Still a Baylor Girl

When you reach the stage that life is measured by significant year reunions, funerals, and weddings of close friend's children and the grandchildren that follow thereafter, I'm pretty sure it means you're old.

I went back to Baylor Homecoming for my 25th class reunion. Once on campus, I realized very quickly that aside from very polite greetings from students, I had become another irrelevant parent. I had actually planned my outfits for the big weekend--something I do once a decade at best. I'll be completely honest, I did consider that I might finally snag a "Baylor boy" after all these years. (I didn't run into any divorced Baylor boys. Divorce at Baylor doesn't happen; but, that's another post.)

The only people that noticed me, were of course other old Baylor alums--other geezers that recognized my face and were pulling all the RAM they could to crank out my name before we actually had to speak. I learned just about everything I know about social graces at Baylor and this one was the dead give away I was not alone... "Girl! How are you?" Guys say, "Man!" or if trying to keep up with their kids' vernacular, "Dude!" I chose the direct approach and said, "I should know your name. Given that I cannot remember my only child's name several times a week, will you remind me of yours?"

I love Baylor and have such fond memories of living life full tilt with so many others that shared my values and ideals. Despite my goals, I was even educated well. What I value most having gone back after 25 years is what I valued most then as well, relationships.

My dearest friends at Baylor still recognize my voice when I call. They still know that if they compliment me on something, I'll tell them how much it cost. In turn they will disregard or applaud my boast about the bargain. They also know that I'm prone to hyperbole-except when it comes to my bargains. I am fiercely truthful about sale items.

Although there have been long stretches of time where communication is sparse, my core group of friends have all been committed to one another. In the past 5 years we've been even more intentional with seeing one another. We've all discovered that life gets harder. We trade up for higher sets of problems. That's growth. We also know that growth hurts. There is nothing quite so comforting as an old friend to simply listen while I cry--to feel only comfort when she wipes the inevitable snot drop off the tip of my nose.

As in all places, Baylor has it's share of one-upmanship. It's a place where to be smart, beautiful, high achieving, and spiritual is the norm, not the exception. If I'd thought I was any of the above back in the day, I could find 10 people in 5 minutes who were exponentially more than I was. That's a lot of pressure.

I never believed I was naive or young then. I was, in my most humble estimation, wise beyond my years. The one thing I did well was choose good friends with whom I could simply be flawed. It was in the safety of friendships that I could feel almost right about being average. In time, and with growth these same people are ones that I feel completely comfortable revealing both my victories and epic failures.

The bonus now, a blessing that I could have only imagined back in the 80's, is having relationships with these friend's children, so many of them legal adults now. What a delight to see traces of their mother's smile, an expression their father made that still makes me laugh, or hear that child wryly comment about her mother's method of spreading mustard from edge to edge of the bread.

There is a South African word that speaks such truth: Ubuntu- I am because we are. I am Lori Hudgins Clark because of so many people at Baylor: professors, leaders, and students. I am particularly grateful for those people who invested their love and time in me to help me know that I am part of something larger than myself and that it matters. I matter. I know, in part out of success-- mostly through failure, that I am enough.

My dear friend Jenny went to Baylor a decade after I was there. She was appalled that I didn't own Baylor clothing or a car emblem. I now have a zippered hoody, a grey hoody, a t-shirt, and a sticker on the back of my mini-van in pink that says, "Baylor Girl" It's true. Once a Baylor girl.......always.

New life. Full life.

It had been seventeen days plus eleven years since I'd held a baby whose life on earth could still be measured in hours. It wasn't just any hospital, it was the same hospital, same floor, just doors down from bland room I'd cradled my first child. This afternoon, having picked up my 5th grader and purchased goodies, that same child and I were aflutter with anticipation of meeting this already beloved baby.

He was lying on the bed with his Mommy swaddled in a blanket I wish I'd invented. So simple. Just a tiny couple-a pieces of velcro and the constant need to re-wrap the little burrito is eliminated. His hat, the same hospital issued blue and pink striped one my baby wore covered all but his left ear that had been squished into a delicious, misshapen potato chip. 

