Sail On

imagesIt is said around the time that Christopher Columbus set sail, that the English pirate Drake was raking Spanish holdings up the west side of the Americas.  As Columbus had sailed into the unknown, his fearful crew was allegedly on the brink of mutiny – mutiny, rather than come to the edge of…whatever.  Columbus, in this perilous atmosphere, made a stark entry each day in his logbook: “Sailed on.”

More often than not, were I to keep a logbook, I think that my entries might be quite the same, as are my days.  Wake up…work, kids, clean, errands, food…sleep.  Repeat. “Sailed on.”  When I am honest, there are often times that I find myself questioning, “Is this all there is to life?”  I’m convinced that monotony must be the cause of many mid-life crises.  We get stuck in the rhythm of our days, realize that life could realistically be half over, and feel a desperate need to break free from our own restraints, explore beyond the boundaries of our own boredom.

However, we all too often live our lives looking off into the horizon for the next great thing…marriage, a baby, a promotion, vacation, retirement…we are looking to “arrive” and missing the journey.  The thing is, we don’t know what lies on the horizon.  We don’t know if tomorrow will even arrive, and if it does, we don’t know if it will carry promise or catastrophe. We might quickly find ourselves longing for the boredom and monotony of yesterday.  Obviously, the key is to live with gratitude, finding value and joy in the day-to-day.  But I would also propose, as I struggle to live this reality myself, that we should not only strive to find joyful moments in the tedium, but also learn to lean in, settle in, relax and embrace the restlessness of simply sailing.

Just as it is often impossible for a ship to perceive forward movement on a vast sea without any landmarks, we too are often unable to sense any inner growth or progress in life.  But if we can accept and trust the process, the journey, the Captain, we will at some point be able to look back and see that it was all for our good…the sun, the storms, and the endless stream of days upon days.  So for now, I prepare myself for whatever the day will hold.  I’m sure the range will be vast.  And tonight, I’ll settle in and close out the day with another mental entry, “Sailed on.”

 

 

 

 

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Why I Need to Remember This…

FullSizeRenderbecause i get constantly get phone calls from school telling me he tried to stab a teacher with a pencil or that he tried to cut himself with a pencil sharpener blade or that he’s mad and can i calm him down.  because he asks me so many questions and has so many issues and arguments that by 7:00 p.m. i can’t even remember what i did earlier on in the day.  because he goes to school every day and his best friend is his teacher. because his remorse and sadness is sometimes too much for my weary heart. because every day i’m pretty sure God could have chosen someone better. because i spend all day frustrated and all night feeling guilty. because i’m at a loss for how to help my child. because in this captured moment, my heart melts, and i can set aside my fears and frustrations and simply see a human being…loving his cousin…needing desparately to be loved. and i’m pretty sure God gave him to me more for my sake than vice versa.

A Summer Tornado

downloadThe end of summer feels a bit like wandering through the aftermath of a natural disaster.  I mentally move from room to room, assessing all the damage that has been done after several months at home with five kids, mainly my autistic son.  A broken window in the basement…door jamb plates that have been sneakily unscrewed at some point to avoid “room time…” a broken lamp and glass candlestick in the storage that I’ve known about, but somehow, just can’t conjure up the energy to clean…broken glass tabletops from angry, slamming spoons as well as from the time he was “pretending” to throw a chair and slipped…broken doors and doorknobs (oh Lord, so many broken doors)…a garage door that won’t shut, a front door that won’t open…railings that have been ripped out of place…the list goes on and on…

And then there’s the internal inventory…everything I set out to do this summer, everything I hoped to be and do and just ran out of steam. Everywhere I look seems to be a reminder of my failures and shortcomings.  And it feels a bit overwhelming…a lot overwhelming, actually.  I basically want to pack it all up (or just leave it all behind) and move to Montana (or anywhere).

And tomorrow, he starts middle school.  My stomach hasn’t stopped churning since I realized how close the start of school was (a combination of sheer dread and simultaneous elation)!  I remember leaving him at preschool…I guess it was more like peeling him off of me and sprinting out the door…and this kind of feels like that.  I am always afraid of him feeling afraid, of him feeling lonely, of someone being unkind, of me not being there for him.

