Love your neighbor

Have you been following the news? I try not to. My heart sinks to my shoes when I do and I feel so disgusted and fearful afterwards that I get a news hangover. All the drama that is happening in the world right now and right in our own country are enough to leave me sleepless. I believe our country has not seen this kind of unrest and turmoil in decades, and Americans are so accustomed to observing "other" people's issues on their televisions that we became complacent. Now, it's here. It's not even knocking on our door anymore! It's here and it's currently sitting on the couch, with the feet on the coffee table while reading the news.

Deep, deep troubles.

I think often about the stem of these troubles, not just American troubles, but across the globe. A lot of it has to do with money and power. Religion fuels much of the conflict as well. But I think there is a baser root to it and I'm still trying to determine what it is. I think it's something along the lines of superiority or worthiness or self-righteousness... but I can't pinpoint it exactly.

Why are people power-hungry? What is it about power that people get? Control, certainly. Status. Often wealth, stigma. But a person wouldn't need power if they didn't have some superiority goal, if they didn't have the need to be on top of the pile.

Same goes with money. Money, to many people, means freedom, power, status, superiority. Especially in the Western world, people tend to value a wealthy person's life over a poor person's. But what does that really mean? Why is the wealthy person deemed more valuable? Because of his economic contribution?

Religion. I have to admit that my stomach rolls a bit at the topic of religion lately. So many Christians in my own country who profess to love and value life, humanity, human rights, the blessings God has bestowed upon us are the very same people who decry the value of a brown-skinned life. Who denounce the rights of women. Who defile the earth on which we live. Who hesitate not in the least at waging war. I feel stunned at the bold hypocrisy.

There's so much hatred. It reverberates from the news, social media, even in the streets. The common theme through so much of it is that anyone who is different than me is to be feared and hated. In my mind, this is so much more than an economic, safety, cultural, or racial issue. There is an element of alarmist mentality and from every outlet it's "Us vs. Them."

We've become our own worst enemies - even though we think it's "them." It's our own rotting heart that is the enemy.

In my eyes, it's a root issue of the heart and all of these other issues are manifested because of it. The core of the human heart of humanity is corroded. There's a false sense of "us" and "them" and with that comes the notion that one is better than the other, the notion of superiority. It's ludicrous that there is some hierarchy to humanity: White men>white women? white men>black men? white women>black women? straight/cisgender>LGBTQ? Christian>Muslims? On and on ad nauseam...

It's all bullshit. It makes me angry. My question is: what makes "us" so great? What makes "us" SO MUCH better than "them"? What makes our lives SO MUCH more valuable than theirs? The truth is: nothing. You may not need to agree with them – but for God's sake – respect them. Value their life. Accept and tolerate their existence just as someone who disagrees with you accepts and tolerates your miserable existence. Who are we to say that we are better/more important/more valuable than the next person or group? Superior much? Bloated ego? Afraid? Powerful or powerless? What is it? What is that nugget of evil that lives in people that makes this our current reality?

Radical idea here: instead of collectively stepping on them, what if we wrapped our arms around them and collectively lifted them up. Helped to raise them up to their highest potential. The only thing happens is that we all win.

Here's a secret: there is no "them."

In high school band class, the band teacher said that a band is only as good as it's worst player. The quality of the music depended on every person in that band and that included the poorest performer. The music would never be more beautiful than that worst player could play. Newsflash: that's true for every group of performers, people, cultures, everything. That's humanity, people! We (humanity) will never be more than the poorest, sickest, most neglected people on earth, because we are a collective. There is no "them." The beauty of our world, human nature, love, life will never be more beautiful than the "least" of us. When we lift up the disadvantaged, down-trodden, poor, sick, discriminated, we are lifting ourselves up. And if we can't lift "them" up, for God's sake, don't kick "them" down.

I know, completely idealist notion, but it's what my heart knows is right. My heart and soul rebels wildly at the fear and judgments pervading our society. I mentally search myself to see what I can do to make things a little less hateful, a little less scary. All I know to do is love.

Mark 12:31: "The second is this: ‘You shall love your neighbor as yourself.’ There is no other commandment greater than these."

Parenting

Recently, I was having a conversation with loved ones about parenting. Parenting is a beloved topic of conversation for me because I have realized from my life experiences how much my parents and the way they parented me molded me into who I am today. It's a curious thing - how much is nature and how much is nurture and I find myself thinking about it often.

This particular conversation, I was expressing some frustration about the mentality some people have about parenting. I try desperately not to be a judgy-mom, however, there is one particular issue that I cannot get my head around: the disengaged or "not my problem" parent. For example, the notorious parents who defend their child, who is known to bully other children. They stand in the principals office denying their child would ever be so cruel, and then go home and turn a glazed eye to the fact that the same child is tormenting his siblings. These parents... ugh, I have issues with.

