The Me I am Going to Be.
Posted: July 18, 2012 Filed under: About Childhood, About Family Life, About the Christian Life | Tags: future me, future self, God's Voice, gut instinct, intuition Leave a comment
I was sitting in a circle of meditating women the first time I knowingly met my future self. Future-Me and Current-Me had a short, life-altering conversation that afternoon two years ago, and her answers to a few simple questions have guided almost everything I’ve done since. With relief, I can look back at my growing-up-self, and see that my future self had been with me all along. Although she mostly hovered in the shadows, she’d also inserted herself at key moments in my history to make sure I stayed on the path that leads to her.
I caught a whiff of her this weekend and my heart raced a little bit as I wildly looked around trying to hone in on her location and what brought her to me again. It happens like this for me. I’ll stumble my way through life – cooking meals, shuttling people, running meetings, showing clothes, and then all of the sudden while I am pumping gas, I’ll know she’s there. Sometimes I can’t figure out where she fits into the picture, but other times it’s glaringly obvious. The most recent rendezvous with her seemed pretty mundane. I was standing in a hotel lobby and I turned to introduce my son to some women I barely know. While he was shaking their hands, this random thought raced through my head: I have an awesome son. Boom, the floodgates opened and I was practically crying and holding back the urge to hug him and pour gushy emotional words all over him. He’s a twelve-year-old boy and not really into all that. Perhaps the tiny realization of the gift I’ve received in parenting was what made her show up. It was almost as if she was shouting into a bull horn that only I could hear – This is a moment, Joy, lean into it and grab a piece to hide in your heart. I’m not sure what was special about that particular moment, but I listened to her. I’ve relived it a hundred times since it happened. I can tell you what he was wearing and what the other women said to him and how one of them leaned back out of his view as she mouthed the words “He is so cute.” And how he was placed just to my left, but out of reach and when he finished shaking hands how he nodded and put his hands in his pockets and walked away in that slightly leaning forward manner of his. I have no idea why this whole scenario made such an impression on me, but I’ve learned to listen to the nudge.
I know I risk sounding like a total nut job as I write this. If I named it intuition or gut instinct some of you might be more open to it. It could seem less, well … spiritual. Others would rather I use a language they understand and just listen to the Voice Of God and would be fine if I thought the Holy Spirit spoke to me at times. In all honesty, depending on the circumstances of this strange emotional urgency, I call it all sorts of different things.
A friend of mine was searching for a school for her special needs son. She sat in one after another admission presentations and during one of them she felt inexplicably weepy. She called me that night and said “Either I am about to get my period or I just found the right school for him.”
Perhaps something similar happens to you. You know that thing that helps you out when you are presented with two options and you just know which one to take? No amount of weighing or discussing really leads you to a logical decision, but deep inside the choice is crystal clear. When I experience this, and the answer is obvious, I know it’s because that’s the pick that will lead me closer to the woman I met forty years from now.
Maybe you only sense this phenomenon in a more negative way, like in regret. I feel it there too. When I have that gutty guilty feeling that gnaws at me until I want to throw up. I ask all my friends about what I did and they try to cheer me up and justify the thing I feel terrible about. We all have those days. Anybody would react that way. You are only human. I didn’t notice a thing. You were perfectly in your right. But I know. Deep down, I know that whatever I did or said made me take a step away from my future self. Or from the Holy Spirit. Or from God’s perfect will. Or from the purpose of my life. Or from listening to my intuition.
The sister of one of my friends repeats to her children, “Each day you get to decide what kind of person you will be.” I try to remember that. I have a say in this matter! My favorite Christian author/speaker is John Ortberg from Menlo Park, California. I devoured His book, The Me I Want To Be, because it was like being given permission to be who I already know I am. I try to reach that delicate balance between believing I am the master of my universe and can control everything, and being fatalistic and just letting life wash over me like an ocean wave without taking any responsibility for it. Somewhere in the middle is this idea that I have a course to plot and there really is a way to get there.
After I met my future self, I realized that if God knew me in my mother’s womb, He likely knows me in my seventies as well. If He created me to be who I am, He created who I will become. He probably wants me to follow the path to her as much as I do.
Here’s the thing that is complicated about chasing down my future self. Only God and I have met her. No one else gets those whiffs or emotional reactions when I bump into her. Sometimes the choices I make with my life, my parenting or my career, well, they just don’t look right to those around me. And I have to remember that other people don’t know the me I’m going to be and they have not been charged with the responsibility to get me to her. That’s on me. So, if I have to ignore criticism, endure well intentioned, but unsolicited guidance, or face down peer pressure to scramble my way to her, so be it. I know where I am headed, and there are a million tiny choices that will get me there.
Question for you: Does any of this sound familiar? What name do you give this idea? Can you remember the last time you experienced it?
Expect the Unexpected
Posted: June 18, 2012 Filed under: About Childhood, About Family Life, About the Christian Life | Tags: generosity, gorgeous city, grace, graduation speeches, love, public remarks, san francisco, unexpected 3 Comments
Last week, my fourteen-year-old graduated from the eighth grade with a moving and beautiful ceremony that allowed us to reflect on the previous nine years and a crazy-fun dance party where we celebrated and whooped it up. Lodged right in the middle was a short speech given by one of my dear friends, Gordon Sharafinski. The closing comments he offered at her graduation may have been his last public remarks because he retired a few days later. The internet has been flooded with graduation speeches over the last few weeks, each one more inspiring than the one that pinged my in-box moments before, but the few words my buddy, Gordy, charged my daughter and her friends with are the ones that felt sticky and have been swirling in my mind ever since. By sharing bits of his own story, he encouraged the girls to “expect the unexpected.” He grew up a 10th child in an eleven-kid family in a tiny town in Wisconsin and became a parochial High School English teacher. Due only to many unexpected and surprising twists in his career, he is retiring as the Director of four prestigious independent schools in a city that many people would give their eye teeth to live in, and he gets to enjoy it for all of his days. He wanted the girls to know deep in their souls that his life had not turned out exactly as planned, and it was much better because he had been open to unexpected opportunities along the way.
I glanced at my daughter sitting on stage, hoping she was soaking up his words. She reminds me of myself, full of planning, strategizing, and analyzing. I know she won’t bob numbly through life floating on the waves of trends or friends, but I do wonder if she’ll notice open doors beckoning her if they are not listed on her grand plan. Gordy’s words made me think about how I landed in this gorgeous city and I feel the same way he does: only through strokes of wonder and grace, here I am.
