Passover: Celebrating freedom

Last night was the beginning of Passover.

Jews the world over would have normally gathered in homes, around tables to celebrate a meal of freedom. Instead, many stayed home, alone, for the first time. Others, pressed froward with virtual cedars. Others forged yet new and different traditions informed by requirements for social distancing and staying in place. All of this is carving into and adding to a holiday with centuries of shaping. It is another moment in history that adds to the layers of words spoken and shared in the Seder meal.

The traditional words of the meal are haunting and appropriate in this time of global isolation.
In this moment, we all have some connection to the yearning for freedom.
And so, these ancient words speak freshly into our time and into this moment we are living through.

I decided to read them and mediate and allow the words to speak to me.

Before I even pulled out a copy, the first section of the Seder that rang out in my heart was the end. The meal usually ends with a hope that next year, it will be celebrated in Jerusalem.
The longing for next year and what we will do next year is so clear and strong when you can't do what you wanted to do this year.

Next year we'll celebrate holiday's together.
Next year we'll have birthday parties, weddings, baby showers and graduations.
Next year we'll go on vacation.
Next year. An earnest hope for next year.

And with this longing in my heart, I download and open a copy of a haggadah.

The meal begins with two really important practices -- gratitude and sabbath. I have never leaned so hard on these practices as a spiritual centering than I have in this season. Resting, reflecting, remembering blessing, working, living and again finding sabbath to rest and reflect on blessing is a cycle that has given me perseverance and strength. Even in moments where I am not focused on faith, I feel faith envelop me in the cycle of living that these practices have created in my life over the past several weeks.

Next -- washing hands. 'Nough Said.
I'm really starting to appreciate the Jewish traditions around cleanliness and when you think of ancient times, there were few other defenses against diseases. I've never understood the love and respect and compassion offered in this ritual until now. It is a an of care to the community as all of our efforts to remain socially distant.

The Passover story
The telling and re-telling of our stories. The gathering. The sharing. Especially with the littlest among us, realizing that for some of them, it is the first time a story is heard. We are empowered by telling our stories, by hearing our stories and remembering our histories. And in the most important stories, there is a place for everyone. There is room for us all to participate in the telling.

And sometimes familiar stories show us new things, like light reflecting off in just the right way allows us to see something new that has always been there.

It would be enough...
As part of the Passover story there is a recounting of the plagues that struck Egypt and the blessings God gave the Israelite. I can imagine the Dayenu of next year -- it was enough that the death rate from Corona virus was so low, it was enough that our hospitals had supplies to save lives, it was enough that we flattened the curve, it was enough that we developed a vaccine, it was enough that we had enough groceries to get through this, it was enough. The magnitude of what could have been compared to what was. We look at the projections of cases and deaths and thankfully are undershooting those. We look at the disruptions in supply chains around the world, and its amazing that they are able to respond to such a monumental shift in needs and purchasing behavior. We look at scientists and biotechs and its amazing how quickly they are developing treatments and vaccines. We look at the world and it's amazing that so many are agreeing to selflessly shelter at home to fight this invisible enemy. It would be enough but God's hands are at work in the many of us.... and when I step back to see that, I can think of no better word for is than -- Dayenu.

Symbols in the meal
I am struck most by the unleavened bread.

I remember hearing about the "shelter in place" order mid-day on Monday to go into effect that night at 12am. At that moment, there wasn't anything about groceries or essential businesses. As I prepared for an indefinite amount of time in my home with limited or no ability to get supplies. I felt the haste that must have been in the hearts of the Isrealites that first Passover. Your life is changing. You have no time to prepare. Don't make bread with leaven -- skip that rising part. You have many other things to attend to right now.

 I was at work, helping to prepare employees and organize work for the time ahead. When I heard the order, I thought about my kids, homeschooling, food, supplies. I had no idea what we had and what we didn't. I thought about what I could order online and what I couldn't. What did I actually need? There wasn't time to think about bread rising.

The meal continues with handwashing, remembering, gratitude and ritual.

I think of my great-grandmother. My dad shared stories that she always made toast and spread jelly so thin that it was barely visible. Then, on the very last bite, a huge lump. She told him once that the depression made her stretch things and make them last but now, we were past the depression and there was enough to make life sweet. Her toast was a ritual of gratitude.

This time grants us opportunity to remember and to develop rituals of gratitude. Maybe in handwashing. Maybe in grocery shopping. Maybe in our words that we share with "essential workers." Passover is a meal that brings a people back to a time and incites gratitude for freedom -- even in time, like today -- that aren't fully free. God is present in the liturgy -- teaching us the rhythm of faith and spirituality. Tools like Sabbath and gratitude, ritual and remembrance, storytelling, eating and sharing.

Our own stories and faith from these times can be captured in new traditions and rituals that remind us to be grateful, connected, and present. We can pass these things onto our children so that in times ahead, if there are rough waters, they can find God, faith and spiritual strength hidden in family traditions that we've given them.

Day 36: Sweet mercies

A woman from church read my blog post and the next day dropped off some amazing cream to help relieve my itchiness. On more than one occasion, this beautiful lady has been God's grace directed straight at me.

I think about how many times a thought has occurred to me -- I've read something on facebook or seen something -- and felt compelled to act, to give, to show up. How often do I actually follow through on that thought? Has God ever directly given amazing grace through me?

Truth is, I would have been fine without the wondercream.
I would have soldiered on as I was expecting to do.
But, in this exact moment, there was nothing that spoke grace louder.

It's caused me to reconsider my impulses to help, to give, to be present.
Could I breath grace into the world today?
Even in this time,
hunkered down,
isolated from the world,
so focused on the little humans under my charge.
Could I make space to be grace to someone?

It's not so much the largeness of the act. It can be very small things.
But it stems from seeing people where they are and allowing the Spirit to move me.
Just enough space to be present in the world that I live in and not so caught up in my own plan which is likely not going to be followed in any case.
And is that not one of the deep lessons I should teach these little people -- to be present and to consider the need of the world in front of them.

This week, I will follow Jesus to the foot of the cross and beyond. The amazing journey of sacrifice that I re-imagine every year with the retelling of stories and the movement of ritual. It will be different this year. The foot washing, the meal, the stations of the cross, the bright burst of song on Easter morning. But as different as it may be in ritual and action, the invitation, the story is the same.

Even as I write this post, I feel condemned by how much of my brainspace is dedicated to me and my agenda and how little of it is dedicated to the grace I could help bring into the world. Jesus was so present with people. The woman who touched his robe in the crowd, the centurion who had a sick daughter, even the criminal who was dying with him. Even as he died. Even as he died, his mind was present with the opportunity to reflect God's love into this world.

So, I will pray in earnest this week to be turned by God to open my heart to the opportunities staring me straight in the face to offer more light. I will pray to set down my agenda in exchange for the presence to see need in front of me and to respond to it with compassion.

Lord, have mercy.

Day 35: and I will give you rest

The rain is soothing on the roof and the window panes.
The kids are on electronic devices.
I am still.


Palm Sunday has come.

Sermon painted God as a great jazz musician improvising and somehow craftfully sowing the seems of our random notes and out of tune chords into a beautiful melody with timing, rhythm and pitch that surrounds our brokenness and makes music.

I breathe in the jazz of life and of a God that works in my brokenness.

I rest and look out the window at the rain and the new seeds poking tiny green shoots up out of the black soil and a garden soaking up the water ready to spring into color.

I cuddle with boys in my big down comforter and I let my breath go.

Today is a day of rest.
I will be thankful for it.

Day 34: Breathing through it

I was so nervous as I neared labor the first time.

