The Boy on the Corner June 7, 2011

Coming home from the mall today Brooke and I saw a young man standing on the corner with a cardboard “homeless” sign. This particular corner is a common place to see someone standing asking for help. But not usually someone this young. He looked about Zach’s age; tall and thin, like Zach; serious, blank face. I’m always conflicted about what to do when I see someone standing here, but today, because of his age, it struck a deeper nerve.  I said to Brooke, “Do you think we should do something for him?” “Sure, Mom”, she said. We were headed to the grocery store so we decided to get him a snack and stop to talk to him.

I have many thoughts running through my head. I wonder what his story is. I wonder if he ran away from home. I wonder what to say to him. I pulled into the parking lot near where he stood and got out to talk to him. He is 19 years old and he told me his dad was in jail. He’s from around here but he doesn’t have a home right now. I asked him if he had anywhere to stay and he told me he stayed with friends when he could; that he was waiting to hear from his dad to find out if he was going to get out of jail. My simple snack felt like a drop in the ocean of pain surrounding him, but I told him I was a mom and that I hoped he could reach out to people for help. I left with a lump in my throat.

I know that depending on your own life experience, your faith, or your politics that most everyone has an opinion about this kind of kid and his “situation”. Of course I don’t know if anything he told me was accurate…he sure did not look 19. But what I was left with today were questions and a full heart. He’s old enough that his own choices could very well be a part of what has him standing on the corner. But more than likely, a lot of the reasons he ended up there today were because of the choices of others: his mom and dad.Their choices shaped his choices, and their situation has a lot to do with his current one.

And it makes me think about Zach. I don’t know what this other boy’s past holds. Was it one wrong turn or a lifetime of bad decisions? For the past fifteen years our lives have been largely about pouring life into Zach. He’s been given opportunity beyond what most people in the world could even imagine. And he’s done well by it. He’s responsible, smart, funny and motivated to do something good with his life. But I realize that the older he gets the less control I have over where he ends up. All of my love, support, clean socks and good intentions for Zach won’t make him into a man. Sure, they shape him, but he is on the cusp of adulthood and as he moves forward through each day he will have more and more opportunity to make his own choices….choices that are outside of my control.

And while I can sit here and say he would never end up on a street corner, I know somewhere in my heart that he actually could. Do I think he will? No. Do I pray he won’t? Yes.

I was talking to a friend about this just yesterday. That when they are little we control every bite of food that goes in their mouths, every TV show they watch. Who they play with and what they wear. And then you blink and they are heading out the door to high school and you don’t even know who they talk to during the day, or for the most part what they are thinking. You’re becoming a spectator. Of course, I know I still have influence and heavy responsibility, but really, this is a significant time of release for me with Zach.

There’s a big part of me that wants to go back to that corner and bring that boy home. But there’s an equally big part that wants to forget I saw him because by seeing him I also see his pain. I don’t have answers to what my responsibility is to the boy on the corner. And honestly, I am not very interested in any rhetoric around why he’s there or what can be done about it. I’m sad, and a little awed by how close I know path is between choices that bring life and choices that bring death. And really I’m wishing that boy was not on my corner.

Gratitude always helps when you are in a bad mood April 20, 2011

So today (and yesterday and the day before that) was really stressful. The work life balance….not so balanced. At the end of my rope, I decided to do my homework for my coaching program: to create a Gratitude List. I figured, “How can it hurt. Maybe it will even help.” And it did. Sometimes stopping to count your blessings is exactly what you need to help you out of a really bad mood. Now if I could just stay in the good spot for awhile….

My Gratitude List – April 2011

I am grateful to have a loving husband who believes in me and is my closest friend.

I am grateful to have a son who is smart, funny, creative and committed to excellence.

 I am grateful to have a daughter who is caring, full of life, pretty from the inside out and smart.

I am grateful to have parents and in-laws who love and support my family.

I am grateful to have work that I find engaging, rewarding and stimulating.

