Dear Future Self,

Dear future-self and parent of newborn son #2,

In the past 16 months, you have become quite the expert on parenting your now 16-month-old child. You feel comfortable, most days. You actually sleep most nights. And that panic of new parenting, that’s a memory not an active reality. I am writing you this note because in roughly six weeks or less, you're going to have another baby - and some of all of most of that expertise is going to come crashing down around your ears.  Surprise!  He'll be his own man and probably very different from his big brother... and oh wait, you'll still have a toddler too!

 I'm writing you this letter to remind you, when life feels crazy, that you'll make it through; to remind you of the things that you’ve learned; and to remind you of things that I am certain that you will forget or have already forgotten about those first few weeks of joy and delight [and sleeplessness]. So here we go:

 1) I know you think you are a superhero – and the reality is you are. In just a few short weeks, you will have either pushed a baby out of a unimaginably-small sized opening, or endured a major surgery to physically remove another human being (and an organ that you grew yourself what?!) from your body. That’s plenty of superhero-y-ness. That withstanding, you will then bleed for longer than is kosher to discuss [sorry readers!].  And your body will need to heal. Please give yourself grace to physically recover, and just acknowledge that you can’t actually do everything physically that you could right up to before giving birth. Please let people help you – and please tell people that you need them to help you.

 2) The emotional roller coaster that follows giving birth is nothing to shake a stick at – even though you feel crazy, I promise you, you felt this way last time too. Postpartum depression (PPD) is real, and if you think you’re wrestling with feelings that are self or other-destructive, or just too dark to handle yourself, please ask for help. But the reality is, even outside of PPD, remember how much your hormones fluctuate once a month, and then multiply that by 9 months times generating an organ and pushing out a human being, and know that it’s okay if you cry or have more emotions than normal or even feel a little bit crazy. It’s actually pretty darn normal for women who have babies – it’s just most people don’t talk about it or they’re far enough out that they don’t remember. You will return to sanity, I promise.

3) Laugh often.  As much as you possibly can, really.  It's surprisingly far more cathartic than worry, and makes all of those life-altering and cataclysmic decisions seem much more realistically-sized.  Plus kids are really funny, as are you as a new parent, if you don't take yourself too seriously.

4) The sleep deprivation is real – even if your baby is a good sleeper. Don’t underestimate how that plays into the equation as well. Imagine finals week on repeat for the first 6 weeks of this tiny human’s life. Which speaking of, I don’t know if this is actually factual for every baby or not, but I seem to remember that six weeks was somewhat of a magic number with S. So hang on for that. And don't get into serious conversations or attempt to make any permanent parenting decisions with your hubby after midnight.  Just trust me, and don't.  Also give yourself grace if you make up words, and struggle with full adult sentences.  Like blerg merg merg blerg.  Yeah.

5) Wear make-up occasionally - and clothes that you wear outside of the home.   You know, like pants not made of stretchy material. It seems counter-intuitive, but it will help you feel more human on those days that we just have to survive through!

6) Even though you SWORE that you would never be one of those parents who would proffer unsolicited baby advice, at some point after your little munchkin is born, you will find yourself opening your mouth around some other parent of a wee one, and advice will be spouting out.  And the reality is – you do this primarily because you want to be helpful, yes, but more so than that, because you just really want to share all those mundane things that make up most of your days and reality is, no one else really wants to hear about them. So when you meet a new(er) parent than you, you start gushing because you just want to connect – to share experiences. The reality is – there are better ways of connecting... like listening.  After all, that's mostly what you want, right?  So do yourself a favor this time around, and don't do that again.  Ask how it's going, empathize, but leave advice behind unless its requested.

7) Never regret the snuggle time - with the big one or the little one...  you'll miss it later when they decide they like wiggling way more than sitting still.

