I lied. I said I accomplished my mission… but I didn’t.

A few days ago, I finished writing my three part series on Jon Bellion. I shared my experiences with his music, making his Little Jon puppet, and giving it to him at the concert. As I wrote Part 3, I noticed there was something different about writing it. It wasn’t like writing the first two parts. This didn’t sit well with me. My mind wouldn’t let it go.

When I wrote Part 1, I was excited! It was fulfilling to write about my feelings, my beliefs and how Jon had inspired me.

In Part 2, I got to write about feeling inspired to do something for Jon. I touched on overcoming fear. I shared my creative process and making it work.

Part 3, was about physically giving Jon the gift. It was about getting validation for myself. It felt empty. It was a lot harder for me to write it. It didn’t flow easily.

What was the difference in writing the third part of the story?

Part 1, showed that we go through struggle. We can find comfort and understanding when someone is brave. Someone developing their talent and sharing it has a purpose. Realizing you may have some false beliefs and challenging them is important. You can accept and appreciate someone who might not share all of your beliefs or values. Worthwhile things can happen when you choose to broaden your view.

Part 2 said, it’s okay to follow your inner voice, even if it doesn’t seem like it flows with what society would do. Go for it, and try something that you’ve never done before. Embrace yourself and accept who you are.

Part 3, was written to show that I was able to accomplish my goal. I was validated in taking a chance. The fact that I felt that validation means I’m still struggling with doubt. The truth is, giving Jon something I made didn’t end up being the most important part. Everything that I did up to that point was about being authentic. I think something was lost in giving it to him. I know he liked it. I know he thought it was amazing… but I don’t think those are the things that really matter.

Handing it to him, being able to tell him he had inspired me, saying everything that I wrote in Part 1 to him, is what would have given it meaning. To tell him what he had inspired in me. I wanted this puppet to somehow speak and say all those things, but it couldn’t.

Sometimes we put everything we are into something, we think it will give us a result that we are seeking, but it doesn’t.

The giving of the puppet fell short. Why?

I let fear alter how I gave it. I had put effort and thought into the gift, but not the act of giving it. I let my focus change. In the end, it became about making sure the gift got into his hands with no regard as to why. I wanted to give some of myself to him. I don’t know if he actually received the deeper part of me that I gave. I don’t know if he got it mentally. How could he know?

Something else I realized, is that sometimes we want to give part of ourselves to someone but they don’t need or want it. They might not be capable of even seeing it. Giving isn’t supposed to be about us and what we want to give. Giving is about offering and then allowing the other person to receive what they want or need. Giving isn’t forcing what/who you are or what you have on someone else. Giving is about opening up your gifts to share with the world and then allowing the world to partake if they choose to. I always thought giving meant someone had to take what was offered. It doesn’t. Giving can be done without someone receiving it. Giving is about the act of genuinely offering something to someone because you care about them. It’s not about doing something for your own gain. Giving is not about getting validation for yourself.

Can you imagine how much peace would be in our world if we just focused on the giving? Truly gave with no expectation in return…

How does it feel to give? How does it feel to take? How often do we give and expect something in return? Why do we always expect something for ourselves? Receiving a gift shouldn’t require payment in return. When I truly give someone something, they don’t owe me anything. I don’t give someone something so I can hear the words, “thank you”. I don’t give someone something so that I can feel good about being a giver. I don’t give something so I can show people I’m a good person. To truly give, our focus needs to be on bettering the life of someone else. If you do it for any other reason, is it really giving?

There have been countless times in my life that I’ve given something to someone. I have had an expectation of what I should receive in return. I have thought people should think highly of me for giving the gift. In those instances, did I really give? Or was I just trying to take something for myself?

I go back to the question, “What was the difference in writing the third part of the story?”
I believe the difference was, that in the first two parts, I got to share genuine parts of myself and things that I believe in. The third part, left me telling a part of the story that didn’t feel that meaningful because I wasn’t really sharing or giving a part of myself.

Be genuine. Be authentic. Give those parts to the world without expectation of what you can get in return, and you will find true happiness.

With Warmth,
~Peggy

Tell me:
After reading Parts 1, 2, and 3…
Did you get a different feeling from each one?
What were the differences you felt?
Can you see the difference in giving freely vs. giving with an expectation?

You can post your thoughts in the comments or send me a direct email at lookthroughmeblog@gmail.com

Part 1 ~ Finding Jon

Part 2 ~ Little Jon

Jon Meets Little Jon

We got to the venue fifteen minutes before we had to be there. We waited outside in the 106° heat for 45 minutes. We were sweating and I was watching my blood glucose level shooting up. I started to have concerns about the insulin in my pump going bad. I decided I needed to talk to someone about getting inside where it was cool… and I needed more water. My friend and I were given the okay to go inside the restaurant area to wait for our VIP access.

