Looking for a Little Chaos Now and Then

This time of year makes me miss my family. Not only my actual family members, but also our communal Christmas experience. I come from a huge family, both immediate and extended and holidays were a mix of crazy and chill. Kids everywhere. Cards. Food. Dominoes. Blaring TV (my dads contribution). Puzzles. The various in-laws hiding in corners reading books. Beautiful, glorious chaos. 
As per family tradition, I married an introvert with only one sibling. We live in the Northwest, 2 hours from my mother-in-law and 3 from my sister-in-law, while my family gathers in San Diego (and in small pockets all around the country). As you can imagine, most of our holidays are spent with my husbands family and local friends. This has been a surprisingly seamless transition. My Sibley family has always been kind to me and I assimilated very early on. I'm so glad to live in the Northwest and am very happy with our life here with Tim's family and our friends. 
That being said, when we're having a small holiday gathering here (10 now, we're growing!) sometimes I miss the hooplah that is my family of origin. On Christmas Eve, we would all sleep at my parents 3 bedroom house, which meant we had people on the floor, in the bathtub, little ones piled 3 deep into beds head to foot. Absolute bliss. And every year, when I climb into bed with my dear husband on Christmas Eve, I can't help but miss all those nights whispering excitedly with my brother about what Santa would bring. Whoever woke up first immediately woke the other and we would open our stockings excitedly. We'd try so hard to go back to sleep as we couldn't get away with waking everyone else until sunrise. There's something so precious about those childhood years with your original family. It was sweet. It was simple. It was always enough.
My brother, Reid, is 3 and half years older than me. For all intents and purposes, he is my opposite and my other. We present very differently. I was always blonde and clean cut. He often had green hair, piercings and a skateboard. But as only Christmas Eve jitters and sharing a room can do, we have a firm attachment. We don't get to see each other often, so when we do, I really try to soak it up. He's very transient and off the grid and that's just him. 
We have so much history between us. Not just the childhood sweetness (and many instances of not-so-sweet...remember when he shot me with his homemade bow and arrow?) but also some very adult seasons as well. Reid is a recovering drug addict. I won't get into specifics because to me, it is not who he is. His life with drugs has had a profound effect on him, of course, but when you start throwing around that label, it puts people in a box. Let me tell you, my brother doesn't fit into any box. 
There were many years when we didn't quite know where he was, fearing that when we did get word, it would come from a newspaper clipping or the police. Despite what you may assume, he's not an asshole. He is just someone who values all experience. He's found light within himself that he can take into really dark places and he is not afraid of anything. Seriously, do you know anyone who's not afraid of ANYTHING. It's mind-blowing and wonderful.
When I drove him home tonight to NE Portland, he was bummed about the plight of his beloved neighborhood (it's gone trendy). He feels most comfortable in dangerous places. He lives with a woman and her motley crew of "family" who, along with her partner, has always given him a home base. She runs a food bank right from her front porch. It's amazing. 
As a caretaker, I used to worry that he was cold and alone somewhere, not knowing how I could help him, but wanting to so desperately. Pulling onto his street tonight reminded me, my brother really is okay. He has like 3 possessions (and they're all books) and he has absolutely everything he needs. He has coffee, work, reading material and a real community. That's more than a lot of people in fancy houses with typical "successful" lives can say. 
Just having him here with us tonight gave me that piece of home I needed to take with me into Christmas Eve. I love how we can talk about anything. He's incredibly well-read, has always been a bit of an anarchist and has the most open mind of anyone I know. Anyone who knows my penchant for deep conversation can imagine my utter delight in two cups of coffee, a couch and a long talk with my brother. 
As a child, I was able to take risks only after I saw him do it first. He'd climb a tree and then reach down and pull me up. He's a rebel in the truest sense of the word. As his rule-following younger sister, he exposed me to a world that was bigger than I would have ever seen on my own. And now that I'm really coming into my own, he reminds me there's still so much to see if I'm willing to just keep climbing that tree.

Sometimes I Really Miss the Box

I've always been an adventurous person. I've been on many wild trips around the world. If you haven't sat me down to tell you stories, you'll have to ask me someday about the time I got chased down by creepy men in Mexico because of my long blonde hair or the time I was mistaken for a prostitute on my 19th birthday in Paris. How about the time I thought I could go ice climbing in Interlaken, Switzerland and instead spent the afternoon on the back of a moped with a would-be Abercrombie model. Remember the 10 days I spent singing in a band on the streets of Russia when I was 14? Or the countless nights I've spent on a benches in foreign train stations and on the floor of British airports. I've got anecdotes about clubbing at gay clubs in London and the summers I've slept in tents for weeks at a time in Northern Ireland with unshowered teenaged boys. How about when I ate only gelato for an entire weekend in Venice without getting sick or when I almost flew through the window of a bus in Argentina? The list goes on and on. I absolutely love being out of my element, flying by the seat of my pants and just seeing what happens. This is greatly juxtaposed by my rule-following, religious perfectionism and care-taking. It's really hard to live inside a box (narrow theology) and outside of it (wandering sojourner). I've waffled between the two my whole life. 
Theologically, I'm very much living into that adventurous spirit and running far, far away from any boxes at all. But on days like today, when I'm still in my pajamas at noon, caring for a fussy toddler and trolling through my Facebook feed, sometimes that damn box nostalgia kicks in and I feel sad. 
I went to private school all through my childhood, culminating in a high school experience that was a real faith high. It's a time in my life filled with treasured memories, wonderful friends and a total certainty about Jesus. This world is a place where "Jesus" is everywhere, where struggle always has a purpose and where everything fits together. Everything is viewed through the lens of faith and nothing works outside of it. Sometimes I really wish that had been enough for me. I genuinely do. I see pictures of old friends children dancing excitedly on a stage with "Jesus" scrawled on the wall behind them. Dancing for Jesus looks so fun and safe. His name comes up in every conversation. He pertains to your day, your politics, your health, your relationships. (If this sounds like I'm mocking this life, I'm really not. I'm being genuine when I say I miss it and I in no way judge the faith or lives of these people.) I remember when I saw him everywhere. There was a certain comfort in having his name written on the back of every puzzle piece of my life. Somehow everything really did fit together.
I don't deny that Jesus could be in the childrens dancing. In fact, I wrote a piece not long ago that clearly stated my awe and reverent feelings witnessing the community experience of my daughters school performance. And I'm not saying God won't someday put the pieces of our lives together in a beautiful tapestry that suddenly makes sense. It would be pretty amazing if he did. I'm just no longer operating under that assumption. That's just not how I view the world; it's not how I frame my experiences or how I fit together the stories of people all around me. I'm not going to force my Jesus stake in the ground and declare a parcel of land for myself. I'm not in a place to authoritatively put his name on my choices, my views and my circumstances. I don't want to pull out Bible verses at the ready and speak with confidence about how everyone should be living their lives. I'm not sure what I know beyond a shadow of a doubt, so why would I put that on other people? 
Perhaps this is the difference between faith and hope. "Faith is the confidence that what we hope for will actually happen; it gives us assurance about things we cannot see." (NLT, Heb. 11:1). I hope God is here. I really, really do. I think he is. Am I confident that everything I hope for will come to pass? No. I'm not sure how we can truly be confident about that which we cannot fully know, see or experience in the present. But man, do I hope. Oh, I hope for so many things! And like any deeply-held hope, these things shape the way I see the world and how I live my life.
Above all, I hope that God is good. Man, I really hope that's true. That's the one that I base all my other hopes on. I hope that God made me human on purpose, that his love and my humanity are enough for Him, that I don't have to be ashamed of myself or pressure myself to be more than I am. I hope that the Jesus who loved the pariahs and called out the proud elite is still relevant. I hope that being a good neighbor, accepting and loving myself and living into my personal values brings good into a sometimes very shitty world. I hope working on my own emotional and spiritual baggage will benefit my precious daughters and the world by extension. I hope gay people were made by God as gay as the day is long, that he does not condemn that which he has made inherent and that they will be given the dignity, equality and justice they deserve as human beings. I hope that blacks and whites can come together as two sides of the same coin, having been made equal and beautiful humans. I hope that we learn to identify ourselves in our racial power struggle and fight for equality, even when that means admitting we're part of the problem. I hope everyone experiences the glory and the all-encompassing grace and love of God whether in this life or the next, that all that has been lost will be made whole, complete and perfect in the end. 
I may not live in total confidence and assurance, but living in hope has become enough for me. Don't be afraid to step out of the box if those walls start to close in on you. I really do believe that God is big enough and exists outside of all the lines we want to draw on his behalf. Perhaps there's hope for all of us after all. 

