A Little Something I Wrote

The other day this piece popped into my head. I could literally see the story playing out. This hasn't happened in a while which told me that this was an important piece to write. 

I shared it with a friend who called in "heartbreaking" and that's exactly the thing. My heart was breaking and I needed to write the pain out. 

I thought I'd share it with you.

The Slow Death

Plain as she can be, she never dreamed she’d be here. In this place. In this time. Staring down the barrel of several loaded guns. Caught in the crosshairs. Waiting for the one willing to pull the trigger.

Her deer eyes blink slowly, but she is frozen. Too scared to move. Too scared to stay where she is. Her body trembles as she feels the weight of the scopes, scanning the best place to plant the bullet that could lead to her demise.

Her only path is dark and overgrown with underbrush. She could hide well, but there are even scarier things waiting for her there. Creatures with sharpened teeth and razor-like claws who wish to rip her tender flesh from her body are concealed from the light of the day.

Her body shudders slightly, visible only to those closest to her. She slowly turns, allowing her body to block others who stand as terrified as she.  She bares her neck to the ones holding the guns. The ones who would kill her with one shot. She is willing to lie bleeding out on the forest floor to protect those who aren’t as willing to die as is she.

She hears the soft sighs of the hunters as she waits for the bullet to pierce her flesh. She turns slowly to look at the hunters…one at a time. She nickers softly, encouraging the others to flee and not return for her. She is willing to meet her fate. After all, no one will miss her. She is nothing to them. Just another trophy for their wall and meals for their families.

She hears a man call something. With a deep breath, her long lashed eyes close. She hears men’s laughter as she opens her eyes to find the darkest haired of the men making his way toward her, his hand outstretched, reaching to run his fingers over her trembling body. He speaks in such a low and calming manner as he strokes his hands over her. She feels her body leaning into him, begging him for more. The one wild creature in the forest that aches for the touch of man. The touch of THIS man.

His friends are teasing him as he slowly runs his long fingers of her. He smiles and her heart melts. Today she will not die in the way she anticipated. Instead she will die because this man will merely carry her heart with him as he walks away. And he will walk away. They all walk away. She is a wild creature not meant to be loved in any capacity. She is merely for men’s entertainment and amusement. She is not meant to have forever. She is only meant for the here and now.

The man coaxes her to follow him and the wild in her heart aches to be free. He does not understand that wild things aren’t made to be domesticated simply because they’re terrified of having their spirits broken.

Again, he whispers murmurs of love. Her heart races because there is nothing she wants more than to be loved by this man. However, he like the others will hurt her. He’s a man. He doesn’t know any other way to be. But, god, this man. This man she wants to love more than the others before him. He teases her to follow him towards the edge of the clearing.

His friends continue to tease and laugh. In her heart, she knows they’re laughing at her stupidity and willingness to give herself over to him for one more stroke of his hands over her. She tried to tune them out and just enjoy the moment. The man then laughs and shoos at her. “Stupid woman! Did you really think I’d love you?”

She feels her heart shatter into a millions pieces and tears fall from her big doe-like eyes. The droplets cling to her lashes as she looks at him, her wounded heart glistening in her eyes. She slowly turns to walk into the dense underbrush, praying to be devoured by the dark creatures with fangs and claws. It would be so much easier than the slow death of falling in love.

-GKM-6192020

Life is Good

How is everyone? I'm praying you and yours are all doing well. I'm still standing and counting the blessings that grace my world.

I started a new blog. I celebrated a birthday. I sat in my sadness over the anniversary of my father's death. I've got on with life and taken a deep breath over the opening up of my world again.

I haven't been into an actual store since March and I'm finding that I don't really miss it. I have a local store that I miss, but, in general, I'm just don't care. I order my groceries online and pick them up on my designated day at my designated time. Anything else I need can either wait or I will order it and have it delivered to the house. The dogs love it! They know when their food is delivered and they get so excited to see the boxes. 

Did I tell you I adopted 2 dogs? I don't think I did. My boss and friend knew my heart hurt over losing Diesel. She knew of 2 dogs who needed love, attention, and training. I hesitated simply because neither of them had ever been in the city, let alone a house. I was worried that this would be more than I could handle. I'd managed to train the other dogs because I'd been home full-time. Working full-time would make this dynamic an interesting one. So, just before Halloween 2019, I drove the 30 minutes to pick up these boys. Jaxson is a Jack Russell terrier who hated to be picked up and really didn't want a lot to do with me. Opie, on the other hand, is a blue heeler/border collie mix. (Yeah, energy enough to fuel a small city.) He has been a tryer of my patience. However, he's a good boy who is finally settling into a much more comfy life. Wanna see a picture?

