Soaring.
Laughing.
Pure joy.
Freedom.
Nothing holding him back nor slowing him down.
He is strong within himself.
He can do so many things.
He can fly through the sky.
At only three.
I wonder what he will be doing at thirty-three?
Thank you to my outdoor fitness leader, Krista, for capturing this moment while my thighs were on fire I was working out!
Heat comes over my body by the words said to me.
The slice me.
Dice me.
Cut me up.
For many weeks now I have chosen to be quieter in my life.
Be still.
Use less words.
But this change makes people uncomfortable.
The one who had the words of many, now has words of few?
The change from many to few words was swift, like a swipe of a sword.
It started three and a half weeks ago…
I shared an idea, just a fun, easygoing idea with someone close, but often my ideas are questioned.
I still try to share.
Call me an optimist or perhaps even crazy.
Sometimes my explanations must be Russian due to the confusion. (I don’t even speak Russian!)
Why can’t ideas be encouraged, valued, and built up?
Why do they need to be questioned until nothing is left and all excitement is gone?
Next, I found out that my grandma died by a forwarded emailed from my mom’s sister, that I haven’t heard from since my mom died. This Aunt I spent EVERY Christmas, Easter and summer vacation with growing up! We lived in the same town.
She said my email didn’t work.
The same one that I have had since email was invented.
And then, I heard from a friend going through a very stressful time. Their body was exhausted, they felt their life was a disaster. They were overwhelmed with overwhelming life.
I told them my latest mistake and I shared a funny story but they said they didn’t need that. They told me just to pray.
Lastly, I tried to help someone out. I did something they asked me to do. I did what they were suppose to do. And all I heard were complaints about their health, their money, their stuff.
They didn’t once use the words, “thank you”.
We are thoughtless in our words that cut like a sword.
In our Western comfy world, our words are weapons.
They belittle instead of build up.
They chastise instead of praise.
They truly cut me up.
Broken.
Torn.
No words can diffuse this pain.
Off for a run!
How do you explain something with words that is just a feeling?
What do you say to describe a place where only you may be at?
I have been searching for weeks to describe this sense of where I am as I begin 2015.
Suddenly, as I read another woman’s story, it hit me:
“Threshold.”
A word to describe where I am at.
The best one that I can conjure up.
I am neither living in my past, nor do I feel that I am moving anywhere in the forward direction.
Sitting.
Holding still.
On a threshold.
For those that know me well, they know that holding still is not my forte.
Give me a list.
Tell me what needs to be “done”.
Ask me to organize.
I am your woman!
But not now.
Maybe not again.
My head is still fuzzy.
The grief I feel is deep and raw.
The hole my mom has left in my life is vast.
So I sit, peacefully in my home.
Happy on the ski hill.
Surrounded by love.
Glancing back.
Looking forward.
Just being.
On the threshold.
One word.
One email.
One step.
One blog comment.
One moment.
I am touched in this season by the power of the people around me.
The thoughtfulness of the people around me.
The consistent encouraging comments by Levi on my blog showing me God’s love.
The great communication from friends from afar helping me feel connected.
The cookies dropped off at my door helped feed my brood of boys a special snack.
The incredible emails I have received which move me spiritually and encourage me greatly.
Below is just one example from my friend, ‘Shell’.
Here are her words:
This morning I awoke to read your blog
Needing to connect amidst the fog
Thanks for sharing your journey of grief
The sea of emotion beyond belief
What have I learned since from you, dear friend?
That your Mama loved you unconditional… right to the end
What a treasure she is and heaven’s now richer
Though I wonder why God doesn’t explain that when we turn to scripture
Please know, dear friend, that I care for deep
And this morning I read your blog and began to weep
Thank you for sharing and remaining transparent
About life, love and being a parent
Have you ever read such beautiful, resonating, encouraging words?
Can you be someone’s power of one today?
Will you see the work of One Great God in your own life?
I am a walking testimony to God’s great goodness and love. I am a testimony to the power of the people whom God surrounds us with when we are most vulnerable and humbled.
Me.
Yes, me.
I encourage you to stop.
Pause.
Stand.
Take one moment.
To be.
Watch your breath.
Listen.
Really listen to the sounds around you.
Right now.
What do you hear?
What do you see?
Why are you choosing to do what you are doing on THIS day?
Death is forever.
Life is now.
I choose to stand in the light.
Imperfectly me.
Humbled.
Vulnerable.
In His light.
Just being.
Me.
I am not sure how I got this photo, but again it was through nothing that I did.
Just being.
In His light.
Wisdom.
Creating time.
Slowing the flow of input and regurgitation.
Change.
Create openness.
Slowly learning more than I thought I could.
Grief.
Creating space.
Slowly realizing I will live on earth forever without my mom.
Autumn.
Creator brings forth colour.
Slowly coming to peace.
Enfolded in His loving arms.
Surrounded by incredible beauty and colour.
Embracing this season.
With joy.
In tears.
Always with gratitude for life.
Be.
Just being Joanna.
I am enough. 
The pull of the dirty, messy clothes.
I am a mess!
The rhythm of the washing machine.
I crave this rhythm!
The quiet cave in the bottom of my house.
I find this time!
A place to rest.
A place to cry.
A place to be.
The first place I went to once we returned to our house after my mom died. (Read at your own risk!)
The place I return to.
Daily.
Allowing myself to feel deeply.
Being filled with my grief.
Sitting in it.
The boat of grief amongst the waves of sorrow.
My feelings are deep.
But I am full of gratitude for these feelings.
For this time of being.
Allowing these feelings to not turn to anger, bitterness or other things that will tie me down.
Each day is a continual letting go.
A releasing.
A moving forward, while grieving the past.
The gift of grief.
I painted this during the quiet of the morning after my bike ride.
Is this my mom’s chalk outline?
Mine?
My old self?
Or something all together different?
In a stage of unknowing.
Being patient with myself and others.
Giving grace.
Receiving it.
Just being exactly where I am.
In the laundry room
The waves pour over me.
The grief is profoundly painful.
Tears flows readily.
One year ago, my mom went into the hospital in excruciating pain.
Seventeen days she spent there.
The first time!
Our family was forever changed.
The knots that held my life together were unravelled, split apart and thrown into the fire.
Relationships changed forever.
Expectations shifted.
Pain.
Anguish.
Out of control.
Life. 
I will walk through my grief.
I will keep moving.
I know my strength, my weaknesses, my failings, my ways…
I will reach up towards the friends who love and accept me.
I will ride my bike.
I will give myself time and grace.
I will lie down when I need to.
I will not use food to soothe my soul.
I will not watch the news.
I will not put this on my boys.
I will not put my heart into a place where I could be wounded.
I will continue to deal with my stuff.
I will continue to loosen the rope, letting go of expectations.
I will cry.
I will seek God.
I will keep my eyes open for the light.
I will hold on as I go under.
"Be" ENOUGH 