I am going through a difficult "season" (Dear God, I hope it's a season) parenting my 13-yo son. Everything feels contentious, though none of it needs to be so. This past Saturday morning we actually managed to cook alongside one another, agree on the music, and end up with a mostly clean kitchen - and I really can't say how grateful I was for that singular, peaceful hour. With that in mind, my focus for the season is to create as many of those moments as possible for us - even if it's just a few minutes per day.
Mother of three teens here (two of whom are 13-year old twins) - solidarity 👊 - it's really the little things. And reminding ourselves that we are doing our best.
Oh Momma. 13 year old boy is harddddd. In my experience with my boys it was indeed a unique season with its own hard and sad. Once they realized I wasn’t trying to keep them from growing up, things settled down. Saying a prayer for your momma heart and some common ground.
On a side note one of the most validating moments of motherhood was when my Uber strong willed oldest child and son stood in my kitchen at Mother’s Day a few years back and said he doesn’t know how we didn’t kill him when he was a teenager. He said “I was such an asshole.” I burst out laughing and said “I didn’t think I’d live to hear you say that. You were, and we loved you in spite of it.” He’s a good man, and now has a son of his own.❤️
Oh, Amy - I always love hearing from moms who are "on the other side" of whatever parenting phase I'm in. The very possibility that he may see his own behavior through a different lens in the future has made my day. Thank you.
Oh, Sweetheart, you're so in the weeds right now. 13 is a HARD age for both the parent and the kid. They have more hormones than brain cells and so many feelings. As the mom of an adult child who actually likes me again, I promise it gets better. Stay in it. They find their way back.
"More hormones than brain cells" - I feel like I should have this tattooed on my arm, so I can just look down and see it every time he is making me crazy! Thank you for your empathy, it really means a lot to me.
Thanks for this reflection. The paragraph about your mom and dad's health prompted me to write. My wife of 44 years died in February of 2022 from Covid despite vaccination and boosters. I had retired early from a university to become her caregiver. She had multiple health problems and toward the end she could not walk. So I did all her body care and lifted her out of bed so she could sit and we could do things together (like read or color mandalas). Getting through this season is a continued part of my grief and resurrection journey. I didn't know that grief would have so many parts to it (though I sort of knew it would forever 'mark' a person). There was the grief of her dying, the grief of being alone, the grief of sorting 40+years of stuff. On this last part, I gave away her paintbrushes last night to a friend who is a local artist. I gave away a lot of her teaching supplies to a place that helps teachers in underfunded school districts. I asked memorial gifts to go to a school in Uganda where amazing work is done. That all can feel like a lot of virtue signaling. But at a deeper, better level it continues her memory by putting 'bits' of her back out into the universe. Her brushes will still make art. Her violin will still make music. Her sweaters will still warm women who would not have been warm otherwise. And so I sit with all this. I sit alone (but not really alone). Pema Chodron's book "When Things Fall Apart" has been especially helpful - sitting in the quiet in front of my Christmas tree for the second "by-my-self" holiday is hard, but I don't "bleed" quite so much now as I used to. The latest phase of grief is exploring how I want to resurrect into the world around me - what presence and to what things/people/activities do I want to expose myself? I got rid of my landline phone (political calls). I pretty much quit television. I don't do things I don't want to (esp. at church where I got over-used). I do help set up refugee apartments, tho I never meet the families. It is an anonymous act to help people who have had nothing and have suffered far more than me. My hope, is that I will learn to let the unfolding of my new and different life happen naturally - without being forced - which (on my best days) I can almost let happen.
I am very sorry for your loss. It is said that grief is love with no place to go but it sounds like you are sharing your love (and the heart of your wife) with the world. May you feel some peace this season.
First of all, I just want to say I saw your picture for a podcast you did with Gleynnon Doyle and girl your hair is amazing. Love it.
