Grace

“We communicate grace to one another by holding space for people when they are hurt or terrified, instead of trying to fix them, or manage their emotions for them. We offer ourselves as silent companionship, or gentle listening when someone feels very alone. We get people glasses of water when they are thirsty.”
~ Anne Lamott, in an interview with Amazon.com

(holding space. thank you.)

Tuesday Twenty-Five: Courageous Acts

Back in December I was trying to decide if I wanted to adopt a theme word again for 2010. If you followed EyeJunkie last year, you’ll barely recognize the concept since I was woefully inconsistent in posting about “harmony,” my theme word for 2009. The purpose of the theme word was to center my thoughts on a single concept I was interested in developing in my life over the course of the year. Lofty goal! And not one easily achieved for a wandering mind like mine. Before choosing something for this year, I was determined that I would commit myself to posting at least once each month on the theme. Good news! I’ve already missed January. (Such is life. What’s it to you?) Laugh with me. Please.

Tardiness aside, the chief determining factor for whether I would go live with the theme word posting pursuit again was this: if I chose a word, WHAT IN THE WORLD would it be? It took me all of five seconds to realize that the word was staring me right in the face, socking me between the eyes with the sheer craving for it in my life. November and December were filled with conversations and current events and mundane activities and life experiences urging me, cajoling me, demanding me to really live, to commit myself to moving beyond existence. To soak up the marrow of my life in all its dailiness and embrace it. Engage it. Pay attention to it. Live it. Vibrantly.

And in this day and age of slow slumber, all that living takes a rousing amount of… (wait for it)

COURAGE.

cour•age
–noun
1. the quality of mind or spirit that enables a person to face difficulty, danger, pain, etc., without fear; bravery. (thank you dictionary.com)

Ta Da! Theme Word 2010 presented itself without so much as one tiny strain on my brain. Yes, courage is needed in abundant supply. If only I had some! So, this year I’m pursuing courage in my mind, in my writing, in my loving, in my living. And, you can hear tell of it here on occasion. I’ll follow up with the “post behind the post” soon enough, but to begin this pursuit, I give you another jumbo-sized Tuesday Ten: 25 Courageous Acts I hope to really act on in 2010. What about you?

Garnering the courage…

1. to speak

2. to feel

3. to embrace difficulty

4. to confront issues

5. to ask the question

6. to take a chance

7. to think

8. to decide

9. to be who I am

10. to stand

11. to let go

12. to hold on

13. to look closely

14. to give

15. to release

16. to befriend

17. to stay

18. to step outside myself, but not away from myself

19. to see

20. to be moved by what I’ve seen

21. to act on what I’ve seen or learned

22. to say no

23. to say yes

24. to wait

25. to live

The Act of Feeding

I’ve been thinking about the simple pleasure of preparing a meal. It’s an activity made even more poignant by the situation in Haiti this week. The earthquake calls into sharp focus just how devastatingly fragile the physical world is and how common our basic human needs are. In so many structures in Haiti, where there are no longer tables and chairs, or cabinets and walls, the simplicity of bread and water is magnified to a king’s meal. Why isn’t it so with every meal, especially those prepared in comfort? Yes, it’s hard to think about pork chops and placemats in the light of such a tragedy. Still, the simple pleasure of offering food around a table to ones dear to us is so much more astounding as I’m reminded of the multitude of neighbors in our hemisphere for whom that luxury has been displaced.

I usually like to cook. Sometimes it’s a quick, easy and totally gift-friendly meal of hot dogs, chicken nuggets, spaghetti or some other favorite that allows me to get in and out of the kitchen quickly. In my mind those meals offer only a nod of the head at cooking, but the experience is elevated simply by the presence of those around me. At other times I enjoy making a selection of dishes with more presence, ones based on special recipes or made from “scratch” rather than from some combination of boxes and bags. Those are the kinds of meals almost everyone has in some form or another. They are ones that say home or celebration or culinary success, birthed from familes and traditions, experiences or locales.

Some meals have “place”–like the one from Wednesday night that was unmistakeably Southern from its inception. Although they may have been modernized, the dishes have a context in memory or cooking method that speaks to my life in Mississippi. Corn bread was the first thing I made. My grandmothers made it in large iron skillets heated in the oven first and with handfuls of ingredients tossed and stirred without thinking. I make mine from the recipe on the Martha White Cornmeal package in a square metal pan. I could probably do it from memory if pressed, but I’ve never tested the theory. And, you barely miss the skillet’s influence when it’s warm with a dab of butter.

