Now that you have gotten to know my 3 backyard freebirds, let me explain what has happened this week.
The backyard parable begins………….. now
Our three new ladies arrive Monday afternoon. Very beautiful and healthy ladies. They were not freebirds, so our lifestyle is extremely new to them. I had made a chicken tractor (which is a mobile device to allow chickens to be moved from play to play) years ago and that was the temporary new home till the adjustment period was done. Madam A and I made a temporary rost-board for them with 2 cinder blocks and a short landscape timber. As myself and the kiddos hung out with them we made sure to stay close. My freebirds should show dominance. The new nameless ladies scratch and peck at the new bright green home with a great amount of chatter and excitement.
Wing clipped, I decide to let them roam for a little while. Let’s see how this plays out. And what I observed is what I observe while surveying my surroundings: the 3 new girls stayed together and the 3 freebirds stayed together. At a distance as well. For the next hour or so there was no introducing themselves to each other. As I watched them clump together and stand apart I thought of how we act, how our young people act. And I thought of her. Her story and the impact one probably made in her life that would mold her as a decent of Christ…
I was disappointed in my freebirds. I shouldn’t have been, but I was. They know what it is like to be brought into a new place. New territory, new rules, and to have to dwell with big dogs that by God’s creation, are supposed to hunt and retrieve a species as them but instead, those dogs take naps with them and share their dinner whether or not they really want to share.
Fluffy, she not one time looked at them. She didn’t try to approach them. If fact, she at one point, walked past them as if they weren’t even there.
“Come on, Miss T. Introduce yourself. Be a lady,” I said to T as she finally broke the whispering in the yard. She should have shown dominance. Fluffed up big and let the girls know she was the head chicken. It’s not to be mean and it would counter the entire story to say that is what we should do, but they are chickens. Instead, the older of the new girls charged Miss T and fluffed big and strong. Miss T retreated behind me for reassurance. One of the new girls noticed T’s gentleness but stayed where she was.
“Really?? You let the new bird dominant you?!?!” She muttered under her breathe something like “Who are they? What are they doing here? I tried and they were rude to me.” as she went back to report to the other 2 what she had encountered. Yeah, that sounds like us humans.
We put the new ladies in their temporary coop for the night, secured them for safety and went in for the night.
Tuesday and Wednesday went as what I expected. Segregation in the backyard. The new girls must not have been totally stressed out because they each laid an egg on their temporary coop ground.
Dooey, following me as she always does saw the new brown eggs laying on the ground. She began her chatter to me and I know what she would have said if she could talk human:“Eww!!! Their eggs are dirty!!! Don’t they know better?! How uncivilized!!! We free range all day long and we know better.How gross! I can’t wait to tell T and Fluff about this.”
“Dooey, they are new. They didn’t sleep with y’all in the coop. They don’t know the rules and how we live. They don’t know where the nesting boxes are. Be kind and compassionate: it will happen. ” I told her. Yes, I did talk to her. She listens. Honest.
As she ran off I knew what she was telling the other freebirds: “Sisters! You won’t believe what I just saw! Those girls! They lay their eggs on the ground! How embarrassing! And the gossip chatter among them increase for a short burst.
Thursday, Sir M and I decided to have a morning basket meeting with the chickens. I scrabbled about a dozen eggs and with his reader in one hand and a dollar tree water gun in the other, we made our way out to the coop. In our fold up lawn chairs, I hand fed the dogs, and all six chickens to force them to get close. I knew I need to nip this behavior between them all because the aggressive new girl even fluffed at Biscuit, who is about 90 pounds, making him retreat behind me. “Dude!!! Seriously?! YOU ARE A HUNTING DOG!!! You are bigger than her! What is wrong with you?!?!” as he nuzzled his gigantic gentle head behind my knees peeking at these new birds.
“I promise, y’all. I it won’t kill you to meet and greet.We will get past this. Like it or not: we are family and y’all will get along. Understood?” They continued eat but yet even the dogs grabbed a piece of warm egg from my hand and walked away to eat it.