Be a Joiner

One of the values Tim and I both are enjoying living into so much is what I'm going to call Participating*. I was sheltered as a child from the world around me, including my neighbors. This was not intentional, per se, but we lived in a wealthy neighborhood and everyone pretty much kept to themselves. We went to private Christian schools, predominantly outside of our neighborhood and participated in daily bus trips or carpools in order for my parents to live into one of their highest values, private education.
When it became time for Tim and I to decide how we were going to educate our children, we decided to go with public school for a number of reasons. Financially, we were in the same position as my parents were. We could afford to privately educate our children but it would hurt. A lot. If that was a high priority of ours, I know we would find a way to make it work financially, just as my parents did (we had a very leaky roof when I was little. Luckily, it rarely rains in San Diego!) What we decided was that we really wanted to participate in our neighborhood life. What better way to do that than to put our precious children alongside theirs to learn at school every day. I know a lot of Christians who care very much about assimilating into their neighborhood and being a real presence there. Do it! This is one of the ways we chose to participate. If education isn't where you want to do it, there are other ways for sure. Be home on Halloween for Trick or Treaters. Host block parties, holiday parties, garage sales, whatever sounds fun. There's no wrong way to be a good neighbor. One of the best ways to be a good neighbor is to be home and to answer the door when people knock. (This will probably be another value discussed in the future).
We've lived in the same townhouse for 9 and a half years. We love it! Our cul de sac is tiny and most of our neighbors have been here as long as we have or longer. Our kids ride their bikes in the street and everyone looks out for each other. I called the fire department when our neighbors smoke detector didn't turn off a few years back. Our next door neighbor called the cops when one of our teen girls was getting beat down by another high school girl in the street. We all came out. We got involved. We all stand up for each other. We've got each others backs. I can't help but wonder if part of that is because we aren't wealthy. This is probably my own prejudice speaking. But there's a certain group mentality that comes from actually needing each other, asking to borrow things we don't have, sharing our resources and being in each others lives that I did not experience growing up on an affluent street as a child.  

One of the teachers reading to the kids.

As you can imagine, this has greatly affected our public school experience. Our school is a Title 1 school, which means we get extra funding because we're considered poor (this was a funny realization for us since we've always felt incredibly blessed). The teachers are committed, well-educated and just all around kick-ass at their jobs. Macy's first grade class is 50% ESL students. It's a great, close-knit, diverse school environment. Macy's education has been fantastic (I've found that often Christian schools are more focused on protecting children in a "safe" environment than giving them a better education). I've been impressed by the moral values emphasized in the schools behavioral expectations as well as the consistency with which they deal with infractions. Everything is clear, streamlined and fair. At Curriculum Night this year, I was blown away by the Class Pledge Macy's teacher had created with the children's input. It read, "In our class we try our best to be respectful to each other. We are nice and kind and think of other peoples hearts. We are friends with everyone and we try to share. We help each other out and cheer each other on. This is our promise to ourselves and each other." Can you imagine if this was posted on our streets, in our stores, in church, on government buildings...This would change the world. And you know what? It is changing the world, with these 21 1st graders who read it every day in class.  

Waiting to sing!

When you go to a school event after hours, the PTA is there, the principal, many teachers, the community liason (she helps families with financial needs) and a gang of parents and kids. In the 15 months we've been involved with our school, we've participated in fundraisers, book fairs, a family dance, Thanksgiving feasts, Back to School nights, Curriculum Nights, conferences, performances, skate nights, bingo nights - you name it. Last night, Macy and I attended the school Barnes & Noble Book Fair. Barnes & Noble hosts the whole school (during normal business hours) and they give the school 20% of all purchases made by participants back to the school. The children display their artwork. Many classes sing and dance. There are trivia games between parents and kids. We even had a renown illustrator there to speak and sign books for the kids. As you can see from the photos, this is not really a conducive environment for such an event. But we don't have an auditorium at our school to accommodate all the parents and kids. So, for our school Seuss-themed holiday night, we sat on the floor of Barnes & Noble with children standing on blue tape lines 3 inches in front of kids sitting in the audience. 

Sorry it's blurry - trying to inconspicuously capture the parents.

We had a boom box playing the accompaniment. We had children in sweatpants, fancy gowns and everything in between. Faces streaked with cheesecake samples from the baristas, these beautiful, messy children sang their hearts out about the Grinch, Christmas, family and love. I gotta tell you guys, I was a freaking mess. What a beautiful experience! All of us crammed in together celebrating community, love, life and children. Turns out, the accommodations weren't amazing when Jesus was making his way out of teenage Mary's birth canal either. But his entrance was grand in all the mess and beautiful chaos that I can only imagine ensued. (Mary AMAZES me but that's a side note). 

Macy proudly showing the gift she made to decorate the walls.

This is my community. I wouldn't trade it for the world. Participate in the world all around you. It's ripe for the taking. It's easy to think, "they don't need me. Last night would have gone on even if I hadn't come." That's true, except if every person there had the same idea, those hard-working music teachers, art teachers, principals, children and awesome Barnes & Noble workers would have done all their work for nothing. No books purchased on behalf of the school. No one to impress with Seuss-themed artwork. No one to clap while they danced and sang. Your community wants your participation. It's the better for it. And so are you.

* If you're unfamiliar with my series on personal values, see my previous posts on honesty, kindness, sharing, giving dignity and decency. 

Perfectionism and the Holidays

Being a perfectionist around the holidays can be a truly terrible affliction. Not just for the perfectionist, for you the whole family of one (and we have two in our house!) It creates this vortex of colossal expectations, one-shot opportunities, stressful expense of energy and money, shame, shame, oh, the shame - So. Much. Pressure. Usually with a lot of people around. 

I've always been the holiday queen in this house. My husband is not really into holidays, though he tries to be a good sport (after we've had many conversations about how much they mean to me). But, I do everything I can physically do myself. This includes putting up our exterior lights and getting down most of the heavy boxes. When I get into "holiday mode" I want everything done my way, on my timetable (now!) and with cheer. This is why I do not wait for my husband. Our dynamic usually requires respect and patience and I don't exude either very well in these crucial holiday prep moments. So I do the classic perfectionist move (passive aggressive) of taking it all on myself so it can be done perfectly. I highly recommend this healthy choice.

