I celebrated Thanksgiving (eh!) with my family today.

A few days ago I started thinking about what I'm really thankful for. If I even think about how thankful I am for my son, I start bawling immediately, so lets not go there. Same with family members, health, etc.

But there's something I have been thanking God for every day since the day after labour day.

Heated seats.

That's right. An extravagance for this menno girl, for sure. But they only had 1 manual Kia Soul on the lot when I bought it in April. And it was in black (which I wanted). And it came with heated seats.

I am usually achy in the morning. My chiropractor says its because I never fall into a deep enough sleep to allow my muscles to repair (pre-schooler with autism of the I-don't-sleep variety). And I'm usually panicked and late and utterly at a loss every morning, wondering how I will possibly get thru another day. And before I'm at the bottom of the driveway, the heated seats kick in, like a little love. Warming me. Holding me. Giving me hope that even if I don't make it thru the day, they will at least get me delivered to my office (where my day launches into a life of its own).

I've been reading some hysterically funny notes from single parents of autistic kids who are trying to date. It's hysterical because its so impossible. The life of a single parent of an ASD kid is completely unmanageable if the person also has to hold down a full time job... And then fit in dating, and an
actual developing relationship.... Well. They tend to develop at a snails pace because there is no time, and often fizzle out because they move so slowly, they lose momentum.

Heated seats might better.
They don't need anything from me.
They fit into my commute.
They make me feel good.
 They support me in whatever I do.
They are there for me at the end of a long day.
They sing with me to my fave song "Sunny and 75", making me feel like it really is 75.

My tushy and I thank you, heated seats. There is no one else like you.

(And I only had time to write this because I did so while sitting on a hard white pre-school Ikea chair beside the bathtub while my son had one of his marathon baths).

Dining Alone... And other times you feel like everyone's looking at you.

Today I am dining out alone.

I haven't done this for well over a decade. And I have to say, it is lovely. Of course I am sitting on a lovely terrace, Labour Day weekend in Harrison Hot Springs, BC.

Okay, not the greatest pic, but it was dark in the shadow of the terrace, and my iPad wouldn't capture me AND the view.

I recently read somewhere, that unless you're okay with dining alone, or going to see a movie by yourself, you're probably not truly comfortable with yourself... You haven't fully accepted who you are.

I think that's probably true because why WOULDN'T you be okay with dining by yourself?.... Because mose of us are afraid of being judged... criticized... evaluated and found to have come up short.

Before I was married I used to be paranoid about being judge for my singleness. Ithought everyone was talking about me under thier breath (because I wasn't worthy somehow). Then I talked to a mom who felt the same way, except she felt like people were constantly jduging her because she was a stereotypical mom  of two pre-schoolers who struggled to keep up with the mythical, polished, Supermom image. That's when I realized that we all feel judged all the time, no matter where we are in life.

Just this year I discovered WHY.

Its because we are constantly judging ourselves, and our own fears. And when we judge other people, we're actually just projecting our own fears on others. It has almost nothing to do with them, and its entirely about us.

I am now amused when I hear about others around me feeling judged because whoever is judging them is clearly self critical of a related issue. They are allowing their true fears to be seen. Their criticism is just about their fear, and probably related to a fear of rejection. It has nothing to do with how the other lives their life.

By the same token, when the personon the receiving end of the criticism flips out over the criticism, it simply reflects that they beat themselves up over a fear that they might be what they are jedge for.... Or at the most basic level, what they fear (once again related to fear of rejection).  It is not a picture of the reality of who and what they are in that moment.

Back to dining alone...
the terrace I sit at is an excellent spot to literrally look down and people watch, which to some extent is related to jedging others. I find it intruiging that I notice only those who visually resemble what I might judge myself for. Women who are 50 and trying to look 20. Couple with large age gaps. Overweight or frumpily dressed women. How a large chested woman wears her assets. Extremely polished people make me feel the most judged, and hence I judge them the most. All these reflect my fears and have nothing to do with the individuals I observe.

If you've ever suffered from feeling judged, its a wonderful to arrive at a place where you finally understand what this is all about.

A dear but distant friend contacted me today to tell me that she has entered the process of divorce. I am loaning her all the courage I can. She comes from a similar background as I do where divorce really wasn't an option. Marriage is forever. I know this has put her on an unwanted journey. And dammit, it hurts.

I re-read a favorite quote from Fr. Richard Rohr this wee, and its truth resonates deeply in me, for my journey, and for my friend's journey. the quote is from the book "Falling Upward", and of course I can't find the exactquote now, but here is the essence of it from my memory:

We must allow our pain to transform us by seeing God in our pain. When we don't allow our pain to transform us, we transmit it instead.

“How to bear that which is unbearable.”

Those were the words that leapt off the page of last year’s July edition of ‘O’ that I had gotten out of the library. It was an interview with author, Cheryl Strayed, about her book, Wild.

I didn’t need to know what the book was about; just that I needed to read it. It was sort of like my body and spirit recognized truth right there… the truth that the reason I was having such difficulty moving on with life is that I didn’t know how to bear what felt unbearable to me: the loss of my marriage, my soul-mate, my dream, my love, my self, my pride. There is an element of loss with my son’s autism too, but the root of my grief, the larger iceberg under the water, was the loss of my marriage.

