Riders of the Storm

It's another stormy summer evening.  Summer storms are delicious, except when they wreck and ruin your prize umbrella which in turn caused you to shed tears more than once; they crop up quickly, beautiful and powerful, and they bring a restlessness to my soul. I want to watch and listen, hear and see, but instinctively, I want to chase it. I want to harness those lights and create beautiful things, I want to feel the excitement and rage of thunder, well, I could wax poetic but basically I want to go on a rampage like the game "Rampage" that I played in 1988.  Nom, nom, eat some people out of the buildings.  Slam, slam, crush it and destroy it.

I imagine the possibility of riding a storm. High on the clouds, like a chariot, running the sky and unleashing the soul.  Storms give me a raw, untamed feeling and it's like I know I've met my match.

I can't tell you the number of times I have heard that I am "too upright" and I should "loosen up." "Don't hold your tongue." "Speak your mind." "Relax and enjoy."

You know what I think?

The storm is who I am.  I am instinctive, reactive, strong willed, passionate and you will not beat me back. Even when I have lost, I will fight.  I will do battle long after I have been told to quit.

Remember that firework I was telling you about?

The firework lights up a summer night.

A storm ravages it.

With the help of Jesus, perhaps I'm somewhere in the middle.  Along the way I am still learning to temper...

But on a hot, humid summer night, I want to unleash the soul and light up the rain.

Raw. Powerful. Beautiful. The words and emotions that would swirl and blow through the trees as the thunder answers back.

I am a storm contained in a pair of size two shoes.  I am lucky enough to be loved by a few good people anyway.

The Death of Aloe

I have an aloe plant.  I got it for more than one reason, but mainly as a living decoration that seemed to brighten and cheer up the space.  It didn't require dusting as an object would, which in my house, frankly, if you are an object that needs dusting you might as well hang up your hat; so, it doesn't require dusting and it doesn't require much water, and it always brings a smile to my face when I am at the sink.

This week as I was checking on my aloe friend, I reached out to touch one of the new shoots and the entire plant fell into my hand. I was rather bummed at the turn of events but brought the pot into the kitchen and disposed of the plant.  Moments later as I was preparing dinner, my son drops through and says, "Ahh, so you found out about the aloe plant, huh?" and he continued on his way.

Let's take pause right here.  Basically this is all you need to know about parenting.

Everything eventually comes to light.  Maybe in 47 years or 47 minutes.

I followed him and inquired about my beautiful, still green but dead, friend.  "You knew the plant was dead and you just propped it up and left it there?"  "Yeah, sure, I just didn't know what to do with it, so I tried to rebury it."

I think this is not unique in life.  I encounter death more than I am willing to acknowledge or admit. It comes in many forms: relational, spiritual, physical, mental.  I am quick to either 1)ignore it or 2) prop it up a bit and assume it will hold.  Sometimes death occurs at such a long and slow pace I am not even aware it has happened.  When was the last time I opened my Bible?  When was the last time I cleared my calendar for a friend?   Now, I really wanted to phone a friend before I typed more so I would be good there but isn't that exactly a "prop it up" scenario?  That certainly doesn't fix anything, and the trite response lends to an even deeper truth, "if that is my fix, how much does it mean in the first place?"  Motive is important.  I submit that motive is often more important than action.  The numerous people who have heard an empty "I love you," can attest.  Don't say it unless you mean it, right?  We all know that.  If your intent and heart are not fully there than the action and words mean nothing.

My aloe plant is in the garbage.

The flower pot is siting forlornly in the kitchen waiting for me to remove the dirt and begin anew.

I'm letting it sit there.

It is reminding me to more carefully tend what is mine.

Aloe 2.0 will cost less than $5, but what of the value of friendship? What of the value of our physical health?  What of the value of God who has so clearly demonstrated his love for us?

I have consumed three bottles of water today.  You can only gauge the significance of this if you are a personal friend.  I drink very little fluid on any given day and water is the last thing I would choose.  I am making an extremely conscious effort to improve this for my health.

I have not phoned a friend, but I had meaningful conversations with my children and husband.

To Jesus, whom I should surrender all....  I've not had a lot of conversation today.  Spiritual death is the worst and yet the easiest in this life.  We rush and rush doing all sorts of  profitable "busyness" and crash into....nothing.

I'm going to keep the empty flower pot in my kitchen a little longer.

Propped up relationships mean little.

Read that Bible.  Phone a friend.  Oh, and sneak in some sweet tea.  I heard from a friend that water is overrated.

