Abundant gratitude

I was interviewed yesterday for the cover of a local woman’s magazine. I told the editor I am not cover material. I proceeded to come up with dozens of other women who are way more deserving, (I even included drummer boy on that list…she politely reminded me that it’s a women’s magazine.) Truth is she (the editor) should be on that cover. She is daring, fearless, passionate, vulnerable, Chicago marathon runner and genuinely loved by everyone. She said she can’t be on the cover of her own magazine. I told her Oprah is. She told me to get comfortable and she turned on her recorder. I discovered that she has selective hearing.

She asked me where I am at in this phase of my life. I told her I’m stepping down from the organization I founded after ten years. I told her it was time. I don’t know how I know this, I just do. I’ve been planning my “exit strategy” for about 5+ years. I told her… I am messy and weary and grateful and exhausted and overwhelmingly reflective. I told her I cry in the shower until the water gets cold and then I cry because the water’s cold. I told her I’m selfish. I told her my fear is that I started the organization because I needed a place to put my pain. And I worry it was more about me than stepping in a gap that existed to meet the need of others. I told her 6 years ago when the organization moved to the next level, I had a breakdown. Drummer boy spent days looking for all my scattered pieces. Shortly after that my mom got sick. I had another breakdown after she died. I told her my mom gave me my place in my family. Without her, what’s my place? At 45, I was an orphan, with 5 siblings. Sigh… Emotionally unstable orphan with selfish ambition, yeah that makes a great cover story.

I’m not a cover girl.

I really don’t know when I began to question my motives. In all fairness to myself I think my heart was in the right place. I just don’t really think things all the way through. I never do. I told magazine editor that I never think anything is a big deal, especially big deals. Drummer boy knows this all too well. Anyone that has ever worked on a project with me knows that too. When I began to realize the “big dealness” to this, it was too late. I was in too deep and didn’t know how to get out. So I didn’t. And I had breakdowns. And I have breakdowns. And on some days it takes everything I have to walk out my door. I was reading the other day about wearing the armor of God. I decided I’m a warrior. That I just need to put on my war paint and get in my chariot (with remote starter) and do it. That helps…sometimes.

And now the truth is out. I can’t put it back in.

I’m not a cover girl.

But what I am… is grateful.

I am grateful for… my mom who loved me always, my daughters who I love always, my drummer boy for keeping the beat, my grandchildren who make my world go around, my girlfriends who sometimes tell me what I want to hear … and other times they tell me the truth. I’m grateful for…my 5 siblings, the colors of gray, the beauty of the dessert and abounding grace. I’m grateful for my nieces who are sisters and best friends and enemies all at the same time. I’m grateful for magazine editor who has encouraged me to speak my truth. I’m grateful for good coffee and gluten free cookies. I’m grateful for the moments of utter stillness. I’m grateful for breakdowns and war paint and the opportunity for pain to become purpose. I’m grateful for tears and laughter and dryer sheets. I'm grateful for community and the egg man and granola guy at Saturday's farmers market. I’m grateful for all the women who do selfless, unconditional, love filled works every day. They are cover girls.

Magazine editor asked me if I had to do it over again, would I? I honestly don’t know. I’d like to think I would but it’s probably best that I don’t have a window into the future. Because it’s in the not knowing that pushes me into the deep end of faith…it’s in the not knowing where I find hope… it’s in the not knowing that my trust in God grows.

Magazine editor’s last question was this; “What do you want for yourself this year?” I told her that was a good question. I pondered that for a bit. I told her I wanted to live wholeheartedly in each and every good, bad and messy moment, and to be fully present with a heart of gratitude to the overflowing abundance in my life.

And I told her I still didn’t want to be on the cover of her magazine.

Dances with Jesus

I told Drummer boy husband the other day that he’s my click track. (A click track is a device drummers use to help them keep their beat steady.) I was getting ready for bed and it seemed a tidal wave of emotion knocked me over and stole my breath. So in an attempt to recover it (my breath) I started to breathe to the beat of Drummer boy’s heart. It worked. I fell asleep. I told him about it the next day. He smiled. I think he was a bit amused. I love him.

I started thinking about what I will do when another wave comes and he’s not with me. I considered recording his heartbeat and then stuffing it into a “build a bear”, but thought better of that… for obvious reasons.

About 10 or 12 years ago, Drummer boy and I signed up for ballroom dance lessons. We were in the middle of messy and on the advice of our therapist we began weekly date nights. Drummer boy said it was my call…”whatever you want to do honey”. (If I knew how I would insert a smiley face right here.) I loved it. I loved learning to dance with him. It was beautiful. We had to learn the steps first and then the instructor would put on the music. We learned to keep the beat steady throughout the song. We did good. We discovered our rhythm. I wonder...when I don’t have my living breathing click track handy could I just imagine us dancing? Maybe a waltz or better yet the Hustle. The Hustle was my favorite dance…I’m totally an 80’s girl and I'm convinced big hair and shoulder pads are making a comeback.

Last Sunday my Pastor talked about worship. He said it’s about God not about us (me). I’ve been known to have selective hearing when it’s not about me, but I heard him loud and clear that day. It got me thinking. Maybe I should focus my breath on the one who created me. Maybe looking up is what keeps me from falling down. Maybe when the waves come I ride them, knowing my Jesus is controlling the storm. Maybe dancing recklessly for Him keeps my breath and beat steady. Maybe if I allow Him to lead, I will discover my true rhythm. Maybe if I let go of who I am, I will discover who He is. Maybe my courage comes from leaning into His story.

