wikiHow Edit for Mammas

Today @ wikiHOW, the how to manual that you can edit you can find a manual about how to respect yourself during a breakup that you can edit.

wikiHow posts clean process pieces that most often employ bullet or numerical points. Additionally, their invite to edit brings out the red pen in all of us.

As I considered the advice offered to safeguard personal integrity during a breakup, I realized that with very little edits, the same bullet points could readily counsel Mammas on how to maintain self respect while rasing a teenager.

By their own invitation I offer my edits to this wikiHow post:

How to Respect Yourself While Raising a Teen

After their childhood ends, how can parents behave in a way that communicates to their teens that they are worthy of their adolescents’ respect? It’s hard because parenting a teenager is like slamming an icepick into your own ear and can make you feel you’ve failed somehow. Still, it’s important that parents respect themselves as a people and maintain their relevance in their childrens’ lives. Let’s assume you are a Mamma whose teenage son has just told you, “You always put words in my mouth. I hate you.”

• Don’t beg.

He disrespected you. He’s already made up his mind. No matter how shocked, panicked, and in pain you are, don’t beg him for an apology, or worse yet, assurances. It’s very hard to do, but to let this end leaving you with some shred of dignity try hard not to cry too much – of course, it may be impossible not to cry. But crying a little, then saying, “I’m so sad about this, but if that’s your opinion, I have no choice but to accept it,” is much more dignified than screaming, “I am your MOTHER, you can’t talk to me like that!”

Ground him to his room sans technology and then pitch your hysterical fit.

• Gather your supporters.

Now is the time you need your friends and family, more than ever. Call them and tell them that a large, hairy, smelly monster has eaten your precious, baby boy. They will hopefully come flying to your side to comfort and keep you company while you nurse your broken heart back to health. Don’t try to go it alone.

• Recognize when it’s no use trying to talk to him any more.

He’s trying to not be seen as a bad guy, but the reality is, he’s betrayed you by growing up and moving on, getting hormones and texting girls who actually look good in bathing suits, and he deserves to be punished.

• Don’t let him string you along after the fact.

He’s told you he that he hates you, but he still wants you to stop at Starbucks to buy him an iced mocha. Even though you still love him, this is a losing proposition for you. Your son wants to have his cake and eat it too – he wants to keep you in his pocket as wallet and taxi service. He’s relegated you to the position of a service provider. What an adolescent! No matter how much you love him, tell him this will not work for you, and let him know that he still has to kiss you in public, eat his peas, and say his prayers. Period.

• Never let him see you sweat.

Once the big grounding is over with, don’t keep on letting him get to you. Even if you don’t feel like it, go get dressed up and go out with your friends. You don’t have to get drunk, or try to pick anybody up (like your son may be doing), but just to go and hang with pals is a good thing. Try to avoid going to places where you will be likely to run into him. If you do see him while you’re out, just smile and nod. If you feel like you might cry, excuse yourself and walk to the restroom. Do your crying in there, and don’t come out till you look strong again (even if you feel shaky inside, you must try your best to look like you’re okay).

• Review the relationship.

There’s a good chance that now that your son is a teenager, you can look back and realize there may have been warning signs. Reviewing the relationship and recognizing that he gave up his sippy-cup and big, yellow Tonka trucks years ago can be valuable in later relationships for example, they can clue you in to dangerous signs of independence in your younger children, or let you have a chance to adjust your own behaviors, if you really believe you had some fault.

• Listen to coming of age songs and stories.

It helps fill you with a positive feeling of power to hear songs like “Don’t Ever Grow Up,” and “Her Father’s Eyes.” It can help to hear other moms tell their coming of age stories, too. Just knowing that others Mammas have gone through similar heartaches can help you feel less alone. Crank up your stereo and rock out – it’ll help, too, knowing that someone wrote a song you can relate to now. You go, Mamma!

• Let done be done.

