When fear threatens your Freedom

8
Sep

fear

control

the unknown

distrust and uncertainty

constrict your heart.

You lie awake in the night,

shutter your windows, bar the door and creep thru the house in darkness.

Fear throws threats around your head, wraps chains that trip and limit.

We are not made for this binding.

We are not made to be bound.

We are made for freedom.

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When the fear threatens to crush your heart and steal your joy,

Push back.

Drop your head,

Grit your teeth and barrel forward.

Charge ahead and refuse to be crushed by the weight of the “what-if’s” and doubts looming large.

Breath deep into your gut and let the air expand you — press out against the pressing in.

Close your eyes if you must.

Do it while your hands shake, but do it still.

Pretend you’re as confident as you wish you were, and soon you’ll forget you aren’t that confident. You’ll forget the racing thoughts, all that might happen, as you see the beauty of what does happen. Even when it doesn’t all go right, even when things are hard and the unknown remains unknown, or worse — your fears become reality. Even then, you are made for freedom.

Model it. Exemplify it. Pass it on to your children, your friends, your loves. Inspire it in others, this freedom of a person known and loved by the Author of knowledge and love.

You are known. You are loved. You can do this. Let’s say it to one another until we begin to believe it. We can do this.

Today was our first day of school, and this post came out of a lot of my nervousness about the start of school, which is complicated by health concerns for one of our kids. I have to really push back against operating out of fear. I hope we can help each other reject that fear and embrace the freedom we are meant for.

All of that to ask: how was your kids’ first day of school?

Sending the kids Alone

27
Aug

In the last few weeks of summer, we finally got to the peak of summer experiences: camp. We had already gone biking, played basketball, soccer, and foursquare, read books in the hammock, stargazed, gotten bites from mosquitos, gone to the zoo, spent time at the cabin, and pretty much worn out our swim suits. We had saved the pinnacle of summer for the last portion, and the build-up had reached a fevered pitch.

We sent out oldest to his first full week at overnight summer camp. For the first time we sent our youngest to spend each day at a day camp. And our middle child got to have a few special activities since he was put on a waiting list for overnight camp but didn’t get in, poor guy.

We had already expanded our “trust circle” this summer to include people caring for our kids all day one day since I took my first outside job in 10 years. That was challenging enough. But sending two out of three to be in the care of someone else (and one of them for night time to be in the care of someone we had not screened and who was probably someone with no children of his own! What does he know about looking out for our child?! What are his qualifications — that he tells a good campfire story or roasts a good marshmallow?!) required some serious trust work.

I didn’t intend to become a protective parent. There are probably some who think I’m not protective enough. I mean, I let the kids climb trees and hammer nails and walk the dog outside alone. My husband and I are very choosey about the kids’ media intake, and some of that was informed by the kids’ own sensitivities. Have you ever tried turning down the sound for intense parts of kids shows/movies? We couldn’t understand why the kids didn’t like certain kids shows when they were younger and it turned out that the music used to “heighten the scene” made the kids stressed out — shows are way less intense without the soundtrack.

As they get older, there are things they’re going to have to do alone. I get that, I truly do. And I trust them (mostly) to make good choices and think before they act (mostly).

Two of the three went away for at least a day at a time. It went smoothly and they had a great time. They were able to make new friendships and create memories that they’ll have into the future. They expanded their base of experience and see the world just a bit larger now than they did before. These are good things.

So as we prepare for school to start, why does it feel like I’m sending them out to battle giants with only plastic swords?

This is a post for Five Minute Friday, hosted by Kate Motaung, which I’m only getting to today. Five Minute Sunday? Doesn’t have the same ring to it. Search Five Minute Friday or go to Kate Motaung’s blog for the collection of everyone’s links, which are a variety of perspectives on the word “alone”. Thanks for reading today!

A hole in my prayer life gave my child Diabetes (or ‘the way subtle thoughts undermine spiritual Health’)

18
Jan

[Read more…]

A Fall of Firsts

29
Aug

http://mrg.bz/FRiaej

This is a big fall. Our youngest child starts first grade. Since I stay home with the kids, this promises to be a huge change not only for her, but also for me.

