Dearest Growing Pains,

 

My previous job only seemed to know the words company culture, but was very uneducated in what those words truly meant. I had been there for ten years and felt unseen, unheard, and unvalued. In my final year, I left a position I loved—not because I wanted to, but because I felt forced into a different role. And so, I prayed. For months. I asked God to intervene. And let me tell you—He showed up.

I always wondered how people landed those “fantastic” work-from-home jobs, but I never really believed they existed. That is, until one day I saw a social media post from a former coworker about a remote support role. I reached out.  What makes this part of the story special is that I worked with this coworker 26 years ago. She remembered my work ethic from back then, and that alone led her to give me a glowing recommendation to the company owner. That recommendation is how I was hired at NLT.  The role was officially “support,” and while I felt like I’d always been in support roles, they actually hired me based on the last role I’d held at my previous company—the role I never wanted in the first place. Yep. That one.  Funny how God works like that.

Fast forward to January 2026—arguably one of the hardest months I’ve had in a long time. My sweet Polly girl, my best friend of eight years, my four-footed beast, crossed over the rainbow bridge and left me completely shattered.  At the same time, I learned that the company I had been with for just over a year was being acquired. We were all invited to an annual Owners Meeting the following week. I decided to go to Wisconsin and hoped I could hold myself together for 24 hours.

“Do not cry.
Do not speak without thinking.
Don’t fall.
Don’t sweat off your eyebrows.
Don’t embarrass yourself—or the company.”

That internal monologue played on repeat. There was also a very real please don’t fart crisis, but thankfully that one stayed on the plane ride home.

So there I was—on a 24-hour work trip in Wisconsin—enduring the coldest temperatures I’ve ever experienced: -22 degrees. The walk from the airport to the red minivan was brutal. The walk from the red minivan into the resort? Even worse. I worried the cold Wisconsin  welcome might extend beyond the weather and into the room full of “new” coworkers I was about to meet. But once inside, I learned that was not the case, everyone was so welcoming and warm. 

This meeting was the Annual Owners Meeting of an ESOP company. I had no idea what ESOP meant—and yes, I may have been Googling it at the table.

It means everyone there was an owner of the company. Including me. I was completely flabbergasted by the number of employees being celebrated—not just five years, but ten, fifteen, twenty, thirty, and even forty years. They use the term Legacy when you join the company, because as long as you are an owner, you are part of the legacy being built.It gives an entirely new meaning to the phrase own your title.  For now, my title is Payroll Practitioner II—but you never know where a legacy might lead.

This company also has a Pay It Forward program, where everyone is given $50 to use however they choose to bless others. I sat with that decision for quite a while. There were so many good options—so many people in need—and truly, you can’t go wrong.  But I wanted it to be something special.  Something that could potentially grow even bigger with time.

Every day, I look out the window beside my home desk and see the garden space I’ve been tinkering with for the past four years. Each year I add something new, and this year, I finally knew what that “something” would be.  I decided to use the $50 to buy more plants than I normally would—to grow more food to give away during the summer months. I’ll reach out to churches, local organizations, or even social media to see if families need fresh vegetables or something to help put dinner on the table that week.

I’m calling this section of my garden Grammy’s Gifting Garden.

I’m blessed to live on the same property my grandmother once owned and gardened herself. Gardening brings me a joy I never knew I needed. Each season, I learn something new—about the soil, the plants, and myself.   Some years the crops may not produce much, but I’ll keep tending that space, year after year, hoping for the same result every time: helping to feed those around me—just like my Grammy did.

QPS is about legacy, and in this small but meaningful way, it’s helping me continue hers—feeding one soul at a time.

All those months I spent praying, I never imagined God would bless me so deeply through a workplace—planting me in a position where I could grow more with QPS than I ever did before. The encouragement, teamwork, and sense of belonging I’ve experienced over the past year and a half have been worth every uncomfortable moment that came before it.

Because I had to be in a place of discomfort.  I believe that’s where I finally handed it all over to God.

When He was planting me, I felt unseen.
When He was pruning me, I felt poked and pushed.
When He was watering me, I felt like I was drowning.

All because I was resisting the very process meant to help me grow.

But when I finally trusted His timing—when I stopped fighting the planting, the pruning, and the watering—everything started to change.

And that is where I am now:
Planted with purpose.
Growing with intention.
Grateful beyond words.

Sincerely, 

M.E.

 

Dear Me (Volume 2),

I notice you tend to say “it’s just me” to things when people are talking. Like the conversation about cooking dinner where you say, “well, it’s just me I’m cooking for”, or the debate over who controls the thermostat temp in the house and you repeat yourself, “it’s just me” so no one to fight with.  I don't think I have ever paid as much attention to how I said it or when I said or who I said that to in conversations, but this past week, it has left me feeling quite alone.  I never thought I felt that like this before.  I could try to chalk it up to depression and anxiety this week since the four-legged beast had to be hospitalized for a life-threatening condition, but I'm not sure they get all the chalk this time. What if this is some desire deep down to have someone to hold me when I can't stand anymore?   I feel like I've been standing alone for quite a long time and sometimes I just want to sit down and let someone take care of me, besides my parents.  There was no one there holding me as I tried to sleep but could only cry, no one to help me carry the burden, no one to share the load with, it was just me.

So what does just me do in this position? I reach out to the doctor in case it is just the depression and anxiety.  I reach out to my friends that I hold dear for encouragement.  I pray for peace and calm through the storm and I try to be as kind to myself as possible right now.  That's what I'm doing for Just Me for now.

