A few years ago I did a series of posts about the silly (i.e. secular) and sacred questions that were popping up in my mind. I never got any real answers to my questions but one. The answer I received to a question I had not explicitly asked was this, yes. Yes was my answer.
But what was the question? At the end of my posts, but certainly not my questions, the only question that I really wanted an answer to was this; God, are you in all things? In all things labeled secular? In all things labeled sacred? In all things labeled silly? In all things labeled distressing? In all things labeled perplexing? In all things labeled joy? God are you in all things? Yes was my answer.
What is the difference between the secular and the sacred? I propose to you this answer; nothing. God is present in both, he is present in all and to take it a step further I believe, through life experience and observation, that there is no such distinction with him unless he says so. I don't believe God lives according to our distinctions of what is secular versus what is sacred.
Over at 365 I am featuring the 'secular' and the 'sacred' holidays that happen every day. Yes, every single day there is a minimum of one 'holiday' celebrated. On any given day life could be highlighting a debilitating disease that needs awareness and ice cream sundaes, sacred and silly. Is God in both of those? Yes.
Living in a Christian bubble we can too easily forget that God is in all things. That nothing has escaped his indwelling presence. Christians tend to 'demonize' the things that rub them the wrong way, offend their idea of what scripture says, people who don't fit the cookie cutter religion (American) Christianity has become, etc. Newsflash: God is in all things. Even the things we don't or can't understand. Even the things that, on the surface, appear as if evil has won over. Yes, even in evil God is present. Mind blown yet? If not perhaps this next thought will do it. What if something we call secular God actually calls sacred? What if? And what if what we might call sacred God actually considers secular? I think there's a good possibility that the 'what if' is an actuality. How could I think and say this? Because God has already told us that he and we differ. “For my thoughts are not your thoughts, neither are your ways my ways,” declares the Lord. “As the heavens are higher than the earth, so are my ways higher than your ways and my thoughts than your thoughts." Again, God doesn't live according to our ideas and ways. God operates according to his ways and methods and nothing escapes his touch, his involvement, his very presence.
Nothing escapes God which has to mean that our labels of secular and sacred don't work. It is only God's ideas of secular and sacred that matter and I get the feeling, again through life experience and observation, that he is a lot more generous with the sacred label than we are. I've decided to leave the labeling up to God, he's already proven he's better at it. All he asks me, and you, to do is to watch for him and see him show up in all things. Yes, all things.
Wednesday, July 01, 2015
Tuesday, June 16, 2015
*Perspectives: My White Privilege Life
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*Perspective: A way of looking at a situation. I'm a daughter, sister, friend, wife, mom, aunt, and employee. I don't claim to be an expert on anything nor have all the answers to something. Please bear that in mind as you read my perspective. Chances are good it will differ from your own. It's okay to have different ones!
I grew up just outside of Detroit, Michigan. In my younger years I was unaware of color, everyone in my world was white even though Detroit was right down the road. Looking back on that now I think that's crazy. How did I not know about the black population? In my childhood years my Grandpa, whom I love, would tell stories of the days when he and his buddies would drive the streets of Detroit and harass black people. I remember feeling appalled when I was at an age to understand what he meant. I squirmed inside each time he said the n-word.
When I was seven my Daddy got a new job in Colorado. A very long ways away from Detroit, Michigan with its Motown (some of the best music EVER) and auto industry (Henry Ford is a big deal). I moved from my little all white world to another all white world but this new world was void of talk about black people so any bad taste that may have formed never had a real chance to plant roots. In its place grew a curiosity of this treatment I started to hear about over in Africa called apartheid. As I grew older, I studied it more. My understanding of it was elementary but my disgust of it was advanced. My heart physically hurt for "those black people in Africa" and then I started understanding the history in my own country and I felt sickened. I was in early junior high and this passion for equality had grown inside me. I remember, oh so clearly, watching speeches by Reverend Jesse Jackson and wishing I were black to fit in with the crowd so it wouldn't look so strange that I was, in my heart, linking arms with black people. My world had no black people. None. But I knew they existed and my heart felt outrage at the treatment of them. My intellect was disgusted with anyone who behaved as if skin color made a difference. My reports at school, when given free choice, were centered on equality and breaking the bondage of apartheid in South Africa. I was lily white but my heart beat for all skin colors. I remember singing the song we all know so well from Sunday School:
Jesus loves the little children
All the children of the world
Red and Yellow
Black and White
They are precious in His sight
Jesus loves the little children of the world
I wholeheartedly believed and embraced the truth of that song but found out that others didn't.
At some point I learned about the KKK. I was disgusted, appalled, outraged. I couldn't believe that such hatred could exist and all because someone had more Melanin in their chemistry make up than another. The arrogance of white people created within me a desire to see hellfire rain down upon the idiot white people, of which I was one. I was ashamed to be associated with those ignorant people. (I still am, just in case you might be wondering.)
At some point I learned about the KKK. I was disgusted, appalled, outraged. I couldn't believe that such hatred could exist and all because someone had more Melanin in their chemistry make up than another. The arrogance of white people created within me a desire to see hellfire rain down upon the idiot white people, of which I was one. I was ashamed to be associated with those ignorant people. (I still am, just in case you might be wondering.)
And THEN.
Then I discovered that a good majority of these arrogant, ignorant people sat in church every Sunday morning and sang that song about Jesus loving every child of every color in the world after they had spent the week before treating others that were a different color with a hatred that can only be attributed to the devil. I couldn't wrap my head around the hypocrisy, around the arrogance, around the hate. And I didn't want to. I didn't want to understand their justifications, their reasons, their excuses.
My husband also grew up in an all white world. When we had children we decided we didn't want our kids growing up in the white privilege bubble. We started attending a church that was extremely diverse from the pastor and staff and into the nursery. We wanted to make sure our kids were exposed to people of all different skin colors and backgrounds. It's paid off. They don't describe someone by their skin color but by their personality and other features. Our girls don't see color, they see people with value and worth. My husband and I don't see color either. In fact, I forget what color of skin my friends have. During the Ferguson protests a friend wondered out loud what another friend of ours might be thinking about the whole thing. It took me a minute to figure out why she was wondering. I had forgotten the person was black! I only think of people in reference to their characteristics, giftings, their personality. I only notice color when there is a lack of it.
As years have gone by and we've made steps forward as a nation, we've made steps backward as well. In the past couple of years alone there have been more racially charged crimes and provocations than I remember in a long time. I started writing this when word came through the media that the police officer in Ferguson, Missouri wouldn't be charged with a crime for shooting to kill, and succeeding, an unarmed black boy. I pick up writing it again as Baltimore has erupted in protests over yet another mistreatment and death of a black person at the hands of white people. And I finish writing it as weekly news reports come from all over the nation about white police officers treating black people unjustly. Seriously? After the recent events of Ferguson and Baltimore there are still caucasian police officers not toeing the line a little more closely? What is it going to take? Will we have to endure some sort of genocide, like the Jewish people did, to get people to wake up and see there is still a racial problem in America? What will it take to convince caucasians that they live under the umbrella of white privilege?
I hate living under the umbrella of white privilege. I don't try to, and I hope I'm not taking advantage of it, it disgusts me. I know, however, that despite my personal feelings and opinions on white privilege I do live under its umbrella. It's the default. My lily white skin is my automatic entry to white privilege. That reality is frustrating and wrong. I shouldn't be getting the benefit of the doubt in any kind of situation just because I have white skin. My word about something or someone shouldn't be accepted just because of my white skin. My white skin shouldn't give me the 'guilty until proven innocent' benefit while the skin color of others gives them the opposite. Regardless of skin color I should be getting the benefit of the doubt, or not, based on my character not on my skin color, as should anyone else.
It is not okay to treat a white person and a black person who have said or done something exactly alike differently. A few weeks ago a video was floating through social media and news sites that showed police officers in Baltimore telling a group of white protesters to go home. They were having this calm conversation with them, they gave them 15 minutes to depart from the premises, they were saying over and over, "I don't want to arrest you so please leave." Then there were a group of black protesters. Same as the white group - unarmed and orderly. There were no calm conversations, no 15 minute warning, no statements that indicated the officers didn't want to arrest them. They sprayed them with mace, pushed them down to the ground and handcuffed them. These black protesters were behaving no different than the white ones. There was one single difference between the two groups. Skin color. Don't or can't believe it? Watch this 3 minute video that gives statistics of white versus black arrests based on the same exact crime being performed.
It is past time. It's time to swallow our white pride, our white arrogance, and our white privilege. It's time to be honest with ourselves and others. We are getting privilege because we are white. We get the benefit of the doubt because we are white. We get treated kinder and more fairly through our justice system because we are white. And deep down we secretly think this is okay and the way it should be because it has always been this way. (Feel free to disagree with me, this is my perspective remember? *grin*) White people, when the topic of race and racism comes up, implode - they can't handle the truth. They sputter and protest and make excuses, they deny what is happening right before our eyes thanks to modern day media coverage. White family and friends, we cannot say that we aren't programmed to be racist when we look at black people and assume, from the color of their skin, that they only listen to one kind of music, like certain kinds of food, engage in only certain activities and much more. That's called racial profiling and we all, myself included, do it on a daily basis whether we are aware of it or not.* And while I have focused this perspective on white privilege regarding the black population, we also exercise it with other cultures/skin colors. The Native American Indians are another people group that has experienced inequality and racial profiling due to skin color and culture. The list of other cultures and/or skin colors that have had to bear the brunt of white privilege is embarrassing.
It's time to make a stand for true equality. Equality that is based on the merits of behaviors, words, talents, etc and not on the color of skin.
Then I discovered that a good majority of these arrogant, ignorant people sat in church every Sunday morning and sang that song about Jesus loving every child of every color in the world after they had spent the week before treating others that were a different color with a hatred that can only be attributed to the devil. I couldn't wrap my head around the hypocrisy, around the arrogance, around the hate. And I didn't want to. I didn't want to understand their justifications, their reasons, their excuses.
