tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-81198684626897574572024-02-18T22:42:53.248-10:00PonoPeopleThis blog is about my desire for us all to become and embrace being people of "pono."
Pono is "the personal and organizational value of rightness and balance. Pono teaches the attitude of positivity and optimism. Life itself excites you, and you are full of hope, seeing that the future can only get better"~ We go~andy beth millerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02918013136802171687noreply@blogger.comBlogger149125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8119868462689757457.post-25573183616174191682013-09-01T08:42:00.000-10:002013-09-01T08:42:27.213-10:00~I am, We are~
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi0lfzI9Wp2yxeE-_28qSHLy9Q_p8zb7ccTHHZm6kqCa1N2tFTx1-gO9zKxSGc_oJJd8ich3aHPL23zvpX8UohQhGsNKEGXi-lnE-vSgxHGAzxhOUEg1HXwCm7QA2_z51VCwhgTfBir9LOr/s1600/DSCF2650.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi0lfzI9Wp2yxeE-_28qSHLy9Q_p8zb7ccTHHZm6kqCa1N2tFTx1-gO9zKxSGc_oJJd8ich3aHPL23zvpX8UohQhGsNKEGXi-lnE-vSgxHGAzxhOUEg1HXwCm7QA2_z51VCwhgTfBir9LOr/s640/DSCF2650.JPG" width="480" /></a></div>
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Most mornings I wake up and have to remind myself.</div>
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Like when Court-Court passed away.</div>
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Too soon, </div>
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it was unjust.</div>
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it was not fair.</div>
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<br /></div>
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I open my eyes to the sun sliding between the shades,</div>
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before so warm and welcome,</div>
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its beams are too bright,</div>
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too much.</div>
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<br /></div>
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THIS is too much.</div>
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<br /></div>
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I am a new bride,</div>
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I love my husband with my whole heart.</div>
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This is my honeymoon phase...</div>
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should be.</div>
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could be.</div>
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<br /></div>
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Most mornings I have to remind myself,</div>
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He loves me. chose me. Pursued me. Promised me. </div>
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And, this is my honeymoon phase....</div>
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should be,</div>
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could be.</div>
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<br /></div>
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*This is not my angry epithet,</div>
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Consider it my WHAT THE *EFF IS that??</div>
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<br /></div>
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<br /></div>
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I am here. I have not moved.</div>
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Truth, grace, goodness, and love.</div>
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Thrive still.</div>
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<br /></div>
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and they water hope, here in my heart.</div>
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growing a garden.</div>
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that should be,</div>
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could be</div>
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beautiful,</div>
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bountiful,</div>
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blessed.</div>
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<br /></div>
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I am a new bride.</div>
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I love my husband with my whole heart.</div>
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I exist. </div>
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I am real.</div>
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I AM.</div>
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<br /></div>
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We ARE~ </div>
andy beth millerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02918013136802171687noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8119868462689757457.post-49535598458861042932013-08-23T14:26:00.002-10:002013-08-23T14:28:46.179-10:00~Sweet Potato, Serenade~<i></i>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;"><i><b><span style="color: magenta;">She cooks you sweet potato, you don't like aubergine<br />
She knows to boil the kettle when you hum bars from Grease<br />
She senses you are lonely but still she can't be sure<br />
And so she stands and waits, stands anticipating your thoughts</span></b></i></span></div>
<div class="verse">
<br /></div>
<div class="verse">
<br /></div>
<div class="verse">
<span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;"><i><b><span style="color: magenta;">How can she become the psychic<br />
That she longs to be to understand you<br />
How can she become the psychic<br />
That she longs to be to understand you</span></b></i></span></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="verse">
<br /></div>
<div class="verse">
<span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;"><span style="color: blue;"><b>He brushes thoroughly<br />
He know she likes fresh breath<br />
He rushes to the station<br />
He waits atop the steps</b></span></span></div>
<div class="verse">
<span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;"><span style="color: blue;"><b>He's brought with him a Mars bar<br />
She will not buy Nestle<br />
And later he'll perform<br />
A love lorn serenade, a trade</b></span></span></div>
<div class="verse">
<br /></div>
<div class="verse">
<br /></div>
<div class="verse">
<span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;"><span style="color: blue;"><b>How can he become the psychic<br />
That he longs to be to understand you<br />
How can he become the psychic<br />
That he longs to be to understand you</b></span></span></div>
<div class="verse">
<br /></div>
<div class="verse">
<br /></div>
<div class="verse">
<span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;"><i><b><span style="color: blue;">So give her information to help her fill the holes</span></b></i><br /><i><b><span style="color: magenta;">Give an ounce of power so he does not feel controlled</span></b></i></span>
<span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;"><br /><i><span style="color: blue;"><b>Help her to acknowledge the pain that you are in</b></span></i></span>
<span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;"><br /><span style="color: magenta;"><b>Give to him a glimpse of that beneath your skin~</b></span></span>
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andy beth millerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02918013136802171687noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8119868462689757457.post-88313663166045150652013-08-09T19:23:00.002-10:002013-08-09T21:38:42.661-10:00~Let THEM Eat Cake~<style>
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I've been hearing alot of things, from alot of people these
days of late. Words of encouragement and pithy platitudes offered with good
intentions, of course, among other not so lovely, lingering lyrics of a tune
that tempts my soul to shrivel up and die. (Thanksssssss). Words wasted on a wandering gypsy
soul seeking only goodness, love and LIFE.</div>
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Anyway, I was told today that <a href="http://ponopeople.blogspot.com/2013/05/marriage.html">marriage</a> (and monogamy for
that matter), for most men, is like the best slice of chocolate cake. At first
sample, it is sweet and satisfying and the best thing you have ever tasted. But
then, after having it every day, it becomes too sweet. Too boring with no
variety of flavor. Your tastebuds tame, accustomed to the offering. Bleh. So
you want different dessert...a new cake...hell, maybe a cookie, or in my case, he went for the HO-HOS (plural)....</div>
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But the way I see it, marriage (and hell yes, monogamy), is
like a whole helluva heapin' helping of oats. Steady. Steel Cut.
Stick-to-your-ribs. OATS. In the morning, they are there to get you started
with whole-grain goodness.....greeting you....warming you....sustaining and steeling
you for the start of the day, for the moment when you make your exit out into
the world, solo. And at night, they are there, they can take whatever form they
need to to meet you...muffins, wholegrain bread, a kind, nurturing dessert that doesn't drag you
down. </div>
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And just when you think maybe you could get tired of them,
oats can reinvent themselves. Add to them, bake, cook or stew them a
different way, they can adapt...with you, for you...inside of you. Oats. </div>
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Steady. Steel Cut. Stick-to-your-ribs. Oats.</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhPPUhJpHQ8uKHMrGkotTs3bGxPRzVnRdLVman_ZGI6H2cTLTKZB7I3a3W77h4R9TR73k8A17QjelOU2FYN69cGOt8xhbtc8eL63Slc8fMlYGjtaeec1YgnqA-1s1TsXmtW2zGo83wLPhIB/s1600/oats.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhPPUhJpHQ8uKHMrGkotTs3bGxPRzVnRdLVman_ZGI6H2cTLTKZB7I3a3W77h4R9TR73k8A17QjelOU2FYN69cGOt8xhbtc8eL63Slc8fMlYGjtaeec1YgnqA-1s1TsXmtW2zGo83wLPhIB/s640/oats.jpg" width="452" /></a></div>
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andy beth millerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02918013136802171687noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8119868462689757457.post-76140076193659326472013-06-28T06:27:00.002-10:002013-06-28T06:36:44.491-10:00~Soundtrack of Self~<style>
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Sometimes I wish life had its own soundtrack. Maybe not
"life" as an entire entity in itself, but on a single, smaller,
microscopic scale--where each individual has one very specific, constantly
flowing music score to match their ever changing mood and mindset. THAT. WOULD.
