To the ones staring at the sun
Afraid of what you'll find if you took a look inside.
Not just deaf and dumb, staring at the sun
I'm not the only one who'd rather go blind.
-U2
Yesterday. Yesterday I had more than a handful of people praying for me. I put myself out there and told more of my story than many may have known. I pulled through. I did some self-indulgence. I did some public appearances. I did some responsibility and I did some irresponsibility. Essentially, yesterday was like most of my todays, my every days. And I pulled through because I had more than a handful of people speaking up (literally - skyward to the Great I Am up) and keeping me from being all prostrate.
Hubs and I made two pacts when we lost Journey. One: We will NOT lose our marriage too. Some of you may not know but apparently divorce is pretty prevalent out there. Like under the best circumstances, marriage has a 50/50 shot. The divorce rate among couples who lose a child? 50 percent. I'm not so great when you have take percents of percents but the best I figure it, that means couples who lose a child have a 75% chance of breaking up. And I get it. When I say that we were determined not to lose our marriage on top of losing a child, we had no idea how hard that would end up being. We have come close, very close, to not making it. It is so ridiculous that men and women are programmed to be diametrically opposed. At least - in our pairing, we are about as cliche as it gets. Extrovert vs. introvert. Practical vs. emotional. Thinker vs. feeler. Talker vs. Stoic. Plus - on top of me having to grapple with the fact that Hubs just is a man, he is also an engineer. And if any of you have an engineer in your life, you get it. That's a whole other type of brainiology. And added to that, all people grieve differently. Which I keep forgetting. Right after it happened, we were so on the same page and perfectly aligned in how we dealt with everything. We talked and processed and cried. It was me and Hubs against the darkness and the abyss and the odds. But it didn't take long before Hubs started compartmentalizing. And to be fair, he had to. At some point, he had to go back to work and support a family. And an engineer has to have alot of his brain back from the swallowing up of grief. This was confusing and alienating because I just didn't have to do that and I didn't understand how he could. And our flawed communication style was doing us NO favors. What had initially pulled us together started becoming a wedge between us. And looking back, I have no idea how we made it through. Well, that's a lie. The only way we made it through was God. That dude put us together in His palms and intertwined His fingers around us and squished us there for all the time to come. He softened our hearts toward one another just in the nick of so many times. He reinvented laughter and closeness over and over again. We will not lose our marriage. Ever.
The second agreement that we made was that if there was anything that we could do to help others because of our experience, we were going to do that. We had no idea what that would mean but it had to happen. We spent time talking to someone who was forming a grief group at our church and told him what we wish could have been different in our community while we were in the thick of it. I have not shied away from telling our story in varying degrees where I felt called to do it. Yesterday a complete stranger read my blog and left a lovely comment. She is on her own grief journey and encouraged me. I am so excitahumbled that happened. If a stranger finds solace or relatability in my words, I feel like I'm keeping a promise. And keeping a promise that no one is holding me to, that really barely anyone knows about, is somehow the most aligned I can feel with God sometimes. To that end, the end of potentially helping anyone through my experience of any kind, let alone grief, I want to wrap up a second day in a row of blogging about loss.
This is what I came up with in order to explain what happens to people who are in crisis (of any kind, including grief):
Imagine that your world becomes a solar system. You are a flaring, volatile, unpredictable ball of heat. You are the sun. The people in your life are planets. Out at Pluto level (whatever. If you learn the planets in school and then after you are done with school, they tell you that one of them never was one, you can't just ask me to unlearn the one with the Disney name), are pretty much strangers. The kind where you know of each other by name because you share similar circles but you have never met. Uranus is acquaintances. These are friends of friends that you have met. Parents at the same school that you would say hi to but don't know. Your dry-cleaner. You have a touch point but they aren't specifically significant in your life, nor are you in theirs. Next up is Neptune. A bit closer to your life - a mailman you see everyday but haven't really gotten to know. People on different floors of your building. People you have been on a committee with once or twice. Saturn you probably talk to with more regularity. The people who check you out often at the grocery store. Your barista. There isn't an emotional investment. The next group, like Jupiter, is probably the largest portion of people in your life. Facebook friends. People you shared life with back in the day but not so much anymore. People you keep up with but with a random call here and there. As you get closer to the sun, the relationships become more significant. Mars is your work mates. Not just the people you see on the way to the copy machine. The people you work with. You do projects together. You share a lunch hour. You spend most of your time with these folks but the friendships aren't always that deep. Earth is the people you invite to your parties. They made their mark on your life. You enjoy the time you spend with them. These are your weekly peeps. Sorority Sisters. Frat Bros. Your church people. Venus is your very closest friends. These are your chosen people. Mercury is your immediate family. The people who have known you your whole life and have seen you through hell and back. They know your history from the beginning.
Now, imagine that a crisis has occurred. At first, all these people are in your system. But the thing about crisis is that it essentially has an expiration date. There are different, sudden expiration dates for each planet and it varies depending on the planet's proximity to your sun. All expiration dates are unknown to everyone but somehow each planet's inhabitants simultaneously abide by it. The first to expire are the ones on the outer reaches. Pluto - which was essentially never a planet in your system anyway. Just like science keeps trying to convince us. They feel bad to hear your news but as they never knew you, it doesn't stay on their radar. Uranus, Neptune and Saturn will randomly hear your news and make a point to offer condolences. It's uncomfortable because they don't really know the depth of your situation and don't have a position in your life to do much more than that. Jupiter sends cards and calls. They will make an offer to help in any way you need them to. Mars will collect money for flowers and gift cards. They will have your back on whatever you need to have happen in your work life. Earth starts the dinner train. They want to feed you and do for you. They stand vigil, ready for instructions to carry out. Venus will spend the night. They will watch the ugly. They will pick up the snot rags. They don't wait for you to ask. They just do. Honestly, in some systems, Venus is closer to the sun than Mercury. Maybe because it doesn't move as quickly. It's slower to complete the task while Mercury is so overwhelmed by their own personal loss or proximity to the crisis that it can't offer what Venus does. But even Venus and Mercury have their own expiration dates because when all is said and done, you are still an unpredictable, volatile, flaring ball of heat. And in their own brokenness, they just don't have the capacity to stand and stare at the sun. It's blinding. It burns. They, like the rest of the planets, crave the relief of moving away at some point. And it's okay. It doesn't feel okay. It feels shitty. It feels like you have been abandoned and forgotten. But if those planets don't get out of the way, then there leaves little room for you to feel the rest of the entire universe. The maker of the universe. He is the one that gave you the planets - the communities to be tangible. But they were never supposed to take on His job. When you are left all alone, it's when you can finally feel how vast and unending He is. He is the only one who can take on all of your heat.
