i have a rough history with new year's. in years past, i have dreaded the arrival of a new year and have struggled to flip the calendar and stare down the barrel of a fresh year that begged for living.
i am usually a die hard optimist. i can look at most situations and see the slice of silver lining- however thin it may be- and readjust my attitude to reflect that hope and expectation. but for some reason, the tiny realist who dwells deep within would always run to the forefront and demand attention each year as the calendar crept towards january 1st.
due to the basic fact that i am human... i am aware that i will face loss. the thing we humans try the hardest to avoid in life is pain and loss... and so each year as i raced towards that fresh slate... i would wonder what the following january 1st would look like... and who might be missing from my life.
i would become paralyzed with fear and anxiety and scan the lives of my loved ones and try to rate the risk of loss in each of their lives. i realize that loss will come... someone will pass from this life and i will be left behind... and i can't begin to formulate how to prepare for that.
but this year? i know loss. while i've not buried someone in the soft, wet earth, i have seen the death of my marriage. a death i thought would never come to pass... and one that has rocked my entire world. i have also stood by my best friend as she laid her mother to rest. she was in her early 60s and no one was prepared to say goodbye to her this soon. i have lost much of my physical 'stuff'... from furniture, to housing, to clothing and even weight... and have held my children as they cried for the 'normal' life they thought they were promised just by being young and innocent. i know the heaviness of loss, and i know the ache of grief. and through it all? i am still alive. i can see the goodness of God in the middle of the loss... i can feel the heaviness of authentic community and gracious family. i have embraced a few friends as life long blood now, and i have said goodbye to others who couldn't handle the heat of my dramatic pain. i know loss and i know grief... .and what's more... i know that i can live through it. i now know that i have strength that doesn't break... it bends and wrinkles in the struggle, but it isn't brittle and fragile. i see myself as a strong rope... flexible and strong. able to hold and support more weight than should be physically possible. i have faith in me. but... it's because i have faith in Him.
so this year, i am eager for the new year. the fresh slate that used to overwhelm me with negative possibilities now stretches before me with endless possibilities. the freedom and grace and love and peace that i long for could lie nestled within the months to come. i hope to see more healing, strength, intimacy and provision as i tear month after month from the wall calendar. i pray that as those pages are folded up to be preserved as family history, that there will be entries encompassing dinners with friends, work that will feed my children, events that celebrate events with people i love, and even some adventure. i'm excited for what can happen over the next 12 months. this year still might hold loss and grief for me... but i now know that i can survive... and that is the gift i take from 2013. happy new year's dear ones. may this year bring growth... peace.... love that is authentic and deep... and joy that defies explanation. (and a bit of adventure as well!) i can't wait to meet you back here in a year and compare notes. i'm thinking we'll all have a lot to share and we won't believe where we'll be sitting. cheers!!!
Tuesday, December 31, 2013
Thursday, December 26, 2013
resolved
i am blessed with people in my life who encourage me. i'm thankful for friends who know when to reach out and say things that will lift my spirits and build me up.
i had a sweet friend send me a note this morning thanking me for helping to teach her to talk to her children more, and get to the bottom of their hurt.
i am humbled.
the reality is.. i do talk with my kids- a lot. i have many friends who come from broken homes, and the common thread seems to be that there was no real discussion of emotions, or changes, or why things were happening the way they were. i can't imagine being a child whose life is turned upside down and not know something about why everything was shattering. i decided very quickly that i would make space for my children's questions and hurts, and i would do my best to answer them at their appropriate age levels and ability to understand. it has not been easy. there are a lot of things i'd love to tell them when they are angry with me for 'sending their dad away'. so many things i want to yell at them to justify why i've made the choice i did, knowing that when you know the details.... no one would condemn me... but also knowing that ultimately, i want to preserve the relationship they have with their father, and railing against him- even in my own defense- would only serve to layer on more hurt, confusion and anger over hearts that are already raw and wounded. i am living in a place of waiting- praying and hoping that when they are older they will see some of the reasons i've made the choices i've made. that maybe they might even thank me for doing what i'm doing. but today? right now? they are angry and i am an easy target.