In the past, I didn’t have a huge problem with change. Big changes are challenging for anyone, but changes in schedule or routine have never bothered me since I lean more comfortably towards spontenaity. Too much set-in-stone and I get claustrophobic-y. To me, it’s fun to have a few things scheduled (a certain amount of pre-planned fun ensures I’ll see certain people, invest in certain relationships or parts of myself) and plenty of room for last minute appointments, being able to help in a classroom, or other unscheduled things that come up throughout the year.

This year is different. This year the lack of schedule feels empty. The prospect of quiet sounds like a terrible idea. Instead of feeling freed by the idea of time alone, it feels ominous, as if the time alone could hold something that’s been kept at the edges of my awareness, and my sense is that whatever that thing is, it’s not pleasant.

A great deal of this has to do with my attitude about it (and what doesn’t? — our attitudes are so important to our experiences.). By allowing dread to settle down and make a home inside my chest, I’m forced to keep myself constantly occupied so I can ignore or be too busy to deal with it’s source. To be honest, that works for me for longer than I’d like to admit. Sometimes it’s because of circumstances but sometimes, I’m learning, it’s because of my own personal tendencies. I mean, who wants to feel sadness or pain? Not me, man.

At this time of year, I’m sure I’m not alone in feeling a sense of wanting to freeze time or keep things the way they are. Rejecting change is not really an option. I know there are other people out there who feel sentimental with the start of the school year, many who feel sad about the passing of time. Sure, for many people there is a sense of jubilation about kids going back to school, but those same people also will admit they hug those kids a little longer when they return in the afternoon.

Change is difficult, even change that is good can still be hard. However, instead of being intimidated by change or loss, or having an attitude of fear, let’s try this experiment together:

Take slow, calming breaths.
Don’t overschedule or overcommit just to fill the empty space. Be willing to say no.
Allow yourself to do a couple projects you’ve been meaning to get to, but don’t invest all your time in those tasks.
Take yourself somewhere you’ve wanted to go, do something you’ve wanted to do. Think of it as an investment in your overall health. You don’t need a reason or special occasion to do this — you are worth investing in.
When things seem too quiet or being alone feels scary, put on some up-tempo music and move your body. Walk, jog, bike, dance, yoga — whatever is appealing.
If you are avoiding something in your thoughts or your emotions, be brave. Turn and face into the thing you’re avoiding. You don’t have to face it all the time, but even chipping away at it in small increments will make it less overwhelming. Plus there will be less to deal with the next time.

Will you try this experiment with me? This fall is filled with many firsts, and not all of them are pleasant. I’m a little bit scared. But if we can allow ourselves to experience it, all of it, and manage our attitude about it, the changes will be less daunting and we might, in fact, come out of it with a richer experience this year.

What things about this fall seem intimidating to you? What changes will you experience in the next four months and how do you feel about those changes? Will you try the six-step experiment in relation to change? C’mon — things are more fun with other friends alongside!

Dissonance and Significant Moments

27
May

My daughter had her kindergarten performance last week.

She was excellent, of course. She sang the crap out of “My Hat and Gloves” and when she acted surprised during the line at the end, you really believed that she had no idea her hat and gloves were already on her hands and on her head. Perfection.

She sat pouty when they first took their places, because she couldn’t find me in the audience. That was because some toddler with less-than-attentive parents was standing on his chair directly in my daughter’s line of sight. I leaned from one side to the other, trying to make eye contact but that squirmy toddler was all over the place. Finally I moved one chair over, which meant that I was right next to a stranger but now my daughter could see me and all was well with the world…besides the fact that there were two empty chairs to my left and I was rubbing shoulders with someone I did not know. I was outside the boundaries of normal Midwestern space allowances. Here, the unspoken rule goes, you keep at least one chair between you and a member of the next party. This makes for challenges at any even with assigned seats, because on the one hand, you want to obey the dictates of your ticket, but on the other hand, the one seat buffer rule runs strong.

Instagram: tclmn

I sat there and listened to song after song, all with special actions and costumes. The kids’ practices in the months leading up to the event made it go very smoothly, and no one panicked or went off script. They did a great job all around.

