So I have to confess, I was surprised this week...
When I started the recent series on vulnerability (#RealMeRightNow) talking about things I'm actively struggling with right now, rather than past tense - I expected it to be good for me. I even expected it to feel a little weird, awkward, or perhaps even a little exposed.
I was not expecting the internal chaos that ensued. The larger, more central issues, which were illuminated and laid plain by simply opening up that door.
I was not expecting to feel undone. And to have the torrential downpour of emotions that I was unaware were reigning (see what I did there) under the surface suddenly flood externally.
I was not expecting the anger and ugly and loneliness and tears that I found.
I was not expecting the guilt and insignificance that I would feel at voicing current struggles when there are so many bigger issues out there that I should be wrestling with instead. Or the ways in which I would want and need others to come alongside me.
But.
Neither was I expecting the catalyst that it would be for change. The ways that it would force me to face things that otherwise would have remained under the surface, lost under diaper changes, meals, day-to-day busyness, and this most recent Snowmaggedon. The ways that it would require me to step back, go off-line and talk things through with my husband, my closest friends, and with God. The ways that community - true friends - would rise up around me. The ways that I would have to make a choice - step in, or step back - true consolation or false - hope or emptiness. The invitations for growth that I would receive as a result. And the good, forward moving conversations with Jon that would occur.
Suffice to say, this has been a hard week. A risky one. A lonely one. And one with many tears. But a rewarding one, as the chaff burns away and the heart is revealed and refined.
All in all, I think it's worth it - every bit - to be honest and open (with discretion) in the here and now, the good, the bad, and the in yet-to-be-determined. How's that for a promo? But for real. I mean that.
//3
As a disclaimer, I firmly believe that one should never become consumed by solely ones own personal struggles. They are minuscule compared to the larger issues at play in our world. I can name for you countless other things that are more significant, more blog-worthy, and a better use of space and time, than my personal struggles. This is a fact. And I will and do and will continue to, write about those often as well. But. And I am wholly convinced of this - until we face ourselves - until we wrestle with our own demons, our words about larger issues, will largely fall empty. Those who are the most effective in addressing and facilitating change in the world, and calling out the best in others, are those who are neither captivated by nor ignorant of their own hearts and struggles. They are the ones who have faced themselves, know themselves, and are committed to the work of transformation beginning with themselves first and foremost. The wrestling with the rest will follow out of a heart that is willing to be softened, willing to listen, willing to be changed, and willing to act.
So yes, friend, it is worth the space and time to begin with yourself. Don't end there. Don't stay there. But absolutely begin there.
So here's where I am, and what I'm learning, realizing, and struggling with, right here, right now:
//4
Being a stay-at-home mom is an incredible gift - it is also an incredibly lonely, and often thankless job. I love it, and wouldn't trade it for the world - it's the most full and beautiful job that I've ever had, but it's also the hardest job I've ever had - and it's nearly impossible to feel like you are succeeding in it. As someone who is often times not super in touch with her feelings, the reality is, in the haze of young children, I haven't really taken a good evaluation of myself lately, haven't noticed how hollow I have been in the absence of external evaluation and affirmation - until this week, as I attempted to give voice to present struggles. As I voiced my own need for affirmation, all of a sudden, it was as if the external scaffolding of "I'm fine" and "if I can't see it, it's not there" was pulled back and without it, the internal void was revealed. I was, and am, a mess.
//5
And I have never felt so alone.
It was as if all of a sudden, the last 7 months of not really noticing, or paying attention to my heart, feelings, and needs in the midst of caring for the needs of two very adorable but needy little people - the last 7 months of the beautiful and oh so good but often times lonely task of stay-at-home parenthood - came into full view, washing over me like a heavy flood of ugly tears. Pair that with a toddler who has recently discovered his will, the word "no" shouted at high volume, and the value of a good temper tantrum, and an infant who is newly crawling and once-again teething, and let's just say that there were lots of tears in our household, all around.
//6
In the midst of that, a lot of anger began to rise to the surface, in particular with a few very close friends and even my husband. How could they not notice? After all the ways that I have gone out of my way to care for them - why had they not cared for me in tangible ways? Why hadn't he fixed this? Why were they missing me now, as I reached out online, and directly? In the midst of my loneliness, and need for affirmation, I began to lash out (in my heart and head - the wisdom of processing space and discretion was still present, thankfully) at those that I felt should have been there. Should have noticed. To blame. To be jealous of the affirmation and encouragement that these and others received where I felt a lacking. And to feel in my heart the very strong desire to cut off ties, to push them away, and to rage with all the pent up emptiness and hurt that I was feeling. It was/is ugly, friends. Really ugly.
But. Praise the Lord, there is a But.
But, as all of this, all of my ugly, my heart, and my under-the-surface emptiness and storms began to rage in the open - all of a sudden, I had to deal with it. I could no longer ignore it, be ignorant of it, or "just wait for it to blow over." This is one of the gifts and the beauties of vulnerability: it opens a door for the winds of change to begin to blow. Until we face ourselves, change and healing can only be in part.
I had to choose: push through by myself (because that was working really well, from my puddle on the floor complete with toddler companion and infant scavenger) or invite local, every-day, in person friends to see my heart, my needs, and my mess, and allow them to care for me? To pray for me. To encourage me. And to point me back to what is true.
The friends (and Jon) that I invited in, they did. They cared for me. In real and tangible ways. And it was, and is, a beautiful gift. They watched my children, they prayed for me, they spoke truth over me, they hugged me, and they let me rage in healthy ways.
I had to choose: hate my friends who had not seen me, not known what I was going through and not cared for me well in that or deal with my own inner void. Allow Jesus to redirect my neediness to him, and let Him meet it, speak into it, and give me wisdom for how to deal with the feelings of hurt from friends.
As I turned inwards, and looked towards my own heart, my own void, and my own needs - it became clear that the larger issue was my own void, and not the absence of those friends. In fact, it became clearer to me, that they were in their own trenches and rough patches. That their absence had nothing to do with me - that they simply were preoccupied with their own chaos. And I began to hear the invitation from Jesus, to simply love them wildly, and in the ways that I longed to be cared for, without requiring reciprocation. To see them, and move towards them, rather than away.
Please hear me, truly, that I am not opposed to confronting a friend in love - in fact, it often is my first impulse, and often, when done for their sake not mine, is the first step to fighting for a friendship and truly loving the friend - but in this place, it has felt like it is neither true to what God is doing in me, nor true to what God is doing in them. Instead, the invitation for me was one of trust, and pressing in, in radical love. This is an active journey, as I struggle to figure out what that means.
Like Elijah, I am in the cave, waiting for the Lord's presence, His question, and His answer. I am still lonely. Still needing a renewed understanding of who I am and how I am loved. The void is still there. And I am still waiting.
But in truth and vulnerability, it has been laid bare. And in the now-apparent emptiness, there is all-of-a-sudden space, and light, and opportunity for growth. And so now I wait.
But instead of with anger, it is with hope. And an invitation to love.
Instead of alone, it is in the company of friends.
And that is a gift.
#RealMeRightNow
Monday, February 9, 2015
Tuesday, February 3, 2015
Real Me, Right Now: affirm me! tell me I matter!
This is post number two in a new series on vulnerability. Over the course of ten blog posts, I will be sharing five present time things that I'm wrestling with, as well as five strengths or things that I really love about myself. If you are up for it, feel free to join me... or not!
For the longer overview, check out the series introduction or the first post!
#RealMeRightNow
\\2
This one feels a bit more risky, and a lot more ugly, but here it is none-the-less...
I'm a 3 on the Enneagram (the need to succeed) - and man, is it showing these days. Most people crave affirmation and support and encouragement, and want to know that they're doing a good job, but for me, especially when I'm not in the most healthy places, I crave it more than most. More than that, I want to know that I'm doing a good job, enjoyed for who I am, and writing, saying, doing things that matter.
