Tag: writing

Writing Last Lines That Count

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“Vulnerability sounds like truth and feels like courage. Truth and courage aren’t always comfortable but they’re never weaknesses.” – Brene Brown

This post was originally published on 4/19/2023. Heads up that you may have already read this.

On the last morning I saw my beloved dad, he greeted me with a hearty “You look great.”

His untimely death a short time later has permanently etched all the details of that breakfast into my treasure box of memories: the yellow walls of the Varsity Restaurant on NE 65th street, the booth in the open section, the jeans and sweater I was wearing, the cupcakes I gave my parents for their upcoming drive to Arizona, the eggs and waffles, but it is those words that are most precious.

Because both my dad and I both knew that he wasn’t talking about anything to do with my hair, make-up or clothes – he was talking about the light in my eyes. How did I know that it wasn’t just my dad being his effusive self? Let me explain.

Here’s the thing I’ve learned about last lines. As much as we’d like to prepare for them, many (most?) don’t happen how and when we think. Take my dad’s line – neither of us knew that in 6 days time, after arriving and unpacking for a winter in Tucson, that he’d get on a bike, hit a car, and die almost instantly.

That might be an extreme example, but even for the end of a friendship or relationship, the speeches we plan are not what end up expressed. Life, interplay, and random things happen to make things unexpected. So we have to instead do the work to speak honestly and communicate authentically whenever we can.

For me, that work began when three years before my dad’s death when I went on a whim to a meditation class. After 90 minutes of seemingly innocuous visualization and breathing exercises, I spent the rest of the day weeping. It turned out to be just what I needed to start opening all the compartmentalized boxes within and let life flow again. The grief, and shame that came from my recent divorce and that I wasn’t as successful at everything I believed I was supposed to be, came pouring out and I was given openness in return.

So that in the two years before my dad died I was able to choose to broach the subject of spiritual beliefs with him. To talk about what mattered the most to him as a Presbyterian pastor of 40 years. It was a risk because we didn’t talk about religion in my family once all of us kids were grown. Out of respect for keeping things amiable, we’d just stopped talking about our differences.

When we braved the waters of deep beliefs and possible differences to engage in conversation about why he believed what he did and vice versa with me, that meaningful dialogue changed the perception of difference between us and removed the barrier of what we thought were off-limits zones.

Peeling back that veneer of friendly and loving banter in which my dad and I always talked, to delve into deeper issues created a closeness that was precious. My dad knew I was interested in him, I’d spent hours recording our conversations, and I gained relief from my fear that I was doing life “wrong” in his eyes by focusing on meditation instead of theology.

And that is how I knew that my dad’s last line to me was not about the surface details of appearance but instead about a light that had dulled in the last years of my troubled marriage and then divorce. And then through meditation, openness, and vulnerability, that light had been stoked back to its full glow. Sharing that journey with my dad made it possible for him to comment on it.

His death affixed all the details of that breakfast in my mind. But my heart will always remember, “You look good.” It was a gift that started with changing our patterns long before the last line. It’s so hard to talk with our loved ones about the topics that seem most fraught. But in the grief of losing someone, knowing that kinship was there helps.

If we want to have great last lines, we have to risk the vulnerability to be seen.

“You look good.” Which as last lines go, was pretty damn amazing.

My book about our conversations and my journey to find what fueled my dad’s indelible spark and twinkle can be found on Amazon: Finding My Father’s Faith.

Sometimes The Dead Speak

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“See, broken things always have a story to tell, don’t they?” – Sara Pennypacker

Funny how much we want the voices of the dead to weigh in on some subjects. I published a post on Monday, The Set Up, that told the story of a family incident that happened 35 years ago. The code of secrecy between kids being what it is, it’s an incident that I never told my dad about. Especially as the youngest kid, it would have been a serious breach to tell my dad what happened so I don’t know what his response would be.

But I found a sermon that he wrote almost 38 years ago that gives me a pretty good idea of his approach. It’s long as a piece of writing. If you want to skip down to the family story, skim down to the paragraph near the end that starts with “Several years ago Carolyn and I.” Carolyn is my mom’s name.

