A lesson from the kids

My entire school years were shrouded by insecurity and jealousy.  As sure as I had white, freckly skin, I had a jealous soul.  And what a burden it was!!  It tainted so many decisions and relationships; it felt like noticing an eyelash stuck under my contact in the middle of algebra, irritating but seemingly unresolvable at the time.  With this background in mind, I was giving one of my pep talks to the kids while we were driving just the other day.  But you know how kids are and how things like this often go, they ended up teaching the lesson instead.

I lose track of details like context, but basically we were talking about their friends at school and I was telling them it’s not good manners to tell who they got together with over the weekend or who came to play.  Unless someone asks them directly, it’s not polite to just to throw information out there. You just wouldn’t want to hurt someone’s feelings, they may feel left out if other friends got together and they weren’t invited.  Pretty straight-forward doctrine I thought.

But that’s where it turned on me.  Without pause, they corrected me. “I’d be happy if my friends got together.  I want them to have fun together.”  They both concurred, “Yeah, it’s fun for them.”  Completely blindsided me.  I couldn’t believe they didn’t get what I was talking about.  I knew their dad lived like that, but I thought he was an outlier. I figured most kids naturally grow up with the same mindset I had, fettered and encumbered by friendship triangles and dramatic altercations.  But for whatever reason, our kids have never really been affected the way I had been.

Somehow in just one generation, things have apparently turned downside up.  Of course I was surprised at their declarations, but more than anything I was elated!  Thrilled beyond words that my kids aren’t weighted down by the same insecurities I’d been tethered to my whole life.  They are completely unshackled and relaxed. What a blessing to be so liberated at such a young age, and what a healthy perspective.

As I mulled over their angle, and then as we finished our drive, I recognized something that surprised me even more than what they’d just told me.  I agreed with them. I realized I didn’t feel that way anymore either. I am happy when different groups of friends get together.  I love it when good things happen to people I care about.  In fact, I pray for it.  I hope for their successes and well-being. I’ve prayed many times for my friends to find other friends, to be invited and included. I’m truly astonished that I can say this.  Because it’s been such a long and arduous odyssey.  One I’m not sure is entirely over some days.

Because on some level, I’m still occasionally at odds with my natural tendency, maybe like a recovering alcoholic for whom drink might still turn his head in an insecure moment. I’ll admit I may have a few strings attached to my former weakness, and every now and then a social news rundown still conjures up feelings of rejection or wonderment as to why I hadn’t been invited too.   But it isn’t as consuming or heartbreaking as I made it back when I was their age, and I try to reframe it all and be glad for friends who are mingling without me. Even this small mindful advancement catches me off guard when I really take stock of where I’ve been. I haven’t arrived, but with my kids up ahead, I feel them silently cheering me on, not realizing the influence their quiet confidence has on me. 

It sort of blows my mind that they’re so at ease with themselves and their social network.  So calm and level where I would’ve been teary and down on myself. They simply shrug their shoulders when there’s drama surrounding them, and we’re on to the next topic. I admire this so much, they inspire me and remind me that theirs is a better way.  It’s not as if all is rosy with friendships; jr. high and high school inescapably require figuring out relationships and navigating some rough patches.  But I love that they somehow got a head start, that they don’t seem to worry about the same things that have impeded me for so much of my life.  And I am humbled. Grateful for our kids who, like yours, continue to remind me to open my heart, to be vulnerable and accepting, kids who are the real educators in our family. 

Safe

Several months ago I was absorbed in a tender conversation with a dear friend as we sat on my bed, and she confessed she didn’t feel like I needed her as a friend.  I couldn’t believe it.  She noted that I had lots of friends and I didn’t seem to need another.  But I immediately corrected her.  I told her we’re all surrounded by people, it looks like we all have plenty of friends.  But when we’re really taking stock of who we can trust, who we really have as close confidants, we realize how precious these few women in our inner circle are.

Of course I’d venture to say most of us have our families we can count on, our spouses and kids (especially as they mature and become our friends), our siblings and parents.  But maybe not.  Some of us are lucky that way; others have tense family relationships, or maybe their family just isn’t there for them in that way right now.

I also think most of us know numerous women we could call to help out with kids or rides or to run an errand for us if we’re sick. They’re awesome, there for us in a heartbeat.  Women like this make me teary if I think about them for any length of time, I love them so much.

But when we really need to talk about what’s in our hearts, something sensitive, when we’re needing someone we can unload on with absolute assurance it will go nowhere, we have to be careful.  But once you find a confidant, someone who will safeguard what you share, you’ll never want to let her go.  Because that kind of friend is more rare than you’d think.

The longer I live, the more I value women who can keep a secret.  Which sounds like we’re back in elementary school.  But I guess that’s what I mean. The older I get, the more delicate and complex my challenges become because I’m dealing with more serious issues than the high school woes of who likes who or even the early years of marriage and pregnancy and being over-tired and under-paid. I’ve got older kids on the brink of adulthood, we’re making heavier life decisions, we worry about our parents, we have people in our stewardship we’re concerned with who have struggles we’re not sure how to help with. Obviously we all need women we can bounce ideas off of and have a good laugh with, but we also need those we can let down our guard with, cry with, share honestly and openly with, and get solid advice from about delicate issues.  But because so many of my concerns involve things of a sensitive nature, I’m naturally cautious and reserved when it comes to talking about them.

