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Growing up I knew I had some quarks: numbers I liked, on my alarm clock, and stereo volume; chewing two items of the same snack food at a time so they would not be lonely in my stomach; compulsive truth telling so I would not go to Hell, and other religious rituals to protect me from dying in my sleep, and my family from harm; rituals before karate tournaments, which include a hearty breakfast of Coca-Cola, and beef jerky, wearing of thong underwear, because it was going up my butt anyway when I kicked you in the head; packing for every weather event, even though I lived in California; lifting my feet over railroad tracks, even though it almost cost me my driving test; exposure to making and receiving dreaded phone calls at jobs in my teen years and beyond; drawing hand patterns on each of my fingers and palm to be congruent, continuously throughout the day. Those are a few I remember well.  Then came, and with the addition of my attempts at exposure: just right, hand washing, had to be done over if I had looked at a dirty thing in the bathroom; more symmetry with my hands, which now I recall as a child I was afraid they would get bored; watching my children walk through the front gate of the school before driving away to ensure their safety (what I wanted to type was- ('So they would not die' but that feels like I am doing an exposure right now, just typing this)- I hate that I typed this and want to undo it, but it would undermine where I am today; to this day, saying to my husband ‘drive safe’ before he leaves for work; we do this still without thinking, a compulsion I created- saying ‘I love you’ after leaving a room; checking that I locked the door, making a special memory each day of locking the door; attempting to undo intrusive thoughts of disaster or death with shrugs; touching the blade of a knife to ensure I was not going to chop off my own fingers; touching my forehead to corners of cabinets to ensure I was not going to bash my head on them; writing, reading, rereading, and rereading, and rereading emails and texts, for 40 minutes plus to make sure all words were exact and accurately expressed; intrusive disaster thoughts, which make every outing one in which I plan my exits; unable to drive over bridges was my last straw. In 2018, I could not longer drive over bridges.  I had always hated them but could drive over bridges even in my rigid steering wheel hold.  My grandmother could not drive on highways.  My grandmother could barely be a passenger in a car.  I recall one moment when I was about 8 years old, my younger sister was 6.  We were in the back seat and my grandfather was driving us up a mountain highway to visit his sisters for the week.  My grandmother in the passenger seat, wailing, crying, yelling and pulling at his shirt, I suppose preparing us or pleading for us to not fall to our sudden death off the mountain road.  I remember sheer terror at the possibility that we were going over the edge- but my little sister was sitting beside me, looking at me.  I never asked her what she thought or remembered about this, but I recall calm coming over me, and reassuring her that we were fine, providing space for her to bury her head in my side.  In that moment, she was all that mattered, my focal point.  I love my grandmother, she was a very important figure in my life.  She taught me to write by creating dotted letters that I would trace.  The first word I learned, before my own name, was poop.  P-O-O-P.  And I wrote is EVERYWHERE.  P-O-O-P. P-O-O-P.  Everywhere.  I followed her to the bathroom just so I could write.  She would listen to me speak for hours.  I do not know what I would talk to her about, but she would listen and respond like I was the most important person in the room.  We traveled to Sweden when I was 8 years old, and she spoiled me rotten, always listening to everything that crossed my mind.  She championed me, empowered me, allowed me to be assertive and vocal, allowed me to ask questions, encouraged me to be my best self.  I love her with my whole heart and soul.  I learned to say “Mormor bajs gås”- which translates to Grandmother Poop (Shit) Goose.  This was hilarious, and made great sense to me. Sadly, my grandmother’s last years were spent in her room.  I was married in June 2006, and this was the last event she attended other than Christmas that year with my encouragement.  My grandmother suffered from undiagnosed PTSD, Agoraphobia, and likely OCD.  I recall early on her world being small as she mostly stayed in her kitchen in my childhood and adolescence, and then her world shrank more, to her upstairs, and then shrank more only to her bedroom.  She died in September 2008, her last words to me were through instant message- I sent her my sonogram of my daughter, and she said, “That’s our girl.”  I was diagnosed with OCD in 2018.  I have fear in my mind daily; I have some compulsions that I can live with, and honestly, I am fortunate to say,  many of my obsessive thoughts and behaviors have served me well, possibly because I constantly did my own exposures.   And thinking back to her, the love I have for her, and the hope I had that she would come out of that room-  I know that I cannot ever stay in the room.  I live every day of my life with the intention of being able to leave ‘the room.’  If I am afraid of it, then that is the thing I will be doing.  At the end of my life I hope I can look back and see a life well lived, not because I was fearless, but that I lived a life without regret, courageously.  Bravery is not the absence of fear, it is the presence of fear and the perseverance to do it anyway.  Sometimes that means waking up in the morning, and facing the day- to that I say, “It’s enough.”  And Mormor bajs gås, I love you and miss you every day.  Thank you for loving and believing in me.

