A Friendly Reminder

I don't have anything profound to say today--just a simple reminder to be kind.

A week or so ago, I heard about an incident that had happened between a frustrated student and a staff member.  The student had become inpatient about a certain situation, and apparently, gave the woman with whom she'd been interacting quite a mouthful.

I began thinking about how this woman had become the brunt of a verbal lashing, when really, she was just trying to do her job.  I thought about how unfair it was to the staff member, who, from my understanding of the events, had been rather unfairly selected as the student chose her as a target to unleash her irritation.

I thought about how that student had no idea what this woman's life was like outside of their encounter, which probably lasted only several minutes long.  I thought about how, if I had been that staff member, I'd probably go home dwelling on the event, wondering what I could have done differently.  I often internalize the worst events of my day, often making them worse by replaying them over and over, trying to handle them better.  I sometimes can't let go of situations that hurt me, or situations in which I worry I caused others hurt. 

The same could be said for the student, though--who knows what she was dealing with?  I've heard it said before and I think it's worth repeating:  We're all dealing with something.  Every single person you know is either in the midst of a battle (visible or invisible), or they've just come out the other side of one.  In the rare instances where that's not the case, I imagine their numbers will be called shortly for upcoming life trials to be dispensed.  So, given that pretty much all of us are either currently dealing with, about to enter, or have just exited a difficult ordeal, doesn't it make sense that we all take a deep breath, and remember that it costs us nothing to be kind to one another?

In my life, I'm sure I've been both this student (taking out undue frustrations on whoever happens to be in front of me) and this staff member (absorbing them).  It's not fun to play either role, so I try not to let my anxieties or worries filter into daily life beyond the situations that have caused them.  I also try to remember that no one is perfect, so when I find someone being especially short with me, it's not always a personal attack.  The same rule applies in lots of situations, so I try to have a little extra grace when the cashiers aren't as friendly as I'd prefer, when the servers seem like they're struggling to keep up with a busy night, when the driver behind me passes me to cut me off, when the parent in the supermarket is fighting a losing battle with a tantrum-throwing toddler, etc., etc., etc.

Smiles aren't always expressions of happiness.  Sometimes they are the masks that hide incredible pain.  Be kind.

Clipped words, snapped responses, ignored text messages, curt glances, and even rude actions aren't always intended to be invitations to argue.  Sometimes they are side effects from dealing with grief, grappling with hardship, or being exhausted by the roller coasters of this tumultuous life.

Whenever you can, choose kindness.

Spiritual Musings

I see my writing very much related to my faith, because I see my faith related to every area of my life.  According to my Christian beliefs, God gave us all of our talents; he also instilled in us all of our passions.  So whatever talent I have as a writer is from Him.  The desire I have to write is also a direct effect stemming from how I've been wired by my Creator--at least, that's what I believe.

I try to use my gifts for the glory of God--if you didn't know, I blog for my church, and you can check that out here.  I also think that in much of my writing, you don't have to look very hard to find the theme of hope that is a hallmark of Christianity.

Having said this, though, I generally refrain from directly writing about spiritual matters--except as they pertain to events I include in my short stories or essays (and they do show up there--sometimes explicitly, sometimes more subtly).  The reason for my avoidance, in general, is I don't feel equipped.  I read devotions from Rick Warren, Beth Moore, Max Ludado, Joseph Prince, and others.  And I'm not sure that God has called me to speak with authority in the same way that they do through their writing.  I'm not a Biblical scholar.  I'm sure there are many occasions when I'd flounder in even the most basic of debates with skeptics and non-believers.

But though my area of study is not in theology, I do hold an advanced degree (a couple of them, actually).  Once upon a time, in my undergraduate days, I was trained to be a literary critic.  This was only reinforced as I continued my graduate work.  So why, I wonder, when I spent so many years in academia learning to interpret texts and defend my interpretations, do I hesitate to voice an opinion on a Biblical passage?

I think maybe it's because though I've achieved success in many worldly ways, I sometimes continue to let my failures define me.  I see myself as unqualified to insert myself in Christian conversations, because of all the times I've had a choice to make, and I chose wrong.  All the times God called me to do one thing, and I did something else.  All the times I've let doubt take over, and decided I wasn't the woman for the job.

Or maybe, I'm just really not called to write in the style of a Rick Warren or a Beth Moore.  I honestly don't know.

But as I was reading my devotion the other day, I came across this, and realized I had something to say about it.  I'd like to share it here, and I trust that you'll take what I'm saying for what it is--the humble opinion of one flawed Christian woman.

Here's the passage that got me thinking:


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This is from Beth Moore's Believing God Day by Day:  Growing your Faith all Year Long, a wonderful book that I think I bought for myself as a pick-me-up some years ago.  I didn't start at January in the daily devotions; I just jumped right in, whatever day it was.  I think I kept it at my desk when I taught in public education, and I think I read it every weekday, and probably left it there over summer break (oops).

