Monthly Archives: January 2014

Putting Myself in Her Shoes

The girlshoes

scratch.
scratch.
scratch.
Covering every little spot with pink. There’s noise buzzing beside my head… loud, annoying. I hold my marker tighter. Lean closer, closer, closer. My nose is filled with the sting of ink.
scratch.
scratch.
scratch.
Out of nowhere, a hot weight on my back. The buzzing is Louder than ever…
“itstimetogoweregonnabelateitoldyoutogositonthepottyareyouevenlisteningtomeCOMEON…”

I look up into my Mom’s eyes, wanting to show her my picture. It’s almost done. Looking back I see a stripe of white along the edge. Not right. Not right at all. Needs more pink.
scratch.
scr…

HEY! Where’s my marker?

Her face is right next to mine. Her mad face. Buzzing again. With a pink marker in her hand. MY pink marker. MINE.

“NOOOOOOOOOOOO!” Mad. This is my mad face.

The world moves under me… my chair pulled away from the table. Away from my paper. Away from the white spots I haven’t finished. Not right. Not right at all.

I reach for it.

There she is again. “It’s. TIME. to. go.”

I’m catapulted onto my feet, a big, warm hand wrapped around mine.

We’re going somewhere?
Now?
Right now?
Why didn’t anyone tell me?

So here’s us, where life moves too fast and the girl just won’t be rushed.

For those who are new to the blog, our 9-year-old is navigating Down Syndrome, a hint of OCD and, being-her-mother’s-daughter. She’s joy and charm and mischievous giggles. She’s also the reason we’re almost always late.

This is my entry for the
Wordpress Weekly Writing Challenge: Leave Your Shoes at the Door
“consider things from a different point of view…
walk a mile in someone [else]’s shoes.”

http://dailypost.wordpress.com/2014/01/27/writing-challenge-shoes/


The Grass on the Other Side

It’s one of those subject lines that grabs you by the throat. Time slowed as my mouse hovered over “Baby Died.”

I didn’t breathe at all until I realized it wasn’t my friend’s baby. Except, it sort of was. One of the babies she works with in a Ugandan orphanage. Not family, as are the 7 dependants she claims on tax forms, but close to it, when you know her heart and her view of the world.

As I read about her many kids, her son’s broken arm, the challenges of life in Africa and her husband’s upcoming trip, I couldn’t help but feel small. Small in my scope and my reach and the type of things that seem SO overwhelming to me right now.
grass

I pulled up my calendar in Outlook, adding “letter to Cher” to my task list when the words “Nicaragua trip” caught my eye. I realized that it’s almost time for 32 local high school students to put the rubber of global education to the road of real life experience, working with families living, literally, in a garbage dump in Central America.

Since trips to the grocery store down the street take monumental effort for our family, it seems inconceivable that my friend Ginny and her husband manage to not only plan and lead this annual trip, but build an international aid organization and spend summers exploring Europe with their children. Before reaching double digits, their girls have seen and experienced more of the world than most adults. Extraordinary. Adventurous. So beyond our reach.

It should be a good thing, to be trusted with someone else’s story, a much needed gift of perspective. Instead, too often, I let the comparisons steal from me. Spiriting away my confidence and contentment, making my stories seem less important to my own eyes.

Sighing, I scrolled through the rest of my emails, perking up to see an email from a new friend – one of my English professors. I had been thrilled to connect beyond the classroom and honoured to act as a sounding board for her upcoming blog. Not only does she have a depth of experience as a mentor and academic, she’s already a published author. That she also happens to be stylish, beautiful and eloquent only reinforced my belief that her life must be glamorous.

I braced myself for another dose of envy and insecurity. Somewhere along the way, I cast myself as the frumpy housewife inching towards an undergrad degree at an absurdly glacial pace. But that’s not who she sees.

Our paths have been very different. As she put it, we are “opposite ends of the contemporary women’s spectrum,” yet somehow, kindred spirits.

She sent me a draft she’d written for the new blog about our unexpected, providential friendship. I am the other side of that mirror for her, just as she is for me… a glimpse down the road not taken. Reading it, I was reminded that her life, so glamorous to my eyes, has actually been a hard-fought, often scary journey. But she wouldn’t trade it for anything.