He'd run out of space in his temporary home. His Mommy, whom I choose as family, had a very difficult time delivering his 9 lb 4 oz, 22 1/4 inch self. He may have smashed his little ear when he thought he'd come into the world sunny side up. Fully dilated, Mommy couldn't begin pushing until the steadfast staff positioned her in ways that convinced him flipping would be make his journey safer. That alone took hours. Then Mommy had to push for two more hours before he let out his first audible protest of his entry into a foreign land.

New Mommy, exhausted and euphoric, overjoyed and overwhelmed, unable to move off her throne of ice greeted me with a weary smile and a familiar, loving voice. I've loved her daily for over ten years now. I had a desire and need to pour my life, water and ashes into a younger woman. I'd prayed for months. The moment she invited me, a newcomer, to sit at her table, the "fun table" I knew it was her. When she asked me to coffee a few weeks later to ask if I'd pray about discipling her, I answered firmly, "No. I won't pray. I already have a yes!" 

With motherly tenderness, I lifted this perfect gift and cradled him in the crook of my arm. I'd been studying his features in thumbnail sized  iPhotos. I'd heard his voice in a video I'd watched several dozen times before our arrival. I was already jubilant about him and for his parents. I knew I loved him. I've loved him since before he was conceived, praying with his parents for the gift of his life. To feel the warmth of his head against my forearm and see the rise and fall of his full inhale and exhale ignited emotional embers I was not anticipating. 

Tears are complicated, prisms of emotions. I let them line my eyes and paused their release for another time.

I promised Mommy we'd leave soon. I wanted to hear the details that only she could provide about this first born birth. Although each birth is unique full of peaks and valleys, we form a circle of humanity that yearns to hear another story that validates and affirms our own pain and victory. We rejoice over new life and eagerly welcome new members to this universal birthing club. Yet. We want an easier story for our beloved to tell. Less pain than we had. Less healing and easier transitions into motherhood.

Even with texts of ten words or less, I knew her story to be filled with some agonizing moments and pain that  I'd hoped she could avoid. When I asked how her husband had been, she reported, to my sheer delight that he'd been, "AMAZING!!" He was constantly affirming her and telling her, "I'm so proud of you." He was full of encouraging words to help her find strength for the next round of pushing. He kissed her often and told her over and over how much he loved her.

Cherish the baby cradled in my arms, rejoice in his mother's victory and hold the space of pain within, Lori.

I had chosen not to hold another newborn in a hospital before this one because I didn't have the fortitude to stay in the moment with the mother whom I was visiting. I wasn't able to not make it about my loss and be fully present in her joy. 

I had a difficult delivery too. My pelvis was hindered from expansion by the Milwaukee brace I wore during critical growth years to help lessen the impact of scoliosis. I was unaware of this challenge until the labor/delivery nurse checked me and asked if I was having a c-section due to my narrow pelvis.

"uhhhh....no.?"

It was a Friday night and my doctor wasn't on call. The young, female doctor knew I wanted to deliver this baby without surgery. Tenacious and unwavering for hours of transitioning and over 3 hours of pushing, the doctor helped me deliver my beloved. She encouraged me, affirmed me, and assured me that I could do it. She even helped me laugh in between pushes. I remember being constantly concerned that my husband was uncomfortable with smells and pain. I checked in on him regularly while he stood silent bedside for the entire delivery.

My arms were so shaky that I couldn't hold my surprise girl. The nurse had just introduced us when I realized the doctor's tone had changed completely. Her encouraging playfulness was gone. She was all business. I kept hearing, "stat" this and "stat" that. She couldn't get the stitches in fast enough to control the bleeding. During the hour it took to stop the hemorrhaging, I never saw my husband. I could hear him talking to the baby, singing to her, and praying over her. I was alone.

During colicky months, endless to the point of utter despair, I was alone. That pattern would remain a constant.

I chose not to be a single, married parent to another child. I thought I'd grieved it in full--whatever that means. Management of that grief included not holding newborns in hospitals. Holding Jack stirred old embers into a new smolder. Once home, lying alone in bed with only the soft glow of my phone charger, tears were my best effort to extinguish the flames of sadness, anger, disappointment, and regret.