So I decided this year, when planning out my God time, that I would begin every day with this little book--and I have, starting January 1, 2019.  Before I get out of bed or do anything else, I read the verse and Moore's commentary.  I re-read the pages that seem to speak to me especially, and I re-read all of the verses at least a couple times.  I also read a devotion more than once if I feel it's difficult for me to relate the verse to her commentary, or if I'm struggling to follow what she's saying, or relate it to my life.

The above passage really spoke to me, for a number of reasons.  First of all, it's so counter-cultural.  For a skeptic, putting God above family is probably a really different thing to understand.  Honestly, it's a really difficult principle for me to follow, and I wonder if most Christians were being truthful, if they would confess the same--or if maybe, they are a lot more spiritual than I am.  It's just the tangible love that we feel when we hold our spouse's hand or kiss our babies is so strong and undeniable.  And the expectation is, we must put a far less tangible relationship, one that requires faith to enter, and faith to maintain, above all the others in our lives.

It is difficult for me to live this out.

Yet, while I sometimes place people above God, I do believe the truth in Moore's words here:  "My relationship with God preceded my present family and proceeded long after my mother died.  In other words, my longest and most effectual history with anyone has been with God Himself."

As I read the rest of that devotional, which invited me to think back about the memories I'd made with God, I was amazed that they did come easily:

 My early introduction to Him, when I used to attend a tiny Baptist church just a little more often than Christmas and Easter.  I felt this inexplicable sense of joy when the people in that church, most of them strangers to me, sang "Welcome/To the Family/Of the people who love the Lord."  There was something in their voices that was so honest, so warm.  It didn't matter that some of the voices were warbling and others were off-key.  There was something beautiful there.

The weeks I sat in church service in college--at the altar call, every Sunday, I felt this tugging, this pulling--this pleading, just about--every time the pastor invited any who had not received Him to come and do so now.  I can remember with vivid clarity the absolute sense of relief, the happiness in my surety, when I finally walked down the aisle to the cross one Sunday.

My baptism, not long after that.  I was nineteen.  Ironically, as I read the devotional that inspired this post, I looked up and saw the photo that I still have from that day--I'm holding my nose with my hands, I'm soaking wet, the pastor is grinning next to me--and every time I look at that picture, I remember exactly how free I felt.  That sense of joy, that I think is unique to believers.  Lest you think I stare at this picture daily--it was behind my daughter's scrapbook, which I'd happened to move, and when I looked at it after reading that devotional, that was the first time I'd seen that photo in probably a year.  Like it was God literally showing me--We've got plenty of memories.  Here's one.  See?

I remember when I was bleeding out on the operating table, just minutes after meeting my firstborn daughter.  When I realized that I was hemorrhaging--that was probably one of the most pivotal moments of my life.  You have no idea how helpless you are until you realize that you have zero control over whether or not you will live to see your next moment.  I remember praying--laying there on that table, body trembling, blood gushing.  It was odd the sense of peace I had, given the circumstances.  But there was this moment between me and God.  I started by apologizing--telling Him I was sorry for every sin I'd ever committed, all the ways I'd failed him, both big and small.  I hadn't been walking the Christian life back then--I had a lot to apologize for.  And I still had this absolute sense that He heard me.  That He forgave me.  I told Him that if it was my time, I was thankful for the years I had been given, and that I trusted Him.  But I asked him, could He please spare me?

So I could hold my daughter?

So Rashieme wouldn't have to do this alone?

And he did.  I lost three pints of blood and required a blood transfusion.  But I lived.

And what's more than that, I'm alive in Him.

My faith is the reason I believe I'll see my stillborn daughter again.  It's why I think I'll get to hug my dad in heaven.

Most importantly, I'll get to be with Jesus.

Have you ever thought about it--if He was who He said he was, and He did what He said He did--what greater love is there?  What greater love could there be?

I'm forever thankful.  For the reasons I've described here, and so many others.

 So, yes.  I am one of those of little faith.  I need to be constantly reminded that I do serve a great God, that He does care about me.  That He is real.  That He will never leave me or forsake me.  I constantly struggle to keep him first, in spite of all the ways He's showed up for me.

I know He knows I'm trying.

My family is an incredible gift.  I hope yours is, too.

But I do believe all gifts come from God, and the greatest of these is Jesus Christ.

In Pursuit of Perfection (Why Mothering with All You've Got is Sometimes All You Need)

The other day, one of my best girlfriends texted me.  We've been friends longer than many of the college students I teach have been celebrating birthdays, though life has taken us on fairly different paths.  I became a mother about ten years before she did, but when she joined the club, she did so with fervent commitment:  her two boys are only about a year apart.  Any mama who can handle this (and kudos to all of you out there who do, including my own mother, as my brothers and I were all born within about four years of each other) deserves a medal.  It's hard enough having one kid in diapers, but when you have two tiny ones, as much of a blessing as that is, it's obviously double the trouble.  By the time Rashieme and I added to our family, our oldest daughter was on the brink of middle school, so obviously, that's a totally different experience.

