The Garage

So we have this garage. It’s a big, beautiful, well-built garage. It was specifically built to have room for two cars, ample storage space, a garbage and recycling station, a workshop to die for, and an upstairs bunkhouse for overflow guests, complete with a full bathroom, and mini-kitchen. It was planned for all of those, has room for all of those, but has none of those, because there isn’t room for any of those. It is filled to the brim with, well, we’re not sure what, but we’re about to find out.

Tomorrow is the first day of Garage Resurrection Week. We’ve set aside the time specifically and intentionally to rid it of any and everything that isn’t needed, wanted, or has past its usefulness, so that we can bring back to life the purpose for which it was built.

A garage is such a metaphor for life. A garage becomes filled with things that get in the way of why it was built in the first place, and a life gets filled with things that get in the way of why we are here in the first place.

It boils down to this…What to keep? What to toss? What to pass on?

Wish us luck.

Clean Up

Sometimes we make it way too complicated.

At our grandboy’s pre-school when it’s time to clean up, the teachers sing the Cleanup Song, and everybody works together to tidy up the room. To put it back in order, ready for what comes next, and who comes next. 

Clean up, clean up, everybody, everywhere. 

Clean up, clean up, everybody do your share. 

Put ‘em away. 

Put ‘em away. 

Put your toys away. 

Imagine if we just did that.

Imagine if we all just cleaned up after ourselves and one another. 

Imagine if we all just did our share, everybody, everywhere.

Imagine if we all just put our world back in order, ready for what comes next and who comes next. 

Imagine. 

Family

Sometimes there’s just nothing like family.

I’m spending a few days with one of our daughters and her family. Which turned out to mean that I have the chance to play with the grandboys, fold laundry, drink coffee, talk about life, and get ready for a birthday party on Saturday, complete with a homemade smash cake for the one year old to, well, smash his face into. Earlier this week, my brother drove a couple of hours to spend the day with us up at our cabin. Which turned out to mean that we had the chance to sit on the porch, drink coffee, talk about life, and of the cross country trip he and his wife will be making next month for their move into their new home. Which turned out to mean that we had the chance to talk about how sweet it is that they are moving closer to their son and his wife, and the bitterness of that sweet in moving away from lifelong friends and family. He had a little surgery yesterday to clean up a knee, and while his knee did fine, his heart acted up a bit and he had to stay overnight in the hospital. Which turned out to mean his son decided to change his travel plans at the last minute and fly into town for a couple of days. Which turned out to mean that my wonderful nephew showed up at my daughter’s house this afternoon. Which turned out to mean that over dinner those two cousins had the chance to reminisce about the weekly dinners they used to have together when they were both single and living in the same city. She would plan the menu, he’d show up with the groceries, and she would cook. Which turned out to mean that they learned their way around the kitchen together. Which turned out to mean that tonight, while she and her husband put little boys to bed, he  cleaned up the kitchen before heading out. Which turned out to mean that at the end of the day, sometimes there’s just nothing like family.

For The Love Of The Game

As soon as I walked in the door he asked. Do you want to come out and play golf with me?  For the next couple of hours we hit plastic golf balls back and forth to each other. At not quite 3 years old, our grandboy is already a better golfer that I ever was or ever will be.

His dad is the superintendent of one of the nicer golf and country clubs in the city, so this wee boy has seen golf balls and clubs laying around from the beginning, and has ridden around the course a time or ten. But his fascination with this sport that frustrates most is all his own, and he plays it not because he’s trying to be good, or beat another player, but because he loves it. 

When someone loves something they can’t not do it. Come rain or shine, there is nothing that makes him much happier than a flower pot full of golf balls and his clubs out in their backyard. If it takes his pudgy little fingers five tries to set the ball just so on the clump of grass that acts as an ad hoc tee, well then so be it. 

It is going to be so fun to watch where the love of this game takes him, even if that’s only ever in his own back yard. 

The Backup Generator

We had a scheduled power outage today so that the utility company could bring power to a new business in our little town. If you live in a rural area like we do, along with good-hearted neighbors and wildlife sightings, one thing you can count on is the occurrence of power outages, scheduled or not. We have a backup generator in our garage for just such events, and because we knew this one was coming, we were ready. Or at least so we thought.

Before leaving the house to report for jury duty, my husband Tom powered up the generator for me so that it was up and running and I could get on with my day. While I have started it before, I’m still not very comfortable with the process, even though in my camo jacket and muck boots I look like I should be a pro at it. However, even I knew that the noises coming from the generator didn’t sound quite right, and sure enough, it sputtered and stopped. Everything went quiet and dark, and suddenly the day I had planned got unplugged.

No internet.

No phone.

