Always Beauty Laughing Gentle Princess

Why do you do what you do?

Why are you here?

Why do you make the choices you make?

Last week, as I walked up to my kids’ school to pick them up from afternoon dismissal, my eight-year-old daughter pushed a crumpled coffee filter she was clutching in her hand at me. It looked as if she had been holding onto it for some time.
“Here,” she said with a smile. “I picked these for you.”
I took the filter and could feel something inside . . . little pieces, small and hard, like Chiclet gum. I couldn’t fathom what gems might lie within because, frankly, I’ve seen it all; I’ve received nuggets of rubber mulch as a gift, lots of rocks and pebbles (some of which I’ve kept!), feathers, used chewing gum, a dead dung beetle . . . you name it, I’ve been gifted it! And truly, I’ve cherished each and every humble little offering.
As I began to open the filter, she asked, “Doesn’t it look like a flower?” To be honest, I thought it looked like a tired, grungy, and perhaps used tissue, but I affirmed, as most moms would: “Yes, I can see how it does.” And I could. She smiled again.
As the filter fell open I saw these small, plastic rectangular beads with words on them. They might have been beads a kid would string on a necklace. I asked Sage where she got them and she said she picked them out, just for me, in art class.
Then, I started reading the words: Laugh. Gentle. Always. Beauty. Princess. Now. Time. Good.
“I love them!” I said to Sage as I gave her a quick hug. “How did you pick each word?” I asked.
She replied, “It was easy. Each one made me think of you.”

THAT is why I do what I do everyday. Well, a HUGE part. For my kids. For my family. For that sense of CONNECTION. So that we might act as mirrors for each other when we need reminding of our inherent goodness. And even when we don’t.
And of course, to be told, through eight small plastic beads: We have time. The time in now. It is all good. And, I am an always beauty laughing gentle PRINCESS. (No, my friends, it doesn’t get any better than that! Truly. Even if she and I know she’s being really, really generous . . . but I’ll trust her on this, my sweet, sweet sage.)
Knowing WHY I do what I do is critical to becoming more of the person I want to be. And for contemplating goals I want to accomplish to help me in the process. So, as I make my way through my “different kind of January”, I am making doubly sure that my “whats” (as in what I say I want in my life) are lined up with my “whys”. Because if they’re not, I won’t succeed. And probably shouldn’t. I’m not meant to. If my “whats” are out of alignment with my “whys”, then I don’t have any business using my finite time on those endeavors, however good they might sound.
So I ask you this, as we trudge, er slow dance, through January:

WHY do you want to lose weight?

WHY do you want to make $50,000 or $75,000 or $100,000?

WHY do you want to quit your job? Or, start a new business?

WHY do you want to find Mr. (or Mrs.) Right?

WHY do you want to run a marathon this year?

