untitled, 16″ x 16″ x 4″, m/m

Truth be told, in the 10 years I have dealt with MS

There are few times I remember catching the proverbial flu or cold snaking their way through the general population.

Because my immune system is in hyper-drive

I seem to have skirted most of the maladies which befall my friends.

Except I have now been pretty much in bed for three days with the flu.

I am pretty good at lying to myself

About stuff which might very well keep others hunkered down

And playing it safe.

Safety has never really been that interesting to me

As I am drawn to the wider view

And, for better or worse,

Am less taken by the

“In-your-face’ realities

Vying for my attention.

I laid down for three days

Because I couldn’t do other than that.

The thing was insistent

And I hadn’t the interest nor the energy to argue.

And so I gave in to the between-the-worlds

Sort of giddy delirium

And slept.

And I tell you..

I am better for it!

I don’t mean the obvious thing of: ‘when not feeling well..lie down…’

I’m talkin’ the gift of shucking the ego.

(All the ‘shoulds and coulds and maybes and ifs and buts’)

And leaving it at the side of the road

Or at least in the laundry room

And naked in your need

Lie down.

And stay there until you are done.

Really done.


detail of painting

Walking the razor’s edge of chronic illness demands foresight

As well as scrutiny of the ‘WHAT IS’ I wake up with each day.

This can get tricky as it is a changeable creature.

Like moment to moment change.

It is crazy-making for me as well as those I love.

My immune system is in hyper-drive

Which often means I don’t come down with the various winter maladies floating around

That everyone else seems to be dealing with.

So, I really don’t recognize it

When my body aches

And my fatigue level shoots up

As a visitation from the flu.

A friend said: “Cathy, you have an ever-ready bunny body.”

I didn’t really know what she meant at first.

But the gist is that I just keep getting up when I fall;

Keep pushing through the swamp

Just KNOWING the dry land

Is a short ways up ahead.

This all serves me well.

But blinds me to the big picture

When it might behoove me to keep both

My distance view AND near-sightedness at hand.

I am going to lie down, today.

Not waste my batteries on a seemingly pressing agenda.

Carve out a soft neutral-zone

And read a book.

Or not.

I think it is a culturally instilled thing; this inherent insistence to keep getting up…



It’s this constant societal ‘reach’ that I have running in my blood.

Today, I will withdraw my taut and exhausted arm

And lay it down softly at my side

And just breathe.

Warrior Girl

untitled, 2007, pit-fired ceramic, lgst.= 24″h

A friend said: “Cathy, I see that your warrior-self is working very, very hard. How is the little girl in there?”

I got really quiet.

I actually had come close to forgetting about her, altogether.

The state of envy doesn’t pop up in my reality very often.

But the truth is that I envy those challenged with any kind of shattering to the self they once knew

Who have a partner at their side for support.

This is a hard row to hoe alone.

It takes an inordinate amount of effort to remain connected

To the reality of ‘what is’,

To the outside world as a vital, contributing member ,

To God

And especially to my precious Self.

The gift of free will and choice

Sounds like a tidy little package when I write it

But when forced into the doctorate level

Of putting the theory into practice from one moment to the next,

A girl can get weary, I tell you…

I really don’t cry enough.

Tears have come easily for me watching a film like OLD YELLER.

But if I experience the leaden weariness preventing me from just rolling over in bed,

The warrior girl immediately steps up

With gumption,

Her jaw set just so.

This never-say-die chick has saved my life

On a regular basis.

So regular, in fact, that her costuming is pretty tattered

And her eyes lined.

I love her.

And she loves me.

And we tire of each other

And long for shiny, new company.

And isn’t it the ‘wanting’ of it all that is the problem?

So we step on……

And choose again..

And then again.


monoprint, 30″ x 22″, 1993

I grew up in Michigan.

Summers were spent in a cottage on a lake up north (bordering the upper peninsula).

This morning, here in Santa Fe it is bitter cold and grey.

“The land of enchantment’ as we are called, is not really that enchanting today.

I love the desert so very much and seldom feel myself hankering after a more humid climate.

It is the space.
And clarity of the air and sky

That continue to soothe my soul.

Except this morning I am hungry for dirt.

The kind of earth I had as my best friend summers in Michigan long ago.

Earth so fragrant one almost didn’t dare to take as big a breath as you were able,

Not to appear greedy.

