Mixed faith friendship

I've been trying to gather my thoughts for months now.  As a friend and I had a teary conversation recently, it hit me why I hadn't been able to write anything.  It's because I don't have the answers, I'm right in the middle of it all, I'm still figuring it out, I'm not sure what it's supposed to look like.

Except that I'm here.  I'm willing.  I'm trying.  

I want to be both the friend where religion doesn’t have to come up at all while also being available to listen for hours.  While I don’t want it to come between us, I want to hear their experiences and what they think, to be safe if they ever feel like talking about it.  I want them to know we have a million other things we can talk about while at the same time acknowledging how tender and big religion can be.  I want them to know I’m curious and eager to listen, but I also want to be respectful of where they are and allow them space to figure things out.

The only evidence I have that anything is working is that our friendships and relationships are not only intact but that I, at least, feel more connected and closer than ever to my friends and family who are not in the church anymore.

As far as our conversations about it all, I’ve tried to leave it up to them because I’m not sure what they want.  And that’s on me.  All I need to do is ask if they feel like talking about what’s been going on or if they would rather not.  I guess my hesitancy in asking is wanting to maintain our friendship.  I don’t want to make it awkward or to ever let religion be a wedge between us.  So with my longest friendships and familial relationships, I’m ashamed to admit I’ve never even asked what made them leave, how they’ve felt about it, or even what their current beliefs are. I think it’s because these people left years, even decades, ago, and back then it felt like it wasn’t polite or any of our business to ask about something so personal. And at this point, after so much time has passed, I feel awkward about bringing it up, I hardly know where to start.

It hasn’t been long since we’ve started to become more open and have more dialog within our culture. But because of that shift, I’ve had such emotional, insightful, and long conversations with several friends about religion in recent years.  I could tell things were changing, and I decided it was worth taking the risk to ask them what they were going through.  I wanted to be a sounding board, to hear these individuals who were already dear friends.  We had a history, a framework of friendship, and so it was natural and safe to ask what they were experiencing and feeling and thinking.  “Tell me where you are, what’s been happening for you, what’s your story.” My husband and I have gone to dinner as couples, we’ve had friends over, we’ve sat in each others’ living rooms, we’ve talked in the hall at church, and I’ve gone on long walks.  But again, these have all been close friends. On the other hand, I know of others within my friendship circles who are also questioning or who have left but with whom I have no real connection other than the occasional social gathering.  It would truly feel disingenuous to insert myself into their stories about something so tender and personal as a faith transition when we don’t already have a strong friendship and foundation.  I think this is exactly what is so offensive when we suddenly try to befriend those who are wavering.  To me, this isn’t the time to, out of nowhere, strike up a relationship.  Friendships take time and lots of casual, normal interactions, to feel comfortable enough to share such private, intimate feelings of grief and loss and change. Anything other than that, ward members showing up with cookies out of the blue, invitations suddenly after years of being in the ward together, neighbors who want to get to know you now… it all feels like a little late and a little fake.

And so mostly I’ve just tried to keep things as comfortable/the same as they’ve always been.  And I honestly don’t know if that feels just right to some or insensitive to others. Some I know have felt grateful that they were able to just slide away, that no one pursued or questioned them.  Others feel disappointed and unnoticed that no one asked or seemed to care about this major change in their life. I have friends in both camps. From my perspective, I honestly just want them to feel at ease and loved no matter what they choose or where they are or go.  I want them to know that religion doesn’t have to be in our relationship at all, I’m here no matter what.  

But I wonder if I’m the one with a wall, protecting our relationship rather than allowing it to grow and change and become even more authentic and intimate.  I also wonder if I’m afraid of being misjudged, that they might feel like I have an agenda about how to “get them back” or “fix them” or “convince them,” when in reality all I want is to avoid making it harder for them by thinking they have to defend themselves; I just want us to keep on being friends.  I also don’t know that people view me as approachable when they’re leaving while I’m solidly staying. And yet, just as they’ve changed over the years, so have I.  I’m not as rigid in my thinking as I was as a teenager and young adult.  I have my own questions, I’m curious, I love hearing what people think about everything.  I wonder if because I’m a long-time active member they feel they already know how I’d react.  But I’m not blind, nothing much shocks me, I’m mature enough to know we all have our own take on the world. I love that we’re different; but more than anything, I believe we all have so much more in common than not.

I sometimes project and think people who leave assume that they know what I believe or think because they were just here.  But I feel like members these days are all over the place in their beliefs and interpretations and practices; to me, there’s no typical member, every marriage is a mixed faith marriage, and we’re all just figuring things out.  But I do feel like there’s been a positive shift in the past several years, and maybe it’s just getting started in some places… but the people I surround myself with as authors, podcasters, lecturers and friends are progressive, open-minded, articulate, accepting, intelligent, questioning, faithful thinkers, researchers, and movers.  We WANT to change the thinking of the past, to switch up the paradigm that faith looks the same for everyone, to question cultural ways of interpreting doctrine, to be inclusive, and to maintain relationships and build new ones with all kinds of people and ways of thinking.

In my experience with family and friends, I’ve found it most comfortable to just take religion off the table.  At least as something that could divide or differentiate us.  I want us all to feel like we can continue as always, that nothing will change the love I have for them.  But, at the same time, I want to be present and available to walk through the questions and grief and anger and disenchantment, and transition.  So, in that sense, I feel I’ve been wrong in not asking. And yet I honestly wanted them to feel it didn’t matter to me, that it wouldn’t change our friendship. I’m trying to be different for my friends who are leaving now, but I don’t know how to go back in time.

It saddens me when members say they have to just be superficial now that their loved one has left the church. I’m well aware that our religion tends to influence much of our lives, but I just don’t buy it in every situation, it depends. I have friends of different faiths or who don’t align with any particular religion or who have left this one who I am much more able to talk in-depth with than many staying members of the church who sometimes tend to be very shallow. I suspect it’s because anything other than traditional doctrine/accepted practice tends to be uncomfortable and a little threatening.  On the other hand, I enjoy a deeper, more satisfying exploration of ideas with friends of differing religious perspectives.  In fact, I think it’s because they’re usually readers and listeners and learners and thinkers that we do have a lot to talk about! From podcasts, books, movies, articles and studies, performances, trips, current events, the houses and projects we’re all working on to how we’re navigating the teen and young adult years with kids and in-laws, health issues, messy relationships all around, caring for parents, aging, finances, marriage, and all sorts of mixed emotions, my friends and I never, ever, ever run out of things to talk about.  Religion never even has to be a thing; and yet, sometimes a friend will want to talk for hours about nothing else and I’m game for it all, I’ll take conversation of any kind because that’s connection.