Secondly, I woke up Sunday morning with my in laws really bitching about the lack of food in the house. My FIL even looked at me as he opened the refrigerator and said,”...and even this is empty.” The look on his face was utter disbelief and disapproval.
Now, mind you, there were leftovers they didn’t want to heat up and I was literally walking out the door to pick up the groceries from an order I made the night prior at ...oh....two thirty am?
But my days, as soon as my eyes open, suddenly fill in my conscious brain with things I have to do like flipping an hour glass over and, if I’m not careful, of if I get up too fast or if I over caffeinate I can swing too far out and become overwhelmed.
But that morning was hard. I’ve always prided myself on making sure that they had enough of whatever they needed. I drove and got the groceries, I came home, thumed at the car in the driveway, and told them where the groceries were and to get em their damn selves. Meanwhile, I laid down on my bed and cried my eyes out. I was so mad, Nadia, I could have spit railroad spikes.
He’d hurt my feelings big time. When had they ever gone without? Never. Ever.
For me, gratefulness is a rear view mirror item. Like grace, we never see it coming. We just see the storm. We see the mountain of bills. We see the court date. The empty fridge? The _____ (fill in the blank).
And as such, our bodies and our thoughts get all wound up in preparation for this challenge. It’s only in retrospect, at least for me, and the world is demanding bigger mountains and the storms are lasting a little bit longer than they used to, that I see where the grace set in and then I become grateful.
That’s the human condition. The miracle of history. Not that it happened but that we managed to survive it somehow. That’s what Maya Angelou used to say anyway.
I hate feeling hurt. I'd so much rather feel indignant or angry or resentful. But we have human hearts that are prone to bruising and there's no way around it.
Oh, wow! "gratefulness is a rear view mirror item. Like grace, we never see it coming." I do love this and would like to hold onto it and not forget it. And yeah, I frequently marvel that we have made it this far as a species. The looking over our shoulder feeling gets stronger some days.
I'm a pastor too, (UMC) and I was happily co-pastoring a small rural church when the other guy decided to leave the ministry for other opportunities. This has been my first year doing Advent by myself. We're too small to have staff; I'm it. The guy who left was an amazing teacher and speaker, and everybody loved him.
Yikes. I was feeling pretty overwhelmed and slightly bitter towards the other guy who was now free from all that goes into "making the sausage" behind church services. I was worried because I could never do anything like what he used to do every Advent and Christmas.
Then people started showing up. One woman who's a musician has started recruiting her friends, many of whom are not even Christians, to come help play the music. Another person and her friends and grandkids came in a swarm this past Saturday,found all boxes of garland tucked away God knew where, and had the church decorated in no time. The "church lady" brigade has been baking cookies every week.
These are people who have looked askance at me in the past, because it was only a mere 3 years ago that I was a Pagan myself before I took up the ministry (another long story). But here they are, showing up to make their church happen. It wasn't about me and whether I was good enough to follow in the other guy's shoes. It was about being a community together.
I was reminded of a quote from Dietrich Bonhoeffer:
"He who is in love with his vision of community will destroy community. But he who loves the people around him will create community wherever he goes."
Truth. Such an important truth. I try and remain sufficiently suspicious of vision statements, mission statements, 5-year plans etc when it comes to community. When we started HFASS it was during a time when a lot of church plants had a "what we believe" tab on their website. We hemmed and hawed about what to put (I was quickly overruled when I suggested just posting the Nicene creed). Then someone said why don't we just say "if you want to know what we believe, come and see what we do", and that felt so much better. Nothing to aspire to and then criticize each other for falling short of.
I'd love to hear more about your transition from paganism (Wicca?) to Christianity because I did that, and I don't know anyone else who has. I was Wiccan for like 35 years.
