Half speed

I’ve been listening to some podcasts lately; there are so many I’ve just discovered that I can’t wait to get to! So I followed your example and upped the pace to 1.5 times. I know you’re all on the 2 or 2.5 setting but this was more my speed. Until I was cleaning the bathroom listening to my Conversation with a Reluctant Therapist and had an epiphany. I realized I didn’t want to just get through it so I could rush onto the next one.  I wanted to savor her words and ideas and just bask in the experience of this one podcast.  I wanted her to slow down, I wanted to just enjoy the moment without worrying what else I was missing out on. I’d listen to the others later.  Eventually. Down the road.  Whenever it works out.

I didn’t have to talk myself into switching back to the regular speed. The moment we were back to normal, I exhaled and immediately felt settled.  Like me again.

I’ve lived long enough to have moved past the race mentality.  There was a season.  A middle-of-my-life season. But I’m over it.  Now I just want to savor everyday regular life.  At normal speed.  I don’t feel compelled to be hasty with something as precious as my time.  I’m ok with slow and steady.  And so switching back felt authentic.  Much improved.

I’ll throw the ball to our dogs in the fading evening in our long living room now and then. I sometimes just sit on the floor and scratch and rub them.  Possibly a huge time waster.  My older self would definitely think so.  But I have no qualms about spending a few minutes of the muted day just loving on them.  Their satisfaction is obvious, and when I allow myself to just be, mine is too.

It was quiet in the house just last night.  The dogs had eaten.  The kids were distributed.  Todd wasn’t home from work yet.  The dishwasher was humming, the dryer was nearly ready for me, I was in the middle of cleaning the bathroom before I dropped our daughter off at volleyball practice, and I remembered the letter in my purse from my aunt that I’d only read half-way.  So I sat in front of my fireplace and just relished the sensation of an old-fashioned note handwritten in beautiful English teacher penmanship.  On real stationery.  We’ve been sending each other letters for decades. Countless exchanges just like this.  So I gave myself permission to just rest and read.  And then I read it again.  And stayed right where I was without moving to make dinner for our guests due in just over an hour.  Without finishing the bathroom right away.  Without bothering to tidy up. Without switching the laundry.

I noticed the walls are part brown and part white, still patiently waiting for a painting day.  I take in the vintage tables circa 1950 that we claimed at a school sale for $5 each.  One holds craft implements that usually live in the sunroom; the other cradles the puzzle Todd and I started the night before.  The mantel holds treasures that reflect our style, nothing that’s in vogue or noteworthy, just pictures and trinkets that delight us. It’s a hodgepodge of new and old.  Mostly old.  But it feels like us, comfortable and homey.  I relished the cocooned feeling and took some time to observe and think for awhile.

About nothing really.  About everything.  The friends who are struggling in their marriages and have confided other sad stories.  Recent exchanges and conversations. Wood we have in mind for a new mantel.  Pillows I’ve decided to create.  Our long winter akin to Laura’s.  How much I love Todd.  How weird it is to be this old and in this strange stage of life and have no kids at home.  My 84 year-old aunt’s funny admonition from her letter, “Caren, I would like to see you explore the labor market in your area… You have many years left—what are you going to do???”  I just sunk a little deeper into my little couch amused and content with my wonderings and ponderings.

But as I sat in the still and fading light, surrounded by snow and shadows, I realized how fulfilled I am listening to life, living life, feeling life at this slower speed.  I’m generally efficient, I like to make the most of my days.  Time is one of my most valued commodities.  And yet my attitude about it has shifted over a lifetime.

I no longer see putting together a puzzle with Todd a waste of time. I don’t worry that sitting in front of the fire with my family is taking away from our work night.  I’m fine with spending an hour each night making dinner with my son. I enjoy long talks on my daughter’s bed.  I’m ok with the quiet minutes with my thoughts as I do my errands.  I’m good with some blank space around our activities.  I relish weekends and week nights with nothing on the agenda.  I don’t need excitement, a frenzy of activity, a calendar bursting with commitments, a life blurred because it’s speeding past.  I’m good with a little less.

Because it’s already going too fast.  If there was any way in the world to push pause or rewind or half-speed, I’d take it.  I feel immense relief that I still have time.  To just be.  To read quietly alone.  To stay up late talking with Todd in our bed after a full day.  To linger with a friend for the better part of an afternoon.  To take walks.  To write letters the old-fashioned way.  To be present for the seventh grade volleyball game.  To read books with my little one-year-old friend.  To enjoy beautiful music.  To play Scrabble with friends late into the night.  To reminisce about the days with our littles.  To hear Todd’s plans for landscaping the yard and what he wants to plant in the garden.  To share some thoughts about relationships with the kids. To make muffins with streusel topping with wild blueberries from summer in Minnesota.  These things take time.  Un-rushed—sometimes unplanned—time.  

As we slow things down from the double speed so many of us are used to, we become ridiculously more productive.  If that’s your goal.  It’s counter-intuitive to be sure, but I can’t begin to enumerate how many cooking mishaps have resulted from my hastiness, how many trucks we’ve seen in the ditches because they were driving too fast for the icy road conditions, how many errors I made in algebra because I was careless and moving through my homework too quickly, how many details I’ve gotten wrong because I jumped to conclusions and didn’t stop to ask questions. Or to just wait.