Did I have to squirt the aggressive new girl? Yes I did. Did it hurt her? NO IT DID NOT. Do you discipline your children? or animals? She will learn one way or another that behavior is unacceptable in this family.
Sometimes, changes will hurt. But it is a must. Comfort zones are an excuse for unacceptable behavior and laziness.
Thursday morning, most of the girls take a turn going into the coop to use the nesting box. One new girl laid her egg on the ground again and Dooey wasn’t happy. Again. We are making progress. Tonight is the night. Everyone, whether they like it or not, will get to know each other.
Thursday evening, after dinner we went out to put all six to bed. In the same coop. Armed with a few water guns, we went out to complete our mission. After the freebirds claimed their spot on the roost, Madam A scooped up the new girls one by one and placed them in the runner that is attached to the coop. Slowly each jumped on the ladder and we slowly pulled the door closed to push them in and opened it again to get another one in. And another. The aggressor was the hardest to get on the board. She did not want to jump. Did she get wet? Yes, she did. Finally, she saw one of her sisters had squated down on the roster board as to say this was very comfortable and she surrendered and perched. We closed the door and went in for the evening.
This morning, I haven’t observed any wounds or fighting. They will get through this.
Joshua 6:25 And Joshua saved Rahab the harlot alive, and her father’s household, and all that she had; and she dwelleth in Israel even unto this day; because she hid the messengers, which Joshua sent to spy out Jericho.
My favorite story in the Bible is the story of Rahab. Not only my favorite story, but she is hands down my biblical hero. Her story is in the written word is very short, mostly found in Joshua 2 and 6. Her name is spoken in just a few chapters spread out from the Old Testament to New Testament, but her impact was huge. Gotta read carefully: You will miss it if your not pay attention. A harlot who becomes a princess, the mother of Boaz, is the great great grandmother to King David which puts her in the direct blood line to the King of Kings: Jesus Christ. A harlot in the Chapter of Champions. A harlot. The woman who professed by a statement of faith that the God of Israel was the only true God, was saved by faith.
Joshua 2:11b … for the LORD your God, he is God in heaven above, and in earth beneath.
It’s the story that isn’t written that makes me think of cliques and how we as women can destroy or uplift each other. It honestly, breaks my heart every time this lesson in life is laid on my heart.
When the rumble cleared, the dust and debris began to settle, there stood a family of sinners who will become children of Israel. There stood a dirty woman, in the present and of the body. Her occupation was less than lady-like and to the women of Israel she didn’t look, smell, or act like a lady. She wasn’t one of them. She was completely flithy inside and out. Those women, they had a choice to make. Do they march past her as if she wasn’t there? Do they mock her and chatter about her quirks behind her back? Or, do they softly attempt to take her under their wings and mold the woman who would be a decent in the ultimate royal family?
They probably heard the story from the spies about her. How she knew all about the Israelite people and how God had lead them and the battles won, kingdoms conquered and destroyed. How she hide them and stared a soldier in the face and lied to him to save them. How she lowered them out the window so they could retreat to safety and then return to Joshua. She was no sissy. She was tough and rough around the edges. She had little fear because for at least 10-14 days she and her the fate of her family laid in the promise of the scarlet chord that hung in her window. They knew that this strange woman would dwell among them forever.
That new lady in lady’s study, the new kid in school, your new neighbor, or the new teen in youth group: how will you treat them? Will you chatter behind their backs? Ignore them and isolate yourself to stay in your comfort zone? Or will you love on them and make them feel welcome even if they reject you? Could that young lady who doesn’t dress or act like your standards be your biggest allied and closest friend? Could your influence help mold a future princess? Could your kindness be the gentle touch a lost soul needs to seek salvation in Jesus? Could your friendship keep a wayward teen out of the hands of Satan and in the arms of Jesus because she has a save place to dwell in fellowship with you and others that is not in the world? Could you be that friend to help a weary Mama out?