BE. AMAZING. (or in my case.....just a maze...(*zing*))~<br />
</div>
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Go with me on this one...my favorite movie in the world,
Amelie, has this similar bend to it. The movie as a whole definitely gives you
a window into her mind, with great music and sound effects as the reel rolls.
But Amelie seems more to be hearing the soundtrack of the world, as it plays
itself to her, ....I am specifically thinking more along the lines of each
person's soundtrack of themselves--descriptive rather than prescriptive. Ever
shifting and shuffling, like a foot-stompin', resounding remix, where at any
given time the DJ of your dharma would stop that record----<i>SCRREEECH</i>....aaaaand
*<i>wickety wickety wickety</i>*....<i>BAM (</i>Or in some of our cases, WHACK?)<i>.</i>..new
sound, different vibe, and the beat goes
on. No segway necessary...no pregnant pause or interlude...there is no
time!
Small wonders and snippets of emotion and sensory samplings wait for no
man! And slip away from our reach as fast as a fairy flies...only a
glimmer
memory with a glitter trail of topsy-turvy, tinkling cheer remains.<br />
<br /></div>
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Yes, a selfie soundtrack. Indeed. I think I'll write off for
a patent presently....but before I go, allow me to press *play*...for your
listening pleasure:<br />
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Eyes open as the alarm wheezes a whiny and utterly annoying
(BEEP BEEP BEEP!) A (BOP BAM BOOM) as my tiny fist obliterates the button...I
see this as my pint-size protest (and slight temper tantrum) regarding the
shortening of my sweet slumber.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>Radio clicks on as U2 beckons me to a better mood, reminding me it
really is a (Beautiful Day). A smile sneaks to my cheeks as I roll to the
right...(RECORD SCRATCH!)...as I ricochet across the covers, the unwilling
recipient of my husband's dread-full (and unaware) headbutt. (SHISH SHISH SHISH)
as I rub my forehead and make my way to the mirror, perusing the glass panel
for any signs of gore or goose egg that are guaranteed to be there after such a
knock to the noggin'. WHEEEEEEEEY...I rub the smudge of bathroom brine as the
one blurry blotch of sink splash stares back at me from the smooth surface. There. All clean.<br />
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I call out to my husband from the hallway asking if he wants
coffee...(CRICKETS)...followed by the PITTER PATTER of my feet padding down the
hallway. Round the corner to JACKHAMM-AAAAH--TADADADDADADADADADAD!....no, not a snore...a symphony
of snorts and sniffles----one unapologetic, earth-shattering, shake me and
quake-me-to-the-core cacophony of syncopated chaos. (POW!) A drool-by shooting! Autopsy report reads: Nerves
D.O.A.<br />
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And that's just before I even get my teeth brushed.
*Coffee's on, ya'll*....</div>
andy beth millerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02918013136802171687noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8119868462689757457.post-68099258849350111692013-05-28T14:29:00.002-10:002013-05-28T14:29:54.780-10:00~Marriage~<style>
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The music begins. Slow and delicate, the notes nudge one
another from limb to limb--barely touching long enough to bow and turn to the
next, edging along the lines...lilting lyrics to follow.<br />
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Lyrics. Words. Wisdom written in rhythm. Poetry
painstakingly penned, flowing from the fount of forged passion, the
experiential emotion only earned through firsthand, earth-shattering sojourns. </div>
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Shards of spectral light spin out, sequentially the spectrum explodes in
empathy....a flag of hard-fought freedom unfurling.<br />
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Scales. Melodies meandering. Across keys---fingers wildly
sliding from fret to fret-not.....to fear not.<br />
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Dance. From cautious curls of the toes, to carefree cuttings
of carpets, the style will submit to the substance. What is this foundation
made of? Of what material is it made? This song--these steps, our musical
matrimony.<br />
</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Truth. Joy. Honesty and Respect. Let us build brick by brick, together...a symphony~<br />
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
And Cue the music.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
andy beth millerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02918013136802171687noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8119868462689757457.post-19980770306102959412013-04-21T18:02:00.001-10:002013-04-21T21:22:33.578-10:00~The Juxtaposition of Joy~<style>
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<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgxNOYGFue7lLAqhYVSAJTTksOhZjz8Mw610v5RIA_4FkZLCXFa9mzkV3evH0s7dXpIT7mfCcwbfq7KAJiY6OUo341JxqQLsnNUH9yI3JGXTGHn3-NpBz1XwY6a5JxxTzHWm5tO8IxtSv5A/s1600/IMG_20120603_155627.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgxNOYGFue7lLAqhYVSAJTTksOhZjz8Mw610v5RIA_4FkZLCXFa9mzkV3evH0s7dXpIT7mfCcwbfq7KAJiY6OUo341JxqQLsnNUH9yI3JGXTGHn3-NpBz1XwY6a5JxxTzHWm5tO8IxtSv5A/s320/IMG_20120603_155627.jpg" width="261" /></a></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I went on my favorite hike this morning. It's a killer, but
I love that about it. The climb to the top, full out, and at a steady, fast
clip takes me a good hour, and the trail run down is fast and exhilarating.
Simply put: this hike makes me happy~</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I got married three weeks ago, almost to the day. He is the
love of my life, and the person who I believe deep down that I was created for.
He is gone right now. Having left for a two week trip one day after we arrived
home from our wedding, my husband went to a far away place, to surf and video
and explore, without me....and it hurt deeply.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>"Hurt" was soon renamed for what I later uncovered
it to really be....fear. Fear that already, as a wife, I was not
enough...somehow inadequate to keep my husband happy and fulfilled at
home...tears followed, and as internet connection where he's at is very limited,
I was left with silence. Deafening silence, and crumbs of communication. Tiny
morsel-moments when maybe that day I get a small sliver or snapshot that serves
to shrink the space between for even a nanosecond. For these tidbits of time I
am truly grateful, yet there still gnaws at me an edge of hunger...for the
certainty and security of his strong, affirming, tangible touch. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
My hike begins. I waste no time in warming up...I never do.
