Being Here Now

With school starting for my little and medium children and my oldest babe fixin’ to graduate from college, I’ve been dealing with this nagging feeling of, “Should I be doing more?” For the past few years, I’ve settled comfortably into being a full-time mom and wife. I’ve found my best self in encouraging my people to be theirs. But as their physical need for me lessens, I feel this pull…get a job, finish grad school, do something…more.

For a long time I struggled with learning how to be present, but now that I’m living more engaged in the moment, satisfied and grateful for our life, I’m wondering: Is this enough? Am I complacent? Am I using my unique gifts to their fullest potential? Naturally, the answer is often a resounding NO.

Earlier this year, inspired by an amazing friend, I decided to pursue yoga teacher training. I have found great peace and mindfulness through my own yoga and meditation practice, and I absolutely adore and am in awe of the woman who was leading the training. Fueled by ambition, I ran full speed in the direction of, “I’ll be a yoga life coach!”

But you know how sometimes you run full speed in the wrong direction? Is that just me? Anyway, it appears I let my infatuation with someone else’s dream pass as my own. I love practicing yoga, but it is very personal for me. Yoga, in fact, is one of the few gifts I regularly give myself. Don’t we do that too often, as women? Especially as moms. We give our gifts away.

Of course you can have some of my ice cream!

You like this sweater? Here, take it. I rarely wear it.

You can watch something; I wasn’t watching this silly Oprah episode.

Those are just a few top-of-mind examples, but don’t we do that as women? Especially as moms. We give all our goodness away and sometimes forget to save anything for ourselves? That’s not necessarily a bad thing, but it’s okay–in fact it’s healthy–to keep some goodness for ourselves.

My husband travels, and the past month he has been gone a lot. Weird segue way, but we’ll get there. Promise. This month, he was gone for a week, the day he came home, I left for the weekend. The day after I came home, he left for another week. So in the past two weeks, I’ve seen him for about 6 hours. He is my person. His unique love fills my tank in a way nothing and no one else can. So, in this drought, I’ve been running on empty.

That emptiness is reflected in my short-tempered interactions with…well pretty much anyone I’ve interacted with, but specifically, my itty-bitty girl. See, I am her person, and when I’m empty, I have nothing to give. When my kids were little and had fits, I sometimes met their outbursts with, “Did you not get loved enough today?” And then we would cuddle. A kiss, a hug, a long snuggle all have magical healing properties. Sometimes I met their screams with screams of my own too. Just sayin’. But yesterday, when my tiny girl screamed at me, “I DIDN’T GET LOVED ENOUGH TODAY!” shit got real.

The other day I heard Bishop TD Jakes say, “You cannot reap what belongs to others. You have to reap what is yours.” Goodness, that statement will rock your world if you let it. I sometimes get caught up in what society thinks I should be doing…getting a job, finishing grad school, doing. something. more. But maybe that’s not for me? Maybe I’m just supposed to be right where I am. Putting on my own oxygen mask so I can put Lily’s on. Making sure my own love tank is filled so I can pour into my kids. Finding space and following my breath on the mat so I can be fully engaged with the people who count on me.

Perhaps I’m not using my gifts to their fullest potential, but I am using them. I’m always going to aspire for more, but today more is right here.

It’s like this and like that and like this and uh*

I recently read Crash the Chatterbox, by Steven Furtick**, about quieting inside (and outside) voices so that you can hear God’s voice. It was a great book and helped me to isolate and silence some pretty destructive voices. And through engaging with my inner voices, I learned another powerful lesson: Whatever purpose we are here to fulfill? We already have everything we need. 

For instance, God gave me an English teacher mother, above average spelling and grammar acumen, a pretty sordid childhood, and a voice with which people can identify because He intended for me to share my story. 

BUT, you knew there was gonna be a but, didn’t you? In the process of sharing my story, here is some chatter I have heard in my head and from well-intentioned friends:

You’re writing a book?

There’s nothing really special about your story.

You’re not that good of a writer.

