Today, I wonder a little deeper. Who am I?

Months ago when I was about to launch the blog, a wiser man asked if I was an author. I thought the question was a little odd and answered quickly with no, explaining I’ve simply felt called to write for years and am finally taking the next step by starting the blog. His question stuck with me, and there have been days I’ve felt compelled to contact this man and ask what he meant. If he meant am I an author, published and all? Of course not, definitely not. Not even close. If he meant in my heart of hearts, am I an author? Do I draft sentences and paragraphs in my head all day long, am I an author? My dream, maybe my call to be an author? To move hearts with my writing? Then yes, I suppose the answer could be yes. Maybe my answer should have been yes. Am I an author because I put my thoughts to the screen? Am I am author because I daydream of being a published one some day?

Last night, my daughter was in tears even before I went to give her a good-bye hug. Today, the day I was to leave for the American Speech-Language-Hearing Association convention. I don’t leave often, and she’s an emotional girl, so she just couldn’t get over the fact I was leaving for 3 1/2 days. We hugged and hugged, and I reminded her I would only be gone a few days and there would be lots of people here to love her and have fun with while I was gone. But the tears still came. Daddy calmed her down and talked her to sleep after my final hug in bed, tears still streaming when I left the room. This morning, she peered in the room in the wee hours while I was still getting ready. Tears streamed again. More hugs. And later, more tears and more hugs. This tearing of my heart. The author in me writing the moments on my heart, in my mind. The mom in me feeling guilty for leaving a crying little one so sad. The business owner and speech-language pathologist in me rationalizing why I had to go. Yes, mom I certainly am. And today, I have extra confirmation I am a loved mom, that is deeply missed by at least one little daughter.

This morning in the airport, a young man sat down in the little work cubicle across from me. He struck up conversation about his life, how he helps his dad with the catering business, how he had a hard summer and they are taking a vacation to get away from it all. Dad showed up and first thing he said to me was “Are you a writer?” This struck me as odd. Why in the world would this man think I was a writer? Sitting with my laptop wasn’t anything unique in this sea of work stations with tabletops and outlets designed for electronic productivity. Finding his question still out of place, and for a moment wondering how to answer (Um, am I a writer? Yes or no? I have a blog, but I’m not a professional writer or author? So, I guess no?), I said no, I’m a speech-language pathologist. We engaged in some conversation about my practice and specialities I have been trying to focus on the past couple of years – apraxia and down syndrome. He commented I was calm, quite possibly one of the last words I’d use to describe myself! Maybe it was just that he and his son made me feel calm? He showed me pictures of their mobile catering unit; I was humbled knowing this stranger shared with me something so dear to his heart.

Later near my destination, far from the rest of the speech-language pathologists, at Jimmy John’s a few blocks from my hotel for the night, a woman looked up and smiled at me from several booths down. My first reaction…why are you smiling at me? Is there something I did to engage you that I forgot about? Do I know you somehow? Her name was Bertha, beautiful, vibrant, lovely with smooth dark skin. She approached, asking me if I was here for the convention. I asked why she was so far off the beaten path. She had hotel troubles and just found a new one while she was sitting here. She’s been coming to the convention every year since 1965, this might be her last year at the convention. She couldn’t be more friendly and welcoming, and I love this woman up until we depart ways. And I wonder again…who am I? To a complete stranger, my presence was positive enough from four booths down that she smiled and felt confident she could approach. I appreciate that, especially finding out later in conversation she was a seasoned woman of much grace.

And later yet at the hotel, a call from a mom. She’s looking for speech-language therapy for her two-year-old son and she’s heard I’m one of the “gurus” in apraxia in the area, and I’m floored. Yes, this. This I have been dreaming for my practice. That one day, I’ll be able to specialized solely on childhood apraxia of speech and down syndrome, the things I love most of all. Although I don’t consider myself a “guru” of ANY sort, this is certainly confirmation I’m on the right path to attaining those dreams of specialization. Insurance will prohibit us from working together, but it was wonderful conversation and I have no doubts it would have been a joy and honor to serve this mom and her son.

