Not good enough

I realized something important about myself on retreat this weekend. I've been getting into this really bad cycle of overcommitting to lots of people, activities and things, and then getting resentful and angry about, well everything. I couldn't really understand why though until I heard a session from Jenny Andrews, a licensed marriage and family therapist.

Essentially there is some deep part of me that doesn't feel like I am good enough. The way I've tried to feel "good" is to seek praise and accomplishment from others. Always do my best work. Don't let people down. Follow the rules. Feel guilty about saying no.

And so it was, during an intense moment during the retreat, that I realized I had treated God the same way.  I had prayed to God to bring my hair back, but there was a deep part of me that worried I didn't have enough faith to make it come true. I compared myself to others. They have so much faith! Here I am, wobbling about - I don't know if I trust God enough to believe that this prayer will be answered. Am I good enough?

As I sat there clenching my hands, I knew that I had to let go. Faith isn't a grip based on pure will, it is a vulnerability. An acceptance that I am good enough to receive this unconditional love, and even when I'm not good, grace will pour down on me - I just have to unclench my hands.

To find God, get Lost in the Woods

I grew up being raised Christian, and always felt that there was a God, and one who loved me. Jesus, though, has been more of a mystery to me.  I’ve struggled with divine birth, son-of-God among us. Most recently the truth I’ve unwrapped is that, whatever else I believe, Jesus was a real person who walked this earth.

So it was with some openness during the women’s retreat that I set out on a two-mile run/hike up to a summit where I’d been told there was a cross at the top, overlooking the valley. This could be a great moment for me, to really confront my sense of Jesus and move closer.

So you can imagine my disappointment, when after climbing through some forest scrub, the ridge of the last ascent to the cross is bordered by an enormous barbed wire fence. Finally I reach the cross, and directly adjacent to it is a huge cell phone tower with large warning signs “Do not come closer. Dangerously high radiation levels.” The view of the valley looks through the barbed wire to an open pit mine below and a strip mall behind. To top it off, there were two people lying down on benches in where I thought would be my quiet mediation spot.

What? This is it? I thought this was my turning moment to get closer to Jesus and  I’ve come to this ugly place? I quickly headed past the dangerously high radiation and followed the path down the other side, feeling irked and disappointed.

Then a quiet voice popped in my head. “Find God in the journey.”  I crossed a small brook and there were two dragonflies mating. I kept walking. I passed signs that the main trail was being closed for rehabitation, and I took a side spur. And another. And then I got lost in the woods.

And I realized for me, getting to know God and the dangerous person of Jesus won’t be a pinnacle on a hill. It will be a journey, and I will get blissfully lost in the woods, and there I will get to know myself and God better.

This morning I was going for a walk by myself and I unexpectedly came across a waterfall. God is here, I thought. I turned around, and in the middle of this remote and wooded path, I found a hair clip. It was a promise from God that my hair will grow back. It may be a year, it may be thirty years, but it will grow back. And I hope I will be open enough to continue to find God in the journey.

When Grumpy, Go on Retreat

Today I am grumpy. I'm tired of being a "stay-at-home" mom who leaves at 8:00 am and doesn't get home until 3:30 pm. I shaved my head again this morning, and it's been constantly itching. Our house is a mess. The laundry monster won't go away. I'm resentful at everyone - my kids, my husband, my status at home, all the things that I haven't gotten done.

And so I'm especially grateful that tomorrow I'm going on a women's retreat with my church. Time in the woods, time away, time to sleep in, time to eat food that other people have cooked, and time to nuture myself. Bliss!

I know that I'll feel less angry tomorrow. Or at least I hope I will. But I've realized that there's one important thing I've learned from my sons - they can go from throwing themselves and their toys against the wall in pure frustration to dancing across the rug, in about a half an hour. So I try not to beat myself up for feeling grumpy. I'm just trying to breathe, and not dwell in the dark place, but to let it pass in its time.

On Gratitude

Those of you who have joined us for a meal in the last two years or so know that before our family has dinner, we all go around the table and say what we are grateful for. I got this idea from Christine Carter's book "Raising Happiness" and its something that we talk about at church too - basically the idea that if you focus on what you are grateful for, you remember how much you do have, and you end up feeling happier. Aunt Hilary and Aunt Jennie added another element to the ritual - one night the boys fell into a quiet stupor at their house when a candle was lit - and from then on, we pass the candle and each boy looks forward to blowing it out on his night.

I think the key has been not making an issue of what is "right" or "wrong" to say in gratitude. Three-year-old Alex mostly says he is "Grateful for having dinner" but he is starting to surprise us by occasionally saying something really specific - like a visit from grandparents or a playdate with a friend. It helps me too, on even my most grumpy days, when I have to muster up something, anything! that I am grateful for - even if it's just a sunny day.

