I would put Flowers on your grave

This is long. This happened several months ago. I needed to write it to help me process it.


"It's ok sweetie, mommy will be back for you soon" The grooming salon assistant spoke these words to Daisy as she gently tugged the reluctant canine toward the back room. Daisy looked up at me with her huge brown eyes wishing she could just stay with me. I quickly turned and walked away. It was just a bath. I wasn't being mean to her, but it still always hurt a little to leave her like that. I squared my shoulders and pushed the door open and walked through the store, and out the double sliding doors. I didn't like it when they called me Daisy's mommy. It never felt right. She wasn't my daughter. It wasn't like that. She was my friend. My companion, and, if ever the need arose, I knew she would be my protector.

She was intuitive like that. If I felt nervous or surprised around someone, she would start barking and growling, letting them know she would not allow them to mess with me, her friend. Sometimes she got a little confused, wanting to attack anyone who showed up at the door unexpectedly, but she always let me restrain her at those times.

Daisy was not perfect. She was a dog, and had some habits that I wished she wouldn't continue with. I'm not going to list those imperfections. I don't want to. I want to remember all the good things, like how she would lay calmly on the floor while my toddler climbed all over her. She endured her ears being tugged, being sat upon, and even allowing herself to be pulled by the collar by kids so small she could easily have pulled away. I think she secretly adored the attention from the little ones. She often reminded me of 'Nana' on Disney's Peter Pan. In the evenings she would curl up on my feet while I watched tv. Her companionship meant so much to me.

Daisy was about 10 and 1/2 years old. She started slowly eating less and less. I tried switching to canned dog food. Tried to tempt her with all sorts or treats. She wasn't interested. When she began vomiting up almost everything she ate, I took her to the vet. They said it was probably acid reflux. In my heart I knew that she was dying, but I wanted to believe them, so I gave her the meds they prescribed. That didn't work. I took her back to the vet, and they took some x-rays.

That evening the 5 of us went to go pick her up from the vet and hear about the results. I knew that it would be severe, and that we would be saying goodbye soon. We waited in an examination room. We probably waited about 30 minutes, and the kids were getting restless. someone finally came and led us to the back. I had already talked to the kids about the likely possibility of losing Daisy. We were prepared for what they were going to tell us.

The Veterinarian showed us the x-rays. There was a large mass in her chest area. She said it was mostly likely cancer, and that it was very advanced. They could operate, but the chances were slim. I was ready for this. I knew this would be the outcome. I also knew Daisy was old and worn out, and that any procedures would just prolong her suffering. I started to speak, I said she needed to be put to sleep, but that we would like to take her home for a day to love on her. I wasn't able to get all that out. Instead, I began sobbing hysterically. I was holding my 2 year-old, and I hugged him tightly and walked as fast as I could. I had to get outside! No one is supposed to see me cry!

I nearly bumped into 2 people, and then finally made it through the labyrinth and out into the fresh air, still sobbing. Then Love showed up. It took the form of a small older lady with grey hair. She set down her box of canned food, and wrapped her arms around me. She started crying too. She said she had just said goodbye to her dear pet, but it was more like losing a family member. I nodded and tried to thank her through my tears. She understood. She just held me and knew. Jon and the other 2 kids joined us after a couple minutes. Lacey had tears in her eyes as she came over to hug me. Simon was worried because I was crying so much.

I began feeling calm, and the lady asked my name. I told her and then she said she would not forget, and that she would pray. She got in her car after giving me one more hug, then drove off with a wave of farewell. I will never forget her.

We took Daisy home that weekend, so that we would have a couple more days to cuddle her and tell her how much we love her. I don't know if that was the right decision or not. By Sunday, she could barely stand, and was in so much pain and misery. We called a local shelter and they said they would put her to sleep that day, if we brought her in.