The Beatles said, “Love is All You Need.”  I have fought this for a long time, I think because I have understood the concept of love poorly, because the feeling of love, the desire felt when we are in ‘love’ can be easy, and fleeting, but is not always sustained as easily.  The misconception is not that love is all you need, it is, but that love takes a lot of work.  Not because it is hard to love people and things for a time, but because it is hard to live a life daily based upon the concept of love, acting with love, giving grace, having gratitude, and sometimes making hard but good decisions, like advocating for what is right but unpopular, honoring a commitment that is good but not fun, and setting boundaries with loved ones for their betterment, or your own.  Love, most often is associated with two major relationships- romantic (partners) or parent to child (unconditional love)- if you are so lucky.  Romantic love- Passion, desire, longing- these are parts of it.  They are good parts, but not the best or only parts.  Parent to child, is love unconditional at its best, but when people are broken their capacity for love does not always fill the well of love their child may have capacity for.  Love is more than these relationships- love is all the respect and kindness that you behave with in the world.  I hold the door for a stranger- an act of kindness from love.  They do not thank you- unrequited love- their loss.  But why hold it against them?  Perhaps their capacity is small, and perhaps your gesture fills or expands their capacity.  If we forever extend our love and kindness to others, how can we live with regret?  Truth to the genuine self is acting in a state of love for others, of course in hopes that there will be return, but even upon no return, do you have regret?  Regret is a deep state of emotional debt. Emotional debt translates to ‘things left unsaid or undone.’  Genuine and assertive communication of your thoughts and feelings, the things we wish we would have done but did not, decreases and sometimes cancels emotional debt.  That is not to say that the collector of this expression or deed is capable, or receptive to receiving it.  Emotions, thoughts, feelings and love are ours to give, the giving is all we control.  Regret becomes resentment either to others or to self.  Live each day with love and kindness to self and others, and you will have peace. Did I do all I could do for them?  Did I do all I could, in my capacity today?  If you can say yes, I did that with love and kindness, then you can be at peace. And sometimes our capacities might be small, needing, or empty, and so we can be grateful to others who give to us. Love is an action word. Love can be so simple, small acts of kindness that create a ripple effect. Smile at people, look them in the eye, greet them.  The flutter of that moment might be the catalyst for their life. That moment of interruption from their spiraling thoughts may ground them in the love and light that goodness imparts.  A person can walk into a room and feel tension, anger, sadness and sorrow.  The reverse is also true, gratitude, joy, and compassion can also be felt.  The positive emotions seem to need to try a lot harder to make their presence felt, possibly because these emotions are harder to achieve and harder to sustain, and just the same they can be passed on and along to an open receiver.  Hate is easy to choose: because it is anchored in so many other underlying negative emotions- fear, sadness, guilt, shame. Like love, hate is also an action word. Too often, when we are afraid, when we are sad, when we feel we have wronged, or have hatred for ourselves, we turn it outward. Self-compassion is a practice I often find people struggle with the most, particularly if it is difficult to live our values, to embrace our imperfections, and to strive upward. We can usually extend compassion to others- until we feel our unstable sense of self challenged. Then, in the face of adversity, that same sense of self that we show little compassion for becomes a soldier for self-validation, a tool of hate, rather than a mechanism for change, understanding, acceptance and love; as outward discontent has now manifested into a defense from looking inward. God is love.  Perhaps that is why it is harder to achieve, because this is a far more complex emotion, one of divinity, as it is the one emotion that all people recognize that does not serve itself.  Perhaps the best way to characterize love in daily life is self-lessness.  Love is a never ending loop- the more love you give, the more love you receive; and that may be because the more you give selfless love the more you can find love for yourself.