My grandmother Baba was the one who helped teach me the art and importance of thanking people. We got the message that a handwritten note was in order each Christmas and Birthdays if we wanted the bounty to continue.  And continue it did! I don't always get it right all the time, and sometimes I am weeks and even months late, but I do try to acknowledge gifts when they come, and do my best to be thankful.

What I've realized more recently is just how important it is to thank people for the work they do everyday, especially if it's meaningful to us. I finally wrote a email to a workshop organizer, telling her what I loved about the session, what I got out of it, and why. I could tell by her enthusiastic response that everyone loves to get a glimpse into the work they are doing in others' lives, and to feel like her hard work is appreciated. I wrote an even quicker email to Ben's teacher, expressing how thoughtful his approach was to celebrating birthdays as both a ritual and a way to encourage literacy. His spirited email back reminded me of the fact that teachers rarely get thanked, especially in the midst of their hard work day to day. And then, to our spouses. I gave Jeff a big hug tonight for working his butt off to prepare a birthday dinner to eat right when we walked in the door. And I know I never thank him enough, but I need to start trying harder.

And, when I remember, I fumble through my prayers to God - thanking God for my health, my family, and the things I name in the hope that I do not take them for granted.

What are you grateful for? How do you incorporate gratitude into your busy life?

Dealing with Other's Discomfort

I have been bald now for almost three weeks. I'm getting used to it for the most part. I've got lots of great hats, many thanks to my mom, cool new big earrings, and a wig that I wear when I want to "fly under the radar" as my cancer-vanquishing friend put it. When I went out with some of Jeff's work friends that's just what I needed to socialize without having to talk about my bald head all night. But most days, I don't feel like wearing the wig all the time. It gets itchy, it feels like it will fall off imminently when I am chasing (read running!) after the boys, and I ain't going to wear it at the gym.

And then tonight Ben asked me to wear my wig to his birthday party so his friends don't laugh at me. I may be starting to feel comfortable in my own skin but Ben is six, and he wants to fly under the radar. Six-year-olds notice and compare everything, and as much as I don't always want to talk about my bald head, he wants to be peppered with questions from his friends even less.

My sage preschool director Mame preemptively asked me how the kids were handling my baldness. I told her Alex insisted I wear a hat at every waking moment for the first few days, and now seems okay with it. Same reaction from his preschooler friends - intense curiosity followed by almost immediate acceptance. But Ben, I told her, refused to talk about it. She counseled me to help coach him how to respond to his friends' questions, and I made an attempt, but he wasn't ready. I will keep trying. The hardest part is I don't know how long I will be bald. It could be a year, it could be forever.

And so I ask myself - how much discomfort do I help him through? How much do I help him avoid by wearing a wig when I can?

And of course it is parenthood that has given me this true gift of empathy. A deep relationship or spouse gets us on this path, but being a parent has changed the way I think of self. I will never forget the moment it shifted completely for me: I was flying back with Jeff and Ben across country and I got sick. So sick I spent five hours locked in the airplane bathroom vomiting. And the only thing going through my head was "Thank God it's me and not Ben".

I don't care what the six year olds in Ben's class think about my bald head. But I think about Ben suffering on my behalf, because of something he can not control, and tears start rolling down my face.

A Good Fear of the End of Things

After writing last night's blog about the fear about death, I realized that there is a healthy fear of the end of things that can spur me to action. A few days ago, I rushed eagerly down the path to Alex's preschool, hoping to catch another glimpse of the baby owls. The mama owl has made a nest in Glen Canyon each spring, but it seems like there are only a few short weeks between the first fuzzy baby sightings and the day (or night!) those babies fly away for good, on to their own destinies. Now each day that I see their dark faces peering out from the treetop, my heart soars. I know that my baby owl sighting days are numbered.

And so it is with my kids. The long days are mostly tempered by the knowledge that they are growing up, and fast. I cried when Ben turned four years old - three was still a baby, but four was marching on toward little boy (and march he did). And now my youngest Alex is weeks away from his fourth birthday - still having tantrums, still asking to be cuddled at night. But not for long.

And I've lost my hair, but I don't have cancer. And some dear friends of mine have had it, and some friends are newly diagnosed and just beginning to fight this beast. And so I am not afraid of the end of life, but I am grateful I don't have cancer, and I am grateful for this day. And I am also grateful for those things in life, that remind us, however painfully, that the end is not here - but it will come - and in the meantime, we've got to celebrate the stubble and health and cuddles that we got.

The Fear of Death

Last week I was trying to convince another mom friend and neighbor to join us for bike-to-school day. She hemmed around a bit about it being way too dangerous, and then finally said outright, that she's a single parent, and afraid to die - she just doesn't want to leave her daughter an orphan.

