On top of Forgiveness Mountain

Photo credit: HelloGiggles.com

Photo credit: HelloGiggles.com

Pretty bottles of poison, huh? Actually, I don’t know what the heck is in them, but given the nature of this post, and the quote I’m borrowing from HelloGiggles.com  I’m just gonna stick with the assumption they have poison in them. Besides, one of them has a skull on it, and another has a pentagram. That can’t be a good sign. So there.

“Holding a grudge is like drinking poison and waiting for someone else to die.”

Honestly, that’s the best advice/reason I’ve ever seen about forgiveness, because grudges are toxic…even lethal…substances we carry around. They consume our insides and warp our sense of reality. And with 3 Beans and The Man to take care of, I’m already teetering on the verge of insanity most days anyway, so I’ll pass on the help. Thanks. Admittedly, I’ve fallen victim to grudge holding. Hell, I’ve dragged my family into it, and I’m not proud of that, to say the least. Sometimes being human really is an impossibly heavy cross to bear. 

Anyway, back to forgiveness.

Mama always told me, “Look for the good in people, even if you have to use a magnifying glass once in a while.” Pretty sage advice, I believe. She also taught me to be forgiving and compassionate, with the knowledge that nobody is perfect. Especially me. Despite the handful of times I mentioned previously…when I fell into the grudge trenches, grabbing those within my reach on the way down…I’ve always been generously forgiving. Sometimes to a fault. It also takes A LOT to make me angry enough to cut someone out of my life to the point of holding a grudge. And by a lot, I mean major betrayal, heaps of heartache, or life-altering actions….over an extended period. Usually. But I do have a breaking point, and it has happened. The good news is, as I’ve gathered life experience, resulting in more gray hair than I want, I’ve also developed a keener eye for people with agendas. Thus, resulting in a tighter circle full of loyal people whom I would trust with the lives of myself and family, rather than energy vampires who suck the life out of me or threaten to wreck what I’ve got going on. Must be true….wisdom comes with age, huh?

For the past few years, our little tribe has been on a seemingly never-ending hike over some very rough terrain. Let’s see…there has been betrayal by friends and/or trusted business associates, job related shake-ups, financial destruction/rebuilding, addiction and recovery, not one but two family moves, and the deaths of two beloved family pets. Clearly, our plates have overflowed with a variety of things. And that’s just the general Cliff Notes summary. Plenty of other less devastating, yet still significant hurdles have presented themselves along the way as well. But, in the spirit of my mama, and her wish to always focus on the good, and avoid shrouding the entire span of time in darkness, I will direct you to some positive times. Like thisthis and this. And this. OH… and this, of course. But, suffice to say, we’ve learned enough life lessons in the past 8 years to keep The Beans’ (along with their children & grands) karma cards free of a balance for quite a while. Just about the only things we haven’t had to endure are divorce and the terminal illness or loss of a family member. God-forbid any of those happen!! Seriously. I know The One in Charge thinks I’m a bad-ass already, as evidenced by the weight of what I’ve carried in the past. So I’d prefer not to be reminded again just yet. All good for now, and honestly…I could use a rest.

Did you hear that? (please say yes)

Fortunately, it seems that prayer has been heard, although I’m understandably hesitant to hold my breath, or sigh in relief just yet. I mean, you never know…right? However, I am happy to report….as we waded through the muddy water, and slid down slippery slopes into deep valleys at times…we also managed to simultaneously climb a mountain called FORGIVENESS. Mostly of those who betrayed us and of each other, but especially of ourselves. Oh and the view from atop, looking down at the distance we’ve traveled is a marvelous one indeed. The words “I FORGIVE YOU” have never felt so powerful and freeing as they do in my life today. I’ve said them before, but the sound of that phrase now is the equivalent of harp strings plucked by angels’ fingers. Oh, and the bottles of poison? They have been emptied, their contents replaced with the liquid of GRATITUDE. As the saying goes…“To err is human; to forgive is divine”. So so true. I’m proud of how much The Man and I have grown–as people–and the resilience we’ve had in the face of all sorts of things. The Beans will be stronger and smarter as the result of it, I hope.

And more appreciative.

And kinder.

But most of all, more….

FORGIVING.

 

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The Spiritual Rudder

windshield-repair3

A little help, here?