So, now you know. This is for the person going through it - this will happen. I am guilty of being the sun and still not being able to resist my planet's expiration date. I know it hurts. That is the nature of what you are going through - whatever the name of your crisis is. And this is for those who are watching someone go through it. I want you to know that the person you are watching has to lose even more because everyone leaves. Every one starts shifting their orbit to regain their own distance and all the person in the center knows is, I need people, where did everyone go? So planets, linger a little longer, if you could. And suns, muster up some grace and comfort that when the planets leave, you aren't surrounded by nothing. It's dark and quiet but it's not nothing. It's where the beginning is.
God is good but will he listen?
I'm nearly great but there's something missing.
I left it in the duty free,
Oh, though you never really belonged to me.
-U2
Tuesday, March 18, 2014
Sunday, March 16, 2014
Defying grievity.
About a week ago, I started writing the post for tomorrow. I figured with this much time served, I would have a full handle on how that day would feel. What I would want to share. Today, I am left wondering about the nature of self-fulfilling prophecies and feeling so incredibly naive and foolish.
My fortieth birthday sucked. I wasn't looking forward to it. I let everyone know that I hated turning forty and that it just sucked. And you know what happened? It sucked. My therapist at the time said that I pretty much told everyone how to handle it. What she didn't seem to grasp was that everyone was supposed to rally and make sure that it didn't suck. She told me that next time, maybe I should tell everyone that it's going to be a party. That by calling out that my birthday was going to rock, it just had a better chance of actually rocking. And you know what happened? It rocked. I declared it my "I made it through forty!" celebration. I didn't get breakfast at Tiffany's but I did get a cup of coffee at Tiffany's while Hubs let me wander around and pick something out for myself. I walked out with the legendary blue box. 41 rocked.
Tomorrow, there will be all myriad of debauchery and celebrating. Corned beef, cabbage, Kelly green, clovers and consuming of copious beer. I don't know a "c/k" sounding beer word to finish that out properly. OH! There is Killian's but not everyone drinks it, even on St. Patrick's day even though it's Irish. On the other hand, not everyone eats corned beef and cabbage on St. Patrick's day. Which you should. I wait all year to buy corned beef at a good price.
I had to look up why St. Patrick's day just is. He is credited with bringing Christianity into Ireland. He is said to have used three leaf clovers to explain the Holy Trinity. Good on ya, Patrick! So, when did all the drinking become associated, you might ask as I did. Well, it turns out that because there are eating and drinking restrictions during Lenten, those are lifted for the day. So I guess everyone eats as much beef and drinks as much beer as possible to make up for lost time and to store it up for the time to come until Easter.
My family doesn't do any of that for St. Patrick's day. Except the corned beef and cabbage bit. Because of all that I said just right there in that paragraph above about how much I love corned beef and would eat it all year long if only it was as cheap as it is for this "holiday". I am an alcoholic and I can't drink beer or liquor of any color at any time, ever. No matter how entirely "appropriate" or certainly enticing it is on this particular day. We don't wear green. Last year, I did lift the ban for the kids because they didn't want to get pinched or look weird. It's a fair argument. And the reality is, they are here and they get to relay those feelings. And she is not.
Tomorrow, there will be a ten year anniversary that a handful of people will notice. And the ones that do don't really celebrate, per se. We, the ones left behind, find some sort of way to muddle through what makes no sense anymore. I have one friend who lost her fifteen year old son and says that the anniversaries aren't any harder. She says every day is awful, one doesn't stand out as more awful. For me, the anniversaries feel different. They are more marked. It may be because it is on a day when year after year I have to watch people celebrate. It may be because Hubs and I actually had to make a decision to let our daughter go on this particular date rather than it being a thing that just "happened". It doesn't really matter why. That's just what my reality is. And as such, I had built up tomorrow as particularly significant. Particularly painful and awful. What I didn't count on was that I would have no control or warning over how it would feel today.
On the last day of a sale which features your 4 children's favorite cereal, you have to go. It costs a dollar a box. You have to go. You are also out of milk. You have to go. I didn't mind that I had to go. Until I went. Today is gray and windy and cold. There is talk of snow which makes people flock to the grocery to stock up on whatever frozen precipitation of any sort might potentially deprive them of. I buzzed through my usual route through the store and felt increasingly raw. By the end, I felt like a gaping wound. I felt out in the open and like any thing had the potential to level me. I felt the fullness of grievity. It's when you have this out of body experience like you are not of this world and it all seems so strange and foreign and weird and you don't belong here but the sadness and the loss press down on you with such weight that if feels not only like it's keeping you on the ground but that it could flatten you. And I wondered how in the hell I could have possibly assumed that I wouldn't experience anything until tomorrow. That it would all fit tightly and rightly in the calendar box reserved for the date proper. It isn't as if I'm not blindsided regularly on insignificant days. Truly, I get knocked for a loop and am at a loss as to what the trigger was. But as for today - did I bring it on myself? All this anticipation building on itself, a house of cards on a bed of water? Did it suck, does tomorrow suck just because I said it was going to?
In 2003, this amazing, beautiful girl entered the world and I got to be the conduit. We named her Journey and she was sweet and curious and fun. She turned a year old and started some wobbly first steps. We bought her some Mary Janes from Stride Rite so that she could have proper friction and fit while she started taking the world by storm. Her older brother adored her. And the feeling was mutual. One day in March 2004, the virus that her brother had been recovering from started to invade her little body. And something went terribly wrong. I took her to the emergency room and the next thing I knew, she was hooked up to all kinds of tubes and machines in the ICU. Testing showed that there was bleeding on her brain. On the opposite side of her brain, there was a clot. These two completely opposing forces left little room for a different outcome. On March 16, we noticed that there was a marked difference in her brain activity. And we knew that Journey was only Journey when she was able to explore and really experience life. Anything less, she wouldn't be Journey anymore. She had reached a point of no return so early the following morning, we told her that we loved her and that we would miss her and that she belonged to God and it was okay to go. And she did.
On St. Patrick's day every year since, we go off the grid. We keep the kids out of school and do something we don't normally do because that day - it's not normal. It shouldn't feel normal. A few weeks ago, I asked Hubs if he wanted to keep it as it had always been or if he wanted to change it to just he and I. We decided that this year, we would do something, just the two of us. We had started thinking of what we would do when he got word that he would have to go out of town that day. He leaves before the crack of dawn and comes back the next day. There really just isn't any way to express the sucker punch this feels like. To both of us. There is one person on the planet that knows what each and every today has felt like for the past 10 years to either of us. There is one person on the planet that understands the breadth of tomorrow to either of us. And we will be apart. And after I got home from the store, I realized that part of my overwhelming feeling of exposure was the realization that my anchor, my heart, the love of my life and my partner in brokenness will be in a plane flying over a large portion of the country away from me. The level of lack of control I feel is - I can't wrap my brain around it. The fact that there is a plane that has just disappeared making like all the headlines anymore is really straining my sanity about this situation. Obviously nothing compared to the families who actually have someone on that plane.
