Up (and downs) in the Air

Last night, one of my closest friends took me out to celebrate my birthday. Yes, my birthday was in October, but we have both been so busy that we just got around to it.

We went to dinner and talked about where we come from. We shared our family history, and I realized that as we both talked about grandparents and old situations, there were many times we said something like, “I’m not exactly sure what happened there. No one ever talked about the details.”

After dinner, we went to see “Up In The Air” a new George Clooney movie. It was a very sad tale, really, about isolation and loss and secrets.

It’s amazing the secrets we carry within us, isn’t it? Whether it’s simply refusing to verbalize an opinion or staying mum about something that we did in our youth (or yesterday) that we are ashamed of, we just keep things to ourselves. Often we have fantasies, or dreams for ourselves, that we never tell anyone. Mostly I think we internalize those out of fear that they’ll never come true.

I have been working on a book for 2 years. I told everyone about it, and even got an agent fairly quickly. Things were humming along, and parts of it went to focus group and everything. When the process stalled, I started to keep things to myself. I’m not sure if it was embarrassment or a sense of failure or what – but for some reason I kept all those feelings to myself – fear, disappointment, questions.

Now that things are humming again (yeah, you’ll have a book in 12-18 months!) I am trying to examine why I am so open with success and closed with failure. I sense, after our conversation last night about family history, that is critical for our children and our world that we start to express our inner selves a little more.

Someday, when my great-granddaughter is out for her birthday with a friend, I want her to be able to articulate who I was and WHY I was. Of course, she won’t know everything, but perhaps it will be an encouragement to her life to know the ups and downs of mine.

Safety

I currently sit on the Safe Schools Advisory Council for the school district we live in. It is a large district, with over 3300 students in the high school that only houses 10th, 11th and 12th grades.

After the Columbine incident, many schools have taken a proactive approach to school safety. Even though I fully support having a plan in place, as I sit and discuss things like “armed intruder drills” in our elementary schools, I can feel my heart breaking.

How did we become so troubled?

I also serve on a school committee that advocates the Olweus Program. It is labeled an “anti-bullying” program, but I see so much more happening. One of the key components is building empathy. The program has designed routines and activities and ideologies that promote empathy.

EMPATHY: noun; the intellectual identification with or vicarious experiencing of the feelings, thoughts, or attitudes of another.

For the world to ever be safe, empathy is the key. Now, if you’re a Christian, you may be thinking, “The world just needs Jesus!” Well, yeah, but what was He about? He is the consummate example of empathy = descending to earth to live as a man. Talk about walking in someone else’s shoes!

Empathy takes time and effort, it is intentional. I want to have this empathy flag that waves in front of my face every time I am tempted to feel judgmental or jealous or even annoyed. And, frankly, I do.

The Spirit of God is my empathy flag, and He reminds me of grace and compassion. He encourages me to remember that my perspective is limited, my point of view is self-centered and my outlook can be self-serving. Then He gently tells me again that the grace I have received is the grace I should dispense.

Giving and receiving grace. Everybody’s safe.

Feelings or lack thereof

I had the strangest dream last night. It involved old friends, some sad news, and the name of an old infomercial product that evaded me throughout the dream – one that I intend to Google later today.

Funny, though, I wasn’t sad about the sad news. The others weren’t over-wrought, mind you, but they showed decent sorrow. Me? Not a bone of decent sorrow in me.

The person that had died (yes, it was a death scene) was someone I know, but just a casual acquaintance. People that I know well know her – so I am kind of connected through mutual knowing, but not by common experience or time spent in friendship.

When I woke up, I took some time to marvel at my lack of feeling. Someone had died, after all, and her death had affected those I love – even if it hadn’t really affected me. It was just a dream, but I wondered what was wrong with my heart.

The feeling reminds me of how I can see stories on the news, or hear truths about the living conditions of people around the world, and somehow stay disconnected. Someone once told me that we can’t possibly take it all in or we’d be emotional wrecks, but I think it should disturb us that things don’t disturb us.

So, as I brushed my teeth this morning, I watched the water come on and prayed for the millions in refuge camps who have no access to clean water. I didn’t stand there and feel lucky or blessed. No, I felt the inequity. I felt the responsibility to act.

Look at your water today and ask God for a heart like His.

