Stacking The Firewood

Our yearly supply of firewood just got delivered. Two-and-a-half cords of beautiful dry wood landed on our driveway, ready to be stacked under cover for use in the coming winter months. One of my favorite chores every year is to work together with Tom to stack the wood. Piece by piece the pile that sits in chaotic disorder turns into neatly stacked rows, and we are ready for winter once again. While we are not dependent on it to heat our home, it is an integral part of how we live, and we count on it to fuel life under our roof.

This delivery and stacking of the firewood is an annual occurrence, and turning that jumbled pile into orderly rows is a reminder that our lives unfold in much the same way. Something gets dumped into our lives, and suddenly we find ourselves in disarray. Like the firewood, it is ours to figure out how to put into order what has landed on our doorstep.

As hard as it is to have the unexpected show up, if we treat it like a load of firewood, and piece by piece put it into order, It can become an integral part of who we are, and fuel the lives we are here to live.

Plan B

It is so easy to get derailed. You have a perfectly planned day, and then suddenly all hell breaks loose with things you didn’t anticipate, couldn’t anticipate, probably didn’t want, and yet have to be handled. Now.

Cue: Plan B

Probably no surprise, today was one of those days. It meant setting aside some important things that I had planned to do in order to take care of some urgent things that I hadn’t. At one point I was sitting in the “sick room” at our little school because it was empty, connected to the school wi-fi because ours couldn’t handle the task at hand, managing two iPhones in an attempt to transfer data from one to the other, while talking to Apple Support on another iPhone where my call had been escalated to a senior advisor. All the while trying my best not to swear in front of the nearby students as I took notes on a scrap of orange paper from the pumpkins they were cutting out to decorate the school hallways.

Eventually the mission was accomplished, and the fiasco had only taken a mere five hours out of my carefully planned day.

But then who ever said we get the day we planned just because we planned it? If we steward our time well, hopefully we do more often than not, but other times we get the day that shows up and rains on our carefully planned parade. That’s when we get to cue Plan B, and as much as I hate to admit it, I think that’s a good thing.

Plan B forces us to loosen our grip on the need to have it our way.

Plan B helps dispel the illusion just a little bit more that we are in control.

Plan B reminds us that it really isn’t all about us.

Plan B teaches us to be more resilient and less rigid.

And…Plan B challenges us to be graceful and gracious in spite of it all. (steep learning curve)

Thank you Plan B.

All The Difference

In my work I frequently, as in almost always, hear client’s frustrations with how things are. They talk about how things should be different. Could be different. Would be different if only…and it is the “if only'“ things that suck up all of their energy, leaving little to none to engage with how things actually are.

It boils down to this, the sooner we stop wishing things were different, the sooner we can get on with actually making a difference.

Photo by Engin Akyurt from Pexels

Wishing It Were Different

When morning comes and my eyes open to the dawn of another day, I have to be honest - my first thought isn’t one of welcome and joy. I’m not one who wakes up with a light heart.

I wish it were different. But it’s not.

I’ve tried waking up with gratitude by expressing thankfulness for a new day. And while I am truly, deeply grateful for every day given to me, I just don’t feel that way as I surface from sleep.

I wish it were different. But it’s not.

In my imagination I should wake up filled with happy feelings, ready to grab life by the hand and head out into the new day. In my imagination, if I were truly crafting a meaningful life, I wouldn’t wake up with a feeling that might best be described as melancholy.

I wish it were different. But it’s not.

Wishing it were different doesn’t make it so. It does, however, make it harder.

Parker Palmer, the writer, activist and teacher, refers to the soul as a wild animal. While it may be tough, resilient, resourceful, savvy, and self-sufficient: and, it knows how to survive in hard places, it is also exceedingly shy. Which means that if we want to catch a glimpse of a wild animal hidden in the forest, we must wait quietly, giving it a chance to emerge. So it seems must I wait quietly for my soul to emerge from sleep. Given quiet and time, and, of course, that sacred first cup of French Press coffee, the soul I know as mine makes her appearance. That’s just how she rolls. Taking me by the hand, we are off on another day of crafting a meaningful life.