Who would want to read your story?
Only famous people write memoirs.

What’s it gonna be about?

Who’s gonna buy it?

Your daughter is a better writer. Maybe you should have her write your story. (She IS a way better writer, but she has her own story to tell.)

You’re not good enough. You’re not interesting enough. You’re not smart enough. You’re not important enough. You’re not special enough. You’re not skinny enough. You’re not blonde enough. You’ve never been enough and you never will be enough. Those voices are so mean; good grief!

Except a funny thing happened in the midst of that though. The aforementioned book landed in my lap and told me: 

• You are doing better than you think you are. 
• You matter more than you think you do. 
• It’s less about you than you think it is.  
• God says you are enough. 
• God said He gave you everything you need. 
• God says you can.

It told me that the voices in my head were just that: Voices. I could tell to shut the @#$% up. If someone tells my kids they can’t do something, I say, “That’s their opinion, and their opinion doesn’t matter. God made you, and God says you can.” So what if the people who should have encouraged  or complimented me or believed in me didn’t. God gave me everything I need to do what He intended me to do.

Who cares if other people don’t believe my story is important? I think everyone’s story is important. We can all positively impact someone by sharing our experiences and our heart; isn’t that why we are here? To love God and to love people?

If I share my story, and one person walks away feeling less shame about her own childhood, deciding to make lemonade out of the lemons life handed her, realizing that she already possesses everything she needs to fulfill her highest purpose, then it was worth everything to reach that one person. It was worth every embarrassing story. It was worth every agonizing question I’ve ever asked and will ever answer. It was worth losing every person who will no longer make eye contact with me because they never really saw me anyway.

My sweet friends, what voices do you need to quiet today in order to hear a still small voice that speaks only love?

*Nuthin’ But a G Thang (What up, Dre)

** I think Steven Furtick is an extremely gifted pastor, speaker, writer and teacher and couldn’t care less about the size of his house or how many people got baptized at Elevation on any given Sunday.

25 years

Today is February 5th. I hate today. I’ve hated it for 25 years. Five years and one week longer than my daughter has been alive. I have lived so many lives in those 25 years. All of them mine but all of them different. I’ve been angry, jealous, bitter, sad, in love, loved, depressed, hopeless, hopeful, dreamy, flighty, stupid, and happy.

Today, like every February 5th since 1989, I will relive that awful morning. Hearing my mom’s voice. Knowing something was wrong. The huge pit in my stomach. I wonder why, but I don’t dwell on it. I remember his smile, his smirk, his strong arms hugging me so tight I thought he’d break my ribs. I will cry but just a little bit.

When my brother died, my life took a sharp turn. I was no longer loved, cherished, protected…safe. I felt alone. Nothing could go wrong when he was here. But now, everything could go wrong. And lots of stuff did. And then stuff went right. And then wrong. And more right. Hills and valleys.

Brene Brown talks about foreboding joy–the fearful sense that joy is fleeting. Something bad will happen. Don’t get too comfortable being happy because it won’t last. That’s how I lived a lot of my life. Brad asked me, “Why do you always go to the worst case scenario?” Because the worst case scenario had played out in my life. A couple times. I wanted to be prepared.

But preparing for the worst doesn’t stop it.

Instead of preparing, I’ve learned to heal, love, and let myself be happy without waiting for the bottom to drop out.

After my brother died, I heard him called lots of things. A junkie, a drug dealer, a liar, a thief. But to me, he was amazing. What a gift that I could carry that person who loved me wholeheartedly around forever, letting his memory fill in the broken places in my heart. Maybe if he’d lived longer, I would have been forced to see him as some of those other things.

I try to be real, honest, and transparent, but there are people who don’t like me. I spent a good part of my life doing cartwheels, saying the right thing, doing the right thing, but always for the wrong reasons. If people would just see me, love me, understand me, then…I don’t know what. Then it would be okay? What would be okay? Life? I would be safe? I wouldn’t be alone? I don’t know.

