A Fond Farewell to 60!

Turning 60 was a big deal.
I looked forward to it like little girls do about 16 and 21.
Quite frankly, I was proud (for the most part) of the life I’d lived up until that point.
Internally I think I was feeling mostly just thrilled to be an example to those around me

prepared and planned and lost sleep over turning 60.
I didn’t want to hurry time along, but I was so excited for the day.
This was when I would set new disciplines in place.

Oh, did I set out to celebrate 60 in grand style.
I made the biggest plans, posted the promises, and focused hard on making this the best year of my life - if that is even possible.
And, as I sit here in my writing corner at the stroke of midnight on my 61st birthday morning, I am filled to the brim with gratitude for how these last 12 months have played out in real time.
Give or take a tiny detail here or there, 2024 has been a banner year.
Many reasons made it that way I’m sure, but most of it I’ll attribute to being intentional about it.
Determining to plan events and gatherings to be with people to mark the time.
I won’t pass this way again.
I know that more and more with every passing day, so I laser focused on creating a year I’d love and one for which I’d be most proud.

LIke many of you might do as one year closes and you make your plans for the year to come, I set a solid appointment with myself at the close of 2023 right as I was eating my birthday cake, to get really specific how I was going to mark being 60.
How I was going to act, how I was going to talk, where I was going to aim my thoughts…
I was intentional about where my time went, whom I wanted to spend the time with, and what I would be doing with the time I had…

Here are a few things I learned:
I don’t have to do what I don’t want to do.
There are only so many tomorrows, so many weekends, so many sunsets, dinner parties, early morning walks, trips to the beach.
Every one of them needs to count.
I don’t way what I don’t mean. If I’m going to have a great day or week or month, it’s up to me.
Gone are the days of hoping someone will invite me over, stop by, or ask me to the show.
I can’t blame people for what they don’t see or think of.
If I want it, I have to make it happen.
And that’s okay.
If someone hurts my heart, I don’t have to walk into the rooms they’re in. I don’t owe them anything. I don’t have to be responsible for what they think and feel and want…


I don’t need to be loved by everyone.


With determination and a commitment to practice, I can do things I’ve believed I can’t.
Can’t really is a “won’t” most of the time.


Youthfulness is a choice.
We don’t have to grow out of things, or too old for showing up at a particular place, or to wear the bikini.


I walked outside every single day for a year. I did it.
Not 7 days, not 21 days, not a month… but one full year. Every single day.



We are so much more powerful than we think we are.


Taylor Swift is wonderful.


Europe is better than I dreamed.


People are good.

Our Little Secret

The shores of a private beach somewhere between Holland and Grand Haven

West Michigan summers are a dream.
This time of year is what we talk about all the other months.
We imagine it when we’re deep in December.
We pretend our toes are in the white beach sand, when they’re trapped in woolen socks - frozen from shoveling snowy driveways and long commutes in the blustery snow.
This is how we stay hopeful.
This is what moves us forward.
This hope.
We don’t mean to complain when the rains of March hit, but we do.
Please forgive us. The anticipation takes hold sometimes.
We forget to be present in winter.
We’re trying.
Some of us anyway.

We just know how great it is here when the flowers of May arrive and we’re uncovering bicycles and stocking cottages for the guests who will descend in droves.
We’re excited for you to get here.
We prepare our fair coastal cities in red carpets of fresh berry stands and open markets bursting with the produce our rich soils and spring temps render.
We welcome you on country roads with corn-on-the-cob and zinnias and giant red tomatoes and perfect pink watermelons. We trim the hedges, update the paint jobs, refill the bird feeders, and ready the guest rooms.
We hail you in with the small town hospitalities you leave your home expecting.
Maybe you don’t know they’re possible until you get here and somehow suddenly - and even magically - you’re relishing in our brand of Americana you’d lost belief even existed anymore.
Yep, see what I mean?
It’s a dream.

We kinda keep it a secret though.
For as lovely as it is, and as much as we want you here, we’re a little hush-hush at large.
And by that I mean, no major global branding… like billboards in North Dakota, t-shirts at TJ Maxx like you see a dime a dozen of for LA or NYC.
We don’t do that so much.
Ours is a sleeker more word-of-mouth kind of style.
We are subtle about it in those louder ways and yet we broadcast enthusiastically in our small circles.

We talk and talk about it when we travel to other cities and countries and shorelines.
We brag a little when we’re asked where we’re from.
We make suggestions in local flyers or drop hints in low budget television commercials.
We see beautiful places around the world, but we make comparisons to us.
We don’t mean to think we’re better, and we boast more than we should probably.
You’d understand if you were here… especially in July.

We are a quiet strength. We are sturdy amidst the misunderstandings when the folks who don’t know about us make their judgements, or even glib remarks.
We need you here to survive as a state and we want you to come, just try not to invite your third cousins and their neighbors. We love them, just not all at once.
We don’t want to add more lanes and tarnish our smaller skylines to make too much room.
And as much as we monitor these things, we’re always amazed that the whole world doesn’t show up here every summer. Paris - even in olympic season - has nothing on us… or so we tout.

We like it this way.
This is our home.
We protect it with a fierce pride.
Already, we’re hard pressed to find a parking spot or a campsite or a vacant hotel room when summer arrives, but we love knowing that we’re just big enough to draw the people, but not famous enough to become skyscraper laden cities, where landscapes are filled with midways, neon, strip malls, and airports.
You can get to us by car, or by a yacht from Chicago, or a train from Detroit, but it’s not a simple direct flight straight to us, nor a well-worn path on the way to anywhere.
We are a special trip; a destination worthy of full attention for awhile.

