I am writing this blog for a few very different reasons. They will unfold in the writing bit by bit. An unexpected surprise emerging from the blog writing is that my kids here at home like discussing and reading the blogs together each day. The blogs have been a great catalyst for some wonderful conversations and even some tears.
My flute player deeply resonated with the trumpet post. For her, it suddenly made some challenging dynamics clear. It is hard to be a flute living with a very dynamic trumpet. The trumpet gets noticed. It is dramatic. People perk up to listen. The trumpet can join the jazz band and have more places to play. The flute is a lot more quiet. It is often in the background and is not always noticed in an upfront way. The trumpet really can drown out the flute and can completely overpower it, especially if it is not carefully directed.
Tears were shed and frustrations expressed as my flute felt acutely her feelings about her relationship with the trumpet. Somehow, through the expressing, there was a peace later in the day. She is deeply glad to be a flute herself. She likes playing the background melody. She is starting to appreciate herself and what she has to add. Nevertheless, it will continue to be hard. As one of the conductors of this orchestra, I am going to have to be creatively aware of this challenging dynamic. There will be more tears and frustrations, especially since the relationship is fairly new. Family relationships started when kids are older and all have deep insecurities makes for challenge. Lots of time and debriefing is important. Pulling our orchestra together and helping each instrument feel worthy and precious is not easy. There will be lots of discordant notes. There will also be moments of deep richness and complement. The various instruments do have fun playing together. They do take each other into places that they may not have gone alone.
Sometimes it is these very challenges that bring richness and growth. That is our goal. My precious flute, keep on playing the instrument that is you with integrity, the best you can.
Sunday, 30 September 2012
Saturday, 29 September 2012
A Different Way
Splatter painting. A different way. Yesterday I went on an art field trip with a couple of our kids. They have been learning about the artist, Jackson Pollock, and went to an art studio to splatter paint. I was inspired.
Pollock says that his painting is energy and motion made visible. He allows the paint to have a life of its own. He lets people have their own feelings about his work, whether it be anger, happiness, joy or frustration. He continues to splatter. Sometimes he notices that roots block the line of his art. He waits and then continues as the roots dissolve.
Some people may not consider this way of painting true painting. It may be thought of as second rate art. I was inspired because it is different, and in the difference there is beauty and possibility and hope. It speaks to me of allowing. Allowing a unique way. Allowing the paint to express.
We are all different and unique. Many of our children are very different. Not all of them have the possibility of fitting in or of doing things the way most of us do. Some cannot compete or even get started in our very competitive and fast moving world where often there seems to be just one "right" way of doing things. I want to grow in being able to allow my children and myself to have a life of our own. To express ourselves in unique ways of possibility that in their own way are beautiful. I want to have eyes and ears to be open to the differences and to see the beauty where others may only see the mess and disorganization.
Splatter painting makes art accessible to us all. Open the doors of your heart to be creative and to dissolve the roots that bind and keep us on one path. Allow and accept the differences and be creative in seeing the possibilities with the beauty inherent in those. There are many ways to express ourselves through paint. Similarly, our very beings can be expressed in many different ways. Allow and welcome those different ways.
Pollock says that his painting is energy and motion made visible. He allows the paint to have a life of its own. He lets people have their own feelings about his work, whether it be anger, happiness, joy or frustration. He continues to splatter. Sometimes he notices that roots block the line of his art. He waits and then continues as the roots dissolve.
Some people may not consider this way of painting true painting. It may be thought of as second rate art. I was inspired because it is different, and in the difference there is beauty and possibility and hope. It speaks to me of allowing. Allowing a unique way. Allowing the paint to express.
We are all different and unique. Many of our children are very different. Not all of them have the possibility of fitting in or of doing things the way most of us do. Some cannot compete or even get started in our very competitive and fast moving world where often there seems to be just one "right" way of doing things. I want to grow in being able to allow my children and myself to have a life of our own. To express ourselves in unique ways of possibility that in their own way are beautiful. I want to have eyes and ears to be open to the differences and to see the beauty where others may only see the mess and disorganization.