“Why” questions, in general, are typically not questions people much like. In fact, they often prove very hard. And really big “why” questions – like life “whys” - can often seem too scary or difficult to even answer. Notorious for making people defensive, “why” questions push people’s buttons because they ask us to explain ourselves. Or imply that perhaps we should be doing something differently. And indeed, perhaps we should. Because where there’s defensiveness, there’s often some truth (or it wouldn’t make us defensive, right?). Hard lesson, that one.
Getting “why” clarity is simple, but not easy. Because it’s not just a glib, one-sentence answer to any of the above questions. It’s a deep, archeological dig below the surface where we ask ourselves a “why” question related to what we say we want (i.e., “Why do I want to write a book?”). And then, after we’ve honestly answered that first question (I want to write a book because I want to share the lessons I have learned with others), we follow up with another “why?”.  And we continue asking and answering until we can answer no more, until we’ve gotten to an answer that is coupled by an “A-ha!” that signals our TRUTH. A deep inner knowing that our “why” is true at a soul-deep level.
Yep. It would be so easy if our first “why” answer gave us our deepest truth, but I’m here to tell you that’s almost never the case. It takes some digging and some removing of armor and layers of the onion to get where we need to go. No, these “whys” aren’t easy. But if we want to become all that we are meant to be, knowing our deep “whys” is the one sure way to keep us on track, whole-heartedly pursuing a goal that echoes our most profound truths. 
As we put ourselves through the “why” paces, five rounds of questioning usually gets us to pay dirt. But it is imperative that we are soft and gentle (yet tenacious!) with ourselves as we go through these paces. Because as our “whys” take us deeper, sometimes we may be surprised/shocked/angered/embarrassed/ashamed by what lies underneath. But here’s a promise we all must make as we broach this endeavor: no judgments, no bullying, no filtering our answers. Just listening and listening well. And accepting what is. And by all means, being good to ourselves (patient, kind, affirming – like you’d be to your very best friend)!
Everyone’s “why” is different. And we must honor those deep “whys” as the very things that allow our souls to speak. Even, perhaps, to sing. But to get to our deepest “whys”, we must also be willing to courageously ask those hard questions and openly – nonjudgmentally - listen for our own deep answers.
So here’s the deal. Take your time. Give yourself space. And room. And no distractions. And start writing. Digging. Listening. Uncovering. Because if we can get below the surface and get clear on why we want certain changes in our lives, the process will be much easier to embrace and navigate. And when this resonates at a deep and abiding level, our commitment will be that much stronger. Indeed, maybe it will flow because we will be in the FLOW, with our life unfolding exactly as it was meant to. Each of us living our biggest and best lives.
Sure, we’ve all been at that place where we are sitting on the fence about some goal or decision (questioning if we have what it takes, the goal’s do-ability, whether or not it is convenient or will make us uncomfortable . . .). It’s as if we are waiting for anything outside of us that we can point to so that we do not have to take responsibility for our lives and choices. We are looking for anything we don’t have control over so we can use that to rationalize why we might fail . . . So we can say: “THAT is what caused me to NOT succeed. And now, I get to go back to being the same old, tired version of me. Nope, I don’t have to change. So there.”
But what I’m offering is this: Perhaps those goals weren’t meant to be because they didn’t align with your deep “whys”. And if your motivation isn’t true, how long would those changes last, anyway? (How long have those goals or changes lasted, anyway??)
Unquestionably, we are each personally responsible for our every choice, our every failure, our every happiness. This is not only hard for my 12-year-old son to accept, it’s hard for lots of grown-ups too! But it is true. And once we realize this and start living life from our deepest “whys”, our greatest good will unfold, exactly as it should.
The longer I live in this body and in my skin, having my life experiences and navigating the joys, losses, the mundane and sublime, my knowledge and understanding of my “whys” has become more honed. Hence, greater alignment. Sure, I sometimes get off track or lose myself in my own STUFF (because we are human and that’s what humans do!), but when I am willing to be honest, vulnerable and completely open with myself (and others), my “whys” are crystal clear.
My deep “whys” - why I am here, why I do what I do, why I make the choices I make – inevitably boil down to: connection, relationships, affirmation, inspiration, and acceptance (yeah, as the antithesis to control, that one still gives me fits!).
Clear on my deepest values, it allows me to move forward in all of my roles and experiences more intentionally . . . shaping my life, my family, and my future in ways that reflect both who I am and who I am becoming. And, it allows me to dream dreams that I can actually live into because they come from a deep, known place within.
Today, as a day that honors the life and work of Martin Luther King, Jr., I see the evidence of his deep “whys” everywhere – in the speeches and sermons he gave, letters he wrote, marches and protests he participated in, in the people he touched and the lives he still touches . . . Freedom. Justice. Equality. Peace. Deep, deep “whys” that he built both dreams and a new reality on. They were the deep values he walked, talked, and envisioned. It’s the very lesson inherent in the necessity of knowing our own deep “whys”. So that our walk, our actions, our resolutions, are evident as our talk, our deepest truths, our inner-knowing of what we need to do to live into our dreams.
In that very spirit, let’s commit, if we are able, to these high (and dare I say necessary) endeavors in the year ahead:

• To be our own cause.
• To take a stand for what we believe in.
• To let our deep WHYS be our guide.
• To be true to ourselves.
• And last, but not least . . . to find our inner-prince or –princess and let them sing!

Remember: We have time. The time is now. And it is all good. (You always beauty laughing gentle PRINCE/SS).

The Softening: Butter Prayers and Battle Cries

Photo by Libby Mundy. All rights reserved.

“This darn butter!” I thought to myself while I was making toast for the kids this week. The butter was being totally uncooperative: hard, chunky, unspreadable. Making holes in the soft toast. Frustrating me because I like my butter soft and smooth, gliding over the toast with one even swipe of the knife (to be honest, I’ll take my butter any which way because, well, it’s BUTTER! And the icing on the cake (or butter on the bread!)? They now say organic, grass-fed butter might even be good for us – HALLELUJAH!!).
Lo and behold, my butter insights are shaping how I have decided to live out this January, as I welcome 2015 with a compassionate and simple (butter) prayer: soft is the way.  Yes. Soft is the way.  Not hard, like mean and unforgiving and resolute but soft like yielding, smooth, quiet, gentle, tender, easy, forgiving, and yes, perhaps even indulgent.
Soft like:

• Don’t measure or time my walk or run, just go do it for the sake of being outside and moving my body. And if Tractor wants to stop and smell the “roses”, don’t rush him for goodness sake!
• Don’t pull away from my husband when I’m angry or frustrated (or feel like punishing him) but be softer and kinder and lean into him instead (hard, I tell you, hard but infinitely more productive . . .).
• It is O.K., and even necessary, to peacefully let go of certain beliefs, past hurts, or people that no longer fill me up and to embrace new friends experiences, and ideas that do.