And BINGO was his NAME-O

I have a very conservative heritage. There were no playing cards allowed in my grandmother’s house, and my parents did not allow dancing at my wedding. Lest you find them prudish, they are great people who are lavish with their love, and they truly felt like there were some temptations that were better avoided.

On my honeymoon, I met a 73 year old Jewish woman from Florida named Myra. She and her husband had recently sold the chain of discount liquor stores that they owned, and so they now took cruises several times a year in their retirement. I met her on the pool deck on the first day.

We became fast friends, and later that afternoon, Myra invited me to go play bingo on a lower deck. I had NEVER played bingo before, as it was considered gambling in my home, but I was a grown and married woman now, AND the idea was intriguing, so I tagged along.

It is now 17 years later, and even though I have managed to resist the temptation to play every Tuesday night at the local Catholic church, I must admit I became obsessed with winning bingo on that trip. I never missed a chance to play (neither did Myra) but I chalked my persistence up to the fact that I needed a break from the Caribbean sun by the time 4:00 pm bingo rolled around.

Since I am in confession mode, I will tell you that every vacation that I go on, if there is bingo to be played, I participate. I even dragged my children into the obsessive pit last week with me.

I have probably played a total of 27 games of bingo in my life. Considering I have lived approximately 15,330 days, that is pretty insignificant, but in all that time, I have NEVER won. Every game I am convinced that I will win, but I never do.

We traveled with another family on our vacation last week, and my husband had warned them ahead of time about my vacation bingo addiction which they found very amusing. The first evening of our trip, they tagged along, much as I had done with Myra years ago. Would you believe that their 9 year-old daughter won the $500 first night jackpot?? No kidding.

To make matters worse, her mother (my friend) won $98 the next night AND won a free string ray excursion. We had already chosen that particular excursion, so the ship happily refunded her pre-payment as part of her winnings.

I already suspected, before the trip, that I was unlucky, but I could no longer ignore the cosmic confirmation of my unluckiness anymore.

So, because of my background, I was tempted to wonder if God kept me from winning. I already have that natural guilt-o-meter built in, but to assume that God would intervene in a bingo match to teach me a lesson is an interesting perspective, isn’t it? Does God even care about bingo? Probably not. Does God care about how I use the money and resources that He has given me? Definitely.

Which, of course, brings me to my point. I think sometimes, in our efforts to always do right, we can consider God to be a cosmic kill joy or we imagine that He would thwart our fun. I don’t think God was terribly upset about bingo, but I know He wants me to think about the time and money I was wasting – and, really, for what?

It’s a great life question really – one that we should ask before playing bingo or performing brain surgery…

For what?

Myra lived quite a few more years after my honeymoon, and we exchanged Hanukkah/Christmas cards every year until she died. Wonder what she’s doing now every day at 4:00 pm.

Novacaine and hangovers

I am not sure if I am suffering from a Phillies hangover or if I am having trouble recovering from yesterday's dental work, but either way - my mind's a blank.

Hoping I can face the Dodgers with a temporary crown.

Hoping for a gassy decade

Yesterday was my birthday. Birthdays are funny things, aren’t they? I tend to do more reflecting than I usually do on my birthday and this year was no exception.

I also ran out of gas yesterday. Running out of gas is an ongoing issue with me, although I must say I am far better than I was in my 20s and 30s. I think it is only the second time this year I have needed rescuing and my friends, Beth and Kristin, faced the death defying traffic with me.

You know, in my life I have done all sorts of things. Some things have been admirable and some have been terrible (dear David Letterman). Most situations I have caused (like not stopping for gas) and others I have fallen victim to. Regardless, a lot of forgiveness has been required – a lot.

One of the most difficult things to do is to forgive one’s self. Even Christians, who know they have been forgiven by a gracious God, can struggle with letting themselves feel free from their own judgment. Our pasts, and our presents, can be haunting things.

Here’s the thing, though. Just like my gas situation, God and I have watched me change. Over the years of knowing Him, I have learned to look for redemptive things in the people around me, and sometimes I even find them in me as well. Sticking close to Him has helped me deal with shame, and truly live forgiven.

I am not what I was in my 20s and 30s. Yesterday I was 42. Maybe when I’m 50, I will have a gas-filled decade.

Live forgiven.

Corny songs and just reminders

So, last week, I got a song stuck in my head. No, that’s an exaggeration. I got two lines I wasn’t sure of and a fairly shaky tune of some remote song I remember from years ago stuck in my head.