Splatter painting makes art accessible to us all. Open the doors of your heart to be creative and to dissolve the roots that bind and keep us on one path. Allow and accept the differences and be creative in seeing the possibilities with the beauty inherent in those. There are many ways to express ourselves through paint. Similarly, our very beings can be expressed in many different ways. Allow and welcome those different ways.
Friday, 28 September 2012
The Real Deal
Any family grafted together through adoption sooner or later has it either implied or stated from their child or from others that they are somehow not real. "You are not my real mom!" or "Are those kids your real kids? " are not uncommon to hear in our world.
Once we have curbed our sharp tongues, how do we handle these statements?
I am a second wife. Especially in the early days of relationship I often felt that I was really second best. I was not the real wife. The wife who had shared the firsts. The first home, the first child, the adventures of the twenties and early thirties as patterns were being set and lives built. I wished that I had shared those things with my husband. From my perspective, I envied those for whom marriage seemed more straightforward and an adventure of firsts. I resented the fact that often it seemed that sometimes I was treated as if I was first wife and not my own self. My behaviour and some events still do trigger old reactions and feelings in my husband that really have nothing to do with me. I sometimes have felt cheated out of the real thing. I have grieved my second place standing.
I am also the second, third and in one case fourth mother for some of my kids. Sometimes they say it and I feel it. I am not the real mom. The mom who shared the firsts. The first tooth, the first step, and even the first day of school. I do wish that I had shared those things with my kids. Sometimes I do envy those for whom parenting is more straightforward and 'normal'. I resent the fact that sometimes I feel like I am treated as if I am one of the earlier moms and not my own self. My behaviour and many events do trigger old reactions and feelings in my kids that really have nothing to do with me. I sometimes have felt cheated out of the real thing. I have grieved my second place standing.
For my kids too, I am not the first mom. I am not the biological mom. They look around and wish that their lives were more straightforward and 'normal.' They feel like they really are second best. They would like to look like me and the rest of their family like all the other kids. They wish they could share truthfully about their past in all those school projects without feeling so different. They wish their hearts did not have to daily face the unbearable feelings of being rejected. They wish they could have their real mom and their real family. These feelings sometimes loose their intensity, but they never really leave. They get pulled out in anger when life is intense and things are not going right. They feel cheated out of the real thing. Second place. For them their feelings are even greater than my own second wife or second mom feelings. I ultimately had choice in those decisions. My kids were powerless. They had no choice to be second or third or fourth.
The moments of not feeling like the real wife are decreasing after twenty five years together. We were once wisely encouraged that we would together make our own real history and life together. The moments of new and different firsts add up over time. Who says that being first is best? In times of anger I do sometimes discount all the joys of life with my husband, but nothing can remove those real moments and years that we have been together.
As parents we listen with ears of understanding. We try not to react when we are not acknowledged as real. In quiet moments later we listen. Listen and talk of feelings hidden underneath. Of roots that have been twisted and cut off. Of pain. Of our own unrelated feelings of times when it feels like we are cheated. For our kids it is a tough reality. Life has not gone in all the ways we all would have liked. But in the most real way of all, that is life. There are so many ways in each step of the journey of life that we do not have what we would hope to be real. Our hopes and expectations of what is first or best or real is often painfully different from our reality.
In those moments when I feel acutely the pain of second wife or second mom, I try to feel the pain for what it is. I try to disengage those feelings from what perhaps seemed to initiate anger of the moment. I help my kids do the same. I don't tell them they have to obey anyway. If they were birth kids they would have a different reason for not obeying the same rule. That part is not about real. That is about really wanting to do what is real for themselves in their own journey at that point.
So together we face the pain. Lots of things along the journey will not feel real. Our kids are getting the practice of how to cope with these life realities extra early and extra painfully. That is real.
Together too, we face whatever it is that is making us angry. The disagreement. The wanting to do it our own way and to be our own person. We listen and feel that too. We wait and step away from the raw emotion. In the best way we can, with the limited abilities we have, we try to unpeel and name the feelings. The feelings that initiated the angry outburst that we are not the real mom or the real family may be very unrelated. They may be more about the kids exerting their own independence and disagreeing with the request. The kids know our own areas of insecurity and are masters at knowing what will cause us to react. In their own feelings of powerlessness and rebellion they pull out phrases that certainly will get our attention even if they are not directly related to the feelings of powerless frustration. We address those things as we can.