Months and months before hand I had contractions.
Week after week they got stronger.
Soon they were distractingly strong.
Then, they were painful.
Then, they were so painful that I couldn't think about anything else.
As they grew in rhythm, I would watch the clock.
It took about 30 seconds to reach full strength and it would stay for about 2 minutes then recede for 30 seconds. At the height, I would begin to panic. Then pain so immense I feared I wouldn't get through. I had to breathe. I had to watch the clock and remember it would pass. Sometimes it would like 3 or 4 minutes and those extra seconds pushed me to a place of despair --

was it stuck?
would it never pass?
would the pain get worse as I headed into the birthing process?

Fear overwhelmed me.

Subsequent births, I didn't succumb to fear. I had learned how to do it. I learned how to breathe through the pain. I learned that however long it lasted, however hard it was, it would pass and birth would happen. I knew I could do it.

Last night, I awoke suddenly in the middle of the night.
I felt as if I were being attached by fire ants. My body itched with an agony that neared burning.
I clenched my teeth and I remembered lessons from labor. I breathed through it.
I found my calm. I ran cold water and slowly, slowly the itch passed.

A few days ago, the kids ran off the trail and through a patch of poison oak. I am particularly sensitive to the oils and immediately packed them up, stripped them, threw clothes and shoes directly into the washing machines and put everyone in the shower to scrub. Besides Andrew, the boys were spared rashes but as I didn't wash as quickly and had handled all the dirty clothes, I bore the brunt of exposure.

Rash between my fingers.
Under my knees.
Around my ankles.
Everywhere. I itch, everywhere.

And so, I've been thinking a lot about getting through. Breathing through the discomfort and letting myself find calm, knowing it will pass.

As I meditated on this post, I was inspired by the analogy.
We are all birthing a healing for our earth.
We've never done this before.
We don't know how long it will last.
If the pain will get worse.
What happens on the otherside.

But together, we are birthing deeper relationships with our children and spouses.
We are birthing a new culture that is more connected and collective than it has been in a long time.
We are birthing a pause in our consumer habits and giving the earth a moment to breathe.
We are collectively confronting mortality.

So I'm going to breath through bouts of itchiness and morning sickness
breath through dumped legos and temper tantrums
breath through rainy days
breath through empty shelves
breath though exhaustion
knowing they will last only moments and then they will pass.

All of us are breathing through this labor.
Breathing through crying children and messy floors
Breathing through moments of anxiety, loneliness and despair.
Breathing through economic hardship and worry.
Breathing through isolation.

This labor carves into my soul. Deepening my resilience and my gratitude. Deepening my faith and reliance on grace -- learning to let go and calmly breath through the uncertainty. Deepening my joy and my commitment to make the most of each of my days.

There is a joy on the other side of this. Sometimes, that joy is too far away to connect with. For now, it is enough just to breath through the seconds, minutes, hours and days. Present in the task of laboring and knowing I can get through. I just need to keep breathing.

Day 33: Sunshine

There's rain in the forecast, so I tried as hard as I could to keep the boys outside today --

Outdoor chores
Ladybugs that arrived from Amazon
Decorating the front porch with palm branches for Palm Sunday
A walk to pick up a packet from Philip's school
Tending to garden plants

It had been a rough morning, but blue skies, bright sun and warm skin lifted everyone's spirits.

Something deep inside us connects with the earth.
with nature.
with warm weather.
with ocean.
with sky.
with mountains.

There is that unspoken feeling of something bigger.

God with us.

These days are heavy.
But moments to breathe.
Moments to feel connected to the bigger.

Remind me of God present in this time.

As the storm clouds gather
As we walk into the shrouds of Holy Week.
As we walk into the time of "Why have you forsaken me"

May we know hold the promise of the empty tomb ever in front of us.
The promise of tomorrow
The promise of this won't last.

God is present in this time.
God with us.

Day 32: Alone with Autism

When I was in college, I had several Japanese roommates. 

It was an interesting time. Coming home at the end of the day felt like stepping into a world that I hardly knew. Unspoken Japanese expectations (like taking shoes off at the door) and a kitchen full of food that I couldn't read the labels for and had little idea what it was.

This time at home with my kids has helped deepen my understanding of autism. 

My guys are all what you would call "high functioning" autistics. In much of the day to day, they don't appear that different from neurotypical kids. Thanks to early on therapy, they've also developed a lot of skills and coping mechanisms to help them get through the day in a neurotypical world.

But suddenly, they don't like in a neurotypical world. I'm the only neurotypical here and many times I have the same feeling I did in college with my Japanese roommates. 

"I don't entirely understand everything going on here"

I've learned how much they rely on schedule, routine, place and other cues to help them navigate communication. With all those things stripped away, communication over electronic mediums is much more difficult and frustrating.

I've grappled with being a bridge between them and the neurotypical outside world. Zoom meetings, emails, text messages, people reaching out. They respond in their own time in their own way or they don't respond at all. Walking on the street, they don't fully pay attention to their bodies -- and I have to gather them together like little ducks to keep from getting scowled at by passerbys. 

It is an extra layer of stress to try to explain, or not... an extra layer of guilt... an extra layer of fear, wondering if all this lack of social interaction will cause them to "regress."

I've struggled with this post in my mind, wondering the spiritual lesson that God would teach me in this. 

I've felt compelled to share all the strengths of autism in a time like this -- something along the lines of one body, many parts. We each have our own things to offer. 

I've also thought about judgement and forgiveness. Saving space. Recognizing that different people have different abilities and preferred ways to connect to others and that I need to save more space for others who have different needs than me during this time.

Watching the boys today and all the struggle and all the victories of the day. I land on gratitude for a time that I am getting to know them more deeply. Seeing the inside world that is covered up by routine and schedule and trips... right now, everything is raw. We're just stuck in a small space together, getting by and so I am getting a more nuanced view of each of my unique snowflakes. They are wonders. As we all are. God made us amazingly. 

Grateful for the opportunity to ponder it.

Day 31: Letting go

So. Many. Feelings.

After 8 years of building,  sweating, dreaming, learning and growing,  I'm taking a full official step away from my company.

Not leaving completely, I'll remain connected as a consultant available to support in answering questions and perhaps small projects here and there,  but it is obvious that having all the kids home for an extended time,  summer break around the corner and a baby in the fall,  it doesn't feel like a time for me to "lean in" to work.

Relief.
Grief.
Guilt.
Failure.
Pride.

I feel all the feelings. I double, triple over think my decision. It is the right one.  But it is hard.

Like that moment staring at that pregnancy test,  I feel shame that somehow I couldn't "do it all." That some invisible person somewhere expected that I could have and should have ... it's what we're supposed to do to be valued.

I feel unseen in the work of motherhood,  which is the hardest and most sacred vocation I've ever had. Why does it feel less than, when it really is more than? Why can't we as a society value this? Why?

I also feel out of place. I don't have other stay-at-home mom friends. I haven't yet been able to form connections or build a tribe. I don't know too many other moms of larger families. I don't know many other moms with children on the autism spectrum. I think a lot of those moms are like me... isolated by the heavy load of caretaking. I know they are out there and that they value this work, this sacred vocation. I know it brings them joy, as it brings me joy, but I don't have their words to help me feel reassured.

I worry about the future.

What does this mean for my career?
Will I have a career?
And...
How could I be so selfish to think about that?

It's so plainly obvious that my kids need me right now.

It's also a pretty strong wind that is calling me in new directions. 
I can tell the Spirit beckoning me forward. 
And for the first time,  I feel like a fisherman tending my nets...
"Lord, how can I go,  this is all I've known?"

I've built a life over the last decade.
Each stone building on the one before.
This is a bit of a departure.  Not to a destination,
but to "the place I will show you" on the other side of the wilderness.

God has called me to many new places before. Each season in life teaching me new things. Breaking down walls I didn't know I had. Opening my mind to faith in new ways. I know the path through the wilderness is rewarding but difficult. I know that the call will be clear in hind site. But for now -- it is uncertain and obscure. I just have the let myself dwell in the unresolved chord.

