Another excellent piece of advice from the book I mentioned yesterday,
Survival Lessons, is this: Choose the Evidence.
Write it down. Even if it's a few sentences. Because you won't remember.
You think you will never forget, but you will. Write down your life story
or a poem. Sometimes shorter is better. Make a list of what all you have
loved in this unfair and beautiful world. Fireflies. Blue herons. Fresh coffee.
Manhattan as dusk. The man waiting in the other room. The woman
with dark eyes.
So today, I'm gonna share a partial list of a few things and people and places I have loved in this life of mine. This list fits in with Thankful Thursday, right?
* Pistachios and cashews and pumpkin seeds
* the library
* journals and pens and watercolor paper
* candles and incense
* riding the bus and the subway, especially in foreign cities
* walking through airports
* wearing a backpack
* trips that require a passport
* seeing women with babies in slings and other close carriers
* redheads
* being pregnant and nursing my own babies
* vegan chocolate chip cookies from Karen's recipe
* every single place I have ever lived
* the movie "The English Patient"
* movie - Out of Africa
* movie - The Apostle
* movie - When a Man Loves a Woman
* cardio funk classes with Andre and his cardio crazies
* automatic dishwashers
* Eileen Fisher clothing, especially when it's on sale
* yoga
* long walks on warm days
* making love
* dancing
* car rides of all lengths
* wandering through museums, especially the Prado in Madrid
* scarves and mittens
* holding hands
* singing and listening to hymns
* teaching
* eating candy and other goodies with my Dad
* watching Karen's children being born
* pineapple: cutting it open and devouring it
* oatmeal with blueberries and mango
* green smoothies
* going to the zoo
* ancient cathedrals
* taking communion
* watching baptisms
* Madrid, Sevilla, Barcelona, Roma, Firenze, Siena, Orvieto, Bologna
* those old records, The Bible in Living Sound, that I listened to as a child
* hot showers, clean hair, shaved legs
* swimming pools
* riding a bike on the beach at Hilton Head
* watching television
* Roger Federer
* Serena Williams
* Peyton Manning
* planning trips
* getting email and snail mail
* hearing good news
* caller ID on my cell phone and our house phone
* laughter, belly laughs
* babysitting
* learning new things
* being a student
* when people ask me how I'm doing and really want to know the answer
* solitude and silence and prayer
* Caravaggio's paintings
* recognizing and being able to identify paintings and their creators
* ripe bananas
* watching track and field meets and the memories of when I was a runner
* reading to my children
* bacon and sausage and pepperoni
* Reese's peanut butter cups and Snickers bars
* Cherry Coke and Pepsi and Diet Dr. Pepper
* sweet tea, Southern style
* balsamic glaze from Trader Joe's
* their Sublime ice cream sandwiches
* Menchie's frozen yogurt
* going to the movies with Steve or Kristiana or Heather or Antonio
* knowledgeable and enthusiastic tour guides who also happen to be great friends
* Hindi movies
* almond butter and peanut butter
* daffodils and irises in the spring
* screened in porches
* bungalows on tree-lined streets
* swings, in playgrounds and backyards
* blue corn chips with mango salsa
* Anne Lamott
* Sue Monk Kidd
* Henri Nouwen
* Alice Walker
* Rebecca Walker
* Barbara Brown Taylor
* bookshelves filled to overflowing
* sleeping late on Saturday mornings
* staying in my pajamas all day
* lifting weights
* being remembered
* being loved
* being invited to speak or teach
* thank you notes, sending them and receiving them
* India Arie
* Kevin Hart
* Oprah's Super Soul Sunday show
* Huey Lewis and the News
* James Taylor
* Gavin Degraw
* outdoor concerts during the summer
* hugs and kisses
* olive oil and balsamic vinegar on salads
* veggie burgers, lemon drop martinis, and key lime pie from 131 Main
* running into friends unexpectedly
* making plans to meet up with friends
* paper towels and cloth napkins
* water with lemon
* synchronicity
* the way in which my pulse and my breathing slow down when I make lists like this.
Gratitude and love and contentment and joy seem to grow together in bunches.
Sometimes when I make these lists, I include the same things and people more than once. I guess I love those things and people a lot. The things that I am grateful for and the people and places I have loved come to mind frequently and repeatedly. I have so much to be grateful for. And I'm enormously grateful for that fact.
Sometimes when I think about my favorite things, I wonder if my tastes are too simple and ordinary. Then I remember - these are my pleasures and they certainly aren't too simple for me. And by no means are they ordinary.
Here's an example of why I say that: when I think about all the stories that have to coincide, all the details that have to come together perfectly, all the people who have to be at exactly the right place at the right time in order for key lime pie to be made at my favorite restaurant and brought to my table, I am moved nearly to tears.
Buy the land. Cultivate the land. Raise chickens and harvest their eggs. Grow the key limes. Grow the sugar. Grow the wheat to make the crust. Harvest it. Process it. Ship it. Distribute it. Measure it. Bake it. Cut it. Someplace else in the world, plates are made. So are forks and knives and ovens and baking tins. Someplace else, chefs are trained, recipes are created, and restaurants are established. Then somebody creates a menu, hires cooks and bakers, trains the servers, and makes sure that there are enough of all of the above to keep the pies coming. See what I mean?
Is there really such a thing as "a simple pleasure?"
Or is every moment, every meal, every encounter, every conversation
truly a series of inconceivable and inexplicable miracles?
As I ponder that final question, I'm gonna eat a few clementines.
Isn't fresh fruit simply fabulous?
Thursday, March 27, 2014
Wednesday, March 26, 2014
Survival Lessons
On a recent trip to the library, (Have I mentioned how much I love going to the library?) I found a book by Alice Hoffman called Survival Lessons. I liked the brief synopsis on the book flap and it was a small book so I figured I would bring it home and see what it was all about. I like small books - silly little admission, I know, but it's true.
From the book flap - Survival Lessons provides a road map of how to reclaim your life from this day forward, with ways to reenvision everything - from relationships with friends and family to the way you see yourself. As Alice Hoffman says, "In many ways I wrote Survival Lessons to remind myself of the beauty of life, something that's all too easy to overlook during the crisis of illness or loss. I forgot that our lives are made up of equal parts of sorrow and joy, and that it is impossible to have one without the other. I wrote to remind myself that despite everything that was happening to me, there were still choices I could make." Wise, gentle and wry, Alice Hoffman teaches all of us how to choose what matters most.
Of course, I was reminded of my kanswer journey - of the lessons I learned about sorrow and happiness, beauty and baldness, laughter and tears, and how to choose hope, joy, and peace in the face of surgery, chemo, and hot flashes.
We do not always have a choice about what happens to us, but we always have a choice about how we will respond to what happens to us. And every time we choose bitterness, anger, complaining, and resentment, we also get to change our minds - and choose joy, forgiveness, acceptance, and to take deep breaths until all that stuff passes.
When I found myself battling fear, wrestling with doubts about how strong I didn't think I was,
when I find myself battling fear now, wrestling with doubts about how strong I still don't feel,
when I find myself dealing with jealousy, worry, disappointment,
I knew then and I know now that I have a choice.
I have many choices.
Here's what I found on the page between the Preface and the first chapter.
"There is always a before and an after.
My advice, travel light.
Choose only what you need most to see you through."
Before and after the doubt,
before and after the apprehension,
before and after the angst,
before and after the pain,
before and after every step I take,
I can choose what I will carry into the next phase of my journey.
Alice Hoffman's book reminded me - and reminds all of us - of some of the things that we get to choose even in the face of breast kanswer - which she also battled. Here are a few of the lessons she included in her list of lively little book -
* Choose your heroes - she described a friend about who battled kanswer this way: "She, herself, remained the same beautiful person she'd always been, with or without hair. You could take one look at her face and know she understood joy. In a last card to me, she wrote: Life is beautiful, just very unfair."
May that be said of more of us - that one look at our faces will reveal that we understand joy.
May more of us accept the truth of her final statement - life is so very beautiful, and so very unfair.
* Choose to enjoy yourself - "Start by eating chocolate," she suggests. "In fact, if you can, eat whatever you want. Any time. Any place. Cook your dream dinner."
Certainly that suggestion won't sit well with some people for very good reasons, but there is definitely a lot to be said for choosing to eat things we love and love what we eat. For choosing to enjoy our meals, our friendships, our conversations, our bodies, our relationships, the beauty of spring, and even the wildness of the weather. I choose to be grateful. I choose to be joyfull.
* About friends, she writes this - "If people aren't there for you now, when you really need them, they never will be, and it's time to move on. You'll be amazed by how many new friends you have in the after. They'll be the ones who aren't afraid of sorrow, who know we can't avoid it. The best we can do is face it together."
The first part of that description is sad, but true. Some folks that used to be good friends, that used to regularly check in with me, stopped doing so when I got sick. I am sorry to have lost contact with them. I wish them well. I wish them peace.
The good news is that I have many old friends and a few new ones that I met during the darkest time of my life who have flooded my life with light and laughter. Friends who aren't afraid of my tears or their own. Friends who are committed to facing their own battles bravely and willing to walk alongside me as I face my own with whatever bravery I can muster.
Enjoying life day by day, hour by hour,
spending time with friends, talking and looking up to my heroes,
eating chocolate every now and then, drinking tea and kombucha and fresh juices,
doing yoga, lifting weights, going for long, meditative walks
reading, journaling, sewing, painting, baking,
spending time in solitude and silence and prayer,
being honest with myself about how I'm feeling, what I need, and what I want,
asking for help, for support, for forgiveness, for a hug, and for time with my loved ones,
reclaiming every aspect of my life and also giving it over more fully to God,
these are a few of joys I have chosen and the lessons I have learned.
PS. I choose more than survival. I choose to thrive.
From the book flap - Survival Lessons provides a road map of how to reclaim your life from this day forward, with ways to reenvision everything - from relationships with friends and family to the way you see yourself. As Alice Hoffman says, "In many ways I wrote Survival Lessons to remind myself of the beauty of life, something that's all too easy to overlook during the crisis of illness or loss. I forgot that our lives are made up of equal parts of sorrow and joy, and that it is impossible to have one without the other. I wrote to remind myself that despite everything that was happening to me, there were still choices I could make." Wise, gentle and wry, Alice Hoffman teaches all of us how to choose what matters most.
Of course, I was reminded of my kanswer journey - of the lessons I learned about sorrow and happiness, beauty and baldness, laughter and tears, and how to choose hope, joy, and peace in the face of surgery, chemo, and hot flashes.
We do not always have a choice about what happens to us, but we always have a choice about how we will respond to what happens to us. And every time we choose bitterness, anger, complaining, and resentment, we also get to change our minds - and choose joy, forgiveness, acceptance, and to take deep breaths until all that stuff passes.
When I found myself battling fear, wrestling with doubts about how strong I didn't think I was,
when I find myself battling fear now, wrestling with doubts about how strong I still don't feel,
when I find myself dealing with jealousy, worry, disappointment,
I knew then and I know now that I have a choice.
I have many choices.
Here's what I found on the page between the Preface and the first chapter.
"There is always a before and an after.
My advice, travel light.
Choose only what you need most to see you through."
Before and after the doubt,
before and after the apprehension,
before and after the angst,
before and after the pain,
before and after every step I take,
I can choose what I will carry into the next phase of my journey.
Alice Hoffman's book reminded me - and reminds all of us - of some of the things that we get to choose even in the face of breast kanswer - which she also battled. Here are a few of the lessons she included in her list of lively little book -
* Choose your heroes - she described a friend about who battled kanswer this way: "She, herself, remained the same beautiful person she'd always been, with or without hair. You could take one look at her face and know she understood joy. In a last card to me, she wrote: Life is beautiful, just very unfair."