8) Every parent hits a point where you are just SO angry at this little teeny tiny bundle of cuteness that refuses to sleep or has just jettisoned poop all over you or just won't stop crying... please repeat after me - this feeling of being out of control, angry, and like you want to throw in the towel?  It is completely normal.  It does not make you a bad parent.  Every parent hits that point.  Every parent wrestles with those feelings.  It's completely normal.  What matters most is how you respond to those feelings and emotions.  How you act in response to them.  So put the baby down in a safe place, let him cry for a few minutes - he'll be fine, and you need it - and give yourself space to collect yourself, to calm down, and then respond.  Don't guilt yourself out for hitting your wall - everyone does.  Do what you need to do in order to respond well, out of love and not anger.

9) Dates are super important - make it happen!  Trust me, hard as it is to leave a little squirt with someone else, it's fantastic to come home rested and refreshed and more connected with your spouse.  And somehow the baby always seems to do okay too!

10) Remember that you matter too - and taking care of yourself is important for taking care of your husband and your kiddos.  That you are mom - and will always be mom - but that you are also Kristen, and when you are the healthiest version of you, that you are also a healthier mom as well.  You are not the sum of your children - nor is your identity defined solely by them. Take time to cultivate and foster things that you enjoy, even if it's just in the 5 minutes before bed.  I know there is NEVER enough time - and you have to carve it out of time for something else, but trust me, it is worth it.  It will sustain you on days that are hard - and it will bless your children and your husband in ways that you cannot imagine.

Remember, parenthood is a journey, an adventure, and a long trail, not a short one.  Remember how much fun you get to have with that teeny tiny human - so much that will be the same as it was with his brother.  So much that will be totally new and different.

Remember that God specifically gave you - not someone else who is more whatever - this beautiful baby.  And is equipping you - not someone else - to be their parent(s).  Lean on Him, and trust Him that He knows what He is doing.  You will make mistakes, yes.  Absolutely.  But you are the parent(s) that that He has chosen for them - Be faithful.  Be humble and repentant.  Surround yourself with community.  And trust that God knew what He was doing.  You are the right parent(s) for the job.  And you will make it through.

With love, for your future reflection, and those craziest of moments,
KD

Motherhood - finding joy in the chaos

Dear son(s),

This is coming a day late, and probably a dollar short, but here it is regardless.  I am so grateful for the opportunity to be a mommy - and specifically, your mommy.  S, with your advent, I became mom for the first time, and buckatoo (name forthcoming with your arrival) - you have doubled our joy and we can't wait to meet you.  Motherhood is a gift that I neither anticipated nor understood fully before these past 16 months, but for which and by which I am joyful and forever changed.

Yesterday, Mother's Day, was a hallmark of motherhood... S, you woke up, bright and early, ready to go at 5am - sleeping in apparently only happens at Grandma's house.  Your daddy generously got up with you - and prepared to make mommy a gloriously extravagant breakfast in bed, complete with Neighborhood Restaurant style cream of wheat and Eggs Benedict, coffee and fresh fruit - and a beautiful necklace from our favorite children's story.  

Meanwhile, you, delighted with exploration, learned how to open your bubble bath bottle, and with it, turned the kitchen floor into a slip-n-slide - leading to Daddy, slippin' and slidin' with the bacon pan, ending up with first degree burns on his thighs, from bacon fat poured generously all over himself (breakfast, however, was still delicious - and merely added to by mildly-too-soon-but-it's-still-funny giggles over the combination of best-laid plans and toddlerhood).  

Followed by grins, and snuggles and cuddles, and enthusiastic running through Urgent Care and church squealing "AH-VAHVAHVAH" in delight - closest interpretation we can translate that to is "I love you," but we're still not sure. Pulling out broccoli and lima beans everywhere, as you gleefully chortled your way through the hallways, running away from your very pregnancy heavy mommy and your crispy-fried daddy, giving grins to sick toddlers and headaches to hungover teenagers.

Followed by enthusiastic play in the sunshine and the joy of water splashing and spilling everywhere - with soaked toddlers (and parents) and happy grins and blood lips from too many teeth and too much toddler enthusiasm amidst parental tiredness and disappointment in moments that didn't go according to plans, but even so, honored the joy that is parenthood.

Because son, this is parenthood - well-laid plans and unexpected chaos.  Joy, and tiredness.  Frustration, pain, and inexplicable delight. Messes. Self-sacrifice.  Gratitude in the moment, and delayed gratitude.  Messy joy.  Choosing to laugh rather than cry because really, there is no other way. And joy so inexplicable that only tears can measure it fully.