By running instead of walking, I’ve missed out on the subtleties that enhance everyday life.  A rushed exchange with a child, jotting down the date and time, but forgoing an opportunity to ask how she feels about the recital or the procedure she’s heading to.  When I’m distracted, I don’t notice a friend’s real concern, the hesitancy in a text, her need to talk.  If we have a busy night and have to get out the door, I miss our dinner routine, our time to catch up and talk around the table.  If we plug too much into a pleasure trip, we might miss the antique shop or quaint cafe because we’re limited by our itinerary that keeps us on task.  When I’m doubling my speed or even running a little faster than necessary, I’m actually taking in less, doing less, feeling less.

The most valuable dividend gained by slowing down, by turning it down a notch, is that we’re able to hear.  The crackle of the wood, the drip of the icicles melting, the whir of the refrigerator, the plane coming in for landing in the distance, the train still miles down the road, the quiet snores of the dogs, the furnace kicking on.  And maybe none of that matters really.  It might not.  But it teaches us what it feels like to be still.  To move a little slower.  So we can tune into the truly important rustlings and whisperings we may miss if we aren’t listening. 

When we’re settled, when we use our time to be quietly present without worrying about what’s next or what we’re not doing, when we slow down enough to enjoy the current moment—whether it’s noticing the leaves quivering outside the window or digesting the thoughts from my podcast or sensing the impression my heart feels to move in a new direction, we can feel peace.  More centered, collected, composed.

Not that we don’t have demands, jobs, places to be, people counting on us.  We can’t lounge on the couch all day and wave a wand while we watch the birds and listen to the cars on the road.  Obviously we’ve got to keep pace and be productive.  I’m just suggesting that life will continue to move along fast enough, there's no need to speed things along. And any chance we get to hit pause or to slow things down for a moment will be worth our time.

Giving and holding back

In an off-moment, I thought it would be nice for my 12 year-old son to come home to fresh sheets after having left on a Saturday morning at the unthinkable hour of 6:45.  I was washing ours, I hate to have less than a good, full load and so I thought of his bed.  Laundry is one of my favorite of all household chores, and yet I have so little compared to the baskets I used to balance.  And so I threw his in while I made a cake and did some paper work.  In my glory.

And then, before I knew it, the wash was all done and I did the unthinkable.  Instead of dropping the pile of warm sheets on his bed for him to make up later, I made his bed.  Heavenly.  When I was really little, I dreamed of being a hotel maid.  Simply because I love making things inviting for guests and for my family.  I love making beds comfy and cozy.  And so I thought about what I was doing.  So uncharacteristic of me. I was coddling, doing for him what he could (and should) do for himself, meddling even; he’s certainly old enough to handle his sheet schedule and tuck in corners nurse-style  But I was in my happy place.  I love how tight and uniform his bed looks.  I love turning down the sheets over the comforter, double-casing the pillows, smoothing and fluffing it all, smoothing the wrinkles out to the edges.  

I almost couldn’t help myself and it dawned on me as I puffed his two pillows, propping them against his backboard.  I was relishing the thought of him crawling into his fresh bed later that night, sheets clean with the scent of laundry detergent, imagining how cocooning it would feel come night time.  Exhale.  One of life’s favorite luxuries.  That’s why I was doing this, because I love clean sheets and freshly made beds so much myself.  I wanted someone I loved to enjoy the sensation too.

I had a college roommate who would buy all the parts but ask if I would just make the salad for her.  Because it tastes better.  Which is why we spend at least four times as much to have someone at Jimmy John’s or Subway make us a sandwich that we could just as easily and quickly make at home.  Even the littles are on to this, requesting the other make the sandwich for them because it tastes better.

I love it when I’ve come home from a long afternoon of meetings and Todd’s got the table laden with healthy foods, chicken coming off the grill, fresh vegetables from the garden (although there’s a substantial lack of carbs when he cooks and I’m usually still hungry afterward, sigh).  I could make the same thing.  I do it all the other days of the week.  But food never tastes as good as when he’s made it.  Even when I’m at my mom’s house and she makes the same Scottish mince or roast I grew up on with boxed blueberry muffins and corn boiled in butter… it’s intoxicatingly soothing.  Which is why I love being invited into someone else’s house.  I don’t care if it’s pizza from a box or chicken salad croissants.  I just love it when someone else takes the reins for the day and all I have to do is walk over the threshold carrying a cake.  I love the finished product, the table that I didn’t have to set, the water that magically appears in goblets that I never even touched.

I think that’s what I love about a hotel room and eating out.  Just that someone else has had the foresight to think through all the parts.  That someone else had a hand in making an experience pleasurable for me instead of me providing it for myself.

But this is how, as a mom, it all gets a little tricky.

Because I love nurturing my family.  I love it when the table’s all set, steaming dishes with nutritious fare, bread on the cutting board next to homemade jam, lettuce and tomatoes still warm from the garden, a pile of raspberries on the side, satisfactorily warming my heart.

I love doing their laundry and making individual lunches and taking some of the burden of regular life from them.  I love cleaning their bathrooms and vacuuming because it all looks and smells so fresh and clean.  And I like seeing it all done at once.  Like it would feel as a hotel maid, backing out of a room, leaving a lingering fresh scent, imagining weary travelers coming in to a comfortable abode after a long day of play.

