The first cut is the deepest.

The Fragrance of Friendship

iamkat@me.com (Kathi Graves) — Fri, 18 Jun 2021 00:03:50 GMT

Our friend Hal showed us how to live an exquisite life in the early years of marriage, when the concept of adulting was still the wild frontier. Just a few years older, his "worldly wisdom" was already cultured, urbane, polished and suave well beyond his years. We weren't exactly country bumpkins, but we studied and absorbed his ways like Cello sponges when we weren’t rolling our eyes behind his back. Sometimes he was a little much and that was also part of his charm.

We learned how to buy our clothes: "Target cheap is for trendy. Spend as much as you can afford on basics that will last a long time."

Hal was the first person we knew who ate sushi. It would be years before we crossed that bridge, but because of him we named our first Siamese kitten Sushi. (Baby steps.) And we felt ever so slightly more sophisticated having a cat with such a worldly moniker begging at our feet while we feasted on our Mrs. Paul's.

Hal was also the first person we knew who collected original art from galleries in exotic places like Santa Fe while the rest of us were still snapping up Kirkland’s clearance or, better yet, creating our own framed cross stitched geese in embroidery hoops trimmed with fabric ruffles. (Worst. Idea. Ever.) And, he was also the first person we knew who painted the walls of adjoining areas of his house in slightly different shades of the same color, almost undetectable to the human eye unless they were Hal’s discriminating peepers. We sensed something was up but when revealed his secret, we gasped and gazed with wonder on the glory of it all. Sigh. Trés chic.

When Gayle came onto the scene, she brought her own gifts (there were many), including a keen sensibility for choosing which reigns to release. This has served her well. When she relinquished the Christmas decorating to Hal because she knew no matter what she did he’d have an opinion and it probably wouldn’t match hers, we knew he’d found the yin to his yang. This remains true today, more than 3 decades later.

Hal helped us understand this critical principle: A beautiful life engages all the senses. On the night he and Gayle said their I do's he handed the ushers each a can of gardenia scented room fragrance 10 minutes before the first guests arrived and sent them spritzing through the sanctuary. I still carry that sensory memory with me and, to this day, it informs some of my choices.

I love flowers and, largely because of Hal, gardenias are one of my favorites. And though we’ve never had our own, I have relied on the generosity of friends and neighbors who kindly share out of their own abundance, allowing me to raid their yard and cut as many as I want so my home smells like a little corner of heaven for several precious weeks.

Scripture tells us that we carry the sweet aroma of Christ with us. And science confirms that scent builds into a powerful story that can affect our emotions. Hal illustrated this in the literal sense but also by many, many years of enduring and deep friendship marked by generosity and wisdom and so much more than I can tell you about here.

The takeaway: How can you delight someone with your fragrance today?

Stop Should-ing on Yourself

iamkat@me.com (Kathi Graves) — Thu, 16 Jan 2020 22:01:10 GMT

Learn from the past but don't live there.

Before I start: If my little play on words has already offended you, this post may not be for you. But that would be sad because I think I have something good to say here so maybe it would be beneficial for you to practice loosening up a bit. Just a thought….

My recent conversation with a friend about potty training her kiddos probably planted the seed for my thoughts here. That’s how my twisted brain works but I’m good with that because it also reminds me that God can use ordinary conversations to show us extraordinary things. Or, maybe it’s just my affection for that 4-letter word I’m referring to in the title that drives me to to work it in wherever I can for a cheap laugh. I don’t know.

It has been said that energy follows attention and, if I were to quantify my thoughts on any given day, I’d find an overwhelming percentage of my time is unconsciously fixated on either the past or the future. My ongoing reorientation to presence is giving me a new understanding of my relationship to the past. While it’s virtually impossible and, IMHO, not necessary or beneficial to completely forget the past, I’m convinced that many of us tend to either become over identified with it’s affect on us or blind to the realities that we HAVE been (mis)shaped by it. Here, I want to address the first possibility.

This over-identification keeps us stuck in a false narrative. How may times do we beat ourselves up with “I should’ve done or said this or that" after a difficult encounter where either we’ve been hurt or we’ve hurt others. We rehearse in our minds a different version of it, where we actually stood up for something or someone (including ourselves). Or maybe we made a horrible decision that led to painful consequences we are still living out. Perhaps we suffered great harm at the hands of someone else and it totally changed the trajectory of our lives. We can’t stop reliving the scenario, searching for something we might have done or said to prevent putting ourselves in harm’s way. Maybe we “wasted precious time” or money in pursuit of something that came to a dead end.

The possibilities are endless and we all have lived at least some of them. And, in the process we have allowed this fixation to steal precious energy from our lives in THIS MOMENT. And THIS MOMENT is all we have. I believe self-examination (which involves revisiting the past) is critical to transformation, for without it we often stay asleep to habitual patterns of negative behaviors, addictions, coping and defense mechanisms, victim mentality, etc. But after that it serves no good purpose and it’s time to move on to the NOW, which is where we can choose to change.

Have I lived this out perfectly? Well, I guess I should have (#seewhatididthere) but all I can claim is I am on the journey. It’s not simple but it does happen over time by putting some (ok, many) simple practices into place today. Try this, for example: Revisit some painful circumstances, interactions or situations and, even when you believe you were the one who was harmed, and look for something in your response to it or in your motivations and actions leading up to it that may not have served you well. It’s possible a pattern may emerge, as it did for me. Start looking for places this pattern is continuing in your life today and, with lots of self-compassion and God’s help, look for a better way. It may or may not prevent the same kind of pain in the future, but you’ll likely find your response to them is different and that changes YOU.

In some cases, you may look back on an interaction with a fuller view of reality that wasn’t evident to you at the time (occasionally hindsight IS 20/20), and you might find that you actually owe someone an apology because you took offense where none was intended. I have done some “making amends” work in recent years, realizing now that I mis-interpreted something and, while it can be humbling and hard, it is incredibly freeing. I highly recommend it.

And finally, for those of us who call ourselves Christ followers, this wisdom from Fr. Richard Rohr in his book, Immortal Diamond , reminds me to accept ALL of my past, for it is not wasted.

“The risen Christ is a great big yes to everything (2 Corinthians 1:19), even its own earlier imperfect stages. The final stupendous gift is that your False Self has now become your True Self. That is precisely the metamorphosis that we call Resurrection. The risen Christ is still and forever the wounded Jesus—and yet so much more now. The raw material of every aspect of his life, of our life too, is not ended but merely changed. ‘This perishable nature will put on imperishability, and this mortal body will put on immortality’ (1 Corinthians 15:52-54)—one including the other, not one in place of the other .”

May this be so for you today.

Happy New Year

Wed, 01 Jan 2020 14:19:09 GMT

20/20 Vision

It’s the dawn of a new decade and I am up early, literally watching the sun rise on day one of 2020. My mind goes to these words straight out of the “love chapter,” a passage in the Bible familiar to most if you’ve ever been to a wedding in a church. Right after the famous parts about clanging cymbals and mountains being moved, (read by that person who didn’t quite make the cut for the 30-person wedding party), there is this:

“We don’t yet see things clearly. We’re squinting in a fog, peering through a mist. But it won’t be long before the weather clears and the sun shines bright! We’ll see it all then, see it all as clearly as God sees us, knowing him directly just as he knows us!” (I Corinthians 13:12 MSG)

David Benner says in his book, The Gift of Being Yourself , that Christian spirituality occurs only when God AND self are both deeply known. There’s an interdependence in play and neither can proceed very far without the other. “Paradoxically, we come to know God best not by looking at God exclusively, but by looking at God and then looking at ourselves—then looking at God and then again looking at ourselves. This is also the way we best come to know our selves. Both God and self are mostly fully known in relationship to each other.”

To accept this invitation into clarity (not to be confused with certainty), you must slow down, as it is ONLY in this here and now that God reveals Himself to us. Sure, the past has provided us with some pleasant memories and (hopefully) some life lessons learned but, other than that, looking back has little value and mostly just keeps us stuck in the wrong (small) story of trauma, victim mentality, regret, remorse, coping mechanisms…and more. And the future? Well, it’s mostly a mystery and it’s not guaranteed anyway. Planning ahead is necessary and good on some levels but, again, we easily drift over that line into worry and anxiety over what is mostly out of our control anyway.

So, may you seek with an abundance of faith and hope. May you accept and, even welcome, what IS, trusting that God is working in and through all of it for His glory and for your good. And may you see more clearly in 20/20, the love that is continuously and extravagantly pouring out from the One true source onto YOU, the beloved. And may those around you experience the overflow.

Color Your World

iamkat@me.com (Kathi Graves) — Mon, 09 Dec 2019 16:51:09 GMT

Befriending winter is a continuing quest. And while I understand it’s still technically autumn and here in the South temperatures are mostly just brisk and not yet frigid, it’s the darkness leading up to winter solstice that does me in.

