daring to drop it all to find the miraculous right here

“Dare to drop the perfect and find the miraculous in your everyday life. We are about living courageously right here in the middle of crazy mornings, mounds of laundry-folding, tantrums (ours and our children’s), deadlines, heartaches, and the quietly content moments. How? Cultivating delight, compassion, and connection in our everyday lives.” ~ from the Barefoot Barn

I wrote those words awhile back. Today they really resonate with me. Daring to drop the perfect as I have been home for several weeks now recouping from a brain injury. On the couch. In bed. I’ve HAD to drop the need to make things perfect — our home, how I parent, what kind of friend I am, how I am as a leader and therapist. This is HARD!

Yet…it’s in the daring to be IMPERFECT and having the courage to be RIGHT HERE in the PRESENT moment that we exhale and see that our lives are miraculous. Imperfect and miraculous. A precious gift.

And it IS quite daring these days to be imperfect — to not be the perfect parent who responds mindfully every single time her child acts up, to not be everything to everyone, to be vulnerable and in need, to not have it all together at a meeting (or on the playground, for god-sake!).

It IS an act of courage to BE RIGHT HERE instead of scattered in a million different directions never really present to our dear ones, let alone our own hearts and bodies. Social media is great. Iphones rock. But…we can get soooo easily addicted to them (myself included) and get lost in cyberworld instead of RIGHT HERE looking at the snow softly falling, the warm blanket wrapped around you, your child’s eyes filled with excitement telling you a story, nourishing food at your table, a warm house.

But I find that the times when I do just allow myself to be imperfect, I create spaciousness. I literally breathe more easily. I find that when I pause and connect to whoever happens to be in our kitchen, my whole nervous system settles. I find that when I notice the goodness all around me, I rest and I smile deeply.

That’s where I’m at right now…in the middle of breathing that wisdom in, letting it take up residence in my heart and body. Open to the wisdom of being imperfect and cultivating compassion for me and my dear ones…and seeing the miraculous in that.

Where’s the miraculous in your life right now?

Love to you all, Lisa

the ways others love us

These days, (now weeks) that I am recouping from a concussion…oh how they are humbling me, bringing me to what is most important, softening me, and bringing me back into the lap of God…to rest, renew, and heal.  Over the last three weeks, with the dizziness and nausea, the excruciating headaches and being off balance (literally), I have been in awe of the kindness others have shown us:

~ Neighbors and friends near and far bringing us dinner.
~ A friend making luscious salt and sugar scrubs and massaging my legs and feet and head…for an hour and a half.
~ Prayers.
~ A friend writing to say that she is running for me today.
~ A neighbor saying even people in her prayer group have asked about me.
~ A grocery bag full of good things.
~ “Check-ins” ….”Lisa, let us care for you.”
~ Offerings of running to the grocery store for us.
~ The gentle presence of dear ones in our lives…just here.
~ Even friends of friends who have had concussions calling and giving their advice!

It was all so much for my heart that the other day, when a neighbor brought over dog food for us (we were watching my parents’ dog..it’s healing to have Blondie here…think “little white and golden cockier spaniel”), I started to tear up.

“I’m so humbled by such kindness,” I said.

Neighbor: “This is testament to how you all care so much for others.  It’s your time to receive.”

It stopped me in my tracks.  My heart was overwhelmed, humbled, full.  Brian and I have oriented our lives around “service” and “community.”  We care for others.  We jump in when someone needs something, we are about sharing our resources, and we offer our home and hands when our presence might lighten someone’s suffering.  It’s weaved into who we are and who we are as a family.  It has been conscious and intentional.  But it’s just a way of life.

We do it because this is how the Divine moves through us.  We do it because we intentionally live with our hearts and eyes open.  Not always.  Not in every moment.  But surely as a “posture” in life.

But when my neighbor said this, I reflected for a moment…

It’s not for thanks or accolades.  That kind of  “service” is surface deep — it trails off easily, it’s short term, it’s “when it’s convenient”, it’s when it’s EASY, it points back to the “giver” rather than the one who is suffering.  No, Brian and I are in to tending to others for the long haul…and in simple, everyday ways, and it doesn’t matter whether it’s noticed or not.

