fbpx

12 Years of Blogging

Nov 15, 2017 | My sort-of Sermons, Women's Voice & Power, Writing

I find it almost impossible to believe that 12 years have passed since I meekly created a WordPress site and began typing/publishing my thoughts, later my very heart.

12 years ago I would have never dared articulate my deeper feelings; it all seemed way too risky, way too fraught with consequence, way too vulnerable. Still and clearly, something in me wanted and needed to at least begin, to try, to speak (even if quietly and almost completely off the radar). If that were not the case, I would have never created the site in the first place. But I did. And I dared – bit by bit, slowly, tentatively, and in less-than-eloquent form to somehow be honest with myself.

When I look back at those early writings, I feel my heart’s ache all over again. Not so much in what was said, but in what was left unsaid. In between the lines I find and recall my every question, doubt, and as-yet unexpressed grief. I look back and recognize just how many of these were yet to grow into full expression and lived experience. Hardly pleasant, all of them; but no less true.

Isn’t that almost always the way of it?

Hindsight…

But there’s this, as well:

When we get closer and closer to our own edge, to the place that is calling us (even begrudgingly) into more strength, more courage, more capacity, and yes, more voice, we tiptoe all the more gingerly. We are afraid that the slightest misstep will cause all manner of disaster to befall. And we pull back. Unless we don’t. Unless, as we look out over that seemingly-treacherous and cavernous ledge, we lean forward. We risk the fall, the bruising, the shattering, the breaking – all on the slight chance that there will be a miracle, a soft landing, the ability to fly, much grace.

What enables the latter?

In my experience, it’s been the scary-but-consistent voicing of my thoughts, feelings, desires, beliefs, doubts, arguments, anger, and fear(s). It’s been the naming, the truth-telling, the achingly-slow movement toward honesty. It’s been being heard. Yes, this:

When we are heard, we are healed.

I do not mean to deny the value in good, self-reflective work. Of course, there is much healing and growth to be gained in the silence of our own minds and hearts. But if these past 12 years have taught me anything (and they have taught me more than I can possibly recount), this rings truest:

When I step out of the shadows (of my own mind, my own secrets, my own hidden stories) and into the light, most of what I fear does not happen; rather, just the opposite. The light remains – and grows. The shadows lessen. And strength surges, restores, and rebuilds.

And why? Because when I speak, when I let myself be heard, when I allow myself to be seen, then and only then do I realize that I am not alone. I never have been, of course. Not really. But when in my hardest, darkest places, you couldn’t convince me of that. Now you can’t convince me otherwise,

Now I know that the tougher the emotion, circumstance, or reality, the more I need to speak, be heard, and be seen.

And I am. Beautifully. Graciously. Kindly. Powerfully. Over and over again.

Not because I’m so amazing – but because those who surround and support and witness and mirror and call and invite and pour me coffee or wine or champagne are!

How would I know any of this if not for this blog? If not for this virtual platform through which one evening, long, long ago, I began to take the smallest and nearly anonymous of steps? If I had not allowed myself to speak, be heard, and be seen? I shudder to think…

So, the takeaways in all of this? Well, there are (at least) two:

The first one is for me: There is further to go, more distance for me to travel, stories yet to tell, darkness yet to expose. That is just the way of it for all of us – always. And being here, staying here, writing here is at least part of what invites more and more of the light (not to mention the miracles, the soft landings, the ability to fly, and the grace) again and again and again.

The second one is for you: May you speak or write or blog or call a friend or send an email or have the conversation that needs to be had. May you recognize that until you step into the light (no matter how tentatively, quietly, or timidly), the shadows remain. And most of all, may you believe this: the shadows are not your home. Then. Now. Ever.

OK. Maybe one more takeaway for us both:

WHEN we step into the light we’ll be seen – and met and surrounded and supported and loved. How can it be otherwise?

Here’s what I know-know-know to be true (learned through 12 years of blogging and MANY more years of life): we are not alone. Ever.

*****

I am profoundly grateful to so many of you – for reading my words (and hearing the many left unsaid, the many housed between the lines), for staying with me and standing by me, for offering me such encouragement over the years, for becoming my dearest and deepest of friends (you know who you are), for helping me, increasingly, to stand in the light – unblinking.

The deep and ever-present wisdom…

Nov 11, 2017 | Hope & Encouragement, My sort-of Sermons, Sacred Stories, Sovereignty, Women's Voice & Power

HEARING VOICES

We all have at least one – often a legion of them. They speak when we least want them to. They show up when we most wish they would disappear. They whispers into our ear when we venture into new (and necessary and powerful) territory. They shout when we start to speak the words that need to be said, must be said, that we can’t not speak.

