Brave, Anyway

Tag: storm

  • Faith and Trees

    Faith and Trees

    I pray for trees.

    I don’t know if this is a middle-aged crazy lady thing or a just a trust-God-in-all-things thing. Perhaps it’s a bit of both. But yesterday, I found myself praying for my trees.

    Hurricane Isaias seemed like it would be a non-event. Maybe I no longer worry about storms that don’t bring Jim Cantore to town or maybe my threshold for what gets categorized as chaotic and dangerous is greater after the first half of 2020, but I really didn’t think much about this storm. Over the weekend, I did my regular grocery shopping and I didn’t even buy water bottles even when I noticed a few people with carts full of supplies.

    It wasn’t until yesterday afternoon, as I sat in my home office and noticed the wind pick up and the dark clouds roll in, that I started to wonder if maybe I had not prepared as I should. I went outside to pull the basketball hoop down and an angry sky stared down at me.

    Hurricane Isaias clouds on Monday, August 3.

    I checked the forecast and relaxed a bit. Sustained winds in the 50 MPH range, with max occasional winds of 75 MPH, and not too much rain. I have a generator and a pantry full of food, I thought. We’ll be fine.

    But what about my trees? I love the trees in front of my house. They shelter our home, providing shade for us, and they are also the home for a couple of red birds. I lost a giant piece of my favorite tree last fall, so I know they aren’t indestructible. And then my neighbor in the culdesac lost a tree just like one of mine maybe two weeks ago, following a very mild storm. What if my trees couldn’t withstand the coming winds? Maybe I should have had them trimmed back. Maybe I should have at least called the tree guy before storm season.

    I didn’t know what to do and there really wasn’t anything I could do. So I relinquished the worry as I put my hand on each tree and asked God to protect it.

    Audrey caught me and asked what I was doing. Mommy, you’re praying for the trees?! She grinned at me and laughed a little, and I could tell she wasn’t sure what to think of me. But you know what? That’s OK. I decided it was a teaching moment and hoped I wouldn’t regret my words. I love these trees and God knows the desires of my heart, I told her. What’s important to me is important to Him.

    Sometimes we know a storm is coming, and we prepare. Sometimes we have no idea that a storm is coming and we are caught unprepared. Sometimes we know a storm is coming and we fail to prepare.

    I thought about those three categories of storm preparedness throughout the night as I listened to the wind whip around my house. But I did not look out the windows to check on my trees, determined to trust they’d be fine. Hoping that if I had enough faith, they’d be fine.

    This morning, Audrey and I went out for a walk and found that our trees had a few branches that needed tending, but they were standing tall and absolutely fine. Better than fine – they were beautiful, actually, as the bright blue sky showed through their branches.

    The sky through the trees after Isaias, on Tuesday, August 4.

    And I recalled the words of Dharius Morshun Daniels, who I watched preach recently, and I realized there’s a fourth category of storm preparedness: sometimes we have no idea a storm is coming, but we find ourselves prepared. His words came back to me: Just because you’re surprised doesn’t mean you’re not prepared.

    Prayer is part of preparation. Faith is part of preparation.

    3-Minute Video on Facebook: It’s Doubt That’s Illogical

    Dharius Morshun Daniels went on to say When I look at God’s track record in my past, doubting Him in my present is actually illogical. It would seem like faith would be illogical, but when you look at how faithful God has been, it’s actually doubt that is illogical.

    There hasn’t been a time when God has not come through…even with my trees.

  • Dads and Dogs and Peace

    Dads and Dogs and Peace

    At least a thousand times in years 1-21, I heard my Dad say If you hang around with dogs, you’ll start barking like a dog. Even now at 46 years of age it sort of makes me want to roll my eyes.

    I hadn’t thought about that line in years until I recently heard this gem:

    You catch what you’re close to.

    It’s true for children and it’s true for adults. It’s true in our personal lives and in our professional lives. It’s true with the virus the world is watching right now. It’s true spiritually, regardless of what faith you practice. It’s true with belief systems and morals – the tendency to follow the belief systems of our families in our youth. You catch what you’re close to.

