love you more than...

ladies and gentlemen, the idea for this book came from the heart of the ya ya's and the was created by the little fingers of the children of christ church of oak brook.  vickie's kids.  the proceeds of this book go to the vickie lynn bare foundation.  her passion was to open the hearts and minds of children and reveal the God fingerprint within in them to them.  and she did it in the most fun, most un-grown-up way possible often letting them make a total glorious mess that was celebrated not discouraged.  so, the foundation will keep making that happen in her memory and in the light of the one who's always had her back.  

if you want to participate in the eternal here's a link to purchase the book online:  

http://www.lulu.com/content/5964904

words for no words...

i really don't want to be writing this.  i'm half here.  i keep picking up my bowl of buttered green peas instead of typing.  i suppose because when you write it and let it out, then it's true.

tomorrow it will be one year since you died.  i think now is when i'm supposed to write the canned "can't believe it's been a year" statement.  i can believe it's been a year.  a painstaking, long year, peppered with wonder without you.  but, without question, probably your easiest in a while.  

when i see those puffy white clouds in a crazy blue sky, i think of you.  when i hear a group of girls laugh, i think of you.  when i drink coffee (or wine), i think of you.  when i want to search for treasure, i think of you.  when i have something i'm dying to share, i think of you. when i make pasta and use the bowl you gave me, i think of you.  when i see the color turquoise, i think of you.  when i feel a breeze come down from the mountains, i think of you.  when i see excitement on the faces of my kids, i think of you.  when i take care of myself and stop to take a breath, i think of you.  when i create, i think of you.  when i worship, i think of you.  

and in the quiet moments i'll admit i've done it.  i've looked heavenward and asked for some kind of sign that you're okay.  like, okay God, if you've got her and she can see me, make a hawk, no, two hawks, fly across the sky.  maybe not on cue, but i'll see them later and smile and i'll let that be my sign.  late or not.

i know where you are.  and sometimes i feel like for a second, i can see what you see.  like you put me behind your eyes and just give me a taste.

and lately, i've heard you tell me to concentrate on living in between the tensions of this world and the next.  the old "to be in the world and not of it".  and while i'm still here, to make it an art, my art, to be in the moment.  'cause they all matter, all the moments and they add up to...the pieces of knowing of our journey.

so, i'm living with intention in the tension.  intent on maybe too much or too little according to some.  but your wisdom still finds me.  your friendship still inspires me.  your love still steeps in my heart.  until...until this life and the next weave together and our Lives once again touch.

If I were a Raindrop 

by Ethan

If I were a raindrop

I would live in a cloud

and drop on England, France, Switzerland, then Paris.

And drop on my grandpa.

Then go in a vapor elevator up in the sky.

Then come down to Canada, then to Alberta.

Then drop on the forest.

After that, I would go to Ancient Rome

and be in the Olympics.

And be a gladiator.

zzzzz...

i'm pretty sure i don't know how tired i am.  i haven't slept soundly since 1995.  there's something that comes with the job of being a mom that makes it physically impossible to ever sleep deeply again.  your kids are part of your body, parts that are out walking around the earth and they don't seem to EVER stop, so you don't either.  well, maybe briefly.  just long enough to actually be able to drive your mini-van several places a day without running into anything.

last night, evelyn slept 11 1/2 hours.  i slept 9 1/2 hours.  at 7:15 a.m. i woke up realizing she had slept completely through the night and then some.  i jumped out of bed, ran down the hall and busted into her room.  there she was.  arms above her head, eyes still closed, sleeping that deep sleep that pinks their little cheeks.  thank God.  she did it!  and so did i.  and it felt amazing.  renewing and full and enough, for once.  here's hoping it'll become a habit.  for both of us!