While sitting and waiting, I wrote a quick note and pinned it inside the puppet. I had wanted to write a detailed letter to Jon expressing my thanks and reason for making him the puppet, but there just wasn’t time. I had to settle for short and sweet.

As we were sitting in the restaurant, I saw two of the Beautiful Mind musicians  come out to the bar to order some food or drinks. Mylon and Travis… I recognized them right away. I knew they were easy going guys. I took my concert poster to them and asked if they would sign it. As they were signing, I told them I had a gift for Jon that I had made. I told them it was unusual, but it was my way of showing Jon my gratitude for what his music had meant to me during a difficult time. I wasn’t sure when I would get a chance to give it to Jon, so I wanted to at least mention it to them. I asked if they wanted to see it. As I pulled the tissue paper off they leaned in and looked. The expressions on their faces and reactions were priceless for me. It was a moment of validation… that I had done something awesome. They were in disbelief and said Jon had received gifts before, but nothing like this. Mylon grabbed the bag and said he was taking it to Jon.

It was time to go in for the VIP Q&A session. We gathered around the stage with about 20-30 other people. Within a couple minutes, Jon and the band came out. I had wondered how I would feel when that moment came. Would I be totally star-struck and nervous? Would anxiety overtake me? For me, it ended up being a feeling of contentment… just being in that room. Yes, I hung on every word he said as he answered questions. I wanted to know everything there was to know. I wanted to deepen my understanding of this person. I wanted to feel that feeling of just hanging out with a friend and learning more about them. It was about respect and understanding. It was about feeling like he would understand me if he knew me. It was about having the opportunity to know someone who was essentially doing what I wanted to do. He was developing his talent and putting it out into the world for others to benefit from. He was brave in being willing to open himself to the world and not letting fear stop him. He was doing what he felt in the center of his being, he was meant to do. I wanted to know how he got to that place.

I raised my hand to ask a question. He pointed to me. “How do you stay focused? When you have a project you’re working on and you know you need to get it done, how do you stay on track?” He took a moment to really think about it. His answer was something I needed to hear.

When Jon was done answering my question, Mylon leaned up and said something to him and pointed to me. Jon looked at me and began talking about being blown away by what I made for him. He had someone bring it out from the back room. He had never received a gift like this one before. What I remember most about those moments, was the smile and laugh that came from him. Seeing him pull it out of the bag and play with it was… I don’t know… I just don’t have words for what I felt. To see that something I did, made this person happy meant so much to me. I had felt like he had given me so much through his music and I was able to reciprocate that. Now he was receiving part of me. It was a great moment. It was a moment of validation in following my heart even when others might not understand. I had the power to affect someone by being confident in the talent God had placed within me. I put myself in a vulnerable position. I knew people could have made fun of me, but I didn’t let that stop me. I just opened myself and let myself be who I was. Validation that I didn’t have to conform to what someone else thought was right or normal or expected. I was just being the me that God created and it felt good. I suppose in a way that makes this act a selfish one… but on the other hand,  it increased my vision of seeing what God has given me the power to do. It confirmed for me that God wants me to be brave so I can spread kindness and joy.

I imagine some people may think it’s strange to put energy into doing something for someone like Jon. He’s already getting attention and his popularity is growing.  Regardless of his success, I still see a person just like myself who needs to know someone is thinking about them from time to time. Not just about the great things they are doing… but about the person and the human needs they have. During the concert I turned to my friend and asked her, “I wonder what it’s like for him to do this part of it? All of this with the fans?” I was thinking to myself that he was just a person doing something he loved and in that process, these other things had now come with it. At the Q & A session he briefly mentioned he was sick. My heart went out to him and I thought about how he just had to keep going because he had people expecting him to be at each location and perform. I thought about how in doing this tour, he was having to perform to a certain level night after night. The energy required to put on that show was immense. I can see that from my naive eyes, even though I’ve never had to perform like that. This wasn’t just night after night of fun, it was work. I had a hope in my heart that in the midst of it, he was being able to take care of himself and get the rest his body needed to recover from each performance. His need for sincere care and compassion has not changed just because his music is being loved by people all over the world.

This whole experience is something that will remain in my treasured memories. My friend and I couldn’t stand on the front row during the concert next to the stage, our health wouldn’t permit it, but it didn’t matter. We had a fantastic adventure being on the back row of the bleachers where we could sit if we needed to. I was thankful to be with a friend that understood my health issues and was there for me. We stood, we danced, we sang, and we waved our arms in the air! All the activity caused my blood sugar to plummet, so I shoved glucose tablets in my mouth and chewed in between belting out lyrics! Even with having to deal with that… it was an incredible fulfilling experience for me.

Here’s the part where I have to tell you that I never took a picture of Little Jon after he was completed. I didn’t realize this until we were at the concert. I thought about hanging around when the concert was over to see if I could somehow talk to one of the band members and get one. Many thoughts went through my head. I knew these musicians had just given me an amazing concert. I knew Jon was sick. I didn’t want to disrespect them by asking for something for myself. It was also late, and I didn’t want to make my friend wait for me to possibly get a picture. I had to let the idea go. I had to remind myself that the creation of Little Jon wasn’t for me, but to bring joy to someone else… mission accomplished.