May that be said of more of us - that one look at our faces will reveal that we understand joy.
May more of us accept the truth of her final statement - life is so very beautiful, and so very unfair.
* Choose to enjoy yourself - "Start by eating chocolate," she suggests. "In fact, if you can, eat whatever you want. Any time. Any place. Cook your dream dinner."
Certainly that suggestion won't sit well with some people for very good reasons, but there is definitely a lot to be said for choosing to eat things we love and love what we eat. For choosing to enjoy our meals, our friendships, our conversations, our bodies, our relationships, the beauty of spring, and even the wildness of the weather. I choose to be grateful. I choose to be joyfull.
* About friends, she writes this - "If people aren't there for you now, when you really need them, they never will be, and it's time to move on. You'll be amazed by how many new friends you have in the after. They'll be the ones who aren't afraid of sorrow, who know we can't avoid it. The best we can do is face it together."
The first part of that description is sad, but true. Some folks that used to be good friends, that used to regularly check in with me, stopped doing so when I got sick. I am sorry to have lost contact with them. I wish them well. I wish them peace.
The good news is that I have many old friends and a few new ones that I met during the darkest time of my life who have flooded my life with light and laughter. Friends who aren't afraid of my tears or their own. Friends who are committed to facing their own battles bravely and willing to walk alongside me as I face my own with whatever bravery I can muster.
Enjoying life day by day, hour by hour,
spending time with friends, talking and looking up to my heroes,
eating chocolate every now and then, drinking tea and kombucha and fresh juices,
doing yoga, lifting weights, going for long, meditative walks
reading, journaling, sewing, painting, baking,
spending time in solitude and silence and prayer,
being honest with myself about how I'm feeling, what I need, and what I want,
asking for help, for support, for forgiveness, for a hug, and for time with my loved ones,
reclaiming every aspect of my life and also giving it over more fully to God,
these are a few of joys I have chosen and the lessons I have learned.
PS. I choose more than survival. I choose to thrive.
Saturday, March 22, 2014
Not that it was any of her business...
Yesterday, I did some shopping at Trader Joe's. I love that story. It is my favorite supermarket.
I arrived at the register and discovered yet another super friendly cashier, as nearly all the employees tend to be. There was one young woman who used to work there who managed to never say "hello" to me. Now that may not be a big deal in some supermarkets, but in Trader Joe's that is a rarity. That chick used to greet everybody around me and near me, but look away and never even acknowledge my presence. I have no idea what that was about. But once I made the intentional decision to ask her for help finding something. She had to talk to me then. I haven't seen her much lately. Perhaps Trader Joe's was too friendly a place for her.
Back to yesterday's story. I got to the cash register and she started unloading and scanning my stuff. She asked if I just really liked carrots or was I going to juice them?
Not that it was any of her business.
I told her I was going to juice them.
Then she pulled the two packs of bacon out of my carriage.
With a judgmental and sarcastic tone, she inquired: "Juice with a side of bacon?"
Huh?
I said, "The bacon is for my son."
Which it is... mostly. He loves bacon. I do to.
The packs only have eight slices, so he eats five or six and I eat two or three.
She asked how old he is.
I told her, "He's 17."
She continued, "So he's old enough to eat everything."
"Yup, he sure is."
Not that it was any of her business.
I have thought a lot about that conversation since it happened.
Why did she have to use such a judgmental tone?
Why did I care what she thought?
What on earth is wrong with drinking a juice and having "a side of bacon"?
Isn't it better to have a juice if I'm gonna eat bacon?
Not that it was any of her business.
It's my story. It's my body. It's my choice.
Why am I still stewing over her comments and questions?
Why expend so much mental and emotional energy on such a small exchange?
Why do I care so much what she thought or whether or not that other employee spoke to me?
It is because I, like everyone else, want to be seen, to be heard, to be loved, to be accepted as I am. I don't want to be ignored or belittled, judged or dismissed. I want my choices to be accepted and trusted as well-thought out and, even if they are not, they are my choices to make. What I decide to eat or wear, think or believe, read or write is up to me. It's between me and God, me and my sweet Momma Jesus, me and the ones with whom I choose to share myself, my heart, my thoughts, my fears, my doubts, my inconsistencies, and my questions.
I hope that the next time someone asks me if I'm having a juice with a side of bacon,
if I'm gonna be teaching a Sunday School class about contentment to women AND men,
if I'm gonna keep my hair short even though some say that "long hair is a womans's crowning glory,"
if I'm upset with or embarrassed by the decisions and choices my children make in their lives,
if I'm afraid to die or afraid to live,
I hope I will be courageous enough to say, "Yes" or "No" with strength, courage, determination, and without apology, explanation, or any sense of embarrassment.
Not that it is anybody else's business!
I arrived at the register and discovered yet another super friendly cashier, as nearly all the employees tend to be. There was one young woman who used to work there who managed to never say "hello" to me. Now that may not be a big deal in some supermarkets, but in Trader Joe's that is a rarity. That chick used to greet everybody around me and near me, but look away and never even acknowledge my presence. I have no idea what that was about. But once I made the intentional decision to ask her for help finding something. She had to talk to me then. I haven't seen her much lately. Perhaps Trader Joe's was too friendly a place for her.
Back to yesterday's story. I got to the cash register and she started unloading and scanning my stuff. She asked if I just really liked carrots or was I going to juice them?
Not that it was any of her business.
I told her I was going to juice them.
Then she pulled the two packs of bacon out of my carriage.
With a judgmental and sarcastic tone, she inquired: "Juice with a side of bacon?"
Huh?
I said, "The bacon is for my son."
Which it is... mostly. He loves bacon. I do to.
The packs only have eight slices, so he eats five or six and I eat two or three.
She asked how old he is.
I told her, "He's 17."
She continued, "So he's old enough to eat everything."
"Yup, he sure is."
Not that it was any of her business.
I have thought a lot about that conversation since it happened.
Why did she have to use such a judgmental tone?
Why did I care what she thought?
What on earth is wrong with drinking a juice and having "a side of bacon"?
Isn't it better to have a juice if I'm gonna eat bacon?
Not that it was any of her business.
It's my story. It's my body. It's my choice.
Why am I still stewing over her comments and questions?
Why expend so much mental and emotional energy on such a small exchange?
Why do I care so much what she thought or whether or not that other employee spoke to me?
It is because I, like everyone else, want to be seen, to be heard, to be loved, to be accepted as I am. I don't want to be ignored or belittled, judged or dismissed. I want my choices to be accepted and trusted as well-thought out and, even if they are not, they are my choices to make. What I decide to eat or wear, think or believe, read or write is up to me. It's between me and God, me and my sweet Momma Jesus, me and the ones with whom I choose to share myself, my heart, my thoughts, my fears, my doubts, my inconsistencies, and my questions.
I hope that the next time someone asks me if I'm having a juice with a side of bacon,
if I'm gonna be teaching a Sunday School class about contentment to women AND men,
if I'm gonna keep my hair short even though some say that "long hair is a womans's crowning glory,"
if I'm upset with or embarrassed by the decisions and choices my children make in their lives,
if I'm afraid to die or afraid to live,
I hope I will be courageous enough to say, "Yes" or "No" with strength, courage, determination, and without apology, explanation, or any sense of embarrassment.
Not that it is anybody else's business!
Thursday, March 20, 2014
Thankful Thursday
So much to give thanks for today.
* Spring has sprung around here with trees in bright bloom, daffodils bending in the breeze and warming temperatures predicted over the next three days. I plan to get out for a few long walks.
* Rain, long-lasting, earth-soaking rains.
* Two excellent college visits in the past ten days with my son.
* Confirmation that homeschooling as gone well over the years and that he is very close to be ready for college.
* Safe travel, not only to the colleges we've visited, but also back and forth to the supermarket, to church, to doctor's appointments, to pick Kristiana up for spring break, taking her back to school, and everywhere else we have gone, ever.
* An enjoyable and busy week with my daughter when she was home for spring break last week.
* How well the four-month follow up visit with my oncologist went on Monday.
* Seeing the nurses in the chemo treatment room and getting warm hugs from two of them.
* The pleasure of wearing clothes that I have made. (Have I mentioned that I have learned how to make infinity scarves, maxi skirts, and maxi dresses? What a challenge and what fun!)
* Teaching my daughter to make skirts for herself as well.
* The fact that my son still likes when I read to him - at he's 17.
* Emails that let me know that I am being thought of and that this blog is affecting the lives of other people. (Thanks so much, MM.)
* The promise of a few days alone - time to write, to read, to eat whatever I want and not have to feed anybody else, to sleep late, to go for walks, to do a solo Lenten retreat, to paint, to prepare for upcoming teaching and speaking engagements... but also to not overplan.
* Opportunities to do what I love so much - teach and lead groups in prayer and Bible study.
* Finding great uses for coconut oil and baking soda and hydrogen peroxide in my cleaning and beauty routines. Sometimes the simplest stuff is the best and most effective stuff.
* Fresh juices, cold water, clay face masks, pedicures, and sugar and salt scrubs.
* Glowing, healthy skin.
* Bifocals - yes, I've graduated to wearing bifocals.
* Being able to afford new glasses for myself and my daughter.
* Laughing at how much I can see now. We have really high quality televisions in this house. The images on the screens aren't as fuzzy as I thought they were. I realize that I couldn't even see myself clearly in the mirror before, but now I can. I once was blurry-eyed, but now I see.
* Laughter - I love to laugh.
* The courageous people I know who are taking on big issues and dealing with all the flak related to their choices to stand up for the oppressed and stand up against bullies. Like Anthony and Toni trying to get the people of Salisbury involved in local politics. Like Glennon encouraging all parents to see the giftedness and strengths of their children. Like Kathy out in Colorado who is working with folks who are often left out on the margins of faith communities. Those who are working to free slaves and prostitutes. Those who are working with refugees and immigrants here in the States and also in war-torn parts of the world. Those who provide health care, malaria nets, and food to those in need.
* The book that has taken me to a deeper, more meaningful, potentially life-changing way of writing. More than journaling, it is called Writing Down Your Soul. I bought it in Asheville back in January and I'm slowly working through it. Truthfully, it is working through me.
* How getting new glasses and seeing my physical world more clearly has lent itself to the recognition that there are many things in my spiritual, emotional, marital, parental, and relational life that I haven't seen clearly for a long time. Having to decide that I can act on these new insights. Deciding on what changes I want and need to make. Looking forward to those changes and their impact on my life.
* Spring has sprung around here with trees in bright bloom, daffodils bending in the breeze and warming temperatures predicted over the next three days. I plan to get out for a few long walks.
* Rain, long-lasting, earth-soaking rains.
* Two excellent college visits in the past ten days with my son.
* Confirmation that homeschooling as gone well over the years and that he is very close to be ready for college.
* Safe travel, not only to the colleges we've visited, but also back and forth to the supermarket, to church, to doctor's appointments, to pick Kristiana up for spring break, taking her back to school, and everywhere else we have gone, ever.
* An enjoyable and busy week with my daughter when she was home for spring break last week.
* How well the four-month follow up visit with my oncologist went on Monday.
* Seeing the nurses in the chemo treatment room and getting warm hugs from two of them.
* Teaching my daughter to make skirts for herself as well.
* The fact that my son still likes when I read to him - at he's 17.
* Emails that let me know that I am being thought of and that this blog is affecting the lives of other people. (Thanks so much, MM.)
* The promise of a few days alone - time to write, to read, to eat whatever I want and not have to feed anybody else, to sleep late, to go for walks, to do a solo Lenten retreat, to paint, to prepare for upcoming teaching and speaking engagements... but also to not overplan.
* Opportunities to do what I love so much - teach and lead groups in prayer and Bible study.