My philosophy on parenting is this: As a parent, your job is to prepare your child to grow up to be a resourceful, contributing, happy person. This means teaching them everything: say hello, wipe their noses, handle the mean kid, ask for a job, find happiness, to love, and even scramble an egg. In my mind, everything that makes up a well-rounded adult needs to be taught, even the things like finding happiness and loving someone well need to be taught. Everything you do and don't do contributes to your child's success (whatever your definition of success may be) later on in life. Too often people underestimate the mundane things. For example:

Ruby has always been an extraordinarily trustworthy child. If I tell her no treats, I could leave the kitchen table piled high with every sweet you could think of and she would not touch one. Even at her grandparents house, if they offer her a treat, she knows to get approval from me first. Recently, when we arrived home one evening, I was distractedly putting away my things and Ruby was doing her thing. Then she announced "I just need some time alone for a while" and hurried off to her room and closed the door. Warning bells fired off in my brain because this was so uncharacteristic of her. She never needs time alone and she never closes her bedroom door. I immediately went to her room and pushed the door open. She was sitting with her back to the door, and a left-over treat from the evening before broken open on the carpet in front of her and her eyes grew big as she stared at me with guilt, her mouth crammed full of candy.

I knew in that moment that there was a huge lesson for us both to learn and I scrambled through my jumbled thoughts, frantically searching for the answer, searching for the perfect way to resolve this in the fraction of a second. I knew that moment presented me with a situation that would lay the bar for similar situations for years to come: sneaking, lying, hiding information, and all of the other related maladies.

I handled that situation, calmly, and the only way I knew in that moment. I don't know if I did the right thing or if that memory will stick with Ruby as much as it does with me. But, we haven't had any further issues. I think how, when coming home from a long day with a long list of chores to do, it could be so easy to just brush it off. Ignore the warning bells in my brain and not act on it. Just ignore it. Disengage.  I then think how quickly kids learn, and how quickly things like that can morph into issues so much bigger. Candy today, iPods in 5 years, cars in 10 years?

Perhaps that sounds a bit dramatic. It was just a little candy, right? She's only 5, right? Well, I believe it all starts somewhere. My job as Ruby's mother is to prepare her to be a successful adult, it just seems too important to ignore. I'm not interested to see what other paths Ruby could take because I'm a little tired and too inconvenienced to be bothered by it.

I observe people. What they say and don't say. What they do and don't do. I spent my 20's watching the people around me raise children and I grew a lot of ideas. I don't have the answers but I have some observations and ideas packed away in my brain. And I have my gut.

Writing

I love words. I love them. I love how people have "voices" in the written word and I love how certain people can craft the most perfect sentence that it sends literal shivers down my spine. Or better yet, when I feel like a whole new area of my brain opened up from a simple sentence or idea.

I want to write. I've been told I write much like I speak. (It is what it is.) I want to write more. I want to write creatively. I want to write a book. But when I think about what I want to write about, I feel like I don't have enough to say to fill a blog post much less a full book. Then, there are countless sleepless nights where my brain is spinning so hard and fast, I swear smoke is coming from my ears. There are moments with special people, when I feel at ease and comfortable and I have so many ideas and so much to say that there aren't enough hours in the night, or wine in the house, to get all of it out of me.

Then, I prepare to write. I stare blankly at my screen and every intelligible thought running through my head has suddenly disappeared. Where have all my thoughts gone? For the longest time, I anguished over this. Why is there this need in me to write and why, when I try to write, I can't find anything to say?

Today, I realized what the problem is: fear. I am afraid that my thoughts and words are not profound 'enough.' I am afraid that I will be tied to those words forever: that those words are absolute truth for me, forever. When the truth is: I am a constantly evolving, learning, changing being and I can change my mind. I can see things from another view. I can learn and decide that maybe I wasn't right. Sometimes, I am afraid I will be judged. I have thin skin and criticism hurts, and I do not actively seek out pain. Writing whatever is in my head and heart and putting it "out there" is almost actively seeking pain.

Still... I want to write.

Yesss.

And that's why I love you

Ruby is in her third year of dance class. This fall she was, again, in a class for 3/4 year olds and it was clear she was not being challenged and losing interest. So, I signed her up for the 5/6 year old class for this spring semester.

The thing about Ruby is that it seems music speaks to her. Maybe it does with all kids, I don't know. She loves to dance and feels music in her body. She has rhythm and learns choreography incredibly easy. She memorizes words to songs after hearing them 2 or 3 times. She blooms with music. She has much more interest in it than I have ever had and there has been more than a couple of occasions where I pick her up at school and she is dancing in the middle of a circle of friends and parents watching her.

Last night, she had her first class with the 5 to 6 year olds (Ruby turns 5 in a few days). She was a tad nervous, as she didn't know any of the other kids or the dance instructor. I was grateful as the instructor saw her nervousness and asked the other kids to introduce themselves to Ruby, which they did shyly. When they began dancing, all I could think was "UH. OH." The ballet moves were intricate with names neither Ruby or I had ever heard before. The footwork was complex and my stomach flopped, thinking I'd made another parenting mistake. I also worried that Ruby would get frustrated and give up, as she can sometimes be a perfectionist. But, I continued to nervously watch.

