Velveteen Us

So. This is where we are now. Some of of us are depressed and all of us are anxious. Some of us are divorced or wish we were. Some have lost parents, while others have lost children. We all agree that marriage and parenting are nearly impossible. Sometimes we are too much. And sometimes, we are not nearly enough. We want to learn how to hold both.

Friends. Confidants. A soft place to land. Fellow warriors. Shoulders to cry on. And boy do we cry. A lot. We aren't the professional stuffers we were in our youth. We refuse to hold it all in and pretend we've got it all together. We've come to believe that feelings matter and strive to hold space for them. We laugh, too. In that loud, can’t-catch-our-breath kind of way that women aren't supposed to.

Over coffee in the garden, these women remind me that I’m worth holding and fighting for. They stay with me when I can’t stand to be with myself. They carry hope for me when mine is spent. They challenge me. They inspire me. They encourage me. They help me without fixing me. They offer me the grace that I so often deny myself.

We don’t always agree. True friendship doesn't have to. We are not clones of one another. We all bring something different to the table.

We journey together; helping to work out the puzzle pieces of our separate, yet connected lives. We remind each other that our voices matter, even when those voices are little more than a whisper. That even when we feel lonely, we are not alone. We help each other remember that we are all part of something so much larger. Our stories are all different and yet the same. We travel alone but somehow together.

We walk this bumpy road of becoming more real. Returning to ourselves; the selves we used to be before the world told us to be somebody else. We are softer now, and more grey. We are more settled into our own skin. Skin that sags and droops, growing more lined by the day.

Life etches itself into each and every wrinkle.

As though we are unfinished.  

Like the Artist is still working.

Like the Velveteen Rabbit, we are becoming worn and nubby and real. All because we love and are loved. We raise a glass in honor of friendship, and we have never been more beautiful.

“If you feel lost, disappointed, hesitant, or weak, return to yourself, to who you are, here and now and when you get there, you will discover yourself, like a lotus flower in full bloom, even in a muddy pond, beautiful and strong.” 
― Masaru Emoto, Secret Life of Water

I am Eve - My Messy Beautiful

I have believed the lie. Hook, line and sinker. I am Eve. Shoot. I thought I’d come so far, too.

March 5th, Ash Wednesday, began the Lenten season. I did not grow up observing Lent and don’t know that I really even understand it correctly. The word penance gets under my skin. I don’t believe that Lent is necessary nor do I believe that God requires it of me.

But last year I gave up Facebook and found that I really liked the space it opened up. The morning of Ash Wednesday, my local coffee shop invited pastors from First United Methodist Church to give the Imposition of Ashes, which is a fancy way of saying they put ashes on your forehead. So that morning I ordered a large coffee with extra cream no sugar, a greek goddess omelet, and ashes on my forehead.

I came home and found myself with time to drink my coffee and think and pray and just be. This time may have felt extra special because my four kids were back in school after being home Monday and Tuesday due to the ice and snow. And by snow, I mean a light dusting in which there was just enough powder to scrape off the deck and make snowmade ice cream.

During this time of silence and solitude, I became aware of a few things. When I take time off from reading everybody else’s words on Facebook and blogs, my own voice rises up and I discover I've got something to say. When I spend time in silence instead of watching The Today Show, there’s enough room in my brain for my own words to formulate. I am able to hear me. I’m reminded that my voice has value and carries weight. I can trust the deepest part of me that God continues to form.

Glennon Doyle Melon says it best in her book Carry On, Warrior.

“There is a divine spark inside me. I am worthy of the space that I occupy on this earth. No one deserves more respect, joy, or peace than I.  I have the right to speak, to feel, to think, and to believe what I believe. Those dreams in my heart, those ideas in my head, they are real and they have a divine origin, and so they are worth exploring. I am confident NOT because I am pretty or smart or talented or kind. Those things change and can be given and taken.”

