Sneakers, bare legs, shorts, a boy, only a boy... blood. Lying in the road. My road. My street. Half a block from my house. I didn't see him above the waist until they put him in the ambulance. Pronounced dead on arrival to the hospital. Fatal stabbing. In the back. Blood everywhere.
I left around 4:55pm, to take my sister to the airport, and arrived home about 5:13pm, and there he was, lying in the street. I had to swerve the car to miss his legs. I walked down the street to see what was wrong, through a trail of blood - his blood - that lead up the street toward our house. The police and ambulance arrived shortly thereafter and the whole street was slathered with police, police tape, and homicide detectives. "Don't step in the blood."
The girl who said she found him, whose mother called the police, was playing tag with her little brother, maybe 2 or 3, when she saw him. She couldn't have been more than 10.
His name was Irvin - his last name means, "of peace." He was 15 years old. They don't know what happened, or who, or why. I recognize him from the neighborhood, even though I did not know him personally. I wonder if I would recognize his mother. I grieve as a mother, knowing only a small piece of what I can only presume is her grief. He was only 15.
"They dress the wound of my people as though it were not serious. ‘Peace, peace,’ they say, when there is no peace."*
I don't know how to process this. I don't know where to begin. I feel numb. Compartmentalized so that I can continue to manage my household, my family. Not unsafe. But changed. I walk the same street today as I did yesterday, tomorrow, and the day before, although I have yet to walk past that spot again. I did not lose a person that I knew, and I am not fearful for my own or my family's safety, and so my grief does not have the usual outlets to express itself. But I am grieving nonetheless. I feel loss nonetheless.
Peace, peace, they say, but there is no peace. The newspapers have moved on; the heralds of modern decree, our "prophets" of today have declared, "all is well once more." The police tape is gone. But there's a 15 year old boy, named "of peace," who is no longer here. A gap in a family, a community, a neighborhood. I don't care what the reason was. I don't care what he had done, who he had pissed off, who had a grudge against him. I don't care if he was a saint or a sinner, whether he was in with the wrong crowd, or was a straight A student (or both), whether he was beloved by his friend (he was), or hated by all.
He was 15. And it's never okay.
It's never okay.
*Jeremiah 6:14
Thursday, September 24, 2015
Friday, September 18, 2015
floury chaos and temper tantrums and diffusing anger
Monday mornings, y'all. They're totally a thing.
It had been an incredibly long morning already, and it was barely past 10 o'clock. It was rainy, and we were stuck inside, which is always fun with two uber-active kiddos. We were on temper tantrum number I don't even remember what, all forms of nourishment, grace, and love had been outright rejected with tears, angst and the incredible particularity for detail that few other than toddlers can muster, and time-outs had been had all around. We were on a hair's trigger for everything, and tempers made a millimeter look long.
In a last ditch attempt to salvage the morning, and live into the "fun mom" "making the most of the situation" image, I declared that we would be baking cookies. Because, that totally makes sense. Take chaos and add flour. Totally wise.
Enter complete and total chaos. One child stuck his entire hand into the butter and then smeared it across the table; the other attempted to rip the flour container out of my hands in order to "I do it myself." In the midst of gracefully Julia Childs-ing the ingredients into the bowl, I was performing circus aerobatics trying to keep the eggs from being thrown through the air and the sugar from being eaten by the handful. "No, S" "No, E" "NOOO, not that" were my loving, nurturing, desperate, increasingly frustrated chorus, with a full ensemble backing me up with non-melodious howls. Tantrums and grabby hands multiplied ten-fold.
And then a child grabbed the flour container again, and prepared to hurl it across the floor, and then chastised me, "Mommy, you are making a BIG mess" as I sloshed oats out of the bowl, trying to manically extend my reach to save the inevitable floury catastrophe. The other child was screaming, angrily attached to my leg, because I had put him down for 0.3 seconds to handle the first.
And I lost it. As I grabbed the floury child, I was so angry, it terrified me. I wanted to throw something: the flour, and the cookies, whatever. I wanted to scream. I wanted to quit parenting, and be done. And most of all, I just wanted just five minutes of quiet, away from screaming children.