My brain chose to “sing” it incessantly, making up lyrics and stanzas – even though I knew the root of what was inside me was vaguely familiar.

I sang my version of said song for a couple of the baseball moms this weekend, and everyone else had some distant memory of it as well, but we couldn’t seem to pinpoint an artist or title.

Yesterday, on iTunes, I typed in the few words I thought were correct, and sure enough, there was the fine (but immensely corny) song by the Bellamy Brothers, “Let Your Love Flow.”

The chorus goes like this:

Just let your love flow like a mountain stream
And let your love grow with the smallest of dreams
And let your love show and you'll know what I mean it's the season
Let your love fly like a bird on the wind
And let your love bind you to all living things
And let your love shine and you'll know what I mean that's the reason

After I finally relieved the insane guessing game inside my head, and even chuckled a little at the answer, I thought of the verse of Scripture in the book of Amos that says:

But let justice roll on like a river,
righteousness like a never-failing stream!

I started to think about a mountain stream after the rain – how powerful and strong and sweeping it is.

And, as corny as it sounds, I felt immense hope at the thought of love and justice and righteousness like that.

Not a bad thing to have rolling around in your head, or rolling around on the Earth, even if the details are hard to articulate.

Speaking of love and dogs

Yesterday was a good Monday in Philadelphia. Our Phillies are leading their division, our Eagles had a big win Sunday, and I actually saw a dog wearing a Michael Vick jersey. All is well in The City of Brotherly Love.

I am coming to the conclusion that the world is so complicated that it may be naïve to believe that I have an informed opinion about anything at all. This leaves me in a pickle, frankly, because the natural next step is to remain opinionless, but then that often is interpreted as apathy to the rest of the human beings I coexist with. Don’t ever encounter a group of Christians without being armed with an opinion, believe me. Accusations of pluralism and relativism aboundeth.

So, then I look to the Scriptures for some sort of mandate to inform me, and there I find Jesus saying that the greatest commandment is:

“Love the Lord your God with all your heart, soul, mind and strength. Love your neighbor as yourself.”

Opinions and discernment and judgments are all tricky things, aren’t they? Sometimes we rationalize one to be another, and at other times we ignore the need for clear perspective.

When I am confused about which is which, I try to love. Letting God fill in the blanks, either way, just seems best.

I wonder if they are selling Vick jerseys in doggie heaven?

Rambling on

So, today is 9/11. For Americans, this day is burned into our memories. I noticed on Facebook a few minutes ago, that lots of folks are posting comments like, “We will never forget” and many are thanking the men and women in our military.

9/11 was a horrific day to be sure. And Pearl Harbor. And the Oklahoma City bombing.

And the day an atom bomb fell on Hiroshima.

My son’s middle school hosted a First Friday Celebration this morning. Parents were invited to attend homeroom and first period, and then join the administration in the cafeteria for refreshments and conversation. We observed a moment of silence in homeroom to remember.

Right afterward, I watched the students interact with one another. One particular young girl was wearing a T-shirt covered in peace signs – kind of a retro 60s sort of deal. Funny though, even as she wore the peace symbol, she wasn’t making peace at all in the classroom. The teacher had to speak with her a couple of times, and it was obvious that she was a bit of a bully. The girl sitting next to her seemed to me that she was afraid to look up – hoping to stay invisible lest the “peaceful” girl noticed her presence.

I sat there and thought about Jesus’ words about Peacemakers. It’s not enough to be against war, we must be FOR peace. We must make it. Peace is not merely the cessation of hostilities, it is actively and intentionally promoting the well-being of others.

I, too, am thankful to the men in women in our military and I recognize the realities of our world. But, on a macro level, I must wonder if making bombs constitutes making peace. What would constitute making peace?

The same is true for war protestors. Are they peacemakers in their everyday lives? The end does not justify the means and so protesting something that we do not make creates not only a systemic problem, but an individual one as well.

I will never forget 9/11. But the memory must teach me something.

No answers, just ramblings.

Peace be with you.

Huge

My family and I went to dinner last night with one of the most treasured people of my life. My Aunt Genny is 86 years old now, but you’d never ever know it. Beyond being physically well, she continues to be the model for grace in my life.