I love the idea of mother's day - of flowers and breakfasts in bed and sweet notes of thanksgiving - and I will happily receive any and all of those with delight!  And, should there be a day without chaos, I will also happily receive that as well.  Just tell me when and where.

But the reality is - if all my eggs are in a basket for just this one perfect day - where I feel appreciated, loved, chaos-free and honored - then I will inevitably feel disappointed, both in myself and my ability to be the perfect mom, worthy of the facebook accolades of praise given on this one day, and in my experience of motherhood as well as Mother's Days.  Far better, however, I am learning that the joy in motherhood is found in the chaos, not in its absence.   

Last night, S, you woke up a few hours after bedtime, I'm guessing from a nightmare - screaming, yet exhausted.  When I went in to pick you up, you, my very active, never-stopping toddler, cuddled into my embrace and wrapped your little chubby arms around mine, holding on for dear life, as you gradually hiccuped yourself into quiet.  And we rocked and we sang like we used to when you were little...  and you, with your soft baby breath, held on to mommy and let me be your rock in the midst of your storm, even as you reminded me of what it really looks like to find joy in the midst of chaos.

This, little one, is the joy in motherhood.

I will never be a perfect mom to either one of you boys.  I will fail you, and yet my strength will come through in my willingness to say I'm sorry and ask for your forgiveness, not in my ability to "do it better." And my strength will be in vulnerability and courage - in a love that is fierce, yet tender, and always longs for the best for you even when you are at your worst.  That knows that I am honored and worthy daily, with or without flowers and chocolates and breakfasts in bed, even when I'm at my worst - and that demonstrates to you daily, through our love, our silliness, and our discipline, the worth and value you have, given not by your Daddy or by me, although we hope to demonstrate it, but ultimately by your Maker that does not depend on your perfection and comes regardless of your performance.

You will never be perfect sons - nor in any way, will you be able to "make me complete." I am assured and certain that by motherhood, I will come more undone.  With each graham cracker crusted fistful of joy and long night awake.

There will be chaos.  There will be failure.  There will be mess.

But the joy is found in the midst of all of that - the giggles, the sun-soaked glee, the AH-VAHVAHVAH lima-bean enthusiasm, and the snuggles in the middle of the night. 

And that is not a consolation prize - that is the prize.  Motherhood is a gift that I will never - would never - exchange or return.  I am a better woman for it.  And I am so deeply deeply honored to be able to be your mommy.  Thank you, for giving me the opportunity, each and every day, to trust Jesus more fully, to need Him more, and to learn to find love and beauty and gratitude in every moment.

With love,

Mommy

Remembering...

[remembering]. and looking forward.

One year ago, on April 15th, 2013, I had the privilege of being at the Boston marathon finish line, volunteering, as I have for each of the previous years that I have been in Boston.  I was a block away from where the bombs went off - and so my experience, while very distinctly etched in my mind, and forever life-changing, was not the same as those who were in imminent danger or those who are known simply as "survivors."  I heard the explosions, saw the smoke, and felt the ground shake, and the subsequent almost unearthly silence, and then mass panic.  And I evacuated and ran with everyone else, arriving home, shaken, changed, and physically unharmed, even as I forever bear the emotional marks of the day.  

You can read my more present tense reflections from those days here, here, and here.

Now a full year plus later, it has surprised me, how long the fear has lasted.  How frequent the flashbacks and how strong the memories.  How ready the tears.  How fierce the love and protectiveness of my city and my friends.

And how much I both want to remember and yet to let it remain in the past and move on.

I can't walk down to Copley library without vivid memories, often goosebumps, and sometimes tears.  I am very aware in crowds now, and in closed in spaces or large crowds, often have an exit strategy figured out.  I tell my family I love them a lot more and don't take those days together for granted.  I identify much more strongly with Boston, and get angry when it seems like the news is looking for an angle, or overusing BostonStrong, turning it into a catch-phrase for media popularity, rather than recognizing the solemnity of recognition that accompanies it for me.  I am proud of our city and our spirit, our culture, and our rough edges and our fierce pride.  Watching the news coverage this week, of survivor stories, and seeing all those images from that day and subsequent days, has just been too much for me this week.  It brings back too many memories and too many emotions of pride mixed with fear mixed with gratitude for life mixed with tears for innocence lost.  

