I'm the daughter of a preacher-man. One who had congregations made up of people from every class and creed. My parents taught me early on that people are worth loving. Worth hearing. Worth our time and love. That all people are the same, and created in the image of God. They probably didn't teach me this lesson intentionally, however growing up in a home where our dinner table was often shared with people who weren't the same color as us, it's a lesson I learned easily.
Some of my parents' closest friends are a black couple who began their family and careers in the growing of our church. Their family quickly became part of ours; and dinners, birthday celebrations, weddings, graduations- we did all of them together. He was a quiet and kind man in med school, and she was a plucky lawyer with a loud laugh, sparkly dancing eyes and welcoming arms. I remember my dad telling me that Thomas and he had had many conversations about race and oppression. Thomas was working as a resident in the hospital in our town and he had an ocean of student loan debt. He drove an old, beat up car, as the purchase of a new one was beyond his means. Like most med students, he was living the frugal life with the hope to one day live the 'good life'. He told my dad that after he had been pulled over and ripped out of his car and thrown against the side of it to be patted down and treated with suspicion, that he vowed to never again go out in sweats. He knew that his wardrobe alone could possibly change the perception of who he was- a black man in an old car. As a young girl, I was appalled. Thomas and Dayna were part of our family! Who would ever think that they would be a threat?!
We rejoiced with them as he moved up in his career, and she did the same. When Dayna became the first black woman to be published in the Harvard Law Review, my parents were just as proud of her as her own blood connected family. She is now actively working towards the time when it is expected she will sit on the Supreme Court. When Thomas was named one of the best cardiologists in the country, and his ad for UCHealth was published complete with Thomas in his surgical scrubs standing beside Peyton Manning in his uniform, we all stood a little taller, knowing he was worthy of the title. And I wonder... if he were gunned down and later his incredible story was revealed- would we as white americans then mourn because we would see his accomplishments rather than his humanity?! I know. None of us want to go there.
We hosted an Indian chief for dinner when I was in the 3rd grade. He came to our house in full regalia and allowed us kids to try on his headdress while he told us stories of his tribe and his ancestry. My mom made many meals for international students visiting our country, and many more for missionaries who were visiting home before heading back into the field.
I remember crouching on the stairs listening to the hushed voices in the kitchen when a couple in our church had miscarried the baby they had tried so many years to conceive. My dad was headed over to their house (one we had all been in many times as family) to offer comfort. Side note- He, a black man- an artist of epic proportions; my family had his paintings in our living room; she, a successful, professional white woman. Broken. Hurting. Grieving. (Romans 12:15 Rejoice with those who rejoice, weep with those who weep.)
My childhood was deeply marked by my parents' active love and friendships with people who looked nothing like us, and yet were exactly like us.
I attended junior high school in downtown Charlotte, NC. As a pastor, my father made meager earnings, and our parsonage was located in a rough area. Sadly, in America, poverty and race run neck and neck, and I was one of a small handful of white students. The only white girl who made the step team ( I actually have a little bit of rhythm!). Never once did I feel excluded, or thought it odd.
My church today is incredibly diverse. We have two campuses and one has a white pastor, and the other, a black pastor. My circle of friends is balanced with white, black, Hispanic and Asian loves. The man I have been dating for more than a year and a half is a friend from high school, a black man with brown children. My office is filled with people of all color and backgrounds and the company is owned by a black man. My son's mentor and counselor is an incredible black man whom Samuel adores.
My point is this. I'm not an 'enlightened' white woman. I don't believe there is any such thing. I'm a white woman who was given the gift of the love of all of humanity by two white parents who walked it out in daily moments. My mom is from the deep south, and while her childhood certainly was laced with the ever-present stereotypical southern racism mentality, her life experience with individual people carved out any of that inside of her. Her family (who all still reside in the deep south) have also come far from that pathology. The reason simply being- when you have a real encounter with the living God- the one we proclaim created heaven and earth- you can no longer look at any of humanity and believe that somehow some of humanity was declared good, and others declared subhuman. And when you have a real encounter with others who have brown skin, and know them as a person instead of as a color, you can no longer maintain a hateful mentality. A creating, loving, imaginative God designed each of us in His image- and that realization cannot leave room for anything less than love. (Genesis 1:27 God created man in His own image, in the image of God He created him; male and female He created them.)
So what do we do? I think part of the answer lies in my history. I was mercifully given this gift of the example to love all people, and so it has become my life- but so many white people do not share my experience. I am continually blown away by the lack of black friends in the lives of so many white people. It's foreign to me to know many white people have never sat across a table and shared a meal and personal stories with anyone other than other white people. I cannot comprehend how so many of us as white people can express empathy for the trauma being experienced by our black brothers and sisters and yet never work to have a personal conversation with anyone of color. It becomes an over-arcing 'out there' and in order to bring any level of change, we have to bring it 'down here'. Into our personal lives. We have to be intentional. Nothing will ever change as long as we are 'us' and 'them'. But in order to collapse that divide, we have to dig deep into our humanity and get our hands dirty. We must be open and available to listen. Not listening with the intent to reply or somehow 'educate' black people on their experience, but to listen with the hopes of learning something. To listen to awful, horrible stories they've held close and not given over to us, out of fear of our continual minimizing or rejection. To listen to stories that might make us feel bad, guilty, embarrassed, helpless. And yet, listen anyway. Without running from the ugly feelings, or trying to brush them off of ourselves and onto a broken ideology that we purport not to accept. The greatest gift we have to offer one another is to listen to hear. To be willing to sit and hear the anger and grief and fear and not defend ourselves or try and explain away white privilege. To recognize that our experience has been blanketed by inherent protection- and we did nothing to earn it. To give space to the stories of pain that our black brothers and sisters have been longing to purge. It starts with us. Individually. Corporately. In our church families. In our work spaces. The black community does not need or want our pity, they want us to hear them. In hearing them, they are given back the mantle of humanity they have been stripped of. In hearing them, they are affirmed as worthy and seen. As people just like us; for that is who they are. Every one of us wants that. The black community has to scrape and claw and fight for it daily. How exhausted they must be. May it not always be so. We need to be a soft place to fall. We need to be willing to admit we don't understand, but are willing to listen. We must acknowledge our experience is not their experience- and that therein lies the struggle.
Nothing this horrific will ever be solved easily or quickly. But following the lead of God, and as it is written in John 15:13 Greater love has no one than this, that one lay down his life for his friends. Maybe, just maybe, this isn't always in reference to death- but refers to laying down the life we know and take for granted in order to truly love and stand in solidarity with our friends.
Showing posts with label friendship. Show all posts
Showing posts with label friendship. Show all posts
Friday, July 8, 2016
Sunday, February 21, 2016
To all the girls I've loved before....
To all the women I love and have loved. To all of the women who have loved and still love me... I wasn't leading you on. I never meant to hurt you. I wasn't being fake in the moment, or tolerating your presence. I truly love you, and the heart connection you felt is real.
It's not you, it's me, and I can explain.
I love people. I love women. I love hearing their stories, and standing in wonder at the trauma and hurt women suffer through and yet pull themselves up to march on.. maintaining a strong softness that often belies the intimate stories of disappointment they work at healing. I find it easy to connect with people. I often find myself listening to women pour out their hearts in the grocery store line, waiting outside kids' classrooms before conferences, and sitting on the beach during family vacations. I love to talk and to listen. I love sharing ideas and experiences. I have had multiple connections with women that lasted only for a weekend retreat, or three month bible study. Women with whom I feel deep chemistry with; a sisterhood and joint heart understanding. Women who, given different circumstances, would imprint themselves upon my daily life and bring new ideas and adventure. I have experienced the feeling of finding a soul sister only to know the timing was off, or the gift was meant for that moment only.
I've been more than blessed with women who have loved me well. I've had good friends since as far back as I can remember and have been mostly protected from the wounding that comes from actions of a girl I considered a friend. I can recall the feelings of awe I had sitting on the front row of church holding my mom's slender, manicured fingers in my own childish hands. I watched my grandma snap peas and laugh over the pitcher of her too-sweet southern tea. I can still hear her raspy soprano melt into my grandpa's bass as they sang Bringing in the Sheaves inside the musty, brick church. I've stood in the mirrored paneled living room of my aunt's house and watched her and her sisters argue with great passion. I've giggled until my stomach hurt in the dark bedrooms of friends when I spent the night. I've crouched at the top of the stairs straining to make out the hushed, somber voices after a woman in our community had miscarried the baby she had longed for for so many years. I've cried on early morning walks when my sister friend told me she knew something was wrong with my son. Women have impacted every facet of my life and I have breathed it in with full, deep draws.
But as well as I have been loved, as intensely as I have been protected and cared for, I have struggled to be a good friend in return.
In my adult life, I have lived in a place of chaos and need. When I became a mother, I was thrust into a world of violence and fear and struggle I hadn't known existed. I went to doctor after doctor trying in vain to get my son help for his raging tantrums and violent behavior. I lived on a military base and was surrounded with women who loved me. I had a friend who lived down the street who would run to my house and take my baby for hours while I turned my attention to my screaming toddler. She would keep my second born safe along with her own growing family while I struggled to survive the terrifying life I had found myself in. For the years we were neighbors, she served my family in ways I've never been able to repay.
Years later when my marriage imploded, I was left with the immediate need for housing, as we had to leave the military base we had called home. I had no job, precious little savings, and no renting history to help me secure housing for my family. I was given the chance to rent a tiny bungalow owned by a woman and her husband I was connected to in my church. When the time came to move on from the cozy dwelling, I was offered the basement of another woman and her family. She only asked me to watch her lively toddler as she pursued her career. We settled in and began to live the reality of being a severed family on that beautiful property. When they moved on a year later, I was permitted to rent the entire house and I began to feel some semblance of normalcy. In the years since I was thrust into single motherhood, I have hustled in every way possible to provide for four kids. I have cleaned houses, mowed yards, babysat, used my photography skills, bartered, sold things I never dreamed I'd have to sell, written articles, applied for more than 60 jobs, worked multiple part time jobs at a time, and walked into the social services office to ask for help. I've been on welfare, cashed out CDs my grandmother had given me as a child and humbly been helped by my parents and various friends. I've spent nights lying awake in bed wondering how I was going to pay my rent, afford the kids medications, and watched several medical bills go into collections. I've prayed and cried, and experienced the miraculous when a check or package appeared unexpectedly just when I thought we would never make it.
I'm proud of how far I've come. I was given a wonderful job by a woman who has lived her own pain. She looked into my eyes and saw me as more than a liability. She saw who I could be, and took a risk in hiring me to assist her. Because of her belief in me, I've been able to work myself off of welfare, pay off the bills that were held captive by bill collectors, and now sleep soundly knowing I am able to take care of my family.
But while things are so much better than they've been, I still hustle. I work full time and part time - 7 days a week. I have four kids who all need specialists and three of them have some level of special education. My time is spent juggling work, and kids and doctor appointments, teacher conferences, my house and trying to hold it all together. There is no down time, rarely time for fun or evenings out or phone calls, and always a fire needing my attention. What that means is my friends still don't get my friendship in the way they deserve. Calls go unanswered, texts flash across my phone waiting for my response, and plans get cancelled. I know I've hurt women. I know I've let down my friends. I know there are women who think I lead them on and think only of myself. I know there are women who mistook my silence for ambivalence. I have seen hurt in the eyes of women who think that my scarcity in their lives is a reflection of my feelings towards them. To those women I want to say- it's not you. It's me.
I don't often share the struggle of my everyday life- not because I'm ashamed of it but because it's not necessary. I don't want pity, I don't like to linger in the hard places, and I would rather spend the precious little time I have with friends talking about other things. But I need you to hear me- if you have felt my love- please don't doubt it. Please don't take my silence personally. I used to talk to my mom almost daily, and now it's a good week if we manage one phone call. I am trying hard to figure out how to do it all, but the truth is, I can't. And what often falls is my active engagement with my relationships. I have days when my energy level soars, and the stars seem to align and I am able to reach out to let you know I think about you always, but there are also times where the chaos in my home reaches insane levels, and the only thing I manage to do is keep everyone safe. I desperately love and need the women in my life- and am so grateful for your presence, and I know that I haven't been the friend to you that you deserve. If I had it to give, I would in a heartbeat. I don't have answers and I don't know how to make it better in this moment, but I want you to know that I am not unaware. And while you may feel it, I don't take you for granted.