For threes, often times, our biggest fear is failure (not succeeding, not mattering, being abandoned, letting people down, etc) and right now - being a snow-bound, stay-at-home mama (and often feeling like not a great one at that), writing a (slightly!) less than vastly popular blog, between "prestigious" jobs, trying to figure out where our community is now and feeling the loss and transition of some of our friends - in the midst of all of that, all of those insecurities have reared their ugly heads up loud and proud. And I am really wrestling with wanting (and feeling that I need) that affirmation that I'm doing okay. That I'm appreciated. That I matter, not just for what I can do for my kids, or the sacrifice that I am making for them - I know that matters tremendously - but that I as a person, still am doing something that matters. That I have worth and value. (Sound familiar? I'll give you a hint - this is my recurring battle, from whence the title of the blog itself actually came.)
I become more needy and demanding that others affirm me and commute worth to me with their words and actions. My core understanding of my value and worth becomes less stable - and as such, I look to others to stabilize me instead. And get angry when those closest to me can't meet the felt need inside. [Freedom for all: no one can actually meet that need, don't worry. It has very little to do with you.] Or get jealous when others seem to receive the affirmation and attention that I want. Or I become tit-for-tat with my affirmations and care of others - "if I do this for you, then I expect you to do the same for me." And bitter when it is not reciprocated. It's ugly, friends. Deeply ugly.
Lest you think that affirmation and attention are actually what I need, let me just clarify that they aren't. But it sure feels like what I want. Man, does it ever.
I've been here before, and I know that the path to health for me is actually to turn inward - to actually face myself in silence and solitude and a quest for solid truth about my identity and worth, outside of success, public feedback, applause and admiration. To continue to press into truth, vulnerability, and real relationships. To heed the invitation to hear again that "I am called beloved" "daughter" "delight" regardless of what I do, say, or achieve.
It is an invitation for transformation, this struggle - it always is. And it's a good thing, ultimately, this place, because it precedes a healthy, rooted, true place without all the trappings that I attempt to claim as my worth - but it's a hard place to be nonetheless, because all of the scaffolding on which I place my identity and value and worth, feel like they have been removed - and what is left is the ugly places that I go to instead. And, while I know the rooted place, and know that's what I want, that that's good, I'm not there yet.
But sharing this, publicly, while still in process, is a small way of claiming the very real hope that I will be there once again. #RealMeRightNow
For the longer overview, check out the series introduction or the first post!
#RealMeRightNow
\\2
This one feels a bit more risky, and a lot more ugly, but here it is none-the-less...
I'm a 3 on the Enneagram (the need to succeed) - and man, is it showing these days. Most people crave affirmation and support and encouragement, and want to know that they're doing a good job, but for me, especially when I'm not in the most healthy places, I crave it more than most. More than that, I want to know that I'm doing a good job, enjoyed for who I am, and writing, saying, doing things that matter.
For threes, often times, our biggest fear is failure (not succeeding, not mattering, being abandoned, letting people down, etc) and right now - being a snow-bound, stay-at-home mama (and often feeling like not a great one at that), writing a (slightly!) less than vastly popular blog, between "prestigious" jobs, trying to figure out where our community is now and feeling the loss and transition of some of our friends - in the midst of all of that, all of those insecurities have reared their ugly heads up loud and proud. And I am really wrestling with wanting (and feeling that I need) that affirmation that I'm doing okay. That I'm appreciated. That I matter, not just for what I can do for my kids, or the sacrifice that I am making for them - I know that matters tremendously - but that I as a person, still am doing something that matters. That I have worth and value. (Sound familiar? I'll give you a hint - this is my recurring battle, from whence the title of the blog itself actually came.)
I become more needy and demanding that others affirm me and commute worth to me with their words and actions. My core understanding of my value and worth becomes less stable - and as such, I look to others to stabilize me instead. And get angry when those closest to me can't meet the felt need inside. [Freedom for all: no one can actually meet that need, don't worry. It has very little to do with you.] Or get jealous when others seem to receive the affirmation and attention that I want. Or I become tit-for-tat with my affirmations and care of others - "if I do this for you, then I expect you to do the same for me." And bitter when it is not reciprocated. It's ugly, friends. Deeply ugly.
Lest you think that affirmation and attention are actually what I need, let me just clarify that they aren't. But it sure feels like what I want. Man, does it ever.
I've been here before, and I know that the path to health for me is actually to turn inward - to actually face myself in silence and solitude and a quest for solid truth about my identity and worth, outside of success, public feedback, applause and admiration. To continue to press into truth, vulnerability, and real relationships. To heed the invitation to hear again that "I am called beloved" "daughter" "delight" regardless of what I do, say, or achieve.
It is an invitation for transformation, this struggle - it always is. And it's a good thing, ultimately, this place, because it precedes a healthy, rooted, true place without all the trappings that I attempt to claim as my worth - but it's a hard place to be nonetheless, because all of the scaffolding on which I place my identity and value and worth, feel like they have been removed - and what is left is the ugly places that I go to instead. And, while I know the rooted place, and know that's what I want, that that's good, I'm not there yet.
But sharing this, publicly, while still in process, is a small way of claiming the very real hope that I will be there once again. #RealMeRightNow
Monday, February 2, 2015
real me, right now: adventuring vs. order
I wrote a long post earlier this week about this new series on vulnerability, which you can check out, if you're curious about what and why I'm sharing these next few days. But the gist is - as someone who shares often, and offers advice often, from past struggles or lessons - I realized that we often do this only when we reach resolution or "lesson learned," and as such, often times lose the opportunity invite companionship and encouragement or have that true, transparent, honest look at the "real me" in the presence of friends. And in that, hear it said over us, "you are called beloved, yes, even now."
As someone whose "life's ambition and daily challenge is to learn to live as a woman with peace in her presence, and out of the confidence that I am called beloved," I am endeavoring to be more open also in the present and active unresolved places also (with context and discretion), as a way of owning the "real-time" me (both ideal and non-ideal aspects) without shame. I'm currently reading Changes that Heal, by Dr. Henry Cloud, psychologist and author, and this quote talking about the dichotomy between our ideal self and our real self, was striking to me in this regard:
#RealMeRightNow
\\1
As a parent of two very curious, very active little boys, I am wrestling right now with how to find the balance between encouraging creativity, enthusiasm, and adventurous hearts, and just plain old wanting some semblance of safety and order and maybe occasionally quiet. The parent that I want to be longs for the first, but the parent that I am craves the latter too. I often times feel like I can choose either letting them be creative explorers, mess-makers, and enthusiastic adventurers OR keeping things from breaking constantly, in order to not find [for totally hypothetical example] them (the older) on chairs trying to cook on the real stove with real knives (he's fine, don't worry!) or (the younger) under chairs trying to chew on whatever cords he can find. I can either say "no" and "please be careful"always often (and have obedience and some order and a semi-bored toddler) or I can let that go and feel a bit like I'm losing my mind with all the chaos, but bless his/their enthusiastic, creative, explorer selves.
I know it's a balance, and never all either or, but I end most days frustrated either feeling like I've "not let them do anything even mildly dangerous or adventurous" and have had to constantly say no all day or like our entire house has been destroyed by their "helping" and "exploring." I don't want to squelch their enthusiasm, but I often struggle to "let it go" or discern what a "healthy level of explorers' risk" is, for a two year old in particular. [This is without even beginning to touch the very real lack of creative energy I currently have with two littles and the tangible mom guilt of "not being creative enough" or "not doing enough pinterest-y educational activities with them to offset the high levels of energy in healthy ways."] All this exacerbated in real time because of their ages, napping needs, and the massive amounts of snow outside at present, often leading to adventures (out of necessity) being indoors. #RealMeRightNow
As someone whose "life's ambition and daily challenge is to learn to live as a woman with peace in her presence, and out of the confidence that I am called beloved," I am endeavoring to be more open also in the present and active unresolved places also (with context and discretion), as a way of owning the "real-time" me (both ideal and non-ideal aspects) without shame. I'm currently reading Changes that Heal, by Dr. Henry Cloud, psychologist and author, and this quote talking about the dichotomy between our ideal self and our real self, was striking to me in this regard:
If we adopt a judgmental tone, of condemnation and wrath towards what is real, then we have a divided house. Our ideals will judge and condemn our real self into non-existence. We will use shame, guilt, hiding, denial, splitting, and other defenses to hide the real self. Whatever we do not accept in grace will be under judgment and condemnation and we will hide it behind a psychological fig leaf. If we adopt a loving and accepting tone toward our real self, there is hope for transformation. If we are able to accept the parts of ourselves we do not feel are ideal, then those parts will be loved and healed. They can begin to grow in ways never imagined. Acceptance is the answer to the dilemma of the ideal versus the real. That is grace. (Changes that Heal, p. 238)Over the course of ten blog posts, I will be sharing five present time things that I'm wrestling with, as well as five strengths or things that I really love about myself. If you are up for it, feel free to join me!