I'm very emotionally invested in how all my hard work, dreams and extensive planning plays out. Not only must everything go well (exactly as I imagined), look beautiful, but everyone better have fun and be happy -- or else! The icing on the cake is that my therapist likes to point out that somewhere in all this expectation, exhaustion, total lack of grace for myself and others, I'm truly looking for appreciation. So, I run around hoping that everything goes according to my perfect expectations (very interesting when you remember that this involves two very spirited young children) while expecting every member of my family to be filled with gratitude after I've told them all exactly how and how not to have fun. 

This dynamic has never been more apparent to me than last night. I was in a really bad place to begin with, which is an indication to me that it was probably not a great night to add in all the holiday hooplah involved in decorating the house. But I still operate under the illusions that holidays are fun. Sweet, right? So when I'd had a bad day and I love Christmas, why wouldn't I unknowingly make the mistake of suggesting to your energetic six year old that it's the perfect time to decorate? 

As the usual crazy unfolded, I was also trying to put the baby down for a nap, keep our oldest from digging through the breakables, setting everything out "just so", and of course - secretly prepping our homemade Advent calendar because duh, it's also December 1st. Oh, and a school night. And I had an insane Thanksgiving week filled with hosting, endless cooking, traveling alone with 2 kids, lots of driving, working, shopping, plus a SHITTY day to begin with. All that means is, I didn't have any emotional energy to be patient, kind, generous, calm or gracious to myself or my family. This situation called upon my shame voice, just to be on standby for any human moments. All it takes is one broken treasured item, one terse word exchanged for it to start shouting. "See! It doesn't matter how much you run around. This isn't even fun. You're not having any fun and neither is anyone else." Or this self-pity gem, "Why do you even bother? All you do is make your daughter feel bad when you want to re-do her 6 year old decorating because it's not perfect. Sure, you're trying so hard to rein it in and let her help, but you just can't let everything go. You might as well be a tyrant. You've got to "correct" her sometimes and that hurts her. Look at how she's stomping her foot and turning away from you. Now you're shaming her too." Ha, even my shaming voice shames me about shaming my daughter. Who can win in that situation?  

If you thought I was going to end this post with all these loose ends neatly tied up, loaded with tips on how to simplify your life this Christmas season and all my personal anecdotes on how to give yourself grace and be victorious over perfectionism, you're not gonna get that from me. This was where I was at last night, people. Not much growth happens while you sleep. All I'm prepared to do at this point is identify how unhelpful shame is in this hot mess of unfair expectations, very poor self-care, and a total lack of giving grace. Sometimes just seeing yourself objectively is all you can do to say, huh, this isn't working. 

At least I have a whole 36 hours to figure it out, before we plan on cutting down our tree and decorate that thing too.

Be Decent

Alrighty, I'm back on track with my series on personal values. If you're playing catch up, so far I've discussed honesty, kindness, sharing and giving dignity. The purpose of this series is to talk about all the things I am working towards, rather than just telling you what I'm not doing in this season of my life (going to church). Spiritual growth is not always about taking things away but about adding in things as well. While I was taught these things to take away or add in were specific behaviors, I'm learning now to focus on developing a personal set of values instead. These are the things I value (as opposed to the evangelical focus on "not sinning"), the things I strive to live into. I do not anticipate "arriving" at these as if they are static destinations but instead, these are things I hope to access when I need to have or be them. 
Today I'd like to talk about human decency. I briefly mentioned the concept of scarcity in my post about feeling frozen in this weird season of stay-at-home parenting and I think it plays into this idea of decency. As Americans (though this is definitely also a general human thing) we have some sort of deep seated fear in not having enough, not being enough, not doing enough, etc. We also have a subconscious belief that everything is in limited quantity, so you better "get yours" before someone else does. This fear is what causes us to compete with others. This fear is what keeps us working well past a normal amount of time per week and with very little time off per year (we work way more than other developed countries). This is why we are constantly buying stuff when we have garages full of stuff we're not using. This is why we like the idea of "starter homes". 
There are some very serious consequences to this kind of life. We consume because we don't know how to be content, to sit still, to accept that we are enough, have enough and will continue to be enough. This level of consumption is detrimental to the world around us. We consume WAY MORE than our share of energy and water, in such a disproportionate amount based on our population in comparison to other countries. We actively contribute to the sweat shops in China and other countries because we just cannot get enough. People die because of our fear of scarcity.  We have a ton of debt. We have high incidences of anxiety, depression, stress-related diseases. We eat more than our share and are unhealthy because of it. We add chemicals to our food so we can make more and more and more. This is making us sicker. We claim to be be the "land of the free" but I think this lifestyle of more, more, more makes us more in bondage than we're willing to admit. It's so incredibly stressful to live this way. 
I believe decency is the answer to this problem. Let's begin taking only what we actually need, leaving more for our neighbors and for the world at large. This includes eating the food we buy at the grocery store before it goes bad, wearing our clothes until they are worn or giving them to someone rather than throwing them away. Let's start buying used items, so we stop making everything new, when we have so many of them already made that are just gathering dust or filling our land fills. Let's live under budget so we can rest peacefully at night. Let's enjoy food to the fullest, but stop eating when we get full. 
We don't need to keep taking more than we need. I struggle to talk about this because it feels like I'm saying we should take less than we need and I am not at all saying that. If your family qualifies for government assistance, I think you should take it. If your job offers you a raise, enjoy the extra money. Eat good food and enjoy a glass of wine. I'm not talking about not enjoying ourselves. I'm talking about not being so damn greedy, with no regard for how our consumption affects others (don't even get me started on our how sexual addictions lead to the trafficking of kids and adults).
Take what you need. Enjoy the bounty. We are privileged and that's okay. But be decent in the process.

Weaning Day

It dawned on me on Monday that Penny was beginning to wean. Her several weeks-long unpredictable nursing patterns finally translated into the truth (I'm slow on the uptake. I literally just bought my first fedora. I hear they're not cool anymore): Penny is ready to stop nursing. There are so many good things about this. 1- She's initiating it, so as a caretaker there's no possibility for guilt on my end. Having my child increasing in independence over time is one of my main goals as a parent - developmentally-appropriate independence with support available as needed. Check. 
2- Tim and I can finally put to rest any illusion that my presence is critical to making life with Penny work. With all our post-partum baggage, this is really healthy for me. My leash, at least physically, is being severed. 3- We can travel! We will celebrate 10 years of marriage in January and we're really hoping to take a trip to commemorate that huge occasion next year. 4- I can go back to underwire! (Okay, so maybe these points are not all of equal value).
Even though we're "ready", it is still a major transition in our relationship, probably the biggest one since birth. The change is physical, emotional, logistical. I liken it to a breakup where you're trying to end the romantic relationship while still attempting to remain friends. 
Your connection is changing and it's sad, awkward and liberating all at the same time. In some ways, you cling harder because they're the person you're used to turning to when things get tough, even though the transition is within your relationship. 
As with most transitions for my kids, I'm thrilled for them while simultaneously sad/nostalgic for myself. I've always been sentimental and processing these things when they happen helps me to minimize the fallout in other areas of my life (let's not even discuss the car I backed into today in the Office Max parking lot. Seriously, who even buys office supplies in retail stores anymore?!?!)
So, we spend a fantastic day on Tuesday celebrating Penny's "weaning day." It felt like the 1 year old version of a bat mitzvah with a little first day of your daughter's period mixed in for good measure. I took her somewhere she'd never been (Portland Children's Museum) and watched her utter delight as she everything freely (there is no greater gift to an active toddler). I got to gaze at her in admiration while she raced around curiously. Occasionally she'd stop and search for me, making eye contact. She may not need to nurse anymore, but she's still checking back to make sure mama's only an arm's length away.
I'm so proud of her persistence, her amazing ability to connect and also remain her own entity. She's fierce. Already her own advocate and bent on discovery, Penny moves as quickly as her little legs can carry her (and the higher they can climb up, the better). Not one to give up easily, my little Pen takes risks. She's such a gift! I'm so grateful to be her liason into the world. At one point, she was literally connected to me and now I get to be the one to show her around. 

