FEELINGS

1: an emotional state or reaction

I don't know about you, but sometimes fear can point me to areas I need to think about.  

Yesterday, I was talking with a friend whose counselor suggested she journal her feelings daily.  My immediate thought was, "I would hate to do that!"  I was honest and shared that thought with my friend, but I also set it aside mentally for some further consideration.  

I know this about myself: my emotions are buried deeply and my emotional reactions to situations are often on a time delay.  If I encounter something unexpected or traumatic, it takes me about 24 hours to know how I actually feel.  This isn't necessarily a bad thing - I think it's just part of who I am and it does enable me to be calm in a crisis because emotions aren't getting in the way.  That being said, delaying and stifling are two different things.  It may be a natural part of me to not feel my emotions until later, but not feeling anything at all should be a red flag that encourages me to look deeper.

As a part of my conversation with this friend, I told her about a list of emotions that another friend uses in her spiritual direction.  I told her it's easier for me to know what I'm feeling if I have a list of emotions to choose from. I offered to send her the list, which I did this morning.  Here it is:

Human emotions are neutral and guide us in knowing God and ourselves.  We experience emotions as movement either away from God or towards God.  Each emotion is listed below preceded by (impaired version) and followed by (gift of each emotion):

(depression/resignation)  ANGER  (passion/healthy boundaries)

(anxiety/control/rage)  FEAR  (faith/wisdom)

(resentment)  HURT  (courage to seek help or forgive)

(apathy/boredom)  LONELY  (intimacy with God and/or others)

(self-pity)  SAD  (acceptance, honoring precious loss)

(paranoia) GUILT  (freedom)

(inadequacy)  SHAME  (humility, empathy, knowing limits)

(indulgence)  GLAD  (hope)

Take time to notice your feelings.  Feel your feelings.  Tell the truth about your feelings.  Invite God into your feelings.  Stay with your feelings.  Let your feelings lead you to God.

After sending the e-mail to my friend, I sat and prayed for her.  I tried to notice what I was feeling as I did so and I felt sad - sad that she is hurting and walking through a difficult time.  I also knew what my heart's desire was for her and that was for God to comfort her in her pain.  Not because I want God to "fix" her, but because I want Him to meet her where she is and I want her to feel loved and valued.  It was worth noting that I knew what I desired for my friend as I prayed.  I don't often know what I was for myself, even when praying.  But I had a very clear idea of what I wanted for her.

Tears rolled down my face during and after my prayer.  As I sat there in my bedroom, I looked over at the piece of paper listing the emotions. What was I feeling?  In that moment, I could only feel the sadness for my friend, but hours later I sat outside my daughter's ballet school waiting for her rehearsal to finish.  It is a lovely day, so I was sitting in the shade with my eyes closed, trying to quiet my mind.  In that quiet moment, I asked myself what I was feeling.  I decided on sad, angry and lonely.  Sad for how broken our world is.  Angry with myself for not being in touch with my feelings (although this might better be named shame? I'm not very good at this, so I'm not sure.).  And lonely.  That one was a bit of a surprise since I was in the middle of a day with my family - a day filled with lunch out, a spring football scrimmage and sunshine.  But the loneliness was there.

So I sat with it and explored it.  I think my loneliness stems from how overextended I feel right now and how alone I feel in facing down and doing the jobs before me.  I'm a little embarrassed to even write about this because I feel like I do so much less than some people do.  But between wrapping up a year of homeschooling, researching next year's courses, starting a tutorial, planning for a month away from home and managing more than twenty volunteers weekly, I am feeling adrift.  I think each of these things is important and all of them are jobs that I believe are meant for me.  But I sometimes feel like they are meant only for me and that I therefore must do them alone.  All of the doing leaves me lonely.

I feel most connected to people when I am with them quietly - listening, talking, sharing and receiving.  Working alongside someone doesn't give me the same sense of connection.  We are bound by action, not by words, by an end goal, not the journey together.  When working, a part of me is always focused on the task at hand and it is nearly impossible for me to be fully present to the person I am with, much less my own feelings.  I am running on autopilot to get the job done.  I don't think this is true for everyone, is it?

How can I work effectively and efficiently and still be a present, fully alive person?  

How can I feel connected to people and stay committed to the work at hand?

I'm not expecting you to actually have the answers for me.  (Although feel free to offer them if you do have them!)  What I do hope is that I can slowly but surely learn to check in with my emotions and that I can find a way to be present even when I feel overwhelmed by the tasks at hand.

On my last spiritual retreat, I was sharing with my spiritual director that I had recently been feeling envious.  I felt like I was making a confession, but she was unbothered.  "Emotions are amoral," she told me.  "They are neither good nor bad.  They are just something we should notice and bring to God."  It was news to me that emotions are neither good nor bad.  I definitely think of them as bad - I think I am at my best when I can keep my emotions at bay, either by offering a rational response or by being still, receiving what others offer me without judgment, just holding their words and feelings for them like I am a vessel.

If nothing else, I think I need to explore my relationship to my feelings.  It may sound obvious but I think feelings should be a part of who I am and I shouldn't work so hard to contain and repress them.  What this means practically, I am not sure. For now, I'll look for those kernels of fear that point me to things I need to tackle.  And I'll spend a bit of time each day trying to name my emotions.  Maybe I'll even muster the courage to write them down in a journal.

COCOON

1 a : an envelope often largely of silk which an insect larva forms about itself and in which it passes the pupa stage


A friend gave me a book I've never read for my birthday and the title immediately intrigued me: When The Heart Waits.  The book itself has intrigued me even more.  It's a book to savor and read slowly.  I'm reading one chapter at a time to let the words, thoughts and images sink down into my heart before moving on.  In the first chapter, Sue Monk Kidd talks about being in the midst of a spiritual crisis moment and crying out to God for a sign, for an answer.  Instead of an answer, she turned around to find a cocoon hanging in a tree.  From there, she saw butterflies and cocoons everywhere - in a childhood book remembered, in an art gallery, through a gift from a friend.  "Sometimes God is funny about pointing things out again and again," I thought to myself and smiled as I read.

Ahem.

Shortly after that I realized I had been seeing butterflies everywhere myself: in Flight Behavior, in birthday art created especially for me by a friend, in the When The Heart Waits book.  Since 2009, I have associated butterflies with faith.  That was the year B found a monarch caterpillar and brought him home for us to witness his transformation as a family.  I wrote about that experience back then (if you follow the link, start at the bottom and read your way up) and as I re-read those posts this morning, tears came.  I am still awed by the contrast of my fear and B's quiet confidence.  She had complete faith that her caterpillar Artie would emerge as the butterfly he was meant to be.  And she was right.

So why am I seeing butterfly imagery everywhere lately?  (I will confess I am wearing a dress with butterflies printed all over it as I type this - completely unintentional.)  I suspect God is trying to tell me something.  Sue Monk Kidd's words about waiting in her book have certainly resonated with me.  I want to be patient in the waiting, relinquish my own desire to control the outcome and trust that what emerges will be transformed.