As they exited and the audience filed out of the auditorium (which was really just a gym), it finally struck me that this is the end of my last child’s last year of less-than-all-day school. My daughter only does half-day kindergarten, and she’s my youngest. That means that next year my three kids will all be in school all day long. This is a milestone for our family, a very significant moment for her, for my kids as siblings, and for all parents of young-ish children everywhere — we thought we wouldn’t make it! We thought the napping schedule, the potty training, and the endless snacks would undo us! But we have triumphed!

It felt like a passing, as well, like the end of an era. It is the end of those youngest years and the beginning of official school-age-dom. She’ll do great, she’s ready, it will be fine. But it is also something worth marking as a significant transition, both for her and for our whole family. It was sweet but tinged with nostalgia for the safety, innocence and dependence of those first years.

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Later that evening, my husband Pete and I left the kids with a sitter. We drove across town and joined the rest of my family at my parents’ house in Minneapolis. We had received some terrible news that morning, and it was one of those times when it is helpful to be together in order to shore up one another, to distribute the weight of the burden over all our shoulders. It is a crushing weight even for ten people, so for the only one or two people most affected by it to be forced to bear it — it would lay them out flat.

We sat outside under the fushia colored crabapple tree in full bloom, its scent filling the air and wrapping around us. My dad was physically with us, but his disease made him slow and confused. He sat quietly as we talked around him, taking it all in. These are the people he loves most, these are the ones he raised, these are the ones he wants most to protect from the pain of his illness. He cannot protect us now. He never needed to, but it’s built in to his habits, the habits of being the father.

The dissonance of my day, the way the planet continues to rotate even when your own world feels at a standstill, the pride and excitement of my daughter’s kindergarten performance at the beginning of her life and my dad’s diminishing health at what may be close to the end of his, the significance of the events of my day — these things left me filled with incongruent emotions.

Those conflicted emotions may be the new normal for us. We may be in a new chapter when we must savor the beauty of the moments we have, even as we jam every important moment into an abbreviated timeframe.

(It feels disloyal to even admit the possibility that my dad might not recover. That’s not how we function as a family. We always find the positive and focus on that.)

Those moments, while being meaningful and sweet, are also nauseating and laced with sorrow because they are unlikely to be repeated again. Can you fully enjoy something when you know it is probably the last time you’ll have that experience? How can the present warmth be coated with the frost of the future? Somehow they coexist, mingling and informing everything I come in contact with.

It’s exhausting. I don’t know how to do this. I especially don’t know how to do this with grace, patience, acceptance, all while being dignified. I feel small, powerless, numb and shrunken. Maybe I’ll figure it out. Or maybe this is just how it will be for me. Either way, however I manage to approach it, it will continue. I’ll have to just follow along and figure it out as it comes. There’s no individualized guidebook for this. We all just handle it the way we’re able, and that’s good enough. That has to be good enough.

Frost

Not Yer Typical Grateful Mother’s Day Post

11
May

Breaking all the rules today: it’s Sunday, this will take more than five minutes, and I’m rolling two posts into one. Oh yeah – I’m also using improper grammar/vocabulary because I’m pretty sure “yer” isn’t an accepted dictionary word. Let it slide today my friends, will you?

I know I’m feeling contrary but I want to ask why mothers must feel bad for the fact there’s a day that celebrates them, why they must feel bad for the fact they were able to become mothers in one way or another, why in recent years we’ve started to feel we must celebrate in hushed tones rather than accept one specific day of appreciation?

It’s so typical Martyr Mom, isn’t it? “Oh no, no, sweetheart, I wouldn’t want to do anything for Mother’s Day. I might make someone feel bad if they weren’t a mother.” It’s a tricky spot to be in.

It’s a little bit like the way my sons feel when I compliment one of them. I tell Rex, “I really like the comic book you’re making.” Bobo hears that and comments, “You don’t like the thing I’m making.” Over and over, I assure them that if I compliment one of them, it has nothing to do with the other. Just because I say one of them is good at something, it doesn’t follow that the other is BAD at it, less than, or anything relating to them at all. It is just me calling out something about one individual. It isn’t a finite substance — as if there’s only so much talent available.

It may stem from some twisted old-timey notion that full womanhood is realized in motherhood, or that somehow women are redeemed through childbirth. We don’t have time to dig into the origins of that now, nor can we dwell on how that informs our current attitudes, but if a person is seen as forever less-than if they’re not a mother, then it’s no wonder there are some significant hang-ups surrounding it.