My mom was an only child and my father’s family was in Canada, so people from the church were I grew up “adopted” us as their own and we called them aunts and uncles. Aunt Genny, short for Genevieve, was one such person. When I consider what a heart after God's own is like, I have hers as an example. In recent years, she has moved to South Carolina to be near her daughter, but she is here for a brief visit.

After dinner, she wanted to visit another old friend, a man I called Uncle Seth, and so we hopped over to his place unannounced. He was pleased to see us and we learned that he had recently suffered a stroke and was recovering. He was still his funny self though.

When I walked into Uncle Seth’s home, I had an experience that I have had several times in recent years. Have you ever visited a place where you haven’t been since you were a child, only to discover it is far different – smaller, changed – from what you remember? Stepping into Uncle Seth’s kitchen was like being in a time machine in some ways. Even though his wife, Aunt Betty, has died – her drapes and pictures are all the same ones that I remember from childhood. I used to stay with Aunt Betty when I needed to stay home from school because I was sick, and even last night I could picture the couch were she had me rest, her Chihuahua snuggled up with me.

And yet, if you had asked me to draw a picture of the place before I visited, I would have seen something much larger than what is really there. In my mind’s eye, I still see it as a child, and my perspective was much smaller then.

I stood there, thinking it all through, and listened to Aunt Genny and Uncle Seth catch up. One thing I know, using my grown up eyes, is that the influence these people have had on my life is not small at all. As a matter of fact HUGE comes to mind.

Not one of them was educated beyond high school, and Aunt Genny was recalling an assembly line job that she worked for many years. They never had much to show for their efforts – small homes, modest furnishings, practical cars. In some ways, now that they are growing older, the world may not notice their seeming ordinary lives. But what their faithfulness meant to me was nothing short of miraculous.

And here I am, in the middle of the night, wondering if my life reflects the impact they have had on me. I want to be sure their time and effort has come to fruition in my heart and in my person, and being with them has reminded me of what is true, and real, and HUGE.

I don’t want to be a grown up with a still small perspective.

Sweat

The other day I was considering how I have been in a two year grieving process. I have experienced so many endings, including the loss of my friend, and sometimes I have felt as though I must have used up all my beginnings.

I talked to God about it, and He brought to my mind all the things that have been born in me over these months – new things born in my heart and mind.

For instance, my time in the ministry ended, but my understanding of the Church could not be more fresh or honest. Some dear, dear friends have gone away, but my appreciation for real community is sharper and more clear since. Diana has died, but her generosity of spirit continues to remind me who it is I am made to be. All of these endings have made new spaces in my life – spaces that I have no doubt God has plans for.

Letting things die in order for the new to be born often takes blood, sweat and tears – but it is the way of Christ. Death and new life. Out with the old, in with the new. It’s narrow stuff.

I will consider today how dying is spacious and how intangible the new can be.

And how much, in the end, I am loved.

Risky business

In Cooperstown last week, I saw this banner on the side of the Cooperstown airport. It amused me so much, that I took a picture of it the morning I was leaving town. I wasn’t sure how, but I knew it did more than make me laugh, it stirred something in me that I could not define.

Then I was listening to a sermon yesterday about Solomon. It was fairly interesting, but it was what the pastor said at the start of the service that kept my wheels spinning.

She talked about the risk involved with following Christ. I wondered if I, as an American Christian, have reduced my faith to such a degree that I have come to expect that it should make me safe.

There is no such guarantee with Christ. As a matter of fact, He declared that following Him required that we walk the narrow way – the road less traveled – and most of us long for the comfort and security of the wider path. Less obstacles, less pot holes, right? I guess that’s why Jesus followed up by saying that few would find it.

Perhaps a good question to ask ourselves is, “When was the last time I was really uncomfortable, inconvenienced and had to DARE to walk as Jesus walked?” If you can’t remember the last time that following Christ cost you something, you made need to reflect a little on what it is you are really following.

Recently, for me, it cost a little of my reputation. It really was hard, because I hate being rejected by anyone at anytime. I also am known for being pretty open and accepting amongst my non-believing friends. But this time, I just couldn’t agree when asked directly, and there have been whispers behind my back about my close-mindedness ever since.

The other thing to remember is that when risk is involved, failure often follows. I have grown to suspect that God overlooks some of my errors because He loves my passion. When Peter jumped out of the boat to walk on water, Jesus grabbed him when Peter started to sink, then later Jesus said that He would build His church on this same sinking Peter. God is interested in the heart, so don’t be afraid to try because you are afraid to fail. Real failure is never risking at all.

