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

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

When I talk to my clients about Blogs I tell them that you should never start a Blog unless you are committed to regular posts….guess I messed that one up. February and March were swallowed up without a post…and that is, in fact, rather appropriate.

I am trying to crawl out of that bog that my Blog also fell into.

I’ve been waiting for that moment when the air cleared and I “felt” ready to post again, and now, tonight I realize that probably means I should post in spite of the fact that the air has not cleared. Since my intention behind starting the Blog in the first place was to be more intentional about putting my thoughts to words….well, enough about that.

It’s a new season…my favorite time of year when the time changes and the sky gets blue and the sweet peas start popping up in my yard. I almost always feel rejuvenated this time of year. But this change of season has also come with a focus on “change” in general. I know that my best growth comes through the tough times. I am actually pretty good at “leaning into” the pain — since I know that it is worth it in the end.

Not to be all doom and gloom, but I am finding at this particular moment in time that change is tough. I feel opposed. Actually, I believe I am quite literally opposed by a force that would love to see me stay wallowing in pity or despair or hopelessness. So that’s when I just get ticked off. And usually that gets me fired up and off my duff.

I know I am called to something greater. I find that music speaks to me, and one song in particular has meant a lot to me lately. Written by Christine Dente, one of my favorite artists, it’s called

Out of the Ordinary

There are days of redemption and days of regret

And all of the days in between

And sometimes I wonder at all I forget as the days go by

Made in the image of more than a man

Wonderfully, fearfully made

I have eternity living inside of me …and still the days go by

I’m living this life out of the ordinary

I’m opening wide for the extraordinary

It’s all just a dream that You slowly reveal

You promise You’re making me real

Now hope is the difference for all who believe

And hope gives me strength where I stand

The difference is coming alive in me as the days go by..how the time flies by

I’m living this life out of the ordinary

I’m opening wide for the extraordinary

I’m learning to live out of the ordinary

I know it’s a dream that You slowly reveal

and I know that you’re drawing me near

And isn’t it right and isn’t it good?

Your love makes me real

I’m living this life out of the ordinary

I’m opening wide for the extraordinary

I’m learning to love out of the ordinary

I’m living this life out of the ordinary….

So, for tonight, at least, I go on. I am thankful for something I heard in church recently….that His mercy rains down on me.

Come rain. Come.

The author, age 6, with my first friend, Jennifer Caldwell

I’ve been thinking about friendship a lot this week. Earlier in the week, late at night when I was checking in on Facebook, my friend Christie sent me an instant message. Christie was my roomate my freshman year in college. For a few minutes we sent IM’s across the miles and had some laughs. It struck me how easy it was to reconnect. I only talk to Christie every few years, but each time the connection is instant and strong. There are just some people like that in my life. She is one of them.

The next evening I was pondering this with Judy and Kim. Two of my dearest friends, we have commited to journey together. We meet most Mondays, and have for many years. It is not always easy to carve out the time or stick with the commitment. There are seasons when I don’t feel as connected and times when I don’t feel like talking. But there is something pure and precious between us that we have chosen to fight for.

Those two women have walked with me through some of my best days and some of my deepest sorrows. Part of the journey for me over the last decade has revolved around friendship and how my connections to other women impact my personal growth. Judy and Kim witness so much of this process in me. Many times, like other close women friends I am honored to have, they are my “mirror”. They reflect back to me the truth of who I am. They remind me. You see, I tend to forget. I find the lies and the ugliness much easier to hold onto and remember.

I have made it a point to cultivate these mirrors. A woman needs a good mirror.

I continue to struggle with the loss of friendship. I have deep and profound friendships in my life. I have also lost some of those deep friendships. That never sits well with me. And because I find meaning in grappling with those areas of my life that don’t sit comfortably I keep asking myself, “Why?”

Why have I lost significant friendships?

I remember my Dad telling me a long time ago that if you choose to live in such a way that you feel deep joy, you will also experience deep pain. You can’t feel only one side of the depth. You choose both….or neither. I willingly, whole heartedly throw myself at both.

But that doesn’t make it any easier when you feel the pain. The first significant friendship I lost as an adult shook me to the core. I spent literally months processing it. I spent time in therapy over it. I rehashed and re-examined it. In retrospect I am deeply thankful for the experience. First of all, I am thankful for the friendship. This woman taught me things about friendship that I carry with me today. The loss was profound and, at the time, deeply confusing and distressing.

But what came out of that loss was beauty. There aren’t really words for it, but I suspect that as painful as it was for her, too, she can probably say the same thing. Simply put, it is mysterious to me, yet real.

I have lost other friendships. For a variety of reasons. The loss has come down to some critical point at which the two of us could no longer see each other clearly. Or maybe we never really did. I am not always sure. It is surely more complicated than I can explain, and I could never fairly or accurately explain how the woman on the other side of the loss felt, or what she experienced.

But I do know that one of the most challenging pieces of accepting the loss of a friendship is how difficult it is for me to move on without closure. That first frienship I lost was unique because we eventually came together and had closure. It was a moment when we were able to appreciate and value what we had shared, but also acknowledge what we had lost. If I ran into her today I would feel no discomfort or pain. That is God’s mercy played out in beauty.

