Lessons Learned

 

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.

Photo credit


Cousin Katie

My 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

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….

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…

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.

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.


Love’s Role in Suffering.

I’ve been struggling against a popular idea that suffering brings growth.  Last week, I wrote about my own experiences with tough times. Character building and lessons learned have only come to pass in the aftermath of difficulty when God has used others to love me.

It turns out that almost everyone disagrees with me and I’m trying to figure out if we are simply describing nuanced differences of the same idea. From my perspective, problems do not cause growth, but instead it’s the out-pouring of love and support that brings healing.

Last week I heard many renditions of this:  Had I never gone through ________________ (financial crisis, health scare, betrayal, rejection), I would never have known the depths of________________  (my own resourcefulness, God’s faithfulness, the presence of love in the world around me, the intimacy in a specific relationship)!   I agree with this idea and I have my own small lessons learned to show that this simple equation can hold true. My sweet bloggy friend Jen wrote about the suffering that comes with loss and how this opened a more intimate relationship in her life. Gayle said she knew God in a deeper way once her house was burned down.  I know friends who have lost family members to tragedy and have come to appreciate those who are still alive all the more.  So why do I fight against this concept so much?

My main problem with embracing the no pain – no gain, it’s good for him, difficulty builds character attitude is that it absolves me from reaching out and helping.

There is a snarky, sneaky little voice that whispers absolution to me: No need to lift a finger, this is one of life’s little lessons for her to learn.  Or, She made her bed, now she’ll need to lie in it.

If the hungry family is experiencing what is “good” for them, why should I offer food?   If the crying child at recess is building character, why would other kids need to be coached in how to show love?  If the betrayed wife crying into her pillow is drawing closer to God because of her pain, who am I to try to stop it?

Suffering happens:  Yes

We can grow from it: Yes

How do I grow from it? By experiencing love and support during it.

What is my responsibility when I see others suffer? Love them.

Why are there so many who seem to create a vacant space around fellow suffer-ers?  Why do women in divorce feel as if they’ve lost their husband and their best friends in one fell swoop?  Why does a mother grieving her baby’s death feel so alone in her pain?  Why do bullied helpless children see other parents and teachers awkwardly look the other way?  Why do out-of-work men feel as if they have a contagious disease?  These dark times could be lessened with a little love.

Through support during hardship, I learned about unconditional love, grace, mercy and forgiveness.  These were the lessons I needed to know.  When there was no safety net and the bottom appeared to be cold, lonely and with no outstretched hand to hold, all I learned was to expect suffering. There was never redemption in the heartache.

But each time love entered…now, that was another story ending altogether.  I guess it’s my job to look at my own difficulties and recovery to figure out what they can teach me – about God, myself and other people.  When others are suffering, my job is to extend myself and alleviate as much of it as possible.


Tough Love? None for me, thanks…

I spent some time this weekend with a dear friend and mentor.  Although he’s current on all parenting and educational research and trends, sometimes he seems to come from a different era.  While the rest of us are helicoptering and s-mothering, he’s relaxed about kids and has great faith in their future.  He constantly tells me not to worry and to take the long view with my own kids.

A few years ago, he and I were at the park with a pack of kids.  Two of them went exploring and were gone too long. I was trying to play it cool with him and disguise my rising panic, but I knew we were in real trouble when he turned to me and calmly said, “Seems like it’s time to call the police.”  When the most Zen dad around is worried, fear has already entered every cell of my body.  The police did come that day and an organic search party began to help us look.  Of course, within minutes those two prepubescent girls strolled in chitchatting and gesturing with each other, engrossed in their own stories with no awareness of my alarm.

Although he reacted that day, most of the time he doesn’t.  I call him crying about this or that and with as much respect and listening as he can muster, he gently blows me off. I am not throwing him under the bus!  He is a rare gift in that he offers empathy without joining in with my neurotic fear.

Last week, I confessed to readers that listening is not my strongest gift and I prefer to fix.  Pressing the publish button on that post appears to have unleashed an intention into the universe. My listening and not fixing pledge has been tested almost every day since, and I think I failed most of the opportunities. But these chances to practice have been great.  Here is what I’ve learned:

1) I don’t like suffering. 2) I see no upside to it. 3) If we’re honest, most of us deal with a large dose of it.

When I am exposed to another’s pain, I cannot always imagine the healing that will eventually come.  I feel the hurt right in the moment and it crushes me.  As I get better at the not fixing part, I want to stay good at the emphasizing and comforting. I struggle to embrace my friend’s casual approach to heartache, struggles, and pain and see them all as part of the process of growing up, building character and becoming stronger.  Although this notion helps me gain perspective, something about it doesn’t ring absolutely true.

This week I read Renee Alston’s memoir, Stumbling toward Faith.  Although her story offers some redemption, it’s mostly a story of great pain and loss. What she faced didn’t, in fact, make her stronger.  It just broke her.