Some years in and two kids later, around 2012, our marriage was at best neutral.  I am grateful to have had the opportunity to stay home with our children, despite this not really being financially feasible. I was exhausted at the end of each day- waking with them, entertaining them, feeding them, exercising them, more feeding, wrestling with the possibility of a nap, all the peeing and pooping, more feeding, more entertainment.**  I knew all the while, I am doing the most crucial job a mother can do- developing their minds, with art, reading, writing, humor, creativity, music, song, dance, sports- modeling honor and compassion, even when I want to scream and tear my hair out, demonstrating at every moment through a calm face, even a smile and ere of confidence- safety, responsibility, and sacrifice.  Never wanting them to know the difficulty, the emotional toll, the fear, the pain, the loneliness that life may bring.   And so was he, exhausted, with the work, the prospect of providing for us, and particularly for the commute he made, which he reminded me of constantly.  I could not be a part of his day, as he could not be a part of mine.  How I wish there were times when we could change places, and yet, I would not trade my experience raising our children for anything.  Like most, we experienced that make or break moment- who does what and who does more.  He spent long hours at work, and I hoped for him to spend time with the kids at bathtime- both a chore and an opportunity for connection.  I felt over the years that his time at work seem to extend.  He would leave earlier, and come home later.  One evening, through gritted teeth, I made the choice to ask him “Can I get you anything?”  I committed myself to do this many nights in a row.  In two weeks time, his underwear were still on the floor next to the laundry basket, and he still did not really want to bathe the kids, but he started to say to me when he came home- “Can I get you anything?”  And, truly, I could not really ask for anything; I had just wanted him to ask.  The most loving gesture I wanted, needed only to be modeled, and perhaps asked for.  As, I regularly will now say, “I want attention,” if I want it, and of course remain in service to what is most highest, love, and ask him "Can I get you anything?" I chose a good man, a difficult man, but a good man.  For myself, I have chosen to do what is good, and for him I have chosen to be in service, through love, loyalty, compassion, grace.  “Can I get you anything?”  I suppose the only thing better would be if I asked, and he answered, “As you wish.”  **I know my experience of motherhood, as characterized above, is not particularly loving, nurturing, or grateful for what it means to have been their mother, but many things can be true at once, and in relation to my marriage and what it meant for me to not to be employed after college, that description is entirely accurate. I feel this is a complex area of my life, and thus will discuss motherhood at another time.

I married young.  I wanted to say “That story is for a different time,” but that time is now.  When people have asked me about the secret to being married so long, now 19 years, I always hesitate, but the truth is I renewed, repaired, saved my relationship more than once, but my saving grace has always been to be of service- with one phrase- “Can I get you anything?” The marriage story- I was 21 years old, as was my soon to be husband.  I had a positive pregnancy test, and confirmed it with the doctors office.  I told him.  We were scared.  We told my mother.  And his mother.  I was so terrified to tell my father.  Prior to this we, or I, toiled and turned about how I would finish college, how we could financially support the baby, if I should get an abortion.  I remember hoping that someone else would make the choice for me.  Do you want this?  Should I do this?  At the end of it all, I could not abort my baby.  I think I knew that from the beginning, but had hoped that I was not creating ruin.  Looking back, I was just looking for reassurance that I could have this baby, that was entirely unplanned, but that the people in my life would not condemn me for choosing to keep the baby.  My soon to be husband reassured me that whatever I chose he was fine with.  My mother disclosed her own abortion.  This is the loneliest and best decision I have made.   When all the telling was said and done, I recall a day that I was with my father in his truck, we were going to Turner’s Outdoorsman, in Riverside, CA.  Dad asked me, ‘will he be a good father?’  And I said, “Yes, I think he will.”  I knew that my not yet husband loved me with all his heart and soul, and although he did not have a fortunate or loving upbringing that he would love me and our children unconditionally.  