Parenting

October 12, 1986

Dr. Richard H. Leon

This is the both the worst of themes and the best of themes to address. It is the worst because who can speak with clean hands about parenting? Surely not I. We all have so much to learn and so much we would like to forget that it is a bit ludicrous to stand up and speak about parenting as if we knew best!

But this is also the best of themes because it is the arena of our lives that consumes the most energy and that concerns us the most. Every small group experience I have had reminds me that when we talk about the rhythms of daily life they nearly always revolve around our family-life… relationships with our parents, our spouse, our children, their children…etc., etc., etc..

From the start I want to say tha the church has not always been the best place for honest parenting-talk. I don’t know your experience. But in my lifetime I have seen the church err more often than not in two ways: in an effort to uphold moral law we have come down hard in judging wrong behavior… and in an effort to celebrate successful family life we have made it hard for people to face their pain openly. Tolstoy said, “Happy families are all alike, but every unhappy family is unhappy in its own way.” And this morning I want to open the door to the Biblical perspective on the painful side and the grace-ful side of parenting.

Coping with guilt and grief

The first concern I have is the painful side of guilt over ways we fail our children as parents and the grief that comes when children do not live up to our dreams and ideals. Life tells me these feelings are almost universal in parents. Don’t we all feel like we have failed in one way or another in raising our children? And don’t we all feel the grief for lost dreams for our children? I can still recall the first time I felt this…it was when one of our children first defied Carolyn and me and refused to follow our direction and meet our expectations. And that was at age 3…not to mention the broken dreams during their teen-years!

How do we keep from concluding that their failures are all our fault? How can we learn to accept that each of our children are separate from us with a mind and will and personality of their own?

It is helpful to me to name the full sweetp of the realities that shape us. The point here is to note that although parents have a great influence over children … there are many other ingredients in the recipes for our children’s lives. Let me list at least seven of these ingredients.

Genes – from the first moment of birth, before parents can do anything to influence children, it is clear that every child is different. It is a simple matter of genetics. We look at our three children and see that their responses to life were distinctly different from day one. Our first child was laid back and relaxed…our second was wound up so tight she couldn’t keep her head still to nurse…our third child was happy and charming. They had those marks when they were born…they still have them!

Growth patterns – every day is a time of growth and development and the setting for each child is different so that given their different temperaments and these different circumstances they all follow different patterns of growth. A lot has been done lately with our birth-order. First children grow accustomed to take the lead (bossing others around, some say), middle children get caught between not being the oldest in the lead or the youngest who is always the “cute” one; and youngest children come into their world with experienced parents who are too tired to push like they did the first times around!

Parenting – make no mistake about it. How we raise our kids does make a difference. We bear a heavy weight here … but it is not the only force at work in our children’s lives.

Culture – I have lived in enough different countries to see both the common humanity that we share and the cultural differences that train us up with different beliefs and values and realities. The irony of this matter of culture is that those places the western world calls “backward” are the same places where children are raised to respect and obey their parents!

Peers – a graph would show that the degree of parental influence in a child’s life starts high and steadily declines, and the degree of peer-power starts at nothing and steadily increase until by the teen years these two lines cross and the end is near! The force of peers soon becomes the dominant force in life… until a time in early adulthood … sooner for some and much later for others… when self0rule takes over from peer-control.

Church – I may seem strange to include church as an influence in many of our children’s lives..but hopefully this is true. The place of Christian families and friends, teachers and church school and worship and young leaders … all this is potentially a great force for balance and health.

God – We are born by god’s grace, created in God’s image and we all one day return to face God. And the force of God in our lives is something we acknowledge by faith even though we know many cannot see it. Scripture teaches that God seeks us all out as a shepherd searches for his single lost sheep. If we simply give God a chance he will move mightily in our lives and the lives of our children. I must confess that this truth gives me more comfort, hope and confidence in the future than anything else I may say this morning. God loves our children even more than we do and he is not idle about his love!

So, there are at least seven forces at work in the lives of our children. Our places a parents is central and strong … but all that happens in our children’s lives is neither all our fault … nor all to our credit!

Coping with the tension between “law” and “grace”

Let me speak second about another prime issue in parenting … the constant tension between laying it on (the law) and laying off (grace).