And so, the word gets out.
Eventually, people talk with people and they start sharing the good news.
The highways line up with campers pulled by half ton pick-ups, carrying eager sportsmen zooming across the borders to drop boats in for a Saturday sunrise cruise.
There’s nothing like the glassy surface of an inland lake when a skier has it all to herself.
The hikers race to the dunes.
The families bring their picnics.
The girlfriends head to vineyards for weekend getaways.
It’s a whole thing.
Please bare with us then if the details of hospitality you’re accustomed to in a more famous place, don’t greet you should you ever come our way. We don’t intend to exclude you. We do what we can to protect the charm, while still attempting to accommodate your vacation dreams. We’re bursting at the seems - the more people come and see and share and sometimes without enough space during the busy seasons but you understand, right? We’re clinging to the slower pace and traditions of a bygone era.

We have sunsets that will take your breath away, campgrounds promising unmatched tranquility, harbors for your pontoons that promise supreme backdrops, and quaint small towns and perfect-sized cities for jazz festivals and wine tasting and romantic strolls and hand-dipped Hudsonville ice cream.
We have it all.
At least, we have all that matters most.
You’ll see when you come.
And upon entrance, you’ll see why I call it, “our little secret”.

So consider this your personal invitation.
Picture this: It’s a Friday.
Your car is packed. Overnight bag, comfy blankets, and a hearty Trader Joe’s supply are all in the back seat. The texts are sent. You’re not going home before the five o’clock bell… and it’s only a couple hours from now. You’re bringing the chips and salsa, the Twizzlers, and the marshmallow sticks.
The girls are bringing the firewood, the graham crackers, and the worn-out stories you’ve told a million times.

And don’t forget to grab some Michigan merch on your way out.
You’ll find friends all over the US who’ll see your “Smitten with the Mitten” hoodie and together you’ll cherish the bond you share from having been here.
We want people to see we’re so much more than a snowstorm, a “constant cloud cover”, or an anecdote to Chicago.

You’ll leave your heart here, we know it.
And it’ll be so hard to say goodbye.
But you can come back.
I’ll have my guest room ready.

My friend's Woolly Daisy farm in Lake Odessa, Michigan

I am a Writer.

I suppose its true now. I’m letting myself believe it. It’s been a long time coming.

This moment marks the day I finally quit avoiding a title I’ve always wanted.
It feels so good.
I settle in and smile.
My heart calms. I release control.
This might be the closest I’ve ever felt to arriving somewhere… enjoying a peace I’ve never known.
Somehow, there’s a place to land, a container to hold my words, to embrace my heart warmly.
Do I deserve this?

No more asking for permission.
No more stopping mid-sentence and closing shut the lid just because I can’t find the perfect metaphor; or craft a flawless sentence.
No more deciding that “she’s smarter” or “she’s more relevant” or “he’s better connected” or “he’s less cumbersome so he deserves what he has”.
I could never do that.

I’m resolving to be enough for now and trusting that what I have to say needs to be heard.
Things don’t need to be buttoned up.
Starting from where I am is the only thing I can do.

I’ve been scared.
I don’t want to offend anybody.
I act like I can control that.
I’ve got loved ones coming in from all sides of the political and religious traditions.
I know deep lovers of God who don’t want to sit in a church and those who never miss a Sunday who don’t seem to know God at all. Where is my place in the conversation?
No matter what I say, someone is going to pick apart something and twist my intention.
And so what if they do… I wish I thought, but I’m painfully aware that I don’t.
I care too much, which of course is why I’ve been stuck, why I’ve been silent.
I don’t want to admit this, but I’ve stayed in the harbor, where the mooring keeps me safe in what’s familiar. And you know the saying I’m sure… the part that says, “the ship is safe in the harbor, but that’s not what ships are for…”.
I can’t serve in this safety. I can’t thrive at all here.
I might choke. My throat tightens just thinking about it.

I know I’m supposed to toss my hat in the ring.
I feel the nudging every day.
If not me, then who. If not now, then when? I’ve asked myself these things for as long as I can remember.
I must speak and write… about people and living and Jesus and struggle.
About experience and urgency and contribution and cause.

I feel God calling me to it every hour.
In tiny whispers and often big, swift kicks God is pleading for me to open my mouth, to put a pen in my hand, to lay bare my heart and crack open my mind.
He is the God of limitless possibility. I don’t have to know outcomes.
I’m just responsible for the next best step.
He’ll guide me thereafter.

I haven’t been intentionally hiding, I’ve just been hesitant to finish work and put in in the world.
My desktop is full of scribbles and fragments in folders; pieces of ideas, partial paragraphs, outlines, a couple chapters almost done, another few essays stopped close to the end, but rendered incomplete because the closing call to action or poignant punch that’s going to change peoples’ lives, I just can’t articulate.

I’m done with that now. I’m going all in.
I’m releasing some of this silly self-analysis about all the ways I might fail.
I will. It’s part of it. And I will survive.
I am joining the ranks of those who say, “I am.”
If they can, then so can I.

I am a writer!
I am unleashed, unapologetic, and untied.
From now on, I’m showing up.
Full speed ahead.

I’m sorry I held out so long.

It's Been Awhile

Happy Summer!

