Tag: growth

Changes

My life has changed.

Where once I slept soundly and alone in my sister’s basement and woke to three of her children marching around the breakfast table singing, “I’m in the Lord’s Army!” I now sleep tossingly next to my new and also-not-sleeping husband and wake each morning to make him breakfast and send him off to work saying, “Have fun in the Army!  The real Army!”

Where once I ran through canopied sidewalks in a mid-sized Minnesota town where the breeze filled my mind with new ideas and creativity, I now have no place to run and the humidity and thickness of tiny-town Louisiana stifles my drive to write, music or otherwise.

Where once I bustled through busy days teaching gads of teenagers to sing together and casting visions for them of living highly creative and personable lives, I now barely believe in art and speak with no one younger than 24.  In fact, I hardly speak with anyone at all.

The quiet, married days I once longed for, I now have in abundance and they are very quiet.  I am alone most days, all day.  My husband works long hours and hates his job.  He’s gotten leaps better at not complaining at the house.  He leaves work at work most of the time now, but I feel it.  I feel his remorse for being stuck in terrible position, for being put upon by unthinking leadership.  He is bitter and has no other idea what to do.  Not really.  So I am quiet and quietly try to take care of the house and cook him meals, but it wears on me.

I wonder how other wives really feel.  I wonder if they are near tears or in full deluge of tears as much as I.  I wonder if it’s just my disability to adjust to these changes that makes my 5-week old marriage so difficult.  I wonder if my husband hears me.  I wonder if he would know what to do if he did hear me.

Do I even know what to do?  I am a get-involved sort.  I’m already making strides in that area, but it’s nothing.  It feels like nothing.  In little moments, it feels like life, but in the rest of the moments, the most of the time, it feels like not-really-me.

I feel like not me.

But in the midst of this, I tell myself that change, new things, take you out of your old shell and make a new shell around you.  It is reasonable, then, to expect to feel quite vulnerable and unlike yourself in that time.  The best thing I can do is let the change happen around me, with me, even through me.  If I fight it, I will only end up feeling such oddity and sadness for longer.

It is okay to take a while to change, but not if its because of fighting.  This only creates scars, mostly of resentment.

(*some dealings from September 2012)

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Increase is Preparation

Looking to my future, I see much change.  I see requirements increasingly different than those in my life today.  I also see increase itself.  Increase in responsibility–an oddly overused word in my life, so much that I don’t always know what it means anymore.  Increase in love, in generosity, in humility, in forgiveness, in selflessness.  The details of these are initially secondary to the fact that I see them.

This is why aim high now.  This is why I now seek increase.  Increase is preparation for increase.  Didn’t the Lord tell us that to whom much is given much will be expected?  This principle applies even now.  I have time to increase my spirit’s connection to God, my heart’s connection to others, and my own connection to my body and mind.  I have time to engage the strength of purpose already given me.  If I do this, if I am thorough with the actions of increase, I will see a stronger set of power in the future.

Cinderella sang that a dream is a wish your heart makes when you’re fast asleep.  In dreams you will loose your heartache, whatever you wish for you keep.  Have faith in your dreams and someday your rainbow will come shinning through.  No matter how your heart is grieving, if you keep on believing, the dream that you wish will come true.  I sang the tune even today.  Yet, the truth is that there is more to realizing dreams than simply believing them.  Cinderella couldn’t have fallen in love with the Prince if she had never learned to dance.  Dreams come true in large part because we work toward them.  We position ourselves ready to catch the dreaming star passing our way.  We must be engaged in our dreams, not simply wishing our nights away.

And when the dream is coming true, it will be intense and big and beautiful.  It will come true in hours of great wakefulness.  It will be uncovered, discovered, dusted off, made new, altered, analyzed, and solidified.  All of this through joyful laughter, distressing tears, fear and trust.

Oh, how clearly I need preparation and an increase of power.  As I look to the future, there is more greatness and wonder to be known.  There is increase; let me thus increase my strengths now.