My husband also grew up in an all white world. When we had children we decided we didn't want our kids growing up in the white privilege bubble. We started attending a church that was extremely diverse from the pastor and staff and into the nursery. We wanted to make sure our kids were exposed to people of all different skin colors and backgrounds. It's paid off. They don't describe someone by their skin color but by their personality and other features. Our girls don't see color, they see people with value and worth. My husband and I don't see color either. In fact, I forget what color of skin my friends have. During the Ferguson protests a friend wondered out loud what another friend of ours might be thinking about the whole thing. It took me a minute to figure out why she was wondering. I had forgotten the person was black! I only think of people in reference to their characteristics, giftings, their personality. I only notice color when there is a lack of it.
As years have gone by and we've made steps forward as a nation, we've made steps backward as well. In the past couple of years alone there have been more racially charged crimes and provocations than I remember in a long time. I started writing this when word came through the media that the police officer in Ferguson, Missouri wouldn't be charged with a crime for shooting to kill, and succeeding, an unarmed black boy. I pick up writing it again as Baltimore has erupted in protests over yet another mistreatment and death of a black person at the hands of white people. And I finish writing it as weekly news reports come from all over the nation about white police officers treating black people unjustly. Seriously? After the recent events of Ferguson and Baltimore there are still caucasian police officers not toeing the line a little more closely? What is it going to take? Will we have to endure some sort of genocide, like the Jewish people did, to get people to wake up and see there is still a racial problem in America? What will it take to convince caucasians that they live under the umbrella of white privilege?
I hate living under the umbrella of white privilege. I don't try to, and I hope I'm not taking advantage of it, it disgusts me. I know, however, that despite my personal feelings and opinions on white privilege I do live under its umbrella. It's the default. My lily white skin is my automatic entry to white privilege. That reality is frustrating and wrong. I shouldn't be getting the benefit of the doubt in any kind of situation just because I have white skin. My word about something or someone shouldn't be accepted just because of my white skin. My white skin shouldn't give me the 'guilty until proven innocent' benefit while the skin color of others gives them the opposite. Regardless of skin color I should be getting the benefit of the doubt, or not, based on my character not on my skin color, as should anyone else.
It is not okay to treat a white person and a black person who have said or done something exactly alike differently. A few weeks ago a video was floating through social media and news sites that showed police officers in Baltimore telling a group of white protesters to go home. They were having this calm conversation with them, they gave them 15 minutes to depart from the premises, they were saying over and over, "I don't want to arrest you so please leave." Then there were a group of black protesters. Same as the white group - unarmed and orderly. There were no calm conversations, no 15 minute warning, no statements that indicated the officers didn't want to arrest them. They sprayed them with mace, pushed them down to the ground and handcuffed them. These black protesters were behaving no different than the white ones. There was one single difference between the two groups. Skin color. Don't or can't believe it? Watch this 3 minute video that gives statistics of white versus black arrests based on the same exact crime being performed.
It is past time. It's time to swallow our white pride, our white arrogance, and our white privilege. It's time to be honest with ourselves and others. We are getting privilege because we are white. We get the benefit of the doubt because we are white. We get treated kinder and more fairly through our justice system because we are white. And deep down we secretly think this is okay and the way it should be because it has always been this way. (Feel free to disagree with me, this is my perspective remember? *grin*) White people, when the topic of race and racism comes up, implode - they can't handle the truth. They sputter and protest and make excuses, they deny what is happening right before our eyes thanks to modern day media coverage. White family and friends, we cannot say that we aren't programmed to be racist when we look at black people and assume, from the color of their skin, that they only listen to one kind of music, like certain kinds of food, engage in only certain activities and much more. That's called racial profiling and we all, myself included, do it on a daily basis whether we are aware of it or not.* And while I have focused this perspective on white privilege regarding the black population, we also exercise it with other cultures/skin colors. The Native American Indians are another people group that has experienced inequality and racial profiling due to skin color and culture. The list of other cultures and/or skin colors that have had to bear the brunt of white privilege is embarrassing.
It's time to make a stand for true equality. Equality that is based on the merits of behaviors, words, talents, etc and not on the color of skin.
Jesus loves the little children
All the children of the world
Red and Yellow
Black and White
They are precious in His sight
Jesus loves the little children of the world
*Blame shifting not accepted. "But they racially profile us white people also." You bet they do, guess why? Us white people started it. Let's own up shall we?
Wednesday, June 10, 2015
*Perspectives: On Decisions
*Perspective: A way of looking at a situation. I'm a daughter, sister, friend, wife, mom, aunt, and employee. I don't claim to be an expert on anything nor have all the answers to something. Please bear that in mind as you read my perspective. Chances are good it will differ from your own. It's okay to have different ones!
I was standing under the stream of cold water in the early morning. Gasping because of the cold and cleaning up as quickly as I could, my mind focused on the day. I moaned. I was so tired, I didn't want to do this day. I had so many days before this one that were exhausting and hard. The days, the year of days, leading up to this one had been difficult. I had been fighting upstream against a tide of doubters and then insecurities of my own. I had been living under the patronization of more than a couple of people. One night I had almost thrown in the towel, but while slumped in a booth at Ruby Tuesday's with a bestie was found by someone who told me I wasn't allowed to quit. So I didn't quit but I was discouraged.
So here I was, standing under the stream of cold water trying to gather the courage to face the day, the uncertainties, the people I was supposed to be leading, the conflict simmering under the surface. I wanted to crawl back into bed, lay under the mosquito net all day, and have a good old-fashioned pity party. Not only did I have a moody team to deal with, but I needed to make some rather large purchases this day due to my procrastination of the prior two days. I was nervous. I hate spending other people's money. I hate making decisions about things I don't know anything about. My stomach hurt. I moaned again and it wasn't because of the cold water. I was arguing in my head with God about these decisions I had to make, feeling so inadequate and incapable. Then God had enough. "Beth, the worst decision you can make is to not make one at all." Darn it. I had no argument to come back with. The minute he said it I knew it to be true. A leader always makes decisions and then walks them out however they end up. To not make a decision is the worst thing I can do. Shoot. I dried off and went back to my room, ready to make some decisions that were already making me clammy and nauseous.
And I did it. That day I put on my big girl panties, climbed in the front seat of the van with Simon, went into Nairobi and made the decisions. I hated every second of it but Simon redeemed the day for me. He patiently drove me around, helped me carry things, gave me advice when it was clear I needed it, made sure I felt safe walking around, talked to me while we drove around and pointed out areas of interest. We talked about his faith and his life experiences. My decision to be decisive that day turned out to be one of the best days I had that week. I was learning to breath in the confidence of finally making a decision and living with the success or consequences of it.
Since then, that challenge about decision making pops up all the time for me. Recently my boss asked me to make a few decisions on his behalf and gave me a month to do it. At first I thought to myself, "no problem" but then I started looking into these decisions and I got clammy. So I put it on the backburner and tried to forget about it. But he did give me a deadline and I did assure him it was no problem. In the last two days of the month given I finally gulped hard and made a decision - right or wrong I had to make an a decision. The result? He loved the decisions I made. Whew. Another lesson learned toward decisiveness.
Since the stream of cold water I've had many more moments of decision making and I'm always reminded of when that lesson was given to me. Perhaps it's because the water was so cold! It doesn't really matter why I remember it, I'm just glad I do.
Is decision making hard for you or does it come pretty naturally? If it is hard for you, why? If it comes easy what advice can you give those of us who find it more difficult and/or nerve wracking?
Thursday, May 14, 2015
Between Memory and Reality
Between memory and reality there are awkward discrepancies... (Eileen Chang)
Someone I know shares a reality with me from years ago. But our individual memories of that reality differ so greatly that it caused some rather awkward discrepancies between us when it came to a point of reconciling our shared reality. It is fascinating what time, denial, and other life experiences do to alter memories of a reality.
So how does one know what the reality is? It will be word against word, perspective against perspective, not to mention any blame shifting or denial due to guilt over behavior etc. That can be frustrating and hurtful. It seems to me that in relationships, whether that is mine or others I have witnessed, where this discrepancy between memory and reality has happened the people involved generally fall into denial or inability to completely walk away and truly move forward in life. There is either lingering history or an intentional ignorance.
My shared reality is with my first love. Damn those first loves, they break your heart every time. Oh sure, you may end up with your first love, I know some who do, but the heart is always broken by the first love regardless. Some can recover, most don't. The interesting thing about our memories is we can create them and over time convince ourselves that the created memory is truth. Sometimes, maybe most of the time, there is no way to prove truth.
So what to do when your memories of a shared reality clash with the other person? The struggle is real. In our human, flesh nature we have a need to be right, to be the victor in truth and when you know you possess more truth than the other person it is difficult to let that go, it is hard to let go of the need to be right. But you have to weigh out the costs of being right, reconciling the relationship, and having the maturity to just be able to leave it behind and move forward. I find that unless the person in denial is willing to take their head out of the proverbial sand then the other person needs to decide what kind of compromise they will be comfortable with.
I had to decide what I was comfortable with so that I would be able to move forward, not allow personal responsibility to be shirked, and reconciliation at some level could happen. The one I shared reality with had been out of my life for 18 years, I had actually come to closure on my own without any sort of reconciliation. Then there this person was, back in my life with no notice or premonition. Once I got over that shock I really struggled with the flood of the past washing over me, the memories and the reality that carried, in the end, more pain than anything else for me. The created reality of my first love gave him mostly nothing but, according to him, good memories. I wish that I could have found some way to forget or deny the bad stuff. But we ended bad and had been bad for quite some time prior to ending so in my heart all that bad buried the good that we had at the beginning. So here I was, 18 years later, going through all those crappy emotions, grief, and regrets again. REALLY? I was fed up and annoyed that I had to do this again and it seemed to affect nobody but me. The hub didn't totally get it even though he knows and even lived part of the actual reality alongside of me. Every song and movie about heartbreak seemed to be about this first love I had...18 years later! Ridiculous. I had already done my closure, why did I have to do it again? I was pissed off at him all over again, as if it had just happened yesterday. I was mourning the loss of the friendship we had before dating all over again, as if it were just the other day. I was regretting ever dating him and risking that much of myself all over again, as if we were still in the bad-at-the-end stage. It sucked. It took me a good 2-3 months to work through all those emotions again and find closure again.