It's not you, it's me, and I can explain.
 |
| Collages are small representation of women I love!! |
I've been more than blessed with women who have loved me well. I've had good friends since as far back as I can remember and have been mostly protected from the wounding that comes from actions of a girl I considered a friend. I can recall the feelings of awe I had sitting on the front row of church holding my mom's slender, manicured fingers in my own childish hands. I watched my grandma snap peas and laugh over the pitcher of her too-sweet southern tea. I can still hear her raspy soprano melt into my grandpa's bass as they sang Bringing in the Sheaves inside the musty, brick church. I've stood in the mirrored paneled living room of my aunt's house and watched her and her sisters argue with great passion. I've giggled until my stomach hurt in the dark bedrooms of friends when I spent the night. I've crouched at the top of the stairs straining to make out the hushed, somber voices after a woman in our community had miscarried the baby she had longed for for so many years. I've cried on early morning walks when my sister friend told me she knew something was wrong with my son. Women have impacted every facet of my life and I have breathed it in with full, deep draws.
But as well as I have been loved, as intensely as I have been protected and cared for, I have struggled to be a good friend in return.
In my adult life, I have lived in a place of chaos and need. When I became a mother, I was thrust into a world of violence and fear and struggle I hadn't known existed. I went to doctor after doctor trying in vain to get my son help for his raging tantrums and violent behavior. I lived on a military base and was surrounded with women who loved me. I had a friend who lived down the street who would run to my house and take my baby for hours while I turned my attention to my screaming toddler. She would keep my second born safe along with her own growing family while I struggled to survive the terrifying life I had found myself in. For the years we were neighbors, she served my family in ways I've never been able to repay.
Years later when my marriage imploded, I was left with the immediate need for housing, as we had to leave the military base we had called home. I had no job, precious little savings, and no renting history to help me secure housing for my family. I was given the chance to rent a tiny bungalow owned by a woman and her husband I was connected to in my church. When the time came to move on from the cozy dwelling, I was offered the basement of another woman and her family. She only asked me to watch her lively toddler as she pursued her career. We settled in and began to live the reality of being a severed family on that beautiful property. When they moved on a year later, I was permitted to rent the entire house and I began to feel some semblance of normalcy. In the years since I was thrust into single motherhood, I have hustled in every way possible to provide for four kids. I have cleaned houses, mowed yards, babysat, used my photography skills, bartered, sold things I never dreamed I'd have to sell, written articles, applied for more than 60 jobs, worked multiple part time jobs at a time, and walked into the social services office to ask for help. I've been on welfare, cashed out CDs my grandmother had given me as a child and humbly been helped by my parents and various friends. I've spent nights lying awake in bed wondering how I was going to pay my rent, afford the kids medications, and watched several medical bills go into collections. I've prayed and cried, and experienced the miraculous when a check or package appeared unexpectedly just when I thought we would never make it.
I'm proud of how far I've come. I was given a wonderful job by a woman who has lived her own pain. She looked into my eyes and saw me as more than a liability. She saw who I could be, and took a risk in hiring me to assist her. Because of her belief in me, I've been able to work myself off of welfare, pay off the bills that were held captive by bill collectors, and now sleep soundly knowing I am able to take care of my family.
But while things are so much better than they've been, I still hustle. I work full time and part time - 7 days a week. I have four kids who all need specialists and three of them have some level of special education. My time is spent juggling work, and kids and doctor appointments, teacher conferences, my house and trying to hold it all together. There is no down time, rarely time for fun or evenings out or phone calls, and always a fire needing my attention. What that means is my friends still don't get my friendship in the way they deserve. Calls go unanswered, texts flash across my phone waiting for my response, and plans get cancelled. I know I've hurt women. I know I've let down my friends. I know there are women who think I lead them on and think only of myself. I know there are women who mistook my silence for ambivalence. I have seen hurt in the eyes of women who think that my scarcity in their lives is a reflection of my feelings towards them. To those women I want to say- it's not you. It's me.
I don't often share the struggle of my everyday life- not because I'm ashamed of it but because it's not necessary. I don't want pity, I don't like to linger in the hard places, and I would rather spend the precious little time I have with friends talking about other things. But I need you to hear me- if you have felt my love- please don't doubt it. Please don't take my silence personally. I used to talk to my mom almost daily, and now it's a good week if we manage one phone call. I am trying hard to figure out how to do it all, but the truth is, I can't. And what often falls is my active engagement with my relationships. I have days when my energy level soars, and the stars seem to align and I am able to reach out to let you know I think about you always, but there are also times where the chaos in my home reaches insane levels, and the only thing I manage to do is keep everyone safe. I desperately love and need the women in my life- and am so grateful for your presence, and I know that I haven't been the friend to you that you deserve. If I had it to give, I would in a heartbeat. I don't have answers and I don't know how to make it better in this moment, but I want you to know that I am not unaware. And while you may feel it, I don't take you for granted.
Sunday, July 19, 2015
Because I Need to Be Here Again
**I haven't posted in so long because I've allowed myself to be intimated. I hate that feeling of powerlessness, and so I will come back and post again, if only to scratch the surface of my blog once more and find the groove of the habit I turned from when I was confronted about the things I write about.
Yesterday I went back to Old Rag Mountain to hike. I love hiking. I love being in the woods and the mountains, and the sounds and smells and hard work feeds my soul. Old Rag is a really challenging hike. My friend Susan and I finished at 13.5 miles round trip. Not a single mile is flat. It's a half marathon up and down a mountain. About two miles of the hike is hand over hand rock climbing and rock scramble. It's tough, strenuous, and the summit gives you some of the best views in the entire state of VA. My sweet friend Susan was a rock star. She's a gorgeous southern belle with the tenacity of a mountain lion. She has MS and lupus, but almost never shares that with anyone. She never wants anyone to count her out, or give her pity. She's beautiful and strong and wise. I adore her to the moon and back. She's ten years older than me and has been through hell and back, but you'd never know it. Her beauty isn't only on the outside but pours out of her heart. I was thrilled she agreed to go with me. She rocked the trek. We talked several times about how the hike was a parallel to life. We spend miles and hours going up the mountain with tree cover over head and treacherous rocks at our feet. We have our heads down not because we want to miss the incredible beauty around us but because it is necessary to keep ourselves safe.
The rocks and twists and turns on this hike can injure very quickly and with no cell phone signal and miles from ranger help, it's imperative to be careful on the trails. But after you're almost ready to lie down and sleep from the sheer effort given, the trees part and you make it to the summit. You are literally in the clouds looking over the valley. The sun warms the rock face, and hawks circle the peak. It's incredible. It's so like life- we work so hard not knowing if the end will be worth it and yet somehow it always is.
We had several run ins with black bears. That was one of the most surreal moments of my life. We had been warned by a friend of hers to carry mace or bear spray but I shrugged it off. I had never seen any bears on that hike before, and naively thought the presence of humans would deter close encounters. I was so very wrong. We saw a mama bear and her cub, and later another cub on the trail ahead of us- knowing mama must not be far off. The adrenaline rush was overwhelming. The trails on this mountain don't allow for running, and the reality of no cell signal means any injury or attack leaves assistance several hours away. It was a bizarre cross between wanting to stand and watch the incredible creatures and the heavy awareness that both of us are single mothers of four children and having our faces ripped off by an angry mama bear would be a disaster for our families. I felt alive and terrified all at the same time.
The incredible thing about a hike of that magnitude is that all of life's problems and frustrations melt into the vastness of the mountain. I suddenly feel insignificant and fragile, and closer to God who designed each animal, rock, and plant. The older I get, the more I discover who I truly am, and dirt and nature invigorate me to no end. I'm thankful I have a new hiking buddy. I've waited years for someone who wants to be outside like I do and climbing those boulders with her was a slice of heaven on earth.
I can't wait for our next adventure- this time with bear spray on hand.
Yesterday I went back to Old Rag Mountain to hike. I love hiking. I love being in the woods and the mountains, and the sounds and smells and hard work feeds my soul. Old Rag is a really challenging hike. My friend Susan and I finished at 13.5 miles round trip. Not a single mile is flat. It's a half marathon up and down a mountain. About two miles of the hike is hand over hand rock climbing and rock scramble. It's tough, strenuous, and the summit gives you some of the best views in the entire state of VA. My sweet friend Susan was a rock star. She's a gorgeous southern belle with the tenacity of a mountain lion. She has MS and lupus, but almost never shares that with anyone. She never wants anyone to count her out, or give her pity. She's beautiful and strong and wise. I adore her to the moon and back. She's ten years older than me and has been through hell and back, but you'd never know it. Her beauty isn't only on the outside but pours out of her heart. I was thrilled she agreed to go with me. She rocked the trek. We talked several times about how the hike was a parallel to life. We spend miles and hours going up the mountain with tree cover over head and treacherous rocks at our feet. We have our heads down not because we want to miss the incredible beauty around us but because it is necessary to keep ourselves safe.
The rocks and twists and turns on this hike can injure very quickly and with no cell phone signal and miles from ranger help, it's imperative to be careful on the trails. But after you're almost ready to lie down and sleep from the sheer effort given, the trees part and you make it to the summit. You are literally in the clouds looking over the valley. The sun warms the rock face, and hawks circle the peak. It's incredible. It's so like life- we work so hard not knowing if the end will be worth it and yet somehow it always is.
We had several run ins with black bears. That was one of the most surreal moments of my life. We had been warned by a friend of hers to carry mace or bear spray but I shrugged it off. I had never seen any bears on that hike before, and naively thought the presence of humans would deter close encounters. I was so very wrong. We saw a mama bear and her cub, and later another cub on the trail ahead of us- knowing mama must not be far off. The adrenaline rush was overwhelming. The trails on this mountain don't allow for running, and the reality of no cell signal means any injury or attack leaves assistance several hours away. It was a bizarre cross between wanting to stand and watch the incredible creatures and the heavy awareness that both of us are single mothers of four children and having our faces ripped off by an angry mama bear would be a disaster for our families. I felt alive and terrified all at the same time.
The incredible thing about a hike of that magnitude is that all of life's problems and frustrations melt into the vastness of the mountain. I suddenly feel insignificant and fragile, and closer to God who designed each animal, rock, and plant. The older I get, the more I discover who I truly am, and dirt and nature invigorate me to no end. I'm thankful I have a new hiking buddy. I've waited years for someone who wants to be outside like I do and climbing those boulders with her was a slice of heaven on earth.
I can't wait for our next adventure- this time with bear spray on hand.
Tuesday, March 31, 2015
Timing is Everything
I love that God works in my life in really active, personal ways.
I got an encouraging email yesterday at the perfect time. It held the words I needed to hear to soothe my heart and I am so grateful for the gift.
I wanted to share some of it with you- I asked her if that was ok, and she gave me permission.
Heather, I don't know if you remember me, but I have vivid memories of you. You were this beautiful, graceful, almost gossamer creature. Anyways, you were so young and I was one of the older mothers in MOPS (Mothers Of Preschoolers) just struggling with so much more than I could handle and, as it turns out, much more than I even realized.
I read your blog the other day. I read several entries before I realized that I had known you at one time. The reason I write is my story is so close to yours. After 27 years of marriage, I too found out that my life had been a lie for at least a while but more than likely most of my marriage. My divorce became final a month shy of my 29th anniversary. He never wanted to try to fix what was broken and morphed into someone I didn't know. God knows I tried to save my marriage. That awful day when my entire world crumbled was just over 4 years ago. Reading your blog was so cathartic. I don't have small children anymore; I can't imagine going through all of the mess with little eyes and hearts involved. I hope I haven't bored you or made you relive hard times. I just can't talk about it anymore because I'm supposed to have "moved on". I do have a male friend - he has made me feel loved and wanted again. But the pain still is there; I'm beginning to think it always will be there. Please continue to write. The tears I cry reading your story are comforting in a way. I hope that doesn't come off wrong. But I don't have anyone to talk to about this anymore and even though the conversation is one sided with you writing and me reading, it gives such comfort knowing I'm not alone. I'm sure so many people have told you how young you are and you'll have plenty of time to be happy - as true as that is - it doesn't touch your here and now. It does nothing to fix the shattered dreams and the broken pieces of your life and the kids' lives. Know that you have a prayer warrior on your side now because of your willingness to be transparent. Without trying to sound overly dramatic, I love you and am ever so grateful you decided to write about something so personal and painful.
I can't tell you how perfectly timed this email was. I was so grateful that she took time out of her day to encourage me. This is why I write. I love what Brene Brown says- There are no more powerful words in the English language than 'Me too'. Each of us walk through struggle and hurt while we're here. I've learned that pain doesn't discriminate and every person you meet will have a place in them that aches- but knowing your pain is understood a bit, or normalized some, or shared by another, is one of the best remedies for isolation. I share some of my story because I know that my story is not unique. It's filled with players who hurt and who've hurt each other. It's full of missed opportunities for grace, and moments of wounding. But it's far from unique or isolated. We all hurt sometimes, and we all wish we could go back and do things differently based on the knowledge we have now. The reality is, that as sweet Maya Angelou said "When we know better, we do better."