But if I made their lunches or made their beds every day, they’d never think to acknowledge it because they’d hardly notice.  It’s cute when Avery gets excited seeing her clean laundry on her bed.  Every now and then I’ll just throw hers in with mine when I know she’s got tennis and big tests and work.  I love to do it.  And I love how she notices.  To me, that makes me eager to help her out the next time I see she’s in a bind.

And yet I’m not saying not to serve our kids or each other on a regular basis, are you kidding?  How else will they learn if we don’t exemplify what we preach?  But I’ve wondered what the balance is.  Will they be grateful if everything is done for them?  Or will they just take it all for granted and assume that’s how their life is?  Are there times when we could—and would like to—pamper them but realize we need to hold back for their own good?  I think so.

I think God is like this with us, willing to bless us with comforts and to spoil us with more than we can hold.  And yet, He yields discerningly as he carefully considers what’s best for us.

I think we get complacent when life gets a little too easy.  When we have too many treats coming in during the holidays.  When someone’s always making us sandwiches.  I totally take it for granted that Todd’s cooking every Sunday.  Until it comes up in a random conversation or he’s got meetings all day or doesn’t feel well and can’t.  And I remember how great I have it.

Some days the best thing I can do for my kids is to make them a lunch in the morning, to put Avery’s smoothie together for her as she’s rushing out the house a little after 6, to sit and watch a show with a sick kid.  Most days I feel that they can handle it all, but every now and then something’s off and I sense what they need.  Once in awhile, I’m happy to do their dishes for them so they can go work with their dad in the garage.  Every so often I’ll buy them pizza at Costco.  But I love to do it; especially when they seem to appreciate it.

But do they realize how much we’re doing for them all along the way? That dad gets up early to go to work to provide for our family, that the house is picked up and taken care of, that they have lunch money in their accounts, that someone went grocery shopping, that we have lights and heating and vehicles?  And do we realize how much God is doing for us all along the way? I think we’re not that much different from our kids; we take the sun and the moon, the rain and the wind, our health and our bodies for granted so much of the time.  I know He understands; we’re young, we’re still learning. Just like our kids.

And yet I wonder if He would enjoy giving us more if we would simply acknowledge His hand in our lives.  I think about this with the kids.  When they notice and thank us for the small things we do, a little pack of gum on their beds, when we feed the dogs for them, I’m much more likely to want to do more for them.  I still want them to be responsible for their lives, to handle most of it. I would love to be more involved, but I hold back because I know it’s good for them.  I want them to grow up to be gracious and humble and thankful adults.  I just think God isn’t that different.  He would love to give us the fulness of the earth, everything He has.  But in His wisdom, He defers for a time.  He blesses us almost proportionately as we humbly look to Him with thanks for what He does for us.  But not really.  His blessings always, always tip the scale.

We are obviously not nearly as wise as God.  I’m just practicing on a very small scale as a parent.  But as we try to decide when to do something for our kids, I’m beginning to understand the thought process God may have.  I’m starting to see that He’s not holding back because He doesn’t love us or care or know how to help or is busy.  He’s allowing us to do what we can for ourselves for own own good and growth. But every now and then He’ll shower me with an unexpected answer, a little boost, a treat out of the blue. I’ve learned that the more I look for and notice what He does for me, the more humbled I am and the more I want to serve others to pay that love forward.   

So as I weigh this all out as we’re raising our kids, I lean on His perfect example.  I of course would love to spoil my kids, to make their lives easy and blissful and painless.  I would love them to have clean, warm sheets and a fluffy white towel waiting for them every evening.  I would love for them to enjoy a life void of chores and hassles, sandwiches built to suit just for the asking with Red Vines on the side just for fun.  And yet, I know from His perfect pattern, that we hold back some of this for their own good. Not because we don’t love them or care or know what they’d love, but because we do.  And we know, in the end, the best we can give them as parents is a better version of themselves, men and women who have matured into humble, kind, grateful adults themselves.  Who will, in turn, be wise as they discern when to serve others and when to hold back.

The sweetness of a cloudy day

So typical when I’m making food for friends.  Something was off in the oatmeal knots and I didn’t realize it until I tasted one at the luncheon I had for a small group of ladies.  Good grief.  I’d always loved the sweet honeyed wheaty taste of these favorites.  But this day they were bland and I couldn’t understand what had gone wrong.  Until it dawned on me I’d forgotten the salt.  The recipe calls for such a small amount; one would never guess it would make all the difference in palatableness.  As is true in nearly all baking.  My kids are always shocked that we put salt in our sugar cookies.  And that we add a little sugar to our spaghetti sauce.

I was listening to a podcast not long ago and she hit on something I’d suspected but thought it was just me being weird.  Validating to find out it’s a real thing.  Similar to S.A.D., it’s a new issue they’re calling climate change depression that occurs when the weather is unseasonably off.  Sort of like when it’s fall in the northern states and still in the 70s and 80s.  Like this past Thanksgiving in Montana, completely void of snow and warm enough to go to school without a coat.  Just sort of strange and makes us feel a little unsettled.  She was noting this as she traveled to work when it should’ve been cold but wasn’t.  Then she realized how much better she felt as she noticed the fog rolling in later that morning.  It reassured and soothed her.  She discovered that many people feel uneasy or out of sorts when the weather doesn’t behave as anticipated.  Even if it’s sunny and warm.  It seems as though we need regular winter to keep us feeling steady.

