Intimately Worded with Michelle

Author: Michelle

  • Seasons of Change

    ​Our stories are written, predestined. When we believe and begin to live in our story the Universe unveils itself. As we live, we recommit to being the people He purposes us to be. Two thousand fifteen has been exhilarating, excruciating, full of loss and of redemptive hope and perseverance. I have cried more this year due to changes. Major changes within my life and within myself. I have gained clarity and confidence in the bleakest of times. I pride myself on living my life by putting one front in front of the other. I keep moving and I keep pushing. So when it was time to sit, to rest, to heal I had no clue how.

    ​A time to heal: ​The physical things that ma​k​e me feel whole, feel ​feminine​ were surgically removed due to years of pain. ​My hysterectomy was ​something​ that shook my core​, my psyche​. ​I had become so accustomed to the pain that not experiencing it anymore was a difficult adjustment. I have this Michelle habit of being independent to the point it can be quite unhealthy emotionally, physically and spiritual. So my recovery took a little longer than I wanted it to be.

    A time to mourn: ​​A week after returning to work ​I lost my job of fifteen years. ​ Mind-blowing to say the least.  I have worked since I was 15 years old. ​Yet, I was able to be home when my children returned from school. Treasured time! I made new friends within my Church. People prayed for me. I realized that although I believe I’m on my own well I’m not. My family, friends and sisters will not let me be.  I lost my job but I have gained so much. ​God directs me so much better than I do Him. I’m listening without questioning. His leadership qualifications are pretty good. (smiling) ​
    ​A time to dance: I ​will begin a new career  that frightens me yet I am happy. God makes a way. Regardless, of how much we don’t want to and how much we struggle with what we fear the most. He makes a way for us to do what He has purposed us to do. He works it all out for our good.
    ​
    ​​This blogging world— ​this community of writers, who have the ability to write their hearts ​ in black and white​ are ​kindred spirits. Worth​y of ​knowing. ​You guys open my world, thank you. ​This experience causes me  to want to read more, write more. Kudos via this social media world: One,  I am
     learning Hebrew via France!  Two, I have connected with a community of entrepreneur women who want to share their stories, reveal to you their successes! Finally, I’m pretty good at this….this blogging thing. (I am smiling.)
    ​

    ​M​y counseling journey is  ever​ phenomenal​; with each course I am told I will be great at it. ​Yet, the responsibility of this profession is daunting. I have this huge heart and I want to “fix” everyone without medication. Love is free…me the idealist. My work as a guardian ad litem increases my love ​ for humanity, for our children and their families. I am unable to break confidentiality and the weight of being loving within a system that is not can often times be soul-wrenching.  My sister-friend Nikki ​advises​, “​The “problem” with people like you (ha ha)  and I is we see and notice things that others sometimes don’t. Human suffering is so personal – even when it is someone we don’t know well, that we end up carrying heavy burdens.  Some might find it a curse but I consider it a gift.” Another confidant, Teacher, Mrs. PhD congratulates me for, “Standing in the gap…” ​​​

    Our world is so much bigger than our individual circumstances; the tangible and the intangible​.  Greater beginnings. If we truly think about it every lesson learned takes us to a new ending. Take  time to find the clues that will help you begin again. Trust me, they are there.

    Resolve & Resolute,
    A.Michelle!
    ​This season, take time for you. I pray you are loved with the love you ​have ​always wished for. I pray if your heart has been broken that you heal lovingly and with the expectation there is more.  I believe we are all connected to ​one another to ​improve, learn and draw from ​each ​other ​for our better.
    

     

  • Monday’s reflection

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    Happy Monday!