A lot of sons grow up and realize their mothers aren’t perfect. Think of all the words that have flown out of your mouth like rabid locust, and forgive him. It will end up costing both of you fewer therapy sessions in the long run if you just accept you still belong to each other; he’s just becoming the man you raised him to become.

Pray unceasingly that he becomes a good one and try to remember this is his season.

• Recognize that few people will respect you unless you insist.

If you don’t respect yourself, you’re giving your son the go-ahead to treat you like dirt. Don’t you dare do that to yourself! Stand up and insist that you be treated with dignity, the way all human beings should be treated. Allowing your son to walk all over you is the worst disrespect in the world.

• Realize that you have addressed his behavior, not his character.

That puts you one step closer to negotiating how you and son will treat each other. Together you will create a compact about what behaviors are acceptable in your family. And whatever you do, never settle for brokeness.

and even though it all went wrong,
i’ll stand before the lord of song
with nothing on my tongue
but Hallelujah!

I Need…

to anticipate transitional speed bumps.

My son is a rising 8th grader.  If you do the math, this means that we have transitioned from a school schedule to a summer rhythm eight years in a row.

Each year, however, I seem to forget the inevitable transition period as we shift from the full warp of school pace to the impulse speed of summer vacation.

This year our youngest also being in school and two different school calendars augmented our adjustment phase.

We collided like combustible atoms all morning, and by 10:00 a.m. I had lost my zen, my patience, my perspective and I realized that I was more frustrated than I have been in months. I teetered on the edge of spraying anger around the room like rancid silly string. Before too much maternal anghts could ooze from the can like aresol hairspray and rip a crater in the ozone of our summer launch, however, I remembered something I said to a friend on the phone last night.

Last night I was all calm and philosophical like a woman who is not outnumbered by children 8:1.  Could it only have been last night, and not three weeks ago, that mediation seemed plausible and thoughts of summer smelled like warm coco butter?

Yes, it was just last night that I had donned my educator’s cap and opined to my friend that if children come to consensus on what their needs are and commit in community to meet each other’s needs, relationships flourish and behaviors shift to support positive group mores.

Last night that didn’t register as more redolent of crap than any diaper I changed today.

I grabbed the fleeing vestiges of calm like a bolemic mines the last traces onion dip out of the bottom of the tub when there are still Ruffles in the bag and shifted gears.

I absolutely admit that the intial phase of our family exercise was a bit tense. Picture children marched to a table as pencils and notebook paper slam into their work space in churlish percussion.

All was still when I told them that we were all going to write down ten things that we needed to feel safe and supported in community.

The Middle Girl asked a question that liberated the exercise from route to heart. She inquired, “Do you mean what do I need to be able to be myself with people? To feel safe.?”

Her question reframed the moment like an engraved invitation assures the reception of the wedding will have white lines, silver flatware and crystal champange flutes instead of a pig roast.

The attention of each person shifted as we discussed her idea. Soon the only noise in the room was the sound of pencils as they fox trotted across the ballroom of each page.

The results:

I need…

1.   to have my voice heard

2.   to be able to trust the other person

3.   to not be made fun of

4.   to share jokes

5.   to resolve arguments

6.   to love and be love

7.   to be respected

8.   to know the other person likes me for me

9.   to know that they care

10.                 to have good times

I need…

1.   people to be honest with me

2.   people to not put words in my mouth

3.   people to be nice to me

4.   them to be a good friend

5.   them to understand me

6.   them to be listen to me and think about what I said

7.   them to be fun be around

8.   them to be not mean

9.   them to be careful with people

10.                 them to like me

I need…

1.   to know that I am can trust them

2.   to know that they will treat me with respect

3.   to feel safe and safe and happy with the person, them being nice

4.   to know that they will always be there for me

5.   to feel safe with the person and knowing will always follow through when I ask them so I can count on them