I didn’t have anything to compare it to as a kid; but now that I’ve experienced the four seasons, I’d never want to go back to my San Diego upbringing.  It was predictably warm and beautiful nearly all the time.  An occasional rainy day, early morning coastal fog now and then, but generally sunny and pleasant.  People who visit always come back to Montana and ask why on earth I ever left.  And why I don’t want to go back.  How do I explain (when it’s -17 and we’re breaking snowfall records from 40 years ago) that I prefer a little snow and a few chilly days?

I simply can’t fathom an October afternoon watching cross country without colorful leaves fluttering from the trees, creating a crunchy footpath for the kids.  I can’t imagine Christmas carols and stockings without snow as a backdrop.  Or having a fireplace and woodpile just for looks without ever really needing to use any of it.

Just like my podcast friend was explaining, just like my rolls sans salt, I think we inherently need—and even crave—a little opposition to appreciate the sweetness, the joy of a warm day, the good.  This is a hard sell, and I don’t know that our younger friends can really grasp this concept; but the older I get the better I understand this principle I first learned years and years ago as a teenager:

For it must needs be, that there is an opposition in all things.

...and they taste the bitter, that they may know to prize the good.
...for if they never should have bitter they could not know the sweet.

This has helped me so much over the years as I’ve dealt with adversity.  I look at as a way to appreciate the good that will inevitably come again.  We may not fully enjoy our health, our families, our freedoms, our jobs, or our everyday lives until they’re interrupted or compromised.  And following a hiccup or upset of whatever variety, we somehow become more grateful for regular life, the good that we took for granted before.

It’s not until I recovered from a week of stomach sickness that I almost cherished cooking and cleaning for my family.  It took awhile to feel back to normal after an emergency c-section with my fifth child, and I was so grateful to be able to mop the floor and clean the bathroom without hurting and to be able to drive and pick up my two-year-old again.  Holding each other and crying the night we found out I had cancer only made us feel our love more intensely than ever before.  Watching my little daughter choke one normal day at lunch made me realize how close we can come to losing each other.  There is nothing better than an understanding conversation with a friend clearing up a miscommunication; my love for her soars and I’m almost grateful for that chance to see how deep our friendship really is.  I’m so proud of my sons and where they are, but I don’t know that I’d feel as tender about it all if we hadn’t had our struggles along the way.  I don’t know if I’d appreciate a dinner I’d made for guests that came together just the way I’d envisioned if I hadn’t burned a few things and made a million flops over the years.

It’s the salt that enhances the sweet.  It’s the opposition in everyday life that really brings us joy.  It’s not a forecast of cloudless, sunshiny days.  It’s a little rain, a disagreement with a spouse, a hectic morning, a near-miss on the icy roads, a question that kind of shakes you, an unsettling diagnosis, a text that doesn’t sit quite right.  And it’s the homecoming and reunion over a pot of soup later that day.  A clarifying discussion with a daughter and a long hug.  The realization that Someone was watching over you on your drive home. The confirmation that you and your husband really are still in love even after a long stretch of hard days or even years.  These are the sweet moments we may overlook if they were like paper hearts simply strung together in a festive pennant.  Not that we don’t hope for our projects, our days, our families, our health, our lives to be free from obstacles and pain.  We cut out our paper hearts, we lay them out to hang just so, we hope things will turn out ok.  That’s only natural.

And yet I’ve felt it myself.  When I notice skies have been a little too blue, that the sun in my life has been out longer than normal, when summer’s been going on for awhile, I start checking the weather for an upcoming rain shower.  I know from experience we’re due for some kind of change, I expect it, and in a weird way, I’m ok with it. Before long, a kid will confide in us.  We’ll feel an urge to move.  A vehicle will break down.  Money will feel tighter than usual.  One of us will get a new assignment.  A kid will leave us.  A family member will have a tragedy.  A dog will need to be put down.  Or we’ll get a new one. An appliance will quit working.  One of the kids will get a boyfriend or girlfriend. The water heater will go out.  We’ll realize one of the kids is struggling with friends or school and we had no idea.  A  misunderstanding with a friend comes out of nowhere.  It’s almost comforting to confront difficulty.  It makes me feel like we’re really living, that we’re getting a full day out of our tickets, like we're strong enough to handle a little test.  Like a snowless Thanksgiving in Montana, as much as we enjoyed the warm temperatures, it was a little unsettling, things feel just a little too good to be true when there isn't a little crispness in the air come October or a snag or bump to work through after a period of relative calm.

And maybe I not only endure—but on some level welcome—these frosty wintry days because they help me appreciate the return of grass and buds all the more.  I honestly look forward to the brisk fall mornings that morph into frigid icy darkness for a spell.  And though I can’t honestly say that I’d choose to go through hard times as a family, I think we can all admit they help us see more clearly the joy of everyday life.  Just as we contemplate spring, I know from experience that these difficult, sometimes intense and seemingly never-ending seasons of our lives will strengthen us and our relationships.  Which is why I’ve learned to not wish the challenges and vicissitudes of life, the rainy--even frosty—days, the opposition, away.  I’ve lived long enough and through enough seasons to know the warm days of summer will come again.