Imagining tightly green and curled things gestating just below the surface

Tended to by worms aerating the dark soil.

It just floors me..

This thing happens each year:

When my body is seared by the bitter winds,

Exhausted from negotiating ice

And my perpetual cold toes,

A new and impossibly green thing

Makes it’s choice to appear.

Against all odds

We are graced with THE RETURN

Of that trembling, half-blind fern frond.

I feel like that..

On good days.

On good days, I have it in me to begin again as I wake.

Take the time I need to wriggle around and challenge my blood to move toward the numb limbs it has abandoned during the night.

And I try to stand up,

Adjusting my eyes to the half-light.

Taking as much time as I need to acclimate to the world once again.

I love this life.

And it is hard.

And yet.. I keep doing it.

Keep rising each morning reaching for the light.

Trusting that somehow I will find the fuel I need to wind my way higher

And lift myself from the ground.

And onward I go…

With a prayer of gratitude for what it takes to keep stepping.

The Lure of Liberation: CCSVI

detail of monoprint

My friend Marc, over at his fab blog called WHEELCHAIR KAMIKAZE

Keeps his diligent finger on the pulse of the medical community and all it’s machinations regarding the MS world.

He is my go-to guy when it comes to filtering through the whole medical system.

Today, I am essentially piggybacking on his post

Which includes two short videos in lay person’s terms that I think are worth watching about CCSVI – The Liberation Procedure.

I am so grateful to Marc for culling through the morass of information out there and helping to make it palatable for me/us.

Here’s a synopsis of the filmed CCSVI event:
click below to watch the videos…

On January 10, 2011 the CCSVI Alliance sponsored a presentation by Dr. Michael Dake of Stanford University entitled “CCSVI and the MS connection”. The event was held at Brandeis University, in Waltham, Massachusetts.

Dr. Dake was the first Interventional Radiologist in the United States to treat MS patients for CCSVI. On January 10, he presented a broad overview of the evidence supporting a connection between the vascular abnormalities collectively known as CCSVI and Multiple Sclerosis. His presentation was followed by an informative question-and-answer session with the audience.

Video of Dr. Michael Dake’s CCSVI Presentation at Brandeis University

My Sister (and her rockin’ husband)

detail of ceramic sculpture

In my lifetime there have been a few precious marks in time

During which I was fully aware things would never go back to ‘normal.’

I’m talking pivotal shifts in the architecture of life.

The one I’ll share here today ranks right up there with the very best of them.


A GOOD STORY – by Cathy

Once upon a time there was a girl with a tattered grey Subaru.

The seat covers were worn and the paint was peeling.

It was a well-loved car but tired and quite small.

You see, this girl sometimes used a wheelchair; powerful and black and very, very heavy.

The girl liked this chair as it gave her freedom

But her little car would not hold it

And so…

She left it at home and didn’t get to go to the Farmer’s market or Target

Because there was too much walking involved in those excursions.

And so,

She swallowed and moved on to other things.

One day not so long ago,

The girl’s sister called to say

She and her husband had shipped the kids off to college

And had a shiny, black Honda MINIVAN THEY WANTED TO GIFT THE GIRL!

They lived in New Jersey and sent the beautiful van on a truck to a place in Albuquerque

And some guys there installed a very cool lift that automatically grabs her wheelchair and smoothly eases it into the van.

The girl couldn’t use her right leg very well anymore

And the guys put in a foot pedal powering both the gas and brake from the left

So she could be safe and strong and feel sexy driving in her new shiny black van.

This gift means freedom to the girl.

There is nowhere she can not go.

She feels proud and very, very loved driving this shining and elegant automobile

Sent to her from her sister (and her rockin’ husband).

It was a GIANT love present!

When one does not have freedom

And in the next moment it is there,

“THAT! ” said the girl,

“Is mighty good medicine…”

And with that, the girl who had tastefully rouged her face,

And painted her lips red,

Sat in that minivan

And smelled the leather seats,

And wriggled in pleasure as those seats heated up

Warming her in the bitter winter chill.

She popped that van into DRIVE

While she cautiously pressed down on the new left-side gas pedal

And thought about the wide aisles at Target

Where she was headed that day

Just because

She could.

Mercy Me

40″ x 40″, m/m

“Tension is who you think you should be. Relaxation is who you are.” – Chinese proverb
That really says all I want to say and so I think I’ll leave it there..



detail of installation, ceramic, sand
GOING – a poem
Two friends are going
To a southern beach with shells.
I try not to want.

