cleaning curtains, hiding clutter, and called Beloved

We're having company over for dinner tonight - new friends that have a son about S's age.  My children are finally napping, I have a few minutes of down time, and you know what I'm doing?  Of course you do.  You've been there too.

I'm cleaning.  Preparing.  Striving.  Sweeping, cooking, hiding clutter.

I even washed the darned kitchen curtains, which have never before been washed. To my credit - or shame, you pick - they did have huge avocado stains on them from one youngest son who has decided to use them as his daily napkin, and did desperately need to be washed.  But still.

Now two hours into nap, our house looks like no toddlers live here.  Aside from the copious numbers of toys that are haphazardly hanging out of the toy box.  And you know, the two toddlers that my friend knows I have, and is bringing hers over to play with.

"Accept me.  Love me! Think that I have my act together!"

What am I doing?

Ironically, the last conversation I had with this friend?  Mom guilt.  Comparison.  Feeling like we need to measure up, and how we all feel like we don't.  How we all feel judged, even if we're not.

Obviously there's a balance - hospitality is a good thing.  Creating a (beautiful, clean, comfortable) space where others can relax and feel welcomed without stepping on week old pre-chewed cheerios, is totally valid.  Good, even.  But meticulously cleaning so that others will approve of me?

We all know the lesson - we preach it to others all the time.  No one worries about you or your kids as much as you do.  Just be yourself - that's who we love and want to hang out with.  We've all been there with the hot mess melting down toddler.  Our houses aren't clean either.  Please don't worry about it.  Honestly, it's not a big deal. 

But then, we go home, and we worry.  We clean.  We prepare.  We work hard to make sure that our kids aren't those kids. That our house isn't that house.  That we aren't that mom.  

Or we don't.  And then we apologize profusely.  "I'm so sorry my toddlers are being loud" (never met a toddler that wasn't). "I'm sorry that I didn't clean up" (Please.  Drs Hoover and Bissell could live here and the carpet wouldn't be cleaner).  "I feel like I should have at least put on makeup; I look like a hot mess!" (You're wearing deodorant and look like you showered in the last day - so ahead of me).

("I'm so sorry there's no dinner tonight; I was too busy blogging my feelings..." jk jk. kind of.)

Somehow we all know the lesson, but somewhere it gets lost in translation and not applied. 

At a root and core, I think we're all just scared that we'll mess up.  That we'll be judged.  Not loved.   Not appreciated.  Found wanting.  Not thought to be [you fill in the blank]. 

That's true for me with friends, with company, and in so many other areas, blogosphere among them.

Ever post that I push publish on - I get antsy and scared that it won't be read.  That no will care.  That I won't matter.  Because I do that, even though I know the falseness of it and the dangers therein, my identity becomes wrapped up in what I do, where I am, and how I'm received/perceived.  And I desperately want to be accepted, loved, and respected.

Even though this whole blog is about how I'm called Beloved.  Given an identity that is unshakable.  Named. Known.  Loved.  Not defined by our successes or failures.  Somehow I always keep circling back into that pernicious cycle of looking for external acceptance and worth and value.

I don't have the first clue how to handle the urgent sense that I need to clean up, prepare, and make myself and our house presentable.  I don't know whether I should leave the clutter or find a hospitable balance or hand our guests a vacuum cleaner, or keep maniacally cleaning.  I'm going to hazard a wild guess that balance is the way to go.

But what I do know is this:  we're all right, in that lesson that we all know.  We are so much more than our houses, our children, or our ability to (appear to) have our sh$& together. 

Our identity is not found nor secure in others' opinions of us.

I am (you are) called Beloved.  Known.  Loved.  Accepted.  Belonging.  Free.  Free.  Free.  And that is unconditional, not based on what we do, who we know, or how clean our curtains are.

But it doesn't do much good unless we actually live it.

I need to tape it to my doors, mirrors, and toilet handles.  To my broom, my makeup kit, my toddler's back, to my wallet.  I need it tattooed on my hand, and written on my pillow.  Whatever it takes to translate it from my minds to my hearts to my lives.  Because when we actually live that out, we are finally able to actually love and welcome and know and accept others, and finally become that safe space, that comfortable person, and that shelter in the storm of longing that we desire to be, every time we preach that same old lesson.  Because we've learned that lesson ourselves.

One day at a time.  I'll keep writing the same story, over, and over and over again.

