Should I stay or should I go?

I was just listening to The Clash’s hit from my youth, Should I Stay or Should I Go, and wondering if this quandary is as timeless as their music. It got me thinking of how many decisions basically come down to this question of remaining or leaving whether it’s as simple as a conversation with a group of friends or our beds in the morning or something more serious such as a relationship, a job, or a group. 

So I was listening to a podcast interview the other day and the lady was talking about the culture of our church from a variety of angles and at one point mentioned people who had left the church.  She talked about how hard that was, which is something I don’t know that we consider much.

But I felt how perceptive she was.  Maybe some just make a clean break, move on and don’t ever look back, just relieved they’re done with that part of their lives.  But maybe it’s not that simple.  I can understand how they might feel that they’ve been misled, misinformed, or misjudged—and how painful that would be.

I thought about her observations for awhile.  What would it feel like to leave something I’d given so much of my life to?  I think I would feel grief, that I had wasted my time, that it was all for nothing, that certainly I had been duped.  I thought about the people I love who don’t want to be a part of this religion anymore and what they might have felt as they extricated themselves from a culture and an identity they no longer want to associate with.  From the assuming but awkward questions like “What ward are you in?” to the more insensitive and even invasive ones, they may feel that they are having to constantly explain themselves to those who assume they have a right to ask.  Maybe it’s hard because they aren’t sure where they sit or fit spiritually or what exactly they want to take with them as they leave (if anything) and what they’re willing to leave behind.  I think it would be hard to have mixed families who make this transition even more difficult by withholding love or refusing to listen to another perspective and to accept a choice not in alignment with their own.  Difficult, I imagine, to explain things even to themselves, to find the words to express their experience, to secure appropriate and compassionate support, to be different from how they used to be.  I’ll be the first to admit I have a lot to learn.  I’m trying.  I’m working on being an open-minded listener, to educate myself, to increase my empathy and compassion.  I don’t know exactly what it feels like firsthand or even what my friends want and expect from me, but I can try to be safe and to understand where they’re coming from, to recognize their pain, anger, distrust, and whatever else there is to process.  I’m grateful for this podcast woman, for pointing out how difficult this transition can be.

I also appreciated that she mentioned that it is just as difficult to stay.  What? I mentioned this to my sister, and all she said was, “Harder.” What were they talking about?  This was super intriguing to me.  I had no idea anyone felt like this.  No one’s ever asked me why I stay. I assume because they think they already know what my answers will be.  Which is totally, totally fine.  Just interesting.  So I asked myself if I think it’s hard to stay.  To be completely honest, I think it’s harder to leave.  Staying has never been anything I would consider difficult.  But there have been many ways staying has taken some strength and courage and work.  Although I’ve never, ever felt anything but complete respect from my friends who believe a little differently than I do, I feel as though I may appear naive, brainwashed and swayed by a culture I’ve always known and that I refuse to think for myself and am uneducated. I don’t think many know what my questions are, what my journey’s been like, and what I grapple with.  And while I personally wouldn’t call it exactly strenuous to stay, I was interested in the idea that for some it may take more effort than it looks like.

There’s a lot to wade through and process regardless of which side we’re on.  It takes strength to take a stand, to be decisive, to explain ourselves, or even to hold back and not share what’s in our hearts and to act as if all is well.  But maybe the hardest place of all is to admit we just don’t know for sure, we don’t have all the answers we wish we did, that even though we’ve made a decision to either stay or go, we still have questions and maybe even mixed feelings about it all.

I never knew this was a thing, but Elder Andersen spoke about this in our recent conference, “As we have all learned, even after savoring the precious fruit of the restored gospel, staying true and faithful to the Lord Jesus Chris is still not easily done. … We continue to face distractions and deceptions, enticements and temptations that attempt to pull our hearts away from the Savior and the joys and beauties we have experienced in following Him.”  He acknowledges that people will continue to point their fingers and mock and scoff at and verbally attack us and that we may be tempted to feel ashamed of our beliefs. We will still have questions, friends [who think differently], disappointments, mistakes, and the enticements of the world to face.

I think this is similar to the break up of a friendship or a marriage. Maybe we’ve decided there’s no better option than to sever ties with—or even temporarily step away from—a relationship that is no longer working for us.  There is rarely such a thing as a clean break in this scenario.  Maybe we still have fond memories of earlier years and times together, maybe we’ll miss the companionship and what used to be, we will likely grieve the change.  There are required and unanticipated details and logistics to work through. And on top of all the emotions, there’s nothing that causes more anxiety than having to tell those closest to you, your family, friends, the people you’ve loved through so many years.  It’s awkward, it’s hard for them to understand what’s going on, and they think they can help by giving advice or something to read.  But all we really need during painful times like these is the continuation of love, more of the same friendship and family-ness that we’ve always enjoyed, as well as a chance to talk—when we’re ready, if ever at all.  I remember finding out some of our friends were splitting up; we were heart-broken.  We were on the other side of the continent on a trip, but I told Todd to pull over immediately so we could call.  We sat in the car for an hour just listening.  And crying together with this friend.  We didn’t understand how they’d come to their decision or what they were feeling, how could we exactly?  Todd never offered advice or counsel, he just absorbed the pain as a friend and listened for a long, long time.

But I have just as many other friends who remain in marriages that continue to be a trial for them nearly every single day. I think they would respond as my sister did, that it is harder to stay. And yet no one on the outside would have any indication that there might be difficulties. I think of the tenacity it takes for these couples to hold on to a love they believe is real and true, but can’t see as clearly anymore, to cling tightly to what they know they felt at one time even though they haven’t felt it for a very long time.  It is difficult for them to keep the flame burning, to remember why they got married in the first place, to sort out the complexities and misunderstandings and questions and pains.  They would say it’s definitely not easy, yet they choose to remain anyway.

How many stay in jobs or relationships or circles or organizations out of habit or duty? How does fear of the unknown come into play?  And how many leave with heavy or wistful hearts, still unsettled and unsure?  I wonder if many divorces have this element, just as moving might or breaking things off with a long-time friend might.

I guess I’m just more aware this week of my own thoughts as well as the feelings of the many friends and family members and associates I love so deeply.  I recognize we are all doing our best to make the decisions we feel are right for us.  Maybe it seems that someone is taking the easy way out when they extricate themselves from a relationship or organization.  And maybe it looks like others are being complacent and taking the path of least resistance by staying—whether it’s a marriage, a job, or a religion.  We just don’t know what is going on in the hearts and minds of our loved ones and friends.  And I can’t think that we will know any better until we can respect each other and trust each other enough to share our most tender feelings with one another.  Rather than sit across the room and judge another’s decision, we must move in close, love unabashedly, listen intently, and wrap our arms around each other, reminding one another that we’re here to stay regardless of which way we each choose to go.

