For Kay January 25, 2010

Yesterday my mom lost her best friend, Kay Potter. In less than a month Kay went from no symptoms to passing away from the most aggressive lung cancer her doctors had seen in their entire medical careers. We are all, of course, in shock. Kay is loved by many, and I feel so honored to have known her all my life.

Throughout my life my mom and Kay have been an example to me of true friendship. The kind of deep, abiding connection that knit them together for over 50 years. They met in college and my dad met Kay even earlier, enjoying youth group activities before heading to Pasadena College with Kay and her future husband, Eddie. Mom and Kay have been through much together. They shared joy and sorrow, loss and hope. The walked the good days and the bad days together. There are few people I have known as loyal and loving as Kay.

Kay gave me my baby showers, we spent our family vacations together at the beach, she gave me my wedding shower…she was there for the important moments in my life. She came with me and my Mom to pick out my wedding dress and was always up on what my two children were doing and interested in my life. She helped me throw parties for my parents and had a way of making me feel important and special….something she did for many.

My mom told me that she doesn’t know how to do life without Kay. I get that. There has been so much loss around me over the past few months I feel dizzy from it today. I don’t understand it. All I feel like I can do right now is to remember that I am committed to being on the side of God’s hope, even on the most hopeless days. Loss has a way of cutting through the clutter of our lives…slicing through it with a knife and reminding us of what is important. Within loss we often find the clarity we lack when the pain is not piercing as it is today.

Chris and I were talking about our “calling” recently. He is grappling with this and remembering that his calling is not the same as his job. The job pays the bills (or we hope that it will) but a calling is what pushes us forward. A calling is the force that God has placed on our lives that builds our legacy. I feel pretty clear that my calling in life is for relationship. I am passionate about connection and authentic community. I clearly do not always know how to accomplish it, nor am I always true to the calling, but it is what moves me forward in life.

So losing people who are deeply loved is a moment when I reflect on what I have and on what I have to lose. Watching my Mom walk through the pain of losing Kay is one of the toughest experiences for me. And yet there is beauty in watching her love Kay and in observing how present she was with Kay in her final days. They said the words to each other…they knew, without a doubt, how Kay felt about Judy and how Judy felt about Kay. They had a lifetime of memories and secrets and laughter and tears and in the end, even when they did not know it was the last time they would speak, they were fully present to each other, with no regrets. That is a legacy.

I am blessed beyond measure to have deep, rich relationships and one thing is clear to me: there really is no time to waste. We do not know the days we have left, or how those days will play out. The life I have will continue to hand me loss and pain, but I will fight for the love and hope in the midst of it. I am on the side of hope.

Kay is the first among my parents closest friends to go. My mom told me she is paving the way for them all. My mom, a violinist, and Eddie, a pianist, have played many events over the years, with Kay and my Dad in the audience. That was Kay, never in the spotlight, but never missing the show. There is a song that touches my mom deeply because it reminds her of her friendship with Kay. It’s the song Wind Beneath My Wings and I put the words here to honor a beautiful woman who did not always walk the easy road, but she took each step with a grace that I will never forget.

It must have been cold there in my shadow,

to never have sunlight on your face.

You were content to let me shine, that’s your way.

You always walked a step behind.

So I was the one with all the glory,

while you were the one with all the strain.

A beautiful face without a name for so long.

A beautiful smile to hide the pain.

Did you ever know that you’re my hero,

and everything I would like to be?

I can fly higher than an eagle,

for you are the wind beneath my wings.

It might have appeared to go unnoticed,

but I’ve got it all here in my heart.

I want you to know I know the truth, of course I know it.

I would be nothing without you.

Did you ever know that you’re my hero?

You’re everything I wish I could be.

I could fly higher than an eagle,

for you are the wind beneath my wings.

Did I ever tell you you’re my hero?

You’re everything, everything I wish I could be.

Oh, and I, I could fly higher than an eagle,

for you are the wind beneath my wings,

’cause you are the wind beneath my wings.

Oh, the wind beneath my wings.

You, you, you, you are the wind beneath my wings.

Fly, fly, fly away. You let me fly so high.

Oh, you, you, you, the wind beneath my wings.

Oh, you, you, you, the wind beneath my wings.

