The Power of Silence

Last week I couldn't say anything right.....

It all started one morning.  For four years SK has been up and out the door by 6:45 in order to be at school early so that she is prepared (and I suspect to socialize).  Over the last several weeks, she has been getting up a little bit later each morning.  This particular morning she didn't get up until 6:55 and as she was walking out the door at 7:10 I said, "I guess this is your form of the senior slide."  Everything stopped and then went to what felt like  slow motion as she whipped around with a look of horror on her face and said, "Do you think I am slack?  I just slept a little later, I'm not sliding."  Action went back to regular motion or even high speed as she stormed out of the house.

The next evening she came home with her cap and gown.  As she put it on I bit my tongue to the point of it bleeding.  I really wanted this to be celebratory and not about the hollow place in my heart that is enlarging with every passing day that brings us closer to her leaving for college.  She put it on and looked at me expectantly.  I swallowed hard and knew I had to say something; I went with humor to prevent the tears that were stinging my eyes from cascading down onto the kitchen floor and creating another flood requiring six months of renovations.  SK, "You're going to cry aren't you?"  Me, "No, I just don't see why they're white.  I've never seen white graduation robes. It's not like you're getting married."  (Which may or may not be true; honestly I can't remember.)  Look of horror on her face again, "I can't believe you!  What's wrong with white.  That's why I need a white dress.  I've TOLD you!" Now I'm smart but clearly not that smart.  Her emotions were spinning out of control and I decided to continue with humor--as though that had worked in the last few minutes.  So, I held up 3 fingers.  I've been doing this for 9 months.  Every time we start to get into a little spat I hold up my fingers as to how many months until she leaves.  It used to make her laugh and diffuse the situation.  I guess now that we're counting on only one hand it's no longer funny.  Actually I don't guess, I know because she ran from the room crying and telling me how horrible I was and she couldn't believe I was happy she was leaving soon.  At this point the boyfriend who is not the boyfriend tried to speak up, "I think your mom was just kidding. You don't need to yell."  Now I know he was trying to help, but I predict this statement is just one of many that's going to continue to highlight the "not the boyfriend" part of his title.

I've been thinking a lot about last week, this week, and the weeks to come.  It's an emotional time for everyone and in different ways.  I realize that perhaps the best way to help SK through it is to stay silent and just be present.  As much as I want to, I can't stop the emotions that are going to continue to flood her heart and soul.  I can't make the conflicting feelings easier to understand, but I can be there in the background to listen and to watch her grow through it.  I can acknowledge the feelings and acknowledge the power, the strength and the goodness in the feelings even when it feels so horrible in the moment.  I suspect  my silence may feel, at times, like abandonment, but it's not.  As I have prayed and journaled and cried and talked to my therapist trying to figure out how to navigate this time, I realize that silence isn't about abandonment or absence.  Sometimes silence is about allowing, promoting, growth and maturity and movement towards our whole selves.

I have thought back on the times I felt that God was silent, times I felt abandoned and I realize that those times of silence were actually some of the most spiritual times of my life. Those were times I have grown and matured, and I know God didn't and doesn't abandon me or anyone.  God is always present allowing us the space to grow, allowing us the space to discover that we are stronger than we know.  But God never abandons us.  I believe God sheds tears with us as we cry, but I also believe God loves us enough to let us live into who we are called and created to be even knowing there will be times of  pain. These are feelings so many experience.  Scripture is full of times people felt the silence of God as abandonment and yet continued to have faith; continued to grow.  (Psalm 22; Psalm 35:22, Job)

I pray that as we move through these next few weeks God gives me the strength to remain silent and present even as my tears flow.

God Sends Us Angels...

