Words that are with me

I love lists. Anyone who knows me isn’t surprised. I happened to be reading cakes, tea and dreams…blogging lists! I love it! Simple little morsels to share! So here you go, my first list.

Do you have words that keep coming up in your heart and mind? Maybe for a season, you carry these words, you notice them on billboards and magazines, your ears perk up when someone mentions one of them. Words that choose you.  I do believe words, like images, make their way into the very cells of our being and impact what we see, how we see, how we live.

Here are  a few words that are with me right now:

dawn emerging from our backyard


1. delight  (always.  right now, needing to cultivate some more)
2. light (being a light. noticing light. lightening up)
3. softness
4.  dance
5. vastness
6. boldness
7.  flowy
8.  sensual
9.  quiet
10.  contentment
11. balance/rebalance
12. embrace
13. connections
14. dawn

when I’m not grateful

There are days, I embarrassingly admit, that I am not grateful.  I don’t want to be grateful.  I pull away.  I don’t express what my heart wants to say and do.  I tense up.  I refuse to look at the goodness in my life.

I’m beginning to realize that that is ok.  Like EVERYTHING else, I can give that ingratitude permission to just be.  Give that “I don’t feel like being grateful” feeling space.  Instead of trying to change it.  Or force it along with a tyrannical “should.”  IT’S ALL OK.

And then…I find…that out of such spacious acceptance…some grace lands right in my face.

It’s like, ‘WHAM!  Here ya go!”

I am am humbled.  And, organically, gratitude rises up from within me and fills every cell of my body.  It’s as though light mixed with softness and boldness and sweetness sweeps through me.

I turn toward.  I soften.  I exhale.  Life embraces me.  And I hug back.

Allowing + Spaciousness + Grace = Gratitude.  In my book. 

 

It’s these eyes that are, most often, my Grace.  So on this day of mindfully recalling what we are grateful for:  thank you, my beloveds, for seeing me with adoring, loving, “let’s begin again,” and “you totally rock, mom” eyes.  Thanks for being my grace.

 

God in the ugly

Inspired by the spiritual yoga class I teach at our local parish, I started to really sit with the Gospel reading for today, Sunday, November 20, 2011. It’s the very “Catholic-y” famous Matthew 25: “…for I was hungry and you gave me food, I was thirsty and you gave me drink, a stranger and you welcomed me, naked and you clothes me, ill and you cared for me, in prison and you visited me.”

taken by theojunior, flicker

Noticing God…… Right here. In even the ugliest of places. The vulnerable, the outcast, the imprisoned. No, not just in what is beautiful.

It’s easy to see God in babies and butterflies. What about seeing God in the ugly?

The outcast, the sick, the lonely?

What about seeing God in what makes us recoil…about ourselves? The parts of us that we are ashamed of so we try and keep them in the dark? The outcast, ugly parts of us longing to be gently brought out into the light with tender, warm hands…holding, protecting, healing?

I see God in the lavenders and reds of the rising sun, the ocean-blue eyes of my children, the coziness of our light-filled home. I have become mindful and grateful for such delights. I have trained my brain and eyes and heart to pause and notice these silent gems in my day. And while yes, I could always use more mindfulness in my day to notice these gems, tonight, as I write, in the darkness, listening to the rain, feeling the pulse of silence in our sleeping home, I’m wondering about seeing God in the ugly. The ugly moments of my day. The ugly parts of me. My habitual reactions looping again and again.

I haven’t looked for God there. If anything, I have tried to keep God out. Along with the light and my beloveds and my Self. Oh the ego has been hard at work “protecting” what no longer needs to stay shut up, shut in, imprisoned.

God in the imperfect. The ugly. The outcast. I imagine God in the trash. In the dumpster. Digging. Saying to any part we’ve banished, “No, we will not throw out this one. Come, Sweet Love. Yes, I call you ‘Sweet Love.’ We have a lot of holding of you to do.”

Tips for Parenting with Compassion #6: Gotta go wild

By dontexplode, flicker

I’ve noticed this: many of us are uncomfortable with our kiddos “going wild.” For some time I’ve been noticing myself. Noticing how I get “uncomfortable” when the energy gets a bit high and I start getting on the kiddos to “bring it down.” Sure, it’s appropriate to help our kiddos learn how to self-regulate – how to go from sad or mad to “Okay” again, and from way hyper and over-stimulated to calm. But I’ve noticed how I tend to jump in too quickly to “bring it down.”

Why is that? Why are some of us uncomfortable with our kiddos “going wild”? What is it in our culture, our times?

I have distinct memories of me and friends “going wild” – jumping on a couch, hanging off a tree, playing any kind of running and jumping and wrestling game you could come up with. And the parents (aunts, uncles, neighbors, my parents) let us go wild. By doing so, I got out anything that was pent up and then naturally, organically, brought myself back into calm. I learned how to self-regulate.

