I’m sad. It would be so much simpler to gloss over it with a hearty “I’m fine.” But today, I can’t. Today I try to balance my desire for privacy with the urge to cut open my chest so you can view the pieces of my broken heart.

I’m not going to revel in my sadness, yelling “woe is me” at the top of my lungs. And let me tell you, I can get pretty loud. But when did it get to the point that we are supposed to hide our sadness? To put on a happy face and go on with our daily lives, ignoring a huge part of ourselves. I’ve done that for too long. And the cost has been a part of me.

Earlier this year when discussing heartache, someone asked me if a guy had broken my heart. My response was, “No, I’ve never been in love, but I have a broken heart all the same.” Pain has many sources, but no matter what the cause, the end result is still hurt.

While there are many things about my life I would love to change, most of my suffering relates to the people around me. I would die for these individuals, yet I can’t do much to help them as they encounter difficult times.

The reality of a broken heart is that something is broken. Sometimes like Humpty Dumpty, not to be put back to together. I don’t know about you, but too often I’ve listened to the tinkle as those fragile pieces of my heart shatter and fall to the ground.

But I’m not going to leave those broken pieces on the ground for everyone to trample. I will painstakingly fit each damaged sliver together to create something lovely out of a pile of trash. Something fresh out of the past. A mosaic of all my past hurts and suffering, either my own or for the ones I love.

As I pick up each chunk of broken heart to form it into something new, I am allowing myself to admit how deeply the break hurt. To allow myself to morn what was and what will never be. And that is when the pieces begin to mold together into a beautiful pattern of wholeness.

As I find myself planted oh so firmly back in reality, my mind keeps drifting back to this past weekend. It was my weekend in Nashville that I have been talking about for quite a while. Hutchmoot. Hutchwhat? Hutchmoot – a gathering (moot) in the place where rabbits reside (hutch). It was the event put on by the Rabbit Room community. You know, the one where they actually let a girl they had never met help out with it. Yeah, that one.

I sat beside Jamie Peterson, Andrew’s wife, at the Counting Stars concert on Friday night. It was really neat to watch Skye snuggle in Jamie’s lap as Andrew explained that Jamie knew her purpose was to rear those three precious children. It wasn’t in a “she is my wife and this is what she has to do” kind of way but rather a sweet understanding that she designed to fulfill that role. At my very core, I was made to take care of people. Unlike Jamie, I don’t have a row of little ducklings waddling behind me. So I have to find other ways to fulfill that need.

This year, God keeps asking me to just be who He made me to be and to trust that He will take care of the rest. Not always an easy task. As one of the Hutchmoot attendees referenced, I often feel like Gonzo in a world full of non-Gonzos. But this past weekend, I didn’t feel like an outsider. I slipped right in and found my place. My place – that felt good.

I realized Friday night after supper that the whole event was truly going to work. After everyone ate, they stayed. Nobody got up to leave. They just sat and talked. It was the embodiment of community. Somehow online relationships had translated into a real living, breathing thing. And I got to be a part of that.

A few moments that stick in my memory:

• Laughing as the sweet potatoes were washed in the dish washer. I work for a sweet potato company, but I have to say that this was a 1st for me.
• Watching Matt Conner curtsy whenever he passed me. Apparently, my accent demands actions like that.
• Receiving a text that someone from home was listening to Behold the Lamb and praying for us…right about the time that I was feeling so badly that I didn’t know if I could keep going. God graciously answered prayer and gave me a 2nd wind that had me sailing through the rest of the weekend.
• Having a blast in the kitchen with Evie, Whit, Lindi & Jamie even though it was hard work.

As Levar Burton used to say on Reading Rainbow, “Well, don’t just take my word for it…” S.D. Smith put together a list of Hutchmoot blog posts, so check it out if you want to see what everyone else thought.

As I filtered through my Hutchmoot memories today, I saw a mental picture of the 10th annual Hutchmoot. Trust me, it is coming! And how often do you get a chance to be in on something from the beginning?

Note to self:  Do not have a flat tire on a busy Saturday when the heat index is over 100 degrees. Especially on a back road without any shade. On a day that you rushed out the door without applying sunscreen. When you just purchased chocolate bars for a brownie recipe. Hypothetically speaking*, of course, because if you did, it could take AAA about 2 ½ hours to get someone out to help you.