These next pictures are blurry, but they are all I have of him taking out Little Jon and showing him to the crowd.

Part 1 ~ Finding Jon

Little Jon

When I saw that Jon was starting a new tour and coming to Phoenix, there was no question that I had to go. I wanted to be in the same room with him to feel his energy and spirit. Would I get the same feeling in real life, about the person he was, as I did from the videos I had seen?

As the concert approached, I felt gratitude in my heart for what Jon’s music meant to me and what it had given me during a difficult chapter of my life. I had a desire to show my appreciation. How could I do this?  What could I do to sincerely show what it meant to me? How could I somehow let him know what he had done for me as an individual? How could this even be possible? It wasn’t like I had personal access to him and could tell him. Even if I could, my words could never adequately express what was in my head and heart.

Out of the blue, I had an image come to my mind. Jon was in his music studio, playing around with a puppet of himself singing his songs. I laughed thinking about it. I could make him a puppet! I had previously made two smaller puppets that kids and adults had instantly fallen in love with. Knowing this, and having some knowledge about the person Jon was and his playful heart, I figured he would love it. It was something that he couldn’t just get anywhere. It would be a unique one of a kind gift.

Wait. Yeah, it was a cool idea. It felt perfect and right in my head… but if I actually did it, people wouldn’t understand. They would probably assume I was a crazy obsessed fan. I mean, who randomly makes a puppet of a musician and gives it to them? People would wonder why. They would come to their own conclusions of my craziness, because it was something most people would never dare to do. It took a brave person. I reminded myself, it didn’t matter what other people thought. I asked myself if I thought I could even pull it off. I had previously only made the two smaller puppets and they didn’t resemble a specific person. I knew if I did it, it would have to be spot on. I would be sharing my talent and vision with him, which was the deepest form of gratitude. I try not to deny that inner voice telling me to do something. I knew the idea was in my head for a reason. I was not going to push it aside. I decided to be brave. I had five days until the concert. I told myself there was no pressure. I needed to allow myself to enjoy the process of creating it. I wanted this to be an uplifting experience for both of us. I wanted it to be about expression and being true to myself. If at some point it wasn’t coming together the way I envisioned, I gave myself permission to let go of it. This was a leap of just going for it, and not letting doubt stand in my way.

I spent some time researching. I decided I would make this puppet completely different than the previous ones. I would have to take the knowledge I found, and improvise. I started thinking about different aspects. What was most important in portraying him and making sure it resembled him? His hair was a key feature that had to be right. I found nothing that resembled it. I bought yarn that I felt was the right color with variations of brown. I didn’t know how, but I would figure out a way to make hair from it.

I made the hair. I was stoked about how realistic it looked and felt! It was time consuming, but it was perfection. I made hair for two days.

I now had two days left to construct the puppet. Next, I needed a skeletal structure. I studied pictures and I worked. I constructed the top half of the head from foam, creating my own pattern that had to be re-worked three times. Then the mouth plate and jaw. I made a pattern for the fleece skin that would cover the head. I sewed the fleece and it fit… but not as well as I would have liked. I realized most of it would be covered and I moved on. I sewed the mouth plate material. Nope. I ripped it out and came up with my own way to put it in.

Then facial features. They had to be precise. I ended up making three noses before I settled on one. Facial hair was a central component. The fake fur I bought was close, but not close enough in color to the hair I had made. I colored it. Eyes. They were so huge and buggy. I worked and reworked. Eyelashes. They were too long. I took scissors and started trimming, cringing inside because they were already attached and I would have to start over if I cut them too short. Ears. As I completed facial features I would just pin them on so I could move them and manipulate all the parts before anything was permanent. The surface of the face was too flat. The eyes needed to appear sunk in at least a little. I conquered each step as I approached it.

It was the day before the concert and nothing was attached yet. I hadn’t even started the body. I worked non-stop until 2:30 am only taking time to eat, use the bathroom and change out the infusion set to my insulin pump. Time was running out. I continued to tell myself it would be okay if I didn’t finish… but it wasn’t going to be because I hadn’t given it everything I had.

I slept for three hours and got up at 5:30 am the day of the concert. I gave myself till noon to finish.  I needed to leave for the concert at 2:30 pm and I had several other responsibilities that needed to be taken care of before I left. I still had the hair to sew on, I needed to attach his head to his body, and I needed to design a pattern and sew a shirt for Little Jon.

I finished at noon. There was one feature I hadn’t completed. I really didn’t want to leave it out. I had to push it back to be done later, if I had time after I had completed my other responsibilities.

