the "Go" part

The Maker of all has been chasing me.

Softly.
Delicately.
Kindly.

There are no accusations and there is no name calling.

Step-by-step.
Mistake-by-mistake.
Temptation-by-temptation.

He allows me to choose, knowing what it will take for me to know His love.

The wretched.
The unthinkable.
The hypocritical.

He is not scandalized by my sin.

Or yours.
Or his.
Or theirs.

Grace is wrapped in the breath of a new day.

More moments.
More opportunities.
More time.

Gently, He leads me to Him.

By still waters.
In green pastures.
Among the wolves that seek to devour.

Purposed, my experiences and story lead me to choosing the Holy.

So it's time.
To Go.
Like the woman, He wants me to leave the sin.

With all these holey desires not yet perfectly met.

To be seen.
And known.
And wanted.

He seeks to make whole.

A life that seeks to honor.
Radically obey.
To trust without reservation or hesitation.

This is that part in the story where He asks me to Go . . . and . . . Leave.

Even when I'm not fully ready.
Or fully certain.
Or fully capable.

Love will lead the way.

Share your heart . . . add a comment below.

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You might be interested in this:

learning to trust even when it doesn't make sense

I swear. So what. 

In Between.

counting the miracle

I'm not always credible.

Apologies used to spat off my tongue just to make an issue go away.

Now, I express them more deliberately. And with meaning.

I own what I do--the hurts and short comings I make toward him.

Still, my apologies can be met with reservation.

If I actually stopped doing that which I apologize for, perhaps it'd be easier for him to believe me.

This truth hurts. Yet, my groom is an imperfect human who has feelings he can't deny, and nor would I want him to.

Some days it can be really challenging to live in the same home. Especially with two people who are different and say different things to the child who they raise together.

Vacation days and long weekends aren't always glorious. In fact, going back to work and school may feel like a getaway, even though it may not be paradise.

When another day begins again, it's Grace.

When family sits around the dinner table to share another meal, it's Grace.

When a couple lies in the same bed again, it's Grace.

Again and again I am overwhelmed by the magnitude of my groom's choice to love me.

Our lives could have looked very different today, all because of the tornado that rolled through our house a few days ago. The tornado that so often, so many years ago, threatened our forever.

I'm sorry doesn't feel enough. And talking through what happened only feels like we're spinning in muck.

Another day mixes with another day. Grace multiplies exponentially and we are slowly healed of the raw pain.

Like childbirth pain not remembered, so it is with marriage pain.

Hope grows. Beauty blossoms.

And though our life may again be threatened by tornado's, we have Grace for the *whirl and twirl* and His promise, forever.
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{Grace} Unwrapped...

...the Joy over awakening for another day with him lying next to me...

...how the silky ones make me feel pretty for him...

...a prayer for our togetherness tonight...

...his call to me from the grocery store to get my list right...

...how our arguments show our Boy about forgiveness, too...

...raising support together for something meaningful...

...the almost a dozen years of learning every day love from our marriage...

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when our Love isn't believed

He doubted everything about me.

I loved him with every bit of me.

Skin color wasn't evident behind the rose-colored glasses I wore.

Just. Love.

And we did. Wholeheartedly.

My groom and our little-Boy-Man embraced eight teenage boys.

We loved on them all.

A Better Chance was our hope.

Each was from a different place than us. All with experiences we could never imagine.

But still, Love was our call, and we did it with Joy.

This one bigger Boy, nearly now a man--he didn't believe us.

He questioned our intentions and included us as fault for history.

His doubt was centered on our white skin color and the vanilla community we were raised in.

Privilege was his hate.

And me, I just couldn't understand.

I didn't live his story.

Teachers, mentors, families...even we couldn't understand the hatred he held.

And now he's gone. Back home. Future unknown.

Mouth shut and heart of gratitude were not his spirit willing.

And so, I stand in shame of my race sometimes and in sadness for what we lost.

A boy who will soon become a man, was once in our life and is now in our heart.

There's so much I could say about this experience.

For one, it wrecked my heart--beat it down and stomped on it.

My love was denied. 

The boy I wrote about could not understand {Grace} one single bit. He wasn't willing to See.

And so, as we are challenged to receive Grace for ourselves, or extend Grace for another, I think of him and how he struggled to receive the Love that we were so freely giving.

This week, People of the Second Chance presented the next poster in its series of Grace.

It's of the KKK.

