Support

A “Life is Beautiful” Friend

I was invited to a ladies lunch this past weekend. The invite called together women to celebrate, with gratitude, for showing up for the hostess during a difficult season in her life. She welcomed fifteen or so of us into a small cafe for a meal and connection with strangers. I was nervous to go. Not being one for meeting new people, I coaxed myself into going out, tucked my messy hair into a bun, and drove to the luncheon.

Before we shared a meal, the hostess went around the room introducing each of her guests with a heartfelt message about how they were able to care for her as she cared for her mom, who was losing the battle of dementia. In her thoughtful reflection, she called me her, “life is beautiful” friend, and was grateful for my keen understanding of the pain we go through as humans. She shared that I reminded her, in a time of darkness, perhaps, grief is part of the beauty too.

I felt seen, in that room of strangers, in a way I haven’t for quite awhile. There’s a magic that happens when strangers become vulnerable and when the threads of loss and life and the mess of the middle connect us. By the time she went around the circle, the hostess’ friends were weeping. To be seen, to be a part of the struggle, to value friendship, surrender, and the power of asking for and receiving help is just such a gift. I was floored by the intentionality in celebrating relationship and in saying thank you for the people who carry you through.

A few weeks ago, I found myself home sick. Holding my baby, we watched Mary Poppins as we both recovered from a first family bout of a stomach flu. An infant’s attention span is short. Mary Poppins is long. But I tried to introduce her to Supercalifragilisticexpialidocious and dancing penguins and stepping in time on the rooftops of London.

I found myself asking where did this desire for good stem from? Where did the grown woman who longs for beautiful things develop her keen awareness for the power of a change of perspective? Mary taught me to turn ordinary into magic. To seek delightful things and to harness the giggles found in the absurd. Harriet the Spy taught me to watch and look just a little bit longer, for humans have complex layers and we probably ought to write about them. And, Mrs. Piggle Wiggle taught me you can have a chandelier on your floor for a fire place and stairs that work in reverse. Pippy Longstocking reminded me to befriend the imaginary creatures and dress as your heart leads you and go on adventures, even in your backyard. Characters who were close to home, willing to observe, and make note of the magic burrowed into my heart, and my way of being in the world.

I’m thankful for the stories that turned me into a seeker of good and a believer in magical things. And I’m grateful, for the women who continue to nurture me in this lifelong pursuit. To be called out as a “life is beautiful” friend stunned me a bit. Yes, the searching is in my essence. And in these virtual pages my journey continues. Thank you, readers, for being my life is beautiful friends, as well.

To Toss Into the Flow

I had taken a seat in the plastic-moulded chair, waiting for the meeting to begin. In the center of a room was a circular table covered in grey. In the center of a circle, a candle burned, again surrounded in a small circle of smooth river rocks. Whether they were collected from nearby stream beds, or manufactured and sold on the shelves of craft stores, I was unsure. I simply noticed their existence.

‘Welcome to bereavement for beginners’, the young facilitator said, jumping me out of my wondering.

Curious how the passing of time morphs a memory. I can’t recall the exact name of the support group. I do remember how shocking it felt to belong to a group of people titled ‘bereaved’.

After introductions, and open sharing, we were led through an exercise. I followed directions having been told to choose a small river rock of my own. We were to create a totem of support for when emotions felt too large. I selected my stone and, using a white paint pen, wrote the word hope across its surface. I circled the word and tucked the rock in my pocket. When I left the class, I sat in the parking lot and sobbed.

I left the stone in the center console of my car for years. It’s collected dust and become friends with pens lacking ink and a melted chapstick or two. Its presence serves as a reminder to generate hope as I’ve driven from place to place, moving further away from my early days of grief.

This week, I started a Grief Educator Certificate program with David Kessler. In the first teaching I learned a new label for my bereaved status. He says the term for the grief we experience after the two year mark is ‘mature grief’. I snickered to myself when I heard that name.

Mature? Grief? Wasn’t mature something to aspire to as a young child?

Mature people have it all together. They have arrived. Even the dictionary uses the auspicious claim of being ‘fully developed.’ My grief does not feel complete.

My grief has, however, become a source of motivation to seek wisdom and share what I’ve learned. My longing has brought me to classrooms and support groups I never could have imagined before. Old skins have shed, leaving new layers, still tender to the touch as I figure out what to do with this gift of darkness.

Over the weekend, we drove up the canyon nearby with the goal of simply sitting by the river. I needed to hear the woosh of water colliding with rocks as it carries on to what’s next.

