Unseen hope

I didn’t expect this kind of afternoon.  I hadn’t looked at the weather for a few awhile, and since it had been gray and rainy the past couple of days, I assumed we’d have more of the same today.  We left the house at 6:30 this morning, so it was still dark. The windshield was frosted, I had on my sweater and coat and was still chilled. We didn’t come back outside till after 11 and I was amazed at how the weather had changed and was pleasantly surprised that I didn’t need a coat or even a sweater at this point—such welcome warmth!  So this afternoon the girls decided to do their homework on the lawn to enjoy the sun and to work on their tans, and I put on the first shorts of the year to go help Todd clear the branches and trim the raspberries.

And that’s when I saw this tiny blade of grass amid all the dirt and rotten leaves.  Greenery!!  I couldn’t believe it—earlier this week we still had snow, yesterday that cold rain, and today: green!  I went to get my camera and took a little picture and then I lifted my head and realized the whole lawn was turning green!  I know it’s weird that I didn’t see that before, but I honestly hadn’t.  I guess I’d just been facing our back pasture as I was clipping the canes, and all of that is still pretty brown.  But just looking at our property from a new angle awakened my senses and quickened my heart.  The hint of green grass—albeit scraggly and still stretching to come to life again—gladdened my whole being.  We made it through this awful winter, I’m outside in my shorts and short sleeves, I’m hearing birds, bees are visiting our hives, I was even glad to see the weeds coming back from hibernation!  So exciting.  Maybe not for those of you in the southern climate, but for those of us in Montana and other northern states, spring is like a miracle every single year.  For me at least.

As I peered down at my tiny blade of grass among the raspberry canes, it occurred to me that sometimes this is the glimmer of hope that lifts our spirits in other ways.  Sometimes our tragedies and trials feel like the brown field behind our house—stretching out and out and out, no shard of greenery anywhere.  Just dull and lifeless, no color in sight.  Sigh.  But as I noticed this tiny start, I marveled as I looked around me.  They were everywhere, these tiny miracles I’d missed!  And I was reminded again that winter always lends itself to spring.  Even in the brown of life, miracles—glimmers of hope—are all around us.  And the way we choose to direct our gaze makes all the difference in what we see.

I think of so many of our friends who are in the midst of absolute hardship and loss.  It feels like winter will never end, that they are in a tundra that will never thaw.  But there are blades of hope.  A child shares his heartache after months of silently grieving on his own, keeping it all locked inside.  We wake up one morning and realize the pain in the incision site is not quite as sharp as it was a week ago.  A friend texts or calls.  Someone comes to visit unexpectedly.  He’s swallowing on his own.  She finally took a few steps.  We feel like doing something we haven’t done since tragedy hit.  A song comes on that seems to be just for us.  We feel like going out with friends for the first time in forever—not for long, not for the whole evening, but just to at least get dressed and try.  That’s new.  And feels surprisingly ok.

I just wonder if it would help to pay attention to the new growth, the sprouts of hope, around us.  We aren’t meant to die when the cold winds come.  Just rest and seek shelter for a spell.  That’s only natural.  And expected.  No one faults us for doing so.  But how welcome the warmth is, the unexpected sunny day, the tinges of joy we notice in our hearts, the swelling of hope, the view that is brightening oh so subtly yet certainly.  Sometimes we don’t have the blessing of an entire lush green lawn to look out over.  Sometimes all we have is the tiniest shoot to remind us of good things to come.  But after enduring such a prolonged and opaque winter, this is all I need to buoy my spirit and to remember that winter never lasts forever.

Tomorrow

I’ve so often based future plans on what today looks like. I know it’s unreasonable, but I always assume tomorrow will be more of the same.  It’s so hard to wrap my head around 3-5 inches of snow overnight when today is mid-60s with a warm and sunny breeze.  The ground is finally squishy and thawing; and, after months of frigid hibernation, everyone I know is anxious to get out and put winter behind us.  And so I naively believe spring has arrived and we’re home-free.  Except I know from years of living in snow country that we’re not out of the woods till April.  And frost is still totally expected into May.  It’s just so tempting to get a pedicure (well, I’d probably never get one, I’d just do the parts at home) and start working on sunning my white feet, to see if my shorts still fit, wash all the coats, and change out the flannel sheets.  We’re on a trajectory to warmer days, so I expect many more days like the ones we’ve just had.  Except I’ve learned in a million different ways that tomorrow can alter everything.

