Leading The Way By Staying Behind

It was disappointing not to make it to the top of that mountain.

After a year of planning, training, and imagining being on the top with everyone, it never occurred to me that I wouldn’t make it up there. I’m not big on mentally planning for every possible scenario in order to insulate myself from disappointment, so it was hard to let go of how I thought it would look. Some days it still is, but I wouldn’t trade being all in, even when it turned out that I couldn’t. This past year of training, loving, and supporting each other was worth every step I could and couldn’t take.

It was hard to be left behind.

Who wants to cry uncle? Not this aunt of the four who made it to the top. However, they might never have been inspired to do it, if we hadn’t done it first. Because we had stood on the summit before, they were determined to stand up there now. Because we knew what it took to get to the top, they were better equipped to get there too.

It was difficult to accept that my body wasn’t able to do what I thought I’d trained it to do.

Looking back on it now, I can see that by staying behind in basecamp we were actually leading the way. By modeling a mature response to loss and disappointment, maybe they will remember what that looks like when faced with their own inevitable losses and disappointments. Wisdom, it seems, is sometimes best gained through loss.

We are meant to pass the torch, and to find a new home for the truth that lives inside of us, so that it can live on without us.

Mt. Adams Summit: 2017

Mt. Adams Summit: 2022

By A Thread

When my parents died within six months of each other back in 2000, I was sad that they were gone and ready for them to go all at the same time. People have asked me if I had any regrets when they were gone. Gratefully I don’t. Several years before they passed the three of us were sitting in their kitchen, and I found myself telling them that I would miss them when they were gone. That they had been good parents in so many ways. That I never doubted their love for me. That the memories we shared mattered. That they mattered, and that they would be missed.

Are there other conversations I wish we would have had, could have had? Probably. But I think it is rare that any of us leave the planet without a few loose ends. Ours is the task of leaving as few as possible.

My oldest brother, Peter, died suddenly on January 14th. I wasn’t ready for him to go and was grateful that he didn’t have to linger. He would have hated that. Again, no regrets. To say that he and I sat on opposite ends of the political spectrum would be an understatement, and we had more than our share of animated conversations over the years. To decompress I attempt to meditate. Pete would listen to Rush Limbaugh. He had a heart that was as deep as his political convictions, and would move heaven and earth to help someone in need. On the night of January 6th, after all hell broke loose at the capitol, he called me. “You kind of want to talk to the people you love on a night like this, don’t you?” I said. “That’s why I’m calling you.” he replied in his deep, gravely, cowboy voice. The day had deeply saddened both of us, and we found ourselves standing together on the holy ground of our shared hopes for what this country could be. Should be. It was our last phone call. A few more loose ends tied up.

Every morning, no matter what the weather, Tom and I sit outside in the early morning darkness with our first cup of coffee. Gracie-the-chocolate-labradoodle at our feet, we start our day together on the porch, sitting in old rocking chairs with red cushions on the seat and red and black plaid Woolrich blankets on our laps. One morning not long ago, Gracie and I were out there waiting for him to join us. Out of the corner of my eye I saw his rocking chair. Empty. The red cushion and plaid blanket waiting for him. One of us will go on without the other someday.

We are always just hanging on by a thread. If we think it is otherwise, we are simply fooling ourselves. However, it is that thread that weaves our life together, one breath, one choice, and one moment at a time. And, when all is said and done, ours will be a tapestry of each and every one of those stitched together moments.

Ours is the task of leaving as few loose ends as possible.

Photo by Suzy Hazelwood from Pexels

The Architect’s Daughter

She knew how to bring out the best in him. Often exacting and distant as a dad in his earlier years, whenever he had the chance to spend time with this daughter of his, all of that seemed to melt away. She had a way of coaxing the boy, who never got to be a boy when he was a boy, to come out and play. Nothing made them happier than playing with materials that others saw as trash and transforming them into treasures. Together, heads bent over a drawing of some dreamed of project, their shared gift of exquisitely combining form and function came alive. A mistake that would once have brought his criticism and a list of what went wrong, became a chance to spend more time to together, covered in dust, figuring out how to get it right.  