We’ve all been friends with enough women to sense almost right off the bat who we can trust.  It doesn’t take long.  You’ll know.  Just listen to what she says and doesn’t say.  Listen to how she responds in groups, at lunch.  Notice if she shares news about others liberally.  Or if she waits for our friends to tell us themselves about their own pregnancies or divorces.  I like how these women turn uncomfortable conversations around, making them positive, saying something complimentary about another, standing up for those who aren’t present.  They don’t offer details on issues that aren’t theirs to share; they remain vague and move on as quickly as they can to safe topics the whole group can talk about.  It’s especially telling when I know something that’s being discussed and I know they do too, yet they don’t say a word.  I make a mental note than these women are safe.  I know intuitively that I can trust them.  And I know you have friends like this too.

I’ve thought about what makes them so priceless as friends.  And what makes them so trustworthy.  And it’s pretty straightforward.  They simply don’t gossip.  They hold on to what we tell them, they keep it to themselves.  They guard our information and respect our privacy and don’t spread anything we tell them not to.  In fact, they rarely share even the stuff we don’t specifically tell them not to.  They just honor our friendship and the things we’ve talked about privately.

I can't help but admire the women I’m surrounded with.  If we look around, I know we’ll see that we all have loyal friends in our midst who are reliable and safe.  And this friend I was talking to not long ago is one of them. As we talked that afternoon in my room, I reminded her of why I love her so much.  She’s someone I can really trust.  That I can be completely candid and open with, and I know what we talk about won’t go anywhere.  I love her with all my heart, in large part because she's proven over and over to me that she is safe.

I’m constantly working on this. It’s not easy, it’s so tempting to share something we’ve heard, even if it’s just with our husbands.  It’s hard to keep things straight, to remember what’s public knowledge and what’s been shared confidentially.  Which is maybe why sometimes it’s easier to just keep quiet and listen and not say much at all. Something that I’ve noticed some of my truest kindred spirit friends are good at.  

I’d say this is perhaps the most vital principle of friendship, of all our relationships really: being able to trust one another.  And no place is this more important than in our families and among family members.  Again, something I’ve tried to be cognizant of but that I’m constantly working on.  Even early on I knew I didn’t want to be the kind of mom that talks about her kids and teens, laughing with her friends over things that would be embarrassing if the kids were to hear.  And yet I have failed so, so often because I constantly say things without thinking, I don’t realize it would be hurtful or upsetting until after it’s been said.  I’ve shared things I shouldn’t have and I’ll live with that regret forever, I’m sure. But I really am trying to be aware and careful because I respect them and want them to be able to talk to us openly without worrying about where it will go. As with most things, I wish I was already good at this.  And yet, I’m grateful for the mercy God and friends and family have shown me as I keep trying to get it right.

All I can say is I’m better than I used to be.  Waging a lifelong war with jealousy and comparison, gossip was my weapon of choice.  As with most young girls and teens.  But in college I finally realized how damaging and unkind it was, how it hurt relationships.  To be honest, I can’t remember what finally clicked.  But I can tell you nothing changed overnight.  I’ve already told you I’m still working on it.  (Why, oh why, do weaknesses take so long to overcome?)  And yet, I’m hopeful.  Because at least I'm thinking about it, I'm trying.  My dream is that my children will be much, much better at this than I have been, that they will avoid the tangles and pains that I’ve been a part of.  As I always tell you, I write so that they and others can hopefully learn from my mistakes.

It might be worth our time to think about.  What kind of friend are we when it comes to safeguarding private information, confidences, and conversations meant only for us? Can we do better?  Especially in our own families.  I just know I, and I sense that many of us, desperately need women like this in our midst.  It’s not healthy for us to keep everything bottled up inside, we're social, we're meant to live together and among each other, to communicate, to share.  But we need safe friends to talk about our lives with; and I'm realizing that, more than even wanting to have a reliable friend, I want to be this kind of friend to someone else.

On the job training

When friends ask how it’s going, I have no idea what to tell them.  Should I be honest and tell them I love it but that I’ve cried to Todd about all my insecurities and mistakes?  Should I tell them I’m in my happy place but that I’m still not sure why I’m here? Should I tell them I love, love, love the friends I’m surrounded by but I’m frustrated because I don’t know how to help them?  Should I tell them I feel completely comfortable, that this is all the most familiar stuff in the world, but that I feel like an imposter? Should I tell them I pray for the ladies around me but I don’t really feel like I get many answers? Should I tell them I love the title because it gives the shy side of me the perfect excuse to inquire into someone’s life under the auspice of official business but I hate the title because then it looks like I’m just being friendly because it’s my job?  I never know.  So I just awkwardly laugh to buy myself some time and frantically search the corners of my mind for a good answer all over again; and flustered, as always when I’m asked this question, I just say I have no idea, you’d have to ask them.

And it’s not just this assignment.  I think we’d all feel a little trepidation in summing it all up confidently and succinctly, whether we’re a teacher or a coach, supervisor over a division at work or the head doctor, a PTA president or new principal.  Throughout our lives we’ll inevitably be in leadership positions, whether we aspire to be or not.  I just think I’m probably not alone as I feel a dichotomy of emotions.

So it’s only been about six months since our new presidency was formed, and as with any new calling, I’ve been humbled all over again.  And have learned so much.  But I guess it all boils down to just a handful of axioms.