My friend has a somewhat unique situation though--her husband works out of town about half the year.  So not only is she dealing with the already heightened pressures and responsibilities of caring for two completely dependent human beings, but much of the time, she is doing it on her own.  I recognize that this experience is not necessarily out of the ordinary--there are many families out there where one spouse is serving our country and required to be absent from the home for months at a time.  Still other occupations require extensive travel.  And then there are those of us who are single parents, whether by choice or circumstances, with varying levels of support from the co-parent (if (s)he is still in the picture) and/or other family members.

I did the single parent thing for several years when Rashieme and I were apart.  Fortunately for me, we both were always involved in all aspects of Kaliah's life when she was younger.  We split custody without going to the court system.  We co-parented well, even when our relationship with each other was quite broken.

My friend's experience as the only parent in the home for a good chunk of her time reminds me of my days as a single mama, even though she and her husband are "separated" for an entirely different reason, and their relationship is as strong as ever.  But I think about how often, she doesn't get a break.  How she is the one in the trenches through diapering and stomach bugs, she is the one dealing with the monotony of laundry and bottles and meal prep, she is the one who must be on the go from start to finish all day long, often without fifteen minutes for herself for a shower, or perhaps even five minutes without interruption to pee in peace.

When Rashieme and I went through our time apart, we were 100% on when it was our turn to be with our daughter.  But we also got a break when it was the other parent's turn.

For me, the break was both good and bad.  I missed my daughter terribly (and Rashieme, for that matter).  But I also had time to myself that I probably wouldn't have otherwise had to read, go out with my girlfriends, or enjoy a glass of wine with my favorite TV show.

I recognize that for many of the single parents out there, those who are widowed or those whose former partners are not involved, a week off is not a reality.  It's similar for my friend--she is a full-time mama when her husband is away, and though he is an amazing father and shares the parenting responsibilities when he returns, she is still a full-time mama when he is home, PLUS her attention is divided as she strives to be a supportive wife.

As I think about the challenges she faces and the blessings she enjoys, I realize there are ups and downs to just about every situation.  With Rashieme and I, we basically are in a polar opposite situation.  He is the stay at home dad, but my schedule is also quite flexible.  I try to give him as much of a break from the hands-on nitty-gritty as I can when I'm home, and he also is patient and understanding if I need to stay an extra hour at the office to catch up on stuff, or if I'm spent for the day, he tells me to go to bed early, even if he was the one at home with the kids all day.  I love it, and it works for us, but we also don't have near the financial security as many couples our age, given that my occupation, teaching, which I love, is not typically thought of as lucrative enough to enable one to be a primary breadwinner.  We make it work, and we love our lives, as I am sure my friend with two under the age of four loves her life.

But all this to say:  No matter how many kids you have, no matter what your marital status, no matter how old the children are, or whether you work or stay home:

Parenting is hard.

When my friend texted me, she shared her very real frustrations upon stumbling upon a latest piece of parenting advice, some well-intentioned guideline that recommended a perhaps surprising number of hours spent outside per day.  As all of us moms probably think, but not all of us probably admit to, her main reaction was basically:  Well, that's great in theory.  But with everything else I'm expected to do, when the bleep and how the bleep am I supposed to make that happen?

Which got me thinking.

There are so many ridiculous do's and do not's in mothering, most of them stemming from reasonable ideas and legitimate desires to keep our children healthy and happy.  But our culture blows them so out of proportion that eventually, even if you are as confident as Mary Poppins in your child-caring abilities, you may find yourself questioning your capability as a mom.

Because all of the guidelines that are out there, even the most reasonable ones, are basically impossible to follow when you try to follow them all.  Some of these best practices contradict other solid information, but even the guidelines that don't violate other suggestions cannot possibly be adhered to all of the time, in conjunction with all the others.

We put so much pressure on ourselves as moms.  A lot of this comes from our culture, which encourages perfection and achievement across all areas of our lives.  We feel it especially when it comes to our kids, because they are (and should be) our most important responsibilities on this planet.

So in thinking of the never ending onslaught of well-meaning advice that comes from parenting experts, family members, onlookers, educators, and loud mouths on social media, most of it containing at least some semblance of reason, I offer the following mockery, in an attempt to illustrate just how crazy we can make ourselves when we try too hard to do everything right.  Lest you be offended, let me first say that the following list is intended as a JOKE, and yes, I do realize that most (not all) of what I've written here does poke fun at legitimate advice, and that if you do some of the things on this list (within reason), I am not trying to attack your parenting.  I'm merely trying to point out that at the end of the day, all of the do's and don't's in the world can be an exhausting, overwhelming, and sometimes contradictory bottomless pit of information that would be an easy recipe to drive any mother bonkers.  The vast majority of suggestions can be attempted or disregarded, and that is a personal decision.  I think you should do what works best for you as a mom, with what works within your parenting style, and for your kids, as they are unique and beautiful human beings.

But because I couldn't stop myself, I assembled a list of 20 Suggestions to help you Be the Perfect Mom.  If you decide to start reading, I highly recommend you read all the way on to number twenty (or at least, skip to the end).

Thank you for coming to my TED talk.