Underneath all the daily bumps of family relationships, we do try to give our kids pride and acknowledgement of the reality of their own challenging and unique journey in life where we actually are the second or third or fourth family. We acknowledge all the strengths that have enabled them to continue to go on in their own reality. We try to be creative in building each other up, encouraging our kids to express themselves in ways we can hear while developing skills and attitudes that will stay with them as they face all the disappointments and pain of life.
Real. This moment right now is indeed the only real deal for now.
Once we have curbed our sharp tongues, how do we handle these statements?
I am a second wife. Especially in the early days of relationship I often felt that I was really second best. I was not the real wife. The wife who had shared the firsts. The first home, the first child, the adventures of the twenties and early thirties as patterns were being set and lives built. I wished that I had shared those things with my husband. From my perspective, I envied those for whom marriage seemed more straightforward and an adventure of firsts. I resented the fact that often it seemed that sometimes I was treated as if I was first wife and not my own self. My behaviour and some events still do trigger old reactions and feelings in my husband that really have nothing to do with me. I sometimes have felt cheated out of the real thing. I have grieved my second place standing.
I am also the second, third and in one case fourth mother for some of my kids. Sometimes they say it and I feel it. I am not the real mom. The mom who shared the firsts. The first tooth, the first step, and even the first day of school. I do wish that I had shared those things with my kids. Sometimes I do envy those for whom parenting is more straightforward and 'normal'. I resent the fact that sometimes I feel like I am treated as if I am one of the earlier moms and not my own self. My behaviour and many events do trigger old reactions and feelings in my kids that really have nothing to do with me. I sometimes have felt cheated out of the real thing. I have grieved my second place standing.
For my kids too, I am not the first mom. I am not the biological mom. They look around and wish that their lives were more straightforward and 'normal.' They feel like they really are second best. They would like to look like me and the rest of their family like all the other kids. They wish they could share truthfully about their past in all those school projects without feeling so different. They wish their hearts did not have to daily face the unbearable feelings of being rejected. They wish they could have their real mom and their real family. These feelings sometimes loose their intensity, but they never really leave. They get pulled out in anger when life is intense and things are not going right. They feel cheated out of the real thing. Second place. For them their feelings are even greater than my own second wife or second mom feelings. I ultimately had choice in those decisions. My kids were powerless. They had no choice to be second or third or fourth.
The moments of not feeling like the real wife are decreasing after twenty five years together. We were once wisely encouraged that we would together make our own real history and life together. The moments of new and different firsts add up over time. Who says that being first is best? In times of anger I do sometimes discount all the joys of life with my husband, but nothing can remove those real moments and years that we have been together.
As parents we listen with ears of understanding. We try not to react when we are not acknowledged as real. In quiet moments later we listen. Listen and talk of feelings hidden underneath. Of roots that have been twisted and cut off. Of pain. Of our own unrelated feelings of times when it feels like we are cheated. For our kids it is a tough reality. Life has not gone in all the ways we all would have liked. But in the most real way of all, that is life. There are so many ways in each step of the journey of life that we do not have what we would hope to be real. Our hopes and expectations of what is first or best or real is often painfully different from our reality.
In those moments when I feel acutely the pain of second wife or second mom, I try to feel the pain for what it is. I try to disengage those feelings from what perhaps seemed to initiate anger of the moment. I help my kids do the same. I don't tell them they have to obey anyway. If they were birth kids they would have a different reason for not obeying the same rule. That part is not about real. That is about really wanting to do what is real for themselves in their own journey at that point.
So together we face the pain. Lots of things along the journey will not feel real. Our kids are getting the practice of how to cope with these life realities extra early and extra painfully. That is real.
Together too, we face whatever it is that is making us angry. The disagreement. The wanting to do it our own way and to be our own person. We listen and feel that too. We wait and step away from the raw emotion. In the best way we can, with the limited abilities we have, we try to unpeel and name the feelings. The feelings that initiated the angry outburst that we are not the real mom or the real family may be very unrelated. They may be more about the kids exerting their own independence and disagreeing with the request. The kids know our own areas of insecurity and are masters at knowing what will cause us to react. In their own feelings of powerlessness and rebellion they pull out phrases that certainly will get our attention even if they are not directly related to the feelings of powerless frustration. We address those things as we can.