    Dozens of studies tell us that if we surround ourselves with people who focus on positivity, we’re more likely to find ourselves focused on the positive. If we surround ourselves with people who are committed to living with certain principles we are more likely to maintain commitment to principles. If our close friends commit crimes we are more likely to commit a crime.

    So it turns out, the old southern “you can’t waller with pigs and not get dirty” and “you can’t sleep with the dogs and not get fleas” are based on some science and more than just naggy parentisms. (The latter sleeping with dogs and fleas example makes me laugh more than it should for a variety of reasons.)

    Father’s Day has me thinking about the things that make my Dad my Dad, and the most important things I have learned from him. In contrast to evidence that you’re likely to hold the same belief systems as your parents, I do not think John Wayne is one of the greatest actors of all time.

    However, even though we tend to vote differently, on most of the really big things we agree. And it’s his example and his words that have been a lighthouse on every day with rough seas.

    One of my earliest memories of my Dad is of us kneeling in prayer. It’s so funny now to think about him in that environment, surrounded by Barbies and next to a frilly Holly Hobby canopy bed. He was showing me what is most important while also showing me that location isn’t important – we can spend time together and with God in the tiniest or the messiest of places. On a beach, in a car, in a fast food restaurant, in a parking lot, in a small apartment, in a church, on the steps at school…anywhere and everywhere my Dad has always made the most of his time with me.

    More than three decades later, when Audrey was about 3 months old, we received some concerning news about the cancer she was battling. One of my favorite moments with my Dad, which is also one of the biggest moments of learning from him, happened as I rocked her to sleep in her nursery. He stood next to me, again in a place surrounded by pink little girl things, with his hand on my shoulder, praying for me as I prayed for her. I was praying test results would show Audrey was cancer-free, while he was praying that I would have joy and peace.

    The job title parent doesn’t end when our children reach adulthood. That day I learned from my Dad what I had read about dozens of times but never really grasped – that peace is what guards our hearts and minds when we are struggling, that peace is how we are not alone, that peace is the path to authority and control, and that peace is the path to victory.

    Peace is what my Dad has passed to me over and over and over again. In his actions. In his words. In his prayers.

    You catch what you’re close to. Thanks, Dad, for Peace and peace. In my life, and in the lives of your granddaughters.

    My Dad. Fierce protector of teenage daughters, and even today at almost 80, questioning his teenage granddaughter about boys.
    This is the look that my Dad has when he thinks I’ve lost my mind, as I tried to explain that this was a way to get us both in the picture while standing apart for social distancing.
  • Right-Side Up

    Right-Side Up

    I started a note in my phone a few weeks ago, on a day that I was particularly grumpy and at my max. A note of things to be thankful for, particularly in this day and in this moment and in this circumstance. I did the same thing a few years ago in the year that Audrey was not yet cancer-free, to help steer me away from negativity and nervousness, and to guide my focus toward the positives in each day.

    This morning I sat down in my yard with this handsome guy, who I’m thinking might be the father of an addition to our family, and opened up the note to add something – and I realized how long the note had gotten and for the first time reread many of the entries.

    Sometimes I hear Audrey talking to someone in her room and I get annoyed wondering who she could be talking to at such an early hour, and I start to grumble at her. And then I discover she was just bored because no one else was awake, and she’d called my Mom who she knows gets up at dawn each day. I love hearing those voices together, laughing, to begin my day.

    Audrey waits in the hallway upstairs, just outside the room where I work, for my daily 5 pm meeting to end. When it does end, she runs in and says Is it time for end-of-the-day hugs?! And she jumps into my arms and squeezes really tight.

    Ella, at midnight, stopping in my doorway to see if I’ve fallen asleep yet. Nite, Mommy. Love you. My 15-year-old still calls me Mommy, even in front of her friends.

    My sister, who I can always count on to give it to me straight, available during a moment of irritation to make me laugh by saying “slow your roll.”