There are plenty of lies I’ve fallen for. One is the lie that I really don’t deserve the space I occupy on this earth. I have lived most of my life trying to be smaller. Maybe part of it is that I’m so tall, but I think a bigger part is that I’ve believed that my voice didn’t matter. People in my life haven’t liked when I’ve spoken up, talked back, and disagreed. And that’s been hard since my personality type really feels a lot better when people affirm my decisions. But I’m outgrowing that old me. She’s still there of course, but the new me gives her permission to speak up, CLAIM HER SPACE, and dream.

Another lie I continue to operate from is the one that tells me that I can’t actually pursue my dreams until I lose 15 pounds. Those 15 pounds keep me from being thin. And I can only move forward when I’m that magical number on the scale. One of my dreams is to write. I have so many ideas for children’s books and have even gone as far as to write some. The father of one of my closest friends is a children’s book publisher. But I haven’t called him because my weight is heavier than I’d like it to be. WHAT?! I’m as perplexed as you are. I’m afraid to even bounce my ideas off him because he might be offended by 15 pounds…?? It’s even more ridiculous now that I’ve typed it out loud. It would seem that if I want to claim my space in this world, I’d be happy that my extra pounds allow me to take up even more room. Wouldn’t it?! And isn’t that I want for myself? And what I want to teach my kids?

Oh. And this is funny. I read so much, and talk so much, and join groups and go to counseling and all this leads me to another lie that I believe; the lie that I can single-handedly meet all the needs of my children. If I can figure out my stuff, figure out their stuff, check off all the lists in my books, follow all the formulas, THEN I can be a perfect mom and my children will have wonderful lives and never need therapy. Yes, really. I know logically that this is impossible, that I am human and can’t do it perfectly, but I still put all that weight on myself and ultimately, my children. The actual truth is that I am responsible for some of it, meaning parenting and teaching and guiding. But I’m not responsible for all of it.

As I become more aware of how naïve I am, which isn’t news to anybody who knows me, my mind goes to Eve. The poor girl has gotten a pretty bad rap and I think we are way too hard on her, especially since we've only been given the bare bones of the whole story. We pretty much place the entire burden of life on her shoulders. I think it’s easy to believe that I wouldn't have been that gullible, that stupid, that needy. But the longer I let those thoughts percolate in my head; I realize with certain clarity that I AM Eve. More sounds better. More sounds appealing. More sounds necessary. More sounds right. I get duped every single day. And I consider myself pretty savvy. Pretty stable. Pretty smart. And still I fall for that voice of certainty. Every single day. I fall for the new diet. The new workout program. The new parenting guide. The new church. The new, the better, the improved.

See why I do Lent? Yes, to identify with Jesus in His suffering. Yes, to be reminded to turn toward Him. But I don’t believe God’s love hinges on whether or not I join in the practice of following Lent for 40 days. I consider Lent an invitation to create more space in my life to contemplate and listen. I’m convinced that God’s love is the truth that can eventually obliterate these lies, and God is always speaking. Practicing Lent allows me to be a better listener. Today I find myself relieved to have a reason to say no to myself. The opportunity to fill a void with something good only arises when something gets taken away. Creating space for something better is my prayer for all of us, no Lent required. 

Truth Telling

I am a reader. Anybody who knows me understands that I function best in the real world when I can spend lots of time getting lost in somebody else’s. From the time I could read, I've been happiest when I’m snuggled down deep in a good book. Thank God for the public library.

I don’t often resort to reading magazines because I've got too many books on my must-read list. But with four kids in school, all this has changed. Two words. Fund Raisers. How can I not order magazine subscriptions from my own children?! How can I be the one to prevent them from winning a prize? Well, obviously I can’t, so I've been reading magazines.

It all began innocently enough. Last week, as I read through one of my new magazines, I began to make lists. It’s embarrassing to even write this out loud. But if Brenè Brown is to be believed when she says,

“We cultivate love when we allow our most vulnerable and powerful selves to be deeply seen and known, and when we honor the spiritual connection that grows from that offering with trust, respect, kindness and affection.”