    I had a pretty eventful weekend with family.  Friday night, I shared a wonderful birthday celebration with my cousin, her sisters and longtime family friends. My Autumn went to a late night movie with her friends, (late is 9:15.) I can admit that I am an overprotective mother. To Autumn and Brutus: nope, I am not changing anytime soon. My Brutus was to spend time with his brother Darius at his home.
    I don’t go out much but when I do my wardrobe advisors are vicious in their comments…after I have completed dressing: Autumn: “I don’t like those earrings with that outfit.” She finds more and hands them to me. I put them on. Brutus enters my room: “I don’t like those earrings. What is Autumn thinking? Everything else is fine.” He finds another pair and I put them on. As I am leaving and Darius is entering to pick up Brutus, Darius: “You need to go back in and put on some clothes.”  I ignore him. (All of me is covered up as usual. They not gone worry me. I dress them.) Of course, all this makes me late. At times I think they torture me for fun. I want to believe that they have no clue how many times I change clothes and how indecisive I am about my “Me.”  #mytribe
    My greatest friends are my siblings, my cousins, my family. Oh how we laugh and cut up. Love is contagious. Goodbyes include, “make sure you text us when you get home.” I am a middle child. There was no outlet or organization I attended where I wasn’t surrounded by family. School, Church, work, shopping, anywhere and everywhere somebody always knew me, whose child I was. I think at times we take for granted what we have, what we are accustomed to yet our environment can become the very foundation of our makeup, our journey.
    As I drive towards Charlotte to pick up Bru I think of my journey as a mother. I have been a mother longer than I have been a child, a teen. My oldest is 26, college grad and living in another state. My second born, Darius is 23, on his own and getting ready to be a father. I remember how I didn’t like children, didn’t want children and I laugh. My greatest fear was that I wouldn’t be a good mother.  I was afraid that I would either forget or leave my child somewhere; absent-mindly neglectful. Now, I am to be a grandmother, whew! Still quite unbelievable to me. (I’m smiling)  Of course I get lost trying to find his place….I debate with my GPS because I don’t wanna travel the Interstate. (Don’t try to figure me out.) Yes, I know there is a setting to avoid highways.  At times I have to ask Autumn or Bru how to mute my phone. I pray they don’t send me to a nursing home, which is Damien’s common threat to me.
    I finally find his place 30 minutes later. It should have been a 15 minute drive per my GPS. Darius so protectively watches me walk from my car. He tells me I am back early. I tell him they went out for drinks. Him: “You could have went with them and got some of that swing back. Bru is fine.” Of course, Brutus is not ready to leave, so I nosey around; ask questions about the new place. Me: “You check the crime rate before moving over here? You like it? Yall feel safe? You did good Darius. I noticed on the way in the parking lot is full and it is Friday night so that’s a good thing.” We leave. Darius again watches us. I smile as he braves the cold. Brutus is sleep before I pull up to the stop sign.
    Damien and Darius grew up the way I did surrounded by family, cousins. They know and understand that generational love. My Autumn and Bru know but will not truly experience the full effect of it.
    Summers were fun time. Running through fields, jumping gullies, riding bikes with sheer abandonment. Damien and Darius remember catching frogs and tadpoles; cousins defending them from neighborhood bullies while playing “rough” football. They were tiny. “We can hit him like that, you can’t.” Oh the childhood fights, the protection. Love is contagious.  None of my cousins or sisters went a second go round of having children, LOL! Only me. I’m not sure if I could have done any better as a mother but I know I always did my best for I received the best. They are happy and so am I.
    #roots #TillmanTaylor #Waxhaw
    Nesting is a huge problem for me and I think it will forever be. My wish is to have a home huge enough for every child of mine and their families to co-exist in one place. I told them they each could have their own wing and each night we could meet at the dinner table. I think it is quite doable. Of course they laugh at me. Family matters, reflecting on life is a joy. Sharing life is an unforgettable constitution. I love Saturday mornings and my favorite day of the weekend is Sunday. Make life count for you and for others.
    Soulfully aging,
    A. Michelle!