Yep, this year, I want a different kind of January.  And I’ve decided to take a new tack.  Typically, after all the holiday hoopla and the eating and drinking mayhem that occurs during the six or so weeks between Thanksgiving and New Years, I am ready to batten down the hatches.  To rein myself in.  To regain control of what has often felt like an out-of-control apple cart speeding precariously down a slippery slope to a point of no return.
But then, in the nick of time, before I strapped on my January backpack full of STUFF (shame, guilt, expectations, resolutions), with some hope and a prayer shoved into a fanny pack strapped around my middle, I came across a truffle of an idea that had this at its center:

Maybe you don’t set any resolutions for January 1. Maybe you use January to really dream, consider new possibilities, and then contemplate and thoughtfully plan what you want 2015 to look like. Write your dreams and goals down.  And then proceed - at a manageable pace - no  “ready,set, gunshot/go” required.

I know I was ready for this new idea because it felt as if the angels shone a light down, directly on me, as I sat on my couch on that cold, gray, late-December afternoon, and opened their voices so that they sang directly to the center of my heart. Yes.  This will be a different kind of January. I can make it so. There are no rules here. No unnecessary pressure. January 1 is truly just another day.  Does it have to be D-day, the day a “major operation or event is to begin”? Why no, I don’t think so.

HOW FREEING. HOW LIBERATING. HOW TOTALLY PERFECT.

Unfortunately, we do this all the time.  The routine.  The expected. The “boxing ourselves in”. And then we wonder why we feel stifled or small or bored or stuck. Consider this quote by Eustace Conway of Turtle Island Preserve (http://www.turtleislandpreserve.com/about/eustace):

“Do people live in circles today? No. They live in boxes. They wake up every morning in the box of their bedroom because a box next to them started making beeping noises to tell them it was time to get up. They eat their breakfast out of a box and then they throw that box away into another box. Then they leave the box where the live and get into a box with wheels and drive to work, which is just another big box broken up into lots of little cubicle boxes where a bunch of people spend their days sitting and staring at the computer boxes in front of them. When the day is over, everyone gets into the box with wheels again and goes home to their house boxes and spends the evening staring at the television boxes for entertainment. They get their music from a box, they get their food from a box, they keep their clothes in a box, they live their lives in a box! Does that sound like anyone you know?”                          - as written by Elizabeth Gilbert in The Last American Man

Some boxes are good. Necessary.  Others, not so much. Many of us need boxes. Some of us are just used to the boxes we’ve created.  Or have been given. Or accepted, as is, no questions asked. Perhaps we don’t know how to get out of our boxes, to be different or to try something new. Maybe we’re scared to leave our boxes. Or, we feel small or undeserving of a new box. Or, maybe, the box fits just right?
The good news? Each of us gets to decide how well our boxes fit.  And we also get to decide if we need more circles, more flow, more roundness or softness in our lives. Because we can only take so much sharpness and hard corners and bang-our-head-on-the-wall frustration before we dare to think, “Hmmmm, perhaps I’ve outgrown this box? Or need a new box? Or . . . maybe I should consider a tipi? Or a labyrinth . . . or an open field . . . or a new path . . .”

Photo by Libby Mundy. All rights reserved.

The options are limitless.  But often, a perspective shift is in order.  And sometimes we need to get out of our boxes – and even our own ways - to see what we need. Unfortunately, along with our boxy thinking, we routinely use these little, outdated measuring sticks to assess our progress or our worth: scales, hours worked, money earned, bank balances, square footage, calories in/out, “likes” received . . .
But I’ve got a new measuring stick to try on. It’s called POSSIBILITY.
How big is your soul, your spirit, I ask you? Infinite, right?  Anything can happen if we are open to it. There are a million ways our days can go.  Ask the person who just found out they are expecting a baby. Or who found out a loved one is terminally ill. Or whose kid is the first in the family to go to college. Or who fell in love.  Or got divorced. Or got a puppy. Or bought their first home . . . all of these scenarios hold infinite possibilities within them. Possibilities to grow, love more, be bigger than we’ve ever been.  Go about your day or life differently than you used to.
And you can measure none of these adequately with your checking account, bathroom scale, or friend count on Facebook.
Our lives are full of possibilities.  Each day is a new day. Be it January 1st or January 9th or August 25th. And with each one we can be more of who we are meant to be.  It is this possibility I opening myself to this thoughtful month of January. This January where I am being soft and indulgent and letting go of what doesn’t really give me a true sense of my worth and honing in on more of what does.
In years past, I set my noble, worthwhile, and very measurable resolutions and goals. And if you are seeking to make some concrete changes in your life, measureable is both good and necessary. Nothing wrong with that!  It's our motivation that is key. Is it built on external comparisons or magazine standards or little measuring sticks that just don’t capture all of our inherent beauty and goodness and potential?  Or does it come from deep inside, from a pure, true place within us that reminds us of who we are meant to be and uses that to help us shape the very best version of ourselves?
Sure, I’d venture to say that many of my past goals and resolutions taught me something and for each lesson, I am grateful. Sometimes the lesson was in the process or the striving (or even in the letting go) and sometimes it was simply, thankfully, checking the box of completion. As in, “Hip, Hip, Hooray! Thank God for February 1st!!! Now I can have a glass of wine and a piece of cake and maybe a burger to boot – I might even skip my run!” because . . .  I’m crazy like that. My battle cry? INDULGE AND LET GO!
Yes. Indulge and let go.
Don’t you love it???  Isn’t it SO much better than clamping down, clenching our jaws, and white-knuckling it through January in an Eeyore state of mind? (I don’t know about you but I’m tired of that and besides, it’s really just no fun!!)
So I'm here to offer you this.  We don’t have to go there. We can be kind and gentle with ourselves. We can be soft and easy and forgiving.  And from this place, outside of our small new year’s boxes, we can choose to shape 2015 into something more meaningful and lasting and joyous. But we must step out of our old boxes. Stand up on that box if need be.  Look around. Climb a tree. Look out at our world. Look within. Ask what it is we truly want and need.  Then, pick a new theme song.  Plan a new life. Or just a new day or a new year. Be good to yourself. Dream the possibilities.
Yes, for me this January is full of POSSIBILITIES.  Endless. Big. Beautiful. Gentle, soft, and forgiving. And mine, all mine – for the choosing and for the creating.  And perhaps for the letting go.
What I can really lift a (magnifying) glass to this January is this: illuminating the possibilities in my life, and in others’, so that each of our many gifts, voices, and dreams can be taken out of their boxes, explored, celebrated, seen, heard, and put to good use. Not measured by any outdated rulers but simply shining in the bright light of day, our true worth determined by the JOY we radiate as we soften into becoming more of who we are meant to be.  And also, for the simple joy of being alive.
This January is different and I am glad.
Soft is the way, my friend.
Ready, set . . . indulge and let go!

