{this moment}

A single photo - no words - capturing a moment from the week. A simple, special, extraordinary moment. A moment I want to pause, savor and remember.

Baring the Soul

Writing is a baring of the soul. It's also a hiding of the soul, if I'm not careful. How much to share? What about others' stories? Do I share them as well?

I can bare my soul but only to the extent it doesn't unwittingly bare another's. Last night I got a message from another bare soul. I can't fix it. I want to write it out here and find solace and comfort for me and her. But it's not my story. 

So I lay myself bare on this screen. I tell you that I'm scared, and I'm angry, and I'm worried, and I'm hurt. And I only want what is best for her, but what about those boundaries I'm working on?

I lay myself bare and ask for prayers of healing for her. For comfort and peace and knowledge. But I ask all that for me as well, because I just want a normal life -- no drama, no crises, just happiness, rainbows, and sunshine.

Laid bare is where I find myself today.

linking up to five minute friday

Names

As a teenager I kept a little book where I wrote down potential names for my future children. It never really occurred to me that my future husband might not like those names. Names that had good associations for me, like Ross (long before Friends) reminded him instead of the jerk from high school.

After we married, I kept an eye and ear out for names. I didn't really have many family names I was interested in using, and I didn't want my kids to have the same name as 5 other kids in the class.

I'm a librarian by profession. One day as I sat at my computer cataloging a title, I flipped open the book and saw the dedication page. To Claire and Sam. What lovely, real names. They struck a chord with me. I couldn't get those names out of my head. I needed a Claire and a Sam. But what if I didn't have a girl and a boy?

Later when I got pregnant the first time, I casually threw out Claire as a possible name. Nonchalantly. Just an idea. My husband said, "My grandmother's name was Clara." And I thought, "So's my dad's half-sister. I said CLAIRE." Over time it was settled. If the baby was a girl she'd be Claire. I'd already dreamed she was a girl with red hair, so I knew we were good.

So I got my Claire. But what about Sam?

Later when I got pregnant again, we decided to find out the sex. When they told me it was a boy, I thought "Sam".
Again that nonchalant suggestion. Even throwing out that it was a family name on my side -- temporary, pregnancy induced insanity making me forget that the family Samuel had been an incestuous, kidnapping murderer!

So he was Sam from the moment laying on the ultra sound exam table. Which was a good/bad thing when we nearly lost him. And a really good thing when he was born ridiculously healthy, but 5 weeks premature.

So that's how I got my Claire and Sam. I used to think that was kind of a pathetic story. I named my kids from the dedication page from a book I can't even remember the title or who wrote it. But now I think God was giving me a little message. Some hope that I was going to need down the road.

linking up with Writer's Workshop

Believe

I believe in God the Father Almighty,

maker of heaven and earth;

And in Jesus Christ his only Son our Lord:

who was conceived by the Holy Spirit,

born of the Virgin Mary,

suffered under Pontius Pilate,

was crucified, dead, and buried;

the third day he rose from the dead;

he ascended into heaven,

and sitteth at the right hand of God the Father Almighty;

from thence he shall come to judge the quick and the dead.

I believe in the Holy Spirit,

the holy catholic church,

the communion of saints,

the forgiveness of sins,

the resurrection of the body,

and the life everlasting. Amen.

I like The Apostles' Creed. It's a comforting summing up of beliefs. It's like a check list, and I love check lists. But what I'm finding the older I get, the more I rest in the Word, the more I open myself to others, is that this Christian life can't be culled down to a simple list. 

There's a reason God gave us more than the Ten Commandments. It's the same reason He gave us free will. He wants us to love Him, worship Him, emulate Him because we want to, not because we have to. 

As a child and on into my early adult years, I just wanted that check list so that I could be sure I was doing it all right. Just follow the list, keep everyone (especially God) happy, and you win the prize -- heaven. Fail at any of it, and you get the eternal life sentence -- hell.

As a child I was taught the 5 steps to salvation: hear, believe, repent, confess, be baptized. I still see the value in all of those steps, but believe means so much more to me than it used to. Believing is all about trusting, having faith in, loving. Without the belief that God loves me and wants me to love Him, the rest feels forced.

So I believe in the teachings of The Apostles' Creed, but mostly I believe that God loves me and I love Him. And that is enough.

linking up with imperfect prose on thursday

Stained Glass Epiphanies

I grew up in the center of the Bible belt -- Nashville, Tennessee. I am the daughter of a conservative, evangelical minister who was a literature professor as well. In his spare time, he loved doing community theater.  A strange amalgamation.

I married a man raised in the Methodist church. His mother had been raised Catholic. We are an odd compilation. 

The first time it happened was in a church in a Key West, FL. My husband and I walked into an episcopal church just as tourists. I sat down in a pew and began to look around at the stained glass windows depicting different scenes from Bible stories with which I was all too familiar. And I began to cry.

It may have been the first crack in the armor I'd been using all my life. Armor established in early childhood to protect myself from the horrors of abuse, but also from the dissonance of my home life. A conservative minister, who gave me Stephen King and The Catcher in the Rye to read. Who took me to see The Effects of Gamma Rays on Man-in-the-Moon Marigolds and Equus by the time I was 14, and quoted Mark Twain more than the Bible. 

I looked at those stained glass windows, and for the first time instead of seeing gaudy, papist opulence, I saw devotion and love between God and man. I saw a God who was in love in with me, instead of a God who held a rule book in one hand and ledger of misdeeds in the other. My husband sat beside me, and understood what I couldn't articulate. 

I've spent a lot of time since then looking, seeking, and reading. Trying to decode what were merely religious traditions from what God actually wants from me and for me. I still have more questions than answers, but it doesn't scare me the way it once did. 

Stained glass epiphanies.

linking up with Write at the Merge and imperfect prose on thursday

Travel Goodies

see more at Wordless Wednesday

The Simple Woman's Daybook

FOR TODAY . . . February 5, 2013

Outside my window . . . it's looking like a good day. A mix of clouds and sunshine and warm breezes are headed our way today. 

I am thinking . . . about a conversation I had last night. "First do no harm" applies to everyone.

I am thankful . . . for age. I'm glad to have grown beyond those early years. I like being able to say, "Well at this point in my life . . . "

In the kitchen . . . Baked tilapia, succotash, and fruit salad for dinner (see how that Oxford comma makes this sound SO much better?)

I am wearing . . . my gown, robe, and slippers. 

I am creating . . . a couple of new crochet projects. What's one or two more when I already had six or eight in process!

I am going . . . to get a massage today. Yippee! 

I am wondering . . . why I always tell other survivors that "trauma is trauma and not meant to be compared", and yet always wind up comparing my own experiences to others.

I am reading . . . either, The Sherlockian or Hannah Coulter. I picked them both up at the library yesterday, and haven't decided which one to read first.

I am looking forward to . . . brief get away with the hubs later this week.

I am hearing . . . the dishwasher running. The soap dispenser didn't work right last night, so I am rewashing them this morning.

Around the house . . . I noticed the other day that things seem to be staying neater. I can only attribute that to my new schedule/routine which is not based on guilt. This is a new approach for me indeed.

I am pondering . . . whether or not I am becoming cynical or just realistic. How does one determine the difference?

One of my favorite things . . . is picking my tea in the mornings. I love having options. This morning it's Comfort and Joy. So delicious!

A few plans for the rest of the week . . . the aforementioned get away with the hubs and then testing the waters with a new singing group on Sunday with a new friend. (I'll keep you posted)

Here is a picture for thought I am sharing . . . 

new routine tools

for more visit The Simple Woman's Daybook