I ran to the store to buy some dinner for my boys for that night. While I was there, I quickly looked for something I could use for that final touch. I found a couple of things, but they weren’t quite right. I would make one of them work.

The last thing I did, before running out the door for the concert, was make up the gold cross earring with the purple gem in the center. I sewed it to his ear. It was as close as I could get to matching the picture on his new album cover.

I didn’t have a specific plan on how I was going to give my creation to Jon. I just put him in a big gift bag and brought him along. I was content letting things play out however they would…

In Part 3, my hard work culminates in the giving of my gift… 

Finding Jon

I recently attended The Human Condition concert, with Jon Bellion and Beautiful Mind. It was a new experience for me. I’ve been to concerts before, I’ve just never gone as this person and allowed myself to just be. Connecting to the music and to the performers. Allowing my body to move… however it felt like moving. Letting the music penetrate me. There was something soul reaching about it. Singing along, taking that moment for myself to sing with Jon and feel what those words meant to my soul. It was a place of complete comfort. It was a perfect moment of just being. Contentment. Perfection so great that it wasn’t overwhelming… it just was.

The contentment of this night was a culmination of experiences, feelings, authenticity, and being true to myself. It started several months previous…

I came across a song of Jon’s on Facebook. The title caught my attention. I clicked and listened. I was intrigued by what I heard. My curiosity deepened. I heard lyrics about being let down and wanting to Run Wild.

The timing coincided with my own realization of spending my whole life trying to be everything that my mom wasn’t. That I had been rejecting, anything that resembled what she was within myself. It meant I conformed to what I thought the world, closest to me, perceived to be right. There was a line I had drawn in my mind and I worked hard to stay on the proper side of it. I thought it was a perfectly drawn line that existed in more than just my mind. I was determined to stay on the good side. I had to prove that I wasn’t my mom and that I was better than her. Being the human that I am, I would trip and fall over the line sometimes. Every once in awhile, I would just briefly stick a toe over the line… to allow myself a taste of something. I’d pull it back and continue walking where I was supposed to.

My realization, that I had been rejecting everything within myself that resembled my mom, led me to feeling like I now needed to allow myself room to breathe. To feel my whole self. Allow myself to discover the parts I had rejected… allow myself to essentially, Run Wild.

I went to Youtube. What else could I find by this musician? I found a documentary. Every artist in the band answered questions about each other and told their story of coming together. I instantly connected to these people who spoke so highly and praised one another’s talents and contributions. There was something special there. Each of them truly believed the talent of the other was above their own. They learned, respected, and lifted each other. I could feel the sincerity in the things they said. It wasn’t just a put on. It was real. It truly was a beautiful thing… the harmony, humility, and their belief in God. They gave credit to God for the gifts they had. It’s a rare thing to see in the world. It’s a rare thing to so openly talk about it.

I dove deeper. Finding more songs. Finding words in the songs that connected to me. Then it happen… I came across a song with the f-word in the title. Whoa. I don’t listen to songs with swear words. That crossed that line I had constructed, but was now redefining. I clicked it, listened, and looked up the lyrics. Words about faking feelings, being scared about putting yourself out there, taking down walls, life being staged, and time running out. Yeah, I totally related to these lyrics. Here I was in the midst of taking off my mask. I was facing the fact that time on this earth with my mom had ended. I was still mourning, the relationship we would never have.

I discovered videos of Jon creating his music. I was fascinated, watching and seeing his creative process and the fact he so openly shared how it was done. How the music was made using his mouth to make some of the sounds and recording them to replay and manipulate. Having the picture in his head as the music, sounds, and words came together. Playing with it all. It re-opened a desire I had, to learn how to play music so that I could put my words to it. I could understand the cleverness of the lyrics, how they intertwined with each other, and the deeper meaning or connection they had. I knew that feeling of putting words together that were meant to exist in unity. Most people won’t see that… they’ll listen and find the general meaning or rhythm, totally missing what’s below the surface, and move on to the next song.

Simple and Sweet. Ah, this quickly became a song I put on repeat. I felt it inside of me. When I listened I felt special. The sweet… it connected to the sweetness I saw in myself with my recent diagnosis of type 1 diabetes. I had sweetness running through my veins… literally. The sounds in the song made me feel light, bubbly, and floaty when life had been weighing on me so heavily. The simpleness of not having to get all made up to be beautiful. Just being beautiful as God created me without having to wear a mask. Permission to be me.

A new album was coming… it would be the first one he actually charged people for. Ah, he was a giver… a giver of his creations. He shared the gift that he openly gave credit to God for. This credit to God was mentioned throughout his music. Yeah, this aligned perfectly with what I knew in the depth of me to be true. I connected to the realism of him when he sang his songs. Like a laugh at a certain point in a song that said so much more to me than what the words were saying on their own. I pre-ordered the new album and couldn’t wait  to see what I would find there.