I’m taking my cue from the Norwegians, who say “there’s no such thing as bad weather, only bad clothing.” And today calls for lots of color to combat the gray backdrop of the sky. My H O L L Y W O O D sweatshirt and bright faux fur scarf, both gifts from a friend, feels like the perfect pairing, IMHO. I think this combo will make her proud and I know it makes me happy.

“Learning to walk in the dark” takes lots of practice and many days I’m able to find beauty and purpose in the gifts that come with this season. However, on this rainy day Monday, I can already feel the slide into sadness beginning to settle over me. I also know I have a toolbox at the ready, just for days like this. And really, just for every day. But it’s up to ME to pull them out. Here are several that I’m putting to work:

1. Gratitude: Keep that list going EVERY day. I don’t have to look far to find something I appreciate and writing a few of them down puts it right there in front of my face.

2. Get outside: Today, before the afternoon rain makes its way here, I will go for a run.

3. Human contact: I may not see anyone but my husband today, but I will text/call/VOX/Marco Polo with various friends and I already have several plans set for face-to-face meetings this week with friends who feed my soul.

4. Prayer and meditation: Various daily spiritual practices help me to shift away from the ruminations of my mind and into a more expansive space of presence, here and now, where God is always with me.

5. Breathe deeply. I’ve recently come into the awareness that my breathing is often shallow and I tend to hold my breath when I’m concentrating. Neither of these habits are good for me, so intentional belly breathing are part of my routine throughout the day.

How about you? What tools are working for you today? Maybe it’s the darkness or maybe it’s the mad frenetic hustle of this holiday season that takes you away from the gift of quiet stillness and wonder of the Advent season. Whatever it is, don’t let it rob the beauty that is waiting for you right here, right now.

Redemption

iamkat@me.com (Kathi Graves) — Tue, 03 Dec 2019 01:33:01 GMT

Look up.

Sometimes redemption arrives in the form of a sunset.

I stepped outside to grab the mail at 5:00pm, still in my pajamas, and glanced down the street toward the western sky. This time of year, it’s almost sunset already and several early cold snaps followed by recent wind and rain have stripped the trees of their leaves weeks ahead of what is generally considered normal here in the south. A few pale pinkish streaks were beginning to make their appearance and I heard a nearly audible voice softly prompt me with these words: “Do not miss this.” It came as an invitation to participate, and not merely observe.

Pajamas at dinnertime usually means one of two things: I’m sick or I’m treating myself to a decadent day of Netflix binging (#neverhaveiever). But it wasn’t my body that was ailing.

The day began with a difficult interaction and went downhill from there. As I slogged my way through hours of administrivia, with passwords that refused to reset, bills that demanded I pay them NOW, email inboxes that WAY exceeded my 2019 “keep it under 40” resolution and more, I felt myself sinking into slimy quicksand. I was in a mood to begin with and the daily to-do’s were filled with the kinds of tasks that are a necessary part of our 21st century first world life, but the ones I sometimes wish did not have MY initials next to them. I half-heartedly grasped for gratitude but she was a slippery little devil today and I could never get a firm grip. Enter fear, anger, frustration, disappointment, regret, sorrow, remorse, sadness, anxiety and bitterness. They latched on to me like leeches, slowly sucked away at my already-dwindling joy reserves, signaling to the inner chorus who gladly broke into song, reminding me that my life was a waste and tomorrow nothing would be different or better.

But at 5:00, I chose to follow that other invitation and quickly threw on some (questionable) street clothes. I headed west to the little city park a mere 1/4-mile away at the end of our street where I knew I would get a better view of sunset show. In this part of the country, “wide open spaces” are not a commodity so those of us who NEED to see it figure out how to access a glimpse wherever we can get it.

I was not disappointed. The park was empty of the loiterers that sometimes make me nervous. I wandered freely, drinking in the pink and orange florescent streaks dancing across the sky as they became ever brighter and deeper. I watched for awhile and then took the long way home, literally skipping as i did when i was a little girl, stopping along the way to glance back and see what had changed since the last look.

As I wandered and pondered, I was reminded of my own motto, “all creation sings,” and found myself silently singing the line from a favorite song. “If creation sings your praises, so will I.” I let go and finally allowed gratitude to enter. She thanked me (it’s who she is, after all) and then she slowly and gently went to work, smoothing out those potholes of emotion that had swallowed me up. It may take awhile to repair them all, but tonight I feel like we got a good start. Again. God is so good.

serenity now

Thu, 10 Oct 2019 13:06:00 GMT

action vs. acceptance

God grant me the serenity

To accept the things I cannot change;

Courage to change the things I can;

And wisdom to know the difference.

This simple prayer, written in the first half of the 20th century by theologian Reinhold Niebuhr, was adopted by Alcoholics Anonymous and is now known as the “official” prayer of many 12 Step programs. Most of us know it and can quote it just like we know The Lord’s Prayer or the Pledge of Allegiance. When I think of it, I can easily envision an 80s cross stitch version (I probably did one myself). And who doesn’t remember the famous “Serenity now!” episode of Seinfeld? (If you’ve never seen it, find it. Stat. You’re welcome.)

The reason it remains on the lips of so many is a tribute to the rich layers of meaning that we uncover when we ponder and meditate on the words, as they apply to specific situations in our life. I come back to it again and again when I’m struggling and today, in particular, I have found it to be a huge source of inspiration, motivation, encouragement and challenge. For me, the understanding and application of these words has deepened when I view it through the lens of the Enneagram and what it means for someone like me, whose underlying (and often, unconscious) motivation is fear. How many times have I given up or given in in the name of acceptance, when it’s actually resignation running the show? I don’t even want to know. For a Type 6, who can often mistake thinking for doing, where do I need to call upon my virtue of courage and take action? How do I cultivate trust in my OWN God-given inner authority to make hard decisions (okay, any) decisions instead of relying on the wisdom and authority of others that I deem smarter or more capable than I?

Some of you are wired for action. Ready, aim, fire is more like "FIRE" first, with no preparation, and figure the details out later. And while the world benefits from people like you who are able to make quick decisions you sometimes realize that, in your haste, you’ve missed the target entirely. And maybe the thing didn’t really need to be conquered or destroyed. Maybe learning to live with it and accepting that its presence in your life is actually teaching you something important that couldn’t be gained if it disappeared. That can be a bitter pill for any of us to swallow but I've experienced the richness that comes with true acceptance.

“The wisdom to know the difference” is the real sweet spot. Right?

And did you know the prayer doesn’t end there? A friend reminded me recently that this is just the first half. The rest goes like this:

Living one day at a time;

Enjoying one moment at a time;

Accepting hardships as the pathway to peace;

Taking, as He did, this sinful world

As it is, not as I would have it;

Trusting that He will make all things right

If I surrender to His Will;

So that I may be reasonably happy in this life

And supremely happy with Him

Forever and ever in the next.

Amen.

I have so much I could say, but the prayer speaks for itself ever so clearly.

So here’s my challenge: For the next 30 days, read this prayer once a day. And maybe say it out loud. Start or end your day with it. Perhaps write it or create something from it in your art journal. And if you know your Enneagram type, use this as part of your journey with that tool. I’m curious to see what bubbles to the surface. I’ll circle back around in a month and I’d love to hear some of your insights. I really believe when we ask God for wisdom, He gives it freely and generously. And with that wisdom, He promises serenity. And with serenity comes reasonable happiness in the present until we receive the promise of supreme happiness with Him in the forever.

Amen. I can get behind a promise like that.

Embracing Autumn

iamkat@me.com (Kathi Graves) — Tue, 24 Sep 2019 22:05:25 GMT

It’s official. Summer is gone and autumn’s coming on. In my neck of the woods, the shift is barely noticeable unless you’re looking for it. The heat just won’t let go this year but the “actual” temp is now running closer to the “feels like” temp, which means better hair days and crisp cooler nights have arrived. The sun is rising a little later and setting a bit earlier. The sometimes-deafening song of our summer cicadas has all but ceased. Acorns are beginning to fall from our many mighty oaks and we hear them "crunch crunch crunch" as we drive over them in the street.

Other “in your face” early signs of autumn, like pumpkin spice flavored EVERYTHING and craft and hobby stores vomiting all forms of fake decor and Halloween yard crap you could think of and never want, just make me mad. To each his own I suppose. But business is booming and I’m clearly in the minority, so maybe I’m actually the problem here. I say we just agree to disagree on these silly matters. I won’t judge you over your pumpkin spice latte and I’ll ask in return for your mercy toward my bad attitude.