Underneath all the daily bumps of family relationships, we do try to give our kids pride and acknowledgement of the reality of their own challenging and unique journey in life where we actually are the second or third or fourth family. We acknowledge all the strengths that have enabled them to continue to go on in their own reality. We try to be creative in building each other up, encouraging our kids to express themselves in ways we can hear while developing skills and attitudes that will stay with them as they face all the disappointments and pain of life.
Real. This moment right now is indeed the only real deal for now.
Thursday, 27 September 2012
The Trumpet
One of our daughters is learning to play the trumpet. The trumpet is a perfect fit for her personality and she is so empowered by having the opportunity to play it. In reality, she has always been a trumpet player. She has played constantly, at full volume and in a key all her own. Maybe that is why it was not easy to get her settled in a family for many years. I am just sorry that no one noticed her trumpet playing qualities earlier. She has huge potential to be the most fantastic trumpet player with a little direction. She needs to play only when it is the trumpet's turn. She needs to learn how to control its volume and the notes. Her gifts of being outgoing, wonderfully expressive and full of surprise outbursts are a great asset to our family. She has needed to be appreciated for her distinctive qualities while having them tuned so that they can shine in a way that the rest of us can hear her music.
We are all part of an orchestra in our village. Sometimes it is difficult to fully appreciate the other instruments, especially if the players are learning and do not have skilled direction. We need a variety of different instruments to fully play the richness of music. Not all the instruments play at the same time. Sometimes certain instruments are in the background or have to wait a long time for their turn. A well placed cymbal can bring power to a piece of music. The double bass gives wonderful depth of sound. An orchestra benefits from a wide range of instruments to be fully expressive.
We had a great family dinnertime conversation discussing the instruments we are drawn to and which help to define us. Another daughter has always wanted to play the harp. Another is a flute and violin player. Another likes the piano. I love playing the guitar. Each instrument is unique and brings delight and fullness in its own way. Some instruments are an acquired taste over time. Look out for the natural music coming from the heart and personality of your children and yourself. Learn to appreciate and respect the varied sounds coming from the different instruments. Use your imagination for what a bit of practice and skill will bring. Help each person learn to fully play their own instrument effectively and with joy so that they can bring richness to the orchestra of your family.
We are all part of an orchestra in our village. Sometimes it is difficult to fully appreciate the other instruments, especially if the players are learning and do not have skilled direction. We need a variety of different instruments to fully play the richness of music. Not all the instruments play at the same time. Sometimes certain instruments are in the background or have to wait a long time for their turn. A well placed cymbal can bring power to a piece of music. The double bass gives wonderful depth of sound. An orchestra benefits from a wide range of instruments to be fully expressive.
We had a great family dinnertime conversation discussing the instruments we are drawn to and which help to define us. Another daughter has always wanted to play the harp. Another is a flute and violin player. Another likes the piano. I love playing the guitar. Each instrument is unique and brings delight and fullness in its own way. Some instruments are an acquired taste over time. Look out for the natural music coming from the heart and personality of your children and yourself. Learn to appreciate and respect the varied sounds coming from the different instruments. Use your imagination for what a bit of practice and skill will bring. Help each person learn to fully play their own instrument effectively and with joy so that they can bring richness to the orchestra of your family.
Wednesday, 26 September 2012
Breathe, Chew and Swallow
One of the most complex motor tasks that we do all the time is to breathe, chew and swallow. Many people cannot effectively do this task that most of us take for granted. They have to be fed through a button on their tummies where liquid food can be directly pumped to their stomachs.
Difficulty with coordinating breathing, chewing and swallowing in our emotional and spiritual lives can also significantly impact our lives. Sometimes we need slow down to take time to remember to take deep breaths. We need to chew quietly on all the kinds of nourishment we are given before we swallow.