"I remember" is not words for me, but images, sounds, memories, and emotions.  And often tears.

Now, a full year later, there's a lot that I still don't know.  I don't know how long I'll see the smoke in my mind, or how vivid the flashbacks will continue to be - I don't know if I'll ever fully be able to explain to someone else the complexity of emotions that it raises in me.

But I do know this: 

I am grateful for each day of life that I have been given.  

I am grateful to be with my husband and my eldest son today, and to have the privilege of welcoming home my second son very soon.  He wasn't even a twinkle of imagination last year, and feels like a gift in this year.

I swell with pride when I see anything Boston marathon related.

I am celebrating today, watching this years' runners and volunteers.  And reclaiming the day for the full celebration that it always has been.

And even though we have fears, aches, pains, and scars, and weaknesses, Bostonians and runners are resilient and perseverant, and strong.  If you wanted to attack a group that would give up, give in, or be destroyed - then you picked the wrong group.

Fears and weaknesses merely prove our humanity.  How we respond to them - who and what we run towards and for - is what matters... And today, 27,000+ runners are running forward - reclaiming the celebration of the day - and the rest of us, myself as well, we all run forward as well.

rejoicing and mourning

Short post this morning...

I've been thinking a lot about mourning with those who mourn and rejoicing or celebrating with those who rejoice (or celebrate)...  so many dear friends right now are on opposite ends of that spectrum, in deep mourning, or profound rejoicing, that daily I ponder how to love them each individually best...  There are many who are far more qualified than I to write on said topic.  Within the past few days, I've read several really heartfelt blog posts, reflections, and thoughts to that end - far more eloquent and wise than mine - so I will not try to rewrite that.

Rather, I leave you with this thought:

Majority of the time, I don't think we're supposed to (or need to) be above others, coming in as solutions to their suffering or interpreters of their joy.   There is a time for that, yes, but my gut says its far less often than we think it is.  Sometimes there are no words, there is nothing you can do, and there is nothing you can add - and we (often) cheapen the experience of others when we attempt to.  As similar (or not) as it might be to our experience, it isn't our experience.  It's theirs.

Majority of the time, I think we're just supposed to stand with one another.  To be with.  To mourn with.  To celebrate with.  Not with our words, or our solutions, or our whatever else we think we can add (unless they ask for that, in which case, honor them)...  but with our hearts.  Our feelings.  Our presence.

We are not meant to live life alone.  And in our brightest times and our darkest times, sometimes what we need most is just for a brother or sister to stand alongside us and say, "I'm with you.  I'm for you. I'm here."

looking back and looking ahead...

In college, I was introduced to a style of worship music called "Taize" - they are simple songs, usually comprised of one, maybe two, meditative phrases repeated over and over again.  Because they are short, sung with simple instrumentation, or none at all, the focus really is on the words.  In such, they become meditative, and a way of corporately praying together and listening to God together, focused on the simple truth which we declare in song.  While, like any style of music, they cannot be the full of worship, they are a beautiful, simple way on focusing on and inviting God's presence, and as such, have been very meaningful to me over time.  We even had one sung in our wedding (this one, if you're curious).  The words mean, "where there is charity and love, God is there."

As I have thought through this past year, and prepared for the upcoming, sitting in the midst of many different places with us, and with dear friends, with both the hard, and the beautiful, a different Taize song - from the words of the thief on the cross - has oft been repeating in my mind, as my prayer and meditation.  And so, in lieu of a New Years post, or a past year reflection, I leave you with this instead (you can listen to the Taize here).

I should note, that for me, the implication of these words and request is first and foremost a desire to be with Jesus in each of these places, for him to dwell with me, us, our friends, as well as an entreaty for him to bring his kingdom, to bring us into his kingdom, in each of these places. 

Jesus, remember me, when you come into your kingdom.