For now, all I know is what’s helped build bridges.  It starts with both sides assuming the best from the other and remembering we truly care about each other more than we care about differences of opinion or life choices.  I feel like we need to trust the relationship, all the years we’ve shared, and to remember the inevitable ups and downs that are part of any relationship that we’ve managed through. We need to continue to give each other the benefit of the doubt and assume good intentions.  We need to be vulnerable with each other and admit when we’re having a hard time understanding or seeing things the same, but assuring one another that we’re here, we’re willing, we’re trying.  We want help seeing another way.

It’s taken many years, I’m ashamed to say, to make these deeper connections viable.  I feel so regretful and sad that my friends in the past (and even still, I’m sure) have had to be someone different with me than they authentically were, that they thought they had any reason to feel that I would judge them.  I think they’ve felt embarrassed drinking or swearing around me, they didn’t want me to see their tattoos or new clothes or lifestyles they thought I wouldn’t approve of.  I have deep sorrow over it all especially because it inhibited closeness and made them feel they couldn’t be themselves. I’m so sad when friends show relief that I don’t care that they’ve come out, for instance, as if that should ever be anything.  But as I’ve become friends with such amazing people, I have been so disappointed to hear that they didn’t think we would accept them because we’re “Mormon.”  We have got to do better at sharing our unwavering and unconditional love because no one should ever have to worry about something as basic as showing up authentically.  I can’t tell you how sad it makes me to think of anyone being afraid to be anything than who they are, and yet I know I’ve contributed to their pain and discomfort. I wish I could change the past and be more obvious about how much none of that matters to me.  There must be something that still puts people off though, and that’s hard for me because while I love my beliefs and try to live congruently with them, it doesn’t mean I’m not open to all kinds of other ways of living.  I don’t know how to show that though.

Because I actually love it when someone is quiet while we pray because it tells me that they’re comfortable not having to conform and be different for us.  I like that they’re ok drinking whatever they want with me, that we can go to coffee shops, that they have their coffee and tea stashes here on our shelf for when they visit. I love that they don’t have to preface things they think I might be shocked by, that they can talk naturally without filtering.  I love hanging out with my friends with different lifestyles and beliefs who have enriched my thinking and my life so much.  I can’t tell you how grateful I am for their acceptance of me, someone who could represent an institution or set of beliefs they no longer subscribe to and that has contributed so much to their grief and upset, that they see me as a person and not the church.  I’m so deeply thankful for the respect they show me.  Largely due to our strong foundations and our desire to maintain what we’ve always enjoyed, I have seen a warmth and closeness growing within my relationships over the years, both in and out of the church. 

And yet, here we are.  This is all very one-sided.  We are desperately in need of hearing much more from others and their experiences and perceptions, what is helpful and what has been hurtful. I’m grateful for the things I’ve heard and read that help me understand and see other perspectives; I do believe there are many who are trying to help us build these bridges. Because, in my mind, there’s no reason we can’t continue to have the friendships and relationships we’ve always derived so much strength and joy from just because we change our minds about something, even something as personal and big as religion.

What I want our kids to know that they might not know

As you’re all but gone and you are starting your own lives, I wondered if you would like to hear the back story on why we did the things we did as parents. We hope you picked up on some of this along the way, but we’re not ones to over-talk things in our family, and so maybe some of this is new to you.

1. We were absolutely teenagers once upon a time too. We know what it feels like to be talked about, left out, embarrassed, confused, unsure, in love, broken hearted, regretful, excited, overwhelmed, discouraged, let down, overworked, worn out, lonely, bored, ashamed, scared, worried, and stressed. We remember our first kiss like it just happened. Music was our whole world too. We cared about our clothes, we had to get up early, we had too much to do, we felt dumb when school was hard, we were overlooked, and we had to miss important things too. Our parents said no. We thought they didn’t understand. We cared about the environment and worried about what the world would look like for us. The news made us anxious, and we worried about wars and natural disasters and violence. We stressed about grades and college and if we’d be smart enough. We wondered if we’d ever get married and have kids even though we wanted to so much. While the details are different, know that the world has always had equal amounts of good and bad; and in so many ways it’s so much better now than it used to be. And while you’re a completely unique individual, we’ve all been there. We really do get it.

2. You can’t shock us. We’re not dumb. We’re old. We have friends. Combined, we’ve seen and heard it all. And there is absolutely nothing you could tell us or that we could find out that would change the love we have for you. Nothing. We probably won’t respond the right way. But trust our love. Help us understand as we talk through things. Help us know how to help. We will do anything in our power to be there for you no matter how old you get.

3. We walk a very fine line between wanting you to be independent and wanting to offer guidance. It is very, very tricky and wobbly and we fall off all the time. We seem hands-off not at all because we don’t care. Actually, it’s the complete opposite. We care so much that we choose to trust you to live your life. We will never micro-manage you because we want you to figure out things on your own. And yet we want you to know that we are always, always here for you. I feel like we’re the spotters on the gym floor, nearly invisible but constantly on guard and watching. I don’t know if we’re getting any of this right.

4. We are grieving the loss of our children and the family we’ve always known. You can’t understand right now how sad this is for us. Ever since you were born we’ve been preparing you for your adult life, helping you to be confident and self-sufficient. We couldn’t be more proud of your independence and your abilities to live on your own, but we’re mourning the changes in our family constantly. We have to keep focusing on the good in it all. But sometimes it’s so overwhelmingly sad to see you all moving on and I have to consciously make myself do my own life so I don’t just think of my little kids all the time.