The boy I think about would just broil with rage over the idea of Grace for *Them.*

Lord, show him somehow...
Speak to him even where he is...
we're not all like that...
and even *they* are within your reach.

Help him to believe...and help me to trust in your purposes, even for *him.*
And help me to trust in you--that you're bigger than Me. 

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when stepping back is the gift

Sometimes Grace shows up by giving space for hurt; permission, almost--Freedom. 

I am Seeing that for some people, hearing my voice, reading my words, and even seeing images of me, might feel a bit like a bandaid ripped off, leaving the wound exposed--raw. Feelings naked.

Some people just aren't ready for that kind of revealing.

Grace understands and she lets time heal.

Grace steps back and says she can wait.

I've spent my life trying to make a relationship.
I've thought if I live everything right then one would bloom.
I've focused on fixing my failings--owning my part in the fence between us.

I forgave {for freedom sake}, and I admit that I thought it would solve everything; that I'd be healed from all pain.

But it didn't work like that.
I feel like a failure for not making it happen--the reconciliation.

Knowing the weakness and inabilities of humans, I don't trust the capability of others to forgive. He can't {possibly} forgive completely and perfectly.

I've looked inward and tried even harder to forgive because maybe I just didn't forgive enough.

I feel shameful when I fail. And so when pain remains it makes me wonder what I did, or what else I need to do. I feel not good enough.

Truth is, sometimes I need to do *less.*

It's not about Me. 

This perspective is the *thin place* where faith believes He has purpose for the time.

I am learning to step back and choose Grace--for him and for me to live in the pain.

What I think of what our relationship {maybe} should be, I am sad for what it isn't, and yet maybe what it Is, is mercy in disguise--and Grace.

Truth tells me what it is *today* is for purpose, and invites me to lean into Grace to Let. It. Be.


Thank you, Father, that I can trust you with even *this.* 
I lift my hands off and trust in Your Hands. 
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Gratitude for {Grace}...

...readiness for a new season...

...perspective of choosing *different*...

...lunchtimes with {just} my groom and me...

...protection from flooding...

...Seeing *purpose* in {even} animals...

...tickets for the Boy to attend his first D-I football game...

...a {real} community...

...a job. {period}...

...purpose in prayers...

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living toward healing

Nearly three weeks ago I wrote about the *freedom to forgive* and the premise was about my father. Courageously, I chose to See that forgiveness sets people free--the one being forgiven, and the one extending the forgiveness.

Since then, pain in my heart has been awakened. Band-aids have been removed and scabs have been exposed. The wounds remain as hardened, blistered sores.

I've looked with envy at the relationships of others and longed for what I don't have with my own father. I've felt left out, lonely. Lies have surfaced telling me that all I do is make a mess of things, when really all I try to do is right things.

I've seen how my fears of making a mistake and of people being mad at me, they both are directly tied to my hurt--of always feeling like I make matters worse with my family, and how what I do makes them turn their backs on me and shut me out.

The way I've had a compulsion for order and control, it's because of what I've lived. And I know to not make excuses--to *own* my part--and I know I should live differently; live with more flexibility and get over those hurts.

But I can't.

The hurt remains.

I can't make myself heal.
I can't just decide to make myself change and expect it to happen.
I can't make myself trust in a different way of living, and never fall back into the tendency to fear and question.

Seeing this, I recognized something I never had the courage to admit.
I am not just plain jealous of others.

I. Am. Mad. At God--my Father. 

I want to be like her. I want to live like he says I should. I want to be changed--forever. And I don't understand why I am not healed of all of this, yet.

For so many years I have known there is a better way of living, I've known what it is, and I've *decided* that I am going to make changes.

Folks say "just put your mind to it," and I've believed it. I've even surrendered to Him, leaned into trusting even this is *for purpose,* yet--the hurt remains.

Truth is, we can't sustain lie-living. It's a lie to masquerade as someone who I am not, and far too often I've lied mostly to myself. I can't just convince myself that I am healed. I can't just get over the pain in my heart.

I can't just say I forgive and expect change. It's a process--it's life lived.

People say I am too hard on myself. I hear that as I need to forgive my weaknesses.

So, I do. And yet, the pain is so deep; I don't have the tools to plunge it all out.

I've told my Father that I want to be healed...I long for reconciliation...I don't need apologies...and I've chosen to forgive.

So much goodness has come into my heart as a result of these choices.

Beauty has bloomed.
Walls in my heart have shattered--I've literally heard them crash.
Chains have unlocked and I've {begun} to live in Freedom.

