I slept with the light on last night. My rosy eyes ached through puffy eyelid slits as I forced myself to stay awake for binge-watching something unimportant on TV, trying to grab an ounce of triviality in a long day. A few hours earlier I learned that a friend of mine from high school days had died of cancer at age 41. Finally allowing sleep to triumph, I collapsed into bed, now wide awake. Without my permission, my mind recklessly bounced around memories of other friends with cancer, and I found myself counting how many I knew....then made myself stop. I thought about what if the cancer comes back for my Dad, for my friends...made myself stop again. I felt threatened...what if my kids...what if someone on the road...what if my husband...stop. I replayed sad scenes of loss, scary news, funerals...and this is when I turned the light on. Stop. In the perceived safety of my bedside lamp, I drifted off deeply.
I should be used to this by now. I'm a hospice nurse. Too many of my friends and relatives, young and old, have been diagnosed with cancer. Too many of them of them have died. I've walked tearful laps around school tracks to raise money in a desperate attempt to make a dent in furthering research, not really sure anymore I believed in the word "cure," but too ashamed to admit that. I've stood around awkwardly at too many wakes, clutching wrinkled wads of Kleenex, damp with sweat and saltwater tears. I looked, but not too closely, at posters of pictures of a life lived alongside mine with something heavy in my chest. It might be my heart. I've shuffled around church halls and funeral homes with the fear of saying the wrong thing, being a cliché, wondering whether to hug, shake hands, give a stiff understanding half-smile and suggestion of a nod to other sad people I don't know.
I know the routine of grief. I'll think I see someone that looks just like him a few times a day for a few weeks. I'll start to worry about unrealistic things, questioning stability. Is my family safe? Is there a car accident coming up? A job change, a diagnosis, a surgery? The smacking thud of sad and shocking news is like standing on the shoulder of a freeway when a semi speeds by; your hair blows back, and you waver, trying not to stagger back, your breath catching. Looking out for the next big thing barreling your way, you keep your knees bent.
I'm always surprised by the pervasiveness of loss, how it trails above me, dense, throughout the day. Craig. His name comes up in my mind and I'm confused all over again, how the smiling, kind, self-assured, and comical kid that grew up with me is dead. It's disorienting, and makes me pause to strain for any memory I can summon of a time shared with him; I have a sudden need to map out all the ways he weaved into my growing-up story.
At Craig's wake, I print my address in the guest book in tall and skinny letters to fit it all on the line. I wonder if I'm really supposed to write my address in full, or just the city. The scribbled signatures above mine show that the other guests wondered the same thing. I never know what to do. Nobody does at these things. I hold the wet Kleenex wad, shuffle around, out of place, wondering and worrying and looking and feeling the heaviness.
Back in my car, I look at the small paper program I had tucked in my purse. Craig's healthy smile is nestled next to poetry, names, dates and places. I hear the reverent, muted dark tone of church bells, dong, dong, dong....it is eight o'clock. In a few hours I will head to bed, eyes stinging again. My exaggerated worries will be primed and ready to break through the starting gates to begin their litany, encouraging me to turn on the lights and make the monsters go away.
Saturday, September 15, 2018
Thursday, August 30, 2018
Week Twelve
As it always does this time of year, the past 12 weeks have imperceptibly moved forward without my permission.
Did you have a good summer?
That's what you always ask. In this midwestern state, you have a period of 12 weeks to go outside, dance toes at water's edge, hook up sprinklers and run through its slow back-and-forth waving wall of water. 12 weeks of more sunshine, longer evenings, lax bedtimes, shrugging shoulders.
Did we have a good summer?
Every time I have been asked this, I find myself pausing, looking upwards with a squint...what did we even do this summer? And then I feel a small thunk of sadness in my chest. I didn't treasure the summer. You have 18 summers with your kids, and then they're gone. Oliver has lived half of those already. And I can't even recall, really, how we spent our time.
I remember summers that were magical with them. A park every day, maybe even two. The beach. Concerts in the park. The zoo. Splash pads, day trips, hours in the blue inflatable pool, bubble wands. Ice cream, county fairs, library storytimes, movies in the theater every Tuesday. This year? We didn't go to the beach, not even once. We let our zoo membership lapse. Our bubble solution is collecting flies in the front stoop, and there is no chalk on the driveway.
Panicked, I tearfully confessed to Michael the other night that I was afraid I didn't give the kids a good summer. I wasted a perfectly good summer, while our boys were kids and actually wanted to be around me. I won't get that time back again.
