Sticks

 “But it does not seem that I can trust anyone,' said Frodo.

Sam looked at him unhappily. 'It all depends on what you want,' put in Merry. 'You can trust us to stick with you through thick and thin--to the bitter end. And you can trust us to keep any secret of yours--closer than you keep it yourself. But you cannot trust us to let you face trouble alone, and go off without a word. We are your friends, Frodo.”― J.R.R. Tolkien, The Fellowship of the Ring

I sat down this morning in my local CFA to try to find the bottom of my email inbox.

I reached into my bag to find a pen and found instead these 3 sticks.

I immediately knew what they were. And also immediately smiled.

A few weeks ago my niece and nephew handed me their beloved sticks to hold while they ate their snow cones.

I dutifully put them in my bag so as not to lose them.

Where they still are.

Kids have an innate sense of who they can trust.

A gut instinct that is truer than most adults.

It's an honor for a kid to trust you with their sticks.

I'm curious as to what happens as we grow up.

We lose our ability to trust ourselves.

We take too much information from the outside world and forget that somewhere, deep inside us, we know who to trust with our sticks.

And maybe, our adults have failed us and forced us to trust people who aren't trustworthy.

I think we are all one "hug your aunt" or "stay here in this church class" away from pushing our kids into scenarios that their gut says "nope."

What if we just honored that?

What if we said "choose how to tell your aunt goodbye?" or "would you like to sit quietly in church or go to your own class?"

What if we sent our kids the message that we trust their gut too?

What if we said "You get to choose who holds your sticks."

I fiercely love my niece and nephew.

But I don't get to hold their sticks simply because I'm their aunt.

I get to hold their sticks because I step into their world and I invest in them. I make time and space for their beautifully uniquely made selves. I look them in the eye and I listen to them.

The challenge is that even after doing those things - I'd also respect it if they said I couldn't hold their sticks. Or if they weren't ready. Or if not this time.

Mama Warriors, there comes a time when our kids sticks become their secrets.

We want to be people that have earned the right to hear them.

We want to have gifted our kids such a strong foundation of trust in themselves that they trust us in return.

We do this in the small. By reminding them that their gut is worthy and true.

By giving words to what they might not be able to.

By being people who hold their sticks with care.

New Shoes

 "I think we are well advised to keep on nodding terms with the people we used to be, whether we find them attractive company or not. Otherwise they turn up unannounced and surprise us, come hammering on the mind's door at 4 a.m. on a bad night and demand to know who deserted them, who betrayed them, who is going to make amends." Joan Didion, Slouching Toward Bethlehem

On the last day of spring break, SD wanted to take Peanut hiking.

As I have *some* experience with children, I know you don't say "Get dressed for hiking." You give specific instructions. Wear something comfortable for walking. Put on socks. Put on tennis shoes. Get a water bottle. And a snack.

Peanut meanders out of her room some odd 23 minutes later to inform me that NONE of her shoes fit.

None? I repeat. Surely this is not so.

So yesterday you had shoes that fit?

But today, nope. Not one pair will work for hiking?

Her shoes were in fact a full 1.5-2 sizes too small.

One might think over the last few weeks Peanut might have noticed her shoes being a little harder to slip on? Or maybe a little tighter?

I have found children don't feel growth.

They just wake up one day and have no underwear. Or no socks. Or, no shoes.

Growth has happened while they have literally done nothing but eat and sleep and play.

Sometimes growth is like that for us I think.

Sometimes there are these slight shifts day to day. And we wake up one day and realize that the places, jobs, relationships or rooms we exist in - we no longer fit there.

Maybe in hindsight we can see the subtle nods or hints.

But sometimes not.

Other times, I think growth is hard earned.

We've realized the suitcase of life baggage is heavy and we set it down. We've unpacked it. We held each dirty piece and wrestled with it. We've done the hard work of the healing.

We've been stretched, challenged and tussled about by life.

We've felt every growth pain.

Either way, sometimes it's hard to let go of the shoes that no longer fit.

