My "One"

Earlier today I read a link that was shared by a friend and there is something about the way this post is written that really reaches my heart, makes me sad. For those of you who speak Norwegian, here is the link: Barna Som Ikke Får Hjerte

For those who don't, I translated the gist of it. I hope that I have done so correctly. If not, please just put it down to my imperfect Norwegian. :)

The article deals with children that attend what we would call daycare but can also mean pre-school or kindergarten depending on where you come from. (Bear in mind that these children can be anywhere from around one year to around five years old. Also this assignment was given with the intention to draw attention to areas that needed to be worked upon.)

"I heard about an interesting assignment that a day-care/ kindergarten gave their employees. The employees were asked to be honest about whether they had favorites among the children. The task was that they were to attach a heart to the child's name. The size of the heart would show how much they liked each child.

Children that they liked passably well got a small heart.
Children that they loved got a big heart.
Children they didn't like got no heart beside their name.

So the employees were honest and many hearts were given out. No one found it difficult.

But the task showed something unpleasant. Two of the little children received no hearts at all. Not even one tiny little heart by their name.

Not one of the adults working with them liked them.

So I am curious, how does an adult act toward a child that they don't like in daycare? How does an adult speak to this child while changing their diaper for example? How do they sooth the child if the child has been hurt and is crying?

How many smiles do these two "disliked" children get from the adults working with them in a day, month, year?"

The original post was thought provoking and well worded. And as a mother, it made my heart break for those little ones out there who "no one likes".

This post isn't meant to be a judgment, I wanted only to share the first thought that came into my head when I read about these two little children. What if it were my baby, the precious, laughing, light of my life, who had no hearts beside his name at the end of this assignment because none of his teachers or caregivers "liked" him?

And what if it were yours?




Every child deserves to think that they are the center of somebody's universe...that if it came down to it, there would be so many hearts after their name, there wouldn't be room for them all...

What If We Didn't Know?

What if one didn't know how to be happy?

What if one chased restlessness and discontent through long, long years full of grievances and discord?

What if one had every good thing, perhaps not the thing, that nameless, elusive thing, but still, every good thing and couldn't find a reason to smile?

What if seconds, minutes, hours, days disappeared in the blink of an eye? If the bottom of one's heart collapsed and all these gifted days...memories that should have been cherished or worse, people who should have been cherished...fell out and spiraled into a deceptively rich black nothingness?

What if the world we live in is less conducive to happiness than it ever was before?

And even if that last question were true, would the fault still not lie with ourselves? I have to confess that I see the promotion of this idea of a perfect, idyllic life everywhere and it causes me to wonder. For example, if I am truly secure in my happiness, secure in the quiet joy my life brings me, why would I need to make sure everybody knew it? Why would I need others affirmation?

It's like desperation. Like protesting too much. I find it interesting.

I remember reading about a woman who couldn't look at a certain image without deep sorrow. In fact she couldn't bear to look on it at all. It humbled her so much. I don't have a problem with that sentiment, it's very admirable. My admiration disappeared though as I read on and this thought was presented again and again. I began to doubt her sincerity. I began to doubt that looking upon this particular image really humbled her at all. I started to think that in fact, it was a great source of pride to her that she couldn't see this image without weeping. Maybe that is judgmental of me but that is how my mind works. I always become slightly doubtful when somebody feels the need to overemphasize something.

I suppose what I'm trying to say is that lately we overemphasize happiness.

I think we overemphasize what we don't have. I think it's a tactic born of desperation. A product of the superficiality of our times.

Much love, C.

Resting On A Limb Too Slight

"Be like a bird,
That halting in its flight,
Rests upon a limb too slight
And feeling it give way beneath him
Sings
Knowing he has wings." -Victor Hugo



I know she smiles glancing at the faces of those collected in her little set of rooms. I know how to sing you see.

Strength. Determination. Willpower. she shakes her head and sighs. I have so little. So little strength inside of me. But the little I do have, she brightens suddenly as though sharing the best, the happiest of secrets, well, I positively drench myself in the stuff. I drown in all that lonely strength. I cling to it at the cost of everything else. Everything. She finishes ruefully.

She glances down, and I judge. I have so much judgment in my heart. Like a brittle, thin-lipped smile...you will never catch up with me. Your strength will never match my own. I am so burdened by this stubborn strength. It just won't leave me alone.

It makes itself more than it is! It tries to convince me it is my life line. The only thing anybody would throw to me if I were drowning. Struggling for breath in its lonely sea.

The faces around the room nod sympathetically.

She takes a deep breath and continues it wakes me up at night! I can't sleep when it's around! This strength it ruins everything, grinds beauty and freedom into the dirty ground! It leaves me feeling panicked. I know how quickly it could disappear. And I cling to this pithy bit of strength...

Cling to it with all my fear.

She is so quiet. She continues in a voice no one can hear, it's far too slight, this branch, this limb. I can't possibly stay here. I know I knew once how to sing. How to sing without this fear.

She lifts her eyes. She lets it go. It doesn't matter that no one heard.

She gets up. She leaves the room.

Leaves it with out a word.

And all the vacant faces nod in silence, they are devoured by their fears. Their eyes are lost and empty. Their wings are long since clipped.

Outside, she stands in quiet solitude as morning colors slash the sky. Rip it apart with violence, shred it like a strangled cry.

There is no one else about. She tentatively lets one foot slip off her slight and fragile branch. She bites her lip, refuses to cry out.

Instead she sings,

Oh God, my Strength, I am stepping out in faith, off this fragile branch into nothing but thin air...please remind me I have wings.






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A Truth Revealed

Yesterday I came across something that left me dumbfounded. Dumbfounded.

Now, I view most information found on the internet with the same level of wide-eyed trust I view Facebook quizzes with (you may refer to this post),Colleen On How To Be A Modern Day Bombshell , and there are times I stumble across something that is simply too important not to share.

I regret profoundly that I can't find the site I read this on but at least I can share it here. With utter dismay and a brow wrinkled from trying to understand the words before me. I'm afraid I puzzled in vain for though I believe the words wholeheartedly because I read them on the internet, I can not claim to understand them.

The site I was on proclaimed that C.S Lewis was not a Christian at all. (This was underlined and in bold letters.) You know what he was? He was a Roman Catholic Anglican. Yes my friends. A Roman Catholic Anglican.

Now aside from the fact that there is no such thing as a Roman Catholic Anglican (or so I believed until yesterday at least), both the Roman Catholic and Anglican denominations are in fact Christian (again, or so I believed until yesterday). It then went on to say that C.S Lewis was also of the Devil as well. I was mightily perplexed. A Roman Catholic Anglican of the Devil.

Well, just thought I'd let you all know. I'm now off to research this "Roman Catholic Anglican of the Devil" denomination.

Thank goodness for the internet. I would have absolutely hated to be in the dark about this!

(Disclaimer: I felt that it was unnecessary at first to include a disclaimer but I shall none the less lest I be taken too seriously, my writing in this post is satirical. The site in which I found the "info" about C.S. Lewis is real and my post is mocking that site. In reality I only trust 97 percent of what I read online.;)