16

Is it possible that 31 is the new 16?

I've always been a late bloomer.

I didn't get my license until I was nineteen.

My younger sister had a boyfriend before me.

We're not even going to discuss my cleavage development.

Remember 16?

The time of your life where you start to put together your dreams and figure things out and make embarrassing moments because you've rushed into things based on emotion rather than logic...or even prayer?

I think I may have skipped that whole season.

In fact, I'm pretty sure of it.

Most girls used curling irons then.

I bought my first one when I was 25.

Is it possible that you can experience "16"...some 16 years later?

Sometimes it feels like I'm just really beginning to discover who I am or how relationships really work.

Sometimes I over analyze everything to death and take myself way too seriously.

And sometimes I make a drama out of nothing, just like a 16 year old.

But I think I've matured a little in that area.

(Oh please, dear Lord, say 'yes, you have, my daughter')

Sometimes I feel like I'm just now putting on a dress that makes me look grown up. And I'm smiling shyly and feeling awkward but liking the advancement all at the same time.

Thank God I have the cleavage to hold the dress up this time around.

Experience I may be without, but time has rounded out a few things!

How is it possible that I've grown up when I still feel like a girl in so many ways?

I still eat my peanut butter out of jar with a spoon.

I still crank up the tunes, and lip sync to a song, looking in the rearview mirror and imagining I'm in my own music video.

I still get butterflies when he winks at me and fumble with my words when he's staring at me.

Maybe it's not so bad.

Discovering who I am, what I like and what I don't, realizing who God is to me and how I desire to live for Him.

That's what summer is like when you are sixteen.

At least it is this time around.

A Place for Lonely Hearts on Mother's Day

To the girl who sits in shaded silence today because her mother died at a young age; you have travelled years of growing up and growing into yourself and look for her whisper of approval in every woman that you have come close to. You've bravely stared today in the face and softly said the words,"I still remember you."

Today can be a lonely day.

To the girl who dreads this day and stays home from church, because she can't bear to hear that there are great moms to honour when she was robbed of that affection from a selfish woman who loved her unhealthy habits more than herself...more than her kids. You are familiar with the feeling of something being not quite right and asking yourself, "Why couldn't I be enough for her?Why would she do that to me?" You quietly ask yourself, "Will I ever do that to my kids?" And then swear to yourself you won't.

Today can be a lonely day.

To the girl who is made to feel small by her mother's words. Whose choices today constantly bring the disapproving sneer and the hard words that hit you across the heart. You wear the brave face of a soldier and weather her comments about your choices and how you are raising your kids.

Today can be a lonely day.

To the girl who is far away from family and watches as everyone else gathers in homes to celebrate, who picks up the phone and tries her best to say the words "I love you" but knowing that a hug would mean more; who struggles with being far away from all that is familiar.

Today can be a lonely day.

And yet the Lord is here.

Jesus will meets us in all of our weaknesses and bring comfort to those who mourn, and hope to the weary. He has placed you here, in the Body of Christ, where you are loved and appreciated for being a Daughter of the King.

He has a destiny and a plan for you.

Psalm 68:6 says so.

He sets the lonely in families.

Today doesn't have to be so lonely.

Friday Flashback: Olympic Flame

Here is a memory for us from a little while ago:

This morning we went and saw the Olympic flame. It was running through our town and so we bundled up the crew and stood in the cold waiting for the flame.

We are huddled together with all sorts of community members, including an elderly couple, a guy who keeps starting his sentences with 'man' and a few families.

We watch as the Coca-Cola truck and the RBC truck come by blasting music and cheering us up. Followed by the local vehicles and a few police cars.

"Man, this is one time I don't mind seeing the police drive by, " says the guy who starts his sentences with 'man'.

Oooookayyy, I think.

The runner who is going to do our 300 feet of road arrives. She smiles and tells us that since her company is a sponsor she was drawn randomly to carry the flame.

She lets my girls pose with the torch.

Man, she was so nice to let us hold the torch.

She was, I think.

Then people from all around take photos with her. Interspersed with "Do it quick, here comes the flame."

Here comes the flame!

It draws closer. I jump up onto the wall and steady my camera to capture the moment. Crowd frenzy is starting to build.

