Category Archives: rest

In the Deep


I have been pulled behind a boat a handful of times. Most memorable was during my middle school years, when a friend invited me to her family’s lake house for the weekend. She was an excellent water skier, gliding and jumping the wake as I watched, seated backwards in the boat. feeling the warm sun on my legs and face. Her older brother took his turn, as well, stepping it up a notch or two by dropping his skis and doing tricks.

My opportunity in the water was spent struggling to rise up, and after surfacing, unsuccessfully keeping the skis from flying in opposite directions off of my feet. I never experienced the feeling of actually skiing behind a boat, only bumping behind it clumsily until the boat slowed or I let go, whichever came first.

Letting go brought an instant halting and sinking into the water, buoyed by the life jacket keeping me afloat. Bobbing up and down, I waited for the boat to circle back to either try again or climb back in for a break. The waiting brought a strange sensation of suspension between what had just happened and what was coming up next. It was a vulnerable place to be, hanging out in the middle of a lake waiting and watching the other boats and watercraft zip around me.

This is the visual that comes to mind when I describe how I am doing these days. It feels as if I am suddenly sinking after years of being pulled at break-neck speed over and across the water, bumping over and skimming the surface, hanging on for dear life. I have been handling a lot of surface things, feeling the spray of the pace on my face. My arms have grown tired of holding on as discouragement from not being able to quite pull myself up and move gracefully settles in as reality.

The release of the rope has caused me to go deep. At least in the water a lifejacket keeps you afloat as you wait for the circling back. I am not sure that I am wearing a life jacket. The water feels murky, and I wonder how to navigate it. Has the driver of the boat noticed I am not there anymore? Will there be a circling back?

So this is where I am. I am in a slower, deeper place, trying to decide what the next step is. Do I wait to reach for the rope and give it another go or climb back up into the boat for a rest? Do I ask for a tube to be thrown to me so that I can do something that feels both fun and successful while I sort it out?

These are the questions that fill my mind and both energize and paralyze me. So I wait in the deep.

Midweek Musings

It is day three of my new normal. The kids are in school for a few more hours. The house is silent. I am shifting and settling into something that might eventually resemble a routine, just not yet.

When I was teaching, I would give myself three weeks to a month before making a judgment on whether the year was working or not. It always ended up working just the way it was supposed to. Adjusting takes time.

I am adjusting.

Rising early to get the day started with the family, without the added pressure of getting myself somewhere on time has been a pleasant adjustment. Learning the new kitchen dance of school mornings, without the demand of getting everyone out the door like a well-oiled machine, has made things more calm and less chaotic.

This year we are in three different schools, down from our record of five. We drop off and pick up this batch of kids, the ones who were babies when their elder siblings were riding buses. While you cannot do over, you can choose to do differently. You can also have conversations about how others were affected by the choices you made.

Lots of those hard conversations are happening now that I have more unstructured time. No two, or eight, children grow up in the same family. I am adjusting to hearing truth and experiences shared with me from all of the perspectives, as the next generation steps up into the shoes of the first, and the first navigates adulthood. It looks a lot different this go around, especially as there are no infants, toddlers, and preschoolers in the equation.

The first two hours of my day focus on getting people fed and where they belong. When I arrive home after the final drop-off, Dewey eagerly runs to his leash, ready for a morning walk. This has become the beginning of a routine for us, as I walk him and think about the day. Sometimes a sister calls, or I call a sister (or daughter).

I am working out the time at home between drop-off and pick-up. I still have a brain racing to think of all of the things, when it really needs to slow down. I am practicing slow. I am not getting to all of the things. I get to some. I am learning things about myself that cannot be learned at breakneck speed.

This is where I am. I am grateful for the space to figure out what is next and the gift of learning to be more present in what is now.

How about you, Dear Readers? Where does this start of the new school season find you?

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.

Comfy Cozy Quiet

Soft light tiptoes through the window, waking me gently. I pull back curtains to savor the view of morning mist rising over the lake.

Propping myself with pillows to watch the sunrise, I lean into the quiet stillness gifted to me by this weekend away. More than I could have asked or expected I have received in the kindness of Angela to invite me, once again, to a weekend of rest.

