Brave, Anyway

Tag: work in progress

  • Perfection Redefined

    Perfection Redefined

    With the exception of Mary, I don’t think I’ve even once thought about the women in Jesus’ family tree. What a horrible thing to be true about a Christian and a feminist.

    But a few weeks ago I came across an artist named Tricia Robinson, and was really moved by her work and especially her words about The Four.

    Tamar, Rahab, Ruth, and Bathsheba have something in common. They are grandmothers in Jesus’ family tree. Some were prostitutes, involved in affairs, some lied and were truly not the starry-eyed perfect princess. But God chose them…these four broken women. And that’s why I gave them crowns. A symbol of grace and love from our Creator and Redeemer.

    The Four, by Tricia Robinson

    I knew the stories of these women, but it never occurred to me that they were part of the lineage of Jesus. And it struck me that I have harbored a secret belief that all the people in His family were and are people who meet a high standard of perfection.

    I know that I can lean toward perfectionism and I thought I had identified all the thought patterns that needed redirection, until my reaction when I saw this artist’s work and her words. The bad and the ugly is that I still expect perfection of myself, and that’s not an attainable goal.

    I am very disciplined about setting realistic goals at work, but I am not-so-disciplined in my personal life. Particularly as it relates to setting realistic expectations of myself in my most important job: mom. I guess maybe a lot of moms fret about whether or not everything they say and do is enough, but I really feel that weight more in the last few years because my girls need and deserve a parent who is focused above all on them and who sets a good example.

    I may not be out sleeping around, but I certainly drop F bombs and can get my judge-y on. Translate: I’m far from anyone’s definition of perfection, including and especially my own.

    I also love the words of Ann Voskamp, which Tricia Robinson shared in her packaging with the print:

    Four broken women – women who felt like outsiders, like has-beens, like never-beens…women who didn’t fit in…And Jesus claims exactly these who are wandering and wondering and wounded and worn out as His.

    I feel like an outsider regularly. Depending on where I am, I may be the Christian who’s not a Republican, the Mom who asks uncomfortable questions of other kids’ parents, the one who won’t come to something if I can’t bring my girls with me, or the opinionated divorced lady who makes people uncomfortable because I am not afraid to stand up for myself or to encourage women to stand up for themselves. I’m a girl who doesn’t care about hair and make-up. I’m not a “single-pringle” looking for fun, but a woman committed to peace. And I’m not good at keeping up with friends and I don’t go on girl trips because in my non-working hours I hang out with my girls, cook with my father-in-law, or yell at the news and my Twitter feed.

    I am also wandering and wondering and worn out regularly. There’s a never-ending list of things I feel like I haven’t done (and that I actually haven’t done!). There’s a never-ending list of things I need to do with and for the girls, and that I need to teach them about and to talk to them about. There’s a never-ending list of things I’ve missed and of things that I never even thought about needing to cover until a situation arises and I think How did I not think about and plan for this conversation??? Which brings me back to: I’m far from anyone’s definition of perfection, including and especially my own.

    Maybe I should redefine “perfection” as simply doing the best I can. Because grace. But can I do that? Maybe it’s brave to accept a radical notion like my best is enough. Because grace. But is that crazy?

    As I was pondering it all tonight, Audrey fell off her bike and skinned her knees. I ran to grab the bin of materials to get her all cleaned up, and when I opened the gallon Ziploc bag of Band-Aids – which are the leftovers from dozens of boxes and themes we’ve had over the years – the one she pulled out said Brave.

    The family of Jesus is filled with imperfect people and followers. I’m one of them.

  • Quarantine Work-at-Home Learnings

    Quarantine Work-at-Home Learnings

    Every single work blouse I have can be paired with jeans that are old and ripped. Work pants are unnecessary BS in my closet and in my life, taking up space where more cute and comfy tops could be.

    Breaks are way more important than I thought and I need to take them regardless of my work location. It takes me 12 minutes to ride my bike around the neighborhood with my 9-year old. That 12 minutes changes the way I think about or dismiss a lot of things that happen each day.

    When there’s no one around to judge and make snarky comments, a spoon in a jar of peanut butter is lunch.

    For the first few weeks of quarantine, I thought I missed lunch with friends. But once we started having Zoom lunches, I realized that what I actually miss is lunch with friends where someone makes us fresh tacos and guacamole.

    I want afternoon chocolate no matter the location of my office.

    Commutes take precious time away from family. However, they also provide a transition between work and home, and I surprisingly miss that 30 minutes where I was regularly yelling at slow drivers to get out of the fast lane.

    I hate decorating, mostly. The whole idea of it is weird – using stuff to distract from the reality of what is or what’s there. But I have realized that I like to surround myself with positive affirmations no matter where I am, and that positive affirmations have a big impact on my attitude. They’re not only a good reminder for us about who we want to be, but a signal for others about who we aspire to be and what they should expect of us.

