Big

By no stretch of the imagination do I take on the mothering role for this girl.

In fact, it is the other way around.

Two years ago she became my big.

Every day since, she has proven to be one of the best.

She took it upon herself to dedicate the task of teaching what she knows to me.

For some, that stops at their sorority doors.

For me, it carries into the strongest values in life.

The parts people don't ordinarily talk about.

Thanks for teaching me:

How to have an unending desire for my passions.

Every day she walks around with a fire inside her soul. She fuels the sparks with two blades and some ice. She shares her love for the ice with teams of girls, and supports them to the ends of the earth. Her eyes shine when she talks about everything pertaining to skating. She watches it, she feels it, she lives it. Her heart belongs where it spins on the ice. 

How to inspire others

She's out that door at the crack of dawn. Some days she doesn't come home until after bar close. She is contributing to her career, but when no one is looking, she finds the time she doesn't have and dedicates it to her passions. Everyday, she will get grief. She takes it in stride. She is determined to do the BEST at what she does. Never does she take the easy way out. Every day, inspiring me to do my best at it all, and pushing myself along the way.

How to dream big

She doesn't take anything lightly, and does it all to the best of her ability. She has a huge position. She is in charge of keeping us all in line.  She is the woman who wants us to succeed and loves us all enough to tell us when to shape up. And weekly, like clockwork, people she calls sisters give her smack for looking out for them. They put her on blast for "not being there", for being "negative", for being "crabby". Little do they know how much she supports them all, how she talks so highly about our organization, and how hard she is dreaming. She is giving it her all to her major, caring about her athletes 'til her heart is full. When her plate looks too heavy to carry, she adds even bigger dreams: those of trying out for something huge, putting herself out there, dreaming to skate nationally (dare I say internationally). I stand here and cheer her on, but little does she know how big she is teaching me to dream. That I can truly do anything I set my mind to.

How to be myself

Some people may say that she wakes up on the wrong side of the bed daily. I say that she obtains one of the best personalities you can: the who gives a f*%# attitude. She tells you how it is, the good, the bad, the ugly. She is NEVER afraid to speak her mind. At all times, you'll know what she is thinking, and it is beautifully raw. She lives with her chin up, containing more confidence than imaginable. When people dare take stabs at who she is, it rolls off her back, and unnerved she carries on. Thanks for providing an example of what it means to be a strong woman, loving myself, as you love me.

There is so much more she teaches me, some of which I probably haven't even realized yet, and most definitely more than I can put into words. I could have never asked for a better big. You're a wonderful human Dana. Thanks is never enough.

one half

She wasn't my mom but she helped raise me.

She has forever been one of the people that inspires me most.
She was the model of the person I wanted to be as a child.

She was the idea of high school, and all the fancy dresses.
She was the treasured thought of college, and what it would be like when I was old enough to go.

I didn't want to be a princess.
I wanted to be her.

Her chapters of life have always been my favorite to read.

She was skilled at lemonade stands.
She knew all my Barbie's names.
She was the best soccer coach.
She was a homecoming queen.
She was the prettiest girl at prom.
She was the scholarship winner.
She was the collage graduate.
She was the most stunning bride.

And now she starts one of the biggest chapters of her life,
She will be the most wonderful mom.

She carries more life inside now, than she ever has before.
This world is about to blessed with another part of her.
This world will know more of her kindness.
This little one will have all the splendor life has to offer.


She helped raise me.
But this time,
She'll be the very best, mom.

'til once again

I'll grow old with the scent of campfire, tattooed within my skin,
with paths and trails mapped upon my feet,
and a love for Jesus deep within.

I'll turn gray with rays of sunshine weaved within my hair,
with reflected water in my eyes,
and recall the anticipated breakfasts when inhaling morning air.

I'll grow hard of hearing, letting my ears remind themselves of guitars at dusk,
with stars grasped in outstretched hands,
and a summer family full of trust.

My hear will beat with those I'm connected to,
from summers I spent there,
'til once again he calls us home, and makes us all brand new.

Gram

Gram,
You were one fourth of the people who raised me. You taught me please and thank you. You taught me appreciation and guilt. And, you taught me that a good apology goes a long way. Looking back, I think I (and the other two musketeers) owe you quite a few of those.

