When I was in the sixth grade I remember my mother bought a book how to deal with the strong willed child. She would leaving it sitting around nonchalantly next to my breakfast or read it in front of me peering at me over the dust jacket, I never asked her if she was trying to drop a hint but that was my impression. Subtle or no not I got the message she thought I was strong willed, I figured that was who I and I wasn't gonna change it. Basically I was even strong willed about being strong willed. As I grew older I continued to fail to see an issue with this trait, I just found synomnems with better connotations. I wasn't stubborn, I was determined or spunky or steadfast, and sometimes if I styled myself the right way I was even tough. I had more answers than questions because somehow having to admit to someone that I might not know something or heaven forbid they might be right an i was wrong modified me. I believed in God, I wanted to love, to be worthy of love, I wanted to be kind, I wanted to be generous, I wanted to help my fellow man. I knew how to do all those thing, I had my own plan. After all I was tenacious. I sought God on my terms I worked Him into my view, I rationalized all the things that were not working in my #life. And I wasn't happy, I had no peace, I was too busy trying control and fix and plan my #life. I didn't ask for help, I wouldn't admit even to myself that that I didn't know what to do. And all those things I wanted to do, all my noble intentions were falling to the floor. my plans may have been shoddy but Gods are not. I was obstinate but that's okay God had a plan for that. He can be subtle or direct. With me He knew it best to take a direct approach. Five years ago I thought I had a bad flu but it was a hurricane. It left my #life unrecognizable. I went into the emergency room on a Sunday morning and God was there ready to work. I didn't have a bottom number on my blood pressure but I was conscious for some reason . I was in so much pain. They worked on me I begged for medication for relief. I wasn't stable enough for pain medicine and when they did finally give it didn't touch my pain. So while they tried to bring me back from the edge of death, God was working to bring me to #life. It started down at the deepest part of me at my core in my chest, I cried out to God in silent words with everything I had left it shot thur me this pray, this the most true real thing I had ever said in my #life, God this is more than I can bear, I surrender to your will. And my pain vanished. And that's how you deal with a strong willed child . I did not surrender to God because I was scarred, I surrendered to God because I trusted his promise to never break me. I trusted God to know better than me, I didn't have any clue what His will would be I knew with every screaming cell in my crashing body that I was saved by the Blood of Christ and when I called He would answer.

Magdalena Porter sat at the back of the classroom pressing her thumb and forefinger together. It was something she had always done, there was a strange electricity to it. She wondered what it felt like when Ms. Clark pressed her fingers together. Did the same current run inside her? Maggie didn't think so, though it was impossible to understand what other people felt. It was all a matter of subjective perspective, she knew no mathematical way to quantify the sense of touch. Maybe one day there would be, maybe she would develop the perfect algorithm to describe the median pain of a stubbed toe. Of course it would have be a controlled stubbing,further down this rabbit hole Maggie's mind wandered until the bell rang ending the school day. The children of Ms. Clark's third grade class stuffed graded papers and homework assignments into their school bags in a chaotic flurry as cheerful voices hummed with the giddiness of freedom on a Friday afternoon. Maggie didn't rush like her classmates. She closed her notebook careful not the bend the pages and slipped into her sweater that had been hanging neatly over the back of her chair. The back wall of the classroom held 25 identical cubbies with two brass hooks and shelves dividend by thick pieces of dark wood, so that none of the students coats or backpacks would touch each other. It was Maggie's favorite part of the classroom. Ms. Clark had made signs with each child's name and hung them above their spot. On her first day of school at Holy Cross Lutheran School, it had been waiting for her, her whole name, in beautiful red calligraphy. No one had ever called her Magdalena but it looked so pretty Maggie decided she didn't care. Maggie had not gone to school until the second week of the third grade. Maggie didn't think it ever occurred to her mother to send her school, it was her father who had finally forced the issue. Everything changed so fast. It was October now, it seemed like another #life but in truth it had only been a few weeks. Maggie's mother was not as nervous in the mornings on the way to school, in fact this morning she seemed happy. She had ate dinner with them last night, it was the first time Maggie had seen