i'd like to tell you that i always just talk to them. but that is so far from the truth that i can't even pretend that it's real. i yell far more often than i wish i did. my own fear and anger and pain leaks into our interactions, and while i wish i responded with grace and love, i often respond with pain and shouts. sometimes i feel that our family is one codependent pod of pain that moves around the house bumping into one another, and ripping new wounds in each other as we all try to find our place in the new landscape that has become our normal. many days i feel like a failure. when the rise of emotion and anger begins to bubble up in my children and seep out onto one another, and that leads to hitting, and yelling and name calling- i sometimes shout above the noise... knowing as i do that it is out of fear and hurt. i hate to see them ache. i hate to see them try to make sense of this in their limited understanding, and hate to see them lash out at each other and even me as they try to let off some of the pressure of the hurt. some days i can see the good that i'm doing... and i'm glad i am able to talk to my kids, and that they often talk back.. but other days... i feel overwhelmed with the reality that my own anger and pain often adds to the mess rather than being the one to absorb it and make sacred space for their hearts to rest.
i don't really do new year's resolutions. i do a good enough job of whipping myself emotionally over perceived failures, and am in no hurry to add more potential failings to the mix. but this year... if i were to choose anything.. it would be to respond in a more quiet manner. to remember in my own anger and pride that the response i see in my children is usually birthed in pain that manifests in anger. i want them to remember me as a soft place to fall... not as a yelling, angry, hurting woman who scared them and added to the chaos. i want to be a place of peace and grace... leading my family into new frontiers as we figure out the journey with new roles. any progress is good progress and i will celebrate small victories. the encouraging note from my friend was beautiful and kind, but also serves as a challenge to me- to continue to do the hard, exhausting work of talking and listening, and to remember that the yelling and hitting from them is a symptom of deeper pain. i will address the pain and not the symptoms. here's to a more peaceful 2014!
i had a sweet friend send me a note this morning thanking me for helping to teach her to talk to her children more, and get to the bottom of their hurt.
i am humbled.
the reality is.. i do talk with my kids- a lot. i have many friends who come from broken homes, and the common thread seems to be that there was no real discussion of emotions, or changes, or why things were happening the way they were. i can't imagine being a child whose life is turned upside down and not know something about why everything was shattering. i decided very quickly that i would make space for my children's questions and hurts, and i would do my best to answer them at their appropriate age levels and ability to understand. it has not been easy. there are a lot of things i'd love to tell them when they are angry with me for 'sending their dad away'. so many things i want to yell at them to justify why i've made the choice i did, knowing that when you know the details.... no one would condemn me... but also knowing that ultimately, i want to preserve the relationship they have with their father, and railing against him- even in my own defense- would only serve to layer on more hurt, confusion and anger over hearts that are already raw and wounded. i am living in a place of waiting- praying and hoping that when they are older they will see some of the reasons i've made the choices i've made. that maybe they might even thank me for doing what i'm doing. but today? right now? they are angry and i am an easy target.
i'd like to tell you that i always just talk to them. but that is so far from the truth that i can't even pretend that it's real. i yell far more often than i wish i did. my own fear and anger and pain leaks into our interactions, and while i wish i responded with grace and love, i often respond with pain and shouts. sometimes i feel that our family is one codependent pod of pain that moves around the house bumping into one another, and ripping new wounds in each other as we all try to find our place in the new landscape that has become our normal. many days i feel like a failure. when the rise of emotion and anger begins to bubble up in my children and seep out onto one another, and that leads to hitting, and yelling and name calling- i sometimes shout above the noise... knowing as i do that it is out of fear and hurt. i hate to see them ache. i hate to see them try to make sense of this in their limited understanding, and hate to see them lash out at each other and even me as they try to let off some of the pressure of the hurt. some days i can see the good that i'm doing... and i'm glad i am able to talk to my kids, and that they often talk back.. but other days... i feel overwhelmed with the reality that my own anger and pain often adds to the mess rather than being the one to absorb it and make sacred space for their hearts to rest.