Suddenly, I realize that a stampede of running kids who are following the flame are heading straight for us. It results in a shaky video and bad photography. If you squint you can kinda see that the flame is lit. But you can't really tell, since I'm trying to take photos and shield my kids as the local Bulls of Pompleno head our way. But...

The torch is lit. And she's running our stretch of road.

Shouts and hoorays fill the air as she makes her way down the road. Suddenly, everyone feels connected and we're all screaming and shouting and encouraging the girl who let us hold the torch.

"Go! Go! Go! Come on, Ashley! " we scream.

She starts to fade away as she heads further down the road, the flickering flame shining above her head.

"Man, Canada does it right, eh?"

Yeah. Canada does, I think.

The Artful Dodger

I was talking with a friend the other day and asked her a question about a semi-unresolved issue.

She gave me a quick, general answer. And then...

The next thing I knew we were talking about a subject that was two miles past the previous one. I sat confused for a moment as I tried to follow this new train of thought. I was traveling down this new road of conversation with her, but I had the distinct impression that I had left my purse, keys and wallet back at the last pit stop.

And then the light dawned on me.

She had just dodged the conversation. She had done it craftily and well.

I should know. I am an artful dodger.

When a topic comes up that I don't want to discuss, I dodge. I manuever. I weave. I spin. I, well, you get the idea. The point is there are only two reasons for dodging a conversation, and they are:

1. I don't want to have this conversation.

or

2. I don't want to have this conversation with you.

Sigh. The second reason is a bit hard to swallow. It doesn't go down easy. Kinda like dry cantaloupe muffins...another post for another time.

Surely, my friend is only having a reason number one moment, right? Right?!

My first instinct is to start asking myself a bevy of questions: why wouldn't she talk to me about it? Oh no, I was too forceful last time we talked. Too pushy. I talked too much, didn't listen enough. Now you are paying penance for being a bad friend.

Or perhaps, maybe it has nothing to do with me at all. Maybe this is her deal and she is only willing to share it with someone she trusts.

Maybe that someone isn't me.

Maybe I should ask myself if there is any reason I'm not trustworthy?

Yes, I could ask myself that. I could ask myself that right now.

And so, I made these cantaloupe muffins the other day. It was a new recipe. And since I had loads of cantaloupes I thought,"Hey, why not?" But it turned out that they were dry and terrible and were good for nothing except for dodging a series of questions that I might need to ask myself.

Stuck in the middle

I'm learning to mind my own business.

It's not easy though. I like to fix things. Fix people.

So, instead I sit and listen. I put the brakes on when it crosses the line from a woman verbally thinking out loud to dumping manure on my spirit for the depth of hurt emotion they have.

I've gotten good at saying, "Hmmm..." and "Have you told them that?"

I wonder if this is preparation for when my children are in their teen years?

Here's what I've learned from keeping my nose out of it: I pray a whole lot more.

Sounds like something I should have been doing all along.

Who I am

Elizabeth Elliot once said, “The preoccupations of young women – their looks, their clothes, their social life – don’t seem to change much from generation to generation. But in every generation there are a few who make other choices.”

I am a woman in radical abandonment to my Lord and Saviour Jesus Christ. I believe that the Bible is true--every word of it. And I won't compromise on that or back down on that. It is the Truth. Jesus is the Only Way.

A note to my older self

Doesn't that sound like a great book title?

I think I will start a new feature on my blog--Notes to My Older Self.

It will consist of little observations of things, other people and ideas that I don't want to forget when I become older.

This is one I must write down. I want to tuck it away and pull it out when I have grown children...who are married and are very capable of making their own decisions. This gem comes via a great friend. They said, " I believe I would have a much better relationship with my Mom if--instead of telling me what I should do--she said, 'Well, I don't agree with that, but I respect your decision and as I give this to God, I know that I can support you.' If she had that approach, I'd be much more likely to ask for her opinion or advice."

Wow. A heavy thought. This friend wanted so much to have a better relationship with her Mom but her Mom doesn't have ears to hear this statement.

I want to be a Mother who has a great relationship with my kids as they mature into adults and make decisions.

So--for my blog readers, especially those who have kids who are 18 plus...please drop in some advice, or share a regret or a time that you and your kids/mom had a breakthrough.

I want to learn.

Teach me.

CORRECTION: My Christmas List

I want one of these...

to help me deal with my anger.

I'm going through a marriage course right now.

Naturally, I need one of these. There are some scriptures in the Bible that make me want to use this bag--not because the word of God is wrong. But because it is right.

