Pip just asked God for a “circle nose.” The adult in me says “look out, God might give it to you and how would He do that – YIKE” and then I realized that when we pray like children, He is still good, and this is what He wants, to share in our silliest, smallest requests.

“Dust can be anything,” He must have thought when He made us. “Let’s see what happens.”

I can’t help thinking that our own childlike faith might be His biggest adventure too.

It is hard to have a tender heart, when it seems the world is out to misunderstand you, when you don’t fit anywhere, even with other believers, when people like you or don’t like you based on what you DO instead of who you are. It is hard to be childlike enough to walk humbly with God who asks this tenderness of you when it is easier to keep your walls up and welcome cynicism and suspicion where trust should be. It is hard to be small and build another up whose is living the way you know you should have lived and you didn’t. It is hard to confess and be humble and seek the face of the One who gentles you sometimes through the acknowledgement of your own sin through His Life lived out.

But it is harder to be angry, harder to live with your chin tucked and your guard up, ready to lash out at anyone who backs you into a corner. It is harder, because the angrier you are and the more unyielding you become, the bigger your corner gets until the whole world is there pushing you into it and you feel you have to be big enough to fill it, when you just simply want to walk out there, where everyone else is just living and being and not really noticing you in the corner. It is harder to be dead when you could be alive. It is harder to hate and to envy and to judge when you could simply love.

God give us tender hearts, in spite of our hardness.

Last night, I dreamed a hard one. I dreamed I was happy – sooooo happy – and then the happiness shattered, and I cried in my dream. Wept. Sobbed. Wailed. I couldn’t walk or be strong or keep going, things hurt so bad; then mercifully, I came up through the shadows into my own room beside the one who loved me where others did not.

What do you do when pain wakes you? I always thought nightmares were driven by fear, but this wasn’t fear. It was heartache, stemming from something so deep inside, I had only touched it a few times before.

I have been feeling my way through “vulnerability,” lately, having come to see that for all that I say and all that I put out there, there are parts of me that I understand that I simply don’t make available to others for the knowing, as much as I want to be known in those places. Some of it, I’ve discovered, is just my personality. The reason I don’t – CAN’T – cry in public is because my feelings are often internalized, while my *thinking* is extraverted. It makes a me a good blogger, if I can get a hold on what I’m feeling, but for the living? I wonder.

Yesterday, I created a name (all by myself) for my wedding business that feels like one of the biggest risks I have ever taken, that says in one word everything that I want to give my brides in their experience with me, everything that I want my work to be. It is a HUGE name, a huge calling to live up to, and I shook as I bought the URL and solidified commitments I have been making this year as I’m trying to move my business forward. I feel vulnerable owning this name, vulnerable offering this commitment to my clients, because while it was always there in my heart, stating it means that I will have to tap into my own heart and bring it to life through my work; it means that the beauty of the happy that broke me apart as it was taken from me in my dream last night is something I need to embrace for myself too.

One of the weddings I shot recently was… the happiest wedding I have ever attended. I cried from the joy surrounding me, and I think I cried because I so rarely reach for that, so rarely acknowledge its existence in my life because I know what it is to have it removed.

I don’t have an easy answer for my conundrum; I just know that I want to be happy, and I know now that I am loved, which is a change from the time my dream brought back, when love itself was stripped from me and I wasn’t sure God – or anything – would ever be enough to replace it.

I looked at leather-bound journals at Barnes & Noble the other day when we went in. The kids wanted to play there, to look at the books, to absorb the general atmosphere of one of their favorite places – and to visit the cafe for a sweet treat. I sat in front of the journals for what seemed like an eternity, weighing the colors, the textures, the feel of the books in my hands, and trying to envision what I would write in them.

“You’ve bought journal after journal for years, and you haven’t filled any.”

But the year I filled ten journals felt a bit like this year. I thought I would fill some last year. I could try again.

“You don’t have anything to say. You can’t justify the expense.”

None of the empty books inspired words to respond. I sighed. Maybe I would find a book someone else had written. I had no idea what I wanted, though. The inspirational section was “safe” – I didn’t want to deal with decisions. I prefer to read things other people recommend. Actually, I like my own writing.

I woke up this morning thinking that I’d make a good editor. I’m really good at going through others’ writing and calling out their character inconsistencies and their grammar and their storytelling ability. It’s one reason it’s so difficult for me to read others’ work. It has to be REALLY good for me to like it.

But my journals weren’t ever *really* good. They were just me, pouring out on paper.

“You don’t deserve to have a journal. You don’t have anything to say.”

I don’t have words. The voices are right. But I’m getting up in the morning. I am pushing through frustration and depression and existing, because sometimes that is all we are meant to do, just keep breathing, and that is worship and that is processing and that is what life looks like when you wait on God.

“You can always blog, if you have something to say.”

Yes, yes I can. And I have a whole bunch of journals with only a few pages filled, where I can scribble if I want. And maybe, if I find the right one, the one that has words for me when I see it, I will buy a new journal sometime.

Sometimes when I go out, I get the feeling that nobody sees me. I think other people feel that nobody sees them too; they don’t know I watch them walk past me, wonder what their world is like, wonder if they are running from something like I am some days too. “Care” is such an overlooked thing. People don’t see others as people until death enters the picture, but even then, death itself becomes a platform for self-gratification and the play of guilt pouring out from all our lives lived in the shadows.

Sometimes when I go, I get the feeling that everyone around me is mad, that we are all slowly driving toward insanity, because we were grown-ups before we were ever allowed to be children, because we are cut off so much that it is odd when I see someone make eye contact and smile at another person. Sweetness sounds funny coming out of my mouth; I would rather seal my lips than engage another person.

