A Dream Come True

Start where you are.

Use what you have.

Do what you can.

~ Arthur Ashe

My husband had a dream last night where someone combined dirt and chocolate chips to create a kind of fabric that could be used as a protective covering.

If anything has been constant in our neck of the woods these days, it’s been dirt and chocolate chips.

Our daughter and her family moved in with us for what was supposed to be a two-week layover on their way to Scotland, where they will be living for the next few years as she pursues her Ph.D. We are now going on eight weeks, and everyone is going a little, or a lot depending on the day, crazy as we wait for their approved but yet to be seen travel documents to arrive.

Dirt and chocolate chips create a protective covering helping to hold our lives together. It’s like a dream come true.

Our wee grand boys, ages 5, 3, and 1 1/2, love nothing more than playing in the dirt. Some days it seems like it's what they live for. They pile dirt into small dump trucks, scoop it up by the handful, roll in it, run in it, and when no one is looking, fling it at each other. At the end of another dirt-filled day, their dirt-brown clothes piled on the floor of the mudroom ready for another whirl in the washing machine, the three of them head upstairs for a bath to get the dirt out of every nook and cranny.

Sometimes there’s nothing better than a chocolate chip cookie, so there is always another batch ready to be baked. No need to look up the Smitten Kitchen Crispy-Chewy Chocolate Chip Cookie recipe, because we know it by heart. We eat them warm out of the oven after naps, grab one to go with a cup of coffee or tea, sneak one before bed, or forgo the oven and just shovel the dough straight into our mouthes.

This experience together is nothing like we ever imagined, harder than we ever expected, and yet miraculously, more than we ever could have hoped for. One day at a time, one dirt pile at a time, one more load of laundry, bath, and batch of chocolate chip cookies, we are learning in new ways what it means to stay the course, hang together, and love each other well, come what may.

So take heart.

When things are nothing like we ever imagined and harder than we ever expected, sometimes all we need is a little dirt and some chocolate chip cookies to form a protective covering to remind us that somehow, some way, life is miraculously more than we ever could have hoped for.

Rethinking Obedience

I’ve never loved the word obey, or any of its derivatives. They all imply submission to an authority figure, the exertion of control over my choices, and a loss of personal agency.

Not my jam.

Recently however, the phrase a long obedience in the same direction showed up in a text of encouragement from someone I love. There was something about that gathering of words that had the rich ring of a deep truth.

In a culture that lives on clicks and instant feedback, going the long haul for something that matters can be a tall order. My family and I are in the midst of one such long haul, and maybe you are too. That’s where the whole obedience thing kicks in.

It isn’t submitting to someone else’s authority. It is staying true to our own.

It’s not turning over the controls to someone else. It is continuing to stay our course.

And It’s not a loss of personal agency. It is the exercising of our will to achieve something worthwhile.

A long obedience in the same direction gives us the power to hold true to a vision worth waiting for and working for.

“The essential thing ‘in heaven and earth’ is that there should be a long obedience in the same direction; there thereby results, and has always resulted in the long run, something which has made life worth living.”

~Friedrich Nietzsche

Choosing Hard

This past Monday morning, partway up the logging road we’ve been hiking a couple of times a week for the last fifteen months, it occurred to me that every trip up that road isn’t without effort. It is always some form of hard, which is probably because we attempt to push ourselves a little harder whenever the going gets a little easier.

In other words, it is hard by choice.

Over time, all of those trips up and down that road have made us stronger, readying us for more demanding hikes and greater physical challenges.

What is true on the trail is true in every area of our lives. Doing one hard thing equips us to do other hard things. And while life is full of opportunities to choose hard over easy, many of the difficulties we encounter come our way unbidden. They land on our doorstep whether we want them to or not.

Every time we choose to do something hard, we are training ourselves to be ready for the hard that chooses us.

A few more of my thoughts on hard:

Hard

Waiting Is Hard Work

It’s Just Hard

Remembering To Say Thank You

When the seriousness of the pandemic hit, it was quickly apparent that we needed to find a new way of working out. Going to a gym was no longer an option, and we weren’t ready to put our name on the waiting list for a Peloton. A neighbor had told us about a nearby logging road a fifteen minute drive from our house that he loved to explore with his malamutes. It was rarely used and had views that were worth the effort.

On April 11, 2020 we decided to check it out

We headed uphill, our dog Gracie at our heels with her hunter’s orange vest on since she is the color and size of a small bear. Within minutes it was apparent that if a good workout was what we were looking for, we had found it in this logging road.

From the first step it heads straight uphill for 1.7 miles. 2445 steps to the top, it has an elevation gain of just under 1000 ft. Talking on the way up wasn’t much of an option, but somewhere along that 1.7 mile, 2445 step slog I managed to gasp “Thank you Tom.”

And I’ve said it every trip to the top since.

So just what am I thanking him for?

On that first trek up I was thanking him for being willing to hike this road as a way to stay strong and healthy as we weathered the Covid storm together.

But now, with well-over 100 trips to the top and back?