One of the best passages in scripture to examine in this regard is the parable of the Prodigal Son … or better yet, the Loving Father. This may be the most astounding store in all literature. It touches every one of us on several levels and all at once.

The story builds on a father’s relationship with two sons. Both are raised in the same household with the same values. Notice how different the sons are in their views of life. Is it the parent’s fault that one is strong-willed and self-centered and the other is compliant enough to stay at home? (We also learn that the older son was jealous, harbored hurt and anger, was unforgiving and self-righteous … but that’s a different story!)

Look at the tension in the father’s life when his son asks for his inheritance and wants to leave home. We have to assume the son was old enough to leave. We have to assume that the father did not respond with this same generosity and grace when his son said that at 3 years old … or at 10 … or even 16. Can you picture what the father must have thought about at this request? Like:

  • “…What will my neighbors think?”
  • “…is this fair to my oldest son?”
  • “…will I look weak?”
  • “…if he squanders it will I be responsible?”
  • …”my father would never have let me do this!”
  • “…and I never would have thought that way!”
  • “…if I hit him hard enough will he change his views?”

The tension was between reading his son the law … or giving his son his freedom. And the amazing turn of the story is that contrary to his culture and his own family values the father in Jesus’ story lets his son go free. It is almost as if the father is saying … “the only way I can win my son’s heart is to let my son go.”

Lessons from the gospel to guide parents

I would like to see if we can extract some lessons from Jesus’ story of this loving father than can help us in the task of parenting. It should be noted from the start, however, that these lessons are not given in the passage just because it worked with this second son but because these lessons are consistent with a parent’s love. In other words, the justification is not one of success … do it because it always words … but one of love … do it because you love your child and this is how God loved you!

There really is only one lesson to note, it is the lesson of unconditional love. There is no other way to describe this father’s love for his son. He loves his son without asking him to conform to his standards, expectations, or dreams. He loves his son even though it brings great pain to himself … and as he might have guessed, even to his son. There are three choices the father made that mark unconditional love as a parent.

The first mark is in 15:12 “So he divided his property” and it is the choice between acceptance-release or rejection-restraint. For a father to release a son with his inheritance in that culture was to invite mockery. It meant taking the insult of one’s son who in effect is saying “I wish you were dead” and not fighting back. The temptation to reject his son must have been enormous.

And this may help us see that unconditional love is not an instinct, it is a decision. We do not love like this with our feelings … we love like this because we make a decision that it is most loving. And this truth applies to our relationships as husbands and wives as well as parents and children. When insulted you need to ask a question that short-circuits your feelings: “what is the loving response?” It may not always be acceptance and release. There are times for discipline and restraint. But it will only be acceptance and release if you decide it will be that!

A second issue is waiting and hoping or giving up on someone. Look at the 20th verse: “he saw him a long way off.” You only see someone a long way off if you are looking for him and waiting for him.

When he gave his son his portion and saw his son off to the far country it would have been very easy to conclude the son has chosen his own way and there was no way he would ever take him back.

The pain of separation must have been so intense that it is not hard for us to imagine a response of simply trying to forget that this son was still living. You and I see this often, don’t we? I recall one family that we were very close to in our pastorate. When one of their daughters got pregnant and had to get married it hurt the mother so much that she simply dismissed her from her life. Even though she lived only a few miles away in the same little township the mother chose to terminate the whole relationship.

But this father in Jesus’ story did not give up. He must have gone to a view-point that looked out on that road to the far country every day to watch for his son’s return. He prayed for his son and waited for his son to come home. He did not hurt less by doing this. But he hurt better. That is he did not let the pain of the separation destroy the hope of his love.

And thirdly, we see unconditional love as making the choice between forgiveness or punishment. Verse 22 goes like this: “But the father said to the servants, quick bring the best robe and put it on him. Put a ring on his finger and sandals on his feet. Bring the fattened calf and kill it. Let’s have a feast and celebrate. For this son of mine was lost and is found.”

This is not cheap restoration, it is as costly to the father as letting him go because all the village would have expected the father to punish the son for his insult and foolishness. But love sees the beauty of the future relationship rather than holds the pains of the past rejection. His son has paid for his sin in his own way and it is now for the father to celebrate his return not punish for his wrong.