Thanks for being here with me. You can't know how much it matters.
I got an encouraging email yesterday at the perfect time. It held the words I needed to hear to soothe my heart and I am so grateful for the gift.
I wanted to share some of it with you- I asked her if that was ok, and she gave me permission.
 |
| (A handful of years ago. :) ) |
Heather, I don't know if you remember me, but I have vivid memories of you. You were this beautiful, graceful, almost gossamer creature. Anyways, you were so young and I was one of the older mothers in MOPS (Mothers Of Preschoolers) just struggling with so much more than I could handle and, as it turns out, much more than I even realized.
I read your blog the other day. I read several entries before I realized that I had known you at one time. The reason I write is my story is so close to yours. After 27 years of marriage, I too found out that my life had been a lie for at least a while but more than likely most of my marriage. My divorce became final a month shy of my 29th anniversary. He never wanted to try to fix what was broken and morphed into someone I didn't know. God knows I tried to save my marriage. That awful day when my entire world crumbled was just over 4 years ago. Reading your blog was so cathartic. I don't have small children anymore; I can't imagine going through all of the mess with little eyes and hearts involved. I hope I haven't bored you or made you relive hard times. I just can't talk about it anymore because I'm supposed to have "moved on". I do have a male friend - he has made me feel loved and wanted again. But the pain still is there; I'm beginning to think it always will be there. Please continue to write. The tears I cry reading your story are comforting in a way. I hope that doesn't come off wrong. But I don't have anyone to talk to about this anymore and even though the conversation is one sided with you writing and me reading, it gives such comfort knowing I'm not alone. I'm sure so many people have told you how young you are and you'll have plenty of time to be happy - as true as that is - it doesn't touch your here and now. It does nothing to fix the shattered dreams and the broken pieces of your life and the kids' lives. Know that you have a prayer warrior on your side now because of your willingness to be transparent. Without trying to sound overly dramatic, I love you and am ever so grateful you decided to write about something so personal and painful.
I can't tell you how perfectly timed this email was. I was so grateful that she took time out of her day to encourage me. This is why I write. I love what Brene Brown says- There are no more powerful words in the English language than 'Me too'. Each of us walk through struggle and hurt while we're here. I've learned that pain doesn't discriminate and every person you meet will have a place in them that aches- but knowing your pain is understood a bit, or normalized some, or shared by another, is one of the best remedies for isolation. I share some of my story because I know that my story is not unique. It's filled with players who hurt and who've hurt each other. It's full of missed opportunities for grace, and moments of wounding. But it's far from unique or isolated. We all hurt sometimes, and we all wish we could go back and do things differently based on the knowledge we have now. The reality is, that as sweet Maya Angelou said "When we know better, we do better."
Thanks for being here with me. You can't know how much it matters.
 |
| A few years older. I know better, and I'm trying to DO better! |
Thursday, March 19, 2015
What Is Normal Anyhow?
In the wake of the collapse of my marriage, there have been many more lessons to experience than just ones that originate within our family.
I've been stretched and pulled and taught and humbled in more ways than I can recount through the last two and half years, and more recently, as the fog has cleared, have begun to see some of the stigma and judgement that presses in around us in subtle, but sometimes hurtful ways.
I have become aware as a woman inside of christian culture, I had judgement deep seated in my heart about divorce. I certainly never thought it would come knocking at my own door, and am ashamed to admit now that most of the time I heard word of a family divorcing, or a woman on her second marriage, my thoughts towards them weren't filled with grace and compassion. While I'd love to title myself as a woman who believes in equal rights, I had fallen into the culture of thinking that women were often to blame and had they prayed harder, gone to counseling, or just worked harder and longer at their marriages, they often could have prevented the breakup of their families. And then the most awful information poured from the mouth of my husband and as time passed beyond that day, it became quite clear that no prayer from me, no pleading for counseling and no extra-submissive behavior would right the wrongs that had been done nor illicit remorse and change from the heart of another human being. I was faced with a reality I never anticipated, and now, have joined the ranks of divorced women.
I have been treated with incredible grace by my friends and family and my church has been loving in ways I didn't expect… but there have been others in the shadows who watch and judge and attach presuppositions onto our family. Sometimes I can see it in their eyes.. the way that other mothers know I am alone with four children and that my level of strictness might be softer than theirs. I know that when you add an ex to the circumstance, others wonder what awful thing happened to make him an ex, and concerns about safety for their own children playing with mine arise.
The truth is, I have discovered some of the stereotypes about single mothers do apply to me, and for good reason. I am parenting alone. Parenting is a challenging job even for two people working together. I get some (not much) support from their father and he sees them every other weekend during the day on Saturday and during the day on Sunday. I am never without my kids for more than a few hours at a time. To provide for them, I work multiple jobs and my schedule is jagged and busy. I also clean the house, pay the bills, drive my kids to activities, and run this household alone. I am often tired. I make it a point to go to bed at a decent hour whenever I can because I need sleep and know I am better when I get enough. But many things fall through the cracks. Things that would be part of shared work if I were married. Homework, chores, cracking down on the computer and television and video games. Discipline. I don't get to tap out when I have a standoff with a child. Sometimes they wear me down, and I give up out of sheer exhaustion. I know too, that in the divorce, my children have been around other adults who live differently than we do. While all of these things are things I would have worked hard to protect my kids against being exposed to pre-divorce, there are things now that simply just are because of the ways our lives have changed. I know my kids have said curse words, and, gasp! have heard me say a couple myself. Grief and anger can do that to a person. While my kids might not be as innocent as they once were, they are growing in compassion and character. We have heavy conversations in ways we would have been buffered from had divorce never entered our lives.
I understand that desperate desire to protect our children. I am still a concerned mother. I can appreciate that some families see ours as a potential bad influence based on ideas they have concerning what happens inside of a family through divorce. But I can tell you, we are so normal. We aren't a broken family, we're a family who has walked through brokenness. It doesn't feel weird any longer to be here with my children without a man. There is a great deal of peace in my house and also the normal struggles of parenting younger children. We love loud, we fight loud, and we are growing and learning and changing. I wish I had had the gift of this awareness before I went through a divorce in order to offer greater compassion to families I had seen as 'broken'. But usually, life doesn't offer you the wisdom without the experience. I'm grateful for the families who trust us. Who can overlook the fact that my sons might say something dumb or inappropriate or rude out of anger and keep it moving. For other adults and children who love us right where we are- knowing all of us on this earth are in the process of growing and changing. I'm grateful for grace. We have definitely been scarred and bruised and stripped of innocence through our journey, but I still think we have much to offer and am learning to smile into the eyes of cautious parents knowing that pain comes to each of us in time… and we're all doing the very best we can.
I've been stretched and pulled and taught and humbled in more ways than I can recount through the last two and half years, and more recently, as the fog has cleared, have begun to see some of the stigma and judgement that presses in around us in subtle, but sometimes hurtful ways.
I have become aware as a woman inside of christian culture, I had judgement deep seated in my heart about divorce. I certainly never thought it would come knocking at my own door, and am ashamed to admit now that most of the time I heard word of a family divorcing, or a woman on her second marriage, my thoughts towards them weren't filled with grace and compassion. While I'd love to title myself as a woman who believes in equal rights, I had fallen into the culture of thinking that women were often to blame and had they prayed harder, gone to counseling, or just worked harder and longer at their marriages, they often could have prevented the breakup of their families. And then the most awful information poured from the mouth of my husband and as time passed beyond that day, it became quite clear that no prayer from me, no pleading for counseling and no extra-submissive behavior would right the wrongs that had been done nor illicit remorse and change from the heart of another human being. I was faced with a reality I never anticipated, and now, have joined the ranks of divorced women.
I have been treated with incredible grace by my friends and family and my church has been loving in ways I didn't expect… but there have been others in the shadows who watch and judge and attach presuppositions onto our family. Sometimes I can see it in their eyes.. the way that other mothers know I am alone with four children and that my level of strictness might be softer than theirs. I know that when you add an ex to the circumstance, others wonder what awful thing happened to make him an ex, and concerns about safety for their own children playing with mine arise.
The truth is, I have discovered some of the stereotypes about single mothers do apply to me, and for good reason. I am parenting alone. Parenting is a challenging job even for two people working together. I get some (not much) support from their father and he sees them every other weekend during the day on Saturday and during the day on Sunday. I am never without my kids for more than a few hours at a time. To provide for them, I work multiple jobs and my schedule is jagged and busy. I also clean the house, pay the bills, drive my kids to activities, and run this household alone. I am often tired. I make it a point to go to bed at a decent hour whenever I can because I need sleep and know I am better when I get enough. But many things fall through the cracks. Things that would be part of shared work if I were married. Homework, chores, cracking down on the computer and television and video games. Discipline. I don't get to tap out when I have a standoff with a child. Sometimes they wear me down, and I give up out of sheer exhaustion. I know too, that in the divorce, my children have been around other adults who live differently than we do. While all of these things are things I would have worked hard to protect my kids against being exposed to pre-divorce, there are things now that simply just are because of the ways our lives have changed. I know my kids have said curse words, and, gasp! have heard me say a couple myself. Grief and anger can do that to a person. While my kids might not be as innocent as they once were, they are growing in compassion and character. We have heavy conversations in ways we would have been buffered from had divorce never entered our lives.
I understand that desperate desire to protect our children. I am still a concerned mother. I can appreciate that some families see ours as a potential bad influence based on ideas they have concerning what happens inside of a family through divorce. But I can tell you, we are so normal. We aren't a broken family, we're a family who has walked through brokenness. It doesn't feel weird any longer to be here with my children without a man. There is a great deal of peace in my house and also the normal struggles of parenting younger children. We love loud, we fight loud, and we are growing and learning and changing. I wish I had had the gift of this awareness before I went through a divorce in order to offer greater compassion to families I had seen as 'broken'. But usually, life doesn't offer you the wisdom without the experience. I'm grateful for the families who trust us. Who can overlook the fact that my sons might say something dumb or inappropriate or rude out of anger and keep it moving. For other adults and children who love us right where we are- knowing all of us on this earth are in the process of growing and changing. I'm grateful for grace. We have definitely been scarred and bruised and stripped of innocence through our journey, but I still think we have much to offer and am learning to smile into the eyes of cautious parents knowing that pain comes to each of us in time… and we're all doing the very best we can.
Thursday, December 4, 2014
Story Gatherer
A few months ago I was asked if I wanted to be on the story telling initiative at my church. I had no idea what that meant, but knew that if there was a team working to tell and gather stories, I wanted to be part of it.
I meet with a small group, and we have been working towards growing our church in the vein of story telling. How do we tell them? How do we gather them? How can we be a safe place for people to share pieces of their lives with us? It's been a fun and powerful experience to discuss such a simple concept that holds such weight.
I can think of no greater honor than to be dubbed a facilitator of stories. If I could write my epitaph, I'd love for it to read: She gathered stories to her like flowers, and in turn shared those from her own garden.
I truly believe that in the telling of our stories, from the coffee shop blunder, to the deeper, more visceral chapters of abuse or rejection, we spin webs into the lives of others that connect us in a way that can't be achieved without them. Making space in your life for stories from the lives of others is the most powerful way to honor people. We are designed for hearing them and sharing them- HONY (Humans Of New York) has made a huge splash in our culture by telling short stories of people walking along the streets of NYC. We devour the stories, we add to them, and speculate the ending by the dress, stance, and few words spilled from a heart ready to share a little part of themselves with the world.
Stories move us to action, they connect us to one another in an emotional sense. Our empathy, and compassion can be pinged by a well told story. Stories humanize us, and if we allow ourselves to listen, then we often are moved out of judgement and into grace. Stories open wide the heart to allow it to fill with love, and understanding, and it pulls forth the pieces of emotion that we have experienced in other situations that can attach to the experience being shared with us. Stories can caution us, and prevent us from walking roads that would damage our souls, which then keeps us from trouble. They teach us, they grow us, they connect us and they can change us.
It's always confused me when people tell me that they 'hate people'. We've all heard that from someone in our lives, and while I understand the surface level of defense against more pain from the hands and words of other people, I think that avoiding people, hating them, and being defensive against them creates a void in the soul meant to be filled by connecting with others. Our story is the treasure we carry with us. It's the way we can see God move in one another, it's the way we relate; and to avoid people, and consequently their stories, we miss the richness offered to us by listening.
I have had powerful times where I've found myself in someones story- and in their telling, I discover places in me that need attention, and grace, and love to heal. When I hear my experience fall off of someone elses lips, and I can see myself there, I am often changed, and encouraged that my experience doesn't end here. I can see and hear my own future when I listen to stories of others- and the places they've walked ahead of me. It infuses me with hope and I learn once again, in the daily dosing I seem to require, that I am not alone.
