confessions of a nasty woman

After reading all the news - all the reports and all the analyses - I feel like I should be a Trump supporter.

I don't have a college degree.

I was a single mother at 20 - and a divorced mother of two by my early 30s. 

I'm in the low-to-middle class (depending on the year).

I'm white.

And - to top it all off - I have blonde hair and blue eyes. 

But I couldn't be more appalled at this election's outcome. 

I am also a friend and family-member of mixed-race, gay, lesbian, transgender, immigrant, mentally and physically disabled/challenged, non-educated, religiously fervent and other wonderful people who are not exactly like me.

Despite all that, I believe in the undeniable right of all people to be treated equally and with kindness, respect, compassion, understanding and the benefit of the doubt (even the people I don't agree with).

I drove across at least three states to go to my daughter's wedding to another woman. 

I now proudly call that same daughter my son. 

My greatest fears in the wake of this election are that we may no longer (for real) be listening to one another - searching for common ground - or even seeking basic understanding of that which we don't already know. 

I'm  afraid that hate and fear are stomping out love and reason. 

I may be scared about the future of my healthcare (I'm self-employed and the Affordable Care Act has been my best, most affordable and ONLY option), my right to control my own body, my son's safety in a bathroom, my daughter's chance at a fair shake in a man's business world, and the life and liberty of Americans not fortunate to be considered "normal" or lucky enough to have been born here - but I am stalwart in my faith that good will prevail, that right will out, that most people set out each day to make the world a better place and that we as a people learn from our mistakes. 

As a textbook, fundamental Christian for most of my life I was heartsick over the voice of Evangelicals in this election cycle. I did not find the love, forgiveness, understanding, grace and compassion that I was raised on. 

I do, however, have to give a shoutout to the predominant religion of my state - the LDS church - they held fast to their convictions and did not bend them to accept a man whose public behavior (all we had by which to judge him) exhibited hateful, violent, racist, bigoted, deceitful, misogynistic, homophobic, transphobic, xenophobic and otherwise deplorable (yep, I said it!)  attitudes, actions and values. 

Huzzah! to an organization that stands by its fundamental beliefs.

In the quest of my life I have thirsted after knowledge that would bring hope and relieve suffering and show me a path of giving, love and compassion. 

I have not been a saint, but I have benefitted from the study of those who are. 

And - after having spent my life as a gentile in the world of Latter Day Saints, I must give them their props for being willing to stand up and say NO - regardless of the consequences. 

I may be living in a perpetual RED state - and I may have to buy my wine at the liquor store instead of the grocery aisle - but at least I know that some truths remain self-evident: Mormons are really hard to hornswoggle and people can stand on their own truth even if it's not popular. 

I'm not happy with this whole election cycle - but obviously we have a problem. 

Now is the time to give each other a break - let's look one another in the eye and be human. 

Who cares who sits in the Oval Office if we don't have each other's backs? 

Anniversaries

an·ni·ver·sa·ry

ˌanəˈvərs(ə)rē/

noun

1. the date on which an event took place in a previous year.

   "the 50th anniversary of the start of World War II"

   • the date on which a country or other institution was founded in a previous year.

     "Canada's 125th anniversary"
   • the date on which a couple was married in a previous year.

     "he even forgot our tenth anniversary!"

     
     

     
     

     For better or worse — just as in the wedding vows so notably associated with the idea of anniversaries — certain dates, moments, events mark us forever. 

     
     

     Some are relatively easy. The day we were born or met our true love or became a parent or got proposed to on the beach. Those are fine anniversaries. Dates to remember, revisit and celebrate. Pop the champagne, crank the tunes and cue the laughs. These are moments to mark. They remind us of who we are, where we came from and where we hope to go.

     
     

     Others are more challenging but just as persistent. Sometimes even more so. None more difficult than the dates, moments, events where we had to say goodbye. 

     
     

     For as surely as the moon follows the sun, anniversaries of sorrow and pain dog our days. 

     
     

     These occasions of remembrance are not less important than those occasions of celebration. In fact, they are so bittersweet because they co-mingle the joy of a person with the pain of their absence. 

     
     

     Today marks one year since Tyler's dear, sweet girl Julianne took her leave. 
     
     Twelve months, 365 days, 52 weeks that I can scarcely believe have passed. 
     
     A year in which I have cried so many tears. For so many reasons. And so many for Tyler, for Julianne, for my friend who unexpectedly lost her husband, for old friends who tragically lost a son, for a baby boy lost so many years ago, for my beloved grandfather and wonderful aunt, for a desperate uncle, for my little brother's childhood best friend, for too many lost to the despair of suicide over the years and their loved ones left to carry on...for everyone faced with the stark and irrevocable absence of someone they loved. 

     
     

     Most of these sorrows I have carried with me for years if not decades, but the beautiful Julianne opened my floodgates. I don't know why and I still haven't been able to really stem the tide. And part of me is okay with that. I believe the memory of a person, the celebration of a person, the absence of a person deserves attention, notice, acknowledgement and even tears. Especially tears as it seems that is the best I have to give in their honor. 

     
     

     Standing in Today and looking backward I am grateful for many things. I am supremely glad and eternally grateful that I answered the phone on the second ring when Tyler called in the wee hours of the morning. I am so grateful that I kissed Julianne on the cheek and said "I love you" the last time I saw her. I'm grateful I did the same to my grandfather the last time I was able to share a day with him. 