In the middle of this time he and I found our mutual closure. Over email of all things. We tried to do it in person but I ended up wimping out and lying to him. He knew I was lying but let me pretend anyway. A month later I emailed him and confessed that I had lied to him when we tried to have a conversation in person. He forgave me and we said what we both needed to say for mutual closure to happen and to move forward.
I'm purposely choosing to replace the bad memories with good ones, most of them are in our friendship only days and the very early dating days. I get to a certain point in our love relationship and I have to block out everything from that point on, it is filled with too much pain and too many regrets. But at least we have some good memories to lean on and for a time those memories were our shared reality, and I'm grateful for at least those.
Do you have a shared reality with someone but each of you have very different memories of that shared time? Have the discrepancies hindered your relationship with that person or with others? What choices do you have to purposely make so that your shared reality doesn't become an obstacle to you in the present?
Tuesday, May 12, 2015
The Okayest Mom
My Type A personality convinced me long ago that I needed to be "the best" at everything. Being a daughter, a sister, a friend, a wife, a mother, an employee. Oh you can imagine the disappointment I had to walk through when those things started to show that I was not the best. At best I was the okayest in my certain circles and at worst not even the okayest. It took me a decade to get over the disappointment and be okay with being okay!
Being a Mama has been one of the most disappointing realities to deal with. I am not the best and I was never going to be. If only I had known the warning signs way back in the day I wouldn't have set myself up for so much disappointment. When I would babysit all I wanted to do was read while the children entertained themselves. Uh... yeah, see? I was a crappy babysitter, that should have been my hint right there. But no, I had to go and ignore the signs and set myself up for further disillusionment. I had all these ideas and plans, as I think most Mama-to-be's do. Some were based off of what my own Mom did with my brothers and I, some based off of the trending thing to do at the time, some based off of my own high and unrealistic expectations. I had never had the kind of energy that it took to accomplish being the best Mom ever but somehow I imagined the energy would just come once the baby was born. See how delusional I was?!
I was a better Mama when I didn't have to work outside of the home. Those early years I could give a little more but I was still more interested in reading a book than actually following through on any of the trends or any of the ideas I did have to educate my children, to play with them, etc. Why didn't I see it still? Not that the redheads and I didn't snuggle, giggle, play, and spend time together. We did, they never once - even to this day - feel like I had left them to their own devices or hadn't given them enough love and attention. I suppose my sedentary style of mommyhood was counteracted by their Daddy who would do all the active, outdoor, things with them.
The ironic thing is, then and now, how good I am with kids. I adore kids, my own and others. I somehow gathered up the energy to be the Awana Commander for a few years, I was the Children's Ministry Co-Director for years, I taught Sunday School for years. I had kids climbing all over me. I hugged, I snuggled, I disciplined, I spent hours creating fun and interesting lessons for them. At playdates with friends I was swinging kids, mine and theirs, around. I would weekend babysit for friends (my poor husband). I just had to reconcile my preference for sedentary participation with the more popular active participation.
Working outside of the home took my status down a couple of notches. My redheads claim it didn't but it did. I know the truth. Energy levels were sucked away even more, time was shortened even more. The upkeep of a home, a marriage, parenting, relationships, personal interests, and much more lowered my ability to keep up with any expectations I had placed on myself or I thought others had of me.
Last year Mother's Day was approaching. I was trolling Pinterest and saw the claim, "World's Okayest Mom" and I laughed out loud...literally. That I could make claim to. I'm not the world's best mom, I'm not the best mom in the United States, I'm not the best mom in Colorado, I'm not the best mom in Colorado Springs, and I'm not sure I'm even the best mom to these redheads I've been gifted with. But I am okay. Ever since then I've been thinking about my role as an okay mom. It was easier to accept once I saw the truth of it. No, it's okay - it really is. I don't need to be amazing or the best, but I do need to be okay. I've had some successes and some failures in this thing called motherhood. Some might say that I'm settling for okay and should be striving for best. Newflash: I do strive for the best and I can pull out with an okay. So while I strive for best and hit okay I have learned to accept that and not beat myself up over some unrealistic ideal, over this false idea that if I don't do it exactly right or perfectly then I'm a total waste. Life guarantees that there will continue to be failures mixed in with the successes. I like to think of the failures as moments of humility so I don't get big headed about anything. The past couple of years have been very challenging in this motherhood and parenting adventure. It's been the past couple years that I have seen my okay status very clearly. I watch other people around me parenting and they are having successes, my successes are few and far between. It sounds like my redheads might be terrors but they aren't. They are far from it. But they have diverged from a lot of the investment I did put into them in the early years. But I see that I need to respect the choices they make (as long as they aren't harmful, disrespectful, or illegal). They are individual and are finding their wings and ways. In Proverbs it says that if we train up our kids in the way they should go they will not depart from it. So I'm hopeful that one day, for example, the redheads see that there are way better foods (in all ways) to eat than ramen. I spent a lot of time in their growing up years trying to teach them that! And that's just one example. *wink*
A best Mom would never have to apologize to her kids because if you are the best then you are perfect. An okay Mom knows she's messed up and apologizes to her kids when she has, teaching them that adults aren't above misbehavior and taking personal responsibility should never end. I fall into the okay category once again. I have no idea how many times in 17 years of Mommyhood I have had to apologize to my girls for my inappropriate behavior but it has been way more than a best Mom would ever have to do!
And somehow, through it all - the mistakes, the misbehavin', the giving in when I know I shouldn't, and so many other non-best things - these redheads think I'm a pretty good Mom. Only I know the truth, I'm an okay mom and I'm more than okay with that.
Being a Mama has been one of the most disappointing realities to deal with. I am not the best and I was never going to be. If only I had known the warning signs way back in the day I wouldn't have set myself up for so much disappointment. When I would babysit all I wanted to do was read while the children entertained themselves. Uh... yeah, see? I was a crappy babysitter, that should have been my hint right there. But no, I had to go and ignore the signs and set myself up for further disillusionment. I had all these ideas and plans, as I think most Mama-to-be's do. Some were based off of what my own Mom did with my brothers and I, some based off of the trending thing to do at the time, some based off of my own high and unrealistic expectations. I had never had the kind of energy that it took to accomplish being the best Mom ever but somehow I imagined the energy would just come once the baby was born. See how delusional I was?!
I was a better Mama when I didn't have to work outside of the home. Those early years I could give a little more but I was still more interested in reading a book than actually following through on any of the trends or any of the ideas I did have to educate my children, to play with them, etc. Why didn't I see it still? Not that the redheads and I didn't snuggle, giggle, play, and spend time together. We did, they never once - even to this day - feel like I had left them to their own devices or hadn't given them enough love and attention. I suppose my sedentary style of mommyhood was counteracted by their Daddy who would do all the active, outdoor, things with them.
The ironic thing is, then and now, how good I am with kids. I adore kids, my own and others. I somehow gathered up the energy to be the Awana Commander for a few years, I was the Children's Ministry Co-Director for years, I taught Sunday School for years. I had kids climbing all over me. I hugged, I snuggled, I disciplined, I spent hours creating fun and interesting lessons for them. At playdates with friends I was swinging kids, mine and theirs, around. I would weekend babysit for friends (my poor husband). I just had to reconcile my preference for sedentary participation with the more popular active participation.
Working outside of the home took my status down a couple of notches. My redheads claim it didn't but it did. I know the truth. Energy levels were sucked away even more, time was shortened even more. The upkeep of a home, a marriage, parenting, relationships, personal interests, and much more lowered my ability to keep up with any expectations I had placed on myself or I thought others had of me.
Last year Mother's Day was approaching. I was trolling Pinterest and saw the claim, "World's Okayest Mom" and I laughed out loud...literally. That I could make claim to. I'm not the world's best mom, I'm not the best mom in the United States, I'm not the best mom in Colorado, I'm not the best mom in Colorado Springs, and I'm not sure I'm even the best mom to these redheads I've been gifted with. But I am okay. Ever since then I've been thinking about my role as an okay mom. It was easier to accept once I saw the truth of it. No, it's okay - it really is. I don't need to be amazing or the best, but I do need to be okay. I've had some successes and some failures in this thing called motherhood. Some might say that I'm settling for okay and should be striving for best. Newflash: I do strive for the best and I can pull out with an okay. So while I strive for best and hit okay I have learned to accept that and not beat myself up over some unrealistic ideal, over this false idea that if I don't do it exactly right or perfectly then I'm a total waste. Life guarantees that there will continue to be failures mixed in with the successes. I like to think of the failures as moments of humility so I don't get big headed about anything. The past couple of years have been very challenging in this motherhood and parenting adventure. It's been the past couple years that I have seen my okay status very clearly. I watch other people around me parenting and they are having successes, my successes are few and far between. It sounds like my redheads might be terrors but they aren't. They are far from it. But they have diverged from a lot of the investment I did put into them in the early years. But I see that I need to respect the choices they make (as long as they aren't harmful, disrespectful, or illegal). They are individual and are finding their wings and ways. In Proverbs it says that if we train up our kids in the way they should go they will not depart from it. So I'm hopeful that one day, for example, the redheads see that there are way better foods (in all ways) to eat than ramen. I spent a lot of time in their growing up years trying to teach them that! And that's just one example. *wink*
A best Mom would never have to apologize to her kids because if you are the best then you are perfect. An okay Mom knows she's messed up and apologizes to her kids when she has, teaching them that adults aren't above misbehavior and taking personal responsibility should never end. I fall into the okay category once again. I have no idea how many times in 17 years of Mommyhood I have had to apologize to my girls for my inappropriate behavior but it has been way more than a best Mom would ever have to do!
And somehow, through it all - the mistakes, the misbehavin', the giving in when I know I shouldn't, and so many other non-best things - these redheads think I'm a pretty good Mom. Only I know the truth, I'm an okay mom and I'm more than okay with that.
Friday, May 08, 2015
Hello? Have you seen me under that full time life?