That is more difficult than it sounds.  I do long for this decade of my life to be about transformation.  I want to be what I was really made to be, not what I think I should be.  I want to see myself truly and live boldly.  But in order to get there, I have to give myself over to the waiting in the cocoon.  Even that is harder than I would like for it to be.  If I could slip into a chrysalis and hang there all alone for a few days or weeks, that might be easy to settle down for.  Instead, I have to give myself over to waiting for transformation while teaching, chauffeuring, parenting and managing my family.

Will it be worth it?  Can I wait patiently to become someone worth knowing, loving and doing life alongside?  Can I really change and stay transformed?  Because as I read those posts from 2009, I am feeling much the same way right now - low on solitude, like what I need is distasteful to others and hard to come by, afraid I won't ever emerge from this season.  Am I even ready to emerge as a butterfly at the other end of my time in the cocoon?  I'm not sure a butterfly is the animal I would choose to represent me, but I do love that butterflies move lightly and quickly through life, touching down gently, leaving a small wake of beauty as they go.  That I could buy in to.

CELEBRATE

2 b : to mark (as an anniversary) by festivities or other deviation from routine

I turned 40 forty-one days ago.  I know this with such precision because last night I marked the event with a 40 years + 40 days party.  While I had the idea for this party over a year ago, I struggled with its execution.  I had been in a such a dark and lonely place I wasn't sure I could summon the effort to prepare my house, the food, myself.  But when I talked it over with J and he asked me what I really wanted, the answer my heart gave was to have the party.  So we had the party.  And J made it all so very easy for me by telling me to hire a caterer, pay a housekeeper and buy cupcakes.  These things made a world of difference.  I found myself able to read a few chapters of my current book before guests arrived last night - unheard of on a party day.  Logistically, it all went well once I made the decision to move forward.

My heart was not so compliant.  After months of silence from God, I finally began to hear the still, quiet voice I have missed so much.  And one of the first things he said to me was that maybe the people in my life see me better and more accurately than I see myself.  That planted the seed for a journal that joined last night's festivities.  On a table in the living room sat a leather journal with my favorite pen atop it.  Friend after friend took a turn sharing how they see me and what they see in me.  Amongst my last thoughts last night before I fell asleep was the gift that it was to have friends willing to sit at a party writing in a journal for me - not exactly your typical party behavior.

Yet the journal idea almost didn't happen.  Between the seed planting stage and its fruition at my party, I worried that I was merely shirking my own responsibility to learn who exactly I am.  Was it wrong to try to see myself better by asking others how they see me?  In the midst of my indecision, I shared the idea with a trusted group of friends - the Ish Girls (so named because we want to be Christ-ish).  They were encouraging - one said the words would only penetrate my heart when I was ready, another said I can only go about learning who I am in the way that suits me - trying anything else will be fruitless.

I've only read a few entries in the journal.  They aren't appetizers to be consumed quickly, but a series of feasts to feed my soul.  When I tried to take a similar approach to opening my birthday gifts by stretching it out for several days, there was a general outcry from my children.  So the gifts were opened in just two sessions - leaving me overwhelmed at how well my friends know and love me.

Also overwhelming was the word "celebrate."  It just kept coming up.  Several friends said in their RSVP that they were looking forward to celebrating me.  Now, I love to have parties.  I'm much more of a party-thrower than a party-goer.  That's because when I host a party, I know everyone there, I like everyone there and I love seeing all of the disparate parts of my life come together.  But I don't have parties in order to be the center of attention.  I don't have them to celebrate myself.  I have them to celebrate all of the wonderful people we know and having a home we can share.  The idea of celebrating myself is, in fact, a little frightening.  But it kept coming up - which always means I should stop and listen.

When I imagined this 40 years + 40 days party, I thought I would pick a charity and have friends donate in my honor - or find some other way to make the focus on something other than just me.  But as I pondered those ideas, I felt that same still, quiet voice say to me, "No.  Let this be about you.  Just you."  Hmm.  Really?  "Yes."  Every time I prayed about it or even just thought about it, I could not get away from the idea that this party was mean to celebrate me.  This required much setting aside.  Setting aside my own expectations.  Setting aside the judgment others would have about me.  Setting aside my traditional mode of operating, whereby I deflect attention from myself.

A few days before my party, a friend e-mailed to say her plans had changed and she couldn't make the party.  In my reply, I confessed my fear of the word celebrate.  She replied, in part, "You are honoring the truth that God in you is real, good, and something to treasure. I will pray for you, as I know it isn’t comfortable. These things he leads us to rarely are. The things he asks are often what we would never choose for ourselves in our own willpower, but you are brave, and I see that in you even when you don’t see it yourself."

Did you see that word brave?  I did.  It stood out to me like it was written in neon.  I had never even thought about celebrating myself as being brave.  I was just trying to walk where God was pointing me, even though it wasn't where I expected to go or how I expected to get there.  When I stop to think about it, that is a pretty good definition of bravery.

So I am trying to be brave, to read the words of my friends with a heart that is ready to receive, to keep my eyes open to seeing who I really am.  I tried last night to celebrate with a clear conscience and willing heart and I will confess it was fun.  And therein, I suspect, lies much of the lesson - that our bravery in listening to God's direction leads us to joy and celebration.

INTENTION

3 a : what one intends to do or bring about

I'm not sure exactly what I intended when I sat down yesterday to write about how heavy my heart has felt for the last two weeks.  I felt like God was leading me to put into words what I had been experiencing and I was trying to follow through on that.  I also was feeling very alone and thinking about others who might feel similarly alone.  One way I think the church routinely fails is in its care for those who are suffering.  That's largely borne from our own discomfort: we don't know what to say so we resort to platitudes or empty encouragement.  We don't intend to wound or add to the person's pain, but our words can hurt more than heal.  So I was thinking that if someone out there read my words and heard them as echoing some part of their own experience, that might be healing for them.

What I wasn't really thinking was that a lot of people would read my words.  Since it had been a while since my last post and many people are wrapped up in post-election celebration or mourning, I assumed the post would be read by a few loyal friends.  I didn't at all expect e-mails, texts or messages from friends and acquaintances encouraging me.  I didn't expect God to use my honesty to show me how many people love me. 

I don't use that word "love" lightly.  Several friends who contacted me yesterday specifically mentioned that I am loved.  This goes right to the heart of what I have been feeling.  I have (perhaps always) believed myself to be unlovable.  This is surely a result of my story and while I have tried to bury those feelings and move on, they are very much at the surface lately.  As a result of studying the Enneagram and realizing I am a nine, I have come to see recently why people enjoy being around me.  Nines are easy to be around.  As Russ Hudson said, "No one can hang out like a nine."  But there's a difference between being easy to be around and being loved.  Do people find my company easy?  I think so.  Does that mean they love me?  Not at all.

What God tried to show me yesterday through the responses to my blog post is that I am loved.  Person after person took the time to text me, e-mail me, message me.  I intended my post to perhaps someday comfort someone else.  God intended it to help heal me.  This is one of the crazy things about God.  I rarely know what he is up to.  I can't guess his intentions.  I can't anticipate his next move.  I can't even with certainty look back on past events in my life and know what I was meant to learn from them.   I think there are two things I can do: respond when I feel him prompting me and trust that he is who he says he is. 