I will risk telling the truth. The truth about my lists. My first list included the many eye-wrinkle creams that promised to diminish and even remove all my wrinkles. This was followed by bullet points outlining which diet pills have been proven to work. I cataloged the many hair-coloring products that would cover up the most grey. I was on a roll. I carefully studied my face in the mirror to see what new hairstyle might look best with my face shape. Which manufacturer I could count on to erase my new lip wrinkles. Which leading brand of makeup could make me look years younger. I wish I could say that I stopped there. But it only got worse.

I continued on to the decorating section of the magazine and began making my next list. This list was full of fresh ideas about how to spruce up my home. New pillows, new throws, splashes of color. How to make it cozy. How to make it inviting. How to make it just about perfect, but in a sort of haphazard, I’m-not-really-trying-way. Next up was How to Clean Your Cozy, Inviting, Almost-Perfect House. I thought I already knew how to keep a clean house but apparently, I've been wrong all these years. Thank goodness my magazine already had a list of the best green, non-toxic, eco-friendly cleaners so I could just rip out the page and file it away.

I moved into the recipe section of the magazine and immediately began to dismiss recipes based on fat grams, number of calories and wheat content. These recipes would never work with myfitnesspal.com. Soy, nuts, dairy, nope. I mean, seriously. The few that passed my rigorous test got stuffed into the recipe box that I never use.

I was only halfway through my magazine when I reached a review of the Top 10 Workout Programs. I tried to plow through it but I was exhausted. There’s only so much information my brain can absorb. And this wasn't even fun reading. It wasn't relaxing at all. I often dream of moments when I’m sitting outside, reading a magazine, savoring a cup of coffee. The image in my head is always peaceful but this was nothing like my daydream. It felt like too much. Or not enough. I wasn't sure which.

My mind drifted back to a book I'd read over the summer called "Kisses From Katie” by Katie Davis, who is originally from Brentwood, TN. Katie went to Uganda on a missions trip when she was 18 and never came back home. She has since adopted 14 girls and started Amazima Ministries, an organization that feeds, educates, and encourages the orphaned, poor and vulnerable. Amazima means truth. Their stories, the brutal truths that Katie tells about the people there, especially the women, have settled deep into my heart. When I close my eyes, it's their faces I see.

When I imagine a Ugandan mother laying her head down at night, I don’t think she’s worried that she hasn't ordered magazine subscriptions from her children's school. Her children may not even have the opportunity to attend school. I doubt she’s ever wondered which hairstyle would suit her face shape or questioned the wrinkles on her face. Growing older is a victory to be celebrated; not something to be fought.

She's not tallying up her calorie count for the day. Carbs? Calories? Fat grams? I am quite sure that her tummy would be happy with food of any kind. Paleo? Atkins? South Beach? She's never heard these terms before. The concept of dieting would be laughable were her situation not so dire.

She's not beating herself up for not working out today, yet I'm sure her body aches. Crossfit? Pilates? Kickboxing? These words are as foreign to her as her world is to us.

If she’s lucky enough to have a home, it surely doesn't cross her mind to think of ways she could make it more aesthetically pleasing. New bedding? Curtains? Fall Decor? She is sleeping on the cold, dirty ground, swatting away the bugs that swarm her face. I don't think she’s concerned about non-toxic cleaners or how sparkly her kitchen counters are. Cleanliness is not next to godliness.

She has no phone, no computer, no iPad  no television. She has no distraction from her real life. Her real life IS the horror that we see on the news, hear about on the radio and read about on social media.

I close my magazine, ashamed. I pray that nobody in Uganda ever, ever sees these pages. They paint us in such an unbecoming light. I can think a lot of adjectives to describe us but you don’t need me to write them; your own words will rise to the surface. I’m actually talking about the good ones. We are so much more than what these magazines portray.

We can’t all be Katie. We’re not all called to be Katie. But we can learn some things from her. A lot of things. We can all be present in our own lives. This will look different for each of us. When we feel that nudge to do something, anything, we can listen. We all have so much to offer the world around us. We can remember to be grateful for what we have.