#RealMeRightNow
\\1
As a parent of two very curious, very active little boys, I am wrestling right now with how to find the balance between encouraging creativity, enthusiasm, and adventurous hearts, and just plain old wanting some semblance of safety and order and maybe occasionally quiet. The parent that I want to be longs for the first, but the parent that I am craves the latter too. I often times feel like I can choose either letting them be creative explorers, mess-makers, and enthusiastic adventurers OR keeping things from breaking constantly, in order to not find [for totally hypothetical example] them (the older) on chairs trying to cook on the real stove with real knives (he's fine, don't worry!) or (the younger) under chairs trying to chew on whatever cords he can find. I can either say "no" and "please be careful"
I know it's a balance, and never all either or, but I end most days frustrated either feeling like I've "not let them do anything even mildly dangerous or adventurous" and have had to constantly say no all day or like our entire house has been destroyed by their "helping" and "exploring." I don't want to squelch their enthusiasm, but I often struggle to "let it go" or discern what a "healthy level of explorers' risk" is, for a two year old in particular. [This is without even beginning to touch the very real lack of creative energy I currently have with two littles and the tangible mom guilt of "not being creative enough" or "not doing enough pinterest-y educational activities with them to offset the high levels of energy in healthy ways."] All this exacerbated in real time because of their ages, napping needs, and the massive amounts of snow outside at present, often leading to adventures (out of necessity) being indoors. #RealMeRightNow
Friday, January 30, 2015
New Series: Vulnerability
Dear friends,
Have you ever noticed that we tend to talk about struggles, learning curves, rough patches and lessons (learned) only after they are, well, learned, beaten, overcome, etc?
There's something beautiful, and perhaps delightful, that we want to share hope, encouragement, advice, and diamonds in the rough that we've uncovered the hard way - so that someone else can be encouraged, or learn the lesson a bit easier than we have had to. In a world that is full of discouragement, brokenness, and hardship, there is something quite beautiful and good about seeing triumphs and struggles overcome. Please don't get me wrong; I wholeheartedly encourage and bless "battles won" stories. And I will read them, celebrate with you, weep with you, and empathize as I'm able. True hope is always a good thing.
But.
Have you ever noticed that we don't really talk about "struggles" or "rough patches" when we're in the thick of them? When we don't see the light at the end of the tunnel yet? When we don't know where we're going even? When we're treading water, lost in the dark, overwhelmed, uncertain or even just confused and in need of direction... or maybe just sad. Even if we still have hope - real hope, not denial or avoidance of the issues - we don't talk about it until that hope has been realized.
Of course there is wisdom to discretion in where and when we share. And of course there are things that we struggle with that are not ours alone, and thus not ours to share. And certainly, we wish to avoid whining or complaining and do our utmost to maintain a positive perspective. Given.
But if we happen to be people who preach vulnerability and honesty regularly - those who share struggles in the past tense willingly, if not always easily - and very certainly, if we are those who often find ourselves offering advice out of our "past lessons" - can we not also be willing to share (with wisdom) those that are still "in process"?
My hunch is that we don't because we are deeply afraid that we will be greeted with fast fixes and easy solutions, and not really heard. That we'll be judged. That the clock will start ticking for us to figure this out. That maybe our worst fears are true, and we really are the only ones who are still wrestling with this. Or maybe people just won't know how to respond and it'll be "a conversation killer" or we'll be labeled "the girl who is ______" or maybe it'll just be really awkward. We'll get a pat on the back, some stock advice, and then others will either move on, or dwell there forever not allowing us to be the dynamic human beings that we are and actually grow and find our diamonds through the rough. That the real vulnerability of putting our raw selves out there will leave us just that - raw, vulnerable, and exposed. And even more alone than we were before.
Lest you think I am waxing poetic, using far too many words, as usual, let me be clear: this is me. I am excellent at being open about struggles, once I am through them. Or have a plan. Or feel that I have learned a [valuable] lesson out of them. But not so great about real-time transparency.
And while that keeps the waters clearer for everyone else, I don't know that it's always the healthiest pattern for any of us. See, I think we wrestlers - and I think that actually includes most of us - more than any wisdom or advice, we need to know that we're not alone. That struggle, that rough patches, are okay. That we make it through them, that there are others ahead of us on the journey, absolutely. But we also, like AA members, need brothers and sisters who are beside us in the journey, wrestling together, as well as those ahead of us, and those we lead as well. And often times the only way we find those companions is by giving voice to where we wrestle, in present tense. Inviting companions on the journey, if you will.
In all fairness, on the other side of the proverbial vulnerability coin, we (I, at least - I'm assuming I'm not the only one?!) are also hesitant to talk about our strengths and gifts, places where we do have wisdom, things we love about ourselves - perhaps because we don't really have the vernacular to do so without sounding arrogant or boastful. I always feel a little embarrassed and feel like I need to qualify any statement of that nature. Or, in my less healthy moments, plant hints so that someone else will say it about me so that I can humbly bow my head and politely deny it, and then instruct my minions with my wealth of knowledge and wisdom. [sound familiar?] At which point the strength has become neither helpful to someone else nor a healthy appraisal of self.
But this is also vulnerability - and a healthy, humble, and honest assessment of self. And if I can be honest - this one is far harder for me to do than the former. But a healthy exercise for me to do nonetheless. [try it: what do you love about yourself?!]
Perhaps you are better at one of these than the other.
So where am I going with this?
I have this crazy idea that I'm going to start something new here...
... that I'm going to take the first step, hoping that some of you will follow after, and share - in real time - five current places of wrestling for me. And five current things that I consider strengths in myself, that I love about who I am and the ways that I relate to others. One a day, over the course of ten posts. [but no promises that they will be consecutive days...]
I promise, I will do this [in a paragraph or two?] briefly. Without attempting to summarize or come to a clean conclusion. And conversely, without embarrassment or qualifications.
They will be a wide variety of wrestlings and things I love - some bigger, some smaller - all weighed with discretion for contextual appropriateness before sharing. But each real in its own wrestling and blessing. I totally thought these out this morning while waiting for my annual well-patient OBGYN appointment. [TMI? Probably. But I totally did just so you know.]
Perhaps you will follow along. Perhaps you won't. But if you do, I hope it will in some small way encourage you.
Because it is in fact vulnerability, may I make one teeny tiny request?
Should you happen to share a similar struggle, or have already been through it, and feel you have wisdom to offer, perhaps a well-received response would be along the lines of:
... Offering empathy and encouragement - avoiding pithy and trite phrases as much as possible. Consider how you can bless gifts and struggle with your words and your responses.
... Not minimizing active struggle by jumping straight to solution or advice. Leaving the ball in our court as to whether we're ready for advice, or just need to know that we're not alone.
And if you are willing, would you consider sharing out loud, in social media, one thing that you really love about yourself (#WhatILikeAboutMe)? And maybe one place that you are actively wrestling?
Let's see what happens. But here we go...
Have you ever noticed that we tend to talk about struggles, learning curves, rough patches and lessons (learned) only after they are, well, learned, beaten, overcome, etc?
There's something beautiful, and perhaps delightful, that we want to share hope, encouragement, advice, and diamonds in the rough that we've uncovered the hard way - so that someone else can be encouraged, or learn the lesson a bit easier than we have had to. In a world that is full of discouragement, brokenness, and hardship, there is something quite beautiful and good about seeing triumphs and struggles overcome. Please don't get me wrong; I wholeheartedly encourage and bless "battles won" stories. And I will read them, celebrate with you, weep with you, and empathize as I'm able. True hope is always a good thing.
But.