Three Miracle Day

untitled, 1993, 10″ x 10″, m/m

My body is stiff and scarily weak of late.

This awareness is the threshold into a downward spiral

I know too well.

But it bores me…

The downward motion.

So… yesterday I practiced RADICAL SURGERY

On my weary mind.

I am retraining myself toward pleasure.

Living with the weight of chronic illness is not for the faint of heart, surely.

But my poor heart needs some smelling salts.


I began the day by watching for three miracles to happen.

This can’t be a WISH.

It has to be a KNOWN in order for the thing to work.

Carrying this awareness through the day was just the fuel I needed to realign with what I call GOD.

1. My first miracle was 1/2 hour in the very wee hours of the morning being with my dog, Olivia.

She knows when I give her only a portion of my attention.

Or I am stroking her just for my own pleasure and solace and not hers.

The level of love was pure between us and exceedingly mutually beneficial.

It was big love.

And it was there because I took away MY NEEDS from the equation

And approached our time together from the awareness of the pure gift of the thing.

That piece of time turned timeless.

And qualified as a miracle, to me.

2. I received my first check in the mail for a public speaking engagement.

3. I lost the key to my storage unit and called the place to find that I had ‘miraculously’ left a spare key with them and thus avoided the expense of a locksmith.
You may be thinking these are very small things to have register as miracles..

They fit my criteria

And that’s all that matters here, really.

The fourth miracle was that I set my intention to have three..

And because I expected their presence

There they were.

It sounds painfully ‘airy fairy.’

Except there was absolutely no pain what-so-ever.

And that right there was the fifth miracle.


textile designs, 1988, silk menswear

Many years ago, a friend told me: “Cathy, you want to have this friendship on YOUR terms.”

It was not a compliment.

I’ve always wondered about that statement.

Was I doing something that evoked this ‘either/or’ kind of comment?

Sometimes, I think I am a high-maintenance friend.

I am a very connective person by nature.

But in order for me to do that well, I spend an inordinate amount of time alone.

People who know and love me are cued into the fact that stopping by my house unannounced is not a good plan.

I find it too startling to shift my consciousness from the unguarded state I am in within my home

To welcoming an unexpected friend with a civility I can’t and often don’t want to conjure up.

It has nothing to do with them.

It IS about the preciousness of cultivating my Self as the authentic woman I am becoming.

I am phone-phobic and prefer email in communication.

Does that mean I am hiding out?

Is that bad?

Honestly, I really haven’t the stamina to be that concerned about what people think of me.

On a very basic level I am trying to stay alive and functional.

My life IS on my terms.

I claim it as the ultimate gift I have been given.

I take great pleasure in spreading around any gold I might come across

As I try to do in this blog.

In fact, the sharing of my achievements and failures has proved very good medicine for me.

As I negotiate the hall-of-mirrors this lifetime has laid down as a challenge for me,

It seems to take a good deal of effort on all fronts as I shatter one mirror after the next to reveal the unadulterated ‘Cathy.’

Likely, there are prickly shards of glass stuck to my sweater as I exit the funhouse and head for bed.

My friends and family get nicked along the way.

I’m fairly certain, though,

That I’ll show up for the next round with my lips stained a berry red

And a lean silhouette dressed in well crafted clothes.

“Tell me all your stories,” I say…

And we sit down together for a cup of tea,

Enjoying each other’s company a an elixir

To the re-calibrating

We’re ALL having to do these days…

Life Beyond Disability

monoprint, 1990, 30″ x 22″

Sometimes, like today, I get so sick of myself wrangling the wily animal of disability.

So I take a break.

And search out beautiful or inspiring or just plain interesting stuff

That takes me outside myself

In a good way.

Here’s what I found this morning!


xxxxxxx Cath

all RIGHT!

“GRID”, 4′ x 4′, 2000, m/m

Well.. I was approved for disability at last.

I’m shocked I received notice this quickly.

I’m pretty sure it is because I told the truth.

Yes, I did push it toward the hellish end.

But still..

The intake person did not have to go through her usual deep scrutiny of applicants to decipher where and when I was trying to pull the wool over her eyes.

I saw that she SAW me.

My very personal ‘A DAY IN THE LIFE OF CATHY’ pages were probably part of the equation in the quick return department.

These are all surmises, of course.

