Category Archives: persist

Toppled Over

It felt ironic that the week when rejoicing and joy were themes in my Bible reading, I felt anything but that. The life pattern of full throttle all day and brake slam at night felt extra difficult in the days leading up to Christmas.

It was 10:00 one night when I was finally toppling into bed that Steve walked through our room with tools to unclog the bathtub. I was simultaneously thankful for a husband with plumbing skills and disappointed that we still could not call it a day. Even though a screen covers the drain, there are small people with lots of hair that sometimes forget to use it.

Earlier I had returned home from an exhausting morning of shopping with my youngest to the scene of a Christmas tree toppled over in my room. That explained the slight lean to the side I had noticed earlier when taking a cute picture of Zephyr burrowing around underneath it.

Closer examination of the damage revealed a weak base leg that had finally snapped. Immediately I felt kinship with the tree ~ propped up on a weak foundation, covered by a pretty skirt, surrounded by gifts with stories hanging from my branches, but weakening.

Soon, I fear, the foundation will give way. I will lose my grounding and topple.

There was no energy or desire to keep a plastic tree leaning on its side until I could procure a new stand, so I packed up my ornaments and put them away, but not before a special ceramic sheep swung from the branches and broke off a leg. I put the tree in the basement rather than by the curb, because maybe when the dust settles I will get a new stand for next year.

I put the broken ornament in the box rather than the trash can, because maybe I will glue it next year.

Disheartened, I tried to remain hopeful in the midst of all the broken, which was more than a Christmas tree stand. It was hard. There were tears. My journal caught and held all that could not be said aloud.

The next day a daughter invited me to choose a few favorite ornaments to decorate the plant that hangs in my room. She remembered an older sister doing this in her small apartment one year.

My knee-jerk response of resistance gave way to openness and possibility as I descended to the basement to collect a few sheep ornaments and other favorites. I found a battery – operated string of colored lights. Daughter brought a strand of small white lights from her room and helped string them up before adding the ornaments.

Arrangements were made to move the laundry hamper and make way for gifts to stack underneath. The room looked less cluttered while still festive. I felt grateful for her creativity, persistence, and risk-taking in inviting me to consider change. 

What a gift.

Christmas Changes

I sit in the day after Christmas, carving out some reflective quiet in the midst of all of the celebrating. In the moment there is relative peace. There are no deep conversations to engage, no projects to help facilitate, and no needs to meet. In the moment.

There has been much change and growth this season, and like most growth and change, it is not noticeable until you look back on what was. The looking back took place through the eyes of an adult son who was on the other side of the world last Christmas.

Christmas morning was so much more chill than it was two years ago when I was home.

It is true. Little people have grown and are growing, and while there is still excitement, there is not the frenetic level that once was. There is greater ability and capacity to wait with expectancy and hopeful patience and to enjoy the process of giving and receiving gifts on Christmas morning.

I noticed changes in many areas over the season.

Cookie baking looked different. It required minimal help from me in the gathering and helping to mix ingredients for dough. The rest took care of itself as four sisters sat and decorated them together.

There was such playfulness in the decorating, as inside family jokes were engaged and battle scenes created with cookies and icing. Growth. Laughter.

Christmas dinner felt calmer as we ate and laughed and played a game around the table. I really want to insert a picture, but it is the season where not everyone is fond of being posted. Changes. So I refrain and instead post the final result of our Advent tree.

That was a change, as well, since we kept up with the pieces and candles this year after a rocky beginning.

I am thankful that I pushed through the hard to get to the other side. We made a lot of memories around the table and the tree.

A final note on this day after Christmas is how my gifts have changed over the years. From giant plastic candy canes of days gone by to thoughtful gifts that show just how much my kids have grown and know me, this year’s Christmas bounty was so sweet. And I am not talking only about the giant truffle!

This is me entering the last week of 2017, blogging about Christmas changes, anticipating other changes on the horizon. While I do not know specifically what they are, I feel them inside.