But by faith….. what will you do?
Hebrew 11:31 By faith the harlot Rahab perished not with them that believed not, when she had received the spies with peace.
There are women that probably endured this challenge in the bible. The next name that comes to mind is Ruth.
Spoiler alert: she becomes Rahab’s daughter-in-law.
This has been on my heart for a long time. I have dragged my feet about putting this into words. This week has been a very eye-opening experience and the Lord gave me the platform to discuss a very important topic in a very unorthodox way. You can even call it a backyard parable of sorts.
First, the background. Five years ago, I built a chicken coop out of pallets. Madam A pulled the nails from the old pallets to create the materials that I needed. My kiddos were still in public school at the time, so while they were gone, me and my trusted and faithful sidekick, Winston my Chesapeake Bay Retriever, would head out to the garage and being working. I had no plans on paper. Just an idea and a need to stay busy. Just after my Husband’s First Heaven-vesary, the coop was completed. Now, I just needed chickens.
I didn’t nor do I ever plan to have chicks. I went straight for pullets. In chicken language that means 22 weeks or older and ready to begin laying eggs. Through some friends, I was able to find a guy that had Easter Eggers. They lay pink, olive green, and true blue eggs. We had four ladies to provide fresh eggs and new entertainment for us.
I will skip the next 4 years of ups and downs of details. Maybe for another day. The cliff note version: We adopted two hunting dog puppies, I had to put down my beloved Winston (I still cry), the girls began to free range our acre and half yard from morning to sundown, and one of the original 4 girls died.
Cupcake was the mom of the group. She proudly announced to all who could hear her that one of the girls had laid an egg and all was well in the coop. She got sick and died before I could get a handle on the situation. We still miss her.
My girls are true free spirits. The ultimate free birds (pun intended). The coop has a drawbridge ladder/door that I operate from a pulley system that the kids and I created so we can easily open the door from the bathroom window. They literally surf the door down and hop and run across the yard to their favorite watering hole and the day long search for their food begins. They have very animated personalities as well.
There is ” Princess Fluff” and she is sassy. Very. Sassy. She always has something to complain about and she must get the last word. At the time I was taking her picture, she was back-talking me about how this wasn’t a good feather day for her and this was as close as I was going to get today. Told you she was sassy. Pure teenage girl!
Then there is “Miss T” and she is the lady of the group. My fluffiest, soft spoken, gentle beauty. When introducing people that have never handled a chicken, she is the one that will squat down and allow Madam A to scoop her up and be handled. From full grown adults to 4 and 5 year olds can hold her and have fallen in love with this gentle beauty. She, at one point, had a pink pet stroller that Madam A will scoop her up and zip her in then play in the yard like she was some kind of baby. T never complained. I think she is probably relieved that the stroller has now been claimed by Mister Milkman, the coolest cat ever. EVER. He is okay with his manliness to be paraded around in his pink ride and T is okay with him having it. I will have a picture of her tomorrow. She was in the nesting box. This is my favorite picture of her anyway.
And then there is the legend. The coolest of the coolest chickens you will ever read about. It is my pleasure to introduce to the world Ms. Crock-a-dooey, or in short “Dooey”. She thinks she is a dog. Not lying. She has been known to charge the fence when the dogs charge and a few times, she has lead the charge. She has no respect for personal space so if one of the other girls is in the nesting box she will, with no hesitation, plop her skinny fluffy bottom right on top of them and wiggle herself into a warm spot. She eats nonstop, mostly because of her cross bill which I will not snip or mess with it. It is part of who she is. She steals food from the dogs who, by the way, are full grown beagle blue tick mix monsters of dogs and even naps with them. She has no fear even when a chicken hawk has their evil eyes on her and have been ran off by me. She simply clucks to her own drum and dances to it too. If she was a person she would be the poster child for the new generation free spirited hippie girl.