I need to slow down and take time for those deep and quiet breaths. I want to chew for a while on all the many thoughts going on in my heart before I rapidly swallow and move on. I am still chewing on thoughts of village in our lives. This morning I read reports on the significant loneliness in our town. I heard a panel of mothers speak of their need for "village" support as they parent children with challenges. All day I have been ruminating on how we all need to continue to be raised by the gift of village already present in our midst. I need to stop, rub my eyes, and see the village that I am already very much a part of, taking my place to both give and receive.
Chew. Chew and take time to taste and receive the gifts of village given. Chew and take time to be nourished. Slow down to breathe, chew and swallow.
Difficulty with coordinating breathing, chewing and swallowing in our emotional and spiritual lives can also significantly impact our lives. Sometimes we need slow down to take time to remember to take deep breaths. We need to chew quietly on all the kinds of nourishment we are given before we swallow.
I need to slow down and take time for those deep and quiet breaths. I want to chew for a while on all the many thoughts going on in my heart before I rapidly swallow and move on. I am still chewing on thoughts of village in our lives. This morning I read reports on the significant loneliness in our town. I heard a panel of mothers speak of their need for "village" support as they parent children with challenges. All day I have been ruminating on how we all need to continue to be raised by the gift of village already present in our midst. I need to stop, rub my eyes, and see the village that I am already very much a part of, taking my place to both give and receive.
Chew. Chew and take time to taste and receive the gifts of village given. Chew and take time to be nourished. Slow down to breathe, chew and swallow.
Tuesday, 25 September 2012
It Takes a Village
It does take a village to raise a child. I think we all get the concept. Our kids need others who are not their parents who can help support them. People who will care for them and love them even when they can't tolerate us. We parents need community and family who will support us as we try to raise the kids and survive the best we can. The problem that I have run into is that in our fast paced culture where we are all trying to work, raise kids and do a million other things, it is difficult to find the village. It is difficult to be the village too. I would love to help care for other families more myself. We are an isolated bunch. It costs so much to live that we seem to have to work more. The kids are doing lots of activities, so they are not home much either. Often our extended families are scattered and maybe they were not too sure that we should be doing this adopting anyway. It seems like there is never enough time or energy. I often just feel run dry in the relationship energy department.
So where do we start to find the village? I must say the whole concept, though so important, makes me nervous and feel more than a little insecure. I have friends who have seemingly endless energy to develop meaningful community. I have wasted a whole lot of energy peeking over my shoulder at them and mulling over the things I haven't done to build community and that village.
So, I better get started. Start checking off the positive things I can do from my rather introverted self to try to build community. I smiled at the lady at the post office today, and chatted briefly. Check. I took some artichokes to share at work and spent a few minutes away from my paperwork to chat. Check. A beginning!
School. Maybe I can drive on that field trip. Get to know the teacher a bit. Pick the kids up and go into their classrooms once a week. Check.
Dance. Spend a minute to talk to the teacher and tell her how much the kids are enjoying dance. Check.
Church. We are fairly new, but the kids seem to know a few people already. Take them to the youth group where maybe they will get to know some kids and the leader. Check.
I do need to get better at seeing the village opportunities as they come alongside me and the family. The village has taken on different forms for each of our children. Some of these were designated godparents. Some have evolved naturally and others with significant intentionality on all sides. Some come into our lives often, and some just once in a while. One grandma bakes us cookies once a year. A friend takes the boys snowboarding. Another comes to the dance recitals. A neighbour has always been particularly close to one child. She remembers birthdays. Another neighbour loves building and has helped create forts. Another adoptive family has included older kids on adventures where the kids can help with their kids too. Foster families embrace the whole family. I just need to keep watching out and listening in my heart for the possibilities that work and do not overload me in the whole village department.
