Making it work

I named this blog Halu-Halo, which means "mix." It's a mix of my everyday, of what's inspired me, what's taught me, and what's humbled me. From mothering, to crafting, to writing, it encompasses an imperfect life filled with joy and laughter, lessons and dreams. Proudly imperfect, actually!

Because yes, sometimes, you have to make it work:

I took this picture about a week ago. At the time, I lamented the fact that I had two unusable can openers, but as I pried into the can like a surgeon, one of my sons walked in and we had a good laugh about it. The situation became part of our morning conversation, few these days as I get my teens off to school. I look at this picture now, and it brings a smile to my face.

***

This morning, when I passed this picture in my photo gallery, it was a reminder well placed by God. In a state of transition, the road is concealed by fog. Faith must be placed on every step, confidence must replace doubt, else you trip on your own feet. 

But I'm also reminded that I'm not a rookie to transition. None of us are. We are always in the state of transition, in some state of the unknown, but we learn to adapt. We come to expect. We become resilient. 

Struggle will always exist. And so, there will be reasons to put down the pen, to stash that dream away, to put aside what you think you can contribute to the world. The deployment down the road, the move this summer, the child preparing for college.  Two unusable can openers. All of these things can stop us in our tracks. It can tell us we don't have the time, that our work isn't important, that other priorities come first. And sure, that's true. Life isn't about balance more than it is about priorities. But you have your passion, your goal. You have that pair of scissors that you can (carefully!) carve that can open. You have your brain, and your will, and your fingers and your proverbial voice.

***

Sometimes, I feel like I'm prying a can open with scissors. I fight against it, I curse it. And I realize the less I push, the less I stab, the more I ease, cajole, and work the tool, it gives. The can snaps up, and I'm given exactly what I need at the moment. And then I look back just as I did with this picture, and I smile. Because the effort has been worth it. I have words on a page. I have memories I've made with new friends. I have the fruit I was craving.

I haven't wasted time or steps. And neither will you.