Tears dried, still awake as the sun trickled light into my room, I experienced a verse memorized long ago.


Psalm 30:5 Weeping may endure for a night, But joy comes in the morning.

I had poured water and ash into Kara. By God's grace and mercy, Jack represented new life rising from the rubble of my life. Kara came to me in darkness with a spirit of sheer desperation. Over the years, I am confident that, although in small measure, I influenced her choice for a husband. Pouring my life into hers did not and will not change my birth experience. I didn't get the dream delivery and partner that I needed and wanted. My body was stripped of a residence for another child in 2008. I know at this moment I'm still grieving this loss.

Through the resurrection power of God, Kara got a dream delivery and a partner to raise her child. I rejoice in full with her and for her.

Euphoria is unsustainable. Joy that God offers is absolutely sustainable. The only way I know how to maintain that joy is to spend time with God and to be grateful each day for all his gifts. When I'm feeling despondent, I can most often point to a lack of gratitude and the discipline to pay attention to God's communication to me and with me each day.

Some days my only note of written gratitude reads: I'm grateful that God loves me. I don't run around barefooted in fields of butterflies and rainbows. I'm not sure that's ever happened, frankly. But, I have learned to notice rainbows and butterflies when it feels like I'm trodding through fields of stickers and thorns. Life is never free of pain and limitations. By God's grace, I get to choose how I respond. I choose life.

Regarding Relationships that Injure

Hi!

I've got four posts I'm working on. This post was for Gay Hubbard's blog as part of the dialogue we're having on her blog. She asked me to share some things I know about relationships that injure. Here's what I wrote:



Hello Gay's Friends,

This is Lori writing for Gay while she is in Kansas with Beth. I've been pondering since last week what I might have to say that would be true, helpful, and remotely interesting about my experience in relationships that injure. Much more, I've been very concerned about the integrity of both the people whom I have injured as well as those who have been hurtful to me. While Miss Annie provides compelling stories and such vivid examples of relational topics, she is safe from injured feelings. Although she is quite brilliant, reading is a skill she has not acquired to date.

I'd like to preface that I am fully aware that I have been and will be--to my dismay-- the perpetrator of injury in relationship. I have at times injured with full intention to hurt and harm. I take no pride in admitting this. There are other times when I wasn't even aware that I was causing pain to another person. There were also those times when I knew my behavior hurt another person, I just didn't know how to not behave in that particular way. There have been relationships where the tap root of the connection was based on mutually poor relational skills with one another. 

I'm feeling quite vulnerable writing because I have said aloud multiple times lately, "I'm FINALLY in first grade in relationship school!" If you consider yourself in college or graduate school, feel free to ignore me or be excited that there are grown-ups in the world who take seriously the business of learning and loving.

Before I could even begin to understand the dynamics of the important relationships in my life, I had to learn two things: 

1. Boundaries.

2. What made me who and what I was. I needed to understand my history so that I could make informed, deliberate decisions to do life in different ways.

When Gay Hubbard mentioned the idea of a boundary to me in 1990, I had a school book knowledge of what that meant. I knew boundaries in a professional social work context. I didn't know that a boundary was something I should apply to my life. I wish I could report that some 22 years later, I'm an expert in explaining and applying healthy boundaries. I've grown from infancy to, as mentioned before, first grade. When rested and intentional I can understand the significance of setting a boundary by saying no. I can even accept the consequences that may result in my saying no. I can let go of what is my responsibility and what is the other person's. 

However. 

Catch me when I'm exhausted, or cranky and I might say yes just because it's easier in the short term than setting a boundary. I also know that my healthy boundary can be perceived and felt as intentional harm to another person. That's very, very hard for me to accept. It's even harder for me to accept that some of my boundaries will permanently change a relationship. Some relationships cannot survive healthy boundaries. 

I'm still learning. Sometimes, I'm still "learnin' the hard way", as my Memo often says. 