Hold please

I guess as parents we’ve made every mistake out there with phones and technology.  I wish with all my heart we could have a do-over.  I’m mad at myself for my ignorance.  And I’m sad that I didn’t have the where-with-all to do better.  As hard as we tried, I feel like we completely failed our kids. Our oldest child will be 22 this year.  We were pioneers when it came to phones and computers and technology in general, at least as far as parenting it all goes.  I think we all recognize that we’re the first generation of parents in this situation.  Of course our parents had to monitor the tv (did they?), but no generation of caregivers has ever been up against something of this magnitude.  I don’t think anyway.

This comes up in nearly every conversation I have with other parents.  They’re frustrated, we’re constantly discussing new ways to monitor the kids, they all have their own ways of handling the overload.  And I admire all of them, they are way ahead of it all compared to how we did it.  Like I said, I’d do it all differently if I could go back and start over.  We’re doing things differently now, but I have definite regrets.

I just wonder if we can switch things up a bit.  And start by asking ourselves, as parents, what we’re doing.  Why are we giving phones to our kids?  What’s the purpose, our reasoning?  I guess I don’t see any reason in the world why young kids need phones.  And I’m being bold by saying that includes anyone who’s not driving.  Why can’t we hold off until they’re at least that old?  I have maybe one friend who feels the same as me, so I already know what you’re all thinking.  But maybe we can just think about it.

Everyone else has one, so if there’s an emergency or change of plans with sports or after-school activities or with friends, there are plenty of phones to call or text from.  They can also make arrangements through the parents’ phones; that way we know exactly what’s happening because they need to talk about the plans before they can make them.  Can we simply have a family phone that goes with a kid to the movies or the mall or on an 8th grade trip?

If 7th and 8th graders and early 9th graders didn’t have phones, what might change?  What would we be avoiding? What would we be giving up (at least for a little longer)?

Fights over usage

Bullying through texts

Interrupted sleep time

Distracted face to face conversations (if they’re even having them)

Heightened anxiety over relationships especially resulting from miscommunications via texts

What might we gain?

Money, time, energy that phones require from us as we monitor and pay for them

Face to face conversation

Communication skills

Confidence

Time to play like kids, to be bored, to create, to read, to exercise, to cook, to develop hobbies

Less stress and tension in our homes and lives

Better sleep

Real relationships

A chance for parents to answer questions that kids may have looked up on their phones

Longer-lasting childhoods

More focused learning in school

More time to influence them as parents

You can finish the lists, we all know what the issues are.  We just need to honestly ask ourselves if the good outweighs the bad, if what we're getting is worth what we're giving up.

Can we honestly assess why we’re giving kids—kids—phones? Which are amazing tools, no question.  But do we want 10 year olds to date? Do we want our 12 year old kids having sex?  Do we want 13 year olds driving? Of course we want them to eventually.  It’s nothing more than a timing issue, a little breathing room for a child to grow up and mature a just a little more.  It’s a parent knowing what’s best and following through on her instincts regardless of what our cultural norms are dictating.

Instead of fighting what we think is the inevitable fight, why not just carry on the way we’ve been doing it for a few more years to give them time to mature?  Not that a 10th grader is necessarily mature.  But a few years from 10 to 16 can make a huge difference.  And then when we determine they’re ready, we should still monitor things with the goal being to teach them how to use technology responsibly and purposefully without parental control.  We need to continually expand their freedoms and choices so that life without us isn’t that much different; they’ve been used to living this way for awhile.  As seniors in high school, they’re nearly ready to move out and should be prepared to do so.  But an 18 year-old is inevitably (and hopefully) different from a 15 year-old.

Will our 7th grader feel left-out and weird if he’s the only one without a phone? Of course. Will she resent you? Definitely.  Same as when we tell them it’s time to come home or that we’re having soup and salad for dinner or it’s time to unload the dishwasher or to send a thank you note to grandma.  That’s parenting.  Kids will always push their limits and try to wear down their parents.  But strong parents have always stood their ground because the love they have for their kids trumps giving in to what kids think they want and need.  We’re the grown-ups.  And these devices make it hard for us to self-monitor.  How can we expect that from our 12 year-olds? And obviously, every situation is different, every kid and family dynamic is unique.  I’m just throwing this out there for us to think about.

The friendship quandary

A friend sent me this picture quote the other day because it resonated with her and she knew I’d understand. 

Totally get it.  We’ve talked about this a lot.   She’s been taking a break from friends.  Too many times over the past couple of years she’s been let down.  She just wants to play it safe and stick with her husband and boys.  She’s worn out trying with friends.  More than that; she’s sick of it. 

We’ve both struggled with knowing how much to give to friendships.  It seems like it’s all in vain and mostly pointless to really even try most of the time.  People are fine.  They’ve got their families.  Their other friends.  They’re busy, they’ve got places to go, lots on their phones, we get it.  But I also understand where she’s coming from.  How hard is it to acknowledge the little package she left on a girlfriend’s porch? How hard is it to say hi to her at the Christmas dinner or to sit with her and her family?  Why do friends with whom she and her family have shared so many memories with over several years just pick up and leave without any explanation?