My now husband, applied for a job at the police department he was working for at his university, and became a parking officer- which would later lead him to other leadership roles within the department.  We went to Old Navy and opened a credit card to buy maternity clothes- the credit card was later used fraudulently by someone across the country. My parents were adamant that we should marry.  I recall sometime earlier in the year saying, ‘I don’t know if I ever want to get married,’ and ‘If I was going to have a kid that doesn’t mean I have to get married.’  Yet, when my father was informed about the pregnancy, his first concern was when we would get married, and I could not abide condemning disappointment from him.  Some day in May that year, a week or two later, I started spotting.  I went to the ER to see what was wrong, and they could but would not tell me anything.  I was there all night and dropped the class that I had a midterm scheduled for the next day.  Went in two days later to my regular appointment.  All I really remember was the nurse saying “It’s not viable.”  There was no detected heartbeat.  My baby, 9 weeks, the size of a grape, the one that I could not deny, was dead inside my body.  The next thing I remember was a very cold moment where I decided I needed to ‘get it out.’  I felt that I had killed him with my uncertainty, my fear and shame.  Within the next few days a DNC was scheduled, to evacuate my unliving fetus.  There had already been plans in place to go wedding dress shopping.  After the DNC, I woke and went to my parents home 2 hours away.  When I arrived my sisters were sitting around the family dinner table, and I went on the computer.  They had not been told about the pregnancy but apparently suspected, with great excitement about being aunties.  I could not look at them.  I went on the computer and said, ‘there was a baby.  It was not viable.’  I only remember their non-response, which appeared to be sadness. There were no other words said. The next day, I got up to wedding dress shopping, as planned.  Days before, when I knew the pregnancy was nonviable, my parents had said ‘well you don’t have to get married.’  And after making the loneliest decision of my life, I decided to honor my commitments, to the man who was willing to devote his life to me.  This man was in love with me, threw away the last years of his college education, devoted his life to me, and applied for a fulltime job without hesitation, to be a husband, father, protector, and provider.  The hospital had given me some kind of pain medication.  When I went shopping the next day, I remember taking the pain medication on schedule, not because I physically hurt, but because I was in such despair.  I was high picking my wedding dress.  Just the same, it was a good dress.  We were married at a chapel in Mandalay Bay in Las Vegas on June 16, 2006.   It was not a ‘Vegas Wedding’ with Elvis’s; however, I look very good in Elvis wear and would have been happy to have an Elvis wedding, my husband, not so much.  Not a huge Elvis fan.  We have, now, two teenage children, 5 dogs, and some number of chickens and duck.  We are forever growing and changing together.  We have been through our share of despair, but have come through. If there was ever a better ‘arranged marriage’ I am not sure, this one was made by God.  He knew my heart and my husband’s heart, He knew our lives, love, and passions, our future struggles, our happiest moments of bringing two children into this world, and the mental, emotional and spiritual challenge that we bring to each other to grow together.  And, I guess for next time, the way I saved this union after coming to points of no return, was to ask “Can I get you anything?”

I learned from you to be in the service of others, particularly family.  I learned from you to serve what you value most high, without complaint, without rest, without hesitation, and fully- this is how you served my mother, your truest love.  You faithfully served us girls as well, without complaint, without rest or hesitation.  I have so many memories with you that have shaped the way I live my life, but what I want to express most is that I am grateful, and that I did  see your sacrifices.  I did see when you were sad, frustrated, overwhelmed, overworked, underappreciated, searching, and that you still put on the face of confidence and maintained joy.  I could not know how to help you in those moments because you made them yours to bear.  The closest I could come to supporting you in your pain was with your angry cleaning- you just join in without asking, as this is true love, to in-turn be in the service of another.     Thank you for being my Batman, thank you for being my safe place, thank you for being my Dad, protecting me from the ugliness and dangers of the world for as long as you could, and when you could not, supporting me and empowering me to be more resilient.  I love you.