So who am I? Well, for now my “professional” roles are three. Mom, blogger (author? writer?), and speech-language pathologist. For now, I marry all three. That special mom role, of course, I will never surrender. I play that role on the days I’m working and on the days I’m not. But what about the other two? For now, I leave them placed in God’s hands. He has the path planned, the path cleared in advance of my arrival, the path prepared just for me. He created me, you, uniquely, specially, to do something He called only me to do. The not knowing, the being unsure is hard some days, but I will wait.

So tonight, I’ll read all the blog posts and tweets from the Compassion International Compassion Bloggers trip to Peru, and I’ll feel without a doubt my heart is there, I dream of that someday. And tomorrow, when I walk into that convention center full of speech-language pathologists, I’ll realize as I do every year that I fit just right into this profession. And Saturday night, I’ll be welcomed with love by my husband and my three little children, and I will feel with all confidence that this is perfect home too.

For I know the plans I have for you,” declares the LORD, “plans to prosper you and not to harm you, plans to give you hope and a future. Jeremiah 29:11

Amy

It’s Friday, which means it’s time for another Meet Me At This Moment for Five Minute Friday post! I spend the last hour of Thursday chatting it up with a group of authentic and inspiring Five Minute Friday bloggers on Twitter (#FiveMinuteFriday #fmfparty). One minute past midnight EST Friday, Lisa-Jo Baker gives us a single word prompt and we all write a blog post centered around that word. We write for five minutes, and five minutes only! In the words of Lisa, this is “unscripted. unedited. real.” You meet me at this moment in time…my thoughts and opinions, my joys and sorrows, my dilemmas and dreams. And I receive one of the greatest gifts ever…a regular outlet for processing and expressing my thoughts without constantly editing myself. This is my life, my perspective, unfiltered.

The word of the week is QUIET.

Ready. Set. GO!

In the quiet.

In the quiet, I rock you and hold you and love you to pieces.

In the quiet, I calm you and carry you and drift you to sleep.

In the quiet, I take all that is yours and give all that you need.

In the quiet, I love you to the end.

In the quiet, I cradle you.

In the quiet, I say stop.

In the quiet, I’m sorry.

In the quiet, I’m so glad you’re here.

In the quiet, I say start over, it’s ok.

In the quiet, I thank you.

In the quiet, I want you to be the friend that knows it all.

In the quiet, I’m sorry I’m not that friend.

In the quiet, I want the drama to end.

In the quiet, I want to be released.

In the quiet, I want freedom to be.

In the quiet, I want frosted cookies and homemade soup in candlelight.

In the quiet, I want shelter, refuge.

In the quiet, I want meaning, depth.

In the quiet, I want more with less.

In the quiet, I want stuff removed.

In the quiet, I want more Him, less them.

In the quiet, I make a difference.

In the quiet, I am free.

In the quiet, I am me.

In the quiet, I will be.

Stop.

…”Be still, and know that I am God…” Psalm 46:10

Amy

It’s Friday, which means it’s time for another Meet Me At This Moment for Five Minute Friday post! I spend the last hour of Thursday chatting it up with a group of authentic and inspiring Five Minute Friday bloggers on Twitter (#FiveMinuteFriday #fmfparty). One minute past midnight EST Friday, Lisa-Jo Baker gives us a single word prompt and we all write a blog post centered around that word. We write for five minutes, and five minutes only! In the words of Lisa, this is “unscripted. unedited. real.” You meet me at this moment in time…my thoughts and opinions, my joys and sorrows, my dilemmas and dreams. And I receive one of the greatest gifts ever…a regular outlet for processing and expressing my thoughts without constantly editing myself. This is my life, my perspective, unfiltered.

The word of the week is ROOTS. 

Ready. Set. GO!

I’m closer to 40 than 30, but I’m still a people pleaser. I don’t just want you to like me. I want you to understand me. I want you to know the real me. I want you to know what makes me tick. I want you to know who I am.