An Instrument of Peace

“If we have no peace, it is because we have forgotten that we belong to each other.” Mother Teresa

A few weeks ago, at a holiday mass at my kids’ sweet little school, I was overcome with the most affirming sense of rightness. Goodness. That all was right and good in the world, my world, as I sat in that full gym and took in all the loveable children, the warmth, the coziness, the goodness as I looked around me. Devoted teachers, caring parents, an authentic community centered on compassion, self-discipline, and social justice. There was an exquisite loveliness to that morning, that moment, as my mom sat next to me at her grandchildren’s school, as we listened to the mass and the children’s beautiful, imperfect voices raised in song.

And then, an alarm went off. A muffled alarm, but persistent and beckoning, near us and quiet enough that only those in the immediate vicinity could hear. But still. I turn and see two large bags – gear bags or like bags you might see unattended at the airport – about ten feet away.  It seems the sound is coming from one of them.

Typically not one to jump to conclusions, I am aware of the December 14th anniversary of Sandy Hook and those families and dear children weigh heavily on my mind. Because we never THINK anything bad will happen at safe places like our kids’ schools. The fact that this is no longer a certainty is troublesome, to say the least. And because of this awful fact, and my recent prayers for the Sandy Hook families, my mind goes THERE. Just briefly. But still. It goes there. What if that alarm is something bad? What if, while I’m sitting here absorbing all this loveliness, something BAD happens? Is this how it goes? Ends? Sitting, soaking up the good that is my kids’ world, and having it all blown to bits by some bag honking – AHNT – AHNT – AHNT – AHNT - 10 feet away from me?

A school administrator walks back, looking curiously and calmly for the sounding alarm’s source. She bends over the bag, as if to move it, and said bag’s owner – the school photographer – swoops in and rescues his bag, silences the troublesome alarm. Silences my runaway brain. At least momentarily. But my peace is rattled, my Zen cover blown.

I’m disheartened that this is what our world has come to. That we are inundated with news of bad things that happen to good people, in what we expect to be good, safe places, ALL THE TIME. That we can’t sit peacefully, prayerfully, in our sweet kids’ precious school during mass, where we send our beloved children to learn and to grow, and NOT be reminded that it could all turn on a dime . . . well, that’s no good. That an unfamiliar, untimely alarm can sound and cause us to jump (if only on the inside so as not to startle the children – many of whom I personally know already have more and deeper shudders at bumps in the night than we could have ever fathomed . . .).

It’s a hard world to live in, to make sense of, to not be overwhelmed by.

And we wonder why our kids are scared. Why we are scared. Anxious. High-strung. Always on the look out, watching for the next bad thing: war, Ebola, Ferguson, Sharia Law, sexual slavery, global warming . . . It’s too much. What our kids are learning in this brave, new world is that we always have to be a little distrustful, a little wary. And that SO goes against the grain of anything I believe in or am about that in my very, most centered space, I am UNWILLING TO ACCEPT IT.

You heard me. Call me stupid. Naïve. Blind. Tell me I’m putting my head in the sand. Whatever. Here is what I know. What I believe. Where I’m willing to put my time and energy. In good thoughts. In loving acts. In kindness and compassion toward others. In reaching out. In helping those that are scared or hurt or healing. What I know and believe is that energy in, equals energy out. What we give, we receive. What we put out, we get back. Where we focus our energy, is what we see in our lives.
Karma is real.