As I rise each morning to greet my day outside still in shorts and bare feet, but now with a light layer of soft cashmere to take the edge off the morning chill, I think to myself, “What can possibly be wrong with this picture?” The answer is obvious (duh, NOTHING) but it’s the wandering of my mind from present to future that gets me into trouble. Autumn is not the real problem. It’s what comes next. For me, the advent of this glorious fall season comes with a "DANGER AHEAD” warning sign that keeps me focused more on the “what’s to follow" than the gift of beauty firmly planted in my today. I hear the voice of winter doom whispering “I’m coming for you” as she sneaks away holding 60 more seconds of my precious daylight and 2 degrees of the warmth I crave behind her back.

The antidote is elusive, yet simple. Gratitude for what IS has the potential to turn every moment from “yeah, but…..” to simply “yes.” I know this and I believe it but habituated ways of thinking, feeling and behaving were planted so long ago and these roots are deep and entangled around virtually every aspect of my very being. The type of shift I seek takes place over years. It’s a “slow work of God” in which I must choose again and again to participate in with Him because the gravitational pull into the familiar is strong and it doesn’t give up easily. I’ve made good strides in the direction of embracing autumn over the last few years and, though the war is still on, I’ve got some battle wins under my belt by now so this time I don’t feel like I’m starting from scratch. I’m simply choosing to continue the construction on this new firmer foundation and, who knows, perhaps one year I’ll greet September 23rd with the keys to my heirloom-pumpkin-enhanced mansion of joyful acceptance and delight for what many of you already consider to be the most glorious season of all. There’s a lot of sawing and hammering left for me to do, but I’m beginning to see the vision.

I’m planning to post my own list of fall favorites soon because I do have a few, actually! In the meantime, what are some of yours? And if your list includes Trader Joe’s Pumpkin Joe-Joe’s or fake cobwebs to drape across your front shrubs, I’ll pray for you. Which, in this case, is the equivalent to “bless your heart.” Which, in the south, can be equivalent to “you’re so stupid.” Which means I’M the one who needs actual prayer for my self-righteous attitude. Remember, I'm under construction over here and all prayer donations are gratefully accepted.

Oh, bless my heart. Sigh.....

Chasing Shade

iamkat@me.com (Kathi Graves) — Wed, 28 Aug 2019 15:04:12 GMT

Timing is everything when it comes to summer workouts in the South if your gym is your yard and your neighborhood. My body doesn’t love early morning exercise so those 5:30 runs before work are way back there in my rear view mirror. And my aging self says "nope" to that kind of movement in the first 3 hours after I rise. So there are lots of days when I miss that earlier window and find myself heading out the door when the sun is high. Our backyard gym is covered and shaded but when I opt for running, it gets a little more complicated. Lucky for me, though, in my part of the country and in my 1950’s neighborhood trees are abundant and tall, providing me with a natural canopy that serves to protect and cool. That’s more important to me now than ever since my journey with vitiligo began about 8 years ago. This autoimmune skin condition leaves the affected areas with no natural protection from it's harsh UV rays. So when I noticed one day how I was darting from side to side of the street subconsciously seeking respite from the sun, it got me thinking.

That’s how it is with God. One writer describes it like this: "His huge outstretched arms protect you—under them you’re perfectly safe; his arms fend off all harm." And then it goes on to say, "Fear nothing..." Hmmmmm.

Fear is my thing, y'all. It's in the background, often just outside of my awareness secretly running the show. Too often I let it take center stage and give it top billing. It influences what I say, what I think and how I act. It keeps me trapped in "what if" mode and blind to "what is possible?" most of the time. Because in my pragmatic, Enneagram 6 way of thinking and being, I KNOW that bad things happen. I'm not stupid. They've happened and they continue to happen, to me and the people I love. And, while I have more to say about that and why the world actually NEEDS people like me who specialize in "crisis aversion," that is not my message in this moment.

THIS is today's takeaway: No matter what comes across my path, my truest self cannot and will not be harmed. Period. If I seek shelter under God's strong arm of protection, the true essence of who I was created to be even before my body was plopped onto the planet and who I will be when my life in it's present form ceases, will be securely intact. I'm forever safe and forever free. And in Christ's freedom, I can freely and joyfully "live and move and have my being."

So come on! I'm going for that sunny day run and I'd love it if you'd go with me...

You who sit down in the High God’s presence,

spend the night in Shaddai’s shadow,

Say this: “God, you’re my refuge.

I trust in you and I’m safe!”

That’s right—he rescues you from hidden traps,

shields you from deadly hazards.

His huge outstretched arms protect you—

under them you’re perfectly safe;

his arms fend off all harm.

Fear nothing—not wild wolves in the night,

not flying arrows in the day,

Not disease that prowls through the darkness,

not disaster that erupts at high noon.

Even though others succumb all around,

drop like flies right and left,

no harm will even graze you.

You’ll stand untouched, watch it all from a distance,

watch the wicked turn into corpses.

Yes, because God’s your refuge,

the High God your very own home,

Evil can’t get close to you,

harm can’t get through the door.

He ordered his angels

to guard you wherever you go.

If you stumble, they’ll catch you;

their job is to keep you from falling.

You’ll walk unharmed among lions and snakes,

and kick young lions and serpents from the path.

— Psalm 91: 1-13

All I Need is Need

Tue, 23 Jul 2019 21:47:47 GMT

a.k.a: "Lose the bootstraps."

"I cried because I had no shoes until I met a man who had no feet." - Persian proverb

Years ago, I remember having a conversation with a friend at work about gratitude. We talked about this whole idea of "comparative thankfulness." We all do it, right? I may hate my job but at least I HAVE a job. I may be divorced but at least I have my children. You get the point.

Comparing ourselves to others eventually breaks down if you play it out to the end. There's everything right about being thankful for the many things we take for granted each day, especially in a world where we gaze with envy at the guy on our right who seems to have all those things we know should be ours, if life was really fair. But back to that poor guy who has no feet. What about HIM?

Picture, if you will, a long line of people standing shoulder to shoulder with each person voicing gratitude for something the person next to them is lacking. What happens, when we reach the end of that line, to the guy who's living out all of our worst case scenarios? "I got nothin'" is all that's left to say as he turns to the empty space on the left.

I doubt we often think of it this way. But I do. I've been privileged to know a few of those so-called "end-of-the liners." I've wondered how it must feel to know it's YOUR name inserted into someone's "at least I'm not ____" declaration of gratitude.

I realize I can't solve the mystery of human suffering in one blog post. And truth be told, I desire a life of health, wealth and happiness just as much as the next guy. I want to die peacefully in my sleep at the ripe old age of 95 (still having all my faculties intact and looking like I'm 55), with my loving husband and many adoring friends at my side. Seriously. Who, in their right mind, would ASK to suffer?

But here is what I have observed: In my own times of hardship and in the lives of many I know who have experienced much greater suffering than I could even imagine, I am driven to a keen awareness of need and a complete dependence on the One who is much greater than I am. I HAVE no bootstraps. All I have is need. And all I need, is need. And in the midst of that, it is He who gives us a most special and mysterious promised measure of grace that we cannot otherwise know. Even in the presence of tremendous pain and suffering, there is a type of joy that is clearly not of this world and cannot be mustered up in our own strength because, remember, there IS no strength when you have nothing.

So it leaves me to wonder if the "end-of-the-liners" may at some level be pointing back at the people to the right with the same sadness and pity that was directed at them, wondering if they will ever know how it feels to have the one thing that may, indeed, be the key to the truest type of joy which comes wrapped as the gift of suffering.

For as the heavens are higher than the earth, so are my ways higher than your ways, and my thoughts than your
thoughts. - Isaiah 55:8-10

Just grow up

iamkat@me.com (Kathi Graves) — Wed, 05 Jun 2019 13:52:41 GMT

I spotted this abandoned exoskeleton of a cicada yesterday. My first thought was “ewwwww" because, come on, look at it. That crusty brown body with it’s sharp claw things and clear bubbles that once shielded those beady bulging eyes has an almost pre-historic appearance. And that scares me. Clearly, the cicada does not represent what most of us would define as “classic beauty.”

Maybe it was the jarring juxtaposition to the vibrant softness of the lavender that caught my attention. I got curious so I found a time lapse video of a molting cicada. The process is fascinating, and not an easy task. As I watched, two things came to mind: A favorite scripture passage and a favorite “Friends” episode. Stay with me…..

"When I was a child, I spoke and thought and reasoned as a child. But when I grew up, I put away childish things.” (I Corinthians 13:11) Even if you don’t identify as a Christian, you’ve probably heard someone read this at a wedding, as it’s part of the famous “Love chapter.” The author is referring here to what is sometimes called transformation and no matter what you believe or don’t believe, everyone who knows anything about the process of human psychological/spiritual transformation/evolution/integration agrees that some amount of efforting is required on our part to achieve it. In my faith tradition, it’s our own willingness to cooperate with the Holy Spirit who resides within us that brings about our transformation. It’s all by God’s grace and yet it’s a journey that requires the constant intentional laying down of childish things before we can move on to adulting. Contrary to popular Americanized messages about success and what it takes to have it all, it’s actually more about the letting go, laying down, giving up of old beliefs, attitudes and behaviors that once seemed to serve us well but, in reality, kept us tethered to our false selves rather than our true identity as God’s beloved. It’s takes years for most of us to wake up and that process can feel laborious and overwhelming but for those who have the courage to pursue there is the promise of something greater, more beautiful, and more lasting in return.

And then there’s Ross and those leather pants. Don’t get me wrong. I’m a fan of leather pants. But for Ross? Nope. Classic childish move. If you’ve never watched the scene in his girlfriend’s bathroom do yourself a favor and find it on YouTube. Stat. You will literally laugh your pants off. I’ve watched it maybe a hundred times but today, on my 101st viewing, it came with a new lesson to go along with my laughter. I had just watched the time lapse video of the molting cicada, so my fresh takeaway was this: Once the shedding process is started, you can’t go back. In Ross’s case, the shedding of the leather pants ended in humiliation. Maybe he learned something but I don’t remember the rest of the episode and all I really wanted out of it was a good laugh at Ross’s expense. But in the case of the cicada, I saw something more profound. Life as a nymph is over for good. It’s time to be an adult. End of story. No questions asked. They simply obey the natural laws of creation and do what they’re supposed to do.

However, we humans are the ONLY created beings who have a choice in the matter, right? We possess the ability to hide our true selves and keep it hidden for good. Many, if not most, of us settle for a life of childish ways because it’s what we know and it’s so much simpler to travel the same well worn paths of familiarity. But for those who have ears to hear and eyes to see, the most important and fulfilling journey is to move from false self to true self because it’s the true self that will most be able to give glory to God.

That’s an enticing invitation, if you ask me.

Beauty and the Beard

Fri, 03 May 2019 16:37:27 GMT

(Originally posted here two years ago. But everything I wrote then is still true today. Enjoy......)

I've been meaning to start blogging again for a long time. Kind of like I’ve been meaning to set up weekly meal plans or clean out the shed (wait, that one’s not my job). I don’t read enough to be great writer nor do I have anything to say that hasn't already been said by writers infinitely more gifted than I. But somehow when I am able to capture my ruminating thoughts and put them into written words, it feels as if I’m harnessing one of my own natural resources and turning it into power. In other words, it’s a way for me to preach the gospel to myself. And perhaps one or two others of you will be encouraged by what you read. So consider this the first installment of a series I’ve been meaning to start for awhile. Lord only knows if there will ever be a second, but I’ve got some great material swirling around in my wind-tunnel-of-a-brain.

The irises are in full bloom here in Charlotte. Have you noticed? Just a few steps into my run this morning I saw a dozen glorious yellow blooms draped across the front of a tiny brick house around the corner. They were absolutely aglow in the morning sunlight and I was immediately taken by their beauty. Five seconds later (insert needle scratch) I noticed the overgrown yard situated between my eyeballs and the irises, way taller than what the city allows. Trust me, I know these things. My joy was quickly overtaken by irritation. Okay, anger. I started running again, vowing to report this travesty of a yard to the city as soon as I finished my workout.

But here’s where the story took a twist. As I thought about it more, I realized that the typical order of my thoughts had been reversed. In my usual pattern of thinking, I would have noticed the situation with the yard first , moved directly to anger and perhaps action (311 on the mobile device is super easy, people). Then, maybe I would have seen the irises. Or not.

This felt like a monumental shift had taken place inside of me. Instead of fixating on the ugliness of that yard for the rest of my run and all the thoughts that normally may have followed, I began to notice irises in bloom everywhere! I stopped to take in their beauty up close, sticking my nose in to inhale the sweet aroma, examining the shading of their beards, admiring the delicate draping of petals as they gently fluttered in the breeze. When my mind wanted me to believe this was an incredible waste of time and the day's "to do" list beckoned, I allowed those thoughts to simply float on by, reminding myself that I am a human being , not a human doing.

I realized the irises in most of the yards had been there for many years, decades perhaps, first planted by someone who is likely long departed from this earth. Maybe even forgotten by all who knew and loved them. I tried to imagine what their lives may have looked like, making up stories to entertain myself. I thought of my husband's Grandma Mary. I never met her but I’ve heard many stories about her love for her garden, which lived on through her daughter, Willie Jean. My husband grasped this appreciation and over our 35 years of life together, my own appreciation and passion for nature has flourished in part because of his influence. You see how this gift just keeps on giving?

So thank you to all the whoever-you-are's for planting and nurturing your own little piece of creation all those many years ago. Today, they have pointed me to God's glory, simply by living into who they were created to be, which is their true purpose.

Where have you noticed beauty lately? It’s so choice, like pure oxygen driving out the pollution that clutters our soul. I highly recommend it.

(It’s 5:30pm. I still have no idea what’s for dinner. And, I don’t care.)

"The earth is the Lord's, and everything in it, the world, and all who live in it." Psalm 24:1

The first cut is the deepest.

Thu, 11 Apr 2019 00:05:01 GMT

all creation sings | part 1

Springtime in the south is intoxicating. It’s like my grown up version of Disney's Magic Kingdom and I literally walk around my yard and my city in a dreamlike state, under the blissful spell of its beauty. I’m getting a little glimpse into heaven through my itchy watery eyes and it’s magnificent.

It’s also prime time for pruning, so when the husband emerges from our shed with pruning shears locked and loaded, I cringe. He’s on a mission and the look on his face resembles that of a hairstylist when you sit down in the chair and they ask, “So, what are we doing today?” and you respond, “Oh, I don’t know. I’m kind of bored with my long hair and think I might want to go shorter. Surprise me.” (#jackpot) The look is one part intense focus, one part sheer (or, shear) unbridled delight and one part crazy train. (Think Edward Scissorhands.) And that’s 100% scary for someone like me who may or may not have a slight issue with detachment.

I’m a a full-blown Enneagram Type Six which means, among other things, that I’m a loyalist. The world needs people like me who will stay the course, persevering through thick and thin. But the darker underbelly sometimes means I can hang on to things that may not serve me well anymore. Not EVERYTHING needs to last forever and and there’s also something to be said for “getting out while you’re still on top.”

And so it is with pruning. When I look at our trees or our lush kiwi vines, I think about how beautiful they are in their current state. But my husband sees more, and he’s okay if aesthetics suffer in the short term because he’s also looking at the future health of the plant. According to the good old Encyclopedia Brittanica, horticultural pruning means "the removal or reduction of parts of a plant, tree or vine that are not requisite to growth or production, are no longer visually pleasing, or are injurious to the health or development of the plant. Pruning is common practice in orchard and vineyard management for the improvement of flowering and fruiting. In home gardening (e.g., rose culture), pruning enhances plant shape and flowering potential; new growth emerges from the bud or buds immediately below the pruning cut.” Well, that’s pretty cut and dried, if you ask me. If I want actual kiwis later and not just beautiful vines now, deep cuts in a very specific manner have absolutely got to happen.

This life lesson has been presented to me a hundred times in a hundred ways and, though the struggle to let go is still so freaking real, I’m learning to more courageously make that first cut because I’m slightly more okay with living in the uncomfortable uncertainty of the “in-between,” where it may look ugly, bare and very, very unknown. But I’ve also witnessed the lush full, fruit-producing growth that comes as a result enough times to believe that if I am first willing to let go and wait for it, new beauty will unfold over time.

Is it time for you to dig out those rusty old pruning shears from underneath the pile in the back of your shed? Come on. Make that first cut, sit in the bareness of it and brace yourself for the beauty that will present itself in due time. It’s worth the pain, I promise.

I. heArt. U.

Mon, 18 Mar 2019 21:28:36 GMT

In the wee hours of March 19, 2011, my husband was awakened by an odd sound, almost like window blinds rustling. Moments later the phone rang with the news that my mother, Lucille, had just passed away. Alzheimer’s finally finished it’s dirty work and now she was free. As we made our way up the highway by the bright light of a gorgeous full moon, to the beautiful hospice house where she had spent her final weeks, we wondered if that sound might have been her. “Hi, I’m just passing through on the way to my forever home for one last glance at two of my favorite people, in the home where I loved living with you for 13 years." We won’t know until we see her again but the possibility of such an occurrence always brings a smile to my face.

So on this day as I remember and honor my mom, I have chosen to share my new website with you. And while it may seem like an odd pairing, there is a reason. Lucille was a simple and practical country Texas farm girl with a singular creative passion: music. She would strum her guitar and sing for hours on end. It was her refuge, a safe place to escape the cares of her world, of which there were many. And when I was just a little girl, I joined her, singing melody to her harmony. We were a huge hit everywhere we sang and music became MY main creative passion for many years to follow. In her later days, nothing made her happier than to hear her daughter sing on stage.