I can't call it transitioning because in many ways I'm still Pagan, even though I became a minister. I never meant for it to happen. I had practiced a form of Christianity for many years, but left because the more I learned, the more traditional religion seemed too weird. My older sister had been Wiccan. I never was really so formal as to call myself Wiccan, but I did/do meet with a Pagan group through the Unitarian church. A friend invited me to her rather unique United Methodist church that is a kind of progressive, Agrarian-based rural church that is influenced by the writings of Wendell Berry. There was also a scholarly, socio-historical approach to Bible study there, and I've always loved the Bible whether I was in a space of believing it or not.
I fell in love. There's no other way to put it. It's completely inexplicable and I'm still not sure what hit me, because I don't believe God calls us specifically to do things. But I guess it doesn't matter whether I believed it or not, I got called anyway. I hesitate to call myself Christian, because I'm still not sure I am (don't tell my congregation!), but I notice when I read the Bible that often it's the Pagans, like Moses father-in-law, or Naaman, or the Syro-Phoenician woman, who seem to get it better than the people who are supposed to be the worshippers of God.
OMG yes! I discovered Wicca through that weird college friend. You know the one I mean. I continued with it for 35+ years.
Music can change your life. That's its magic. I love choir singing and had a profound mystical experience while soloing with a gospel choir. It was as if Jesus was saying, "OK Paul, you've been fucking around long enough. Time to come home." I found my way to an Episcopal congregation. I grew up in the Episcopal Church so that counts as home.
I took Wicca with me. The first time (in 35+ years) I took the Eucharist I thought, "I know what this is. This is a magical ritual." And it's all over the place. St. Paul was a Helenized Jew. As a result, Christianity is a Mediterranean mystery religion hiding in plain sight. I've broached this notion with a couple of members of my congregation. They're like, "Who doesn't know that?"
I haven't brought it up with the pastor or co-pastor yet but now here you are, a Wiccan Christian minister. As soon as I post this I'll try to see if you have written about it more extensively. I'd be fascinated!
My focus is on "contentment" for this Advent season and most likely will extend it well into the new year. I am getting to a point in my life where I see my career in my back view mirror and am learning to be content with a different view as I move along the road of life. After a major foot surgery 2 years ago, I am grateful that I can now walk without pain, and am learning to be content that I can do 4 miles max instead of 6 or more. I am learning to be content that my wanderlust needs to be taken down a notch as my husband's back just cannot do the adventuring that we use to do. I am finding contentment that God and I just wander around together, sometimes in a thick fog where I cannot see where he is taking me, but a lot of comfort knowing that He knows the way even if I don't.
I am so grateful my wonderful husband of 48 years, Michael, still walks, albeit with a large walker for the last four years. He was born with Cerebral Palsy 73 years ago. (That's 1950, he was three months premature, weighed two pounds, and had one lung collapsed.) His parents were told he'd never live through the night. He's been ignoring boundaries set by others ever since. I love him SO MUCH. Every day with him is amazing.
I focus on the smallest things that bring me joy: brewing my own rocket fuel coffee in the morning; knowing my wife gets to sleep in because she's retired and has amply earned that sleep; having 6 of my 7 siblings still walking the earth and sending me dumb jokes; my dog's hilarious habit of huffing at me when he wants something; having a patient understand a concept and follow through with it; my saddle shoes; having my nephew text me photos of his sleeping baby; a dear friend and her kids sneaking up to the house and stealthily hanging a wreath on the door; a hot shower; my wood stove...
I woke up yesterday (first day of Advent) and found that I just wanted to be intentional about just being. Life gets incredibly crazy at the holidays and I forget to breathe and just be. It’s nice to read about hope. Nice to read that it’s ok to be “lazy.” Ok to just wait in expectation. It’s nice to pause and breathe and just be. Why does it take a holiday season of me sitting in a quiet, dark room, lit only by the light of a Christmas tree for me to pause and just be? Hm. I shall not take this quietness for granted.
Thank you to a body who keeps me alive (even though not necessarily happy). Thank you for decent men and female friends (where we hope to be less competitive). Thank you for food that I can choose, a home that shelters me, and a few special people who love my messy heart.