How to Be the Perfect Mom

1.  Never feed little Johnny or Suzi anything too sugary, too fattening, too loaded with carbs, too flavored with artificial flavorings or colorings, or any vegetable or fruit grown anywhere that utilizes pesticides or any chemicals designed to make the food actually grow.  Fast food is obviously un-allowed, as are all foods children actually like (i.e., chicken nuggets, hotdogs, Kraft macaroni and cheese). If you really want to be a great mom, go vegetarian, or better yet vegan, but whatever you do, go fully organic.  Bonus points if you can grow 1000% of your meals in your backyard.

2.      Begin looking for your child’s special gift shortly after birth.  Quickly decide:  Will he be a professional NBA player?  A famous writer or artist?  Will she dance with Julliard?  Cheerlead for the Dallas Cowboys?  Better hurry up, the sooner you identify the gift, the sooner you can spend oodles of your money forcing your child to play clarinet or walk the balance beam.  You are doing an especially good job if you determine their lifelong hobby before they can walk.  Or better yet, talk.  Then they can’t argue with you about it.

3.      Never admit that your child does anything wrong, ever.  He or she is your special little genius, and you must not allow any well-intentioned teacher, pastor, or police officer to interfere with your little angel’s self-esteem.  How will the world react if your child serves a single detention for one lapse of judgement, in elementary school?  Childhood must become a mistake-free zone, and if your child screws up and makes one, you must begin damage control immediately! Social media must be a land of perfect children.  What will Facebook say if they know your child wasn’t the first in her class to read?

4.      Speaking of reading, read to your kids constantly.  They must be familiar with all the classics before beginning schooling:  I.e., Good Night Moon, The Don’t Let the Pigeon series, Great Expectations, The Complete Works of Flannery O’Connor, The Quintessential Shakespeare.  You know.  The usual.  Start with the Shakespeare while you’re still pregnant.  Then you can finish before your child is old enough to ask questions you can’t answer.

5.      Make Pinterest your Bible.  Learn how to craft, bake, and decorate better than the Mom next store.  Carefully document all your success by posting photos of your crafting, baking, and decorating accomplishments to Facebook, Twitter, Instagram, and whatever other newfangled technology comes out that you must also become fluent in, lest your child learns how to work it before you, leaving you unable to monitor his or her social media.

6.      Speaking of screen time:  LIMIT IT!  Never mind that iPads and smartphones are essential to functioning in today’s society—you must make sure your children’s time isn’t monopolized by screens (even if you limit them to learning apps and educational videos).  Two hours a week is obviously two hours a week you are giving to the DEVIL.

7.      Since they can’t learn technological skills they need, or you will be considered a bad parent, force them to play outside.  Never mind that outside is filled with strangers, Lyme’s disease, and spiders.  Children need healthy air to fill their lungs (so hopefully you don’t live in the majority area of the country that is filled with smog or pollen), and they need their vitamin D from the sun (but they don’t need skin cancer!  So lather them up with SPF 800 every 20 minutes.  And bug spray.  Spray them with bug spray so that they stink so badly, there’s no way you’ll be tempted to allow them to skip their nightly bath, another sign of substandard parenting).

8.      While they’re outside, make them run.  Teach them to play tag, hide and seek, kickball, dodgeball, and all of the other lost art forms that were hallmarks for those of us who grew up in the nineties and earlier.  I mean, if they don’t learn how to deal with a dodgeball to the face by age 6, what kind of pansy are you raising?

9.      Don’t let your boys cry.  Teach them that boys must be strong.  By strong, we mean humans that pretend they are incapable of feeling emotion, and can therefore never express any signs of weakness ever.

10.  Speaking of boys, discourage all other signs of behavior that indicate any reason someone might question his manliness.  Disallow dancing, cooking, and playing with dolls (even though all women everywhere agree that a man who can dance is sexy, a man who can cook is a Godsend, and a man who enjoys being a good father is the definition of a family man, and what many of us who want to be mothers most look for in a partner).

11.  Don’t forget your girls!  They aren’t allowed to do anything manly.  Discourage familiarity with tools, involvement in contact sports, and all things automotive.  God forbid you teach them life skills that their future husband should handle (even though she might choose to be single).  Or encourage participation in athletics that develop character or understanding of teamwork.  You don’t want her to mess up her make-up.  Which is another issue of concern:  Be careful here, because if you encourage it too early, you’re raising a Jezebel.  If you wait too late, she won’t know how to do her make-up, and she won’t be able to find a date to the prom, or later, a good college boy who wants to make sure everything you spent on her bachelor’s degree is for naught, as he seeks to make her stay home and start popping out babies.  And then, her life will be ruined and you will have failed as a parent.

12.  Breastfeed your baby.  Breast is best!  Haven’t you heard there are eight million benefits and children who aren’t breastfed grow up at higher risk for every single ailment under the sun, including a whole slew of conditions you’ve never even heard of!?!?

13.  BUT don’t let your boobs show evidence that their primary function is or has ever been anything other than arousing men.  Get a boob job as soon as possible after you cease breast feeding.  Wear a push up bra all day everyday until you can afford one, if finances are tight.