  • The Roots of Thanksgiving

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         Since my mother passed three years ago my Thanksgivings are completely different. Our Thanksgivings are so different. I’ve always cooked during this time and I enjoy it. My emotions range from being absolutely grateful yet missing her and my siblings tremendously to wondering what to do. Overwhelming. How do you start new family traditions when the Center, our Nucleus has transitioned?
         Family is everything. ​Thanksgiving is one of my favorite holidays because I get to see all my Family—well Daddy’s side. My aunties, my cousins, my nieces and nephews, new additions to the Family. My family is huge and I love that. I travel from Charlotte to Waxhaw. My oldest lives in Virginia and his girl is from Virginia as well. In October I asked could we spend Thanksgiving with her family and the answer was yes. I wanted a change of scenery, to do something different. A week before Thanksgiving Damien calls to say, “We are coming there.” Me: “So I have to cook?” Damien, sarcastic as usual: “Well, yeah.”
           The morning of: I am up early cooking. Damien is as well. He doesn’t sleep in anymore. He comes in the kitchen, “What’s ready now? What can I eat now?” Me: “Turkey necks and rice but who eats that as breakfast, this early?” Well, Damien does. Later, I ask him to taste test my gumbo, “That’s good. Damn, that’s good.”
          Damien has to return to Virginia Friday so our time together is rushed. Seamlessly, all falls into place without me having to organize anything. We will stop in Waxhaw, two of his buddies from college will join us. Isn’t that awesome, that his college friends want to be with his side of the family? The crazy, loveable, country, ghetto, thuggin, I-love-God-but-will-cuss-and-or-cut-you, we-all-gone-eat (neighbors and strangers too), most Black family in all the world. I am so proud to be a Tillman.
          We drive the long way into Waxhaw. New developments that we haven’t seen. The town is beautiful with Autumn leaves, the colors are magnificent. The countryside, the woods bring back so many memories.  I greet my cousin “B”, who looks nothing like 61 years of age. She hugs and kisses me, “Look at you short and sexy. Keep it up.” My other cousin Sharon is just beaming with a beautiful joy and has been for the past year or so. She will not tell me her secret. She is absolutely gorgeous. Then there is my cousin Vince Edward and we argue-love as usual. He’s older than 50. He says he isn’t. I say he is. Then there is my Auntie, the matriarch, head full of gray and silver……she fusses. I smile. I listen. I tell her my baby is going to have a baby and she smiles so, she laughs as if this is the greatest thing in all the world. I tear up because I see my Daddy in her smile. I remember how important family was/is to him. No matter what went on in my life I know I was loved…am loved.
          My family….my Damien and Darius have girlfriends, long-term girlfriends. There hasn’t been any others brought around for me to meet except these two, JaNee` and Dominque.  I reflect on how their girlfriends are becoming more like daughters than friends. We have dinner at my place, Damien’s circle and my children. All is well. The laughter, the conversation and their camaraderie made my heart smile. The one from Delaware hasn’t ever had nor heard of turkey necks before and condemns us as country bumpkins before he devours them.
          My family….when Dominique bites into my collard greens, closes her eyes and sighs w/ deliciousness. She says, “This is so nasty.” We laugh. She is womb-ing my first grandchild and again my heart smiles. I remember how I would only eat my Momma’s collard greens. She would give me my very own dish to take home.  Domi has the most peculiar taste buds and I know her pregnancy has warped everything. There is still a great debate about the title of my new role. I’m not ready for the title “Grandma” because my mother was Grandma. (Doesn’t feel right, lol.)
    I like Grammy— like the Grammy awards. My children roll their eyes at this idea.  Everyone else is called Nana, Mimi, Glam-Ma or Me Maw. I don’t like Glam-Ma either.  Decisions, decisions. (huge smile)
          At one point I try to exit the room to escape the heaviness of the season, missing my parents, our time together and JaNee` says: “Next year at this time you will have the pitter patter of little feet, a baby crawling reaching for you. Expect big things next year. Different, new. Big.”  I smile, realizing that she is learning me. She won’t let me wallow, I step back in the room and tell her, “You are right.” We talk some more.
    My roots, my family, my children and now my children’s children.
    My Thanksgiving. My Life!
    Tearfully and amazingly grateful,
     A. Michelle!
     P.S. Dominique returned the next day for more collard greens.