Several years ago Carolyn and I were going through a time of considerable pain and struggle with our middle child. At that same time I was studying this passage for my own sake and for helping others. We tried to shape our love with the encouragement of these lessons. It was not easy. Let me see if I can describe the situation without too many details that betray trust.

We had had one of those summers-at-home-after-a-first-year-of-college situations. We were trying to let her live on her own as she had at college while at the same time stay sane when that meant doing things at considerable variance with our wishes. The summer went well by avoiding conflict … not the best model to follow, by the way. When school started and we began writing to each other, the issues then surfaced again and it was just plain painful. By November it moved beyond pain to trauma for all of us. Then Carolyn and I received a letter that opened up a new dimension… in it she spilled out long-held feelings of being the “least-loved” of the kids and “most criticized” for what she did when the others were just as “bad!”

Well, this time it was my turn to reply and I found myself faced with several choices. How did I handle her anger? How did I respond to her judgment of our treatment of her? I could have lashed back and defended our side of the relationship. I could have tried to document the ways she deserved any anger or judgment we had shown her. I could have closed the door to the whole issue and pushed her further away. But largely because of the prodigal’s story and lessons I wrote back and said: “You’re right … we have not loved you in the way you needed. Please forgive us. We are really sorry for our part in your hurt.” It was not just a posture … it was genuine sadness and a genuine apology.

The response to that letter was like a shaft of light in a dark storm. She actually had a dream about it. In the dream, she was waiting with Carolyn for me to come to church … I was late … she asked Carolyn why and finally was told I was dead. She didn’t believe it, she went to see for herself, and found it was true. And then she came back to Carolyn and asked, “Is it too late?” Carolyn asked, “Too late for what?” And she answered: “Too late to tell Dad how much I love him.” She called the next night and told us about the dream and about her love. The dream was so strong that it turned our whole relationship around … and I believe it was God’s way of intervening in our relationship. We are closer now than ever before.

I am convinced that the letters that uncovered those deep feelings, the encouragement of scriptures that helped Carolyn and me respond through prayer and confession rather than through emotional reactions and self-defense, and God’s intervention through a dream (a familiar tool of God!) all brought about a miracle.

There are no guarantees when it comes to parenting … but the pattern of the prodigal’s father is God’s way with us. It is a pattern of swallowing pain and accepting the person … waiting, praying, hoping for that return from the far country … and forgiveness and restoration to the fullness of relationship. I do not believe this because it always works … I believe it because it is the way of health and truth and love. It is God’s way with us and in Christ it is God’s call to our love for one another.

I wish I could say that my dad’s relationship with my sister was all sunshine and rainbows from then on. It wasn’t. But by the time my dad died in a bicycle accident, they were probably as close as ever. A blessing for sure.

P.S. If you ever wonder if it’s worth writing down your stories and thoughts for future generations, here’s one example of how it absolutely does matter.

P.P.S. My book about my journey to find what fueled my dad’s indelible spark and twinkle can be found on Amazon: Finding My Father’s Faith.

Open Up, Buttercup

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“The opposite of faith isn’t doubt, it’s cynicism.” – Billy Bragg

I was telling my kids the other day that my mom used to say to me about my chores, “If you’re going to do a bad job, I might as well do it myself.”

My kids looked at me quizzically, an expression that I’m quite sure mirrored mine as a kid when my mom said it. As a parenting trope, that might be one of the worst.

Because I would immediately think, but not say (after all, this was parenting in the 1970’s), “Go ahead and do it yourself.”

Little did I know that a half century later, I’d come to see that it’s pattern I fight against. I tend to do things myself and not ask for help. It’s a tendency that isolates me – which I mean that I sometimes ignore the bridges others throw my direction.

I recognize that I have two different types of, “I’ll do it myself.” There’s the “It’s okay, I’m good – I’ve got this.” And there’s the “Argh, I’m disappointed with other humans. It’s enervating to just think about communicating my needs to someone else so I’m just going to hunker down and do it myself.”

It’s the second type, the one that’s a little cynical, that I need to watch for. I’m come to think of it as when I get a little heart-sore. It happens when I get tired, when someone is spinning out at work, have watched too much news, or when I’ve tried to say something that matters to someone dear to me and they miss the point.