Epilogue: Simplicity

Guys, I feel like simplicity (having less stuff, buying less stuff, hanging on to less stuff, and in general, valuing stuff less) is the next step for me, and for our family.  A friend mentioned it after I wrote the first blog post in this series on money, and my soul was like... YES.  Yes, please.  Yes, I think simplicity sounds incredibly freeing.  Even as I have boxes and boxes of "stuff" cluttering my house to be sold or given away or... [we're in full declutter mode over here at Casa del Douthit].  But this is going to be an incredibly short post, because the honest truth is that I have no idea how to do simplicity well.

One of the things that I've noticed, is that when we look to money for security, identity, status - and also feel like money is "never enough"- we somehow seem to accumulate stuff (LOTS AND LOTS OF STUFF) at the same time.  Not stuff that we "need" but stuff that we "might need" or "that has memories" or "is still in great condition" or that "we can't bear to get rid of."  There are (good?) reasons for this parallel of accumulations and feeling of financial lacking - if you don't have "enough" money, you can't easily replace things if you get rid of them now, so you hold on, hoard, store, accumulate for the hypothetical future need.   

But as with all things clinging to money, things, people - it rarely leads to the freedom that we hope that it will.  Rather, at least in our case, and I suspect potentially yours, it means that we are often overflowing with, and bogged down by, things that we might someday need, but don't actually need right now. And dread moving ever for exactly that reason.  Our space for life, and real living, is literally made smaller by all the "stuff" that we hold on to.  Anyone with me? Can you resonate?

Ask me about the full-size (awesome!) bed that we stored in our dining room for over a year, because I couldn't bear to get rid of it - and the huge freedom that came from actually selling it to someone who could use it.  I occasionally think about it.  But haven't missed it yet.

So simplicity.  Decluttering.  But with wisdom.  I don't know how to do this, friends, and so all I'm going to do is show you pictures of my hoarding clutter.  Because, I can. This is by no means comprehensive, just a lil sampling. You're welcome.  Someone please tell me that I'm not alone...

Toddler not included in clutter, but certainly contributes to it!

Closet door is not open all the way, because, well, it can't.  Or the chaos will overflow.
Suitcases, and beach chairs, galore.  Also, Christmas decorations and a pair of never used skis.

Also, this.  I think this is a great picture of living well, but with simplicity and not excess.  It feels non sequitur but I don't know where else to put it.

Right now, we're (1) decluttering - getting rid of excess - (2) trying to have a "spend free" month, where we don't buy anything that is not needed or in budget, (3) trying to stick very strictly to budget to reset our priorities this month, and (4) trying to invest more in experiences and activities together than things.  And I feel like we're still swimming in STUFF.  But maybe making small dents...

But I'd love to hear from you - how do you do this?
How do you keep from accumulating stuff, while not becoming miserly, and still being wise?
What have you learned about simplicity along the way?
How do you teach your kids this?

Someone please teach me - how do you think about simplicity wisely?

Money, Part III: Wisdom and Generosity

I have to tell you - writing a lot about money has made me think a lot about it, and even made me realize some of the new and different ways that my relationship with money leads to shame and pride.  And last night, even found myself overwhelmed with shame over money and some of the ways that I manage it, or failed to manage it well.

I am realizing (as I write these posts) that in the past few months, I have swung the opposite direction from my previous stingy-self, and have taken the new-found freedom of living out of a mentality of abundance, and given myself a bit more license than is healthy to spend on things that we may or may not need.  And there were ways that Jon and I needed to talk through that, recalibrate, and reassess how we (I, since I handle most of our day-to-day finances) handle money.  Always a fine line, friends, needing checks and balances.  And no one is perfect at it.  

Grace, grace, and more grace.  We're in this together.  I'm learning, as I go.  And grateful for the opportunity to learn and grow alongside you.  Thank you.

So final installment.  You can find the first two parts here and here if you missed them!

A few years ago, before I got married, but as I was beginning to realize the ways that money had a stranglehold over me, I made a unique commitment as part of my annual "rule of life."  I made a commitment, that no matter who it was, or what they asked for - that I would give to anyone who asked.  I would give from within my means, not above it - which is important - but I would intentionally practice generosity by taking the choice out of it.  My answer was yes, regardless, even if the amount was still in my control. Moreover, I would seek out opportunities to give generously, without being asked, both financially and otherwise.  Sometimes a Grinchy heart requires dramatic action to help it grow the desired amount.

