Lazy W Marie

Carpeing all the diems in semi-rural Oklahoma...xoxo

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two decades

September 6, 2015

Today she turns twenty. My doe eyed baby girl, the artist and music connoisseur, the horse lover, the speaker of hard things, the innocent who has learned to heal herself and gather her own magic. An unbelievable pair of decades has passed since I first held her, though I had seen her face before that in my dreams.

joc studio newborn pic

joc age 4 christmas

joc

She has grown from a tiny, grasping little girl who hated to be separated from me into a confident young woman ready and excited to explore the world in ever widening adventures.

I miss holding her in my lap! xoxo
I sure miss holding her in my lap! xoxo

Last year at this time we had just begun our reunion. A deep, much needed healing started just as she turned nineteen, and the months that followed brought one surprise after another, plus such an outpouring of love and grace. I wrote for her 19 wishes for that birthday, and looking back I am amazed to see how many of those wishes, prayers really, have already been answered and started to come to fruition. Her life is showing the fruits of faith and love in beautiful, mysterious ways. For this we are so thankful.

This past year she has learned a lot about herself, I think, and about work and life and money, stuff both practical and eternal. She has learned more about people, human nature, romance, and lasting family bonds. She struck out and spent some time working in the mountains, her own special version of paradise, and I was so lucky to go visit her there for five amazing, unforgettable days. Seeing her eyes light up and watching her leap and bound through the ancient boulders and wild sage… It made my heart deeply, wildly happy.

On Trail Ridge Road, June 2015.
On Trail Ridge Road, June 2015.

joc hikejoc justin on old man peak

joc horse colorado

That collection of moments with her in the mountains held the dual charm of bonding us more tightly and helping me let go a little bit, for her sake. I’ll write more soon about what things I have learned as a mother over the course of this year of explosive growth. But today is her day.

This year, Jocelyn, I continue to pray those same nineteen wishes over your life, plus one very special unspoken hope. I expect to see things unfold for you more and more. God is moving on your behalf in so many ways, seen and unseen, and life is full of surprises. We are so proud of you, of your heart, of what you have faced and what you have accomplished. So happy for your strong internal compass and instincts. So thankful for your love.

Life is beautiful, just like you are, and this is only the beginning.

Happy Birthday, Sweet Pea
XOXOXOXO

 

2 Comments
Filed Under: birthdays, faith, family, healing, joc, memories

jessica michelle

August 27, 2015

You were here with me again. Did you know?

Somewhere between Monday and Tuesday, in the sueded navy blue deep, you illuminated everything.

You were all at once young and vulnerable and old and wise, but this time you were no longer gritting against pain.

Instead, you were pulsing joy and radiating love with the most gentle pink and gold peace. Your aura had a fragrance better than any perfume.

We chatted and giggled and I touched your velvet skin and you played with my hair and asked me about my herb garden.

I asked you about your writing and are you in love? Your twinkling brown eyes said that you want to be.

One minute we were on your grade school playground, noisy and happy, the next floating on a muddy lake, blue sky above us, quiet and calm.

A new face emerged around the corner and wondered who I was, then she knew and turned away. Running. Not afraid, just… ashamed. You smiled at me and wrapped your arms around my middle, squeezing tight. I held you still and inhaled sunshine from the top of your head.

There’s a change happening isn’t there? I feel it. I feel you. And this opens such a floodgate.

I have been smiling through my pain, too.

But while you were here, glowing in the dark, neither of us had to.

Because nothing is stronger than love.

jess sweet 16

I’m linking up this week with Kat Bouska, grateful for her invitation to write in twelve lines.
I took some liberty, but she is very forgiving.
And without the safety of restraint I might not have even tried to share this.
XOXOXOXO

8 Comments
Filed Under: faith, Mama KatTagged: dreams, Jessica

thursday morning magic

August 20, 2015

Somehow the morning sun is bolder, more gilded and alive, with the windows open. Or is it the time of year? This sneak peek of autumn? Wide, flat sheets of moving light slice across the wood floor and make floating bits of dust look like fairies. Magic. The early birdsong is definitely stronger. And I had forgotten how sweet the air can taste at this kinder temperature.

I passed by the upstairs hallway windows, the ones overlooking the middle field, and marveled at the thick prairie grasses and their diamond wet. Grey fog rolling upward off the pond in strong, thoughtful columns of energy. Water that normally has a reddish cast, this morning was a murky blue-grey, a werewolf shade in broad daylight.

Chanta was grazing just below these open windows. I could hear his gentle horse breath and the juicy chomp-crunch-swallow of his green breakfast. I wondered briefly what were my odds of injury if I were to pry off one of those window screens and jump down onto his broad, muscular back? I never made a sound, but I think he must heave heard my thoughts because he let out an extended snuffle and walked away, sharply to his right.