6.   to feel free to be myself around them

7.   to know they will always be my friend and be loyal

8.   people to be kind

9.   know they will not tease or be mean to me

10.                 to trust they will never be mean just because it’s popular

I need…

1.   to feel included

2.   food

3.   God

4.   Freedom

5.   Courage

6.   Love

7.   You

8.   Justice

9.   Kindness

10.        People to be careful with me

I need…

1.   to feel considered, that my feelings are important to others

2.   to feel heard, that what I say matters

3.   I need to feel appreciated, that I bring value

4.   to be able to have fun

5.   to be able to contribute

6.   to know what to expect

7.   to know it’s not all about me

8.   to feel loved

9.   to laugh

10.                 to be able to take breaks

The ages of the speakers of these needs range from 5 (The Baby) to 187 (The Mamma, calcuated by the MyTrueAge formula like used on The Biggest Loser.)

Who knew we had so much in common… like we were related even!

There was genuine accord and group consenses that we all operate with the same basic sense of needs. The kids made their own novel and insightful connections that fractured the axiom that the majority of unhappiness in life is relational as a new truth for the next generation.

We committed to respect and meet each other’s needs.

Our communication extended relational hospitality and a vocubulary common to each other’s process.

It was not the beginning I expected for the first day of our summer vacation together, but it was the one we clearly needed.

I know this by its fruit.

Well baby I’ve been here before
I’ve seen this room and I’ve walked this floor
I used to live alone before I knew ya
I’ve seen your flag on the marble arch
Love is not a victory march
It’s a cold and it’s a broken Hallelujah
Hallelujah
Hallelujah
Hallelujah
Hallelujah!

Piping, Red Hot Concessions for Sale!

As I researched summer engagements for our children, I happened across this concession stand menu for the 2011 EAST Conference:

2011 EAST Conference

Convention Center Concession Stand Menu

Like you, I’m not going to hazard a guess on the recipe of Frito Pie, or its gastrointestinal consequences, but the lineup does spark a query.

No, not, “Would you like fries with that?” though I am surprised potatoes were not represented in this culinary pageant.

Before you worry this is another rant post about childhood obesity, the horrors of corn syrup, or the processed garbage we feed our kids, I promise you it’s not. On those score cards, this student-conference  fare speaks for itself.

However, don’t you wonder why concession stands pander greasy junk food and not yield boons?

A concession is a thing that is granted, especially in response to demands, or a thing conceded. This definition conjures up mediation, not pizza.

How would an actual Concession concession stand menu read:

2011 Concession Conference

Concession Center Concession Stand Menu

Whatever the dietary implications, I gotta believe that relationships would be much more healthy were Concession concession stands as easy to frequent as concession stands.

Supersize me a Big Gulp of Surrender, please!

There’s a blaze of light
In every word
It doesn’t matter which you heard
The holy or the broken Hallelujah

Hallelujah, Hallelujah
Hallelujah, Hallelujah!

Brown-eyed Daughter

The Oldest Girl’s last day of 5th grade was Friday.

As regular readers know in her short, young life, she has battled birth defects, critical surgeries, and Mean Girls.

Her heart of faith is a constant Hallelujah in my life.

In her own words, and used with permission, this poem encapsulates a recent victory:

I was in school, and I had some free time. I decided that I would write a poem, and not just any ordinary run-of-the-mill poem, no! I would write a poem worth remembering… Hope you enjoy it!

There Was A Girl.

There was a girl,
a blue eyed beauty

There was a girl, a tall girl,
a strong girl

There was a girl,
with golden hair

There was a girl,
a brave girl, a safe girl

There was a girl,
with lots of friends

There was a girl,
a kind girl, a delicate girl

There was a girl,
who lived on reputation

There was a girl,
a sad girl, a quiet girl

There was a girl,
a wolf in sheep’s clothing

There was a girl,
an ignored girl, a bruised girl

There was a girl,
she was “in”

There was a girl,
a wise girl, an independent girl

There was a girl,
who wasn’t satisfied

There was a girl,
a calm girl, a godly girl

There was a girl,
who went in with bad intentions

There was a girl,
a hurt girl, an attacked girl

There was a girl,
who hurt on purpose

There was a girl,
a scared girl, a marred girl

There was a girl,
who had no regret

There was a girl,
a sad girl, a regretful girl

There a girl,
who was just mean

There was a girl,
who couldn’t take it any more,

she decided to stand up,
to say “that’s not cool, OK?”
She knew it was a risk,
but she prevailed

There was a girl with brown hair,
no blue eyed beauty could compare

She couldn’t be more correct.