Looking back at 25 years of changes, I realize I like who I’ve become. I don’t always like the number on the scale or the color of my hair or the waddle under my chin (seriously, I really dislike that freaking waddle), but that’s not the point.

Today, I worry less about what people think of me and more about how I treat them. I don’t care if people judge me, but I try not to judge them. I don’t need to tell everyone my story, but I sure love to hear theirs. I don’t need people to think I’m a good person; I want them to know they can count on me. I don’t memorize scriptures to preach to people; I help them feel Jesus’ love in how I treat them.

Twenty-five years later, I still think my brother hung the moon and rocked the world, and I will love him forever.

La la la la la la, it’s a Beautiful World.

Day 9 of the Daniel fast. I’m feeling deeply cleansed–this fast has been the spiritual retreat I’ve always dreamed of taking. Here are a couple things I’ve learned:

1. Caffeine withdrawal is painful. 
2. Food is an idol in my life. 
3. I get really jumpy when I can’t eat–see #2. 
4. I no longer enjoy cooking-although I have made a lot of stuff  I pinned. 
5. Comfortably full is a foreign term.

Today, the caffeine headache and sugar cravings have passed, and the clarity has begun to settle over me. (By the way, I have not lost one pound. Today, I said, “F#$K you, scale; you ain’t bringing me down! You’re registering all the additional knowledge in my brain not fat on my thighs!” But, this fast wasn’t about the scale.) I realized that I have relied on food for far too much. Food was my comfort, relaxation, solitude, love, and so much more.

That’s how I grew up. Sick? Chicken soup. Celebration? Cake. Love? Cookies. My mom communicates in food. Still. But now, when she walks in my house with a fresh-baked plate of cookies, I smile and thank her, then I look right in their little peanut butter faces and say, “You are a cookie; you are not love.” I often say it with my mouth full of cookie, but I’m making progress. At least now I realize the cookie’s not love.

Cookies and love. Really?

When I quit smoking over a year ago, I realized that I had absolutely no coping mechanisms. Stressed? Have a cigarette. Tired? Have a cigarette. Sad? Have 100 cigarettes. There are never enough. There are never enough cookies, never enough cigarettes, never enough coffee to fill that hole inside you.

Today is my brother Chris’ birthday. He would have been 53. He died almost 25 years ago and left a big old gaping hole in my heart. A hole that I have tried to fill with so many of the wrong things. Eventually it healed as much as a human heart can heal, but not through any of my attempts to patch it together with peanut butter cookies for sure.

What I’ve mostly learned through this fast is to feel and be in each moment. To question my motives for eating. To realize that food doesn’t satisfy a deep internal craving, it simply paralyzes it for awhile. I have learned that I do have will power. And I learned–again–that when you step out in faith, God sends in a heavenly support team.

So, I don’t know if I’m gonna lose any weight, and I don’t really care. What I do know is that when you stop dulling your emotions with food or whatever your drug of choice is, the fog lifts and a beautiful world awaits.

Day 9, I gave my food addiction to God, and I’m not taking it back. Can I share something with you guys? My husband surrendered his cigarettes to God on day 1. I’m so proud of him. Would you please pray for him?

Sit Down and Shut Up

This morning, my 100 Days of Prayer Journal prompt was: What do you say to yourself about faith. Ask God to reveal what you need to be saying. Over the past week, I had to confront some long-buried issues from my childhood. I didn’t want to deal with them. And, I still don’t want to. Almost 100% of the time, I think that talking about things is the best way to deal with them, but in this particular instance: I don’t want to talk about it.

Delving into the past did make me think about a lot of other stuff, like the fact that I’m glad my kids aren’t going to have to deal with the resurfacing of awful crap from their childhoods. I’m not a perfect mother. My family is not perfect, but it isn’t a nightmare. And I don’t worry that some day my kids will wake up and question every person in their lives. I don’t worry that someday they will wake up and feel as if their whole childhood was a sham.

