I can roar louder than most, but I'd rather you hear my pumping heart, beating loudly with life and love that runs deep & thick through each vein.
I'm intelligent but not always logical.
I carry the weight of my hips & the weight of the world; I'm stronger than I look & I'm stronger than I feel.
I am made in the image of God and I am emotional. I don't want to keep my feelings bound up in the bars of my ribcage.
Stop telling me it's not okay to feel. Stop telling me it's okay not to feel.
I am a relentless woman.
I am mother.
I have given birth. I have labored and pushed out life into this world with my own body and I am a partner in creations new.
I have nursed and fed and soothed and protected. I am a fearsome thing to behold. And even on the worst days, when the discipline track gets played on repeat, I hold a fierce love that could set a forest on fire with the smallest kindling.
I am survivor.
I have clawed my way through the valley of death and I did fear evil because it reigned in my mind. I continue to walk the hills of depression but I know that the hurt means I'm alive and isn't that a gift?
My skin has been sliced and diced by words and knives alike and the scar tissue doesn't numb the remembering but it makes me stronger than I was when I started.
Yes, I am a relentless woman.
I sit in the early mornings, hot coffee between my hands and I wonder how I'm going to avoid the shallow end of the pool today. I fear being too safe and I fear the risk. I am a contradiction but I walk it out and figure it out and learn that I need to say yes to the mess. Yes to the risk. Yes to really living it full.
Because this life... this one life I have & everything I pack into it is a gift.
I'm re-learning the graceful art of counting the gifts, the blessings.
I think of that quote, "What if you woke up tomorrow with only what you thanked God for today?"
And I am haunted.
I am reminded.
I am compelled.
I am counting.
281. Blank journal pages and a pen that works.
283. Hot coffee out of the french press.
284. The way the clouds settle in low on the hills, as only Oregon can provide.
285. Our house is selling - we close August 27th. A new adventure begins and a new family awaits us!
286. Tiny hands that reach for mama in the tired hours.
287. The gift of child sponsorship that so many will offer to kids in Bolivia.
288. A new suitcase. With wheels. And a handle that works.
289. Hot summer days spent by the pool, watermelon in hand.
290. The way he wraps his arms around me in the dark.