I’m reading a book called King’s Cross by Timothy Keller. (My daughter's small group is reading this and she told me the other night that I should get it. I had it downloaded before we hung up.) He believes: ” God created us to invite us into the dance, to say: If you glorify me, if you center your entire life on me, if you find me beautiful for who I am in myself, then you will step into the dance, which is what you are made for...To serve me unconditionally. That's where you'll find your joy. That's what the dance is about.”

Worshipping is an invitation to the dance.

Joy...irrational, radical, heartleaping joy is found in the dance.

I am made to dance.

Maybe it's in the breathless awe inspiring dance with Jesus that I will find my breath.

I can do this.

I’ve taken dance lessons.

Falling grace

"How surely gravity’s law,

Strong as an ocean current,

Takes hold of even the smallest thing

And pulls it toward the heart of the world…

This is what the things can teach us:

to fall,

patiently to trust our heaviness."

Rainer Maria Rilke, Book of Hours

Drummer boy husband and I took our inherited dog for a walk this past weekend. This is the picture I snapped in front of our house. This is beauty.

I love fall. It’s my most favorite time of the year. I love the fall smells, the warmth of the sunshine and the clear crisp nights. I love fall candles and pumpkin patches. I love sweatpants and my old warn sweatshirts and curling up on the deck with a glass of wine. I love the colors of the leaves against blue skies and I love listening to the leaves fall. It’s pure grace. I pondered that this weekend…

I thought of how many times I’ve fallen and how it is anything but graceful. Literally or figuratively, it doesn’t matter, my falls are messy. I’m Jill in Jack and Jill, tumbling after myself. Sometimes I pretend I didn’t fall. I look around and if no one is watching I get up, brush myself off and go on with my day. I’m cool like that. My niece told me she once fell down the spiral staircase in Anthropology in New York City where she lives. I asked her what she did. She said she tucked and rolled. (She’s cool too.) I asked if that helped. She said it saved her life. I decided I needed to take tuck and roll classes.

Sometimes God breaks my falls by providing a branch for me to hang out on for a bit. I like those times. I’m aware. I’m present. I’m grateful. I’m hopeful. I’m safe. But then I get comfortable and SNAP… the branch breaks. Drummer boy husband has gotten good at putting me back together. He’s a fixer. He worries a lot about me. He’s afraid he won’t be able to find all my pieces. I tell him not to worry…most of us come with extra pieces.

It seems I can’t rush my falling. I can’t tumble faster. I just need to trust that God in His infinite wisdom will provide a branch or a rock for me when I need to rest. Sometimes the heaviness is comforting, sometimes it’s terrifying but mostly it’s just there. As the poem says, I must trust and be patient. The laws of gravity are at work.

Drummer boy husband and I enjoyed a warm fall evening last night, sipping wine, smoking cigars. I sat listening to the leaves falling. I pondered it all again. Maybe my falling (tuck and roll) is saving my life.

And maybe grace, God’s grace is why I’m falling.

Change the world or take a nap

I had lunch with a friend today at my favorite little cafe. She asked me how I was doing. My mindless response was “I’m good, how are you?” She said, “eh, I’m ok”. And then she proceeded to let me in to her “eh, I’m ok” world. I appreciated her truth. I then told her my truth.

I told her I’m not sure where I’m at. I spoke of a heaviness that I feel. That maybe I have some depression going on, but not depression in a situational way. (For example; the days are shorter, it’s colder, motorcycle season is over, no more (legitimate) reason to wear leather, I miss my grandchildren – of which I desperately do, my bedroom has been under construction longer than I imagined, I miss gluten, I hate budgets, I need a pedi, inherited dog needs a teeth cleaning, my razor is dull, and my mom died 5 years ago…) Those are all good reasons, well most of them are anyways for depression, but it’s not what I feel. What I feel, in a strange way is comforting, it’s as if this heaviness is pushing me towards something. Parker Palmer refers to this as the journey inward. Richard Rohr (who my 3000 mile away friend just introduced me to yesterday) says, “There is much evidence on several levels that there are at least two major tasks to human life. The first task is to build a strong “container” or identity; the second is to find the contents that the container was meant to hold.”

I told my café friend that I’m not even sure heaviness is the correct word. She said it’s because we (society) don’t have a word for that. She's smart and full of wisdom. She's a world changer. She was excited for me and my “journey inward”.

I don’t know if excited is the word I would use, maybe there isn’t even a word for what I feel. Hmmm…I seem to be filled with wordless feelings.

I do know that pain became purpose for me and purpose became pain...and all of that is apparently leading me somewhere.

I went home early today. My container wants to change the world but my contents just want to take a nap.

Recycled thoughts

Here is my very 1st blog post from January of this year. I only had two post and then deleted the blog. I know a lot of people think they are writers, I however am not one of those people. But apparently it's all part of my messy travels right now. It seems it is the beginning of my search for more.

"If we are to live our lives fully and well, we must learn to
embrace the opposites, to live in a creative tension between our
limits and our potentials. We must honor our limitations in ways that do not distort our nature, and we must trust and use our gifts in ways that fulfill our potentials God gave us. We must take the no of the way that closes and find the guidance it has to offer and take the yes of the way that opens and respond with the yes of our lives." Parker Palmer, Let Your Life Speak

This is my journey of more, of using my limitations to expand myself to be in the presence of each moment. Touch. feel. breathe. be. It is a bit of a paradox, "more" grows from less when there is room to breathe. It is then that our gifts begin to blossom.
I'm learning that more is not about the doing.
For today my more is the simple act of breathing.