April: In Defense of Rain

Rain is just downright misunderstood sometimes. It’s true. It gets a bad rap quite often. Somehow it gets lumped with Mondays as the ultimate of downers. It gets the criticism for too much or too little, and everyone has his own opinion of that sliding scale. It seems it’s never just right with rain. It perpetually takes a backseat to the all-loving sunshine. We have trouble understanding it sometimes. And we have trouble seeing it clearly–especially when it’s pouring.

For much of this week we got an early taste of April showers, or at least the threat of showers, and I’ll admit I was quite grumpy about it. When you’ve been basking in the glow of sunny, warm days, the sudden shift to partly drizzly doesn’t sit well. And, the random downpour is even less inspiring. The weather outside had decided similarities to my inner climate where I’ve been feeling the metaphorical downpour in several areas of my life as well. You know the feeling. When your already full hands get a few more organizational or emotional or even physical balls to carry. When you start to notice the leakage in the culverts holding your heart together in that sane and safe place you call your own peace of mind. It’s been one of those kinds of weeks for me.

Today I finally began to relax and pull my hands off the plugs in all those suddenly noticeable holes in my thinking. Oddly enough, this shift in attitude happened right about the time the sun started to reappear in the skies outside. It was at that moment I realized that I have grass.

Yep. The wayward plot that was filled with brownish dormancy just a few days before–the one I call my front lawn– had suddenly sprouted new and vibrant shades of green. It sprouted a seeming multitude of blades. And, it sprouted another multitude of those purple thingies I wove into necklaces as a child, that unknown vine invading a few shrubs and a very nice crop of dandelions. Yes, I have what may charitably be described as growth.

Now, lest this somehow turn into another rain-bashing exaltation of the power of sunshine, let me say this: Rain makes things grow. This week it rained. And just like that, I have grass now. Granted, I have weeds too, but it looks like the grass may still be winning. Regardless, the lawn is actually green, and I wholeheartedly attribute that fact to a few sporadic downpours and an annoying number of drizzles. Blade or vine, Bermuda or dandelion, green is good in my book.

Here’s the thing. The opportunity to see what’s growing is a good thing, even when it’s weeds doing the growing. A pouring rain–you know, the kind that really soaks the earth–sometimes moves the much-needed process of new growth along. It brings those shoots lying dormant just under the surface right out in the open. And, whether the produce is weeds or choice blooms, at least it shows us what seeds have been planted. It shows us what’s inadvertently taken root and what’s fortunately blossoming. Only then can we know what needs to be pruned or cultivated more carefully.

It’s the same with the things we train our lives to hold, with the plots of soul we till. Whatever really soaks us, good or bad–whether it’s the blessing of a busy work schedule or the tipping point in some level of frustration–that pouring shows us our limits. It shows us our possibilities. It shows us what we want. It shows us what we need. It shows us where we flourish. It shows us where we need to cut back. It shows us where we need to fertilize. It shows us where we’re already prolific.

I love the photo in this month’s desktop wallpaper. It reminds me of that odd shift in perspective that can happen with rain, with our view of the showers that seem to erode the banks of our soul’s delicate balance. It reminds me of that moment when you take just one small step back from the downpour and are suddenly able to see a glimpse of what was only a confusing pattern of droplets before.

I think I see green.

[Feel free to click and download one of these for your desktop, phone or iPad. Enjoy!]

Something to Hear

A few weeks ago I had one of those experiences with my children that stuck with me. It was a moment I’ve been pondering for a while, knowing I needed to take it to heart, to glean from it–a moment I knew was important and profound in its simplicity.

Little Drummer Boy was in bed. As I was closing the Transformer book and pulling the blankets closer around him, he inquired (as only a 5-year-old can), “Mommy, while you’re rubbing my back, can I ask you some questions?”

Can I ask you some questions? It was such a simple request, but there was also such a look of anticipation on his face that it stopped me. Normally at this time of night I might have told him to wait, or reminded about bedtime or even warned about waking up his brother. But, there was something about his face. This was important to him. This was something special to him. So I said yes.

How could I say no to that opportunity after all? He had a smile on his face in the request. He had a look of excitement when I said yes. Then, I could see him thinking, his little mind processing and scanning. It dawned on me that Little Drummer Boy didn’t have a burning question on the tip of his tongue. He was searching his mind for his best inquisitive response. On the fly. He just wanted the opportunity to ask.

So, I took the opportunity to answer. I honestly don’t even remember what the questions were. Except, I remember they were wholly ordinary–at least for an inquisitive, car chase-loving, story-telling five-year-old wonder. They were burning inquisitions like “what makes the water hot when you turn the faucet?” or “where did that picture on the wall come from?” or “when will we get to go to the zoo again?”. They were all the voices of his uncensored thoughts, the stream-of-consciousness of boyhood.

