My favorite color is you

One of my favorite pastimes is working on craft projects with my daughter. I’m definitely no Lia Griffith (I actually don’t even know who Lia Griffith is; I just found her name by searching for well-known crafters), but I enjoy it. 

Pipe cleaner shamrocks for St. Patrick’s Day

I can’t lie—many of my crafts don’t turn out quite like I expected or hoped. I often have come up with an end result that can best be summed up as a “learning lesson.” But some of the projects even go beyond the status of “learning lesson” and turn out pretty cool.

A gratitude wreath for Thanksgiving

This project was borderline—a learning lesson, but I thought it was kind of cool.

One recent endeavor made use of broken crayons—of which I have an abundance—and resulted in heartfelt gifts in the form of Christmas ornaments. (Pro tip: Plastic ball ornaments will NOT withstand the heat of a hairdryer.) The second one I made turned out pretty shade of blue-green. My daughter immediately asked if we could send it to my sister—saying it matched her name. Interestingly enough, my sister’s name means “juniper tree,” which is an evergreen tree with blue berries. 

I was anxious to get the ornament shipped, to ensure it would make it to my sister on time. But as I took it to the post office, I could see that it looked looked much different in the daylight than in my apartment. There were nearly transparent spots on the decoration, and a section where, despite my efforts, a large piece of crayon had settled. I knew I needed to do more to fix it before sending it.

I have to agree with my daughter, it fits with a name that means juniper tree.

I’d liked the colors so well, the way they had blended originally. I’d hesitated to expose it to any more heat because of how it might change the color blend. It emphasized to me the importance of looking at things in a different light—both literally and figuratively. What had looked so pretty in a dim light was exposed in the daylight as crude and unrefined. And when we can see that our work is exposed in that different light as incomplete, we’re faced with a choice. We can either accept it for what it is and leave it. Or we can choose to change what is good (in the dim light, at least) to make it better.

Maybe it’s fear that holds us back from making a change—will it turn out better, or will it be worse? Maybe it’s being comfortable with where we’re at, even if it’s not at our fullest potential. Perhaps we’ve gotten discouraged and can’t find the motivation; after all, the ornament was likely going to be seen by my sister and displayed in indoor lighting similar to mine. And even if she could see the deficiencies, she would appreciate the heartfelt gift. But that’s not how I want to live my life. I want to give the best I can, and take the risk to change things to make them better. 

At the same time, though, I found a reminder in my 7-year-old to not get hung up in striving  for perfection. Repeatedly, I second-guessed my work. Was it good enough? Was there still more I needed to do with it? My daughter’s childlike satisfaction as I questioned my work redirected me to do my best but not to be overly critical of myself.
I guess it’s not just the messed-up crafts that provide learning lessons.

In the middle of the ride

I was lying on a bench with the late summer sun shining down on me. The words didn’t come audibly, but the reassurance I felt was just as real: I will give you light and warmth, and if it gets too hot I will send a breeze to cool you.

That message came at a time of utter brokenness, restlessness and anxiety. The words were more than a reflection of my physical circumstances in that moment. To me, they were God’s way of telling me that He would give me what I needed to get through that time, and to go through life in general.

Fast forward nearly five years. I find myself at my wits’ end, again seeking the peace and clarity of my Creator in a few quiet minutes in nature. I head for the mountains, as I often do. I start my hike frustrated because I’ve had a rough morning with my daughter. We’ve had quite a few of those recently—so many rough times in general that I’ve finally scheduled a counseling appointment for us. On this particular morning that appointment can’t come quick enough.

In my frustration, I find I’m not really appreciating the hike as much. I begin to wear myself out quickly. But I keep going. I take a different trail than the one I’ve walked in the past. The downside of this new trail is that it leads toward a side of the mountain range that faces city streets. Even as distant as it is, I can hear noise from the traffic. It doesn’t feel right. As I prepare to head back up and over the peak I’ve traversed, to embark on a quieter path; I notice a section of trail that goes off in a different direction. Intrigued, I follow the path in that direction.

As I walk, my mind begins to grow clearer. The path winds along a side of the mountain facing away from the city. It’s remarkable how much and how quickly the noise diminishes the moment you pass behind a mountain.

