Attuned

I can’t help but think of them when I’m walking even the short distance from the van to the house when it’s 14 degrees out.  I think of the pioneers traipsing across frozen prairie with no warm shelter to welcome them up ahead, no kind of way-station in the distance.  They only have a meager fire they will have built with their own hands after a full day of trudging through snow with hardly anything but flour biscuits to eat.  I wonder if I’ll ever have to suffer through such hardship and deprivation, if I’ll ever face anything remotely close to what they did.  I’m in awe.  Every time I think to them and their plight.  As I feel the snow blown crystals prickle my cheeks and feel the wind whip around me, slicing through even my technologically advanced jacket instead of homespun cotton dress and worn wool coat. As I notice how cold my toes are even as they’re wrapped in sturdy Gortex boots and thickly engineered socks instead of gunny sacks or thin leather shoes.  Humbled and reverent. I nod to them and their sacrifices.  Whether we embrace their faith or not, we can appreciate the struggles they went through to follow their hearts.  It’s in our slightest discomfort, similar but so very temporary, that we can find empathy for what they endured.

I think about this when Todd goes out to feed the cows on these crisp dark mornings.  Yes, he’s bundled in his Carhart coat and knee high boots, but I know he hesitates.  I never used to think he felt the cold like I did—he hails from Chicago while I've always had thin California blood running through my veins.  But as we get older, I notice he chills just as easily as I do.  I’ve closed up the chickens on a frigid January night.  I’ve fed the cows their hay when it’s cold out.  I know what he’s feeling.  And so I’m grateful.  That he performs these acts of love for his family.  He’s trying to help us be self-sufficient, to provide for our needs, to look ahead.  I appreciate him all the more as I stand in his place every now and then and remember his labor on every other day.

In a million tiny moments I’ve been noticing what it feels like to be in another’s shoes.  It’s not hard.  We all have similar experiences, but taking just a second to acknowledge that this is maybe how someone else feels—maybe all the time—is humbling.  And good for us.  In small and simple ways, we have opportunities to develop empathy simply by paying attention to our little discomforts.

I think of the occasional headache I have and realize my sister lives with this pain every day from a lingering neck problem.  I’m actually grateful for my continued shoulder and chest tightness.  It reminds me of others who live with ongoing pain who never say a word, to pay attention and to not dismiss it when they bring it up.

I think of friends who’ve had identity theft or scam problems; we’re in the middle of one right now.  It’s scary and rattles your sense of security.  And it makes me want to be more compassionate when others share their stories.

Thankfully I’ve been experiencing my own episodes of memory lapse over the past few years.  I know exactly what it’s like to forget the name of a friend I of course know.  Just like running into a teacher I’ve known for 11 years, whose name is in my phone, who I worked with on a committee. I couldn’t recall her name for the life of me at Target last week.  I had to tap her on the shoulder to say hello.  Good grief.  But I love it because it’s so ok with me when other people forget who I am!  I actually try to remind them first thing so they don’t feel dumb.  Most of the time they haven’t reached my mental state and their memories are still fresh.  But it helps me have empathy for those who struggle.  I so get it, right there.

Speaking of struggles, those are the best lessons in empathy.  Sewing.  Computers.  Phones.  Digital cameras, even DVD players.  Cars. The classics. Geography. Sports. Politics. Long board games.  I don’t even want to make a complete list of all the things I’m ignorant about and can’t seem to get a handle on.  But I get it when my mom doesn’t know her wireless password or can’t figure out her voice mail.  I can see why Callum didn’t really like The Screwtape Letters or why hardly anyone likes to play Mitchell’s 4-hour games except on Thanksgiving.  I’ve been muddled myself, and so I understand what it's like.

I’ve never really understood the sadness pet owners have felt—why there are Hallmark cards for this kind of thing—when a pet dies.  Todd’s always just taken ours to work matter-of-factly when they’ve reached the end of their lives.  But our young dog just got hit and killed this past week and I’ve woken up with a little something in my throat.  It hits me again that she's gone.  For real.  I think of all the memories we just had with her, how much Avery adored her and depended on her for company.  And just like that, even though it’s nothing compared to losing a family dog you’ve had for 20 years, I get it a little better than I did a few days ago.

I’ve never had an entire basement flood like our friends have.  But we kind of did when we were building a house and water poured through the window wells and we had to replace all the sheetrock half way up the walls.  And we’ve had plenty of mini-floods of sewer water in both houses.  Many.  I know what a pain it is, how destructive it can be, how sad it feels to lose precious items.  We just had one on Christmas Eve.  It’s fresh in my mind.  And so I want to remember to be empathetic when it happens to someone we know.  And offer a hand.

I remember moving just two years ago during Christmas.  I’ve had three friends move this month.  What a hassle.  I vowed I would help if I could ever pay it forward because I know firsthand there’s nothing like moving when you’re trying to make Christmas happen for your family on top of everything else.

I remember Todd asking a friend if he’d be interested in taking my sister out.  I don’t know why my feelings were ever even on the line, but I waited anxiously anticipating his response.  I felt in those hours what it must feel like all the time as a single person, putting yourself out there for others to judge you, I’d say almost solely based on looks.  How sad.  How deflating to have just one shot when we all know we’re so much more than our eye shape or color of hair.  I felt like I was the one being judged, and my heart ached that this has been her reality for years.  And so it is with so many others.  I wondered if I would ever be able to get married again.  Who would want someone like me, old and used up and overall pretty boring?  No one would ever be interested based on a glance or a picture.  And I felt sad that for so many, this is everyday life.  I think it was a good reminder to look beyond what we see and to showcase the good in others in how I speak about them.