Under hazy skies, I made my way down steep stairs to the riverbed. Stepping over small stones, I placed my toes into the icy water and took a seat.

Fingering the rocks, I made a pile of smooth ones, perfect for skipping.

I placed three in my pocket for keeping. Perhaps I’ll carry this selection forward as I move about, from here to there.

In Colorado, the ripple metaphor is common. Throw a stone, see how far your impact can reach. I hadn’t thought of the stone from my first beginner grief group in quite awhile. The word hope was an anchor that got me from there to here.

And now, as my grief matures, I’ve found a new collection of stones to toss into the flow. I’m learning how to serve others in their pain. I’m applying radical self-compassion to my own wounds and connecting with others who believe the answers to our hurts are found in first saying, “Wow. This is unbearable.”

I’m standing in rivers, with toes icy and lungs full, using what I’ve learned to make new ripples. What a beautiful thing.

PS. There are still spaces open for the July Writing Workshops – As We Carry On: Using Words to Explore Your Grief with a Compassionate Lense. Register here.

Tremors

The tremor started as I walked up to the counter. I looked up, facing the plexi-glass separating me and the barista. Taped to the barrier were two 8.5 x 11 pieces of paper, with a message to the neighborhood. I read that this Starbucks location is closing on April 4th.

“This is tragic” I blurted to no one.

Catching myself in my ridiculous statement, I blushed under my mask.

Trying to recover, I mumbled to the young woman waiting to take my order. “I’ll survive. But, this is a bummer.”

The closing of a corporate coffee shop is not tragic. A sign on glass is small compared to very real, looming challenges unfolding around the world. This loss of place is not life threatening. We know this.

My strong reaction masked memories and feelings of comfort that bubble up when I walk into rooms with slate floors and walls covered in green and white. The smell of beans, the packages of grounds, sparkling mugs with mermaids and white; all reminders of times before.

I noticed a wave of grief move within me. Not immense sadness. Instead, indicators of change taunting me with the truth of how quickly spaces of life transform into vacancies. Empty buildings. Stacked chairs. Locked doors.

I grabbed our drinks and joined Dylan outside. We began the walk home together.

I’d brought coffee to Dad’s office for years. He’d give me a twenty when I worked there in the summer, and I’d come back with iced lattes for me, and always Pikes Place for him. When we closed his office, removing furniture and files and countless awards, we left a tall cup of black liquid in the corner to cool, closing the doors behind us.

These places become a part of us. When they close, they press into motion seismic waves of memories of what was and murmurs of what will no longer be.

I’ve kept quiet this month, waiting for four years to turn to five in the course of a day. Sometimes, the approaching of the anniversary hurts more than the day itself. Beauty is harder to witness as the clouds come in, knowingly bringing weight and mist to the air. Last weekend the mist turned to blizzard, and two feet of snow fell in my front yard. Rain turns leftover piles to slush, and tonight we’ll have ice clinking to recently broken branches.

These cycles of days turning to years, wet turning into snow, piles turning into melt reveal these patterns have purpose.

When I care for myself, I can see the storm coming, and time has taught me to prepare accordingly.

At the start of the month, I chose a word for myself. Support.

Support. Being open to it. Asking for it. Being surprised by it.

Support looks like many beautiful things.

Friends sent me packages and caring texts. Others delivered donuts to my door. A card from a colleague echoed my questions in ways I didn’t know were living within me, until they showed up in my mail box. Her hand written words mirrored my experience in life-giving ways. The anniversary of the day He died came and went and tears fell. Before I went to bed, big sobs eked out as I held my knees, leaning against walls, wedging my body into the corner to feel support on all sides.

I was surprised by the intensity, and the release. The anticipation of pain left my body in waves.

Coffee shops are closing. Snow is falling. Days turned to years. And the quakes, while present, are smaller. What a beautiful thing.

Day 51 – 52 Good Things

So close to 52. I didn’t think we’d get here and I’m rather surprised the amount of energy it takes to make a mental list of good things still surrounding us. But I continue searching and invite you to join me as we stay home and stay safe.

I’m called again, in whispers, to remember the choices we make when things seem the bleakest are opportunities for our wondering souls. What we focus on, while not ignoring painful realities, makes or breaks our spirits.

In conversations with friends and co-workers and texts and Instagram conversations, I’m reminded to look for the good.