Note to self addendum:  Just don’t ever have a flat tire. It will make your life so much easier. Then you won’t have to worry about anything ever again. Except maybe cavities…from the brownies you would have been able to make with the non-melted chocolate.

* maybe not as hypothetical as I would like.

Relax. What does that really mean? According to Merriam-Webster, it is “to make less tense or rigid, to relieve from nervous tension, to become less intense or severe, to attain equilibrium following the abrupt removal of some influence.”

No matter which of those definitions you pick, I’m not good at any of them.

Often if I do relax, it is because something or someone forced me to. Forced to relax? That doesn’t sound pleasant. Actually that doesn’t put me in a very good light either. I mean, what kind of person can’t relax? Uhhmm, a person like me.  

You know how life lessons usually deal with our weak areas? Yeah well, I got a lesson in relaxing this week.

I woke up Wednesday morning hurting. We are talking pain. The muscles in my shoulder and around my shoulder blade were burning. It hurt to move. Now it’s Friday. I’m better than I was, but pain is still my constant friend.

I’ve spent plenty of time lying down in the last few days…on the floor, on the couch, in the recliner, in the bed. Being as still as possible, trying to find relief. As I did, I thought about the verse that says “Be still and know that I am God.” It was more than a drive by in my mind. I meditated on it. Analyzed it. Tried to really grasp it.

When in the Dominican Republic, we were reminded many times that it is more important in their culture to BE than to DO. Now, those were some hard working people. But they knew that doing, staying busy shouldn’t consume us.

It was easier to remember to be while on my mission trip. We were there to be a part of their lifestyle and culture. It made sense to spend time to just be. Now that I am back in the US, it isn’t as easy to live out.

So as I struggled to be still this week, I wondered…how often have I missed the being while I was devoted to doing?  

The last few days have been tough. But come to think of it, I guess I did learn to relax. The abrupt removal of an influence (a functioning shoulder/back) caused me to attain equilibrium (finding a balance between being and doing). Not a bad lesson to get out of a hard week.

Some days just feel off kilter. Yesterday was one of those days. Actually, today is too.

 It’s not that things are horrible. I’m fine. Just not great.

Last night I stayed in bed with a migraine. When a bad headache hits, bed is the only place I want to be. But bed isn’t really conducive to getting over that off kilter feeling.

So tonight, I choose to go somewhere where people will make me laugh. Where they will make me feel needed. Where they think I am fabulous.

It isn’t escapism. It is me making a conscious effort to straighten things out again.

Last night as I drove home from Wilmington, I was in awe. The sky was unbelievable. Deep purple clouds overlaying a brilliant red background. Every so often, the tall trees would be silhouetted against that breathtaking backdrop. I didn’t want anything to detract from the sky. So I turned off the radio, ignored my ringing phone and drank in the sky.

I wanted to pull over and take a picture to capture the moment forever. Now, I’ve been known to do so before. But I didn’t think a busy highway at dusk was the appropriate place to do that. So I’m left with the memory instead.

The lake house called out to me as I passed Lake Waccamaw, so I spent the night there. This morning as I was leaving the lake, the sun shone through the trees with sunbeams highlighting the Spanish moss. I took a few extra minutes to take a photo.

Since I drove in from the lake this morning, I had a bit more time to ponder the beauty of the the sunset and sunrise. Something is added to beautiful moments because the not-so-beautiful times exists as well. The contrast between the two allows us to visibly see the difference. And allows us to appreciate it more, if we choose to. I could be grateful for the breeze last night so much more because I had already experienced the heat and humidity of the day.

There is beauty all around us. But are we looking for it?

What beauty was in your world today?

I told you earlier this week that I feel like summer has arrived. All because we started going to the lake house. As in the house sitting beside a lake. I know, we are quite witty with names. Well, the aforementioned lake isn’t just for looks…it is also quite useful for swimming. A refreshing and fun pastime, but it also has its issues. Particularly, the bathing suit. Listen to the sound of screeching records as you come to an abrupt halt. Yes, it is swim suit time, people!

Last Saturday, I stopped by the mall to quickly look at the Lands End bathing suits at Sears. That was my first mistake. I should have just kept on driving. Once I got inside, signs everywhere proclaimed “30 to 50% off”. Oh boy, not only was I going to find a pretty suit that fit…I was going to get one on sale. And right there were my second, third and fourth mistakes. Over an hour later, I left. I came away without any bags but in possession of a new philosophy…my body was not meant be go in a bathing suit. Yep, works for me.

