My Western Sky

Words can be  weapons Unsheathed carelessly Wielded from our poisonous tongues Typed in a frenzied fury fingers flying across the keyboard in a futile attempt  to make some sense  of this broken  world. More harm than good.  Words can be  seeds Cultivated carefully Chosen from our compassionate souls Planted in a hurting heart beauty blooming from the ashes in a desperate attempt  to make a difference  in this broken  world. More good than harm.  Will our words  be weapons  or  seeds? I know what  my choice will be: I want my words to go  up  instead of  out Up in prayer instead of Out in protest Up in bloom  instead of  Out in blame I will use my words for  reconciliation acceptance peace. I pray that God will transform my words  into seeds of hope truth lo...

It happens every mid-November. The nostalgia consumes me, and I find myself flipping through Landry's baby book to relive the weeks leading up to her birth. That was such an exciting time for our family because Landry was the first grandchild on both sides.  Like all new, naive parents, Jason and I worked diligently to prepare the nursery, our house, and our lives for her arrival. Little did we know that you can never really prepare your life for a baby. I reached the misery mark of pregnancy, so when the contractions started in the early morning hours of her due date, I was ready, or so I thought. On November 19, 2002, at 11:11 am, I became a Mom for the first time.  Landry Elizabeth Bailey. Before Landry's birth, I'd lived my life in typical Amianne fashion--with an eye for detail and order--control. College, career, marriage, Masters degree, so the next logical step...motherhood. I read all the books. I made lists. Scads of them. In fact, those lists are stuf...

Can someone please explain to me how it's already November 1? Seriously, I need you to sit me down and draw a chart to illustrate why it feels like my life is in fast-forward mode. Who am I kidding--I'm not a fan of charts and data (sorry, my math friends), but I am a fan of  metaphors . A dear friend said something that stuck with me this week. She said, "Some people are circuses and some are museums." Even though I try to deny it, my life is a circus; honestly, I prefer the chaos to the quiet control. This "Working Mom" season of life feels like a circus where I am the star performer. Are you with me, my fellow Working Moms? Our jobs, our kids, our kids' activities, our husbands, our friends, our laundry (I'm even stressed out about the order in which I listed those)--we've got all of these fragile, precious, much-loved balls to juggle (okay, maybe not the laundry). Then we ratchet our juggling act up a notch and take it to the high wire; we ...