14.  The jury is still out on breastfeeding in public.  On the one hand, public breastfeeding shatters the illusion that your breasts are ever used for anything other than sexual play, violating principle #13.  But on the other hand, breastfeeding in public demonstrates your commitment to the aforementioned guideline #12.  It also allows you to crusade for breastfeeding rights, and to feed your child uncovered whenever and wherever you wish.  You get to yell at strangers you make uncomfortable, demanding, “Would YOU like to eat your lunch in the bathroom??” when they suggest you move the baby’s dinner party to the restroom. 

15.  Make sure you have a harrowing birth experience story to tell.  Tell it everywhere you can, but especially tell it to terrified expectant mothers.  Bonus points if you almost died on the table.  Everyone respects a mother more if she almost died on the table giving birth.

16.  But also, have at least one child naturally.  Refuse all pain medication, even when you get to the point that you personally want to go back in time, find Eve, kill her, and tell Adam not to dare eat that blessed apple, lest all women everywhere suffer labor pains because of one bad decision on one broud’s part.  Breathe through the pain.  Bounce on a ball or jump in the tub.  Have a water birth!  You are at one with the universe; never mind that this hurts like a mother, like a 1,352 on a pain scale from 1-10.  People respect a mother who gave birth naturally.

17.  Have only one child.  Anyone who has more than one child is clearly being selfish and shortsighted, because now all the children must learn to share, and your resources (which, let’s be real, no matter how well-off you are, are never endless) can no longer solely be devoted to your little angel.

18.  Have more than one child.  Anyone who has only one child is clearly being selfish and shortsighted, because putting all your resources into one child will spoil your only child like a rotten fruit, and one day you and your spouse will be gone and your poor only child won’t have any siblings to reminisce with.

19.  Be the room mom.  Be the best darn room mom that ever was.  At every possible opportunity, organize committees to address everything from provision of snacks to chaperoning eligibility for both dances and field trips, to raising money for every possible reason you can raise money.  Decide on the most obnoxious fundraisers available, and select the most random products on the market to sell at the highest cost, with only a portion of the donations going to whatever program or cause benefits (marginally) from the sale of popcorn, pizza, candy, or wrapping paper, all of which is ridiculously overpriced.  Run the classroom like you’d be in charge of a group of soldiers—the ship cannot be too tight!  Chase down every parent and force them to donate time or money or both, even if you’ve got a room full of single moms or dads who work two jobs just to survive.  If anyone tries to avoid volunteering or charitable giving, listen patiently to their excuse before you make a snarky comment that is a clear, direct attack on her commitment to her children.

20.  Obviously, all of the above guidelines are total crap.  You will be the perfect mom for your children if you love them, and if day after day, you are doing the best you can.  Volunteer—when you can.  Feed them in as healthy a way as you are able.  Breastfeed them if you can, but remember, a huge segment of the population was bottle-fed, and the vast majority of those people are doing just fine.  If you are a baker, bake.  If you are a decorator, decorate.  If you like crafts, craft till you’re blue in the face.  If those aren’t your talents, don’t worry!  Something is.  And your child loves you for you, so long as you are giving them your time.  There may be seasons where you have less of it, especially if you are a single parent.  It takes a village, so ask for help.  Let your children live and learn, and let them learn consequences.  Don’t protect them from every challenge—learn when to step in and when little Johnny or Suzi needs to understand that they are free to choose their actions, but we are never free from consequences.  Love them.  Sometimes love is tough, and sometimes, it is the most natural thing in the world.  Real love supports your children, no matter their interests and talents.  Real love helps develop those passions without becoming overbearing.  Real love is in the mother-child bond, and you will get there, even if you are having the worst case of post-partum depression there ever was—ask for help.  None of this is easy, even if the mom who bakes makes cookies that make yours look sad, even if the mom next door has a house that’s cleaner than yours, even if the mom down the street got her pre-pregnancy body back and you didn’t.  We all struggle with something.  Don’t feel guilty about being a stay-at-home mama who still can’t keep the kitchen spotless.  Don’t give yourself grief if you couldn’t afford to stay home, or, heck, WANTED to work. This doesn’t make you less of a mother, just like those who stay at home aren’t in any way contributing less to their households.

We are all good at some things. We all struggle in other areas.  Embrace your strengths.  Admit your weaknesses.  Love your children for the unique individuals that they are, just as they will surely love you for being the only woman in the world who could ever possibly be their mom.

And since I Blogged about Christmas, Might as Well Blog about the New Year...

I can remember being in elementary school, watching the teacher at the front of the room remove the “1989,” carefully printed in large block letters in black marker on green construction paper.  That piece of paper fluttered into the wastebasket as my teacher replaced it with “1990.”  She’d also exchanged the name of the month, swapping out “December” for “January.”  She didn’t toss away the name of the month, though.

“The months come again,” she explained, I guess filing “December” away for next year.  “But the years never do.”

I was seven at the time, and as I stared at the trashcan where 1989 had been deposited, I can still remember the sense of sadness I felt as I realized that the year was over, and unlike the passing month, it would never return.  It was gone and finished, never to be displayed in our classroom again.

