His Name is Chris

We all have them, moments of awakening, but I was struck with an unnatural clarity of shame and guilt during my moment of awakening this week.  My husband and I were out shopping sans children, and he took me to Starbucks to get me a "foo foo coffee" as he calls it.  The place was completely slammed and there was not an empty seat in the house, and I really wanted to sit and enjoy my drink.  He broke his cardinal rule of no food or drink in his car, under the strict promise that I would not spill and all trash was immediately removed. We were chatting about football, of all things, when I noticed a young man, pacing in front of a vacant store. The space was available to lease, and I assumed he was either there to look at it, or to show someone the property. Either way, I dismissed him out of hand rather quickly.

We finished our drinks, my husband with his juicebox (so grown-up), and me with my coffee, and we were strategizing our shopping game plan.  He was about to put the car in reverse to leave our spot, when the wandering man's face appeared at the driver's side window. All kinds of alarms went off in my mind.  Were we about to be robbed?  He looked extremely suspicious, and my instinct was to ignore him and leave, and had I been alone, I probably would have. My husband on the other hand lowers his window, and I tried to maintain my calm, wondering what we were opening ourselves up for.  The young man played with his hands, fumbling with them as he fumbled his words. He started off very point blank, "I am going to be honest.  I am begging.  I am a beggar." He explained his situation, how he was no longer homeless, but he begged to be able to help pay his rent, because he had no job. I stared at the empty coffee cup in my hand, and cringed as I listened to his speech, because I knew I had nothing to give him.  I rarely, if ever, keep cash on hand, nor does my husband. I braced myself for anger to come from him when he learned the truth of our cashless situation, which felt all the more ridiculous, because I was holding a Starbucks' cup and sitting right next to my husband was his new smartphone. I felt pompous and small, all at the same time. My husband engaged, and listened, and asked the guy his name.  It is Chris.  Then my husband revealed that Chris had stopped him in December in the parking lot of a nearby Best Buy, and he had given him money then.  Apparently, Chris's story had changed little over that time, except for the fact that now he was not homeless.  My husband emptied his wallet of three measly dollars, all he had, but I was glad he had something.  The guy thanked him and we left. But that encounter left me pensive.

He was a young guy.  Where were his parents?  Where were any other family members?  Was he completely alone in the world? How did he eat? What circumstances did he encounter to end up here? And then I felt guilty, knowing had I been alone, I would not have listened to him. Not because I would want to be a snob, but from a safety standpoint.  Talking to strange men in parking lots is not something I would do, or encourage any of my female friends or family members to do. In retrospect, I thought about all we could have offered.  Running to the grocery store to give him food, something more than three dollars.  But at the time I was shocked and perhaps a little uncomfortable. Further more, I was ashamed. I worry about money.  I strive to work within a budget, but there are times when things are tight.  However,   any financial worries I have are an opposing mockery that I had to confront, I AM rich. It echoed a sentiment that I heard in church Sunday morning.  Those that live in the United States are among the richest in the world. And while I acknowledged the fact at the time, it was driven home in that moment of realization. The disparate circumstances between us and him were glaring.

I couldn't shake the burdened heart I had.  I still can't.  I have no right to complain about what I don't have, ever. I know I do at times, and I know I will in times to come, but it is these types of awakenings that keep me grounded in the end.  I wish I didn't need to be reminded of how blessed I am, that it came naturally and effortlessly, but it doesn't.

I ask you to join me in praying for Chris, that God will touch his life in a miraculous way.  After all, I hear God is good at stuff like that.

The Joy Is In The Journey

"Are you saying that the joy is in the journey?" - Candace Flynn from Phineas and Ferb

It isn't often you get such profound revelations from an animated television show, but this question really resonated with me today. I have been in a perpetual funk because of recent life events.  Sure, some days are better than others, but it doesn't take much to bring me down to that funkalicious level (yes, I just made up a word). 

One of my coping mechanisms in life has always been to plan.  Set tiny goals, achieve them; plan big events, enjoy them. Somehow though, the whole time I am planning, aka simply living, I am always looking forward to that one moment that I have built up in my mind, the next big thing. Unfortunately, the end result doesn't require nearly as much time as the preparation. And sometimes, once it finally arrives, it doesn't even live up to my self-created expectations, gasp! I am living FOR the moments, not living IN the moment.  I am not finding the joy in my journey.  