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The Power of the March

Somewhere, out of nothing noticeable, March became my power month.  After two months of a 04:40 alarm and a 21:30 bedtime, I was seeing growth, but wishing still for more time.  Instead of getting upset with time “lost” like I would have three years ago, I squeezed what I could out of February, completed some long-incomplete projects, and set my mind for a new month–a fresh and intentional start.  I opted for a powerful 31 days of March.

I have wonderful plans.  Oh, yes.  They include increases in reading, writing, studying the Word and relationships, and studying music theory with my students.  Oh, yes, and longer workouts, resting more fully, and enjoying my family more completely.  Just a few basic goals.

But before I roll my eyes at myself, I am stopping to engage my heart.  Why do I want increase?  Why must I aim so high?  Will this focus wear me out or build me up?  When power is sought, from where does it come?

Let the journey begin.

Watch for a few choosy book titles, exercise stories, Bible studies, success stories and homey events.

Success #1: I paid my March bills today.
Success #2: I e-mailed my sisters twice in two days.  “Dear Ladies…”

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I once thought I knew these words.

Trust in the Lord, and do good: dwell in the land and befriend faithfulness. 
Delight yourself in the Lord, and he will give you the desires of your heart.

Psalm 37:3-4

Oh, I see, as I open up this passage in the middle of the night before I try to sleep, before I try to fight with the fitfulness that is waiting for dawn. Oh, I see.  My attention is thrown firmly upon these words: trust, dwell, land, befriend, delight in the Lord, give, desires.  I am fixated.

I once thought I knew these words.  Now they seem a strange and awkward seed.  What fruit might they bear?  I must pull them apart, dissect them, test them.  And beyond making hypothesis and predictions, I see that I must give effort to dig these words right out of their book and plant them in my heart again.  One tree of understanding is no longer enough, it is time to try for a forest.

And I see.  As the days are filled with newness, the earth of my heart changes its composition.  My heart takes in the seeds and though they mean the same truth as ever, they grow a new tree of life.  One of different shaped leaves, different thickness of bark, different strength of branches.

To myself I say: These woods are growing.  The terrain is changing.  Where else is there but here to dwell?  Each day tend the paths and the seeds and the trees that are full and not yet full.  Sing to your heart in joy and the trees of this field will clap their hands.  What other desire might there be but this?

 

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I hate it here; I’m staying

I can list countless moments in my life when I have said, “I love it here! I never want to leave! I want this to be my life forever.”  In Chicago, in Italy, in Minneapolis, New York City, and surprisingly in my small hometown, I have said this.  It can happen in any moment, spurred by any small bit of well-crafted poignancy.  Perhaps the perfect mojito, a stellar outdoor concert, a bit of flirting with the guy who sells me pizza–give me something that makes my heart go “shuush” and I’m in.

Where I currently live, have lived for a year, I have yet to feel the shuush.  But here I am, staying.  I came for some familial re-connections, stayed at first for a temporary job, and then was offered a long-term job.  And boy was my hand twitching when I signed that contract last month.

One year.  I’m only committed to one year, but it feels like I just signed on till retirement.  I mean, one year may as well be twenty when it comes to teacher contracts, right?  Seriously, everyone keeps talking to me about “building my program.”  And I keep thinking, “Oh my goodness, do I really want to leave a legacy in a program?”

Would that really be so bad?  What is so scary about that?  Isn’t it time to get over your commitment phobia anyway?

Then, there are countless moments in my life when I have said, “This is a step. This is a game-changer. This is a better yes.”  When I boarded a plane, when I learned to make pies, when I accepted a job offer.  It can happen at any moment, spurred by a well-crafted and understood purpose.  It’s those moments that make my heart go “kclunkk” and I’m freaked out.

It’s little by little we build the houses we live in, we build our lives.  Bit by bit, decision by decision, we pile up bricks and mortar and learn to be whole, safe, and welcoming to others, we learn to be home.