Wednesday, May 8; 6:30pm.

I’m sitting in the basement of our church, just after enjoying our usual Wednesday night, PEAK (Praise Education And Kids) meal. The food is always yummy, the company friendly…and let’s face it…feeding a family of five for $12 total (all of which goes to the church) isn’t such a bad deal. Plus, I don’t have to cook on Hump Day.

All. Good. Things.

Sugar Bean is in her youth group and the other two sprouts are in their classes as well. Several lectures are being conducted in various rooms of the building, so there’s something for everyone if you choose to partake. I just happen to find the basement comfortable, inviting, peaceful and quiet…allowing my brain time to breathe. Which doesn’t happen nearly as often as it should lately. Neither the brain breathing nor the peaceful quiet. But WHO am I kidding? I have The Beans…and they are noisy. Carry On, Warrior!

Anyway, one of the lectures currently happening is titled:

 “War, Divorce, and Faith: A Military Psychologist Reflects on Being a Christian”

 

Although I don’t have the first clue what, exactly, the lecture is about, just seeing the flyer taped to the wall was enough to plant the seed for an inner dialogue…and, of course, a post. Call it FOUNDATION INSPIRATION!

Sometimes, marriage is a series of battles, which can lead to a WAR. Battles ensue over parenting, finances, intimacy, in-laws, addiction, work stress–the list goes on. Too often, those seemingly benign, civil disputes mount to such a height, it results in DIVORCE. Enter FAITH. You must have faith that everything–despite all evidence to the contrary–will be okay, and hope for the best. Or at least a peaceful ending. One way, or another. Easier said than done, I know. Trust me.

Never having been through a divorce from either perspective–my parents were married 46 years before they passed, and I’ve been married for 14 so far– I don’t have any words of comfort or pearls of wisdom to share on how difficult it is to navigate. But I can say with firm certainty that MARRIAGE is tough. Next to parenthood–which is an ongoing, flawed experiment in failure almost every waking moment in my world–marriage is the hardest job I have. Or have EVER had for that matter. I’ve modeled naked in front of an art class full of strangers…in fluorescent lighting…and that wasn’t as exhausting, soul-baring or frightening for goodness sake! I’ve slung drinks behind the bar of a celebrity laden, Hollywood hotspot and not felt so exposed or used up. Seriously. Just the basic principle of it, meaning whole-hearted commitment, takes effort, from both people involved. Hence the reciprocal, vows of matrimony. It’s a partnership, and the moment one person begins to neglect any aspect of it, the foundation begins to develop miniscule cracks. Not visible to the untrained eye at first glance, but nonetheless present, these cracks can–if ignored over time–spread farther and farther into the pillars of the marriage. Is anyone surprised? Not really?

I thought so.

Picture a windshield with a tiny crack buried deep in the far corner. You see it, but don’t give it much thought. Realistically, how much can that little thing compromise the strength of the great big windshield, right? The “I’ll get to it later” mentality sets in. Seasons change, storms happen, temperatures rise and fall. Before you realize what’s happened, that tiny crack has grown into a spider-web across the windshield, obstructing your view…making it impossible to see the road ahead with any clarity.  BAM! You are lost. Completely off the grid. And THAT is some scariness. 

Saddens me to say, but it happens in marriage too.

Sounds pretty grim, huh?

Kinda like a crash in the last lap of the Talladega 500, I’m guessing.

There IS good news though. If you have a spiritual rudder–whatever faith it’s rooted in– helping you navigate the twists and turns, you’ll avoid careening into the center divider, and instead…find a repair shop just around the bend. Hallelujah, and praise the Heavens! You can pull into the pit…rally the crew (if you’ve employed one) and get a refurbished windshield! Not entirely new…just reworked. They don’t give them away for free, mind you. It takes hard work, patience and effort, but if you love the car with your heart and soul, and would rather it spit and sputter…dying beneath the weight of your efforts to save it…rather than have to bear the heartache of trading it in…then it’s totally worth the time, effort and patience required to finish the race and see that checkered flag waving in the breeze. The kicker is, you AND your co-driver both have to be in it for the long haul. No compromises. It takes two, working together. Period. Why, you ask? Because inevitably…you will get a flat tire, blow a gasket, break a belt, overheat, lock the keys in the car, forget where you parked, leave the window down during a rainstorm, or get drunk and need a ride home. Guaranteed. You always need a partner when dealing with anything automotive…or marital. If you are single, I suggest AAA. Or a professional NASCAR pit crew, if you can wrangle one. But be warned…you don’t quite receive that “personal touch”. Especially if you happen to be negotiating with AA simultaneously. Amen.

