Someone asked if they can have a free copy of my book. If you need it and will read it, absolutely…yes.
Finally! The book…is here! I mean, there. You know, available.
Brought to you by Mandy Thompson, cause she asked for a blog and one quick like.
I’ve lived a life full of nevers.
I’m never leaving Irvine. (I can’t wait to leave and explore and go see new places and some old places and then come back to this safe place.)
I’m not having babies. I’m too old for that. (I met someone that makes me want to have babies. I’m doing all those ‘getting ready to have baby’ things like downing Folic Acid and smiling at strollers. He asked me if I realized I’d have to get up earlier than 10am if we had them. I’m, gulp, learning that, too.)
I’m never going to love again. (The thing is, the thing to know is. Even when the heart is breaking into so many pieces they are so small you can’t sweep them up, it repairs. God recovers you. He heals you. It takes time and you get better and then love peeks back around the corner and says hi in that way it does where it takes your breath away and all the nevers turn into maybes and possiblies and then resounding yeses!)
I’m never doing that ‘church stuff’. Ever again. Like, with an extra never. (But, I am. See, it’s not the church as in the building I adore. It’s the church as in the people I love. And no, I don’t love the ones all prettied up and perfected. They are fine and lovely, too. I love the ones with a little dirt on them. I love the ones sitting on the side of the road. I’m drawn to the ones that have a scowl at God from years of disappointment and always and nevers that left them with indents in their brow. That’s the church I can’t say never to anymore because it’s you and it’s me and it’s that person down the street that needs to know someone gives a damn about them.)
I’m never cooking again. (I did. Shh. Don’t tell anyone that one yet! I’m still not sure if I’m going to keep that never or not cause cooking isn’t my favorite thing. It came with judgment and rules and disappointment when I was a young wife many years ago. Now, I’m quietly cooking in the still of my home and trying things out with the judgment of only me and hoping one day to share a meal full of love with only…you, well, and you, too.)
I’m never going to be okay. (I am. And so are you. And there are those moments. You know, THOSE MOMENTS, when it feels as if the last bit of the earth has finally caved in on you. The moments when every foot is on your neck and you cannot imagine lifting your head again from the weight of every boot and every shoe saying, “You won’t make it, you. No, you won’t.” That’s a lie. You will. And you will be okay. And you are okay even if your darkest moment. In fact, your darkest moment is really the lightest because that is when God walks in full of love and mercy and takes all your nevers and covers them with promise and hope and expectation.
Rabinna Kabir. (He is a Big God.)
Much love to you sitting in a coffee shop looking out at cars passing and not stopping. Hoping you stop and remember your nevers and squash them when the time is absolutely right and not a moment sooner and not a moment later,
I’m not sure if it is love leaning against a shiny new 1960’s mustang with horn-rimmed glasses and a man that adores you.
Perhaps it’s the stoic sort of love that takes sunglasses and shades not the sun but the looks staring at a tear-stained face.
Or a door that either lets someone in or lets someone walk out.
But I love love. I love the messiness of it. I love the childlike excitement of it. I love the 1960ness of it. I love the grit of it in a strong woman that wants to be weak and a weak man that wants to be strong.
I love love. I love what it smells like in the morning and in the afternoon when it waits upon a call or a visit or a letter. And then evening love that comes with a moon and maybe some stars and the promise of kisses and whispers and tomorrows and todays and maybe much laters.
I love love. I love how it begins and I love how it ends and that it can take my very breath away with a glance or a thought or a sound or a memory.
In these years, these in between years. These years of not being young and not being old I take love and hold it tight and say yes to it and not no to it and am awed that it still chases after me and dares me
Valentines Day 2011
you look really huggable, like wrap my arm around your waist, pull you close, kiss your neck, smell your hair huggable