My women’s group was studying “grace” a few years ago and had a loose working definition in our minds: Grace is an unexpected and unearned act of generous love. For homework one week we were looking for examples of grace in everyday life and reporting back what we found. I saw a grace-filled moment while at work. I show racks of gorgeous clothes to women and help them select the pieces that are right for their budget and body. I love my job and enjoy meeting new women through it, but most of the time it’s fairly straightforward and predictable. On this particular night, a woman came very late with her 12-year-old daughter in tow. She quietly shopped and didn’t need much help from me, but she conversed and took pointers from her daughter. When she was finished shopping and ready to pay for her selections she quietly said to her daughter, “Would you like to pick out something for yourself?” The daughter’s face beamed with surprise and gratitude as she rushed over and lifted the multi-colored cardigan she had been subtly stroking the whole evening. Watching this love-filled mother and daughter team, I realized I had fulfilled my homework assignment in noticing a moment of grace.
Gordy was telling my daughter that these kinds of grace-filled moments, the ones we are least expecting to see, actually point us toward the way.
On the last day of eighth grade, my daughter and a gang of friends left school and celebrated their final dismissal at a local burger joint. At the same restaurant sat a long ago friend of mine in a corner booth. My daughter was a little girl the last time she’d seen her and she had one of those moments of shock we all have when time rears up and slaps us across the face. You know what I mean, it happens when the niece we held in our arms becomes a bride, the neighbor we watched toddle across a lawn skates by on a long board and we notice he now has a beard. Our own kids grow so close to our face that it’s like watching water boil, but other children appear to be eating miracle-gro in their cereal. After receiving a message from my old friend, “OMG, I just saw Emma and she is so grown up and tall!” my cell phone rang. My breathless fourteen-year-old was shouting into my ear, “Mom, the weirdest thing just happened! I saw Mrs. Wishner and said hello when we first sat down, and then when we went to pay for our lunch, the manager told us that she had already paid for us. Mom, there are at least ten kids here and she paid for everybody. We need to call her right now. Can you text us her telephone number?” At bedtime that night she told me the story again and we tried to guess reasons why my friend had been so generous, but we came up empty. The only explanation is that she showered my girl and her pals with an unexpected and unearned act of generous love. That’s grace! That’s what my friend Gordy was trying to tell Emma to be on the lookout for. Expect to find grace. Don’t plot your life and assume you can control it all. If you do that, you’ll miss these moments of grace that come storming in.
Last Tuesday, I drove to beautiful Marin, a county just a few miles north of San Francisco, but a completely different climate and, some would say, culture as well, and attended a “Let’s celebrate that school is over Mom’s night out.” Our gracious hostess opened her home, hired valet parkers and delicious caterers and showered heaps of pampering on her girlfriends. I showed up that night thinking that the only gal in the room I would know would be my friend, the hostess. All of the other women there were in the same school community and were celebrating the end of a year spent together. I knew that I could only occupy the hostess for a few minutes and then I’d need to mingle and meet other women. My friend, Stephanie, introduced me to a few gals. “This is my friend, Joy, from the city,” and then I excused myself to free her up. I was standing in line for a drink when a woman started chatting with me. She looked like all the other Marin moms out on the gorgeous deck, perfectly highlighted hair just brushing her sun-kissed shoulders. I was feeling a little city-pasty-pale next to all the gorgeous warm weather gals and honestly wondering why I had come. I’d rather catch up with Stephanie at a lunch for the two of us, and this party just seemed full of people who were already connected to each other. I was beginning to wonder if the rest of the evening would be spent awkwardly trying to enter into conversations between close friends and if I was really up for the job of casual socializing that night. The woman who was talking to me in the drinks line figured out that I was a lone ranger and instead of just ending our chat with the requisite, “Well, nice to meet you,” she said this instead: “Listen, it was great chatting with you and if later in the night you find yourself on your own, please don’t feel awkward just coming and standing next to me. I’ll include you in any group I am standing in.” Seriously, that is exactly what she said to me – totally unexpectedly and full of generosity. I never saw her again that night because it turned out that I knew a whole gang of gals who were over-the-moon to see me and we giggled and caught up and celebrated another year of parenting under our belts. Even though I never had to call in my chit of grace with the beautiful Nicole, I am still thinking about her six days later and soaking up that feeling I get when grace is bestowed. I’m grateful, a little bewildered, and wondering how I got so lucky.
And that is exactly the path those eighth graders were being told to look for, and it’s the path I want to stay on. I want to hunt down grace, and go after those unexpected moments like a momma hunting food for her young. I want to expect that generous love will find me, and I want to bask in the glow of having been chosen for surprising gifts from above. Meeting Nicole, seeing my shopper, Ruth, bless her daughter (named Grace if you can even believe that!) and listening to Emma recount Mrs. Wishner’s generosity were tiny bits dropped into my lap. If I had been going too fast or planning for life down the road, I may have missed them altogether.
When I look back I can see that signs of grace have directed my path the entire time:
Unexpected Mercy, Next Right,
Surprising Love, Up Ahead,
Awe-inspiring Changes, ½ Mile,
T’was grace that brought me safe thus far… and grace will lead me home.
Where has grace shown up in your life?
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Apology 101
Posted: June 12, 2012 Filed under: About Childhood, About Family Life, About the Christian Life | Tags: apologies, apology, apology 101, asking for forgiveness, ears, relationships, saying I'm sorry, showing remorse, the art of apology 5 Comments
I’m a little bit hung up on the subject of apology; just ask my husband.
When I first married Brad, I patiently explained to him that I never wanted to hear, “I’m sorry that you are so upset.” See, I think what that really means is, “I am not sorry for what I did, but I don’t like that you are angry and so, without actually admitting that I did anything wrong, I am having this conversation with you right now in hopes that you will feel better and we can be close again.”
No thanks. You can keep that sort of apology.
I also can’t stand apologies that end in “but.” Like this: I am sorry I treated you that way, but you drove me crazy! To my ears it sounds as if the person saying it still feels right about what she did in the first place and she is using her apology moment to justify her previous behavior and maybe even convince me that I need to apologize for something.
Also, I hate apologies that have the word “if” lodged in the middle: I’m sorry if you are hurt. But you are not sorry if I am not hurt? Puh-lease!
Since I have already outed myself as an apology-peeve, I’ll keep going…
I really hate any obnoxious and aggressive use of the word “sorry.” Well, Sor-reeeeeeeee!!! I think the word should be a bit sacred and I fear we misuse it so often that it loses its impact, especially when we throw it around in mocking, sarcastic ways.