Even if I hate it here, I’m staying.  I’m staying because I know there is a plan I can’t fully see yet, but with a foundation this good, the house is going to be strong.

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*Insert* of Reconciliation

A number of years ago a very dear friend of mine introduced me to a little something she called “chocolate of reconciliation.”  Whenever she and her then boyfriend (now husband) had it out, the best way they resolved the issue was with a bar of Ritter Sport Chocolate.  Within a day, one of them would be gifted chocolate and a note on their bed, the kitchen table, at work, in the car, or in a hug at the top of the apartment steps.

As her roommate, I took to this sort of sacrament on a regular basis.  I’m sorry I broke another wine glass.  I’m sorry I tracked mud through the apartment again and stepped on your favorite shirt.  I’m sorry I always steal your computer to use the internet.  I’m sorry I didn’t wash the dishes again.  I’m sorry I’m such a crank all the time; I’m sure it has nothing to do with my dissatisfaction working 12 hours days at the salon down the street and living above an Irish pub in Chicago.  I’m sorry we live above an Irish pub in Chicago–in Wrigleyville.  

When we moved on from our actually sweet and precious time in Wrigleyville, she to be married and I to start substitute teaching in my teensy Minnesota hometown, I took her policy of reconciliation with me.  Through more roommates and more self-indulgent mistakes, this funny, little odd bit of sincere humility became one of the most significant catalysts for my personal growth.  It’s much easier to race to an apology knowing that there is chocolate at the end of the conversation.  It’s alot like the positive reinforcement I use in the classroom.  Reward, reward, reward for good behavior.

Yesterday, however, I totally crossed the line.  I’m growing, but I’m far from perfect.  I completely lost my cool in the 100 degree-plus humidity weather we were having in Minnesota.  I said words that really had no place in a loving friendship.  It wasn’t cursing or yelling or vulgarity, but it was simply driving in the thorn where I knew it would hurt the most.

I walked out of the room at that point and spent the night folding jeans at the mall.  Oh, Lord, what will I do now?  There is no chocolate for this one.  (This is why I often pray for the Lord to shut my mouth.)  I folded, I prayed, I drove around, I went home, I watched The Bachelorette, I wrote a poem about heat, I tried to sleep.  I blogged.

In the morning, the heat hadn’t really subsided and neither had my disappointment in myself.  I tried to keep myself quiet enough to find a solution that meant more than sorry.  I turned off the car radio and it hit me–a pedicure of reconciliation.  By the end of the school day everything was arranged and I sent my dear friend with a wad of cash and good will to the salon.  It was perfect and no other words needed to be said.  (Although I did make her read the poem I wrote about heat to help explain my crazy head.)  All is well again.

When at a loss, reconcile.  Do it quickly, sincerely, and add a light gift.  I think this helps us realize that it’s not really “us” that’s so crazy it’s just that sometimes we loose our heads momentarily.

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Diffusing Strength

I work with high school students and I learn something new every day.  Sometimes they teach me lingo, sometimes they teach me hand shakes, but most often they teach me about being a person.

The other day I learned that groups with pull are really threads that have braided themselves together.  This makes the group strong and influential and sometimes very scary.  The thing is that each part of the braid joins the group for its own reasons.  In fact, people group together for reasons they may never share with one another.

  • I’m lonely.
  • I’ve had a bad day.
  • I want to be in control.
  • I want to laugh with you.
  • I want in (on the joke, on the cool, on the love…)
  • and any other reason you can come up with.

When people act together, they become something other than themselves.  They become a unit that sometimes can be seen as only a one-purpose unit.  This makes it really hard to reach individuals and have personal impact.  The solution, of course, is to engage each part of the group as individuals from time to time.  Not only does this strengthen the individual, but it also strengthens the whole.

When personal needs are met (you have a leader, you have a place, you are the joy, you are the cool), the group purpose becomes less about meeting personal goals and more about meeting group goals.  I want my choir, as a whole, to perform excellently.  In order to do that, each member must be recognized and addressed individually.