    A bald eagle flies high up in the sky outside my home office window every now and then. She is regal and fierce and graceful. When I worked in the office, even though two of my “walls” are floor to ceiling windows, I rarely took the time to look outside for rejuvenation or inspiration. I watch for my eagle each day now, eagerly awaiting her appearance. She reminds me of the words of Isaiah: But those who trust in the LORD will find new strength. They will soar high on wings like eagles. They will run and not grow weary. They will walk and not faint.

    I look rough by 3 pm, which I’ve always suspected but now know with certainty as I stare back at myself in Zoom.

    Zoom me throughout the day.

    My body and brain need the same amount of caffeine whether I get up at 5:30 to get a high schooler off for the day or I sleep until 7:30 because my first Zoom isn’t until 8:30.

    Whether at home with two dozen mugs to select from or in the office with two mugs to select from, I’m going to drink from the same mug every day.

    If I’m stuck on the side of the road and my cell phone is dead and a passerby offers me their phone to call a friend for help, I’m not going to remember the phone number of any one of my contacts. I will, however, be able to enter the Zoom ID for any one of my daily meetings.

    It used to be taboo for children and pets to make noise on the occasional day someone, or we, worked from home. But I am convinced now that we know our colleagues on another level – we know and understand them better – because we’ve seen the smiles they have only with family.

    I miss those moments when I make eye contact with one of my peeps across a conference room or an aisle or a hallway, and we each roll our eyes (or know that we want to roll our eyes but should not and will not). I also miss those moments when I make eye contact with one of my peeps and neither one of us speaks but we know that we’re each thinking “that’s what she said.”

    I’m not ever going to be the mom that makes dinner 5 nights a week, even when we don’t have activities and even when my commute is just a walk downstairs.

    Whether it’s the stairs in my office building or the stairs in my house, I will go to great lengths and make up detailed excuses to avoid taking them.

    I’m always cold, whether I’m working from home or working in the office. Air conditioning is necessary for me and yet never at the right temperature for me.

    When I was a kid, I loved school supplies. When I became an adult that transitioned to office supplies. Even though we do everything electronically, and even though I don’t use any of this stuff in my daily work at home, I still love to be surrounded by paper and post-it’s and pens and pencils and markers. Also, I need highlighters on my desk and in my life even though I never ever highlight anything – and I’m not sure why.

    I have not worn real shoes since March 13. No sneakers, no flats, no heels, no boots, no sandals. Only flip flops. Even for bike riding, even on the early chillier days, and even though I haven’t been getting pedicures. I am not sure my feet will embrace the eventual boomerang back to coverage.

    My favorite part of every workday starts with Audrey waiting in the hallway just outside my office at about 5pm. She knows my daily wrap-up may be 5 minutes or 25 minutes, so she often waits with a device. But as soon as she hears everyone say have a good night, she comes running in for what she calls end-of-the-day hugs and jumps into my arms or lap. It’s the absolute best, and I never would have experienced it if not for quarantine.

  • Masks

    Masks

    I’m always wearing a mask.

    My most important learning of the last week was in those five words, spoken by a woman I admire and look up to and care about.

    I’m always wearing a mask.

    My heart sank. How can that be? I work closely with this person, and am in multiple meetings with her each day. I think she knows – I assumed she knew – that everyone around her recognizes how smart she is and how capable she is and how funny she is and how dedicated to her job she is and what a wonderful person she is. And on and on and on I could go.

    She knows all that, although like all of us she likes to be told sometimes. The issue is that she can’t bring her whole self to lots of places because she’s worried about how that will be perceived. How she will be perceived.

    She must remain calm. She must hide strong emotions. She must temper what she says. She must do everything perfectly. She must overachieve.

    How exhausting must it be to live that way? To not be able to be yourself. To not be able to relax. To always hold back and hold in. And even worse – to have to watch others who don’t have to wear any masks live and laugh and react freely.

    Remember those Halloween masks from the seventies? Those plastic face coverings that were held in place by tight rubberband-like pieces around the back of your head. Comfortable breathing was impossible and after just a few minutes they were full of condensation and became uncomfortably stuck to areas of your face. At least in today’s COVID world, we have cloth masks made of soft fabrics, and still we hate them. They’re itchy and hot and stifling and we don’t feel like ourselves when we’re wearing them.

    This week I’ve been following the posts of a couple thousand women in a private Facebook group – women who are trying to have real dialogue about race and equity and love and hate and bias. I have not yet posted anything; I’m simply consuming and absorbing the content. These are things that are resonating most with me right now and as I process the words I’m always wearing a mask.