One of the songs talked about secrets, bones in closets, loyalty and still being loved even with all the flaws. I felt the acceptance and it resonated with what I felt in connection with my husband. He had stuck by me through all the craziness of my life and who I was. As we dated and got closer to marriage, I continued to reveal the damaged person I thought I was, making sure there was no secret untold, and he kept loving me. Through 23 years of marriage filled with my personal struggles and mistakes, he has continued loving me.

A song about Fashion. Just the title touched my love of sewing and creating. The words declaring the human desire to obtain more and more… never being satisfied… the selfishness that controls us and ultimately missing what’s really important.

Song after song…

Maybe IDK (I don’t know) all the answers in life. God gave us faith and grace because He intended for us to  have to learn and figure it out along the way. We’re not supposed to know everything. He is God, we are not. The Weight of the World is heavy and I don’t need to keep carrying it. I’m discovering The Good In Me and I’m not rejecting parts of me anymore. Being a robot. Knowing the act of numbing, existing, and just going through the motions to the next day to again avoid feeling anything. Having found that God is in control and my whole life is in the Hand of God.

This music, these lyrics, these creators have filled me with peace, understanding, connection, love, and courage.

Jon and all the artists that are part of this family have touched me, they have moved me. Discovering Jon and his music, was one of the catalysts for me to be brave and start writing and putting my honesty and authenticity out into the world…

In Part 2, discover my thoughts and what I did in preparation for the concert…

Yes, I can see it. I feel it with each thing I write. Sadness. There are a lot of emotional things I’ve written about here. If you feel sadness when you read the things I write… I’m not sorry. I won’t take on your sadness. That’s for you. If you feel emotion, then I’m touching something in you… my words are speaking to you. If that’s too uncomfortable for you and it’s all you can see, then this isn’t the place for you to be right now.

Why do I write about sad things? It’s simple… I don’t. What I do, is write about the things I know. If I want to write well, then I have to feel something about what I’m writing. I can’t fake it. For years, I have yearned to write… but I was afraid to write what I knew. I was afraid I might hurt someone. I was afraid I might be judged. I was afraid people would think I was looking for attention. I was afraid people would think I wanted them to feel sorry for me. I was afraid it might affect someone in a negative way. I was afraid my truth would be called lies. I was afraid for people to see the real me.

For months and months after my mom passed away last year, there was this voice that kept saying… “Write.”

I was searching for a way to resolve all that I was feeling. I was searching for the answer to my confusion. I was searching to know what I was now supposed to do with myself. I was searching for an answer that had always been inside of me. Write.

The voice was relentless. It didn’t just speak to me once. Every time I broke down, it spoke to me. “Write.”

I ignored it so many times. One day, I decided to stop ignoring it. I could feel the presence of my mom on many occasions telling me it was okay. “Just write.” That’s what she told me. She put into my mind, the knowing of all her writings. For years, I wondered how she survived. How did she survive loneliness? How did she survive abandonment? How did she not want to end her life? How did she have hope for anything? How did she keep pressing forward? How did she keep living? How did she live every single day with her life? She wrote. She didn’t just read a book… she wrote in it… all over it. She wrote in notebooks, journals… anything that had space for her to write.

When I finally gave into the voice telling me to write, I knew this wasn’t just a temporary thing that I would do a few times, or just in that moment. The voice wasn’t telling me to write something in that moment. It was telling me that I was to write… and not stop. Write everyday. Stop denying my gift. Stop denying what was within me. I believe with all my heart, that every human is bestowed gifts from their creator. Yet, I could only deny mine. I denied the gift that I felt from a young age. I shut it off. I blocked it.

I knew every action had a consequence. I wasn’t just scared of negative consequences… I was scared of every possible consequence. What if people like what I write? What if they ask me for more? Will I be able to give them more? What responsibility will this put on me to those who read what I write? What if something is triggered within someone who reads what I’ve written? Will they reach to me for support? Will I be able to give them the support they need? What if people praise me for my writings? Will that change me? Will I become self-centered? Will I think I am above others? Will I think it is about me instead of knowing it’s about God and what He is saying through me? Will I claim the words as mine, instead of His? Will I lose my focus and begin searching for money from my gift? Will I use the gift with the wrong intent? Will it become about something different? If money comes from it, will I lose sight of my purpose? Will I become greedy? Will I be irresponsible with my gift? Will He take it away from me? The spectrum of questions in my head were endless.

I resolved to do my best to let go of my fears. Stop focusing on them. Stop letting them distract me. I decided if I was going to start writing and sharing what I wrote, I would have to make a commitment to myself to not let outside influences play on my fears. Don’t let what others think or say stop me from continuing to write. Don’t give power to the negative thoughts that come from the one who would have me fail. The one who would not want me to touch the lives of others. Rather choose to have faith, that the promptings I have felt to write, are from a loving Heavenly Father that would have me share who I am, my experiences, because He needs me to.