So, regardless of the fact that I have totally compared my marriage…and perhaps yours…to the machinations of automotive car parts and NASCAR racing…

YOU GET THE POINT.  RIGHT?

 

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Meeting my Monkee Mama :-)

I met my Monkee Mama, Glennon Melton

I met my Monkee Mama, Glennon Melton

Friday, April 12, 2013. The Book Passage; Corte Madera, California.

A day I will never forget, and the journey  to get there all started over a year ago when I stumbled upon… a blog.  And not just ANY BLOG….THE blog.

Momastery.com  

Several new friendships have sprung out of this blog as well. One in particular, which likely should have happened long ago, considering our children were in school together for several years, and still remain good friends. Nonetheless, it took me moving across the city, and sharing this blog with Stacey via Facebook, a year later, which ignited a friendship I have a feeling is part of a much larger picture being revealed to us bit by bit.  As the saying goes, “everything happens for a reason” –when it happens. Or something like that, right? Anyway, it was Stacey who was my partner in crime on the pilgrimage to meet the Divine Monkee Mama, Glennon.

Thanks to Stacey’s sweet hubby, who let us pilfer points from his Southwest Rapid Rewards account, we were able to fly up there for the super special book signing, thus saving us hours in the car and insuring that we arrived 7 hours early...lol.  By now, I’m sure most of you are aware, I had already received a copy of the book, read it twice, let Spongebob throw up on it, and posted a review here.  So the anticipation-anxiety-excitement of this meet n’ greet   Monkee Love Fest, for me, may have been equal to that a devout Catholic would feel going to meet The Pope. Or perhaps like Julia Roberts felt while waiting in the hotel bar, all dressed up in that gorgeous red dress, anticipating the arrival of Richard Gere in Pretty Woman. Probably more like the Pope thing though, to be honest.

As I said, we arrived a teensy bit early, so there was plenty of time for a bit of fumbling and bumbling to ensue. First of all, we rented a Prius to make the trek from Oakland to Corte Madera. I drive one on a daily basis, so naturally, I opted to let Stacey take the wheel and enjoy the thrill while I navigated. After I showed her how to turn it on, and assured her the engine was…in fact…running, since the dang things are so quiet, off we drove…into the sunshine…following the prompts provided via iMaps, compliments of Apple. The first glitch came as we were leaving the airport in search of Hegenberger Road, which was supposed to lead us to the actual road we needed to take in order to get onto the freeway. We eventually stumbled upon it, but not because of the great directions coming from my iPhone, or the signs at the airport, which pointed in the direction of a dirt lot that appeared to be under construction. Suffice to say….We. Just. Found. It.

Off, off, and away we drove….chattering all the way! Across a bridge….

not the Golden Gate

not the Golden Gate

Yeah…this is the only photo I managed to snap from the car, because it was hard to follow directions on my phone AND take pictures at the same time. Or I may have been talking too much. It happens. Admittedly though, I mostly suck at photo documentation of things because I’m just too busy living in the moment to actually worry about capturing it on film. Unless prompted. Therefore, you can thank Stacey for this photo.

After about 40 minutes, we pulled up to the most inviting, pleasant looking shopping enclave I’ve ever seen. And lo and behold….The Book Passage was the hub of it! There was also a yoga studio, a frame shop, a quaint little restaurant, a bakery, a nail salon, and a bunch of other small stores sprinkled about. Of course, we made a beeline for the mecca of our pilgrimage, and as soon as we walked in, were greeted with this:

We.Made.It.

We.Made.It.

I may or may not have shouted ‘Hallelujah’ upon walking in and seeing this :-)

After milling around in a bit of a trance, perhaps caused by hunger, but more likely from the sheer anticipation of what would happen in a few hours…we sat down and had some lunch. At the cafe….in the bookstore. Then, upon further examination, we figured out that our hotel was within walking distance. Unbeknownst to me…I’d booked our accommodations right next door to the very place we would meet our Monkee Mama, Glennon, 5 hours later. Sometimes, I do live a bit of a charmed life….totally by accident though.