One of the most draining things I had done from year to year was looking for the “magic” of Christmas. It was there as a child, why can’t I feel it now? But this year, I decided not to chase that. If I bake, great. If not, well that’s okay too. I’m beginning to feel the magic of seeing the morning sun, the joy of watching deer munch on acorns (instead of my plants!), and the excitement of my 4 year old granddaughter for just about EVERYTHING. Oh, the Grace to just accept the days without cramming them with expectations. It’s well, magical indeed! Wishing all your readers and you too this blessed peace!
The only thing we are promised is change. I’m grateful for it, I look forward to it. and I fear it. At 64 and in not too shabby health overall I’ve got the genes for a good 20 years of road absent accident or disease. I think a lot about what I have, what’s passed but I try to keep looking forward to what’s to come. I’ve proven myself to myself enough so I get the privilege to study what’s happening now and how that shapes my world, and I do that study through a Buddhist style meditation practice. The biggest reveal is that there isn’t as much “I” as I thought there was, there are only conditions which encourage certain things to arise, and then there is my response to them. There still seems to be something at the wheel that makes decisions based on the input I get, not sure what that is, though. So, i make plans, I work, I gripe about stuff, and I try to “touch the grass” as the kids say but mostly I stand in awe of whatever the eff comes up next , because that never ends, because change never ends. It’s the only thing we are promised, and it delivers.
Last year, at this time, I was about to visit a cardiac surgeon. I had learned the previous Friday that I had a 90% blockage in the big artery in the "widow maker" section and a 50% blockage same section just a little lower.
I would beg for stints but he said, no, both blockages were at junctions and I had a choice of surgery dates, Dec 20 or after New Year's. I chose Dec 20. I had been healthy all my life—up to then.
The surgery went very well, but I spent the summer fighting something I didn't even know I had prior to surgery—hyperthyroidism that slowly devours your body and sends you to the ER frequently with bouts of atrial fibrillation.
This year on this date, I have never been more grateful for healthiness. God and I had frequent conversations over the last year. Now, I have a fortunate life in front of me, even at 72, a mended heart and hyperthyroidism conquered. I don't take health for granted any more and I have a great deal more empathy for other people's illnesses. I'm walking around and it is a gift to be doing so.
I agree with you whole-heartedly—nothing is granted.
Oh Lynn, I had Grave's disease from ages 11 or 12 to 16 so am very familiar with that feeling like your body is making it's own meth. But without the part that feels good. We'd have to take me to the ER when I was a child, if my heartrate got over 110...just sitting around watching TV. It's awful. Glad you've got it under control.
"Thanksgiving--gratitude--is Advent's advent. How can we resist being generous when we consider all we have been blessed with? The Charity called for in December can indeed become burdensome if we forget this... Thanksgiving transforms the call to care, share, and give into something truly joyful." --Street
Nadia, you voice so very well the ways in which we overlook the very things we can be grateful. My 94 yr old mother lives with us and she was laid low by a standard viral infection. All the coughing made her usual bit of incontinence a huge issue. I was never more grateful for a washer and dryer, amazon quick delivery, a nurse daughter who dropped everything to help me.
I am actually right with you to be THANKFUL of a travel schedule that makes me tired. Instead of complaining about the being tired and the near constant state of unpacking and repacking -- to be THANKFUL for 12 trips in 18 weeks-- and to REMEMBER pandemic and two long toxic depressions when the exciting trips I took were to the kitchen or bathroom!
I’m in the trenches with two littlies. Gratitude is one of my necessary sanities to give light to tantrums, piles of washing, dirty dishes, nappies/diapers and Christmas celebration prep.