But when our neighbor stood there tearing up with me and reflecting our goodness, I saw before me the life we have created, the life we are living, and the life we are creating.
And I smiled. Deep from within my heart.
And, I praised the divine.
I bowed in gratitude to the divine — in service and humility.
And all that I could say in my heart was, “thank you.”

I thought about her words: “It’s your time to receive.” And another friend’s word: “Lisa, when you allow others to care for you, you give them the opportunity to do something for you…and that is a gift. They want to do something.”

How many times have I — have any of us — “not received”…because of pride, the need to “have it all together? Or because it was all too tender and we didn’t have the words and it felt too private to let someone in and be in that tender, vulnerable place???

Yet, this is how we love each other. We give. We receive. It ebbs and flows. There’s a season for both.

And here I am, totally humbled by the kindness of others.  Allowing others in.  Being vulnerable.  Being “not all together”. Being broken and admitting that to another. This is hhhhhhhhhard. And yet…this is how we love and learn to be loved.

I’m learning. I’m learning. Imperfectly and without words at times. But I’m learning.

~ What season are you in right now? To receive or to offer?

This is what love feels like

This is What Love Feels Like

Laying down
for a nap
with my daughter

curled up with
my belly
to her back
my arms
around her
little almost
three year old
body

little feet
resting on
my thighs

rhythmic
breathing
deeply
together

we sleep

sacred
holy
complete

this
is
what
love
feels
like.

Lisa A. McCrohan, 2013

Gratitude

I am preparing for a workshop that I’ll be facilitating next week at work on Gratitude.  This quote keeps coming to me and I thought I’d share…

Acts of Kindness #4: Trashman surprise

{Our family is committed to doing 28 acts of service to honor those who died in Newton, CT. Won’t you join us?!!!  Commit to doing a set number of acts of kindness and see how it changes your heart, home, and community! }

She is a gift-giver.  Our sweet little two-and-a-half year old.  Two pieces of paper cut with those cute little child-size (and dull ends!) scissors and pasted together (think “really messy!”), a page from a Frosty the Snowman coloring book, a pink rock from her “rock collection” on her shelf, a pinecone found on a winter walk…Little C. finds things and out of the blue comes a sweet excitement that causes me to pause, “Mama, I make this one for papa”… or grammy, or nana, or her brother, or a neighbor, or one of MY coworkers.

Some times, she thinks of the person first — someone, who, from the deep wellspring of love within her heart that leaves me awe-struck and wondering “who ARE you, little one?!” – needs a little gift from her.  Then she goes to her craft area, pulls out the right supplies, sits at the little kiddo table, and gets started.

That’s how it happened yesterday.  We walked in from the Y and she announces, “Mama, me make ‘sum – fing’ for trashguys.”  I thought, “Now that’s a good one!”  And she got me all inspired too.  I swear she must have read Patience Salgrado’s blog and her post about leaving a gift for the trashmen one random day (check out her blog.  I guuuuuuuarantee you’ll be inspired by her work, images, and life.  She is the “kindness girl!”)

So we got a gift bag, made up a plate of cookies that Brian just made, and then we set about making a card for the trashmen.  Little C wanted to cut out a fairy from her Sesame Street coloring book and went for the multi-colored squeezy glitter glue that she can get her little hands around.  I wrote a message at the top.

So proud, little C. put on her snowboots (no, it’s not snowing here!) and set out to put the bag on top of the trash bags.

Sweet Little C., present for the trashmen. (folks have asked what happened to her little nose. One word “Concrete.” It wasn’t pretty. But now she’s healing just fine).

And then we waited.

I’m grateful we didn’t have to wait too long.  Within ten minutes, we heard the familiar sounds of the trash truck getting closer to our block.  And then we saw it — we saw the trashmen going about their usual business quickly and efficiently…and then stop. look at the trash pile.  look up at the house (where we were now standing at the front door behind the glass door because it was cold!).  and wave to us.  and smile.  another bowed.  They carried the bag back to their truck and we watched as they threw the trash in the back and give our bag of cookies to the driver.

