I Choose Love

I Choose Love! I found this at http://www.etsy.com/listing/75578334/whimsical-folk-art-girl-with-butterflies. If you like whimsical folk art, this artist has a beautiful collection of work.

I hope it’s not too late in the game to be thinking about Martin Luther King Jr. I have been thinking a lot about him since we observed his birthday last Monday. If it were up to me, every day would be MLK Day because then I’d have an excuse to search the Internet for the perfect MLK quote to post on Facebook. Last week I posted this one: “We have flown the air like birds and swum the sea like fishes, but have yet to learn the simple act of walking the earth like brothers.” It grabbed me. I didn’t recall having heard it before. It made me think too.

I wondered what Martin Luther King Jr. would say today, about how far we have come since he spoke these words. I think he would say, “We’ve come a long way because no matter how many stories you hear or books you read, you cannot begin to imagine what life was like back then, Anna. We’ve come a long way, and we have a long way to go.” I’ve had quite a few reminders that we do indeed have a long way to go before we can safely say that we have learned the simple act of walking the earth like brothers and sisters. I’m beginning to hold my breath thinking about the upcoming elections. It’s already getting ugly and it’s just Republican candidates fighting against each other. What will happen when the party has selected a candidate to run against President Obama? The thought of that scares me. I vividly remember the election season of 2008. It was rough to watch as people took jabs at Barack Obama. I fully understand not agreeing with his policy, his experience, or whether he was right for the job, of course there will be disagreement. That’s what the election is all about! But a lot of what I saw was downright hateful. People said some really cruel things. I didn’t get it. Why is it so hard to walk the earth like brothers and sisters?

About two weeks ago I was in the parking lot of my daughter’s pre-school helping her get into the car and buckle her seatbelt. Out of nowhere, it seemed, this giant man (okay, about 6’4″) appeared next to me, YELLING AT ME! He yelled that he saw me speeding by his house, that he sees me all the time, that he followed me to the school and that he was sick of it. When I spoke, he waved his hand at me and walked away. Another mom said, “Are you okay?” I said, “I’m okay, but I don’t think he is okay.” By that time he was standing at the entrance of the school yelling at one of the teachers. He waved his arms all over the place yelling things like, “IT’S THE MOMS! THEY ARE CRAZY! IT’S GOING TO TAKE SOMEONE GETTING KILLED!” AND SO ON while pre-schoolers stopped in their tracks to stare at him and mothers tried to usher them into their cars. I said to the mom next to me, “I wasn’t speeding and there is no way he could have been fo—.” She cut me off. She said, “I don’t care if you were going FIFTY miles per hour passed his house, he has no right to yell at you like that. Somebody needs to call the police.” I was in shock. I had places to go. I fumbled with my phone, thinking I’d call the police, but really I needed to get on the road. When I settled into my seat and started the car, my Sophia’s sweet little voice said, “I’m scared. Why was that man yelling at you Mom?”

You can yell at me. I can take it. I am tough. I gave birth to three children and I am raising them (not alone, but you get the picture). They are ruthless. I can take just about anything, but don’t mess with my kids. The yelling man had backed into one of the last parking spots in the lot before speeding off in his big red truck. None of us had a chance to get his license plate number. What he doesn’t know about me is that I watched Charlie’s Angels when I was a little girl. I knew how to find him. Plus, in the course of his yelling he gave us the name of his street. I drove down his street until I saw a red truck. My heart dropped. I couldn’t be positive it was his until I checked out the entire truck so I got out of the car to make a positive identification. I saw him in his garage watching me from the shadows. I didn’t care because I am an Angel. I called the police because it seemed like the most appropriate thing to do. Eventually, a couple of hours later, the Sheriff assured me that he would be paying this guy a visit.

