Category: love

Looking in Through the Sliding Glass Door

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“May your choices reflect your hopes, not your fears.” – Nelson Mandela

The other night, I was standing at the kitchen sink putting the final dishes for the day in the dishwasher when my kids walked into the kitchen after bedtime. I caught sight of them – seven-year-old Miss O in the lead hugging her stuffy close and three-year-old Mr. D seeking a little comfort by standing in the shadow of his sister and wearing his little dinosaur shorty pajamas. I had to turn back to the sink for a moment to try to put my game face on. It was a clear violation of bedtime rules and I needed to try to assemble some sort of serious countenance because seeing them quietly standing there had totally melted my heart.

It was like I caught a vision of the reverse of Brené Brown’s sliding glass door moments. She describes those as the small glimpses where you see the life you could have on the other side and have to decide whether or not to cross the threshold.

In this case, it was like I was on the outside looking back in at the life that I created for myself when I made the choice to have kids. I had a fleeting flash of what walking through that sliding glass door into this life has delivered.

I saw my life has been redefined to drop most standards of cleanliness and order, and all attempts at perfection. Instead it has become a continuous re-sorting of my priorities so that I’m trying to do what is important in the moment. And in the shuffling, I’ve come to discover that I can repeatedly choose my kids, myself, and family instead of arbitrary external markers of success.

The glimpse let me see that I’ve gotten better at “being” instead of “doing.” My kids are a lot of work and in a strange paradox they have taught my how to let work go – to relax and slow down. I get so much less done – but I laugh so much more while I do it. And when I don’t laugh, when I’m all bound up and tight – these two are my sanity check to reground myself in why.

I glimpsed how the power of believing this all is my choice has carried me through some really tough times of sickness, sleeplessness, and carrying too much weight. Simply knowing that I chose this has given me strength I didn’t know I had before.

I saw my transformation to believe in miracles – because I’m living with two. And my kids continue to be miracles long after they were born because they’ve become my teachers. I thought I would be the teacher and they would be the learners – only to find out that I’m the one learning about how to have a meaningful and authentic life. Those lessons come from the myriad of interactions that we have had to crouch and look at bugs, stuff our pockets full of rocks, snuggle together to talk about feelings, quietly draw and color together, run excitedly to the beach on vacation, fold into each other while reading books, lash out in anger at boundaries, fear, and discomfort, and heal together holding hands when we’ve talk/acted/laughed it out.

By becoming their lightening rod for big emotions, I have learn to cultivate my own emotional intelligence about the weather inside me. They’ve taught me to choose joy. Not happiness, but joy!

In that moment, I caught a sense of how everything that transpired before I had kids has come together to help – my love of outdoors, my family, my gaining a sense of going with the flow, the endurance training. And most of all, my faith, and that has the goodness of my dad all wrapped up in it too.

I saw that “me” had been completely replaced with “we.” That I have given up the ability to make unilateral decisions and in return have been gifted with a life filled with heart.

From all of this, I was left with a heart melting feeling. Seeing my kids both as the precious, earnest, and delightful little ones that they are and the courageous, free, and integrated people they are becoming. And seeing myself as the same.

After being gifted with this glimpse of things, I finally turned to my kids to hear them out as to why they were out of bed. They’d been fighting and needed a referee. My little flash of perspective helped me choose not to be irritated or impatient but instead just listen. I told them I loved them and sent them back to bed.

My post on Wise & Shine today is about my mom’s choices: The Choices We Make: My Mom the Spy

Just Beyond the Veil

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“Death is just a door that only love can come and go through.” T.L. Moffitt

Last week when I was walking in to Costco, the man in front of me turned and for an instant I was sure it was my dad. Next to me, Miss O was startled by the unexpected break in my fast stride and turned to look at me. I put my hand on my heart and said, “that man looks just like Bumpa.” Wide-eyed, she nodded – she’s only seen pictures but she recognized him too.

Then later last week, I was doing a technical training at the church that my dad used to be senior pastor of and was surprised by someone in the audience who asked me to say a few words about him. It wasn’t my prepared topic but since my dad is one of my favorite subjects, it was fairly easy to ramble on about him as a few errant tears rolled down my cheek.

All of this to say, my dad feels very near in recent days. He would talk about this phenomenon as someone being “just beyond the veil.” The way I’ve come to see it, I don’t exactly where he is but somehow he comes near, and then I feel the brush of his touch.

I know I’m not alone in this as I’ve heard so many great stories that give me that spine tingle of mystical knowing. Someone who picks up their voice mail and there’s an old message from a departed loved one. Or someone thinking of their loved one who has passed, and they cross paths with their loved one’s favorite animal in a completely unexpected place. Or a gift that arrives just after praying to our dearly departeds for help.