  

Dear Me (volume 1),

I wake up these days not feeling like myself and it’s made me start wandering, yes wandering around my mind, as if it held more than chapters but books filled with adventures,  mistakes, and a few barreling laughs.  Some books even included their own cliff notes, legends, and video reference that played in the background while I was reading. I’m a forever multi-tasker. Which story felt like me though, the lost me?  I began reading and realized how many stories I’ve experienced and the sheer number of, about 5, I’ve been privy to being at least the side-kick in.  To someone I’ll be known for  being the loud one in the group, the one who screams insecurity as loudly as she does at other drivers on the road. Known, only as the villain of another’s main character story, or, possibly, the hero of my own.  I doubt it will be for cleaning up my house better than I did my potty mouth.  Forgiving until the grudge was just big enough to hold in the palm of my hand like crumbled paper to list all of my grievances? Perhaps. The young girl that thought dreams could come true only to crush every one that my children had in their childhoods. The sweet one, until the pause of life kicked in, like the rage inside of me at the world. The one people miss when it is convenient for me to drop into their minds. The inappropriate one that tells a story in line at a funeral home that ends with “and I died”.  Understandable why you distance your family from me, I’m the one that’s emotional when you least expect it.  I guess, I may be remembered as the one who laughed so hard that it turned into the giggles that left your stomach hurting.  I was the one who let you disturb my heart with your words even though I never told you, well, maybe I did.  It would depend on when I died, not sure when that will be, but know if you thought you disturbed me, maybe you did and maybe you didn’t, you’ll never know now!  

So many more books to read and even more to write. May whomever plays their parts well, be blessed with the one who wants no drama to the one who’ll slice their tires while their sleeping.  

Love, 

Me

Dear Mr. Snow,

  

 I look out the window and watch the snow fall, slowly, at first, each flake, differing in size, trinkling to the ground ever so lightly; to the rush of more falling faster as if fighting to cover the ground as quickly as possible.  The snow, a fear of mine, for what reason I've never understood. If I'm home and safe inside with nowhere to go, I don't fear it, but if there is a chance I have to be out in public in it, suddenly, the only thing I can think of is.....HIGH insurance premiums!  It's irrational to think that way, but as I see them, floating around outside, each one in a different shape and size, I think that represents to me all the fears in life.  Some are huge and they are all you can see for a minute, while some are faintly there but if you focus on them it blinds your sight to nothing else.  

    I am reminded of a dream I had one night during a time in my life that was very much tumultuous, where my fears spoke so loud that was all I could hear most days. When I awoke one morning and began to wipe the sleep from my eyes, the vision of the dream from the night before was just so clear in my mind. I see an A-framed home nestled into the forest with smoke coming out of the chimney in short puffs that chugged across the grey sky.  I'm dressed in a black thermal shirt, warm black leggings covered by thick burgundy winter socks, and a toboggan on head to cover the bed head happening trying to soak in as much warmth from the wood stove as possible.  I look over and see the dog lazily lying on the couch with a peace about her. I move toward the kitchen to patiently wait on my morning shot of caffeine.  As the coffee is brewing, my gaze moves toward the window to overlook the flurries that are continuing to fall.  The view of quietness all around resonated inside of me as I stared at my blanketed surroundings.  I could feel the "shhh" of the forest as the creatures retreated home to snuggle with their furry loved ones. I gathered my cup of hot brew and nestled beside the dog, just sitting in the silence.  I am not use to the silence.  Here I am, watching myself engulfed in this quiet peacefulness that I never thought possible, in a place surrounded by something that has always scared me.  It hits me, this must be where I speak to God in my dreams.

     When I had this dream I was at a job that was causing me severe anxiety and I found my mental health was reverting to a time that I had believed I had gotten past, but found myself breaking down on a weekly, if not, daily basis.  I thought I had created a home there and it was on fire all around me.  I was miserable, discontented, unvalued, and taken for granted, which all seemed to remind me of a marriage I was once in, long ago.  Change has always been hard for me to accept, hence why I stayed in places and with people that never understood my worth.  Maybe, I wasn't great at seeing my own worth at those times either, or ever.  The thought of leaving and things becoming worse for me were always a factor in my staying, but I never believed things could be better!  I applied to several places and nothing seemed to pan out.  I was getting a little discouraged and thought to myself that maybe these people were undervaluing me because they could see that I had no real potential for growth.  I would beat myself up daily for getting into this situation, relying on a work place where my fears grew bigger each day.  After the dream, I settled into the fact that God had a plan, a place, and a cabin in the woods for me to nestle into and make my own.  One day back in September, I applied for a position and it just all fell into place.  A new job, at home, working toward making the position my own and becoming a valued member of a team was more than I thought I could ask for, but God delivered.  It seemed too easy, my fears came with me at first. It's been almost 5 months now, and I'm settling into my office chair at home and typing away daily to prove my professional worth to myself and others.  

    I pick up my coffee, sip and watch out this window with a new perspective today. From those large flakes that seem to overtake the small ones on their way down, I can watch them without the fear swallowing me whole now, knowing that God's timing is perfect timing and quiets even the loudest voices that come to distract you from His purpose.  

Sincerely, 

M.E.

