Enemies

I've had a rocky few days. One son with much angst about a really stressful school situation. One son not as concerned about school as I would like. Husband really deeply steeped in a couple of significant cases and about to break a world record for monthly hours billed. Before 8:00 am today I had taken away half of my son's most precious possessions in my dozenth attempt to communicate an important lesson. And so it goes. In my little world, this is what elevates my heart rate and robs me of sleep.

Then, over a bacon rich breakfast in a beloved local haunt, a friend told a story about a struggling family. A family who fights some mighty enemies that I have never faced.

Life long drug addiction and fledgling sobriety, sex abuse recovery, fetal alcohol syndrome, broken childhood homes, extended family judgement and rejection, job loss, home loss. A brand new marriage combining rebellious teenagers and other children into this mix. That is in ONE family. Two new Christians with all of this baggage trying be faithful to God and each other and combine themselves into one moderately, functional family.

Wow. It sure puts my own struggles into perspective. Life treats me quite well, really and I have SO much for which to be thankful.

These folks look like regular, every day people. Do you wonder, ever, when you are standing in line at the grocery store; what's the story on the folks in line with you? What kind of home does that woman with the three screeching kids have? Are they on the verge of collapse? Does that grocery checker, the one who remembers your name and teaches you Italian, have enough money to feed his family tonight?

There are people fighting huge enemies all around us. Enemies about which I know very little.

What am I going to do about that?

At the top of my lungs.

I used to work for the American Cancer society in Hampton, Virginia. When I worked there my commute was about 25 minutes. No big deal, beautiful mid-Atlantic highway lined with ever changing deciduous trees. 25 minutes of my beautiful, midnight blue Ford Thunderbird, my CD collection (probably some tapes in there too!) and me belting out song after song all the way there, and back.

Then I changed jobs. I was recruited by a software developer and went to work at their offices which were about 5 minutes from my house. Great job, flattering and daunting amount of challenge and responsibility. I traveled the country about 2 - 3 weeks a month being a "the expert" at colleges and hospitals who purchased our product.

It was all great.

But something was missing, unsettled. After about 6 months of airports, beta testing, data conversions, customizations, and all the trappings of my grown up job, I realized my daily commute was too short.

I had no idea what a necessity it was to me, during that time in my life, that I get to spend about an hour a day in a state of song belting abandon. It was energizing and relaxing at the same time, it cleared out the cobwebs, it got my blood flowing, and got me ready for the day or erased the stress of the day.

What serves that purpose for me now? What serves that purpose for you? I'd love to know.

A well tailored suit.

I love my sewing studio. Sometimes when I need to center myself I just go down there to "be". Last night was one of those times.

I am on the cusp of beginning a new creative project. It has been far too long since I was in a really creative mode and that is a strong indicator of lack of mindful balance in my life.

I have several unique garments in my head that need to be created. Indecisive, I found myself sorting through my boxes of patterns. I have been collecting patterns since I was about 15. (yes, most of those were stolen from my Mother. shh.) Sorting through the stacks, uninspired, I realized that there was a predictability to these clothing patterns. A pattern to the patterns, if you will.

At least 65% of the patterns were for very structured, classically professional, "take me seriously" clothing. If E.T. came down and looked at my collection, he would assume I was a driven, intense, business executive. (who really likes extra long jackets.)

Standing there criticizing myself for not drawing more creative inspiration from them, I realized that I was looking at a snapshot of a former season in my life. I was trying to draw energy and growth from leaves that had already dried up and fallen off the tree.

It is true, I used to be all of those things. A very structured, professional, taken seriously, driven, intense, business executive. I used to wear beautiful suits and silk every day. I loved that time in my life, loved embodying the ready for promotion, going places lifestyle.

That's not really me anymore. I chose to step away from that. I felt led to spend a few seasons seeking to be someone different. Someone who wears yoga clothing a REALLY high percentage of the week and knows most of the school teachers by their first names. My life is very unstructured and pretty messy (God knew it would take at least TWO boys to teach me how to do that!), I am almost never taken seriously, and I haven't worn a suit in years.

But the rewards of this season are so much greater than I imagined. I realized that when I looked at those carefully selected clothing patterns, shadows of a former life and all of the goodness I remember. I am uninspired by those trappings because that is no longer me.

My inspiration comes from much different things now. And those things are even more beautiful in my eyes.

Anyone need any suit patterns?

Harry Winkle Pig

I am reading a book series with my 10 year old son. He is not what I would call a "motivated" reader. He is really skilled at it but he just doesn't love it. Imagine that. He's ten and he has more fidgety energy in one skinny little finger than I've produced all year.

So, in an effort to motivate him to dig in and finish a book in a reasonable time frame, we are reading together. I am the pace car so to speak. He chose a book that other mothers warned me was surprisingly "violent" and "intense" for his age. He was really excited about it and I had planned to be right there with him so we went for it. (we can discuss my questionable mothering instincts another time!)