Now, to the beginning of the story.
Monday, this week, we were gifted with 3 pullets from a friend who needed to thin his flock out. We gladly accepted them and the challenges we would face. Here is where the Lord opened the backyard platform.
When introducing chickens to new members of the flock, there are total different methods. Some gentle and kind and some…. well, kinda raw.
Day one: new girls had a wing clipped and sprinkled with Diatomaceous Earth for general health for the legs and feathers.
Side note: clipping their wings means one wing has their flight wings clipped down so they don’t fly away. They naturally can fly about 5 to 8 feet in the air for a short burst which makes them able to clear a fence. Their physical bodies are never harmed. Just in case you didn’t know that.
The collision of two different worlds, two different lifestyles, two different breeds of birds becoming a family has been a patient and interesting world. A world that is not restricted to just chickens, mostly to us humans.
Chickens form cliques too.
I will continue this story tomorrow. By now, I am sure you know where this will be going. But for this moment: welcome to My Side of Sanity and my little backyard farm.
I didn’t struggle in school. In fact, learning has always been easy for me. I wasn’t an honor student by any means, but A/B honor roll wasn’t super hard. Except geometry. Even in college; learning isn’t hard for me. Except statistics. Statistics sucks, just sayin’.
Sir M has significant learning obstacles. I don’t need a clinical diagnosis to know, though I am seeking that in the near future. I know he has severe dyslexia: auditory and visual. I know he has processing issues. One day he is rolling along and the next day nothing he did yesterday stuck with him. He has had speech therapy since he was four. Occupational therapy for over a year every week for fine motor skills and other help is just part of our lives. I growl under my breathe when teachers/leaders try to force him to read or retain information he can not do.
Please note: he has, not is. A learning obstacle, disability, whatever you want to label it, it does not define my child and nor should it define your child. My son isn’t dyslexic, he has dyslexia. See the difference? If I treat him as he is something, he will believe he has limitations and is nothing more than what holds him back. He has an obstacle (or two…or three..) that he will need face head on and conquer. I will have to face head on and aid him in his quest.
Challenge accepted. Let’s roll. Roll up your sleeves, Sir M. It’s about to get real.
I wasn’t prepared and I will not lie to you: I wanted to give up and re-enroll him in public school more times in the past 3 years than I care to admit. We fought. We cried. We screamed. He laid in the floor in tears hating me and I rocked uncontrollable in my rocking chair on the front porch hating me for the day. We gave up. We regrouped and we are moving forward. One of the blessing of homeschooling: if it doesn’t work, do something different and keep changing till you find something that works.
I love YouTube. I have spent hours watching YouTube videos about different programs for math, science, etc. I binged watched until the wee hours of the morning almost every night. For months. Well, actually, for the past 3 years. In my YouTube travels, I fell in love with Jane Manka with the Salty Tribe Co. Her minimalist style intrigued my interest, her unschooling laid back schooling I envied, and honestly living on an island in North Carolina sucked me in.
Then one night as I was lying in bed ready to binge watch her YouTube videos, when I came across her video about dyslexia and I sat straight up in the bed. I didn’t move, in fact, the only thing that moved was my tears as I watched and listening. I finally found someone with a dyslexia program and it was my favorite blogger to boot. I cried with relief and joy. Someone had a guideline that I could use to help Sir M to read. I immediately jumped into action.
I will do more about our journey as we move along, but I can’t explain the relief I have with Jane’s dyslexia guideline in her Lamp + Light curriculum and encouragement she shares with us that are part of her tribe. And isn’t just a blessing for Sir M, Lady A is excelling with this lifestyle as well. Schooling isn’t as difficult and they are learning. Check that: they are learning at their pace.