Dear Mr. Selfish,

I honestly was so caught off guard receiving a message from you.  I stood there, reading your words, "you have been weighing heavily on my heart and mind.  I've apologized to you a million times over and over in my mind. I was too chicken shit or too lousy of a person to do it in reality.  I should have reached out during your time of grief at the very least. I know this is so selfish of me in so many ways but it is very heartfelt.".  How was I supposed to respond to that after so many years?  I felt like all of the options that swam through my head were just too....too heavy.  As I contemplated sending my infamous "F you", I, instead put the phone down and walked away from the idea of responding. 

I must admit I’ve written this letter so many times but never could hit that send button on it. Something just didn't feel authentic with my words, I wasn't being honest with my thoughts or feelings this time.  I was trying to "sugar coat" them or perhaps, just not sit in them anymore.  I was hurt that you just left and even more hurt that you didn't reach out until two years later.  I guess that perfect life you were chasing was too challenging to pick up the phone sooner.  Perfection is what you’ve always wanted and I do hope you finally found it. I know that is something I will never strive to be because mediocrity and challenges provide my life with humor and my spirit with growth. 

You have been absent from my life for so long now, we do not know each other anymore.  As much as that saddens me to say, it is the truth.  Your attempt to reach out was the bare minimum to make you feel better about how things happened in this past friendship. You waited another year before another message, just trying to let me know you were close by in case I happened to initiate conversation this time.  Get that cheap bait out of here....I'm not biting! 

There was a time I answered every call and every message, swiftly, even when it wasn't convenient for myself.  I pulled away from those around me to hide away with you.  I gave and gave of myself without any appreciation from you. I forgave and let things go whenever you got on that high horse of yours and felt as if I wasn't worthy of your time, attention, or friendship.  Then you turned around and continued the behavior time and time again, and my forgiveness never ran out.  It still hasn't.  Forgiveness will remain yours, but my attention will not. 

Maybe I'M too chicken shit to respond to you in fear of opening up old wounds that are better left closed.  I'd like to think I was past all of that and leaning into the fact that your words mean nothing to me now.  I once held them in such regard, but they are just words, your actions are what has led me to this place of indifference. I wish you the best this life you have made for yourself has to offer, but my sideline days of watching it have ended.  

No need to alleviate your conscience anymore with half truths or fake sentiment,  all is forgiven and trying to be forgotten…for good.

Simply,

ME 

Dearest Friend,

 Today I attended a funeral where I felt very selfish with my tears.  I cried not for the soul that was gone,for in knowing that she was with you now and no longer in any pain that this life held for her, she didn’t need my tears. They fell for the ones that are here to pick up the pieces, the family that had no strength to bury their mother/sister/grandmother/friend. Walking inside the church today, my heart was heavy, it was just three years ago today I lost someone that meant the world to me, a friend/brother.  My tears were for him as well, hence the selfishness I was feeling inside. I couldn’t stop them from coming. I tried to take a few deep breaths and prayed to be transported in my mind to a far off place that felt none of this right now. I remember thinking, if only I could close my ears and tune into something not being said I could get through this, but I was still sitting in that green pew with people all around sniffling and wiping away the tears as fast as they ran.  My hearing caught every word of how much the dearly departed loved you and how she grew your relationship stronger by spending time with you, because she understood that was what it was about. A friendship, a journey through life trusting that you always have the best intentions for outcomes, the most loving arms to fall into, and the most honest truth to tell.  

 I grew up being afforded an opportunity to know you, but I never appreciated it.  I never could grasp the true intentions of the relationship.  I remember the love and comfort stories that people told but what always stuck out to me more was the “hell, fire, and brimstone” mixed with wrath and vengeance angles.  I guess I never grasped the “assignment”.  I felt afraid and that never bosts a flourishing friendship, one can’t be afraid of the other.  I think about the friends around me during difficult times, some reached out, some disappeared, and some stayed behind the curtains praying when I needed it the most. Looking back, I can see that you were right there beside me on the floor holding my hand while I cried out about it all, the quiet comforter. I must admit that I know my shortcomings and  freely admit that my lack of understanding what was wanted from me was a willingness to love you as unconditionally as you love me.  I’ve never been great at cultivating any kind of ships, friendships or relationships.  I forget sometimes that these ships require work not to run into the docks of life. So during that service today, when I was wishing to be anywhere else but there, the words were what I needed to hear.  Lovely, kind individuals speaking about the relationship that she had with you and that is our intended purpose on this earth, I was listening. 

 I promise to work on my part to grow our relationship and to learn to trust that you will never abandon me, that you will be there in the midst of everything to comfort, guide and love me through every mistake and challenge I endure. 

Signed, 

ME

 

Dear Mr. Memory,

The other night as I was strolling down the country pavement road with the four-legged beast, Polly, it was beginning to turn dusk so the heat was dying down just enough to where the walk wasn't miserable. I could smell the sweetness of the mimosa trees in the air and to my right was the pond, the insects making little circles along its surface, and the lightning bugs glowing along the embankment. I was listening to the randomness of my Spotify playlist as I sweated along down the road, watching as the wild bunnies hopped onto the other side of the fence to escape me and the beast invading their evening.  These sights alone would bring back feelings of nostalgia along with a flood of memories from my life, but the song playing at that moment seemed to freeze time for me. The song went, "when the night is over, out of all the places I could choose I go to you, only you. Feel you just below the surface, darling, all I wanna do is go to you.".  It was with those words I began to think of you and you spoke back to me and as if you were a brother of the string, you blended those notes so effortlessly with the images that came flooding to the surface.  