Not one bit of what those inner voices have to say comes as a surprise. Not remotely novel or unique. An old, old saw that still cuts.

So, those of us who continue to grow and transform, seek to name them for what they are and move past their reach.

  • We hear the negative statements and reframe them positively.  “You’re so stupid!” becomes “I may make mistakes, but more times than not, I make the right choice.”
  • We recognize the voices – and their power – but choose to not respond to their incessant harping.  We separate from the destructive thought and (hopefully) become stronger.
  • We look at what we are hearing with acuteness and specificity – acknowledging what just is NOT true: “I’ll never be successful” just isn’t an accurate statement.
  • We pay attention to what the voice is saying, identify the “who” it most closely represents, and choose to learn from it.

It’s this last one that I want to speak to, that I utilize (with far more success than the other three), that I want to invite and encourage in and for you.

LISTENING TO THE VOICES

Instead of just disregarding them, reframing what we hear, or even naming them as inaccurate and untrue, we gain immeasurable wisdom from paying attention to what they are actually saying. And maybe it’s just me, but immeasurable wisdom is what I want.

IMMEASURABLE WISDOM IS WHAT I ALREADY HAVE!

As do you…

When you listen – closely, carefully, and with great attention – to the voices within that whisper, speak, and shout, you will discover an even deeper truth – the one that has been evading you but which has been present for decades, the one that offers you the very healing you long for most.

And underneath that deep truth? Well, that is where we want to go.

Underneath, deeper down, deeper still, is a far wiser truth, the you who always has and always will exist, a far wiser voice that has always been there and never leaves.

What is this voice? Where does it come from? How can you trust that it is there, that it operates within you, that it still speaks?

I’m so glad you asked.

It is the voice of every woman who has lived before you – and who dwells within – in your memory, in your subconscious, in your lineage, in your very DNA. It is in the air that you breathe and the unknowable-unnamable water in which you swim. It is embedded within every archetypal story that has ever offered you strength. It is speaking through every “mysterious-but-undeniable” experience you’ve ever had…but might have never talked about. It is present in every glimmer and glimpse of The Feminine Herself that does not, will not abandon you, no matter how many stories, circumstances, emotions, and core-beliefs cause you to think or feel otherwise. It just is. Because you are you.

Beautiful. Resplendent. Glorious. Wise. Amazing. Sovereign.

‘Don’t feel any of these things? ‘KNOW that they are somehow true, but cannot, for the life of you, step into them with any consistency or compelling commitment?

I get it.

AND this is what needs to happen, what must happen, and what you most long to have happen, yes? You: stepping into and standing in the you you truly are, always have been, and long to be.

May it be so.

Champagne on a Tuesday

Oct 31, 2017 | Mothers and Daughters, My sort-of Sermons

My oldest daughter, Emma Joy, turns 21 today. Yes, Halloween. I can still picture her, just placed in my arms, with her hospital-donned hat; it was tied with two bows: one strand of black yarn and one strand of orange.

So many things have changed since that all- night of labor and blessed morning delivery; so many experiences, emotions, stories, “life,” that have made her into the miraculous, amazing, and powerful-and- tender presence and person that is her. The baby. The girl. The teenager. The college student. The young woman.

But this has not changed: I am as taken and overwhelmed by her now as I was 21 years ago; as grateful and humbled and thrilled and yes, as teary and emotional.

I will pour myself a glass of champagne today.

And though the two of us are not together, I will toast her – knowing (and thrilled) that she is enjoying toasts of her own, on her own, with friends who see her for the miraculous and amazing and powerful-and-tender woman she is, friends who love her deeply.

In a few days, I will drive to her college town. We will raise a glass together – her now of legal drinking age, me picking up the tab.

I find this hard to believe, hard to imagine: how could this day possibly be here? But then, that’s exactly what I felt the day I found out I was pregnant…after years of infertility and disappointment.

It is appropriate and right to not wait until Champagne Friday or our across-the-table presence from one another, to offer this toast; personalized and perfect for my now-grown girl:

You have done enough, Emma Joy. You have listened enough. You have said enough. You have cared enough. You have created enough. You have given enough. You have stood for enough. You have loved enough.

You ARE ENOUGH! Always and in every way.

And every bit of this was true the moment my eyes met yours, 21 years ago.

Happy Birthday, sweet girl. Oh, how I love you.

*clink*

Women Joining & Healing

Oct 23, 2017 | My sort-of Sermons, Women's Voice & Power

I feel like I am drowning in a sea of opinions, disasters, tragedies, trauma, harm, violence, and misunderstanding – every bit of this present on social media. It is the sea in which many of us find ourselves swimming – reaching for a life-ring or anything which will allow us to feel just a bit more safe, a bit more attached, a bit less graspy and gasping.

