The term “game change” refers to those moments when a play is made that changes the tide of the game, shifting the momentum from one team to the other, setting the tone for the remainder of time on the clock, foreshadowing victory or defeat. It has become a sports metaphor for that type of event in many contexts, like campaigns, wars, marriages, careers, and life. It’s that moment when everything changed, when the wind shifted, or the sun broke through, or the tsunami hit. At the time, we may not even recognize its significance, but in hindsight we know that our life was not ever the same after it.
Click here to read the rest at Life, for instance. Please leave a comment there to share a game changing moment in your life.
related post: Game Change
Monday, May 14, 2012
Thursday, May 10, 2012
Let It Be
When I find myself in times of trouble
Mother Mary comes to me
Speaking words of wisdom, let it be.
And in my hour of darkness
She is standing right in front of me
Speaking words of wisdom, let it be.
–Let It Be, the Beatles
Is there any mother whose heart has not been broken by her children? By loving them so much, by worrying about them, by losing them, by finding them again?
One mom I know has a child with leukemia. Another has a child on drugs. Another’s child died in a fire. A friend’s daughter has morphed into bridezilla. Another has a teenager who is, well, a teenager. I have two sons with autism.
What were we thinking when we had these kids? I have never regretted for a moment having them, but I have marveled sometimes that I don’t. Surely I would regret anything else in my life that had caused me such heartache. Would any of us, if we really really knew what we were getting ourselves into, have knowingly walked into this soul pain?
Amazingly, the answer, I think, is yes. Even Mary, who knew more sorrow than many mothers, would have said again to the angel who came to tell her God’s plan, “Let it be to me according to your word.”
Years ago, when I was married and thinking that it was a good time for me to have kids, a friend with two young ones of her own passed along this advice. “Don’t have kids until you can’t stand not to.” Although the time seemed optimum, the truth was that I could stand not to, and so I waited.
Some years later, single and working overseas, adding children into my life seemed ridiculous. And yet, the drumbeat of desire beat ever faster and louder until the yearning could no longer be denied. And so I adopted James, a newborn. I flew back to the US to get him. My first week as a mom was spent at the US Passport Agency getting him a passport, and then at the Thai embassy to get him a visa so I could take him on an airplane for 27 hours home to Bangkok. Not the typical entry into motherhood! The years brought four more children – one a toddler, and three teenagers.
Where to look for guidance? Even after all these years, I think the best parenting model I’ve ever seen was a dog. My dog had seven puppies in the whelping box I had made for her in the corner of my kitchen. It wasn’t long before I recognized a pattern. When her puppies were sleeping all in a heap, she used the time to catch up on her rest, too. As they began to stir and whine for food, instead of responding to them right away, she would do a cursory check on each and then leave the box and go to her food dish. There, she would eat calmly as the yelping grew more frantic and insistent. After eating, she would drink some water and then go out in the back yard to attend to her own needs. Only then did she return to the box, and give herself over to her puppies’ mad scramble for a place at the table.
I never saw her short tempered with them until it was time to wean them. This she accomplished with little fanfare. She simply walked away from her little pack of puppies as they jumped after her trying to latch on. She sternly but gently nipped at the ones who didn’t get the message that the kitchen was closed. She didn’t stop loving them, but she let them know it was time to grow up.
I didn’t follow her model entirely. I have sometimes been a bit more like the bird I just watched outside my window as I sit here typing. A baby robin is sitting in the rhododendron and the parents keep flying up to it and feeding it. Even after the babies are out of the nest, I see the parents continuing to feed their adolescent offspring. If you have seen a baby robin, it has the perpetually frowning, disgruntled expression we would recognize on many teens’ faces. And yet the parents still spend their days catering to its hunger. There were times when I had to remind myself to be more of a dog and less of a bird.
The day to day needs of my children are no longer my responsibility. Letting go is hard. Letting it be, as the song advises, is often even harder. They have their own lives now, two of them with babies of their own. They do sit on the branches occasionally, chirping for some parental TLC, which I am happy to provide.