Let’s just say that my role as primary caregiver for my mother (with my husband firmly planted by my side) for more than a decade left a mark. It was exhausting and after she died, I just wanted to move on. I needed a break from death and dying and old people but, guess what? OTHER women who knew me and knew my story were starting to face similar circumstances and they were tired and lonely and scared just like I had been. They needed a friend to walk beside them who understood the burden of caring for a parent and the toll it takes on body, mind and spirit. Though each of our stories was different, the common thread of "when the parent becomes the child” ran through all of them. It’s a bizarro world experience, to be sure, and it’s hard to understand unless you’ve been there.

And thus, I began having conversations with my friends. And sometimes with women I didn’t even know. And out of those interactions came the spark of an idea to create an encouraging place for women to go and read stories by other women who got it. A place where some women could tell their own stories honestly and without judgement. And so https://gooddaughtersclub.wordpress.com was birthed. It was a simplistic Wordpress blog I set up all by myself but I wanted each person who entered to be welcomed by a beautiful image that said, “You are loved and you are seen.” And five years later, hundreds of heArt notecards and framed prints of that same image have been purchased and/or given, and sent literally all over the world.

That simple watercolor painting planted the seed of desire in me for this type of creative expression and iamkatco was formed. In these last five years, I have created and sold hundreds of original paintings, prints and notecards. Until now, I have resisted the idea of a website but the time has come and I am excited to share it with the world today. I want to give people a place to see some of what I have created and see how my paintings have enhanced some really beautiful spaces. In this same place, I want an opportunity to say some stuff because I have a lot going on in my noggin and sometimes I've just got to get it out. So perhaps something I spit out will be just what you needed to read. And over time, I will have more things to share in my Etsy shop, which can be easily accessed here on this site as well.

So, welcome all. And thank you, mama. Thank you for bringing me into this world and thank you for sharing this need for creativity with me. I’m relieved for all of us that the excruciating journey through Alzheimer’s is in our rear view mirrors, and I now willingly understand and accept the “so that.” We suffer, we learn, we grow, we transform SO THAT we can be a compassionate beacon of light for others when they are in the midst of their own battle. People helping people by pointing them to a greater truth, y’all.

Art Therapy

Mon, 18 Mar 2019 20:41:04 GMT

Jen and I met in our late college years through our boyfriends (now husbands) and we were roommates for a brief 6 months after we graduated and before she and Mark married. We all went our separate ways, living many miles apart now for more than 37 years. They raised 3 awesome children and now they're enjoying the grand littles. Their youngest daughter, Devin, who suffered from Rett's Syndrome, passed away just last month.

I have always admired Jen and I'm so grateful that our friendship has endured. Over the last few years we've "gotten to know each other" again through social media, texts, emails and phone conversations and, not gonna lie, I am still in awe of her wise and wonderful ways. She's beautiful inside and outside.

Last year she asked me to do something for her and afterward, I asked her to write about it. Read what she has to say below. Sometimes art is about something more than meets the eye...

***********************************************************************************************************************

Art has a way of bypassing the conscious mind and speaking to the depths of our beings. I’ve enjoyed observing the development of my friend Kathi’s artistic expression. Recently, her characterizations of delightfully quirky female heads caught my attention. They are unique and playful individuals. I see these images on Instagram; Kathi often posts works in progress and I enjoy watching them take form.

Perhaps a bit of a backdrop is in order before I continue. I meet monthly with a spiritual director who is also a Jungian Analyst. We have been doing some dream work together. I have had a series of unusual dreams that do not seem to connect at face value, but with the guidance of my spiritual director, a pattern has begun to emerge. This work is fascinating! I have consciously agreed to the invitation from my own dreams to begin to uncover my unconscious self…the one that has been buried under a lifetime of pretense, conformity, and illusion. In theory, I love this work. The thought of uncovering my truest, most free self sounds like a beautiful journey of discovery. The reality, however, that my structures that have accumulated to cover up this immortal diamond (in the words of Richard Rohr) do not wish to give way and be dismantled. Enter the subtlety of art to get behind my defenses…

I had a brainstorm to ask Kathi to paint one of her girls on a white linen tunic. My garment would be the blank canvas for her artwork. Kathi began to experiment and sent an image for me to preview via text message. Here is our texting exchange as we discussed the project:

K: Here is a rough idea of what I might paint. Give me some feedback so I can give you what you want.

J: This girl is so fun!!! I like her playful glamor, quirky earrings, lip color, and the splash of blue on the eyes. You know I am working on unearthing the things buried in my shadow. My pathway to that discovery is through playfulness and rejection of the rigid structures which are no longer serving me. I sense your art depicts that and likely the reason your girls call to me. They express several emotions all at once. Each one is her own daring person. They are not interested in following rules. All this to say, my dear friend, your art is part of my journey. I have erased any guiding suggestions because I feel that to be open to this process with you is healing something stuck in me.

K: What is your enneagram subtype? Inquiring minds want to know.

J: I don't know my subtype but would like help figuring that out. Heading off grid for a day.

K: I think I may have found it but will include some info in your package from Beatrice Chestnut’s book on the 3 Type 1 subtypes. It’s fascinating.

(My gut reaction to this message from Kathi was visceral. I exclaimed out loud…Type 1??? Why does she think I am a 1?)

J: Something sneaky is happening to me and I’m feeling unsettled about it. I’m hanging in there...will stay in the process.

K: Sneaky? What do you mean? Tell me more…

J: The ground I’ve considered firm may not really be so. Precisely I’m referring to the fact that I’ve always considered myself a type 2 with a strong 1 wing. What if I’m a 1 with a strong 2 wing, instead? What if I think I am “named” but I was only looking at a mask? This is all very unsettling. I sensed your art was helping to heal something stuck within me. Healing sounds inviting. Unraveling feels scary. I can so easily help my directees engage with this process. When it’s me I am flailing around. I’ll be glad to get your copies of the subtypes. I meet with my spiritual director on Tuesday. Will bring this topic into our discussion. By the time we can have a chat it’ll be a good one! Thanks, friend.

K: Oh, so VERY interesting. Well, here’s the deal: I have thought all along that you told me you were a 1...so that’s where my mind was when I created this for you. Hmm...maybe God is using my weak memory in His favor here. Thank you for sharing and I will be praying for clarity and for much grace here.

I have remained in this process and can honestly say, I am able to breathe again…and it is a more free and natural breath than before. At this point, I find myself completely unraveled in the best way possible. It is the kind of unraveling that precedes new growth. I am relinquishing my need to have a clear label to wear. I am finding the courage to release myself into the dark unknown from which I may eventually emerge re-born and maybe renamed. Or not named at all. I am unsettled and untethered for this is precisely where I need to be in order for the deeper work of new birth. How grateful I am for the gift of artistic friends who accompany me into the depths of myself.

Thank you, Kathi, for your art that slipped past my guard and unlocked what needed to be uncovered. I hope to resemble the lovely woman who is painted upon my tunic.

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Mon, 18 Mar 2019 20:41:02 GMT

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Do you ever wish you could revisit a situation from you childhood so you could observe it from your current perspective? I do.

My public elementary school had one “accelerated” class in each grade and somehow I was chosen to jump aboard that train and ride it to the end. My parents didn’t have money so I know they had no influence the decision. It probably had something to do with my charm. Anyway, for the last several years most of the same 7 or 8 boys and 23 girls tracked through together and by the sixth grade, we knew each other pretty well.

Our teachers were usually cream-of-the-crop and I remember adoring all of them. But Miss Needles changed that for us the first day we stepped into our sixth grade classroom. She was, and still is, unlike anyone else we had ever met. Even her appearance was reminiscent of her name. She stood straight and tall and her head was rather small. Her high heels and silk stockings with her dark jewel toned dresses was a look that felt more suited for a corporate job than a sixth grade public school teacher in 1970. She seemed old to us but it was hard to tell because her hair was dyed the darkest black with a hint of deep merlot and when she got really hot sometimes beads of dark sweat would actually run down the sides of her face, a sight we all found horrifying and hilarious. She wore black glasses to match her black hair and always a deep shade of lipstick. With mannerisms were almost robotic and when I try to describe them Dana Carvey’s “church lady” character comes to mind when I think of her robotic mannerisms. She had a yellowed toothy smile but we didn’t give her many opportunities to use it and, when she did, I don’t recall any actual words accompanying that facial gesture. We could all mock her perfectly and even today, some 48 years later, we can still do it on command.

Were we being punished for our brilliance? Were they trying to break us down and re-shape us into something else like they do in the military? None of it made sense to us and it seemed a little sinister. The Miss Needles method of learning left zero room for fun. Learning was learning. Period.

As you might imagine, we smarties didn’t spend much time in the Principal’s office. By the sixth grade you can bet there was some serious smart-assery but our shenanigans were all garden variety, especially by today’s standards. However, Miss Needles clearly brought out the worst in us. And in our 12-year-old accelerated minds, we realized fun was requisite if we were going to survive this so that was the tactic we took. We manufactured our own which, unfortunately for her, often came at Miss Needles’ expense. We made her crazy, quite honestly, and every bead of black sweat probably had one of our names on it. Even I, the quintessential “perfect child” who never got in trouble for anything other than excessive talking (imagine that) remember being sent out into the hallway for my participation in some group crime-against-the-teacher, though I still contend it was a false accusation. (Blameshifting started early.)

So what’s the point? I’m not actually sure I had one when I started but as I think about Miss Needles now from the perspective of someone who is about the same age she was when she was our teacher, I’m curious about a lot of things. Clearly, she was not married so I wonder if there was anyone in her life who loved her. She was such an odd bird that it’s hard to imagine any “normal” interactions between her and, say, her fellow teachers there at Dobbs Elementary. I’m guessing they all thought she was weird as well. When I think of her, the words of Jesus come to mind in the Parable of the sheep and goats. When he talks very pointedly about His expectations for us with regard to the poor, thirsty, imprisoned and sick, I see Miss Needles clearly falling into this “least of these” category. She was a social outcast, of sorts, and whatever it was that made her that way likely made her a lonely person as well.

How do I interact with people in my everyday world that I would consider weird and a little embarrassing to be around? I can think of several right off the bat. With some I find it easy to be kind but with others I know I’ve failed because it’s uncomfortable or time-consuming and, you know, I’ve got so many other important things to do for God and for those other people who can really influence and impact this world. But Jesus blows up that line of thinking, setting an even higher standard with these words: "Whenever you failed to do one of these things to someone who was being overlooked or ignored, that was me—you failed to do it to me.” #messagereceived

My challenge to you (and myself) is to identify all the “Miss Needles” in your world and pay them a little attention. In today’s divisive and often dehumanizing climate, this type of kindness matters more than ever.

Today

Mon, 18 Mar 2019 20:40:59 GMT

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weightlifting 101

Fri, 14 Oct 2016 14:26:00 GMT

Recently we celebrated the life of yet another mother who was taken by Alzheimer’s. My friend Roxanne wasn’t Shirley’s primary caregiver but she was her dad’s first mate as they sailed together on this long journey that would end in goodbye.

Roxanne, a good daughter by anyone’s standard, shared honestly and honorably about the “complex” relationship with her mom and closed with a poignant poem by Mary Oliver. “It’s not the weight, but how you carry it.” Grief. It’s dense. And oh, so heavy. It brings with it a foul stench of pain and suffering so we hold it in a stiff-armed stance like a baby with the smelly poo-filled diaper. Keep it far away from our nasal passages so we are not overpowered.

But grief outweighs any baby so our attempts to hold it at arm’s length will send us toppling forward in no time flat. Whether a barbell or a box of books, the proper technique for lifting more weight safely involves very close proximity to the body. Positioned correctly, we maintain our balance and can lift heavy with less risk of injury. Try it.

Like a sweet elderly aunt, eyes dim with age, we say to our grief, “Come over here close where I can get a good look at you.” And upon further examination, we catch glimpses of the richest gifts of suffering, as they shimmer through hairline cracks all along the surface that appeared so dense and solid from our earlier vantage point. Tiny fractures that we could never hope to ascertain from a greater distance.

As we hold it near, gathering the courage to inhale deeply (because proper breathing also matters when we’re lifting weights), the delicate and subtle aroma of hope tickles our senses and we begin to believe that we can live again. One by one, in God’s perfect and patient timing, we reach with expectation into the cracks to take hold of a gift. And then another. Empathy, perhaps. Or courage. Maybe patience. Gratitude? Presence? Perseverance? The possibilities are endless and, when dress ourselves in them we discover that they always fit us perfectly and they always look good on us.

Gifts that come by way of sorrow cost us dearly and increase in value over time. What is the gift that is waiting for you today?

Heavy

That time

I thought I could not

go any closer to grief

without dying

I went closer,
and I did not die.
Surely God
had his hand in this,

as well as friends.
Still, I was bent,
and my laughter,
as the poet said,

was nowhere to be found.
Then said my friend Daniel,
(brave even among lions),
“It’s not the weight you carry

but how you carry it –
books, bricks, grief –
it’s all in the way
you embrace it, balance it, carry it

when you cannot, and would not,
put it down.”
So I went practicing.
Have you noticed?

Have you heard
the laughter
that comes, now and again,
out of my startled mouth?

How I linger
to admire, admire, admire
the things of this world
that are kind, and maybe

also troubled –
roses in the wind,
the sea geese on the steep waves,
a love
to which there is no reply

– Mary Oliver

s u r r e n d e r

Tue, 11 Nov 2014 02:36:00 GMT

Dad died 23 months ago. These have been the longest and the shortest 23 months of my life. In some ways, I’ve been pleasantly surprised at my resilience. I’ve learned all about Medicare. I’ve joined a caregiver support group. I know the names and side effects of all of my mother’s medications, who her many doctors are, what nights she plays bingo. I’ve been able to continue to visit her, run errands for her and take care of her dog all while dealing with my own physical challenges and recovering from 3 unsuccessful hip surgeries in one year. Yay me, right? But, mostly, during this time I have learned how totally needy I am. I can’t do any of this by myself. I need the support of my friends and community. I need for them to be on call to supply last minute rides when I’m too busy. I need them to answer the phone when I call in a blubbering state. I need them to remind me that I’m not alone and that I’m not THE WORST DAUGHTER IN THE WORLD.

For the past year or so I’ve let all kinds of things in my life slide. My house is a mess. I have stopped exercising – partly because it’s too painful, but mostly because I just didn’t want to. I’ve gained weight. I’ve started eating fast food again. A lot. I’ve stopped spending time with my friends. Most importantly I put Mom and her needs on the back burner. I still ran her errands and took her to appointments, but I neglected her need for a daughter. I also made my job my lowest priority. I had become someone I didn’t recognize, and that scared me. I’ve always credited my work ethic to my Dad. I’ve always met deadlines. I’ve always been reliable. It killed me to disappoint someone or not to exceed their expectations. But lately, none of that has mattered to me. I had succumbed to the whisperings of Screwtape. I had started believing that I wasn’t competent to do my job. That the increased responsibilities and challenges on the horizon, opportunities I would normally have been crazy with anticipation over, were going to be my undoing. I was going to disappoint my boss and put our organization in jeopardy. But, even more crippling than that was the realization that I was destroying my relationship with my mother by trying to make her into who I wanted her to be instead of loving her for who she was naturally becoming. Likewise, I was beginning to hate myself for not being able to live up to my own expectations instead of accepting that I was exactly who I was created to be. God made me. He made me beautiful and He made me broken. He knew that in my brokenness I would run back to him, eventually, and be made whole again. He knew exactly what I would struggle with and He gave me just what I would need to win those battles. He also gave me the option to resist Him, and that’s the option I chose for 23 months. He used those days to smooth out some of the rough edges and to let me learn, at my own pace, that I can’t create a perfect world. I needed to experience these huge failures. I needed to have my boss, who I love dearly and respect more than words can express, tell me that he was concerned because I had become someone he didn’t know; that I was in the darkest place he’d seen in the 10+ years he’d known me and he was afraid for me. I needed to make my mother cry that last time and not be phased by it. That is what opened my eyes.

Last week I took a couple days off and cleaned my house. I prayed. I yelled at God. I cried until my eyes hurt and I was a snotty mess. Then I apologized. I showed myself grace. I gave up and surrendered. I admitted defeat in the best way possible. This was a contest I needed to lose. Love won this one. I can feel joy creeping back in. I’ve laughed a lot lately. I accepted the admonishment from my boss with deep gratitude. I could have been bitter and defensive, but I feel so fortunate to have heard those words from someone who loves me. Two days ago I spent the day with Mom. To my surprise and delight, I didn’t care that her slip was 3” longer than her dress. Or that her jewelry didn’t match her clothes. Or that she put candy, cherries, gummies, nuts and hot fudge on her fro-yo. I didn’t care that she wasn’t who she used to be, who I wanted her to be a week ago. I was happy that she was simply who she is now, and that she never loved me any less these past 23 months when I was busy trying to be someone I’m not. She knew all along I’d come back. And I did.

S urely you will

U se me, oh God,

R egardless of what I believe to be my

R eal worth.

E verything about me was designed by you.

N othing you have created can be

D estroyed by the

E nemy.

R emember, I am loved.

(Kelly is a longtime friend and Director of Operations for my faith community, Warehouse 242. Her job description on the website reads, “Kelly makes sure the lights are on and the doors are unlocked so that we have an open home for our community. She also spearheads our move toward online database integration, to make all of our lives more seamless. In general, she crosses the T’s and dots the I’s for our whole team, and she lives for dark chocolate.” Yep, that about sums it up. She and her wonderful mother, Brenda, inspire all of us with their unique senses of humor and Kelly’s daily photos of her three Boston terriers have become quite a sensation on Facebook.)

