember that your strength only needs to last you this day, and somehow, miraculously, tomorrow you will find another way, another day, to carry on.

From my heart to yours,

Elle

8.14.17 Boxes Because: A Bella Grace Post

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Surprised? Me too! I just received a message telling me that Bella Grace Magazine’s blog Grace Notes picked up a piece of mine that I’ve been wanting to share with everyone for some time, Boxes Because. From a trunk of letters to a tiny box only big enough to hold a secret, you never know what delight they’ll hold.  I hope that you click on the link and respond what “fills” you. In the mean time, I’m going to be trying something for the first time!

Brian Tracy once said, “You can only grow if you’re willing to feel awkward and uncomfortable when you try something new.” I’m heeding this advice by feeling very awkward, and uncomfortable! Below is my first VLOG! A video-blog snippet. It’s only one minute, but it is a start. Remember that boxes are only beautiful when you are filling them – not trying to fit into them.

Can’t wait to hear from you.

Elle

 

8.1.17 Not With Words

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Not With Words

Sometimes I chase words

like fireflies on summer nights

and they are elusive

but beautiful enough to pursue –

they enchant me

entice me,

and echo, “Come and play”

teasing me into the dark to find them

 

Sometimes words chase me

regardless of the time of day,

how weary I am,

how in need of rest –

they peek-a-boo into my thoughts

subconsciously

tickling my mind toward

something I can’t quite put my finger on

but can’t possibly ignore

 

Like a mirrored merry-go-round,

I see them,

and they see me,

and we spin around one another,

revolving in the sacred place between

almost

and

already there

 

Nevertheless,

I write on …

on the hide-and-seek days,

on the tag-you’re-it days,

on the waking dream,

more or less than you seem,

penned in moon or sunbeam days …

I write on

 

So our games of merry pursuit will continue,

and I will give,

and they will take,

but the magic of meeting always wins in the end,

because there is no end,

there can’t be

not with words

 

7.17.17 Than Me

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“I promise you this, no matter who enters your life, 

I will love you more than any of them.”

– Clarise Fuentes

For ten years boy, I have known you

and I would say I have loved you,

but I believe I loved you much longer than that.

Before you were even mine,

before you were

blue eyes,

and tousled hair,

tan skin

and scraped knees,

I loved you for the dreams I imagined you might be.

And now that I have you

and see you

mischievous dimples,

and too many opinions,

lanky limbs,

and curious mind,

I know

without a moment’s hesitation,

that I will love you longer than ten lifetimes,

because your spirit is of my spirit,

and the memories you give me outweigh even the most significant ones

I ever had before you.

There is power in that kind of love

you know?

There is power in knowing that regardless of any

heartache,

or mistake,

problem,

or bad decision,

you can know with certainty that you are always wanted –

you are always enough,

because you are the very fiber of what family means to me.

There is nowhere you can go,

no height you can grow,

and no place in the world that will ever be far from me,

because you carry the best of my heart within each beat of yours.

And though I will mess up,

and make lots of mistakes,

and even make you a little bit crazy sometimes –

know that I’m trying my best,

and please be patient with me –

because there is no one who will ever fight for you,

be more proud of you,

or live more for you,

than me.

To my son … Mommy loves you.

Elle Harris

7.7.17 Publication News

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I wrote this piece some time ago with the hopes that someday it would find its way off of the shelf, and IT HAS! Live today on Bella Grace Magazine’s  blog Grace Notes, you can read my newest publication, Love Letter to a Single Friend.

I pray that you will share it with everyone that needs to hear it … because they do … they need to know how singularly they are loved – how treasured they are to you, and to this world that needs their spirit so desperately. Help me spread this appreciation, help me gift this love.

With all my heart,

Elle

7.3.17 To Be Free

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“Freedom is not a gift bestowed upon us by other men, but a right that belongs to us by the laws of God and nature.” – Benjamin Franklin 

To Be Free

The will to be free is innate

and though we honor in days

in commemorations

and spectacles of light and color

the truest form of celebration is that of the soul

When your spirit is enraptured with light,

with peace

and with the tranquil understanding that

nothing can tether or tie you

but that which you choose to bind yourself to

By lifting your humanity to heaven

by humbling yourself to divinity

you will come to believe in the worth you were born into

Finding you are not owned

you are not enslaved

you are not ensnared by the grip of this world

not to conformity

not to addiction

not even to self-persecution

not to worry

not to acceptance

or a nagging fear of what may be

There will always be wars

and the battles will be endless

Some will be won

and in turn,

many will be lost

But freedom is not to be purchased into

or sold out of

To be free

is inherent in the plan of creation

and its grace washed over you with the light of your first breath

The genuine gift of freedom

is realizing that though life may assign you a value,

priceless

is the only identity

you have any right to claim

 

 

 

 

6.12.17 13 Years

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Once upon a time, there was a girl who met a boy with eyes the color of sea glass.

I cannot say whether he found her, or she found him, or whether the stars, the tides, or the winds from the four corners of the earth arranged themselves just so – but find one another they did.

Her curious spirit tended his intelligent soul.

He kept her grounded, and she set him free, and they found home within each other’s company.

Days stretched languidly into years and soon the boy asked the girl a question she only needed one word to answer.

Lengths of grace and lace and light accompanied them on the day simple words became divine promises.

And he had, and she held.

Since that time, in their story, there have been days of better, and days of worse … spans of richer and bouts of poorer … occasions of sickness, and stretches of health.

He has loved her, and she has cherished him.

In time two new heartbeats echoed the sound of their own. Two sets of hands swung between theirs, and two sets of feet stepped close to dance.

A new season brought sunlight-filtered smiles, sticky kisses and always, a golden glorious mess. In their most exhausted moments, he smiled a tired, secret smile, which she returned in a sleepy, happy daze.

Every day is imperfect, and beautiful for its mistakes. And every day the girl, who fell in love with the boy with sea glass eyes, is grateful for knowing the safety of his love.

This story has no end, only chapters that edge closer and further toward the brink of forever.