It shocked me a bit at first. I teased her that she needs to go spend some time at temple (she's Jewish) but I really did think, wow, what a burden to be worried about dying. I felt sad that she couldn't enjoy the pure bliss of riding your bike in the city with kids. Those who I've tried to rally on bikes know that earlier this year I started making my kindergartener ride 2 miles to school on his bike, with my preschooler on a trail-a-bike behind me. We leave for school often grumpy, and arrive always feeling better, and we never have to find parking. On the way home, my son Ben tells me things he never would in the car, and we have these great conversations in the fresh air.

I am not afraid of death. My fears are many, and come in and out like waves: fears of failure, of rejection, of not being good enough, of dipping into depression. Perhaps if I had a diagnosis or event that made death imminent, I would be afraid. But for now, I'm at peace that it will come someday, and so I do the best I can today.

I had two grandfathers die a few years apart - both in their mid-nineties. I will never forget the way my parents described their last few days. One grandfather was ready to go - in fact for a year or so before, he would tell us all that. He often spoke about his business accomplishments and hobbies, but he always came back to the fact that family was the most important thing. He was a man of faith, and both my sister and I have underlined copies of C.S. Lewis books that we treasure from him. The other grandfather was an accomplished man in his field and his community. At his death, he was described to me as gasping for breath, and very afraid. He was also an alcoholic, with a trail of tears in his wake. I think that there were many who had forgiven him by his deathbed, but I don't think he had made peace with himself and his maker.

Do you fear death? Or have you had an experience that made you confront your fear of death?

Asking for Help to get a Breakthrough

A few days ago I spent five delirious hours with my new God-sent personal stylist, Majuan Franklin. We hit seven stores, bought a suit, heels, five shirts, one dress, one hat, six pairs of earrings, three bracelets, three rings, one pair of pants, a purse that Jeff calls a small bag, and two jackets. And despite running our blood sugar down to zero, managed to stay under budget. The great thing was that Majuan pushed me to choose some things I never would have picked otherwise, graciously made it clear I need a pedicure before wearing my new shoes, and he kept me on task. And I look great!

I know whenever I've wanted to make a major breakthrough in my life, I've needed to ask for help. And not just help in general, but specific help, from a specific person. When I finally decided to take gluten out of my diet, I called my friend Laura, who had been gluten-free for a while. I asked her to be my sponsor and she laughed, and agreed. Over the next few months I called her periodically to ask questions about the diet, where she shopped, and how to deal with dinner parties without offending the host. After I went to a women's coffee talk at church about mentors, I realized I needed some parenting mentors who were older than me. I sought out a teacher at a child development class and a mom a generation ahead of me in my small group. Now my friend Hilda is next on the list to help me redesign our loft space (my small attempt to keep chaos at bay).

I think having someone to be accountable to is important. Someone to ask about your goal, or project - how are things going? Someone to be a truth-teller when you need one (pedicure, lady!). Someone to keep you on task, even when your blood sugar is low. And of course, someone to give you expertise when you need it. This is different than unsolicited advice - there's nothing more maddening than a conversation with someone who responds to every comment with a proposed solution. It's a pact with a person.

There have been a few times though, when for me, a mentor was not enough. I'm a compulsive planner - having things planned makes it seem like I'm in control, and most of the time it works. And then one of those nights hits. I am sobbing in the garage, hating my kids, and feeling like a crappy parent. And the only way I can get out of this place of despair is breaking down and asking God for help - acknowledging that I can't do this alone. Eventually I walk back upstairs.

Today Jeff looked over at me with my new "hair", my new purse, orange jacket and hoodie, and said I looked like a different person (I think in a good way). Breakthrough! But I needed Majuan to help me get out of Loehman's with a bag full of clothes instead of just running out of the store for fresh air like I did last time.

In what area of your life do you want breakthrough? Who have you asked for help to get you there?

Getting out of our Comfort Zone

Last Sunday I was really excited because some friends of ours came with us to church. I've experienced so much growth there, and the boys seem happy, that I always want to share it with other people.

We were all meeting the children's pastor when he dropped the "s bomb". I cringed inside. Yikes! And in front of my friends! I hope they don't think we're all fundamentalists... and the s bomb word? "Saved" - in the context that the mural artist who designed the room used to work for Disney, and then got s... you get the picture.

I've struggled with the saved word - it seems so binary to me - either you are, or you aren't - and my faith journey has been more of a winding path, with curves and hills and valleys. I don't hear the saved word thrown around much at our church, but it reminded me that I am really challenged there. At the last church I attended I was very comfortable. It was likely the most liberal denomination in the nation and I felt confident in the fact that everyone else believed exactly what I did. And there's the funny thing: I eventually drifted away because while it was okay, I wasn't being moved or challenged in a fundamental way.

