God is Good to the Johnsons

My second child was born only 5 months ago. It was thrilling and intriguing to go through the birth process as a sequel. The smooth, speedy delivery of my blonde-haired little man was a precious and brilliant experience that is locked in my heart as one of my top 3 best days ever. While the births of my two sons were vastly different, the love that flooded my heart as I gazed for the first time into each of their individual, glowing selves... that love for each baby boy was equally supreme, divine, consuming, exhilarating, unparalleled, and perfect. However, after my first son's birth, I thought I had moved past the flood of birthing opinions, put-downs and particularity that clouded my conversations preceding and succeeding his arrival. So many women pestered me with their opinions about medications, midwives, and MDs. I was wrong. The mama-drama over birth plans is still at large. Less than two weeks after my second birth, a well-meaning woman in a social circle of mine ...

Here atop a balance beam wobbling here from side to side Hoping to find peace between Justice's wave and mercy's tide I know that I am not to judge unrighteously, but how to know the place between a gentle heart or to deliver a firm word's blow I'm tired of the ceaseless mobs of those denying Jesus' truths And people leaving from his fold They couldn't wait to see the fruits. I'm told to love, and told to peace Told to stand firm, to give relief And I'll defend, midst pain and grief All of my tender heart's beliefs But sometimes I haven't clues to see Whether to draw quietly in the dirt Or overthrow the seller's wares Or simply, situations skirt... For there are those whom I call friends Whose course and mine no longer bend in the same strait from north to south... But friendship can't see journey's end So you and I, our minds once one Apart now in ideals and faith Maintaining our relationship But spli...

I remember holding you, the first morn after wedded And thinking then, as our eyes met midst smiles How could I ever love you more? But here we are dear, riding hand in hand Teasing and laughing as the Jeep takes us south And I love you now more than all the days past. And I can't imagine loving you more tomorrow, but now, after 1,528 days of waking up next to your eyes and smiles, I know that I will. ~~~ I remember holding you, that morn when you were born And thinking then, amidst tears and cries and your soft newness-- How could I ever love you more? But here we are munch, playing duplos and singing You grab my cheek to plant a kiss, you place in my hands just one more book-- And I love you now more than all the days past. And I can't imagine loving you more tomorrow, but now, after 608 days of teaching you and reading to you and watching you grow, I know that I will. ~~~ I remember looking at the positive sign, a glow in...

It's been a hot minute. I haven't posted anything, because quite frankly, I've been afraid to write. My writer self looks gaunt in the face and weepy for neglect. She has so many beautiful ideas and at least thrice weekly she has a brilliant subject for a blog post or journal entry. But, admittedly, she's been held captive by my insecurity demons, those brutes who whisper bitter nothings... Sometimes they attack my artistic side: " you can't post a recipe. You don't even have a picture, and if you did take a picture, you just have a smart phone camera. That photo would look pathetic. What a newbie  you'll look like next to your favorite gorgeous food blogs like 'cooking classy' and 'six sisters stuff'  ... or ... " you think you're a poet? Bah. Half your poems don't even have matching syllables from line to line. Your imagery is weak and your ideas are all over the place. What are you even trying to convey? They'll ...

SEVEN THINGS YOU MAY NOT KNOW ABOUT ME I often take the long way home, just so I can drive by the farm that houses two darling Arabian foals in their frontmost pasture. I most certainly squealed the first time I spotted them. Making friends with people my own age does not come naturally to me. While I've worked at it over my lifetime and I'm fairly competent at having a conversation with someone born in the same decade as me, I feel most comfortable talking with people my grandparents' age. Brushing my teeth is at least a four-times-a-day occurrence for me. My husband laughs when I brush my teeth right before dinner. A delicious meal is always more enjoyable when partaken with a truly clean palate.  I'm a cheddar cheese snob. After sampling a smattering of cheddar cheeses from Harmon's, Walmart, Macey's, and more, I can confidently tell you that Smith's Kroger-Brand-Sharp-Cheddar-Cheese-Block is supremely superior. Secretly, I'm an old person ...

Dear Friends, Family, Acquaintances, and you lovely random passerby of the Blogosphere-- A year and 10 days ago I set out on a journey to write a blog post a day, for two months straight. I did that successfully, and then decided to extend my challenge to a one-year challenge. My report? I wrote 317 blog posts in a 365-day period. And I think that's pretty rad. A few reflections on this experience: Firstly, I started this blog not just because I love writing, but because I needed help. I was suffering from some intense postpartum anxiety, but I didn't know that's what it was at the time. Every moment of every day I felt like I was under severe stress and pressure, even when there were no evident triggers for such. The feeling in my gut on an almost constant basis felt like the queasy stomach, racing heartbeat, and unsettled mind that greeted me before every math test and job interview I've had growing up. I knew something was wrong, but I didn't know how...

Apparently, Charlie's got the bill. Thanks bud. Somos cuatro ahora. I want to make this recipe, but I don't know where to buy figs? Tips? In heaven at Grandma's house. A discovery amongst papers from my high school days. What kept me sane during difficult classes were these margin doodlings. Apparently I organized these wrong. Thanks for helping me sort things out, little man. Amen. Potato Peel Pie (Admittedly, without potato peelings. I know, I don't know that the Guernsey Literary Society would accept me fully). Barber Dad extraordinaire. The best thing to wake up to after he's left for work 💗 Day #317