As you can see, they're having an AWFUL time adjusting. LOL The little one is finally learning to snuggle and it just warms my heart. He has been giving kisses and will let me hug him when the mood strikes him. And the big oaf? Well, he's never had an issue with being loved and adored. Walking on a leash? That's a whole different ball game. *eye roll*

Back to the topic of conversation. I have been working through all of this mess, so I'm blessed more than others. With unemployment being a mess and people being out of work, I am so glad to be still working and getting a steady paycheck. I know of small business owners who are being hit so hard right now and it breaks my heart. 

And I've opened up a couple of my Word docs to work on my writing. Don't know how far I'll get, but it feels good to stretch my fingers across the keyboard and let the characters come back to life.

So, tell me, how are you faring? You have all been covered in my prayers and will continue to be covered in them as we test the waters of reopening the country, our states, our cities...our lives. Be safe. Be healthy. Be kind.

The "C" Word

Oh, Lord! Not that "c" word! No, this is about the word "confidence". You know that one thing I'm not? LOL 

I was having a conversation with someone the other day who couldn't believe that my self-esteem was actually as low as I claim it is. She told me that, because of the way I dressed and carried myself, she truly believed my confidence was very healthy. I laughed...HARD!

From the earliest I can remember, I've struggled with confidence. I have never thought of myself as beautiful or strong or, well, confident. For this person to tell me that she didn't believe I had an issue with my size, my shape, or my style stuns me. The funny thing is? She's not the first one to say it. The man with the charming smile told me that, too. "I watch you walk across campus with your head up, your shoulders back, and I see a woman with so much confidence." (I usually had my earbuds in and didn't pay much attention to anyone unless they were in my path.)

I look at myself in the mirror and I don't see a woman who has confidence. I see someone who is looking tired and showing more of her age everyday. I am not happy with my looks which is why I change them up. I add color to my hair to hide the grays. I add false eyelashes to make my eyes look bigger. I wear make-up to cover the blemishes. I dress younger than I am because I hate the clothes that are marketed toward women my age. I'm still a t-shirt and jeans with sneakers kind of girl. 

I feel like I've been faking 'til I make it. Maybe I've managed to fool myself into actually having confidence. Who knows? If others perceive the illusion of confidence in the way I speak, act, or dress, then maybe, just maybe, I have gained some over the years.

I had a blog that I had done for a college project a while ago about why I'm beautiful. I asked women of every age to tell me why they were beautiful. I had some amazing answers from some incredible women. It was empowering and enlightening. 

So, tell me...what makes you beautiful? Apparently, my answer needs to be...my confidence *G*

A Woman of a Certain Age...

This posting was going to be funny and silly, but I've had something on my mind lately. It has to do with age and I'm tired of holding back.

I'm celebrating a birthday this week and it's a milestone. I've fussed over it. I've cried over it, but no matter what, it is going to happen. Honestly, I'd rather have that than the other option! However, someone said something to me the other day and it pissed me off. They hurt my feelings! They said, "Remember how old you are. You aren't 20 anymore!"

You know what? I know that! I look in the mirror every single day and I know I'm not 20! I feel the aches and pains in my joints. I know I'm not 20! I don't need your reminder that I'm older than I want to be!

I was talking to my darling sister the other day and actually said the words, "I thought I'd have more time!" When I was younger, I wasted time. I gave time to people who didn't deserve it. I allowed people to take from me without giving back. I let people take my spirit, steal my thunder, and break me until I was less than I wanted or deserved to be! I made mistakes that cost me more than I should've allowed! And, trust me, I'm paying the price now.

I'm not a woman who regrets the decisions she's made. There's no point because I can't change the past. Every decision has led me to the spot I am now. I was beat down and degraded. I lost my voice. I still have a few issues to work on, but I'm trying. And I love the woman I've found under years of breakage and hurt. People buried my fire until it was almost out. Unfortunately for them, the ember still smoldered. I've been digging through the wreckage of my soul for a while and the fire is back to roaring.

