Bravery is not a guarantee

Bravery is not a guarantee

Bravery is not a guarantee.

Bravery is not a trade for

the outcome you desire.

Bravery is just the 

next step you take. 

We don’t know what is

around the corner

but the next step

must still be taken.

It is an exercise in trust,

but don’t forget – 

you’re in good hands.

 

Bravery,

in the company of fear,

hope, and trust

is the engine to take you to 

where you are supposed to be.

Some days will be hard and you

will be tempted to believe that bravery 

has been overtaken by fear.

Fear is just the reminder 

that you can’t do life alone. 

Fear is just a warning bell 

that you are relying too much

on yourself. 

It’s time to trust and put fear in its place.

Bravery, 

is a lot of small steps – 

not giant leaps. 

Small steps forward,

are steps in the right direction

and don’t be tempted to 

even think they don’t count. 

We can celebrate the little wins

and use those to build courage. 

The fails?

Those are our guardrails

to help keep us on the 

path we are supposed to be on. 

There are no guarantees…

except that 

bravery equals growth. 

#PermissionGranted

 

In the pocket

In the pocket

There’s a pair of denim shorts

in my dresser right now

with a folded up ten-dollar bill 

in the front, left pocket.

It’s always in there. 

I reach into my pocket often

when I am wearing the shorts

to make sure it is still there. 

Its lived in this pocket

for a long time – 

at least two years,

possibly more. 

Last week I stuck my hand in 

the pocket when I was folding 

the clothes and there 

was nothing in there. 

I was immediately sad. 

Did I spend it and forget about it?

What could have been so

important that I spent it

and now I don’t even remember 

what I spent it on?

I was so frustrated!

I tucked the shorts in the drawer –

minus the ten dollars,

unsure if I would

wear them again,

and took out my frustration

by vigorously shaking out the towels

before folding them.

The bottom of the clothes

basket was finally in sight,

but I was still bewildered.

Then, from under a sock peeked  

a bit of green paper. 

I squealed with glee.

I grabbed the cash and ran to 

my dresser and tucked it

into the left, front pocket

of my shorts – 

where it belongs.

I don’t know why this money

lives in my pocket.

Maybe there’s some sort

of comfort 

in the sameness?

Maybe it’s the smile

that comes over me

when I put the shorts on 

and stick my 

hand in my pocket

and feel the worn, 

folded edges

and think,

“Yep, I’m ready.”

I am not sure why

I do this

and I don’t feel 

that I need to explain it

or understand this quirk. 

It just is. 

It’s just a part of being me.

#PermissionGranted

 

Embrace your quirks. And embrace those of others – even the ones that may make you crazy. We have to allow for quirks so that we can all be who we are, right where we are!

 

Upon closer inspection

Upon closer inspection

If you look at my calendar

you would think it is a mess.

The same could be said for my car,

the basement, my desktop, and the laundry room.

My hope is that upon closer inspection,

you might be able to look past

the insanity, the yogurt splashes,

the boxes, the piles of shoes –

and see who I am.

The messes are messes, yes,

but there’s likely a reason they are there

and they don’t define who I am.

This is also true for my personality flaws –

and yours –

they are there for a reason,

but they don’t define

who we are.

I invite you to look past my flaws –

just as you would want me to

look past yours.

I also wish for you to help

me with my messes –

just because stubbornness

and a yogurt-splashed car

are a part of my life

doesn’t mean

I can’t make changes.

We are not forced to

stay in a mold

we can change,

morph,

grow

into people who pursue their best –

not just for their own sakes

but for the world around us.

Let’s give each other permission –

to be who we are,

right where we are…

but let’s also give permission

for others to speak

into the spaces where we

need to grow.

#PermissionGranted

 

 

 

Pieces of her

Pieces of her

She found a piece of herself

under the couch last month. 

It was dusty and covered in Cheerio crumbs

but it definitely belonged to her.

It was hard to tell 

but she thinks it might be her sense of adventure.

Last week she opened a box in the attic 

and was shocked to find 

her drive for justice in the box

with her high school yearbooks.

She sets the found pieces

in a box, next to her jewelry. 

She doesn’t think about them again

until she finds a paintbrush

buried in the junk drawer in the bathroom.

Her heart trips over itself

at the sight of a long-lost love.

