High Tide, Low Tide

It comes and goes, like the tide....

Today I feel the emotions of loss creeping closer again. Just a few days ago I was standing on the sunny beach, the water a great distance away. Now I see the wave coming and I know there's no point in running, because it will catch me.

I have taken quite a break in writing my miscarriage story. I didn't realize when I started writing it just how long it is and how many parts there are to it. I'm also not good at telling a story briefly.

So I'll be back to it. Thanks for being here with me.

Giveaway!

I'm going to do my first giveaway when the blog has 50 followers. So if you're not following yet, follow me! Tell your friends about Live Art.fully!

I can't wait!

Turning Inward, Slowing Down

Lately I've been marveling over the simplicity of homey things. Things like fresh loaves of steaming bread in the space where afternoon meets evening; a slow cooker of potatoes and corn and carrots and the proper herbs and spices brewing into a flavorful, nourishing soup, ready to pair with soft bread for 6 o'clock supper.

Meals for 4 around a wooden dining table that once held food for my grandparents.

Holding hands and bowing heads.

Hearts full of contentment and tummies full of warmth and homey goodness.

I feel myself turning inward, slowing down and taking delight in nourishing my family.

Tea at 4 after coming in from a drenching school pick-up.

Another load of sweet-scented laundry warmth.

Shiny little girl hair smelling of coconut.

This life is feeding me.

What's feeding YOU?

The Courage to Tell My Stories

"We are the only ones who can tell our stories, because we are the ones who have lived them." -- Susan Witting Albert

I've been thinking a lot lately about telling my story. It takes courage, sure, but also I have to wonder Does anyone care? Does anyone care to read it? What makes my story worth writing or reading about? Others go through a lot too. Does it seem vain to write about the things that have, and are, affecting me?

No matter what, I will write for myself. In a journal, to process and to heal and to think "in ink."

But, in this way? What is the calling for this blog? Is it only to offer thoughts on writing and journaling? Only to hope to inspire? Or do I dare write about the personal, too.

I've read other bloggers say that they don't care if people comment or not, that they're blogging for themselves, and no other audience. I'm not. I already write for myself, in a journal. If I'm going to write here, I want to know that people are reading, and if you're reading, I want to hear your thoughts.

What do you think? When are our stories worth telling? What makes them worth sharing?

His & Hers

Yesterday my mom took the girls to her house for a sleepover. The girls were really excited to be with Grammy. We packed their tiny backpack/suitcases and gathered favorite stuffed friends & toothbrushes.

After they were off to her house, I took a loaf of hot cinnamon raisin bread out of the bread machine, loaded the dishwasher, and folded two loads of laundry. I listened to Pandora and enjoyed the quiet house.

When Jonathan got home from work, we drove out to the lighthouse and enjoyed walking & talking. We sipped Starbucks' beverages on the drive there and back. Jonathan made amazing hot toasted sandwiches on Artisan bread and we enjoyed dinner while watching a movie in the comfort of our own living room. We paused the movie to brew tea & serve up slices of bakery tiramisu.

No bedtimes. No baths. No dirty floor after little girl supper.

Just us.

His & Hers mugs of steaming black tea.
His & Hers laptops with His & Hers headphones.
His & Hers notebooks.
His & Hers pillows.
His & Hers dreams.

This is what happens...

when I find myself out and about with no paper, and a thought that won't stop swirling through my mind.

What do you do when you don't have paper?

Journaling Heals: My Art Saves Story on CRESCENDOh

Have you heard of CRESCENDOh? Jenny Doh & her team are doing amazing things. If you're interested in art, creativity, sewing, stamping, mixed media art, knitting, painting, or are just seeking inspiration, you will find it at CRESCENDOh.

Jenny believes ART SAVES. She invites guest curators and readers to share their personal stories of how art saves on the CRESCENDOh blog.



My story is up this week. Click on the following icon to read it, and while you're there, take a look around and be inspired!



A big thank you to Jenny Doh & everyone at Team CRESCENDOh for sharing the message that Art Saves.

The Promise of Easter

We lost a baby at 10 weeks. Every Easter since our loss, over 4 years ago, I have found new meaning in the crucifixion, resurrection, and what it all means:

• Mary's anguish as she saw her son die. Her desperate longing for it not to have to be this way. Not my son! Please, please, not MY son!
• The disciples' grief as they begin to feel the void He left; their shock. He's really gone? But we loved him! He mattered to us!
• What a desolate Saturday that must've been, with Jesus dead and buried in the tomb. How can this be? Can it be real? Everything is different now.
• The women's panic as they found the tomb empty. He has been moved! Where is He now? Can He not even rest in peace? Where do we find Him? Where do we go to remember Him?
• Their tentative hope, as they begin to realize that maybe what the angel says is true. He's alive? He is risen? All is not lost?

This weekend, I am lost in contemplation, feeling those same emotions felt on Crucifixion Friday, Desolate Saturday, and Resurrection Sunday. I sit changed by significant loss.

Not my child! Please, please, not MY child! He's really gone? But we loved him! He mattered to us! How can it be? Can it be real? Everything is different now. Where is he now? Where do we go to remember him?

I look forward, with great hope, to the next resurrection, when I can say, "He's alive? He is risen? All is not lost?" because THEY said, "He's alive! He is Risen! All is not lost!"

It's not over yet...