Dear Boobies

These are NOT my actual boobs. ūüôā (Image from sampan.org)

Dear boobies,

You’ve been pushed up, you’ve been squashed down, you’ve been covered up, you’ve been uncovered, you’ve been groped, you’ve been suckled, you’ve been infected, you’ve been engorged, you’ve been bumped, you’ve been bruised, you’ve been caressed, you’ve been dismissed, and most recently, you’ve been compressed. In a mammogram’s vice grip. And you came through for me. I’ve always thought you to be nothing spectacular. Small, unvoluminous, unvoluptuous, unimpressive. But I was wrong. You are wonderful. You are healthy.

And I’m sorry for all the times I abused you. Tried to make you something you weren’t. Shoved you into underwire and foam padding and pretended you were…more. You are enough. You are beautiful. You are marvelous. You deserve respect and tenderness and to be allowed to …

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The Hurt Place

John 11:35 – If the GIVER of hope wept at the loss of a loved, let us not be ashamed to do so as well.

This was written for those who’ve just been delivered the death blow. The knee-buckling news. I’m beyond this stage of grief at the moment, but my heart is heavy for those who are here, in the place where the only sensation is hurt.

Everything ventured
Nothing gained
Only darkness
Only pain

The hurt place is where
I’m all alone
I just can’t do this
On my own

I can’t be happy
I can’t be brave
Bury me with you
In the grave

My tears will flood
The earth and then
You’ll rise back up
And walk again

When morning comes
You’re still not here
I’ve never felt
This much …

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I just can’t wait for her to stop chattering and go to sleep. But then she does, and I hate to leave her room. Her head on my shoulder, peaceful breaths landing on my ear. “You’re gonna miss this. You’re gonna want this back.”

I made a confession at Bible study tonight. I hadn’t been in a long, long, while. Months. After my sister asked me (patiently, again, because she knows I’m forgetful), I finally got around to going tonight. I was late, and left early, but just enough time for God’s word to smack me upside the head.

“The thing I struggle with most is anger. I just get so frustrated with my girls. I yell, and it’s so unattractive. If I had a hidden camera in my home, I’d be ashamed at what I …

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They flew so low, it was almost as if they were inviting us to reach up and touch their soft, feathery underbellies. (image from: mackerrow.zenfolio.com)

Three weeks ago today, I was¬†sitting comfortably¬†in my bed, deeply engrossed in a James Lee Burke novel. A bit unusual since I’d lost my normally voracious appetite for reading. My father had loaned me the book, one that I was initially eager to¬†enjoy as we’d read nearly every one of his novels together. But for some reason, I kept picking at the book a few pages at a time, never completely diving in. Until that night. One particular passage touched me in a profound way, and I dog-eared the page to show my dad. That’s what we did, he and I. Our own little book club. But I …

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