Soar

The mess in my head was a jumbled nest of worry and fear about our future.  I’ve let go of so many expectations over the years…but still, I sometimes grasp for the provisions we all seek.  I’m blinded by grief and stress.  I’m crumpled up with smallness.  I forget that we’ve always been okay…and we always will be...more than okay.

The only prayer I could squeeze out through the tears was
“Lord?  God?
I surrender.”
Then my mind was filled with the image of a soaring eagle.  White sunbeams shone through the wing tips as the bright blue of the sky smacked against the ruddy rocks of canyon beneath.

   

This kind of surrender isn’t unto a prison guard or under a heavy weight.  This is surrender to the gentle nudge that frees me from the nest and sends me toppling over the edge of a cliff…because that is where I find my wings. Though I’m still terrified, I’m reminded that I can soar.  The wind dries my tears and forces me to breathe.  I’m reminded that I can trust my wings and I can trust the air that holds them up.  Each time I soar, there is more trust.  Less fear.

I return to my nest…eventually…every time.  That’s the funny thing about this life.  The things that give me the greatest joy are sometimes the hardest things to maintain.  I often just don’t realize that trying-so-hard is the real heavy weight, it is the grasping that is true cage.  The surrender is the real freedom.  The paradox is the divine.  Faith turns what I think I know upside down; the steps often feel like they lead me to the edge of a cliff.  Because that is where I find my wings.  Sometimes the only answer we need is a new perspective.

Wishes

I can't really remember the first time I heard a genie story, but I do remember laying awake at night thinking through the possible scenarios that could arise if I were to come across such an ancient brass lamp that required my polishing skills.  Assuming I couldn't use my first wish to ask for infinity wishes, I narrowed down two of my three wishes to the ability to speak (and understand) every language and the ability (and talent) to play every instrument.  I haven't been able to pin down a third wish.  I guess the obvious choice would be unlimited wealth, though considering the awesomeness-that-would-be-me with my language and music abilities, I think I'd have that covered.  

The last time I was at the hospital, I had the sudden urge to find someone who was alone and just be with them.  I had a toddler with me and needed to get home to make supper, so I had to let the thought go...but the desire hasn't left me.  I'm not good at scheduling things.  I really only have energy to voluntarily leave my home a few times a month and maybe I'm missing the memos from the Energy Fairy, but I have no idea when that elusive energy will come.  Needless to say, joining a do-gooder group just isn't in the cards for me.  

I want this powerful freedom: to have a good day, get in my car and go...to be led to a place and have the clear discernment to know where I am needed.  I want to walk into the room, sit in the chair waiting for me next to the bed and hold the hand of the person who is dying (or dying inside) and let them know they are not alone.  Maybe I'd know exactly what they need to hear.  Maybe I'd know they just need someone to listen.  And then I'd go home.  That's the kind of super power I dream about.

My heart was built to trust and serve, but it is guarded and prone to strike if it perceives danger.  I want the insight to know whether a brat deserves the evil eye or maybe just needs a little attention and some kind words.  I want to know whether the person telling me way too much about their life in the check-out line is an emotional vampire or is actually reaching out to someone for the first time in months.  I want to instantly know the difference between the people who need my help and those whom I should avoid.  I want to know if the person sitting next to me in the waiting room needs someone to hold her hand and cry with her...or someone to tell him a joke and laugh with him.  I'm really good at both.

I was beginning to think that crystal clear discernment could be my third wish, but the more I thought about it, I began to realize this desire was actually the result of my fears.  I don't reach out to people because I worry what they will think.  I don't show my emotion in public (if I can help it) because it makes people uncomfortable.  I don't help the unfortunate because I am scared.  I want control in my life, and I'm afraid of risk.  I'm afraid of mess and sickness and other people's problems...because frankly, I'm just too tired.  I can barely deal with my own problems.  

There's nothing wrong with self-preservation or wanting to protect my family...but that is the cage that traps my heart who yearns for a mystical life of knowing and helping.  It is fear that keeps me from stepping out and fear that keeps me contained.  Fear and exhaustion.  I guess that's why I dream about the ability to step into someone's life, help, and quickly step out again.  Clean and easy.  The downside is that most of these situations might be issues that need to resolve themselves and my "help" would not actually be helpful in the long run.  Back to the drawing board.  I will certainly rue the day I find a genie lamp with this third wish question unresolved.  More likely, we live in a world where we have to find the answers to most things ourselves.  Perhaps it is not wishes we should ask for...we just have to keep asking questions.

