Trying Times

I spent a lovely weekend alone, recharging and rediscovering the good, quiet places inside myself.

I held a lorikeet at the zoo, and he licked my finger. I didn't know birds could lick.

I also listened to a few favorite podcasts, including On Being with Krista Tippett, and I want to share something with you that she shared with me.

I have been through times of great pain and difficulty. I have quite a few friends who are in pain and difficulty right now. And, as life continues, we will all take turns in their places. Here's a bit of something beautiful for those dark moments. I'm wishing peace, love, and healing to all of you.

Quiet friend who has come so far,
feel how your breathing makes more space around you.
Let this darkness be a bell tower
and you the bell. As you ring,

what batters you becomes your strength.
Move back and forth into the change.
What is it like, such intensity of pain?
If the drink is bitter, turn yourself to wine.

In this uncontainable night,
be the mystery at the crossroads of your senses,
the meaning discovered there.

And if the world has ceased to hear you,
say to the silent earth: I flow.
To the rushing water, speak: I am.

Rainer Maria Rilke, Sonnets to Orpheus II, 29

Baptism by...

I don't really feel like writing today. I have already changed 12 foul diapers and the clock just struck 10 am, so my ratio of awake hours to bum wipes is disheartening. There's nothing like waking up to the angelic sound of your sweet, sickly babe hollering "Change a poo-poo?"

When Ash was 5 or 6 weeks old, I remember feeling like life was an endless session of Red Light Green Light. I would get up, change him, feed him, probably change him again, get him to sleep, pump (a whole other story), lie down, look at my phone in a delusional state of exhaustion, and finally remove my glasses and shut my eyes. Despite a diagnosed hearing loss in one ear, the kid had a perfect alert system for the sound of my glasses hitting the bedside table and it would start right back up again. We kept the lights low to encourage sleep and to try to maintain some differentiation between day and night but it was all pretty much delirious sleepwalking.

One morning, after a dazed and memorably messy 2 am encounter, I got up, dressed, got Asher bundled up, and set off to do some necessary errands. It was only when I pulled up to an ATM at 830 or so that I reached for my wallet and saw it.

Poop.

Dried.

On my hand.

Just the lightest smear on the back of my thumb, but I was dumbfounded.

Once I got over the shuddering horror of being slimed and scrubbed the residue with the abundance of baby wipes I kept in my vehicular equivalent of a hobo's bindle, I had a humbling and transformative realization:

I was a mother.

After 5 years of infertility and 30 years of 'girl-' and 'woman-' hood, I had been granted a new identity to proudly claim. That was a badge of honor, my friend.

(One that I quickly went home and scrubbed off again. And again. And again.)

It's All Yours Already

Obedience is something that comes naturally to me.

There are very few rules, or even suggestions, that I disobey with impunity. I could probably name all of them, but here's a sampling: I rarely keep off the grass if it's just a mowed lawn - that's just a tidy version of nature's sidewalk and it feels better to my feet.

Actually, I just sat here for two minutes trying to think of another one and I couldn't.

Oh yeah! I drive across the middle of parking lots. Don't tell me what to do, white paint. Yellow and red paint are the only bosses of me.

But I'm definitely not touching the things with the 'no touching' signs. I'm not going into 'employee only' areas. I'm staying in the bounds, no matter how puny the bounds are.

I think a lot about the story of the Prodigal Son. For most of my life, I saw it as a lovely tale of repentance and redemption, about those 'other people' who don't obey and twist off and need to come to their senses in a pile of manure. About the times when I maybe DID cross a line and got caught and shamed and ran back crying and humiliated. About the people who betrayed me, who I needed to run to with open arms and retrieve them and reassure them and teach them how to do it 'the right way' again. There's an unflatteringly self-oriented thread running through those, so I'm just letting you know I'm aware of it.

But, as often happens with those TARDIS-like parables (they're bigger on the inside, and I'm a nerd), I have discovered and drawn close to a new character. Perhaps (no, certainly), uncomfortably close.