Obviously.  We never wake up expecting this to be the day that everything changes, that a loved one will leave us, that a family member will be diagnosed with cancer, that a daughter will confide she’s pregnant, that another will hear the results that she’ll never be able to have babies, a life-altering accident, a paralyzing stroke, an unexpected lay-off, an earthquake, a flood, a devastating fire, an affair you had no idea about.  Major hits we never saw coming.  And just like that our world is turned upside down.

Maybe yesterday was normal.  We felt fine, our home was intact, we all went to bed together, we had dinner as a family, we thought the kids were doing ok, we thought we were doing ok.  But out of nowhere, tomorrow came and everything came crashing down forcing us to create a new sense of today.

But there’s always a flip side.  Today and so many yesterdays could feel like hell.  We might wonder what the point is.  Why get up and face the devastation, why, when it’s all just more of the same pain and loneliness and mess? When we’re living with a loss, when we’re grieving, when we’re sick, when our kids are struggling, what hope is there that tomorrow will be any better?

Because tomorrow everything could change.  Research could come through with a new drug and you could find out you’re approved for a clinical trial.  You could meet your new best friend who will become your dearest confidant and hope.  You could meet up with an old friend from high school and fall in love all over again.  You could get a letter saying you made it in to the program you had only applied to on a whim, never dreaming it could become a reality.  You could get a phone call for a second interview for the perfect job and then be offered it on the spot.  You could make the team you were a long shot for.  You could stumble across an ad for a house you didn’t see before and discover it’s exactly what you were looking for; it’s been waiting for you.  Your child could get a teacher who becomes the mentor and savior you’d been praying for. You could adopt a dog that ends up pulling you out of your funk.  You could get a call from a family member whose relationship with you has been strained.  You could read or hear something that changes your entire thinking about an issue.  You could muster up the courage to talk to an old friend you drifted away from and reunite.  You could find out you’re pregnant years after having given up.  You could be offered a foster placement.  You and I just have no idea the goods tomorrow has in store for us.

So while we never know (and probably might not want to know) what tomorrow will bring, and every morning we take a risk simply by waking up, that might be just the impetus we need to make the most of our todays.  

So cliche and over-stated and yet so unheeded, but why?  Why do we put off pulling those we love close to us?  I love it when my girlfriends and I hug and tell each other out loud how much we love each other.  Maybe we’re old and don’t care how weird it sounds, maybe we’ve lived long enough to know how valuable solid friends are and how short life is, maybe we feel like sisters? I don’t know, but I’m glad we’re sharing our love for each other audibly.  I love it when we group hug as a family, when we curl up on the couch under blankets with each other, when we cuddle on the bed and just talk.  I love my nights with Todd when we’re tired and plum worn out but stay up late just cuddling and talking.  I love all the times we made time for dinner and when we play games and share our days.

Why do we think we’re guaranteed another tomorrow? And another?  Why do we put off taking that family road trip to see grandma or the overnighter we so desperately need as a couple, painting the family room or planting a flowerbed, telling our kids about our childhood or what really matters in life?  Why do we let our marriages get stale and our kids to flounder without honest guidance?  Why do we let weeks go by without talking to our siblings or parents?  Why do we ignore the older people in our lives or forget to celebrate the small achievements of our kids?  Why do we spend so much time watching life on our screens instead of living for real?  Why do we stay in a job we hate when our passion is to create a non-profit or to buy a ranch?  Why do we keep eating tacos instead of trying out some of those promising recipes we pulled out of Real Simple?

We think we have tomorrow.  That tomorrow will be more of the same.  That we have time.  That nothing will change.

But that thinking is dangerous because it traps us in today.  Which I’m all for, mindfully living in the present.  But too often we’re unimpressed with what’s happening today or, on the flip side, we’re too mired down in what our current circumstances are.  We forget that tomorrow all of this could—and might—be different.  So it’s meaningful to assess where we are, what we cherish, what we’d like to change, how we can make things better.

So while I’d love for all my kids to be at home, for summer to linger, to live in a house without projects, and for weekends to stretch a little longer, there is beauty in seeing our kids launch, move away, go to college, and be self-sufficient.  I look forward to fall fires and soup and crisp morning walks even as we’re fading out of a long harsh winter and heading into spring.  I love that our projects create cohesiveness and opportunities to work together as a family.  And while I love, love, love our weekends as a family, it’s ok for Monday to come so we can tidy up and get back to our work, to feel productive and needed.