I’ve been thinking a lot about this guy too. Part of me wants to do something really obnoxious. Oddly enough, one of the other mamas was able to identify the guy when she found out where he lived. Within minutes, we were looking at his Facebook page on her phone! That’s another thing this guy clearly does not know: don’t mess with mamas. He may watch us, but we are watching him too. So anyway, I’ve had a few ideas about what I could do to torment him. I would love for my husband to beat him up or something. Stuff like that… This guy is pretty scary though so I think it best to keep our distance. I still wonder what kind of man would pull into a pre-school parking lot to scream at the mothers and teachers of small children? A troubled man? A man with some serious mom issues? I don’t need revenge. I think we’re safe. But I’ll be driving through his neighborhood for at least another school year and I would love to think that at some point, we could figure out how to walk the earth like brothers and sisters. I don’t see that happening. And again, why is that so hard?

I like to believe that in our hearts, we all do what we think is best – for the most part. The truth is, even brothers and sisters disagree. In fact, they probably disagree more than anyone else. I see it every day. At the end of the day though, as they say good-night to each other, there is a sea of underlying and unconditional love that swells between them. That is what I would love to see between all of us here on Earth. I know we are in this together. I know, that if we have nothing else in common, it is our humanity that binds us. I think that should be enough to inspire us to choose to walk together, like brothers and sisters, disagreeing by day, and loving each other as we part at night. It is a choice. No matter what occurs between us, we can choose to walk together. One of my favorite things that Martin Luther King Jr. said is this: “I have decided to stick with love. Hate is too great a burden to bear.” I am with you, MLK. I choose LOVE. I trust that in the coming months and years and through the end of time, I won’t be alone in this decision. I can’t wait to see who joins me!

It’s the little things

My mom and sister and I do this thing. One of us comes up with an idea. Like, let’s say we’re taking a road trip and someone says, “Let’s start a road trip journal!”

Then someone says, “If we’re in a bad mood, we’ll write in blue and if we’re in a good mood we’ll write in greeeen…and we’ll include pictures!”

And someone else says, “We have to take it on all our road trips!”

And then, “And if we forget it, we have to pay a fine!”

And then, “We’ll pool all the fine money and start a foundation!”

And then, eventually, I think to myself, “If you want to start a journal, just start the fucking journal, for crying out loud!” Because we do that too. We swear in our family. We really like the f-word.

Within minutes, we’ve taken a simple idea and turned it into something BIGGER. One might say we complicate things. It’s certainly not a bad thing to expand and expound and think BIG. But sometimes, I just want a simple journal. Sometimes, the smallest things end up being not so small after all. I’ve been thinking a lot the last few days (okay, I think a lot almost every day) and I realized that I do this thing a lot. I think of something simple that I want to try, and over time, I make it really complicated. I make rules. I develop guidelines. And eventually, I choke. My little thing has become so mired in details that it’s just too much work so I stop and I file it away with the rest of my uncompleted projects. Then I feel bad about myself for never following through. It’s an ugly cycle. I think I might be headed down that road with My Hat Trick. In the beginning, I just wanted a place to write freely, like I would write in a journal. I decided not to edit what I write. I get it all out and then I click Publish and then I go on with my life. Over time, though, I’ve come to a place where I wait and I wait and I wait because if I’m going to write something, it better be good. It should be divinely inspired! It should be life altering! And it should all be written in green!

The fact that the forthcoming declaration is more for me than for you is not lost on me. I am making it anyway. I’m done thinking. I just want to play! From now on, I will come to the keyboard like a kid being let out the doors at recess. All in, with reckless abandon. I will jump in puddles! And I won’t even think about spending the rest of the day in wet shoes. I may write nonsense. Who knows? I’m not going to think about it. Fair warning: my blog is my playground.

