turn, turn, turn

I just finished a great book- The Secret Life of Bees. There was a line of particular interest- "It is the peculiar nature of the world to go on spinning no matter what sort of heartbreak is happening." I have been feeling unwell for days on end now and in my semi-conscious moments I would hear my family and all the chaos still going while I was under the covers, hiding, hoping I'd been forgotten. I thought about what was going on in my neighbors' houses and what my friends were doing. Life just goes on, even when it's in "pause-mode" for me.

On bad days, when I feel totally engulfed in sadness for my baby, I feel a selfishness and self-centered anger at the world for continuing when I am lost. I am mixed with jealousy and hurt that I have a sick baby and no one understands my life. I am alone on this planet and the unfairness of life steals my joy.

I was sitting in a restaurant last week and doing something I love- people watching. I saw over in the corner a man and woman deep in conversation. I felt like an intruder watching them discuss whatever it was that was so engrossing. Then I saw the woman begin to cry. It was so private and yet I couldn't look away. I feel ashamed of myself for letting curiousity take over- that I would lose all sense of decorum. I have no ideas as to what was being discussed- news of a death, the breaking of relationship, argument over money or kids... who knows. But I was getting a glimpse and reminder of this world full of life and joy and hurt. I was witnessing a sacred moment of true emotions and heart and I felt more alive when I left the table.

time to throw out the garbage

I carry around a lot of garbage. Not physically- emotionally, spiritually, mentally. I feel my shoulders bending and aching under the weight of the luggage and baggage I have chosen to bear. Isn't that an interesting selection of words... "chosen to bear"? I took a moment to look up synonyms:
chosen- selected, elect, preferred, special
bear- tolerate, allow, swallow, endure, suffer, support, accept, have.
I am realizing that I choose to carry this around. Why?

Some days I am absolutely miserable with myself. I look in the mirror and all I see are the nasty messages I have stuck like bumper stickers all over the baggage... just to give bullet point references to what each suitcase contains. It's sick. Why do I believe this stuff? Why do I tolerate, allow, swallow, suffer, accept the guilt, shame, and feelings of failure?

On particularly "bad head days" I will scrub the baseboards in hopes that it will clean out some of the thoughts. Or I will do tons of laundry, painstakingly searching for every stain to "shout" out. Funny that I "shout" out the stains. That's exactly how I live. I wonder at what point I will be "all, free and clear"? When will I stop reliving conversations and broken friendships. When will I get over feelings of being abandoned and treated unfairly? When will I be able to move on instead arguing out loud with no one?

I have physical reminders of dreadful times past and I hang on to them like treasures. I accidentally put one in the trash last week and when I saw it I actually had to drag a stool outside to dig it back out of the trashcan so I could run in and file it safely back away. What's wrong with me?
It's like I am more comfortable as a pack mule. As if I enjoy tight shoulders and my aching back.

Yet I continue to prefer this life, this half-life. Is this all I know? Am more comfortable here than I would be free? Am I afraid, and if I am, why and of what? Or am I just too lazy to deal with the smelly, rotten mess?

What I do know is this: I am starting to stink from all the garbage in my life. Pieces of my soul are withering away.
I think it's time to throw out the garbage and move on.

love thy neighbor

We have lived in 17 different places all over the U.S. Just about everywhere we live we form strong attachments to our neighbors. I am not sure when this habit started, but I love it! I wouldn't have it any other way.

To be honest though, I am not sure if our neighbors would say the same thing about us. Maybe our "neighborliness" gets annoying. Maybe they are tired our kids finding their way in to their garden beds and garages and riding their bikes up and down their driveway. I am not sure, but so far I haven't seen them pull the blinds when they see us coming or ignore us when we knock on the door.

We live next to some fabulously fun people and enjoy weekly dinners out on the driveway when the weather is agreeable. During the cold months I look out my bedroom window at the neglected patio furniture and tiki lights and yearn for a warm breeze and a meal straight off the grill. It's almost that time. I have opened my windows this week and left the front door open all day, much to the dismay of my concerned and cautious mother-in-law.
My garden abutts my neighbor's and we share seeds and advice- although I admit to being on the take more than she. I am new at gardening and she is a great teacher. Thankfully she is patient when I ask her for the 10th time if this particular plant is a weed or a keeper. She seems almost as delighted as I am when she spots in my garden a new bud moving the soil or a flower about to open.