I’ve come to recognize this state of cynicism because the dialogue in my head starts to run a roll call of my disappointments. When the litany starts to get long, involve old wounds, or last for more than a day, I know I’ve got more than a situation, I’m a little heart sore. It may be imperceptible from the outside but my willingness to be vulnerable goes down and my protective shield goes up.

It’s funny – just like with my mom’s phrase, the only person I hurt when I close in on myself is me. I work better in life when I’m open. It behooves me to recognize when I get cynical and do some movement (the modified side plank pose opens up that space so that I can breath elasticity into the heart space when it’s tight), have lunch with a friend, or write a post about it.

Ah, I feel better now…

Speaking of great conversations with friends, check out the Sharing the Heart of the Matter podcast this week. I talk with my dear friend and co-host, Vicki Atkinson about the Keys to Collaborative Success. Being open is just one of them.

Also, I’m so grateful to Edward Ortiz from the Thoughts about leadership, history, and more blog to writing a review of my book. I so appreciate his incredibly thoughtful and deep analysis about life in his writings. I couldn’t be more appreciative that he spent the time to read and review my book: Book Review: Finding My Father’s Faith

Writing In the Dark

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“Go into yourself and see how deep the place is from which your life flows.” – Rainier Maria Rilke

This post was originally published on 4/12/2023. Heads up – you may have already read this.

I wrote this post early Monday morning. Around 3:43am that is. I have all sorts of things I do in the middle of the night when I can’t sleep. Mostly worry. Then I review my to-do list. Then I go back to worrying some more. Usually after about a half an hour of tossing and turning, I remember to start meditating and praying. After a few minutes of meditating, I kinda just flow into writing.

It’s all in my head in the dark. I know that there’s a lot of sleep wisdom that says to keep a notebook beside the bed for writing things down. But this composing in my head works for me. It’s not that I remember everything I write, it’s just that it slips me into a different mode. Eventually I’ll write myself back to sleep. The best part is that I even retain some of it when I awaken.

I recently learned of some interesting research from a Ten Percent Happier podcast with Professor Lindsey Cameron. She studied whether meditation helps at work, specifically focused on customer facing jobs, and the results were fascinating. She found that traditional breath work meditations helped with centering the person in a bigger perspective so that the ups and downs weren’t as jarring. And she found that loving-kindness meditation increased the ability to place ourselves in other’s shoes.

There’s research that shows loving-kindness practice reduces activity in part of the brain that’s active when we are anxious. And a study that showed we don’t want to practice mindfulness when doing emotionally taxing work. The example I heard in that case was a flight attendant who is having to pleasantly telling people to buckle their seat belts over and over again does not benefit from being more mindful in those moments.

Back to the point about writing in the dark. It seems our brain research is catching up with what our spiritual traditions have taught us for millennia. There are practices that help to literally change our minds. They’ve given us a tool set that we can use to help put ourselves in the best frame of mind to create, to understand, to be less anxious, to change, to be more altruistic, and so on. It’s no wonder I start writing in the dark after I start meditating, because the practice helps to shut down worry, and then I open up to creativity.

And it matches what works for me during daylight hours. In my post When I Write, I looked at what time of day works for me and it’s always after I’ve done the work to be quiet, to meditate, and to get a little perspective on life.

It feels a little clinical to separate out the meditation and prayer practices from the spiritual traditions and beliefs that tie us to a Higher Power. But in the middle of the night as I’m settling into a rhythm of breathing and repeating “faith over fear,” it’s also kind of fun to know I’m setting up the conditions for calming my brain. And that I might even get a post out of it.

(featured photo from Pexels)

Wide Angle Moments

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‘We are like someone in a very dark night over whom lightning flashes again and again.” Maimonides

Last weekend, I had a moment of clarity-induced panic. Unfortunately, it happened to come while I was giving a short presentation at a company meeting to about 200+ people.

The company I work for has bi-annual events where families are invited. I’d flown with my kids to this event in New Orleans. The event planners did a great job of getting us all set up at the hotel, arranging group meals, and scheduling some fun outings. It was a nice opportunity to see people face-to-face that we only get to work with remotely.