Learning about boundaries while trying to understand my own wounded-ness was a powerful combination. I began understanding why I am drawn to certain kinds of people. In turn, I could see why they were attracted to me. I learned that there are other options of relating than the ones modeled for me, intentionally or by proxy, in my family of origin. Over time I have found that I am far more gracious and willing to be merciful when I realize that so many that I love are ignorant of their own internal history and how it impacts their relationship with me. This knowledge also informs how deeply I am involved with those people. I learned from Gay that not everyone is helpful in the journey. Her voice resonates, "Choose wisely."

I am so grateful that Gay has chosen to invest in my life. It's my heart's desire to shower her with the fruit my life produces based on her work with a seedling. I may be a young tree; but, through her investment in teaching and training me, I am beginning to see stability and grounded-ness that will, I hope produce fruit.

Gay will be back next week. Thanks for reading the scribbles of a first grader. ~lori

Vanity turned to better focus

I'm guessing it was 90 degrees at 9:30 AM that August day. Nothing remarkable about that in Dallas, Texas. I was out jogging during boot camp trying earnestly to focus on something besides the heat and my flagging energy. I starting watching my shadow. Shadow watching is still a source of glee and wonder in my world.

I had my hair smushed up into a quasi-Pebbles/I Dream of Jeanne do. It took all of 4 seconds to create. There was enough hair sticking up and around the back of my head that it was flopping in rhythm to my consistent, but slowing pace. I was amused, almost to the point of audible laughter, when I realized I could see the frizzy ends of my hair in my shadow. Although shadows can be deceptive, I made a snap decision that a trim was in my future.

I was staying at my sister's house due to the kitchen remodel. She just happened to be at her hair stylist's salon that day. Kim, Carol's forthright stylist duty bound by an oath for truth to clients was able to work me in that same day. "Just a trim and a bang even-ing job, please." Kim her eyes not and pursed lips communicating the true message said,  "I do free bang trims whenever you want to stop by."

That is Kim's polite way of saying, "Lori, quit hackin' at your own hair with whatever pair of scissors or sharp tool you can locate."

When she dried my hair, she began explaining how to achieve the style she chose for me. I noticed, without concern, that my bangs looked very different. In one mindless, habitual action, I reached for the right part of my bang and pulled towards the back of my head. Snapping to attention, Kim blurted out, "NO!" I must have looked like the wide eyed, confused toddler that I felt like at that second. Backing down from her stance, she pulled my hair further back, revealing more of my scalp and forehead.
K- "What do you see?"

Shoulders frozen. Spine rigid. Holding my breath, I sheepishly asked, "Wrinkles?"

K- With a chuckle and a slight, but fleeting affirmation that yes, there were wrinkles said, "No. This bald spot."

WHAT?

With bionic eye focus I saw it for the very first time. A bald spot. A BALD spot!! My bald spot. I remarked internally, with a taste of scorn, "Well thanks alot, Kim. Now I've got something else to worry about!" Strike the mental part. I'm pretty sure I said it aloud.

I couldn't even focus on the deliciously even ends of my salon styled hair. (My hair looks this way several times a year. That's it.)

A dog with a new bone.

I logged more miles to a mirror in a week, than I have since age 15. She was right. I have a bald spot. Me! I'll admit, I even looked at pictures from childhood to see if that was a lifelong, unnoticed flaw, or yet another unwanted perk of aging.

I'm guessing I'm not the only one who doesn't want bald spots. Even more, I'll bet there are a few people who enjoy blind spots either, especially those of us who are ancestor-ed in shame.

There is a place and time when negative, unpleasant things can and need to be verbalized, I'm sure. Blind spots are tricky business when they are mishandled, I think. I've noticed most people can blurt out a list of flaws; but, the positive sides are more difficult to articulate. More than a little sad to me.

What happens when wonderful and uplifting attributes are highlighted by another person?

When I went into therapy in my early twenties, I expected, in effect, to get the list of flaws on a spreadsheet with solutions listed in the following columns. Gay, without my understanding, turned that paradigm on it's faulty head and started over.

She began pointing out positive truths about Lori Clark. Not smoke. No mirrors. Truth, as she saw it. I discovered quickly that positive blind spots are more difficult to internalize as truth. It's particularly tough when others have used positive affirmations as a form of manipulation for self gain. That said, in time, with trust and health, I began accepting that Gay, a whole and healthy person was speaking truth about me.