We loved those shoes at one time. At one time those shoes fit us well. We've traversed a lot of life in those shoes.

But alas, the uncomfortableness of wearing the shoes wears on us, and some point we, or life, makes the choice for us.

No more for those shoes.

We aren't sure shoes are going to come along that we will love as much. That will fit us as well. That will truly be who we are.

And alas, at the third thrift store - there they are. Maroon converse better than any other shoe we've owned before. They fit. With wiggle room for the toes.

They are so us.

Mama Warriors, as I'm unpacking my suitcase I'm realizing that there are rooms, places and people who no longer fit in my life.

It's hard to say that out loud.

I've hesitated setting those things free. Mostly because I hate hard conversations.

But their inevitable right?

At some point we have to say - these shoes don't fit ME. And I'm worth having shoes that fit me well.

If you too are growing, I encourage you to find the freedom to step away from the people, places, positions that no longer serve you.

Trust that new shoes will come.

And they will be so much better.

Being Real

“It doesn’t happen all at once,” said the Skin Horse. “You become. It takes a long time. That’s why it doesn’t happen often to people who break easily, or have sharp edges, or who have to be carefully kept. Generally, by the time you are Real, most of your hair has been loved off, and your eyes drop out and you get loose in the joints and very shabby. But these things don’t matter at all, because once you are Real you can’t be ugly, except to people who don’t understand.”

In an effort to both curb the book madness around here, and rotate what I have to read 11 times a day, any book about eggs, chickens, ducks, bunnies or spring is my "Easter decorations" box. 

This week I read Peanut The Velveteen Rabbit for the first time. If you haven't read it, go now to the library. Get yourself a copy. It *may* be the most wise look on being broken and loved that exists. Aside from your Bible of course. 

Easter always makes me reflective. 

4 years ago, on that day between Good Friday and Easter Sunday, we brought home the Peanut. 

On the quiet day. That day of silence between the Crucifixion on the cross and the Resurrection from the tomb. 

Fitting. For those of you know our testimony, you know that Peanut is my GAP baby. Despite the toddler mom discussion at the park, she is neither a surprise nor an "oops." She is very much a piece of my walk. She has been prayed for and lived in my heart long before she lived in my arms. 

There's that moment where you hold your breath and you hope. 

Did they watch the tomb and hope? 

As I think of the whole Easter story, that day of silence fascinates me the most. The day of darkness. Before the light. 

The day of quiet. 

That day of quiet makes me think of our journey here on earth. 

The Velveteen Rabbit teaches us that to be real is a gift. It's to be broken and wounded. It's to be all used up. To be poured out. To love. To be loved. 

"When you are Real, you don't mind being hurt." 

If it's for His glory, we shouldn't mind being hurt. 

Being broken. 

Being mended in Him. 

Becoming Real. 

It takes time to become Real. 

It takes sacrifice. Surrendering. 

It takes believing on the quiet day that the Resurrection is coming. 

Mama Warriors, we can stay in our pretend realm of perfect. Shiny. Avoiding disappointment, despair, challenges. 

Or we can CHOOSE to become Real. Used up. Poured out. Tattered and worn. 

Beloved by Him. 

Believing that being Real is worth it.

Empathetic Kids

"Self absorption in all its forms kills empathy, let alone compassion. When we focus on ourselves, our world contracts as our problems and preoccupations loom large. But when we focus on others, our world expands." Daniel Goleman 

This morning I was outside gathering our trash cans and taking care of a few other things when I began to sneeze. Hello Georgia pollen. 

Within minutes, Peanut appeared with her Frozen box of tissues proclaiming loudly "Mommy these are the softest and best!" and handing me her box. 

I've had lots of these sneezing fits lately and realized that the other members of my house yell "Bless you" occasionally, but only Peanut tries to help. 

Peanut stops what she's doing to focus on YOU. 

Peanut says "Sneezing must really be frustrating for you Mommy." 

Peanut stops playing her favorite outside game to go inside and get her own box of tissues. 

