HopeK429

Merry Christmas Everyone Remember the very best gift we could ever receive you won't find under a Christmas Tree,but you will find it in the hearts of your family and true friends :)

The older I get the more I realize I want one thing in my life more than anything else:Peace. Well, maybe two things because I also want Mexican food about every day :), but you know.I want peace. I want friendships that aren’t fragile. I want relationships that aren’t volatile. I want people in my life where the connection between us isn’t delicate—where it isn’t easily broken. Where you trust me and I trust you and things are talked out. I want it all as comfortable as possible…like sweatpants that are worn in and cozy and allows room for growth and grace in the same way drawstrings work. I don’t want bad with anyone. I don’t want bitterness, or anger, or awkwardness when we see each other. I can’t handle any of that “are we speaking? Are we not speaking? Are we friends? Are we cool face to face, but behind my back you’re spitting fire and bringing my name down?” I’m full. Motherhood is a mental workout all day, every day. Adulthood in general is pretty stressful. Bills and work and deadlines and all of that business. I don’t want any drama. Not now. Not tomorrow. Not even in tiny doses. None. If you throw it my way, I hate to disappoint you, but I will not even attempt to catch it. I don’t want chaos, or turmoil, or any of that. I don’t want gossip. I don’t want to hear secrets that may or may not even be true. I mean…I’ll keep your secrets for sure, but I’m just going to extend compassion and assume everybody is doing the best they possibly can . I want peace. And I’ve learned that sometimes it’s not really about keeping the peace. It’s about creating peace. It’s about confronting things head-on. It’s about asking good questions. It’s about listening. It’s about keeping my ridiculous knee-jerk reactions to myself. It’s about refusing to brush the difficult stuff under the rug and pretend it doesn’t exist until that rug becomes a mountain in-between me and my friend. It’s about talking things out and approaching every situation with kindness first. It’s about apologizing. It’s about maturity. It’s about boundaries and knowing that even when I give my best, not everyone will appreciate it, want it, or like it. It’s about loving them and letting them go from there.I know I’m a mess sometimes and I’m insecure and prideful and I make so so many mistakes. I’m human same as you
So imperfect. I just…I dunno. I want peace. I want it to ooze out of me. I want it in me.I want it around me. I want it to come through me. No matter what anyone else is doing. I want peace. And tacos and stuff, obviously.And maybe a good cold pepsi to go with it,,

When we think about time, we tend to divide it into three dimensions: past, present, future. We also tend to accept certain beliefs about each dimension without much questioning.The present time is the “here and now.” It’s what’s currently happening. The future, alternatively, is what will happen. It’s what will come to be.In both of these dimensions, there are many possibilities. We could do all sorts of things right now, and we can make all kinds of choices in the future. (Ignore, at least for the moment, the debate over whether we really have free will.)Unlike the present and the future, the past is locked in. Short of inventing the elusive time machine, there’s not much we can do to change the past. We simply have to accept it and move on. Or do we? The past lives in our memories, and these memories are far from reliable. We are the unreliable narrator of our own story. We might exaggerate our successes or magnify our failures out of proportion. These tendencies are not mutually exclusive: we might do both at the same time! Think back on a time in which you really wanted something and didn’t get it. You wanted to gain the acceptance or approval of someone. You wanted a relationship to succeed. You wanted to be offered a job or admission to a certain college or a better paying job, maybe,,. Whatever it is, you wanted it badly, even desperately—and you didn’t get it.When you failed to achieve your goal, you experienced feelings of despair. For a long time afterwards, it hurt to think about it. You wondered if you should have tried harder or done something differently. (We’ve all been there!)As painful as it was, however, you eventually reached a turning point. Something else came along that wouldn’t have been possible in the alternative universe you so desired—yet, clearly, this new thing turned out to be much better.Looking back later, you see the original situation in a whole different light. Now you understand that instead of that situation serving as a low point of your life, something you always wish had turned out differently, it’s taken on another role entirely: the time you didn’t get what you wanted, thank God. Just think about that. The thing you most wanted was the very thing you didn’t need.This isn’t simply a matter of interpretation. In these situations, the past is literally different because of something that took place … in the future.Now imagine that your family takes a DNA test, and you discover that your Dad is not your biological father. This actually happened to me after my Dad had passed away in 2009, do I believe it no still to this day in all reality I don't but test results do not lie 99.99% not biological therefore I am forced to believe , he passed and never knew and never questioned not being my Bio father,the disclosure created years of turmoil within my family. If I hadn’t taken the test, the family dynamics and sense of shared history (regardless of its accuracy) would have endured.My Birth Mother left us when I was 7 years old , she waited until I was 42 to rock my world . I talked to her 3 times in 35 years the last time was telling her NO I wouldn't bail her out of a financial mess she caused, I could have cared less what happened to her, You could argue that new information shouldn’t have so much power. My family was happy, or at least stable, before learning that a secret had been held for more than thirty years. Why shouldn’t everyone just accept that “something is different, but most things are still the same?”I was and am still their sister it wasn't me who kept a secret it was our Mother,,,As I said, whether or not they should or shouldn’t is irrelevant. The status quo was an impossible outcome: the family could no longer see the past the same way ever again. Substantial new information changes the past.Think of time travel by changing the future as a tool you can use in dealing with time anxiety. It doesn’t work all the time—just consider the classic quote, “If all you have is a hammer, everything looks like a nail”—but sometimes it’s a lifesaver.We want so much to go back and change things that happened long ago, or even something that happened yesterday. But the way we remember the past is greatly influenced by what we do in the future.The next time someone says “You can’t change the past,” you’ll know better. You’re changing the past every day! The past also changes on its own, merely through the passage of time and events outside your control.By taking control of your future—and by paying close attention—you’ll notice that the past is fluid and subject to change.But it is You who is incontrol of how you react to it, Our past DO NOT define who we are in life and should never compromise our futures by dwelling on it, My Dad was my Dad regardless of any results I may have read Nothing on Heaven or Earth could ever change that,The moral of the story is: you just have to choose. If, in the end, you look back and think “I’m so glad that choice was made for me to know things or ,” perhaps this is merely positive self-talk. But perhaps it also doesn’t matter. Since you’ll never know for certain one way or another, you might as well choose to be happy with where you ended up.Regret, meanwhile, is an emotion hindered by bias—sometimes helpful for making a decision to move forward, but rarely definitive in our interpretation of the ideal life. My Life was far from normal or ideal but it was my Life and it has shaped and molded me into the person I am today and for that I am grateful.