    Covid keeping us home isn’t a terrible thing for a child that is a little more easily maxed out on people and noise. For the first time my child asked if I could help her remember a scripture about fear so she could say it out loud to help her focus/meditate. Many days I wonder if my kids just think I’m crazy and roll their eyes at me, and tonight was one of those times I got to see that they’re listening and it makes a difference.

    Neighbors who soothingly guide and encourage a frightened child about riding her bike. Ella patiently trying to encourage Audrey to look up at where she’s going while riding, so she’s less likely to lose her balance.

    It took a village but Audrey is riding her bike like a champ, and it’s awesome to see the growth in her confidence in the last 2 days.

    Being present to see the moment she “gets” a lesson. Being present to see the moment she finds her balance. Being present to see the moment of pride when someone loves her creation. Being present in the moment of excitement about a boy. Being present to see the moment of wonder at how a science experiment turned out. Being present to see the big smile when she got to see and hear her teacher for the first time in weeks. Being present in the moments of silliness between girls, and in the moments of laughing over stupid things with friends who are all on a group call. Thankful for presence.

    My friend of over two decades, another straight-shooter, who brought clarity to all my confusion and conflict with one sentence: “Sweep the leg of anyone that threatens (the peace of) Audrey. No mercy.”

    Time to sit and be still under my favorite tree. To listen to the soft sounds of my Dad’s bamboo wind chimes, currently in residence at my place. God’s prompt for me to look up at just the right time, to see my bald eagle soaring way above me, on the same day as my Facebook memories featured a conversation from 2 years ago about how eagles embrace the storm and adjust themselves to ride out storms.

    Thankful for Joy and joy.

    A glass of wine after a long week, sitting with my neighbor who listens and understands, and who allows me to tear up for a moment.

    What a hard and yet wonderful few weeks it has been. Everything seems like it’s been upside down, but after rereading my notes I’m starting to think that maybe it’s actually right-side up.

  • It Is Well

    The Emergency Broadcasting System alarm message is the absolute last thing you want to hear when you’re on a long drive with two children, and one of them has just asked to stop somewhere because she has to go to the bathroom.

    Tornado warning.

    Tornado immediately takes my mind down a path of images of an F5 that tears up towns all around Helen Hunt. Warning tells me conditions aren’t just conducive, but that something has been spotted.

    I knew the weather report called for rain, but that rain was scheduled for at least a couple hours later. It was dusk and not raining, but the sky did look a little odd. I found myself in the position of wanting not to alarm the girls while also wanting more info so I could make the best decision about what to do. Should I stop somewhere and hope that our luck was a little better than that of Cary Elwes, or keep moving to hopefully put distance between us and the storms?

    I asked Ella to Google the area and see what she could find out. The answer: three funnels, although pretty far away. That made the decision to keep driving very easy – we could add some distance between us and those storms and keep making progress toward home. And I had about 10 minutes of pleasant driving, feeling good about my decision, before the sky became dark and the rain began to pound onto the windshield.

    And when I say dark with pounding rain, I mean I and the other drivers around me turned on hazard lights and moved slowly over to the far right of I64. The rain hitting the car was intense and visibility was bad, and Audrey became frightened. I’m not sure what I said, but I found my “everything’s fine” Mommy voice and produced words to encourage her and assure her we were fine. The special lights the triangle button makes tell people where we are, and we’re all together, and the other cars are in it with us, and this is part of our adventure, and even though the rain is noisy the really bad part of the storms is far away, and this rain is going to make sure great flowers grow soon, and we’re fine.

    I had no idea if she really believed my complete load of crap. I didn’t have the luxury of turning around to make eye contact. I had to be mindful that my body language was in line with my voice and did not show unease, I had to focus my external attention on the road, and I had to focus my internal attention on prayer.

    And when I say prayer, I don’t mean Dear God It’s me Beth and it would be nice if this storm calmed down a bit. I was praying hard. More like, This is awful. Get us out of this. Please. Quickly. How did Jesus sleep through storms? And calm me down, too. I need help to stay calm because this is awful and the girls don’t need to know how awful it is. How could this happen at the end of our awesome spring break? Please. Please. Please. Keep us safe. Keep us calm. Are you there?! This is so bad.