The daughter loved the architect for who he was, and extended grace for who he was not, and the architect loved his daughter in all the ways in which he could, never fully understanding the ways in which he could not. In the end, she will remember her love for him, and his for her, as an imperfect thing of beauty and a joy forever.

 With deep gratitude to the architect for the gift of his daughter. 

AMOUR

My best friend gave me a pair of earrings a few years back, a simple design, embossed with what has to be the single most important word in any language.

I wore them almost every day.

Until I lost one of them.

I looked everywhere, scouring our home, the floor of my car, the post office, the driveway, the General Store, the school, our church, but it was nowhere to be found. It’s been more than three months, and yet still I held out hope, because as we all know, in the end, love will win out.

Today is the first day of spring, and the snow that has surrounded our home for the past couple of months has been melting away with the warming temperatures. Standing out on our deck, my eye caught a glint of gold. There is was.

Love is always waiting for us, even when we can’t see it.

The Dark Night

“The first fingers of light appear on the horizon, and ever so deftly and gradually, they pull the mantle of darkness away from the world.”

John O’Donohue - Anam Cara: A Book of Celtic Wisdom

There are times when life so overwhelms us with grief, pain, fear, and loss that we don’t think we will survive. Some do not, and there is no room for judgement or criticism, only mercy and compassion. I have not inhabited their hearts, only my own, and the only reference I have is my own experience of being plunged into darkness, not knowing when even the faintest glimmer of light will appear.

In those dark nights, we are alone with our own hearts. No matter how much love and support we have surrounding us, no one can make our way for us as we wait for the light to appear. Others may walk with us, but they cannot walk for us. Others may help us bear our burden, but ultimately it is ours to carry. But the treasures of our darkness belong to us. Whatever we discover in the blackness of our night has the capacity to transform us in ways only possible when we have found our way to the dawn of our new day.

In the darkness, while we find ourselves alone, we would do well to remember that we bring with us all of our hard earned resources. Any strength, wisdom, faith, grace, and love that we have accumulated thus far will be our faithful companions, and will sustain us through the night. In her book, Learning To Walk in the Dark, Barbara Brown Taylor says, “…I have learned things in the dark that I could never have learned in the light, things that have saved my life over and over again, so that there is really on one logical conclusion. I need darkness as much as I need light.”

I’ve often wondered if the power that brought the world into being knew that we would need to find hope for a return of the light on a daily basis. That there is a deeper meaning behind the daily cloaking of the world in darkness, so that once again, we can be reminded of the illuminating light that is sure to follow.

Lessons From The Field

Nobody thought they’d make it into the playoffs, but as they have been known to do, the Seattle Seahawks defied the odds and did. After a disappointing loss last night to the Dallas Cowboys, in which they mostly got in their own way, (although kudos to the Cowboys for doing what it took to come out victorious) it is time to reflect on the season, and what we can learn from this team that I love.

It isn’t other people’s opinion that matters.

The team started the year by losing all four of their pre-season games, the first two of the regular season, and entering week 10, found themselves with a 4-5 record. The football world pretty much wrote them off, casting this as a “re-building” year, not a year in which anything special could happen. Au contraire said those inside the locker room overlooking Lake Washington. That something special, as articulated by head coach Pete Carrol, one of the classiest in the NFL, is “Without question, it’s this connection our guys have. Their willingness to keep going the extra step, the extra mile, whatever it takes to keep adding.” They always believe that something good is about to happen, regardless of the odds, minutes left on the clock, or the media chatter, and more times than not, something good does, even if it doesn’t show up on the scoreboard.

There’s a difference between winning and being victorious.