When I’m in a good spot, all I want is for life to hold still. When it’s bad, all I can think about is getting past this discomfort and pain. But I know from experience that there’s always something right around the corner, sometimes welcome, sometimes difficult.  But if we live in hope, if we have faith that things will all work out eventually, if we live in gratitude daily, if we reach beyond ourselves to serve and love others, if we draw our loved ones close, we will be making the most of our todays and we will become more ok with accepting what tomorrow brings.  We will begin to learn that our tomorrows will always have value even as they rarely look like our todays.

The pink spatula

My mom is always giving me kitchen gadgets and utensils for my birthdays and Christmas, or just because she’s visiting or because I mentioned seeing something I liked.  So for this past Christmas she gave me the funniest little spatula.  Pink.  I’m sort of earthy, we decorate with artifacts from the 1800s, we consider our style primitive.  This is a perky little tool that looks a little retro and also like a plaything.  Fascinating.  I had no idea how to incorporate it into my crock of wooden spoons.  I couldn’t just give it to Good Will simply because it was rubber and pink and not like the others. So I just left it in my drawer for a month or two.

Until one day I needed a utensil about that size really fast and I just grabbed it.  I usually use my utilitarian metal one with nondescript black rubber handle, but in my hurry, this one was closer.  And it was perfect!  Just right for the job.  Game changer!  And, just like that, I was converted and in love!  Since then it’s been my go-to, my favorite spatula whenever I’m scooping out chicken pot pie or cake or lasagna.

I’ve smiled to myself thinking how similar this is to one of my friends.  I’d say I am like my house decorations and kitchen implements: brownish, plain, basic, utilitarian, old-fashioned.  This girl is like a flamingo, peacock, and parrot mixed with a tank of saltwater fish: colorful, bright, exciting, girly, and decorated, just pretty much my opposite.

Like my pink spatula, I didn’t think we fit with each other the first time we met.  She was in an entirely different lane, league, universe, whatever, from me.  It was clear we had no common ground and that we were complete opposites.  Which is still mostly true.  Even as she’s become one of my dearest friends in the world.

Like my little spatula, I’d dismissed the idea of including her in my life or thinking I could fit in hers because I didn’t think we matched or could work together.  Both my little spatula and my friend are so feminine and cute; she is always dressed up and put-together.  I feel like a wooden spoon next to her.  But we overlook all the outside stuff (she knows I don’t care about clothes and makeup, and I know her favorite part of the day is getting ready) and just enjoy a great relationship.  She has been the perfect addition to my life and I depend on her regularly.

As I think about the blessing she’s become, I wonder how often we’ve relegated a new someone to the back drawer, deciding we’re not a good fit for each other based on a first impression.  And I wonder how much we’ve missed out on as we’ve made a hasty call or formed an opinion without giving someone a chance.

I found myself doing this same thing when another sweet friend gave me this precious set of measuring cups.  I couldn't bear to use them!  I kept them in their box protected with packaging, away.  I felt they were too good for everyday use; they didn't belong in my kitchen.  They were maybe to look at but too fragile and too pretty to be out with all my other cups.  Looking at it from this angle, I see that I've misjudged women who are too pretty, too accomplished, too good; I've assumed they wouldn't fit in my messy life, that they are to be admired but to held at arms' length.

I think I’ve done this my whole life.  I assume people are too different from me based on their hobbies and activities and strengths.  They’re musical or athletic or intellectual or artistic; I’m not. The really outgoing ones scare me.  I’m not sure what I’ll be able to talk about with any of them. I gravitate to those who like small group conversations, long walks, and books.

But the thing I’ve learned from getting to know this woman better is that when we make judgments like that, we are simply missing out.  Because she doesn’t like groups at all, hates being outside, and—given the choice—would never choose to read anything heavier than People.  But we can talk for hours, laughing and crying and hearing each other.  We talk about our pasts, our kids, our families, our worries, our embarrassments, our funny things, just life, as we sit on our couches and just spend afternoons together.

And maybe it doesn’t always work this way.  But maybe it does.  Because I honestly can’t think of a single woman I’ve gotten to know over the years that I don’t love.  Yes, sometimes I can’t believe we’ve become friends because we (and our lives) look so different from each other.  Granted, we don’t all become best friends, but I do think as we take the time to get to know each other, it’s inevitable that we grow to love each other.  I think of my women friends as sisters I love no matter what.

