The Sound of Travel

Through an open window pane, I traveled the world over again. Mountains and deserts, hills and valleys, I saw it all. The confused chaos of New York and the dusty quiet of Birmingham, I saw with clarity. Every silent teardrop, every thundering heartbeat.
Through it all, I see a story that needs to be told. In seeing, I heard. Nothing in this world is mundane. In a shard of green broken glass I hear the stumbling cry of the child whose only crime was to drop his father’s Heineken. The train’s lonely whistle tells of an insecure teenager escaping the confines of an oppressive home. A hundred voices call to me, ringing with the cries of their hearts. Desperation, joy, sorrow, rage, anticipation… they all have a voice.
I traveled the world, never leaving my room. I traveled, and I saw much. Then I returned, and began to piece together the bits of story that I’d heard.
Sound is only one angle of expression, singled out of the five senses. Yet, they all correspond with the heart, telling the story that we all share. We live, we breathe it, and we see it every day- but do we hear it?
And so I paint. Every story, every word that is said, finds itself into a fragmentation of colors that bleed onto my pure canvas. The brush speaks the cry of a thousand hearts, repeats their story in a flood of pigment that stains the page.

Incomplete Beauty

I’m me. Not her. Not the girl with the blog next door. Not the mom with the always-clean house and the well-dressed kids.

Not you.

I am myself. With all my quirks, all my faults, and all my [too few?] successes. I wasn’t made to fit the mold of someone else. Even those that I admire, those that have reached a plane that I can only aspire to- I can’t be that person. I can only be me.

And yet…

And yet, that person, that me, is special. It’s who God made me. He made me with faults so my husband could complete me with his perfection. He made me with good qualities so I could compliment my husband’s faults. Best of all… he made me with failings and holes, just so He could bring in His own completeness.
And… He made you, too. He made you incomplete so you could be completed. Yo are not a failure… merely unfinished. You lack that finer polishing that comes through life. Just that final touch of the sandpaper to smooth you out.

And in that incompleteness, you are beautiful.


Some days, I just don’t feel like doing anything. There are mornings when the bed covers reach up, cocooning me in sleepy layers of cotton and polyester. The coffee fails at its appointed task of giving my slogging mind a jump-start. I go about the house in a daze of motion, heavy eyes refuse to comprehend the slurred words smeared across the computer screen.

But then I remember: This isn’t a competition. It’s not a race. It isn’t to see which mom can have the cleanest house, or whose kids have the cute little braids and matching outfits. It’s not to see which writer can write the most stellar articles or turn out the most pieces in a single hour.

It’s not about them. It’s about me… and my own family. It’s about my own little circle of hearts knitted together, bound by blood and love. It’s about doing what works for my family. If I take a little longer writing an article, it’s because I was distracted by a three-month-old who just wanted to be held, and so we went outside and sat on the porch for a while. If there are still dirty dishes piled in the sink, it’s because I rocked my baby to sleep for an extra hour.

It’s these things that make the difference. The little things. Not the house or the work. It’s the smile in my daughter’s eyes, that adorable accidental laugh that’s only just beginning to slip out. This is what keeps me going. This is my wake-up call.

It Matters

I told myself a lot in starting this blog. I told myself no one would read it. I told myself no one would be interested. It wouldn’t make a difference one way or the other.

But sometimes, you just have to throw away those words and just do it.

There’s always going to be obstacles. Something will always get in the way. But when you have something to say, don’t whisper it in the dark where no one can hear you, where no one can reject you.

Shout it to the world! Let the world hear your voice! Because after I told myself all those things… I told myself something else. I said that what I had to say- it mattered. It mattered to me.