I've spent the past 2 years of living in our 'new' hometown growing roots. Well at least I thought I was growing roots. In actuality I was watching the world happen around me while expecting the roots to just latch in and grow grow grow!
God has been placing the word "faithful" in my heart over and again. I am great at new and shiny, aren't we all? I am fantastic at starting with gusto and great intent it's the follow through that gets muddled. The day after day that gets boring and monotonous and life clouded and schedule cluttered that is hard. So I am working on being faithful to the long term.
While I was praying about my roots growing, an analogy I've used repeatedly through our times of transition, God was telling me to be faithful to the process. So here I sit waiting to see growing roots.
But wait!
Before you have roots you have to have a seed.
And it has to be planted.
And tended to.
A lot.
Roots don't just happen spontaneously, they are a process. I had been a military spouse for so long that I was used to the chia pet version of roots. You moved to a new duty station (or somebody else joined you at the station) and almost immediately you were developing roots. You had so much in common it was easy. Your spouses worked for the same company, you endured much of the same stresses, you had been to places they'd been stationed or vice versa, you had friends in common through the family that was the military. It was easy and your roots felt so strong that you didn't realize that while they were strong they were not deep. They sustained you through the time you shared the same space. Some people were deeper and the connection lasted beyond the place you met/shared but not most.
Fast forward to being out and trying to find these insta-roots. I am sure they exist in all places but it wasn't easy for me. Everything was new for us, new job, new town, new neighborhood, new church. Nothing with the fluidity of the military. Friendly sure, but friends? Not so much. It's been years and I keep waiting for it to happen. And then it was a moment of clarity and a fact thunked into my heart with such a weight that it felt like God had just whispered it into my being.
PLANT A SEED!
What? Plant a seed? But I am here Lord, isn't that planting a seed? I show up. I smile, I nod, I laugh. Isn't that planting? No? Planting requires getting dirty, making an effort. I don't know any farmer that gets to harvest a crop that they didn't first plant and tend to. But HOW do I plant in a forest full of trees with roots already deep. How? What if there isn't room? What if I don't fit? "What if" is the death of roots for me. My what if's had me standing waiting for spontaneous root growth complete with history and depth and belonging. For years. Then I decided to step out. I went to a meeting (recently ya'll so this is a during post not an after) and then the next morning I went to another meeting. Oh wait, there are not 12 step meetings for growing roots but these are 2 different places that I am involved in and am making an effort to plant seeds. We've made friends here, don't get me wrong, great friends that we are starting to build a history with but I am still banking on chia roots. Not anymore, I am putting my what if's away and getting my hands dirty instead. I will work on planting seeds and wait as roots develop. I will be faithful to the process.
Dude, growing stuff is hard yo!
Wednesday, September 17, 2014
Balloon Sky
Balloons signify birthdays in our house. When you are 10 and younger you will find that number of balloons tied near the mantle during the week of your birthday. As you grow older we use either side of the mantle to mark your birthday is balloons. You're turning 12, that would be 1 balloon on the left and 2 balloons on the right. We buy our balloons at the dollar tree and all but Jeremy and I turned 40 this year and ain't nobody got $$ for that! Joshua used to love to go with me to pick out the balloons. He would stand at the counter and agonize over the perfect choices. Weighing the birthday persons likes vs the balloons available. As we walked out of the store he would panic and worry that I would lose my grip on the balloons and they would be gone forever. I assured him every time that I was holding on tightly but he still worried. I would remind him that if one did manage to escape it could be replaced but that didn't quell his nervous chatter. Eventually he started to walk away and get into the van as I wrangled the balloon herd into the back, it was easier for all involved.
Yesterday was my momma's birthday. I have such a struggle with what to do to celebrate/remember her. I don't want it to be too much as to make it into some sort of shrine filled day but I also don't want to ignore it completely. It's a fine line to navigate and in all fairness this is only the 3rd time I've had to figure it out. The first year we had dinner on the deck (she had already put in her order for her birthday dinner that year, completely with the fact she wanted to eat it on the deck and what she wanted for dessert...she was crazy bossy yo!) and launched balloons that everybody had written on. It felt good, it was a visual for the babies to be able to send birthday wishes to heaven. Allowing them to purge and say goodbye. We stood and watched them until we couldn't see them anymore. The second year I honestly don't remember what we did. We were in the new house and I'm sure that we had something that she liked to eat but we didn't launch balloons or anything as far as I can recall. This year I wasn't even going to mention it to the schilldren. I was simply going to let it pass quietly until both the kids came to me individually missing their Gramma the days leading up to her birthday. In their little hearts they knew and I didn't want to ignore that. I bought balloons and put them in my closet on Monday night after they were in bed. I didn't really mention it to them but remembered one of them mentioning it to me. I didn't want to let them down if they wanted to make it a tradition. We made it through Tuesday with smiles and happy memories. We didn't eat cake or sing happy birthday. We had brats on the grill because it's something she would have enjoyed and left it at that. Until bedtime....