Going Forward

It is a particularly cool summer afternoon after a very hot and humid holiday week.  It feels perfect for retrospect and writing because as you know writers write when they have something to say, and when it's time to talk, you might want to sit a spell and listen.

Have you ever stopped to consider that life is lived in expectation of the future?  I might have always known this and maybe this isn't the first time I have slammed into this realization like a wall.  Nonetheless, I am sitting here with an overwhelming fear of what is next.

If I have lived my entire life going toward something, what starts to happen when the future is the now and nothing seems to lie ahead...?

I grew up.

I got married.

I had babies.

I graduated from college.

I moved from place to place.

I mostly raised my babies.

What then is the next large yet future event?  Death? Yikes.

Death hardly seems like an appropriate topic on such a mild, sun soaked afternoon.

The middle years are tough.  Struggling for purpose, struggling to understand place, letting go, trying to retain beauty, and all the while hoping you appear successful.  Can I share a small secret?  I feel like I am fading.  A life probably doesn't shine from start to finish - there are moments of brilliance and glory and there are patches and pieces of hum.  I am in the right place at the right time; I still feel that way; but, I long to see down the road just a fair piece.

Are my big moments all gone?  Are pictures and frozen snapshots of time all that remain of a life lived in pursuit of the next?

I don't want to find myself emptynesting and lost.  And, yet, I know that is absolutely, exactly what I will be.  I will be sad, empty, joyful, exhausted. And lost.  (One can only hope I will also feel a measure of success in the launching of my children.)

The middle years are so busy that parents, particularly mother's, neglect to plan for what happens next.  Will I just be staying in the same job? Will I move?  Will I dust off a goal or two? I'm afraid as I sit here in an empty house with let-down-post-holiday-gathering blues.  Is this what the future looks like?

I can't see down the road a fair piece. But I already have a feeling that the path is not straight and as perfect as I could write it to be. It will rise and drop sharply. It will be filled with pain.  It will be covered with rain and clouds and strewn with the most beautiful red, yellow and pink memories.   I will struggle to find my identity as it winds.  I will need more love and understanding than has heretofore been necessary, for living vicariously through life events will become a thing of the past.

You hope when you reach the middle that you have made some friends that will carry you through this part of the journey.  Good, solid friends.  The ones that know the stories.

I hope they're here. 

Because I'm afraid of the middle.

Sparks

I'd like to speak with eloquence today but I'm not certain it is possible.

I'm coming full circle in the rotation that showcases one of my greatest strengths is also the greatest weakness that leads to the slow bleed out of the body.

I am a firework.  Have I ever told you that?  God intends me for more than that, he built me to sustain and bear the burdens, but, alas, I am a firework.

My colors are bright and brilliant, oh yes, a  beautiful, passionate, ambitious burst of purple, green and blue explodes and shimmers in the night sky.  I burn white hot in pursuit of perfection. To be the fix you need at the right moment.  You need a gap filled, I will fill it.  I am always the right person for the job.  I will take charge and manage and solve and fix.  I will help you make connections.  I will work tirelessly to bring people together. I will singlehandedly solve world peace.  I have passion and zeal that I rarely see mirrored in others.

And I think that is a good thing. 

Because my strength is my greatest weakness.

June kicked my butt.  It took every ounce of strength and focus I had to give and left me crying and bleeding.  My life is pouring out of me as I speak.  My body is broken and exhausted, rather than sleeping my brain is going at 200% thinking of all the things that my body simply refuses to do in preparation for my incoming company.

Perhaps my spark is brilliant and beautiful, but it is flawed. 

It never met a middle ground that it understood. 

It must go one way or the other.  It sees only black and white.

Moderation. Grey. Tempered.  It cannot see through this lens.

I am really, really good at some things.  Some of these things bring me deep and abiding joy which should be a part of every life.  But a lesson this middle aged firecracker needs to learn is that sometimes it's okay to stay in the box or lay low.  Life can still be full and meaningful in the middle. Ground level fireworks are still hot. They still sputter and burn and glow. 

It's hard to repress that need to be in the sky.  To jump headfirst into the deep end.  To go all in every time.  Moderation seems equivalent to mediocrity and that is one word I hope no one utters at my funeral. 

I must learn though that it is far better to be mediocre than to fall short.  It is far better to spark a little than to race head over heels to the stars and then...nothing.

I want to be purple and green and blue.  I want to be the answer to the question you ask. I want to be the chunk that fits right into the hole of your life. I want....so many things. 

Right now.  I don't have the energy required to make the cup of coffee I'd like to taste.