On a better day, I will share the beautiful things that have happened since Journey died. The fruit borne of such a heartbreak. But today, I am stuck here, in the this. I don't know what tomorrow brings. I know I have kids to get out the door. And kids to pick up. And kids to feed dinner to. I know I have to not drink. Beyond that, all the plans that I have tried to make for the day have kind of fallen through. .I don't know what to do with that or if there is purpose within that. I guess all I can do is what I have done every day for the past 10 years. Be honest. Be true. Be faithful. Remember to breathe. Remember to live. Remember to love. Defy grievity.
I had to look up why St. Patrick's day just is. He is credited with bringing Christianity into Ireland. He is said to have used three leaf clovers to explain the Holy Trinity. Good on ya, Patrick! So, when did all the drinking become associated, you might ask as I did. Well, it turns out that because there are eating and drinking restrictions during Lenten, those are lifted for the day. So I guess everyone eats as much beef and drinks as much beer as possible to make up for lost time and to store it up for the time to come until Easter.
My family doesn't do any of that for St. Patrick's day. Except the corned beef and cabbage bit. Because of all that I said just right there in that paragraph above about how much I love corned beef and would eat it all year long if only it was as cheap as it is for this "holiday". I am an alcoholic and I can't drink beer or liquor of any color at any time, ever. No matter how entirely "appropriate" or certainly enticing it is on this particular day. We don't wear green. Last year, I did lift the ban for the kids because they didn't want to get pinched or look weird. It's a fair argument. And the reality is, they are here and they get to relay those feelings. And she is not.
Tomorrow, there will be a ten year anniversary that a handful of people will notice. And the ones that do don't really celebrate, per se. We, the ones left behind, find some sort of way to muddle through what makes no sense anymore. I have one friend who lost her fifteen year old son and says that the anniversaries aren't any harder. She says every day is awful, one doesn't stand out as more awful. For me, the anniversaries feel different. They are more marked. It may be because it is on a day when year after year I have to watch people celebrate. It may be because Hubs and I actually had to make a decision to let our daughter go on this particular date rather than it being a thing that just "happened". It doesn't really matter why. That's just what my reality is. And as such, I had built up tomorrow as particularly significant. Particularly painful and awful. What I didn't count on was that I would have no control or warning over how it would feel today.
On the last day of a sale which features your 4 children's favorite cereal, you have to go. It costs a dollar a box. You have to go. You are also out of milk. You have to go. I didn't mind that I had to go. Until I went. Today is gray and windy and cold. There is talk of snow which makes people flock to the grocery to stock up on whatever frozen precipitation of any sort might potentially deprive them of. I buzzed through my usual route through the store and felt increasingly raw. By the end, I felt like a gaping wound. I felt out in the open and like any thing had the potential to level me. I felt the fullness of grievity. It's when you have this out of body experience like you are not of this world and it all seems so strange and foreign and weird and you don't belong here but the sadness and the loss press down on you with such weight that if feels not only like it's keeping you on the ground but that it could flatten you. And I wondered how in the hell I could have possibly assumed that I wouldn't experience anything until tomorrow. That it would all fit tightly and rightly in the calendar box reserved for the date proper. It isn't as if I'm not blindsided regularly on insignificant days. Truly, I get knocked for a loop and am at a loss as to what the trigger was. But as for today - did I bring it on myself? All this anticipation building on itself, a house of cards on a bed of water? Did it suck, does tomorrow suck just because I said it was going to?
In 2003, this amazing, beautiful girl entered the world and I got to be the conduit. We named her Journey and she was sweet and curious and fun. She turned a year old and started some wobbly first steps. We bought her some Mary Janes from Stride Rite so that she could have proper friction and fit while she started taking the world by storm. Her older brother adored her. And the feeling was mutual. One day in March 2004, the virus that her brother had been recovering from started to invade her little body. And something went terribly wrong. I took her to the emergency room and the next thing I knew, she was hooked up to all kinds of tubes and machines in the ICU. Testing showed that there was bleeding on her brain. On the opposite side of her brain, there was a clot. These two completely opposing forces left little room for a different outcome. On March 16, we noticed that there was a marked difference in her brain activity. And we knew that Journey was only Journey when she was able to explore and really experience life. Anything less, she wouldn't be Journey anymore. She had reached a point of no return so early the following morning, we told her that we loved her and that we would miss her and that she belonged to God and it was okay to go. And she did.
On St. Patrick's day every year since, we go off the grid. We keep the kids out of school and do something we don't normally do because that day - it's not normal. It shouldn't feel normal. A few weeks ago, I asked Hubs if he wanted to keep it as it had always been or if he wanted to change it to just he and I. We decided that this year, we would do something, just the two of us. We had started thinking of what we would do when he got word that he would have to go out of town that day. He leaves before the crack of dawn and comes back the next day. There really just isn't any way to express the sucker punch this feels like. To both of us. There is one person on the planet that knows what each and every today has felt like for the past 10 years to either of us. There is one person on the planet that understands the breadth of tomorrow to either of us. And we will be apart. And after I got home from the store, I realized that part of my overwhelming feeling of exposure was the realization that my anchor, my heart, the love of my life and my partner in brokenness will be in a plane flying over a large portion of the country away from me. The level of lack of control I feel is - I can't wrap my brain around it. The fact that there is a plane that has just disappeared making like all the headlines anymore is really straining my sanity about this situation. Obviously nothing compared to the families who actually have someone on that plane.
On a better day, I will share the beautiful things that have happened since Journey died. The fruit borne of such a heartbreak. But today, I am stuck here, in the this. I don't know what tomorrow brings. I know I have kids to get out the door. And kids to pick up. And kids to feed dinner to. I know I have to not drink. Beyond that, all the plans that I have tried to make for the day have kind of fallen through. .I don't know what to do with that or if there is purpose within that. I guess all I can do is what I have done every day for the past 10 years. Be honest. Be true. Be faithful. Remember to breathe. Remember to live. Remember to love. Defy grievity.
Thursday, March 6, 2014
Lent it begin.
Two days ago, it was Fat Tuesday. I ate some chocolate. If I had more chocolate around, I would have eaten more. I didn't have any King Cake (which I'm always leery of - how does that baby not melt? Or get eaten?). Or paczki. Or Mardi Gras beads. Or liquor. So the only way that I could differentiate this particular Tuesday from any other Tuesday was to eat a bit more chocolate than any normal Tuesday. But I didn't really have enough chocolate to go all Fat with it.
I am not a Catholic. Pope Francis gives me pause now and again about converting. Never have I seen a Pope so Christ-like leading his people. I am truly in love with him. All that being said, I'm still not a Catholic. I grew up Catholic-lite which is Episcopalian. It's like Catholicism but with more exercise. Stand, kneel, sit, repeat. May peace be with you. And also with you. The first time I heard of Lent and was when I was 11 and lived in Belgium. One of my friends went to the movies with me and wasn't allowed to eat any candy because it was Lent. I'm pretty sure I encouraged her to eat some anyway. Years later, I would adopt the practice of choosing something to give up for Lent. I liked the idea of giving something up for God. Honestly though, I'm not sure how successful I was with seeing it through. As with most of my grand plans, my enthusiasm burns out far before it's executed.