As we let go of wishing it were different, we are able to welcome it as it is. And that is what makes all the difference.

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Time Traveling

The further I go in life, the more I am learning to trust that timing usually works out for the best. Suddenly an appointment gets cancelled or a meeting is called at the last minute, and I realize that the timing is better than originally planned. A calendar that was too full opens up, and days that were heavy with commitments lighten up. Conversely, when space opens up on my calendar it makes the room needed for the unexpected opportunity, the urgent need, or the last minute change.

When we hold on to our time with the death-grip of control, it becomes almost impossible to encounter what life brings our way with a sense of curiosity, grace, and adventure.

Instead of controlling time, I am practicing cooperating with it. It’s actually pretty fun…most of the time.

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Aging Part 2

When did it become not okay to age? Or even more to the point, when did it become okay not to age? Measuring who we are with who we think we should be, comparing ourselves to images that aren’t even real, we strive for the impossible. Years ago, Jamie Lee Curtis agreed to have herself photographed without the magic eraser of technology. The images of her photo-edited self were presented side-by-side with the ones of the ‘real’ her. It was a courageous, gracious and liberating act. It was like looking at Barbie standing next to a real girl, who if she were real, wouldn’t be able to stand on her two little adorable high-heeled feet. She’d topple over on her perfect little plastic nose.

Molly Davis - BLUSH: Women & Wine

Looking at my arms, I could be my own connect-the-dots game. This past year the number of brown spots on my arms have at least doubled. Some are big, some are small, all are obvious. From topical treatments to laser and micro needling, there are treatments to help diminish their appearance. My fine lines, wrinkles, and less-than-taut jawline grow more noticeable every year, and, there are treatments to help with those too. The price for possible treatments range from a few to thousands of dollars. To say that I’m not tempted to jump in and get some significant work done wouldn’t be the truth, the whole truth, and nothing but the truth. But so help me God, I continue to be more inclined to to do my best to age well without too much outside help.

In a conversation with a lovely woman in her mid-thirties, I learned that she is already feeling the pressure to get on the cosmetic treatment bandwagon to take care of the few teeny, tiny lines that are beginning to appear. Lines that, like all of ours, tell the story of her life. It was a conversation that made me sad for the ways in which we all seem to compare ourselves to others, and almost always find ourselves coming up short. It also troubles me for the erosion of respect for the process of aging and for the beauty that can only be found in the faces and bodies of the elders among us.

It might sound like I am opposed to having any cosmetic work done. Quite the contrary. Full disclosure, years ago I had breast implants put in, and then a few years later, had them taken out. For me, it was the right call, but I can’t and won’t speak for anyone else. I’m for doing what it takes for any of us to feel comfortable in our own skin. I am, however, against an industry and a culture that tells me to go out and buy the right skin.

Soaking It All In

On a whim last Sunday we took a detour on our way home from a weekend of hiking and camping. The potential of a long soak in hot mineral waters and a 30 minute linen wrap in the historic bathhouse at the Carson Hot Springs Resort sounded simply too good to pass up. Taking a chance that they would have tubs available for us we turned off the highway, and within a half an hour I was submerged in steaming hot water with a cold wash cloth on my head.

Not always one to be present to the moment, I made the choice, over and over again, to return to the sensation of the hot water on my skin, the cool touch of the wash cloth on my forehead, and the heat soaking into muscles that had worked hard to carry me safely up to the edge of the Mount St. Helens crater and back again. By the time my soak was done, I found myself squarely situated in the present moment. Thoughts about the past and any concerns about the coming week seemed to have drained away along with the water in the tub.