I am going through a difficult "season" (Dear God, I hope it's a season) parenting my 13-yo son. Everything feels contentious, though none of it needs to be so. This past Saturday morning we actually managed to cook alongside one another, agree on the music, and end up with a mostly clean kitchen - and I really can't say how grateful I was for that singular, peaceful hour. With that in mind, my focus for the season is to create as many of those moments as possible for us - even if it's just a few minutes per day.
what a gift
Mother of three teens here (two of whom are 13-year old twins) - solidarity 👊 - it's really the little things. And reminding ourselves that we are doing our best.
Amen, sister. I appreciate the reminder.
Oh Momma. 13 year old boy is harddddd. In my experience with my boys it was indeed a unique season with its own hard and sad. Once they realized I wasn’t trying to keep them from growing up, things settled down. Saying a prayer for your momma heart and some common ground.
On a side note one of the most validating moments of motherhood was when my Uber strong willed oldest child and son stood in my kitchen at Mother’s Day a few years back and said he doesn’t know how we didn’t kill him when he was a teenager. He said “I was such an asshole.” I burst out laughing and said “I didn’t think I’d live to hear you say that. You were, and we loved you in spite of it.” He’s a good man, and now has a son of his own.❤️
Oh, Amy - I always love hearing from moms who are "on the other side" of whatever parenting phase I'm in. The very possibility that he may see his own behavior through a different lens in the future has made my day. Thank you.
The other side of 13 can be especially beautiful, no matter how long it takes to get there!
Oh, Sweetheart, you're so in the weeds right now. 13 is a HARD age for both the parent and the kid. They have more hormones than brain cells and so many feelings. As the mom of an adult child who actually likes me again, I promise it gets better. Stay in it. They find their way back.
"More hormones than brain cells" - I feel like I should have this tattooed on my arm, so I can just look down and see it every time he is making me crazy! Thank you for your empathy, it really means a lot to me.
Thanks for this reflection. The paragraph about your mom and dad's health prompted me to write. My wife of 44 years died in February of 2022 from Covid despite vaccination and boosters. I had retired early from a university to become her caregiver. She had multiple health problems and toward the end she could not walk. So I did all her body care and lifted her out of bed so she could sit and we could do things together (like read or color mandalas). Getting through this season is a continued part of my grief and resurrection journey. I didn't know that grief would have so many parts to it (though I sort of knew it would forever 'mark' a person). There was the grief of her dying, the grief of being alone, the grief of sorting 40+years of stuff. On this last part, I gave away her paintbrushes last night to a friend who is a local artist. I gave away a lot of her teaching supplies to a place that helps teachers in underfunded school districts. I asked memorial gifts to go to a school in Uganda where amazing work is done. That all can feel like a lot of virtue signaling. But at a deeper, better level it continues her memory by putting 'bits' of her back out into the universe. Her brushes will still make art. Her violin will still make music. Her sweaters will still warm women who would not have been warm otherwise. And so I sit with all this. I sit alone (but not really alone). Pema Chodron's book "When Things Fall Apart" has been especially helpful - sitting in the quiet in front of my Christmas tree for the second "by-my-self" holiday is hard, but I don't "bleed" quite so much now as I used to. The latest phase of grief is exploring how I want to resurrect into the world around me - what presence and to what things/people/activities do I want to expose myself? I got rid of my landline phone (political calls). I pretty much quit television. I don't do things I don't want to (esp. at church where I got over-used). I do help set up refugee apartments, tho I never meet the families. It is an anonymous act to help people who have had nothing and have suffered far more than me. My hope, is that I will learn to let the unfolding of my new and different life happen naturally - without being forced - which (on my best days) I can almost let happen.
Jim, your language around your multi-tentacled grief is so genuine and heartbreaking and true. Thank you for writing it. Blessings.
I am very sorry for your loss. It is said that grief is love with no place to go but it sounds like you are sharing your love (and the heart of your wife) with the world. May you feel some peace this season.
So sorry for your loss
First of all, I just want to say I saw your picture for a podcast you did with Gleynnon Doyle and girl your hair is amazing. Love it.
