Third Time is My Charm

 After reading John 4, I came across a Baptist Pastor who talked of this same event. My tears fell as his conviction of Jesus penetrated my soul. His sermon and John 4 is about the woman at the well. That one woman. The one that had to have been completely dry inside, unlike the well she was fetching water from.  Jesus was weary. Tired. Exhausted. It was around noon when he sat at the well. The Samaritan woman arrived with her pale to draw up the water. After the Savior asked for water and while she was working through her shock of this Jew talking to her, a Samaritan "Jesus saith unto her, Go, call thy husband, and come hither."  It struck my heart to read "I have no husband." This woman had five past husbands and a current man in her life who she was not married to. Whew! I don't know the details of what happened there or how she managed to go through five husbands. This woman was thirsty. Perhaps, in my way of relating to her- absolutely exhausted. Tired. Alo

I love the practice of Buddhism. Their definition of attachment is "the inability to practice or embrace detachment, and is viewed as the main obstacle towards a serene and fulfilled life." Buddha said "The root of suffering is attachment." Ali ibn abi Talib, who was an Islamic leader said "Detachment is not that you should own nothing. But that nothing should own you."  I believe this is what many therapists relate to as the baggage of emotional garbage people are carrying around. We all carry these "attachments". Unless we have figured out how to get rid of them. What is the secret to getting rid of these attachments? I don't know. I'm asking you. That's why I'm here asking that question.  I do know that when I went back in my thoughts and memories as I'm venting on this blog that it was almost as if the feeling of those events reattached to me. I felt as if I was there again. I had to think about them. Read them. Cry over t

 I was going through some notes I have on my phone and thought I'd dump them here.  Holding the threads as I watch them shed. Words thrown at my face as I sit in disgrace. Flooded with confusion as it feels there's no diffusion The thumping of my elevated heart rate is calmed by the future I will create. Waterfall.  Some gush with full conversion. Others trickle with much hesitation Like individual snowflakes do we fall, But melt into a plan much greater than us all

After my divorce to the father of my children I started dating. It was so fun! I had a girl friend that had just gotten a divorce too and we would share all of our stories of the good, weird, fun, crazy, and whatever guys we would date. I dated someone new every night that I didn't have my kids. I had my eyes on one particular person, but he had a lot of shit going on. I must be attracted to drama because the moment I saw all of his shit, I jumped right into his sewer. Like, emerged myself in it. It then became my shit.  I remember when I was going to therapy with my first husband. It was a long and extensive program and I felt like every time we'd go, another story or painful thing would unfold. I felt like I was getting battered down with all of the secrets that were withheld from me in our marriage. What?! How could I have not seen all of this? Do I live in relationships with my eyes closed? The program that we were in had a women's group therapy while the men had their

 I am practicing the surrender of myself. Of my beliefs. Of my expectations. Of my control. I believe the best way to do that is to focus on what is in front of me. Right now.  I finished the book "The Power of Now". It was very insightful and a very simple concept. If you are in the now, there is peace. Things can be so wrong, but there is an inner peace that is a gift of living now. I haven't lived "now" for some time. I worry about what will happen in the future which increases my anxiety or I allow my past experiences to define what my current situation means. Situations are completely different every time. I am fresh to this concept and I've heard it before, but to believe it and live it is another thing. There is no better time to practice more intensely the definition of living now, than now. Duh! I am one that works best when I can relate situations to analogies and metaphors. I am not artistic, but my mind is. It likes to draw a picture of what situ

 I was married and living in the Brigham Apartments. My oldest son, Michael, was 2 years old and I was pregnant with Juliana. I woke up early that morning and started heating up the frying pan to cook bacon for my husband and Michael. My phone started ringing and it was my dad.  "Shantell?" The tone in his voice meant something. My first thought was "please don't tell me someone is dead."  "Shantell, there has been an accident and your brother is being rushed to the hospital." I don't handle bits of information so well. I need to know everything. Right now. "WHAT? Who? What brother? What happened? Is he going to live?" My dad loves reactions. It's gross and he plays on them. He likes to think that if he can make you cry or react that he won or something. I have always been quick to cry and I remember the most insane headaches when I knew my dad needed a reaction and I would fight my tears. "Don't cry. Don't cry. Don't