A new point of view at a familiar spot

I spend so much time immersed in noise. I’ve spent so much of my life feeling “in the middle.” As a kid, between my mother and sister. Then between my late husband and my nuclear family. Between my daughter and boyfriend, even as he tries to support and partner with me in her care. Even in my work, I serve in a role where I intentionally put myself in the middle, facilitating communication between patients, aides, nurses, doctors’ offices and transportation professionals.

It’s part of my gifting and character, but it also can be taxing. Sometimes I need to retreat, to seek quiet and solitude.

Those quiet spaces can quickly become too intense in their own way (especially when it comes to hiking in June in Arizona). As I climb, just before reaching the peak that was my turning point, the heat begins to feel like an oven. As I step onto the peak, I can see buildings and again hear the sounds of vehicles on the roads below. Yet I don’t mind it so much, especially when I feel the sweet breeze breaking the intense heat. I pause there and just stand for a few minutes, soaking it in and reflecting.

“We are hard pressed on every side, but not crushed…” the words from 2 Corinthians resonate in my head. As intense as it can be in the middle I realize that maybe it’s not so terrible. That maybe it’s actually where I’m supposed to be. And though it can feel quite isolating at times, I’m not alone there. If what the Bible says is true (and I believe it is), then Jesus came to this Earth for the exact purpose of serving in the middle—bridging the divide between God and humankind.

I’ve wrestled over the years with how much to share, how open to be. I believe very much in resolving matters interpersonally, and as such I tend now more than in the past to hold back on details of relationships and the conflicts within them; instead I ask close friends and family to pray for the solution to the problem for all involved. Instead of venting about an argument, my hope is for peace and understanding.

But I’ve found that an appropriate level of openness requires me to stand in that middle ground in between the noise and the quiet. I don’t need to hyper-focus on problems, but to gloss over details is to deny myself and others opportunities for relating, learning and growing. Because ultimately in between the noise and quiet is that place with the warmth and light and also the breeze to cool me. It’s where I’m most able to to seek and receive help and also share my story to help others.

Do what it takes to step through

Over the past year I’ve finally become a bit of a runner. Those who know me or who have kept up with my blog in the past may recall that while fitness is important to me, running has never really been my thing. I’d start to run from time to time in the past but would always lose momentum. 

This time around has been different, though. I’ve stuck with it. I’ve developed stamina to be able to run longer. I’d even say I’ve begun to enjoy it.

During a recent workout, while listening to Tool’s “Forty Six & 2,” I found myself reflecting on how their music—especially that song—parallels for me my relationship to fitness and running in particular.

Although heavy and dark-sounding with unusual time signatures, much of Tool’s music is about growth and overcoming. Perhaps it’s a sense of singer/songwriter Maynard James Keenan’s spirit as a runner that I connect with as I’m running to their tunes. I’m reminded of an account in his semi-autobiographical “A Perfect Union of Contrary Things”: 

“Jim ran, the sound of footsteps hard at his heels. No matter how great the surge of energy he summoned, no matter how intently he concentrated, he could not outdistance the sound…At the finish line, he looked back. Far behind him, the nearest runner sprinted breathlessly. The steps he’d heard had been his own.”

While we can compete against others in races, the ones we’re really racing against are ourselves. 

This concept comes up in another, much older text as well. In the book of 1 Corinthians, the Apostle Paul compares a life of faith to running a race, encouraging Christ-followers to “run in such a way as to get the prize.”

This is what I bear in mind as I run. I am taking care of my body—this earthly vessel I’ve been given in which to go through life. And as is the case with life in general I’ve had to push myself in my running. I’ve faced challenges and setbacks. 

The funny thing is my running habit actually developed out of a challenge in itself. It started last spring. The fitness center in my apartment complex had closed as communities across the country and globe imposed quarantines. Fueled by a desire to remain active, I began jogging inside my apartment and on the pathways through my complex. Jogs with my boyfriend, during which I could maintain my pace for barely two minutes gave way to 10-minute runs and eventually 20.

I got off track for a bit, when the summer heat became too oppressive to run even early in the morning. But when the fitness center finally reopened, my boyfriend pushed me to run on the treadmill instead of doing my go-to elliptical cardio workouts. I continued to push myself, to push my pace, to run for longer periods of time—especially when I found out that my work would still be holding an annual 5K for residents and employees.

