Threads & Tethers

Everyone has their ways of processing the world around them and within them. One of mine is writing. The practice of putting words together on a page puts my life together a little better. It sharpens my attention, and makes more clear the lens through which I see the world.

Last spring I stopped writing on a daily basis, except for the occasional burst of creative energy or the expression of moral outrage. The absence of this practice has been noticeable. At least to me.

Writing acts as both a thread and a tether. It weaves together the callings of my heart with the steps of my feet, and keeps me in close connection to who and what matter most. Without this practice in place things begin to unravel, and there is a growing sense of being unhitched to that which keeps me grounded.

If ever we were in need of a thread and a tether it is now. Now is not the time to be at loose ends with ourselves.

Which means, there is only one choice to be made. At least for me.

Start writing again. And so I am.

What are your ways of processing the world?

What acts as both your thread and your tether?

Whatever it is, if you have set it down, now might be the time to pick it back up.

Treading Water

Most days I feel like I am just treading water. Not getting anywhere. Barely keeping my head above water.

My self-talk tells me I should be doing more. Making progress, getting more accomplished, having a clear sense of purpose and direction. Not simply keeping myself from going under.

In the midst of one of those water treading days recently, I suddenly remembered my time as a Sea Sprite—a member of my college synchronized swim team. We Sea Sprites spent a lot of time treading water. In fact, we couldn’t get on to practicing our routines until we had completed our necessary water treading time. It was the essential skill needed to successfully perform together. It was hard and tiring work, but without the ability to tread water for a sustained period of time, we couldn’t perform our routines skillfully and with grace, strength, and in partnership with one another. It was only through the consistent practice of treading water that we developed the physical strength and endurance necessary to perform at our best. It required determination, grit, and a commitment to our shared success to keep treading water, when all we wanted to do was climb out of the pool and collapse on the deck. But the pool was where the magic happened.

Haven’t we all been treading water?

Given the treacherous waters of the year(s) we’ve just endured, it’s a miracle that we haven’t gone under. Rather than seeing treading water as simply coping, maybe we can begin to embrace it as the essential skill that it is. The one that enables us to live with grace, strength and in partnership with one another.

What is keeping us afloat? Treading water. What will continue to keep us afloat? Treading water. The willingness to stay where we are when all we want to do is climb out of the pool and collapse on the deck.

Take it from a former Sea Sprite.

The pool is where the magic happens.

Sometimes It's A Real Slog

Heading uphill yesterday at the beginning of what we’ve come to call “our” logging road, it was hard from the get-go. We have been hiking this same 1.7 miles straight uphill since March, and it’s never been piece-of-cake easy. Which is a good thing because that means we are continuing to increase our stamina and strength, so that we can keep going strong for as long as possible.

But yesterday, it was rough. There was snow on the road making it harder to get a good purchase. I could feel myself start to panic a little, and for the first time I actually wondered if I could make it to the top. Focusing on how hard it was, I lost sight of the fact that I could stop if I needed to. And when ready, keep going.

This is really hard. I said to my husband.

We stopped so that I could catch my breath. Gradually calm replaced panic, and we set off again, this time at a slightly slower but still steady pace, our footsteps falling together on the road. It was still hard, but somehow the hard wasn’t as hard, when I remembered that we simply needed to keep going. And if we did, we would make it to the top.

This is a real slog today, Tom said. (Thank God! It wasn’t just me.)

We broke out of the trees just as the sun was cresting the top of the ridge across the valley. The brilliant blue sky, white snow, and dark green trees all added up to a spectacular morning. And if we hadn’t kept going, if we had stopped because it was hard, we would have missed it.

Two deer appeared on the hillside, and then two more, all of them slowly climbing the steep, snow covered slope. Disappearing behind some trees, and then appearing again, it was like a game of hide-and-seek. One minute they were there, and then they were gone. And if we hadn’t kept going, if we had stopped because it was hard, we would have missed it.

This feels a lot like life right now, I said.

This year has been nothing if not an uphill grind. A grind that’s likely to continue for some time to come, and It will be hard. Somedays it will be a real slog. There will be days when we might panic a little, not sure if we can make it. We will need to stop and catch our breath so that we can remember that we simply need to keep going. And if we do, we will make it to the top, even catching glimpses of beauty along the way.

It never got easy yesterday. But the view from the top was worth every step. And if we hadn’t kept going, if we had stopped because it was hard, we would have missed it.

Stop and catch your breath when you need to, and then, keep going.

This is Christmas

It’s the most wonderful time of the year.

Except it isn’t.

Not this year. There are traditions we’ve come to count on year after year, and if we can’t honor those traditions, well then, it’s just not Christmas.

Except it is.

We have to let go of so many things that make the holiday the holiday, that it almost feels easier, more manageable, and less painful to pretend that it’s just not Christmas.

Except it is.

It might not look anything like the ones we remember, but a reminder of what Christmas has always been— Love showing up in the darkest of places and the most unlikely of circumstances.

It might not look anything like what we want, but it might be just the one we need.

If we try and make it what it’s always been, we’ll miss what it could be.