* Finding great uses for coconut oil and baking soda and hydrogen peroxide in my cleaning and beauty routines. Sometimes the simplest stuff is the best and most effective stuff.
* Fresh juices, cold water, clay face masks, pedicures, and sugar and salt scrubs.
* Glowing, healthy skin.
* Bifocals - yes, I've graduated to wearing bifocals.
* Being able to afford new glasses for myself and my daughter.
* Laughing at how much I can see now. We have really high quality televisions in this house. The images on the screens aren't as fuzzy as I thought they were. I realize that I couldn't even see myself clearly in the mirror before, but now I can. I once was blurry-eyed, but now I see.
* Laughter - I love to laugh.
* The courageous people I know who are taking on big issues and dealing with all the flak related to their choices to stand up for the oppressed and stand up against bullies. Like Anthony and Toni trying to get the people of Salisbury involved in local politics. Like Glennon encouraging all parents to see the giftedness and strengths of their children. Like Kathy out in Colorado who is working with folks who are often left out on the margins of faith communities. Those who are working to free slaves and prostitutes. Those who are working with refugees and immigrants here in the States and also in war-torn parts of the world. Those who provide health care, malaria nets, and food to those in need.
* The book that has taken me to a deeper, more meaningful, potentially life-changing way of writing. More than journaling, it is called Writing Down Your Soul. I bought it in Asheville back in January and I'm slowly working through it. Truthfully, it is working through me.
* How getting new glasses and seeing my physical world more clearly has lent itself to the recognition that there are many things in my spiritual, emotional, marital, parental, and relational life that I haven't seen clearly for a long time. Having to decide that I can act on these new insights. Deciding on what changes I want and need to make. Looking forward to those changes and their impact on my life.
Wednesday, March 19, 2014
What I think about when I'm on the road
About an hour and a half ago, my son and I arrived back at home after going on a college visit trip. It was a two hour drive from here to one of the state universities of the great state of North Carolina. I love to travel - whether it is to Spain, New York, Italy, or a mid-sized city here in my home state.
As we made our way home, my mind pondered dozens of questions.
* Who was the person who came up with the idea of highways?
* How many millions of trees had to be cut down in order to make highways?
* How many houses had to be demolished?
* How many farms were dismantled so that we could have roads to drive on?
* Who decided where the roads would be?
* How the heck do they build exit ramps and those amazingly tall and strong pilings that hold up the roadways?
* What is it like to be a construction worker with cars flying past you at excessive speeds all day?
* Who decided to plant wildflower seeds along the highway?
* Why do people throw garbage out of their cars and trucks onto the highway?
* Why do smokers think that it's okay to throw their lit cigarette butts out onto the highway?
* Who thought it was a good idea to put fake branches on cell phone towers?
* Am I the only one who thinks that cruise control was one of the best inventions in automobiles in many years?
* How much fun must it be to lay down the lane markings and those little reflector thingies on the road? To sit on the back of the truck and guide that paint gun thing?
* What does it feel like to be involved in the production of a street, a road, a highway, and know that countless cars will make their way to countless destinations because of your hard work?
* Who came up with the idea of making runaway truck ramps? And after a truck uses one, how does it get out of that deep sand?
* What happened to bring speed limits into being?
* How fast would people drive if there weren't any posted limits?
* When the speed limit is 70 mph, why do people feel the need to drive faster than that?
* How many people drove off of roads and hills before somebody invented and installed guard rails?
* When I see skid marks go from one lane off onto the shoulder, I wonder: What happened? Was there an accident? Is that person okay?
* Twelve days ago, when Kristiana and I were on the road, we saw two four-car accidents within half a mile from each other. I definitely wondered and still wonder: how the heck did that happen, two such serious accidents so close to one another?
* When did my son grow old enough to be looking at colleges?
* How is it possible that I was a freshman in college 30 years ago right now?
* How many more road trips will I get to take in my life?
* How many more wonder-filled places will I get to explore?
* Will I continue to appreciate and be grateful for the wonder of travel and of road trips?
As we made our way home, my mind pondered dozens of questions.
* Who was the person who came up with the idea of highways?
* How many millions of trees had to be cut down in order to make highways?
* How many houses had to be demolished?
* How many farms were dismantled so that we could have roads to drive on?
* Who decided where the roads would be?
* How the heck do they build exit ramps and those amazingly tall and strong pilings that hold up the roadways?
* What is it like to be a construction worker with cars flying past you at excessive speeds all day?
* Who decided to plant wildflower seeds along the highway?
* Why do people throw garbage out of their cars and trucks onto the highway?
* Why do smokers think that it's okay to throw their lit cigarette butts out onto the highway?
* Who thought it was a good idea to put fake branches on cell phone towers?
* Am I the only one who thinks that cruise control was one of the best inventions in automobiles in many years?
* How much fun must it be to lay down the lane markings and those little reflector thingies on the road? To sit on the back of the truck and guide that paint gun thing?
* What does it feel like to be involved in the production of a street, a road, a highway, and know that countless cars will make their way to countless destinations because of your hard work?
* Who came up with the idea of making runaway truck ramps? And after a truck uses one, how does it get out of that deep sand?
* What happened to bring speed limits into being?
* How fast would people drive if there weren't any posted limits?
* When the speed limit is 70 mph, why do people feel the need to drive faster than that?
* How many people drove off of roads and hills before somebody invented and installed guard rails?
* When I see skid marks go from one lane off onto the shoulder, I wonder: What happened? Was there an accident? Is that person okay?
* Twelve days ago, when Kristiana and I were on the road, we saw two four-car accidents within half a mile from each other. I definitely wondered and still wonder: how the heck did that happen, two such serious accidents so close to one another?
* When did my son grow old enough to be looking at colleges?
* How is it possible that I was a freshman in college 30 years ago right now?
* How many more road trips will I get to take in my life?
* How many more wonder-filled places will I get to explore?
* Will I continue to appreciate and be grateful for the wonder of travel and of road trips?
Tuesday, March 11, 2014
One year later...
Which was brighter - the sunlight or the glare off my forehead?
One year later, I am recovering from running errands all day with my children.
One year ago tonight, I was looking ahead to a week of aches and pains and exhaustion.
One year later, the only aches and pains I deal with are after working out.
One year ago tonight, I was figuring out how long I would have to wait until surgery.
One year later, my chest is as flat as a 12-year-old boy, the scars are healed, and I'm still glad I didn't have reconstructive surgery.
Thank you, everybody, for not telling me how puffy my face was.
One year later, that trip is behind me and I'm already dreaming about the next one.
I sure did!
I remember lying in bed three or four days after the first round of chemotherapy in November of 2012. I was in agony. Every joint ached. My mouth was sore. My head hurt. It felt like all systems were down or on their way there. I remember thinking, "If every round is worse than this, I am not going to survive six rounds." Over the next two weeks, I researched side effects and effective remedies for those side effects on the internet. I asked friends and nurses and anyone who seemed like they might know anything about chemotherapy. By the time the sixth round began, I was a pro at chemo. I knew when to take the right pain relief, when to take sleeping pills, when to eat and drink, when to give in and give over to the waves of exhaustion and just rest.
If you're gonna be bald, you may as well be fiercely bald.
I learned about mouthwashes that relieve chemo-mouth. Who knew there was such a thing as chemo-mouth? I sure didn't.
I learned about the love, loyalty, and wonder of good friends and caring family members.
I learned that baldness is pretty awesome, that water feels amazing on a bald head, and that there are a lot of great hats in the world.
I learned that hot flashes are real!
I learned to savor and appreciate the ordinary details of life - from the comfort of a robe and slippers, to the deliciousness of my neighbor's matzo ball soup and banana bread, to the smiles of cashiers at the supermarket, to the beauty of the full moon, to the miracles that medicine, chiropractic adjustments, supplements, healthy food, kombucha tea, filtered water, Juice Plus capsules, and prayer can produce.
My most recent haircut. Yup, I'm keeping my hair short. No more locs for me.
One year ago tonight, I was celebrating the end of chemotherapy and the beginning of my (steep) uphill climb back to health and well-being.
One year later, the celebration and the uphill climb continue!
Thanks be to God!
Monday, March 10, 2014
Can I like you too much?
I like facebook. A lot. I like seeing what my friends are up to in their lives.
One woman I know posts photos of the food she makes with her husband and I drool over every single one.
Another one posts photos of herself and her children, skiing and hiking in Vermont, and I wish I were more of an outdoorsy person.
There is the horse and goat lover who runs a farm outside of Charlotte.
The Zen priest posts her words of wisdom.
The two poets share their latest creations.
The Reiki master finds the best quotes about parenting and autism and stress.
A woman who started teaching the same year I did, back in 1989, is now the head of a school in New York State. I love looking at the photos of her beautiful headmaster's house, and the photos of the fabulous trip she and her family took to France last year.
Another former colleague who recently attended a conference on the adolescent brain posted lists of the some of the things she learned there.
A college classmate who lives in Oslo takes THE MOST AMAZING VACATIONS of anyone I know - Bali, Italy, Singapore, India, and many more of the most colorful places in the world. She is beautiful. Her husband is handsome. Their children are more of the same.
Several of my cousins and a couple of friends from church post Bible verses almost exclusively.
Then there is the former student who is now a model - gorgeous woman. Amazing abs.
My nieces and nephews and their partners in life, on trips, at home, in church.
The blogger who has begun a Lenten gratitude practice with some of her 100,000+ followers.
The friend out in Arizona whose beautiful daughter steals her food and her heart every day.
Her friend and mine, who now lives and works as an advocate for refugees in the Middle East.
Photos of weddings and newborn babies and art projects and performances...
No matter how much my family and friends post, I want to see more. I want to read more. I want to know more.
I could spend hours every day looking at their posts and their photos. I click on the links they put on their timelines and laugh or groan, alternately, at the blogs, websites, photos, videos, and articles I land on. I have clever, funny, generous, interesting, witty friends. At least, that's the side of themselves that they post on facebook...
I like almost everything my friends post.
And I want to like it all. You know, "like" it.
Hit the "like" button and add my bright blue thumb to all the other likers.
But how much is too much? Can I like their posts too much? Can I like my facebook friends too much? If I like every photo and every post, then I worry that my friends will think I'm a stalker and a creeper. Then again, isn't that why people tell their stories and post their favorite photos? Don't we all tell our stories because we want our friends and family to like us, to hit that button, to boost our ego, and let us know that we are seen and liked.
That's why I blog too. To tell my story, to share my photos, to get affirmation and confirmation that I'm okay, that I'm not crazy, and that I'm not alone on this life journey.
But that's not the only reason I'm on facebook. That's not the only reason I blog. I pour my heart out here because I want you to know that you are not alone, that you are not crazy, and that there is another person out here on the information superhighway trying to slow myself, my thoughts, and my soul down enough to notice the details and appreciate them. I want you to laugh and groan with me. I want us to find ways to connect with each other even though we can't always be together. I want to look more closely at the world around me and within me - and share some of what I see with you, my friends and readers. I want to share the good parts of my life, of course, but also the messy parts - the sickness and health, the better and the worst. I want to show you who I am, share what I believe, and offer you the opportunity to show me who you are and share what you believe.
Can I like you too much? I hope not. Am I willing to be considered a stalker by liking you a lot? Yes, I am willing. After all, no one has ever liked my posts or my writing too much. No one has ever liked me too much. No one has ever loved me too much, too passionately, or too frequently. And I don't think that anyone has ever been told how liked and loved they are often enough.*
So here goes - I like you.**
I like you because you come here and read my ramblings.
I like you because (some of) you have come to my home and visited with me in person.
I like you because you walked with me through my kanswer journey.
I like you because you are your beautiful, funny, witty, present, loving, kind self.
I like you because you are generous and patient, messy and silly.
