Lazy W Marie

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

a dream and a prayer

I had the most wonderful dream about Jocelyn last night.

Last night she came to me as a toddler, a baby really, those enormous dark brown eyes twinkling at me, her tiny pink mouth smirking and smiling. Her little body was bouncing and trembling with happiness. She wobbled around a table to me and reached up to be held, and in that dreamy way I could physically feel the smallness and buoyancy of her body. I could smell her milk breath, her soapy soft skin. Her fists grabbed at my hair and tugged it with baby strength.

Last night we traded deep stares and touched noses and clung to each other. We relayed our thoughts easily, without speaking. Everything was understood perfectly. No interference, no missteps, no regrets. Though she was a baby, she had already lived so much, and she was letting me know she was okay. I could, in a few giggling cuddles, relay my intentions. My immense love poured out and wrapped her up. She let me know she sees it all, even Colorado in retrospect, and I am here now, Mama, I love you, I need you.

In just a few minutes of cuddling, we burned through so many years of other people’s lies and abuses. I had time to correct my mistakes. We simmered in a chance to reclaim what was lost, and even more. Not just years but also memories, plans for the future, everything.

As I recall the details of the dream, I cannot remember how it ended. Just that we stayed together all day, in love and peace.

I miss her so much. I miss you so much, Jocelyn. I know I am supposed to focus on the good, and I really try to. I believe that Love wins and that what we have lost can at any moment be returned tenfold. I have been dreaming of her a lot lately, and maybe these dreams are gifts to remind me of that feeling. Because most of the time, awake, I just feel so much ache for my firstborn, anger and grief for the things she has endured, sadness mixed with admiration for the way she is forging through the world on her own. Just pain for the gaping emptiness our family feels without her.

I know she’s not a baby anymore, and she never will be again. But to me she will always be that beautiful and perfect, that full of energy and love, all promise and joy. To me Love will always win in her life. And I will always be here, ready when she is.

Until then, I am so grateful for every dream where she appears.

I love you, Joc.
XOXO

we’re not perfect, but do we deserve THIS?

As unsavory as this feels to write, it’s such a big headline in our lives that I can’t not write it.

We are in a season of endurance again. More accurately, we are layering up more crises and more heartbreak upon old crises and heartbreaks that still want answers. New grief is raining down on a land already saturated with grief that seems to have no way to drain. We are drowning. Are you too?

And the prevailing outcry seems to be, why? Why do we find ourselves in such a pattern of false accusation and turmoil wrought by liars and abusive power wielding egomaniacs?

From the people who hurt our children all those years to politicians and reporters (I will not pay the compliment of using the word journalist) who make false accusations, create hostile work environments, and perpetuate false narratives, I am stunned by the growing number of people who are happy to spread darkness.

These are hardly new themes, and we are hardly the first people to suffer false accusations and undue loss. History is thick with abuse, backwards storytelling, deep grief, and bizarre turns of events. So, yes. I have some perspective and I hate to whine.

But to us, in our marriage and our little life in Oklahoma, these things are personal and they are changing the trajectory of everything.

Or, they could.

We choose to not allow it.

We choose to affirm our trust in God, that truth has a way of making itself known. That light drives out darkness. That mercy is real, and we know we are hardly perfect but also not remotely guilty of the things being said. Not then, and not now. The noise can be disorienting, but it cannot convince us of a lie.

We also know the people saying these things are, actually, guilty of their own words and much more. It’s almost unbelievable. So, know that the word abuse is used neither lightly nor vaguely. We already know the truth. For now we choose to stay quiet, having put specific people in God’s hands.

The idea of deserving a thing, good or bad, is so messy. In our culture we are pretty hyped up about justice, which is great and fine. But in the spiritual realm, we understand that at some point justice meets mercy, so we are warned to walk humbly. We have enjoyed so many blessings we really do not deserve, that maybe we can trust God long enough to endure the hardships we don’t think we deserve. How can we expect one but not the other? I’m not suggesting we just lay down and take it. Accept the mistreatment. But maybe there’s an opportunity here, an invitation.

fog, lazy w, oklahoma, faith

Maybe we can dig a little deeper and unearth purpose in all of this. There is a goldmine of strength and wisdom to be gained here, gifts the abusers will never enjoy. We have a community worth pursuing and a way to show the next generation how to endure, how to work, how to refine our methods and grow despite the attacks and the inevitable losses. Evolve. Overcome.