But if you really think about all the people this lady has pass through her office looking for a financial lifeline in these days of fear and trembling on the economic fronts,

And the stories concocted

And honed to an impossibly precise edge,

I can imagine the relief one might feel having someone arrive with all her paperwork ducks in a row.

She certainly used her tried and true methods for trying to catch me in a falsehood; having all my tax, bank statement etc. information on her desk and asking me to remember specifics in a rapid-fire barrage of questions so I had no time to concoct a lie.

She could see, I’m sure, that I was too weary to be anyone other than who I am.

And I am so grateful she deemed me worthy of the support I shunned for too long

Because I couldn’t wrap my arms around the fact

I am disabled.

I could actually write a book about what the journey has been like for me to get my psychic self and physical one to jive enough

To allow the girl to approach the door of the Social Security Department.

Well… I did it.

And glad of it.

Another hurdle crossed on the playing field of disability.

Makes me want to take a nap.


textile design on silk, 1988

We are a vulnerable creature, us humans.

Put us naked out in a forest and leave us there even in the heat of summer and our survival skills would likely be sorely lacking.

And we all know this on some level;

That we are inherently weak

When push comes to shove.

And because we know this

It seems we have become inordinately good at making each other wrong;

Stuff like: ‘I don’ like your religious bent or your politics or your drinking or the color yellow you wear or your intelligence or your ease in social situations or your wealth or you have too many friends or you talk too much or I deserve that job you just got…’

I remember my ex-husband telling me one time that he felt superior to me when we first got together because he drove a 4-Runner and I, a lowly Dodge Raider.


We, as a culture in America, have pushed this ‘I don’t need or even want you’ thing to it’s limit.

Only because we know how frail we really are.

And I am a walking (rolling, limping) physical reminder of that backstory.

Some embrace me.

Others recoil.

I understand.

I really do.

I am no different.

Yeah, on a scale of vulnerability, I’m right up there..

But when I am suddenly confronted with a street person clearly on the edge of sanity

I turn away too.

I don’t really think we will have the luxury of turning away too much longer.

We’ve all used up the pioneering spirit of ‘I’M AN ISLAND’

And somehow we need bridges now.

Does that make us weak?

That we ‘need?’

Believe me.. moving from independence over to INTERdependence

Ain’t a picnic in the park

After so long believing we are the lords of our manor.

But my new digs have MUCH more interesting architecture!

All She Wants To Do Is Dance

detail of textile, pigment on wool flannel

I am making this year about pleasure.

That is my New Year’s resolution.

Yes, it is all about ME!

(Not really, but I just had to say that..)

God knows how much time any of us have left to smell the roses..

So I am directing the vibe of this whole year toward pleasure… all kinds of it.

Olfactory, tactile, auditory, visual, gastronomical, psychic and spiritual.

Don Henley wrote my favorite dance song: “ALL SHE WANTS TO DO IS DANCE.” (don’t mind the visuals..just close your eyes and move)

Today, I am going to find some great dance mix cd online and order it.

In the privacy of my own home, I will rock on…

No one will see or care about the awkward moves

Or the weird looking gyrations.

It will be me n’ God there in my half-sleep.

An early morning communion of sorts.

Starting now……….

Bridging Disability

untitled, 1999, 24″ x 4″ varies, ceramic, steel

Yesterday, I gave a talk at Southwestern College’s Grief and Loss program.

We were a circle of about 15 people.

I woke up in the morning feeling REALLY happy, healthy and eager.

I had been up most of the previous night fretting about my outline and making sure what I wanted to say was cogent and well organized.

I laughed into the mirror as I thought: “These are people who are interested in what gifts and surprises can come from being intimate with the shadow. They likely will not be harsh judges of me. I AM THE AUTHORITY on my own life anyway, so why not toss the notes and just speak from my heart?”

And so I did.

And the words just ran like an impossibly alive river.

They were just there for the saying.

And I took pleasure in the real interest of the group

And my friend sitting next to me as support and timekeeper

And the kind of awe in my own comfort level

As I revealed the frustrations, tools for living and razor’s edge inherent in managing the shattering and reclamation of a life in partnership with disability.

It was an honor to have the opportunity to be witnessed in this way by very conscious students of life.

People willing to sit themselves down and be still for a few hours without the buffer of texting or phoning anyone.

I left their circle feeling gifted with the luxury of unadulterated attention.