I was up to 40 minutes of running and nearly to the 3.11-mile mark in my training when I developed debilitating tendinitis in my knee. Because it seemed to come and go at first, I continued to push myself, until one weekend I could barely stand the pain of regular, everyday walking. It was weeks before the race. Thankfully I hadn’t signed up for it yet because I had to spend the final two weeks leading up to it taking it easy on my knee. When I finally began jogging again I had to limit myself to 20 minutes at the most.

Easing back into running around the start of 2021, I made it a goal to do a 3.11-mile run this year. My hope is to make that my standard cardio workout. I’m trying to do it healthily this time. I got a knee strap. I’ve added some new stretches to the ones I’ve previously done. I know if I start feeling knee pain not to push myself, but I bought some heat therapy patches in case the tendinitis does begin acting up.

My jogs still aren’t yet back to where they were in November. I’ve continued to run into new challenges, too. It’s important to me to teach my daughter about fitness. Watching what I do, and even using equipment that she’s able to use appropriately teaches her about taking care of herself physically, and about discipline. But sometimes her presence can distract me from my workouts. Sometimes the  treadmills don’t work. Then I found myself stuck mostly inside for weeks with COVID. 

But still I fight. I continue to push, to overcome, to grow stronger. That, to me, is what Maynard James Keenan is singing about with lyrics that evoke Carl Jung’s “shadow.”

“Change is coming through my shadow.”

I’m facing the challenge, the darkness, the fears. I’m pushing myself through it. And as I do, I’m reminded how much the physical is tied in with the spiritual. How as I develop strength and muscle tone, I tend to feel more energized, think more clearly and make healthier choices all around. I am running as though to win the prize. Drenched in sweat, sometimes exhausted, I’m conquering my weakness with every step. 

“I choose to live.”

Where you lead me

I sometimes wake up with a song in my head only to hear it a short while later on the radio. They’re typically praise or worship songs, and they often seem to emphasize to me one of God’s qualities (e.g. kindness, strength, patience) or encouragement I’m in need of.

Last weekend, I woke with “Send Me,” by the Crossroads worship team in my mini. I listened to it on my phone as I started my day, then heard it again a short while later while streaming the weekend message. The song references the prophet Isaiah and his willingness to share God’s message with the Hebrew people.

The next morning, I arrived at work a few minutes late. Although I work as a server and bartender in a senior living community, our jobs are quite a bit different right now. Because we work with a high-risk population in terms of COVID-19, we’ve been operating in quarantine mode for quite a while and will be on the later end of returning to some semblance of normal. As a result, I’ve recently done some cross-departmental work assisting with housekeeping. I was one of three people assigned to housekeeping that morning. Two were to clean in independent living, while one of us would go to the section reserved for assisted living, memory support and skilled nursing.

The community where I work has been very fortunate in the midst of all this. But I can’t say any of us were jumping at the chance to work in an area where people seem to be at an even greater risk of illness. But I was the last to arrive, and my other two coworkers seemed to be teamed up already. I felt obliged in a way to accept the job assignment. So when the housekeeping supervisor asked who would do it—after a brief uncomfortable silence—I volunteered.

This quote outside a resident’s apartment seems fitting

As I set about my cleaning, the song “Send Me” still seemed to be ringing in my head. “This isn’t quite what I thought I was signing up for,” I thought. But at the same time, I felt convicted. I had sung along with those words with a desire for them to be true. I want to be willing to go where God sends me and do what He asks of me, wherever that is and whatever it looks like.

The truth is, I’ve wrestled a lot with my sense of purpose and where I am. I always try to find purpose, meaning and joy in whatever I’m doing. But there’s something that tells me, “There’s something more you should be doing.”

Yet, I felt more at peace that day than I’ve felt for the majority of the last few weeks. The work kept me busy and focused and afforded plenty of quiet time for reflection. As much as it pushed me beyond my comfort zone because of the pandemic, walking these halls felt familiar and comfortable. I actually grew up in this type of setting. With a mother who was an LPN in nursing homes, I spent my fair share of time in them. My first interview even took place in a nursing home; many years before I became a journalist I interviewed a resident at my mom’s work who had lived through the Great Depression.