Secondly, I woke up Sunday morning with my in laws really bitching about the lack of food in the house. My FIL even looked at me as he opened the refrigerator and said,”...and even this is empty.” The look on his face was utter disbelief and disapproval.
Now, mind you, there were leftovers they didn’t want to heat up and I was literally walking out the door to pick up the groceries from an order I made the night prior at ...oh....two thirty am?
But my days, as soon as my eyes open, suddenly fill in my conscious brain with things I have to do like flipping an hour glass over and, if I’m not careful, of if I get up too fast or if I over caffeinate I can swing too far out and become overwhelmed.
But that morning was hard. I’ve always prided myself on making sure that they had enough of whatever they needed. I drove and got the groceries, I came home, thumed at the car in the driveway, and told them where the groceries were and to get em their damn selves. Meanwhile, I laid down on my bed and cried my eyes out. I was so mad, Nadia, I could have spit railroad spikes.
He’d hurt my feelings big time. When had they ever gone without? Never. Ever.
For me, gratefulness is a rear view mirror item. Like grace, we never see it coming. We just see the storm. We see the mountain of bills. We see the court date. The empty fridge? The _____ (fill in the blank).
And as such, our bodies and our thoughts get all wound up in preparation for this challenge. It’s only in retrospect, at least for me, and the world is demanding bigger mountains and the storms are lasting a little bit longer than they used to, that I see where the grace set in and then I become grateful.
That’s the human condition. The miracle of history. Not that it happened but that we managed to survive it somehow. That’s what Maya Angelou used to say anyway.
I hate feeling hurt. I'd so much rather feel indignant or angry or resentful. But we have human hearts that are prone to bruising and there's no way around it.
Oh, wow! "gratefulness is a rear view mirror item. Like grace, we never see it coming." I do love this and would like to hold onto it and not forget it. And yeah, I frequently marvel that we have made it this far as a species. The looking over our shoulder feeling gets stronger some days.
I'm a pastor too, (UMC) and I was happily co-pastoring a small rural church when the other guy decided to leave the ministry for other opportunities. This has been my first year doing Advent by myself. We're too small to have staff; I'm it. The guy who left was an amazing teacher and speaker, and everybody loved him.
Yikes. I was feeling pretty overwhelmed and slightly bitter towards the other guy who was now free from all that goes into "making the sausage" behind church services. I was worried because I could never do anything like what he used to do every Advent and Christmas.
Then people started showing up. One woman who's a musician has started recruiting her friends, many of whom are not even Christians, to come help play the music. Another person and her friends and grandkids came in a swarm this past Saturday,found all boxes of garland tucked away God knew where, and had the church decorated in no time. The "church lady" brigade has been baking cookies every week.
These are people who have looked askance at me in the past, because it was only a mere 3 years ago that I was a Pagan myself before I took up the ministry (another long story). But here they are, showing up to make their church happen. It wasn't about me and whether I was good enough to follow in the other guy's shoes. It was about being a community together.
I was reminded of a quote from Dietrich Bonhoeffer:
"He who is in love with his vision of community will destroy community. But he who loves the people around him will create community wherever he goes."
Truth. Such an important truth. I try and remain sufficiently suspicious of vision statements, mission statements, 5-year plans etc when it comes to community. When we started HFASS it was during a time when a lot of church plants had a "what we believe" tab on their website. We hemmed and hawed about what to put (I was quickly overruled when I suggested just posting the Nicene creed). Then someone said why don't we just say "if you want to know what we believe, come and see what we do", and that felt so much better. Nothing to aspire to and then criticize each other for falling short of.
I'd love to hear more about your transition from paganism (Wicca?) to Christianity because I did that, and I don't know anyone else who has. I was Wiccan for like 35 years.