For all the people I miss and grieve in our family, for all the awful things I still fear, I choose to see how suddenly miracles tend to happen and how quickly healing can take place. I choose to acknowledge that magical season with Jocelyn and the deep relationship we have with Jessica now, and her sweet husband Alex. Day after day, all these years, even in the darkest times. I choose to see how God has blessed our family and our farm, how He has more than returned the time lost and how He has more than punished some of the evil. I now can even bless Colorado in my thoughts. When we choose to really look, even that storm poured out a tidal wave of blessings. We cannot forget that.

So. With that strength in my belly, I bless the Commission. I choose to see the beauty of the growing community there, the wealth of talent and goodness and faith. I thank God ahead of time for what He is doing, for the relief coming, for the answers and path ahead. Maybe we can’t see it yet, but it’s there. It’s safe to trust His guidance, one step at a time.

We don’t deserve a lot of things. Not another hard season, not more false accusations, and not the abundant goodness of Life.

Let the darkness rage, uncontrolled and furious. Pretend it is a wild animal held safely behind a thick glass wall, unbreakable.

I affirm that truth prevails and Love reigns. I choose joy.

XOXOXOXO
Marie

river not reservoir

Will you follow me on a short, meandering train of thought? This all occurred to me simultaneously, early this morning.

Are you, like me, a borderline obsessive list maker and goal tender? I keep a planner and myriad lists and charts for habit tracking, miles and paces ran, farm projects, holidays, seasonal work, animal needs, garden jobs, you name it. It helps me “stay on track,” I tell myself, but really what it does is soothe lots of insecurities about my contribution. It gives me an inky representation of my work, because deep down I know that I don’t do enough. Or maybe sometimes I do plenty, but I need the written proof, because no one else knows. Maybe if I die suddenly and someone asks, “What did she do with her life?” they could look at my multicolored planner and see. “Oh, good those habits seem very tidy. Nice.”

What if instead of keeping lists and calendars, instead of charting accomplishments and habits to make myself feel like a good enough person, I get back to counting blessings?

I had this thought early this morning, between a few picturesque moments. I lifted the east facing blinds to see the cotton candy daybreak, and then I walked outside with Klaus. The air was fresh and sweet, the cats were stretching on the sidewalk, campaigning for belly scratches and breakfast, and the birds were singing. SINGING. They produced actual music, not orchestrated by any human, and really beautiful. My mind was mechanically in gear about what to do first today, but the beauty of the moment, the safety and abundance of my life, quite undeserved (Or do I deserve it, a little? Have I fought hard enough for this, evolved enough finally?) overwhelmed me. I came back inside to make two very different cups of coffee, and the thought burst into my mind: “What if you stop counting the things you do and return to counting your blessings?””

I cannot tell you how scary this though felt at first, and then I judged myself for being scared of it. “Why? What is wrong with you?” I demanded of myself. What a clear message, that I have been relying so heavily on self and have been so feverishly feeding my ego, that I need to prove to my own mind so many ridiculous little things. No one else ever sees my lists; it is all for self assurance and carrot motivation.

And then there’s the notion of flow.

A few years ago, just before Pandemic actually, I had an unsolicited and overwhelming experience of Love that has stuck with me and taught me many lessons, the more I reflect on it. Part of the experience was being personally showered with specific encouragement about the ways I had impacted the lives of my friends and family. Dozens of people contributed, and I cried and cried. I wrote something at the time about “Leak Stop” in order to prevent my usual fleeting confidence from forgetting or dismissing it all. I tried to muscle myself into hoarding it all in my heart, you know? And that worked, to an extent. But I don’t think that’s what we’re really supposed to do with Love.