Topping the list is the confirmation about how important it is to keep confidences.  To not spread news.  To be vague with anything that isn’t mine to share.  To be safe.  To be trustworthy.  To listen.  To stop talking so much.  To listen more.  To hear what isn’t being said.  To pray to notice what to hear.  To wait for others to talk.  To ask what they think.  To focus on what they say. Or don’t say.  To be someone others can talk to.  Who will guard feelings and concerns and worries and sadnesses and not talk about them with anyone else.  Except for God.  And I don’t think this is unique to a church assignment like mine.  This is good solid protocol for anyone.  Our teenagers want to know their parents are on their side, that they can share their hearts and not have it spread all over the lunch table.  They need safe places to write their feelings, assured moms won’t read their journals when they’re at school.  Just as employees need to be able to share—in confidence—sensitive information about violated ethics or personnel conflicts.  Parents may need to reach out to teachers to explain a home situation that isn’t for the general school population to know about.  We, as trusted leaders, need to guard delicate information; we need to be discerning and so careful with the disclosures we’re privy to.  This has been solidly reiterated to me, and I’m cognizant of the impact indiscretions can have.  So above many precepts, I’ve recommitted myself repeatedly to improving in this arena.

But almost parallel is the adage to not run faster than I have strength.  As many wise leaders have shared, most people with problems have had them for a long time.  And they will still have them once I’m transferred somewhere else.  As much as I’d like to clean house, tidy the rolls, solve the issues, and help transform people, that’s not reasonable.  I’m here as a resource, a cheerleader, an organizer, and a friend who can help them find their own faith so they can solve their own dilemmas.  And so we pace ourselves.  Yes, we meet fairly regularly.  We plan activities.  We schedule lessons.  We discuss the issues at hand.  We visit.  But we engage everyone we can.  We spread out the work.  We don’t micromanage each other. We’re not catching it all, we miss plenty.  We haven’t met everyone, and we make mistakes nearly daily.  But we’re cohesive.  I’m in love with the ladies I work with.  We feel united, heard, close, and at ease.  We’re at a brisk walk, certainly not a 100 meter running pace.  But I feel like we can maintain this stride for as long as needed.  I refuse to sacrifice my family and myself to the extent that I’m no good to anyone and I end up losing those meaningful family relationships because I’ve unwisely spread myself too thin.  I know this isn’t everyone’s way, and I may seem lackadaisical or lazy or like we’re not aware of everything that needs to be done.  Probably.  But I’ve lived long enough to know myself and to have seen others burn out from pushing too  hard at the start.  I know we’ll get to the important stuff.  We will continue to meet people.  We will keep working.  We will get better.  But it’s vital that we nourish ourselves and our families so we have something to give.

And probably even more important than both of those is the constant reminder I get that it’s not about me.  I’ll only be here for about three years or so, and someone else will take the reins.  If I become critically ill or move, I’ll be replaced in a week or two.  Women have done this for over a 175 years, there are over 30,000 women just like me doing the same thing all over the world.  I’m here simply because it’s my turn; nothing more than that.  And yet at the same time, I’m to use my unique strengths and insights to serve however I can for this short period of time, and so I’ll do my best.  And many of you can relate, whether you’re on school board or another community committee, head resident or project manager, president of a university or mission president, we’re all pretty temporary, we’re just sitting at the wheel for a time.  We’re replaceable.  And at the same time, we’re irreplaceable.  Because maybe for this moment, we’re right where we need to be.  So it’s an interesting juxtaposition.  I think the key is to own our personalities with all their flaws and capacities.  And don’t try to be anyone else.  And then at the same time, forget about ourselves and get to work.

I’ve noticed, for instance, the ladies couldn’t care less who’s conducting a meeting or teaching a class.  They don’t care that it’s me who’s come to visit them or who sent them a note.  It’s that someone is and did.  It’s that I and our presidency together represent something greater than ourselves.  It’s not me as a person, it’s that I’m sitting in for Christ in a way.  That when I come into their homes with encouragement and love, I’m bringing it right from Him.  It’s not me that makes them tear up, it’s the love they’re sensing, the reminder that Someone knows them and loves them and is aware of them.  I’m simply the messenger, it’s got nothing to do with me personally.  And that is powerful and humbling to remember.  And it relieves some of the pressure I’m inclined to feel.

And since it's not about me, I can let go of the tendency to want to be everything to everyone. Impossible. With so many personalities and expectations, there's just no way.  And so I welcome advice, suggestions, improvements, and most of all help! Early, early on I realized clearly I'm not here because I'm capable, I'm only here because I'm willing.  And I welcome anyone who would like to take over; guaranteed she would do it differently.  I'm happy to serve, more than happy actually, because I love Christ with all my heart.  And I will continue to serve Him in any capacity I'm asked (except stake camp director or seminary teacher or primary chorister, sorry).  I just know that if I can do anything to help someone, I'm willing to do what I can.  But I can't cry myself to sleep over my failings.

So as I reflect on just the few months I’ve been able to serve in this capacity, I’m honestly happy.  I love Relief Society.  So much.  I have a strong sense of its purpose and vision and its power.  So I feel lucky, honored, and of course humbled to be able to help out.  I still don’t know how to respond when friends want to know how it’s going.  But I guess if they really prod, we could talk about it for a minute.  I won’t be here for long, it’s very temporary.  I know it’s just another way to serve, and I’ll just do what I can while I'm here. I know it’s not about me, and yet I know we all have personalities and strengths and weaknesses to offer.  I know I’m the one who will continue to learn the most.  I know how imperative it is that we are trustworthy and careful with one another’s hearts and feelings.  I know the only roles I’ll have forever are wife and mother and friend.  And so I choose to put my entire heart and soul into those callings above all others.  Even as I stretch to make room for this one for now.

