Brave, Anyway

Author: bravegirlwannabe

  • Mom Things

    Mom Things

    Of all the things about adulthood that I didn’t expect, susceptibility to Mom Guilt is probably the most surprising to me.

    Healthline defines Mom Guilt as the pervasive feeling of not doing enough as a parent, not doing things right, or making decisions that may “mess up” your kids in the long run.

    Urban Dictionary adds a bit of flavor: Guilt a mother feels anytime she takes time to do something for herself, outside of work, that does not involve her children.

    I am not a person who coexists with regrets. While I certainly have my moments of despair, my natural mindset is how do I deal with now or what is the next best step right now. I guess because I am a project manager at heart. I like maps and outlines and project plans. I like confidence and I like decisiveness. And maybe above all I like clarity, both in how it’s going and where it’s going.

    Parenthood comes with the complete opposite of all those things.

    The opposite of plans and clarity is way, way, way outside my comfort zone. And being way outside my comfort zone on the most important job I have just doesn’t feel good. And so Mom Guilt gets a little traction in my brain and before I know it I’m laying awake at 3 am wondering if the decisions I’ve made will result in humans who are go-getters or who are spoiled or who feel stifled or who are self-aware or who can think for themselves or who are paralyzed when it’s time to make a decision.

    Worse: will my not loving (or understanding even a tiny little bit) the 876th hilarious TikTok they’ve shown me today result in children who don’t want to share things with me?

    Or even worse: will my refusal to cave to a last-minute activity request result in an 18-year-old who tattoos profanity all over her body before she runs off to the Lollapalooza of the 2020s so she can find herself and her soulmate?

    Sometimes it’s very easy to wonder if you’re getting it all wrong, like at 3 am when you’re brain is stuck in panic mode or when your child stands in front of you and says you’re no is ruining EVERYTHING.

    The only thing that really fixes that wondering for a time is the occasional glimpse or insight into what my children think when they are not having “a moment.” Of me, of the world, of people, of God.

    This week I was blessed to find this gem in the bouquet of Mom things Audrey made. It’s a reminder that I have a lot to live up to, and also that maybe I’m doing OK even though I have those moments when I’m sure I’m not.

    Suddenly, everything was right with the world. At least for a few seconds, until she shared that she added the one that says she likes when I cook because that’s what all the other kids were writing about their Moms. She didn’t color that one, like it was lacking truth. Or maybe just lacking flavor, much like some of my cooking. Raising truthtellers is not for the insecure.

  • Goodnight Moon

    Goodnight Moon

    This week seems to be all about the moon. Full moon. Blood moon. Super flower moon. Moonbin rode a bike with training wheels (social media makes us dumber). And I even came back across the moon walk episode of The Crown.

    The moon can somehow be mysterious and comforting and ominous all in one week, or maybe even all at the same time. As a young person first reading and absorbing the not-so-common parts of the Bible, I was absolutely terrified by the thought that the “the sun will turn into darkness, and the moon into blood, before the great and terrible day of the Lord comes.” More recently, I’ve read Goodnight Moon to my girls hundreds of times – Ella always loved saying goodnight to the cow jumping over the moon and Audrey liked the little old lady whispering hush.

    Audrey and I stare at the moon sometimes as we talk at night, especially if her day has been a day. One great lesson the moon teaches is that we often only see one part of a thing – whether it’s waxing or waning in a clear or cloudy sky, we tend to focus only on the parts of things or times or people or situations that we can see, or that we want to see. And sometimes we do that even when we know there is so much more just beyond our current focus or line of sight.

    And then there’s the moon’s surface filled with craters, the result of space stuff colliding into it over however many thousands or gazillions of years, that reminds us that we can take a pretty severe series of hits – physically or mentally or spiritually – and still survive. Our scars, like those craters, bear witness to our strength and resilience and character.

    The moon is something the whole earth has in common. That people of all languages and locations and terrains and beliefs have in common. That humanity has in common. People all over the world look up at the same moon.

    We all share the moon.

    We all seek its light.

    The moon is a reminder that we are all a part of something a little bigger. That we are tiny and the world is vast. That sometimes the situations we think are insurmountable are actually very small.

    Image from NASA’s Lunar Reconnaissance Orbiter , 2015.

    All of us that look up toward the sky to see the moon are more alike than we are different. Or maybe it’s more accurate to say we’re more alike as it relates to the core things. We want to live in safety and peace. We want shelter and food. We want to be loved and to be treated well. We want to be happy (and our saying for that is over the moon!)

    As I catch up on the news from around the world tonight, I can’t help but think about all the other people looking up.

    Goodnight to those facing sickness; may your bodies and minds find healing, and may you know you are not alone.