I know I'm not 20! I wouldn't want to be. Being 20 would put me back in a place I wouldn't want to be with people I don't like all that much. I don't have to "act my age" or be reminded that I'm not a teenager. I color my hair whatever fucking color I feel like. I wear whatever fucking clothes I want. I wear as much or as little make-up as I want. Most days, I'm mistaken for 28-35. I'm okay with that! Hell, I'm ecstatic over that! When someone asks me how old I am, I love watching their mouths fall open because they think I'm so much younger. And that's on a college campus! After a lifetime of being the geek who has her nose in a book, I've had some students actually tell me I'm the "coolest chick" they know. I've been told I inspire them.

So here's a piece of advice: The next time you get the urge to remind a woman of their age or say "Well, a woman of a certain age would...", shut your damn mouth and blow your opinion out your ass! Why? Because women of ANY age can do whatever the hell they want and they don't need  your permission to do so!

Some Days I Open My Mouth and My Mother Comes Out

Have you ever walked past a mirror and catch your reflection out of the corner of your eye? I did that today and I caught a glimpse of my mother. At an earlier point in history, that would have terrified me. But now...it's a badge of honor.

In my last post, I posted some pictures of my mom. One of the comments was how much I look like her. I used to hear that a lot as a teenager. It drove me crazy! Not that I didn't think my mother was beautiful...I just wanted to be seen as my own person and everyone was so busy comparing me to her. "You look just like your mother," I'd hear more often than not. Not "You're so beautiful" or "I love your outfit." Just "You look just like your mother" or even worse "You're just like your mother was at this age."

Not too long ago, I sent my mom a picture of my hand. Never mind why, just that I did. She sent me a picture of hers back with the question "Whose hands do you have?" I had to laugh because aside from some cosmetic things, our hands are identical! But I know those hands of hers. They've held babies, comforted people, worked hard, been cracked open from cold, calloused from carrying buckets and hay bales, kneaded countless batches of bread, made so many cookies, and loved. Mine haven't experienced that much wear and tear, yet I look at our hands side by side and there they are...almost identical.

As I age, I notice more and more of my mom coming out. I opened my mouth to say something to someone just the other day and my mother came shooting out! It happens more and more. It's not always positive. Especially when it comes to my body. I hear her words emerge from my mouth when I tell people how I feel about my curves. I watched my mom struggle with her body issues all of my life. There was no size small enough to make her happy. I remember looking at her stretch marks and thinking they were beautiful because I was one of the reasons she had them. Yet, I look at my own and there hasn't been a person born from these marks. She hated her stretch marks and I, in turn, hate mine. As she's aged, she's become more positive about her body. I've still got a ways to go.

We've had our ups and downs through the years, but when it comes to my mom and all that she's done in her life, I look up to her. She taught me a lot and I'm sure I'll keep learning from her as I go. Hopefully, she can forgive the child I was and see past that to the woman I'm attempting to become.

Happy Mother's Day to all of you mothers! Fur kids, feathered kids, fin kids, scaly kids, or skin kids, you are a mom and you are loved!

A Throwback Girl

Have you ever felt as if you were born in the wrong era? As if you fell into a time where you didn't belong? *raises hand* Yep, that's me. I'm a throwback to a time when life was simpler.

You've read my previous posts. You know I am a woman who is more than a little old-fashioned. I cook and bake from scratch. I garden and freeze my own veggies. I make my own jams. Hell, I make my own soaps and lotions, too. Technology is great, but I miss the simpler times.

Mr. Charismatic Smile shared this the other day and it brought this post to the forefront of my mind.

Now, don't get me wrong! I'm all for people wearing what they want to wear, but I'm such a sucker for a man who can pull off a suit and tie. Yeah, I know...I like the jeans and hoodie/t-shirt look, too. However, there is such a classic look when a man puts on a three piece suit and dress shoes.

I'm not a fashion-minded person. I don't know designers. Hell, I had to ask my former roommate who the hell Kate Spade was and what made her special. Did the same thing with Coach. (He laughed at me and said, "You're a girl. Shouldn't you know these things?) I buy what I like because I like it. I don't care about a name. I'm not a fan of skinny jeans on men or the hipster look, in general. I prefer it if my guy wears jeans more often than a suit, but putting on a suit for an evening out or church on Sunday...mmmm...that works.

I'm so much of a throwback that I just ordered this dress:

I wear a garter belt and seamed stockings under all of my skirts. I wear heels as often as is possible. I love the femininity of it all. (Yeah, I'm the same woman who lives in jeans and t-shirts/hoodies and hiking boots.) I love the 40s feel to it. While it all is making a comeback in certain areas, I'm finding it easier to embrace my curves with some of the retro looks. 