 There is Moody, standing as a young child with those blonde curls wrapped around her head and a heart as big as this world itself just bouncing on the trampoline to her now, as a mom herself.  Stinky in all his lispy forms of communication chattering my ears off about all the possibilities this life can hold to now being a husband and a leader for his wife.  Doodle, the most fantastic 3 year old hand holder,  amazing me with all the knowledge his little nine year old brain can hold and how wide his arms spread to give hugs to those he loves.  Little K'lani Rea's sweet face with those big brown eyes filled with excitement for exploring this life. Camille turning one and devouring the cake as intensely as she will attempt to devour whatever comes her way.  Past friendships before the turmoil to new friendships that encourage growth of spirit. Coworkers I hadn't thought about in years and the small moments we shared during long work hours widened the smile on my face. Flashes to those moments where I felt like just one more human on this planet felt the same way I did and how precious being understood for just a single moment resonated within my being. 

What an odd thing, to think of memories that are my own as a separate entity, but that is what was drawing me into the movie complex of my brain.  The flashes of time that led to who I am now, today, with more to lead to who I am to become.  I don't believe I've ever understood quite how intimate our relationship was before now.  Feeling, what I thought was sweat dripping down my face in abundance, I wiped it away and was pulled back by the leash of reality to finishing the walk, but there was more than the sweetness of those mimosas in the air that evening as I made my way to my back porch for a well deserved rest.  I sat down in the swing and pressed my Air pods in just a little further, hit repeat while I sat back and enjoyed the remainder of the show.  Thank you for reminding me that the past isn't always  filled with the heartache of loss or the anger of things gone wrong, but a kindness that reaches into my soul to show me that no matter how hard things become in this life that there is always a smile to brighten the darkness.

Dearest Mental Health

 When we were walking through Wal-Mart today, I felt how you shrunk down inside of me.  I felt your anxiety that ran throughout, where you started questioning your every decision this past week. How you were beating yourself up about everything that happened…stop!  Just take a moment and breathe!  

When you were in that past relationship, you were made to walk on egg shells as not to disturb the monster that you called significant other.  You ate guilt for breakfast, lunch, and dinner because you were manipulated to believe everything wrong was your fault.  You saw no way out from the prison that you helped to create for yourself by allowing the narcissist to have access to your thoughts while you slept.  It felt like there were days in that aftermath that you could barely breathe, but you managed to keep getting up every day and began working on yourself once he was gone. You sought help and guidance from a professional because you were so beaten down you couldn’t even stand on your own two legs at that time. Now, you’re better.  You didn’t run away from the fight for your life, you walked passionately and intently toward this version of you.  I kinda like you now.  So, why does everything in you say to run now?  That feeling to run away, not walk, from the job you’ve had for so long now because you feel that same pull into darkness you once did. The familiarity of those eggs shells crunching under your feet, once again triggering you to into a shell of this person you’ve become.  The sound of the lies piercing your ears becomes so loud you can’t hear me cheering you on past them.  You promised yourself to never be in a relationship like that again, but you were there first before this monster. Now he roams the same hallways five days a week with his control issues.  You’ve expressed yourself and are aware now of this trigger but I see you raising your hand to ask a question because if you  speak out of turn you are argumentative or combative to his sense of self.  My friend, you fought hard to get past those demons and I can’t stand by while you’re flailing your arms asking for help, not again.  I am listening, I hear you, I am right here with you now and always. So, breathe, get on your knees and give this one to God, let Him fight this battle for you.  Then get up, put your hand down, and walk toward the doors and opportunities that God presents. 

Signed,

M.E. 

Dearest Grandpa,

Yesterday was such a special day of celebrating your life.  It started at one of the churches you helped to establish, where family and friends poured in to listen to the official good-byes laid out in the beautiful program of your service.  Philip began playing on his guitar, "Lead me Home", with which we all listened to those sweet words, "I am standing on the mountain, I can hear the angles' songs, I am reaching over Jordan, Take my hand, Lord, lead me home.". The pastor of the church spoke a few words then Tommy began speaking on your "wonderful life".  His words rang so true to who you were in this world and the life that you led, for your family but first for Jesus.  Tears fell down my face as I reflected on your life and how you were now rejoicing with Grandma in Heaven surrounded by those that you had loved and lost. The graveside portion of your service was just as moving.  With each ring of the shots fired in the 21 gun salute to your service of your country, the impact of your life also rang  out to all those standing within hearing distance.  Then silence followed.  The solemness with which those soldiers stared at each other and the attention to detail they had in folding the flag that covered your casket sent tears streaming again down my face.  We seemed to all reflect on how "love in action" doesn't have to make a sound, but leaves a mark on the lives it touches.  Philip Smith's prayer brought us all comforting thoughts on how much you were loved on this earth and where you are celebrating now.   The hugs and handshakes of condolences to the family after the service looked like every Baptist church parking lot when the Sunday morning service is over.  Then it was back to the church to feed the bellies of everyone.  

After a few changes of clothes, we all met back at your home on Molly Circle for, what felt like, a last supper.  Tables and chairs were brought because the front porch just wasn't big enough.  I looked around and saw Tommy and Joni holding sweet baby Sadie in the porch swing,  Justin and Briana with Lincoln, Kennedy spreading his arms to give those precious hugs of his to K'lani.  Joel, Amy, Morgan and mom sitting there in the throws of conversation.  All the boys tossing the football back and forth embarrassing the older guys.  Wayne, dad, Philip conversating at one of the tables, I'm sure guns were involved in their conversation as some point.  Amy, Crystal, Julie, Jennifer, and Shannon discussing raising children and how difficult it can be at times but the humor that comes out of those struggles can lend a laugh to everyone.  Becky and Donna sitting there on the front porch watching everyone one last time enjoy this home their parents loved so intently.  I felt as if my mind was taking small snapshots in the hopes of always remembering these fleeting moments.  I got up to leave about three different times but found myself sitting down for just one more conversation, for one more giggle, and one more picture to hold onto.  