So maybe my spatula is a funny way to look at friendship.  But it just makes me think of my other pretty and pink friend who looks just as out of place in our house as this little spatula.  And how precious and beloved she’s become over the years; she has a place of prominence and value in my life, and I’m grateful we gave each other the chance and looked beyond our obvious differences.  Not only has she become one of my favorite go-tos, she sparks a little bit of joy in my heart every time I see her.  Definitely a keeper.  Just like my favorite little spatula.

Finding the good in the day

I was just starting to see a glimmer of light when I’ve been going out to start the kids’ vehicles at 6:15 every weekday morning.  Until the time change; now it’s dark again.  I hate this part of my day.  Especially when it was 13 below, when everything’s icy, and the air feels sharp and prickly.  I feel like I’m waking a teenaged boy on a Saturday morning as the vehicles cough and sputter, annoyed that I’m shaking them to life.  I wear Todd’s Carhart jacket, my knit hat with a pom pom that Andrew gave me for Christmas especially designated for my outdoor chores, an old neon-orange and black pair of perfectly good puffy kid ski gloves that Callum was discarding.  I also have on my cut-off sweat shorts because I’ve been exercising.  A funny outfit to be sure.  Goes without saying that my legs are always freezing.  So yeah, I hate this part of the day.  It shocks my system, it’s dark and frigid, and it interrupts my exercise time.  However, it is simply my job.  Or at least it’s the service I choose to give my kids.  They’re always scrambling trying to get ready, to remember their sports gear, work shirts, water bottles, lunches, breakfast.  If it were up to them, they simply would go out to frozen vehicles because there’s no way they would take time to go out to start them ahead of time.  And generally our parenting style would dictate that’s what should happen.  Except I love the idea of giving them a nice warm truck or van that’s been defrosted and wiped of snow, a little treat to help start their days off on a good foot.  So since I’m out every morning anyway, I decided it was up to me to decide how I wanted to look at it.  I choose to note how much it snowed.  How quiet and serene and dark it is.  I choose to pay attention to the stars, to see which animals have skittered across our yard in the crisp night.  I choose to enjoy the satisfaction of clearing piles of snow from their cars and from the sidewalk, carving a path for them so their short running shoes won’t fill in with snow, the accomplishment of getting these old weakened vehicles to start.  As quick as I can change my thoughts, I’ve changed my entire experience.  (Even though my legs are still always cold.)

I thought about other things I don’t really love about my day.  Getting up.  I resent my alarm going off at 5:30.  It’s harsh and disruptive.  And yet I’m usually awake anyway; years of habits just train our bodies.  I don’t ever have much exciting to wake up to.  Let the dog out, start the laundry, sometimes make bread, sometimes read, always exercise, help if the kids need lunches or breakfast before they scramble out the door.  Not like when Todd’s getting up to go hunting or fishing or we’re going to take a long road trip.  Everyday getting up is just not that motivating.  But since it’s just part of my day, I choose to find the good.  It’s fun to tiptoe downstairs in the quiet dark listening to the hum of the heater. To see the dark turn to light.  To hear the dryer.  I love having the house to myself and getting some things done before the day really even starts.  And so I focus on that as I will myself to make the big move from slumber to wakefulness.

Ironically, I also have a hard time going to bed.  Of course I’m tired by the end of a full day.  But I hate the ritual of brushing and flossing, of taking out my contacts and taking my pills and washing my face.  I’m usually too exhausted to want to deal with it all. I’d rather stay up and do our puzzle listening to our fun music.  I’d rather keep reading.  Or talking.  But responsibility dictates that we put ourselves to sleep instead of staying up too late.  We know it will impact the next day if we don’t.  And so I choose to be grateful for clean flannel sheets and our little bed lights.  I still love the smell of Ponds night cream.  I’m glad when I’ve taken out my contacts a couple hours earlier.  It feels nice to get into pajamas and to be comfortable.  I’m thankful I have a bed.  And a husband.  And that our kids are all home.  I’m grateful Todd wants to pray with me.  That we get to talk and relax together.  Going to bed should be the best part of the day and, truthfully, I really do love the feeling of finally being able to lie down and rest.  It’s just that I have so many other things I want to do instead of sleep, and the chore of getting ready kind of dampens my mood.