It was the day after I posted my last entry that I rushed out to the book store to get a copy of Wild. It turns out that it’s a memoir about Cheryl Strayed’s journey on the Pacific Coast Trail (PCT), and I couldn’t believe that it was a book about how to bear the unbearable AND one of my few personal passions: hiking. (And I have hiked very small sections of the PCT while en route to less cumbersome trails).

Cheryl’s grief was centered around the loss of her mother, and as a side issue, the loss of her marriage. She decided to hike the PCT, on a whim, to find herself again, to re-connect herself to nature, to truth, to her natural self (and wow, had she ever lost touch with herself!) Hilariously and horrifyingly, the unbearable turns out to be her backpack that weighs almost as much as she does. She knew nothing of backpacking, so brought along everything she might possibly need on the trail. And the loveable thing about her (because I see it in myself) is that she pushes herself to carry it anyway. It’s a pack that muscular 6’2” men can’t even carry, and she’s like, 5’4”.

Cheryl talks about not achieving the mileage she expected to achieve… only achieving about 1/3 of it because her pack was so overbearing. She talks about burning and numbness and bruising and chafing, and toenails falling off. She talks about one step at a time. Sometimes 50 and 100 steps at a time, but sometimes all she could do was to take 10 steps at a time. Sometimes all she could achieve was simply to lean forward. And, somehow, by doing this, not only did she get stronger and wiser, but she walked all the way from the Mojave desert to the Oregon/Washington border!

Close to the beginning of her journey she is charged at by an aggressive long-horned bull (like the kind they run from in Spain). She is so terrified she closes her eyes and blows her scare- whistle. She thinks she’s going to die, but when she doesn’t, she opens her eyes again, and the bull is gone. She finally realizes she is DONE and it is time to pack this journey in and go home. But then she realizes that she doesn’t know which way the bull went. If she gives up and goes back, the bull could be there. Or if she goes forward, the bull could be there. So she decides she might as well go forward since she doesn’t know where the bull might be.

These two incidents rocked my traumatized/victimish world. It helped me to realize that while my journey is painful and numbing, I have to keep moving. Also, like Cheryl, I’m carrying a lot of stuff I don’t need to be carrying. Its time to put it down, burn it, whatever. Furthermore, I have no idea when and where my proverbial long-horned bull is going to come charging out of the bush at me, but I have to keep moving forward, because the bull may or may not come at me regardless of whether I go back, stay still, or move forward. So I might as well move forward. And finally I learned that some days, I might only be able to take 1 step at a time. Some moments, all I can do is lean and stumble in the right direction.

Since I’ve read Wild, I haven’t made any more blog entries. Why? Because I’m too busy living again, and its wonderful.

And.

There’s still days (like Sunday and today)

where I’m only getting in 10 steps all day,

or I push myself so hard to get in 20 steps that my fatigue makes me sick.

Since my journey is 20 – 40 years long, and I’ve got a little one who's counting on me, I need to be kinder and gentler to myself… congratulate myself for making ends meet, providing good nutrition for my son, and lots of hugs (which he requires many of). If that’s all that happens, that’s still a pretty damn good day.

Anger, Anger, Where Art Thou?

Oh THERE you are! I have been trying to touch you for a LONG time now! I knew you were there, but I just couldn't access you!

I would not have posted yesterday’s post, “Heart. Break.”, a few weeks ago. But I knew my grief was stuck and something that I was doing… or not doing, was blocking it.

 Several people have asked me about my anger in my journey and I haven’t been able to feel it, find it, or express it. Cognitively I know my anger is there, and subconsciously I’m spending enormous amounts of energy containing it, but I haven’t been able to break the surface to let it come forth.

Why?

Because I’m nice.

Because I do the right thing.

Because I choose the higher road.

This past week, as I’ve been practicing trusting in my true self, I’ve realized I need to let go of trying to do ‘the right thing.’ I am who I am. And I am good and perfect the way I am, right now… not even as I grow into some better/wiser self through my journey.

 My son is who my son is. As I trust myself to be myself, I need to trust my son (with his autism) to be himself. He will walk his own path and he has all he needs, in his true self, to do so. I’ve also felt guilt, panic, and exhaustion trying to apply the right choices for him. My course of action in getting therapy for his autism has been timely and appropriate, but now that its in place, I can let my hyper-vigilance relax and allow him just to be his 2 year old self, while I just return to being myself.

As I’ve let go of my expectations and self-imposed parameters (one white knuckle at a time), my anger has finally started to bubble through. What a relief!

Yesterday, as I felt the surge of renewed hurt and betrayal from my ex, I wanted to yell, “GET OUT!!!! JUST GET OUT OF MY HOUSE!!!!” But I didn’t (mostly to protect my son). And then my ex quietly slipped out, and the hurt surged through my veins even harder.

For the first time ever, I knew I needed to act on my hurt. If I didn’t act on it, I’m never going to heal. So I went into the bedroom, closed the door, and punched an overstuffed pillow, over and over again. I imagined it was my ex. I imagined it was other individuals involved. It went on until I didn’t need to do it anymore.

