This last year has been one of change and growth for me. Change is a process, and does not have to be a bad thing. In fact, the end result can be a amazing once we get to the other side.
However along with change, can come pain. Growing pains, if you will. We can fight it, and break in the process. Or we can bend with it, and let it shape us into something uniquely beautiful that we never would have expected.
I hate change. Yep. Always have. Give me safe, predictable, and boring any day.
This process of change has forced me to find a new way to 'be.' It truly felt like I didn't know who I was anymore. In my quest to discover who I am now, I was brought face to face with something I didn't anticipate.
Fear.
I have struggled with a laundry list of fears (both real and imagined) that have paralyzed me to act on many things during the past twelve months. Self doubt, imagined scenarios, you name it and it has probably kept me awake at least one night in the past twelve months. So I have stayed silent, gripped by fear. But we are not meant to live in fear.
Because FEAR LIES!
Fear says that we will never make it, that all is hopeless, that we will always fail, that it will never get better, that we can't make a difference, that all is lost. We're never good enough, smart enough, clever enough, good looking enough.
But that's not true.
Life is about learning and growing from our mistakes, not about perfection. We will fall many times in our life. FALLING ISN'T FAILING. Whether or not we get back up, that's what counts.
It's something I've needed to remind myself of, and maybe you needed to hear it today as well. Some days we will thrive and some we will just get by.
I will never be able to go back to the way I was. It hasn't felt comfortable. There is a depth to the 'song of my life' that wasn't there before. A deeper, more sorrowful tone that wasn't present a year ago has been added. That just makes that joyful notes sound so much sweeter.
I will proudly 'sing' these new notes in my life, acknowledging them, but not letting them stop me from continuing to add to my song, and continuing to learn how to be.
"For God has not given us a spirit of fear, but of power and of love and of a sound mind." ~2 Timothy 1:7
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The past several months have been painful ones for me. Although I am able to put on a happy face and answer "I'm well, and you?" when approached in public, it is harder for me to put on the same facade when I write. Writing has always been the place where I process my life, with all the gritty details.
Sometimes, we find ourselves in situations where words can't express how we are feeling. Where, in fact, words would be a hindrance. When the depth of emotion in the situation, the sorrow, joy, fear, shock, love, excitement... is beyond being able to be expressed with simple words.
This summer has been filled with those moments. I have witnessed and/or experienced emotions that are difficult impossible to put into words and so I have stayed silent. I have cried tears for myself, for people I know well, and for virtual strangers. All of these instances have been a catalyst for me to really examine my own life history.
I once heard someone on a radio program say that, as a Christian, we should never be heard saying "life is hard" because God is with us and therefore, nothing should be hard. I think that's a load of hooey. (Apparently he had never read the book of Job.) Christian or not, life is filled with highs and lows.
Having faith does not make us exempt from pain just as admitting our struggles does not mean we lack faith.
This summer, I have focused on trying to heal some of the painful spots in my heart that I have accumulated over my thirty-nine and a half years. I have spent hours in the night talking with God. I have stood outside drinking in the sweet perfume of twilight and sat with the dog enjoying the stillness of morning. I've stood, eyes closed, while I relished the feeling of a cool breeze on my face and the sounds of my children playing. I have allowed myself to cry the tears that I have kept bottled up for far too long. To grieve fully all of those people, dreams, and relationships that I've lost through the years. I've worked to make peace with those past hurts from people who will never offer an apology, and to forgive myself (my own worst critic) for the mistakes of my past.
I had a wonderful childhood and have a good life. Because of that, I think sometimes it's hard for me to admit that I've ever struggled. Almost as if I'm being ungrateful for what I have, by grieving what I have lost, where I have stumbled.
We don't like pain, so we try to put it behind us as quickly as possible. "Whew, we made it through! Now quick, close that chapter of life and move on to happier times and pretend that it didn't happen." Failing to finish processing what we have gone through (debriefing, if you will) is generally avoided. Yet, the tough times in our lives are as much a part of who we are as the good times. In fact, I would argue that they have made us who we are today.