Silent All These Years

I've been quiet.  For a non-stop-thinking person with many opinions and a burning desire to write, I've been quiet.  I've been eating documentaries and audiobooks...because reading books doesn't allow for multi-tasking.  I fold laundry and put away dishes with a constant editorial going on in the back of my mind.  Maybe this is why I'm tired all the time.  Maybe it's because I have four kids.  Maybe it's because I want answers.  I want to figure things out.  I want to know where we came from, and I want to know where we are going.  I want to know why our government if failing us, and why those who ask questions are labeled "conspiracy theorists" and discarded.  I want to know god.  I want to know the truth of reality...if there is a reality.

And so, I have been quiet, because many of those things are such that we cannot know.  We can speculate and blow wind, as it were.  I'm too tired for that.  But I'm also tired of being quiet.  There is a fine balance between speaking out because I feel so compelled and allowing my voice to be drowned out by fear.  It is ironic that a search for truth is something that can be feared, though that has been the case since the dawn of time.  We fear what we do not understand, which is much.

I revisited what I've written here over the years, and though I still struggle with some of the same things, I can see where I am now a stronger person.  I am still afraid of being misunderstood and disliked.  I really do just want everyone to get along.  I read somewhere that the only way to avoid criticism is to say nothing, do nothing, be nothing (Aristotle?).  That's just not an option for me.  In the past, I understood that fear was something to avoid; now I see it as a symptom of something that needs to be addressed. There are some things we should certainly just keep to ourselves, but there are other things rattling around in my head begging to get out.  My hope is that I may help or inspire someone; my fear is that I will be judged and discarded.  It is funny how we are so wrapped up in our experiences, dying with anxiety about the prospect of singing a karaoke song...meanwhile everyone at the bar really doesn't really give a shit what you do.  Our spirit is a kite that should fly free, guided by just one string....but we allow hundreds of other strings to tangle and misdirect us.  Snip snip snip, I say.

Eulogy For Dad

Dad's Memorial Service Sept. 5, 2014

Preparing my words for you today has taken me down many paths.  Each direction has been necessary to give me the perspective I needed to help me heal and begin to process my grief.  I hope my words are a blessing to some of you as well.

The unexpected death of my father arrived with a brutal posse:  anger, resentment, despair, and a very nasty riddler.  There is no competition in grief, but the grief that we-orphans-of-this-type-of-death carry, while perhaps no heavier, is definitely unbalanced and more awkward to carry. 

I’ve known for a long time that my dad had a problem, but he was taking medication and seeking help, so I never expected that this would be the cause of his death. Regardless of what illness a person suffers, sometimes even the best doctors and the most effective medicines just can’t help.  I think this was the case with my dad; it was just his time. 

I am glad it happened among his trees with the sun shining on his face.

As a mother of 4, my first reaction to my father’s death was:  How do I protect my children?  How do I help their hearts cope with the loss of their grandpa?  Eventually, the answer came:  Information shall be revealed on a security clearance basis…based on age and rank.  Not everyone needs to know everything right away.

But also…All important matters of the heart can only be learned and never taught.  I can only confirm those truths that are already in my children’s hearts.  I am to be their safe place….the safety net for THEIR trapeze act, for I cannot do the flips of life for them, nor can I hold their hands as they reach for the oncoming bars.  I must strengthen and hold myself together to cushion the blow for the days my children will need to fall on me.

For myself, I had a lot of questions.  I wanted to try to explain a lot of things.   My inner social scientist wanted to compare and contrast.  However, a dear gentle friend helped me to see how just foolish it would be to try to explain something of which I have absolutely no knowledge…that seeking that path is something of which I have absolutely no right.  Many of the questions I have will never be answered…and I have the proper fear of God to bow my head, tuck my tail, and walk away from that sacred ground.  There are certain paths that will only burn your feet and never soothe your head.

So, let me talk to you about what I know.  I know about Love and Thankfulness. 

There are many things I don’t understand about my dad and his death, but here is what I do know:  whatever capacity he had for love, he loved me with all that he had and for that, I am thankful. 

Our relationship was not always easy.  There was a time that I could hardly stand to be in the same room with him.  But he chose to love me and he persevered.  My mom pointed him in the right direction.  He learned skills from recovery groups and from observing good men like my grandpa and uncles.  But no one could force him to love me.  True, real love is a choice.  My dad’s love for me was an effort only he could make. 