Ruby's eyes never left her instructor. The first few tries, she would mess up her step or forget to point her toes, but she watched her instructor and try again and soon enough she had it. Her eyes literally did not leave her instructor. She would watch so hard, that if another kid moved in her line of vision, Ruby would move up to stand directly next to her teacher so her view would not be obstructed. She was glued. At one point, they were doing a "ballet obstacle course" with a series of four ballet "moves" (I'm not a ballerina and am still earning the terminology) in sequence. These moves would be difficult for me to do without some practice - and there was my daughter, in line with all of these bigger girls, stumbling, struggling at times, but smiling... working hard and focusing intently... Then the song "True Colors" (by Justin Timberlake and Anna Kendrick—Trolls, Ruby's favorite) played - and I watched my girl working so hard, the tears just came.

It wasn't that Ruby did so well. It wasn't that my daughter is a dancer. It certainly wasn't that some dreams of mine are being fulfilled.

It was seeing her joy, her focus and concentration, her hard work. The small smile of satisfaction she had when she did the move right and persistence to get the next one right. I was so proud of her.

Bloom, honey. Bloom.

In a world full of people

You can lose sight of it all

And the darkness inside of you

Can make you feel so small

But I see your true colors

Shining through

I see your true colors

And that's why I love you

So don't be afraid to let them show

Recently, there was a story in the news about a newborn baby found in the St. Paul Cathedral. A cathedral worker found the brand new baby, the baby was later named after him. The police who responded had gone to buy the baby pajamas and blankets after the baby was brought to the hospital. The baby has been turned over to DHS and will hopefully be adopted by a loving family.

The mother... I think about her. I think about how she is healing, and what circumstances brought her to leave her baby at the cathedral. I think about her heart and I hope she is not hurting so badly. I am tempted to go on about how brutal life can be. Circumstances forcing women to make choices like that... I think of the families torn apart at Aleppo and a million other places in the world... but then, I cannot bear it. I cannot bear to think of all the babies and children in this world who do not have safe, content homes to grow up in. I want to take all of them and love them and raise them. (Then I remember hissing for the 100th time at Ruby this morning to get dressed, ready to rip my hair out. Some realism for breakfast, maybe.) It disturbs me so deep in my bones, all of these children who bear too much, who are scared too much, who hurt too much and I could wail at the injustice of it.

It's so awful. I feel like there's something there, in my empathy that is calling me to do something. But I don't know what it is. I don't know what to do with my hurt or where it goes. So, I think of Mother Teresa's response to how we can promote world peace: "Go home and love your family." Now, there's a start...

http://www.startribune.com/newborn-boy-left-in-laundry-basket-at-st-paul-cathedral/409784895/

2016 in review

At the start of 2016, I could feel a change coming, personally. I won't even begin to discuss the year 2016 in anything other than a personal way, as the events of 2016 globally require too many words, too many thoughts, and too much heartache for me to bear. But personally, 2016 was a year headed towards path unknown to me.

A few different things lead towards this shift for me: a settling of legal issues regarding Ruby, a new relationship, events at my work that meant I either change or leave, and a renewed hunger to create this life I feel in my heart and dream about, but for so many reasons have not created.

I began the year without resolutions but with a fistful of ideas and hope. I knew most of the "external" events in my life would evolve organically, as those things tend to do. It was my internal voice and direction that needed some work. So in January, I began an online class, Living Brave, by Brene Brown. It was a full semester, with the first half focused on her book Daring Greatly, and the second half of the semester focused on her book Rising Strong. If you've never heard of Brene or read the books, the basic gist is this: To live a brave and beautiful life, you have to be vulnerable (Daring Greatly). In being vulnerable, inevitably you will crash. Rising Strong is exactly about that: how to rise strong when you've been vulnerable and crashed and to find the courage to Dare Greatly again.

The class was no joke. Never have taken her class before, I expected less work and more "fluff." It turned out to be a lot of work, a lot of emotional "heavy lifting," writing, and more tears than I ever dreamed. But it was so worth it! I learned a ton about myself and healed some dusty corners of my heart that I didn't know needed healing. I learned a ton... and then soon came to the realization that knowledge is one thing, but putting the knowledge to work takes a ton of practice. So, I've been practicing. I've been practicing being vulnerable and I've been practicing rising strong.

Emotionally, I feel a huge shift in myself. I feel more grown up. More mature, even though my actions can sometimes betray the newfound maturity (practicing!). I feel softer, yet braver. Although so much of it feels new to me, and I go back to review my work and remember the lessons, I feel calmer. I have an innate (it feels innate) understanding that I didn't have before and it makes me feel a bit more confident. By innate, I mean so many times through the course, it was like remembering something you already knew, instead of learning something fresh. Brene commented on that several times, and I paraphrase: "You know this in your heart, but because of life circumstances and survival and the emotional guards and tactics we learn, the innate knowledge is lost."

Such good stuff. I am so glad I took the class!

In 2017, I am taking another Brene class called "The Gifts of Imperfect Parenting: A Wholehearted Revolution." So anxious to begin...