Hullabaloojah!

I love words. So when the world feels like it is falling apart, I look for the words that will help me keep it together. Words that help me make sense of things, stay just the tiniest bit grounded, or remind me of who I am, why I’m here, and how I want to show up in the world, no matter how messed up it seems. Never has that been more true than now. As 2025 unfolds before us a new administration is soon to be at the helm of our floundering American ship, wildfires rage, and division and disinformation run rampant.

I need some words upon which to hang my well-worn hat.

As it turns out, I might only need one word.

It’s a new word. As in a newly, never-before-heard word, coined by our almost seven year old grandson.

He’s had a bit of a rough go of it for the past little while. Add your regular run of the mill sniffles, coughs, and ear infections to interrupted sleeps by everyone in the house. Throw in a newly discovered allergy to dust mites requiring an overhaul of almost everything, and then top it all off with a broken collarbone. That’s a lot to manage under one roof, much less in the body of a little boy.

One morning, after a particularly rough night, his mom gave him a big scoop of coconut cream, a favorite in anyone’s book who has even a modicum of taste. Savoring all that creamy goodness in the midst of the mess, out popped the word.

Hullabloojah!

As our daughter noted, it’s the perfect combination of gratitude in the midst of chaos.

Hullabloojah!

I love that word.

Hullabloojah!

Life is never one thing. It is always a mixture of the good, the bad, and the seriously ugly. Prone as we are to camp on the bad, the scary, the ugly, the imagined, or the dreaded, we need a word to shake us up and bring us back to ourselves. A word upon which we can hang our well-worn hats, come what may.

Hullabloojah!

(Written with gratitude for Cai and the best word ever.)

Waiting In The Dark

There’s been an inversion in our valley for at least a week. The clouds hang low, the light is flat, the landscape drab, and the days feel dreary, a little depressing, and I can’t wait for it to get dark.

That’s because there is a difference between grey days and dark nights.

In my faith tradition this is the season of Advent. It is a time when we light candles in anticipation and preparation. It is a time of waiting in the darkness for the coming of the light.

In the story of that first holy night, a mother had been waiting too, anticipating the birth of her baby. A baby who must have arrived with all of the birth pains and the mess and the wonder that new life brings.

Darkness is an invitation to wait for the light, and to anticipate the birth of something new. With all of the birth pains and mess and wonder that new life brings.

Noticing

“Why haven’t you been writing?”

Those were the words that greeted me when I ran into a friend this morning as we wandered the aisles of the liquor store. I was there to purchase the makings for Pop’s Eggnog, a family Christmas tradition that started in the 1930s. I’m not sure what my friend was looking for, but whatever it was, I hope he found it.

We don’t know each other well, and yet we have connected well on things that matter to both of us. God, America (no, those two words don’t go together), relationships, meaningful work, and I suspect a whole host of other things we haven’t had a chance to talk about yet.

“Why haven’t you been writing?”

Not “Hello.” or, “Hi Molly.” Some might have taken offense, but for me, it was one of the best greetings I could receive. He is a new reader of my work, and what his greeting told me is that he looks forward to reading what I share, and notices when I don’t.

We are all here to show up, and give what we have to offer. When we do, people notice, and if we’re lucky, people notice when we don’t too.

So, my friend, thank you for showing up at the liquor store this morning and noticing. This one’s for you!

On Fire

I’ve needed to work my way through this political moment in our country, and writing is what is helping me to do that. Going forward my focus will not zoom in on politics. I will return instead to what is always at the heart of my message, which is to connect who we are in our soul with how we live in the world—which when you think about it is about as political as it gets.

I hope you’ll stick with me. Thank you for helping me navigate this week by your presence here. I am deeply grateful.

The world is on fire.

As it always is.

The world is still beautiful.

As it always is.

~ Drew Jackson

We live in a small rural town where the risk of wildfire is high, which means that for several months of the year we are under a burn ban. Just recently after a few days of good, heavy rain, the burn ban was lifted. Fires have been burning throughout the valley as neighbors and logging operations have set off slash piles, but we hadn’t gotten around to it yet.