It was a beautiful sunny Louisville summer day in August of 2008, but my heart was dark, lonely and desolate.  I had spent the morning inside trying to hide the tears from my young children.  I sent them outside so they wouldn't hear the racking sobs that erupted from the very depth of my heart and soul.  (I could always blame the swollen eyes on allergies)  I was terrified; I was terrified we had made a terrible mistake moving back to Chris' hometown 5 months before.  Family dynamics were difficult; I was lonely in a way I had never felt before.  In this town of connections I felt connected to no one, and I was panic stricken I was losing connection with my husband.  I was trying to figure out how to make a trip back home before school started in the next few weeks.  I was desperate, truly desperate.  Early in the afternoon recognizing I still needed to be a mama, I stepped out onto the front porch to check on the children.

"Hey, Katherine!" I heard from a car that stopped suddenly in front of the house.  "So this is where ya'll live.  I'm so glad I figured it out."  My children looked back and forth from me standing on the porch to the bright bubbly woman in the car.  I came down the stairs and walked to the street.  "It's Hope, Carter's sister." Hope explained.  "Uncle Carter," I repeated to the children so they had some sort of context.  "How are ya'll?" Hope asked.  I had met Hope years before in New York when we visited and had kept up with her through Carter and Ingrid, but I didn't really know her so I hoped she wouldn't notice the red swollen eyes as I answered, "fine."  (As desperate as I was, I also knew regurgitating my issues to a practical stranger was probably not a good idea.)  "We'll have to get together sometime soon." Hope said.  "That would be great," I responded trying to disguise my doubt. I had heard those words from multiple people since moving back and yet we had only gotten together with one other family. (We love you Apples!) I prepared to turn around and go back into the house when I heard Hope say, "Hey Ingrid says you like to read too.  Want to go to my book club with me?"  I turned around and hesitantly said, "Sure, when?"  "Tonight--I can pick you up at 7.  It's a great group.  You'll love them."  "Well, I don't know that I'll have time to read the book, but what is it?"  "Count of Monte Cristo"  I tried to hold onto the fact that I was going to be around other women for a night (I knew Chris would get home to make sure I could go--he knew how sad I was) and not be intimidated by their choice of summer reading!

I went to book club that night and although I was intimidated, it was a wonderful group of women.  As Hope dropped me off late that evening she said, "I hope you'll join our group."  Over the next few years I sporadically attended the group (I started seminary and that made it hard) but every time I was there Hope made certain to include me in the conversation--to fill in the gaps of stories so that I was included.  She invited us to parties at her home and never rolled her eyes when I incessantly told people how we'd been connected since Chris was a 13 year old boy through her brother Carter.  She gracefully allowed me to perseverate about our connection; I needed to feel I had a connection in this connection obsessed city.

In the last few years we have seen each other more as our children now attend the same school.  Hope always greets me with a smile; we share a love (read obsession) for Ingrid and Carter's children, and our connection through Carter has blossomed into a friendship I treasure.  I still love that we are connected through Carter and Chris but I no longer feel the need to explain it to everyone we meet (sigh of relief from Hope I'm sure).  We have our own connection now--a connection of friendship, a connection that began because she stopped.

People touch our lives sometimes in ways they have no idea.  In her book No Ordinary Angel, Dr. Susan Garrett writes, "The word "angel" means "messenger."  In popular culture, angels often serve as messengers who bring healing truth.  They come to those who suffer from spiritual, psychological, or emotional blindness and cause the scales to fall from their eyes.  The angels open up a new way to view and move into the future."  Simply I believe angels are messengers from God and God's message is always one of love and hope.  And I believe many of the people who touch our lives are angels.  Hope stopped her car on the very day I needed her too. Life wasn't perfect; there were still hard days, but that day hope was born.  Hope brought the message of hope and love to me and touched my heart and soul.

On this her birthday, I want to say thank you to my angel Hope.  I know you are a blessing and gift to so many, I'm grateful I'm among them.  Thank you for being you; thank you for being an angel.

Who is your angel? Perhaps today is the day you should tell them....

