Parents who work away from home are tough as Nails (in case you’d forgotten)

18
May

The back door to somebody’s workplace.

For all the parents who made umpteen phone calls arranging childcare,

For all the hours spent searching online for reputable organizations and references,

For the extra batteries in the alarm clock, the lunches made the night before, the papers signed, the backpacks packed,

We salute you.

For all the pinch hitting,

For all the brief personal phone calls at work saved up and made in a flurry during a break,

For the favors called in when a child gets sick,

We humbly bow.

For every meeting missed,

For every boundary established,

For every “quick bite to eat with the team after work” sacrificed,

We hear your call.

For the way you prioritize projects at work,

For the art of delegation,

For every lunch taken at your desk,

For your ability to switch gears from employed person to parent of a young child,

We give you props.

We doff our caps to you, sir or ma’am, for you have earned this small gesture of respect.

You work hard at work and at home, and this is no simple task. It involves organization and planning, and

You go get ’em, ’cause you got this…
Like a boss.

What makes you Brave?

26
Apr

I’ve been thinking about the different aspects of being brave, and I wanted to consider how there are many ways of being brave. We’re quick to forget some of the things that scared us so bad once we’ve overcome those things. It’s easy to forget how hard it was to do something once we’ve conquered it — think of your first time jumping off a diving board, for example. On an emotional level, there are certain events that were turning points in our developments, and with the benefit of hindsight (since we now know how the event turned out) we often diminish how much bravery it took to have that conversation, write that letter, decline that invitation.

It’s in that spirit that I offer these art journal pages on the topic of “brave” and through the Get Messy website I’ve pulled some of them together in a “zine” which is a small booklet usually on one specific subject. If you want to see a bunch of different interpretations of this, you can check them out here. I’ve included a couple other thematically appropriate paint expressions as well. I hope you enjoy, and I’d love to hear your stories of “brave” in the comments. Thanks for reading!

The cover of my first zine

Walking in the dark

Scared and feminine are not mutually exclusive.

Sacred and feminine are not mutually exclusive.

Trying again can be an extreme version of bravery.

Why is saying no so hard for us?

It takes bravery to be patient and believe there are opportunities for us all.

Show up and be you.

You are a lionheart.

Putting these things out there is an act of bravery for me, especially since I don’t LOVE them all. But I think showing them to you is important; it takes the power out of perfectionism, especially when it comes to arty things.

In what ways have you been brave this week? I’d love to hear about it!

Being brave might look different for you than for Me

10
Apr

I hate to say that some things are relative. It sounds so milquetoast, so ambivalent. And yet, there are things that are relative. Not everything is concrete or one-size-fits-all. Have you tried on a glove that’s one-size-fits-all? It just doesn’t, that’s all I can say.

In the same way, being brave looks different for different people. Going without hand sanitizer for a whole day may be brave for some people to the point of nervous twitches and increased blood pressures. Daring to speak in public can really challenge some people, while others thrive in that setting.

This month I’m working through a theme of “Brave” with the Get Messy peeps, and the timing is eerie. This word keeps popping up for me, which makes me feel like somebody’s walking around two steps in front of me, leaving me little notes. Maybe that’s the idea of secret messages – that when we’re paying attention we receive many more of them than we previously realized. This is definitely one of those alignments.

In that vein, I’d like to share some more art journal images I’ve come up with. If you’re interested in finding out more about the Get Messy prompts and crew, you can click here.

I Use My Voice

Look at all the jumble-y yumminess!

Disappointment versus Hope

I am Brave

Dripping with Bravery

Okay, now it’s your turn. Would you call yourself brave? Have you tried anything lately that’s made you feel brave? And how about those secret message — do you ever notice any of those sent to you? I’d love to hear your story!

Medical Mondays: An Occasional Series

30
Mar

We are in Spring Break this week, and as further evidence of my tendency to forget to look at the calendar more than a week or so in advance (that’s if I’m lucky; many times i only look out a day or two), I neglected to schedule anything for Medical Monday.

Call it a symptom of my mental state.

While I think there’s a place for discussion here of all things health and wellness, it may be better for Medical Mondays to become a less regular occurrence — call it an occasional series. With our family’s sudden exposure to more aspects of the world of healthcare and chronic health issues, as well as emotional wellbeing, it makes sense to state for the record that these things are an important part of our lives and deserving of attention. Maybe that’s the intention of this series — trying to give these things more attention in my own life and have that intention reflected here.

