Bump The Sticker

WARNING: You may encounter triggering language.

I don’t usually go on a rant, but here goes.

Waiting to pull into the car wash, I had plenty of time to reflect on the bumper sticker on the car ahead of me. America. Love it or leave it. What does that even mean?

The week before, I tried to choke down my lunch while staring at the bumper sticker in front of me that declared, You should be grateful, you could have been aborted. What does one even do with that?

And how about these equally polarizing pearls of wisdom:

Proud to be Everything a Republican Hates

When I die, don’t let me vote Democrat

I think, therefore I vote: Democrat

Unvaccinated Conservative Meat Eating Gun Owner: How else can I offend you today?

For the love of whatever we might all hold dear, what are we doing? How did we become so divided from and at odds with our fellow citizens? How did we become so completely us vs them? Decide that we’re right, you’re wrong, and if you don’t agree with us, then you are the f-ing problem?

I’ll tell you one thing. Inflammatory bumper stickers aren’t helping us get out of the mess for which we are all, in part, responsible. Generally, they are statements of what the driver of that vehicle claims as the truth, the whole truth, and nothing but the truth.

So help me God, I am beginning to see these types of bumper stickers as cowardly statements from which one can drive away, leaving no room for curiosity, conversation, connection, conversion, compromise, or collaboration. Which, by the way, are the only ways out from the rock and the hard place between which we are all stuck.

So let’s bump the sticker, roll up our Amercian sleeves, and get to work to building, re-building, building for the first time, take your pick, an imperfect country that we can all love in our own unique ways, and that makes room for and takes care of us all.

Thanks for listening.

What It Can Look Like

Raise your hand if your Thanksgiving turned out just as you planned.

If your hand is raised, I’m seriously so happy for you.

Ours did not.

Family would arrive from near and far, everyone showing up and departing on their own schedules. At least that was the plan. But then shit started to happen. A plane was delayed. A toilet overflowed. A toddler took a tumble out of her crib and landed on her noggin. And then, on Friday morning, one of our gang woke up with a fever and a nasty cough.

We moved him into the back bedroom so that he could rest, and donned our masks in an attempt for the rest of us to dodge whichever viral bullet had hit him squarely in the chest.

In the end, because being sick at home is so much better than being sick anywhere else, everybody packed up their bags and headed down the road before any potential symptoms might begin showing up.

As life would have it, as of this writing, two more are down for the count.

Oops, another text just arrived. Make that three.

We were all disappointed, because the best part of getting together is, well, getting together. We’d had a different plan than the one that unfolded: Walks in the wild life refuge, hide-and-seek, an epic Charcuterie Board and Old Fashioned cocktails, time curled up on the couches in front of the fire, swapping stories, and sharing a few more days of the magic and the mess that is family.

But here’s the thing. While it may not have turned out as we’d planned, it turned into something else. It was an invitation to figure out, together, what to do with what we’d been handed. And we did.

This is what that can look like…

Climbing A Mountain Part 4: Courage Under Fire

“I don’t think I can do this,” he said.

Back at the trailhead we had each shared our biggest fear about the climb. His was a fear of heights. Not an insignificant thing on or off a mountain. A few hours into it, he hadn’t had to stare that fear in the face. Now he did, as our next steps would include a short but steep climb, a traverse across a narrow trail with steep slopes on either side, and finally, another steep pitch bordered by a crevasse.

“I don’t think I can do this,” he said.

We had stopped at an outcrop to put on our crampons. He turned his face away from the slope and gripped the sides of a boulder. We all silently went about gearing up, sensing that for the moment, all we could do was give him a safe space in which to be afraid. Not try to talk him out of it, or tell him what to do or how to do it. Fear doesn’t need fixing.

“I don’t think I can do this,” he said.

Looking up from my boots, he was sitting on a rock, his wife kneeling at his feet, carefully attaching his crampons to his boots. It was like watching Jesus washing the feet of his disciples, showing them what love does in the face of fear.

“I don’t think I can do this,” he said.

And then he did. He stepped out onto the slope and headed straight up. Like climbing a ladder that is leaning up against the side of a house, but with nothing to hold on to. One step ahead of him, his cousin told him to fix his focus on her feet rather than the steep slope on either side. Behind him another cousin told him to simply take five more steps. The one in front was terrified too, but by focusing on him she momentarily forgot that she was afraid too. The one behind him called upon her experience as a Cross-fit coach to help him simply take the next right step. Step-by-terrifying-step, he made his way to the other side of the thing he thought he couldn’t do. He did it himself, but he didn’t have to do it alone.

When did we decide that being vulnerable is an act of weakness? From what I saw up on that mountain, it is one of the most courageous things we can ever do.