I want to dive in, to charge, to go, go, go....higher. I push myself, and for a
solid 45 minutes I climb. I never take breaks...I thrive on the momentum. I use
it to spur me forward...launching ahead....up, up, up...focusing on what I know
to be waiting for me at the summit...a view unmatched by any other, and a
well-earned moment of rest and reprieve---a-high-above-the-clouds communion
with my Creator.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
At the 45-minute mark, the trail tops off momentarily and
plateaus, flattening out along a lovely ridge before dipping down into a
forested valley. I remember the first time I went on the hike I thought I had
taken a wrong turn, messed up when looking at my map, somehow gotten the
directions backwards and was getting further away from what I was
seeking......the summit.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
This couldn't be right...the hike showed a straight climb
upwards...I knew to make it to the top I had so much ground to cover...this
couldn't be the best way. Yet I kept going that first time...and that has made
all the difference. If I had turned back I never would have known the value of
the view that awaited. I had had no other solid signs showing me anywhere else
I should be going...so I decided I had to just move forward and trust the trail
that so many had traveled before me, that so many had assured me was a good and
beautiful trail. A trail well worth every bit of effort it took to tread.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I made it to the summit that day, despite my distrust of the
signs, and the momentary fear of the forest valley. And the view, the view that
greeted me was healing... I saw the whole island...every part stretched out
before me...I could even see way down to the place where I started....it seemed
so small to me from such great heights.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
As I hiked today, I prayed alot....I always do. I talked to
God and just walked with my thoughts....I processed. I praised. I petitioned. (I
always do). The climb up is steady, slower, and milder. It allows me to get
lost in the sweet silence of the scenery, to create a cyclical rhythm to unwind
within--to loosen what during the interim has been tightened or twisted. There
is safety in this sure, steady climb. I take a bit more time to enjoy looking
around...a moment to marvel at every minute detail of the delicate dwelling place
I call home. It is this critical climb that sustains and satisfies that hunger
that spurred me towards this trail. I feel steady. I feel sure. I feel calm. I
know peace. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Arriving at the top, I almost always am alone. No one ever
comes much to this height, and here...<i>here</i> is my earthly Heaven. I say my
thanks here. I sing here. I stay here, as long as I need...and I breathe. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
As I make my way back down the trail, I run. No, I
*catapult* down the mountain. Crashing through the forest, tripping over branches,
slipping and sliding on tiny pebbles and making my best attempt at navigating
the mud-wracked and moss covered clearings....I fly. Giggling, I let my arms
and legs go wherever they may, imagining the flailing, fairy spectacle I am
sure to be making should anyone see. But I don't mind....It is exciting. It is
exhilarating. I feel free. I know joy. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I thought today, as I was removing my muddy sneakers, how
much I feel I learn from the mountains, every time we meet.... </div>
<br />
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
I <i>see</i> now, only because I quieted my heart enough to <i>hear.</i>..My
husband did not abandon me, nor did I drive him away by not being
"enough." I love him "enough" to try to see, to seek to
understand....that on our journey, he needs it all...WE need it all...and we
can have it all---the steady, certainty that comes with routine...the
bookending days that bring such comfort and tangible connection. The puzzle
parts of the daily that slide together to form that perfect pattern for
peace....and the exhilarating open-ended adventure, the freedom to find the
passions that prick our hearts and stir us within---the whimsical wonderful
bits that beg and bellow for fear of being buried or hidden away...here,
<i>here</i>...that juxtaposition of joy.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
My husband comes home tomorrow, and I have longed for that
moment these whole two weeks. Simply put: these halves can be happy.......can
be One. And there is joy, and there is peace~</div>
andy beth millerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02918013136802171687noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8119868462689757457.post-29163446648455066312013-04-15T05:50:00.000-10:002013-04-16T14:08:16.704-10:00~It's Official~<b><i><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="color: purple;"><span style="font-family: "Courier New",Courier,monospace;">“One day, in your search for happiness, you discover a partner by your
side, and you realize that your happiness has come to help you search</span><span style="font-family: "Courier New",Courier,monospace;">"~</span></span></span></i></b><br />
<b><br /></b>
<b>Byron James and Andy Beth Yeager: We go~</b><br />
<b><br /></b>
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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<b><br /></b>andy beth millerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02918013136802171687noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8119868462689757457.post-82624680069190218662013-03-05T04:42:00.000-10:002013-03-05T09:38:20.778-10:00~Anablepo~<style>
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<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEib4SawgYcsurhkTJWnxpiaQgg9PfV_fE-38zounsjNONdAlUUUygBUo9tfh25lcd-t4A93pxJeHBGbPZ5Ay107JUQjmBQOdiuNn5LOxiOAPFFKNS3chrNy8VYxuZH06YQ1vslp4tX_YVgB/s1600/dad.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEib4SawgYcsurhkTJWnxpiaQgg9PfV_fE-38zounsjNONdAlUUUygBUo9tfh25lcd-t4A93pxJeHBGbPZ5Ay107JUQjmBQOdiuNn5LOxiOAPFFKNS3chrNy8VYxuZH06YQ1vslp4tX_YVgB/s320/dad.jpg" width="263" /></a></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
When I was a little girl I had green eyes. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
The color of jade-d complacency....</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Envious was eye. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Jealous because I did not see</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Eye, did not see you.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
So fixated was eye on the dream, the desire, the demand</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
to be daddy's little girl.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
the center of your world.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
To sit upon your knee. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Have you gaze adoringly upon me.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<i>Daddy, am I pretty? I inaudibly ask.</i></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<i>Begging and pushing as I twirl and try. </i></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<i>Attempting to gain your outward affections.</i></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<i>Hug me! Sit me on your knee! Tell me I make you happy!</i></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<i>Let me know I am pretty....that you love me.</i></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<i>Like Natalie's daddy. Or Sarah's Poppy...</i></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
So fixated was I on the daddy I thought you should be.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I spent my days angry,</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Blind to the beauty...the blessing.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
My visions obscured by an emerald-hued haze.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I have grown now...</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
The mirror reveals a warrior, blue-eyed and brave, </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
The golden ringlets and dimpled cheeks,</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
now straightened and thinned....broken along this road</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
adapting to the environment.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Earning a beauty all their own,</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
No longer the pretty little princess looking for the perfect
daddy,</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Eye now see,</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
All along, you were right in front of me.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Daddy,</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Your road was not easy.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Childhood was not kind.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Affection, not often offered,</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
never came easily.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Yet in so many other ways,</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
you showed me.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Love.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Protection.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Provision.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Ours has been a long and winding road.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I have misunderstood.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Put words in your mouth that you never uttered.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Miscommunication.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Missed communication.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Now, wisdom and age helps me to change the outcome:</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<i>Daddy, do you know I love you? I audibly ask.</i></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<i>Blessing and praying as I reach out and no longer deny, </i></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<i>The importance to me of your outward affections.</i></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<i>May I hug you? Will you sit with me awhile? Are YOU happy?</i></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<i>You are beautiful to me....and I see you love
me...deeply...imperfectly.</i></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<i>Like MY daddy~</i></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
andy beth millerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02918013136802171687noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8119868462689757457.post-9305025150947170492012-12-25T18:00:00.000-10:002012-12-25T21:07:27.257-10:00Come Fly the (Not So) Friendly Skies....<style>
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<div class="MsoNormal">
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<br />
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
This year, in a huge last minute miracle, I was able to fly