If you have a desire to share your story, please connect with me. There’s space here for you.

Thank you for reading and being a part of this community. If you’ll excuse me now, I get to go have some vacation.

Hard Skin and Dragon Scales

27
Mar

I previously shared this on the Story Sessions website, which is no longer active…so I thought I’d share it here. Hope you find something in it that encourages you.

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“I was just going to say that I couldn’t undress because I hadn’t any clothes on when I suddenly thought that dragons are snaky sort of things and snakes can cast their skins. Oh, of course, thought I, that’s what the lion means. So I started scratching myself and my scales began coming off all over the place. And then I scratched a little deeper and, instead of just scales coming off here and there, my whole skin started peeling off beautifully, like it does after an illness, or as if I was a banana. In a minute or two I just stepped out of it. I could see it lying there beside me, looking rather nasty. It was a most lovely feeling. So I started to go down into the well for my bathe. […]

“Well, exactly the same thing happened again. And I thought to myself, oh dear, how ever many skins have I got to take off? For I was longing to bathe my leg. So I scratched away for the third time and got off a third skin, just like the two others, and stepped out of it. But as soon as I looked at myself in the water I knew it had been no good.

“The lion said—but I don’t know if it spoke—‘You will have to let me undress you,’ I was afraid of his claws, I can tell you, but I was pretty nearly desperate now. So I just lay flat down on my back to let him do it.

“The very first tear he made was so deep that I thought it had gone right into my heart. And when he began pulling the skin off, it hurt worse than anything I’ve ever felt. The only thing that made me able to bear it was just the pleasure of feeling the stuff peel off. You know—if you’ve ever picked the scab of a sore place. It hurts like billy-oh but it is such fun to see it coming away.”

“I know exactly what you mean,” said Edmund.

“Well, he peeled the beastly stuff right off—just as I thought I’d done it myself the other three times, only they hadn’t hurt—and there it was lying on the grass: only ever so much thicker, and darker, and more knobbly-looking than the others had been. And there was I as smooth and soft as a peeled switch and smaller than I had been. Then he caught hold of me—I didn’t like that much for I was very tender underneath now that I’d no skin on—and threw me into the water. It smarted like anything but only for a moment. After that it became perfectly delicious and as soon as I started swimming and splashing I found that all the pain had gone from my arm. And then I saw why. I’d turned into a boy again. You’d think me simply phony if I told you how I felt about my own arms. I know they’ve no muscle and are pretty mouldy compared with Caspian’s, but I was so glad to see them.

“After a bit the lion took me out and dressed me—”

“Dressed you. With his paws?”

“Well, I don’t exactly remember that bit. But he did somehow or other: in new clothes—the same I’ve got on now, as a matter of fact. And then suddenly I was back here. Which is what makes me think it must have been a dream.”

“No. It wasn’t a dream,” said Edmund.

“Why not?”

“Well, there are the clothes, for one thing. And you have been—well, un-dragoned, for another.”

“What do you think it was, then?” asked Eustace.

“I think you’ve seen Aslan,” said Edmund.

~Excerpt from Voyage of the Dawn Treader by C.S. Lewis

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There was a period of my life when I wore an extra skin emotionally as if it was heavy chainmail or a coat of dragon scales.

It was knobby, thick, suspicious, sarcastic, and dismissive.

I grew this layer of protection over time. The barrages of arrows whose poisoned tips bore insults hedged as jokes about my body, necessitated this thick skin – the arrows didn’t hurt as much when they met hard scales. Snide comments about my lack of intelligence or critical thinking skills couldn’t meet their mark when repelled by bony skin. The repeated defense of my family’s expectations or my role as the pastor’s daughter, the constant sense of being different than everyone else, called “weird” for my sense of humor or mocked for my vocabulary, these things built layer upon layer of cartilage armor.

I was quick with a joke or a biting comment, even if it was about me – better to be aware of my weakness than to let others announce it.

I became skilled at assuming the twist of a statement, rather than believing it was said straight. It made me paranoid about what any sentence meant.

I grew weary with the analyzing, stony in the silence I adopted rather than open myself to hurtful responses that were bound to come, should I offer the opportunity.