I die a little each time I hear my kids say “I’m sorry” to me in a knee jerk way. Usually they are not sorry, just bewildered, but they feel obligated to make amends. “For what?” I’ll ask, and they have no idea. They just sense I am mad and they desperately want to make things right. (Side note: This always makes me examine how I am treating them and what exasperated tones and sighs I’ve been offering and usually ends with me apologizing to them. This gets them even more confused, but I just can’t have them holding the fault simply because I am not present enough to treat them with respect!)
And then there are the apology forcers… I overheard an adult who had used her authority in a draconian way and wronged a whole slew of kids. They felt emotionally beaten up by her and some other adults called her aside to point out how her harsh words were affecting the kids. She called them all together and said she had overreacted and they probably weren’t as bad as she had initially felt, and then she said “OK? Can we all move on now?” As if she were being put out by their hurt feelings.
A few weeks ago I witnessed one of those awful moments when parents act like children and I actually heard one father say to someone else’s mother – in ear shot of all the little third graders waiting for their turns at the koosh ball game – “F@#k this and F@#k you!” Lots of gasps, dramas, opinions and authorities-marching-over later, he offered to her, “I shouldn’t have taken my frustration out on you.”
I noticed with curiosity that he did not offer a traditional apology. He simply made a truthful statement come out of his mouth that in some round about way connected to the situation.
I think one reason apologies are hard for people is that in any given messy relational situation, it’s usually difficult to figure out who has done the most wrong. A friend was explaining in detail a story of another friendship gone bad: Then I did this and she did this and if at that point she had apologized for that, we could have started over, but then she did this thing and then I went and did this other thing, and now neither will speak to the other and of course I can’t apologize – she should apologize! It’s just never clear-cut, and saying “I’m sorry” feels like you must be willing to take on all the responsibility of a given situation that you know in your gut is simply not all your fault.
When one of my own complicated friendships was swirling the drain, I attempted a Hail Mary and offered up an insincere apology. I tried hard to fake how bad I felt even though I really thought she was the wrong one. I didn’t want to lose the friendship and it seemed headed in that direction unless I figured out a way to intervene. She smirked when I said the words “I am so sorry that I hurt you.” She named all of the people who were peripherally involved in our struggle (whom she’d been keeping up to date on the demise of our relationship) and said she’d only accept my apology if I offered one to all of them as well. I passed and let the relationship die a blessed death. Am guessing I should have saved that initial apology for a time that felt more authentic.
So what is “making an apology” about anyway? Should we say “I’m sorry” even if we aren’t sorry? Do we ever help a relationship when we demand an apology? Who knows? Life is waaaaaay too messy to have clear cut rules about this sort of thing. I think guiding principles are the way to go. Here are just a few of mine on the subject of apology:
1) There are few things sexier to me than a husband who comes to me in humility and tells me he feels remorse about something that he did to me and doesn’t try to explain why, or help me see my part in it at all.
2) I feel safe enough to examine my own heart and motivations when a friend is doing the same thing. When she has the courage to approach me and share her regrets, I am more easily able to do the same thing. I usually have no urge to drive the screws in deeper or keep her at arms length. Because her willingness to be vulnerable shows me she cares for me, I pull her closer into my heart.
3) My relationship with my kids is only strengthened when I refuse to sweep my actions under the rug and instead go to them and admit that I was mean, snarky, critical or mocking. It sucks to say things like that out loud, but it feels so much better to be forgiven for it.
4) If I am ever feeling “owed” an apology, it should make me wonder what in the world the relationship means to me in the first place. If hearing the words “I’m sorry” will make all the difference, I am probably in an unhealthy, power struggling relationship to begin with and I need to leave it or figure out how to begin a new dance with that person.
5) If someone demands an apology, I have two choices. Give it authentically and not make excuses, or be prepared to move on from the relationship.
6) It’s within my right to ask for forgiveness and admit that I feel remorse about my actions. What the other person does with it is pretty much out of my control.
Just after I finished typing this, I had dinner with my twelve-year-old and asked him what he thought about the topic of apology. “It’s what you do when you know you did something wrong and you really want the other person to know that you know you did it and you want them to forgive you because you care about them and you want to stay friends even though you messed up and did the thing you feel sorry for.” Boom, ‘nuff said.
Ok, and then after cleaning up dinner and doing another quick revision and almost pushing the “publish” button, the garage door opened and in walked my fourteen-year-old, just home from a babysitting job. I heated up some dinner for her and we chatted about her day, which had been very long and had included one teensy, tiny, sharp-toned snap at her younger brother.
“What can I do to show him I am sorry?” she asked. Literally, right after I wrote all of the words above she asked me that. I am not lying.
“Just say it like you mean it,” I suggested.
“He’ll just forgive me too fast, and I want him to pay attention and tell me how much it hurt his feelings. I know…. I’ll make him hot chocolate and bring it to his room and that will make him listen to me longer while I tell him how sorry I am.”
Seriously, sometimes these kids appear to be raising themselves!
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The guitar teacher who made a difference.
Posted: May 22, 2012 Filed under: About Childhood, About Family Life | Tags: forty developmental assets for adolescence, guitar lessons in San Francisco, one direction, Patrick Francis, pressure 8 Comments
Yesterday I had a rare moment of clarity. Time slowed down and the audible buzz that seems to accompany all of my movements silenced itself. I could almost feel a repetitive warning, saying this is important, pay attention! This is important, pay attention! pounding in my chest.
After an unusually hectic Sunday morning, I arrived just in the nick of time to my daughter’s end-of-the-semester guitar recital. We do this twice a year and always look forward to it, but this one was special because it was Emma’s last at her current school – she’ll be off to high school in the fall. I watched thirty minutes of tiny Kindergarten bodies barely able to hold their guitars and marked the passing of time by noticing that the fifth graders were getting really confident and attempting more challenging pieces. I’ve enjoyed seeing the same faces on stage and in the audience semester after semester.
Before I knew it, it was Emma’s turn, and her teacher made a little speech before she played. This is when the moment happened. Patrick is a quiet, unassuming and gentle man who’s never flustered. While he was introducing Emma, he fought back tears, covered it by strumming his guitar for a few seconds, and then they moved into her song.
After her performance, she sat down next to me, let her own tears flow and whispered, “I had no idea it was going to be like that. I will miss him so much.”
I just sat there stunned.
