This child. Is not a child any longer. Shh… don’t tell his mother.
This child is driving me crazy. By all accounts, anyone as disorganized as he is should be failing out of college. A point I make. Often. He is excelling, which is annoying. And who does that? Succeeds at Calculus and Physics straight out of the gate? Annoying.
But it all came to a head on Monday morning. 1:30 AM to be exact. After a long weekend, he was “working” on a calculus problem he said was “due” the next day. Um, that he “forgot” about until he “remembered” at 12:45.
I stood in his pitiful room. Looked at all the mounds of clothes and papers and cat hair covered things and my head exploded. (more…)
All over social media today. Anyone know the original source? I’d love to credit the artist.
Tonight I found myself on a milk run. (Why are we always out of milk?) It was one of those “days” and I needed a bit of time with my thoughts, so I told the college student “No, you cannot come with me and study in the car.” That’s his new thing. But that’s a different post.
So, while I’m driving to the store, I pass this woman walking a St. Bernard near the park. Something in the park had the dog’s attention, because his person could barely contain him. His person was petite and she was giving it her best, trying very hard to keep her dog under control. But as I pulled out of sight, it’s anyone’s guess if she managed to keep him from breaking free and tracking down his prey in the park.
A quarter mile later, I witnessed another dog “walking” a person. This time, no potential vermin at play: just a very strong sense of will. Pulling his person forward and up one of the steepest inclines in town. His head down, her arm extended and threatening to detach.
“It must be the national walk your unruly dog day, ” I thought as I drove. But then I found myself in Safeway, with a wayward cart that would only turn left– and I knew, the Universe was trying to tell me something.
It’s funny, it would be easier to put the cart back and get one that will actually go where I need it to go. It’s as if I take this test of wills with an inanimate object personally. I will over-come. I will succeed in bending it to my plan. I WILL make it turn right even if I wrench a muscle or two to do it.
No, easy is never an option. Instead I fight the cart that only wants to turn left– completely through the store. Twice. Because I couldn’t find something and the store has a whole new layout. Let’s call that a work-out.
One of the upsides to attending a church where the majority of the congregants are well past 70 is that there is a lot of life experience in the room. It’s not to say young people don’t have wisdom to offer, but even if you’re young and wise — you still haven’t lived as long as they have. Not even at 40. At the Bazaar on Saturday, a bundle of this experience (all 80 years of her) sat down at our table and began to talk. I’m not sure how we fell on the subject but at one point, she said to us, “My life is too short for negative thoughts. I don’t have time for them. In fact, if I don’t like a person, well, they just cease to exist for me. I don’t give them a second thought.”
She’s 80. She’s entitled. And while most of us mean that metaphorically, at 80 she’s not kidding around about the time.
We chatted some more, and as I started to tell her that life has been difficult for us lately, she stopped me to say, “But you’re young. Of course things are difficult, these are growing pains. Everything will work out.”
You see, because she doesn’t make room for negative thoughts. And she has the life experience to back that up. I shut up and really listened.
Because she is right. Wayward dogs, unruly carts, and negative thoughts are a work-out. In the case of my obsessions, exhausting. Who has time for that? Who has time to obsess over the negative noise that surrounds you daily?
I’m not advocating ignoring the injustices of the world or living with a head buried in sand. I’m talking about actively ignoring the petty comments, the gossip, the nastiness of others when it’s directed at you. Participation is optional, remember that. I’m talking about excising the toxic people in your life and not “giving them a second thought.” I’m talking about telling that voice in your head that says you’re not good enough or things are just going to get worse… telling it to SHUT. UP.
Life really is too short. Whether you’re 18 or 45 or 80. . . life is limited. At some point, choosing to disregard the noise for the beauty that remains is a choice worth making.
So next time, maybe put the wayward cart back and choose one that won’t yank your arm out of its socket.
I’ve been sitting with this idea for awhile. It’s one of those thoughts that is both profoundly obvious and deeply challenging. On both sides of the coin, people are not who you think they are.
But in my case, I’ve been holding this thought in terms of the woman who married my brother. Because, I don’t think good things about her, if I’m honest. I’ve not been given cause to.
Five years ago, my brother stopped talking to me. When I heard through the grapevine that they were pregnant and no-one told me (not my mother, not my brother) I was heartbroken. I have longed to be an Aunt — it’s one of those life long dreams. But when I found out that being excluded was payback. A way of getting even for the wrongs my brother felt I had committed against him: I became resolved.
So, I severed ties with my family. There were lots of reasons to do so. But, my main reason was that after long, painful conversations with our son (who didn’t understand why he was being ignored and left out of things) it became clear that I needed to take responsibility and protect my child. He didn’t deserve to get sucked into a toxic situation. He needed ME to make the hard decision: so that he didn’t have to!
Since my brother wasn’t talking to me — I wrote a letter to my mother. And that led to an avalanche of hate speech from the woman who married my brother. I expected it. I didn’t lash back. I get that, from the outside looking in, I seem like a complete bitch. A selfish person. In her eyes, I’ve committed untold sins against her. And, who knows, maybe I have! But to hear her tell it, I’m simply not worth the air I breathe. She’s a therapist: she would know.
But, if my friends were to read her description of me — they wouldn’t recognize me. Nor would the people at my church or any of the other circles of people I relate to on a daily basis. Why? Because I’m not who she thinks I am.
