12 Days of Thanksgiving: V

Vision.

I’ve been listening to the wheels of imagination turning recently with Little Drummer Boy and Bug. As they play together in those sometimes rare moments of being best friends, I’m always amazed by the random adventures of Thomas the Tank Engine or Lightning McQueen or whatever toy has the fortune of being involved. At our house, it’s a common occurrence for dinosaurs, asteroids, firemen and race cars to occupy the same world view. As I listen to them drawing pictures and the running commentary that accompanies the marks on the page, the same wonder ensues. Railway tunnels, fire-breathing dragons and rainbows peacefully co-exist in that world, and any alarm sounded is quickly squelched by simply turning the page. What a blessing an imagination is! What a gift to be able to envision something that can’t be seen!

The most concise definition of faith can be found in the book of Hebrews… “Now faith is the substance of things hoped for, the evidence of things not seen.” The ability to “see” what isn’t there is faith at its core, to take our vision as evidence of what is possible. To embrace it as reality. That truth becomes no more apparent than in times of difficulty, times when the circumstances we CAN see are perhaps what we don’t want to see. Times when the reality is less than what we want for ourselves. In those times, we are tempted to give up, to let our courage give way to acceptance or fear. In those times, we are tempted to despair. It’s part of the human condition. The proverb rings true; “where there is no vision, the people perish.”

My children have become such a vibrant example of the concept of possibility. In their minds, anything is possible. They have no preconceptions about what can happen, and what can happen simultaneously. More and more, I’m realizing that it is this vision that fuels hope. And faith. It allows us to see byond where we are. It enables us to imagine a different place or time or circumstance, to see ourselves differently. It makes the impossible possible. It makes us willing to lay aside assumptions. It encourages us to see our best selves, our best lives. And to reach for it.

I started this year on a quest for courage, adopting it as my “theme word.” I don’t know how much courage I’ve actually attained, but I can see evidence of courageous acts. Small inclinations toward the possible I can see. Tiny tangible steps toward becoming more of what I want to be. This year, I’m so thankful for the vision that fuels that courage, for the ability to see beyond the evident and take that vision as evidence of what might be. Of what can be.

Doo Doo Chronicles: Version 2.0

When Staying the Same Isn’t an Option

Thank God in Heaven above; 3-year-old Bug has put his tee-tee AND his doo-doo in the potty for the last three weeks. Plus, he wore his big boy Elmo underwear every day AND night. And was excited about it.

For weeks (maybe even months) I had been attempting to get him to try the underwear. “Look! There’s Elmo. And cookie monster.” I sang and danced in my best Elmo impersonation. “Potty time, potty time…” I cajoled in an attempt at positive peer pressure. “Big boys wear these.” Bug was totally unconvinced. He was WAY too smart (and independent minded) for that argument. I mean, this is a boy who is three, but insists he’s “pretending I’m four.” Alas, the typical Mommy-tactics were useless. So, I took comfort in the words of the Queen, my friend, mentor and mother of two fully potty-trained adults–”Nobody ever walked down the aisle in diapers”–and decided to wait it out. As with all things Bug, he usually has to make up his own mind before any efforts at convincing have a snowball’s chance of succeeding.

Then, it happened. Three weeks ago, the stars aligned with my overworked brain and dang if I didn’t forget to put 2T pull-ups on the grocery list. Yep, my oversight did not become apparent until AFTER bath time when we would normally pull on the pull-up. I searched the house and every conceivable traveling or school bag to no avail. There were no more pull-ups. Rather than letting Bug stand there in his shimmies while I scooted the minivan to the grocery store at 9:00pm, I thought we could just use one of the old diapers for the night. “Why don’t we just put this on tonight and Mommy can get you some tomorrow.” Yeah right.

The moment of truth. The tipping point. The straw that broke the pull-up’s Buzz Lightyear-clad back. Whatever you want to call it; for Bug, it was a literal defining moment. And I quote… “Babies wear diapers.”

I’m not sure at what point in his doo-doo journey he came to that conclusion, but clearly on this night he had arrived and there was no turning back. Where only a mere 12 hours before he had been content to be a “big boy” wearing pull-ups, before my eyes “big boy” took on a whole new meaning. The diaper differentiation was made and “big boy” was redefined. At one time being a “big boy” meant wearing pull-ups emblazoned with Buzz, or if you were really cool, Lightning McQueen. With pull-ups out of the equation, suddenly the parameters shifted. As they so often do.

It made me think. When staying the same isn’t an option, what do we do?

I haven’t written about my 2010 theme word in a while–the pursuit of COURAGE, learning it and living it. This episode with my 3-year-old brought it back to the forefront of my mind–a mind that perhaps needed a clear reminder of the courage required for growth.