And, yes, I am unspeakably proud.

Baby I have been here before
I know this room, I’ve walked this floor
I used to live alone before I knew you.
I’ve seen your flag on the marble arch
Love is not a victory march
It’s a cold and it’s a broken Hallelujah

Hallelujah, Hallelujah
Hallelujah, Hallelujah!

Dreamcatcher

The origin myth of the dream catcher captured my imagination over the weekend.

It is said that in the beginning of times when our earth was but an infant, an ancient Lakota priest was on a mountain top and had a vision. In this revelation, Iktomi, the great teacher of wisdom and trickster, appeared in the form of a spider. The spider, Iktomi, wove a web from the priest’s willow hoop that was adorned with offerings:  beads, feathers, and horsehair. As Iktomi the spider spun, he told the priest about the cycles of life. Iktomi explained that we each begin our lives as babies, move on through childhood and then mature in adulthood. Iktomi observed that as we advance in age we cycle back to the position that we need to be taken care like newborns once again, thus completing the cycle.

Iktomi also taught the priest as he spun his web, “In each time of life there are many forces; some good and some bad. If you listen to the good forces, they will steer you in the right direction. But, if you listen to the bad forces, they’ll steer you in the wrong direction, and may hurt you. So these forces can help or can interfere with the harmony of Nature.”

As he finished speaking, Iktomi completed his web and gave it to the priest and said, “the web is a perfect circle with a hole in the center. Use the web to help your people reach their goals, make good use of their ideas, dreams and visions. If you believe in the Great Spirit, the web will catch your good ideas and the bad ones will go through the hole.”

The priest shared his vision with his people.  Into modern day,  many tribal people hang a dream catcher above their bed to sift their dreams and visions. Legend says that the good is stored in the web of life and carried with the people, but the evil in drops through the hole in the center of the web.

This idea that the web sifts the contents of dreams and visions resonates with me as I work toward the goal of responsible thoughts.

Much like the legend of a dreamcatcher, I want to discipline my thoughts so that when I perceive an unfair thought, unkind observation, or negative stream of ideas, I identify it quickly and eject it from my mind.

As I try to become more responsible in relationship with My Father and my community, I seek to be clean with my words. This is something of an anathema to me as I am the same girl who formally thought of the F-word as a conversational lubricant and versatile grammarian as it readily enacts every part of speech.

My intention to become more Faithful with my words cycle back to my thoughts. Much like Iktomi the spider observed to the preist, there are developmental stages to maturity. It has been easier for me to stop saying swear words than to extinct the thinking of them. Yes, there is victory in shutting up, but if I can map my mind to reject negative thoughts, words and ideas, they are less likely to pop out of my mouth like corn in emotinally charged sitiations. Sadly, my children can attest this is a growth need of mine.

The image of a dreamcatcher lends me a visual to weave in my mind as I try to corral my thoughts. I want to dwell upon Good and maximize the people around me. In order to really be able to do this, I must surrender not just my heart to the Face of Love, but my mind as well.

It would seem that there are many layers to this Call of submission.

Like an onion, I will peel away layer after layer, until my tears and its potency bid me stop.

Well Your faith was strong but you needed proof
You saw her bathing on the roof
Her beauty and the moonlight overthrew you
she tied you to her kitchen chair
And she broke your throne and she cut your hair
And from your lips she drew the Hallelujah
Hallelujah
Hallelujah
Hallelujah
Hallelujah!