So, I've learned to stand on my head, so to speak because of a built relationship with Gay. My foundation is vastly stronger internally because of what she helped me see. Some stones were chipped away slowly while new ones were being shored into place. Others were blown up through various events, welcomed or not. There are charred stones that are part of who I am in my internal foundation, usable and tested. What I trust more than anything or anyone, Gay included, is that The Cornerstone is perfectly dependable, without flaw, and eager to make me more like Him.

Just for today, give thought to another's ever changing world and speak words of character affirmation into her/his life.

Philippians 2

The Message (MSG)

2 ^1-4 If you’ve gotten anything at all out of following Christ, if his love has made any difference in your life, if being in a community of the Spirit means anything to you, if you have a heart, if you care— then do me a favor: Agree with each other, love each other, be deep-spirited friends. Don’t push your way to the front; don’t sweet-talk your way to the top. Put yourself aside, and help others get ahead. Don’t be obsessed with getting your own advantage. Forget yourselves long enough to lend a helping hand.

^5-8 Think of yourselves the way Christ Jesus thought of himself. He had equal status with God but didn’t think so much of himself that he had to cling to the advantages of that status no matter what. Not at all. When the time came, he set aside the privileges of deity and took on the status of a slave, became human! Having become human, he stayed human. It was an incredibly humbling process. He didn’t claim special privileges. Instead, he lived a selfless, obedient life and then died a selfless, obedient death—and the worst kind of death at that—a crucifixion.
^9-11 Because of that obedience, God lifted him high and honored him far beyond anyone or anything, ever, so that all created beings in heaven and on earth—even those long ago dead and buried—will bow in worship before this Jesus Christ, and call out in praise that he is the Master of all, to the glorious honor of God the Father.

P. S.  Rogaine is as effective as they claim.

What a Difference a Year Makes.....

I'm guessing I'm not the only one who has days where I feel edgy, even to the point of being frantic for no apparent reason. It's an over-arching anxiety that makes even the smallest, most mundane tasks barely manageable.

Today I woke up with that pit in my stomach and generalized dread about simply getting dressed and eating breakfast. It came as a surprise because yesterday was a wonderful day and the day before that was great and the day before that fun filled, etc.  I vaguely remember feeling scared each morning most of my life---like every day of my life before my mid-twenties. I ignored it and masked it with hyper-activity. I pushed it away and tried to smother it. I tried eating it too.

None of those approaches were effective. So I sought help. What I learned over time was that for me, knowing what I'm fearful about helps me tremendously.

Why the dread for today?

Before my feet hit the floor, I determined I had two tasks that must be crossed off the list today:
1. Get Annie Beth ready for her first day of 5th grade.
2. Write and post a blog for Gay.

Both of those events produced some anxiety.
1.  I've always had jitters before new school years, as a student and now as a mother. I can easily talk my way out of the anxious feelings because of truths and experience, though. Annie Beth doesn't want summer to end. However, she loves school and she adores her teacher. She had the same teacher in second grade. For me? I know that the first hour of school days can be rough; but, I'm on my own until 2:50 each day. No anxiety in that for me. Nope school jitters wasn't the problem.

2. Writing a post on Gay's blog? Aside from wondering if I could do justice to articulating what being in a healthy friendship/relationship is like? No worries.

Only because of help from Gay and others.....I've learned that if that free-floating anxiety isn't about this day or an impending day ahead, I best look backwards. I'm a firm believer that our history informs our future.

I've been aware the last month of certain markers of how stressful this period was last year. I've been jarred by pictures on my phone-pictures of me in suits that would be forwarded to a jury consultant for purchase approval. Last week I was driving past the family courthouse en route to another place in Denton. Without thought, I pulled into the parking lot and parked my van. I was sweating and felt nauseous. Realizing my mistake, relief couldn't possibly scratch the surface of my core feeling. I've noticed also that I'm spending far too much time on Pinterest. I credit Pinterest for helping me maintain some moments of sanity during the trial last year.