I just called to say I love you

I’d visited a friend who had recently had a baby a couple times already.  Traveling to her house takes some time.  And a sturdy vehicle.  I just wasn’t sure I could make the trek again this week, but I know how it is to feel isolated and homebound.  I was torn and unsure as to how I could let her know I was thinking about her.  A note seemed too insignificant, she doesn’t have cell service so I couldn’t text her, and yet it didn’t feel right to not do anything.  So the idea came to just call her.  I know you’re thinking I’m an idiot for not thinking of that right off the bat, but it’s not usually my first inclination.  I was surprisingly nervous.  I felt awkward, unpracticed, rusty; I usually only talk to my family and a few close friends on the phone. But I found her number, I thought of her sitting in her living room surrounded by her boys and little baby and I immediately felt at ease. I know it wasn’t the same as being in the same room, and I still felt a little guilty for not having made the trip out to her house.  But given the circumstances, I did the best I could.  I felt like we connected, that even my small offering lifted her spirits. And mine.

Her gracious acceptance gave me courage to try again.  As I’ve been thinking of some of the women who pop into my mind, I’m perplexed as to why.  But I’ve known God long enough to trust these random ideas. It seemed too formal to actually visit a friend I’d been thinking of, but I didn’t know what I was supposed to do with her name.  All I knew was we hadn’t connected at church lately and I missed our more regular interactions of the summer.  A note would be too weird.  But out of the blue I remembered my other phone call and I felt encouraged.  It was exactly what I felt like doing.  I don’t know what she thought about the getting a call in the middle of the morning about nothing at all, but I think it was good.  Because she told me since she’s taken a break from social media she’s been missing connection and loves it when friends call.  I’m still not sure what the purpose of it was.  She seemed completely fine.  Maybe it was for me? Because it helped me feel closer to her and reminded me of how much I adore and admire her.  She inspires me, she’s good for my soul.  And so our twenty or so minutes together became a happy piece of my morning.

And then I saw a friend online who’d just had surgery.  I remembered that I’d wanted to go help her clean, but with a sick kid at home I couldn’t get away.  So I took the easy way out once again and just called to check in.  She was so congenial and easy to talk to.  I loved hearing her voice and connecting for even a few moments. Our short conversation made me love her even more.

A lady from church and I have talked on the phone repeatedly in the past few months. I’m delighted by her cute little voice and her energy and her vulnerability.  She was an easier one to reach out to via the phone because she’s older and old-school; and it was my only option to communicate with her. We wouldn’t have had that same connection if we simply covered our business via email or waited till the next week at church. I’ve felt a closeness with her growing as we’ve discussed her concerns over the phone when they’ve arisen.

I’ve wondered why I initially hesitated in each of these instances, why it wasn’t more instinctive to just pick up the phone? I guess it just doesn’t feel as natural these days; texting or a quick message always seems more appropriate and less vulnerable.  I guess I feel like I’m interrupting them, that it would feel awkward to not have any real reason for calling.  It’s not efficient, maybe even a waste of time to some.  Maybe in the back of my mind I wondered if we were that kind of friends.

But these and other recent instances have reminded me of how valuable these sometimes short and sometimes longer voice conversations really are.  And now I’m remembering how much I’ve enjoyed visiting on the phone over the years.

I love that our college son calls all the time.  For nothing.  Just to pass the time walking to work or walking home.  To talk about the weather.  His dismal tests.  His workload. The perplexities of dating.  Snowboarding.  Summer plans.  I love cuddling up late on Sunday nights in bed with Todd and our phone between us catching up on the week all over again with him.

The best calls of the year have been when our missionary sons have been allowed to call home on Mother’s Day and Christmas.  A little weird, the kids all of a sudden turn shy, no one wants to hold the phone, I’m the one carrying the conversation, it’s a little uncomfortable.  But there’s still nothing like hearing our sons’ voices after such a long time apart, it makes us feel close and connected just like that.

I remember my mom every once in awhile calling her parents in Scotland.  The scratchy connection and their thick accents made it hard for us to understand each other; but I knew these were special occasions for my mom, who left her family to start anew in America, possibly her lifeline to her family and former life.

Likewise, I loved Sunday nights in college when I’d call home across the states. Long distance calls were cheaper then, so most of our friends called their families too.  I was homesick in the beginning and these calls were my lifeline when the only other communication we had was the mail.  Nothing soothed my troubled heart like my mom or dad’s familiar voices.  For whatever reason, even though cost isn’t an issue anymore, the tradition continues and Todd still calls his parents on Sunday nights, as do his siblings.

I cherish the quiet times I can escape and hole up in my room on my soft red chair my dad made with my phone and a good friend or family member on the other end.  Time passes like it did in the olden days when my dad would pick up the other end of the curly cord and tell me to get off.  

Just like when I was 17, I’m relaxed with my usuals and it’s no big deal; I look forward to hearing close friends and family members on the other end. But as awkward as I initially felt calling these friends I don’t usually talk to on the phone,  I’m so glad I followed my inclination to just try it.  Surely a text would’ve sufficed, we would’ve touched bases eventually or some other way, it would’ve been fine.  But in these instances, our phone conversations seemed timely, a little more personal and invested; I felt a surprising closeness and intimacy that is sometimes lacking in written communication. Admittedly, not the same as a face to face visit.  But maybe just right for where we were in our days.

I know how busy life can get.  And how we yearn to execute all the good ideas that stream through our heads.  But what if it’s ok to not have to drive across town to every time we think of someone? What if instead of doing nothing because we don’t think it’s good enough, once in awhile we just picked up the phone instead? What if we called an old friend out of the blue? Would it be weird or would we pick up right where we left off? I can tell you it’s as if no time has passed and I’m calling to ask for butter.  What if we called a friend we see all the time but never really get to talk to? What if instead of planning out the carpool on our screens, we called and said hello at the same time? What if instead of answering her sad face emoji with a heart we picked up the phone to get the whole story, to offer a listening ear, to talk it out with her?  What if instead of listening to another podcast when it’s time to do the blinds we called and got caught up instead? What if every now and then we just cuddled up on the couch and indulged in a good old fashioned heart to heart conversation on the phone with someone we love? What if our phones could still be a lifeline? What if, instead of waiting for an emergency, we used them to spread some good? As a tool to listen without distraction? What if we really could reach through the phone and touch someone’s heart, lift someone’s spirits, or make a small difference in someone’s day? What if we used our phones for more than looking up addresses and playing games and keeping track of our appointments? What if we used them to talk and connect the way we used to?