Since I’m putting it all out there, I also don’t really love cooking dinner.  My favorite days are when we’re a) having leftovers or b) I get something going in the crockpot early in the day.  I just don’t love spending an hour in the kitchen every night.  But, I have strong feelings about eating dinner together as a family, and so I choose to make the most of it.  It’s the perfect time to listen to my podcasts or talks I’ve been meaning to get to.  I like providing healthy food and a reason to gather every night, so I focus on making it full of fruits and vegetables and trying new recipes.  I like the security it provides our family, the reassurance that regardless of what else is going on, we will always, always have a meal to come home to.  That mind switch has helped turn a chore into a way to show my family I love them.

Last year the kids joined another county school for track, and this year we’re doing it again.  At first I was annoyed by how much time it took from my day: the kids got out of school at 3, by the time they changed, we drove out there and had practice, it was about 5:30 by the time we got home.  I know I could drive home for an hour, but that’s a lot of gas and time for what?  So I decided to make the best of it.  I packed snacks for everyone, including popcorn for me.  I made this my nap time and my reading time.  I caught up on my correspondence and planning.  I loved being out in the pretty day and having time to myself where I wasn’t distracted by my house work.  I actually look forward to track season this year; it forces me to sit and read, I get my nap in, I have to plan dinner earlier on in the day, and I get to be with my daughter and her friends as we drive there and back.  All good!

We’ve been trying to spend one weekend night as a family.  This past week was prom, so Todd thought it’d be fun to go to dinner and a movie with the youngest two.  Dinner was nothing fancy, just pitas, but still a treat.  And the movie… I tried to suggest he and another dad take all the kids, but I knew he wanted it be our little family.  Which is great.  I suggested it would be akin to me taking him to see The Nutcracker.  Live.  But he is a quality time kind of guy and this kind of stuff makes him happy.  The last movie I’d seen in a theater was The Greatest Showman.  And before that I think it was Frozen.  So I agreed to our family outing.  It was some kind of Marvel movie.  I had no idea what it’d be like, so I decided to just have an open mind and was sure it’d be fine.  Good grief.  I couldn’t believe we still had an hour and a half (or two? I had no idea).  Other planets.  Stars.  Space craft.  Creatures.  Fighting.  It was the last movie in the universe I’d choose to sit through.  And I’d already taken a nap earlier that afternoon, so I couldn’t even do that.  Although I tried.  But as I sighed and tried to not be a brat, I decided there were some good elements to it.  I liked remembering Blockbuster.  It was fun to go back in time and recall the 80s.  I loved the main girl’s hair, so cute.  So I paid attention to that in the different scenes.  I was amazed at the make up and masks and special effects and stunts, fascinating!  Because I had my eyes closed during the time I was trying to take a nap, I was able to really hear the music, incredible!  Film scores blow me away, and so it was fun to be able to listen to it without the distraction of the show’s action.  And my favorite part of all was just being able to sit uninterrupted next to Todd holding hands.  I just love that so much.  And it made me happy that he and Callum were entertained and enjoying themselves.  (Bronwyn was in the same state I was, I’m afraid.)

I’m sure all of us have parts of our days we’re not thrilled about.  Maybe it’s getting the kids out the door in the morning or the bedtime routine.  Maybe nap time with toddlers is almost not worth it.  Maybe you have a job you hate, a commute that’s long, a business week away from your family.  But since usually they’re pretty much a given, we may as well find the good.  I love that Todd uses his drive time to catch up with NPR.  Others use their weeks in new cities to see the sites.  I suggested to a friend who’s in a new and isolated work environment that she enjoy her alone time and listen to interesting talks while she works on the computer.  I just believe we still have a choice.  And by switching up our thoughts, our attitude, and the way we see opportunities, we can transform parts of our days from something we dread to something we actually look forward to.

What I believe

I still believe parents reading with kids on their laps trumps any screen play, no matter how “educational” the game or material appears.  

I believe family dinnertime should be a top priority in our lives regardless of what else we may have to forego.  

I don’t believe in medicating kids for every disruption they make in our lives.  

I believe in more recess and movement in school. I believe kids would do better if they were allowed to do their work outside or have more physical breaks. I don’t believe in making preschoolers do seat work.  I believe their play is their work.

I don’t believe sports are all that we make them.  I believe there’s a place for them of course; they teach valuable life skills about showing up, being committed, working together, and using our bodies in positive ways.  But I feel that they may not be worth what we’re giving up.  I believe that sometimes they are costing us too much in terms of family time, unstructured free time, and the opportunity to develop other interests, hobbies, and talents.