If you ask me, people would be smart to create their own personal Mother’s Days. Think of the brunch pandemonium we could avoid. Imagine the pick-me-up moms could get in northern regions where winter can drag on for way too long. Pop your own personal Mother’s Day in the middle of that, and break up the monotony. And does anyone save any money by purchasing flower baskets or earrings marketed around Mother’s Day? Not likely. Plus, I’ve got to say, I don’t really desire to hear “Happy Mother’s Day” from a pulpit or a person who is not somehow related to my mothering or somehow being my mother. There’s something about seeing Mother’s Day doggie leashes (Now Mom can walk the dog in style!) or Mother’s Day paperclips (Help keep Mom organized!) that detracts from the sincerity of the occasion anyways. However, Mother’s Day is firmly established now, and if the baseline is a Mother’s Day card that costs $5, you know that corporate America isn’t going be quick to give up Mother’s Day. It’s too big of a money maker.

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Instagram: tclmn

As I write this, I’m sitting at a restaurant, waiting for my mom. She’s supposed to meet me, but she’s lost. She gets lost a lot. She is more of an instinctual, landmark-reliant driver rather than a direction-following driver. Even if you write out directions for her, she doesn’t generally get there the way you map it out for her.

That sums up her approach to a lot of life. She doesn’t set out to challenge the status quo; it’s her inherent BS sniffer and her inquisitive mind that prompt her to ask the question on everyone’s minds, to say what no one else is willing to, or to proclaim that the Emperor isn’t wearing any clothes. Before they retired, she was a pastor’s wife (although, do you ever really stop being a pastor or a pastor’s wife, even after you retire? It’s kind of hardwired by that point.). She never did fit that stereotype, and that was a constant source of both pride and struggle for her. When people don’t know how to categorize you, it’s easier to just dismiss you as an anomaly rather than find a new spot for you in their minds.

Mom is opinionated, curious, adventurous, spontaneous, restless, loyal, and sensitive. She thinks non-linearly, which can make the linear people around her a little crazy. And let’s admit it, she is a little nuts. She’s random, resourceful, freakin’ hilarious, and sometimes doesn’t know when to quit. She’s one of those who underestimates the power of her words because she underestimates her significance. That underestimation can lead to misunderstandings, and coupled with a zinger or two, it can be a dangerous combination. On the one hand, she’s surprised that anything she’d have to say would actually mean something important to anyone, and on the other hand she’s hurt when it isn’t heard. She’s contradictory that way. Oh crap. Didn’t I say at the beginning of this that I was feeling contrary? I AM becoming my mother!

I’m grateful for her. She’s an unceasing cheerleader, and sees the potential for good things for all her kids. She believes in you, even when you don’t have the courage to believe in yourself.

I’m grateful there’s a special day created that helps people take time to acknowledge the mothers in their lives. On top of that, I’m grateful for the many people who have been mother-types to me throughout my life, for the women who modeled serving behind the scenes, and those who modeled leading from up front. I’m grateful for the people who helped me when things were hard, the people who teamed with me to try something new, who fed my hair-brained schemes and picked me up after epic failures. These may not have all been women, but in many senses these people played a mother role in my life.

From the objections I raised about feeling bad about being a mother on Mother’s Day, I know you’re questioning my sensitivity to those for whom this is a difficult day. It’s not that we shouldn’t have Mother’s Day, nor should we exalt motherhood. A woman is more than her ovaries, and a woman need not have a child to be fully actualized. Not every woman wants to be a mother. I know there are women out there who long to be mothers and cannot, those who have become mothers and could not raise that child, adoptions that have fallen through, heartache that seems bottomless. These things don’t stop being a part of us when this day passes. I hope we can all be kind to the varied circumstances of others, and not assume that our story is the story of every person we meet, easy story or difficult story.

We can all be mothers to one another. We can be tender, we can be tough, we can be supportive, we can be stern. Even if we didn’t have those loving mothers in our lives, we can find them. They are out there. You may already have one in your life and just never viewed him/her as such. You might have an opportunity to mother someone (you don’t have to call it that) and help them find their footing, their voice, or their stride. That is an important role. Do not diminish it just because it doesn’t involve an infant.