I have not had this as part of my rule of life for several years now - but the lessons that I learned have stuck with me since then, and have been fundamental in helping me to understand joy and money well together.

- I learned that there is always something that I can give, no matter how tight money is.  It might not be glamorous - it might just be a dollar - it might be a meaningful smile or volunteering of my time - but there is always something.  And often times, there was more than I thought there would be.

- I learned that it's actually fun to surprise people, to give good gifts, or care for their tangible needs.  That whether they knew it was from me or not, whether they said thank you or not, I felt the value of that investment personally, simply because of the increase in joy and delight that I felt.  And I actually found this to be more true with anonymous generosity than with known, where unfortunately pride and "deservedness" often muddle the water.

- I also learned that generosity does not have to be a lot in order to be well-received or meaningful, to giver and receiver.  Sometimes the most meaningful generosity is a couple dollars without strings attached, free babysitting, a cup of hot coffee, or arms to hold a wiggly baby.

- And finally, I learned that giving from what I had - not what I didn't have - important! - did not make me feel want or lacking more.  Rather, it made me feel richer,  more aware of what I had.  And more delighted in its stewardship.  Joy increased.  Wealth seemed to grow as well, even though the spreadsheets indicated no change.  I felt abundance, even as I gave it away in very little pieces.  And my needs, and as our family grew, the needs of our family, were still able to be met.

Give it a try.  I think you might be surprised by how much richer and fuller life is, when you practice, live, and value generosity in tangible, daily ways.

So how do we do this - hold on to perspective, manage money with wisdom, and give generously?  Right?  That's what we all want to know. (me! me!)

Ultimately, I'm not going to give you financial advice - I'm far from qualified to do that, and there are a ton of excellent resources out there that can give you far more sound advice than I can (Dave Ramsey, et al).  Here's what I do want to tell you though - foundational principles that I think are helpful regardless of what your financial situation is:

1.  Cut the ties between identity and finances, however you have to do that.  You will get nowhere fruitful until you are able to honestly say, from a heart level, "I am not what I make." "Those who make more than me, are not more than me, those who make less than me (or nothing) are not less than me."  Friends, at a core level, I firmly believe this is an identity issue.  We have to begin there.

2. Know yourself and your natural tendencies - are you a hoarder, or a spender?  Are you naturally generous or naturally thrifty?  Do you wrestle more with pride or with shame, when it comes to money?  What might a good first step towards balance look like for you?  Who might be able to help you grow in that regard?  Reassess regularly.

3.  Ask for help in managing your money well.  Financial planning is important, whether we have much or little.  And when shame and pride are not in the mix, this is much easier to do.  And as a result, it is easier to be wise AND generous with our money.  Make a plan, and stick with it - thinking about both long term and short term goals.

4.  Give out of what you have - not what you don't - give regularly in some capacity, and give generously.  I'm not talking about a tithe or a monthly line-item, although both are good ways to instill in our minds that money is not simply to be possessed.  It's a good start - but for me, didn't necessarily correlate to a heart of generosity.  Look for opportunities to be generous - and rather than ask yourself, "Can I give?" ask "What can I wisely give?" *Wisely is key here, as some of us are tempted to give what is not healthy for our families, the recipient, or ourselves.  If the truthful, honest answer is "nothing," then the best thing that you can give in that moment is a truthful and a direct "No, I really can't at this point in time" - which shockingly is actually a gift in and of itself, releasing both the giver and the receiver.  But more often than not, there is something that we can wisely give, whether monetarily or otherwise.

5.  Look for, and focus on abundance, rather than lacking.  When we complain less about money, and sometimes even focus less on it, and notice the things that we do have, somehow our joy increases even if our finances don't.  Make a list if you need help seeing those things.  Ask a friend if you need outside perspective.  Cultivate thankfulness.  I love (the idea of) Ann Voskamp's One Thousand Gifts - still haven't actually read it (I know!).  But it's a discipline of actually chronicling the gifts which we daily receive, in order to cultivate thankfulness. And emphasizes again, abundance is a perspective, not a destination.

6.  Give yourself grace.  Again and again and again.  And continually seek to invest in things that bring joy, not just (or as well as) enjoyment and security.


