The perfectly imperfect

Here’s our 2012 family photo.  It was taken by our nine year old neighbor. Let me tell the story…

My son and daughter were outside playing up at the playground behind our house.  As it often happens, some neighbors joined us.  Maybe were all thinking the same thing:  enjoy the warmer weather before it gets really cold.  There we were, all playing and chasing each other in freeze tag.  I saw Brian back at home getting the xmas lights out.  I said, “Hey kiddos, let’s go over and see dad.”  He was working in the side yard putting lights on our three tiny crate myrtles.  If there’s anything in our yard that makes my heart softly smile, it’s these three trees.  Given to us by Brian’s parents when Clara was born, I cherish them each time I look out our kitchen window (which, can be a LOT when you are feeding what seems like an army of kids under five!).  So we all ran down to our house, our two neighbor friends and all.

I remember watching as these two girls jumped right in, just like family, and said, “Can we help?”  I remember thinking, “It’s not even their yard and they are putting their whole selves in to doing this!”  I stood there, watching them, wondering how many times we I give of myself so completely to another person’s project that is not mine at all — I’ll derive no benefit from it, no reward, no …anything – like these two girls were doing right in that moment.  My heart swelled with gratitude for these two girls — all but seven and nine years old — for showing my what true “gifting” is.  I started to tear up.  I breathed in the moment — “this is perfect,” I said to myself, as I watched my five year old son waving his Harry Potter wand around, my two year old whispering a spell under her breath, two neighbors helping string up lights, and my patient husband in the middle of it all.

I happened to have my camera that late afternoon.  I began snapping a few pics.  The nine year old asked, “Can I see your camera?”  I thought, “Why not?”  And I showed her how to take a picture.  And then I had an idea.  I asked her, “Would you mind taking a picture of us?”  She said, “I’d love to!”

And this is the picture she took.

2012 family photo

I love it.  Not because it’s perfect – -it’s not.  I’m out of focus just a bit.  We all don’t match.  I’m not wearing a cute outfit.  My daughter isn’t looking at the camera.  You can’t really see what the kiddos are sitting on (our Step 1 slide given to us by my cousins who outgrew it).  Our son is in his Harry Potter jacket (barrowed from another neighbor who knew he loved Harry Potter and brought it over to him the week of Halloween).

But it is PERFECT.  Why?

Because it will always remind me of how one innocent moment of generosity can make hearts weep.   It will always remind me of how spontaneous shots JUST AS WE ARE capture how it really is with us — Harry Potter, Wonder Woman, uncombed hair and all.  It will always remind me of how I get what I ask for, long for – maybe just not in the way I envision it: neighbors being about each other, helping each other, with no reason or reward except it feels good to be doing it together.   And that makes the imperfect quite perfect.

Give them PRESENCE

‘Tis the season…for overwhelm.  Every Xmas, I tend to get overwhelmed.  My love language is NOT gift giving – especially in “have to” gift-giving times.  I am not one of those moms who knows the “right” toys for certain ages.  I don’t know the “cool gifts”, heck I don’t even know what styles are “in” right now for me!  With our children now in full “magic of Christmas” swing, I can so see how moms/parents could get consumed by the whole present thing and lose sight of what is most important.

I found myself the other night with Brian after the kiddos were asleep and the contents of Santa’s bag spread out on our kitchen floor, seeing what we had and making sure everyone had “enough” of the “right” stuff.  I found myself spending waaaaaaaay too much time checking our “lists” and getting more and more anxious – did Clara have enough?  Is it “balanced” in terms of “girly stuff’ and stuff that actually challenges her?  What about Aidan – he’s not that in to superheroes any more and more in to magic – do we give him the superhero stuff we had left over from last year?  And Brian – I can’t find him that sweater he wants, I even had Maria on the search, what do I do if I can’t find him anything?”   In comes “overwhelm.”

It’s all self-induced.  Our families are pretty chilled.  I probably wouldn’t have to have anything for anyone (ok, besides the kiddos) if I didn’t want to.  But I want to have something for them.  Yes, yes, I could make things – and I often do.  But even then, trying to decide WHAT to make folks can leave me feeling pretty overwhelmed.

What I’d really like to give for xmas?  Presence.  What I’d really like to receive for xmas?  Presence.

I mean, come on, do any of us really “need” any THING?  “Presence” is such a hot commodity these days.  Our undivided, un-opinionated, un-rushed presence.  Our mindful attention to another person that communicates, “I see you” and “I’m in no rush.”

Could you imagine – a little note under the tree saying, “Brian, this xmas, I’m giving you my presence.  My compassionate attention when you are tired in the morning.  My un-rushed kiss as we get the kiddos off to school.  My silence when I’d rather say something about how you aren’t doing it ‘my’ way.  My eyes open to really SEE you and see how I might make your day lighter.”

He’d love it.  And that truly would be an act of love – to mindfully and heartfully remind myself to offer my PRESENCE throughout the year.

I think that’s what I’m giving my friends.  Yes, I’m pretty good about being there for my friends.  But I could add a dash of  not rushing and just “I see you.”

I recently was listening to a podcast by Tara Brach.  She told the story of a mom who had terminal cancer and decided that with whatever time she did have, she’d live by this motto: “No time to rush.” 

None of us know when our last breath will be.  None of us have time to rush.  That isn’t meant to scare us.  It’s meant to open our hearts and eyes to the reality that this life is precious and short.  It’s meant to prompt us to give our sweet, loving presence – to our own hearts, our dear ones, and this world.

Happy presence giving!

still magnificent

I dropped my camera.  Right before all the action began on Christmas Eve.  We were walking in the woods behind my parents’ house, investigating a huge tree that had fallen over and was completely hollow inside.   The rest of my family was at home playing “Elves” — putting out all the presents.  Santa would arrive while we were out with the munchkins. 

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?