In his post game press conference, WR Doug Baldwin admitted to being frustrated, sad, and disappointed. Who wouldn’t be? However, his message as one of the leaders in the locker room is that if the players, individually and collectively, can learn from this disappointing end to the season and use that to get better, closer, and more committed, while they might not be victorious, they still won in the bigger picture. “The challenges are hard, and it’s difficult, but you should never be afraid of failure. Failure is what helps you grow. If you’re not growing, you’re staying stagnant. If you’re staying stagnant, you’re done.”

While it’s about football, it’s not about football.

No doubt about it, life in the NFL has a relatively short shelf life. Career ending injuries, the end of a contract, or getting cut from the team, if it’s only about what happens on the field, that’s not a great return on the investment these players have to make to be able to play in a game open only to an elite few. If they don’t come out the other side of their career as better men, as better human beings, they’ve left way too much on the field. Again, WR Doug Baldwin - “I think the best thing we will do from this point on moving forward is that we will take these lessons and learn from them and grow and be better, not only as football players, but as men. That is vastly more important.”

Build on the past and move forward.

That about sums it up in a nutshell. On or off the football field, the past serves as the foundation for what will happen next. The past is out of their hands, leaving them free to grab hold of the future, believing that something good is about to happen. That sounds like a good way to live.

Onward and upward.

Go Hawks!

The Joy Of Sadness

Weeping may endure for a night, but joy comes in the morning.

Psalm 30:5

Joy is not the absence of sorrow.

Sorrow, however can be a gateway to joy.

There are few of us who look forward to pain and loss, much less the deep, dark emotions that accompany us in our  grief. It can be tempting to try and shorten our times of sadness, to move through them as swiftly as we can, and even to attempt to escape them altogether through our coping mechanisms of choice. But sorrow has a purpose. It isn’t meant to break our hearts, but to break them wide open. As I wrote in BLUSH: Women & Wine, There is a cleansing that takes place when we grieve with our whole hearts. By moving through it , rather than hiding from it, we come out the other side made more whole through our willingness to be broken.

Take heart.

Be courageous.

Weeping may endure for a night.

But joy is to be found in the mourning.

Good Grief

“It becomes hard to trust yourself.
All you can depend on now is that
Sorrow will remain faithful to itself.
More than you, it knows its way
And will find the right time
To pull and pull the rope of grief
Until that coiled hill of tears
Has reduced to its last drop.”

~ John O’Donohue (Excerpt from For Grief )

Love and loss walk hand-in-hand.

Whenever we open the door to love, we open it to grief as well.

Whenever we say yes to love, we say yes to pain as well.

Whenever we open our hearts to love, our hearts will eventually be broken open by loss as well.

Right now there are people near and dear to me who, having opened their hearts to love, are now having them broken open by loss. While their losses differ, are all deeply felt, and whether it is the loss of a friend, a relationship, a career, a pet, or a dream, they are in the midst of mourning, which my friend, the poet Ann Staley, calls “that ancient form of love”.

When my mom died almost 20 years ago, the church where we held her service was overflowing. My dad had chosen to have hers be an open casket, with time for any who wanted, to pass by and wish her well. Her grandchildren were all there, and my siblings and I had talked to them about what to expect should they visit her open casket. The choice was theirs to walk up and peek in on her or not. As of the beginning of the service they hadn’t yet decided. At the end of the service, all of these young cousins gathered together in the aisle, standing close, heads together, arms around one another, tears flowing freely. Then, as one, they walked up to the coffin, and surrounded the grandmother they loved. Each one, unknown to the others, had brought something to tuck into her coffin. A tiny ceramic squirrel, in honor of those pesky creatures that robbed the bird feeders outside my parents window. Small shells collected during an annual beach trip. Small individual mementos, of the small individual moments, that had shaped the loving memory, in which they collectively held her.

No one can really teach us how to grieve, but we can learn how to do it together.

There is a cleansing that takes place when we grieve with our whole hearts. By moving through it, rather than hiding from it, we come out the other side made more whole by our willingness to be broken. It is a good grief.

And so, we mourn. That ancient form of love.

Image and Small Vases by Kristine Van Raden