weakness

What If We Re-frame Weakness?

Re-framing Weakness

“Everyone sees what you appear to be, few experience what you really are.”

Niccolò Machiavelli

 

Weakness

a fine line in a marble statue

not deep enough to crack,

but penetrating enough to create a story…

weakness

or a vulnerability like a chink in a coat of armor

or strength of character

and trust in those who love you?

weakness fault line

Weakness

a fault line in the earth

reminding us of the fragility of our existence

and yet sturdy enough to walk on…

weakness snowflake

or indecision like a snowflake wafting in the air

or certainty that the world will continue

even when we falter?

weakness peach

Weakness

a soft spot in an overripe peach

reminding us to taste, quickly, before it’s too late

and savor the sticky nectar dribbling down our chin…

or imperfection like a mountain range

erupting from a tranquil valley full of crevices and pitfalls

or offering a majestic view from the top?

January prompt-a-day from write alm – today’s prompt is weakness|strength

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Jennifer Wolfe

Jennifer Wolfe, a writer-teacher-mom, is dedicated to finding the extraordinary in the ordinary moments of life by thinking deeply, loving fiercely, and teaching audaciously. Jennifer is a Google Certified Educator, Hyperdoc fanatic, and a voracious reader. Read her stories on her blog, mamawolfe, and grab free copies of her teaching and parenting resources.

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Interlude

clouds

“Mom!” “Mom!” “Mom!”

His voice, a touch louder than a whisper, demanded my attention despite my deep need for sleep. “Mom, look! Look what I can do!”

I pushed my book aside and rose to my elbows. My glasses were still perched on my nose. “Mom!”

His 5’10” lanky frame pirouetted on the red carpet in front of me. He’s so much larger than he used to be when every step he took was a ‘look at me’ step, a twirl on the trail to where he is now.

I rubbed my eyes. He twisted again and again and again, throwing his arms up above his head, pendulating. Ballet? I thought.

“Mom, are you watching? Look-what-I-can-do!” His words ran together in breathless excitement, his ungainly movements earnest in their effort.

“Is that a new skate move you’re practicing?” I finally stammered.

“No, Mom, look.” Again and again his plaid Detroit Tigers sleep pants spun as he raised and lowered his body on one leg. “I’m getting there. I’m balancing, Mom – can’t you see? I haven’t been able to do this since the accident!”

Quiet understanding flooded over me, as I watched him awkwardly rotate in front of the flickering television screen.

“How does it feel? Are you being careful? Does it hurt?” I cautiously replied. I noticed I was holding my breath as my book slipped from my grasp. It’s been five long months of holding my breath. An eternal interlude.

“Nah, I’m fine. I can feel it, but it feels good. It means I’m almost not broken anymore.

I smiled as he whirled away, almost close enough to hug.

 

This post was inspired by Writealm.com|interlude. #writealm

Jennifer Wolfe

Jennifer Wolfe, a writer-teacher-mom, is dedicated to finding the extraordinary in the ordinary moments of life by thinking deeply, loving fiercely, and teaching audaciously. Jennifer is a Google Certified Educator, Hyperdoc fanatic, and a voracious reader. Read her stories on her blog, mamawolfe, and grab free copies of her teaching and parenting resources.

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Pondering Independence Day

The 4th of July, for me, isn’t the kind of holiday I really look forward to. I live in a small town. We have the parades, the pancake breakasts, the picnics, the gathering-together-in-the-park kind of celebrations. We have the swimming pools, the BBQs, the kids riding decorated bikes through town.

It just doesn’t speak to my independent spirit.

squirrel solitude

I’m not a big crowd kind of person. I love the quiet, I love small gatherings, I love solitude. I love home.

I’m not anti-social, really. I like people; well, some people. I don’t like stepping over sweaty bodies laying all over the grass. I always got nervous when my kids were little and it got dark and I couldn’t see where they were. Now that they’re teens, I get nervous because they’re too big to cling to, and too old to stay by my side. Independence turned against me, I suppose.

We’ve celebrated Independence Day lots of different ways. Sometimes we’ve gone to the foothills to hang out with just one other family. We sat on their deck, the kids rode their horses and let off LOTS of fireworks. We’ve spent the 4th at the lake, riding bikes from home to Squaw Valley and back, then battling the crowds for blanket space and then sat in traffic after the last sparkler burned out. We’ve stayed at a bed and breakfast, just the two of us, and rode bikes around the Gold Country. One year , on a trip out of state, we danced around fireworks that seemed more like hand grenades being flung by passers-by. That didn’t speak to my spirit at all.

