CONNECTION

1. a: causal or logical relation or sequence

Last week as I was dusting the bookcase in my bedroom, I saw a book sitting on the shelf and thought, "That's a book I've always loved.  Why haven't I shared it with the girls?" Determined to correct that, I sat down with B and K a few nights ago and read them part of Where the Sidewalk Ends.  This book is old (more than thirty years old, in fact), worn and well-loved.  On our first reading, we only got through a few poems before we needed to pack up and leave to meet someone.  So last night, while the girls finished eating their dinner, I read to them.

If you're unfamiliar with this book, it's a collection of children's poetry with rhythmic words, funny punch lines and fabulous illustrations.  I've always loved to read, but this is the book that made me love poetry for the first time.  I received it the summer I was seven and I've held onto it ever since - through college, moves and more.  It's interesting to read this book to B (age 9) and K (age 6) together.  B gets every punch line, sometimes even before it arrives, but I sometimes have to explain a joke to K, who isn't as adept at reading between the lines.  Even given B's love for words and her sharp mind, I was blindsided, stunned and touched by her insight after one particular poem.

Here's the poem:

Hector the Collector 
by Shel Silverstein

Hector the Collector
Collected bits of string,
Collected dolls with broken heads
And rusty bells that would not ring.
Pieces out of picture puzzles,
Bent-up nails and ice-cream sticks,
Twists of wires, worn-out tires,
Paper bags and broken bricks.
Old chipped vases, half shoelaces,
Gatlin' guns that wouldn't shoot,
Leaky boats that wouldn't float
And stopped-up horns that wouldn't toot.
Butter knives that had no handles,
Copper keys that fit no locks,
Rings that were too small for fingers,
Dried-up leaves and patched-up socks.
Worn-out belts that had no buckles,
'Lectric trains that had no tracks,
Airplane models, broken bottles,
Three-legged chairs and cups with cracks.
Hector the Collector
Loved these things with all his soul‹
Loved them more than shining diamonds,
Loved them more than glistenin' gold.
Hector called to all the people,
"Come and share my treasure trunk!"
And all the silly sightless people
Came and looked...and called it junk.

And here are the illustrations:

I paused after reading the poem and said to K, "How is he feeling?"  Before K could answer, B said, "But that's right.  Now he's like his stuff.  Broken."

I was stunned.  I've read this poem dozens of times and never, ever thought of it that way.  My shock must have shown on my face because she said, "What?  I'm just making a connection like they teach us to at school."  Well, that's definitely a connection.  She's right about that.

I puzzled over what to title this post.  My first idea was "daunting" because I'll confess it's a bit daunting to think about homeschooling this child next year.  Can I keep up with her?  Can I challenge her?  Can I teach her all that she's capable of learning?  I also considered "inspiring" as a title because I trying to keep B challenged will no doubt inspire me to make my own connections.

But as daunting and inspiring as this is to me, it's also exciting.  Because when a child is making these kinds of connections for herself - when she's thinking so quickly and so deeply all on her own - how much fun will it be to teach her?  All I'll really have to do is put great books, engaging opportunities and lots of questions in front of her.  She and her amazing mind will do the rest.  And the best part?  We'll be so much more connected after investigating, learning, talking and living life together.  I feel certain that a year together will leave us with connections we can't even imagine right now.

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.

COURAGE

Word Origin: c.1300, from Old French corage, from V.L. *coraticum, from L. cor "heart," which remains a common metaphor for inner strength.

Over coffee this morning, a friend shared with me that her word for 2011 is courage.  She went right on to say that she wasn't feeling at all courageous, but was instead discouraged.  I offered two thoughts: 1) that perhaps the courage was not supposed to come from her, but to her and 2) that the word might be less scary if seen as a promise, an offering, an invitation instead of a command.  This has been my own experience with my word for the year: unfurl.

As we ended our conversation and headed our separate ways, she mentioned a blog post of mine she'd read a while back.  She didn't know it, but that little comment offered me encouragement.  Because I started today thinking of abandoning this blog.  Not just leaving it to rest for a while, but removing it from viewing.  Disassembling it altogether.  At the thought of no more WordGirl, I did not hear a, "No! Don't do that!"  Perhaps you wonder why I would expect to hear voices in my head?  I'm reading a book where the main character hears Adonai (his favorite name for God) tell him "No!" several times when he is about to make a mistake or commit an offense.  I took the resultant silence as affirmation that perhaps this blog had run its course.

And then my friend offered me an encouragement, when she was feeling discouraged.