    The noise from the rain on the car seemed angry, and was adding to our tension. So I hit the button to switch from radio to ipod to try to put a soothing sound in the car. A recent addition to our song library came on, It Is Well – a worship song that samples the old hymn It Is Well With My Soul. The song’s beginning is quiet, with little instrumentation, and the singer almost seems like she’s praying quietly to herself, so you have to kind-of focus on her soft voice to hear the words.

    And at the exact same moment, a couple minutes into the song, Ella and I started singing: “Through it all, through it all, my eyes are on you. Through it all, through it all, it is well…the waves and wind still know His name.”

    Click here, and at about 1:45 is the moment.

    Just a few weeks ago, I learned the story of the man who penned It Is Well With My Soul, Horatio Spafford. He wrote the words during a time of personal tragedy, just after the loss of his children. I cried when I heard my friend Anne tell the story, and again later when relating it to Ella. It really is *that* moving. How can someone, anyone, have so much faith during a time of such profound darkness and despair?

    Click Here for the It Is Well With My Soul history

    As Ella and I were singing the song, peace filled me. In part because I needed something besides the storm to focus my brain on. In part because the song itself is quiet and calming. And in part because I had this sudden realization about a needed shift in my life, specifically as it relates to faith and prayer.

    I talk to my girls about God and faith and prayer, and I take them to church and we say prayers before bed and we sometimes even pray that we’ll find the missing book we need before we leave in the morning. But there’s a big part of me that I have not shared with them yet, and that’s how I pray and how often I pray. And a dark truth – that sometimes I don’t have total faith in my prayers.

    I have always been alone with my prayers. In my own head. In my own space. I typically don’t share them or talk about them, out of habit more than anything else. At home I didn’t talk about my prayers because I wasn’t surrounded by people who take faith seriously or because it seemed like the girls were too little for that big stuff, and at work it’s not always appropriate to share that kind of thing.

    I talk to God all the time, all throughout the day. It’s more like an ongoing conversation where I sometimes get louder if I think God isn’t listening. It’s what you might call cerebral prayer – a mixture of my nature to rely on facts and data, with faith in a God that doesn’t always need my facts and data, with my impatience in a God that doesn’t always move as quickly as I’d like. If you charted my faith, it hasn’t grown in the nice upward lines we like to see in financial documents. It’s up and down, sometimes all in one day.

    My faith isn’t perfect. I don’t always believe everything will work out the way we want and pray for. Sometimes when I hear about a horrible diagnosis, my initial reaction is not for a miracle but that some people get their healing in heaven instead of here. I wish I could say that I have the kind of faith that moves mountains, but I don’t. But what I’ve realized is that my girls don’t need to see my faith or prayer perfection, which is not real. I don’t want them to think that perfection is the standard and that if they don’t have 100% faith they are a failure, or there’s no reason to have any faith if they can’t have full faith. They need to see my work in progress faith, because that’s real. And seeing what’s real is in part what will enable them to embrace work in progress faith in their own lives.

    It’s OK to pray when I don’t know what to say or how to say it or have doubts. It’s OK to pray without the formalities of intros like Dear Heavenly Father and for me to speak like I’m talking to my friend in Colorado. It’s OK to pray and admit to God and everyone that I am afraid even though I’m praying. It’s OK to offer a song as a prayer, showing my daughter that sometimes – many times – I don’t have words, and other peoples words are the best words.

    Within just a few minutes, the rain seemed less ominous around the car. The sky was a little lighter. Cars were spreading back out across all the lanes of the highway, and started moving more quickly. Our storm had actually passed pretty quickly. Ella and I talked a little about the scary few minutes and the song and our singing the waves and wind verse at the same time – one of the most memorable moments from the trip. And then I turned around to check on Audrey, wondering at how quiet she had been, and found that she was fast asleep. While I had been fearful during the worst part of the storm, struggling in my cerebral prayer, Audrey had fallen asleep…childlike faith at 100%.