Wow! All of that from a cartoon. I am so much like Candace though, not the tattle-tale side of her, but so many other facets of her character.  She feels like she is the responsible one, that she can't have any fun, because she is busy worrying about what everyone else is doing. It drives her nuts, that her brothers can kick back and have a blast, albeit by unorthodox means, and not ever pay the price.  I guarantee, the one time I step off the path of the straight and narrow, it blows up in my face.  I loathe the injustice of that, as does Candace. I am so busy dotting i's and crossing t's, planning, preparing, that I get lost in the business of living and not the joy of it. 

I don't know how to fix this issue right now, I am being completely honest here, but I know I need to work on it. This isn't to say that every moment of the journey has to be joyful, but I don't want to lose sight of the parts that are. Losing my grandmas this year, distinctly NOT joyful. Living a daily life with both of them for so many years, mostly joyful, and at times a bit trying. The bottom line is, I can't let the bad overshadow all the good, and I think lately I have.

On The Street Where You Live

Last summer, my cousin got married.  I had met his intended perhaps two times before they married, but it wasn't until after they were married that we struck up an email friendship. At any rate, we became fast friends, which for me, is unusual. Generally, I take FOREVER to make friends, true friends, and once I do they are stuck with me as a friend FOREVER. I am loyal, to a fault, as far as my husband is concerned.  Often there have been times, where he felt like I wasn't getting mutual benefits from certain friendships, and he believed I needed to kick the friend to the curb. But since it takes a lot for me to invest in people, I am very reluctant to do any curb kicking once someone has made it to my inner circle.

With that in mind, I am always surprised when a friendship doesn't have to stand the test of a long time, and travel through different phases which eventually brings me closer to that person. So, my cousin's wife, was a surprise, a pleasant one, but still a surprise.  I already count her one of my closest friends and I haven't even known her 6 months. Recently, our families were sharing lunch at a restaurant, when my cousin mentions that his wife's grandmother lives not too far from where I grew up, and it turns out she lives virtually in the neighborhood where I spent the first twelve years of my life.  His wife asked where exactly I lived, and I threw out the street name. She looked somewhat shocked when I told her and then she tells me she lived on the same street. If ever there was a "shut up!" moment, that was it. My house address had been 4857 and hers was 4844. Upon further probing, we discovered we lived on the same street at the same time for nearly 7 years!

The day didn't allow for further discussion of the discovery, but I mulled it over in my mind for the entire afternoon trying to piece together the missing bits of my memory from childhood. She is younger than I am, so that would account for the reason that we didn't play together a ton, but there weren't a plethora of girls in the hood, so age played a rather small part in my choice of friends.  In those childhood moments when I shed my tomboy persona, any girl to play with was a welcome diversion.

The thing is, I DID remember her, but for one thing, in my mind, I thought she had belonged to another family...which would have given her an entirely different last name than her maiden name.  Secondly, she went by her middle name then, which distanced the connection even further with the present woman from the past child.  Together, after an evening of constant texting, and picking the brains of family members we recalled memories of shared neighbors. I even remember she was the little girl that played in the front yard in just her underwear. I invited her over one day to "sew" her a dress.  It was bright yellow on top and bright green on the bottom.  That is really the only playtime with her that I remember so vividly. I thought she needed clothes, so I was making her a dress!

I have felt like I have known her forever, and in a weird way, I have. Were we always meant to be friends? Was this a coincidence?  Destiny? Actually, I don't believe in any kind of destiny or fate. Instead, I much prefer to think of it as a God ordained friendship. For whatever reason, our paths have been intertwined, in ways that we didn't even know until a few days ago.  I am still amazed by the connection.  Those that surround my friend and I are less impressed with our realized history, but it completely blows my mind.  It really is all in the details, isn't it?