her eat since the night before she was enrolled. She must have ate, Maggie thought but not at the table, not smiling at her father. Maggie hadn't care much one way or the other. She knew that normal children went to school, but she knew that she wasn't normal. The other children were clambering out of the door pouring into the hallway while Maggie methodically packed her bag. Ms. Clark was distractedly looking after Mitchell Freeze, who was always getting into trouble. Maggie had not seen what he had done to attract attention this time, but she liked him. "Have a nice weekend Ms. Clark," Maggie said cutting the strange silence that had settled in the room. "You as well, Miss Porter. Do you have anything fun planned?" Ms. Clark's smile noted the shock in her voice, a little glint of victory was there too. This was the first time Maggie had spoke to her in anything other then response or necessity. Mitchell was past the bend now, out of sight, safe. "No ma'm," Maggie grinned back and walked passed her into now empty hall. Maggie swung her bag over her shoulder and zipped up her sweater as she exited the school. The cool fall air entered her lungs and she felt relaxed for the first time that day. She "Hey Magpie," her mother was waiting for her, leaning against the empty bike rack. "Where's Dad?" Maggie gave her mother a worried look. Maggie's mother hugged her from behind down bending kissing her cheek, " He and Granny Edy are playing in the garden, Did you learn stuff today?" Her tone was meant to be light and cheerful Maggie knew but she could hear her effort. Her mother was a terrible actress which was ironic as she had been hiding from the world all her #life. Her hand rested on Maggie's shoulder as they walked the four blocks home. "Don't you trust me, don't you think I know what things to say. What not to do?" Maggie shook her mothers hand off her shoulder. Everyone had been tiptoeing around her, and in that moment Maggie could not do it for another second. For the first time Maggie could ever remember she didn't care if her mother was upset at her. She didn't look back at her she kept walking but there was an empty feeling where her mother's hand just been. Txt

Of all things it was a country song that brought it into focus. My husband and his sister were singing it on the way home, and as they sang I heard it in their voices. The lyrics expressed a pride and fondness of home. To them home is a town with a name, a place you could plug into google earth or your gps. To them it's a subculture, a #lifestyle, a group of people they have known all their lives. It's a huge piece of who they have become. They are from Wheaton Missouri, USA and proud. I'm from no where and its hard to boast about nonexistent roots. There is no one town or state or even country that holds my childhood. My home isn't a house with an address, it isn't a regional accent, it isn't a back road on a hot Saturday night, it has nothing to do with how you like your BBQ . But that night while they sang I wished it was, for that minute anyway. I envied that emotion I have longed for. To belong somewhere. For me home will never be a place but a collection, of trinkets, of postcards, of road signs,of zip codes barely remembered. We left so many things behind so often that it was the things that remained each time that stand out. Random things of our own choosing;the kitchen table bought in the Netherlands, the wooden handled hammer that was my grandfathers, the hand tied rag rug that went by every back door, the candle stick holder my mother's blacksmith friend made just for her, my great grandmothers' quilts, things that we packed away in boxes again and again. These eclectic treasures were tactile reminders of the people who were the building blocks of our intangible home. In #life there are always trade offs. My nomadic early #life blessed me in many ways, and if I could choose differently, I wouldn't. As an adult, as a wife, and as a mother it's hard sometimes. My husband can't really understand how hard it is to throw away the blue fuzzy rug that has always been in my son's bedroom, but conversely how easy it is for me to suggest we sale the house. I think sometimes it must come off as cold and detached when I move on from a situation so easily but even to a grown up Air Force brat it's still just new orders. There will always be new jobs, new friends, new houses. I don't think as long as I live I will ever belong anywhere here and no one will ever share my excitement for brown boxes and packing tape. Then I think what do I want for my son? And I realize I want him to have both. I want him to be able to commit himself to something, but I want him to stir in wanderlust and see new things without fear. I want him to break ties and carry bits of himself to roads less traveled but in the end I want him to come back home to me and tell of his adventures and I want him to be grounded in belonging. So I throw away the blue rug and don't sale the house, and build a port in the world for him. He can take the things of his choosing with him or he can stay its not for me decide anyway.