Throughout the years I have worked part time, full time - in the home, out of the home, half and half. Two years ago my hub broke the news to me that I needed to move from working part time out of the home to full time out of the home, in addition to the time already spent being a wife, a mom, and any other hat I was also wearing. So I put my big girl panties on and got a full time job. I left a part time job I loved at an organization I love and co-workers I loved. I also left any free time I had during daylight hours to grab a cup of coffee with friends, grocery shop, do some laundry, get dinner ready, exercise, have phone calls with friends in other states, the availability to run errands, etc. This isn't about my hub, we are a team and in life you gotta do what you gotta do to pay the bills, feed the children and yourself, you know - things like that. But full time was going to be a challenge in several ways, some I didn't anticipate.
About 6 months in to working full time someone asked Lanny how we were all doing with the transition. His response, "The girls and I are doing fine, Beth? Not so much." I wanted to protest but I couldn't. He was right, they were handling it better than I was. I was exhausted. I spent the weekends trying to recover and do what I couldn't get done during the week. I hadn't realized how much I was still able to do when working part time.
Nothing has changed in two years. I'm still exhausted, stretched so thin some weeks that you can see right through me. My introvert nature has strengthened into an almost full time hermit status and I miss myself. Working full time means I am not the me I am. I have no margin in my full time life for the things that mean the most in and to my life.
A few days ago my friend linked an article to her Facebook page titled, "I Hate My Reality." I didn't read the article right away but the first thought that went through my mind upon reading the title was "true 'dat." I confess. I hate my reality. I am no fan of my life or who I am, or rather am not, when I have to work full time outside of my home. But my reality is my reality so I have a choice. I have a choice in how I respond to the reality I hate.
About six months ago I whined to my counselor, "When am I going to feel transitioned to this new full time, overtime life?" She gently suggested that maybe what it is, is what it is. I went home thinking about that. If THIS life that I live currently is the transitioned one then I need to adjust my attitudes, expectations, and plans to accommodate this season of life.
It's not just the full time day job, it's the full time life that consists of being a spouse, a parent, a daughter, a sister, an Aunt, a friend. I'm not complaining, I love all those roles but I'm finding myself lacking energy to be any of those well. The parenting is about to do me in. The hub and I? We are finally in a good place after a couple of rocky years but marriage still takes work no matter what. I sat down across from my Mom the other day and all I had to do was look at her. She said, "Oh Beth, I know. You'll get through this but I know." I'm glad I didn't have to say much else, that she just knows and empathizes, I guess back in her season of life that included all this she told my Dad that she couldn't do it all, him and the kids (of which I am one). He said, "Well we are a package deal so you are going to have to." SIGH. I now understand exactly what she was saying to him. Those are just two roles. The other roles that mean a lot to me and I don't have the energy to do well? Not a week goes by that I am not filled with grief for what I have lost in this full time life. I used to be the glue, gladly, for people and things but now I'm like the tape from 1974 that is barely holding the picture in place in the album. It only sticks there because of time, not because it is still useful.
Don't think I don't know. I do know. I promise. I knew before anyone else did. Full time has me packing on the pounds and zero energy to do anything about it. Oh, you weren't sure if I knew? Believe me, while I was still trying to deny it my clothes were telling me the truth. My massage therapist said something to me today that made perfect sense regarding life, my weight, and the need to be healthy. She was being matter-of-fact but it was the light bulb I needed. "Obtaining a healthy lifestyle and then maintaining one is like a part-time job." I deeply sighed and muttered, while face down, "But I don't have the time or energy for another job." That's it. That's the ground zero of this weight battle I am engaged in. In my life it is another job. For some they just can go about their lives, eating whatever the hell they want, exercising or not, popping out babies and going back to skinny jeans. That has never been true of me. I remember the first time I was aware of what weight was. I was five. Since I was five I have battled with weight and it has won more than I have. The effort it takes for me to be at a healthy weight and have some sort of fitness it literally like a part-time job that I can never quit. When I try to quit it all comes back on and I lose all ground I had gained. It sucks and I'm tired. I'm so tired of working that job with literal zero results that stick. So lest you were hesitant to say something, look at me, or ask because you didn't think I knew, I know.
It sounds like I am whining and complaining but I'm really not. I'm acknowledging. I'm acknowledging my reality and what I continue to try and come to grips with. I do what I can to make sure me still shows up in this full time life but it leaves me wanting more time to do the things that mean the most to me. The celebration and recognition of my 40th birthday was a way I was telling this full time life to go screw itself because I was going to be the real me for a few days. I rode that high for weeks afterward, it felt so good to be fully myself for a few days. In an effort to be honest about this reality I live and to try and keep me present in it, I decided that since I earn personal and vacation days (a very generous amount I might add) through my full time job that I would use them. I take mental and spiritual health days, I take vacation days that give me a break from my full time day job so I can focus on my full time life a little. I use the time to do things around my house that I don't have the energy or time for during the weekends. I engage in self-care which actually includes getting some things in order around the house and then naps, of course! And then there is the hub and redheads. People say to me, "Oh just make the redheads do the chores and the hub help out." The hub helps out, in fact he volunteered to take over the actual shopping of groceries if I get a specific list together. Teamwork people! The redheads? Well we continually try to get them on board with it, that's part of the parenting that is going to do me in. I even heard myself saying to them recently, "I did it all for the better part of 15 years, now I need some help." So I stand firm. The dishes might be piled in the sink and around the sink and you might see me on a weeknight reading a book, ignoring those dirty dishes. A line has to be drawn and so I chose to draw it in hopes that the redheads will figure it out. (So if you've been wondering how I manage to read so many books a month now you know. I neglect my housekeeping!) I do little things that keep the me buried under a full time, indeed an overtime, life alive. I tutor during the school year, I teach literacy to kids who are struggling. It's 2 hours a week and on my way home from work. I read. I blog as life allows. I meet up with friends for quick daytime lunches and happy hours after work. I get medical massages to help me because I hold stress in my neck, shoulders, and back. I stay as available as I can for friends who need a hug, a shoulder, and an ear. I spend car time catching up with friends via What's App - that has become hugely important in the past year, it's been a lifeline. The friend might live 10 minutes away or across an ocean, it's been one of the greatest things I was introduced to. I try to engage in things I believe in and want to bring awareness to. I make sure that I am not two different people, the Beth at work and the Beth at home. I need to be the same person no matter where I'm at and who I am interacting with. I stay aware of my moods and if I'm grumpy I let my family know and I do my best to behave myself. (Because grumpiness isn't an excuse for misbehavin'.) I get hugs from my Mama every weekday morning that I can before I head into work. I donate blood every 8 weeks, it takes less than an hour of my time. I convince my husband that spending some money to get me face time with family and friends is vital to my emotional health and I go on trips near and far alone to get time with people that fill my heart, and whose hearts I hopefully fill as well. These small ways, and others, are how I am choosing to make an adjustment to this transitioned life I'm living.
Maybe you feel stretched too thin by a full time life as well. And your full time might look, in fact most likely looks, drastically different than mine - that's okay. This isn't a competition, we aren't here to compare and contrast our lives with one another. Each of us has a capacity level that gets maxed out. You might think mine is too low. I might think yours is too low. It doesn't matter because we aren't in a competition to see who has the most harried life. We should be on the same team, cheering each other on.
Are you living a full time life that has you "hating your reality?" It's okay, in fact it's healthy, to admit it if you do. Remember, it's not the admission of it but the response to it that determines how it affects you and others. What are some ways you have managed to keep the you that threatens to get buried under the full time life alive? If you feel buried what is one thing you could do today to begin to dig out of the rubble?
If you'll excuse me now. I took a day off and a nap sounds great! *wink*
Tuesday, March 31, 2015
Listening to Silence
Last fall the hub and I went on a getaway. He planned it, the entire thing, all I had to do was show up. It was great. Where we landed for a few nights was, unbeknownst to him, a really special place to me. Part of the charm of this place is the quiet. There are no TV's in the rooms, no guest noise, no noise at all really. The silence rushed in at us, assaulting our numbed senses. It felt almost painful at first. I loved it. It drove my hub insane. He was pacing the room, unable to allow the noise to settle him down. That is what drove me insane. :)
Have you ever been assaulted by silence? In today's noisy world, silence is rare. Even right now, as I write, there is 'silence' in our home but not really. I hear the noise of our DVR, our furnace just kicked on so I hear that as well. A minute ago some birds were cooing outside. But I would consider all those noises to be part of the most silent we get these days. But at our getaway there was none of that, well there were the birds. The silence drove my hub so nuts that we went to bed the first night at 7:30! He made himself sleep to escape the assault. I read on my Kindle in the dark. When I finally decided to sleep I laid there listening to the silence. Have you ever listened to silence? What do you hear?
Silence has its own sound. I hear a slight buzzing like sound. When I hear it I know I am listening to silence. What does your silence sound like?
In today's world of noise silence makes people uncomfortable, my hub proved that. Why did silence unsettle him? Why might it unsettle anyone? When did the disconnect between us and our inner self happen? The answer lies in the obvious. The more distractions, oh I'm sorry advances, technology offers the bigger the disconnect grows. The more noise that is offered the more silence is painful. Try this. Get to a silent as possible place. How long can you stand it? At a work staff meeting once a co-worker showed a video about, ironically, silence. Part of the video had you focus on being silent for up to 5 minutes. The clock was ticking and some people were shifting in their seats and the longer the minutes stretched the more shifting happened, and rustling of papers, and looking around to make faces at others, well you get the idea. It was fascinating to observe. Silence is not a comfort to us, we are discomforted by it.
A few years ago I was going through some stuff. It required me to settle down and be silent so I could hear what I needed to. I wasn't so sure it was actually working until one night when I got myself all situated and entered into a deliberate silence. In the silence I was able to see, in my mind's eye, a picture. I leaned in to it and I heard, through the silence, the story of that picture. It was a transforming moment and I wouldn't have had it without silence. Silence ushered me to truth. And it often does, which is why it is unsettling. We don't always like the truth, we can't always accept the truth, we won't always want to believe the truth. To avoid truth we fill up our days and nights with noise, refusing silence to have a place in us and open up truth. If we aren't addicted to drugs, alcohol, gambling, sex, or the many other addictions in this world then we are most likely addicted to noise, perhaps without even realizing it. It's so much a part of the "norm" that we don't look at it as an addiction or a numbing tool in our lives. If we feel assaulted by it then chances are good we are using it to keep silence away. The question is why. Why are we keeping silence from entering our lives? What do we think could happen if silence is allowed a place in our life? Are we afraid of silence and the truth it may reveal and why?