It’s about thanking him for living life side-by-side through the thick and thin of it all, apologizing and accepting apologies, reflecting on a conflict on the way up so that we can resolve it on the way down, creating sacred rituals one footfall at a time, making new plans and jettisoning old ones, and navigating the slippery slopes and rocky terrain of life day in and day out. And for always carrying the bear spray.

In the beginning he was hiking the logging road because it was good for us. However, over time, all those trips up and down that road have become a metaphor for a life shared, and it is for that shared life that I am thankful.

And when we are thankful, it’s good to remember to say thank you.

“Thank you Tom.”

On The Docket

What’s on your docket today?

We were sitting outside finishing breakfast the other day when my husband asked me that question.

Docket commonly refers to the calendar or schedule for pending cases in a court of law. Since I’m neither a judge nor an attorney, what he was really asking me was, “What is on your agenda for the day?”

Something about the question didn’t sit right with me.

We often tell each other the anticipated goings on of our days, share our to-do lists, and look at our calendars together. I’m good with that. There is an administrative element to sharing life with someone that helps things run more smoothly, and keeps life on track.

Knowing him as I do, his question wasn’t a way to dodge a deeper dive into matters of the heart. He’s more than willing to swim in the emotional waters that are part of any relationship. However, lately it felt like the question most often asked. It was transactional, not relational, an exchange of information rather than an expression of connection.

We talked about it the next day. His question was a wakeup call. A reminder of how easily we can slide into a pattern of simply making it through our days and checking things off of our lists. Whatever else might be on our docket, checking in on how we are doing on any given day matters a whole lot more than what we are going to get done.

Photo by Karolina Grabowska from Pexels

Empty Space

There is a story in the gospel of Matthew that is often referred to as the parable of the empty house. The upshot of the story is that there was a man possessed by a demon. The evil spirit is cast out and goes in search of a new place to call home and cause mayhem. Finding no place to lay its evil little head, it decides to go back from whence it came, and finds the house swept clean and empty. And empty space just begs to be filled.

The story continues.

Not only does the demon move back in, it goes and finds seven others more evil than itself to live there too, causing even more harm, distress, and ruin.

Regardless of one’s faith, this story seems especially relevant as the pandemic moves into our rearview mirror. We all have our own inner demons and causers of mayhem, and if you are like me, this has been a year of casting out and sweeping clean. Whether cleaning out closets or casting out old ways of thinking, clearing my calendar or curbing my consumption, there is empty space, And empty space just begs to be filled.

What that empty space gets filled with is up to me.

Are the thoughts, beliefs, habits, and activities that filled my life before the pandemic the ones I want to fill it with today?

If not, now is the time to choose. Before those causers of mayhem decide to move back in.

My Sister's Hands

Yesterday my sister got a new knee. But I just can’t stop thinking about her hands.

I’d know her hands anywhere, and could probably pick her out of a lineup from them.

With those hands she unloads my dishwasher whenever she visits, makes caramel icing for every family birthday cake, sets the table for a party the day before, and lights all the candles before company arrives. Those hands make sure that the decks are cleared and all ducks in a row, so that when people walk in they feel welcomed, loved, safe, seen, and heard. It’s those hands of hers that deftly arrange guests at wedding tables in a way that no one’s feelings get hurt, everyone feels included, and all the people that drive all the other people crazy sit together. With her hands she holds grandkids close, carries on with important traditions, and lets go of the ones that have seen better days. She prefers to keep her hands out of messy food, but loves digging in the dirt. She always wears rubber gloves to keep her hands out of hot water, but fearlessly sticks them into places of the heart where angels fear to tread. Hers are hands that pray without ceasing, love with abandon, and welcome without judgment.

Yesterday, my brother-in-law sent me a photo of her just before they wheeled her into surgery. Looking at that picture I found myself filled with gratitude. Not just for that brand new knee, but for her beautiful 75 year-old hands that are simply an extension of her heart.

Minus The Nitrous Oxide

Between many years that have included many hours of writing, and plenty of trips around the sun, my hands have developed enough arthritis to make it more difficult, and painful, to do many of the things I love. Rather than ignore the pain, mask it with drugs, or wait for it to get unbearable, I decided to take matters into my own hands by turning them over to someone skilled at treating them.

In my initial appointment with the doctor, who specializes in non-surgical treatments for pain management, we reviewed my X-rays and discussed options, landing on Platelet Rich Plasma Therapy— PRP—as a good approach. It uses healing growth components from my own blood to stimulate healing and repair.

Here is my laywoman’s description of the treatment.

Monday morning at 8:30 I arrived at the clinic and checked in for the first of two appointments. During the first appointment a wonderful nurse—who has clearly mastered the art of painless blood draws—withdrew a dozen, yes that’s right, 12 vials of blood, and then sent me on my way for a few hours. At the second appointment, as I happily inhaled nitrous oxide, the doctor, guided by ultrasound imaging, injected my own platelets back into the injured thumb joints. In our post-procedure conversation he reminded me that my pain level would be greater than normal for awhile, and that I wouldn’t be thrilled to have had this done for about 12 weeks. “Will I be pissed off for that entire 12 weeks until I’m thrilled?”, I asked. “No”, he replied. “You’ll probably be pissed off for a few days, and then things will slowly begin to improve.”