The haphazard responding and clear confirmations that Mommy does not, indeed, remember everything she may have ever learned about science and/or the animal kingdom, and that she most certainly doesn’t have all the answers (at least not the correct ones) may be a subject for another post, but the process also brought to mind my own burning question…. Why don’t I do this every night?

In the rush to teach and impart, how often do I shush those seemingly random questions–the ones that belie the much greater underlying truths of love and security and acceptance? In the journey of parenthood–in the journey of everything–I sometimes spend so much time having something to say, be it teaching, reminding, cajoling, distracting, correcting, admonishing, sharing or instructing, that I forget what a blessing it is to have something to hear.

Sometimes I spend all my time looking for the opportunity to speak, to talk to someone, to impart information. To influence. To offer my own point of view.

Sometimes the greatest opportunity is the one to listen.

And so I did on that night. I relished taking the opportunity to give Little Drummer Boy a simple gift–one so easy to give it’s almost embarrassing how often I withhold it. It was the gift of sending him off to sleep knowing he’d been heard. Knowing he had an audience of one. And a standing ovation. The gift of time. A listening ear. An easy explanation. Or a hard one.

“Can I ask you some questions?”

Translation…
Can I talk?
About anything I want?
Can I tell you what I’m thinking about?
Do you care what I think is silly?
Do you know what I think is confusing?
Can I show you my heart?
Are you interested?
Will you explain something?
Will you give me your undivided attention?
Will you listen?
Will you answer?
Am I important?
Do I matter?

Discrepancies

It’s February, and the month invariably seems to bring our attention to love. It’s inescapable. And while I don’t always buy into the hearts and flowers mentality this time of year, I want my heart to be committed to pursuing and grasping a life characterized by love. A life centered in real and genuine love. A life that rejects the imitations. A life that acts out all the discrepancies love reveals. A life that loves in little things and big things, regardless of distractions.

One of the realities about love I’m continuing to learn as I travel this road toward paying attention is that to love is always to risk. It’s true. Having my children has taught me that lesson more than any other experience, for sometimes even the simple act of letting them out of my sight is an assault on my heart. There is no love without risking myself — risking damage to that core of who I really am, where I live and breathe. Real love always involves opening and exposing myself. Giving myself. Acting outside of myself. And in the face of all the discrepancies inherent in pursuing a life of love, I find myself committed to that openness.

I made a decision in my life a long time ago that having an open heart was important to me. That remaining open despite circumstances was valuable. That exposing my heart to the full weight life (and love) have to offer was the only way to really infuse that life with true meaning, certainly the only way to really see and be moved by the people around me. The only way to distinguish true love from its pale comparisons. Yes, it’s a risky endeavor. Inspite of the risk and even my own disappointments, the opportunity to love is everywhere.

But, love can be a struggle. I don’t know about you, but I’ve experienced those times when the simple opportunities to love those around me were lost in a sea of roles. A sea of expectations — many of which I place on myself. In the day-to-day of life, I’m a parent, a designer, a cook, an organizer, a cleaner, the all-knowing finder of favorite toys and lost clothing, the ever-present referee for playtime games and stories, and the obligatory standard for kind and “loving” behavior.  In the pursuit of love, at times I’ve been a trophy. I’ve been somewhere down someone’s list. I’ve been the caretaker, the mother, the unheard voice of reason. I’ve been the assumption, the provider and the significant “other.” It’s hard not to see myself only as a reflection of those things. And certainly of my choices to continue in whatever roles may stifle me, and even inhibit my ability to love. It’s hard to continually pull myself out of those roles and be generous or giving or creative or whatever else is required to live that open life I mentioned. It’s hard to keep my heart open when it means being able to feel the brunt of those roles and positions head-on. The discrepancies of life and love can be staggering.

Here’s the thing. Love is finding joy. Love is a place of peace and acceptance. Love is hoping and blessing. Love is giving away. And, love is hurting and being disappointed. Love is misunderstanding. Love is trying and sometimes failing. Love is discrepancy.

I want to run from the discrepancy. My soul wants to fly from it as fast as it can go and never look back. My heart wants to close itself up tight and pull the covers over its head. But, it doesn’t. It won’t. For love is far too important a vehicle for experiencing the world. And love is far too important a lifestyle to teach. Real life and real love are about those discrepancies. They are about slippage and imperfections. About disorder and unpredictability. And at the end of the day, they are about hope and faith. The assurances that a life of love is worth it — whatever it takes. Whatever letting go, whatever grasping, whatever denying or embracing, whatever ending or beginning, whatever exposure of myself. A life of love is worth it. It’s worth the full measure of all that I have.