When Emma was in the first grade she wanted to learn how to play the guitar, but I insisted she learn the piano. She has long fingers seemingly made to span the keys, and the truth is that I had always regretted quitting piano lessons myself. I quoted a random recommendation I had read that said all musicians needed to start on the piano because it offered a basic knowledge that could then be applied to other instruments. I told her she had to take piano for at least two years. Emma obediently agreed, and off she went each week to a group lesson and eventually to her own private lesson. She did well, but was never passionate about it. When the time came to sign up for the third year, she reminded me of our deal. “You’re quitting?” I asked in astonishment. “No, I am not quitting, I am goal oriented, and taking guitar lessons has always been the goal. Piano was just a way to get there,” the nine-year-old responded.
Through a referral, we found Mr. Patrick Francis to teach her, and he told me how to buy the cheapest, smallest guitar. For the first two years, Emma wanted her younger brother and me in the room with her and Mr. Francis. We’d color, read books and listen in.
Emma has always been a tightly wound achiever-perfectionist sort of person. Mostly, the world has acknowledged that by setting the bar just a little bit higher than she can reach. It feels like well-meaning teachers and coaches are often pushing her to do and be more. I see what they see. She is a creature humming with potential, and they think if they just light the fire hotter, or wring one more accomplishment out of her, they will have harnessed it all. It’s really hard to be that kid, the kid everyone thinks can do anything and smile while she’s doing it.
Mr. Francis took a different approach with her from the beginning. Guitar lessons were her time to relax and explore her passion. They’d listen to Beatles songs on his iPod and then he’d teach her how to strum along. When she was in fourth grade she wanted to learn Dani California, but she didn’t have the confidence to sing along at her recital, so Patrick sang the song while she strummed.
During a particularly stressful time last year, she asked him if she could skip the recital. For weeks she had been worrying about and dreading it. “Of course you can skip it,” he assured her, and they resumed their weekly practices. She never felt she had let him down, or that she hadn’t met an expectation. Patrick’s just that way. He rolls with it, and lets her take the lead.
Patrick moved to Asia for about a year and Emma tried two other guitar teachers. David lasted a few months, and Randy lasted a few weeks, and then she took a hiatus from the instrument. It sat, mostly untouched, in her room and I didn’t mention it. When we received an email from Patrick that he, his wife and new baby were returning to San Francisco and he’d be teaching again if she wanted to continue, Emma’s face was bathed in excitement.
They picked up like they had never been apart.
I’ve been right there watching this relationship, this education and this growth in her, but I never really saw it until yesterday. In a flash, I saw how this man’s influence had offered my daughter a chance to become more of herself. He was able to stop the achievement train in her childhood for just thirty minutes a week. Where other instructors may have been able to squeeze another effort or accomplishment from her, Patrick was able to quietly grow her confidence in herself and her love for the guitar.
In my stunned moment, I saw it all. I saw the fragile-yet-determined little girl lug her guitar into his classroom and sit silently while he tried to figure out what kind of music would spark her interest, and I saw the confident fourteen-year-old comfortably gushing to him about her new favorite band.
But mostly, I saw that where my role ended as a mother, I had been lucky enough to find another adult who agreed to lead my child. She needs more than I can give her, and not just because I can’t teach her guitar. On the list of forty developmental assets for adolescence, number three reads: Other Adult Relationships | Young person receives support from three or more nonparent adults. She needs to see herself reflected from many angles in order to know and discover who she is and decide who she wants to be. In our modern lives filled with busyness, and with family scattered around the country, finding healthy relationships with those “three or more nonparent adults” is tricky to say the least. As I saw Emma and Patrick standing there together, my heart leaked a little. So much is ending for her right now, and so much new is just around the corner. Gratitude was oozing from my soul that Patrick had been a part of what had brought her this far.
I don’t know where Emma will be in ten years, or whether she’ll still love the guitar as much as she does now. It doesn’t really matter. No matter how she turns out, I’ll have some other adults to thank for helping her get there, and Mr. Francis heads the list.
A few weeks ago she brought her iPhone to her lesson and played Patrick songs from her new favorite band. He hadn’t heard of One Direction, but they chose a song for the recital. Below is the video of their final performance. To Patrick: Thank you for investing so much quiet and intentional energy into Emma. Your patience and gentleness were just what she needed to flourish. I hope that people somewhere someday pour bits of themselves into your baby boy. Perhaps then you will know how deeply we appreciate you and what a difference you’ve made.
Lessons Learned
Posted: April 23, 2012 Filed under: About Family Life, About the Christian Life | Tags: anxiety and worry, blame, bullying, five love languages of children, identity, lessons about mothering, motherhood, suffering, unconditional love 7 Comments
When that Mama worry takes ahold of a woman you can’t expect no sense from her. She’ll do or say anything at all and you just better hope you ain’t in her way. That’s the Lord’s doing right there. He made mothers to be like that on account of children need protecting… Helping that child be up to the Mama. But God never gives us a task without giving us the means to see it through.
– Florence’s voice in Mudbound, by Hillary Jordan.
Mothering has offered me many opportunities to grow past the simplistic outlook that life should be easy, and I’ve mostly ignored these moments. I’ve never been able to embrace the idea that hardship brings about blessings, but I hear enough people recite it as truth that I am trying to embrace it. I have seen children, my own included, go through painful seasons of social difficulty and against all odds, come out on the other side, maybe not stronger for it, but strongish.
Often, the only blessing I can see in the face of suffering is the gift of offering empathy to others who will someday walk down the same path of pain. In the spirit of sisterhood, I send these lessons learned out to all the broken hearted mamas who will watch their children suffer under the words and hands of cruel kids. I wish that I was a clinical psychologist or at least understood the social lives of children better, but I don’t. I just know that when kids go through these sorts of rough patches, the watching of it can be very painful on their mothers. (The following list assumes that your child is not being physically harmed, but is enduring verbal teasing, lack of friends, and social isolation.)
Why this happens to some kids, how they spiral and what intangible powers are at work is all still unknown to me. Why and when it stops and turns around also seems unpredictable and random. But here are some lessons I learned that I hope makes traversing the path during this season a little easier.
Lesson #1: Always remember, this too shall pass.
This is the most important lesson, so I’m putting it first. It will not always be this way. This season is not a predictor of things to come. I know your worse case scenario and it’s not pretty. You are imagining him homeless at age twenty-five, wandering the streets with his hands in his pants. I promise you that is not where he is headed. One day in the not-so-distant future you will happen to glance over at him when he doesn’t know you are watching and you will see a bright-eyed, happy, well-adjusted boy who has friends and loves his life. In that moment, it will actually be hard to remember the kid who came home from school each day crying, the one who couldn’t seem to navigate any of the social dilemmas or status-jockeying that seemed to come easily to his peers. (But of course you will remember, because Mamas never forget.) Hear me: he will be joyful again. This is only a season.