It was a profound realization.  We don’t get the years back.

I’m not sure what kind of a weird kid I was, that I let that image of the final year of the eighties in the trashcan stay with me all of this time.  On that day, I actually mourned the passing of a year in a way that could be considered similar to that with which adults and older children might grapple with death (a circumstance that fortunately had not yet touched my young life).

But it seems to me now that my fixation on what was lost and over back then has stayed with me all these years later, reminding me that time only moves forward, that it stops for none of us, that you can look back, but never go back.

And while I still think there is a certain sadness in that, I choose to spend more of my time these days being grateful for the months that I know will come round again, rather than dwelling on the years in the past.

True, I won’t be here for all of them—the future summers that I love to spend lying on the beach, the impending winters that bring the excitement of possible snow fall, the springs that promise beauty in blooms and new beginnings.

But the times will keep coming, even after I’m gone.  There is a season for everything.  Ecclesiastes 3:1 reads, “There is a time for everything, and a season for every activity under heaven.”  3:4-7 continue, “a time to weep and a time to laugh, a time to mourn and a time to dance, a time to scatter stones and a time to gather them, a time to embrace and a time to refrain, a time to search and a time to give up, a time to tear and a time to mend, a time to be silent and a time to speak.”

May the coming year bring you more laughter than weeping, more dancing than mourning, more searching, mending, and embracing than their alternatives.  But if the new year contains more of the less desirable aspects of life for you and yours, may God grant you wisdom and understanding as you go through whatever seasons 2019 holds for you.

Charles Dickens began one of his great works with, “It was the best of times, it was the worst of times…”  While this is one of the most renowned beginnings in all of literature, my response has always been:  Well, yeah.  But when wasn’t it?

While there are very real highs and lows likely waiting around the corner for you and me, many of them beyond our control, we also hold a great responsibility in our own lives to choose how we respond to the good and the bad, the thrilling and the devastating, the little moments, both precious and mundane.

Nearly three thousand years ago, the author of Ecclesiastes, most likely King Solomon, came to a similar realization.  In Chapter Five, the book reads, “it is good and proper for a man to eat and drink, and to find satisfaction in his toilsome labor under the sun during the few days of life God has given him—for this is his lot.  Moreover, when God gives any man wealth and possessions, and enables him to enjoy them, to accept his lot and be happy in his work—this is a gift of God” (18-19).

So while your labor may be toilsome or some of your days tedious, whatever your struggles, I pray that you find satisfaction in all that you have been given in the coming year.   Our days may seem like many, but the older we get, the faster they come.  Too often, in the end, it seems we were given too few.  So I pray that you make the ones you were given count, that you find satisfaction in the small stuff, that you choose to be thankful even when your natural inclination might lead you to feel otherwise.  I hope you find joy in all your blessings, big and small in 2019, and I hope you find more reasons to smile than to cry.

Love from my family to yours.

If God allows, we'll celebrate our fifth wedding anniversary this summer.  We've been privileged to experience some of life's greatest joys during these last few years, and we've also made our way through some really low valleys.  I don't know what 2019 has in store for us, but when I close my eyes and remember this moment, I am reminded that God has been so, so good to us, and that the same God who gave us each other was there through the dark times, too.

Christmas Wishes

I am where traditions come to die.

My mother, like her mother before her, hand-stitched beautiful, painstakingly created Halloween costumes every year.  We have been elaborate mermaids and He-Men, pirates and princesses.  Once, my brother Johnny was a giant, well-designed hot dog.

Me?  I buy some overpriced, pre-packaged costume the week or day before it is needed.

My mother bought us unique Christmas ornaments every year, envisioning that we would eventually take them all with us and put them on our own trees when we were grown.

While a few of mine have survived, and some have even made their way onto the tree, I’m ashamed to say that the vast majority of them probably now live in a box in the garage, the result of several moves to different apartments and houses through my early and late twenties.  I’ve not had it together enough as an adult to start a similar tradition for my own children, though they do each have a “Baby’s 1^st” ornament.  I can’t even claim credit for buying those—my oldest child’s was a gift from my sister-in-law, and my younger daughter, who happens to have two, received one because her father picked one out of the gift shop in the hospital, as she was born in December, and the other came from (you guessed it) my mother.

And speaking of Christmases and trees, ours comes out of a box.  Well, a series of boxes, and because it’s so old—a hand-me-down—the colored labels that tell us which hole to insert which branch are all peeling off, making putting this tree together a special treat.  I wonder if my father is ever rolling in his grave at the notion of his daughter putting up an artificial tree.  He’d probably roll his eyes even more at our inept struggle to put the long branches near the bottom and the shorter one near the top, in spite of my grumbling that the color coding system is broken. 

My father would never have found himself in a situation such as this.  He had to go find the biggest tree on the lot for his family, every single year—perhaps like his father before him?  One Christmas I swear our tree had to have been twelve feet tall (our house, the same one I grew up in, is not big by any standard, but we do have vaulted ceilings in the living room—and I vaguely remember this tallest of trees touching the highest peak of the ceiling, the uppermost part of it bowed beneath the peak of the house, not exactly allowing for artful placement of a star).