For most people, this is laughable in terms of expressing anger.

For me, it’s huge... or a huge first step.

I don’t express anger.

 I cry.

I run.

I numb.

But I don’t express anger.

And its literally killing me.

Yesterday I expressed my anger for the first time. First, through the pillow-punching. Second, through posting something that was a little dramatic… a little more raw than I prefer to be out in the public.

Miranda Lambert, the country music artist, has a reputation for having no difficulty expressing herself, in music, and allegedly in person as well. Her current hit song, “This Ain’t My Mama’s Broken Heart” takes it to more of an extreme than the reality I live, but I’m grateful that she does… firstly so I don’t have to. Secondly so the origin of the hurt emerges into humour, thereby bringing healing.

(for the record, it ain’t about my mama… more about the expectations that many of us have been brought up in).

Heart. Broken.

I’ve been officially ‘recovering’ for a month now. As wonderful as working 1 day a week sounds, my time off has been no picnic. I’ve been stuck in the oxymoronic process of

Working hard… to rest

Grieving… to heal

Crash & burning… to rise from the ashes.

All of these are not choreographable tasks. They all require surrender that is active in its joy and passive in its action.

I’ve noticed in myself and others, that we humans tend to be reticent to share ourselves in the midst of our grief. We want to wait until we have it all figured out so we can deliver our message in a happily-ever-after package. I think we want to show ourselves and the world, that all of this heartbreak does make sense… somewhere, down the road.

But I am not there.

I am stuck in heartbreak.

I am immersed in grief.

I had a conversation with my ex tonight that re-opened the tender scabs on my pulverized heart. It brought forth another tidal wave of betrayal and hurt. It makes me wonder if this will ever end. I’m already divorced, for crying out loud. Why can’t I get over this? I fully believe that I took the path I needed to take by both marrying AND divorcing my ex. Its been two years since I realized that the dream is dead. And still, the tears pour out. Still, the heart breaks more and more.  It makes me wonder if there’s even any pieces of my heart left to be scabbed over. But there must be, because I still feel pain. If my heart was pulverized to the point of obliteration, I wouldn’t feel pain.

Talking with a few good friends in the last few days, the only new clue I have in how to get through this, is that my heart-of-hearts, my true self, the part of me that is irrevocably and eternally connected to God, knows the way through. And I have to trust that part of me to show the way.

Yesterday a friend, who is also a therapist, was telling me that what she’s discovered lately is that too many people try to rush through the ‘crash and burn’ phases of grief. The crashing and burning is so uncomfortable, mostly for the person who’s going through it, but probably also for people around that person. The thing with the crash and burn phase is that you can’t DO anything in it, except surrender to it. You can’t control it. You can’t hurry it. You can’t dissect it because it doesn’t make any sense.

You CAN observe it. But that’s about all. And there’s no fast forwarding in the observation either.

When I flipped open my laptop to write this entry, I noticed the wallpaper on my screen. It’s the same wallpaper/background photo I have on my Facebook profile.

“The fullness of joy is to behold God in everything.”

And that’s about as close as I can come to making sense out of anything in the midst of heartbreak. That’s about as close as I come, to having hope that I will recover. That is the essence of HOPE itself.

Zits Happen

Its been a while since I've blogged.

Why?

Because I'm on a partial stress break. Or maybe I should call it a stress brake. I went down to 1 day a week at work just to get a handle on life. I feel like my major, seemingly insurmountable, overwhelming battles are done now. And now I have to figure out how to recover from my war, and find my new 'normal' in life. I'm sure there will be future blogs about the interesting things I'm discovering about rest and exhaustion, etc, but todays' blog is about zits.

Around second trimester of my pregnancy in 2010, I got a zit that creates the third corner of a triangle between my inner eye and the bridge of my nose. To my dismay, the zit never disappeared, and in fact turned into a mole. So not only did I grow a baby from my body in 2010, but I also grew a mole that is almost all I see when I look in the mirror now.

This morning that mole pore became clogged again, and I noticed I had a whitehead on top of the mole, now creating a 3-D model of Mt Baker on my face. Of course today is also the day that I have to go to work. So I knew I couldn't leave Mt. Baker to loom at people, particularly because I had a presentation with 50 grade 7's.

So you know what I did...

....and you know what I looked like then... Mt Baker with a cherry on top!

I knew I couldn't go talk to the grade 7's like this because instead of the usual first question:
"Why is marijuana illegal?"
I'd get asked,
"What's that thing on your face?"

And I just knew I didn't have the strength to face that. My only option was to call in sick... from a zit... Now I appreciate all of you out there who have lovingly made comments about my strength to get through everything... but this particular moment in time is a more accurate reflection of my strength... being scared to talk to grade 7's because I have a zit. And, much to my chagrin, I realized that I couldn't call in sick... not only because its the only day in the week that I work, but also because I had another class that I absolutely had to be there for later in the afternoon, so I couldn't really call in sick for one class, then show up for another later on in the day.

