If a tree is recognized by its fruit (Matthew 12:33), what happens if you are a tree that produces nuts?

 Forgive my whining as I am acutely aware that I am abundantly blessed...I communicate with my daughters via text, phone, and/or Facetime practically EVERY day. Sydney and I exchange Instagram reels with the speed and on-theme accuracy of dueling Western outlaws. But not being physically with them for long periods of time can feel emotionally crippling. I haven't been with my girls since the summer. I know. I can hear my military moms out there laughing hysterically. But how do I confess, when each day was packed with meaningful, memorable activities, that my very favorite moment of this past visit was when, one by one, each girl slid into my quiet bedroom as I took a quick break to rest...snuggling in on both sides of me...succumbing to sleep as I lay there...enraptured by their synchronized breaths...transported back in time by the ancient drumbeats of their hearts? These two incredible women...independent, resourceful, strong, kind...once harbored within me. Each exit, I reflected, as I refrained from movement so as not to wake them, was painful but necessary for growth. My daughters...shield and shelter...reside permanently in my mind, my memory, my heart, and my soul.

Being a mom is a huge part of my identity.

I am the daughter of the King. I am Brad Mosiman's wife. I am Savannah and Sydney's mother. I am my mother's daughter and advocate. I am a teacher. A writer.

Cities, I have discovered, have identities as well. New York's skyline, sadly notable for its missing Twin Towers, is renowned for the Empire State Building. Chicago has the Sear's Tower. Boston boasts the John Hancock Tower, and, of course, Fenway Park's famed Citgo sign. Your eyes cannot help but scan a city's skyscape...seeking the familiar...the comforting...a beacon...a grounding force.

Austin has the Owl.

The Frost Bank Tower sits comfortably upon its perch, nestled within the city of Austin. More wry than wise, the story surrounding this structure pleases me as one of sardonic comeuppance. Architectual audacity. Its designer simply not giving a hoot...swooping in silently to stamp its unblinking identity over Austin. 

My family surprised me with an afternoon and evening of unrestricted "bird"-watching as we enjoyed warm beverages and holiday cocktails while roasting s'mores on a decorated rooftop neighboring the Owl. The rented cabana provided privacy and invited us to linger comfortably as I watched, entranced, as the sky became the constantly-changing painted backdrop for this architectual piece of art...manipulating the mood by curtaining with clouds and leveraging the light. What a range of feelings...foreboding, suspicious, mysterious, anticipatory, watchful, protective, predatory...all at a safe distance, surrounded by my family...my beacons...my grounding force. 

Identity is an interesting term. A fly-over definition speaks more of the individual:  behavior, personality, character traits. But a deep-dive may reveal more: What draws others to you? What are the features on your cityscape that invites (or repels) attention? What parts of your personality act as a lightning rod or a guiding lighthouse? Are you a cozy bungalow? A dilapidated duplex? A haunted house? A split-level or skid row? What message is printed on your "Welcome" mat? When someone knocks...do you remain silent or do you call out, "Who's there?"

Louis Sullivan was an American architect and pioneer of city skyscrapers. One of his collaborative works, the Prudential Building, remains a jewel in the crown of the Buffalo skyline. He is quoted as saying that a "building's identity resided in the ornament." I know that he probably meant windows and such...oh my goodness! Gargoyles! But, as it's the holiday season, I immediately related the quote to a Christmas tree. The tree, alone, does not identify as a Christmas tree. It is when the shiny bulbs, the twinkling lights, and the star rests upon lofty boughs and nestle into branches that the tree transforms..."becomes." The ornaments of a structure are the residents whose lives and stories then reside within the stories of the structure. My ornaments:  Brad Mosiman, Savannah, Sydney, Lisa, Douglas, my mom, my dear friends, my students, people kind enough to read my words, and my Star and Savior, guiding it all...transforming me into the kind of tree I was meant to be.

Just a reminder, to me, to begin this new year by not asking "Who am I?" but "Whose am I?"

Thank you, God for decorating my life with the most spectacular ornaments imaginable. 

Learning to lighten up when I travel

How I envy the fluent flyers...those who are able to effortlessly navigate airport terminals without flinching in fear; or, like me, attempting, desperately, not to engage their flight or fight response.  

That I am separated from my daughters by time and distance is bad enough...but that my most efficient means of reaching them is to dart, from crowded gate to gate, like a frightened rabbit racing across a war-torn no-man's-land, is embarrassing. I feel weak...vulnerable...and exposed. 

But, as an odd sort of comfort, these feelings are similar to seasickness.

Poseidon and I do not play. Over the years, I have thrown everything I have at him...from Saltine crackers to ginger to bracelets. My eye is on the horizon but my stomach  is in hell. And, in a last ditch effort, as I lay in the fetal position in the bow of the boat, an empty vessel that has purged my very soul to the sea, my only thought is that, as unbelievable as it seems in the moment, as soon as my feet hit land, I will immediately feel better.

As soon as I exit that airport...I will immediately feel better.

Having wrestled my two bulging suitcases, laden with horseradish, Poly-O string cheese, venison and Christmas presents, from baggage claim, I wrangled my way out to a mild Texas evening. 

Finally. I inhaled deeply, appreciating the luxury.

I called Savannah, who was surprised that I was alone. "Sydney, Doug, and Lisa went in to help you," she said as she drove the obligatory laps around the airport. Lisa found me first...I abandoned my luggage and raced fearlessly down the sidewalk to her and then...Sydney. My heart and arms were full. Only Douglas had the good sense to retrieve the bags.

It had been a long day but SO WORTH IT!

"I know you're tired," Savannah said as we all stuffed ourselves into Lisa's car. I was handed a water and a fistful of chocolate, "but do you think you're up for a little adventure before going home?" 

Let's just say that I am now completely spoiled when it comes to being picked up from the airport as we drove through the Peppermint Parkway. 

What a day! First I had to pass through the seven levels of hell that is airport travel:  Rudeness. Impatience. Bad manners. Narcissism. Poor customer service. Aggressiveness. Marginalization. Then I searched through a sea of kiosks and stores for a head-ache remedy sold by an actual human being before finally walking out the doors of the Austin International Airport. 

Safe in our little car, I had a front row seat to a spectacular holiday light show. Festive music, dazzling lights, and animated characters filled our slow, mile-long drive of delight as I peeked out the moon roof, doing a reverse-Santa maneuver. We sang. We wassailed. We waved to the Grinch and a roller skating snowflake. It was magical.

It was like I had stepped off a battered ship after a storm. The events of my long day blurred...becoming more tale than trauma. The waves gentled...the sea had calmed. The churning was over. 

As we left the Peppermint Parkway, I reflected that, like the lights, our moments and memories are strung together in a similar fashion. Occasionally, there are moments of darkness. There are also flashes of intermittent brilliance. But mostly there is a long, steady illumination...dependable and comforting. And, if sometimes you lose your way...it will help guide you home.