Have you ever noticed that we don't really talk about "struggles" or "rough patches" when we're in the thick of them? When we don't see the light at the end of the tunnel yet? When we don't know where we're going even? When we're treading water, lost in the dark, overwhelmed, uncertain or even just confused and in need of direction... or maybe just sad. Even if we still have hope - real hope, not denial or avoidance of the issues - we don't talk about it until that hope has been realized.
Of course there is wisdom to discretion in where and when we share. And of course there are things that we struggle with that are not ours alone, and thus not ours to share. And certainly, we wish to avoid whining or complaining and do our utmost to maintain a positive perspective. Given.
But if we happen to be people who preach vulnerability and honesty regularly - those who share struggles in the past tense willingly, if not always easily - and very certainly, if we are those who often find ourselves offering advice out of our "past lessons" - can we not also be willing to share (with wisdom) those that are still "in process"?
My hunch is that we don't because we are deeply afraid that we will be greeted with fast fixes and easy solutions, and not really heard. That we'll be judged. That the clock will start ticking for us to figure this out. That maybe our worst fears are true, and we really are the only ones who are still wrestling with this. Or maybe people just won't know how to respond and it'll be "a conversation killer" or we'll be labeled "the girl who is ______" or maybe it'll just be really awkward. We'll get a pat on the back, some stock advice, and then others will either move on, or dwell there forever not allowing us to be the dynamic human beings that we are and actually grow and find our diamonds through the rough. That the real vulnerability of putting our raw selves out there will leave us just that - raw, vulnerable, and exposed. And even more alone than we were before.
Lest you think I am waxing poetic, using far too many words, as usual, let me be clear: this is me. I am excellent at being open about struggles, once I am through them. Or have a plan. Or feel that I have learned a [valuable] lesson out of them. But not so great about real-time transparency.
And while that keeps the waters clearer for everyone else, I don't know that it's always the healthiest pattern for any of us. See, I think we wrestlers - and I think that actually includes most of us - more than any wisdom or advice, we need to know that we're not alone. That struggle, that rough patches, are okay. That we make it through them, that there are others ahead of us on the journey, absolutely. But we also, like AA members, need brothers and sisters who are beside us in the journey, wrestling together, as well as those ahead of us, and those we lead as well. And often times the only way we find those companions is by giving voice to where we wrestle, in present tense. Inviting companions on the journey, if you will.
In all fairness, on the other side of the proverbial vulnerability coin, we (I, at least - I'm assuming I'm not the only one?!) are also hesitant to talk about our strengths and gifts, places where we do have wisdom, things we love about ourselves - perhaps because we don't really have the vernacular to do so without sounding arrogant or boastful. I always feel a little embarrassed and feel like I need to qualify any statement of that nature. Or, in my less healthy moments, plant hints so that someone else will say it about me so that I can humbly bow my head and politely deny it, and then instruct my minions with my wealth of knowledge and wisdom. [sound familiar?] At which point the strength has become neither helpful to someone else nor a healthy appraisal of self.
But this is also vulnerability - and a healthy, humble, and honest assessment of self. And if I can be honest - this one is far harder for me to do than the former. But a healthy exercise for me to do nonetheless. [try it: what do you love about yourself?!]
Perhaps you are better at one of these than the other.
So where am I going with this?
I have this crazy idea that I'm going to start something new here...
... that I'm going to take the first step, hoping that some of you will follow after, and share - in real time - five current places of wrestling for me. And five current things that I consider strengths in myself, that I love about who I am and the ways that I relate to others. One a day, over the course of ten posts. [but no promises that they will be consecutive days...]
I promise, I will do this [in a paragraph or two?] briefly. Without attempting to summarize or come to a clean conclusion. And conversely, without embarrassment or qualifications.
They will be a wide variety of wrestlings and things I love - some bigger, some smaller - all weighed with discretion for contextual appropriateness before sharing. But each real in its own wrestling and blessing. I totally thought these out this morning while waiting for my annual well-patient OBGYN appointment. [TMI? Probably. But I totally did just so you know.]
Perhaps you will follow along. Perhaps you won't. But if you do, I hope it will in some small way encourage you.
Because it is in fact vulnerability, may I make one teeny tiny request?
Should you happen to share a similar struggle, or have already been through it, and feel you have wisdom to offer, perhaps a well-received response would be along the lines of:
... Offering empathy and encouragement - avoiding pithy and trite phrases as much as possible. Consider how you can bless gifts and struggle with your words and your responses.
... Not minimizing active struggle by jumping straight to solution or advice. Leaving the ball in our court as to whether we're ready for advice, or just need to know that we're not alone.
And if you are willing, would you consider sharing out loud, in social media, one thing that you really love about yourself (#WhatILikeAboutMe)? And maybe one place that you are actively wrestling?
Let's see what happens. But here we go...
Friday, January 9, 2015
6 months and oh so adorable!
Happy 6+ months, E! [You hit this milestone a week and a half ago, but since this is the only baby booking that Mommy is doing, we're going to do it anyhow! :)] I say this every time, but I can't believe how fast time is flying - it seems like you are growing up overnight these days! And Daddy and I are absolutely loving getting to be your parents. It seems like every day you wrap us (and your big brother!) more and more around your little fingers... we love you so very much!
Your Profile
At your 6 month appointment, you were 27.5 inches long and 16.4 lbs - very tall (98 percentile), and very lean (just off the 50th percentile)! Your doctor has tasked us with fattening you up a bit, as you are slightly underweight, so you are enjoying copious amounts of food these days! You are very content to just hang out or snuggle, and in no hurry to move - you do, however, love to talk with mom and dad, and big brother, and everything goes in your mouth! You have fair blond-brown hair, and still slightly blue eyes, although like your brothers, they are darkening gradually. You are the happiest, most smily, trusting kiddo - you greet everyone and anyone everywhere with a huge grin. And, at long last, you seem to have outgrown your digestive issues, for which we are so thankful! This is the first full month without digestive fussiness, and the reflux has improved dramatically with solids. You are sleeping well (through the night, starting at 5 months), eating fairly well now, and grinning all the time.
Things You've Learned
You are quite adroit at rolling from your tummy to back, and can do back to tummy, but haven't mastered it on your own yet. You are very close to sitting on your own, but still like to flop over for a snuggle instead of stay independently up. You are "worm" scooting in your crib, but not true crawling yet. I don't think it's far off though. You started solid foods at 6 months, and are very proud of your ability to put food in your own mouth, and very insistent that no one but you gets to hold the spoon. You appear to be a righty, at least at first glance.
You were also baptized this month, at Mommy and Daddy's home church - with all of Daddy's family in attendance! You smiled and wiggled and seemed totally indifferent to the whole experience! Your brother loved the microphone and wanted to make a speech on your behalf (or at least hold the microphone!)
Your Firsts
Things You Like
Your Profile
At your 6 month appointment, you were 27.5 inches long and 16.4 lbs - very tall (98 percentile), and very lean (just off the 50th percentile)! Your doctor has tasked us with fattening you up a bit, as you are slightly underweight, so you are enjoying copious amounts of food these days! You are very content to just hang out or snuggle, and in no hurry to move - you do, however, love to talk with mom and dad, and big brother, and everything goes in your mouth! You have fair blond-brown hair, and still slightly blue eyes, although like your brothers, they are darkening gradually. You are the happiest, most smily, trusting kiddo - you greet everyone and anyone everywhere with a huge grin. And, at long last, you seem to have outgrown your digestive issues, for which we are so thankful! This is the first full month without digestive fussiness, and the reflux has improved dramatically with solids. You are sleeping well (through the night, starting at 5 months), eating fairly well now, and grinning all the time.
 |
| Thing One and Thing Two are virtually inseparable |
 |
| Loving our Solid Foods! |
Things You've Learned
You are quite adroit at rolling from your tummy to back, and can do back to tummy, but haven't mastered it on your own yet. You are very close to sitting on your own, but still like to flop over for a snuggle instead of stay independently up. You are "worm" scooting in your crib, but not true crawling yet. I don't think it's far off though. You started solid foods at 6 months, and are very proud of your ability to put food in your own mouth, and very insistent that no one but you gets to hold the spoon. You appear to be a righty, at least at first glance.
 |
| Baptism by Dan V |
You were also baptized this month, at Mommy and Daddy's home church - with all of Daddy's family in attendance! You smiled and wiggled and seemed totally indifferent to the whole experience! Your brother loved the microphone and wanted to make a speech on your behalf (or at least hold the microphone!)
 |
| Family Baptism photo |
Your Firsts
- Solid foods (6 mo) - current favorite is sweet potatoes and avocados
- Christmas (5 mo 3 wk) - we celebrated with all of Daddy's family, up in New Hampshire
- Meeting all of your aunts, uncles, cousins, grandparents and great-grandparents
- Sharing a room with your brother (at 6 mo) - you both LOVE it and spend your settling time grinning at each other and talking - and surprisingly, most nights, you both sleep well
- Big cold - icky yucky - but you have handled it like a champ. Like every child except your big brother, you hate the booger sucker, but other than that, have handled it stellarly.