I didn't do any of those things (nor have I, nor will I, God help me). I put both children in time out in a safe space, left the room, called my husband, in my own tears, and told him I needed a grown-up to talk me down. That I was scared by my own anger, and I was so frustrated that I needed help. And he did. Five minutes on the phone, kids still screaming in the background, getting my own tears and frustration out, I was able to calm down enough that I could rationally, responsibly, and calmly deal with my children.
Why am I sharing this?
I am not proud of this story. I handled my anger when it arose, asked for help, and no children were harmed in the process, and that is worth holding on to. All things that are a mark of maturity and wisdom and, dare I say, necessary components of good parenting. But it was ugly anger, a loss of perspective, and a parent on the verge of temper tantruming herself. And this is not the type of parent that I want to be (because I'm sure it's the type of parent that you want to be, right?).
I'm sharing this story because when this all was said and done, kids were a-snooze for a much needed nap, and I finally found my five minutes of quiet - I found myself wrecked with guilt and shame, as the voices in my head accused no holds barred: "You're the worst mom in history." "You have failed miserably at parenting." "Your kids will be scarred for life." "You suck. What kind of mom gets that angry and loses her temper at her two year old and one year old?" "No other mom would do this." "You should let someone else raise your kids."
You must be the only one.
Anger is one of those aspects of parenting that we don't talk about much. I'm pretty sure I've read a total of two blog posts about it, and had a very small number of honest conversations about it. It's not sweet, ideal, or kosher, or pretty. But it happens, nonetheless. And I'm fairly confident that it happens fairly often. Now, several days of perspective later, I am confident that I am not the only mom who has lost her temper with her kids, or been frightened by her own anger and frustration. Am I wrong? They are adorable little humans, precious, treasured, with worth beyond measure. But they also know how to push every single little button that we have. And make more chaos and mess than your average whirling dervish. Some of you have been here as well, no?
But because we don't talk about anger - when it does rear its ugly head, it feels incredibly isolating, shameful, and scary. And because of that, we struggle to ask for help. To learn from those alongside us, and who have gone ahead of us. To gain the perspective that we need in order to press into those places, to defuse our shame, to ask for forgiveness from our kids, to gain tools in our tool-belts to handle our frustration better in the future so that we actually can be better parents.
Anger is normal - nearly everyone gets angry at some point in time - what we do or say in our anger, or with our anger, or to others in our anger is where problems ensue. And when those problems aren't repented of, rectified, or help sought, well that's where the deep wounds are formed. Please believe me when I say that I don't want to minimize those - I know intimately the depth to which unrepentant, repeated, and internalized angry words or actions can wound us for a lifetime, especially from someone in authority. But I also firmly believe that many of those words can lose their power when true repentance happens, perspective is regained, parents grow, and anger is held accountable by truthful community.
Because here's the reality - anger and frustration bottled under shame and isolation is a tinderbox ready to explode and those explosions rarely avoid casualties. Anger unacknowledged causes an immeasurable amount of harm. But a parent who knows that they are not alone - who knows that without shame, they can acknowledge hard places, ask for help/wisdom/perspective - that parent can take a step back, gain perspective, and move forward in a healthy manner.
Talking about it - acknowledging it - takes the wind out of shame's sails. And true community, the village that it takes to raise our kids, can speak truth, correction, healing and help over us, in ways that we can't to ourselves.
Even if that acknowledging it is actually confessing out-loud something that is hard, like anger and frustration. And asking your friend to encourage you to ask for your children's forgiveness too.
Even if that acknowledging it is a friend listening to you cry and saying, "Just breathe. I've been there too and it sounds like today has been really hard. Give yourself some grace. You're doing a good job."
Even if that acknowledging it means a good friend saying, "that actually does sound like something you need to work on, so that it doesn't wound your children, and I'm here to walk with you in finding that help."**
So I'm sharing this story in the hope that it will be freeing to you, if you happen to be like me, and occasionally lose your temper with your children. You are not alone. Oh sister, brother, you are not alone.
It matters what we do with that anger. It matters immensely, for the sake of our children, our souls, our families, and our selves. But do not let shame intensify or isolate those emotions and actions.
You are not alone.
Say it out loud. Be the safe place where others can say it out loud. And let's walk out of shame, towards growth and healing together.
By acknowledging it together, sharing it out loud, walking alongside one another in truth without condemnation, repenting together, encouraging one another, we can actually enable one another to be better parents. To bless one another with freedom from guilt and shame, and the encouragement and tools that we need to grow.