home to where I grew up for the first time in several years. To say that I was
looking forward to this journey would be a gross understatement. The night
before I was packing...and unpacking....and repacking until my eyelids were as
heavy as the carry on I was attempting to jam full of items, determined as I
was to not be paying the check-in fee. *Yes dad, I did you proud...Navy rolling
and ridding the loot of all "frou frou" girly items....weeding out
the wants and only keeping the necessary bare bone basics...I succeeded in
squeezing all supplies for the holiday season into one *snug* suitcase. Bam!</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
1) Packing: check.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Now came the goodbyes....to my new neighbors, my uncles and
aunties, my friends and roommate....and nary a fast forward<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>button in sight. Powering through the
emotional gauntlet that is coming and going, leaving behind and heading
towards....transition and change in routine (shudder)...I bravely bent my face
towards the eastern shores....only slight sniffles sneaking slyly to the
surface...at least until the car door was closed and the calmness my melodic Joni
Mitchell joined me in my muffled "girl moment." *Sigh*...I'm gonna
miss this place...</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
2) Ripping off the band-aid of bye-byes: check.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Getting to the airport was yet another feat. From frazzled
future in-laws, to not so neighborly neighbors, one by one the list of possible
chauffeurs was exhausted. The bus began to look like the only option....and
enter Orr....crazy, brother Orr. Sardined into the benchseat of his
rat-a-tat-truck (that I do love oh so well!), we rolled down the road and
headed towards Honolulu...complete with a splendid soundtrack that only Orr and
Ari could provide. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
3) Arrivin' in Style (or at least with some Swaggah): check.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Flight one to Phoenix....no drama to discuss....a shame to
be sure....oh how I love the drama, mama~ Smooth skies and shoulder to shoulder
with some sunflower munchin' hippies who were going to be happy no matter what
life threw at them that day, I'd say that was a scha-weeet seating assignment
for leg one.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
4) Fairy to Phoenix: Check.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Now this is where the excitement begins. Arriving to the
terminal where I am to change flight towards Charlotte--and then straight into
the sugar-spun, sparkly sweetness that is my Southern mama---I head directly to
my gate with just a few seconds to spare. Bounding for the boarding tunnel I
flash my fair(i)est smile at the stewardess, reach into my pocket and pull out
my pass for paradise...HOME...yes, that's right....I am heading
home...to....PHILADELPHIA???<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>Hmmm...the words read Philly but this lil missy means Mecklenburg...as
in the county...you know, with CHARLOTTE as its queen? Deep breath...digging in
the heels....and making a break for it, I became the ridiculous rendition of
every cheesy classic Hollywood movie made...you know, the one with the mad dash
for the last minute monumental making of the flight? *Complete with dramatic
hand gestures and a few choice words, which honestly may or may not have
consisted of a mere four letters, of course. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
5) Final Flight Found: Check.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Aboard the aircraft, gratitude didn't begin to describe my
giddy heart and spirit. Just three more hours and I am soooooo there. Sweet
Southern Simplicity....and such hugs and kisses and love abounding...yes
please! I settle into my seat and wait for the wheels to lift off and whisk me
away...and wait...and wait....and...what the heck? One hour later--thrilling
times chilling on the tarmac....I am still waiting. Most days this would be
mildly annoying and slightly frustrating as I am so excited and ready to be
home. But today, my seat buddy beside me just so happened to be the most
unhappy, woe-is-me-woman I have ever met.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Aaaaaaand...cue the:</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
*All too audible sighs.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
*Exasperated emotional outcries.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
*Temper tantrum only tolerable in toddlers (if then!)</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
and....</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
wait for it.....</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
*Alligator Tears (yes...you heard me).</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I was actually waiting for the broken pottery chards and self-extracting
of hair by the root....I mean, this was some stressful stuff--this departure
delay. And on Christmas Day too. *SIGH!!!* *Head shake* *Shoulder Slump* *Fist
to the sky in fury and (self) righteous indignation!!!!**</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I know woe-is-me-woman...you have made it clear! This is
unacceptable! You are displeased! The inner wounded-woman-child has been
angered...or at least spanked silly.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
As I take in the show....Oscar worthy I assure you...all I
can think of is how very much I simultaneously want to run as far the hell away
from this broad as I can....and yet also, inexplicably, at the very same time....desire
to wrap my arms around her in the biggest bear hug...because DAYUUUUM....her <a href="http://ponopeople.blogspot.com/2011/01/giving-up.html"><span style="color: green;">flight</span></a> <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">is</i> being
delayed....but not by the airline....</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
andy beth millerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02918013136802171687noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8119868462689757457.post-35478594511404647252012-12-08T15:38:00.000-10:002012-12-08T17:13:20.982-10:00~A Real Wheelbarrow~<style>
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<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj1YEs1AnizPZA6VE0x-QaJI7NgqZo1hklE5yZghBKo4-GzgW8iqEYjhbUqa5FepVim6kfNVYJiQFWUmesFnEhWGBN4rlW-G41TRxWP8zTK3j-EwxxiOzinxSFeh-kjRmJ8iVhyphenhyphena3J6gCSf/s1600/xmastree.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj1YEs1AnizPZA6VE0x-QaJI7NgqZo1hklE5yZghBKo4-GzgW8iqEYjhbUqa5FepVim6kfNVYJiQFWUmesFnEhWGBN4rlW-G41TRxWP8zTK3j-EwxxiOzinxSFeh-kjRmJ8iVhyphenhyphena3J6gCSf/s320/xmastree.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
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<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<br />
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
As I sat down this Saturday morning to begin my new writing
assignment, I kept gravitating back to <a href="http://www.amazon.com/Booked-Literature-Karen-Swallow-Prior/dp/0692014543"><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">BOOKED</i></a>.
Now don't go sending me emails fretting, I very much have ample time to meet my
deadline....so just this once, just for today, I revisited and allowed myself
some time to ruminate on the words, all over~</div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
One of the passages I kept coming back to related a present
that ma mere's husband had given to her one Christmas, and her explanation of
why it remains to this date as one of her favorite and best gifts ever received:
it was a wheelbarrow. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Yes. A <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">wheelbarrow. </i></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
My first thought was one of surprise when I read this...yet
when she explains the why behind her love of this present, it makes
sense....and brings everything home. Dr. Prior shares that:</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="color: purple;">"What I loved so much about the wheelbarrow (besides
its sheer utility) is that it was something that required a certain amount of
knowing me, knowing my daily life and needs, knowing the pleasure that I take
in caring for the horses and chickens each day, in order to see its
fittingness.....The wheelbarrow was a gift because it was perfect for <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">me</i>."</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
As I read that, my mind transports back in time to when I
lived on her farm with her and that husband she is speaking so warmly of. It is
nighttime, and I am inside reading for my class. All is quiet out here in the
country, save for the crickets chirping. And then I catch it....a slight,
snippet of sound. It is laughter. No, it is....a <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">giggle</i>....escaping from the lips of my brilliant, no-bones-about-it, top-notch Professor. Pretty as you please, peeking its way across the night sky
from the back porch, the audible presence of joy joined me at my desk. The
source of that simple, small delight was ma mere...rocking on the back porch with
her husband (a porch that this husband had built with his own hands, mind you).
I realized then and there that <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">THIS</i>
is what I wanted...even though I wasn't quite sure what I meant, or didn't yet
(maybe still don't) have the exact words to capture what I was having the
blessing of witnessing unaware. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Perhaps Dr Prior can say it best in her own words:</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="color: purple;">"We had been married many years by this morning. I had
come to see that lasting love is less like a dinner with candlelight and red
roses and more like a wheelbarrow given on Christmas morning."</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
This holiday season, as I think of giving gifts....I want
the people I love and cherish to feel it. To know that the investment in
getting to know them....the time it took...was worth it.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>That <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">they</i> are worth everything~</div>
andy beth millerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02918013136802171687noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8119868462689757457.post-80181914558026626272012-12-01T07:57:00.003-10:002012-12-01T14:11:27.902-10:00It's Gettin' Real...<style>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhTdgyF1zyQ2ShWnweKo6smtxhZfic41A3ALMnehmWtSXrt-Om1qNjS74pdsndQXw0WMikAy7vof9cSiGi8yVHM8EabMZtYjO2ST5E5lba0oydsYW6S5GpX4IFml4VrbvdjUZp1GZ7zkBhD/s1600/DSCF1238.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhTdgyF1zyQ2ShWnweKo6smtxhZfic41A3ALMnehmWtSXrt-Om1qNjS74pdsndQXw0WMikAy7vof9cSiGi8yVHM8EabMZtYjO2ST5E5lba0oydsYW6S5GpX4IFml4VrbvdjUZp1GZ7zkBhD/s320/DSCF1238.JPG" width="240" /></a></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Today I finished reading ma mere's book. It is good. Good.