I never had a desire to go into nursing as my mother and grandmother both had, and I never envisioned myself working in a senior living community. I found it a bit ironic when I began working in one. But I also feel like my background makes me uniquely equipped for working in this environment. I have an appreciation for the value and wisdom senior citizens possess. For as much as I struggle with patience in some ways, I have a patience for the residents and the type of situations I’m faced with at work.

As I worked my shift the other day, I thought of these things. And I took in the sights and sounds, the bittersweet moments of seeing former independent living residents, catching little snippets of their lives and their interactions. I witnessed nurses who were tremendously kind and patient, who I could tell have a heart for what they do.

As apprehensive as I’d been at the start of the day, I couldn’t help but feel I was where I was supposed to be. Maybe I am meant to do something more—to serve more through my writing and to do more to build community. But maybe for now my purpose is in greeting a resident by name with a smile. Through providing some familiarity and normalcy in the midst of this crazy time. Through providing an understanding ear to a coworker. Through recognizing the contributions of the people around me where I am, letting them know, “You are still seen and heard. You are significant.” Because it’s in being where I’m supposed to be that I find my purpose.

Power over darkness

There is nothing to be afraid of. How many times have I uttered that line within minutes of putting my 5-year-old to bed? It’s easy to say. But even as I say it, and even as I know it to be true, I find her struggle all too relatable.

The truth is, I struggle with fear and anxiety quite a bit. Most people don’t see it, but I feel it inside. It comes in phases, and when it does it tends to jump from one insecurity to the next. It often starts with a relational and/or emotional fear. The fear triggers an internal physical response, which exacerbates the stress as I fret over how the anxiety is affecting my body.

I’m sure I’m not the only one facing challenges like this right now. No matter how good your circumstances might be, or how positive of a mindset you have, these current crises have turned our world upside down. As much as there is opportunity for goodness, loving others, peacemaking and healing, this pandemic and racial tension have in many ways isolated and divided people.

When it comes to anxiety, I definitely believe medication is helpful and necessary for some people. I’ve even considered if this would be the healthiest path for me. However, I also recognize that there are environmental and spiritual factors that contribute to anxiety and the fear it’s rooted in. With this in mind, there are a few things I’ve found helpul in combating them.

• Identify the source

When I begin to notice anxiety around an issue, a main go-to for me is to pray for things like peace and courage. This sometimes helps. But often, it’s like I’ve been picking up things that stir up anxiety. In order to make space for the peace and courage I need, I have to identify what is bothering me, why, and make a conscious decision to put down these things I’m carrying. It has been a long road learning to do this, and it’s not comfortable to work through, but I know it’s something that leaves me healthier and more at-peace in the end.

• Am I present?

So often when we’re anxious, it’s because our minds are somewhere else, focused on the past or the future. Believe me, I know how much these things can utterly consume our minds when we’re caught up in anxiety. Even if I’m aware my mind is elsewhere, it’s not always so easy as telling myself to focus on the circumstances actually surrounding me. But simply reminding myself—and praying—to be present can help.

• What am I putting in?

Am I eating enough? Am I consuming (too much) caffeine? I had to cut back from two cups of coffee a day to one as part of my recent efforts to manage anxiety. I also have found that stress and anxiety have the effect of making me feel like my stomach is empty (and on the flip side, an empty stomach can sometimes trigger anxious sensations). I try to manage this by having snacks at the ready and making sure I don’t put off eating when I feel hungry. While this mostly centers on the physical, I also have to consider what I’m putting into my mind—music, movies and other information.

Just as some things I put in can stir up anxiety, I also have come to recognize certain messages, verses and songs that brig a deep sense of peace. Sometimes it’s even in something I hear myself saying. This morning, I was listening to a song called “Tremble,” which refers to Jesus making the darkness tremble. My daughter has heard this song plenty of times before, but this morning she asked what the word “tremble” meant, and something registered in me in a way it hadn’t before. I paused, got down on her level and explained. “You know how you’re afraid of the dark? The darkness is afraid of Jesus.”