For such a time as this

A college roommate had a brother who visited often and became part of our apartment family.  One roommate became especially good friends with him and, although nothing romantic ever came of their friendship, they enjoyed a comfortable, easy relationship for the time we all lived together.  Over the years we lost touch with this guy and his sister.  Fast forward 27 years.  My roommate (who had been closest to this guy) had been married for over 20 years when her husband suddenly died of a heart attack.

As you can imagine, life became more than trying, even with so many loved ones rallying around her.  But a year later, out of nowhere, she ran into this former roommate, an unexpected and sweet reunion after all these years of not even knowing they lived in the same town.  Just a short while later this former roommate called my widowed friend to see if she’d be up for seeing her little brother who happened to still be single—just as friends, to catch up.  I was with her when she got the text and her thoughts were all over the place.  I encouraged her to go, they had been such good friends, it seemed perfect that he would come into her life out of nowhere at this junction. She reported back that she had a great time, they had picked up right where they left off, and it was as natural as always; they went out a few times after that, but nothing more came of it.  She wrote, “but that doesn’t mean there wasn’t value to the experience.  It was a lot of fun and an experience I enjoyed.  I believe he was in my life then for a purpose even without it leading anywhere.  I also think I might have been in his life for a purpose too.  There are a lot of experiences I’ve had with people being in the right place at the right time according to God’s master plan.  Friendships that have been in place for years but now are incredible supports, the exact bishopric we have had and how they have supported us, strong friendships each of the kids had to support them, etc.”  We have talked tenderly about the many many friends and miracles and “coincidences” that have been evidence of God’s knowledge of and love for her little family at such a tender time.

I also love how she and my mom live in the same town now, just a few miles apart—my mom hailing from Scotland and my roommate from Idaho.  Because of our short time together nearly 30 years ago as roommates, these two women are in each others’ lives all these years later.  My mom feels needed as she’s helped with some of my friend’s projects and provides support and encouragement.  And I think my roommate enjoys having a mother figure nearby to lean on and to laugh with.  It’s just been a comfortable companionship at a time in their lives when they can each use a friend.  I love it so much.

I can’t help but think of a close friend whose husband died several years ago.  Her older kids were grown and gone, but she had one young teenaged son left at home.  This son became such a support to her as they figured out how to navigate their new life alone together.  She has told me what a comfort and blessing it was to have him with her throughout those tentative first years and how she feels he was meant to be there for her during that time.  She feels that he had been born at just right time to be where he needed to be for what would come.

I have another friend who feels the same way about her son.  She was raped when she was 18 and almost gave him up.  She says they kind of grew up together, it was such a struggle in the beginning with her schooling and being so young, but she managed and now he is her rock.  He always said she was his, but now she says he is hers.  He has been there for her through her divorce and moving out and whenever she has house or car issues or simply needs emotional support.  He’s a big brother to her two other kids and has helped them all through this rough transition.  She remembers thinking of Esther as she was going through her divorce and couldn’t understand why.  At one point it was so strong that she couldn’t deny God was trying to tell her something as the phrase, “for such a time as this”* touched her heart powerfully.  She finally understood.  All these years later, this son who was born out of tragic circumstances had become her lifeline and support.  I suppose we could say it’s nothing more than coincidence.  But maybe God used a difficult situation for good.  Maybe he was meant to come into my friend’s life so as an adult years later would able to help her when she was left on her own without much other support.

I remember years ago feeling like getting in contact with a friend from college.  We had been close friends and as couples had done so many dinners and outings together.  Out of the blue I started writing to her, just trying to pick up where we had left off, wanting to be in touch again.  I had no idea anything was going on, but I learned of her marriage struggles, what her kids were up to, her eventual divorce and remarriage.  We kept in touch during those rocky years and she shared many tender feelings with me, but we got out of the habit once she remarried.  I wonder if it's because it was only for a specific time she needed a friend who wasn't in her family or close circle of friends, just a sounding board far away, just for a little while.  My love for her has never waned, I think about her now and then and wonder how she is, grateful that our paths crossed again for that time.

I remember my hospital experience having a node removed the week before my mastectomy.  It was obviously a tender time for us, we were apprehensive about the unknowns, and our emotions were all over the place.  Imagine my surprise and delight when my pink lady was none other than my sweet neighbor we’d lived next to for seven years.  Her daughter had had breast cancer, the kids played in the yards together, we visited with each other often, she was safe and nurturing.  I just couldn’t believe—out of all the volunteers at the hospital—she happened to be there on that particular day assigned to me.  I think I may have cried, it was such a comfort to see her and to have her with me.

I feel so strongly that another good friend was meant to be in my life.  I talk about her all the time.  Almost twenty years ago we were new to the area and to being parents, and we had no family for hundreds of miles.  We had a tiny budget for a house and were so discouraged after looking at the kinds of houses we’d be able to afford.  Until we looked at the paper for one last one.  Exactly our price.  But it was so ugly.  We dismissed it until we had no more options.  But the minute we walked in, we knew this house was for us.  It felt completely perfect: just the area we hoped to live in, fireplace, big yard, and enough room for us to grow a little.  We were in contract that very afternoon.  I had no idea that a lady I’d be assigned to visit lived just a block away.  And that she’d become my second mother.  Over the years she helped us raise our kids; she and her husband have become their third set of grandparents.  We’ve gone on trips together, talked for hours on our living room couches and on the phone, gone on walks together, celebrated birthdays and holidays together, and have cried and laughed together countless times.  She is one of my dearest friends and such a blessing to our family.  And she’s told me how much it’s meant to her to have our kids in her life and how I’m like the daughter she never had.  We have talked many times about the coincidence of our moving in next to her, how perfect it is to have our lives intertwined.  We tear up when we talk about it, so grateful to have each other, amazed at how God seems to have orchestrated our lives.

I can’t pretend to understand why I’m here or what I’m supposed to be doing, but I believe we’re all where we are for a reason.  Moving here twenty years ago was a step in the dark for us.  We really had no confirmation or strong feeling that this was the right place for us; we just made our decision and have tried to make the best of it.  It wasn’t until about 10 or 15 years into our life here that I heard in my mind in a quiet moment, “You’re right where you’re supposed to be.” 