Can creativity be taught?

I was picking up a couple of gifts at Barnes and Nobles and had to check out the sale tables before paying.  These random titles always pique my interest and I have a sudden desire to jump out of my everyday conservative suit and sweep a few of them in my arms to purchase.  You know I rarely buy myself a book, but I almost did.  It was about learning to write well. I sort of felt guilty for leaving it on its table.  But I just wasn't sure where I stood.

We’ve offered Avery sewing classes ad nauseam throughout the years.  She’s been creating clothes and pillows, decorations and alterations, for years.  And we thought it might be valuable for her to learn the proper way to put in a zipper and to make sleeves, to be tutored by the experts.  But she’s always retorted that she doesn’t want people telling her how to do it, she just wants to do it her own way.

Which is exactly how I feel about writing.  I’d never refer to myself a writer, and yet it’s intuitive and enjoyable.  I don’t plan on ever writing or selling a book (although I think it’d be fun to see an article in a magazine at least once in my life).  I just write for fun, for myself and my family mostly.

I’ve always wondered, if I like it so much, why don’t I do what it takes to get good at it?  Should I read some books, take a class, ask the experts?  This is a question Todd and I discussed into the night.  What makes a good writer, and is there a right way?  Are there rules, is it something a person needs to study?  We’re not sure.

With some disciplines, yes, obviously education comes into play.  I argued that people get degrees in art and design, fairly creative fields. And so if I want to get better at writing, logically I should get some professional help.  But I’m wondering if it’s more for people who want to write stories and books, for all the folk who want to get published.  I’m not interested in any of that, but would it help me get better at expressing my thoughts? I think the answer is an obvious yes.

And yet I shy away from the idea.  A friend is thoroughly enjoying her writing class, and over the years I’ve thought about signing up for one. I was invited to a writing group, and I wondered how that would be.  And yet I knew instinctively there was no way.  I’ve asked myself why. Basically, I don’t want to be told how it’s supposed to look.  I just want to write my way.  I want to be true to myself, to use my voice, to be authentic and real. I know it’s nothing fancy, but I don’t want to use flowery phrases and big words to impress people.  I just want to convey my authentic feelings, my inner thoughts, my life’s experiences in an realistic manner.  I’m not writing to be artistic, I express myself mostly to explain life and its happenings to myself more clearly but also to bridge a gap between us.  I guess I feel like if I’m experiencing something, there’s a good chance someone else in the world has or is too, and I’d like others to know we’re all pretty much going through the same things, they’re not alone.  That’s my incentive for writing.  That, and it almost spills out of me like a daily need.  It’s the most natural thing in the world to be driving with a pencil in my hand and a pad of paper on my lap, the one thing I almost always feel like doing.

I’m guessing everyone experiences something like this.  Whether it’s playing the piano or building or painting, we probably all have something bubbling up inside of us, just like Avery and her insatiable desire to beautify her surroundings and to create a distinctive look and my friend who does paper art, my other friend who does intricate cut-outs, others who do cakes and pillows.

I guess my question is, are there rules to writing, is there a right way?  To drawing? To composing music?  To decorating? Obviously we start with teaching Avery how to thread the machine, we begin with Mary Had a Little Lamb on the recorder.  We learn the basics of color and style along with parts of speech and grammar rules.  It’s not like we just create out of nothing with no foundation to build on.  But at what point is that enough instruction? And when does the teaching overtake the creativity, the individual’s style?  What’s the tipping point?

Will I lose my authentic voice by being trained and taught the right way to write (if there is one)?  Will it somehow change me?  I value my rough edges, my unpolished voice.  I don’t want to learn that I’ve been doing it all wrong and all of a sudden feel guarded and stifled as I sit down to write with all of the shoulds and shouldn’ts floating around in my head.  For now I am like a youngster in a field of dandelions. I have no inhibition, I’m carefree, I’m running to and fro with my thoughts, I don’t care who sees me and I don’t need to check in with anyone.  I’m not aware of what I’m doing wrong and so I’m content and uninhibited.

But that’s just it.  Maybe it’s time to move on from the toddler stage and grow up.  Maybe free time is over; I’m just not sure.  I can see where Todd’s You Tube video on building a shed would come in handy, why reading about beekeeping has been useful, and why learning a few tricks about gardening is productive.  But what about these less scientific, more creative fields? Todd and I, in talking this over, agree that yes, there are foundational principles, which is why there are classes and schools specific to even the creative arts. 

I’d love you to weigh in, to share your experiences and ideas about interests you have honed and developed.  Did you consider proper schooling essential or do you just create simply for personal satisfaction and shy away from being told the hows and whys of your art?  I think I already know what I need to do, I’m just wondering if (and am afraid to admit) it’s my stubbornness and laziness that’s preventing me from becoming a real writer.  I believe all of us have latent talents or interests percolating that we should really attend to and uncover, I’m just wondering how much training should play a role in their development.