My family of origin had a lot of laughs, but it also harbored a lot of secrets. Secrets that we didn’t even admit to ourselves. Secrets that are buried with two of my brothers and my dad. Secrets that destroyed some of us and really screwed up others. Secrets that “aren’t nice” to talk about as my mother would say. And some that are too awful even to remember. But if you peered through the windows of our glass house, the Swans looked fine. Looks can be deceiving.

I wanted what any child wants: to be accepted, loved, and cherished, but mostly I was criticized, belittled, and beaten. I never felt good enough. I sought acceptance anywhere I could find it–with friends, with alcohol, with boys…mostly with boys. Fortunately, God sent me the perfect boy when I was pretty young. One who would tell me nearly 25 years later, “I feel like you were mine before I even knew you.” Swoon. The boy who wishes he could have protected me from everything–even my own family. The boy who walked with me and held my heart and my hand while we made the family of my dreams.

I’m off topic. Sorta. Back to my kids. They are amazing. I tell them all the time how proud I am of them. I’m not perfect. Sometimes, I yell. Sometimes, I swear. A lot of times, I’m impatient and nit-picky and neurotic. I apologize…a LOT. I always stick up for my kids when other people–people who should tell them how great they are–don’t. I tell those people how great my kids are even though they don’t care or they would see it themselves. I seek validation because I never got it from the people who mattered. There’s the revelation: I sought approval from everyone because I never got it from my parents. My kids don’t seek approval from anyone because they got it from us.

Wow. Make sure you’re sitting down the next time you ask God to reveal something to you.

I read a million books trying to figure stuff out, but all I needed was God. Not the God of my childhood, who scared me. The God I found at MY church. I spent 39 years trying to do it myself, and in one short year, God completely changed my life. I never have to live another day seeking approval, because in Him, I am accepted, loved, and cherished. In Him, I am good enough. When people tell me they don’t believe in God, I don’t judge them. I pray for them. I pray that everyone’s heart would feel as full as mine does now.

Always Say I Love You

Most people have a hero. Or at least someone they admire. Someone who makes us want to be better, be fearless, be who God designed us to be. Our pastor says, “Surround yourself with people who inspire you to be better.” 

For me, that person was my brother Chris. 

• He wasn’t afraid of anything. 
• He was the first person ever to tell me he loved me–my family didn’t say I love you; you just “knew”–and he told me all the time. 
• He took me to Cedar Point with lifts in my shoes so I was tall enough ride every roller coaster. 
• He taught me to drive automatic and standard. 
• He bought me a trampoline so that I could be as good of a gymnast as he was. 
• He drove my best friend and me to cheerleading practice in his Corvette and laughed as all the girls whispered and blushed and said, “Who’s that???” 
• He made me drive that Corvette on the highway when I only had a permit. “I’m scared!!” I said, and he replied, “You should be—you’re going 25 on the highway. It’s a Corvette! Put your foot on the gas before you get us killed!” 
• He took my best friend and me to see INXS, my favorite band, and bought us wine coolers. 
• He dated beautiful women, who became my big sisters and trusted friends.
• He was the coolest person I knew. 
• He jumped out of airplanes and promised me that when I was 16 he would take me. 

Unfortunately, he died 5 days after my 16^th birthday. I never jumped out of an airplane.

The last time I saw him he gave me a card congratulating me for getting my driver’s license and reminding me to go at least the speed limit on the highway. He hugged me and kissed me and told me he loved me, and I never saw him again. 

I’ve heard lots of stories about who other people thought he was. I have heard negative stories. There is truth in them. But he will always be the big brother I adored and admired. I see glimpses of him in my kids every day and wish they could have met him. Chloe has drive and determination. She pushes herself harder than anyone I know. Peyton has his feet, hitchhiker thumbs, the same curls around his ears, an adventurous spirit, and the ability to make me smile regardless of the circumstances. Lily is fearless. She does flips off the end of the couch and makes my heart stop on a regular basis.