Lesson #2: Keep it positive.
As frustrating as it is to see what is happening, try your very best not to pile on. Sometimes it’s so obvious what she is doing wrong and how she is setting herself up to be picked on, but when you start sentences with Oh my God, if you are ever going to have friends, you need to stop doing this, it just feels like more people hating on her. She already knows she is making social mistakes and she doesn’t need your yelling about it. Recognize how deeply disappointed you are that your kid is “like this,” go into your closet and yell and scream at how unfair it is. Leave your disappointment right there in your closet and walk away from it. It’s not doing you or your daughter any good. She is the kid you got and she is the one who needs you right now. That means that when you hear that she fell on the gym floor sobbing when someone called her a retard, you give her a hug and a big smile and you say, I wonder what might have happened if you had stuck your tongue out at her instead of crying? instead of throwing your hands up in the air and shouting How many times have I told you not to cry at school? When she tells you that everyone at recess was in a two person game and there were no three person games so she grabbed the ball and ran away with it to pout in a corner, don’t give a big sigh and say with exasperation, When will you ever learn? Don’t allow her to misinterpret your own frustration with blame.
Lesson #3: Stay away from the bullies and their parents.
Allow yourself to daydream about all the ways you’d like to inflict pain on the mean kids and their clueless parents. Get creative and think up wild scenarios. And then leave them in your daydream and go about your normal life. Do not act on any of them because doing so will make things much worse for your child and you will be modeling retaliation. I know it’s hard to understand this right now, but those mean kids are most likely kids on the receiving end of similar treatment. Likewise, calling the kids’ parents and politely explaining what is happening is tricky terrain. If your intention is to build community and strengthen your friendship with those parents, by all means, make the call. But without those guiding intentions, the call usually ends badly. When you are ready, say a prayer for those kids. The words will likely stick in your throat the first five hundred times you try it, but eventually it will become a habit and will feel good.
Lesson #4: Recognize that your pain is separate from his pain.
This is a tricky one because it comes close to implying that you are making it all up in your head and he is just fine and nothing is really happening. I know you are hearing enough of that kind of thing already, so trust me that I am not going in that direction. But it is very important that you figure out what kinds of things this experience is bringing up in you. Rejection, betrayal, loneliness, shame and disappointment are just a short list of what you are probably dealing with. If you’ve never been to therapy, now is a great time to check in with someone who can guide you toward healing. Your kid needs you to be healthy in this way so you can provide him solid support. If possible, don’t operate from your own well of emotional need. Get yourself together and be crystal clear about what you are feeling as compared to what he is experiencing.
Lesson #5 Cancel your Friday night plans.
I know a million parenting books will remind us that we are called to be Parent not Friend and I usually agree with them. But these are not normal times and you are going to have to take on a new role in her life and it’s called B.F.F. No matter how bored you are with the card game, ping-pong, scrabble, or the Nancy Drew computer game, you play it. I don’t care if you hate watching fantasy or romantic movies, you go with her and act interested while you are there. Never say, Wouldn’t you rather invite someone your age to go with you? If she had that option she would already be calling friends. Pointing it out is just rubbing her face in it and the message you want to convey is this: You are fun to hang out with and your interests, opinions, and comments are fascinating to me. You are all she’s got right now and you need to keep her social and active!
Lesson #6: Don’t be disappointed in your own friends.
They will not understand what you are feeling. They are looking through their own unique lens and simply cannot see or feel what you are experiencing. You will feel let down if you expect them to make any sort of difference. Feel grateful if you find even one friend who will let you vent about it. You probably sound like a broken record, and if even one gal pal has the patience to let you tell your stories over and over again, you are lucky. Let them off the hook! You are alone in this and you are strong enough to handle it.
Lesson #7: Don’t blame!
Yes, kids are being mean and people need to protect your son from it. This season is hard to understand, layered with complexity, and all the players involved — including your sweet child — are flawed human beings. The adults in his life (the teachers, the youth group leader, the coaches) are likely trying very hard to help. Do engage those adults and partner with them to support your family. But leave blame behind.
Lesson #8: Act!
Switch schools, get her into a social skills group, hire a shadow, sign her up for karate lessons, get her evaluated or simply try some new summer camps. Don’t allow yourself to be paralyzed by this. Getting help is not the same as deciding all this is her fault. Sometimes tweaking one small aspect of the equation is all the help she will need, but you won’t know what will help until you try something.
Lesson #9: Show him unconditional love.
I know this sounds obvious, but you’d be surprised to notice all the ways our parenting offers conditional love. Think about how you give a hug or a kiss or an I’m proud of you! when he gets an A, cleans his room or clears the table without being asked, and how often you offer a frown, a sarcastic comment, or a frustrated tone when he disappoints you. All that adds up to a clear understanding of conditional love whether you mean to pass that along or not. Now that he is in trouble, you’ve been given the perfect opportunity to adjust your parenting so that you discipline, guide and well, parent with unconditional love. If the world were writing all the rules right now, he’s falling to the bottom of the food chain and is feeling pretty love starved. You have a chance to make a difference. Show him how loved and valued he is. This season can really stretch our abilities and our emotional bandwidth. Anxiety and worry are exhausting and I am betting they are filling your days and nights. The Five Love Languages of Children might be a great book to get you thinking about creative ways to show unconditional love.
Finally, Lesson #10. Root her identity.
Only you know your value system and what your family culture honors. But consider this: there will always be a better skier, a smarter science major, a tougher basketball player and a more skilled flute player. During this time when she is feeling torn down by her peers, honoring and celebrating her natural gifts is very important. Helping her find her worth outside of these gifts is difficult but much more life-giving. Be careful about the message you send her during this time. When you are tempted to say things like The kids pick on you because they are jealous that you are smarter than they are, choose instead to say, I’m proud of your compassion and how you help people. I hope today gives you an opportunity to help someone. When she graduates from this difficult phase she will be sustained for the long haul if her value is placed in something more eternal than her GPA. Her sense of herself has to come from a deeper place, a place we might call her soul. She needs to know that no matter how others treat her, or how accomplished she becomes, she is known and loved. This is the hardest lesson of all. We live in a pressure-filled, accomplish-driven world. Rising above it to a place of spirituality, surrender, trust and hope is the challenge placed before you.
Mama, you’re going to get through this in one piece and so is your loved child.