So, today I am lamenting 41 years of relatively safe following. I hope that the years ahead will be risky business.

Pain Relievers

I had a headache yesterday, which is actually a very rare occurrence for me. While I waited for the medication to work, it struck me how interesting pain is.

I could hardly think about anything else as my head pounded and I marveled at how just one thing could influence every other thing I was experiencing – how one part of me could profoundly affect the whole of me.

My kids’ report cards came in the mail (they were great!) but I had difficulty expressing the joy and pride I felt in my heart because of what I felt in my head. I walked through my yard to enjoy the flowers, but the colors seemed less vivid because the bright sun bothered my eyes. You get the idea.

I think we can see life in the same way too. Sometimes when there is one thing out of whack, it is easy to feel like everything is out of whack. Not necessarily so.

Remember the old saying, “Be patient with me, God isn’t finished with me yet”? I do believe that God sees us as works in progress, but often we see the areas of our lives that need work and we conclude. “I’m a mess!” or “I’ll never get there!” At other times, we are experiencing a pain – physical, emotional, spiritual - and it affects how we see the whole world. It taints how we see everything and everyone around us.

Take a deep breath and live in Grace today. God knit you together in your mother’s womb and ordained your days – He knows you. He knows you better than you know you.

And He knows just what medication you need.

Rocky Roads

Last night, J.J. and I visited with my Dad for a while. Soon, Dad was making tea and getting out the treats. He and J.J. had Rocky Road cookies, but I don’t like chocolate, so I opted out.

I wish I could opt out of the rocky road that I am travelling right now. Many thanks for your emails and phone calls to tell me you love me and/or care. Just thought I would share a few things.

Rocky roads are a normal part of life – even the Christian life. They grow us and challenge us and they are often a time when God reveals His presence in an extraordinary way if we let Him.

Difficulty occurs when we experience a rocky road without having a clear idea of who God is and how He operates. I heard someone say this week, “God is really messing with me,” in response to a deep struggle she is facing. If we do not start with God in our lives – learning His heart and His ways – we will misinterpret His motives when hard times come.

So, whatever you and I are facing, let’s be clear: Our God is about restoration. He is applying His grace and love to the world (and our lives) in order to reconcile us to Himself and to each other. He is also eternal. He sees a far bigger picture than we can imagine and, not that He doesn’t care about how we feel, but He invites us to look beyond the bumps and sharp turns on our journey. He invites us to look for HIM.

And, just as a simple reminder, God is good. If we know this, then we trust Him – and then there’s no need to opt out.

Kicking & Screaming

A few years ago, a Will Ferrell movie called Kicking & Screaming came out in theatres. We laughed and laughed, mostly because we play in community sports leagues, and it was about a generally nice and gentle man who lost his head while coaching his son’s soccer team.

The phrase “kicking and screaming” has been running through my lost head lately. It is unfortunate, but sometimes God has had to drag me into His future kicking and screaming. I hope that I never get to experience His Jonah-level persuasion techniques (remember the storm and the fish stomach for three days??) but I can imagine Him shaking His head and smiling – “Need a little push, do we?” It is not necessarily rebellion on my part, it’s more like thick headedness. General stupidity and basic humanness – a generally nice and gentle woman who loses her head.

Today, I am grateful for a God who pursues and pursues – who continues to work in a world that is kicking and screaming against Him. I am thankful that His love endures forever and that He never gives up. How great that I can live with the knowledge that He is working all things together for our good, even when we have to be dragged into that goodness.

No storm necessary, Lord. I’m moving...................albeit slowly.

Comfort food

I have found myself eating a lot of comfort food lately. There is definitely something about the familiar that can ease the mind, isn’t there? But it’s about far more, I think.

The sense of being FULL, or should I say THE ABSENCE OF EMPTY is a big deal too. For me, it’s been the loss of a friend, but there are other things that have left spaces as well – and the artificial filling up with green bean casserole brings a temporary plugging up of the vacancies.

In a realer, more permanent sense, this is the same journey we are on with God. He is filling us up – helping us know safety and wholeness despite our nagging hunger – past and present. Thing is, real fullness takes time, it’s a process even if we want it NOW.

Put down the fork. He’s working.

