ouch

I'm watching Lincoln and Wyatt today, and Linc showed up with a big cut and bruise above his left eye. It made him look like a little toughie but he was actually quite concerned about it when he thought about it. At first he was proud to show it to me and then he wanted a bandaid and to lay on the couch and watch a movie.

That's all any of us really need when we're hurting. A little loving attention and distraction. Kids are brilliant at asking for what they need. I wish I was as smart as this little boy when it comes to my hurts. I wish I was better at letting people know when I need some loving attention and some company and distraction. Linc gets over his wounds really quickly because he knows how to ask for a bandaid and a cuddle.

danny's moving in!

sarah's pumped to have her big brother here

Today is the day. Danny's going to move in with us to save up for some big life changes coming his way. We're pretty excited over here. The first thing he said when he carried his guitar in is, "It's about to get a lot more musical up in here." I love that. It's just what we need.

Welcome home my little love!

the beauty of what comes

I think I'm getting a little more skillful at appreciating whatever is here at the moment. Just outside my back door I found this thrilling little world and I had to get a shot of it. There's an awful lot of beauty waiting to surprise us when we care to notice it. Sometimes it's almost too much for me. It makes me want to laugh and cry at the same time.

It's good to be alive.

oh yeah, i remember her

Periodically I forget who I am. Does that ever happen to you? It's dreadful.

But lately I'm remembering who I really am deep down in buried places. It's like a light went on inside of me. Most of the time I'm fairly bad company for myself because I'm so self-critical, but these days I'm admiring things about myself that I had forgotten about.

For instance, I'm funny. I hate it when that part of me gets obscured because it's so fun to laugh and play. When I recover my laughter and lightness even the parts of me that I'd like to change seem kind of funny to me. When you're laughing everything seems kind of easy.

The other night I was laughing about something with David so hard that I got into a coughing spasm that almost killed me but it felt really good. That kind of laughter feels like a good massage afterwards. You get all relaxed and warm and satisfied. I want to do that more.

I wonder if Jesus ever told jokes? I suspect he had a pretty good sense of humor. When you look around with your eyes wide open your only choices are to laugh or cry. Or both.

letting in the light

I spent some time on the phone with a friend from far away today. I'm taking a course called Encountering Christ from my friend Christianne, and the course includes two sessions of spiritual direction. Honestly, I was a little apprehensive about this aspect of the course because talks like this force me to come clean about my life. I know that sounds weird coming from a counselor but I have very special rules that only apply to me out of all the people in the entire universe. (That seems smart, don't you think?) Christianne is one of those people who is just born to listen to people in a way that breaks them open and I knew that if I talked to her for any length of time I would have to be honest about where I was at, which is not really my idea of a party. Bah. I'd rather curl up under a blanket and eat popcorn while I watch three hours of things I will not remember after I turn the TV off. 

Anyway, it took about three minutes before I was discovering things about myself that were pretty interesting. This was surprising because I like to think that I'm terribly self-aware and brilliant and have everything all figured out and all. (I hope you're hearing the sarcasm.) I discovered that there has been growth and change in my internal life that had totally slipped under my radar. I discovered that I have resources that I was not taking advantage of. I learned about connections that I had never noticed before. And I learned, or rather remembered, that God is such a good Daddy. 

Is my voice different than it has been lately? Hmmmm. I don't think that's a coincidence. I've suddenly remembered that I have a pretty good sense of humor and kind of a rebellious streak that can get me into some trouble but can also be one of my most creative and fun strengths. I've got a renewed feeling of energy and hope. And all because I took the risk to let a little light into my odd internal world. You should try it sometime, even when it's scary or sounds like the worst idea ever in the history of bad ideas. Light can make all the dust and clutter more obvious, but it's also the only way to discover what is real. I'm glad I opened the blinds and dared to stare into the sun for a while. 

my voice

I'm not really sure what's going on with me lately, but I'm having a terrible time finding my voice. In fact, it takes a lot of effort to even notice that my voice is missing. Part of this, I'm sure, is that I've had a cold for the last couple of weeks that just won't completely go away. So I'm out of sorts, physically. But mostly, I think I'm out of sorts spiritually and emotionally. I'm not in a crisis or anything, but God has been turning my attention to places that badly need it, and my response has been to mostly shut down and try to ignore it. That hasn't been the most helpful response.