I believe in surrender. I believe He is worthy of our trust.

But I also believe that He allows pain for purpose, we can't just decide to rid ourselves of it--He has to do the rest; He has to finish the story as He designed it.

I've tried to make the healing happen by my own, and I can't.

Beauty is seen more magnificently on the darkest of canvas. My understanding of this is in the most personal ways of my heart.

He stands-in where my imperfection lives. 
He fills the gap--heals and makes whole. 

And in the mean time, I trust that He uses all for purpose, including my pain and strangled relationships.

I am not sure I want to give my Father another day with my heart. And yet, He's the keeper of it.

When I am honest with Him that I am mad He hasn't done what I think He should have done in me by now, He looks at me with Grace. He lets me feel that way.

Thank you, Father, for all of this. I lean into Truth: All. Is. For. Purpose...even. this. 
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Gratitude for {Grace}...

...the Boy-Man's tears over his Poppy being called into work...

...and the understanding that washes over him when *truth* is told: people are being helped by this sacrifice of time...

...neighbors sharing practically a *boat-load* of blueberries they spent time picking...

...strength for a long run...

...football season and something *fun* to talk about with my groom...

...a *free-ish* family vacation from points-saved during work travel...

...imagining loving a four-legged creature...

...a connection with grace-lovers...


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Would you give *her* a second chance?

We all have people who, {now that we've grown up a little bit}, we wish now we would have given a second chance, back then.

Then there are people who we say we'd give a second chance to, and that makes us feel good.

But what if they do something that seems unforgivable--completely unthinkable?

What then?

Forgiving and giving a second chance seems completely unfathomable, and justifiable.

I have raised up my hand in partnership with People of a Second Chance, and they've invited me to join them in their Never Beyond Posters Series. Here's what they wrote:

     We all have people we would and wouldn't give a second chance--lines drawn and beliefs
     formed about who we could forgive. 

     Right?

     POTSC is launching the NEVER BEYOND Poster Series: 25 posters representing well
     known historical, current and fictional characters who are believed to have harmed society. 
     This campaign consists of digital and print posters and the full collection will eventually be
     displayed as a touring art exhibit.

     The campaign draws out themes of forgiveness, grace and what a pathway to a second
     chance looks like. 

So...here's our first one:

Casey Anthony.

She's free now. The jury found her not guilty.

• If you bumped into her while you were on your family vacation, what would you do? 
• If your daughter came home and said that her friend's cousin was Casey's daughter, what would you say?
• What if your son asked who Casey Anthony is, and why people think she should die, what would you say?
• What if she walked into your church, would you treat her as not guilty? 

Would you give her a second chance?

Why or why not?

This is a place of Grace, and your honest heart is welcome here.

Join the A {Grace} full *life* facebook community.

Beauty

It isn't Friday, yet there is still freedom for today.

This Truth I rest upon today, as I rush into in His *Garden of Hope,* choosing full-blooms of Courage and Trust. I'm hardly perfect and neither are my words, yet I live and breathe, all. for. purpose.

I'm linking up with other Hand-crafted souls and sharing a piece of what's on my heart. Writing for just five minutes? Oh how I could write for so much longer, and I have. Here, though--in this space I reserve just five minutes* of my heart-sharing today.

Beauty

My heart aches at the pain that remains.

I've forgiven with a heart toward giving freedom, and I've surrendered my need to know the details.

I've done all I can, and I'm realizing this truth.

Yet, having received *no response* from the sharing of my heart, and an odd response to a courageous phone call, I sit here with these feelings that remain.

Hurt. 

Broken like shards of glass, I want to soften the edges of my rawness--still, forgive and choose compassion.

If I choose *understanding,* maybe I will hurt less.

But I don't.

I. Still. Hurt. 

And here's where I See *Beauty*--in the only thing there is left for me to do: live as I am. 

Beauty is living {in freedom}.

Even though I hurt, I will live as me.

These feelings remain and a heavy heart makes it hard to breathe-on...yet, I can still live as me.

Breathing in peace for this freedom, this is beauty at its fullest.

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* [full disclosure: Today this post took me a just smidge over five minutes. But it was for such purpose and I'll live in the grace.]

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truth and feelings

When we name our feelings--giving ourselves permission to identify them--we experience *freedom.*

For years I wrestled with the strained relationship between my father and me.

I'd fight to choose forgiveness over anger, thinking it made me *a better person* for choosing it. Admittedly, my motivation for declaring that I forgive was based on wanting to appear and be, grow up.