I am writing to tell my truth. I am writing to let people see that what we perceive on the outside, does not tell us anything about what is on the inside. I refuse to pretend that the only thing that matters is showing the world that I look happy and well put together on Sunday afternoon. I don’t want to participate in that contest. I want to be over here… telling people the real stuff. My greatest desire is to reach out to others and let them know they are not alone. I want to be accessible to people so they can feel supported and understood.

My writing cannot be about trying to please someone else. Pleasing others is a life long habit of mine. Do what they want and maybe they will like you. Do what they want so they won’t want to leave you. Do what they want so they will give love to you. That’s a hard habit to break.

I remember being about 18 years old and my brother told me that I was a fake person and that I just adapted and became whatever I thought everyone else wanted. It really hurt my feelings at the time. I thought that if that’s how I really was, that meant there was nothing of value in being me. It felt like if that was true, it meant I was faking who I was. It meant that even if people liked and accepted me like I wanted them to, they really didn’t because I wasn’t me. I was a chameleon… adapting to preserve myself. Changing color so that I would blend in and people would believe that I belonged there.

I think I’ve had this constant internal battle of needing to blend into the background so I could be part of things and not be left out or left behind, while at the same time, wanting to let the bright color within me out, so that I could feel genuine love for who I was. Most of the time I chose the blending. Don’t rock the boat. Just ride the flow.

Every once in awhile I let the color show. I’m getting to a place where I’m gradually allowing the colors of ME to show more and more. I know not everyone will see the colors that are here… it all depends on their perspective. Some people will look and see only darkness, which will make them turn away or back to the facade. Others will look at my tears, see the light I’m shining on them and see the rainbow.

It was only a few months,
after my mom passed away.
I received an invitation.
It was to attend,
the 70th birthday,
of my 3rd dad.
I hadn’t see him in over 20 years.
Even then,
it was a brief meeting.

They divorced,
when I was probably…
10 or 11.
I think their relationship lasted,
about 7 years.
I was around 3 or 4,
when they met.
He became my full-time dad.
During that time,
I saw him more,
than my own dad.
I lived full time with my mom,
and only spent,
every other weekend,
at my dad’s house.

Even when they divorced,
in my mind,
he was still,
one of my dads.
The divorce,
didn’t erase the love,
the affection,
I felt for him as a father.
Like always,
when my mom left someone,
that meant I also left them behind…
at least physically.
I was a child,
I went,
where I was told to go.

The invitation to the birthday party,
soon after my mom’s death,
peaked a certain kind of interest in me.
It spoke to that empty,
yearning space…
where the love of a parent,
was supposed to be,
but I often found empty.
It was currently…
raw.

When I thought about him,
I still felt the affection for a father.
Time was frozen…
I just felt,
what I had felt,
when I was that little girl.
Love,
admiration,
for a father.

He watched late night tv shows with me,
taught me table manners.
He provided a comfortable home,
with luxuries like a swimming pool.
He gave me new experiences,
like raising a steer to slaughter.
He gave me a horse to ride.
Chickens to collect eggs from.
Bunnies who were always multiplying.

In my mind,
he was still that dad.

The invitation was presented to me,
in a way,
that made me feel special.
“He would be so excited to have me there,
it would be a surprise!”
The idea,
of being a surprise,
at this significant family gathering,
that I hadn’t been a part of,
for over 30 years,
was a little intimidating.
I didn’t really like the idea,
of being the surprise.

I had no idea,
how he would react…
to me.
I didn’t know,
what he might say…
about my mom.

I knew,
I would be extra sensitive.
I expressed my concerns.
I was assured,
he would be warned ahead of time…
of my sensitivity.
That meant,
he would also know,
I was coming.
He wouldn’t be caught off guard.
When I agreed to attend,
I left it open,
to back out at the last minute,
if I was having a hard day.

The day came.
I debated.
Back and forth.
In my head.
I made the decision.
I would go.
I knew if I didn’t,
I would always wonder.
I chose,
to swallow my fear,
my anxiety.

I
went
all
by
myself.

On the drive there,
I started to feel anxious.
I kept repeating to myself,
“Be brave, be brave, be brave.”
I reminded myself,
“You have done hard things before, be brave.”
Even when I felt that twinge,
to turn around,
drive back home…

I
was
brave.

I found the neighborhood,
drove up to the security gate,
pushed the call button.
“Hello?”
“It’s Peggy.”
The gate opened.
They knew I was there.
No turning back now.

I parked my car,
put on the bravest face,
that a little girl could muster.
I stood tall,
was greeted outside,
by the person who had invited me.
There were several other people,
outside the door,
I was introduced,
then brought inside.

The door entered into a big room.
It extended even further,
to include a formal dining area.
It was a vast,
open space.
I stood there,
courageous smile,
saying hello,
to a couple of guests.
The immediate room where I was standing,
was void of people.
The space wasn’t cluttered with things.
It was just open…
all around me.