5. We want to be your friend, of course. More than anything. But not your buddy. We’re here to teach you, mentor you, guide you, help you, support you. But we’re not going to abdicate our responsibilities as parents so that you and your friends will think we’re cool. We’re ok being old-fashioned and a little out of touch with trends, but we love to have you explain things to us! As you get older it feels like we have become more like friends. And we’d love to be your advisors just to bounce ideas off. We like to do that with you too.

6. We respect you and your privacy probably to a fault. We’re not the type to read your texts or journals. We know that’s probably not wise and definitely not along the lines of current thinking. We want to trust you. And yet we know you’re hiding stuff from us. We know you’re not telling us the whole truth. We wish you felt you could. But we believe so much in agency, we’re willing to take the risk that you’ll make mistakes and have regrets. We’ve all been there. We are willing to let you hurt and fail so that you will learn. We have always tried to teach you a better way, but we have to be ok with letting you choose for yourselves. We know it will back-fire. And yet we still believe it’s the better way because we would rather have a trusting relationship than one in which you feel unsafe with us.

7. We’re not taking the easy way out by having you do chores. Not at all. It would be a million times easier to clean your bathrooms and do the dishes ourselves. In fact, I love housework, including dishes, bathrooms and laundry. I’d rather do it all myself. We are trying to not only teach you the skills involved in mowing, ironing, and cleaning a toilet, we’re trying to get you to notice your surroundings. We want you to see that trashes need to be taken out, floors need to be swept, living rooms get dusty, the counters need to get wiped off, the big dishes that don’t fit in the dishwasher need to be washed by hand. Ask anyone who’s had roommates or an employee how valuable the ability to see that kind of stuff is.

8. We don’t hold back because we’re cheap. We do it because we’re trying to create artificial scarcity and not give you everything you want. We give you limits and have you pay for things not because we can’t afford them or we don’t love you, but to help you understand what it takes to work for your life and the things you need and want. The last thing we want is spoiled kids. We don’t want you to take your comfortable life for granted. We want you to appreciate things. We paid for experiences we wanted to make sure you would do, opportunities that would strengthen you in long-lasting ways.  We didn't feel that way about sports so much, so we left that up to you for the most part.  But we never wanted you to miss out on something we felt would change your life because of money; we considered those things literally as investments.

9. We encourage you to write thank you notes not because we need your praise or because your aunt will be disappointed if you don’t send her a note. No. We simply want you to grow up to be grateful, humble people. We want you to recognize and acknowledge those who help you out, those who are generous or helpful, the ones who do things for you. We want you to thank your waitress for refilling your Sprite and your nana for doing your dishes for you or for the money she sends you. We want you to thank dad for helping you pick up your jeep or for buying you new shoes. Occasionally we’ll do something out of the ordinary for you like change your sheets or leave a little treat on your bed. We don’t need the thank you; it’s fun for us to do a little something for you. But we want you to say thank you because we want you to notice the people around you who are helping you make your life a little better.

10. We did it both ways. We tried putting you in soccer and karate and piano and swim and art. We ran around after school and into the evenings and weekends for years and years. But then we made the hard decision to quit most of it because we saw it was turning our life upside down. We wanted more time as a family. We wanted less craziness. We wanted dinner together. We’re sorry that you aren’t top athletes or dancers, but we’ll never apologize for choosing our time together. We encouraged you to do more as you got older and became more independent, yet we recognize maybe you’ve been at a disadvantage because you didn’t have as much as exposure to things as other kids. But we didn’t want to spend our weekends driving to far-off cities sitting at a soccer field; we wanted to camp and hike and be in the mountains and go for ice cream. We weighed things out and didn’t see you wanting to be olympians or playing for college, so we took that into account. We also listened to you when you said you wanted to quit piano and band and art and scouts and your yw program. We knew you’d most likely regret your decisions, and we tried so hard to talk you out of it, but we chose to respect your agency rather than force our ideas on you.

11. We would choose kind over smart, successful, popular, beautiful, talented, or athletic ANY day of the week. Of course we want you to develop your gifts, to try new things, to engage with people, to do your best in school. But we would rather have mediocre students and average athletes who are kind to everyone than anything else in the world. We don’t want your identity to be wrapped up in what you do; we celebrate the type of person you are. The greatest compliment we hear is how genuinely kind you are and that you are true friends. I can’t think of better qualities in a person. I’d take that over a gold medal any day.

12. We are prouder of you than you can even imagine even though we could do a much better job at showing it. You are our truly our greatest joy, and we brag about you every chance we get. We honestly think the world of you, but maybe we hide it a little because we don’t want you to get an ego. But I think we need to tell you more.

13. We absolutely believe in you. We’ve always tried to let you do your own things whether it was pulling apart electronics, sewing, painting, knives, building a forge, belt grinder, or computer, doing lights for plays, pole vault, or cooking. We completely enthralled with your talents, skills, gifts, and interests; and we hope we’ve encouraged you to try anything you feel drawn to. We have loads of confidence in you, and you delight us to no end.

14. I know you don’t agree with all our decisions, but we really are coming from a place of love, and we’re trying to live in congruence with what we believe. We’ve talked about all the reasons we say no to things, and to be honest, I really don’t know if we’ve made the right decisions. If there even is a right. But here’s the take-away. Know that your parents stood their ground for what they believed when it came to things like sleepovers and keeping Sundays different from other days. That’s something you can hang on to. We truly want to follow through with what we say we believe. We want you to know you can count on us to have integrity and to walk the talk. And yet, we loved hearing your thoughts and opinions, which is why we let you choose some things we didn’t agree with.

15. I know it sounds wrong and mean, but we’re not all about wanting you to be happy. At least not at any cost and not all the time. We’ve been willing to let you experience disappointment, discouragement, loneliness, boredom, and failure so that you will become stronger and a more empathetic, sensitive, kind, resourceful, resilient, and wise problem solver and friend. And sometimes learning all that that doesn’t feel exactly happy. I’m sorry it hasn’t always seemed like we’re on your side and that we haven’t protected you from the hard things. We let you struggle as little as you had to in order to learn, but we still believe there is value in experiencing life aside from happy.

