claiming who I am

I’m in the midst of a wonderful book called The Gifts of Imperfection by Brene’ Brown. While I’d love to gush about how lovely it is, I fear gushing would make it seem like some easy read that you should put on your summer reading list. I *do* think you should put in on your summer reading list, but maybe not for the “I’m headed to the beach and want some mindless fodder.” moments. For this book, at least for me, forces me to face some not so pretty truths about myself.

The book is reverberating in my brain and I suspect I’ll be writing a few more posts about it, so I’m going to focus today on being a perfectionist. Brown makes the point that perfectionism is closely tied to shame. What? I never would have put the two together, and I certainly wouldn’t say that I felt shame regularly. Wasn’t shame about trauma? Or huge self-image issues? Or…something not me? But she states that everyone lies somewhere on a perfectionism spectrum, and that it’s ultimately rooted in believing you aren’t worthy of love/acceptance just because of who you are. (I’d put that in slightly different terms like not embracing who God made you to be, that you are worthy of love because you are His creation, formed in His image. But the point is still the same.) And if I am not able to claim that I am worthy of love as I am, then I’ll mask as someone who is worthy of love because I perform well. Perform perfectly, in fact.

Does that mean all striving to be better should cease? No. But what it does mean is that HEALTHY striving stems from analyzing how I can improve (for myself) as opposed to improving so I will be perceived better by others (and therefore, be worthy of love).

I claim it: I am a person worthy of love. God is good. He was good when He made me. (And now I will sort through the lies that make me question that, time and again, that make me question how I parent, how I live, how I love. I never realized how much I question myself. While I never would have said it was avoiding shame that motivated me, I also never questioned why I doubted myself so much either. There is much work to do. But there is much hope there, too. I can change. Amen.)

soaking up the sun

photo by moonstarsandpaper.blogspot.com

I wonder who I’ll be in 20 years. Ten years ago I was a productive fiend, knee-deep in articles to read for my fellowship. Minutes were used “well”, and very few were “wasted”, although I do have distinct memories of dancing in my driveway to “A Little Less Conversation….” re-mixed by somebody-er-other. Truthfully, I didn’t have much spare time for friendships, which is part of the reason I chose to stay in the SF Bay area after the fellowship ended. The women in my bible study never had seen me outside of survival mode, and I wanted to be their friend on more equal terms. (I’m so glad I stayed!)

Something snapped right about when I finished the fellowship. I wanted freedom! Scheduling fell by the wayside. Discipline dropped. I longed to breathe and not.do.anything. So I did. For too long. Don’t get me wrong, I had moments of glory–training to do a couple of triathlons, taking a class or two. But true discipline? Nah. Then I got married and had a couple of kids. And, for better or worse (or both), the perfectionist tendencies kicked in again. I wanted to do the right thing, all the time. I literally walked with back labor for almost 24 hours so that I could give birth naturally, because drugs were evil in my mind. Despite sheer exhaustion (and I do need to go to counseling about this) when R. was little I wouldn’t let anyone feed her at night, so I would sleep for 15-30 minutes at a time before starting the nursing cycle again. I read books ad nauseam about sleep (see above re: not sleeping much) and even when I felt like I knew the “right” thing to do, all it took to throw me off course was one well-meaning person questioning me about it. Even now, when I am convinced that play is the best gift I can give my kids at this age, I question myself when other kids have multiple activities to attend. Because I want(ed) to be perfect. I can intellectually say this is false. Unattainable. Unhealthy. But that can’t override my emotions most days.

But today was a good day. Today it was 70 degrees, sunny, clear blue skies here in the Seattle area. It was a day for shorts, a t-shirt, and Keens. The sun warmed my back, the trees glowed green, and the world was right. My kids played in a makeshift tent of chairs and blankets on the deck and I took a walk…and was gone for two hours. Sure, I did take in a couple of open houses (yes, the house hunt is on!) but mostly, I breathed deeply and soaked up the sun. It wasn’t about Vitamin D. It wasn’t about exploring neighborhoods to find the perfect one for us. It was about being in this place, in this glorious time, seeing the earth on Earth Day as a gift indeed. Maybe there’s hope for me yet.

word for 2012

photo from texample.net

Yes, yes, I realize that all the other bloggers out there chose their “word for the year”, their catch phrases that would define this twelve month period in January, because that is the perfect season to do so. I’ve never claimed to be perfectly timely. With that introduction, I’m embracing mid-April and saying that my word for 2012 is “intentional”.