The pace is a bit slower for me in these days.
Some of it by choice and much of it, not.
As a teacher (I wear a lot of hats, and teaching teenagers is one of them), this is what we love about summer.
Allegedly, we have time to work on outdoor projects, to be at the beach, to read, to detox from the distracted and naughty student behaviors we’re dealing with all school year long.
This is when we’re going to do the bigger things that we don’t have the bandwidth for in February.

We have big notions.
We will paint the bedroom. We will re-read the Harry Potter series.
We will garden and hike and swim and finally laugh a little.
We will be present.
We will play catch in the backyard with the neighbor boy.
We will sit still by the campfire. We will stop worrying. We will calm down. We will watch fireflies.
We will sing.
We will get those 10,000 steps in.
We will clean the light fixtures, pull the old shrubs, plant the new ones, paint the kitchen cupboards, learn a new recipe.
We will get shit done, and we will feel great.
We will also play hard.
We deserve it.
We’re going to get six months of living squeezed into 10 weeks.

Or in my case, we will write.
We are going to “finish the book” this year, no excuses.
We have a whole summer , we think.
This empty house we’re somehow dealt can be the gift we’ve needed.
It’s kinda what we imagined when we were buried in ballet and homework and science projects and valentine parties. Gosh, that girl of ours grew up fast.
This summer will be the perfect time for the birthing of my dream, once and for all, I say to myself.
It is my turn.

And yet, time is so swift.
How did we get on this other side of the 4th of July and still not have the proposal done, or the basement cabinets sorted, or the garage shelves built?
There’s no way I was at Target yesterday and saw an endcap filled with school backpacks and “back to school” banners. How dare they?
Why do we have to rush everything?
Where are we going?

My goodness, what is my deal?
I’m without excuse.
Pull it together, I say.
Get things in balance, I demand.
Yes, time is marching forward but there’s still plenty of it left, if I’ll just take action… one tiny step after the next, and then a few bigger moves that I’m already primed for, and then voila… I’m celebrating that thing I wanted.

I analyze a little too much perhaps.
This posture can lock me in to crippling immobilization.
I end up totally wasting an hour and then an afternoon and before I know it, a whole weekend.
I’ve got big ideas, it’s not that.
I’m certainly not in want of a fresh take on a new thing to do.
Some people don’t dare dream.
They wouldn’t allow themselves the indulgence.
That isn’t me.
I just struggle so much with which thing to do next… What’s important and what can wait?
It’s not like I’m sitting around or napping… although those aren’t bad things.

I’m good at looking busy, I brag
I’m excellent at fooling myself that I’m being productive because I’ve emptied all the laundry baskets. There are no dirty dishes in the sink.
I’ve gone over all the mail. I’ve sent out my thank-you notes.
These are good things.
I’m not saying it’s wrong to fill my time knocking this stuff off the list, but for me… the one who calls myself a writer, a podcaster, a life coach, a visionary… I’m just hiding inside the security of these meaningless chores and calling it productive. These are things I can measure.
A vacuumed floor - with its neat rows and erect carpet threads - is real progress, I muse.
If I can see it, and therefore measure it quantifiably, it must matter.
This makes me significant.

And then I wonder why my book isn’t done, or my coaching and training practice isn’t flourishing.
I’m busy. That’s why. Busy with a whole lot of nothin’. But I justify it.
I’ve recently had to conclude: I sure am good at hiding inside daily household tasks instead of taking small actions toward my real work, my calling.
This has got to change, I warn.

Well, thank the good Lord for yet another start.
I re-opened my website TODAY, after having put an intentional pause on it for over a year.
It wasn’t generating engagement.
I wasn’t getting seen. It was costing me time and headspace.
Nothing pleasant was resulting. I heard writing and creating content was supposed to be fun.
This was far from that.
I was stressing over not updating it often enough, not coming up with clever comments on current events, not knowing what to say in moments of debilitating writer’s block… which is totally a thing.
I’ve taken sick days over it. FYI.

I’m deeming this a new day. I’ve done that a lot, I know.
Just go with me on this one. And thanks in advance for your patience.
I’m sitting on the sofa in my living room, cuddled in a cotton blanket on a rainy summer day, writing!
You read that right!
I’m drawing a blank on where the commas go, and how to think-up the most intelligent metaphors, and when to start a new paragraph… but then I realize how the world is full of writers who also aren’t perfect. Newsflash!
I’m committing again to releasing my own ridiculous perfection syndrome and just doing the work.
The grind, the rigor, the routine is what separates the doers from the talkers.
So, here I go.

If she can write , so can I.
If he can have a platform, amidst his humanity, so can I.
The file folders on my desktop of started books and half-written workshops are getting a makeover.
I’m throwing out, combining, sharing, and going again.
People who’ve started decades after me are published three times over by now.
I’m cleared up to celebrate them and releasing them to do their thing.
I’ll be over here doing my thing.

I find comfort in this…
I’m not late.
My story and my process are as they are. I can’t go back and change what has already happened.
Maybe my time just hadn’t come before… and now it’s here.
The present is all I can really face and the future is all I can impact.
The past is done. Praise God.
Frankly, I don’t want to go back.

I’m careful not to declare anything too big at this point, lest I fail myself and you again.
But really, this is the year.
This is the summer!
I might get the basement cabinets sorted and my bedroom painted, and these are important markers but not urgent. Mostly, I’m writing.
The other stuff can wait… again.
Writing is what’s mattered to me most all these years anyway.
That’s what I’ve been so good at, but so scared of.
No more.