My neighbors just walk in the front door; there is no need to knock. Maybe it sounds weird, and as I write this, it does strike me as a bit different. I lock the door at night and if I am going to nap or shower (although neighbor D has come in on me in the shower). When someone does knock, the girls immediately shout, "come in!" so loudly there is no pretending we're not home if we have mistaken it to be someone we know.
My neighbors threaten to lock up their garden from our pilfering hands, but I doubt they will. They love us. They threaten to sabotage us when we put our house up for sale... that can only mean they want us to stay.

Tonight I had dinner with my next door neighbor from our previous neighborhood. I think she was genuinely happy to see us, even with the little hands pulling at things and the constant nagging for snacks and drinks and movies. I miss her. I miss our visits sitting on her front porch. I miss sharing movies and books and stories. I miss grumbling about the weather and lack of produce and insanity of having to pay to recycle. I miss sharing regular meals and favorite recipes with her . I miss coming home and seeing her in her kitchen from my kitchen window. One morning at 5 am we caught each other peering in at one another and we both laughed so hard I think I could hear her from my closed up house. We are still good friends although we don't see each other quite enough.

I love my neighbors because I know they are there if I lose one of my children. I know I can find shelter in their basements if a tornado decides to come down our alley. I can borrow more than just a cup of sugar or an occasional egg. I can also call them at 3am when my house is flooding. I have called when I felt uneasy and afraid someone was hiding in my house and I have asked they ride along with me to the pharmacy so I don't have to unload all three kids just to run in and grab a prescription. I know they would jump in and help me if I needed something- even something as small as an ice cream sundae when I am in the middle of a crying jag.

I love going to bed at night, especially when I am home alone, knowing that just next door, just 20 feet away, is a safe haven, a friend....
a neighbor.

Ode to a Fireman

My husband wasn't always worthy of an ode.
But I am happy and humbled to sing his praises now.

I have to admit that it wasn't always the praise-worthiness that attracted me to him. It was mainly his mysteriousness, the brooding, and if I am completely honest, the muscles. We were neurotic and passionate and desperate.

Is he perfect? No, I can't say that he is. Perhaps I don't expect him to be any more and that's why we get along so well. Not that my standards have lowered. It's just that I am realistic and fair- and in love. I love my fireman with all of my heart. I want him to know me inside and out... and I think he does. He can see through me and guess my motives and moods before I have sometimes sorted them out. I am puzzled and surprised by his understanding of me and wonder at his ability to love me through all my selfishness and moodiness and disorganization.

He gives everything to the task of providing and caring for us. He loves us with a fierce, protective love. Sometimes I forget this because he isn't exactly verbose when it comes to his feelings. But the other day when my cool neighbor decided to scare the wits out of me, my scream brought a brave and concerned man, ready to kill off whatever was attacking me. I melted.

He is brave everyday. He sees stuff at work I can't even imagine. For goodness sake, he runs in to burning buildings and rescues children and family dogs. But more importantly,he comforts me and says positive things, even though it's out of character. He worries about money and the future and about being a good father. He is a stronghold for us. He wants to know truth and live knowing he has done the right thing.

He isn't always attentive. When silence between us used to be uncomfortable, now it is normal. When he goes in to his "thinking mode", I don't feel threatened anymore. Usually I just tell myself that he is pondering how much he loves me and how irresistable I am- although in reality he is most likely trying to solve quantum physics or figure out the New York Times Crossword Puzzle. Whatever.

All I am saying is, I love this man, my husband, my friend. He can rescue me any time.

the sun will come out

Tomorrow.
I woke this morning and the world seemed brighter and lighter than it did yesterday. Maybe that's because it actually IS brighter and lighter since the sun decided to bless us with a warm and shiny day. The other side of the maybe is that I have slept and snuggled and somewhat absorbed the previous day.
What did my friend tell me just yesterday? "Stay in today." Good and timely advice.
So Today is offering up it's best self... sunny, warm, refreshing, with hints of spring and life and newness- promises of hope and healing on the breeze spinning through my windows.
I think I must be moving forward, though the momentum is at a snails pace. But what would have thrown me in to my hiding place of tears and loneliness now has been handled and set in to it's proper box. I am placing one foot in front of the other instead of sitting on a stationary bike.
Thank you sun. Thank you breeze. Thank you Today.

helplessness

Ever had a day when the bottom dropped out from under your feet? When your stomach rolls over and no matter how embarrassing it might be, you think you might lose your lunch all over the stranger next to you?

I had one of those mornings and now I am just exhausted from the effort it took to hold myself together the rest of the day. But what can you do when there's laundry to be done and meals to be made and children to chase after? Now they are nestled all snug in their beds and I am left with visions of helplessness dancing in my head.