When was the last time you allowed silence to surround you? Maybe it's time to start listening to silence, who knows what you may hear in it that could change your life?
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*I may or may not have had the song by Simon & Garfunkel stuck in my head for days now due to writing this post! You're welcome. :)
*Here's a couple of articles I read in the past year that talk about silence as well. They are worth the read. We Need More Silence in Our Lives and 3 Ways to Add Quiet to Your Day
*Into Great Silence is a documentary that is...totally silent. It is fascinating. I highly recommend it. A friend of mine reviewed it back in the days when he was a movie critic and he exited the theater that was 100% silent for 162 minutes on to the busy New York City streets and felt assaulted! It's a fascinating look at silence.
Have you ever been assaulted by silence? In today's noisy world, silence is rare. Even right now, as I write, there is 'silence' in our home but not really. I hear the noise of our DVR, our furnace just kicked on so I hear that as well. A minute ago some birds were cooing outside. But I would consider all those noises to be part of the most silent we get these days. But at our getaway there was none of that, well there were the birds. The silence drove my hub so nuts that we went to bed the first night at 7:30! He made himself sleep to escape the assault. I read on my Kindle in the dark. When I finally decided to sleep I laid there listening to the silence. Have you ever listened to silence? What do you hear?
Silence has its own sound. I hear a slight buzzing like sound. When I hear it I know I am listening to silence. What does your silence sound like?
In today's world of noise silence makes people uncomfortable, my hub proved that. Why did silence unsettle him? Why might it unsettle anyone? When did the disconnect between us and our inner self happen? The answer lies in the obvious. The more distractions, oh I'm sorry advances, technology offers the bigger the disconnect grows. The more noise that is offered the more silence is painful. Try this. Get to a silent as possible place. How long can you stand it? At a work staff meeting once a co-worker showed a video about, ironically, silence. Part of the video had you focus on being silent for up to 5 minutes. The clock was ticking and some people were shifting in their seats and the longer the minutes stretched the more shifting happened, and rustling of papers, and looking around to make faces at others, well you get the idea. It was fascinating to observe. Silence is not a comfort to us, we are discomforted by it.
A few years ago I was going through some stuff. It required me to settle down and be silent so I could hear what I needed to. I wasn't so sure it was actually working until one night when I got myself all situated and entered into a deliberate silence. In the silence I was able to see, in my mind's eye, a picture. I leaned in to it and I heard, through the silence, the story of that picture. It was a transforming moment and I wouldn't have had it without silence. Silence ushered me to truth. And it often does, which is why it is unsettling. We don't always like the truth, we can't always accept the truth, we won't always want to believe the truth. To avoid truth we fill up our days and nights with noise, refusing silence to have a place in us and open up truth. If we aren't addicted to drugs, alcohol, gambling, sex, or the many other addictions in this world then we are most likely addicted to noise, perhaps without even realizing it. It's so much a part of the "norm" that we don't look at it as an addiction or a numbing tool in our lives. If we feel assaulted by it then chances are good we are using it to keep silence away. The question is why. Why are we keeping silence from entering our lives? What do we think could happen if silence is allowed a place in our life? Are we afraid of silence and the truth it may reveal and why?
When was the last time you allowed silence to surround you? Maybe it's time to start listening to silence, who knows what you may hear in it that could change your life?
--------------------------------------------
*I may or may not have had the song by Simon & Garfunkel stuck in my head for days now due to writing this post! You're welcome. :)
*Here's a couple of articles I read in the past year that talk about silence as well. They are worth the read. We Need More Silence in Our Lives and 3 Ways to Add Quiet to Your Day
*Into Great Silence is a documentary that is...totally silent. It is fascinating. I highly recommend it. A friend of mine reviewed it back in the days when he was a movie critic and he exited the theater that was 100% silent for 162 minutes on to the busy New York City streets and felt assaulted! It's a fascinating look at silence.
Thursday, February 26, 2015
{shalom}
In my circles Shalom was always a word that 'those Jewish people' used, it wasn't for us evangelicals because we believed in Jesus and they didn't. Yes, I realize this makes no sense but I grew up in a Baptist church and us Baptist? Well, let's just say we don't know it all like I thought we did. Ha.
Fast forward a whole bunch of years to my 30's and my upending thanks be to God, literally. I still didn't know about Shalom except I thought it meant peace but wasn't quite sure. I'm not good with languages and it felt foreign on my tongue. I accepted it, however, as a word that people who believed in Jesus could also use. People, I was making some progress! And then scoot right up to about my year 38 on this planet. I had left traditional church, we mutually agreed we needed some time apart, and I was meeting with a group of like-hearted people in a home church setting. This particular group observes and celebrates the Biblical Festivals and Shalom was a word that is a normal part of their vocabulary. So I started trying it out. All these years I thought it meant peace (it does but more on that in a minute) but I had also heard mostly used as 'Aloha' is, a greeting and a farewell. Kind of like how we crass Americans say, 'Hey' for the same purposes. Now don't get all weirded out thinking that my little home church and I were beginning and ending our conversations with each other and others by 'shaloming.' I can honestly say that I don't believe I have ever once 'shalomed' someone in greeting or farewell. But if you want me to, I can start. *wink*
No, our use of shalom was focused on the peace. Shalom is peace but not just any kind of peace. Shalom is a deep peace that finds its way into every crack and crevice, that soaks in deep, that brings about wholeness and completeness. Shalom is a very complete peace. Jesus, my friends, he is shalom. And Jesus, my friends, wants us to experience that kind of shalom in our own lives and be so full of it that we spill it out on others and introduce them to true shalom as well.
When I first started grasping the depth of shalom I was reading a fantastic book by Tim Keller (Generous Justice) and in it he talked about shalom in a way that my heart finally clicked and locked into place with. Here's a few excerpts that resonated with me, upon reading this I 100% 'got it.'
Traditionally translated as “peace” in English it means much more than that. Peace in the English language means a period of time when there is no war or fighting. But when God uses shalom he doesn’t mean a period of time when there is no conflict, he means complete reconciliation. A state of the fullest flourishing in every dimension – physical, emotional, social, and spiritual – because all relationships are right, perfect, and filled with joy. (Generous Justice, Keller, page 174)
If we take those four dimensions – physical, emotional, social, and spiritual – and look at them with and without shalom as their foundation we can see quickly what shalom accomplishes in a person’s life and when shalom is lacking what happens.
Shalom is lost when our primal self-absorption leads to profound social evils – to war, crime, family breakdown, oppression, and injustice. The world is filled with hunger, sickness, aging, and physical death. Because our relationship with God has broken down, shalom is gone – spiritually, psychologically, socially, and physically. (Generous Justice, Keller, pages 176-177)
Shalom is applicable to all parts of life. The word is used for all parts of speech; as a noun, adjective, verb, adverb, and interjection. It categorizes all shaloms. (Source) Christ wants us to be touched with shalom in every way possible.
The idea of shalom, its lack and its place in my life, has been more on my heart and mind the past couple of years since I really got what it actually was. In the book I read by Keller he asked a question that applied to areas of social justice but could easily be, and should be, considered for personal life as well. We cannot pass on shalom if we do not possess it ourselves. He posed this question and asked the reader to ask it of themselves and of their communities, "Where has the fabric of shalom broken down? Those are the places I need to weave myself into to reweave and strengthen the fabric and restore it to shalom." (Generous Justice, Keller, page 177)
As 2014 was closing out and 2015 was starting to peek her head up I felt compelled by shalom to focus on shalom in this new year. So for the first time in my memory I decided to dedicate the calendar year to shalom. My family and I have had a rough couple of years. We've had some good moments for sure but overall? The fabric of shalom has broken down in us individually and then collectively. This year, in 2015 and beyond, I am asking God to restore shalom to my husband, my children, myself and to us as a family so we can then be his hands and feet to restore shalom to our local and global communities. I need the peace of shalom in my life in order to be the wife and mom, to be an employee and co-worker, to be a sister and a friend, in order to be a daughter and an Auntie.
What about you? Are there places in your life where the fabric of shalom has broken down and needs to be reweaved? Will you let that weaving take place for the purposes of wholeness?
May shalom be found in your life this year.
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Tuesday, February 10, 2015
Dear Teenager, I want you to know...
...that this moment you are living is not the whole of your life. It feels like it, I know. Oh do I know. You see, I was a teenager once as well. So were your parents. And while so much has changed about being a teenager this has not. This moment, this hard and yucky and distressing moment, is not the whole of your life. I'll even go so far as to say I promise it isn't.
Don't let this moment color your entire life. When the painting of your life is finished, this moment will be the tiniest speck of color, lost in the amazing life that waits for you. This moment might feel like a large blob of black dropped on to the canvas of your life but I promise you it isn't. Don't allow this moment to define your whole life, it doesn't have that kind of power as long as you don't give it that power. This moment is simply texture on the painting of your life and we all need some texture.
Put this moment in its proper place. Don't allow it to be bigger than it is, casting shadows on all the good things in your life right now. In fact one of the ways to diminish the false power of this moment is to verbalize and live out gratitude. When was the last time you truly did that? When was the last time you thanked your parents for letting you stay out with friends until 10 pm instead of complain that they wouldn't let you stay out until 10:15 pm? When was the last time you thanked your parents for providing food in the house instead of complain about not having your favorite snacks? Do you see what I mean? It's a matter of perspective and this moment needs to be put in its place. This moment is birthed from a lack of gratitude for what you do have and a sense of offense for what you think you need but haven't been provided. That's called entitlement and it will steal your soul and give you more of these moments than you should have.
Sometimes this moment is birthed from a true injustice. You still have the power to put it in its place and control it instead of it controlling you. Find someone to help you, you can't do things like this alone. There is no shame in needing some help, a guide, a mentor, someone with more life experience than you. There's no shame in it, in fact seeking help is one of the wisest things you will ever do.
This moment is temporary. It feels final. But it isn't. Even as soon as next year you will look back on it and shake your head at the feeble attempts to have power over you. It is only temporary, however, as long as you put it in its proper place. If you allow it to define you then it wins and you lose.