On Wednesday morning, November 6th, the day after the election, we weren’t quite sure what to do with ourselves having learned the outcome. Consuming more news, doom scrolling, and imagining the worst felt like adding fuel to our emotional fires. Time to set off the burn pile.

We’ve accumulated stuff all year and tossed it on a pile out in our field. Branches, brush that needed to be cleared, an old wooden dresser and a stool beyond repair, sensitive documents, and a little bit more of this and that. When we torched it off, fueled by a few dashes of gasoline, it burned fast and hot, quickly reducing the pile to a fraction of the size of the original. There was lots and lots and lots of smoke at first, obscuring the view on the other side of the pile. It felt a lot like the post-election world, obscured from view by the scorching hot flames that have been fanned in our country over the past decade. It was hard to imagine what lay on the other side of that political fire.

As the major flames burned themselves out, there was more smoke and less fire. As the pile continue to burn, the smoke became less dense making it is possible to see through it. Our flag, the one we fly every day, became visible although a bit distorted. It looked a lot like how America feels right now.

As the pile burned lower, we pushed any embers and still smoldering branches in towards the center, reducing the size of the pile a little bit at a time until it was nothing but a heap of glowing ashes that will take a few days to burn out.

The fire had burned hot and fast, consuming everything. The pile was gone and the air had cleared. It felt as if something had burned away for me too. Looking toward the house, our flag was still hanging there. No longer distorted but definitely tattered and a bit worse for the wear since we purchased it. The morning light was shining through her stars and stripes, and the sun a bright beacon in the distance. She reminded me that our country still stands, even if on different footing.

What is true of the burn pile is true of our lives. We’ve gotten ourselves to this moment in our shared history together. No one is exempt, which means that we all have things that are best taken to the burn pile, set aflame, and reduced to ashes.

America has always been an aspiration. A promise. Something to work toward, but never arrive at, because the work is never done.

Time to get to work.

Everything And Nothing

My first thought upon learning the results of the presidential election was that everything had changed. The outcome of this election will alter the course of our collective future, and will take us down a path different from the one if the outcome had gone the other way.

It was hard to know what to do this morning, but thankfully, as is our ritual every morning, we made our way to the front porch in the predawn darkness. We lit the candle, settled into our chairs, and pulled up the fleece blankets to ward off the chill of the morning and the one seeping into our hearts.

Sitting together in that familiar space, the one we return to morning after morning after morning, I felt a deep and profound sadness and I couldn’t stop crying.

Sitting together in that familiar space, the one we return to morning after morning after morning, I began to feel something else. An equally deep and inexplicable hope, and I couldn’t stop crying.

Sitting together in that familiar space, the one that we return to morning after morning after morning, as the sun hit the mountain it dawned on me that everything has changed, and nothing has changed.

As a result of this election everything has changed. What that will look like, try as I might, I can’t really know from where I sit, here on the porch.

As a result of this election I now have my part to play, which is doing all that I can to love, help, and heal the world within my reach. And in that, nothing has changed.

Waiting For America

As I write this it is 8:34am on Election Day, Tuesday, November 5, 2024. I needed to write something today that would help me tomorrow morning, and maybe help you too. At this point I’ve done all I can in support of the candidates I hope to elect, and of the issues I care deeply about. I’ve voted. I’ve encouraged others— friends, family, neighbors, and strangers—to vote. I’ve donated money and shared words and resources that have helped me along the way. I’ve prayed fiercely, not because I believe that God is in control of the outcome of this election, but because I believe that we are.

And now, we wait.

Waiting is active, not passive. It is a choice to stay in the here and now. To be present to what is true, even as what is true in this moment may be different from what is true just moments from now, until eventually the truth, the whole truth, and nothing but the truth prevails.

Waiting is hard work. It’s not doing nothing. It’s doing everything to stay right here rather than jumping to what might be out there.

Waiting is trusting that the outcome will make itself known, and when it does that we will have our part to play.