Goodness~</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I took my time going through it....leafing through the pages
slowly, savoring every word...willing it to saturate my heart and mind like a
soothing stream of truth. Ma mere does not mince words. She never has. *This is
what is simultaneously so amazing <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">and</i>
awful (at least to my pride) about our relationship. A relationship I have
learned to embrace and encourage...even when it hurts. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Chapter by chapter, her book titled <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><a href="http://www.amazon.com/Booked-Literature-Karen-Swallow-Prior/dp/0692014543"><u>Booked</u></a> </i>delves into the depths of Literature, and how God's
gifting of it gave her insight into, or even moreso, actually formed her
self and identity---even her awareness and understanding of a Divine Creator.
It is a concept I have never come across from this exact angle--and it is
keenly acute in its accuracy. Truth lives and breathes within the bindings of
this book, and I am blessed to have been witness to such a work. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
As I read I had my highlighter waiting to whisk across the
words, coating the ivory with color--an iridescent roadmap there to remind me
of what resonated within my heart, so that I can return back to the wisdom
again and again. For one specific chapter, the section surrounding Gustav
Flaubert's <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Madame Bovary, </i>I chose green.
Little did I know at the time that a more apropos choice could not have been.
For Emma, the heroine of the book is plagued throughout the piece by an
attitude of awful discontent---dramatic in its dire needs and wants, and a
spirit stolen of satisfaction by the criminal clutches of romanticism. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Green goes with the envy that is Emma's as she glances
around her world, riddled with routine and mundane daily duties when all she
desires is the excitement and glamour she imagines awaits just around the bend
out of her reach and belonging only to others. Yes, those <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">others</i>. Even an emerald-hued haze hovers around her kind and loving
husband--whom, in comparison to the outer world and the men she makes idols
from afar, she now finds disdainfully dull.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<a href="http://blog.christianitytoday.com/women/2009/03/karen_swallow_prior.html">Dr Prior</a> (author of Booked, and ma mere) describes Emma's
dilemma (yes, that was a painfully unavoidable rhyme you just witnessed....):<b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><span style="color: #00c900;"> </span></b><br />
<br />
<br />
<b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><span style="color: #00c900;">"She keeps
'waiting in her heart for something to happen,' something of <span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"></span>excitement
to fulfill her longing, her unbearable heaviness of being." </span></b><br />
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
As I ruminated over these words, Emma's unmet longings, I
saw a mirror of myself. Waiting....looking from afar in awe, at <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">others</i>. Wanting. Aching. Longing.
Failing to see what is right before me.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>Unable to sit in the stillness and see....how blessed, is <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>(or can be) my <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">reality</i>~</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
andy beth millerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02918013136802171687noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8119868462689757457.post-61407903398847368922012-11-13T09:02:00.000-10:002012-11-13T12:03:42.290-10:00Chosen~<style>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiU4eAmByqw0BgZRhPq6sfOdBvl49sNsh-G5pBaK60AGLiG26uYtVRflFo34T0bFvHqOU7RxT5E2tZPTJjywnF1TohhWM-BUq23Wxgk0i1Sp71vF3PS9fJuFA3cM1qJ2et_ZD8nyAyMMkcq/s1600/DSCF1181.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiU4eAmByqw0BgZRhPq6sfOdBvl49sNsh-G5pBaK60AGLiG26uYtVRflFo34T0bFvHqOU7RxT5E2tZPTJjywnF1TohhWM-BUq23Wxgk0i1Sp71vF3PS9fJuFA3cM1qJ2et_ZD8nyAyMMkcq/s320/DSCF1181.JPG" width="240" /></a></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I have two mothers. Susan Miller, my birth mother, is
amazing. Her kindness...softness....pure heart...and strong spirit was a safe
haven for my self growing up in that small, Southern town that I sometimes felt
strangled within. She is and will always be my mother, birthing me, raising me,
teaching me right from wrong, loving her "Angel Beth" with open arms
and intense optimism about my destiny....despite all the (ah, adventures) I've
put her through over the years.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
And then there is ma mere. Dr. Karen Swallow Prior. Ma Mere
means "my mother" in French, and this name, it is..well,...
"C'est Vrais."<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Ma Mere,
no more special than my own mother, yet unique and profoundly precious to
me....because she <i>chose </i>me...and I chose her. Ma mere was my Freshman English
professor in college. She reached out....all the way to the very, very...very
back of her crowded classroom...and <i>saw </i>me.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Not the tiny, timid woman-child tucked away, trying
desperately to melt into the floor...no. She saw <i>Me</i>. And she chose me. Her
jeune fille. And from that moment on, my life changed. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Ma mere has written a book. A <a href="http://www.amazon.com/Booked-Literature-Karen-Swallow-Prior/dp/0692014543">BOOK</a>. Damn, I am proud of her.
This book is beautiful, and shares truth. She sent me a copy in the mail...and
I have curled up with it, keeping it close, hiding its words away in my heart,
and simply soaking every inch of it in that I can. <i>She</i> is there, dancing on
every page...a joyful jig, a saucy samba, a fiery and unafraid foxtrot.....a
waltz, willing me to wonder---to walk--and to run<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>(and <i>work</i>) towards what I want. A resurrection
rumba....calling me back with a whisper of welcome. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Welcome, home.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
These days I have been surrounded by the concept of home and
family...can't seem to get it out of my head in fact. I am learning that there
are numerous facets to the onion-layered ideal that is "Family".
Most see this as those who share blood relations, with the same roof over their
heads. Yes. I agree with this as a concrete definition. Here in Hawaii, we have
"Ohana," which (I looked it up) extends past mere genetics:</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"></span><b><span style="color: purple;">Part
of Hawaiian culture, <span style="color: black;"><span style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;">ohana</span></span> means
family in an extended sense of the<span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>term,
including blood-related, adoptive or intentional. It emphasizes that <span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"></span>families
are bound together and members must cooperate and remember <span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"></span>one
another. </span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Adoptive. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Intentional. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<i>Chosen</i>. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
To be chosen...embraced...and wanted. These are priceless
things. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I think of ma mere...and how she chose me, among thousands
of students that have passed through her halls.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I am her only jeune fille...and my heart swells in the
privilege, honor and beauty of that priceless gift. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I think of my God...and how He chose me, seeing everything.
And yet still calls me His delight. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
To be chosen, to be loved. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
This is home.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
This is family.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
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<br /></div>
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</div>
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<br /></div>
andy beth millerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02918013136802171687noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8119868462689757457.post-72103162869792629102012-10-30T19:23:00.000-10:002012-11-03T09:46:15.240-10:00~The Butterflies and the Bees~<style>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiUmaiyvOU4RydQOx6Ox-B_qANkCHM4zMtgkxchc-w0HqzWwl7Si_4gaKmMquF85dcIRRFxNF8Da6tzjxWc0Km7FOqpxG7xhoowACZgSzl7NPe-99ICcrO7QTjsrSvXp-ssPaztJwPkWmvs/s1600/download1.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiUmaiyvOU4RydQOx6Ox-B_qANkCHM4zMtgkxchc-w0HqzWwl7Si_4gaKmMquF85dcIRRFxNF8Da6tzjxWc0Km7FOqpxG7xhoowACZgSzl7NPe-99ICcrO7QTjsrSvXp-ssPaztJwPkWmvs/s320/download1.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
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<div class="MsoNormal">
When I came upon Tori Amos musing about <a href="http://ponopeople.blogspot.com/2012/02/font-face-font-family-cambria-p_22.html">marriage</a> I had to
take pause. I never even knew she <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">was</i>
married. I have to admit this blew me away at first...I guess I had just always
considered her name, her music, her writings, her<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">self</i> as being profoundly and fervently feminist (to the core). So,
as I continued reading, much to my surprise (and inner joy) I found her
insights on this particular union to be beautiful...REAL-ly beautiful.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
~~~~~</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Amos regards her marriage to her soulmate, saying <span style="color: purple;">"I
really feel like my husband is my boyfriend. I am having an affair with my
husband, and sometimes plates fly. There's no question. This is someone who is
tenacious and has his own way of looking at things. I mean, he wanted to get
married, but only if we lived in England. To be his wife required serious
change for me. And there are serious boundaries. It is about monogamy with him.