The boychild had been off all day, grumbly and short tempered. A little more sass than usually and a little more harrumph in his attitude. I thought he was missing his sister as she had homework after school and didn't have time to play with him. I thought he was tired from a fun weekend and needed to get some sleep. I thought he was contemplating contrary as a sport and was using a random Tuesday as his trial run. Then it was bedtime and he finally settled into his room. Since birth he's been my boomerang. Put him down and he comes back, we toyed with calling him boomer but his nickname that was his own doing stuck instead. He got up a few times and then I went into his room to tuck him in...again. He looked at me with his big blue eyes shining with tears that threatened to spill over and barely got out "I miss Gramma" before his voice broke and the threat became reality. Tears streamed down his cheeks and suddenly my big 9 year old became my little 9 year old. I realized the littleness of him and the bigness of his hurt. We talked about happy memories, we talked about Heaven and Jesus and her faith. We talked about how he had an entire lifetime of really great Gramma memories. His sad breaks my heart. He kept telling me he didn't want to cry because it made him feel bad. His list was long:
If I cry for Gramma O'Day I feel like I'm being mean to my other Gramma because I love her too.
If I cry in front of TTSW I don't want to make her sad, it was her mom!
If I cry in front of you it will make you cry too and I don't want to make you cry Momma.
If I cry I don't know if I will be able to stop.
If I cry it will be loud and I will wake people up, Kaity has school.
The list went on and on and I each objection he had to crying I corrected and told him why it was okay to let out the tears. He still couldn't just let it go...he obviously didn't get as much from Frozen as the rest of us.
I suddenly remembered my closet full of balloons. I took his hand and led him into my bedroom, his face lit up when he saw them. He felt like we were celebrating her birthday not just being sad that she was gone. We walked outside together holding the balloons between us, his chubby boy hand over mine to make sure I didn't lose them. We didn't talk. At the end of the driveway he took a deep breath and I handed him 1 balloon. We had 5. He let it go and watched it disappear into the night sky. The gold star balloon finding it's place among it's friends. As soon as he couldn't follow it's path anymore he reached for another. He released it and watched it duck and weave in the breeze. He was mostly quiet and soft as he watched. "Can we let the rest of them go together?" I handed over the bundle and he reached as high as he could his arm fully extended and let go. "I love you Gramma" and that was all it took his shoulders started to shake and the dam broke. Gulping sobs and a broken wail that shouldn't be made by a child that young. He cried himself to sleep. I laid and listened and prayed.
Yesterday was my momma's birthday. I have such a struggle with what to do to celebrate/remember her. I don't want it to be too much as to make it into some sort of shrine filled day but I also don't want to ignore it completely. It's a fine line to navigate and in all fairness this is only the 3rd time I've had to figure it out. The first year we had dinner on the deck (she had already put in her order for her birthday dinner that year, completely with the fact she wanted to eat it on the deck and what she wanted for dessert...she was crazy bossy yo!) and launched balloons that everybody had written on. It felt good, it was a visual for the babies to be able to send birthday wishes to heaven. Allowing them to purge and say goodbye. We stood and watched them until we couldn't see them anymore. The second year I honestly don't remember what we did. We were in the new house and I'm sure that we had something that she liked to eat but we didn't launch balloons or anything as far as I can recall. This year I wasn't even going to mention it to the schilldren. I was simply going to let it pass quietly until both the kids came to me individually missing their Gramma the days leading up to her birthday. In their little hearts they knew and I didn't want to ignore that. I bought balloons and put them in my closet on Monday night after they were in bed. I didn't really mention it to them but remembered one of them mentioning it to me. I didn't want to let them down if they wanted to make it a tradition. We made it through Tuesday with smiles and happy memories. We didn't eat cake or sing happy birthday. We had brats on the grill because it's something she would have enjoyed and left it at that. Until bedtime....