     
     

     I'm thankful that it's a year later and Tyler is strong, happy, healthy and more hopeful than I can remember. 

     
     

     I'm grateful that I've seen enough loss to know that we can survive. That we do survive. And that our survival honors and celebrates those we so desperately miss. But that doesn't diminish the loss or make the anniversary easier. 

     
     

     What I do know is that over time — and it may be a very long time — the anniversaries come with less weight. Less dark weather and haunted dreams. The first time you realize the anniversary is upon you without weeks of gloom and despair heralding its arrival you will feel guilty. For some reason we are prone to wear grief as the testament of our love, devotion and remembrance. But, when we think about it objectively, we would never want anyone paralyzed in mourning on our behalf. 

     
     

     The undeniable truth is that anniversaries are unavoidable. Some we look forward to and some we wish had no reason to exist. But their acknowledgement — and their passing — is imperative. 

     
     

     In the words of King Solomon, 

     
     

     "There is a time for everything,

     and a season for activity under the heavens:

     
     
     

     a time to be born and a time to die,

     
     
     

     a time to plant and a time to uproot,

     
     
     

     a time to kill and a time heal,

     
     
     

     a time to tear down and time to build,

     
     
     

     a time to weep and a time to laugh,

     
     
     

     a time to mourn and a time to dance,

     
     
     

     a time to scatter stones and a time to gather them,

     
     
     

     a time to embrace and a time to refrain from embracing,

     
     
     

     a time to search and a time to give up,

     
     
     

     a time to keep and a time to throw away,

     
     
     

     a time to tear and a time to mend,

     
     
     

     a time to be silent and a time to speak,

     
     
     

     a time to love and a time to hate,

     
     
     

     a time for war and a time for peace."

     
     Anniversaries are a time for us to remember, to mourn, to celebrate, to share and to heal. For Tyler this is the first of many tough anniversaries to come, and that breaks my heart. But he is up to the task and I am so proud of him. Along with the pain anniversaries also bring resilience. 
     
     I am indescribably devastated to have this anniversary to mark but am so grateful for the love, light, joy and healing that it brings along with the sadness. Because to remember that bright girl is to remember sweetness, authenticity and a true, genuine spirit that was rare for a girl of just 17. She was delightful. I am so glad to have known her and cooked meals for her and watched the way she looked at Tyler and never once hesitated in calling Tyler "him." 
     
     We love you Julianne. You are in our hearts now and forever. 
     
     
     

     

     
     
     
     
     
     
     

     
     
     

     
     

Sometimes a girl's gotta do what a girl's gotta do...

Tonite I completely and deliberately broke my Lenten fast of wine.

For some reason today was the day that broke the camel's back.

I am not known (even by those who love me) as the most consistently stable and even-keeled girl out there. However, most agree that I (along with wine) tend to get better with age. Nonetheless, I certainly have my moments.

My path has been treading between rampant rebellion and delirious devotion: falling somewhere between Juno and Junebug. (google it!)

Every day I see myself in the mirror and think, "You're almost forty." 'Almost forty' gives me pause. Anxiety. Exhilaration. And Despair.

My imperative...My devotion...My passion...My love...My agony--and my ecstasy--have (for better or worse) been centered on my role as Mother. Caregiver. Mentor. Molder. Sculptor of lives that will leave the world better than they found it....

...But I digress

Tonite in a flurry of vocational doubt, financial insecurity, self-inflicted parental demonization--countered by the utter love, acceptance, compassion and cheerleading that can only be offered by the truest of friends, I had a glass of wine.

And then another. (she brought two bottles)

While I made the specific choice to give up this most favorite of treats, comforts, delights...I had only vague reasons as to why I made such a choice.

After attending the Ash Wednesday service at my church I received more clarity about why I chose to give up anything at all.

The discipline of Lent ("Lenten" means to lengthen, or to grow) is truly that: a discipline. It is also a discipline that drives the disciple to reflect, meditate and grow.

Despite the fact the I hoped for certain "bonus" side effects (weight loss, saving $$, giving my liver a break) I truly wanted to explore the experience of giving something up.

What I have learned thus far is that the mere act of giving something up compels me to think of why I made that choice each time an opportunity to be bad rears its tempting head (or some random idiot or pretty sunset or mouthy teenager makes me long for a smooth, luxuriant sip).

And then I remember why: To grow. Spiritually.

The mere act of being reminded that I want to be focused, grateful and open to whatever the bigger (and better) plan for my life is, is justification enough to hold back on the fermented grape juice for a few weeks.

I do not believe that not drinking wine until Easter will make me a more worthy or pure soul when Judgment Day rolls around (the mere fact that I unabashedly and without reserve believe in Grace makes that entire idea completely absurd!). However, I do believe that incorporating any signal, clue, secret code or other blatant reminder into my life that kicks me in the ass and says, 'Wake up! Pay attention! This is your life--don't squander it!' is a blessing.

I may have chosen a particularly challenging and painful Tuesday as my "Feast Day" instead of Sunday--but I feel more acutely than ever the real reason for even considering giving something up for Lent.

This has been a gift that keeps me plugged in to my own spiritual life. I may (and most certainly will) stumble--but the clarity to recognize, welcome and learn from those skinned knees is undeniable.