Perfect Christian Syndrome

Currently I struggle.  I struggle with being a "good" Christian.  Although I think this has been an ongoing struggle, it has recently been evident after deciding to live an authentic life.....even with God. In the past I would do what I was taught, all the while checking God off my list of tasks.  Being on the "other side" of this I find I don't know what to "do" because I want it to be real, tangible, alive......I want to be in a relationship.....with the creator of the universe.

As I struggle, cry, and discuss this with God, He has revealed some of his simple truths through my children.

MarKay my 5 year old struggles staying still during our nighttime prayers.  She wiggles and laughs and sometimes interrupts as we are praying by her bedside.  Even after we've talked to her about being respectful, she still has a hard time.  When it's her turn to pray, her prayers are simple and sweet, cutting to the chase.

Piper on the other hand, my two-year old, sits and holds me during prayer time.  She is still and keeps her eyes closed the whole time.  When it's her turn to pray, she goes on and on for several minutes at a time.  She thanks God for every single thing and person she has seen that day.  Even down to the pets in her life.  We often have to say Amen for her because she will just keep going.

MarKay out of nowhere will ask if we can pray for someone who is sick or hurting.  She will talk about Jesus when something reminds her of Him.  She asks questions about Him and teaches me about Him unprompted.  She asks what the verse of the day is and  out of the blue connects nature to His mighty works.

Piper sings worship songs out of the blue and still asks me where baby Jesus is in front of our church since the nativity scene was taken down. She tells me about her papers from Sunday School and excitedly wakes up for church on Sunday.

As I look at my daughters' growing relationship with God  I ask, "which one is better?"  Is there one that is "better" at relating to God than the other?  My first response is, "of course not." Each child has the connection pieces they are passionate about, they are uniquely special in how God speaks to them.  If this is true for them, why is it that I have the "perfect Christian syndrome" in which all "good" Christians' walk should look the same?

I've also started looking at the relationship I have with each daughter.  Piper is snugly and comes up to me and cradles my face.  She sits on my lap when I'm on the couch and wants me to carry her everywhere.  But, I can"t keep her attention for more than 30 seconds.  Partly because she's two but also she is just wired differently. MarKay on the other hand, can talk to me for hours, making me laugh, and wants me to tell stories, sings songs, and read. She wants to cook, craft, and write together. She craves quality time, one on one intimate conversations.

Looking at this I realize, neither one of my daughters are "better" than the other.  They are free to be themselves with me.  I love their strengths and weaknesses, I see my own strengths and weaknesses in each of them.  I don't demand they be a better daughter for me, I love them for who they are.  If they come up to me to talk, or snuggle, I welcome it.  If they don't.....I accept it.  I don't want them to be the same.  Their differences inspire me. I don't want them to check me off their list, I want them to desire time together.  I know this relationship will change as they grow and develop because they too will change.  We will have great times of deep connection and times of brokenness and despair.

Yet I feel that I've been bound to be more than my natural self when it comes to my relationship with God.  I look at what others tell me my relationship should be and what I expect for it to be myself.  I've lived trying to measure up and be the "perfect" Christ follower.


I can't get over how painful it is for me to realize how my "good Cristian deeds" will never measure up. By that I mean, whether I spend 5 minutes or 3 hours with God....he will always be deserving of more. I mean he's God for goodness sake. I owe Him everything.  In fact, a lot of healthy relationships in my life deserve more.  My mom, husband, daughters,best friends, are all deserving of more of my time.  But when given the time I have, they don't criticize it, they appreciate it, revel in it.....adore it.  I don't find others telling me how those relationships should look, or how I'm "supposed" to relate to them.....it's our own special authentic connection.  I love that.

I'm just starting.....barely.....to embrace, accept, and enjoy the freedom I have in this kind of relationship with God.  I'm beginning to see that He uniquely made me to relate to Him in our own sweet way. Whether I snuggle up on his lap, lay helpless in the palm of His hand, struggle to sit still during prayer or lack keeping my attention for more than 30 seconds.....He adores every second of it.  I can desire to memorize the verse of the day, sing His praises, or admire His amazing creation and......He loves it.  I can throw a temper tantrum, not talk to Him for days, and disobey Him and He still loves me.  More importantly.....I love Him.  I love the real, sweet, and authentic whispers.  I love the deep, treacherous, dark altercations.  In the storm and in the calm I'm loving out relationship.....our growth.....our connections.  Slowly the chains of what I "should be" are falling off and I'm tasting the real, the true, and the raw. And I'm almost......almost..... OK with it.