A Good Shunning My family has naturally, practically, and stubbornly practiced the art of shunning.  In a cultural diversity class, I explored my own Scandanavian culture, and likely this is where shunning started, with my ancestors. I read that because winters are long and dark, when in conflict with another member of your household, it was likely more beneficial to resolve arguments passively, or practice silence. I was really good at shunning, until I revealed the art of shunning verbally to my children.  My grandmother did not speak to her mother over a year, and upon the death of my Granny, my Grandmother asked why she was not told, although she was, but could not, unfortunately, overcome the shunning. As a child, of about 10 years old, I recall the shunning that took place between my mother and my grandmother.  It lasted a little over a year.  As I recall-  my grandfather was sick, elderly, in and out of the hospital.  My grandmother, felt that her children were not caring for him, this particularly did not apply to my mother, who had cared for him and given greatly, but my mother was nonetheless, almost spanked out the door at the family meeting. At this family meeting I was also shamed, for having my grandfather help me on a school project.  I did not know that my grandfather’s help for my project, meant my mother would owe, and for that I am sorry. My mother and I were superb at shunning, as she has learned from her mother, and her mother before her.  I think, I might be just as good, if not better than my mother, when it comes to shunning.  We may never really know, because my father would not allow the in-home shunning to go on longer than about a week.  He would call us together, when he could take the shunning no longer, and make me apologize, this would bring peace back to the home. I have practiced the art of shunning on my husband, and it is quite effective, but in a healthy way, it seems that we are ‘taking space.’  Shunning has been mildly effective on my daughter, who does not respond to most consequences, however, it serves to cue her that I am incredibly upset, she either reflects or enters into her own version of shunning. I have shunned my son, who is also a master shunner; because to master a good shunning is to use it rarely, which we both understand.  We cannot shun each other, it is too painful.  I have done the thing that makes the shunning most ineffective- I have verbalized that shunning is a skill I possess and use when necessary.  My children now know about a ‘good shun’ and now it does not last long.  Maybe a day….  If I was not a super fan of good and assertive communication, I guess I would be more upset. Apologies to the proper practice of shunning in my family lineage- you served a purpose, I am sure, for many years.  Now, I choose the opportunity for dialogue, humility, responsibility, and forgiveness.  It has thus far served me well.

The wedding formalities were never for me. I did not even pick the bridesmaids dresses or color of my wedding, and as I have said, I would have been very happy with the Elvis situation.  We renewed our vows at 15 years, after I decided to orchestrate a surprise backyard wedding, with all the romance that he deserves- he is the romantic, not me, but I am fantastic at the gesture.  Shit.- I might be the romantic. I invited our family over for a surprise backyard wedding potluck, via text message, same mode of wedding invitation as before- since I am sentimental. Everyone who was invited knew about the backyard wedding, but my husband was totally surprised, even after I planted trees in the corner of the yard in the shape of an alter. Family all arrived, and said nothing about it, through delicious food, drinks, they did very well to keep this secret. After corralling everyone to the backyard, I stood upon our firepit thanked them for coming and proposed to my husband, letting him know if he wanted to accept my proposal he had about 15 minutes to put on his kilt, grab the poem I asked him to write for our anniversary, and remarry me. He said yes. My renewed vows to him are as follows:  Point 1- We need to get the logistics out of the way first.  When we got married the first time, I was anti-cold medicine, that has changed, I promise to give you cold medicine if you ask.  Further, I promise to care for you when you are sick, including throwing up, even though you whine and moan, and it makes me a little sick too, I promise to do my very best to nurture and care for your aches and pains.  I also promise to try not to laugh at your minor injuries, at least in front of you. And I can’t promise this for the kids. Point 2- when we first got married there was an agreement that you do trash and car stuff and I do laundry.  I have taken out enough trash, and gave birth to your two most beautiful children, who quadruple the trash and laundry, so I propose, you do laundry too.  We do it together for the rest of ever.  If you accept this proposal, say I do, and we will proceed. Now that logistics are out of the way, I have chosen to expose my vulnerability and verbalize the mooshy gooshy stuff in front of you good people.  I love you for your humor, for your resiliency, loyalty, and your strength.  You overcome any obstacle, and grow from our shared  experience.  I love you for your directness, your endless love, and your open mindedness.  That we can speak openly together whether we like it or not and collaborate on outcome.   I love you for loving and nurturing our children, hard work to provide, and grilling (cheeseburgers in particular).  They love you, and we make a great team,  I love when  I get to be the good cop, thank you.  I also love being the bad cop, so also thank you, it’s fun to change it up.  I love you for your understanding and accepting the parts of me that are only better known to myself.  I love when we still make out like we did in Hillcrest. Tawny didn’t want me to say that, apparently it traumatized her, high five?    I love your intelligence.  I love arguing with you.  I love the challenge, never boring.   