That's just it. I think marriage takes more perseverance sometimes than any
other endeavor. But this suits my skirt just fine, primarily because I've
always been reticent about the concept of "Happily Ever After." The
garden will have weeds and pests that may damage crops; it may even have
pestilence to contend with once in awhile. But with the right combination of
elements, including bees and butterflies, the garden will pollinate and become
a garden--not an emotional wasteland but a place of sensuality and balance. So
it may need a good beekeeper; all complex gardens do."</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
~~~~~</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
*I've too long been sidetracked by the pests and the
weeds....so please now....Bring on the butterflies and the bees....</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
And may I ever be an excellent beekeeper~ </div>
andy beth millerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02918013136802171687noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8119868462689757457.post-73001027360042417492012-10-27T09:22:00.000-10:002012-10-28T07:54:24.903-10:00~Piece by Piece~<style>
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<br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhLz82h5psaHg6crCqp2aBMvW0NAb19qlBHxvKJLHkc_ZIdXvw6EbCogMAJdMWHLYrW3dB3UtGt1ZPI3f_qV4Gwq37UjucATiEnM1loSBbpN2TTq4UeoLA9T-_bFC4c4K5PaXn9Vp4Q-GMQ/s1600/DSCF0833.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhLz82h5psaHg6crCqp2aBMvW0NAb19qlBHxvKJLHkc_ZIdXvw6EbCogMAJdMWHLYrW3dB3UtGt1ZPI3f_qV4Gwq37UjucATiEnM1loSBbpN2TTq4UeoLA9T-_bFC4c4K5PaXn9Vp4Q-GMQ/s320/DSCF0833.JPG" width="320" /></a></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Lately I've been reading biographies. One that has struck a
chord with me is Tori Amos's Piece by Piece. Although I definitely do not agree
with all she believes necessarily, I do value the bold honesty and unabashed
authenticity with which she approaches both her art and her<b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">self</i></b>. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
A self-professed free spirit and spitfire in her own rite,
Amos's music has surrounded me, ever since the days of when I would follow my
older sister Meredith around like a puppy and simply joy in soaking in every
smidgeon of shared time she would deem me worthy of (which, compared to most
sisters was an insanely generous amount I might add) #my-sister-is-the-bomb. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I can still remember the feeling (I still can't quite grasp
the exact word for it---it eludes me like a wisp o' the wind) I got when a Tori
Amos song would roll like thunder over the radio waves. The sweet syncopations
of sound----those pulsating patterns, haunting intonations and wild runs mark
my memories like a vivid, tangible television into my childhood. Mmmm, yes....I
was raised on Tori Amos, alongside the 10,000 Maniacs, Carole King and James
Taylor...and it was good~</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Growing up I always admired her hutztpah and passion for her
music; it remains unlike any other genre I have known. So, naturally, as I
passed her biography on the shelf of my local library, it wasn't even a
question---I was drawn to it like a moth to a flame....focused on finding what
it is within her that ticks, and trills. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I am only halfway in, and already her ideas and opinions on
religion, femininity, sexuality and so much else have been enough to keep my
mind whirring (and cheeks blushing) for ages. Having similar upbringings I have
found it fascinating to see her viewpoint on conservatism and "God"
and all that is black and white (or in this case grey).<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I disagree with much, yet honor and
respect her voice and the sheer passion and stubborn will she shows in
ceaselessly <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">seeking. </i>And aren't we
all....just seeking. Truth. Goodness. Love. Beauty. Peace. Grace. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
TRUTH (yes, I said that one twice).</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
There have been times in my reading where I have stopped to
catch my breath after something I have read....Amos writes raw. It is
uncomfortable. I disagree. I'm scared I concur. I wonder what if. I question. I
refute. I own my truth. I see and hear her heart. I search my own. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Yet I continue reading.....because I know that the truth
will always win...and I learn only by living....and dialoguing....allowing even
sometimes contradictory views to act as catalysts for constant change---graduated
growth. Here is where there will be a forum found, wide open and inviting me
in....challenging my own thoughts and ideas...formulating them upon a
foundation...building stronger...and always, <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">all ways</i>, ceaselessly seeking. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
*I will keep you posted~</div>
andy beth millerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02918013136802171687noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8119868462689757457.post-24488642906399274942012-10-10T08:49:00.000-10:002012-10-15T08:01:11.167-10:00~Nana Bean~<style>
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<br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I'm gonna miss you, Nana---<br />
miss calling you up for conversation</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
miss your words of wisdom, those priceless tidbits,</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
life lessons-- tinged with your sweet, Southern twang.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Who else is going to offer me my "<i>Eye-talian</i>" dressing with my
salad? </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Or ask for my fiancee "<i>Beeeah-Jaaaay</i>" to speak with on the
tele?</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Who will be there to applaud my greatest triumphs?</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
And pray with me--</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
stay with me--</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
in my deepest defeats?</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I will miss your hands the most</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I can still see them if I close my eyes--</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
capable, warm, open always--</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
offering love and kindness--</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
and readily accepting all that life had to bestow--</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
good and bad--</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
with a grateful heart and faith forged in the fire of daily
doing, and breathing, and being</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<i>beautiful</i>~</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I love you Nana Bean.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
You are the light, the love and the laughter that laid my
foundation...that breathed love and grace and peace over my life.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
You will be missed. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
You <i>are </i>loved~</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
</div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhhp-TjMimm1tUusgUDQWHUm-3Qw0DPOV11i77uE3Dqgd7bKJ5GzNXq_iDSiVc3Z4ZnkWeXG6TgQ2H7Z2OzgEfAxQXR2jY9SvhVOSlJFlfo51nlWw48z6GAlLfz2NYirBxuYF0NhMRsC2kM/s1600/DSCF1951.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhhp-TjMimm1tUusgUDQWHUm-3Qw0DPOV11i77uE3Dqgd7bKJ5GzNXq_iDSiVc3Z4ZnkWeXG6TgQ2H7Z2OzgEfAxQXR2jY9SvhVOSlJFlfo51nlWw48z6GAlLfz2NYirBxuYF0NhMRsC2kM/s320/DSCF1951.JPG" width="306" /></a></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
andy beth millerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02918013136802171687noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8119868462689757457.post-17141105795279537702012-09-08T12:45:00.001-10:002012-10-28T07:52:48.743-10:00~Fabric of A Family~<style>
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<br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgDJjPVVCMiFAM2ARJv8FGoc9Ks3lmUta7dDE-Tx7Stpmtc0sndXSk8c4HcR8q2iYDZ3DSl7F2jNo_tBMpS5YiB3b1kV2Xl5vwQf26jgr35StPKl-DFy7TDfTs4swmYwg_gRWUe6S-OCzy_/s1600/reaching-out.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgDJjPVVCMiFAM2ARJv8FGoc9Ks3lmUta7dDE-Tx7Stpmtc0sndXSk8c4HcR8q2iYDZ3DSl7F2jNo_tBMpS5YiB3b1kV2Xl5vwQf26jgr35StPKl-DFy7TDfTs4swmYwg_gRWUe6S-OCzy_/s320/reaching-out.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Once silk, </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
soft upon my skin,</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
the color purple,</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
like royalty</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
dyed.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
A cohesive quilt,</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
designed.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
With deft fingers,</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
spun in skill,</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
The fabric of my family.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Arms,</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Extended to their limits,</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Fingertips,</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
reaching for the remnants</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
curled around this olive branch</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
holding onto hope</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