She used to be known as

the artist. 

It joins the other pieces on her dresser.

The next day, during a long afternoon at work 

she re-discovers her ambition via 

an email search. 

She found it in an email about a business idea

from when she first graduated college.

It is still a good idea. 

She creates a folder titled:

Business Idea

and moves the email there so she 

can come back to it.

That evening

as she puts the girls’ clothes away

she squeals when she finds 

one of her favorite toys 

from when she was a girl.

She realizes then, that its been

a long time since she

felt joy that 

relishes the simple things. 

She carries the little toy 

to join the rest of the pieces of her. 

When she looks up

from her jewelry tray 

she catches her reflection

in the mirror and 

pauses.

All this time she thought she was

a whole person,

pursuing all that she is meant to,

but now that she’s discovered

misplaced pieces of her,

she takes stock. 

Is anything else missing?

How do I incorporate these

pieces of me back into my life,

where they rightfully belong?

Without them, 

I am not wholly me.

Her heart quickens, 

beats to redeem

lost time. 

She calls for the girls as she grabs 

her paintbrush and

runs to the playroom.

For now,

any paint will do.

She has to paint right this minute.

To put the pieces back together.

To be whole. 

To be all that she is meant to be. 

#PermissionGranted

 

I am not a robot.

I am not a robot.

There are days when I 

check off all the boxes.

If you saw me in action 

you might say, 

“Get out of her way!

She’s got a list!”

On these days I am a 

Professional 

Mom/Wife/Writer/Organizer/Cleaner/Chef.

There are days that I 

am a Professional

Facebooker.

There are days that 

if I could get paid to daydream

I would make bank. 

There are days that 

nothing is accomplished

because I just can’t 

do one more thing.

There are days that I 

think I could tackle

anything I put my mind to

and days when I wonder

if I am capable of good things. 

There are days when I try 

something new, 

like a treetop ropes course

and other days when I 

fall into old patterns that 

keep me stuck. 

All of this is me. 

I am not more me 

on my tackle-it-all days

versus my Facebook pro days.

The essence of who I am 

is on display when I daydream

and when I seek out 

something new. 

There’s a range to who I am.

I 

am 

not 

a 

robot 

with a singular setting. 

I am fully myself

when I give space

for all that I am.

#PermissionGranted

 

What hope feels like

What hope feels like

The pitch darkness

makes her stumble. 

It doesn’t matter if her eyes are

open or closed – 

the light is the same. 

She keeps to herself, 

keeps herself small

so that she doesn’t 

end up with bumps and bruises.

she shuffles imperceptibly.

Her lack of confidence is

because she is 

swaddled in uncertainty. 

Her movement,

her thoughts,

are 

stunted,

stagnant.

Her dreams – 

vacant.

What ifs

keep her a prisoner

to what has always been. 

She sits and waits for…

she doesn’t know. 

She waits but 

doesn’t know why…

an invitation perhaps?

An invitation to leave

the dark and  

cross the threshold 

into brave.

Will it ever arrive?

Whatever it is?

This waiting game

is draining life from her. 

She crashes into the nightstand

and hears a

rolling in the drawer. 

She grasps in the dark

and pulls open the drawer

and shuffles through madness.

Her hands find round, tapered. 

Her heart skips a beat. 

Is this what hope feels like?

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Her hands flit around the item

and she knows, she just knows, 

it is a candle. 

She reaches into the drawer again,

in search of matches. 

She finds a box.

She lights the candle.

Holds her breath.

And she can see. 

And she remembers.

She remembers the invitation

sent long ago. 

She remembers who she is. 

Ahh, yes.

This is hope. 

The small light gives her enough to see

and certainty takes root in her heart. 

The small light is like a

spotlight on her soul.

It stirs dreams, 

stokes hope,

and she believes that there’s 

possibilities for her 

beyond this smallness

that she has been relegated to. 

The light reminds her 

of her worth, 

enables her to see

the door to the room 

she has been shut in for so long. 

She turns towards the door

with steps of purpose.

She turns the knob and 

steps into brave –

taking the candle with her.  

#PermissionGranted

 

 

Are you in the dark, friend?

Find truth, seek light, and remember that you were made on purpose, for a purpose.

Are you hiding in darkness?

Cling to light and step into brave.