Brave, Anyway

Tag: christian

  • Balance

    Balance

    I learned a new word recently: Koyaanisqatsi. It’s pronounced coy-e-on-e-skat-see and it’s a Hopi word that means out of balance.

    When you really boil it down the word Hopi stands for peace, and the Hopi are known as the peaceful people. Long before the first Europeans landed on our shores and became Americans, and long before the first group of men and women charged across a mostly untouched land to establish homesteads or search for gold, the Hopi lived in America.

    I love and appreciate this country and I love the people in it. I love and appreciate and am thankful for the men and women who have fought in various wars and conflicts over hundreds of years to ensure that my daughters and I can live and worship freely here today. But when I think about the founding of our nation by people committed to a better way of life versus the people of today, I think we have become a people and a nation out of balance.

    What was once a nation that welcomed newcomers seeking safety or opportunity or more freedom is now a nation arguing about walls to keep people out. Koyaanisqatsi.

    What was once a nation of communities that stuck together and made sure all of its families were fed and clothed and tended when sick is now largely a nation of individual people who keep to themselves. A nation arguing over what requirements need to be met for a person to deserve food or shelter or medicine. Koyaanisqatsi.

    As much as we get mad about and write books about millennials and their focus on self, it feels to me like we have become a nation of individuals who are way too entitled. We wax poetic about how little we had when we were young, maybe how our great-grandparents or our parents had to struggle for food or things or college or work, but now it seems no amount of struggle in another is enough to warrant help for that person. I guess we feel we have somehow done something to deserve the good life we have but that others haven’t done enough or aren’t lucky enough. Instead of helping others, which was the necessary way of life when this country was founded, we say we feel sorry for people and we hold out hope for them and we’ll pray for them. And while praying is the absolute right thing for us to do, we must do much, much more.

    What good is it, my brothers and sisters, if someone claims to have faith but has no deeds? Can such faith save them? Suppose a brother or a sister is without clothes and daily food. If one of you says to them, “Go in peace; keep warm and well fed,” but does nothing about their physical needs, what good is it? In the same way, faith by itself, if it is not accompanied by action, is dead. ~ James 2: 14-17.

    I am a Christian, and I am so seriously completely one hundred percent over my people saying we’re praying about something while doing nothing. Those are not the instructions of the God we follow. And not only are we skipping the step of action to help people, in many cases we are complicit in the creation of the situations of people who need help.

    We don’t want all people to have access to the same health care, but we pray for people who are sick. We don’t want to regulate the right to bear arms, but we pray for the victims in mass shootings. We shame women for even considering abortion and then we shame women for needing help once their babies are born.

    Koyaanisqatsi. Koyaanisqatsi. Koyaanisqatsi.

    Our life in America – and there are dozens of kinds of American life depending on your age, race, gender, and access to money – is certainly a good one in comparison to many other countries. We are “better than” in a number of categories when stacked against our peers, but is being good in comparison enough? It’s a question for our country and it’s a question for each one of us as individuals. Just because I haven’t murdered anybody doesn’t make me a good human – it simply, maybe, makes me “better than” someone who has taken the life of another. Just because America provides more freedom than North Korea doesn’t make us a great nation – it simply makes us “better than” a dictatorship.

    I think we are called to be and do much more. That our privilege comes with more hard work and responsibility, not more entitlement. It’s our job to show others what we can do, not look the other way. It’s our job to help all the people we can, not just all the people who can do something for us in return.

    If we expect to continue to live in privilege, we need to live up to the great responsibility given us. We can’t expect to reap a prosperous life or nation when the seeds we are sowing are in things like adding to the debt of our young people, allowing medical bills to force families to declare bankruptcy, treating physical wounds but not wounds of the psyche, or in treating suburban house pets better than children. I don’t think we can expect to continue to live in privilege if we encourage fear of or hatred of people who don’t look like us. I don’t think we can expect to live in privilege if we continue to live out of balance. I don’t think we can expect to live in peace if we continue to live out of balance – each in our homes or in our nation.