holding out for healing.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
This schism</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
senseless.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Now the sun smiles,</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
its shadows cast.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
don't say it sweetly,</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
rather speak plainly.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
salt in the wound doesn't scare me.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Like Thomas,</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I would touch and see</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
to believe.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
That what is said exists.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
We are.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
He is.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I am.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Family.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Or Can be.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
For words are wondrous beings</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
chameleons changing color</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
adapting </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
blending as best they can</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
for survival they shift<br />
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
they are scared.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
And even now,</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I refuse to be the fig,</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I will not wither on this vine,</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
And though the desert is dry, </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
There are still streams of water to be found~<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
</div>
andy beth millerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02918013136802171687noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8119868462689757457.post-92054373780620343912012-08-28T07:26:00.002-10:002012-08-31T06:05:29.572-10:00~Shining Ruby~<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjbsH07RCK49WIRapeHYOyauNSM58wmha66S987alNLoqIPdE7GCipDBF4QHRIAqqwGNDhzVzlIjKzH28Zkc6BfQgT9nFWcJudb6y8UOf0ZPsJ7aDyTg_7TgzN69rPRt_i5MxfCzM9CG-I9/s1600/hiking1.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjbsH07RCK49WIRapeHYOyauNSM58wmha66S987alNLoqIPdE7GCipDBF4QHRIAqqwGNDhzVzlIjKzH28Zkc6BfQgT9nFWcJudb6y8UOf0ZPsJ7aDyTg_7TgzN69rPRt_i5MxfCzM9CG-I9/s1600/hiking1.jpg" /></a></div>
<br />
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<br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I recently had the privilege to watch the film Ruby Sparks. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I won't say much about the film plot itself, or even what I
felt I learned through watching it (I like to leave everyone to take what they
will of their own accord from all books and movies rather
than my subjective version of it).</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
The entire film took me on a journey...one far better than a
round-the-world-traipsing-through-endless field-of-sunflowers-and-lilies-kind
of a trip. But rather, a slow, steady climb through an (unexpected)
cloud-filled, shadowy skyscape. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Hey! I thought, at first, as the plot trudged on....this
isn't what I thought it would be. Yet (yes, one of my favorite hopeful little
words) YET, as the film progressed....or perhaps what some would say--<i>spiraled</i> into
a darker place than your run-of-the-mill Hollywood RomCom---I saw the cloud clusters
riddling that sky begin to take shape....</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Shapes I recognized....swirly and curly---of Dr Seuss
dimensions....I KNEW these figures like the back of my hand. I willingly walked
and climbed along the cloud-filled corridors of this script. Watching would seem like a trainwreck of two people---recklessly running down the
tracks towards a tunnel with who knows what on the other side---somehow didn't
scare me as I let it <i>all </i>sink in. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
And the scene...<i>THE SCENE</i>...the culmination of all of my
unspoken words and prayers and cries in the dark of night (of every soul's at one point in time I would imagine)....splayed its shattered glasshouse dialogue across the screen.<br />
<br />
Repetitive...rising...building...manic madness---an audiovisual mirror--it unraveled...revealing the underbelly of consciousness. And, as "You're a
Genius!" "You're a Genius!" "You're a Genius!" arced and swelled---shrieking across the screen--its shrill siren scream
silenced my soul...stilling every breath and thought as I waited.<br />
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
It was real. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
It was raw.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
It was unable to be boxed in...the unruly, untidy <i>awareness</i>.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Questions swirl--<br />
<br />
about identity...<br />
<br />
about <a href="http://ponopeople.blogspot.com/2009/09/in-follow-up-to-most-recent-blog.html"><b><span style="color: red;">love</span></b></a>...<br />
<br />
about what that
loaded, four-letter word truly means.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
In a world where that particular four-letter word is flung
wildly about--a penny to a wishing well--I beg of God, of <i>myself</i>, that I
would be a Ruby that shines~</div>
andy beth millerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02918013136802171687noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8119868462689757457.post-65767388838242033172012-08-20T19:46:00.004-10:002012-08-26T14:30:29.389-10:00Pregnant.<style>
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<br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<i>Pregnant.</i></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Can it be?</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
That's what they all tell me.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
The professionals, I mean. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Yes, there it is....right in front of me.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I see the signs...positive.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
All the
instructions I have read.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
No error would there be. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
It must be so.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
There is no denying you.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
You are here.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Inside me.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
How I love you already....my tiny bird.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Greens and roughage from my garden will I feed you.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Songs of joy will I sing...resonating in my womb,</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Lullaby lyrics.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
whose banner over you is love.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I wonder what you will look like.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Will you have my spirit and heart? My tiny feet set to
constant motion? </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Maybe your Daddy's truth and wisdom? His hands so capable
and sure?</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I wonder if you could possibly be as good as they say you
will be.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Enough to change my life in an instant...</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Will you recognize me?</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
May I truly call you mine? All mine?</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I long for it,</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
the day you will arrive</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
fully formed</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
divine</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
alive,</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
and well.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I see me in you.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
You are beautiful.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
You.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
are perfect. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I shall name you <i>promise.</i></div>
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<i> </i> </div>
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andy beth millerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02918013136802171687noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8119868462689757457.post-81676311592850384812012-08-19T07:43:00.001-10:002012-10-17T12:59:56.590-10:00Affirmations Afforded...May I Be a Good Wife~<br />
<br />
I want to frame you<br />
and hang you on a wall--a sense of permanence.<br />
I'm staying in this place.<br />
I'm unpacking my bags.<br />
I want to adorn you<br />
with affirmations and kisses,<br />
with time and all my attention.<br />
To dress you<br />
every morning in red and purple joy,<br />
emblems of love and badges of adoration.<br />
To send you on your way<br />
to work, lunch packed, with contentment and<br />
fulfillment.<br />
A feast of happy thoughts in the middle of your day.<br />
I want to tuck you in<br />
wrapped in blankets of warmth and reassurance.<br />
Rest your head on the peace of finding what you've<br />