Michael gently reminded me that we did a lot this summer. I gave him an eye roll worthy of a sullen teenager, but he continued to remind me. We went tent camping as a family, twice. We learned how to raise monarchs. We raised fish in a 30 gallon tank, and learned about life and death through the process. We travelled up north. We played mini golf. Every Thursday was spent exploring the world with Grampa Dave, after ritual French toast made from glazed donuts. We played board games, more board games, and then some more board games. Oliver had piano lessons. We swam like guppies. We took art classes. We grew 9-foot sunflowers, 4 different kinds of tomatoes, several pints of raspberries, gallons of rhubarb, and 11 types of flowers. We saw four massive firework shows, went to ValleyFair 10 times, hosted parties that put Gatsby to shame. We got a basketball hoop. And, to be fair, this is the first summer that I have worked full time in several years, which means I actually only had two days of summer during the week with the boys. Okay, I agreed. Maybe we did have a good summer.
But was it magical?
How many days did I suggest the zoo, a park, a splash pad, only to be met by "I don't wanna"'s by the boys? Nearly each of those 2 days a week I was home with them, that's how many. And I confess here something very deep and dark...in my mind, I balled up my fists, whined, and thought, "what a waste of summer, just staying at home." And then Oliver reminded me of something last week. Instead of hurling 12 ideas of fun summer magic at them, I simply asked one day, "do you guys want to go out to do something fun today? Or stay at home?" Both of them said in chorus, "stay at home." Oliver quickly added: "Mom, it's always stay at home for me."
Insert wake-up call here.
Maybe it's because they only have two days a week with me this summer and they just want to be together. Or maybe, dare I say it...the things I deemed to be part of a magical summer...they have outgrown.
The thought makes me swallow hard and reach for the Kleenex. Another phase of their childhood is now gone. Story time at the library and jumping around in sprinklers is not what they're into anymore. I need to let go of what I consider an ideal summer together, and allow them to show me what it actually is. It looks a lot like staying at home and playing 59 rounds of Trouble.
And it makes sense, doesn't it, when everything around us is spinning so fast and demanding too much, even of our 1st and 3rd graders, that staying still and being together is, actually, the magic. Family dinners, reading, playing games, coloring, staying home, all of this is endangered by 7-hour school days that give kids 17 minutes to each lunch and 18 minutes to run outside, followed by homework that starts in kindergarten. We have only slices of time left for the sports and lessons and clubs we put our kids into before we rush them off to bed to do it again the next day.
We are told by way of neon flyers, Pinterest boards, emails, and Facebook groups, to engage with our kids through activity.
But friends, let us give ourselves grace to be still. Time is never wasted when it is spent doing nothing. Summers are not squandered when we choose to stay home. Skipping out does not mean missing out. I thought I was shaping memories for my kids; I thought it was my job. Turns out, if you let them show you, they do it all on their own.
Did you have a good summer?
That's what you always ask. In this midwestern state, you have a period of 12 weeks to go outside, dance toes at water's edge, hook up sprinklers and run through its slow back-and-forth waving wall of water. 12 weeks of more sunshine, longer evenings, lax bedtimes, shrugging shoulders.
Did we have a good summer?
Every time I have been asked this, I find myself pausing, looking upwards with a squint...what did we even do this summer? And then I feel a small thunk of sadness in my chest. I didn't treasure the summer. You have 18 summers with your kids, and then they're gone. Oliver has lived half of those already. And I can't even recall, really, how we spent our time.
I remember summers that were magical with them. A park every day, maybe even two. The beach. Concerts in the park. The zoo. Splash pads, day trips, hours in the blue inflatable pool, bubble wands. Ice cream, county fairs, library storytimes, movies in the theater every Tuesday. This year? We didn't go to the beach, not even once. We let our zoo membership lapse. Our bubble solution is collecting flies in the front stoop, and there is no chalk on the driveway.
Panicked, I tearfully confessed to Michael the other night that I was afraid I didn't give the kids a good summer. I wasted a perfectly good summer, while our boys were kids and actually wanted to be around me. I won't get that time back again.
Michael gently reminded me that we did a lot this summer. I gave him an eye roll worthy of a sullen teenager, but he continued to remind me. We went tent camping as a family, twice. We learned how to raise monarchs. We raised fish in a 30 gallon tank, and learned about life and death through the process. We travelled up north. We played mini golf. Every Thursday was spent exploring the world with Grampa Dave, after ritual French toast made from glazed donuts. We played board games, more board games, and then some more board games. Oliver had piano lessons. We swam like guppies. We took art classes. We grew 9-foot sunflowers, 4 different kinds of tomatoes, several pints of raspberries, gallons of rhubarb, and 11 types of flowers. We saw four massive firework shows, went to ValleyFair 10 times, hosted parties that put Gatsby to shame. We got a basketball hoop. And, to be fair, this is the first summer that I have worked full time in several years, which means I actually only had two days of summer during the week with the boys. Okay, I agreed. Maybe we did have a good summer.