With love, and with you on this journey towards perspective, abundance and wise generosity,
KD

Money, Part II: Identity and Abundance

(you can catch part 1 here if you missed it)

In my family, growing up, we talked about money all the time, simply because it was often a determining factor in what we could and couldn't do.   I never knew real want - my parents did a good job taking care of us - but I never knew a time when we hadn't been "tight" either.  Over the years, if I wanted spending money, I babysat, worked odd jobs, or worked full-time.  My "allowance" until I was 15 was 10c a week per year old that I was - if my chores were done - and half of that was required to be saved, and a tenth given away.  Do the math, and I received a whopping 60c every week (acknowledged: I still received an allowance, which is more than many).

At the time that I entered college, I was, for all purposes except taxes, entirely financially independent.  I went to a really preppy and fairly (very) affluent university, on a half scholastic merit scholarship, and half need-based financial assistance.  My scholarship covered everything for school, and everything else came from what I earned in various jobs at the university.   UR was one of the first places that I found myself where I was considered "poorer" than others and where my comparative financial lacking was tangibly obvious (at least to me).  It became both a place of shame for me (as I saw my own lacking comparatively) and a place of pride (oh yeah, well I have things so much harder than everyone else, and still look at me...) and a definition of what I was striving for (money and financial security will allow me to live happily and comfortably).   I was certainly not alone in those thoughts.  And yet, in the context of UR, we did not talk about money - perhaps because one of the (false) underlying assumptions was that everyone had it, or perhaps because it was, as it still is, considered not kosher and too personal.

I learned, over the years, that there were far more students like me, who relied heavily on scholarship, than I had initially thought.  UR does a good job with financial assistance, even to this day.  And even beyond that, there were many for whom money was considered "tight." But I also learned that "money being tight" meant vastly different things to different people.  We had different cultural expectations, different safety nets, and different visions of what financial security would look like - one of many reasons that money is often difficult to talk about well.

In all honesty, however, I think that the real reason we didn't (often) talk about money was the underlying assumption that no one ever stated - and few would even agree was true if it was stated out-loud - that money - how much we had, or how rough we had it - played a huge role in our identities.  It influenced our plans, shaped our abilities, affected our "street cred," defined how free from our parents we were, and largely marked what we considered "success" upon graduation. And while it doesn't have to be comparative, it always felt that way.

Not much has changed over the years.

We still base a lot of our identities - and our judgments of others - on affluence, money, and status.

"Oh, he/she has finally made something of himself/herself..."
"Haven't really amounted to much, have they?"

Friends, this is a crippling definition of success.  And an awful measure of identity.

It does not yield happiness, security, or a deep sense of worth, value or identity.  Rather what I thought - that having money would finally set me free, and enable me to live joyfully - this tie between money and identity instead yields a pride and shame that stymie any real delight.  And that shame and pride - you know what I'm talking about - are toxic, hindering our ability actually steward our finances well; to talk candidly about money without becoming defensive (when is the last time you did that?); to seek wise counsel when we need it, or give counsel to others; and to receive money and give it well, with no strings attached.

I need to tell you, candidly, that I am no where near as good at saving money as I used to be.  I am still (relatively) good at spreading a dollar and managing money.  That I tend towards pride and miserliness more than shame and free-spending enjoyment, although I do go there too at times.  And that at times, I still feel deep comparative shame, based on money, when I look at all that my peers from college, or here in the city, have achieved and feel like I have achieved so little.  Or that at times, I privately harbor pride at my ability to manage money well and stay out of debt, and feel superior to others for whom the struggle is different.  I promised candor, so there you go.

But I am gradually learning that I am more than what I make or do not make.
That I am more than what my savings account or debt level reflects.
That I am not more or less than you, based on our abilities to handle finances.

And I have to tell you, that has been an incredibly freeing lesson to learn.

A year and a half after I graduated from college, I moved to Boston and lived with two wonderful and sweet roommates.  We were all just starting out, all single, and all making enough to be comfortable, but not enough to keep us from feeling the pull.  Halfway through the year, one had to unexpectedly move out, and we were joined by a new roommate - our age, Ivy League educated, making comparable salary to us - who had lived several years of her teenage life, along with her family, homeless.  Her experience with money gave me yet another perspective on what "money being tight" meant, what were basic securities that I just took for granted - food, shelter, extended family, among them.