Fly, fly, fly high against the sky,

so high I almost touch the sky.

Thank you, thank you,

thank God for you, the wind beneath my wings.

Beauty from ashes November 30, 2009

As we enter this season,  I am happy to be turning turning a corner on the season just past. It’s been a rough one for many reasons. And yet, today during church I was reminded of why I can continue to wake each morning and have hope. It was a moment sorely needed in my life.

About five weeks ago I got sick. Very sick. Just a temporary sickness, but it took me out. Just as I was getting on my feet, we got hit again. One evening as the sky grew dark we realized our dog, Scout, had gotten out the front door and run out of the yard. A tearful and emotional search ensued. Kim driving around in the car, yelling out the window. Zach walking the streets sobbing and yelling for her, and Brooke holding down the fort at home, hoping Scout would come home. She did not. Just a few blocks from our house she was hit by a car. Chris got to her first, and within a minute of all of us arriving, Scoutie died in Chris’ arms. It was a truly terrible moment for all of us. Dogs do have a way of getting under our skin in a unique way, and Scout was a integral part of our family.

Then just a day later, one of my best friends lost her brother suddenly to a heart attack. There aren’t words adequate to explain this, and my heart ripped in pain for Judy. Just a day after that, our beloved Grandmother Irene went into the hospital. The following four days we spent at her side, as much as possible, and she died with much of her family surrounding her. Taken all together, and shaken up with the stress we have been under financially as we try to respond to the economy’s severe impact on Chris’ sales job, and mixed in with the other hurts around us: a dear friend whose Mom is dealing with recurrent lung cancer, a marriage in trouble, a young family losing a Mom,  people hurting and struggling all around us…..it was too much.

We got up each day and did what we had to do. There were tears. Lots of those. There were questions about why and conversations about heaven and lots of silent moments, too. But somewhere in it all there has been a glimmer of hope. And then today I was reminded again of why.

As we sang the song Blessed Be Your Name, the words came tumbling out….

Blessed be Your name

When I’m found in the desert place

Though I walk through the wilderness

Blessed be Your name

On the road marked with suffering

Though there’s pain in the offering

Every blessing You pour out

I’ll turn back to praise

When the darkness closes in, Lord

Still I will say blessed be Your name

It is something deep within me that I cannot always tap into, but it remains — hidden at times, but present. The deep belief that God will use what happens to me for good. I do not mean that everything that happens is good, or that all things that happen to me should be good. Or that good things happen to good people — surely I know this not to be true in many cases.  And I do not say this with any Pollyanna or Susie Sunshine optimism. For me it is not about expecting a life without pain. It is about knowing that through it all God is still there. Many of the events or circumstances are not explainable or deserved. In the circumstance there often does not appear to be anything redeemable.

But in my own life, over the years, I have seen time and time again how God can bring beauty from ashes. It’s not a magical undoing of the bad or the pain.  So what is it exactly? Frankly, I don’t think I am very good at articulating it. I count myself fortunate that I have walked with God all of my life. I have had sorrow and pain and fear and doubt. I have unanswerable questions and wonderings. But I also believe that God is bigger than all of this, and that He promises to walk with me through anything. I’ve had seasons when I’ve felt His presence and seasons when I have not. The difference between the two is one of my questions.

But I have also had enough miles under my feet to know during this current season that out of the ashes there is some beauty somewhere. And this morning I had the chance to tell Him that whatever place if find myself in I will still say Blessed Be Your Name.

A brief glimpse November 12, 2009

Zach and his buddy at the Switchfoot concert

I recently took Zach, age 13, to his first concert: Switchfoot. He took a friend and I think I was just “the ride”. I tried to play it low key. He didn’t ignore me, but I tried my best to let him do his thing without too much intervention from me.

It was one of those moments. I sat in my seat and watched him standing next to me. Those little boy shoulders are starting to broaden. He’s tall and lanky right now….hasn’t quite grown into his size 11 feet. Kind of like a puppy dog. He danced to the music and sang along with the band, unaware of me watching his every move. It was like being invisible, and I enjoyed the feeling because I got a rare glimpse of him. It was one of those fleeting moments when I got to see a little bit inside the young man he is becoming.

