January 26, 2008

3:35 PM: moving on

I have two empty spaces in my heart. One space will always be there, and it belongs to my sister Susan. That space, I know, will never be filled by anything else; it will never close up. The other space belongs to a pretty little girl named Allie.

It was only six months of my life, and in the big picture of life, it seems like it shouldn't affect my heart in quite the way it has. But the time I spent holding her, hugging her, kissing her, playing with her, reading to her, changing her diaper, watching her potty-train, teaching her words and songs and games, and, well, loving her... it all seems so much bigger to me than it sounds when I put a time frame on it. "Six months," I say. It sounds like nothing. But it's been only a little more than six months, too, since I last held her, and that seems like an eternity.

Letting go of a child is hard. It's something about the innocent way that they love you... that you love them... there's no agenda. There aren't any games. It's nothing like the expectations and struggles in a relationship. So I loved her... simply and fully. And she loved me, too, and it was an innocent, special kind of love that made her see me as nothing more than love in action. She didn't notice that I was flabby or had thin hair or that I was insecure or that her dad couldn't talk to me about his feelings. She saw me and smiled and ran into my arms and her love was joy to me. Walking away from a child who loved you completely, with perfect innocence, is hard.

Time does heal wounds, though, and I thought I was doing pretty well. Until I realized how hard it would be to meet another child and find myself unsure of how--or whether, even--to give my love to this child, too. I will, I know, but it might be slow. I'm ready to move on--but I'll never discount the love and lessons I gained from this little ball of love I mothered for six months.

So this is for you, Little One. One last reminiscence of your bouncy curls and your big blue eyes and the songs you sang for me. One last time, I'll let myself recall the times you read to me because I skipped a page in the book you memorized. One last time, I'll remember building barnyards out of Legos. Coloring Easter eggs. Playing sick while you took my temperature. Rolling down the hill in the backyard. Singing in the car. Watching Dora while you fell asleep in my arms. Dressing your dolls. Hearing you say, "I love you, Sannon," with your sweet little smile. And then I'll let you go, Baby, because you aren't mine. But I was blessed that I was yours, even if it was just for a heartbeat.



January 23, 2008

4:53 PM: boiling blood

I am in disbelief over this article about a "church" and their decision to picket Heath Ledger's funeral because of the homosexual role he played in Brokeback Mountain. How can these people believe in the same Christ of the Bible who loves his creation in the midst of our sin, who offers grace and mercy to all of his children? They have perverted the Word of God into hate when the message is supposed to be Love.

Sin's just separation, you know, and it's all the same.

Thanks a lot, Westboro Baptist "Church," for making true Bible-believing Christians look like hateful, disgusting, and miserable people with narrow minds and narrower hearts.


January 03, 2008

10:07 PM: newness

When I hear new, I get a positive feeling. It's usually a good thing. Other than, say, New Jersey. Because, well, ick. But generally, new is a nice concept. Like new babies, new clothes, new shoes, new love. And, of course, new years. I sort of wonder why it's really such a big deal to us to start a new year--it's not like there's some big shift in the universe that says it's time to start over. It's just that someone has taught us to get a new calendar, and we buy into it. But whether your calendar is The Office (like mine), or bichons (like Jen's every year for the rest of her life), or hot cowboys (like the one I bought last year that Erin wouldn't let me hang up at work) or whatever your mom put in your stocking... well, it works for us. Because everyone likes newness. It's an amazing feeling, really, to know it's possible to start over. For some reason, we hang up the new calendar and with it comes a whole bunch of resolve that we just couldn't scrape up all year long. What is it about the new year that makes it seem possible to get on the treadmill, put down the cigarette, be a better friend, or learn new things?

And then all of that reminds me of the newness that God gives us every day. Of course, that has nothing to do with our resolve. And how we take that for granted! Every day is January 1. Every day we get a new calendar! Just think. You could have The Office, bichons, sexy cowboys, and even Dilbert. And then 361 more! The calendar tangent is a little silly, but really. New mercies every morning. What an amazing gift that is.

With the rest of the resolute of Central Ohio, I have plans. I'm not telling you, though, because it will jinx me or something. I guess it will just make me feel like a dork if I don't follow through. So jinx or dork, I'm not telling you.

Anyway, 2007 was an okay year. Last year Mom said 2007 would be my year... well, I really hope that wasn't it. I had some hard times, but at least they were sandwiched by good ones. It started well and it ended well, in spite of a little heartache in the middle. I finished it happy. Instead of writing about the events of the year, I'm going to just do my recap in photos. They're not in order. I'm not resolute enough to do that.

Hello, 2008!

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About Me

    Name: Shannon
    Age: 29
    Occupation: Editor
    Identity: Child of God
    Location: Ohio
    Yahoo: shann_79


© 2007 Shannon, the Writer of this Blog"