We all reach that point at times in our lives when we realize that going back really means going backwards. It’s a defining moment just like the pull-up fiasco was for Bug. At that moment, when it’s apparent that staying where we are–staying the same–is simply out of the realm of what our own hearts can accept, things get redefined and repositioned pretty quickly. When faced with the choice of going back or moving forward, we often see ourselves in a whole new light, by a whole new definition. Our concepts of what we’re able to do and who we want to be transform. And facing those realities takes courage. Acting on them and stepping out into that new definition of ourselves takes even more.

When it comes right down to realities, what part of life ISN’T a choice of moving forward or going back? Nature teaches that the process of growing only includes a finite time period of hybernation before it becomes stagnation. To be alive is to grow and change, or to become toxic and begin the process of NOT living. In those moments, defining and differentiating progress becomes one of the greatest acts of courage.

Bug decided that very night that Elmo underwear was an acceptable option. In fact, it was a preferable alternative to the babyhood of diapers. He put them on and had no accidents during the night. “Big boy”-ness, the expanded edition, had been achieved. Beyond that, it only took one experience of having doo-doo in those sesame street numbers to convince Bug that was no longer the way to go. Presto. Surprisingly, he’s only had a handful of accidents at preschool, at home or in bed since that night. In his process of growing toward more maturity and independence, it took removing just one thing from the option box (by accident), and the game completely changed. Actually, for Bug, game over. His mind was made up and potty training was done.

I so admire this little guy–his courage, his determination, his gusto, and yes, even his “my way or the highway” attitude. In one fell swoop his definition of being a “big boy” grew beyond his comfort zone, and he embraced it without blinking an eye. I’m so inspired by that sheer resolve NOT to go backwards. A good lesson.

Green Flamingos, Nelson Mandela and Courage

Over the last few months I’ve noticed green flamingos around Starkville. They started popping up unexpectedly on bridge railings, electric boxes and the like, your typical vandal fare. But, they were some pretty well-designed vandal fare. These repetitive stenciled green fowl were nicely composed and sufficiently funky — something a designer would enjoy. And, it ticked me off.

It ticked me off so much that I was poised to launch one of my infrequent, but soul-cleansing rant posts complete with a few of the following points:

1. Kids these days.
2. Great. My tax dollars are going to have to clean that up.
3. That whole underground starving artist thing may seem glamorous, but it’s, well, NOT.
4. Get a job!
5. It may look like art, but it’s actually a misdemeanor.
6. Your talent is a gift. Make it count.

Yep, I’ll admit I was ready to unload, but that’s not the essay I’m writing. An overloaded schedule (and maybe some poor time management skills) stepped in and allowed those uncensored thoughts some time to germinate. Although I may still feel the same way on many of the points, they’ve also reminded me of the need for a shift in thinking.

“Your playing small doesn’t save the world.”

It’s from a quote by Nelson Mandela. It’s been floating around in my brain since I read it in a transcript of a commencement address several years ago. I can’t escape it. And, before I knew it, my impetuous rant turned into a post about courage. It’s been a while since I’ve written about the pursuit of my 2010 theme word. Perhaps I’ve been too immersed in exercising some courage in a few areas of late (where exercising equals being tossed into the deep end and hoping your swimsuit top doesn’t fly off.) I suppose that the laboratory takes priority over the lecture series in life lessons just as it often does in the traditional classroom.

I read in last week’s Starkville paper that the green flamingo vandals have turned themselves into the police department. They are exactly who I imagined they were — a couple of art students at the university making their mark on the world, literally. They are offering restitution and performing clean-up duties in hopes their records can escape with only minor blemishes. I’m sure their parents are hoping the same, and that their dollars spent on higher education will not go to waste. End of story.

Only not.

I’m sure there are more personal elements to the situation, to which, as a mother, I would likely be sympathetic. As an artist, I’m sure even more sympathetic. As a person, quite challenged with the realization that talent deserves courage. The broader quote from Mr. Mandela says this…

“Our worst fear is not that we are inadequate.  Our deepest fear is that we are powerful beyond measure.  It is our light, not our darkness, that most frightens us.  We ask ourselves, ‘who am I to be brilliant gorgeous, talented and fabulous?’ Actually, who are you not to be?  You are a child of God.  Your playing small doesn’t save the world.”