The boychild had been off all day, grumbly and short tempered. A little more sass than usually and a little more harrumph in his attitude. I thought he was missing his sister as she had homework after school and didn't have time to play with him. I thought he was tired from a fun weekend and needed to get some sleep. I thought he was contemplating contrary as a sport and was using a random Tuesday as his trial run. Then it was bedtime and he finally settled into his room. Since birth he's been my boomerang. Put him down and he comes back, we toyed with calling him boomer but his nickname that was his own doing stuck instead. He got up a few times and then I went into his room to tuck him in...again. He looked at me with his big blue eyes shining with tears that threatened to spill over and barely got out "I miss Gramma" before his voice broke and the threat became reality. Tears streamed down his cheeks and suddenly my big 9 year old became my little 9 year old. I realized the littleness of him and the bigness of his hurt. We talked about happy memories, we talked about Heaven and Jesus and her faith. We talked about how he had an entire lifetime of really great Gramma memories. His sad breaks my heart. He kept telling me he didn't want to cry because it made him feel bad. His list was long:
If I cry for Gramma O'Day I feel like I'm being mean to my other Gramma because I love her too.
If I cry in front of TTSW I don't want to make her sad, it was her mom!
If I cry in front of you it will make you cry too and I don't want to make you cry Momma.
If I cry I don't know if I will be able to stop.
If I cry it will be loud and I will wake people up, Kaity has school.
The list went on and on and I each objection he had to crying I corrected and told him why it was okay to let out the tears. He still couldn't just let it go...he obviously didn't get as much from Frozen as the rest of us.
I suddenly remembered my closet full of balloons. I took his hand and led him into my bedroom, his face lit up when he saw them. He felt like we were celebrating her birthday not just being sad that she was gone. We walked outside together holding the balloons between us, his chubby boy hand over mine to make sure I didn't lose them. We didn't talk. At the end of the driveway he took a deep breath and I handed him 1 balloon. We had 5. He let it go and watched it disappear into the night sky. The gold star balloon finding it's place among it's friends. As soon as he couldn't follow it's path anymore he reached for another. He released it and watched it duck and weave in the breeze. He was mostly quiet and soft as he watched. "Can we let the rest of them go together?" I handed over the bundle and he reached as high as he could his arm fully extended and let go. "I love you Gramma" and that was all it took his shoulders started to shake and the dam broke. Gulping sobs and a broken wail that shouldn't be made by a child that young. He cried himself to sleep. I laid and listened and prayed.
Monday, September 8, 2014
A year of Faithfulness
I turned 40 yesterday. That sounds a lot more grown than I feel. It sounds like maturity and adulthood tinged with a bit of sage advice giving ability. It feels a whole lot like 39, which felt like 29. I sat in church yesterday and feel like God gave me the word "Faithfulness" because I have turned from being faithful. Not in my faith but it my actions. I am lax at reading & studying my bible, have laid my health to the side, neglected cultivating relationships beyond those easily navigated through social media. Then I listened to a message that was about getting distracted by the nothing that fills our lives. So much information that we get distracted by the white noise. I thought about creating a new blog to chart my progress and then realized it was because I wanted the anonymity of a new place, which would sort of defeat the purpose of being accountable. I don't think Faithfulness will be as easy and beautiful as it sounds. I know it will be a struggle. It's going to be a long year. A year of navigating the emotions that come from being faithful. That my friends is where the rub is. Committing to denying the numb and welcoming the emotions that I've also not been faithful to acknowledge. Ohhhh my stars what was I thinking?! Oh wait, I mean here we go bumpy road I'm coming for you and looking forward to seeing where I am in a year!
Tuesday, August 26, 2014
13 and all grown up...
Last night as I was driving my girlchild to an appointment I asked her if she was special. After reading/hearing a lot of chatter about the various ways we label children I wondered about her take on the whole thing. After 13 years on this planet did she feel special? And if so, why? :Here's her response:
Everybody is special.
me: If everybody is special is anybody truly special? (just wanting to get her thinking)
Well, special comes in 2 ways. You are special because you have a talent at a task, like you are good at a sport or at school. And the second way you are special is because you have value. Somebody puts worth or value on you so that makes you special. The thing is we look at people to give us value or make us special or to take it away. People think they are not loved so they don't feel special or they think they are more special because they are better at something than somebody else. We forget that the reason we have value or are special is because we are loved. And we are ALL loved because God loves us, he loves all his children. He loves them all the same, so while we are so busy trying to prove that we are special He already did. If we would rest in His love then we wouldn't be so concerned about being special by anybody's standards.
me: **crickets** (I mean come on how do you add to that??)