Now the Lone Ranger music is in my head and I need to go for a run. I need to taste the sweet air more deeply. Feel the brackish touch of sun and shade on my skin and let the dew splash high on my legs. As much as I love the brutally hot summertime, this cool morning is filled with magic and I love it. I won’t waste it.

pull magic

What magic are you pursuing today?

XOXOXOXO

 

2 Comments
Filed Under: 1000gifts, animals, daily life, faith, thinky stuff

worry door cracked open

August 2, 2015

This is the door to our smoke house, which is actually more of a garden shed right now. The door was salvaged from a century-old Land Run house in northwestern Oklahoma, a property belonging to my husband’s family. I fell in love with the chipped milk paint (original, not fashioned in a trendy boutique), the heft of the door, the memories attached. Its hinges are rusted and the window opening is only covered by hand pleated drop cloth fabric stapled on, a band aid really, but it’s beautiful to me. I love how ivy grows around it and how it creaks and swells with rain. How difficult it is to open and close. You have to kinda lift and scoot it. At the threshold, mud collects and sometimes we find snakes and scorpions.

worry door

Most doors are easy to open and close. That’s the nature of most doors, to be used and used easily and often. But we barely use this outbuilding, at least not on a daily basis, so having a cumbersome but beautiful door here is fine.

Speaking of doors that aren’t supposed to open much…

Do you remember the Worry Door? The vision I had almost exactly three years ago of the big, thick door that was forcibly (but lovingly) sealed shut against a room containing all of my worst fears? Well, something strange and wonderful has been evolving here lately. The Worry Door has been cracking open, only to be either pushed shut in a spongy, gentle way (like we do this antique wooden door with the muddy scorpion-rich threshold) or maybe, sometimes, left just barely ajar.

Weird, right? After so many lessons on keeping it locked shut, no matter what?

Well, in the time since my first hard lesson that worry is wrong, I have been on a spiritual and emotional roller coaster. I’ve learned a lot not just about the direction to worry not and only trust but also about my own personal strengths and weaknesses, my own propensities and, honestly, addictions to negative thinking.

And you know something? I have made a ton of progress. I have literally broken my addiction to negative thinking, and now I kind of have a healthy aversion to it. When I am in the company of people who cannot resist bitterness or anger or something similar, I get itchy. My vision narrows and turns inward to sort of protect myself, you know? Like a filter. My heart can feel some fear but now I deal with it swiftly. My mind can be aware of horrible possibilities but sort through them and take action instead of simmering in awfulness and poisoning my reality. I’m learning how to magnetize for amazing things, not terrible.

For these changes I am so deeply grateful.

The reason it is now safe for me to sometimes leave the worry door cracked open is that I have learned how to funnel that previously dangerous energy into prayer and allow a healthy amount of fear to fuel my days instead of douse them. Does that make sense? This is such a far cry from how life was before the Worry Door vision. The world is expanding, in really tangible ways and in beautifully abstract ones, to so many possibilities. Imagination, prayers, faith, and exponential growth. Love is ruling everything, even the cracked open doors.

We have a lot going on in life, a whole lot of really heavy stuff that never makes it to this blog. Private struggles, family issues, church problems, seriously life altering stuff that Handsome and I never thought we would face. As cathartic as writing can be, I have so far felt like sharing most of it here is just not appropriate. We barely even discuss most of this stuff with our closest friends and loved ones, because we know by now that only prayer and trust will change anything. Talking about problems tends to grow them, you know? Still, some people know a little about what we are dealing with, and occasionally a well meaning friend will ask me a question like, “Well have you heard from…? How long has it been now?” And when I answer truthfully the look of shock or maybe disappointment in me as a person is pretty hurtful. Or maybe, in an incredulous tone, someone challenges me, “Well what if (this) happens? What will you do? What is your legal recourse? Aren’t you gong to do anything?” Surely from the outside some people may think me apathetic by taking less action than they would in my situation, but they don’t see how firmly I am trusting God. How excited I am by what is coming.

Maybe they don’t see that praying and believing is doing.

Yep, I know this sounds a little vague and for that I’m sorry, but it’s just an example of how your Worry Door can be cracked open by someone else. Despite your best efforts, sometimes other people will very nearly insist that you fret over stuff. They mean it with love, usually. They want what they perceive to be the best thing for you. Okay. And sometimes they could be projecting their own fear onto you. Trying to find solutions ahead of time in case the same tragedy befalls them later. That’s human nature. Don’t waste energy being mad about this, and please don’t let it end any otherwise good friendships; just learn how to field it.

One more thought, then I will leave you to your beautiful Sunday: Yoga has been a useful tool in this journey. Often in a sequence, the instructor of choice will offer advice to just acknowledge a toxic thought and let it pass. Spending too much energy resisting or battling opposition can sometimes heighten the threat. Instead, combat these moments with a flood of positive thought. Replace the What if this horrible thing happens with What if this amazing thing happens? Try that for a while and see if your outlook improves.

