found

The kiddos were in the backyard in their helmets with their bikes. They'd been at it for at least an hour, riding in the sunshine and splendor of yesterday late morning through grass and through time. I was inside finishing thoughts on a page, when Maya cried out.

It wasn't an I've-hurt-myself-and-I'm-in-pain sort of wail, nor was it the Momma-Cole-hit-me manner either. This was exasperation. It was drama seasoned with despair. My red-faced five-year old materialized in moments with fresh tears streaming and something tiny in tow.

"What's wrong, My," I asked.

"I (sniff) lost (sniff) my (sniffle) earring (sobbbbbb)."

Just a few minutes earlier, while my children delighted in our yard's simple pleasures, Maya hopped off her bike and took off her helmet. In the process, a loose strap grabbed hold of the sparkly, five-petaled daisy in her ear, pulled the post from her lobe and sent it flying... somewhere.

As I listened to my daughter despondently described the events of recent past, my mind temporarily left the room. It traveled down a short flight of stairs through our toy-strewn family room, out the sliding glass door to the patio, with its teak furnishings. There were benches, tables, chairs and stairs up to a deck, with a grill beneath its cover. There was flagstone and concrete with levels, cracks and sinews. There were pots and plants and trees and weeds, which I fully intend to get to soon. There was dirt, rock borders and grass, LOTS of grass.

As I came back to myself, to my daughter and to her desperation, our backyard seemed vast and infinite in its pockets and possibilities. In contrast to the missing, tiny stud our backyard was Eden. Looking in, one might conclude that the situation was hopeless. How could we possibly find what we were looking for? In that moment I could have given Maya a sympathetic hug and a dose of the grim reality. She would have cried for a while and eventually gone back out to play. I would then return to my pad and my unfinished thoughts, and eventually, I would have showered. We would have cut our losses and moved on. But we didn't. She didn't, and neither did I.

Instead, I reached out to the little girl clutching all that remained of something precious, and I gently held her shoulders, kneeled down and looked into her moist eyes. I paused, spoke out and said something unexpected. It changed the course of that moment forever.

"Maya, we will find it. I always find what I am looking for. Always."

I reminded her of the many things that have made their way back to her posession and to mine -- the little: a yellow barrette, a sippy cup, and a workout shirt -- the tiny: the screw that holds my sunglasses together (in shag carpet after nearly a week) -- and the big: a wallet and a dream.

"I always find what I am looking for. I always find what I am looking for," I told her and myself. "That which is rightfully mine invariably find its way back to me, and it will find its way back to you."

In that moment, I wasn't sure about the how or the where or the when. All I knew is that I knew, and all that mattered is that Maya knew it too. The revelation and reality we have each begun to see and to experience gave us contagious confidence that I can't entirely describe. The more I have noticed it, the more I have begun to believe it. The more I have believed it, the more I have begun to see it. And in that moment, as I stopped, acknowledged, and spoke it aloud, the tears stopped, our focus shifted and it was true.

In the sunshine and splendor of yesterday morning, we retraced Maya's steps and approached her bike, which rested near the fence. This, she explained, was the spot where she removed her helmet and last felt her earring. We dropped to the ground with its cracks and its sinew and began a hopeful search.

Where is it, Lord? Where is it? Show us the way. Help us to find it.

What if it fell into the rocks, the thought flashed into my mind as a worried Maya simultaneously inquired. "Momma, what if we don't find it? May I wear one of your earrings instead?"

I always find what I am looking for. I always find what I'm looking for... there is no way I will find it if it fell into these rocks, so there is no way it is in these rocks. Did it fall into the grass or the collar of her dress? Where is it? It could be anywhere. Which way?

"Maya, we are going to find it" I responded to her worry and to my doubt.

LEFT...

We walked to the left (and to the right) up and down the length of the fence several times with our noses to the ground to no avail. We each took potty breaks, retraced her steps inside to the couch, and then we headed back outside. After ten or fifteen minutes of looking, I asked again and I knew -- it was time for us to stop.

"Maya, I'm going to go take a shower, and I want you and Cole to play."

"But what if it gets dark, and we don't find it?" she pleaded.

"Maya, I promise you (oh my), we are going to find it. Remember your barrette or my itty bitty screw? Just picture your earring. Really try to see it and visualize yourself finding it. Maya, we will find it. You will find it, or else..."

In that moment, in the splendor and sunshine of a glorious morning, my gaze fell past my daughter to the flagstone patio behind her. Nearly ten feet to the left of the path we had grazed, the background faded away with my words. Time and space and sound stood still for an instant, and that was when only one thing came clearly into focus: a tiny silver post perched atop red stone.

"...or else, it will find you."

"Whether you believe you can or you believe you can't,
either way, you are right."
~Henry Ford

ludic

Yesterday's word of the day was ludic.