Look out, world. Here she comes!

Frozen (No, Not the Movie)

I'm taking a break from my series on personal values tonight to discuss the angst my perfectionism sometimes creates. Living in the brain of a perfectionist is really tough and can leave you feeling frozen. We don't value process, only result. This inevitably puts pressure on every endeavor (however small), to bring about the expected result and in a timely, quantitative manor. When you add in my care-taking tendencies, any kind of personal development efforts become very uncomfortable. I want to grow, but I don't want to wait. I want to branch out and take risks, but only if I can see how they benefit others, leaving any personal gratification as a nice byproduct. This is why it was a big deal when I went kayaking. It was something that was just for me (and Danna) and it was just for fun. I didn't earn any money, I didn't improve my health (unless you count the exercise), and it did not directly benefit my family (although I came home happy). These seem to by my criteria for venturing out: financial gain, improvement of health (so I can keep taking care of everyone else) or some obvious benefit to my family. Yikes. How sad is that?
These feelings are cropping up tonight because I peeked into the life of someone else and I was left wanting. I saw her heart on a page and it was beautiful. And I wanted the pieces of my puzzle to fit together to look like hers. Does that ever happen to you? You see someone at the end of a long journey and want to be where they are, rather than in the middle of yours? Maybe it's the youngest child in me or the perfectionist, but I don't want to go through the work. I want to be able to do it easily or not at all. Boy, does that limit me! 
It makes me tremendously sad, these feelings on nights like tonight. I want to believe in myself enough to know that my puzzle will look beautiful too. It may look a lot like hers and it may not at all. I want to be the kind of person who is encouraged by the success and story of another, knowing they're someone who I have a lot in common with, someone who is a comrade, not a threat. Maybe this comes from a feeling of scarcity*, that if she finds her calling, that somehow there will be less left for me. I know in my heart, that's not true. That one person's personal success does not disqualify me from having my own. 
I've always felt a little caught off guard by my peers who have "for real" careers. I went to a great college and sometimes it hits me anew that I know people MY AGE who somehow ended up becoming doctors, lawyers, professors, activists (you get the idea). I always feel this weird paranoia, like, "when was the conference on how to have a grown-up career and what was I doing instead?" I mean, do people really know how to do their jobs? And if so, HOW, exactly? When did everyone become something? Can I become something? I see the end results around me and wonder what my "in process" state will lead to. Is it leading somewhere? I'm honestly wondering, guys. 
I want to feel like each season of my life matters, that this time at home raising small children, going to therapy, writing, being in relationship, processing my theology and taking risks (I'm taking an art class right now!) has a significant purpose. I know that it does. And, despite everything I just said, I'm not wishing it away. I'm so happy to have my sweet little girls and I know I will treasure these years. I've never been one of those people who was really career-minded. I always figured I'd dabble. I'm not someone who was going to be one thing forever, and frankly, I prefer that (perhaps that's the globe-trotter in me, never stay too long in one place). 
I feel like this is a season of preparation. For what, I don't know, exactly. Maybe I just need to be patient. Ha! That's a good one. But no, seriously, I'm curious to see what my final product will look like. I guess we'll just have to wait and see.
*This idea of scarcity is a common reason for what I see as American greed. Maybe that'll come up in a post on personal values soon. 

Give Dignity

As a perfectionist, I struggle with separating my actions from my personal value. Most perfectionists either under-perform or over-perform. The under-performers contemplate a task, feel overwhelmed by their inability to do it perfectly and choose not to attempt it at all. Over-performers do too many tasks, often thoroughly and then project their high-achieving personal expectations onto others all the while feeling resentment and exhaustion because they have to "do everything themselves." Both of these life approaches seriously suck. I get to say that because I'm talking about myself. (I'm the latter, by the way, and waffle between judging and feeling jealous of the former).

I bring this issue up in the midst of my series on personal values because I think it touches on the core of my next value. I'm calling it dignity. For me, part of my reasoning for removing myself from the church environment, at least for now, has been about an inappropriate connection I've felt in church between self and actions. When we condemn people, rather than choices, I think we've made a critical error. We've chosen not to give dignity to the human being in question. 

I firmly believe that human beings were made in the image of God, that we are intended for good, that we are capable of great things, and that ultimately, we are good. Are we also capable of self-destructive patterns that can harm others? Of course. But is that who we really are, in our heart of hearts? Is that where we are happiest, most fulfilled, free and full of love, joy and peace? No. *

Because of this belief, I reject any cultural pattern that uses shame as a way to control behavior. This very much includes the evangelical church. Children are not "bad girls/boys" when they make bad choices. They are precious people who are doing something wrong/unhealthy/harmful/bad, however you want to frame that. But they are not bad when they make bad choices, have a bad moment, feel big emotions, or make the "lesser" choice. They need guidance, tools, encouragement and dignity to make better choices. They don't need shame.

I cannot overstate how important the difference is between these two approaches. When we make someone feel bad about WHO THEY ARE based on WHAT THEY DO, we're often perpetuating the exact reasons why people make bad choices in the first place - because they feel like shit. (I'm also really working on not framing everything as "good" or "bad" in the first place, but that's another conversation. I'm using good/bad framework to make a greater point here).

Using this lens, I see the people around me, my children and myself very differently. I'm working to no longer pressure myself to behave in order to make others approve of me, that their approval somehow makes me something that I'm not without it. It's revolutionized the way I approach my faith. I'm beginning to learn what grace really is! And guess what? It's AWESOME. I'm replacing the idea that I'm terrible and He's so great with I'm great and He thinks so too. He's my source and He's my friend. While I tend to be hard on myself, He's soft towards me. In my personal experience (which I understand is wildly subjective), He is always sweeter, kinder, gentler and more patient that I am with myself. After all this time, I'm still blown away by Him.

It's taken me awhile to identify shame and its destructive nature in me. If you're not entirely sure what I'm talking about, check out Brene Brown's extensive work on the subject. She has done amazing research and her descriptions of what shame feels like and how to combat it have been really helpful to me. When you shut yourself down because your feelings are "stupid/dramatic/dumb/overreacting", that's shame. When you decide not to communicate what you're thinking and feeling because "they probably won't listen to me anyway/it's not important/it'll just make them mad", that's shame. When you don't want to do something but you do it anyway because you feel like you should, that's often motivated by shame. When you don't communicate what you need because "it's too much/not worth it/silly", that's shame. 