It's not that I don’t try.  I want to be one of those moms who makes cookies for Santa and reads about Jesus’ birth on Christmas Eve.  It’s just that I also happen to be the kind of person who thinks that Christmas Eve is a pretty good time to, you know, start wrapping presents.

I’ve been a procrastinator most of my adult life, I guess.  I don’t mean to be.  There are aspects of my time I manage particularly well—at work, for example, where if I didn’t get things done in a timely manner, I probably wouldn’t have a job.  I faithfully serve at church each week, offering a smile and a handshake to church members, visitors, strangers.  I’m always on time and ready to do what is asked of me.

But when it comes to momming, I’m never going to be room mom or hold office in the PTO.  I’m probably not even going to make it to story time at the library, even though I think that’s a great idea in theory.

I’m just not wired that way.

But here is what I can promise my children, each and every Christmas:

As long as I’m alive, there will never be a day that I won’t want to hug you.

I pray for you as often as I think of you.

They won’t always make it to the table for Santa, but my chocolate chip cookies will be the best you’ve ever tasted, and I will teach you how to make them.

I will teach you to be kind.  I will do my best to model selfless living, and show you what it looks like to treat others the way that Jesus would.

We will value laughter in our house.  I believe how often we laugh is a much more accurate measure of our wealth than the numbers on the bank statements.

You will grow up in a house where the number one rule is “God first.”  Our other rules include “Don’t let anyone win”—I did inherit my competitive nature from my father, I suppose—and “Do things that make sense.”

It goes without saying that we will love each other in this house.

I will not be the kind of mother who protects you from ever feeling a consequence.  I will not argue with your teachers over grades or make excuses for you if you are in the wrong.  Instead, I will love you through any sort of disappointment you face, whether it is one you created yourself because of your own choices, or one that you must face simply because of unfair circumstances.

I will be the first to admit that life is not always fair.  I will do my best to teach you how to let this realization make you better, not bitter.

I will teach you that being more selfish is never the answer.

I will teach you that sour cream and onion potato chips are clearly the most superb amongst all flavors, and if you refuse to learn this lesson, good.  That means there will be more for me.

I will teach you the true meaning of Christmas—all about love, grace, forgiveness, faith, and joy.  Each of these, which are the secret to living a life well-lived regardless of the season, are demonstrated through Jesus' birth, and I will make sure to explain as best I can how I know this to be true.  Some years, there will be many presents under our tree.  Other years, they might not be abundant.  I will try to teach you how to experience joy, no matter what is wrapped up and waiting for you Christmas morning.

My greatest joys in life are being your mother, being your father’s wife, and being a daughter of God.  I will try to show you how to love your parents and grandparents by loving my own mother and grandmother.  It is one of my greatest regrets that you never got to watch me love your grandfather, and that even if you had been old enough to experience that time, I might have shown him more obviously how much I loved him, so that neither you nor he could have doubted it.

I will love my husband and try to put his needs above my wants, as I believe he does the same for me.  I pray you find this kind of love, and when you find it, you don’t give up on it.  I will do everything in my power to show you how a real marriage is a partnership, that love is a feeling but also a choice.  That you must choose love day after day.

So, my dear children, choose love.  Whether you grow up to be the bake sale queen or the scattered artist, the mom who does all organic or baby yoga or still has a girls’ night complete with wine or all or none of the above—love your kids as best you can, in the way that is natural to you.  Listen to all of the people God has put in your path to guide you, but at the end of the day, make your decisions about how to live your life for an audience of one—what do you think is best in this situation, and what would God say about it?

Above all, choose love. 

PS--As I write this, there's a freaking squirrel in the fireplace.  Your father tried to force it to evacuate Chevy Chase style, enlisting one of you--the elder--to "SHOO it, SHOO it."  I'm not sure exactly how that worked out, but due to the scratching I can still hear directly behind me in the chimney in back of the recliner, I'm thinking:  Wildly Unsuccessfully.  There's always been a little bit of National Lampoon in our family--Chevy Chase was one of my dad's favorites.  Don't be ashamed of the everyday crazy.  Embrace it.

Thoughts on Writing... I'm Done!

So, a few months ago, I had started a series of posts exploring my Thoughts On Writing, and I had ambitiously decided to come up with thirty-six reflections on my relationship with writing in celebration of my thirty-sixth birthday.

That was a stupid idea.

Well, maybe the idea was okay.  And if I really wanted to, I could probably continue pushing myself to come up with tidbits to share... but the problem is, as it usually is, that my intentions are good, but my commitment to my execution?  Not so much.

Maybe that should be something I learn about writing:  Follow through!

But the truth is, when it matters, I do.

I finished my dissertation--on time, even!

I've finished a draft of my latest book-length project--a memoir.

I finish short stories.  I finish essays.  Sometimes I even finish poems, though I rarely share those.

But just as often, I do leave things unfinished.  Maybe this is the life of the writer--abandon some projects in favor of others.  Know when to save it for later, or perhaps, call time of death.