That much we have in common.

I don’t regret my journey. I don’t regret my destination. Even though I caught vomit in my bare hands twice yesterday. Even though I haven’t had 4 consecutive hours of sleep since Thursday. Even though I throw embarrassing, self indulgent pity parties for the whole internet to see. Even though I’m not a saint, or a world traveller, or a ‘real’ writer.

(Yet)

I won’t let comparison steal anymore from me today. I am surrounded by exceptional women with challenging, complex, beautiful stories. Not molds I must pour myself into. Not scales to weigh myself against. Not competition.

Friends.

The grass on our side of the fence is a unique strain. It might not spread as far and wide as some… it might not grow as tall or as quickly or as easily… but it’s home. When I stop filtering my life through everyone else’s story, this messy, noisy, beautiful life comes back into focus. And it’s good – hard, but good. And I can appreciate the view into other lives all the more.

So here’s me, in the ongoing battle to just be. Thank God for my story. And yours.

Breathe.


On Any Given Lunch-hour

Three little toes curl over the edge of the table. Flexing his entire body he catapults himself, his booster and his chair across the floor. “NOOOOOOOO!!!”

Today is a blueberry day. NOT a leftover mac ‘n cheese day.

Big sister disagrees. Pushing her bowl of blueberries disdainfully to the side. The boy eyes them from across the table.

“Look! Ketchup on noodles!” I say, in my best infomercial voice.

She nods enthusiastically.

I grin widely, flourishing his toddler-sized fork… demonstration bite. A lesser woman would have spit the lukewarm, congealed horror onto the floor immediately. I maintain the smile, tactfully depositing it into my napkin.

Blueberries it is.

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For Word Press Weekly Writing Challenge: Lunch Posts – simple, short, descriptive.

So here’s us, at lunchtime.


Gift Wrapped Courage

I love getting compliments.

I hate getting compliments.

I have a complicated love-hate relationship with compliments.

encouragement

Ditto for accepting help. Even help I really need from people who really love me. Especially help I really need.

I’m not sure if it’s tied to insecurity, pride, or the constant suspicion that I’m just pretending to be a well-adjusted adult. So when you say something nice to me, or when you do something nice for me, I feel guilty for being such a fraud.

Because sometimes I yell at my kids. And buy myself a bag of candy I don’t need, which I then hide and don’t share with anyone. Because sometimes I roll my eyes when I should nod my head. And I really can’t stand Christian radio, at all, but I like listening to Eminem. Because sometimes I ignore my husband and the housework and homework and exercise when I know it’ll just make everything worse. And the other day I threw something across the room when the vacuum broke, right after giving my daughter a lecture about watching her temper, and I didn’t even feel bad about it.

But sometimes, I don’t do the lazy, selfish, short-sighted thing. And I actually get it right.

While all those nice things that you’ve done and said (and I’ve had a lot lately) might be hard to swallow at first, after I’ve had time to digest awhile, they nourish my best self. They make me stronger. Strong enough to do better. Strong enough to believe that I really am the better person you see. That maybe the real me, the me God designed me to be and is helping me become, is patient and loving and wise, and okay… imperfect, but totally cool enough to pull it off anyway.

So here’s my thanks to all the encouragers in my life; sometimes I’m uncomfortable in the face of your generosity and kindness, both the words and deeds, but you make me strong and I couldn’t do without you.

This is my contribution to the writing flash mob at lisajobaker.com on: Encouragement

5minutefriday1. Write for 5 minutes flat – no editing, no over thinking, no backtracking.

2. Link back here and invite others to join in.

3. And then absolutely, no ifs, ands or buts about it, you need to visit the person who linked up before you & encourage them in their comments.

– See more at: http://lisajobaker.com/#sthash.RuQmJjtj.dpuf


Do You See What I See?

When you were born you could barely see. Your world was indistinct shapes and startling sounds. And it was yours. The entire world, yours for the demanding and needing and the taking. Babies are like that.