I like you because you are alive and attentive and affectionate.
I like you because you are my friend, my family, and my companion.
I like you because you are fully, uniquely, irreducibly you.
I like you a lot.**
* Except for people who have real stalkers. And I promise I am not one.
** Seriously, I promise. I'm NOT a stalker.
One woman I know posts photos of the food she makes with her husband and I drool over every single one.
Another one posts photos of herself and her children, skiing and hiking in Vermont, and I wish I were more of an outdoorsy person.
There is the horse and goat lover who runs a farm outside of Charlotte.
The Zen priest posts her words of wisdom.
The two poets share their latest creations.
The Reiki master finds the best quotes about parenting and autism and stress.
A woman who started teaching the same year I did, back in 1989, is now the head of a school in New York State. I love looking at the photos of her beautiful headmaster's house, and the photos of the fabulous trip she and her family took to France last year.
Another former colleague who recently attended a conference on the adolescent brain posted lists of the some of the things she learned there.
A college classmate who lives in Oslo takes THE MOST AMAZING VACATIONS of anyone I know - Bali, Italy, Singapore, India, and many more of the most colorful places in the world. She is beautiful. Her husband is handsome. Their children are more of the same.
Several of my cousins and a couple of friends from church post Bible verses almost exclusively.
Then there is the former student who is now a model - gorgeous woman. Amazing abs.
My nieces and nephews and their partners in life, on trips, at home, in church.
The blogger who has begun a Lenten gratitude practice with some of her 100,000+ followers.
The friend out in Arizona whose beautiful daughter steals her food and her heart every day.
Her friend and mine, who now lives and works as an advocate for refugees in the Middle East.
Photos of weddings and newborn babies and art projects and performances...
No matter how much my family and friends post, I want to see more. I want to read more. I want to know more.
I could spend hours every day looking at their posts and their photos. I click on the links they put on their timelines and laugh or groan, alternately, at the blogs, websites, photos, videos, and articles I land on. I have clever, funny, generous, interesting, witty friends. At least, that's the side of themselves that they post on facebook...
I like almost everything my friends post.
And I want to like it all. You know, "like" it.
Hit the "like" button and add my bright blue thumb to all the other likers.
But how much is too much? Can I like their posts too much? Can I like my facebook friends too much? If I like every photo and every post, then I worry that my friends will think I'm a stalker and a creeper. Then again, isn't that why people tell their stories and post their favorite photos? Don't we all tell our stories because we want our friends and family to like us, to hit that button, to boost our ego, and let us know that we are seen and liked.
That's why I blog too. To tell my story, to share my photos, to get affirmation and confirmation that I'm okay, that I'm not crazy, and that I'm not alone on this life journey.
But that's not the only reason I'm on facebook. That's not the only reason I blog. I pour my heart out here because I want you to know that you are not alone, that you are not crazy, and that there is another person out here on the information superhighway trying to slow myself, my thoughts, and my soul down enough to notice the details and appreciate them. I want you to laugh and groan with me. I want us to find ways to connect with each other even though we can't always be together. I want to look more closely at the world around me and within me - and share some of what I see with you, my friends and readers. I want to share the good parts of my life, of course, but also the messy parts - the sickness and health, the better and the worst. I want to show you who I am, share what I believe, and offer you the opportunity to show me who you are and share what you believe.
Can I like you too much? I hope not. Am I willing to be considered a stalker by liking you a lot? Yes, I am willing. After all, no one has ever liked my posts or my writing too much. No one has ever liked me too much. No one has ever loved me too much, too passionately, or too frequently. And I don't think that anyone has ever been told how liked and loved they are often enough.*
So here goes - I like you.**
I like you because you come here and read my ramblings.
I like you because (some of) you have come to my home and visited with me in person.
I like you because you walked with me through my kanswer journey.
I like you because you are your beautiful, funny, witty, present, loving, kind self.
I like you because you are generous and patient, messy and silly.
I like you because you are alive and attentive and affectionate.
I like you because you are my friend, my family, and my companion.
I like you because you are fully, uniquely, irreducibly you.
I like you a lot.**
* Except for people who have real stalkers. And I promise I am not one.
** Seriously, I promise. I'm NOT a stalker.
Wednesday, March 05, 2014
It's Ash Wednesday...
For the past fifteen years or so, on this day, I have begun a series of readings or prayers or actions or stoppage of actions "for Lent." In past years, I have given up candy, coffee, dessert, certain activities, and certain television shows. Often I have shared with others what I have given up and taken on, usually because I wanted to get their support and but partly to gain their admiration.
This morning, while listening to Rezandovoy, I was reminded of the challenging words of Jesus taken from Matther chapter 6. Jesus, the one whose life, death, and resurrection are the reason for Lent, told his disciples,
As I listened to today's prayers, I was confronted with a question about this very topic: do I do this, do I share my Lent-related decisions and activities with others in order to be applauded and adored by them? Do I want to live this Lent in order to draw closer to God and move deeper into my walk of faith? Or do I want to receive some kind of external, visible and tangible reward for all of this?
Does my desire to publish or share a list of what I'm going to do and not do for Lent come from a yearning to impress people and get their attention or from a yearning to engage the Gospel story more fully and in greater depth? Truthfully, I would probably get more blog readers if I made a promise to write a post every day or carry out some random act of kindness or give something away or serve the homeless everyday of Lent. All of those are good things to do and fine things to have done at the end of these 40 days. But if I tell everybody ahead of time, who am I doing it for? If I keep a daily and public record of all that I do during Lent, whose attention and praise am I seeking? What reward will I receive? I have to wonder - am I doing this for a reward?
If doing stuff to be seen by others is the mark of a hypocrite, then I am guilty of being a hypocrite. I cannot and will not deny that I do a lot of what I do to be seen by men and women and children. For example, every time I sit down to write a blog post, I think about some of the people that I imagine are reading it. "What will she think? What will he think? Am I being too blatantly religious? Am I not being religious enough? What does "being religious" even mean in this context? It's my blog; I can write whatever I want... but still - what if ______________ reads this post? Will she think I've lost my mind and become a fundamentalist? Will Pastor __________ think I have lost my mind and become a liberal? Will they think I'm not serious enough or dedicated enough?" I sometimes get so completely bogged down in what other people will think of me that I write nothing at all and watch the days slip by silently as I talk myself out of sharing what is on my heart.
This Lent, I plam to spend less time worrying about what people think of me and more time wondering what God thinks of me and I think of God. I plan to worry less about being the recipient of admiration, attention, rewards and readership from the outside in order to be more aware of and receptive to the voice of the Spirit of God on the inside.
What am I giving up for Lent this year? My habit of talking about what I'm giving up for Lent.
Lord, please help me to remember that all of this - Ash Wednesday, the many weeks of Lent, and the triumph that is Easter - is about you, your love, your life, your death, and most importantly, your resurrection from the dead. Please stop me before I do or say or write anything that makes a mockery of your love or makes it more about me than about you. Thank you for the reminder that sometimes keeping things a secret is the best thing I can do. Thank you for the challenge of these words and the challenge of living a life that pleases and honors you, not only during Lent but all life long.
This morning, while listening to Rezandovoy, I was reminded of the challenging words of Jesus taken from Matther chapter 6. Jesus, the one whose life, death, and resurrection are the reason for Lent, told his disciples,
And when you pray, do not be like the hypocrites , for they love to pray standing in the synagoges and on the street corners to be seen by men. I tell you the truth, they have received their reward in full. But when you pray, go into your room, close the door and pray to your Father, who is unseen. Then your Father, who sees what is done in secret, will reward you.
When you fast, do not look somber as the hypocrites do, for they disfigure their faces to show men they are fasting. I tell you the truth, they have received their reward in full. But when you fast, put oil on your head and wash your face so that it will not be obvious to others that you are fasting, but only to your Father who is unseen; and your Father who sees what is done in secret, will reward you.
As I listened to today's prayers, I was confronted with a question about this very topic: do I do this, do I share my Lent-related decisions and activities with others in order to be applauded and adored by them? Do I want to live this Lent in order to draw closer to God and move deeper into my walk of faith? Or do I want to receive some kind of external, visible and tangible reward for all of this?
Does my desire to publish or share a list of what I'm going to do and not do for Lent come from a yearning to impress people and get their attention or from a yearning to engage the Gospel story more fully and in greater depth? Truthfully, I would probably get more blog readers if I made a promise to write a post every day or carry out some random act of kindness or give something away or serve the homeless everyday of Lent. All of those are good things to do and fine things to have done at the end of these 40 days. But if I tell everybody ahead of time, who am I doing it for? If I keep a daily and public record of all that I do during Lent, whose attention and praise am I seeking? What reward will I receive? I have to wonder - am I doing this for a reward?
If doing stuff to be seen by others is the mark of a hypocrite, then I am guilty of being a hypocrite. I cannot and will not deny that I do a lot of what I do to be seen by men and women and children. For example, every time I sit down to write a blog post, I think about some of the people that I imagine are reading it. "What will she think? What will he think? Am I being too blatantly religious? Am I not being religious enough? What does "being religious" even mean in this context? It's my blog; I can write whatever I want... but still - what if ______________ reads this post? Will she think I've lost my mind and become a fundamentalist? Will Pastor __________ think I have lost my mind and become a liberal? Will they think I'm not serious enough or dedicated enough?" I sometimes get so completely bogged down in what other people will think of me that I write nothing at all and watch the days slip by silently as I talk myself out of sharing what is on my heart.
This Lent, I plam to spend less time worrying about what people think of me and more time wondering what God thinks of me and I think of God. I plan to worry less about being the recipient of admiration, attention, rewards and readership from the outside in order to be more aware of and receptive to the voice of the Spirit of God on the inside.
What am I giving up for Lent this year? My habit of talking about what I'm giving up for Lent.
Lord, please help me to remember that all of this - Ash Wednesday, the many weeks of Lent, and the triumph that is Easter - is about you, your love, your life, your death, and most importantly, your resurrection from the dead. Please stop me before I do or say or write anything that makes a mockery of your love or makes it more about me than about you. Thank you for the reminder that sometimes keeping things a secret is the best thing I can do. Thank you for the challenge of these words and the challenge of living a life that pleases and honors you, not only during Lent but all life long.
Thursday, February 27, 2014
Things that are wonderful* - also known as Thankful Thursday
Andrea Scher wrote this piece recently. It is a timely and necessary reminder of the hope, the faith, the trust that "underneath the mess, everything is marvelous, I'm sure." Within that fine blog post was a link to this one - from which the title of my post is derived. Maya Stein, one of my favorite poets, wrote a poem called, "Comforts," that Andrea includes in her post about things that are wonderful.
How could their beautiful, well-chosen words do anything but draw me to the keyboard to compose a list of things that I think are wonderful, the things for which I am thankful today?
* getting paid for babysitting with homemade chocolate chip cookies and homemade granola
* the lentil and veggie stew that came from the same awesome friend... who is also an awesome cook
* laughing at Jimmy Kimmel and Paul Rudd with her while the cookies cooled
* driving home in the dark with my son, both of us eating those warm treats
* a handmade Valentine's Day card from my niece
* sending a handmade Valentine's Day card to my daughter
* the bounty of love, affection, and presence that envelops me from all sides
* watching my tiny little doggie sniff at the grass, the bushes, the car tires, and nearly everything else she sees at her eight-inch line of sight, curious about everything she encounters
* the pure and unconditional nature of her love and loyalty to us
* the way that she can always tell if something is wrong with one of us - whether we are dealing with emotional, physical, or mental distress, she stays nearby until we are feeling better. Her empathy, her gentleness, her emotional connection to us is beautiful to behold and experience.