Elephants III

Elephants III

This "elephants" series began at the first year anniversary of my sons death. I anxiously anticipated it with fear and trembling not knowing how I would handle re-living such a horrible time in my life. My counselor told me the story of elephants when I was speaking to her about my anxiety of this significant date. She told me elephants remember where their loved ones remains are and every year they go to the bones and cradle and caress them lovingly. It's as if they are remembering them with the sweetest of memories and all they meant to them. Never before did I think I could relate to the memory of an elephant. But on or around February 9th, I lovingly remember my boy.

This year I decided to finally read all the cards and letters I received from everyone. I was overwhelmed by the outpouring of support and love we felt during this time. Dearest of friends called me just to cry, my house filled with flowers, my mailbox full of cards, and my fridge full of meals.

But I just couldn't read a single thing. I may have read them but the words were not penetrating my soul. I was numb.

It has still been too painful to read them until this year.....four years later. I cried at every one, mostly for the memory but also because I would see the name of the person from who it was from and I still know most of you all. I was touched at your words and gifts of concern. I wanted to say thank you but realized it was four years ago.

So now I want to take the time to say "thank you" to those of you who sent gifts and wrote to me. Even though its four years later, I'm still forever grateful for your support. The number one response in every card was, "I don't know what to say." I am still grateful you chose to write even when you didn't know what to say.

And for those of you who didn't know me when it happened but know me now, I'm forever grateful for your support in reading "how I'm doing....really."  You take time out of your schedule to read about me and my journey and I'm so honored you would do that.   For those of you who tell me you're a fan and give me so much encouragement, I am forever grateful and just blessed by all of you.

The second emotion that has been resonating with me this year has developed more recently when we had to deal with the loss of our family cat of 11 years.

The worst part of his death has been the fact that my five year old daughter is having to grapple and deal with his loss.  Her insight in the issue has been simple and so healing for myself reflecting on this date.

It was pet week at her preschool and I knew she would feel the sting of only having one pet instead of two.  I had anxiety over her feelings and emotions......I didn't want her to feel sad.  But alas I know that she needs to feel all the hard emotions and learn to deal with them.

We printed out the picture of our dog and sent it with her holding our breath.  Sure enough she comes home talking about how she misses our cat Pepino and she wants to bring a picture of him to tell the students that he is with Jesus now.

My heart broke knowing she was sad, suffering in her own way.  And then she didn't bring it up again.  So maybe it was over.....until today.  Pet week was over and she brought Pepino up again,

"Mommy" she said, "I miss Pepino, can you print out a picture of him so I can see him?"

"Sure," I said. "Do you want to write him a letter? Maybe we can attach it to a balloon and send it to him."

"Mmmm, I don't think it will make it to heaven." she said.

"Well it doesn't matter because God can hear us without sending anything up in a balloon." I replied.

"Let's pray now, you pray mommy. Tell Jesus we miss Pepino."

"OK, (holding back tears) dear God, thank you for all the time we had with Pepino, we miss him but we know that you are taking care of him until we get to see him again.  Thank you, we love you, amen."

MarKay says, "Dear Lord, thank you for watching Pepino, we love him. And thank you for the one pet we do have.....Sierra.  We love you. Amen."

I cried as I drove home feeling the same about my son.  I miss him and look at his picture every year.  I know God is keeping him safe until I get to see him again and I am so forever grateful for what I do have.

I had MarKay. She kept me sane and alive during my most difficult days, I'd sit and watch her grow and love as I dealt with despair. And Piper......tears fall just thinking about how she wouldn't be here if Jerin had lived........I am so so so grateful for her.  She is a spark-plug that I can't imagine my life without.

I also can see how God, my father, has had to let me "deal" with this loss. How his heart must have been breaking and how he must have wanted to keep me away from pain and suffering too.  But he chose, as I did for MarKay, to allow me to feel and grow, all the while being there to help me along the way.

So this year Lord, I hold these "bones" lovingly and sweetly up to you. Continue to watch over my boy and teach me more about you through his loss.  I love you.