But was it magical?
How many days did I suggest the zoo, a park, a splash pad, only to be met by "I don't wanna"'s by the boys? Nearly each of those 2 days a week I was home with them, that's how many. And I confess here something very deep and dark...in my mind, I balled up my fists, whined, and thought, "what a waste of summer, just staying at home." And then Oliver reminded me of something last week. Instead of hurling 12 ideas of fun summer magic at them, I simply asked one day, "do you guys want to go out to do something fun today? Or stay at home?" Both of them said in chorus, "stay at home." Oliver quickly added: "Mom, it's always stay at home for me."
Insert wake-up call here.
Maybe it's because they only have two days a week with me this summer and they just want to be together. Or maybe, dare I say it...the things I deemed to be part of a magical summer...they have outgrown.
The thought makes me swallow hard and reach for the Kleenex. Another phase of their childhood is now gone. Story time at the library and jumping around in sprinklers is not what they're into anymore. I need to let go of what I consider an ideal summer together, and allow them to show me what it actually is. It looks a lot like staying at home and playing 59 rounds of Trouble.
And it makes sense, doesn't it, when everything around us is spinning so fast and demanding too much, even of our 1st and 3rd graders, that staying still and being together is, actually, the magic. Family dinners, reading, playing games, coloring, staying home, all of this is endangered by 7-hour school days that give kids 17 minutes to each lunch and 18 minutes to run outside, followed by homework that starts in kindergarten. We have only slices of time left for the sports and lessons and clubs we put our kids into before we rush them off to bed to do it again the next day.
We are told by way of neon flyers, Pinterest boards, emails, and Facebook groups, to engage with our kids through activity.
But friends, let us give ourselves grace to be still. Time is never wasted when it is spent doing nothing. Summers are not squandered when we choose to stay home. Skipping out does not mean missing out. I thought I was shaping memories for my kids; I thought it was my job. Turns out, if you let them show you, they do it all on their own.
Thursday, February 15, 2018
My Message Among the Masses
"One does not have to operate with great malice to do great harm. The absence of empathy and absence of understanding are sufficient." (Charles M. Blow)
It's like watching a car crash.
Today, 17 students and teachers died from another school shooting, and Facebook is blowing up. It's hard to read about.
It's hard because we all think about the children in our lives, and we can't help but go there. What if. And I think it's important to go there. We need to hear the details, we need our hearts to hurt, our tears to fall, our imaginations to relate. The victims and their loved ones should be grieved for. To exist in this world is painful, and entering that vulnerable space of pain affirms our brokenness, as erring humans, as a country.
But it's also hard because our newsfeeds are saturated with opinions. It's like everyone is yelling at top decibel and arguing at warp speed, and when we scroll through, we absorb the anger, the grief, the blame. It's exhausting to ingest everyone's red-cheeked fury. But I can't help but read with wide eyes, a dropped jaw, a shaking head. These strong words, people attacking each other, and trying to understand where people are coming from...I just can't look away. There is a part of me that is just simply sad and curious, wanting to see the wreckage, craning my neck to see the chaos.
I don't want to add to the noise, another opinion, another angry shout to try to get your attention on my thoughts. But there is something I need to say, with the encouragement of Albert Einstein's words: "The world is a dangerous place, not because of those who do evil, but because of those who look on and do nothing." And so I will do something, and say something.
First off, let's be kind. It is okay to disagree. It discredits you to do so with name-calling, inflammatory language, verbal abuse. My kids handle conflict better than most of those responding to those with different opinions.
Secondly, can we consider that this may not be about sides? That instead of placing responsibility on one issue and not the other, that maybe there could be a number of factors? Perhaps gun control issues and mental illness were both contributing issues. We are grown-ups, created with beautifully complex minds designed to investigate and think beyond the absolute. We are better than this.
Furthermore, we can not cast judgment on, well, anything. Do you really know the shooter? I mean, really know him? Beyond his love of guns and threats to hurt people? Yep, I just said that...that perhaps there is more to him than his proclivity to violence. He was created a complex human being just like you and me. Do we know every detail of what this school has done to prevent this from happening? Every discussion between teacher and administrator, counselors, authority figures? Do we understand all of the steps the FBI took in handling the information they had about the shooter? There is so, so much more to every minute detail of this tragedy than we will never fully know. Making snap assumption based on details circulating in a storm of breaking news details is simply unfair.