* taking long walks on warm days
* feeling the sweat bead up on my forehead and run down my temples - and not because I'm having a hot flash
* having the strength, the will, and the desire to exercise regularly
* the prospect of stringing together many days of long walks in the days, weeks, and months to come
* thinking of Leonie and her family who have enjoyed a hot summer during this same time that we have wrapped ourselves in robes and blankets to stay warm. For some reason, when I am cold, I am comforted by knowing that it is warm someplace and someone I know is enjoying the summer sun.
* the full moon sliced into slivers by the trees
* the pale pink blossoms on the trees
* the rise of the daffodils
* the refusal of most of the trees and bushes to be destroyed by the weight of the snow two weeks ago
* the simple but profound wonder of sending snail mail - I take it to the box at the end of my driveway. a stranger takes it out of that box and puts it in her truck, drives it to a building a few miles away, sends it through a sorting system, puts it into another truck or perhaps into a bag that will be put onto an airplance, and a certain time later, that letter ends up in the hands of the person to whom I sent it... most of the time.
* the way in which other strangers, some in brown outfits, some in outfits of other colors, show up at our front door with packages of all sizes, shapes, and weights
* the fact that they can leave those packages outside of our house if we aren't home - and we have never had a package stolen from our front steps or next to our garage
* finding letters or packages with my name on them either in the mailbox or at our front door and smiling with the recognition that someone else someplace else thought about me and trustingly went through that same process with me in mind
* the courage of my gay and lesbian brothers and sisters as they stand up against discrimination, ostracism, and isolation by some of my Christian brother and sisters
* the many Christians who are standing up against this same discrimination, apologizing for the short-sightedness and fear, ignorance and misunderstanding of Jesus' call on us to love one another, to put down our stones, and to go and sin no more
* remembering that Jesus didn't feed crowds of four or five thousand people - except for "the gays"
* the reminders that the only people Jesus got mad at were the religious people who were constantly challenging him for his association with social and religious outcasts, and his own disciples who often tried to keep children and needy people away from him
* the conversations, debates, blog posts, poetry, gab sessions, and other exchanges that are causing me to rethink my sometimes too-firmly-held-but-not-carefully-thought-out positions and figure out new and deeper ways to be who I am called to be in the world with and for others
* knowing that I am not alone when I acknowledge the fact that as my mind is being changed, I risk the loss of respect and communion with some folks whose opinions I used to share and agree with. There is a cost to taking a stand like this.
* watching a documentary about the Supreme Court decision on Loving vs. Virginia, the case that struck down all state laws that prohibited inter-racial marriage. I love that their names were Richard and Mildred Loving. They simply asked to be allowed to do their loving however and wherever they wanted. I am in the middle of watching (and discussing) it with my son, who is himself a product of the freedom granted by that decision.
* This is my second or third time watching it, and it makes me get emotional every time. What brave people they were. What courage it took for them to fight that battle and set an example for their three children of how to stand up for what you know is right, even in the face of danger and opposition. Even when that danger and opposition comes from the government, the police, and one's own neighbors and fellows townspeople. I am glad to know that the decision was unanimous.
* reestablishing the habit of kissing my 17-year-old goodnight and saying a bedtime prayer with him After all, who in the world is too old to be kissed and prayed with before drifting off to sleep? To be clear, I am usually the one going to bed when we kiss and pray, not him.
* The most wonderful thing right now is simple: I am alive. We are alive. And as long as we are alive, there is hope for the future, a future that can be built with love, courage, hope, faith in the midst of the pain, loss, suffering, and fear. We can find beauty and wonder all around us and within us. Thanks be to God.
Comforts
This tall glass of ice water. This quadrant of untamed grass. This half of a grapefruit, pixelated with sugar. This final plank of an empty dock. This red-hued living room. This carved rhinoceros from a place where the real thing runs wild. This echo of a laugh, a touch, a conversation that turned the world upside down. This piece of lined paper. This single bloom from a late summer garden, tucked inside a thin vase. This teeming silence. This warmth. This brief break
between disruptions. This sprawl of newspaper on the porch. This blank canvas. This tube of paint. This back road squirreling a mountain range. This maple donut filled with custard. This soup you’ll make when your father comes to visit. This five-dollar bill found after two loads of vacation wash. This faint smell of mint coming back from a run. This atlas on the driver’s seat. This curtain parting from the stage. This tree angling its leaves toward autumn. This story birthed from ashes. This unstoppable turning of the page.
How could their beautiful, well-chosen words do anything but draw me to the keyboard to compose a list of things that I think are wonderful, the things for which I am thankful today?
* getting paid for babysitting with homemade chocolate chip cookies and homemade granola
* the lentil and veggie stew that came from the same awesome friend... who is also an awesome cook
* laughing at Jimmy Kimmel and Paul Rudd with her while the cookies cooled
* driving home in the dark with my son, both of us eating those warm treats
* the sour, pungent, healthful experience of drinking kombucha
* the sweet, warm delight of drinking coffee
* the goodness of a freshly pressed green juice
* the sticky, gooey, artificially colored confection that is red Australian licorice
* a handmade Valentine's Day card from my niece
* sending a handmade Valentine's Day card to my daughter
* the bounty of love, affection, and presence that envelops me from all sides
* watching my tiny little doggie sniff at the grass, the bushes, the car tires, and nearly everything else she sees at her eight-inch line of sight, curious about everything she encounters
* the pure and unconditional nature of her love and loyalty to us
* the way that she can always tell if something is wrong with one of us - whether we are dealing with emotional, physical, or mental distress, she stays nearby until we are feeling better. Her empathy, her gentleness, her emotional connection to us is beautiful to behold and experience.
* taking long walks on warm days
* feeling the sweat bead up on my forehead and run down my temples - and not because I'm having a hot flash
* having the strength, the will, and the desire to exercise regularly
* the prospect of stringing together many days of long walks in the days, weeks, and months to come
* thinking of Leonie and her family who have enjoyed a hot summer during this same time that we have wrapped ourselves in robes and blankets to stay warm. For some reason, when I am cold, I am comforted by knowing that it is warm someplace and someone I know is enjoying the summer sun.
* the full moon sliced into slivers by the trees
* the pale pink blossoms on the trees
* the rise of the daffodils
* the refusal of most of the trees and bushes to be destroyed by the weight of the snow two weeks ago
* the simple but profound wonder of sending snail mail - I take it to the box at the end of my driveway. a stranger takes it out of that box and puts it in her truck, drives it to a building a few miles away, sends it through a sorting system, puts it into another truck or perhaps into a bag that will be put onto an airplance, and a certain time later, that letter ends up in the hands of the person to whom I sent it... most of the time.
* the way in which other strangers, some in brown outfits, some in outfits of other colors, show up at our front door with packages of all sizes, shapes, and weights
* the fact that they can leave those packages outside of our house if we aren't home - and we have never had a package stolen from our front steps or next to our garage
* finding letters or packages with my name on them either in the mailbox or at our front door and smiling with the recognition that someone else someplace else thought about me and trustingly went through that same process with me in mind
* the courage of my gay and lesbian brothers and sisters as they stand up against discrimination, ostracism, and isolation by some of my Christian brother and sisters
* the many Christians who are standing up against this same discrimination, apologizing for the short-sightedness and fear, ignorance and misunderstanding of Jesus' call on us to love one another, to put down our stones, and to go and sin no more
* remembering that Jesus didn't feed crowds of four or five thousand people - except for "the gays"
* the reminders that the only people Jesus got mad at were the religious people who were constantly challenging him for his association with social and religious outcasts, and his own disciples who often tried to keep children and needy people away from him
* the conversations, debates, blog posts, poetry, gab sessions, and other exchanges that are causing me to rethink my sometimes too-firmly-held-but-not-carefully-thought-out positions and figure out new and deeper ways to be who I am called to be in the world with and for others
* knowing that I am not alone when I acknowledge the fact that as my mind is being changed, I risk the loss of respect and communion with some folks whose opinions I used to share and agree with. There is a cost to taking a stand like this.
* watching a documentary about the Supreme Court decision on Loving vs. Virginia, the case that struck down all state laws that prohibited inter-racial marriage. I love that their names were Richard and Mildred Loving. They simply asked to be allowed to do their loving however and wherever they wanted. I am in the middle of watching (and discussing) it with my son, who is himself a product of the freedom granted by that decision.
* This is my second or third time watching it, and it makes me get emotional every time. What brave people they were. What courage it took for them to fight that battle and set an example for their three children of how to stand up for what you know is right, even in the face of danger and opposition. Even when that danger and opposition comes from the government, the police, and one's own neighbors and fellows townspeople. I am glad to know that the decision was unanimous.
* reestablishing the habit of kissing my 17-year-old goodnight and saying a bedtime prayer with him After all, who in the world is too old to be kissed and prayed with before drifting off to sleep? To be clear, I am usually the one going to bed when we kiss and pray, not him.
* The most wonderful thing right now is simple: I am alive. We are alive. And as long as we are alive, there is hope for the future, a future that can be built with love, courage, hope, faith in the midst of the pain, loss, suffering, and fear. We can find beauty and wonder all around us and within us. Thanks be to God.
Monday, February 24, 2014
Out on a walk today
Today was another gorgeous day in Charlotte. Bright sunshine. Light breeze. Mild temperatures.
As I walked, I talked on the phone for a bit.
I looked at groves of trees and soccer fields.
I watched cars sail past a little too fast and a little too close.
I prayed for people I know and people I don't know.
My neighbor's mother died two weeks ago. She and her mom were best friends.
The mother of two of my favorite bloggers - they are sisters - died this past weekend.
One cherished friend has been actively seeking full-time employment for well over a year.
She also recently lost an uncle.
Another is planning a trip to Europe with her family.
My sister-in-law went back to work today, a couple of weeks after surgery.
Another sister-in-law walked a half-marathon to raise money for kanswer research this weekend.
The daughter of a dear friend who died of kanswer several years ago ran the full marathon at the same event in Ponte Vedra Beach, Florida. Both of them had my name on their bibs. They don't know each other, but the both know me. I am humbled and so grateful for their love and kindness on my behalf and on behalf of the millions of others who have fought and are fighting kanswer.
I just finished reading a funny, sad, poignant book called The Victoria's Secret Catalog never stops coming - and other lessons I learned from breast cancer, by Jennie Nash. She wrote eloquently about the gift of love, friendship, meals, smoothies, hugs, and presence during the terrible ordeal that kanswer is. She wrote about the fear and courage, the decisions and uncertainty, scars and breast reconstruction, arrogant doctors and compassionate spouses, and the worry and hope that all ebb and flow during the months and years of treatment and survival following a diagnosis.
As I walked today, I thought about that book. I thought about Anya and Noemi and their commitment to help end the terrible reign of kanswer in the world by walking and running and raising money for the cause. I thought about all the women and men dealing with new diagnoses, chemotherapy, surgery, radiation, recurrences, hospice care, saying good-bye to their friends, their neighbors, their children, their spouses - and far worse, the ones who are facing this battle alone. There are far too many people who keep their illness to themselves, who don't have strong shoulders to lean on, who don't have meals being brought to them, who have been forgotten and abandoned on the battlefield of their health crises. I weep when I think of those lonely, frightened, and exhausted warriors.
As I walked, I couldn't help but wonder about what I would do and how I would respond if I were to have a recurrence. The "what ifs?" do get burdensome sometimes, I must confess.
As I walked along the busy road, I looked down and saw a piece of paper propped up in the grass.
As I walked, I talked on the phone for a bit.
I looked at groves of trees and soccer fields.
I watched cars sail past a little too fast and a little too close.
I prayed for people I know and people I don't know.
My neighbor's mother died two weeks ago. She and her mom were best friends.
The mother of two of my favorite bloggers - they are sisters - died this past weekend.
One cherished friend has been actively seeking full-time employment for well over a year.