Sorry for the excessive amounts of laundry detergent used on washing doll clothes in the sink. Furthermore, even more apologies for the mess we made on the floor, Lord knows that suds were tracked throughout the house. All I can say is we must have been fascinated by the swirling colors of blended baby clothes. (Thanks for being the one to hang them up, and take them off the line when our attention span lasted a mere ten minutes.)

Sorry for the quick evacuations after pooping in the tub.

Sorry for using you salad tongs in the toilet, after I peed, wiped, and lost my choker ring in the bowl of pee. Even more sorry for putting them back without washing them. I will say that I rinsed them off. I was seven. I didn't know better.

Sorry for making potions in the sink with all the spices in the rack. I'm in college now and would do anything for someone to buy me the hoards of spices you had.

Sorry for helping hang up the wash on line and dropping it in the gravel.

Sorry for tracing through the garden and squashing the veggies.

Sorry for begging.

Sorry for egg dye that I'm sure you're still trying to get out of something or the other.

Sorry for drawing on wall in the back room. Even if it was just that one small green line. I needed to know what it felt like.

Sorry for making your living room look like holiday elf regurgitation, with the overuse and clumped window clings. We were short. ALL of them were placed within the bottom two feet of the windows. I cringe when I think of how that must have looked.

Sorry for climbing all over your furniture.

Sorry for jumping on the bed, no matter how many times you said no, and for breaking the bed frame more than once.

Sorry for forcing you to read to us for hours at a time, and do puzzles we had done more than 100 times prior.

Sorry for throwing animals down the laundry chute.

Sorry for messing up your embroidery.

Sorry for the money you will never get back due to the mass amounts of toys purchased at the second hand store.

Sorry for eating half the raw pancake batter out of the Tupperware bowl. Every time.

Sorry for watching the same movie. Every day. For the whole summer. I know what that's like from the adult standpoint these days. It is absolutely dreadful.

Sorry for sitting in the gutter during torrential downpours and tracking mud through the house.

Sorry for the unending stream of happy-meals.

Sorry for the screaming.

Sorry for being literal tornadoes.

I'm quite sure this list doesn't cover it all.
But, in the same respects, a huge thanks is due as well. And as previously stated, I'm positive that words could never show appreciation enough for what you did for me, and what you continue to do.

Thank you for instilling a sense of guilt in me when it was needed.

Thanks for letting me sit on the kitchen counter and sift all the flour. I loved that. (Sorry I got it all over the floor).

Thank you for setting the stage with your piano skills for all living room performances.

Thanks for teaching me how to thrift, how to shop, and how to know a bargain when I see one.

Thanks for showing me that it's okay to leave out some things when talking to the men in life. They don't need to know it all.

Thanks for watching our puppet shows. I'm quite sure they would have put me to sleep.

Thanks for showing us what a real meal looks like...you shouldn't be able to see the tabletop.

Thanks for the unending supply of snacks. Even bigger thanks for the fact that you placed them in the kid friendly section of the kitchen: the bottom drawer. Growing our independence and sweet tooth simultaneously,

Thanks for the solid breakfast skills. And thanks for instilling in me what a good 'cheat' day is, by sometimes allowing our morning meal to consist of chocolate cake, a Pepsi, and a side of sprinkles.

Thanks for the energy. Every day. Despite how tired you probably were. We never knew it.

Thanks for listening with undivided attention.

Thanks for pushing me on the tire swing.

Thanks for trusting me to water your flower beds.

Thanks for the stories, and knowing when we were old enough to hear the real life ones.

Thanks for teaching me how to be nosy without being discovered.

Thanks for showing me what a good humor is, and how to let stuff roll off my back.

Thanks for teaching me how to use my mouth in more ways than one: to thank, to apologize, to gossip, to sass, and to talk smack.

Thanks for teaching me how to drink a beer from a young age, you may have not know I was watching, but I was.

Thanks for showing me how to truly dance at a wedding. No holding back.

Thanks for the years of letters.

Thanks for teaching me your charm and whit.

Thanks for providing the most sincere laughs.

Thanks for showing me how to be strong.

Thanks for loving with a whole heart.

Thanks for supporting me.

Thanks for an example of how to live.

Thanks for sharing your heart with me.

And thanks for becoming my best friend.