Learning to walk

Avery volunteered to host her class’s French Feast at our house earlier this week.  Which is a two to both of us on the stress scale, totally fine with me.  She also offered to supply a main dish, Boeuf Bourguignon, something she’d of course never made in her life.  Or even tasted.  But she cracks me up; we were out doing errands and I asked if she still needed meet for that night, “Oh yeah!” Thirty dollars and a couple hours later she got to work.  Had no idea what clove-pricked onions were, totally spaced that she needed mushrooms and bacon.  Good grief.  And the wine cork… we tried for a good twenty minutes to get it out without a corkscrew (for the record, a long screw and a hammer work great).  Just comical.  But other than offering a few ideas about how to solve the problems (Call your aunt to get mushrooms, I think we have one package of bacon left in the garage freezer, I’ll go get the hammer.  And the pliers. You go get a longer screw.), I just left her to her own.  I knew she could handle it.  And I was so impressed that she didn’t stress. In fact, ten minutes before the kids were to come I asked if she needed to cook her bacon.  She wasn’t ruffled at all, she was watching a video for a project (that maybe she could’ve done before 4:30 on the last day of a five-day weekend, but whatever) and said since she had the main dish and they were eating in courses, it was fine, she’d get to it.  Again, I left her to it.

As I thought about our afternoon in the kitchen, I couldn’t help but think that’s how it’s been our whole life together.  Even from the beginning.  It seems to me that kids have the same sort of needs throughout their lives, that even the extremes of toddlers and teens maybe aren’t all that different from each other.

I was thinking how parents encourage and aid their littles in early walking endeavors.  I remember with our five, each time we taught a new one to walk, it was more or less the same.  We’d let them hang on to the couch for awhile and eventually coax them into standing in the middle of the room holding onto our fingers.  And then we’d let go and have them balance themselves.  When they were comfortable with that we encouraged them to make steps, to walk incrementally.  Two adults supported this little exercise by acting as book ends.  We would never have dreamed of leaving a toddler alone in the house to figure it out, we wanted to be nearby to watch and to be there just in case she needed reassurance.  And to catch them if things got too out of control.  But we didn’t necessarily hover either.  We just kind of assessed things from a prudent distance.

I can’t help but think of how similar it is even as they get older.  I’ve seen wise parents who know the best way to help their kids be successful in life is to give them freedom to walk. While staying close by.  But not in a helicopter, crazy-mom way.  I’m thinking more emotionally, just in the background, being aware, allowing for independence while not leaving them completely to their own accord and unsupported.

We may have occasionally left a toddler on his own as he was practicing his steps, just as we do with our teens.  But kind of like our kitchen time the other day, I’m so glad I was there.   Not that she couldn’t have handled things without me (since I barely did anything).  But it was nice to just be present, even if was from a room away. I wasn’t trying to coddle or meddle, she didn’t need that.  But it was fun to be able to problem-solve together, to laugh at the absurdities, to be another hand, to be someone she could bounce ideas off of.

I just think it adds to their confidence to know they can count on us.  And that's what I see as the most sad and critical part of teen homelessness.  It's not that they don't have the wherewithal to navigate and solve problems, they've proven that they do.  It's that they are completely alone without a behind the scenes support.  I've always thought that kids can do just about anything if they feel they have that sort of safety net; it's a significant advantage.

Just like our little ones could without us even holding their hands.  But we know from his gleeful smiles that he wants to show you what he can do.  We know from the way his eyes beg for approval that he’s happy you’re there to celebrate his achievement.  We know from the way he melts into your arms that just having you there helps him feel calm, secure, comforted.  Even if you’re just sort of there on the sidelines.  I think teens aren’t that different.  Certainly they could swim or race or figure out their taxes without us.  But I think simply having us available makes them feel supported and gives them confidence.

I loved seeing Avery so competent in the kitchen.  She doesn’t cook much.  I don’t know that she’s ever made a main dish in her life.  The meat completely grossed her out.  She asked me if that was fat.  I gave her her dad’s fillet knife and she just went to work.  I had no idea what she was making or how to make it, so I stood back and did the laundry.  But I wonder if it helped knowing that someone was there.  Just in case.  I wonder if simply having someone in the background reinforced her confidence.  I wonder if it mattered, if it made a difference.  I know even as a grown up it does to me.  I love having a driving companion when I’m heading somewhere new, it’s comforting to have Todd at home while I’m working on a project, I loved it when my mom stopped working for the bank and was more available to me during the days, even though we were hundreds of miles apart.  I think our college son might feel that way too; we love it when he sends us pictures of his life and his fall schedule, when we talk about ideas for dates and summer jobs.  He’s completely on his own, but I think he likes being able to check in every now and then; I think it’s heartening to know we’re accessible and interested in what he’s doing.  For me, having someone around feels reassuring. I think it might feel that way to our kids as well.

I just can’t help but think of how similar these two stages of toddler and teen are.  And others along the way.  Kids want to be independent.  They have the capacity to walk and, by the time they’re toddlers and then young adults, they’ve developed the necessary skills and strength to do just that.  And yet I think it’s important that just because they’re old enough to walk by themselves or stay by themselves that we don’t completely leave them on their own.  It’s a balance with young adults for sure, just as when we were trying to figure it out the first time around.  We knew instinctively that we needed to let go, to unravel their fingers from ours.  We knew they’d fail.  And fall.  And get back up.  That they wouldn’t be permanently injured.  That that part was necessary for learning.  That if we jumped up to save them from pain and seemed overly concerned, they’d start to whimper and worry too.  But if we smiled and laughed and encouraged and brushed their seat, they’d take off again in no time.  I don’t think things have changed that much.  When our teens are learning to walk on their own, I think they sort of want to know we’re not too far away.  They’d never let on and would never say so (just as a toddler—if he could make sense of his thoughts and share them with us—would never admit as much), but I think it boosts their courage and spirits to know that we care enough to just sort of stick around, that even though they’re practically grown ups, we still consider them a top priority.  We may be doing our own thing, I hope we are; but we’re attuned enough to be paying attention to what’s going on.  Even if it’s from a distance.