** While most instances of parental anger and frustration are not matters that require intervention, or CPS/DCF aid, I am fully aware that there are places where a friend does need to, in truth and true friendship, enable a parent to seek professional help in order to protect their children and families. My prayer is that as we talk more about anger, in both big and small instances, that the diffusion of anger will increase, and those instances will become fewer and farther between.
It had been an incredibly long morning already, and it was barely past 10 o'clock. It was rainy, and we were stuck inside, which is always fun with two uber-active kiddos. We were on temper tantrum number I don't even remember what, all forms of nourishment, grace, and love had been outright rejected with tears, angst and the incredible particularity for detail that few other than toddlers can muster, and time-outs had been had all around. We were on a hair's trigger for everything, and tempers made a millimeter look long.
In a last ditch attempt to salvage the morning, and live into the "fun mom" "making the most of the situation" image, I declared that we would be baking cookies. Because, that totally makes sense. Take chaos and add flour. Totally wise.
Enter complete and total chaos. One child stuck his entire hand into the butter and then smeared it across the table; the other attempted to rip the flour container out of my hands in order to "I do it myself." In the midst of gracefully Julia Childs-ing the ingredients into the bowl, I was performing circus aerobatics trying to keep the eggs from being thrown through the air and the sugar from being eaten by the handful. "No, S" "No, E" "NOOO, not that" were my loving, nurturing, desperate, increasingly frustrated chorus, with a full ensemble backing me up with non-melodious howls. Tantrums and grabby hands multiplied ten-fold.
And then a child grabbed the flour container again, and prepared to hurl it across the floor, and then chastised me, "Mommy, you are making a BIG mess" as I sloshed oats out of the bowl, trying to manically extend my reach to save the inevitable floury catastrophe. The other child was screaming, angrily attached to my leg, because I had put him down for 0.3 seconds to handle the first.
And I lost it. As I grabbed the floury child, I was so angry, it terrified me. I wanted to throw something: the flour, and the cookies, whatever. I wanted to scream. I wanted to quit parenting, and be done. And most of all, I just wanted just five minutes of quiet, away from screaming children.
I didn't do any of those things (nor have I, nor will I, God help me). I put both children in time out in a safe space, left the room, called my husband, in my own tears, and told him I needed a grown-up to talk me down. That I was scared by my own anger, and I was so frustrated that I needed help. And he did. Five minutes on the phone, kids still screaming in the background, getting my own tears and frustration out, I was able to calm down enough that I could rationally, responsibly, and calmly deal with my children.
Why am I sharing this?
I am not proud of this story. I handled my anger when it arose, asked for help, and no children were harmed in the process, and that is worth holding on to. All things that are a mark of maturity and wisdom and, dare I say, necessary components of good parenting. But it was ugly anger, a loss of perspective, and a parent on the verge of temper tantruming herself. And this is not the type of parent that I want to be (because I'm sure it's the type of parent that you want to be, right?).
I'm sharing this story because when this all was said and done, kids were a-snooze for a much needed nap, and I finally found my five minutes of quiet - I found myself wrecked with guilt and shame, as the voices in my head accused no holds barred: "You're the worst mom in history." "You have failed miserably at parenting." "Your kids will be scarred for life." "You suck. What kind of mom gets that angry and loses her temper at her two year old and one year old?" "No other mom would do this." "You should let someone else raise your kids."
You must be the only one.
Anger is one of those aspects of parenting that we don't talk about much. I'm pretty sure I've read a total of two blog posts about it, and had a very small number of honest conversations about it. It's not sweet, ideal, or kosher, or pretty. But it happens, nonetheless. And I'm fairly confident that it happens fairly often. Now, several days of perspective later, I am confident that I am not the only mom who has lost her temper with her kids, or been frightened by her own anger and frustration. Am I wrong? They are adorable little humans, precious, treasured, with worth beyond measure. But they also know how to push every single little button that we have. And make more chaos and mess than your average whirling dervish. Some of you have been here as well, no?
But because we don't talk about anger - when it does rear its ugly head, it feels incredibly isolating, shameful, and scary. And because of that, we struggle to ask for help. To learn from those alongside us, and who have gone ahead of us. To gain the perspective that we need in order to press into those places, to defuse our shame, to ask for forgiveness from our kids, to gain tools in our tool-belts to handle our frustration better in the future so that we actually can be better parents.