     

  • Secret Admirers

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    A memory…flowers didn’t arrive at my home but one day while away from the office for lunch my desk held a delivery. A  gift basket containing body crèmes, spray mist and soaps. The card read: “You deserve the best. I am willing to be that for you.” No name. I became frightened. I think, trying to figure out who it could be. I smiled slightly. My stomach danced with butterflies. I went back to work. I worried. I called my fiancée, knowing he didn’t send it. I didn’t tell him about the gift basket.

    Later,  I opened the gift and the smell of the body crème was divine, rare, expensive. A scent I never smelled before. I definitely knew my fiancée didn’t send it. Very nervous, I didn’t take it home. I kept it at the office. My co-workers questioned me, wanting to know who sent it. They loved the smell of it. So did I. It wasn’t loud like perfumes tend to be. The scent was comforting, cozy, light, delicious…lingering. I didn’t go around asking questions I honestly didn’t know who sent it. Who could this person be? To know what to buy me, to cater to such a specific scent, a person I knew nothing about.

    He approached me the following day. A co-worker. A nice guy. He was quiet. I thanked him. I told him I didn’t cheat. He responded: “I wasn’t asking you to. I want more than that.” He walks away. I have no words. I am so confused because I never gave any reason for him to like me. I was engaged. He watched. I smiled. We never spoke again. At this time, this writing prompt #Secret Admirers, I think of him. I smile. I can’t remember his name nor his face. Older, wiser, love abused and misused I appreciate him. What an authentic, original way to initiate, create and pursue a possible love interest.  A scent so rare so indescribable…eighteen years later and I have not forgotten about it. No butterflies, no longer frightened but the risk to have more, to have what he wanted in me remains. I have never experienced the smell of that fragrance again. I cannot find it. Secret admirers: they give us more than maybes or possibilities; they have the ability to ignite an undeveloped want into a future standard.

    Wondering,

    A. Michelle!

     

     

  • Crossroads, where I am.

    Phewwy. Yuck. I do not enjoy being here at the moment, in this space. At the Crossroads. At the Crossroads, no, no, no. New Crossroads, a little better for a title I think as I am writing the posted blog. If we pause and truly think about it we all are at a crossroads. We each have to make daily decisions that will impact our tomorrows or with some personal duress, someone else’s. As we try to live in the moment we are also planning, processing, progressing for tomorrow. I know God is intentional. I know that anything we go through and will go through has not taken Him by surprise. Oh, but can I have a physical, touch it, know it plan, Jesus??! Oh, then the scripture of Faith is dropped into my hearing, my spirit.
    My heartbeat in these new crossroads has a rhythmically odd thumpty-thump-oh-my-pause pace. I am uncomfortable in this season of my life. I don’t quite understand it. I am dumbfounded and unable to encourage others. Daily, I would send affirmations via personal email and Facebook to friends and family. My give back from God; a morning aspiration for the past five years. It would seem after all I have done, been through and all that I have tried and am trying to do I should be able to do what I want, get what I want without question. Without this unbelievable stretch of stillness in time. “Be still and Know”….and still I whine, stomp my foot and pull at His shirttail “But God, do you hear me?”
    I am advised to “sit” and hear God. Listen to Him. Pray for the next right move. Yet, I assure you I’ve always tried my best to do that. After twenty-five years of growing up in the country—where we had to travel to another city or town for groceries; where lights and the television were shut off during a storm; where a whooping came like the summer rain, unexpected—sitting still, listening to God is what I would know best.
    I don’t say this to those who encourage me because I would come off sarcastically inept and insensitive. “Have any of my decisions been made without Him?” Whether I was obedient or not, I still made the decision with God in my mind. I did what I wanted knowing God would reprimand me one way or the other. As faithful as He is this free will He gives is the ultimate Aha. Conscious, that Holy Spirit “uh-uh” isn’t funny.
    I have been given the greatest of opportunities: to be home. I take the Little Ones to school. I’m home when the Little Ones get home from school. I am able to write for hours at a time with no interruptions. I am able to help with homework. I am able to do my assigned homework and give my all instead of rushing to complete a 6 page essay on a one hour lunch break. (Grad student. The geekiest fun is a pressured deadline.) I have time to study and enjoy my Bible lessons in order to teach Sunday School. I have Time. Time to fulfill the dreams and opportunities I have always wanted without stress.
    The children are great successes in school. My GPA would make you smile and say proudly, “Well, will you look-a-here.” Yet, here I am stressing, not sleeping, worrying, and crying. I have Time! And I am the most frustrated organized, got-to-have-a-reason-right now, obedient, hopeful, why-me-Lord woman in all the Earth. (That’s my personal opinion.) Oh, I forgot educated. Big sigh.
    My Life! My own individualized because God loves me scratch pad has just been erased. I can’t see. I don’t know! If I knew I could do. I can plan. I can “Michelle” my way. Oh, how I want to “Michelle” my way through this. Oh well. God knows best. He does. I believe that. I know that. I have witnessed it over and over again. New career. New Pastor. New Crossroads, that’s where I am….on the other side of God knows best.