Two days later, we passed that same steep stretch on our way back down.

“I can do that,” he said.

The Weight Vest

I’ve started working out with a weighted vest, a training tool that is pretty much like it sounds. A vest with individual pockets into which weights can be added, 3 pounds at a time. A way to incrementally add effort to any activity, with each additional weight block my workout is initially harder. But after some time at that increased weight, I’m ready to add more.

The weight vest strikes me as a particularly practical metaphor. Just as my vest adds effort to my physical body in order to strengthen it, life seems to have a way of adding weight to help me develop greater inner strength too.

Every courageous conversation strengthens us for the next one.

Every difficult decision readies us for the ones still to come.

Every obstacle overcome prepares us to take on new ones.

Every time we take on the hard work of mending what’s broken in our hearts, we increase our capacity to love wholeheartedly.

Every courageous step emboldens us to take the next one.

Maybe what is true of a weight vest is true of the rest of life too. Added effort today strengthens us for what life brings our way tomorrow.

Holding It All Together

Sometimes it’s hard to hold it all together.

Last week I headed out early in the morning to The Dalles to drop Gracie-the-chocolate-labradoodle off at our vet to get her teeth cleaned. I can’t believe how much I love our silly dog.

And.

As a dog, she receives better dental care than the estimated 74 million of my fellow citizens without access to dental insurance, who, when financial push comes to dental shove, have to choose putting food on the table over a trip to the dentist.

And.

Driving through the jaw dropping beauty of the Columbia River Gorge that I call home, I was overcome with awe and wonder for this spectacular corner of the world. One of the top destinations in the country, people come here to live, hike, kite-board, wine taste, and of course, fish for salmon.

And.

This was once the home of Indigenous peoples long before those who looked like me arrived on the scene, colonizing, displacing, and destroying their homes and ways of life. The once abundant fishing sites, central to tribal cultures, diets, societies, and religion, were destroyed by dams. Today, traditional fishing, and often living, take place at “In-lieu” Sites. These small, poor parcels of land, often without utility services, are supposed replacements for lost livelihoods.

And.

After dropping Gracie off at the vet, I test drove a late model Toyota Sequoia, and fell in love with it immediately. I called my husband, and before the day was over, he had traded in our other car, drove the new one home, and parked it in our garage.

And.

Heading home later that same day I stopped to grab some groceries. A family sat at the corner with a sign, asking for help with rent. Our new car cost more than the first house I owned, and could sleep a family of 5 in a pinch.

And.

Yesterday I paired my iPhone with the car audio system, making it easier to make and receive calls while on the road, listen to podcasts, and car dance to my favorite tunes.

And.

The parts for that iPhone were likely produced with slave and child labor.

And.

On our nightly walk lately, the stars have been out in spades. It’s almost like God is showing off, as only She can. We turn off the flashlight and take in the wonder and magic of the night sky, grateful to live in a place where we feel safe as the quiet darkness settles around us..

And.

The night sky in Ukraine is lit up by incoming bombs and missiles, killing thousands of citizens, destroying property, and sending thousands of others to makeshift bomb shelters and fleeing across borders. As Russia wages a ruthless and evil unprovoked war, God can only be shedding tears at this devastating display of human hate and hubris.

Like I said, sometimes it’s hard to hold it all together. How do we hold on to two huge opposites at the same time—all the good in our lives and all the terrible things happening in the lives of others— when both are real and both are true?

The only conclusion I can come to is that we just do. We don’t feel guilty about the good, we welcome it with open hands.

And.

We use those same hands to do everything within our power to build a better world for all.

(A guilt-free moment, loving our silly dog.)

Food For Thought From The Whole30

Disclaimer: This post is not a sales pitch for the Whole30, although I wholeheartedly endorse it. To learn more check out the link above.

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It’s the last day of the Whole30, a program that for me serves as an annual nutritional reset.

The nuts and bolts of it are as follows: For 30 days you fill your plate with protein, vegetables. a bit of healthy fat, and occasionally some fruit. During that time consume no dairy, sugar, grains, legumes, or alcohol. There are some additives to avoid, and it is recommended not to recreate favorite snack or dessert foods even if using program compliant ingredients.

Coffee is allowed or all bets would be off.

I spend most of the day beforehand getting ready for the program by roasting lots of veggies and garlic, baking chicken thighs and breakfast sausages, making mayonnaise, hard boiling eggs, and cutting up fresh veggies. And, I start watching Downton Abbey, again.

It’s a great plan for me, and I always feel better, stronger, more clear-headed and energetic. I sleep better and my body feels more like my body. (Well, maybe this is a tiny bit of a sales pitch after all.)