DNA

The very first memory I have of my life revolves around him. In shorts, my thighs stuck to our cherry red counter top. Eating a popsicle that trickled down my chin as I swung my legs back and forth. Standing 5 feet away my dad wore a charcoal gray shirt. To this day I can close my eyes and remember that question like it was yesterday. Straight from his mouth, I was asked, "what do you think, boy or girl?" I don't remember finding out I would have a sibling, but that question is forever stuck to the center of the cork board in my brain. With my childhood mind filled with princesses and barbies, the choice was easy. When the humans I knew as mom and dad pointed out that eventually she would steal everything that belonged to me, I changed my mind and fate itself.  I didn't know what I was getting into with my final decision. Toys taken were such a small token compared to growing up with the tornado of a brother.

I remember dad making me a ghost out of a kitchen towel when mom was gone, as we awaited his arrival. I remember the pink teddy from gram and the overlooked Lion King puzzle. I remember him coming home. My parents should have been given a bubble and punch card for injuries when they left the hospital.

We should have known what was coming the day he stated climbing the sides of his crib prior to turning one. We should have guessed his ruthless behavior when he found sheer joy in 'breaking' necklaces with grandpa in the basement as a baby, laughing uncontrollably, giving those YouTube 'laughing babies' a run for their money. The signs were there.

He was always far more concerned with destruction and adrenaline as a child. Those training wheels were off by age three and back flips were being accomplished by early elementary. Jumping off the top of the swing set instilled a sense of fear in the eyes of my mother. I think that was the day she knew he was an untamed spirit. Completely free.


I took on my role as a sister seriously. I helped feed him as a baby I helped teach him how to pick strawberries, only to have him squish one in the back of my shorts as I turned around. He dumped sand in my hair whenever he got the chance. Playdough was mushed into the face of every barbie I owned when I tried to show him how awesome they were. He climbed in my dollhouse. He ruined my board games. He crumpled my blanket forts. He 'colored' my favorite pages in my color books. He flung water at me when I tried to take 'awesome' adolescent pictures at our camper. And when all else failed, he pooped in the tub.  He knew where my buttons were and could push them from ten feet away.

I remember the growth of the biting child, and unfortunately still have the scar on my knee from that phase of life.

I remember towers of cardboard blocks that were taller than him alone, only to be knocked down, destroying my playschool family simultaneously.

I remember the endless sound effects.

I remember yelling at strangers through the vent in the attic and how he turned that a little more serious by shooting airsoft-guns at cars driving past.

I remember the neighbor's broken windows.

I remember the friends locked on our roof.

I remember searching for him in stores.

I remember his love for Star Wars...which was solidified by watching Episode One on repeat for hours after church and talking with Ben til he fell asleep.

I remember him standing in his underwear next to a naked tree laughing and asking for a picture.

I remember him jousting in his knight helmet in the basement.

I remember him in his bed tent.

I remember his outrageous getups.

I remember him scaling mud hills and tracking the evidence around with him for the rest of the day.

I remember the constant mess of a boy running around like a cray person. He was always sticky, and always loud. Always in his underwear. Always.

I remember hours of home videos.

I remember all his sports. Every weekend, every summer, every day. Baseball, basketball, soccer, football, hockey. You name it, he did it.

I remember years of weekends in freezing, dusty rinks.

I remember days ruined due to his injuries. Knees, ligaments, bones. We could connect the dots with his scars. Our deductible was met yearly.

He was the only kid who yearly forgot his birthday, had no idea that Christmas was coming up regardless of the decorations regurgitated upon everything, and couldn't care less about any Holiday in between

I made him walk to school when he couldn't get himself together in the morning fast enough. I remember the fights and the screaming...and then he got stronger than me.

He started to mature and interests grew deeper. His love for adrenaline and humans increased. His friends increased in multiples. He proved he could sing. He enjoyed pucks being shot at his face. His creativity shone in everything he did. He gained an interest in jumping from wake to wake in summer and over gaps of snow in the winter. He mastered tricks on things with wheels on land and behind a boat in the water.

He was always the more funny one, the one who was more athletic, he was creative, he knew how to make people laugh, and he could entertain everyone around him. He wound everyone around his finger effortlessly. He was good at whatever he tried and everything he touched turn to gold. He knew what was cool and how to draw people in, he became popular. When he had the chance to let his status and abilities get to his head, he did something nearly impossible. He shared the joy with others. He made people feel important. He made good choices around those who didn't. He became a great person, I tried to make myself believe we were even, but reality is that he outshines me in nearly every aspect of life. I had to keep reminding myself that we share the same DNA...part of that was in me too.

And then one day I got over it. Jealousy turned to pride.