This is Christmas.

Let’s not miss it.

Bouncing Off Ideas

What is your idea of marriage?

This is a question posed by a good friend of mine when he is providing pre-marital counseling to a couple. Each person has the opportunity to share their answer out loud with the other. In other words, they take the opportunity to bounce their ideas off of one another before actually getting married.

It’s a brilliant question to ask, and an equally brilliant practice to hone .

Because the truth of the matter is, marriage isn’t just two people coming together. It is also the joining of two ideas about what marriage means. What marriage looks like. Which is all well and good until we encounter something where our ideas don’t match up. Which is where the rubber meets the relationship road.

My hunch is that the healthiest, most resilient marriages, or relationships of any sort for that matter, aren’t those where both people see everything the same way all the time. Rather, over time, they have honed the skills to uncover how they each see things, and then use what they discover to better navigate the road ahead.

After 26 years together, my husband and I are still honing these skills.

We had talked about getting our Christmas tree today. Which for us means tromping out onto our property to find a tree that will have to be cut down eventually anyway because it is in our view corridor.

So.

In my mind, we were going to bundle up, take our time, meander here and there, find the tree, cut it down, drag it back to the house, and set it up. Twinkle lights, a few ornaments, candles on the mantle, and a Christmas movie in the background.

Which was all well and good until Tom came downstairs ready to get out there, cut it down, drag it back to the house, and get back up to his office as quickly as possible. Because we hadn’t bounced our ideas off of each other, we found them butting up against each other instead. Thankfully, we stuck it out as we’ve learned to do, talking it through from both of our angles, and combining my idea with his idea to come up with our idea.

Tom headed back up to his office, and I bundled up and headed outside for a good long walk with Gracie-the-chocolate-labradoodle, looking over a few of our tree options along the way.

The same thing happens to all of us all the time. We have an idea about something. About what whatever it is looks like. And the other person, our partner, parent, friend, relative, co-worker, teammate, neighbor, manager, service provider, teammate, has an idea too. Which is all well and good until we discover that our ideas don’t match up.

So.

What is your idea of fill-in-the-blank?

Now, go bounce your idea off of whomever it is about whatever it is. And invite them to do the same.

(Shout out to Dane Anthony for the brilliant question and equally brilliant practice.)

Photo by Rodolfo Clix from Pexels

Having Its Way With Us

I love December. The way the sun stays low in the sky, the temperatures fall and darkness descends early, and the reminder that the year isn’t over yet. Yes, a new year looms over the horizon, but this one isn’t done with us yet.

This year, perhaps more than any other, we’ve discovered so much about ourselves. The good, the bad, and even—or especially—the ugly. These final days of the year are ones in which to take stock and decide what to do with what we’ve been given. And, when the time comes to turn the page on a new year, know what to bring with us, and what to leave behind.

The year 2020 has been one for the books, and there are still 31 days for this year to have its way with us. May we end this last chapter well.

Advent 2020: A Season of Opposites

Advent is a season of anticipation and expectation. My faith tradition marks the four Sundays of Advent by lighting four candles, each symbolizing a different theme. While there are slight variations, four that are quite common among many denominations are hope, peace, joy, and love. This past Sunday we lit the first Advent candle.

If ever we were in need of hope, it is now.

And yet, the pandemic rages on and the race for a vaccine is far from over.

If ever we were in need of peace, it is now.

And yet, the battle for the better angels of our collective nature rages on.

If ever we were in need of joy, it is now.

And yet, the days grow shorter and the nights longer, shrouding our outer world with the same darkness that threatens our inner light.

If ever we were in need of love, it is now.

And yet, we must choose loneliness over love as we cannot gather with those we love the most because we love them the most.

We light an Advent candle to symbolize the hope of better days to come and the despair of how long it might take for them to get here. Both are true.

We light an Advent candle to symbolize the peace that passes all understanding and the battles that make no sense. Both are true.

We light an Advent candle to symbolize joy to world and the sorrow that is engulfing it. Both are true.

We light an Advent candle to symbolize the love that is all around us and the loneliness because those we love are not. Both are true.

Advent 2020 is as much a season of opposites as it is of anticipation. Hope and despair, peace and strife, joy and sorrow, love and loneliness.

We light the candles, because both are true.

(With gratitude to Pastor Laura Robinson)

Mox-Nix

When faced with two options, my sister often replies, “Mox Nix”. It comes from the German es macht nichts, and originated with American soldiers stationed in Germany after WWII. The gist of the term is that it really doesn’t matter, or it isn’t that important.

I’ve always loved the term, and how the words feel rolling off my tongue.

If 2020 has taught us anything, it is that there are things that matter, and things that don’t. We’ve also learned, or perhaps, remembered, how little is under our control, and we don’t like that. We’d rather have our hands firmly at the helm thank you, and when we can’t, we get scared, grab for control wherever we can get it, and pick battles that don’t matter with the people that do. .

We want what we want, and we want it now. But there is little joy in such victories, and while we may get what we want, rarely do we get what we need.

Mox Nix can help with that.