Like when I was writing this essay and out of one of my notebooks fell a poem by St. Francis of Assisi, in my dad’s distinct, handwriting, tucked in the front cover, a reminder to me about who I can always choose to be in this one big world and life of mine:

Lord, make me an instrument of Thy peace; where there is hatred, let me sow love; where there is injury, pardon; where there is doubt, faith; where there is despair, hope; where there is darkness, light; and where there is sadness, joy.

O Divine Master, grant that I may not so much seek to be consoled as to console; to be understood, as to understand; to be loved, as to love; for it is in giving that we receive, it is in pardoning that we are pardoned, and it is in dying that we are born to eternal life.

Amen.

Any who knew my dad would know that he eschewed organized religion. Yet he was a deeply contemplative and spiritual man. Drawn to universal messages of love, connection, and illumination by many spiritual teachers (Rumi, Kabir, Buddha, and Chief Seattle to name a few), the apples have clearly not fallen far from the tree. My brother Chris wrote his own version of a peace prayer and though my dad never saw this, he would be proud to see how clearly he is represented in the many life lessons my brother and I embody.

Feeling the Joy

 

Goals for the Season:

* Keep it all in perspective
* Remember the why to the season
* Enjoy the details
* Be joyous
* Be grateful
* Be light

At this time of year, there’s all the talk of a picture-perfect, Christmas card holiday. Everyone smiling and happy. Feeling big and loving and kind. Getting along. A Norman Rockwell picture, some like to say.  And honestly, I have been so blessed in the past year, that I am claiming that kind of holiday. We have recreated some of the traditions we love and we’ve let go of some others that no longer serve us. We, all four of us, are healthy, happy, and so very well.  We need not a thing. Our cups runneth over. So, so very grateful.

We’ve slimmed down our giving to causes with real need. We volunteered together as a family for Room in the Inn (a highlight of the season for sure!). We even aspired, like so many other sweet families at this time of year, to the perfect holiday picture with our family photo shoot. This, by the way, was much to husband and son’s chagrin. “Why do we have to wear white shirts?? This is so stupid!!” said son  (not husband, who knows better than to tread on that thin ice . . .).

The photos – taken by my brilliant and talented mom – turned out great.  Even Tractor posed well, a central figure in our family unit, he could not be forgotten; needed to be represented and accounted for – front and center!

Yep. We survived the family photo shoot and it took all of fifteen minutes. I chose two photos from the afternoon and ordered a beautiful card that same night with a gold foiled “joyful” announcing our holiday spirits and good cheer, our thankfulness for our great good.

The cards arrived a week or so later. I’d already purchased my holiday postage. (And got a ticket on the way to the post office for that . . . rolled through a stop sign while I was lost in my holiday to-do thoughts. I could have been mad but since I am trying a new zen Christmas attitude this year, I made myself repeat in my head and heart: “Thank you Officer for keeping me safe. For reminding me to slow down and to STOP at this time of year. To not be distracted. To be fully present. If one small ticket is the price I pay for this reminder, so be it . . . Thank you.”).

As I prepared to address the cards, I lit a candle. I sat by the lovingly decorated Christmas tree aglow in its colorful lights. Assembled the list, stamps, return address stamper, and pens.  Sage sat across from me. I did all the postage and return address stamping first and then wrote a short note on the initial cards and signed our names. I did about 10 and realized I could barely see what I was writing so I moved a floor lamp closer. (I think I’m getting to that certain age where “readers” are becoming more necessary but I haven’t gone there yet. But may. VERY SOON . . . like I have a feeling they may show up in my stocking since Santa’s omniscient and my vision’s waning.  Just saying!).

So. With that good light now directly over my right shoulder, I picked up one of our happy little family – joy, joy – Christmas cards to admire . . . the smiles, the lighting, my precious kids, my handsome husband, the adorable dog . . . And OH!  I think I see something I shouldn’t. Wished I hadn't. Bringing the card closer (“readers” where are you??), I confirmed my suspicion.

SHIT. SHIT. SHIT.

TRACTOR'S LIPSTICK IS SHOWING.  O.K., you really have to look hard. But still. For it to be showing at all . . . NO GOOD. And if you are not with me yet, I’m talking about his PRIVATES.  Front and center on our CHRISTMAS CARD. I mentioned the “Joyful” written in gold foil across the front of the card?  Well, dear sweet Tractor was clearly feeling the JOY.

 I, on the other hand, was NOT.

“Sage!” I say. “You’re not going to believe this. We have a problem. A big problem. (She is studiously working on her card to great-Grandma Mundy when I interrupt her with my burning news flash.) “What Mom?” she says as she walks over. 

Me: Look at this picture, do you notice anything?

Her:  Nope, looks good.

Me:  Look closer.  Look at Trackie . . .

Her: Awwww, sweet Trackie.  He’s adorable . . .

Me: Why yes he is BUT LOOK AT HIS LIPSTICK . . .

(Eyes sideways to me, she looks down again.)

Her: Oh my Gosh! OH MY GOSH!

(Followed by hysterical laughing. Hysterical.  And three more OMGoshes and then . . . “DAD?? TAGGART?? COME HERE!!”) 