Lucid, I read it at first glance. I know that one. It means clear; easy to understand. Not in this case, actually. Not at all. This is not a typo. This is not a word I've come across before. The word indeed is LUDIC.

ludic \LOO-dik\, adjective: Of or relating to play; characterized by play; playful.

Apropos.

The kids and I walked to a particular park on a particularly pleasant morning a few weeks back. I'm not sure what came over me, but I did something I've never done in my five-plus years as a parent: I played. I mean I slid down the slide, climbed up nets and poles, scaled ropes and swung from the monkey bars with my belly button showing. I played. My kiddos were flabbergasted. They weren't sure what to make of it. Neither was I.

You see, I have spent so much time soul-searching, digging deep and pressing in - dealing and healing, seeking and searching over the last few years. It has been good, VERY good. But somewhere along the way I lost my ability to play.

I have cultivated efficiency. I am effective. I am the master multi-tasker. I am peaceful and profound in thought, action and deed. I am content to learn, to grow, to create and to clean. I love to run and to rollerblade, to hike and to sit in the sun. I love to read and to write and to spend time with the people whom I love. I love pedicures, sipping tea and sitting in silence. I am thrilled to experiment with good food in my kitchen and even more, I like to eat it. I appreciate quality and depth and color and flavor. I delight in these things. I get these things, but sit me down with some action figures, and I am at a loss. Where are the crafts and learning toys? I silently wonder.

Somewhere down the road, I misplaced my ability to watch a movie without folding laundry concurrently. Come to think of it, I can't actually recall the last time I saw a movie. But my kiddos - my avatars - are clearing the path, lifting my veil and helping me to see. And as I have searched myself and seen myself, as I have considered my worth and my place and my desires, as I have pursued peace, simplicity, creativity and the kingdom without clarity and with abandon, a funny thing has happened. Modeling clay, board games, Kung Fu Panda and paper airplanes have pushed their way into my days, and I have rediscovered the joys of a soccer ball.

In my free time of late, I have test ridden and subsequently dreamed about a road bike, sketched at a coffee shop, lost myself in an art museum and walked to the park without plans, reading material or packed lunches. I have played, and it has been good. Damn good.

Now 25 years after I became a grown up, I am learning to appreciate the art of ludic living, and what do you know? Lucidity. The kingdom is becoming clearer.

accord

Every once in a while, you hike up your knickers and take a leap.

You dive in, you hit a high note, you step into the unknown, and it resonates. It just feels right. With little but your heart to fall back on, you make another move, and somewhere down deep... a song. Just to be sure you take another step. Harmony. You strike a chord.

The sweetest song. I love that. Thank you.

This morning I had a revelation: I love socks. I've never really given them much thought before. But today, I do declare, I love socks.

After 10 years in California, they eventually eluded me. There was that year and a half after I got married that I literally didn't wear shoes - just flip flops. Not sure why, I just didn't. But as I've moved on and grown up, slowly, surely, socks have made their way back into my life. This morning, I stepped into one of my favorite pairs, and I swear I heard wind chimes and birds.

Socks are awesome. They are all snuggly and cozy and soft and warm. They cradle and keep my weathered feet. You've seen the best and the worst of my feet. Regardless of their state or my own, they hold me and hug me and love me and make me smile.

I love them.

And I love springtime and sunshine and sisters and sushi and soup... and all manner of things that happen to start with S.

There go those birds again.

printed in pink

It arrived yesterday - my name and address in pink print on an otherwise unmarked envelope. Pink.

A simple, silent, random act of kindness. Of thoughtfulness. Utterly perfect and profound. You know me and I, you. Ah, to know and to be known, it is sweet. You have blessed me. You have blessed me, and I thank you. Your gift arrived at just the right time on just the right day for just the right place, wrapped in just the right color. To know and to be known... ah, so sweet.

You listened. You heard. You gave, and I thank you. I thank you.

You surprised me and moved me and warmed my insides and my face with wet, wonderful tears. You fortified my faith and my family, you nourished my soul and inspired me to give as you have given. You have incited my heart to push forward and to press in - to give to another and then to another and then to another. I thank you.

Oh, if we all stilled ourselves and listened and loved as you have loved. What a wonderful, warm and bright world this would be. It will be. I promise I will not let your gift stop here. I will work and till and sow this seed in rich soil. And it will bear fruit, bushels and bushels of sweet, splendid fruit. And you, my sister, will reap a bountiful harvest. Ten times tenfold, my mysterious and magical sister.

You have blessed me, and I thank you. From the bottom of my heart, I thank you.

in her eyes

I heard a sweet ballad a few years back called “In My Daughter’s Eyes.” Martina McBride, maybe? No, I think her name had a K in it… Anyway, I don’t recall what this momma saw in her daughter’s eyes, but I imagine it is much of the same that I see in my own daughter’s eyes or my mom sees in my eyes or the same things her mom saw.