Jesus, remember me...

As we celebrated the birth of our son, with the fullest of joy...

As we grieved, processed, broke, feared, lived, and healed, during and after the marathon bombings...

As we live(d) in the tension of loving and missing our homes, and loved ones, both near and far...

As we grow in love and marriage and life together, in the day to day.

Jesus, remember me...

As we parent our now growing, constantly moving, toddler...

As we lose our tempers and, exhausted, celebrate the moments when he f.i.n.a.l.l.y. is in bed...

As we say "no" or "leave it alone" again. and again. and again... and again...

As we enjoy the giggles, words, and expressions of this little boy becoming his own person...

As we seek to love well, failing often, repenting regularly, but waking up each morning, trying...

Jesus, remember me...

As we thought we had lost, were losing, this precious second baby...

As we cautiously, with hope growing, celebrate the life that grows within me...

As we hold on to hope, that you are Lord of this tiny life, that you hold it in your strong hands...

As you bring this little one into our lives in your perfect timing...

Jesus, remember (us)...

As we cry, and as we sing...

As we wait with friends as they wait for children, jobs, life, hope, and the end of winter

As we grieve with friends as they grieve death, miscarriage, loss, and that which is not yet had...

As we walk - ourselves, with others - through the long, dark, seemingly endless valley of depression...

As we celebrate with friends as they celebrate weddings, babies, jobs, hard choices, and full lives...

Jesus, remember me...

In the decisions we have to make this upcoming year...

In financial certainty and uncertainty, in being insured, or uninsured, job secure or insecure...

As we take risks, try new things, and cling to places of familiarity...

In our jobs, and job decisions, on good days and less than...

Wherever we are, whatever we do, whenever those transitions happen...

Jesus, remember me...

As I have hope, and where I lack it...

Where the way is clear and where it is clouded...

Where we grieve and where we celebrate, and where we're not sure which to do...

In our darkest and our brightest hours...

... Jesus, remember me, when you come into your kingdom.

T-1 month to one year

Happy 11 months (two days late!), little man!  Dear Lord, in just a month, we will have a one year old!  They say time flies when your kiddos are growing up, and that has definitely been true.  It feels like just yesterday that we were bring you home from the hospital.

Your Profile
You are fully toddler these days - complete with temper tantrums, full spectrum of movement, and (strong) opinions of your own.  In general, your personality is still sweet, and you are a happy, giggly little boy who wishes that he could eat every.thing.  We have tried finding a food you wouldn't eat, and still to this day, have not had luck.  Grapefruit was a close one, but you ate it anyhow.  And pickles you demolished with joy.  You are cruising, free-standing, walking pushing a walker (or the kitchen chairs!) and just four days ago, took your first independent step.  You are a man on the move, but you do still occasionally let mommy and daddy snuggle with you - but only when you're tired.

Things you've Learned
You're quite accomplished at freestanding and racer speed crawling.  You are learning how to use a spoon - but only when you decide you want to.  You learned how to give kisses - and love giving big slobbery ones to Mommy and Daddy.  You also learned how to play peek-a-boo, where you will hide from us, and then peek out.  Your timing is a little rough, but you find it hilarious.  Just today, you learned how to high five Daddy.  You also learned how to open cupboard doors, the trashcan, and the toilet.  Child safety locks are Mommy's best friends.

Also, you learned that you are going to be a big brother in June!  Your feelings on this matter are still somewhat mixed, as you don't fully know what "brother" means.

Your Firsts

• You took your first step - chasing a food, what else! (a dill pickle, for those curious)
• You learned your first word - "Hi" and greet everyone, from the TV anchors to Mommy and Daddy to the Christmas tree with it.  You have since also added "Da-da-da-da" but we're still not sure that you fully know what you mean and "nom nom" for when you're hungry.  Oh and you think that a sheep says "ha ha" which you will answer when we ask you what a sheep says!
• You celebrated your first Thanksgiving with all of Mommy's extended family - Christmas Dinner in Williamsburg with Daddy's family.  You continue to love visiting family and have a very sweet personality in travel, as well as large groups of people.  You are quite the star of the show wherever we go.  You also love the fact that our families have dogs that you get to play with, as dogs continue to be one of your favorites!
• You also went to the Museum of Fine Arts for the first time, dressed in your beret, and were quite a hit with the French tourists, as well as all the ladies.  You chattered through all of it!