She's willing to share her own special box of tissues from her bedroom to try to lessen your challenge. 

I do a lot of reading about raising empathetic kids in the hopes of being able to nurture and keep this special trait Peanut possesses. 

I think all kids are capable of being empathetic and we have teach it as an emotional skill just like we teach them how to make a bed, or learn to read. 

Everything agrees that one (of many) keys to raising empathetic kids is severely limiting screen time. 

Once we give our kids hand held screens, their world shrinks. 

They can easily detach from those in front of them and focus only on what they care about. 

Empathy requires connection. 

Authentic, vulnerable connection. 

One of the ways I'm nurturing this trait in Peanut is by sharing my own feelings. 

Too often as Mama's I think we rush to say "Mommy's okay" thinking we don't want our kids to worry about us or carry our burden. 

But then what do we teach them? 

For one, we teach them they don't know how to read body language when they clearly do. We teach them their instincts are wrong, when they aren't. 

And secondly, we teach them they can't help. Which is also untrue. 

They may not be able to fix the sadness, the anger, the frustration, the whatever. BUT they can help us not feel alone, they can sit in the moment with us. 

It's healthy to say "Mommy's sad" or "Mommy's frustrated" or "Mommy's angry."

Naming things is the first step to removing the power they have over us. 

If we always pretend we aren't sad, frustrated or angry, then we've given those emotions more power than they deserve. 

By simply naming them, we've given them a place. 

We've take control over the emotion. 

And we've honored our kids intstincts that we are not okay. 

How do we raise kids who learn to process their own emotions if we never teach them that it's okay to not be okay in this moment? 

Mama Warriors, we can be people who raise empathetic kids. 

Peanut and I are working on naming emotions based on body language this week. We are talking about how you can relate to someone based on the clues they give you. 

We're stopping when we read books to look at the character's words and actions and asking "What do you think they are feeling? How do we know?" 

I'm pausing TV shows to talk about how a character's face flushed so we know they are embarrassed, or how another character is fussing at everyone so maybe they are frustrated. 

We're learning to put words to emotions. 

We are using our eyes to observe, but our hearts to connect. 

Instead of rushing through our tasks lists, we can take time to sit in the messy feelings and teach our kids its okay to process those. 

In fact, it's healthy to process those feelings. To feel the big feels. 

Then, we can use those skills to empathize with others. 

To connect because we will have taken the time to sit in the sad, the angry, the frustrated. 

We can expand their worlds.

See Don't Look

 "Authenticity is the daily practice of letting go of who we think we’re supposed to be and embracing who we are. Choosing authenticity means cultivating the courage to be imperfect, to set boundaries, and to allow ourselves to be vulnerable; exercising the compassion that comes from knowing that we are all made of strength and struggle; and nurturing the connection and sense of belonging that can only happen when we believe that we are enough. Authenticity demands Wholehearted living and loving—even when it’s hard, even when we’re wrestling with the shame and fear of not being good enough, and especially when the joy is so intense that we’re afraid to let ourselves feel it. Mindfully practicing authenticity during our most soul-searching struggles is how we invite grace, joy, and gratitude into our lives.”

Brene Brown

Peanut and I keep an audiobook going for car rides, painting afternoons, or while we are cooking dinner.

Over the last month we listened to a book series where the characters turn 11, 12 and now we are on the book 13.

One of my favorite things about listening to an audiobook with her is that we can pause it. Often we both want to pause it at the same time.

In the last book we finished, you hear the main character say

“She shakes her head. “No. Other people look. You see. Looking isn’t the same as seeing.” And with that completely bizarre statement, she gets up and leaves. My mouth falls open a little at the abruptness of it all.”

At the exact same time we both said "Oooh that's good."

Looking isn't the same as seeing.

That's what we all inherently crave.

To be seen.

As I watched Peanut open her birthday presents at her birthday party, I thought "her friends SEE her." There were gifts of dragons, water colors, art supplies, Hamilton theater themed things. All the things that are authentically loved by Peanut.

