I often think about my memoir. I love memoirs, and I think that with some (major) writing classes and what not, I could write one. EVEN IF it's just a hand-made work of art that only my family and close friends read if maybe they have a spare weekend or so.
Anyway, I most often think about the chapter titles. I live by a lot of rules that, let's face it, my mother has set for me and I have continued with them because they are just plain right.
A few weeks ago, I tweeted, "I'm gonna have a chapter in my memoir called "2014, you little sh**" (and I actually used the stars, proud? #trashmouth) (maybe another chapter will be called "why do I always hashtag on paper?")
((( Now now, you had to know I inherited my dad's slightly trashy mouth, which HE inherited, by no fault of his own, from his cheeky Australian mother. My mom has it too, but I don't think hers was inherited, I think she might've learned it from her bad-A brothers. OK YOU GUYS THE ROBINSONS AREN'T COMPLETE WHITE TRASH! I'm getting so carried away and I'm digging myself a hole. ok. I'm done. whoooooooo deep breaths. )))
ONWARD. ya gotta admit, 2014 was kind of a little twit. When I say that, I don't mean that it was worthless. Nothing that God gives us is worthless. Even if the worth is hard to understand, there is worth and lessons and downright PURPOSE in everything.
Last December I wrote this blog post about 2013, cause 2013 was kind of an eye-opening year! I did a lot, I achieved a lot, yada-yada. but I bet Heavenly Father was up there smiling a warm smile with also a little concern/hope in it, all like, "you ain't seen nothin' yet", cause WHOOOOOSH THEN CAME THE CANCERS! and this year, this dooooozy of a year, I achieved things beyond my imagination. BEYOND IT. like, too infinity and beyond it.
I mean. seriously. CANCER. Cancer is kind of just a sad afterthought until it happens to someone close to you, or someone who is close to someone who is close to you. It's never at the forefront of your mind unless it violates any part of your life, someone like the person who raised you. - when that happens, so many thoughts start whirling around, and most of those thoughts are scary.
I'm going to now ask you to click on this link, skip to 1:38, and then come back here and keep reading.
Ok, do you have your background music? is it buffered? loaded? is Judy's voice singing calmly as you read my words?
this song has always brought me such.. contentment? peace? and it's two lines that do it;
Let your heart be light
We Robinsons are kind of just plain ol' borderline-inappropriate and light-hearted people. We went into this ordeal determined to have a sense of humor through it, and to never lose it. We had light-hearted times sneaking in on the bad ones, and that got us through. It really did. If I were to give advice to anyone about anything, about almost any hardship, I would urge them to keep their sense of humor through it all. because I'm positive dark times would have been darker without a little laugh every now and then.
Next year all our troubles will be out of sight
OK, as if this line didn't bring me to tears. we all have troubles, we all do. it might be cancer, or it might be boy/girl drama. but next year that won't be an issue. I know, a whole year? but I don't know. there's something about that line. it speaks loud and clear, that taking life a year at a time, when compared to the eternity, is a little bit easier. because this year is like a day in the long-run.
It was a learning experience, a testimony-builder, a patience-forcer, and a weight-loss trick ;)
It squeezed this family into one permanent group hug, and it made me look at pictures of my mom in a new light. It made me tear up at any woman I saw wearing a scarf on her head or a breast cancer awareness ribbon pin (I honestly resisted the urge to hug complete strangers on more than one occasion) because I felt a special sisterly bond with them!
There were deep dark and just plain hopeless moments, when the only thing I could do was drop to my knees and ask for peace. and good news--- He gave it. I learned what it feels like to completely hand it over to Heavenly Father and I learned just how awesome that feels. I learned to appreciate every word that comes out of my mom's mouth. I learned just how incredible that dad of mine is. I learned to cope with things on my own, and I learned to ask for help from others when I couldn't.
So, 2014, you were mostly just a big pill (HA get it?), but I learned from you. I grew up. You will be the year I refer to when giving advice to others about life and young-adulthood and family and friends and trials and cancer and comfort. I'll turn to you when I need a faith boost.
So yeah, I guess I forgive you, 2014.
Because I think I'll be able to use you for a lot of good down the road.
I sure hope so.