- Tooth (at 6 mo 1 wk)- finally! We have one in and it looks like 3 more close behind
- Snowfall - you were unimpressed
 |
| Playing in the snow with Mommy and Grandma - not sure what Mommy's face is doing :-P |
Things You Like
- Your brother - always and forever, he is the very tip top of your list
- When Daddy tickles you or tosses you (gently) in the air
- Sweet potatoes and avocados
- Feeding yourself (and chewing on everything)
- Snuggle-time with mommy (or really anyone)
- Reading stories (and chewing on books, let's be honest)
- Smiling
 |
| Christmas in NH with Family |
 |
| Christmas morning 2014 |
 |
| Family picture, Christmas 2014 |
 |
| Christmas morning 2014 |
 |
| Snuggles with mommy, Christmas morning |
We love you so very very much, sweet E! We are so very proud of the little boy that you are, and delighted that we get to be your parents and walk with you each step of the way! Thank you, for bringing us so much joy and laughter each day!
 |
| 6 months old! |
Monday, January 5, 2015
in the trenches of motherhood
Can I tell you that I love my kids more than I ever thought possible?
That from the moment we found out we were pregnant, to the moment I hollered pushing them out and they hollered back in return, to the first time I held each of them, to the giggles at each other that threaten to burst my heart wide open all over again... in each of those moments, I have loved more fiercely, more deeply, more sweetly than I ever thought possible. And that love just continues to grow, without signs of stopping. I would do anything for those little boys. Anything. In a heartbeat.
... unless it's respond to "maaaaaa-maaaaa" again for the 20089234rd time this morning.
You moms of toddlers, babies, infants (teenagers, tweens too?) you know what I'm talking about. Let's shoot straight for just a hot second, mkay?
We love our kiddos to death.
But we are "le tired" and "well then have a nap" is not an option for us. And the missiles are already firing. And if you have more than one, "nap while they're napping" is a sweet and blissful dream that we haven't gotten to visit in a while. Truthfully.
And while I love my mommy blogs, I have read a few too many lately that seem to dichotomize how deeply we love our kids with the reality that we're tired. And sometimes driven crazy by our littles. That we sometimes miss our "pre-kids" lives, even while we would never dream of trading the richness and beauty of our crazy lives now. I've felt the guilt of talking about how much my toddler is driving me crazy with his wonderful curiosity and wicked smart little brain (for reals, the kid knows almost all his letters and can count to twenty with only a few sezzenba-teens inserted and he's not even two yet. #mombrag). And you can bet your hot cup of coffee that I never get to drink a hot cup of coffee anymore because we have to do that together all.day.long. But if I say that out loud, that I'm going a little bit crazy, it must mean that I'm failing to "treasure the moments" or "enjoy it while they're little" or going to miss out on it and then "they grow up so fast." Say it on facebook sometime, and see how many comments it takes before someone says that. I'd give you three tops, bless their hearts.
It feels a little too either/or - either mommy blogs are totally sarcastic about mommyhood and the craziness of parenting and all the poop (literally and figuratively, because let's be honest, there's SO much poop) OR they're sweet and lovely, easy fix proposals, cleaned up more than today's G rated movies, that frankly make me either cry sweet tears and want another baby now (what?!) or feel *poopy* about my current level of frustration about all the poop and other things equally inane.
Right? Tell me I'm not the only one.
I hate the feeling that admitting things are messy, exhausting or chaotic, without a pretty conclusion, somehow makes us feel like we need to clarify, "but I really love my kids" as if that was not understood.
Because... isn't that just motherhood? A love and life so fierce and so strong and so beautiful that it cannot be explained in words, amidst a chaos of unknowns and so.many. graham cracker crumbs and all that poop and mind-numbing exhaustion and angst of trying to figure out how do I help my child with ____, coupled with laughter and smiles so wide they make your face hurt.
My sweet, joyful, contented youngest son was colicky for the first four and a half months of his life. I say colicky, because I don't really have a word otherwise - but I know that it's not fully accurate, for those mamas that do have a truly colicky baby. What I mean by that is - at least two if not more feedings a day, he would be writhing, screaming, and fighting against me, as if in pain. Otherwise he was happy, but nursing was anything but pleasant or beautiful. But he wouldn't take a bottle, period (and yes, we tried everything) and so to feed him, this was our only option. [Yes, we talked to his doctor, we tried dietary changes for us both, we tried medicines, we tried everything short of feeding him while I stood on my head while drinking a gallon of southern half-sweetened iced tea through a catheter.] For four and a half months. It was unpredictable, inexplicable, and made leaving the house brutal. I used to look forward to being woken up in the middle of the night for feedings, because those were the only feedings that were predictably always peaceful and sweet. And then all of a sudden, at four and a half months, after a week where I thought it could not possibly get worse, all of a sudden, it stopped. And just like that, my happy, easy-going, trusting baby became a happy baby while eating as well. His doctor says they sometimes just have to outgrow it. Whatever it was, I'll take it. Hallelujah.
But you know what? In the midst of all that crazy, exhausting, agony of trying to get him to eat and simultaneously feeling like I was torturing him, I was and am head over heels for that little guy. He's my snuggle bug, my easy-going, forgiving, sweet little guy - the cutest little button, with the sweetest laugh, and the biggest grin when his brother walks into the room. Even in the midst of my tears, on those awful bad horrible days, when I just needed a break, I could not imagine loving him more. And yet that love just continue(d/s) to grow.
But sometimes, in the midst of that, I just needed to be able to say "This is hard right now" "I am so frustrated right now" "I need a break" - without feeling like I'd either get reminded to treasure the moments or like I needed to quickly follow it with a treatise defending my love for my child.
Right?
Can that be a grace that we give one another?
To seek to honor our kids in what we share, yes. To not continually whine or complain, absolutely. But, yet, not to photoshop our lives either. To offer helpful feedback when it's requested. But not to instantaneously jump there. To dwell with one another, offer grace to one another, and bless each other to be messy and chaotic and totally in love with our messy, chaotic kiddos. To sometimes just say "That sounds really hard. I'm sorry." rather than jumping to a proposed solution.
I am incredibly grateful to be a part of a number of mom's groups, friendships, and communities where women are can be honest with one another about the hard, exhausting parts, and without that being heard as antithetical to loving our kids. And I am beyond thankful for that. I don't know how I would have made it through those months - or how I'll make it through toddlerhood - without those relationships.
Can we be that community to one another? Can we breathe that grace over one another?
For the mama who is exhausted, missing sleep and her previous life, can we give her the freedom to not be "loving every minute of it"? That we know she loves her son or daughter and it's okay to admit that it's hard. For the mama who doesn't know what to do next, can we give her the grace to know that she's not alone? That it's okay. That we've been there too, and we also don't have all the answers. That her love for her kids is showing even in her "I don't know." For the mother whose toddler is driving her up a wall right now, can we give her set her free with a cup of hot coffee and maybe an afternoon off, and the truth that she's doing a great job. It's okay that she gets frustrated and tired. It's okay that she needs a break, because tomorrow, she'll be right back there, exactly where her kids need her.
