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I loved this, although I’ll have to admit, I don’t think you have to write everyday to be a writer. … –


Waiting to be Noticed


Who is this young girl, with her haughty attitude and unwillingness to listen? Where does this anger and offensiveness come from? Have I done something to push her to her limits, in my awkwardness of mothering and expression of my love?

I have lost the road map to her heart and oh how I have searched high and low, but cannot seem to find it. A once well trotted path has become a vast new world all between me and her.


How can someone close become a stranger? Strangers are warned against, they are not supposed to be daughters. What are her likes? What is she thinking? Did she have a good day? Did she laugh or did she cry? And those allowed to share in her day, were they aware of how blessed they were?

As invisible as the wind blowing through my hair, as invisible as the oxygen that fills my lungs, as invisible as the God who created me, is as invisible as I have become to her. As I kiss her, as I smile, as I speak to her, my efforts hit her wall of frustration and go no further. She doesn’t seem to notice my existence past the resemblance of a pesky fly. If she did I am sure she would feel my overwhelming need to be welcomed into her world. And she would…welcome me.

Today, I may not know her and she may not see me, but I rest in the fact that, once, she lived within me, just below my heart, a being within my being, feeding from me. She is of me and I will find her again.

Forever Transplant


Will I ever know, without a shadow of a doubt, that he loves me completely and with no reserve? Will fear of him no longer loving me cease to exist?

It’s been eight and a half years since he ripped out the part of him that had grown within me. And although he did give it back, mustering up all the courage he had, he cut me open with his spoken truth and acknowledgment of his wrongs. Lovingly placed it there, his forever, back inside of me, where the gaping hole had been, just above my lungs, within my ribs, in my heart.

It’s there, I can feel it, but the glue of promises, the stitches of his daily actions of conformation to remain as one, is just that, glue and stitches. They are not roots, they only go so deep and I am left with episodes.

Without warning, an episode,
I search within my heart for him, his forever. I am not open, gentle, loving.
I am closed tight, dead bolted in, fearful of what he will try to take this time.

Not one episode goes unnoticed. He reaches for me, his eyes tell me what I need to hear, “You have it, my forever, I love you, I need you”. His reminders hold me, protecting me from myself.

When will this no longer be a part of me? When will I accept the fact that I am not working off of half a heart? I am safe, I can live, and laugh, and be free, without fear of being ripped open again.

He proves that to me every day with his overflow of I love yous, his protection of my vulnerabilities, his willingness to see my need to be reassured, over and over again, never tiring. I look into his eyes and I tell him, “I’m sorry” with my mouth, but with my eyes, I tell him, “You broke me and I am still broken, and I don’t know how to be anything more than half a woman, with my second guessing and awkward sexuality”.

And just like that, a knife goes into his heart, just like that I cut him, wounding him, like he did me. He can’t handle being reminded that the love of his life was broken by the same hands that are used to make her better.

Dear God without you we know not what love is. Help us to become like you, more and more each day.
Ephesians 4:2 NIV
“Be completely humble and gentle; be patient, bearing with one another in love.”