Listening is sacrificial. It sets aside self for the gift of space for a heart. It makes room in us for more love, less self, and more God. It's the honoring of their soul, their heart, and their experience. It takes time, and energy. But in gathering stories to ourselves… in making room in our lives to hear the experience of others, we are nourished in ways that make every moment worth it.
Look around… people are longing for us to hear them. It's one of most precious gifts we can give to another soul. Safety, freedom, and time.
I meet with a small group, and we have been working towards growing our church in the vein of story telling. How do we tell them? How do we gather them? How can we be a safe place for people to share pieces of their lives with us? It's been a fun and powerful experience to discuss such a simple concept that holds such weight.
I can think of no greater honor than to be dubbed a facilitator of stories. If I could write my epitaph, I'd love for it to read: She gathered stories to her like flowers, and in turn shared those from her own garden.
I truly believe that in the telling of our stories, from the coffee shop blunder, to the deeper, more visceral chapters of abuse or rejection, we spin webs into the lives of others that connect us in a way that can't be achieved without them. Making space in your life for stories from the lives of others is the most powerful way to honor people. We are designed for hearing them and sharing them- HONY (Humans Of New York) has made a huge splash in our culture by telling short stories of people walking along the streets of NYC. We devour the stories, we add to them, and speculate the ending by the dress, stance, and few words spilled from a heart ready to share a little part of themselves with the world.
Stories move us to action, they connect us to one another in an emotional sense. Our empathy, and compassion can be pinged by a well told story. Stories humanize us, and if we allow ourselves to listen, then we often are moved out of judgement and into grace. Stories open wide the heart to allow it to fill with love, and understanding, and it pulls forth the pieces of emotion that we have experienced in other situations that can attach to the experience being shared with us. Stories can caution us, and prevent us from walking roads that would damage our souls, which then keeps us from trouble. They teach us, they grow us, they connect us and they can change us.
It's always confused me when people tell me that they 'hate people'. We've all heard that from someone in our lives, and while I understand the surface level of defense against more pain from the hands and words of other people, I think that avoiding people, hating them, and being defensive against them creates a void in the soul meant to be filled by connecting with others. Our story is the treasure we carry with us. It's the way we can see God move in one another, it's the way we relate; and to avoid people, and consequently their stories, we miss the richness offered to us by listening.
I have had powerful times where I've found myself in someones story- and in their telling, I discover places in me that need attention, and grace, and love to heal. When I hear my experience fall off of someone elses lips, and I can see myself there, I am often changed, and encouraged that my experience doesn't end here. I can see and hear my own future when I listen to stories of others- and the places they've walked ahead of me. It infuses me with hope and I learn once again, in the daily dosing I seem to require, that I am not alone.
Listening is sacrificial. It sets aside self for the gift of space for a heart. It makes room in us for more love, less self, and more God. It's the honoring of their soul, their heart, and their experience. It takes time, and energy. But in gathering stories to ourselves… in making room in our lives to hear the experience of others, we are nourished in ways that make every moment worth it.
Look around… people are longing for us to hear them. It's one of most precious gifts we can give to another soul. Safety, freedom, and time.
Sunday, November 30, 2014
She called herself the Fat Girl
I went on a field trip with Ivy a few weeks ago. I was thrilled to get to be one of two parents who got to go with the busy first grade class to the children's theater.
I've been blessed to go on many of my kids' field trips through the years and enjoy getting to spend time with the other kids as well as my own child outside of the classroom setting.
My experience with this field trip was more than just a good time… it had intense moments, and places of ragged humanity that left me more than a bit weary and deflated.
When I got to the classroom, Ivy ran to me and pulled me into her group of girlfriends. I knelt into the gaggle of long braids, sparkly sweatshirts, and pink nail polish. The girls swarmed me and began touching my hair, earrings, and necklace. They ooohed and ahhhed at my jewelry and exclaimed several times that I was just 'so pretty'. Ivy was beaming from ear to ear, and proudly stood beside me with her tiny hand tucked inside of mine, as they fawned over me. At first it was sweet, flattering, and cute to hear their little voices get excited about makeup and cheap jewelry from the sales rack at kohl's. But as they continued, I began to get uncomfortable. The truth was, I wasn't all that jazzed up that day. I had on jeans and boots, and a simple sweater. My hair and makeup were my daily style and my jewelry was simple and easy. I always dress this way. I love being a woman, and I love to look my best. My style is basic, and simple- not at all flashy or glittery- but I wear makeup and jewelry daily- it's what I do. I couldn't help but wonder if some of the women in their lives weren't making time for themselves… to spend the few extra moments on themselves on an average morning to brush a bit of blush on a cheek, or spike eyelashes with a dash of mascara. We often put ourselves last. And our daughters are watching.
Women don't have to wear makeup or curl their hair to be beautiful, or feminine; but I am watching my daughter watch me take care of myself, and begin to incorporate some of those things into her normal daily routine.
I saw the opportunity for a little life lesson and dove in- as they told me how pretty I was, I was able to look into their eyes and affirm their beauty. I thanked them for commenting on my earrings, but swung the conversation back to the importance of being beautiful from the inside out. Loving our friends well, treating people with kindness and grace. I have no idea if they heard me, but I was determined to be another voice in the hum of voices vying for their attention.
I got my assignment of kids in my group and gathered them to me like ducklings. Their excitement for our adventure was contagious and we giggled and talked and girls paired off for bus buddies. We climbed the steps of the bus and settled into the rigid backed seats with excitement. One of my group girls leaned across the aisle to get my attention and her words pierced my heart. Without blinking, without apology; in the innocent honesty that children have before the world darkens and softens the edge, she said 'kids in my class call me fat'.
I blinked and swallowed. She wasn't really asking for a response. She wasn't looking to shock me, or gain pity. She was simply sharing information that was sitting at the top of her heart that was too heavy to carry, and so she laid it down for me.
I looked back into her eyes and said "I'm so sorry that that has happened to you sweet girl". She looked down, and fidgeted under my concern- "It's ok" she was quick to dismiss me. "Everyone says it"
She sat back in her seat and looked off through her window.
My heart was heavy as we bounced along on our way to the theater. I knew she carried a heavy burden, and there wasn't much I could do to lighten it.
We got to the theater and she found a spot at our table to spread out her lunch and share her food and her story with me. Through the next hour her interaction with me was peppered with hurt she had suffered at the words of kids in her class about her weight. But each time she spoke, she would give a reason as to why they had said the hurtful things; quick to dismiss the hurt and offer excuses as to why they were mean to her. She mentioned that one boy on her bus had told everyone she had kissed him "but it's not true" she insisted with tears brimming her eyes. She quieted for a moment and then started again… "But it's ok now. We're friends again". I was dumbfounded. "How are you friends again? Did he ask you to forgive him for lying about you?" She looked confused at my question. I pressed on: "Did you ask him why he said those things about you? Did he ask you to forgive him? He lied about you sweet girl. A friend would apologize. " She sat silent for a moment and then quietly said.. "Well, everyone forgot about it, so we're friends again."
Some time passed with silly girl talk, nibbling on home-packed lunches, and discussions about the upcoming play. At one point, Ivy became upset with me and was crying and pouting. My little friend "Jenny" slipped her bracelet off of her wrist and held it out to the despondent Ivy. "Here Ivy" she pleaded. "You can have my bracelet. Just please don't cry. Please don't be upset"
Ivy looked up and her eyes lit with excitement over the new trinket. I put my hand on the bracelet and looked into the other girls eyes. "No. You're not giving this to Ivy. You don't have to give things to people to make them like you Jenny. Being who you are; being a friend is enough. YOU are enough." She cocked her head to the side to bring in the information that wasn't quite computing and slipped the bracelet back onto her wrist. I looked at Ivy and said "If that happens again, you need to tell her thank you for offering, but no thank you. Your love is enough for me."
I was blown away.
I watched the habits of this 6 year old girl. One who had been pegged the 'fat girl'. One who thought the only way to get and keep friends was to allow herself to be consumed. I was sickened. We had several conversations about her beauty- the inside and the outside kind. I have no idea if the words I spoke to her took root or not, but I couldn't stay silent. To see her pain, and to see her quickly work to make the way smooth for those around her, at the expense of herself was painful for me. I think of her often and I'm sure I will carry her heart with me through the next years and am honored to be able to cover her in prayer. We women have a reponsibility to young girls coming up in this world. We have to speak. They hear so many voices, and we have to join in to try and overpower the lies they are fed daily. Take the opportunity when it comes, and don't be afraid to speak raw truth. Truth that is infused with love is powerful, and my prayer is that all I said will swim around inside of her for decades; attaching itself to other good counsel, and that she will begin to hear and trust truth over deception. We belong to each other. And that means speaking light into darkness.
I've been blessed to go on many of my kids' field trips through the years and enjoy getting to spend time with the other kids as well as my own child outside of the classroom setting.
My experience with this field trip was more than just a good time… it had intense moments, and places of ragged humanity that left me more than a bit weary and deflated.
When I got to the classroom, Ivy ran to me and pulled me into her group of girlfriends. I knelt into the gaggle of long braids, sparkly sweatshirts, and pink nail polish. The girls swarmed me and began touching my hair, earrings, and necklace. They ooohed and ahhhed at my jewelry and exclaimed several times that I was just 'so pretty'. Ivy was beaming from ear to ear, and proudly stood beside me with her tiny hand tucked inside of mine, as they fawned over me. At first it was sweet, flattering, and cute to hear their little voices get excited about makeup and cheap jewelry from the sales rack at kohl's. But as they continued, I began to get uncomfortable. The truth was, I wasn't all that jazzed up that day. I had on jeans and boots, and a simple sweater. My hair and makeup were my daily style and my jewelry was simple and easy. I always dress this way. I love being a woman, and I love to look my best. My style is basic, and simple- not at all flashy or glittery- but I wear makeup and jewelry daily- it's what I do. I couldn't help but wonder if some of the women in their lives weren't making time for themselves… to spend the few extra moments on themselves on an average morning to brush a bit of blush on a cheek, or spike eyelashes with a dash of mascara. We often put ourselves last. And our daughters are watching.
Women don't have to wear makeup or curl their hair to be beautiful, or feminine; but I am watching my daughter watch me take care of myself, and begin to incorporate some of those things into her normal daily routine.
I saw the opportunity for a little life lesson and dove in- as they told me how pretty I was, I was able to look into their eyes and affirm their beauty. I thanked them for commenting on my earrings, but swung the conversation back to the importance of being beautiful from the inside out. Loving our friends well, treating people with kindness and grace. I have no idea if they heard me, but I was determined to be another voice in the hum of voices vying for their attention.
I got my assignment of kids in my group and gathered them to me like ducklings. Their excitement for our adventure was contagious and we giggled and talked and girls paired off for bus buddies. We climbed the steps of the bus and settled into the rigid backed seats with excitement. One of my group girls leaned across the aisle to get my attention and her words pierced my heart. Without blinking, without apology; in the innocent honesty that children have before the world darkens and softens the edge, she said 'kids in my class call me fat'.
I blinked and swallowed. She wasn't really asking for a response. She wasn't looking to shock me, or gain pity. She was simply sharing information that was sitting at the top of her heart that was too heavy to carry, and so she laid it down for me.
I looked back into her eyes and said "I'm so sorry that that has happened to you sweet girl". She looked down, and fidgeted under my concern- "It's ok" she was quick to dismiss me. "Everyone says it"
She sat back in her seat and looked off through her window.
My heart was heavy as we bounced along on our way to the theater. I knew she carried a heavy burden, and there wasn't much I could do to lighten it.
We got to the theater and she found a spot at our table to spread out her lunch and share her food and her story with me. Through the next hour her interaction with me was peppered with hurt she had suffered at the words of kids in her class about her weight. But each time she spoke, she would give a reason as to why they had said the hurtful things; quick to dismiss the hurt and offer excuses as to why they were mean to her. She mentioned that one boy on her bus had told everyone she had kissed him "but it's not true" she insisted with tears brimming her eyes. She quieted for a moment and then started again… "But it's ok now. We're friends again". I was dumbfounded. "How are you friends again? Did he ask you to forgive him for lying about you?" She looked confused at my question. I pressed on: "Did you ask him why he said those things about you? Did he ask you to forgive him? He lied about you sweet girl. A friend would apologize. " She sat silent for a moment and then quietly said.. "Well, everyone forgot about it, so we're friends again."