I have others who have shared these same bewildered thoughts with me.  I’ve felt them myself.  We have no satisfying answers.  We feel that it must be us.  And so our natural defense is to retreat.

Of course friends move on, that’s life, we’ve been dealing with this since elementary school. But it’s still hurtful when they leave without saying goodbye because we’re left to fill in the blanks.  We have no idea what we’ve done wrong (we try to come up with a list but we’re never quite sure), what she didn’t like, if we’ve offended her, if we’ve just grown apart and she’s simply found other people she prefers or who are a better fit.  It feels like we were never friends to begin with though; a true friend would at least give us the benefit of explaining what happened.  And so that wound never really heals, there’s no closure.  But even as we try to let it go and try to not think about it, we’re still left wondering.  And it’s hard to want to put yourself out there again.  Especially after it’s happened more than a few times.

And so I can see why the natural inclination is to shut down and retreat.  It’s protection, it feel like the only safe thing to do.

This has been my initial reaction throughout our marriage when we’ve had conflict (which is often; we’re both oldests and opinionated and stubborn).  I am learning and doing better the older I get, but most of the time earlier in our marriage I just stopped talking, I got quiet, I checked out and shut down.  I was too hurt and embarrassed and frustrated to engage, at least in the moment.  And, if I’m honest, it’s still my natural inclination.  Except now I manage to squeak out, I’m just thinking, I’m too emotional, we’ll talk later.  But my first impulse is to stop engaging, to emotionally curl up into a ball.

The reason I’m getting better at sticking with it is because of the trust I share with Todd. I know for certain he loves me, that we are committed, that this is just a hiccup, a difference of opinion, something we’ll need to address.  I know he’s not going to leave me over it, we still care about each other, he’s proven his love and devotion over and over in the years we’ve been together.  Even though we’ve had hundreds of disagreements over the years, I know it will all work out.  We will most likely continue to hang on to our opinions, but we’re solid; I trust his love and so I’m confidant in our relationship even when there are mishaps.

With friends it’s a little trickier.  How do we know when to believe her actions and when to keep trying?  How long do you keep at it?  What if she never calls or texts or wants to get together?  Do you still remember her birthday and do you do something for her? Even though she never remembers yours? But what if, when you do get together, it’s as if no time has passed?  It’s a beautiful reunion, your friendship is rekindled, you feel just as close as ever.  But what if you’re always the one to initiate? Is that ok?  Does it mean that it’s just easier for you because you have a less-busy life?  Or does it mean she’s not that interested in maintaining a friendship and is moving on?  How to tell?  It just feels like if you have to ask you already know.

And yet, I want to trust my girlfriends like I do my husband.  That we’re good.  That life just gets busy.  I want to believe they’re still invested.  It’s easier and more my thing to text my husband than it is for him to think to do it for me.  And so maybe it’s more our thing to nurture friendships, maybe we have more time than our friends do, maybe we just think of it more.  Maybe weeks fly by before they realize how much time has passed.  Maybe people are just trying to keep all the balls from falling.  They’re busy.  Maybe.

But I know that’s not really true at all. Not always.

And so then I feel dumb.  Like a lovesick junior high girl with a crush.  It’s obvious.  And yet hard to accept.  And so we keep hoping.

I’ll admit, I know which friendships are genuine.  Just like you do. I don’t have to talk to these girlfriends all the time.  Months can go by, I absolutely know we’re good.  We have actually talked about it, I trust them, I know our friendship is solid.  It’s like that with my sisters and my mom; we don’t talk every day.  Or even every week.  Yet there’s absolutely not a question in my mind as to where we stand.

But there are others that we struggle to know what to do about.  So my friend’s answer to is to quit trying.  To believe them.  Todd agrees.  Why do we keep extending ourselves?  It makes sense, I get where they’re coming from.  Have some self-respect, don’t keep putting yourself out there.  And yet, I still waffle.

It may not be right, I may be the most naive woman around.  But I think we can invite God to weigh in on this.  Because relationships are what He cares about more than anything in the world.  And He knows what’s going on behind the scenes.  And when we ask, we are guaranteed to get answers as to how to proceed.  Because it’s hard for us to know if what we’re seeing is really what’s going on.  And He can help us figure it out.

I can’t tell you how many experiences I’ve had where this has been true.  So many seemingly one-sided friendships where I’ve felt foolish and at the point of giving up when something happens that helps me know it hasn’t been a waste of time and to stick with her or the family. Ideally it would be nice to have friendships be the perfect balance of give and take.  But it’s not always like that, and so I’m grateful for the times when He’s told me to stick it out.  As well as for the times He’s told me gently to let it go.

This is murky territory, the relationship business.  I’m incredulous at how often I feel like we’re still in jr. high.  And that I’m still trying to figure out girlfriends.  So I’m grateful for this friend and others who have confided that they still struggle too; at least I know I’m not the only one.

But more than anything, I’m thankful for my best friends.  For my mom and my sisters.  For my husband and kids.  For the dear, close friends whose hearts I’m tethered to no matter what.  And above all, I’m grateful beyond words for my Savior, the truest of all friends.  Who not only understands all of this perfectly but who is slowly teaching me what it means to love.  Both others and myself.  With His spirit, I’m able to discern which is which and when to hold on and when to let go.