I feel for women who are pregnant or for anyone who’s carrying a little extra weight at the moment.  It’s so hard to get comfortable.  To walk very far.  To exert much energy without breathing heavily.  To even get dressed in the morning.  I of course remember this all so vividly when I think back to my five pregnancies.  But even now, a little heavier than I’ve ever been, I have to limit my clothing options, nothing too clingy, nothing short or my stomach will poke out.  In a small way I understand what it’s like to feel self-conscious and inhibited by a few extra pounds.  And it’s helped me to be more understanding, to remember to continually look on the heart and not the frame, to be more gentle with myself and others as our bodies continue to change.

I had an evening home not long ago; all my family was gone with obligations.  Normally I love my alone time, but I felt a little nudge this time, a reminder that for so many this is an everyday reality.  Long days followed by even longer evenings, all alone, without company or a change in scenery.  Maybe for days.  We have a man in our congregation who lives in a little house all alone.  It’s interesting and sad to visit. He’s surrounded by so many pictures of family members on his walls, but none of them come to visit.  I think of another friend in her 80s who stays home the majority of the time.  She doesn’t drive anymore; she doesn’t really even like to go anywhere other than to see her doctors.  I wonder what she does all day and how she really feels about her situation.  She’s lived alone for decades, but what's that like? I have another friend who lives in the cutest little townhouse; she quilts, she’s a fastidious housekeeper, she bakes and volunteers.  I know she keeps busy.  But doesn’t it get to to her? The quiet, the aloneness?  In that evening with my own solitude, I thought about these friends.  I felt overwhelming gratitude for the people who come home each night to me.  As well as eye-opening compassion for those who don’t have that anymore.  And I wondered how I could be a better friend and visitor to them and invite them into my life.

Todd was gone for a few days here and there this fall.  Which is fine.  Lots of women are left to handle things while their husbands go out of town for work.  But Todd doesn’t normally and so it was just a little weird.  To do scriptures alone with the kids, to lock up, to have the whole bed to myself.  Nothing crazy, obviously nothing I couldn’t manage.  He’s gone most of the time anyway.  Just weird to let my mind go to the What Ifs.  I’ve had three friends who have lost their husbands in the past few months.  And my heart breaks for them.  I know nothing of their pain.  Yes, I lived without Todd for two years, yes I’ve said goodbye to two of my sons as they’ve gone away for their two years, but nothing like their goodbyes.  I wondered if there is anything at all to say or do to ease their pain.  I have nothing to go on, just a sliver of emptiness that could easily be abated by a phone call or text; and yet I let my thoughts take me there, to what reality could feel like for my friends day after day and I mourned silently with them.  Again.  And I continue to offer prayers, that they will be comforted and strengthened. And to check in. It’s all I can think to do.  But without having felt even a few nights alone, I don’t know that I would be as mindful of their hearts.

I think of my friends who have lived in nursing homes.  I think of family members who visit and tend to them.  And I think of those who have no one.  I’ve been in a hospital bed, most of us have.  I’ve visited people who are mostly tethered to their beds.  Or recliners.  I know from my own days of convalescing what that’s like.  Monotonous.  I have a lady I visit and she’s told me how boring her days were.  I get that.  But I wouldn’t know to think about it if I hadn’t had a few days on my couch myself or if I didn’t actually walk the halls with my friend in her “home.”  But now I think a little more, about what would be a nice diversion for her, what I can bring her.

I can’t say I’ve ever really suffered from depression.  A little after a couple of my babies.  But in my mind that’s to be expected.  Debilitating depression is another.  I can only relate, like I’ve said before, because I’ve had an ice cream tester spoon taste.  I’ve cried for no good reason.  I’ve felt like giving up.  I’ve asked myself what the point is.  I’ve felt despondent.  But only temporarily.  I have no real idea what it’s like to feel that darkness day after day, year after year.  But because I’ve had even a tiny bite, I can at least listen with a little more care.

Same with a crisis of faith.  I’ve questioned and believed simultaneously all my life.  But I was shaken a few years ago and really stood back.  It didn’t last longer than a matter of months, and I didn’t have a huge come-back experience; so I know it really doesn’t compare to what so many others are dealing with.  But from even that tiny core sample, I recognized that I need to be more tender and sensitive, definitely a better listener and friend. 

And yes, friendships. I have to say I’m thankful for rocky relationships. Because I understand better when others share their heartaches with me.  I know what they’re saying, I absolutely know what it feels like to be rejected, shunned, misjudged, left out, talked about.  Maybe some of us don’t?  That’s weird, but maybe some people can make it through junior high or the rest of life unscathed.  I don’t pretend to be glad for all the awkwardnesses, the embarrassments, the hurt feelings, the lonely times.  But I’m grateful.  Because how else would I recognize the same things happening to other people without that background?  How would I sense what the person at the edge of a gathering is maybe thinking feeling? This is something I try to teach my kids all the time: to look, to notice, to include.  Because it’s something I have dealt with through the years.  And yes, I know what it's like to lose friends I thought were lifers.  Heartbreaking.  But what better incentive to become a better friend than to have lost or grappled with a few?