I am not one to encourage having a victim mentality, or wallowing in self pity. Tough stuff happens and it changes us.
How we respond is what makes the difference in the end.
Because, even in our brokenness, I believe it's possible to fly.
Praise the Lord!
For it is good to sing praises to our God;
For it is pleasant, and praise is beautiful.
The Lord builds up Jerusalem;
He gathers together the outcasts of Israel.
He heals the brokenhearted
And binds up their wounds.
~Psalm 147:1-3
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There is an old saying, "Keeping up with the Joneses." They've even made a movie with that phrase as the title. Growing up, the saying didn't make all that much sense to me. My teenage self would have said, "I mean, what's the big deal? We all just live our lives in our own way. After all, we are all unique, right? Who would ever want to be the same as someone else?"
Aaah, the innocence of youth. As much as we all may try, there are times in all of our lives where we may find ourselves getting caught up in the quest to keep up with society. Even our friends, neighbors, and family can become the 'Joneses' in our lives.
I have found myself on more than one occasion caught in the vicious cycle of trying to keep up. Whether it's trying to be the super single parent, the mom who plans the best birthday parties, the colleague who has everything organized and put together. Posting the best pictures on Facebook. Being the most 'artsy' of artists.
Proving to the world (or at least those who know me) that our family is doing GREAT! I'm doing GREAT! EVERYTHING IS GREAT!!!(Super psycho smiley face implied, hope you caught it.)
Not long ago, Little Man, Baby B and I went to the park with my brother's family, and my mom. While there, I saw a mom with an impressive camera getting pictures of baby's first trip to the park. You could see how excited the mom and dad were. Expectations were high. They were going to capture this first of their precious little girl playing at the playground. That is not a bad thing (although that lens was pretty ginormous cool.)
As I looked at their amazing camera, I thought about our broken digital camera and the fact that I am currently capturing memories on my cell phone. Just like that, they had become the Joneses. It wasn't their fault. There is nothing wrong with having a nice camera when you can afford one. They weren't trying to be flashy or showy. They were just living out their life.
I was the one making myself feel inadequate, and envious. (Gulp.) So much for my youthful spouting off about how "We should all just live our lives!" Are there real 'Joneses' in the world? Absolutely. For some people, every aspect of life is a competition and they are the victors. This time, unfortunately, I was the one that was the problem.
At that moment I thought to myself, "Enough is enough!" The fact of the matter is, there will always be someone who is more-something- that I am not.
While I try to pride myself on my individuality, a small part of me wonders if I should maybe be more athletic, studious, friendly, creative. More motherly, more understanding, more frugal, more patient, you get the picture. I think that many people have the same internal thought process. We act self assured and yet we are always trying to be thinner, smarter, richer, poorer, etc.
Yes, there are those who encourage the competition and suddenly in life becomes a rivalry. (Kind of like the women in this clip from "The Happiest Millionaire"-I love that movie!)
"Yeah, I have given away all of my clothes except for seven items. Seven days of the week, seven items." "I gave my entire income for the year to Feed the Unicorns. They're a really worthwhile organization."
Enough already!
Aiming for self improvement is not the problem. Treating everyone as if we are in a competition, THAT is the problem.
I recycle because its a habit I started a long time ago. I give to organizations that I feel speak to me, and don't worry about what everyone else if doing. I try to eat organic and raise organic foods when I can afford to, but I'm not going to preach to you about the dangers of not eating organic unless you ask. I would love to be like Claire Huxtable (according to one of those FB profile games that is the TV mom that I am most similar to) cool and stylish and always knowing the right thing to say.
In reality, I spend an inordinate amount of time talking to my two year old about the importance of going poop.
I don't know who the original Joneses were, but I know Genesis says that Adam and Eve took a bite of that forbidden fruit because they wanted to have knowledge just like God. It seems the desire to be equal to and/or better than others started a long time ago.