They witnessed me with intelligence, compassion and open hearts.

And because I received that gift

My own heart had a far larger capacity

As I hobbled out into the big world once again.

More ready than before

Because I knew those folks had my back in a way.

And I could feel it.

Beyond the Ordinary

“SEED”, 2001, 30″ x 30″, canvas, horsehair, oil, texture

I was doing some blog research recently and came across the huge success of one called 1000 Awesome Things.

“WOW! He’s getting millions of hits on his site and already has a bestselling book,” I’m thinking.

The magnanimous part of me is very glad for his deciphering the need we all have to be reminded of just how rich our lives are when we actually pay attention.

The OTHER part of me is going: “Cathy, you write about stuff that people can get squirmy reading.”

Truth-telling does that sometimes.

The littlest part of me is whispering: “Sure, I want a wider audience and I want a published book and I want to be more out in the world with my writing.”

I want…I want.. I want……………..

Thing is- wanting too hard pulls me off the razor’s edge I have become pretty accustomed to.

The one where equilibrium DEMANDS being acutely aware of when to put the boxing gloves on to fight stuff like symptoms, mood, self-criticism, fatigue and fear,

And when to surrender and just rest in the reality of the moment.

Those two energies rest on my shoulders all the time.

And I continue to give thanks for the gift of free will and choice.

It is not simple.

It isn’t fun.

It is not pretty.


The beautiful part comes when I prove to myself that I have the capacity for it all

And make a choice that softens me in some way.

It is hard to explain but choosing correctly which side of the razor’s edge to lean into provides me with a kind of foundational support no pill could EVER approach.

That, right there, is an awesome thing in my book.

Politics of the Eyes

My politics begin with the eyes.

If I can’t find the essence of the person when I search in that doorway,

Trust is out of the question.

I use politics as a kind of study ground

Because it’s so bloody easy.

Look at the guy/girl..

Can I find them there?

Is a veil or a wall or a fortress or a glitterdome in the way of me finding them?

This morning, in my foray into the news of the world

There I saw President Obama in the midst of other ‘top-o-the-pyramid’ decision makers.

His eyes were curious and alpha in ways distinctly different than the other men.

Yes, there was power and it was the warrior stance of the samurai;

Space, patience, wisdom, fierceness were all there.

What was missing was the “I KNOW” that repels me when I catch it’s scent anywhere.

It is so very seductive to KNOW…

KNOW the right remedy, the right timing, the right color, the right word, the right person.

But what I continue to see in our president’s eyes is the ACCESSIBILITY that helps me trust.

In his eyes is an OPENING

Along with all the other stuff that goes along with being presidential in a territory peppered with quicksand.

I never want to lose that sense of an opening in my own eyes.

The ‘lock down’ into a dis-ease is not where I go.

The truth is that I DON’T KNOW much about the complications working themselves out in my body.

And most doctors don’t either.

MS feels like the garbage can diagnosis, sometimes, when all the symptomology refuses to fit into a tidy box.

And so, I try to remain smart AND open

WITHOUT the sureness of “I KNOW.”

So I hold the space open for good and trustable information directed toward my healing when I come across it.

And leave the leaden walls of certainty to others.

Vulnerability and Beauty

untitled, 2002, 5″ x 1″, ceramic

I talk a good deal about vulnerability here..

It really is more than a “take lemons and make…” kind of thing.

I am an artist by trade.

The territory I swim in must provide me with three things:

1. Beauty

2. Curiosity

3. Connection

Now.. the beauty-thing. MS and beauty. How does that work?

Each time I find myself leaving one of my masks at the doorway, I look in the mirror and see a more translucent ‘me.’

I speak literally, here.

As I tell the truth, I gain in beauty.

Or at least something that I find beautiful.

Then there’s the curiosity part..

In any kind of shattering which might befall us there is always the option of crawling under the covers and never coming out.

It is certainly a choice and a valid one at that.

I just find it uninteresting.

So, I chose differently.

The connection part really still surprises me.

I really thought all my years as a fine artist making things and taking them to the gallery where someone would buy them and I’d get a check was connective.

Perhaps for some.

Not for me.

I am oddly less alone now than I was all those years doing art.

I find connecting with people,etc.. MUCH easier from this fluid state of authenticity which includes LOTS OF VULNERABILITY.

It is what it is..

And I try to be contained about my life and not ‘slime’ others with my woes.