So,  tonight,  as I approach Holy Week.  I lay it down at the foot of the cross.

The questions.
The feelings.
The tomorrows unknown.
The who I am?
The what am I doing?

Quiet.
Still.
Tender.

I will breathe it in. 
This moment.
This uneasy time.

The cross is an uncomfortable place to be. But, here I am called to be. 
So, I breathe it in and wait for morning.

Day 30: One long endless day

The days seem to blur together.

It is one long endless day.
The sky is gray.
It's neither light nor dark.

A treadmill of making meals,
doing dishes, 
vacuuming rugs, 
playing with kids, 
reading stories and
wondering...

Will lent end?
Will the shelter in place end?
Will summer come?
Will the weather get nice?
Will life ever go back to normal?
How does this time change things in the long term?
What will it be like in September when this baby comes into the world?

Lazarus died.  Jesus wept.
He was heading back to Jerusalem.
His time was drawing near. 
His disciples sensed danger,  but they couldn't put together the pieces. 
It was a cloud of overwhelming uncertainty.

There's no way they could have possibly imagined the path they would walk...
to the foot of the cross,
the tomb, 
the resurrection, 
the tongues of fire,
the meetings in homes
the trips to the ends of the earth. 

Easter is coming.
Summer is coming.
There is a light that cannot be defeated.
There is a hope that cannot be destroyed.

It may feel like the endless winter from frozen...
or an endless season of watching frozen. 

But my trust lies in hope that cannot be seen.
My certainty found in love incarnate.
For after the cross comes a glorious morning
and I will wait and watch for the pink hem of the sunrise.

It's just around the corner...

Day 29: Leaning into the Joy of this

I'm not going to lie. I've spent a bit of time fantasizing about being quarantined WITHOUT my kids. I think about all the things that I could do if it were just me....

1. Repaint the inside of my house
2. Deep cleaning
3. Cook fancy meals
4. All the amazing workouts that are currently livestreaming for free
5. Binge watch Netflix new series on CJ Walker
6. Organize resources to help my company deploy technology to help fight this stupid virus
7. Handwritten notes and paintings for friends and family
8. Mentally explore possibilities for a new chapter in life
9. Take long hikes
10. Connect with my husband

The list goes on and on.
Instead, what I actually did today.

Start the day with kids in front of youtube watching "How it's Made" Breakfast served, talking to them about plans for the day. They whine, resist and are overly silly. I can tell they have no gas. I have to get creative if I want to make it through.

"Let's build a pirate ship!"
I pull the sectional out in the middle of the living room and form it into a square.
"Quick, go get all your stuffed animals"
While they make trips hauling animals, I clean out under the couch. Sweep and dust. Scratching a little bit of that deep cleaning itch.
Everyone is onboard. Animals are safe. Fighting commences about how to play.
I pull out a dance party playlist and dump a gallon of soapy water on the floor.
"Come on in, guys, the water's fine."
They jump out of the boat and start slip sliding across the living room floor.
This carries on about a half an hour and then they start getting overly crazy. So I dry up the water and separate the couch pieces into 3 "bases."
"Ok guys, get in your base with your animals -- the game is -- through animals at your brothers. Once all the animals are on the floor we will pause and you can gather them up."

This got us to lunch. Everyone intact and the back room was spic-and-span (except for a large number of stuffed animals) I reassembled the couches and put everyone in the car.
We got drive thru for lunch and stopped quickly at Home Depot for a can of spray paint, a bag of dirt and some seeds.

After lunch, I sat them back in front of "How it's Made" while I attended an IEP meeting (special education plan) for Philip. Then, we cleaned out yogurt containers and poked holes in them and planted seeds in them. After that, we pulled out cardboard boxes from recent Amazon deliveries and spray painted them bright colors to re-purpose as gift packages to fill with books, arts and crafts and games to send to cousins which gets us mostly to dinner. They play Osmo while I tend to the house. Then shepherd them into the shower.

Everyone is still on edge and I can't get them to calm down. Even for night time reading which is a favorite part of their day. I end up putting them all side by side in my bed and we have a deep talk -- about cabin fever, corona virus, things that bother us, things that are hard for us and then we pinky promise to take care of each other and take care of mom and the new baby. They all cuddle in and drift to sleep to a podcast called "Get Sleepy" (which is amazing if you have kids or adults with sleep issues). As they snuggled in I sat at the foot of the bed and thought about what I'd write. I thought about all the things I would have done with the day if I hadn't had to spend every ounce of my energy keeping things together for them....and I thought about the greener grass on the other side of the fence.

Then I realized the grass is always greener. There was so much joy in my day. Memories and laughter. I need to grab hold of the Joy that is NOW. There will be another season for all the grownup things I want to do. This is where I am now and there is joy in. I shall grab this joy and be grateful for it today.

Day 28: The grace of receiving

Ironically, I had started lent with an intention to widen my circle,
to make more space to show kindness to others
to reach out more.

I instead have found myself tending to a dumpster fire to keep the flames from growing out of control. My bandwidth for communication, thought or intention beyond the four tiny walls of my house seems to shrink as I've waded through the magnitude of this shelter-in-place -- 1 week, 2 weeks, 5 weeks, 8 weeks, 3 months.

Unsure of how long the time will be, I realize that I need to make a new normal for boys who cling to structure for grounding. And so, I pour myself into making and re-making that structure for them... and my intentions of reaching out go unmet... a small ping of guilt hits me every night as I let go of what I had hoped to do with my life this month and accept this present moment.

I was blessed with perspective today.

As I have been shifted into overdrive caregiving, I was reminded that many have been downshifted into a time with many open gaps. Friends and acquaintances have texted to check in on me. I received a card in the mail. Phone calls. Messages. Love.

My heart warmed by the irony of receiving the kindness of others in my circle.
On the exact other side of my lenten commitment.
Receiving and being restored by grace completely unable to offer handwritten notes or carefully crafted emails of my own.
I just receive and realize that God is present in the giving and in the receiving.

It is so beautiful to see faith alive in others
in prayers offered
words written
text messages
groceries delivered
encouraging words spoken

God made us in his image. In relationship. We are fed in the giving and receiving of ourselves to each other. Times like this peel back layers and allow us space to practice these holy rituals.

Day 27: Listening inward

My first month as a parent were among the most difficult days of my life.

Eddie was early. Tiny. Had difficulty eating.
I was exhausted. With a minuscule milk supply.

Lactation consultants told me
it was his weak latch
not frequent enough feeding
not enough skin to skin time
I needed to use a nipple guard.

So I stayed shirtless
feeding him every 20 minutes around the clock
wearing him close to my body.

And still he lost weight.
I grew frantic.
I had failed at breastfeeding. I had failed as a mother.

In tears and desperation I ran to the store and bought formula.
I cried as I feed him with a medicine dropper.
He turned a corner. He had more energy.
Embolded. I got a bottle. I fed him. I slept more. I let him sleep on my chest.
I threw out every single piece of professional advice to find a path that worked.
But it was the right thing to do. Both of us flourished after that.
It was an important lesson that sometimes I need to listen inward.

It was a hard week and I finally broke down and listened inward. I knew we needed a change of schedule. I needed to do things differently. I canceled homeschool for the rest of the week to reset all of our expectations for how we would do things. I wrote letters to teachers. I got input from them on what I could change without rocking the boat too much in case we return to school this year. And I started a new day... on a slightly new path.

As I mature in faith, I find it harder to decipher God's soft call.
Sometimes, setting aside my own needs and agenda to serve and support the group
is what faith speaks into my heart.
Other times, it is a call to set aside a path laid out to turn left
and carve a new path into the wilderness.
So I listen. I wait. I let the voices grow louder in my heart.
Then I search them -- is this voice growing from pride? selfishness? ego? love? compassion?

