Home Ownership

There is a big difference between a house and a home. A house is a structure. A framework within which we live, and what can be seen on the exterior says little about what goes on in the interior. From the outside, a house doesn’t give away much about what happens inside the home, and like many things, it’s what’s on the inside that counts. Having sold a house a time or two (five to be more precise), I know that location matters. Some neighborhoods are more desirable than others depending on our preferences, and most of us tend to buy into the best area that we can afford. When putting a house on the market, in order to distinguish ours from others that are similar, sellers are encouraged to create street appeal for potential buyers, and to stage the inside so that they can see themselves living within its walls. But location, street appeal and staging do not a home make.

Or a life for that matter.

When I set out to write a book a few years ago, I did it because it was the next right thing to do. I was compelled to write BLUSH: Women & Wine not to become rich and famous, but to discover why I had come to depend upon wine as a coping mechanism to soften the blows of my own life, and to invite my readers to embark on their own exploration with me. Yet the temptation was there, and sometimes still is, to make the book and my work look good out in the world, rather than using the book and my work to do good out in the world. I am often more easily enticed to sign up for another course to learn how to create a more successful platform instead of standing on the platform that I have and telling the story to those ready to hear it.

It can be easy to get caught up striving to situate ourselves in the right place, be seen with the right people, and surrounded by the right stuff. We develop an image that will appeal to those we seek to impress, and stage our lives to appear accomplished and successful. There is nothing wrong with working to cast ourselves and what we have to offer in the best light, but that is exterior window dressing to the real work of shining a light inside the walls of our life. The work of coming to know ourselves and our vocation, of cultivating our gifts and honing our craft. For only when we do that will we find ourselves at home in our own life, and it is only from there that we are able to step out into the world and offer what is uniquely ours to give.

When it comes to real estate it might be about location, location, location, but when it comes to real life, it is about vocation, vocation, vocation.

Discouragement

One of my least favorite emotions, and yet like all of the ones we’d rather not experience, discouragement has something to say. It sets in when something rears its head again, or when we think we’ve gotten to the root of something and come to find out that we haven’t. At this point it feels like it would be easier to just throw in the towel, forget whatever the issue is, or give up rather than keep going. But this gray sense of disappointment, whether in ourselves, others, or both, is an invitation to look deeper.

Discouragement tells us that what’s been done isn’t what needs to be done. Our work is to figure out what that is.

Discouragement suggests that there are stones yet unturned, paths not yet taken, or viewpoints not yet seen. Our work is to turn over new rocks, embark on the new trail, or look through a different lens.

Left to its own devices, discouragement can lead to a loss of confidence and enthusiasm, leaving us downhearted and demoralized. So rather than leave it to its sorry little self, it is better to grab it by the hand and walk with it until a next right step appears, which if we stick with it, it almost always does. And that’s encouraging. 

For Weekend Reflection

Maturity is not a static arrived platform, where life is viewed from a calm, untouched oasis of wisdom, but a living elemental frontier between what has happened, what is happening now and the consequences of that past and present, first imagined and then lived into the waiting future.

~David Whyte: CONSOLATIONS

What does your past tell you that can help you live more fully into your waiting future? 

The Residual Effect

re·sid·u·al/riˈzijo͞oəl/

adjective - remaining after the greater part or quantity has gone

 Recently I had the experience of spending several days with very good friends. Three of us are colleagues and meet together on a monthly basis for a video visit. Our intent is always to show up authentically, speak truthfully, listen deeply, and help each other become more of the people we are meant to be. One of our trio had the idea of finding time for a longer connection. One that was more  up close and personal than can transpire in a couple of hours every month. A time to step aside from the goings on of our everyday lives, and for good measure, to bring our partners with us. I wrote about this experience in an earlier post at the beginning of our time in the house overlooking the water that we rented for our getaway...

Our agenda? To show up as ourselves.

The topics for our time together? Whatever felt real, relevant, and revelatory. 

Looking back a week later, it is clear to me that when it came to showing up authentically and sharing the real, the relevant, and the revelatory, everyone knocked it out of the park. Not because of a need to perform or succeed, but rather out of a desire to be known and seen.  Riding the ferry back to the lives that awaited each of us, I think we all felt enlivened, enriched, and challenged by our conversations and the connections forged over morning coffee, long meandering hikes in the woods, shared meals, and time spent lingering over another glass of wine. We shared stories both fragile and funny, read poetry aloud to one another, dug deeper into what makes us tick and the forces that have shaped us into the people we are today. We posed questions and gave our best answers, cooked for one another and cleaned up after each other, and when we left it is safe to say we all knew ourselves, and one another, better than when we arrived, and we can’t wait to do it again. The cool thing is, we don’t have to wait for a next time to experience more of the goodness that happened, because there seems to be a residual effect that is keeping the experience alive. Whether that means a sense of being more present and engaged, experiencing the light of clarity, or a renewed sense of purpose and vocation, our time together changed us.