The past few weeks more and more posts have been popping up on Facebook about the coming of Lent. I had been mulling over what, if anything, I wanted to do about observing it this year. The suggestions were plenty. Foods. Facebook. Ungratefulness. And they are all valid. All good ideas. All with the focus of centering your heart towards God and Easter and it's unbelievable message of miracles and the truth of God's word and His unabiding love that runs so deep that He would sacrifice and resurrect His own flesh for each and every one of us. Read it again. Quiet your mind and read it one more time. Let that just sit inside all of you whether you believe it or not. Because even if you don't believe it, just imagine a love, any love, that burns that bright for any one, let alone you. Because I promise you, it does.
I think it's easy to talk about faith. I do. I don't face outright rudeness when I bring up that I'm a God-girl. It's one of the privileges of living in this country - one I think we forget. Most people can accept that even if they don't believe like I do, or at all, they have heard of Jesus, or Allah, or Buddha, or Ganesha (I don't know much about the thousands of other deities that go on there). But as a Christian, I find that the roadblock is not in talking about Christ. It's about talking about His counterpart. Even among Christians, I notice a general acknowledgement of the character in the Bible meant to thwart God and Jesus at every turn. But he is kept in the Bible. He doesn't seem to make the transition into real life that God and Jesus do. And I think that is a disservice to people of faith. I think that is the impetus behind the question how can God allow suffering and pain. Yes, as the Almighty, as the All-Powerful, it is within Him to change and right everything. EVERY. THING. But He didn't make that promise. He promised to be right beside us because He knew it was going to be hard. Because there are opposing forces at work. Always. Right here, in the living world. And if you don't believe that, I've got a laundry list of the kind of people that I cannot just hand over to the concept of "human nature". I'd really rather be an animal than to accept membership to a club that accepts that it takes all kinds. Nope. There is another kind. And so, as I make reference to "the enemy" or "being under attack", even some Christians kind of look at me like I'm crazy. And I get it. For all my life, I have believed in God. It was just a truth that was in my core. Jesus came later in the game - about twelve years ago. And a belief in satan being a real force in real time in real life - was far more recent than that. Maybe part of it is that if you don't believe in satan being real, he just won't be. But burying your head in the sand - well, that will still just suffocate you. For me, there was even a transition of acknowledging him without empowering him. Somehow I assigned him a benign post of existing but having no power. After that, I believed him to be powerful enough to be single-minded in wanting to kill me. But that's too easy. Because if he kills me, based on my faith, I get to go the great big Mardi Gras in the sky. End of story. I win. The truth is, satan doesn't want to kill me. He wants to destroy me. It seems like the same thing, but it isn't. If he can disrupt my faith, he takes my hope and my joy. As those sap drop by drop, it leaves room for him to slither in and fill the increasing emptiness with lies and festering fear. Fear is the faith of the enemy and without hope and joy - fear wins. A faltering army that is unsure of it's purpose or what side to serve - it is worse than having just one troop filled with conviction.
Whoa. What's with all this devil talk Jenny? How does it all fit in? Wrap it up, already! Okay. So here's how it all comes together. I am under for real attack. It comes in waves and it changes course so that I am never sure of how to fortify against it. I reached out for prayer- which the enemy HATES! I mean because prayer is all Godly by nature anyway but beyond that, oh how that hellion loves to keep you quiet and embarrassed to need and ashamed of failure. He loves to have his claws in your isolated self and just tell you soothing lie after dangling temptation of escape. When you shine light on his work - he's like a vampire in the light of the day star. I stand by that comparison. Anywho. I called him out on Facebook and told people alot of the ugly I was dealing with. And this one chick who I have known for so long and have always dug so much said - come over. We are gonna pray it out. So I did. I went to her house and she gave me a cup of coffee and I filled her in on even more of what's what. And she said to me: I don't know why the enemy would keep you in chaos except that out of chaos, you are a force to be reckoned with. Those are some mighty words. And you know what? I claim them. I claim that I am a warrior. It sends truth tingles through my body (a post for another time... how long-winded do I need to be today!?). Feeling like I'm being used by God, feeling like I'm fulfilling my purpose - It makes me feel whole. Like unbroken in the first place.
So, as for Lent, the 6 members of my family have chosen something to give up. I asked my children to tell me something that they would like to see me change. I gave them permission to unfearfully speak truth. It was nearly unanimous - being on my phone and computer all the time. I choose this time to be a servant to my family. My give-up is that I will not be on my phone (except for communication) or my computer while in the company of my family. But what I haven't told them is that I'm not actually giving up something. I'm starting something. The opposition of chaos - of being out of control and disorganized and lazy and flipping out and being on edge and escaping my world by being on my phone or computer - is discipline. And the opposition of the owner of chaos is the disciple. This disciple is getting down with discipline. Not just no to having escape at my fingertips but yes to showing my children faithfulness and being intentional and habit. Yes to mirroring what I say God wants for them by wanting it for myself. Yes to saying that God wants more for us and giving him the space to give it to us. Yes to being grateful for what I have instead of living in resentment of its upkeep. Yes to thought and prayer before action. Yes to action over squandering. Yes to inconvenience and homework and out of my comfort zone. Yes to prayer. But also yes to chocolate because I did NOT give that up for Lent. Peace y'all.
Friday, January 24, 2014
the next one...
I am going bonkers. My life, top to bottom, is a mess. My house is in various stages of extreme disarray. If it wouldn't embarrass the hallelujah out of my husband, I would post pictures just to prove I'm not exaggerating. And maybe as a cry for help. Like someone would do an extreme home do-over for me because I am so deeply organizationally challenged. And a little hoardy on top. There is the question of - do we have too much? No. No, that is not the question. Because I already know the answer to that question. Yes. Yes, we have too much. Okay. So, maybe the question is, what do we have too much of? Yes. I think that is the correct question.
Clothes. That might be a factor. But I live in the armpit of America. I guess that's not really true. If you were to look at a map of the United States, it looks way more like New Jersey is. I'm not passing judgement. I'm just saying that if you imagine that that's an arm stretching away from the body that is the rest of the country, New Jersey is square in the middle of the armpit. Anyway, as of right now, on this the 23rd day of January, 2014, with a high of 12 degrees, Cincinnati is a special kind of arctic freezer hell of an armpit. And I need a dizzying array of different kinds of clothes to attire the people I am responsible for. There are the days that it starts out super chilly and ends up warm. There are the days that start out cold and turn polar. There is the summer that gets so hot that I get very very pro-nudist colony and then there are days like this where I can't figure out how to add one more layer and still be able to move around. And then decide that moving around is overrated. I have no sooner put one "season" of clothing away than I have to turn around and pull it all back out. On top of that, there is the stain spectrum to factor in.