No computer.

And of course, no hot water.

Thinking the propane tank might be empty, I tried to unhook it from the generator, but to no avail. Loading the extra tank into the car I drove to town where a friend who works at the gas station filled it up for me. Enlisting the help of another friend, we drove back to the house and he hooked up the new tank and started the generator. It sputtered and went out again. Poking around he tried a few other things and was able to get it up and running again, although was doubtful that it would keep going. It might be a spark plug issue. We’d look into that.

Thanking him, off he drove and I headed into the house to accomplish what I could until the generator stopped again, which it did. The power was scheduled to go back on again in a few hours anyway, so I turned my attention to things that don’t require electricity. It was quiet and actually kind of a nice forced break from emails, phone calls, bill paying, and it’s always a good day to skip a shower. However, all of this got me thinking about the importance of being prepared for the next power outage. Obviously we need to get the generator in the garage repaired so that can power up and sustain life in the house when we need it. When the temperature plummets in the winter, or a windstorm takes out a transformer, we rely on that generator to shore us up.

When it comes to our lives, having a backup generator is essential too. There are times for all of us when we experience a power outage. When the supply of the inner resources we’ve come to count on can’t keep up with the demand. Some we can plan for, like the holiday season, moving to a new home, or a big project at work. But others happen in the blink of an eye when an unexpected diagnosis comes back, we are hit with a tidal wave of grief, or life as we know it suddenly falls apart. Regardless of the cause of the outage, our backup generators need to be in place and in good working order, and of course, we need to know how to power them up.

People and practices make up my backup generator, and perhaps they do for you as well. For me that means tending to those relationships that matter, addressing issues as they arise, making sure that there is a balance of give and take, and always working to deepen trust and respect. It means nourishing myself well — body and soul, learning to say no to what is not mine to do, asking for help, and staying connected to the Power Source behind everything. 

To all of you who keep me going when my power goes out. Thank you. 

To all of you who rely on me to keep you going when your power goes out. Thank you.  

Oh, and note to self: If you’re going to dress like you know your way around a generator, you damn well better! 

A Collective Prayer

The unexamined life is not worth living.

Socrates

Yesterday in church during a time when anyone in the congregation can share a prayer of concern or gratitude, I found my hand going up in the air almost without my consent. I hadn’t planned on sharing anything, but it seemed that something wanted to be shared and I was the one to share it. Taking the microphone that was passed down the pew to me, here was what wanted to be shared...

If our daughters were here today they would tell you that I was (still am) fond of saying that we all have our “stuff” (only I usually use a better and more descriptive word when not in church). It’s the stuff that we need to work out, usually with the help of a therapist, so that we can become our most authentic, healed, and wholehearted selves. When we don’t take our stuff on, we take it out on other people. The wounds and hurts that go untended go on to wound and hurt other people. Especially those we care the most about.

May we all have the courage to do our work.

There was a collective resonance in the sanctuary, the nodding of heads, and quiet murmurs of acknowledgement and understanding. I seem to be thinking, talking, and writing about this a lot right now, and if you are tired of reading about it here, I understand, but somehow it feels that if we don’t get this right, we don’t get anything right. Inner work is hard and uncomfortable. It requires courage and vulnerability. But it is the only way to an authentic, healed, and wholehearted life, which is why we arrived on the planet in the first place.

May we all have the courage to do our work.

Amen.

Speak Up

The power of our voice is immense. With it we come out of closets or lock ourselves in someone else’s skin, take leaps of faith or cling to the guardrail, tie a knot in the end of our rope or dig our pits a little deeper, ask for a well deserved raise or settle for what we are offered, create a loving relationship or stay in toxic ones, accuse the rapist in spite of our fear or suffer in shame because of it, ask for help or flounder and fall, ask for forgiveness or defend our transgressions. Our voice resonates through every thought, word, choice and action. And since actions speak louder than words, sometimes we speak the loudest without uttering a word. Rosa Parks didn’t stand up and give a speech. She sat down and changed the world. [ 1 ]

Several years ago during a certification process that would enable me and the others in our cohort to facilitate a high level leadership program for a global organization, we each had the opportunity to lead the rest of the group through a short portion of the material. At the end of each of our times in the front of the room, the rest of us offered feedback to help strengthen our delivery. That was the first time I officially remember hearing the impact that “upspeak”, a rising tone at the end of a sentence, can have on the delivery of a message.

One of our cohort, a whip-smart, thoughtful, and articulate woman delivered her material with confidence, connection, clarity, and, a healthy smattering of upspeak, undermining the strength of her message, and causing me to question the competence that I knew her to have. Along with the many things she had done well, I carefully offered my perspective on her use of uptalk, and as I remember it, it was news to her. She didn’t even hear herself doing it.