I just finished reading The Story of Edgar Sawtelle. Deeply moving book. One passage in particular jumped out at me because it resonated so much with the stage I am in right now with Zach. The mother, reflecting on her son Edgar thinks:

“That was the moment she’d realized how he carried things around inside, things entirely separate from her. Five years old, barely in kindergarten. She had no idea where he’d heard of (it). Wherever he had picked it up, he’d been walking around with that idea for weeks — months maybe — without mentioning it even once.  Just watching, thinking, wondering. That was the kind of boy he was. And she realized that he was, in some sense, already lost to her — had outgrown her in some essential way. He wasn’t keeping secrets. He just hadn’t offered the information because she hadn’t asked.”

That put into words something I have been contemplating for awhile now. I understand “in my head” that a healthy part of Zach maturing is his natural pull away from me, Mom. I want this for him. And as I experience it, there are times I give it little thought. It’s just normal and inconsequential. Then there are those moments that I get a glimpse of the passage of time and the depth of the process.

And that’s when I see — through the mist — the reality a little more clearly. He carries much around inside now that I know little about. It’s not that he is hiding it from me. He’s not protecting me from it. He’s not withholding it. It just is. It’s Zach forming into a young man.

I don’t think of Zach as being lost from me. Nor do I consider that he is outgrowing me. But I do profoundly feel the shift. And I do also consider that there will be (or probably already are) things he WILL hide from me. Things he will want to protect me from or information he will choose to withhold. That, too, is an important part of the process for Zach. Do I like it? Not especially. Does it feel comfortable or safe? Not really. Will I lean into, even when it hurts? Hopefully.

I want to walk this mothering journey with Zach in a manner that holds the core of our relationship intact. As a mom of the little boy Zach I had a lot more control over that than I do now. Or than I will moving forward. He has some of the power and control now, too. He can choose to engage with me, share with me, and withhold from me. All by himself. Not a lot I can do about it.

The thing is, I really don’t know how to mother a teenager. I’ve never done it before. But I was mothered well. And I have others to watch. And I have a foundation built with Zach. Will any of that guarantee success? Nope. I know that one, too, “in my head.” My heart wants to believe it will come out alright.

But I don’t know today what tomorrow holds. So I lean into it. I have faith. I have hope. I have laughter and tears, frustration and fears marking the path I travel. And I keep walking forward, sometimes in the dark, sometimes with a little glorious light shining down on my feet so I know the way.

 

 

Here’s to you, Brooke Elizabeth September 28, 2009

Tweens and Teens coming out of my ears….that is what I was thinking about last night while waiting in the Macy’s dressing room for Brooke and her two best friends to model their next outfit. While waiting, I logged onto my Facebook page from my phone and discovered my son, Zach, recently turned 13, had just “updated my status” to report that I had decided to become a professional football player. Oh boy. We are, for sure, smashing into the teen years.

The time is upon me…no more kids in the single digits. We are on the road and nobody but me seems to be looking back.  We spent yesterday and today celebrating Brooke’s birth. She is ten today. She chose to have two friends spend the night, and we spent the evening at the mall shopping, getting makeovers, and going out to dinner. I watched them up ahead of me, those three beautiful girls, caught up and enjoying the moment. All dressed up and peering into this new stage they are just entering. Then, home we came to put the American Girl dolls to bed. I guess that is truly why they call it the “Tween” years. She is caught between the innocence of a little girl and the emerging young woman she is becoming…she has one foot in each world today.

I told her tonight that this day, September 27, is one of the best days of my life. It’s my special day to be thankful that God gave her to us. I remember that evening, ten years ago, when I held her in my arms for the first time. She’d been close to my heart for many months, and now she was “here”. The ten tiny fingers and the little rosebud mouth, she was everything and more than I imagined. I had my boy, and now I had my girl, too.

During those first months I hardly put Brooke down. It came to be kind of  a joke in our house. The girl who would not be ignored. She never slept in her crib. Why should she when Mom was willing to hold her close all night? I remember when I finally discovered the Baby Bjorn and could carry her strapped to my front, facing in at first, and as she grew, facing out to see the world around her. Soon, she was off and crawling, then walking, then running. She charged into each day with gusto.

