Quarantine Refueling

Fridays have always been tough for the consistent flow of schedule… early morning Rotary meeting means either I rise at 5 for quiet time with the Big Guy followed by writing, but more often than not, I rise in time to pretty up for a meeting and race out the door to gather with my Rotarians.  On a typical day, aka not-quarantined, I’m home by 8:15 and at the shop at 9am to open at 10am.  Not much time for my regular morning refueling. I always feel like something’s missing, I’m a little off, a little lop-sided…as if I’ve forgotten to brush my teeth or apply deodorant, but weightier than that. 

I jump right out of bed and onto the figurative treadmill…racing racing racing all day until I’m emptier than empty.  The likely problem is that I never started it filled. All day, I was running on my own efforts, on fumes from the day prior.  Yesterday’s goodness was for yesterday… this day has its own new mercies, own new troubles.  And the days when I don’t first fill-up, it’s nearly impossible to complete the work planned with great efficiency…it’s not a lack of drive or focus, it’s sheer Source.  My tanks are empty before I even start. 

Today’s no different…my brain and dna is flitting from one task to another: wipe the counters down, spray extra disinfectant on the handles, put the dishes away, run another load, gather the laundry, separate the laundry, why isn’t the Roomba charging? I have to pay the bills and write, but also film a video for the shop… I’ve been slacking on my contact with social media.  Although yesterday I scrolled and scrolled for hours as if it was my full time paid position.  Atop the scrolling, I’ve been rolling like a true vacationer having cocktails at 3, another 1 or 2 after dinner along with an endless supply of sweets. This morning, I woke with a low level yet ever present headache (lack of water or excess alcohol?) and what feels like black tar between my ears and throughout my brainspace, envisioning and replaying hilarious TikToks on my memory screen. No new and creative thoughts are bubbling because of the muck.

So I stop, and I wait…stilling myself from the flurry. Take a deep breath, expectantly listening for the still small voice.  It’s always there, it’s me that creates the busy distance.  So I reel back in, yet again, nestling back in with the Big Guy.  What should I do next?  What’s the next One Thing?  Tim and Maya are on a food run, Cole still asleep, the only sounds is the spin cycle and I’m faced with bills, filming videos or writing.  Be still and listen.  Sit and write… so I obey, belly up to the kitchen counter, hands in position to write and the words do flow.

Q day 11:

Too much of any good thing is not a good thing. Too much TikTok, has left me feeling brain dead.  Too much wine, bloody mary and beer has left me bloated and head-achy.  Too much food at any given moment, has left me even more fluffy and sluggish. I’m still loving the flexibility of schedules and the new way we’ve found to connect, but I do need some sort of schedule.  Rise and read, stretch and move, water and more water.  I’m a schedule lover and a list maker, even though I love the romantic ideal of spontaneous doing, I do appreciate knowing what I need to complete in any day…otherwise the sheer volume of options persuades me to do neither.  So today, I sit and reassess. What needs to be done each day?  Can I make Monday and Thursday laundry days?  Can I prep some meals so I’m not scurrying at 4 every single day?  What do my customer-friends need each day?  What act of movement can I complete each day?  Feeling like I’ve been poolside at Sandals for 10 days, it’s time to find some normal, even a new normal would be better than this free-form vacation mode I’ve been following. 

Also, the incessant scroll of social media has left me uncreative.  Looking at what others are doing doesn’t often inspire uniqueness in me… and this morning’s cyber meeting with my Rotarian allies has reminded me that there is still great need in the world and we have the platform to help.  I have the platform and the blessing to help.  One fellow member sent ice-cream to maternity wards for a sweet treat during these germ filled days. What can I do to make my customer-friends lives a little lighter?  Snacks to First Responders? Chocolates to Therapists?  There we go… now the light is flickering, building.  It took a stepping away from social for just a hot second to make my own creative juices stir.

When I don’t start the day with a solid base and a good refueling, running on fumes is evident to all.  I snip at hubby, I’m short fused with all, I’m more tired and more reactive, less proactive.  Add in the mind-numbing scroll of social media, I’m doomed.  I need... scratch that, I require a reboot. Only when I’m filled to the tippy top into overflow can I aptly help another.  And since my heart craves helping so many, it's even more important to take the time to refuel, to spill over, to gather and receive all the goodness required to complete this day in its best possible way. 

Anything else is just empty and ineffective.

He Rests

Most moments, at Charlie’s older age, he rests.  Finding the coziest spot in the sun as it moves around the house, Charlie will shift, stretch, and adjust wherever the beams fall.  He’s not constantly nipping at my ankles or tearing up some precious thing, in fact, this very moment he has gathered his personal fleece blankie in a proper nest upon my bed, a full level and three rooms away.  Sometimes, the garage door will open and still he rests upon his nest, seemingly oblivious.  Maybe he doesn’t hear us, maybe he trusts us finally. He knows by now that we’ll come find him if he doesn’t offer a door greeting. That’s relationship, I suppose.  The see-saw balance of me coming to him and him coming to me. Me trusting that he’ll find me if he needs anything, whether it’s food or a touch. I know he’s there, I can rise and find him for comfort if needed and he will seek me out for the things he needs. This relationship isn’t a dictatorship where I  dictate the rules and schedules and requirements (although, I admit some days I childishly wear that hat), instead, it’s a friendship.  I care for his needs because I care for him.  I want to take care of him because I love him. (yes, Tim, I do love Charlie). I don’t want to overlook him for the entire day not only because I know there’ll be a big cleanup but also because I care for his presence. I want him to feel loved, I want him to be the best dog he was built to become.  Where is God and where am I in this parallel?  I’m not exactly positive if He’s the dog or the human here…maybe both. He both rests and interacts, He loves and receives our love. He comes to me and waits for me to come to Him. All of the above and more. This I know…it’s relationship, not a dictatorship.  He’s not a bossy, finger-pointing, demeaning, condemning, heartless, loof… He rests content, likely in the sun, in a fluffy nest, waiting for us to find Him and gently nudging us if it's been too long. 

Five Years Gone

In the wee hours, while my mind and body were still in deep rest, the anniversary since Mom’s final exhale came and passed.  Shouldn’t I feel more sad, more lost, more something? Tasks, duty, distraction have occupied my mind and heart these past five years, the natural going-on of life has happened. But today, I set aside time to remember, to press pause and reflect. She was good, really really good. She was kind, really really kind.  Times when I wanted to drive the 2 hours south to deliver a well deserved throat punch to anyone that disrespected or dishonored her goodness and kindness she responded instead with such grace. You were good and kind and grace-filled to the brim. It matched the purpose you served here on Earth.  But now you are soaking in the never ending streams of Heavenly goodness, worshiping or basking, dancing or laughing, whatever you find yourself doing, I know it’s within pure joy. I can’t be sad for that. Five years later, I still find myself overjoyed that you lived, that you taught, that you loved and finally returned Home.  Thank you for your life, your teaching and your love.  I will do my best to honor you with my own good life, teaching and love.  Dance, Mom.  Laugh, Mom. Worship, Mom. xo

Back to Breath

My body isn’t used to this. The yoga instructor makes it look so easy, bones and muscles untrained and underused attempt new angles often needing a little or a lot of help. I’m holding my breath. As if on cue, she reminds me to breathe. Deep inhale in, slow exhale out. Yoga reminds me to breathe. Amongst all the busy and strange new things, settle in and breathe. I forget again and again. I push legs and actions into new places, busy brain scurrying, while forgetting the most important thing…just breathe. So much distraction, cars flurry by heading to work, school, wherever. Unfocused thought. Gal next to me is nailing this flow while I’m looking like a clumsy toddler, unbalanced and unsure. Comparison.  Upcoming to-dos, what am I making for dinner, did I shut the garage door? Distraction. What am I doing, I’m out of shape, arms too short, booty unbalanced.  Self Doubt. Bring it back to breath.  Let all the distracting chatter spill away….I feel my feet, secure, cushioned by my soft ivory mat. Toes released from their grip, wiggling free. Big toe and pinky bones finding their base, settling in. Just this. All is good, breathe in. I am good.  Breathe out.  He built me for good.  Breathe in.  Goodness follows me all my days.  Breathe out. He is good.  Breathe in. Getting better every day. Breathe out. I’ve got this.  A giant dump truck bounds by the window…what’s He carrying? Squirelly thought… back to breath.

Refill the Tank

True confession:  I’m a gas light gambler. The light stares incessantly, but surely there's one more trip in the tank. Bypassing opportunity to be refilled, I press forward. The needle wavers, slips into the thick bottom line nearing the big E, but still I pursue one more thing, one more day, one more task.

Needing rescue, hubby or friends arrive, red tank in hand with life giving nectar, just enough to lead me back for a complete refill. Filled once more, fresh vows never to do it again, and yet...

there’s the light once again, sending it's alarm, encouraging me to stop and be filled.

I’m in control, I dictate my day.  

Ignoring the alarm, I press forward, working harder, going faster until the final drips are spent and I’m at the gritty bottom.  On the thick tank bottom sits the sediment, the waste, the useless and harmful by-products. The dregs were never meant for intricate parts, they drift in and render everything ineffective requiring a bigger rescue than a roadside fill-up.

The better alternative is to pay attention to the alarm, obey its suggestion and  refill the tank.

The First To-Do

Stumbling upon loads of undesirable images and mindsets in the Big Book of Truth lately… flailing arms, tossed about on the waves, simple minds, little faith.  All aptly describing me…not in my youth or many years behind but a mere 5 minutes prior I was easily all four. 

Fresh from an overnight away, a few days to rest and rejuvenate, preparing for the busiest of seasons, I should be fully restored, ready to attack tasks with a full tank.  But no.  The tank immediately emptied considering the to-dos. Where to start? What’s most important?  Am I focusing on needless details?  Should I even carry this line? How does that work into existing stock? Will son manage picking up the pre-ordered dinner? Tightening began small, like the rag I twist on cleaning days, lodged right between collarbone and breast. Squeezing and twisting, the tightening now affecting inhales. Breathe. What to do first?  Walk with me, that still small voice whispers.  I don’t have time right now, I should have walked fresh out of bed.  I’ll walk tomorrow.  Walk with me, it insists. This is the last thing I have time for right now, but I lace my sneaks and trudge out the door, tightness still heavy over my heart. 

One step, then another, heaviness slipping in drips. Breathe, the voice speaks again. Breathe again.  That’s better. My weekly verse now returns as the long list of distractions fade:  those who receive the rain that often falls and produce a crop for those it benefits will receive the blessing of God. Long breath in:  Receive the Rain.  Slower breath out:  Produce a crop.  Receive the Rain, Produce the Crop. Receive, Produce, Receive, Produce.  There, there.  Breathing returns to normal, mind clear once again, the inclination is to sprint home applying my new-found calm to the long to-do.  But no… more steps, more breaths.  Receive, Produce, an ever present cycle that requires a constant return to Receiving. However, my default key seems stuck in Produce.  Work, to-do, check-off, new list, more checking off, bigger notebook, more lists. Figure it out, work harder, dig deeper when the very first thing needs to be Receive. Top of the list, the first to-do: Receive. 

A Brand New Day

I may or may not have eaten not one but two Brown’s chocolate chip sugar cakes this weekend. And a beer, chased with a few or more Ritz Sourcream Toasted Chips.  Not all at once, obviously. But today is a brand new day. Super yummy on the tongue, neither left me feeling super fabulous… Emotionally.  Physically.  Clearly, my body and mind craves something more. Something rich with cell-pleasing nutrients, something that satisfies on more than one level.

I fell into easy, fast, surface level satisfaction more than once this weekend.  See, Tim was out of town…moving Maya into her college dorm in far, far Florida. Maybe I was feeling guilty for not being there, for not offering in-person goodbye hugs.  Maybe I succumbed to not feeling more guilty… Maya is super self-sufficient and this is year two, right? Were my mom instincts off? Should I have been there instead of here, eating delicious Brown’s chocolate chip sugar cakes dipped in decaf iced coffee? Gluttonous. Oddly unsatisfying. Likely because I was trying to fill a heart shaped void with a round shaped cookie. The curves just didn’t fill the pointy edges.

So, here I sit, Monday morning, Maya settled into her first new dorm evening, Tim half way home and headed to work.  Me sweaty from my new walking-water-writing routine and just realizing what I had done. Half the healing comes in the knowing. So, I sip and I sweat and I type. Filling myself with something a bit more satisfying, Realization, Awareness, Grace. Today is a brand new day.

Water, Walk & Write

Sleepless night, woke with worry.  Made for a groggy, heavy morn.  Five more minutes turned hour and the single ring of the doorbell pulls me from dreams. Walking to the window to spy the early morning visitor, my driveway and street is completely empty.  No one at the door.  Ok, Lord.  I get it…time to rise and shine.  But still, I don’t wanna.  Yet my three daily W’s await:  Water, Walk, Write.  So, I begrudgingly slip on my walking clothes (aka not my pajamas), tie my sneaks and start to move my legs. One foot in front of the other, then again and again.  

Not an overly long loop and definitely no fast pace.  Just some quiet time to listen and think without the visual of house to-dos surrounding me. Something in the movement forward is purging, shedding off the worry, the sleepiness, bringing clarity, refreshment. Adding a little bouncy pep, my head a little higher, eyes up instead of down, I continue forward.  

Sneaks on pavement, breath in lungs, how ‘bout some gratitude? Thankful for uplifting time shared with another boutique owner yesterday. Offering so much insight, stuff I knew, but didn’t implement. Hearing it from another owner solidified things…iron sharpens iron.  Blessing prayers over her and her business.  Up ahead is a neighbor with a soon-to-be married son.  The beginning of a long life of ups & downs together… Prayers for a married heart, solidarity, compassion, sacrifice. Not  always roses and baby’s breath, marriage is all things wrapped up together good and bad and loving each other still.  Up ahead, a new graduate just returned from along trip abroad and heads into her debut college days. Prayers for provision, for eyes to see opportunity, excitement, perspective. Another beginning.  Baby steps into a long life of learning and growing and stretching.

Worries long gone now… just a faded echo. Thankful for legs to carry me, for fresh breath in my lungs, for a heart and mind that can chat with the big guy over neighbors, friends, and loved ones. Back home, a mild sweat and breath increased, next up: Water and Write. Pouring myself a big, icy glass of water, I sit and begin to tap letters into words. Looking forward, out the window, the rain begins to pour.  More perfect timing.   Now He’s just showing off. 

Wish & Worry

Maya leaves in one week… less now, six days. College, year two. The in-person visits will start to diminish. More content to be with friends, the edges of her grown up life are starting to emerge. Even this summer, filled with potentials and  lists, somehow scurried away unaccomplished. Where did the time go?  Living weekend to weekend, limited life. Just yesterday, her entire head fit into my palm, her hands curled around my tiniest finger. Completely dependent on me then, dependent on me still but in less glamorous ways. We’ve raised her for this…the spreading of wings, the learning to adult, seeking her unique balance in doing and being.  It’s the steady letting-go that breaks then heals my heart. No doubt she’ll do great things, her skills and scrappy nature will give her wings. It’s the spaces between now and then that shorten my breath… the tinier, seemingly insignificant things, yet the exact moments that define souls:  who will become her tribe? Who will break her heart? How many breaks can her heart withstand? Which partner traits will she begin to prefer and gather? What truths and lies will she retain?  What’s her threshold for seeking more, better, best? Academics secondary, it’s the moments in between that build foundations.  The chance encounters, the belly-laughing spells, the curb-sitting heart to hearts, pillow tears, the long walks home, party invites, party exclusions, late night pizzas, spontaneous excursions.  All necessary moments to build her up and break her down... the exact moments I wish and worry.

The Deeper Stretch

It’s quiet, house still, the Starlings pulse and flow nearby, the air conditioning units on 24 hour shifts with a mid-summer heat wave, back tight, hips loose from long overdue morning yoga with Maya.  Pulling me in very necessary yet strangely unique directions and encouraging long deep cleansing breaths.  My breath typically short and shallow while the entire organ sits with unused potential.  Even now, oxygen sinks down deep only when forced, intentional, with purpose. That deeper breath encourages me to slow down, notice, be present. Those last few seconds of expanding inhale stretching out skin and lung, new and unused spaces suddenly filled.

What other parts of me are short and shallow? What other resources sit untapped? What areas are left dormant, only utilizing surface level potential?  My brain? My heart? My soul?  Do I only think the thoughts given to me? Could I create something new, instead? Am I only allowing tiny bits of heart pumping feeling to emerge and be shared with others when a vast resource sits untapped? 

How does one reach down deep and utilize all of self? I imagine the same way a long deep breath is drawn… slowly, with purpose and intention. Like yoga, limbs, bone and organs must move in directions not typical. A far left reach followed by a deep turn to the right is required. Often off center, tipsy…nothing a quick giggle and a return to center can’t fix.  No giving up, only giving in. New movements feel awkward and often breath returns to shallow, but then you sink in and slow down and breath returns as a new normal is found. Not wanting to waste a single thought, thing or moment as I seek the deeper stretch.

The Stillness I Seek

Yesterday, comfy in bed, pillow warm, blankets cozy, dog still nestled and asleep, well before the hours I typically awake, I sleepily counted down from 5 for a burst out of bed.  Any longer would have allowed for argument…it’s too early, don’t wake the dog,  the writing can wait.  The arguments come quickly…the doubt-inducing, inspiration-spiraling statements that keep me from doing the thing…whatever that thing is that would move me forward, that would make me a better person, that would possibly catapult my life. I would be quite content to stay on the comfy level I currently reside, but nothing good comes to those who linger too long in comfy places.  So I catapulted myself out of bed after a quick 5 second countdown and after the dog was satisfied, I sat and began to type.  And words did flow.

Nothing good comes to those who linger too long in comfy places. 

Years ago, in a cabin sitting on Thousand Islands, I rose early to enjoy a peaceful morning.  Just beyond the dock, the water appeared glass-like.  Not a single ripple remained from the busy night before.  As if the fish beneath were still asleep, boats had yet to disturb the surface, the water sat still.  I had the urge to swipe the surface to capture its serenity, but its peace would be disturbed.  So I sat on the dock and appreciated it instead.  Gazing with gratitude how in the single digit hours, portions of the world seemed so completely still.  But even in the appearance of stillness, the tide still pulls and unseen things move right beneath the surface.

My mind works best in the wee hours… before the sun has risen, while only the early birds chirp, while my mind is not yet polluted with to-dos, before the flurry of the house begins to stir.  I crave and seek out the stillness.  My mind,  creates new things, words do flow, inspiration blooms. Then, once the house begins to stir, and the to-do list beckons, the surface begins to ripple.    Til tomorrow, it’s the stillness I seek.

Learning to Talk

Talking isn’t my easy neutral.  It takes effort and thought, much like brushing hair the opposite way, it feels awkward, clumsy, disjointed.  Much more content to stare off inside my own head, happily bouncing around thoughts, analogies, and insights, when things get too difficult, I retreat into that happy space, quietly sealing from others. Not so much punishing them with my silence, (although I do admit to playing that sad game against hubby at times).  I just don’t think I have anything as interesting to contribute.  Other times it’s the crowd… there's always one person that loves to occupy all the air then wonder why I’m so quiet.  There’s just not a single breath to share within the tight spaces of loud dialogues.  So I retreat… and watch… and think. 

A college friend once revealed to me that no one knew anything about me and gave the homework to find one friend and start telling them everything.  A pivotal moment.  My poor roommate, Wendy, was the unaware recipient of what felt like a ridiculous brain dump the next morning.  Her eyes like saucers, she was patient with me in my awkwardness and listened intently without interruption.  So I kept testing, and talking.  But my natural neutral will always be silence. I crave a quiet house to write.  I am perfectly content to sit with a friend and never say a single thing.  And that one trait has been both my weakness and my strength.  I’m a top notch listener, but a most terrible friend, sometimes frustrated wife, and often a passive mother.

No coincidence the same week I’m speaking about Communication in Propel Women is the same week I’m reading about setting aside one hour a week to have deep and meaningful conversations with a friend in The Common Rule by Justin Earley. 

Ok, God, I get it. I agreed to let the Big Guy instruct me into being a leader… leader of my life, my business…no longer passive and reactive, but engaged and proactive.  The rusty parts are getting oiled.  Parts and processes that haven’t moved in years, perhaps never used effectively from the get-go, are now getting stretched and pulled in odd directions.

 Everything in me is itchy.  I can actually feel my heart beating right under my skin. I don’t feel adequate to provide skills on how to effectively speak, but I can certainly share the do-nots:

• Do not keep all the good stuff to yourself.  It’s selfish and the world needs your light.
• Do not assume everyone around you has a better story to tell.  We all have a story.
• Do not give up on friends/humans just because you found a rotten one.  It’s all for learning purposes.
• Do not assume you can do it all.  Every single thing is better in teams of two or more.
• Do not assume your daily life is boring.  The small shared details become the concrete base.
• Do not assume others know what you want. You’ve gotta use your words.
• Do not wait until it’s too late to speak.  Start talking immediately and repeat every day.

You’d think after generations and generations of humans, we’d have this speaking thing down pat, but our unique baggage, filters and the ever-mounting separation of screen and skin, it seems speaking well is something to learn and relearn.  I’m learning.  I’ve been learning for a long time and it seems I’m only just beginning.  

Choosing Joy

Sleepy eyes this morning, wanting a few more minutes, scanning the body to check the level of plant-pulling soreness, confirming tight hips.  Mentally adding yoga to the morning to-do. Feet hit the carpet, I cut in line for the bathroom, feeling successfully sneaky.  Dog fed, door opened for his own morning bathroom break. Fruit and veggies chopped and juiced for some morning hubby health.  Made with love to supercharge his cells, sending extra doses of love to heal what ails. Kisses, then back upstairs for some morning yoga and reading. 

Checking emotions, finding myself tapped out, empty, not the typical overflow of joy.  How to fix that… what to add or take away? Finding stillness and listening, head cocked awaiting insight. Write.  Ok…I get it, deep thoughts, deeper meanings flow with the tapping, so I make the tea, I grab my spot and begin to tap. 

The endless flurry of to-dos sit poised at my right, my fingers make the words that echo deep within instead. Easier to attack the list, but I crave the harder mental work, the busyness can wait. That joy I crave cannot be bought or busily accomplished…it’s perched just out of reach, awaiting the stillness.  Waiting for me to cease the strive, waiting for me to ditch the worry, waiting for me to trust. It’s the sweetest thing. And there it sits, inching closer, happy anticipation of it’s arrival. Plopping the worry in a basket by the door, I sit some more. Joy so close I can taste it…the most decadent chocolate can not compare. 

Joy, she spills, overflows, seeps out in every direction, touching tasks, setting gaze, moving hands, pepping steps. Joy, she lifts above the mundane, above current worry, above long cast vision.  Joy so rich, so abundant, she holds nothing back, ready to spill. It’s the fix I need… the infusion of joy that shifts my perspective. 

Then, the steady tapping brings awareness… has Joy been there all along, my busy worry crowding her shine? A wealth of joy right under the surface…diamonds and pearls ready to adorn, yet reaching for plastic instead.  Joy is a choice.  Not the fickle addition to a lucky day.  Requiring the stillness, a dose of gratitude and a deep, saturating dive…so that every thought, every sight, every word is infused with honest to goodness Joy. Nothing else compares…no other replacement satisfies. Another body check, the hips are loose, emotions are lighter, the pep has returned, Joy resumed. Today, I choose Joy.

Right Before My Eyes

Expecting sunny Florida skies and beach moments tucked in between daughter’s classes, instead, we had rain and lost luggage. Daughter’s birthday celebration already off to a late and frustrating start.  But I’m here, right next to her, able to give in-person hugs and share dips of piled-high guacamole.  

Two months since Christmas break feels nearly an eternity.  Facetime chats while making dinner, her snuggled into bed between classes and Netflix, never quite the same.  Seeing her face, meeting her friends, feeling the flow of her new life, is altogether different.  She shares her new haunts, a nearby ice-cream shop and a warehouse market with a huge variety of eats.  She tells stories of previous visits with new friends. 

Recalling freshman days when parent visits felt part relief, part awkward,  I don’t push, I don’t assume all her precious time.  I hug and update, laugh and listen then I let her go, yet again.  This is her time.  Time to sift and sort and build up her list of likes.  Time to build grand memories that will bring smiles even into later days.  Time for mom to let out more line…letting her drift even farther, the building of wings, the becoming of an adult right before my eyes.

Stop the Scroll

All the pretty pictures scrolling and scrolling, keeping me from doing the good stuff.  The stuff that grows businesses, makes changes, and satisfies the soul.  Content just to nestle into this comfy couch while Charlie basks in the warm sun. Phone in hand, right finger swiping bottom to top, bottom to top, then back again… more pretty things.  Excuses of  investigation, what is new, what is desired.  3-2-1,  shock the body, up I rise. Walking, eyes refocused, blinking to see reality.  Here I am, ready to do the work.  Settled down, fingers tapping, letters into words into sentences: 

Pressing out of the comfy bubble, I ventured far and wide to explore new ideas, find a few new faces.  Pushing the church doors open, no familiar faces, finding an empty spot, a smile and I settle.  A class to groom leaders, primed to receive all the good stuff, I absorb the video and think all the deep thoughts. We answer the questions, some differing opinions, yet a fresh perspective. It’s all in efforts to mold and redefine, breaking off old ways and building anew.  It’s good.  Good thoughts not previously considered and real live people to learn from and relate to.  No photoshop, no filters, just seasoned women in all walks of life, sharing their stories. No little heart to double click, no hashtags, no need for clever comments.

Instead, rising up something that’s been waiting, poised, absorbing, sorting.  Little seeds now bursting forth for it is time. It is time. Ready to grow, the seeking and sitting is behind me, now is the time to move the feet, tap the fingers into words, and stop the scroll. 

Fear

Fear comes uninvited in the most happiest of moments. Small thoughts at first, quickly multiplied.  Sinking in, pulling tightly on heart and breath, now shallow, air only barely seeping in.  It crushes, it tightens, it grips, it halts. Fear brings the anxious tingles to middle back and stands heavily upon upper chest, solidly pinned.  It peels the smile from my face and spirit. It drags me back down to earth hidden, still and small.  Fear, you are no stranger to me.

I know your wily ways, your never ending effort to reduce and shame.  I know your symptoms, the small signs you are sneaking in, one evil inch at a time. The whys are silly and small: failure, fraudulence, indecision,  even fear of death is diluted. I’ve looked you in the eye and you are weak.  You are nothing. You are powerless.  Only when I accept the lies can you thrive.  You have no place here.  There is no room for you in my heart or home. You are unwelcome, unwanted, unnecessary.  I am on the right path.  I am protected, guided, redeemed. So I call an end to fear.  No white flag as there’s no surrender.  I WIN. I know exactly who I am, I am a beloved daughter of the Most High King.  You have no authority over me.  I WIN because of who lives in me.  I see you squirming away, tail between your legs, the weight on my chest lifted, the tingling gone.  All is lighter, easier, filled with light. My foot tapping, my eyes clear, breath deep and smooth.  Full and easy inhale, smooth and cleansing exhale.  Moving more boldly, head and thoughts higher.

You’ll return again, no doubt.  I’m ready for ya. 

Another Good Day

I just want you to write, that still small voice whispers.  Write what?  Shouldn’t I tidy up the blogsite?  Polish it for good words? Fingers on keyboard, words begin to flow, mind distracts… setting thoughts aside gently for later so that the softer, quieter words can rise.  Finally still enough to hear the words, they come one by one.  Singular at first, then quicker, primed and ready to flow. Words unhindered race to the top, giddy to reach paper, excited to spill.  No idea what will appear, but sitting ready, open, obedient:

The house sits still… only the gentle tapping of dog paws and key strokes.  Nothing left to do, all morning distractions are completed, here I sit enjoying the first warm breeze of winter. An unusually warm day has landed and my heart is grateful. The dogs wander safely in and out the open deck door, no fear of bees to enter.  Antsy, hard to sit still, I should be more productive, there are other drawers to sort, surely there’s something to dust.  Numbing, deadening, all to distract from hearing that still small voice. So I sit, obedient, slowly tapping the keys, curious what will rise. Should I write of yesterday’s blessings? That’s old stuff…tell me something new. What goodness delighted me in this day?  

A surprise clear sky on a winter day, taking the foster dog for a long walk, seeing her heart fill with trust again, a creamy avocado sandwich with spicy salt sprinkle, tiny flowers bursting their popcorn-like shell to share a new bud, fresh air in the bedroom, floors clean for a split-second, a stark blue jay against grey trunks, a skinny legged heron taking flight, sharing toys with a two-year-old, a confident knowing that every little thing will be alright. 

It’s another good day. 

New Arrival

She’s quiet this moment, new sounds heightened, sensitive to every thump and creak. She has crazy, fear filled eyes and a nice chunk of poo matted into her thick yellow fur.  Ears down, body flat, she pulls frantically against the leash in my attempts to bathe her, so I surrender and redirect her to the safety of the cage. 

Both of us now separated and settled, reviewing  foster docs… pills administered, safely separated from my own house dog, belly filled, bathroom visits complete.  All the boxes are checked.  So she sits, ears at the ready, waiting for me to round the corner. Making some tea, washing the dishes to distract my busy thoughts,  she test barks, to see if I’ll appear.  A whine, a howl.  We’re both making our normal sounds, creating a sense of routine, yet inside I’m reeling with lack of control. 

What have I gotten myself into?  She needs a bath, so I can check the next box by applying the flea & tick treatment…what if she has fleas?  Will my entire house have fleas? Will my house dog need treatment, too? I need to clean that matted fur, make her all pretty and shiny again.   Will she loose her little mind if I pick her up and plunge her into the bathtub? Will I be yet another line of humans that betray her? 

All new parent thoughts…worries, overthinking, unsure.  Safer here than there, I must resign to rest content that the bath can wait, for now.  Release the worry and know that she is ok.  All her basic needs fulfilled, my job is to reflect safety and refueling her love, preparing her for that forever home. 

So I sit, write, maybe still worry, but content that she is satisfied and will eventually trust and love another human. 

Battle of Gratitude

In the presence of a dear friend, wave after wave of good news, hard fought goals now realized, freedom and celebration just within reach, the inner option to spiral into despair was only a breath away. Smelling its bitter breath and biting words: you’ll never succeed, her life is so much better, she’s so much more organized and driven, you aren’t working as hard… the battle required a quick pivot from desperation to inspiration. Choosing instead to soak in the positive truths, I sought gratitude: Grateful that hard work produced sweet rewards, grateful for children finding their way, grateful to have such a big-hearted, creative and inspiring friend, grateful for stolen moments to sip tea together. 

The easy option to remain in neutral allowing the dark untruths to take root, shifting to gratitude takes work. It seems whatever you focus on builds upon itself, good or bad, I prefer good. But good isn’t easy.  Good takes work. Some days, the only gratitude I can muster is the toothpaste on my brush… but it builds. Slowly at first, but then… gratitude for the minty taste, clean teeth, a fresh morning kiss, a husband that loves me, a new day, fresh possibilities, food in the pantry, a warm breakfast tea, the perfect mug, a flitting cardinal against grey trees, the sound of the washer, clean clothes, new adventures, a dog that takes quick cold-day pees, warm house, electric, a functional heater,  working from home, flexibility, avocado toast, a second cup of tea with a friend. Building and building until there’s no room for self-doubt, fear, and despair.

Despair now departed, listening with a grateful heart, newly inspired by my rewarded friend. 

Quietly sipping and smiling, today’s battle of gratitude silently won.

Deep Dog Thoughts

Even this non-dog person is noticing a shift in perspective in the company of dogs. During the simple process of daily care, important life lessons are being taught.   

 One… needs are revealed if you simply pay attention.  Charlie will request in dog speak his necessary potty breaks. Bernadine, however, nervously paces.  Often deep in thought or activity, I can easily overlook the speak or the pace and accidents happen.  Being more in the moment instead of far, far away, distracted, I would see the signs, hear the clues and take the proper next best step.  It’s more important to be present, alert and watch for the signs. 

Two… allow margin for the unexpected.  Odds are when lip gloss is applied, hair is perfect, the no-grass shoes are on and I’m ready to leave, dogs will have to go outside.  Best laid plans will often twist at the last moment. Change the shoes, grab the umbrella and out we go.  If I allowed a few extra minutes for the unexpected I wouldn’t feel rushed. 

Which leads me to three… you can’t rush things. Charlie has a routine, a sniff path that must be followed and no amount of rushing can speed the circuit. He’s gathering all the important data…who’s been here, what’s that smell, eat some grass, sniff old piles, tree, mailbox, fire hydrant. Like an old man and his paper over the morning coffee, things simply can’t be rushed. Frantic rush may arise, but neither dog responds… urges to hurry fall on deaf doggy ears. Life takes just the right amount of time and no amount of rushing will change the pace.

Lastly, and most weighty… love is unconditional.  Neither the contents of my day nor the fickle nature of my moods seem to change the depth of doggy love. Greeting me at the door, happy tails wagging, ready to lick and lean, they love with a love that isn’t often found in humans. Mistakes are never held against me, quickly forgotten with a belly rub or a back scratch.  

If I’m paying true attention, present and unrushed, there is much to learn from dogs. How to love, keeping it simple, take care of important stuff first, rest when needed… furry four-legged instructors, a coincidence dog backwards is God?