And yet, I was still a hurting child who needed time to grow in the space of living.

For years I didn't understand the importance in, and the reasons for, deliberately choosing forgiveness--how forgiving gives *freedom* for living in grace.

I now See, there's a difference between truth and feelings.

Though one day in my adult years I came face-to-face with the word that aptly described my feelings--Abandoned--I now See that I never was.

I *felt* abandoned, but the truth is that my father didn't ever abandon me. 

His heart remained attached to mine. I trust he sought God on my behalf. He ached for the strain in our relationship, and likely still does.

There are things we just don't talk about. And there are months when we don't talk at all.

But truth speaks in my heart: I wasn't abandoned, I only felt it. 

It's good to find those feelings--to call them out, naming them and giving yourself permission to feel.

When we See the truth as different, it frees us to let those feelings *rest.* The feelings might never disappear, but they rest more comfortably in the realization that there is more to the story, and All. Is. For. Purpose. 

Healing

After we confessed our role in what mess was created through our choices, my friend and I became willing to talk about it, Grace rolled into our lives and healing began.

In our journey of reading through those yesterdays as part of today’s story, my friend found a note that she sent to me that revealed such truth and hope…

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Maybe we pushed ahead of God in hopes of becoming friends so the past would disappear.

I created so much pain for you and me. 

I did something that I never wanted to do, which was even think that someone who was involved in a relationship was available.

I didn't want to think about it, let alone live it.

God worked for good.

You understand better about temptation and how much you have to work at your marriage to make it a solid one. And I have learned more about waiting on God, and letting Him fill my empty space and aching heart.

Do you ever wonder what would have become of us if we had met some other way? Just the two of us and *this* not in the middle...

I don't have any answer to the fact that your husband will always be the reason we met. 

It's a struggle for me. I want to put that reason behind me and just move forward to getting to know you.  I don't know how.

God will help us if we ask. 

It is hard to imagine life past this point where our past does not get in our way, but God can clean our hearts. Only He can. 

It's funny, getting your email gave me a sense of relief. I've been looking for relief, but never finding it. As it turns out, you were the only one who could give me that relief and we turned away from each other and tried to ignore it. 

This situation was blocking my relationship with God. For a time it seemed like I was doing okay. And then God pointed out this dark corner of my heart and said, Not so fast…what about this?

Did I listen? No, I just went on thinking it would work itself out, maybe disappear. It didn't. 

God can wash it away. We just need to keep working at it and praying about it. 

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Forgiveness created peace and allowed for healing. 

He did work it out. On His terms. And in His time.

The friendship we share today means the most to me because it's a story of redemption. It didn't come easily and our own fears almost stood in the way of what was in store for us.

Through a series of honest (yet difficult) exchanges - like Open Heart Surgery - we began to heal. And it only happened by our own choice to receive the gift He provided in the healing...

We honored Him as we uncovered His gift of healing.

He can do so much in us, through us and with us. And, He has! 

Through the years our friendship has blossomed. 

Like a rose, what we share has taken time to grow. And we couldn't rush it.

Ten years after the painful admittance began to uncover our wounded hearts, a story of grace is evident in the friendship we have been given, and it is one of my biggest blessings. It prepared me for my marriage, and so much more. 

What God gave us is so beautiful and I am humbled - daily - to be touched by Love through what He gave us in this friendship. 

I know I am loved through this friendship.

I know I am accepted as whole and freely me. 

I am honored to be on my knees for my friend and to cry for her.

I am humbled that God would use my own imperfect life to touch hers.

Our friendship become what God wanted for us. For Him. 

It really is beautiful. And so important.

Still more to come...

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This is the fifth in a seven-part series on friendship and grace.  

1. Purpose In The Story 
2. Washed Away 
3. All Things New
4. God Answered 

Washed Away

What follows is a guest post written by one of my closest and dearest friends. She courageously walked through our yesterdays and how it led to our friendship today.

Together, we worship our Father in the telling of part of our story of friendship to honor what He's done in us. We pray the telling of it will nourish and give hope of God's grace - evident through a road of incredible pain and ugliness.  Our friendship was invested in God, and was purposed and crafted by Him, alone. 

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I know that the sin has been washed away. Years ago it was. And it’s all been forgiven. But I believe it shouldn’t ever be forgotten.

To forget and to pretend it didn’t happen is saying that the beginning of the story doesn’t matter. That God’s hand was not fully involved.