I leave tomorrow for a writer’s conference where I’m presenting my book proposal and brand concept to a couple of literary agents and a publisher or two.
The stakes are high. Or at least, I make them that way.
It’s how I give myself the swift kick I need.
I’ve put in a lot of time and money into readying for this.
I’ve given me some serious lectures about due dates and what its going to take to meet them.
And now, it’s about keeping my word.

I’m finally, finally giving myself permission to be the writer; to write.
I’m joining the ranks of those who dare to do it.
And who knows, maybe within a few months, I’ll have a hard copy in my hands (and eventually in yours) which for me will be the partial proof that I was worthy enough.
That what I had to say was worth fighting for and that maybe it was worth hearing.

Your presence here means the world.
Stay with me.
It will be worth it.

I See You

I see you… you’re not sure I do sometimes, but rest My beloved… I’m watching.
You, the one sitting there right now.
It’s quiet, but your heart rumbles.
Uncertainty, fear, self-criticism creep in.
Am I doing it right?, you wonder. Will I figure it out? Will it get easier?
This inner ache can’t go on forever… I’m gonna die. I’ve messed it up so much.
Surely it’s going better for her”, that other Mom you know.
I see your doubt, your questions… the way you wonder and worry, the way you stress yourself sick,
unraveling in your defeat and despair.
I see you.

Your love is so deep for them. These are the children you wanted.
You birthed each one with ecstatic joy… and you’d do it again, hands down.
But…
You’re stretched to the limit. You’re doing all you know how. You’re tired.
You’re also alive, equipped, strong. You dwell on both ends.
And most often, somewhere in the middle.
You’re a Mother. The life of extremes is part of it.
I know this path well. It’s different, but hard moments and Me go hand-in-hand.
I’ve been where you are.
I see you.

I see you… the one who lays awake, night after night, utterly consumed with nagging, tormenting thoughts… You can’t sleep even when you want to. That’s a luxury you can’t afford yourself.
What’s going to happen?
How will it go?
How will I protect her?
What if I don’t make it?
What if she doesn’t find what she’s looking for?
What if they make fun of her, leave her out, don’t invite her to the party?
It doesn’t stop… this tyranny of thought.

It turns out you’re normal. I hope this brings some comfort.
Thoughts take us away sometimes. I AM here thinking for you. You’re okay.
You are also extraordinary… equipped with all you need to be for them what it takes.
You are not here by accident. You are simply human.
I am not.
Surrender.
I have the whole world in My hands.
I know the number of your days, the hairs on your head, the beats of your heart, the steps you trod.
I am Your Savior… your cells and blood and bones and marrow are orchestrated and aligned in a song and rhythm that I have written and planned - for you - from the beginning of time.
Nothing is too difficult for me… not even you.

I see you.

Motherhood is a tall order, a gift… bestowed upon you with precision and purpose.
You came from a Mother. That was on purpose too.
I knew what I was doing then and I know now.
And, I made you a mother.
Together - this is master design.
It works in synchrony together.

And for those children…
there are risks with outcomes, most of which can never be known until they are yours to face.
I know that too. I am here now. I’ll be there then.
There will always be tasks you can’t do without me.
I know. That was the plan all along.
You’re stronger than you imagine. I am here making it so.
You can do this.
I see you.

I see you sitting outside her room, crouched on the floor, quietly sobbing… hearing her weep on the other side of the wall, wanting to fix it, yet determined to let her cry it out.
You desperately long to tear down the door and rescue her; rescue yourself… but you resist.
Is it wrong of me to witness her torture when I could do something about it?
What if she never forgives me for this time I’m letting her figure it out on her own?

It’s the dark of night. Why is everything harder at 2am? Everything.
You’re doubting your choice to let God move “in His time” and trust Him to speak to her without you.
You could swear you heard Him right.
What if I scar her for life - while I’m out here listening to her suffer?
”Why aren’t the answers more clear God?” you say, “Is it supposed to be this cruel? Am I not listening?”
Yep, I see you…. and I’m with you.
I’m actually WITH you.

And then, tomorrow comes. You’re sleep deprived.
You forget her lunch money, send her to school without mittens, speak a harsh word and then another.
You lose your patience, go to bed angry, vow you’ll never do it again, and then… you do it again.
You promise her more than you can deliver.
There isn’t enough time.
You knew that, but you had to pacify her for a second. You needed some peace.
You thought that would do it. It was the “only” way.
You stretched yourself too thin.
You called the wrong person to vent.
You drank that extra glass of wine.
You trimmed the truth cuz you thought it would relieve you… at least momentarily.
And it did, and then it didn’t.
I see you. Oh dear one, I see you.

And I see you too… the one who feels like something is going right.
You have some mothering wins, some reasons to celebrate, some mics to drop.
“Look at me,” you say. “I am crushing it everywhere.”
You had a week of self-control, a morning of remembering.
You woke up before the alarm, filled out the permission slip, loaded his cleats in the car,
put the garbage at the curb.
You answered the emails, returned that phone call, and braved a courageous conversation you’d been putting off. And you survived.
You are so “on top of it”, you even had time left for a chat with the neighbor at the mailbox.
All that, and you crafted a dinner he actually ate and loved… so much so, that he licked the pan.
Things are going right for a change… at least for now.
I think I’ll sit down for lunch this time, and enjoy the view, soak up my success.
For once, I’m not gonna pace the kitchen in a frenzy, stuffing last night’s taco from one hand - with a laundry basket in the other… and my phone under my chin.
I’ve earned a moment to breathe.

