Positively (Im)perfect

In honor of Valentines Day, I thought I'd dig up this oldie but goodie from the archives. I originally posted it 10 years from the day we first met; and somehow, this year we're already celebrating 10 years of marriage! As always, I thank the Good Lord that He knew better than I, wink wink. This post was originally published on my personal blog on June 30th, 2013.  -     -     - "10 Years Ago Today... I met this guy. My soul mate.  My rock. (Which is what the name "Peter" literally means, by the way). I wish somebody could have walked up to me and said "hey you'll meet your future husband in a few hours!" Might've lightened the mood... But our initial encounter was anything but romantic. The day we met was actually probably one of the most traumatic days I'd ever experienced in my young life: the first day of "basic training" at West Point known as R-Day -- where you have 90 seconds to ...

"Come and see." These were the words Jesus spoke in last Sunday’s gospel--His response when the apostles first encountered Jesus and asked where He was going. Our priest shared that praying on this passage had led to his vacation, and invited us to try too. “Ask Jesus where He is going and meditate on His response to come and see .” It's no secret that I'm a sucker for some good Ignatian meditation, and I brightened at the idea, thinking of all the ways Jesus might be calling me. Sinking to my knees after communion, I immediately went to my imagination—watching Jesus approach, feeling the possibility of adventure, the magnetic pull to follow. Where are we going? I sang out in my heart.  Where do You want to lead? The Two words that returned shook me from my prayerful, hope-filled reverie: “To Calvary.” Calvary?  I recoiled in fear, grasping to qualify it with some strand of hope—what was that my friend always said? “From the cross alway...

Choosing Hope. When I found this article in one of my Endometriosis Facebook groups last week, I intended only to hit "share." But as I started writing words that I hoped would help others listen -- so that God willing, other women may be saved the same length and depth and breadth of unnecessary suffering as me--it was as if a dam broke open. 18 years of suffering poured forth into possibly the longest Facebook "status" I've ever shared. But for good reason. The more I learn along this journey, the more I understand that some information bears repeating. So I've copied both my words and the linked article here in hopes that it will more quickly ripple out to the women who so desperately need it. " Hear me loud and clear. Hear me through the 18 years—more than half my life—of suffering in pain so intense that even morphine barely took the edge off. Hear me as I echo every single word the woman who wrote this article has bravely shared .  ...

This post is a miracle you guys, because blogging in this season takes colossal effort. But I'm making it happen because I know if I don't, the Megan of next year will be so annoyed with the Megan of today. Future Megan: Thank you.   Current Megan: You'd better be grateful. Moving along... This was probably my worst reading year in recent history, but I'm okay with that, because #lifeyo. I'm in an Army course right now that's just shy of Master's-level in both time commitment and work load, so while I can indeed claim copious amounts of reading, only a small portion of that can be relegated to pleasure versus subjects that make me want to gouge my eyes out. (Granted, some of the leadership and military history stuff is mildly interesting, but it can't balance out the other 30 hours per week lost on things like government contracting and how a good idea fairy becomes a tank). Onward and upward! -- Happily, I wrote a historical fic...

I’m sitting here today in a different state than years past. I’ve begun so many new years with the assurances of a young and confident yet somewhat naive mind intent on turning over a new leaf. But this year, my mind feels older, quieter, tired and spent...yet also somehow clearer and wiser looking into the increasingly cloudy future. For I see better today what I’ve tried to ignore before - today is simply a continuation of yesterday. Tomorrow, a continuation of today. An unbroken and hardly insignificant string yesterdays and yesteryears leading up to the here and now. Though a fresh blank calendar page holds infinite possibilities, it does not--cannot--sever today from the realities of yesterday—bad or {blessedly} good. I’m finally stepping into this new year freed from the delusions that the tick of a seven to an eight might solve the world’s problems or magically transform me into the person I intend to be all at the stroke of midnight. What I do now understand is...

I. HATE. WAITINGGGG!” I actually yelled this aloud the other day in a painfully weak moment {thankfully no one else was around to witness my crazy}. Despite all the reflections on Advent and waiting, despite getting my world rocked that morning by my friend Mave's incredible Blessed is She devotion about God’s timing , and feeling utter peace in my soul—proclaiming to the world that “Jesus is in the waiting!”—only hours later I was once again cursing the wait and having an internal tantrum that would put a threenager to shame. Because human nature is a fickle and powerful thing. I’m in this weird space where there simply aren’t enough hours in the day and I desperately need more time, yet I’m also just aching to skip ahead to certain days that my heart has been hanging onto—almost as if life itself depended upon it—days that, in my mind, will bring happiness, hope, and maybe even healing. But I realized something today—it all finds its roots in my desire for control. I’ve set...

It's strange sometimes how what's meant to be an inspirational snippet can become your complete undoing. One late summer day, I innocently watched a preview for a groundbreaking new show whose main character has autism. I was prepared to be touched and uplifted--but suddenly found myself shrinking inward as the reality of the subject matter landed a little too close to home. And there I sat, powerless, as an unwelcome emotional dam broke open to flood the depths of my soul -- a flood I thought I'd successfully ignored into dormancy, but whose currents apparently ran far deeper and stronger than I'd acknowledged. This particular dam goes by the name of "The ASD Mom Keeping it Together." ASD being Autism Spectrum Disorder, of course. And it's not a dam I pay much heed to or a subject I broach very often, here or otherwise — mostly to protect my son’s privacy, somewhat because I've learned over the years how to keep the dam mostly inta...