16. We have a million regrets. Maybe a trillion. Things we’ve done wrong, things we’ve said or didn’t say, the affection we withheld or didn’t think to give—maybe honestly because we were so depleted ourselves. The ways we embarrassed you. Our inexperience and ignorance and naivety. When we chose ourselves over you. Our lack of knowledge and skills. Things we didn’t think through. When we parented from fear instead of love. When we didn’t see what was right in front of us. When we just didn’t know what we didn’t know. When we neglected to talk about the important things because we didn’t know how. And then it got too late and we still didn’t know how. When we butted into your lives. And when we failed to get involved. When we said too much and listened too little. When we insisted on doing things our way instead of asking for your input. When we parented by the book instead of from our hearts. When we tried to do it like others instead of listening to what we knew to be right for our family. For when we cared what people thought. For when we were so tired, so hurt, so distracted, so harried, so torn, so perplexed that we ended up letting you down. When we didn’t have anything to give. When we got angry and yelled or withdrew instead of holding you and hearing you. When we missed the cues that you needed us. When we thought you didn’t need us and so we didn’t try to connect.

I say it all the time to anyone who will listen, to myself, and especially to your dad. I would do it all over in a heartbeat if I could do it with all that I’ve learned. I know it could be better. But we were only young 20s when we started. We barely knew anything. Our heads weren’t even all the way done. We have learned soooooo much over the years and wish we could’ve done better. But despite it all, you’ve all turned out to be truly remarkable people, and we honor your resilience. As you become parents yourselves someday, take the good and leave the bad. Learn from our mistakes, but remember our love. You will all have your own lists someday. :) But hopefully as you eventually all become parents you will realize the depth of love we have always had for you, because you will feel that same love for your own children. You will likely want the same things for them as we did for you. You will have better resources, a stronger start, the benefit of all our mistakes; we always say and know you will do a better job, most generations continue to improve. But in spite of all we didn’t know and didn’t do, raising you kids has been the ultimate privilege and joy of our entire lives. You are our everything and there is no greater love than a parent’s love. xoxo

Wrestling with restlessness

My palm went to my forehead (my most oft-used emoji) as I told the blood guy I hate that question and presented my rehearsed soundbite to his benign conversation volley as to what I do: I volunteer, we do some remodeling, I help with our hobby farm, we’re working on a cabin, I have five kids. But no matter how many verbs I use to justify my use of time, it comes out a tad pale, vague, and weak, like I’m a pampered housewife with nothing to do but flit from appointments to luncheons. Without a job, business venture, or course of study, anything else feels like fluff when I’m saying it out loud.

Which is so far from how I really feel about my life. While I’ve intentionally tried to remain available these past several years, every fall and January I’m tempted to join the throngs who have gone back to school or started nonprofits or have become professionals to prove that I can be more than just a mom too. Mostly to my girls and daughters-in-law.

I declared English as a freshman in college with plans to teach high school. But then I found myself in a family science class, and my whole world lit up; I had no idea there was anything like this. I was converted immediately and knew I wanted to be a marriage/family therapist. It felt completely natural to me, I soaked it all up and, in my glory, changed majors right away. But over the Christmas break my grandparents put a damper on my plans, saying it wasn’t a marketable enough career. As a result, I floundered for over a year trying to find anything else I could love as much. I earned meaningless degrees that I don’t even like to talk about. My formal education feels like a waste, and I’m embarrassed anytime it comes up. Which breaks my heart because there’s precious little I value more than learning and education.

I was told once when I was a teenager that I would have opportunities to counsel others. And so as my kids have left and I’ve been able to take a breath and assess where I want to go next, I assumed it would be time to try school again and finally get the degree I’ve always wanted. But I’m not inclined to make such a major life investment without confirmation. And I’m just not feeling it. In fact, when I lean toward it, when I’ve done the research, when I’ve opened the application, even after talking to the lady on campus, it all kind of fades from my mind within a few days. And when I think about what I would have to give up to do it, my heart aches.

It’s been interesting to watch myself wrestle with this decision as the kids have grown and moved on, leaving me to wonder if I should do something “for real.” It’s been an internal tug of war: the feeling of wanting to contribute both to our family finances and to our community (that surely has need for more counselors) juxtaposed with the feeling that maybe there’s merit in the life I’m already living.

I ran into a friend last year who works as a life coach and when she asked me what I’m doing these days, I shared my wrestle. She told me I was “spinning” and that I needed to make a decision and stick with it for a year.

I thought about that advice and asked myself what I really wanted. Did I want to go back to school? Did I want to start a career or even get a job? Unexpectedly, when I stripped away all the shoulds, I found myself saying no. In my heart, I’m doing exactly what I want to be doing and what feels right to me… not in good/bad-right/wrong sort of way, but in a settled, peaceful, right-for-me kind of way.

The wrestle, I realized, came from being indecisive. I realized I hadn’t been completely committed any time I thought I’d made a decision and that I’d been swinging back and forth, back and forth, for years. My restlessness came from not feeling satisfied with either decision because no matter which one I made I always worried about the other option. I was restless because I felt I wasn’t doing anything substantial here at home and felt pressure to do more. I finally realized I’ve been trying to make myself want to go back to school when my soul really just longs to be home, and that’s when the restlessness and the wrestle calmed.

That sounds lazy as I write it. Hardly anyone has this luxury, and I recognize how fortunate I am to even have the choice. And yet, there are many women who are eager to get back to the workforce or to finish their educations or to move on past the kid stage, who want to do something else with the rest of their lives. I have friends who get a little depressed when they don’t have something concrete to get up for, who get bored or antsy at home, who need the socialization of being out among others, or who can’t wait to do their own thing. While I totally get it, that’s not me.

I was talking with a faraway friend the other day, a two-and-a-half-hour break from our lives. As she was telling me about her social work program, how she’s applying to grad programs, and how she’s living the exact dream I’ve always felt drawn to, I asked her how she knew, what keeps her going. As she described the absolute surety that she’s doing what she’s meant to do, that she can only see herself as a therapist for the second half of her life, that this is her life’s passion, I quizzed myself. I feel none of that.

That helped me realize I’m finally at a point where I feel like trusting myself with this decision. I just read something this morning that warmed my heart and felt like confirmation, “Behold, the Spirit of the Lord has called him another way.”