And so it goes.  I can't help but think some of these upsets are not unlike Christ's encounters with those he walked with. In fact, he came to earth to understand the real underpinnings of our mortal experience.   This was prophesied years before his birth, "And he will take upon him death, that he may loose his bands of death which bind his people; and he will take upon him their infirmities, that his bowels may be filled with mercy, according to the flesh, that he may know according to the flesh how to succor his people according to their infirmities."

Maybe it's precisely because of our trials and ordeals that we are even as compassionate as we are.  So why waste our tough breaks and heartaches? Why not use our inconveniences and discomforts for good?  What’s the point of having so many mortal experiences if we don’t learn from them and use them to develop empathy?  It’s simply a matter of tuning in to what’s happening to us and applying these valuable lessons as we look outward to others with a little more love.

Apologizing

Because the work on the house is so extensive, we’ve gotten to know our contractor pretty well over the past couple months as he’s replaced windows, doors, and now siding.  Awesome worker, he’s been great.

The other day we were just chatting as I was coming home with my sister and he said he was sorry it was taking so long and that he wished he didn’t have to do it all alone.  I sighed and agreed, “Me too.”  

Doing the dishes a couple hours later, I felt a knot in my stomach but couldn’t figure out what’d happened.  And then I remembered that little conversation and wondered if he could’ve possibly taken my reply the wrong way.  Did he think I meant I also wished there were two of him so the job wouldn’t take so long?  Not at all what I was saying; I was thinking how nice it would be to have two moms at this time of year, two of me to tackle the load.

So I stewed for a few minutes till I recognized there was only one recourse.  I had to clear the air.  Just in case.  So I stood in the entry way, just on the other side of the door from him, gearing up for the weirdest apology on the planet.  I’m usually pretty forthright with these; I’ve had so much practice.  But this one was especially awkward. 

And yet I knew I wouldn’t be able to settle down till I did it. So I just pushed through the door and simply told him I was so sorry if what I said came out wrong, that’s not me, I would never mean to say anything like that.  So we talked, of course he didn’t take it that way, all was well.  Whew.

But as I headed back in I wondered why that went so smoothly.  And why I still, after all these years, can’t be that level-headed with Todd.  Where do the tears come from? Why does my pride bubble up? Why am I so stubborn with the one person I care about more than any other in the entire world?

I knew immediately.  Too many emotions, too much history, too much invested.  It feels more complicated, like advanced dance steps; this was more of a straight-forward, basic two step.

And yet I was disappointed to recognize that I had it in me to be kind during a miscommunication, that I could be composed and reasonable, calm and to the point without making it all about my feelings.  In this case, I simply wanted to make amends for my mistake, to make certain I hadn’t bruised his ego or hurt his feelings; I wanted assurance that we were good and to move past it all as quickly as possible and get on with the work of the day.

That all sounds so reasonable and technically easy.  But it’s never really gone like that with Todd.  At least not that soon after we’ve had a disagreement.  It takes me some time to sift through what just happened. He accuses me of clamming up and I totally get it. I try to explain I’m just thinking it all through because I know a rift is always in my perception.  Because, honestly, how often is a spouse trying to hurt another? I can’t imagine Todd doing anything close.  He is loving and kind and sensitive.  And yet we get overwhelmed, stressed, annoyed, tired, frustrated, and hurt.  Sometimes by circumstances, sometimes by each other.

It’s even easier to apologize to my kids than it is to Todd.  Again, I think it’s just more clear-cut, there aren’t a lot of feelings involved. I know for certain our love is good, and I’m pretty sure they’ll forgive me right away (well, except Callum, sometimes he lets me fret a little longer).  It’s not so convoluted and complicated.  But then why does it need to be with Todd? Why can’t I just treat him as I would the lady at the store who I ran into with my cart or the teacher I might have offended with one of my comments?  Why does it have to always be so twisted up and hard?  I think it’s because I don’t want to risk being even more hurt.  What if he rejects me and my apology?  I don’t honestly care too much what the lady at the store or even my teacher friend thinks, I know in my heart I really am sorry and did what I could to make amends.  But to lose Todd—even for a few minutes—weighs on me like nothing else.  It’s like my love is exposed and raw and vulnerable for him to reject.  And yet he never has.  It’s as if there’s an opposition at play: as deeply as I care about him is how deeply I can feel hurt by him.  Even though I know in my head it’s unintentional and always more about me and my thoughts than what’s actually transpired.

So I choose to accept and be grateful for having misspoken with our friend.  There is no point in wasting even an awkward interaction because we can always learn something. I don’t know how I’ll do next time.  But I’m confident I’ll have the answer soon.  It’s Christmas.  With extended family in town, lots of cooking and late nights, self-inflicted expectations, and just a lot of commotion, I know I’ll get my chance to try again in the next couple of days.  I just honestly hope I can remember this uncomfortable communication with our gracious friend and use it for good to strengthen my relationship with the man I love with all my heart. 

Nesting

It occurred to me as I was cleaning the bathroom, getting it ready for company, that I was doing it all over again.  Remember when we were in that stage of pregnancy and it suddenly became urgent to get everything in order, clean, and crossed off?  Nesting.  Our friends probably teased us, we knew we were harried and being unreasonable; but it seemed crucial that we get it all done.  I can’t remember much about those days, only that it was a real thing.  

But we forget that a baby isn’t just a birth any more than Christmas is a day. 