All 6 of us piled into the van. I sat in the very back, on the floor. I held Daisy close and baptized her with tears of a thousand sorrows. Lacey cried with me. She understood. When we got there, Jon took Daisy in the fill out paperwork. I sat in the van with the kids, the tears just never stopping. I sent Jon a text telling him I really felt like I should be there with Daisy, so he came out to take care of the kids, and I went inside to meet death.

They led me into a small grey room, with an old blanket on the floor. Then they led Daisy in. I sat on the floor, and pulled Daisy next to me. They gave her a shot to make her sleep. She slowly collapsed next to me, and I hugged her close, telling her the whole time how much I loved her, and how wonderful she is. Then they gave her the next shot. The fatal one. The one that stops the heart and invites death.

I sobbed loud and hard. I hugged her so tightly. goodbye, Daisy. I will see you again when the world is perfect...

Artful Travels

So,  it's been awhile. This will be short. Things have been busy, I've been unmotivated, ect. I went on my first cruise. I liked some of it. Not all of it. I discovered that I sleep really well on a moving boat, and that eating dinner on one of the lower decks while the ship is moving quickly makes me feel sleepy and slightly nauseated. I also learned that I am kick-ass at haggling. It's over. I'm home. I want to travel more, but not by cruise ship. The End.

Finding My True Name

Have you ever considered that the name you were given at birth isn't your true name? What if there is a 
name, hidden deep inside you,that comes from your core, from who you really are. No one can know what is 
deep within you more than you yourself can.  A wise and ever-knowing friend counseled me to consider these thoughts, and by doing so, she helped me to give myself permission to find my true name.

As soon as I opened that door, a name came bursting in like the wind, and settled itself into my mind. I 
don't think it's supposed to happen that fast, I told the name. The name ignored my protest and stayed put. 
Fine, I will consider you, I said to the name. Working hard to keep an open mind, I started off on a walk a 
few days later. This was also at the suggestion of my friend, from something she had recently read.

I was supposed to take a contemplative walk, and consider whether God was giving me a new name, or 

rather, revealing my true name.Instructions were also to look for a stone, and write the name on it.

Well I walked. I tried hard to empty my mind of the tangled thoughts and intrusive name that had already 
settled there. I prayed, then I gave up and just decided to slow my determined steps and enjoy the beauty 
all around me. As I was on the last stretch of the walk, I started thinking about my miscarriage, and my 
beloved daughter that was lost to me. Tears threatened to spill, but I rapidly blinked them back as a couple
 of people walked by. I had planned on naming my daughter Evangeline River, if she had been born. 
Instead, I only gave her the name River, because she flowed away from me.

But Evangeline was the name that had burst through my mind's door when I opened it. What if...

I swallowed and tried to grasp

this mind-blowing concept. What if when her body died, her soul became bound to mine, in this life. What if she never really left 

me, but together we are...I am...Evangeline.

As these intense thoughts were swirling around, I had been kicking a large pebble along without realizing it. I suddenly stopped,

quickly drawing in a gasp. I picked up the stone. It was just big enough to write the name on it. There were no other stones in sight.

In fact, I hadn't seen any others the entire walk. Suddenly I felt lighter. Free-er. I continued on and headed home. My steps 

were light and full of joy. So from now on I am:

Evangeline grace Nathan

I plan on legally changing my name before too long, and yes, I have read up on the process. I may write more later on this subject, and include some other deep reasons for changing my name....or I might not. I might choose to keep those to myself.

prompted by poetry

It is the dirt beneath my feet
where the rocks and soil meet

Staring down, wanting peace
sound and pain and fear increase

rhythms STRONG, patterns Bold
breaking thoughts I tried to hold

Shifting heart, balance strands,
words the map to peaceful lands.