Me: No, no, no. Let’s not get them involved. We got this.  They don’t even need to know. You can hardly see it, right?

(She just looks at me and laughs. And in enters Jeff.) 

Jeff: What’s up?

Sage:  Dad! Look at this.  You won’t believe it!

Jeff (holding said card under the light): What?

Sage:  Look closer, at Tractor. Look down at Tractor Dad.

BAHAHAHAHAHAHA (That’s Jeff and Sage cracking up . . . and me looking at the two of them, maybe with only the slightest hint of a smile . . .)

Me (to husband):  If you tell anyone, I will be SO mad. Seriously. I won’t speak to you. This is not funny. Do you hear me?? Not funny. Tell anyone and you’re mud.

Clearly, my zen Christmas spirit left me momentarily. It happens to the best of us. But then, one of my favorite lines came to me and righted my holiday world once again:

Angels can fly because they take themselves lightly. 

Now, I’m pretty certain I’m not growing any angel wings anytime soon but in aspiring to be a better, fuller, lighter version of myself this holiday season, the reminder to laugh more and make light of situations that we can make light of was an important one.  And it aligns perfectly with my goals for the season. Imagine that.

May we all remember the details that matter this holiday season.

And laugh, or let go of, the details that don’t.

Merry Christmas from our family to yours – and a very joyous fa-la-la-la from our beloved Tractor!

p.s. That is our card up top - but I got very busy with the smudge tool so there is no lipstick to see.  I thought I'd spare you that minor detail!

The Presence of Christmas

MORE PRESENCE, LESS STUFF . . . are you with me on this?  My daughter Sage certainly isn’t.  At eight, she still believes.  Which I am thrilled about because BELIEVING is one of the very best things in life. Believing in Santa (or even that damn elf on the shelf!) . . . Believing in growth, that an itty-bitty acorn can grow into a magnificent, grand oak . . . Believing in love, that it can transcend all things . . . Believing in anything bigger than ourselves is one of the very best gifts in life. 

BELIEVING IS WONDROUS.

Don’t get me wrong. I am all for wonder and believing. But here’s the thing. Santa is tired. Very tired.  And though he’s still coming, Mrs. Claus had a talk with him this year.  And it went something like this: “Simplify. Simplify. Simplify.”  (Well, that might have been my dad’s two cents but now that he’s in heaven and I’m pretty sure that’s close to the North Pole, he might just have the Clauses’ ears this year!).

 So, as I told Sage, Santa got in touch with me.

“HOW?” she demanded.  “Well, he e-mailed me,” I shared. “Santa can talk to all the parents whenever he needs to.” “O.K . . .” she replied a bit warily. And this is how the conversation went.

Me: Honey, I’ve decided we are going to do Christmas a little differently this year.  Since we have so much stuff already and we really don’t need much, this is what we are going to do this Christmas. 

Each of us can ask for four things:

• Something we WANT
• Something we NEED
• Something to EXPERIENCE
• Something to READ

Her: Nope.  I’m not doing that.  No way. I’m asking for WAY MORE than four things. Just so you know.

Me: Well, you can ask.  But I’ve discussed this with your dad and with Santa. And Santa has a lot of kids to think about, kids who don’t have homes or even families.  If we do this, it helps Santa and he can also help those children that don’t have as much as we do.

Her: Whatever Mom. I’M NOT DOING THAT.

(And she marched, tall and straight, right on outta the room.)

Later that night, as we sat down to dinner, Sage says, “Taggart?  Did mom tell you what we are doing for Christmas this year?”  And Taggart responds, “No. What?”  Sage continues, “Mom says it’s going to be one thing we want, one thing we need, one thing to experience, and something to read.  Can you believe it? We ARE SO NOT doing that, right?”

Me, in my head, “Whatever Sage.”

I get it. It’s hard to be eight-years-old and used to Christmas being one way and then it getting switched up on you.  But kids are resilient.  AND SHE’LL BE FINE.  It’s not like I told her we’re cancelling Christmas.  Just toning it down.  Making it count. Matter. Making them think long and hard about their four main requests.  Quality over quantity.  Less is more (she hasn’t gotten this memo yet!).   

More presence, less stuff.

I KNOW Sage got it, that she’s with me on some level, because the next night when I got home after a meeting, Sage had written this on the notepad on the fridge:

 Maybe somewhere in wise Sage’s big heart, she IS with me. Perhaps she knows, on some deep level - like me - that we need to take back the presence of Christmas and illuminate the true spirit of the season in our homes, churches, and communities in ways that really matter. 

The retailers and marketers have done a number on us and most of us have fallen for it hook, line, and sinker. (And I don’t know about you but I don’t want to hear Christmas music in stores before my Thanksgiving prayer’s even been said!)

But here’s the thing: They are not the boss of us. And we don’t have to play their game. As much as they want us to. Hurry, scurry, run, run, run. Don’t miss this sale. Limited time offer!  Use your credit card, pay later.  Distract yourself with more stuff.  Take two aspirin and call us in the morning (you’ll get an automated response) . . . Believe me, no one wants this holiday hangover.

Which is exactly why I’m taking back our Christmas this year. Calling it OURS. Making it OURS. And yes, where I can, it's simplify, simplify, simplify.  Just this week, I wrote to two of my favorite cousins and asked, “Can we NOT send presents to each other’s families this year, given that we all have more than we need? Perhaps we can find other ways throughout the year to celebrate each other?”  Their answers: “Yes! We agree. Let’s take that off our to-do lists and focus on each other on our birthdays.”  Hip-Hip-Hooray!

This now frees the kids and I up to do a little more for the two angels we selected off their school’s Angel Tree and allows our time and energy to be spent in ways that make a difference, for people in real NEED.   Or saying “no” to some gatherings so that our family can more fully experience the season of giving, the reason for the season. This week it was declining a party at the in-laws because I had already signed our family up to volunteer at our church for Room in the Inn.  We’ll make beds for the homeless men that will stay at our church for the night and serve them dinner.  We will talk and visit with them and perhaps hear some of their stories.

I am hoping we will be reminded of what real need looks like and that we will walk away fuller than when we arrived, with a welcome and much-needed reminder that we are all connected. Not by the material, but by the fact that we are all human. Each of us, spiritual beings having a human experience, learning to love and to truly see one another.

I hope – through this season and throughout our days in the coming year – we open ourselves to those presents, to those gifts.  May we all be so blessed.

The Longest Walk

Photo by Libby Mundy, c. 2015

 “The longest walk is door to door.”

That’s what my dad used to say when he was a canvasser for Greenpeace, going door-to-door in any kind of weather – rain, snow, sun, bitter cold - to talk to whoever would listen about the environment and what they could do to help save the planet. My dad would talk with those that were kind enough to open their doors, and perhaps even listen, and then he would eventually ask for a donation to Greenpeace to support its mission and work. More often than not, he’d head back down the steps and away from a door that never opened to walk to the next door - his conviction, environmental literature, a good pen, and a pack of unfiltered Camel cigarettes his constant travel companions.

I like to think about my (anti-technology) dad tweeting out: “The longest walk is door to door.” 

“What’s it mean?” people might ask. It means that you never know what you are going to get as you approach that next door and stand there and knock.  Waiting for someone to answer the door.  Waiting for someone to look out and open their door to you, their eyes to you – no matter what you look like or what assumptions they might be making. 

For both the outsider and the insider, huge risks are being taken.  Yet many of us don’t take them.  We don’t venture out. Go to the door and knock.  Ask for what we need.  We know NOT to open the door to a stranger. Sometimes we don’t even get off the couch to see who’s there . . .

It’s a choice all of us make. Every day. Do we want to sit on the couch and be onlookers in our lives or do we want to show up and be present for this grand adventure, THIS EPIC HIKE, that is our life? Do we get out there and walk our longest walks or do we sit on our rears and wait for our answers to find us?  (Let me give you a clue: Our answers are most likely NOT on our couches.)

A street-level educator my dad liked to call himself. He was ABD (All But Dissertation) in English Lit yet the politics involved in finishing his doctorate tripped him up and kept him from seeing it through (I like to think of my doctoral degree as making good on my father’s unpaid debt to the world of higher education; I fondly refer to the doctoral process as a trial - not for the brightest and best – merely, the most persistent).

Anyone that knew my dad knew how intelligent he was.  An intellectual snob some might have even said (probably because he told them their cocktail parties were like eternal funerals – somehow he didn’t get, or perhaps care, that that might be off-putting).  He was the most well read person I've ever known, always recommending a good book or leaving one behind, often tucked on a bookshelf to find later (the last one he left me was Garrison Keillor’s Happy To Be Here).

He wrote beautifully, lyrically. He could find a connection with anyone, be it through music, sports, geography, or literature. Yet, he was not able to combine all these amazing talents and strengths into a cohesive whole – to bring to and give to the world all of the beauty of his being so that his light could shine most brightly.  Indeed, I think my dad often dimmed his own light because its brilliance frightened him. His insecurities got in the way of his greatness.

It’s like that Marianne Williamson quote I so love:

“Our deepest fear is not that we are inadequate. Our deepest fear is that we are powerful beyond measure. It is our light, not our darkness that most frightens us. We ask ourselves, 'Who am I to be brilliant, gorgeous, talented, fabulous?' Actually, who are you not to be? You are a child of God. Your playing small does not serve the world. There is nothing enlightened about shrinking so that other people won't feel insecure around you. We are all meant to shine, as children do. We were born to make manifest the glory of God that is within us. It's not just in some of us; it's in everyone. And as we let our own light shine, we unconsciously give other people permission to do the same. As we are liberated from our own fear, our presence automatically liberates others.”

My dad was the street-level educator who drove a cab the last few years of his life.  My dad was the guy who might have sold you a Christmas tree at one of the seasonal lots where a little, dingy trailer is set up for the person selling the tree to stay warm from the bitter chill of a Michigan winter.  That was my dad.  Not just some random guy.  Not some creep or some low-life.   

THAT WAS MY DAD.

 And I’m sure he aspired to more.  But it was what he chose.  It was what he needed to do.
And you know what?  All he wanted was for people to listen to him.  To take him seriously.  To not care what he looked like or what it was that he did for a living because he had something to say, something to share, that mattered.   

EVERYONE DOES. 

Do you get it?  Every single person you see, bump into, cross paths with – each and every person has a story. And it matters. Each person is someone’s son or daughter. Or perhaps someone’s mother or father or brother or sister or friend or partner or spouse.  Each and every person belongs to someone.   
AND THEY MATTER.

Over the last seven weeks, I’ve had the privilege of sitting in on a dear friend’s Intellectual Growth and Inquiry class, which prepares adult learners (students going back to start or finish college later in life) for their return to the college classroom. With its focus on confidence building, self-awareness, and goal setting, the course is designed to support these students in completing their college degrees. And as these students are preparing to go back to the classroom, so am I!

Beginning in the spring, I will also have the honor of teaching this class and working with this unique student population. And so unlike my many years with traditional, college-age students, I am learning that adult learners have myriad reasons for returning to college later in life.  They also bring to the classroom experience and wisdom that traditional-age students lack.  And their sense of purpose and focus is more honed, given the many competing priorities their lives are filled with.  Often it is these competing priorities (family, job responsibilities, military participation, recovery and/or mental health issues) that have hindered their college completion in the past.

Needless to say, I am in awe of these brave, courageous, and dedicated students who are mid-stream in their lives and are choosing the road less taken, heading back to complete their degrees so that they can shape their lives in new and different ways. Who are making that long walk to a new door, ripe with opportunity, change, transformation.

One student, in particular, reminds me so much of my father.  Not by how he looks or what he says.  But by the invisible armor he wears and his evident, but perhaps oft misunderstood, need to be heard. You can tell by how he interacts in class that he has not been allowed to be vulnerable, that his unique strengths may not always have been affirmed.  Yet, he is trying, albeit a bit clumsily, to live his strengths and to find ways to use his strengths to be heard. 

Each week, my teacher friend and I make eye contact and we KNOW - this student is making that longest walk. It’s hard with the armor but it’s getting easier as he sheds that heavy weight, one self-disclosure at a time. Bravo to him!  I am so grateful for his example.  And his courage.  He, like my father, is nothing more than a diamond in the rough. Finding ways to let his light shine. His brilliance sparkle.

It is easy to assume someone else is bad/wrong/weird because they are so different than us. Because they have made different choices or live such different lives. But if we take that long walk or knock or open the door and truly listen to that “other”, get to know him or her and learn their story and perhaps share ours, well, what we learn is that we all are the very same inside:

We all belong to someone.  We all want to be seen. Acknowledged. Known. Accepted for who we are.

None of us knows how long the walk is. What door will be in front of us. Who will be behind that door. Whether or not it will open.  But the point is, we don’t have to KNOW. We just have to show up and put one foot in front of the other.  Sooner or later, a door will appear.  A door will open.

And if it happens to be a trailer door at the Christmas tree lot? By all means, talk to that person. Start a conversation. He might have something worth saying, something you need to hear. A light he might be able to shine on some part of you – or you, on him.

Remember, he belongs to somebody. Give that person the gift of being seen.

No, please don’t be fooled by anyone’s disguise. Look under their armor. Find a connection.  Ease someone’s long walk when you can.  Venture out on your own long walk.   

CLAIM YOUR EPIC HIKE.

Open the door and let your light shine.

Prayer of the Empty Cup

 

God, on a day when we are typically focused on turkeys and stuffing and getting the meal timed just right . . . when we are focused on parades and football games and online sales aimed to get ahead of Black Friday . . . when we are busy thinking about the week-end and what is coming up next, the Christmas season beckoning . . .

Perhaps we can let go of all of that – if only for a minute, an hour, a moment – and slow down.  Step back. Look around. And truly take in every good little detail that surrounds us: our safety, our homes, our friends and family; our health, our faith, our freedom to believe whatever we choose; the Earth and trees and sky and sunlight’s warming rays; our children’s smiling faces.

Perhaps today, we can set aside any heaviness weighing us down and give this day a clean, unfettered heart.

In that spirit God, let us be empty today.  Empty of meanness and hate.  Regret and remorse. Empty of judgments and ideas of right and wrong, black and white. Empty of small ideas that no longer serve us.

Let us BE Lord, together, in that empty space free of clouds or darkness.  And let us fill our cups with only those things that truly matter and that contribute to our families and our world in a positive way.  Let us strive, each day, to fill our own and others’ wells with good: a smile, a compliment, a helping hand. A listening ear, a warm embrace, a hot meal. A letter, a phone call, a prayer.

God, let us be artful in our thanks today. For the emptiness that makes more room for the fullness.  For the fullness that comes from our blessings overflowing.

Let’s come to the table of life with an empty cup and fill it each day with GOOD.

Amen.