Brooke is such a mix of enthusiasm and sensitivity. She has the confidence to try new things, and yet, she can be so sensitive at times that I do not know how to handle her. Just last week she auditioned for a part in a play. Up in front of total strangers she belted out her audition song, complete with movements. I was in awe. I had no idea she could do that. Really. And then, just a few days later at her first play practice I saw the side of her that moves into a new situation with trepidation, and measures the success of the encounter by whether or not she has a friend to share it with. The contrast between the sheer nerve she had to audition and the fear she felt at going to practice alone without a friend struck me.

That is one of the things I love about mothering. It’s learning to hold the contrasts and contradictions in one hand. We are complicated, and she is no exception. As Brooke swings between the emotions, I hover over frustration, or wonder, or exhaustion, or delight. Or maybe all four at the same time. And learning to hold it all is a good thing. It reminds me that the best I can do for her is to hold all of her parts and love all of them, while also holding all of my parts and loving all of them. And I can tell you one thing for sure, some of my parts I sure don’t like. They ain’t too pretty. But they are part of me, and what makes me Kim. It’s easier to love the contrasts in someone else. I am quick to forgive, when it’s someone else’s ugliness.

I see Brooke’s complexity and I find it lovely. And I am reminded of the truth that my Father finds my complexity lovely, too. So here’s to you, Brooke Elizabeth. Here’s to the delightful girl you are, and the beautiful woman you are becoming. Here’s to all the times you remind me to love and forgive and keep going. Here’s to the abandonment you live with….abandoned to love and appreciation for the wonder in your life. May you never lose that. May you always walk through life knowing that the beauty that is inside of you far outweighs the beauty you carry on the outside….and your outsides are pretty fantastic. I love you, Punky.

Mom

When your little girl is your teacher September 7, 2009

I’ve been thinking a lot about mean girls lately. As Brooke enters those precarious pre-teen years I find myself smack in the middle of memories of my own time in that jungle. It takes a considerable amount of effort at times to not project my own experience — my own wounding — my own memories onto Brooke’s experience. She is her own gal. And a pretty great gal, at that.

She is, unfortunately, experiencing the dreaded interpersonal mishaps that come with being a girl at her age. She weathers it well, I think. It’s me that I worry about.

I’m realizing how quickly my “mother bear” self emerges and wants to protect and fight back. Deep breath. A moment of clarify. Then, most times I can realize that Brooke needs to — must — learn to figure this stuff out in her own way. That doesn’t mean I don’t guide her. It does mean I can help empower her to stand tall, hold her head high, fight intolerance and mean spirited behavior with kindness. That’s the high goal. Of course, she is still a little girl and sometimes it just hurts. It just makes you sad. Or left out. Or even mad.

I am finding the challenge for me is separating out how I feel versus how she is feeling. She is amazing how she bounces back. The resilience of children is inspiring. The easy forgiveness and the heartfelt desire to believe the best about people. She teaches me a lot — just watching her. But still there are those days when it’s just painful. Painful to experience and painful to watch.

I had such a interesting experience this past month. In the midst of helping Brooke deal with some painful schoolyard situations I got reconnected with an old friend — and in the process reconnected with a memory.

Through the corridors of Facebook I found an old friend. Someone I have not spoken to in more than 20 years …one of the friends I spent kindergarten through eighth grade with in school. She took the time to send me a gift. The gift was a memory she had stored and chose to share with me. I actually have no memory of the incident. But it was something that stuck with her.

Apparently, at some point during our junior high days she remembers a time at the lunch tables when I stood up for the underdog. Some girl that my group of friends was planning to play a cruel joke on — a mean note pinned to her back. I became aware of the plot and spoke up in her defense. My friends disregarded my comments and moved forward with the plot. Refusing to see their indifference I marched in, grabbed the note and tore it up. Pretty gutsy. Funny that I do not remember the moment at all.

My friends intention in recalling this moment was to tell me that my action had left a lifelong impression on her. It was something that stood out to her in the moment as an unusual act of bravery, and as the years have passed has grown into a statement about integrity and about how even small gestures matter.

I don’t share this here to pat myself on the back. To the contrary, when I reflect on my junior high self I do not remember being especially brave or especially kind. I remember the insecurity and self doubt, not the moment when I risked my reputation among my peers.