    Walking by Faith trying to See around.

    Me,

    A. Michelle.

  • You, my audience

    My hope is that you will see, my dream reader, within my words is Me.  I love a lot. I can encourage others yet give so little effort in encouraging myself. I am the greatest supporter in whatever your dreams are yet I will push my dreams aside because of fear….I doubt myself more than I doubt others. I will fight for you, protect you and forgive you. I believe that love conquers all. Yet, despite how strong Love is it is the most fragile and greatly misinterpreted concept, misguided method in history—present and future. But I know Love reigns as the greatest champion in all the world.

     A few insiders that make me Michelle…..I read magazines from the back to the front. I will read my favorite book and watch my favorite movie over and over again–and each time get something new out of it. This fact is very seldom due to age, when I eat french fries with a meal I consume all of them first. One has to eat fries while their hot. Cold fries are a waste of time and energy, be respectful.  I am first to reach out, touch and comfort a hurting person but will pull away if a person touches me. Oh, I give great hugs, too! A person told me this, “I love your hugs. They are not half way or soft. They are so real. Needed.”

    I love God. I believe in Jesus yet I’m no one’s chump. I think our population has watered down the characteristics of Jesus. In my opinion, He wasn’t a pushover. My confidence, guarded self-esteem is solely based on knowing God loves me….yet I ain’t no shabby chick. I am no wall flower. I believe I stand out in a crowd because of this huge smile I have. As a teen I always shyly covered my smile with my hand. (It is huge and kids are mean.)

    I am wanting and in wait to meet the love of my life. Yes!…at my age, after divorce, after four children (ages 26, 23, 12 and 9.) I love Love even though we don’t seem to agree, click or meet. (Laugh)

    I have moments of uncourageousness that have led to one profound truth: I hope. I hope a lot. I think settling is a travesty, a comfort so unwelcome to the heart, so unfair to others and to you. I choose not to write from hurt –somehow the beauty of it (writing) is taken away and “they” win.

    What are the things I hide from others? ….hurt feelings–I package them away. As well as the full bluntness of my anger, my tongue is vicious–I’m working on that. My moments of self defeat….well I take that to God. He listens His way and checks off my to do list on His own time. He has a sense of humor.

    So I hope you read my blog, my two cents, my words with an intimate knowledge of unbiased truths of me by Me.

    With hope,

    A. Michelle!

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  • That Publish button…my bloggy blog statement

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    When I write….It all passes through me. I see more in black and white than what’s in my heart. I can fix this…when I write.