I'm calling time of death on Thoughts on Writing.  Writing about writing is fun and all, and the thirty-six ways were a challenge to help me keep my commitment to post more regularly.

(You see how well that worked out).

But they've served their purpose--I got a few posts out of the project (three to be exact, for a grand total of EIGHTEEN THOUGHTS ON WRITING!), and as usually happens this time of the year, no matter what my intentions, blogging is now taking a backseat.

To grading and planning and meetings.

To school:  Both my own work (it is a nice change of pace to not be a student, for once in the last eight semesters!) as well as each of my daughters' schools (Yes, Shay goes to SCHOOL now--can you believe it?).

To searching for crock pot recipes.  To preparing crock pot recipes.

To losing the never ending war that is trying to clean my house.

To rooting for the Ravens and dealing with the jubilee and despair my fandom brings me.

To scheduling time with Rashieme and Kaliah and Shay--whereas lazy summer days allow us to spend time together--or not--as we see fit, I have to be more intentional about allocating time for and to my family when the chaos of the academic semester starts revving up.

To writing other stuff--for work, for me, for church.

So yeah, my thoughts on writing?  I've thought enough about it.  Lol.

I'd rather spend the time I would have dedicated to writing about writing to writing something else--because at the end of the day, our time is limited.  I've written enough about being a writer.

I want to write about living.

And as the great Henry David Throeau once said, "How vain it is to sit down to write when you have not stood up to live."

Thoughts on Writing Part III... (The Potty Training Edition)

Potty training is on my mind today.

I wrote a funny piece about it, the process of potty training our youngest, and, actually, I am super excited to announce that its publication will be forthcoming in a hilarious collection of humorous literature online called Defenestration.  But in thinking about writing that piece (and dealing with the daily victories, frustrations, setbacks, and learning that is potty training), I’ve been thinking about how much of what I’ve learned about writing is similar.

So, for today’s reflections, here are six lessons learned about writing that also apply to potty training.

13.  Celebrate the small successes.  Joy hath no depth greater than that of a toddler telling her daddy she pee-peed on the potty.  We’d all be wise to celebrate accomplishments that, much like peeing on the potty, have gotten a bit routine over the years.  For writers, celebrate success however you can--share the good news with other writers, friends, your family--whoever will be excited for you.  

14.  Realize you’re going to get messy.  I won’t get into the details of the analogy to potty training here, as it’s both graphic and obvious.  But writing is the same way, whether you’re seeking publication or not.  Writing about painful memories is messy.  Getting rejected is a crappy feeling. Be prepared for it, and know it is perfectly normal.

15.  Reward yourself.  With Shay, we award her with a song and dance routine that reflects our joyous celebration of her successful use of the toilet.  And, often, we also give her a cookie.  Figure out what your goals as a writer are, and when possible, reward yourself for meeting goals, for sticking to your schedule, for landing a "no" that wasn’t a flat out form rejection.  Have a cookie.  A glass of wine.  A night out with friends, a pair of new shoes.  Heck, hang a favorite sentence on your fridge, and then reward yourself with something yummy inside of it.

16.  Speaking of sentences on the fridge:  Be your own validation.  My two-and-a-half-year-old, Shay, often exclaims, “Big girl!”  It’s both lovely and admirable, the sheer confidence she has in herself, the truth she feels in that statement, as she declares herself to be a big girl.  I mean, she’s wearing the panties!  Who am I to argue with her?  We struggling writers should remind ourselves:  “We’re writers!” No publisher, agent, teacher, or critic can tell us that we’re not, even if we’re not yet as successful as we long to be.

17.  Deny yourself.  (I know, exactly the opposite of number 15).  But with Shay on the potty, we don’t always allow her everything she wants—we sometimes hold out.  I’ll tell her she can’t have more juice until she uses the potty.  As writers, what can we deny or delay until we’ve reached our goals?  For me, in the summer, maybe I'll forgo a morning at the beach to finish revising a draft. (And then I can have an afternoon at the beach!)

18.  And about that—set some goals!  Maybe they’re obvious and you don’t need to write them down.  For example, I don’t need to write down that my hope for Shay is that her underwear stay clean all day, just like I don’t need to put it in print that I’m going to write five pages each day—I wake up knowing that is my goal!  But perhaps it will be helpful to write down an objective or two: Write a story that makes my kid laugh.  Be published in a particular publication.  Write a novel in x amount of time.  In other areas of my life, I’ve written down a goal and pinned it above my desk where I’ll see it every day.  That might be helpful for some aspiring writers, and you know what?  Maybe I’ll take my own advice, set some new writing goals, and tack them up above my desk or tape them to my mirror.  Just like I love crossing items off a to-do list, I am all about looking at bigger "to dos" and realizing that they have become "Done."

So while I'm thinking about my next steps, and what big To Dos I'm going to be brave enough to write down.... In the meantime, I’m going to try to keep my big girl dry in her big girl panties!  Stay well everyone—keep writing, mom-ing, and whatever else it is you are doing.

Shaylin acting modest... she's a VERY big girl!