I came home to two messages - one from an acquaintance, one from a friend - both encouraging me about my blog.  Three offerings so quickly together?  Frankly, it made me cry.  Because I was not - am not - feeling courageous.  I am instead feeling like I am knee deep in a word drought, yet this felt as clear as Adonai saying No to Gurion.  How to go on with no words?

I think the key is in the origin of the word courage.  It's from several older words, all of them linked to the word heart.  Isn't that beautiful?  How did I not see that before?  I've been to the Sacre-Coeur, yet never connected the French word to my English one.  So when we are courageous, our hearts are full.  When we encourage, we are filling the hearts of others.  When we discourage, we are robbing the hearts of others.

I saw this linguistic lesson put into action this afternoon.  Tuesdays are busy - this one even busier than most.  We walked in the door from picking A up at tutorial and had 15 minutes before we needed to leave to take A to dance.  I said to all three girls as we walked in the door, "You each have a stack of clothes on the sofa.  Please put them away.  B, the dishes in the sink need to be put in the dishwasher."  This was met with some grumbling, mainly from B.

Somewhat annoyed, I went downstairs to collect the other laundry from the dryer.  And on the way, I realized why B was grumbling.  Talk about robbing the heart of another.  Who wouldn't be discouraged to spend all day at school and be greeted at the door with chores?  I apologized for my first words in the door being about the dishes.  "That was the second thing you said," she said quietly. 

"The second?" 

"Yes, first you told me to put my clothes away."  Eyes full, heart hurting at the ease with which I discourage my child, I offered to let her read for a few minutes before tackling the chore.

These words that are dry beneath my fingertips, under my tongue, in my head - they are seeds.  Maybe they are drying up because I am not using them carefully enough.  Am I planting encouragement or discouragement?  Because until I am planting encouragement, I don't think I can expect to reap courage.

NOTHING

8. something that is without quantity or magnitude.

In a matter of days, I've gone from MUCH to NOTHING.  I try to blog roughly every other day, so I was feeling pressure to find something worth saying, some word worth pondering, something.  But as I thought about writing today, my heart sank and I thought, "I have nothing to say." 

No words. 

No thoughts. 

No lessons. 

Nothing to share.

Nothing to give.

Nothing much worth taking.

Sunday evening, I met a few friends to write.  We started with a three minute freewrite to get us going.  Here are some of my words from that evening:

What words are hiding, just beneath the surface, waiting to get out?  Or is it optimistic, prideful, arrogant to think that they are just beneath the surface and not buried in the depth, under concrete coated with a thick, black ooze that clings to your hands as you try to push, pull, tear your way through to the words?

No words.

At times like this, I have a tough time knowing whether to give myself grace or a swift kick in the pants.  I'm tired.  Three weeks straight with my girls, holiday festivities and guests, followed by a mere four days of school before ten more days at home has left me depleted.

I've tried to raise my energy level by working out - walking on the treadmill, lifting (small) weights, a bit of circuit training - over the course of the last week.  And to show for that I have blisters on both feet. (I switched from one pair of shoes that hurt my right foot to another pair of shoes that hurt my left foot).  So go buy shoes, right?  When?  With my three daughters in tow after ballet, after school, after dinner one night?  Or at the expense of lesson time with one daughter who has yet to have a normal week of school this year?  Nothing is easy.

So while I still have much to be thankful for, I am feeling that all of my efforts to meet the needs, demands and desires of those around me are without sufficient quantity or magnitude.  I've got nothing today.

MUCH

1. great in quantity, measure, or degree

I am standing at the kitchen counter, chopping vegetables for fried rice when it hits me:  I have much to be thankful for.  At the time of my realization, it is day 4 of snow days and I have just received word that Snow Day #5 is on the immediate horizon. As I am struck by how much I have to be thankful for, B and K are sitting at the kitchen counter making clay hearts to give as valentines to their classmates.  I think to myself, "This moment alone was worth the hassle of having the kitchen renovated."  But this moment is just one of many to be thankful for this week.  

I think back to last year's string of snow days.  For that set of days, I was trapped on the sofa, recovering from surgery, doing my best to take care of myself and three housebound girls.  I couldn't play in the snow with them.  I couldn't go for walks with them.  We couldn't go sledding or build snowmen.  Yet we managed.  J bought valentine's supplies and the girls sat on the floor of the living room making dozens of cards with foam hearts, glittering hearts, hand-drawn hearts while I looked on from the sofa.  A friend took my girls overnight when snow day #3 was announced, giving me time to rest and recuperate and giving the girls someone to play with.  We managed, yes, but I can't say it was delightful.  So I am thankful for my health this year: for the ability to crunch up and down the street in the newly fallen snow, to stand and chat while they sled down a hill, to be up and about, keeping up with A, B and K.


I think about friends who are going stir crazy at home with their toddlers, women who had looked forward to the return of parents day out so that they could grocery shop alone for the first time in weeks.  And I have much to be thankful for.  Toddlerhood was hard for me.  I love that my girls are older now and I can leave A & B at home for short excursions or go upstairs to the treadmill while they are watching a movie.  I don't feel constantly overwhelmed, even when they are with me non-stop for days on end.  I actually enjoy them.  I've enjoyed seeing how they entertain themselves, how they choose to spend their time when given a free day.


They have done much with their time this week.  They - and we - have, in part: 

watched movies and created a game based on the movie
read books
played on the Wii
made clay hearts
started a painting that was stalled when I realized we needed gesso
played the piano
read books
danced around the house
created imaginary worlds populated by Littlest Pet Shop, Zhu Zhus and Zoobles
eaten pancakes for breakfast
had weekday lunch with J
read books
visited the library and stayed there to read before heading home
turned left-over pancakes into cinnamon toast for another breakfast
watched Live to Dance together
played Yahtzee together
done a probability experiment
stayed up late
slept in late
painted, cut, glued
read books
gone for walks
hung out with neighbors
enjoyed each other

This has not been a perfect week.  Nearly every day, I have had to surrender my own agenda for the day, the week, the month and be more flexible, more gracious with myself and others, more willing to go where the day takes me.  My house is not clean.  My laundry is not done.  We are all - homeschooled or public schooled - a week behind in lessons.  

I realized last night that part of what has been difficult is the not knowing.  Had I known Sunday evening - or even Monday - that we would have no school all week, I could have formulated a plan.  I could have made a quick trip to Michael's, researched and requested some books, set my children's expectations.  Instead, we have all had to learn to take what comes our way.  By Wednesday, my girls were disappointed to hear there would not be school the next day.  On Thursday, we calculated the probability that they would be in school today.  There have been lessons for all of us in this.


But for me, I am left with this:  I have much to be thankful for.  I like my children.  They (mostly) enjoy each other and me.  They are creative, imaginative, silly, funny girls.  And I am growing as a mom.  Would I have preferred to have school this week?  Yes, in large part so that we could begin to settle into some kind of 2011 routine.  But even more than routine, I want to learn to embrace what comes my way.  I suppose this is part of my unfurling.  Instead of being so bound to my own ideas and plans, I am more able to let the wind take me... and enjoy the ride while it lasts.


I have much to be thankful for.

Pre-snow shot

FRIENDS

: one dancer, one martial artist, one sister to a band of brothers, one artist

My daughter A turned 11 one week ago today.  We celebrated her birthday as a family that night with tomato tart, salad, brownies and gifts from each of us.  Then on Saturday, four of her friends joined us for a night of tacos, ice skating, cupcakes, movie watching and sleeping.  (Although less sleeping than all of the other fun stuff.)  We took time to open gifts after returning from ice skating and while the gifts were very thoughtful, it was A's reaction that pleased me most and has stayed with me.  After receiving a gift certificate to Barnes and Noble, a dance t-shirt, assorted tween girl items like a berry smelling pencil and a painting her friend made just for her with a poem and a ballerina adorning it, A kept saying delightedly, "My friends know me so well!"  She was clearly more thankful for their friendship than for any individual gift, lovely though they were.

The timing for this gift of friends who know my daughter well could not have been better.  In a school year that has brought change, loneliness and transition after transition, it is a blessing from above for A to realize that in the midst of it all she is known.  This longing to be known is something we all share to some degree and A is no exception.  She seeks connection with the friends she has and was forging memories as she skated around the ice rink, not just burning calories and sharing smiles.

The joy it gave A to be known has me wondering how well I know this girl of mine.  We've had lots of extra time together during this year of homeschooling, but am I paying attention to who she is?  Or am I missing the transformation taking place before my very eyes?  God is taking care of this as well:  earlier this week two different friends told me how they see A.

On Monday (the day of the lost keys), a neighbor shared with me that she feels like A has really grown up this year and seems at home in her skin.  While she doesn't know A especially well, I tried to be like Mary and ponder those words in my heart.  I don't have any desire to rush A towards adolescence, but I do sometimes wonder whether she is progressing academically, socially and emotionally the way she should.  This is the thing about eldest children, isn't it?  I have nothing to compare to, so I have no idea whether A is a normal 11 year old or not.  Regardless of that, I most certainly desire for all of my girls to be content with who they are, so it was encouraging to have someone else see this in my daughter.

Later that same day, a friend shared her daughter's take on A, who is a few years her elder, "I just really feel like I can be myself around A.  She makes me feel like it's OK to be nice because she's nice to everyone, even the kids that I think are a little loud and scary."  There's a lot here to be thankful for, several gems to store up in my heart and ponder.  First of all, A makes this little girl feel like she can be herself.  What a gift that is!  How often in my life I have tried to change who I am or what I think because I feel like I am not enough... or am too much.  To have a child who makes someone else feel like they can be exactly who they are is encouraging, indeed and perhaps A's ability to do this is linked to her own level of comfort with who she is.

So how well do I know my daughter?  Probably not as well as I think.  She's a first-born, an introvert, a girl who keeps her own counsel about many things in this life.  There are undoubtedly things going on in her mind and her heart that I do not know.  But I know a few things.  I know she had the birthday party she wanted, right down to the type of cupcakes served.  I know she is growing into herself and she is someone I enjoy being around.  I know she is both more like me and less like me than I would choose.  I know that I see beautiful things inside her - and outside her as well.  And I know she has friends who see this as well.  Friends who appreciate and enjoy this daughter who is part known, part mystery.

KEY

1. a small metal instrument specially cut to fit into a lock and move its bolt

Hide and Seek:  Can You Spot the Missing Keys?

 
Some days simply do not go as I expect.  I'm normally a huge fan of snow days.  I love an excuse to do nothing - to make pancakes, sip hot chocolate, play in the snow and read books .  But I really didn't want a snow day today.  Instead, what I wanted was the start of routine.  I wanted to have a full week of school since last week started on Tuesday and next week is also a four day week.  I wanted to catch up on the laundry that has been piling up gradually in our home since Christmas break started.  I wanted to help our home recuperate from my illness last week.  Because when I am sick, nothing but the essentials occur.


So I tried a different approach.  We did a math investigation together - where we discussed probability, then tried it ourselves, taking turns rolling the die, making the tally marks, calculating the frequency.  There was some grumbling, a few dirty looks that we were actually (gasp!) learning on a snow day when all the world was sledding, drinking hot chocolate or watching TV (or so said my children).  But it was nothing compared to the reactions to my next request:  "K, please go and clean your room.  I will set the timer and you can work for 15 minutes before taking a break.  A, please collect the lights.  B, you get the darks.  Bring them to the basement  for me so that I can start the laundry."  This elicited a fit from K, tears from B, sighs and glares from A.  Fun times.


I did not back down.  I explained that we needed to get caught up on chores since things went undone last Thursday and Friday.  They did not care.  I decided a walk in the snow was in order.  At a minimum, some time outside would hopefully freeze their tongues and defrost their bad moods.  So K read a chapter of her book to me while I folded one load of laundry.  Then we bundled up and headed out.  First stop at a neighbor's house, to see if they wanted to join us for a walk.  They did!


We headed down the street and found other neighbors sledding down a hill.  We joined them, standing and chatting about schools, parenting, life's odds and ends.  After a bit of sledding, A was cold.  I gave her the keys to the house and told her she could head home to warm up.  B continued going down and up the hill, finding just the right track for optimum speed and experimenting with various sledding partners.  K played with friends, threw a few snowballs, got caught in some vegetation. All was well.  I was a bit cold, but the girls were no longer grumpy and I was therefore feeling much better myself.


And then A reappeared.  "I lost the keys," she said.  "You lost the keys?" I repeated, all words other words fleeing my mind, so using hers instead.  OK, then.  Let's look for them.  After a few minutes of getting B & K collected and off the sled, we head towards home, carefully backtracking via A's earlier route.  We looked in snow covered grass, on snow covered sidewalks.  No keys.  Mumbled apologies from A.  Curt nods from me.


We head back, me hoping that B's window is unlocked and we can climb in.  I'd left without my phone and was unable to even call J to request help.  The window?  Locked.  I slog back out to the street to find my neighbor, borrow her phone, ask if we can warm up in her home until J arrives.


My neighbor J is gracious and kind.  She offers snacks, hot tea, company for me and my girls.  And a crisis is averted.  Her boys are not fighting with each other.  My girls are not snapping at me or each other.  We are warm.  I am thankful.


My day didn't go as I planned.  I have laundry in the washer, laundry to be washed, more to be folded.  The dining room needs to be vacuumed.  But my children are happier.  Those lost keys?  They brought a few blessings:  My husband was able to join us for a game of Yahtzee since he was home in the afternoon.  I got to know my neighbor better.  I let go of my agenda when A let go of the keys.  And A?  I hope she learned to hold fast to the keys if she actually wants to get home.  But I hope she also learned that sometimes letting go is the key to enjoying the day.