I don't get it right all the time or maybe even most of the time, but that is the work of faith in me to search my heart and soul and seek out the still voice that is not carved out of my own ambitions or desires but of love and hope and peace that speaks to my soul and calls me ever forward on this journey.

Day 26: Slowing down...

I woke up...
My back hurt.
I was entirely nauseous.
I wanted to sleep all day.

I slowly rolled out of bed.
I slowly inched into my day.
Everything happened in slow motion.
Kids got dressed and started school work.
There were lots of snuggles on the couch with Miles while bigger kids got going.
I cleaned up slowly.

As much as I've put the whole thought of having a baby on the back burner. My body decided to remind me furiously that in fact -- I am still growing a human and sometimes I need to sit down and just --- be.

I can't tell if the boys could sense my need for a calmer day or if they needed it themselves. Or maybe it was the weather. But they seemed to move slower too. They still did their work. They just seemed to flow peacefully from one thing to another. Taking time in between to piddle with legos or read a book on the couch. It was calm.

I think God was responding to my frantic plea of not being able to do it --- then, go slow... and rest. There is no train to catch. There is no where to be. Just love on these littles and take it one day at a time.

Grace is the single set of footprints.
Today happened, like all the other days, but I'm certain I didn't do all the walking.

Day 25: Running so hard to keep up

I woke up at 7. Everyone was already up. I hadn't gotten out of bed but I was already behind.

The house needed to be cleaned.
Homework needed to be printed out.
A plan for the morning put together.

I threw myself into action.

Chocolate milk for Miles. Cleaning up while getting everyone shepherded into clothes. Telling each child what they needed to do first once they were dressed.

They were so fast.

Everyone was done with the first thing before I had gotten dressed or prepared the next thing.
So, I triaged.

"Ok, do this, then you can do that."

And before I blinked, they were done and asking about the next thing...
It went on like this until noon.

By 10am I had done the following:
Pulled out Eddie's pre-printed worksheets for the day.
Got Andrew set up with his daily packet
Got Miles started with playing Kinetic sand at his little table
Set Philip up with a writing tablet to start handwriting practice
Printed out Eddie's math assignments and get him situated doing them
Got materials for Andrew and Philip to play kitchen with the kinetic sand (including building their own "oven" out of a shoe box)
Signed up for Clever, Philip's online classroom portal and printed out his worksheets
Set Miles up with dots for an art lesson
Taught Andrew a knitting lesson
Set up a bubble machine outside for miles to get fresh air and play with bubbles
Downloaded and logged in to Philip's Raz Kids reading app
Emailed Eddie's math teacher to schedule zoom meeting
Cleaned the whole house and vaccuumed up the kinetic sand that kids had gotten all over the carpet

The pace carried on like this until 1:45 when I put everyone down in front of a show so I could attend a work conference call.

I haven't been able to work...
much....
actually....amend that...
at all
since I've been home.

It's taken everything I have to keep these kids structured enough that they don't melt down from all the time at home. Overall, it's been working. But I'm having a hard time finding any spare moment to sit on my computer to work on something of my own -- not to mention, I am now sharing my computer with Eddie who has a significant amount of online work.

So... it hurt a little attending the meeting.
Feeling like I've failed to contribute.
Feeling judged at my lack of timely responses.
Feeling shame that I just can't do enough.
Somehow I'm supposed to be better.

These are the moments of falling on my face as a working mom that I wear in my heart.
I could be a better at work and leave my kids in front of the TV... maybe  (actually, they'd probably literally destroy the house if I did that)... I could stay up later and work after they go to bed, but honestly, I'm having a hard time staying up until 9.

Or... I could make the hard choice...
put my kids first (mostly) and recognize that there will be moments like this at work where I will utterly and completely fall on my face.

I just have to somehow be okay with disappointing people right now.
I just HATE that.

This spiritual practice of humility is one that never ceases to burn my insides.
I am so damn proud.
I want to be a superhero.
I want to get it all done.
I want to be so self-sufficient.
I want to take on more with no problem -- I don't get overwhelmed.
I am organized enough.
I work smarter.
My kids are completely self-sufficient and will just sit and do school work quietly while I attend to my own affairs.
and my house cleans itself.
Basically, none of this is any effort whatsoever,
so actually, I could also volunteer -- there are so many things to support right now...

But...
I don't want to be less than.
I don't want to lean into Grace.
I don't want to admit I can't and let people tell me all the ways I should do this better.
I don't want to see eye rolls or under-breath mutters about why I don't have enough done
I don't want people to think I'm lazy or whatever.

But here I am... running as fast as I can... not keeping up with the train that surges farther and farther down the track without me. Feeling so disappointed that I just can't run faster.

This is Lent. Dying to who we see ourselves as so that we may live as God sees us.

Day 24: Make life a little more beautiful

My garden is a bit of a disaster.
Weeds are EVERYWHERE.

I intentionally planted everything close so that it would overgrow and limit weeds, but still they've found a way to grow everywhere.

So, every day, little by little I've been weeding it. Especially on days right after rain when everything is easiest to pull. It is meditative for me, focusing on grasping the whole plant and pulling it straight up while not bringing any of my good plants up. Miles is into bugs and Andrew loves gardening. So I can usually get them to join me for an hour or even two. They seem to fall into the same silent meditative state, watching bugs or digging in the dirt. We find a peace that settles across the whole front lawn and it restores some piece of us.

Some days I'm able to clear a whole tiny section. And it looks amazing. I get so excited to think what it will look like. I long to keep going but eventually someone calls me inside to fix something or stop a fight or make food. 

The other day, we were working away as usual and a pair of neighbors that I didn't know walked by, heading towards the downtown. Maybe an hour later they passed back on their way home.

"Made a ton of progress." One called.
"Thank you so much for this garden." The other said. "I admire it almost every day. It is just lovely."

My garden is a hodgepodge that mostly ended up the way it is by accident.

Andrew went through phases of being obsessed with succulents and digging and "engineering" with dirt and various plants. And all these obsessions were gentle shepherded into what felt like something like art. Almost, like chopped where you get a list of ingredients that don't seem to go together and somehow you have to make it work. Gardening with Andrew has been a bit like that. He has a vision that isn't quite orthodox and somehow, I have to bend it slightly to make a yard out of it.

For me, it is a place of peace,
memories with Andrew and the other boys,
a place for miles to watch bugs,
seasons measured by different blooms and fruit on the trees.
It is home.

But it struck me, it is also my front yard.
It isn't a hidden diary or a well organized drawer that I'm proud of but no one else sees.
It can bring light and peace to other people.... because plants ground us to earth and beauty is something we all long to engage with.

I love scrolling through Pinterest.
Mostly because people are amazing.
They come up with the most creative and beautiful ideas.
Some I want to try to imitate or make my own.
Some I just enjoy looking at.

Part of our souls are deeply fed by creating, by beauty, by the creativity of the world around us.
Good jazz,
painting,
dance,
a well designed room,
color, shape, light.

In the image of the creator, we are made.
The hand that paints the sunset across the sky,
that blew the purple dust of galaxies that swirl millions of miles away,
that called out the colors that dance beneath the waves and in the shade of rain forests.

With all that bashes against our souls right now, leaning into moments of beauty can give us rest.
Even for a moment.

disclaimer: This is from last year. Rains were better and I haven't yet gotten this far on weeding and I really could use some new mulch. 

Day 23: Exhausted

I couldn't do it today.

I couldn't get up and clean the whole house the way I have every other morning.
I got up and went to the couch and wanted to go back to sleep.

I would have except the kids started fighting... the day was going downhill because I didn't have the energy to create structure.