He created such goodness from such fear and despair. 

I remember the day I met him. I remember being fully aware that I should not have anything to do with him. It was very clear in my mind that I knew it wasn’t a good idea. 

I still see in my mind’s eye what I was looking at the day I was determined to keep my distance. 

I knew of Amy. I knew he had grown up with her and that they were engaged now. I knew they were Christians, like me. Which to be fair, it was hard to find other [Jesus] believers during college. I was on my last year of college and craved the connection of others who had that same faith. 

I was waiting for God to match me with the one He’d chosen for me. 

Knowing of a relationship that was matched by God and held the faith in high regard was right in front of me and I was jealous. Jealous of what they had. Worried that I would never get to be in a relationship with a man who shared my faith. 

I was worried that no one would choose me. 

Weeks and months went on and the dynamic of my close knit circle of friends changed and shifted. My roommate and I grew apart, and he and I grew closer. It all just fell into place.  We spent more time together and the connection was natural.

It was really just a mixed up time. Graduating college, no job, no relationship. 

The thing I wanted the most -- to be chosen -- wasn’t happening and my other girl friends were getting scooped up by their husbands to be. I now know how all of that outside joyfulness doesn’t wash away all the fears each of them had about their own lives. But to me then, they had it all because they had the thing I most wanted. 

Mostly I felt guilt for my relationship with a man who was about to be married - Amy’s future husband. Though we were exclusively friends, we did connect emotionally.  

I felt like I could’ve stopped it all from happening. That it was solely my fault. I knew how I felt at the beginning, that I should keep my distance. But once it was set into motion it became the balm my soul needed, to live a life that I wanted. 

During the school week, it was almost like I was stealing Amy’s life. I was filling an emotional void for him while Amy was away at a different college. When she visited I was casted aside and rightfully so, but still it hurt. His hand in this was just as great as mine but I knew better from the start and should have been stronger.

Fast forward a few months after graduation. Their wedding would be in a few weeks. 

Amy sends me an email. 

I know Amy was called by God to reach out to me and even if her reasons weren't fully selfless, she still obeyed. 

This was grace. 

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A decade has followed since then, and time does amazing things to the memory. Stay tuned for my own perspective of the beginning of our story of friendship...

This is the second in a seven-part series on friendship and grace.  

1. Purpose In The Story 

It is done.

He calls me from above, "Mama, I made a mistake!"

I blow a hard breath, slam the dish cloth down and run upstairs.  I think: Again?!  He was too-late again?!  He's six!

And I see - a terrible mess.  Not the kind of mess a six-year-old should be having, I think.

I shout: "How could this happen?!  No one does this!  No one!  What would have happened if this happened at school?"

(and dare I say it...and I did...)

"You'd be kicked out [of school]!"

(I see the foolishness and silliness of that last part now and [by grace] I am able to chuckle.)

It all comes clearer with a little bit of time, with each wiping and spray of the cleaner, and each toss of a sock in the garbage, and the underwear.

"I had a tummy ache," he says in between sobs.  "I didn't know..."

And I see just then.

I see that he was standing up and had to go, but didn't know just how he had to go.

I'm still mad.  Reeling.

Shouting.  In the bathroom.  A place where we said we wouldn't ever shout at him.  A place where he'd be comfortable to go, and to be.

I get him cleaned off and into the shower to wash himself.  And I am calmer now.

Softly I ask him, "Do you understand that you have to go earlier?"

Sobs.  "Yes, Mama, yes!"

"Do you, really?," I ask.

He replies with an emphatic "Yes!," and I still doubt.

A softer voice comes from deep within me.  Gentleness.

"I forgive you, honey, I forgive you."

His whimpers at this point now turn into deep sobbing again.  I can tell he feels the weight of shame, disappointment, and I hope he feels forgiveness now.

More gentleness comes from angry me.  

"It is done," are words that come from my wretched mouth.

The child sobs more.

Then, just the sound of water raining over him.  I pray it's grace showering over him.

Angry me meets Gentle Spirit.  He who saves me from breaking the fragile and still developing heart of my son.

I'm grateful that it is done.

There's no more talk that night about his mistake, and I pray he sleeps peacefully.

I didn't see it then, and I do now...his choice of words - a mistake - once came from my own mouth.

And I see that I might have taught him about grace.  Extending favor on him once or twice before when I was able to say, we all make mistakes; it's just a mistake.

Then, the very next day, my own lack of sleep breaths fire into the same place we stood the night prior.  I take my frustration out on the innocent.  