There is so much changing in my life that I can hear my grandmother's voice playing in my head about how she's finally got her girly-girl granddaughter! I hated wearing dresses when I was younger. The first skirt I bought as an adult was one that hung to my ankles. (I have a gypsy skirt on my Amazon wish list, too.) I could get away with it, my bathing suit would include swim pants that go to my ankles. But I'm learning to embrace my feminine side the more I grow to accept my body. My curves aren't necessarily meant to be hidden. I'm trying to embrace them. 

In my hometown, there was a classic car event every July. My best friend and I loved that particular weekend. The old cars would roll into town and 50s music would play. We were two girls who loved the cars as much as the events that took place. The cruise was the best part. Especially at night when everyone brought the cars out to cruise Main Street. So many classic beauties would arrive and show off. It was almost as if we stepped back in time.

I'm very much a June Cleaver in a Kim Kardashian world. I love technology and all if affords me, but simplicity has a lot going for it as well. And classical! Being a classic never goes out of style! Think of the sexiest men and women out there...Cary Grant, Gary Cooper, Marlon Brando, Paul Newman, Audrey Hepburn, Grace Kelly, Greta Garbo, Marilyn Monroe. They had classical looks and a style that truly hasn't gone out of style.

So, tell me...in what era do you think you belong?

What Do You See?

The other day I found a video on Facebook. They took Polaroids of women and asked the women what they saw. There were 63 women used on this project. I watched the video with tears in my eyes. So much beauty and strength was there, yet they sometimes missed it.

I'm on a college campus most days. While I realize that I'm not 18, I compare myself to the girls on campus. I'm not as skinny as that one. I'm not as pretty as another. My skin is flawed and not as fresh as a younger woman's. I'm heavier than most. I dress for comfort instead of style.

But I'm working on my self-image. I'm trying to be more positive about my appearance. For example: I love my hair! I work hard to make sure the color in my hair looks good. And my eyes...I love the color and shape of my eyes. Even in glasses, my eyes are my best feature.

So...I decided that maybe it was time I took a selfie and posted it for the world to see. I'm going to tell you what I see when I look at these pictures. I'm going to try to remain positive, but no promises there.

Ready? Okay, here we go:

Oh gods, this is harder than I thought it would be! *tears*

I see my dad's bone structure in my cheeks. I see my mom's complexion and her eyes. I see my grandmother's mouth. I see pain. I see strength. I see doubt. I see a woman who needs to learn to believe in herself and her abilities. I love her hair! I see someone who knows how to love everyone except herself. I see the introvert, the bookworm, the one who wants to blend in, the one who hopes everyone overlooks her. I see someone who has lost so much and is scared to death. I see the little girl who is scared of screwing up and is petrified to take a chance. I see the woman who has known what it is to be hurt at the hands of someone she trusted...enough so that she is scared to let people touch her...someone who flinches without realizing she's doing it. I see someone who thinks she is more overweight than she really is. I see a daughter. I see a friend. I see a small-town girl. I see someone with a very big heart that has been broken more times than she cares to admit. I see a farmer's daughter with a rebel streak a half mile wide.

I've been told that I have a beautiful smile. I just don't smile in photos because I'm very self-conscious of my teeth. For years, I've been told to "hide your smile" or "smile with your mouth closed". By not smiling, it doesn't mean that I'm not happy. I'm just...me. Mr. Charismatic Smile walked into class one day after having missed a class and said, "There's that beautiful smile. I missed it." He just about brought me to my knees with that comment. That one comment made my day so much brighter and I still smile when I remember that first day. However, old habits die hard.

So, there you go: Gemma finally shows you who she is physically. You all know me on a different level, but now, you see what I see.

I just want us to be more aware of ourselves, our bodies, and our view of those things. We shape our own views. Don't let anyone make you feel like you are less than you are! Because you are the best version of you...no one can tell you different!

He Saw Her

To get back into the rhythm of writing, I've been writing short pieces based on writing prompts that get my muse up and running. This particular prompt was "Write about someone that most people wouldn't notice."

It made me think about myself and how I have tried so hard to blend into the background. I never wanted to be the center of attention. Then, one day, this man with a charming smile walked in with this energy that coaxed me out of my shell. I've been told by boys throughout my life that I'm beautiful. Gorgeous boys who are almost half my age (some even more so). And they get me to halfway believe that they are telling the truth. But there was something different about this guy with the amazing smile. He isn't your standard issue college guy. He's special. There is nothing boy about him. He's the first man I've actually spent time getting to know. And he actually made me believe that I was beautiful.