The lessons God is trying to teach me right now are not easy lessons.  I think he and I are pretty well past the things that are easy to learn like the alphabet, reading, addition and subtraction.  Now we're on to reshaping the way I see myself, which is more like physics or graphing calculus equations on three axes.  So I don't expect an overnight change in myself.  What I do hope is that I will keep my eyes open to God's work and keep my heart willing to change, even when it is painful and scary.

If you were someone God prompted to contact me and encourage me yesterday, thank you.  I continue to feel fear and trepidation, but also hope.  Because perhaps God's intentions are kinder, gentler and more wonderful than I could ever imagine.

MOVING

1 b : of or relating to a change of residence
2 b : stirring deeply in a way that evokes a strong emotional response

Moving is hard work.  Arduous physically.  Tough emotionally.  Draining mentally.  Pretty much difficult all around.  We hired movers to help with the physical portion of our move and it was still exhausting.  If 10+ hours of watching my stuff being loaded onto a truck was tiring, I can't imagine how I would have held up if we'd actually done all of it ourselves.  We loaded up on Monday, moved in on Tuesday (nearly two weeks ago) and started unpacking right away.  My goal for that first day was to get the beds set up with linens and towels in each bathroom.  Doesn't sound like much, but doing it in the midst of directing movers from one room to another with boxes and furniture was no small task.

The next morning the real work began - the work of turning a house into a home.  First stop: the kitchen.  As I prayed with my 12 year old daughter A on our first night in our new house, she said to me, "Mom.  I didn't want to eat out tonight.  I'm ready for you to cook.  Aren't you ready to cook?"  I understood where she was coming from, but there were technical difficulties: everything in boxes, an unloading that stopped just shy of 6 pm and no refrigerator.  I couldn't do much about the lack of a refrigerator, but I could attempt to get the kitchen in working order so that night #2 (or 3) would be different.

Thankfully, I had help: before 10 AM Wednesday morning, two friends were here.  One of whom had made five pumpkin chocolate chip muffins for our first morning breakfast, another of whom stopped at Walgreens on her way to gather drug store essentials inadvertently packed away.  Both got to work unpacking boxes, wiping down dishes and putting them away.  Friend #1 left to take A and B to their tutorial so that I could keep working.  As friend #2 and I tried to figure out where the utensils should go and what to do with the plastic ware, I got a call that two more friends were on their way.

I can not articulate what this felt like.  They drove clear across town - it probably took them nearly an hour to get there - and got straight to work.  It felt like the cavalry had arrived and I was no longer in danger of losing the battle of unpacking.  For a few minutes, they tried to follow the order friend #2 and I had established.  But my mind was not its sharpest, so the cavalry that had just arrived pretty quickly saw that I was no general - they needed a new plan.  Luckily, these are the kind of women who can craft a workable plan with their hands tied behind their backs, blindfolded and gagged.  So one friend unpacked while another told me where to put things in my kitchen.  If you've never had someone else organize your kitchen, I highly recommend it.  I can only imagine the chaos that my kitchen would be had my friend not shown up and put things in order.  She brought an objectivity and mental clarity that I completely lacked and as they left hours later (after feeding K and I lunch, no less), I felt like a burden had been lifted.

That same day, another friend stopped by with a rotisserie chicken.  A few days later another friend came to visit the day our refrigerator arrived.  She brought with her groceries to fill my fridge, right down to burgers we could grill that night.  "Consider it a housewarming gift," she told me as she handed it all over to me.  Other friends gave my children rides to and from places and cut me slack on returning phone calls and e-mails.

I know that I am blessed to have friends who care for my family, body and soul.  But it has never been more clear to me than in recent days.  It was deeply moving to have friends offer help without my even having to ask.  Because honestly, I was too tired to even ask, too wrapped up in getting through the next minute to plan ahead and ask for help, too busy trying to keep my family together to think through how to get children to and fro.

This entire process of selling our home and moving has been an exercise of faith for me.  As such, it has shown me just how little faith I have.  I've reverted to fear, clung to ideals and been terrified to open my hands and receive gifts.  All of which makes God's continued graciousness even more amazing.  Right now I would tell you I hope to never move again.  I would also confess that if I do, I hope I will look back on God's faithfulness through this process in both big and small ways.  Perhaps given another chance, I can move with more grace and less angst.  (But don't count on it.)

In the mean time, I'm going to try to remember both meanings of the word moving: yes we packed up a residence, but we also received gifts from our friends that elicited a deep emotional response: one of gratitude.

GOOD-BYE

2 : a taking of leave

Last night, we hosted our final party at our home on Setliff Place.  After we decided to sell our house, found a new home, readied our home to go on the market and received an offer - all far more quickly than expected - I told J that I really wanted one last party here.  It would have made me sad to leave without a final gathering.  I wanted to celebrate previous moments here, mark the occasion of our departure and be surrounded and encouraged by friends as we close this chapter in our lives.  After all, one thing I've loved about living here is filling our house with friends and family. 

A few weeks ago a good-bye party seemed like a great idea.  So I set the date, sent out the evite and carried on with life's daily tasks of packing, teaching, cleaning and cooking.  Yesterday morning, the full import of my plan hit me and I sent J the following text while he was out running errands, "Having a party tonight might be my craziest idea ever.  How am I going to get this house even somewhat ready for guests?!?  Next time, you must save me from myself. ;-)"

Moments later, a friend swung by to pick something up: 

"Doing OK?" he asked. 
"I think so," I replied somewhat uncertainly.  "There's a lot left to do before tonight."
"Are you an extrovert?"
"No!"
"I didn't think so.  It surprised me to see you were having a party this close to moving," he said.
"I know.  But some of our best moments in this house have been parties, so I wanted one more to help us say good-bye." I explained.
He nodded and headed off, leaving me to finish cleaning and readying our house one last time.

Sometime later, I was giving B instructions on getting her room clean.  "Vacuum your rug and then put the vacuum cleaner back in A's closet."  No sooner were the words out of my mouth, than I had the thought, "Won't it be nice to live in a house where the vacuum cleaner doesn't have to go in a bedroom closet?"  I'm not sure this thought was entirely my own because it, combined with a lovely dream fulfilled via our party, has helped me re-orient my thinking about our move.  The decision to see and dwell on the many blessings that await us will undoubtedly help me get through the next nine days.

And the party?  It was all I had hoped for and more.  New and old friends mixed, mingled and snacked.  Children played inside and out.  Conversations ebbed and flowed.  Football games were won and lost.  Food and drink were shared.  Stories were told.  Laughter was heard.

One friend who came last night had never been to our home, so I gave her a brief tour.  As I did, I described the various renovations to this house over the years.  It made me realize that we are leaving it a different home than it started.  We are leaving it with a far more functional kitchen, an open flow that aids parties, a master bath that is a true retreat and rooms that were filled with love, laughter and family.