  • The Stormiest Part of the Storm

    Hurricanes. Tornadoes. Earthquakes. Landslides. Fires. Volcanic eruptions. Diagnoses. Divorces. Death of loved one. Car accidents. Addiction. A child in trouble. War. Oppression. Terrorism.

    There are so many kinds of storms.

    People think I’m crazy for living in a place that’s prone to hurricanes. But I think it’s significantly more crazy to live in a place that’s prone to earthquakes. You don’t even know those are coming! Don’t even get me started on the level of crazy I think San Francisco folk have to be to leave their cars in potential cement death traps like parking garages. That’s just stupid C-R-A-Z-Y.

    With Florence headed toward the east coast, I’ve been thinking a lot about storms this week – storms we can prepare for versus storms we can’t. And what is the definition of storm, really? Is it just anything that is unsettling? Webster tells us storms can be a variety of things.

    • a disturbance of the atmosphere marked by wind and usually by rain, snow, hail, sleet, or thunder and lightning
    • a disturbed or agitated state, such as storms of emotion
    • a heavy discharge of objects, such as missiles
    • a tumultuous outburst
    • a violent assault on a defended position

    Perhaps the biggest storm of this week has been me. I am disturbed and in an agitated state and I have had outbursts. For the first time in two decades, I am facing a storm of weather that has the potential to greatly impact people I love and I have no one to rely on but me. No one to make decisions with. No one to second guess my logic or bounce ideas off of. No one to double check my list of to dos. If I make a bad decision about evacuating or don’t get enough food or water, people I love could really be impacted and it will solely be my responsibility and my fault. And that burden feels large.

    And you know what’s really silly? I have always really relied mostly on me because that’s just how I am, even when someone is standing next to me. Even if I had someone else in this house right now to bounce ideas off of and check my to dos, I would go with my gut on what to do and then blame myself if something went wrong. I’m a planner and I’m an organizer and I know that’s not everyone’s thing – and because I’m a little neurotic about lists and spreadsheets and planning (maybe more than a little neurotic), if something is missed or goes really awry, I am serious about going back through my checklist to figure out what the heck I was thinking.

    The one thing all storms have in common, I’ve decided, is that we truly can’t plan for them and they all kind of suck. OK that’s two things. Storms we don’t know are coming feel like a punch in the gut and that’s awful. But storms we can see looming on the horizon cause so much anxiety and stress that I think the knowing and waiting is actually the stormiest part of the storm. Is one kind of storm really any better than the other?

    We tend to define and even categorize whole time periods of our lives by storms. Life before a heart attack. Life after the death of loved one. Life before a job ended. Life after someone makes it to the other side of an addiction. Life before “the war.” Life after 9/11. Today is September 11, and with looking at just a few images I am easily transported right back to that day of surprise and uncertainty and overwhelming sadness. All of our lives have changed since that day – everything from our country’s foreign policy to air travel to our sense of overall safety within our borders.

    I tend to think of storms as an occasional small thing in the big scheme of things, but the truth is that storms are actually a pretty substantial part of all of our lives – and how we handle them and what we learn from them (or not) impacts the remainder of each of our lives greatly. One of the biggest lessons for me, and actually one of the great things about storms, is the way people come together to help and support one another. We see the worst of people in storms and we see the best of people in storms. Look for the helpers, Mr. Rogers would always say. Helpers are first responders, and helpers are family and neighbors and friends and teachers and doctors and nurses and counselors and people from Starbucks that we kinda know but not really, and even complete strangers.

    I allowed myself to get sucked into a pity party for a bit today. Because I forgot for a bit that it’s also my job to be a helper in a storm – to be a sister and a daughter and a neighbor and a company leader and a friend. I probably can’t get your generator working (God Bless Mark from Starbucks who helped me!), but I can call a friend who lives alone to make sure they have a plan and enough medicine.

    I allowed myself to get sucked into a pity party for a bit today, because I forgot for a bit that one of my jobs as a helper and as a Mom is to project calm and not add chaos. And in a moment of divine intervention at just the right moment today, I came across this gem – and I literally laughed out loud as I thought it might be easier for God to hush the waves of the sea than it is to still the Storm that is sometimes me.

    IMG_E5528