The factors which shaped her attitudes and situational responses were significant and meaningful and I do not want to minimize the validity of her experience.  It is not one that I can fully comprehend, and I want to honor that by not going into too much detail.  But in living with her, and seeing the way that she handled money and resources - I began to see reflected, for the first time, the ways in which my own "tightfistedness" "financial wisdom" was actually stifling and killing joy.  I began to see the ways in which a money-defined identity - having it or not having it, handling it well, or handling it poorly - was unhealthy at best, and at worst, destructive to life and joy.

You and I, we are more than the money that we make or do not make.  Our ability to handle finances does not determine our worth as human beings.  Our savings accounts or debt levels do not validate or invalidate our intrinsic value.  We know this intellectually - but friends, we rarely live like it.  And until we learn this on a heart level, it is hard for us to engage with the topic of money in any real way without feeling defensive.  It matters, friends.  Our society does not do a good job modeling this.  We are far too comfortable correlating value and importance to financial net worth.

Moreover, I began to see that abundance is actually a perspective - and that we can live our entire lives perceiving only our lacking, all the while actually having abundance right in front of us.  Meanwhile, those with little can have an inexplicable, inexhaustible joy, because rather than seeing what they do not have, they see instead what they do possess, which is often both tangible and intangible. 

When I got married, my husband modeled this for me.  We could look at the same budget, same bank account, same expenses, and he would see "enough" and I would see "lack."  His perspective - with the same desire for wise financial management, future planning, and prudent spending and savings - was one of optimism and trust, rather than fear and doubt. And unlike me, he was far less stressed about money (until he had to try and figure out my spreadsheets... sorry honey).

As I have left the workforce to become a stay-at-home mom for this season, and my ability to contribute to our financial security went to very very little, these lessons have been anchors for me.  And also places of deep struggle, if I'm honest. Places of intense freedom, when I live them well.  We make less now than we ever have - we manage money (fairly) wisely - and yet I notice lack far less than I ever have before.  Instead, more often (not always),  I notice the gifts of abundance and choice that we have - to choose for me to be at home, the time with our boys rather than commuting, the gift of the few hours of work that I do have, the blessing of a decent hourly rate, the freedom to buy things that aren't absolute needs, the delight of being able to do things I love and bring in a little additional income... and I could go on.

So can I invite us to consider a few things, as I continue to blather on about money?  You said yes, ye olde silent blogosphere?  So delighted.  Here we go:

1.  Can we consider, regardless of dollar amount that we make, losing the association between income and personal worth, value, identity.  Cut the puppet strings between finance and identity.  Damned if I know how to tell you to do that quickly and easily, but absolutely certain that it matters. This will free us immensely to actually steward our money well under wise counsel, to talk candidly about it without becoming defensive, to seek wise counsel, to receive it well and to give it well.  You are more than what you make or don't make.  And until we can know that on a heart level, further conversation won't go very far.

2.  Can we consider, looking for our abundance, living in our abundance, more than living in our lacking, always seeing what we do not have?  Plain English, let's stop complaining about money.  And notice, on a daily basis, what we do have.  It will make us happier people, I guarantee.

3.  Can I suggest, that I think the simple answer to both of those propositions above, is to live a life of generosity (and simplicity?) with wisdom, regardless of income.  Let's hold on to that as we continue to chat.  Give generously, unexpectedly, and joyfully, from what you have, and you will always feel like you have more.

More on this in our final installment, Part III.  Stay tuned.

Money, Part I: Perspective, Miserliness, and Joy

Let's talk about money, shall we?

NYTimes say about half of us are delaying major life decisions because of money worries.  We think about it all the time, make decisions based on it, define ourselves and others by it, utilize it daily, are (many of us) buried under debt by it, and yet, rarely talk candidly about it.

This is roughly the third post on money that I've started and (not yet) finished.  It's an odd subject, no? Hard to decide a wise direction to take the post, hard to write with hope and encouragement, not self-focus or self-pity.  And hard to talk about unless you're really transparent, and well, that's often seen as awkward, or socially inappropriate, etc.

When have I ever been phased by awkward?  Sorry awkward-phased people.

We'll see if I finish this one.  Here we go.

I was raised under the penumbra of "money is tight" - and it was legitimately.  And while we always had food, shelter, and clothing, and in hindsight, really never had want, it was still scary at times because of this ominous sense that there was no safety net.  And, at least to my adolescent mind, it always felt like we were teetering on the brink, never secure financially.  Money was always a "what we want but do not yet have."