We have GOT to give ourselves dignity or we'll never be able to extend it to others. We don't give ourselves dignity so we can dole it out (also an important distinction). We give ourselves dignity because God put it in us when He made us. Humans are inherently valuable regardless of belief, age, sex, race, sexual orientation, nationality, socioeconomic status and political party. We are worthy of respect and dignity BY NATURE. We need to acknowledge that within ourselves and within the people all around us, especially people we don't love or agree with. It's so insanely easy to assume ill motive of others who come from a different perspective. But they deserve dignity and their views are valid, even if you disagree. 

The lack of giving others dignity (I also see this as giving people the benefit of the doubt) is so clearly seen in how conservative Christians treat Barack Obama. Yes, apparently I'm going there. He's a person, guys. He's not the anti-christ, terrorist, Muslim that you say he is. He's a person. You may disagree with him politically. That's fine. We're lucky to live in a country where that is perfectly acceptable. Use your voting power and your influence to make change. In your disagreement, don't forget to acknowledge that he is a human being and therefore, has inherent dignity that needs to be treated with respect. (My husband next to me would like to add that this disparaging treatment, of course, happened to George W. Bush as well. Unfortunately, hatred runs on both sides of this partisan river. This is one of the many reasons I try to stay out of political arguments - says the woman who probably just started one).

When we focus on sin elimination in the church (always working on some sin area in our lives) we completely miss the point of grace. God is not in the business of behavior modification. Of course, we are not entirely separate from our actions. But neither are we the sum of them. The story of the adulterous woman comes to mind. The Jews bring before Jesus a woman they caught in the act of adultery and ask if she is to be stoned (according to Old Testament law). Not even going to start ranting here about where the eff the man is in this scenario, but seriously? WTF? Jesus gets down on her level, writes something on the ground (we don't know what) and asks the crowd to stone her if they haven't sinned themselves. They all walk away, he looks into her eyes and tells her she's safe ("I don't condemn you") and she can make different choices ("Go and sin no more), not because she's a bad person and needs to shape up, but because she is loved! She matters! He is giving her dignity. 

This is a huge deal for a number of reasons. He had every authority to lay into her. Man, he would have been fully qualified to condemn her. The object of this gift of dignity is a woman. Seriously, in this culture, especially an "impure" woman was of very little value. He spoke to her. He got on her level. He defended her publicly. He did not condemn her. He also empowered her to do good. If he can give her dignity, how can we not give it to her and to ourselves as well? 

Who are the "adulterous women" in our modern culture? Certainly, women are still struggling to be given dignity. Definitely anyone in a racial minority. There is certainly a lot of angst among the various religious groups in our country right now. Homosexual and transgender individuals most definitely. Poor people, yup. How can we give dignity to them? How can we stop seeing them as "them" and begin to see them as "us"? Because let's face it, folks: every human has inherent dignity given to them by God. Don't take it away. Be in the business of giving it back.

* As a side note, I will say that I believe there is a point in a person's life where they can cultivate their evil leanings, leading to a very active, purposefully destructive lifestyle. While I believe this goes against our intended nature, it is clearly evident in those who take great pleasure in hurting others. I'm more speaking to us normal folks, not the sadists in the world.

Sharing is Caring

This is the third post in my series on personal values. If you missed the first two, you can read my posts about honesty here and kindness here. I'm really excited to talk about sharing. I originally thought of this concept as generosity or giving, but what I really believe in, above all, is sharing. Sharing connotes a certain level of value the sharer assigns to what is being shared. I think generosity (something I also really value) and giving can also include things that the giver may no longer need or assign value to. It can come from excess. Sharing has an elevated meaning to me. When I choose to share, I am offering a resource that I also need.
Let me share an example. I have two severe food intolerances. I have not gotten a chance yet to write about them and how life-altering it's been for me (and my family) to implement the necessary diet changes to keep me healthy and functioning. That being said, just about everything I eat has to be made from scratch. When this process began, I didn't particularly feel confident about my cooking abilities and the idea of cooking EVERY MEAL from scratch (as in, not even using pre-made ingredients) with a 4 month old baby, a traumatized kindergartner and a spouse recovering from a psychotic break felt pretty damn overwhelming. It was also the holiday season, so I missed a lot of the joy of food last year.
Back to the example. Because keeping myself fed requires what feels like hours a day in front of the stove, chopping vegetables and washing dishes, sharing my food is a big deal. If I choose not to share my food, it means I can eat out of that pot longer and I have more free time. And let's face it: most of the people in my life have a lot more food freedom, which means they can eat anything I want to share. When I choose to feed my friends at girls group, invite people over for dinner, give my children and my husband the specially-made food I've prepared, it's an act of love. I'm giving my food, yes, but I'm also giving my time, energy and heart (again, cooking feels vulnerable - have I mentioned I'm a perfectionist yet?!?!) Often my ingredients cost more so there is also a financial ramification (we have a very tight food budget). It means I may go a few days at the end of the month without that particular ingredient. 
One of the things I like about sharing is that I don't HAVE to do it. When I'm weary of cooking and my friends are hungry or I want to offer the people in my home something to eat but I'm not in the spirit of sharing, I make peanut butter and jelly sandwiches. Sharing with healthy boundaries means that I share when I feel compelled to do so. I am under no duty or obligation to share (though this is not what most adults teach their children - what would happen if we actually lived like we expect our children to?) It also means I don't need pats on the back for it. I don't necessarily want the people I love to feel the hours of work I'm giving them by feeding them, unless it feels like a compliment. Because the sharing is not obligatory, there is no guilt in receiving the gift! It's an actual gift! (I think this is more what the Bible intended when encouraging giving without the right hand knowing what your left hand is doing, etc.)
Growing up in church, we were told that we needed to give because we were Christians (ironic, since this is by no means exclusive to Christianity). We were supposed to put money in the giving tray because we needed to pay the light bill. Giving must be thought out, planned and budgeted. It was about self-discipline, duty and obligation. We were giving because there was a need to give, not necessarily a desire to. What we put in that tray was a measure of our faithfulness to God. I learned a lot about what we call "financial stewardship" in church and I think there is some merit to it, especially in our consumer society. Our financial priorities should come out of our budget first. And to me, being a believer in Jesus, does require some sort version of giving, however that may be interpreted. I was on the receiving end in a big way of this giving when I was a missionary for an entire year after college. Writing checks can be really important.
Perhaps the danger in writing a weekly budgeted check is that it makes us feel like we're done giving. When we give because we're supposed to, and not necessarily because we want to, it inhibits our generous spirit. It creates resentment. Sharing feels more personal to me. It can be spontaneous or  planned. It can include anything you want to share: money, food, clothing, books, coffee, time, childcare, flowers etc. Sharing requires relationship. When we live out of a spirit of sharing, we learn to share more. We find that our material possessions, whatever our resources, do not own us. We own them and have the freedom to do with them what we want. They don't control us. We learn to do without. We learn to listen to those around us. But here's the beautiful thing: we don't HAVE to share. We see needs and sometimes we feel compelled to share and sometimes we don't for whatever reason. I often find that my sharing spirit goes awry when I'm not taking care of myself. Such an important balance. You must give to yourself first.
One of the most amazing things I've learned from sharing is that things always seem to work out. I'm not in control of my life or my circumstances. Things could change at any time. But holding on to all of my resources doesn't change that at all. Not. One. Bit. Guess what, no matter how much you save, money will eventually run out. What doesn't run out when given love and care? Relationships. When you live in the spirit of sharing, it is also returned to you. It is in no way transaction-oriented. This is not tit for tat. Sometimes our community change as people move, divorce, die, etc. But when you have the back of people in your community, they will have yours as well. I get to share the things that others have shared with me. And it has made my life full. Instead of feeling resentful of "having" to give, I'm setting boundaries on sharing what I have and trusting that me and mine will be just fine. In fact, we might even be great.