Because maybe it’s ok that there are some women who can be flexible and who can make the treats and help out at the last minute. Maybe it feels just right to stay home with a sick senior daughter and cancel all the other plans to just watch movies and make soup for her. Maybe it’s nice to be able to paint the house and harvest the garden and clean the windows and make food from scratch and demo the cabin and not have to pay someone else to do it all. Maybe it works out just perfectly to be able to travel to see the grown-up kids and extended family and strengthen relationships with all the family we rarely get to see. Maybe it works better for some families to have someone to take care of the home stuff and who will keep the fires burning. Maybe counseling isn’t always connected with a paycheck or a degree. Maybe it’s a blessing to have the extra time to listen to young friends dealing with difficult issues. Maybe some of us are meant to have traditional jobs and some of us get to work in other ways.

And maybe things will change. Maybe in another year or so I’ll revisit it all and decide it’s the perfect time to do something else. But for today, for now, for the foreseeable future, I feel content and at peace being at home for a little longer.

Christmas tears

It was the week before Christmas in the middle of a well-prepared and beautiful Sunday School lesson… our teacher passed out bags with the symbols of Christmas and we talked about our traditions, etc. I loved having a different sort of lesson, it just felt appropriate to do something special, something seasonal, and I love participating in talk of celebratation ideas.

At one point she asked us what we do to serve as a family at Christmastime. Immediately and without warning, just as quickly as hands raised, tears began forming at the sides of my eyes and cascaded down my cheeks. I have always dreaded this question.

The father of a young friend found me after church, addressed me by name, and asked if I was just touched during the class or if I was ok. Which released them all over again.

I confessed what I just told you, that I hate that question. I told him the truth, that I feel like a failure every time we have to talk about what we do to serve as families. I have a dear friend, my mentor and role model just a few years further down the road, who is brilliant at this, who has a binder-head full of ideas to pull from. She has truly engaged her kids, from taking them to assisted living places to sing and play games to taking them to visit various kinds of people in their congregations. I can’t help but think of her whenever this kind of conversation comes up. She is so good at it, she made the effort to include her kids in any kind of service she happened to be doing. I feel like I missed the chance to teach my kids; they’re grown, I should’ve figured out how to fit it in. I wonder if I already felt too overwhelmed just getting through the days when they were little, maybe I just never got traction in that way. And it’s not that we’re opposed to serving, but it’s one thing to do things while they’re at school, we all do that. I just don’t feel like I did enough to orchestrate formal service as a family. We’ve never made it a tradition to step foot inside any group living situation and sing or play games like she did. We’ve never gone caroling as a family. We’ve never packed food boxes altogether. We’re not even that great at doing things for the families we’re assigned to at church, and we haven’t done neighbor gifts forever. So that Sunday, when a mom is already tender from all she’s been trying to do to make Christmas be everything to everyone, it all came to a head. I have one nearly grown kid left. What was I doing all those years when I had them all still at home? Why didn’t I make the effort to teach them, to show them, to take them out into the community, among the needy? You know how your thoughts have a way of multiplying themselves… the more I thought about what I hadn’t done and what that meant, the sadder I became. With all the symbols we were discussing and all the good ideas my classmates had, I felt like I had missed the whole point of Christmas.

And yet, I don’t know if I would do things much differently if I were to begin again. There’s no way I could convince Todd or any of the kids to go inside where old people live and sing or play games, none of us is that brave. Todd works till 6:30… too late to serve dinner to the homeless people downtown. And for some reason, it never crossed my mind to do it on the weekend. Why didn’t we serve meals or sort clothes or build houses or work on community gardens as a family? I’ve always pushed the whole issue aside, ashamed that I didn’t coordinate projects for us. I think service in the ways I had in my mind overwhelmed me. None of it seemed to fit with our introverted family culture, and I’ve always felt that I’ve pushed too many of my good ideas on my family already; I think I sort of gave up on the idea of that being us, I dreaded hearing excuses or feeling rejected. Every once in a blue moon we’d do some kind of activity that had that kind of ring to it, helping at the food bank or doing yard work… but not so much as a family and always super randomly and sporadically. Just last week I was with two sets of parents at the Salvation Army with their whole families in tow including 2-year-old twins, and I couldn’t help but feel we could’ve done more.

And so that’s a sad place for my head and heart to be on the Sunday before Christmas. All my regrets bubbled up, and I wondered again where my priorities had been, why I didn’t make room for that kind of thing as a family.

It wasn’t till much later that day, maybe even the next, I don’t know, that slowly images started filtering into my mind. And they’ve continued to trickle in.

I thought of my college-aged son who showed up with a pot of homemade potato soup for his sick sister a few weeks back.

I thought back to so many conversations where my kids have been hesitant to share something about their friends, uncomfortable about engaging in any sort of inappropriate talk, reminding me, “I don’t want to gossip.”

I thought about all the homemade gifts they’ve all made for us over the years, watercolors, cutting boards, notes… and the ones they’ve so thoughtfully chosen… they’re so good at listening and paying attention to what people mention in passing.

I thought of our daughter who carved out time in the middle of finals and moving and saying goodbye to her life last week to buy gifts for our almost-like other kids who would be all alone for Christmas.

I thought of our daughter and son who drove to spend an afternoon with their great aunt and uncle who are 89 and 92 and how much I loved hearing all about it from both sides.

I thought of them singing in our church choir and encouraging other kids to come to our house to practice. I thought of them singing in small groups, which isn’t comfortable for them but they’ve done it.

I thought about all the loaves of bread they’ve brought home to give to various people as thank yous or just for fun.

I thought about the random texts I’ve gotten from moms who tell me about one of our kids being nice to their kids who have needed a friend.

I thought about them making food for their friends and hosting parties and gatherings. I love when they reach outside their usual friend group and when they’re inclusive. I thought about one of my sons having friends over for a Christmas party, another who made Norweigan food for 30, and my daughter and her Friendsgiving festivities… it all warms my heart so much that they’ve learned to cook and that they love to share.

I thought about the gifts they’ve bought for their friends over the years. I love that they remember birthdays and that they’ll make the effort to find just the right thing. I love that they buy each other gifts as siblings.

I thought about them giving each other rides to the airport. And paying for gas without me having to remind them.

I thought of them waiting up for each other as we've all gotten older.