    Eagles are an important symbol in both American and Hopi culture. They are symbols of strength and courage and connection and vision. They are not passive creatures; they are creatures that do. That soar. And they are creatures of balance. The bald eagle uses their feathers to balance. As part of their growth process, if an eagle loses a feather on one wing, they will lose a matching feather on the other wing. It’s only when an eagle’s wing is injured, when their wings are out of balance, that they cannot fly.

  • Lessons While We Wait

     

    I witnessed a hit and run last week.

    In a span of about 40 minutes, I saw slices of the worst of humanity and the best of humanity. The worst was an angry young man, screaming and cursing at the man whose car he hit. The best was a soft spoken older man, determined to put peace out into the world instead of more anger.

    After realizing he was physically OK and calling the police to come, we stood under a large shade tree and talked about humanity and peace and water and reciprocity.

    If we do not focus on our peace and put peace out into the world, we cannot ever expect to be filled with peace.

    Water purifies and it baptizes and it cleanses and it is a blessing.

    We get back what we put into things, and our investment of time or money or peace yields greater time or money or peace in our lives.

    It’s amazing how many core beliefs a Muslim man and a Christian woman have in common.

    Since that encounter, I’ve been thinking about reciprocity and how what we invest is what we can expect to manifest. At times in my life I have given with the right intentions and a pure heart, and at other times I have given with the secret expectation or hope of getting something specific in return. Perhaps that’s human nature or perhaps I am selfish and superstitious. Or perhaps all of it.

    When Audrey was just a few weeks old, I saw a commercial for St. Jude. I don’t remember the content exactly, but it had beautiful little faces and parents with expressions of both hope and worry. What I do remember vividly is exactly where I was standing in my bedroom when I saw that commercial, then sitting down on my bed filled with a feeling of absolute certainty that I saw it at just that moment for a specific reason. And I had a very strong desire to invest in something that helped others, specifically in an area where my child needed help.

    I have no idea if that commitment had anything to do with Audrey’s outcome. Logical Beth who consumes data thinks that her doctors knew what they were doing, and giving is not related to healing. Superstitious Beth will not ever stop supporting St. Jude becomes it seems like bad juju/karma/luck. And Christian Beth really wonders sometimes if that decision was a game-changer in the spiritual realm.

    I’ve thought about it over and over and over again in the last 8 years – every time I am at CHKD, every time I see a commercial for St. Jude, every time I sow a seed of any kind. Are the things we invest in little seeds we’ve planted for a big harvest later? Is it really that simple? And if it’s that simple, why doesn’t that principle override all others? Is there a seed some folks have sown or not sown that results in sickness within themselves or their families? Why are some people healed while others are not, seemingly regardless of their seeds?

    I don’t have any answers. I have only questions that lead to more questions, I have a gut feeling that the seed I sowed that day made a difference somehow in the lives of others and in Audrey’s life, and I have a lingering sense of disappointment in myself for the superstitious parts of me.

    Audrey’s annual oncology checkup has a number of traditions. She plays at the big wave on the second floor. She finds her favorite tile – the art project of a bravo kiddo from long ago – and she runs her fingers over the words Hope, Faith and Courage. We walk through the butterfly garden and have some quiet time. We get Starbucks when all of our checks and talks and papers are done.

    Loading the pictures to complete the order for my photo album, I really noticed the other tiles in the art display. There’s A Giving Tree and there are flowers. There’s one that says God will make a way where there seems to be no way. There’s another that says Bring People Together. And those brought my mind back to my friend from the hit and run. We parted with smiles and thankfulness, grasping hands and offering blessings.

    If we’re open to it, I believe we can find goodness everywhere. If we’re open to it, I believe some of life’s most important lessons come in the time of waiting. Waiting for the police to arrive. Waiting for help. Waiting for a therapy to work. Waiting for healing. Waiting for good news. Waiting for the answers to our prayers.

    Or perhaps simply waiting for the seeds we’ve planted to break through the earth.

  • Thoughts Throughout a Day

    …in no particular order, all over the place just like my brain this week.

    An apology without change is just manipulation. (credit: unknown Pinterest person)

    Some people are more worried about what others think of them, how they are perceived by others, than they are about what kind of people they actually are. These people will never be committed to anything or anyone more than they are committed to self and their narrative.