As we checked into the hotel, I noticed the front desk attendant’s name was Tom Collins, which took me back to my bartending days, and made me giggle. In case you don’t know your booze…that is the name of a drink. Not a very good one, in my opinion, but still. We were super excited when he offered us an upgraded room at a mere $10 more than the quoted price of the room I booked, and we happily accepted. It would soon become clear WHY….it was only $10 more. While very charming, the hotel is currently undergoing a MAJOR renovation, and the center of their construction universe seemed to be directly above our room. The noise convinced me they must be building a sister hotel in China, and had decided to tunnel from that one to begin the process of connecting the two. All I can say is that Mister-Named-After-A-Sour-Drink, is lucky I had previously made up my mind that nothing was going to tarnish this overnight getaway to meet my blogging/writer/girl-crush idol. Or else my sassy Southern tongue would have pulled him into a come to Jesus meetin’ and that room would have been comped before he knew what hit him!

Now, with a few hours still left to kill, we decided to go check out Mill Valley…an adorable little town about 10 minutes or so away. Stacey was familiar with it, and The Man suggested I visit there while in the area, so it was a done deal. I pulled on some jeans and a tee, shoved my feet into my cowboy boots, topped off the look with a Bama hat and some gypsy jewels, and we set out on the adventure. And holy crap…that place is like my nirvana! Sort of a treehouse kind of community, oozing with culture, smelling like nature and emanating a hippie vibe. We wandered around a bit, and I snapped this photo (my 3rd one of the trip):

flowershopinMV

very unique

I realize it doesn’t look like much, but it’s an outdoor floral shop housed above a running stream. I’ve never seen anywhere else like it, so once I win the lottery and move to Mill Valley, I’m going to buy it. Just wait and see.

Immediately after we left here, we wandered into a wine store and perused the racks for a bottle of pinot noir we decided we would split in celebration, following the signing that evening. As we were chatting, both of us admitted to choosing wine by the aesthetics of the label, since neither has enough knowledge about the stuff to be a wine snob. If the label is pretty, and it’s affordable…that usually works. I also became mesmerized by the positively gorgeous and unique bottles of tequila on display in the store, and it dawned on me I couldn’t buy one to bring home, and the irony was not lost on me. (more on that later) We chose a bottle of pinot from the Mary Elke winery, because it had the word “Barter” on the label, and I personally think the world would be way easier if we ditched currency and returned to the barter system. Too bad the wine shop owner didn’t agree, and made us pay for it. Oh well…a girl can dream, I suppose.

The center of Mill Valley is a coffee shop and bookstore that serves wine (is this becoming a theme?), so we decided to rest our feet, take in the scenery and enjoy a glass of vino while listening to a local musician play a dulcimer in the adjacent courtyard. It turned out to be the only glass either of us had the entire trip. Yes…that’s right, we never opened the bottle we bought. We didn’t need to, as we were buzzed enough from the Monkee energy at the signing. I am happy to say that Mary Elke is waiting patiently at Stacey’s house for another GNO–and hopefully, Audra will join us! But seriously…how appropriately feminine (and Southern) is the name of that vintage? I can’t wait!

Alright, I’m gonna cut right to the chase here….fast forwarding through the threat of traffic getting back to the Monkee Mecca, and just say we made it in time to plant our fannies in a couple of chairs not so close that we could hit Glennon with spitballs, but not so far away as to require binoculars. Perfect placement, in other words :-)  The energy in the room was infectious. Several mamas came with their precious littles, which made me miss mine. Okay. That’s a lie. They were in capable hands, and I needed a vacay. But I did THINK about them.

Glennon came onto the stage, and I swear she was glowing. It’s possible it could have been the lighting, but I sincerely doubt it. She just radiates positive light. She talked for a bit, then read an essay titled “Officer Superhero” from her book, which of course made everyone roar with laughter and shake their heads with a ‘been there, done that’ nod. Me, times 3, in fact. After that, she took questions, and then it was time to line up for AUTOGRAPHS.

And this, my friends, is where it gets interesting….