My father was brought to stand,
about ten feet in front of me.
He looked at me with a smile,
a little chuckle…
trying to figure out who I was.
I could see,
there was a glimmer,
of recognition in his eyes…
but he couldn’t quite place me…
and then he did,
“Peggy? Is that you? It is you…”
as full realization,
came to his expression.

In the time he was figuring out who I was,
horror had filled my mind,
realizing,
he had no idea I was coming.
Every insecurity,
that a person can feel,
about not being accepted,
cared about,
recognized…
significant,
came to my mind.
There was a moment,
when I thought he would have to be told…
who I was.

I was on display.
Here she is!
Long,
lost,
daughter,
of the ex-wife.
Look at her.

The house was full,
of close relatives.
Most of which,
had known me,
as that little girl.
It was a beautiful family.
They were laughing,
drinking,
telling stories.

A slide show,
of old photographs,
from his life,
streamed on the tv.
The pictures…
memories flooded my body.
I was looking at my family,
that existed,
when I was that little girl.
A family,
that had moved on,
moved forward,
without me.
It stung.

I was introduced to his “new” wife ,
that he married after my mom.
Then his “new” daughter,
who had replaced me,
taken the spot in his heart,
where I once lived.

It felt like that time,
when I had been playing Three Flies Up,
in front of our house,
with my 3 brothers.
The football,
was coming straight for me.
I caught it,
with both arms,
hugged it into my body,
then fell to the ground…
unable to take in air.

Be strong.
Be brave.
You are strong.
You are brave.
You have come through so much.
You can do this.

“This is Peggy. She’s the daughter of my ex-wife, from 30 plus years ago.
You remember Peggy, don’t you?”

He was uncomfortable,
I could feel it.
I didn’t blame him.
He had to explain.
There wasn’t a simple way to say it.
It took a lot of words.
The scenario was repeated,
over
over
over…
again,
as I was introduced to guests.

Repetition of the recounting,
refuted my recollection.
The words he wrote,
from his mouth,
poisoned my reflection.

It was ridiculous,
that I was there.
It was foolish,
to think I was still his daughter.
Absurd.

It had been thirty years,
since I had been his daughter.
Through his adult eyes,
It was a blink.
Through my young hopeful ones,
it was infinite.

It may have been in my own mind…
I could feel the self-contained conversations,
going on inside of people’s heads…

“Why did she come?”
“Doesn’t she already have a dad of her own?”
“He’s not even her real dad.”
“She must not have a dad that loves her.”
“She must be lonely.”
“This is so awkward.”
“How long is she going to stay?”

I endured two hours.
Two hours, pretending I belonged there.
Two hours, watching the family, be a family without me.
Two hours, of faking feeling right at home.
Two hours, bluffing that I was part of the family.
Two hours, seeing pictures of my step-brother,
who was my hero,
who I had adored,
but never got to say goodbye to… when he died.
Two hours, of not knowing where to stand.
Two hours, of not knowing who to talk to.
Two hours, of faking being interested,
in whatever conversation,
was going on next to me.
Two hours, of enduring the feeling,
of wanting to run out the door and just drive… forever.
Two hours, of fending off the pain of realization.
My little girl memories,
of being a loved daughter,
were only mine.
Now they were shattered.
Two hours, of holding my disillusionment inside.

As I drove home,
I heaved the sorrow from my gut.
My memories were stained,
they were changed.
I mourned.

No, I wouldn’t change the decision I made to go that day. I have no regrets. I look at it and see the strength God has placed within me. It is His strength. I can face all things that He needs me to face. He has made me resilient. I am grateful. I hope that through seeing the strength He has placed in me, you will know He has also placed it within you. It is there for you to grasp.

I know everyone has a story of strength and bravery… please share yours in the comments if you feel prompted to do so. I would love to read it.

~Peggy

This might surprise you,
but I don’t think the world,
or God,
owes me anything.

I don’t believe,
I should be above struggle.
I would never want to be,
above struggle.

Struggle,
is one of the greatest gifts,
God has given me.
Without struggle,
I am nothing.

God made us incredible,
resilient,
intelligent beings.
He gives us,
every tool we need.
Sometimes we don’t see it,
or we decide to not use it.
It’s there.

He’s there.
He’s the one,
and only,
constant parent I’ve had.
The one who loves me so much,
that He allows me to fall.
But He is there.
The one who loves me so much,
that He allows me to feel pain.
But He is there.

He is the one who sacrificed,
His perfect son,
so that I,
could choose,
learn,
and find my way back.
All while gaining strength,
wisdom,
compassion,
love,
and all He has to give.

Why would I expect,
not to suffer?
Why would I think,
I am above it?
Why would I think,
I am above my brother…
who suffered everything?
Why would I be,
so selfish,
to think that I,
am walking this earth…
only for myself?
For my own pleasure?

I look around,
see the organization,
in all things created by God.
I look at the deepest level,
there is always a pattern,
a plan,
a system…
all things working together.
It’s not random.