Why do I think my dad is near right now? He didn’t often tell me what to do when he was alive so I doubt he’s doing it now. I think he’s sending his love — a love that’s even more meaningful to me because we did the work to make our relationship closer in the years before his death. So that even though he died unexpectedly, he still left me with words that mean so much to me. That is what my post on W&S is this morning: Writing Last Lines That Count

(Featured photo is from my book about my dear dad, Finding My Father’s Faith.)

Cheers and Blessings

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“My friends are the beings through whom God loves me.” – Saint Martin

My friend, Bill, came to visit me a couple of weeks ago. I hadn’t seen him in 10 years and in those years, he got married and has moved to three different countries. I still live in the same house, but over that time, I’ve had two children.”

Needless to say, we had a lot of catching up to do. At first, as Bill was settling his bags in the guest room and talking with my kids, it felt surreal – like paint from one palette had spilled on another. Then when Bill and I went to dinner, it felt like we were working hard to find stories that conveyed the essence and meaning of the lives we live.

I experienced it as practice of the deepest kind of listening. I had to draw from far-back memories of living abroad when I was a kid, and again for a short time in college. And he had to relate experiences he’s had with other parents to try to know the life I’m living. But we both showed up to do that practice and it didn’t seem forced or contrived.

I don’t understand the mechanics of my deep connection to this friend. I wrote about him about a year ago in It’s Love Calling because we usually only speak to each other once every five years or so. Bill and I connected instantly when we met 25 years ago but have not spent a lot of time together in any of the intervening years. The what, how, where, and why of it are completely inexplicable and changeable – only the who stays consistent.

And in between our calls and visits, so much life has happened that it takes conscious effort to pick out the thread of what’s important to say. Yet this weird connection remains vibrant and meaningful.

My conclusion when I talked with Bill last year and wrote was that our connection exists to remind each other that we are lovable without having to perform for it. That there is a Oneness that we can both touch from our disparate lives when we are quiet and still. Somehow this friendship exists as evidence of and a waypoint to it for each other.

I’d add one thing to that conclusion – it’s a gift to have someone so connected yet disconnected come immerse themselves in my life for almost 24 hours. It shows me that every once in a while we receive the gift of being seen from the outside. Someone who knows us and can see our growth – but they have to stay on the outside in order to bestow the gift. I feel the love of God through my friendships, as the quote for this post describes – and every once in a while God makes a special one to deliver perspective as well.

Bill left this note, “Thanks for everything, Wynne. What a pleasure to spend time in your love filled life. Your family is absolutely amazing. Cheers and Blessings.”

Well, I’d probably describe my family as four parts love, one part chaos – and what a gift that he was willing to jump into our chaos to feel and see our love.

As I write this, I still have so many questions about abundant love, connection, and what humans can evoke in each other. But it feels like I have a better sense and shape of the mystery and have extended the notes that I want to cultivate because I’ve written this. It’s expressive writing at its best and if you are interested in the topic, it’s what Vicki Atkinson, Brian Hannon and I discuss on Episode 8 of the Sharing the Heart of the Matter podcast: Episode 8: Expressive Writing to listen on Anchor. This podcast is also available on Apple, Amazon, Spotify and Pocket Casts by searching for Sharing the Heart of the Matter and new episodes drop every Friday morning.

Please subscribe! Next week’s podcast is Mitch Teemley talking about having the audacity to believe that others want to read, watch or listen to his stories. It’s really good!

A Golden Moment

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“When you realize how perfect everything is, you will tilt your head back and laugh at the sky.” – Buddha

Yesterday I had a golden moment with my kids. You know the kind that I mean? Where everything lines up and all our hearts seems to beat in synch for a minute or three.

We’ve been together for three days at a little condo on our favorite beach on Whidbey Island for this long weekend. The weather has been a little rainy so although we’ve walked a little on the beach, mostly we’ve been inside, playing Go Fish, watching movies, doing puzzles.

Then the golden moment came as we were talking about the Beatles last night at dinner. Miss O wanted to know if other musicians know their music so I pulled up this beautiful video of Yo-yo Ma playing and James Taylor singing Here Comes the Sun

Maybe it was just my heart being just a little more open for a moment but somehow the music and the kids listening, everything felt perfect in the world for just a second.

Or it could be because I’d was paying attention because I’d been writing about the curiosity of kids and being at new places for my Heart of the Matter post: Unlocking the Door of Curiosity

Either way – I’m wishing all of you a golden moment for today.