Any gentleness I once had slowly shrunk and hardened until it was only a pebble.

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In the excerpt above, Eustace’s dragon scales are the result of greed and selfishness.

My scales were the result of a perceived need for self-preservation and protection.

The image has returned to me time upon time, the image of scraping away dragon scales, peeling them back as a snake slips its skin. The effort of learning a new way to relate to the world, the hard work of retraining my brain synapses so messages wouldn’t travel the same well-worn canyons, and the strain of finding new thought patterns felt like ripping off layers. I worked to allow myself to believe the compliment that came from the lips of the one I loved, rather than hearing its reverse, and the awareness that the former was still my first response, felt like Eustace when he thought he had scratched away the dragon skin, only to discover he was still wearing it. Try as I might, my best efforts only removed the outside layers with no impact on those that were thicker, those that were deeper.

There comes a point when, if we want real change, we have to admit we can’t do it ourselves.

We have to lie down in the grass and allow Aslan to undress us.

It feels vulnerable and intimate.

It feels defenseless.

It feels like a death.

And it can hurt like a bitch.

While we lie there, letting our defenses be stripped away, we might feel like we’d rather continue wearing the dragon skin, except for the sublime gratification that comes with the removal of it, like peeling a long strip of wallpaper after you’ve been laboring and only getting scraps, or the feeling of finally getting all the snarls out of your daughter’s beautiful long hair so you can drag the comb through it unhindered. We become our truer selves, closer to our clearest essence, unhindered by the bulky armor we accumulated. Only once it is removed are we released to feel earth on flesh, breeze on face, and warmth of embrace.

It is only once our dragon scales are removed that we learn the strength of being vulnerable, the confidence that undergirds gentleness and the freedom that comes when we are our most unfettered selves.

2 Corinthians 3:17-18 (NKJV) “17 Now the Lord is the Spirit; and where the Spirit of the Lord is, there is liberty. 18 But we all, with unveiled face, beholding as in a mirror the glory of the Lord, are being transformed into the same image from glory to glory, just as by the Spirit of the Lord.”

Double takes and obnoxious Color

6
Mar

It’s the end of the week; time to blast you with a vision impairing burst of color. Or at least that’s what seems to have happened this week. It looks like I forgot to allow for much white space, and that goes for the art journaling as well as in my life. It’s been a busy week — have you found that happening for you as well?

Here’s a little something to push you over the edge into the weekend.

Done on a sheet of watercolor paper — not my usual approach

The next one came out of a challenge from Get Messy Art Journal, a fun site with prompt, tutorials and challenges. I’d been saving the front page of a newspaper magazine, and the challenge was to use ripped pieces of paper in some way. Can you see the lady on the bottom right corner?

She’s an Inspiration

The next two are two takes on the same thing. I facilitated a workshop, once through The Urban Retreat and once for a young adults group at a church. I like to practice and prepare ahead of time, making sure I keep lists of everything I’d like to have available for the experience. These are two passes at the same material. I like how they turn out differently, even though it’s the same me doing them.

Spray ink, alcohol ink, medicine cup, and -- wait for it -- the needlepoint door-hanger.

Made with (amongst other things) spray ink, alcohol ink, medicine cup, and — wait for it — a needlepoint door-hanger. (Note: I didn’t really use a Sharpie in this one, but I needed to block out something for the photo. You didn’t even notice it until now, did you? Rats.)

I love the colors in this so much I want to nibble the edge of the paper.

Moment of bragging: I found the needlepoint form of a door-hanger for $0.49 at a craft store. It works really well with spray inks and not so well as a stencil. But with a little finessing I think there’s a way to make it work.

That’s all for now. What are you doing to feed your soul this weekend? Be good to yourselves! And be sure to check back on Monday for a Medical Mondays guest post. As always, thanks for reading!

A surprise Visit

27
Feb

My mailbox has had a rough run. It’s been bashed into twice. One time a driver knocked it all the way down, leaving it sprawled in a most undignified fashion, junk mail scattered in the driveway. It has a thankless job, usually delivering mail that’s immediately tossed in the recycling bin, or mail that elicits a sigh from the recipient — another boring bill that needs attention.

I’m sure it was thrilled to get a different response this week, anything to break up the monotony of disdain and neglect.