The kids by adoption have needed an extra boost in the area of relationships. No matter what the age of adoption, the reality of that primal wound of separation from birth parents is real. Their lives have a level of pain and trauma that has needed the help of skilled members of our village. I have brought in the resource of a therapist for them. For us it felt like starting the relationship with a family doctor. Maybe nothing specific to report right away, but a needed resource to keep a check on all our feelings and emotional health. Husband and I started these relationships for ourselves when the children first joined our family. We wanted the therapist's input and support for how to best support our children and ourselves. About a year after each placement we introduced the kids to the therapist as a resource person to talk to and help them with their hearts and feelings. We used different therapists for some of the children so they would have their own advocate. With some of the children there were significant issues to address. With one, we used the therapist as a person who could specially listen to her heart. She had never had anyone listen to her deeply and be interested in her as a person. She loved those sessions. For her, there were not many sessions, but she now has a relationship with someone who she feels deeply understands her and is her advocate. The children each feel that they have someone with expertise in feelings who can help them when they need it. In the heat of challenging and difficult problems, it is more difficult to consider getting help. Starting a new therapeutic relationship is scarey. We have tried to be proactive for those tumultous teen years. All of us can benefit from help understanding ourselves and our feelings at any stage. The relationships with moms and dads are more complicated for our kids. They need skilled advocates as part of their village.
Our village. Formed naturally and intentionally. Sometimes surprising and other times actively pursued. Watch for those gifts of people who are interested and engaged. Welcome whatever others can give. Start bit by bit building. Affirm the little steps. Give and receive. I am wondering if the village is more present than I can see. A gift to raise us all. The village.
So where do we start to find the village? I must say the whole concept, though so important, makes me nervous and feel more than a little insecure. I have friends who have seemingly endless energy to develop meaningful community. I have wasted a whole lot of energy peeking over my shoulder at them and mulling over the things I haven't done to build community and that village.
So, I better get started. Start checking off the positive things I can do from my rather introverted self to try to build community. I smiled at the lady at the post office today, and chatted briefly. Check. I took some artichokes to share at work and spent a few minutes away from my paperwork to chat. Check. A beginning!
School. Maybe I can drive on that field trip. Get to know the teacher a bit. Pick the kids up and go into their classrooms once a week. Check.
Dance. Spend a minute to talk to the teacher and tell her how much the kids are enjoying dance. Check.
Church. We are fairly new, but the kids seem to know a few people already. Take them to the youth group where maybe they will get to know some kids and the leader. Check.
I do need to get better at seeing the village opportunities as they come alongside me and the family. The village has taken on different forms for each of our children. Some of these were designated godparents. Some have evolved naturally and others with significant intentionality on all sides. Some come into our lives often, and some just once in a while. One grandma bakes us cookies once a year. A friend takes the boys snowboarding. Another comes to the dance recitals. A neighbour has always been particularly close to one child. She remembers birthdays. Another neighbour loves building and has helped create forts. Another adoptive family has included older kids on adventures where the kids can help with their kids too. Foster families embrace the whole family. I just need to keep watching out and listening in my heart for the possibilities that work and do not overload me in the whole village department.
The kids by adoption have needed an extra boost in the area of relationships. No matter what the age of adoption, the reality of that primal wound of separation from birth parents is real. Their lives have a level of pain and trauma that has needed the help of skilled members of our village. I have brought in the resource of a therapist for them. For us it felt like starting the relationship with a family doctor. Maybe nothing specific to report right away, but a needed resource to keep a check on all our feelings and emotional health. Husband and I started these relationships for ourselves when the children first joined our family. We wanted the therapist's input and support for how to best support our children and ourselves. About a year after each placement we introduced the kids to the therapist as a resource person to talk to and help them with their hearts and feelings. We used different therapists for some of the children so they would have their own advocate. With some of the children there were significant issues to address. With one, we used the therapist as a person who could specially listen to her heart. She had never had anyone listen to her deeply and be interested in her as a person. She loved those sessions. For her, there were not many sessions, but she now has a relationship with someone who she feels deeply understands her and is her advocate. The children each feel that they have someone with expertise in feelings who can help them when they need it. In the heat of challenging and difficult problems, it is more difficult to consider getting help. Starting a new therapeutic relationship is scarey. We have tried to be proactive for those tumultous teen years. All of us can benefit from help understanding ourselves and our feelings at any stage. The relationships with moms and dads are more complicated for our kids. They need skilled advocates as part of their village.
Our village. Formed naturally and intentionally. Sometimes surprising and other times actively pursued. Watch for those gifts of people who are interested and engaged. Welcome whatever others can give. Start bit by bit building. Affirm the little steps. Give and receive. I am wondering if the village is more present than I can see. A gift to raise us all. The village.