Lessons From A Two Bedroom Apartment

It will be one year since we lost our three-bedroom two-story house and moved our family west into a two-bedroom apartment.  I was afraid of this move.  I was used to the big backyard, the girls having their own rooms and  every corner of that place was furnished and perfected.  Jerry and I worked on re-modeling the house for a year. Sanding cabinets, laying wood laminate, and painting every wall filled our kid-less evenings in our early years of marriage.  It was just how I wanted it, my colors, my furniture, my everything. Kids came and filled the air with joy, toys, and diapers.  The wood floors came in very handy during the spills and potty training.  The backyard was a haven for bikes, roller skates, and cars.  Parties, jumpers, and many cozy get- togethers filled the space with laughter and joy.  I loved it.

But with all of the joys, it was also a burden. Financially the house started to wear heavy on our shoulders, bogging us down and keeping us awake at night.  As with many others, we were upside down and felt our spirits being crushed year after year.  Then we received the devastating news that my husband was "let go" at his job of 7 years.  Although this was something really difficult, it turned into little rays of hope.  We no longer had a choice,we MUST let our house go. We MUST make choices that will help us financially.  Then it was exciting........... we had no choice but to rely on the Lord.

We talked through dreams, we assessed our goals and we knew we needed to downsize, re-focus, and learn a few things.  As I packed up all of my possessions and sold items at an absurd price (from what I bought them at), I became bitter, almost challenging God thinking, "you better make this work, I'm really relying on you."

Everything was unknown, when we would move....where we would move.......there wasn't much we could say we knew. And boy looking back, I really didn't know what this last year was going to teach me.

Soon enough, the timing was defined, my husband found a job, we found an apartment, and February 14th was the day we could start moving in.  I was petrified.  How am I going to do this?  I was going to be a "commuter" to work, we were down a bedroom, no backyard, an outside dog would become an inside dog, and the list.... the fears, went on and on.

Looking back on the last year I wanted to share a few of the many lessons I have learned living in my two bedroom apartment.

We can see and hear the freeway from outside our building.
At first I thought this would be a draw-back.  But this has been a constant reminder that we gain and hour of time a night with my husband.  As I stare at the traffic I'm reminded about the many nights he was late and frustrated because he missed the girls' bedtime.  It is ironic that I whisper a prayer of praise whenever I see the daily 91 parking lot.

2) My closet is ridiculously small

I had my own closet that held all my winter and summer clothes.  Now I "share" a closet with Jerry.  This has taught me that I don't really need that many clothes.  And, I've learned that in some places of the world, the size of my current closet is the size of someone's  room.....so I'm grateful.

3) I can hear the upstairs neighbor

This seems self explanatory but there is some comfort in knowing someone is awake, close, and there.  I knew my neighbors schedule and we would often chat about the weather, the power outages, and just about anything that we could while passing each other by.  We built a community without even trying.

4) My girls had to share a room

This gave me a lot of Mommy guilt.  Mostly because I had a brother and didn't share a room ever.  But I really felt bad having to put them together.  But this has brought them to be so close.  Just the other night MarKay told me she woke up to Piper crying and she went to calm her down so she could go back to sleep.  It really melts my heart that we are forcing a bond that hopefully will never be broken.

5) No backyard

Another Mommy guilt scenario for the dog and my girls.  But it forces us to get out, go walking, riding bikes, riding skates, or go to the playground at the office.  My dog hasn't been walked so much in her life and my girls have loved every outing we take.

6) Just no space for anything

This has taught me to give more than I ever have.  Realizing my "things" are not my own, I have too many of them, and others are in need more than myself.  I have never given more away, not because I wasn't willing to, but because I didn't have to. Also, I am never too far away from any of my loved ones.  They are all an earshot away. Forced to give things away and forced to be closer together......it has been heaven.

In the end, all of these "truths" about my apartment have taught me, changed me, formed me.  I like who I am in this smaller, more humble state.  It feels simple, calm......right.  All my fears, my unknowns could not possibly prepare me for the joy of a possession-less year.  Never did I think I would be praising God for a job and house lost.  It's in those losses I have gained.  I gained a new perspective, new joys.....new life.  When "normal" becomes smaller all the while my heart grows bigger.  Where the future is endless and fear is no longer the first emotion I feel.  So, here's to another year of lessons from my two-bedroom apartment.