I hope to have more time to process this week, maybe even on the blog, about what is coming up in 2018, including my word which will be revealed New Year’s Day.

Change is not easy for me.

We shall see!

Advent Candles

I decided to get more candles. Rather, I requested that my husband pick some up last Saturday while running errands with a daughter. I knew exactly where I had seen the boxes of pre-packaged, advent-colored, purple and pink candles.

They were sold out.

Instead a text image came through with the image of bulk candles and a question, Is the indigo color okay? I missed the message.

He bought three indigo and one white candle. I like the indigo color much better in person.

The following day, I used the seasonal snowflake paperbag that the candles were packaged in to cover a small cardboard box. I glued the words Get ready on one side and Celebrate on the other. I pressed the five candles into floral foam, lining them with pinecones and berries.

It was my adult son’s idea to move it from the living room mantel to the lazy Susan in the middle of the table. Each night we light the candles during dinner and put up the felt tree piece afterwards. It has been the most chill Advent to date.

If you look closely, you can see some scatter I added this week in honor of Hanukkah.

I love all things miniature and could not resist them!

Speaking of felt tree, this is how ours looks today, December 16, 2017. There are 15 objects placed, and the wall hanging makes 16. Since this particular activity begins December 1, we are actually on track. This is a momentous occasion for us.

Usually we miss several days and spend much time catching up. The candles on the table have been the game changer for us this year.

I chose to persist, in keeping with my word for a few more days. It has not been easy, but it has been good.

Welcome, October

I feel hopeful.

The air is crisp. The leaves are falling. The colors are vibrant.

A month into my new normal things are finally beginning to feel, well, more normal. A daily routine is evolving, lending itself to one that is weekly. I am learning my boundaries and limits through trial and error.

I am discovering more about myself in the quiet spaces and recognizing my tendency to fall down the path of least resistance, rather than lean into the hard. This results in me putting things on the back burner that really need focus and clarity. It is easier to escape into Netflix than to engage in reading and writing.

My good intentions will never happen unless I am intentional.

This month, intentionality looks like taking time daily to write. I hope to post these writings on the blog. We shall see what happens.

In moments of adversity, I tend to shut down and think, What’s the point?

I am so grateful for those who send words of encouragement my way, whether through Facebook Messenger, email, comment, or text. All methods are recognized and appreciated. They have helped me choose to continue engagement. To persist.

Here’s to a new month full of promise and possibilities. Welcome, October! I’m glad there’s you.

Sharing Space

Irritation mounts as I survey the kitchen. I was the one who asked that a milkshake be made after school. But this? Really?

It looks as if ice cream and milk were slopped into the blender and then the blender was haphazardly turned on with the top off. Yes, that must be what happened. There is a glob of melted ice cream on the floor and a puddle of it on the counter. It is hardening into a solid, sticky mess.

Clearly, someone is in the wrong, and it is not me. I am fuming inside, every ounce of irritation seeping through my pores. It feels as if my skin is on inside out. I am trying to find a way to express frustration appropriately which only has me feeling more inappropriate.

A sibling stands nearby, emptying the trash. A blanket statement is made about a family rule. The undertone is why are you surprised by this? It’s how it is. This incites me more. Really? Who made said rule and why? That is not the case! This mess is not okay.

It is hard to share space with so many other people. Even though I am one of the adults, co-partner, co-creator, co-supporter of our family structure, I can easily slip into feeling like just another one of the kids. These people who live with me, who have come from my body, who I am responsible for, are growing up and getting bigger and taking more ownership of their worlds.

This is a good thing. I am grateful for their growing independence. There are so many good things about them being able to fix their own food and pack their own lunches. Still, when I open the refrigerator to get the milk, and a misplaced jar of strawberry jam falls to the ground, and containers of leftover food totter, packed and stuffed into the wrong places, I feel smothered.