It is the indifference that destroys us, that sends planes into buildings and crazy men into schools. We’ve lost the value of life – we don’t want it anymore. We don’t know how to cling to it because we all live in this netherworld where nothing is real unless we all agree it is real, unless the majority acknowledges it happened and it is acceptable in our world.

But joy comes anyway, and even though He says to weep with those who weep, we cannot lose sight of the light that filters through the shadows. I will not stop smiling at the people I pass or stop speaking kindly to others when the opportunity presents itself. I will care ALL the days, not just the days when something horrible has happened. I will be mindful today and tomorrow and the next day so that I cannot be indifferent to life itself, so that I will always value the hearts of each one of us that God created in His image.

This is the day the Lord has made too – I will rejoice and be glad. The sun came up, and we are all still in the hands that held us when it went down yesterday. Nothing has happened that is out of His reach.

There is no part of our death that He will not redeem.

There is no darkness that the light won’t banish.

There are no words now but alleluia.

All my life I’ve been told that “character” is what you are when nobody’s watching, but I have come to the conclusion that character is what you are when everyone is watching. Or at least when your kids are watching. Or when they aren’t.

This comes from an introvert who can be generally fine and mostly “without sin” when she is alone, but introducing a toddler and a kindergartener into her world from the time she gets up to the time she goes to bed? Forgiveness is no longer theoretical. Kindness has to take action. It’s not as easy to distance yourself from anger. Objectivity is out of reach.

Living Christ with my kids around doesn’t happen through my writing. My strongest communication skill is useless with them. My next strongest – seeing – feels awfully useless too.

They don’t know how “there” I am when I sit on the couch trying to stay aware of them through the plexiglass depression keeping me there. They might never know. My love for them is so often not a “doing” love; when I do have to “do,” it is often accompanied by frustration because I am just. so. tired.

They ignore me because they think I am ignoring them. They push their boundaries because they know I can’t enforce them. Every day, they trash the house and I can’t clean up after them.

They scream and holler and throw fits when I tell them no, and when I have to walk out of the house to get some air and some quiet, they call after me so the entire neighborhood can hear, “Don’t leave, Mom!”

As if I would. As if I could…

Yesterday, the neighbor boys told Pip they were coming over to kill the cats. What I said didn’t matter – it was the end of her world. She hyperventilated. The fear won, and my love wasn’t enough to break through. When she started with the “I want my Daddy, I want my Daddy, I want my Daddy,” I quit.

I quit about once a day. Yesterday, a bad day, it was six times or so.

On the one hand, I know I am going through a deep grieving process that goes back to Pip’s first year when the post-partum depression stole her babyhood from me. On another, I know that I am grieving the mom I wanted to be. I am having a hard time right now accepting my life as it is, with its limitations, figuring out how to interact with my kids as people and not as my ultimate source of irritation.

But the days when they ARE the ultimate source of irritation scare me. It’s the days when I don’t want to be a mom anymore And I start praying. Because God and I both know that this isn’t who I am when I’m alone. We both know that being with people is harder for me. Ever since my second year of college when I wasn’t allowed to be alone – for health reasons – I have struggled in my interactions with others, either overcompensating for my insecurity, or shutting down and hiding me altogether.

Neither works with my kids, in the day-to-day living. I can’t MAKE them do anything. I want them to know that they are free to choose. But when they consistently choose actions that hurt themselves and others, when they choose again and again to disobey me and to write me off, I feel my own fear taking over. And then they get scared.

And I can’t turn that scared off for them. My love isn’t enough. My strength isn’t enough. What I am when I am by myself with God isn’t enough – but at least I am the same person with them that I am with Him.

That, I think, is what character is. It’s being the same person, wherever you are, and letting God be God over all of it, including the change He is working in you. His strength has to be enough for all of us right now. His love has to be the thing to take my fear and draw my kids into Himself. I’ve left some pretty big things in His hands over the years. I think this is another one that has to rest there.

I crave creative company, gobble it up when I find it, talk too much, laugh too loudly – but I have stopped caring about the “too” for now. I am restless, waiting to see what will happen next, unwilling – or too tired – to shape my own destiny just now. So life is happening around me. People laugh, they say words I know I should know and understand, but the only way for me to hear is not to see, so I stop looking and forget myself as I listen. I think maybe they think I’m hiding, but I’m not. I don’t process information through eye contact and acknowledgement. I absorb it. It becomes part of me, and I have to live it, even though I doubt I could ever regurgitate it or teach it to anyone. I would send others to them to learn it, rather than teach it myself.

I finished my new website. It is a place to start. I am in a new place, a new favorite place, waiting, listening. I didn’t bring my camera, but I see the wind, hear the water. I watched the gray fly away into blue this morning and thought as I walked with friends how it is strange and easy to be quiet in this place, strange because it is never easy for me to be quiet. I feel happy, but I am not sure how to say it, so when people ask me how I’m doing, I try to pick an answer. I haven’t succeeded with a good one yet today.

As I was working on my website, I decided that I would do something I haven’t tried before, that I would own my introversion. I’m not sure what that looks like. I’m the responsible one, the one who made up her mind to greet people and not be shy in church, the one who has to pull other people out and get them to be real instead of making them nervous. But I’m wondering if speaking softly would serve me better, if treasuring people would make me happier than worrying about fitting in or having the right thing to say.

I didn’t know a person could cry in their sleep. I don’t know why I did.