Just an interesting afternoon as I juxtaposed my sweet almost 17 year-old daughter with the memory of our bald-headed, strong-willed toddler just learning to walk.  She’s still as bold and spirited, but I think it continues to give her confidence to know that we’re still always here for her, not hovering, not in her business, but accessible, just as we were when she was little and taking her first few steps. 

Because of Him

The other night Todd had to take Avery to work at 3 am; so while I was awake, I thought of the Easter video we’d just watched as a family, Because of Him.

For some reason my thoughts drifted back to how I was as a younger mom.  I had a temper I didn’t know about that surfaced once I had kids.  Todd was gone a lot, our marriage was sometimes strained, I was harried and exhausted from working and being up in the night, like most moms. I didn’t have the best coping skills or parenting know-how.  I was rash and harsh.  I scared little Andrew with my temper.  I scared myself.  I had a wake-up call one evening and knew I needed to change. 

I thought back to high school and how awkward I felt, how gravely I struggled with jealousy and comparison.  How shy and self-conscious I felt.  I thought of how I wrestled to know what I was good at, what my talents and innate strengths were.  I obsessed, desperate to know what I could contribute. I was so unsure of myself.

I thought of college and how unintelligent I suddenly felt. How uncertain I was about my future and the decisions I was making about my education, where I lived, and who I dated.  I thought of how lonely I sometimes felt.  And how I wished I could see my personal path a little more clearly.

I thought of the strained relationships and broken hearts I’d experienced over the years.  The cruel things I’d said and done when I was a little girl and a teenager that I have wished a million times since that I could undo.  I thought of the tangles I’d created, the misunderstandings I’d been a part of.

When I open the gates, my mind becomes a flood of memories, of weaknesses and sadnesses I’ve encountered through life.  And I’m completely overwhelmed and humbled.  That Christ has been the pivot that has turned me around, the catalyst that transformed crippling and crushing trials into powerful and valuable teaching experiences.  Because of Him, I’m becoming a different person.

As we all are.

It’s just unfathomable to think we could possibly carry the weight of all our sins and sorrows, misdeeds and miseries of life ourselves.  There’s no way we could be where we are without our Savior’s help.  Even as we note how far we are from where we’d like to be.  Look at what we’ve overcome, learned, changed, and become.

I attribute any good to Him.  I’m more certain and confident wholly because of Him, because I’m secure in knowing who I am.  That He lived and died for me.  That I’m a daughter of God and worthy of their love.

As we all are.

Because of Him, His example, His love, His mercy, and His atonement, we can change from the rough version of ourselves into a more polished, bright rendering.

I think of my marriage, how I’ve been impatient and obstinate, condescending and indifferent.  And I think of how our relationship has changed over the years.  Because of Him, I’m learning to love better.  Christ’s teaching me to settle.  To look at the other side.  To give the benefit of the doubt.  To trust.  To let others do their thing.  To accept.  To be joyful and upbeat. To love deeply and with my whole heart.

I think of our kids.  How His influence has helped me to stop yelling.  And lashing out.  And creating contention.  I know no one knows that side of me except Todd.  But it’s simply a shell I shed years and years ago; it really isn’t me at all anymore.  Because of Him.  He’s taught me to hold them close.  To simplify my life.  To let go of unnecessary expectations that were causing me stress.  To talk softly.  To laugh.  To be my own kind of mom and to embrace museums and reading and parks and picnics.  To not worry about what I wasn’t doing.  To let the house stuff go a bit.  To really see my children the way He does.  He’s made all the difference in the world in how I parent and how I value my role as a mother.

I think of the friendships I’ve had over the years.  And how they’ve enhanced my life in magical ways.  I think of the ways I’ve seen Him be a friend.  How He sought out the lonely instead of worrying about His own discomforts.  How He noticed a need and went about providing relief in personal and intimate ways.  How He took time to be with individuals one on one.  How He walked with them, ate with them, and had deep and abiding conversations with them.  How He loved unabashedly without judgment.  Because of Him I have some ideas about how to be a truer friend.  And because of Him, we’ve developed close, cherished relationships that have given us immense joy.

I think of my faith and how it’s solidified over the years.  Because of Him, I know I can learn and grow line upon line as well.  I’m not fretting over what I’m not, that I’m not there yet.  I’m ok with the small and simple ways I’m learning and changing.  Obviously I get frustrated by my shortcomings now and then.  I imagine we all do.  But because of Him, they don’t paralyze me.  I’m confident that if I just keep learning about Him and try to live a little more congruent with His example, slowly I’ll become more like Him.

Because of Him, I’m clear about what my priorities should be.  That when I love God and others, the rest will fall into place.  He exemplified this constantly, and I feel peace when I put these things first.  I’m ok with setting boundaries around my time and my family.

Because He endured trials well, I know we can have peace amidst our own storms.  I’m learning to see them as learning experiences, opportunities to grow, chances to exercise faith and patience.  Because of Him I know things will all work out.  Even if it’s not for awhile.

I think of my lonely times, my sadnesses, my losses.  And because of Him, they don’t overwhelm me.  I embrace the opposition because I know it’s all temporary.  That I can get up and move forward even when my heart is heavy.  He did that over and over in His life.  He reminds me that I can too.  Because I’m never truly alone.

Because of Him, I know we all have a  part to play.  I know my worth.  I know my strengths and abilities and talents are unique for the mission I have on earth.  I know myself and know I can use my aptitudes and skills and passions for good.

As we all can.