I am grateful to own my own company and have the ability to set my own destiny with my work.

I am grateful to live in a beautiful home that is a safe, warm and inviting place to all who live here.

I am grateful for the birds that live outside my office door and windows who sing to me all day long.

I am grateful to close friends who remind me who I am and hold up the mirror for me when I forget.

I am grateful to live in a community that is tight knit, watches out for our kids and cares for one another.

I am grateful to have a faith that sustains me and pushes me to grow more into who God is calling me to be.

I am grateful to have the brains, energy and drive to pursue my dreams and never give up on growth.

I am grateful to be living within our means and to be changing our financial story, day by day.

I am grateful to live in a country that values me as an individual and is a safe place for my family.

I am grateful for two dogs who bring a different kind of love and affection into my home each day.

I am grateful for professional alliances and work partners who make my job enjoyable and fruitful.

I am grateful for the simple things in life that I enjoy: a warm bed, a cool breeze, the blue sky, my puppy’s warm breath, my kids laughter, Chris’ smile.

I am grateful there is always someone to call when I need to talk.

I am grateful to watch my kids try things I was afraid to do, and to watch them succeed and grow.

I am grateful that I know how to express myself through the written word and that people like to read what I write.

Smashing into intimacy March 12, 2011

Over the past month or so I’ve had some interesting encounters with my own imperfection. There are three specific things I am pursuing right now, all generated from my sessions with a financial coach. I hired the coach to help me take the next step on the journey of financial integrity. May sound a bit like self help mumbo jumbo to some people, but over the past few years I have been coming to terms with my own lack of integrity around the use and misuse of finances, so here I am.

But back to the pursuit. So, I’ve decided to pursue, along with financial integrity —- joy and intimacy. That’s quite a threesome. But as I reflected on what’s valuable to me I realized that joy and intimacy are central to so much that I value. They are central to my faith, to my relationships and to my sense of well being. So with each day comes a moment when I stop and remember this pursuit.

In come the crashing sounds of my humanness. It’s really quite fascinating, although maybe not that surprising, that when you start to focus on something you see it all around you. Was it not there before, or am I just paying better attention? And for this discussion, I am focusing on the intimacy, although all three pursuits have brought about some amazing revelations.

So what is intimacy? I was thinking it was that feeling of closeness; that connection I long for with the people I love. Who wouldn’t want more of that, right?

Some definitions from the trusty Dictionary say intimacy is: “a close or familiar relationship; a deep knowledge of;  a euphemism for sex; and the quality of being comfortable.” Then I am reminded that intimacy is not always a warm, fuzzy feeling. Intimacy is also that moment when you experience a deep connection with someone you highly value. And that moment can be painful. So intimacy can mean pain. Ok, I wasn’t thinking about that when I dove in.

But then I remember that most of my most valuable life lessons come through pain.

I shared a moment of intimacy with one of my closest friends. I had hurt her with my words. I said something from my own place of fatigue and overwhelm and in the process she got lost. I knew something was not right, and when I realized what I had done, my regret and pain were deep. I was so fortunate to have the opportunity to talk it through — to clarify and apologize. There was grace there, and it was good. Then, after we parted I began to feel the nagging fear that my failure was coloring how she felt about me. The insecurity was shameful and the feelings were strong, so back I went. And that’s when the deeper intimacy occurred for me. In her response to me she reminded me that our friendship was based on a foundation of mutual grace to grow and change. She reminded me that in our friendship, as it grew, that there would be times of discomfort and stretching and that was part of what made it good. It was a safe place to be me.

And that is really the larger theme for me. That with the people I am closest to, there is a foundation of grace. A safety net to be myself. A place where it is not always going to be about the “warm and fuzzy feelings”, but that’s what makes it real and that’s also what makes it worth fighting for. So I’m really leaning into that right now. The realization that pursuing intimacy in my life does not mean that I end up controlling what that intimacy looks like. To the contrary, I pursue it and am surprised by the new meanings I am finding. I think, for a moment, I believed that I could actually control where it showed up in my life. Instead, I am finding it smashing into me in ways I did not expect. It’s about connection, and sometimes connection hurts. But it’s a pain I am willing to pursue.