He has an unbreakable spirit. He radiates inspiration so strongly that people around him can feel it pulsing through their bodies. He is one of the few left with fun and an natural high running through their veins. His laughter could be bottled and sold. His perseverance in everything he sets out to do is unwavering, never stopping to flinch for someone who doesn't believe in him. He is a human blow horn for the excitement of life. He is wild, he is crazy, he is unique, and he is strong. He cares unconditionally and loves deeply. He has endless amounts of insight and wisdom. And daily, he goes about his day like he is the most plain person, as people stand in awe.

He has the sense to strive for greatness and understands the lack of competition from the top...as most people are simply striving to be mediocre. He however has always maintained the most humble qualities. Instead of thriving and basking in his own accomplishments, he stands from the top, pulling others up next to him despite their lack.

I am beyond proud of the person he has become. Somehow he still decides to claim me as his sister regardless of how embarrassing and under-qualified I may be as a sibling. He shines brighter than anyone I know and inspires my life daily. He will go further than anyone can imagine.

Some days he still makes me feel small. When I feel mediocre standing next to him, I always know he will reach a hand down and pull me up, sharing his accomplishments and letting me enjoy the view.

Stephen, I could never thank God enough for giving me a brother like you. You will go further in life than anyone can ever imagine, and won't stop for those who don't think you can. You inspire me to be a better person and add endless amounts of happiness to my life. Thanks for all you've done and the joy you'll continue to provide. Continue to take those obstacles in your way as the smallest hurdles you've ever seen, only learning from them to run the race of life a little faster. Forever growing. Happy Graduation. I love you.

to live as i want

I want to wear ripped jeans, let my messy hair give company to my shoulder blades and hang a shirt of lace that freely flows in the wind from where it lies; eating ice cream from a cone and dancing in the sunshine, catching rays of light between my fingers and taking candid shots.

I want to create the smell of sea salt and wear it as a checkered blanket, sitting in the millions of grains of sand smaller than sight alone yet together becoming bigger than any one whole. Digging my naked feet into their darkness while staring into the blinding light of a bonfire constructed from wood drifted in from the sea. Capturing sights of sparks between blinks as they dance as fireflies.

I want my toes to know every inch of the hardwood floor personally as they dance without purpose over its surface and bring comfort to its forever presence. Letting the socks go amiss and lie in a pile lacking purpose keeping the dust company.

I want to fill my senses with warmth. To encompass all aspects of the morning mist that creeps in open windows and falls upon my toes as I sip morning tea. To breathe in the day and understand its promise. To know the wooden chair at my table so personally that I can envision it as a tree.

I want to live so violently enthusiastic that others think I'm smuggling fireworks inside. To be bold, to share joy, and love completely.

You are my sunshine.

Normally moments spent together are too precious to stall and take a picture. Hence explains the lack of those of me and my mother. Words have always proved however to emit emotion on a deeper level than the presence of a snapshot. There is not enough film to capture the moments of life in a photo. Memories and feelings aren't printed, copied, or hung on the wall. They can only be transferred from one individual to another in the act of words which will forever be diluted by the presence of time. I can try...

She carried me for nine months. Holding me close and loving me before she knew me. Others can know you for a lifetime and just then decide to love you, moms know from moment one. I came from love, to be loved, to give love. In the still moments of the morning, making her violently sick from within, she still was unmoved with love. Wrecking havoc from the inside out she loved me still.

From day one she spent mornings singing. Reminding me that I am as the sunshine, filling her life with joy. She sought out my possible passions and while being steered by her guidance, she listened for the heartbeat of desire, let me decide and then cheered me on with all she had within. Her love transferred from all the interest she had in life to anything I grew keen on. Shifting her only desire to be that of the smile on my face.

She was patient as I went through the unavoidable teen years . Sitting silently and listening, willing up advice, and waiting til they were done. Avoiding touchy subjects and treading lightly. Loving me still, as no one should have been expected to do.

All my life, she did far more than just providing what a mom is expected to. She taught me about all the things life has to offer and comforted me daily. She read to me til she could read no more. She built and invested in some of my most treasured friendships. She left me in the care of those who shared in loving me and continue to do so to this day. She introduced me to all that I have grown passionate about, and pushed me forward unnerved. She showed me the joy of  adventures in the sun, the wonder of the winter snow, how a heart loves to fall into piles of fall leaves and how fun it is to jump in puddles when the rain ruins your days.