I thought about our son in high school who’d drive late at night to a friend to give a hug or get fast food when there’s been sadness and a need.

I thought about our son who came up with a plan to travel by bus, train, and plane in the wee morning hours to surprise his aunt whose been dealing with cancer and a million other stresses.

I thought about him wearing pink every day in October in her honor, collecting money for her foundation.

I thought about all the ways I’ve seen our married kids cook and clean and care for each other. I love how devoted and thoughtful and kind they are to one another and to us when we’re together. I love the men they’ve grown up to be, and I love our bonus daughters to the moon.

I thought of the thank you note from a daughter I found on my pillow thanking us for her Christmas gifts.

I thought of the handwritten love notes on the backs of watercolor painting bookmarks, the time and thought that went into them, how I treasure them so much.

I thought about the times I’ve come home from the temple or other commitments to dishes being done without having to ask.

I thought of our daughter who goes over to visit her nana without ever mentioning it to me, who is kind and patient with her as she’s aging.

I thought about the times they’d already written thank you notes when I think to remind them.

I thought about how they all decided to take a night to cook this vacation without any consultation from me.

I thought about how close they all are, that they have their own chats, that they send funny things to each other, that they hug and laugh and sing and dance and hang out together, that they’re such good friends, that they go do things together, that they double date and have girls nights. I thought about our Sunday calls and how they still keep showing up after all this time.

They keep coming, I keep noticing. I feel like I’ve been given glimpses like these ever since that Sunday. And my heart is filling up. I feel so humbled as I consider the ways our kids have somehow learned to serve despite my lack of planning and executing concrete family service projects. I’m so touched by their sensitivity, their perception, their kind hearts, their generosity and their genuine friendship astuteness that they seem to have just innately come with. I think every parent has access to a similar list; all of us have kids who are kind and loving and who are making the world happier and softer in a million different ways.

I’m thinking that these specific memories are coming to me on purpose. That they’re to help settle my heart, to soften the feelings of regret I felt that day. I think I might not be alone, that maybe there are other parents who wish they could’ve or would’ve done things differently in some part of their parenting. I’m not saying it was all a mess or that we missed the boat completely. We’re like all of you and made an honest and valiant effort; we did the best we could with the energy, time, backgrounds and tools we had at the time. What I’m leaning toward is the idea that maybe our kids can learn what they need to despite what we don’t intentionally and formally teach. Maybe their classroom is just the world. Maybe they pick things up from other grown-ups and friends and families they mingle with, maybe they just have good hearts that they grow into, maybe they can learn to serve in places other than St. Vincent de Paul, maybe they just figure out how to love on their own terms and in their own natural ways. Maybe we don’t have to sign up to serve, maybe we don’t have to wait for a project, and maybe we don’t even have to do something super uncomfortable. Maybe our kids are the real teachers in all of this, and maybe this Christmas they’ve given me the best gift of all, reminding me through their examples and all their acts of kindness and love that it’s in the small and simple ways that we truly serve and share love. As a parent, what better gift could I wish for than kids who have learned—and who live—this.

Ready for Christmas

I just don’t feel like this is a question Todd ever gets. Moms, women, on the other hand, this is our seasonal greeting to which there is no appropriate affirmative reply. How could there be? How can she be? I’m thinking what we’re being asked is, Have you finished your shopping, do you have your menus thought out, are the beds made for out-of-town guests, have you mailed your cards and packages, is your decorating where you like it, have you made and taken neighbor gifts, are you organized and have you finished The List? If that’s the criteria, who can do anything but shrug and shake her head? Every now and then I bet there’s one out there who’s got it all handled, like she does the rest of her life, everything ordered, delivered, prepared, thought out, done and wrapped with a bow.

But then there’s me, gracing Target sometimes daily the week before Christmas, constantly trying to balance the stocking scales, wracking my brain and checking my lists to ascertain the equality of it all. I thought we were done with pjs, got disappointed reactions, and the quest began; at this point, all they have left is rust in xs and xxl that will arrive January 9th. I’ll suddenly recall someone in my sleep I should’ve remembered but forgot. It’s like having to give a speech and reworking it over and over and over till you finally just have to give it. Christmas for a mom is akin to the anticipation of waiting to have grades posted.

So if someone asks if I’m ready for Christmas and I’m thinking in technicalities, the answer will always and forever be a gracious version of Are you kidding me? I’m like all of you: I try to be organized, to start early, to rely heavily on my spreadsheet, to use lists and checkmarks. I simplify in every way possible, have given up making ornaments and crafts and delivering neighbor treats and taking family pictures. As I age, I’m learning to not waste seasonal energy on tasks that don’t bring us joy. But even with an October head start, I’m still not anywhere close to the finish line.

But am I ready for Christmas? For sure. Emphatically yes. I’ve been ready since fall but officially since November 1st when Christmas music premiers in our house.

After an intense summer and fall working the grounds, traveling, and harvesting, I’m always ready for the sun to turn in a little earlier, for the crisp days to visit for a while, to try on my sweaters and jeans again, to watch some shows. I’m ready for the first snowflakes and our tree hunt with lunch on the mountain. I’m ready for The Stroll, for snowy music-filled streets with shops open late, beckoning us in with festive treats and the hottest of hot chocolates.

I’m ready to pull out my nature-themed wrapping paper and to set out votive trios on our window sills. I’m ready for the traditional dinners and gatherings with friends, a slowed pace in which to puzzle, the smells of gingerbread and wassail, the delicacies we spoil ourselves with but once a year. I’m ready to make flavored pretzels and sticky toffee pudding and poppy seed potatoes and sugar cookies. I’m ready to bring random treats if we feel like it. I’m ready to let go of obligations.

I’m ready to open holiday cards from far-off family friends, to try to reconcile the now-grown people in the pictures with the kids I once babysat. I’m ready to sit down and review the year and create our own memory letter. I’m ready to make my list of people to shop for, to gather ideas to go with their interests. I’m ready to think about what my kids want and need. I’m ready to shop for our extended families and others we love.