While I believe there may be a place for counseling, I’m not convinced rehashing the past in a dark quiet room for years on end is better for a person than learning new life skills and getting out there and serving.

I believe in being generous.  And in believing there is enough.

I believe in not worrying about how much food our kids and their friends eat.  I believe in letting them make and eat whatever they want when their friends are over.  I believe if there’s food, they will come.

I believe in ice cream on weekends.

I believe in letting our kids do as much as they possibly can on their own.  That they can take care of their hair cuts, money, plans, and paperwork.  And that all of it helps them grow up.

I believe family vacation is one of the best investments we can make.  I believe in camping.  That it does more good than some of the fancier destination packages.

I believe real food is inherently superior to anything in a package.  I don’t believe supplements are always necessary.  I don’t subscribe to diets and am dubious as to their long-term effectiveness.

I believe in dessert.  I believe in being choosy and thoughtful about what treats we indulge in, but by all means have ice cream on vacation with the family, have birthday cake, have a piece of pie at Thanksgiving, have a cookie.  Just go easy.

I believe in letting our kids solve their own problems.  And in doing their own homework, science fair projects, talks, lunches, and hair.  I don’t believe in checking their grades online.

I believe children thrive best in a household where parents love each other and are committed to the family.  I believe the marriage relationship is the foundation of a healthy family and kids feel most secure when they know and feel that relationship is solid.  I don’t believe kids should rule the household.  Although I do believe they should absolutely have a voice.

I believe in structure and routines.  To a degree.  I don’t believe in strict curfews, I believe in talking about their plans and agreeing on a reasonable end-time.  I believe in baths and songs and stories.  And that they will eventually learn to go to bed when they’re tired.

I don’t believe in micromanaging our kids.  I believe when we do that, we are telling them we don’t trust them.  It undermines their confidence and creates a need to hide.

I believe in spending time with friends, that it’s worth leaving the dishes to sit together on the couch to just be together for an afternoon.  I believe in the infinite value of friendships and in making the effort.  And that to have a friend we need to be a friend.

I believe a weekly date with our spouses is the best money we will ever spend.  Same with overnighters.

I believe in clean sheets every Friday.

I believe in quiet time with our thoughts. 

I don’t believe in mixing church with anything else.  I don’t believe in holding earning a church award over their heads before they can drive.  I believe in letting them choose.  In teaching them what we believe and encouraging them to figure out what they believe.

I believe in hard work.  And that this is what kids these days are missing out on.  I believe they should have jobs working for someone besides us.  I believe they should get paid a real wage and not some inflated pretend wage.  I believe it’s ok for them to sweat and hurt.  And to be bored.  And to complain.  And to miss out on some fun because they have to work.  I believe kids should contribute to the household simply because they’re part of the family.  I don’t believe they should be paid for chores.

I believe in good conversation.  And engaging our kids.  That we should talk across the generations.  That we have so much to learn from each other.  That we should listen more than talk. I believe kids, teenagers, and young adults can teach us so much when we pay attention to what they’re saying and when we take time to ask their opinions.  I believe in sharing our real thoughts.

I believe in music. That we should expose our kids to all sorts of genres.  That we should encourage them to play an instrument or to sing.  I believe beautiful music can nurture a warm feeling in our homes and can be a peaceful backdrop.

I believe in phone calls.  With a son in college, with a sister or mom, with a friend from years back.  I believe in talking to the insurance person on the other end as if she were a real person who knows that the roads are like, who has kids, who is just trying to do her job.

I believe in visiting people in their homes, especially those who live alone.  There is no better way to get to know someone than to see where and how they live.

I believe in being at the crossroads when the kids are coming and going.  Even when they’re teenagers.

I believe in the power of touch.  That we long for physical connection.  I believe teenagers especially need hugs.

I believe in going over to meet the neighbors.  And in having families over for dinner.

I believe in owning our feelings, in helping our kids identify them, in reminding them there’s not a feeling that’s bad—it’s what we do about and with them.

I believe in letting kids go.  And not hovering.  To camp, on band trips, to DC, to Scotland, to their cousins’ a couple states away, with their sports teams, to stay with their grandparents, to a concert, camping with their friends.  I believe it’s crucial to their development to be away from parents and to be with other adults and in having to navigate new situations on their own.

I believe in thank you notes.  That it does more for the gift recipient than the giver of the gift.

I believe in not worrying about mixed up meals at a restaurant too much.

I believe in not fussing over having everything look just right.  I believe people just want to spend time together and that most people couldn’t care less about the decorations or colors.