"In the End, Only Kindness Matters" - Thank you, Jewel

Unfortunately, writing a blog about being a perfectionist does not negate the voice in me that wants each post to be complete in my heart and in my head before I post it. While there is something to be said about not just word-vomiting out there for all the world to see, I realize that my perfectionism may just be getting in the way of my writing...about my perfectionism. I'd like to share my story while it's happening, as I'm learning, in the middle of my process. That means that I may change my mind. I may later read my posts and be embarrassed by how unenlightened they may seem to me in the future. All I can say is, this perfectionist is willing to take the risk.
Perhaps that's why my post about no longer going to church created such a wave among the people I know and love, because most of us don't read articles by people who haven't landed on a conclusion yet. We don't speak in the dark night of the soul. We suffer in silence and speak again once we've come out on the other side. And then we do so with authority. It's a lot more vulnerable to put your story on the internet while it's still being written. 
But that, my friends, is exactly how my series on my current values began, with honesty. It's not surprising to me that kindness is the necessary follow-up topic. My definition of honesty includes vulnerability and a willingness to be wrong. It's about breaking down walls. But honesty, without being tempered by kindness, can actually have the opposite effect. I've seen many walls being put up in the name of honesty. It comes down to posture. 
It's not just about what I say or why I say it, but where is my heart in that moment? Now that I've been through a major job loss and identity crisis, I no longer assume that my life is secure, that the things I have are deserved or permanent. This gives me the humility to be gracious to the people around me. It allows me to share my money, my time, my humanity without being an asshole in the process. I don't assume I'm right, better, or safer than the person next to me. 
This is probably my specific church background talking, but I often felt that being right (having the right biblical interpretation and applying it) was way more important than being kind. That kindness meant communicating the truth we had no matter how offensive it may seem to the listener. If we love the people around us, that must mean that we need to tell them how fucked up they are, right? That's what God would have us do. 
But let's face it. It's not "good news" to tell the world around us that they aren't enough; they need to do more, be more, be better. That their choices are wrong, their political beliefs are against God and they're going to hell. 
I'm not saying that truth has no value or that there doesn't come a time when we have to say hard things (nor am I saying I still believe the aforementioned ideologies). Real relationship includes conflict. I just think our priorities are wrong. If our goal was mercy, the love and grace of God would pour out of us and I am CONFIDENT that it would change the world. 
So many problems in our world would go away if we spoke and acted with kindness as the goal. Often, I find our conversations and actions are motivated by pride (needing to be right or prove a point), fear (needing to be in control), or ignorance (an unwillingness to learn from others). What would happen if we looked at others as equally deserving as us? How would we treat the people around us if we knew what it was really like to be them? What thoughts would run through our minds when we witness a young mother with multiple snot-nosed kids in the grocery line cashing WIC checks or using food stamps? Would we think about how they're such a drain on the system? How they need to get it together? Or would we instead think for a moment about what it would be like to be that woman? How hard it must be to not have enough money for food? Or even more radical, admitting to ourselves that THAT COULD BE ME. We are all one moment away from being that lady. So, don't be annoyed when her multiple transactions take longer. Smile and be patient. 
The people around us need grace, not grief. The world needs more kindness, more mercy, more listening. And when I say "the people around us", I mean US. We've got to stop being so hard on ourselves so that we can extend grace to the people around us. Be kind to yourself. Be kind to your neighbor. This is the work of God.

Living Honestly

Disclaimer: many of my discoveries living outside of the church environment are based on my specific church experiences, personality, personal hangups, background, etc. My posts are not meant to be a full reflection of what American Christianity looks like or what I think other believers should be doing. It is purely my experience.
Last week, I posted about why I no longer go to church. It was a big move for me and not surprisingly, I received a lot of feedback. One of the amazing things about this season of my life and the experience of sharing my story is that I am learning to receive all kinds of responses without feeling required to react immediately or to respond at all. This is why it has taken me 10 days to post. I'm learning to mull and live out of an incredibly empowering place that isn't reactionary. That being said, I'd like to thank each of you who read my post and contacted me in some way. There was a lot of concern and kindness coming my way.
After careful consideration, I'd like to take the feedback from a very supportive friend and share what patterns and values I am building into my life as a result of leaving church (as opposed to merely presenting what I'm not doing). Getting out of the church environment, I've been given more space to carve out my own personal values and live into them. (Some of this is a direct result of being in professional ministry, rather than just being a Sunday churchgoer). I'm no longer pouring myself out at church, which leaves me with much more energy for the very real self-work this season of my life is about. 
The first value that I have more space for now is honesty. Honesty is such an invaluable quality, and something that has required a lot of space and counseling for me to live into. Not because I am a big, fat liar, but because of my ministry baggage and the care-taking tendencies that ministry rewards, I completely lost touch with my feelings and thoughts. The ones I did experience were internally judged and put through the filter of what was God-approved or disapproved based on our particular interpretation of the Bible before I reacted to them. I could identify which thoughts were "temptating" or "selfish" or "Godly" and respond accordingly. When I took off the filters and began to listen to the stories of the beautiful people all around me, the thoughts in my own heart, and incorporate what I'd personally experienced, I found my place of honesty. And you know what? In my honest place there are a lot more "I don't know's" than there were when I thought I had an answer to most of the big questions. 
I find a beautiful correlation between honesty and vulnerability. If we're unwilling to be honest with ourselves, our relationships with others can only go so far. When we all have our guard up, conversation remains superficial because we feel like everyone else must have their shit together. Guess what? They don't. So they're either hiding it too or they aren't ready to see their own mess yet. That's okay for a time or for certain places. Everyone starts there and some environments aren't a safe place for vulnerability. But I live in deep relationship with those who are ready to see themselves and the world with the humility and grace that comes from knowing things aren't as black and white as we wish they were. We sit in the difficult reality that not everything that happens in our lives is a direct result of our choices. We acknowledge our lack of control. Let's face it. Shit happens. To everyone.
This is where community begins, with honesty. When one person lifts their veil, they're giving you an opportunity to lift yours. This is an act of huge generosity. This is the beauty of giving and receiving. In the church environment, I felt that giving was celebrated and receiving was shameful. (Let's pretend that I'm not tempted to rant about Christians shaming those on public assistance right now.) 
We cannot be honest when we view the world from a posture of always being the giver, the speaker, the one who knows. We are not in touch with our very real human struggle. We see ourselves as the ones who have and others as those who have not. That tragic perspective keeps us from being open. We are quick to speak but UNABLE to truly listen. I find this attitude is more pervasive in churches bent on engaging in American culture wars and politics. And I know without a doubt that I am not the only non-churchgoer who is vehemently turned off by it. We've got to embrace our humanity.
Living in "the world", I see tremendous value in receiving. You cannot receive the generosity of others if you aren't honest enough to show your need. It's a beautiful, frightening relief. Give yourself a chance to exhale. There's no reason why we all need to be independent. Independence is a high American value but to me, it creates isolation. We need connection! Instead of building higher fences in our backyards for "privacy," we should be engaging in the world around us.
Honesty requires an openness to being wrong, to re-think what you thought you knew, to listen to the stories of the people around you without judgment. It requires us to be willing to be uncomfortable. It gives us a chance to try to see things from another perspective, to walk in someone else's shoes for awhile. It also creates space for people to judge us, as we have possibly judged them in the past. Let people in. It's a fine line because I've let a lot of things in and I've also set some better boundaries by sending things out as well. The thing is, I get to decide what informs my values, my theology, and my faith, not my pastor, my husband, my church, or one interpretation of the Bible. 
I imagine living honestly looks differently for everyone. For me, it looks like not cleaning my house before people come over (unless I actually want to) and not apologizing if it's messy. No one wants to visit with a friend so they can see how much they don't have it together in comparison. And if I pour myself out cleaning before they get there, I'm not able to be as present in our conversation, really enjoying that time in relationship. What's the point of getting together then? To impress each other? I'm wholly uninterested in that. (This is also why I didn't wear makeup for more than a year. It's okay to show your real face). 
A big piece of living honestly for me was learning to say no. It begins with listening to my inner voice and then actually using it. I can't imagine how much of my self I've wasted on things I have no passion or gifting for because it was asked of me and I thought I should. The world would be a much healthier and honest place if we all did away with "the should's" entirely. 
I could go on and on about honesty. It's one of the greatest joys in my life right now. But I'll conclude with this: I've gotten some great feedback from writing this blog and I'm really enjoying the process. The most common reaction I get from readers is a commendation on my honesty. It takes courage to be honest (courage will definitely be a topic in this series of posts) and the world needs more of that. We respond to what we wish to see more of. The world around us needs our honesty, no matter how scary it may feel to lift that veil. In lifting my own veil, I've discovered that people a lot more alike than I ever thought we were. What a beautiful gift we give to humanity when we focus on our shared experiences rather than on our differences. This is the kind of giving that I can get on board with, not the guilty, rote or obligatory tithe, but the gift of vulnerability, the decision in the moment to lift the veil and to take a risk. 