Nearly impossible, I know.

Who really knows all of me but God anyway?

Recently, a comment on my personal Facebook page made me realize I care way too much what you think of me. It bothers me when I am misperceived, thought of as something I am not. It sticks in my mind, lingers. I hate how it lingers. What you say, how you respond to me can get to me. If I know deep in my heart that you don’t get me, that you don’t understand what it is I am trying to say, then I am frustrated. And those thoughts linger. You don’t know me. You don’t get me. How can I make you understand?

My husband says I care too much, it matters little what others think. He tells me to back off that Facebook page a bit. I say I can’t. Maybe I’m like an addict, looking for a high, but for one reason or another, come away feeling worse half of the time. I need to cut it off cold turkey.

Always second guessing on that personal page…Did I post too many pictures? Am I complaining too much? Too goodie two shoes? Talking too much about my kids? Sharing information that should be kept private, secure? Too vague, too detailed? Too shallow, too deep? Do you like the photo I posted of you? Are you offended because I didn’t mention you in that post, or because I did mention you in that post? Do you feel left out, should I feel left out? Did I offend you? Should I even be talking about this on Facebook? Do you want to hear about my vacation? Can I post more or is less better?

The thing I must do is go back to my roots. Give up this personal Facbeook page for a bit and get back to my roots. My authentic self, God, and who He created me to be. I’m me, and I can’t keep worrying about what you think. It is just getting to me. And I want to be me.

I am who I am. I need to know that is ok, even if you don’t understand.

Because the truth is this…the only one I have to please is God, by being me.

Starting today, I will be taking a 47 day break from posting on my personal Facebook page. In honor of my first born, my second born, and my last born. I will be an authentic role model.

Stop.

May these words of my mouth and this meditation of my heart be pleasing in your sight, Lord, my Rock and my Redeemer. Psalm 19:14

Amy

It’s Friday, which means it’s time for another Meet Me At This Moment for Five Minute Friday post! I spend the last hour of Thursday chatting it up with a group of authentic and inspiring Five Minute Friday bloggers on Twitter (#FiveMinuteFriday #fmfparty). One minute past midnight EST Friday, Lisa-Jo Baker gives us a single word prompt and we all write a blog post centered around that word. We write for five minutes, and five minutes only! In the words of Lisa, this is “unscripted. unedited. real.” You meet me at this moment in time…my thoughts and opinions, my joys and sorrows, my dilemmas and dreams. And I receive one of the greatest gifts ever…a regular outlet for processing and expressing my thoughts without constantly editing myself. This is my life, my perspective, unfiltered.

The word of the week is WELCOME. 

Ready. Set. GO!

My daughter dances. We’re at a new studio, so I’m still getting acclimated. Each week I meet and greet the few people I know, and find my secret place to watch through the windows. All in that secret space – my daughter’s class, the class across the way with middle school girls, and the class across the other way with high school dancers. The high school girls move me. The sassy song playing repeatedly, dancers in the dark, twirling and swirling, down on the floor, arms up, down, and all around. These girls are awesome, and I want to dance like them.

When I was a girl, I wanted to be a ballerina. In my adult years, I’ve daydreamed of being a back-up dancer for a singer. Fierce and powerful, without hesitating a single step. I want to be like that. Maybe it’s a mixture of beautiful ballerina and fierce backup dancer that I want to be?

These girls dancing. I watch them every week. The little ones behind me, the big ones in front of me.

This week, the high school girls came out in the hall, out of the normal routine. Alone with their phones for a bit, then talking.

My baby on the floor took one of their water bottles and started playing. They gathered around, in fact, hovered around. A girl I noticed had been quiet prior was now close by the baby. She told me she nannied for four children this past summer. Quiet girl with much behind those eyes, I had identified earlier as maybe being like myself, and now this love for the baby so evident, bright and shining. Then all the girls, loving on the baby. Just as they were. Just as I was. Just as the baby was. All quietly giggling, watching, admiring this baby, those sweet toes, those precious little hands pushing on the bottle making snapping and crackling noises and baby smiling up at the girls. I felt so welcome among these girls 20 years younger than me. Minimal words necessary. We were one. There is hope in this generation, camaraderie. Welcome.