I’m ready for the music that follows us throughout the house and our rooms and into our cars, everything from traditional carols to the newer stuff, there’s hardly a song we don’t like. I’m ready for concerts, bands, choirs, plays and music programs of all kinds. I’m ready to see the tiny twinkles on the houses and businesses and at the zoo. I’m ready to turn off all the big overheads at home and sit by the fire with just the ones on the tree and above our cabinets. I’m ready for even our bathrooms to share their little lights mixed in with holiday garland and berries. I’m ready to come inside and be home for long spells when it’s cold and dark. I’m ready for more family time, for cozy hygge. I’m ready to welcome family and friends in, to cook and coddle them, for comfortable conversation and quiet afternoons for reading alone.

I'm ready for the world to settle down, to call an armistice, a time out for peace. I’m ready for the unity I know I always feel a little more of at this time of year. I’m ready to bow out of the materialism and make a homemade Christmas. I’m ready to bring in the boughs and to add Christmas ribbons to all my flat surfaces. I’m ready to gather pinecones and to hang wreaths. I’m ready to breathe in the cinnamon, clove, nutmeg scent of my simmering oranges. I’m ready for family time, reflection, a little more attention to serving. I’m ready for the stories from the olden days that we read aloud at night by the tree. I’m ready for my naps with Finn curled up beside me and then waking up to snow and frost-covered limbs right outside our picture windows.

I’m ready to give. To express gratitude. To notice all that we have. To find ways to pay it all forward. I’m ready to slow down, to think of what this all means, to be mindful about how we spend our time and our resources, and to align ourselves with what matters the very most to us.

When I think of all the opportunities this season offers us, I can’t help but be delighted that it’s finally here! Yes, there are traditions we want to execute. And yes, we want those around us and those far away to know we’re thinking of them, that we love them. Of course. Anything of consequence takes effort and thought, but when we’re more concerned with sharing ourselves and being present, that’s Christmas.

So who knows what the answer should be when all people are really doing is making small talk. I suppose I’ll never be quite ready in the traditional sense. There will always be a gift I’ve forgotten, a food that flops, lights that quit working, cards that get returned, disappointment that someone is not here, a little regret that I couldn’t or didn’t do more for those in need. But I’m ready to embrace the season, its beauty and magic, the traditions and memories, the togetherness and tenderness, the calm and the joy. When I think of Christmas within this context, I wonder if we’re all more ready for it than we think. ;)

Lunch lady

I remember when one of the kids was heading out into the cold and I was helping zip a coat. Maybe kindergarten, possibly first grade. Todd called me out on it and asked what was happening. We weren’t the kind of parents who coddled or did anything for our kids that they could possibly do for themselves. I sheepishly responded that I was just helping him, it was such a cold day. An isolated instance, we figured they could do it themselves, ask for help, or be uncomfortable. Same with even bringing a coat in the first place. We’ve always been the kind to allow and push our kids to do things on their own and for themselves; for the most part, we figure they can handle their stuff.

But this year I regressed. The kids were supposed to leave ideally by 6:20 to make it to their early-morning class by 6:30, but as the year stretched on, they wouldn’t leave till 6:45 or later. Like a lot of parents, we were flummoxed. The kids can do it. They wake up on time for jobs, hunting, trips, school, all sorts of things. We told them how disrespectful it was. We told them a few minutes of extra sleep really doesn’t make that much of a difference. We told them ways they could prepare better. I berated myself for not having taught them better manners or how to be more responsible. I had no solution and went in circles with it all.

Until I thought, I’m up at 5:30 anyway, I can totally make them breakfast and lunch. In fact, it’s the least I could do. When I thought about it in that light, I berated myself for being so self-centered all these years and just exercising when I could’ve been helping my kids out!

So I started making them breakfasts: egg, ham, and cheese sandwiches, cream of wheat, leftovers from dinner, breakfast casserole, smoothies, oatmeal, toast, breakfast burritos, yogurt parfaits, muffins, bagels, whatever I could find. Lunches were the same: pb and jam sandwiches, maybe turkey and cheese, vegetables with tiny containers of dip, cut up apples, energy balls, homemade fruit leather, chips or crackers, little baggies of raisins and peanuts and pretzels, salads with croutons separate, along with little containers of dressing, cookies and brownies, string cheese, pasta salad, yogurt, soup or chili in thermoses, muffins, granola bars, nothing fancy, just regular mom kind of lunch food.

I spent from 6-6:30 every weekday doing breakfasts, loading water bottles with water and piles of ice, starting the truck in frigid negative temps, and packing lunches. Even on Tuesdays when I would leave at 5, I’d pack their lunches the night before and make their sandwiches fresh before I left. And when he’d have a meet, I’d pack extra, making two sandwiches and a big batch of cookies for the road. It was fine, it became the routine, I had it in me, I just listened to my podcasts and got things handled. It was early, so I knew better than to expect any sort of acknowledgment or conversation, but we always had a prayer before they left, and that was just the way it went. For months.

Todd was always against it. And I knew our philosophy, of course, for sure, I was totally on board. But this was different, I thought. I hated that weren’t there for their teachers, and so if there was anything I could do, I would give up my value of teaching them independence in lieu of teaching them to be on time and to be respectful of their teachers’ time.

I don’t even know what the trigger was that made me want to end it all. Most likely I finally heard what Todd had been trying to tell me. And I realized all my assistance had been for nought. Nothing had changed. They were consistently late no matter what I did. So I just told them I was done. Dad and I would be on our walk in the mornings (mostly so I didn’t have to watch it) and they were on their own.

So here we are, the school year is over, and as I look back on our experiment, I still don’t know if there is a right or a wrong to it all. I think what happened was my values clashed. I wanted them to have healthy food, balanced meals. I wanted them to get to their class on time and not have to waste more of their precious morning time doing something I could easily help them with. I wanted them to have warm cars to drive to school in since we all have to park outside and so many winter mornings it’s below zero when they leave. I’m a stay-at-home mom, I have all day to do my things, this was the smallest of sacrifices, I wanted to help. I loved my reasons. And I still do. But Todd and I decided from the very beginning—even as we encouraged our babies to hold their own bottles and our toddlers to wipe and use knives safely—that we wanted to raise our kids to be able to leave us. We wanted them to be confident and capable on their own, and nearly every decision we’ve made in our parenting supports that one axiom.