That boy you have adores you. He runs into your arms in the after-school pick-up line, gripping his homemade valentine he can’t wait to give you, looking into your eyes with the blind trust you saw when he was first placed in your arms.
He feels heard, safe, seen, loved.
This is the sweet spot you were expecting; dreaming of.
Being a Mama is all I ever wanted.

Time passes.
He brings his buddies over for your “family favorite” lasagna.
Your table is surrounded. Added folding chairs and the piano bench don’t even hold everyone.
There are still people standing. Countertops and floors are taken up.
And you love it so much, you think you might be in heaven.
There’s laughter and inside jokes, told with the familial warmth that only dear friends know.
There’s a mile-high, stinky shoe pile at the door, people coming in without knocking, claiming the turf as if it’s theirs. The guest bed is loaded so high with coats and scarves and gloves and backpacks, you’d build an addition off your family room if they’d keep coming.
“Hi Mom,” you hear from his best friend, as he bounds in the kitchen.. “You’re a second Mom to me.”
The friend rushes to your side and lifts you off the ground with a hug that feels so good, so validating, you’d pay a million dollars for it if you had to… anything to freeze time.
Even their friends see you, Mama.
They hold for you the extra love you have in spades… that’s how much you love to mother.
You’ll mother anyone in your path.
I know. I made you that way.
I see you.

This is what you wanted. A home… people loving it there, kids coming out of the woodwork.
They peruse your freezer for more mozzarella sticks, tip over the pantry for that special popcorn you buy just for them, clutter the foyer shelves with car keys and cell phones, water bottles and yesterday’s homework.
The lines are blurred between your kids and someone else’s.
This is joy unspeakable. Love is free flowing.
And after the last friend files out, your boy wants help with Algebra, cares what you think about his prom date, and proclaims you proudly as the “best Mom ever”.
You are living the dream…

Or for you, maybe something is missing.
I see you so clearly, as if to be stepping in time with your every move.
Your Mama is gone. She’s not there to be proud of you. You want her at this table.
She would love those boys.
She would hold you as you heal from that night you sat outside your little girls door…
the night you can’t quit replaying; re-feeling… over thinking.
You want her to see the Mama you are… the one she showed you how to be.
She prayed and prayed and lost sleep over you.
She filled the fridge when you hit hard times.
She took you to the doctor when you received the bad news.
She listened to your football stories and the big college plans you had for your kid.
She took him out for ice cream after the ball game his team lost by one run.
She covered the mortgage that month, the utility bills that summer, the late fees too.
She listened to you that time he came home late and calmed you off the cliff… when you were thinking he just might not come home at all.
She applauded, embodied, stood, sat, held, cried, danced, laughed, shaped, warned, modeled, worried, loved. And prayed… oh how she prayed.
How will I manage without all that? you fret.

Her time there is done.
You’re alone, so alone.
You want someone to care like she did, to shoulder it, to make time and space for it, to carry you.
You want to call her, see her, hold her one more time.
But it is not to be.
Her passing may hurt forever. The hurt gets different, and rearranged but it’s as close as the picture of her that sits on your mantle… the one you cling to as a reminder of how good you had it.
I will use this in your life. It will be the thing that turns you closer to home.
It’s hard to see it now, I know.
I’m here. I see you.

And all those kids leave.
They grow up. They’re supposed to.
The folding chairs were sold in last year’s garage sale.
The piano had to be taken apart to get it out of the house when everybody stopped playing it.
The table is kept company only by an unlit candle, for which you never strike the match because
no one is there to surround it with conversation, laughter, stories. No one is looking now.
I see you.

And you…
You didn’t get to be a mom.
You’re mad about it. You pretend like you’re not.
You tried and tried and tried.
You’ve hoped and hurt one time too many.
You’re seething in anger, battling the shock, compartmentalizing the anguish.
You have to survive. This is the only way.
You spent money you didn’t have, went to the specialist a few hundred miles from home, took the test, waited for the results… and your womb is empty.
And then there was that time God worked it out naturally and it didn’t last.
The baby didn’t stay.
This isn’t how it was supposed to go.
But it did. And it does.
I see you.
I know that place you’re in. I know it so well.

And I see you… you don’t want to be a Mom.
You’re sick of the pressure, the judgement, the cursory replies, the eye rolls.
They give you the sleeping bag on the floor at the family reunion.
They make you sit at the kids table.
They wonder why you’re not married.
They love you in their own way.
You made a choice for yourself and its not respected.
They mean well. I promise.
I see you.

You might be the one who’s Mama hurts you.
You’ve adored her for a lifetime and she’s not available.
You keep trying and performing and initiating and serving.
You can’t love her into relationship. She just doesn’t know how.
She can’t. She doesn’t want you. It’s not your fault.
She’s not well. She never has been.
You need what she can’t give you.
I remind you often about offering her grace and mercy and forgiveness.
It’s hard for you.
I see you.

There’s you… a grown son, who’s only ever and always wanted to love the Mama of your children and she’s left you with them. She was scared. She was too broken for the task.
You woke up one day and she had her bags in the car.
She didn’t even say goodbye.
Mothering well was more than she could do.
“She wasn’t enough” - or so she thought.
She thinks she’s doing right by the kids, right by you.
She thinks she’s “in the way”, so she is leaving before she “ruins them permanently.”
You’re left trying to make sense of it, to give your children safety and family.
And you’re losing sleep too.
You’re standing at their bedside braving the feelings.
I see you.