Thinking about swim suits took me back to a run in with my stalker about a year ago. Thankfully, I haven’t seen him much lately:

As I walked in the movie shop, someone opened the door for me. Aaagggh. It was my neighbor’s yard man, or my stalker as I prefer to call him.  I guess you could also call him my potential husband since he proposes to me whenever he sees me, but stalker has a much nicer ring to it. He started talking as he held the door. He had decided to buy me a bathing suit and take me to the beach so I can get a little more color. All to make him happier with my appearance. Guess I’m a little too white for his taste.

 

I wasn’t really thrilled with this line of conversation because…well, because thinking about me in a bathing suit makes me cringe on a good day, much less when a crazy man is buying the bathing suit.  As I tried to come up with an appropriate response, he said that he had been watching me (stalker, I told you!) and noticed that I never had any men at my house, so he offered again to be my man. 

 

When I got home, I came up with the perfect solution. So I am currently looking around for a good escort service.  I figured if I had a guy sit at my house, it might make my crazy stalker back off.  I prefer a big guy who looks like he could protect me, but other than that I am pretty flexible. Flexible with which type of guy I pick, that is, not physically flexible. Not that I am going to be showing my escort anything about how physically flexible I am! 

 

I just don’t have much experience picking out an escort service. Ok, so I don’t have any experience.  But how hard can it be? People do it on TV all the time.  Once I figure it all out, I might write a tutorial, “How to Escape Those Pesky Stalkers and Meet a Nice Escort in the Meantime”. Yeah, I think my plan will work. Don’t you?

I’ve been reading Letters To Young Poets by Ranier Maria Rilke. It has really good advice for writers in general and poets in particular. When you think about it, songwriting is really just poetry set to music. So his advice has been great. Rilke says to stay away from writing love songs. Up until now, I listened to him. But I wrote my first love song this week. Now, it wasn’t a song about me. Or even a song for me. Yet it got me thinking about love.

We talk about things we dislike all the time.

• I hate celery.
• I don’t like to wear shorts.
• Arrogance is one of my least favorite traits.

But maybe we need to flip a switch and focus on love more. From what I hear, it is what makes the world go round.

So today, here are three things I love:

Colorful Shoes - they make me smile. There is just no excuse for wearing ugly shoes.

Beauty - The obvious beauty can become overdone. Overblown. But if you look past the expected, you might find something extraordinary. It can get overlooked by other people, but if you find it, it often has more depth. More meaning. It could be sticks & flowers or people.

Love - I love love. I like to read about it. Watch movies about it. Hear about it. I don’t have it, but here’s hoping that one day I will. For now, I love to see it on the faces of my friends. Not sure if they actually use the “L” word or not. But I can at least say with certainty that they are in pretty strong like.

So what do you love today?

Today’s post is brought to you by the color orange.

Orange permeates my life. Maybe it is just me. But today, I am wearing an orange-ish sweater. I ate orange peanut butter crackers for breakfast. My toenails are painted coral (which is orange in case you are uncolor-coordinated).

According to Frank Sinatra, “Orange is the happiest color.” I think, orange is feisty, fun and flamboyant. All good things in moderation. Sometimes those are good even in excess.

An orange joke: compliments of me

Knock, knock
Who’s there?
Banana
Banana who?
Knock, knock
Who’s there?
Banana
Banana who?
Knock, knock
Who’s there?
Orange
Orange who?
Orange you glad I reminded you of this silliness from your childhood?

An orange story: compliments of my niece, when she was 6.

Miss O:  Three people in my class at school have red hair.
Me:  Oh, you mean like mine?
Miss O:  No, Kate. Your hair isn’t red. It is Orange.
Me:  I thought my hair was red.
Miss O:  Nope - Orange. I HATE orange.
Me:  So do you hate my hair?
Miss O:  (cupping my face in her hands) Kate, I like you. But I just DON’T like your hair!

So I like orange. I hope you do too.

The color orange did not compensate me in any way for this post. But if only I knew how to contact orange, I just might ask for a little kickback for all the love.

I believe in aliens. Truly. I do.

Little yellowish-green foreign bodies that have invaded me and turned my life upside down.

So yes, aliens do exist. And they have taken over my body.

I really would like it back.

But you might know them by their other name.

Pollen.