Motherhood often feels in the trenches. And can be incredibly lonely. And exhausting. Even while it is one of the most beautiful, fulfilling experiences I have ever known. We need one another. It's not either/or messy or beautiful. It's always both. And when we can be for one another, in the messy parts as well as the beautiful, then we're actually in the trenches, together.
... and I really love my kids. :)
That from the moment we found out we were pregnant, to the moment I hollered pushing them out and they hollered back in return, to the first time I held each of them, to the giggles at each other that threaten to burst my heart wide open all over again... in each of those moments, I have loved more fiercely, more deeply, more sweetly than I ever thought possible. And that love just continues to grow, without signs of stopping. I would do anything for those little boys. Anything. In a heartbeat.
... unless it's respond to "maaaaaa-maaaaa" again for the 20089234rd time this morning.
You moms of toddlers, babies, infants (teenagers, tweens too?) you know what I'm talking about. Let's shoot straight for just a hot second, mkay?
We love our kiddos to death.
But we are "le tired" and "well then have a nap" is not an option for us. And the missiles are already firing. And if you have more than one, "nap while they're napping" is a sweet and blissful dream that we haven't gotten to visit in a while. Truthfully.
And while I love my mommy blogs, I have read a few too many lately that seem to dichotomize how deeply we love our kids with the reality that we're tired. And sometimes driven crazy by our littles. That we sometimes miss our "pre-kids" lives, even while we would never dream of trading the richness and beauty of our crazy lives now. I've felt the guilt of talking about how much my toddler is driving me crazy with his wonderful curiosity and wicked smart little brain (for reals, the kid knows almost all his letters and can count to twenty with only a few sezzenba-teens inserted and he's not even two yet. #mombrag). And you can bet your hot cup of coffee that I never get to drink a hot cup of coffee anymore because we have to do that together all.day.long. But if I say that out loud, that I'm going a little bit crazy, it must mean that I'm failing to "treasure the moments" or "enjoy it while they're little" or going to miss out on it and then "they grow up so fast." Say it on facebook sometime, and see how many comments it takes before someone says that. I'd give you three tops, bless their hearts.
It feels a little too either/or - either mommy blogs are totally sarcastic about mommyhood and the craziness of parenting and all the poop (literally and figuratively, because let's be honest, there's SO much poop) OR they're sweet and lovely, easy fix proposals, cleaned up more than today's G rated movies, that frankly make me either cry sweet tears and want another baby now (what?!) or feel *poopy* about my current level of frustration about all the poop and other things equally inane.
Right? Tell me I'm not the only one.
I hate the feeling that admitting things are messy, exhausting or chaotic, without a pretty conclusion, somehow makes us feel like we need to clarify, "but I really love my kids" as if that was not understood.
Because... isn't that just motherhood? A love and life so fierce and so strong and so beautiful that it cannot be explained in words, amidst a chaos of unknowns and so.many. graham cracker crumbs and all that poop and mind-numbing exhaustion and angst of trying to figure out how do I help my child with ____, coupled with laughter and smiles so wide they make your face hurt.
My sweet, joyful, contented youngest son was colicky for the first four and a half months of his life. I say colicky, because I don't really have a word otherwise - but I know that it's not fully accurate, for those mamas that do have a truly colicky baby. What I mean by that is - at least two if not more feedings a day, he would be writhing, screaming, and fighting against me, as if in pain. Otherwise he was happy, but nursing was anything but pleasant or beautiful. But he wouldn't take a bottle, period (and yes, we tried everything) and so to feed him, this was our only option. [Yes, we talked to his doctor, we tried dietary changes for us both, we tried medicines, we tried everything short of feeding him while I stood on my head while drinking a gallon of southern half-sweetened iced tea through a catheter.] For four and a half months. It was unpredictable, inexplicable, and made leaving the house brutal. I used to look forward to being woken up in the middle of the night for feedings, because those were the only feedings that were predictably always peaceful and sweet. And then all of a sudden, at four and a half months, after a week where I thought it could not possibly get worse, all of a sudden, it stopped. And just like that, my happy, easy-going, trusting baby became a happy baby while eating as well. His doctor says they sometimes just have to outgrow it. Whatever it was, I'll take it. Hallelujah.
But you know what? In the midst of all that crazy, exhausting, agony of trying to get him to eat and simultaneously feeling like I was torturing him, I was and am head over heels for that little guy. He's my snuggle bug, my easy-going, forgiving, sweet little guy - the cutest little button, with the sweetest laugh, and the biggest grin when his brother walks into the room. Even in the midst of my tears, on those awful bad horrible days, when I just needed a break, I could not imagine loving him more. And yet that love just continue(d/s) to grow.
But sometimes, in the midst of that, I just needed to be able to say "This is hard right now" "I am so frustrated right now" "I need a break" - without feeling like I'd either get reminded to treasure the moments or like I needed to quickly follow it with a treatise defending my love for my child.
Right?
Can that be a grace that we give one another?
To seek to honor our kids in what we share, yes. To not continually whine or complain, absolutely. But, yet, not to photoshop our lives either. To offer helpful feedback when it's requested. But not to instantaneously jump there. To dwell with one another, offer grace to one another, and bless each other to be messy and chaotic and totally in love with our messy, chaotic kiddos. To sometimes just say "That sounds really hard. I'm sorry." rather than jumping to a proposed solution.
I am incredibly grateful to be a part of a number of mom's groups, friendships, and communities where women are can be honest with one another about the hard, exhausting parts, and without that being heard as antithetical to loving our kids. And I am beyond thankful for that. I don't know how I would have made it through those months - or how I'll make it through toddlerhood - without those relationships.
Can we be that community to one another? Can we breathe that grace over one another?
For the mama who is exhausted, missing sleep and her previous life, can we give her the freedom to not be "loving every minute of it"? That we know she loves her son or daughter and it's okay to admit that it's hard. For the mama who doesn't know what to do next, can we give her the grace to know that she's not alone? That it's okay. That we've been there too, and we also don't have all the answers. That her love for her kids is showing even in her "I don't know." For the mother whose toddler is driving her up a wall right now, can we give her set her free with a cup of hot coffee and maybe an afternoon off, and the truth that she's doing a great job. It's okay that she gets frustrated and tired. It's okay that she needs a break, because tomorrow, she'll be right back there, exactly where her kids need her.
Motherhood often feels in the trenches. And can be incredibly lonely. And exhausting. Even while it is one of the most beautiful, fulfilling experiences I have ever known. We need one another. It's not either/or messy or beautiful. It's always both. And when we can be for one another, in the messy parts as well as the beautiful, then we're actually in the trenches, together.
... and I really love my kids. :)
Saturday, December 6, 2014
Letters to my sons: from a very white mama to her white sons, on race and current events
Dear sons,
At nearly 2 and just barely past 5 months, you are both blissfully unaware of current events outside of what time lunch is and whether we're going to the playground or not. You haven't processed #BlackLivesMatter or #ICantBreathe or #Ferguson or #HandsUpDontShoot or #EricGarner, and as a result, your only connection to #EnoughIsEnough correlates to your thoughts on the portions of protein that mommy requires you to eat at dinner prior to getting a cookie.
But there's been a lot going on lately, pertaining to race, in our country, and a lot of the brokenness which has long been there has been thrust into the limelight (again). And a lot of black people (and a few white people) are hurting, grieving, sad, angry. And a lot of white people are talking loudly, angry, defensively. And a lot of other white people aren't talking about it at all. And a lot of other black and white (and other races of) people fit and don't fit in those categories, so I won't attempt to oversimplify or categorize them - simply acknowledge that they're in the mix also. Suffice to say, there's a lot of hurt and a lot of brokenness and a lot of mess.
A few days ago, a friend of mommy's wrote a letter to her black son, in her grief and process over recent events, with her promises to him and his white brother. It was beautiful, and true, and from the heart, and she says so much, so much better than I ever will be able to. But it also got me thinking, about what I want to teach you both, what I would say to you both, in light of Ferguson, or Eric Garner, or our justice system and race, or any of the many different "incidents" that have happened, both carried by the media and those that remain hidden.