My friend on the other side of town mailed me a book. It just so happens that this book is one I’ve been planning to dig for, since I didn’t find it on the shelf or in the easiest box to locate. She had it, and she took the time to mail it back to me.

But that’s not all.

In addition to the book, she included a short note that told me I wasn’t forgotten, that she remembers that I’m still grieving the loss of my dad, and in that remembering she told me that he mattered, and that I matter. She even sent a gift card to a coffee shop, which just speaks of the additional thought she put into returning the book, which became so much more than returning a book. It became a care package.

But that’s not all.

Surprises all around.

When I was thinking about finding the book, I was thinking about the author and what he wrote about different kinds of prayer and spiritual disciplines.

I was not thinking about who had read the book.

I read the book, and underlined it and jotted little notes about interesting parts.

My former youth pastor had read the book, and it was originally a gift from him. He wrote a page-long letter inside, affirming me and blessing me.

And my dad read the book.

My dad read the book and jotted things alongside my own. He underlined passages that stood out to him, along with notes that revealed his thoughts to what the author wrote.

It surprised me completely, the receiving of the book, and then discovering kind letter from an important part of my high school years, and then the handwritten words from my dad inside. It was such a gift to me.

Seeing my dad’s notes was like finding a letter my dad had written to me, and getting a little surprise visit from him when I’m so sad he’s gone and I can’t talk to him about everything that’s going on. I’ve been savoring the book, trying not to look through it too much until I have time to dwell in it, soak up the visit in the pages.

This post is for you, R. You had no idea how your act of kindness would encourage me. Maybe you didn’t even know my dad had written in the book — it’s probably been on a shelf for a while. As is common when things are prompted by the Holy Spirit, your timing was spot on. I can’t thank you enough for taking the time to act on what started as an idea, to go through all the steps necessary to get that book (and your note and the gift card) to me. God used you to take care of me. I’m so grateful for your friendship, not just today but always.

This post was in the works already, but when I saw this week’s prompt over at Kate Motaung’s blog and Five Minute Friday linkup I knew it dovetailed perfectly. I may have gone over the five minutes a bit, but this is pretty unedited so that’s in keeping with the spirit of Five Minute Friday.

Thanks again for reading and being a part of the virtual family here. Have a wonderful weekend, and if there’s a note you’ve been thinking of sending to someone, I encourage you to do it. You never know how a little note can be used to show God’s love to someone.

JDRF One Walk: We’re not Alone

23
Feb

The alarm went off at 5:30a as the coffee pot started brewing in the kitchen. We had estimated how long the kids would need to wake up at such an early hour, to what degree their slow-motion sleepiness would affect their ability to get ready. We considered how hungry (or not) they’d be at that early hour and how we’d account for an insulin dose based on the lack of appetite. We quietly opened curtains — it didn’t let in any light since it was still dark across the Minnesota landscape — and moved around in the kids’ rooms in order to get them to wake up slowly. It would take us at least 30 minutes to drive to the Mall of America and we’ve never been a hop-in-the-car-and-go kind of family; we take a while to get ourselves collected and out the door.

As we drove and our people started waking up, the excitement began to build. When we pulled up the turn light and saw the line of cars heading into the parking lot, it looked like a deal-driven Black Friday event. Why else would people be out in the cold morning before the stores opened at the mall?

There was no way we’d be out this early or driving to the Mall of America of all places except for this event. It was Saturday, February 21, and it was our first Juvenile Diabetes Research Foundation (JDRF) One Walk fundraiser.

When we heard about the One Walk, we immediately knew it was something we’d put on our calendar. We were drawn to the idea of doing something to hasten the development of better solutions and even a cure for diabetes. Maybe it’s grasping at straws, but since I’m not a scientist nor a lobbyist, this felt like something we could all actively be a part of.

We’ve only had diabetes for two months, and I say WE because it truly is a diagnosis that impacts the entire family. We’ve come through the initial shock and how we’re learning how diabetes is becoming a silent member of the family, something we have to factor into all our events and happenings. I wish I could say we’re used to it by now, but we’re not. We will be one day, but we’re not there yet.