It’s interesting because while I was reading her story about this young version of me I thought to myself, “This sounds just like something Brooke would do.” I see a kindness in her that I do not remember in myself at her age.  It was a powerful moment for me. First, that something small and forgettable had made an impact that reached beyond me to someone else’s life and experience.

It reminded me how much what we do matters. Small moments of kindness….and moments when we are not kind….can penetrate and last for others, long after they are forgotten by us. Wow. I’ve gotta let that one sink in some more.

And again I am reminded of the unique gift that our children give us. By parenting them we have the opportunity to see ourselves reflected back. Sometimes this is startling. Sometimes refreshing. When I see something profound in them I am struck by the awesome responsibility I have been given to raise them and guide them and then set them free to live out all that we have tried to teach them.

I love them because I can’t do anything else. They love because they are loved by us. I love because I am loved by Someone much bigger than me. Love and hate both flow full circle in our lives. May love be my circle.

When the Urgent Smashes into the Important August 12, 2009

I spent some time with two of my “girls” today. And it reminded me of a profound truth in my life. It is worth fighting for the important, even when the urgent is smashing into it from all sides.

Today was a day full of the urgent. I am cramming a full work week into two days. Wednesday I will spend the day traveling to see my lifelong friend Cammi for a few hours, and Thursday we go off for a short family vacation. So Monday and Tuesday needed to be productive. Very productive.

What they ended up being was very frustrating.

I am caught right now between the sweet disbelief of watching my marketing business explode into success and what I consider my true calling: Kim, the mom and wife. I am convinced that I can manage to have both at the same time. I don’t mean “have it all”. I am not delusional. Just that I can have  a successful business and still maintain my first loves. This is one of my most important values: to find the right balance between the two.

They are fiercely competitive. Or so it seems. This is where I have to stop, take a deep breath and remember what is “urgent” and what is “important”.

For today “urgent” was getting the long list of Canopy Marketing priorities crossed off the list. Answering the ringing phone, finishing the bids, wrapping up the loose ends on projects, paying the invoices and prospecting next month’s work. It felt extremely urgent in here between these four walls today.

What was “important” was sitting just outside my office all day watching eight hours of TV. Yes. I said it. Eight hours. The “important” had frozen pizza and Easy Mac for lunch and I don’t even know if there was any breakfast because the “urgent” started SCREAMING at me by 8:30 a.m.

And then in the middle of it all, I crammed one more “important” thing into the mix. By mid afternoon it seemed impossible, but I did it any way. I left behind the urgent from my office — many things undone and still screaming. And I also left, for a moment, three very important people without anything to eat for dinner.

And I met Jen and Jill  at our favorite restaurant on Coronado Island. I was a stress kitty when I arrived. Strung out and wishing this little bistro had a gin and tonic waiting for me. But I didn’t need that because I had a few hours with Jen and Jill.

These are two of my people. I met them during college and over the years they have grown to be two of the circle of people I hold most dear. We rarely get to see each other. Once a year, twice if we are lucky. I was NOT going to miss tonight for anything.

I can’t totally explain it, but they fill me up. I came in depleted and left full. Full of love and admiration for them, as always, but also full of the important. They know me deeply. They champion me and challenge me and think more highly of me that I deserve. They love my kids and my husband because they are MY kids and MY husband.

They ask me about the trivial and the important. Jill is the only person I know who can have a conversation with six sub-conversations going on at the same time and remember five years later a minute point I made and quote the point profoundly to someone else as an illustration. Jen knows how to look me in the eye and see into my heart. She loves me just the way I am and is not afraid to ask me tough questions that encourage me in their depth.

We laugh. We cry. We talk about growing old and gaining weight and wetting our pants. We talk about tomorrow and yesterday. I know what they are afraid of and what they aspire to be. And in the laughter and the stories and the tangents something profound always happens for me. Always. I walk away remembering who I am.

In the urgent moments I lose my sight. I forget. And there are times when I just need to sit in the presence of people who know me this well and soak in the glow of being known. And I always come away from those moments with a treasure. Tonight the treasure was being reminded that in all our lives we have the urgent and the important. Those two things will always fight for position. The urgent knows how to scream louder, usually. But the important is worth the fight.

