The Best Things

Like I was saying…the worst list is only half of the story.  As often happens, given time, beauty bloomed there–in place of the thorns that threatened to overtake me.

{Some of} The Best Things:

• The loss of loved ones taught me, early on, that there is no forever, at least not here on Earth.  And that each and every day is a gift to savor.
• That little girl–born when I was 16 and now nearly 16 herself–has grown into an extraordinary young lady, of whom I couldn’t be more proud.
• Like a carnival fun house, a tangled maze of dead ends and trick mirrors eventually led me to the arms of my Mister, and a love {almost} too good to be true.
• Tears shed over that imperfect child made for me a river of change.  Parenting her has opened my eyes to a world far more meaningful, a million times as beautiful than one without her.
• The Near Drowning is still raw.  Especially during this season.  But it, too, catapulted me to something better.  A place of awareness and the realization of fragility.  It reminds me that with each morning dawns a second chance–the opportunity to grant forgiveness to the person who time and time again proves hardest to forgive: myself.

It would be easy–and honest–of me to speak in cliches in regard to the hills and valleys in my life.  Every cloud has a silver lining…there’s always a light at the end of the tunnel…God doesn’t give us anything we can’t handle. There are plenty more where those came from, enough overused cliches to fill the pages of a book.  They’re overused for a reason: they’re true.

Mine is not a blog that you can turn to knowing you’ll find sunshine and rainbows in every post, and there’s a reason for that.  Mine is not a life blind to heartache or deaf to weeping.  Rather, mine is a life marked up–scarred.  It’s a life chock full of lessons learned and better tomorrows.  One rich in pearls of wisdom that–eventually–grew from pits of despair.

I hope that within my posts you do see reflections of those pearls.  I hope that–in spite of my occasional downers–you find sparks of inspiration, and evidence of little victories.

The first time I was pregnant, and had just transferred to the continuation high school, I had an appointment with a teacher there to asses my chances of graduating that year–a whole year earlier than I was supposed to.  It was February, and my baby was due in September.  I knew–whereas this teacher may not have–that if I didn’t earn the credits I needed within those four months, that I’d not have the chance to come back and earn them later; I didn’t have the luxury of childcare.  She studied my records with a furrowed brow for long moments before finally looking up to me and declaring I don’t think you’re going to make it.

She didn’t know it then, but those words were just the push I needed.  Who was she, after all, to tell me what I could or couldn’t do.

I earned the credits, finishing up a week early, in fact.  I earned them in straight A’s and was asked to speak at my high school graduation, which I did.  With pride.

I was dealt a challenge last week, not unlike the doubting words my teacher delivered all those years ago.  And not unlike I did then, I intend to keep my eyes on the finish line, pushing onward and upward until I see my goal in the rear view mirror.

Where it belongs.