But other losses have not settled that easily in my life. They linger. The pain recedes then comes to visit again. And I ask the question again. I am learning to accept this and embrace the tension that exists in naming it. I think I might actually be on the verge of celebrating it.

Judy said to me, “You can’t amputate your past from your destiny with God. It’s through your past that He redeems you.” Wow.

Because each friendship….both lost and constant…is an integral part of what shapes me. In my walk with Jesus, I am asking Him to shape me. He often does that through friendship. The ones I lose sometimes more profoundly than the ones I keep.

By leaning into this I am finding out more about who I am and who I want to be. Yes, I often see my faults and the ways I contributed to the parting. But I also see how hard I fight for connection. How important authentic relationship is to me. How unwilling I am to settle for less.

I am passionate about friendship and connection. Sometimes that doesn’t land well with people. And sometimes my passion blinds me, in the moment, to being what the other person needs. I mess up. I know I do. But I also love well and deeply.

There are days when I feel I have had more than my share of loss in friendship. But it is more often that I sit in wonder at what I have.  I am deeply blessed with the women in my life.

Women with all different lifestyles and belief systems and passions. Women who make me laugh. Women who think I am funny. Women who I feel safe crying with. Women who would get in their car in the middle of the night and come to me if I needed them. Women who show up at the baby showers and the funerals. Women who first knew me as a girl, and know that I am still, in so many ways, that little girl. Women who can show me a blindspot and love me anyway. Woman who risk speaking up and risk listening.

Women who are willing to hold up the mirror. You know who you are.

Cammi....friends since age 10

The author during that "middle school" time of life

I was sitting watching Zach play basketball today with the intramural team at his new charter school. Just 60 kids in the entire middle school, it is a markedly different setting than the large middle school he left in November.

I don’t know anyone yet. While introducing myself to another mom I commented on how different the environment is in a smaller school. Her comment, “Yes, they are a bit cocooned here,” really made me think.

To cocoon or not to cocoon? I never thought a whole lot about this until now. Zach is, after all, my first middle school child. Someone forgot to give me the manual on how to do this. So I just keep putting one foot in front of the other and try to move forward. Mothering a pre-teen is not for the faint at heart.

Back to cocoons. Prior to Zach reaching middle school I was a fierce advocate of our local public middle school. I saw many people flee the school and transfer to other options. I wasn’t sure exactly why, but the whispers were that those people were afraid of the “color” there….it was just a bit too diverse. I was not going to be one of those people. Then Zach hit sixth grade.

In a perfect world your principles don’t ever conflict with your practice. I don’t live in a perfect world, that is one thing I know.

I grew up with two parents who both taught public school. My dad spent 38 years in Los Angeles Unified. He could have done a lot of other things. I know he loves to teach. I also think he got pretty burned out after that many years. But he did instill in me, as did my mom, that a public school teacher has a high calling and deserves to be respected. That is wired into my DNA. No question about it.

Now Zach’s new school is a public school. But after my brief experience at the local middle school, it doesn’t feel very public. It feels very cocoon-y. And right about now I am really liking that. Here is where I wonder if the principle thing is smashing into the practice thing.

You see, I gave a lot of lip service to supporting our local public middle school. And I had every intention that my son’s experience there would match those words. There are more than a handful of people I know who have their kids attending this school. These are people I respect deeply. People who are intelligent, educated,and  committed to the success of their kids. And their kids are thriving there.

But my kid wasn’t. He was wilting. Day by day I watched him shrinking until one morning the light bulb went on and I just knew in my gut that this was not working for him.

So now I have him in a very small public charter school that provides fifty percent classroom instruction with fifty percent home study. Zach loves it. He loves being at home. He loves getting to do his homework from the local coffee shop. He likes his new friends. He really likes not having to avoid who he called “the homies”. Cue my cringing. I hate it when he calls them this, but that seems to be the word. He really likes the small environment. The whole thing suits him well and I have watched that wilted kid open back up over the past few months.

But I digress again from the whole cocooning thing. You see, while I want him to be happy and I want him to feel safe, I do not want to put him in a bubble. I think. Maybe I do really want him in a bubble.  I have heard a lot about how important it is to allow our kids enough discomfort that they grow.

I know that I grow best through pain. I also know that it seems to be hard wired into me as a mom to prevent any pain I can from landing on my children. I have to fight this inclination all the time.

Maybe I am just trying to find a better balance. I am not sure. But it is weighing on me…what is too much protecting and what is appropriate? What is listening to my heart and responding to the kid in front of me and what is fear driving me to shield him?

That seems to be the theme for me these days. Watching my little boy emerge into a young man there is so much coming at him. Our decision to move him to the new school ultimately rested on our belief that putting him into an environment that better fit “Zach” just MIGHT make the painful transformation a little bit easier.

I don’t doubt the move was the right thing for Zach. I just want to continue to evaluate my own desire to keep him out of harm’s way with my expectation that he continue to mature and grow and be able to face all that life throws at him.

So, why didn’t he come with an instruction manual……..