So I went to work. And I emailed, texted, and called everyone I needed to talk to instead of venturing outside my office door. I don't even think I went to the bathroom. One of the Vice Principals stopped by my office at one point and I was honestly expecting him to jump back, aghast at my zit. I'm not sure he even saw it. Could be because my office has low lighting. Or it could be because he's a man.

My grade 7 presentation arrived quickly at 11am. Up until then I had come up with a lot of excuses why I could still cancel it, such as that my laptop powerpack had been lost for the last few weeks and my laptop had run out of power. But not only does everyone know that I know my presentations well enough to not require a laptop, but the librarian also found and returned my missing power pack at 10:40... so I had to go.

As you might guess, the first question with the grade 7 class was "Why is marijuana illegal?" NOT "What's that on your face?" (maybe if it was grade 2's it would have been 'What's wrong with your face?') In the end, it was one of the most interactive, dynamic presentations I've had with a grade 7 class this year.

An hour later I shared my vulnerable experience with a co-worker who is familiar with my recent journey. She said, "What a wonderful opportunity for you to model that its perfectly okay to have a zit; life goes on and you can still be a confident, beautiful woman even if you have acne... because those are exactly the kinds of issues they are dealing with in grade 7." Ya, she's probably right, but to be honest, I don't care about modeling to the grade 7's right now. I just want things to go smoothly... to have no bumps, or zits or uneven pavement in my life for a while.

And then that video that changed my life, Brene Brown's TED Talk, "The Power of Vulnerabilty" came back and hit me in the face.
Click here to watch The Power of Vulnerability

 I remembered that life is made up of vulnerability. Without vulnerability we can't know joy, gratitude, creativity, belonging, etc. Vulnerability... zits!... are what life is made up of.

Vulnerability... zits... both literal and proverbial...
- put us in a posture where we are a receptical to receive grace.
- having received grace, we are then in a better posture to practice grace

Vulnerability facilitates an opportunity to put our pride/ego/sin aside in order to make room for others in our lives; its fairly well known that I'm not good at asking for help. Since my ego seems to be too big to do so, God/Life has brought me other opporunities that have forced me to do so... probably so I could experience the fullness of life that comes from relationships.

Vulnerability... zits... help me keep it real. In Brene's TED Talk she talks about how hard we work to perfect life. But life isn't supposed to be perfect. When we are trying to perfect our lives, we're essentially trying to play God, which makes us sick on a whole lotta levels. Therefore zits keep me engaged with my Creator, and help me remember that I am not God. They put me in my place, in a good way. I can't even handle being director of the program I run at work, or being a Mom to my son, never mind God.

I could probably keep going, but I'm not going to wait until this blog is perfect. Maybe you can perfect this entry by telling me about the gifts that your vulnerability/zits bring in your life. Cuz, you know, zits happen to everyone! Zits are the fabric of our lives... not cotton.

The Struggle to Take In the Good

I experienced a tough week of intense challenges the past 7 days… or really, the past 2 months… or years… But the challenges this week generally had very good outcomes. The biggest challenge was that I bought a brand new car for my son and I, that will be safe and reliable and compliment our little family’s lifestyle. It was not a simple process of buying a car as there were some issues from my recent past that complicated things that I will not delve into here.

I have to admit, my new car also meets my ego’s needs… NOT a mini-van (though it has been called a micro-van), and NOT a sedan. (Also not a Jeep L. But I can’t afford to keep a Jeep these days). But the height of a small truck. In black, because my ego tells me that black is cooler than all the other colours.

I used to call my old civic Darth… and I think this one will be called Darth II…

“…Luke… I am your father…”

Through convoluted circumstances with my ex-husband, I am also getting a beautiful new couch, and he is getting our marital couch that is comfy, but thoroughly stained from our son’s sippy cup spillage.

And then I lost my android phone just after I bought the new couch. I’m mostly upset about that because there were some irreplaceable pictures on there… but we’re a snap-happy society anyway. (do I really need to be taking pictures of my son EVERY day?) My cranial memory card still holds more/better pictures than a phone.

When I put my son to bed tonight he was happy, slightly chatty (babbling), and overwhelmingly adorable. He likes to fall asleep with me lying beside him (in his toddler bed), with his cheek pressed up against mine. It reminded me that the loss of my phone is just the loss of my phone… I am blessed to have a back-up phone in my business cell. The reason why this week felt so stressful is because of fear and change… even though the change is for the better. Uncertainty was exacerbated as I calculated some risks, but there was no more uncertainty than there is any other day. Its just that when I try to ‘do the right thing’… the ‘right thing’ attempting to foresee any error, I get pole-vaulted into anxiety. And as previously quoted, Dr. Kristin Neff says anxiety is created by worrying (ruminating) in the future, while depression is ruminating in the past.

One of the antidotes to anxiety is gratitude. Another is breathing. Another is to practice self-compassion, of which gratitude is part of.

I’ve spoken with a few colleagues this week about how it takes some serious cajones to ‘take in the good’, especially after one has taken in a lot of the bad. The good almost feels scarier because you’ve gotten so used to the bad. I’ve seen this phenomenon in so many of the kids I work with. It didn’t used to make sense to me. It makes sense to me now. I think part of the problem is that our world is going so ridiculously fast that our spirit just doesn’t have TIME to take in the good.