    And finally these words, the rules a nervous Mom has undoubtedly repeated to her son dozens and dozens of times. Rules such as:

    Don’t put your hands in your pockets.
    Don’t put your hoodie on.
    Check in with your people, it don’t matter even if you’re down the street.
    Don’t touch anything you’re not buying.
    Never leave the store without a receipt or bag, even if it’s just a pack of gum.
    Never leave the house without your ID.

    See the full video, originally a TikTok, here.

    My Momma heart is grieved as I think about the fear that other Mommas clearly live in.

    Exhausting is the word that keeps rattling around in my head. Fear is exhausting. Masks are exhausting. The list of rules this young man – millions of people – in this country live with is exhausting. Oppression is exhausting.

    The last few weeks have – or should have – forced all of us to ask questions about ourselves and the people in our lives. About what makes a good human. About what makes a good citizen. About what makes a good person of faith. About what makes a good American. About unjust laws and unjust systems and unjust humans. About why people must wear masks. About what I have said and done, or not said and not done, that has caused pain for another. About what I can do to create space where no masks are needed.

    I can’t fix everything, and I don’t even know how, but I can work on me. And as I’ve been thinking about that I’ve been humming an old song the last few days…

    Let there be peace on earth and let it begin with me. Let there be peace on earth, the peace that was meant to be.

  • Honeysuckle

    Honeysuckle

    I have little-to-no sense of smell. Years of allergies will do that. Very few scents register for me, but among those I can always detect are garlic, an old drugstore perfume called Charlie, and honeysuckle.

    Honeysuckle makes me smile wherever I am, whatever I’m doing, every single time. It’s the smell of summer. The smell of simpler times, when kids – me – pulled on the stems and licked the tiny drop of nectar.

    In many ways, for millions of people, this is a very tough time. A time of sickness, anxiety, and fear. Death, unemployment, and hunger.

    In many ways, this is a complex time for me – although not in any of the scary ways it is for others. It’s a time of work at home and school at home and not going out to do anything at home, which is outside the comfort zone of everyone sheltering in this little corner of the culdesac.

    And yet, in so many more ways this is a simpler time. Walks and bike rides at night. Hanging around on the porch. Time to make dinner – meat and starch and veggie – on a week night, because my commute to home life is a short walk down the stairs.

    Although it seems like forever ago now, just a few short weeks ago in the office, I told one of my colleagues to practice the pause. Don’t be so quick to respond to everything. Don’t be so quick to make a selection without considering all options. Don’t be so quick to do *something.* Sometimes it’s better to do nothing and just give everyone a minute, because if we pause we often find that we – and others – will behave or react differently than if we rush to do.

    As it turns out, I needed to maybe give myself my own lecture. I think the main lesson of shelter-in-place for me is that I need to practice the pause more. I am very capable of doing that in my professional life but I’m not as good at boundaries like that in my personal life, even though the same principles apply.

    • I don’t have to respond to everything.
    • I don’t have to be the one to do everything.
    • I don’t have to attend all events or discussions I’m invited to.
    • The only timetable that’s really important is the one that’s best for me and the girls.

    Maybe the lesson of this unique time is that if we just practice the pause we can once again see the path to simple. Maybe even get back on it, so we can focus all our energy on what’s really important. Family. Faith. Presence. Giving. Our purpose and our calling.

    It’s very hard to see the road we’re traveling and the path we’re on when we’re going 90 miles an hour. At that speed, we see some of what’s ahead and maybe we look back and see some of what’s behind us, but we definitely miss much of the view right now. It’s when we make progress at a reasonable speed and remember to practice the pause that we can really be present for the important things. Skipping competitions. An extra long and silly grace before a Cadbury Egg. Sisters snuggled up working on math together. Friends laughing and racing bikes to the end of the street. The sweet taste of a honeysuckle stem.

  • Natural Selection

    This meme is the absolute best thing I’ve seen since the protests to reopen states and businesses began.

    How can people be so selfish as to not care about others at all? How can people be so ignorant as to not understand that the risk is not just to themselves? How can people be so self-absorbed that they cannot consider people in cancer treatment or who have diabetes or even just the elderly members of their own family?

    Let’s be clear: no one wants to wear a mask or prefers to wear a mask. They are an inconvenience for everyone, and they impact everyone’s ability to breathe as comfortably as they normally do. But it’s for a short period of time and masks contribute to the greater good. We either want to be good citizens of the earth and our communities, or we just need to admit our selfishness.

    Sometimes it seems that humanity is just more and more filled with selfish and awful people, and you have to wonder if maybe thinning the herd isn’t the worst thing that could happen.

    It’s not Christ-like, and it’s mean. But it’s the truth about what runs around in my brain sometimes.