I hope that you knew how much you were loved on this earth, but sometimes I'm sure you felt unappreciated and perhaps, as if, not valued, but I've learned that love comes in all shapes and sizes.  Sometimes, it's big and sometimes it's quiet, but it can always be found deep, where the roots grow. I see those roots in my father.  The love he has for his grandchildren and now, his great grandchildren goes beyond anything I could have ever wished for.  I know you are gone now, but your legacy does continue on within those 7 children you raised that led to the 21 grandchildren they gave you  and onto the 44 great grandchildren and now to the 5 great great grandchildren. Your roots run deep within this family and will be remembered with smiles and fondness throughout these generations.  

Dear Mr. Addiction,

I had a dream the other night...I was standing outside in the darkness, fully clothed, when I could smell the rain coming, could hear the thunder as it got closer and see the lightning strikes as they became brighter. The wind blew hard and the trees bowed to it.  It was as if I was watching myself standing there unable to run for cover.  I slowly extended my arms out from my sides up towards the sky and felt the first rain drop plop onto my face.  One by one they kept falling until my entire body was soaking wet.  I just couldn't move...I had prayed for this rain before in my life.  Praying again now, that it would come and wash it all away as each droplet fell and pinged against me.  Standing there, in the darkness, allowing nature to seemingly wash away every feeling that I ever had that led back to you, I realized it wasn't the rain falling anymore, it was coming from my eyes....my tears. Tears I keep hidden from the world and from myself, for if I expose them to others, I expose my weakness as well.  

I woke up from this dream and realized that life is full of men like you.  It would be easy to say that you only go after the broken but that's not true.  Most people would think you come in like the Kool-Aid fella, busting in like you own the place, but it's more in the quiet moments of life you subtly knock on the door.  When we open that door, there you are standing there holding whatever it is that makes us forget.  We all want to forget...forget the pain, forget the sadness, forget the boredom, forget the lack luster life we have created for ourselves.  For it's in those moments that we are at our weakest and why we invite you back into our lives.  I had hoped 2 years ago, when losing my brother that you would never show up again, but I guess that was a false hope.  A few months ago, when hearing about an old friend succumbing to the same tragedy, I hated you even more.  I wanted to ask you all the questions that I would never have answers to.  Why did you lead these good men toward their fateful end?  Why did you continue taking from mine and others lives with no regard to our feelings?  How would these holes you created be filled with something other than you?  Where does possibility enter and you exit?  

 Life has taught me that you cannot have good without evil and you sir, are the evil one.  You are the devil I see in so many places, lurking in the shadows of hearts.  For those that are tricked by your shininess and allure of forgetting, I will do my diligence to be there to help them remember.  I have failed those I love in the past but I promise to always remember them and not allow you to make me forget how much they meant to me and those that loved them.  We are all flawed and have walked the paths you laid out before us because it seemed easier, but life is not easy.  It does get hard and we become weary, but God loves us still.  His love is what we need to carry within our hearts and not the burdens of this life.  I will continue giving my burdens to Him and praying, not for the rain to wash it all away, but for His love to wash over me so I can shower those around me with it instead.  

(Signed)

A broken but saved by grace being,

M.E.

Dear Homeowners of 303 Bethel St.,

Let me start by saying I am not currently, nor have I ever, been diagnosed as "mentally unstable", except once, by my momma, when I threatened to slash the tires of a sales lady for accosting me outside of a store that I will not name.  I wouldn't have done it though, I'm all bark with little bite and a deep seeded fear of the PO-LICE.  I have never wanted to visit their home, hence why this letter and not a pop up face-to-face introduction we're having now.  

Growing up in small towns we tend to live in a bubble of security, a frame of mind that nothing too bad happens.  Tragically though, the plagues that ravage big cities have now come to our slice of the world.  My brother, succumbed to this fervent drug plague and lost his life at the age of 39.  As you can imagine, grief became my companion that traveled with me every breathing moment that followed that news. It wasn't long after this that my daughter informed me I was to be a Grandmother!  Can you guess my reaction?  I was.....annoyed, irritated, and down right pissed off.  That wasn't your guess, huh?   I don't believe it would be most people's reaction or guess to mine either, but it was raw and real at the time.   The daily struggle had became “trying” and I was exhausted.  I had nothing inside of me to give myself let alone anyone else, including a tiny one that would deserve love and attention. I believe those that were around me daily kept waiting for me to obtain some glow about life for becoming this new version of a human being, a grandmother, and they were all sadly disappointed as I clung to my sadness.  For if I wasn’t sad for a minute then guilt crept into my heart leaving the could’ve, would’ve, should’ve(s) all to race through my mind and pile up at my front door.  Nothing anyone could say made me feel better, nothing I did seemed to take the sadness away. I found grief  not to be just one emotion, but all of them in a glass jar and each day you shove your hand in there and pull out one just hoping that one won’t leave you crying, face down into the carpet that day.  