But finally, what is really inflaming my Mama heart right now is reading comments about parenting and mental illness. I recoil every time I read that these school shootings are a result of parenting issues. Regardless of what you hear about a perpetrator's parents, opinions on their presence or absence, you will never know what has gone on in the walls of their home. I read comments today that talk about mental illness linked with parenting.
Friends. Please hear this. I am a parent of a child with clinical anxiety that presents in very intense and sometimes physical ways. We have cried, we have loved, we have tried, we have read, we have accessed therapy. Should my child someday grow to act upon what he struggles with emotionally in any way, it will because of his anxiety, not because of our parenting. Is every parent of a child with mental illness a good parent? No. Is every parent of a child with mental health a good parent? No. Saying definitively that a child's mental illness leading to a massacre is a result of poor parenting is ignorant, and perpetuates the misinformation and stigma of mental illness. Please understand that the parents of a child with any form of mental or emotional illness are often the toughest, most intentional, intensely loving and sacrificial parents because of what they work through every day.
So, there it is. My message among the masses. If my words get drowned out, at least I know I have said them; I have fought for my kids, and stand with everyone seeking peaceful, respectful conversation in how to move forward.
Saturday, June 10, 2017
Woman
Today I unearthed a box of summer clothes I forgot I had stowed away in the basement, and was happy to re-discover within it a WonderWoman shirt (cape included, of course). Perfect timing, as the namesake's movie is now in theaters.
I haven't been able to see the film, partly because of the other reason I'm happy to have found my WW shirt - hubby has been travelling for a month. And, well, I kind of feel like I could wear that shirt and own it. Michael doesn't typically travel for work, so a month away, especially across the world in India, has been kind of a big deal.
And you know what?
I kind of rocked it.
Here is where I must make a confession. I'm an embarrassment to women who are working hard to let the world know that women are very, very capable. And hey, I'm with them- I marched right alongside them in St Paul in November. But I am a bit of a cliché, one that would make strong women everywhere hang there heads shaking in shame. Because, well...perhaps I become a little too reliant on Michael and give up when things are hard or out of my comfort zone. When the internet is down, a warning light in the car goes on, or - ahem- there's something with eight legs that tries to share my living space - I just get Michael to care of it.
I know, I know. I sound like a helpless damsel. But as this month has proved, it's not that I can't do these things. At one point this month, it occurred to me- I used to do all of these things on my own before I met Michael. I had forgotten my self-reliance and dismissed my capability. And so even though my work load was increased with no second pair of hands to help around the house and with the kids, I set off to remind myself that there's more to my abilities than I give credit to.
This month, I:
Hosted 10 vendors for an all-day sale in my house
Mowed the lawn three times, refilled the mower with gas twice
Stripped and painted the front door
Killed two bugs, one of which was a millipede (my most feared of opponents)
Killed a wasp nest
Generated an income from home
Took the boys with me to a professional meeting and kept them relatively quiet
Parented one child during an annual performance review (including the inevitable "I need to go poopie" right in the middle)
Conquered my fear of heights and stood on a ladder for about the total of 2 days
Installed IKEA kitchen organization
Did the aforementioned with a power tool
Hung pictures and, completely out of character, slowed down enough to use a leveler
Installed hooks in the roof overhang
Installed trellises
Planted 16 pots of flowers
Painted a wall
Bridged Oliver from Cub Scout Tiger to a Wolf
Drove 5 hours each way with the boys for a trip up North
Navigated 2 birthday parties and 2 last-days-of-school
These are not difficult things. Anybody can do them. I expect that you are reading the list and shrugging, "so?" And that's perfectly ok. Because I am simply celebrating that I didn't run away in fear, and I didn't just "get by." I moved forward, and I did it well.
I know what I'm wearing tomorrow.
I haven't been able to see the film, partly because of the other reason I'm happy to have found my WW shirt - hubby has been travelling for a month. And, well, I kind of feel like I could wear that shirt and own it. Michael doesn't typically travel for work, so a month away, especially across the world in India, has been kind of a big deal.
And you know what?
I kind of rocked it.