What about you?
You are the husband to a woman who’s working three jobs to help you recover from a rough patch.
Watch her mothering? Look at her go. Look how blessed you are.
Look at what she’s done, what she continues to manage, what she pulls off in record time, and looks good doing it. I don’t deserve her, you say.
But you have her and it’s so good.
She’s bringing home a supportive income and somehow present on the back porch, when you need to sip a tranquil cup of tea with a friend “who listens better than anyone”.
You’re being “mothered” in the best way. Her heart knows how to nurture children and be something divinely unique for you…. She’s a mother.
That’s what she does.

Maybe there’s balance.
Maybe there’s bliss.
Maybe there’s loss after loss after loss.
Maybe you’re finding your way, maybe you’re disoriented, tripping all over yourself.
Perhaps you’re numb.
You might be in the sweet spot, feeling needed and useful.
You could be packing up the family home and moving far from the life you loved, but its necessary now.
Reinventing, reclaiming, repurposing… resurrection.
Life is moving and you must move with it.
The long road of loving kids and Mamas is marked with many stops along the way.
None of them to be missed.
I see you.

And then there’s you, and you, and you…
All of you… the ones who’ve been mothered.
We’re all covered now.
You’re reflecting, reminiscing… treasuring what’s been and planning for something new.
Your experience is your own, and yet you’re sitting next to someone who “relates almost exactly to what I’m going through…”
It’s different and somehow the same. Fascinating how that is.
If there’s one common thread that weaves in and out of us all, it’s that we share so much connection even on our different paths.
What we all long for at the core is to feel love and acceptance.
I’m here for that and I’m using mothers to make the message known in a language you understand.
I see all of you.
And I made you Mothers…
I created in you the hard-wiring for the task with a dependence on me to weave together all the nuance and mystery.

And then there’s Me…
I saw you before it started and a plan was in place.
I see you now, and I will see you in the end..
And then, I will bring you home.
Your race will have been won.
And if anything beautiful has ever happened for you, in you, through you… I was in it, using a mother’s love combined with My own to form the heart that beats within you for all that is good and glorious.

You see, that’s how I got here too… through a mother.
A young Jewish teenager is who God used to bring me into your life.
I came in poverty and exile that I might relate to you at the deepest level.
Whatever you think is hard and impossible, I know it beyond what you can conceive.
I watched her. She knew from the beginning what was hers to face.

My mother was a vessel of ultimate struggle.
She knows your stories. Believe me.
Except with her… she didn’t get to hold me even for a day without knowing the excruciating and inevitable pain that would come; the unspeakable sorrow.
Her love, her servanthood, her suffering… it was hers alone.
No one in her village, her influence, her family could bear it…

That’s how God created humankind…
I supposed He could have found another way, but he chose to create women to carry us, to birth us, to demonstrate his Love in the world.
I see you.
You’re a Mother.
There’s no one else more fit for the work.

I am here with you. Always and forever.

Abundance - My Word of the Year

Dawn breaks.
Coffee brews. I dole it out to those who need it here.
A hurried, yet lovely moment of family devotions before they scurry out the door.
Car drives away.
Garage door shuts.
My day begins.

Husband gone to work.
Daughter in school.
Dog fed.
Laundry done.
Tea is hot.
Lavender oil diffusing.
House is settled.
Soft piano music cued up on You Tube.
Cozy blanket, warm socks, a lovely winter view out my study window.
Christmas still in the air.
A candle burning.
Pen in hand.

I’m making my lists, just like you are.
Fresh starts get us all excited, do they not?
Oh, what we’ll do with this great new year in front of us.
Anything is possible… at least we think that now.
We’re cracking open new journals, turning the gold embossed pages, smiling with pregnant hope of what we’ll write, what will happen in these days, what’s happened before, and how we’ll make it different.
We’re placing ribbon bookmarks in sparkly leather bound calendars, denoting our appointments and important conversations to come, certain that possibility and surprise are ahead, and old and painful things will stay at bay for awhile.
We’re writing what we’ll weigh, whom we’ll work with, where we’ll travel, how we’ll get there.
We have big ideas, great intentions, unfinished business, extraordinary talent…
We’re uncovering it finally.
We’re doing it.
The “shoulds” have become “musts” and “unstoppable” is our new mantra.
We’ve purchased new books we’re going to read, enrolled in classes that will shake us into uncomfortable action we’ve too long been refusing, paid for our yoga classes, and called our best friends to hold us accountable.
This is great.
What in the wide world could hinder the day.

And then we get a message.
Oh, and on that list I’m making, one of them is “to leave my phone in the other room until 9am”.
Screwed that up already.
”It’s not for me. I’m canceling. Thanks for investing your time, but I’m uncomfortable and the products don’t work.”
Cool.
Cool.
I’m cool.
And so, I lunge deeply inward this time. I’ve learned to distinguish between responses and reactions.
Breathing.
Not owning what isn’t mine.
Honoring what is.
More breathing.
Remembering all those lovely things I promised myself for this years new stance,

And so I message back.
I notice I’m strong. I’m confident. I’m happy. I’m going somewhere brave and this is part of it.
This lovely person is moving forward without me, without us, without our awesome community, without our products. It’s what she needs. It’s what she penned in her pretty new journal for 2021.
Good for her. Proud of her clear action. A little jealous actually.
Oh, for the clarity at her age.
And I take stock.
I feel it for a bit.
I wonder if it’s worth a reframe on my part, to help her see that what she’s doing is a potential mistake.
It’ll stop her from the goals she said she had.
I state a couple solid beliefs in what I’m doing, and what we can do for her, and then release.
I notice how this will affect my day, my mood, my work, my paycheck, but I’m not taken out.
Not at all.
I field her concerns, make the needed adjustments to her account, close a chapter with her that was shorter than I had hoped, and I set my phone down.
And walk away.
Issue solved.
I survived it.
Feeling amazing.
I served. Did my part. Communicated well. Remained open.
Presented a couple options.
All is well.