Context Cues

Earlier this week, I mentioned to The Baby, “Don’t forget Jackson’s shorts are in your backpack.”

I chuckled to myself as I considered the context embedded in this comment. If my daughter were sixteen and had come home wearing her boyfriend’s  gym shorts, like Lucy, she would have had, “A lot of s’plaing to do!”

There are so many moments like when context is all. For example, when I texted a friend over the weekend, “Remind me to tell you the story behind why your son and my daughter are naked in the back seat of the truck,” her response was a great big giggle.  She even found the message humorous enough to share with the people that she was with at the time. Imagine a mom’s delight to boast her boy had been caught with his pants off in a girl’s SUV.

There was no shame nor recriminations simply because she knew by context it was all good. Needless to say, that the kiddos had just played on a muddy slide on the soccer field and were covered from their heels to the parts on the tops of their sweet, little heads in Virginia orange-hair-red clay, not to mention that her son is three and my girl is five, had everything to do with why it all good.

Smudged lipstick on my husband’s collar is merely a laundry issue if I find the stain the day after The Middle Girl’s class play.

When I heard The Boy exclaim, “Oh, man, it’s so engorged!” to his friend as they gamed on his play station from the boy bunker downstairs, I hit the pause button. I understood he had described his buddy’s Hires rootbeer and pepperoni pizza-bloated gut, not his groin.

Context is all in communication and relationship.

There has been much embedded context in how my community has responded to the possibility of our family’s relocation. On every level, I have been humbled and surprised.

An unexpected benefit to the ambiguity of our family plan is that it has distilled to me the quality of those I loved and am fortunate to be loved by in return. It has brought what we have here in this time and place into sharp, clear focus.

Though the passageway to here has been moist and uncertain, a bold guard of friends as loyal as Marines encapsulate me. They walk this wall with me. Though they have seen me trip and falter, they got my back, and will not leave me behind or alone.

Likewise, I am as aware of the flavor of each in my circle as if I had done the Science experiment The Middle Girl just came home raving about Wednesday. Her class was instructed to pinch close their noses tightly and then chew jelly beans for ten seconds. After ten seconds passed, they were directed to unpinch their noses. The Middle Girl was simply baffled by how much more vibrantly she could taste the flavor and sweet of the jelly bean when enhanced by her sense of smell.

I feel like I am in the middle of analogous conditions. Just as the sense of smell scaffolds taste, so does transition fortify strongholds.

No one has died.
Nothing is broken.
No one is sick.

There is now no actual loss, yet the context enhances my every relationship as we wait upon the Lord to clarify our family’s call.

The people that I love appear more vibrant to me now. I revel in their beauty against the canvas of my life. I appreciate the flavor and sweetness of each heart more clearly.

I am more aware of who we are to each other in relationship.

You all know I didn’t volunteer for this tour.

I was drafted.

However, I am amazed that even before He has made His will clear, God has borne fruit from this situation in our lives and relationships.

And even if it all goes wrong,
I’ll stand before the Lord of song,
with nothing on my tongue
but Hallelujah.
Hallelujah, Hallelujah,
Hallelujah, Hallelujah,
Hallelujah, Hallelujah!

Oh, No! Not Again!

Top 10 List:  How An Unexpected House Showing is Like an Unexpected Pregnancy

10. Zero control of the timing.

9. The Mamma and The Papa cry, “Not now!” in perfect harmony

8. Escape fantasies.

7. Irrational craving for pickles.

6. Tender breast heave in aerobic upheaval.

5. You have to find a quick place to hide all those pairs of pants that no longer fit.

4. Frantic trips to the bathroom.

3. Unexpected projectile vomiting.

2. Irrational mood swings.

1.H-Y-P-E-R-V-E-N-T-I-L-A-T-I-O-N!