I recently discovered my new favorite blogger, Glennon, who writes mostly about parenting and sometimes about recovery.    I had a little Aha! moment when I read her bio: My best guess is that I was born a little broken, with an extra dose of sensitivity. Growing up, I felt like I was missing the armor I needed to expose myself to life’s risks – rejection, friendship, tender love.

Growing up with an extra dose of sensitivity pretty much describes me. I could be wrong, and maybe the ultimate story of my life will prove different, but I don’t believe I gained much from pain. I think back on the adults who were around and served as positive guides along my path – professors, youth pastors, parents, grandparents, neighbors, aunts.  Guess what?  Every single person on my list was someone who was gentle, nurturing and kind to me.  No dogmatic, demanding teachers or anyone who made me work for their approval make my list. Only people who provided a safe, grace-filled space for me to feel loved ever motivated me on to greater heights.

When I hear coaches yelling at kids, teachers pitting kids against each other, parents criticizing B+ grades, husbands belittling wives at cocktail parties, or girlfriends competing with or betraying each other, I just cover my aching heart.  I never think, Oh goodie, this will make them stronger.

I know there is more than one way to skin a cat, so I am guessing that others are motivated by pain. And although I can agree that I have sometimes learned lessons from tough times, I think the place where growth-during-difficulty happened for me was in the space where loving people were holding me up.

So, that’s what I am going to keep offering in the face of unfair, mind-blowing difficulty.  Come to me for some old fashioned TLC, baby!

And while I am doing all that hugging and nurturing, I will also try to emulate my friend.  I will attempt to take the long view more often with my own children, keep the panic at bay and put more faith and trust in the God who holds them in the palm of His hand.


Listening Ear…

I am thinking about the power of listening.  Last week, a friend shared a poem entitled A Prayer for a New Year.  I passed it on to the group of women who gather each Wednesday in my living room.  We read it slowly and pondered each stanza.  When we got to the May you be a respecter of fears line, I stopped and tried to figure out what it could mean for me.  When I listen to someone share her heart, I want the pain she is feeling to stop, so I usually burst in with the quickest solution I can think of.  I say things like, here’s what you should do, or this happened to me once and this is what I did.  Rather than just holding the space for her to safely open her heart and be a witness to her suffering, I try to wrap it all up in a solution.  I am very uncomfortable with pain and heartache and I don’t want my loved ones to experience it.  But suffering is a guaranteed part of life and the more honestly I embrace it, the more I can move through it and past it.

Yesterday I had a chance to practice space holding for someone I love.  My old habits kicked in and I had to willfully stifle the urge to fix, arrange, advice-give, manipulate and control.  I wanted to ask questions, clarify her statements and produce an action plan.  I am good at problem solving and not so good at being still.  Maybe the next time we speak about her struggles she’ll be ready for some of those helpful offerings, but last night all she needed was a listening presence. She needed her fears to be respected.

Being a witness to another soul is a powerful gift to offer.  I am hoping 2012 gives me opportunities to offer this gift.  I offer to be a witness.  I offer to listen. I offer to sit in discomfort while pain is shared.  I offer the gift of my presence.


Out with the old.

Today is my first day of uninterrupted time in 2012. The kids and husband are off doing what they do most days, school and work.  They’re not here asking me to help with a math problem, to help scan pictures into facebook, to help fold blankets that toppled in a linen closet, to help bleach dirty shoes, or to help seal thank you note envelopes.

Nope, they’re gone. And I miss them just a tiny bit. As I was driving home from my final drop-off this morning, I saw a typical January San Francisco sight.  Christmas trees are piled on the street corners when their owners are ready to let them go.  In a few weeks, the city will come collect them all at one time and off they will go to the dump or the compost heap.  But for now, almost every corner has two or three trees, some wreaths and even a few boughs and swags. Just a few weeks ago, these trees were all loved, adored and nurtured.  They provided atmosphere, vibe and ambiance to the holiday season and helped families or groups of friends come together.  Now they are outside in the cold and waiting to be picked up.

Our tree is out there in the mix and I had a hard time letting it go.  I loved sitting in the living room, soaking up the twinkling lights and looking at the ornaments. But the needles were dropping, it had stopped drinking water and the presents beneath had made their way to the bedrooms a week ago. Everything has a season and the tree’s time was up.

Today as I looked over the discarded piles on street corners, I wondered what else needs to be discarded?  What friendship that used to be adored and nurtured has dried up?  What activity or commitment have I been devoted to that has seen its prime and needs to be taken to the corner and left there?  I have a hard time saying goodbye and moving on.  I travel through life carrying heavy loads of the past, trying to breath new life into dead things.

It’s time to let them go and move into 2012 lighter and more nimble. So long old trees.