I've not been a "good" blogger this week. My weekend and Monday were consumed with moving/schlepping/prepping and painting two bedrooms and intentions to paint a sitting area, hallway and bathroom. (Yes. I do have something planned at my house....this weekend...that's how I roll. You wouldn't want to show up one second early, trust me.)
And while I was beautifying my house, people in Oklahoma were losing theirs...or worse, people they loved.
The tragedies feel like waves that just keep crashing, coming closer together. It feels like we can't even mourn or grasp the horror of the things that happened yesterday because something is looming on tomorrow's horizon.
My heart goes out to those in Oklahoma who've lost someone or every shred of their physical definition of home. On a small scale, I've decided to help by sending some helpful Arbonne products to aid the victims and workers over the next few months. So little in the scheme of things and it does feel a lot like the starfish story that so many use to illustrate how one choice, one person can make a difference. A kid walks on the beach as the tide ebbs, throwing one of thousands of beached starfish back into the ocean. An old man scoffs. "Kid, trying to save the starfish is futile...look at them, they line the beach for miles. Why bother, go on with your life, do something that matters?" The kid bends over, grabs a starfish and wings it into the ocean. "It matters to this one."
One choice. One person at a time. Each life is precious and earth-shatteringly important. Regardless of how it begins or ends. One person at a time, I want to do something that matters. A cold drink, a smile, a meal, a kind word, clothing, prayer, those add up, especially if we all set out to consider one step at a time we can make a difference. (If you want to help fling starfish (or provide meal replacement protein drinks for victims and workers in Oklahoma) email me and I'll give you the details and let you help this way if you'd like. email@example.com.)
Change. I've learned to embrace it, ride it out til the end. Sometimes I'm kicking and screaming, other times weeping with my eyes clinched tight. Once in awhile I ride like a dog in a car, head out the window snorting what life has to offer. Mother to young adult children, a marriage of thirty years, and a desert to mountain to valley waltz with God have shaped me into someone I never imagined I'd be. Life is short and I want to live it. Tears, sighs, laughter and change. Every morsel granted to me. Scrambled, shaken or stirred.