I'm asking him a question and he's not speaking in a way I understand, and so I shout at him to speak clearer.  And I hurt him without realizing what I'm doing.  Yet, I do realize.

He wails that I'm hurting him.

I'm ashamed.  

Kneeling down to his level, I hold him and apologize.  Ask for his forgiveness and he nods yes.  Knowing that he might not really know what he's nodded to, I trust that he does.  

My fear is alive that maybe this - this episode of the fiery-dragon who just spewed her own selfishness on to this innocent little boy - will be the sticking point for him.

I fear.

Lord, let it not stick.  Let him truly forgive.  Help him to forgive.

I pray he sleeps peacefully.  I pray for Divine Amnesia. 

I still feel the pain of my shame, even now, and it's still difficult to receive God's grace.

Grace for me.  Love for me.  Forgiveness for me.

It's hard to let myself believe, It is done.

These moments - the two situations I've described - they are moments that have humbled me beyond all description this week.

I've realized it is moment-by-living-moment that I need God's guidance, and His gentle hand.  And, moment-by-blessed-moment He shows me His grace - for me.  So that I can know it and trust in it.  So that I can give it away with His strength.

Again I see, all is Grace.  All.

A decision that saved *My Life*

For years I lived confused.  Wondering who I was supposed to be, and what it is exactly that others wanted of me.  I had a preoccupation with expectations.

So many people would tell me that I was too hard on myself.  I was defensive.  I knew no other way.  If it was imaginable, I was pretty sure I could do it.  If someone said I should, then certainly it was possible.  I was a good girl and I did what I was told, and because I didn't like being told what to do, I often stepped up and did what I thought was expected of me before it was even asked.  Because, that's what *good girls* do.  Right?  If I waited until being told, then I'd always be one step behind and that definitely doesn't imply responsible.

Then those people said I was wrong.  I was working too hard.  And I thought, okay...now what?  I didn't know what to do.  Just how am I supposed to live?  


And oh by the way, who am I?

A product of divorce.  A statistic.  The black sheep of my father's family.  Am I even considered a sister to those who share the same father as me?  What do they think of me?  Why don't we have a relationship?  What did I do for him to go his separate life and only appear to look back on occasion, busily going about his important life of child rearing (those he loves more than me...because he knows them more than me).

Rising above.  I'd rise above it all.  I don't need him.  I have a Dad, and he has always been to me.  And my mom, she cares about the details of my life that no one else seems to notice, she encourages me and she's my biggest fan.

Still, though, I waffled.  I wavered.  I teetered and tottered through life, painfully trying to navigate where I should go and what I should do and who I am supposed to be.  

Then I got married and while unpacking for our life together, somehow my groom was placed up on this pedestal and I just looked at him in awe.  I'd be jealous and envious that he seemed to have it all together.  In spite of his own painful up-bringing, he seemed to be so much more assure of himself.  He is so wise.  So thoughtful.  A complete super-man in every aspect.

I continued to stagger and stumble through life, wondering if moving away from where I was brought up might help me to find me and who I am supposed to be.  So by my prompting we made a costly decision - one we're still paying for, in effect.  And the should's only became louder, and more confusing than ever.  Because it's hard to find me when I'm so worried about what others will think.  And it's those same people who would tell me not to be so concerned about what others think, and yet I was smart enough to notice that when those people weren't happy, I wasn't happy.

Then, one day, seemingly out of the blue, I was faced with a decision.  A decision that's made all the difference.

My life - who I am, not who I am supposed to be - was saved by the decision I made.

I decided to forgive.  Completely. Forgive.

My parents failed my own expectations.  I didn't feel led by them toward who I am.  I only felt their own insecurities.  Anger rose and I realized that I had my own set of expectations.  I expected my parents to have it all together.  I expected my parents to know the best way.  I expected my parents to have made their mistakes, and that by being parents they were too grown up for mistake making.

As I live, I find similarities between my parents and me - {we're not perfect, and neither of us is any better than the other}.  In choosing to forgive (my father for his lack of attention to my life, or my mother for all the multitude of things she said or didn't do), space was freed up for me to just live.

Just. Live. 

I'm still trying to figure it out sometimes - just what it is I'm supposed to do.  But most days, or at least a lot more of the days than used to be, I just let myself live, and I let them live, too.  I can't control what has happened or what will happen.  And I can't control the reactions of  my parents, my husband, or even my closest friends.  But I can control me.