Some time passed with silly girl talk, nibbling on home-packed lunches, and discussions about the upcoming play. At one point, Ivy became upset with me and was crying and pouting. My little friend "Jenny" slipped her bracelet off of her wrist and held it out to the despondent Ivy. "Here Ivy" she pleaded. "You can have my bracelet. Just please don't cry. Please don't be upset"
Ivy looked up and her eyes lit with excitement over the new trinket. I put my hand on the bracelet and looked into the other girls eyes. "No. You're not giving this to Ivy. You don't have to give things to people to make them like you Jenny. Being who you are; being a friend is enough. YOU are enough." She cocked her head to the side to bring in the information that wasn't quite computing and slipped the bracelet back onto her wrist. I looked at Ivy and said "If that happens again, you need to tell her thank you for offering, but no thank you. Your love is enough for me."
I was blown away.
I watched the habits of this 6 year old girl. One who had been pegged the 'fat girl'. One who thought the only way to get and keep friends was to allow herself to be consumed. I was sickened. We had several conversations about her beauty- the inside and the outside kind. I have no idea if the words I spoke to her took root or not, but I couldn't stay silent. To see her pain, and to see her quickly work to make the way smooth for those around her, at the expense of herself was painful for me. I think of her often and I'm sure I will carry her heart with me through the next years and am honored to be able to cover her in prayer. We women have a reponsibility to young girls coming up in this world. We have to speak. They hear so many voices, and we have to join in to try and overpower the lies they are fed daily. Take the opportunity when it comes, and don't be afraid to speak raw truth. Truth that is infused with love is powerful, and my prayer is that all I said will swim around inside of her for decades; attaching itself to other good counsel, and that she will begin to hear and trust truth over deception. We belong to each other. And that means speaking light into darkness.
Friday, October 24, 2014
Girlfriend Intervention
My life can feel heavy and full of stress these days, so I've found myself often craving something to watch that is fairly mindless. When Downton Abbey isn't current, (which, isn't mindless but is flipping amazing!) I have sought out other shows to keep me occupied and entertain me during what can feel like endless, tiring work.
I have gone through Suits, 2 Broke Girls, episodes of Hoarders, and Mike and Molly, among others. In the last couple of weeks I've discovered a new show and I'm loving it. It's called Girlfriend Intervention.
I adore women. I lead several groups that focus on healing for women. I think women are powerful, lovely, strong, creative, beautiful and passionate. I love nothing more than to see women celebrate one another and rejoice in the successes they see in their sisters. I am humbled to be in groups where women share some of their private struggles and work through their healing in a group where they feel heard and supported and celebrated.
Girlfriend intervention is a show that celebrates women… with a unique twist.
Four black women (who are all different styles and sizes and personalities) go and help a 'Basic Woman' (Their terminology for a woman who is 'busted, broken, and has let herself go) and help remind her, or sometimes even teach her, about how incredibly beautiful and amazing she is. Through different exercises, some brazen truth, and lots of energy and love, they take these Basic women (who are all white women by the way) and make over her mindset, her physical body and a room or two of her home. The energy of the four beautiful, fabulous, self assured women is infectious and while the beginning of the show finds the white girl overwhelmed, defensive and sometimes hurt, by the end of the process, that same woman, is cheering in delight at how amazing she is, and thanking the sisterhood for showing her the way to herself.
I have watched at least 6 episodes so far, and what I'm learning is nothing deep or new or revolutionary, and yet this simple truth is life changing and powerful. Women who give other women permission to be who they are, in their own wonderful, beautiful, powerful way, are life givers. If we could all learn to celebrate other women, and also to celebrate ourselves, we could change the world.
Each time these girls are made over and are looking at themselves in the mirror post-change… I start to cry. Each woman is able to say (sometimes for the first time ever) … 'I'm beautiful'.
The black women tell it like it is, and have shared some powerful truths in their show. They point out that in the black culture, being fabulous and beautiful and taking time to take care of themselves is the norm. And many white women (especially post-motherhood) are left serving everyone else and don't make time for themselves… letting the fabulous woman they may have been fade into the backdrop of sippy cups and soccer games. They also point out that many white women aren't honest with one another, and we're quick to affirm one another when gentle truth would be better. When a white girl asks another white girl- 'does this look ok?' Most white women will respond enthusiastically with a resounding 'Oh yes, you look great!' Even when that might not be true at all. We don't give one another the gift of truth. And in doing so, we miss part of the richness of the relationship.
The sisterhood also discusses how female white culture is afraid to celebrate our bodies. We see differences and curves as liabilities and often find ways to hide those places that make us uniquely ourselves. Black women are taught to celebrate their curves, and their differences, and give one another permission to be who they are, without holding one another to a standard of a size 2 barbie doll.
It's so encouraging and inspiring to see women learn to love who they are- without losing weight, or changing the unique things about themselves. The sisterhood comes in to enhance and celebrate and draw out the amazingness that was there all along, and in doing so, they are changing lives. Each woman who is shown how powerful and beautiful she is takes that new information and it seeps into her family. Her interactions with other people change, she is suddenly aware that she is powerful and that her dreams and desires matter. She has the gusto to go after the job she wants, to start exercising more, to romance her husband with confidence, to make time for herself. It's a fun show that has a powerful message… women supporting and encouraging women to love who they are created to be is one of the best gifts we can give to this world. When women are aware of how amazing they are, and how powerful they are, there is nothing that can hold them back, and we take that power into our families and communities and light a fire that can bring lasting change.
If you have time to watch it- do it. (It's on lifetime, but I've watched on demand) It's an odd, sometimes offbeat show with a powerful message: We are created to be amazing. You'll cheer, you'll cry, and you'll be inspired to look at yourself and see that you are perfectly and powerfully you. I'm learning much about how I need to take care of myself better, and that in doing so, I can take care of my family better!
We need you to be who you are. Everyone on this earth is waiting for your dreams and hopes to come to pass. We celebrate you, and we honor you. Women are phenomenal.
Tuesday, June 3, 2014
Space for Us All
This morning wrapped up the class I've been helping lead this spring. We finished up with a good talk filled with encouragement and topped it off with a brunch of shared dishes and shared hearts.
I was struck hard this morning as we dipped our toes into new waters of vulnerability and honesty. One of the women in the group is more reserved. She's a grandmother whose children are long gone and finds herself in the place of caring for her aging and ill father. She bears weight that is heavy and yet she shows up each week and offers encouragement both in word and in deed.
She's quiet and thoughtful; kind and generous and loving. As we poured into the subject of the morning which covered 'recycling our pain by sharing our stories with others', she peeled back the protective blankets over her heart and laid bare information she had allowed to seep in deep. It was information that didn't resonate with the rest of us at all, and as she brought it out into the light, into the space of that room, she too began to see it was all lies that have kept her from truly embracing all she is created to be.
The other leader in our group is even more gregarious than I am. She is bouncy, light, fun, and energetic. She knows no strangers, and she is readily vulnerable and transparent. She is infectious in the best way and her extroversion draws people to her in droves. The more reserved woman looked at my co-leader and said wistfully "I love people. But no one knows it. They all see me as solemn, or depressing, or reserved. I pray often for more joy, but I just don't have it like you do." I waited for her to finish laying down her burden before I spoke, but my heart was about to leap from my chest as I watched her pain and disappointment over the intrinsic makeup of who she is. I started quietly and told her that I think joy doesn't always look like bouncy, laughing light. Sometimes joy is the steady calm that braces another in her circumstantial storm. Sometimes joy can look like a strong hug that gives life to another and shares in her delight. Sometimes joy is quiet and does the dishes for the fifth time in a day or hums softly while sweeping. Other times joy is the small stretch of a smile that neither laughs nor bubbles, and yet rests in the peace of shared excitement. Joy can be tired, and quiet, or light filled and bubbly, but joy as it exists is not inherently demonstrative. It is an internal culture of living and being, not always an outward expression of excitement. I looked into her and said, I see you as neither depressed or solemn. I see you as an introvert, and the women who need to hear the power of your story are the women who won't be comfortable sharing their stories in the presence of bouncy, bubbling light. Those women need steady hands and soft hearts, they need the safe space that your personality cultivates. Those women who are overwhelmed by someone like me need someone like you to give them a place to share safely. If we were all bouncing off of the walls with no one to steady us, we would be wrecked.
Her eyes grew larger and softer as the other women chimed in to affirm her steady loyalty, her response to a crisis years ago that had been gracious and love-filled, her consistent demeanor and gracious quiet. Here sat a woman now a grandmother, who had been lured to believe that due to childhood experiences she had somehow been molded and warped into something other than who she was put here to be. Those of us in the room gave her back the gift of herself. The beautiful amazing gift of individuality and the space to revel in it. To see that realization light into a woman's eyes, her skin, her soul, is a miracle to behold. And then, the finishing blow; to have another woman thank her for being so honest, so vulnerable, which allowed us to come in and speak truth over her- truth that has power to heal decades of hurt, rejection, and self-doubt. Do you see? Do you see that when she found safe space and took a risk to share her struggle, that the women in the group pulled tight into a beautifully formed net to catch her and lift her into an atmosphere she never knew she could breathe in? We brought her tired and weary soul into space that gave her breath and life and truth, and it was evident in her response that the truth was setting her free. I get giddy with the thought that I am allowed to be part of this. This healing and repairing craft of honesty and vulnerability in the safety of women. I know not everyone has this, and it tears at my heart in that knowing.
Dear ones- If you haven't found places like this where simple acts of bravery become monumental acts of change, please; do not lose heart. I'm leaning into my 40s, and am just finding this space, and part of the reality is I'm helping to create it. My risky vulnerability is helping to make room for others, just as this sweet grandmother's did today. While I would never want any of you to go pouring out your lifeblood into unsafe vessels, I do want to encourage you that with effort, work, time and prayer, groups of safe and life-giving women do exist- but they probably look nothing like you might expect. Keep your eyes and hearts open to possibility and expect that you can see and be beautiful miracles.
I was struck hard this morning as we dipped our toes into new waters of vulnerability and honesty. One of the women in the group is more reserved. She's a grandmother whose children are long gone and finds herself in the place of caring for her aging and ill father. She bears weight that is heavy and yet she shows up each week and offers encouragement both in word and in deed.
She's quiet and thoughtful; kind and generous and loving. As we poured into the subject of the morning which covered 'recycling our pain by sharing our stories with others', she peeled back the protective blankets over her heart and laid bare information she had allowed to seep in deep. It was information that didn't resonate with the rest of us at all, and as she brought it out into the light, into the space of that room, she too began to see it was all lies that have kept her from truly embracing all she is created to be.
The other leader in our group is even more gregarious than I am. She is bouncy, light, fun, and energetic. She knows no strangers, and she is readily vulnerable and transparent. She is infectious in the best way and her extroversion draws people to her in droves. The more reserved woman looked at my co-leader and said wistfully "I love people. But no one knows it. They all see me as solemn, or depressing, or reserved. I pray often for more joy, but I just don't have it like you do." I waited for her to finish laying down her burden before I spoke, but my heart was about to leap from my chest as I watched her pain and disappointment over the intrinsic makeup of who she is. I started quietly and told her that I think joy doesn't always look like bouncy, laughing light. Sometimes joy is the steady calm that braces another in her circumstantial storm. Sometimes joy can look like a strong hug that gives life to another and shares in her delight. Sometimes joy is quiet and does the dishes for the fifth time in a day or hums softly while sweeping. Other times joy is the small stretch of a smile that neither laughs nor bubbles, and yet rests in the peace of shared excitement. Joy can be tired, and quiet, or light filled and bubbly, but joy as it exists is not inherently demonstrative. It is an internal culture of living and being, not always an outward expression of excitement. I looked into her and said, I see you as neither depressed or solemn. I see you as an introvert, and the women who need to hear the power of your story are the women who won't be comfortable sharing their stories in the presence of bouncy, bubbling light. Those women need steady hands and soft hearts, they need the safe space that your personality cultivates. Those women who are overwhelmed by someone like me need someone like you to give them a place to share safely. If we were all bouncing off of the walls with no one to steady us, we would be wrecked.
Her eyes grew larger and softer as the other women chimed in to affirm her steady loyalty, her response to a crisis years ago that had been gracious and love-filled, her consistent demeanor and gracious quiet. Here sat a woman now a grandmother, who had been lured to believe that due to childhood experiences she had somehow been molded and warped into something other than who she was put here to be. Those of us in the room gave her back the gift of herself. The beautiful amazing gift of individuality and the space to revel in it. To see that realization light into a woman's eyes, her skin, her soul, is a miracle to behold. And then, the finishing blow; to have another woman thank her for being so honest, so vulnerable, which allowed us to come in and speak truth over her- truth that has power to heal decades of hurt, rejection, and self-doubt. Do you see? Do you see that when she found safe space and took a risk to share her struggle, that the women in the group pulled tight into a beautifully formed net to catch her and lift her into an atmosphere she never knew she could breathe in? We brought her tired and weary soul into space that gave her breath and life and truth, and it was evident in her response that the truth was setting her free. I get giddy with the thought that I am allowed to be part of this. This healing and repairing craft of honesty and vulnerability in the safety of women. I know not everyone has this, and it tears at my heart in that knowing.