So I through them all in the van and had my husband drive us an hour to nature.
We sat and all through rocks in the lake.
We walked around and explored a bit.
Kids started getting hungry so we left and went through drive through.


We got home and the unexpected rain had cleared up and the backyard was sunny, so I threw them in the backyard. I glanced out the window to see them throwing bowls of mud at each other.

Too tired to really care.
Slowly cleaned the kitchen while they ran around like monkeys.
Eventually, they came in.
Bath. All of you.
Arguing. And then one wrapped his muddy self in a nice blanket and...
I lost it.

I yelled at all of them. Repeatedly.

"Mom, you broke your lent."

"I wouldn't break my lent if you wouldn't be such idiots. Now go get clean."

Truth is, I felt bad about breaking lent. I felt bad about yelling.
I had kept it together a whole week of homeschooling.
I had kept the house together.
I kept dinners on track.
I kept it together all week.
and today... I discovered, there was an end to keeping it together.

I will rest and recover. Sunday has come and it is a sabbath. It is a day of rest.
We will go to church online and kids will spend the rest of the day playing video games.
Maybe I'll clean.
Maybe I'll sleep.
Maybe I'll do art.
Maybe I'll play video games with the kids.
But I will rest.
It will be a day of rest.

God gave us Sabbath and a beautiful and holy day.
Set apart for rest.
A day to set aside the things that exhaust us.
A day that we don't have to keep it together.

Tomorrow I will rest. I will let go and let God renew me.
And Monday, I will get it back together.

Day 22: A little patience

Friday.

Things slowly starting to click into a rhythm.

Monday morning, my husband's daily meeting was a disaster.
People could get home technology to work.
People had a hard time figuring out how to to take turns speaking with a big group on the line.
He was a bit at a loss.

"Give it time." I said. "If it's a disaster still by the end of the week, then consider changing. Right now, people need a little consistency and figuring these things out takes a few practice runs.

Meanwhile...
on the other side of the house...
homeschool had it's own kinks.

Different ages, different needs. Changing expectations.
Every day I did something a little different.
A lot of it was good but a lot of it was hard.

Listening to my own words to my husband -- I repeated them to myself.

"Give it until, April. If it's still exhausting, write notes to the teachers and tell them this isn't going to work. We all need to lean into together right now."

On Friday, the kids caught up on school work. Things started clicking into place. I got a clearer sense of what I needed for each kid and I ended the day feeling like another week of working at it and we will find a groove.

Patience is hard.
Especially in the face of uncertainty.
We want so hard to make order.
To set a plan and for that plan to work and sometimes we just have to muddle through.

The middle of Lent is always hard.
Disciplines seem not to make sense. The world feels backwards and upside down.
It's never been truer. It's almost surreal how strange life feels right now.
Sitting in this off-kilter, uneresolved chord is almost painful.
This is the wilderness.

Jesus sat in the wilderness 40 days with no food. Completely alone.
It must have felt pointless. Raising the dead. Feeding the 5,000. That's the work of a savior.
Sitting alone, hungry in the desert playing mind games with the devil.
Really? This is God's work?!?

In the unresolved
In the uncertain.
In the painful discordance of life.
In the isolation.
The Spirit moves.
Our souls are carved.
Our journeys are traveled.

Lent doesn't go on forever. The wilderness is a time.
Spring has started. Easter is coming. One day this virus will pass.
For today. Patience. Living through.

The Spirit moves with us and in us right in the wildernesses we've each been dwelling in.
May you be strengthened in your journey.

Day 21: Great Expectations

Tuesday evening I was so mad at my husband.

He had woken up and gone out to our back house to work around 8 and didn't come back in until after 6. I was fuming.

It was day 1 of lock down. 

I wanted to figure things out. 

Set up a home office that would work better.

Buy a printer. 

Figure out some sort of schedule.

Talk about what the kids would need for homeschooling.

I wanted to get ourselves ready for the new life we were going to live...

But he just started living it.

He had employees to lead. Questions to answer. Things to take care of. The world was moving fast and he needed to keep wheels turning.

So I just jumped in. Reading. Writing. Math. Activities. Art. I blossomed.

There had been many days I had daydreamed about being a stay-at-home mom. I had considered homeschooling the kids. It was a big chance for me to cuddle them up and try it out. To lean hard into motherhood....and honestly it was amazing.

I let go of expectations about my husband being around. I assumed he was at work like normal and I didn't miss him heading out back to work. He hadn't changed. I had. I became content with winging it and leaned into the chaos of this crazy time and embraced it as a sabbath in motherhood.

I didn't have time to check my emails. I was dancing to life. I was present with my guys. 

But... at night when they went to bed, I'd check on everything -- the news, my email, etc.

And all the panic would pour in.

The outside world seemed to reach into my little cocoon and I felt beholden to a bunch of expectations. Links, meeting requests, directions for signing up for this and that. I had a hard time sorting out what was required, what was optional. Suddenly, I felt crushed by the lack of preparation and planning.

Does the world just need to be busy? I wonder as I look at all the messages.

Is all this busyness necessary? 

Again, I felt myself captive to my own expectations. I have an expectation that I can do all the things. And now, I am home being a mother and I feel the world telling me I have to do all the things. And my expectation is of course I won't let the world down. I will do all the things. And I stress myself out trying to do all the things... no one is here to see if I do them or not.

The world may expect me to do all the things...or

maybe the world is inviting me to do all the things...or

maybe, probably, the world doesn't care what I do as long as I stay home with my tribe.

Tonight, I need to name my own expectations and adjust them.

I can do many of the things, but I can't do all the things... and I can't do all the things right now.

I need space and time to adjust.

Tomorrow is a new day. 

Tomorrow is Friday. Almost the weekend.

I can regroup.

Day 20: Autism makes social distancing pretty normal for me

On day 5 of lockdown and I've realized that not a whole lot has changed in my life -- other than the whole no school thing.

Social distance is something that for many families with children on the spectrum becomes part of life.


Crowds are hard.
Restaurants are hard.
Sounds are hard.

Amusement parks,
museums,
play dates,
having adult friends,
going to bible study,
getting daycare...

All hard.

Most of our family vacations are into nature where my kids can let down their hair and have stimulation on their terms. Weekends and afternoons are either therapy or time at home.
Sports, clubs, etc... it's too much. They work so hard at "being good" at school that I can tell they just really need to unwind. So I give them space.

There was a piece of me that ached for social connection. I missed having friends. I missed adult conversation. There's a part of me that still does.

But in all the time I've spent with my little tribe, I've learned to lean in to time alone.
I'm an extrovert. This isn't my thing at all.

But nature is amazing. And my little guys are fascinated with all of it, even the parts that I overlook -- the bugs and the rocks and tadpoles and the movement of water.

I've grown more and more okay with myself and with other people. I've found myself to be less judgmental and more patient. I haven't had other people's words of judgement floating around in my head. The voices I hear are small innocent ones and that has made me more thoughtful.

I wanted to share for two reasons... one, time in isolation can be hard but it can work on the soul.... and two... there are so many people who live like this all the time. This level of isolation is normal for them. There are times I don't like being so alone and I am sure so many other special needs moms feel the same way, but our realities force us into a socially distanced life.

Whenever we get back to "normal" life, its worth pondering if there are ways to open our circles to the socially distanced. I'm sure there are other people in my life who are more isolated than they want to be -- due to age, mobility, disability, mental health, caregiving, work-hours. How can I widen my world to include them?

Day 19: Choose light

Lockdown
Layoffs
Mortgage payments

The world seems to be getting darker.

Here in the middle of Lent, we have all been thrown into what feels like ever encroaching darkness.
Many of us have not had to weather something like this.
Many of us do not have a safety net to catch us if the wind blows too hard.

The panic button has been pushed.
Or maybe its moments from being pushed.
Or maybe we're too busy keeping shit together to push the button.
But... we feel it.