Every February I seem to find myself in this place. Although this winter has been mild, it's still mostly wearing out it's welcome. And, weirdly, I miss the snow. We've only had about fifteen inches or so this winter and that has largely melted with the warm weather. So the landscape is brown and drab. It matches my internal world quite well. Don't get me wrong. I'm not complaining about the weather. I'm just noticing that it affects me in specific ways.

Bah. Even as I'm writing this, I'm getting sick of myself. And that attitude is probably closest to the root of my problem. I'm not very responsive to a particular kind of criticism, and when that criticism is internal it's hard to escape from it. That's what's very peculiar to me. I said earlier that God is turning my attention to places in my life that are in a bit of a shambles, but he's not nagging me and he's not being critical. His voice is kind and inviting. If I spoke to myself the way God speaks to me I might respond very differently. I might be less sick of myself and my internal voice. I might soften.

So, my voice isn't really missing. It's just that the voice I'm hearing is not my true voice. It's not the voice I use with anyone else in any other circumstances. It's reserved for myself alone when I'm not living up to my own hopes or expectations. This voice is shrill and brittle and mean and no one would want to spend much time listening to it. It's no wonder that I avoid myself. If I had a friend who spoke to me this way that friend wouldn't get much of my time, and I doubt I would really consider her a friend at all.

I'm trying to use a different voice with myself today. I'm trying to mimic the voice that God uses with me. He's not sick of me. His voice is soft and loving and encouraging. He wants good things for me and he sees the gifts that are languishing. His voice is an invitation born of love. That's what I want to he listening to each moment as I move through my days and nights. Maybe if I'm quiet enough I won't have to mimic anything. Maybe the voice of God will be the only thing I hear.

all is grace

You say grace before meals.  All right.  But I say grace before the concert and the opera, and grace before the play and pantomime, and grace before I open a book, and grace before sketching, painting, swimming, fencing, boxing, walking, playing, dancing and grace before I dip the pen in the ink.  ~G.K. Chesterton

beauties

Super Bowl party: that's grandpa wrestling with the grandkids :)

so glad the sun hasn't been a stranger this winter

Today I am finally feeling more normal and I'm deeply grateful for that. The last week or so has been a blur of sleep and hacking coughs that rattled my whole body. It's good to wake up to the sun and a little bit of energy.

All is grace. Today I'm grateful for my grandchildren and the way they stir up all the love I have inside of me. I'm grateful for a home that is welcoming to everyone we know. And I'm grateful for the sun in a cloudless, cold sky.

All is grace.

frost

I woke this morning to a world that was frosted over, as though snowflakes had grown spiky white spines out of every tree branch. It's too bad it was so grey because when this happens in bright sunshine it's almost too beautiful to imagine. It makes you want to cry.

I've been sick since Wednesday. I only want to sleep and sleep. And sleep. When I saw the branches so beautiful and singing their high notes as I woke I couldn't help but sing along. I'm thankful for this gratuitous display of beauty today.

A friend of mine posts a daily five each day to record things that she's grateful for. She's been doing it for over three years. I wonder how that would change your perspective over time? She must always be searching for things to include. In fact, most days she posts more than five things. Today I'm thankful for the frost and for my husband who cares for me when I'm not well. I'm thankful for friends who send me encouraging words. I'm thankful for phone calls from my grandchildren. I'm thankful for music. It's not so hard to think of things I'm grateful for when I'm paying any attention at all.

Today I'm thankful even in my sleepy half life.

out of the fog

I spent some time this afternoon with a woman that I used to counsel. She has a history full of loss and betrayal and drug abuse and mental illness. She tends to be hyper-focused on the parts of her life that are sad or difficult, and to tell you the truth there's an awful lot of sad and difficult things to focus on around her. I realized that it was hard to stay engaged because no matter how much effort I put into listening with compassion and gently redirecting her, she wasn't listening to me. She's extremely well defended. And then I realized how very close I came to being this way myself.