The Hana highway is in Maui, Hawaii, and has 620 curvy switchbacks and 59 bridges. I've never driven on it, but I've heard the term "The Road To Hana". I looked it up today to get an idea of what people mean when they use that term. Hawaii has a rich Japanese culture and they are the second largest ethnic group residing there. The Japanese translation of Hana is "flower blossom". This legendary road is 52 miles. From an article I found online:   " The road leads you through flourishing rainforests, flowing waterfalls, plunging pools and dramatic seascapes.  Please keep in mind that you’ll encounter challenging turns and narrow bridges along the way, so it’s important to exercise caution and take your time.  There  are plenty of opportunities to stop and enjoy the lovely views, so get an early start and take your time on your drive. While it’s all about the journey, once you reach the beautiful and quiet town of Hana, you’ll see why it’s worth the trip.&

 I've never been good at being alone. When I look back I don't think I was ever alone. I know the thought will cross many people's minds "but you're not alone. You have angels with you". I am really good at believing that for others. I am really good at the pep rally life. It feels strange to be on a journey of figuring out who I am after 36 years.  Life changes all of the time and so fast that I find myself panicking inside to just keep up with the pace of my ever-changing-everything! When I was a child, I identified myself through my Barbies. I had a Hurricane best friend through elementary school, Megan. We would play with barbies for hours. I'd name my Barbie a name that I always wanted or after someone that I wanted to be like. We would play hours on end in our imaginary state of wishing we were really this Barbie. Mine had it all... the big house, a good looking Ken, beautiful clothes, and a big attitude! I would dream of becoming this successful Bar

After work today I dug through old binders and folders looking for a letter that I know Aaron had written to me when I lived in Switzerland. I couldn't find it. This post was going to be titled "Identity Crisis", but I found a letter that my mom had written me, and funny enough, it is about Luke's birth. I should just take a picture of it but I'm typing it as to burn it into my mind. It's fun to get another perspective and what my mom said about it. I forgot about the hot cloths on her back just before she pushed Luke out. "My Dearest Daughter Shantell, ......     Many times I have wondered how I have been so lucky to have you. I remember you helped me when I was having Luke. When everyone else left, my little friend only 4 years old (mom's forget kids years. It's ok. I was actually 6.5). You stayed and put cloths on my back for 8 hours. Your tiny little hands rubbing my back. "Does that help mommy?" you would say. I was afraid you would

 I have a lot of memories flooding my mind as I take the time to go back and try to write it all out. My younger sister Charmaine, who was born 4 years after me, and the one that I was jealous of, is someone I will get to. My heart towards her is tender and my eyes turn into a gush of water as if a dam busted holding back all of the emotion I feel for her and the love that I have when I say her name. So until I can gain my composure, I will skip down to 1991. My mom was thrown out of her doctor's office when she fell pregnant again after being warned not to get pregnant. She had fought a cancerous tumor that had wrapped around her womb after my oldest brother, Marcus, was born in Northern Ireland. She then had an ectopic pregnancy between me and Charmaine. Her womanly parts were not equipped for making babies anymore, yet as I mentioned before, she is a Woman of God and she felt that it was the right thing to do. We were living in Las Vegas in 1991 and I was 6.5 years old when my b

My wedding day dancing with Aaron Closed casket viewing Speaking at his burial My dear mother speaking to her son Aaron with my oldest son, Michael Aaron with my oldest son, Michael Aaron with my oldest son, Michael Aaron with my oldest son, Michael Always hanging on his neck In the waiting room of the ICU where our younger brother, Spencer, as was fighting for his life Aaron next to our younger brother, Spencer Aaron with my oldest son, Michael Me and Aaron Always struggling to be the center of attention. Aaron would just give it to me. ha! Me and Aaron Me and Aaron being silly Aaron Me and Aaron when we lived in Las Vegas Me and Aaron Me sandwiched between my two older brothers, Marcus and Aaron Aaron with my sister Charmaine's oldest, Keira Aaron with my daughter, Juliana Aaron with my daughter, Juliana Aaron with my oldest son, Michael Me and Aaron when we lived in Las Vegas Me and Aaron Me still hanging on his neck. Clearly, he enjoyed it Me and Aaron sleeping as babies Me and