The pain was definitely worse the rest of the day, and I was ready for a nap when I got home. Over the course of the next three months I am to avoid taking any anti-inflammatory drugs or the use of ice, both of which would interfere with my body’s natural ability to heal and repair itself. In other words, for healing to take place takes time, and some pain and discomfort is to be expected. Which, in the overall scheme of things, seems like a worthwhile tradeoff.

The reason I both love and need to write, is that it is how I process life. Writing helps me make sense of things, and sometimes, my writing helps other people make sense of things too. Putting words on the page connects the dots of life out in the world. Writing helps me see big implications found in small everyday things:

• Some of the essential matter required for healing is found within.

• Healing usually requires the help of a skilled professional.

• Temporarily masking the pain gets in the way of lasting repair.

• It might very well hurt worse before it gets better.

• Healing takes time, and doesn’t happen without some level of pain and discomfort.

• The healing process will probably piss us off in the short-term.

• And, enduring temporary discomfort for the sake of long-term healing is a worthwhile tradeoff.

What is true for the healing of my hands is true for the healing of our hearts—minus the nitrous oxide.

A Gathering Of Words

Life is nothing if not a maze of grace.

I’ve loved that gathering of words ever since it appeared on my page. Hanging together like good friends, they are at ease in one another’s company. Each word separate but intimately connected, the meaning greater than the sum of the its parts.

Life is the condition that distinguishes us as animate beings, it includes the capacity for growth, reproduction, functional activity, and continual change, signifies our existence as a human being, and refers to our time here from birth until death.

In other words, life is kind of a big deal.

A maze is a complex, and sometimes confusing network of paths and hedges designed as a puzzle.

In other words, a maze challenges us to find our way through.

Grace is courteous goodwill, an extended period of time granted as a special favor, and unmerited or unearned favor.

In other words, grace is what helps us transcend our blunders.

Our time on the planet is our shot at becoming who we are meant to be and doing what we are here to do. There will be dead ends, unexpected detours, and wrong turns along the way. Treating ourselves and others with kindness and goodwill smooths the way for everyone.

In other words, life is nothing if not a maze of grace.

No wonder these words found their way to one another.

Hard

Climbing Mount St. Helens is a long slog. A slog worth making, but a slog nonetheless. The first third of the ascent is on forested trail, the second third involves scrambling up and over boulders, and the final third is on scree—a mass of small loose stones that cover the slope. I hate scree. Every step forward involves a slip backwards.

I’ve made the climb several times, and while it’s never been piece-of-cake easy, there was one climb that took the hardest cake. On that particular day, as I made my way up that scree slope, all I could think about was how hard it was, and the more I focused on how hard it was, the harder it got.

This is so hard.

This is so hard.

This is so hard.

It was like I was my own boot camp drill sergeant, determined to humiliate myself into giving up and going home.

Every this-is-so-hard thought was energy wasted. It was going to be hard no matter what. I still needed to keep climbing. Partway up the scree slope from hell I stopped and took stock of my situation. I could see the top, most of our climbing party already there. To make it there myself meant simply taking one step after another, pausing to rest when necessary, and then continuing on. Putting the energy I’d been expending on telling myself how hard it was towards taking another step instead, the going got a little less tough, until finally, I stood on the summit. From there I could look back on where I’d come from, take stock of where I was, and envision what might be possible in the future.

Having just marked a year of the pandemic, this has been an especially difficult week for many of us as we reflect individually and collectively on just what this year has meant, cost, and exposed. In many ways, making it through the year felt a lot like climbing on one long scree slope. Every step forward hard earned, only to be followed by a slip backwards. Simply put, it was a very hard year for everyone, and strikingly so for those hit hardest. Some of those hardest hit were the very people working to make it easier for the rest of us.

While there is hope ahead, and a light glimmering at the end of the pandemic tunnel, it is difficult not to think about, talk about, and rail at just how hard it has been, still is, and will probably be in the future.

Acknowledging the hard is different than dwelling on it.

Acknowledging the hard is necessary and important. It reminds us of the truth that life is rarely easy, and gives us a chance to remember that we are capable of doing hard things.

Dwelling on how hard things are is wasted energy, using up some of the strength and stamina necessary to actually reach the top of whatever mountain we are climbing. To make it there means simply taking one step after another, pausing to rest when necessary, and then continuing on. When we put the energy expended on telling ourselves how hard it is towards taking the next step instead, the going gets a little less tough. Once at the top we will be able to look back on where we’ve come from, take stock of where we are, and begin to envision what might be possible in the future.

Whether in our own homes or out in the world within our reach, there is so much in need of our attention. The work it will take to tend to those needs and to build the better world that we want to believe is possible will be hard. But then, we are capable of doing hard things. Let’s save our energy for actually doing them.

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— I offer this post with the acknowledgment of the immense and unearned privilege that has been mine, not just during this past year, but throughout my life. People say we shouldn’t compare our “hard” with that of others, and there is some truth in that. Hard is hard. However, it is also true that there are barriers, burdens, and battles that I have never had to face that others live with every single day—