But the heart never heals, does it? It stays broken open and tender, vulnerable to the joy and the sorrow of loving someone that much. That’s why, in my darkest moments as a mother, when the pain seems too much to bear, I turn to Mary, a mom who understands, and I hear her whispered words of wisdom, “Let it be.”
I think I must let go. Must fear not, must be quiet so that my children can hear the Sound of Creation and dance the dance that is in them. –Russell Hoban
PS–I’m sure fathers’ hearts break just as easily, and I do not mean to exclude them. But my experience is as a mom, so I write from that place today. Nor do I mean to exclude people who do not have children. There are many ways to love, and all of them, at their deepest level, break our hearts wide open.
related posts: Mary was a Real Mother; My Plan B Family
Mother Mary comes to me
Speaking words of wisdom, let it be.
And in my hour of darkness
She is standing right in front of me
Speaking words of wisdom, let it be.
–Let It Be, the Beatles
Is there any mother whose heart has not been broken by her children? By loving them so much, by worrying about them, by losing them, by finding them again?
One mom I know has a child with leukemia. Another has a child on drugs. Another’s child died in a fire. A friend’s daughter has morphed into bridezilla. Another has a teenager who is, well, a teenager. I have two sons with autism.
What were we thinking when we had these kids? I have never regretted for a moment having them, but I have marveled sometimes that I don’t. Surely I would regret anything else in my life that had caused me such heartache. Would any of us, if we really really knew what we were getting ourselves into, have knowingly walked into this soul pain?
Amazingly, the answer, I think, is yes. Even Mary, who knew more sorrow than many mothers, would have said again to the angel who came to tell her God’s plan, “Let it be to me according to your word.”
Years ago, when I was married and thinking that it was a good time for me to have kids, a friend with two young ones of her own passed along this advice. “Don’t have kids until you can’t stand not to.” Although the time seemed optimum, the truth was that I could stand not to, and so I waited.
Some years later, single and working overseas, adding children into my life seemed ridiculous. And yet, the drumbeat of desire beat ever faster and louder until the yearning could no longer be denied. And so I adopted James, a newborn. I flew back to the US to get him. My first week as a mom was spent at the US Passport Agency getting him a passport, and then at the Thai embassy to get him a visa so I could take him on an airplane for 27 hours home to Bangkok. Not the typical entry into motherhood! The years brought four more children – one a toddler, and three teenagers.
Where to look for guidance? Even after all these years, I think the best parenting model I’ve ever seen was a dog. My dog had seven puppies in the whelping box I had made for her in the corner of my kitchen. It wasn’t long before I recognized a pattern. When her puppies were sleeping all in a heap, she used the time to catch up on her rest, too. As they began to stir and whine for food, instead of responding to them right away, she would do a cursory check on each and then leave the box and go to her food dish. There, she would eat calmly as the yelping grew more frantic and insistent. After eating, she would drink some water and then go out in the back yard to attend to her own needs. Only then did she return to the box, and give herself over to her puppies’ mad scramble for a place at the table.
I never saw her short tempered with them until it was time to wean them. This she accomplished with little fanfare. She simply walked away from her little pack of puppies as they jumped after her trying to latch on. She sternly but gently nipped at the ones who didn’t get the message that the kitchen was closed. She didn’t stop loving them, but she let them know it was time to grow up.
I didn’t follow her model entirely. I have sometimes been a bit more like the bird I just watched outside my window as I sit here typing. A baby robin is sitting in the rhododendron and the parents keep flying up to it and feeding it. Even after the babies are out of the nest, I see the parents continuing to feed their adolescent offspring. If you have seen a baby robin, it has the perpetually frowning, disgruntled expression we would recognize on many teens’ faces. And yet the parents still spend their days catering to its hunger. There were times when I had to remind myself to be more of a dog and less of a bird.