Chiseled

Since I have chosen to live a fully authentic life, I have found that one of the hardest elements in this unauthentic world are relationships. From shedding expectations to building up walls of protection.....this is by far the most difficult area for me to maintain a true vulnerability. It's no wonder that my relationship with God can be so complex.....I've seen and realized now more than ever how real my relationship with Him is becoming.  The following piece is one that was formed out of my mind then was read and rejected by another mind (I had submitted it to a well known blog).  These posts or articles are the very pieces of my soul and this one in particular has been a "favorite" of sorts.  Although after re-reading this I find this "rejection" all the more ironic.  This past week I also have experienced rejection in different ways through completely unrelated circumstances. I almost chuckle and grin when I think of this feeling.....this pit in the stomach kind.

But alas, my hope for you is that "one mans trash is another mans treasure" and that you would be blessed on some level with this piece.  As for me, I will take to heart my own words, moving forward in realization that this is just another opportunity for me to be.......

Chiseled


Recently I've had several people in my life experience painful relationships. Whether it has been a break-up, a broken friendship, or a painful relative, it seems that relationships define us.

As I sat and thought of these people and myself I started realizing that we are created, formed, and developed by the people in our lives.

As life has gone by I look back and see myself to be a piece of stone.  I started out as a huge mass of rock, grey, solid, and alone.  Each person I have encountered has taken a piece of me, chiseling away at my being. They break away the corners and edges, rounding out and smoothing the rough places.

With some relationships the pain has been the breaking of my spirit or the dream of what could have been. Those tough break-ups where I wondered what I was thinking. Or when I broke the heart of someone else.  The sadness of hurting someone I cared about. Then there is the friendships that went astray,  whether it was over an incident or just the realization that they were not who I thought they were. Or perhaps the most common in my life, the friendship that doesn't develop into the one I need. An authentic, real, deep connection which requires vulnerability.

Other relationships are painful, they drive me to be better, breaking away the unnecessary, the jagged, the porous chunks that don't belong.  These are my family. My closest connection to my soul.....the ones who bore me, raised me or decided to be with me forever.  My soul sisters or deepest friends who don't always agree with me but can understand me and meet me at the crossroads. Who can respect me and demand the best of me.  Or my leaders who challenge and grow me. Who develop my skills and
abilities to the highest level and capability.

Time after time I encounter these relationships, some on-going and some just take their pieces and leave. When these relationships hammer and take a chunk out of me, sometimes it feels violating. I entrust them with their chisel and they leave the dust behind with crumbs of stone crumpled on the floor. I look down at the destruction and wonder how any of this could make sense.

In the end, these people, moments in time form me, polish me and make me who I am supposed to be.

God my ultimate sculptor, allows these people to come and hammer on my soul and my character, all for the end result......His masterpiece.

At times there is a resistance, an unwillingness to be formed. Questioning these moments of despair and hurt. Other times it is welcomed, a known purpose, a necessary step in the Master Plan.

Each relationship that comes or goes gets a precious piece of me, and I get a piece of them. If I whence at the sight of a hammer and wedge, or feel the sting of a broken relationship, I pray that I remember the piece of stone, the end result.

More  importantly I pray for the willingness, the ability to open up and allow the sculptor to do His job....His will.  When I come face to face with the perfect creator, I will be revealed.  The final product will reflect every relationship, every crease and crevice perfected by Him. Because of this, I pray to give up control. Give up the strong
hold of my stone. I want to willingly become malleable under His hand and remember that I am being whittled away, formed, created........chiseled.

Wrinkled Laundry

Wrinkled laundry

Laundry.....the evil existence of a never-ending  task. Being a wife and a mom has its challenges but my number 1 challenge (and arch enemy) is the laundry.  I grew up doing my own laundry and really was pretty decent at it. But when it came to doing laundry for more than just myself, it really started to fall apart.  I've been known to shrink quite a bit of items, turn undies a nice shade of pink and recently I discovered that I had been "washing" our clothes in fabric softener for a good six months. I claim that the bottle was poorly labeled and my clothes smelled good.....sure the socks were pretty dirty but they were soft!  I started suspecting this mistake on my part and discovered that Gain not only has detergent but also fabric softener......with Fabreese.  It works good, take my word for it.  I've been using it.....alone..... for six months!