Well I heard there was a secret chord
That David played, and it pleased the Lord
But you don’t really care for music, do ya?
Well it goes like this
The fourth, the fifth
The minor fall and the major lift
The baffled king composing Hallelujah
Hallelujah
Hallelujah
Hallelujah
Hallelujah!

Irony

The irony that I received a fabulous, bh subscribe feature for Mother’s Day and then failed to post new content this week is not lost on me.

Generally speaking, I am a big fan of irony.

I love whimsy and appreciate the unexpected in art and film.

It’s the unexpected in life that toggles my gag reflex and that has been our recent family fare.

I’ve simply had no appetite to write about the specifics.

My processing light blinks like crazy as I digest this download.

In the expanse, my children have been the fountains of creation.

It’s May after all… and my hyper-tasked tots have managed multiple due dates for projects far beyond the scope of anything I did before high school.

There has been a research papers on pediatric insomnia, an interactive sleep clinic presentation and two spring plays; Oh my!

There have been short stories, diary entries, and Geometry quizzes; Oh my!

There has been the construction of a scale model of the Golden Temple, a prayer book and a score of testing; Oh my!

There  have been soccer try-outs, fencing lessons, and soccer games; Oh my!

There have been birthday parties, jammie-jams and whipped cream shooters; Oh my!

There is also a lockbox on my front door.

Amid the warp speed of the year end’s close, we risk a new beginning in another place.

There have also been fights, tears and house showings; Oh my!

There have also been Family Meetings, discussions with heads of schools, and heart-to-hearts with friends and family; Oh my!

There have also been plans, revisions of plans and uncertainty; Oh my!

Did I mention The Husband is out of town for two weeks; Oh my!

The irony is that I have never been more busy, nor felt like I have less to say.

This is my be quiet time.

This is my time to Trust and Obey.

This is my season to wait in the shelter of His wing and know He does all things for my good.

This hour paints the sunset of how I feel against the majestic Glory of  His ever, certain Presence.

As my family straddles the end of one school year and does not know where we will begin the next, I stand in a cold uncertainty so outside my comfort zone that it freezes my thoughts like frost on citrus and I seek just one face.

I seek My Father.

I seek His will alone.

The Sun also rises.

I will dance in His presence where ever He places me.

I will Trust.

I will Obey.

I will Sing Him Praise.

And if my voice is wet, my nose is thick, and tune is uncertain, I will still sing.

I will still Praise His Name.

Hallelujah!

Well there was a time when you let me know
What’s really going on below
But now you never show that to me do you?
And remember when I moved in you?
And the holy dove was moving too
And every breath we drew was Hallelujah
Hallelujah
Hallelujah
Hallelujah
Hallelujah!

Bitter’s Edge

Yesterday, I found within me a sharp so bitter it could twain my marriage and dismember a family.

In one gestalt twist of grievance, I realized I had the capacity to cut relationship with the detached precision of a pathologist.

My scalpel tongue gleaned against my clenched jaw in clinical consideration of the Y Cut as The Husband and I hit the first immutable impasse of our marriage like a hearse.

It was entirely mutual.

The smell of potential decay cleaved in my nostrils like carrion.

I stood in the rigor mortis of that moment and knew I had to yield or the damage I would do to my marriage would be irreparable.

My pulse races now even to reconsider how concrete was that tomb.

An expansive, vile id lurked inside me like a dark mine ready to deploy.

The Prince of Peace lives there inside me too.

It was the moment just before the moment too late.

It was taught, tight tension as sharp as a guillotine.

It was entirely mutual.

I bit my tongue hard enough to taste salt.
I drew in Light.
I put down being right.
I put away I don’t want to.
I shelved blame.
Through Grace,
by His strength alone
I chose Love.

Mercy pardoned us as we forgave each other the trespasses against us.

Nothing.
Nowhere.
Is more important to me than this marriage, this family and a life together.

If this is giving up, well then I’m giving up.

I think, however, this is what it means to Trust and Obey.