“None of us ever fully utilizes the people-opportunities allocated to us within our circles of friendship.  You and I may call these intersectings ‘coincidence.’ This word is understandable for mortals to use, but coincidence is not an appropriate word to describe the workings of an omniscient God.  he does not do things by ‘coincidence’ but… ‘divine design’” (Neal A. Maxwell).  “There is a guiding hand above all things.  Often when things happen, it’s not by accident.  One day, when we look back at the seeming coincidences of our lives, we will realize that perhaps they weren’t so coincidental at all” (Thomas S. Monson).”

As we consider our life’s experiences, maybe let’s be patient.  Let’s see how it all plays out.  We just can’t tell in our finite understanding and vision why things are the way they are, why we’re here at this junction, why others are in our lives, what the purpose of our trials will turn out to be.  But as we settle into it all, as we go about with our eyes and hearts open trying to do good in whatever circles we’re in, we may find ourselves in someone’s life as an answer, as a blessing, as a comfort.  And we can likewise acknowledge the good others are doing for us by being in our lives at this particular time.  I know it’s a stretch for some, but I believe that we’re infinitely cherished by a loving Father who is aware of each sparrow that falls and who numbers the hairs on our heads. I choose to believe that we’re in each other’s lives not randomly, but because we are so loved and he sends us people to help us feel his love.

*Who knoweth whether thou art come to the kingdom for such a time as this? (Esther 4:14)

But behold, all things have been done in the wisdom of him who knoweth all things (2 Ne 2:24)

Reflections on a decade

I was thinking it would a good idea to look back on the past year to see where I’ve come from, what I’ve learned, and what I’ve decided to carry with me into the next year.  But the past few years all sort of blend together, so maybe I'd take it back a few years.  In no particular order here’s what I’m learning.

People are in our lives to love.  That’s it. And to learn from I think. I don’t know that we should expect all that much.  I’m learning to just meet people where they are and accept what they have or want to give—and truly just be ok with that.  With our kids maybe it’s different, we are teaching them, and so we expect them to say thank you and to help out and to tell us where they’re going etc.  And I think it’s reasonable to expect a spouse to support the family unit equally alongside us.  But as far as friends and grown up family members and even spouses needing to meet our needs or to show up in certain ways for us to love them, maybe not.  Maybe they’re just here for us to love exactly the way they are.  It relaxes me to think of it all this way, to not expect friends to be or do anything, to just accept and love my kids and Todd exactly as they are.  Ahhh… so much easier to just worry about my own stuff.

I’m learning so much as I enter a new realm of mothering, which is ironic because I’m doing and supposed to do way less than I’m used to doing. But I’m quite certain that I want to be simply a resource, a cheerleader, an escort, a mentor.  I don’t want to get into my kids’ business, and I don’t want to be a meddling mother who’s always giving advice—as hard as that is to admit.  I’m also recommitting to keeping confidences, rejecting drama, and respecting individuality.

I’m learning to be just fine with everyone being on their own journey, including members of my own family.  This has been one of the hardest lessons I’ve been dealing with the past few years because I feel like this is my work and that I should have some influence here.  But I recognized long ago that it’s mostly done from afar and that no one wants to be told anything.  I have so many, many chances to practice remaining quiet and to just let everyone decide on their own, something I have been good at as a mother of younger children but that I’m relearning now that the stakes are higher.  It is very freeing but sometimes tricky as a parent because we naturally have some thoughts about how it all should look.  I’m not awesome at this, but I believe the first step to improving is recognition.  Check.

I am grateful to have friends and family all around me who are at different places in life and who  trust me with their feelings about it all.  I’m grateful that they accept me for who and where I am and are respectful even as we see life differently.  I’m learning how valuable these relationships are as we all try to make sense of life and are deciding how we feel about things.  I treasure these friendships more now that I ever have, not in spite of our differences, but because we’re comfortable in our differences and with each other.  I’m grateful for this comfort and trust we have with one another.

This is one of the most interesting discoveries of the past few years.  The more I learn about our Savior, and the more often I try to consider his angle and practice loving like he loves us, the less judgmental I’m becoming toward myself and others, and the less I care about our differences.  It’s as if the names and divisions we’ve created are meaningless.  I am simply interested in what Christ has taught and what he’s teaching me personally.  The more I learn about him, the more I just want to love people, the more I care about what’s going on in their lives, and the less I care what it all looks like.  The more I learn about him, the more I notice discrepancies between where I have been and am and where I want to be.  But I’m calm and gentle with myself because I feel his love so deeply; I am sure of it.  It’s precisely his love and unconditional tenderness that allows me to grow in patience and to be loving as I support others.

So I guess my overall lesson from the past few years is one of letting go.  Of thinking I have all the answers or need to have even most of them.  Of thinking anyone’s business could possibly be mine.  Of worrying about where anyone else is on his or her journey.  Of wondering what people are thinking of me.  Of thinking about myself so much.  Of being tethered to what I conceive as my shoulds.  Of fretting about what or where I need to be professionally or otherwise to feel like my contributions are sufficient and just appreciate having kids around for a couple more years.  Of being rigid and exact and unyielding.  Of unrealistic expectations for myself or anyone else.  Of a desire to hang on too tightly and worry needlessly about money or time and instead be more present and generous and hopeful.  Of holding back love, praise, vulnerability, ideas, faith.  It’s in letting go that I’m learning what matters to me.

And it always goes back to relationships.  If nothing else, this is what I’m learning.  That people matter more than anything.  More than meetings or money or looking a certain way or our endless lists or a clean house or an expectation.  Our connections with our kids matter more than what they decide to be or do—or not be or do; I believe what’s needed more than anything else is straight up love and acceptance.  Our associations with others are up to us to decide about.  We may need to rethink who we allow in our lives, which may entail using some boundaries; a blood line or history with a person is never permission to mistreat.  Our relationship with ourself is worth making a top priority and may require asking ourselves some tough questions and honestly assessing what we believe and think and do.  It seems to me that this is the toughest of all our relationships to be real about.  I am learning to be still with myself and others, to just sit, to be, to listen. I’m learning the power of being vulnerable and authentic with myself and others and how that creates relationships that feel safe and trusting.  I’m learning that we all just want to be heard and known, I want to being the kind of person that will listen more.

I can’t say I’ve nailed any of this, not even close.  But I’m learning that I need to be more accepting and loving with myself and others as I try.  I’m getting better at allowing myself to change and to be human.  And I’m discovering that the more I do that with myself, the better I am at allowing others to do the same.

And so I look forward to our decade ahead.  There’s nothing comfortable about discovering a new segment of our lives needing attention, another weakness to overcome, a habit needing to be broken or started.  It takes concerted effort to act on what we’re what learning, but I’m so thankful for another year, and hopefully another decade, to continue making an intentional attempt.