It's so easy to walk into the fog and never emerge again. There's a comfort in the hazy light and the permission it gives you to hide. After a while, the fog becomes a friend, maybe your closest friend. It's terrifying to become vulnerable and step into the full light of day.

Frankly, I don't know how I escaped that fog. I was lucky or blessed or however you'd like to frame that. I had friends and family who loved me through some ugly years. I made a few decisions along the way that helped. I learned something about the grace of God and the way he loves me. But honestly, I can't really account for the difference between this woman and myself.

I don't want to squirm out of this too easily. Sometimes it's good to be uncomfortable. Every answer I try to tell myself about how I am here and she's there feels flimsy. They all feel self-serving or blaming. The search for a comfortable explanation is just another form of fog. It's meant to keep me safe, imagining that I'm so very different from this woman who is stuck and miserable.

The truth is, I'm not that different. And it's important for me to remember that so that I can stay compassionate. The truth is, it's hard to walk out of the fog. I get it.

midday moon

Sometimes when I see something unexpected or out of place, it shakes me out of my sleepwalk way of living. I love a midday moon. It reminds me that there's really very little difference between the night and the day. The sun and the moon are always there. They don't really disappear. It's just a matter of perspective and location. 

Hello moon. Isn't it a beautiful day?

redemption

A light snow is falling outside. There is no quiet like the sound of snow. It's almost like God is saying, "Shhhh. Listen." Everything that was brown and dirty becomes gradually bright and clean. It's like redemption. I'm listening in the quiet and inviting the bright whiteness inside of me. It came just in time, just when I was beginning to think there was no way to see the world as beautiful.

as night falls

It's about a half an hour before dusk, when God is tucking in the world, covering me with night like a blanket. Today was beautiful and warm and I've been thankful for the light. Now the darkness is coming.

I got some word today from some friends who are far away. They are experiencing some very frightening circumstances. I can't go into it in detail, but I can say that my heart is breaking for them today and I'm praying that all will be well soon. I'm praying for their safety.

It's easy sometimes to get caught up in my particular concerns and problems. And then, just as easily, the sky opens up and cheers me. It doesn't take much for my mood to be carried in either direction. But when I hear things like I'm hearing today my heart is pulled in both directions at once. I'm so grateful for the safety of my loved ones. I'm so grateful for my life and the freedom I have to create and explore and move around and see the sky. AND I'm so sad and scared for my friends. I'm so frustrated that the world is cleanly divided between the fortunate and the forgotten. I'm grieving violence and sickness and poverty and despair. I'm putting myself in another part of the world and imagining myself there.

I will not waste this sunset for the heaviness of my heart. I will dance and move and love because evil is clawing at my soul and trying to swallow up the last scraps of goodness in the world. Night is falling, but there are still some slivers of light. I want to wrap my arms around my friends and remind them. Even in the most penetrating darkness the tenderness of love will light a candle. I'm holding a candle for my loves so far away.

remember this

I've spent a lot of time writing today and that always makes for a good day. Dave is sleeping and no one else is home so I've had the benefit of lots of quiet. I originally had an appointment for this afternoon but the person called to reschedule yesterday so I had the whole day open to do some creating. I love this. And it makes me wonder, "Why do I avoid this so much? In fact, why do I avoid a lot of things that I know for certain will make me feel wonderful?"

I'm a big procrastinator and a perfectionist, as you know, and these two qualities combined (I wonder if they're not always combined, like conjoined twins?) make for quite a bit of misery for me. I'm working on cutting myself just enough slack to settle for something less than perfect, while encouraging myself to just dive in without too much in the way of expectations. And I'm working on remembering how good I feel when I just do something that I've been putting off. Or at least start. Starting is the hard part.