Well, Joneses, I will be taking the next exit out of this crazy town to enjoy my own life. Enjoy the neighborhood without me.
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I am an art teacher and have taught several students through the years that were color blind. The two most common forms of color blindness involve poor discrimination of the colors red and green respectively. In other words, those individuals can't see the colors red and green as well (or at all) as a person normally would. Generally, when someone explains that they are color blind, our automatic response isn't, "That is soooo great! Don't you wish EVERYONE was color blind?"
However, it has been very popular for people to state that they are color blind when referring to their attitudes towards other races. So much so, this one of the definitions of the phrase.
col·or-blind
adjective
1.
unable to distinguish certain colors, or (rarely in humans) any colors at all.
2.
not influenced by racial prejudice.
"a color-blind society"
Honestly, in my younger years, I would have thought calling myself color blind would have been a good thing. If I say that I am color blind, that must mean that I see all races as equal right? So that must be a good thing.
Or is it?
Just as being physically color blind, while not crippling, is not something we celebrate, I have started to feel the same way about being (for lack of a better word) racially color blind. You see, I think that the different races that make up our world are something to be celebrated. Not being influenced by racial prejudice is good, ignoring our uniqueness is not. I find it so interesting to meet and interact with individuals who have backgrounds different than my own. It would be extremely sad for me to live in a world where everyone was of the same racial origin.
While the idea of being color blind is good in theory, for me it feels like we're missing the mark with that statement.
With my own children, ignoring their race would be disregarding a major part of who they are. It would feel like I was saying they weren't important, by not acknowledging that wonderful aspect of them.
My children's heritage is to be celebrated just as much as my heritage or your heritage. Our histories, our origins, our cultures, are an important part of who we are. Our life stories are meant to be rich with color, not devoid of them.
That depth of color, those experiences we share with others, is one of the things that make life so beautiful.
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Those of you who know me, know that I am raising Little Man and Baby B 'on my own.' (Alone, I guess, if you don't count the support structure of carefully vetted friends and family that I have surrounded us with.) According to statistics, the chances for a bright future while having no father may not be as bright for them as for those children being raised in a two parent home. I know that, so please don't feel the need to comment on that fact after reading this post. I will just delete your comment. We plan on ignoring the statistics. Now that we've taken care of that, shall we continue?
It is quite common to hear the term 'motherly' being used. Ironically, we don't use the term 'fatherly' used as often. Think about it, people will often refer to a little girl as acting 'motherly' but when a little boy is acting in a nurturing manner, we don't automatically say that he is acting 'fatherly.'
I think that's too bad.
Boys need to learn about what it means to be a father just as much as girls need to learn what it means to be a mother. Nurturing and supporting others is one of the most important things we can teach a child.
On this Father's Day, I celebrate the father that was part of my for nearly 39 years. If anyone modeled fatherly traits, it was him. The man who worked hard to not only support his family financially, but also took the time to really love his children and his wife. The man who rarely, if ever, raised his voice. Whose life demonstrated what integrity, honesty, and kindness should look like. The man who was a father/mentor/grandfather to many young boys and men through the years. The man who taught Little Man so many of the things a father would have wanted to teach him. Some of those things I thought Dad was showing Little Man at too young of an age. Now I'm thankful for those lessons he gave him.
I celebrate the dads out there who aren't afraid to show their children their silly side. Who aren't afraid to let their kids see them cry. The fathers who are a firm, kind, stabilizing force in their families. Those dads who stay with their families even when things get tough, and scary, and uncomfortable. Who are 'fatherly.'
I celebrate those men who are mentors to the children who have no father around in their life. The men who help the children without dads learn how to treat a woman, and how a woman should be treated. Who are nurturing and supporting without conditions-just out of the goodness of their heart. The men who help balance out the life of these children, whose days are so often filled with only the influence of women. They really need both.
I celebrate my Father in heaven, who promises to be there for the widowed and the orphaned. Who will help me to navigate this thing called parenting. To be there for me when I am aching so to hear my dad's voice (just one more time) as he cracked a lame joke with my son, then winked at me as he waited to see if Little Man had caught it.