This from a man who has seen and lived at the pinnacle of authority and power as well as the despair of imprisonment, a man who HAS changed many aspects of the world around him. My first reaction to green flamingos was to say… Your talent is being misplaced. Your education is a privilege many in the world aren’t offered. The opportunity to learn in the arts is one many in the world don’t experience — or at the least they experience it with makeshift tools and eagerly devote themselves to the instruction knowing it may be their only hope to rise from desperate living situations. The superfluous materials of stencils and spray paint are luxuries many in the world can’t afford because they need rice or flour. While my first notion was to remind those young students of these facts, my more in-depth realization is to remind myself. To challenge myself against laziness. To challenge myself against cynicism and pessimism. To challenge myself against pity and compaint. To challenge myself into embracing big gifts.

I’m talented, as each person is in unique ways. And those talents aren’t entitlements or rights. They are gifts. Remarkable gifts. It’s so typical to diminish them. To be shaken by others who diminish them. To deny them. To apologize for them. To waste them. To shirk them. To make them seem small. To use them as if they WERE small.

“Your playing small doesn’t save the world.”

Even if the only world I’m saving is the one where I sit every day, I’m realizing that whatever talents I bring to bear on that world require courage. The world where I sit deserves a courageous talent, one that is used wisely and generously, without fear and without apology. To make those gifts count in whatever tiny sphere I apply them is my privilege. My responsibility.

The Reason Behind the Reason

Today marks my two-year anniversary as a blogger. What a journey! This week, I’ve been thinking about the EyeJunkie adventure as it relates to my 2010 theme word, courage. Over the last few months, several friends and commenters on the site have made reference to openness and the courage required to express thoughts so transparently in this particular medium. Can you say world wide web? Emphasis on world. While I don’t necessarily see myself as courageous (hence the year-long posting pursuit), I do recognize that sharing one’s thoughts and life in any authentic way with the internet is not for the timid. It’s intimidating. It’s scary. And, yes, I think it can be a little presumptuous. I mean, what do you care, right?

I’ve actually been amazed by how much you care. By how much credence you’ve given to my sometimes haphazard thoughts. I know my own time constraints and schedule, and I’ve been amazed at how ready you’ve been to carve out however brief a space in yours for this blog. I’ve been honored by the comments–both here and on Facebook and Twitter. I’ve been inspired by how many of you have taken the time to send me a personal email about something you’ve read or seen here.

Still, courage? Contemplating whatever courage might be required to enter the blogosphere and the daunting task of interjecting my voice into the fray has me thinking about the reason I started this “thing” in the first place. And, the reason behind the reason I’ve realized since.

I had been contemplating this adventure for some time before I actually began. I’ve always enjoyed writing and journaling. This particular medium seemed (from an observer’s position) to be the perfect combination of both. I was pregnant with Baby Girl at the time and swimming in a sea of toddler antics, dirty diapers and waning second trimester stamina. I was immersed in the usual schedule of home-making and nursery preparations. I was keeping my head above water with a healthy design schedule at my day job. And, I was realizing that, for the first time in my life, I had virtually abandoned any personal creative pursuit.

For those of you who haven’t read all the fine print, my day job is with an advertising agency where I am a graphic designer. So, I use my creativity for a living. However, I’ve always somehow needed an outlet for exploring ideas in a more personal way. Whether through painting or poetry or book-making, expressing myself–usually through some combination of words and pictures–has always fueled energy and creativity in other areas of my life.

It began to dawn on me as I made it through the considerable energy drain of a third pregnancy paired with two toddlers that my children didn’t yet know that creative person, that writer, that painter, that maker of things. Somehow through complacency or busyness or sheer exhaustion, I had forsaken those pursuits. Then, I began to notice this odd on-line medium called blogging. I began to see this type of outlet as a way to incorporate those creative tendencies back into my life without the less than kid-friendly materials and space required for something like the watercolor painting or collage I was prone to. In early 2005, my parents gifted me with an exquisite little MacBook named Kermit. He opened the doors of reality on that little idea that had been germinating. I began brainstorming and making notes and sketches for how a personal blog might actually flesh out. You can read the evolution of “eyeJunkie” and the “adventures in paying attention” theme another time, but suffice it to say that one domain name, a web hosting account, and one WordPress download later, this blog was born.

“Hello, world.” That statement was enough to intimidate me for sure. It was the title of the test post WordPress Dude includes in every download of the application. It chrystalized the nature of this experiment pretty clearly–my words, my voice broadcast to the world for all manner of internet-goers to partake. Yikes.

My voice.

As I plugged along with writing and posting, EyeJunkie certainly filled the creative bill. It helped me accomplish that goal of a creative pursuit. Those readers who have been around for any length of time can attest that I’ve subjected the Junksters to all kinds of experiments and hare-brained ideas–graphics popping up here and there, series starting and fizzling, run-on sentences and fragments abounding. But, something else beyond a basic creative outlet has emerged for me in these two years.