There is much we will miss about these four walls.  They have not only sheltered us, but given us the chance to literally put ourselves into them.  Our daughters have grown here.  None of them even recall ever living anywhere else.  Our floors have held sleeping bags crowded with girls, spit up, toys, shoes and crackers crushed underfoot.  Each room has been a part of the story of our lives over the last decade.  And it is time for a new chapter.  A chapter that offers space for teenagers to stretch their wings, room to bring ballet into the home and even a long awaited chance to hang college mementos.

Independent of each other, two friends said to me before departing from the party, "You have the nicest friends."  As I lay in bed, recalling the night, these words came back to me.  We do have the nicest friends.  And they will go with us wherever we live, no matter the house.  It was a beautiful reminder of all we've been blessed with and all that awaits us - and that we don't have to do it alone.

LAUGH

1 b : to find amusement or pleasure in something

There are few people who can make me laugh as much as the women pictured above.

This weekend, I went home for a visit and met up with my high school friends for dinner at the best local seafood restaurant around.  I arrived with a headache, but left having laughed it away.  I haven't been in close relationship with these women for two decades, yet I have so much fun when I'm with them.

I don't know if this is a phenomenon related to having shared so much laughter years ago or whether these are just my funniest friends.  (I suspect the former, although some of them might claim the latter.)  Friday night we laughed about everything from Christmas gifts given in poor taste to the right saying at the wrong time to the desire to be quotable. 

During dinner, I mentioned that my daughters really wanted to meet these friends of mine. (I think there's a mystery to my high school days.)  So my friends made a quick trip to my mom's house to meet A, B and K.  My extroverted K loved all of the attention from five extra people.  She sat in my lap for a moment and said to me as she watched my friends plop down on the floor, relive old stories and catch up, "Are they still teenagers?"

Not quite.  But you might wonder yourself if you saw us together.

While chatting, one of my friends asked A whether my Nashville friends are like this.  A paused, then said, "No, not really," with a smile.  She's right.

I love my current friends and in some ways feel like they know the real me better than the friends who double-dated with me, slept on my floor and scribbled their latest loves on my sheets.  After all, all of that was a very long time ago.  My Nashville friends definitely get a more serious side of me.  Want to talk about the latest book you've read?  How to teach our daughters to follow their hearts?  Whether the best choice for your soul is the best one for your family?  I'm your girl.  I can handle - and love - serious conversations.

Friday night reminded me that while I am someone who craves talking deeply about heartfelt topics, there is something to be said for just sitting around a table and laughing.

CELEBRATE

2 b : to mark (as an anniversary) by festivities or other deviation from routine

Yesterday, the Ish Girls (my bible study group) celebrated the birthday of one of our own.  It was a surprise to her and she was a bit taken aback, but pleased, I think.  It was especially fitting that we celebrate her because she opens her home to us each week and does such a sweet job of celebrating our birthdays.

One thing I love about this group of women is that we regularly celebrate each other for who we are and for our differences.  We're a motley group.  Together we have twenty children, attend five different churches and are four different Enneagram numbers.

We've talked about ourselves with great vulnerability and authenticity.  I was a bit slow to warm to this group of women.  I knew only one of them going in and joined in part because I longed to soak up her wisdom and experience and in part because we were transitioning from one church to another and I thought a group that wasn't based on the church you attend would be a good place for me.  It has, indeed, been a good and safe place for me.

I just finished reading Quiet, a book about introverts and the author does a great job of explaining that introverts don't dislike people.  It's being overly stimulating that we dislike.  Most introverts enjoy other people very much, but prefer relationships that run deep rather than shallow.  That is what this group has provided for me - depth of relationship.  These aren't the women I call to join me for a cup of coffee or a glass of wine because they all live across town from me.  But they are the women that I e-mail with a prayer request, whom I intercede for, who I trust with my greatest fears and frustrations.

Last summer I reconnected with my high school girlfriends for a weekend.  It was a time of fun, laughter and healing.  One big thing I realized was that those women aren't friends with me because of anything I offer them.  They are my friends because they always have been.  I haven't known the Ish Girls for nearly as long as my childhood friends.  But I feel some of the same safety with them.  I don't feel like I have to put my best foot forward.  I don't have to hide my hurts.  I don't have to act like I have it all together because I clearly don't.

Yet these women not only know me, they celebrate the little things that make me who I am.  I think our differences are the very things that make up enjoy each other and grow.  Before we studied the Enneagram as a group, one of our members who had already studied it said something in exasperation about how lazy 9's are and that she didn't have much interest in exploring that wing (she is a 1).  We found out this fall that three of our members are 9's.  I'd like to think that knowing us gave her a different take on how she might grow in a 9 direction.  I know that studying, praying with and sharing life with some 1s, a 7 and a 3 have made me understand these numbers in ways I never could have alone.  Even more, it has enabled me to celebrate the ways we are different.  For me, that's a lot of what friendship is about.

PROVISION

1 a: the act or process of making preparation to meet a need

Over the last few days, I've made double batches of three soups (Tomato Florentine, Chicken Tortilla and Chorizo Black Bean Chili).  I've baked cowboy cookies, peanut brittle, lemon whippersnappers, chocolate sweet potato cupcakes and chocolate covered pretzels.  I've de-cluttered kitchen counters, dusted, swept, mopped and vacuumed.

My birthday is next Saturday, but tonight we hosted a party.  A lot of people came.  I've always loved having parties.  Even back in high school, I can remember hosting friends for a game night or a football game.  What I didn't realize (or think much about) until recently was my motivation for hosting parties.  As an Enneagram 9, I love filling my home with people from all of the different parts of my life.  I love school friends mixing with homeschool friends mixing with church friends.  It makes my heart happy and content to cook for them, host them and see them all together.

But this year felt a bit different to me.  For the past six years, we've done a roughly bi-annual birthday party for me.  There was no birthday bash last year, but we did host an open house the day after Christmas.  I was on the fence about whether to have a party this year because A is in the Nutcracker, which makes for a very busy December.  As I was still pondering what I wanted to do, K took matters into her own hands.  Before a date was even set, she started inviting people.  I took that (strong) hint and decided to go for it.  Deciding not to be bound by tradition, I picked a date exactly one week before my birthday - the Saturday before Nutcracker starts.

We set the date for the party and invited people several weeks ago.  And then the week of the party arrived and I struggled.  My extended family is going through some very difficult times and my body's response to processing all of these emotions is exhaustion.  This is not a great stress reaction to have when you're about to host several dozen people for a party.  I have a friend who can be found scrubbing her floors while processing emotions.  That's a stress reaction I could have used.  Alas, it wasn't to be.

On Saturday morning, I lay in bed with J and told him that all I really wanted to do was curl up into a ball and be alone.  He said he could tell that's how I felt, but that I'd love it once the party arrived.  I just had to finish the cooking and the preparations.  It would all be worth it.

Even on the day of a party, regular life doesn't stop.  A and K had ballet in the morning.  B had basketball.  Then A and B had a youth group party to attend in the afternoon.  (Mercifully, a friend was driving them to and from this party.  They would otherwise not have been able to go.)  About 30 minutes before K was due to get home from ballet, a friend called.  "Do you have a minute?" she asked.  "Sure," I replied, "I'm just heading out to buy brown sugar because of course I've run out of it six hours before a party."  My friend was calling to see if K could come over and play after ballet.  What a gift this was - a few more hours alone in the kitchen to finish the last batch of cookies.

Earlier that day another friend had called.  "I'm in Goodwill. They have tons of Christmas mugs on sale.  Did you say you needed a few more for tonight's party?"  She bought me ten, washed them and brought them to the party, thereby ensuring every adult had a Christmas mug to hold their soup.

At about 4 yesterday afternoon, I headed upstairs for a quick bath before the party.  I took a few minutes to read the daily office in Celtic Daily Prayer and realized as I prayed that the timing of this party was God's provision.  Had I not seen K's desire for a party and responded, I likely would have spent the day curled into a metaphorical ball.  I would have read a book, taken a nap and tried to numb the pain.  Instead, I cooked, cleaned and prepared my house for guests.

A friend at the party surveyed all of the food and said to me, "So for your birthday you cooked all of this and invited us all over?"  When I replied affirmatively he said, "That's funny.  I much prefer letting someone else do all of that on my birthday."  But even as I've had a difficult week and had a hard time getting motivated to be ready for this party, I've know and realized that hosting parties is one way I love others.  Let me not give the impression that my house was spotless for this event, nor that the food was entirely homemade.  Publix and Trader Joe's provided most of the appetizers so that I could concentrate on soups and desserts.  But everything I cooked was made with gratitude for friends who were willing to spend a Saturday night with us.

As I chatted with a friend at the party, I told her how I thought God knew even better than I did what I needed on this day.  And he provided it in a big way: through friends who helped with children and party supplies and through a party that I wasn't sure I could muster the energy to host.  The energy arrived when I needed it - and not a moment before.  And the party provided a reminder that sadness has its place, but that I should not forget all of the people in my life who love me.

Looking back on this party, I'm amazed at how well it went.  I'm amazed at how many people came.  When I host a party, I am terrible at limiting the guest list.  Since part of my motivation for having a party is to bring together all of the parts of my life, I want to invite everyone.  I can't stand the idea of someone feeling left out.  So I tend to over invite and trust that it will work out.  Perhaps I over invited this time.  By my best count, there were sixty-one people here last night.  But it definitely all worked out.  There was enough food, a lovely and mild December evening for the children to run around in the backyard and God's spectacular early birthday gift of giving me eyes to see his provision for me.

PERSPECTIVE

2 a : the interrelation in which a subject or its parts are mentally viewed; also : point of view

It's so nice to have an in-house art teacher.  I was trying to draw cowboy boots today and couldn't figure out how to draw the feet.  The body was full frontal, so should the boots be to the side?  To the same or different sides?  I called B over and she quickly showed me how to do it.  When I asked whether to point the toes of the other foot in the same direction, she said, "If you want to look Egyptian!"  She then posed for me, demonstrating how awkward it is to stand with your body forward and your feet going the same way.  I got her point.  It's really all about perspective, isn't it?

A friend was recently talking about a mutual acquaintance.  She was sharing how this person's family is so authentic, so genuine, so real.  She talked about how they show their faith through their lives and how they've been such a blessing to her during her time in Nashville.  My perspective is entirely different.  The mom and dad in this family have both been judgmental, artificial and critical of my family.  From my perspective, they aren't any of the things my friend said.  So who's right?  I think we both are.

I have many mutual friends who find this family completely delightful and servant-hearted.  But I am not going to deny my own experiences and invalidate them.  This family makes me feel judged and hurt.  I don't admire them, respect them or even like them.  Is that wrong?  Or is it just the result of trying to hold in tension my own truth and the truth of others' experiences?

Someone might meet me and later describe me as a great listener, as someone who didn't say the right thing, but just listened and made them feel really heard.  Another friend of yours might tell you I'm standoffish, that I don't go out of my way to speak to them and sometimes even intentionally don't come over to chat when I could.  Who's right?  Both would be.  Depending on the day, my mood, how I feel and how well I know you, I might not initiate conversation.  This doesn't mean I don't like you.  It doesn't even mean I don't want to talk to you.  The vast majority of the time, my perspective is that if you want to talk to me, you'll start talking to me.  I start from the baseline assumption that people have better things to do than talk to me.

I have a deep desire to give people, including my children, the opportunity to have a different perspective than my own.  I think we each bring a unique viewpoint to every person, situation and circumstance we encounter.  Given this, clearly we all have different perspectives.  And I think these different views and ways of approaching life reflect God beautifully.  I think he's far more diverse than any one individual, so the myriad perspectives we bring collectively reflect him far better than any one of us does.  The challenge is how to honor our own perspective and the perspectives of others.  This is easier for me with some people than others.  I think overall I'm a very accepting person,but there have been a handful of people that I've encountered in my life who have taken a nearly instant dislike to me.  Without exception, I've always been hurt by this.  For some bizarre reason, I expect people to, if not like me, then not react with such strong dislike.  I'll be honest and say that my hurt in these instances has kept me from even attempting to see, much less value, their perspectives.  I'm not saying this is right or good of me.  It's just the truth of who I am.

I'll keep working on developing a willingness to let others see the world their way.  And in the meantime, I'll direct any technical perspective questions to my astute 10 year old.

CELEBRATE

2 a : to honor (as a holiday) especially by solemn ceremonies or by refraining from ordinary business

I had lunch today with some girlfriends.  This is a rare occurrence for me.  Homeschooling 10 and 11 year old girls doesn't leave me with much free time.  But when the opportunity arose today (and the aforementioned girls were at their tutorial), I decided to go.  I went even though a part of me longed to go straight home and climb into bed for a long nap before picking K up from school.  I went even though it was the opposite direction from home.  I went because even though my first impulse is often to be antisocial, I need community.  In fact, I probably need it more than I realize.

As you would expect, we chatted while we snacked on chips, salsa and guacamole.  We talked over  salad, soup and quesadillas.  We mused as we finished off sopapillas.  At some point, the talk turned to girls.  One mom shared that she expects her daughter to hit puberty soon.  We agreed on the importance of marking big transitions for our daughters and then started talking about just how to do that.

I'll often write a blog post to commemorate an event I don't want to forget (like A getting her first pair of pointe shoes).  This is partly because I'm not a scrapbook keeper nor a memory box aficionado nor one to jot notes of this type in my journal.  It's also because writing it down helps me cement my own thoughts and feelings about what happened.  But there are some things that are hard to talk about on my blog.  A family member's illness?  A friend's dying child?  Balancing a desire to pray for those who are sick and hurting with a desire to pretend the world isn't as painful as this?  I don't/can't/won't process these things on my blog.  Which has meant fewer posts of late because those around me are walking through some very hard times.

I am doing my best to walk alongside them.  To not abandon them while I read a book and pretend everything is OK.  To listen to their hurts.  To pray for them in quiet.  To simply imagine lifting them up to God when I don't even have the words to pray.