I couldn’t take a picture.  I was just really there.  Watching Little C.  Bowing in my own way, with a deep smile, to our trashmen.  Kindness does change everything — beginning with our own hearts.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

* {It’s Rachel’s post about her sweet daughter’s gift-giving that confirmed it for me — Little C’s love language that is emerging is gift giving.  All those little scraps of paper cut, glued, folded and colored…those are the little gifts many of our kiddos give to us to show how much they love us…and the world.  Check out Rachel’s site.  It’s amazing.  She has started “the hands-free revolution.”  Another soul sister on a mission to be RIGHT HERE in the messy and miraculous of our everyday lives.}

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

** What about Act of Kindness #2 and #3?  I posted them on our Barefoot Barn Facebook page.  If you aren’t on FB, here they are:

Act of kindness #3: fresh off the crochet needle — a pink “signature” necklace (that a group of us ladies juuust took a class in and learned how to do!). I gave it to a sweet seven year old girl who said,
“Oh I so love that!”

“Would you like it? Here you go, sweet love.”

(child puts it on and is beaming): “I feel like a princess! Thank you!”

The act of kindness: the seven year old warming my heart with her huge, delight-filled smile.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Act of kindness #2 : ATTEMPTED to let Brian sleep in and enjoy the morning.

“Babe, I’ve got this. You just rest up.”

But then…our five year old son woke up crying with a “broken heart” because one of his friends in school is moving to another country, our two year old wanted to make an art project, milk spilled at the breakfast table, we forgot to make lunches the night before, our son wanted to get a photo of him to give to his friend who is moving, socks had holes in them, presents for teachers werent finished..iit goes on.

This is just how it is, right?!

So there I was focusing on how my act of kindness just wasn’t going to happen n feeling a bit sad abt that, really wanting to give Brian a break, when I started to notice instead how our family is in this TOGETHER…Brian got up because he could hear that there was a lot going on this morn n didn’t want me to be doing it alone, our son wanted to do something kind for his friend that was moving, our daughter wanted to make an art project for my coworkers we are going to visit tomorrow, and I dropped the “I’ve got to get all these things done” line and was just present to my family.

So though my original act of kindness didn’t pan out, I’d say it turned into a beautiful morning full of kindness.

The Call of Fall – Pause

This fall, I am drawn to pause.  Summer had us out and about, playing in the sandbox and on the playground, swimming and hiking, meeting up with friends, and looking at bugs (oh yes.).  We had our “Summer Activities Board” up in our kitchen from May til August, sparking spontaneity and creativity.

But every fall, and even this year with school starting for us, I find myself drawn to pause.

To slow down.  To “go within” after months of being out in the world.  To regroup.  To be in my body and heart.  And to rest there for awhile.

Stillness calls me.  Even as I type away from my second floor window in Georgetown.  Even as I drive up and down (up and down, up and down!) 270.  Even as I walk to work in the eaaaaarly morning hours of dawn (now just two days a week!).  As I go home and hug my kiddos and heat up some soup and put C’s rainboots on her little feet and help my son get into his knight costume.

Fall calls me to pause.  To breathe it all in.  And to let it all go, too.  And to rest.  My thoughts, my worries, my plans, my body.

Some times “how-to” steps can be helpful when cultivating a new practice…Here’s a post about taking a Sacred Pause I wrote in the Spring with easy “steps to follow” for finding that sacred pause.

Here’s another post about finding that Sacred Pause in our parenting.

I find that when I pause throughout my day, the Sacred emerges…or rather, I wake up and SEE the Sacred already alive and present in my day.  I soften.  I open.  My shoulders relax, my breath deepens.  And I find that a sense of gratitude fills my heart.  The beauty all around me beacons me to honor and reverence this one precious and short life.

Sweet blessings of Pause to you all.

Repost: Mindful Moment: My mom’s every day love…in a grapefruit

{I wrote this a year ago.  I was reminded of it because, lately, I find that I am being called to a deeper sense of “selflessness.”  I see and notice and am grateful for how my mom and my husband both live lives of “serving the other.”  I am being called to be “less about me” – in every thing. More on this as the adventure unfolds}.