But in the daily midst of struggling to just breathe and not suffocate, a bright thought sneaks into my darkness.  My 16 year old son, who was standing on a teetering precipice, spent the summer fishing instead of partying, all day every day.  He came home happy at night and actually talked to us and laughed with us!  My daughter spent 5 weeks in Florida helping family take care of a household with 4 small children.  Last night, I sat up until midnight with my 13 year old son and 3 of his precious, giggling, hilarious friends as they tried to learn how to use chopsticks (and or course broke more glass in the process)!  My youngest daughter is still asleep with a friend in a fort they worked until midnight…and not a single electronic device was involved!!

I woke up this morning reminded (yet again) of the messiness and complexity of life.  I constantly feel like my life is either on the brink of a tragic catastrophe or sheer paradise.  They are both true, I think.  Every breath holds within it the potential for suffering and misfortune, as well as peace and prosperity.  But sometimes it is not so obvious which is which. Most days, I am incapable of discerning what events will lead to my downfall or my salvation. It all blends together in one chaotic, jumbled mess.  Perhaps it is all one in the same.  At times, I can’t see through my tears.  But on any given day, they might be tears of heartache or tears of laughter.  Life seems to be one huge contradiction.  It is concurrently chaotic and monotonous, sorrowful and joyful, dreadful and wonderful.

It’s pretty hard to hide and yet at the same time, hard to admit…I’m a mess, my kids are a mess, my home is a mess.  But I guess it’s the mess that makes us human, that makes us vulnerable and that humbles and refines us.  I can’t say that I always appreciate it, that I don’t at times try to close my eyes and make it all disappear.  But on better days, I can at least accept this beautiful mess called life…

 

 

 

 

Unless a Grain of Wheat…

“My dad told me this once.  For a wheat seed to come fully into its own, it must become wholly undone.  The shell must break open, its insides must come out, and everything must change.  If you didn’t understand what life looks like, you might mistake it for complete destruction.”

-The Broken Way by Ann Voskamp-

 

I haven’t written lately because I haven’t had much to say.  And because some thoughts take longer to gestate than others.  Sometimes life has a way of washing over you like the ocean wave you didn’t see coming and suddenly,  you’re not thinking in words, you’re just trying to figure out which way is up and how to find your breath again.  Maybe it’s just me, but I feel like the older I get, the more I have to fight to hang on to hope and not give in to cynicism.  I have to work harder to see the glass half full instead of half empty.  I worry more than I ever have.  With the way the world is and a house full of present and upcoming teenagers, I recognize how much I stand to lose and how little control I possess.  And I just don’t have enough…enough patience, enough energy, enough love.  Many days feel like a battle, a monotonous drudgery at best.  And I become frustrated with myself that I can’t be more upbeat, less of a Debbie Downer, more like someone else, anyone else…

However, what I am being reminded of, is that there is no one who escapes life without struggle.  It is a part of the cycle of life.  Even if we lived in a utopian world, we would war within ourselves. But like a forgotten memory I am starting to recall a time when I knew better…a time when I was able to hold suffering in greater esteem.  Like birth pain, the struggle is more intense when you fight it, when you try to eradicate it.  I have forgotten that the best way to deal with pain is to breathe and lean into it, remembering that pain can give birth to breathtaking beauty.

I guess the last few months have left me feeling a bit like a wheat seed…like my outer layer has been has been smashed open, my insides spewed carelessly about.  And it kind of feels like complete destruction.  But perhaps, if I can learn to accept all of life with grace, humility and gratitude, this “destruction” can be the springboard into new life.  The Orthodox church has a saying, “Out of death springs life.”  They serve boiled wheat at funerals and memorial services to physically remind people that death is not the end.  It is a good reminder that sometimes we need to be “undone” before we can become “done.”  And like the smallest sprout, I feel hope start to grow again.  Although pain is not something I feel the need to seek out, I also can feel the frantic need to escape it seeping away.  As wind and water can erode granite, so can pain shape and wear away my rough edges.  Sometimes it feels like life cracks us wide open to pain.  But perhaps, it is cracking us open to healing, breaking us so that we can live life fully.  I hope and pray that my soul will settle in, lean in, and learn to graciously accept all that comes to me with peace of soul and the firm conviction that all is sent to me for my benefit.