Did I mention that I AM a reader? I love it and have at least 4 books going at any given time. His disinterested approach confuses me. How can you begin such an exciting story and then not tenaciously dedicate yourself to reaching the conclusion? Don't you even care what happens to these people??

I thought the purpose of reading this series together was for me to "protect" my pure and innocent boy from the potential emotional ravages of an intense story line. As is often the case in my life, it turns out I was not entirely correct. (there! I said it.)

It turns out reading with G1 is a lesson for me in timing and approach. If I patiently wait for them, his questions about the book are delicious morsels of insight into the workings of his amazing mind. The connections he makes between a 16 year old girl in a dystopian society and our American society are fascinating. He is 10 and the complexities that slide him into confusion are an endearing reminder of that. The conclusions he draws about the characters because of their behavior are the best insights I could hope for into his feelings about his life and his own relationships.

It reminds me of the early years when "Harry Winkle Pig" lived with us. He was a very "real" imaginary friend and G1 and I would have lively and non threatening conversations about what "HWP" thought about things. We could pre-game about the results of hypothetical disobedience and establish expectations. Sometimes I wish he was still with us!

What a creative bridge between two very different relational styles. The credit goes to my son. I am really just trying to stay out of my own way.

I need to pay closer attention to all my relationships and what I can learn about the people I love based on what confuses them about the world, the nuances they draw about their community and the way they respond to things that seem totally unrelated to me.

~T

little "Pablo"

I saw a tiny kid get bullied today. The four first graders decided to play "telephone", you know the one where someone starts with a phrase and it is whispered from person to person and the last person says what they thought the first person said and everyone laughs because it has morphed into something totally different. Except in this case person 3 whispered something mean about person 4 and little "Pablo" got blamed.

Yes, he was person one. He started with a phrase but it turned ugly when boy 3 decided to be a mean kid, hurt boy 4's feelings and blame "Pablo". He barely speaks English and had no idea what was going on. Why were these boys yelling at him and pointing fingers?

By the time I clued in from the other side of the table "Pablo" was a puddle of tears and was murmuring to himself in sobbing Spanish. Who knows what "Pablo" had meant to say? I doubt he intended an insult. Maybe I am wrong? Now he knows that people who look like your friends will turn on you in a confusing and painful instant.

It broke my heart and I used every ounce of remedial Spanish I know to calm him down. (He smiled a couple of times at my mistakes. Who knows what I really said! Hope I don't get a call from his Mother later.)

Why are we so quick to take things personally? Who really cares if the kid across the table calls you something silly? Is that silly misunderstanding worth tearing another person to pieces? It starts so young and most of us seem to never grow out of it.

Why do we allow ourselves to be so sensitive and defensive that we are walking time bombs, waiting for someone to look at us sideways or fail to escort us to our deserved position at the head table? Are we that lacking in confidence and self esteem? Are we passing this example along to our kids? Are we teaching them that it is okay to attack back when we get embarrassed or slighted?

I want my kids to know that their confidence comes from their creator. That they were created in the image of an infinitely powerful God. He chose us to be his children, created in his perfect and beautiful image. Why do we so quickly forget that and begin measuring ourselves against things so full of imperfection and flaw?

Walk tall, children. Remember who you are. Have the confidence not to let small slights wound you and treat other people like they are part of God's beautiful creation.

Thank you for the reminder "Pablo". I am sorry for your tears. I hope my crazy lady Spanglish lifted your mood and showed you that someone cares.

To delve:

My husband calls me a "delver".

Dictionary.com defines "delve" as: to carry on intensive and thorough research for data, information, or the like; investigate.

I am pretty sure the name fits. I love to know people and things. I like to ask questions, usually rapid fire and in mass quantities. I like to know what people are thinking and why, how things work and how to make them work better.

Evidently not everyone likes to have the inner recesses of their minds probed by an eager and enthusiastic "delver". My sons (and husband, admit it Mister!) continue to try new techniques to shut down my questioning. Some techniques work better than others. One went so far as to make up a story about being sent to the principal's office for an unknown infraction so we could talk about that instead of "how his day was". The other son anticipates the questions and tries to answer them as quickly and briefly as possible and then darts away.

I have come a very long way and realize now that timing is everything. They periodically commend me for my restraint these days, especially when they can see I am holding back a rushing river of inquiry.

It appears I need to expand my avenues for conversation and investigation. I think I will unleash that rushing river here. I am not sure what that means and I guarantee there will be totally random topics. I don't consider myself a writer. I think in colors, textures, shapes and fabrics not words. Maybe my questions have a colorful texture? I like the idea of combining my creative pursuits.

I welcome you to delve with me if you will. When you get overwhelmed by my barrage, you can politely power off and be no more offensive than my squirrelly children.

~T