This is because of  Story Sessions, more specifically, the 40 days of art journaling that I am taking part of within story sessions. I drew the word Poetry today out of a bunch of words that we were given as prompts for each day. We were also encouraged to take a walk and see where the word we had drawn would take us. #ssartjournal

She Belongs

         She sat on her bed, arranging each stuffed animal in its place. They each had their special place to sit, and they each belonged. She stared deep into their eyes. "I know you can talk", she told them. "I just don't know why you don't trust me enough to talk in front of me. Maybe God will make them talk to me." She thought. So she prayed: "dear God, if my toys can really talk, please make them talk to me now, so I know it's true." She opened her eyes and stared at her stuffed animals. Nothing. They remained motionless and quiet. "fine, but I still know you can talk. You can't fool me." She knew it deep down, and things that she knew deep down could not be swayed by a single, failed attempt at communication. Nothing could touch her inside. Deep inside, she was safe and accepted, because God lived there. At breakfast she informed her older sisters that she knew the meaning of a certain word. It was a big word, and complicated for one so young. They did not believe her, so they insisted she describe the meaning to them. She refused. She knew the meaning of the word, and by holding it safe in her heart, and not proving herself to her sisters, she knew that she had power...that she was power, and that their unbelief could not touch that.

***********

 
          She was hungry. She was always hungry it seemed, and always wanting a snack. Her stomach stuck out when she walked, mostly because she slouched. Her hair was short because she had asked her mother to cut it like a boy's hair. She wished she was a boy. Her sister joined her in their room and plopped down on the bed next to her. "I heard something that I probably shouldn't tell you." Her sister informed her.
"You have to tell me!" She demanded. "now."
"Well..." Her sister began. "I overheard dad talking to mom, and he said you were getting kind of chubby. He's wrong, though! You aren't fat at all."
Her insides felt like they were plummeting, and suddenly she knew. She knew she was ugly. She knew she was chubby. She knew she wasn't good enough anymore. She wasn't a lovely little girl anymore. She was just...ugly.

***********

The Lie: You Don't Matter. You don't matter to the world, to those around you. You know you are loved by God, but you don't know that anyone else could love you. Like, only a Mother could love you. Only your Mother God.

"The adults walk above me. Children look up and see me."

          She sat on the carpet floor in her bedroom, head bowed, clutching her diary to her chest, and listening to the voices talking and laughing downstairs. The family had company over. Tears silently ran down her cheeks and dripped off her nose. She was hiding, hoping beyond hope that someone would miss her and come ask her to join them, because she was important too, and her words mattered. No one came. No one ever did. She knew the truth. She knew her voice couldn't carry the weight anymore. Maybe it's time to end it. To end her. Why was she here, if no one needed her anymore. If no one cared enough to find her. Something was wrong. She was fading away. Her words of "I love you" and the way she tried to catch their eyes...failed. Somehow her voice was never heard. Somehow she was too often overlooked. Caught in the cracks of not being old enough and also being too old. She wanted to leave. To end this life that didn't seem to matter. She opened her diary and wrote: Hold, me God. I'm fading away, and you're the only one who cares. Why should I stay?

**********

Hello, little grace. I whisper to the little girl sitting on her bed with her stuffed animals. She looks up and smiles at me. I'm lost. I came to you because you are not lost. Do you know why I am lost?
"Yes." She says confidently. "it's because you forgot you are an artist. A genius artist! You make things prettier." Yes. You know this. You don't doubt, and you are right. I told her. She look thoughtful for a moment. "Does my dream come true?"
Which dream is that?
"Do I get my own baby, and it calls me mommy?"  My heart warmed, and I felt my whole self glowing from within.
You get three. 
She beamed at me, and picked up a teddy bear and gently started rocking and singing.

Linked up with The Girls We Once Were

Love in Art

           Lately it feels like everything is pressing in on me from all sides, and soon I may just implode from the pressure. I fight, and take deep breaths to keep myself whole and in control. There are moments when I feel completely free and light. Those moments come when I am creating. I recently finished painting and re-upholstering our dining room chairs. I also painted the table. I have a sewing project I pick up and put down when I feel like it. My art journal is always there waiting for me. Last night I started making a mosaic on a round kitchen table. It's going to be gorgeous.