She also recently lost an uncle.
Another is planning a trip to Europe with her family.
My sister-in-law went back to work today, a couple of weeks after surgery.
Another sister-in-law walked a half-marathon to raise money for kanswer research this weekend.
The daughter of a dear friend who died of kanswer several years ago ran the full marathon at the same event in Ponte Vedra Beach, Florida. Both of them had my name on their bibs. They don't know each other, but the both know me. I am humbled and so grateful for their love and kindness on my behalf and on behalf of the millions of others who have fought and are fighting kanswer.
I just finished reading a funny, sad, poignant book called The Victoria's Secret Catalog never stops coming - and other lessons I learned from breast cancer, by Jennie Nash. She wrote eloquently about the gift of love, friendship, meals, smoothies, hugs, and presence during the terrible ordeal that kanswer is. She wrote about the fear and courage, the decisions and uncertainty, scars and breast reconstruction, arrogant doctors and compassionate spouses, and the worry and hope that all ebb and flow during the months and years of treatment and survival following a diagnosis.
As I walked today, I thought about that book. I thought about Anya and Noemi and their commitment to help end the terrible reign of kanswer in the world by walking and running and raising money for the cause. I thought about all the women and men dealing with new diagnoses, chemotherapy, surgery, radiation, recurrences, hospice care, saying good-bye to their friends, their neighbors, their children, their spouses - and far worse, the ones who are facing this battle alone. There are far too many people who keep their illness to themselves, who don't have strong shoulders to lean on, who don't have meals being brought to them, who have been forgotten and abandoned on the battlefield of their health crises. I weep when I think of those lonely, frightened, and exhausted warriors.
As I walked, I couldn't help but wonder about what I would do and how I would respond if I were to have a recurrence. The "what ifs?" do get burdensome sometimes, I must confess.
As I walked along the busy road, I looked down and saw a piece of paper propped up in the grass.
How perfect is that?
I read it as I walked past, and smiled broadly to myself. I took four or five more steps, then I went back and took this picture. For a split second I thought about picking it up and keeping it, but I decided to leave it there with the hopes that it would bless and encourage someone else the way it blessed and encouraged me.
Out on a walk today, I fell into a pit of sadness because of the battles I know that so many people are facing, as well as a few of my own. Thanks be to God and to the person who wrote and sent a love note out into the world of South Charlotte, I didn't remain in that pit for very long.
Saturday, February 22, 2014
All other ground...
Our house, like many in the Carolinas, is built on red clay.
Soon after we moved in, I was reminded of that fact - the messy way. One day, two of Kristiana's friends came to play with her here in the house. One of them left to go home, but soon thereafter realized that she had forgotten something here. I opened the door and she ran up the stairs, into Kristiana's room, and back down the stairs, tracking red clay up and down the "builder's beige" carpet. Muddy footsteps on our newly cleaned carpet.
That clay might leave permanent stains but it does not provide a particularly stable or permanent foundation for a brick house. Two years ago, I noticed cracks in the brick on the front corner of our house. We had them fixed. Then last year, I saw more cracks. We got those fixed as well. Today, I noticed sizeable cracks in our driveway. I'm not even sure it's possible to fix these cracks - they are that big. Sometimes I want to sell the house and get away from this red clay and all the cracks and start again someplace more solid.
As I stared down at the broken concrete, my mind drifted back to the fortresses and churches and towers I saw in Spain last October. They were built more than 500 years ago, some of them, but they stood strong, no cracks visible, at least not to my untrained eyes. I wish out house was as well built as any one of those edifices.
But the truth is that no matter how well built the house might be, if it is sitting on a shaky foundation, slippery clay, or shifting sands, it will not stand firm forever. It will crack. And someday it will fall.
This morning while driving to a friend's house, as I listened to one of my favorite hymns,
I found myself singing these words:
My hope is built on nothing less
than Jesus' blood and righteousness.
I dare not trust the sweetest frame,
but wholly lean on Jesus' name.
On Christ, the solid rock I stand,
all other ground is sinking sand,
all other ground is sinking sand.
The first four lines there have not always been true for me.
I have built my hope on many things other than the blood of Jesus.
I have placed my trust in a lot of sinking sand in my lifetime.
I have leaned on many names and many people who have not been worthy of my belief.
I thought marriage would be the answer to my loneliness.
Sinking sand.
I thought parenting would be the most fulfilling job I could ever have.
Sinking sand.
I thought being actively involved at church would quench my doubts.
Sinking sand.
I thought my loyal and loving friends would fill in the cracks
that marriage and parenting and church couldn't fill.
Sinking sand.
I thought having money, a brick house, and a closet full of clothes,
I thought that traveling extensively, reading, writing, teaching -
and everything else I have ever had or done -
would combine to fill my soul, satisfy me, and ease the sensation of living on
Sinking sand.
No such luck.
All those things have helped ease my loneliness, my fears, and my doubts some,
but ultimately it's all sinking sand.
Because all of us are seeking and all of us are sinking.
All of us are a mess. All of us are hoping for that which we don't yet have.
And none of us can fill the holes for anyone or in anyone else.
Which is why I thank God for Jesus, for faith and hope and joy and grace.
I thank God for the stories of healing, of forgiveness, of tenderness,
of attention, of presence, of friendship between Jesus, the disciples, and
all the others who were blessed enough to know Jesus when he was on earth.
I am grateful for the story of the woman who wanted to touch
the hem of Christ's garment in the hopes of being healed.
I am grateful for the story of the woman caught in adultery
(I have often wondered: Where was the man she was caught with?)
whose life was saved by Jesus' intervention on her behalf.
I am grateful for the story of the woman who sat with Jesus at the well
and had the longest conversation with Christ recorded in Scripture.
When I reread those stories, my faith deepens as does my love for Christ.
Let me be quick to add: There are still times when I doubt.
When I question. When I wonder. When I think this faith thing is NUTS!
Born of a virgin? Fed thousands with one boy's lunch?
Died on a cross? ROSE FROM THE DEAD??? Crazy stuff.
Sometimes I can't believe that I believe it. Sometimes I doubt every word of it.
I have two books called, "The Benefit of the Doubt."
Different books by different authors with the same message: doubt happens.
It is normal. It is part of everyone's faith journey at some point.
Doubt is also useful because it always pushes me to ask more questions, to pray more,
to seek others who are willing to be honest about their questions and doubts,
and in the end, my doubt increases the strength of my faith.
Not long ago, I read something that said, "You can't doubt something you don't believe."
Like the father whose story is told in Mark 9, I often say: "I do believe; help my unbelief."
Shaky foundation. Shifting sands. Cracks in the walls. Broken concrete.
Every crack, every shift, every break I see in my house,
in my family, in my friendships, in my church, reminds me -
All other ground is sinking sand. All other ground is sinking sand.
Soon after we moved in, I was reminded of that fact - the messy way. One day, two of Kristiana's friends came to play with her here in the house. One of them left to go home, but soon thereafter realized that she had forgotten something here. I opened the door and she ran up the stairs, into Kristiana's room, and back down the stairs, tracking red clay up and down the "builder's beige" carpet. Muddy footsteps on our newly cleaned carpet.
That clay might leave permanent stains but it does not provide a particularly stable or permanent foundation for a brick house. Two years ago, I noticed cracks in the brick on the front corner of our house. We had them fixed. Then last year, I saw more cracks. We got those fixed as well. Today, I noticed sizeable cracks in our driveway. I'm not even sure it's possible to fix these cracks - they are that big. Sometimes I want to sell the house and get away from this red clay and all the cracks and start again someplace more solid.
But the truth is that no matter how well built the house might be, if it is sitting on a shaky foundation, slippery clay, or shifting sands, it will not stand firm forever. It will crack. And someday it will fall.
This morning while driving to a friend's house, as I listened to one of my favorite hymns,
I found myself singing these words:
My hope is built on nothing less
than Jesus' blood and righteousness.
I dare not trust the sweetest frame,
but wholly lean on Jesus' name.
On Christ, the solid rock I stand,
all other ground is sinking sand,
all other ground is sinking sand.
The first four lines there have not always been true for me.
I have built my hope on many things other than the blood of Jesus.
I have placed my trust in a lot of sinking sand in my lifetime.
I have leaned on many names and many people who have not been worthy of my belief.
Sinking sand.
I thought parenting would be the most fulfilling job I could ever have.
Sinking sand.
I thought being actively involved at church would quench my doubts.
Sinking sand.
I thought my loyal and loving friends would fill in the cracks
that marriage and parenting and church couldn't fill.
Sinking sand.
I thought having money, a brick house, and a closet full of clothes,
I thought that traveling extensively, reading, writing, teaching -
and everything else I have ever had or done -
would combine to fill my soul, satisfy me, and ease the sensation of living on
Sinking sand.
No such luck.
All those things have helped ease my loneliness, my fears, and my doubts some,
but ultimately it's all sinking sand.
Because all of us are seeking and all of us are sinking.
All of us are a mess. All of us are hoping for that which we don't yet have.
And none of us can fill the holes for anyone or in anyone else.
Which is why I thank God for Jesus, for faith and hope and joy and grace.
I thank God for the stories of healing, of forgiveness, of tenderness,
of attention, of presence, of friendship between Jesus, the disciples, and
all the others who were blessed enough to know Jesus when he was on earth.
I am grateful for the story of the woman who wanted to touch
the hem of Christ's garment in the hopes of being healed.
I am grateful for the story of the woman caught in adultery
(I have often wondered: Where was the man she was caught with?)
whose life was saved by Jesus' intervention on her behalf.
I am grateful for the story of the woman who sat with Jesus at the well
and had the longest conversation with Christ recorded in Scripture.
When I reread those stories, my faith deepens as does my love for Christ.
Let me be quick to add: There are still times when I doubt.
When I question. When I wonder. When I think this faith thing is NUTS!
Born of a virgin? Fed thousands with one boy's lunch?
Died on a cross? ROSE FROM THE DEAD??? Crazy stuff.
Sometimes I can't believe that I believe it. Sometimes I doubt every word of it.
I have two books called, "The Benefit of the Doubt."
Different books by different authors with the same message: doubt happens.
It is normal. It is part of everyone's faith journey at some point.
Doubt is also useful because it always pushes me to ask more questions, to pray more,
to seek others who are willing to be honest about their questions and doubts,
and in the end, my doubt increases the strength of my faith.
Not long ago, I read something that said, "You can't doubt something you don't believe."
Like the father whose story is told in Mark 9, I often say: "I do believe; help my unbelief."
All my doubts notwithstanding, nothing gives me more peace or joy than the name of Jesus,
than the stories of his life on earth, and the comfort of prayer and silence with
the One that I believe loves me most of all.
Shaky foundation. Shifting sands. Cracks in the walls. Broken concrete.
Every crack, every shift, every break I see in my house,
in my family, in my friendships, in my church, reminds me -
All other ground is sinking sand. All other ground is sinking sand.
Thursday, February 20, 2014
Thankful Thursday
I am grateful for Jen Lemen, her cute little toes, and her spirit-lifting quote cards.
I am grateful for the beauty, the quietness, the brevity of the snow.
I am grateful that we didn't lose power during or after the storm.
I am grateful for the meteorologists who kept us informed
about the severity of the storm,
the department of transportation employees who worked to keep the roads from getting too icy,
and for the emergency workers who assisted the drivers who had accidents
and those who were stranded because of impassable roadways.
I am grateful for the time we spent on the Isle of Palms last weekend
before Daniel played tennis on Daniel Island.
I am grateful that there is an island whose name makes me smile everytime I say it.
I am grateful that we were able to safely exit our ice encrusted neighborhood last Friday morning.
I am grateful that we were able to drive to the tournament and back safely.