But perhaps the very worst thing about laundry is the fact that it involves a good amount of timing. The washer to the dryer and then out of the dryer before the dreaded wrinkles set in. This is a problem for me. I find that left over load two days later in the dryer and then turn it to the "fluff" cycle only to find it a day later and I try it again.

I really didn't think much of this pattern until one day my husband informed me that my daughter was out of underwear. Now the only "good" thing about laundry is the fact that it can pile up behind closed doors without making my house look messy. This is exactly what was happening, I had gone too long before washing my daughters' clothes. Not only that,  but when I went to put in the load I was washing, there it was.....I found a load of their clothes sitting in the dryer. It had been there for a week.....wrinkled.

On this particular day I felt more than just a laundry misfit, I felt like a failure. So much so that after my husband told me about the panties I said, "I'm a horrible mother and wife."

I meant it. I really felt that way. I saw the wrinkled mess and identified with every crease and crevice. This failure in successfully completing the task meant failure for me.

I began to realize that tasks done well in my life were indicators of how "well" I was. My worth was in the task.  This pattern had a deeper hold in all areas of my life.  A clean house (and laundry) meant "good wife", good grades from my students meant "good teacher," and well behaved kids meant, "good mom."

Looking at all the tasks I do throughout my day I noticed none of them were healthy goals nor were they realistic. In fact they aren't even "true."

Being a mom has transformed so much in my life. It was when I couldn't provide clean panties for my daughter that really put me over the edge. When my girls naturally misbehave i question my ability as their mom.  It has been heartbreaking for me to realize that I think being a "good" mom means my kids are always well-behaved, happy, and apparently have clean clothes.  In fact,  after conducting a very valid and accurate poll, (ok, I asked my Facebook friends) good parenting is so much more. None of the 14 people who responded mentioned behavior when asked, "what makes a good parent"? Most answers were ones like, someone who puts their children before themselves, patience, self-control, love, and the number one response......grace.

I'm sure if I conducted another very accurate and valid survey of my Facebook friends on what makes a "good teacher" or "employee" or "wife/husband," it wouldn't involve task oriented responses. In fact most of the responses given about what makes a good parent would also work for any of these other roles I play. Funny how grace can transcend all areas of my life.

I don't want my kids growing up defining themselves as failures over wrinkled laundry.  I want to have a day or even week old crevices in my imperfect being and wear it around, proud and accepting of it. I want my kids to misbehave because they should, and will. I want to laugh when we are underwear-less and feel good about the time well spent doing something else of value.  I don't want tasks like work, lists, or unrealistic expectations to create a perfectly manicured and steam-pressed soul. Because that just isn't how it is. I am wrinkled, I need to be fluffed multiple times. And if I'm shrinked, damaged and turned pink along the way, at least I will be softened.......and smell good.
Because the first and most important thing I want to teach my children is grace. Everyday I'm realizing that I can't teach them this unbelievable truth without living the truth myself.

So this year when the dishes pile up, the laundry mountain overflows, when my students fail tests, and I burn the perfect meal, when my two-year old throws herself on the ground of a grocery store, when my students walk in a noisy and crooked line......I will have grace. When I open the dryer door and see the load that's been there for who knows how long because I forgot or was too tired to fold..... I will have grace. Sure I will have grace for my students, kids and husband, but more importantly I will have grace for myself. For the silly and legit mistakes, for the little and big things, for the imperfections that are bound to happen.  I will strive to make the tasks that usually define me become just tasks. Whether they are complete, incomplete, done well or half-assed, I give myself grace. And when that happens, wrinkled laundry will be just that......wrinkled laundry.

All Things Heathen And Santa II

All Things Heathen and Santa

Tis that time of year again where I feel the sting when I see the various posts and questions regarding the decision to "lie" to our kids about Santa and the ever
popular "Elf on the Shelf."

Each year my kids bring a new perspective on the issue because they are growing and changing their own views.

This year as we were getting our Christmas decorations out my four-year old says, "I love this time of year."

"Why," I asked (really was waiting for her to be the best little
Christian and say, "It's because Jesus is born").

"Because Santa comes and brings presents!" She answered.