The first thing I am going to do is cancel my magazine subscriptions. I don’t want to waste one more second worrying about me, my house or my stuff. Too much energy has already been spent there. I’m going to let the house go for a while and concentrate on some things that really matter. I’m going to eat without counting calories and be grateful that we have food to put on the table. I don’t ever again want to open my pantry and complain that I can’t make dinner because we’re out of food, when it’s clear that we have plenty. I don’t want to yell at my kids about crumbs on the floor because it’s evidence of plenty. Those 10 extra pounds? More evidence of plenty. 

I'm going to stop what I'm doing when my kids want to have snuggle time with me. No more telling them to wait till the dishes are done. I will ooh and ah over every single piece of artwork and not nag them about every....little....thing. I will play Uno. Again.

I may forget all of this by next month. But I hope to be more intentional about talking to my children about life; real life. I want to expose them to the poverty that exists in their own backyard and beyond. I want them to understand that poverty is everywhere; we can be impoverished in body, mind and spirit. What if we taught our children something new, something different, something better?

I'll probably still yell at my kids. I’ll always want beauty in my home. I’ll still struggle with those extra pounds. I will be dismayed by more grey hair. But I hope I can look at all of these things differently; with fresh eyes and gratitude. I think I've believed that needy people need me to save them. And I can help, for sure. But the reality is that they have saved me.

I am on a quest for less. My heart longs for simplicity. I really don’t need more. The truth is I need far less. And if losing the magazine competition is the worst thing my children experience this week, they’re doing pretty well. We are all doing really well.

To read more of Katie’s story, go here:
http://www.amazima.org/

Real Life Online

Today I did something interesting. I imagined myself navigating real life following the same pattern I use online.  

Because it’s my imagination, I can meet my friend anywhere, but to make this fantasy as true-to-life as possible, I’m meeting her at the coffee shop. The first thing I do is check in. I announce to everybody that I am, indeed, here in the coffee shop. I tag my friend to let everybody know that we are here together, and then we both reveal which flavor of coffee we’re drinking today.
Hashtag morning coffee

After exchanging pleasantries, I whip out a picture of myself on a day when my hair and makeup looked really, really good. That one where I cropped out most of my body so I’d look really thin from my shoulders up. Who cares if it’s four years old?! Nobody has to know that and my wrinkles weren't quite as deep then or my hair so gray.

I proceed to show her (individually, of course) pictures of my four kids at their sweetest, most adorable moments. I spend an obscene amount of time telling her story after story, interspersed with more cute pictures. I am so witty as I share all their funny sayings, their sports accomplishments, their musical abilities, their straight A’s. 
Hashtag perfect angels

We are distracted momentarily as other people check in to the coffee shop, letting us know who they’re with and what they’re drinking. We spend considerable time in silence, both of us reading through blogs, articles and news reports, liking and commenting as necessary. Simultaneously, we are messaging each other privately, mocking everybody else's poor grammar. Unbeknownst to her, I am also messaging other friends.
Hashtag There They're Their

Later I brag about how great my morning workout was and how many calories I burned. I show her pictures of my new shoes and workout gear. She cautions me to watch what I eat as I don’t want to erase all that hard work. Speaking of food, I go on to tell her my new favorite recipe, although I've modified it because I’m gluten, corn, soy and dairy-free. She tells me she can’t wait to try it, and directs others in the coffee shop to the website that has this can't-live-without recipe.

Since I am a huge animal lover, I feel compelled to show her my doggie photo album. It chronicles his days from 4 weeks of age up until now. I show my friend several videos of him, as well as some other really hysterical and sweet animal videos.
Hashtag dog spelled backward is god

We both take a quick break in which we check our email, voicemail and text messages. Then, for the next hour I am completely absorbed as my friend tells me about her children, husband, great-aunt, neighbor and cat. More funny animal videos. She has amassed even more pictures than I have! Her 9 kids all have straight A+’s. Wow. Her husband bought her a brand new elliptical and together they have worked out for 1,187 days in a row. In all the pictures she shows me of them elliptical-ing, I don't even see one dimple of cellulite. She has fewer wrinkles than I have and almost no gray hair. Sigh.