    ​ My feelings, emotions are more coherent. They are tangible, loud. Emotions feel, taste, they bite. My tiny voice is loud, substantial, coherent no longer misunderstood…when I write. I’m strong, powerful, vulnerable and so transparent. It scares me, still…when I write. 
    When I write, there aren’t any rules. There are no, “You can’t.”  No incorrect grammar rules (ok, I have to make sense) but I can make up words within my own writing context, “uncourageous”— (what a wonderful word) and you as the reader know exactly what it means!  As a female raised in the South, no rules is a new phenomenon and the release is pure ecstasy.
    (Don’t get too deep with the latest intonation. lol)

    My heart seems to have no rhyme or reason but my words bleed truth, bleed, reveal my  soul. ​ My matters of the heart are not without healing, when I write. The invincible is plausible, the impossible is reasonable. ​​ I can do more, achieve more when I write. I am more than super; I am a wonder, when I write.  I feel normal yet I know this writing is unique, a gift, my very own gift. It is mine….and it frees me….it connects me…it heals me. It is me, all of me.​

    My tears spill over into smiles or a  “Wow. Now I see” ​ confirmation begins to develop new ideas. ​ My joy, the kind no one can take away centers me. God meets me write there…..and quite simply, “There” is an intimacy experienced–no longer an imagination…when I write.

    Vulnerably yours,

    ~A. Michelle!

  • What are you afraid of?

    I am afraid of spiders and…..Love. Whew. I said it. I can admit it. My fear of spiders is genuine, at times problematic. They are just creepy scary. My oldest son Damien gets so angry with me. He has killed spiders for me the longest. He has traveled to me (I jumped out my car once) to kill a spider. He is sympathetically sarcastic, “This fear makes no sense to me. You are bigger than it. Just step on it.” My response while hiding because my fear grows when I see one, “Is it dead?”

    Love, has always been fairly simple to me. I  grew up believing in the fairy tale—he will be my Prince, patient; my King, kind, able to sweep me off my feet and love me unconditionally and forever. The simplicity of love: you want me. I want you. We make it work. Simple, right?

    I believe we complicate Love. We make it difficult. We calculate what we want. We conceive ideas on how and when we should receive it. We mold who we want to receive it from. If it takes too long we stop working for what we want and we settle. We stop. We begin to build our love, the definition of it our way behind the hurt, underneath the lies and disappointment. We love our way—walled up.

    I have become so accustomed to making excuses to my length of singleness. My dating experiences have been dreadfully futile. I confess that I have never dated, never been one to serial date. If we date, we are working towards a relationship. The last few years my dates have been tragic. One date told me: “You are too independent that’s your problem. I am going to break your spirit.” First date, last date, lose my number. The next guy, I liked. I thought he was real nice. Phone conversation, he tells me he is bisexual. Well that just shut me down completely. I just stopped looking, talking, making eye contact with strangers for about a year. It bothered me because I couldn’t tell his sexual orientation. His lack of knowing which team he wanted to be on struck me to my core. Oh what a mighty new world I have been thrust into!  I began to look forward to Friday nights, glass of wine, popcorn, pajamas and movies at home. These were my free weekends, no kids. Fear can become comfortable, a part of the norm.

    Lately, I have come to realize that I look for holes even when the potential is there. I may recognize the props, the gateway and yet ignore it away, shut down because I am too afraid. Classic fear- to remain where you are. To remain in the hope of singleness is a complete cop out. Most times it is not the man, it is my own fear that keeps me single. Who wants to be fooled again? I truly believe no one can love me the way I love them nor the way I want to be loved. How selfish and “uncourageous ” is that? (uncourageous is my word. My blog. lol)

    The thing is, I love Love. I think marriage is the greatest covenant two people can I have. I love married couples. I smile because they are smiling. I love hearing their stories of growth, phases of uncertainty and their methods of reconnecting–to remain together. Love is work. Love takes effort, not hoops—true effort that includes persistence, honesty and consistency. Love is effortless, it just is.

    I will confess I stopped looking. I assume more than I approach. I judge more than I ask. I give up because I’m unsure and confused. The simplicity of it is, I would have called you last night because I said I would. No matter what is going on in my life I would have called you. Because deep down you are waiting to hear my voice. You are hoping. How has hope become a “game”?  Big sigh,  I’m afraid of love because being afraid of love is easier than being afraid in love.