A good friend’s doctor wisely counseled her to remember, “There is still life after a baby,” admonishing her to settle down. I could’ve used that advice over the years as I mentally stressed about all I still had to finish up before the baby came.  When all I really needed to do was pack my bag.  If that.  I could’ve always sent Todd home to get my glasses; nothing else would be that essential for 24 hours.  Since I’d be wearing their nightgown anyway.  And I’d still fit in my fat clothes for the way home. And since we never knew what we’d be having, I think most of our babies wore their free little t-shirts home.  Todd slept in a drawer for the first bit of his life.  We can always buy a stroller or decorate the nursery (that it won’t even see or care about) later.  We can use the diapers they send home from the hospital for awhile, and a baby mostly sleeps anyway at the beginning, allowing us plenty of time to get stuff “ready” for him.

And maybe the same thing could be said when it comes to Christmas.  I was talking about this with Todd on the way home from church.  We decided all we really need to get done before Christmas is buy gifts for the kids.  And decorate. If that’s something you do.  Everything else can be done after or not at all.

Think about it.  In some ways it’s almost better to wait.  I wonder if friends would appreciate treats and cards and gifts and visits more in the doldrums of January.  Maybe then we’d have time to write a real letter, a connective, newsy update with an expression of love. I wonder if organizations could use donations even more in the summer when no one’s really thinking of it.  Maybe old people would like to hear kids and families sing to them in April instead of December when everyone else is doing it.  Maybe we could spoil our friends on their birthdays instead of trying to do it all at Christmas.  Maybe we could express our love to them by going for a walk on an ordinary day.  Or having their family over for soup and bread on a snowy night in late January.  I wonder if our kids would mind opening pictures of a couple of their presents that we ordered a little too late; they’ll be here in a couple of days and then it will feel like Christmas all over again! (I’ll let you know how it goes; we’ve got an arrangement along those lines going on as I write.)

Maybe we could have traditions on every days.  We could celebrate national pancake, puzzle, or ice cream days.  Maybe Friday night could be pizza and movie night and every Sunday could be a family day.  Maybe we could get together and talk about what we’d love to start or continue.  One thing we look forward to at Christmas is the traditions.  But if we spread some out and maybe delivered sugar cookies to friends on Valentine’s Day or had a Christmas in July white elephant party or a favorite things party near Mothers Day, we could start something new instead of cramming it all on our December calendar.

Maybe we could extend our friendship to our neighbors with a plate of cookies on a random day in September.  Maybe we could have a neighborhood potluck in June.  Maybe we could use Summer Solstice instead of Christmas as a chance to celebrate our friendship.

Maybe we could beef up Teacher Appreciation Week or her birthday and just send a kid’s handwritten card for Christmas.  Maybe we could give our mailman treats or a gift card in October.  Our in-laws send Halloween cards; others have sent us New Year’s greetings.  Who’s to say they have to say Merry Christmas? Or that they even need to happen at all?

Maybe we could just take the easy way out in December and especially at Christmas.  Maybe prime rib could come on an anniversary. Maybe we’ll have that special dessert with company on a Sunday in March or for Easter.  I’ve decided frozen lasagna and ice cream are our speed on Christmas.  We used to go out for dinner on Christmas Eve when I was growing up; lots of people still do.  Some have Mexican, which to me is about the easiest kind of meal there is.  Maybe save the really fancy stuff for New Year’s once things have settled down.

Maybe we could gather with our families every night of the year instead of just during the month of December.  Maybe we could talk about ways we could serve this week when we pray together.  And keep it going all the way through February and into August and beyond.  Maybe we could read and talk about Christ every day and not just during the weeks leading up to Christmas. I know we could continue to feel Christ’s love and spirit if we focused on him throughout the year just like we do during the Christmas season.

I just wonder if we’ve even considered any of this.  Maybe we don’t need to completely bow out of doing everything we love.  But maybe we need to get rid of the arbitrary deadline.  We think the 25th is our cut-off date.  But is it really?

In my experience, it really didn’t matter what got done before my babies came.  I was overcome with happiness just being together.  I was content to lounge about with my family.  I didn’t care what we ate or what state the house was in.  And I guess that’s how I feel on Christmas.  Most people stay in their pajamas all day. A little like when I came home from the hospital. We watch movies, eat whatever food is easiest, read and just relax.  Kind of what I liked doing after having a baby.  Interesting.

So maybe we could go down our to-do list and assess what we really need to get done.  I think we’d surprise ourselves with how little is actually necessary to celebrate the greatest birth of all.  And I think we’d be reminded of how centered we feel when we just focus on the reason we’re even doing any of this.  Anticipating Christmas is not that different from our excited but anxious preparations as we looked forward to giving birth.  We just need to remember that there really is life after it all.  The house, the food, the stuff… we know that this isn’t what it’s about, we just still talk ourselves into believing that things will feel better and we’ll be able to fully relax once xyz is taken care of, whether it’s painting the nursery or taking treats to all the friends.  But maybe the best way we can serve our families is by letting go and just being present with them.  I know that’s all our newborn babies cared about.  And I know that’s all the Christ-child wants from us as well.

The mother load

I was talking to a friend about this, just acknowledging there might be a reason we’re a little harried, distracted, and certainly tired as the moms of the family especially at this time of year.  It’s just that our brains are wired to think about everything, sometimes all at once. That’s just being a woman.  I guess we were maybe talking about Christmas preparations, but we laughed as we started into other areas of life that we tend to visit all at the same time.  Maybe you’re like us and get a little overloaded when you really think about what you’re thinking about. 