Make it worth the price we pay

A friend recently reached out to me, expressing a desire to show support for the class of 2020—preferably without posting a senior photo on Facebook. I had just read an article the day prior about how posting senior pictures on social media may allow scammers to obtain and use personal information.

As I considered possible alternatives to show solidarity, it occurred to me that my words may be my own best way of showing support. So, to the class of 2020:

It’s OK to grieve

You have put in countless hours over the past 13 years toward this goal of graduating high school. You want to celebrate this milestone achievement with your classmates. Maybe you even had a capstone project you’re passionate about and put a lot of effort intoe. You’ll still receive your diploma. You’ll likely celebrate in some way with family, and possibly some friends. And you’re likely presenting major projects through some kind of digital platform. But it’s not the same. It’s not what you’d hoped for or expected. I get that. It’s healthy and OK to grieve these losses. But at the same time, don’t lose perspective. If you’re inclined to sit in a rut of how this pandemic has ruined your senior year, remember that people are dying and losing loved ones in the midst of it. And while you won’t get back these experiences of a typical graduation, you very likely will have other milestones and events that in retrospect will outweigh the significance it has to you in this moment.

You are adaptable

If you’ve been in primary and secondary school over the past 13 years, you’ve surely experienced your share of change. You may have experienced changes to curriculum and state testing standards. There have been major changes in how technology is used in classrooms in your time as a student. And now (if you still have required classes), you’ve had to navigate virtual learning. It might feel like an irritation. Maybe you prefer or do better in a more social setting. But you have an amazing ability to adapt to change. Own that. Embrace it, and appreciate it. It’s something that will serve you well in many avenues in life.

You can grow from this

This juncture in life is often a time of uncertainty, even in the best of times. Adding to that, you’re faced with not knowing what’s next right now. Will you be starting classes on-site at your college in the fall, or will learning still be primarily online? If you’re not planning to start college, will you be able to work? You may even be currently bearing the added responsibility of providing for your household, if your parents are suddenly out of work, and you work in a restaurant, grocery store or other “essential” field. Whatever your situation or uncertainty you face, you can grow through these circumstances. There’s potential for you to develop resilience when things don’t go as planned, peace in uncertainty and patience in waiting for things that are beyond your control. There are opportunities for you to be creative, to show kindness and to help others who are in need. Young and old, poor and rich, we are all in this situation, and there are aspects of it that suck for us in different ways. What we can do in this time of uncertainty is choose how we approach it and how we let it shape us. Whatever this time looks like for you, look for your opportunity to grow from it, and seize it.

This is unfailing love

For the past two weeks, the question, “Who has influenced you?” has been reverberating through my head. I’ve considered how to respond to this prompt. I like a good creative twist and had considered doing a “top three influences” piece.

While many people have contributed to who I’ve become, though, so much of who I am is thanks to my grandfather.

Wilburn Dishon was a huge part of my life from day one. In the months leading up to my birth, my mother had moved back into her parents’ home, along with my older sister. We lived in their house until I was 4. Even after we moved out, my sister and I often spent the night with our grandparents. Grandpa lent us his T-shirts to sleep in and read stories to us at bedtime. In the mornings, he made sure we got on the bus, or would take us to school.

It was only over the past few years that I realized how much my grandfather laid the foundation of my love for reading and storytelling. Whether reading bedtime stories, relaying Sunday school lessons or sharing his own experiences, he made it entertaining and engaging.

My grandpa also happened to be a graphic design artist and in his free time pursued artistic outlets including drawing, painting and woodworking. As with my passion for storytelling, I took for granted until recently that I’ve always gravitated toward people–particularly men–who are creative.

Of the various ways my grandfather influenced me, four things stand out that I believe capture his character and guide how I try to live my life.

Work hard

My grandfather was raised and began working in an era when it was still common for wives to be homemakers while their husbands supported the family financially. Although my grandmother worked as a nurse for significant portions of her life, my grandfather was adamant about supporting his family, so much that–according to my mother–he said he “would shovel shit” to take care of them.

