Newton's Law

In her book, “My Stroke of Insight,” Dr. Jill Bolte Taylor talks about the awakening that she experienced while suffering from a hemorrhagic stroke.  The entire book is amazing, insightful and though it has been two years since reading it, I find myself thinking about it again and again.  One of the most powerful things that she revealed was that even while she lay in a medicinal induced coma she could feel the intentions and the spirit of a person from the time that they stood in her hospital room doorway.  From that distance, and while appearing asleep she knew whether the person was kind or not.  She knew whether they would touch her gently or if they would disregard her entirely and treat her only as a body lying in a bed.   As a nurse that often cares for people in this same state I felt empowered.  It was uplifting to know that my unconscious patients may know how much I care for them, how frightened I am for them, and how badly I want to be there for them in their time of need.


This morning I found myself once again thinking about that book, about my intentions and how they are read by others.  We are immersed in a new world these days, one which we feel free to scream aloud our every thought, emotion and notion into cyber space.  This is a world where we can take a stance without any real action.  Where a status update feels like “doing something” for a cause that we profess to care about.  We can shove hurtful words (cartoons even, if you are so inclined) into someone’s face without ever having to stand beside it, to say clearly, “this is meant for you, this is how I feel about you,” or “this is how I feel and I know that it will be hurtful but I want you to read it and say nothing,” all done in front of a computer screen.  My thought this morning, the one that brought me here to type was this; if the unconscious and drugged can read our intent so clearly, what about those alert and awake?  The intentions so loud and obvious to someone that cannot see, or likely, even clearly hear our words, are like neon flashing lights to the rest of us.


Over Lent I gave up Facebook.  I did so because the screaming of the world was getting so loud that it was making it hard to hear my own thoughts, clouding my vision and making it difficult to see my own path.   My “friends” where hurling their intentions out into the world at the rate of a speed train, dismantling my equanimity to the point that I could not take it anymore. 


Now with Lenten season over I have decided this, we are responsible for what we put out into the world.  Every thought we voice, no matter the forum, is likely read by someone else.  This is the social media realization of every action has an equal and opposite reaction.  If we feel these things strongly enough to send them on their merry way then we need to prepare ourselves for the fallout, anything less is cowardice.
 
My hope is that those that I love and love me back will feel my intentions, my compassion for them from the doorway, awake or not.  I hope that I will have the courage to have hard conversations as they were meant to be had, face to face.  It can appear in this strange place that we have many, many friends, but the true number pales in comparison to the number of people whose thoughts I have invited into my life.  I am so thankful for the few people that have been given to me to help me navigate this world, people that will say to me, “I disagree, this is why, and I love you no matter what,” and for whom I love enough to do the same.  

Life is Sweet

http://m.youtube.com/watch?v=UbnOdEA2XPg

Steps

Someday I hope to; rock a guitar like Lindsey Buckingham, speak at least 3 languages fluently, hand quilt a entire blanket, build new and reupholster old furniture, run a marathon, become a master gardener,  design my own knitting patterns, obtain certification as an intensive care nurse, and celebrate my 50^th wedding anniversary having raised three happy, healthy children.  These are so many big goals for one little life.

There was a time when a large aspiration for me, was simply a big picture painted with grand strokes.  Goals appeared to me to require as herculean an effort as jumping across the Grand Canyon in one leap.  Today, I find myself in a new place, one where everything at first appearing very large is quickly broken down into easy manageable steps.  Small steps, consistently made that reach great heights.  I do not know if my awakening is a gift of age, or of doing the things and being with the people that I love.  A sweater is made one tiny stitch at a time, a 13 mile run is one foot picked up and set in front of the other. A baby has moved from crawling to walking. Each of these things in the end may appear to be large but looking closer at their small parts; I can see that they are not.

 I will not discount the large leaps that I have made in this life.  The decision to marry, to have children, to move to a new place, change jobs, all have value and required courage, faith in myself (and others). What I am impressed most by right now however, is the quiet determination of the actions and thoughts that come after, for me that is the place where the true work exists.