Back in the day, people bought nice school clothes. When you outgrew them or they became stained, those school clothes became your play clothes. Clothes got passed down from one kid to the next ad infinitum. I have no firsthand knowledge of any of that. I only know that from various comedy routines I've watched or listened to. I am an only child. I didn't get clothes passed to me and I didn't pass mine on to anyone. That I'm aware of. So now, I'm stuck trying to figure out which stains are 1. treatable 2. passable 3. acceptable 4. too gross to speculate on. I will share this little nugget of wisdom regarding stinks, stanks and stains. I use vinegar when doing laundry. I occasionally use baking soda when doing laundry. I do not recommend combining the two when trying to fight off the mighty "this sat in the washer too dang long because I was done doing laundry for the day and didn't want to admit it" mildew smell. There is a reason that they use the two together to make volcanoes. I will not divulge how long it took me to figure out how all my clothes kept getting holes in them. I may have speculated about a moth infestation for a while... So to recap, I need clothes to accommodate "global warming" (which, whether it's a real thing or not, doesn't feel much warmer, especially right about EVERY STINKING WINTER, nor does it feel milder right about EVERY STINKING SUMMER) as well as to convince teachers that my children do not live in a hovel despite how their hair might look. We have lots of clothes. I miss garanimals. 4 bottoms, 8 tops, 6 people (that's right. In my ideal world, they would have sizes all the way up to the hubs), 4 times a year. I think I just hit nirvana.
Paper. What paper do you keep? I try, TRY to be discerning about the piles of school art and writing practices and math sheets and blah blah blah. I have 4 children bringing home this stuff. At this stage of the game it's in bins and boxes and on top of shelves and on and on. And honestly, as I go through some of it, I can't remember a thing about it. Without a name or some sort of teacher inscribed clue as to what it is supposed to be, I'm stumped. And yet, still paralyzed at the thought of trashing it. And honestly, the stuff that I already earmarked as so precious and so dear is getting crumpled and ruined under the weight of the rest. Next we have to discuss receipts and coupons and action files and to be filed and warranties and instructions and to do lists and and and and and.... Hubs would be thrilled to have not one piece of paper in our home. He would love if every thing could be digitized and summed up on an iGadget of some sort. Books, calendars, lists, correspondence, all of it. Hubs would say there are literal mountains of paper hanging out here. I think he has a loose definition of altitude. I'll give him bigger than a mole hill. Like, if you took the paper out of our house and just started stacking it up next to our house, I don't think it would be as tall as our house. But if you did do that, could you carefully light it on fire so that I could finally be rid of it?
Crap. That's all. Just... crap. It's my husband's favorite way of categorizing the contents of our home. Although, it is generally referred to as "your crap". I'm the your in this case. When we were first married, there was his crap and there was my crap. I had way more crap. It's fair to say that he was confused, frustrated and cautious about it. He didn't have permission to get rid of it. He didn't understand most of it. It was definitely in his way. So, 15 years and 5 kids later, it's done being my crap. Even if I did the purchasing of 90% of it, it's still ours. He'd have to fight me over it in court if it came down to it. Although, he would be fighting to make me keep it so he didn't have to pick it up anymore. But since we aren't ever going to court and he is stuck with me for life, it is OUR crap. And yes, I'd like to stop calling it crap. But the reality is that that is the very problem with all of this. We have a bunch of non-specific stuff that no one wants to be responsible for and no one wants to take lead and get rid of. Much like literal crap. It's spilling out of every room and growing exponentially. Thankfully, not at all like literal crap.
So, now I'm bonkers. The past 2-3 months have been a holding pattern. We have been in a state of flux waiting for some one thing to happen or get done happening. Holidays, a two week vacation, an impossible work deadline, a student coming to live with us, a student leaving us, getting really sick, exams, depression lifting, paying the last check on a three year financial commitment to our church. Yes. That's life. I get it. Remember that stress test that you would take to assess your level stress? High. Really, really High. For months now. And I'm finally feeling like I see light. So, now what do I do? The to-do list makes me speechless. The what. The how. The where do I even begin?
It is so hard to know what you want for myself, for my family and not having the anything at all in me to do it. I am a pack-rat. I assign value where there is none. I have belly casts of my last three pregnancies. Know what I want to do with them? Nothing. Know what I should do with them? Me neither. Because you and I both know that throwing them in the trash is out of the question. I have bedroom that has imploded because all my scrapbooking stuff came to live there while we made room for the gaming to be done upstairs so that hubs could watch football on his own t.v. for the love. In order to clean my bedroom, I have to assign a place for my craftiness. I think I know this space but before I can put the craftiness in, I have to remove the bins of memories that I can't remember. There are seriously 15 prequels to any given situation that I need to address in my home. "But before that" should be the name of my house. Fancy people name their homes. I have been fancy a couple of times in my whole life so, I'm naming my house. From now on, all invitations will read: Please join us at But Before That at the corner of Awesome and Bombdiggity for high tea. Formal attire is required.
One of the mantras I have created for myself is "What's next?". I can't do tomorrow. I can't do next year. I can do now. I can think of what's next. That's it. Beyond that and I'm encroaching on God territory. Right now, I'm writing this. Next, I'm crawling back into bed. After that? I don't know because I'm just writing this and then next is bed. My kids HATE this mantra. If there was a word stronger than hate, they would that. When we are in the car, they often want to call dibs on an activity or food. Can we have hot cocoa when we get home? Bad example. In this tundra, the answer is just yes. Mom, when we get home can I play xbox? I don't know. Right now I'm just driving home. What's next keeps me in this moment. It means that I have to experience all of it so I can know what might be next. I have to pay attention to my surroundings. I'm eating breakfast and this kitchen is a mess. What's next is crawling back into bed. No, that's not right. Next is cleaning it. Of course it is. I have to listen to my children. What's next is giving them a time-out for what they just said to me. No, wait. Next is engaging them with questions or something to do. It's not easy. Like what I said before, just there in the paragraph directly above this one, about how I don't even know what's before so I can't know what's next. Working backwards to be able to move forward - well, I thought that was only for therapy but I guess it applies to tangible life as well.
There is another layer of "What's next?" It's hope. It's an openness to possibility. It could sound like desperation or resignation as in "Great! That's just great! First the washing machine, then the sliding back door! What's next?". But I would rather be looking forward to what could be in store. Hey God. This has been a pretty interesting, confusing, brutiful journey thus far. You rock out loud and only want the best for me. So, what's next? Ohhhhh right.The kitchen. My nap.
Clothes. That might be a factor. But I live in the armpit of America. I guess that's not really true. If you were to look at a map of the United States, it looks way more like New Jersey is. I'm not passing judgement. I'm just saying that if you imagine that that's an arm stretching away from the body that is the rest of the country, New Jersey is square in the middle of the armpit. Anyway, as of right now, on this the 23rd day of January, 2014, with a high of 12 degrees, Cincinnati is a special kind of arctic freezer hell of an armpit. And I need a dizzying array of different kinds of clothes to attire the people I am responsible for. There are the days that it starts out super chilly and ends up warm. There are the days that start out cold and turn polar. There is the summer that gets so hot that I get very very pro-nudist colony and then there are days like this where I can't figure out how to add one more layer and still be able to move around. And then decide that moving around is overrated. I have no sooner put one "season" of clothing away than I have to turn around and pull it all back out. On top of that, there is the stain spectrum to factor in.