Still, many, many times and days, it just sucks us under and swallows us whole.

Or maybe it’s just me.

I’m not suggesting that we no longer engage with social media. (Though that may be the exact-right answer for you).

What I am suggesting is that we turn within our very selves, listen to the profound-and-powerful wisdom we already hold, and then choose to respond – or not – from there.

So, when I do exactly this? When I listen to the wisdom I already hold? Here’s a bit of what it sounds like: Division, rancor, in-fighting, and accusations are the expertly-wielded tools of the patriarchy.

“Divide-and-conquer is its strategy,” my friend Lianne says. I don’t want to perpetuate any aspect of the patriarchy. I want something better, something redemptive, something healing, something strong.

I want the opposite of divide-and-conquer. I want to join-and-heal. I want to call forth and witness the Feminine – invited, embodied, enfleshed, and intentionally taking precedence over all else.

It’s dicey, I realize. Incredibly important voices – almost always those that have been silenced – need to be heard. Perspectives and experiences need to be honored. Wrongs need to be righted. Responsibility needs to be taken. And both integrity and accountability need to be not only demonstrated, but lived by. This applies to me, to be sure. And to you. To all of us.

Here’s what I keep returning to:

As women, we have the capacity to do all of this and then some – to honor our distinctives, our opinions, our stories, and especially our differences – AND come together, stay together, join-and-heal.

Don’t we?

YES!!! We do!

This is what women have done throughout all of time: they have gathered, they have joined, they have healed – themselves, others, and their communities/world. And in their best moments (if not lifetimes) they have set aside their differences – while acknowledging that they still exist – in order to offer each other the kindness, respite, support, respect, and strength needed to face another day. In Red Tents, in Sacred temples, in underground churches (even above-ground churches), in hidden rooms-basements-barns, in quilting circles, in book groups, in domestic violence shelters, in recovery movements, in neighborhood coffee gatherings, and yes, even in Facebook groups.

We join. We listen. We do our best to understand. And in such, we heal. When we don’t understand, when we struggle to listen, and even when we disagree, we still-and- always stand alongside one another in unity, compassion, empathy, and commitment. UNSWERVING COMMITMENT. To each other. To the shared-and-common-and-human difficulties, challenges, struggles, and beauty inherent in a woman’s life; in all women.

And why? Because we recognize in each other the profound and ineffable strength that must be encouraged, fanned-into-flame, called forth, sustained, and believed in! We recognize that WE are the ones to do this. And we KNOW that if we do not,
no one else will.

There are stories, stories, stories in my mind of when and where women have done exactly this. I could tell them to you. But what feels far more relevant and hopeful is to follow their lead: to gather, listen, honor, befriend, take the high road, say we’re so, so sorry, even forgive, and let every bit of our innate and indomitable wisdom reign.

Whether it’s Donald Trump or Harvey Weinstein or Black Lives Matter or Puerto Rico or immigration reform or LGBTQ awareness or any and every other thing that matters…deeply…truly…always…

…what matters most is that WE CHOOSE EACH OTHER – NO MATTER WHAT.

I get it: this is far easier said than done. But WE ARE UP TO THE TASK!

Maybe it is just me. Maybe. But I am not naive. I am a woman who knows-knows-knows what is right and generous and kind and nurturing and healing and beautiful and good and, and, and.

I am not willing to perpetuate the status quo – no matter how risky or scary or old or irrelevant I may sound.

And I’d rather not do this alone.

Happy 19th Birthday, Abby!

Oct 7, 2017 | Mothers and Daughters, My sort-of Sermons

Your birthday. Nineteen. Somehow, it feels different this year.

As I was thinking about what to write today, I went back and looked at what I wrote 10 years ago – on your 9th birthday. Amazingly (or maybe not) it all remains true. Not that different after all.

…In the middle of the night on October 7, 1998, the doctor had to tell you to slow down; that we weren’t ready for you to make your appearance yet: so eager were you to burst into the world. That has not changed.

You continue to burst into my world (and that of many others) with eagerness and full of life. I love that about you.

What has changed? This past year has been one of much change for you and with it, your own testing of emotions, relationships, your very strength and resilience. You have grown as a friend – grieving over the hurt that others can cause, longing for fairness and justice, deeply wanting your intent and heart to be known and understood, standing loyally by those who might be overlooked or not chosen. I love that about you.

You have struggled with your own emotions – the things that hurt, that seem unfair, that don’t make sense. You have raged, wept, sat quietly, and thought things through, often without resolution, without available answers, without any fix. And still you have laughed, played, danced, sang, created, and loved. I love that about you.