Need

     To

          Slow

               Down.

Dwell

in

my body.

Experience.

Love.

Autism Lives Here

Autism lives here.

So does love.

Peace.

Contentment.

Exhaustion.

Laughter.

And an endless list of other parts of life.

Love dominates, and as long as thats still happening, I’ll make it through.

My two year old son was officially diagnosed with autism this week. It was an expected diagnosis. In fact, I would have been horrified if they hadn’t arrived at that diagnosis because there really isn’t any other explanation for his lack of connection with the outside world (outside the world of his head, that is).

But it was still very, very hard to hear.

The good news is I’m already past blaming myself. I did a little of that just after Christmas when I realized I needed to stop rationalizing his autistic behaviours, and hurry up and get him diagnosed so we could start treatment.

And even now, four months after I accepted the probable truth, it is still hard to absorb. There is definitely a grieving process involved. Top that up with the fact that we (my son and I) never sleep normally because he doesn’t sleep through the night, and then throw in a recent bout of croup, AND a car that decides to crap out the same week, and all I can tell you is that I’m just about done, y’all!

Practicing LOTS and LOTS of GRATITUDE and SELF-COMPASSION.

One of the key principles to LIVING that I’ve learned this year is to have the courage to feel my feelings. Some people call this Acceptance. Brene Brown calls is ‘owning your story’. The beauty of having the courage to feel your feelings is that things get resolved a lot easier and faster that way, and don’t take such a toll on the rest of your health.

This morning I was practicing this exact concept while doing a little yoga program I recorded (Nameste yoga). They did this ‘move’ (I’m no yogi, so I have no better word for this) that they called Earth Rain. The move started with ‘praying hands’ over the heart, then moving the hands up along the center of the body, and when the hands got to the eyes, the palms faced the eyes, as though covering them, and then continued up past the head, fully extended to the sky. At first I was just following the video, but every time my palms passed my eyes and released to the sky, I had this urge to sob. So I let the sobs escape, because man-oh-man, do I ever need a good sob!

I kept repeating this move over and again, even though they had continued on in the video, because it was spiritually releasing something in me… something for which there are no words, and releasing it back to my Creator. It was a profoundly spiritual experience for me; an amazing transference of a spiritual grief that was locked in the physiology of my body, that through physical movement, my body was able to release back into spiritual energy to my Creator once again.

There’s this verse in the Bible that says, “Humble yourselves, therefore, under God’s mighty hand, that he may lift you up in due time. Cast all your anxiety on him because he cares for you.” (1 Peter 5:6-7)  I’ve heard that verse quoted dozens, if not hundreds of times. Today I lived it in a totally different way. I think the ‘humbling yourself’ isn’t so much about tucking your cocky attitude in your pocket, as it is about gratefully accepting what God has brought us in life (God comes to you disguised as your life: see previous post) under his mighty hand, so that he can truly allow us to shine in life, in all that we are; in all He made us to be. And, WOW, I was ‘lifted up’

I have had equally significant worship experiences before, usually involving music, but I have not experienced such stark, powerful transfer between body and spirit before. I was almost observing myself doing it, and I just had to keep repeating the move again and again and allow my body to release the spiritual trauma back and back and back to my Creator’s mighty hand until the need to do so had subsided.

And once again, this stuff totally blows my mind! Perfect symbiosis between body and spirit, in all the mystery it was created to function in.

Here's the trailer for the video I was watching.... and in case you're wondering, I can not actually do the "Riding the Wind" move. ROTFLMAO. (They don't show the Earth Rain move here). (Also, btw, if you have body image issues, you shouldn't watch this. These girls will either make you want to slit your wrists, or grab a tub of Ben & Jerry's. Fortunately I've been able to get past their holocaustic physiques and get into the nature and flow of this series.)

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=iTVrCROPtIQ

This post was supposed to be about autism. Frankly, I’m still taking that all in. I don’t know what to say about it. I’m still thankful for all the things I am learning and the healing that its bringing, but I’m a little resentful that other people don’t understand it, or don’t understand how good they have it that their child doesn’t have these difficulties. And then I realize that I was one of the ‘other people’ over a year ago… never judging those families where autism exists… but just not taking the time to understand.

… but that’s for another post!

“God comes to you, disguised as your life.” – Paula D’Arcy

 I had 30 minutes to sit out in the sunshine this afternoon, and read another short piece of Falling Upward by Fr. Richard Rohr. I can only read this book in short segments because what the author has to say is so powerful, it’s a waste for me to read it in big chunks. (And for those of you who think I’m living some Zen life, I had gluten free bread in the breadmaker while I was reading, and it didn’t turn out, like I thought it wouldn’t, and it was very finicky to make, and that frustrated me. There’s black streaks across my kitchen floor from blueberries that smeared when I was sweeping up Jed’s crumbs LAST WEDNESDAY… and they’re still there. The ants are coming back… probably because I can’t keep the floors clean even though I sweep three times a day, and I really needed to be doing yoga, but instead I ate chocolate and sat down to read. I won’t mention the bathroom. And I told some colleagues I’d do some work today, but I just don’t feel like it).