I am certain I am not alone in this, and equally certain that many had it far worse than we did, even as many had it far better.  In this blog, I am intentionally trying to share only stories that are mine to share, and as a result, am not sharing much about our financial situation growing up.  But at the same time, I need to tell you transparently that it is often hard for me, when I do share in "honoring generality," that what I mean by "money was tight" is minimized, misunderstood, and mis-empathized with, in ways that are frustrating.  Suffice to say, when I say "tight," I mean budgeted down to the cents, not dollars, and with the realities of debt and few safety nets.

As result, I learned to save perniciously - for many of my single years, saving well over a quarter of my paycheck (or more), counting pennies at the grocery store (I used to carry a calculator through the store), and always living in preparation for worst case scenario.  Whatever my financial situation, I defined it as "not enough" - exacerbated by the fact that I went into ministry, and my paycheck was always well below what my peers made - even though truthfully, had I had the eyes to see it, I was able to live quite comfortably, even while still being financially responsible.  I was miserly even as I focused on what I did not have, devoid of joy when it came to finances.  

Thank the Lord, that is not the end of the story, even though in honesty, it is the impoverished counter-narrative that oft attempts to run subversively to the richer one.  

Financially, not much has changed for us:  we live in a rented apartment, two bedrooms for four of us, and in this housing market, our odds of buying a house in the next few years are relatively low, if we stay in the Boston area.  We are on one salary plus my odds and ends, because childcare would actually cost more than I would be able to bring in if I were working part-time, and we have made the choice for me not to work full-time at this point in our kids lives.  Values decision, and a choice certainly, but we stand by it.

We make just over $40K a year, for a family of four, living in Boston, which according to Kiplinger is the 7th most expensive city to live in in the US, with housing expenses third highest in the country.  These details are shared with Jon's knowledge and blessing, and do not in any way reflect negatively on his ability to provide for our family.  He does a great job, and we are able to live well for all effective purposes, even though finances are tight.  If you want to know what your income would need to be in different places, to translate to the same standard of living as you presently have, check out the cost of living calculator.  It's kind of fun if you live elsewhere, kind of disheartening if you live in DC, San Francisco, Honolulu, San Jose, Boston, Stamford, or New York.  I am transparent with these details not to elicit a particular response from you, but so that I am clear where I am coming from, not playing off of generalities.

Money is relatively tight for us. That is a reality. But the truth is, I am learning there is far more to being rich than the amount of money that you have, or the amount of safety nets that are in place.  The dollar amount that we make does not have to determine our wealth level.  Or more specifically, our joy level, when it comes to finances. 

I am learning that miserliness is not the only way to be wise with money.
That joy is a perspective.
That generosity is not diametrically opposed to wisdom even when money is tight.
And that generosity yields gratitude within me, and in gratitude, I find the joy that I seek the most.

So can I share a little bit of what I've been learning?

- We are not poor, even as we are not wealthy. According to this fun tool, 30% of people living in our area are poorer than we are (family size not taken into account). There are many who have far less than we do, even as there are many who have far more than we do.  And I'm not even speaking globally, although that contrast is certainly far sharper.  Perspective does not make our own financial needs less, but it does help to sharpen our gratitude - which is key, I have found in loosening the hold of miserliness

- Regardless of what we make, it will never fully feel like "enough."  And that is the case whether we make $20K, $40K or $100K or $whatever.  Even though some suggest that $75K is the perfect amount for happiness.  Regardless of what we make, there are always places that feel "tight" or "hard" - and struggles that are different for each person, and misunderstood by those not in our "situations." This understanding enables us to listen with empathy and grace to the financial struggles with others, regardless of how they relate to our own, and consider how we can encourage them, rather than give way to bitterness or begrudging.

- We can still idolize or misuse money, whether we have much or little.  And even though saving is important, and safety nets are helpful (and we are happy to have them now), the hoarding of money in order to gain safety (often motivated by fear) never rarely yields its intended security.   On the other hand, reckless enjoyment in the here and now without thought to the future also has its pitfalls and dangers (talked about much more often, so I won't blather on about them here).  There is a fine balance between a healthy investment in savings and security nets, and not being afraid to enjoy what we have and live a non-Scroogelike life.  Most of us err on one side or the other, or swing between the two (me); very few find that delicate balance.