And sometimes there are two important things competing. Like enjoying the cool sea breeze with two extraordinary women and having my cell phone ring for the third time because my nine-year old, precious daughter wants me home to kiss her goodnight. No matter that I am home almost every other night of the year. No matter that I will not see these two again for a long time. When one important bumps into another important there is only one thing to do….

You go home so you can kiss Brooke goodnight.

Pointing a finger right back at ME July 15, 2009

I can count on one hand the times I have sat down to watch Oprah, but I had the chance a week or so ago to put my feet up…and I’ve been thinking about it ever since.

The program was about Mother Guilt and the struggles and joys of being a mom. They talked about all the secret, terrible things we all do to our kids…like yelling and forgetting to feed them. They also talked about the conflict between “stay-at-home moms” and “working outside the home moms”.

This is what got me thinking… because I have been both. I started my motherhood journey by quitting my full time job after my maternity leave. Soon after, I began my consulting business, but for many years I fully considered myself a stay-at-home mom. I worked just enough to make a little extra spending money.

Then, about a year and a half ago I decided to make a change. Out of financial necessity and a desire to see just where my business could go if I really put in some effort, I began to work more. By last summer I swallowed the sometimes bitter pill and considered myself a full time working mom.

Let’s just throw in there that when I made this decision I was one year into a two year term as PTA President at my daughter’s school, possibly the most active PTA in the school district. I also refused to admit to myself that becoming a working mom would affect my “home life”. Subconsciously I decided that NO ONE was going to notice…meaning the hot meals would still be on the table, the clothes would be folded, my kids would be attended to and my husband would feel loved and cared for.

Enter the men in white jackets. Seriously, at this point I just have to laugh.

You see, I realize now that I carried around with me a lot of baggage around both being a working mom and a stay-at-home mom.

Let’s go back to the stay-at-home stage. I professed to be understanding of “those” moms who had to work full time. I even made comments to my kids about what their lives might be like if I had to drop them at school for Extended School Session (before and after school daycare). Like an ominous black cloud hanging over their heads. They were “so lucky”.

Truly, this is a confession on my part. Because now I know. I am not saying I had it totally easy when I was “at home” (meaning not working). I had my share of stress and struggle. But somewhere underneath all that I must admit I was a bit judgemental of moms who had to work. That is an ugly thing for me to admit, but it’s also important because it is a big part of the transformation I am now in the midst of….the transformation of loving and accepting this new place.

I am a working mom, but I am still the same person with the same hopes for my kids. The same concerns. The same driving ambition to make their lives meaningful. I just threw a very busy consulting practice into the mix.

I am actually still “at home”. I work from home. But it is not the same as it used to be. That is another story for another day.

What I am pondering now is a comment that one of Oprah’s guests made about the competition between stay-at-home moms and working moms. She mused that it could get pretty ugly.  Then someone else spoke up and emphatically stated that the real competition is INTERNAL. And that’s when I had my “Aha” moment.

Since transitioning out of a stay-at-home frame of mind to a working frame of mind I have had many a moment of self-doubt. I have felt jealous of those moms who didn’t work and wondered what they did all day. That gave me a GOOD laugh, because truly I was just as busy before, just in different ways. But what I recognized in myself was the judgement and the lack of understanding. Wow. That was quick.

And so my moment on the couch watching Oprah truly was enlightening. The conflict is not between the stay-at-home mom and the working mom. The conflict is between me, myself and I. The conflict is between what I expect of myself and what I can actually do. There is no one pointing a finger at me … except me.

I have friends who work full time, part time, for no pay and everything in between. If you are a mom, then you work. Hard. All the time. Without a lot of relief.

It’s also the best thing I have EVER done. I wouldn’t trade this place. I love my work and feel really good both about what I do for people and what I am contributing to my family. I also felt really good when I wasn’t contributing anything financial to the family.

I also feel really bad sometimes. Like I am not doing anything very well. Therein lies the conflict. It’s just me bumping into me.

But, the journey IS the joy. It’s finding those moments when I can recognize my own insanity, my own brokenness and my own lacking. But I can also recognize the beauty of what I am doing and how well I am doing it and how much it means to me to do it. It’s the middle places that feel awkward. I can live with that. Yes, I can even celebrate it.

