Brave, Anyway

Tag: resilience

  • Summer Summer Summer Time

    Summer Summer Summer Time

    I needed a little summer. Sleeping in later because no one has to be at school. Noses with freckles. BLTs with fresh tomatoes and dripping Miracle Whip.

    Except I hate the hot. I love all places with AC and fans and iced green tea. Middle aged women need the chill of fall evenings 24/7, every day of the year.

    Henry was so happy to have Ella home. While he loves anyone and everyone who will feed him, Ella is his favorite person. Also, a 19 pound cat is not an overweight cat – it’s a cat living his best life.

    Henry Fonda loves Ella Hope

    I loved the Olympics. The stories of resilience and sacrifice. I’m a softie old Mom now so I wanted every kid from every country to win. I cheered loudly at the TV when they did. I also shed a few tears when they didn’t. Nothing on The Hallmark Channel makes me cry. Everything about the Olympics makes me cry.

    The only thing funnier than Snoop Dog commentary at the Olympics is Snoop narrating Planet Earth videos.

    Audrey’s summer look was very similar to her winter look: side eye with a Starbucks pink drink in her hand. I threw out my strict rule about bikinis at 13 because I love watching her walk with confidence into the water park, completely uncaring of the scar on her abdomen.

    Pink Pink Pink Everything

    I think I finished filling an old but refinished toolbox for my family room – a box of tools that have helped me adapt, gave me guidance, or enabled me to fix things over the years. It has pieces from family near and far, from earth to heaven, that will always guide me with the hard work.

    The teddy bear has my Dad’s voice in it saying God Bless You while the locket was worn by my Mama when my Papa was fighting somewhere in Europe during WWII.

    It’s been over a year since the girls lost their Dad. They’d hoped to get the Dad gifts they’d given him over the years, maybe the disc golf disks they dyed with him, a couple of sweatshirts. Nope. Apparently some kinds of grief are so intense that it leads to redecorating instead of getting children a shirt that smells like their Dad.

    I stopped watching news. I still read news every day from a variety of sources to make sure there’s balance, but I will no longer click on stories about candidates for any office. This election is basically a repeat of the last one, and I’m not sure why we’re all behaving as if people are going to make different choices. Not filling my brain with “news” has done wonders for my hope and faith in humanity.

    VCU’s School of Nursing had 140 slots this year, and Ella was offered one. Watching your child find the thing that makes them happy, work toward that goal, and then achieve a huge step toward that goal is a whole new level of joy. At the same time, her anatomy final taught me never to seek her advice about any shoulder injuries.

    Ella got into the School of Nursing!

    This summer we saw anxiety then healing. Sadness then happiness. Chaos then rest. Faith then miracles. I shed no tears when I left Ella at VCU yesterday. In fact, my smile was so big. I walked away thanking God for who she’s becoming and for all of our progress and blessings. We all needed the healing of this summer and now we are stepping into the glory He promised.

  • Good Grief

    Good Grief

    There’s no right way to grieve people say. To people who are grieving I say There’s no one right way to grieve.

    I am unsure if people mean it when they say it or if they are just offering encouragement. What I am sure of is that after seeing countless family and friends grieve people and situations and lives they’d hoped to have, I mean it when I say it to them. What I am equally sure of is that I do not think that it applies to me, because often it feels like I’m grieving all wrong.

    Losing my Dad and my bonus Dad five weeks apart has me asking myself each night if I did the right things that day, if how I am feeling is too much or too little, if they would agree with what I said or did, if I’m setting the right example for my girls, if God is rolling His eyes at me or pleased. And every day I fall asleep still having no idea, really.

    My father-in-law lived with us for almost 15 years. Ella does not remember a time when her Papa Ted wasn’t downstairs. I’m thankful for his consistent and loving presence in their lives, and his support on all their hard days. I’m thankful that he got his wish to spend all his days at home, not in a hospital or in a “place old people go to die.” And I’m thankful that he embraced the unconventional, and that together we showed the girls what family is truly about.

    Grief is so many things throughout each day. It’s sadness when you want to tell that person something. It’s frustration that you suddenly have to figure out a bunch of stuff. It’s happiness that your loved ones are no longer held back by old bodies. It’s anxious idleness during the times of day you previously had tasks with or for them.

    Navigating grief is like driving through the streets in Grand Theft Auto or The Transporter. Sometimes you’re looking for something, sometimes you’re racing, sometimes you make a quick turn to avoid something, sometimes you accomplish something and feel great and celebrate, sometimes something unexpected hits you hard, sometimes great music comes on and makes you smile, sometimes you screech to a halt and don’t know what to do next.