Of course, the working world is a different playing field than it was during my grandfather’s career. I was raised by a single working mother and am a single working mother myself. I’m grateful I’ve had more time at home with my daughter than many other moms with careers, but I also enjoy working. While I think it’s fantastic for families to have whatever working situation works best for them (working mom, stay-at-home wife, stay-at-home dad, etc.) I think what I took from my grandfather is that you work hard at whatever you do.

Show up

My grandpa didn’t just put in his hours at work; he was there for his family. He and my grandmother welcomed my mother, sister and me to live in their home not once but multiple times when we needed a place to live over the years. He drove me to extracurricular activities, work and even college classes many times over the years. It’s honestly much less likely that I would have completed college were it not for his assistance. He also showed up for his Church family, teaching Sunday school for years in a way that kids understood and enjoyed.

I’m grateful my grandfather got to live to meet my daughter

Love others

My grandpa loved and took care of his family. But he also set an example of what it looks like to love others. Sometimes family members felt that made him susceptible to being taken advantage of. But from offering a piece of candy to brighten someone’s day to giving money to a stranded family to supporting needy children through non-profits, when he saw a need, he would do whatever was in his power to help and to let them know someone cared.

Be honest

There were a couple times in my life when my grandpa (and other family members) were concerned about decisions I was making. I remember him putting me on the spot in an effort to correct these behaviors. I’d be lying if I said I always received this correction with grace; in reality my responses were more like, “It’s none of your business.” But in retrospect, I recognize that he was showing he cared and that he wasn’t going to hold back when he felt I was doing something that wasn’t good for me.

My grandfather also struggled with bipolar disorder, which was at times exacerbated by life circumstances. There were times during depressive phases when I would ask how he was and get a very honest and straightforward answer. It was hard to hear, but it taught me to listen and to show the kind of empathy that says, “I’m sorry you’re feeling this way. There’s not much I can do about it, but I will sit here with you a while.” From these things, I learned to be honest, even when it’s unpopular or when it means being vulnerable.

Where I end and begin

It’s the start of a new year and a new decade. 2020. It’s amazing what can happen in the span of 10 years and how it can shape a person. Even looking back over 2019, I see a year full of change.

A year ago, I was driving west, car full with my daughter, best friend, cat and dog and whatever belongings I hadn’t gotten into the moving truck. Over the next few weeks, I navigated situations that felt incredibly daunting in the moment but that, looking back now, are small blips on the radar. Tracking down paperwork and sending multiple faxes trying to set up my daughter’s child care. Taking the final steps to secure employment.

I went from a phase of being fairly insulated to one where I was pushed back into a more typical everyday life. I started off the year feeling lonely, longing to find my place in a new state and learning to receive God’s love more fully. I had some pretty sweet moments resting in that, appreciating the beauty around me driving to work, hearing songs on the radio that spoke to my heart like a love letter.

Over the course of 2019, I embraced a new sense of freedom and reconnected with some elements of my younger self (mostly positive, I think). And in an unexpected place, I found companionship in someone who brings out the youthful side of me, while also encouraging and supporting me in everything from exercising to parenting my daughter better.

As I consider the year ahead, I see a year when there’s still a lot of unknown ahead. I have to make a decision in the next few weeks whether it’s time to again move to a new home or to stay where I am a bit longer. With a 5-year-old who will be starting school this fall, that will likely mean some change to my work situation. I also have a lot of hope for what this year will hold.

I hope for more patience and wisdom in my parenting and for greater peace and obedience from my daughter. I hope to better use my gifts and training in my work. I hope to move forward and up in self-sufficiency (while still relying on God).

As I often do, I also have some specific, attainable goals for 2020. I’ve read quite a bit of the Bible, and for a long time I’ve wanted to read it in entirety. In a step toward that, I plan to read 12 chapters in the Bible this year that I have not yet read. I also aim to step up more in building into boy who I sponsor through Compassion International. I felt convicted last year to begin writing letters more frequently, and this year I plan to write to him once every month.

As always, I welcome prayers and would love to hear about your own hopes and goals. I look forward to whatever lies before us in the year and the decade ahead.

Going to better places

As the latter half of this year marches forward, I’ve been reflecting a lot on my experience living in a city that still feels relatively new to me.

I love the way the sunlight shines through the trees in the morning.