She shows me the many decorating ideas she got from pinterest. This takes another 45 minutes. With all the money she’s made from selling her used items on the online want-ads, she's made enough to completely redecorate her entire house. She also donated half her earnings to the local shelter.

She’s very politically-minded and reminds me that the world is going to hell in a hand basket and we...need...to...do...something. Well now I’m fired up enough to move into the topic of religion. We are both so busy checking our facts that we don’t even hear what the other is saying. Before she can finish her sentences, I've already begun forming my responses. I don’t even know if I believe what I’m saying; I’m merely posturing. I have to google a lot of information so apparently, I don't even really know what I'm talking about but I've got some really good quotes and bible verses taken out of context. Comment after comment. Link after link. Quote after quote. After an hour or so, we both agree to disagree. But I'm really still upset. 
Hashtag I'm pretty sure I'm right but I'll humor you

We move onto an easier topic. Health. Now I get to hear about all the nasty germs my friend has encountered and the number of times each of her children vomited. I then share every detail of my family's health woes.

We finally check ourselves out of the coffee shop. So many people like the fact that we were there together! We broadcast to everybody that we will come back again soon since we had SO much fun. We might as well meet tomorrow seeing as our kids grow up so quickly that we need to look at their pictures every...single...day. Or we could meet on a Throwback Thursday so we can bring even more pictures of ourselves from another era. Like, OMG.

My imagination stops here. 

I am stunned by what has been revealed in my imaginary coffee date. Facebook seems to encourage us to blur lines and cross boundaries we wouldn't normally cross. How many selfies can one post before it just gets weird? We're beginning to look desperate, childish, a little bit wacky. It all seems very artificial and one-dimensional. What does this say about us? More specifically, what does it say about me?

How often do you read posts that paint the post-er in a negative light? Like "Hey, I popped a vein in my neck last night because I screamed so loudly at my kids." Or, "I haven't spoken to my husband in two days because he wouldn't do the dishes." And "I stayed in my pajamas all day reading a book and the best I could come up with for dinner was cereal."  

My feed shows more along the lines of "I grow, harvest and grind my own wheat so I can bake organic, nutritious bread for my family." Hashtag little red hen    And "My husband is the best ever! He brings me roses and chocolate every day." Or "Fight? My kids never fight." 

If you're anything like me, shame is my constant companion when I read other people's posts. How can I (or the rest of my family) possibly live up to these high standards that everybody else seems able to meet?? Everybody is just so perfect on Facebook. Okay, not everybody, but you know what I mean.

It's almost as though our internal regulator has been shut off. We are over-sharing lives that we barely even actually participate in. Does that make sense? How many beautiful moments do I interrupt wondering if it's Facebook worthy? I am guilty of taking pictures for the sole purpose of posting them. Which means I've already moved out of the wonderful moment and into cyberspace; I am no longer engaged in the present.

Who is telling us that everyone wants to know what we ate for dinner last night and how tired we are today? How about a little mystery? How about some depth? Do we want every detail of our lives to be public record? Can we embrace ordinariness? Can we please go back to real relationships again?

I wonder if our brains can even handle the volume of information coming at us incessantly. There is always more to read, more to look at, more to like, more to argue with, more to comment on. It never ends. What are we looking for? What do we need? Because it's obvious that we need something; affirmation, attention, approval, support, prayer, love. These are all legitimate needs; we are literally starving to get these needs met. Will they really get met on a social-networking site?

For the record, I AM preaching to the choir. 

There is such incredible value in relationship. Cross-talking. Looking someone in the eye. Offering a handshake or a hug. Actively listening to each other. Spending time. Enjoying one another's company. 

It seems that what we really need is more face-time with real people. We've forgotten the art of conversation. Let's do ourselves a favor and shut off the computer. Go outside. Call a friend. Take a walk. Pray. Meditate. Do yoga. It's amazing how alive we can feel when we intentionally take the time to really live.