Is teaching Sir M easy? ABSOLUTELY NOT! I would be lying if I said it was. Many days, when we are done I am completely exhausted. Like, I need an Advil and a nap exhausted. I think I work just as hard as he does some days. But to hear him try to pronounce words and to watch him grab his reader and roll through a story, melts me to the core. I am teary just writing this. The child who scored a 1.2 in the DRA (which translated is: October/November standards of a child’s kindergarten year) at the end of the first grade is now able to read at first grade level with little assistance. It may take him longer than what people may find acceptable, but I don’t care. He is doing it. He may be classified fourth grade, but us homeschoolers, we know that doesn’t mean anything to us. Grade level is obsolete in the world of learning and is just a label.
I think I need to get serious about my blog. I am praying for the energy and devotion. I have a few friends that will be homeschooling for the first time this up coming school year and I need to be an encouragement.
This is just the beginning. I am excited. He is learning. Ya know what? I am learning too.
Thank you, Jane. Love ya! You are a true inspiration and keep up the good work. It is working. Never doubt it.
It’s been a little while since I have written a post. I have had a few stories floating around in my head. Not sure exactly how to put my thoughts into words yet, but it is coming. However, today is just different. I am kind of the mood to talk. To expose myself and how simple life really is. And giggle. A good giggle is always good for the soul.
It has been an extremely cold fall here in the Old Dominion. So much rain, I question if I am truly in Virginia or in the Pacific Northwest. And today we were hammered with snow. A lot of snow. Don’t get me wrong: snow is beautiful. There is something peaceful about seeing everything covered with snow, it gives a sense of stillness. Being in it is something totally different for me. Maybe it is because I physically suffer in the colder season. I have most of my adult life. It is called SAD or Sun Affective Disorder. In a nutshell because we do not produce Vitamin D naturally, we must have an external intake of it. The best way is through our skin from the sun. In the colder months we generally bundle up limiting the amount of skin that is exposed to the sun. Those of us with a darker skin pigment, such as myself because I am of American Indian decent, are more likely to be affected. One major symptom for me is staying warm, which is the whole point of this post.
I recently bit the bullet and bought my first pair of leggings as an adult. There you have it: the confession of the last woman in America to buy a pair of leggings. Okay, so that part is extreme, but you get my point. I have put off buying them because I am a fluffy girl. My self confidence in my appearance has choked me since I was a child. We can save that for another day, I gotta tell you about my leggings!
I bought them mostly to wear under my maxi skirts for church service though I have yet to do so. I have wore my nice jeans and my boots. Some will gasp for air at the thought of a woman wearing jeans to church and mumble She is such a rebel! under your breathe; other may celebrate with a datta girl! and fist bump me. Regardless of what you may believe as far as modesty is concerned: I am struggling staying warm. When I get cold, I stay cold. For a long time. Like a day or two. No lie. Hot showers and heavy blankets sometimes just don’t cut it.
I have been staring at the leggings for a week or so as they sat on my desk. I was feeling horrible about wearing them. I don’t have the body to wear these things! But they look so warm! I couldn’t take it anymore. The feeling of being cold was making me miserable so finally, I grabbed them and slide into them.
Oh. My. Soul! They felt so soft and they were so warm… And I look good in them. Like for a moment I felt like a model ready to strut my fluffy body with a Hey! That’s right! Girl likes nice in her leggings! Don’t hate!
When I snapped back into my shell (and reality because for real, I am not a model!) the thought of modesty came to me. Are leggings modest?
Now, before we pick sides of the argument or destroy your relationships because of your convictions and fight till the death over leggings, let me tell you a story.
About 7 years ago, I was in a personal battle about what exactly is modesty. It wasn’t just personal it was also with a few well meaning ladies who didn’t agree with me. Not going there, okay? It’s over and isn’t the main part anyway. I worked in the building material industry since I was 20 years old. Here I am, now in my 30’s and jeans and work boots or tennis shoes were and still are a part of me. Skirt make me uncomfortable and don’t even get me started about pantyhose! I think the devil may have designed them himself as a torture device for fluffy women. Not today, Satan, not these thighs.