In keeping with that realization, this month’s desktop wallpaper takes its lesson from Elizabeth Barrett Browning. The encouragement is to love both to the full “depth and breadth and height” my soul can achieve as well as back to the simple response of “everyday’s most quiet need.” Yes, that’s a life worthy of pursuing.

[Click the desktop wallpaper version above to download and enjoy with your technology and grab this iphone wallpaper version as well. Happy February!]

Courage to Dream

Of the many profiles in courage available in our time, the example of Martin Luther King, Jr. is shining. As we commemorate his life on this national holiday, I’ve been thinking about the type of courage he possessed and wondering about the lessons it still offers for my own pursuit in 2011.

Martin Luther King, Jr. was a man of controversy to be sure. At least he entered our stage at a season of controversy, a season a long time in the making. He was a catalyst, an instigator in his sheer and unwaivering pursuit of freedom AND peace–at the same time. This man who was so hated and reviled by some, but deemed leader and even savior by many ignited the actions of others like few men in recent history. This man with the ear of pastors and presidents and poll workers and paupers alike demonstrated the life-changing quality of being willing to lend his ear and the power that results when we lend our words and actions to what we see as necessary and right. He was indeed a courageous man.

As I think about the legacy of Dr. King, many lessons emerge, but of all the teachings of courage available in this man’s exemplary life, this one rises:

“I have a dream.”

For me, this courage–the courage to dream–offers a poignant lesson and challenge. Delivered in one of the most profound and memorable speeches in our modern rhetoric, Dr. King spoke not only of life as it was on that day in 1963–as it had been for many years before–but of the reality he envisioned standing in stark contrast to it. Dr. King possessed the courage to look into the face of a dark and hopeless reality and pull from it a new vision of how life could be. A dream. And dreams require courage. Dreams require the courage to look past what seems immovable, to look beyond what has become normal and dare to see it as abnormal. To reject the notion that life as we know it is acceptable when, at our very core, we know it is not. This ability to see and voice the desire for that changed existence brings hope. And often makes a path of action possible.

Several months ago, Little Drummer Boy’s school conducted a book fair. I, of course, went to the school library to peruse the books and find the selections on LDB’s wishlist. I’m always looking for books that make science and history fun, and as I looked through the educational section, I came across one called A Value Tales Treasury by Dr. Spencer Johnson. It was a book that combined an introduction to several American historical figures with lessons in character building. Right up my alley! It used a unique approach to storytelling that highlighted how each memorable person listened to their “true voice” to make the right choices and to demonstrate the character of their best selves. I brought it home to the kids to a decidedly uneventful reaction compared to the Marvel Heroes treasury I also purchased. So, I put it on their bookshelf for later days.

A few weeks ago, that later day came. Little Drummer Boy found the book and became interested in the stories. Louis Pasteur taught us the value of believing in yourself. Helen Keller taught us the value of determination. Will Rogers taught us the value of humor. And, although Martin Luther King, Jr. wasn’t included, we came to a story about Harriet Tubman–another profile in courage worth exploring, to be sure. Harriet listened to her “true voice” to demostrate the value of helping–helping other slaves find freedom in the underground railroad, as she had been helped herself. It was a lesson in paying it forward, so to speak. And, for Little Drummer Boy, a lesson in a new idea. The idea that someone might be treated unfairly because of the color of their skin.

After we finished the story, he wanted to turn back the pages to examine a few points he didn’t understand. The first was the concept of slavery where one person could be owned by another. Then, he turned to the page where Harriet had to ride home after the Civil War in the baggage compartment of the train. And how Harriet told her story. How it shocked many who read it and prompted them to work to change how others were treated. Little Drummer Boy was curious about this. He asked me, “why did Harriet have to ride with her suitcases?”

Realities.

I explained that at one time people were not allowed to go places or do things because they had dark skin. It was a powerful moment for me in realizing that this thought had never occurred to him. Thank God. I further explained to him how very important it was that Harriet let others know about her experience so that people could learn how they needed to be different. “In fact,” I told him, “we enjoy the results of what Harriet shared today.” His face told me another “why?” was coming. (LDB is nothing if not inquisitive.) “Well,” I asked him. “Who is your best friend?”

A smile broke across his face. And a light of understanding. “E,” he admitted in recognition. “E” is a 6-year-old African American classmate of several years and LDB’s best friend. It was his first recognition that E’s dark skin might be anything more than an interesting cosmetic feature that took a back seat to E’s amazing ability to kick and catch the ball or discuss the continuing saga of Transformers. And while in many ways it pained me to introduce the reality that there was a time when people might not have seen “E” this way, I was thankful for the opportunity to teach him that fairness is important for everyone. It’s important so that we are free to see friends near and far for the wonders they really are.

“I have a dream that my four little children will one day live in a nation where they will not be judged by the color of their skin but by the content of their character.
I have a dream today.”