Back in the day, people bought nice school clothes. When you outgrew them or they became stained, those school clothes became your play clothes. Clothes got passed down from one kid to the next ad infinitum. I have no firsthand knowledge of any of that. I only know that from various comedy routines I've watched or listened to. I am an only child. I didn't get clothes passed to me and I didn't pass mine on to anyone. That I'm aware of. So now, I'm stuck trying to figure out which stains are 1. treatable 2. passable 3. acceptable 4. too gross to speculate on. I will share this little nugget of wisdom regarding stinks, stanks and stains. I use vinegar when doing laundry. I occasionally use baking soda when doing laundry. I do not recommend combining the two when trying to fight off the mighty "this sat in the washer too dang long because I was done doing laundry for the day and didn't want to admit it" mildew smell. There is a reason that they use the two together to make volcanoes. I will not divulge how long it took me to figure out how all my clothes kept getting holes in them. I may have speculated about a moth infestation for a while... So to recap, I need clothes to accommodate "global warming" (which, whether it's a real thing or not, doesn't feel much warmer, especially right about EVERY STINKING WINTER, nor does it feel milder right about EVERY STINKING SUMMER) as well as to convince teachers that my children do not live in a hovel despite how their hair might look. We have lots of clothes. I miss garanimals. 4 bottoms, 8 tops, 6 people (that's right. In my ideal world, they would have sizes all the way up to the hubs), 4 times a year. I think I just hit nirvana.
Paper. What paper do you keep? I try, TRY to be discerning about the piles of school art and writing practices and math sheets and blah blah blah. I have 4 children bringing home this stuff. At this stage of the game it's in bins and boxes and on top of shelves and on and on. And honestly, as I go through some of it, I can't remember a thing about it. Without a name or some sort of teacher inscribed clue as to what it is supposed to be, I'm stumped. And yet, still paralyzed at the thought of trashing it. And honestly, the stuff that I already earmarked as so precious and so dear is getting crumpled and ruined under the weight of the rest. Next we have to discuss receipts and coupons and action files and to be filed and warranties and instructions and to do lists and and and and and.... Hubs would be thrilled to have not one piece of paper in our home. He would love if every thing could be digitized and summed up on an iGadget of some sort. Books, calendars, lists, correspondence, all of it. Hubs would say there are literal mountains of paper hanging out here. I think he has a loose definition of altitude. I'll give him bigger than a mole hill. Like, if you took the paper out of our house and just started stacking it up next to our house, I don't think it would be as tall as our house. But if you did do that, could you carefully light it on fire so that I could finally be rid of it?
Crap. That's all. Just... crap. It's my husband's favorite way of categorizing the contents of our home. Although, it is generally referred to as "your crap". I'm the your in this case. When we were first married, there was his crap and there was my crap. I had way more crap. It's fair to say that he was confused, frustrated and cautious about it. He didn't have permission to get rid of it. He didn't understand most of it. It was definitely in his way. So, 15 years and 5 kids later, it's done being my crap. Even if I did the purchasing of 90% of it, it's still ours. He'd have to fight me over it in court if it came down to it. Although, he would be fighting to make me keep it so he didn't have to pick it up anymore. But since we aren't ever going to court and he is stuck with me for life, it is OUR crap. And yes, I'd like to stop calling it crap. But the reality is that that is the very problem with all of this. We have a bunch of non-specific stuff that no one wants to be responsible for and no one wants to take lead and get rid of. Much like literal crap. It's spilling out of every room and growing exponentially. Thankfully, not at all like literal crap.
So, now I'm bonkers. The past 2-3 months have been a holding pattern. We have been in a state of flux waiting for some one thing to happen or get done happening. Holidays, a two week vacation, an impossible work deadline, a student coming to live with us, a student leaving us, getting really sick, exams, depression lifting, paying the last check on a three year financial commitment to our church. Yes. That's life. I get it. Remember that stress test that you would take to assess your level stress? High. Really, really High. For months now. And I'm finally feeling like I see light. So, now what do I do? The to-do list makes me speechless. The what. The how. The where do I even begin?
It is so hard to know what you want for myself, for my family and not having the anything at all in me to do it. I am a pack-rat. I assign value where there is none. I have belly casts of my last three pregnancies. Know what I want to do with them? Nothing. Know what I should do with them? Me neither. Because you and I both know that throwing them in the trash is out of the question. I have bedroom that has imploded because all my scrapbooking stuff came to live there while we made room for the gaming to be done upstairs so that hubs could watch football on his own t.v. for the love. In order to clean my bedroom, I have to assign a place for my craftiness. I think I know this space but before I can put the craftiness in, I have to remove the bins of memories that I can't remember. There are seriously 15 prequels to any given situation that I need to address in my home. "But before that" should be the name of my house. Fancy people name their homes. I have been fancy a couple of times in my whole life so, I'm naming my house. From now on, all invitations will read: Please join us at But Before That at the corner of Awesome and Bombdiggity for high tea. Formal attire is required.
One of the mantras I have created for myself is "What's next?". I can't do tomorrow. I can't do next year. I can do now. I can think of what's next. That's it. Beyond that and I'm encroaching on God territory. Right now, I'm writing this. Next, I'm crawling back into bed. After that? I don't know because I'm just writing this and then next is bed. My kids HATE this mantra. If there was a word stronger than hate, they would that. When we are in the car, they often want to call dibs on an activity or food. Can we have hot cocoa when we get home? Bad example. In this tundra, the answer is just yes. Mom, when we get home can I play xbox? I don't know. Right now I'm just driving home. What's next keeps me in this moment. It means that I have to experience all of it so I can know what might be next. I have to pay attention to my surroundings. I'm eating breakfast and this kitchen is a mess. What's next is crawling back into bed. No, that's not right. Next is cleaning it. Of course it is. I have to listen to my children. What's next is giving them a time-out for what they just said to me. No, wait. Next is engaging them with questions or something to do. It's not easy. Like what I said before, just there in the paragraph directly above this one, about how I don't even know what's before so I can't know what's next. Working backwards to be able to move forward - well, I thought that was only for therapy but I guess it applies to tangible life as well.
There is another layer of "What's next?" It's hope. It's an openness to possibility. It could sound like desperation or resignation as in "Great! That's just great! First the washing machine, then the sliding back door! What's next?". But I would rather be looking forward to what could be in store. Hey God. This has been a pretty interesting, confusing, brutiful journey thus far. You rock out loud and only want the best for me. So, what's next? Ohhhhh right.
Friday, January 17, 2014
the one about the management...
I had the most bizarre conversation yesterday. It started off as it usually does, and as it should - catching up and laughing. Admiring one another. But as is the way with those all too infrequent "hey! we haven't seen each other in way too long and we need to finally get together and this time we mean it" onion meetings, you settle in chatting your way closer and closer to the core and it gets thicker and has more potential for crying, that's when it gets really good.