The trial.

Of course. Today marks the one year anniversary of the beginning of the most stressful week of my life to date. My divorce trial began on Monday a year ago. A jury would be selected to decide the custody of my only child. By the end of the trial, I'd have information that would impact the remainder of many people's lives. Most of that outcome I had very little, if any control over.

I wish I could tell you that once I recognized the significance, the panic and anxiety subsided--washed away with the epiphany. The truth is that I am still filled with dread and fear. I'm writing mostly to remind myself of what I know today that I didn't know last year or at least I know in a more powerful way this year.

I know that the trial was last year and it's over. This is now. I am contentedly divorced and living in a new reality.

Breathing better.

I know that God  loves me. When He promised that He would never leave me or forsake me, He wasn't lying. I've never experienced more of His presence than during that week last year. Many actual moments are a hazy blur and some I don't even remember when reminded. But, I will never forget knowing that I was being loved and upheld by God Almighty. He made Himself evident in so many ways. Some because His people on earth were constantly reminding me that I was not alone and that they were praying for me and with me.

I know that God is faithful. When He promised that He would take care of me and of my child, He wasn't lying. I know also that Annie Beth has a relationship with her father that she did not have prior to my filing for divorce in 2009. I believe God's faithfulness is heavily involved here. Annie Beth has a mother and a father that love her.

I know that I am strong. I did not lie or offer deceit as part of my story. I maintained dignity and did not pander to the lowest common denominator in my marriage or in my divorce process.

I know today that my internal strength can be channeled to my physical body. My physical body is stronger now that it has ever been. I've been working out faithfully for over six months and I am transforming how my body looks and functions. I can have a healthy body and not resort to crazy eating disordered living of the past.

I know that my life has purpose and meaning beyond being a wife and a mother. I am no longer a wife and I have value and worth. Today, I'm more aware of my this than I ever was as a wife. I am still a mother. I know that I can be very sad and miss my child's daily presence in my world, even on Christmas and birthdays. The sun will rise again in the East. Communication is easier and there are methods to fill in lonely gaps for both parent and child. I also am learning early that I cannot possibly control the outcome of her life. I am learning that her choices and many, if not most circumstances will be beyond my control. I know that I can have very good days without her presence. I am delighted that she has many, many wonderful days when I am not there to see or hear about them.

I am blessed beyond measure to have parents that love me unconditionally and friends that I claim as family. I treasure and nurture relationships with those I love because it matters. People live for eternity and I want to invest heavily in this side of that endless time.

I know that God will be faithful to me in my new adventures. He won't saw off the limb and watch me fall for sport. I may feel afraid and doubt; but to mark God's faithfulness by my feelings is a poor measuring method.

Is my anxiety gone now? No. It's there. It is, however, being crowded out by the good things I know.  I'm making a choice, even at day's end to say, Life is far too important to sit frozen by fear. I choose life today. Even though I may not know what tomorrow may bring, I know that I'm loved and that I can offer love fully and freely to others. That is enough. I am enough.

Hubbard's Response

I heard from several of y'all to post the conversation between me and Gay. Here it is below. I wasn't quite sure how she would respond. I knew it would be humble, funny, and grace-filled. How blessed I am to be loved by Gay. 

PS. I have no idea how to reformat this and my hair is covered with #5 natural brown foam color and I'm not gonna take the time to remind myself that I'm old and not as savvy as I wish. Isn't the fact that I'm re-coloring every 4 weeks enough punishment for aging? 

I'm behind on my blog too....Have several ideas churning in my mind. My kitchen remodel has been a source of ideas and LOTS of interruptions. 

Life is good and I'm blessed beyond measure. ~lori

SUNDAY, AUGUST 12, 2012

Ah, Schucks

August 12, 2012

Dear friends,

H-m-m. Now what to say?

After reading Lori’s guest blog, I was, as she anticipated, embarrassed. More seriously, in this culture of political bombast and calculated exaggeration, I was concerned that you might view this exchange writing as an obvious bid on my part to elicit kind things from Lori so that I might do an artful “Ah, shucks,” and further burnish my ‘humble’ image.