I think sometimes that if I can create enough beauty, then maybe some of the ugliness in the world will be cast out. It just won't have a place anymore and will have to leave. Each beautiful thing I create is like turning on a light in a pitch black sky scraper. It seems daunting to fill the entire building with light, but room by room, I have to believe it can be done. Although, maybe some rooms are meant to be left dark. Darkness can be warmth and rest. Renewal. It isn't all oppressive.


When I create art, I feel Love right there with me. Inspiring me, and sometimes guiding me. It's like each thing I create is a mission I've been given, and when I'm done, it's complete and whole, and I feel more complete and whole. It's healing.

I think that everyone has hurt and pain in their past and in their present, and in their future. For me, when I've been hurt, it feels like a small piece of me has been taken away, as if I'm a puzzle. So I'm not whole anymore. When I desire to create something, and I fulfill that desire, it feels like I get one puzzle piece back. I'm one step closer to being whole, or at least you can tell what picture I'm trying to show you, even if some pieces are still missing.

When I paint, each stroke of the brush is like an empty riverbed, opening up a channel for the negative emotions to flow out. When I sew, each stitch that pulls a seam together is also connecting the rational thoughts with the irrational feelings, bringing them together to form sense and clarity. Each piece I glue down, every line or swirl that I draw, each strip of tape, smattering of color, and each word I write. They all flow together to continue in the creation of me. Love formed my soul, the canvas, and then handed me the paint and the brush.

I am ready for….

I am ready for….

I’m ready for the world to hear me. I’m ready to stand up and speak the words of my heart. The words that were formed within me, and were waiting to be birthed. I will not be silenced, my story will be told. I know that people will try to “fix” me, and think that I am lost. I know that they will tell me I’m wrong, and have a million and one bible verses to jab into my forehead with tacks, as if I am merely an empty corkboard, needing to be filled with reminders of who they think I should be.

This will not stop me. No one can. Because I am ready. It is time to take off my cloak and reveal the wings on my back that have been hiding for too long, folded up against my skin. Unused. Useless.

I am ready for the bridges, the connections that will be made in revealing my stories, and I am ready for many of the old bridges to be torn down, so that I cannot be invaded by attacking forces.

This doesn’t mean that I am now invincible, and that I will be free from hurt feelings and the pain of my very self being rejected by others. It means that I’m ready to deal with all of that. Sometimes it will hurt a lot, but most times...I will remember that this is good. Because I will be able to breathe huge, deep breaths, no longer chained or boxed up, but free.

I’m ready to be who I am, who I need to be in every moment. I’m not the same. I am always changing. I will not be defeated when too many challenges threaten to beat me down.  I will rise up! I am strong. What I am doing is what is right for me. No one else has to approve. Only me and god. Only me and Love.

Where is he calling you to risk right now?

Relationships? Maybe He’s calling me to risk relationships. To test them, see if they can withstand the barrage of truth, emotions, and life! To see if friendships will last when my friends see the real me. All of me. The me who no longer nods and smiles when people talk to me about things I totally disagree with, but the me who says “I hear you, but I don’t agree, and that’s ok, because we don’t have to be the same to stay friends.”

What am I really risking? Am I really so close to those people I call friends that I will miss them if our friendship ends? Or am I really risking my vulnerable heart. My feelings.

To stand tall, like a tree on the top of a mountain seems like risking everything, but in reality, maybe it’s not as much of a risk as I thought. Maybe I forgot that I have roots. Roots that go down so deep that I cannot be torn down or blown away by the hot air blasted at me by those who think that since we disagree, I must be severely wrong.

Is he calling me to risk, or is he calling me to dance? To sway with the cool breeze he sends me, and let my branches dance and sway in the wind. Not weak, as some might perceive swaying to be, but strong because of flexibility. Not stiff and steadfast in the wind, coming ever closer to the breaking point, but instead gently leaning and bending, refreshing my view of the world from each angle the wind guides me to.


I wrote this in response to the writing prompts given to me during a write-in with Story Sessions. It was my first write-in, and I loved it! I came away feeling refreshed and loved.