Here is where I must make a confession. I'm an embarrassment to women who are working hard to let the world know that women are very, very capable. And hey, I'm with them- I marched right alongside them in St Paul in November. But I am a bit of a cliché, one that would make strong women everywhere hang there heads shaking in shame. Because, well...perhaps I become a little too reliant on Michael and give up when things are hard or out of my comfort zone. When the internet is down, a warning light in the car goes on, or - ahem- there's something with eight legs that tries to share my living space - I just get Michael to care of it.
I know, I know. I sound like a helpless damsel. But as this month has proved, it's not that I can't do these things. At one point this month, it occurred to me- I used to do all of these things on my own before I met Michael. I had forgotten my self-reliance and dismissed my capability. And so even though my work load was increased with no second pair of hands to help around the house and with the kids, I set off to remind myself that there's more to my abilities than I give credit to.
This month, I:
Hosted 10 vendors for an all-day sale in my house
Mowed the lawn three times, refilled the mower with gas twice
Stripped and painted the front door
Killed two bugs, one of which was a millipede (my most feared of opponents)
Killed a wasp nest
Generated an income from home
Took the boys with me to a professional meeting and kept them relatively quiet
Parented one child during an annual performance review (including the inevitable "I need to go poopie" right in the middle)
Conquered my fear of heights and stood on a ladder for about the total of 2 days
Installed IKEA kitchen organization
Did the aforementioned with a power tool
Hung pictures and, completely out of character, slowed down enough to use a leveler
Installed hooks in the roof overhang
Installed trellises
Planted 16 pots of flowers
Painted a wall
Bridged Oliver from Cub Scout Tiger to a Wolf
Drove 5 hours each way with the boys for a trip up North
Navigated 2 birthday parties and 2 last-days-of-school
These are not difficult things. Anybody can do them. I expect that you are reading the list and shrugging, "so?" And that's perfectly ok. Because I am simply celebrating that I didn't run away in fear, and I didn't just "get by." I moved forward, and I did it well.
I know what I'm wearing tomorrow.
Saturday, January 28, 2017
No Words
You're probably hoping that this is not a political post.
We're saturated with political articles, blog posts, comments, arguments, analysis, tweets, social media turmoil.
Post a picture of a puppy, you say.
And I could. In fact, I'm trying to seek out good... humorous memes, good art, stand-up comedy, I've even resorted to animal videos. I do it because it's important to self-monitor in these tenuous days, when it all becomes too much, and we risk hurting each other with our words, we start living the darkness we are feeling, or maybe worse, we stop caring and ignore it all.
But while self-care in our exposure is critical to the wellbeing of ourselves and others, the conversations need to continue. We need to connect, seek, network, attempt to understand, gather, move forward, and do. And because I'm a writer...this is me doing.
Today when I watched a recap on the executive orders carried out in this first week, I wept. Straight up, I wept. It occurred to me that over the past year, I have gone through those well-known stages of grief: the denial, the bargaining, the anger, the sadness...but I promise you this, I will never come to acceptance.
The phrase that I see so many of my friends type out in response to the headlines is "I have no words." And I am with them. I cannot find words that will approach the intensity of my grief and disappointment. But something needs to be said, and they need to be said with the very grace I try to live by.
I am a Christian. Jesus Christ is my savior and while I will never pretend to be without need of constant correction and forgiveness, there are things I have learned from Jesus to do my best to live out:
Love.
Humility.
Compassion.
Patience.
Kindness.
Gentleness.
Peace.
This week has brought changes via our new President that directly defy these values. And these are not just morals, not just nice things to do, and far beyond flowery lexicon. It is what I am called as a follower of Jesus to do, to be. Feed the hungry, welcome the stranger, have compassion on the widow. Be of humble heart.
But all I hear are words like "refusing refugees," "America first," "Building a wall," "Keep America safe."
Jesus does not call us to be safe. He calls us to be bold.
Jesus does not call us to be first. He calls us to be last.
Jesus does not call us to shut people out. He calls us to let them in.
Jesus does not call us to refuse. He calls us to serve.
I do not know the answers to the myriad of challenges that our country holds. But I know it's not this.
My sons are 5 and 7. When they are strapped into their carseats and can't go anywhere in a small contained space, they pretty much have to hear what I say. And so I take these on-the-road moments as opportunities to teach them what Michael and I want them to know. We're trying to raise them to think in a way that may be completely opposite of what the world tells them.
Last week, our conversation went a little like this:
Me: "Was Jesus a good guy or a bad guy?"
Them: "Good guy!"
Me: "Yep! So who do you think His friends were?"
Them: "Good guys!"
Their jaws succumbed to gravity as I explained to them that Jesus befriended people who stole, murdered, lied, and made all kinds of poor choices.
