San Diego

                                      

highlights: sweater and boot weather, three date nights in a row, a dueling pianos bar, hours of uninterrupted reading, Thai food, walking walking walking, dessert paired with jazz music, clouds, silliness, not having a fixed destination or plan in mind, beautiful views, and the realization that it only takes about 30 minutes to pack up a hotel room with only our stuff to pack. Ricky: doesn't this usually take like two hours? :)

I like my life partner. It was good to get away and be just us for a few days.

on rough edges

Three years ago, during our east coast summer, I read this book by Anne Lamott called Grace (Eventually) and kind of hated it. I had a really hard time relating to her, and can I say something honest and ugly and completely unflattering? I had a hard time thinking of her as a Christian. She didn't seem victorious at all over her issues, and that bothered me. (I know, that says a lot more about where I was at the time than it does about Anne Lamott. She's a brave soul.)

This weekend I read it again and pretty much loved it. I found the pockets of grace easily, amidst the political rambling and the lack of traditional Christian tidiness. I found good news there.

Here's the thing about her: she's rough around the edges, and she doesn't polish her image for her books. It was upsetting the first time around, this lack of polish. This time it was a relief.

What I get now, and I'm not sure why I didn't then, is that you can't possibly begin to talk about grace until you talk about the ugly stuff. Without one, the other doesn't exist. There's a startling beauty that begins to unfold when a person is vulnerable; truly vulnerable, not in the "I used to be this way but look, God helped me and I'm so much better now" way that we're all so fond of. She has a way of capturing the beauty of the human condition without airbrushing it, without leaving out the f word and the angry hot tears, and the confusion.

I'm definitely over myself more these days. I've prayed a lot of "why do I suck so much; please help me" prayers. I've apologized without any real idea of what I'm going to do to fix it. I've gone to bed bone tired just from being with myself all day. I'm in over my head and it turns out, much to my disappointment, that I'm not strong after all. I'm actually pretty ridiculous. I'm the proverbial old man grumbling "get off my lawn" and the optimistic kid saying "will you play with me?" at the same time. I read once that you grow up the day you look in the mirror and have a good, long laugh at yourself. Well.

But grace allows me to rest. Grace says, go to sleep and try again tomorrow, knowing full well that tomorrow might actually be worse. Grace teaches me continually to be kinder to myself even when I know that might be a mistake, because I might take advantage of it.

That's me, trying to make any progress at all with family, in work, relationships, self-image: scootch, scootch, stall; scootch, stall, catastrophic reversal; bog, bog, scootch. I wish grace and healing were more abracadabra kinds of things; also, that delicate silver bells would ring to announce grace's arrival. But no, it's clog and slog and scootch, on the floor, in silence, in the dark. 

I suppose that if you were snatched out of the mess, you'd miss the lesson; the lesson is the slog (p. 93) 

It speaks to me. I've become a student of the slog.

Silas came up to me just now, face covered in yogurt and said "Hey. Mommy. Owp." Too often I approach prayer like it's some kind of favor I'm doing. That's so not the case, ever. I just need help.

I'm making peace with the human condition (or you know, trying to). Opportunities abound for being taken up with our less pleasant qualities. It will always be tempting to say snarky things, to react, to judge. Especially in response to people who say careless, mean things....and oh, they are so much more up in our faces nowadays (or does it just seems that way to me?) I read today that the best way to be friends with people who you disagree with is to say "tell me why this is important to you", and then just listen. That pretty much sounds like the best and hardest thing ever. It is hard to have a conversation. It is hard to really listen and not just wait for your turn to talk some more.

All the ugly things that I bump up against and want to react to are inside of me too. I keep running into them. So I'm free to let others off the hook. Theoretically. Hopefully.

We are such fragile people, it's amazing we can experience love at all.

fall, again

We made our annual visit to the pumpkin patch yesterday, and came home with three pumpkins: big, medium, and small. One for each of the littles.

This time last year we were filling out paperwork to be foster parents, and now we're looking at the possibility of adoption. Nothing even close to official yet, but that's the direction we've been told things are moving. We're going to pursue it as the opportunity arises. It feels like we're taking these slow, shaky steps but really, when I look at the big picture, things are just flying along. It's amazing.

Little Miss was a trooper. She stayed awake the whole time, rode in the carrier facing out for a while, then just hung out in her stroller. She smiles big when she sees Ricky.

Silas wasn't quite walking last year, so he thoroughly enjoyed himself this time. He ran, climbed, hoisted, ate and at times even stayed still for pictures. 

Nicky knew what he wanted this time around: a big pumpkin, lots of turns down the slides, and to find the diggers right away. He confided that last year he was a little scared of all the fifth graders playing on them.

Ricky and I found a contained play area and sat for a bit, eating fresh corn in a cup with lots of butter, chili powder and garlic salt, and a green chile tamale. Oh my.

At the end, the boys shared a wand of cotton candy, and it was suddenly very quiet. They just sat there, and every once in a while Silas would say "Dattoo, Gicky" after he was handed some more. 

