6710 Grand

 The sun has set, but it's not quite evening.  I'm still in my workday and I still have work to do.  Today, my task is to write a heart wrenching letter, seeking support from the thousands of humans who support the work of Indraloka.  To inspire them to help continue this work of hope, healing, compassion, and joy.  Nick is away.  The children are home but (presumably) occupied with their own tasks.   I sit down to write. Blank Blank Blank My desk is too messy.  I need a clear, distraction free work zone.  I tidy the desk and sit back down. The white page stares back at me, a blinking curser it's only movement. It's too quiet.  I put on the playlist I created that keeps me in a "fall" mood.  Carefully selected tracks of Bruce Hornsby, George Winston, Amber Run, Yanni, Hozier, and Shaboozy (ok, it's not fall--just a really FUN song!) fill my audible space.  I take a deep breath and dive into inspiration. But it doesn't come...

It’s Holy Week.  I remember being confused by so many pieces of Easter when I was young.  Why was it called Good Friday if Jesus died?  Wasn’t that BAD Friday?  Why did we eat so much fish?  Ick.  Why did it always seem to be a gloomy, rainy, week?  Did God do that on purpose?  How could Jesus ride into the city of Jerusalem with such fanfare on Sunday and be beaten so brutally just 6 days later?  As I’ve grown in my faith and age, I understand so much more.  When Mel Gibson’s Passion of the Christ played in theaters, I went to see it.  My sobs could hardly be heard over the sobs of others.  This wasn’t a movie where you munched on popcorn and sipped a soft drink.  This was a chore—a duty as a Christian to come face to face with the brutality endured by our Savior.  To come to terms with what He experienced so that I could, what?  Show up late to work with no excuse?  Watch movies with foul language?  ...

 It’s the question I hate, and yet, it is asked of me at least 4 times a day.  What’s for dinner? Why does it bother me so much?   I think it’s because I hear it more than anything else.   Hi mom, what’s for dinner?   Where’s mom?   What’s for dinner?   Is mom down there? What’s for dinner? I’m reduced to a single purpose—feed the hungries.   And I know I’m so much more.   Sometimes, I fantasize about being simply, not available.   No food in the house.   Nothing is for dinner.   Someone else needs to answer that question. I realize my hatred of this question is irrational and impractical.   I am the only one who can answer the question.   Afterall, I plan the weekly meals, do all of the grocery shopping and cooking.   Dinner is my jam! Yet, I still can not stand being asked.   So, how can I avoid the question? A dry erase board.   I bought one specifically for this purpose.   It has th...

  Every Monday I drive to work.   I stop on the way to a grocery store that donates near expired produce 3 times a week to the sanctuary.   I load up sometimes 400 pounds of produce into my car—apples, bananas, greens, tomatoes, melons, squash, peppers—anything and everything.   When I get to work, I drive it out to Duncan’s barn.   Duncan was a 1200 pound pig who passed away almost 2 years ago.   He was about 12 at the time—quite elderly for a pig.   The barn carries his name as a tribute.   Everyone loved him, including my son, who met him when he was almost 2.   He would crawl into Duncan’s bed with him while he napped, press his face to Duncan’s snout and just jabber on about whatever he wanted Duncan to know.   In his wisdom, Duncan would snort, open his eyes, snort a bit more, sniff and snort some more, just taking it all in.   I miss him. The boxes of produce are sorted into what can and cannot be eaten and placed in a tin-...

Inhale exhale. Inhale exhale. Inhale exhale. Ok, now I’m not quite so frustrated or angry anymore. Let me explain: I don’t like to brag, so I’m not bragging.   I am a highly educated, highly qualified, professional non-profit fundraiser.   I have 2 bachelor’s degrees, an executive MBA, and a certificate in fundraising management.   My brain is worth $200,000 and I have the student debt to prove it.   I have been doing what I’m doing for nearly 20 years.   I’ve raised tens of millions of dollars for national and local organizations.   All that to say, I know what I’m doing.   And yet, every so often, I recognize that it’s helpful to get an outsider’s opinion.   Someone who’s never heard of me or my organization.   Someone who has experience in a different area of business or fundraising or non-profit management.   I don’t pretend to know it all.   I felt this way about my recent effort to seek corporate support for our ...

 "Oh, MOM, you look like a troll!"  Any other time, I'd be insulted but seeing as how it was super windy, my hair was standing on end and Trolls was his current favorite movie, I took it as a compliment.  Call me Princess Poppy! Trolls is entertaining...the first 3 or 4 times.  But after a weekend camping with no internet and only one downloaded movie, it was all that was available for the long drive home.  So Ike watched it.  And watched it again when we got home.  And again the next morning.  And again.  And again.  And again.  I noticed at the end of the week that Trolls was listed as number 4 in movies that day. "You know that's because of us, right?"  Nick said.  He might be right.  "I'll bet we're up to number 3 by the end of the weekend." Well, wouldn't that be something.   Trolls remained a favorite for quite some time.  The daily "how was your day" turned into "are you feeling like Poppy or Bra...