Before I actually talk about the word, however, let me back up a bit. I’ve always been a bit skeptical about defining one’s year. How does one do that, anyhow? But as I look over the past few months here’s what comes to light:

• my husband and I wrote a budget, not because we were in the red or super concerned about money, but because I wanted to be sure that we were being intentional about how we spent it.
• I’m trying to be more diligent about the time I spend reading (ahem) blogs, Facebook, email, etc., because I want to be more intentional about how I use my time.
• I started craving more schedule in my life–for time with God, time to exercise, time with people, time by myself, because I realized that when I wasn’t intentional with my time, my priorities slipped.
• Being in a new place (well, eight months old place) and far away from more well-established friendships forced me to recognize that to keep said friendships I would have to be intentional about being in contact. On that same note, I wanted to have good friendships here and needed to intentionally reach out to people.

Even I, in the midst of such evidence, can put it all together and recognize the theme.  Intentional living is a catch phrase, and I’m ok with that. Because I want to claim that and make it my own this year. And, pun intended, I intend to do so.

a welcome mat

from doormatsoutside.org

Did you ever read My Heart, Christ’s Home? I have this vague recollection of it and something about Jesus cleaning out my dirty closet. Cute story, my mind says, but what does it mean today? Why this trip down memory lane? Well, because I think the point of the story is fresh this week: Jesus wants to spend time with me. ME. The God of the universe loves us.

Perhaps because Easter recently passed, perhaps because I’ve actually been doing my bible study, perhaps just because…I’m struck by the idea that God is eager to dwell with me. Picture this: a stuffed chair that’s comfortable to sit in, an afghan on top of you, a cup of coffee warm in your hands, and the chance to sit across from and chat with Jesus. A chance to laugh, a time to cry, a time to be heard and to listen–what a gift. The best part about it? It’s ready now. The vision was that this warm, welcoming, well-lit but cozy space that felt so inviting that it really was irresistible.

That is not how I typically view reading my bible or “spending time with God”. Sad to say that I rarely have such enthusiasm, and bouncing out of bed feels like an oxymoron many days. But this image is sticking with me, so I wanted to share it. May it encourage all of us to see the welcome mat before us.

aslan

Tom (my husband) and I sat down on New Year’s Eve for a wild bash of insane revelry some hot chocolate, popcorn, and reflection. We talked about the year and pondered questions. One was about what your favorite book of the year. Without hesitation I answered _The Chronicles of Narnia_. (Ok, ok, it’s not one book, and if I had to choose one I’d struggle, but the series itself is incredible.) If you’ve already read them then you know how compelling they can be. How did I not inhale them as a child? To be fair, I did read and enjoy _The Lion, the Witch, and the Wardrobe_ but then remember picking up _The Voyage of the Dawn Treader_ and…getting stuck. I’m not sure why, as I loved it this go around. But I was deterred and I never went back to them.

Most compelling in all of them is Aslan, the lion. Or should I saw the Lion. I was continually drawn back to the portrait painted of this strong, compassionate lion who does not dismiss wrongdoing but who overflows with mercy in the midst of it. It was this combination of strength and softness–the children who encounter him are both frightened of him and irresistably drawn to him, who cower at his growl but also play in his fur, who, once they know him, never want to leave him–that I found compelling. Heck, I wanted to enter Narnia and spend time with him.

While these books can be read on a superficial level and enjoyed for their pure fantasy, it’s not a stretch to see that Aslan represents a Christ-figure. And I’m embarrassed to say that I’m not always as eager to spend time with God as I was with this portrait of him. What is it that doesn’t feel the same? Do I have some anemic view of who God is? Do I not believe the traits I claim for him? I wonder if my memory too easily forgets, even when surrounded by His world and people He loves so dearly.

I don’t generally “do” New Year’s resolutions, per se. I did write down a few goals for the year, but that happened before 12/31 and I didn’t associate them with the new calendar. But if I did, I would want to view Jesus as he is, and to know and love him as the kids did Aslan.

blurry edges

Matt Peck 5500 Flickr

I “found” this draft I wrote five months ago. It’s amazing to me how quickly the edges have blurred; I wrote a “guide to Berkeley” for a friend visiting next week and couldn’t remember some of the restaurant names I wanted to include. (This forgetfulness is either blurred edges or my memory is going. I sometimes wonder if that is a permanent state post-kid.) Anyhow, here it is, with some additions at the end.

The clock is ticking on my time in the SF Bay area; the movers arrive in three days. (Gulp. Shall I just say that there will be a few late nights in my future?) With that recognition I feel like my senses are in some ways becoming more acute, attempting to take in, to store all that I see, hear, and smell. I want to store it for a time when there’s a bit more space, to pull it out and ponder.