181. Seeds for plant starts

182. Fingernails covered in dirt

183. An evening breeze through an open window

184. Aleve for back pain

185. Grocery delivery

185. Peanut M&Ms

186. Cacio e Pepe

187. Signs of support (contributed by Christine C)

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188. WhatsApp

189. Letters to children read via Instagram

What good and beautiful things are you seeing in your life these days? Please send them to me at 52beautifulthings at gmail dot com

 

Day 18 – 52 Good Things

I went to the grocery store today and thanked every employee I talked to. One man responded with genuine appreciation. “Most people are just yelling at us because we are out of things” he said.

Standing in line outside the store was weird. I felt contaminated until I got home, washed my hands, and wiped everything down with Lysol. I washed my avocados. That’s new.

I miss my dad today. It’s grey and snowing. And still, I’m surprised by the helpful things companies are offering and the good in the in between spaces. So here we go.

111. Organic India is sending free immunity support kits all over the country. Request yours here.

112. Khesed Wellness is offering up to 500 free mental health sessions for those directly impacted by the virus. If you can donate, more will be able to get services.

113. Whole milk for coffee

114. Texts with cousins far away

115.  Recipes from old cook books

116. Summoning my Minnesota roots in the form of casserole

117. This hilarious would you rather: Would you rather have fins for feet or a blow hole?

Well – what would you rather have? I really want to know!

Send your answer and your list of good things in your world right now to me when you can. 52beautifulthings at gmail dot com

Women Helping Other Women – Guest Post by Brittany Larsen

Ahh the internet. That magical place where you can follow your high school classmates without having actually seen them in real life for ten years. When Brittany Larsen, who I was so jealous of in high school because she had a magical soprano voice, posted on her Facebook that she was starting a community for working women I knew I wanted to be involved. Never mind we haven’t seen each other since 2007.

Her new project supports women in all paths and her rallying cry to support one another as women is SO NEEDED in this world. I sent her an email and boom – another connection. She was so kind to feature me on her new blog and I’m happy to share her beautiful message with you – the first guest post of 2018. To women!

Author: Brittany Larsen

Website: www.livlyhood.com

I have always found beauty in things that are rare. I love finding what is different and seeking out the unique. I like to consider myself a connector and I love to find the links between people and their interests. This prompt got me thinking about what I consider to be beautiful, and I’ve realized what makes me feel beautiful is when I lift the people around me and find meaningful connections with them.

One thing I felt I struggled with growing up was maintaining uplifting female relationships, which is ironic given that I know Katie from High School and we just recently connected after a decade, so maybe I wasn’t as bad at it as I thought. When I got to college, I decided that I was going to focus on encouraging the women around me. I was in a predominantly female program (Broadcast Journalism) and it was extremely competitive. I wanted to figure out what made my fellow students tick and encourage them. For too long I felt like I had been competitive with the women in my life because of my artistic endeavors, so I learned a lot by trying to avoid gossip in my college years. At times this approach cost me friendships or “popularity,” which took some getting used to. But I persisted and tried to find the higher ground whenever I could.

In my first job out of college I struggled with this concept of lifting the women around me. I realized that working in a real career unfortunately had a lot more in common with my junior high experience than I had anticipated, and it likely didn’t help that I worked in politics. I quickly learned that back biting and negativity in the workplace were more common than I would’ve thought, especially from my female colleagues. I was frustrated with myself when I would get caught up in talking about things that just didn’t matter. Again, I had a choice to seek out the rare by finding women who would help and guide me, and women I could trust. I also had to choose to rise above the negativity. More than anything, I learned how to fight for myself and the women around me in a professional way. I am still not even close to being perfect at avoiding the stereotypes of working with women, which is why I have had to make a conscious effort to avoid negativity in my female relationships.

Here are a few ideas that you can start with right now that have helped me combat the stereotypes of women working with each other:

  1. Today, write a thank you note to a female mentor and express your gratitude for how she’s guided you. This can be a teacher, former manager, peer, etc.
  2. Publicly acknowledge a woman that you work with in a meeting for her ideas.
  3. Text an encouraging quote to a friend struggling with her career path.
  4. Next time you hear someone say something negative about a female coworker, find a way to redirect to one of her positive attributes or just change the subject.
  5. Stop yourself next time you make a snap judgement about a woman you work with or a friend’s career choices.
  6. When a friend posts about a new job on social media, congratulate them for their success.

It is truly a beautiful thing when women fight for each other, instead of against each other. This is one of the main reasons I recently started Livlyhood; a community for women who work.