So. Much. Not knowing.

Sun, 02 Nov 2014 22:13:00 GMT

One of the last memories I have of emotional connectedness with my mother involves standing in my backyard crying over discarded flowers, grieving the loss of a tiny baby that was gone as quickly as she came. In my mind’s eye, I see my mom hugging me close, quietly repeating, “I know. I know.”

Now, four years later, my mom doesn’t know. She doesn’t know that my little Blond One wildly jumps into pools with no reservation but carefully enters a room full of people, just like her own daughter did. She doesn’t know that the Little One was born without life but we still saw that this child had her husband’s ears. She doesn’t know that the Baby One was a surprise and now, in the 97th percentile for weight, is a daily reminder to his mama that there is a bounty of goodness.

She doesn’t know me, and that stings the deepest recesses of my heart. The hug years ago in the backyard that conveyed understanding and brought such comfort has been replaced by a hug that is laborious to endure. She hugs me now with the same amount of enthusiasm that she hugs any stranger. Because I am a stranger.

My mother doesn’t not want to know. On the contrary, she would want so deeply to know everything. But Alzheimer’s Disease is wreaking havoc on her mind, systematically stripping away all of her knowing in the process.

I long for the mother who knows.

I long for the incredible cousin-camp-hosting, memory-creating grandmother she would be.

I long for the stories I had yet to hear that remain locked inside of her.

I long for her help

I long for her hugs.

I long to know because I don’t know everything either. I don’t know how to love her where she is. I don’t know how my grief will surprise me next. I don’t know how to tell my children about their grandmother. I don’t know what she WANTS, as she isn’t able to express her needs and desires. And I don’t know what the next steps for her care should look like.

All my attempts to tie this up cutely at the end have failed. I can’t say, “Well, neither of us knows, but at least we’ve still got each other,” because that is not the reality of our situation. I don’t have my mother and there is not a thing in the world that is cute about that. But I do have hope, and that is also the reality of our situation. Because of it, I place stock in the future Good that there will be a time that all knowing is redeemed. And when that happens, no thing and nobody can stop me from having the cutest reunion ever with my mother.

(Erin lives in Charlotte, NC, with her husband, Joel, and their two adorable children. She seeks balance in her life with exercise, cupcakes & ice cream. From our vantage point, that seems to be working pretty well for her!)

1984: This photo is treasured by Erin, as her mother is “doing the life” that Erin is now living with her young ones. Pictured here as an infant with her brother, Brian, and sister, Allison.

I couldn’t have said it better | 2

Fri, 24 Oct 2014 21:46:00 GMT

It is sometimes said that gratitude is the least felt of all the human emotions. Why is that? We know down deep in our know-ers that a grateful heart is the key that unlocks real contentment right here right now. And yet, it remains just outside of our reach, kind of like my crazy cat Richie, who sometimes escapes from the house and then runs immediately under the deck, planting himself just an inch beyond my outstretched hand which, by the way, holds a taste of his favorite food or a favorite treat. Yes, the same treats he begs for ALL. DAY. LONG. It makes no sense.

I’m always drawn to the stories of people who have somehow managed to grab the golden ring of gratitude and actually hang on to it. I first heard about Ed Dobson several years ago through his video “It Ain’t Over,” just as my friend Jennifer’s mother, Peggy, was starting her own arduous uphill battle through ALS. (If you missed Jennifer’s beautiful post last week, you can see it here .) I checked out the video, mostly thinking that it might be something I could share with Jennifer to encourage her and her family, but found myself profoundly impacted by his honest take on his own situation. He had tapped into a wellspring of hope, reached only by the deepest roots that tend to flourish in the midst of suffering. I have continued to follow this remarkable man’s journey as it is chronicled in his ongoing series of short videos. Having lived with ALS now for over a decade, it’s safe to say that he and his wife know suffering in an everyday-BFF-kind-of-way. And still, they remain grateful .

Good daughters often wear caregiver hats for many months or years and, over time, the relentless grind sucks out our joy, leaving us anything BUT grateful. We somehow convince ourselves that we’ll get it back once we return to the “regularly scheduled programming” that our parent has so rudely interrupted. Nice dream.

A sense of gratitude doesn’t magically reappear once circumstances fall into line with our expectations for a happy life. Click here to view the free trailer for Ed’s video “Grateful.” Then please consider renting or downloading the whole 9-minute video. (I purchased the entire bundle of all his videos.) Because, honestly, I couldn’t have said it better.

Plant your feet on the firm foundation of gratitude each morning as you open your eyes and swing your feet over the edge of the bed to the floor, breathing “thank you.”

“He woke me up this morning

He started me on my way

The Lord is blessing me

Right now.”

Leaning in to life.

Fri, 17 Oct 2014 00:28:00 GMT

Peggy and Rainer.

Mom loved to snow ski. Being outside all day on the beautiful mountainside and the exercise made her love it so. Her short, thin, athletic body effortlessly glided down the mountains. She was known most of her life as a “die-hard skier” as she wouldn’t come inside until the slopes closed, no matter the weather condition. She took many ski lessons over the years, but the instructors told her the same thing over and over: lean forward! She would laugh and say it was a little scary to lean down the mountain; she might pick up too much speed.

She had been living with her diagnosis of ALS for about six months the winter of 2012 and needed the constant support of a brace on her right ankle to keep her balance. However, she wanted to try skiing on our annual family weekend trip to the Virginian mountains. She had strategically not asked the doctors’ permission, figuring she’d tell them about it later. Mom shared in an email to a friend before the trip: “I want to try skiing, maybe on the beginner slopes. Can you think of a better brace for a weak ankle than a good ski boot? If it doesn’t work, there are plenty of other things to do, like water aerobics, yoga, weights and golf as well as reading and drinking wine.” I loved her enthusiasm even if I was a little unsure if she could ski safely. I also was resigned that regardless of what I thought, she was going to give it her best shot.

My mom, dad, and brother arrived on that Friday evening from one direction and my husband and three young children arrived from another a bit later full of excitement. We ate dinner together and the hope of the next morning’s ski attempt continued to mount.

That Saturday morning was beautiful. The sun rose over the mountains with exquisite pink, purple, and orange streaks. The frigid air filled our deep insides with familiar memories of many past ski mornings together as Mom, my brother and I took some slow deep breaths and bent to buckle our boots. I helped Mom into her skis as she balanced holding her ski poles tightly. Dad silently observed from the dry path near the slopes, his deep expression held emotions of hope and worry. Mom turned to him and waved, a full ski pole wave and a big smile on her face. His face brightened and he returned her grin and let out a “You can do it, honey!” yell.

“I think I’m ready,” she announced. She slid forward on her skis; her petite body eased into the mountain’s slope to find her new balance point. She leaned slightly side to side to test her ability to stay upright as the ski slope started it’s slow downward descent. She always liked to snake back and forth making huge “s” tracks down the slope; her theory was that it was better to go slowly and get more mileage each run. She did this very thing today, but I knew she was taking in the adventure with a new significance knowing her body was changing in a way that was betraying. She inched downward and I witnessed her body finding that old familiar slightly bent-kneed posture. Mom leaned forward into that big stable ski boot and skied!

We went up and down the bunny slopes all that day. This winter was also the first time my son attempted snow skiing. We signed him up for ski school and he lucked into a solo lesson the whole day. By the afternoon, the kind instructor was taking him up and down the same slopes we were skiing. I caught sight of his dark green jacket with his bright blue helmet and excitedly pointed him out to Mom and my brother. We were skiing only a little faster than they were, but slowly navigated our way over to them. My son’s face burst into a huge grin and he said, “Look!! I’m skiing!!!” as he demonstrated his newly found balance and speed on his skis. We skied together for several runs.

Mom was completely exhausted from this huge effort to balance herself on those skis and enjoy the day. I remember her sleeping long hours for several days following. Mom later said, “It has always been a dream of mine to ski with my grandchildren.” She smiled and her expression revealed it had been worth every effort to do something she loved with her grandchild and children.

This was the last time we skied with Mom. The devastating disease of ALS continued to rack her previously strong body. Watching Mom enjoy her day of skiing permeated in me that enjoying today is important. Time is sacred. She chose to live leaning forward into the things she loved, the small things like a cup of coffee or a glass of wine and then certainly the bigger things like making it down a mountain on her skis. These things often meant sacrifices for her such as her energy. It also meant sacrifices for her caregivers, especially as her body needed more and more assistance. But somehow, she created moments full of deep meaning. She obviously treasured and enjoyed them tremendously as she balanced losing pieces of her body’s function with sadness. We learned to trust her lead. The everyday became sacred.

Where can you notice or really “see” your loved one as they journey on the hard, unflattering road God has called them to? How can you say, “I see you and I see your bravery?”

