A Toast to Mom: To be Read by Joe on Her Blessed Day

 (Note, stage directions are italicized. Do not read these as part of the speech) 

Hi Mom, *waves somewhat awkwardly*

Sorry I couldn't be there on your birthday. 
I know you think birthdays aren't a huge deal, but I think they are. Birthdays are special. Especially the birthdays of special people; because sometimes we forget to show those special people how much we appreciate them, and birthdays are a good time to remind them.
So I thought now is a good a time as any to tell you just a few of things that I appreciate about you. 
I appreciate the little stuff, like doing our laundry and making meals that I enjoy. (Gosh, I really miss your cooking by the way.)   
I appreciate your goofy singing that fills the house with joy. We make fun of you for it, but some of us cough* cough* –aka all of us, inheriated the goofy gene. So who are we to talk?
I appreciate how pretty you are. I really don't know how you do it, with all the ups and downs and all the craziness. I remember one particular time when life wasn't so good for us. I was 16 and I came by to your work and despite the late night we had the night before, and despite the fact that I knew you weren't doing great, you still looked so beautiful. Maybe that is why your smile is so wonderful to me. Because I know that that smile isn't always inspired by joy, but by strength! It is a smile that defies the odds! 
I appreciate that smile so much!
I appreciate all the little ways that you show us that you love us, none of which is any less profound: from something as simple and practicle as discovering new socks in your laundry basket, or receiving texts from you when I'm far away. 
I appreciate that when I'm anxious, you make things okay again. Because if mom says its okay, then it usually is. You are a comfort that no trial can lessen.
I appreciate all the sacrifices you make for us; all the enegry you spend on us; all the things you invest into us; and all the many ways that you love us. 
Thinking back to my childhood, my messy teenage years, and now my early adult years, I see a legion of I-love-yous in so many different forms. My life is rich with them. 
Sometimes I wish I'd appreciated them more back then (like when loving me was harder than it should have been). But, even though it makes me sad sometimes that I didn't appreciate you as much as I should have, it also makes my heart glow with joy. Because no one makes anyone feel as loved as moms do. No one else can say I love you so many times a day and in so many different ways. 
How blessed me and the boys are to have a mom who never tries of loving us, and, furthermore, never stops showing us how much she loves us. 

I love you mom, and we all appreciate you so much. 
*Everyone goes in for a group hug, showering mom with love* 
 

Turning Twenty

Let it be known that on the eve on which I turned the ripe age of twenty, I stood in the bathroom in my Reckless T-shirt without pants on, blow drying my hair. What a glorious moment in which I emerged from the bathroom a fully fledged adult. 

The choices I make will matter now. I know I'll make some bad ones, but there will be some good ones too. I know there will be some hurt, but there also be some wonder. 
I've become less eager than I once was. I am no longer running off into the future. I like the now. After all, isn't this the future I was waiting for?

I have everything I ever thought I needed, and so much more. 
And as far as my life so far goes, I think that, despite all the bad choices I've made, there's a whole lot of good that came out of it.  

How blessed I am to have not one, but two groups of weirdos who with their presence have granted me a family. 
How blessed I am to have books to read and people to love and pages on which to write. 
How blessed I am to have this boy whom is so much more than I deserve and who gives me everything I never asked for and everything I never thought I'd needed. 
How blessed I am to have a mother who with her goofy wisdom and unlikely strength allows me to be weak when I can no longer be strong. 
How blessed I am to have my troop of boys who give me more love than I know what to do with. 
How blessed I am to have a father who knows me, sometimes more so than I know myself.
Oh, how blessed I am to have fierce friends who build me higher with their feisty words. 
How blessed I am to have goofy friends, who make me laugh with my whole face.
How blessed I am to have a fight-man and a humble-dragon who look out for me, even when I do not need it. 
How blessed I am to have a little sister, even though I never got one. And an older brother, because I've always wanted one. 

 
I have enough best friends to last me a lifetime; best friends in the form of brothers, and soul mates, and kindred-spirits, and best-mates, and business-partners. Oh Lord, you have given me more than I ever needed. Me, this shell of a person, so incomplete and insufficient, who had been so solitary in my lonesomeness, yet is now so showered with blessings. 

"Only through the one who grants our blessings can one who once had nothing so suddenly gain everything."  

I wrote these words when I was sixteen, but I do not think I understood them then.  
There were a lot of things lacking in my life at that age. Though I had blessings tenfold more than I deserved, there was a void in my heart in the form of my own destitute gratitude.
I am by no means rich by societies standards, but I am wealthy in my heart and in my soul.

For twenty, this is pretty good I think.  

The future is now. And as scary as that may be, looking back behind me, and looking at all the wonderful faces that surround me, I think I have everything I need. 


 

Another Rainy Day

I am always growing as a writer. 

Every time I sit down to write, I find I am not the same writer I was before.

The process of growing is a frustrating one mainly because people do not change until the situation forces them to. 
It is usually only when we are forced to face new struggles and challenge new frustrations that we realize: the person we are now is not enough anymore. The person we were yesterday is not strong enough anymore. She is not smart enough, not wise enough or brave enough to face what life brings today, and so, she must become the person she needs to be tomorrow. 

I do not become a better writer by continuing to be the writer I was yesterday. I cannot always speak the same words or write the same scenes. I must always be changing. I must always be searching for something new. 
Yesterday is no longer enough to fill today, but the thrill of tomorrow might be. The thrill of knowing that there are always new words to learn, new things to experience, and new hurts to feel. The thrill of knowing that the future is always one day away and that each day offers a new chance to be better, stronger, wiser, braver. 

And though the person I was yesterday was not strong enough to face this, I know better now. 

And tomorrow will come despite whether or not I am ready.

With every new season, new lessons arise, and this summer I learned to not rely on the rain to give the words.
I love to write when it rains. But, in the draughts and the sunny days, in days spent locked up at jobs and at school as the rain thrums on the rooftops, on late rainy night when the words come like with each drop from the sky, how often did I stop to just listen to the rain? How often did I stop to enjoy them?

So, yesterday, when rain fell and streets flooded, it was time to leave the laptop behind. It was time to stop speaking, and go out and listen to the sound of the rain.