Everybody is special.
me: If everybody is special is anybody truly special? (just wanting to get her thinking)
Well, special comes in 2 ways. You are special because you have a talent at a task, like you are good at a sport or at school. And the second way you are special is because you have value. Somebody puts worth or value on you so that makes you special. The thing is we look at people to give us value or make us special or to take it away. People think they are not loved so they don't feel special or they think they are more special because they are better at something than somebody else. We forget that the reason we have value or are special is because we are loved. And we are ALL loved because God loves us, he loves all his children. He loves them all the same, so while we are so busy trying to prove that we are special He already did. If we would rest in His love then we wouldn't be so concerned about being special by anybody's standards.
me: **crickets** (I mean come on how do you add to that??)
Monday, August 25, 2014
Inhale. "I can't do this....It's so hard" Exhale. "Smile and do it anyway"
I am broken. I can do this for an hour, a day, a week, a year...but a lifetime? How do I do this for a lifetime? An entire lifetime?
Looking at the milestones that are passing us by, marking our progress, and I feel myself growing numb. It's a comfortable numb. The kind that smiles and laughs but doesn't always ring true. The kind that most people don't even notice because they are fooled by the smoke and mirrors. It's easier....or is it? I don't even know anymore. I am lost in my own confusion basking in the familiarity of feeling nothing. If I felt...if I allowed myself the luxury of processing the loss...how would I breathe? How? Comforting myself with things that ultimately bring no comfort. Missing the strength that my past held. Deluding myself that I am no longer strong enough or maybe the delusion is that I am strong enough?
Every milestone we reach in joy is tinged with the sadness of being another milestone away from my momma. It's not the firsts....it's the seconds and thirds, the forever and evers. I don't want to change and grow and be different. I want to be the same as before. to hold on to the past in a way that makes it feel like the chasm isn't growing ever wider. It's not depressed, though it sounds that way, it's not sad. I don't know. I guess that's the first step, I don't know. How do I get to know? I need to go back to what was working. It's been 2 years on hold....2 years waiting for the other shoe to drop. A year of dealing with the firsts and then a year waiting to see if the seconds felt any different. Turns out they don't It all sucks and is okay in one fell swoop. I don't miss her more now but I also don't miss her less. I miss her differently. She is still the one I want to call and text and talk to, the one who want to tell me I'm doing okay. The one I want to make proud and the one who I know would delight in the mundane with me.
I guess the quest starts here, what it is I'm not sure yet. I just need to put one foot in front of the other and find the path that I long for and was successfully navigating before numb became normal.
I am broken. I can do this for an hour, a day, a week, a year...but a lifetime? How do I do this for a lifetime? An entire lifetime?
Looking at the milestones that are passing us by, marking our progress, and I feel myself growing numb. It's a comfortable numb. The kind that smiles and laughs but doesn't always ring true. The kind that most people don't even notice because they are fooled by the smoke and mirrors. It's easier....or is it? I don't even know anymore. I am lost in my own confusion basking in the familiarity of feeling nothing. If I felt...if I allowed myself the luxury of processing the loss...how would I breathe? How? Comforting myself with things that ultimately bring no comfort. Missing the strength that my past held. Deluding myself that I am no longer strong enough or maybe the delusion is that I am strong enough?
Every milestone we reach in joy is tinged with the sadness of being another milestone away from my momma. It's not the firsts....it's the seconds and thirds, the forever and evers. I don't want to change and grow and be different. I want to be the same as before. to hold on to the past in a way that makes it feel like the chasm isn't growing ever wider. It's not depressed, though it sounds that way, it's not sad. I don't know. I guess that's the first step, I don't know. How do I get to know? I need to go back to what was working. It's been 2 years on hold....2 years waiting for the other shoe to drop. A year of dealing with the firsts and then a year waiting to see if the seconds felt any different. Turns out they don't It all sucks and is okay in one fell swoop. I don't miss her more now but I also don't miss her less. I miss her differently. She is still the one I want to call and text and talk to, the one who want to tell me I'm doing okay. The one I want to make proud and the one who I know would delight in the mundane with me.
I guess the quest starts here, what it is I'm not sure yet. I just need to put one foot in front of the other and find the path that I long for and was successfully navigating before numb became normal.
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