Grapefruit.  I could’ve sobbed over my grapefruit the other morning.  Carefully cutting the outside circle of my grapefruit, I stopped.  The memory of my mother so lovingly and thoroughly cutting my grapefruit for me as a girl flooded my mind and heart.  Back then, I probably didn’t say, “thank you.”  Back then, I took it for granted that she put such extraordinary care into something so ordinary.  Back then, I’m embarrassed to admit, I never thought that it was any “big deal.”

Now, as a mom to two little ones, I get it.  The time, attention, care, focus, energy, and “groundedness in what is important” it took for my mom to cut my grapefruit and never even say anything about it – I know all too well now what a big deal that is!  To take the time, to put off showering or brushing teeth or fixing her own breakfast, to put attention into one thing instead of being a multi-tasking queen, to muster up the energy from a night of little sleep from a tending to a sick little one, to find balance in divvying up time with more than one child, to recognize in the moment “THIS. This is what matters” — THAT is extraordinary.

mom and me

And I am humbled.  Grateful.  I want to go back in time and savor every little cut out triangle of grapefruit and hug my mom and kiss her and tell her she rocks and thank her for all the little every day ways she showed me extraordinary love.  Cutting my grapefruit.  Making my lunch (yes, even through high school).  Telling me to “take a mental health day.”  Braiding my hair.  Driving me (and team mates!) to and from soccer practice.  The list goes on.   Flashes of these memories flood my heart.  And I pick up my phone to call her.  She’s asleep.  My heart can’t wait to tell her “thank you.”

Ordinary things done with extraordinary love.

Before having my two little ones, I wanted to do extraordinary things in this world.  I had specific ideas about what that meant.  None of them involved cutting grapefruit.  But the other morning, I thought about how now it’s my turn to embody this legacy of loving with great tenderness and attention in the ordinary.  And I am quietly grateful as I go about my afternoon.  I cut an apple for my two little ones, peeling the skin carefully so my little C. can easily chomp away.

beholding my little one

grandma…still lovingly regarding her honeys

A letter to myself on my 38th birthday

My birthday is coming up.  I woke up with the prompting to write a letter to myself. I’d highly recommend trying this on your next birthday.

Dear Lisa,

On your 38^th birthday…

open

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.

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.

 

Mindful Moment: My mom’s every day love…in a grapefruit

Grapefruit.  I could’ve sobbed over my grapefruit the other morning.  Carefully cutting the outside circle of my grapefruit, I stopped.  The memory of my mother so lovingly and thoroughly cutting my grapefruit for me as a girl flooded my mind and heart.  Back then, I probably didn’t say, “thank you.”  Back then, I took it for granted that she put such extraordinary care into something so ordinary.  Back then, I’m embarrassed to admit, I never thought that it was any “big deal.”

Now, as a mom to two little ones, I get it.  The time, attention, care, focus, energy, and “groundedness in what is important” it took for my mom to cut my grapefruit and never even say anything about it – I know all too well now what a big deal that is!  To take the time, to put off showering or brushing teeth or fixing her own breakfast, to put attention into one thing instead of being a multi-tasking queen, to muster up the energy from a night of little sleep from a tending to a sick little one, to find balance in divvying up time with more than one child, to recognize in the moment “THIS. This is what matters” — THAT is extraordinary.

mom and me

And I am humbled.  Grateful.  I want to go back in time and savor every little cut out triangle of grapefruit and hug my mom and kiss her and tell her she rocks and thank her for all the little every day ways she showed me extraordinary love.  Cutting my grapefruit.  Making my lunch (yes, even through high school).  Telling me to “take a mental health day.”  Braiding my hair.  Driving me (and team mates!) to and from soccer practice.  The list goes on.   Flashes of these memories flood my heart.  And I pick up my phone to call her.  She’s asleep.  My heart can’t wait to tell her “thank you.”

Ordinary things done with extraordinary love.

Before having my two little ones, I wanted to do extraordinary things in this world.  I had specific ideas about what that meant.  None of them involved cutting grapefruit.  But the other morning, I thought about how now it’s my turn to embody this legacy of loving with great tenderness and attention in the ordinary.  And I am quietly grateful as I go about my afternoon.  I cut an apple for my two little ones, peeling the skin carefully so my little C. can easily chomp away.

beholding my little one

grandma...still lovingly regarding her honeys