It has been awhile since I have experienced expansive quiet. Moments grabbed here and there between children coming and going at home are not the same as hours of quiet so thick I can feel the absence of noise.

This weekend spent at a cabin by the lake with my friend has offered that quiet.

Rapidly clicking computer keys, softly coloring pencils, slowly turning pages, spontaneously conversing voices, these are sounds that have soothed my soul and reset my spirit. Long walks, reading, writing, talking, thinking, processing, coloring, art journaling, writing some more, these are things that have occupied my unstructured time.

It has been a working weekend of sorts, as I wrap up preparation for Seattle, part 2. The difficult task of writing out and analyzing another story to share, along with finishing reading assignments, made me increasingly grateful for a cozy, quiet space to inhabit during the process.

My uniform of comfy lounge wear, slippers, and scarf was a reminder to relax. Being enveloped in soft comfort held space for me as I engaged difficult story scenes and disruptive feelings. The brilliant sunshine and sky outside grounded me when I was threatened by disconnect.

Sharing snippets of words or thoughts across the table with Angela, asking questions about work, taking breaks together, these things all helped to soften the intensity of feelings and encourage the process of finishing.

There are a few hours left to savor the stillness. The light grows brighter. Leaves blaze in golden glory. I hear stirring downstairs, inviting me to rise, as well. It is time to emerge and enjoy the final hours of comfy, cozy quiet.

blazing glory

Pour Coffee and Ponder

I need to take my own advice. So good about helping everyone else to think and process, I often leave myself behind.

This morning I received a text that turned into a phonecall that ended with laughter and greater curiosity. It caused me to pull out some old writing, sketching, and dream journaling I had done and read and laugh and think, huh.

It is a gift to have those in your life who were there with you, wherever there was, and who are willing to go back there with you when needs be. To be able to share in safety without having to explain or over-explain is golden.

This was one of my people who just gets it.

As I sent a picture of a dream sketch I had made with this person in it and received comments back, the conversation ended with me texting, Enough about me and my dreams. Pour coffee and ponder yours.

That is what I needed, as well, reminding me that I often speak to others what I need for myself. So that is where this post finds me, pondering dreams and other parts of me, and writing with my poured coffee.

The gift of the slow Saturday morning gets eclipsed by all of the shoulds running through my head. Instead of resting in gratefulness for the space, I rush around trying to fill it. Sometimes just sitting in my PJs on an unmade bed with a laptop open at 9:50 on a Saturday morning is an act of defiance to all that threatens to bind me.

So that is where I am. Pondering with my poured coffee. Grateful for a partner engaging the kids and their chores so I can be on the other side of a closed door, I write.

Facing Forty-Five

It’s the day after my birthday. I just finished reading and replying to all of the thoughtful facebook messages left on my wall. Yes, I realize that facebook suggests and reminds and encourages, but that is all it does. It invites. It is up to each person to choose to respond or not. There is total freedom.

A friend texts to ask, How is day number 2 of a new number treating you? For the first time in a long time, maybe ever, I feel really, really hopeful about entering a new year. I really do. And I say this to those who are 42 or 36 or 29 or 24 and unsure of where they are and how they feel about life right now. I get that. So very much. Don’t give up hope!

There were many slogging along years and disappointing birthdays. There were times I didn’t think I would make it to another birthday. There were years of hard work and dry days where another birthday felt like checking another box off of the list of my life.

This birthday was different. Even my husband noticed that I seemed different. I think I was.

I worked really hard to be present and not borrow stress from the upcoming days and all that we have to do. I really tried to just enjoy the now. Having a little birthday buddy helped somewhat, but it also made for an exhausting day.

I woke early to excitement and pastries and cherries. There were gifts to open for both me and Mae and children to drive to school. My husband snapped a picture of us for facebook. My morning face isn’t getting any younger, for sure!

coffee and pastries

There was an awards ceremony for a fifth-grader, a shopping trip with my little birthday buddy, and a quick nap grabbed before lunch with my mom.

Little Mae

I was so proud of myself for knowing that I needed, and allowing myself to take, a nap!