Now his elder son was in the field: and as he came and drew nigh to the house, he heard musick and dancing. And he called one of the servants, and asked what these things meant. And he said unto him, Thy brother is come; and thy father hath killed the fatted calf, because he hath received him safe and sound. And he was angry, and would not go in: therefore came his father out, and entreated him. And he answering said to his father, Lo, these many years do I serve thee, neither transgressed I at any time thy commandment: and yet thou never gavest me a kid, that I might make merry with my friends: But as soon as this thy son was come, which hath devoured thy living with harlots, thou hast killed for him the fatted calf. And he said unto him, Son, thou art ever with me, and all that I have is thine. (KJV Luke 15: 25-31)

Here's one of the downsides of innate obedience - the rules become more important than the real. Pain and relief have both come from mourning all the moments and relationships and eras of my life when I was focused so much more on watching and maintaining the fences than I was with turning around and exploring the garden I'd been given. Anxiously coloring inside the lines but never changing crayons from a dull, drab brown. 

As religious and/or thoughtful people we often focus on righting wrongs and healing from harm. We challenge ourselves to grow in goodness, in patience, in love. Obedience to moral and religious codes can free us to make bigger, better choices. I've heard these boundaries described as guardrails on a bridge - without boundaries we are slower, more cautious, more unsure as we cross the bridge, and with them we can more quickly and confidently move forward. 

But it's a scenic bridge! We didn't come here just to move along - we came to look and linger and enjoy and smell and embrace. And too often I found myself clinging to the guardrails and warning others of the potential for doom, rather than looking up and down and around at all the joy that's there to be received. 

We don't have to wait for some benevolent pat on the back and a goody bag. We can have songs and dancing and roasted goat on a spit whenever we desire. Everything He has is ours - we don't only received it when we make desperate missteps. It's the inheritance we live and breathe.

(Three Wise Men I'm learning from: Rob Bell, Timothy Keller, and Adam Miller who is actually a real person I know. I assume the other two are real but I've never eaten taquitos at their houses.)

Fur-Weather Friends

Everywhere you look right now, you see my spirit animal. Fall decor has appropriated the squirrel, and I'm reclaiming them as year-round objects of my affection and admiration.

My middle name is Forrest. I feel closest to my primordial self when surrounded by trees - they populate my favorite stories and scriptures and art of all kinds. The woods are full of symbols and meaning that I don't think I could begin to touch in a light and fluffy blog post, but I can definitely touch on my feelings for light and fluffy squirrels.

Some people see squirrels as pests, and they can certainly live up to that expectation. They're tree rats who chew through your attic and leave unpleasant souvenirs - my mother once saw one peering into her kitchen through an air conditioner vent. She was not thrilled. I'm not thrilled by regular non-tree rats, incidentally - ten years ago one jumped from a shelf by my face onto my bare foot and I screamed and peed my pants as a full grown adult. Let's pretend that's the only time I've peed my pants as a full grown adult though - makes for a better story, I think.

Here's a brief list of reasons why squirrels are my best wild animal friends.

1. Big eyes, brown fur, fluffy. That's pretty much me.

2. They are everywhere. Squirrels live in almost every habitat on the planet, so anywhere you go, you can spot one, which means I can be easily delighted anywhere on earth. If your spirit animal is a giraffe or a katydid or a ring-tailed lemur, sucks to be you. Have fun at the zoo, my unfortunate friend. I'll be over here in this random parking lot communing with my symbol of selfhood.

3. They are inherently funny. Lions? Majestic. Dolphins? Adorable. Butterflies? Delicate and beautiful. Squirrels? Hilarious.

Exhibit A:

Exhibit B:

Need I go on? I CAN DO THIS ALL. DAY. LONG. (Don't think I haven't already, multiple times.)

4. They are brave, intrepid, enthusiastic, curious, hard-working, and ridiculously cute; and have a reputation for being overexcitable and somewhat flaky. Me all over. Except the 

hard-working part, but that's a topic for another post.

So the next time you see a squirrel (which, let's face it, will be pretty soon), give it a little wave in my honor, and imagine it in a sweater. See what I mean? Delightful.

Good Old-Fashioned Blech

One of the many blessings of preschool (hallelujah) is that when you feel crummy, you can take a true sick day. Well, a sick morning-midafternoon, but don't kill my buzz, people. I've got blankies, pillows, TV, and a barrel of ice water with a straw. This certainly beats the pre-preschool routine of 'put Disney movies on repeat, toss a pile of cheerios on the floor and try not to pass out while the kid tears the house down around you'.