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Women are already so naturally hard on themselves and I’m firm on the idea that we don’t need any negativity coming from each other. I’ve learned through trial and error that women can unfortunately be our own worst enemies. We don’t lose anything by positively recognizing the efforts of those around us, especially at work. In my current professional role, I manage a team of primarily female professionals and I constantly remind the women I work with that we have more in common with each other than what may be seen on the surface. I am so proud when they stand up for each other and positively encourage each other.

With Livlyhood, I hope to continue to shine a spotlight on my beautiful connections (both inside and out) and to share what they’ve taught me. Every woman is worthy of positive relationships, even in the workplace. The glorious thing is that we don’t have to be best friends to be kind to each other. I hope to contribute in a way that makes what is currently rare and make it commonplace… women helping each other climb the ladder of success in their careers.

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Brittany Larsen is an experienced communications professional with an extensive background in crisis communications and public relations. She currently leads the Public Relations Department at The Summit Group.

You can also find her here.

Twitter: @brittlesser  Instagram: @larsenlivlyhood

On This Side of Heaven

I haven’t seen her in probably ten years. Facebook keeps me updated on the good stuff, although most recently, she has been bravely sharing updates from her family. Tough stuff. The agonizing process of saying good-bye.

Her family sits tonight, holding hands, because her dad just died.

I don’t know the intimate details and I don’t know how they are feeling – although I can take a gut-wrenching guess. Her dad died.

It just feels like shit.

I lit a candle for them tonight and send love and light because sometimes that’s what feels best.  Flames flicker burning brightly across the darkness.

Sometimes it just feels like there is so much darkness.

I had coffee with a dear friend this afternoon who is doing amazing work with refugees in Bangladesh. A crisis. It’s a crisis of magnificent proportion over there. She writes about her perspective training volunteers and bravely engaging in things most of us prefer to ignore. Her career has been in development work, traveling with students and caring hearts – people eager to make a difference in third world countries. She is used to seeing poverty on a global scale, yet nothing prepared her for the suffering she saw in that place.

I asked how the weight of this work is affecting her faith over a five dollar chai. She responded with many wise words, but this sentence struck me. Jenny, forgive me as I’m going to paraphrase.

She said, ” In the midst of all this suffering, I’ve come to realize, not all healing will be done on this side of heaven.”

The wisest thing anyone has said to me about grief, about suffering, about the mysterious questions we yell at God in our pain.

So much darkness, and yet so much hope. It’s a pendulum, I’ve learned, as I’ve leaned into my own suffering. Sometimes we go deep, deep into the darkness and sit there and scratch and ache and hurt.

Time passes and we can start to swing back to the other side. Hope that in heaven these so heavy pains will be healed.

We breath again, and see speckles of light in the shadows. Friends hold your hands and stroke your hair and invite you into fresh air if only for a brief, glinting moment. And you realize that somethings will never return to the way they once were.

I remember the moment I realized that other people were simply living their lives on March 18, 2016 – the day my dad died. The day life as I knew it stopped.

It was a year and a half later when I was reading Lauren Graham’s book Talking as Fast as I Can: From Gilmore Girls to Gilmore Girls (and Everything in Between). Those famous actors and crew filmed the last episode of the Gilmore Girls revival the day my dad died. I was crying and staring and stopping and shocked while they filmed the last episode of my favorite t.v. show. They were living in joy, accomplishment, celebration, and success. I hadn’t even stopped to consider that other people were just doing their thing when all of my things came crumbling down.

And this afternoon, I was drinking chai and shopping and driving home while my friend’s dad died. That’s how it works on this side of heaven. While you are feeling joy, others are suffering. While you suffer, others feel joy.

Even more reason for us to be gentle in this great big ol’ world.

Oh, how I wonder what it looks like on the other side.

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Photo by Kelly Sikkema on Unsplash

 

If you’re feeling joy, light, and brightness I invite you to share your good. Send me a brief description of the good in your world, and I’ll share it here. Details on the Give Light Giveaway can be found here.

If you’re suffering, know that there is grace in the darkness, and a hand to be held. We see you. We light a candle for you. We share our light.

When Friends Take You Grocery Shopping

Life has brought me into a new season. A five letter word. A season of grief.

Previously, I have experienced loss in several capacities. I’ve said good-bye to my grandfather, and watched my childhood friend say good-bye to her father when he lost his five year battle with cancer three years ago.