One evening, during this past holiday season, while riding through town, I passed your home and looked over to see your big concrete porch decorated ever-so-perfectly.  I can't remember now how exactly the greenery and lights were strung, but I do remember the feelings that overcame me and I began to cry like a baby.  Now, here I am crying, staring at your porch remembering all of the Sundays sitting on my Grammy's big ole concrete porch.  It may not have been decorated the way you had yours, I'm pretty sure the extent of her decorating that porch was an old metal glider, a few yard chairs, and whatever season/holiday clings were on her screen door at any given time, but nevertheless, I was overcome.  I saw my Grammy, my brother, my children, my mother, my father, my cousins, my aunts, my uncles, all sitting there spending time with each other, laughing, talking, and loving. The tears were streaming down like joyous memories of childhood flooding me.  For so many months my tears were from a dark and painful place, but the effort and time you put into making your porch so inviting allowed light to fill my heart.  Here is where I say thank you...thank you for unknowingly spreading the season's intentions of happiness and family to all those that pass by with burden's on their hearts.  Thank you from the depths of my soul for those tears of healing that evening.  

Dear Trailer Park,

I guess when getting ready to depart from your gravel paths, I am becoming, somehow, a little emotional about leaving your potholes behind.  I once heard someone tell a story of a young girl the mother didn’t want her daughter to be friends with, her excuse to the daughter (?), because “she lives in a trailer and YOU don’t!”.  Unfortunately, the bougie brigade of society will only ever see rows of desperation and trouble instead of opportunity and worth.  

All those years ago, here I was a single mom with two small children, a low income job, and living with my in-laws, we desperately needed somewhere of our own.  There aren’t  many homes out there that are affordable in the tax bracket I was signed up for so up to the plate steps the “trailer park”.  Duh-duh-ta-duh!  The winds may have been dusty and the cats galore, but you were ours to make our own as long as I paid the lot rent each month, we were together, the three of us (Me, Morgan, and Matthew - mi familia). You were witness to our beginnings and watched as we made mistakes that led to uncomfortable conversations at times.  You were there for the good, the bad and the funny.   I can still see Stinky all upset that the Christmas lights weren’t working because he didn’t realize he had to plug them into the wall for the power, he stood there just plugging one end into the other saying, “see they don’t work!”.  Every time I touch that certain light switch I can still see Moody falling in what only can be described as slow motion, and how it felt to be suspended in time for even a brief moment with my Mongrels. 

For all the laughs, the tears, the tragedies we endured in this rectangular home, I will forever be grateful to you, Trailer Park, for being our home and allowing us the opportunity to grow together to become this family that I treasure so dearly.  Now, as I look around this trailer, that holds most of my cherished memories of life, my heart breaks a little to leave them behind, but just because there are a few extra tears at the end of one chapter doesn’t mean there won’t be smiles leading into the next.  

With humble regards, 

M.E.

Dear Santa,

While out Christmas shopping this past weekend, I spotted you in the mall, but you seemed to have your hands and lap full of little ones.  It crossed my mind to stand and wait but didn't want to take the focus away from the children since you appeared brimming with the Christmas spirit as you proudly sat there listening to their wishes.  I hesitated for a few moments to watch the magical looks in their eyes as they delightfully expressed their wants to you, but then the lights seemed to dim inside of me and I began to walk on to push past this feeling of sadness that overcame me.  

When I was younger, Christmas seemed so magical, the hustle and bustle of this time of year, the sparkly, twinkling lights everywhere and people smiling at each other, all filled my insides with a warm cocoa feeling.  As the years have gone by though, it seems to have lost that shine that my spirit once leaped like a reindeer to touch.  It has grown into so many motions, a tribute to the routine, with no twinkle of magic left to wish upon. You, yourself, being such a jolly fella may not understand how Christmas could be anything other than special, but some of us have been riding in the struggle sleigh (sometimes on the hood barely hanging on with an antler sticking in a place no one wants an antler stuck) for quite some time now.  Losing my brother this year has filled me with a sorrow that I never knew existed and everything now seems somehow tainted with this grieving feeling.  It seems easier to plop on the couch and potato my way past all of these feelings but I’m gonna try to slap a smile on, nod agreeably with those around, and choke back every single tear I want to release for the next two days. 

 I guess that’s what my wish is this year, while you’re watching anyway, could you dry those tears before they well up to the surface?  I wouldn’t want to ruin this joyous season for those who aren’t wading in their sadness.  Zip the boots up and off I go…..smile locked and loaded., hopefully.  

Thanks in advance for any help,

M.E.

My Dearest Queen,

    It is with humble and reverent intentions with which I write these words. It has been far too many days and nights that I have sat idly by without interruption as you have allowed this dismissive nature to surround you due to your fear of persecution. For even in knowing the consequences that awaits me for my harsh writings, I am more troubled by the actions of others toward my Queen and therefore, must be willing to accept the fate of my forthcoming.  

   Unlike men, who are born into the title of King, you traveled the wastelands of this life and earned your crown.  I have seen the pits from whence you arose, the ashes your feet stepped from would have stained most, but you were unmarked. Your body has felt life before it's first breath and held spirits that would one day walk this earth, why do you not roar in the faces of those that discount you as nothing more than a child attending to her dolls?  The commentaries of these men do plague my ears as they boast and tribute each other for their accomplishments throughout the kingdom.  They pass through staring as if these lands are theirs to take and do as they please.  My Queen, I beg of you, please no longer sit in silence!

    Others in the kingdom often forget the turmoil we encountered before your reign, but we, the patrons and peasants that have watched your rising and felt pride in you, our Empress, will no longer be privy to these misgivings of others toward you.  The sound of our march toward this repression will be as thunder across the land.  Fearful men will try to hide to surpass the storm but they know nothing of what their nature has brought forth this time.  This storm will be strong, this lightning will strike, and this earth will quake below their feet, for this is our promise to you, my Queen. 