I am grateful for highways, exit ramps, rest areas, and gas stations.
I am grateful for tires that don't go flat, engines that don't die, and
GPS that doesn't lead us (too far) astray.
I am grateful for the friends we have met through tennis.
I am grateful that my son has found a sport he loves to play.
I am grateful for the opportunity to watch him compete.
I am grateful that my daughter continues to be happy in college.
I am grateful for the friends she has made - with other students and with professors.
I am grateful for the ways in which she has settled into her newly granted independence.
I am grateful that she survived the experience of getting her first tattoo.
I am grateful that she didn't get it on her face or neck.
I am grateful for the peace of knowing that even if she had done so,
that would be her story and not mine.
I am grateful for the pizza with arugula, green apple, carmelized onion jam, and goat cheese
(hold the mozzerella!) that I ate at Vespa's on Daniel Island.
Twice.
The second time, I also had an arugula salad with beets and other goodies.
I am grateful for the peppery perkiness of arugula, the sweetness of carmelized onions,
and the crunch of sea salt.
I am grateful for the people who love to cook for people like me -
who don't love to cook.
I am grateful for the simple, yet profound pleasure of enjoying good food.
I am grateful for the beautiful full moon that watched from above with
Daniel and his partner played doubles on Saturday night.
I am grateful for the beauty of creation -
the sun, the moon, the stars,
the palm trees, the sea shells, the Spanish moss hanging from the trees,
the strong and gifted young tennis players who were there,
the island on which the tournament took place.
I am grateful for 24/7, a place of prayer and meditation on 15th Street here in Charlotte.
I am grateful for the many little nooks and corners where I can sit, think, journal,
and also read the prayers and look at the artwork created
by others who have taken refuge there.
I am grateful for the brave, resourceful, prayerful, generous people who began
the 24/7 prayer movement and have spread it to 25 countries.
I am grateful that even though I have no real idea how or why prayer works,
I do know that prayer has changed me and strengthened me.
I am grateful for those who pray with me and for me.
I am grateful for the people I pray for.
I am grateful for the gift, the privilege, the honor of prayer.
I am grateful to and for the God who hears and answers my prayer.
I am grateful for my spiritual director, Pat, whom I met with yesterday
at the Spirituality Center of Charlotte.
There were several quotes on the walls there,
quotes that will inspire and encourage me in the days to come.
Here are two of them.
I am grateful for Thursdays -
and the way this day prompts me to express my gratitude openly and publicly.
Wednesday, February 19, 2014
Two Questions I've Been Asking Myself Today
I spent longer than I expected on this website yesterday. Glennon is the one who led me there, but I ended up exploring several video libraries after I watched three of hers.
I ended up watching three of Barbara Brown Taylor's videos and found myself answering the same two questions she answered in this one.
Warning: if you don't have time to explore for a while, if you don't like getting lost in thought or being baffled by questions and commentary on issues of faith and life, love and community, then DO NOT click on any of these links.
But do take a moment to ponder these two questions -
1. What's saving your life today?
2. What would break you?
Here is a partial list of what is saving my life today:
* green smoothies and fresh juices
* vitamins, supplements, and Juice Plus
* snail mail letters and cards
* upcoming teaching plans
* yoga
* Pinterest
* speaking my truth
* faithful friends
* a welcoming faith community
* opportunities to serve others
* my loving, supportive, encouraging family
* wise words written and spoken by wise women in my life
* spending time thinking about who and what is saving my life today
What would break me?
Some people say that losing a spouse, a child, a parent, or one's health would break them. I lost my father to lung kanswer in March of 2002. I lost my daughter temporarily to a dreadful disorder that is currently under control - thanks be to God. I lost my health temporarily to a dreadful disease, but I am well on my way to full health and strength. And I know that if I lost my husband or either of my children, I would be devastated for a long time. I will have to wait and see if those things will break me. I don't even want to think about it anymore right now.
But having watched my father pass from this life into the next one and then removing the oxygen mask after he stopped breathing,
having given up the easy and carefree way of life I had before kanswer,
having recently faced the real possibility of my own death,
I have poured out my anguish, my anger, and my anxieties before God, my friends, and into my journal.
I have lain on the floor in my study and in my bed and cried until my eyes were swollen shut on many occasions.
I have asked why? why me? why her? why us?
I have prayed for a break, but I am not broken. At least, not yet.
I know that life is messy, that suffering is unavoidable, and that none of us will get out of this alive.
I also know that life is joy-filled, wonder-filled, and there is so much beauty.
As Glennon so aptly says, life is brutiful.
I am enormously grateful that despite the pain, the suffering, and the loss,
I am not afraid. I am not disheartened. I am not broken.
I am whole. I am healed. I am here.
What's saving your life today?
What would break you?
I ended up watching three of Barbara Brown Taylor's videos and found myself answering the same two questions she answered in this one.
Warning: if you don't have time to explore for a while, if you don't like getting lost in thought or being baffled by questions and commentary on issues of faith and life, love and community, then DO NOT click on any of these links.
But do take a moment to ponder these two questions -
1. What's saving your life today?
2. What would break you?
Here is a partial list of what is saving my life today:
* faith, hope, and joy
* time with my spiritual director
* tea and conversation with friends
* solitude and silence
* journaling and prayer
* good, healthy food* green smoothies and fresh juices
* vitamins, supplements, and Juice Plus
* snail mail letters and cards
* upcoming teaching plans
* yoga
* speaking my truth
* faithful friends
* a welcoming faith community
* opportunities to serve others
* my loving, supportive, encouraging family
* wise words written and spoken by wise women in my life
* spending time thinking about who and what is saving my life today
What would break me?
Some people say that losing a spouse, a child, a parent, or one's health would break them. I lost my father to lung kanswer in March of 2002. I lost my daughter temporarily to a dreadful disorder that is currently under control - thanks be to God. I lost my health temporarily to a dreadful disease, but I am well on my way to full health and strength. And I know that if I lost my husband or either of my children, I would be devastated for a long time. I will have to wait and see if those things will break me. I don't even want to think about it anymore right now.
But having watched my father pass from this life into the next one and then removing the oxygen mask after he stopped breathing,
having seen my daughter suffer and be hospitalized for weeks,
having gone through my own medical challenges during the past fifteen months,having given up the easy and carefree way of life I had before kanswer,
having recently faced the real possibility of my own death,
I have poured out my anguish, my anger, and my anxieties before God, my friends, and into my journal.
I have lain on the floor in my study and in my bed and cried until my eyes were swollen shut on many occasions.
I have asked why? why me? why her? why us?
I have prayed for a break, but I am not broken. At least, not yet.
I know that life is messy, that suffering is unavoidable, and that none of us will get out of this alive.
I also know that life is joy-filled, wonder-filled, and there is so much beauty.
As Glennon so aptly says, life is brutiful.
I am enormously grateful that despite the pain, the suffering, and the loss,
I am not afraid. I am not disheartened. I am not broken.
I am whole. I am healed. I am here.
What's saving your life today?
What would break you?
Thursday, February 13, 2014
Thankful Thursday
With more than four inches of snow and ice on the ground and every other exterior surface this morning, the first thing I am grateful for today is this warm and strong house we live in.
When I woke up this morning to the sound of Robert Benson reciting "Morning Prayer,"
I immediately gave thanks for the fact that we haven't lost power.
I am also thankful -
* that Daniel and I were able to get back and forth to the supermarket and gas station safely yesterday morning before the worst of the storm hit our area
* that there was still so much food available at the market
* that we were able to get what we needed and a few things we wanted...
* for the food I was able to prepare in anticipation of the storm
* for the fact that my daughter is safe and warm at college and surrounded by new friends and caring professors
* for the fact that far fewer people have lost power than was expected
* that I didn't have any urgent plans or appointments this week. I was planning to have a girls' night out tonight with Heather, but we will reschedule that for next week... which is closer to her birthday anyway
* that warm temperatures will arrive within the next day or two so that some of this snow and ice will melt forthwith
* for the beauty of the earth, the trees, the bushes, and the snow
* that we live here in the South where these kinds of snow events are rare and don't last long
* for green tea lattes with coconut milk
* for black bean and quinoa stew made in the crockpot
* for pizza made with hummus, salsa, spinach, olive oil, and sea salt
* for fresh juices and green smoothies
* for Trader Joe's dark chocolate and nutty bits
* for clean, fresh water to drink and shower in
* for clementines from Spain, the place I love best in the world
* for Shiva Rea yoga dvds
* for the public library from which those dvds were borrowed - along with piles of books on sewing and also books I use for homeschooling
* for the lessons that I have been learning lately. For example, I am learning to be less judgmental of other people and their choices. I am learning to stop myself when I begin to compare my life, my husband, my children, our finances, our home, my body, to name a few things, to other people. I am learning to say, "No" when I mean "no," and "yes" when I mean "yes." I am releasing the tendency to try to be perfect in every area of my life, to be "good" all the time (I'm not even sure what that means most of the time, but I try to "be good" anyway), and to always find ways to be better than other people. Again, I must confess that I have no idea what "being better" means, but those words have echoed through my mind for decades. Lately, I have been able to catch myself as I enter the comparison trap and instead I am beginning to compliment others on their achievements and successes without jealousy or one-upmanship. That comparison/jealousy/perfectionism pattern wounds the soul, the mind, the emotions, and also relationships. It is time for healing from those wounds and for choosing new ways to live and think and be on this life journey of mine.
* that I am less resistant to those changes than I was six years, six months, even six weeks ago
* for the peace, the contentment, the hope, and the joy that increase when the judgment, the envy, the pride, and the constant inner chatter are decreased
* that tomorrow is Valentine's Day, a day to celebrate love
* that we haven't bought each other anything - cuz love has nothing to do with getting more stuff
* for the paper and stickers and pens I already have that can be turned into cards and love letters - and not only tomorrow, but any day and every day
* for the many family members and friends who have been so loving towards me, especially in the past fourteen months or so
* that it has been over a year since my kanswer journey began
* that I am doing so well, continuing to get better and stronger with each passing week
* for the increasing number of days when I don't think about kanswer constantly
* for Pinterest... where I found the following quotes on gratitude.
- Gratitude is one of the sweet shortcuts to finding peace of mind and happiness inside. No matter what is going on outside of us, there's always something we could be grateful for.
- Be thankful for all the difficult people in your life and learn from them. They have shown you exactly who you do not want to be.
- If we do not feel grateful for what we already have, what makes us think we'd be happy with more?
- It doesn't matter if the glass is half empty or half full... Be grateful that you have a glass and there is something in it.
- Gratitude turns what we have into enough and more. It turns denial into acceptance, chaos into order, confusion into clarity... It makes sense of our past, brings peace for today and creates a vision for tomorrow.
When I woke up this morning to the sound of Robert Benson reciting "Morning Prayer,"
I immediately gave thanks for the fact that we haven't lost power.
I am also thankful -
* that Daniel and I were able to get back and forth to the supermarket and gas station safely yesterday morning before the worst of the storm hit our area
* that there was still so much food available at the market
* that we were able to get what we needed and a few things we wanted...
