Sometimes life throws them at you. Or God throws them at you. Or life throws them at you and God helps you through them. It's that whole perfect will / permissive will thing, and personally, it's not something I have the energy to think about right now. One way or another, life takes some unexpected turns and it seems to happen at somewhat inconvenient times. Just recently I was contacted via facebook by my real dad's fiance. For those of you who don't know, it's been about 20 years since I've had ANY contact with my real father. Bruce has always been my dad, will always be my dad, and has been the only one who has shown much interest in me. Well, this contact obviously came as a great surprise. She had contacted me for him (he doesn't have facebook, though is considering it now, beautiful), to tell me my grandmother (who I greatly enjoyed and was the ONLY one I have any memory of from that side of my family) had passed away. They informed me of the times of the visitation and funeral and put the ball in my court as to whether I wanted to come or not. For those of you who don't know my dilema, imagine for yourself for a moment that an individual denied you time and time again and then finally said, "hey, gonna be in town friday if you want to meet up... with all of my family, with brothers and sisters you didn't know you had and a whole lot of ppl who remember you but you don't remember, yeah, the day after tomorrow... Friday." Ummm, difficult. Not to mention on top of the whole scenario I worry completely about my dad... Bruce's... reaction to my decision. If I did choose to go what kind of hurt would that bring him. A great deal as I'm told. And of course, here comes my Biblical perspective. It's the biological dad and the adoptive dad, in every sense of the word for me. The adopted dad raised me... brought me, went to dance recitals and ball games, congratulated on straight A's and on celebrated on birth days, took me to the zoo, to tropical sno, sat with me when I was sick. The biological one, well, he did nothing of value except assist in bringing me to be. And the thought, from the adopted dad, if I then wanted to find out what this biological dad was all about, can't be good. It's like us, as Christians... we are adopted into God's family. We relish in all of the rewards of the family, all of the joys of being a part, made His own, loved as if I'd been born in myself... and then temptation rears its ugly head and I become curious to what this other side of me is. It was the sin I was born into... isn't that who I really am? You see the correlation here? Anyway, I decided not to go to the funeral. Not because I think my real dad is sin or anything... I just didn't feel like the appropriate time to meet and greet with family I've not seen in 20 years was at my grandma's funeral. I want it to be a time to celebrate her life... not our reuniting. So anyway, there's my two cents. -a
There’s something you all don’t know about me, something I barely know about myself as I’ve only experienced this “other” side of me temporarily, at different times on the road. I don’t know what exactly I would call myself, but I’m a sucker for the city (though I don’t know that I would want to live their permanently), but I’m also a sucker for coffeehouses. Yep, coffeehouses. The amazing thing, I really don’t like coffee. When we visit Starbucks I consistently order the Strawberries and Crème Frappacino. I’ve wavered from this only once in my life, during the Christmas season, and ordered basically some steamed apple juice with cinnamon flavoring and whipped cream. I retreated quickly and went back to my Frap. Nonetheless, there’s something wonderful about coffeehouses. I don’t know what it is, but the environment enthralls me. To be able to go in, hang out in your own secluded little corner, comfy corner I may add, hang out on your Macbook and carry on small talk (if accompanied), or just be (if you’re alone) is beautiful. I love the freedom of it. In fact, I can assure you if there was a coffeehouse near my home, I’d pack B up in his stroller in the morning, throw my hair up in a bun, grab my Macbook and off we’d stroll to hang out for an hour or so. It’s beautiful, isn’t it? In fact, I think if I could pursue my dream career, like, really dreaming here, ok, I would write, write, write my little heart out for publications and periodicals, newspapers and newsletters, by myself every morning in the comfort of a coffeehouse. I like to get out too much to stay at home, and the nostalgia of the coffeehouse would be the perfect environment for an aspiring writer, don’t you think? In a perfect world I’d make enough with my writing to afford to take Bryton to a sitter for a few hours, and to enjoy my morning cup of... well, whatever I could find that’s not caffeinated, and write. I’d be a part time writer, full time mom, and full time helper of my husband in the youth. The glory shines around the idea. What a thought. Maybe I’m a nerd, but the idea really intrigues me. Even when I think about “fun” nights out I even consider poetry bars or jazz clubs, just to hang out, mellow out (without alcohol of course), and enjoy my kind of good “art”. Maybe I’m eclectic, or maybe I enjoy too much a slower more easy going lifestyle. Either way, I would love to pursue the thought of it all. Now someone just needs to open up a coffeehouse a few blocks down, and I need to land some writing gigs that pay well enough for me to frequent them and give me something to ponder over while I’m there. Until next time – A
They can be to swaddlers too. Hi, my name is Alicia and my son and I are addicted to swaddling. They tell you a lot of things as new parents, when it comes to sleep, a lot of times you hear, whatever works (except putting them in bed with you). Well, I can honestly say that Bryton has not once slept the night with us in our bed... not even a nap. However, what worked for his sleeping, was swaddling. It has worked since 3 months. He hated it when he was smaller. But at three months it did the trick. And at four. And at five. And at six, and well, now at seven. When he turned four months we got him an actual swaddler instead of using a blanket. We got it big so he could have it forever, and he has. Now I have nightmares of my 18 year old waiting patiently for me to swaddle him before he can take a nap on Sunday afternoon after church and every night before bed. AGHHHHH! What have we done!? Apparently too much of a good thing is still too much. So, we are currently, and when I say currently I mean right this very second, trying the transition to the sleep sack. He is still "in" something, but his arms are free and free to flail him awake. So far we've made it an hour into what is usually a two hour nap. We're going to fight this addiction if it's the last thing I do. After all, he's become quite the Huidini at getting out of the stupid thing... I'm literally winded after I've wrapped him to the point of his not being able to breathe so that his arms stay in at least until I leave the room. It's time to cross the threshold here. So anyway, that's the newest adventures in the addictions of the seven month old. Until next time ...
Writing is the window to who I am and who I aspire to be. In short, I'm Alicia, I'm a christian, a wife, and a mother. I believe in relational ministry, have often been afraid of failure, and am making it my prerogative to become more ambitious and to risk failing to achieve goals. I love hockey, baseball, good music, cooking occasionally, talking about Jesus and ministry, laughing, and current issues. Come visit to talk about them all!