The day to day needs of my children are no longer my responsibility. Letting go is hard. Letting it be, as the song advises, is often even harder. They have their own lives now, two of them with babies of their own. They do sit on the branches occasionally, chirping for some parental TLC, which I am happy to provide.
But the heart never heals, does it? It stays broken open and tender, vulnerable to the joy and the sorrow of loving someone that much. That’s why, in my darkest moments as a mother, when the pain seems too much to bear, I turn to Mary, a mom who understands, and I hear her whispered words of wisdom, “Let it be.”
I think I must let go. Must fear not, must be quiet so that my children can hear the Sound of Creation and dance the dance that is in them. –Russell Hoban
PS–I’m sure fathers’ hearts break just as easily, and I do not mean to exclude them. But my experience is as a mom, so I write from that place today. Nor do I mean to exclude people who do not have children. There are many ways to love, and all of them, at their deepest level, break our hearts wide open.
related posts: Mary was a Real Mother; My Plan B Family
Sunday, May 6, 2012
Learning to Love Change
For all that has been, thanks. For all that will be, yes. –Dag Hammarskjold
Saying Yes to Change is the title of Alex Blackwell’s new book. I loved the title before I ever started reading the book, and things just got better from there. If you don’t know Alex yet, he writes The Bridgemaker, one of my favorite blogs.
I’m coming late to the book review party, so you may have already read some of the many excellent reviews and interviews. At one point, I wondered what I could possible add to the plethora of praise pouring out over this book. (I love the word “plethora” and look for opportunities to use it!) But I realized that every reviewer or interviewer was taking a personal message or lesson from the book, so that no two reviews were the same. And that, I think, is the highest praise. What that means is that this book has an important message just for me. And for you, too.
Alex begins by telling a story, his story, the story of a painful childhood. He tells it in stark and moving honesty, yet without self pity. The scars left were some that many of us can relate to – perfectionism and denial. I knew them both well for much of my life. As Alex describes getting to the point in his adult life when he knew it was time to change, I was so excited. Anytime anyone says yes to changing his life, then all of us benefit and can be inspired to change our own.
To help us along, Alex offers 10 life lessons, simple and direct, blending his story with the wisdom he has gained. Each lesson is broken down into strategies that are easy to understand and immediately applicable in our daily lives. Change isn’t far in the future. We can start right now.
As I said, the beauty of the book is that there is a special message in it for each of us. All the lessons are ones that all of us, I think, will relate to and benefit from. But one, perhaps, will stand out just for you.
For me, it was the second one, “Find freedom from pain.” Just even reading those words hit a tender, raw place in my heart. I took a deep breath and read on. Our typical way of dealing with pain is to deny it or try to escape it. The first step in finding freedom from pain, Alex says, is to acknowledge it, and the second is to accept it. No denial. No escape. Not such an enticing idea. But the payoff is freedom. Soul healing, spirit lightening, freedom. When pain is no longer so scary, when we no longer try to beat it into submission or hide from it, it becomes a doorway to freedom.
Buddhists teach about the “suffering of suffering.” In other words, when life’s inevitable challenges come knocking, we spend so much effort struggling with them that we become locked into pain. Instead, we could, as Alex suggests, simply allow, release, let go. Refocus on our beauty and strengths, on the blessings that accompany all of life’s unfolding.
So much of life’s pain comes from our resistance to change. In her book Open the Door, Joyce Rupp quotes a poem about change, the last line of which is “Change is beautiful; you will learn to love it.” The poem was written by a 12 year old girl who died in a car accident the day after she wrote it, making the poem even more poignant and perhaps even prescient.
We don’t know the details of tomorrow’s gifts, but we do know that the gifts will come wrapped in change. Alex’s book Saying Yes to Change helps us learn to love it.
Click here for more information about the book and how to buy it.
related posts: The Courage to Change; It Is Not So; The Doors of Change
Saying Yes to Change is the title of Alex Blackwell’s new book. I loved the title before I ever started reading the book, and things just got better from there. If you don’t know Alex yet, he writes The Bridgemaker, one of my favorite blogs.
I’m coming late to the book review party, so you may have already read some of the many excellent reviews and interviews. At one point, I wondered what I could possible add to the plethora of praise pouring out over this book. (I love the word “plethora” and look for opportunities to use it!) But I realized that every reviewer or interviewer was taking a personal message or lesson from the book, so that no two reviews were the same. And that, I think, is the highest praise. What that means is that this book has an important message just for me. And for you, too.
Alex begins by telling a story, his story, the story of a painful childhood. He tells it in stark and moving honesty, yet without self pity. The scars left were some that many of us can relate to – perfectionism and denial. I knew them both well for much of my life. As Alex describes getting to the point in his adult life when he knew it was time to change, I was so excited. Anytime anyone says yes to changing his life, then all of us benefit and can be inspired to change our own.
To help us along, Alex offers 10 life lessons, simple and direct, blending his story with the wisdom he has gained. Each lesson is broken down into strategies that are easy to understand and immediately applicable in our daily lives. Change isn’t far in the future. We can start right now.
As I said, the beauty of the book is that there is a special message in it for each of us. All the lessons are ones that all of us, I think, will relate to and benefit from. But one, perhaps, will stand out just for you.
For me, it was the second one, “Find freedom from pain.” Just even reading those words hit a tender, raw place in my heart. I took a deep breath and read on. Our typical way of dealing with pain is to deny it or try to escape it. The first step in finding freedom from pain, Alex says, is to acknowledge it, and the second is to accept it. No denial. No escape. Not such an enticing idea. But the payoff is freedom. Soul healing, spirit lightening, freedom. When pain is no longer so scary, when we no longer try to beat it into submission or hide from it, it becomes a doorway to freedom.
Buddhists teach about the “suffering of suffering.” In other words, when life’s inevitable challenges come knocking, we spend so much effort struggling with them that we become locked into pain. Instead, we could, as Alex suggests, simply allow, release, let go. Refocus on our beauty and strengths, on the blessings that accompany all of life’s unfolding.
So much of life’s pain comes from our resistance to change. In her book Open the Door, Joyce Rupp quotes a poem about change, the last line of which is “Change is beautiful; you will learn to love it.” The poem was written by a 12 year old girl who died in a car accident the day after she wrote it, making the poem even more poignant and perhaps even prescient.
We don’t know the details of tomorrow’s gifts, but we do know that the gifts will come wrapped in change. Alex’s book Saying Yes to Change helps us learn to love it.
Click here for more information about the book and how to buy it.
related posts: The Courage to Change; It Is Not So; The Doors of Change
Thursday, May 3, 2012
On Judging Others
Assumptions. We all make them. Most of the time we don’t even realize it. And most of the time, they do no harm. But sometimes they separate us in quietly insidious ways. That doesn’t make us bad. It makes us human.
But what happens when we catch ourselves making these assumptions, when we question them, when we consider that the beliefs we hold based on these assumptions are built on shaky ground?
Click here to read the rest at The Bridgmaker.
related post: Who Are Your People?
But what happens when we catch ourselves making these assumptions, when we question them, when we consider that the beliefs we hold based on these assumptions are built on shaky ground?
Click here to read the rest at The Bridgmaker.
related post: Who Are Your People?
Sunday, April 29, 2012
Grateful Praise
We sang this old hymn in church this morning. The tune is simple and the words are simple, a humble song of gratitude.
For the beauty of the earth
For the glory of the skies
For the love which from our birth
Over and around us lies
Lord of all, to Thee we raise
This our hymn of grateful praise
As I sang it, I was so filled with appreciation for my life, for all the blessings that pour down on me like gentle showers of flower petals. As I walked home, I could feel the warmth of the spring sun on my face, the bees were humming in the trees, birds were chirping with twitterpated glee. What a glorious day.
I don’t think where we sing our songs of gratitude is important. I don’t think the words are important. More than anything, I think what matters is that we look around us at the bountiful miracles of every day and sing a song of thankfulness.
No matter where you are today or what you’re doing, I hope you are feeling appreciative and appreciated. Blessings to you, my friend, on this magnificent day.
What are you grateful for today?
related posts: Be Glad In It; I Love My Life; Show Me the Miracles
For the beauty of the earth
For the glory of the skies
For the love which from our birth
Over and around us lies
Lord of all, to Thee we raise
This our hymn of grateful praise
As I sang it, I was so filled with appreciation for my life, for all the blessings that pour down on me like gentle showers of flower petals. As I walked home, I could feel the warmth of the spring sun on my face, the bees were humming in the trees, birds were chirping with twitterpated glee. What a glorious day.
I don’t think where we sing our songs of gratitude is important. I don’t think the words are important. More than anything, I think what matters is that we look around us at the bountiful miracles of every day and sing a song of thankfulness.
No matter where you are today or what you’re doing, I hope you are feeling appreciative and appreciated. Blessings to you, my friend, on this magnificent day.
What are you grateful for today?
related posts: Be Glad In It; I Love My Life; Show Me the Miracles
Friday, April 27, 2012
A Legacy of Blessing
“That’s my home!”
The realtor pulled up in front of a house with a for sale sign. We almost missed it. I had asked her to take me back to the hotel after a frustrating and demoralizing afternoon. I was still jet lagged after having arrived back in the United States the day before, and I was getting a headache. But as she passed a cross street in the older neighborhood we were touring, I saw the for sale sign down the block and suggested she circle around for a look.
Until that moment, I was questioning my decision to move to Portland, Oregon. I had been living and working overseas for seven years. My adventure had taken me to three countries on three continents, but it was time to come back and I was eager to settle down. Only a few days earlier, the representative from the moving company had stood in my apartment in Paris, asking where to send my things.
I didn’t know. Memphis, where I grew up, no longer felt like home. I didn’t know where home was anymore. I felt lost. In what can only be called a leap of faith, I named the city that had been on my mind for months, although I had never seen it..
“Send my things to Portland.”
“To what address?”
“I don’t have one, but I will by the time my things get there.”
But when I arrived in Portland, nothing felt right. The first houses the realtor showed me might as well have been on another planet. I questioned my sanity.
And then, there it was. A small tudor style home with leaded glass windows, nestled in between two bigger homes on a quiet block with trees overhanging the street, and rusted iron rings still embedded in the curbs to tie up your horses.
As soon as I saw it, I knew it was home. I could see myself walking up the front walk at the end of the day, happy to be home. I could see my son, who had just turned four, riding his bike and playing with the kids I saw.
No one was living there, so we were able to go right in. As we stepped inside, I felt the loving warmth that breathed from the floors and walls. The house was in an estate sale and was still furnished with sweet, old fashioned taste and happy family pictures.
I found out that the house had had only one owner. Built in 1937, it was the first home of a young couple who moved in and raised their son. The wife, widowed and her son long grown and gone, continued to live there until she died. Nothing in the house was updated. It was an electrical and plumbing museum. Clothesline was strung up in the basement for drying. There was no dishwasher or garbage disposal. It didn’t matter. I was in love.
I bought the house that night.
Over twenty years later, it is still my home. My five children have grown up in it. I almost put it on the market when the third child came along, but I knew someday the kids would leave and this is where I wanted to be. So the kids shared rooms, and we all made do.
Someday, I know my time in this house will come to an end. I hope when that time comes, someone will pull up in front of the house and recognize it as home. They will walk in the door and feel the love that has permeated the plaster and seeped into the hardwood floors for decades, perhaps even a century by then. I hope I have honored the legacy of the woman who left her blessing in the home for me, as I will leave mine for those who come after.
The realtor pulled up in front of a house with a for sale sign. We almost missed it. I had asked her to take me back to the hotel after a frustrating and demoralizing afternoon. I was still jet lagged after having arrived back in the United States the day before, and I was getting a headache. But as she passed a cross street in the older neighborhood we were touring, I saw the for sale sign down the block and suggested she circle around for a look.
Until that moment, I was questioning my decision to move to Portland, Oregon. I had been living and working overseas for seven years. My adventure had taken me to three countries on three continents, but it was time to come back and I was eager to settle down. Only a few days earlier, the representative from the moving company had stood in my apartment in Paris, asking where to send my things.
I didn’t know. Memphis, where I grew up, no longer felt like home. I didn’t know where home was anymore. I felt lost. In what can only be called a leap of faith, I named the city that had been on my mind for months, although I had never seen it..
“Send my things to Portland.”
“To what address?”
“I don’t have one, but I will by the time my things get there.”
But when I arrived in Portland, nothing felt right. The first houses the realtor showed me might as well have been on another planet. I questioned my sanity.
And then, there it was. A small tudor style home with leaded glass windows, nestled in between two bigger homes on a quiet block with trees overhanging the street, and rusted iron rings still embedded in the curbs to tie up your horses.
As soon as I saw it, I knew it was home. I could see myself walking up the front walk at the end of the day, happy to be home. I could see my son, who had just turned four, riding his bike and playing with the kids I saw.
No one was living there, so we were able to go right in. As we stepped inside, I felt the loving warmth that breathed from the floors and walls. The house was in an estate sale and was still furnished with sweet, old fashioned taste and happy family pictures.
I found out that the house had had only one owner. Built in 1937, it was the first home of a young couple who moved in and raised their son. The wife, widowed and her son long grown and gone, continued to live there until she died. Nothing in the house was updated. It was an electrical and plumbing museum. Clothesline was strung up in the basement for drying. There was no dishwasher or garbage disposal. It didn’t matter. I was in love.
I bought the house that night.
Over twenty years later, it is still my home. My five children have grown up in it. I almost put it on the market when the third child came along, but I knew someday the kids would leave and this is where I wanted to be. So the kids shared rooms, and we all made do.
Someday, I know my time in this house will come to an end. I hope when that time comes, someone will pull up in front of the house and recognize it as home. They will walk in the door and feel the love that has permeated the plaster and seeped into the hardwood floors for decades, perhaps even a century by then. I hope I have honored the legacy of the woman who left her blessing in the home for me, as I will leave mine for those who come after.
Tuesday, April 24, 2012
Nunchucks Nana
On my last post, several people commented about my learning nunchucks. If you want to know more about that, you might enjoy this guest post I wrote for Barbara Torris at Retire in Style.
When I tell people I have a black belt in taekwondo, they are, not surprisingly, surprised! I just turned 60 and I’m a grandmother twice over. My hair is gray and my skin has seen better times. And yet, there I am, out there kicking and yelling with people much less than half my age. And loving it.
Not a grandmotherly hobby. The joke in my family is that my grandchildren will not remember me baking cookies in the kitchen. They will remember me heading out the door in my black belt uniform with my nunchucks. (Nunchucks are martial arts weapons consisting of two sticks joined by a chain.)
How did this come about? Click here to read the rest.
When I tell people I have a black belt in taekwondo, they are, not surprisingly, surprised! I just turned 60 and I’m a grandmother twice over. My hair is gray and my skin has seen better times. And yet, there I am, out there kicking and yelling with people much less than half my age. And loving it.
Not a grandmotherly hobby. The joke in my family is that my grandchildren will not remember me baking cookies in the kitchen. They will remember me heading out the door in my black belt uniform with my nunchucks. (Nunchucks are martial arts weapons consisting of two sticks joined by a chain.)
How did this come about? Click here to read the rest.
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