While it starts with food (check out the book of the same name) the Whole30 offers so much more food for thought. Here’s what I’ve been chewing on as these third days come to an end:

• It is a reminder that while food is meant to be enjoyed, it is first and foremost the fuel to power my one and only body to live my one and only life.

• Eating this way for 30 days, I am very aware that I don’t live in a food desert with limited access to affordable, healthy food, and that I can in fact, afford to eat fresh, whole food any time I want. So can my adult children and the rest of my extended family. None of my grandchildren live with food insecurity, in stark contrast to the 1 in 6 children in America who do. Recognizing this makes me hunger to be part of the solution to change that statistic. There’s more than enough food to feed everyone on the planet. Come on people. We can do this!

• The Whole30 reminds me that I don’t have to give in to cravings (hello truffle salt potato chips, way too much cheese, or a(another) glass of wine). It is a chance to take a look at what is underneath those cravings and why I turn to them in the first place. Or as someone wise I know puts it, “What am I feeling that I want food to fix?”

• Some days are harder than others when eating my way through these 30 days. On those days I am reminded that being “hangry” is a choice, and that just because something is hard, doesn’t mean it’s bad. It’s just hard.

• Some days are more uncomfortable than others. We humans tend to be creatures of comfort, and yet in reality the only way we grow stronger, more resilient, and more wholehearted is to plunge headfirst into things are uncomfortable.

• Finally, following the rules in any arena is not my strong suit, and letting someone else be in charge is not my jam. The Whole30 is an opportunity for me to let go of control and surrender to a process that has proven itself worthy of my trust time and again. And that, as it turns out, is pretty tasty jam.

Written with gratitude for my niece Lizzy who introduced our family to this program, and in celebration for achieving her CrossFit Level 2 Certification.

Breakfast: Whole30 style

A Dream Come True

Start where you are.

Use what you have.

Do what you can.

~ Arthur Ashe

My husband had a dream last night where someone combined dirt and chocolate chips to create a kind of fabric that could be used as a protective covering.

If anything has been constant in our neck of the woods these days, it’s been dirt and chocolate chips.

Our daughter and her family moved in with us for what was supposed to be a two-week layover on their way to Scotland, where they will be living for the next few years as she pursues her Ph.D. We are now going on eight weeks, and everyone is going a little, or a lot depending on the day, crazy as we wait for their approved but yet to be seen travel documents to arrive.

Dirt and chocolate chips create a protective covering helping to hold our lives together. It’s like a dream come true.

Our wee grand boys, ages 5, 3, and 1 1/2, love nothing more than playing in the dirt. Some days it seems like it's what they live for. They pile dirt into small dump trucks, scoop it up by the handful, roll in it, run in it, and when no one is looking, fling it at each other. At the end of another dirt-filled day, their dirt-brown clothes piled on the floor of the mudroom ready for another whirl in the washing machine, the three of them head upstairs for a bath to get the dirt out of every nook and cranny.

Sometimes there’s nothing better than a chocolate chip cookie, so there is always another batch ready to be baked. No need to look up the Smitten Kitchen Crispy-Chewy Chocolate Chip Cookie recipe, because we know it by heart. We eat them warm out of the oven after naps, grab one to go with a cup of coffee or tea, sneak one before bed, or forgo the oven and just shovel the dough straight into our mouthes.

This experience together is nothing like we ever imagined, harder than we ever expected, and yet miraculously, more than we ever could have hoped for. One day at a time, one dirt pile at a time, one more load of laundry, bath, and batch of chocolate chip cookies, we are learning in new ways what it means to stay the course, hang together, and love each other well, come what may.

So take heart.

When things are nothing like we ever imagined and harder than we ever expected, sometimes all we need is a little dirt and some chocolate chip cookies to form a protective covering to remind us that somehow, some way, life is miraculously more than we ever could have hoped for.

Choosing Hard

This past Monday morning, partway up the logging road we’ve been hiking a couple of times a week for the last fifteen months, it occurred to me that every trip up that road isn’t without effort. It is always some form of hard, which is probably because we attempt to push ourselves a little harder whenever the going gets a little easier.

In other words, it is hard by choice.

Over time, all of those trips up and down that road have made us stronger, readying us for more demanding hikes and greater physical challenges.

What is true on the trail is true in every area of our lives. Doing one hard thing equips us to do other hard things. And while life is full of opportunities to choose hard over easy, many of the difficulties we encounter come our way unbidden. They land on our doorstep whether we want them to or not.

Every time we choose to do something hard, we are training ourselves to be ready for the hard that chooses us.

A few more of my thoughts on hard:

Hard

Waiting Is Hard Work

It’s Just Hard