I don’t think we’re supposed to collect Love and keep it for ourselves, just be un-leaky reservoirs that receive lots of water and share it only in emergencies, or maybe grow stagnant. I think we’re supposed to be more like rivers that flow free and strong like the Thompson in Colorado. I think that instead of stopping up the leaks so I could keep more Love for myself, for bad days, I was fine being flexible and open, to share Love more boldly. Receive, give, receive, give, and flow with life giving energy day after day after day. How wonderful to be aligned daily with blessings and purposes. This has been one of my prayers for a few years, and I see it manifesting constantly. Weirdly, haha, I found a way to make that meditation into a task as well. Cool.

And maybe being obsessed with lists and accomplishments ironically stunts my contribution; maybe this lifestyle keeps me too oriented to self and keeps me from allowing Love to flow.

Counting blessings opens me up much more to wonder and gratitude, to magic and limitlessness. Not just small gorgeous details but also catastrophes avoided, abundance realized, joys fulfilled. I know this. I have known it for years, and still I sometimes need the reminder.

Our family has been in a little storm this past month that challenged my ability to stay in the moment and asked me to demonstrate what I have been learning these recent years about prayer, imagination, faith, trust, and free will. Will I spend energy worrying, regretting, and spiraling into what-if scenarios, or will I redeem energy for miracles? It’s been a private and inward job mostly, but the effects are very much three dimensional, very real and impactful to loved ones. What I’m saying is that prayer is a real force. Thoughts are things. And so, it matters where we focus. We have influence, but only by accessing Love. I am so thankful for the redirection this morning away from tasks and ego and back to the Absolute, the Source, the Field, as so many books refer to Love. Back to God.

How scary to realize the thinness of that line, the difference between trusting myself and trusting God.

And how wonderful to relax into being a conduit for power rather than needing to be a source of it, which is obviously impossible. There is only one Source.

Ok gotta go. I have a certain number of miles to run and a list of chores to finish, Ha! Otherwise I am not a real person, ok? I’m mostly kidding.

Harness your thoughts. Direct your energy. Love your life. It’s all here for us to enjoy and share, flowing back and forth.

XOXOXOXO

a close call with Dusty and a story about the leaf blower guy

The other day we had a scare with one of our horses, Dusty, the squatty, deep voiced grey and white cutie pie who has grown up with our girls. He is fine now, everything turned out great, but it was a tense and scary few hours.

Dusty in his younger, slimmer, fashion model days xoxo

In the middle of a hectic morning at work, my husband rushed home to help, and after an hour or so of watching and evaluating, we felt comfortable enough with Dusty’s progress to drive up the road to Tractor Supply Co for electrolytes and probiotic chews.

Tuesday was a warm and bright, violently windy day. The weather was beginning to turn, with both straight-line gusts and the twirling, circular kind of wind that creates sudden little leaf-and-stick tornadoes.

As we drove the few miles north, we passed a man tending his lawn with a leaf blower. In Oklahoma. On a wind advisory day.

He was really bundled up, as if the temperatures were actually about thirty degrees colder. He was wearing a thermal hat and massive gloves and jeans and boots, plus a substantial brown canvas coat, no doubt thickly insulated. I registered all of this plus his solemn expression. Then I marveled at the tedious attention he was paying to his leaf blower chore.

The dried oak leaves flew slightly away from his mechanical dismissal then spiraled back on him, then scattered sideways, then blew ahead of him in short, straight bursts, then flew wildly again, caught in another random gust. They flew up and away and directly over his hat. He was in the middle of a late winter ticker tape parade, like a cash tornado for people who believe that decomposing organic matter is black gold (these people are correct).

He was making exactly zero progress, but still he gripped that power tool with an air of focus and calm determination. He remained bent over his incomprehensible task. He walked slowly across the curved concrete driveway, pointing himself and his apparatus at each next area of chaos, and he never looked up or ahead of his immediate steps.

I have so many questions for him.

Maybe he was commanded by a spouse or an employer to do this job, regardless of weather, and dared not argue.

Maybe he recently received this leaf blower as a gift and thought a windy day would make for a fun maiden voyage.

Maybe he was in shock from some catastrophic family news and needed a rote, mind numbing activity to distract him, to help him gather his strength.

Maybe he was in covid-19 quarantine and needed to be outdoors for his mental health but couldn’t allow himself to just sit still.

Maybe he was an environmental scientist studying wind shears, but on, like, a really small scale.