 You would have been 38 today. I remember when I had my 30th birthday. It was the hardest one. It was the first time that I would have lived longer than you on earth. You were only 29 when you passed away. This morning as I'm writing this, I feel numb. I don't really know how I feel or what to say. A lot has happened since you've been gone, but you may know that already. I'm grateful for my experiences. For they develop empathy and it's my hope that I have the opportunity to use my developed and developing empathy to help others. I found 2 letters that I had written you in your side table, next to your bed, when I was sitting in your bedroom on Sunday, June 10, 2010. 3 days after you passed away. I took them and have kept them in a small brown box. I took them out to read them again this morning. They must have meant something to you because you had moved  a couple of times and you still had them next to your bed.  The one I will share has the envelope that is addre

 He was a liar and a master deceiver, my dad. He could talk though. Most deceivers can. Just on a whim, he could create a story. My dad always had Big Red gum with him. That cinnamon flavored gum. I didn't know then, but now after having alcohol myself, I know that it was to cover up his smoking and whiskey breath. My dad loves whiskey and he drinks it everyday. I know this because he told me 2 months ago. Sometimes you become exactly what you don't want to become. That happened to me. I never wanted to be like my dad. Loved him dearly, but his demons were not ones that I wanted to be friends with. Whether I wanted to be friends with those demons or not, they sure wanted to be friends with me.  Come on in and have a seat, friends. I haven't seen you in years and thought you were hanging with my dad. How have you all been? Miserable? Oh, yes. They were miserable alright. I didn't kick my new friends out. In fact, the chaos that came with them felt familiar and where I fe

 I did love the LDS temple. It had more meaning to me than the work that I performed there. That could be a wrong statement. Perhaps, it was the work I put in there that solidified my peace and reiterated what my mom had been showing me all of those Saturdays. It had a connection to the love I had for my mom and the hope for an eternal family. This blog is for me to place my anger where it belongs. Recent events have jolted me to take a hard look at my life and identify where my pain needs to rest and where my anger needs to go. I don't know how to do that. As I was laying in my king size bed last night by myself I remembered the feeling I had after my brother Aaron passed away. I couldn't take a deep breath for some time after he died. I believe that was the first time I felt pure anger. Desertion. In my past opinion, failure. You failed Aaron. You gave up. How could you?  After he passed away I would have this dream of myself falling into a huge white duvet. I was never falli

 I love the smell of bleach. They say that people will forget what you say, but they won't forget how you made them feel. To me the smell of bleach is connected to a feeling of cleanliness, fresh, and a new beginning. Just like every Saturday. A try again. Maybe this time will be better. It didn't matter how many times Sunday's events happened, Saturday always came. If we helped our mom with chores on Saturday we would get to go grocery shopping with her in St. George. I don't know if that was a reward, but it sure felt like one. Carl's Jr. used to sell this long steak sandwich with onion rings inside it. Oh my gosh!! It was so good. I knew if I went grocery shopping that I would get that too. I didn't know that it was a stretch for my mom to get that steak sandwich with a side of fried zucchini (extra ranch) for me and her, but now looking back I remember her cutting the sandwich in half to share and always giving me the bigger half. You see- moms do that. They

 Today is quiet. The stillness echoing through this ole house. The memories singing from the walls that have been painted by me more times than I care to count. They are white now. A clean slate. A new beginning. A fresh view. These walls have seen my children grow. My oldest was 3 when I began my family journey in this ole house. I moved into this home on November 1, 2008- my 24th birthday. My daughter was born 2 days later on November 3. No birthday present can come close to having her. I don't particularly care for gifts anyway. I care for connection. People. Which makes sense why nothing could ever be gifted on my birthday greater than my beautiful daughter. Let me rewind to when I was younger and where I feel like I should begin.  My first memories go back to Las Vegas. My parents immigrated here from Great Britain. My mom is from Northern Ireland and is the most beautiful, tenderhearted, God devoted woman that I know. My dad is from England and is the dreamer. The most courag