Monday, 24 September 2012
Laundry
A voice in me is muttering, okay, enough now. Switch it up. Change the style. Enough of the cat, raspberries, artichokes and now laundry with some twist of a sermon at the end.
I will. I will, but for now let me be.
Stay with what is working for my heart. Sometimes in all things we need to stay put for a while to let things take root and to fill us before moving on.
My life is mostly made up of cat, raspberry, artichoke and laundry moments. These are the moments that give me deep joy and contentment. Recently a friend reminded me of the blind man who shouts out to Jesus to have mercy on him. The people yell at him to be quiet, but he persists, and Jesus asks him what he wants. The blind man asks that he be able to see, and Jesus grants him sight, saying his faith has healed him. I have wondered what I want from Jesus. I too want to see. I want to see God. I want to see the hearts of my children. I also want eyes to see the small wonders all around me in my very ordinary days. The sacred moments of the raspberries, artichokes and laundry. It is those moments that this blog is really about.
Laundry does give me great pleasure. That tangled mass of wet and dirty clothes in the tub, sorted into whites and colours and put in the washer. On sunny days when I have time, I hang the clean wet things on the laundry tree around the corner on the patio, stuck in the sand where the hot tub used to be. I often remember days gone by in our last home where we had a pulley laundry line extending from our backdoor out over the garden. Sheets and towels flapping wildly in the wind, pulled off the line smelling fresh like a mixture of wind and sun. On most days, I hug the clothes, warm and fluffy from the dryer, dropping them to the space on the hall floor where they wait for folding. I like the soft and warm feel and the organized satisfaction of folding towels in neat rectangles. Most often the kids do the folding and delivery of the clothes to each room. We have at least twenty plastic laundry baskets bought by gardener husband in moments of frustration as he trips over the piles of clothes and we try to get organized, but still there are never enough. More often than not the baskets get left in corners all over, full of tangled assortments of clean and dirty whatevers.
There are wet masses of dirty crumpled laundry in the corners of my soul too. As my kids have processed their lives, we often speak of scooping up the moldy masses of forgotten memories stuck in the corner of their hearts, airing them out one by one and hanging them up as healing recognition of their own history. It feels good in the end. Just like the laundry.
I will. I will, but for now let me be.
Stay with what is working for my heart. Sometimes in all things we need to stay put for a while to let things take root and to fill us before moving on.
My life is mostly made up of cat, raspberry, artichoke and laundry moments. These are the moments that give me deep joy and contentment. Recently a friend reminded me of the blind man who shouts out to Jesus to have mercy on him. The people yell at him to be quiet, but he persists, and Jesus asks him what he wants. The blind man asks that he be able to see, and Jesus grants him sight, saying his faith has healed him. I have wondered what I want from Jesus. I too want to see. I want to see God. I want to see the hearts of my children. I also want eyes to see the small wonders all around me in my very ordinary days. The sacred moments of the raspberries, artichokes and laundry. It is those moments that this blog is really about.
Laundry does give me great pleasure. That tangled mass of wet and dirty clothes in the tub, sorted into whites and colours and put in the washer. On sunny days when I have time, I hang the clean wet things on the laundry tree around the corner on the patio, stuck in the sand where the hot tub used to be. I often remember days gone by in our last home where we had a pulley laundry line extending from our backdoor out over the garden. Sheets and towels flapping wildly in the wind, pulled off the line smelling fresh like a mixture of wind and sun. On most days, I hug the clothes, warm and fluffy from the dryer, dropping them to the space on the hall floor where they wait for folding. I like the soft and warm feel and the organized satisfaction of folding towels in neat rectangles. Most often the kids do the folding and delivery of the clothes to each room. We have at least twenty plastic laundry baskets bought by gardener husband in moments of frustration as he trips over the piles of clothes and we try to get organized, but still there are never enough. More often than not the baskets get left in corners all over, full of tangled assortments of clean and dirty whatevers.
There are wet masses of dirty crumpled laundry in the corners of my soul too. As my kids have processed their lives, we often speak of scooping up the moldy masses of forgotten memories stuck in the corner of their hearts, airing them out one by one and hanging them up as healing recognition of their own history. It feels good in the end. Just like the laundry.
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