P.S. Watching these two musicians reminded me that I’d written about a story I’d heard about James Taylor: A Show of Character

Celebrating Connection with Others

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“When the power of love overcomes the love of power, the world will know peace.” – Jimi Hendrix

It feels like Valentine’s Day is the holiday that it’s safe to hate. It’s not tied to any major religion so it doesn’t feel like it would be offensive to not like it, it’s overly commercialized and has sappy ads, and eating establishments have taken advantage of the hype to sometimes make it exclusive and expensive.

I would definitely fall in-line with those who poo-poo Valentine’s Day. I have a couple of friends whose birthday is Valentine’s Day and it made it so complicated when they were dating someone new. Do you or do you not go out to celebrate without being inundated by the assumptions and hype?

But helping my kids getting ready for it, especially my 2nd grader, has given me a new appreciation for it. At this age, it’s the only holiday for which they prepare cards for their classmates. For elementary school kids, the imagery is simple so they can easily make heartfelt cards for teachers and adults in their lives. In fact, because it’s such an uncomplicated celebration it makes it pretty accessible.

I understand that it gets more fraught as we grow up. When I was 14-years-old, I burnt the cookies I made for the first guy I “went” with and still delivered them anyway. He, on the other hand, had chocolate and roses for me, which made me feel both great and terrible.

So it seems like Valentine’s Day gets more complicated as we grow up. It becomes wrapped up with what romance is and isn’t, tied up with love languages, and whatever else makes it feel forced and unauthentic. As adults we can add our expectations, and our wonderings about how to navigate the wine and roses appropriately. We over-complicate it with our baggage and memories of how we underperformed (or at least I do).

But working with Miss O as she carefully picked a card from the pile that was what she thought each person in her class would like the best, I reconnected to Valentine’s Day as a simple holiday that celebrates our connection to each other. And well, I love that.

As the quote for this post from Jimi Hendrix says, maybe if we spent a little more time celebrating love, we could collectively move the needle on our divisiveness. I mean that generally speaking, not to add another burden on the expectations of Valentine’s Day.

Happy Valentine’s Day, all!

The Next Chapter: Car Talk

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Does anyone remember the car cake when our car turned 100,000 miles and we made a cake for it?

After we blew out the candles, Miss O turned to me and asked, “Are you going to be alive when this happens to me?”

Oh boy. I thought I better not go with the reply that she better get a used car with a lot of miles already on it. So after thinking about it for a few weeks, I’ve written my answer on Wise & Shine: The Next 100,000 Miles

Reconnecting

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“A lifetime is so precious, and so brief, and can be used so beautifully.” – Pema Chodron

I was standing around the elementary school yard the other day watching parents and children at pick-up time. There was the mom standing with her 1st grader, listening to her and occasionally smoothing back the child’s hair behind her ear. There was a dad standing behind his 3rd grader with his hand proudly on his son’s shoulders. And off to my right was the mom embracing her 4th grade son in a big and long hug.

I’ve been thinking about the scene and how we reconnect with our loved ones because yesterday I had to be sedated for a colonoscopy. Even though I had no particular reason to be concerned, I feel a little nervous anytime I or my loved ones have to go under. I remember feeling this acutely anytime I had to take my now departed dog, Biscuit, in for a procedure, especially when he got older. Something scares me about the way you are there one moment, then they turn up the mixture and you’re out.

I’d worked out the details for my procedure yesterday so that my kids had their normal school day routines. But the anxiety amped up the good-bye sweetness, making me remember that I’d once read that good-bye derived from God Be With You. As Miss O jumped out of the car to run for the gate at school, I said, “Good-bye, my miracle girl!”

And she turned, smiled and replied, “Good-bye, my miracle mom.”

I felt that all the way through. It is a miracle that I’m a mom. That modern medicine enabled me through IVF to have babies at age 46 and 50 is astounding. Once I felt that, it was a short walk to feeling how this all is a miracle – to be a human on this earth at this moment with all you other delightful humans, understanding we have the capacity to appreciate this in a way that we might not if we were ants or alligators.

The trip to pick my kids up again at the end of the day, my loop around the little neighborhood lake that I’ve driven countless times, was all that much sweeter. To reconnect, scoop them up in my arms, look at them proudly, tuck their hair behind their ears, and celebrate a little more consciously how lovely it is to be here was pure joy. I wouldn’t go as far as to say I was glad to have a colonoscopy… but hey, anything that reminds me to hug my loved ones a little bit tighter can’t be all bad.

Getting the Best of My Common Sense

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“Of all forms of caution, caution in love is perhaps the most fatal to true happiness.” – Bertrand Russell

My 83-year-old mom had a ping pong accident this week. One minute she was playing a game at her senior residence and the next she dove for the ball, fell on a cot-like thing, hit the rail with her back and was injured enough that the firemen, paramedics and ambulance came and she was on her way to the hospital.