Our God is a God of grace and inclusion.
Readers, please know that I am not writing for Christians...I am not writing on behalf of Christians. Let me be clear that I am not labeling Christians as the only ones who strive to live out humility, love, peace, patience and kindness. Indeed, plenty of Christians do not, and countless non-Christians do. I am calling out Jesus here because for me, following Him is how I live out my life. My God is a God of justice, compassion, humility, kindess and love... and because of this, I will not keep silent.
We're saturated with political articles, blog posts, comments, arguments, analysis, tweets, social media turmoil.
Post a picture of a puppy, you say.
And I could. In fact, I'm trying to seek out good... humorous memes, good art, stand-up comedy, I've even resorted to animal videos. I do it because it's important to self-monitor in these tenuous days, when it all becomes too much, and we risk hurting each other with our words, we start living the darkness we are feeling, or maybe worse, we stop caring and ignore it all.
But while self-care in our exposure is critical to the wellbeing of ourselves and others, the conversations need to continue. We need to connect, seek, network, attempt to understand, gather, move forward, and do. And because I'm a writer...this is me doing.
Today when I watched a recap on the executive orders carried out in this first week, I wept. Straight up, I wept. It occurred to me that over the past year, I have gone through those well-known stages of grief: the denial, the bargaining, the anger, the sadness...but I promise you this, I will never come to acceptance.
The phrase that I see so many of my friends type out in response to the headlines is "I have no words." And I am with them. I cannot find words that will approach the intensity of my grief and disappointment. But something needs to be said, and they need to be said with the very grace I try to live by.
I am a Christian. Jesus Christ is my savior and while I will never pretend to be without need of constant correction and forgiveness, there are things I have learned from Jesus to do my best to live out:
Love.
Humility.
Compassion.
Patience.
Kindness.
Gentleness.
Peace.
This week has brought changes via our new President that directly defy these values. And these are not just morals, not just nice things to do, and far beyond flowery lexicon. It is what I am called as a follower of Jesus to do, to be. Feed the hungry, welcome the stranger, have compassion on the widow. Be of humble heart.
But all I hear are words like "refusing refugees," "America first," "Building a wall," "Keep America safe."
Jesus does not call us to be safe. He calls us to be bold.
Jesus does not call us to be first. He calls us to be last.
Jesus does not call us to shut people out. He calls us to let them in.
Jesus does not call us to refuse. He calls us to serve.
I do not know the answers to the myriad of challenges that our country holds. But I know it's not this.
My sons are 5 and 7. When they are strapped into their carseats and can't go anywhere in a small contained space, they pretty much have to hear what I say. And so I take these on-the-road moments as opportunities to teach them what Michael and I want them to know. We're trying to raise them to think in a way that may be completely opposite of what the world tells them.
Last week, our conversation went a little like this:
Me: "Was Jesus a good guy or a bad guy?"
Them: "Good guy!"
Me: "Yep! So who do you think His friends were?"
Them: "Good guys!"
Their jaws succumbed to gravity as I explained to them that Jesus befriended people who stole, murdered, lied, and made all kinds of poor choices.
Our God is a God of grace and inclusion.
Readers, please know that I am not writing for Christians...I am not writing on behalf of Christians. Let me be clear that I am not labeling Christians as the only ones who strive to live out humility, love, peace, patience and kindness. Indeed, plenty of Christians do not, and countless non-Christians do. I am calling out Jesus here because for me, following Him is how I live out my life. My God is a God of justice, compassion, humility, kindess and love... and because of this, I will not keep silent.
Tuesday, November 8, 2016
A Few Good Things
This election.
That's about all I need to say, and you're all shaking your heads, sighing in frustration, disgust, fatigue.
Don't get me wrong, I'm right there with you. But when I awoke this morning on election day, I was in a strangely excited mood. A good mood, actually. Michael woke me up with a coffee, saying "I got you a Snickers mocha, because you're sweet too." I crooned an "awwwww!" and as he walked out of the room, he added "oh, and there's a cinnamon roll for you at the table. I figured we could use all the good things we can get today." And I drifted in and out of sleep, happily dozing next to the smell of my coffee.
And although I had a bit of caffeine in my system this morning, the coffee wasn't entirely responsible for my jitters. There was an odd mixture of excitement, anxiety, concern, celebration, pride, and energy that made me antsy. On most days I need to give myself a realllll good pep talk to get to the gym, but today I happily zumba'd, biked, and planked for all of 90 minutes, leaving for home only because I couldn't stand my stank any longer. I just could not sit still.