So...here's a little writing piece for you:

She was nondescript in so many ways. She blended into the scenery and crowd. She was seldom noticed by anyone. She carried herself in a way that drew no attention. There was no wiggle in her walk. She walked with her shoulders back and her eyes on the crowd in front of her. She stared blindly in front of her, not noticing anyone. Her jeans and t-shirt or sweater attire made her look like every other college girls. Her body was hidden by her baggy clothing. She was full-figured with curves, but she didn’t accentuate her curves. She felt better hiding them away in a sea of sexy co-eds. The only thing that stood out immediately was her hair. It was blue-black with rainbows of color showing. Pinks, purples, blues, and greens drew the eye to the fact that she was no ordinary woman.

She sat in the back of the class and kept her nose in her book, earbuds in her ears. She avoided eye contact with anyone. Her eyes held pain and insecurities. She would diligently take notes and paid attention to the professor’s instructions. She never volunteered answers or asked questions; after all she couldn’t risk the chance of sounding stupid.

One day, a man walked into class. He caught the eyes of the quiet woman and smiled at her. Then, the woman who nobody saw did something that made her beautiful. She smiled at him. He decided in that moment to make it his mission to make her smile every chance he got. Because where no one else saw the beauty of this woman who attempted to blend into the background, her smile lit up his day. He made a point of telling her that her smile was something he missed when he wasn’t in class which only made her smile brighter. Her eyes danced with mischief and her laughter came easier each time. For an entire year, he made her smile, laugh, and her impish side came out to play.

He learned more about her than most people knew. She was easy to talk to and her teasing manner was fun to play with. She knew how to take a joke and could hand it right back to him. He opened up to her and let her into his world. He was the first person to initiate physical contact with the woman and, while it scared the hell out of her, she relaxed more and more in his presence until it felt normal for the touching to occur.

He knew someone had been unkind to her and made her feel as if she was less than she was. It raised his ire, but he continued to show the woman kindness. She opened her heart slightly and allowed him a glimpse at the sheer beauty of her. It wasn’t the clothes she wore or the way she styled her hair. It wasn’t her make-up or her shoes. It was the way her brain worked and the way he could make her smile like no one had before. It was the way her hand felt in his. It was the way she trembled when he touched her knee. It was the way her body fit against his when he took the chance to hug her. It was the way she sighed against his cheek as he held on longer than she expected. It was the way her hair tickled his nose and her scent lingered in his memory. It was the way he caught her watching him when he turned his head to look at her. It was the way she challenged him and made him question things. It was the confident way she gave him her phone number and encouraged him to use it. It was the way she was his personal cheerleader and believed he could do anything. It was the way their beliefs coincided. It was the similar ways they had grown up. It was so many things that made her beautiful. It was just the fact that everyone hadn’t seen her for what she really was…beautiful. What everyone else overlooked as a simple stone was actually an iridescent opal filled with color and fire if only it was held up to the sunlight and allowed to shine. 

Tell me what you think! Tell me about the man in your life! Tell me about how you find ways to stand out! Talk to me :)

In the Eye of the Beholder

Last night a friend tagged me in a Facebook post about being beautiful. I needed to upload and post 5 pictures of myself where I feel at my most beautiful. I cringed. I had a small panic attack. I am not known for posting "selfies" online. I have a lot of image issues.

Let me explain:

I have very crooked teeth. I have had them my whole life. There was never enough money to afford braces so I learned to live with the smile. I was told to cover my mouth, smile with my lips closed, anything so no one could see my teeth.

I am not a small woman, never have been, never will be. I have rolls, always have. I was told how much prettier I'd be if I lost weight. I've tried, but I LOVE food.

I wear glasses. "Guys don't make passes at girls who wear glasses" was something I heard repeatedly as I went through high school. I got contacts and wore them constantly. Guys didn't make passes at me then either.

I wear make-up and do my hair...when I feel like it. My grandmother always had earrings in her ears and her bright pink lipstick on her mouth. "You never know who you're gonna run into."

My feet are HUGE...like a size 11 huge. Dad used to say we'd be better off buying me gunboats to wear. I've never been horribly self conscious about them, but they are substantially obvious.

My eyelashes are short and stubby. I have one pupil that is larger than the other. I have a double chin. I have thinner lips. My cheeks are chubby. My "trunk" looks like a hoarder is hording way too much junk in it. And I get easily distracted. Maintaining focus is hard for me. My life is in constant creative chaos.

HOWEVER:

I've been told my smile is beautiful and lights up a room. So what if my teeth are crooked? It's a smile uniquely mine.