It’s not that I’ve arrived.  That I’ve got all the answers.  That my weaknesses and insecurities are a thing of the past.  That I don’t have lonely days or heartbreaks.  Not at all.  But because of Him, they don’t paralyze me anymore.

Because of Christ, we are here.  Not overcome by our humanness.  Not alone.  Not hopeless or helpless.  Because of Him, all our weaknesses can be overcome, our hard hearts can be made soft, our pains can be assuaged, our countenances can reflect His image.  So as I’ve pondered on it all this week, I’m intensely grateful.  Overcome with the indebtedness.  For the One who is transforming me.  And each of us if we let Him.

  

Happier?

I remember a conversation with an old friend who came to visit a few years back. He made me question if people, including myself, are really any happier following a major change, one that they expected to induce fulfillment and satisfaction. I was heading into surgery in a month or so when we were talking and I was sort of excited about it in a way.  He told me he knew several women who had undergone similar surgeries but who weren’t any happier after all.  That sort of surprised me at the time because I was sure that if I could just overcome this one little issue in my life, I could sail on and finally feel at peace about my body.  But over the past three and a half years I've thought back to this conversation.  And I've asked myself if things are any better on this side of it all.  And I can’t decide entirely.

I wonder about people who have lost a lot of weight.  Or who have gotten braces on and then off.  Those who've had eye surgeries and don’t have to wear glasses anymore.  Or who had facial reconstruction. Or plastic surgery. Or new eyelashes. Or have blonde hair now.

I guess on some level, we all feel better about ourselves when we finally address a gnawing irritant in our lives, when we can just let that concern go.  Maybe it’s easier to choose clothes, maybe we’re less self conscious; we’ve finally conquered a weak area and can get on with things.  But happier?  I’m not convinced.

Because (and this is super personal, so of course I’ll share it with all of you, but only because I think it’s pertinent and may turn out to be helpful to someone) I always, always felt embarrassed about myself from way back to my teen years and especially after I had five kids, and I actually looked forward to reconstruction following surgery for breast cancer.  Finally, I thought, I could look more normal.  But when it came down to it, when I was working with my plastic surgeon, I told him I didn’t want to change my look all that much.  As a result, no one in the world would ever know looking at me, but I feel slightly better about things.  And I wonder if that’s how other people feel too.  Maybe you’ve made changes that no one ever notices.  Were the changes worth it even so?  And are you feeling better?

What I’ve realized from my own experience, though, is that I simply switched issues.  I’m still self conscious.  Just in a different way.  My scars on my back are still obvious.  And my muscles are a constant reminder that I’m not the same. I’m a little sad about the ramifications.  I sort of miss my old self.  And so I can’t decide if I am happier or not.  I wonder if sometimes we just trade worries when we make big changes.  Like the one who is on acne medicine and now needs to be extra vigilant in the sun.  Someone who had bariatric or gall bladder surgery who now can’t enjoy the foods she used to. Is the skinnier new version happier? Or has he just swapped out one headache for another?

Of course I’m all about healthy eating, taking care of our skin and our teeth and our bodies in general.  Of course.  But I wonder if we can’t be happy right here, right now.  Can we be a little fluffy and get on with life and just be joyful in spite of it? Why did I feel so ashamed of my body and let it make me feel less than? Looking back, true happiness was eluding me not because of what I looked like, but because I was worrying too much about it.

And I think it’s more than our physical selves.  Sometimes we tell ourselves we’ll be happier when we get out of college or get a bigger house or finally pay off our student loans or the kids finally go to school.  But you know as well as I do that those student years, poor, living side by side other college kids, were some of the best.  We all know bigger houses mean bigger payments, more yard work, and more things to break.  Paying off our loans was a major milestone and felt great.  But we’ve transferred those payments to other items in our budget, so not a whole lot has changed overall.  And now that I finally have hours and hours to myself everyday, I miss those kids, and I’m disappointed they’re in school all the time.

So I just can’t decide.  Yes, I think most people feel relieved about paying off a large debt and there’s some excitement about getting a new look.  But is plastic surgery really going to enhance a person’s life? Will a bigger paycheck make that much difference in their overall happiness?

We know the answer.  I know we do.  And yet we’re still not convinced.  I’m not saying we shouldn’t get out of debt or own a house that’s appropriate for our families.  I’m not saying we shouldn’t get the surgery or watch what we eat.  Who can say what anyone else should do?  I’m just saying I don’t know that I was prepared for the other side.  I didn’t realize it would still be a little private heartache, just packaged a little differently.  The bigger houses we’ve moved in to, the handful of times I’ve been tan, when my hair grew long, when the kids were all potty trained, when I got a different assignment at church… I always thought I knew what I wanted, what would be better, what would make me happier. But as I’ve simply shifted the weight around in my pack, things aren’t really all that different.  Because those things are really only external and can undo themselves in a heartbeat.

I’m happier now than I was three years ago because I’m different in real ways.  Inside ways.  I’ve learned some things, I’ve met amazing people, and I’ve had a few life-changing experiences than have nothing to do with the size of my house or what I look like on the outside. And while I’m grateful for my (potentially life-saving) surgery, Loreal, and self tanning lotion, a bigger house, no more student debt, and enough vehicles to go around, you’d never know it looking at me.  Because my happiness is based more on a size or a color or what we own or anything else along those lines. I just think that’s something to keep in mind as we chase these elusive dreams, thinking they might just be the answer to all our woes and that these little alterations will transform our lives.  They might shake things up a bit, might give us a little more satisfaction, might make us feel a little better.  Maybe.  But sometimes we’re just switching around the variables.  A better bet would be to work on the stuff that will lead to substantial inner-soul, true heart changes, the essence of authentic happiness.