I attended a funeral on Thursday morning. I am tearing up just thinking about it. It was a sad day. I had a horrible headache when I got home and I went right to bed. Our amazing angel of a babysitter was with my daughter, Sophia. Sophia, who will be four on Valentine’s Day. Amazing angel had to leave to pick up the boys from school and Sophia wanted to stay with me. She crawled into bed with me. She wanted to cuddle. I was sitting up by then. She sat on my lap facing me and buried her head in my chest. Then she turned around and leaned back into my chest. Then she laid down next to me with her head on my lap. Then she fell asleep. When I looked down at her sweet sleeping face, I remembered nursing her as a baby. She looked just as she did then (she even had a huge boob looming over her head). She looked like she had been nursing and then she just fell asleep – fell off my breast, drunk with mama’s milk, to rest her sweet head. I stared at her. I played with her hair and stroked her cheek. I traced her eyebrows. I even took a picture and posted it on Facebook. It was a gift. It’s rather unusual for her to fall asleep on me these days. It’s hard to get her to sleep anywhere, actually. I can’t remember the last time she fell asleep in my arms. I felt so lucky, like a new mom, with permission to just sit and stare at my sleeping baby.

Sophia was born ten days after her due date. Yes, that’s right, TEN. Those ten days were tenuous. I had excess fluid in my amniotic sac and there was concern that if my water broke, Sophia might be in danger. Dan, my husband, took me to work with him. He was on high alert! Of course now, it all seems very funny, but we were concerned. She wasn’t even Sophia yet. We called her Lola. We had a long list of potential names for our baby girl, but I couldn’t commit to any of them. I had to see her. I wanted to meet her before I gave her her name. Three inductions were planned for Sophia. The first time: nothing. By the way, I didn’t know that could happen. I arrived at the hospital. I had pitocin, I knitted, I bounced on the birthing ball, I had a few contractions, and hours later I left with my baby in my belly. The second time I went to the hospital and Sophia was breech (since she had lots of extra fluid to flip around in) and I wasn’t really dilated and it didn’t seem worth the trouble to proceed. Sophia was born about 20 minutes before we were scheduled to arrive for our third induction appointment. I went into labor the night before and we went to the hospital. She came on her own. That is how I knew Sophia was the perfect name for her. Sophia means wisdom. Following her own wisdom, she came when she was ready. At the same time, she reminded me to trust in my body’s wisdom. Sophia’s birth was a beautiful lesson in trust and I was so grateful that the health care providers working with us believed in letting the birthing process unfold, rather than intervening when an intervention wasn’t really necessary.

Valentine’s Day is the perfect birthday for Sophia because she is a love if there ever was one. She hugs tightly, smiles hugely, and laughs from the depths of her little belly. She sings songs about whatever is on her mind. She twirls and jumps and plays with her whole heart. She embodies love and all of its beauty. She came on her day, a love day.

My sweet, sleeping Sophia.

As I look again and again at this picture, representing what was for me a magical mother’s moment with my sweet Sophia, I remember that these tender little moments are often far more life altering than anything else that might happen to me. When I saw Sophia asleep in my lap, my heart blossomed from the darkness where it hid, back into the light. I may still mourn what was lost and what will never be in my life and in the lives of my friends, but I must also be grateful for what IS and what is yet to come. Sometimes those messages seem so trite to me. I think yeah, yeah be grateful for what IS. I get it. Maybe that is why I was waiting for something bigger to share? In as much as I get it, I often forget it. I think it is the simplest messages that bear repeating. That could be why, no matter how many times we’ve said it before, we say “I love you” often in our family.

It’s for the Best.

Happy New Year!

Ah, the holidays…another season has passed and Target has the Valentine’s candy on display and ready for us to stash away until February 14th. In a blink of an eye, the holidays have come and gone and I can safely say that I made it through my second Christmas without my dear old dad here to see his grandchildren’s faces light up under the tree. In some ways, I think this year was even harder than last. Last year, I knew it would be tough to face the holiday season. I dreaded Thanksgiving, I dug my heels in, and I served the turkey kicking and screaming. And crying. Facing the holidays this year didn’t seem like a big deal to me. I was actually looking forward to it and having lots of fun preparing for it. I didn’t expect to miss my dad so badly. But, there I was, one minute humming Christmas carols down the aisles (of Target), and the next minute feeling weepy at the sight of the holiday cards “For Dad.” Holidays really stir the pot. One can never be prepared for the one little, or huge, thing, event, or memory that will trigger sadness. Suddenly, a memory that I thought was neatly tucked away, rises to the surface. Out of nowhere, I remembered the morning after my dad died as vividly as if it were this morning. I woke up crying, laying next to my mom and sister in my parents’ bed. It felt like I had had a nightmare, but when I woke up, it wasn’t over. That morning, and for several mornings afterward, I simply did not want to get out of bed. I couldn’t imagine facing Visitations and the funeral. I didn’t want to see the sea of sad faces that awaited me. I couldn’t imagine life without my dad or with the new, very sad and hopeless version of my mom. I couldn’t imagine my kids’ lives without their Papaw. I didn’t know how we would all go on. I didn’t want to go on.