    If you’ve built a narrative for a situation, you are the villain and not the victim.

    Intimacy requires spiritual unity. I had forgotten this.

    Politics and policies are argued by the privileged, who, because of their resources, largely don’t have to live with any of the consequences of their stance. They don’t worry about not having health care or what they’ll do if their daughter becomes pregnant because of a rapist – they have the ability and access to “fix” those things. The masses, who have limited or no resources, are left to live with the results of the discussions of the privileged.

    The Redemption Project with Van Jones really moves me.

    Click Here for a Redemption Project promo.

    Some people deserve the death penalty. It is unfairly meted out in our society, and until or unless we can fix that it shouldn’t be imposed. There are more people living in suburbia who deserve the death penalty than there are sitting on death rows who will be impacted by it.

    Collateral damage is the “unexpected, unintentional, and/or unavoidable losses accompanying or following an accident or failure.” In real life it is a nurse at urgent care, seemingly tending her own old wound that still needs healing, who grabs your hand and says, “People just don’t think.” In real life it is a child’s friend who is now afraid when her parents argue, and it’s also the parents of that child.

    Still thinking about the validity of this thought: People who can’t really look at themselves in a mirror are the ones who most often post selfies.

    Why are SO many people running for President?

    Hospitals see humans at their absolute best and their absolute worst. At birth and at death, and in all the messiness in between.

    There are really good people filling hospitals all around the world. People struggling for breath even though they’ve positively impacted the lives of thousands of people. At the same time, there are people who’ve hurt others that are making plans for the weekend. This life is sometimes seemingly unfair – “seemingly” because people who’ve hurt others and whose lives are filled with narratives can never really rest in security. Not in this life or the next.

    Healing happens in hospitals, but it also happens on country roads, when your windows are rolled down and your music is loud.

    Freedom…Freedom…You got to give what you take…Freedom. Hold on to my freedom…

    Writing in a gratitude journal is an important exercise because it keeps me focused on the most important things. Going back to read old entries in my gratitude journal is even more important because it brings equanimity to my thoughts in a matter of moments.

    I recently found the Bible I used during my teens and twenties. It’s filled with highlighted lines and earmarked pages. The forty-five year old me scanning what’s underlined easily sees this was the resource of an anxious young woman who made many, many mistakes. I am so thankful to find a book with pieces of my story – pieces of me – that I’d forgotten. It’s documentation of my progress in some areas and my lack of progress in others.

    When I’m a big girl, a real adult, I want to publish a book. I’m writing pieces now, but they need to get much, much better. The pieces are like the daily training runs in preparation for a marathon.

    Should I change my kitchen cabinets from white to blue?

    Fatigue caught up with me today. That always happens when danger passes.

    I’m going to keep being me. She’s not perfect, but I like her.

  • There Is Only One Me

    There Is Only One Me

    There is only one me.

    I say it all the time in my head when there’s just too much. I occasionally say it out loud when multiple people are talking to me at the same time.

    There is only one me. I can only be in one meeting at a time, in one place at a time, in one conversation at a time, at one kid activity at a time.

    There is only one me to process the plans and ideas and tests needed from the orthodontist and the dentists and the pediatricians and the special doctors and the guidance counselors and the therapists and the gymnastics coaches and the teachers and the tutors.

    There is only one me to make sure there’s breakfast and lunch and dinner and bread and milk and granola bars and yogurt and chips and brownies.

    There is only one me to monitor friends and social media usage and potential bad influences and Cadbury Egg intake and dresses that have gotten too short. Only one me to make sure the chorus outfit is clean on the right day.

    There is only one me to navigate the that’s unfair and the that’s mine accusations that all siblings of all ages for all time have shouted. There is only one me to say stop touching her or you didn’t ask permission to be in her room. There is only one me to set my jaw and say do not make me pull this car over.

    There is only one me to talk through bad dreams at 2 am. Only one me to provide reassurance, going to the bathroom with the door open and the light on so a kiddo having a hard day doesn’t feel like I’m too far away or not still listening to a detailed story.

    There is only one me to answer hard questions in the moment.

