No More “Shoulding”On Myself

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Burning bushes have been speaking to me lately. As cold winds of regret whisper quietly in my ear…

“You’re not enough”.

“It’s too late for you.”

“Stop dreaming about more.”

And today I decided I’m tired of “shoulding” on myself.

Heared that term years ago from my Big Sis Meg. And as much as I’d like to say I’ve got the case of the “shoulds” beat-I don’t.

I should be writing in this space twice a week. But right now I can’t seem to find that clearing in my head nor time to be consistent in my schedule -but I’m here today and I always return.

I should have a cleaner home. But I don’t. And I decided a long time ago that I’d rather spend time checking in with each of my children on the daily than tidying up every corner and cabinet in my home.

I should have a book deal by now. But it’s not ready. Still. Not. Ready. Got edits from my editor and it looks and feels like there is still more to mesh, more to grow, more to layer, more to hope for. And as much as I’m struggling with this news-I gotta embrace it.  Pull up my sleeves, grab a new pen and fresh piece of paper and ask the one who is the Author of my life to take me through this process again. Once. Again.

I am His words-poured out. He gets to decide “the how” and “the when”.

My list of shoulds could go on forever-but I’ve had enough of the spinning. I’m sure you’ve gone there too?

Let’s reach out for more of  “surrender” and less of “the shoulds'”.

I shared more about letting go over in the Mudroom. So grateful for this group of writers who are keeping me inspired to hold on to my dream of writing-even it’s by my pinky-toe nail! LOL.

Here’s to the season of surrender.

Love y’all….


Autumn Quenched

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Before the leaves fall I want to drink them full with my eyes.

Like the way you try to savor the last sip of your favorite drink, the final words of a dying friend and cherished moments of right now.

I don’t want a single one to drop, to  touch the ground before I get the chance to hold each individually-crafted, brilliant masterpiece.

So I just keep taking pictures. The only way to freeze the time that keeps fleeing from my hands.

“Mommy stop taking pictures!”

“Honey, really another one?”

“Oooooh wait. Do that again, let me get my camera.”

“Um, excuse me, would you mind taking our picture?”

I stumble, feeling a little tipsy and giddy from the beauty and wonder I keep getting drawn into every time I see a new tree.

Crisp,cool air refreshes my spirit deep like menthol rub has the power to seep inside and stay awhile. (I love the smell of Vick’s, like I love the smell of Autumn– it’s like aroma therapy).

On our nature walk, we struggle not to collect each freshly fallen, golden-maze, tangerine-orange, burgundy-black, solid and mixed color combinations.

Our bag is already full and we conclude we’ve selected the best.

Until we find the next, autumn drop of  fire -red, mellow-yellow, lime-green, treasured deposits, lavishly blanketing the public sidewalk.

I struggle, heart-sinking- pain, spreads across my chest as I notice my daughter has no more baby fat hanging off her checks and Daddy has turned another year.

Eyes swell with pride and tears as I peak in the mirror, reflecting back the beauty that resembles me, but now stands separate in her own budding womanness.

Over Elmer’s hot pancakes, trying to comfort me, my son says…

“Mommy you still have me for six more years.”

(That’s only six more autumns.)

He now stands taller, equaling my height. The lengthening of his growning trunk promises in coming days to double my size.

Leaves now dry and brittle sit displayed on my mantle-harvesting moments of a season that is soon ready to change.

My only sister moved to California. My best friends are franticly busy, just like me, trying to nestle growing pains, nurture emotional tsunamis,while navigating our lives through heaps of piled laundry.

Like the wind, I wait patiently for our next together-moments to come my way and grab me again.

I hold my husband tighter, nights are getting colder and reality grips me as I reflect on the miracle of our love, the constant spark that keeps kindling stronger, even through passing year and changing season.

Pictures in frames collect yesterday’s firsts and lasts.

I reach for the keyboard, desperate to gather this present moment- before it too decides to wither.

Snapshots of today’s abundance of gratitude, I write and celebrate-life.


Guord Purses Store Up The Harvest Yada Yada's Fall Gathering