Why My Faith Has Led Me Out of Church

I've hesitated to write this post for awhile, though I think my ministry posts elude to a lot of what I have to say already. In my former life, the church was a big part of my identity and my faith process. I knew that my love affair with ministry fueled my own issues (my need for approval, my comfort zone of only being with fellow Christians, my need to be above reproach [this is Bible-speak for looking like a good person all the time], my need to be on the top of the heap [church is a hierarchy], and more) but I also knew that those ugly truths were in bed with the good stuff too (I honest to goodness cannot fake anything, so all appearances of commitment, love of God, goodness, belief in others, boundless energy for service were real). I didn't know how to separate my love for God with my love for ministry. Many people cannot see the absolute need to do such. I think we want to justify good behavior that comes from our own sinking holes of need because we think good behavior leads to good things regardless of motive. There's even something in the Bible to that effect (something about Paul saying that preaching Christ has value even if it's coming from a bad source). Plus, when we put all our hopes (and more importantly, the church's future) into our ability to do good things, how else can we move forward, knowing that all of us have coexisting good and bad motives?
It's hard for me to admit publicly that I'm not going to church. I fear, as all of us with ministry baggage do, that my story may serve as a discouragement or may be used as endorsement for all choices remotely similar to mine. I have secret fears of how this will affect my children. (I also simultaneously fear what the church would teach my child if she were there). I expect that some (many) will write me off as someone who has fallen away (lost their faith) or who does not keep my commitments (something I really disrespect). I want to clarify that within myself, I am really proud of my choices and am open to telling my story to certain people who I trust and respect, knowing that it's largely possible that they will understand where I'm coming from. But to admit this publicly, ONLINE, is a totally different thing.
I've worked hard to protect my "sacred space" (which oddly, sounds sexual, but not what I'm referring to). I define this as my soul, my theology, my self-concept, my heart. I am impressionable. I cannot be a part of a group and not identify with its larger story. Some of the lessons I am working to undo from my lifetime in church are essential to my personal faith process (saying no, embracing my humanity, putting myself in the shoes of the downtrodden versus the saviors, listening to my voice, taking risks, focusing on what I have in common with "the world", relinquishing anything that reeks of entitlement or consumerism, refusing to believe that everything has a solution or one "right" answer and that I know those things). This makes the church environment a great source of temptation for me. I immediately fill my calendar, gain approval, show my niceness, and find incriminating things in my heart to feel guilty and shameful about and set to work on self-improvement.
I live in hope that one day, when I'm MUCH less bitter and able to set firm boundaries in said environment, I will be able to be a part of a church. I have no idea what my future church looks like. For the last 3 years, my church has looked like my living room and my fellow parishoners are my female friends. I am very selective about who I allow into that sacred space now. I look for women who are open, honest and actively struggling in some shape or form. I am a big fan of people who are "in process."
I imagine some people would read this and roll their eyes. Like, what is the big deal? So you don't go to church. Most people don't. Why is this shameful or embarrassing? But with my background, this is a big deal. Is it possible that the church sound system is so loud that we can't hear God? Could it be true that the group mentality is speaking in direct contradiction to what I personally need to be doing in my life? I'm learning to set better boundaries to where the church may one day be a safe place for me to share my soul again. But for now, this sojourner is keeping company with just a few. 

The Story Within The Story

As a perfectionist, I want to categorize everything, particularly as "good" or "bad." Today would have typically been categorized as "bad." I woke up with a migraine and two small children that needed my care. I was able to get Macy off to school okay, but once it was just me and Penny, the adrenaline wore off and I started throwing up. Today is, by the way, the second time in a month that I've been alone with Penny and vomiting from a migraine. I've been working on my migraines my whole life, my most recent effort being a major diet overhaul. So, on top of the pain and nausea, there is a sense of soul-sucking frustration and defeat. I want to feel good. I want to have energy. I want to live my life the way I see fit without always having to think two steps ahead of my body's reactions. 
That's the big story of my day. Feeling terrible for most of the day. Being exhausted and discouraged. Missing my husband. Feeling sorry for myself. But the story within the story was this: I am loved. I am not alone. My friend Amy came at the drop of a hat and took Penny to play at her house with just one text from me. That gave me several hours alone to recoup. My friend Jenna knew I wasn't well (we had plans I had to cancel) and left me homemade hot soup (that I can actually eat with my food intolerances!) on my door step right when I felt really hungry. I found out that my best friend in San Diego was having a terrible day and the encouraging book I had bought her on amazon arrived at just the right moment. Once I was well enough to get outside, I realized it was a gorgeous day. I even got to watch my kids play outside with the neighbors for awhile.
And while I can't say today was great, I'm trying to pay attention to the story within the story. In life, perfectly wonderful days (and their counterpart, perfectly ghastly ones) are few and far between. But are there beautiful moments within a terrible day? There are and I don't want to miss them. They make a difference. They tell us something about our lives. For me, friendship has always mattered greatly. So it is no surprise to me that on a day that I feel pain and isolation, my life would reap the rewards of genuine friendship. I'm so grateful for the people in my life.
I hesitated to write this post because I don't want to minimize the truly terrible days. I hate it when people make me feel bad for feeling bad about something that really is to its core, bad. But maybe, after we've already decided we're having a terrible day, we miss a moment of good, a moment where our values and our lives are being reflected back to us. For me, today that means that while my health is unreliable, my friends are not. And that's all the good I needed to feel like I can make it another day.

Leavin' on a Jet Plane...