Longing to be known

I’ve reflected on this sentiment ever since I read it years back, wondering if I agree with her conclusion.  “I always thought It was what I wanted: to be loved and admired.  Now I think perhaps I’d like to be known” (Kristin Hannah in The Nightingale).

I wonder what others would say.  It seems that in our world of entertainment and facades, “infuencers” and photo-shopping, we prefer to hide the real us in lieu of being worshipped, revered or simply admired.  We hide behind a curtain of make up, clothing, social media, homes, possessions and even professions.  We pretend to be what we do or have or look like when maybe that’s not really who we are at all.  But we’ve decided, unconsciously or otherwise, that it’s preferable to be oohed and ahhed at, to be “loved,” rather than to allow others past our gates and into our hearts, where there is always a risk of rejection or pain.

As a writer and lover of words, I’ve always cherished cards and notes and for most of my life I kept quite a few of them. These days I retain very, very few. What’s interesting is the ones I appreciate these days are those written from a perspective of knowing me. I love the ones that allude to my humanness and acknowledge my imperfections but that still manage to inspire me.  Because her words are honest and real, it proves that the friend truly knows me, and I can trust her to tell me both the truths: the progress she sees I’m making as well as the need-to-improve areas.  I have a handful of friends, along with Todd, who are completely honest when we text or talk and they tell me exactly what they notice when I’m wanting to make changes and ask for their opinion.  I can’t tell you how much that means to me; it shows me the depth of their commitment and friendship that they would care enough to be real.  I love that they have been with me long enough to have made the effort to know me.

But I didn’t always want to be known, and I think many of us may still feel this way.  It seems to be much more fulfilling to be admired from afar, to keep up pretenses, to hold people at arms’ length, to let them believe the good they see and to hide the rest.

Because where would we be if they saw the real us?  How could we possibly be lovable, let alone admired, if we were known?  What if we showed up bare-faced or, worse, with a cried-out face?  What if we let our guard down and answered honestly when someone asked us how we’re doing?  What if we admitted it’s been a hard year, that we don’t have all—or even most of—the answers, that we’re worried or scared or ashamed or discouraged or let-down or sad or even angry or resentful?  What if we didn’t know what to show them because we don’t even know who we are ourselves exactly?  But what if we just said as much and invited them to join us on our journey of discovery?

As we think about the upcoming year, I wonder if we could consider these ideas.  What difference would it make if instead of trying to impress people, we decided to let them know us?  What if the greatest thrill didn’t come from allowing people to see only the good in us but instead came from letting them see our hearts in all its shambles and stages of growth?  What if instead of obsessing about what others think of us, we made a conscious effort to create meaningful connections as we tried to get to know others on a deeper level?  What if we took a chance at being vulnerable instead of making sure we have it all together before we present ourselves to the world?  What if we didn’t seek to be loved but sought to love instead?

I love book quotes so much; I can’t help but question how the author's words sit with me and ask myself if I agree.  And if I do, am I living in alignment with what I say I believe?  I love words like these because they push me to probe myself, to be honest and to dig deep.  I have to say I concur with her statement because I sense, although not as tidy and safe as being admired from a distance, life is most enriching as we experience true intimacy that only comes through knowing--and being known--authentically.

Real world word problem

Do Christmas. This will be multi-variable, but start with a family of seven.  Add in the extended family, friends, co-workers, and strangers.  You may use your notes and calculators as well as any pertinent online resources.  You may work in groups and your deadline is the 25th.  You should’ve started months ago.

Make a budget, keep a running total for each person.  Buy exactly what they want (insist on links).  But keep some of it a surprise.  Ask in nonchalant, vague ways for hints.  Stay within a strict budget so that it’s fair.  Decide if the coat you got on sale counts in the budget at the sale price or the valued price.  Try not to be uptight about it all.  Make the stocking innard piles all the same size.  Even as you’re buying for 14- and 18-year-old girls and boys 16, 21, and 23.  And spend equal amounts on each stocking; put items in Target bags to keep a visual.  Try to remember if you actually ordered the item you wrote down or if it’s just in the cart.  Keep in mind that there is a cut-off date.  After a certain point, items will be delivered after Christmas.  It was the day before yesterday actually. Bonus points: keep track of what stores you bought each item from—online and for real.  Keep track of packages as they come so you’ll know if the items you ordered actually arrived. Keep every receipt for everything you buy in December.  And recall what you bought throughout the year and for whom it was meant.

Buy for a spouse.  Something useful but not boring.  Not something he’d buy for himself.  But that he’d like.  And doesn’t own. But hasn’t thought of before.  Make sure if you get any kind of shirt or top that the arms are long enough but that the body part isn’t baggy.  Make sure it’s not something an old man would wear.  Or a young adult. Sensible but not frumpy. Practical yet fun.

Provide a gift for his parents.  And have it ready by Thanksgiving.  Nothing extravagant.  But something you can wrap since it can be delivered in person this year.  So not a gift card.  Even though that makes the most sense.  Make sure it’s not something you’ve already given in the past 24 years for Christmas, birthdays, Mothers Days or Fathers Days.  Be creative.

And figure out a present for each of his five siblings. Preferably something homemade-ish. Since that’s how his family rolls. They should be reasonable.  But meaningful.  Again, make sure they’re all ready for Thanksgiving so you can save postage.

Have an answer ready for each family member who asks what another family member would like.  Consider each of their situations including travel and cost and ability-to-access parameters.  Have a list in mind for when your spouse asks what you want.  Don’t be discouraged when he says slippers and a new temple dress is lame.

Try to be crafty like all the other people in the shops.  Make gnomes this year.  Even though you hate crafts and never do them.  Watch a video about making them.  Shop at several stores.  Spend more than you imagined; keep checking your receipts to make sure they got the coupons.  Hope they are cute to other people too.  Wonder why you thought this was a good idea.  Put all the unused supplies in a bin to give to Good Will in a couple of years.

Bring in the 10 totes from the garage.  Unload everything.  Try to remember where you put it all last year.  Ask yourself why you have so much stuff.  Put back the stuff you don’t like.  Don’t ask yourself why you even keep it.  Be prepared for the spouse to ask after you’ve spent all day decorating, “Is this all there is?”  Don’t get upset or become discouraged. Simply reply affirmatively and cheerfully.

