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Is it possible? Can everyone have a happy father’s day?


The word touches deeply. For some it will bring a smile, and for others, it will bring deep sadness. I realize the gift of being among the smilers. But regardless of our experiences, and the vast differences represented, I am sure that we would agree that fathers impact. Whether it is for that which we long for, or for that which we have known and experienced, there is a depth in this word, this person, this possibility. To know what you would have wanted is a gift. I say this with reverence for the pain. I know it’s not easily accepted. It’s difficult and arduous to need a father and not have one. I believe a happy father’s day is available for us all.

You see, my father represents both groups. He represents joy in what he is to me; how he lives and gives; what tenacity, godliness and creativity he exudes, I feel the beauty & weight of that gift. And yet, he also represents the other group, He is among the sad for what he did not have himself. I feel selfish to even allude to this, but in some ways, I know that the longing for HIS father gave him a clear picture of what he could be for ME and my sisters. Pain does that. It gives a choice. And though he did not choose this sacrifice, I am the benefactor. I seem to be standing at an altar overladen with undeserved goodness. If I could share with him in reverse, I would.

Fathers impact. We can all celebrate that on this day. In one direction or the other, we’ve been given a gift.


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The Roses Made Me Do It


I’m trying to curb the habit of apologizing. (gasp) I know. I know. Apologies are menders, fixers, peace-makers. I agree. But sometimes we apologize not because we’ve done something wrong, but because we’re different or seen as odd or strange. Sometimes we (I) live in an apologetic mindset because we don’t value who we are and what we are drawn to. We don’t value what we”bring to the light” in this dark world.

So, I’m learning not to apologize  for getting lost in a moment, a song, or a vision of something really beautiful, like roses. So I guess what I’m really trying to do is curb the habit of devaluing the beauty hunters. (It’s a real thing.)

If I analyze what I really believe…what I really feel?

I feel sorrow when we tell and believe our own lies by saying “I don’t have time to ‘stop and smell the roses’.  I feel sorrow that the currency of TIME and MONEY are at war. They both shout that they are the greatest value and the greatest equalizer. Which one is it? I mourn every day we believe it’s the dollar.

I feel sadness that the energy of “good” doesn’t get the celebrity status and limelight like the bad. I blink a little harder and longer in these moments. I know that going to sleep should not be better than being fully awake, but that’s how it makes me feel…tired. Yes, this makes me sad.

I feel confusion for us when we believe that the only way to “make it” in this world is to choose a life of complexity instead of a life of simplicity. The stressful drive to the office, the “work” that never waits, should never be valued more than the people we love, the family vacation to the beach, the touch of love. I am confused when we think these things might validate us. Things have never had that power. I wish I knew it sooner.

I feel my “ire” rise when drama-laden words fly; when stinging, witty cut-downs, and petty mud-slinging becomes a symbol of strength. When did the norm shift? Why do we idolize hatefulness rather than listening to the bird that is singing to our souls? We miss so much.

I don’t know why. But I know what I must do. I must feel it all, and then feel joy.

I must let myself feel the extreme joy of the beauty. Sure, I could apologize or blame.

“The roses made me do it.” Or maybe I chose it willingly.