And I realize in that tiny moment that this is what abundance is.
It’s choosing to see the openings, the places for growth and connection.
It’s disassociating my self worth and the products with one person’s choice.
It’s refusing to summarize a slight bump as a personal failure, and notice it rather, as a place to be curious.
It’s a chance to wonder again, to look closer, to reimagine, to go again, and again.
With her in a new way, and yea, with others in a new way.
She is not a problem. Neither am I, nor my product, nor my company, nor my coaching, or my posture of pressing in. People need breaks and they do what they do.
Just like me. Just like you.
And life flows like this. In and out. Up and down. Back and forth.
And we get to be a part of it.

We get to choose how we see what’s in front of us.
We mustn’t wear a protective sheath that clouds us from life lessons and the people who bring them.
We make all the space in the world for people to be who they are, stretch them a little, let them go where they may, and proceed with our brand of contribution that is still valid, worthy, and needed by countless seekers.

And we remember, He has come that we might have “abundant life”.
It’s fully available to us all for FREE.
It’s what He promised… “pressed down, shaken together, spilling over, people giving into your bosom”
Like God is tripping over Himself to bless us beyond what we could ever dream.
We tend to think of abundance when the surprise bonus check arrives, or the phone call telling us we got the part, or a doctor’s report stating the test was negative, and yes it’s this… and it’s also life’s micro-moments when a handsome stranger lends us a smile,
a person lets us through a long line, and… a prospect tells us “no”.
There are other people to bless, waiting to hear from us, wondering where we’ve been all their lives.

If it’s true that life is happening for us, not to us, and that God is crazy in love with who we are and whom we’re becoming, always distributing goodness, kind instruction, earth shaking, mountaintop joy, and money to cover more than just our basic needs, then our position is to open our eyes.
Abundance is literally falling from the sky in droves, pouring from people, sneaking around corners, crafted in conflicts, seeped in snowstorms, oozing from past mistakes.

And so, I’m claiming more of it.
More for me and you and what we’re dreaming for 2021
There is no end in sight to what is unfolding in our midst.
I wake long before and recline long after the sun runs its course, just dreaming about it all.

This is how to live my friends.
Expectant that exactly what I need (and then some) is here and more is on the way.
My word for 2021 is “abundance”.
What’s yours?

Arms are open wide, bring it.

I Don't Give That Out

After a ridiculous amount of time putting it off - scraping the bottom of the peanut butter jar, and scrambling to find a tissue for use, sans toilet paper, I had to get to the grocery store.
It was a “must”. And you know how “musts” go. We find a way.
The time it takes to prepare the list, allot the cash, walk through the store, search for what we need, grab a few things we don’t, bag it all up, load the car, drive home, unload the car, organize it in the pantry and the fridge. It’s a lot. You know the drill.
Sticker shock hits too and so, I put off the store run as long as possible sometimes.
No more.
I’d delayed it long enough.

Nevertheless, there I was.
Ready to tackle my list; focused, purposeful, determined.
If there ever was a playground for the distracted mind, the megastore is it.
And I wasn’t going to let any friendship sighting take me off task.
(I swear, I never go to the grocery store, but that I don’t see a friend, or two, or ten.)

Until…
There was this woman sitting on a bench in the vestibule, just outside the main entrance.
I’ve seen her there before.
I know her, it seems.
I don’t want to assume what I’m thinking but it’s likely true.
I can tell by the number of bags, the quiet mutter as she shifts in her seat, trying to look busy - like she has somewhere to be and a schedule to keep, but the con isn’t believable.
Not sure if she knows that, but I can tell.
I’ve been there.
And yeah, there’s a familiar odor, the one that comes from hard living and despair.
And it’s strong.
The odor and the despair.
Both darn near knocked me over.
A stench so rancid, it would take a new kind of bravery to breakthrough it without showing the horror on my face as I approached her.
Didn’t scare me though.
The veneer between people is easily punctured.
We’re not that different.
The human experience is separated by tiny threads most of the time; easy ones to break.
Sometimes a friendly smile is the simple bridge that changes everything.
I was willing to make an attempt.

I just wanted to be with her for a moment, stop my agenda and stand still.
I wondered if anyone had done that with her in years.
It was the least I could do.

So, I stepped in front of her, far enough away for dignity, close enough for curious interest.
Didn’t say anything, just waited for her to notice.
She could sense my presence because she started to fidget all the more.
I had to take quick inventory to see if I was doing this for her, or me.
The distinction is blurred often.
Our good intentions translate as selfishness way more than we’d like to admit.
I decided to proceed.
I had no expectations.
I simply wanted to take a moment to include her in the world.
This was a woman who’d been overlooked somewhere.
I know how it goes.

Right there, I’d made myself a force, refusing “no” for an answer; poised with a smile until she was ready to glance my way.
She didn’t.
She wasn’t. Probably never would have been.
And then I said, “Hi, what’s your name?”
“Oh, I don’t give that out,” she said.
“Hmmm, Okay…. no problem. My name is Nadyne. I’ve seen you here before. Just wanted to share a little Christmas Cheer!”