Love is far more powerful that you are by yourself. Learn to tap into the power of prayer and faith and stop relying on your own muscles to hold this door shut.

Deep breath. Balance. Center. Clear mind. Peaceful heart. Trust that Love is in control of everything and faith can move mountains.

XOXOXOXO

 

 

 

3 Comments
Filed Under: faith, thinky stuffTagged: love, worry door, yoga

watermelon, life seasons, and making the details last

July 31, 2015

I have lost track of how many complete watermelons have made their sweet, juicy way into my belly since the beginning of summer. You’re not counting, are you? Good. Know that I appreciate that. A lot.

watermelon heart

Buying different striped behemoths, usually seedless but not always, is fun to begin with. Then hearing the treasure roll around in my Jeep during the drive back to the farm. Stashing it in the pantry where it can stay cool for a while. I love it. It’s summertime. This probably happens at least weekly, but we’re not counting, okay?

The watermelon cutting itself is the true ritual, though. I always stand to the left of my kitchen sink (everything must be scrupulously clean) with probably some French pop playing in the background. My favorite lately is Camelia Jordana. Give her a listen. I like for Klaussen to be near my feet if he doesn’t mind (he never does), and if I can be finished with all my work and possibly wearing three or four of my favorite necklaces while watermeloning, well, even better.

First I cut the gorgeous green thing in two right at the equator, leaving one half in the sink while I work on the other. With no hurrying at all, the fruit divides and divides again, over and over, tumbling back and rolling, and all the while I’m thinking about how miraculously cells divide and then time and sometimes people. And families or political parties. Friendships.

About how joy, when shared, is doubled but somehow grief is lightened.

Now slowly slicing the red meat away from the green rind in a curved, sliding motion, then slicing again lengthwise, then chopping, occasionally salting the juicy chunks and taking samples for my trouble. (Friends, it’s okay if you do not count the calories of watermelon chunks you eat while completing this lovely task. I’m pretty sure it’s a wash.)

From this location with my back to the rest of the house, I can see all the artsy treasures that surround the sink. Paintings, metal wind chimes, Mexican pottery. I can scribble things on the chalkboard to my left if a needed grocery springs to mind or I feel like remembering a poem. And I can gaze out to the herb garden. Right now this curvy little spot on the farm is jam packed with color. Buzzing and fluttering with pollinators. Just mesmerizing. Zinnias, roses, sage, basils, mints, daisies, cannas, crepe myrtles, sunflowers, strawberries, and more. One emerald green hummingbird visits a tall flower near the window screen every afternoon, when the day is baking hot.

chair w herbs

I love watermleon.

I love my little herb-and-flower garden.

I love being home and practicing thsese quiet rituals all by myself.

Sometimes, though, after rinsing a big, heavy watermelon, just when the tip of my knife first pierces the rind, a weird sadness washes over me. It’s the same feeling I sometimes get while enjoying the herb garden: A fleeting panic. Like the beauty I crave and need is temporary. The hard truth that soon watermelon season will be over and the zinnias and cannas will fade, and we will be on the sad slope toward another winter.

Nothing good lasts forever, is that what they say? All day every day I am thinking of my girls. Of how true it can be, that the days are long but the years are short.

But I cannot dwell there, emotionally. These past few years have taught me how to better control my thoughts, steer my feelings, and not only live in the moment but magnify it. Squeeze out every possible bit of joy from every gift.

Which is why watermelon slicing has become such a treasured ritual. I know it’s just food. But it’s a brief season and a glorious one, and I don’t want to rush through it. I want to enjoy every pink puddle of sticky juice. Every crunch and whistle of my blade, every empty rind that will eventually be offered to either some chickens or a horse.

If you are in love with something fleeting, whatever it is, I want to encourage you to slow down the enjoying of it. Gather your energies and shape your environment so that you can, without distraction, more fully experience that thing. That gift. The more you slow down and magnify the details, the more you have internalized it. The more it has become a part of you, so that when the season is over, you can recall it better and vibrate with the joy all over again. This way it will never be totally lost to you.

I miss my girls. I miss them hard and sad, happy and hopeful, but it’s okay. Our life seasons are constantly changing, and I know by now to appreciate exactly where we are, right this minute, in every detail.

So I cut the watermelon and grow the flowers and pray for them. Keep the Apartment ready. Smile at every diem I am given to carpe.

XOXOXOXO

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Filed Under: daily life, faith, thinky stuff

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Hi! I'm Marie. Welcome to the Lazy W. xoxo

Hi! I’m Marie. This is the Lazy W.

A hobby farming, book reading, coffee drinking, romance having, miles running girl in Oklahoma. Soaking up the particular beauty of every day. Blogging on the side. Welcome to the Lazy W!

I Believe Strongly in the Power of Gratitude & Joy Seeking

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