Ok, sure, parents stepped in at times to “help” us do that. But I don’t think they parented in a culture that was really uncomfortable with “wild.” I mostly remember being given the freedom within limits to just “bust loose.” I don’t have any memory of my parents hovering over me, telling me to “be careful” or “bring the energy down.” I don’t remember feeling “squelched” or “contained.” Maybe that’s why I didn’t freak out when I got to college. I didn’t need to “bust loose” and go to an extreme.

I guess it’s “welcome to helicopter parenting” today! Many of you have heard me say this: I am taking micro step to micro-manage my kids less. I’m being mindful of that uncomfortable feeling rising up in me and just noticing: “Is this about me or my kiddos?”

I check in: “are they having fun? Are they hurting anyone? Is the energy still positive?”
And if the answer is: “everyone is ok and having fun,” I’m dealing with MY own stuff…and breathing. A lot of breathing and letting go.

What are we so worried about? How we look/appear to others? If our kids will be these untamed, wild animals who have no chance to do well in kindergarten, let alone focus enough to get into Harvard?

My son’s pre-k teacher tells me how A sits for circle time, he can focus, he’s starting to read and can concentrate for long periods of time, and he is kind to his classmates. Lisa, don’t worry!

Maybe it’s because we parents need to “go a bit wild.” No – a lot wild! Maybe we need to jump and dance around – at home, at church, and with our friends. Shoot, even with our spouses! Maybe we are scared of the “wild parts” within us.

I’m noticing that as I go a bit wild, I ease up on and allow my kiddos to go wild. Let A. climb the fence. Let little C. jump on A. and wrestle like little tiger cubs. Let them chase each other with pillows. I’ve noticed that when I do this, yes, there are times I do need to step in. But often they end up coming down on their own.

Case in point: the other day we were driving home from somewhere. A. and C. started singing. Soon enough, they were belting songs – each a different one because C. can’t talk yet – at the top of their lungs. I noticed the discomfort within me. I wanted to say, “Hey guys, bring it down. Let’s chill out now.” But I looked back and I saw their faces just beaming. They were estatic. Not over-stimulated or too hyper. Just having a fabulous time.

I let it be. I thought, “Here’s my break! There’s no fighting, no hungry kiddos asking for snacks, no tears.” I put down my window to feel the cool breeze. A few minutes later, it was calm…and quiet. “Mommy,” I hear from the backseat, “Look.” I look back and A. and C. are holding hands. All on their own.

So let’s let our kiddos go a bit wild without hovering over them. Let’s go wild ourselves!

 

wrestling

being goofy

more wrestling, beginning to settle

settled, connected

Elvis is in the house

Elvis came to my brother’s birthday party!  Jason has been an Elvis fan since he was a little tike, rockin’ and rollin’ to my parents’ records.  Growing up, my mom would sing us Elvis songs — as lullabies or just when she was tootling around in the kitchen.  Elvis is in our bones.  Though Jason and his fiance didn’t opt for the Elvis wedding of Jason’s dreams, (THANK YOU, Rebecca), my family did the next best thing:  they brought the King to Jason.

This Elvis was the “real deal.”  Down to “Las Vegas Elvis” white jumpsuit with red sequins, sporting his “bling.”  And in my parents’ sunroom, the King saranaded us – from rock to gospel to slow songs.  Of course we all took pictures with him before Elvis “left the building.”

What a phenomenal hour!  Thank you, Michael Hoover.  You are an incredible tribute to the King.

me and the kiddos with elvis. too bad brian had to work!

Elvis and bday boy

Elvis in the sunroom

Elvis has left my parents' house!

Mindful Moment: our hands

holding dad

His hand.  The instant I took this picture and viewed it, my son’s hand drew my attention.  It felt…familiar.  Its placement.  Its energy.   Its “feel.”  It all reminded me of something.

A few weeks later, after I had printed out these pictures and was putting them into an album (yes, we still do this!), I held this one in my own hand.  I looked at it for awhile.  Then, I saw it.  I paused and began to tear up.  I started going through other albums, searching for a picture of my own hand holding someone.  The first one I found was of me and Brian at my brother’s wedding.

And there was my hand.  Holding.  Brian.  Just.  Like. My. Son’s.

holding brian

I am thinking now of how we grow in to the people closest to us without even knowing it or trying to make it so (or trying to NOT make it so, in some cases).  How we reflect the people dearest to us in our mannerisms, tone of voice, and the way we carry ourselves.  How we hold the energy, vibe, and emotional “tone” of those we are with day-in and day-out in the very cells of our body.  How our spirits, though are each unique and with their own vocation/calling/path, live outside of us in the people we birth, hold, love, break bread with, argue with, tend to, and make love with.

And though there are many times when I wonder if I speak “boy” and wonder what I am passing down to my son (and my daughter), these pictures of our hands today bring me comfort.  And I exhale.  Without my even willing it or working at it, something, something of my kindness and passion for, well, holding others, is in my son’s hands.

holding each other

Copyright. 2013. All rights reserved. No portion of any post may be copied without written permission from the author.
Follow

Get every new post delivered to your Inbox.

Join 216 other followers

%d bloggers like this: