Stages

No one told me about this stage in life.  The one where your heart kind of swells with pride, practically explodes with love, and then also breaks slowly all at the same time.  No one talks about that. The stage when your children start moving from the “Mom, hug me! Hold me!” Stage, to the “I need my space.”

When I first got pregnant, I heard all about the morning sickness possibilities.  I was given advice about making sure to walk a lot and the right things to eat and foods to avoid.  So I prepared and I planned. Finally the moment comes and I am given this absolutely perfect baby in my arms.  My life before that moment was completely forgotten. Nothing else mattered looking into those eyes.

The advice follows me with the birth of my babes.   A longer list of do’s and don'ts. With every stage of the younger years, terrible two’s, potty training, starting school, I heard advice.  Everyone had opinions, and in a way it made me feel better because it helped navigate my uncharted ocean. I could always see land, so I was grounded even when the seas got rocky.  No one told me though, about the letting go bit. No one told me about what to do when my kids start growing up and maybe don’t need me quite as much as they used to. No one warned me about that mix of emotions.  The hurt for myself, excitement for them and pride in them. Maybe because it’s different for everyone. Or maybe because it’s truly hard to explain all the emotion or give advice for this stage. You just have to experience it.  

The closing of the school year, floods our facebook pages with graduation caps and gowns.  Faces of proud mommas and daddy’s, and hope in the eyes of their children. Little ones moving from the pond of elementary school diving into a new place with much bigger fish.  Lots of firsts come with the closing of one chapter and the beginning of another. As a parent, it’s blessing to be a part of every stage. It’s been an even bigger blessing to have a team of people stand by you when any amount of words or advice doesn’t really help.

As my son enters high school next year, and my daughter middle school, I feel a mixture of emotions.  These are uncharted waters. I no longer truly control the direction of the boat. I now have two co-captains with opinions and dreams, and they to want to sail their own boat.  They have their own path to explore and conquer. I will be okay to sail beside them. Maybe even sometimes behind them. I have no other choice. They know I will be there when they need me, just like I know I have people to pick me up when I’m struggling, or a friendly ear for listening.  The sea is too big to handle alone after all.

~Esmeralda

Doubt and Belief by Carolyn

I am an avid watcher of the Olympics – always have been. During the current coverage of the Olympics, a commercial for Koch Industries articulates one of the reasons I enjoy watching. The voiceover states,

“In every challenge, there are two rivals: belief and doubt. Doubt has a bigger team. Belief is outnumbered, but never outworked. When a score is settled, belief rises to the top.”

Read that again, slowly, and let it sink in.

We often talk about challenging ourselves. Maybe we walk another half a mile. Do ten more sit-ups. Take an honors course. Tackle a difficult recipe. Choose the stairs instead of the escalator. Take up oil painting. Whatever. All of that is great. I don’t want to diminish any of the ways in which we stretch ourselves to become better or healthier or more accomplished. That’s an important part of living.

However, most of us, if we are honest with ourselves, don’t attempt to do what terrifies us or what seems impossible for us to accomplish. Very few of us have the strength of belief in ourselves (and the willingness to work hard enough) to tackle the insurmountable. Our belief in ourselves bows to the bigger team that doubt always fields.

I salute those whose belief in themselves and their goals is strong enough to outwork doubt. Those who are willing to do the incredibly difficult work it takes day after day, year after year, to overcome their fears, their handicaps, the little whisper (or loud roar) that says, “You can’t.”

Olympic athletes are among those few. So are those who overcome persecution or disabilities or seemingly unconquerable difficulties to ultimately succeed; to become proud and productive. For all of those who conquer doubt with belief, who set goals for themselves that terrify and thrill them, I applaud your spirit and strength. May we all be inspired by your determination to accomplish what we did not believe we could.

Not Such a Failure After All

The pain in my throat made it very difficult to swallow as I tried my hardest not to cry.  We were on our way home and the ambiance in the car was cheerful and lighthearted to everyone but me.  We had a lot of fun things going on during the weekend, and it was Friday, which meant that the mood was relaxed.  I knew it was going to happen.  The dam could only hold so much against the pressure that was coming at it, and I put on my sunglasses to mask the eruption that was about to happen.  Had we been outside it wouldn’t have mattered.  The rain coming down could have camouflaged the tears that were now streaming down my face. 

            How could it be?  Another failure.  Another check on my long list of insecurities and inadequacies.  I knew that I would be great at this new position because it involved something I cared so passionately about.  Was I wrong?  That was the question that circled around in my head after the call that left me wondering, what is wrong with me.  Why am I not good enough?  When am I ever going to catch a break?

            The harsh rain only added to my frustration, as the traffic now became worse.  All I wanted to do was get home, cover myself with a blanket and hide.  Another wave of tears made its way to the corners of my eyes, but were stopped before the downpour.  I felt a warm, gentle touch on my arm.  I looked over at my son who was watching me with a concerned look on his face.  I hadn’t realized that the sunglasses could only hide so much of my disappointment, and he was witnessing something other than the strong momma I liked to portray in front of them.

            “Mom, are you okay?” he said genuinely worried.

            “Yes, I am fine,” I said in a convincing voice. 

He kept looking at me, and then said, “Mom, God has a plan for everything. It’s going to be okay.”

            My little man had no clue about what was going on.  He only saw that his mom was upset about something, and used the words I have used so many times with him.

            Sometimes things don’t always work out.  I know this.  I’m a teacher and a mother.  Unpredictability is kind of part of the job description for both.  But I had taken the “failure” and turned it into an attack against myself.  I saw it as a problem, and made a list of things that were wrong with me, instead of trusting that God has a plan, like I had prayed just that very morning.    Life isn’t always going to give us what we want, and it’s essential to me that my kids know how important it is to keep moving forward after a setback.  Hearing those words come out of my son’s mouth made me feel like not quite so much a failure, and even though the sun didn’t shine much the rest of the weekend, it didn’t rain on us at all.

~Esmeralda

            

Digital Courage by Andrea

cour-age (noun): the ability to do something that frightens one, especially in the face of opposition or adversity

Recently, I listened to a well-known radio host decrying what he calls “digital courage”- one’s ability to “say” things online that he or she would never say face- to -face or in polite company. There are many trolls  (as they are called) who camp out, waiting for opportunities to berate and belittle news reports, blogs and social media postings.  They look for any opportunity to pounce on someone’s pain or vulnerability.  And there are those who over-share, make unwise personal declarations or bully others because they feel “empowered” by the digital distance. 

As I listened, it hit me.  This is NOT courage.  Spewing hateful, condemning or personally offensive messages online anonymously or behind the veil of a ‘handle’ is the opposite of courage.  A more apt description, I think, is “digital cowardice.”

A digital coward is just like a 3D, walking-around coward: one who lacks the courage to do or endure unpleasant or difficult things.  The perceived digital wall makes people like this bolder.  Real-world cowards say nothing yet snicker and criticize behind one’s back. Virtual ones say as many hurtful things as possible for all to see.  But they do it from a hiding place.

The term digital courage belongs to all the brave out there vulnerably sharing their gifts, thoughts, and wonderings with all of us.  How many of us read blogs regularly (raise your hand… you’re reading one right now)?  I read them almost daily.  Blogs are a large part of the online, global community. We get to experience life with people we may never meet because of the prevalence of blogs today.  The same is true with social media sites as well.

Someone pressed ‘Post’ and decided to share some of their innermost thoughts, feelings and opinions all in an effort to make a connection, on some level, with readers.  The braves decide that it is important for the message, the art, the music, the innovation to be “out there” in spite of the fact that they may be opening themselves up to challenge and criticism.  This is true digital courage.  And we are better for it!

Courage does not mean the absence of fear.  It is pressing forward in spite of fear.  It is deciding that it would be far worse to keep one’s creation to self than to share it and endure the discomfort of negative critique and judgment.  And each time, courage presses ‘Post’, someone’s life is impacted.  Someone thinks.  Someone questions. Someone creates.