Now each week the pastor poses questions (on a powerpoint screen, no less) at the end of each sermon to ask us all how we apply that week's theme to our lives. I've had some of the hardest and most heartfelt conversations in my small group, about gay people and the church, about whether I believe in heaven. I've had to really think about what I believe, and really listen, and come back again the next week to support each other in this faith journey. I am certainly not always comfortable, but I am growing in a profound way.

And the "s word"? I've come to meditate on the saying of Jesus "You have to lose your life to save it" and that's something I've come to see the power in.

Who or what challenges you to expand beyond your comfort zone when you are searching for the divine?

What would be the most uncomfortable thing for you to do? Step inside a church or synagogue? Do a silent meditation retreat? Talk to a friend about your spiritual life?

Celebrating the Divine

Easter Sunday is coming tomorrow, and Ben had trouble falling asleep in anticipation of both the Easter Bunny's arrival and his promotion to the "big kid" class at church.

I was at a birthday party today and another mom was saying that they weren't really going to do anything for Easter - that her husband was going to put new windows into the house. She sounded a bit conflicted about it. She said they weren't religious so celebrating Easter didn't seen right, but I could tell she may have wished they did celebrate something.

I had always known that Christmas was layered on top of the Winter Solstice - a time of year when ancient people around the globe celebrated their god(s) and gave thanks for the lengthening days. I was recently reminded that Easter, too, is layered on top on ancient traditions welcoming Spring and the Equinox - including the egg - a strong symbol of rebirth. Mostly I was reminded that from the beginning of time people have sought a connection with the divine and celebrated the important passages of time and seasons.

My kids remind me everyday just how important holidays are. The anticipation, the planning, the decorating, and finally, the celebrating, especially in community. I feel sad that another mom would give up on traditions of celebrating rebirth (and not just Christian ones) over 3000 years old, just because she feels like she's not religious enough for Easter. It's funny that with religion we often feel like we have to know all the answers, or be in 100% agreement, before we even begin the journey. In contrast to a yoga class, where half the time I can't keep up, don't know what they are saying, or sometimes don't feel the same way as the teacher, but I go - and allow my body and heart to be opened - and I come away a bit more connected.

So, for all you seekers, I encourage you to open your heart and find a community to celebrate with - a Buddhist temple, a synagogue, a mosque, a meeting hall, a church. Rebirth is a powerful thing, and we all need some of that.

On Fear

I used to dread taking showers. I would wonder just how much hair I would see trailing through my fingers with each pass I would take to rinse out my shampoo. I had a profound fear that I was losing more and more hair each day - a fear I would try to temper with opiismism and faith that things would get better and a generally distorted view of how much hair I had really lost (after all, I couldn't see that far in the back anyway!).

The amazing thing was that after I shaved my head - after being overcome by a profound sense of loss - a sense of relief settled over me. I didn't have to fear losing any more hair. It was already gone. There was freedom beyond explanation in that.

I think it can be the fear itself that can get toxic in our systems - paralyzing us even more than the event itself. Which is worse? A spouse cheating? Or months - even years? of insecure fear that the event may be taking place? A child with a broken arm? Or a child who fears climbing high or challenging herself because she is encircled by her parents' loving fear?

Pastor Terry of Cornerstone has spent many of the past few weeks talking about fear. In the story of Jairus, who appeals to Jesus on behalf of his gravely ill daughter, Jairus is told by friends of the family that his daughter is already dead. And Jesus' response is "Do not be afraid, only believe". Not - do not be sad, or do not grieve - because we will, and I believe God is there with us in that moment. But rather, don't get paralyzed or toxic from fear. http://cornerstone-sf.org/tv/detail/part-6-the-fear-that-all-is-lost/

I am still grieving the loss of my hair. But today I saw the baby owls for the first time this spring on the path to preschool, and one was stretching its wings on the edge of the nest. And I ducked into a store to get sunglasses for my new bald head and I cornered the next person to walk in for advice - and guess what? God sent me my own personal stylist (who picked out a wig for me today).

And I see the signs that God you are with me in this grief too. And now I love to take showers! And for baby owls, stylists, and more, I am profoundly grateful.

What fear in your life is preventing you from living fully? What would freedom from that fear look like?

A Bald Mama Begins

I was diagnosed with Alopecia seven years ago, as I was anticipating my wedding to Jeff. At that time, it was just a silver of hair loss up the back of my neckline. A few days ago, Palm Sunday, my hair loss had accelerated so rapidly that it only made sense to shave it all off. I cried. And, after the encouragement of a a couple of friends, Bald Mama Speaks begun.