Maybe he was a gardener desperate for some kind of gardening activity but couldn’t find his shovel.

Did he think he was helping something, serving some purpose? Was he having fun? Was that even his house, his leaf blower, his heavy coat? Maybe he was a shape shifter or an alien invader occupying Choctaw, Oklahoma, mimicking human behavior without really understanding the hilarity of the situation. (Forgive me, we have been watching lots of vintage X-Files.)

We drove past this man in the briefest moment, but he made such in impression on me. After we purchased the horse medicine at TSC and drove back south toward the farm, I looked for him. He was gone by then, but the leaves on his property (or on the property where the aliens had recently landed or where he is being held captive by a weird, mind-games playing taskmaster) were still swirling and thrusting against nothing with wild energy.

Maybe I had imagined him, except that I think my husband had seen him, too.

May be an image of 1 person, horse, nature and grass
We are so very thankful this boy is healthy and happy again!

Dusty continued to make progress all day, eventually acting exactly like his normal sweet, spicy self, eager to rejoin the bachelor herd and eat a late breakfast. I gave thanks constantly (gosh I love this horse) and thought too much about the things we do for animals, the care we try to provide, the good habits we try to maintain, the love we try to show. I thought about the prayers we whisper urgently when none of that seems to add up to enough.

I marveled at how little control we have over some things.

About as much control as the leaf blower guy.

XOXOXOXO

“I knew it would happen today!”

Three seperate times this week, a question has found its way into my view, and I cannot resist exploring it with you:

What if you woke up to discover
that all of your prayers had been answered?

One version of this idea was related to health and fitness. I woke up feeling great, which led to being curious about how different my routine would look if every bodily niggle was healed, every aesthetic hope fulfilled, and all my energy topped off. Would I run more miles, or less, and how would other activities like pilates and yoga fit in, if I am moving to feel my best instead of solving problems? Would I go on more adventures instead of exercising, or would I still need that time alone?

Then I was indulging in how different our family will feel when Jocelyn rejoins us (again). How complete and alive we will be with her among us again. What a blinding joy that will be!

I hang onto the vision I had in December 2019, of her and Bridget walking up to the kitchen door on a sunny day. She is all smiles, her enormous brown eyes wet and bright, her sweet olive skin, equal parts woman and little girl. She opens the door tentatively, and we hug fiercely without missing a beat. Everything good floods in. All the love. All the colors. We are crying from laughing and laughing from hugging. Without reservation, she tells me everything she has been through these past few years, and I listen without giving advice. She sinks in. We missed each other so much. Bridget remembers us and brings BW rocks to fetch, and everything else falls away.

Jocelyn tells me that she can fix Dusty’s hoof if I want her to, and she gently chastises me for not riding Chanta like she knows I want to. We share new music and movies and cook dinner together. She likes that I still listen to the songs she gave me in Colorado, and she tells me all about her new romance. I do my best to relay my sorrow about her Dad. She is home forever this time.

Then.

I think about how much happier my husband is when his work is rewarding, how it’s not the exertion or the hours at the office or the extreme multitasking (he can handle anything) so much as it is the deep satisfaction of making a difference in the world and with his people. This is an ongoing miracle unfolding in our life, and I wonder how much better it still can be.

I am excited for post-pandemic family time, free socializing, hostessing, volunteering, travel, all of it. What will it feel like to throw a party again, to drive to New Orleans and the beach and to eat in restaurants? To annoy my friends again with attack hugs? So good.

We are just weeks away from true springtime, and that familiar knowledge, despite the arctic air headed for us this week, helps me feel some of this more concretely. The relief!

I can think of dozens more big miracles my heart craves and how it might feel to realize they have happened. That they are unfolding. Often when I am running at the lake or on trails, my mind is just playing movies, visualizing the fruition of our deepest hopes. It’s the fabric of prayer for me, the beautiful unfolding of all those petitions.

In fact, they are unfolding already. That is the root and truth of my faith. That everything is just a matter of time and trust. Everything expands and grows. Everything is subject to the power of Love, and on some level it already accomplished. Every good thing is very much worth the wait. Hang in there, friends.

“I knew it would happen today!”
~Shrek musical
XOXOXOXO