She was the best person I could have asked to love me. She shows me what it means to care deeply and live freely. She sets my sights on positive views of life.

My mom has the spirit of summer. She holds the warmth of a mug containing morning coffee. She is the sweetness of whistling in the dark. Her desire for adventure, while wavering, will always have a place in her heart. She has an eye for beauty and knows that sometimes it is felt rather than seen. She loves openly and freely; giving all that she has in life. I am blessed to take refuge within her heart.

She is a daily reminder of why I'm here. And still she sings to me, lullabies of memories, as we collect new ones in the basket of life together. She blessed me with the gift of a lifetime of days, and yet she continues to make those days better than destiny promised and more than I could ever deserve. She has my back continually. Her only fault being that she will forever love me more than she loves herself. She is the most humble, selfless, generous and grateful person on earth, She believes all I touch is gold even though that couldn't be less true. She accepts my faults, celebrates my accomplishments, and whatever they may be, she lassos all my dreams so as to pull them just close enough for me to reach personally. If I dare fall while reaching higher, she will catch me, wipe my tears, wait til I'm ready, and then finds a ladder supporting me with full encouragement as I grasp yet higher.

She taught me how to appreciate life, and became my best friend along the way. While I can forever thank you for all you did for me, all you still do, and all that I know is yet to come; thanks is a word far too small. I am blessed to have you not only in my life, but to be able to call you mom. It is an honor to be your daughter.

lessons

Teach me to let go,
to practice flying without wings,
to be as the morning sun,
rising full of purpose and setting out unasked.

Teach me to embrace brokenness,
fix me so the light continues to shine through,
mistakes known but forgiven.

Teach me to acknowledge the beauty,
in a frosty morning cold enough to thaw the skin,
when the air is thin enough to see your aspirations exhaled in your own breath.

Teach me to wade through the stress as thick as a swamp,
to not noticed the creatures biting my ankles to slow me down,
and keep me up when the weeds pull me down.

Help me understand why people come in to my life,
those that make me deeply engaged,
and come to see why they changed me and left.

Teach me to move on,
when I am emotionally, physically and mentally,
missing my sense of self.
To wipe the slate like a chalkboard,
and to wash away any left over dust.

Still Waters

Let warm summers meet a dollop of love and life completely stops.

Let dreaming warm the heart and admirers eyes gently love the first impression.

Let the unstoppable magic of summer make music and teenagers understand the special whirlwind of love in an instant.

Let the end in sight see more tomorrows.

bring me back

Bring me back.

To summer.
To nights under stars.
To host families.
To adventures.
To campers.
To meaningful conversations.
To a list of numbers you don't know.
the date.
the time.
the zip code.
Bring me back to the cafeteria.
The madness.
The cleaning.
The tubs.
The dinner bell.
To the walk-in fridge.
To the milk cooler.
daily chocolate milk.
The outside voices, inside.
The games.
Bring me back to summer sickness.
To where a day in quarantine felt like an eternity.
Bring me back to the campfires.
The daily devotions.
The perfect fires.
The songs.
even if you couldn't sing.
The guitar.
The endless fire smell.
never leaving smell, forever on all your clothes.
The lake at BZ.
Bring me back to the woods.
To spirit sticks.
To hikes.
To arrows.
To my favorite trees.
To the point and back again.
To the forts.
Bring me back to mermaids.
not so much leaches.
Bring me back to the meetings.
To hearing about habitat money raised.
To bucket of love.
To a freezer of waiting freezies.
Bring me back to the pool.
The guarding tubes.
The diving board.
The pool parties.
The night swims.
Bring me back to upper Beta.
The jams.
mostly Tigger's beautiful guitar solos.
The food.
The packages.
especially those sent to Jear-Bear and videoed by Carl.
(go Carl)
The letters.
The phone calls.
The daily hour of conversation.
The ol' couch cushions.
The possibilities.
Take me back to the ropes.
To challenging yourself.
and others.
Bring me back to the lake.
Guarding on the jet ski.
To Kayaks.
To a view of sailboats.
Bring me back the weekends.
To church.
To Jane and Aaron's.
To the MOA.
To the possibilities of a free camp.
To Gommar visits.
To nights in the GaGa pit.
Bring me back to the cabins.
To the hearts of campers.
especially the DD ones.
To chatting in Gamma.
To where your best friends live ten feet from your front door.
To the ability to move once a week.
sometimes twice.
To the love shared, morning and night.
Bring me back to camp.
Where the Holy Spirit is heard in the wind.
Where the reminders of Jesus aren't further than the turn of a head.
Where God chose to send you for a summer.