And I know it wasn’t easy for him at first.  I was hurt and bitter…and sarcastic. 

But he gave me time and he didn’t give up.  And my mom fought to keep the brambles at bay so the path that joined us would stay clear.  She is a warrior, with a strong heart.

The next part in this love story is mine.  I had to allow him to love me.  I had to forgive.  It took a long time and it wasn’t easy…becoming a mother softened my heart.  Grandchildren are miracles for those who have eyes to see.  Eventually, I found that I could have regular conversations with my dad and that I wanted him to be proud of me…and that I loved him. 

My dad used every opportunity he had to tell me that he loved me and that I am amazing.  As both a parent and a child, I know this is something that can’t be said too often.

The last time I invited my dad over, just a few days before his death, I was able to tell him how much I appreciate him for not giving up on loving me.  I told him that I accept him for who he is, that I don’t expect him to be any more than he is, and that I love him. 

I told him all the things that I needed to tell him in this life. 

I know this was a miracle of closure for my heart…a miracle of which I am so thankful.  And that’s the reason this can be well with my soul.  I don’t like this death, but I have faith that there is deeper magic at work…and above all else…I choose love.

For that, I am thankful.

How My Gay Sister Saved Me

I used to have a very tidy worldview.  In fact, I wrote a 5-page paper about it back when I was going to Bible college.  It was a very easy paper for me to write...because that was back when I knew everything.

I was raised in a Christian family, but I was taught to think for myself.  I've always considered myself to be open to new ideas, so I was quite blindsided when I realized how small my world really was.  I was dependent on our church to "feed" me and I thought I was growing closer to god by pulling away from the "world".  I was a good little church-going housewife and mother.  That was enough for me.

Except.  I missed my sister.

Like a lot of American Christians, I believed that homosexuality is wrong.  How could I not?  I mean, it's right there in the Bible, right?  I also believed that I should "love the sinner, but hate the sin."  You have to admit, it is a catchy slogan.  I had some friends who are gay, and I loved them (still do), but there was always an underlying feeling that there was something wrong with them.  I would pray for them to change and turn from their "lifestyle."  I am embarrassed to admit this.  Bear with me.

It wasn't really a problem for me to follow along with my church's teachings about homosexuality because, honestly, it didn't really personally affect me.  Not until my sister came out.

There were other elements at fault, but the main reason my relationship with my sister became strained was because I couldn't accept that she is a lesbian.  I was very uncomfortable.  (And now in hindsight, I know that she also spent many years being uncomfortable before accepting who she is.)  Years of missteps and misunderstanding frayed the thread that held us together.  The girl who was once my best friend was becoming a woman that I didn't really know.

Religious folks will often tell you to separate yourself from people who will "lead you astray."  Jesus told us to befriend them.  And I've learned you really can't be someone's (true) friend if you don't accept them for who they are.....or if you have ulterior motives like praying for them to change or trying to get them to come to church (and change).

Slowly, my world began to grow.  Again, there were many factors at work.  My solid worldview walls were crumbling from the inside.  Eventually, I began hearing warning bells at every church service I attended; and not just concerning the topic of homosexuality.  In a religion of "grace," there sure is a lot of talk about what we have to DO.  See, grace is free.  That's what makes it grace.  There is NOTHING we can do to earn it.  There is really nothing more that can be said about it.  How pastors can squeeze hours worth of sermons out of it baffles me.  The majority start out quite well: the fact...the honor...the gift of grace is laid out.  But then there is the BUT:  BUT we have to do good works.  BUT we have to tithe.  BUT we have to feel guilty if we don't go to church every week...
I left. (and yes, I did feel guilty for quite awhile)

At this point, I'm sure some would say that leaving the church is what sent me on the road to corrupt thinking and crazy things like supporting human rights.  To be honest, there was a time that I had no idea what to think.  Some may say I lost my faith, but I have always had absolute faith in Love.  I no longer have faith in the god that I thought I grew up with, though I have become reacquainted with the God of my heart.  God is love, the universe, inside the universe, outside the universe, in me, in others.  He/she/it reveals love and truth by any means possible, often in the most surprising ways.  I don't quite understand it all (and I currently avoid anyone who claims to), but I yearn for the grace that Jesus gave others.  My new faith is tentative as I am slowly separating what I was taught from what I truly believe, but reading about Jesus' interactions with people makes me want to be like him.  The grace that I have received makes me want to give grace to others.  I want to live in love, each day its own journey, with freedom from performance guilt and fear.  I am definitely going to make mistakes, but it is often those mistakes that teach us the most about ourselves...and reveal our true friends.