And here we are, almost two years later. In times of doubt, people often say, “it will all work out” or “it’s for the best” or “it’s part of the plan”. I know they mean well. I know these words are meant to instill hope and to comfort those to whom they are said. But sometimes, they just aren’t all that comforting. Now though, I think the people who say those words are right. It will all work out. Had I seen my dad’s death as part of the great, big picture, or as part of THE PLAN, I might not have feared getting out of bed. Maybe.

Over time, I saw that my dad’s death bestowed many gifts upon us. Like, if he had to die, thankfully he didn’t have to suffer. And, if he had to die that night, thankfully he was at home and not on the road with my son James, like he had been earlier that night, on the way to and from James’s guitar lesson. And, if he had to die that weekend, thankfully it was on Thursday, before my mom left for the weekend, as she had planned. And eventually, we were thankful that he lived a full life before he died. He was a father and a grandfather and those were two accomplishments that made his heart sing. I was thankful that I even had a dad – for 38 years. The biggest, boldest, most beautiful gift he gave us though, was the gift of life. Not just his life. Sure, in preparing for my dad’s funeral, the gifts he shared through his art and his music and his kind and gentle spirit were more obvious than ever. But, he gave us a second chance at our lives as well. My dad’s death shook me to the core. It woke me up. It made me think about what I was doing and how I was doing it and whether or not I wanted to keep doing it all the same way. My dad’s death changed the way I live. I am a much better, more peaceful, more balanced person now than I ever was before. I thank my dad for that.

Years and years ago I told my mom that I had heartburn. I think I was in college, so it was probably the mid-90’s. She went to her bookshelf, without hesitation, and turned to page 175 of Louise L. Hay’s book, You Can Heal Your Life. She read from a chart that listed physical ailments, their probable causes, and new thought patterns with which to proceed. She said, “You are holding on to fear, Anna. Say this: ‘I breathe freely and fully. I am safe. I trust the process of life‘.” Until my first pregnancy, when I experienced heartburn like none I had ever experienced before and only Tums even had a chance at wiping it out, I would repeat Louise Hay’s affirmation for heartburn, “I trust the process of life” over and over at the earliest sign of heartburn (I have a bad memory so I had to shorten it). My heartburn always went away. In all honesty, nobody really, truly knows that there is a PLAN. A lot of us believe there is. Some of us think it’s God’s plan. Some simply feel better thinking we’re part of something bigger, something like a plan, whether it be God’s or someone else’s. I think we can all agree that there is a process though. Everything we do is a process, from waking up in the morning to going to bed at night, we are in the process of life. I think our challenge is to trust in that process. When someone dies unexpectedly, or we receive a diagnosis we weren’t prepared for, or we get a flat tire on the way to work, or our kid refuses to eat his dinner, let’s remember the process. Let’s commit to trusting in the process. If we trust, we know for sure that everything will be okay. Life will unfold exactly as it was meant to. There is no need to worry or move forward in fear, just trust.

I think trusting the process is especially relevant as we enter the New Year. I made my New Year’s resolutions and I am excited about a fresh start. A new beginning is upon us and it is filled with promise. What does 2012 have in store for me? If 2012 goes by even half as fast as 2011, it won’t be long before I know the answer to that question. In the meantime, I won’t get discouraged when I’m suddenly overcome with grief. I won’t give up when my plans are derailed. I’ll try not to worry when things aren’t happening as I had hoped they would. In the meantime, I am committed to trusting the process…I trust in the process of life.