 

As I mentioned previously, I was wearing a Bama hat. It’s part of my Warrior armor. As if this surprises any of you? You are also aware that I’m a talker…so my Southern accent was on full display, like a badge of honor, as I happily chatted up the lady in front of us. At some point, and I’m not sure what the prompt was…one of the ladies in line behind us, says to me “Is that an Alabama hat?”, despite the fact that it was Crimson and CLEARLY said Alabama on it. I politely answered, “Yes”, and she asked if I was from there, and had I attended UA. Again, I uttered a pride-filled “Yes.”  Then she said, “I’m from Mobile, and I went to Auburn.”  For a moment, there was a silent exchange of looks-up and down-from both of us to the other, and of course the unspoken thought, no doubt, running through both our minds of “Well, damn. Now I can’t be your friend.” Once that moment passed, and we explained to the women we were there with, Stacey and Kris, respectively, about the bitter rivalry between the two universities, it was clear we would in fact be friends. After all, there we were, standing in line amongst about 100 other women, waiting to meet the author of a blog and book, that claims “LOVE WINS” as it’s primary mantra. A devout Bama fan and a diehard Auburn fan, randomly found each other amongst the Monkees. Again, the irony of this situation was not lost on me. I only wish she’d been wearing some blue and orange AU garb to make the perfect photo! We laughed about how hilarious it is that neither university has a battle cry that even remotely matches their mascot –an elephant named Al who screams “Roll Tide Roll”, and a Tiger named Aubie who cries “War Eagle”WHAT. THE. EFF.?? We swapped some great stories, the time passed quickly, and we of course solidified the encounter by becoming FB friends. Thanks Bre…I look forward to football season this year….lol :-)

Alright, so we finally made it to the front of the line….hearts racing…and Stacey steps up to the table to greet Glennon. Not sure what the exchange was, but Glennon offered each of us a Twizzler as she came around to hug us, and pose for this photo:

Yes...those are Twizzlers.

Yes…those are Twizzlers.

So then it was my turn, and Glennon sat back down as I stepped up to have my books….yes, I had 2…signed. She immediately commented on the fact that I had ‘an original’ copy, and before I could even explain why (because I’d done the review) she said “NANCY!” and my day year was made. My blogging mentor knew my freaking name! Yep…stick a fork in me people, because I’m done! I could have drawn my last breath right there, and landed on the floor with a thud and a smile on my face. Obviously, that didn’t happen, but it could have. She thanked me for writing such a beautiful review, and continuing to show up for her and the Monkees. Then she came around to hug me, and a very magical thing happened. She whispered in my ear a phrase I will never forget, that let me know, beyond a shadow of doubt that not only did she know my name….she also knew my story. Because listening is one of her gifts and talents. You see, I, just like so many other people, have written emails to her, over the course of the last year….pouring out my thoughts, fears, hopes, dreams, etc….during times of struggle, just to get the heavies off my heart and out there into the universe. Never in a million years did I expect a response. But this is the cherished, whispered answer I got:

Evidence to the contrary…All is well.

 

And with that, I’m going to wrap this up. Because honestly, after that moment, I really just floated on a cloud for the remainder of the evening and the next day. Although, it wasn’t completely uneventful. We visited a restaurant featured on Diners, Drive-Ins and Dives, I spotted a landmark (The Watermelon Slice?) I was certain had to be a hunger induced mirage while on the shuttle from Prius return to  terminal, where I ran barefoot through the Oakland Airport because, of course….we almost missed our flight. Never a dull moment!

Here’s to the next Monkee pilgrimage!

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Easter…not just about eggs.

love-decorate-eggs-easter-ecard-someecards

 

Truth be told, I loathe decorating eggs. Just not a fan of boiled eggs, unless they are destined for devilry–complete with pickles and paprika. And I don’t like those stupid plastic ones either. Mostly because I find them all over my house for months to come, filled with rancid jelly beans and crusty chocolate footballs. You probably call them eggs, but face it…they look more like footballs, don’t they? I am rather fond of the mythical, cotton-tailed, candy bearing critter who leaves baskets full of sugar for The Beans to rip into before church services on Easter Sunday. Okay, really….I just enjoy wearing my crafty hat while embellishing the baskets to the point of embarrassment.  What can I say? I’m a creative soul who is really good with her hands.