I love our love of literature, symbolism, and John Steinbeck. I love agreeing with you and talking a mess on others.  I love sleeping in the car when you drive, unless there is traffic, too jerky.  I love going out to eat and we hold hands across the table and look into each others eyes because the kids are not there.  I love it even more when the kids are there because they think it’s gross, super funny.  I love sitting in silence with you,  because I actually can read your mind, and mostly I agree.   You are the love of my life, you ground me and give me strength.  I told you once I could live without you, and that’s true, but I don’t want to.  I want to sleep beside you while you snore like a bear, and fart like one,  keeping me super warm in the winter.  You are the Dustin Brown, Kopitar and Doughty on my LA Kings. I am the Laura to your Petrarch, and you are the Patrick to my David.   You are the Godzilla to my Mothra. You are the secret ingredient in my spicy ketchup.  I want to kiss your face, even when there is food in your beard.  I want to be your heart and your home.  I want to support any and all of your hopes and dreams…. it would be my pleasure to join you on any adventure.  And everyday with you is a new adventure.   I give you this pinky ring, because you can live without a pinky but should never want to.  The pinky helps you to hold on, I hold onto you. You are my grip on this world. It is a skull because, you know why- but… our love is everlasting, we have lived here before and will again.  Death does not do us apart, I will always find you.   I promise to continue to  love, care for you, on the best day, worst day and every day in between.  I promise to always call you out  on your shit, and hold you accountable.  I promise to have humility, if I am wrong, I will stand on a chair and announce it, and will apologize.  You should clap to positively reinforce it.  I promise to continue to find the joy in all the little things, as we do now.  I promise I will still do most of the laundry.  I promise to you in this life and the next, I will see you, and celebrate all that you are.  I promise to you my plan is that we get old together, enjoying the family around us now and the family yet to come.  You are my best good friend. Namaste.

April 30 th  2024 I was baptized by my father, a true believer.  Many things I like to choose and control, but I find what is out of my control becomes the most interesting parts of my existence.  The date that my parents were to visit, was of convenience, and the day that worked best for my baptism, also of convenience, happened to be between Good Friday and Easter Sunday.  As a true fan of symbolism, I could not have chosen it better. My Testimony was as follows: I have watched many be baptized, atop the pulpit in the church.  I did not understand this relationship that these people had with God.  I did not feel His touch or love that they spoke of.  As an adolescent, my father asked me at dinner one night if I wanted to be baptized, and to his disappointment, I plainly told him no.  Despite the possible pain this caused him, I am glad that this was my position.  I was not ready to receive salvation.  I needed to experience the world; to know it’s good and evil; question teachings of science, philosophy, psychology and theology; experience internal loneliness, loss and personal suffering.  I needed to struggle with unanswered prayers, and to realize that these prayers were not unanswered. These prayers were not granted because I was not praying for the right things, but to avoid the suffering that would allow me to grow.  I needed to know that I was a person worthy of salvation, not because my Father graciously deemed it so, but because I deemed it so to be worthy of Him.    I now believe, The Spirit of God is what manifests within me, as opposition to tyranny, evil, injustice and cruelty.   This Spirit has always lived in me, even when I fought against Its existence.  This Spirit has always empowered me to speak up for the little guy, to speak and seek the truth, and attempt to heal and guide the lives of others.  I am not sure if I chose the Snake River, or if it chose me.  This has been a recent realization in the pattern of choice that I am contending with. Anyway, I hope to cleanse the snakes within me or come to understand them so they may be redeemed.  I am brave enough to know more, feel Your compassion, acceptance and love.  I am humble enough to admit my inadequacies and embrace my quirky imperfections because I know these attributes serve Us, and touch others who are in great need.  Facing fear does not mean being less afraid, it means developing more courage, more faith, and with that I thank You for making me strong, brave, trusting and honest.  I wanted to be baptized in cold water.  I need to feel physical suffering, at a fraction of what Your Son, Lord, has suffered.  This is how I can know Him better. I accept the suffering and love that You may place upon me.    I am not a hugger, and so I think God is not a hugger for me, which is why  I could not feel that love the others spoke of, but now, I realize that I hear and have always been listening to His voice.  God is Good, let his Goodness cleanse me.   Matthew 7:10 “Thus by their fruit, you shall know them.” Location: River Canyon Trail, where it felt right   My father spoke the following: Daily Prayer "Thank you for this day Thank you for every day you have given me Thank you for  every day you give me after  Forgive me my sins Bless my family and keep them healthy In Jesus's name In the name of the father, the son, and the Holy Ghost" Amen     Baptism Prayer "Thank you for this day Thank you for every day you have given us Thank you for  every day you give us after  Today I am a fisherman of souls Allow me to be the instrument of your will I do this in Jesus name In the name of the Father, the Son, and the Holy Ghost" Amen "Do you Brandy Leigh accept Jesus Christ as your Lord and Savior forsaken all others"    "I do" "In Jesus name" He qued- Into the water you go, and you are saved!