It was good to sit with friends today and not feel the burdens of the world quite so heavily for a few moments.  It was good to think about how to honor our girls as they move from being little girls to young women.  I'm not quite ready to fully imagine my daughters as full grown women, but I see them changing before my very eyes.  They are young, but they are making the transition from prepubescent to pubescent.  They are alternately working, struggling, fighting and embracing the job of figuring out exactly who they are.  I want to meet them where they are and encourage them as they take steps towards becoming more self-sufficient, more adult, more of who they are meant to be.  But this happens in fits and starts, not in a consistently plot line.  It's one thing to write about my daughters milestones, but what do I do to celebrate them?  What action am I taking? They are working at growing up.  How am I working to help them do it?

Tonight I asked A and B to make four salads for us while I put the rice and black beans into bowls.  They started unhappy.  Unhappy escalated to exasperation for A, who quickly told me she wasn't capable of making a salad.  Unhappy escalated to anger for B when she realized she was to make salads for others, not just herself.  Should helping make dinner (especially when it's something as easy as a salad) be a part of growing up?  Certainly.  Do my daughters long for this part of maturity as much as they are counting down the days to riding in the front seat of the van?  Not on your life. 

One action I have to take - and take more consistently - is teaching, encouraging and even forcing my daughters to be more self-sufficient.  Each daughter has a set of chores, but I'll be honest and say that housekeeping is not a huge priority for me, so I'm a bit inconsistent in my administration of chore time.  I'm also a 9 who needs (or should I say longs?) to avoid conflict.  So I do the dishes myself rather than listen to A complain.  I wash the laundry myself rather than fight with B about how old one should have to be to do laundry.  I need to grow in this area.  I need to be willing to fight the small battles in order to prepare my daughters for life when they leave my home.  I'm just confessing that's a hard part of parenting for me.

A and B have reacted to life differently from the outset.  By the time B was fifteen months old, I knew I needed a different set of discipline techniques than those I used with her older sister.  They don't like the same things, participate in the same activities or wear the same clothes.  Predictably, they have treated discussions of impending puberty with completely different reactions.  A had an uneasy anticipation.  B's stance is best described as dread.  I've tried to mitigate this with the reward of pierced ears accompanying the first period, along with a personalized bag containing pads, tampons, Coca-cola (the cure to all ills) and chocolate (who doesn't crave chocolate?).

These practical steps are really just a way of trying to honor my daughters.  A set of earrings and a cool bag are just vehicles to trying to make my daughters understand that they are valuable, precious and worthy.  They're also an attempt to acknowledge that some of the best things in life are both good and hard.  Do many of us wish there was a path to fertility that didn't include monthly cramps, headaches and bleeding?  Yes.  But that's our path, nonetheless.  Does the good outweigh the bad?  Yes.  Does the good make the hard disappear?  No.  And that's one lesson I want them to learn: that the hard things in life are worth it as much as the good things.

I want to be a family that celebrates the good and bad, hard and joyous part of life.  All of it.  Because that's what life is about.

DISTANCE

5 b : capacity to observe dispassionately

We are currently in Wisconsin visiting family.  Our drive here is a long one.  Google maps will tell you it takes 10 hours.  The reality is that it's nearly impossible to make it in 10 hours.  I think in my 20 years of marriage and courtship, J and I have made the drive in under 10 hours only once - and that drive concluded in the wee hours of the morning, taking us through Chicago around 2 AM.  That's just about the only way to get through Chicago quickly - do it when everyone else is asleep.

My children are champion travelers and for this trip I spent some serious prep time doing my best to ensure a stress free drive time.  Each girl got a box packed with markers, pens, colored pencils, a new journal, stickers and a pencil sharpener.  They also got a bag with more sugar than they are normally allowed in a week's time.  Additional travel tools? Library books, Playaways, a few math worksheets, two Pillow Pets and one Snuggie.

One advantage of such a long trip is that there's time to think.  Plenty of it, in fact.  On the drive north on Thursday, I was looking at some of Southern Illinois' fall foliage.  (I know it was Southern Illinois because there aren't (m)any trees in Central or Northern Illinois.)  I saw a gorgeous line of trees from a distance and kept my eye trained on one tree as we got closer.  I noticed something.  The beauty of fall trees is a cumulative thing.  One fall leaf, even one fall tree, is not all that beautiful.  You might find the occasional exception, but fall's beauty is really seen best from a distance.  As I noticed this, I got a flash of a truth much bigger.  I think God sees our lives the way I see the fall trees.

The bible talks about God's ways not being our ways and his thoughts not our thoughts.  I've often fallen back on that when I go through a difficult time or when I see others walk through difficulty, but I've never grasped the concept in such a graphic way.  Those ugly leaves on the tree of my life?  They aren't ugly when seen alongside hundreds of other leaves and the trees representing the lives of others around me.  Or maybe they are still ugly - nothing will change that - but their individual disfigurement ends up being less important when seen alongside everything else.

This was a comfort.  Everywhere I turn lately, I seen pain.  I have friends, family members and acquaintances who are variously watching family members die, walking with those they love through illness, struggling through the loss of a job, recovering from surgery and receiving cancer diagnoses.  Not one of these circumstances is OK with me.  Each and every one hurts my heart.  I long for a day when mothers do not outlive their children, a day when there is no pain that needs management, a day when we all know - not just rationally, but with our whole being - that we are loved not for what we do but for who we are.  I long for a day when we are not faced with saying good-bye to those we love.

I'll be honest: I want to be able to see the beauty now.  I want a distance that I will never have in this lifetime.  I don't know why people I know and love are walking through the valley of the shadow of death.  I don't know why and I don't know how to comfort or console them.  I have no words of wisdom to offer, no scripture references that explain it all away.  Because the truth is that there is pain and there is hurt and there is ugliness in this world of ours.  I don't know why.  I'll probably never know why.  And a glimpse of an idea that momentary troubles (that don't feel momentary at all) are leaves that manage to make something beautiful isn't much to cling to right now.  But it's all that I have, so I'm offering it humbly to you, just in case you're walking through your own valley right now.

GIRL

1 a : a female child from birth to adulthood

I spent last weekend in a one bedroom, one bath condo with six other women.  Sound unappealing?  It wasn't.  Not one bit.

After my high school reunion, my friend J decided we should do our own mini-reunion and gather our girlfriends together for a weekend.  Having enjoyed catching up, I was game.  We settled on a weekend.  I booked a one way flight so that I could ride back to Nashville with another friend who happened to be heading this way.  Other friends made similar efforts and in the end, seven out of eight of our close friends gathered in Destin.  I hadn't seen some of these women since graduation, yet they all helped me get there - M and S met me partway between the airport and the condo - C and A took me back - J shared her condo with all of us.

Friday night, my friend S cooked dinner for all of us while we sat around looking at high school pictures, reading old notes, laughing and drinking.  My friend J found some fourth grade love letters that she had torn up in anger at her 10 year old beau.  We pieced them together to read, laughingly recalling paint pens and elementary school crushes.

As we ate dinner, talk drifted to the past - to secrets held for years by this cadre of women.  Some of the secrets I knew, others were a surprise after all these years.  We admitted details that made us blush to retell and recall.  We compared high school experiences and current day experiences.  We laughed until our sides hurt.