Dud.

June Musings

This time of year is so incredibly busy. It's hard to keep up.  Anybody else feeling that way? It seems like it should be the slow and easy days of summer but we aren't quite there yet.

Each day I'm racing home from work, late to make dinner, late to get someone somewhere, I pass by a small, quiet cemetery nestled on the corner under tree cover.  It looks serene, which is not at all what I imagine my life appears to be.  Every day as I make the turn like Cruella de Vil hot on the trail of Dalmatian offspring, I see an old man sitting on the seat of his walker, staring at a grave marker.  There is always a somewhat younger woman with him.  Sometimes she is standing off to the side under the shade tree.  Sometimes she holds the umbrella for him. Sometimes she sits next to him in a camp chair.  That's right.  A camp chair. Like they are going to be here for awhile. I believe it too because the the times I pass are quite varied.

His head is often bowed.  And as I have continually observed, my head often is, too.  I think about it.  I think about what has happened in his life.  He has clearly lost someone who meant a great to him.  Maybe a spouse. A child. A friend.

He might, of course, have some extra time on his hands, he might be retired, but his dedication has made an impact on me.  He is mourning. Clearly.  And might I suggest he is doing it well?  The rest of us, we say we have to mourn on the fly, and it's partly true, we do have responsibilities to manage so we tuck any type of grief we encounter away as quickly as it comes. But what if we took some time to visit that wound?  What if we took some time to stare that marker in the face? What if we camped out with it in a deluge holding tightly to a yellow umbrella?  Would we gain some clarity?  Would we find relief?  Would we empty our hearts of the sorrow that strangles our voice?

I do not think my friend comes daily to be tortured.  He comes daily to seek peace, to empty his heart, to speak words or feel silence.  He comes to remember.  He comes to be as close as possible to what he has lost.   Maybe his tears mingle with the rain and water the grass that is now growing there.  But each day I imagine he goes back home grateful that he went.

I do not know this man or his story.  But while it seems like I am deep in the land of the living, I am thinking of deeper things.  Inhaling a deep breath of the summer air.  Listening to the birds.  Whispering words of love.  Eating an extra cookie. Working through some grief.

I've got a few things to tackle.  A few things to work out.  Now is the time.  Each afternoon is an opportunity.

You just never know how or when you might influence someone.  This man will never know the difference he made for me as I just casually observed his goings about.  But each day I now search for him and hope to catch a glimpse of his visit. Cruella has left the building.

He is daily reminding me of the good gifts I have.  I want to embrace and enjoy each one with a full and grateful heart.  For one day it is possible I will be doing the same as he.  And if so, may it be such a positive influence on someone as he has been for me. 

A Worthy Cause

All gave some.  Some gave all.

It's a great tune that talks about sacrifice, ultimately the sacrifice of one's life in benefit to a cause they consider greater, and worthy. 

I'm not certain that my heart was made strong enough for the role I consider most sacred.  It is a ginormous pile of mush.  Just a pile.  I can't do anything with it. I would try to be stoic and cold, the old, ice in-your-veins approach.  But mothering got me like. Emotional gamut.  

I am so in love with these sweet boys of mine.  I enjoy their company; they are very funny.  I want to appropriately listen to all the stories, while making dinner, while mentally checking off the "to-do" list, while thinking about what I forgot to do at work.  But I can't appropriately listen and do all those other things.  They know exactly when I'm not focused, and they take it personally, as they should.  They deserve full attention as I would give to any friend, colleague or boss that was needing to speak with me. More importantly, they need it more.  I'm so in tune with the "El Nino" winds of child rearing. It's changing so much, every day, every hour is picking up speed, and I feel it.  I feel it.

They, them, whoever, the predecessors of 'rents since the dawn of time...they don't tell you.  They don't tell you how it will be.  Like, for example, what it will be like when you have a baby.  They keep all those nasty details hidden.  I needed to know some stuff, peeps, and they, them held out on me.  "No, Dr. OBGYN, I do not have any questions.". Do you know why?  Because I don't know what I don't know.  And, I will tell you now that I would have preferred to know I was going to have to wear Mommy sized pull-ups for days to account for blood loss.  I mean. I feel someone should have told me because I had.no.idea. Mommy and me diapers. It's a thing. 