I don’t believe in buying school pictures.  Too staged and too expensive.  My sister does a way better job.  I believe in family pictures.  I just don’t like getting them taken.

I believe in potlucks and in sharing the responsibility.  I believe in using real dishes and silverware.  I believe we contribute enough as it is to the landfills.

I believe our bodies and minds are inextricably connected.  And that many physical issues are the result of our thoughts.

I believe our houses should feel homey.  Tidy but like real people live in them.  Welcoming and warm and real.

I believe God doesn’t want us to define ourselves by our mistakes.  I believe He cares about the state of our hearts.  And where we’re heading.  And that He wants us to get past our hiccups and get on with things.

I believe in reading nooks.  I believe books should never be out of sight.  That they should be tucked in back-seat pockets and on bed stands and by the kitchen table.  I believe we should always be in the middle of a book and have one waiting.  I believe in carrying a book everywhere I go.

I believe in keeping records of our lives through pictures and letters and memorabilia.  I believe everyone has a story.  I believe we might forget if we don’t write it all down.

I believe every character trait has a good and bad side.

I believe in being vulnerable.  I believe people are not that different.  I believe most people care about their families and just want to feel connected and loved.  I believe people want to feel noticed and cared about.  I believe in acknowledging our humanness.  And with those assumptions in mind, I believe nothing I’ve felt or gone through is that unusual and that most people can relate to each others’ experiences.

I believe in print media.  In magazine subscriptions.  For every family member.  I believe holding a book or newspaper or magazine is a superior experience to reading online.  And that we retain more information when we engage more of our senses.

I believe our family members who have died are extremely interested in what we are doing.  That part of their work is to help us.  That they are closer than we think.  That they have the power to strengthen us.  I believe in angels.  And that some of these angels are our ancestors.

I believe in the power of a handwritten, stamped letter in the mail.  I believe it can change someone’s day, strengthen a relationship, and help us feel closer to each other.

I believe we should get outside every chance we can.  I believe a walk can change our mood.  That kids thrive in nature.  That we need to carve out time and space for exploration and wonderment.  That whenever there’s an option, it always feels better to do it outside, whether it’s eating dinner on the porch, picnicking in a roadside pull-out, reading on the hammock, talking with friends on the tramp, playing cards in the treehouse, or sleeping in a tent.

I believe in having pets.  I believe they are God’s gift to us.  To teach us about unconditional love and how to care for something besides ourselves and to comfort us.

I believe, generally speaking, most people look best in whatever color hair God gave them.

I believe in letting kids use real tools instead of plastic fake ones.  I believe in teaching them how to cut safely with a knife or scissors and in letting them chop the vegetables and letting them try out the screwdriver.

I believe there is power in the morning. In getting up early.  And going to bed at the same time every day.  I believe in going to bed with my husband.

I believe in miracles.  I believe love changes things.  And is the catalyst for most miracles.

I believe there is a God who knows and loves us and who is intimately involved in our lives.  I believe in our Savior Jesus Christ.  And I believe He is the most perfect man and friend who ever lived.  I believe they are closer than we think.  And love us more than we can imagine. 

Missing out

I feel sort of antsy, maybe a little melancholy actually, that our house is torn up again. We have blankets on the floor to catch all the melted snow tracks.  Nail gun and air compressor are center-stage.  No railings for the stairs. All the furniture is in the adjoining rooms. It’s just that I was thinking about Valentine’s Day and now Easter and am reminded that I do have a few decorations I could’ve put out.  But didn’t really see the point since it’s hard to tell what’s supposed to be out and what’s just sort of here temporarily.  I also figured I may as well put away my winter snow decorations, less to get wood dust on, and fewer things to accidentally break.  I keep wanting to invite people over, but a big group would be hard. Maybe it’s just a season I’ll have to let go of and catch again next year.

Looking back, this is how our summer went too as we painted the exterior of our house.  I felt like we were out there any evening we didn’t have another commitment and every Saturday we were in town. The year before, our kitchen was torn up for five weeks during its remodel phase.  I haven’t loved feeling out of sorts and having these disruptions; I felt like we were missing out on our normal activities and fun.

I remember feeling this way when I had my cancer surgery almost five years ago during a most beautiful November.  I was so let down as I felt tethered to my house when I longed to be taking walks and spending time outside in the leaves.  And even being able to cook and mop. Yet I knew I had to give my body its time to heal, and so I simply viewed my favorite time of the year from my couch.