Hmmmm not what I wanted so I thought I'd try putting a little Jesus
in this conversation.

"Well, I love this time of year because Jesus was born," I said.

"Not me," she replied confidently. "I like Santa!"

Oh crap. I was ready to throw the Santa towel in. I'm ruining my child.
She doesn't care about Jesus, just Santa!?!? How am I going to undo this damage!?!? Clearly we aren't spiritual enough!

But wait, it gets better. Last year we started the Elf on the Shelf tradition.. This tradition is when Santa sends down an elf to be on the "lookout" and report back to him every night on how their little boys and girls are behaving. The next morning the elf is in a different spot making it fun for the kids to find him.

When Freddie our elf had shown up on the first day, MarKay was beside herself. She
said, "Daddy I'm going to go straight to bed because you know who's
watching me?"

I was thinking, "say Jesus, say Jesus, say Jesus".....then her eyes got so big and her voice got whispery and poignant and she said, "Freddie!" My husband and I sat there with that plastered fake smile as we nodded and listened to her be so proud of her behavior.

She gets it.  If she gives a good report to Santa, then she gets her gifts from him.  If she is naughty......no gifts for her.

Since then I have really put in some serious thought on the issue. I coming to realize that I'm not sure I want to replace the idea of Santa with the idea of Jesus.  I don't want
MarKay to think that "good" equals blessings or gifts from above and "bad" equals no
blessings or gifts. The number one thing I have learned on this
journey of life is being "good" guarantees you nothing. The fact is,
God doesn't want us to be "good" for Him. He wants to protect us from our
actions. Even so, I know a lot of "bad" people who get plenty of
gifts......

So I started to get used to the idea that Santa was "the naughty or nice guy" for 25 days of the year. Not to mention, I don't mind the good behavior
either. I've also eased up my guilt a little by incorporating the Christmas story into our elf
antics. Freddie has been "asking" MarKay (with hand written notes) what the "real" meaning of Christmas is. After I read the first Freddie note I looked at MarKay and asked, "What IS the real meaning? Whatever could he be talking about?"  She looked at me with her head tilted to the side.  "Hmmmmm......elves!?" she replied. Crap again!  Good thing I placed Freddie in the nativity scene to give her a hint.

I said, "Oh wait! On this letter Freddie says his location gives you a hint.  Where is Freddie? What around him could be the REAL meaning of Christmas?"

"Ohhhhhh baby Jesus." She said almost as if like she was discovering it for the first time too.

Let me tell you, this little tactic has worked.  I have found myself showing picture books of Mary and Joseph traveling to Bethlehem to the elf
as I'm reading them to my girls. Markay takes it even further and will show him her Sunday school papers and explain every detail of them too. She really does know a lot about Jesus.

Today I was wearing a "Jesus" shirt that I got from my church. It has a large silhouette of long hair and a beard on it.  I was saying goodbye to my girls as I was rushing out the door to make a meeting. As I said goodbye to
MarKay she yelled down the hall, "you going to wear your Jesus shirt?"

"Yep wearing the Jesus shirt,"I said.

"Well just remember, Jesus is always with you, you don't need a shirt
for that" she yelled back.

At the time I thought it was cute but now I think it is profound. Quite honestly
it is the very thing I want her to build her entire life upon. Whether you are "bad"
or "good," in the trenches or on a mountaintop.....whether you are
basking in His Glory or barely getting out of bed......Jesus is always
with you. He loves you.....no matter what.

When she sees the "bad guys" seemingly  get all the glory, or when she feels she's done everything "right" and still falls flat on her face, I pray she remembers, Jesus is always with her. When tragedy, fear, and anger are her friends and God is her enemy I pray she knows Jesus is always with her. When she holds the hand of her one true love and holds the head of her firstborn child I pray she feels that Jesus is always with her. And when I'm no longer here to tell her that, I pray she lives like Jesus is always with her.

So December 1st through the 25th can have the magic, mystery and fun of the elves and Santa.  I will gladly take all of the 365 days that have Jesus.  I decided that I'm ok with that because somehow someway my child is getting the REAL meaning of Christmas without me even trying.