I'm Blaming My Bonus Mama Marguerite

In January I was at my daddy and bonus mama's house for the weekend.  I sat on the bed in their room as Marguerite put away my daddy's clothes.  Daddy is 73, still works more than 60 hours a week, and walks several miles a day, but well he's 73 and just recovering from prostate cancer--he's more tired than usual, and I noticed how loving and kind Marguerite is to him, so I told her.  "Marguerite, thank you for loving and taking care of my daddy.  You are so good to him.  You do so much for him.  I mean just now putting away his clothes.  I just put Chris' on the bed and he puts them away whenever he feels like it.  And you do it without griping." (Okay I said bitching)  "Katherine," Marguerite responded staring me straight in the face, "I love your daddy and I don't see it as a chore at all.  I'm so happy that I get to do it for him.  We're not young and I don't know how long I'll get to do these things for him, so I do them happily always remembering I won't get to do them forever."  BAM!  What a change in attitude--not doing things because you have to but rather because you get to---we may be younger, but to love that way--not knowing what day will be your last.  To consider that caring for one another is not a chore but a privilege.. Man I love my bonus mama!

I returned home, cleaned out Chris' dresser, and began always putting his clothes away--because I get to..It has totally changed how I view doing so many things.  It seems simple, but our relationship has changed.  My perspective and attitude have changed.  I'm not angry and bitter, and he noticed, acknowledged and thanked me.  Simply changing my thought process from what I "have to do" to what I "get to do" has drastically changed the tone of our home.  I am so grateful for those few minutes with Marguerite; they changed me.  (Bonus Mama's are the best!)

Today as I worked in the yard and thought about how to tell Chris about my latest commitment, (SK counseled texting him when he was traveling and not likely to be home soon because she didn't want to see his face) I returned to these words, and while I recognize this is rationalization on steroids, it's also what I believe.

Thursday I agreed to be on the slate as president elect of the PA provided I could find someone to be Booster Club President (I did).  I hesitated and then my very good friend/practically family person (next year I may consider her the enemy depending on how this job goes) said, "You'd be really good.  Plus it's just three years.  One president elect, second president, and third past president.  You'll get through and then have one year before Caroline is gone."  Well that did it--mention to me my children leaving home and you can get me to do just about anything.  (What in the heck were we thinking having our children so close?  When you have them close, they leave ONE AFTER ANOTHER!  I'm so not ready.)  So I said, okay....

And then I started thinking...I seem to say yes a lot to things I shouldn't.  But hey, this isn't a school carnival.  I have chaired those in every school we have ever been a part of except these last two.  I HATED doing it; the family HATED me doing it.  The last one I chaired my children didn't even attend and Chris said to me, "Seriously darling, if you ever chair one of these again, I will divorce you."  "But Chris," I said, "if I don't no one will."  Chris in his very calm way (just like my therapist stating the obvious, and for free) said, "Maybe there's a reason for that."

As I was working today, and thinking about how to tell Chris  about my new commitment, I returned to Marguerite's words, "I get to." I get to...there are plenty of other people who could do this job, probably better, but I get to.  I get to be a part of a school and community I love; and I get to serve all three children at the same time.  But it goes so much deeper than that.  Chris and I are fortunate enough that we are on the same page about education.  I get to have all three at the same school.  (Chris gets to pay the tuition.)  With all three at the same school, my load of driving is drastically reduced; I get to have a job that while demanding is also somewhat flexible.  I get to have friends that support me, encourage me (read laugh at me), and believe in me.  I get to have a sister who says I am a dumba** for agreeing to this but will listen to me for the next three years; love me, laugh at me, and be my friend.  I get to have children who most of the time like having me around, and I get to have their friends who also like/love me in different ways.  And most importantly I get to have a husband who thinks I'm neurotic, compulsive and insane, but I also get to have a husband who knows how much it means to me to be involved in our children's lives  I get to have a husband who occasionally complains but mostly it's because he's worried about me and my stress; I get to have a husband who loves me and my craziness unconditionally.  And I get to have a husband who will roll his eyes, walk out of the room and then come back in and say (hopefully, please dear God hopefully), "You're nuts!  But okay."

And now I get to go tell him....I'm blaming my bonus Mama Marguerite!