Cousin Katie
Posted: March 5, 2012 Filed under: About Family Life, About the Christian Life 1 CommentMy cousin, Katelin, writes a blog called by their strange fruit that examines Christianity’s often bungled relationship with race/racism, and the consequences for modern ministry & enduring injustice. Last week she peeked at joylibby.com while I was pondering ideas about Lent and left such a beautiful comment, I wanted to share it with you. If you’d like to check out Katelin’s writings about race, lots of great interviews, book and movie reviews, guest bloggers and some downright funny stuff, hop on over to her by clicking here. Here’s Katie’s comment….
I really related to this post! I grew up non-liturgical, but have recently been discovering the beauty of the tradition. I went from scoffing at ritual and pomp, to understanding the value of remembering the powerful/holy nature of a timeless God that is worshiped over hundreds of years by a shared heritage and tradition. That isn’t to say that we idolize ritual, but can enjoy the benefit of building good habits in worship as we do in the rest of our lives. At my core, I’m still a non-denom praise-and-worshiper, but have enjoyed the richness that the liturgical calendar can bring.
One year for Lent, I chose to give up my coveting of time. I tended to hoard ‘time’ like a treasure stored in a barn. I would be jealous of others’ time and stingy with giving my own. I was stressed, and frantic and I tried to buy more time in my day. ‘Time’ was my currency, often valued much more highly than money. But did I ever tithe my time? Did I give 2.4 hours every day to God?
So that year for 40 days, I gave up my obsession with time. When I was tempted to freak out about a lack of time in my busy schedule, I reminded myself of my commitment to release those fears to trust in God’s divine schedule. I was scared that I wouldn’t be productive, that I would fall be hind on my ‘to-do’s, but I was amazed at the freeing, life-giving effect it had on me. It was particularly salient the following fall as I entered my last year in college with an understanding of a need to prioritize relationships over ‘time’, which had been placed on a pedestal. Of course, I need to remain responsible with my studies, but made sure to also carve out space to commune completely unproductively with the folks in my life that I would probably never get such a luxury with again. It was one of the smartest things I did in school.
I still struggle with ‘time’ idolatry. I certainly don’t tithe time with nearly the same discipline I tithe money, but the journey continues and it started with one Protestant’s curious exploration of Lent. ‘Giving up worry and replacing it with Trust’–this should probably be the next step for me.
That was a lot I know, but it’s been on my heart lately, and your post stirred it up.
Grasping Ash Wednesday
Posted: February 22, 2012 Filed under: About Childhood, About Family Life, About the Christian Life | Tags: Ash Wednesday, ashes, christian traditions, death of jesus, Jesus, learning about jesus, Lent, meaning of ash wednesday, palms, redemption, religious rituals, resurrection, suffering 5 Comments
I asked my twelve-year-old son at dinner last night to explain to me his grasp of the meaning of Ash Wednesday and Lent. It took him a while to stop asking if he was “right,” and just relax into explaining his understanding of it.
On Ash Wednesday we take the ashes from the burned palms from last year and wear them on our forehead. We spend forty days fasting from something that is bad for us because Jesus spent forty days in the wilderness.
I quickly texted some friends and asked them to ask their children. I was guessing that if I wanted to understand the tradition, I needed to ask the next generation of participants, those who embrace it with hearts wide open.
The ashes are from the palms from last year’s Palm Sunday, and we put them on our head on the first day of lent to remind us that we came from dust.
To me, Lent is a time of preparedness as we prepare to remember the death of Jesus.
We also think about all Jesus has done for us, so we fast and give up things we love in the name of Jesus Christ.
Lent is the time where you get to focus on your spirituality and God, by listening and learning about Jesus’ suffering. If I give up Internet time or junk food I want to do so not just to say “I gave this up” but because I’m inspired to prepare for Easter and better appreciate His suffering not mine.
When I was growing up I heard nothing about Lent or Ash Wednesday and our church didn’t follow the centuries old liturgical calendar. I didn’t know any Catholics except my great-grandmother and she was housebound, so I didn’t witness her religious rituals. Now I understand that many Christian traditions follow the Church calendar. In fact, my own church will be holding an Ash Wednesday service this evening, and one of my favorite Pastors posted a beautiful piece about the day and its meaning.
But my first encounter with Ash Wednesday came only eight years ago. I was scheduled to speak at an elementary school on the topic of “Passing on Faith to your Children.” A large group of mothers showed up, and just across the hall from our meeting room was a chapel where many of their sons would be celebrating a service for Ash Wednesday a little while after our own meeting had begun. After a few minutes of warm up, I dove into my notes about the ultimate importance of modeling and connecting with our children with whatever faith we held. As I spoke of the value our children receive from watching us, most of those moms flew out of their chairs and raced across the hall to join their boys in receiving ashes. It was affirming to know that my words had inspired them, but I learned about double checking dates and conflicts before organizing an event like that!
Today, I have loads of friends who participate in Lent and for a few years I watched from afar. We moved our lunch dates around so we they wouldn’t be tempted by a chicken burrito on Fridays and I supported their chocolate fasts.
Two years ago I began writing spiritual reflections on Scriptural passages as they were calendared in the Catholic Church liturgical calendar. I learned that every day of the year all Catholic priests speak from the same set of scriptures. Each week I would read the passage designated for a particular Sunday and attempt to write a thoughtful response. By living inside this organized rhythm of Scripture, I began to see how the cycle of the yearly calendar led me through many important stories and passages to see the Bible for what it can be: a narrative of God’s love for us.
In my role, I wrote only about the specific Gospel readings (ya know, the Scriptures that come from Matthew, Mark, Luke and John and mostly tell stories about the life of Jesus), but there are actually four or five scriptures combined for each day that always include an Old Testament passage, a Psalm as well as something from the Epistles. If a person attends Mass every day for three years straight she will likely hear a sermon from every piece of the Bible. And if a person wanted to organize herself for daily reading, she could click here.
If you attend Catholic mass (or any other denomination that follows the liturgical reading schedule) on Sundays during Lent you will hear two familiar stories: Jesus fasting in the desert and winning the fight with temptation, and Jesus taking Peter, James and John up to the mountain top. I wrote about those stories during Lent last year, and appreciate that the calendar has circled us back to them. This year you’ll also hear about Jesus cleansing the Temple, the famous John 3:16 that you’ve seen on posters at football games, the Kingdom principle of giving up your own life for Jesus and gaining it back, and finally on Palm Sunday you’ll hear about the woman with the alabaster box. Temptation, Ecstasy, Righteous Anger, Love, Self-denial, and finally, Humility. Seriously, the 2012 Lenten season is packed with good stuff!
Last year about this time, I was deep in pain in my mama’s heart. I was alienating people around me with my constant worry and stress and I was beginning to feel crazy. I couldn’t sleep well and I certainly wasn’t thinking clearly. Along came Ash Wednesday and I decided to participate. I gave up worry and tried to replace it with trust. It was the single biggest game changer of my 2011, although one friend encouraged me to pick something easier for my first try, like chewing gum. Every time my stomach began to roll and the obsessive thoughts entered, I had a reason to ignore them. I would close my eyes and take a deep breath and imagine trust flowing in through my nostrils and down into my lungs and flowing to every part of my body, pushing out the stress. There simply was no room left for it.
So perhaps my son was right that Lent is about giving up something bad for us. Or maybe the other kid is right that we must give up something we love.
I am reminded of the story of the blind men touching an elephant and trying to describe what it looks like. Each was feeling a different part – the smooth tusk, the wrinkled skin, the rough and sharp toenail. Each was right, but none was grasping the whole picture.
Maybe the whole picture is too big to see. Perhaps some years I need to learn that in the end I am nothing but dust and other years I need to know that my celebrations from last year will end in ashes this year. Sometimes I need to fast in a way that pains me and other times I need to fast in a way that saves me. Some years it’s a stretch for me to get over my petty self and connect with His suffering.
But each year, I probably could use the forty-day reminder that redemption is on the horizon. Resurrection is bigger than differences in tradition, worries in my heart, grasps of understanding, chocolate and chewing gum. Alleluia, He is Risen will ring in my ears soon.
Valentine’s Day: Whatev….
Posted: February 14, 2012 Filed under: About Childhood, About Family Life | Tags: dating, february, grand gesture, love, Marriage, michael bolton, stable man, Valentine's day 4 Comments
If I write one more blog post about marriage or love I think even I will throw up in my own mouth a little bit. Seriously, enough already! It gets to be nauseating listening to someone pontificate about love. But, tomorrow is Valentine’s day, so I think I have one more gushy post in me and then I promise I will stop.
Am planning to spend VD with a bestie girlfriend and my favorite son. We’re going to cook, chat and have a great time. I’ll miss my husband a teensy bit, but no more than I would on any given Tuesday night. He’s not the grand gesture kind of guy, he’s more the I-love-you-today-and-I’ll-love-you-again-the-same-amount-and-with-the-same-devotion-and-stability-tomorrow type. He’s definitely the kind you marry.
This week I came across an essay I wrote a while ago about love. At the time, I was working on a book idea that explored each month of the year through the eyes of a spiritual seeker-mother-wife-modern woman. Some day I may gather up all those months and do something with them, but for today, in honor of Valentine’s Day and as a tribute to my dear stable man, I offer you “February.”
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February is the month that always shines bright red in my mind. Surely this must be because I’ve had years of Hallmark marketing overloading me with images of cupids, shiny doily hearts, red roses and chocolate boxes tied with a red bow. But in my mind, each month brings a new color and February is definitely all painted in red.
The subject of February might seem obvious, it’s Love. Right now I am humming that popular Michael Bolton song Love is a wonderful thing. This song was released when I was eighteen years old and in the throes of discovering what love can be. The song says, well, obviously that it’s a wonderful thing, but also that it will make ya smile through the pouring rain, Turn your world into one sweet dream, and finally it promises that it will take your heart and make it sing.
It’s raining as I type and I can hear the drops pounding above me on the skylight and at least for this morning, I am very sick of the rain this season. It seems like it has appeared too often, stayed too long, and given us all cabin fever. I am still smiling, however. Is it love that is making me smile through the pouring rain?
In February falls a holiday that has caused way more grief for men and women than it has ever helped: The dreaded Valentine’s Day. I remember some doozies from my dating days, particularly from teenage years.
One boy bought me a white fluffy teddy bear, which I pretended to find thrilling and then I heard his father whisper to him, “See I told you she’d like it; they all love teddy bears.” But inside I wanted to scream But I am not five years old! Another boyfriend and I had a very intellectual discussion about Valentine’s Day and I shared my thoughts that couples should find ways to make each other feel loved and special regardless of the date. I told him that I found Valentine’s Day to be a pitiful excuse to lavish material things onto a relationship and call it cared for. I told him about an older couple I knew who had been married for thirty years who ignored Valentine’s Day altogether and instead had a little basket in their bedroom where they would each place gifts for the other. They upheld this ritual just here and there throughout the year. She baked shortbread cookies for him and put them in there; he purchased her new sewing scissors and she was excited. My boyfriend agreed with the philosophy and therefore did nothing on the big day, and of course…. I was crushed.
Finally, one of my favorite boyfriends, a real sweetie… [to keep reading about love, click here…
For better or for worse, for richer, for poorer, in sickness and in health…
Posted: February 10, 2012 Filed under: About Family Life | Tags: commitment, love, Marriage, vows 4 Comments
Last week I posted a little rant about trust within a very traditional, almost old-fashioned model of marriage: Husband works; wife stays home and raises children. Woman trusts man not to desert her and leave her penniless. Very 1950s housewife stuff, ya know?
But I’m not naïve or simplistic and I get that there are a zillion different ways to run a marriage. Long gone are the days when women have few choices and must follow strictly prescribed paths. We’ve all had to figure out for ourselves what feels right at the end of each day and how to hold conflicting desires within the same heart. But the traditional path is how it’s gone for me.
I look around at all the women I see each week. They appear assured and so very much put together. They wife, mother and work with confidence and seem to be aware of the gifts they bring to the world. I assume they’ve made peace with their choices and sleep soundly each night. So it was quite a surprise last week to discover that the trust post had touched a few raw nerves when it exposed the vulnerability I live with.
Under cover of private email or whispers during chance encounters at kids’ sports games and volunteering events, here is what I heard:
I can’t relate to that kind of trust. I’ve kept separate money from him for all twenty years we’ve been together.
Marriages fall apart at either the seven or twenty year mark. At least that’s what happened to me.
I’m re-thinking my philanthropic obligations. I think I should be working instead of spending my time volunteering.
My husband slept with a secretary at work. Now she is suing him for sexual harassment, putting us in financial ruin as we contemplate what to do with our failed marriage.
I opened a savings account so this wouldn’t happen to me.
I work even though I want to be home with my children. We don’t need my income right now, but I am afraid to give up my stake.
I wish I were employable. Every day I wake up and feel anxious that I couldn’t get a good job if I need to.
I haven’t stopped crying since I read about trust. I haven’t trusted him in years.