The Problem With Silence

The problem with silence

I'll never forget sitting on "the couch" three years ago in my darkest
of days listening to my therapist tell me my "homework."  I loved
having homework because I wanted to get through this hell as quickly
as possible so whatever that meant, I would do.
She said, "I want you to sit and do nothing for five minutes. I don't
want the TV on, or music. Just be. Whatever comes of that is fine."

Sounds easy enough. Five minutes is nothing.

So I sat in a dark room.  I looked at my hands finding every wrinkle
and nook. I looked up and found a crack in the ceiling.  I noticed the
paint wasn't quite right in the far left corner.  After all of this,
I glanced at the clock. Dang it!, only thirty seconds went by! I
forced myself to focus, to sit. As the minutes slowly turned, I was
astounded at how painful, agonizing, and very difficult it was.  In
that time I felt pain, sadness, anger......I cried.  I relived
heartache and questioned my values. I didn't like to "just be," it was
excruciating.

Then I understood.....this is silence.  I do not welcome it, I curb
silence with noise.  I find noise that takes me away, away from the
fear, anxiety, anger.  I find things to lift my spirits, thwart my
pain for another day. I don't deal.

Well that homework assignment was done. I got it, so I did it a whole
3 more times after that and then I forgot about it. I went back to
filling my days with music I loved, TV in the background, books of
interest, and the noise of my two children singing, chattering and
arguing.

A couple weeks ago I got to venture up the mountain for a weekend away
with the women on my side of the family.....by myself. I was even
making the drive by myself which is unusual. I blasted my favorite
songs on the radio and sang at the top of my lungs. Then I started
meandering up the long winding road.

My radio station was fading. I went as long as I could until all I
heard was static. My CD player was full of kids music and my iPod at
home I was forced to be in silence. "This is going to be a problem," I
thought.  I didn't want to feel. I dreaded it.  I wondered what
thoughts would reside in my soul. I wondered what I would "just be."

So I embraced it, turned off the static and drove in silence.

Going up the mountain in fall weather was breathtaking. The trees were
laden with crimson and golden leaves while the wind caused them to
twinkle against the evergreens. Looking down I saw a blanket of clouds
kissing the valley. Snow was expected as a chill seeped into the
crevices of my car and settled into my bones. The seat warmer had been off for
a year and I got to turn it on.

I started to get overwhelmed by this amazing beauty. Beauty of God, the beauty of my life and even the beauty of pain.  Tears filled my
eyes and overflowed down my cheeks. I didn't know why I was crying but
I knew it was a good cry, one that I would not have had without the
friend of silence.

After the arrival at the cabin, it was just me and my mom for a few
hours. As we sat and chatted by the crackles of the fire, snow
flurries started to float down from the grey sky above. I went out
alone to take some pictures and the silence was deafening.  I could hear my every breath and crack of kindling under my feet.  It's as if the world was muted, silently preparing to cover itself in white splendor.

I looked up and basked in the miracle of snow and just sat as tears
streamed down my face. This was magical, I was lucky to have this
moment, to receive these little frozen kisses from above. I didn't
want it to end. I wanted this simplicity to last forever.

My moment soon faded as life swept me up again in her whimsical hustle and bustle.  As I look back on my long-time battle with silence, I realize that the problem with it is the fear it brings.  I fear what I will be. Will I be  angry, sad, bitter, or confused? Will I
get in touch with the dark, ugly side of me? I fear these emotions,
these potential heartaches.

But by avoiding them, I miss the joys. The immense beauty, the silent
blessings and secrets from my creator.

The meandering road reminded me of the pain of silence but brought me
the quietness of joy I had been missing.

This experience reminded me of a quote I read by Brene Brown,  "We
can't selectively numb emotion. Numb the dark and you numb the light."
This has been so true in my life. I avoid the dark like the plague
and I wonder how often I keep the light out as well.

Silence was just an acquaintance, a homework assignment but has slowly become my friend. I invite him over more often and visit with him on occasion. I don't always welcome him with open arms but like most friends, I welcome the challenges he brings.  Sometimes I miss my friend and don't purposefully avoid him, I just don't always have the time to enjoy him. But lately silence has been a friend I look forward to spending time with.  I find myself wanting it more and more.  I even get excited when I have an opportunity to sit with him.  Silence really is "golden."  There is more worth in silence than any other distractor I have.  Silence loves me just the way I am.  With him I can "just be" and whatever that brings is good enough and welcome.