I'm a bigger girl. That is one thing that will never change. However, I eat healthier foods, I don't snack very often, and I am learning to take care of this body of mine. It is a body that has been called voluptuous and sexy on a few occasions.

I wear glasses. I can't change that. I need to see! Years of contact wearing destroyed the blood vessels in my eyes enough that I've been told that even wearing a pair of contacts for 10 minutes could cause me to lose my sight. So I buy flattering frames to make me look like the sexy nerd girl that certain men like to flirt with.

I put my make-up on when I'm feeling insecure. I put it on like a light mask to hide myself from the world. If I'm not wearing make-up around you, then I feel secure enough to let you see the real me. My hair is colored (because the gray makes me look too old), but rarely is it straightened, curled, or done in any way. I like the waves that have come with age and the bounce that is there.

My feet? Well, I can't change them. So, I put them in cute shoes...when I can find them. When I do find them, I tend to buy multiples simply because I can't always find cute shoes in my size.

As for the rest of me...well, I can only change so much. Most of it I have to live with. And I'm learning...I"m learning to see the beauty in myself.

Let me share some things I've learned while I did this little challenge:

We are not made to be perfect. We are made to be unique and individuals. Our bodies are ours. They are what makes us...us. We don't need to look like whatever celebrity is popular at the moment (not a pop culture sort of woman) because even THEY don't look like themselves. Air brushing, touch-ups, professional make-up artists and hair stylists, SPANX, etc. keep them looking like their "natural" selves. The things we see as flaws in ourselves are what the people who love us see as beautiful. We are imperfectly perfect just as we are.

The friend who tagged me in the post stated how you fall in love with someone's laugh, the way their eyes shine, the way they talk with their hands, or the way they move. We can't necessarily see someone's beauty simply from a photograph.

To wrap up this post, I'm going to quote an old adage: "Beauty is in the eye of the beholder." I'm not beautiful to everyone and that is okay. BUT I am beautiful to someone...a lot of people if the comments on my Facebook post are any indication. Beauty isn't merely in looks. It is your heart, your compassion, your intelligence, your wit, your mischievousness, your confidence, and so much more.

So go forth and shine like diamonds, you beautiful beings!

A Patchwork Heart

I spent my teen years growing up in the Mennonite church. Every fall, we would go to Goshen, Indiana for this quilt festival. These women worked so hard on these amazing quilts which they put up for auction to help with the Mennonite missionary support. I remember walking through the display areas and looking in awe at this incredible pieces of art.

My favorites were the ones where no piece was the same size or the same color. The pieces didn't necessarily match, but they were no less beautiful than the ones with precise designs. In fact, I often would look at the "non-conforming" ones and think that they were so much more beautiful. For me, each piece of fabric told a tale. Someone had a baby and that material was left over from their first outfit. Another piece may have come from an old apron. Another from a suit some young man had outgrown. You see what I mean? The story is the best part for me.

The other day I came across a quote that talked about how when you love someone/something, you give them your whole heart. When they return it to you, they keep a piece of your heart. They, in turn, give you a piece of theirs. This exquisite image came into my mind of a patchwork heart. Each piece stitched together with memories, pain, love, suffering, and sorrow, but each mark is unique.
   

This made me begin to take a look at my own heart. In my mind, it is made up of flannel (my Poppa), some lace and buttons (my mom), an old Army uniform (my dad), a polka-dotted shirt (my Grandma), bits of fur (for my furkids), and these are pieced together with little bits of fabric from those who have brushed across my life. Whether I have loved you for a minute or a lifetime, you have taken a piece of my heart. To a few, I have given it willingly. To others, you took it when I least expected it. But I can't get it back. If I have given you my whole heart, I've gotten it back a bit torn, tattered, bruised and broken, but I'm sure your heart was returned to you the same way. But there is always a piece missing that has been replaced with a piece of yours. I'm beginning to wonder if there is any original fabric left on this heart of mine. I've had to stitch up the pieces as I've gone through life and I'm sure I'll have to repair it more as I go.

What is beautiful to me is that when I look at my heart, I know I have been loved by many in this lifetime. Each piece is unique and special, just like me. If I hadn't been loved by the souls I have been loved by, my heart would look vastly different than it does now. And the thought of that makes me sad because I think my patchwork heart is beautiful. It is made of love. It has known heartache, loss, heartbreak, hardships, love, trust, happiness, joy, and has been loved in return.

So tell me...do you have a patchwork heart?