I will take the mosquitoes, the sleepy days, the pool shifts, the hot dog cookouts, the noisy campers, the sunburns. I'll gladly take the nights in the woods, keeping track of my keys, sleeping on the floor in a bed full of sand, the day long canoe trips, the registration, and setting up. Take me back to not enough space, living out of tubs, living out of a suitcase (with broken wheels from pulling it over roots), washing clothes only when you can no longer lift your laundry bag.To only washing your hair once a week. I would gladly sleep one more night in Alpha.  I would take on the organizing endless life jackets, ball shed balls, archery equipment, cleaning beta, weeing the garden, AND wiping down bunks. I'll even take the stinky green lake.

Just bring me back.

from the dream's point of view

Reality.

some days reality is more than what meets the eye.

we strive for the standard view of what college means.

parties.

loud music.

skinny bodies.

plump closets.

good hair.

relationships.

best dressed.

positive vibes galore.

independence.

sunshine.

smiles.

but some days, what we believe is the utter reality is a perception through a skewed kaleidoscope.

un-prepared, toxic necessities.

tears.

burning through debt like an endless cash flow.

hours of mundane tasks.

tired eyes.

tired minds.

stimulation lost.

emptiness accepted.

lack of control.

dirt.

mess.

flat.

We fail to remember our goals, and are forced to settle for flat hair, thrown up in a bun. It situates itself and waits for us to complete our college tasks. Ready to be let down. Ready for the real world. Ready to live. 

BUT, reality is what you make of it.

College isn't about the expected terms. Its parts are larger than its sum. It's more than can ever be placed into written words, or speaking mouths. It is a path to dreams. So here we are, and we are forced to remember.

We remember to be carefree and dream as big as we can. We ARE young. We ARE wild. We ARE free. And we ARE allowed to dream as big as we want. No mouths to preach a no. The limit does not exist. We can dance in the glory of the sun from the view of the horizon. To love, to laugh, to enjoy. And when that happens, up it goes again. Into a bun. Out of our way. Not because of our neglect for it to be tamed, but simply so that our eyes aren't crowded by anything but our dreams. 

12:19

She's the first heart I have known and remembered for its entirety.

The morning of December 19th, when I was 13 years old is not one I will ever forget. The call, the rush, the excitement. We sped to the delivery room prior to school, unnerved I would be late regardless of my flawless school attendance. That didn't matter in the least on this particular day. The sky was still awakening, the hallways were still cool, and most of the patients were still in slumber. The morning was full of somber. Waiting to enter the room I remember faint beeps, whispers and shadowed nurses waltzing from room to room carrying out their daunting tasks; all second view from what I was completely fixated on...meeting her. The second I laid eyes upon her the yellow haze of the room seemed out of focus. Beating heart, shallow breaths, full of life. Swaddled in a blanket she was placed near the window, as if she was born to be bigger and more full of life than her surroundings. Every day since, she has proven that hypothesis correct.

The years to follow were full of summers spent waking at the crack of dawn, biking across the dimly lit town with chilling wind blowing through whatever I threw on that morning. Anxious to meet a day filled with her presence. From the apartment we departed for daily adventure. Toys, the pool, pictures, and parks. Walks, baseball games, library visits and naps. Being silly and enjoying our summers together.

The winters consisted of shared weekends with us when mom and dad were busy. She joined us for church, and entertained us all during family gatherings; proving her knowledge by rattling off the songs from the most recent concerts and shows.

One day, unannounced, she started to grow up. The way she held her composure as the softball came her way and she hit a home run on the team her daddy coached. The way she explained her dance routines and was eager to show any eyes willing to watch. She gained love for one direction and talked with a heart full of love to everyone who would listen. The incredible ability she gained to love to ice skate and be extraordinary at it.

Then college hit me smack in the face. No more weekly encounters. I could never again just drive across town to see her whenever I felt the need, or baby sit when her mom wanted. My heart ached for missing not just family, but a big chunk of the person I had spent so much time with. Now, encounters consist of Christmas, breaks, reunions, random weekends and weeks before I would set out for camp.