I've had moments. Moments born out of true injustice and moments because I lacked gratitude. Sometimes I still have moments but I know I cannot let them define me. One of my greatest desires is to see you learn that lesson sooner rather than later like I did. I wasted years, literally, of my life being defined by a moment or two. I don't want that for you. There's so much life to live, why let a moment spoil it? On the timeline of your life being a teenager is going to be a speck. Right now it feels momentous and like it covers such a large portion of your life. And it does, right now. But when you look back you'll see the reality of this time and these moments. There's so much more life to live and look forward to, don't let this moment derail you. Don't let this moment become so overwhelming that you think life can't be lived any longer. People who take their lives have been derailed by a moment. And sometimes they let moments build on top of one another until all they see are the blobs of black on the painting of their life. They can't see the color. But the color is there, I promise.
Dearest teenager, this moment, this hard and distressing moment, will pass. Take a nap, watch a comedy, list out what you are grateful for, take deep cleansing breaths, and recognize that the moment only has power as long as you let it. Have the hard conversations if that is what the moment requires, grab the hand of someone who won't let you go while you take control over this moment so it doesn't take control over you.
Don't let this moment have you, you are not this moment.
You are so much more.
Don't let this moment color your entire life. When the painting of your life is finished, this moment will be the tiniest speck of color, lost in the amazing life that waits for you. This moment might feel like a large blob of black dropped on to the canvas of your life but I promise you it isn't. Don't allow this moment to define your whole life, it doesn't have that kind of power as long as you don't give it that power. This moment is simply texture on the painting of your life and we all need some texture.
Put this moment in its proper place. Don't allow it to be bigger than it is, casting shadows on all the good things in your life right now. In fact one of the ways to diminish the false power of this moment is to verbalize and live out gratitude. When was the last time you truly did that? When was the last time you thanked your parents for letting you stay out with friends until 10 pm instead of complain that they wouldn't let you stay out until 10:15 pm? When was the last time you thanked your parents for providing food in the house instead of complain about not having your favorite snacks? Do you see what I mean? It's a matter of perspective and this moment needs to be put in its place. This moment is birthed from a lack of gratitude for what you do have and a sense of offense for what you think you need but haven't been provided. That's called entitlement and it will steal your soul and give you more of these moments than you should have.
Sometimes this moment is birthed from a true injustice. You still have the power to put it in its place and control it instead of it controlling you. Find someone to help you, you can't do things like this alone. There is no shame in needing some help, a guide, a mentor, someone with more life experience than you. There's no shame in it, in fact seeking help is one of the wisest things you will ever do.
This moment is temporary. It feels final. But it isn't. Even as soon as next year you will look back on it and shake your head at the feeble attempts to have power over you. It is only temporary, however, as long as you put it in its proper place. If you allow it to define you then it wins and you lose.
I've had moments. Moments born out of true injustice and moments because I lacked gratitude. Sometimes I still have moments but I know I cannot let them define me. One of my greatest desires is to see you learn that lesson sooner rather than later like I did. I wasted years, literally, of my life being defined by a moment or two. I don't want that for you. There's so much life to live, why let a moment spoil it? On the timeline of your life being a teenager is going to be a speck. Right now it feels momentous and like it covers such a large portion of your life. And it does, right now. But when you look back you'll see the reality of this time and these moments. There's so much more life to live and look forward to, don't let this moment derail you. Don't let this moment become so overwhelming that you think life can't be lived any longer. People who take their lives have been derailed by a moment. And sometimes they let moments build on top of one another until all they see are the blobs of black on the painting of their life. They can't see the color. But the color is there, I promise.
Dearest teenager, this moment, this hard and distressing moment, will pass. Take a nap, watch a comedy, list out what you are grateful for, take deep cleansing breaths, and recognize that the moment only has power as long as you let it. Have the hard conversations if that is what the moment requires, grab the hand of someone who won't let you go while you take control over this moment so it doesn't take control over you.
Don't let this moment have you, you are not this moment.
You are so much more.
Tuesday, February 03, 2015
Oh My Darlin'
Memories of Paul Ray Ashley
December 27, 1926 - January 4, 2015
The last time I saw him he wasn't quite sure who was in his room. But he knew he was supposed to know us so he pretended. I guess he didn't want to hurt anyone's feelings except we all knew that he wasn't quite sure who this group was. So we pretended also. Oh the things we do for loved ones. I helped him drink his water from a straw and he sucked at it greedily, making noises of appreciation. Someone had put golf on the TV and he was pretending to watch but he hates golf so when asked about it he exclaimed it was bullshit. We all snickered.
For at least two years I have been grieving the slow loss of this man that I grew up with, that my children were able to grow up with. He's been declining and it's been hard to watch. Because he knows he's connected to us all somehow he pretends to follow the conversations and know the people. But I know. I watch him. I watch him take in everyone with his eyes and try to pick up clues as to who people are from conversations. When he isn't confident of who someone is they get referred to as 'Lucky', in fact I don't remember the last time he called me by name. The only person he knows is his wife of 67 years, he never forgets her.
Years ago when his own Mama was declining, singing 1920's drunkard tunes and generally amusing everyone with her tunes, I remember holding her hand and realizing she and I had matching hands. Mine were a younger version of hers which meant they were also a younger version of his. When I look at my thumbs I see my Granny and now my Grandpa. I look at him and my Dad, next to one another, and see what I will look like as I grow older and toward the ages they are at.
In my younger years he smoked Camels. On our long summer trips in their motor home, affectionately named the Green Machine, I remember watching him store away all the cartons of Camels he bought for our trip. It never bothered me, the smoke, and to this day if I smell smoke I can usually tell if it is Camel brand and it doesn't bother me as much. Weird right? But he quit smoking when his body told him he had better stop or he wouldn't live long.
They lived on the edge of a ravine, tucked back in a wooded area. It was the best place. I loved that house. Grandpa had a riding lawn mower because there was so much area to cover. My brothers and I thought it was cool. So Grandpa taught us to drive it. We drove up and down their long driveway, collecting the mail for Grandma, and pretending we were grownups. Grandpa would stay in the garage tinkering around keeping an eye on us. His garage was tidy, organized. He had a workbench and I can distinctly remember how it would look lit up at nights he was working in there while we were running around their property playing in the dark. Sometimes when I think of my Grandpa I see him backlit by the light above the workbench, bending over, glasses perched on his nose, smoking a Camel, and tinkering, It's one of my fondest memories.
He had his flaws, as everyone does. He was racist and slightly male chauvinistic. But he was my Grandpa so I could forgive him these ideologies. When I was younger he would let me take sips of coffee and warn me it was going to stunt my growth. When I was older and getting my own coffee he switched from stunted growth tales to telling me it would turn my nipples black. Yes, yes he did. Scandalous! He would give me a knowing nod and wink when he watched my daughters drink some coffee. All I could do was shake my head and grin.
After his Mama passed he and Grandma moved to Colorado where all of us were. We resumed a family tradition of Saturday morning breakfast. I'm incredibly grateful for the years we were able to do that, my girls got to experience some of what I did as I grew up and they got to know their great-grandparents in a way a lot of kids don't. Saturday morning breakfasts were some of the best memories I will carry with me.
When I was little it was their house that was the "holiday home." It's where everyone landed for get togethers during holidays. My parents house became the "holiday home" once Grandpa and Grandma moved to Colorado. My Aunt and her husband would pick them up on their way and all four would arrive together. One Thanksgiving a very large group of us played a family favorite card game and about 2 am it ended. We laughed and laughed. We always played cards and dice when together, it was - it is - our thing. We did it with his Mama back in the day and have never stopped.
He fought in World War II. When the war ended he had to go to one of the concentration camps. I've never heard him utter a word about it, some things you see you just can't talk about. After his time in the service he became an engineer. He rose through the ranks of his company, ending up a VP before he retired. He was an incredibly smart man, his brain was like a machine. His company used Fireballs, the candy, as their trademark or signature. There were bowls of them all over their offices and he would bring home paper bags full of them. I grew up sucking on Fireballs and thinking that was normal, didn't everyone have a never ending supply of Fireballs to enjoy?
He kept busy after retirement. He built a pottery wheel and kiln and learned to throw clay. He tooled leather. He collected coins. He pulled out his art supplies and used them again. He played poker with his buddies once a month and went on trips with his metal detecting club. He probably annoyed Grandma too but I never heard about that. *grin*
When I was younger I remember watching him eat raisin bran with cranberry juice. I couldn't fathom it. Why would he do that? And then I learned that he had no sense of taste or smell due to an illness. Every time he sniffed appreciatively or exclaimed, "this tastes great" he was fooling around. He couldn't smell nor taste a thing!
Growing up my grandparents slept in two twin beds. I didn't understand why they would do that but then I discovered that at night they would push those beds together and separate them again in the morning. That always made my heart a bit warmer. One morning I remember laying in my own fold out bed across the hall from them and I could hear them murmuring and he was rubbing her back as they talked and woke up for the day. I love having that memory of them, really of him in his role as a husband. It was rare to see that side of him since he was my Grandpa.
He whistled all the time. And he would sing bits and pieces of songs at times. One song is at the forefront of my memories. He would whistle it and sing it. "Oh My Darling Clementine" is weaved into all my memories of Grandpa. Except only these words to the song, "Oh my darlin', oh my darlin', oh my darling Clementine..." I never realized any other words existed. Imagine my surprise when I finally figured out there were other words. *grin*
The last time I saw him he would burst into song at random times. I don't know the tunes he was singing then but it wasn't the one I was always used to hearing him whistle. I found myself leaning down to hug him and heard myself humming, "Oh my darlin', oh my darlin', oh my darling Clementine..."
In my younger years he smoked Camels. On our long summer trips in their motor home, affectionately named the Green Machine, I remember watching him store away all the cartons of Camels he bought for our trip. It never bothered me, the smoke, and to this day if I smell smoke I can usually tell if it is Camel brand and it doesn't bother me as much. Weird right? But he quit smoking when his body told him he had better stop or he wouldn't live long.