You know what else they don't tell you.  How difficult it will be to watch your child in pain.  We have had a lot of low points recently. Both of my sons have had a tough few weeks dealing with new situations that involve disappointment and loss.  I want to teach them coping strategies. I want to help them learn how to process emotion, how to work through disappointment.  But I feel like Paul in Romans...what I want to do, I'm not doing.  I am crying.  I am crying for your broken heart. I, too, feel broken. How does a broken person help another broken person?  Maybe all they learn from me is that crying is okay.  That taking some time to feel pain with others strengthens bonds.  That Mom's know the heart of a child.

My heart.  It's a pile of mush.  I have no way to make it strong.  But it beats with love.  A lot of love. For two sweet boys who will be gone too soon. The winds are picking up.  I'm focusing on the faces that I see before me as they ever rise above me.

I think they, them, whoever...  They don't tell everything because you just can't understand until you understand.  You can't know until you know.

Mom's give some. Mom's give all. We lay our lives down in service with full and happy hearts for the exchange in joy, satisfaction, and even pain, is a greater cause.  It is worthwhile.  You often hear that we hate it and we love it and we can't explain it.  It's all true.  It's hard to be needed all the time.  It's hard to find personal space. It's hard to not have guilt about finding some personal space.  It's hard to feel like you wasted a precious chance at Uno because of the personal space.

It's hard.  My body and soul feel like they were not made strong enough for the role.

Maybe that's okay.  Maybe it's okay.

Because maybe they see a lion where I see a broken lamb.

Joy Comes

My dear readers, it has been an unusual day.

This weekend has been so busy and full.  As I got up this morning, with a major NyQuil hangover, I prayed God to give me strength to make it to 1pm.  I just need to be strong until then and I will come home and crash in my bed.  The Lord was good to help me do just that.  I have rested today, large pieces of time in the darkness of dreams.

But before I made it to this haven of rest, at the end of a busy weekend, I encountered a few things that made me emotional.

As I have probably mentioned I lead a team of volunteers at church.  I am experiencing a long term shortage of volunteers which means I am working every Sunday.  This means I wear a name tag 6/7 days per week . I'm always "on." I'm always out there pushing and engaging.  I'm getting so worn down. I'm getting very tired. But can I share how many good things have come to me these past three months?

I pushed my team to participate in a 6k with me, to help build community with each other, and simultaneously help a good cause; we raised funds for digging wells in under privileged places.  I walked 4 miles with one of my volunteers and learned so much about her, her family, her life.  I soaked up all the words that she would share with me.  When we crossed the finish line, I felt so much more than fresh water realized.  Connection. Difference. Impact.  From one heart to another.

Today, another dear volunteer, asked if Ryan and I would have dinner with her and her boyfriend.  I have not had much opportunity to get to know her yet and was fairly surprised at her request.  Absolutely. Yes. Without hesitation or reservation.  She is looking for connection and she chose me.  I was taken aback.  I have been trying so hard to engage and involve my team.  To get them to create community, because when you feel community, you can give community.  Our role on the hospitality team means this is so vital.

Today I was also asked to bring two sweet elderly ladies to church.  I had to juggle a lot of things (ask someone to pick up Aaron from class, leave early, speed my way to the senior residence...) but so touching was it that they were so emotional about being able to attend.  They asked how college was going for me and proclaimed my youth and beauty...I'm delighted they were oblivious to my grey hair and middle aged Mommy wrinkles.  On and on they talked, in heavy accents, about their lives, and.. "Now did you tell me that school is going well and where did you say you come from?"  They want me to come in and meet their baby dogs and see their apartments but for now, mercy, they just aren't feeling so well.  I got hugs and kisses and maybe Bingo and I'll call you soon.

I cried tears on the way home.  It doesn't happen so often these days, but I cried from the joy of a full and wonderful weekend.

Readers. It's working.  I'm so tired.  But it's working.

After six long, long years, the life I have been trying to carve and create...it's coming to fruition.   God is graciously allowing me the opportunity to see places that I am making a positive difference.  As barely functioning as I was this morning,  I felt I am exactly in all the right places at the right time.  This is just where Jesus wants me to be.  In this state, in this city, in this job, in this church...  I don't often feel "the stars are aligned just so" but today I knew it to be true.  My sphere of influence is created.  I know what I am to do.

God gave me the joy of satisfaction and fulfillment.  The "Daughter, you are beloved and worthy, and this is who I have called you to be, this is the role you are meant to play for my kingdom. This is your time in this place and no one else can do what you can do. So shine your light before men..."

I have been waiting such a long, long time to be in this place.  Streams in the desert, indeed.

Our God is so faithful.  He always gives beauty for ashes.  He redeems pain and time and turns it to us again.

Joy comes...when you least expect it.