All art, especially writing, serves as either a window or a mirror for the observer.  Looking through the window, we get a glimpse of the heart and life of the one who shares. This enables us to relate to people, to connect rather than distance ourselves.  And when connection happens, empathy is conceived.  Then empathy gives birth to compassion.  Each time someone exercises digital courage, the viewer may get a clearer image of self, as with a mirror. We get to see ourselves in someone else’s story. And we learn to be kinder to ourselves or at times to push a little harder as not to give up.  Too many times to count, I have found my voice, the vocabulary to express myself, because of the words of someone courageous enough to press the button.  

This I know for sure: when we are courageous online, as well as off, we give someone else the courage to say “I will share my (fill in the blank), too.”  We are here to elevate- first ourselves, then each other. 

I vow never to use the screen as a hiding place, but as a place to encourage: to give active help or to raise confidence to the point where one dares to do what is difficult.

-Andrea

Wounded Earth by Carolyn

“Out of wounded earth, flowers come, pushing through the dirt.”

from Wholly Yours by the David Crowder Band

Those words stick in my head long after the song has ended, nagging at me to give them a voice. I know they speak of my mother, who had a beautiful spirit in spite of the difficulties she faced in her life.

She was born in 1935 in Alamogordo, New Mexico, the fourth child, third daughter, of a rancher and a homemaker. Eventually, the number of children would grow to seven. She was right in the middle: middle child, middle of the five daughters. The family struggled to make ends meet all of her childhood. She used to tell stories about her early years in Alamogordo, which is a mountainous area, and therefore gets quite a bit of snowfall each year. She spoke of sleeping in a bed together with all of her sisters crowded together for warmth. She recalled waking up shivering one morning feeling as if a huge weight was crushing her. When she opened her eyes, she realized that the weight she was feeling was a large drift of snow that had fallen through a hole in the roof down onto the kids huddled under the quilts below! I remember hearing her say once (whether jokingly or not, I’m not sure) that they weren’t even very upset when one of them wet the bed at night, because at least it made a warm spot! She grew up with little money, nothing in the way of luxuries, and lots of hard work. Yet she shone with good nature and hopefulness. To this day, her brothers and sisters will say that she is their favorite sister, the heart of the family.

Eventually, she met and married my father, and they produced two daughters, my sister and me. Suffice it to say, she was more committed to the marriage than he was. I think it might be fair to  describe my father as “hard to love”. For many years, after working a full day outside the home, my mother cleaned the house, did laundry, and made dinner for my father. He seldom came home to eat until it had grown cold and she had sent us to bed. He was seldom around to engage in father-daughter activities with us, so she filled the gap with a warm smile and vast enthusiasm. When their marriage finally ended in divorce, she was devastated. In spite of all the emotional pain she had been through, she still loved him and wanted the marriage to work. As a single parent, she raised us with patience and understanding. Her wisdom and generosity as a parent I could never hope to achieve, although I hoped I would.

Years later, she began to have severe back pain. She endured several very painful back surgeries, which never quite solved the problem. She was diagnosed with degenerative disk disease. For many years, every day was full of pain, yet it was difficult to tell when you were with her. She continued to smile and laugh and enjoy life. Eventually, when she was in her early forties, she could no longer go to work every day. Most of her days were spent in her recliner, but when she could, she got out and about; she was not a person made for solitude. Even when she was disabled, she still enriched the lives of her family and her many friends with her sense of humor, her ready smile, her generosity of spirit.  

In late December, 1986, my mother and I attended a Christmas celebration with her extended family. As we were driving home late that afternoon, she told me that if she had her life to live over again, she would not change anything. I was aghast. “What about all the heartache and the pain you have been through?” I asked. She smiled and said, “Without all of the pieces of my life, the good and the bad, I would not be the person I am today. I kind of like who I am.” I said something about liking her, too, and wishing I could be as content with my life as she was with hers. I’m smiling as I write this now, remembering that conversation. I am grateful to have had that time with her, because there would not be very many more conversations between us. She died at the age of 50, just a few weeks later. I miss her every day.

Now I have given the words a voice: my mother was a beautiful flower that had the strength of spirit to push through the wounded earth in which it was planted.

-Carolyn