Wednesday, May 24, 2017

Let Go of the Dyson.

When things feel out of control, I clean.

When terrible things happen in this world, when no hope seems to be found, I clean. When the budget is running bumpy, when I’m not confident in my parenting, when a child is moving in a questionable direction, I clean. It’s the one thing I can do to make the exterior appear in order when everything is spinning out of control slightly underneath the surface.

In elementary school, Maya invited a friend over to play while the Mom stayed and  interviewed me.  She inspected my stove top and asked me a thousand questions about my life, my beliefs and in the end, passing her rigorous test, she allowed daughter to return unsupervised.  That has haunted me for so long  Just because the surface appears safe, who was she to judge my sanity, my safety, my beliefs? Every time I wipe down my stove top I think of her and grimace. Ultimately, I am a safe choice for playdates, but if her gauge of safety is a clean stovetop, I feel mightily afraid for her daughter.

When my mom was still at home, undergoing chemo, during the worst of her days, I’d show up Dyson in hand.  Seriously.  Instead of laying with her, holding her hand, whispering comforting words, I vacuumed and dusted.  How did that feel from her perspective?  Did she feel offended that I thought her home was simply not clean enough? Did she simply desire my company? Things I missed while gripping the Dyson.


I fight a shift in perspective daily, sometimes minute by minute, to clean simply for joy, heck, to live simply for joy….working as if working for God. Not because He dictates it, but because He has blessed me with much and I feel it’s the one small way I can show thanks.  But He knows the deeper need, the grime right under the surface.  He prompts me to Be Still…chatting like a good, good father, but in this moment, I’m frantic.  For what? The world feels so out of control, the budget isn’t where I want it,  I question my parenting, He knows.  Be still, He says.  Listen, He prompts.  Step away from the Dyson and sit with me.  And when I do, He breaks my fragile heart with the straight scoop.  I am loved. I am not defined by how well I clean, how well my kids perform, or even by the darkness in this world.  I am a light. I have great purpose and if I’m gripping too tightly to the Dyson, my hands aren’t open for something bigger.  Let it go, He says.  I know exactly what this world needs, but they must let go of the Dyson. 

Friday, May 12, 2017

So I Share...

Safe inside Weigard Casa, when the house is quiet, I write.  The distractions fade and my head finally quiets.  In the end, a new revelation revealed, perhaps only for me. I hit save and file them away for my own comfort.  But what others might benefit from the words that flow in these quiet moments?  Those tucked away, afraid to reach out? Are they drowning in fear?  Do they feel all alone?  Is sadness weighing heavy on their heart?  Has loss robbed their joy?  Are they afraid to speak? Are they unsure whom to trust with their tender heart?  Have friends disappointed?  Is their world caving in?  So I share.


My heart weighs heavy for the women who hide…keeping their gift locked safely inside. Seek that one precious friend that will safely absorb the crazy.  If there’s no one there, let it be me…I’ll gobble up the fear until it’s no more.  What a world this would be if women bravely stepped up and stepped out…not hiding their unique gift from the world. So I share…with grand hopes that my words will fall upon one soul that needs the uplift, one that needs but the smallest sliver of peace to bravely step out of the darkness and share their gift.


Monday, May 1, 2017

Keep Moving Forward

I didn’t wanna.  After a week of perfectly stacked appointments, I craved a lazy Netflix kinda day.  The to-do list mounting, content to stay snuggled in. But I rise. Committed to support a friend as she voices her story and bringing a friend along for the ride.  Keep moving forward, getting dressed when I’d rather stay in my sweats, curling my hair when a pony felt nice. Teeth brushed, make-up in place, I’m starting to feel like the Living.  Pulling out of my driveway and into hers, we both seem hesitant to attend. But we keep moving forward. 

We enter together, nod a few hellos and grab our tea cups.  Still awkward, longing for home but putting on a smiley face.  My friend, Sally, doesn’t appear nervous at all…the ladies are pouring in, eager to hear her story.  We take our place and she begins… tales of faith over fear, of the importance of reaching out for help, for having faith to overcome anxiety.  

A change in perspective settles in…perhaps I’m not here for myself, perhaps not even to support Sally.  Maybe, just maybe, the speech is meant to drop some small seed with my visiting friend.  Her own struggles with loss, depression, anxiety….letting her know she’s not alone, possibly inspiring her to keep moving forward.  God’s pretty creative like that…placing support in just the right place at just the right time.  Back home again, I’m rejuvenated…thankful for the shift in perspective, off of self onto others.  Reminded, yet again, when I keep moving forward even when I don’t wanna, good things often follow.