The chapter I read today, “Stumbling Over the Stumbling Stone” is so illustrative of what has happened to me in recent years and weeks. Some people have told me they admire my strength through all this. Really, there is no strength. My hand has been forced by my Creator to lead me to something much, much deeper… a whole other level of life, almost as though another dimension has been added. I could try to put it into words, but Fr. Richard does it so well, I’ll make a long quote from him:

“Sooner or later, if you are on any classic ‘spiritual schedule’, some event, person, death, idea, or relationship will enter your life that you simply cannot deal with, using your present skill set, your acquired knowledge, or your strong willpower. Spiritually speaking, you will be, you must be, led to the edge of your own private resources… you will and you must ‘lose’ at something. This is the only way that Life-Fate-Grace-Mystery can get you to change, let go of your egocentric preoccupations, and go on the further, larger journey. I wish I could say this was not true, but it is darn near absolute in the spiritual literature of the world.

“ There is no practical or compelling reason to leave one’s present comfort zone in life. Why should you or would you? Frankly, none of us do unless and until we have to. The invitation probably has to be unexpected and unsought. If we seek spiritual heroism ourselves, the old ego is just back in control under a new name. There would not really be any change at all, but only disguise. Just  bogus ‘self-improvement’ on our own terms.

“ Any attempt to engineer or plan your own enlightenment is doomed to failure because it will be ego driven. You will see only what you have already decided to look for, and you cannot see what you are not ready or told to look for. So failure and humiliation force you to look where you never would otherwise. What an enigma! Self-help courses of any type, including this one if it is one, will help you only if they teach you to pay attention to life itself. ‘God comes to you disguised as your life,’ as my friend Paula D’Arcy so wisely says.

So we must stumble and fall, I am sorry to say. And that does not mean reading about falling, as you are doing here. We must actually be out of the driver’s seat for a while, or we will never learn how to give up control to the Real Guide.” – pp 65-66 Falling Upward by Fr. Richard Rohr.

As I read the above passage, I looked up, and saw God loving me and interacting with me, intensely! In the air I breathed, in the warmth of the sun on my skin, in the caress of the breeze, in the buds of the trees, in the blue of the sky.

And then,in classic Karen style, I looked at the buds on the trees and thought, You’d better hurry up and take this in because September is only 5 months away, and those leaves will be crumbling and falling off with the last of the apples in only 5 months. And frankly, I felt a little panicked that it was going to disappear so soon. THIS IS EXACTLY HOW ANXIETY HAPPENS. Self- Compassion Researcher, Dr. Kristin Neff, says depression is caused by ruminating in the past. Anxiety is caused by ruminating in the future. Winter has broken early here in the Northwest, and is BARELY BROKEN, and I’m fretting about next winter!

TAKE IN THE GOOD.

NOW.

IN THIS MOMENT.

Your life is nothing but this very moment. If you don’t take it in, you miss your life.

Add to that, “God comes to you, disguised as your life,” and you have all you need.

Take it aaaallllllll in!

My bff, Beckie Lapointe, is a talented composer. She has also been ‘falling upward’ in the last few years with an unwanted journey of her own. She was fighting the gift that God was bringing her so hard, she actually stopped talking to me for a few weeks because I was making her look at reality. And then she finally broke. She thought she was leaving God, but in fact she was breaking up with the God her ego had contained. And all of the sudden she met a deep, mysterious, uncontrollable God who had a wild and gentle love that was a whole other dimension... a God that rescued her from the finite world her ego had created, and opened up a vast, deep sea of mystery that was far more thrilling and alive than the sick little world her ego had been fighting to contain. When Beckie moved from fighting God to receiving God, in all the parts of her life that He was coming to her in, she wrote this song:

http://audioboo.fm/boos/1292745-deepseadistraction?utm_campaign=detailpage&utm_content=retweet&utm_medium=social&utm_source=twitter

Its only 3 minutes. Words cannot express what music can. Its a different language. The language of the heart. (It gets cut off early. If you want the full song, you could probably request it from Beckie, whom you can find on my Facebook friends' list... or Google her. She's pretty easy to cyberstalk.)

‘I Hate Good Friday.’

 I feel like a really bad Christian saying that. But that’s how I’ve felt about Good Friday since I was a kid. And perhaps ‘hate’ is too strong a word.

My dislike of Good Friday comes from my discomfort with the whole focus on the meaning of the day, to remember the death and (Easter Sunday) resurrection of Christ. When I first went to an Anglican church, there was this intense lead-up (called Lent) to Good Friday that lasted for six weeks where we beat this remembering and suffering thing to death! (pun intended). Every year it makes me wonder why we focus so much on the death and suffering of Christ when its so sad and horrific. I mean, if I had a close friend that went through all that and died, I would remember my friend with fondness, not dwell on all the torture that they went through prior to their death. I don’t even like watching CSI!

I feel like I’ve spent my share of time “In the valley of the shadow of death” (Psalm 23) the past few years.  And I distinctly remember the feeling that “we ain’t in Kansas no more”. The road of my life had completely washed out. That, in itself, kept me in shock for months before I realized I had to put my heart in 4 wheel drive to get moving again, however slow it might be. And it was very… very… slow.