Hi Paul,
I can't call it transitioning because in many ways I'm still Pagan, even though I became a minister. I never meant for it to happen. I had practiced a form of Christianity for many years, but left because the more I learned, the more traditional religion seemed too weird. My older sister had been Wiccan. I never was really so formal as to call myself Wiccan, but I did/do meet with a Pagan group through the Unitarian church. A friend invited me to her rather unique United Methodist church that is a kind of progressive, Agrarian-based rural church that is influenced by the writings of Wendell Berry. There was also a scholarly, socio-historical approach to Bible study there, and I've always loved the Bible whether I was in a space of believing it or not.
I fell in love. There's no other way to put it. It's completely inexplicable and I'm still not sure what hit me, because I don't believe God calls us specifically to do things. But I guess it doesn't matter whether I believed it or not, I got called anyway. I hesitate to call myself Christian, because I'm still not sure I am (don't tell my congregation!), but I notice when I read the Bible that often it's the Pagans, like Moses father-in-law, or Naaman, or the Syro-Phoenician woman, who seem to get it better than the people who are supposed to be the worshippers of God.
Oh well, no posts yet. You and me both.
OMG yes! I discovered Wicca through that weird college friend. You know the one I mean. I continued with it for 35+ years.
Music can change your life. That's its magic. I love choir singing and had a profound mystical experience while soloing with a gospel choir. It was as if Jesus was saying, "OK Paul, you've been fucking around long enough. Time to come home." I found my way to an Episcopal congregation. I grew up in the Episcopal Church so that counts as home.
I took Wicca with me. The first time (in 35+ years) I took the Eucharist I thought, "I know what this is. This is a magical ritual." And it's all over the place. St. Paul was a Helenized Jew. As a result, Christianity is a Mediterranean mystery religion hiding in plain sight. I've broached this notion with a couple of members of my congregation. They're like, "Who doesn't know that?"
I haven't brought it up with the pastor or co-pastor yet but now here you are, a Wiccan Christian minister. As soon as I post this I'll try to see if you have written about it more extensively. I'd be fascinated!
Amie: Oh WOW! Yes, it is the loving of the people that creates the community...thank you for sharing.
My focus is on "contentment" for this Advent season and most likely will extend it well into the new year. I am getting to a point in my life where I see my career in my back view mirror and am learning to be content with a different view as I move along the road of life. After a major foot surgery 2 years ago, I am grateful that I can now walk without pain, and am learning to be content that I can do 4 miles max instead of 6 or more. I am learning to be content that my wanderlust needs to be taken down a notch as my husband's back just cannot do the adventuring that we use to do. I am finding contentment that God and I just wander around together, sometimes in a thick fog where I cannot see where he is taking me, but a lot of comfort knowing that He knows the way even if I don't.
I am so grateful my wonderful husband of 48 years, Michael, still walks, albeit with a large walker for the last four years. He was born with Cerebral Palsy 73 years ago. (That's 1950, he was three months premature, weighed two pounds, and had one lung collapsed.) His parents were told he'd never live through the night. He's been ignoring boundaries set by others ever since. I love him SO MUCH. Every day with him is amazing.
He sounds cool as shit!
I focus on the smallest things that bring me joy: brewing my own rocket fuel coffee in the morning; knowing my wife gets to sleep in because she's retired and has amply earned that sleep; having 6 of my 7 siblings still walking the earth and sending me dumb jokes; my dog's hilarious habit of huffing at me when he wants something; having a patient understand a concept and follow through with it; my saddle shoes; having my nephew text me photos of his sleeping baby; a dear friend and her kids sneaking up to the house and stealthily hanging a wreath on the door; a hot shower; my wood stove...
beautiful.
I woke up yesterday (first day of Advent) and found that I just wanted to be intentional about just being. Life gets incredibly crazy at the holidays and I forget to breathe and just be. It’s nice to read about hope. Nice to read that it’s ok to be “lazy.” Ok to just wait in expectation. It’s nice to pause and breathe and just be. Why does it take a holiday season of me sitting in a quiet, dark room, lit only by the light of a Christmas tree for me to pause and just be? Hm. I shall not take this quietness for granted.