Write a Christmas letter that includes the highlights and details of all seven of you from the past 12 months.  Don’t brag about any accomplishments, don’t make a list of all your family’s activities.  Skip the gross or inappropriate stuff that you talk about at the dinner table. Or any sad stuff. Try to think if anything funny happened.  Try to remember anything that happened.  But don’t make it a travel log.  Keep it succinct.  But include plenty of descriptions.  Make it sound interesting.  But authentic.  Have it ready by Thanksgiving.  To save on postage.

And make a Christmas card using the five pictures you took during the year.  Ask the kids if they have any.  Use ones you’ve already used and just cut out the parts that fit.  Choose one of two card styles that allow five or more picture slots because you never get around to getting family pictures or lining everyone up.  Vow to do family pictures next year. Pick any color.  That you didn’t use last year.  Write something besides the default to make it a little more interesting in case anyone notices.

Send out the pictures and letters to everyone you’ve known.  Or at least the ones you’re still in contact with.  Or you see frequently.  Or never see anymore but you’re related to.  Even if it’s a married-in cousin.  Or who you ever went to church or college with.  Or who sends you one.  Keep the list updated, note address changes.  This will require you to know if the return address on their envelope looks and feels familiar.  If not, pull up the document and confirm you have the most current address.  Extra credit: take note of who sent you one so you’ll be prepared for next year.  But it’s ok if they miss 1-2 years.  If you haven’t made a label document, handwrite them all.  And lick the envelopes if you bought the wrong kind.  Buy 200 stamps.  Go back when you run out of international stamps in the middle of December. 

Buy a gift for your mom’s husband.  Who is diabetic and likes to watch tv and read.  Spend enough but not too much.  Try to figure out what to do for the mom who has four closets of clothes and enough jewels for a queen and whose favorite hobby is shopping.  Make an effort.  But don’t try to compete with her offerings.  Make it look like a generous gift without going overboard.  Don’t buy a book for her because she has over 200 she hasn’t read yet, and she falls asleep when she reads; but be sure to buy one for him. Maybe a gift card.  But not just a gift card. Wrap items in as many different packages as you can to make it look like a lot since they will be spending Christmas morning with you and she has been shopping since the summer.

Shop for your sister who lives in another state.  By July.  So that the other sister can take it to her to save postage.  And remember her husband and three teenaged boys.  Make it specific to each member’s interests, but keep it a family gift.  But do something a little special for her.  But keep it practical.  And don’t spend a ton.  But enough.

And for your other sister.  Who will be here Christmas morning.  Who will need packages to open. But is trying to downsize.  A few gifts.  Nothing crazy.  But plenty, so she knows how much she’s valued.  Something homemade would be ideal.  But not a quilt; you already did that.  Maybe pillows.  The ones you started on your road trip in the summer would be perfect.  Plan a day to work on those.  Before she comes next week.

Wrap everything. Try not to waste paper. Save the bits.  Reuse the ribbon your mom saved for you last year. Be careful storing items in decorative bags with tissue paper—don’t let the tissue get crunched.  Put as much as you can under the bed.  Don’t let the dogs eat the chocolates or mints or gum or beef jerky.  Keep your door closed.  Check it often.  Put the rest in the closet. But be mindful of the tissue, remember.

Let family members choose names around Thanksgiving.  This will be for the gift exchange on Christmas Eve.  Make a list of who has who.  Refer to it often when family members ask who they have.  Take a picture of it to carry with you everywhere.  Text them all again. Buy gift for your husband to give to your daughter.  Wrap it along with yours.

Keep track of the running pants your older daughter bought for your younger daughter for the sibling gift exchange.  Keep them safe.  And separate from every other pile.  Maybe in another room?  But don’t let the dogs get into them.

Be on the lookout for a computer that is to be delivered to the house for a friend of your son.  Who lives in another state. Keep it separate from everything else.  And remember the safe spot you put it in.

In your free time, write a talk that you’ll present to 150 members of your congregation.  Plan on speaking for 15-20 minutes but be prepared to cut it down to five if necessary.  Make it encouraging but not condescending. Use real-life experiences and stories, but don’t get too personal. Use doctrine but don’t just read scriptures.  Write it out word for word, but don’t read it. 

Remember you still have the box of presents you brought home over Thanksgiving for the sister-in-law’s brother’s wife.  They’re in the garage.  Call again to set up a time to meet so she can come get them in the next week.

Set up appointments for the college kids if they need to go to the doctor or dentist or eye specialist.  Remember to do this, there may not be any spots left at this point.  You should’ve done this weeks ago.

Check out Christmas books from the library.  Many, many Christmas books for your guests to read.  And, at just the right moment, get the movies.  This is tricky.  You will need to get them so that they won’t be due when the family’s here, but you want to time it well so that there will still be some to choose from.  Try to recall which ones you’ve seen already. And that each of the other 9 have seen.  Or didn’t like.

Consider all the people in your life.  Especially the ones who live close.  Choose wisely what you will do: bread, cookies, jam, or nothing.  Consider the ramifications.  And what you will do if they come bearing gifts and you have none.  Consider what message that sends and if you feel confident enough in your relationship to accept what that might look like.  Remember the poor people, the old people, the alone people.  Especially consider those who might need a little extra love at this time of year.  Be thoughtful.  But practical.  Don’t spend a lot.  But be very generous.  Yours might be the only gifts they get this year. Keep in mind the best gift you can give is your time.  Make arrangements for that.

Find a way every day of December to serve in a personal yet anonymous way.  Include your family.  Each of them.  Encourage them in as many ways as you can.  But then let them choose.  Show enthusiasm.  But no disappointment if when they refuse or reject your suggestions.

Find other ways to serve as family in a little bit bigger way.  Shop for all the tags you took.  Make many, many decisions about sizes, prices, styles, and quantities.  Deliver the goods.  Wonder, but don’t ask aloud, what the point was.

Do something like the 12 Days of Christmas, some kind of doorbell/running tradition to teach your kids to think of others.  Be creative.  And make the deliveries pretty-ish.  Include the kids. Run so you’re not caught.  But don’t slip on the ice.  Or let their smart doorbell catch you.  You will reveal yourselves after a few nights of this.  Don’t be let down when you end up doing it all yourself.

Find a way to incorporate some kind of spiritual message into your evenings.  Maybe a song, a scripture, a story, a quote.  Make them varied.  Don’t feel guilty that you’re skipping regular scripture reading. Don’t show any video any of the family members may have seen before at church or seminary or in a devotional or family lesson.  Make sure it’s new and engaging, not silly, but not too spiritual.  Not just talking, but not cheesy.  Not a quote actually.  And maybe not a scripture.  But it should be about Christ since it’s Christmas, so maybe, actually probably.  Keep the teenagers’ attention.  It should be substantial but not over the top; don’t make it last too long.  But long enough to make an impact.  Pray over the whole thing.  Smile so they don’t know you’re frustrated.  Pretend this is all how you wanted it to go.

Gather your family for your favorite program of the year: music and Christmas messages.  Refrain from saying anything sarcastic when they ask what is going on.  Patiently remind them this happens every year at the same time on the same day, that it’s nothing new this year. Make popcorn.  Make special seating arrangements.  Stay calm when they ask how long it will take and when they contort themselves on the small couches.  Declare a truce at half-time and tell them they will be able to watch the rest of it next week.  Strengthen and prepare yourself for the resistance.

Wash all the quilts, duvet covers, and sheets for the six extra beds you’ll need.  Pull the mattresses out from under beds and under stacks of mattresses on top of the beds.  Find all the mattress covers.  Probably wash them.  Yes, the sheets are clean.  But they will smell stale because they sit on old 1984 closet shelves.  Wash them again.  Use the special dryer sheets you save for these occasions.  Yes, I know they’re big, but wash the comforters.  Dogs have slept on them.  Other guests used them in the fall.  You don’t know who used what and it’s gross to smell them all to try to guess if they’re clean enough.  Just wash them all.  One at a time.  And try to find pillows.  Flat ones for the mom.  Two.  New ones for the guests, older ones for the kids.  Pull out towels.  Maybe/probably smell these to see; they may need to be washed again too.  Find washcloths that are not stained, torn, or ratty.  You have two blue ones set aside for these occasions.  Find them.

For the boys, put three mattresses on the floor on moving blankets in the playroom that is the size of a small L-shaped couch.  Don’t put them too close together.  Leave plenty of room for their laundry bags, travel bags, and toiletry bags.  Use other comforters if you don’t have enough mattress pads/covers.  Remember again to buy some.  And try to remember why you haven’t.

Clean the bathrooms yourself instead of having the kids do them so you know the floor has been done at least once this year.  Make sure to wash the bathmats and to check that there are matching bottles of conditioner and shampoo. And that there is man shampoo and body wash. And that there is stuff in all of them.  Try to make your 1984 bathrooms look fine.  You may need to wash the shower curtain.  You probably should; it’s your mother.

Time all of this just right.  Too early, and the kids and dogs will mess it all up.  Too late, and you’ll be scrambling.  Ideally, you’d make a room ready and lock the door.  You don’t have that many rooms.  You will have to scramble.

Notice the dust on the blinds and fans and walls.  Only deal with the ones you can reach easily and quickly.  Try to put it all out of your mind.  May want to touch on the kitchen window one since she will be doing the dishes.  Clean the stove.  Wonder about the pantry.  Stock up on Large rubber gloves so you will be prepared when she asks.

Plan for the food you will be eating for the weeks everyone will be here and for the one week you will have ten for each meal.  Remember their favorites.  Remember that your daughter is somewhat of a vegetarian.  And that two guests don’t like spinach in their salads.  Your mom’s husband is diabetic, remember, so keep the carbs to a minimum.  Your grill doesn’t work. You will want to have treats around, but your own kids won’t eat your homemade goods and the guests will complain that you are making them fat.  Keep cooking and shopping.  Don’t look at the totals.  Just take the receipts quickly and tuck them in the bags.  Recycle all the bags that keep coming in the next time you go out. In fact, try to go to at least three stores or out for a minimum of three hours every day that guests are with you. Try to make it to Target and TJ Maxx each day.  Have a ready answer for the inevitable question, “What’s the plan?” Always, always know what the plan is.  Act cheerful.  As if you always have a plan.

Plan Christmas Eve and Christmas Day food.  Make the evening meal a nice one.  But keep it simple.  Make ham and cheese potatoes and frog eye salad and rolls and try to keep it healthy. Decorate the table.  Make it nice.  But again, keep it simple.  Use items from around the house.  Be creative. Make a breakfast casserole or two on Christmas Eve when there’s some downtime.  Make sticky rolls Christmas Eve night.  But time it just right; the later, the better.  Try to remember if it is better to put them in the fridge to raise or if if they worked better on the counter; you need them to raise just enough but not out of the pan, so plan accordingly.  Make a mental note for next year.

Try to make everyone happy the entire week, but especially on Christmas Eve.  Have a fancy dinner.  Do something spiritual.  Try to decide again if it’s better to read the Christmas story from the Bible or to watch a video.  Do the gift exchange.  And pajamas.  Play a game that everyone from the 70 year olds to the teenagers will like and understand.  Find a Christmas movie all ten of you will like.  Nothing cheesy.  Or crude.  Preferably with a message, but that’s getting ahead of yourself, like imaginary numbers.  Extra credit if it’s one no one has seen yet.  Make sure you have snacks available for the teenagers’ after-movie games.  Provide soda.  Obviously. 

Get up earlier than anyone on Christmas Day, which will also be your birthday.  There won’t be a way to do the stockings on Christmas Eve because the teenagers will be up too late playing games.  So put the stuffers in the stockings very, very early on Christmas morning.  Be prepared for the spouse to ask questions like, “This is all?” or “Did you get ____?”  Try to go back to sleep before the mother wakes up at 5:30 and wishes you happy birthday or starts to ask questions in a cheery voice.  Bow out for at least another half hour if you can.  Make brownies later on for your birthday dessert.  You should’ve bought ice cream and made fudge by this point as well.  Accept phone calls even though you are very bad at talking on the phone.  Pretend it is normal to be sung to on the phone.  Be cheerful when some of your kids say Christmas Day is a let-down after the presents are opened.  Focus on the ones who say they like it that you just have a day to chill.

And remember to enjoy the season.  Go to parties.  Bring food to all of them. Arrange a couple of your own.  Host book group.  Go to the band concert, the Stroll, and Festival of Trees. Have families for dinner.  Go out to eat with friends. Sample the fudge, sugar cookies, egg nog, Little Smokies, cheese ball, toffee, and wassail.  You don’t want to be a scrooge.  But balance it all.  Eat right. Plenty of vegetables. Exercise everyday.  Don’t gain weight.  But don’t be a party pooper.  Make sure to smile when you tell people Merry Christmas.  Be sincere.  People can tell.

Show your work. You will get partial credit for any effort you make.