I learned all of this while having one-on-one conversations with some really talented and unique individuals.  Each one shared a surprising and different reason for being a part of their own influential group.  Each reason was deeply personal regardless of the commonalities in their group.  I never would have guessed that diffusing the strength of their group would make such a huge impact on the morale and strength of the greater team.

There is, indeed, strength in numbers, but it must include a healthy dose of personal resolve.

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Candid

I am not a naturally light and candid person, but I am quite sincere. When asked, I always try to give my most honest and heartfelt answer appropriate to the audience. Sometimes this leaves me talking for entirely too long as I try to cover all the minute nuances of my thoughts on the subject. In reality, I am often attempting to write an essay as I respond. While this makes me good at interviewing, it does not help me play around in a conversation. I do apologize if you have ever been on the receiving end of one of these winding, oral compositions–especially one that doesn’t make sense or hold it’s weight in the end.

Tonight was girls’ night. A bunch of us pooled down to a trendy French restaurant in St. Paul, ordered drinks and fancy food and thoroughly enjoyed ourselves in our pretty dresses and high heeled shoes.

These are some topics I wish I had not waxed on about:

  • Not fully understanding what it means to be an aunt.
  • Meeting guys at work.
  • How eharmony really works.
  • Wanting to get out of my own head.

On the other hand, who else would say all these things on my heart to?

I am sure the girls understand.

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Matrimony

If you can get over the intimidating nature of their band name, Matrimony just might become a new favorite of yours.  Joining Irish folk rock sensibilities and North Carolina indi-ness and harmonies, Matrimony shows that true love [and of music] and heartfelt words really can cross oceans.

I have to be honest that I saw this link on a friend’s facebook and I was not keen on clicking through to hear the song.  I didn’t want to be reminded of matrimony.  I didn’t want to look at someone else’s plaid-skirted, tights, and ballet shoe-ed wedding shower pictures.  I didn’t want to listen to another mandolin play “Somewhere Over the Rainbow.”  I didn’t care about a stranger’s journey of love, I just wanted to shut down–more than even the computer.

But then I took a breath and refreshed my heart with humility, hope, and truth.  Perhaps there was more to this music than the next hip thing.  Matrimony, did you know, stems from the Latin mater.  Mother.  This ceremony of leaving and binding is deeply rooted in family, in beginnings, in mothering.  Marriage is about the new two, but matrimony, in the ceremonial sense (as opposed to the sense of state) is transitional.  Like motherhood, it is herding, it is caring, it is speaking, it is promising, it is believing.  Matrimony is a moment heaved upon with purpose, conviction, and all-out fighting [not necessarily dramatically] for the best in someone.

Maybe that’s why Jimmy Brown and Ashlee Hardee Brown (lead singers of the band) felt compelled to live their musical lives in the shadow of such a dusty, onerous term.  Matrimony, marriage, mothering, songwriting–all creating new, all pushing from known to unknown.  In fact, all of these acts and states combine new, old, known, and unknown in every way and degree imaginable every day.  A mother uses her youth to guide her children and her ideals to set them on unknown paths.  Wives and husbands learn from each others’ pasts and even ancient wisdom.  They keep the old that works and strive to make their own, better future history.  Songwriters mix mystery and hope with reality, dreaming of impact and connection.

So matrimony has suddenly become very relevant to me as a teacher, a songwriter, a sister, a learner.  It’s no wonder the term is scary; it’s edges can be quite sharp.  Be attentive, then, to speak and write and promise words that mater [matter].

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This is not a time to fidget…

This is not a time to fidget.
Legs crossed, arms on chair arms,
Back rested heavily on wing-backed
Plush velvet-rosed chair.
Sunset light, twilight mint green,
Two-story ceiling high windows curve
Into the river outside.
Clittering clatterful children run with
Giggles in their pockets and anticipation in their eyes,
“What story will we hear tonight?”
Beep, beep and humming computers
Free the mind for learning, exploring, navigating, other world-ing.
Free me to sit still
Reading my book in the library.

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