My thanks & gratitude:
Thank you to a body who keeps me alive (even though not necessarily happy). Thank you for decent men and female friends (where we hope to be less competitive). Thank you for food that I can choose, a home that shelters me, and a few special people who love my messy heart.
One of the most draining things I had done from year to year was looking for the “magic” of Christmas. It was there as a child, why can’t I feel it now? But this year, I decided not to chase that. If I bake, great. If not, well that’s okay too. I’m beginning to feel the magic of seeing the morning sun, the joy of watching deer munch on acorns (instead of my plants!), and the excitement of my 4 year old granddaughter for just about EVERYTHING. Oh, the Grace to just accept the days without cramming them with expectations. It’s well, magical indeed! Wishing all your readers and you too this blessed peace!
The only thing we are promised is change. I’m grateful for it, I look forward to it. and I fear it. At 64 and in not too shabby health overall I’ve got the genes for a good 20 years of road absent accident or disease. I think a lot about what I have, what’s passed but I try to keep looking forward to what’s to come. I’ve proven myself to myself enough so I get the privilege to study what’s happening now and how that shapes my world, and I do that study through a Buddhist style meditation practice. The biggest reveal is that there isn’t as much “I” as I thought there was, there are only conditions which encourage certain things to arise, and then there is my response to them. There still seems to be something at the wheel that makes decisions based on the input I get, not sure what that is, though. So, i make plans, I work, I gripe about stuff, and I try to “touch the grass” as the kids say but mostly I stand in awe of whatever the eff comes up next , because that never ends, because change never ends. It’s the only thing we are promised, and it delivers.
true.
Last year, at this time, I was about to visit a cardiac surgeon. I had learned the previous Friday that I had a 90% blockage in the big artery in the "widow maker" section and a 50% blockage same section just a little lower.
I would beg for stints but he said, no, both blockages were at junctions and I had a choice of surgery dates, Dec 20 or after New Year's. I chose Dec 20. I had been healthy all my life—up to then.
The surgery went very well, but I spent the summer fighting something I didn't even know I had prior to surgery—hyperthyroidism that slowly devours your body and sends you to the ER frequently with bouts of atrial fibrillation.
This year on this date, I have never been more grateful for healthiness. God and I had frequent conversations over the last year. Now, I have a fortunate life in front of me, even at 72, a mended heart and hyperthyroidism conquered. I don't take health for granted any more and I have a great deal more empathy for other people's illnesses. I'm walking around and it is a gift to be doing so.
I agree with you whole-heartedly—nothing is granted.
Oh Lynn, I had Grave's disease from ages 11 or 12 to 16 so am very familiar with that feeling like your body is making it's own meth. But without the part that feels good. We'd have to take me to the ER when I was a child, if my heartrate got over 110...just sitting around watching TV. It's awful. Glad you've got it under control.
"Thanksgiving--gratitude--is Advent's advent. How can we resist being generous when we consider all we have been blessed with? The Charity called for in December can indeed become burdensome if we forget this... Thanksgiving transforms the call to care, share, and give into something truly joyful." --Street
Nadia, you voice so very well the ways in which we overlook the very things we can be grateful. My 94 yr old mother lives with us and she was laid low by a standard viral infection. All the coughing made her usual bit of incontinence a huge issue. I was never more grateful for a washer and dryer, amazon quick delivery, a nurse daughter who dropped everything to help me.
I am actually right with you to be THANKFUL of a travel schedule that makes me tired. Instead of complaining about the being tired and the near constant state of unpacking and repacking -- to be THANKFUL for 12 trips in 18 weeks-- and to REMEMBER pandemic and two long toxic depressions when the exciting trips I took were to the kitchen or bathroom!
That's a high number of trips!!
I’m in the trenches with two littlies. Gratitude is one of my necessary sanities to give light to tantrums, piles of washing, dirty dishes, nappies/diapers and Christmas celebration prep.