Never have I experienced, however, the crippling shock that results from loss on a deeply personal level. When I received the call that my dad had passed unexpectedly, the first thing that came into my mind was the song lyric from Baz Luhrmann’s “Everybody’s Free to Wear Sunscreen.” Well, maybe not the first thing. But these words were certainly rolling around in the mess of thoughts and emotions that flooded my brain.

Luhrmann says, “Don’t worry about the future. Or worry, but know that worrying is as effective as trying to solve an algebra equation by chewing bubble gum. The real troubles in your life are apt to be things that never crossed your worried mind. The kind that blindsides you at 4 p.m. On some idle Tuesday.”

For me, it wasn’t a Tuesday. It was a Friday, and it was 3 pm.

If there is one thing I’ve learned in the last few weeks, talking about death, loss, and grief can make people feel pretty uncertain. I know this is about them, and not about me. However, it doesn’t feel great to watch how your own pain makes others twinge in discomfort, or inspire fear in how they, too, could experience such an event. Grandparents, those we expect to lose. Not your dad, at the age of 58, when he was seemingly healthy the night before.

As the weeks and months move forward without my dad, and I continue to process this change in my life, it is not my intention to make others uncomfortable or to be seeking sympathy.

Rather, I choose to dwell on the fact that stories of shared experience bring me comfort. Over the past few weeks I have had several people share with me that they, too, have lost their parents unexpectedly. Co-workers and high school classmates have shared their hearts and insights as to how they have moved forward to survive without their loved ones. And so I am choosing to share tid-bits of my experience here. Maybe my experience can bring you some comfort or something to relate to in your own journey. I now know that even in the midst of terrible loss, there is beauty to be found.

 

Rewind to two weeks ago. Thursday night. I had planned my meals for the week ahead as my mom and dad sat on my couch. We shared glasses of red wine and caught up on the latest episode of Grey’s Anatomy. Jotting down what I needed to get at the grocery store on Saturday brought comfort and a small sense of accomplishment in getting ahead on regular tasks.

IMG_3667This damn grocery list has sat on my kitchen table for the last two weeks because with a flood of funeral obligations, family time, and throat-aching sobs, I did not find the time to make it to the store.

Plus, the outpouring of support from our family and friends allowed our freezers to be full of casserole, lasagna, and breakfast burritos. Chores as mundane as grocery shopping quickly fell to the back burner.

However, as we marked the two week anniversary, it became pretty apparent that grocery shopping was necessary. Yet, the list continued to sit on the table. It can be challenging to return to routine after such a shock. At times, the thought of every day life just feels like too much.

On Friday evening, I had the blessing of two girlfriends coming down to join me for a meal out. After eating and drinking and discussing our lives, we decided to skip on dessert and make brownies at home. We had to stop at the store to get a boxed batch of promised, gooey, deliciousness.

Both of my friends insisted on returning to my house to get my list – the neglected reminder of my last night with my dad. I hesitated and said I could manage by myself, later in the weekend, but they insisted. Pissed, I grabbed my grocery bags and got back in the car, quietly feeling scared of undergoing such a task. My dear, gentle friends followed me around the brightly-lit aisles, put items in my cart, and helped me complete one of my first attempts at returning to normalcy.

Because that’s the thing when you lose a loved one – life continues, trash needs to be taken out, and you return to work, but picking out peanut butter can be a gut wrenching experience. The presence of these two women in a King Soopers on a Friday night was the most beautiful example of ‘showing up’ and letting me be me I have witnessed in my experience with grief.

Thank you to my dear, beautiful friends who have shown up in so many ways over the past few weeks. Thank you for wiping my tears, reminding me of love through candles and journals and phone calls with sobs, for bringing us Easter hams, and sending chocolates from across the world. For the cards, the flowers, the sentiments, and the continued communication of love and support as we move forward. Friends are the most beautiful things.

What are your experiences with grief? How have you moved forward? Do you find sharing your stories is comforting, scary, or even allowed?

 

Giant Spit

Some weeks don’t always feel that astounding. There are hundreds of meditations about living in the pause and accepting the breaks, the ordinary and the routine. This week, I didn’t particularly feel all that wonderful as I continue to go through the motions of life, asking questions of myself along the way.

What am I doing to better love myself? How do I cultivate peace? How do I sort through what I am best at, and then recognize the contributions that I want to make in this world?