36 Questions

I’m sure most of you have heard of this; it’s a very famous study done back in the 90s with fascinating results.  Basically, partners were asked to share about themselves in a personal way through face to face conversation (prompted by 36 questions) producing unexpected lasting closeness and connectedness.

As a friend and I were talking about this study, we weren’t surprised by their findings.  We both love good conversation and know its powerful ramifications for intimacy.  But we’re a little older and grew up in a time without so much technology when conversation (either in person or on the phone) was the norm.

I get teased a lot (by mostly my husband) for my probing questions.  I almost always feel embarrassed for having asked.  Not because I think any of them are inappropriate.  But because I almost always realize too late that I’ve gone too far.  Back up, return to the surface small talk, that’s all we’re doing here. Go back to where she feels safe.  Which is so tiresome.  And if I’m honest, I think it’s the inefficiency that grates on me.  I long to connect, to really talk! There are some where we’ll hug and get right to it, How are you? No, seriously, how are you?  That's all it takes and we’ll connect immediately, even a short conversation elevates my day.

I love to make connections, I love to know what motivates people, what they worry about and think about.  I don’t care all that much how much snow we’ve gotten this year so far.  Or about what kind of gun he used on his latest elk.  But I want to know what’s really in her heart, what makes her different, what she really feels, her paradigm, her backstory, her hopes for the future, what scares her, what she worries about.  We can connect faster when we talk about meaningful things than we can if we spent hours talking about only surface stuff.  And a heart to heart connection remains.

I have a friend who I really haven’t interacted much with at all.  But we met each other at as we were working on a school project together.  Before long, we started talking about something beyond the work and out of the blue we were both tearing up, we had some sort of tender exchange (most likely about kids and parenting, I honestly can’t remember) and even now, even though I don’t run in her circle and we barely even see each other, when we do we hug, I know our spirits remember the connection we made that evening.  It was such a simple exchange, but it lingers with both of us.

And yet, it doesn’t have to be something serious.  Not all the questions are that deep.  Some are just for fun.  I think what’s important here is that we talk.  With teens, for instance, we need to start with music.  The movie he saw this past weekend.  What our summer plans are.  What he’d like to do this weekend.  With who.  What do you like about her? What classes do you think you’d like to take next year? Why? What would you like to learn more about?  What do you see yourself doing in the future? Move into other topics as you feel to. However the conversation goes, the key is that we’re talking face to face, and no relationships need this more than those within our families.

You may not get this with kids, but we can model it.  Because another key in their study was that they shared, both participants opened up; the conversation went back and forth.  Teens aren’t likely to ask you what you hope to do with your clinic or where you’d like to travel.  But we can try to remind them that dad had a day too, that he may like to share what he did.  That we were kids, that we had after-school jobs once, that we fell in love.

We’ve all been in conversations where we've run out of steam.  I’ve done that, tried to ask good questions, tried to engage the other person or people.  With nothing.  One word answers.  It’s exhausting.  As the hostess, I really, really try not to give up, but it is hard.  I visited with someone once and finally had nothing else to ask.  Which is nearly unfathomable for me.  But with no give and take, it really feels pointless.  It should be like a ping pong game, someone asks a question, the other answers and maybe tosses the same question back so she can answer, What about you?  We take turns, we listen and share.  We’re not talk show hosts with our notepads peppering our guest with questions, and we’re likewise not the one being interviewed where the whole hour is about us.  Good conversation is nothing more than listening while also expressing what’s on our mind.  Best conversation happens when we can talk about what’s in our hearts.  And when we feel heard.  And while these strangers never anticipated connecting, the amazing thing is that simple conversation facilitated just that.

The take-home from this study for me is that we need to resurrect good, old-fashioned conversation skills.  We really need, as everyone seems to be telling us these days, to put down our distractions and look at each other.  Dig a little deeper than What did you have for lunch?  Really try to get to know each other.  Start small.  We’ve had a jar of conversation starters near our kitchen table for years.  We pull it out when we have guests or once in awhile if we just want to linger after dinner.  It’s a good chance for kids to realize their parents are more than the adults running the ship.  And it’s good for the parents to see that their kids have thoughts and ideas beyond what they see on a day to day basis.  If something like this can bring strangers closer together, imagine what it could do within our families and friendships. I wouldn’t stop there though, but that’s just me.  I’ll keep talking to strangers in stores and in line.  And I’ll keep asking questions people aren’t expecting.    I’ll apologize for assuming we could talk about something more.  And I might be startled when they say something like No, that’s ok, just let me think.  Because often what’s happening is that they’re caught off-guard that someone wants to know how they feel about anything.  But after thinking about it, they realize they're anxious to share a bit.

I'm sure I’ll most likely continue to get embarrassed for asking questions that require something more than a travel report.  I’ll notice that people want to go back to what’s happening with the campaign instead.  Sigh.  I get it, whatever.  And yet, in my mind it’s worth it to take the risk and ask, which is why and how I know I’ll continue to meet and connect with amazing people who are full of thoughts, passions, and stories. But who are just waiting for someone to ask about them.