Dear ones- If you haven't found places like this where simple acts of bravery become monumental acts of change, please; do not lose heart. I'm leaning into my 40s, and am just finding this space, and part of the reality is I'm helping to create it. My risky vulnerability is helping to make room for others, just as this sweet grandmother's did today. While I would never want any of you to go pouring out your lifeblood into unsafe vessels, I do want to encourage you that with effort, work, time and prayer, groups of safe and life-giving women do exist- but they probably look nothing like you might expect. Keep your eyes and hearts open to possibility and expect that you can see and be beautiful miracles.
Friday, May 16, 2014
Reach out and touch someone
I wrote months ago about the class I attend on Thursday nights. It's been a ragamuffin group of women, many who have since left and returned to a life of struggle, but there is a core group of us still there, still determined to do the work to get out of these stuck places in our lives.
At the end of the class last night, as we were closing, the two women leading went around and touched and hugged each of us. I was aware as this was happening how as each woman was held, something in her broke. Tears that had been pushed to the back of her heart came spilling out. Tenderness broke into that jailed space of emotion and pulled it into the room to rest.
Most of us in the room are single mothers now. It wasn't a prerequisite for the class, but I think that when your world falls apart and you are left standing in wreckage as the responsible parent, there comes a breaking point where you discover that you are not capable of doing all of the tasks at hand alone. You either break, or you search for a place to teach you, heal you, show you that with God all things are truly possible.
While there are several women in the group who are still married, most of us live only with our children.
Living only with children means that there can be a great void in human touch. While I cuddle my children, and get kisses and hugs and even a child in bed with me often, I only get hugs from adults when I am with friends. I know I am incredibly blessed as I have several good friends who pull me in close and don't immediately withdraw their safe harbor from me. Friends who will allow my breathing to slow a bit, for me to take a moment to feel the love pouring from them, a moment where they use their own hearts and spirits to absorb some of the weight of my sadness or weariness. But I know that some of the women in my group don't have that. They are literally starving for human touch in the form of an adult.
There is something powerful in touch. Something sacred in taking the moment to allow your body to touch someone else's, to invade their personal bubble. There is something other-wordly in allowing your safe harbor to take on some of the weight of their daily stress, something precious that happens when you stop for just a moment and pull them in close, allowing their body to sag into yours showing them they are loved, safe, revered, and remembered. The spirit responds to that, which is why each woman broke into tears rainbowed by smiles. We need this touch, we need the steady arms of someone who cares to brace us up with their strength even if only for a few moments, to remind our very beings that we are not alone in this life.
I am more aware now of the people around me who need this, and I am determined to be mindful of this going forward. There is healing in touch, and a strong hug has the power to stitch up places that are hanging ragged and torn. We need one another, not just in word, but in deed. Find someone who needs your safe space and offer it to them when you can. It's a gift many of us so desperately need.
At the end of the class last night, as we were closing, the two women leading went around and touched and hugged each of us. I was aware as this was happening how as each woman was held, something in her broke. Tears that had been pushed to the back of her heart came spilling out. Tenderness broke into that jailed space of emotion and pulled it into the room to rest.
Most of us in the room are single mothers now. It wasn't a prerequisite for the class, but I think that when your world falls apart and you are left standing in wreckage as the responsible parent, there comes a breaking point where you discover that you are not capable of doing all of the tasks at hand alone. You either break, or you search for a place to teach you, heal you, show you that with God all things are truly possible.
While there are several women in the group who are still married, most of us live only with our children.
Living only with children means that there can be a great void in human touch. While I cuddle my children, and get kisses and hugs and even a child in bed with me often, I only get hugs from adults when I am with friends. I know I am incredibly blessed as I have several good friends who pull me in close and don't immediately withdraw their safe harbor from me. Friends who will allow my breathing to slow a bit, for me to take a moment to feel the love pouring from them, a moment where they use their own hearts and spirits to absorb some of the weight of my sadness or weariness. But I know that some of the women in my group don't have that. They are literally starving for human touch in the form of an adult.
There is something powerful in touch. Something sacred in taking the moment to allow your body to touch someone else's, to invade their personal bubble. There is something other-wordly in allowing your safe harbor to take on some of the weight of their daily stress, something precious that happens when you stop for just a moment and pull them in close, allowing their body to sag into yours showing them they are loved, safe, revered, and remembered. The spirit responds to that, which is why each woman broke into tears rainbowed by smiles. We need this touch, we need the steady arms of someone who cares to brace us up with their strength even if only for a few moments, to remind our very beings that we are not alone in this life.
I am more aware now of the people around me who need this, and I am determined to be mindful of this going forward. There is healing in touch, and a strong hug has the power to stitch up places that are hanging ragged and torn. We need one another, not just in word, but in deed. Find someone who needs your safe space and offer it to them when you can. It's a gift many of us so desperately need.
Monday, May 5, 2014
The Tribe Necessity
I wanted to get a post up, because I need to connect with all of you.
I have been in personal/private writing mode recently. I'm in a place of healing and growing and while I want to share some of that, in some ways, I feel very tender and tucked away and am working hard to cultivate quiet and rest into my life.
Not everything needs to be shared all at once.
I spent the weekend with a sweet friend visiting us. I've been friends with her since high school and the years have seen us through many of life's mountains and valleys. I hadn't seen her since before my husband left and we had lots of ground to cover. But the beauty is that within moments, our hearts were connecting again at that level of love and tenderness that we've always had. Time hadn't stopped our connection, only suspended it for a time. It was so incredible to have her here, to hear where she is headed, to see her love my children.
I have been blessed with a multitude of good women in my life. Women are incredible creatures with the power to bring life to relationships and situations and I have managed to stay away from women who are rolling around in drama or strife. The struggle comes because I am saturated with children as a single mother, and yet also have many women in my life whom I truly love but don't always have the time or the energy to connect with on a regular basis. I have several women I can think of at this moment whom I would consider close intimate friends, several more who I don't communicate with often but who I feel safe with, and loved, and accepted and celebrated for who I am, several more who I delight in, but rarely get to connect with anymore and even more who I cross paths with rarely but bring smiles to my heart. I've always had women in my life. From an early age I saw the power and necessity for safe people to spend time with. I have always had at least one precious girl who would bear the weight of both my pain and my joy and have been overwhelmed at the many beautiful and wise women who have come into my life. Some for a season, others for a few moments, still others for a lifetime.
I truly love being in the presence of healthy women. To watch as they delight in the stories each has to share, to see their faces light up with the announcement of love or new life, to watch the precious tender moments when another woman moves in softly to pull her friend close and help shoulder the grief both physically and emotionally. I can't fathom how I could walk through this life without safe and wise women. Women who not only tolerate my quirks and silliness, but celebrate it. Women who affirm me, who share themselves, who revel in my joys and quietly help withstand the weight of my grief. Women who don't despise my other friendships yet honor them as fellow warriors of this life whom I get the privilege of being connected to.
I know some of you reading this post will be annoyed; there will be words here that pull at your heart and frustrate you as you look around and see that your healthy tribe has not yet been assembled. I longed for decades for older women to be part of my group. While I have a couple of dear friends who are a bit older than me, I never got the mentor I so desired. There were times I felt rejected, or frustrated, and I even had moments of jealousy as I saw others my age who were paired up with mentors who drew them in and were involved in their lives. But that part of my tribe is being settled into place now and I can see that timing has been everything. These women will be lifelong tribe members and had those spots been taken earlier by someone who wasn't the best for me- I may have missed them. (EDITED to add- If you've been wounded by women, please, don't use that as a shield to hide behind. I've been wounded too. There are hurting women out there who wield words like arrows, and use behavior to cut and control and injure. Please, hear me when I tell you that not all of us are like this. While each of us has the potential to hurt you without intention, if you find your group who is honest and loving, the wounding can be overcome, healed, forgotten. Don't hold on to the hurt you have experienced at the hands of other women and use it as the measuring tape by which you judge new potential tribe members. Love and friendship is always a risk, but if you are careful and wise, the payoff can be incredible.)
I think dear friends (more than one if you're blessed) are an integral part to this process of being a woman on earth. We have ways of communicating and affirming and encouraging each other that can't be found in a man. When we can get past our own insecurities and inadequacies and begin to celebrate the success and joys of other women, the light that floods into our lives is healing, sustaining, and nourishing. If you don't have this yet, don't become bitter, or rejected or disheartened. Look at those around you to see if there are already safe women there who you could reach out to- or if you need to find someone new. I would encourage you to even pray about it- ask for a friend who gets you- who will pull themselves into your tribe. Realize that you possess gifts and talents and strengths that someone needs and they have gifts to share with you. Know that friendship is both joy and work. Intimacy is born through struggle and honesty and time. Having fun is amazing, but space for hearts to sit and stories to be shared is where you will begin to weave the threads of love between you that will sustain life's troubles.
Friendship with women is vital. Don't keep who you were designed to be from your tribe who needs you. Be wise in your choices... put women around you who will bring life to you and not drama and strife. Know that these kinds of women do exist and look for them. Be the friend you long to have, and watch as places of depth and beauty and grace and love begin to surround you in a great creative showing of the best God has to offer in women.
I have been in personal/private writing mode recently. I'm in a place of healing and growing and while I want to share some of that, in some ways, I feel very tender and tucked away and am working hard to cultivate quiet and rest into my life.
Not everything needs to be shared all at once.
I spent the weekend with a sweet friend visiting us. I've been friends with her since high school and the years have seen us through many of life's mountains and valleys. I hadn't seen her since before my husband left and we had lots of ground to cover. But the beauty is that within moments, our hearts were connecting again at that level of love and tenderness that we've always had. Time hadn't stopped our connection, only suspended it for a time. It was so incredible to have her here, to hear where she is headed, to see her love my children.
I have been blessed with a multitude of good women in my life. Women are incredible creatures with the power to bring life to relationships and situations and I have managed to stay away from women who are rolling around in drama or strife. The struggle comes because I am saturated with children as a single mother, and yet also have many women in my life whom I truly love but don't always have the time or the energy to connect with on a regular basis. I have several women I can think of at this moment whom I would consider close intimate friends, several more who I don't communicate with often but who I feel safe with, and loved, and accepted and celebrated for who I am, several more who I delight in, but rarely get to connect with anymore and even more who I cross paths with rarely but bring smiles to my heart. I've always had women in my life. From an early age I saw the power and necessity for safe people to spend time with. I have always had at least one precious girl who would bear the weight of both my pain and my joy and have been overwhelmed at the many beautiful and wise women who have come into my life. Some for a season, others for a few moments, still others for a lifetime.
I truly love being in the presence of healthy women. To watch as they delight in the stories each has to share, to see their faces light up with the announcement of love or new life, to watch the precious tender moments when another woman moves in softly to pull her friend close and help shoulder the grief both physically and emotionally. I can't fathom how I could walk through this life without safe and wise women. Women who not only tolerate my quirks and silliness, but celebrate it. Women who affirm me, who share themselves, who revel in my joys and quietly help withstand the weight of my grief. Women who don't despise my other friendships yet honor them as fellow warriors of this life whom I get the privilege of being connected to.
I know some of you reading this post will be annoyed; there will be words here that pull at your heart and frustrate you as you look around and see that your healthy tribe has not yet been assembled. I longed for decades for older women to be part of my group. While I have a couple of dear friends who are a bit older than me, I never got the mentor I so desired. There were times I felt rejected, or frustrated, and I even had moments of jealousy as I saw others my age who were paired up with mentors who drew them in and were involved in their lives. But that part of my tribe is being settled into place now and I can see that timing has been everything. These women will be lifelong tribe members and had those spots been taken earlier by someone who wasn't the best for me- I may have missed them. (EDITED to add- If you've been wounded by women, please, don't use that as a shield to hide behind. I've been wounded too. There are hurting women out there who wield words like arrows, and use behavior to cut and control and injure. Please, hear me when I tell you that not all of us are like this. While each of us has the potential to hurt you without intention, if you find your group who is honest and loving, the wounding can be overcome, healed, forgotten. Don't hold on to the hurt you have experienced at the hands of other women and use it as the measuring tape by which you judge new potential tribe members. Love and friendship is always a risk, but if you are careful and wise, the payoff can be incredible.)