Anger is normal - nearly everyone gets angry at some point in time - what we do or say in our anger, or with our anger, or to others in our anger is where problems ensue. And when those problems aren't repented of, rectified, or help sought, well that's where the deep wounds are formed. Please believe me when I say that I don't want to minimize those - I know intimately the depth to which unrepentant, repeated, and internalized angry words or actions can wound us for a lifetime, especially from someone in authority. But I also firmly believe that many of those words can lose their power when true repentance happens, perspective is regained, parents grow, and anger is held accountable by truthful community.
Because here's the reality - anger and frustration bottled under shame and isolation is a tinderbox ready to explode and those explosions rarely avoid casualties. Anger unacknowledged causes an immeasurable amount of harm. But a parent who knows that they are not alone - who knows that without shame, they can acknowledge hard places, ask for help/wisdom/perspective - that parent can take a step back, gain perspective, and move forward in a healthy manner.
Talking about it - acknowledging it - takes the wind out of shame's sails. And true community, the village that it takes to raise our kids, can speak truth, correction, healing and help over us, in ways that we can't to ourselves.
Even if that acknowledging it is actually confessing out-loud something that is hard, like anger and frustration. And asking your friend to encourage you to ask for your children's forgiveness too.
Even if that acknowledging it is a friend listening to you cry and saying, "Just breathe. I've been there too and it sounds like today has been really hard. Give yourself some grace. You're doing a good job."
Even if that acknowledging it means a good friend saying, "that actually does sound like something you need to work on, so that it doesn't wound your children, and I'm here to walk with you in finding that help."**
So I'm sharing this story in the hope that it will be freeing to you, if you happen to be like me, and occasionally lose your temper with your children. You are not alone. Oh sister, brother, you are not alone.
It matters what we do with that anger. It matters immensely, for the sake of our children, our souls, our families, and our selves. But do not let shame intensify or isolate those emotions and actions.
You are not alone.
Say it out loud. Be the safe place where others can say it out loud. And let's walk out of shame, towards growth and healing together.
By acknowledging it together, sharing it out loud, walking alongside one another in truth without condemnation, repenting together, encouraging one another, we can actually enable one another to be better parents. To bless one another with freedom from guilt and shame, and the encouragement and tools that we need to grow.
** While most instances of parental anger and frustration are not matters that require intervention, or CPS/DCF aid, I am fully aware that there are places where a friend does need to, in truth and true friendship, enable a parent to seek professional help in order to protect their children and families. My prayer is that as we talk more about anger, in both big and small instances, that the diffusion of anger will increase, and those instances will become fewer and farther between.
Tuesday, September 1, 2015
come alive: the you stuff
I was hanging out with a mom friend this morning and, amidst trying to get our (my) kids to play well with one another and attempting to speak over the dull roar of construction vehicles that our children were animatedly watching, we were catching up on life. Among other things, I was sharing with her about my new venture - starting an Etsy store - and her whole face lit up, she became animated, and her excitement was tangible. What she said was really powerful to me, and that's what I want to share with you. She said (paraphrased):
"I am so so excited for you! You can tell you're excited. Because, this... this is YOU stuff. This is you living out of who you are, not just as a mommy, but in what gives you life and energy. This is we moms need, and struggle to do. I am so proud of you! This is the good stuff!"
This post has nothing to do with my Etsy store, spoiler alert. It's in the menu bar if you're interested. It's not about promoting it, or part of my grand marketing strategy. That's still piecemealed together on napkins that my toddler may or may not have attempted to eat. Slobber is not underrated in this enterprise, apparently.
Rather, this post is about finding what gives you life and doing that. Developing and fostering parts of you that your kids might appreciate, but that aren't solely for them. Teaching them how to be men and women who follow their dreams, follow through on their goals, and pursue joy - by doing it.
Have I written this post before? Yup, pretty sure I have. Pretty sure it's been part of any post that I've written giving advice to my future self, to moms of littles, to future parents, and probably just about anyone else.
It's so easy to give yourself away daily - even while it is infinitely difficult - so much so that we lose all of who we are, and all our toddler can answer when asked "what does mommy enjoy?" is "dishes" "laundry" and "me." All important things, and not to be minimized. Hence, why I will continue washing dishes and folding laundry, ad infinitum.