Let’s all become the best people we can be, and inspire one another to take those leaps of faith that are done so much more easily with the support of others.

You can do it. I can do it.

We are better together.

Happy Mother’s Day.

What makes a writer?

4
Apr

It’s not smudged pencil on the chubby part of your hand.

It isn’t teeth stained from endless cups of coffee and tea.

It doesn’t depend on long hours staring out the rain-washed window of an industrial loft or countryside cottage.

We’ve created a cloud of mystery and intrigue around the writer’s life, made it full of drama, angst, darkened corners and visits from a fickle Muse.

It can be this way, but also, it is often more mundane than this…

Trips through the slush to the office supply store for more printer ink when feels like you were just there a week ago.

It is forcing yourself out of the toasty covers into the cold morning. Click on the coffeepot, the red illumined button the only light in the house except the nightlights in your kids’ bedrooms…and the hallway…and the bathroom.

The blue-light of the computer screen makes you squint until your eyes finally adjust. In a while you’ll be unable to see the child who emerges from the darkness and makes your heart jump. You’re suffering an alternate form of snow-blindness — screen blindness (related to the screen deafness my children experience if I try to talk to them while they’re watching a show).

This slogging through, grinding it out, is what it looks like for me, but inside the tedium are moments of soaring —

a scene that writes itself,

an connection you didn’t see when you first wrote something but now can be developed into something more complete,

a dialog or exchange that rings with truth,

the glorious satisfaction of scratching that writer’s itch that remains at your outside edge until you sit down to write.

No matter what ends up happening with your writing, if you do the hard work of writing – whatever the topic, whatever the genre, whatever the mode of expression — you’re a writer. Write true. Write bravely. Write beauty, even when it’s ugly. The world needs your words, your voice. Enrich our human experience with your perspective. We need one another. We need you.

Linking up today with Lisa-jo Baker (http://lisajobaker.com) and Five Minute Friday.

Young does not mean “Small”

20
Feb

There’s nothing small about their feelings, even if they’re unjustified or disproportionate.

There’s no smallness to their generosity or their unconditional offer of love, heedless of a person’s otherwise social awkwardness or prickly first impression.

You can’t tell me their gestures of gratitude feel small, the smallness of their chubby arms, or that place between elbow and wrist where the skin plumps up as if by the presence of a rubber band. Those arms, wrapped caution-to-the-wind around your neck will dispel any idea of smallness in the grandness of their embrace.

Though they be small, the force of their innocence will fell the loftiest person to the ground, brought low from their presumed place of importance or stature. They care not for etiquette or fancy graces.

They care for you,

and in all your imperfections,

that is no small thing.

This post is part of a link-up through Lisa-Jo Baker’s website: http://lisa-jobaker.com . A welcoming band of women write for five minutes, no self-critique, no self-editing, no perfectionism. We write for the joy of writing. It is open to anyone who wishes to participate, and you’ll find all kinds of fun blogs you may not have previously known about. It’s an amazing group of people.

That Mom is Me

3
Feb

I am that mom.

I am the one who emailed the teacher to verify the start time of the event at school…and still showed up thirty minutes late.

I am that mom — the one who didn’t RSVP to the classmate’s birthday party until the morning it was scheduled to happen.

I am the mom who went to register my child for the enrichment class two days after the deadline because I didn’t take time to read the informational letter. I’m also the one who apologized my way in.

I’m that mom, the one who got the phone call from the kindergarten teacher asking if I’d be there soon. It was Mom’s Day, and my daughter was waiting for me. I walked in and all the moms were sitting on the floor, each one with a child next to them or on a lap. All except for my daughter who sat at the foot of the teacher while she read a book to the class. My daughter. Alone.

I’m the mom whose kid had toothpaste down the front of his shirt, the one whose kid wore boots at school all day long because he forgot shoes and I didn’t think to check his backpack. When he got home, his socks were soggy.

I’m that mom — the one who thought she had enough time to get milk and bread from Target. I was still a few minutes from home when I watched my child’s bus come towards me on the road. Again, my daughter. Again, alone.

I’m the mom who had to air out the house because the stove burner was left on for hours. The flame had gone out, but the knob was still set on simmer, natural gas seeping into the kitchen, out to the dining room and down the hallway.

This all happened last week.

I’m that mom, and I know it.