Then came the company meeting for just the employees. I rushed Mr. D and Miss O through breakfast, got them settled down in our hotel room, and left them with three instructions:

  1. Don’t leave the room
  2. If you need anything, I’m on the 10th floor
  3. Stay together no matter what

When it came time for my five-minute presentation, I walked up to the podium and glanced at my notes. I started with a joke. Then looking at the audience, I had that moment of clarity-induced panic.

  1. I was the only woman leading a business unit and the only woman presenting at the meeting
  2. No one else with small children had traveled by themselves
  3. What the heck was I thinking?

I’ve come to think of these “what the heck” moments as wide-angle views of my life. The ones where I get a glimpse of a little bit more than just the task at hand. I’ve had them in mountain and rock climbing, my marriage, and parenting.

Often they come with panic of wondering, “Am I on the right path?” Sometimes, and I’m thinking of my marriage, the answer is “no,” but they always flash a wider view of purpose and trajectory. Whether I go forward or back, they’ve always required me to muster up some courage in order to proceed.

In the case of my presentation, it was a sense of wondering whether I’d bitten off more than I could chew and if I belonged. I felt my voice waver and looked down at my slides. I knew the material cold, I’d practiced aloud in my room, so I took a deep breath, and let my muscle memory carry me through.

(featured photo from Pexels)

Finding the Rhythm

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“When anxious, uneasy and bad thoughts come, I go to the sea, and the sea drowns them out with its great wide sounds, cleanses me with its noise, and imposes a rhythm upon everything in me that is bewildered and confused.” – Rainier Maria Rilke

On my first mountain climbing attempt, a guided climb of Mt. Rainier in the summer of 1998, the lead guide introduced us to the poetry of Robert Service. Whether you or not you like his poetry, he delivers a cadence that I found helpful in keeping a climbing rhythm:

“There’s a race of man who won’t give in
A race that can’t stand still.
So they break the heart of kith and kin
And roam the world at will.”

The Men Who Don’t Fit In by Robert Service

Climbing depends on a steady pace. If you go too fast when roped to your teammates, you create too much slack ahead, and end up pulling the climber behind. If you go too slow, you create drag on someone else. When climbs would get tough, I’d recite the poems in my head and it would regulate my head, heart, and feet.

Thought I don’t climb any more, I still find evidence of pacing in all of the rest of my life. At work, knowing the cadence of team meetings helps to know when we can address issues. At home, rhythm is such a large part of how my little family stays stable. The waking up, eating breakfast, packing lunches, off to school rhythm is the cornerstone of our weekdays. When we get out of sync, it’s like a band that’s lost the beat.

Miss O recently learned to play Ode to Joy on the piano. When feeling like she wants to show off her mastery, she plays it somewhere between double and triple time. Played like that, it quickly becomes Ode to Indigestion.

I’m thinking of all these examples of rhythm and cadence because of an incredible podcast conversation that Vicki and I had with Edgerton award winning playwright, Jack Canfora. As a playwright and trained Shakespearean actor, he thinks a lot about cadence in writing. But for him, it extends beyond the theater. It applies to humor writing and essays as well.

Jack describes himself as a rhythmic writer. I’m thinking of You Make a Mean Salad as an example of his writing and humor. Or perhaps it’s best heard in a play. Step 9 is available as a theatrical podcast.

Thinking of my own writing as someone who tends to extended sentences, I have a lot to learn about calibrating sentences from Jack. Here’s a clip from our podcast where he talks about how Shakespeare balances sentences.

If you’re in the mood for a podcast, listen to this one. It’s got a great rhythm: Episode 56: Master Class In Creativity with Jack Canfora – Part II or search for Sharing the Heart of the Matter on Apple, Amazon Music, Spotify or Pocketcasts.

Links for this Podcast episode:

Jack’s website: Jack Canfora | Playwright | Podcaster | Writing Coach

Jack’s Online Theater Company: New Normal Rep

Jericho by Jack Canfora on Amazon

Jack Canfora on Instagram and Twitter: @jackcanfora

Other podcast episodes featuring Jack:

Episode 4: Why Theater Matters

Episode 55: Master Class in Creativity with Jack Canfora – Part I

From the hosts:

Vicki’s personal blog: Victoria Ponders

Wynne’s personal blog: Surprised by Joy

Vicki’s recently released book: Surviving Sue

Wynne’s book about her beloved father: Finding My Father’s Faith

(featured photo from Pexels)

Let’s Play

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“When one teaches, two learn.” – Robert Half

Last Saturday morning, four-year-old Mr. D wanted to drive his remote control car down the sidewalk. Since we were still in our pajamas, I tried to lobby for a back yard activity. But the sun was shining, the birds were singing, and Mr. D wanted to go out front, so I covered up with a coat and followed.