Such a good Sunday afternoon.

she laughed today

I held her above my head, playing helicopter--down, up, side to side-- and she laughed, looking all around and then back at me. It was a tiny little laugh that could have been missed if we weren't looking for it; wondering when it was coming.

Nicky turns 6

We had a fun time celebrating our Nickyboy this past Saturday. He wanted an Angry Birds party, and we were happy to oblige. Ricky was a rockstar dad and built some fun launchers. Birthday parties are getting more chaotic as he gets older, but we all just pile in and watch the kids run around, and try to have a conversation here and there. Within moments, every toy is out and the house takes on a new energy. People pass babies around, give hugs, avoid running kid-packs. I love our friends, new and old.

Our kind and generous neighbors provided free face-painting. They don't mess around, as you can see.

Those who could stand to be still painted birdhouses (this is about as far as Silas got).

Piñata time is getting a bit more serious. Nicky asked if he could go first and it occurred to me that he's not one of the little ones anymore. So, he was the first "big kid" to go after the little ones. 

Strawberry cake, by request. Fun with fondant.

Nicky and Jude. They're at different schools this year, so getting together outside of church is pretty special.

testing out the launchers....

So, now we have a six year old. He loves building with Legos and other "click-blocks", dance parties, movie night, Power Rangers and superheroes, still. He's a champ of a big brother; really good at "cheering up" the babies as he puts it. He's still full of funny sayings, like calling his drawings/paintings "fridgers" or "wallers" depending on how good he thinks they are, telling Silas to stop "buffalo-ing" everyone, and insisting that his school friend's name is Samanthum, not Samantha :) He does chores for money now, and is learning about saving and tithing. He loves school and goes to a really good after-school program, and gets upset when we try to pick him up early....

He is still surprising, sweet and full of life. I'm so grateful for another year with this boy.

two stories

Open your eyes to the bigger story.

Because there are always two stories: the one that is right there, obvious, and apparent. The one that seems inevitable. The one you don't have to try very hard to see.

The other story hides. It hides under a scrunched up, crying little face, again. It hides under your heavy sighs as you bounce and rock, and try to not feel anything because you're getting weary of the rollercoaster. This is never-ending, you think in those moments.

But it's not. It will pass. See how she smiles, on her tummy, reaches her hands out to bright, colorful objects; stares at the bright turquoise wall you both painted a few weeks before she came? Things do change, but it's so slow that you can't see it until afterward. So look back, and see.

Remember when she slept 20 hours a day? When she was never happy, never calm, unless she was asleep? And now she smiles at people. You play with her, for goodness' sake. She doesn't awake with a start, not every time. Remember when Silas was always in her face, and you had to guard her from his curious, not quite gentle ways? Look at him now, how he pats her on the back and brings her bottle.

There is a hole in your heart, and so you feel it. You're grieving the loss of things that every baby should experience, in a perfect world. It used to be an hour at a time, now it's more like three, and soon enough you'll be looking back on it all. Telling a story is the reward for living it.

I'm not going to lie and say that everything will be okay, because I honestly don't know. All I can say, in sincerity, is that it will pass.

You can pray for the faith to believe it will be okay. There is that.

It's not any of the stories that swirled around in your mind before. It's so real right now, that you kind of want to sabotage it because it's scary as hell. Every day you have to lay down that fear, or it will eat you alive. You didn't know what a mirror this would be, but here it is.

Right now, this story is mostly about humility, and accepting help, and family. You don't do this on your own; neither does she.  It's a story about burdens, and dividing the load. It's a story about a different kind of love. It will be about more, but for now this is what it is.

So don't worry about things like bonding and visits and what-ifs. Just do the little things. Maybe she'll eat some banana again today, perhaps not cry when you do floor play time. Maybe you'll bite your tongue and count to ten when Silas is head-butting your legs while you make dinner. Maybe you'll take time to just lay with him while he takes his nap, to kiss his unruly little head. Maybe you'll listen carefully to Nicky while he talks about school, and maybe you'll notice again how Ricky's coming into his own as a father in a whole new way and smile with gratefulness for all of it.

These are the little things that make up a bigger story.

a shifter's prayer

God, i used to think you were packageable.

i used to be able to say to others, to myself "this is exactly what God is like."

when i read the Bible i used to feel comfortable and right, affirmed in my belief

now i sometimes feel bothered by what I read, and oh so tired, and still thirsty

oh, how i miss being sure about you-

but God, i’m trying to lean into the present, to experiencing you in new ways.

i see you in the faces of children

i feel you in a sudden cool breeze when the sun is blaring down

i hear you in laughter and honest conversation, in the vulnerable

i smell you in an unexpected rainstorm, in the fresh morning air

i touch you when i touch the difficult, the messy, the un-explainable

thank you for these gifts. 

despite all the things i don’t know, i can still cling to this….you are full of compassion and mystery, and oh so 

unpackageable

and for that i, too, am thankful.  

God, please keep sustaining me in these shifts.

i do want more of you in my life.  

amen.

{This is another exercise from Kathy Escobar. She's my internet pastor, I've decided.}