A Picnic In The Storm

My ninth-birthday plans included skipping school to go to The Portland Zoo with my best friend, followed by my favorite dinner—broiled flank steak, baked potatoes, birthday cake and ice cream. Perfect plans for my birthday docket.

Then The Columbus Day Storm of 1962 hit the Pacific Northwest. It was the most powerful extratropical cyclone recored in the U.S. in the 20th century. 46 people died, and hundreds were injured. If your home wasn’t damaged, you were the exception. The cost of damages in Oregon alone were estimated to be more than 200 million in 1962 dollars. Few if any escaped this storm unscathed in some way.

We were at the zoo when the wind started to blow, wind that would eventually top 100 mph. Running for the car we passed an exhibit where large birds were being tossed into the air like bean bags. Driving home I remember seeing a mop fly in front of our car, and tall trees crashing across the road out our rear window. We made it home just in the nick of time. The power went out, the wind howled, trees toppled in our yard, broken branches blew against the windows, and the huge black walnut tree in our back yard bent nearly in half over our roof. Thankfully it stood strong, or I might not be writing this today.

On that dark and stormy night, my biggest concern as a little nine year old girl wasn’t for the damage being done outside as the winds ravaged cities up and down the West coast, or the safety of those caught in the cross-hairs of the storm. It was, of course, for my birthday plans that had been blown to smithereens.

Now I loved the zoo. But what I really loved was flank steak. Prepared just the way my mom made it, there was nothing better. Marinate it for several hours, spread Dijon mustard on it, put it under the broiler, and don’t, under any circumstances, overcook it. (If it turns out anything but rare, you might as well throw it out and start over.) Slice it thin and serve it up with baked potatoes oozing with butter.

No electricity? No flank steak and baked potatoes oozing with butter.

No flank steak and baked potatoes oozing with butter? No birthday dinner.

No birthday dinner? No birthday.

Mom saw it a little differently..

No power to broil the steak or bake the potatoes? No problem. Out came an old-school hibachi, hot dogs, and potatoes chips. We ate my birthday dinner by candlelight, sitting on a checkered table cloth on the floor in front of the fire.

That was the night I first remember watching my mom do one of the things she did best. She made a picnic in the storm, literally. Time and again, she brought us together, made something good out of something bad, and created beauty in the midst of almost any mess, leaving a legacy that every one of us can live into today.

The gale force winds of 2020 show little sign of abating. There have been over a quarter of a million deaths, and 12.5 million cases in the United States, and it isn’t over yet. The economic fallout is hard to fathom, and few if any will come out of this year unscathed. If ever we needed to learn to make a picnic in a pandemic storm, it is now, and this holiday season, as difficult, devastating, and disappointing as it might be, is a place to start.

Whether it means huddling together outdoors around a fire pit, setting a place for one or two using our best china, cooking treasured family recipes and making extra to pass across the fence to our neighbor, supporting our local restaurants by ordering takeout, or lifting a glass around our separate tables over Zoom, anytime we can find the will to make a picnic in this storm, we are smoothing the way through a rough patch in our shared history.

The year before my ninth birthday and The Columbus Day Storm

I know, I was already a fashion icon.

No Laughing Matter

“A merry heart doeth good like a medicine: but a broken spirit drieth the bones.”

— Proverbs 17:22 KJV

Today, I feel great, as in awesome. I haven’t felt this good, this upbeat, this happy, in, well, in since I can’t remember when. And it’s not because vaccines for the Coronavirus have gotten FDA approval and are being widely distributed. It isn’t because the current president has graciously conceded defeat and authorized a peaceful transfer of power. Nor is it because I can hug my family and friends with abandon, gather together around a table to share a meal, or see fewer wrinkles when I look in the mirror.

None of those things have happened.

And it’s not because the Seattle Seahawks beat the Arizona Cardinals Thursday night. Which did happen. (Well, maybe that helped just a little.)

It took me awhile to figure out why I woke up on the bright side of the bed, which isn’t how I normally roll. It turned out to be pretty simple.

It was laughter. Laughter was the magic sauce that brightened my day and lightened my load.

Last night just before crawling into bed I received a text from one of our daughters about our four and a half month old grand-boy. His bedtime routine includes feeding him just before he goes to bed. Last night he stopped nursing, looked up at his mom and just started laughing. And couldn’t quit. He just laughed, and laughed, and laughed some more. He was , she texted, like a little person who just found out how good laughing feels.

Drifting off to sleep, just thinking about that little happy-to-his-toes-boy laughing, made me laugh.

This morning over my first cup of coffee in the pre-dawn dark on our porch, I watched a Taylor Calmus, aka dudedad, story.

It.

Was.

Hilarious.

I couldn’t stop laughing. (Do yourself a favor and watch it— maybe more than once.)

Yesterday ended with laughter. Today started with it. Psychology Today suggests that laughter can boost our immune system and our mood, lower anxiety, help us release tension, and foster resilience. Sounds like good medicine to me.

Life is no laughing matter right now.

Which is exactly why laughing matters more than ever.

Photo by Rodolfo Quirós from Pexels