That leaves only one person to be wrong and in sin: me.

I need this punching bag.

Thanksgiving: a good time for reflections and meltdowns...not necessarily in that order

It is one of those days.

You wake up groaning because you suddenly have a sinus cold and you are acutely aware of the fact that you stayed up much too late last night cooking food for today's big dinner and should have gone to sleep instead so that you had the physical wherewithal to fight off the cold you will battle all day

You drag your sore self out of bed, you rush around getting four people ready for church while your husband grabs a shower and gets himself ready. You grumble, you complain. You say to yourself, "Just once I would like the luxury of getting only myself ready and YOU can get the kids ready. Just once." Which you know is a complete lie. You would like that to be the case more than once.

Your kids are dressed, diaper changed, breakfast eaten, hair is done and you venture into your closet to find something to wear. And then you realize you have nothing to wear. You pull down the basket of seasonal clothing because it has snowed and you realize that you cannot get away with one more Sunday in summer capris. You rifle through your seasonal clothes and see everything that you've worn for the last two years. You realize that the last time you went shopping for clothes was in March...at a second hand store. Your mind floats to the images of the beautiful women at church. Women, who it would seem, have just stepped out of a catalogue. You try not to be envious as you think of a friend who has $70 high heel boots. You love this friend. And yet, all you can think of is, "Just once....just once, I'd like the luxury of being able to spend $70 on something other than groceries! Something on myself." Which is a lie, of course, because you really want it more than once.

So instead you take a deep breath, you try and tell yourself that your friend and her husband both work and have no kids. You have a different course that you are on. You are not willing to go into debt for clothes, you are living on a single income so that your kids can have you at home, you are being obedient to the things God wants you to do. But your heart betrays you and you find yourself still wanting those high-heeled hooker boots and a suede skirt, knit sweater and fitting accessories.

In frustration, you approach the mirror and realize that if you were any good with scissors you would chop off all your hair and give yourself a haircut that would somehow take away the dramatic reality of the dark bags under your eyes. You fiddle with your hair clip, and hairspray and swear to yourself that if paper bags placed over your head ever come into style you will champion their cause.

Checking the time you yell, with a voice far from meek, that in 10 minutes we're leaving whether anyone is in the car or not. You grab the vacuum and dramatically clean the carpets thinking, "Just once, just once, I would like it if I wasn't the only person who cared about how the house looked." Which, of course, is a lie because you'd like it to be more than once.

And as you miserably vacuum the floor--aware that you will have to wear running shoes with your outfit because you have no appropriate footwear (hooker boots included), that you look like you just came out of the laundry pile because you have had to get three children ready, that your hair is a possible example of a bad hair commercial--you ask yourself, "Why the bloody hell am I doing all this?"

And as you vacuum, you answer yourself, "Because it's Thanksgiving, and I want to celebrate it with my friends and family."

And then you stop. The vacuum hose falls to the floor as you cover your face and start to cry.

It's Thanksgiving. A day to be thankful. A day to count your blessings. A day to rejoice that your son isn't fighting in Afghanistan, that your husband has a job, that your children are healthy, that you have clothes to wear, a house to clean, a vacuum that works, food to have dinner with and friends and family to celebrate Thanksgiving with.

And you think to yourself, "Just once, just once, I'd like the luxury of not comparing myself, not complaining about my life, not focusing on myself."

And then you decide that that "once" is now. Today you will be thankful and be grateful to God for all His blessings. Today your whole heart will praise Him for His goodness and favour towards you. Today you will say "thank You".

And not just once.

Confession #1 The word strong is sometimes used to describe a bad smell

DIVA CONFESSION: I am strong. I can do it by myself. I need no one.

When I was in high school, my friends and I used to sing a song we made up that went:

I am so great

I am so great

I can beat you up

with my little pinky finger

'cause I am so great.

For a long time, I really believed the words of that silly song. I really believed that I was super great and could take on the world and all the hell it might bring against me. In my naivete, I thought, "I am a Christian, I can handle the worst life has to offer."

I'm older now. Hopefully wiser. I'd like to remedy that statement and say, "I know Jesus. I can't handle anything without Him. He is my strength."