When I write those statements down, I suppose they are anything but mundane and ordinary. They are big, monstrous questions with evolving solutions that we can only live our way into. I have been dwelling in the murky answers to these thoughts, and did not feel particularly inspired to reflect on beauty.

Then I read this post by my cousin-in-law and remembered that yes, each day, there is something to appreciate.

I’m going to go list format for this week’s beautiful things with one exception. Right now  extensive, tied-together narrative feels too cumbersome to create.

This week, beauty was found in:

  • Homemade Happy Hour – on Sunday my dad put together a beautiful plate of olives and cheese, and crackers with rosemary and hummus. We sat and nibbled off our little white plates while sipping red wine and shared laughter together. I loved how the shiny colors of the dark green and black olives paired well with the soft, yellow hues of the serving platter. Finger foods are delightful, and taking time to enjoy snacks is a beautiful thing.
  • Sunshine – once again, for a day in late February, I was shocked and grateful for the warm weather and cascading rays of sun that made my Saturday enjoyable. I will forever be grateful for Colorado sunshine.
  • Support – from mentors, from friends, from family. Sometimes, all you need is someone to hold your hand and say “Everything is going to be ok.” It is beautiful to bask in an extension of love and support that you can feel radiating throughout your soul when you seek connection.

Also, in an effort to acknowledge imperfection, I want to let you know that the hot tub we ‘inherited’ is causing a rather hilarious predicament. I have shared our adventures with the hot tub before, and the journey continues. Something is off with our water chemistry and as Dylan and I set out to clean the beast this weekend, we were met with an overwhelming display of well, blue foam. This is not how hot tubs are supposed to react. When it looks like a giant spit his toothpaste into your Aqua Spa, you do not want to enter that steaming pit of water.

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We will continue to work on it. Drain the tub, begin again. Add more chemicals and a defoamer agent.  Like all things, progress not perfection. Find something to laugh about and eat an olive – ok?

 

Wow! A Nomination

Isn’t blogging space fun? And weird, and kinda vulnerable? You never know who is out there reading your stuff. I was encouraged today because I noticed some are reading and liking what they see. I got nominated for an award! Yay! So, I’m bombarding your inbox twice today, but what can you do. Read below and I’m making up for those lost weeks in January way back at the beginning.

Thank you to Chelsea, at The Chelsea Page for nominating me for the ONE LOVELY BLOG AWARD. Neato!

The One Lovely Blog Award recognizes blogs considered to be lovely, written by bloggers who share their story or thoughts in a beautiful manner to connect with their viewers and followers. The nominees are chosen by fellow bloggers, and the nominations are presented to new and up-and-coming bloggers. The purpose of the award is to not only give recognition, but to help the new blogger reach more viewers as well.

If nominated, in order to “accept” the award, you must follow these guidelines:
* Thank the person who nominated you for the award.
* Add the One Lovely Blog logo image to your acceptance post.
* Share 7 facts/or things about yourself.
* Nominate other bloggers you admire and inform nominees by commenting on their blog.

7 facts about Me:

1. I was born orange. Carrot orange. Not an alien, just had no oxygen in my blood.
2. I really enjoy using things one at a time until they run out – pens, chapstick, nail polish – I’m rather OCD
3. I am an older sister.
4. I ran cross country in high school because it was the only no-cut sport. I always finished last on our team in races.
5. Mashed potatoes are my favorite food.
6. Alice in Wonderland is my favorite Disney movie.
7. I never ate meatloaf growing up. Never.

Isn’t it fun thinking about yourself. And now, for thinking about others. I nominate the following blogs!

Girl on the Contrary – her short little blips of info each post are funny and quirky and so spot on.

Kathleen Bean – this lovely lady was my mentor in college whom I still call upon for wisdom, laughs and support. Her honest approach to parenting and life is so refreshing.

Mikey is in My Kitchen – Can you say yum? This gal is so great at reflecting on life and talking about how food brings us joy and comfort. I love her recipes and thoughts.

Allison Ramsing – Her site looks so great! I aspire to make my blog looks so professional. And she writes with her husband, how neat. I love the appreciation for the ordinary celebrations in life and honesty about life’s ups and downs.

Stepping Stones – my sweet friend and I have very similar approaches to life. We walk together through all kinds of things and her generous heart pours out in this space. Check her out.

Welp, there you have it. Some inspiration for the day, and a grateful heart for a bit of promotion in this big thing called cyberspace.

If you accept this nomination please read the rules under the picture above. Pay it forward yo – pass it on