I look in Maya’s eyes and I see beauty and brown and love. I see creativity and curiosity. I see promise and potential. I see my mom, my in-laws… myself. Every once in a while, I’ll catch a glimpse of my husband or my granddaughter, and my heart will flutter. I feel love and at the same time I feel loss. I feel sweetness and sadness at once. Sometimes, I feel responsible, overwhelmed, ill-equipped and insufficient. She has questions, and I’m not sure if I have the answers.

The truth is that I also have questions. I have a lot of questions. I needn’t look any further than my own reflection or the pictures of my sleep to see that they are there. I hear faint whispers calling my name. “Abimbola, come. Maya Grace, come. Come.”

Martina, or Katrina, or whatever her name is, and so many others have gotten me thinking. I look around and within and I want to know.

I heard recently that the only way to get answers in life is to start asking the right questions. I’m not sure what those questions are, but I am willing to ask. I want to know… Do you?

I am embarking on a journey, and I’d like you to come with me. I’m not exactly sure where it will take me – or you – but I am certain that this is one race neither of us can run alone. Will you join me? I’d love your company, as well as your thoughts, your insight, your feedback and your perspective along the way. Perhaps together we will unearth the questions.

If you will help me or you would like to accompany me or you are at least curious, please email me at ourjourneyin@gmail.com , and I will fill you in on the details. Feel free to invite others – your mother, your daughter, your grandmother, your granddaughter, your sister or your friends – to join us. Who knows what we will find.

tomorrow

Spelled backwards it is worromot. I digress.

Today I am thinking about it - the day, the word, the concept. The hopeful song of a red-headed orphan comes to mind...

Hmm hmm hmm hmm hmmmmmm.... tomorrow. Bet your bottom dollar that tomorrow...

Yes, tomorrow's forecast is sunny and 62. It's only a day away.

It promises a bright, beautiful, bare slate - 24 hours of purpose, potential and possibility. It affords time to complete, to continue or perhaps to begin the tasks and work of today. It yields the fruit of yesterday and offers ripe soil for next week, for next month and for next year. It symbolizes and signifies hope and opportunity free of today's cobwebs and sorrows. You can bet your bottom dollar that the sun is coming.

Or can you?

Another song comes to mind. This, the resonant, tenor ballad of a blue-eyed cowboy in a black, ten-gallon hat.

My relentless hope in tomorrow is both my heel und mein kampf. I have looked ahead. I have held on and put my stock in tomorrow. Yet, I have also put off, held back and missed out all in the name of the same day. Spelled backwards, it is worromot.

And what of yadot?

Today, leafless winter trees sway in the breath of wind's whispers. They reach up and out against a cloudless azure sky. A symphony of birds chirp. A distant chime sings.

Tomorrow is a precious gift. It is cause for hope, for gratitude and for celebration. But the sweet, speckled girl in the red dress with the white belt and the black Mary Janes failed to mention that it is infinite except in its assurance. Tomorrow is everything but a guarantee.

Annie, meet my friend Garth.

We must always hope in tomorrow. And if it comes we may welcome it with love, thanks and open arms. But in so doing, we mustn't miss today. Today is an often overlooked and consequently undervalued commodity. It offers all the promise of tomorrow, but it is infinitely more valuable because it is within grasp. Today, it is sunny. Breezy. 70.

I look around today, and I see fields of good fruit and ripe soil. Yet, I hesitate to consider how vast a harvest this could have been but will never be because of yesterday's misplaced focus. I suppose that would be today's tragedy: to waste another moment of thought on the empty spaces in today's harvest.

Instead, I will open my hands and my heart and my mind to receive. I will take, eat and enjoy. I will taste and share the sweet splendor of today's fruit without regard for what was and what will be.

Yes, this harvest is ripe. There is far more fruit than I will ever be able to pick, to consume or to give away. But a far greater tragedy - one I have seen and lived before - is to stand overwhelmed (and hungry) surrounded by the firm, plump, crisp, juicy fruit of today and to let it fall and shrivel and die for fear of picking from the wrong tree or worse, waiting for tomorrow, which may never yield anything.

I mustn't delay. The harvest is ripe.

Yes, I may bypass the sweetest, choicest, tastiest fruit. But, I am of no value to myself, to God or to anyone else if I stand paralyzed by the possibility of choosing "wrong." I will listen and learn and I will be filled. Perhaps today will be the day that I pick the sweetest fruit of the bunch. And perhaps it will remain untouched. Perhaps it will shrivel up in the heat of today, it will fall to the ground and eventually, it will die. But I will continue to hope that the seeds of today's dead fruit will blossom into the cobweb-free harvest of tomorrow.

And if I awake tomorrow, I will gambol in the sun with a smile of my face, and I will eat and give of its bountiful harvest. And if tomorrow never comes, I will have dirtied my slate with the sweetness and stickiness of today's fruit. I will have lived and given my best, and I will be full.