Things you Like

• You continue to love all foods
• You love being tossed and tickled
• You LOVE to laugh and keep us giggling all the time!
• You love to read stories about animals - you really like dogs
• You love bath time
• You love the dishwasher, the microwave, and the refrigerator, as well as all the trash cans
• You really like being around people - family and friends

We love you buddy! :)

Anatomy of an Apology

"I'm sorry."

Two and a half small words, that when said with sincerity, heal and restore - and when absent, or cheapened with sarcasm and insincerity, deepen or hide the chasm.

I've been thinking a lot about the power of these two words lately - and apologies done well, and apologies done poorly.

My family culture is not big on apologies - and I think in many ways this is true for a lot of us.  If, when, we mess up - hurt feelings, step on toes, have conflict between good friends or family - we tend to resolve it by stepping over it, burying it, and trying to be extra nice to make up for it.  Or, saying "sorry..." as the beginning of a sentence that then explains how the error was not actually our fault or shouldn't have bothered the other person (making excuses to justify ourselves and then trying to move on).  Or just pretending it never happened and never addressing it - hoping the other person doesn't either - but neither one fully forgetting.  Or, the more extroverted version - argue extra loud your own individual side and justifications and feelings until both sides are tired, done arguing, and (might) feel heard, but neither one has actually owned anything or apologized in any way.

On the flip side of the spectrum, just to be fair, are those who constantly apologize for everything, even things that are not their fault, in the effort to maintain peace and harmony.   In this too, I would argue that true apology is also absent - what you have instead is a stop-gap designed to end a conflict, again without real resolution because all too often, constant apologizers rob others of the right and responsibility of owning their own actions.

In my family culture, we are bury-ers and extra-nice-ers.   But the words "I'm sorry" rarely cross our lips, unless in the context of "I'm sorry, okay??  What do you want from me? Let's move on." 

As I grew up, however, through wisdom, or perhaps rebellion, or perhaps just a desire for change - I made a commitment that I would - no matter the cost - apologize and own my own mistakes and ways that I hurt others.  As I have aged, and am aging, I am growing in not cheapening apology by overcompensating and constant apologizing.  And both have served me well - I have learned that deep healing in relationships, and true reconciliation, only happen when error is faced and owned.  And so for that reason, I share with you now what I have learned, about the anatomy of an apology.  It goes something like this:

1.  I feel like I should apologize to you...
2.  I did/didn't do X... (always personal pronouns, and a specific apology).
3.  That was (wrong of me, not respectful of you, hurtful to you, made you feel X...).  I'm sorry.
4.  Will you please forgive me?"
5.  And then you don't say anything more and let them respond.

It is sincere.  In that, it should never be shouted.  It's not part of a fight.  Or even part of the conflict.  It is a deliberate action of tearing down a wall and building a bridge.

It is specific.  It either asks the question, "I can tell that I have hurt you; can you help me understand how I have hurt you so that I can work to make it right?" or it is specific in saying, "I feel like or I have acted wrongly towards you in x [y, and z] way." General apologies are good in principle, but do very little to assuage guilt or to heal hurt.  "I'm sorry" is not a magic phrase that ends conflict - it is an acknowledgement that we caused hurt in a specific way.

It (often times) hurts. A true apology costs us something - it costs us both our guilt and our self-defensiveness.  It leaves us exposed, and forces us to face another without shields or weapons, and acknowledge the hurt between us.  It requires humility and vulnerability.

It is not many times, and it is many times.  An apology should not be a place of manipulation for the other person either - if you apologized one time, sincerely for the failure, and the other person cannot or does not want to forgive, then that ball is in their court - it is not required of you to do repeat penance over and over again apologizing for the same thing.  Sincere apology, where guilt is owned, should leave it behind.  However, it is many times, in the sense of, especially in long term relationships, you will often do the same thing over and over and over again, and need to apologize again, and again, and again.  One apology once for the same thing repeated, doesn't get you off the hook.  In fact, the process of confessing and apologizing should actually drive us to repentance in those reiterating places.  The very act of reconciliation should in ideal situation, be part of the process of our own transformation.