i don't really do new year's resolutions. i do a good enough job of whipping myself emotionally over perceived failures, and am in no hurry to add more potential failings to the mix. but this year... if i were to choose anything.. it would be to respond in a more quiet manner. to remember in my own anger and pride that the response i see in my children is usually birthed in pain that manifests in anger. i want them to remember me as a soft place to fall... not as a yelling, angry, hurting woman who scared them and added to the chaos. i want to be a place of peace and grace... leading my family into new frontiers as we figure out the journey with new roles. any progress is good progress and i will celebrate small victories. the encouraging note from my friend was beautiful and kind, but also serves as a challenge to me- to continue to do the hard, exhausting work of talking and listening, and to remember that the yelling and hitting from them is a symptom of deeper pain. i will address the pain and not the symptoms. here's to a more peaceful 2014!
Wednesday, December 25, 2013
christmas musings
it's christmas. the end of the day. the presents have been opened, food eaten, kids spent time with their paternal grandparents, and this mama napped some.
when life changes... when the structure of the life you've created somehow slips and cracks, and begins to hurdle towards leveling... holidays have no choice but to follow. changes have to happen, and new patterns emerge, and everyone wriggles towards the most recognizable normal that can be grasped.
i have to admit, i was a bit nervous.
this is the third house we've been in on the third christmas in a row, and the likelihood of being in yet another house next year is quite high. i feel dizzy with the speed of change that we've experienced, and like my children, i yearn for some stability, some solid ground on which to get my footing. all of the change, and difference smears together into one big blur, and i try hard to pull out some thread of familiarirty that i can offer my kids to assure their hearts that we are ok.
their dad spent time with us last night and again today. it went better than i had anticipated, and i'm thankful for that. i pray that the two of us can find a road to navigate that will be paved with friendship and shared love for our kids and that we can provide some landscape of familial love for our kids. i feel that we did the very best we could this year, and the kids seemed fairly adjusted.
but then they return home after an evening with him and his family, and the oldest son starts wailing away at us both emotionally and physically. i've learned that this is his coping skill when he's angry and hurting, and i am learning to speak honestly and firmly to him to try to allow space for his hurt and anger while also protecting the hearts and souls of the other children who often become the target of his pain. it's a complicated dance we have here now... with me as the dj- trying to offer melodies that will bring joy and peace rather than dissonance and grief. i work hard to allow him to have space to hurt, but to recognize that we are not the enemy, and as sweet Jesus reminds us in his word- we can be angry and still not sin. we managed to bumble through this hurt and get to the other end of it where he was tucked in warmly and loved, and i pray his wounded heart would be carried by the father as he sleeps. this life of fractured family has tentacles of pain that reach far and wind hard and i beg God to please extract my children from the pain and grief and try hard to instill in them the solid knowledge that they are dearly loved.
i was loved graciously today by people who don't know us.. and in God's amazingly creative way... we were given a net on which to fall. presents and gifts and love poured in and they cradled us in the physical which reminds us that we are also held tightly in his arms.
i'm filled with gratitude, and yet also ache. glennon melton, who writes so beautifully at the blog called momastary, calls life like this 'brutiful'.... and i couldn't agree more. i am living proof that this messy, bloody, painful, beautiful life is both gorgeous and brutal. i am laying claim tonight to that title over my family. we are in the the very center of bruitful. and while that hurts... and while it rubs, and gapes, and bleeds... there is also such grace here... and i'm not sure this amazingly close fragrance of God can be experienced outside of the brutiful life. it is here that we find not only ourselves... but the essence of Him.
merry christmas dear ones.
when life changes... when the structure of the life you've created somehow slips and cracks, and begins to hurdle towards leveling... holidays have no choice but to follow. changes have to happen, and new patterns emerge, and everyone wriggles towards the most recognizable normal that can be grasped.
i have to admit, i was a bit nervous.