Funny thing – it’s hard to drive those remote control cars straight. We spent a fair amount of time just getting to two doors down, the side walk in front of my favorite neighbors. They are a retired couple in their 70’s. They’ve lived here for almost fifty years, I lived here for twenty and so we’ve got some history under our belt.

My neighbors are interesting, generous, and kind. We’ve shoveled five yards of delivered bark from the street to the yard together. I’ve gotten to know their kids and grandkids. My kids tell them all that’s top of mind every time they see them. They often rake my strip of grass between the sidewalk and curb in the fall. I bought them toilet paper at Costco during the pandemic.

When we got in front of their house, Mr. D said, “Let’s go ask them to play.” Some polite part of me thought we’d be pests asking them to do that on a Saturday morning. I said we shouldn’t. But Mr. D put his hand on his hip and said, “Follow my lead.”

When we got up to the front door and they answered, Mr. D handed the remote control to them and said, “want to drive?” We had a lovely time standing on the porch and talking while Mr. D chased down the car any time it went astray. It was so enjoyable to chat with my neighbors that I don’t see nearly enough this time of year with short days and cozy couches inside.

My kids keep teaching me how important play is. For myself. And to keep inviting others to play. It connects us and relaxes us. And it’s fun. It isn’t an interruption – it’s what we need more of.

Things About Parenting I Think I’ve Learned So Far

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“You’re an author, and the stories you write are penned across the hearts of your children. Therefore, be careful with the pen because you’re writing on some very precious paper.” – Craig D. Lounsbrough

I’m riffing the title of this post from Jack Canfora’s Things I Think I’ve Learned So Far because Jack’s post is one of my favorites and I’m too tired from parenting to think of one of my own. And that matches with my experience of parenting – you have to take small favors and lifts when you can.

Admittedly, I’m pretty early on into this parenting thing with only eight and a half years so far. Despite the best efforts of my more experienced friends to teach me everything I might need to know, I still understand I have a lot to learn. But in the interest of celebrating incremental progress, here’s the list of things I think I’ve learned so far in parenting.

Dance parties improve almost any mood.

When little people behave their worst, it’s when they need to be listened to and held the most.

Sometimes, on “those” days, you just have to declare it’s Milkshakes for Breakfast Day to shake everything up.

Try to say “yes” as often as possible, even if it’s just a qualified “yes.”

No matter how hungry you are, don’t eat that last bite off their plate until its cleared from the table.

There’s a time to push limits, and there’s a time to fold them in your arms. Knowing that balance is as mysterious as the original recipe for KFC or Coke. It’s sweet when you get it right, but you will still be guessing the next time.

Laughter is a beautiful elixir that will hold you together.

Socks are the bane of parenting. Little teeny tiny socks exploded off little teeny tiny feet are under the car seats, smooshed in the couch cushions, on the counter, behind the toy box, folded into books, and left everywhere and anywhere except the laundry basket.

My efforts to lobby Amazon to create a sock subscription service where new socks are delivered regularly have been ignored to date, mostly because I can’t ever finish an email without interruption.

A little bit of sugar works as an enticement. A great deal of sugar works like an unstable explosive.

You can use power over someone with little or no agency and it might work short-term. But, when you can, spending the time to develop power with a willing mind has a big long-term payoff.

You will screw it up. Look for the manual that came with the babies and remember there isn’t one. Be grateful for however many days you have before they figure that out too.

Insistence on anything that you previously thought you was indisputable fact before you had kids quickly becomes debatable in their eyes.
If you resist, the resistance becomes an object to focus on.
Better to use redirection.

Curiosity beats judgment any day and is one of the best tools in the box.

The line between crying and laughing is much closer than previously thought.

This is also true for irritation and awe.