* for the food I was able to prepare in anticipation of the storm
* for the fact that my daughter is safe and warm at college and surrounded by new friends and caring professors
* for the fact that far fewer people have lost power than was expected
* that I didn't have any urgent plans or appointments this week. I was planning to have a girls' night out tonight with Heather, but we will reschedule that for next week... which is closer to her birthday anyway
* that warm temperatures will arrive within the next day or two so that some of this snow and ice will melt forthwith
* for the beauty of the earth, the trees, the bushes, and the snow
* that we live here in the South where these kinds of snow events are rare and don't last long
* for green tea lattes with coconut milk
* for black bean and quinoa stew made in the crockpot
* for pizza made with hummus, salsa, spinach, olive oil, and sea salt
* for fresh juices and green smoothies
* for Trader Joe's dark chocolate and nutty bits
* for clean, fresh water to drink and shower in
* for clementines from Spain, the place I love best in the world
* for Shiva Rea yoga dvds
* for the public library from which those dvds were borrowed - along with piles of books on sewing and also books I use for homeschooling
* for the lessons that I have been learning lately. For example, I am learning to be less judgmental of other people and their choices. I am learning to stop myself when I begin to compare my life, my husband, my children, our finances, our home, my body, to name a few things, to other people. I am learning to say, "No" when I mean "no," and "yes" when I mean "yes." I am releasing the tendency to try to be perfect in every area of my life, to be "good" all the time (I'm not even sure what that means most of the time, but I try to "be good" anyway), and to always find ways to be better than other people. Again, I must confess that I have no idea what "being better" means, but those words have echoed through my mind for decades. Lately, I have been able to catch myself as I enter the comparison trap and instead I am beginning to compliment others on their achievements and successes without jealousy or one-upmanship. That comparison/jealousy/perfectionism pattern wounds the soul, the mind, the emotions, and also relationships. It is time for healing from those wounds and for choosing new ways to live and think and be on this life journey of mine.
* that I am less resistant to those changes than I was six years, six months, even six weeks ago
* for the peace, the contentment, the hope, and the joy that increase when the judgment, the envy, the pride, and the constant inner chatter are decreased
* that tomorrow is Valentine's Day, a day to celebrate love
* that we haven't bought each other anything - cuz love has nothing to do with getting more stuff
* for the paper and stickers and pens I already have that can be turned into cards and love letters - and not only tomorrow, but any day and every day
* for the many family members and friends who have been so loving towards me, especially in the past fourteen months or so
* that it has been over a year since my kanswer journey began
* that I am doing so well, continuing to get better and stronger with each passing week
* for the increasing number of days when I don't think about kanswer constantly
* for Pinterest... where I found the following quotes on gratitude.
- Gratitude is one of the sweet shortcuts to finding peace of mind and happiness inside. No matter what is going on outside of us, there's always something we could be grateful for.
- Be thankful for all the difficult people in your life and learn from them. They have shown you exactly who you do not want to be.
- If we do not feel grateful for what we already have, what makes us think we'd be happy with more?
- It doesn't matter if the glass is half empty or half full... Be grateful that you have a glass and there is something in it.
- Gratitude turns what we have into enough and more. It turns denial into acceptance, chaos into order, confusion into clarity... It makes sense of our past, brings peace for today and creates a vision for tomorrow.
- I've seen better days, but I've also seen worse.
I don't have everything that I want, but I do have all I need.
I woke up with some aches and pains, but I woke up.
My life may not be perfect, but I am blessed.
*** I am blessed indeed.
And oh so grateful.
Thanks be to God.
Monday, February 10, 2014
Celebrating Love Day
Valentine's Day is an expensive holiday. Or it can be if you allow yourself to get sucked in by all the ads and promotions - Buy Jewelry! Buy Flowers! Buy Candy! Buy Cards! Buy A Red Dress! Or a Red Sweater! Or a Red Tie! Go Out For Dinner!
Buy, buy, buy - show your love with stuff!
Spend, spend, spend.
Eat, eat, eat.
Sparkle, sparkle, sparkle.
What if we all decided that, instead of buying more stuff this Valentine's Day, stuff we certainly don't need, we would simply express our love on our own terms? With our words. With our actions. With smiles and hugs and storytelling. With cooking food and enjoying it at home. Looking at photos of times spent together. Wearing red stuff we already have. Making cards from the paper, markers, and stickers we already have. Recalling why we fell in love. Sharing our love. Making love.
If there isn't a "significant other" in the picture, then you can love yourself. Do for yourself what you would want someone else to do for you. Make yourself your favorite meal. Pick out your best outfit and jewelry, shoes and overcoat on Valentine's Day and romance your own gorgeous self. Write yourself the love letter you've always dreamed of receiving and drop it in the mail - old school style. Be sure to decorate the outside of the envelope with hearts and sweet messages. From you to you. From me to me.
Recently, I finished a book called, To Pray and To Love, by Roberta Bondi. I had the privilege of sitting under her teaching this past Friday evening and all day Saturday at a retreat in Raleigh, North Carolina, where she spoke about the wisdom of the Desert Fathers and Mothers, third and fourth century writers and teachers who left the cities and towns in Egypt and went to live in the desert in order to deepen their walk with and love for God and each other.
One of the things Roberta talked about was God's love for all people and how difficult it is for many to believe that they are loved by God, that we are loved by God - that I am loved by God.
I grew up in a home and church where I was reminded that God was always watching me. That no matter where I went or what I did, God was watching. A verse I heard over and over when I was a child was the latter half of Numbers 32: 23 - But if you fail to do this, you will be sinning against the Lord; and you may be sure your sin will find you out. So even though I often heard people say, "God loves you," I found it nearly impossible to believe it. I believed that God was a cosmic policeman watching to see me screw up and was ready to pounce on me and punish me for every wrong thought, word or deed.
Hearing Roberta describe her love for her husband and her children prompted me to think about my love for my own family. Often over the years, I have compared my love for my husband and children to God's love for them. And I know that as much as I love them, God loves them a bazillion times more. But I've never been able to unreservedly apply that logic to myself - I have struggled with believing that God truly loves me as I am.
Roberta made us laugh when she told the following hypothetical story.
She described herself arriving home after this weekend, heavy laden with her suitcase and other stuff. She is greeted by her husband and pets at the door and tells them all how much she missed them while she was away. Her husband responds with hugs and greetings of his own. And then he says, "Roberta, I love you in spite of who you are." We all laughed heartily at the idea of such an outrageous statement - and we know we would never say that to anyone we love.
But that is what I have heard my entire life - that God loves me in spite of who I am. In spite of my rottenness and sinfulness, my horrible habits and terrible tendencies, God loves me.
Today I can say with a clearer understanding than ever before - That is a load of crap!
God loves me. As I am. As you are. As we have always been.
As we always will be. Period.
It will undoubtedly take the rest of my life to eliminate those voices that still echo and resound in my head and my memory - those voices that say that God is not only a God of love. That we cannot only cling to that truth about God, but we have to remember God's wrath and judgment first and foremost. Those voices that suggest that, contrary to what it says about God's love in John 3:16, God was in fact so disgusted with me that God's son had to come and die for me. Those voices that warned me about my wicked heart and evil intentions. Those voices that told me that I couldn't speak up when I was young because I was only a child. Then when I grew up, those voices told me that I had to be silent in church because I'm a woman. Those voices that still try to make me feel like less than a fully articulated member of the family of God for other dubious reasons.
I spent the first 40+ years of my life actively listening to those voices and internalizing their terror-filled sentiments. Those voices are still there, but thanks be to God, they are getting quieter with each passing day. I plan to spend the next 48 years, if I should be granted that many more, listening to the voice of The One Who Loves me and celebrating love every day.
I am grateful that what I am hearing more and more these days is this -
From my husband - I love you, babe.
From my kids - I love you, Momma.
From my friends - I love you, Gail.
And from God - Fear not, for I have redeemed you;
I have summoned you by name; you are mine...
I love you. (Isaiah 43:1, 4)
Buy, buy, buy - show your love with stuff!
Spend, spend, spend.
Eat, eat, eat.
Sparkle, sparkle, sparkle.
What if we all decided that, instead of buying more stuff this Valentine's Day, stuff we certainly don't need, we would simply express our love on our own terms? With our words. With our actions. With smiles and hugs and storytelling. With cooking food and enjoying it at home. Looking at photos of times spent together. Wearing red stuff we already have. Making cards from the paper, markers, and stickers we already have. Recalling why we fell in love. Sharing our love. Making love.
If there isn't a "significant other" in the picture, then you can love yourself. Do for yourself what you would want someone else to do for you. Make yourself your favorite meal. Pick out your best outfit and jewelry, shoes and overcoat on Valentine's Day and romance your own gorgeous self. Write yourself the love letter you've always dreamed of receiving and drop it in the mail - old school style. Be sure to decorate the outside of the envelope with hearts and sweet messages. From you to you. From me to me.
Recently, I finished a book called, To Pray and To Love, by Roberta Bondi. I had the privilege of sitting under her teaching this past Friday evening and all day Saturday at a retreat in Raleigh, North Carolina, where she spoke about the wisdom of the Desert Fathers and Mothers, third and fourth century writers and teachers who left the cities and towns in Egypt and went to live in the desert in order to deepen their walk with and love for God and each other.
One of the things Roberta talked about was God's love for all people and how difficult it is for many to believe that they are loved by God, that we are loved by God - that I am loved by God.
I grew up in a home and church where I was reminded that God was always watching me. That no matter where I went or what I did, God was watching. A verse I heard over and over when I was a child was the latter half of Numbers 32: 23 - But if you fail to do this, you will be sinning against the Lord; and you may be sure your sin will find you out. So even though I often heard people say, "God loves you," I found it nearly impossible to believe it. I believed that God was a cosmic policeman watching to see me screw up and was ready to pounce on me and punish me for every wrong thought, word or deed.
Hearing Roberta describe her love for her husband and her children prompted me to think about my love for my own family. Often over the years, I have compared my love for my husband and children to God's love for them. And I know that as much as I love them, God loves them a bazillion times more. But I've never been able to unreservedly apply that logic to myself - I have struggled with believing that God truly loves me as I am.
Roberta made us laugh when she told the following hypothetical story.
She described herself arriving home after this weekend, heavy laden with her suitcase and other stuff. She is greeted by her husband and pets at the door and tells them all how much she missed them while she was away. Her husband responds with hugs and greetings of his own. And then he says, "Roberta, I love you in spite of who you are." We all laughed heartily at the idea of such an outrageous statement - and we know we would never say that to anyone we love.
But that is what I have heard my entire life - that God loves me in spite of who I am. In spite of my rottenness and sinfulness, my horrible habits and terrible tendencies, God loves me.
Today I can say with a clearer understanding than ever before - That is a load of crap!
God loves me. As I am. As you are. As we have always been.
As we always will be. Period.
It will undoubtedly take the rest of my life to eliminate those voices that still echo and resound in my head and my memory - those voices that say that God is not only a God of love. That we cannot only cling to that truth about God, but we have to remember God's wrath and judgment first and foremost. Those voices that suggest that, contrary to what it says about God's love in John 3:16, God was in fact so disgusted with me that God's son had to come and die for me. Those voices that warned me about my wicked heart and evil intentions. Those voices that told me that I couldn't speak up when I was young because I was only a child. Then when I grew up, those voices told me that I had to be silent in church because I'm a woman. Those voices that still try to make me feel like less than a fully articulated member of the family of God for other dubious reasons.
I spent the first 40+ years of my life actively listening to those voices and internalizing their terror-filled sentiments. Those voices are still there, but thanks be to God, they are getting quieter with each passing day. I plan to spend the next 48 years, if I should be granted that many more, listening to the voice of The One Who Loves me and celebrating love every day.
I am grateful that what I am hearing more and more these days is this -
From my husband - I love you, babe.
From my kids - I love you, Momma.
From my friends - I love you, Gail.
And from God - Fear not, for I have redeemed you;
I have summoned you by name; you are mine...
I love you. (Isaiah 43:1, 4)
On Love Day this Friday, I plan to bask in that newly embraced truth:
I am loved by God and by others just as I am,
because of who I am, not in spite of who I am.
On Love Day this Friday, I will set aside time to remember who I am and whose I am. And I won't need any overpriced cards, fancy jewelry, or extravagantly decorated chocolates to remind me about it.
(Seriously, Steve - you don't have to buy me anything.)
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