What we experience has a residual effect that can linger and endure for good or for ill, which suggests that we are wise to be mindful of how we spend our time and with whom. 

Written with gratitude for Tom, David, Theresa, Alia, and Kyle.  

Feedback Anyone?

How often do you wake up in the morning and hope someone asks Do you mind if I give you some feedback? For most of us, those words rarely lead us to think that someone has something awesome to share with us. We generally prepare ourselves to hear something that shines a light on our shortcomings, failures, or mis-steps, and the truth is, sometimes, ok, many times, it does highlight something that we didn’t see ourselves, but wish we had.

This morning, after reading my latest blog post (Sunday School) which talked about the biblical story of creation and what it might tell us about ourselves, my husband Tom asked if he could share his perspective with me.

Umm. Sure.

“If someone didn’t know your theology, they might think that you believe that the world was literally created in six days. They might not understand that you were saying that the story is meant to point us to a much deeper truth.” My first response was that he hadn’t read it carefully enough, and then I remembered who it was that was offering me the gift of his feedback. As a scientist and a writer himself, he is a careful reader, and, he is also one of my most trusted voices. When he speaks, I (generally) try and listen, so took a deep breath and asked him to tell me more.

In my mind I had specifically written that piece to point to a deeper truth, not as theological commentary on anyone’s understanding of a powerful story of creation. I wrote it to encourage each of us to take seriously the unique errand upon we have been sent. To remind us that when we do the work we are called to do, and share the gifts that are ours to share, we can look upon all that we have done, and see that it is good. Just as the Creator does in the story. That was my point. Tom’s point was that readers might get wrapped up in a theological debate and miss the point altogether. It would have only taken a little more effort on my part to provide some context for my readers. To set the table a bit better before inviting them to partake of the offering.

It’s never fun to feel like we’ve missed the mark, and yet missing it is the only way we can improve our marksmanship. Whether as a writer, speaker, teacher, or coach, the only way I can get better is through honest feedback from trusted sources. The same holds true for all of us. In order to become more of who we are meant to be, to live into our fullness, and yes, to reflect the image of the creative power behind everything, we need to hear from others what they see in us that we cannot see in ourselves. Feedback is always a gift, not because it is always accurate or right or deserved, but because it provides a perspective other than our own, and helps us better understand how we are showing up in the world.

Whether that world took 6 days to create, or 4.6 billion years.

Photo: Pixabay

Walk This Way

When Tom and I first got married we started walking in the early morning. At first it was a slow stroll with umbrellas when it rained, but it wasn’t long before we ditched the umbrellas and speeded up our pace. Side-by-side we began to navigate our way to the marriage we have today. It was on those walks that we started learning who we were and who we wanted to become, where we’d been and where we wanted to go. We laughed, cried, argued, made-up, and sometimes we just talked, but step by step we learned how to live in step with ourselves and one another. A lot can happen on a walk. 

A walk is a powerful practice that can be implemented almost anywhere at almost anytime and for almost any purpose.  

A Walk In The Valley 

When my one and only sister and I found ourselves at odds and unable to connect, we found our way back to one another by walking in the valley below her home. There were hard truths to be named, questions to be answered, forgiveness to be sought and extended, and because of our Walk In The Valley, we’ve never lost each other again. A lot can happen on a walk.

Take A Walk With The Captain 

One of my dear friends is a retired US Navy captain, and in her years as a powerful and influential leader, she instigated a practice she called Take A Walk With The Captain. It was an open invitation for anyone on her team to sign up for a 20 minute walk with her. No agenda other than the one created by the person walking by her side. On those walks trust was gained, stories were shared, and questions were answered. A lot can happen on a walk. 

Walk The Problem 

An organization I worked with encouraged employees to Walk The Problem. Rather than try to resolve the conflict, have the hard conversation, or clear up a misunderstanding in an office behind closed doors, people took the problem outside and onto the track that surrounded the building. Walking together had a way of clearing the air and leaving whatever it was in the dust. A lot can happen on a walk.

After 25 years together we value our walks more than ever. The exercise is great, but even better is the development of the practice of squaring our shoulders in the same direction, and stepping out together.

A lot can happen on a walk.