I've gone through a very emotionally difficult month. It's been draining and revealing, all at once. I've suddenly realized that I can't keep my house clean effectively, I am not the best at disciplining my kids consistently, I am horribly mean to my husband when I, myself, am emotionally vulnerable and I fail so often at loving others like Christ has loved me.

And that's great news!

I am poor, weak,powerless,broken and unresolved. Yahoo!

Consider the rich, young ruler in Matthew 19:16-22. He came to Jesus, told Him that He had kept all the commandments, what more did He need to do to have eternal life?

Jesus replied,"Go, sell what you have and give to the poor and you will have treasure in heaven; and come, follow Me."

I don't think Jesus necessarily cared whether the young ruler had money or not. It seems that Jesus was pointing out an area that needed surrendering. Perhaps this rich ruler took a lot of comfort knowing that he had money that could be a back up plan or an emergency fund in case this "following Jesus thing" didn't work out. Jesus was pointing out that the ruler didn't have need of Jesus in this area of his life. The rich young ruler didn't need Jesus to be his security, his source or his safety net: his money provided that. This isn't a money issue, in my eyes. This is a heart issue. And Jesus is asking for the rich young ruler to have need of Him-to boast in his weakness rather than his strength.

I cannot beat you up with my little baby finger. I am unable to stand firm, be consistent or loving without the strength of my Saviour, Jesus Christ.I have need of Him. Desperate need. In Him alone I boast.

REDEEMED DIVA CONFESSION: I am weak and He is strong.

Find Me

Find me

I'm gonna move on down to Elliston
Let my hair grow wild and free
Rent a second story studio
Find the other side of me

I'm gonna sit out on the edge of the fire escape
Feel a little destitute
Search for feelings that will help me remember
The love that I had for YOu

Find me, find me
I'll wait for You
Find me, find me
I'll wait for You

I'm gonna give away my stereo
Give away my T.V.
I'm going back to essentials, a chair and a lamp
And the Book that You wrote to me

You see, I'm looking for the You that used to speak so clear
I'm looking for the me that had a heart to hear
And I'm looking for the passion that held me here
On the edge

Find me, Find me

I'll wait for you

Find me, Find me

I'll wait for you

You see, I'm looking for the me that I used to know
I'm looking for the love that was out of control
'Cause I feel a little cold here in the afterglow

Find me, find me
I'll, I'll wait for You

-Margaret Becker, The Reckoning

Sorting socks

Have you ever started out one day feeling better than better and then shortly after you feel as though you are two miles past wrong? It's as though you made a flight plan from Seattle, WA to Toyko, Japan and when you were punching in all your numbers and settings for your plane to be set at, you punched in one degree of latitude less. At first, it doesn't seem like a big deal. You are only slightly off the mark. You are still heading in the same direction. Only shortly after, you suddenly find yourself having to make an emergency landing in the Yukon because you now see that one degree might have not made a big difference in the beginning, but it sure makes a big difference after 4 hours. And you realize that if you don't take this ememrgency landing now, that you may miss your last chance of getting where you are supposed to go and being able to land safely.
That's where I am today. I am at the emergency stop in Yukon. Not literally. Only figuratively.

It's almost like my life right now feels like a bag of socks. There are always those socks that needing matching and pairing after the laundry. And every once in a while you find a loose sock with no mate. So, you stick it in a sock bag and after a while you dump out the contents of the sock bag to see if the two lone socks have met up with each other. Sometimes they have and you're relieved that the dryer didn't eat them. And then sometimes you can't match the loose sock to anything...not after four consecutive times of being a member of the sock bag. And after awhile, you have about 5 or 7 socks that have no partner, no matching piece, and they no longer make sense in your life. The easy solution is to throw them out (or turn them into sock puppets for your two year old). But, the romantic, hopeful side of you says,"Wait, I'll just give these guys one more chance. Maybe, just maybe, on the next wash, the dryer will release it back into my hands."
But that never happens.
And time goes on and you have all these socks that just need to been thrown out. They are good for no purpose.
That's where I am today. Stuck with a bunch of pieces of my life that don't add up or make sense. And they aren't even really big issues or important matters. They are just all these tiny things that are taking up space, yet don't really matter. Yet, I'm still hesitant to throw them away. After all, they did serve a purpose once.

And so that's where I am today: in Yukon, on an emergency landing, with a bag full of mismatched socks.

I hope that makes sense.

The ever delicate dance of the fish and the bird...