They lived on the edge of a ravine, tucked back in a wooded area. It was the best place. I loved that house. Grandpa had a riding lawn mower because there was so much area to cover. My brothers and I thought it was cool. So Grandpa taught us to drive it. We drove up and down their long driveway, collecting the mail for Grandma, and pretending we were grownups. Grandpa would stay in the garage tinkering around keeping an eye on us. His garage was tidy, organized. He had a workbench and I can distinctly remember how it would look lit up at nights he was working in there while we were running around their property playing in the dark. Sometimes when I think of my Grandpa I see him backlit by the light above the workbench, bending over, glasses perched on his nose, smoking a Camel, and tinkering, It's one of my fondest memories.
He had his flaws, as everyone does. He was racist and slightly male chauvinistic. But he was my Grandpa so I could forgive him these ideologies. When I was younger he would let me take sips of coffee and warn me it was going to stunt my growth. When I was older and getting my own coffee he switched from stunted growth tales to telling me it would turn my nipples black. Yes, yes he did. Scandalous! He would give me a knowing nod and wink when he watched my daughters drink some coffee. All I could do was shake my head and grin.
After his Mama passed he and Grandma moved to Colorado where all of us were. We resumed a family tradition of Saturday morning breakfast. I'm incredibly grateful for the years we were able to do that, my girls got to experience some of what I did as I grew up and they got to know their great-grandparents in a way a lot of kids don't. Saturday morning breakfasts were some of the best memories I will carry with me.
When I was little it was their house that was the "holiday home." It's where everyone landed for get togethers during holidays. My parents house became the "holiday home" once Grandpa and Grandma moved to Colorado. My Aunt and her husband would pick them up on their way and all four would arrive together. One Thanksgiving a very large group of us played a family favorite card game and about 2 am it ended. We laughed and laughed. We always played cards and dice when together, it was - it is - our thing. We did it with his Mama back in the day and have never stopped.
He fought in World War II. When the war ended he had to go to one of the concentration camps. I've never heard him utter a word about it, some things you see you just can't talk about. After his time in the service he became an engineer. He rose through the ranks of his company, ending up a VP before he retired. He was an incredibly smart man, his brain was like a machine. His company used Fireballs, the candy, as their trademark or signature. There were bowls of them all over their offices and he would bring home paper bags full of them. I grew up sucking on Fireballs and thinking that was normal, didn't everyone have a never ending supply of Fireballs to enjoy?
He kept busy after retirement. He built a pottery wheel and kiln and learned to throw clay. He tooled leather. He collected coins. He pulled out his art supplies and used them again. He played poker with his buddies once a month and went on trips with his metal detecting club. He probably annoyed Grandma too but I never heard about that. *grin*
When I was younger I remember watching him eat raisin bran with cranberry juice. I couldn't fathom it. Why would he do that? And then I learned that he had no sense of taste or smell due to an illness. Every time he sniffed appreciatively or exclaimed, "this tastes great" he was fooling around. He couldn't smell nor taste a thing!
Growing up my grandparents slept in two twin beds. I didn't understand why they would do that but then I discovered that at night they would push those beds together and separate them again in the morning. That always made my heart a bit warmer. One morning I remember laying in my own fold out bed across the hall from them and I could hear them murmuring and he was rubbing her back as they talked and woke up for the day. I love having that memory of them, really of him in his role as a husband. It was rare to see that side of him since he was my Grandpa.
He whistled all the time. And he would sing bits and pieces of songs at times. One song is at the forefront of my memories. He would whistle it and sing it. "Oh My Darling Clementine" is weaved into all my memories of Grandpa. Except only these words to the song, "Oh my darlin', oh my darlin', oh my darling Clementine..." I never realized any other words existed. Imagine my surprise when I finally figured out there were other words. *grin*
The last time I saw him he would burst into song at random times. I don't know the tunes he was singing then but it wasn't the one I was always used to hearing him whistle. I found myself leaning down to hug him and heard myself humming, "Oh my darlin', oh my darlin', oh my darling Clementine..."
Wednesday, January 07, 2015
Tangled Webs
The thing about tangled webs is eventually they get destroyed. Someone may innocently pick at part of your tangled mess of lies and begin the unraveling process. Or perhaps someone starts purposely picking at part of your tangled web because they are suspicious. Once one person starts picking it is only a matter of time before others can, and will, pick at other parts of the web and before we know it our tangled web of deception has been exposed and lies upon lies are revealed.
The interesting thing about our practiced deception is at some point we begin to believe the lies we are telling others and ourselves. We lose our sensitivity to truth. Once we begin to believe our own lies we start to justify our lies. We allow our deception to become our defense. We create more tangles in our web with the justifications we have to use in order to keep up the tangle we've gotten ourselves into. But once that picking begins and the unraveling starts we find ourselves frantic, making mistakes, telling lies that are no longer believable, backing away from people and trying to extricate ourselves before all is revealed. But the unraveling of our tangled web takes on a momentum of its own and we will not escape our practiced deception and the consequences of it. We will be required to face the fallout, feel the consequences, and be called into account for who we have hurt and the damage we have done.
Part of the tangled web of deception is a false belief that what we do and say affects nobody but us. That's just another lie we tell ourselves. Deception always affects others, always. Those who have unknowingly, and unwillingly, been tangled up in the web will be hurt, feel betrayed, have anger, vacillate between disbelief and belief, and a whole host of other emotions. There will even be those who aren't tangled up in the web that get hurt. Those just outside of the tangled mess can be affected as well. The potential for them to feel the same degree of hurt, betrayal, anger, disbelief is real and almost certain.
Webs, transparent or opaque, all start the same way. They start with a spun word and grow from there. It is our choice whether the web is well spun or becomes a tangled mess.
Sunday, November 30, 2014
Sanctuary
About 2 miles off the road and hidden against the mountain is a sanctuary. I first drove onto the grounds of this sanctuary when I was 16, newly licensed and needing to find a job. The circles I ran in brought word of an opening in the King James Dining Room at Glen Eyrie, a local castle serving as a retreat and conference center and owned by The Navigator's. I suppose I filled out an application, perhaps had an interview, I'm sure appropriate tax forms were filled out. I remember none of that. I only remember the early mornings and late nights driving the winding roads to the castle, exiting the hustle and bustle of Colorado Springs and entering the stillness, silence, and calm of Glen Eyrie. I adored it. Even though I was coming to work I felt like I was entering into a peaceful place. The reality is, I was. Glen Eyrie is magic. The further off of 31st Street you get and the closer the castle appears the more its magic weaves itself into the air you breathe.
I worked in the King James Dining Room for approximately 2 1/2 years. In that time I served countless groups of people breakfast, lunch, dinner. I got to participate in serving at the Madrigal Dinner the Castle hosts each year at Christmas time. It was the perfect first job. My favorite times to be on the winding dark roads of Glen Eyrie were in the early mornings. I would turn off my radio as I went through the front gate and I would let the silence and magic of The Glen seep into my car and my being. I didn't really recognize it then as I do now, but it was as if my soul was taking a deep breath.
Throughout the years since I have been fortunate enough to visit The Glen on and off, mostly for day retreats and once for a place of retreat as depression weighed on my heart. Years ago as God was leading me through some necessary closure in my life, I stole on to the grounds and sat beneath a large tree in the expanse of grass and found the closure I needed to move forward. Sometimes you don't realize how important a place is until you almost lose it.
In the summer of 2012 the Waldo Canyon fire ate its way through some of our closer mountains, took a local landmark, The Flying W Ranch, and destroyed a large portion of a neighborhood that sat against the mountain the fire jumped to. Anxiously watching the fire inch closer and closer to Glen Eyrie, they finally had to evacuate and pray. There was nothing more to be done. Fire teams were doing all they could to beat the fire into submission but it had a mind of its own and where it went they just had to follow and try to contain. When all was said and done, Glen Eyrie was safe. Just barely. If you look up at the ridge right above the castle you see scorched trees and a clear line where the fire ceased burning down the mountain. Glen Eyrie had been spared. As a community we breathed a sigh of relief. We had already lost the Flying W and to the lose The Glen in addition to that plus all the homes felt like too much. It already was too much for our shocked and soot covered hearts.
A month ago my hub whisked me away for a surprise weekend. I was told to pack comfy and casual, that's all I knew. I was so intrigued, where could we be going? And then he turned off of 31st Street and began to wind his way toward the front gate of The Glen. Oh my. My heart stilled, I grabbed his hand. "Really? We are staying here this weekend?" Really, we were. What a true gift. I'm not sure he knew how important this place was to my heart. It was a sanctuary for me. We stepped out of the car at the Carriage House to check in. And the magic of The Glen was already working on me. The silence and calm of it was the first thing to hit my senses as we exited the car. I felt my soul take a deep breath.
It was a glorious weekend. The weather was the last perfect weather we were going to have for quite some time, my hub and I needed this time alone after some rough years of marriage and parenting and so the company was fantastic, the cabin room he reserved for us was in one of the more special cabins on the property and was an amazing retreat space for us. The front porch of the cabin has these huge wooden swings and we spent time, silently holding hands and rocking, on that porch. After breakfast the first morning we were debating where to walk and how to spend our day. Walking out the front door of the castle my eye caught a stand of sorts. Curious I walked to it and saw that The Glen had created a prayer walk through its grounds and this was one of the stops. The weather
was incredible, I was reluctant to be indoors. We had eaten a great breakfast but needed to walk it off and we had no plans at all for the day. So the hub and I walked the grounds of The Glen according to the prayer walk and spent time communing with one another and with God. We took our time, enjoying the weather, the grounds, the peace of The Glen, the prayer with each other and with the Lord. I saw the magic of The Glen begin to work on my hub and it led to good and important conversation. We began to feel a sense of ease that we hadn't felt in quite some time. After many hours of the amazing weather and prayer time around the property we took a nap and knew we would need to leave that evening for a brief time to get some dinner. I was reluctant to leave, even for just an hour or two. My soul was enjoying the peace and the quiet and I was feeling hesitant about reentering into the hustle of life. I had reconnected that day with my sanctuary and wanted to take full advantage of our time there.
