I don’t know if you’ve noticed, but I haven’t been blogging for a few weeks.  I let the habit fall off the table as the busy-ness of life took me over.  I thought it was a good idea to set writing aside and try to pay more attention to my family, work and other pursuits.

Truth is, I don’t know if it helped.  I’ve discovered that I pay more attention to the present when I’m writing.  Even when I’m distracted crafting a post in my mind, I notice more details, reflect, and appreciate the seemingly mundane events.  And when I read reflections of other bloggers, I feel like I’ve opened a little gift for the day.  I feel more connected.  I learn so much from you.  I feel like someone other there gets me and my little place in the world. 

These few weeks have been a blur, and I don’t have much record of where it went.  I’m not sure I was a more attentive parent or wife.  I’d rather have a few posts, some words of wisdom from other writers, or a comment or two from you to reflect upon those little moments.

So today, I’m just grateful that I’ve rediscovered what draws me to writing and this strange community of the blogosphere.  There is value in this virtual yet intimate exchange. 

I haven’t figured out the balance (do we ever?).  But I’m back, ready to jump in again.  

Let’s talk.

Posted at Tuesdays Unwrapped at Chatting at the Sky.

photo credit: Capture Queen ™

It happens every night.  Somehow, she shuffles around in her sleep, rolling into a little ball and piling the puffy down cloud on top of her into a mountain of coziness.  She’s deep underneath in her warm sweet slumber, and it’s my job to coax her out to greet the morning.

It’s my favorite part of the day.  After her brothers have caught the early bus and before the chaos of the day begins, just she and I steal a few precious moments of our own.  When I’ve planned it right, I slip in under the cloud and spoon around her, soaking in the radiant heat of her skin and the scent of her shampooed hair.  She mumbles a little and we snuggle as long as we can.

Has it really been almost nine years since I held this babe in my arms, nursing her to sleep, cherishing every moment with my last, littlest one? 

She’s not a babe anymore.  She’s lean and long.  I can’t reach the full length of her legs, and when she jumps into my arms, my back aches.  I catch my breath when she saunters up the stairs with a slight sway of her hips –not on purpose–  just naturally feminine. 

There’s trouble ahead; I’m sure of it.  The posturing and friendship dramas already flare upon occasion, and I have no doubt there will be more to come.   But there’s also great joy in the glimpses of profound thought and compassion that arise more often as she grows.  

I cannot stop the flow of time.  I don’t really want to. 

So today, I savor a snuggle with my baby girl.  I never know how many more mornings like this we’ll have.

This is part of Tuesdays Unwrapped at Chatting at the Sky.

But why am I not more upset?   How can I listen and watch those pictures from my cozy home and keep on going with my mundane daily tasks?  Oh yes, I add one more thing–I go to the UMCOR website and enter a donation–a drop in the bucket to help the folks in Haiti, but if I’m honest, I also do it to help myself feel better. 

What else can I do? 

I have been near the epicenter of a strong 7.1 earthquake, but in a wealthier place with architecture built to withstand the earth’s movement.  Few people died, but it rattled me to the core.  The aftershocks kept coming, and we never knew when another “big one” would hit.  For years I would grab my desk–ready to dive under–every time a truck drove by or heavy boots walked the halls, even where an earthquake was highly unlikely.  It was a gut reaction.

Where is my gut reaction today?

Why does the flood of news about another horrible tragedy make me uncomfortable and sad, but not outraged?  How can I compare this news with the number of souls lost in other tragedies?  Why am I surprised when my children come home from school, shocked by the horror of it, and realize that they are more emotionally vested in this than I am? 

When I hear of a famous man’s despicable statement about Haiti, pointing fingers instead of offering love, why do I roll my eyes and move on rather than wrestle with outrage like dear Heather did? 

I don’t know why. 

Am I jaded, overwhelmed by the great need in so many places?   Have I decided that my efforts are too small, have too little impact?  Am I coping with the emotion I cannot handle with calculated logic?  Has my heart grown cold, numb, hardened?

I do not know the answer.  But I need to put why aside.  

