Dear Lisa,

On your 38^th birthday…

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Ahhhhh….Dear One, happy birthday!  Do you remember when you were little, on a hot August day, you’d announce to your mom, “I know what I want to do for my birthday (in January)?”  Maybe that was Grandma Clara’s promptings moving in you.  August was the month she died while you were nestled in mom’s belly.  Maybe, for your family, August is a month where birth (Julie’s birth) and hope (the promise of your arrival) triumph over death.  And maybe Clara had a hand in prompting these birthday delights to be had in five months.

Today, as you wake up, life is goooood.  What loveliness you have all around you, cushioning you.  ALL OF LIFE is saying to you, “Here, drink such loveliness.  Wrap yourself in this warm, sparkling shawl.  You are surrounded with softness.  Deep calm and delight can spring forth from you and into this world, transforming it in little and big ways with gentle, powerful love.  And you don’t have to DO anything except BE, listen and respond from a place of delight within you.  No pushing the boulder up the hill.  Now we are about the water element – jumping into the river…and flowing along with it.”

You are cushioned, Love.  Your husband…ahhhh, what deep love can do to nourish a body and soul.  His love is the alchemy for parched, dry bones, the worries of decades ago, the Capricorn goat “pushing the boulder up the hill” mentality.  His love is the calm flowing through you, the softness lubricating your bones and heart, the nourishing sweetness that bubbles up from you and is offered to others.  It is good to be reminded of that.

And your family.  Your dear friends – those blossoming right here and those we’ve known for years – they are roots running deep.  And as of late, once again, you sense the mystical forces that have been with you from before time.  All cushioning you.

You are wrapped in love and light.  And what is emerging?

We have no plans anymore.

For years, you have only been able to see just so far in front of you – from only the kitchen table to the dirty dishes in the sink!  You have heard God saying, “Just right here.  That’s all I’m revealing.”  You got it.  And, yes, there are still “knowings” within you – for you, your kiddos and Brian.  But the specifics of how that plays out…you are just open.  Totally open.  Ready.  Not searching. Just listening and saying, “Ok”, and being awake to/grateful for what IS right now.

What is emerging?  Joy…softly glowing.

What a great way to begin another year, Dear One.  Happy Birthday.

Soften.   I softened my judgment, my inner critic, my talk, my eyes, my way of being, and my “pushing the boulder up the hill” mentality.  I softened my expectations of others (ok, sort of, still in progress!).  I noticed how, in the moment of stress, instead of becoming rigid and harsh, I could more quickly soften.

strength and softness

Strengthen.  I strengthened my body, how I carry myself, and my inner glow.  Pregnancy and c-sections take their toll on me, leaving me feeling quite weak.  This year I got my strength back.  I feel it in every muscle – still workin’ on those abs!  I walked with more confidence – as a parent and a professional.  And my inner glow – well, by softening I feel like I’m strengthening my soul’s light to shine through more.

me and brian after finishing the warrior dash

Forgive.  I found myself needing to let go of old stuff I’ve carried too long and also needing to let go of “everyday stuff” that could ruin a day  – just letting it go, asking for forgiveness, and moving on.   In softening my judgment, I found that forgiving would spontaneously happen.  I exhale and then breathe in the opportunity of softening and connecting in the next moment.  It works.

It’s amazing to carry a few words within you for a year and to see how they change your heart, how they come out in your smile and hands, and how they shift your everyday life, perceptions and relationships.

In thinking about my word for 2012, I said to myself, “This year I’ll have just ONE word.” And well, nope, that’s not how it’ll go down yet another year. Again, I have three:

1. silly
2. sensual
3. connections

Silly. My son is hilarious. A jokester. His presence reminds me that a good laugh goes a long way in connecting with others. I need to laugh more. All four of us do. This puts me out of my comfort zone.  I’m not silly.  Fun, yes, but silly?  Not so much.  So here’s to lightening up and being silly.