As important as this lesson in racial equality was, the lesson in courage is even more powerful for me at this moment. You see, in my bedtime reading with Little Drummer Boy, I saw the reality of Dr. King’s dream realized in the most innocent and uncontrived circumstances. I saw a young boy who took no thought of the color of his friend’s skin. And, while I certainly don’t take full credit for that reality as his mother, I am grateful for it. And while I can’t claim that this reality is true for all in our nation, I’m thankful for the collective actions and experiences with others in Little Drummer Boy’s life that made it possible for us.

Dr. King never saw the fruition of his dream. But, the courage to dream that dream did, in fact, move what seemed immovable. I’m spurred toward his courage in my own day-to-day struggles, no matter how they pale in comparison. The courage to conceive of a life that is more than the one I see before me. The courage to believe in the best version of myself to make that life possible. Inspite of fear. Inspite of detractors. Inspite of the incredibly overwhelming “normal.” The courage to dream.

Courage: Where Am I?

Ever have one of those days when you look around you and say, “where am I?” I don’t even recognize this place. I don’t recognize MYSELF in this place. HOW did I get here?

2010 was filled with lots of those days for me.

For the last couple of years, I’ve chosen a “theme word” for myself in January rather than laboring over the typical new year’s resolutions. The goal was to adopt a single word (a concept) I wanted to explore and magnify in my life for the coming year. The word represented something I needed or wanted to develop, a new area of growth for myself sought out in words and action.

The theme word for 2010 was Courage. As soon as I began the process of choosing a word–as soon as I even had the thought, really–I knew that Courage was the one for 2010. I had reached a point of intersection in several areas of my life. An intersection where the day-to-day realities of living didn’t match the hopes and dreams I was banking on. An intersection where I saw a Haley I never wanted to be, a Haley I felt sold myself short, a Haley uncomfortable in her own skin and yet oddly complacent in that covering. An intersection of which I had become undeniably aware. And, no matter the level of distraction I infused in my life, that awareness couldn’t be denied. And, it seemed that every action and every thought begged the question, “where am I?”

So, Courage jumped to the forefront of my mind. If those life realities weren’t the authentic life of meaning I needed–demanded–for myself, then something had to change. I had to learn confidence and courage. I had to develop the courage to make changes, to take actions, to form new habits, to move. Away from this intersection in a new direction.

Easier said than done sometimes. For we are indelibly mired in our own skin and the trappings of our own making and choosing.

I thought 2010 would be about action. About brave acts of throwing off the bindings. About rejecting foolishness. About having the courage to stand up for myself and my gifts, the courage to create that life of meaning in concrete ways. About the courage to act. And it was to a degree. Still, I reached December with a decidedly uninspired mindset. For all the blessings and accomplishments of 2010, I saw the year as one of failure in many ways. I surveyed the landscape of my life and found the same intersection. The same frustration with the self I saw in the mirror. The same discrepancies between all that looming potential and the nut and bolts realities. What had happened to my courage?

I couldn’t even begin to think about a theme word for 2011. But then, as the evaluations of last year began to sink in, I started to realize something. 2010 WAS a year of courage for me. Perhaps not the “charging the hill” type of bravery the term immediately calls to mind, but courage none-the-less. Last year’s courage involved counting costs. It involved the sometimes painful commitment to look at myself squarely in the face and recognize that I wasn’t the person I wanted to be. It involved an undaunted gaze at my own life situations, recognizing the areas where I had willingly given over control and wisdom and compliance where it shouldn’t be. It was a courage of realization. The courage to recognize and accept. And it isn’t always fun.

Counting the cost takes courage. Taking stock of what your choices are costing you, what they are costing what is most precious to you, is not for the faint of heart. And admitting I’ve been more than willing to pay for everything that cost me dearly has been downright debilitating at times. Taking a close look at my own part in the hard situations I see around me–in that intersection–isn’t easy. But, it’s a necessary first step to having the courage to act.

Having the courage to step forward or step back often begins with accepting that you brought your own self to this unknown place. That courage to look at our own flaws and diminishing tendencies without blinking is a prerequisite to the courage required for change, for action. It’s the kind of courage that throws off distorted views and watered down visions. It’s a clarifying courage, one that puts questions more easily into perspective. It’s a courage that imbues each small step with more as we see that person begin to become more in line with who we know we need to be.

I’m realizing my work in courage isn’t done. It may never be done, but at this intersection, a new measure of courage is certainly required. And I’m ready to see where this new courage can take me. So, I’m continuing my theme of courage for 2011. I imagine some of the essays on the subject will be a little more personal in nature, perhaps a little more raw. Following through with courage tends to do that. I hope you’ll hang in here with me as you seek out areas of courage in your own life this year.