For now, there is one thing I can do:  to give where I know it will serve.  There are so many wonderful, generous efforts underway.  Our family supports UMCOR, the United Methodist Committee on Relief, who is already working in Haiti and is often the first in and last out.  100% of gifts go directly to the relief effort.  If you’re looking for a trustworthy place to give, I highly recommend it. 

We can also harness the collective spirit of community.  My husband and I would like to contribute at least $1 extra for each unique commenter on this post toward UMCOR’s efforts in Haiti.  We had an amount in mind, but we’re open to being stretched and shaken by your compassion.  So please, add your thoughts about how to connect and respond to such global (or local) tragedies.

And we can pray.  I pray for the people of Haiti, and I pray for God to bring forth an earthquake in my soul–to shake me up and crack open my heart. 

photo credit: CarbonNYC

Last year, people kept claiming their “theme words” to focus their energy and I felt a little left out. I couldn’t think of just one word that didn’t feel trite or forced. So I didn’t have one. And that’s okay.

Now, the same word keeps coming back to me, so I’m thinking this is the year to claim that word:

Connect

Over the holiday break, I tried to focus on connecting with my family. I’d like to continue that effort.
In my volunteer leadership roles, we need to connect to draw folks in and make them feel at home.
In my work and volunteer efforts, I want to connect with the people we serve.

On my blog, I’d like to connect with my readers. 
In my spiritual life, I want to connect through prayer and sharing with others.

Will I get everything done that I’d like to do?  Probably not.  But I hope it will guide me in the right direction.  Two examples:

1. A friend just called out of the blue to invite me to lunch.  I could have declined, because I have a lot of stuff to do (don’t we all?).  But with connecting on my mind, I said yes, and I’m so glad I did. 
2. Blogher asked me to do my first review for one of their clients.  The topic:  10 connecting tips for parents of teens or tweens.   I said yes, and I’m so glad I did. 

And you might be glad too–there’s a chance to win $200!  Check it out over here.

photo credit: andrew and hobbes

Today I joined the throngs of people flocking to health clubs to get back in shape this week.  I shouldn’t have been surprised by the suddenly packed parking lot and the crowded fitness center at my YMCA:  in January alone, over one million Americans join health clubs each year.  And sadly, up to 75% of those quit their goals within the first three months. 

But today,  the place was teeming with people prepared to sweat off their holiday indulgences (cookies, anyone?).  I found an empty bike, adjusted my settings and hopped on, ready to tackle the imaginary trail ahead.  Twenty-plus wheels cranked, spinned, climbed and coasted up and down the virtual hills and valleys.  Twenty-plus bodies synchronized with the pounding music and our instructor’s commands.  Twenty-plus souls pushed, pulled, cycled and sweated to gain some strength and burn a boatload of calories in our quest for fitness.   We felt proud.  We felt strong.  We felt high on the endorphins.  Well, actually. . . we were gasping for air, trying not to throw up and on the verge of total exhaustion, but not just yet.

At that moment, we were full of hope.  Full of optimism.  Full of energy.

Can you imagine how much hope, optimism and energy fills America’s health clubs in the month of January every year?  One million new souls, believing that this year we will really get back in shape, conquer those demons, and get on with a healthier lifestyle.  It’s a valliant effort, even it costs us over $18 billion per year, and it might be short lived.  I’m part of it, in my own sporadic way. 

But I can’t help thinking about all of these people who come out of hiding this week.  What if we could capture all that new energy and put it toward a different purpose?  What if we could harness it and channel it to last the whole year through?  What if one million people used all of that energy and optimism to promote a different kind of health–-not just body-sculpting–-but a community-building kind of health?   

What if, instead of just working out, a million newly energized, motivated people could instead work together to:

• feed someone. . . toward stamping out hunger
• tutor a child. . . toward improved literacy
• give to a charity. . . toward ending poverty
• visit a church (or temple, or mosque, or someone who needs a friend) . . . toward a better community

What if. . . ? 

Imagine the possibilities.  

Where would you channel these one million energetic, hopeful people?