“Unless a grain of wheat falls to the earth and dies…”

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Photo credit to my youngest daughter, Reagan

Intentional Silence

undulations“Individuals, like nations, must have suitable broad and natural boundaries, even a considerable neutral ground, between them. I have found it a singular luxury to talk across the pond to a companion on the opposite side. In my house we were so near that we could not begin to hear, we could not speak low enough to be heard; as when you throw two stones into calm water so near that they break each other’s undulations. If we are merely loquacious and loud talkers, then we can afford to stand very near together, cheek by jowl, and feel each other’s breath; but if we speak reservedly and thoughtfully, we want to be farther apart, that all animal heat and moisture may have a chance to evaporate. If we would enjoy the most intimate society with that in each of us which is without, or above, being spoken to, we must not only be silent, but commonly so far apart bodily that we cannot possibly hear each other’s voice in any case.”

~An Excerpt from Walden by Henry David Thoreau~

 

It has been said that words are the most base form of communication.  In a time when everyone is concerned with finding their voice in the world, we forget the impact and importance of silence.  When we speak constantly, people stop listening.  Words that might be valuable, get lost in the sheer projectile volume.  Life gets big and chaotic and turbulent and if we rise to challenge it, we immediately begin to get lost in the noise.  This does not necessitate a passive, apathetic approach to life.  Practically, we must rise to meet to whatever stands before us.  But we cannot forget the value of first withdrawing into ourselves to subdue our inner turmoil.  When life gets big, we must get small.  If we mindlessly rush headfirst into pandemonium, we will only add to the cacophony and delirium.  We feel the need to say the right thing, do the right thing, and forget that silence is also a viable course of action.  How many problems in life could potentially be solved by just stopping, and waiting in silence?  The Tao Te Ching states that, “No one can make muddy water clear, but if one is patient, and it is allowed to remain still, it may gradually become clear of itself.”  If we are able to resist the urge to constantly fill time and space with empty and urgent words, silence becomes not only an ideal choice but also a familiar and comforting companion as well.

 

We can make our minds so like still water

That beings gather about us that they may see, 

It may be, their own images, 

And so live for a moment with a clearer,

Perhaps even with a fiercer life

Because of our quiet.

~The Celtic Twilight by William Butler Yeats~

                                                                                                               

 

 

 

 

 

Speaking the Unspoken Truth

**Spoiler alert – contains spoilers regarding the movie “A Monster Calls.” **

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Over Christmas break, I took my kids to the movie, “A Monster Calls,” based on the New York Times Bestselling book.  I had no expectations or understanding of what it was even about.  That being said, I managed to cry my way through the last half of the movie.  It is very rare that a movie grips my mind and thoughts long after the credits are through rolling.  But this movie was so poignant and in my opinion, touched on the very struggle of what it means to be human.

The story is told of a young boy whose mother is facing cancer.  He has a recurring nightmare in which he is holding onto his mother who is about to slip into an abyss and he cannot hold her any longer.  The boy repetitively wakes up just as he loses grip and she begins to plummet.  The long and short of the plot is that an ancient tree awakens and shares three stories and tells young Conor that after the third story, he will tell his story (nightmare) and will tell the truth of it.  The following is an excerpt from the book.  Forgive me for a lengthy quote but I cannot summarize in any way that would do it justice…

From A Monster Calls by Patrick Ness

“Because, yes, Conor knew.  He had always known. The truth. The real truth from the nightmare…  ‘Please don’t make me,’ Conor said.  ‘Please don’t make me say it.’  You let her go, the monster said.  Conor closed his eyes tightly but then he nodded.  You must speak the truth and you must speak it now, Conor O’Malley.  Say it.  You must.  ‘It’ll kill me if I do,’ he gasped.  It will kill you if you do not, the monster said.  You must say it.  You let her go.  Why?  And then he spoke the words.  He spoke the truth.  He told the rest of the fourth tale.  ‘I can’t stand it anymore!’ he cried out as the fire raged around him.  ‘I can’t stand knowing that she’ll go!  I just wanted it to be over! I wanted it to be finished!’  And then the fire ate the world, wiping away everything, wiping him away with it.  He welcomed it with relief, because it was at last the punishment he deserved.