I do not know what Good Beet is yet. I had originally hoped that Good Beet would be a sort of “Pay it Forward” social media site, where people could report acts of kindness. Each act of kindness could then be mapped forward or back, creating a visual of the impact and narrative of small acts of kindness for others. How could I start this? I told my younger sister my idea was to create a QR code for Good Beets to share their story. It could be passed from person to person to map where the goodness started and how it expanded. I told her I would start by giving someone in the grocery store, at random $100 and the ‘code’ but say nothing about passing it on.  She did laugh at me for this. In the drive-thru line at the local Moxie Java at 6:45a.m., disheveled looking after attending hot yoga that morning, I was in line to buy coffees for my family’s Wednesday coffee day.     A woman walked up to my open window, while I was fiddling with my phone.  When I looked up she extended her hand with a crisp five dollar bill, and she said, “I just saw you sitting here, and I wanted to give you this and wish you a wonderful day.”  I was so jarred by the unexpected approach and offering that I am not sure I even socially appropriately denied the gift. I think I said, “Are you sure?”   She insisted, and I thanked her and said something I do not normally say, “Bless You.” Between that moment and the window, many thoughts rushed through my brain. Why was I given this gift? What is God telling me? Was there a connection between sensing the yoga instructor’s low mood from his shoulder pain and my saying “Have a wonderful day” when I left?   Was I being tested to see if I was a Good Beet, that  I should pay it forward somehow?  Should I use this same bill?  Should it be random?  Where and who should I give it to? I put the five dollar bill in the center console of the truck.  I approached the window and paid, received my coffees, and when she asked would I like to leave a tip, I looked at the console.  Should I get rid of this now is what I thought.  Should I get rid of this obligation to pay it forward, so I do not have to think of other ways to do it.  I had already used my card, so I did leave a tip on the card, although it was not the amount of $5.  I thought, I will do this half kindness now until I know what to do with the bill.  I was troubled all the way home, wondering how I should spend the entire bill or at least the remainder.   Four coffees were traveling with me and they had put them in a drink carrier.  I made it all the way to the left turn bump in my neighborhood, before one of the coffees fell to the passenger seat, and then to the floor.  I watched it in slow motion, thinking about how I could recover it, since the lid had not yet popped off.  The full cup hit the floor.  Lid still on.  There was a long second, in which I still thought I could save it.  Then the lid popped off and just as slowly drenched the floor.  Within another minute I made it home.  In that minute thinking, was that my coffee or my daughter’s coffee?  If it was her coffee, would I go back out to get her a new one?  I thought yes, of course.  Then I thought, well, she won’t be up for another few hours, I can go out later.  When I arrived home, after one minute, I found out it was mine.  Then immediately felt guilty for the idea that I might have put off replacing her coffee, because I most certainly was prepared to replace mine.  I delivered the remaining coffees safely and returned to the truck. I went three minutes down the road to the other Moxie, pulled out my crisp five dollar bill, and said to myself, 'She told you to have a wonderful day. No use crying over spilt milk and espresso.' Did she foresee that my coffee would spill? Should I have paid that bill forward? I think not. She meant that for me, whether she predicted the future or not. And I will be happy to pay it forward in other ways, every day, because that is what Goodness is.   Goodness is something you always have with you that you can always transfer to others.  Perhaps selfishly, I allowed myself to keep another’s Goodness for me, and perhaps not selfishly, but because I am human, I needed a little Goodness to be given.  I wish I knew who this woman was, because she did make my day.  I am grateful for her small act of kindness, because it was large to me.