From the soak I headed into the quiet room lined with cots and covered with fresh linen sheets, found the one that was mine, and lay down. The sweet attendant asked what kind of wrap I preferred: tight, medium, or loose? I went with medium, opted for another cool cloth on my forehead, and a towel wrap over my head. For thirty minutes I didn’t even have to work at being present. There was no where else I wanted, or needed to be.

Almost asleep when my time was up I stood and slowly made my way toward the showers and couldn’t help but notice one of the other women in the room. Like me, she had come from a soak and was laying on her cot wrapped in a linen sheet. She didn’t however seem to be in the room at all, mesmerized as she was by her cell-phone. Watching as she clicked and scrolled and swiped, I couldn’t help but think about all of the times that I am anywhere but where I am. If not glued to my phone, then following the rabbit trails of thoughts, diving into one hole after another.

Granted, not every moment is a linen wrap after a hot soak, but the present moment is where we are meant to be. It is the place we are called to show up as fully and whole-heartedly as we can, over and over again. It takes practice, and some days it comes easier than others, but I hope to remember the contrast between those minutes in the tub and on that table, and all the times I find myself lost in the past or projecting myself into the future.

The only way to be squarely where we are is to choose, over and over again, to submerge ourselves in the present moment, soak it in and get completely wrapped up in it.

Living With It

There are parts of myself that I wish I could resolve, put to rest, or leave behind. One of those is the feeling of anger that flashes, usually inwardly, but occasionally outwardly. It’s been with me for as long as I can remember, and yet I would love to think that I could unravel this thread that runs through my life, and leave it behind me for good and all. But the more likely truth is that I can’t, and I won’t, so rather than angst about it, I am learning to accept that it, like all the other parts of me, are probably going to stick around until I leave the planet.

It is an important emotion, and I probably couldn’t survive without it. Anger lets me know when something is out of whack, out of balance, or out of order, and conveys that there is something I need to say, do, or consider. However, sometimes it’s just a flash that gets triggered without a call to some sort of action on my part other than to sit with it until it dissipates. I’ve had therapy about it, processed it, prayed, written and talked about it, figured out where it comes from, who it comes from, and yet for better or for worse, it seems to be here to stay, and will be until I die.

I’ve decided that I can live with that.

Hidden Blessings

Now faith is the assurance of things hoped for, the conviction of things not seen.

Hebrews 11:1

The last thing on her list was a patio off the back of her home. Hers is an old house from which she is writing a new chapter, and reflecting on her past and imagining her future would happen best in an outdoor sanctuary in her own back yard. It wouldn’t have to be big. Just enough room for outdoor furniture, some pots, a place to sip morning coffee and gather with friends for a glass of wine in the evening.

But the to-do list is long, the days for sitting out on a patio are growing shorter, and building one from the ground up would call upon already stretched resources of time, energy, and the help of others. As much as she yearned for a sacred outdoor space to call her own, looking out on her back yard she quietly let go and decided to be content with what she had, while never losing sight of what might be. If that isn’t faith, I don’t know what is.

Heading out into the back yard the next morning to dig up some weeds, her shovel hit something hard. A few shovels full of dirt later she discovered an old brick. Digging further, another one. And then another, and another, and another, until an old brick patio, buried under half a foot of sod, appeared. It had been there all along. Exactly what she had imagined and even better than what she’d hoped for, had she pushed to make a new patio happen she would have missed the blessing hidden right beneath her feet.

“Faith is a place of mystery, where we find the courage to believe in what we cannot see and the strength to let go of our fear of uncertainty.” – Brene Brown

On A Dime

All we have to do is decide what to do with the time that is given us.

~ GandalfJ.R.R Tolkien: The Fellowship of the Ring

It is good to remember that our days are numbered. It is hard to be reminded of how quickly our number can be up. Let’s make our lives count.

It is good to remember that life is the currency given to us to spend as we choose. It is hard to be reminded that life can turn on a dime. Let’s spend our lives well.