“Oh, well I don’t need any of that,” she mumbled, as she reached in one of her bags for a tissue.
She tried to shoo me away. I respected that.
I wasn’t planning on sticking around long, just enough to communicate that though she wasn’t up for me, I was up for her. It’s anyone’s guess if I succeeded. Who cares really?

And yeah, there we were.
Me speaking a language, dressed in a package she wanted nothing of.
And me realizing that extending myself to people isn’t about how or if I’m received, it’s about taking the risk anyway, never personalizing the response nor expecting a certain outcome.
If my love is free, then it needs to be free.
I give what I have, when I’m called upon.
God will take care of the details.

Christmas cheer seemed like just the thing she needed, if you ask me.
But then again, my lens isn’t the only one in which to see the world.
And no one’s asking me.

I AM “giving that out”.
I’ll sprinkle it where I can.
The rest works out somehow.

Do You Want To Be Well?

What do you want?
Like, absolutely most of all.
With no disclaimers, or apologies, what is your heart’s burning desire?
Take a long hard inward look right now… where you are, as you are and ask yourself, “If money were not an obstacle… if a pandemic wasn’t in our midst… if I could see clearly into an uncertain future, what would I want? What can’t I live without?”
Do you dare ask such things?
Do you have the courage to peel back a layer or two and let yourself imagine?

I talk to a lot of people.
In my coaching and wellness business, I’m a pursuer and I’m pursued.
It’s my aim to connect with at least 25 people every single day…
see how they are, ask how I can listen, pray, take interest in some achievement of theirs, mourn what they’re grieving, celebrate what their accomplishing.
It’s my thing.
It’s what I do best.
People are my passion… helping them find their essence, live from their truth,
navigate tough decisions well, live beyond and above circumstances with drive and power.
I ask almost everyone I’m with at some point, “So, what do you want?”
I’m always so surprised how few people even know what to say.
Like, they are not allowed to want anything, you know?
It might be audacious.
It might be selfish.
It might be foolish.
I see people literally looking over my shoulders, surveying the room, as if in search for an intruder.
They swirl their eyeballs in circles, hunch their shoulders like they’re being forced to reveal a secret, and either don’t want to be heard or caught, and say, “I have no idea. I’ve never been asked quite like that.”
And I say nothing.
I don’t speak.
I keep my eyes on them and wait.
This is their signal that the coast is clear and they are safe.
When they get that, some people cry.
Some squirm.
Some shift in their seats.
Some walk away.
Some stand still.
Some laugh.
It’s not a funny laugh though.
It’s an “I don’t deserve your attention right now, so I’m going to meander away and shrink” laugh.
Or in some cases, a mocking laugh.
But…
I’m still standing there.
Looking at them.
Seeing them.
Waiting.

I read a thousand narratives in their eyes. I make up stuff that may contain zero truth, but likely not.
For the most part, people don’t dare.
They’re entrenched in survival mode, trapped in distractions just trying to get by.
Overwhelm has become their status quo. They accept it as normal.
And wanting is simply a luxury they best not afford themselves.
The risk is too high.
I enter in.
With my presence I say, “Friend, you get to want. You’re worth that.”

In our conversations, when we sift through the cluttered headspace and past the wounds of broken trust, here’s what I probably hear the most, “I want to be well. I just want to feel good. I’m so tired.
I’m aching inside and out. I can’t sleep. I’m too busy to exercise. My kids need something every second and there’s nothing left for me at the end of a day. I hate looking in the mirror. Just one hour of having energy, and strength to make a change would be everything to me. I have no idea where to start.”

I’m not one to fix anybody. That’s not my job.
That’s what God does.
I don’t cure or diagnose or treat or prescribe.
I listen.
And then, if invited, I offer what I have… me; my heart, my tools and resources and strong belief
that full health is available.
Health in body and spirit and mind and heart.
In relationships and dreams and anything imaginable.
That’s where my head is.
That’s what I believe.
That’s my obsession.
Our overall health is largely our choice.

I am laser focused on pointing people toward first, allowing themselves to want, and second,
feeling the ultimate, soul-healing pleasure of a high functioning and healthy body.
All of it. In and out. And all around.
There are sicknesses and disease. There are sprained bones, and cell mutations.
There are hearts that don’t tick in time and tummys that don’t digest on call.
I get it.
There are troubles for sure.
There’s so much I don’t understand and even fear on occasion.
If I think about that stuff too hard, I’ll toss in the towel too.
I’d give in to what “they” say and lie there like a victim.
I’m a human who sees through the mirror dimly.
However, I choose to spend my time and word count on what’s possible, what’s within my control, how I can impact a diagnosis. I have endless upon endless choices.
What we put in our mouths, take-in with our eyes and ears, send out of our mouths, think in our brains, and hold within our hearts is critical. And much of it lies within a buffet of options.
Restored health and wholeness might be within our grasp after all.

So, with my coaching focus, my new book and companion journal, my online wellness wholesale accounts I help people open and own, and the epic retreat and video series in the works, I will forever place my last dollar and breath on the bet that we can truly be well.
We are the captains of our own lives.
I think about that man, lying near the pool in Jerusalem.
Bethesda.
Paralyzed for 38 years when Jesus happened on to him and asked, “Do you want to be well?”
Reaching for Jesus he says, “Sir, I can’t get into the pool with the stirring, healing waters.
People go ahead of me every time I try...”
And Jesus says, “Pick up your mat and walk.”
And the man does.
He was lame, and now he walks.
He wanted bad enough, made his want known at just the right time, to the Savior of the world who could actually do something about it.
And his life was changed in a moment.

And yours can be too.
Do you want to be well?