Macaroni and cheese was next on the menu, and although I’ve had my share of experiences with the blue Kraft box, I prefer to make it myself now–mainly because Bug asks for it. There’s nothing like the repeated requests of a 3-year-old to make you feel like a cooking rock star. I make my mac and cheese with a milk and egg mixture rather than a cheese sauce and layer the noodles with whatever combination of cheddar, swiss and parmesan I have available.

Honey-pecan pork chops were the main event, floured and cooked in butter on the stovetop. Yes, it’s about as heart-friendly as a can of Crisco, but still, it’s not every day. The frying recalls the way my Mom cooks chicken tenders or how my grandmother made deer steak as a child–lifting the edges of the meat with a fork to check the brownness, turning at just the right time, scraping the pan with a spatula. After the chops are cooked, the recipe calls for some measurement of pecans and honey which I can never remember. I just throw some in, and I’ve learned through hard experience and very hardened sugar to turn the eye down first. I like to add a splash of Worchestershire sauce in as well to give this semblance of a roulx a more savory taste.

There are a hundred other stories of recipes and dishes, various combinations with the appropriate green elements, sides, bread and fruit. Most moms and wives have them. And, every woman has her own preferred method and ideal environment for cooking for her family–the kitchen, the pots and pans, what happens to the used dishes and egg shells, the proclivity to use measuring spoons and the penchant for interaction. It’s an integral part of the process of feeding a family.

My kitchen is invariably a cacophony of sights and sounds and movement. The sights: A refrigerator and stovetop grease guard filled with children’s photos, finger paintings tucked behind spice racks and collections of utensils and momentos lining the counters in plain view. I just like to look at things while I’m cooking, while I’m living. One wall of cabinets with glass doors affords me the opportunity to see the vessels I enjoy–bowls and pottery, 50s pyrex I love, colorful plates of various sizes. The sounds: A thousand interruptions to start a movie, answer a question, referee a car chase, or retrieve a 15-month-old from the top of a table. Ocassionally there’s an attempted conversation with my husband from the rocking chair my grandmother gave me. The movement: Perpetual acts of wiping my hands on my pants, various dishes at different stages of completion and imperfectly timed to get on the table somewhere between 6:30 and 8:00pm, and always a flurried combination of preparation and clean-up all going on at the same time. The tasks are often accomplished around Baby Girl unloading the plasticware cabinet at my feet. These kitchen sensibilities are the evidences of time spent trying to elevate this ordinary daily activity to the honored place of extraordinary.

I am struck by the power of the simple act of feeding. In all its complicated cacophony, the individuality and habits found in my kitchen can raise that process of eliminating hunger to the level of celebration. If I embrace them. Somehow in that boiling and stirring and place-setting, I’m feeding more than stomachs and strong bones. I’m feeding healthy hearts and hungry spirits for those in my care. I’m meeting a basic human need we all have–nourishment for body and soul.

Birth of Possibility

“Noone ever regarded the first of January with indifference. It is that from which all date their time and count upon what is left. It is the nativity of our common Adam.” ~ Charles Lamb

What is it about January that feels new? A new month, a new year, a new day. Although we experience time in close sequence, something about changing the number assigned to our year gives us renewed anticipation that the next day will offer us more promise than the one we’ve just lived. Regardless of one year’s events, when January 1st rolls around, we are filled with renewed hope that anything is possible. Change is possible. Prosperity is possible. Growth is possible. The impossible is possible. Suddenly, new is possible. That’s a lot of power for one little day, one 24-hour span.

It makes me think about the power of beginnings. I have an instigator in my life, #17, who reminded me recently that just the act of defining a new starting point–the turning of a single number–can be the unexpected catalyst needed for change and the resolve required to embrace it. Sometimes that’s all we need. Navity. The birth of possibility.

I’m looking forward to enjoying what 2010 has in store and to paying attention to those new possibilities. I have some new ideas for EyeJunkie and the little writing experiment going on here, and my goal is more intention, more transparency, more reality. In the mean time, I hope you’ll enjoy this month’s desktop wallpaper calendar with it’s reminder of January’s birth of possibility–and the eager hands that embrace it. [Just point clicky on the graphic above to get it.]

Let’s begin.

A Boy and His Transformer

I bought my first Christmas gift in October — two, actually.

I’m not one of those early shoppers, but these two were necessary somehow. Little Drummer Boy and I were in Wal-mart looking for a meager prize befitting a 4-year-old in reward for something or another. As we rounded the corner of the car section, there it was. The Transformer Aisle. I tried my best to escape it, but LDB was mesmerized. Disney World has nothing on the Transformer Aisle in the eyes of a 4-year-old boy , at least not this particular boy.