We yearn for light.

Shepherds on the hills of Bethlehem yearned for light.
Mary weeping at the foot of her son's cross yearned for light.
Refugees and outcasts yearn for light.

And light came.

A light shines in the darkness and the darkness has not overcome it.

The lighthouse stand tall on the cliff as the storm wages on in our seas.
It is hope. Land is near.
It is guidance. Land is in this direction.
It is warning. Watch for rocks nearby.

The light can silence the panic, the lizard brain that pushes us to the paranoid and irrational.

It does not take much light to dispel the darkness around us.
Small acts to restore our faith in humanity.
Warm stories to remind us of the good in the world.
A letter or a text of encouragement.
Tiny candles that can illuminate the whole darkness of our day.
We can grab hold of the light and reflect it back out to sea, to those who need it.

Today. I'm looking towards the light and sailing towards it.

God, lead me.
God, grant me peace.
God, be grace that fills the gaps of everything I didn't do right today...
God, help me not lose it right now
God, you are bigger than this and all of us are in your hands.

I'm letting myself be calmed in spite of news and emails and a "constantly changing situation" Steady. The light doesn't move. The sea is tossing me. But the light doesn't move. God is there.

And best I can, I'm going to try to pull out my mirror and reflect that light further out to sea.
I know there are people who need it right now.

Day 18: Connecting...

Online church.

Something I never thought I'd do.

But... Eddie and I huddled on the couch together watching my phone while the littles played legos on the floor.

Hymns, readings, sermon, prayers... and live chat.

I think the live chat was really church.

All of us, in our separate rooms, tuning in, coming together.
Commenting on the service as we watched, listened, prayed and sang.

We were all saying --

I'm here to stand for community.
I'm here for all of you and you are all here for me.
God is with us.

Eddie was so engaged. I think for him, the ground became more level. He was a voice, like all the rest of us. He could speak and be heard. He could listen and participate.

Online our interactions are different, there is more space for people who don't do as well with face-to-face interactions.

After service, I sat down and wrote an email to my preschool Sunday school class with some activities to do as a family that would teach this week's lesson and a prayer for parents who were all surely wrestling with new schedules and long periods of time with small children at home.

Earlier, my siblings put together a google hangout, just for the hell of it.
My brother who follows NCAA was trying to figure out a replacement activity.
We joked about making a CoronaVirus march madness bracket...
We laughed.
We talked about serious stuff.
We shared our lives.
It was like Christmas or Thanksgiving.
Just a slow time to be together.

I'm discovering so many tiny opportunities to build bridges in this time apart. I thought, that this time would push me inside to explore and ponder God on my own, but so far, the pull to build and strengthen relationships has been at the forefront of my reflections.

The time apart makes us hungry for each other.
When I'm on a diet, food tastes amazing.
When we are isolated, I think we are more in a space to be patient,
to try to understand each other,
to listen,
to share,
to genuinely connect.

And God is with us. Present in our prayers and our laughter and our texting and our singing off-key alone, but together in bathrobes in our living rooms.

Day 17: The opportunity to make space for little

My kids seemed to really just need a day at home to veg out.

We played hard together -- legos, hex bugs, toy cars, and 300 pages of a novel about dragons.

Our little tribe.

I thought about all the other little tribes out there. Playing legos and building train track.
I thought about the daunting task that parents face as they think about homeschooling kids for 2 weeks and the posts I see on social media as people gather ideas, share schedules and talk about what they are a going to do.

I am not sure if I've ever seen so much detail about parenting and education so widely shared.

It's a sort of forced re-arrangement of our priorities -- or at least forcing us to connect more deeply with our littles. To teach them. To spend time with them. To get to know them.

There is a lot of downside economically and otherwise to this pandemic situation but one amazing beautiful upside is the amount of space that many people will have to deeply bond with their little tribe.

It is exhausting and stressful. Kids yell. Cabin fever is real.
It f-ing hurts to step on legos and when you are solving one thing --
someone else has colored on the walls or pooped on the floor.
Messes suck. Cleaning over and over again is exhausting.
And why can't they just ask a question or say your name once ... mom, mom, mom, mom, mom...

And...
There still is work to be done beyond just caring for the littles....
because emails still happen, so do phone calls, teleconferences and deadlines....and bills.

But there is opportunity.
Opportunity to share my world and my work with them.
Opportunity to work on patience and creativity.
Opportunity to teach sorry and I forgive you and show that I am a human too.
Opportunity to work on things that busy life cuts time from -- like chores and cooking and art and play.
Opportunity to explore the world coming to life in the spring.
Opportunity to really listen to those little voices and let them feel heard and not rushed.

If we lean into the opportunity, we may find our hearts changed and our littles shaped by this time together.

I'll be praying for you...

Day 16: A new Lenten discipline

No church.
No school.
No work...

most likely until Easter.

To do list got wiped clean away.

And a new Lenten discipline.
Something like monastery life.

No vows of silence.
But a requirement to live simply.
Stay home. Be creative. Read. Be in nature. Love my children.

I feel my mothering instinct kicking in.
Gathering my little chicks under my wing and settling into our little nest.
I feel immensely grateful as we all cuddle on the couch for a Friday night movie.

I'm not sure what this new discipline is going to bring but it is definitely a new journey that will open my mind to gratitude and faith in yet different ways.

My commitment to daily kindness will now need to be more intentional.
Phone calls, emails, letters, packages, art. We're all in this together and intentional kindness could go a long way to reaching into someone's life and help anchor them against the anxiety which is so thick in the air, you could cut it with a knife.

My spiritual side feels called to lean into this. To absorb the silence. To fast from busyness. To embrace simplicity and let to sing -- it is well, it is well with my soul.

Day 15: Why everything feels so off...

It was a lovely spring day.
One of those take-your-breath away and fill you with gratitude blue skies.
74 degrees. You could wear anything and be comfortable.
Kids naturally landed on swings in the backyard as soon as they got home.

But... underneath... it felt tense.

Announcement after announcement of various things closing down and events canceled made it feel necessary to keep checking the news and media to see if school was canceled or other new precautions were being put into place.

Generally, I've been viewing all the precautions like wearing a seatbeat. We know that these things will help reduce sickness and save lives so we are doing them.

But... it's overwhelming. It's a pushing of the emergency response system button. And biologically, I think many of us have gone into stress response. A biological response to a threat that puts us in a "fight or flight" mentality where our amygdalas are activated and our responses are more primal.

Beyond this, though. There is something that feels unnatural.

When we face tough things, humans naturally gather.

We gather to talk. We gather to take care of each. We gather to collectively process and we are strengthened in a sense of commonality.

9/11, Challenger, JFK, Pearl Harbor....

We collectively experienced a earth-shattering moment and we came together.

But this isn't earth-shattering....and we can't come together. It's a slow-roll stress ball that we are dealing with separately at the same time. It's tiring, like a winter storm. How long will it last? How bad is it going to get? Life certainly has to get back to normal eventually, but between now and then, there's a lot of uncertainty and it's unsettling and we've lost one of our biggest tools for dealing stressful events -- community.

So how do we undo the giant stress ball when we're left alone in our houses freaking out about whether school will be open or if we should go to work?

Here are some of the meditations I've had in battling my own stress and fears today:

1. Naming my fears specifically: Scrolling through social media, I found myself simultaneously wanting to read and get more information while also feeling my chest tightening with stress at everything going on. I sat down and thought to myself -- specifically, what about this is stressing you out? I got specific. It felt smaller and more rational once I was able to articulate to myself what was working me up.

2. Setting down my phone: I wanted to know if the kid's schools were closing so I kept watch all day looking for updated announcements. But I realized that brief checks on my phone were longer than I wanted them to be as I scrolled interested in what other things were happening. Setting down my phone and being present at home gave me an escape from the world. I'll check when I need to, but too much news, I'm finding, is not useful.