Seriously though, Thank GOD…literally…Easter is not just about eggs or candy.

Now, to be fair, we as a family, have only been attending church on a very regular basis for about 3 months. The Man was raised in the Catholic church, but never really adhered to it, as far as I can tell, and I being Protestant, don’t quite understand a lot about Catholicism. So, when Sugar Bean was small, we decided to attend church as a family, and settled on an amazing Episcopalian church. Catholic enough for him, Protestant enough for me. We both got it. However, we moved far from that church in Beverly Hills, and enrolled our kids in Presbyterian school, because it was the best one around, and public was not an option at the time. Soon after, we began attending the church affiliated with the school, and really liked it for several years. Then, another move forced us to find another place to worship, where after just a short time we feel like part of  the church family. You know, like regulars at “Cheers”—where everybody knows our name…lol. It’s obviously meant to be our church home. And now, at 41, I am grasping the importance of deep faith along with an understanding of The Bible. Although I grew up in a Christian family, who attended church regularly when my brothers and sisters were small, by the time I came along….I assume my parents were just plain tired. Which meant we went on holidays mostly, and I don’t ever remember attending Sunday School as a child. And my knowledge of the Bible? Skeletal at best. But I am making an effort to educate myself so I’m prepared for the questions The Beans will inevitably have when they reach that point wanting to know “If God made us, who made God?”  Which, of course, I won’t know the answer to, but I want to at least try and communicate effectively.

My most vivid childhood memories of Easter involve the exquisite dress my mother would make for me to wear each year. Of course, I have carried on the tradition in my own girls, complete with gigantic satin bows in their hair to match. In fact, they have each worn some of THE very dresses I wore, as I cherish them dearly and have taken good care of them. But I am also doing my very best to make them understand that it’s not about big baskets of goodies, or eggs, or fancy dresses. And I was reminded of my efforts quite exquisitely, when I picked Butter Bean and Sweet Pea up after school on Good Friday.

Butter Bean said, ”I’m sooo excited for Easter!” “Me too,” squealed Sweet Pea. Expecting the answer from both girls to be ”Because the Easter Bunny comes,” I asked why, and beamed when Sweet Pea said she was excited for church, and then elaborated on why. “There are good friends there, and we learn about Jesus. I love Jesus.” In true Butter Bean style, she still hailed the Easter Bunny, but I know she understands. She just LOVES chocolate.

As a family, we are going through a bit of a difficult time. We need our Faith now more than ever, to lean on, and turn to, as guidance towards light overshadowed by darkness….albeit temporary. The Man is making huge strides at developing a Faith similar to mine, and we are discussing attending classes at LCPC in order for us to learn and solidify our knowledge together. Now, that’s not to say we will agree with everything we’re taught. I  mean, I am, after all….a liberal Christian. WHAT?!!! Yes, I said it. I firmly believe that Jesus LOVES EVERYONE, and to quote my favorite blogger/author, Glennon Melton, ” Jesus is forever tries.” He never gives up on us, and we shouldn’t give up on ourselves. I just pray he’s prepared for the Minklers…because I’m pretty sure I’ll be blowing up his shiny white, straight line to Heaven phone more than once over the next few years. Probably forever. He died for us. I really owe him A LOT of attention.

 

Anyway, here are The Beans, with some precious friends after church this morning.

Easter Angels in their Sunday Best

Easter Angels in their Sunday Best

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Their Safe Place.

 

Of course I envisioned my first post following our family move as a long, profanity laden rant describing all the crap that went wrong during the relocation and what complete hell I’ve been through over the last few weeks. Then, this past Friday morning, on December 14, 2012, as I was just waking The Beans, urging them to roll out of bed and get ready for school, tragedy struck at Sandy Hook Elementary in Newtown, Connecticut.

And the lives of 20 mamas exactly like me…..who had, just a few hours earlier, done precisely what I was doing at that moment…became an unimaginable Hell.