After

Last night, I actually took something to help me sleep, something I never even did when I suffered from ongoing insomnia. I was in bed, I have a viscous cold, I had buried my friend, and I had eaten Peruvian-Asian fusion food for dinner. After these things in combination, I was somehow disturbed.

There is such an interesting AFTER moment, isn’t there? Sometimes after is full of disappointment when the experience was exciting and long-anticipated. Often after is exhausting, or after can even be a relief. I am in my own after moment.

I recognize Diana is in her own after moment too – the after-life. At the graveside I read a passage from the late Cardinal Bernardin’s book, The Gift of Peace, where he writes, “Many people have asked me to tell them about heaven and the afterlife. I sometimes smile at the request because I do not know any more than they do. Yet, when one young man asked if I looked forward to being united with God and all those who have gone before me, I made a connection to something I said earlier in this book. The first time I traveled with my mother and sister to my parents’ homeland in northern Italy, I felt as if I had been there before. After years of looking through my mother’s photo albums, I knew the mountains, the land, the houses, the people. As soon as we entered the valley, I said, ‘My God, I know this place, I am home.’ Somehow I think crossing from this life into life eternal will be similar. I will be home.

What I would like to leave is a simple prayer that each one of you may find what I have found – God’s special gift to us all: the gift of peace. When we are at peace, we find the freedom to be most fully who we are, even in the worst of times. We let go of what is nonessential and embrace what is essential. We empty ourselves so that God may more fully work within us. And we become instruments in the Lord’s hands.”

Lord, make me an instrument of your peace,
Where there is hatred, let me sow love;
where there is injury, pardon;
where there is doubt, faith;
where there is despair, hope;
where there is darkness, light;
where there is sadness, joy;
O Divine Master, grant that I may not so much seek to be consoled as to console;
to be understood as to understand;
to be loved as to love.

For it is in giving that we receive;
it is in pardoning that we are pardoned;
and it is in dying that we are born to eternal life.
St. Francis of Assisi

The whole prayer is an after prayer. After sadness, joy; after pain, pardon; after darkness, light.
I want to be an after person.

Shiny well soul

Last night, I attended Noah’s Spring concert at the public middle school he attends. I usually enjoy these concerts immensely.

But before the concert began, I sat in my seat very tired, both physically and emotionally. The loss of Diana is a heavy reality, one that is making it hard to move my arms and legs. I haven’t been able to hear either, and I have missed most of what people are saying to me. Falling asleep seemed like my best bet.

Then came the moment when the curtain opened and the instruments reflected the light in a hundred different eye-catching flashes. The brass is always so shiny and exciting looking – and my attention was suddenly brought into sharp focus for the first time in over 24 hours. I even felt a moment of anticipation. What will I hear, now that I am listening?

And then, at his public school, Noah’s band began to play what was listed as “Hymnsong with Philip Bliss” in the program, but if you know your church music, you know it as, “It Is Well With My Soul.”

I was completely present for a moment, and that single flash of clarity reassured me that I will regain my hearing as the days pass. Smiling in the dark, I gave God props for His blessed tactics – tubas and truth.

It is well, it is well with my soul.

An ear to heaven

Every single night, for almost two years, my daughter has asked God to heal my friend Diana of her leukemia. He finally answered Mia's faithful prayer, because Diana died yesterday.

I have no doubt that Diana already has heaven on its ear. I hope God likes to play Scrabble and watch reruns of Dr. Who.

Thank you, God, for the extraordinary privilege of knowing and loving her. And Lord? I could use a little healing today too. Something feels broken.

Homemade cards and other reproach producing paper

I hope you had a great Mother’s Day. I recognize that it can be a tough day for some people. I had a friend who once told me that one of the hardest moments of the entire year for her is when she stands in the Hallmark store and tries to find a Mother’s Day card that is true.

I woke up yesterday and shortly after my daughter was leading me into a room to present me with a homemade card. It is gigantic, made on large size art paper, and here is what it says:

HAPPY MOTHER’S DAY
I LOVE YOU
Let me name all the nice things about you…
Marvelous
Outstanding
Magnificent
You’re kind, sweet, you help us when we need it. You think of us first, you forgive us! But most of all you always have time for me and more.
Love, Mia xoxoxoxoxo

It was beautiful, but somehow it gave me the strangest feeling inside. I truly long to be all the things my daughter believes that I am, all the things she needs me to be. Did you ever read a card that way?