Recently, I was writing some thoughts (something about underwear purchases or chili… don’t even ask) in an email to a friend who commented… “this sounds like an EJ post.” Wait a minute. EyeJunkie posts have a sound. That stuck. The comment made me realize the reason behind the reason that this blogging adventure matters to me. I’ve noticed a voice emerging. Mine. A consistency and willingness to speak. A thoughtful, but emphatic tone. An amalgum of emotion framed in a single sound. The sound of my own voice.

Through the months of blogging, I recognized that I had been in a period of my life for some time when I felt that my voice was being drowned out–perhaps by difficult relationships, distractions and interruptions, the absorption of care-giving and kid-loving, dailyness and just plain busyness. I found that my own voice was hushed and difficult to discern–even to myself–above (or below) the din. Through the act of writing and exposing thoughts to the world regardless of who may or may not be reading, I was finding my voice again. I realized again that I had something to say, and this venue gave me the inclination to say it. To find the courage to speak it. In my own voice.

Is transparency in this world brave? Perhaps. Is writing an authentic blog essay courageous? I don’t know. I don’t think I’ve put courage into this body of nonsense as much as it’s put courage into me. Writing an EyeJunkie worthy of your attention has encouraged me to speak. In my own voice. If the question of courage is “where can I find it?”, for sure I’ve found at least a little within this cyber space. Thank you for listening to that process.

Showers Bring

“In the depths of winter, I finally found there was in me an invincible summer.” ~ Albert Camus

As has become my habit these days, this month’s desktop wallpaper calendar has woefully missed the mark. I started the process of determining a theme in plenty of time. I really did. The execution was the step where things fell apart. I had determined to use the common phrase, “April showers bring May flowers,” as inspiration for the design. Given the facts that we reached mid-month with no motivation in sight, and the rhyme implied an obvious correlation, I decided to give you a combo April/May version. Sort of the surf and turf wallpaper variety. (Only no surf and no turf.) Just point – click for the supersize version.

I think my Mama may have used that rhyme on one of her Spring bulletin boards. She was an elementary teacher, and therefore professionally obligated to hang all kinds of cute and inspiring things on her walls. It’s a familiar phrase, and in my neck of the woods, April often does bring showers with its windy days. I’ve always thought it was a courageous (and impressive) statement to make. Finding the faith, hope and vision required to see flowers in the midst of dripping rain is not always an easy task.

I’ve realized through hard experiences that there is no more devastating a process than reaching the conclusion that a situation you’ve invested yourself in is hopeless–incapable of fulfilling the hopes of your great expectations. And, whether the situation is in fact hopeless or not doesn’t always matter. It’s the reaching of the conclusion that shakes us, especially when those hopes are so intricately entwined with the core of who we are and what we want our lives to be like. It wears us down. It disappoints us. It sickens our hearts. It shatters our assumptions. It rattles our confidence in ourselves. It challenges our view of who we are and who it’s possible for us to be. No, being hopeless and in despair because of it isn’t often something to which we aspire. That situation doesn’t usually make the “bucket list.” However, I imagine that when any of us come to kick the vessel of life we’ve been given, we’ll each find that hopelessness factored in at some point on the journey. It’s just a part of the pageant sometimes.

Standing in a rainy downpour, it’s hard to see the flowers expected a few weeks down the road. It’s hard to see for the dripping in your eyes right now. In the storm, it’s hard to envision the blossoms as anything more than washed out ground. It’s hard to believe they are germinating. It takes quite a lot of courage to know they are.

There is an inescapable joining of faith and hope. A connection. For hope to be sustained regardless of disappointing situations or people or actions, we need assurances, evidences, signposts. We need faith–an “invincible” faith that lets us KNOW our deepest hopes will somehow be realized. Of all the books and philosophies and conversations I’ve been privy to in my following of faith, the most exquisitely simple definition I’ve found is this:

“Faith is the assurance of things hoped for, the evidence of things not seen.” (hebrews 11:1)

Faith makes hope reliable. It gives it credibility. And, let’s face it. In the midst of the showers (and depths of winter), we need to know our hope is more than fool’s gold. We need that credibility. It makes it possible to see what isn’t apparent. It shows us May flowers during April showers. It gives us the “invicible summer” that Camus articulated. And, amazingly, it’s revealed right there by the real foundation of any working faith, God Himself. Faith is to understand and rely upon our God, knowing that in His wisdom and might and bigness, and despite any circumstance or choice or shortcoming, He can sustain and govern the fulfillment of that deepest hope in us.

We hope for the flowers, for the flowering of our lives in ways we’ve imagined, in ways we’ve assumed were possible. And, in the downpour of disappointment, we can still know the blooming is on the way.

Faith. And hope. I want to live in that place where I know what the showers bring. I’ll get there.