All of a sudden, my reality paled in comparison, and turned into an idyllic picnic in the park stacked up against what they were experiencing. A cowardly monster armed himself with several guns and walked into the one place we as parents trust, without question, to be safest for our children when they cannot be in our arms. Then he opened fire in 2 classrooms full of 6 and 7 year-olds. In a flash, those mamas lost their innocent, precious angels as Heaven gained them. Thinking about it takes my breath and replaces it with tears all over again. You see, my Sweet Pea is a bright-eyed, 6 year-old First Grader this year. If not for geography, it could have been her classroom. Two years ago, it could have been my Butter Bean, and although it’s been 6 years since Sugar Bean started her school journey, I still shudder at the thought of how little she was, and how naive I was, as a young mother, to the evils threatening this world.  Excuse me while my mind races, and I throw up, rethinking every decision I’ve ever made as a parent.

As a Christian, I have been told that God has a plan, and I shouldn’t question it. However, as a mother, I am screaming to the top of my lungs “WHY, GOD, WHY??!!” No matter the answer, it will not satisfy the question. There is no acceptable response, no silver lining, no lesson that needed to be taught by such a horrific example.

Or is there?

Honestly, until Friday, I firmly believed in the Second Amendment of Our Constitution, which states that we as citizens have the right to keep and bear arms, and therefore was on the fence with regards to gun control. Well, I’m here to say, I am no longer a fence-rider. The first time a school/mall/theatre shooting happened was one too many. Something must be done to make it impossible for this to ever happen again. Period.

Ironically, this amendment was adopted on December 15, 1791, which means this deadly attack on the students and faculty of Sandy Hook Elementary School took place just one day shy of the 221st birthday of the Amendment. A glaring coincidence? Probably not, if you are looking for some rhyme or reason to the incident. What more could this be, than a loud wake-up call for America to take a long, harsh look at our gun control laws….or better yet, the apparent lack of them. It’s obvious the weapon wielding asshole whose name I refuse to write reveled in his Second Amendment rights. His mother staunchly believed in hers too, for that matter. Although she was his first victim of the day, I can’t ignore that the four guns he carried with him to execute the massacre were purchased by, and registered to her. Or that, reportedly, she took her son to the shooting range at least once in his lifetime. This begs the question:

WHAT PRIVATE CITIZEN NEEDS FOUR WEAPONS TO PROTECT THEM? 

The answer, is none. That’s why we have policemen. To serve and protect us. Yes, I am aware of a thing called ‘response time’. Fine. If you must own a gun in order to feel like an American, then you can have ONE…a double-barrel shotgun. It’s intimidating enough to defend your property and family without allowing the power of semi-automatic and automatic weapons representative of a military presence into the hands of individuals who likely shouldn’t have it. Plus, you can hunt with it, so you won’t starve if it comes to that. There must be rules though. Let’s start by only allowing you to purchase one after an extensive background check and psychological evaluation, accompanied by mandatory classes on gun safety and proper handling/storage of weapons. Oh, and you may only buy enough ammunition as is reasonable. No need for a stockpile. The police will be on their way to protect you from harm before you could aim, shoot, fire and reload more than once. I believe this is more than fair. You can own your gun, thereby preserving your Constitutional right to bear arms, while I feel confident knowing it’s okay to send my babies to their safe place day after day and know they will return home, as alive, full of energy and excited as they were when I dropped them off that morning. Deal?

Because let’s face it…there is nothing more precious than the life of a child, and no Constitutional right worth the loss of it. 

If you are beyond livid about gun control or mental health care, please contact your state or local representatives and elected officials, who may have the influence to make a difference and prevent further tragedies from happening.

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If you would like to provide financial support to the families who were affected, you may do so through the Sandy Hook School Support Fund. If you have questions regarding the fund,  you may call 800-461-0672.

Otherwise, check donations may be mailed to:

Sandy Hook School Support Fund

c/o Newtown Savings Bank

39 Main Street, Newtown CT  06470

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Also, a former Sandy Hook Elementary School student named Ryan Kraft, posted a Local Voices blog on Newtown Patch saying he set up a fund to help heal his community. According to Kraft, the funds are directed to the school’s PTSA organization. Please help in any way you can.  Here is the link to the fund site: crowdrise.com/SHSRelief

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If you are unable to contribute financially, but still desire to help or show support in other ways, you may send a card or letter to students or staff at the school. Here is the address:

Sandy Hook Elementary School

12 Dickenson Drive

Sandy Hook, CT, 06482

If your child wants to help, the school is requesting that they make snowflakes. You can learn more from the Connecticut PTSA.

 

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