    There is only one me to pick up the pieces after the selfishness of others. Only one me to help them navigate all their emotions. Only one me to be the daily consistent force that cannot let them down. Only one me to be the one they can take everything out on, because I’m the safe one, and they can do that without fear of loss.

    There is only one me to put them first, in every way and in all things.

    There is only one me to kiss booboos and bandage scrapes. Only one me to hold hands while nurses do blood draws and scary new doctors do exams.

    There is only one me to check that everyone made it on the right bus at the right time, and made it home at the right time, or to a program or an activity or a game at the right time.

    There is only one me to make sure backpacks and binders have all the right papers signed and all the right homework in them.

    There is only one me to show them how to set boundaries and that sometimes decisions come with consequences.

    There is only one me to see the moments when they really need a boost of confidence and the encouragement to believe in themselves. Only one me to make sure I see it and they get it.

    There is only one me to talk to them about God and take them to church and show them the benefits and difficulties of a life lived based on core principles.

    There is only one me to teach them and show them that true happiness is found when we can live in such a way that we can be proud of ourselves, knowing we have integrity when no one is looking.

    There is only one me who can show them that when people let us down, which is inevitable, we can still be happy and have lives that we love.

    There is only one me after they go to sleep, working hard to reign in my horror and frustration that people drink, play, laugh, post selfies and talk about love and happiness while children spent the week at doctor appointments. When children see that hypocrisy and selfishness for themselves, there’s only one me to say I don’t have an explanation and it’s tone-deaf and it’s wrong.

    There is only one me to teach them that forgiveness benefits us, even if others don’t deserve it and even if it benefits them and their narrative.

    There is only one me responsible if I make the wrong call about everything from their health care to shirts that show midriff. Only one me to fret at the end of long days that I’m not doing a very good job at all.

    There is only one me. Only one me who sometimes gets stuck in a pity party. Only one me who sometimes gets caught up in a panic about getting it all done and the weight of it all.

    There is only one me who can give them a happy, healthy Momma.

    There is only one me, constantly thankful for Papa Ted and Grammy and Papa. Constantly thankful for my sister. Constantly thankful for my neighbors and friends who love my girls and have hugs and encouragement for them and me at just the right time.

    There is only one me thankful every day that I get to be the Mom of Ella and Audrey. Thankful even for days of extreme ups and downs with everything from doctor appointments to strawberry picking to silly shoe shopping to arguments in the car to cartwheels in Sams Club.

    The truth is, there has always been only one me. There is only one me, and I am more than enough. There is only one me, and I am human and make mistakes. There is only one me, and I will apologize and fix it when I do. There is only one me, and I got this.

    There is only one me, and I wouldn’t have it any other way.

  • April Fool’s Birthday Girl

    Fourteen years ago, in the middle of the night, I was doing the exact same thing as I am right at this moment: laying in bed with my daughter just a few feet away, marveling about her.

    Ella was born not long after midnight, on April 1. After all the post-delivery chaos of Apgar scores and examinations and congratulations, everyone went home and I was alone in a dimly lit hospital room with Ella. I had a daughter, a little swaddled baby making faint sighing noises in her sleep. I was a mother, and it was really just remarkable and unbelievable that a life had come from me. We were a team now, me and this little being with giant blue eyes that had seemed to look all around my face when I whispered to her. We were a team and that little girl should have been terrified because the Mom on her team had absolutely no idea how to care for a baby or what she was doing.

    I wasn’t a child who’d dreamed of being a Mommy. I wasn’t a teenager who’d babysat to make extra money. I wasn’t a person who held other people’s babies. In the more than three decades of my life prior to Ella’s birth, I’m not sure if I held any baby other than my nephew – and that was always supervised by people who knew what they were doing. My poor kid had a Mom with a very short resume. I’d gone to a class to learn how to breathe consistently during her birth process, I’d learned in that class that I had to always always always hold and support her neck and head, I’d read a couple of books about babies and I’d even read ahead in the infamous What to Expect the First Year manual, and a nurse maybe 30 minutes prior showed me how to give her a bath. At any Mom company on the planet, I would not get the job.