being silly

Sensually feminine.I am being drawn into all that “flows,” and is feminine, water-like, and powerfully “woman.”  From what I wear to keeping my hair long.  From communicating with a feminine strength, compassion, and fierce regard for life to embracing “non-linear healing” and ways of being in this world.  Not being about conquering, analyzing, dissecting, or thinking my way into the next phase of my soul’s journey.  I’m ready for some deep listening to my soul’s song (or poetry, in my case!), energizing movement, honoring the unknown, and living with a fierce but gentle strength.

the ocean

Connections.  I’m pretty good about staying in touch with friends from the different places I’ve been.  But I’d like to just put more attention into nurturing and tending to the lovely connections I/we have with amazingly wise, hilarious, genuinely kind friends and family, near and far.  “Connections” also continues to mean “being in cahoots” with Brian and with my kiddos — lightening up, deeply listening to what I “intuit” about my kiddos and nurturing their connection to their soul’s path.

sweet friends

my two little superheroes

So those are my words for 2012!  We’ll see how it all unfolds.

What are your word or words for 2012?

Blessings to each of you in this new year.

On our way home, we saw a dog was loose.  Little C. doesn’t exactly like dogs.  She huddled close to me – well, actually, more like she clung to me.  And I couldn’t hold everything – stroller, baby, and camera.  The camera fell.  Lens broke.  But…not before I could capture some of the magic of this weekend…

C. taking picture of my parents' cat

climbing the hallowed out tree that fell

a sweet hug that lingered for a long time with her godfather

The dead hollow tree, still magnificent. How is that — even in death? Is that how these moments we capture are – on film, in our hearts, on paper — long after our death? Is that how we are? Still magnificent? That what remains — after all that has been dropped and hollowed out — is magnificent?

cards for some of the great women in my life - a line from a poem I wrote: "The prayers of our deepest longings are really the breath of the infinite calling us to rise."

My 4 yr old and I made these cute little "kindness candles" - the tag reads "Let your light shine."

greeting cards - dare to bloom, love life, smile

little journals for writing down great quotes, recording kiddos' quotes, and writing well-wishes for a new mom, friend, or dear one

and i finally finished the kiddos' book of pics and stories from the year they were born.

I’ve been a busy mama…and crafter! I’ve noticed that I don’t like to make the exact same design more than a few times. I love to be creative by taking the scraps of paper I have and seeing what I can come up with. It’s just pure fun. Thanks to all of you who inspire me with your own crafts.

Something new is emerging
wanting to be birthed
has wanted
waited patiently
to be in the light
for so long now

no longer okay
with laying dormant
no longer necessary
it is ready
NOW.

I know labor
the waves of contractions
trembling me
moaning me
into this
very
moment

impossible to cling to the past
or reach for the future

only right here

in the shaking and the trembling
the resting and the quiet
the shaking and the trembling

where even the earth echoes
the pains of labor

believing surely I will die

yet mind body spirit
fully alive
present
together breathing
the same prayer.

Birth and death
death and birth
meeting.

No returning
nowhere to escape
nowhere but
here.

Somehow an ancient knowing
carries me through the waves
as I feel
this painful now

this holy unknown.

And I know with certainty
there is no going back
no running from
no denying

birth is happening.

As much as I want
to cling to what
was
what is familiar
I know I cannot.
There is only allowing
opening
and surrendering.

This is how labor
is.

Now
something new is emerging
wanting to be birthed
has wanted
waited patiently
to be in the light.

My heart is
panting, pushing
to breathe the air
outside the womb.

© Lisa A. McCrohan 2011

Buuuuuut, it never entered my head that that was a “problem.”  I loved dancing.  I used to put on records and dance in our family room.  The Beachboys, Elvis, Simon and Garfunkel, Alvin and the Chipmunks, and yes, even the Singing Nun!  It didn’t matter that I had never taken a dance class in my life. To me, at least.

At home, I selected the song I would dance to.  It was Christmas time and I selected a lively song with fun lyrics:  Frosty the Snowman.  The day came when it would be my turn to share my “talent.”  After fellow students performed on the guitar, clarinet, and recorder, the teacher called my name.

I carried my record  to the front of the room, told my teacher to put on “Frosty the Snowman,” and waited for the music to start.

I had no idea what I was going to do.