    Goodnight to those facing the impact of gun violence; may you be comforted.

    Goodnight to those listening for noises that mean danger; may you stay safe.

    Goodnight to those who are confused; may you find clarity.

    Goodnight to those who fear or are anxious; may your mind be at rest.

    Goodnight to those who are sad, for reasons you know or don’t know; may you find joy.

    Goodnight to those who are angry; may you be filled with love.

    Goodnight to those who don’t have provisions; may they find you or you find them.

    Goodnight to all the helpers; may blessings chase you down.

    And goodnight moon. May all who look upon you this night sleep peacefully.

  • Counting Every Blessing

    Counting Every Blessing

    Sometimes we don’t know what we don’t know or we don’t know what we’ve been missing, until we experience a thing and realize that’s what we’ve needed.

    For the first time in over a year, I went to church to worship in person this morning. I’ve been watching the service online each week and that’s been a beacon of light and hope amidst all the darkness and chaos. Online church offers many things in-person church doesn’t – you get to choose the time you want to listen, you can sit in your jammies and pause if needed, and you have privacy to have a moment or be moved without anyone noticing. But what it doesn’t offer, and that I’d forgotten and perhaps taken for granted, is things like hugs from people who feel like family, prayer in unison with others, and conversation with people with whom you have the most important thing in common.

    I was nervous about going into a place with so many people, even though I knew we’d all be wearing masks and social distancing. We’re all vaccinated, but still the thought of being physically close to people again seemed strange and a little scary. I resolved to arrive at the last minute, keep my distance, and leave promptly – and I broke every single one of my own rules.

    We arrived early because Audrey and I were excited to go and ready early and trying to decide if it used to take 25 minutes or 35 minutes to get there. We walked into an entry filled with familiar faces, and within two minutes I had hugged someone – not because he hugged me, but because I found myself saying “we’re vaccinated so you’re getting a hug!” And then when the service was over, we stayed around to chat and were among the last to walk out and say our goodbyes on the stairs.

    I didn’t want it to end, I was so happy.

    It was in the middle of the service that I looked at the pew in front of me and noticed the emoji face etched into the wood. Two eyes and a mouth in a straight line. The emoji that’s not happy or sad. The emoji that’s blah. It’s the one called Neutral Face, and it’s how I didn’t know I’ve been feeling because of the absence of worship with people.

    As we sang and talked about counting every blessing, these are the ones that filled my heart and the things I want to remember about this day.

    • When I mentioned the possibility of going to church to Audrey, I thought she would be hesitant because it’s different than what she was used to. But without any hesitation she eagerly asked “Will Mrs. Reesee be there?” I’m thankful for every Sunday School teacher I and my girls have ever had – from Mrs. Nunn and Momma Gloria in my day to Mrs. Wendy and Mrs. Edie and Mrs. Reesee of more recent days. I’m sure they’ve all had moments where they wondered if any of the kids around them were listening, but the impact they have on lives is so great and just beyond measure.
    • I sat next to my Mom and together we prayed The Lord’s Prayer.
    • Pre-COVID I attended the service that had the progressive people – the one with the band instead of a choir. Right now we’re hosting just one service in person, so that service has a mixture of music types to have a little something for everyone. I had forgotten in my years of always singing along with a band what it’s like to hear voices of all different ages and strengths sing together – from the traditional hymn to the modern song, it was just beautiful to hear the voices of the young and the old and everyone in the middle all mixed up together.
    • Audrey wore wedges today – her first “big girl” shoes. Her triumphant and naughty smile when she raised up on tip toes as my Mom leaned down and said “you are not allowed to get taller than me!” was the absolute best.
    • And finally, I want this visual reminder to stick with me. The further I get from spending time with God in the company of His people, the more my face goes from happy to neutral.

  • God is not dead, nor doth He sleep…

    I am overwhelmed.

    With the guilty verdicts for a murderer.

    With sadness for the family and friends of George Floyd.

    With happiness for the family and friends of George Floyd.

    With relief that the universe righted itself a bit today.

    With bitter sweetness.

    With these words of Longfellow, written during the Civil War as his son fought in the Union army.

    And in despair I bowed my head;
    There is no peace on earth, I said;
    For hate is strong,
    And mocks the song
    Of peace on earth, good-will to men!
    Then pealed the bells more loud and deep:
    God is not dead, nor doth He sleep;
    The Wrong shall fail,
    The Right prevail,
    With peace on earth, good-will to men.

  • Easter People

    Every Good Friday, and actually on all my dark days, my favorite words of Pope John Paul II always come to mind.

    Do not abandon yourselves to despair. We are the Easter people and hallelujah is our song.

    More simply, sometimes our Sunday is just 48 hours away.