What I experience in my life,
is not random.
It is for me.
It is for my good.
It is for my good,
that I may do good for Him.
He may use me,
to help others,
find their good.
He wants me to do all things,
for you,
which is Him.

Ripples don’t only happen in water.

This life…
this thing I do everyday,
has a purpose.
I do not know that full purpose,
because I am not Him,
but I know there is a purpose.

The hardest part,
has become,
trying to figure out,
the purpose in my timeframe,
instead of letting Him teach me,
when He wants me to learn.
The hardest part,
is letting go of the control,
that I never had.
The hardest part,
is being patient.
The hardest part,
is getting out of His way.

The more I resist,
the way He chooses for me,
the harder it is,
to walk forward.

When I let go,
open myself,
stop resisting,
I end up finding,
the greatest reward.
The greatest happiness.

Sometimes,
there is so much pain,
and hurt,
but happiness is always there waiting.
He always gives me,
the understanding…
eventually.

He allows me to feel,
some of His greatest blessings.
He allows me to BE,
one of His greatest blessings.

What other purpose do I need?
What else could feel more at home,
comforting,
than that?

NOTHING.

We all suffer and hurt. No one is exempt. When we focus on the suffering and hurt of ourselves, we are blinded by what He needs us to learn. When we shift our eyes to the suffering and hurt of others, we see what He needs us to do. He owes us nothing. We owe Him everything. What is He asking you to do? Are you seeing?

It’s coming.
The day is coming.
The people say let it go.
Forget about it.
Don’t keep living it.
It’s done.
It’s finished.

I want to pull down the zipper,
step out,
run.
Don’t look back.
Just…
run.
Leave it,
in a heap on the floor.

I won’t.
I won’t touch the zipper.
I have to wear it.
It’s mine to wear.
No one else will wear it.
I have to wear it.

If I drop it to the floor,
it was all for nothing.
Too much of me…
was spent.
It has to be something.

I’m lost.
No one,
can see the moment.
It’s only mine.

I’m standing,
in the middle,
of space,
spinning,
in a circle,
reaching out,
touching nothing.
I am alone.
Air twists,
funnel around me.
I am solid,
in the center,
it doesn’t touch me.
The empty surrounds me.

I’m stuck.
There’s no way,
to walk through it.
No door.
No break in the wall.

I reach out a finger,
I graze it.
It stings.
I can take it.
Deeper.

Put my hand against it.
Electricity up my arm.
It’s familiar.
I stand straighter,
reach further,
arms wide…
the essence catches,
I leave the ground.

Lifted,
charged,
I am strong.
I draw it deeper…
into me.
It has lived here…
before.

I fly.

I’m in the storm.
It tries to throw me.
I won’t be thrown.
My wings are spread,
I ride the tempest.

Feelings drip from my eyes,
I am not overtaken.
I touch my face.
Moisture runs around my finger tip,
I don’t wipe it away.
I let it flow to my mouth.
I taste it.
I savor it.

My air is,
the antidote.
Touch me.

Still…
sometimes,
I reach for the zipper…
I never pull it.

The anniversary of my mom’s death is coming. Legally it’s June 18th, 2015… that’s what her death certificate says. But, I was there… she actually took her last breath at 11:55 pm on June 17th, 2015. As this anniversary approaches, I feel an urgency to figure out how I’m supposed to feel about it. An urgency to figure out what I’m supposed to do with myself on that day… and the days leading up to it. I feel a responsibility to make it matter. I know I could easily ignore it, put it out of my mind. I choose to hold it, look straight at it, to feel it. People face difficult anniversaries every day.  This is what it feels like to me…
What does it feel like to you?

They’re invading me.

I’m tired.
Looming around me,
waiting for me.
Do something…
anything with it.

Do I just keep them,
closed?
Send them away?
Do I put them in a pile,
light a match?

There are hundreds of books.
Her marks,
writings.
They seem sacred.
What do I do with the things?
Do they contain a piece of her?
Pieces I never knew?
Do I let someone else know them?
Will they be valuable,
to those who discover them?
Are they of value to me?

It feels wrong,
to put them out into the world.
Is it my responsibility,
to read every word?
Is there something there,
that I’m supposed to discover?
What energy do I put,
into looking at her?

If I open a cover,
will I get stuck there?
Will I be able to find my way…
back out?
What if she speaks to me?
What will I do,
with the things she says?
Will they change me?
Do I need to be changed?
Will anyone recognize me,
when I come out the other side?

Will my view,
be completely different?
What new things,
will my eyes see?
What will I not be able…
to un-see?
Am I strong enough to see?
Am I meant to see?

I saw it…
now what do I do with it?
Do I give it to someone else?

I just want to be free.
Free from everything,
that has been placed upon me.
How do I free myself?
I know,
I can’t run away.
Am I allowed…
to free myself?