Friday Night: S, A, M, J, T and Me (C is behind the camera)

At 11, we decided to head to a bar.  You read that right - we started our night out at 11 - something I haven't done since college.  We paid a $10 cover charge ("It won't be the last $10 I waste in my life," my friend A confessed to me), entered a smoky bar and grabbed a table.  Five of our crew headed for the dance floor as I sat with C.  We attempted some conversation, but gave up before too long, the smoke and our yelling providing a shortcut to sore throats.  As I sat there at that table watching my friends dance, I thought to myself, "Why are these women even friends with me?  I'm so boring and they so clearly are not."

Eventually, A and T joined C and I at an outdoor table and we talked about what we do, what we used to do and more.  Near 1 AM, we collected J, M and S and headed home.  As we settled in for the night - on blow up mattresses, pull out sofas and one bed - the answer to my question from the bar surfaced in my mind.  "These women are my friends simply because they've been my friends for so long.  There's no need to question it.  It's as simple as that."  They are my friends and with a bit of work, some luck and continued blessing, they always will be.

I've known all of these women for at least 24 years, some for more than that.  A's family attended the same church, so I've pretty much known her my entire life.  J and I became friends in fourth grade - over the word "hamburger" mouthed across the room during a spelling test, amongst other things.  I met T in sixth grade and by eighth grade or so, the friendships enjoyed by the eight in our group were sealed.  We had sleepovers, watched football games, dated the same boys, made many of the same mistakes and grew up together, making the transition from girls to women without even realizing it.

As we fell asleep Friday night, I said to my friends, "You are the only six women in the world that I would share a one bedroom condo with. I have some great friends back in Nashville, but I would only do this with all of you."  There's something to be said for shared history.

I wonder whether my own daughters will have this.  They don't have the continuity in their lives that small town life provides.  And while I wouldn't trade the benefits of living in a city for the community that is available (and forced upon you) in a small town, I do wonder what my daughters would choose if it were up to them.  My daughters are the ages I was when I met these women who saw me through the introduction of bras, the arrival of periods, first kisses, first heartbreaks and more.  They taught me what being a friend looks like.  I learned first from them that friends are great blessings, but that those closest to you can also hurt you the most.  (Aren't teenaged girls experts at hurting and being hurt?)  I've never been good at artifice, so these women saw the best and worst of me all along the way.  Yet they chose to be friends with me. 

Saturday as we floated in the Gulf, M found a sand dollar with her toes.  She pulled it up and J immediately said, "A sand dollar!  Give it to Shannon for her girls!"  There was no hesitation, no thought even given to it.  They all live near the water.  Their children are mostly older than my own and, without exception, they've seen sand dollars.  My land-locked Tennessean girls were excited to see these creatures and have their very own. 

While alternately relaxing in the water and keeping a lookout for sharks, I decided to ask my friends a parenting question, "What do you do when your child has a friend and you can't stand the parent?"  Of course, they pressed for details, wanting to know what made me ask.  As I explained, they jumped to my defense.  They've never met this woman, but they took my side without question - and gave me advice in the process.  I left that salty water feeling like these women have my back - if only from afar.

We aren't as close as we used to be.  We scattered to different colleges after high school, seeing each other only intermittently, if at all.  Yet this weekend reminded me of some things and taught me others.  It reminded me that there's a group that I was once a part of.  A group that I am still a part of, in a way.  I can laugh with them, reminisce with them, just be with them and, for a few hours or days, be the girl I once was.

A, C, J, Me, M, T and S

FRIEND

1 a: one attached to another by affection or esteem

I had two very different Facebook friend experiences last week.  First I got a request from a high school acquaintance.  Upon seeing the name on my phone screen, my first thought was, "What? Why would that person want to be my Facebook friend?" This was someone (whom I'll call T) I knew for the last few years of high school, but we were never close and I always felt there was a competitive tension underlying our friendship.  I unintentionally hurt T at once point and tried to make amends a time or two.  But my recollection of our final interaction was a sense that this "friend" wanted to get back at me - so I left it at that, hoping T felt I had been bested to their satisfaction.  It's been nearly twenty years since I heard T's name.

When I first joined Facebook, I was unsure of the etiquette - should I say yes to every friend who asked me?  Surely the term "friend" is used lightly.  I don't have 400+ friends, at least not by my definition of the word.  Even the use of the word friend to describe my FB network gave me some ambivalence.  I'm not someone who uses the term friend quickly and easily.  Frankly, I have to know and trust you to consider you my friend - I have to feel like I can be myself around you.  There are lots of people I know and even enjoy, but wouldn't label as a friend (at least in my heart).  But to de-friend or ignore a friend request requires a certain confidence.  Will I hurt their feelings?  Am I being inconsistent in saying Yes to one acquaintance and No to another?  What should my standards for friendship be - on FB and in life?

A few days after this friend request from T came through, I had an exchange with a friend I've never met in person - but whom I love nevertheless.  I can picture us passing books back and forth and chatting over tea, if only we lived in the same city.  I know her only through her blog, but I love her words and her heart.  She was running in a race last Saturday and I left her a comment saying I would pray for her.  And I did pray for her.  In fact, praying for her was a great delight - a more grace-filled experience than I can ever remember when praying for someone else.  The first day when I prayed for her, it felt like sunshine on my face.  And as I continued to pray, I realized that the "sunshine on my face" feeling was God's delight in her.  This was so energizing, encouraging and revelatory that I prayed for her a great deal leading up to her race.  I hope it blessed her because it certainly blessed me.

As a part of our interchanges about the race, this lovely woman asked about being my FB friend.  And my reaction was totally different than seeing T's name appear on my screen.  Instead of wondering why she might want to be my friend, my heart said, "Yes!  That would be lovely!"  So now we're friends - on Facebook and in cyberspace.

That friend request from T?  I clicked on the little "ignore" button.  I am slowly but surely learning to trust one way that my heart speaks to me.  And I am learning that I do not have to be friends - Facebook or otherwise - with someone who makes me feel bad about myself.  This may sound self-evident, but surely there's at least one person reading this who is a people-pleaser or recovering people-pleaser like me.  (By the way, there's another way that I speak to myself that I'm learning to ignore or talk back to - it's the voice of shame and it usually starts sentences with the phrase, "I must be the only one who..."  That voice is not worth listening to.  It needs silencing.)

I've been comparing and contrasting these Facebook friend experiences for several days, but finally felt prompted to write about it after reading this post about having a team you can trust to speak into your life.  I'm not in crisis and don't need an official team of people to help me navigate my current life circumstances.  But don't we all need a team of some sort? 

Don't we all need real, true friends who can listen to our hearts and not turn away from us? 

Friends who can know you and still like you? 

Friends who help you and allow themselves to be helped? 

I want friends like this.  And I want to be a friend like this.  Because if being a true friend means getting to experience what I experienced as I prayed for my friend who ran on Saturday, I'm in.  It was life-changing to realize how much God delighted in her.  And to think that He feels the same way about me... We all need friends and I'm not talking about the Facebook kind.