It’s hard to believe I’ve been here more than eight months–and that I haven’t written for much of that time. When I first moved, I had plans to seek out writing work pretty quickly. Yet working five days a week in a senior living community has left me limited in that pursuit. It took me much of my first six months here just to adjust to a new city and new rhythms for this season in my and my daughter’s lives.

There are a ton of neighborhood parks here—and of course gorgeous views.

To be honest, I’ve come to recognize that this is a time to give myself time, to figure out my next steps in terms of career. And of course, it’s not as though I haven’t been writing at all. This summer I had the privilege of interviewing and writing a feature on a resident at the senior living community where I work, for the monthly resident newsletter. It’s something I hope to continue as a recurring feature. I also hope to get back to blogging more regularly.

For now, how do I sum up these past few months? And for that matter, do I really need to? I feel like this has been a season when I’ve needed to listen more than share my voice. I’ve struggled since moving, with loneliness, feeling out of place and recognizing that starting from ground zero, developing community is even slower going than I expected. At the same time, I’ve experienced increased freedom, humility, joy, answered prayers for companionship and male role models for my daughter and a renewed youthfulness, working in a setting where the majority of my coworkers are younger than me. I’ve made my first visit back to Cincinnati and am soon expecting a visit here from a friend.

Violet’s idea of packing for our trip was to bring every toy and book possible.

Looking ahead, I’m excited to host a group tied in with an upcoming message series through my Church community. In a city where barely anyone knows who or what Crossroads is, it promises to be an interesting experience. From those who pray, I welcome prayers for things to come together for that.

I look forward to hopefully sharing more again soon. Until then…

Counting every blessing

I started my day this past Friday coaxing my dog to drink hydrogen peroxide, then cleaning up her vomit.

Probably not the update people might be expecting after a month or so of no writing. Let me backtrack, though.

I started Friday off by taking the picture below and thanking God for my daughter. A short while later, I wrote in my prayer journal, “Please fill me with the fruit of your spirit in these things (my agenda for the day) and in anything else that may arise today, give me grace, peace, patience and wisdom.”

They just look so darn sweet when they’re sleeping.

Then, my daughter fed coffee grounds to the dog while I was in the shower.

I would love to tell you I remained calm and lovingly conveyed to my daughter that this was unacceptable behavior. In reality, I yelled at her, then rushed to the store, telling her repeatedly how angry I was and dropping the F word at least once. I did explain to her in the midst of all this that what she had done had potentially poisoned the dog and that just like I’d be angry if someone did something to hurt her–my human daughter–it made me angry for someone to do something that could hurt my dog. But I wouldn’t say my reaction was overall a good display of grace, peace, patience and wisdom.

It wasn’t until a short while later that I even made the connection between my prayer and the incident. After feeding the hydrogen peroxide to the dog, and especially after she threw up the coffee grounds, I was able to pause. The anger faded, I told my daughter that I forgave her–again emphasizing the gravity of the situation–and apologized for my own reaction. It also occurred to me that I had invited this situation.

Did God put it on my daughter’s heart to do what she did? I don’t think so. But this isn’t the first time I’ve prayed a prayer that was bolder than I realized, and subsequently encountered a challenge. Some of you might be familiar with the idea that when we pray for greater patience, God doesn’t simply give it, but gives us opportunities to grow in it. Reflecting on these situations in my own life, I believe the devil tries to seize any opportunity he sees to challenge us, and knowing our hearts, God allows things to happen that test and grow us.

So, did I utterly fail in my response to this most recent test? Not necessarily. I was more aware of my strong reaction than I may have been in the past, quicker to calm down and more aware of my need to follow up calmly but firmly afterward. I was more willing to turn to God in the middle of it all and say, “I really don’t know how to deal with my daughter appropriately in this situation.” I was able to find gratitude for the fact that my daughter tells on herself, that I was aware of the hazards of caffeine for dogs and that I knew how to address the issue. Even in an area where I’m prone to struggle–hyper-awareness and distress at my lack of a partner in parenting–I was able to recognize that this kind of thing was something that could happen to any parent whose spouse is at work.

And maybe, in this situation that illuminated how much I’ve grown in grace, peace, patience and wisdom (and grew me a little bit more in them), God was exercising these exact things toward me and showing me what they look like.