And she is not who I think she is.
Sure, lately, I haven’t had anything positive to reflect on. But I am certain that she is making a difference in her world. In the lives of the people who love her. In the life of her precious child. She is not who I think she is either.
This is the test, friends — the real test of the gospel. Can we call ourselves followers of Jesus but refuse to see others as Christ sees them?
I don’t think so.
So, I’m a failed human being — doing the best that I can. And all I can do, in this situation, is protect myself from the things that are hurtful (I don’t read her blog or twitter any more) and pray. I don’t expect that will solve things. I mean, I don’t even know what “solved” looks like. And I don’t think it will “mend” things either. Prayer doesn’t change other people, it changes you. No, I don’t want her in my life after the things she has said to me. But, that doesn’t mean she is worthless. It means I have to work harder to see her as Christ does.
She is not who I think she is. So I pray.
I pray that she will love every moment of mothering the child (ren??) she is blessed with. I pray that she and my brother will know a deep and genuine love for each other –that only grows with time. And I pray that she finds within herself the true and abiding knowledge that she is beloved of God: and THAT is enough.
I am not perfect. I am not there yet. But I am trying to remember: that even as people strike out at in fear and pain and anger and hate, they are not the sum of those actions. Ultimately, none of us can be boiled down to just one thing. Just one moment in time. Just one mistake or even just one success. We are so much more than that, we are children of God.
And, so this is what I’m working on these days. The soul work I’m doing. I can only hope that eventually God will make perfect, in all things, that which is broken.
I kinda jinxed myself, right? I’ll confess, I’m finding it hard to keep up with all my obligations. There is so much to do — gardening, blogging, and laundry (oh my) end up on the floor.
I’d tell you that I’m going to be better: but we saw what happened last month. So, let’s just move forward, shall we?
It’s nearly 5 pm and he’s still not home. I’m going to take that as a sign he’s having a GREAT time! I’m in the thick of it here, but crossing my fingers, I’m hoping to be more present in October.
Rather poorly at times, but spin I do. There are days when it feels as if there are more plates wobbling on the ground, just about to lose all sense of motion, than plates spinning neatly in the air.
Each day begins as a lottery, a game of chance: which plate meets the floor as the rest demand my attention? Will it be my little store? Will it be the gym? It will probably be the laundry; that plate spends so much time on the floor it’s established a dust colony. Today I will spin the work plate, the church plate, the “no child you are not dying of some strange illness you googled” plate.
I’d like to tell you that it all gets done eventually. But I’m beginning to suspect that eventually will never arrive. Incrementalism requires a great deal of patience and even more grace: a simple kind of self-love that says, “I’m worthy and enough, even if there isn’t enough of me to go around.” Be gentle with yourself, Wende. Walk gently.
It’s ok if the dog has fleas (OH MY GOD, how did this happen?) and your child is going to college in 3 weeks.
Breathe, Wende. Keep spinning those plates.
But some days, mother nature throws you a plate worth spinning. An 80 degree day in September: beautiful and clear. Balmy. The word is balmy — but only because Santa Barbara-y is not a word.
We’re not likely to get such an invitation again this year. So, I set down the work plate (though I gave it a few spins just to be safe) and worry plate. I stacked up the laundry and the pest control plates and everything else that can wait until tomorrow plate: and fell soul first into this beautiful day.
A long walk along the river. Spun! A fabulous dinner on the porch and finishing off that lovely Rosé. Spun! Raspberry Thyme Sorbet. Hey, I made that!! Taking goofy photos with the love of my life. I think you know the answer to that.
Check out Mireio tomorrow for the Raspberry Thyme Sorbet recipe.
For the past year, IZ and I have been walking the river on Saturdays. Weather permitting. It has become our sanctuary. Our ritual. Our way of exorcising all the pent up emotion that life throws at us Sunday through Friday. We talk about our dreams, our frustrations, our hopes.
Along the way we meet fellow travelers. Today, a friend of a friend who just passed away — I don’t know her, but we’re connected by our mutual loss, the funeral we attended just yesterday. And a dog name Maggie May, whose owner informs us that she knows when the wind is blowing by looking at the trees: which means leaves are also blowing and Maggie May lives to chase leaves and fetch them. Choosing just the “right one” each time to take home. And our neighbor, queueing up for the trolley with a visiting relative: because that is what you do with visiting relatives.
As one hour gives way to the next, we are transported as much as we are rooted. Touching base with the local barista and the pavement beneath our feet. This is more than exercise. It is very foundation of our week. And I am reminded, despite the stress that we vent, the hurdles in front of us (yes, we can eat the elephant one bite at a time), that our lives are truly amazing. MY LIFE is amazing.
I have the same emotional response to Thursday as I do to Monday.
I’m jolted by the reality that I am here, in this place.
How did a weekend escape, a week slip by?
Monday and Thursday turn in tandem, polar poles pushing against each other:
and I am caught up in their dance.
This month in Sunday School I’ve been teaching prayer practices that are accessible to children. This week, we prayed with our 5 senses. Praying with our sense of taste was the most popular! So, we shared this practice with the whole congregation at closing and it was a huge hit!
The next time you eat something sweet you can pray, “Thank you God for all the Sweet things in my life.” Simple. And tasty!