It was sort of the same thing when I had my fifth baby emergency c-section nearly 14 Mays ago.  Another friend had her baby at the same time and she and another friend came to visit me.  I felt fat and frumpy and so sore as we talked.  She was perky and seemingly completely back to normal.  But I knew I had to be a little selfish, I needed this time to heal.  As much as I longed to go to the park and play with all our little friends, I just needed to bow out for a few days. 

And now that I think about it, I remember feeling this for the first time when I had Andrew almost 23 years ago.  I’d been working full time up until I had him, and all of a sudden I was relegated to my little upstairs apartment all day without a car. My family came that first weekend, but I remember feeling sad that I couldn’t go shopping with them.  I had very little contact with the outside world and felt sort of forgotten and discouraged that this was my new normal. 

I was so disappointed when we decided to move a couple of falls back, that our closing date would be the middle of December.  I was sad to have to move in the first place.  And that it meant fall and Christmas would be very different and disrupted.  We couldn’t decorate the house we were moving from for Christmas; I patched and painted walls all those weeks instead.  We packed up as our house—normally cozy and festive—became more out of sorts and less homey.  We moved into our new house—as the previous owners were moving out—during one of the coldest, snowiest weekends I can remember. I knew we had just over a week till Christmas and then it would be over.  My holiday that I can stretch for weeks… I would only have a few short days with.  I know there are many harder things in life, but I was disappointed to not be able to celebrate the way we always had before. 

I’m reminded that Callum was sick last Christmas, relegated to the couch feeling miserable on a vacation day.  I felt so bad for him.  I remember throwing up myself one Christmas a couple years back.  I knew exactly how he felt to be missing out on my favorite day of the year.

I’ve known kids who have broken a limb at the beginning of summer—could there possibly be a more inconvenient time to be in a cast?  A summer without swimming?  Our little friend just tore up her ankle.  She’s an amazing high school soccer player and is out for the rest of the season.  At least.  Soccer has been her life for as long we can remember, and it’s devastating to be on crutches and to have to use a scooter at her age.  It reminds me of when Andrew wrecked in a bike accident as a senior just weeks before state track, his last chance to compete in high school.  Pretty devastating.

On and on.  We can all think of seasons—days, sometimes weeks—of our lives where we’ve been relegated to the side lines as time and people go on seemingly without us.  But it’s always helped to remind myself that these illnesses and recoveries won’t last forever, and by this time next year things will be more normal.  But what to do in the interim, for now?

I like how one girl on Bronwyn’s volleyball team is using this season while she’s out to help with coaching, tossing the balls in the warm ups and cheering on the girls in their games.  She’s still part of the team, wearing her uniform and showing up; she’s just involved in a different way this season.

Our Christmastime move helped us set up our decorations so quickly because of all the help we had, and when two friends moved this past Christmas, I totally knew what it felt like and how to help.  A sick day becomes a different sort of day with soft foods and junk tv.  A broken bone allows us to learn the coaching angle of our sport. The times alone with my babies were good for me and forced me to rest and heal and to spend those few days holding them close.  Our summer evenings painting the house were actually some of my favorite memories from last year, listening to our radio and talking while we worked together as a family.  Having to heal from a c-section that summer was actually helpful because it kept me and the five kids close to home for a time; our days were a little more relaxed than I would normally tend to make them.  And my days on my couch recovering from surgery were unusually slow, allowing me to visit with friends and to appreciate their generosity and kindness up close.

To be honest, sometimes it’s hard to see the good in an accident or distressing situation, and yet I still think it’s there.  If only to teach us to appreciate what we so often take for granted: our health, our associations, our everyday homes with furnishings in their proper places, a beautiful fall, holiday decorations that add to the season.

So as we’re in the middle of chaos once again, I choose not to be disgruntled. Of course I’d love our house to be back to normal (and admit I’m a tad jealous when I go to my friends’ perfectly organized houses) and to be able to dust and clean properly.  Obviously, our little friends would rather be playing their favorite sports than watching from the sidelines, most kids would rather not have to be stuck at home feeling sick, and I’d choose any other time of the year to move instead of Christmas; but most of the time we don’t get to choose this kind of thing.  And so I’ve found it helpful to just acknowledge that, while admittedly distressing, these disruptions are usually temporary.  And, looking back, I don’t know that we would actually change any of it.  Because there is nearly always something to learn or appreciate from life's interruptions.