It is not merely or always about the rightness or wrongness of action.  Sometimes there is nothing wrong with your actions or words - but they have been hurtful or insensitive to the other person, or hit a wound in the other person that was painful, damaging or disrespectful.  A true apology is more about acknowledging the hurt or the disrespect of the other person, and saying, "I own the ways in which I have caused hurt to you or behaved poorly to you."  Yesterday, I had to apologize to my 11 month old for eating a cinnamon bun in front of him - when he clearly wanted it but wasn't supposed to have it.  Absolutely nothing wrong with eating a cinnamon bun, but it added frustration to him - and to him, felt like taunting (as evidenced by his complete and total meltdown).

It isn't about what anyone has done other than you.  You can't apologize for anything other than what you have done or left undone.  Nor can you do penance for what your actions have "made them do."  At the end of the day, we all have responsibility for our own actions - we can own the ways that we act, the ways that we cause pain (real or perceived), the ways that we fail, the ways that we make others feel.  But we can't change anyone else or carry guilt for anyone else - or make anyone else feel guilt, for that matter.  And an apology is not the place to try and make the other person understand their own errors*.  An apology is actually about absolving guilt, releasing it, and (hopefully) receiving forgiveness and healing in the relationship.

* We can talk more about loving confrontations later - because there is a place for them as well.

It does not justify.  There is plenty of space and time for justification - in argument, and discussion.   However, when you get the place where you are owning your own part in the mess, it cannot be conditional.  "I'm sorry that you felt hurt because you are emotional today" is not an apology.  It is a shift of blame masquerading as an apology.  Anytime a "but you" or "I did it because" enters in to the apology, the apology is morphing in its identity.  

It does not demand reciprocation.  In an ideal world, one apology would be met with another, as conflict is almost always two-sided.  But an apology is about you owning your part, and acknowledging the hurt of the other - and not about forcing the other person to also apologize.  Realistically, while that is incredibly healing to receive, it doesn't always happen.   It can leave the door open, by acknowledging your own hurt - "When you said x, it was really hurtful to me - but I reacted poorly and lashed out at you rather than handling it maturely.  Please forgive me."

It always ends with a request for forgiveness - And I think this is actually one of the most crucial parts of the apology for both the apologizer and the receiver - this is the shaping place for us.  Where either healing happens, or we revert back to our burying ways.  It is tempting when you receive an apology to say, "Oh it's okay, don't worry about it" and to minimize both the conflict and the apology.  I am often guilty of this - because in the same way that it's hard to actually apologize, it's also hard to face the other person and likewise acknowledge that there was hurt on your end as well.  But when we do this, we lose the opportunity to actually build the bridge together and move forward not just not move on.

When Jon and I were in premarital counseling, one of the most valuable skills that our counselor taught us, was the language of confession and forgiveness.  That is to say, all of the above in terms of confession and asking for forgiveness.  And the response of looking the other person in the eyes, respecting and acknowledging their apology and then the building your half of the bridge by saying simply either "that was hurtful to me, thank you for saying that" or "I didn't feel hurt by that, but I appreciate you saying that" and, if you are able, "I forgive you."  Thus completing the circle of absolving and releasing the hurt and guilt.

I recognize that this is not a natural skill in our culture or in our relationships.  I know that it doesn't always go well.  And forgiveness is not always given - and there is legitimate hurt and relational brokenness done to us, that is not our responsibility to apologize for - and I'm not advocating for that in the slightest.  But I am betting that for each of us, there is at least one relationship or place in a broken relationship where we do need to own responsibility.  And I am willing to wager that we would have far healthier relationships were we to practice this a little bit more.

So I dare you... in fact, I double dog dare you... to take a risk, uncomfortable though it may be, to make the first move, to look a friend or family member in the eye and say a sincere, authentic, needed "I'm sorry." May it bring you freedom in this new upcoming year.