I had gone to see the Priest at my church at the time (Al. He rocks!) two days before the washout. Al and I discussed a specific issue that had become problematic for me in my immediate family. I wanted a clear cut resolution but all Al would say is that “God is sovereign.” Well, duhh. That’s all you’re going to give me?… is what I thought at the time. I’m sure Al didn’t know that he was speaking  to me as the voice of my Creator in that moment. He was pronouncing my entry into my long journey through the Valley of the Shadow of Death, and giving me my first clue on how to traverse it.

For a long time I just spun my wheels, sank deeper in the mud, got taken out by a few flash floods, and taken further into the Valley by some all-consuming mud flows. I fought and fought and fought it. And got absolutely nowhere, except maybe deeper. And darker. Through friends, reading, contemplation, and even people from totally different religions, God kept trying to tell me the same thing again and again and again… that He is sovereign… there is a master plan… and I am exactly as I should be. Even though it felt like an epic catastrophe.

And how did I actually engage my 4 wheel drive? By surrendering to and accepting Sovereignty. By NOT fighting. By realizing that I was no longer in control, and never had been in control of the road. By learning that I could only take the 2 feet of road that were in front of me right now, not the potential obstacle that lay a few days/weeks/months/years down the road. The road changes every day.

My acceptance meant being willing to take some bumps and bruises, even though they hurt, because I know this road is going somewhere good. I have full confidence that this is the ride of my life, but, crap, is it scary sometimes! One day I’m so scared that I can barely move or think, the next I’m thinking this is the best freakin ride in the world! THIS IS LIFE! AND I AM LIVING IT TO MY FULLEST CAPACITY!

Often it means taking time to stop, get out, and examine the obstacle objectively, or from a different angle to understand it better. This is done through meditation and reflection time. I’ve learned that its also very important not to beat myself up for getting myself into this ‘jackpot’ (ie – wreck of a road) because it’s the only road I have. I did not take a wrong turn. Its exactly where I’m supposed to be. There is a way through. Sometimes its from a different approach. Sometimes its by getting some help from someone else with a winch. Sometimes its by building a bridge. Sometimes its about getting advice from someone else who just crossed the same obstacle. Sometimes its about waiting for the torrent and rain to die down enough for the road to become passable again. Sometimes its about waiting the long months for winter to melt into spring.

I’ve also learned that even though it is undeniably “The Valley of the Shadow of Death”, there is also unbelievable beauty along the way… not necessarily ALL the way, but all of the sudden you round a corner and there’s this incredible waterfall, or some bear cubs playing near their mom, or an emerald green lake perfectly set like a center stone encircled by diamond encrusted peaks… all things that were created specifically for me to see and enjoy in my life; things I would never encounter on the mainstream interstate, or would be traveling far too fast to be able to enjoy.

My favorite theologian, Fr. Richard Rohr, suggests that Christ, in his death, modeled for us a way to die to ourselves (or our ego’s… our desire to be in control… or what the Bible calls ‘sin’), and how that death to our ego / sin leads to life… our REAL lives, our lives utilizing ALL of ourselves, in all we were made to be, in and with the Creator; in full surrender to the Creator.

Many of us who participate in the Christian Easter tradition get focused on the gore and suffering of Christ on the cross (a la The Passion of the Christ, thank-you Mel Gibson). My problem with why I’ve traditionally hated Good Friday lies in the fact that I got stuck there… in the CSI recreation…and subsequently the third person observation. And then I felt guilted to be thankful for the sacrifice Christ made for me. I didn’t see that not only was he modeling for us how to truly engage in who we really are, but he was identifying with us in the difficulty of the struggle along the way, and the magnificence that the struggle gives way to… after some time.

I overheard this from high school students exiting a classroom on Thursday:

Student 1: Why is Easter such a long holiday?

Student 2: I dunno. Its some Christian holiday.

Student 1: But why is it 4 days long? Everything else is just 1 day!

 Good point! Why is there such a lag between Good Friday and Easter Sunday? I’d bet it has to do with the modeling… that it takes time for transformation. Its in the ‘down time’ that the transformation happens. And its often quiet. And unseen. And then suddenly its happens, but not because of our efforts. Because of what God does in His own time in His own way (or Her own way if you prefer the feminine reference).

 In some ways its easier for human beings to take in the Easter traditions on such a physical level because thats not that much different than watching an episode of CSI. It doesn't require one to engage in their own life struggle and transformation. And while I would never want to deny anyone the hope and joy Easter or Sundays offer, my journey over the last year or two has finally allowed me to see that Easter is much deeper, richer, and mysterious than the surface re-telling of The Passion event. That Easter is about transformation, a transformation that Christ modeled for us, and a transformation that I continue to live today. And I am so thankful for this rough road, and stark, raw, and naked beauty that it reveals to me. Many Christian say Easter is the highlight of the Christian calendar. I wouldn’t argue with that, but now its a lot more to me. It’s the model for each of us, as individuals, how to surrender to what we are, and who we are, in Whom we are, to transform into the fullness of all we are created to be.

May you rise in to the fullness of who you were created to be this weekend, and/or rest in the cocoon of transformation, in the Pleasure and Love of the Creator.