    My current stage of grief is the one with no sappy or slow music of any kind. The Beastie Boys, Eminem and DMX are all safe. Even on the way to church: The Humpty Dance. It’s also the one where I limit the number of people I talk to in a day, where I fall asleep at 8 pm and wake up at 1 with a dozen thoughts all vying for attention, and where I am so secretly enraged at Audrey’s teacher for giving homework that I consider all the steps it would take to find her address and print 100 copies of the work we did and attach them to real estate signs that could then be placed all over her yard. How’s that for showing my work?!

    It’s also the stage where I really want hugs but wonder in the middle of them if I am really doing it right, or at least OK.

    The house is different. The world is different. Maybe I’m different – I’m not sure yet. But a new season is ahead, one where God is going to do a new thing. Whatever that new thing is, today it seems far away. Today’s job is to drive carefully, no tickets and no tricks on just two tires.

  • America the Great

    America the Great

    In the last week I have watched two documentary series about 9/11, and the thing that sticks in my mind above all else is how much we’re capable of coming together. Of helping people, while not even thinking about differences. We can just be good humans and good neighbors.

    If we could just figure out how to do that outside of a tragedy or a war, we might truly be great.

  • 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.

  • Winter of our Quarantine

    Winter of our Quarantine

    It’s been the longest winter ever. The winter of our discontent, you might say, even though I don’t have fond memories of that book.

    Months of cold and rainy weather. A crazy election. Half of America acting like we’re not in a pandemic and now half a million people in our country are gone. Steinbeck’s words could not be more appropriate for all we witnessed this winter: I know three things will never be believed – the true, the probable and the logical.

    All that during a time without church, activities, happy hours, travel, or even two-hour staycations to the movie theater. Homegrown terrorists attacking the capitol was almost a fitting wrap up to this year of upheaval and uncertainty.

    And yet our year of quarantine hasn’t been without benefits, learnings and blessings. Time with family – uninterrupted and without the constant hustle from school to work to activities. Time to read, watch, dream, listen, research, and create. Time to discover new music.

    Gratitude by Brandon Lake is my favorite new music discovery.

    Time to assess priorities and wants and needs. Time to set goals. Time to rest. Time to heal. Time to help. Time to talk. And talk and talk and talk…about everything from mean girls to anxiety to TikToks to the guy on New Amsterdam to voter suppression. And time to just think.

    A few months ago, someone I’ve known for a very long time accusingly told me I’ve changed. A couple of other folks had previously said something similar and I dismissed it. But you know what? They’re right. I have changed. And, in fact, I’m glad about it. And I really should have responded by asking them why haven’t you changed? We’re all supposed to be learning and growing and getting wiser all the time. If we don’t learn from our mistakes and our life experiences and what’s happening in the world around us, what are we doing? Who wants to just run around on a hamster wheel to nowhere?

    I am different. Motherhood changed me – I think of everything in my life in relation to the two most important people in it, because every place I go and decision I make impacts them. Responsibility changed me, in my personal life and in my professional life – it’s not my job to bear all burdens but it’s also not right for me to share all burdens. A cancer diagnosis for my child changed me – it made me question my faith but ultimately strengthened my faith, and it also changed how I think about health care. That’s the thing – experiences are supposed to yield learnings and also greater empathy for others. If we’re staying the same our whole lives, we’re doing it wrong. If we don’t care more about people as we age in years and experience, we’re doing it wrong. If we don’t prune areas and people that don’t want to grow and be better and do better, or that want us to stay the same, we’re doing it wrong.

    Perhaps that’s my most significant quarantine realization: I’ve changed, and it’s good. My lesser learnings can be summed up in a couple of bullets.

    • When I cannot wander the aisles of shoe stores and I don’t have anywhere to wear shoes anyway, I will have Amazon deliver slippers of every kind and in every color so that all work from home outfits still have matching footwear.
    • What the world needs when locked up at home is not at all complex: carbs and Bridgerton.

    A year ago in my wildest dreams I did not imagine that I would not hug my Mom and Dad on Christmas Day, that school would be virtual even though I was clear with the universe and God that I did not find that plan acceptable, or that my temporary home office would become my permanent office. I had no idea how much I would miss lunch with my faves and the sounds and hugs of my church’s hallways. I have missed worship, even though I was not generally a loud singer when I did go in person. I went to two funeral services recently and while I was sad about the passing of both women – both lives well-lived and both women walking the streets of heaven now – my eyes filled with tears in each service because I was in a church and singing old hymns with a group of people. There is something really special about voices in unison, in prayer or in song.

    My very smart friend Joy recently reminded me to read from Job, a book I never turn to. And I realized that the lessons of Job are the lessons of quarantine. We are never alone, even in isolation. We won’t always know the why, and we have to be OK with that in order to grow. Bad things don’t just happen to bad people – they also happen to good people. The times when it’s hardest to have faith are the times when we grow and change the most. And as Job trusted God more…he grew and he changed.