On the Welch’s fruit snacks, the tear spot is between the h and the s. You’re welcome.

Every time you thoughtfully respond to a melt down you get to put a marble in the metaphorical trust jar.
Every time you lose it and yell, you take out ten marbles from the trust jar.
Every time you apologize for losing it, you get to add back your ten marbles, with bonus marbles for sincerity.

Naps aren’t just for the five and unders.

A well-rested kid can do most anything – this is true for well-rested parents too.

Save money on sorting games and instead teach them to match socks. This is a theoretical one but it would have been brilliant if I’d thought of it earlier.

You will screw it up. Apply grace liberally, get a good night’s sleep and try it again.

“Your eyes should light up when your child enters the room.” – Maya Angelou
But there will be times they will enter the room covered in paint or dressed in all the contents of the laundry basket that you, for once, managed to fold. So shoot for lit up eyes MOST of the time.

It’s fun when you try to pay close enough attention to learn something about yourself and where you came from every day.

In the years before logic works, you have a wonderful opportunity to practice winning over hearts instead of minds.

Connection expands in proportion to your time sitting on the floor next to them.

Someone will cry when the milk spills. Try to make sure it’s not you.

It’s only possible to handle someone else’s big emotions when you’ve taken care of yourself.

Life is fragile; love helps us to overcome the abject fear of being responsible for it.

Relationship can handle a lot as long as you remain connected.

Whatever amount of vulnerability and patience you entered parenthood with will not be enough. Fortunately, kids come with many opportunities to exercise both.

Things will seem unbearable, and then they’ll change.

It will pain you greatly at times, but you have to big the bigger person.

Parenting is maddening; but a bigger part is gladdening.

You will screw it up. Treat yourself as gently as you can, laugh about it, apologize as necessary, and remember you are teaching them how to start again.

The big upsets are rarely about what it’s about. Take the socks, for example, which is really about the complete disruption of any order and ability to get things done you previously believed you had.

Or this list, which might not be just about parenting.

Be a Campfire, Not a Conflagration

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“Don’t set yourself on fire to keep others warm” – Rumi

We traveled this weekend to visit a friend in Eastern Washington. On Saturday morning, I crawled out of bed early for my sacred meditation time. After I meditated, I built a fire in the wood stove to take off the chill of the early morning in the woods.

The sequence made me realize the similarities between meditation and fire building.

We accumulate the debris from our lived days – the celebrations, the joys, the annoyances, the worries. It sits like stacked wood until we are ready to coax out the heat and the warmth. Somethings are easier to ignite than others while others need some tending to burn.

It requires a spark to convert it to something other than dead wood that we carry around. The spark can come from something like writing, introspection, or meditation. It can come from people around us or circumstances can set us off. But one way or another something is likely to light us up in good ways or in bad.

Some sort of ventilation is necessary in order for the process to work. We can talk it out, sweat it out, write it out, pray it out, cry it out, or some combo of it all.

Thinking about these parallels as I sat watching the fire in the stove, I found myself mesmerized by the beauty and warmth. But there are few things that scare me as much as when fire escapes its boundaries and roars out of control.

I came home from the weekend with a new motto: Be a campfire, not a conflagration.

Maniacs

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“Faith gives flight to the imagination.” – Lailah Gifty Akita

The other day Cooper (the dog) had a play date with a neighbor’s puppy, Ziggy. Four-year-old Mr D. heard me say to the pups, “What are you two maniacs up to?”

And Mr. D fell in love – with the word “maniac.“

We were at the store a short while later and he yelled from the other end of an aisle, “Mom, call me a maniac!”

And he sometimes greets me, “Hi Mom. You maniac!”

It’s a rule in our house that we don’t call each other names but maniac seems like a term of affection to me. At least, I was saying it affectionately when I used it on the dogs.

So I looked it up in the dictionary and found that the informal definition matched my liking: An obsessive enthusiast (from Oxford Languages).

As I mentioned in My Love Affair with Words post, the word enthusiastic or enthusiast always reminds me of my dad since it comes from the root, en-Theos or “with God.” I’m at my best when I leave my logical nature and go with the flow of God, life, and the Universe.

So, yes, call me a maniac. On fun days, I have a whole houseful of them!