Waiting is threshold work. It is the space between what has been and what will be, and is an integral part of bringing anything new into being. Such waiting is found in the rhythm of childbirth, the changing of the seasons, the cycles of the harvest, and the stillness before the sun rises to usher in a new day.

And, it is found in the continued creation of America, this fierce and fragile and fraught country that we love.

May we wait together in hope, in grace, in peace, and in love.

And when the waiting is over, may we the people turn toward one another and get to work.

Election Day Angels

At my first wellness visit after the 2016 election the intake nurse was going through that list of questions that are meant to uncover any red flags. One such question was “Have you ever had more than 6 alcoholic drinks in one day?” Yes, I replied without hesitation. She was instantly suspicious, ready to register her concern in my chart notes. It was the night of the 2016 election, I explained. She heaved a sigh of relief and laughed. That doesn’t count, she said.

Today is Election Day 2024.

It can be hard to know what to do on a day like this. There are lots of options for sure. Doom scroll. Throw shade on “all those idiots” on the other side. Ghost friends and family who see it differently than you do. Pretend it’s a day just like any other. Binge watch your go-to escape series. Pray fervently for “our” side to win. Drink yourself under the table. Research property in Costa Rica in case things don’t go your way.

Like I said, it can be hard to know what to do on a day like today.

Let me tell you about something happening in our neck of the woods that has implications far beyond today, this election, and the next four years. My husband Tom (a progressive) and our brother-in-law Bob (a conservative) are both members of Braver Angels.

If you aren’t familiar with them, there couldn’t be a better day to learn about this organization and their mission. As stated on their website:

Braver Angels is leading the nation’s largest cross-partisan, volunteer-led movement to bridge the partisan divide for the good of our democratic republic. As we head into the election, we’re bringing together “We the People” to find a hopeful alternative to toxic politics. The American Hope campaign is equipping Americans across the political spectrum to work together and demand the same of politicians from both parties.

Today, on Election Day 2024, Bob and Tom are meeting at the local drop box in town around lunchtime. Bob will be wearing his red Braver Angels hat, and Tom donning his blue one. They will be there, together, side-by-side, to thank their fellow citizens for voting, and to share with anyone interested why they believe in the mission of this organization. One issue upon which they both strongly agree is that civil political discourse is not only possible, but imperative for the good of this country we all hold dear.

Maybe it’s not so hard to know what to do on a day like this if we each call upon not only the better angels of our nature, but the braver ones as well.

Written with gratitude for Bob and Tom and all the Braver Angels who are shining a light on a better path forward.

How We Got Here

Tomorrow is election day.

I’ve filled out and mailed my ballot, and like most of my fellow Americans, I am anxiously awaiting the outcome, knowing that it might get even uglier than it’s been before it’s all over. And like most of my fellow Americans, I can see that the divisions in our country run deep and wide, and seem to only be getting deeper and wider.

How did we get here?

However it happened, we got here together.

Whether through blaming the other side, fighting against what we don’t want rather than working for what we do, listening to and reading only that which will confirm our own views rather than listening to and reading about the views of those who see it differently, or allowing fear to hold us back rather than letting courage urge us forward, we’ve arrived here together.

How did we get here?

However it happened, we got here together.

Whether by tuning out, turning it over to others to figure out, or not exercising our sacred right to vote because the choices feel too complicated or we don’t like the options, we’ve arrived here together.

How did we get here?

However it happened, we got here together

We are, each and every one of us, responsible in some way for the state of our union. I am, you are, we are, they are.

How did we get here?

That’s the question, and one we all need to take seriously. Let’s look in the mirror and deep into our own souls, and tell ourselves the truth about what we’ve done to create such a deeply divided country when the great majority of us want it to be anything but.

If I want the state of our union to be different, to be one that brings us together and works for the good of the many and not the few, if I want a government that is of, by, and for the people, then I have to choose and speak and act accordingly. And so do you, and so do we, and so do they.

How will we get there?

However it happens, we’ll get there together.

.

What Got You Here

In the pre-dawn darkness of Wednesday morning we loaded up our trusty 4-wheel drive with a thermos of Sleepy Monk coffee, a package of Walkers Shortbread, folding chairs, fleece blankets, and Gracie-the chocolate labradoodle. We wanted one more trip up the logging road while the beautiful fall weather still held.