My sister saved me from my small world because she forced me to think anew.

A closing metaphor, if you will:
In the great grand scheme of things, does it really matter WHY a one-armed man only has one arm?  Regardless of what happened in the past, he has one arm and nothing can change that.  Whether he was born that way, formed that way, or even chose to be that way, he still deserves to be at peace within himself.  He deserves the right to not have to explain himself to anyone else, he deserves to be loved, and he deserves the same rights that every other human has.  He is not a second-class citizen.  In fact, he is extremely skilled with his one arm, lives a vibrant life, and has true friends who do not judge him.  What some may see as a handicap has been overcome.

NO person who truly follows Christ will EVER stand in the way of anyone's ability to overcome.

Bunk Bed Sheets

I finally got around to altering my son's sheets to fit his bunk bed better...and make it easier for me to change.  At first, I thought about attaching the top sheet to the bottom, but I didn't think that would be the best when it came time to wash them.  I just wanted a fitted top sheet.  I looked all over Google-land and couldn't find anything like this, so I took matters into my own hands.  Here's what I did:

1.  Measure.  Here's the math:
sheet width - bed width = x
divide x by 2 = amount to cut off each side
In my case, the sheet was about 62", the bed about 35".  (It's better to make the bed width on the wide side  for seam allowance.) So, I needed to remove 13.5" off each side.

2. Next, cut a square that size off each bottom corner.  Yeah, I'm not messing around with ironing.

3.  Sew.  Fold the cut edges together to form the bottom corners of the sheet.  I used a very lazy, non-precise, no-iron French seam.

4.  Attach elastic to the bottom.  I used some 1/2" elastic I already had.  I didn't even measure.  I just started on one corner and zig-zagged across to the other side. 

Stretch the elastic as you sew and it will gather the fabric when it's finished.  I cut the excess elastic off when I was finished.

It's hard to get a picture of the finished product, but basically it's just a sheet with a fitted bottom and regular top.  Perfect for staying tight on a bunk bed.

I like this so much, I was thinking about doing this for my own bed.  However, it would probably be too tight at the foot for adults.  A kid's bed where the bottom 2 or 3 feet of the bed is basically unused is a different story.

I decided to alter the comforter as well.  I was a little intimidated since there is more to wrestle with a comforter compared to a sheet, but I got this one at a resale shop and it's cheap enough to experiment on. 

Luckily, it turned out great!  I did basically the same thing as the sheet, but pulled a few inches of the batting/stuffing away from the seams.  I had to use a little extra care to make sure I had all the layers aligned when I sewed the corners.

 One area is a little less sloppy in my house!  Totally worth it.  And yes, it was SOOOO much easier to get the sheets on this way.  I am pleased.

Vegan Waffles

My son is allergic to milk and eggs, so when I got a waffle maker from our family white elephant exchange, I started working on a waffle recipe.  After a few tweaks, I came up with a recipe that I love...

3 tsp.  Ener-G Egg Replacer
1/4 cup water
1/2 cup oil
1 3/4 cup soy milk (I use 8th Continent Original)
1 T sugar (I use sucanat)
1 cup whole wheat flour
1 cup unbleached all-purpose flour
4 tsp. baking powder
1/4 tsp. salt

With a wire whisk, beat the egg replacer and water together until frothy.
Add oil, soy milk, and sugar.  Beat.
Add flours, baking powder, and salt.  Mix well, but not too much.  Let it sit while the waffle iron heats up.
I use a ladle to spoon the batter onto my waffle iron (sprayed with oil).  I set the timer for 4 minutes and they turn out perfectly every time.  I'm sure different waffle makers have different settings, so you may need to experiment with the time and amount of batter.  Watch for the steam to finish, that's when the waffle is finished cooking.
Makes about 6 waffles.

My non-allergic kids couldn't tell that these waffles are "different". I like to keep the extras in the fridge and I reheat them on the waffle iron for about a minute.

I added a handful of small dried blueberries to my last batch and they turned out great.  I love waffles topped with yogurt, fruit, and agave/maple syrup.  I think that's what I'll have for lunch today!