Today is the day 6 years ago My sweet papa left this earth, he adopted me as his own when I was only 7 and was one of the kindest strongest men I have ever known , My Dad was military and this was the Granpa of my first friend I made when coming to the US and he's still my best friend to this day,, but every summer and holiday we would come to Tennessee and stay with Josh's Grandparents who later became my adopted family and ended up living with me until they both passed, Papa from Alzheimer's and Nana from Heart failure, Along with my Dad Papa taught me so much about life and I miss them both dearly.. but wrote this about Papa a few months before he passed away one day while we were out taking a short walk letting him get some fresh air I remember it clearly...


Today was a beautiful fall day out and so I decided to take Papa out and get some fresh air let him walk around the farma lil bit , He farmed his entire life after leaving the Army it was his passion and you can just see by the look in his eyes when he's out around the animals the tractors and all that that he is still in there somewhere even tho somedays he has no idea who I even am, but today he was with me after our walk and Papa sat down on the patio bench we have by the barn I fed the horse and watched him as I did this.. He didn't move, just sat with his head down staring at his hands.He did this from time to time but this time was different, he was lost in thought. Even with Alzheimer's there were times I could tell he was in there and he knew I was close by, today happened to be one of those days.
When I sat down beside him he didn't acknowledge my presence and the longer I sat I wondered if he was OK. Finally, not really wanting to disturb him but wanting to check on him at the same time, I asked him if he was OK. He raised his head and looked at me and smiled. Lord yes child "Yes, I'm fine, thank you for asking," he said in a clear strong voice and always with a hint of a smile."I didn't mean to bother you, Papa, but you were just sitting here staring at your hands and I wanted to make sure you were OK," I told him."Have you ever looked at your hands," he asked. "I mean really looked at your hands?
I slowly opened my hands and stared down at them. I turned them over, palms up and then palms down. He took them in his as I said No, I guess I had never really looked at my hands as I tried to figure out the point he was making he smiled began to tell me this story. "Stop and think for a moment about the hands you have how they have served you well throughout your years. These hands, though wrinkled, shriveled and weak have been the tools I have used all my life to reach out and grab and embrace life. They braced and caught my fall when as a toddler I fell upon the floor. They put food in my mouth and clothes on my back. As a child my Mother and Daddy taught me to fold them in prayer. They tied my shoes and pulled on my boots. They have been dirty, scraped and raw, swollen and bent. They were uneasy and clumsy when I tried to hold my newborn kids. Decorated with my wedding band they showed the world that I was married and loved someone special. They wrote the letters home and trembled and shook when I buried my Parents and brothers before me and walked my Daughter down the aisle Yet, they were strong and sure when I dug my buddy out of a foxhole and lifted a plow off of my best friend's foot. They have held children, consoled neighbors, and shook in fists of anger when I didn't understand. They have covered my face, combed my hair, and washed and cleansed the rest of my body. They have been sticky and wet, bent and broken, dried and raw. And to this day when not much of anything else of me works real well, these hands hold me up, lay me down,they feed me and again continue to fold in prayer. These hands are the mark of where I've been and the ruggedness of my life. But more importantly it will be these hands that God will reach out and take when he leads me home. And with my hands He will lift me to his side and there I will use these hands to touch the face of Christ." I just sat there holding these hands of the man I loved and called my Granpa, the hands that taught me to play a banjo and a fiddle, the hands that rocked my babies to sleep, the hands that helped me and learned me how to do things with the horses I so love, the hands that held mine when I was scared of the dark when we would walk out to the barn to check the animals every night I was staying with him and nana,The hands that hugged me every time I need a hug, Papas hands were the strength we all needed in life, and I will never look at my hands the same again after that talk with him that day. And I remember sitting beside him and knowing God had just reached out and took my Grandpa's hands and led him home. When my hands are hurt or sore or when I touch the face of someone or something I love ,I think of Papa. I know he has been stroked and caressed and held by the hands of God. I, too, want to touch the face of God and feel His hands upon my face someday just as Papa is doing as I'm re reading this post and wishing he was here with us, What a day that will be :)

There are very few things left in this world that remind me of my childhood .. but this remains:) I remember my Nana making us egg salad sandwiches all summer long and always on hotdog buns.. We didn’t have much … quite frankly , by most accounts we were poor!! But I didn’t know that!! I didn’t know that hotdog buns were for hot dogs only and that garlic bread was frozen in a box;) Today I had a loaf of Fresh , white bread along side that were these cheap dollar general hot dog buns I had bought last week … I chose the buns because that’s how I was raised!!! And as I sat down to eat my nostalgic egg salad sandwich, I thought about my kids … This world and a lot of people around them are offering white bread .. the norm, the traditional way, the things the world finds acceptable … but I pray as they go thru life , and they get the choice to choose .. they choose hot dog buns every time:) Btw .. this post is not about buns nor bread …