The kids and I drove to the Bay Area Discovery Museum today, which meant that we crossed the Richmond-San Rafael bridge. It was a glorious time, the sun shining, the blue water sparkling, the sailboats in the distance. As we were crossing I realized that the edges of my memories are getting those blurred edges, as if in a dream. I will soon forget the details of the trip, but will remember the Golden Gate bridge, poking into the fog. I won’t remember that I had to drag Nathan off the bathroom floor (ugh!) but rather that they painted next to each other in one of the art studios, that they dug in the sand and laughed and ran outside. And I might not even remember the pain of packing, but instead the true bittersweet times of going to Pixar for the last time today, and saying goodbye to friends I love this weekend.

This blurring happens whenever I leave a place. I smile at Nissan 300ZXs that I see, only because a crush of mine in college adored them. I remember Frith’s creativity and laughter, even amidst the pain of broken relationships. And the edges will soften on the memory of feeling really lonely after my daughter was born, because I will ponder what Kim and Nicole and Martha and Krista and…are doing.

Salient events in Berkeley are untouched. Walking around the corner to my friend’s house to catch up on (or vent about) the day while my kids play with hers and she cooks dinner–crystal clear. Bible studies with friends–sharp. The pang of dropping my child off in the church nursery and hearing her (and then him) cry–still ringing in my ear. Conversations as we prepared to leave (at goodbye parties, over brunch, at the Berkeley marina, and with people at a wedding the night before we left) and the poignant memories associated with them–easily conjured up again. What I note (again!) is that the memories I hold dearest are those with other people. I *did* love camping and having it snow on us and Yosemite’s majestic falls but the details of the height or the smell or the magnificence tend to be subdued over time. But the people hold dear. What a great reminder that I want to engage with people.

We were back in southern CA for Christmas and the stark change from sunny skies and social activities to clouds and some rain upon arrival threw me for the evening. I felt lonely and my heart sank. But then I saw my kids playing the next day, and they were so excited to be home. Home. The edges still feel a little sharp, but this is home.  I can’t wait to create more memories here.

being Christian is not an excuse

photo by Ian Britton

How’s that for a testy title? I’ve been thinking quite a bit about schooling recently, as R switched preschools this year and will begin kindergarten next year. N will start preschool next fall as well. (Where are my babies going? Good thing I love this stage even more!) People ask whether or not I’m considering Christian schools for the kids. Sometimes I wonder if I really am.

To be fair, Tom and I would like to try public schools before we really consider any private options, Christian or otherwise. We both spent most of our education in public schools (C: from K-college, T: 4th-high school) and we live in an area that is known for “good” public schools. We also believe in being part of our community and world, engaging with the diversity that brings, sharing our lives with others. But that doesn’t really get to the root of the question: am I considering Christian schools? Sadly, the answer is probably no. Why not? Well, much of the time, it’s because Christian schools rest on their laurels being “Christian”, and don’t pursue excellence in education. Before you comment that you had an amazing education at a Christian school, please note that I recognize that there are wonderful exceptions to the above statement! And I’m so glad there are. I just wish there were more.

Let me explain. I have a number of friends who went to Christian schools. Many (not all!) of them unequivocally state that the academics given to them were mediocre. Those that transitioned from a Christian school to a secular one were shocked at the different academic expectations; they were unprepared. Why is this? Why is it that Christians aren’t exceeding the expectation bar, not lowering it? Why are some satisfied that you should send your kid there “because we’re Christian” and not because “we’re amazing”?

I don’t want to give a misguided impression here that I think we, in the name of God, need to be at the top of the worldly standard of success; I have no intention of implying that. Neither am I belittling the importance of character development, on which many Christian schools place a premium, as well they should. (It’s another post to discuss whether or not character development sadly ends up churning out kids who do the right thing but whose hearts are not seeking God.) What I am wondering is why sometimes “Christian” ends up being less than.

Here’s my dream: Wouldn’t it be amazing if we had such great schools–that were developmentally appropriate (no worksheets in preschool, folks!), that encouraged creativity (because we have a Creator who excelled there), that engaged with students in such a fashion that they graduated being whatever it is that God calls them to be, and doing it supremely well. Research scientist? Check. School teacher? Check. Mechanic? Check. Missionary? Check. Wouldn’t it be incredible if the assumption when someone found out something was done by a Christian was that it would exceed people’s expectations, that it would be filled with integrity, that it would be academically rigorous (as appropriate)?

I hope that this post becomes arcane and that, in the not too distant future, people say, “Ha, remember when this used to be true? No more.” just like my kids don’t understand print film. Until then, I charge that we are held to a higher standard than the world, and I pray we seek it.