Friends

I continue to be pleasantly surprised during my conversations with a grandpa I’ve been getting to know.  He had a stroke several months ago, but is pretty lucid still, and he loves to talk, so we just visit.  I have a book I bring with me that has like 3,000 question prompts. I ask him all sorts of random things, and he’s such a good sport. He never remembers who I am and always wants to know what my research is for.  I’m mindful of his energy and offer to give him an out by asking if he’s tired and needs to rest, but he always wants to keep talking, which amuses me.  But what really gets me is how alike we are.  Everything from roller coasters (they scare us to death), musicals (I pulled up a whole list on my phone and we talked about them all), what value we think is the most important in society (honesty), what class we hated most in school (p.e.), proudest accomplishment (our families), favorite season (fall), to what he likes to do fo fun (hike in national parks and good conversation—what?!).  I have just been fascinated during the weeks that we’ve gotten to know each other how similar we are despite our age difference (he’s got to be around 80), gender, religions (he was a pastor at some point), time period of growing up, educational and employment backgrounds and obvious life experience.  I honestly feel like I relate better with him than most of the people in my life.

I feel this way with a couple of other unsuspecting relationships.  At face value we’re nothing alike.  But the more I spend time with and get to know this handful of varied women, I’m seeing that I have way more in common with and see the world much more like they do than the usual suspects in my life.  They like to garden and make bread and other food from scratch and use lots of vegetables and store their little food items in jars and enjoy doing puzzles and engaging in good conversation.  Camping, nature, frugality, pets and animals, not concerned about germs or high fashion or how their lives appear to others, on and on.  I had no idea I would come to love these women so much.  We were all thrown together in a pot, just interesting that the ones I thought I’d have more of a connection with, not really.  And these I assumed would just be superficial friends have wiggled their way into my heart by just being themselves and by us getting to know each other.

I was fascinated with my reaction the other day at a group gathering.  Usually I’m pretty comfortable with whatever these days, but this was a smallish gathering of like 10, and about half of the women were new to me.  I recognized that old sinking shy feeling from jr. high and got my food and retreated to a hide out on the couch with my old stand-bys instead of gathering at the table with the newbies.  They were so colorful and fashionable and young and talkative and comfortable with each other; the foods they brought were delicious and pretty and so out of my element.  I felt old and frumpy and grayish, not wanting to expend the energy to engage.  But we gathered to discuss in the living room as a group and after an hour or so, I relented and relaxed.  I couldn’t help myself.  They were great.  Yes, they were still confident and self-assured, but they were so warm and accepting and easy to be with.  We laughed together, obviously we all have a love for reading and ideas and discussing, they were just genuine and lovely. I silently asked for forgiveness for misjudging them and for closing myself off.  I think I already love them.  I don’t know why I felt resistant to new friends.  We can always use a friend, and it is so enriching to have a variety of women in our lives.  A valuable and humbling reminder/lesson.

I have found this to be true with nearly every single person I’ve encountered.  Yes, some I connect better with, even though sometimes at face value you wouldn’t think we would given our apparent differences.  But I have never truly gotten to known a person without developing a love for her.  Once I know her stories, what her passions and worries are, how she grew up, what her life has been like, it’s not even a question, I always feel love and compassion.  Though I’d like to get to the point where I feel that way without the benefit of having heard her story.  I think the older we get, the better we are at assuming everyone has had a rough time and is going through hard stuff; in that case, the older we get, the better we should be at loving.  All I can say is that I’m better at it than I used to be. :)

A young friend and I were just sitting in my living room one late afternoon this week and she asked about friends, confessing that she finds navigating friendships to be hard and that sometimes she feels like just giving up. So I asked her what she wanted from a friend and expected from her friendships.  And then she asked me the same thing.  I thought I’d have a quick and easy answer.  Not at all.  After thinking for a minute, I told her that, honestly, I feel like I can love anyone.  But when it comes to people I can actually trust, the list is super short.

I had to think a little more and was kind of surprised that what I wanted from a friend boiled down to just a handful of items.  Trustworthy tops the list obviously.  Respect for differences is huge too. But then dependability—like they’ll follow through when we plan something, that they’ll show up in a supportive way.  And a little give and take helps too so it’s not all just me and so I know they’re interested and invested.  But honestly I’m good with it being a little more lopsided, I have loads of time and energy to devote to girlfriends so it definitely doesn’t have to be equal. And I certainly don’t need to be called, texted, or coddled all the time.  I don’t need gifts or for people to do things for me or to go shopping with girlfriends. I’m happy with lunch every now and then, good conversation on our couches every so often. I’m good with weeks or months or even years going by; if I’m confident in our friendship, then I don’t require a whole lot of maintenance.  I will be a loyal friend forever, and I will give a million chances.  But I can also take a hint. :)

I realized, as I was talking with this little sister friend of mine, that the main thing I value in a true friend is connection, how open we can be with our hearts, how safe I feel.  And that’s where trust really comes in to play.  I am open to a fault—about things that I don’t care that everyone knows about.  But I am very guarded about the things closest to my heart and am very, very selective about who I share these things with.  I know it’s not really a gold standard, but I have noticed that I feel closest and most connected with my friends I can both laugh heartily with and cry with.  I have had experiences where I’ve just met a woman and within five minutes we’re sharing an intimate moment and one or both of us is tearing up.  And others I’ve known for years and years and I would never consider us to be close at all.  I think it’s vulnerability, opening our hearts, being authentic and real and genuine and imperfect and admitting we have no idea, this is what I’m looking for in a close friend.  This friend was asking why it’s so hard for women to do this, and I suggested that so many of us are afraid to look like we’re floundering or that we don’t have it all together.  Or maybe some just aren’t into that kind of sharing.  Or don’t want to invest the time; they have their families.  Or, as she offered, maybe we’re not the kind of person she wants as a friend, fair enough.  She also said she just knows she will be disappointed by some of her friends and she’s good with that.  Interesting observation and discussion.

Like I said, I believe with all my heart that we can love (most?) everyone.  It obviously gets easier as we get to know people for real, and it’s especially nice when we find common ground—which is inevitable the more we really talk and share.  I’ve found there are potential friendships everywhere, sometimes in the most unlikely places and people—we just have to get beyond what we think we see.  But, from my experience, I just feel that to have really deep, close friendships, we have to expose ourselves, to open our hearts, to respectfully share our innermost feelings, to be safe and kind and trustworthy.  I don’t think it’s a lot to ask from a friend.  But it might be a lot to ask from ourselves.  Which is where we need to start if we want that kind of friend.

Celebrating

So I guess it was five years ago this week that my cancer was removed.  I see friends posting these occasions with pink ribbon banners like it’s a birthday party.  And rightly so, now that I think about it, marking a second-chance at life, a rebirth.  Definitely.