Throughout the day I kept looking up at the ridge where the fire threatened to roll down the mountain and consume such a special place. I couldn't help but feel emotional, realizing how close I and so many others came to losing such a magical place. I also kept thinking of the middle ages custom of claiming "sanctuary" from legal action and from enemies. The church back then would honor the person and assist them in making restitution or in escaping from a danger on their life. I thought about how these days the church is no longer the sanctuary it should be. People come for help, healing, and hope and instead are shunned, judged, and left open to more injury. No longer can we really enter a structure that calls itself a church or house of God and claim sanctuary. God alone, in his presence, is the only place that we can claim sanctuary and know that we will receive it. The Glen was my sanctuary. The Glen is my sanctuary. It is where I feel the deepest connection to God, most likely because of the magic of it. Peace, calm, silence, and serenity blanket me from the moment I turn off of 31st Street.
When we finally left Glen Eyrie that weekend to head for home I was refreshed in my spirit, hopeful that my hub was as well, but not ready for the noise of life which I knew would assault our senses as we turned on to 31st Street. I prepared by reminding myself that the place I claim sanctuary is always a short car drive away and I can always be in the presence of God and his peace because he lives in me. Later that night we were at home, our redheads were chattering, the television was on, and my hub turned to me and said, "Can we go back?"
I worked in the King James Dining Room for approximately 2 1/2 years. In that time I served countless groups of people breakfast, lunch, dinner. I got to participate in serving at the Madrigal Dinner the Castle hosts each year at Christmas time. It was the perfect first job. My favorite times to be on the winding dark roads of Glen Eyrie were in the early mornings. I would turn off my radio as I went through the front gate and I would let the silence and magic of The Glen seep into my car and my being. I didn't really recognize it then as I do now, but it was as if my soul was taking a deep breath.
A month ago my hub whisked me away for a surprise weekend. I was told to pack comfy and casual, that's all I knew. I was so intrigued, where could we be going? And then he turned off of 31st Street and began to wind his way toward the front gate of The Glen. Oh my. My heart stilled, I grabbed his hand. "Really? We are staying here this weekend?" Really, we were. What a true gift. I'm not sure he knew how important this place was to my heart. It was a sanctuary for me. We stepped out of the car at the Carriage House to check in. And the magic of The Glen was already working on me. The silence and calm of it was the first thing to hit my senses as we exited the car. I felt my soul take a deep breath.
It was a glorious weekend. The weather was the last perfect weather we were going to have for quite some time, my hub and I needed this time alone after some rough years of marriage and parenting and so the company was fantastic, the cabin room he reserved for us was in one of the more special cabins on the property and was an amazing retreat space for us. The front porch of the cabin has these huge wooden swings and we spent time, silently holding hands and rocking, on that porch. After breakfast the first morning we were debating where to walk and how to spend our day. Walking out the front door of the castle my eye caught a stand of sorts. Curious I walked to it and saw that The Glen had created a prayer walk through its grounds and this was one of the stops. The weather
Throughout the day I kept looking up at the ridge where the fire threatened to roll down the mountain and consume such a special place. I couldn't help but feel emotional, realizing how close I and so many others came to losing such a magical place. I also kept thinking of the middle ages custom of claiming "sanctuary" from legal action and from enemies. The church back then would honor the person and assist them in making restitution or in escaping from a danger on their life. I thought about how these days the church is no longer the sanctuary it should be. People come for help, healing, and hope and instead are shunned, judged, and left open to more injury. No longer can we really enter a structure that calls itself a church or house of God and claim sanctuary. God alone, in his presence, is the only place that we can claim sanctuary and know that we will receive it. The Glen was my sanctuary. The Glen is my sanctuary. It is where I feel the deepest connection to God, most likely because of the magic of it. Peace, calm, silence, and serenity blanket me from the moment I turn off of 31st Street.
Sunday, November 23, 2014
Showing Up For My Life
Today my eyes cracked open and I saw the time and I groaned. I literally had to pep talk myself out of bed this morning and I heard myself say, "Beth, show up for your life today." SIGH. And another part of me replied back, "I'm not sure I can." SIGH. After a few minutes of back and forth I dragged myself out of bed and tried to engage with the new day.
It's a hard time of year for me. Getting dark around 5 pm certainly doesn't help. I feel like I need to go into hibernation mode along with the bears. Frankly I feel a little jealous of them. I mean, I've stored up the fat already. A few weeks ago I read this fascinating article about a guy in Maine who had lived as a hermit for almost 30 years. I confess, I was a little envious of his ability to pull it off. Although I would have picked someplace warmer to seclude myself from society. A couple of the Maine winters almost killed him.
It seems to me that one day the hermit woke up in his real life and heard, "Show up for your life today," and he couldn't. Maybe he didn't even try to pep talk himself into showing up. So he went into hibernation mode instead. While I feel envious, I also know I can't do that. That isn't healthy. I need to continue to engage with humans and responsibilities. I need to be brave enough to continue to face hard things and wrestle through them. I need to work through mistakes and flaws. I need to set myself aside and be there for others. But lately I've had to do a lot of pep talking to get myself out of the house.
Depression is a tricky thing. I think I might be handling it okay and then BAM! It's got me in a half nelson and I'm headed toward a face plant on the mat called life. Last year I didn't think I would need meds again, I thought I had enough tools to help me combat the depression going that far in me. I was wrong. So I went back to my doctor, found a counselor, and started again.
Depression keeps me in a place of humility and gratefulness. Yes, gratefulness. That hasn't changed with this go round of black clouds. One of the things that I am grateful for is the humility it is developing in me. It keeps me from judging others harshly, and it keeps me sensitive toward those who are struggling.
For the past couple of months the idea of showing up for my life has exhausted me. Just thinking about the energy it will take to get into a shower, get dressed, get into the car and drive makes me want to go back to bed. But I'm fighting. I'm fighting to stay present in my life. It's the reason why I force myself to go to certain social events, why I extend past myself to others, why I continue to read books and write and leave voice messages for people on What's App. Having the voices of people who love me despite me in my world, even though they are miles away, motivates me to stay engaged in my life. I'm fighting to stay present in my life by continuing to look for more ways to assist at work, if I weren't fighting to stay present I would be doing the bare minimum to get by. But I know I need to engage so I'm learning new things, volunteering for things, and remaining pro-active. And I'm exhausted. Showing up for my life is exhausting but I'm doing it as best I can in this season.
And where I just don't have the energy to show up and participate my husband has stepped in and taken it on. He's been doing the grocery shopping among other things. He's generous in giving me space to show up and participate in a time frame that won't freak me out.
Showing up for life takes courage. Some days it feels impossible, other days it's rather easy. But I believe it takes courage every day no matter what to show up and participate in this life we've each been given. And it is a choice. We have a choice about first of all, showing up and then secondly, participating. I've showed up a social events or meetings but not participated, so while my physical body is present I am mentally and emotionally absent. Maybe that's okay every now and then but it shouldn't be the norm.
Have you been showing up for your life? More importantly, have you been participating once you make an appearance? What might be keeping you from engaging in life? Are there things you can change or do differently to prompt action? Or maybe it's not you having a tough time appearing in your life, maybe it's someone you know. How could you help them? Encourage them?
It's a hard time of year for me. Getting dark around 5 pm certainly doesn't help. I feel like I need to go into hibernation mode along with the bears. Frankly I feel a little jealous of them. I mean, I've stored up the fat already. A few weeks ago I read this fascinating article about a guy in Maine who had lived as a hermit for almost 30 years. I confess, I was a little envious of his ability to pull it off. Although I would have picked someplace warmer to seclude myself from society. A couple of the Maine winters almost killed him.
It seems to me that one day the hermit woke up in his real life and heard, "Show up for your life today," and he couldn't. Maybe he didn't even try to pep talk himself into showing up. So he went into hibernation mode instead. While I feel envious, I also know I can't do that. That isn't healthy. I need to continue to engage with humans and responsibilities. I need to be brave enough to continue to face hard things and wrestle through them. I need to work through mistakes and flaws. I need to set myself aside and be there for others. But lately I've had to do a lot of pep talking to get myself out of the house.
Depression is a tricky thing. I think I might be handling it okay and then BAM! It's got me in a half nelson and I'm headed toward a face plant on the mat called life. Last year I didn't think I would need meds again, I thought I had enough tools to help me combat the depression going that far in me. I was wrong. So I went back to my doctor, found a counselor, and started again.
Depression keeps me in a place of humility and gratefulness. Yes, gratefulness. That hasn't changed with this go round of black clouds. One of the things that I am grateful for is the humility it is developing in me. It keeps me from judging others harshly, and it keeps me sensitive toward those who are struggling.
For the past couple of months the idea of showing up for my life has exhausted me. Just thinking about the energy it will take to get into a shower, get dressed, get into the car and drive makes me want to go back to bed. But I'm fighting. I'm fighting to stay present in my life. It's the reason why I force myself to go to certain social events, why I extend past myself to others, why I continue to read books and write and leave voice messages for people on What's App. Having the voices of people who love me despite me in my world, even though they are miles away, motivates me to stay engaged in my life. I'm fighting to stay present in my life by continuing to look for more ways to assist at work, if I weren't fighting to stay present I would be doing the bare minimum to get by. But I know I need to engage so I'm learning new things, volunteering for things, and remaining pro-active. And I'm exhausted. Showing up for my life is exhausting but I'm doing it as best I can in this season.
And where I just don't have the energy to show up and participate my husband has stepped in and taken it on. He's been doing the grocery shopping among other things. He's generous in giving me space to show up and participate in a time frame that won't freak me out.
Showing up for life takes courage. Some days it feels impossible, other days it's rather easy. But I believe it takes courage every day no matter what to show up and participate in this life we've each been given. And it is a choice. We have a choice about first of all, showing up and then secondly, participating. I've showed up a social events or meetings but not participated, so while my physical body is present I am mentally and emotionally absent. Maybe that's okay every now and then but it shouldn't be the norm.
Have you been showing up for your life? More importantly, have you been participating once you make an appearance? What might be keeping you from engaging in life? Are there things you can change or do differently to prompt action? Or maybe it's not you having a tough time appearing in your life, maybe it's someone you know. How could you help them? Encourage them?
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