So, today I got my breakfast and drank some water and put on the coffee and wrote. And I'm still writing. I'm actually taking a break from writing to write this. Funny. I have all kinds of other tasks waiting for me like grumpy little trolls tossing the furniture around. That's OK. Everything else can wait. (Maybe the trick is to just choose wisely among procrastination choices.) Right now, the keyboard is warm and my fingers are nimble. I can't think of anything I'd rather be doing right now. I feel good.

Remember this, Terri. Remember this.

the grace of a wide open sky

It's 11:30 am and the temperature outside is -6. My fingers are stiff and red from taking these pictures, although I was only outside for a few minutes. There's a stark beauty in this kind of cold. Even though the trees are sleeping and bare they look like they might be praising God in spite of themselves. But it is difficult to stay in the freezing temperatures long enough to actually see what is here.

I'm thinking of things that have defined me in my sleeping past. There is sadness and betrayal and loss. There is fear and bewilderment and loneliness. There is unfathomable cold.

But these are only partial truths. My memory sometimes plays tricks on me. My mind wants to both hover on the pain and ignore it at the same time. It neglects the elements that are bright and holy. But when I take the time to look around carefully, I'm amazed at the stark beauty of my history.

There is survival and laughter and grace. There is healing and friendship and forgiveness. With stiff fingers, I'm framing a view that is surprising to me, the sun shining so brightly that it's hard to see what I'm capturing.

I'm noticing the frozen fingers of the trees demonstrating how to live in the grace of a wide open sky, carrying the memory of every Winter that has given way to Spring.

grief

Why love if losing hurts so much? I have no answers anymore, only the life I have lived. Twice in life I have been given the choice: as a boy and as a man. The boy chose safety and the man choses suffering. The pain now is part of the happiness then. That's the deal.

~Anthony Hopkins playing C.S. Lewis in Shadowlands.

Thanks for all your comments and for coming out of hiding for me. I've been thinking a lot of what this blog is (for me and for you) and what I would like it to be. More than anything, I want it to be a true place and an inspiring place. I'm warmed and encouraged that so many of you find it to be such a place. It's good for me to practice seeing and feeling and living in the presence of others.

I'm reading a book right now in preparation for a training I'm doing regarding grief-work for counselors on Monday. My friend Kirsten lost her newborn child last year and has talked a lot about her journey. She's a very wise and gifted writer so I pay attention to any recommendations she makes regarding resources that are helpful to her. She has frequently mentioned one book in particular that was meaningful to her as she struggled through her grief. A Grace Disguised: How the Soul Grows Through Loss is a book that particularly spoke to her, so when I started to prepare for this training I knew I would want to work my way through its pages.

Sometimes I think that learning to make your way through grief is the most important work that one can engage in. I've suffered devastating loss throughout my life and I clearly see today the ways that it continues to affect me whether I like it or not. Everyone responds to loss in their own way, and I tend to try to stuff it and avoid its invitation. I do this to my own detriment, but it's become a habit that I don't usually notice. Reading this book has forced me to wake up to this work once again. Generally speaking, when I realize that I have more work to do in this area, my first response is anger. I want to be finished and I don't want to have to look at it anymore. I feel a sense of dread and become easily overwhelmed.

But something I've learned from this book that I never really comprehended before is that grief is a lifelong work, something that presents challenges and opportunities as long as we're breathing. And rather than feeling dread this time around, I'm actually excited by what this might mean to me to welcome grief to do her work on me once again. Here is an excerpt that makes me particularly excited to dive back into my old wounds in a new way:

Deep sorrow often has the effect of stripping life of pretense, vanity, and waste. It forces us to ask basic questions about what is most important in life. Suffering can lead to a simpler life, less cluttered with nonessentials. It is wonderfully clarifying. That is why many people who suffer sudden and severe loss often become different people.

I want so badly to move in this direction, and the old path of grief seems like the only way to get there. I want to become the person that my loss has invited me to be. I don't expect to be finished anytime soon or ever for that matter. But I do expect that it is good work that will change me in ways that are important. Surprisingly, I also don't expect that it will make me morbid or depressed. In fact, I'm looking forward to greater joy and simplicity and an awareness of what really matters to me. Sometimes that's gonna hurt really bad. That's OK. That's the deal.