I spoke with one friend whose husband is sick and is probably going to go to his eternal home before either of them is ready. She talked about how he trusts her to love him even though neither of them ever wanted this. Their trust is focusing on the in sickness and in health moment we all want to avoid. Although their marriage hasn’t always been bursts of sunshine, the connection they are experiencing now is restoring some of what they missed with each other in healthy times.
Then I received a note from a stranger. Brett turned the tables on the discussion a bit. Click here to scroll down and read Brett’s entire message to me. He got my attention really quickly when he wrote “as the main breadwinner in our household, I implore you to note that I (we husbands) put the same trust in our wives.”
Brett described what the last few years of economic downturn has meant for his family. If he’s like many men I know, his identity was likely rooted firmly in his role of provider and his wife enjoyed the benefits of his focus and drive. When the world turned upside down and he could not offer that same level of financial support, she had a choice to make. He wanted us to know that our men depend on us to love them and stick by them even when they cannot provide for us. You know, the for richer or poorer part of what we said.
Trust makes its way into every relationship, no matter who works, who stays home, whether you have children or brought a trust fund into the marriage. None of us have any guarantees of how it will all turn out and all we can work with is the information we have on hand right now.
I’ve thought about Brett over the last few days and about my own amazing man. Even though I enjoy the life his income provides me, he is the one I love. It drives home for me what I already knew: At the end of each day, I don’t want his job or his paycheck in bed with me, I want him. When each of us is able to avoid placing our value in what we offer each other, we are able to be more real and connected. And when health or wealth leaves us, we aren’t left with nothing; we are left with our love for each other.
Today, through tears a friend asked, Isn’t it enough just to give him my heart? Really, at the end of the day, is there anything else we can give?
Trust.
Posted: January 31, 2012 Filed under: About Family Life | Tags: alimony, child-support, divorce, Katy Read, Lysa Terkeurst, Marriage, mothering, trust, tying the knot 14 Comments
Last night, I walked into my bedroom and announced to my husband, Tomorrow I will blog about marriage. He stared at me for a moment, blinked and then asked incredulously, Our marriage?
Not only is he uber private and uncomfortable with my sharing our stuff to anyone who will read it, I think he was also trying to think up a nice way to say, You? You’re going to write about marriage?
Truth is, I mostly suck at being a wife. Just this morning I actually yelled Shut Up! to him. That was unnecessarily mean, he replied. And he was right. And that was just a regular morning, without a lot of drama attached to it. So, no, I’m not writing because I hope to inspire anyone with my wife-ing.
I tried to explain to him what I wanted to say about marriage, but I got a bit tongue tied and flustered. I don’t want to tell the whole world how great ours is, or even try to talk other people into tying the knot themselves. I’ve just been reading so many beautiful blogs about marriage lately (here’s one from Lysa, one from Sarah, and finally one from Amber), but in my real life, tons of couples around me are still struggling to figure it out. It seems like marriage is messy and needs to be nurtured constantly.
Marriage also has been on my mind recently because a few weeks ago one of my favorite girlfriends got left in the lurch by her husband of seventeen years. Although I’ve had plenty of friends get divorced or go through rough patches, this is one situation that has hit closest to home. It’s the one that made me say, omg, if it could happen to them, it could happen to us! Our stories are similar: Two high-achieving men married two talented, gorgeous, vivacious young women who birthed them beautiful babies. With great gusto we gals poured ourselves into motherhood and raising children who feel good about themselves. We completely ignored the corporate world around us and trusted those men with our very souls to take care of their families to the best of their ability. This allowed them to pursue, travel, climb and achieve. Yeah, maybe the bearing of power, responsibility, accountability and stress was not always fair and balanced. Some of us hoarded the veto power on all parenting choices while others of us may have hoarded all of the big financial decisions. Perhaps some of us saw exciting parts of the world while others of us saw all the parks in town and had to get our thrills from occasional trips to the emergency room.
But somehow we stumbled through those weighty, exhausting years of parenting. We fell asleep before we hit the pillows – sometimes as couples, sometimes with various children lying diagonally around us, and sometimes separated by continents. We read picture books until we thought we’d vomit at another rendition of Chicka Chicka Boom Boom, and we racked up millions of frequent flyer miles. Hindsight is 20-20, so we can all look back and see moments where our marriages were especially vulnerable. But, boy, has it gotten so much easier. The men have proven themselves and despite the current economy, simply do not need to work as hard as they once did. We are not dealing with the back breaking season of parenting that includes diapers, spit up, car naps, double jogger strollers and train set clean-up. Instead we’re trying to raise bully-proof kids and teens with loads of self-esteem. Rather than pondering what to make for breakfast, lunch and dinner, we’re trying to figure out when to allow facebook and ear piercing and how to raise musicians without becoming tiger moms. We are all thriving in our various roles.
And then he walked out.
Our friends have three children. She has not worked outside of the home in fourteen years. The court awarded her $2500 a month in child support and no alimony or any part of his 401K. For fourteen years he has worked his way up the corporate ladder and has arrived. She will eventually get there, but she has a long way to go and is beginning this working journey late in life. And seriously, if you are looking to hire an entry-level professional, are you likely to go for the forty-five-year-old mother of three whose last work computer did not include the Internet, or a fresh college graduate?
While I was driving my husband to work last week, I slammed my hands on the steering wheel and my voice became a little yelly as I got him up to date on what the other slime ball-used-to-be-our-friend husband has finagled. Here’s the deal, I said to him. I am trusting you not to do this to me. Every day that I choose to work a part-time job, volunteer precious hours at your children’s school, cancel my plans when they are sick, or stay up late helping with a school project is a day I am trusting you.
Last year’s popular essay by Katy Read tried to address the imbalance of the working father and stay-at-home mother. It shook me up then as much as it shakes me up to call my friend right now and feel what she is feeling. When I read it last year I remember saying to a friend. Yeah, we’ve put all of our eggs in one basket haven’t we? She said, Yep, and we put them all in our husband’s basket.
Last night when I told that sweet man I wanted to write about marriage, I didn’t mean to imply that we’ve got a great one, or that I think I’m holding the key. And I don’t mean to suggest that stay-at-homing or working are better choices. We’ve all got to figure out the best plan for each of us and for all of our kids.
I guess I’m writing because I want my husband and all the husbands out there to understand this: Your wife trusts you. Buddy, don’t screw it up!
And just to my own long-suffering, patient one I need to add this: I know it’s not always easy for us, but thanks for sticking it out with me thus far. I want to take walks with you when we’re eighty-five-years-old, and I hope we still want to hold hands.
joylibby 