always sought.<br />
I want to fold you<br />
like my favorite skirt, carefully, slowly, delicately,<br />
so the wrinkles and creases of pain are all pressed out.<br />
I want to put you on<br />
like my makeup, wear you all day, shimmering,<br />
shining--<br />
bright colors that make you happy, feel beautiful, and self-confident.<br />
Unwrap you,<br />
like a surprise on no day in particular, out of the blue,<br />
rip you apart to view what I'm seeing<br />
for the first time, but always wanted.<br />
I want to hold you,<br />
like a kitten, rescued from the side of a busy road,<br />
ignored when he was crying out, but held, finally, by<br />
a host of loving arms--my soul.<br />
I want to brew you<br />
like my coffee, warm, strong, how I start my day<br />
jolting my senses, waking me up,<br />
hot in my mouth, lasting in my breath.<br />
I wan to read you,<br />
like a memoir, my favorite genre.<br />
I can't put you down.<br />
I highlight you, dog ear you, scuff-up the cover with love,<br />
taking you everywhere I go.<br />
I want to sing you.<br />
My favorite song, always in my mind and on my lips<br />
summoned up without hesitation, memorized, played<br />
loudly and danced to often.<br />
I want to pray you.<br />
A petition, a promise, fervent and faithful,<br />
whispered under my breath, but heard by the only<br />
ears needed to be heard by.<br />
I want to create you,<br />
like the eighth day: "then there was you"--<br />
out of thin air, or maybe evolved, a mystery, but<br />
complete--and tangible.<br />
I want you as you were.<br />
I want you as you are.<br />
I want you as you will be. <br />
<br />
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<br />andy beth millerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02918013136802171687noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8119868462689757457.post-21816522031655123992012-08-02T05:14:00.002-10:002012-08-02T05:17:01.263-10:00Oh Happy Day~<br />
<span style="font-size: large;">Birth, and re-birth, are beautiful things. *Celebrating today~</span><br />
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<br /></div>andy beth millerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02918013136802171687noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8119868462689757457.post-41640737029568330722012-07-12T13:12:00.000-10:002012-07-12T13:13:31.384-10:00Beyonce Knows Best....<br />
<span class="huge">~In marriage there are no manners to keep up, and
beneath the wildest accusations no real criticism. Each is familiar with
that ancient child in the other who may erupt again. We are not
ridiculous to ourselves. We are ageless. That is the luxury of the
wedding ring~</span><br />
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<span class="bodybold"></span>andy beth millerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02918013136802171687noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8119868462689757457.post-52341413283397977462012-07-02T06:11:00.000-10:002012-07-06T06:40:42.282-10:00~Multiplied~<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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<div style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">
This morning was like any other morning. Hopping in the car
and taking my most loved drive by the ocean to grab a cup of joe. It was
pre-dawn and I was racing the sunrise along the shores of this island I love so
well. Chirping at my side was a text from my favorite person in the world, and
as I drove on to meet him I was aware of the magnitude of His blessings.</div>
<div style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">
Turning the volume up to full blast as the soundtrack of my
best friend Kristen’s mixed CD made its musical round, I gave thanks again for
the people who love this mess of a fairy-woman-child. And, there, just as Bjork
was bustin’ out the best of her lyrical truths, I saw them.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">
Bright blue they flashed. Strobes of syncopated streaks
signaling danger ahead. The universally recognized electric currents of caution
chilled my spine, sending waves of foreboding and fear along its now rigid
frame.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">
As I slowed to stop at the officer directing me to the side
of the road, I rolled down my window, whispering a silent prayer to the heavens
of what I did not even know. The
officer was soft spoken and kind, and as I raised my eyes to meet his own
averted ones, I knew it must be bad.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">
He asked me where I was headed…I answered just a few short
miles down the road…and truly I was so close to my destination I could almost
see it. He shared that I had just missed a fatal car crash, and that it was
going to be at least five hours before the wreckage was cleared and the one
road that I was on that connected the sides of the island together would again
be re-opened for use. He gave me the option of parking my car and walking to my
destination—it seemed the only thing to do.<br />
<br />
The gentle officer urgently
instructed me that I would need to go right by the wreckage and that it was not
something a young woman should ever see. I shuddered at the thought of what
sights this man had been subjected to in his many years of public
service…shielding those like me who would have been too weak to wield the
burden of such real images emblazoned upon their brains and soft spirits. I
thanked God for this man, and for those like him who stand in the gap for us.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">
I parked, took a deep breath, and stepped outside of the
safe shell of my vehicle. As I began walking the brilliant blue beams and the
shrill screams of the siren’s wails rocked me to the core. Stumbling along the
bank of the beach, keeping my eyes trained on the undulating ocean’s waves, I
put one foot in front of the other and passed through—all the while the pulse
of my pounding heart a palpable percussion of panic and frenetic thoughts.
Sadly I wondered who would wake up this morning having lost a mother, brother
or sister, and again---I thanked God for the blessings in my life….and like the
miracle of the loaves of bread and few small fish, they multiplied in an
instant.</div>andy beth millerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02918013136802171687noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8119868462689757457.post-60101997638170442492012-06-21T22:20:00.004-10:002012-06-21T22:21:53.620-10:00~Summit Supplication~<br />
<br />
I hiked to the tip top of my mountain today.<br />
<br />
Had alot on my mind.<br />
<br />
Many things on my list. <br />
<br />
Things I needed to ask Him.<br />
<br />
Questions I wanted answered.<br />
<br />
Gifts I sought.<br />
<br />
Wisdom I felt was being withheld.<br />
<br />
Blessings I intended on begging.<br />
<br />
Each step on the ascent added yet another inquiry of my heart...<br />
<br />
I felt like that child that all adults grow to both love and loathe with my endless: Who? What? When? Where? WHY? and HOWs?<br />
<br />
And as I reached the summit, I readied myself to pray.<br />
<br />
Inhaled to catch my breath and steady my stream of thought...prepared to launch into my list of <i>wants</i> and <i>needs</i>.<br />
<br />
I opened my mouth and moved my lips...and as I looked down into the Valley I call home...that list diminished one by one.<br />
<br />
A whispered "Thank You" sent into the sky...soon became a shout--high into the heavens....of gratitude, joy, light and love...of frustration, sadness, pain and worry wound tightly together...an all-encompassing <i>awareness.</i><br />
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<div style="color: purple;">
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<i><b>~THANK YOU~</b></i></div>
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<br />andy beth millerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02918013136802171687noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8119868462689757457.post-89561388514836147362012-06-04T07:05:00.003-10:002012-06-04T07:08:22.838-10:00Over the Edge and Back~<br />
<br />
<div style="color: blue;">
<b>"...by bringing myself over the edge and back, I discovered a passion to
live my days fully, a conviction that will sustain me like sweet water
on the periodically barren plain of our short lives."<i>-- Jonathan Waterman</i></b></div>
<br />
<b>*Just finished climbing with two of the best friends a girl could ask for...tackling a mountain with this makeshift family of three--right in the middle of this magnificent ocean. And now that I am safe and sound descending from that summit...everything's reset~</b><br />
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<b>Bring it on Monday, I am ready for you~</b><i> </i>andy beth millerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02918013136802171687noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8119868462689757457.post-76999307290344905732012-04-26T20:58:00.001-10:002012-04-26T21:03:13.372-10:00~Pono Pheidippides~<br />
One of my best friends just ran a marathon.<br />
<br />
A MARATHON.<br />
<br />
I had the chance---was given the incredible gift, rather---of being there.<br />
<br />
I watched as he pushed his limits, didn't back down, was humbled...physically broken...and fully spent.<br />
<br />
And I was able to be half of the pair (one on each side) that picked him up---recognized with wonder---and rebuilt him, a single smile and shared laugh at a time.<br />
<br />
Gratitude does not suffice to describe the feeling I have when I think of the blessing of simply BEING invited in---being allowed to witness such a milestone in his life---and scraping that sweet spirit up off the side of the road after it was all said and done. *oh yeah, you better bet we fed him da best kine ono poke grindz afterwards too, cuz~<br />
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