Back to the story: so I was really struggling and I was talking to one of my most beloved Sisters in Christ about my issue. I must have been rambling when she turned and looked at me with the most serious and sincere look on her face, she spoke these words that snapped me into reality and I pray I never forget them:
Wendy, this is how I define modesty: Modesty is covering my nakedness.
That was it. So simple yet so deep and complex. My life has forever been changed. Every battle I have had about modesty with myself, my daughter, other women in my life, and even those lovely ladies I was battling, nothing matter after that. Best answer ever.
So what does this have to do with my leggings? Well, a lot actually. In my moment of feeling like a hottie or maybe it was the fact that my blood began to feel warm as it flowed from my legs causing a moment of mental misjudgement, the thought hit me: will I wear them out of the house? And the answer is yes. I will wear my leggings in public……
Under my jeans or skirt
Agree with me or not: but leggings are supposed to be forming to a person’s body and though it does cover my nakedness it also shows way too much of my flaws which is my nakedness…. And I will do the world a huge favor and not expose them to that.
Promise and you are welcome.
However! If I do seem like a I have a little sass in my walk, there is a chance that I have my leggings on under my jeans. And this girl, from the inside, feels pretty and is warm and that makes her happy.
I really hope you got a giggle out of my experience. I pray that someone reading this post who is struggling with modesty sees things a little differently. To the person who believes they have modesty down packed and has been turning their nose up at someone for their clothing: may you look past the outfit and see a friend, a sister in your life. Don’t destroy a sisterhood over jeans or dresses, to the knee or to the floor: the skirt isn’t the important part of the person: it is their heart and that heart may just be the heart you have been needing in your life.
A moment in my sanity. Just thought I would share! If it made your smile or even opened your eyes, share this with a friend.
I prefer not to be introduced as “Wendy, the widow.” I received that title over 5 years ago. But first impressions need to be earned. Here is what I mean: I prefer you learn who I am and how God has blessed my life before you know the name tag of why. However, I feel it is important and a burden on my heart to give some advice.
No matter who you are, you will at some point in your life lose someone you love. Spouse, parent, family member, friend, or even a child. You will lose someone.
Grief is not easy to talk about. I need to talk about it, but it is never easy. If you are new in your grief, you will be giving a ton of advice and people will tell you what you will go through and how to handle it, or the worst you will experience someone who will tell you to get over it. I want to focus on them to ultimately address the last one part.
Grief is not something you “get over.” Grief is like the tide, it comes and it goes. The emotional turmoil of grief is like waves: some moments will be subtle, some will knock you around, and there are some that will flat out suck you under and make you beg for air. It’s all part of the process. And guess what? It’s okay.
What is not okay is to be consumed by it. When grief consumes you, you are ignoring God’s grace and mercy. The memory of your loved one will be tarnished and destroyed because you can’t stand back up in the sand and climb to the Rock. Do you think they really would want you to be like that? If the only thing you post on your social media is grief and sorrow, I will advise you to show a great amount of discernment on what and how much you tell others. It’s a tough one. We all need an outlet and social media has turned into our digital diaries. Hey, I did it. At times, I still do it. In a way, I am doing it right now by writing this blog post.
If you think you are losing control of grief let me play out the past 5 years of my experience to you.
Straight survivor mode. Head down and barrel through. Do or die was my motto. Crying myself to sleep was my sedative. Setting his plate at dinner was still normal and catching a whiff or his cologne and his insulin was soothing and destructive all at once.
It got real. I am not going to lie, year 2 was my worst year. The first second anniversary (holiday) was horrible. It was real, there was no looking back: He was really gone. No more surprise whiffs of his presence remained in his clothes, his Bible… nothing.
Year 3 and 4
Became moments of extreme emotions. Grief struck when I least expected it. A song, a moment of Wait till your daddy gets home couldn’t slip out as a normal reaction. More of Wish your daddy was here to see it.