Among the multitude of Transformer options, I was amazed at how many LDB recognized and how much he knew about them. I must admit that my only frame of reference for Transformers is the big boy underwear LDB loves and the need to turn OFF the Super Bowl last February as a result of LDB seeing one of the movie’s advertising spots. Needless to say, that particular reference was a little unimpressive. But, apparently one of his preschool friends is the consummate authority on Transformers and had been kind enough to share that knowledge with my little guy. J’s tidbits of information and Quiver’s modern-day version of “more than meets the eye” were all the requirements for a full-fledged Transformer love. Apparently.

As it turned out, 12″ versions of the robots complete with sounds and movement and eyes that light up all blue and menacing when you push the buttons were conveniently located on the bottom shelf of Transformer Aisle. Thank you, Wal-mart and your mass marketing machine. The toys had Mommy red flags all over them–mean voices, weapons of mass destruction, weapons of any kind, scary sounds. But, Little Drummer Boy was enamored. I let him know that they were too expensive for the “prize” we really came for and that I would think about them for Christmas. That’s all it took.

There were two transformers I vetoed right off the bat. They were all black with even weirder names and only mean monster-like sounds. I just couldn’t do it. But, I was more open to the other two. I guess Little Drummer Boy could tell because he began his sell pitch: “Please! Can we please, please get it for Christmas?” “They only kill bad guys.” “I won’t push the buttons.”– all very transparent attempts to comply with Mommy’s toy idiosyncrasies, while letting me know how much his heart was set on Transformers. I knew right away that this was a desire from which he would not be distracted. Time and distance from the Transformer Aisle would not squelch his memory or longing for these particular 12″ varieties.

It was the first toy Little Drummer Boy had ever really, really wanted–at least wanted for more than the ten minutes he was faced with the experience of being enticed by it. It was the first time it had actually registered in his mind that he would be getting presents for Christmas. We left the store with his hopes firmly in tact and my delimna brewing. LDB wanted something and I had the power to give it to him. Was there really anything else I needed to know?

Don’t you wish that’s how it always worked? Somebody wants something, and they have the audacity to ask for it, to actually articulate that desire, that need. I think the world might be a very different place if that’s how it most often happened. Unfortunately, it’s a little unusual for people in this world–the ones in my house, the ones in line at my Wal-mart, the ones in my InBox and in my neighborhood. It’s sadly unusual for folks to exercise the courage to say what they really want, what they really need. But, the reality is that hearts’ desires are often common between us at our most basic. It’s simply up to me to pay attention sometimes.

I’ve been thinking about gifts lately, it being the Christmas season and all. More specifically, I’ve been thinking about the far-reaching impact of gifts given inspite of yourself and the responsibility borne by those who are gifted, which we all are. We all have a sphere of influence at our disposal. The question is whether we are willing to engage it. We all have the power to give the gifts people we know (and those we don’t) really want. Mercy, freedom, shamelessness, forgiveness, absolution, courage, time, words, affirmation, attention, kindness, love. They are gifts relatively easy to give, if I don’t mind giving myself.

The gift of myself is the most natural one of all, but so often like those Transformers, I must do it inspite of myself, inspite of my own idiosyncrasies, my own self-absorption, my own hang-ups and hot-button issues, my own needs. I’m learning slowly but surely that it can be done. If I’m willing.

Back to October. Little Drummer Boy’s questions and hopes remained alive. He must have asked me fifty times a day, every day: “Can we just go LOOK at the Transformers?” “After tomorrow will it be Christmas?” “Can I please get those Transformers for Christmas?” The next week I went to Wal-mart on my lunch hour to buy my first Christmas presents. A twelve inch wing-spreading, trash-talking “Optimus Prime” AND a yellow bad-to-the bone “Bumblebee” Transformer. Wrapped in plastic bags, they found a place on the top shelf of our storage closet.

Fast forward to Friday, Christmas Day. I love the moment of truth on Christmas morning when my gifts get to see all the presents I’ve chosen for them and through much love (and a little frustration) unpackaged and carefully arranged for their wonder. When Little Drummer Boy rounded the corner of the couch and saw his particular stack, the shiny, red bicycle was completely lost as his smiling expression mouthed, “the Transformers.” He just turned around and looked at me. Then, before even approaching the gifts, he stopped to give me a hug and say “I love you, Mommy.” He hasn’t stopped pushing the buttons and banging their heads together since.

Yep, I caved. To mass marketing, to total boy-dom, to overpriced merchandise, to fighting robots, to epic battles and impending doom.  I completely gave myself to the innocent attempts to comply with cease-fires, to the sweet smile and “I love you, Mommy”… to a boy and his Transformers. And, it was worth it. Giving gifts inspite of yourself almost always is.