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Have you seen me? You know you have. You know there’s someone like me, someone who is that mom to you.

That one mom who always seems to come charging in late, disheveled, discombobulated.

The one who makes you feel think, ‘Well, I may not have it all together, but at least I’m not like her.’

Do you know how much it sucks to be that mom?

A lot. It sucks a lot.

http://mrg.bz/k2aG5h

Contrary to how it might appear, I’m not a total flake. I’m not checked out, I’m not “smoking too much weed”, I’m not a train wreck, not a disaster. And I’m not a bad mom.

I’m just in a rough patch.

I have enough personal family gunk going on that I have to prioritize what can receive my attention. Some things have to go.

Having never been a detail-lover, I now find they are the first things to escape me. They are de-prioritized without me even trying. And those are just the details I know I forgot — how many have passed me by without me even feeling the breeze they made? I’ll probably find out later that I only knew the half of how badly I was screwing up.

In the midst of this, I am trying to take care of myself as well, trying to make good choices and gauge what ways I can be kind to myself each day. I’m exercising, I’m brushing my teeth, I’m even laughing sometimes. Maybe I’m laughing too loudly, maybe it sounds a tiny bit hysterical, but it still counts.

I don’t need help feeling guilty about how I’m falling short of where I want to be. I can administer enough guilt on my own.

I have to extend grace to myself, the grace I would want to show someone else, but it’s hard. It’s hard to be nice to myself, because I see the ways I can’t do it all, the way I want to manage it alone but can’t. I know what I can usually take care of, and I see all the ways I can’t do it now.

I feel weak, and I hate feeling weak.

I feel looked down on, but as far as I know, the only one looking down on me is ME.

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Today I’m trying to give myself enough space to move around my life without knocking things over.

I’m going to give myself extra time to get done the things that usually take me less time but now seem to require more effort.

I’ll feed myself well.

I’ll let myself make mistakes and I’ll see them as mistakes, not as failings.

I’ll ask for help.

I’ll be to myself the person I’d want to be for someone else.

I’ll try to look for glory, for as my friend Kelly wrote, “Glory is most at home in the common, if you have eyes to see.” (You can read her post here: http://bit.ly/1j6DhxJ )

When I come out of this rough patch, as I know I will eventually, I will work to remember what it was like to be that mom. And when I see her, the one for whom the burden of everyday seems almost to much to handle, I’ll pray that she can be gentle and patient with herself, that she’ll see how she can be good to herself in the midst of struggle. And if I can, I will let her know that she’s not the only one.

Eventually, there comes a time when we all are that mom.

Trees and other Growing Things

15
Nov

Today’s post is my typical attempt to participate in Five Minute Friday, a link up through Lisa-jo Baker. It is open to anyone,.She is a beautiful writer, and she’s creating a group of friends through the connections made on her site. Check it out at http://lisa-jobaker.com or search the hashtag #FiveMinuteFridays on Twitter.

There were two arborvitae, one on either side of the wide front steps that led to the front porch.

They barely touched the ceiling of the porch when we moved in.

Thuja Moment (Photo credit: monteregina)

When we moved away they were framed in the view from the upstairs windows.

The only thing that had grown more were my children.

Some days the minutes go by so slowly you check the clock, convinced it’s been at least a half hour only to discover it’s been two. Two long minutes playing blocks with someone who only wants to knock over your building,

Someone who only wants to undo the work you’ve done, eat one more snack, mess one more diaper.

And when you don’t notice it, when you’re not looking, the trees grow tall and strong. Your children develop friends, hobbies and interests, and calendars are needed to keep track of assignments and schedules.

Is it possible to note the growth of the trees without getting lost in the incremental close up?

It is good to take a wide shot every once in a while and note the way the child’s pants are too short or how far up their heads come when you hug them.

Then get back to cleaning up messes and driving kids here and there. While you’re at it, make more sandwiches, ’cause Lord knows they’re going to eat ’em.

Are you in a slow-growth period or is time zooming by for you? How do you make sure you’re paying attention in the every day so that years don’t go speeding by unrecognized?

(If you have a second and would consider liking my Facebook page, that would be above and beyond lovely. http://www.facebook.com/TCLarsonWrites or just click the Facebook doohickey on the sidebar. )