We are both entirely humbled we got to that raw moment, however, we are saved because we had the Freedom to choose each other anew.

And finally, in a way I have been unable and unwilling to before yesterday, I am ready to walk that Call out in my marriage.

And if this is giving up, well then, I’m giving up, because I won’t give up on Love.

Love wins.

Well baby I’ve been here before
I’ve seen this room and I’ve walked this floor
I used to live alone before I knew ya
I’ve seen your flag on the marble arch
Love is not a victory march
It’s a cold and it’s a broken Hallelujah
Hallelujah
Hallelujah
Hallelujah
Hallelujah!

Unexpected Gift!

Despite my mentors who chide I should remember why I began my blog in the first place and not get bogged down in Google Analytics or user traffic trivia, I confess I have felt a bit uncertain lately here at bh.

Most of that has to do with family process as we straddle a limbo that weathers and blisters in turns.

Those of you that know and love me know you should never, ever, never consider throwing me a surprise party. I am not wired that way, and the heart of the gesture would be lost in the dysfunction of my insecurity.

However, I LOVE, LOVE, LOVE surprise and Just Because Gifts.

I love to give Just Because Gifts, and I am happy to receive them too because they are so rare and precious.

Imagine my delight then when I awoke to find this message from @gurple7 on Twitter:

…stumbled onto your website tonight when looking at various lyrics for “Hallelujah” by all of the artists that covered it to use in my blog. Love some of your posts and poked around a bit to look for a way to subscribe to your feed. Saw the recent tweets and “CHO” in one and then followed you to Twitter to find out if we live in the same town! (We do, by the way) How very cool. So you have a new follower who stumbled on you through several clicks on an internet search and lives nearby.

@gurple7 had given me the most unexpected Just Because gift in recent memory.

What she could not have known is I wondered of late if my blog was able to touch people. Naturally, I hit her blog, easily amused. I was humbled to find:

When there are no words…

This song always makes me teary and is perplexing so I have looked at different versions of lyrics many times in the past and was familiar with the long list of sites and blogs that try to interpret the lyrics. In my search tonight, Google returned way too many sites for me to read through, but after clicking on the third or fourth page of results, I ended up at a blog. A beautiful blog simply titled Broken Hallelujah. Each post ends with a portion of lyrics from the song. The writer is so poetic and genuine…though writing under a pseudonym. I was poking around trying to find a way to sign up for an RSS feed or subscription to posts when I noticed some recent tweets mentioning “CHO”. No, she couldn’t be. But obviously, I followed that rabbit trail, and yes, she is! She lives in Charlottesville! How fun is that!? I read more of her posts. Would have come to tears several times, except, as we have already established tonight, my emotions are congested.

And so, when there are no words

…I did my best, it wasn’t much
I couldn’t feel, so I tried to touch
I’ve told the truth, I didn’t come to fool you
And even though it all went wrong
I’ll stand before the Lord of Song
With nothing on my tongue but Hallelujah

Hallelujah, Hallelujah…

The gift of her insight galvanized my entire day.

Just Because one kind woman invested the time not just to read my words, but reach out to me, I remember why I lift my own broken hallelujah.

This was a Just Because Gift that bridged the anonymous internet and impacted me personally.

It was a Just Because Gift that reconnected me to the journey of why I began broken hallelujah.

It is also a reminder of why I continue.

I do it connect with The Light of the World, my process and my Praise.

I do it to use the voice Love lends me and thank Him for Provision.

I write to return to Him when so that I do not drown in my own misguided self-reliance and pride.

I am called to Trust Him here.

@gurple7 published the Truth more succinctly than I have ever said it:

And so, when there are no words

…I did my best, it wasn’t much
I couldn’t feel, so I tried to touch
I’ve told the truth, I didn’t come to fool you
And even though it all went wrong
I’ll stand before the Lord of Song
With nothing on my tongue but Hallelujah

Hallelujah, Hallelujah…

Amen, Sister.

Halleulujah!