How to say it all?

I’ve been emotional since this weekend.  Really, I’ve been emotional since Utah.  Emotional and restless.

Somehow, remarkably we’ve been swept up in this new life.  New, miraculous, and totally unexpected a few short years ago.

But there was this amazing moment of clarity, during a recent Salt Lake event, where I began weeping as I lay on my mat while leading the presentation, because I knew it in that moment.  This isn’t just a once-in-a-while thing anymore.  This is me. This is us.  This is who we are now.

But there are times when even that clarity makes it hard to know how to function, how to act.

This weekend I met with two dear friends who I really know only through Congo.  I was nervous on many levels.  I have felt so out of place lately that I wondered if I would seem strange to even them.  I was nervous because I knew that the play we would see together, Ruined, would be a highly emotional one, and in the state I was already in, I didn’t know if I was ready.

It was remarkable.  One of the most remarkable experiences I have had in a long time.  I knew about what to expect from the material, and yet still, I was torn open.

The three of us sat weeping in the theater after everyone else had gone.  We cried openly in the little coffee shop behind the theater for even longer.

The conversation was just what I needed.  So much what I needed.

We would each just say whatever came to mind.  The conversation was broken pieces of each of us, somehow fitting together into a beautiful, supportive puzzle, right there in front of us.

At one point, I blurted out, “I feel lonely.”

I couldn’t think of a better way to put it.  Loneliness has engulfed me lately.  I feel so separate from everyone around me.  I feel like the path that Matt and I have chosen for our family has isolated us in many, many ways.  I feel like I care about things that I am desperately trying to convince others to care about.  And I feel like a mother who is trying against a wake of impossible waves.

But somehow, speaking with my friends, who miraculously felt the same as I do, I was healed somehow.

In the wake of the absolute despair in which it would be so easy to view this conflict, there was hope.

I felt suffocated, too, with sorrow for Japan.  The surreal images shook me.

But then, there was hope, in one single image.

Those people had lost everything, and yet, they’re still smiling.  Because they have each other.  That changed me somehow.

This past weekend, we also finally got to celebrate a special birthday.  My sweet, wee baby turned one last week.

It’s hard to believe that a year ago, this wonderful miracle came into our lives.

She is an angel, a presence that has lifted every one of us.

The miracle of having her here is one that has taught me more than almost any other event in my life.

I think it was the simplest birthday we have ever celebrated.

She wasn’t drowned in presents, and there was no huge uproar.

It was just a simple afternoon of being together with our beautiful daughters.

It was very sweet.

I just love all the life that is wrapped up in this little one.  :)

She gives me hope.  She reminds me that miracles are possible, even when you feel lost.

With the emotions of this past weekend ringing in my heart, we find ourselves questioning everything again.  Questioning our life and what we really want and what actually matters.

Questioning our influence in this world, and how our family effects others.  Questioning the kind of mother I really am, and what I really want for my family.

There have been moments in my life that have changed everything.  Big things, small things.  But they’ve changed everything.  Those moments make it impossible for me to live a normal, everyday life.  Those moments make me not want to waste a second.  Those moments make me work for something more.

Those moments make my love swell, and make me grateful for safe arms and a loving friend.

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