My baby, sweet, sweet baby has been diagnosed with JRA. I know this is not a fatal disease, but no matter how often I remind myself of this, I am overcome with fear and dread and sadness. My mind runs like a banshee, with lists of things he won't be able to do. I wonder if and when he will pull out of this. I try to wrap my mind around the pain he must suffer from daily and I want to shut down and crawl in to bed and pull the covers up over my head and hide.

I am afraid of the side effects and of what will happen if we opt out. There is nothing I can do to heal this little, innocent person. I stand wringing my sweaty hands and wrestling with God over why MY child had to have this debilitating illness. Why?? What will be accomplished through his pain and suffering? Is this a test? Am I going to walk upright, triumphantly down this path or skulk in to the nearest closet and lose myself?
I feel worn out and a little angry. I am more sad than angry, but I know it's just lurking around the corner, waiting to devour me for a time. I wish I could sleep a deep and beautiful sleep and when I wake this would have all been a nightmare, forgotten by the close of breakfast.
Sometimes I go in to his room, ever so quietly, and watch him and smell him. I pet his glorious hair and wonder why I was given this angel and how long he will be mine. I stroke his cheek and marvel at his lashes. I kiss his lips and his nose and his ears. I weep over his misshapen feet and swollen knees and try not to choke and wake him.

Am I doing the right thing for him? Am I sensitive and compassionate? Am I aware and patient? Am I long suffering? I can't say that I am. I am impatient and angry and sinking in the quicksand of grief- gasping and grasping and fighting to find a root of deliverance for Jack and for me.

witness

I was fortunate enough to witness the birth of a new life tonight. My mind is reeling and verging on collapse as I try to wrap myself around what just happened. I envisioned something completely different, yet life altering. I am moved. I feel privileged beyond expression. I wanted more. I wanted to soak it in and revel in the experience. But in the end, I was so completely and utterly awestruck, I could only gasp and cry in thanksgiving and humility. I am a witness.
Now I have given birth three times already and each of those times left me gasping. Each time I was breathless with gratitude. But this time I was on the outside peeking in- engaged, but only a bystander. This was so different. I felt like I was stealing- hoping that I would not be noticed and asked to leave.
I saw life begin as this precious, tiny person emerged in to this world of love and good and hatred and poverty. As I sit here I am praying for this new one to grasp life with both fists and hang on; to love with all his heart, strive to be good and generous in all his dealings with our earth and it's inhabitants, fight hatred, and relieve those in need. I hope his life is long and full, spilling over and infecting others- changing others. I pray he will be a witness to the birth of his own children and carry the legacy his parents have begun for him.
Thank you, my dearest friend, for allowing me to be there for this moment in time. This spinning planet has just been incredibly blessed by the life you have yielded from your body. I know our Father was smiling on this angel tonight and I count myself lucky to have been a witness.

look at that face!

what beauty and
innocence!
what pure
joy!
I wish I could capture that smile in a bottle,
keep it forever, and uncork it whenever I wanted.

waiting for life

waiting, waiting, waiting. I am in a holding pattern. I am currently waiting around for my close friend's baby to be born. Everyday, several times a day, I check my phone to make sure I haven't missed her call telling me to head to the hospital. I am anxious and excited- as if I am personally giving birth.
As I sit, becoming more impatient by the hour, I am acutely aware of my habit to live this way... always waiting. Waiting to live until I am thinner, until my kids are older, until I have given up sugar and white flour and caffiene. Waiting until I am debt free, until I live somewhere else, until I have my anger under control. I am waiting until I own my own business, and until my house sells. I am waiting until I can go on a vacation. In the meantime, life is swirling past me at a rate incalculable, and I am still here feeling undone.
In way I wish I could start over. I wish I could return to a time of innocence and freedom. Perhaps if I could even revisit my college days and start from there. Or what about six years ago, before I had kids? I have no idea what I was doing then, except the same thing- waiting for life to be different. Does anyone know how to live? Truly drink in life with every part and parcel of their being? It is a mystery... or is it just a habit, I can't decide? I feel that I can make the choice to try to "live" today. But then the old feelings creep in ever so stealthily until they just barge in and park at my kitchen table.

I guess I am looking for life. Where does it begin? When does it end? Is the show over already since I haven't ever learned how to cash in?
The miracle of life isn't necessarily in conception or the lungs filling with first breath. For me, the miracle of life would be figuring out how to live so that everyone, and most importantly me, would know that I am full. I am overflowing I am so full. I am infecting others with joy and laughter, with peace and prosperity. I want to make a mark on this planet and have a legacy of love and forgiveness.

I will not sit by and let my life be ordinary any longer. I want more. There must be more to life...