22 March 2007


Although I know reality couldn't be any more to the contrary, some days I feel like I'm in this thing on my own. When I close my eyes to pause, I feel the weight of world aching in my shoulders, and I feel tired. Really tired.

Then, I take a deep breath, open my eyes and move on.

18 March 2007

christmas letters and blogs

"There are two things that make me laugh: blogs and Christmas letters," he smugly began. He proceeded to pontificate about why lonely people choose to spend so much self-absorbed time and resource on these two laughable pastimes.

Christmas letters and blogs. CHRISTMAS LETTERS AND BLOGS... I know what you are thinking if you a know A THING about me. Could any two things scream Abi T more than Christmas letters and blogs?

Perhaps I am deeply and utterly alone. Perhaps I am so self-righteous and so self-absorbed that I must devote an entire web log to myself, another to my family, another to my business and then, as if that wasn't enough of me, then, I find it necessary to tell everybody about it once a year. Perhaps.

Or perhaps not.

With all due respect (oh no, here she goes...), I believe that there is more.

Perhaps for some, there is peace, solace and a healing outlet in the cathartic world of Christmas letters and blogs. Perhaps they offer a means by which to stay meaningfully connected to oneself and to others. Perhaps they are a precursor to community. Perhaps they are the only vehicles by which some are able to expose pieces of themselves and allow themselves to be unveiled because they have been mocked and ridiculed or simply overlooked in the "real" world. Perhaps they are the only reason that some will actually download pictures off their digital cameras.
Perhaps some people just need to process. Perhaps they may begin with social commentary that sparks compassionate action and ends with prolific, eternal gain. Perhaps they are the canvas upon which a masterpiece is painted or a timeless epic is drafted. Perhaps they are the person with whom one can share that random, but insanely funny thought he had on the way home. Perhaps they are the means by which a woman can share the testimony of her dying son with tens of thousands of people around the world and proclaim the mighty name and grace and love and mercy of Jesus in a way that it can finally be heard.

Perhaps, kind sir, you are reading the wrong letters and blogs.

Perhaps if you look more closely, you will find story and after meaningful story of struggles and joy, pain and endurance, significance and banality, love and loss.
Perhaps you will realize that many people would keep writing whether or not anyone was reading. Perhaps you will encounter a rant or two, or perhaps you will find poetry. Perhaps you will become a part of somebody's story - the legacy of someone who was purposed and fashioned in the image of the master architect, artist, storyteller and blog author. Perhaps you will laugh or perhaps you will cry or perhaps you will find a bit of yourself if you stop laughing and start listening. Perhaps.

Or perhaps not.

11 March 2007


There was a moment. I think it was right after that final push, when my baby... a girl?!?!?... emerged and they put her on my chest. I sobbed - relieved, overwhelmed, overjoyed - eternally and instantaneously transformed. One second I was me, then the next I was more; I was a mommy.

I remember wondering both times I was pregnant, "How will I know what to do?"

"You just know," someone told me.

I'm still blown away by the fact that she was right.

Prior to January 2004, I could sleep through anything... everything. I couldn't be aroused, couldn't be disturbed and certainly couldn't HEAR anything once my head hit the pillow. But the moment I brought my baby girl home... amazingly, I could still sleep through everything but one thing: my child. Suddenly, I could hear her breathe, hear her sigh, hear her cry - all the way down the hall, behind a closed door. I was a mommy, and I could hear my baby.

Tonight, as my son was half asleep, fishing for his passy, in his room across the house, I could hear and feel him. I was roused from the deepest of sleep, to help my son. We shared a brief, sweet moment just now. I loved on him, put him back down, and he drifted back to sleep. I just knew.

Sometimes, I still can't believe that I have two children. I'll see or hear them, then realize, "Those are mine?!?!?" I'm a mommy. I'm THEIR mommy. I hear my kids. When they are upset, in the depths of my being, I know what to do. I am wired to love them how they need to be loved. We are connected. I hear and feel them from across the room, or around the corner, or down the hall...

Recently a friend asked me, "So, how do you know what to do?"

Without even thinking about it, I responded. "You just know."

I am absolutely in awe that God put this in me. Absolutely in awe.

OK, back to bed.

06 March 2007


Think back, if you will, about five months to the deepest, darkest, DIRTIEST secret I disclosed in 2006. Do you remember? Perhaps I should refresh your memory...

(Cue the basement theme song... )

bah.......... Bah.......... BAH.......... BAH, BUM

bum, bum, bum, bum, bum, bum, bum, bum...

bah.......... Bah.......... BAH.......... BAH, BUM

bum, bum, bum, bum, bum, bum, bum, bum...

Yes... NOW you remember
(though everything within you tried to forget).

Well, I am thrilled to report that after two plus years of DEEP denial, five more months of absolute dread and dismay over the prospect of actually DEALING with my problem, and three intense days in the dungeon of my house, this disaster...

...is a now a distant memory in my past.

Say hello to the present (you are NOT going to believe this)...

Step 4 - the recovery... check.

Consider us RECOVERED.