- We are still called to steward money well, manage it well, and regardless of overall dollar amount, we are invited to generosity in the ways that we are able.  And surprisingly, giving tends to bring greater joy than hoarding ever does.

- And lastly, we have a choice as to whether we live as though we are lacking, or live in the abundance of what we do have.  It doesn't change the dollar amount, but it certainly requires a change of heart.

Track with me, we'll talk more about this next time in Part II.

Letters to My Sons: I don't ever want to tame you

Dear sons,

This morning while we were out on a walk with some friends, you both contentedly riding in the stroller -pacified by one of those devilish-to-the-earth-mama-in-me sweeter-than-sweet-tea donuts - when a random stranger stopped by to oo and ahh at you and tell me how precious you were, how much like twins you looked, and how full my hands must be.  So close together! And TWO BOYS too! First times for all of those [were not today]. "You know, I never had to spank until I had my son... girls are so well-behaved and social and sweet, and boys... well boys never stop moving and are into everything.  You'll be in my prayers tonight." she said.

She's never met any sister that you might have - but you come legitimately from a mama who is rarely well-behaved, and while, sweet, never stops moving and is into everything.  And I'd reckon any daughter that I might have might inherit some of those genes.  Mild eye roll here.

Regardless, I thanked her for her prayers, and we moved on.

But as you both [finally] fell asleep for nap today, and I breathed a little sigh of relief, this is what I wanted to tell you:

I don't ever want to tame you.

I love that you are into everything and never stop moving.  I love your curiosity and your chatter and your enthusiasm and energy.  I love that you don't care if you get dirty, that you see puddles and your first thought is not staying dry but making the biggest splash that you can.  I love that you have so many thoughts and so much joy that you sometimes quite literally keep yourself awake retelling your day and singing every song that you know.  Loudly.  I joke that you only have two volumes - loud and extra loud - but I love your unbridled, unhindered enthusiasm that needs to shout "DAAAADDDDY, MOMMY MADE BEANS FOR DINNER!"  The whole neighborhood is invited in to your delight.  Also for dinner.  [Slightly better than "DAAAADDDDDY, MOMMY POOPED ON THE POTTY!"]

I love that you, S, see me cooking and want to pull every single pan and pot out of the cupboard so that you can cook too, and that you loudly proclaim your menu to me as you "cook" it.  I love your enthusiasm about everything - your curiosity to explore your world and figure out how things work -and how deeply you delight to do it and then retell it to anyone who will listen.   You are all in, 100% in whatever you do, and I love that about you.

I love that you, E, see the world as your oyster - that you fearlessly launch yourself off of slides, shelves, chairs, and beds, without worry that you will be caught, even though my heart stops almost every time.  You will be the child who takes us to the emergency room first.  But I love how safe you feel, that you are not afraid to launch yourself into anything new.

I love that you both explore the world in your own ways, on all four cylinders.  Neither one of you holds back - and it is exhausting, nerve-wracking and delightful to see.  Full-steam ahead, bloody occasionally, running-never-walking, all-hands-on-deck, exhausted by bedtime, from dawn until dusk.

This is certainly not just a boy thing, although stereotypes do render it the conversation more often than not.  Lord willing, if you have a sister, I hope she's fully herself, whatever that looks like, with reckless abandon too.  Somehow my eardrums, nerves, and heart will survive, I am certain.

Baby boys, your Daddy and I will do our best to teach you manners, kindness, gentleness, and compassion - to raise you to be good men who recognize and appreciate context and balance.  We will endeavor to raise you with good discipline and respect.  That's why we do discipline you, with consistency and firmness.  Hitting your brother is still not okay - wrestling is fine as long as you're both game.  We've been over this.  But it is not our goal to "tame you," quiet you, or curb your enthusiasm, even as we do ask you to be obedient and respectful.

See, your enthusiasm, your energy, your curiosity - the way that you are both hardwired - it is a good gift.  And channeled appropriately, with respect and compassion, that enthusiasm and energy will be your greatest asset.  That fearlessness and confidence, E, will propel you forward into places that others dare not go - boldly and bravely - your empathy, which I also see in you, will drive you there for the sake of others.  Your curiosity and intellect, S, will motivate you and drive you learn and understand how and why things work - and your enthusiasm and delight in proclamation will invite others to have the same delight in discovery that you do.