I had danced to this record and song a million times.  But from a place of shear delight.  Not a place of “being watched” or because I was “good” (or not!) at it.  I never “planned out” my dances.  I just heard the music and moved my body.

But now, up in front of a class full of kids and a teacher who was about “sharing a talent,” I felt a bit uneasy.  For the first time, I realized, “Ohhhhh, there is a RIGHT way to dance.  And I don’t think I know it.”  I stood there.  Absorbing this new reality into my consciousness, my memory.  It was one of those moments in life when you realize something and your world shifts.  For decades.

Yet…standing there, looking back , I think I must have intuitively done what now I must consciously do: ground myself and honor what I know I need to do.

I danced.  I made up each move as I went along.  I can seriously remember moments in the dance when I said to myself, “Ok, now let’s do a turn to the left and spin.”  And “Ok this is the part when Frosty is running and saying ‘catch me if you can.’  I’m going to run over there to the other side of the room.”  And the finale:  “Here it goes…’Frosty the Snowman had to hurry on his way, so he waved goodbye saying don’t you cry, I’ll be back again some day.’ Look back over your shoulder, Lis, and wave to everyone!”

I finished.  I don’t remember what anyone’s reaction was.  I only remember going back to my seat on the floor in the middle of the room on the right side, sitting cross-legged, and I grew quiet.

Part of me was wondering if I should be embarrassed, wondering what others thought.  That feeling, that new awareness that maybe there was a “correct” way to dance and my way of doing it in my family room wasn’t it, stayed with me.

In that moment, though, I knew I couldn’t have done the dance any differently – I had to dance how I defined it.

I couldn’t have named it back then, but the quiet within me was partly one of contentment.  I somehow knew I had done something courageous:  I honored what dance was to me, from within every cell in my body, even if that didn’t fit into someone else’s definition of ‘dance.’

And my “talent” was just that:  honoring the movement within me even if it may not be the “correct” way of doing it.

It has taken me decades to reclaim this courageous nine year old.

I kept focusing on what he wasn’t doing “right” (cough. um…MY way). This didn’t make anyone happy. Including me.

I decided to stop whining and do something. I heard a great idea:

1. Make a list of the things you love about your partner.
2. Share it with them.
3. Make a list of the things you want your partner to do differently.
4. Throw it away. (They ain’t gonna change)
5. Make a list of the things you can do for your partner.
6. Start doing them.

I needed that “kick-in-the-butt” kind of love. So, this is what I did:

1. I made a list of the things I love about Brian. It was long.

2. I shared it with him. A few times.
3. I never made the second list (see why below)
5. I made a list of the things I could do for Brian.
6. I started to do them.

This is what I discovered:
1. Brian does MORE than enough.
2. I’VE got some work to do.
3. As I wrote out the things I love about Brian, my heart softened.
4. I stopped focusing on how I wanted things to be different.
5. When it came time to write the list of things I wanted to change about Brian, this is what I wrote:

Nothing. I couldn’t think of a single thing Brian had to change. I felt sorry for being so hard on Brian and asked him to forgive me.
6. I felt empowered by focusing on what I could do for Brian.
7. Some of the things that frustrate me about Brian are actually things that I wish I was more like (eg. how easy-going he is). So I decided to figure out ways I could “practice being Brian”…in my own “Lisa” way.

So what happened?
I started to appreciate, once again, who Brian is and how he loves us and this world. I started to focus on the little things that I could do for him to see him happy. I started tucking in the sheets for him, moving the seat back in the car, quietly touching his shoulder and looking at him for a moment in the “kitchen chaos” in the morning. I have started to feel lighter, empowered, and connected to Brian again. And Brian has started to smile more, too.

Stuff still bugs me. In those moments, I breathe, change my focus, and I say something like “Let it go, Lis. No big deal.” Or I remind myself of how Brian truly loves me and is a goooood man. And he is human. I give him a break. I give myself a break. I remind myself that there’s ALWAYS something I can do to stay frustrated and turn away or be lighter and connect. I’m working on choosing “connection.” It just feels better.

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

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.

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.”