God's will and timing

It's all I'm about, nothing left to run from, not a place inside of myself that I fear to venture. It's only inside me, dreams of what's possible, explorations of infinity without judgment. It was the judgment that was the hardest part to overcome. I've only compassion left.

And full-truth be told, the compassion is only reminding myself that it's there in this instant. So, what's the compassion for? Well, it's for the difficult journeys some of us must go on to make ourselves whole. Everybody is different, but once you find the sureness that accompanies your own path, despite outside evidence, no matter false inklings, we must carry forth.

The soul won't stand for any less, it won't say, "okay, nice effort, I'll let you go". The one thing I've learned for sure as I read through CM's writings, is that once God decides, once He takes hold...there's little choice left but courage, and faith...and need for endurance.

I don't mind the difficulty of the travel, when I weigh it all out I've been through much worse. So, I'm just hanging on to God's will and timing as my guides, living my life as regularly as possible, still dreaming bold.

Not that I have any choice in the matter, believe me, I've tried. I've tried to let go, to force God to let go, but He has my soul. And I have faith, timing, courage, and will, among other things to explore. So, now you know, I intend to be whole.

Among teachers

It was an unusual day, I have to say, a day dependent on faith and endurance. I arrived at the park this morning, and found myself surrounded by a population of white supremacists armed with sharp knives. I was in good company.

Now that I'm fully-pledged to embrace all my challenges, to find the learning in everything even when it's a struggle, I must admit that racial murderers are people too. Actually, don't be surprised when I say the park was filled with teachers, all friends of my friend, and none had knives. Some had juice boxes though, in many different flavors.

It left me sure that endurance will be needed in the coming days and weeks, as I buckle down and prove to my own self, among others, that I have yet to truly challenge myself to be the best homeschooler ever. Cause that's my goal, besides understanding my limitations better.

Homeschoolers and teachers are natural enemies, and it's so far only going to be weekly playdates that bond us together. But it's a huge undertaking for myself, and the average homeschooler, to find the bridge that must somewhere exist between those snotty know-it-alls and we mothers who are certainly failing our children.

See, I'm putting some of the fault on myself now, that's an improvement. I spent all of today working on unit studies, still love science, but my focus is going to be history. Wish me luck please, I'll be busy polishing my weaknesses, but depending on faith the whole entire way.

It's complex

I think I found my missing lugnut, yup, the exact one. I can't believe I missed it mainly, tucked somewhere under a pile of guilt that was really just a complex. I left the "a" out of the title, is that going to be bothersome? Psychological jargon taints my thinking, so I thought I'd do myself a favor and call it "complex" as if it was complicated, when really it was just a mix up.

In my own thinking! Can you believe it? I'd categorize it as sabotage, but it was so well-intentioned I doubt you'd be able to tell the difference if I pointed it out to you. I'm so adorable, yes, that's the final outcome, I'm cute. Too cute, I'm so complicated, and funny.

There's my happy ending, I KNEW it!!! I thought, just be patient girl, you know you can do it. You always have. This one really had me stumped though, I'm saying that honestly. But when I got to its very bottom and saw exactly how it happened...oh my God. It's just too funny.

A glitch in the way I remembered something. It could have happened to anyone, well, anyone who's so sensitive, like me. I broke under the pressure, that's all it was, in my search. My search where I found myself. Thank goodness, that's forgivable, totally.

Yes, it WAS me. I can see.

There is no competition II

There's no competition when everything's in alignment, no, I insist. I'd rather work energy than still misguided intentions, sorry, I'm just that kind of girl. And not that other kind. Be glad, because nobody should waste their time with somebody who's always thinking in two directions.

Feel honored, that if worse came to worse, which it wouldn't, you'd never find yourself insecurely dealing with somebody who's quite well-seasoned thinking in two directions. That could become addictive, and cause all sorts of other problems that have yet to be had.

I have no respect for people who think in two directions, no, none at all. Sorry. I'd rather be slapped in the face over and over and told "you're an idiot for not thinking in two directions", but I'd adapt to the torture, I wouldn't be sold.

G'head, teach me the lesson. You wouldn't, because now you know me better. Even now, when this post was supposed to be about alignment, and nothing else...I'm writing it, but I'm not thinking it. Because I'd never think it. I'm not that kind of girl.

Echo, echo, echo

Good morning to myself, my day's wide open. Weather's fine, or so it seems, guess time will tell. Camp today for those who go, not everyone's interested. Cursive writing, and cartoon drawing are what we'll do, if we stay home. Kerplunk!

The art of compromise

I realized in the blink of an eye that compromise can have two different flavors. There's the compromise where you just didn't finish sorting through all of your options, so when the perfect solution lands on your plate, everything in your universe is back in rhythm. This type of compromise is not just a relief, it satisfies the soul on the deepest level because you feel as if you've been guided, and the stumble along the way was a necessary part of your growth.

The other type of compromise stands out in stark contrast, it probably leans more towards sacrifice, because the losses that are felt are not part of your growth. More likely, that type of compromise serves somebody else who is still growing, and the least you can do when you find yourself caught in an almost compromise of everything you value and believe in, is be grateful you can still feel the difference between the two.

Despite yesterday's shake-up, I am not putting both of my kids into public school, thankfully. Only my second born is perfectly-suited for the adventure, has been craving this type of stimulating challenge of his abilities, and good homeschooling parents welcome any opportunity to further strengthen their children. My oldest on the other hand, is intuitive like me, enjoys self-directed learning at home, and has been to school before. She chooses not to compromise her freedom and enjoyment of life as it is. I respect that.

This experience was necessary for my growth, entirely. It reinvigorated my summer teaching, now knowing precisely what my son needs to prepare to compete with his classmates, I'm on a directed mission. I look forward to his new habits structuring our September and onward, can already see the early breakfasts and discussions we'll share as the rest of the house slumbers through winter. Valuable, lasting memories will be made, and it's my son's intuition of his needs that has brought us here. I only listened.

I needed the invigoration as much as I needed the reminder that my life has never been about compromising anything I deeply care about and believe in. That walk in itself is what's produced all the fruit I see around me, a loving and connected family, a bright future that's secure because of the foundation I put all my faith in. It's what allows me to stumble and fall with my hope still intact, with full certainty that I'm supposed to be learning something when I fail, that I'd never just fall with no specific purpose to my landing.

It surprises me when I need reminding that to sacrifice my basic beliefs, my core strengths, the essence of who I am is NOT part of God's plan for my life, never has been. It was a wake up call worth having, to remember that all the gifts I've been given are for a reason bigger than I can sometimes see for myself. Even if that reason is as basic as knowing, or remembering, that it's right to celebrate our good values, without compromise. Now that I know the difference, can discern between the feelings of both, I'm set free. Never again will compromise put me last.

Adorable depths

It must be some sort of dramatic exercise to explore all the ranges of being, probably knowing from years of experience that feelings are tools, but not the ultimate reality. Masters of destiny and imitators of character probably find it some mission to conquer and handle the ups and downs we create for distraction...

allowing for clearer distinction between those who can't live without cappuccinos and pedicures, and those whose bones rattle daily and jar in tune with compression blasts of missiles and mortars.

I'm not feeling patriotic today though. Only half-concerned for the direction our country is heading, this vacation is deserved, this space-to-think all worthwhile. Each time I get away from it all, and let the truth settle in, I'm clearer that I have less responsibility for any of the world's chaos and disorder. I'm slowly becoming part of the "really, there's nothing we can do about it" crowd.

Identifying with learned helplessness may be part of the journey, doubtful though. I've warded off such lazy thinking for too many years, but like Pavlov's dumb salivating dog, or that mouse in the maze with no actual cheese or good outcome...eventually, a surrendered heart is the only way to go.

Mice know this, dogs do too, probably even porcupines if you really sat down and thought about it. The faithful use of what we've been given, through God's will and not our own, is the only sure path to a compassionate supply of cheese. Ask Bertrand Russell.

Could've been email

This blogpost should've been written in the form of an email, as part of an exchange that had been taking place over two months time, being honest. Good friends have no problem communicating through email, preferring it as the ideal means to clear up miscommunications, with skill and experience, eventually insuring they never even happen in the first place.

Damn, I wish this could've been said through email. When things aren't said through email, they end up in blogposts like these, which can be embarassing for all parties involved, especially the non-emailee. Oh, how I have wanted to clear up a few small details through email, instead of this being a blogpost, you see.

It will have to do, what choice am I given? Well, it depends how you look at it (saying this to myself, as if I'm emailing me). Dear self, you could have known me so much better, and honored all my particulars, but you didn't want to see. Not seeing served you better, and now I see more than you can see.

Seeing is better, it is. I do have compassion, I want to hearten and encourage, but in my way, the only way I know how. That was the original context of all the original emails that would've been written about honor and seeing and friendship. Had email been the path, allowed or considered, good friends we'd still be.

Writer's Block

I hate days like today, so filled with potential, yet all I want to do is be glued to my house. It's a boring thought in itself, mainly amplified by my lack of enthusiasm for everything that's important in my life, moving forward, being productive.

But, something inside me tells me to sit still, to stay glued. In a way, it's kind of like the new car blues, a year-and-a-half later your neighbor drives by in the latest model, and you're like, "I'm keepin my new-old car, but totally wishing I had yours now."

New-old car deals don't come with that warranty, and if they did, it's best for the wishful owner to sit in and drive around his new-old car alot more, and find peace with all the reasons the new-old car caught his impulsive eye in the first place.

And sit in that some more. There's nothing worse in the whole entire universe than the year-and-a-half later realization that your new-old car DOES NOT come with a special "works better if you just add this accessory" extras package.

In the end, it will only be an air freshener shaped like a tree or a lemon, and the scent won't last. You'll be buying extra accessories for the rest of your life at this rate. Totally a rip-off for all parties involved.

Oh me, oh my

I've gotten bit by the writing bug again. Was thinking of just doing a collection of poetry's greatest hits, but instead put a little star by them, will just keep them as favorites. Of which I have many.

I love this dusk-ish hour when you can sense the gray in the air, STILL can't justify turning the lamps on, but it's settled, because your whole entire summer is dedicated to the ritual of getting the kids to bed at an earlier hour.

Means storytimes will return, eyes will be forced closed while it's still light out. That laying down beside a breathing innocent, after repeating "bad dreams go away, good dreams come", will last as long as it needs to because there's no hurry.

I love summer, and breaking out of habits and rituals of winter, which should have been better, but oh well, they will be this year. And deliciousness in general, oh yes I do. Then, when autumn arrives you get to say "autumn" all the time instead of fall. Plus the leaves.

Great views I'd bet from different areas of good photographers' countries. I'd hope. Popcorn spilling everywhere now, gratuitous post of the evening granted. And god bless it all.

Considering backwards

To me, that means being rigid in my views, not open. I want love, that's all I need. But, the round-about way to myself is equally interesting. Can't be in charge of the choosing.

Can totally be in charge of rambling nonsense though, definitely my expertise. Well, don't hate me, as I'm nobody's perfect. Perfect nothing to no one, and that's fine with me.

Maybe I'll give up bad prose for dumb poetry. Yes, that's starting to sound like a good idea as I type this, you never know how I'll feel tomorrow, don't trust me. Could be a John Mayer song, I think. Nah, not pitiful enough.

Lemme try again. Woe is me, nobody sees glee or understands me. Well, John...now that that's not true anymore, in fact fans are shouting from the rooftops that they love you. I can't even hear myself anymore, less need for any encouraging.

So what's left? An unemployed cheerleader with kids whining for ice cream. Gotta go meet some needs, and good luck with your preening.

My Wicked Ways

I love being 35 years old, mainly because it contrasts so nicely with age 23. Nothing against youth and its many life changing experiences, half of which I believe we'd be better prepared for if everyone homeschooled. Seriously, that bias will never go away.

For the first time in my life, beginning this morning, and definitely not all through last night, I feel REALLY proud to be age thirty-five. Nobody can take that away from me, although it sometimes seems a special hobby for some to try, it's impossible.

I hadn't realized until this morning in the shower, after my double Senseo which was good enough but not perfect, well, during my double Senseo, as I bring my coffees into the shower with me. It's a steam bath actually, mind your own business.

Mainly, I realized that I have so much work yet to do on myself, so many ties to examine more closely that have bound me for so long, that serve society, but not the individual OR the bigger picture. I've known this for a few months now, but believe I would have sensed it earlier had I been more honest. Had I at least tried to see.

I didn't try, and I wasn't honest, that fault lands entirely on me. I'm never going to be thirty-five again, for the rest of my dishonest life (still unconvinced whether truth even suits me), but I can count. At least I have that going for me.

For instance, double always means two, that should never confuse. And in the more sensitive liars, it's kind of wake-up-call news. Doesn't change a lick of my destiny, that's between me and God, always will be. It's my path, nobody else bears that responsibility, I'm thirty-five, done pretending I can't see.