Tim and I have a long history with goodbyes. When I finally bit the bullet and locked that boy down in a committed relationship, it was 3 weeks before I moved to Ireland for 13 months. I was 21 and he was 23. We were virgins, if you can believe it! We were SO IN LOVE. Poetry, public sobbing, hours and hours of phone calls, hand-written love letters, clinging to each other in airports til the last possible minute - we were that young couple. 
We flew back and forth across the world to get a few days together every few months. I moved to Dublin in July. He came to visit in September. I flew home to San Diego for Christmas and he flew me up to the Northwest to meet his family. He came to Dublin and proposed in March. I flew home again in May to find wedding locations and attend our first date buddies (we doubled at Disney) wedding in Oklahoma. I was home for good in August. We got married in a huge church wedding in January and were off to Vancouver, WA in March. 
Yes, it was a whirlwind. We were only officially a couple and in the same room for 6 weeks before we were engaged. But for us, we knew this was IT on our very first date. We didn't get together right away (I had just committed to moving to Dublin - not the best timing ever) but our eventual coupling was absolutely inevitable. The momentum was building and we just hopped on for the ride of our lives. 
As you can imagine, almost 10 years of marriage, 2 kids, 6 years of ministry, and physical and mental health challenges later, a lot has changed. Sometimes being together is hard. Not because our relationship is hard but because life is hard. And any forever relationship will be subject to the difficulties of life, no matter how tightly you hold onto each other. 
Tim and I just said goodbye. He's going on a much-needed solo road trip to visit some friends now before his work life gets too busy. 
As the time drew to a close, we woke up the kids. I made him breakfast to go. We took pictures. We hugged and kissed again and again. We professed our love. Finally, he got in the car and drove away waving to me. And you know what? As much as life has changed, it really, really hasn't. My heart fit right back into that groove of loss without him. I shed a few tears. I hugged my kids. And I felt like I really needed to write this post, just to capture that feeling. That oh so familiar feeling. It feels like when you get on a boat and it takes a few minutes to get your sea legs. You're wobbly and disoriented. It's physically obvious to the people around you that you're off your game. Of course, you adjust and adapt to the movement of the boat. But you don't feel really right until you're on dry land again. 

On the Cusp of Something

I'm in that weird vortex between two seasons of life. We all are. I've got one foot in fall and one foot in summer. Macy starts 1st grade on Wednesday. In some ways, this is awesome! I love the fall and frankly, I'm totally over sweating. I want to break out the skinnys and the boots. I want to have pumpkins on my porch and my child in school all day. I love her, but she is my mirror. And sometimes it's hard to look at my precious firstborn and not see myself in all my glory. I see her pleasing. I see her perfectionism. I see her enthusiasm. I see her insatiable need for love and attention. I see her wanting more and more from her loved ones. I hear her voice talking on and on. I see her passion, her anger, her smile, her fear. Sometimes it's overwhelming. Sometimes for my own sanity, I want to set her on a shelf for awhile. It's terrible, but it's honest and there's no way I'm the only parent who feels that way. I'm just that person who always outs themselves in brutal honesty.
I'm ready to slow down. I'm ready to take more time and energy for myself. I'm ready for some quiet. But the perfectionist in me also feels let down. Summer is over. All the things I wanted to do this summer that I didn't get to do are scrolling through my mind like a parade of shame. All the hours I let my kid watch TV while I hid in my room, I remember. I really tried to cut myself some slack this summer, but I still wish I was capable of more, that I could just go on forever. There's a grace in me being unable to do and be everything I want to be (and everything I feel pressure to be). Because if I could go on forever, I would. I would not eat, sleep, rest. I wouldn't. And that is one of the beautiful things about being human. I don't have a choice. Thank God for that.
As a caretaker, I often pull up short when my own needs present themselves. I don't realize I need to eat until I'm starving. I tuck self-care in the nooks and crannies of taking care of everyone else. This is common for women in this "season of life" when you have small children. But when I have noticeable emotional needs, it surprises me. Gah!
When I was in college, my therapist mentioned to me that small transitions require extra self-care for me. (Yes, I'm in therapy now and I was in therapy then. Best time/money spent ever). I need to give myself a little extra grace when the seasons change, when my schedule changes, when my friends leave and when new ones come. The changes don't have to be "bad". In fact, they are often the changes that I anticipate that throw me the most.
This seemingly small transition from one season to another is greatly exacerbated by Labor Day. I know, weird. It's such a non-holiday. But in our family, it has served as a benchmark of pain the last few years. 3 years ago, it was on Labor Day that we walked away (not by choice) from ministry forever. It was on Labor Day weekend last year that I took my husband to the ER and had him admitted for pervasive suicidal thoughts, with 7 week old Penny in tow. He then went to a respite facility for 2 nights, finally with dear friends for 3 weeks in town. In those weeks, I was raising our newborn alone (with MASSIVE support from friends and family), caring for a traumatized 5 year old starting kindergarten, and myself in a frightening post-partum experience. It was, by far, the worst thing I've ever endured. I learned I was capable and that I need help. I learned that marriage is a choice and depression is not. 
Well, Tim had a minor surgery on Thursday that landed me in a medical facility waiting for his medication and discharge for 2 hours with 2 hungry, tired kids. We then ended up in the exact same ER as last year 90 minutes after he was home from the surgery because he was vomiting all his pain pills. I missed Macy's Back to School night because I was juggling my now very mobile daughter while my husband was treated. And since then, I've been racing around caring for the 3 of them on our final days of summer. It's all way too familiar. Tim will have to get a stent removed from the surgery sometime this week, which means there will be another procedure. I've found myself crying in parking lots, crying in my kitchen, crying now at my computer. This is an anniversary I wish to never revisit, a season of life I would like to bury forever. I wouldn't wish the way I witnessed my spouse a year ago on anyone. Sometimes life has a way of sticking it to you, right in your weakest places, making the world that I usually see with naively rosy glasses suddenly feel cold and untrustworthy. 
I know today is not a year ago or 3 years ago, for that matter. As familiar as this feels, it isn't the same. This weekend gives me an opportunity to continue to grieve the pain that was last year and previous years. But it also serves as a reminder that we've come a long way. I choose to sit in that rather than focus on how far we still have to go. But sometimes on nights like this, it feels heavy. I try to be present, to sit in the mess. As you can imagine, perfectionists don't like messes, particularly emotional, familial un-fixable ones! I have a savior complex. Being "in process" myself, not being able to control the processes of my family members, and waiting for simple moments that come more often now but not often enough is not an easy thing for me. 
I'm learning that we don't get to choose our life, only the way we're living it. I choose to live mine honestly. I choose to tell my story when I'm crying in parking lots and when I'm laughing with my kids. It's all part of my story. And I have to believe that ultimately, my story is good, that I'm part of a greater story that matters. Our suffering has value. It's not a punishment. It's a reality, a critical piece of our human experience. In some ways, it is what most greatly unites us. I want to connect with the people around me, with their humanity, with their compassion, with their story. I don't want to live in an ivory tower, rising above everyone else. Of course, I'd love to get out of the trenches for awhile. I don't want to stay here forever. But if being in the trenches makes me a more open, honest, compassionate and generous version of myself, is it worth it? I think it just might be. Luckily, it's not up to me to decide if I stay in the trenches or not. We usually stay in longer than we thought we would or intended to. We're antsy and ready to rise above the ground. I believe I will, stronger than ever, in time. But for now, I'll be down here if you need me, in the trenches.