The sequence of short events that happen when I get to see her in town after being away awhile will be forever remembered for the rest of my life. The surprised look, the gasp, my name being squealed, the run with arms outspread, and the embrace we share. Nearly nothing compares to this type of joy. Each day together, while home during break, we squeeze in time to be together; to jump on the trampoline, take some time at the beach, watching hockey, spending time being goofy in the camper during the reunion, ice skating together, and watching her develop her skills in whatever passion she is currently interested in.

Most of my best memories involve her. She has been the single biggest thing to happen to me in the years that I can fully remember. I love her with a full heart.

Daily she inspires me. Her energy, her whit, her confidence. She's remarkably smart, with a fixation on her passions. She strives for individuality and cares deeply. She is growing into a wonderful young woman with an giant attitude to boot. I am most proud of who she is. I'd like to say she's turning into me, but then I remember that she is one of the biggest parts of who I am.

Yellow

I used to think it was my favorite because my most favorite things were created from it.

Banana popsicles.

Mac and cheese.

Lemonade.

Gram's house.

My sorority colors.

Pineapple prints.

Flowers.

Then I noticed something.

It wasn't what was made from its hues, but what I myself strive to be.

This discovery didn't come easy or immediate.

At first, I hated it.

The glow of the morning will forever promise to be the most unavoidable intrusion of life. For a long time, I despised its presence. I used to hold a true hatred the daily abduction of darkness, forced to leave the presence of pillows and quilts. Never fully experiencing true definitions of the steady stream of morning light. To me, it was as simple as that. Light.

Then the day came that I actually truly noticed it. The morning light was yellow. Soft.  At first, through the small slit of opened morning eyes begging to remain closed. Then my view changed. I learned to open my eyes slowly to a new, promising, day. Blessed to be woken up yet again, able to grow and experience another beautiful day. The light, pouring in through opaque curtains, screaming its presence, is unavoidable. It doesn't ask for permission to enlighten others, it just does. It finds the deepest corners and swallows the darkness. It urges silently for you to experience its full potential. The full potential of the day.

I've had the ability to awaken in numerous places called home, and experience the soft glow of morning in more places than one. In some places it pulses through the curtains, whispering in a soft glow. In others, it streams through the screen in lines accompanied by the birds. And still in others, it pours directly in through windows near the ceiling as a waterfall does.  Completely beautiful, never stopping.

How lucky we would be to possess the talents the morning hours. To have the ability to shine without stopping. To let everyone of the face of the earth know that they are alive, hearts beating with purpose, to set out to accomplish dreams …daily.

Then I was enlightened.

We can. Secondly, we must. We must strive to be the morning glow. We have the ability daily to make others feel full of purpose. To set out with determination, and live a life of inspiration. Never stopping to ask permission. To let others know they are appreciated. And most importantly, to let them know they are loved; and daily we will FORCE them to get up, uncover their dreams and strive to do their best just as the sun does for us. We must push into their lives, as the morning light pushes into ours. To search out darkness, and to fill it with light.  Never changing, completely reliable, and always unavoidable.

We must strive to be yellow. 

the girl with purple shades

I think it was summer of '96. Although I guess it could have been any of the summers 5 years before or 5 years after. The summers that forever changed who I was.

The morning hours were excruciating. Mom would cake on a layer of mystery before she left for the day. Stampeding from bathroom, to bedroom, kitchen, and repeat. The wonder of what her day at work entailed was never near the wonder and anticipation of what mine would bring as soon as my beloved sitter arrived.

The kerchief pattern on the red sheet blew loose in the early hours as it hung in our bay window. The fragments of shadows it created and the soft red light it let in pushed through and danced on the wall, sharing its joy for the impending day. I waited for the shine of sun reflecting off of purple sunglasses, meaning that she was only 12 sidewalk squares away from a full day of fun.

I remember trips across town to the beach in the bike trailer. Running through the sand, too hot for my feet and jet ski rides. On the luckiest of days, I remember treats from the brown snack shack.

I remember ice cream days and messes running down my face.

I remember walks and adventures, lemonade stands, days in the yard, standing in sidewalk chalk stained clothes admiring a masterpiece in the driveway, and bubbles that filled the air as we danced in the sun on the grass.

I remember the lives my barbie dolls lived and being mommies to baby dolls. Playing endless board games from the closet, and stuffed animals that tagged along.

I remember rainy days, when unwanted water trickled through our unfinished roof and the pots and pans she placed delicately around the living room to save the floor as much as possible.