Every now and then I’ll make myself a list in my journal, just a mind-emptying exercise that I hope my daughters will find amusing and hopefully helpful someday. In no order, except maybe things that I’d been dealing with more recently.  I’m good, I’m not having a crisis.  I just share this kind of stuff because I think we as women have a lot of the same things going on in our heads and it’s interesting to share with each other.  It really is like dumping out the contents of the purse I’ve been carting around all week, no rhyme or reason, just a collection of receipts and gum wrappers, a broken pencil and a couple tubes of lipstick.  Nothing fancy, no order.  Here’s what fell out this time. 

—Identity theft, should we get a policy? Up to $300/year per person, what?  Been haunting me, so I did some research. I’m leaving it on the shelf for now because it makes me uptight and anxious that we even have this these days.  And it’s money.  You know how I am.  Not a risk taker.  But it’s money.

—Been thinking about looking into new insurance, what a pain, but I keep hearing good things, we spend so much on it, if we can save even a bit…

—Why on earth do I get myself into situations like this, just feeling dumb that I committed to something I didn’t have in me to follow through with the morning of. The house was in complete disarray (we’d just gotten home with our tree after 8, it was 11 by this time), and I hadn’t cleaned or cooked a thing.  Sigh.

—My tires are bad.  But I just paid to have them rotated.  And I trusted their professional judgment.  But I’m a commoner and I can even tell they don’t have much tread left.  Good grief.  I love snow.  I hope for no snow.

—Feeling beyond guilty about all the people I don’t know that I should’ve met by this point in my calling a year later.  Feeling glad I only have two years left.  I already have suggestions for my replacement.  I hope they ask.

—Feeling dumb that I don’t even think to do the things other missionary moms do for their kids.  12 Days of Christmas, what?!  (ps I love that Todd’s sisters are asking me for our son’s address so they can send him Christmas cards; I never even thought of that.  Where is my head?)  I’m so fine with it though.  A letter every week or so, an email every Monday, a package for Christmas, another for his birthday, he knows how we roll.  All good.

—Relationships. With friends. And family. Todd. The ones I used to have.  You know, just everything I care about most in the world.

—Todd’s work.  Taxes.  What it will look like next year, I hate not knowing what we’re getting into.  He wants to do a budget.  That makes me nervous.  We’re not good at that.  At all. It just concerns me that he thinks we need to try one again.

—We’re not doing Light the World.  We’re dim candles this year.  We watch the videos, we read the ideas.  We do nothing.

—Ward Christmas party, couldn’t wait to have it over.  I’ve done a million lunches and dinners (some intimate, others up to 600), but I’ve never had to be the boss of one, I hate being in charge of anything. Expectations.  Hearing about others, I felt embarrassed.  I hadn’t even thought about inviting Santa.  But I remember him being a part of every ward party I’d ever been to.  Where was my head?? My sister’s ward did Feliz Navidad.  Why didn’t we think of that? I love Mexican food!

—Feeling a huge burden with money—windows, siding, doors, blinds, oh my.  I also love it all so much.  As I hate that I have to think about it so much.  I feel like it’s always facing us, this house, yet it’s really not what matters most to us.  And yet I love what’s happening.  So it’s weird.  Feeling anxious because I need to get them all painted before the blinds can get installed.  Feeling torn, do I work on that, my Christmas stuff, my sewing project or do I just read by the fire and enjoy the season?

—Afraid to eat because I’m at my biggest I’ve ever been (just had my semi-annual weighing at my oncology check up).  But I’m always hungry.  Is it my meds? My brain? Do I push through the hunger or eat a little snack?  Do I welcome my new normal and tell myself it’s all muscle or do I do one of those lettuce diets? For what? For who? 

—Feeling the heaviness of the world, the environment, politics, etc., what can one little person do?  I think partly this comes from our daughter talking about her genocide class and partly just seeing the news.

—Division that religion causes, why????  I LOVE talking about religion and I love hearing about what other people think, why do people have to get so upset about it all?  Makes me so sad. Especially because I honestly think we’re all saying basically the same thing: that we should love more.

—I feel like curling up in a ball and staying home. Well, not really the ball part.  I just want to bow out of socializing every now and then and retreat.  And putter in my own house alone. I love being home so much.  It’s emotionally safer to bow out of all that out there.

—Why do I have good ideas?  No one wants them.  Least of all Todd. ;)  I’m just not sure why I feel like a highway is running through my head, what good is that if I can’t execute them? :)

—all the foods I have to make for activities this week, totally fine, just a little note to myself

—Our daughter told Todd and me to stop bickering one Sunday because she’s afraid we’re going to get a divorce! (That actually made us laugh out loud. One, she has no idea what fighting is like in some families.  Two, I think it’s important to just be real and to disagree and to work things out in front of the kids so they know what real marriage is like.  Well, at least one real marriage, I’m sure other parents agree with each other way more than we do.  Three, Todd and I were decorating for Christmas with the kids and everyone had different ideas, that’s just the way it goes.) 

But topping the list is Christmas.  

—Making it magical.  Remembering all the traditions.  But not the ones we’ve outgrown.  Assessing which ones those are.  Who knew gingerbread men were in, lights are out?  Wanted to get rid of our Christmas Eve exchange, everyone else voted to keep it.  

—Making sure our kids know what’s really important.