this is the third house we've been in on the third christmas in a row, and the likelihood of being in yet another house next year is quite high. i feel dizzy with the speed of change that we've experienced, and like my children, i yearn for some stability, some solid ground on which to get my footing. all of the change, and difference smears together into one big blur, and i try hard to pull out some thread of familiarirty that i can offer my kids to assure their hearts that we are ok.
their dad spent time with us last night and again today. it went better than i had anticipated, and i'm thankful for that. i pray that the two of us can find a road to navigate that will be paved with friendship and shared love for our kids and that we can provide some landscape of familial love for our kids. i feel that we did the very best we could this year, and the kids seemed fairly adjusted.
but then they return home after an evening with him and his family, and the oldest son starts wailing away at us both emotionally and physically. i've learned that this is his coping skill when he's angry and hurting, and i am learning to speak honestly and firmly to him to try to allow space for his hurt and anger while also protecting the hearts and souls of the other children who often become the target of his pain. it's a complicated dance we have here now... with me as the dj- trying to offer melodies that will bring joy and peace rather than dissonance and grief. i work hard to allow him to have space to hurt, but to recognize that we are not the enemy, and as sweet Jesus reminds us in his word- we can be angry and still not sin. we managed to bumble through this hurt and get to the other end of it where he was tucked in warmly and loved, and i pray his wounded heart would be carried by the father as he sleeps. this life of fractured family has tentacles of pain that reach far and wind hard and i beg God to please extract my children from the pain and grief and try hard to instill in them the solid knowledge that they are dearly loved.
i was loved graciously today by people who don't know us.. and in God's amazingly creative way... we were given a net on which to fall. presents and gifts and love poured in and they cradled us in the physical which reminds us that we are also held tightly in his arms.
i'm filled with gratitude, and yet also ache. glennon melton, who writes so beautifully at the blog called momastary, calls life like this 'brutiful'.... and i couldn't agree more. i am living proof that this messy, bloody, painful, beautiful life is both gorgeous and brutal. i am laying claim tonight to that title over my family. we are in the the very center of bruitful. and while that hurts... and while it rubs, and gapes, and bleeds... there is also such grace here... and i'm not sure this amazingly close fragrance of God can be experienced outside of the brutiful life. it is here that we find not only ourselves... but the essence of Him.
merry christmas dear ones.
Wednesday, December 18, 2013
you matter
i went to the movies today. it was a matinee in a small theater here in my small town. i got there a bit early, and was all alone for about 10 minutes while previews played. then a mother and her teen daughter came in. they were a bit loud and silly and they sat across the aisle and to my left. the daughter seemed to be animated, but not overly so.
a few more people came in, found seats, scrolled through their phones,and chatted as they waited for the show to start. the daughter was a little chatty, but while i thought she was a little loud, i wasn't offended in any way. as the previews ended and the movie began, the two women who had sat in front of the girl and her mom made a show of getting up and moving- and sat behind me.
they were annoyed with the girl, and were frustrated that she was making noise during the movie. instead of extending grace, they made it obvious to everyone that they were annoyed.
i was heartbroken.
i had noticed very quickly that the girl was a little different. if i had to guess, i would place her on the autism spectrum. her behavior was normal to me as i live with kids who are on the spectrum. she wasn't overly loud, she wasn't always loud, and i wasn't annoyed with her at all- just aware of her. i knew that when those women moved, that there must have been a reaction of some sort in the heart of the mother... who was being a great mom by bringing her daughter to the movies to spend time with her. the girl was excited, and engaged with the story, and while she had to be shushed by her mother several times during the show, she was never offensive, or over the top in any way. in fact, her innocence and gaiety was pleasing to me. the entire time i was at the showing, i was distracted because i knew that the mother had noticed the actions of the other women. i know from experience that my child's behavior in public might not always be "appropriate" and yet, it's also not always "appropriate" for me to share that with strangers surrounding us who are staring and judging. i've learned after a decade with a special needs child, that ultimately the judgement of strangers matters little in my life story and well being, but sometimes it still stings.