As you grew, your sight expanded also. It was still your world and you could see better than your old mom with her increasing prescription. As accurate as your vision was, you couldn’t see the world clearly yet. Children never can.

You see, that’s my job, teaching you to see the world. As it really is, not the airbrushed, politically palatable con that Madison Avenue pushes. As it should be and can be, not the complacent, self-absorbed placebo of sitcom reality.eye

SEE – the beauty, the profound, hiding under layers of normal everyday.

SEE – the potential, the promise, masquerading as family members, friends and strangers.

SEE – the brilliance, the inspiration, calling you to reach beyond safe and easy and boring.

Every time I look at you, that’s what I see.

So here’s my Five Minute Friday contribution. As you might guess, the prompt is: See.

Here’s how this writing flash mob at lisajobaker.com works:

5minutefriday1. Write for 5 minutes flat – no editing, no over thinking, no backtracking.

2. Link back here and invite others to join in.

3. And then absolutely, no ifs, ands or buts about it, you need to visit the person who linked up before you & encourage them in their comments.

– See more at: http://lisajobaker.com/#sthash.RuQmJjtj.dpuf


The No-Fail Resolution

I am a woman of many words. Just ask my husband.

Usually this is a good thing, my ability to smooth out the awkward in conversations, to fill the page as a student, and to speak publicly with ease. But it can become a burden. I’m not just a talker you see, I’m a planner and a perfectionist.

New Year is like Mardi Gras for my type. We’re good at it.

We enumerate countless flaws and faults which NEED to be addressed immediately. We craft a lengthy list of high-minded goals and measurable outcomes. We paint a grand and glorious vision of our future (and yours).

In the beginning, this seems so productive, so motivational. In the beginning, it fills me with energy and hope. In the beginning, those words are perfect. And for a few brief moments, so am I.

Until I’m not.

The weight of all the words begins to drag me down. By mid-January my new expectations and obligations stop pointing the way and start pointing their fingers. Enter frustration, self loathing and complete surrender. In the long run, resolutions have done more harm than good for me.

New Year’s resolutions are like heroine for my type: thrilling, addictive and horribly self destructive.

A few years ago I discovered One Word 365. Participants choose a single word to represent the year to come. It is more of a mantra than a goal. A touchstone to focus, guide, and comfort on the journey.

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I still want to do all the things, to learn all the lessons, to make all the changes, to reach all the goals… but I don’t perform better under pressure, I perform worse.

In 2012 I traded my laundry list of resolutions in for the word “Dream” – a word I disliked at the time, but felt compelled to choose. That year I learned to take risks, to embrace creativity and to see hope and blessing when life was overwhelming. So many dreams came true that year, ones I had all but given up on.

2013 was the year of “Today.” I’m not sure I would have survived without this focus. It was the most overwhelming and challenging year of our lives for a number of reasons, which were exacerbated by ongoing lack of sleep. Jesus said that “each day has enough trouble of its own;” in 2013 it also had just enough joy, help and energy to get us through. Barely.

I’ve been praying, talking to friends, and weighing my options this year. “Sleep” seems unreasonably optimistic. “Write” appeals to me, but would undoubtedly become another guilty burden when we downshift into survival mode. Glen thought I meant “Right,” exclaimed he wasn’t surprised and had a good laugh at my expense.

Instead, my One Word 2014 is:

breathe

When I’m overwhelmed, reacting with emotion and outrage and the fearful certainty that this small frustration is the first domino in the complete breakdown of civilization as we know it… Breathe.

When life is happening all around me, precious memories coalescing before my eyes and the treasures of this unique moment hang heavy in the air… Breathe.

When I lock my keys in the car, run out of gas, lose the entire paper I JUST finished writing, publically embarrass myself (because, let’s face it, this stuff ALWAYS happens to me)… Breathe.

When I pray, when I dream, when I speak thoughts into words, when I need to expunge the poison and inhale the good… Breathe.

When I don’t have time for conscious prayer or true meditation, when I am drowning in my many words, when I need a physical reminder of my spiritual goal… Breathe.

So here’s my resolution. Barring death, I can’t possibly fail this year. What’s yours? If you had to pick one word for the entire year, what would it be?