So while I appreciate the well-meaning prayers and encouragement of strangers - please do not mistake my politeness to them as agreement with their sympathy for me in your energy.  Please hear me, loud and clear -

I love your into-everything-ness.  Your energy.  Your enthusiasm.  And even your wildness.  I would not change it.  I am grateful for it.  And I want to bless it - I do bless it - to thrive and grow in appropriate context and application.  And when my natural tendencies and desire for order might influence me otherwise, remind me that I said this earlier, because I do mean it, from the heart.

I love you so deeply, little ones.  And I am so so proud to be the mommy to two such wonderful boys.

Love,
Your crazy mama

KD

On Juxtaposition and Difficult Balance

As a parent of young children, I personally hate the fourth of July.  I am fairly confident that most dog owners and fellow parents of young children can resonate with me on that one.

But that aside, yesterday, I found myself incredibly torn - between my own cynicism and jadedness and my genuine gratitude for my country and the freedoms that I am privy to - between my thankfulness for the men and women, including many of my family members, who have served faithfully in our armed forces to protect liberty and justice for all, and my deep heart conviction that we are not all there yet, that liberty and justice and equality are not secured for all, and even presently we are seeing more clearly the schisms in our justice system broadly, down to our own neighborhoods and attitudes more specifically.  This lyric/poem/rambling was born out of that wrestling.

On Juxtaposition and Difficult Balance

Marines with PTSD
Being honored for their bravery amidst fireworks, reminiscent of grenades and bombs;
Country that I love,
Brokenness that I see.

My fathers and grandfathers, friends and family, yours too -
Fought and fight for her safety, liberty, justice, equality.
Lives on the line, knowing the split-second, gut-level, life-or-death calls made day after day.
Bravery, dignity, honor, integrity, sacrifice.
I honor you.

My brothers and my sisters
Cry, peace without justice is empty, equality is rhetoric when its not sustained by action.
We're not even safe in our churches.  You think this is surprising - uncover your eyes, don't be blind.
This is our inheritance, generation following generation.  My brothers and sisters,
I honor you.

Country that I call home,
Liberties that are mine, with pride, thankfulness, and knowledge of their cost
I love what you stand for - I love the values that you espouse (and long to).
Contrary to what my critiques often portray,
I am proud to be an American,
Proud of my Southern heritage, bless her heart,
Proud of my Northern home, strong one that she is,
Land that I call my home, full of pride, culture, heritage, inheritance, freedom, blessing.
I honor you.

But culture that allows us to mask and ignore, as "that's just the way it is" "has always been"-
Inheritance that is both beautiful and covered in the blood of our brothers and sisters.
Pride that gives us a false sense of superiority.
Pride that minimizes and ignores the cries of our tired, our poor, our huddled masses.
Freedom misapplied; blessing denied -
Lady liberty is not blind, though we might prefer her thus.
Justice is not blind, though we still claim that she is.
America, I love you too much to bless your blindness.
I cannot excuse you simply because I love you.
I cannot ignore the cries of our tired, our poor, those longing to be free - you also,
I honor you.

Church that I love,
Body, I belong to you.  And you belong to me.
Together we serve the same God, claim the same grace, break the same bread.
I vow again and again, I belong with you.
This God we serve, He is real.  Unmistakably, irreplaceable.
And though I've tried mightily, I cannot run from Him.
In Him is life, hope, and a worldview that I can get behind.  There is no other.
And married to Him, you and I, bound together.
I honor you.

But sometimes your words are spoken hastily, without compassion.
Sometimes you don't speak, when you should.
Condemning, rather than freeing.
Silencing, rather than speaking.
Inconsistently applying.
Grace misunderstood.
Self-imaging, self-identifying, self-serving more than mirroring.
You, we, I, do not reflect Him.
Too busy with who is out, rather than who is welcomed in.
You who have been abandoned, broken, cast out, unheard, by this body -
I honor you.

This Body, broken.  For you (singular).
Rather that His body, broken for you (inclusive).
Yet married to Him, you and I, together bound.
I honor you.  I fight for you.  I fight against you.

A balance unable to be struck evenly,
A scale unable to be weighted.
And yet both must be carried in awkward accord.
I honor you.  I fight against you.  I fight for you.

Land that I love.

This is nothing new.