After reading my post about Stephenie Meyer's Twilight Series, Amy Sorensen and I exchanged several e-mails in which Amy shared that her dream right now is to do precisely what she's chosen to do: be a full-time mother. She shares her story below:
"You're leaving again Mom. You're never here," said my 11 year-old David, as I was walking out the door to the March of Dimes benefit that my friend Jane was emceeing. My hair was done, make-up on, clothing donned, but I asked anyway: "Do you want me to stay David?" "You won't Mom, so I won't ask." "Are you sure?" "Go mom." I got in the car, immediately called my husband who supplied characteristically good advice, "Trust your gut", I turned the car around. Walking in the door, changing into my pajamas, watching TV together, having David know that I'd put him first, and MY knowing that I'd put him first....Lovely Jane understood. Several weeks later, one of my mentors encouraged me to bring my children along as I 'dare to dream' and 'know my neighbor', or as my children call it 'dare to know your neighbor.' Because he gave me several pieces of advice, many of which I quite preferred, 'bring your children along', was noted, and forgotten. Until one of my girlfriends gave me the same advice.
It is time for another voice -- a lovely voice. Belle Liang (who I met through my friend Jane - how I love systergy!) is a professor at Boston College, and an expert on youth mentoring. Belle and her husband David, a pediatric physician, have for several years been involved in relief work, work that has shaped her "faith, vision and sense of purpose". In the below essay poem, Belle tells of her encounter with two Malawian newborns, one who dies, one who lives.
I almost missed this. Dana King is my co-blogger at Know Your Neighbor; we talk (virtually) virtually every day. She'd been toying with the idea of blogging for months; Dana has something to say AND she wants to find her voice. Having launched her blog in late August, Dana is now blogging several times a week, and I almost -- almost -- zoomed right past her accomplishment. Until I remembered my rock climbing experience: look up, and down, forward -- and back.