—Helping them buy for others.  While at the same time teaching them it’s not about the gifts.

—Remembering all the people we want to remember.  It never occurred to me until this morning in my dark slumber that we should do something for the families we minister to.  Caren, seriously?

—I keep hearing about my friends doing their “Christmas Baking.”  I’m not really that kind of mom.  We made sugar cookies (for ourselves) last Sunday.  And gingerbread men for the tree (the rest have been sitting in glass jars for weeks.) But that’s the extent of it.  I’m trying to think of what I’d bake, what are Christmas treats I know about? What would we do with them? My kids don’t like the stuff I make; I finally threw out the chocolate chip and sugar cookies that’d been sitting there all week and gave them to the chickens.  We don’t do neighbor gifts, everyone’s on some sort of diet, and where would I even begin?

—Remembering every night to do a Christmas scripture before we do a story.  I’m always doing this on the fly, why can’t I figure this out during the day?

—What to make for desserts this weekend? No one wants anything except ice cream.  It’s my birthday.  I like brownies and hot fudge.  Is that Christmas-worthy?  Why haven’t I figured out what we have to eat at Christmas time yet?

—I wonder if we should do something fancier for Christmas than a frozen Costco lasagna?  We did prime rib one year, no one liked it except Todd and Andrew.  A complete waste of money.  Everyone likes lasagna at least.

—Buying more Christmas cards on December 22nd.  That’s just weird.  But awesome for me because I hate making decisions; and with a picked-over selection, that one just got easy.

—Running out of pictures.  Another decision: do I order more or just tell them all we look the same as last year pretty much? Or just pretend there was no picture to begin with?

—I did the unthinkable and made a list in my journal (shocker), adding up everything we’d spent this Christmas season.  I can’t get over it.  I honestly can’t believe how much has gone out of this house.  I told Todd we’ve got to pare down next year; he says we just need to plan for it.  Good grief.

—One of my favorite parts of all: reading those cheesy Christmas romances.  Finding time for those.  And our new puzzle we just started.  And of course Hallmark.

—Finger foods! I almost forgot the Little Smokies.

—Walmart! I avoid it at all costs.  But December 22nd we were there, filling our cart.

—Remembering the people I always forget.  We got our mailman Dots pretzels.  Not much, but I’m so glad we thought of that, I’ve never done that in my life.  So fun for us.  I always forget their teachers for some reason.

—Reminding our kids to spend their to-be-given-away-however-you-want money. I don’t think this tradition is having the effect we intended.  Good grief.

—Analyzing stocking contents: should it be based on number or value?

—Keeping a running tally of how much we’ve spent on each kid.  Again, are we talking value or actual dollar amount spent? 

—Calling it.  Enough.  Even as I’m just getting warmed up and ideas are coming to me finally!

—Todd wanted to go out and do a little shopping.  It was weighing on him.  Rudely, before I thought about how it would come across, I remarked, “Yeah, you have no idea.” Of course he doesn’t.  He’s busy earning all the money I’m spending, meeting every week trying to get the business arrangements settled, taking care of the cows and farm stuff and trimming windows and doors every spare moment.  The last thing he should have to worry about is the Christmas stuff.  But it’s cute that he wants to do something special for us.  I love that.  I know he’s working on a secret handmade project as well, he’s got plenty to think about.

So I’ll carry the Mother Load.  As most of us women do at this time of year.  And yet, I think we can reframe what we’re doing and make it all more joyful, less heavy.  I love that we get to see it all play out so much. I feel blessed to be in a front-row seat, to have played a support role in making it magical and fun for our family in tiny ways.

I love the centered feeling of rolling out dough with the kids, I love that it reminds us of their childhood and simpler times.

I love choosing meaningful Christmas stories.  We’ve read about the Christmas Orange, the Gift of the Magi, and the Candy Bomber.  I have a couple books full of beautifully illustrated vintage pictures that we read from every year.  I love the short stories in our church magazines.  I love talking about what we’ve read. I know they don’t remember them beyond our prayer, but it’s comforting to gather, to be the one who sees that we do this.  One of my favorite parts of the day.

I love Christmas concerts!  I loved going to the bell ringers in an old church downtown one blustery Sunday afternoon.  I loved listening to our son play his saxophone and friends singing at school all decked out in black and Christmas.  Takes me right back to high school, reminding me of the energy and excitement I had for music even back then.  I can’t get over the circle of life, how surreal it is to sit in a high school gym as the mom.  When I feel like the kid.  I love that the decorations are still kind of the same, the kids remind me of the ones at my school, the directors are a lot like the ones we had.  What’s not to love?

I love that they like Elf and Home Alone and While You Were Sleeping.  I love reliving my own childhood with them as we cuddle and watch the same shows I watched at their age.  I love that they’ll watch Hallmark movies with me.

I love that I’m required to really think about my kids.  With a limited Christmas budge, what do they really need, what are they into right now, how can we show them that we know and care about their current lives as we buy a few symbols of our love?  It’s tough sometimes, but it’s always a good exercise for us.

I love buying them traditional foods like Egg Nog and chocolate milk and orange juice and making butterscotch rolls and frog eye salad and cranberry jello.  I think it’s little things like that help the season feel special, different from everyday life.  I love playing a part in that.