3. Avoid Costco: I was out of toilet paper and laughed at myself about being a little stressed to go buy some. I was worried both that there wouldn't be any AND that people would assume I was a hoarder if they saw me with toilet paper. I ended up dropping by Lucky's, a smaller grocery store, as I walked to pick Philip up from school. They had toilet paper in stock. And I laughed at myself as I had to carry it on top of my stroller for several blocks walking down a busy street. I've vowed to stay away from Costco till at least the end of the school year.

4. Go outside: Nature is one of the perfect antidotes for "social distancing." It is one of the most rejuvenating places to be away from people. And... even if one comes across people in nature... they are mostly viewed at a distance. There are no objects to sanitize. There is just a beautiful presence of life that calms my thoughts and gives me freedom. I've decided that if the kids school gets cancelled it may be a good time to take a road trip to the middle of the desert for more rock collecting. I can't really think of a more pleasant or more "distant" way to be socially distant.

5. Do art: My favorite idea for supporting community during this is to make a #CoronaArtChallenge and get a trend going of making art while we are all stuck at home with our kids. We can have collective experiences virtually, we just need to get more creative. In the meantime, I called my mom. I may spend time emailing people encouraging notes (because this also happens to be a lent discipline -- two birds with one stone). These little things may help enhance the hormones of connectedness that dissipate stress response.

Day 14: Kids need mud

I was cleaning up dinner when a little someone scurried past in a hurry.

All I could make out was a blur of white object, which I assumed to be a colander, that was obviously muddy.

He was headed to the living room.
This never ends well.

I put down dishes and followed to investigate.
He had a pile of muddy rocks in a different colander sitting in the middle of the living room floor.
The muddy white colander was transporting newly discovered treasure to this stash.

"Why in the living room?" I (almost) yelled.

(I would give myself credit for keeping lent here, because though my voice was louder than typical speaking, it was more at the level of exclamation, rather than shouting.)

"Because, because, because they need to be in a new place."

"Why don't you make a new place -- outside?"

"ok"

...and off he trotted with his piles of rock back to the backyard.

Which, as I glanced out the back door I realized has turned into a disaster zone.

Longer days,
warmer weather,
spring is here and mud is going to be a part of my life for the next few months.

Mud, I think, is a form of meditation for kids.

I remember myself building out "rivers" for the rain and making dams along the way or forming mud pies or just drawing in the mud.

This mindless play felt a lot like what I feel when I walk the beach and stare down at all the random stuff that's washed ashore or when I hike and take time to breathe in the nature around me.

It is a holy and sacred decompressing. Letting the mind be gloriously empty and yet full of something close to gratitude.

Kids need this. With all the
homework
and structure
and screens
and expectations
placed on them,

a backyard full of mud is church.

A time to feel God's presence in the natural world
a time to tap into the creative nature that makes us in God's likeness
a time to feel gratitude for spring and warm weather
and to be at peace within themselves
content with who they are in this world.

I need to remember this when they track it in across my living room floor.
Dirty floors are a sign of some quality time spent with God.

Day 13: The power of invitation

I'm good at quite a few things, but making friends is not really one of them.

When I first moved to Livermore, I poured my whole self into trying to build community around myself. I joined mom groups. Went to church. Hung out at the library. Led a workout class.

Over time, there were a few "mom friends" that I saw regularly. We weren't terribly close and it wasn't really the community I was craving but it was something.

With time, more babies and more work came and I had to cut out a lot of the "extras" in life. Community was one of them.

I still went to church. But I didn't have time or energy to do the "extra" things that make you part of the church community. So, I sat in the pew and watched community around me.

My kids went to school. I volunteered in the classroom when I could, but between therapy and work, we never had playdates. And honestly, my kids weren't ready for friends. Most attempts of having them play with other kids failed miserably.

And so. I gave in to isolation. Accepting it as part of the season I was in.

As my world begins to open up, I find myself ever so slowly connecting. It awakens in me that yearning for friendship that I've quieted for a long time. But it also makes me feel like I'm back in school. I feel shy, nervous and unequipped for connection building. My path the last few years has been deep and hard and unusual. Not really the best material for small talk.

The last time I started a workout group, I was a little plugged in. I had a mom's group. I knew some people. I could at least get a small core group together to get started with. It made the whole process of getting off the ground less intimidating. They invited friends and it grew organically.

This time, it was a little more daunting.

Inviting someone can feel hard. Directly inviting someone to something feels like I've created an obligation for them. A decision they have now have to make. They have to consider the activity, the time, the date, location and the value...is this worth doing. They might have to check their calendar and figure out if it would work. I've complicated life for them. I know how busy and overwhelmed people generally are and it feels hard to add to this overload.

So, I prefer a more passive invitation -- hey, here's an opportunity for anyone interested. No one feel obligated to consider or even pay attention. If the activity is something they've been thinking about doing, they will self select to pay attention to the invite and consider the invitation.

But... invitation...personal invitation can be powerful. When someone thinks of me specifically, it feels for a moment that I've been seen. That my world, my passions, my existence has been considered and an invitation opens the possibility of relationship in a way that responding to a bulletin board flyer does not.

Today, I was brave enough to reach out.

During kindergarten drop off, I ran into a mom with her adorable 2 year old that I've developed a small hallway relationship with. Peek-a-boo with the toddler. Comments exchanged about kindergarten. The typical. I knew that she was home with the little one, so I felt less intimidated about extending an invitation to join me at workout.

She texted me a bit later asking for more details and showed up to my very first class.

She was the only one.

To be fair, most of the general announcements that I shared at the church preschool and to email lists didn't actually go out until monday night or even this morning. So, while there were several people interested in the workout group, it was too short notice for them to join this week.

So..
it was the two of us.
Actually the three of us.
Me, my kindergarten mom friend and her toddler.

We had an awesome workout. She was approximately the same fitness level as I was and like me, used to workout a lot more and loved exercise. Her toddler ran around, driving cars on us, dive bombing her during floor exercises and occasionally mimicking our awesome moves.

It was just right. I was able to test out my playlist, my imagined list of exercises and shake the dust off my "workout leader voice." She was able to workout with someone else without any worry that her little guy was disturbing anyone.

Reflecting on this made me really take home how much power lies in the simple act of inviting.
It's incredibly vulnerable.
It creates opportunity to be rejected.
It opens the possibility that I could disappoint someone.
It disrupts someone's potential plans.
It may be inconvenient.
It may offend someone, somehow.

So many things could happen when we have courage to take a step, see someone and extend an invitation. And while my lizard brain tends to focus on the negative ones, there are a host of beautiful outcomes.

An invitation could tell someone they've been seen. It opens the possibility of connection. It could give someone something they really need or have been waiting for, or hoping for. Or, it could just be a great afternoon together that would otherwise be spent alone.

Day 12: On marriage

Pregnancy is the trump card.

I need pillows.
I'm craving a very specific food item that is located 3 towns over.
Can you get me another glass of water, I literally CANT move.

For good reason. I would wager that being pregnant is still much harder then being married to a pregnant woman.

In the throws of 1st trimester exhaustion and nausea, I've needed more support.
Of course as Murphy's Law would have it, I can't get morning sickness in the actual morning when my kids are at school and I have more space to ride through... nope... I get sick starting just before afternoon pickup and stay that way until kids are asleep.

Generally, I am asleep before them but I do make valiant efforts to make it all the way to the end of the day.

I really could use a hand in the afternoon.

This is where I would play my trump card.

"I need you home."

But, my husband, as it would turn out is the the middle of his own stuff. At work, we are finishing a clinical trial getting ready to submit a 510k on a new product that he has been developing over the last year. The submission was actually supposed to be done at the beginning of February but as these things go, there have been bumps and dips in the road and he's been working tirelessly to keep things on track.