When he died, my heart shattered. But God has slowly healed it using the love of my family and friends to fill in the cracks. Often, I wish I had told him how much I loved him and admired him, but I always thought I’d have a lifetime to do that. I hope he knew. For the past 24 years, I have dreaded my birthday because it reminded me that in five days it would be the anniversary of his death. This year, I got my birthday back. Even though I will never forget him or the pain his death brought our family, this year the love and joy finally overcame the sadness and grief.

I’ve wondered many times what I learned from Chris, and there were many lessons. Don’t let fear stop you. Live every day like it’s your last. But the most important is definitely: Always say I love you. You never know when it will be the last time.

Food Revelations

Last week I read Women Food and God. Have you read? Seriously, it changed my life. I LOVE Geneen Roth as if she were one of my people. After the first few chapters, when I sat down to graze in front of the kids’ snack cupboard as is my habit, I literally stopped and thought, “Wait, am I hungry?” It was revolutionary.

For those of you who are wondering, it’s a lot about Women and Food, but not a lot about God. The God part is more light spirituality and less Bible-based eating plan, but it forced me to sit down and have a long overdue discussion with myself about why and how I eat.

If you ever saw my mom and sister, you’d understand some of my food issues. They are tiny little waifs. So is my daughter. I am not a particularly big person, but they are really, really small. My mom always told me that I was big-boned and didn’t “have the eating habits of a thin person,” and I have always held a pretty distorted image of my 5′ 2″ 125 pound self. Yep, I just said my weight out loud to the whole internet. The absolute true weight I saw on that dang-blasted scale this morning. Have I mentioned how much this book helped me?

So one of my biggest food issues is that when I was growing up, food was my mom’s main expression of love. Whatever was going on, good or bad, could be remedied with food. Sick? Chicken soup. Sad? Cookies. Celebrating? Cake. And since that was pretty much my mom’s only expression of love, when she cooked for you, you ate. And the more you ate, the more you were loved. To this day, her favorite people in life are the people she can control with cookies. I’m kidding. A little.

Additionally, I realized that my happiest memories were wrapped up with food. Thanksgiving, Christmas, birthdays, milestones celebrated by going out to dinner, goals met and rewarded with food. In many ways, I had grown to equate food with happiness. Unfortunately, in many other ways, I also equated skinniness with happiness. That crazy combination cannot possibly add up to happiness. I mean maybe when I was 20 and had a pretty fast metabolism, but now it is kind of a problem.

So for the past few weeks, I’ve had a lot of conversations with myself about food, why I’m eating, when I’m eating, what I’m eating and so forth. Turns out it’s not particularly healthy to sit on the floor and eat from the snack cupboard at 10:30 p.m. Huh. Also turns out that eating an m&m every time you walk past the m&m jar until it’s empty is not a great habit. Go figure. And one of the most important lessons I learned is that I really didn’t even know how hungry felt anymore.

In all this dialoguing about why I’m really eating and what I really want, I haven’t lost one pound–in case you wondered. But, I’ve been eating much healthier foods and much less and I haven’t really had any junk. While I have a long way to go, I have been able to pinpoint some serious issues I have to come to terms with:

• I am almost 40, not 20, so my 20-year-old weight probably shouldn’t be my goal weight. 
• Being skinny doesn’t necessarily make you happy or signify you’re happy.
• Not being skinny doesn’t necessarily make you unhappy or signify that you’re unhappy.
• I have a bread addiction, similar to my nicotine addiction. I cannot eat just one piece of bread.
• Just like my husband is as hot to me today as he was 20 years ago, he looks at me and sees the girl he fell in love with (who was skinny, btw). He literally judges my weight by the size of my boobs, so you can probably guess when he’s happiest.
• Food is an idol, and when I give it this much power in my life, I am putting it before God; that is unacceptable.
• My mom lives with me. I don’t eat her cookies. She still loves me.

 So, if you have a messed up relationship with food, I highly recommend this book. If not? Well, you are a rare breed of fabulosity, and I admire you greatly.