She's Got the Moves Like....Bruce Lee

Having two children with completely different personalities, has encouraged me to help each of my kids find their "niche". My eldest excels in many different areas, while my youngest, has floundered in an attempt to find her passion.  We have tried soccer, but that ended up being more of a social outlet, and a fairweather activity, because if the weather wasn't fair, she didn't want any part of it. We have tried ballet and tap, because what girl doesn't love dance? Unfortunately, neither dance class clicked, because there was too much technique involved.  She is more of a "freeform" dancer. Therefore, we placed her in hip hop.  So far, that has been the best fit, and she does have fun, but I can't help feeling like she does dance, because that is what she thinks she should be doing, not necessarily because she loves it.  

Tonight, that may have changed.  On several occasions she has expressed an interest in martial arts. I have dragged my feet, only because it is just one more place for me, the chauffeur, to run, but I saw that a local martial arts school, was having free classes for the month of January in Judo for children ages 7-12. Let me say right here, that I had no idea, until tonight, how Judo might be different from Karate, Tae Kwon Do, or Jujitsu. Tonight I had a small sampling.  There is a lot of contact. A lot. My radar should have gone into high alert, when the first activity was to teach the children how to fall appropriately. That is NEVER a good sign.

Let me set the scene for you now. It is my little peanut, a 9 year old boy, a 10 year old boy, and a 12 year old boy (quite possibly twice her height). All of them had on the typical Gi uniform, so they have been doing this for awhile, or at least long enough to get the outfit.  And in walks my kid, skinny as a toothpick, wearing purple leggings, with her unruly hair barely contained in braids. She cautiously approached the mat and watched.  The teacher invited her to join, and she seemed a bit shy, but every time he showed her something, he would ask if she would like to try it, and that was always followed by an enthusiastic nod. After teaching proper falling techniques, which she struggled with a bit, the next part of class was teaching how to grab your opponent and flip or throw them to the ground. Excuse me?  I had no idea what to do. The maternal part of me wanted to yank her right off the mat and protect her little body, but I sat, and laughed nervously...repeatedly. The teacher paired the children together based on height, and her little partner was just a sweetheart, very patient with her as she learned new moves. Every time she dropped him to the mat, she got a giant grin on her face.  The last part of the class, for lack of a better description was sparring at three minute intervals and each child rotated to a different partner every after each interval. There was some serious battling going on at this point between each set of kids and the two male teachers even rotated through the mix. I was extremely apprehensive when she was paired with the 12 year old boy, one of the moves she learned was to put her opponent in a headlock, and she couldn't even reach his neck. Gracious boy that he was, he bent down so she could reach him. I was impressed with his kindness.  Truly. My husband and I talked to the other parents waiting on the bench, and they were impressed by my kid's enthusiasm and her fearlessness. Two qualities about her that can be very exhausting from a parental perspective. But she was definitely giving it her all, and it didn't matter that she was the only girl.  A new interval began, with a new partner, and all of us see her put more distance between her and her partner than she normally should have. She runs toward him, full speed, drops to the ground and does a fast somersault, pops up to her feet, grabs him in a headlock,sweeps his leg, and drops him to the floor. What the??? First reaction from the parents on the bench was a series of mouths dropping open, then laughter, and then a dad next to me says, "Wow!  I wish I had that on video!  That was great!" I am not sure she could replicate that again if she tried, but it looked pretty amazing. 

I am of two minds regarding Judo.  The partially insane part of my mind, knows that she had a blast, and it really seemed to motivate and excite her.  Not to mention, I kind of like the idea of my kid knowing how to flip a guy over her shoulder and kick his butt, especially once she hits the dating years. The more rational and protective part of my mind, screams that this is too dangerous.  She could get really hurt. I am not sure what we will decide, we may let her stick with martial arts, but go for a tamer version after the free sessions of Judo are over, though my husband thinks she would benefit from the aspect of learning to control her own body in Judo.  However, it was very fun to see her participate in an activity that made her face light up. Even leaving the class slightly injured, her foot was hurting, she was still begging to try out the moves once we got home. 

The Leftovers

I hate leftovers.  It probably stems from the fact that when I was a child, my mother used to store away all uneaten food in emptied butter and Cool Whip containers. That way, an unsuspecting kid that is eagerly anticipating stealthily snatching a spoonful or two of Cool Whip, is instead confronted with some sort of month old casserole that reeks. I can't tell you how many times something like that happened to me.  The butter containers were rarely ever butter.  I learned that if a bit of butter wasn't smudged on the side, then I should never take my chances with opening it. Did I also mention that this was most definitely the timeframe that my overpowered gag reflex kicked into high gear?  I blame it on leftovers. The only leftover food item that I consider truly acceptable, besides something chocolate related, is pizza. Easily discernible, and it never lasts long enough to develop mold.