(This was originally posted in January 2009)

I was peacefully studying when my Diet Coke spilled, the furniture swayed, a dresser toppled over and I stumbled to the doorway, riding the door jamb like a galloping horse.  My roommate held on for dear life on the fire escape of our rickety old ex-fraternity house.   When it finally stopped, we raced down the stairs and gathered outside. 

I have to admit, I was a little excited.  After four years in California, I had finally felt my first big earthquake.   Then we realized it was a really big one– 7.1 on the richter scale– and were grateful to survive without injury.  The Marina District burned, the Bay Bridge broke, a double-decker San Francisco freeway collapsed, and the World Series was abruptly cancelled at 5:04 pm that day.

My dear boyfriend (later to become my DH) checked on me and then biked away to study (ridiculous work ethic, that guy of mine).  We didn’t realize we would be banned from our now damaged house, and many students would be homeless for weeks.  We bunked together, taped up the windows, and huddled through the aftershocks for days, never knowing when another big one might strike.  It was a major life event.  I still grab my desk, ready to dive under, when I feel the slightest floor tremble (in Michigan!). 

Another friend?  He totally missed the whole thing.  Riding his mountain bike along the foothills, he thought the trail was just extra bumpy.  He wasn’t connected with the earth beneath him, so he didn’t even realize it was shifting. 

This story popped into my mind during a recent discussion of the walk to Emmaus.  In this story, two disciples walked with Jesus without even recognizing him.  They were so caught up in their own lives that they completely missed the miracle in their midst.  I used to wonder, “How could they miss it?”

Now, I totally understand.  It’s so easy to get caught up in our daily routine, planning and preparing for the next hurdle, that we forget to pay attention to our surroundings.  We forget to connect, and we miss things–the little blessings, the minor miracles, or even the earth shifting beneath us. 

I want to connect.  I want to be present.  I don’t want to miss what’s happening in my midst. 

What about you?  How do you stay in the present?

photo credit: confusedvision

I laughed at the ridiculousness of it and how far we have come since those days.  But in some sense, I cried at the irony, because there have been times when I’ve felt almost that separated from the world of business for which I trained.   Not directly from family or friends, but subtle messages from the world at large. 

Carla Barnhill speaks of the church’s pressure on mothers in The Myth of the Perfect Mother.  I’ve been ruminating (one of my new favorite weird words) on her message.  Some of it hit home for me and some seemed a little far-fetched.  As soon as I process my thoughts, I’ll write more.  If you’re interested, join Carla and her friend Caryn’s thought-provoking conversations at The Mommy Revolution. 

In the meantime, enjoy.  Does something in this video strike a chord with you?

Today I joined the throngs of people flocking to health clubs to get back in shape this week.  I shouldn’t have been surprised by the suddenly packed parking lot and the crowded fitness center at my YMCA:  in January alone, over one million Americans join health clubs each year.  And sadly, up to 75% of those quit their goals within the first three months. 

But today,  the place was teeming with people prepared to sweat off their holiday indulgences (cookies, anyone?).  I found an empty bike, adjusted my settings and hopped on, ready to tackle the imaginary trail ahead.  Twenty-plus wheels cranked, spinned, climbed and coasted up and down the virtual hills and valleys.  Twenty-plus bodies synchronized with the pounding music and our instructor’s commands.  Twenty-plus souls pushed, pulled, cycled and sweated to gain some strength and burn a boatload of calories in our quest for fitness.   We felt proud.  We felt strong.  We felt high on the endorphins.  Okay, we were gasping for air, trying not to throw up and about to feel exhausted, but not just yet.

At that moment, we were full of hope.  Full of optimism.  Full of energy.

Can you imagine how much hope, optimism and energy fills America’s health clubs in the month of January every year?  One million new souls, believing that this year we will really get back in shape, conquer those demons, and get on with a healthier lifestyle.  It’s a valliant effort, even it costs us over $18 billion per year, and it might be short lived.  I’m part of it, in my own sporadic way. 

But I can’t help thinking about all of these people who come out of hiding this week.  What if we could capture all that new energy?  What if we could harness it and channel it to last the whole year through?  What if one million people used all of that energy and optimism to promote a different kind of health–not just body-sculpting–but a community-building kind of health?   