The music.  Oh how I love the music!!!! But I’m so sick of our Pentatonix holiday station.  And even my beloved Carpenters are grating on me.  It’s been a long Christmas season with my background stations on all day as I’ve been sewing and doing cards.  So I’ve switched things up to my Peaceful Holiday station; that’s my speed right now.  And yet I can listen to Bronwyn play songs on the piano all day.  I love the up close and personal feeling, the old fashionedness of the piano right there in our living room.

I could go on and on. The list of loves is so much longer than the list of have-tos when we really think about it. I love Christmas.  I just think if we tweak our thinking, if we see our to-do lists as simply reminders of ways we want to show love to the people we care about, it will change everything.  There’s no one way to do Christmas, it doesn’t even have to look the same year after year.  There’s no rule that we have to bake or send cards.  We don’t have to even send gifts.  We can bow out of a lot, but I suggest we do things that bring us and our families joy.  Even though it takes some effort.  If that special dessert everyone looks forward to takes a bit of time, but you love making it and everyone counts on it, put on some non-annoying Christmas music and relish the time in the kitchen.  If one of your favorite family traditions is sleeping under the tree, gear up and go for it.  If you love getting in your pajamas with hot chocolate to see the lights, make a point to do it.  Yes, it’s a super full month, jam packed.  But, like my wise friends have expressed, that’s the fun of it.  We can love all the parts, it’s the most enchanting time of the year.  I just think when we reframe it all and delight in the traditions instead of bemoaning the expectations, our Mother Load is lightened.

Honestly

Is it hard to know how honest to be sometimes?  I’ve run straight into this question a couple times lately, unsure how to answer it.

A friend asked me about a book she’d gotten for her birthday and was looking forward to reading.  I’d just started it a couple weeks earlier and never finished it; I just wasn’t impressed and I didn’t agree with some of her ideas.  But how to tell my friend who had gotten it as a gift and who was excited about it, what I really thought?  I had to be honest.  And vague.  At first I just told her I was excited to hear what she thought, maybe she’d love it, she’s younger and way more hip than me, so maybe it just didn’t speak to me the way it would to her.  But I felt like I hadn’t told her my real opinion.  So I followed up and told her it wasn’t my favorite.  I can’t remember what else, but I felt like I was on a balance beam between respecting her taste and having integrity and being true to myself.  I tried to be tactful but I also kind of told her I didn’t love it.

I was talking with another girlfriend and she asked me about someone she only vaguely knew, what I thought.  We are super open with each other and can talk about anything.  But I was immediately uncomfortable because I wasn’t sure how to answer her.  I was hesitant for sure.  And I think it’s just because I don’t know this person very well, but my first impressions have been a little off.  I struggled with knowing how could I be kind and honest at the same time, I was conflicted.

I didn’t concern myself too much with the book situation; I figure everyone has different tastes, it’s fine to give a heads up if something is disturbing or whatever, but I try to wait till after they’ve read it to share what I think.  In this case, I just didn’t think her core values jived with my friend’s and so I wanted her to know I didn’t subscribe to the author’s ideals either.

But I was unsettled about the other situation.  I couldn’t decide who I should be loyal to: my good friend or the person she’d asked about.  So I prayed to know what to do in the future.  The answer I got was obvious.  And simple.  There was a way I could be completely honest and loyal to both parties as well as myself.

Just focus on the good.  Tell her all the things you like about the person, his or her admirable qualities, the parts you really do like.  I felt that the rest would eventually manifest itself.  It simply isn’t my place to highlight things that I find negative.  Brilliant!

I appreciate this answer and counsel so much.  Boorish people, braggarts, egotistical, self-centered people… those types are hard for me.  And yet I have to remind myself that’s simply my take on a person; other people may find them fascinating and lively and conversational.  But if not, people will discern that soon enough without me pointing anything out to them.

I just find this a very simple way to live and to be true to everyone: ourselves, our close friends, and to others whose personalities or styles we may not assimilate with.  There are always way more positives about a person than negatives—always.  So why would we ever choose to focus on only those or even bring them up for the sake of being “honest”?

I guess I assume others have grappled with this, but maybe I just live in my head too much.  For whatever it’s worth, I’m grateful for Heavenly Father’s simple instruction and for a reminder to always choose to be loving.

Joyfully

As I was getting dressed one morning, I laughed to Todd over how weird it is that I hate that part of my day and one of my good friends loves it—it’s her favorite part of the day.  I still can’t get over it. To me it’s a time sucker that prevents me from getting on with my what I really want to do. I don’t love any of my clothes, I’m not into fashion; I just don’t put much thought into what I wear.  I can never figure out my hair, and I don’t like a lot of makeup. I just want to cover up and move on, brushing past this phase of the day as quickly as possible without looking back. But today as I was putting on my mascara and choosing my clothes, I tweaked my thoughts a bit.  Maybe it stemmed from a little exchange the other day with friends, maybe with that seated in the back of my mind, I subconsciously invited it to come to the forefront and try it out for myself.  We were talking about gifts and a friend gave another friend a mug with the word Joy on it.  Both excitedly exclaimed that this was her favorite word—how meaningful.  And what a great lens with which to look at life through.

Going back, I actually do like getting ready on Sundays for some reason.  Maybe it’s because I wear eye shadow and a skirt and heels, I feel more girly; it feels a little more purposeful.  Every other day I just need clothes I can walk with my friends, mop the floor, and cook in.  I need wash-and-wear, comfortable, non-fancy attire, just jeans and t-shirt outfits.  But I decided since I had to do it anyway, I may as well find joy in it.  Taking in the colors and textures, noticing that while I could wear a sweater if I wanted, it’s warm enough that I don’t have to, I felt grateful for clothes, thankful for a closet—while certainly not jammed packed—that offers me an array of options that fit my mood or activities of the day or the temperature outside.  With a simple tweak in my thinking, I found joy!