2015

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Our team’s dominant color was purple, and team members did it up right: a purple scarf, a purple stripe on the arm, purple shirts, purple shorts, a baby in a purple headband, one friend with one purple leg-warmer and matching sock (the location of her other purple leg-warmer remains a mystery), and purple lanyards for each member of our team. They were all there bright and early, each with a positive attitude and a desire to show their solidarity with our family. They helped remind us that we are not alone in dealing with diabetes — their care and love for our family will help us in those moments when it all feels too big to handle.

The atmosphere was festive and the hallways were packed with people. It was moving to see the matching t-shirts and various groups all present to show their support for a loved one with Type 1 diabetes. It was pretty overwhelming, and we’re still processing all that we experienced that day.

We raised over $800, which was $300 more than our goal. We were so encouraged by people’s desire to contribute and be a part of finding new and better ways to deal with diabetes.

If you were a part of that day, thank you. Seriously. Thank you. And if you weren’t, you may get a chance in the future and I’d encourage you to go for it. Look out for us in the spring of 2016 and plan on seeing these again, ’cause how do you use up 100 purple lanyards in a year? You don’t.

Have a Lanyard…Please

Have you participated in a large-scale fundraiser? How do you respond to the energy surrounding such events? How do you think they contribute towards positive change?

Color in Winter

12
Feb

There’s something that has become a bigger part of my life in the past year and I realize that I have shared about it occasionally here on the blog but I’ve been holding back. I think some of that is because it is scary you to share things that are personally meaningful. Some of that is because there is the danger of being critiqued about the quality of the artwork that has become a part of my days. It’s scary to think about something that’s been become meaningful to you being diminished or seen as small.

This hasn’t been small. This has been and continues to be important to me, and has become an important part of my journey. I don’t know all of the ripple effects that it will have for the future but I know that for now this has become a life-giving tool for me. Since I try to write about things that are meaningful to me and I try to write truthfully about things that are going on around here, it makes sense for me to write more about this and share it with you because it meets that criteria. I hope I can step into the bravery and authenticity that I value and share more about this with you on a more regular basis. If you want to check back in the future, I plan to put it in the “Mischief” category, so you’ll know where to look for art journal posts.

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Sometimes the landscape reflects a person’s emotional state, but sometimes that landscape causes it! In an attempt to crack some of the ice that’s been forming a thin layer on my brain and heart lately, I carved out some time to art journal. When it went a direction that was different from my initial intention, I allowed it to develop as it wanted. I’ve been preparing for some retreat sessions lately, and haven’t had as much time to just let it develop organically. Granted, some of those other projects infused themselves into these (and one of them actually IS one of those projects but I just HAD to include it) but that’s a lot like finding yourself humming a song you’ve heard on the radio – it just gets in your head and rattles around for a while until it eventually works its way out. Man, now I’m making it sound like I’ve got 45 things to share, but there’s only three. So with no further ado…

So there’re some colors going on there! Maybe that’s just what I needed to try to liven up my own landscape today. And maybe it can liven up yours a little bit too.

On winter days do you tend to gravitate towards more color or less color, and how does that play out in your day?

P.S. This was done via “Dictaphone” on my silly phone so please excuse any kooky typos!

Keep your Head

8
Feb

Instagram: @tclmn

This is a season for keeping my head down, for putting one foot in front of the other and getting done what needs doing.

It’s a time of prioritizing, and if you come over and the house looks a shambles, then know that I decided something else should get the attention.

If your phone hasn’t been showing my number calling you, it’s nothing personal; it’s that other people had to come first.

The ring grows tighter, and it now only accommodates a small number of people, but those people’s needs have ballooned, filling the ring until there’s very little space to move about.

You can’t see more than the crown of my head as I lumber along with my eyes to the path, not looking left or right, eyes to the ground so I don’t misstep or get distracted from my top priorities by the allure of rest or levity or abstract thought. This is a time for focus, days broken into bits, formulas and ratios, numbers numbers numbers.

It won’t always be like this.

This will stabilize. This will alleviate. The intensity will subside and when that happens I will lift my head up and take in the sights around me.

For now I must keep my head down, because that’s what must be done to keep my head.

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It’s not Friday, I know, but this is a link-up with Five Minute Friday and Kate Motaung. You can find out all about it here along with reading some of the other posts. I’d welcome your comments, specifically about times when you’ve just had to keep your head down and do the thing that needed doing.

In the meantime, this is a good, on-topic song with a fun video you might enjoy — I did. http://youtu.be/ADP65wbBUpc