The revolution must begin now!

Your devoted patron throughout time,

M.E.

  

 

Dear Mr. Sunset......

  First, let me say, I address you as Mister due to the illusion I have in my head that you are some dreamy male worthy of my attention, because as it seems these days, most sit on a throne of expectation, but you simply sit in the quietness of your own beauty.   During a moment of human interaction today I experienced someone's frustration with my lack of  attention to their expectations, and I must confess, every fiber of my being was disrupted during those few ticks of the clock.  I felt a disturbance within my well being and needed an outlet to unleash this negative energy so I grabbed the four legged beast, the leash, my feet, and off we set forth to release it. The park, which is usually empty this time of year, was home to several teenagers playing basketball this evening, which only seemed to antagonize this feeling inside of me.  I kept putting one foot in front of the other, but my mind raced with this pent up entity tagging along, not belonging to me but left with me as a parting gift for not addressing it's presence to begin with.  The beast and I huffed and puffed our way around the kids and rounded the corner, and there you were.  I watched as you appeared over the horizon, not announcing yourself with a firm hand but a silent stealth that took my breath away.  The expressionist views that your color palette displayed melted the unwelcomed traveler within me. There I stood basking in your warm hues of yellow, orange and pink as if I was dancing along in my mind with the trickles of the brush used to create you.  You were lending yourself to a level of creativity for anyone wanting to bask with me, and once again, I became in awe of your creator and His presence within all things. 

With heartfelt gratitude, please find my words to you as a symbol of my love and appreciation for the intimate moment we shared together today.  Until we meet again, at the edge of this earth I will wait for you to present your next masterpiece.  

Sincerely,

Me

Dear 2020

Dear 2020,

        It was so easy for all the world to brand you such a depressing year, but how unfair is it to blame you for our struggles?  Many saw you as a distant lover chasing something grander in the distance leaving them feeling abandoned by you, when in essence you were allowing us the freedom to choose our own paths.  We were becoming charged with our own futures and for some, that weight turned into self destruction while others flourished and bloomed from your lack of attention. 

        I, myself, spent my time with you trying to build something, whether that be a porch gate, a seat or even a shed. I had no prior skill set to draw upon, no master teacher holding my hand (I wouldn't have let them anyway), or any idea how it would turn out, but I did have the stubbornness passed down from generation to generation of women in my bloodline that refused to quit this time.  Quitting, often seems to be a failure I have found comfort in when my mind wanders to a new task instead of favoring the current one. If you never complete anything then there is no fear of failure since the only judgement you will be subjected to is your own, in which you labeled it unfinished instead of failed.  Unfinished has the sound of opportunity that resonates throughout it, whereas failure has an ominous tone that is deafening.  To fail and begin again requires one to learn from self-action and change their mindset to listen for hope within starting over.  Hope doesn't live within fear but in beginnings.   

  So, to new beginnings, please find my heartfelt thank you for allowing me those moments with you to reflect on my weaknesses and accept them.  For in acceptance I no longer fear change but consider it a friend on my journey toward acceptance and self value.  

Sincerely,

Me

Dear Anger

 Dear Mr. Anger,

    The awkwardness of this letter is beyond my vocabulary at the moment so please forgive me. I understand the fury which exists inside of you that leaks out from time to time on those around you, myself included, and it’s with that fury that this letter is intended to reach.  No harsher words can be said than those YOU speak. I felt your power most in those fearful moments, the ones I wasn’t sure you would be talked down from that ledge of oblivion you choose to walk. As a mother, I felt the desire to coddle you into submission and wrap you in love but I found my swaddling to be severely insufficient for your needs.  As a friend, I wanted to listen and offer advice when it came to your overall being, but you spoke with intimidation so loudly I couldn’t calm the beast emerging to hear your cries.  As a woman, I waited for the apology that was deserved.  For in those moments you allowed your loss of control to capture my attention, you became unworthy of my energy.  My energy is filled with light and when spoken to in such a manner will blossom with the fruits of my spirit. Perhaps, in our future lives, we’ll speak fondly of each other to others and not let the entirety of our intimacy be buried in disgust but flourish from growth.  

Sincerely,

Me (just me)  

Anxiety

Mr. Anxiety,

    With you, each breath becomes quicker with a quiver that resonates from my inner spirit. It’s like being privy to my spirit breathing deep inside while my soul is rocking the rib cage as if a death row inmate desperately looking for someone to open the bars.  Then, an overall liquid coating of absolute cold weathered fear fills up inside of my stomach. Turning my guts into a knotted rope exhibiting the fight and flight response at the exact same moment, all whilst trying to discern the 5,819 thoughts running through my mind on auto loop. My soul is trying to escape the depths from where it lies and my body wanting to chase it so as not to be separated from each other. Stumbling after my thoughts and reaching out for  my peace become the only distraction I have left to focus on but both are quite exhaustive.  

 Close my eyes, slow the breathing to settle the beast knocking down the walls, isolate one voice (preferably the one telling me this will pass), and envision God’s almighty, beautiful hand reaching down from above to envelope my spirit’s face to assure me there is no need to fear. There is no need to fear the unknown but embrace it as a student of life, forever learning.  