‘It’s my fault,’ Conor said.  ‘I let her go.’  It’s not your fault, the monster said, its voice floating in the air around him like a breeze.  You were merely wishing for the end of pain, your own pain, and how it isolated you.  It is the most human wish of all.  ‘I didn’t mean it’ said Conor.  You did, the monster said, but you also did not.  Conor sniffed and looked up to its face which was as big as a wall in front of him.  ‘How can both be true?’  Because humans are complicated beasts, the monster said.  How can a queen be both a good witch and a bad witch?  How can a prince be a murderer and a saviour?  How can an apothecary be evil-tempered but right-thinking?  How can a person be wrong-thinking but good-hearted?  How can invisible men make themselves more lonely by being seen?   ‘I don’t know,’ Conor shrugged, ‘Your stories never made any sense to me.’  The answer is that it does not matter what you think, the monster said, because your mind will contradict itself a hundred times each day.  You wanted her to go at the same time you wanted me to save her.  Your mind will believe comforting lies while also knowing the painful truths that make those lies necessary.  And your mind will punish you for believing both.  ‘But how do you fight it?’ Conor asked, his voice rough.  ‘How do you fight all the different stuff inside?   By speaking the truth, the monster said.   As you spoke it just now.  Conor thought again of his mother’s hands, of the grip as he let go ~ Stop this, Conor O’Malley, the monster said, gently.  This is why I came walking, to tell you this so that you may heal.  You must listen.  You do not write your life with words, you write it with actions.”

The bare naked truth of the matter is that we all have secrets.  Perhaps we have never actively done anything horrifically wicked, but we have all had thoughts that would mortify us if spoken out loud.  I will be embarrassingly transparent regarding a personal example.  One day, my son threw a fit and ran away and was threatening to run into a busy road.  His fits are not uncommon, as a child with special needs, and it had been a particularly bad week.  As he ran toward the street, the thought flashed through my mind that if I let him run and there was a fatal accident, my life would be so much easier.  Of course I stopped him from running, yet I felt crushed under the weight of my hideous thought and punished myself internally for days.  This is one of many reasons why the above scene absolutely pierced my heart.  Anyone who has suffered or experienced grief also understands the desire for an end to pain, for an end to the isolation of it, for an end to the weariness of it.  After that incident, I did some intense soul searching and demanded of myself to know how any decent mother could ever even allow the faintest of such thoughts to be entertained.  I felt like a blasphemous cartoon character deserving of the proverbial lightning strike from the sky.

And so, many of us carry this needless guilt and shame.  We begin to identify with these fleeting thoughts.  We even may hate ourselves at times for thoughts we have, ways we have hurt others, and the supposed truth over who we are.  But herein lies the problem.  We are not the summation of our thoughts.  We are complicated beasts, as the monster so aptly points out.  It is possible to be wrong-thinking but good-hearted.  Life does not seem to have the same problem with dualistic truths as we humans do.  But we must learn to speak the truth.  We must own our morbid thoughts.  We must open up our dark, cobwebbed closets and let even the smallest aperture of light in.

Ultimately we must understand that the majority of our terrible thoughts do not stem from some deep-rooted wickedness within, but rather a wound that needs to be healed (“This is why I came walking, to tell you this so that you may heal.”).  Our ugly thoughts, our rage, our embarrassing failures all serve as an indicator to show us where we are broken, where we are suffering, where we need mending.  What good would it do to suture up an infected laceration?  It would only fester and rot and cause further damage.  This being the case, we still hide in shame rather than risk being exposed.   And so, we suffer while smiling and silently endure our infected wounds.  We would rather die than expose the truth.

However,  if we will be brave enough to speak that which is unspoken, we will find peace and freedom.  We will find that our thoughts, once uttered, become powerless over us.  The shackles of guilt and self-chastisement will fall away and we will realize that our thoughts are simply…thoughts.  They do not define us.  They cannot control us.  And then, we will reclaim the power to write our lives with our actions, instead of being tormented by our thoughts.

“Conor let out a long, long breath, still thick.  But he wasn’t choking.  The nightmare wasn’t filling him up, squeezing his chest, dragging him down.  In fact, he no longer felt the nightmare at all…”