So I met them halfway and bought all sorts of food that went against my values of homemade and minimal packaging and health. But they started doing their own lunches. I’d see Callum with his pre-packaged foods and cooler laid out the night before. I’d see B making a sandwich and gathering her granola bar and crackers. I have no idea what they ate for breakfast and we did away with saying a prayer. Todd and I just left with the dogs and they figured it out or went hungry or spent their money eating out, I have no idea. I just think this is better.  I could see an immediate change. We're back to being roommates, which is what feels best at this stage.  They're simply too old to be doted on like that.  Subconsciously, I think it feels empowering to be independent even though most kids' default is to want to take the easy way. 

So I guess what I learned is that I should’ve stuck with what we decided on long ago and that we had done with our other three. Maybe. I’m to the point in my mothering where I can pause take a look back and wonder what I would’ve done differently. I wonder if I should’ve been more nurturing, if I should’ve coddled more, if I should’ve done more for them. I wonder if they would’ve felt more loved and cared for. Did they feel like I didn’t care or that I was just lazy? Did I choose the right values to focus on? Should I have made exceptions? I have no idea. I can only look at where they are now and how they’re living as young adults. If I have a brave moment, I might ask them if they felt like it worked out ok or if we did it all wrong. For now, we are still muddling through, just trying to make the best decisions we can based on our hopes for their futures. I just hope that one day they’ll be in a place to understand why we did it the way we did and know that everything we did was out of love and to teach them how to be adults of their own someday.

Play ball!

An outgoing and persuasive girlfriend asked me to join her for pickleball one evening last month. I’ve been invited to sleepovers and themed parties as an adult that have pushed me right out of my comfort zone, but never to this extent. Everyone I know knows me better.

But I agreed. Because I’d actually played an impromptu game with our older neighbors one evening. And because I’ve wanted to take up tennis again. And because I/we need hobbies. And friends. And because I want to be the kind of person who says yes to invitations whenever possible. But I honestly had no context for what it would be like, moms getting together in an athletic setting? What would it feel like, how would this work, how bad would I be, how awkward would this all end up?

I realized I had no idea what people wear to activities like this. Back in the day it would’ve been short tennis shorts or sweats pushed up to our knees. I ended up with a painting shirt, leggings, and old beat-up running shoes, a far cry from a tennis skirt and cute polo and tennis shoes. But I was saying yes, I was showing up, I was venturing out of my comfort zone. I know that sounds dramatic, but this really was completely new territory for me, playing like this with other women.

I couldn’t get jr. high p.e. out of my head. I hated our uniforms. And how pale I was. We were always sharing lotion in the locker room, the least I could do for my scaly white skin, but it was still bad. Just like my skill level in every single sport we had to try. The idea was to expose us to all sorts of sports: softball, soccer, basketball, running. I have a girl’s words etched in my memory as I was assigned to her basketball team, “Why do you have to be on our team?” Every p.e. period was honestly a nightmare, and it was even worse when we combined with the boys. The only thing I was good at was running the fire lane back to the locker room and getting a check mark for having walked through the showers.

High school was no better. More of the same, except we added swimming in the outdoor pools to the mix. Refusing to dive and swim across the pool, I was relegated to the small shallow pool with a blond cheerleader/swimmer as my personal trainer. I thought jr. high was bad, but this really was the worst. As a sophomore I finally had a choice; and even now, I count the decision to do racquet sports as one of the best of my life. I abandoned any hope of hanging out with the cool kids at the gym and followed my own inclination. I didn’t know any other kids in the class, but I loved learning racquetball, badminton, and tennis and even played with friends on the weekends and in the evenings both in high school and college. I never became any good, but I’m still so glad I did it.

Fast forward to finding myself with a racquet in hand after all those years. Some of the moms were like me, but some had played before and some are just naturally athletic. I tried to focus on the rules as she explained them and took a deep breath. I couldn’t back out, there wasn’t a big enough group, they needed all of us.

And I was bad. Of course I was bad. I wonder if being teased when I was younger and telling myself I’m not athletic played into it.

But the watercolored summer evening was enchanting. I felt at home on the court and with these women. Sure, we’d socialized and served together for years, but this was different. And so refreshing, moms taking some time away from our usual duties to do something just for ourselves, with our only goal being to have some fun.

Surprising my family, I ordered my own pickleball racquets after that. When the package came, I had an almost reverent feeling undoing the tape; this was something of my very own. Clean yellow whiffle balls. Brand new racquets wrapped in plastic. The perfect black zippered bag to hold everything, reminding me of my ballet box from elementary school. I took it to my room, but I had no context for it. Our garage sale badminton and tennis racquets live in the shop, but this was special. New. Just mine. I didn’t want it to get dusty and full of cobwebs. So it just sat against the bedroom wall all week, waiting for a place. As I left the next week (this time in cut-off sweats), I grabbed it as if I’ve always had an athletic bag, feeling slightly like a fraud. I’m not an athlete by any definition. But I liked carrying it. My very own, brand new hobby equipment. Because it symbolized something for me. Independence. Being proactive. Courage even. I’m proud of myself for saying yes. And saying yes again. For sticking with it even though I’ve got no natural inclination for sports whatsoever. I’m grateful for friends who will laugh with me and who accept me and who, despite my being a weak link, continue to include me.

We all know that play is one of the best connectors. Which is why businesses have retreats and Escape Room parties and rope courses. I remember cross country skiing a couple years back as a family and how awkward it was at first but how it was a fertile ground for creating closeness. Same thing when we’ve played Spike Ball, croquet, or badminton as a family. Games around the table are common for us, but the ones outside where we’re using our bodies and moving and jumping and laughing together feel even better. As much as I love conversation, even I will admit there is nothing better to make connections than play.

So as I’ve spent these evenings on the courts, I’ve realized how much I enjoy being outside moving in a way I haven’t really since I was just a kid myself. It’s still a little uncomfortable, I don’t like being watched or letting my team down. But I didn’t know I could be this kind of person. I thought I’d lost that part of my personality, that I was destined to be a serious church mom, dusty, structured, and boring. But it’s awakened a latent side of me, challenging me to deepen friendships, to try something new, and to be more than what I’ve always told myself I am.