And since I was putting on mascara anyway, I decided to see the fun in it, to appreciate the transformation from almost no eyelash color to definition in a matter of seconds, some kind of modern miracle.  So delightful! Joy!

I thought back to the pile of dishes I was up against the other night.  The dishwasher was full in minutes, so I could either do all the rest by hand or wait till I could make a second load.  I actually like doing dishes, it’s just that I normally have so many other things I’d rather do.  But since I was there, since it was the task at hand, I decided to just relish the hot water and bubbles, the simple pleasure of seeing one dish after another transformed and clean, drying off to the side.  And then I wiped under the grates of the gas stove along with the counters, so satisfying and fulfilling to see our kitchen come to order with just a little effort.  Joy!

I hate running around.  Ask anyone.  I will go to any lengths to use what I have at home before venturing out.  The nicest thing anyone can do for me is run my kids around or do an errand for me.  But as a mom I just happen to have a lot.  So I bring my pretty music with me.  I find that I can look forward to the time alone to think and to talk things over with Heavenly Father, to listen for his voice and find some answers.  I’m locked in my van anyway, may as well fill it up with joy.

Normally writing out Christmas card envelopes by hand can get sort of tedious, not really my favorite past time.  But as I was doing the last of them just the other day, I discovered I could enjoy even this ordinary task.  I took pleasure in seeing my handwriting across the blank white space and from thinking about the families and individuals I was writing to, reminiscing on our times together, our history, and how our lives have changed; this seemingly monotonous undertaking actually turned into a walk down memory lane and sparked a little bit of joy in my heart.

I was thinking along these lines as I made my weekly menu, something else I hate.  But I decided since I had to do it anyway, I may as well get into it.  So I got out a cookbook I hadn’t made much from and I sifted through some of my older recipes, and I actually got a little thrill from remembering dinners we’d liked in the past that we hadn’t made for awhile and from seeing new recipes that looked promising.  Instead of just hurrying through the task and having the same things we always have, this simple shift in thinking brought not only joy to the moment, but it carried through the week as we enjoyed new and favorite dinners together.

With the dry winters here in Montana, lotion is a staple.  And I do my hands and feet all the time.  Just like getting dressed, nothing extraordinary about it.  Except why not? I love being touched, and I especially love having my feet rubbed.  So I tune in and enjoy the few minutes each morning to massage my lotion into them, paying attention to how good it feels. Joy!

Along with cold and dry, Montana winters also bring a lot of darkness—on both ends of the day.  I normally spend as little time out in the chilly mornings and nights as possible, ducking quickly from our vehicles to the house.  But I stopped just the other night as I was coming from the car and looked up.  The coldest nights are generally the cloudless ones.  And the black night sky is the perfect backdrop to really see the stars.  It’s breathtaking.  I was up taking Callum to his friend’s house to go snowboarding just this morning before 6 and same thing: just a smattering of a million stars everywhere I looked.  I was so grateful to have been out in it even though it was crisp; it’s so worth it to pause and to enjoy the moment.

Yep, that was the dogs wanting to get up at 4:45 the other morning, the awkward time between a bathroom break and getting up for the day.  I resented their pleas; lying cozily in the dark, I silently petitioned them to settle down and sleep for another half hour at least.  But I know what it’s like to need to go, so I let them out and folded the batch of laundry in the dryer while I waited.  It’s actually a very pleasant time of day when the house is silent except for the heater coming to life after a chilly evening.  I love the tiniest rays of sun that will appear before long, the satisfaction of a good night’s sleep, grateful we were safe, that there were no mishaps, that I wasn’t left wide awake for hours.  The early morning is a beautiful time to reflect on the smallest of blessings, to notice the house we’re so lucky to have and to take in the world with new eyes in different light.  And so whether we’re up with a baby or sick child or fire alarm or spouse who isn’t falling back to sleep or dog that just can’t hold it, why not switch our thinking around and, since we’re awake anyway, just behold the joy in the unexpected wakefulness and savor the moment with a baby who’s growing up so fast, cuddle up closer to your spouse who you never get enough of, say a silent prayer that the smoke detector works and that you get to be a mom to your little one, that he has you to comfort him?

And so it goes.  We have bullet points of our days, activities or commitments or routines we’re sort of tethered to, whether it’s letting out the dogs or folding laundry or driving to work or running errands or sitting on the phone.  We can take a minute and rub down our dogs and remind ourselves of their unconditional love and devotion.  We can inhale the smell of clean clothes and note that the stains really did come out and look forward to fresh sheets tonight.  We can sing to our favorite songs when we’re out and about.  We can use that time waiting for the insurance lady to write that email or make a list or send a love note or to just enjoy listening to the old song from the 80s they’ve got playing in the background.

Who’s to say our everyday chores--our ordinary life--have to be drudgery? That word—that thought—immediately deflates us and zaps our energy.  It’s our thoughts—not our circumstances (which we can rarely change anyway)—that drive our moods, so I guess I just want to be a little more cognizant of my thoughts, to turn them around, to be present and mindful about what I’m doing and to deliberately choose joy.