Ale La (Go There)

I’m not the kind of mom that I thought I would be. Truth be told, I didn’t have very many conscious expectations about what kind of mom I would be. It was shockingly easy for us to have a baby. We didn’t have a long wait or struggle before we were pregnant, we just were. Four months after we were married I held a positive pregnancy test in my shaking hands. Theoretically and practically, we were prepared to be parents. I had worked with children since I was 14. Both my husband and I had friends who with babies and toddlers, both of us wanted a family, and we both had jobs in our fields of study that allowed us the flexibility to change our “five year” plan. We quickly became excited that we were starting our family. But, somewhere in the flurry of planning, my subterranean mind was working and carving out caves full of ideas. Different visions of myself as a mother had been formed without me thinking through my self-expectations. They came into my mind slowly, in the mon...

Grandma Penny is not my Grandma. But she is grandmother to several of my dear friends and great-grandmother to baby Lester, who calls me Tia, so that makes me feel as though we are related. On a deeper level, Grandma Penny is also a kind of spiritual grandmother. She and her husband led a Bible study that my parents went to when they were young, and so many of my memories of going to church growing up have her in the background with her hands raised and head bowed. We love so many of the same people, and, for so long, I have watched her love the same God. Last November we were at baby Lester’s first birthday party, and there were many conversations swirling through the air. I had just come from the kitchen with my plate of food and sat down in a likely, out-of-the-way corner of the room. I was ready to eat quietly and watch all the people for a little bit when Grandma Penny suddenly reached across the inches of blue carpet that separated us and put her hand on my knee. “How ...

A thought hit me right before I started my evening “wind down” ritual of reading words and warm water. I sat in my room thinking of the way that we carry people, the weight that we commit to, and long term love and friendship. The thought was an image, a story and a realization all in one. It is an image of friends lowering a man on a stretcher through the ceiling down to the sandaled and dusty feet of a teacher, the room tense and quiet as all held their breath at the audacity, and then the murmuring quickly rippling out into the crowd outside- This. It is a story of a man paralyzed and unable to carry himself, carried by his friends only to find that there were too many people gathered around for him to be seen.   It is a story of the friends who said, “but wait,” and then brought him to the roof, and then dug through the ceiling, and then lowered him down expectant. And it is the story of Jesus- who saw “their faith” and lifted the weight of darkness and inner turmoil...

This post is dedicated to my friend Gemma, who- unknowingly, I’m sure- made me ask myself honest questions. Thanks for keeping it real Pops. Right before I went on vacation I was texting back and forth with one of my favorite friends and she mentioned that she was excited for me to have some time on my vacation to regain my “thoughts and faith.” Hmmmm, I thought. Faith. What would I say about my faith right now? A part of me really resented that question because I had no words, but I didn’t like anything that seemed to indicate that I had lost my faith. So, I decided not to think about it anymore and went on vacation with my brother Daniel. In two weeks we went to three cities. In Washington DC I was tired. Soul deep tired, the kind that knocks you out at night like a tranquilizer dart shot into an elephant. I slept a lot. Then, in the National Air and Space Museum my brother and I watched a planetarium show about dark matter , and my mind and heart couldn’t...