I am in the middle of it and it has its highs and lows. This year I realized that I could sleep on the other side of the bed. Though if he was here, Husband would rebuttal with “Wait, Woman!! You slept in the middle anyway! I got a corner! A corner, Woman!” and then we would have laughed it off. This year I turned 40 and 40 is rough anyway but this woman turning 40 meant I am officially older than Husband. I am still working through it.
The years to follow will rage and will be silent. It is just the nature of the beast of grief. But one thing is for sure: as long as you don’t stay in the moment, it is and it will be okay.
Now, lets deal with the get over it people.
Stay. In. Your. Lane.
Don’t judge a person for their grieving process! If you don’t like what they post, scroll on. You don’t have to respond to a post on that person’s page because you don’t feel like it is appropriate or it’s excessive. Maybe you haven’t experienced a lose like a parent or a spouse or even a child and God bless you for it because it isn’t easy to handle. You will experience one of them at some point and you will need a friend. You will need to turn your broken heart to a “veteran of grief” and need their wisdom. Don’t burn that bridge before it is even built. We don’t forget those who are rude.
I hope this post helps a broken heart and pray this post will melt a waxed heart.
Galatians 6:2 KJV Bear ye one another’s burdens, and so fulfil the law of Christ.
A burden is like a rope. The weight may be too heavy to pick up. It may be pulling at you like a horrifying game of tug-of-war. It be wrapped around you and can’t move and fear sets in that you will squeezed and consumed. As a Believer of Jesus Christ, it is my responsibility to grab someone’s rope and hang on to them. Pull with all my might in pray, encouragement, and support. What we are not commanded to do is choke or even hang someone with their own rope.
Where do you stand? Are you strong enough to hang on to someone? Will you be a Rope Sister to a friend? I have a few and I thank God for them daily because it isn’t just my grief rope they are hanging on to. It’s me and all my ropes.
P.S.: I have a Bible study about labels coming real soon. Can’t wait!
I can’t believe I am doing this: writing about my life for total strangers to read. Opening myself up to become something someone reads while drinking their morning coffee seems weird to me. But here I am!
You’re brave if you are reading this. I mean real brave. From post to post, you will have no idea what I will write about. I guess this is the best time to brief you of what to expect, huh? Okay, here is the short answer for a long story:
I love Christ. That’s right, I love my Lord. He never fails me even when I am a complete disgrace to him. He still loves me.
I love my children. Two of them to be exact. Lady A. and Sir M. is what I will refer to them as for now.
I love my cubs. Let me explain: any child that I have worked with in any ministry I have served. Mama Bear loves her cubs.
I love to crochet. Especially this time of year. It’s cold outside. I keep my hands busy. I need to keep them busy.
I am curious. I love a good research project. I get in trouble at times, my curiosity helps me to grow. You never get to old to learn.
I fight for a cure. Crohn’s to be exact. I hate it. Lady A. is my hero, a warrior.
I can be compassionate. Especially for children with special needs, regardless of how severe their need may be. Sir M and a very special friend have taught me compassion.
I love to cut up. I can giggle with the best of them. Laughter is healthy. I need more of it.
I am a story teller. I had a theme going and just couldn’t find a ‘c’ word to fit. It was going so good.
I am real. No smoke and whistles. I am rough around the edges to keep it simple. I am raw and to the point. That too has gotten me in trouble. I am learning. I will let you know up front, I will disappoint someone who reads one of my posts. However, I warned you up front.
I tell stories in the first person. I can only speak for myself so why should I write any different than I speak. Some will be more fact than fiction but not always. Some will be raw truth. Very raw. I have to heal and I know one of the best ways to communicate is to tell a story that tells the… well, you get it.
I guess that’s it for tonight. It’s late. I should have done this a long time ago. Maybe now I can sleep better at night because I now have a place to write my thoughts and my stories. So, if you have made it this far: Welcome to My Side of Sanity.
Oh! I love chickens. Yup, backyard chickens. There are some stories from the coop I can’t wait to tell!