But nothing compares to sick days as a kid, right? I had mono as a kindergartner, which is unusual, but I was nothing if not precocious. I was sick from Thanksgiving to Easter, VERY sick, and bedridden for a good piece of that time. I don't remember feeling sick, just tired. But what I DO remember is getting to lay in my parents' big bed, reading and coloring,  and that they borrowed a VCR from somewhere and brought a TV into the room so I could watch The Lion, The Witch and The Wardrobe. And maybe Faerie Tale Theatre. And whatever other great PBS shows that came on before McNeil Lehrer - we really loved 'Frudal Gournet', which I still love and might go watch on youtube today. Here's a blast from the past for you:

As an adult, you don't usually get that same sensation of being fretted over and doted upon. To be fair, I know when Dave is sick my doting only lasts for so long before it's tinged with envy and resentment, with a splash of suspicion. But I'm not gonna lick his spoons to try to get some down time in return - it's just not worth all the catching-up you have to do after really being down for the count.

However, a couple of years ago I had a really bad virus and was absolutely miserable, and my dad brought me crayons, a coloring book, and some lottery scratch-offs. He's maybe the best person in the history of ever, and this incident will be included in his Nobel nomination, I am sure.

Deep Wednesday Thoughts

Something created for everyone but now considered childish:

Disney animated movies. Snow White and the Seven Dwarfs (I wanna say Dwarves but that's not what they called it, English is weird and whatever Walt says goes) was created with adults and kids in mind - and it was a massively crazy hit. Adjusted for inflation, it's one of the top ten box office performers in US history. (Per Wikipedia. Do I have to cite sources in a blog?) Buddy loves 'Heigh-Ho', but I'm always a bit thrown by how scary the first part of the movie is. Freaky trees with claws! Also, I took him to a repertory screening of 'Sleeping Beauty' - that is a beautiful film on the big screen. Just stunning.

Something created for kids but now considered for everyone (aside from the aforementioned coloring books):

Gummy vitamins. Why is this a thing? Did no one in my generation learn to swallow pills? Does melatonin need to be candy so that adults will begrudgingly go to bed? I got over the thrill of consuming fruit-flavored erasers at too early an age, I suppose. Also, they're marketing those squeeze-pouches of fruit to adults too - it's baby food, people. If you're gonna get into baby food, man up and get it in the little jar and eat it with a rubberized spoon. Don't think you're fooling anyone with your 'I'm grown and on the go so I'm gonna suck down this little pouch  of apple-kale-sauce through a tiny spout right before I whine about wanting to take a nap' vibe. Also coconut-water juice boxes. Also cupcakes (which I actually have no beef with because I'd have to be a fool to turn my nose up at those, no matter how many sprinkles are on top).

Whelm

Some days, the world just feels way too big.

I know that there are people I know - people I love, people I respect, people with huge Facebook followings - who feel energized and excited by getting into the turmoil of the larger world. Politics, religion, social and cultural issues. There are dozens of articles to read, comments to debate, thoughts and feelings and values to examine and proclaim and decry. There are huge hurts and wounds in the world that we are all called to help to heal. We all claim some level of involvement in or responsibility for the various communities of which we are a part. We have identities, tribes, nations, genders.

With all of those identities come expectations. I should read all the books and articles that will make me a better wife, a better mother, a better writer, a better American, a better Mormon. I should talk to people and teach and lecture and correct and listen and discuss with humility and expand my network and broaden my reach. I should challenge myself, break new ground, go outside all of my comfort and stretch, stretch, stretch.

Some days that feels like too much for me.

Some days, I just want to make sure my kid eats breakfast. I just want to make my bed, and read old words that bring me peace. I want to sweep and mop and pull some weeds. I want to make bread. Check my mailbox. Feel connected to my small, immediate, physical life. I want to hug my mother. Kiss my husband. Ruffle my little boy's hair. Feel the sublime sensation of having my own hair ruffled by God and the universe and everything bigger than my self. Know that this - just this - is plenty.

(Isn't it?)