 

My love affair with Pa June 24, 2010

Brooke and I just finished reading the Laura Ingalls Wilder series of books, Little House on the Prairie. One of the highlights of my own childhood, I was more excited than her each night to find out what Laura would be up to in tonight’s chapter. To further her love of all things Little House I decided to buy her the DVD of Little House on the Prairie, the TV series, Season One. With great anticipation I ripped open the package when it arrived and presented it eagerly to Brooke. Then I had a moment of panic. What if she didn’t like it? What if she thought it was stupid? Never fear, this is flesh of my flesh. This is Brooke. She’s hooked.

Tonight we watched three episodes, and Chris and Zach even joined us. I was surprised to discover that Chris did not watch the show when he was a kid. While I was getting reacquainted with the characters, the rest of my family was meeting them for the first time. That mean old Nellie Olsen and her even meaner mother. The apple doesn’t fall far from the tree….. Sweet Mary and spunky Laura. The well loved old dog, Jack. And then there’s Ma and Pa. I just love Ma and Pa. After the fourteenth exclamation of  my love for Ma and Pa, I was met with some serious eye rolling from across the room where the male creatures sat. I did get a little grin from Chris.

And that is when it hit me. All my young life I was looking for my own Pa. Now let me clarify, I had the best Dad ever, but here I am talking about Pa in a more romantic way. I can now see that from a young age I wanted to marry Pa. I think I am still in love with him. In fact, as I sat there mooning over Pa and hearing Zach snicker I looked up and saw Chris and had that “Aha moment” that can only come after watching seven hours of Little House on the Prairie episodes. I had, in fact, married Pa, and he was sitting across the room from me.

Suddenly all the stress of the day vanished. The sky cleared and the birds sang. Well, almost. Since I met Chris I have marveled that someone so different than me could make such a good partner. But he does. He balances out so much of my unevenness. I put the silver lining on his gray cloud. We also drive each other crazy some days. It’s totally refreshing and totally exasperating all at the same time. But now I am clear: he is my Pa. Now don’t get twisted on me, here. Remember, it’s nothing weird or Oedipus- like.

I’ve always thought Chris was a misplaced country boy. I truly think he would be happy on a farm. And although I require a Target within 10 miles of my home, I have always loved this about Chris. The way he understands and loves nature. The way he can build anything he sets his mind to build (there is a boat being built in our backyard, after all). The way he grows a garden in the middle of the city. The way he cuts through the bull and sees the simplicity of things. The core honesty he carries with him. He is Charles Ingalls.

And then there is Ma. I cannot adequately express my love for Ma. She is pretty, kind and patient. But she also stands up for the underdog, fights injustice and makes a mean birthday cake on a wood fire. Ma is everything I hope to be. A pioneering woman, who loves her family first, but never forgets her neighbor. She churns her butter, hangs her clothes outside to dry in the fresh air and sells her eggs to Mrs. Olsen. She is a multi-tasker on the open range. Love that gal. Reminds me of who I want to be on my best day. Helps me understand why my best day is the day I spend outside with the breeze blowing, the kids playing and a cold cup of lemonade at my side.

Who would have thought so many of my aspirations were wrapped up in one TV show? Who would have thought.

The real Charles and Caroline Ingalls

Summer is Here June 22, 2010

Brooke tends to approach each day with “gusto” and the first day of summer was no exception. It was also her first official day of summer vacation, so that was even better. So off she went to find a cute summer hat, a basket to hold her treasure and then she made a trip to the garden. Chris is growing a fantastic garden this year, and today Brooke found zucchini, onions, bell peppers and tomatoes. I love this about Brooke….she makes even the most simple things a great adventure.

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.