You know the Jewish proverb? The one that is quoted in the film, "Ever After" : A fish may love a bird, Senora, but where would they live?"
Sometimes, I feel like the fish. I love to swim around, do my thing, no schedule, no order...just free to be a fish. However, life...and in particular, married life requires a certain amount of routine and order for the practical day to day living.
This past week I was complaining to my husband about how I just didn't feel "on top of" a few certain things. His honest reply--and oh, how he is always so honest!--was simply,"it's because you have no system or routine in place for these things."
Grrr!He's right. I love to be spontaneous and go with the flow. But the truth of the matter is, I am best able to be spontaneous and go with the flow when I have an organized mind and an organized space.
For the past week, I've put everything on hold and just focused on re-organizing everything that has been a stumbling block for me. I've rooted out the things that were low priorities for me but I felt I needed to hang onto them because, well, insert a reason here. It's a vague one, at best.
The point is, now that I am "getting on top of things" so to speak, I do have systems in place. I am realizing that most of the things that set me off-kilter was just a collection of non-essential things trying to grab for my attention. But now everything is finding it's place again-in my head and my home.
And now I know where a bird and a fish would live.

conglomeration of thoughts

Just some thoughts running through my head.
In many ways, I can mark the day that childhood innocence left me. Some people have their innoncence taken from them. Some have moments were they unknowingly release it like a firefly once cupped in their hands. Some run into that moment with expectation and some meet it when they least expect it. I met it on October 27th 1990.
That day represents more to me than the day that my father died. It has a two-edged meaning for me.
I'm trying to write this without sounding dramatic or without evoking pitying responses, but it's hard to know how to put it into words that will help a reader understand what I'm trying to say. So, I'm just going to say it and let the words break and fall where they may.
My father was blue when I found him. Was he still alive? Could he hear me? Did he worry that his little girl found him and he was unable to help, unable to protect as he had so many times before? These are all questions that I've asked, looked at, polished and then placed in God's hand. Sometimes I pick them up and look at them, but for the most part I've given them to Him because I know "He is able to keep them until that day."
Childhood, for me, ended like a blast of cold water being thrown on my face. There was no option for a different course. The wonder of childhood; the soft roundness of amazement and imagination; the doughy, warm smells of contentment all vanished the moment I crept up to my father's body and peered at his bluish, gray face. There was no going back. Childhood had ended.
Surprisingly, at that exact same moment, I found myself in a greater adventure. An adventure that superseded the panic that surfaced and the fear that wrapped itself around me in that moment.
At that exact minute, I became aware of God's presence. The all-consuming, comforting and gentle Presence of the Lord. Peace invaded my panic, love burnt up my fear and the unmistakable knowledge that I was not abandoned became seeded in my heart.
Knowing you, Jesus
Knowing you
There is no greater thing
You're my Lord, you're the best
You're my joy, my righteousness
And I love you
It was a few years later when I heard Corrie Ten boom's words about living in the concentration camp and losing all her family; these words finally put all of my heart's understanding about God's love for me into one simple phrase: "There is no pit too deep, that He is not deeper still."
October 27th 1990 is the day that my childhood ended and it was the day I was swallowed up by the vastless, warm ocean of God's love.
Today feels like a good day to go surfing.

The Blue Car

Burnt, charred embers
leave marks on my hands
Easily washed off
with the grit of the sand
that stood under your feet
as you stood on my soul
Helpless and lame
Completely unwhole

Rhonderdons blooming
Stars shining the same
Blues music was booming,
To a tune that was slain...
eking a place in my head
For the swallows to sit
For the swallows, a bed

Drip-drops of the coffee
that I never drink
Sing songs of the melodies
that I never think

Questioned the running of time
through the land
of wheat that blows grandly
while slips through my hand

Wondered at silence
Why nothing was said
Sealed up like drum
That beat in my head

Rhythms stopped rhyming
And moods stopped their sway
Time hands stopped ticking
The moon slipped away

Frayed ribbons
Black hats
Scuffed shoes and dark shades
Under the blue car
that drove far away