I remember packed sandwiches in Ziplock bags, and mac and cheese with hot dogs on the old dinning room table.

I remember Noah's ark toys during bath time, the tent on my bed, and the large purple container, pushed under the bed, filled to the brim with magnificent tubs containing imagination dough (now, as an adult, referred to as play dough).

I remember the pool and parks.

I remember trips to the 1st street back yard. Climbing the trees, eating berries, and playing with bubbles big enough, I thought they would pick me up and carry me away. I remember learning cartwheels in the front lawn and the green and pink soccer ball. I remember snuggles in the hammock and the smell of the flowers.

I remember dressing up in dance clothes found in the bottom drawer in the bathroom, opening the double knobs with two hands.

And when winter decided to come, with the doom of a fulfilled but ending summer, I remember the sidelines of prom, gingerbread houses, visiting for Halloween, and Christmas in the 1st street house.

I remember love.

Then it came, graduation. I wasn't completely aware of what this meant. To me, it was a day to dress up and once again visit the house where my favorite person lived. I didn't know that the explanation would soon come, that with her away, it was going to be a little different.

To her, I'm sure it felt a little bit more like work. But to me, it will forever have felt like one of the most perfect dreams. A never ending, complete string of joy.

There are a million memories she helped create for me. But the best thing I can ever remember is her complete love for me. I was the one she shared numerous amounts of love with. I was the luckiest person on the face of the earth. I was blessed with not only two loving parents, but a third person, who would do anything for me and loved me unconditionally.

She taught me more than just how to tie my shoes. She taught me things some people never grasp the whole concept of: patience, understanding, joy, grace and true love.

I'll never really be able to understand why I was able to be so blessed to spend my summers under the tender care of one of the most wonderful people on this side of heaven. God gave me a babysitter, childhood best friend, and a forever role model in the best form.

She forever changed who I am, in the best way possible. She was and continues to be truly inspiring, and a huge part of who I aspire to be.

Soon, her love will forever be promised to the luckiest man. For all the love she lent me, I am forever thankful.

Congrats on the engagement Megan, and a life filled with love you will share.

From Within

There once was a girl who helped me survive a summer. Accomplishing such task was no small adventure. She set sail with gusts large enough to blow one away.
She crept quietly into my soul and hid inside my heart, waiting silently until I discovered her presence.
From within, she wordlessly etched her love. She celebrated my joys and was crushed with every hardship. She understood my passions and knew my fears. Restlessly she helped me gain courage and taught me to live free.
As the endless days grew short I began to understand the complete takeover she unleashed from sitting inside my heart.
Our last day forced us on separate sides of an uncrossable boarder.
But while miles apart, still she sits, in her hiding spot inside my heart. She set up camp, putting up stilts and preparing for anything. Her, unwilling to be retracted or removed. Me, happy to let her take up space within.

And from where she sat, she understood that I broke my own heart trying to love him, And from her little spot, she was able to pull in the radioactive shards upon herself. Sewing them back together and holding them in place. One, by one. Whispering to every piece: "I love you, and I will never leave, no matter the weight of separation or pain of the distance. Every day, here I will sit. Holding you together, until again you are whole, complete enough to simply just let me sit inside and enjoy my presence."

And it wasn't until then that I realized, it was never her plan to sit and hide. She placed herself within to help mold my heart to what it needs to be. Sitting endlessly, taking upon herself the possibility of a lifetime of pain, due to the shards of my inward breaking heart. Making sure she was there, simply to hold up and patch the pieces that may become undone from time to time. Spending her hours on rough days, putting together the puzzle when this beating heart cracks . And on quiet days to marvel on why she stays and rejoice together in the beauty of life.

And here I sit. Trying to understand when it could have happened. It did so without me knowing. But now, when one goes looking for me, they can find me hiding within her heart. Waiting for the damage. Waiting for the bruises and scrapes formed by HER shards. But, simultaneously, anticipating the day when I could in return pay her back by holding together her radioactive pieces. Not wanting it to happen. But completely prepared and armed for battle. Siting in peace, rejoicing in all the beauty life brings her.

And, now knowing. This is the definition of a best friend. So if you're out searching for one, look for a person with a vacant space, and silently, crawl inside. Prepare for battle. Enjoying the view while you wait. Sharing in all the beauty. And when the time arises, use all your soul to hold together the toxic pieces.
Because, after all, that's what she does for me.
And that's why she's my best friend.