Here's what she said. She said that she hung out with this family and that she could just feel the freedom and the joy in them and especially in their children. What this family had was special and she wanted to know how to get it. The mother told my friend that she made a decision a long time ago that she wasn't going to micro-manage her children. I have to tell you that I have no idea what that means. I thought I knew but then the more I thought about it, the more confused I got. I had to actually message her today and make her explain what the hallelujah these people were talking about.
I'm a control freak. And until yesterday, I thought that was merely a symptom of being a mother. Or a side-effect. I thought that micromanaging was my JOB. Isn't that we are supposed to do? Follow them around telling them what they are supposed to be doing, how they should do it and then following up to make sure they did it and assessing that they are following all the safety procedures? Like in-house OSHA. I'm pretty sure that's how it was not ever explained to me. I really thought that I was getting better about being controlling. Apparently I'm not even close to understanding what controlling is so I am so far away from being cured or reformed, it's not even funny.
Here's how my friend "clarified" things. She said "it means a foundational shift from controlling my kids with rules and boundaries, etc., to encouraging them to act in a way that promotes peace in our family because they love me, not because they are controlled by me". I'm still picking up pieces of my mind from it being blown every which-a-way.
So, here I am with my 9 year old daughter. She has a project due tomorrow. My 7 year old son has the same project due tomorrow. He has decided that he wants the F. That is how much he doesn't want to do the work. My daughter doesn't want to do the work either. But she's not too keen to disappoint her teacher. She loves that lady like crazy cakes. We just got back from an A-MAY-ZING vacation. That's a post for another time. The point is that I brought back an inconvenient souvenir in the form of a head/chest cold possible sinus infection that I'll probably have to go see the doc about tomorrow. I am in a sinus-aching, phlegm-flinging fog. I don't have it in me to do these projects. I have even less in me to fight about them just putting my words into their handwriting and turning it in. If that dude wants an "F", I think I'm just letting him get the "F". It isn't that I don't care about his grades. I do. It isn't as though there aren't consequences. There are. I just can't think them up right now. I was thinking about making this one of those non-micromanaging Mom moments. It's terribly convenient right now.
Okay. It's the next day now. Sorry. I had to finish the daughter's project. And sleep. And play Candy Crush. Level 350 is vexing me. It's been vexing me for weeks now. So, yeah. I finished the project with one of the kids. The kids have to bring an "artifact" that represents what the cultural group (subject of project) contributed to our city. I made the hubs drop off some schnecken. I am totally hoping I bought off earned an A for her. Especially since I haven't had schnecken this season and I will be very bitter that a bunch of first through third graders get to hate on something just because it has a few raisins in it and I didn't get any and it's truly like taking a stick of butter, wrapping some very sweet dough around it and then baking it. I can endure a few minor raisin interruptions to the end result of that chunk of heaven.
The other offspring still isn't doing the project. I haven't had a chance to talk to hubs about this whole not micro-managing thing. But I'm pretty sure he is not going to be down with it. I'm not saying he is a control freak also. But I will say that anytime he has to ride shotgun while I'm driving, he has an imaginary brake that he grinds to the nub. And last night he said that we have to make the son do things he doesn't want to do. Like projects. And clean his room.
When we are first gifted these children, our job is to love them and to teach them how to be humans. "Don't eat that". "Don't poop there". It is like trying to domesticate a wild animal. As they get older, we switch gears into teaching them how to become an adult. " Let's not ever talk about poop or farts again". "Eat protein!" "Eat veggies!" "Don't dress like her!" "Don't hit girls." "Don't hit anyone." I have been longing to pick my battles for so long. When you are a control freak - everything is the battle. It all matters and it all has to be addressed and squared. But I am realizing that as I try to ease up and pick those battles, I'm still micro-managing the details of the ones that qualify. If the battle is "get dressed because we are leaving", then if they show up with clothing on, they have succeeded. That should be the end of it. But, it's not. Because "are you wearing that?". "You wore that yesterday. And the day before. And I'm pretty sure 2 days in a row prior". Even when they are getting it right, they aren't getting it right. That's a strong recipe for aholicism (insert whatever prefix), perfectionism and/or defeatism. Or becoming a control freak. There is very little freedom in that. Or content.
I gotta run. I just noticed another chunk of my mind under the couch. And I am anxious to see if the daughter was grateful enough and thoughtful enough to save me some schnecken. Then I have to remember not to fuss at her if she wasn't. I am now noticing that NOT micro-managing seems to have infinitely more steps than micro-managing. Bah.
Tuesday, January 14, 2014
The one about how it all begins...
That's right. It's me again. Revamped. Retooled. Ready. Why? Why am I doing this (yet) again? Well, I'll tell ya. I follow a blog by this amazing woman who is unabashed in her love of God and in sharing her struggles. She is an author and creates words like "brutiful". Have you seen a word quite so perfect? Because life itself is all at once beautiful and brutal at the same time. Anyway, on November 20, 2013 she told me to start writing again. Prior to that, I wavered. I wondered if I had anything to say. If I was interesting, engaging. I felt guilty for not posting and entirely too prolific to take in at on sitting when I did post. But I missed it like crazy. I missed the outlet. I missed the stream of consciousness that I could let loose. I missed the possibility that I could inspire or comfort just one person. So when she posted this, I took a picture of it on my iPhone:
The answer is YES. You should write. Even though everything's already been said beautifully. Even though there's nothing new under the sun. Even so. Because there may be nothing new to say, but if you haven't spoken up yet - then there is a new VOICE to hear. That's all we have - our voices. No two are the same. No one sees the world QUITE like you do, and no one else can tell us your story QUITE like you could. You are our only chance to know you. You're it. If you yearn to use your voice and you don't - we will all suffer for it. Be brave. Be audacious enough to consider that your story is worth telling and your voice is worth hearing. The secret it- it IS. Your story and your voice are worthy of occupying some space in this world. Take it, Sister. Take your space.
So, this is me. Taking my space. Owning brave and audacious because that is who I believe myself to be in real life. Why should my virtual life be any less?
I struggled with the theme this go around. I had decided not to burden myself with resolutions in this, the year 2014. I just want to hone in on one word that forms my habits, my decisions and my goals. I have to keep it simple. I started playing around with words as I so love to do. And I thought about the word "intent". I do want this to be the year I am intentional. I want to schedule in time with the people I love starting with my family. I want it in pen (or at least virtual permanence in my synced up computer calendar). I want a running lunch date with my main squeeze. I want one-on-one time with each kid so I can learn more about them. I want to take the pulse on the health of our entire unit on a regular basis because that heartbeat has started to slow a bit and it needs monitoring. It needs maintenance to get stronger and louder. I want to connect with my friends who are the people I choose to maneuver my life with. They are a breath of fresh air and truth that keep me sane and grounded and encouraged. I want to make sure that I remind people I share my life with that I love them and I couldn't do any of this without them. I want to be intentional about my time with God. Because I so haven't been. I have been riding on the coattails of just accepting His sacrifice for me. I have just been resting in the fact that I am a Christian and haven't been much on the side of growth in that. But this has to be my biggest area of intent of all. This is the relationship that drives all the others. It's the one that is the sweetest and full of wonder. I have GOT to be more intentional actively reveling in God. Seriously, when's the last time I reveled? At all? You don't know. Me neither.