However, my sense of humor promptly rescued me from any serious worry about the issue. Anyone who knows me personally and has risked relationship with me knows all too well the limitations with which I live. The ashes of my mistakes and failures, to borrow Lori’s fine phrase, have blown all too frequently into everyone’s eyes for anyone to have illusions of anything other than the flawed ordinary humanness that lies at the core of my unspectacular life.

But the way in which Lori reports the good things that have emerged from our years-long relationship raises an important question. How is it that the plain ordinary practice of simple relational skills has yielded such rich dividends?

I never tire of the story of the little boy who brought his lunch to Jesus—five little barley loaves and two small fish. Such an ordinary lunch—barley loaves paired with two ordinary fish.

In “Just a Housewife” the boy’s mother wonders about that lunch:

           I packed five cakes of bread and two small fishes,
           Sent him off, my youngest lad,
          To take his father’s dinner to the field.

          Came back alone he did, all goggle-eyed.

          My fresh-baked bread that varmint gave away
          To some young travelling preacher out of Galilee.

          It fed five thousand people.
          What a tale!

         It can’t be true. . . but if it is,
        What kind of dough did these hands knead
        This morning?

                                         -Cordelia Baker-Pearce

It was, of course, plain ordinary dough, no magic yeast.

But—and this is the point, that, like the boy’s mother, we often confuse—plain dough placed in His hands was more than enough—five thousand fed, and a great amount left over.

I am deeply blessed, friend Lori, to know that our relationship over the years has blessed you. It has, and continues, to bless me deeply as well.

But I am thinking tonight about the quiet miracle we share. We each bring plain bread that is transformed into more than enough by something other than human skill.

See you next week.

Gay

Remind Me Not to Marry Tom Cruise

I wish I could say I wrote this. I did not. I subscribe to this blog about life during and after divorce through Hopeful World Publishing. It's fantastic. Not just because of great information; but, both women are expert writers with hearts that are full and open to change. I'm re-posting one of the meditations from this week that resonated so deeply with me. Even if you're not on this page, you know at least one person, maybe many, many persons who might like to read this. Enjoy.

Whether you're happily nestled in a budding new relationship or disentangling from your marriage, claiming your power and perhaps more importantly your wholeness is a critical element in a hopeful divorce. I bought my first People magazine ever when I saw Katie Holmes' escape from Tom Cruise plastered across the cover. This marriage had always been symbolic to me of that precipice where the fairy tale leaves off and Happily Ever After is a free fall. While I'll never know and am not too concerned about what actually happened between those two people, I found their public trajectory representative of one of the most primary themes (for women) that gets played out in a romantic relationship--moving from enchantment to entrapment to escape. We think a man is going to give us something necessary to complete us or even save us. We don't understand the kind of helplessness and hopelessness this agreement establishes. We don't understand that we actually already have what we're looking to the man to give us. It takes walking in heels for a decade to get over his idea of beauty and our willingness to sacrifice to achieve it. It takes leaving him to find that we had the damn glass slipper in the back of the closet all along. When I learned of Katie's secret plot, her secret phone, her secret little pilot light of a self still flickering deep within her--despite the light that had gone out of her eyes--I felt fierce. For all of us women who literally had to kill ourselves off in our marriages to get ourselves back, wizened, tattered, in divorce. I'm sorry Tom Cruise, but my answer is no. You can jump on Oprah's couch till the cows come home. You can stun the world with your exponential romantic gesture. My cup is full. I've arrived with both feet on the ground at Happily Ever After. I'm not buying what you're selling. Where did you buy into the myth of Happily Ever After? Where can you take back a little part of yourself that you've put in the hands of another? You'll need that glass slipper for your own magnificent dance. No prince charming necessary. Sage Cohen is the author of Writing the Life Poetic and The Productive Writer, both from Writer's Digest Books, and the poetry collection Like the Heart, the World. Awarded first place in the Ghost Road Press poetry contest and nominated for a Pushcart Prize, Sage teaches and lectures at writing conferences throughout the country. She offers information and inspiration about the writing life on her blog www.pathofpossibility.com.