I was just at my oncologist’s office this past Friday, and she wants to see me every three months instead of every six. She scheduled a pelvic ultrasound.  After five years on Tamoxifen, uterine cancer risk goes up; and, given my circumstances, she wants to be aggressively careful. The only ultrasounds I’ve had have been to see our babies, so this was only anxiety-inducing and not nearly as fun.  But it was sobering to think about why I was lying on her table.

I remember bits and pieces about those early days.  I lifted weights hours before my surgery, knowing it’d be my last time for a few weeks, and I washed with my special surgical soap.  I was blissfully calm in the little pre-op room, fully intact and unaware of how permanently the next few hours would change my body.  I remember waking myself up from anesthesia by snorting and seeing Kim and Tom beside me.  I remember putting on my lipstick the next morning and sitting up to write some notes.  I remember hobbling around the airport to get my mom and shopping with everyone for six hours a few days later with drains dangling from so many parts of my body.  I remember how sore it was to move about on the couch as I tried to sleep, how I missed being with Todd in our bed, how I hated missing fall, and of course how chopped up I looked.  Funny how I forget so many things these days and yet parts of that experience from five years ago are etched so clearly in my mind.

And so while I know most women celebrate their pink anniversaries, the actual day just came and went without me even noticing it. And maybe because I still struggle with survivors guilt and the low-threat nature of my case that I feel like I don’t have the same right as others to claim it.

And yet it’s not like I can really relegate it to the back of my mind because I’m still living with it.  Within four days, I had three appointments related to it.  I’m still getting deep-tissue massage a couple times a month to deal with the scar tissue from the surgeries.  I’m still stretching my chest and back with my weights and big bouncy ball.  I still wake up from my sleep from pain when I turn from my stomach to my back.  I still try to hide from Todd and myself all the time and am so sad that things have changed.  I still mourn the loss of what used to be, and I continue to feel ugly and broken.  But yes, also alive and well.  And so, as much as possible, I really do put it in the back of my mind.  But my massage appointments come around pretty fast.  And every May and November I find myself in that familiar office downtown getting my breasts patted down by my oncologist, who assesses my lymph nodes and asks probing questions to be sure.  I take the little while pill with my others every night and refill my prescription at Target every month, so it’s still part of my life even as I try to pretend it isn’t.

And maybe it’s because it’s just one of a million things I’ve “survived” over the course of my life that I view it so nonchalantly.  Do I keep track of them all and declare each day of the year a celebration for every hardship I’ve overcome?  Good grief, I can’t even keep track of birthdays.

Is cancer the heaviest trial?  I think for many people, yes, probably.  But maybe only maybe.  What about a broken heart?  Who says that doesn’t have the potential to kill a person?  What about loss of a love or loved one or a dream or a life you thought you were meant to live? Admittedly, I’ve barely had any really hard things in life.  But not one of us isn’t jostled around and bruised just by playing in the game.

So while I’m beyond grateful for the five more years I’ve been granted, I simply don’t see November 4th as one of my most life-changing anniversaries.  I guess if I had to celebrate a cancer anniversary, I’d choose whatever day it was that we found out.  And more specifically, I’d choose the few minutes in our tiny bathroom when we just hugged and cried.  Because it was then that our lives really did change.  That was when I told Todd that it would all work out.  Even if I died or went bald.  This is the day I knew my faith—our faith—was solid.  I told Todd that if God thought our family needed to grow and this was the way He wanted us to learn and be stronger, then I could accept that.  I admitted I still secretly hoped it didn’t have to go that way, but I also told him I would be ok with it.  That is still one of my most tender memories of the whole ordeal.  And while I would never think of celebrating it, it is probably my most cherished.

I wonder if we all have days like this that are more worthy of celebration than the anniversary of something as big as a surgery to declare us cancer-free.  Making it through a surgery does not always mean that the cancers in our lives are gone and that we are guaranteed to live.  Because living is more than simply breathing and existing from day to day.  And the cancers we harbor in our hearts are far more debilitating and deadly than those that can weaken our shells.

Can’t we, instead, decide to feel victorious all along the way, with every step of progress we make?  Doesn’t it feel better to celebrate someone’s life and all she taught you and the love you shared rather than her death and your loss?  Wouldn’t you rather not worry about the actual day of your divorce and instead focus on the person you’ve become since?  It just seems more positive and uplifting to focus on the good that’s come of a sad or hard experience instead of letting a past date haunt us or define us.

I wonder if there are days far more meaningful than even our wedding days, for instance.  Maybe it’s several years in and you realize you’re more committed and in love than you were even all dressed up and fancy, oblivious to the hard times to come.  Maybe it’s the day you decided to stay instead of giving up, the day you decided to truly give your whole heart to your spouse, knowing what marriage entails and how hard it will likely continue to be. While I’m sort of amazed at how fast time has gone when our wedding anniversary comes around each year, honestly I feel like celebrating more every time Todd and I make amends and connect again after a tense upset.  I love the ordinary days when I’m aware of how far we’ve come and how much we’ve gone through and how close we’ve grown.  Those ordinary days feel triumphal.

People ask about our funny little house all the time. I suppose we could have a special dinner every year to commemorate the day we closed on it, but honestly we feel a deeper sense of accomplishment with each finished project along the way.  And what I celebrate even more is when someone tells me she feels comfortable here, that it feels like home, or that it just feels good.  No flooring or painting job comes close.  So no, the closing date means nothing; what our home has come to mean to us and how it’s been used makes me happier than even thinking about the day when we will finally own it outright 100 years from now.

Even birthdays are less significant than what happens between them.  I feel a lot of pressure to celebrate birthdays in an expectant way, and I’m always secretly glad when they pass.  And obviously it’s important that we acknowledge these occasions, for sure.  But I derive much more joy and feel even more celebratory in those ordinary times when we’ve come through the other end of a trial, when a child starts to say he loves us for real, when we see evidence of the person they’re becoming, when we overcome a misunderstanding, when I note what it really means to be a year older and wiser.  Those are the times when I feel victorious as a family and a person and like throwing a party.

While obviously I’m all in when it comes to acknowledging special days and wins, I think there is merit in noticing the small successes that happen in everyday life, in between the anniversaries.  I also don’t like being tethered to events, especially the sad ones.  I’d rather center my heart on what’s happened since and focus on the growth that it encouraged.

And so, yes, it’s a milestone, no doubt.  Five years is five years without finding more cancer.  And five years is five more years with my people.  I’m not saying it’s not.  But if all we do is commemorate a day and realize we aren’t different—and better—versions of ourselves because of it, what are we celebrating anyway?