Lunch was enjoyed at a downtown restaurant all the way to cake before heading back to pick up my girl and gear up for the afternoon car routine.

The fifth-grader and I looked at her yearbook together over a milkshake after dropping the other siblings at home. It was fun one-on-one time. When we got home, later than usual, there were flowers and a box on the porch and cards in the mailbox. My phone rang with a call from my adult son.

birthday booty

Daddy brought home dinner, so I didn’t have to cook. When Little Mae asked, What about the cake? we exchanged glances. There was no cake. There was a cake on the last day of school. There will be cake at her birthday party tomorrow. It’s okay that there was no cake. Facetime popped up on my phone with a beautiful girl on the other side. Child 3.

After we ate, the girls rode bikes outside with their dad watching, and I snuck away to my room for exactly five minutes before another wave of well-wishers arrived. That’s how the day went. Lots of exhausting celebration.

Once the children were all in bed, Steve and I walked the dog and settled onto the porch swing for a bit to catch up. All became quiet, and the day wound down, and I found myself not wanting it to end. But I also found myself eager to wake in the morning to begin another year and to embrace the new season that is coming as I face forty-five.

Thank you all for making my day so special! I felt the love.

coloring

PS Steve and I ended the day by coloring the first page of my new book together with my new pencils. Can you guess who the architect was?

Restless Exhaustion

Sometimes sleep comes hard. The transition from awake to asleep isn’t easily bridged, and I have to trust that if I breathe deeply and close my eyes, I will cross over.

Sometimes nightmares come immediately. Fear engulfs me. Terror swoops down to grab me.

Sometimes I drift off to happy places. The best kind, really, that I don’t want to leave. Then I wake. I am still here.

Usually it’s the crossing over into sleep that is hard. Once there, I stay put, and even a bad dream or fear doesn’t keep me awake. I push through to the blissful other side. If I do wake, I can roll over and drift back.

It’s been a long time since I have spent the night in restless exhaustion, but last night happened. It reminded me that the insomnia struggle is real for many and has been for me in the past.

Lying awake listening to my husband’s gentle snoring reminded me of the many times I labored great with child during the night, not wanting to wake him. Knowing that when things got real, he would need his energy, I didn’t want to rouse him too soon. When all was said and done, he would need to carry on with work and life while I got to rest.

He is in a season of intensity at work, and I am in a place where I can be home during the day. We both don’t need to lie awake. The sound of his sleeping was music to my ears and background to my tears.

This time is so big. So much is happening. June brings with it heavy ambivalence, and my body feels it intensely this season. Add to that my past history, my current status, and the events coming up this month, and it’s a recipe for a perfect insomnia storm.

There was a similar season over 17 years ago when I struggled with sleep. I know this, because I vividly remember lying in my bed in the little house on Green Street and envisioning filling large black trash bags with my worries, concerns, and fears and hauling them to Jesus to cast at the foot of the cross.

I know he is always there and always faithful. Here I am 17 years later as proof of that! I hate having to continually learn and practice trusting that presence and faithfulness. There is a lot of underlying fear. Does God really know best?

I woke this morning later than I had hoped. Groggy from lack of refreshing sleep, I shared my restless exhaustion with Steve. I mean, I know I slept, but it just doesn’t FEEL like it.

Checking email for the morning’s Bible reading, I saw that an anonymous donation had been made to the GoFundMe account. I also saw the newest Red Tent post was up, and it grabbed my heart. Dissolving into tears, I collapsed to the floor and into Steve’s arms where he was sitting and reading. He held me while I cried.

To all who have contributed on or offline to my endeavors, both financially AND with words of affirmation or prayers, THANK YOU. The timing of Anonymous was truly a God-send and reminder that I am seen, as was the theme of Becky’s post on Red Tent Living today.

Friends, I covet your prayers during this very difficult season of transition and journeying into the unknown while carrying the known with me. If you are in my circle and have needs that I am aware of, you were being lifted up in prayer in the wee hours of the morning. I can’t say exactly when, because I refused to look at a clock, but you were there with me in spirit.

Hugs and Love to All!