I think dear friends (more than one if you're blessed) are an integral part to this process of being a woman on earth. We have ways of communicating and affirming and encouraging each other that can't be found in a man. When we can get past our own insecurities and inadequacies and begin to celebrate the success and joys of other women, the light that floods into our lives is healing, sustaining, and nourishing. If you don't have this yet, don't become bitter, or rejected or disheartened. Look at those around you to see if there are already safe women there who you could reach out to- or if you need to find someone new. I would encourage you to even pray about it- ask for a friend who gets you- who will pull themselves into your tribe. Realize that you possess gifts and talents and strengths that someone needs and they have gifts to share with you. Know that friendship is both joy and work. Intimacy is born through struggle and honesty and time. Having fun is amazing, but space for hearts to sit and stories to be shared is where you will begin to weave the threads of love between you that will sustain life's troubles.
Friendship with women is vital. Don't keep who you were designed to be from your tribe who needs you. Be wise in your choices... put women around you who will bring life to you and not drama and strife. Know that these kinds of women do exist and look for them. Be the friend you long to have, and watch as places of depth and beauty and grace and love begin to surround you in a great creative showing of the best God has to offer in women.
Saturday, April 12, 2014
Strength in Vulnerability
An interesting side effect of going through grief and working on healing is that you can become raw, tender hearted, easily moved, and saturated in both beauty and empathy.
When you begin to look at your own heart, to really look at it and see the darkness and also that beautiful capacity for both hurt and love, there is a great awareness that begins to dawn- and in that awareness comes the realization that each of us walking around this muddy planet have places of darkness and beauty. When you realize this basic truth, you begin to see yourself and others with new eyes.
I used to pride myself on my 'strength'. I rarely cried and didn't like that show of emotion. I didn't like the feeling I had of losing control of my emotions... except for anger. The anger often ran over like water.
Suffering has a way of burning off the chaff so that new growth can blossom. Seeds of beauty that haven't been nurtured and have been sleeping in the deep, dark soil, are freed to push through the ashes and grow into coverings of color, and beauty, and depth.
When I was still married, I knew at a soul-knowing level that things were wrong. I mentioned before how I hoped my way along, and since I wasn't living with truth, I was powerless to change things. When life exploded for me, when the truth was laid bare, the pain was at once blinding and freeing. Knowing the reality of my life gave me the vantage point to be able to assess the damage and start the process of building.
As I waded through new realities that I had been living with on a daily basis but had been blind to, I began to learn how to weep. How to grieve. How to allow the deep sadness and dark blanket of death to settle into my heart and begin its work. When allowed, I believe that the grieving process can actually be the catalyst for new life. As we give ourselves over to the death of what was, and make space for what needs to be birthed in us, the ability to feel not only our own hurts but to recognize and empathize with the hurts of those around us develops into a beautifully honed skill.
My personal grieving process has been quite self absorbed. I wasn't able to maintain the relationships and commitments that I had previously carried. Sitting with a new reality and laying my marriage to rest took everything I had to give. I turned inward and began the painstaking task of sweeping clean the crevices of my heart and soul. The energy spent just surviving a death (of any kind) is all consuming and laid waste to anything I had to give. In the last few months, I have begun to see light again. The heavy blanket that had been tucked around my heart has begun to lift and I am feeling lighter and brighter and very tender-hearted. I feel as though I have walked from a dark theater into the bright sun of day and have to blink and squint and rub my eyes to protect them against the blinding brightness that comes from the life giving sun. With new eyes and a keen awareness of those around me, I now see pain behind so many cautious faces. I am approached in public by people who know me as well as strangers who each want to tell me their story, and I believe it is because in my face there is now a light that shines and draws in the hurting.
I have been given the privilege in the last months of hearing the stories of many women. Women who are working through their own places of disappointment, disillusionment, grief, and anger. I have found that as I listen, and watch them lay bare their souls to mine, that I can no longer stop the flow of tears. The 'strength' I used to think I had in damming up that waterfall has been replaced with the tender place of grace I long to offer those who are courageous enough to share parts of their lives with me.
I know I still have work to do. There will never be a finish line where I get to stop running and know that I have the badge of 'healed up tight'. But I revel in that truth. I love knowing that as far as I've come, the road stretches ahead with more growing, more connection, more beauty, and even the knowing that I can swim in deep waters. My tender heart is now my badge of strength. The ability to be cut deeply by standing with a woman as she grieves her way, the knowing that all of us have deep and precious stories, the privilege of holding space for other women as they work through their dark and beautiful places is something I am proud of. Your stories are priceless. Beautiful. At times both painful and dark; and I can't think of anything I'd rather do more than to be a player in your story as we learn to walk these roads together. Thank you for holding space for me, and know that I am here for you.
Much love.
When you begin to look at your own heart, to really look at it and see the darkness and also that beautiful capacity for both hurt and love, there is a great awareness that begins to dawn- and in that awareness comes the realization that each of us walking around this muddy planet have places of darkness and beauty. When you realize this basic truth, you begin to see yourself and others with new eyes.
I used to pride myself on my 'strength'. I rarely cried and didn't like that show of emotion. I didn't like the feeling I had of losing control of my emotions... except for anger. The anger often ran over like water.
Suffering has a way of burning off the chaff so that new growth can blossom. Seeds of beauty that haven't been nurtured and have been sleeping in the deep, dark soil, are freed to push through the ashes and grow into coverings of color, and beauty, and depth.
When I was still married, I knew at a soul-knowing level that things were wrong. I mentioned before how I hoped my way along, and since I wasn't living with truth, I was powerless to change things. When life exploded for me, when the truth was laid bare, the pain was at once blinding and freeing. Knowing the reality of my life gave me the vantage point to be able to assess the damage and start the process of building.
As I waded through new realities that I had been living with on a daily basis but had been blind to, I began to learn how to weep. How to grieve. How to allow the deep sadness and dark blanket of death to settle into my heart and begin its work. When allowed, I believe that the grieving process can actually be the catalyst for new life. As we give ourselves over to the death of what was, and make space for what needs to be birthed in us, the ability to feel not only our own hurts but to recognize and empathize with the hurts of those around us develops into a beautifully honed skill.
My personal grieving process has been quite self absorbed. I wasn't able to maintain the relationships and commitments that I had previously carried. Sitting with a new reality and laying my marriage to rest took everything I had to give. I turned inward and began the painstaking task of sweeping clean the crevices of my heart and soul. The energy spent just surviving a death (of any kind) is all consuming and laid waste to anything I had to give. In the last few months, I have begun to see light again. The heavy blanket that had been tucked around my heart has begun to lift and I am feeling lighter and brighter and very tender-hearted. I feel as though I have walked from a dark theater into the bright sun of day and have to blink and squint and rub my eyes to protect them against the blinding brightness that comes from the life giving sun. With new eyes and a keen awareness of those around me, I now see pain behind so many cautious faces. I am approached in public by people who know me as well as strangers who each want to tell me their story, and I believe it is because in my face there is now a light that shines and draws in the hurting.
I have been given the privilege in the last months of hearing the stories of many women. Women who are working through their own places of disappointment, disillusionment, grief, and anger. I have found that as I listen, and watch them lay bare their souls to mine, that I can no longer stop the flow of tears. The 'strength' I used to think I had in damming up that waterfall has been replaced with the tender place of grace I long to offer those who are courageous enough to share parts of their lives with me.
I know I still have work to do. There will never be a finish line where I get to stop running and know that I have the badge of 'healed up tight'. But I revel in that truth. I love knowing that as far as I've come, the road stretches ahead with more growing, more connection, more beauty, and even the knowing that I can swim in deep waters. My tender heart is now my badge of strength. The ability to be cut deeply by standing with a woman as she grieves her way, the knowing that all of us have deep and precious stories, the privilege of holding space for other women as they work through their dark and beautiful places is something I am proud of. Your stories are priceless. Beautiful. At times both painful and dark; and I can't think of anything I'd rather do more than to be a player in your story as we learn to walk these roads together. Thank you for holding space for me, and know that I am here for you.
Much love.
Thursday, January 23, 2014
Letting it Go
Have you seen the movie Frozen? I know you've heard of it, everyone has- it is making a bazillion dollars for Disney these days and is topping the charts. But, there's a reason... it hits a nerve. It's encouraging and uplifting, and beautiful; and has fantastic music.
I've seen it several times.
Full disclosure- it was online for several days... so I watched it a few times here at home.
If you're feeling judgy- just keep it inside... I don't have the energy to combat that today.
All of my kids love it- even the 12 year old boy! It's a good movie, and I tear up every time.
There is a song towards the beginning.. sung by the princess become queen who runs away- to protect everyone else from her struggles... her pain... her... 'perceived flaws'.
I can relate.
The song she sings when she leaves is this:
listen here: (it's beautiful) http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=moSFlvxnbgk
I am in a place where I'm learning to let it go. To stand in the storm as it rages on. To turn from my fears and learn to walk forward in spite of them.
I've seen it several times.
Full disclosure- it was online for several days... so I watched it a few times here at home.
If you're feeling judgy- just keep it inside... I don't have the energy to combat that today.
All of my kids love it- even the 12 year old boy! It's a good movie, and I tear up every time.
There is a song towards the beginning.. sung by the princess become queen who runs away- to protect everyone else from her struggles... her pain... her... 'perceived flaws'.
I can relate.
The song she sings when she leaves is this:
The snow glows white on the mountain tonight,
not a footprint to be seen.
A kingdom of isolation and it looks like I'm the queen.
The wind is howling like this swirling storm inside.
Couldn't keep it in, Heaven knows I tried.
Don't let them in, don't let them see.
Be the good girl you always have to be.
Conceal don't feel, don't let them know.
Well, now they know!
not a footprint to be seen.
A kingdom of isolation and it looks like I'm the queen.
The wind is howling like this swirling storm inside.
Couldn't keep it in, Heaven knows I tried.
Don't let them in, don't let them see.
Be the good girl you always have to be.
Conceal don't feel, don't let them know.
Well, now they know!
Let it go, let it go.
Can't hold it back anymore.
Let it go, let it go.
Turn away and slam the door.
I don't care what they're going to say.
Let the storm rage on.
The cold never bothered me anyway.
Can't hold it back anymore.
Let it go, let it go.
Turn away and slam the door.
I don't care what they're going to say.
Let the storm rage on.
The cold never bothered me anyway.
It's funny how some distance,
makes everything seem small.
And the fears that once controlled me, can't get to me at all
It's time to see what I can do,
to test the limits and break through.
No right, no wrong, no rules for me.
I am free!
makes everything seem small.
And the fears that once controlled me, can't get to me at all
It's time to see what I can do,
to test the limits and break through.
No right, no wrong, no rules for me.
I am free!
Let it go, let it go.
I am one with the wind and sky.
Let it go, let it go.
You'll never see me cry.
Here I stand, and here I'll stay.
Let the storm rage on.
I am one with the wind and sky.
Let it go, let it go.
You'll never see me cry.
Here I stand, and here I'll stay.
Let the storm rage on.
My power flurries through the air into the ground.
My soul is spiraling in frozen fractals all around
And one thought crystallizes like an icy blast
I'm never going back; the past is in the past!
My soul is spiraling in frozen fractals all around
And one thought crystallizes like an icy blast
I'm never going back; the past is in the past!
Let it go, let it go.
And I'll rise like the break of dawn.
Let it go, let it go
That perfect girl is gone
Here I stand, in the light of day.
And I'll rise like the break of dawn.
Let it go, let it go
That perfect girl is gone
Here I stand, in the light of day.
Let the storm rage on!
The cold never bothered me anyway
Idina Menzel - (Disney's Frozen) Let It Go Lyrics | MetroLyrics The cold never bothered me anyway
listen here: (it's beautiful) http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=moSFlvxnbgk
I am in a place where I'm learning to let it go. To stand in the storm as it rages on. To turn from my fears and learn to walk forward in spite of them.
On paper... my life is really scary right now. My future is completely unknown to me... and my needs are huge. My heart is scarred and pocked with pain, and my brain scans and moves trying to find a way to fix all that needs fixing. My situation as a single mother of 4, with no real plan for the future is enough to make others uncomfortable... and so part of my journey is finding space for my heart while not always elbowing out everyone else's story. Grief can become ingrown and turned completely into oneself, and it's a complicated dance of figuring out who is safe to share with, when I need to hold things close to my heart, and when to ask how I can help others. Healing and protecting my heart and learning to trust are all tied up messily with learning boundaries and protecting my close friends from burnout as they help me wade through this murky swamp of debris.
I wish it were as easy as Elsa sings- to just Let it Go... but I'm learning that bits of the struggle flake off at a time. A friend sent me a sweet quote this evening that made me cry- they felt bad for bringing on the tears.. my response caught me off guard but makes perfect sense to me now- I said- 'tears can be good. I think that I have held them back for so long that now that I am beginning to thaw, it's just all of the melting around my heart making its way out through my eyes.'
That. That times a million.
Let it go. ......