I couldn’t have said it better | 1

Wed, 08 Oct 2014 01:43:00 GMT

Clearly, I am in the minority. So perhaps the problem is me. (Whaaaa???) How can I turn my sky-is-falling funk into genuine gratitude and appreciation for the spectacular show that most consider to be an incredible annual gift? I mean, nature is simply participating in what it was created to do and friends of mine who didn’t grow up in climates with actual seasons are actually in awe of what is happening all around them. What the heck is wrong with me?

Enter my friend (and good daughter), Roxanne, who had the audacity to share an article entitled “The Wisdom of Autumn” with some of us. Stirring my pot. Again. I felt obliged to at least give it a glance so I could in good conscience “thank” her for sending it my way. I didn’t actually expect to be affected or challenged by the content but, three sentences in, the author had me at, “I have much to learn from trees about living brightly and then letting go at the right moment.” Dang her.

So, without further ado I share it with you, my community of good daughters. Yes, we are all falling. And yet, there is Someone whose hands continue to hold us up so, in the letting go, we remain safe.

The Wisdom of Autumn

Relentless Love

Mon, 29 Sep 2014 00:43:00 GMT

Kelly and her mom, Brenda.

I went to a funeral today. It was for a man I’ve never met, but I knew him through his grandson and his daughter. His is the story of a life well lived. As I listened to different family members tell their stories of life with him, I couldn’t help but drift back 19 months to my own Dad’s funeral. And the hard days that followed.

When Dad died I became Mom’s caregiver. Mom has several disabilities that make it impossible for her to live alone. Dad spent every hour of the day making her safe and happy. She wanted for nothing. It consumed his life, and I don’t think he would have had it any other way. I’m truly grateful that Dad died before Mom, because if it had happened the other way around, it would have destroyed him.

I always thought I was a good daughter. I spent time with my parents, did things for them, stayed out of trouble. But, transitioning from daughter to caregiver – decision maker, responsible party, power-of-attorney – changes everything. There was nothing good about me. I became impatient, abrupt, harsh. I lost my sense of humor. I became selfish and joyless. As I saw these changes happening in me with no ability to stop them, the spiraling decent accelerated until I was falling, out of control, into my self-dug pit of despair. My morning mantra was “I don’t want to do this again today. I can’t.” But I did it anyway, as people kept telling me what a good daughter I was. “Bulls**t,” I’d think. “If only you knew.” Add failure to my list. I don’t like to fail. I hate it. But I had failed at being able to take on this role that I was totally unprepared for. I had become everything I hated about people.

A few months ago a friend of mine asked me to join a contemplative practices group she was leading. I’d heard about these groups – not my cup of tea. But I trust her, so I said yes. I’m not sure when during the six or so weeks that we were together it happened, but at some point it hit me. I HAVE NO CONTROL. I’ve always understood that in theory. I go to church. Heck, I work there. Let go and let God, yada, yada, yada. But, oh the relief I felt, realizing all I have to do is love my mother. I can’t protect her. I can’t heal her. I can’t make her eat more vegetables and go to bed earlier. God has all of that covered and it was never my job to begin with. I’m not a failure. I am good. I am a good daughter. The days can still be hard. But at the end of that hard day, I can go to sleep knowing that His mercies will be brand new in the morning. And He will give me exactly what I need to get through it. If I will just let Him.

********************************************************************************************

Kelly and Brenda, sharing yet another “mountaintop” experience.

C an I trust the only
O ne who fully
U nderstands my heart?
R elentless love is what He gives.
A bandon is what He wants
G race is free.
E verlasting is His promise.

Loving a Good Daughter Well

Mon, 22 Sep 2014 00:56:00 GMT

When your wife is a “good daughter,” you have to decide what it will mean for you to become a “good son-in-law.” At the start of that journey, we know in a superficial sort of way that it means we must become good supporters. But how can we really know what the journey ahead requires?

Early on, it is enough to listen more attentively, pick-up some of the chores around the house and engage with your mother-in-law with a bit more kindness. Eventually though, your wife is going to face excruciating moments and nothing will have adequately prepared you for those times. You cannot know what it will mean to be supportive ahead of time, because you cannot imagine that moment now. And, upon arriving there you will likely be filled with your own exhaustion, anger and fears.

I remember one such moment. As my mother-in-law’s dementia and tempestuousness increased, the complexity of the decisions kept pace. There were no black and white answers, everything was shades of grays. My wife was about to take action on a decision she had made and I was beginning to wonder if it was a mistake.

As I sat in the office of my counselor, I recounted the details of the pending decision and he surprised me with a searing set of questions: “What is more important, making a good decision or supporting your wife?” I had not realized before that the two objectives would ever come into conflict. I thought for a while, and then we pushed back and forth at each other. “What if the thing of most value for Kathi was not a perfect solution, but simply a husband that loved her unconditionally? And what if there are no good solutions anyway? Why is ‘right’ so important here? Who needs your love more, your mother-in-law or Kathi? How much longer do you think your mother-in-law is going to live anyway? If your wife knew you were supporting her unconditionally, would she likely have more emotional strength to bear up and love her mother better?”

We went on like this for some time and then he brought out the big gun. “Who will you live the rest of your life with? Because, you know, Alzheimer’s has broken-up more than one marriage .”

I walked-out of the counselor’s office that day with one very surprising decision made, that no matter what my wife decided regarding the care of her mother, I was going to back her all the way. And here’s what’s funny: Once I made that decision, a lot of other decisions just seemed to fall into place. Our marriage did not simply survive that difficult time of suffering. It flourished. Love can be like a tree that does not appear to be growing, but all the while its roots are expanding underground, putting down strong anchors in deep, dark soil, watered by our tears.

I am going to benefit from the choice I made in my counselor’s office for the rest of my life. I love my wife deeply. I am not perfect by any means, but I know for sure that our marriage is going to last our lifetime together.

And in that moment, though I did not realize it, I fully became a “good son-in-law.” And if I can, you can too.

(Kurt Graves mentors people on how to flourish in all of life. Through his alliance with Vistage International, where he runs private advisory boards for business owners and as CEO of WorkWorthy, as he consults with executive teams and also through investment in his faith community where he enjoys a life of meaningful impact. Read more inspirational posts from him at http://www.work-worthy.com/ .)

Join my club.

Sat, 13 Sep 2014 01:15:00 GMT

Lucille and me, Mother’s Day 2010.

By this time, Mom was well into the mid-stages of Alzheimer’s and her cognitive ability to stay within certain limits or boundaries, both literally and figuratively, was fading. She had lived in her own separate apartment in the rear section of the first floor of our house for about 7 years and, up to this point, we always had an “understanding” that the upstairs part of our space was sacred for my husband and me. I don’t remember the details but for some reason on this particular day, Mom chose to break through the invisible barrier and I responded in a way that still fills me with shame. We were arguing over something, she from the bottom of the steps and me upstairs in the laundry room. At some point, she stubbornly and defiantly began ascending the stairs despite my warnings to stay put. She was pushing every internal button of my being and all my alarms were shrieking, “Danger, Will Robinson…….” When we met in the hallway my hands went to her shoulders and for a brief second in the height of my anger I wanted to shake her. Hard. I wanted her to be physically punished. Not just for that moment, but for all the other days, weeks, months and years that she had “interrupted” my life. By the grace of God I was able to restrain myself, and for that I am grateful, though there were many other moments of frustration in the years to follow.

Three years ago, we bade a final farewell to this shared journey through Alzheimer’s, often referred to as “the long goodbye.” My precious mom was finally set free from the chains of her own suffering and my caregiver label was now in the rear view mirror. All I wanted now was some time to enjoy my life without having to think about death and dying for awhile. But then, one by one, various girlfriends had parents who were getting sick and, yeah, I was the one who came to mind when they needed help. Occasionally I had some answers or advice but they knew I couldn’t fix their situation. But what I could provide was a judgement free zone and the understanding ear of someone who had once traveled to that place…and lived to tell about it.

In hindsight, I am able to see those years with Lucille less hysterically and with more clarity. What if I had understood them as less of an “interruption” and more of a gift? Perhaps that’s too much to expect in the heat of the moment, but as the notion of “everything belongs” slowly seeps into my soul, some of the bitterness subsides and the smallest seeds of gratitude begin the process of germination.

My desire is that this will become a regular stopping place, a virtual respite of sorts, for good daughters everywhere who are writing the stories of their own lives as caregiver, whether gratefully or grudgingly, with joy or jaws locked in determined commitment. Every story is unique but the common cord that binds us all together is the deepest desire we possess to honor our parent, perhaps even when they have not parented us honorably. We long for someone else who understands the absurdity of parenting a parent. Someone to say, “I get it and I’m linking arms with you in your struggles and in your joys.”

Come back often and bring a friend.

Courage + Beauty,

Kathi