THIS Christmas

I started this Christmas season worrying about the Christmas tree and wanting it to be perfect, but finally realizing that my perfect tree wasn't the same as another's.  What the tree represents to me is a childhood love of the lights wrapped all around.  Riding in the back seat of the car, peering out the windows staring at all the twinkling lights that danced around the trees during this time of year, filled me with happiness and joy that my spirit tangos with every year. My tree has no topper and I'm pretty sure you can tell I added additional lights in the middle to cover up the fact that those "in tree" lights weren't working.  It has no real style label other than mine but it makes me think of a wooded forest with tree gnomes having a fun time hanging out in their tree house during the winter snow day...which, makes my heart smile in a way that I'm transported back in time to watching those trees sparkle as far as I could see all those years ago.   

I, then moved to stressing about what to get each and everyone on my list and being upset with myself for not following through with the "perfect gift" to each.  You know, the picture you have of giving that one item they will forever remember and adore above all others.  But, what is that gift??  I purchased clothing, shoes, lights, shoes WITH lights, fanny packs, and the ever faithful gift cards (the gift card isn't the perfect gift, so epic failure there, but a C- for amount and thought).  I masked up and stood in lines and walked more than my step counter had seen only to end up wishing I'd done more! Don't we all feel that way. 

Christmas Day came and as everyone opened their gifts I looked around at mine. First, the blessing of  spending the day with those I love and the ones they love in return by adding the Mongrel's new tamers to our holiday festivities. Second, The taste of the memories I relived when I was inhaling the dressing mom made that tasted just like Grammys, so much so that I wanted to eat the whole pan just to savor the memories (carbs be damned!).  Third, the yearly running commentary on the "dry turkey" and it's lack of taste.  One year I'm gonna surprise them, with a less dry turkey!  

So, after all the stressing and mental/emotional breakdowns that occurred in the past 2 months, my Christmas was filled with love and laughter that defined my Christmas as Merry and Bright, just like my tree! Thank you family and friends for my precious gifts this season!  I mucho mucho love them.  

The baggage we carry....

 I pulled the suitcase out from under the bed for what seemed like the bajillion time, this time noticing the threads, how they intertwined along the seams but was starting to show signs of fraying and made me think of all the times I've grabbed it to pack or unpack throughout my life.  

    I flashed back to the first suitcase I remember having as a young child.  A hard shelled, bright red child sized suitcase with two metal buckle closures, and a handle made of a plastic that matched the coloring of the shell perfectly.  On the front of the suitcase was a young girl dressed in her yellow jacket taking strides in front of a white picket fence, carrying a teddy bear in one hand and, of course, carrying a suitcase in the other.  It had the following words written on it, "Going to Grandma's". I was sitting in the front seat of my Grammy's old rambler, filled with happiness, clutching the suitcase in my hands while the bottom of it rested on my lap. She had started backing out of the driveway of our house to when I hear a giant thump and the car stopped suddenly.  Grammy simply put the car in park, slowly turned to me and said to me, sarcastically, "Look what you made me do.".  She had backed into a tree in our yard and dented her car.  I cannot count how many times I carried that suitcase while "Going to Grandma's" to spend the night and I cannot remember a time I felt less than fully loved by her.  It was always one of my most favorite places to go.  

   My thoughts drift back to the suitcase I'm holding in my hand today and to the first time I filled it up with my belongings from my first home with my husband.  We were so young, had just gotten married, and found out a month later we were pregnant. Here we were, two adults (by law anyway) trying to figure out what a marriage is supposed to be about whilst getting ready for a child of our own to raise.  We didn't even know who we were on our own let alone together in this new found adult life.  We struggled, a LOT.  We argued, a LOT.  We stopped communicating altogether.  I pulled that suitcase out, flew around the house tossing the important things inside to take with me, away from this mess, away from this mistake, and ultimately, away from my marriage.  I picked that heavy suitcase up and without even one last glance back, I tucked my head down and walked out.  I came back a few days later, but, alas, that was not the last time that suitcase was filled during that marriage.  If I'm being honest, I never completely unpacked that suitcase after that either.  Years go by, a marriage ends, the relationship is rekindled but never with the same vigor or hope that was held before and therefore, it would never last. It was like the saying, "round peg, square hole".   We were meant to have two beautiful children that God blessed us with but the mistakes from both parties involved meant a dissolution that would never allow a future to be present in this life.  We were not meant to last.   

I smell the leather and so many memories flood my mind.  The salt air from later life adventures lingers inside the lining as if it were to tell it's own story of smiles and tears.  How the ocean breeze carried it out to sea and left it there to be found by someone else only to be returned to me years later with an extra destination sticker clinging to its shell.  As I put it away this time, I look at the now dated leather suitcase in my hand and notice the stained remnants of memories that this suitcase holds for me.  This baggage I carried time and time again, but never completely emptied before heading out again.  Time to dig deep and clean the dusty, tattered bag inside out.  I started with realizing what no longer fit me and tossed those items first (feelings of unworthiness and fear of failure). Then, I tossed what no longer felt like my style (indecisiveness and regret).  Finally, I found and embraced pieces that I never knew I had packed away to begin with (my voice and respect).  I pulled them out and danced around while holding them against me for a few minutes. My hands grip them tightly and a smile begins to form on one end of my mouth that spread to the other side. Swaying and moving, there in my bedroom, for a few  just reminiscing about past times and dreaming of future moments.  My eyes focus back on the brown, faded, but smooth surface of this bag that I've carried for so long, I place my hand on top just one more time and allow my thumb to carefully stroke the feel of the leather, then,  picking it up and gently placing it back in its place until it is needed again.