as the movie ended, the girl jumped to her feet and clapped wildly. she told her mother in a very loud whisper that "you stand and clap when you like the movie!" i smiled at her excitement.
i stood up and walked towards the two of them. i looked the mother in the eye and just said- 'you're doing a great job mama.' i rubbed her arm and turned to walk away. she had been a bit embarrassed and looked down, but i was thankful for the chance to speak to her, if only for a moment.
the reality is that all of us have struggles. some of us are good at hiding them, and others of us can't hide them. this sweet girl did nothing wrong..... and yet the women in front of her were more concerned with their own comfort than pausing to think that maybe the noise wasn't meant to be offensive. i was glad i had been there to speak to the mother, not because i am anything wonderful, but because i know from experience how a word of encouragement can spare me from unnecessary pain. i would encourage you to follow that voice that prompts you to smile at the mom who is pushing the cart with a screaming toddler, or to say hello to the elderly man in line behind you checking out with his sardines and toilet paper. to bend over to pick up the piece of paper that the lady walking ahead of you dropped, or to make eye contact as you hold open the door for the family behind you. small moments of connection like this make a world of difference... and as someone who has been scraped raw over the last couple of years, i have to tell you that those moments are healing salve to a tender heart. you absolutely matter.
a few more people came in, found seats, scrolled through their phones,and chatted as they waited for the show to start. the daughter was a little chatty, but while i thought she was a little loud, i wasn't offended in any way. as the previews ended and the movie began, the two women who had sat in front of the girl and her mom made a show of getting up and moving- and sat behind me.
they were annoyed with the girl, and were frustrated that she was making noise during the movie. instead of extending grace, they made it obvious to everyone that they were annoyed.
i was heartbroken.
i had noticed very quickly that the girl was a little different. if i had to guess, i would place her on the autism spectrum. her behavior was normal to me as i live with kids who are on the spectrum. she wasn't overly loud, she wasn't always loud, and i wasn't annoyed with her at all- just aware of her. i knew that when those women moved, that there must have been a reaction of some sort in the heart of the mother... who was being a great mom by bringing her daughter to the movies to spend time with her. the girl was excited, and engaged with the story, and while she had to be shushed by her mother several times during the show, she was never offensive, or over the top in any way. in fact, her innocence and gaiety was pleasing to me. the entire time i was at the showing, i was distracted because i knew that the mother had noticed the actions of the other women. i know from experience that my child's behavior in public might not always be "appropriate" and yet, it's also not always "appropriate" for me to share that with strangers surrounding us who are staring and judging. i've learned after a decade with a special needs child, that ultimately the judgement of strangers matters little in my life story and well being, but sometimes it still stings.
as the movie ended, the girl jumped to her feet and clapped wildly. she told her mother in a very loud whisper that "you stand and clap when you like the movie!" i smiled at her excitement.
i stood up and walked towards the two of them. i looked the mother in the eye and just said- 'you're doing a great job mama.' i rubbed her arm and turned to walk away. she had been a bit embarrassed and looked down, but i was thankful for the chance to speak to her, if only for a moment.
the reality is that all of us have struggles. some of us are good at hiding them, and others of us can't hide them. this sweet girl did nothing wrong..... and yet the women in front of her were more concerned with their own comfort than pausing to think that maybe the noise wasn't meant to be offensive. i was glad i had been there to speak to the mother, not because i am anything wonderful, but because i know from experience how a word of encouragement can spare me from unnecessary pain. i would encourage you to follow that voice that prompts you to smile at the mom who is pushing the cart with a screaming toddler, or to say hello to the elderly man in line behind you checking out with his sardines and toilet paper. to bend over to pick up the piece of paper that the lady walking ahead of you dropped, or to make eye contact as you hold open the door for the family behind you. small moments of connection like this make a world of difference... and as someone who has been scraped raw over the last couple of years, i have to tell you that those moments are healing salve to a tender heart. you absolutely matter.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)