Friday, January 17, 2014
Sticky business
I started a class at church last night called "Stuck". There is a workbook that goes with it and it's considered a care group- not a bible study. We are there to care for one another through the process. There are ten or so of us women in the group and last night was the first meeting, where our nervous giggles, and squirming in our seats belied the surface calm that was in the air.
The goal is to begin to either identify or start to unpack those places where we are broken, angry, discontent, overwhelmed, or scared that are holding us back from full living. From moving forward. From not just dreaming, but moving into goals and engagement with the world as our true selves. That is hard work. Doing that work will inevitably lead down a bumpy road of struggle and pain to sift through. While I want to do that, and work towards unsticking myself, it feels daunting.
Each of us shared for a moment our names, and a tiny snippet of why we were in the group. The broken hearts around each table were placed gently into the open with the hope that the rest of us would scoop them up with love and grace and understanding.
I think that the class will be good. I think our group is going to connect in ways not often afforded to groups of women. The atmosphere in the group is thick with expectation and I believe we will find ourselves knee deep in one another's grief, anger, and struggle. But I also think that we will find ourselves standing in the warm light of grace and as we begin to shed some of the shame and struggle that sits so heavily on our hearts and souls.
The more I've been allowed into the lives of people, the more clear it is to me that each of us is broken, shattered, cracked, and wounded in some way. Life has a peculiar way of jamming reality and struggle into each of us at some point. I don't say this out of jaded cynicism, but rather with the knowledge that we cannot move through this life well without accumulating emotional injury along the way. The beauty in that is that it levels the playing field. We are all alike. Connected. Bound by the awareness that life just happens. To all of us. If you had placed the same group of these ten women in a room for a baby shower, we would still be the same ten broken, hurting, scared women... but because we're being given the gift of safety which will cultivate vulnerability- we get the amazing opportunity to allow someone to lean on us in those places we are strong, while we lean on someone else in our brokenness. It's a lyrical dance of healthy community when we begin to peel back the places of shame and pain that dulls our shine and allow that light to pour out into the world. The darkness of hurt can dampen the brightest light, but the space for truth to rest... the truth of where we sit... that space brings freedom, and light, and love and grace. Wouldn't it be wonderful if we all had a place like that? A group to go to where you knew that your heart and your fear and your precious lifeblood would be honored and loved and given room to rest? All of us need it. We all need those places to be vulnerable and allow the opening of our wings without the fear of another person tearing a hole in the gauzy fabric. I have friends who do this for me, and I know I'm blessed.
I'm looking forward to getting to know my group and learning from the strengths they have that I am lacking and excited to offer encouragement in places where I am strong. It's good stuff- this systematic autopsy of my struggle. I'm thankful to get to have a group to hold me up as I shrug off some of the falsely protective layers of pain and let them hold me up as I unfold my wings and get my legs under me.
The goal is to begin to either identify or start to unpack those places where we are broken, angry, discontent, overwhelmed, or scared that are holding us back from full living. From moving forward. From not just dreaming, but moving into goals and engagement with the world as our true selves. That is hard work. Doing that work will inevitably lead down a bumpy road of struggle and pain to sift through. While I want to do that, and work towards unsticking myself, it feels daunting.
Each of us shared for a moment our names, and a tiny snippet of why we were in the group. The broken hearts around each table were placed gently into the open with the hope that the rest of us would scoop them up with love and grace and understanding.
I think that the class will be good. I think our group is going to connect in ways not often afforded to groups of women. The atmosphere in the group is thick with expectation and I believe we will find ourselves knee deep in one another's grief, anger, and struggle. But I also think that we will find ourselves standing in the warm light of grace and as we begin to shed some of the shame and struggle that sits so heavily on our hearts and souls.
The more I've been allowed into the lives of people, the more clear it is to me that each of us is broken, shattered, cracked, and wounded in some way. Life has a peculiar way of jamming reality and struggle into each of us at some point. I don't say this out of jaded cynicism, but rather with the knowledge that we cannot move through this life well without accumulating emotional injury along the way. The beauty in that is that it levels the playing field. We are all alike. Connected. Bound by the awareness that life just happens. To all of us. If you had placed the same group of these ten women in a room for a baby shower, we would still be the same ten broken, hurting, scared women... but because we're being given the gift of safety which will cultivate vulnerability- we get the amazing opportunity to allow someone to lean on us in those places we are strong, while we lean on someone else in our brokenness. It's a lyrical dance of healthy community when we begin to peel back the places of shame and pain that dulls our shine and allow that light to pour out into the world. The darkness of hurt can dampen the brightest light, but the space for truth to rest... the truth of where we sit... that space brings freedom, and light, and love and grace. Wouldn't it be wonderful if we all had a place like that? A group to go to where you knew that your heart and your fear and your precious lifeblood would be honored and loved and given room to rest? All of us need it. We all need those places to be vulnerable and allow the opening of our wings without the fear of another person tearing a hole in the gauzy fabric. I have friends who do this for me, and I know I'm blessed.
I'm looking forward to getting to know my group and learning from the strengths they have that I am lacking and excited to offer encouragement in places where I am strong. It's good stuff- this systematic autopsy of my struggle. I'm thankful to get to have a group to hold me up as I shrug off some of the falsely protective layers of pain and let them hold me up as I unfold my wings and get my legs under me.
Monday, January 13, 2014
My name is Heather and I'm a recovering blogaholic
I used to read mommy blogs the way that other women read erotic novels. I had a problem and I don't mind admitting it (now). I would pour over words that other moms wrote and then use them as measuring tapes for how I was doing as a mother. (For the record? I usually decided I was coming up short. Failing miserably. Most likely to send their children to therapy first.) But I couldn't stop. The addiction of punishing myself with their words and stories and beautiful photos was one that was damaging and yet strongly drew me in day after day.
I was so sensitive to how many places I wasn't 'doing it right', that each word, every birthday party photograph, each recipe to save my family tons of money while also nourishing their growing bodies felt like a personal affront to my mothering style.
I don't read blogs much anymore. Not because I don't like them, but because I all too often dive in head first and find myself writhing in physical pain because I have never given my children a themed birthday party with colorful balloons and a catered cake. The pinterest laced craft ideas that mock my feeble attempt at engaging my children with art are everywhere these days, and for me? the best choice is to not engage. Essentially I'm a mommy-blogaholic, and the best remedy for that is to abstain. I do however, read Momastery. Her raw honesty, admission of mess and struggle, and ability to laugh at herself connects me to her at a soul level. I'm absolutely sure we could be the best of friends if she would let me come and sit at her feet while soaking in her common-sense knowledge.
She had a post recently that has stuck with me and brought some freedom into my heart. She wrote this and you really need to go and read it.
She talks about how other women aren't 'parenting at us'. Let that sink in for a moment. Other women are not parenting at us.
Roll that around in your heart... start to fill in the holes with other ways that that applies...
That other woman? The one wearing the amazing dress that you would secretly love to wear but feel too tall, fat, skinny, old, young.. fill in the blank- she is not wearing that dress at you.
The room mom who likes to make fancy cupcakes for every holiday known to man, and bring in special origami valentines that she and her first grader slaved over is not crafting at you. The career mom who manages to not only work an amazing job but still be the den mother for boy scouts is not den mothering at you.
The teenage girl with the skinny body whose shorts show a little too much... ahem, muscle, is not being beautiful at you. (well, maybe she is, just a little) The point is, we all too often take our own insecurities, struggles, and mess and use them to paint across everyone else and absorb that negative junk back into our hearts in such a way that affirms to us that we are not enough.
Not enough.
Not.....kind enough. skinny enough. smart enough. gentle enough. beautiful enough. tall enough. stylish enough. we paint everyone else with our 'not enough-ness' and then treat them as the enemy... instead of confronting the lies we're telling ourselves.
Isn't is easier that way? It was for me. It was easier for me to think that other women were homeschooling at me rather than to be vulnerable enough to admit that I was choosing not to homeschool because it didn't work for me. It's easier to get angry at all the other moms or women who appear to be living closer to the expectations we had for ourselves, and press the disappointment of life into their choices rather than to sit in the reality of the life we are living.
I'm becoming freer and happier as I am beginning to be able to live in this reality. I took two of my children to Awana at church this evening. (Sort of like scouts- but at church) And was laughing on the phone with a friend as I told her that for us? Showing up with our supplies was a win. Other moms work hard to help their children learn the memory verses for the week, and read the stories nightly to them before tucking them in... these children are receiving patches for their hard work and memorization skills. I laughingly asked my friend how I could get the patch for just being there. Showing up. Wearing matching shoes. For my family, in this season, that is a great feat. That's my reality. The mothers who are working nightly with their kids to help them memorize the weekly verses aren't doing that at me... they are doing the best job they can... inside of their reality.
When you begin to see that each of us is doing the best we can.. at that moment.. with what we know and what we have to work with in the way of skill and giftings.. you stop thinking everyone is living at you and begin to see how much freedom you have to live in your present reality with the grace you are provided in your own circumstances. The post Glennon wrote has singed my heart. The message went down deep and has allowed me to laugh at myself and the complete pridefulness it exposes as I start to recognize how much I can make it about me. The irony is that freedom is allowing me to be a better mother. The headspace I was renting out to lies is now free to be inhabited by grace. And that is where I want to be.
I was so sensitive to how many places I wasn't 'doing it right', that each word, every birthday party photograph, each recipe to save my family tons of money while also nourishing their growing bodies felt like a personal affront to my mothering style.
I don't read blogs much anymore. Not because I don't like them, but because I all too often dive in head first and find myself writhing in physical pain because I have never given my children a themed birthday party with colorful balloons and a catered cake. The pinterest laced craft ideas that mock my feeble attempt at engaging my children with art are everywhere these days, and for me? the best choice is to not engage. Essentially I'm a mommy-blogaholic, and the best remedy for that is to abstain. I do however, read Momastery. Her raw honesty, admission of mess and struggle, and ability to laugh at herself connects me to her at a soul level. I'm absolutely sure we could be the best of friends if she would let me come and sit at her feet while soaking in her common-sense knowledge.
She had a post recently that has stuck with me and brought some freedom into my heart. She wrote this and you really need to go and read it.
She talks about how other women aren't 'parenting at us'. Let that sink in for a moment. Other women are not parenting at us.
Roll that around in your heart... start to fill in the holes with other ways that that applies...
That other woman? The one wearing the amazing dress that you would secretly love to wear but feel too tall, fat, skinny, old, young.. fill in the blank- she is not wearing that dress at you.
The room mom who likes to make fancy cupcakes for every holiday known to man, and bring in special origami valentines that she and her first grader slaved over is not crafting at you. The career mom who manages to not only work an amazing job but still be the den mother for boy scouts is not den mothering at you.
The teenage girl with the skinny body whose shorts show a little too much... ahem, muscle, is not being beautiful at you. (well, maybe she is, just a little) The point is, we all too often take our own insecurities, struggles, and mess and use them to paint across everyone else and absorb that negative junk back into our hearts in such a way that affirms to us that we are not enough.
Not enough.
Not.....kind enough. skinny enough. smart enough. gentle enough. beautiful enough. tall enough. stylish enough. we paint everyone else with our 'not enough-ness' and then treat them as the enemy... instead of confronting the lies we're telling ourselves.
Isn't is easier that way? It was for me. It was easier for me to think that other women were homeschooling at me rather than to be vulnerable enough to admit that I was choosing not to homeschool because it didn't work for me. It's easier to get angry at all the other moms or women who appear to be living closer to the expectations we had for ourselves, and press the disappointment of life into their choices rather than to sit in the reality of the life we are living.
I'm becoming freer and happier as I am beginning to be able to live in this reality. I took two of my children to Awana at church this evening. (Sort of like scouts- but at church) And was laughing on the phone with a friend as I told her that for us? Showing up with our supplies was a win. Other moms work hard to help their children learn the memory verses for the week, and read the stories nightly to them before tucking them in... these children are receiving patches for their hard work and memorization skills. I laughingly asked my friend how I could get the patch for just being there. Showing up. Wearing matching shoes. For my family, in this season, that is a great feat. That's my reality. The mothers who are working nightly with their kids to help them memorize the weekly verses aren't doing that at me... they are doing the best job they can... inside of their reality.
When you begin to see that each of us is doing the best we can.. at that moment.. with what we know and what we have to work with in the way of skill and giftings.. you stop thinking everyone is living at you and begin to see how much freedom you have to live in your present reality with the grace you are provided in your own circumstances. The post Glennon wrote has singed my heart. The message went down deep and has allowed me to laugh at myself and the complete pridefulness it exposes as I start to recognize how much I can make it about me. The irony is that freedom is allowing me to be a better mother. The headspace I was renting out to lies is now free to be inhabited by grace. And that is where I want to be.
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