Stop.

They will come and shout for joy on the heights of Zion; they will rejoice in the bounty of the Lord — the grain, the new wine and the olive oil, the young of the flocks and herds. They will be like a well-watered garden, and they will sorrow no more. Then young women will dance and be glad, young men and old as well. I will turn their mourning into gladness; I will give them comfort and joy instead of sorrow. I will satisfy the priests with abundance, and my people will be filled with my bounty,” declares the Lord.  Jeremiah 31: 12-14

Amy

It’s Friday, which means it’s time for another Meet Me At This Moment for Five Minute Friday post! I spend the last two hours of Thursday chatting it up with a group of authentic and inspiring Five Minute Friday bloggers on Twitter (#FiveMinuteFriday #fmfparty). One minute past midnight EST Friday, Lisa-Jo Baker gives us a single word prompt and we all write a blog post centered around that word. We write for five minutes, and five minutes only! In the words of Lisa, this is “unscripted. unedited. real.” You meet me at this moment in time…my thoughts and opinions, my joys and sorrows, my dilemmas and dreams. And I receive one of the greatest gifts ever…a regular outlet for processing and expressing my thoughts without constantly editing myself. This is my life, my perspective, unfiltered.

The word of the week is GRASP. 

Ready. Set. GO!

I admit, I’ve been having some body image issues lately. My baby is nine months, and I’ve been stuck five pounds above my pre-pregnancy weight for four months.

Last Sunday, getting ready for church, I was possibly at my worst. I stood in the closet, looking for what to wear. I put on a pear of my bigger pants. Even those didn’t fit. This is the problem I’ve had for months. Nothing fits except the leggings. Capri leggings in the summer, and now long leggings for the colder weather. None of the regular pants fit and it is making me crazy. Some say, “oh, just get some different pants,” or “don’t worry, you’ll fit into them soon enough.” But it has really been getting me down that NONE of the pants fit in my closet, and I don’t want to buy all new pants!

So this pair of pants, one of the bigger pair, was my best bet. I put them on and the fat rolled off the side just as I hated with every other pair. I wish I could just be ok with it and wear them that way. But I feel fat and uncomfortable with that fat rolling off the side.

Then I wonder if a shirt will help cover it up. That didn’t help at all. In fact, the shirt highlights the fat even more.

Maybe a double layer will help. The plain sweater, camoflauge it all? Nope. That didn’t do it either. The fat still shows through even with the double layer. I am feeling worse and worse as every layer goes on.

Then I strip it all off and put on the flowy dress with the flowy vest and leggings. And it all feels covered, and nobody can see all of the dilemma I faced in that closet, the tears, the agony, the fight within myself.

I look over at that dress I wore one year ago when I was pregnant. Oh so pretty. Bought that regular dress so I could “wear it after,” but it still doesn’t fit, and that makes me just want to be pregnant all my life so I don’t have to worry about feeling fat anymore.

And then I hear crying from the room next door to that closet. Little baby. I enter, and there is baby standing up in her crib, and I grasp at the beauty I birthed from this body. This body, what I call fat, birthed this being. And enters another being I birthed, my son. From within this fat, came him too. And they are beautiful. And they love. And they are so much more than my fat, my feelings of inadequacy in my own body. And it all makes more sense, and it all puts it in a new light. And I grasp for the truth God speaks to my heart…I feel fat, but I am blessed. And God says I am beautiful.

Stop.

Your beauty should not come from outward adornment, such as elaborate hairstyles and the wearing of gold jewelry or fine clothes. Rather, it should be that of your inner self, the unfading beauty of a gentle and quiet spirit, which is of great worth in God’s sight. 1 Peter 3:3-4

Amy