Can I come home, Mom? June 20, 2009

Been thinking about the concept of “home” lately. My daughter, Brooke, is 9, almost 10. She loves the idea of spending the night at a friend’s house, but she’s having trouble with the reality. We’ve tried it quite a few times. She’s had a few successful nights, but lots of the time, at about 11:30 p.m. I get a call.

“Can I come home, Mom?”

Some people might think that at her age I should make her tough it out, but I have this theory. I am looking down the street and around the corner at a time when Brooke is a young woman. That corner is getting so close. I want her to know that no matter what….no questions asked…she can always come home.

Somewhere in the middle of my mothering I realized that it was important for both my kids to know that no matter what the reason, coming home in the middle of the night was always going to be ok. I would not be mad or frustrated or encourage them to try to stick it out. I just go get them. Ok, Chris is actually the one who usually goes to get them, but he’s with me on this one.

Last summer my tough, big boy called me late in the night from a friend’s house. Zach has been spending the night at friends’ houses for a long time. But this particular night he was homesick, and I jumped in the car and went to retrieve him. Crawling into his familiar bed, he apologized for bothering me, and I reminded him that I would always be willing to pick him up in the night if he needed me.

There is something profound in this for me. This statement to them that there is NO shame in wanting to come home. I am hoping that as the years pass if either one finds them self in a situation that is uncomfortable or dangerous that they will know deep down that Dad and Mom will come get them….and there will be no shame in the asking.

I believe there is something deeply comforting to all of us about coming home. Wherever that is and whatever that looks like, having a place were we belong is irreplaceable. Zach and Brooke belong here. Maybe that seems like a given, but to me it is also a high value — that they have a place of that is uniquely theirs and a spot only they can fill.

Do Overs May 19, 2009

The author in college --1989

I spent the weekend with three of my dearest friends…girls I met in college and have kept in touch with over the years. We met to witness and celebrate our friend Jill bring the Commencement speech for the Graduate Commencement at Point Loma Nazarene University.

Being back on campus at my alma mater was fun. And strange. I look around at the college kids and still feel like I should be young enough to be one of them. Oh, but I am not. My mom tells me that at 70 she still feels that way, so I expect this will not go away as time passes…this feeling inside that I am still 20 years old.

Spending time with these three woman is true delight. Without exception they are all intelligent (above the average), introspective, loving, funny… and to top it all off they continue to pursue Jesus, and that is wonderful to watch.

We laughed a lot. Cried a little. Talked non-stop. They filled up my tank, for sure. During one conversation we were remininscing about college days, and in particular, talking about what it would be like to bring our current sense of self into the environment of the late 1980’s. By this I mean that we all recognized how nice it is to be at the place in life where we are more comfortable with who we are and how others see us.

I was remembering that in the four years I attended PLNU I never ONCE entered the cafeteria for a meal without knowing who I would meet. I dreaded….feared…walking into that big room and not having someone to sit with. It is one of my three major “do-overs”.

I do not tend to live with regret. My college days were some of the best years of my life, and there is not much about it I would change. Actually, there are only three things I can think of:

1. Skip that one boyfriend….just totally skip him.

2. Try out for Concert Choir

3. Enter the cafeteria without knowing who I would sit with

Number 3 is probably my most significant “do over”. I know I can’t “do it over”, but knowing myself like I do today, I wish I could go back and have the confidence and curiosity to just go to the Caf and play the odds. Just see what happened. I wonder who I might of met and what friendships that step might have led to.

It’s weird that after all these years I still think about that, but I do. What was amazing this weekend was to talk to these three woman who I know so well and find out that we all experienced that same dread. (Ok, Jill didn’t but that is a whole other story for another time!).

I felt this pang in my heart. I literally spent an entire school year eating dinner at 4:30 in the afternoon with people who I did not particularly like and who clearly did not particularly like me just because they were a “sure thing.” I knew if I showed up at that time they would be there. And at least I knew them.