Upspeak is a common occurrence, having almost become a culturally accepted norm, and I hear it everywhere. It doesn’t just drive me nuts, it makes me sad. It turns any sentence into a question, softens a message whether it needs softening or not, comes across as an appeal for reassurance, and undermines whatever strengths are being called upon to speak up.

But here’s the thing.

Our voice is the instrument with which we communicate who we are to the world, and for many of us, it has taken us far too long to discover it, much less learn how to unapologetically use it. The world needs our voice now more than ever, and we each need to do the hard work of figuring out who we are, what we stand for, and then with heads held high, to speak up.

[ 1 ] Molly Davis - BLUSH: Women & Wine

Sabbath

Because of our desire to succeed, to meet these ever growing expectations, we do not rest. Because we do not rest, we lose our way. … And for want of rest, our lives are in danger.

Wayne Muller

Sabbath: Finding Rest, Renewal, and Delight In Our Busy Lives

In the biblical story of creation, after 6 days of work bringing the world into being, God rested, calling the seventh day a holy day. Even the creator craved and needed rest, and had the wisdom to not only take a day off, but to proclaim it holy to do so. As it was in the beginning, is now and every shall be. Every day, with every thought, and every word, and every choice, and every action, we participate in the ongoing process of creation, and I for one do a better job of helping to create a better world when I have the wisdom to take a day off, and to remind myself that it is holy to do so.

The world doesn’t happen to us, it happens through us.

Let's Do It

Last evening I met with a fellow coach for a glass of wine. We don’t know one another well, and while she is at the beginning of her coaching work and I am further down the trail, we share a commitment to helping and supporting others find their way forward. Wanting to know more about my experience, she asked me to describe the work I love to do. Here’s what I told her…

I love to help others step more fully into their own lives and find their way to a life that is authentic, wholehearted, and utilizes their gifts and strengths in service to others. Whether working with a coaching client, leading a retreat, or speaking to an audience, I share some form of the same message—we are all called to help, heal, and love the world that is within our reach in ways that are uniquely ours. Whether that is as a dog trainer, artist, school custodian, greeter at Costco, football coach, volunteer firefighter, campground host, restaurant manager, pastor, yoga teacher, musician, stay-at-home parent, gas station attendant, retiree, logger, brain surgeon, production line worker, or politician, when we truly connect who we meant to be at our core with how we live out in the world, we touch the world in ways that no one else can.

Her question gets to the heart of the matter. What is the work you love to do? Even if you aren’t currently doing it, or maybe never have, what is the contribution you want to make while still on the planet?

If you don’t do it, it won’t get done.

If I don’t do it, it won’t get done.

If we don’t do it, it won’t get done.

Let’s do it!

The Story vs The Real Scoop

A couple of days ago my husband Tom and I sat down with our calendars to make sure we were on the same page, knew who was doing what when, and make any needed adjustments. Noticing that he was going to be gone for a couple of days, I made a request. Rather than leaving late in the morning as he was planning to do, would be willing to leave several hours earlier, giving me a little more of some much needed time to myself. Could that work for him?

In the past I’ve not always asked in what you might call a gracious manner, which as you might suspect, made him feel a little less than welcome in his own home. Thankfully, I’m finally learning to make my requests in a more loving and respectful way. After thinking about it, he said that he could, and in fact, doing so would give him time to make a much needed run to the dump with the garbage and recycling. It sounded to me like we were on the same page, and that we had a plan that met both of our needs. I walked away from our calendaring session feeling great about our interchange, and looking forward to a couple of days with the house to myself. As much as I love the people I love, including Tom, when I don’t have time away from them, including Tom, I’m not much good to anyone, including Tom, or myself for that matter. As far as I was concerned, things were, as they say, all good.

Until this morning when it was time for him to leave town.

Coming back from a morning walk with Gracie-the-chocolate-labradoodle, already feeling my inner space opening up, Tom was just finishing loading the back of the red pickup with the recycling, and he didn’t appear to be the happiest of campers. Checking in with him, he wasn’t. He didn’t like the feeling of being asked to leave as soon as possible. That was news to me. The story as I saw it, was that we were both good with our plan, but now that we were in the midst of it, the real scoop was that he wasn’t good with it.

At that point things could have gone from bad to worse, but rather than get defensive, my usual go-to-strategy, I worked to listen without judgement and let him say more. We both stayed in the conversation, and by the time he drove out of the driveway we both felt heard. Because we both felt heard, we also felt connected. Because we felt connected, we now have good fodder for further conversation and better communication going forward.

The moral of the story?

The story isn’t always the real scoop.