Intent was good. It's all actiony and purposeful. But it wasn't the word. Content. That's the word. It's all nuanced and hits just the right level of different meanings. There's content in books and stories and movies. There's content in recipes and pantries and rooms. Contents are what might be hot inside that paper coffee cup and might burn you. Contents are what is within. I got contents. Big time. Too much, mostly. I also will have content within this blog. This is my content. What I have to say. The stories I have to tell and the thoughts I have to share. Because, despite my only child bringing-up, I can sometimes share pretty good. And here is the biggest part of content. It's time to be satisfied with what I have. I think that content has come to have a negative connotation. I think it's considered stagnancy or settling for. In this increasing time of excess and immediacy, content seems archaic and defeated. But I don't believe that content is inactive. I think that it is full of stretch (because tent is the root word and it comes from the Latin meaning stretch and strain. Sorry. I have a kid in Latin this year (and the next 5 after) and it's upped the vocabulary all up in here). It takes work to have content. It takes intent - you have to go out and acquire what you have. You have to think up things to put into a blog. You have to take stock and say - rock on! How lucky am I that I have.... That I get to.... That I know.... If you aren't noticing your content -what you DO have, you are robbing yourself of content - a sense of enjoying it and being in the now of it.
I had thought for a fleeting moment that I would concentrate my efforts on the word tent itself since it is in both inTENT and conTENT. I thought about calling this "Jenny's tent" - like a shelter in the storm of crazy that can be out there as well as thoughts about being stretchy and strainy. Then I thought about calling this "Jenny, the happy little camper" because then the tent would be implied and you camp in tents and it would be cute. But I don't camp in tents. And in my whole life I have never been a happy little camper because in my whole life I have never been happy camping. Never. Except at Pine Camp which was sleep-away camping for a week for kids who had military parents and there were girl bunks and boy bunks and we got to slow dance and had lots of drama and crushes and scary movies and lanyards. Lots of flat plastic string lanyard weaving. And the coldest showers with the biggest daddy long legs. And shaving cream fights and canoeing and archery and water skiing. I would camp like that again I think. But other than that, I hate camping more than I can convey and if I went camping with my in-laws the way they keep asking me too, we would all be miserable because I am not a happy little camper and I would suck all happy out of their little camping trip. So, obviously, this is called Jenny's Content.
The answer is YES. You should write. Even though everything's already been said beautifully. Even though there's nothing new under the sun. Even so. Because there may be nothing new to say, but if you haven't spoken up yet - then there is a new VOICE to hear. That's all we have - our voices. No two are the same. No one sees the world QUITE like you do, and no one else can tell us your story QUITE like you could. You are our only chance to know you. You're it. If you yearn to use your voice and you don't - we will all suffer for it. Be brave. Be audacious enough to consider that your story is worth telling and your voice is worth hearing. The secret it- it IS. Your story and your voice are worthy of occupying some space in this world. Take it, Sister. Take your space.
So, this is me. Taking my space. Owning brave and audacious because that is who I believe myself to be in real life. Why should my virtual life be any less?
I struggled with the theme this go around. I had decided not to burden myself with resolutions in this, the year 2014. I just want to hone in on one word that forms my habits, my decisions and my goals. I have to keep it simple. I started playing around with words as I so love to do. And I thought about the word "intent". I do want this to be the year I am intentional. I want to schedule in time with the people I love starting with my family. I want it in pen (or at least virtual permanence in my synced up computer calendar). I want a running lunch date with my main squeeze. I want one-on-one time with each kid so I can learn more about them. I want to take the pulse on the health of our entire unit on a regular basis because that heartbeat has started to slow a bit and it needs monitoring. It needs maintenance to get stronger and louder. I want to connect with my friends who are the people I choose to maneuver my life with. They are a breath of fresh air and truth that keep me sane and grounded and encouraged. I want to make sure that I remind people I share my life with that I love them and I couldn't do any of this without them. I want to be intentional about my time with God. Because I so haven't been. I have been riding on the coattails of just accepting His sacrifice for me. I have just been resting in the fact that I am a Christian and haven't been much on the side of growth in that. But this has to be my biggest area of intent of all. This is the relationship that drives all the others. It's the one that is the sweetest and full of wonder. I have GOT to be more intentional actively reveling in God. Seriously, when's the last time I reveled? At all? You don't know. Me neither.
Intent was good. It's all actiony and purposeful. But it wasn't the word. Content. That's the word. It's all nuanced and hits just the right level of different meanings. There's content in books and stories and movies. There's content in recipes and pantries and rooms. Contents are what might be hot inside that paper coffee cup and might burn you. Contents are what is within. I got contents. Big time. Too much, mostly. I also will have content within this blog. This is my content. What I have to say. The stories I have to tell and the thoughts I have to share. Because, despite my only child bringing-up, I can sometimes share pretty good. And here is the biggest part of content. It's time to be satisfied with what I have. I think that content has come to have a negative connotation. I think it's considered stagnancy or settling for. In this increasing time of excess and immediacy, content seems archaic and defeated. But I don't believe that content is inactive. I think that it is full of stretch (because tent is the root word and it comes from the Latin meaning stretch and strain. Sorry. I have a kid in Latin this year (and the next 5 after) and it's upped the vocabulary all up in here). It takes work to have content. It takes intent - you have to go out and acquire what you have. You have to think up things to put into a blog. You have to take stock and say - rock on! How lucky am I that I have.... That I get to.... That I know.... If you aren't noticing your content -what you DO have, you are robbing yourself of content - a sense of enjoying it and being in the now of it.
I had thought for a fleeting moment that I would concentrate my efforts on the word tent itself since it is in both inTENT and conTENT. I thought about calling this "Jenny's tent" - like a shelter in the storm of crazy that can be out there as well as thoughts about being stretchy and strainy. Then I thought about calling this "Jenny, the happy little camper" because then the tent would be implied and you camp in tents and it would be cute. But I don't camp in tents. And in my whole life I have never been a happy little camper because in my whole life I have never been happy camping. Never. Except at Pine Camp which was sleep-away camping for a week for kids who had military parents and there were girl bunks and boy bunks and we got to slow dance and had lots of drama and crushes and scary movies and lanyards. Lots of flat plastic string lanyard weaving. And the coldest showers with the biggest daddy long legs. And shaving cream fights and canoeing and archery and water skiing. I would camp like that again I think. But other than that, I hate camping more than I can convey and if I went camping with my in-laws the way they keep asking me too, we would all be miserable because I am not a happy little camper and I would suck all happy out of their little camping trip. So, obviously, this is called Jenny's Content.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)