For the past four and a half years we’ve been hiking up this same road, pausing at the top for coffee and some quiet time to connect, reflect, navigate tough issues, laugh, cry, argue, and simply be together in the beauty of that space.

This time, however, we drove to the top, my only steps the slow and careful ones across the uneven road to our chairs. It will be a while before I’m able to hike that road again as I recover from my knee replacement surgery less than four weeks ago.

The recovery process has been kinda remarkable, in large part because of all of those previous trips up and down that logging road. While always grateful to have discovered what many would see simply as a dusty gravel road, there was a new understanding of all she has done for me, and for us. Hiking that same route over and over, side-by-side, regardless of the weather, has prepared me, and us for this time of recovery together. Because of all of those trips to the top and back, my body was strong at the time of surgery, paving the way for a good recovery. Because of all of those trips to the top and back, we know how to accomplish hard things together. Because of all of those trips to the top and back, the emotional weather conditions of each day don’t keep us from keeping on keeping on.

It isn’t that it’s all been easy. Nerves wear thin and blow things out of proportion. Our first fight post surgery was arguing about the best way to make oatmeal. Everything takes longer than expected, especially when one person is doing the work of two, in addition to taking on the role of in-home concierge nurse. Sleep can be illusive when you have to get up in the middle of the night to take some more pain meds, and have to choke down a few saltines and a couple of prunes so as not to take them on an empty stomach. It’s an all-consuming process in the beginning, and will continue to be a major focus if I want to get back up the logging road in the not-too-distant-as-in-several-months future.

What hit me as we sat with our coffee that morning is that it’s important to remember what got us to where we are. To acknowledge what, and who, have made today what it is, and to remember it in preparation for what life has in store for us down the road.

Like most coins, this one has two sides. The positive side of that coin is that our growth and successes are built upon the back of our efforts, and often the support and efforts of others. The flip side is that we sometimes find ourselves at a place we didn’t intend or realize isn’t in our best interest, or the best interest of those we love. This too is built upon the back of our less-than-healthy actions, and perhaps that of others as well.

Recognizing, and remembering, what got us here is the key. It is what will help us choose whether to stay the course, or shift in a new and better direction.

The logging road is part of what got me here, and she is waiting patiently for our return. I can’t wait.

Sub-Mission

I’ve never liked the word submission. I know. Weird, right??!!

In my experience, the idea of submission has often been used (directly or indirectly) in reference to a woman submitting to a man. Of placing herself under the authority of someone else, most likely her husband, the leaders of a church, or some other male authority figure. Like I said, not my favorite word.

However, recently I’ve come up against that word in a different context from the one I’m used to, challenging me to consider if submission doesn’t have its time and place for a girl like me.

Submission is a combination of 2 words. Sub, which can, among other things, mean lower than, beneath, or under, and mission, which is an important assignment with an intended outcome, an expedition, or a calling. Submission, then, is getting beneath something that matters. It’s placing the strength of my will under the mission in order to achieve it.

Three weeks on the other side of a total knee replacement surgery, I am finding that in order to recover, heal, and rebuild, I have to embrace the reality of what will be required of me to achieve the outcome I want. Doing so is an act of submission to what is true now in order for it to become what I want to be true in the future, which is a strong knee ready to take me wherever life leads.

I’m having to submit to the facts that this is a marathon and not a sprint, that pain is part of the process, that I can’t do it alone and need help, and that doing the hard work, which sometimes means doing less rather than more, is the only way. Or as my daughter’s coffee mug says, “There is no secret. Keep going.” That’s how it is with any worthwhile endeavor, whether writing that next book, healing from past trauma, getting an advanced degree, raising good humans, building an NFL team, or recovering from knee replacement surgery. It’s hard to admit, but submission is required.

Submission to the process required by this new knee is me getting under the mission, and supporting that mission with everything I’ve got.

Submission is a choice requiring no one’s authority but mine. And I like that. I know. Weird, right??!