Real Life

It’s been in the works for awhile now. It all started with a phone call from a friend. We have a monthly video call where three of us connect to check in, go deep, and help one another become more of who we are called to be. He had booked a house on a beach overlooking the water for another gathering, but had the house for a full week, and wondered what it might be like to join him there, and for good measure, to bring our partners as well. Instantly we were all in. The dates went on our calendars, funds were contributed, and we all agreed to bring plenty of good food, good wine, and something meaningful to share with each other. 

On our last phone call we talked about what we wanted the time to look like.

Did we have an agenda?

Were there topics to be covered?

Well. Yes and no.

The agenda? To show up as ourselves.

The topics to be covered? Whatever felt real, relevant, and revelatory.

It’s as simple as that and as hard as it gets.  Kind of like life.

God's Jar

Last night we gathered to celebrate the life of my dearest friend’s father who passed a month ago at the age of 95. We told stories, ate her lasagna (his favorite) and drank Manhattans (also his favorite), and at the end of the evening I read a piece I wrote a few years ago about a beautiful wooden bowl we received as a wedding present. Life looks different now than when I wrote these words, but they still have a ring of truth to them, and probably always will.

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We have a God Jar in our home. It is a beautiful, hand-turned wooden bowl created by my best friend’s dad. It was a wedding present and I’ve never quite known what to do with it. Until now. It sits on a little round metal table that I found at a junk store somewhere, and I guess it’s kind of like an altar. I like the idea of an altar coming from the Goodwill or a dumpster. It isn’t all churchy and shiny and serious. It is uneven, rusty and beyond imperfect. Like life. 

The God Jar sits on the junk store altar next to a little pot that one of my daughters threw in a pottery class. It isn’t perfect either, so it fits perfectly, and is filled with blank, torn up pieces of paper and a pen. Whenever anyone has something that they need help with, something that is bigger than they are, they write it on a piece of that paper and tuck it in the God Jar. Every day I stop at least once if not a hundred times, put my hand on the God Jar and ask for help with whatever is in there. 

Now, God is not in the jar. It’s not a magic jar. It is just a simple way of remembering to have faith and trust that life will work out. 

 God’s Jar has brought faith to our home in a new way. My girls ask me to put things in the God Jar, and their friends slip notes in there when I’m not looking. I am always putting things in there too, and no matter how many things go into that jar, there is always room for more. Stuff happens when something goes in the jar.  Things in the jar have resolved, grown or gone away. Opportunities have come knocking, solutions have arisen, and cups have runneth over. Jobs have been found and bad relationships left behind. Forgiveness has been extended and health has returned. Strength for one more day has been mustered and next steps have become clear.  

But lately my faith has been sort of shaky. We are facing all kinds of changes and transitions, the future seems sort of rocky, and I can’t see as far down the road as I would like. Rather than walk in faith, I creep in fear. I write down my concerns, fears, hopes and dreams, put them in the jar, and then walk away, but I can still feel the weight of them on my shoulders.. 

Then one day it dawned on me that I might just need to climb in the jar too. Put my whole self in, just like the hokey-pokey.  So I did. I just took one of those little torn up pieces of paper, wrote my name, and dropped it in.  I have to be honest though, ever since I got in the jar with all the other things, life still feels shaky. As if God is shaking me and the stuff in the jar all around. I don’t like the feeling. I feel out of control. And then I remember the hokey-pokey. You put your whole self in and you shake it all around. That’s what it’s all about.  

Spring Pruning

I almost forgot to cut the ferns back. It is a task that can be done in late winter or early spring, it doesn’t matter. It just matters that you do it.  

Pruning away the old, brown fronds improves the appearance of the plant, increases the air flow to prevent mold, and allows new fronds to emerge. It only took about 30 minutes to complete the job, and the new fronds, now visible, were curled up tight as little fists. The very next day, those little fists began to uncurl into new vibrant green leaves. 

Like a fern, for us to flourish the old needs to be trimmed away in order for new growth to emerge.

But You Can't Hide

It is so easy to look for an escape hatch.

We move on from one situation in the hopes of leaving our troubles behind, only to find that they have followed us into the new one.

We head for the greener grass on the other side of the fence, only to discover we haven’t yet learned how to feed and water our own lawn.

We pack up and find a new home, only to be greeted at the door by the same life we had before.

We end one relationship in search of a better one, and find the same partner wearing a different face.

At one time or another all of us find ourselves in need of a fresh start, and crossing the finish line of our current race is the only to get there.

No matter how fast or far we run, whatever we choose to ignore comes with us wherever we go.