Though not through teachers I would have desired, you have learned about disappointment, loss, and heartache. As much has changed in our family you have had the amazing ability to survive ambivalence – letting good and bad, confusion and resolution, celebration and mourning, joy and pain all be true simultaneously. It has been difficult. And it continues. And you wake up each morning (after a bit of prodding) ready to face a new day. I love that about you.

As I have walked through this past year’s days with you, Abby, I have been amazed at your tenacity, your demand for the good, your endless hope, your tender heart, your stamina, your strength, your loyalty, your sense of humor, …your laughter, your singing, your love. I love all these things about you…

In the middle of the night 9 years ago you burst into my life with a cry that left no one doubting your will to live, your unmistakable presence, your indelible, undeniable mark. That is even more true now than then. What is also more true now, is that I love you more deeply and more profoundly than I did then. You have that effect. I am entranced – just as I was the moment I held you for the very frst time. I love you.

Happy Birthday, sweet girl.

Yes, Happy Birthday, sweet girl.

I’m stunned, humbled, and overjoyed (always and infinitely) by the plumb-line that is you – through and through. Oh, how much stronger and clearer that has become in the 10 years since I wrote those words – and in powerful, palpable ways in just the
past few weeks since you flew the nest; certainly, without a doubt, in the days, weeks, months and years to come.

YOU are the gift to me – always have been, always will be.

I love you, Abby.

My Empty Nest

Sep 20, 2017 | Hope & Encouragement, Mothers and Daughters, My sort-of Sermons

I can hardly believe the title of this post, the truth and heft of just three small words, the fact that they actually apply to me in just a few more hours.

My youngest, Abby Evangeline, leaves for college today.

In just a few more hours we will pack up my car and her dad’s truck. She’ll ride with me as we caravan north to Seattle
and arrive at her dorm at least 15 minutes before her assigned move-in time. “I want to be early, mom.”

I will help her carry pillows and rugs and a duvet cover and matching sheets and an adorable ottoman that doubles for storage and a mini-fridge and an over-the-door mirror and boxes and boxes of toiletries/supplies and boxes and boxes of clothes and even more.

I will carry my heart – tenderly, gingery, gently – because I know the smallest stumble, the tiniest tumble, will cause it to break. And I will shelter hers – because I still can – for just a few more hours.

She’s ready. It’s time. She knows it – despite her understandable and allowed fears, uncertainty, and edge-of-sadness.

I’m ready, too. It’s time.

But still…

How can one ever really be ready for this?

What guidebook or manual exists to walk me through even these next few hours – not to mention days, weeks, months, and years?

There is no such thing. Instead, I will listen to my barely-beating heart as it catches at her smallest sigh. I will trust my shaking hands to wipe away both of our tears. I will watch my now slightly-more frail body get back in the car and drive “home” to the nest that awaits.

Leaves. Sticks. Twigs. Feathers. Bits of string. And empty; both birds now flown.

I will circle, circle, circle…not ready to land.

Abby has no guidebook or manual either, but her heart beats strong and fierce even as she tentatively steps, tentatively leans forward, tentatively lets go…and flies. As she must. As she can.

Of this I am certain: she will land.

But me? How? And where, exactly? Must I? Can I? Will I? I’m less certain.

 

*****

 

The lines from one of my favorite children’s books, read more times than I can count, circles, circles, circles in my mind:

She was almost too sleepy to think any more. Then she looked beyond the thorn bushes, out into the big dark night. Nothing could be further than the sky.

“I love you right up to the MOON,” she said, and closed her eyes.

“Oh, that’s far,” said Big Nutbrown Hare. “That is very, very far.”

Big Nutbrown Hare settled Little Nutbrown Hare into her bed of leaves. She leaned over and kissed her good night. Then she lay down close by and whispered with a smile, “I love you right up to the moon – AND BACK.” (All pronouns admittedly changed…)

She feels almost that far away already…the moon…and we haven’t yet left this bed of leaves. Just a few more hours…

 

*****

 

I expect to dream of flying tonight.

Of this I am certain: it’s a long way to the moon and back.

And it is there that I will go, for now. Until I am ready to return. Until I can land-and-stay in this empty nest. Until my heart is yet-again steadied by the joy, elation, and in finite-and- endless gratitude I feel for all she’s been, all she is, all she’s yet to be.

Of this I am certain: in just a few more hours I won’t be able to lean over and kiss her goodnight.

Instead, I will hope that she looks up, sees the moon from her brand new (and far-from-empty) nest, catches a glimpse of me as I circle, circle, circle, and hears me whisper with a smile, “I love you, sweet girl. Always. Now soar!”