What if, instead of just working out, a million newly energized, motivated people could instead work together to:

• feed someone. . . toward stamping out hunger
• tutor a child. . . toward improved literacy
• give to a charity. . . toward ending poverty
• visit a church (or temple, or mosque, or someone who needs a friend) . . . toward a better community

What if. . . ? 

Imagine the possibilities.  

Where would you channel these one million energetic, hopeful people?

************************************

on flux

What do I mean by “flux of life”? 

From the Free Online Dictionary:

flux (fluks) n.  1. a. A flow or flowing.  b. A continued flow; a flood.  2. The flowing in of the tide

 

As a child, I anticipated a straight path to success.  I was an ambitious girl, coming of age in the 80s, believing I could “do it all.”  I dreamed of being queen of the corporate world and a beautiful family.  Then reality rushed over me.  In reality, my life has flux-ed through the seasons:

college:  a river of rapids and whirlpools–turbulent, challenging, exciting, invigorating

20s/early marriage:  forging a new stream, building my flow, enjoying a rising tide

working mom of two babies:  an unexpected flood.  trying to keep my head above water.  struggling to balance.  gratitude in surviving.  reluctant to get out of the exciting waters.

baby number three:  time to move out of the flood zone and crawl up on the banks.  watching the career stream flow by.  seeking stiller waters.  finding a new stream. 

 mom of three young ones:  depending on the day, a varying flux–a steady drip, like water torture (not my metaphor), raging rapids, floods, or flowing tides. 

today–three kids in school, flexible work:   feeling more buoyant.  negotiating a new stream.  anticipating more “flux” to come.

Along the journey, I fluctuate.  Sometimes I struggle.  Sometimes I know my choices are right.  As I adapt and evolve, sometimes I wonder whether I’m losing—or finding?—my true self.  Is this maturity, or weakness?  The blessings are abundant, but different from what I expected.  Can I ever go back to my original plans?  Do I want to?   In which stream do I want to row?

The flux metaphor works for me as I flow through life’s seasons.  How does it resonate with you? 

“Mom, what’s good about mosquitos?”

My kids ask this on a regular basis, because I taught them to look for a good purpose for everything.  We’re still debating what purpose mosquitos serve beyond spreading disease and feeding bats.  Of course, I do understand natural selection, and the mosquito question is one of the smaller evils that can stump us, but I still think it’s a valuable exercise.

One of the keys to cultivating gratitude is finding the gift in all things.  Sometimes it’s not so easy, but developing this simple habit can transform challenges into opportunities.  I’m still working on this.

Just imagine, hypothetically, that you are overwhelmed with things to do, and your daughter begins to complain of a sore throat.  And a headache.  Her temperature registers 99.9 degrees.  What’s a mother to do?  I know, all of you good mothers out there would sacrifice everything to take care of your precious girl.  Me, the evil mom?  I waffle.  Motrin (the wonder drug) would buy me a few hours of productivity, but I really shouldn’t spread this bug around.  Solution?  Look for the gift.  My daughter is presenting me with a gift:  a rare chance to spend time nursing, caring, and sharing our day one on one.  Now, I can view the day as a precious gift rather than a sacrifice.  You wonderful parents might do this naturally, but sometimes I need a little guidance.  My mantra:  find the gift. 

Here’s another timely example.   While the economy falls into the tank, many of us depend upon industries that are careening right down with it.  Expenses increase while job security is threatened.  What to do?  Find the gift.  We might have to dig deep, but finding a tiny gem can help.  When we cut our income a few years ago, I found a gift in discovering our true priorities.  The losses didn’t disappear, and sometimes I obsess over those too.  But when I focus on finding the gift, I transform my perspective. 

I know my problems are miniscule compared to many greater challenges.  But whether minor mosquito annoyances or life’s bigger issues, finding the gift has helped lighten my load.

What about you?  Could you find the gift in one of your challenges today? 

Look for more great Works for Me ideas at Rocks in my Dryer, and check out Scribbit’s write-away contest!

photo credit: w e n d y,   Bashed