Stepping into motherhood often means we stepped out of other environments where we felt seen.

Sometimes we stumble trying to figure out how to be seen when everyone really just sees the kids.

If you ask a mom how she's doing, you will often get a run down of her husband, kids and extended family.

"I'm fine. Kid one is ......."

Over the past week, I've tried to lean in and pay attention to the times I've felt seen.

Someone asked me to speak at church about church healing. They SEE me. See my spiritual journey and honored that by inviting me to share.

Someone got me tickets to hear my favorite author. They SEE me. I've mentioned that in passing and they remembered.

Someone stopped me at church to ask me about my blog. To comment on my writing. They SEE me.

Someone messages me every time the weather changes. They SEE me. They know I hate the heat and need to soak up this cool morning.

Someone sends me all the funny memes. The ones that I will laugh at. They SEE me.

Someone notices it's been a few days since I've sent a video message. They SEE me. They message, "are you okay?"

I realized that I now feel seen because I've stopped trying to fit into places where I don't belong.

I've left rooms where my voice is not welcome.

I've established healthy boundaries.

I've accepted who I am.

That's a journey right?

Mama Warriors, I hope you have spaces where you feel authentically seen.

Where you don't have to think before you speak.

Where you don't censor yourself.

And if you don't, I encourage you to wonder why not? Maybe it's time to step out of the spaces you are in and do the hard work of finding new spaces.

Spaces where people give you 3 D printed dragon earrings because they know that will make you squeal with delight.

I Left Church

 What if people were invited to come tell what they already know of God instead of to learn what they are supposed to believe? What if they were blessed for what they are doing in the world instead of chastened for not doing more at church? What if church felt more like a way station than a destination? What if the church’s job were to move people out the door instead of trying to keep them in, by convincing them that God needed them more in the world than in the church?”― Barbara Brown Taylor

2013 was a whirlwind year for me.

My "just one more" was born. A long answered prayer.

My body quit digesting and keeping food. I was malnourished and not functioning. Doctors were puzzled.

And somewhere between those two extreme emotions - great joy and intense sorrow, I lost my faith.

I felt like I "should" have it.

But I only had half the prayer.

"Lord I believe, help my unbelief."

I was solidly in camp two.

I picked up this book at the library, "Leaving Church" because that's what I had done.

I had left the church.

If we were getting technical, the church left me first but that's neither here nor there.

I devoured the book. Returned it to the library. Bought my own copy and read it again and again.

Barbara Brown Taylor gave words to all the things I was feeling.

Sometimes you have to leave church to find your faith.

The two can be, but aren't always, connected.

Showing up at church does not equal being a Christian . Much like the author who says "sitting in the garage does not make you a car."

Over the next decade I would devour everything she wrote, and then everything she recommended.

She gave me the freedom to live into camp two.

Help my unbelief.

She gave me permission (not that I needed it, but I felt like I did) to wrestle and wonder.

Last night I had the privilege of hearing her speak and be inducted into the Georgia Writers Hall of Fame.

It was everything I thought it would be and more.

She was vulnerable and witty, kind and wise, authentic and yet humble.

As I waited in line to have her autograph my well worn copy (in full fan girl mode let me tell you), I realized I had come full circle.

I had left church.

I have returned to church.

"Formed, deformed, and reformed."

As we often are after a rebuilding, I am better for it.

I'd like to believe that that I've embraced camp one and two.

I believe, help my unbelief.

Mama Warriors, if you too have left church, my guess would be it's probably more about the people and less about God.

The folks walking around calling themselves Christian often don't represent Jesus well. I'd like to think he would tell them to take off their "WWJD bracelets" because they've got it wrong.

The gospel clearly shows Jesus as radical, inclusive, empathetic and self sacrificing.

I think many churches have put Jesus in a box he was never in.

I encourage you to find your eraser and open yourself up to what the divine looks like to you.

Maybe, just maybe, you left church but not Jesus.