The exquisite thing about very small steps is the momentum gained.   Repeatedly made, over and over, these tiny movements have taken me very far places.  They have entirely shaped or reshaped my life.  It is easy on a long path to take a misstep or two but if I keep my eyes, my intentions,  focused on the big picture without allowing myself  to be overwhelmed by the pixels, I find that I enjoy the journey as much as the end result.

What I learned this year

Before my children were here I thought that they were for us.  I realize now that we are here for them, and happily so.

Silence is an option.

Give people 1st, 2nd, 3rd, chances.  Actually stop counting chances, and be thankful that the people that love me aren't counting mine.

Letting things that I knew were important to me reign in my life brings me peace, and leaves me to wonder why I waited so long.

Friends are not overrated.  I am thankful for the beautiful people that help me navigate this life and share their joys and sorrows with me.

When you buy onions in bulk it is time to admit that you don't hate them anymore.

Loving others is more important than being loved.

Our house is not a starter home.   It is the place that welcomed our  babies, where we tuck them in at night and it should be loved as such.

Porter is not an evil dog, he is just a tricky character, and one that I should pet more often.

Live in gratitude.

People that have different opinions than my own are not idiots.  I need to listen, and ask respectful questions.  Maybe we can find a common goal, a way to work together. If I want to raise tolerant compassionate children I have to work on those traits in me.

Never, never stop growing.

Saying Goodbye

Very soon a mother will leave her children.  A wife, daughter and sister will be lost.  I have tried for months to make sense of this, to answer on my own the only question I have, why?  In the end I am left with the same resolution that I rejected in the beginning, there is no answer.  It just is.  

The time that I got to spend as a close friend to this remarkable person was short, but I am so grateful for it.  Throughout her illness she never gave up, endured every pain that gave her the only thing she wanted, time.  She apologized, for the hurt that her leaving would cause and used all of her remaining energy to take care of her family.  I have never known a stronger, braver, more loving person and it is likely that I never will.

My birthday is this week.  I get to be 33. I am able to fix my family dinner tonight, help my daughter with her homework, and kiss three babies before they go to sleep. Then I will get to sit in the quiet evening with the man I love and talk about our day and make plans for tomorrow.  These are not small things, they mean everything to me.

I am going to tuck my friend and her family into my heart.  Everyday that I am given here on this earth I am going to try to be a tenth of the person that my friend is.  And when it is time for me to take my last breath I will rest easier knowing that I will see her again.

Hearts of my Matter: Max

Max Baker Strayer, Maximus, Maximo, Maximoto, Maximototito, Moto,Tito. How is it that one name can spawn so many nicknames?  When I found out that we had a little boy on the way I was admittedly terrified.  My experience with baby boys was limited, having grown up with three sisters.  I had really never considered what being a Mama to a little sir would be like.  I was so worried, what would I do with this little male being? Did this mean I was going to have to (gulp) play in the mud all day? Did I need to develop an affinity for Matchbox  cars?   

The very second that Max was laid in my arms every apprehension washed away, replaced with love and excitement. I could not wait to get to know this little creature and to help him navigate life.  Flash forward 4 and a half years and Max is everything that I ever dreamed a little boy to be.  

He adores super heroes, planes and cars.  He loves his older sister so much that he will play whatever girlie game she has devised for him.  He is kind and compassionate, always the first to compromise in any dispute with Charlotte and after a day of hard play he still crawls into my lap for a snuggle.  

Recently we discovered that Max loves to hike.  A friend and I decided to walk our children up one of the foothills in Boise.  It was a toasty day, we quickly had a few little people that were ready to throw in the towel.  Max was not one of those little people.  He had arrived at the trail with a destination in mind, he was headed to the top.  He was devastated to discover that his fellow hikers were not as dedicated as he was.  So a promise was made, I told Max that he and I would return together and go all the way to the top.