    Ella is 14 years old today. So the good news is that despite my lack of qualifications and preparedness, I did manage to keep her alive. Although I’m not sure that’s really much of an accomplishment. What you learn as your child ages and as you have multiple children is that they’re built pretty tough and I could have probably better utilized my countless hours fretting about things like possible milk or nut or bee allergies, could she get botulism if honey was simply nearby, when to switch from car seats to booster seats, and even if french fries with pointed ends could be too stabby in her mouth.

    The real fretting settles in later, and seems especially heightened at this stage. The real question to fret over is am I guiding her toward being a good person? Or maybe it’s could her life be better if I did something differently? Or maybe it’s have I laid a solid moral foundation? Or maybe it’s am I properly protecting her from bad stuff and bad people? Or maybe it’s am I properly preparing her to inevitably face bad stuff and bad people? Or maybe it’s am I setting a proper example? Or maybe it’s have I prepared her to say no and yes at the proper times?

    There is no end to the things I can fret about, and sometimes I just get exasperated with all the fretting I cannot seem to relinquish and I think I should have stuck to raising cats – I am certain I can do that! And yet I must explore all these questions and constantly assess and reassess what’s missing and what’s off and what’s right and what’s wrong. I have to do that because I’m a Mom, and because my greatest responsibility and privilege is to be her Mom. No other responsibility or people or thoughts or desires or work are more important than her and Audrey, or than what I need to do as a Mom.

    I’ve never been one of those people that wanted to throw their kids giant birthday celebrations every year. It’s exhausting to plan and host those events and it’s exhausting to take your kids to them throughout the school year. Last year we had a party because Ella was finally a teenager and because I wanted to bring her joy in a time of confusion and sadness and anger. And so until about a week ago I’d expected to have a quiet birthday with her this year. She started talking about having a friend or two over and then another friend and then another, and then it was going to need to be different people on different nights and I found myself panicking at the thought of having very little time to prepare. And just as all the panic was at its peak, I realized that Ella has only four birthdays left in her official childhood. Four. Four is nothing. A tiny number. How could there possibly be only four childhood birthdays remaining?

    So we celebrated. We had two sleepovers, two cakes and a set of cupcakes, stacks of facial scrubs and masks, trampoline jumping way after bed time, shopping with gal pals at the mall, singing at Olive Garden, and countless pieces of candy. I’m exhausted and my house is even messier than the mess it was last week. I have a recycle bin full of empty pizza boxes, a basket full of laundry, a trash can full of makeup wipes and KitKat wrappers, and a Momma heart full of gratitude.

    I am grateful for Ella, a young lady who’s lovely inside and out. A kind and thoughtful friend. A super smart math whiz. A talented singer and actor and gymnast. A child of God who prays about everything, from the need for guidance about big issues to finding her phone charger. A young lady full of empathy and the desire to care for people who struggle. She may not keep her room clean, but she will take money out of her own wallet for CHKD or to feed the homeless or to buy a treat for a friend who’s feeling down.

    I am grateful for the village of people in her life. I am grateful for the choices she’s now making about what kind of people to add to her village – I may have made the initial choices about who surrounded her, but she’s old enough to make her own choices about those things now, and she’s choosing well. And I am grateful that she’s such a wonderful young person despite all my flaws and mess ups.

    In the stillness of night tonight, in a dimly lit room just like on our first night, I laid quietly by myself and prayed for sweet Ella. No matter what she may encounter in her life I want her to know deep inside and beyond a shadow of a doubt – or as my Dad would say “that she knows that she knows that she knows” – that she is loved beyond measure and that it is a privilege to be her Mom. I pray that she would love life and be filled with joy. I pray that she would get into the college she wants and have the career that she wants and get the life partner that’s just right for her and that she will keep her priorities straight. I pray that when she’s happy or sad or mad or has messed up or done something great, she will always want to call her Mom. And I pray that I will always have discernment about how to pray for her and how to guide her and how to be a blessing to her.

    Happy Birthday, Brave Girl. I love that you are 14 and still call me Mommy, even when your friends are around. In exchange, I will no longer publicly chase you to smother those perfect cheeks with kisses.

    Picture submitted by and approved by Ella.