36 Questions

Not my best Sunday

It’s been a couple of days and I still have a knot in my stomach.  I’ve been going through the motions with such an uneasiness shrouding me, I keep asking myself what it could be, and I keep going back to Sunday.  I think that’s it.  A couple of things about the day really.  

It started at church during Sunday School.  Mostly I need to just sit back and let others participate and talk and share their thoughts.  I talk too much.  I say things without thinking them through first.  I feel like it’s a personal conversation with the teacher and forget that a whole class is listening.  I need to sit on my hands like a nail-biter would and just listen.  That’s my word for the year after all, remember?

The first embarrassing comment I made was when we were asked what we thought about, “Am I my brother’s keeper?” We were talking about Cain and Abel obviously, and since that was Cain’s retort when asked where Abel was, we assume he’s completely wrong.  And yet I can see a little of both sides. Because Satan uses the truth to deceive and mislead us; he twists it sometimes.  Yes, we absolutely need to show love and compassion, we need to take care of each other, I'm totally on board.  To an extent.  I told them it’s tricky in my mind though.  Like with parenting.  We simply can’t coddle.  We have got to respect agency and encourage self-reliance.  We need to let people handle their own problems.  While at the same time empathizing, helping as we feel inclined.  I just admitted it’s a fine line.  But the person after me went back to the idea that we need to love everyone unconditionally.  I wish I could’ve retracted my remark and just kept it to myself.  Because of course I know that.  But I think sometimes religion muddles things and we think we have to give, give, give.  But that’s not how God works.  Most of the time He insists we work things out on our own.  While of course loving us all along the way.  That’s the angle I was coming from.  But I felt dumb for bringing it up.

The second one was in our circle group as women, we were counseling about service, and the discussion leader asked us to recap the past month, what service had we been recipients of and what had we done to serve others.  She prefaced our answers with the idea that it’s ok to talk about service we’ve done, it gives others good ideas, it’s a safe place to share.  I enjoyed hearing what others had seen and done, but her encouraging words made me think of a very tender experience I’d had earlier that week.  I’d been praying for a friend, unable to think of anything to do to help.  Before long an idea came to mind.  Super simple.  Totally within my realm to carry out.  But I had no idea it would touch my friend so deeply.  I was so humbled.  And sooooooo thankful to have been an instrument, that God could use my simple desire to help someone so dear to me in such a tiny way.  So I told the group that we need to take ourselves out of it, we need to thank Him so much for the good ideas He gives us, for the opportunities we have to serve people around us using our gifts and abilities.  That was my main idea, that it’s not about us; it’s about how wonderful God is that He knows and loves His children.  He shows us that by helping us know how to serve as well as having others serve us.  But I regretted saying anything at all.  Immediately.  And it’s haunted me ever since.  Because I looked like I was gloating, showing off.  Last thing in the world I meant to convey.  I was using that example to show how simple our service can be and how touching it can be when we personalize it, when we serve one person at a time, and that God is behind all our good ideas.

Of course there was more.  I had to take muffins somewhere later that night.  I was cooking and eating dinner at the same time, it was a rushed time for sure.  Because I was in such a hurry, I burnt the bottoms.  I had no time to re-think things, so I simply made muffin tops out of them.  SO embarrassing.  I didn’t have time to make the kind of food I wanted to send, I felt embarrassed by my meager offering.  Cooking isn’t really that stressful for me, but things are always a little off when I’m making food for others.  Last week I forgot the salt in our rolls.  Super bland.  The week before I used purple cabbage in a soup for a lunch instead of green (thought it got used up), turned the whole thing purple.  (Which, keep in mind for down the road, would be a beautiful shade for dyeing Easter eggs.)  Last night I made a huge recipe of bar cookies (the kind with 3 cups of sugar, 4 eggs, more than 2 cups of butter/pb).  I found what I thought was a worm and threw the whole thing out.  And made it all over.  I felt soooooo ridiculous and wasteful.

I know no one cares about silly muffins.  I hope they’ve forgotten about the rolls and soup.  I know no one remembers or cares what I say in church.  But don’t you ever have times when you wish you could suck back your words?  When you wish things would turn out a little prettier and not so burnt?

I just know how much it’s all been bothering me the past couple of days.  I feel so dumb.  But I hope my friends know my heart is good.  That I would never mean to be contentious.  That I would never brag about something as dear to my heart as service.  I’ve prayed a million prayers to say I’m sorry.  For whatever reason, I just had a moment of poor judgment on both accounts.  And I just need to slow down when I’m cooking.

It all just makes me appreciate mercy.  And has helped me want to continue to give the benefit of the doubt to others.  Partly because I want that so much from them.  But mostly because I know that’s how our Savior is with us.  So merciful and kind and forgiving.  I feel confident in His love, knowing that He knows my heart completely, that He knows I’m fallible and still learning.  Thankfully we continue to have experiences like these and others that humble us, that prick our hearts and teach us.  I still feel so embarrassed, I wish I could re-do the whole day.  But I’ve felt like that so many times throughout my life.  I know I’ll move on.  A little wiser.  And a little more humbled by and thankful for the gift of love and mercy that is constantly shown me.  And anxious to share that same love with those around me who might also be having an off day.