When I was little, the 4th often meant trips to my grandparent’s house in the Bay Area. Grandpa would have brought home ‘illegal’ fireworks from Chinatown, and the cousins would light up the long, covered porch with sparklers and those snake-like ones that left an enticing trail of ash as proof that we really lit it. Lighting anything was a true sign of independence.

This Independence Day morning, I ponder the day ahead. My girl is long gone, skiing for the summer on top of a glacier in Oregon. No picnics with her today – she’s enjoying her own independent spirit. My boy is planning teenage shenanigans and reliably unreliable for family time, but horribly independent. My husband is working; I guess it’s just me and my dog. Maybe I’ll take a walk and watch the parade from a distance.  I’m sure I could dig up a few glow sticks tonigh – no sparklers, though. Light a BBQ, sit under the trees on my patio, listening to the festivities going on down the block. Independent.

I think I’ll just listen to my own spirit, and ponder the real meaning of Independence Day.

 

Dear reader, how do you celebrate Independence Day? Do you listen to your own spirit, and do what you want to do?

This post was inspired by today’s prompt |ponder| from writealm.com.

 

Jennifer Wolfe

Jennifer Wolfe, a writer-teacher-mom, is dedicated to finding the extraordinary in the ordinary moments of life by thinking deeply, loving fiercely, and teaching audaciously. Jennifer is a Google Certified Educator, Hyperdoc fanatic, and a voracious reader. Read her stories on her blog, mamawolfe, and grab free copies of her teaching and parenting resources.

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What Is Prayer?

These months of spring and early summer shared their beauty and their pain, their hope for new beginnings and the sadness of lives ended-some with grace and dignity of a life well-lived, and some with the tragedy of a life not-yet-fully lived. For me, I find prayer in poetry, in words of writers who speak the words in my mind that cannot find their way to the page. Thank you, Mary Oliver, for your gifts so eloquently shared. Thank you for your prayer.
fields in Davis, CA
Who made the world?
Who made the swan, and the black bear?
Who made the grasshopper?
 
This grasshopper, I mean –
The one who has flung herself out of the grass,
The one who is eating sugar out of my hand,
Who is moving her jaws back and forth
Instead of up and down –
Who is gazing around with her
Enormous and complicated eyes.
 
Now she lifts her pale forearms
And thoroughly washes her face.
Now she snaps her wings open, and floats away.
 
I don’t know exactly what a prayer is.
I do know how to pay attention, how to fall down
Into the grass, how to kneel down in the grass,
How to be idle and blessed,
How to stroll through the fields,
Which is what I have been doing all day.
 
Tell me, what else should I have done?
Doesn’t everything die at last, and too soon?
Tell me, what is it you plan to do
With your one wild and precious life?
 
~ Mary Oliver
Poetry is prayer. With these words, I remember those who have moved on from this ‘wild and precious life’, saying a prayer for those they left behind. Dear reader, what is prayer to you? Where do you go to find comfort?
This post was inspired by writealm.com’s prompt-a-day for July.

Jennifer Wolfe

Jennifer Wolfe, a writer-teacher-mom, is dedicated to finding the extraordinary in the ordinary moments of life by thinking deeply, loving fiercely, and teaching audaciously. Jennifer is a Google Certified Educator, Hyperdoc fanatic, and a voracious reader. Read her stories on her blog, mamawolfe, and grab free copies of her teaching and parenting resources.

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Longing

Donner Lake morning

The moment was gone

that instant when I knew it would all change for the time being,

the moment when my insides shifted from content

to chaotic.

The anxiousness of separation

and the knowing that really,

everything was fine.

It’s instinctual, I tell myself.

That yearning to know what you’re doing

where you are

if you’re warm and safe and happy.

An instant of joy when you remember

and then

I wait, and wonder

Longing

 

January prompt-a-day from write alm – today’s prompt is longing

Jennifer Wolfe

Jennifer Wolfe, a writer-teacher-mom, is dedicated to finding the extraordinary in the ordinary moments of life by thinking deeply, loving fiercely, and teaching audaciously. Jennifer is a Google Certified Educator, Hyperdoc fanatic, and a voracious reader. Read her stories on her blog, mamawolfe, and grab free copies of her teaching and parenting resources.

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