At the risk of seeming ignorant, too perky, and simplistic, I feel that there are a few good things about this election that don't get recognized enough; and understandably so. Optimism wouldn't dare earn a segment in anyone's new coverage. But it has a place in my ponderings... it doesn't replace the ugliness, or hide it in the least, but it is worth noting that in our time of unrest, it is not for nothing.
1) This election has engaged the quiet and the complacent. It has gotten those typically uninterested in politics to do a double take, and to speak up.
2) It has confirmed the significance of what it means to be privileged with a democracy, and that things can move forward when given a voice. It seemed to most that Mr. Trump running for president was simply funny. It was a joke. But here we are, on election night at 11:42pm, and we are either biting our nails, wide-eyed at the percentage points...or closing our eyes and just dealing with it in the morning. No matter who your candidate is, it is clear that no matter what your background and experience, you can become president. I am choosing to take a perspective that, looking at the big picture...isn't it kind of cool that we can back whoever we choose to?
3) This presidential race is historic...from a woman presidential nominee, to serious character flaws in each candidate. So many voters have been torn about what to do. Pick the "lesser of two evils"? Write-in a candidate? Choose not to vote? Regardless of tomorrow's election results, from a social standpoint, I am wildly curious to see what happens...who chose to write-in candidates, who chose to abstain from voting- and did it make a difference? I want to watch it be dissected, analyzed, and see what we learned from this unprecedented race. I have no doubt that this election will be a fascinating case for poly-sci classes. Our kids will be reading about this election in history books. We are living history. Sorry, but...isn't that kind of... awesome?
4) This election, more than ever before, has made us really think about what our values are...and what to do when we have to choose between those values that are most precious to us. When it comes down to it...what is it that we hold most sacred?
5) And though this seems trite, I would be amiss if I didn't mention that this race has been fodder for some of the absolute best comedy ever produced from an election. I will never tire of musicals, lip-dubs, and late-night recaps. You may roll your eyes at this, but I contend that humor is absolutely instrumental to surviving dark times, and there has been plenty of relief to be found on social media (thank you, Randy Rainbow, Bad Lip Dub, and John Oliver.)
Last night, I reached for my Bible before I went to bed. I turned out the light, and hung onto my Bible as if it were a teddy bear. I slept like that, the small book in my clutches, my security. I prayed throughout the day and knew that my prayers were heard for this country. I prayed as I stood in the plastic cubicle with my black felt-tip pen, before I made a move to fill in my circles. And I was overcome with that excitement again. Because here I was, voting, free to add my voice, and free to speak to my God in this voting booth. What freedom we have. What privilege. As tough as this election has been, and undoubtedly the next several months ahead will be no matter who wins the presidency, we do, in fact, have quite a bit to celebrate.
That's about all I need to say, and you're all shaking your heads, sighing in frustration, disgust, fatigue.
Don't get me wrong, I'm right there with you. But when I awoke this morning on election day, I was in a strangely excited mood. A good mood, actually. Michael woke me up with a coffee, saying "I got you a Snickers mocha, because you're sweet too." I crooned an "awwwww!" and as he walked out of the room, he added "oh, and there's a cinnamon roll for you at the table. I figured we could use all the good things we can get today." And I drifted in and out of sleep, happily dozing next to the smell of my coffee.
And although I had a bit of caffeine in my system this morning, the coffee wasn't entirely responsible for my jitters. There was an odd mixture of excitement, anxiety, concern, celebration, pride, and energy that made me antsy. On most days I need to give myself a realllll good pep talk to get to the gym, but today I happily zumba'd, biked, and planked for all of 90 minutes, leaving for home only because I couldn't stand my stank any longer. I just could not sit still.
At the risk of seeming ignorant, too perky, and simplistic, I feel that there are a few good things about this election that don't get recognized enough; and understandably so. Optimism wouldn't dare earn a segment in anyone's new coverage. But it has a place in my ponderings... it doesn't replace the ugliness, or hide it in the least, but it is worth noting that in our time of unrest, it is not for nothing.
1) This election has engaged the quiet and the complacent. It has gotten those typically uninterested in politics to do a double take, and to speak up.
2) It has confirmed the significance of what it means to be privileged with a democracy, and that things can move forward when given a voice. It seemed to most that Mr. Trump running for president was simply funny. It was a joke. But here we are, on election night at 11:42pm, and we are either biting our nails, wide-eyed at the percentage points...or closing our eyes and just dealing with it in the morning. No matter who your candidate is, it is clear that no matter what your background and experience, you can become president. I am choosing to take a perspective that, looking at the big picture...isn't it kind of cool that we can back whoever we choose to?