Mommy was raised on a farm, in the middle of the "suburbs" of one of the tiniest towns in very rural North Carolina. My life growing up, was about as white as it could possibly be. It wasn't until college that my own "colorblind" lenses began to come off, and I began a very slow journey of learning how other people's lives were different than mine, how skin color or "ethnic-ness" of name still does affect the ways that people are treated and received. It wasn't until college, and the decade since, that I actually began to listen to other people's stories and learn how to listen first, how to love with words and actions, and how to be actively for someone else whose story was different from my own. I'm still learning, honestly, and I don't always engage well, or even at all. I am not good at this. But I am choosing to engage because it matters. Because it's not just a race issue. It's a human issue. And it effects people that I know and love. And in my bumbling response, I would prefer to ask for grace and forgiveness, than to add my voice to the silence. And so I do both even now.
Sons, you are both beautiful, beautiful boys - with blond hair and light colored eyes and white skin. And the way that you are is fearfully and wonderfully made, please make no mistake. Being white is not a bad thing - it is a good and beautiful thing. But as a result of your skin color, and the fact that you were born into a middle class, well-educated family, many people would tell you that this "issue" of race or these "issues" are not yours to deal with. By virtue of your heritage, unfortunately, you have the luxury of choosing whether or not you will engage, before you ever determine how well or poorly you will engage, with anything pertaining to the tattered race relations in our country.
I am pleading with you, please do not buy into this lie.
We pray that you will walk in the faith that your daddy and I have, which teaches that we are called to care for the well-being of our brothers and sisters; that we are a Kingdom of people who retain beautiful and celebrated ethnicity and are not monochromatic; that as a body, when one part is hurting, the rest is hurt as well; that we are called to use our voices to defend justice, to speak up for the oppressed - but even if you don't - even if our faith does not continue to be yours, the truth is we are human beings, and because of our common humanity, we must long for all men (and women) to be treated with compassion, justice, humanity, and yes, equality. And in that, I hope you will see the role that you can play, the ways in which your voice can be used, and will chose to engage rather than absent yourselves.
I would entreat you, first and foremost, to listen. And to listen to understand, not in order to respond. Hear people. Hear people who are different than you. Hear their hearts, their hurt, and their desires. Understand that you might not understand. Leave your opinions at the door. And listen first instead. Regardless of the specifics of either of these cases, please hear the collective weeping and grieving and anger of men and women who are intelligent and wise and experienced, and different from you, and ask "why?" And listen. If you only do this, I guarantee you will respond differently, even if just with more compassion. And when the time comes to act - and there almost always is a time to act - ask others who know more than you, who understand better than you, "what can I do?" This applies in any situation where you are seeking to aid someone who is hurting, angry, or grieving.
Along that same vein, please understand that #blacklivesmatter does not infer that white lives don't. Nor does it infer that being white is a bad thing. It is not a zero sum game. No amount of value added or given to another human being detracts from the inherent value that you yourself possess. So, in as much as it is possible for you, leave defensiveness behind. Grief over injustice, grief over injustice perpetuated by people who look like you, does not mean that you are being shamed. It should cause us to examine our hearts, our biases, our actions and our motives, yes, absolutely. And pray to God that he will change us where we need to be changed. It should lead to repentance, where needed. But it should not lead to shame or defensiveness or a sense that we have to lose value in order to recognize the inherent value in one different than us.
But... at the same time, please recognize that there are ways in which our system of government, our history, and our culture, has given you unique welcome and privilege. You, as white, middle-class, (hopefully) educated men, will have very few rooms that you cannot walk into. Very few tables at which you will not be welcome to join. Very few places in which your voice is not invited. Your odds of a good job, odds of higher financial earnings, odds of incarceration, by no differentiation other than skin color, are better than those of some of our brothers and sisters. As before, this is NOT to be a place of shame. Rather, it is a place of invitation. How will you use your voice and your position? What will you say? Who will you speak up for? Who will you create room for? And sons, this comes from the bottom of my heart... please please notice, who isn't present. Please notice, whose voice is not heard. Not based purely on numbers - but because they are your friends, your neighbors, and your family, that are not at the table. [Which implies that I hope you actually have real, deep relationships with friends, neighbors and family that are not like you, that you love deeply. And that's something Daddy and I need to model for you.] It's not easy. It takes work. And it takes thinking outside of yourself and what you want or need or are comfortable with. But, this, little ones, is the type of men that I pray that you are. Your strength, your opportunities, and your power are most strong when they are used on behalf of others.
This is my prayer for you.
And sons, beware too much power or authority in any situation. Untempered, unchecked authority in any situation is dangerous - this is why the US stands so firmly behind democracy, and checks and balances. Might does not equal right. Beware any situation in which people in power are given a pass to those checks and balances. What is just and good and right will stand up to test and has no reason to fear scrutiny. Beware of this where you find yourself in positions of power. And do not be afraid to support the authority that you find yourself under, by advocating for it to be checked. Even if you are the only voice that does so.
Please do not hear what I am not saying - I am not advocating for violence or crime to be unchecked. As a matter of fact, I'm pretty sure no one is. Rather, I am longing for the racial inequalities, the unspoken biases, and long standing imbalances in our culture and our systems be addressed. To be changed. To be healed. For both white and black, men and women, to be able to have the same faith in our systems, that justice will be served equally, without fear, that right will be done by them. And I know, from my only deep recesses of ugly fear, my own biases, which I will admit to you in humble repentance, as well as from statistics, and the stories of those I love, that this is not always so. And I am asking you, sweet boys, to engage, to be active participants in changing this.
Do not be afraid of the ugly - and there is ugly everywhere. And I guarantee you, if you step into this maze of our tattered race relations in the US, you will see the ugly. On all sides. And in yourself. Corruption, crime, bigotry, hatred, racism, hurt, awkward, misunderstanding, abuse, and centuries of messy history. If you enter into this conversation with a savior complex and a hope of fixing things, you will quickly becomes discouraged and cynical.
But.
But. If you enter in, humbly, with a posture of learning, of repentance when needed, and more importantly, listening, and speaking on behalf of others rather than yourself, you will become a small but crucial part of the difference that we long to see happen in our life-time. You - as listening, speaking, acting, humble, compassionate white men - are a vital part of the changing tide of race relations in the US. Your voice matters. Your power matters. You are a part of bringing Dr. King's dream, and Scriptures' imperative (Amos 5), of "justice [that] rolls down like water and righteousness like a mighty stream."
Your daddy and I love you both so very very much. And we are so proud of you, and the little men that you already are. And it is our promise to you, that we will continue to learn, continue to grow, continue to engage alongside you. That we will repent in front of you, and to you. That we will ask for forgiveness, for grace, and for instruction, from you, and in front of you. That we will ask for help from those wiser than us as we seek to teach you what we ourselves are learning. That we will seek to model that which we call you into. And that we will pray daily for you, and with you, even as we pray for our neighbors and our world. We will not choose apathy, even when it's easier or more comfortable or fits better with nap schedules.
We love you, sweet boys. And we pray that in your lifetime, we would in fact see a turning of the tide of race relations in the US. That justice and righteousness would roll down. And "culture" and "ethnicity" and "race" would no longer mark disadvantage or different treatment, but would be celebrated as the beautiful parts of the Kingdom to come that they are.
Love,
Mommy
At nearly 2 and just barely past 5 months, you are both blissfully unaware of current events outside of what time lunch is and whether we're going to the playground or not. You haven't processed #BlackLivesMatter or #ICantBreathe or #Ferguson or #HandsUpDontShoot or #EricGarner, and as a result, your only connection to #EnoughIsEnough correlates to your thoughts on the portions of protein that mommy requires you to eat at dinner prior to getting a cookie.
But there's been a lot going on lately, pertaining to race, in our country, and a lot of the brokenness which has long been there has been thrust into the limelight (again). And a lot of black people (and a few white people) are hurting, grieving, sad, angry. And a lot of white people are talking loudly, angry, defensively. And a lot of other white people aren't talking about it at all. And a lot of other black and white (and other races of) people fit and don't fit in those categories, so I won't attempt to oversimplify or categorize them - simply acknowledge that they're in the mix also. Suffice to say, there's a lot of hurt and a lot of brokenness and a lot of mess.