And so a couple Sundays back I woke my sweet boy up at 6:00am on a Sunday morning.  Maxie is not so much a morning person so I was a little hesitant to wake him so early.  I gently nudged his shoulder and whispered in his ear, "Moto time to get up, lets go for our hike." Max's beautiful brown eyes flew open, he sat straight up in bed and said, "I'm ready, let's go!"

He carried that excitement to the trail head, where we were met by my sister, and all the way up the trail.  Every hiker we ran into that day took the time to encourage Max, they were so tickled to see a little boy up early in the morning to hike.  Max kept his eye on the prize the whole way. Atop this trail is a white cross which he kept both my sister and I abreast of at all times.  "Mom, we are getting closer to the X (Max, understandably, has a fondness for the letter X, he has been informed again and again that the X's at Table Rock and at church are actually crosses but he is choosing to ignore me on this matter).. When we reached the top the glow of his accomplishment was on his face. We lingered for a bit there taking in the sites of Boise and then we headed back down.

The climb down the trail was harder for Max then the way up. He was exhausted and began to trip. After a tumble or two (and a scraped knee) he said, "I don't like hiking." I scooped him up and his YaYa praised him for his efforts and told him not to loose heart.  By the time we got back to the car I had an idea of how to celebrate his accomplishment, so we stopped at the store grabbed two chocolate milks and a donut for us to split.

The whole ride home with chocolate glaze all over his face he chatted my ear off, and cracked me up. His imagination and enthusiasm know no bounds. By the time we got home Max had decided that hiking was the best.  The next day upon waking requested to go again, and go again we shall.  I cannot even begin to imagine the heights this little fellow will climb in his life, or the goals he will set his eyes on.  I do know that as long as I am able I want to be by his side, his encourager, his cheerleader. I am so thankful for my Max. 

The Hearts of My Matter- Charlotte

Before the end of the school year Charlotte and I took our little commuter car to school. In this car we are in such close quarters that we are able to momentarily hold hands at stop lights, and unlike our much loved mini van,  one does not have to speak loudly to be heard. On this day we were stopped in a construction zone for quite awhile. A few minutes in to our delay Charlotte asked for my hand. This tugged at my heart, and so I asked her a question that I usually reserve for bed time, "Charlotte," I said, "do you know how loved you are?" She usually responds with a smile and then I list every person in our life who loves this little girl, ending with her Dad and I.  This time however, Charlotte took the reins and asked me, "Mama do you know how loved you are?" She began her list before I could respond,  "Daddy loves you, and Maxie, and Willa, Nana, Papa and the YaYas love you, Grandpa and Grandma too."  I was speechless, completely over whelmed by Charlotte's beautiful little spirit, by her tiny hand in mine.  Just as those words comfort her at bed time, they provided comfort to me.

I set out on this parenting journey with few goals in mind.  I want my children to be happy, loving and kind.  I want them to be giving and to nurture those around them.  I believe that each one of them came with all of these attributes and that it is my job to continue to help grow them.  That day, sitting in the car waiting to be let by, I got to experience those traits in Charlotte.  This six year old little person of mine is constantly and unintentionally reminding me that my babies will model my behavior.  They do it now, and they will continue to do it in the future whether they are are aware of it or not.  Recently Charlotte became fond of using my face lotion.  As I am putting it on myself she asks for some of it in her hand, then she carefully and meticulously applied it, just as I do.  A few days into adopting my ritual she said to me, " I am doing it just like you."  My response was a nod and a smile, but it led to much more thinking.

She is watching me.  She is watching me love, watching my anger, watching my forgiveness and my compassion. This realization is both terrifying and empowering at the same time.   The beauty of this is that I get to choose my reactions, my behavior.  Throughout my life I will fail in this regard and sometimes I will succeed. Some of the behavior that I have modeled for them will be benign, and yet followed none the less, as in my preferred method of lotion application.  Some will not, as in using ones sassiness and wit against their Nana (sorry Mom). My hope and prayer is that more often than not, it will be used to take someone's hand and remind them that they are loved.