TRANSITION

1 a : passage from one state, stage, subject, or place to another :change

There's a reason the most difficult stage of giving birth is called transition: because change is always the hardest part.  I was struck today by how many of my friends are going through transitions.  Nearly all of us are transitioning from school days to summer days.  It may sound mundane, but if you've ever been a part of this particular transition, you know that it's not an easy one, even if it is an annual occurrence.  Others are selling homes, moving from the deep south to North Dakota, thinking about adoption, remodeling their houses, preparing to make the leap from homeschooling one second grader to homeschooling a third grader and two kindergarteners.  There's a lot going on.

I'm honestly a bit ready for a break from change in my own life.  I'd like to take at least a lingering pause in one stage before moving on to yet another one.  But that just doesn't seem to be on the horizon.  I thought the changes our family experienced in 2010 were quite enough, thank you very much.  But 2011 has brought more changes, more stretching, more unfurling.  In my Bible Study last night, I was sharing about some recent events that have been encouraging and about others that make me a little fearful.  Two friends in particular were really proud of me for being vulnerable and willing to choose time with friends over time alone.  I laughed at their delight and almost wanted to cry when one of them remarked upon how beautiful it was.  Because I've got to tell you it doesn't feel beautiful.  It feels more like the transition stage of labor - hard, sweaty and a little scary - but with a bit of hope that maybe the end is near.  If you can call the "end" being handed a small, helpless human being to take care of - maybe that's the true hard part about transition is that you know it's not a sign that the end is near, but that a new, more daunting task is about to start.

After B's fourth grade graduation, there was an afterschool party.  Another mom of three and I were chatting.  Like me, she'd been through this before.  Her son is entering seventh grade and we laughed together about what emotional wrecks we will be when our youngest daughters make this transition together.  She's in a good place right now.  Her daughter got one of the coveted magnet school spots, so she's not worried about what next year will look like.  Still, she turned to me and said, "Transition's just hard.  No matter what you're going from or what you're going to, it's just hard."  She couldn't be more right.

I'm excited about some of the changes that await me.  I thoroughly enjoyed teaching A this year and I'm looking forward to channeling B's incessant curiosity and boundless creativity into joint learning opportunities.  Just this morning, I made my daughter put a book back on the homeschool shelf in order to get her to save reading it until next year.  Even as I did it, I smiled a little at the fact that I was asking her to save academic books for a few months.  (And hours later I caught her sneaking two books back onto the shelf - books she'd already read.)  What a blessing to have to draw this little boundary.  But next year won't be simply smooth sailing.  A is happiest as an independent learner.  Give her two or three books on a subject, ask her to write an essay question daily and she's good to go.  B wants and needs more interaction.  Instead of preparing one lesson plan, I'll need two, fully customized for each child.  Am I up to the challenge?  I hope so because either way, there's no turning back now.  And the transition to homeschooling two seems less daunting than some other things that await us.

I'm currently reading a book that's been recommended to me many times, but has never made it into my reading queue until now.  This book is an allegory and in it Much-Afraid is tempted to choose the fears she knows over the promise of better things.  I think this so neatly captures what is hard about transition.  No matter our circumstances, we are tempted to settle for what we know rather than risk the unknown.  We'll take the heartache, the sadness, the slavery that we know instead of reaching for the offer of transformation, change, redemption and freedom.  I don't want to be much afraid any longer.  I've spent too long like that.  But a desire to change doesn't necessarily make the change any easier.  It's still scary.  It's still hard.  It still makes my stomach clench in fear.

This morning as I ended my walk on the treadmill, I prayed for each of the women in my life that are navigating transitions right now.  That's really all I can do: listen to discern that I am undertaking the changes that need to happen and pray as I walk through them - or am swept away by them.

KIND

2. a: of a sympathetic or helpful nature
b : of a forbearing nature : gentle

I've been through lots of transitions in the last 12 or 13 months.  Some of these transitions have meant loss, some have brought gain.  I have had friendships that have withered, disappeared, died mid-stream.  This is completely natural and perhaps as it should be.  My counselor believes all friendships are for a season and that the more we individually move towards health and healing, the more instances of solitude and/or loneliness we will feel.  I think this is true because the more we are willing to take our own journey and walk our own unique path, the more likely it is that friends will veer off - either for their own journeys or to continue on the well-worn, accepted paths.

I am not one to shy away from solitude and its attendant gifts of introspection, quiet and revelation, but I have found in recent years that friendships are worth pursuing.  Maybe this sounds odd to you.  Doesn't everyone want friends?  Probably so, but friendship also has costs.  It requires our time, our energy and, most importantly, a willingness to be vulnerable.  Sure, you can have friendships without being vulnerable or authentic, but those aren't real friendships, are they?  And to be quite honest, I've never been very good at being artificial, superficial or less than authentic.  There's plenty of junk in my life, in my past and in my heart.  And while I don't go around flaunting it - I'd much rather try to learn from it and move through it - I don't pretend to have it all together.  I guess I'm simply too much of a mess to even try to pretend to have it all together - that seems like such work for so little reward!  But if I'm going to live life like I want to - authentically, first and foremost - then I must be willing to be vulnerable.  And vulnerability risks rejection.  Being willing to plant a seed of friendship means accepting that your watering of the soil, your tending the area for weeds, all of your work may not bear fruit.  Not every friendship we nurture will bloom - and some that do bloom will still die after a season.

I'm OK with friendships being for a season.  I think the alternative is to stop growing and stay who we are and I don't want to do that.  I'm not the same person I was five or ten years ago and I hope I won't be the same person tomorrow or a year from now.  What's the point of the pain and the beauty of life if it doesn't help us grow?

That doesn't mean I don't grieve friendships that haven't sustained as I wanted, expected, hoped.  I have.  I still do.

This still present grief makes it all the more beautiful and touching when I look back on the last week.  Two different friends have talked with me, encouraged me and listened to me.  I haven't known either of these women for very long, but they are in or have been in similar circumstances to mine and they have been so willing to listen and just be a friend.  They have been kind, yes, but even more than that, I've found it so kind of God to have put these women in my life at just the right time, at just the moment when I need support and encouragement.

Even when I am seeking God's face and feeling his presence, I can forget that he cares about how I am feeling.  I forget that he is sympathetic to my pain, gentle in his care for me, kindness personified.

I hope I can learn from his example and be kind.  Kind to my children, to others, to myself.  I think I am most impatient with my children when they fail to learn a lesson the first (or second or third) time.  This is also when I am prone to get most frustrated with myself - when will I ever learn?!  But a component of kindness is forbearance and gentleness.  I've been working with my girls on letting their love for each other cover the little offenses they inflict.  I keep reminding them that they do love their sisters and life together leaves little bumps and bruises.  That's why the love is there in their hearts - to be a salve to those careless wounds inflicted by siblings and others.

Perhaps I should listen to my own words and remember to be kind to myself on the off days, on the days that don't go as planned, on the days when I fail to meet my own expectations.  Because here's what I don't want:  I don't want to be faced with the evidence of God's kindness to me and walk away unchanged.  I don't want to see him place two friends squarely in my path and walk around them, ignoring the offering.  I want to accept that gift with a thankful heart and pour out kindness in response.  I want to be changed.