I want my sons to know that I adore them. That I would do anything for them. That nothing can diminish, alter, or interfere with my love for them. That I love their Daddy with an equally strong, fierce and passionate love. This is first and foremost, if they learn nothing else from me. That they three, husband, and sons, are my priority.
But I also want them to see me follow my dreams, to chase after my goals, and to live a full and joyful life. I want them to see me have the courage to be all of who I am, so that maybe just maybe when I encourage them to be all of who they are, and to chase after their dreams and do the hard work of fulfilling their goals, that they will have examples of what that looks like.
I was reminded this morning, by my friend's kind words of affirmation - this sister has the gift of celebrating with others with her whole being - that it is not a small thing to pursue who we are and to strive to live into the whole of who we are. That it's not just for us - although it is a good and beautiful thing for us as well. That it matters for our kids.
That life perpetuates life.
And that pursuit of life is a good and holy thing.
Will you join me, friend? Will you carve out seconds, minutes, hours - that are costly - to foster life? Even if it's just five minutes a day, will you be intentional to make it happen?
Maybe it's writing - maybe it's reading - maybe you love gardening, cooking, playing games, creating things with your hands - maybe you love singing or making music - maybe your soul comes to life when you climb a mountain or swim with the fish or soar above the clouds.
Whatever it - however long you can whittle out - will you do it? Put your strategy down on those slobbery napkins. Write it down. Speak it out. Make it happen.
Because here's the beautiful secret - life perpetuates life. And when your soul is alive, it spreads. It flows out, it radiates from your being, and it energizes those who come in contact with you.
Come alive.
"I am so so excited for you! You can tell you're excited. Because, this... this is YOU stuff. This is you living out of who you are, not just as a mommy, but in what gives you life and energy. This is we moms need, and struggle to do. I am so proud of you! This is the good stuff!"
This post has nothing to do with my Etsy store, spoiler alert. It's in the menu bar if you're interested. It's not about promoting it, or part of my grand marketing strategy. That's still piecemealed together on napkins that my toddler may or may not have attempted to eat. Slobber is not underrated in this enterprise, apparently.
Rather, this post is about finding what gives you life and doing that. Developing and fostering parts of you that your kids might appreciate, but that aren't solely for them. Teaching them how to be men and women who follow their dreams, follow through on their goals, and pursue joy - by doing it.
Have I written this post before? Yup, pretty sure I have. Pretty sure it's been part of any post that I've written giving advice to my future self, to moms of littles, to future parents, and probably just about anyone else.
It's so easy to give yourself away daily - even while it is infinitely difficult - so much so that we lose all of who we are, and all our toddler can answer when asked "what does mommy enjoy?" is "dishes" "laundry" and "me." All important things, and not to be minimized. Hence, why I will continue washing dishes and folding laundry, ad infinitum.
I want my sons to know that I adore them. That I would do anything for them. That nothing can diminish, alter, or interfere with my love for them. That I love their Daddy with an equally strong, fierce and passionate love. This is first and foremost, if they learn nothing else from me. That they three, husband, and sons, are my priority.
But I also want them to see me follow my dreams, to chase after my goals, and to live a full and joyful life. I want them to see me have the courage to be all of who I am, so that maybe just maybe when I encourage them to be all of who they are, and to chase after their dreams and do the hard work of fulfilling their goals, that they will have examples of what that looks like.
I was reminded this morning, by my friend's kind words of affirmation - this sister has the gift of celebrating with others with her whole being - that it is not a small thing to pursue who we are and to strive to live into the whole of who we are. That it's not just for us - although it is a good and beautiful thing for us as well. That it matters for our kids.
That life perpetuates life.
And that pursuit of life is a good and holy thing.
Will you join me, friend? Will you carve out seconds, minutes, hours - that are costly - to foster life? Even if it's just five minutes a day, will you be intentional to make it happen?
Maybe it's writing - maybe it's reading - maybe you love gardening, cooking, playing games, creating things with your hands - maybe you love singing or making music - maybe your soul comes to life when you climb a mountain or swim with the fish or soar above the clouds.
Whatever it - however long you can whittle out - will you do it? Put your strategy down on those slobbery napkins. Write it down. Speak it out. Make it happen.
Because here's the beautiful secret - life perpetuates life. And when your soul is alive, it spreads. It flows out, it radiates from your being, and it energizes those who come in contact with you.
Come alive.
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