Like a house on fire

In the past week and a half I have had two family members greatly affected by fire.
My older sister's home burned down. No one was in the home, but she lost everything. My father's Bible, her pictures of her family (including the baby picturres), and anything that we use on any given day. Anything that could have been salvaged had smoke damage and somewhat singed.
On the other side of my family, four days later, my father-in-law's roof caught fire. It will take three months to fix the damage. Fortunately, their insurance is putting them up in an apartment during that time but again they lost many things to smoke damage.
It throws things into perspective. Sometimes I can't stand the junk we collect and I dearly love the word "Purge". but it's one thing when it's your choice to get rid of things and another when things are just stripped away.
Hey, I know that they are just things. That when we die we can't take them with us. But these things still have this ability to carry with them an emotional attachment. As my sister described it, "I had people helping me go through everything. I stood watching as people picked up scorched toys and tossed them because they were melted or throwing books away because they were deemed no longer good. But all I saw them doing was throwing my memories away and treating them as though it was all garbage."
In both cases, all my family members were safe, and at the end of the day that is all that matters. Truly, it is.
I wish I didn't live so far away from them because I would be giving everyone great big hugs. And I'm grateful that the memory of a hug can never be thrown away into a garbage bag with the words,"that's no longer worth keeping."

Lilac Trees

When I was a kid, I didn't like my Grandma. She lived next door to us and her wrinkled face scared me a bit. She was stooped over and her hands were gnarled from age.

I miss her today. I miss her well-lived face that had story lines written all over it. I miss how short she was and how you could always hug her and almost tuck her into your pocket because she was so small. I miss her hands-they'd knead dough, serve me tea and wave in front of my face whenever she was upset about something.

With great clarity I can recall a day that I spent sitting at her table having tea (even though I was lectured that I should learn to love Finnish coffee).

"Grandma, you're 91 now. Tell me something that you've learned about life."

She grew thoughtful and quiet (which was rare, for she always had a ready word to say). She looked at me after a long time and say, "You know, I used to spend a lot of time worrying about all sorts of things. Things like 'what could happen or what might be said or how long this might go on' and you know what? None of it happened. None of it."

"None of it?"

"None. So, that's my advice, don't waste your life worrying because it doesn't happen anyway. And even if it does, it never happens how you think it's supposed to."

I've tucked that conversation away in my pocket and every once in a while I take it out and examine it and treasure all that it is.

I miss my Grandma today. Her blueberry pies, her Finnish mumbling, the way she got out of the orange chair, Christmas Eve and Boxing Day, the way she stood on her porch and watched til you crossed the field safely, her sauna Saturdays and the time we spent on the mat-weaving loom. I miss her sigh. It always said so much.

Being a child is a funny thing. You are completely unaware that all the simple things, all the habitual little nothings will one day be the things that comfort you when your heart is full of longing for the ones you miss.

Solace

My Dad died when I was small.
I don't really have much that belonged to him. Mostly my memories.
The one thing I did inherit (besides his wonderful eyes) was a piece of property. His mother had left a share of the land to him, and because of his premature death, his share became the share that my siblings and I now own.
It's funny, but this one-fourth that I own connects me to the two people I miss daily: my father and my grandmother.It's this tiny thread that keeps me linked to the sunny days of when they were here on earth.
This piece of land is my most favourite place on earth.
Ninety percent of the memories that I hold of my father are at our camp.
When I swim in the water, I can hear him saying, "Kids, let's swim the 'English Channel'."
Whenever I open the door, I remember the special way he use to jimmy the handle to get it open.
When I walk the paths and pick up the fallen birch twigs, I feel that I could look over at any moment and see him lazily throwing a twig at me.
When I sit at the end of the dock, I remember the times he would race me and my siblings to the end of the dock to see who would get in first.
I hear his voice when I am there.
I remember his face clearest when I am there.
And I remember the one day I treasure the most out of all my memories within my childhood.
It was a hot summer day, and my Dad took my younger sister and brother and I to the camp. My older sister was out with friends and my Mom desperately needed a day without kids.
My Dad taught me to canoe that day. He held the paddle and showed me how to stroke. He taught my siblings and I voyageur songs and had us paddle all around the lake shouting out commands of "Starboard", "Allie, on the rudder" and "watch out for the rocks." I am not sure why that day stands out more than the others, but that day for me brings such a strong memory of being so loved by my father. I felt as though just being with him that day was the same as being hugged by him all day long.
And it happened at the camp.
The camp-the dainty thread that connects me to my past, my most cherished childhood memories and to the moment that has forever embedded itself into my heart. The moment where I became unexplicably aware of how much my father loved me.