She’s out of the hospital now and doing fine. With a couple of cracked ribs and a little bit of bleeding, the injury is painful but nowhere near as serious as it could have been. She’s chalked the whole thing up to “her competitive nature getting the best of her common sense.”

I’m fascinated by that phrase because I can think of any number of things that have gotten the best of my common sense. Usually pride and stubbornness because I’m not particularly competitive. All the times I’ve carried too much (I’m thinking of my post about efficiency), haven’t asked for help, and stayed at something far too long.

And it seems to be passed down in families. The other day Miss O wasn’t feeling well and I asked her if she wanted to cancel anything or take a rest and her answer could have come right from my mouth. “NO! I’m fine, I’ve got this!”

On the other hand, the things I do out of love almost never make common sense. I’m thinking of the time I celebrated my friend Phil’s 400th ascent of Mt Rainier by buying 400 of each his favorite mountaineering provisions. The cough drops and tea bags were fine but the chips and the cookies were quite voluminous so that I ended up delivering 8 storage bins full of stuff.

In honor of my mom, I’m taking a deeper look at what gets the best of my common sense. For the times I extend myself out of love, I’m keeping it. But if I’m extending myself out of duty or pride, I’m going to try to let it go.

Because sometimes when we lunge for things we end up in the hospital. The good thing about taking a dive at a senior residence is that there’s a good portion of the population that can’t remember the gossip. A woman with a great sense of humor but maybe not such a good memory said to my mom when she returned from the hospital, “I heard something about you but now I can’t remember what.”

(featured photo from Pexels)

Negotiating with Others

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“Do not learn how to react. Learn how to respond.” – Buddha

Yesterday as I was getting the kids in the car to drive them to school, Mr. D became very upset because I hadn’t picked the right socks. “The dinosaur socks upstairs” he insisted and I went back to scramble for the right ones but when I came back, they still weren’t the right pair.

Now we were going to make Miss O late for school if I continued to hunt for the mythical socks. Mythical in my mind at least because the problem wasn’t the socks, it was that he didn’t want to go to school yet. So I gave Mr. D a choice between monster socks and airplane socks. He chose airplane and when I got them out it started a whole new round of crying, “That’s helicopters.”

Oh, holy hell. It reminded me of a theory my brother passed on to me about relationships when we were in our twenties. Our beliefs about what’s important will always differ from those around us and that’s the topic of my Wise & Shine post this week: Navigating the Gray Area

Turning Towards

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“Know all the theories. Master all the techniques. But as you touch a human soul be just another human soul.” – Carl Jung

“Guess what?” Miss O says to me and when I reply, she says, “I love you.” It’s a little call and response that I started with her when she was about 4 years-old. But I stopped doing it. She asked me why the other day and I don’t know. Was it because Mr D got older and I didn’t want to leave him out? Or was it because she started to know what I was going to say every time?

These little bids for connection matter according to Drs John and Julie Gottman of the Gottman Institute. They are our ways of turning towards our loved ones and even though the Gottmans primarily focus on partner love relationships, I think it applies to children as well.

On a recent Unlocking Us podcast with Brené Brown, they were talking about their latest book, The Love Prescription: Seven Days to More Intimacy, Connection and Joy, and what caught my attention was how grounded in research their advice is. Not surprisingly since these are the psychologists and researchers who proved their ability to tell if relationships would last and be happy from just 15 minutes of observation with a 90% degree of accuracy.

They made the distinction between turning toward a bid of attention (responding or engaging when your partner says something like “look at that blue jay out the window”), turning away (ignoring) and turning against (responding with something like “why are you interrupting me?”).

In happy relationships, people turn toward their partner’s bids for attention 86% of the time, couples who were not successful only turn toward each other 33% of the time. John Gottman explained the result, “Couples who increase their turning toward wind up having more of a sense of humor about themselves when they are disagreeing with one another, when they are in conflict.”

As Brené Brown summarized “Turning toward gives us a sense of confidence about our togetherness.”

“Love is a practice. It’s more than a feeling. It’s an action. It’s something you do and not something that just happens to you and you need to give and get a daily dose to maintain a healthy and thriving relationship.”

The Love Prescription: Seven Days to More Intimacy, Connection and Joy by John Gottman and Julie Gottman

The funny thing about when Miss O does the call and response with me lately is that she gets me almost every time. She says “Guess what?” and my busy head doesn’t anticipate the next part. It’s the surprise that breaks through the momentum of the day.

I can’t remember why I stopped this particular ritual but now that I’ve been reminded, I am delighted to start doing it again. Because what relationship doesn’t need to be grounded in connection and fun?