Now, 20 years later I come to find out that two of the most dear, wonderful, delightful people who walk the face of this earth (yes, it’s true) felt the same way I did. To think of the pure fellowship I could have experienced had I known that they, too, needed a meal time companion! When I try to remember those days I think that I assumed they were eating with someone else. Neither are the type I would have ever imagined not having a crowd to eat with. I felt alone in my misery, and I was not.

It’s a bittersweet thought….knowing I missed out on many a meal with one of them. I don’t dwell on it, but it hits me somewhere at my core. And it reminds me that as we walk this earth we take with us our assumptions and impressions of others. Even those most close to us. And often we are wrong. And sometimes we even miss out on sweet moments.

That’s something for me to think about. As my dear friend Jill says, “The Journey is the Joy.” So, Kim. Seize it. Don’t be afraid to walk into that cafeteria alone. You never know what might be waiting there for you.

So what’s the big deal about Balance? April 17, 2009

Last summer I hired a business coach. This was part of an intentional effort to grow my business to a more sustainable level. Boy, I did not have a clue what that would look like. I don’t regret it. I am extremely thankful for the experience and it has transformed my business and is, actually, transforming my life in many ways.

My coach is very intuitive and typically nails my issues. He is quite effective at seeing through me and helping me figure out what’s going on and how I need to readjust. Kind of annoying. OK, very annoying. But good.

Last week we were talking about Balance…and the lack of it in my life. I continue to hover around this issue. Been looking at it since last summer. I finally made a breakthrough when I realized that my focus has been on how Out of Balance I am, rather than on Being in Balance. What’s the difference, you ask? It’s a big time difference for me.

Staying focused on Being Out of Balance means concentrating on how I am messing up. It’s staying in the negative. Considering what it looks like to Be in Balance is a whole other ball of wax. So how do I get from here to there?

Well, my very existence seems to resist making the move. Consider today….I will vent for just a minute and then get back to my point.

To me, the Principles of Balance would look like this:

1. Get up early

2. Go for a walk

3. Have some time in the quiet

4. Eat a healthy breakfast

5. Sit down at my desk and work straight through the day until the kids are home from school

6. Focus my afternoon on the kids and making a healthy dinner

7. Spend the evening with Chris and the kids

8. Get to bed at a decent hour

Here is what my day actually looked like:

• Overslept…how I cannot say, since I crashed on top of the covers last night at 7:30 with both kids still up and my hubbie outside my window with a chainsaw cutting apart the huge tree that fell in our front yard during the windstorm.   Not a good start….but wait.
• Skipped breakfast. There goes #4
• Chased the kids apart three times by 10 a.m. to prevent murder (oh, yeah, Brooke is still on Spring Break and Zach has home study today…there goes Principle #5)
• Ran Brooke to a friends to play
• Came home to work
• Got a call from a friend 30 minutes later and decided to drop work to go to lunch. Number 5 is SO not happening today.
• Got back to my office and made one phone call….now I am late for Zach’s soccer game.
• Took Zach to soccer game
• Came home to a messy house and now it’s 3:30 p.m.
• Did some dishes, straightened some messes
• Back to work…..now it’s almost 5
• Call from Chris…going to a meeting after work (Whew, off the hook for dinner, I think; Goodbye #6)
• Call from Brooke (needs stuff delivered to sleep over at her friend’s)

I GIVE UP.

As I sat and pondered all this I realized a few things:

I am feeling sorry for myself and I want someone else to feel sorry for me

I am still focusing on Being OUT of Balance

I really don’t know how to fix this one.

But, there are a few things I DO know:

♥ I value my family above my work. And if that means running around all day so my kids can be connected to their friends and experience life then so be it.

♥ I am not perfect, and I wouldn’t really want to look like I am, either.

♥ I am in a deep process right now. And process for me is always stretching and painful. I need to….I HAVE to hold on to the hope right now that I am made for something more….and keep pressing on toward that hope.

“Not that I have already obtained this, or have already been made perfect, but I press on to take hold of that for which Christ Jesus took hold of me. Brothers, I do not consider myself yet to have taken hold of it. But one thing I do: Forgetting what is behind and straining toward what is ahead. I press on toward the goal to win the prize for which God has called me heavenward in Christ Jesus.

Phillipians 3:12-14

So, there you have it. The good. The bad. The ugly. Balance.