Tonight, my husband and I were getting a bit snippy with one another. He had a demanding day at work, and I had a demanding day with the kids.  Neither one of us had a "bad" day, but both of us being introverted by nature, needed and craved downtime. I try not to bombard him with my needs as soon as he walks in the door, but 45 minutes later, I am chomping at the bit to be heard, snuggled, pampered, helped, served...whatever the case may be. But, factor in kids that haven't seen their daddy all day, and I try to step back to give them their time. Then, factor in that he needs to just veg for awhile, before diving into family life, and I am forced to take another step back. Therefore, as I am hauling trash to the street, unloading and reloading the dishwasher, and folding laundry, I silently start to seethe. I get snippy, he gets snippy, and then it is a spiral. For my part, I feel like it is obvious what I need from him, and apparently, he feels the same. And I came to the conclusion tonight that we often just end up giving each other our "leftovers". The crap that no one else wants.  We give our best to everyone else, except for each other. Thankfully, we stumbled onto this realization, before we disintegrated into an argument and a really miserable evening. Not to be too philosophical, but I really believe that this is why marriages fail, because we give our spouses the leftovers. After all, this person is supposed to be with you for better or for worse, so why not take out our frustrations on him or her? We hold back with everyone else, because it wouldn't be polite to tell the rude person in line at the grocery store what we really think of him making a beeline ahead of us when it was OBVIOUS we were heading that direction. No, it is much better to let the little frustrations build throughout the day, and take it out on the person that loves you, right? 

Furthermore, what about our relationship with God?  How often does he get stuck with our leftovers?  I know that there are nights, when I drop into bed and I don't want to think another blessed thought.  I just crave sleep.  But, then I realize I haven't even prayed. What then?  Guilt.  Okay, so bless my family God, forgive me for my sins. Amen. Now, I can sleep. What kind of relationship is that?  I guarantee that it isn't one that is thriving when that becomes the norm, instead of the exception.

I guess what I am saying is, that no one is truly a fan of leftovers, in either food or relationships. It is rare when the leftovers are as good as the first serving. 

Welcoming the New Year...Sort of

It is 2012, and while I am not sad that 2011 has finally finished, I find that this year is beginning with some internal trepidation for me.  I find I am currently approaching life, with a sort of, "what next?" pessimism; always, waiting for another shoe to drop.  So many shoes have dropped in a short period of time that I could easily open a shoe store. I know I can't live my life in fear of the "what next?", but knowing that and feeling it are two entirely different concepts.

In an effort to help conquer the, "what next?" fears, my resolution for 2012, is to try and live each day at a time.  I am a huge planner, and want to know what entire months look like at a glance. But thinking too far into the future, is a hindrance for my peace of mind right now. Our family sat around last night, during our technology-free time, and tried to determine one thing each of us would like to do this year.  My initial reaction was to make big plans.  Grand vacations, healthy living goals, future career goals, and all of those things fit the bill of "normal" resolutions for me.  And while those things are sometimes fun and sometimes necessary to consider, I finally decided that my big goal of the year is to finally get to take a bath in my own whirlpool bathtub. Nothing life changing.  Nothing that takes months to plan. Just something I can do, anytime, once our bathroom is officially finished. No New Year's resolution that will make me feel like a failure if I don't accomplish it.

Oh, and one more resolution, before my maternal grandma died, she told me that I spread myself too thin, and I was always on the go, doing something for someone. With that in mind, I am resolving, to be still more often. The last couple of weeks, I haven't been going many places. The kids and I have stayed home, a lot, but it has been comforting in a way. It has helped me gain a little focus in my topsy turvy world. Therefore, along with taking it a day a time, I am in essence going to strive to keep it simple too.

So with that, I wish you true joy in this new year, because I can attest that happiness just comes and goes. I hope that whatever resolutions you make, that they are important enough to keep, but not more important than spending time with and loving those around you.