A few days ago, a friend of mommy's wrote a letter to her black son, in her grief and process over recent events, with her promises to him and his white brother. It was beautiful, and true, and from the heart, and she says so much, so much better than I ever will be able to. But it also got me thinking, about what I want to teach you both, what I would say to you both, in light of Ferguson, or Eric Garner, or our justice system and race, or any of the many different "incidents" that have happened, both carried by the media and those that remain hidden.
Mommy was raised on a farm, in the middle of the "suburbs" of one of the tiniest towns in very rural North Carolina. My life growing up, was about as white as it could possibly be. It wasn't until college that my own "colorblind" lenses began to come off, and I began a very slow journey of learning how other people's lives were different than mine, how skin color or "ethnic-ness" of name still does affect the ways that people are treated and received. It wasn't until college, and the decade since, that I actually began to listen to other people's stories and learn how to listen first, how to love with words and actions, and how to be actively for someone else whose story was different from my own. I'm still learning, honestly, and I don't always engage well, or even at all. I am not good at this. But I am choosing to engage because it matters. Because it's not just a race issue. It's a human issue. And it effects people that I know and love. And in my bumbling response, I would prefer to ask for grace and forgiveness, than to add my voice to the silence. And so I do both even now.
Sons, you are both beautiful, beautiful boys - with blond hair and light colored eyes and white skin. And the way that you are is fearfully and wonderfully made, please make no mistake. Being white is not a bad thing - it is a good and beautiful thing. But as a result of your skin color, and the fact that you were born into a middle class, well-educated family, many people would tell you that this "issue" of race or these "issues" are not yours to deal with. By virtue of your heritage, unfortunately, you have the luxury of choosing whether or not you will engage, before you ever determine how well or poorly you will engage, with anything pertaining to the tattered race relations in our country.
I am pleading with you, please do not buy into this lie.
We pray that you will walk in the faith that your daddy and I have, which teaches that we are called to care for the well-being of our brothers and sisters; that we are a Kingdom of people who retain beautiful and celebrated ethnicity and are not monochromatic; that as a body, when one part is hurting, the rest is hurt as well; that we are called to use our voices to defend justice, to speak up for the oppressed - but even if you don't - even if our faith does not continue to be yours, the truth is we are human beings, and because of our common humanity, we must long for all men (and women) to be treated with compassion, justice, humanity, and yes, equality. And in that, I hope you will see the role that you can play, the ways in which your voice can be used, and will chose to engage rather than absent yourselves.
I would entreat you, first and foremost, to listen. And to listen to understand, not in order to respond. Hear people. Hear people who are different than you. Hear their hearts, their hurt, and their desires. Understand that you might not understand. Leave your opinions at the door. And listen first instead. Regardless of the specifics of either of these cases, please hear the collective weeping and grieving and anger of men and women who are intelligent and wise and experienced, and different from you, and ask "why?" And listen. If you only do this, I guarantee you will respond differently, even if just with more compassion. And when the time comes to act - and there almost always is a time to act - ask others who know more than you, who understand better than you, "what can I do?" This applies in any situation where you are seeking to aid someone who is hurting, angry, or grieving.
Along that same vein, please understand that #blacklivesmatter does not infer that white lives don't. Nor does it infer that being white is a bad thing. It is not a zero sum game. No amount of value added or given to another human being detracts from the inherent value that you yourself possess. So, in as much as it is possible for you, leave defensiveness behind. Grief over injustice, grief over injustice perpetuated by people who look like you, does not mean that you are being shamed. It should cause us to examine our hearts, our biases, our actions and our motives, yes, absolutely. And pray to God that he will change us where we need to be changed. It should lead to repentance, where needed. But it should not lead to shame or defensiveness or a sense that we have to lose value in order to recognize the inherent value in one different than us.
But... at the same time, please recognize that there are ways in which our system of government, our history, and our culture, has given you unique welcome and privilege. You, as white, middle-class, (hopefully) educated men, will have very few rooms that you cannot walk into. Very few tables at which you will not be welcome to join. Very few places in which your voice is not invited. Your odds of a good job, odds of higher financial earnings, odds of incarceration, by no differentiation other than skin color, are better than those of some of our brothers and sisters. As before, this is NOT to be a place of shame. Rather, it is a place of invitation. How will you use your voice and your position? What will you say? Who will you speak up for? Who will you create room for? And sons, this comes from the bottom of my heart... please please notice, who isn't present. Please notice, whose voice is not heard. Not based purely on numbers - but because they are your friends, your neighbors, and your family, that are not at the table. [Which implies that I hope you actually have real, deep relationships with friends, neighbors and family that are not like you, that you love deeply. And that's something Daddy and I need to model for you.] It's not easy. It takes work. And it takes thinking outside of yourself and what you want or need or are comfortable with. But, this, little ones, is the type of men that I pray that you are. Your strength, your opportunities, and your power are most strong when they are used on behalf of others.
This is my prayer for you.
And sons, beware too much power or authority in any situation. Untempered, unchecked authority in any situation is dangerous - this is why the US stands so firmly behind democracy, and checks and balances. Might does not equal right. Beware any situation in which people in power are given a pass to those checks and balances. What is just and good and right will stand up to test and has no reason to fear scrutiny. Beware of this where you find yourself in positions of power. And do not be afraid to support the authority that you find yourself under, by advocating for it to be checked. Even if you are the only voice that does so.
Please do not hear what I am not saying - I am not advocating for violence or crime to be unchecked. As a matter of fact, I'm pretty sure no one is. Rather, I am longing for the racial inequalities, the unspoken biases, and long standing imbalances in our culture and our systems be addressed. To be changed. To be healed. For both white and black, men and women, to be able to have the same faith in our systems, that justice will be served equally, without fear, that right will be done by them. And I know, from my only deep recesses of ugly fear, my own biases, which I will admit to you in humble repentance, as well as from statistics, and the stories of those I love, that this is not always so. And I am asking you, sweet boys, to engage, to be active participants in changing this.
Do not be afraid of the ugly - and there is ugly everywhere. And I guarantee you, if you step into this maze of our tattered race relations in the US, you will see the ugly. On all sides. And in yourself. Corruption, crime, bigotry, hatred, racism, hurt, awkward, misunderstanding, abuse, and centuries of messy history. If you enter into this conversation with a savior complex and a hope of fixing things, you will quickly becomes discouraged and cynical.
But.
But. If you enter in, humbly, with a posture of learning, of repentance when needed, and more importantly, listening, and speaking on behalf of others rather than yourself, you will become a small but crucial part of the difference that we long to see happen in our life-time. You - as listening, speaking, acting, humble, compassionate white men - are a vital part of the changing tide of race relations in the US. Your voice matters. Your power matters. You are a part of bringing Dr. King's dream, and Scriptures' imperative (Amos 5), of "justice [that] rolls down like water and righteousness like a mighty stream."
Your daddy and I love you both so very very much. And we are so proud of you, and the little men that you already are. And it is our promise to you, that we will continue to learn, continue to grow, continue to engage alongside you. That we will repent in front of you, and to you. That we will ask for forgiveness, for grace, and for instruction, from you, and in front of you. That we will ask for help from those wiser than us as we seek to teach you what we ourselves are learning. That we will seek to model that which we call you into. And that we will pray daily for you, and with you, even as we pray for our neighbors and our world. We will not choose apathy, even when it's easier or more comfortable or fits better with nap schedules.
We love you, sweet boys. And we pray that in your lifetime, we would in fact see a turning of the tide of race relations in the US. That justice and righteousness would roll down. And "culture" and "ethnicity" and "race" would no longer mark disadvantage or different treatment, but would be celebrated as the beautiful parts of the Kingdom to come that they are.
Love,
Mommy
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)
All about the Village, People
Sister, brother, let your village love you. A year and a half ago, the unthinkable happened to my family. What my husband an...
-
Today was a pretty average day, by our standards. One big meltdown because a train line was delayed and we didn't get to ride it. Ano...
-
This week's prompt: Present Go. Have you ever noticed, that when we blog, we often take on an entirely different voice? Somewhat re...
-
There are some days when marriage is easy, parenting is sweet and filled with joy, friendships are simple and close, and we feel comfortable...