Smothered and alone. The space closes in on me physically, and I can’t find a means of escape. I can’t hide the fury. It won’t stuff back down to its usual place. Escape. Hide. Stuff. These survival strategies are familiar.

I pace to the TV room, just off of the kitchen, trying to sort out all that is stirring inside, trying to justify my anger. The deep breaths I take begin to calm me. I do not need to offload on my children. They do not need to pay for or contain my strong feelings. We can sort through what I am experiencing without me assigning blame.

It takes courage to re-enter and re-engage the sticky scene in a different way, to name and own my strong feelings. It is unfamiliar and feels clumsy. I risk stepping into our shared space and naming how it feels. I choose to let my child really see me own my uncertainty. Grace and hope pour down on the room. Spirits lift. Hope returns, and the moment is redeemed.

Hiking and Heart Connection

It was a good day of hiking and heart connection.

Mamas, it’s hard. Mothering is just hard. Maybe not all of the time, and maybe never for you, but it was really hard for me. And in my story, something being difficult to do was not a reason to pause and question it. There was no room for exploring other options or making changes, only soldiering on with the choice that had already been made.

Nineteen years ago I was 27 and had just birthed a 10lb 4oz boy. He was welcomed by his three older siblings, ages 5,4, and 3. Steve and I had been married six years. That is a lot of living and people to fit into a short period of time.

Child number four was not at all like the others. He did not fit any sort of mold, and contrary to what people always said to me, I hear it gets easier after three, nothing could have been further from the truth. Please refrain from offering things that you have heard about situations that you have not experienced to the one struggling in the midst of them. It is truly not helpful.

It did not get easier for me.

There were a lot of hard things to push through and four more babies to follow. I wondered if I would make it. I wondered how something so excruciatingly difficult for me could ever be worth it.

Today happened.

I made it.

It was worth it.

My son and I hiked High Knob together to celebrate his 19th birthday.

He has been there often. Today was my first time. We parked and entered the trail and walked and talked. The sky was a brilliant shade of blue. The leaves were beginning to change. We had the trail to ourselves.

We climbed to the top of the lookout and sat, enjoying the gentle breeze and the stunning view. We shared conversation.

We hiked back to the car, mindfully aware of our surroundings, noticing little things like this wooly bear on the path.

Somewhere along the way, my phone received a wave of service, and several texts dropped into it. One was from my mom, inviting us for coffee to celebrate Kieran and Grammy who share a birthday. We stopped there on our way back to town and captured this picture of the birthday buddies born 75 years apart.

Please don’t give up hope in your hard, whatever that hard may be. I know that it seems easy for me to say, because I am not in your situation. All I know is that today was a glimpse of such sweet goodness and such great reward as my son and I took time together to extract ourselves from the couches and get out into nature together.

It was so worth it. I am grateful for the gift I received on this day nineteen years ago and for the gift I received today.

Don’t miss yours!

Fierce Persistence

I have decided that this is what I need if I am going to make any movement forward. My word this year is persist, and I had to go back and read the original post to remember, even though it stares at me from across my room each day. Persist.

Fierce Persistence

I am tempted to tip towards the opposite.

Mild Apathy

Maybe even extreme lethargy

If I am going to make a change, it has to be decisive, yet also kind. That is where the struggle lies. Where is the intersection of rest and productivity? Where is enough?

August brings with it feelings of summer’s end, even though summer is technically not even halfway over! Extended family visits filled June, vacation took July, and back-to-school appointments and band camp are the order of business for August.

Then school starts at the end of the month.

That makes summer feel over, though it runs into September.

This post is not what I hoped it would be. I have been interrupted no less than five times as I settle in to write. Each time brings a dire need from those around me which offers a clue to what is next. Tending to now.

So that is where I will persist. I will continue to tend to my home and the people and things inside of it. I will tend to me. I will persist in writing, even when my inspiration is fleeting, and I feel uncertain. I will do what is next, which, for now, is answering the call of the tea kettle.