3) This presidential race is historic...from a woman presidential nominee, to serious character flaws in each candidate. So many voters have been torn about what to do. Pick the "lesser of two evils"? Write-in a candidate? Choose not to vote? Regardless of tomorrow's election results, from a social standpoint, I am wildly curious to see what happens...who chose to write-in candidates, who chose to abstain from voting- and did it make a difference? I want to watch it be dissected, analyzed, and see what we learned from this unprecedented race. I have no doubt that this election will be a fascinating case for poly-sci classes. Our kids will be reading about this election in history books. We are living history. Sorry, but...isn't that kind of... awesome?
4) This election, more than ever before, has made us really think about what our values are...and what to do when we have to choose between those values that are most precious to us. When it comes down to it...what is it that we hold most sacred?
5) And though this seems trite, I would be amiss if I didn't mention that this race has been fodder for some of the absolute best comedy ever produced from an election. I will never tire of musicals, lip-dubs, and late-night recaps. You may roll your eyes at this, but I contend that humor is absolutely instrumental to surviving dark times, and there has been plenty of relief to be found on social media (thank you, Randy Rainbow, Bad Lip Dub, and John Oliver.)
Last night, I reached for my Bible before I went to bed. I turned out the light, and hung onto my Bible as if it were a teddy bear. I slept like that, the small book in my clutches, my security. I prayed throughout the day and knew that my prayers were heard for this country. I prayed as I stood in the plastic cubicle with my black felt-tip pen, before I made a move to fill in my circles. And I was overcome with that excitement again. Because here I was, voting, free to add my voice, and free to speak to my God in this voting booth. What freedom we have. What privilege. As tough as this election has been, and undoubtedly the next several months ahead will be no matter who wins the presidency, we do, in fact, have quite a bit to celebrate.
Wednesday, October 12, 2016
First of the Season
I'm probably going to get in trouble for saying this.
I'm excited about the hard freeze forecasted for tonight.
Most residents of Minnesota fear this day, when a 70-degreed blue-skied October day takes a sharp turn to cold that points towards the months ahead. Months of digging cars out of from snow, loosing an average of 1 mitten per week, adding 20 minutes to the morning routine just to get everybody's winter gear on. Runny noses, getting up in the dark, sharp winds that will ensure you will never fully get warm again for another five months.
But tonight's freeze welcomes in the first fire of the season, right here in our living room. When we built our previous house, I was thrilled to have a fireplace with no maintenance, that turned on and off at the convenient flip of a switch. I never knew what I was missing. Now, in our midcentury fireplace, there is no loud fan for cooling, no glass making it impossible to roast s'mores in our living room, and oh: there's real fire. Fire that crackles. Logs that tumble as they disintegrate. The potential to start with a small flame, watch it rise and billow, dwindle to embers, and then resurrect itself back into a roar. Michael built a fire just like this tonight, and it's going on 3 hours now, making the first of the season drawn out and intoxicating.
While we sat entranced on the couch, we heard the padding of 4-year-old feet, and Charlie, sleepwalking and disoriented, walked right out of his room and into ours. Michael brought him back into the living room and laid him in my arms to snuggle. He fell asleep on me with such surrender, such trust, his whole weight draped over me, and I wept. Charlie was not a snuggler as a baby, or even a toddler. He was more content to get himself to sleep, frequently pushing my hand away when I tried to rub his back. His tolerance for being rocked was short, and rarely did he fall asleep in our arms. So now, as his breath deepened and slowed, his head on my chest, I let myself simply be in the moment, savoring this rare gift of Charlie asleep in my arms.
Ten minutes or so later, Michael gently picked Charlie up in a cradled hold, and very, very slowly, walked him back to bed. I watched this precious silhouette, Michael looking down at our youngest, Charlie's wild hair hanging off of Michael's right arm, his little feet draped over his left. I was reminded of one of my earliest memories, when our family retreated to the basement of our South Minneapolis home during a tornado warning. My sister and I were giddy to be up in the middle of the night, snuggling in our cartoon-character sleeping bags. When the warning had passed, I pretended to be in a deep sleep, in hopes that my Dad would carry me upstairs back into bed. There is something so very precious in being parented, and tenderly cared for.
Charlie went back to bed, Michael went to bed, and I curled up in my softest fleece pajamas on the carpet in front of the burning embers. I reached for a fuzzy blanket and hugged it close, my hands wrapped around a piece of fringe like a child. And there I dozed; warm, happy, and cared for.
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