For those of you who still have a father here on earth, I pray that he is one that brings you that kind of love and happiness. For those of you who don't have that kind of relationship with your father, my heart aches for you. I pray that there is someone in your life who has filled that void. And, if there isn't, I know there is a God who has been waiting for years to fill the position.
Happy Father's Day.
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Deconstructed food is all the rage these days. The Barefoot Contessa was on today and Ina Garten was making a deconstructed lobster salad. I've seen other shows where they have deconstructed different dishes-everything from strawberry shortcake to chicken kiev to black forest cake. There are even pinterest groups dedicated to the idea. Pretty fancy schmancy stuff from what I've gathered. ☺
Today as I flipped past the deconstructed lobster salad, I was hit with a genius thought. (Hang with me here).
According to one definition of the word deconstuct it means to break down into components;dismantle. Well, I don't know about you but we are super good at breaking things down and dismantling in our house. (Don't mean to brag or anything.) It's just the whole putting things back together part where we struggle.
In fact, we are so good at deconstructing that I am currently hoping to "reconstruct" our home into something that less resembles a home in the early stages of packing up to move.
We all want a clean, beautiful home. But life happens and since we live in our home, that is not always the case. Especially when it's the end of the school year...and you're me.
I recognize that even the top chefs who love created 'deconstructed' dishes do not ONLY make deconstructed masterpieces. Speaking only for myself, I am definitely on a mission to eliminate all of the extra 'stuff' out of our home (I blogged about that quest before), create defined spaces for the stuff, and make the housework more manageable. Frankly, right now we are at one of our low points as far as having things organized and looking presentable.
My main goal for this month is to donate a ton of junk and create concrete parking spots for the stuff that we do keep. Little Man is all in, and Baby B loves putting things away when it's a game. Will there still be days where our house looks a little bit deconstructed? Absolutely! To me, that's how you know you're in a house that people truly live in.
But, if someone pops in for a surprise visit when the house is a mess, I now have a new explanation.
Oh, and if you are planning on stopping by before July, could you give me a couple of hours heads up so that I can shove everything in a closet put away a couple of things? Thanks.
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Little Man had his last day of second grade today. It's crazy to me that he is growing up so fast. He himself will gleefully tell me that he has only eight years (okay 7 1/2) until he can get his drivers license. Yikes. Time is passing too quickly. Way to soon, my kids will be thinking I am just another adult who doesn't know half of what they know. Gone will be the days when I am "funny, cool...the best mom ever."
When I think back to my childhood, some memories stand out more than others. My dad playing practical jokes. My mom dancing with us to records in the living room. Having squirt gun fights with my siblings in the summer (where, inevitably someone would always end up crying).
What will my children remember from their childhood? What things do we do as a family now, that will make them smile looking back years from now (even when they are teenagers and can't admit it out loud)? What words can I give them that they will carry with them and share with their children?
So, I've come up with a plan. Actually, it's been rolling around in my head for a least a couple of months and I finally feel like I the idea has crystallized. Rather than crossing my fingers and hoping for the best, I've decided to be proactive.
They say a picture is worth a thousand words. My goal is to give my children the gift of a visual history of some of those big and small things that we share as a family. Trips, puddle jumping, fishing, taking walks, etc. Memories fade, but photos can be a nice reminder. I plan on recording some of my thoughts for them as well. Written accounts of things that they've said, or moments that were precious to me. Similar to the adventure book that was in the movie "Up".
I started the project June 1st, and will periodically post my photos on Instagram, Twitter, and here on the blog. Will I finish the project over the summer? Probably not. But I'm determined to leave a visual legacy for my kids to reinforce the lessons and memories we will be sharing along the road of life.
Who would like to join me? If you would like to share a moment from your own family story, you can share it on my Facebook page, or you can find me on Twitter: @JustMamaBea.
Remember..."Adventure is out there!"
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