So, even though I have the trump card, I don't play it.
In fact, I let him work late. Right now, he needs to.

I wade through the after-school routine as best I can. Some days dinner is frozen pizza on the couch in front of a movie . But homework is done. Kids are loved and I'm in one piece, so we call it a win.

And as I try to keep my eyes open on the couch, he walks in the door and starts cleaning the kitchen.

Love is...

coming home from a long stressful day at work
and cleaning up the kitchen and putting kids to bed.

and..

cooking dinner when you don't feel good
so there's something for him to eat when he gets there.

Marriage is choosing not to play your trump cards.

Day 11: Fight back against fear

Blogging during Lent has the strange consequence of slightly increasing my time on social media. I don't have a TV and don't watch the news, but I tend to take the temperature of what's happening on the news by what I see in social media. And this Lent... there's been a lot of freaking out.

Election and CoronaVirus.

Actually, mostly COVID.

Something has to be pretty powerful to override politics on facebook during an election year, but COVID seems be be dominating --both in article shares and memes (which have gotten pretty funny.)

One particular meme that has captured my thoughts lists all the things we've "thought would kill us all" starting with Y2K and listing major societal freak-outs every year until now. 20 solid years of mass hysteria.

What I've been meditating on is why people are afraid and what that fear looks like.

Since the dawn of time, people have been afraid -- superstitious, overwhelmed, hysterical. Our response to fear has changed -- we've switched from reaching out to help from God and our community to stockpiling our own provisions and doing what we can to take control.

In some ways our response to fear as a society has improved. Many of the antiquated responses to an outbreak of disease or famine such as self-flogging, starting witch hunts or other sacrifices to the sun god were not particularly healthy. A lack of education and pragmatism to understanding the causes of such unfortunate events created additional hardship and tragedy among people who already suffered. And... in some cases...worsened the original plague.

So, we've gotten smarter. We organized as a society to understand and prepare for catastrophic events -- weather, fires, disease outbreaks, violence, etc. Countless professionals receive specialized training that most never use. Data collection systems are in place and monitored -- even as much of the time --all is well. We analyze trends. We predict the future. And... we prevent a lot of disasters. We have building codes, emergency responders, vaccines, evacuation plans and safety equipment that have in combination prevented countless deaths. The world as a whole has gotten a lot safer.

But in our ever vigilant state we've gone a bit over-board. We have more control over the world. And yet, we can't control it. We can prepare for weather and disease and other bad things but we cannot put ourselves in a bubble. People still die. Everyone still dies.

In our physical preparedness, we, as a society, have not put in the same level of building emotional resilience. There has been a decline in many activities that build the muscles of spiritual growth. Honestly, it's easy to see why. In isolation, none of these activities seem particularly high priority to "achieving things in life" Church is boring. There's a lot of old people there. Same with family gatherings... and community barb-a-ques... and libraries. There's just a whole lot of sitting around and not doing much anything useful.

Except there is.

Community puts other in front of self. And that flies in the face of our individual American value. But in community, everyone belongs. Everyone is part of something bigger. Everyone shares the highs and lows of life and has support when life get hard. We watch older people grow old and die. We learn from them. And when our time comes to face old-age, health issues and death, we are more prepared. We've learned from the grace of our elders and we march through those challenges with people who love, support and value us at our sides.

We watch babies be born and grow up and we teach them and look out for them. We pass on what we know and help them find thier place in the world. And it gives us and them deep meaning and something solid to stand on when life gets uncertain.

And.. in communities of faith...we share a belief in a God that is bigger than our lives. That there are promises that go beyond death and that there is more to life than what we earn or what we do or how famous we are. And through the rhythms of community we find courage to lean in and trust those promises and as we die to ourselves we are born into a deeper life defined by faith and hope beyond words.

The antedote to fear is love.
And the antedote to mass freakout is community.

It feels hard to want to fight for something that feels so old-fashioned and unimpressive as church potlucks but the world really needs it right now. There are a lot of people who are genuinely afraid without much of a safety net to turn to.

Day 10: Making space for kindness

The practice of trying to do something kind for someone every day has been an interesting experiment. The constraints of it not being part of my work or family really reveals how much of my life is focused on my life.

Honestly, there isn't a ton of time.
Get up, drop kids off, go to work, pick kids up, come home.

Wash, rinse, repeat.

I hardly have exposure to the outside world.

Sometimes I've been able to think of a friend who could use a text or email.But I don't have all that many friends. Sometimes, it's been obvious that there was an opportunity to help someone. But most of the time, it's been challenging to even put the practice at the front of my mind. The day goes at a pace that is hard to remember all the things. Even with lists. Even with phone reminders. There's just more things to do than hours of the day. And kindness gets boxed out.

So how to make space for priorities?
Those important, non-urgent, life-defining things that matter most?

I could do them first.
I could slack off at other things.
I could exhaust myself.

Kindness doesn't take necessarily time but I've found that as our world gets more convenient, going out of my way to interact with people does take time and energy and intention. Rolling up my sleeves to find more time, energy and intention to be present for important things.

Day 9: Grace in the overwhelm

This morning I took the three oldest boys to an appointment for evaluation for a highly rated summer camp that develops individual plans to help kids gain confidence, social skills, executive functioning skills and body awareness. It is the kind of thing I've been really praying for -- especially for Eddie.

At the appointment, the head psychologist talked to the boys about the camp and helped them self identify goals that they might want to work on.

They did a pretty good job getting through the appointment (even if there was some minor wrestling and a whole bunch of fidgeting) and came out really excited about summer.

I headed back to school and when we arrived to drop Philip off, he started whining that he didn't want to go to school I did the mom thing. I grabbed his hand and dragged him behind me as whines turned to cries and cries turned into a tantrum. I signed him in at the front office fully expecting that once we headed toward the classroom he would snap out of it and get excited about all the things at school. He loves school and today he had science class after.

But, instead, he threw himself to the floor and I had to pick him up and carry him to the classroom.
He clung to me the way a toddler clings to mom when they don't want to be dropped off at the babysitter. As I walked him into the classroom, his grip tightened. He stopped crying but he kept whispering. "I don't want to go to school."

I went into troubleshooting mode.
What was causing this?
He had never done this...
Change in schedule?
He usually handles change in schedule ok.

I sat with him. He held me. His teacher came over to talk to him. He listened but buried his face in my chest. I sat on the chair that she uses to read stories. Thinking... I was growing antsy because Eddie and Andrew were still in the car. I didn't want to make them extra late, but I could tell that he needed more time... What would he do if I left?

Usually the recommendation would be to work it through. Stay and push until he eventually calms down and continues about his day. But I didn't have the luxury of another 30 or 60 or 90 minutes. I made the call.

"Philip. You can choose not to go to school today if this is just too hard. But you have to own that decision. You need to go tell your teacher with your own words that school is too hard today and you need to get all the work to take home so that you can do it at home. If you come with me, it will not be as fun as staying at school. You'll just have to do the work by yourself with no friends around. But if it really is too hard today, you can make that choice."

Slowly he got up. With his eyes covered, he walked towards his teacher. Studdering and very softly trying to express that school was too much. Keeping his hands on his face, he went to gather materials from around the room and packed them into his bag. The teacher came over to him and said that she was sad that it was too hard to stay and asked him what he thought about tomorrow. He brightened up a little and still with his hands on his face, letting his eyes twinkle through his fingers, he said he'd be there tomorrow.

Sometimes life is overwhelming and we just need people to see us where we are and work from there. Philip came home and went straight to work on his homework. I really took home the lesson that sometimes the best thing to do is to make space so that the overwhelming isn't quite so overwhelming.