    Your wuss,

    A. Michelle!

    I really would like to know what you are afraid of, love and what else? Also any likes on the post will comfort me in knowing I am pretty normal.

    Be courageous, let love find you happy. #LOVE

  • Humility, a lesson by Bru

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    I purchased a footstool when my older sons left home. I am exactly 5 feet tall—plenty opportunities for my children to joke me. Oh how Damien and Darius loved to purposely place the salt and pepper shakers or any cooking ingredients on the second shelf out of my reach. Of course, they would laugh and chuckle while I fussed.

    My footstool has become a point of argument for Brutus and I. He believes it is his toy, the family “what-not”. I get frustrated because when I need it I can never find it. Our first argument, I told him how it would be and his sarcastic retort was, “Its for everybody.” So I hid it in my closet out of view.

    Thursday morning, after everyone is at school, I decide to try a protein smoothie. I am blending blueberries, bananas, walnuts and I want to use just a little bit of honey. I think I see the honey way back in the back of the cabinet. I can’t reach it. I’ll just go get my footstool. It’s not in my closet, nor in the pantry. I search every room in the house and I can’t find it. So now I am mad. No longer do I really want the smoothie. Every time I try to be healthy, do something for me these little people move what is required or  it magically disappears. I’m a routine person. I know where I put my stuff. If I don’t move it, it should be right where I left it. I’m so mad I have already played out the conversation I am going to have with Brutus when he returns home.

    He is home. We talk about school. He had a great day. Me: “Bru where is my footstool? I looked for it everywhere.” He runs happily into my bedroom. Bru: “You didn’t look on my side of your bed, did you?” He hands me the footstool. (I’m still mad but hiding it.) Me: “Its my footstool. I couldn’t reach something earlier today and I needed it.” Bru: “The footstool is for everybody. Its not just yours. I keep telling you that.” Me: “It is mine. It is not a toy. Again, it is mine. If you are going to use it just put it back where I can find it.” Bru, big sigh “Momma it is the pattern of life for me to want what you have.” He pauses: “This conversation is over because I don’t know what I am saying right now. I don’t know where it came from.” He has this strange look on his face and jumps off the footstool and begins his homework. I am dumbfounded. He’s eight years old. I remain in the kitchen.

    Me: “Bru do you think you are different?”  Bru: “Yes, but only because I tell you I love you every day and all the time. I don’t think other kids do that. Why?” Me: “Just wondering.”

    What do you do with that? “….it is the pattern of life for me to want what you have.”  I didn’t take his statement as an envy or jealous emotion.  I am pointing out my selfish wants for the footstool. He is  pointing out the value in having the footstool. “It’s for everybody.” I am the Psych grad; the graduate student. I’m Momma.

    My children have this astonishing strength of faith, they always have. I don’t mess with it; I let it be but man they scare the heck outta me. At times I wonder why God has me as their protector, their mother, in this role. I tell Autumn what Bru says, she laughs. I ask Autumn: “How am I suppose to take care of you two, alone?” Autumn, shrugs her shoulders: “You’re doing it. You have been doing it.” She continues her homework. Brutus plays with his legos.  Well, I just send up a silent prayer for strength, wisdom and continue reading my book.

    The smoothie wasn’t nasty without honey. I drank it….go me! No sugar. At this moment the footstool is in the pantry. Grateful, I am learning from two of the four greatest gifts God has ever blessed me with.

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    Let go of the distractions. At times the lessons are right in front of you.

    their Mom,

    ~A. Michelle

  • Reciprocity…a published work.

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    So in my real life….I haven’t written for a publication in 19 years! For everyone God has placed in my life to get me to this point I appreciate you! Kisses. (and you know I have water in my eyes.) All smiles.
     Below is the digital link to the magazine featuring my article. Please read and enjoy! Also support the magazine via the website She~ol~ogy, magazine for the modern woman. Great tips on becoming the whole you.
    http://cld.bz/b6UO1at