But I try to tell the truth about what’s there only if it feels safe to do so.

Otherwise we have a ‘chat’ which is also good.

I recently listened to this talk by Brene’ Brown in which she laughs and cries and takes us through some funny and fascinating territory she’s discovered as a researcher/storyteller about the subject of vulnerability.

It is really enlightening and modern in it’s delivery on the subject, I think.

We hear the word; ‘vulnerability’ and immediately start backing up to get away from it.

Amazing the things we can learn by turning down a path we’ve never taken.

I got shoved onto this chronically ill road against my will

But the territory is interesting

Because I make it so.

Getting Dressed

painted terry cloth robe, 1987

Yesterday I stopped to get a cappuccino with almond milk.

By the time I made it back to the car negotiating the ice and gravel from the past snow

The small and precious cup of warmth had spilled into my walker pouch and pooled in my handbag.

My cell phone was in there as well.

Someone told me that if your phone gets wet you should immediately stick it in some rice and it will be good again..

No rice in sight, alas..

I have had the same Coach handbag for over 6 years, I believe… probably a whole lot longer but it just felt too ‘non-hip’ to say that..

Since it was soaking wet with foam and coffee, I went online to see if I might replace it.

Thing is: I have needs..

Handbag needs.

It needs to be of a certain size to fit in the pouch.


Not too heavy.

No buckles or zippers.

Short shoulder strap.

Good quality.

Classic but young.

Functional but versatile.

Black (Did I say that already?)


Goes with everything.


Every cell in my body is weary of cyberspace after looking for an affordable replacement.

This is how it goes in the land of high-maintenance body-land..

What should be simple is not.

I can’t just go: “I LOVE THIS!” and say ‘Wrap it up.’

No.. I must check if my fingers can grab the zipper.

Or pull on the glove.

Adjust the collar

Or hook the bra.

It is just so ridiculous at times that I push through the tears all the way to cracking up at the absurdity.

This is my life.

And today, since I can’t locate the right handbag online

I might just call my sister

As she has great taste and more computer tolerance than I.

Or I may just dunk my favorite bag in a sink full of water and try washing the thing.

I really have nothing to lose, do I?

Pride? Oh, that’s pretty long gone on many fronts.

And really? Good riddance, I say…

The Shining Place

ceramic objects, detail of installation 1995

A friend of mine I hold in very high regard sent me a cd recently of a talk he gave at a yoga center in California.

This man is one of the people in my life I consider having a very direct thread to God.

We never see one another but seem to be in each other’s inner circle just the same.

He wanted me to hear this particular talk he gave because it had to do, in part, with illness.

What I got from hearing him speak is his interest in exactly how to cue into the wholeness of God and how to make our way back to that shining place.

Teetering on the razor’s edge as we do as chronically ill people (without taking on that definitive moniker)

We go back and forth between suiting up in our best boxing gloves

And having a good ‘lie down’ when the partner in the ring throws us against the ropes.

I am at the point in my own life where the distinction between what is beautiful and ugly blurrs.

There is:

“A perfectly functioning human body is the epitome’ of God’s grace.”

“A sunset is a ‘take-your-breath-away’ perspective shifter.”

“The softness and vulnerability of a newborn child’s skin is a direct hook-up to the the address where God lives.”

And then:

“Wow.. I actually made the call to my friend and asked her to get some groceries for me and she said yes and seems even eager to help and my heart softened at my good fortune to have such a friend.”

“My sister and brother-in-law gifted me with their Honda minivan so I could have the freedom of taking my wheelchair with me and not miss out on life.”

“I cried from heart-bending tenderness at the privilege of sharing my life with a creature such as my dog who continues to trust me even though I yell or confuse her with my own displays of fear or hopelessness.”

Are these examples not just as close to God as the previous ones?

I’m just asking, here.

Because my sense is that there is a part of each of us, even the most enlightened, which experiences ‘less than perfect’ as flawed in some way.

And we forget about the magnitude of the BEAUTY it takes to:

Keep courage.

Remain kind.

Admit frailties.


Go against the culture when we are drawn in another direction entirely.

Show huge and wet tears.

Forgive again.

Fall down.

Get up.

And get up again.

To me.. these things which will never measure up in the glitter department

Are none-the-less as close to perfect as I know so far.

And I will share with you that I’m pretty sure I know God’s address.

But it is one we must discover all by ourselves.

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