Broken

Last Sunday was my little sister’s birthday. I decided to get her some fairy stuff for her garden. (If you didn’t know, Fairy Gardens are all the rage, according to Global News!) It was the second day after my root canal, and my mouth still hurt. Jed was clingy and insisted on staying with me throughout the day. I was tired and still in recovery mode, but I hauled my butt, and Jed’s teeny butt, down to Art Knapps to see what kind of fairy stuff they had. I agonized between two different options for a good 30 minutes, and finally chose the more expensive one, slightly above my budget, which was this:

We stopped at the grocery store on the way home. I opened the passenger door to get Jed out, and out tumbled the fairy and frog, which smashed on the pavement. “No! No! No!” I shouted as I dove for the bag. But it was too late. I could hear small broken pieces jangling about. I was devastated.

When we got back into the car with the groceries, I could smell a really toxic plastic smell and I wondered what kind of nearby business would be releasing such a toxic cloud on a Sunday afternoon. I worried about Jed being exposed to chemicals. When we got home and I got Jed out of the car, I could still smell the toxicity.

By the time we got settled at home, I had devised an ingenious plan to paper mache over the gaping crevasse in the fairy & frog. But my plan to get to work on the repair was distracted by the fact that I could STILL smell that toxic plastic smell.

It finally dawned on me that it was the fairy/frog that was smelling so toxic. I immediately took it outside and washed my hands. My little sister is an avid advocate for all things natural so I knew there was no point in repairing it. I couldn’t give it to her, no matter what.

So I put it in my little flower-pot garden. Surprisingly, it looks like it really belongs there, broken and all. I really like the broken part of it. Probably for the same reason that this is my favorite rock:

It seems I identify with broken things. There’s something perfectly imperfect in them. I think they are a visual cue to help me see the perfection that God has brought to the imperfect world. And that we are so beyond broken, we can’t function properly without Him in our lives.

Yesterday was my day in court. I got divorced. As the judge pronounced the final order on the dissolving of our marriage, images of my vows flashed through my mind like a hail of daggers slaughtering my heart. This was never supposed to happen. It is the antithesis of the dream. And yet it IS. And it is the right thing for me.

I am broken. Like the fairy/frog. Like the rock. And I am beautiful in that broken state. Perhaps its because what weathers and shatters us also shows what we’re truly made of. It shows a shape, a sheen, a texture that may not have been clear from the polished shell.  It reveals the nature of our structure. We are made in the image of God. As part of us exists in the stuff we create, so part of God exists in the stuff He created. That’s why there’s beauty in the brokenness. It’s the impression of God shining through, making something that might appear imperfect, perfect once again. It is pure redemption. And the real kicker is that its not even that He really fixes what is broken. It’s that He loves what is broken. He embraces it and loves it, and in that loving, it becomes perfect once again. Because it was made to be loved by its Creator.

Man, that blows my mind.

So gather up all the broken things about you today, whether they be character flaws, hurts done unto you, exhaustion, that you need to lose weight, or you have a cavity, a hangnail, a bad back, or whatever, and lift them up to the Creator, and allow Him to love His creation, because that’s what you were created for, however broken you are, just to be loved by your Creator.

Panic Attack In Progress

Originally this post was called Meditation. Then, as you read on, I have a mild panic attack while writing this...

One of the things I've learned this year is how important it is for me to meditate. Two years ago I would have wondered what kind of hippy-dippy new-age crap you were into if you would have suggested meditation to me. Being educated in a Christian college, of course, I'm aware that meditation is a very strong concept in the Christian tradition. But the evangelicals really don't talk about it, and if they do, they would say its just thinking about a particular Biblical passage a lot.

Ok. This is the coolest thing I've read. I either read it in James Finley's "Christian Meditation" or Fr. Richard Rohr's "The Naked Now." I don't have time to re-read both books to figure out which one it came from, and while I discovered these two authors seperately (Richard Rohr from my bff and James Finley on Chapters.ca) it turns out they're buddies anyway. They run silent retreats together. So its probably shared intellectual property.

Here it is: The proper Jewish name for God, as presented in the Pentateuch (first few/older books of the Bible) is YHWH. But the Jews would never pronounce it because it is too Holy a name to pronounce. (I already learned that part in Christian college). If one were to attempt to pronounce it, however, it sounds like breathing. Christians pronounce it Yahweh (ya-way), but to truly prounounce YHWH correctly, you basically inhale and exhale through your mouth. The very Name for God is the sound of the precious breath of life. Even in the first known religion of humankind (probably during the Adamic - Noahic period) God was called Ya... the giver of the breathe of life.

I LOVE that. And of course, breathing is the foundation of meditation.

Recommended time for daily meditation is about 45 minutes - 2 hours. Baaa-haaa-haa-haa. Obviously not for single working moms, or moms with multiple young children, or moms with high needs children. But I started meditating, in what I called an anemic practice, which apparently I'm not supposed to call it that because that's judging myself (self-hate). So apparently I can't even critisize myself properly (there's the self hate again!)

How do I really meditate?

Meditation, I've discovered, is really just about being in the moment... about taking in the full moment of life and all that it has to offer.  One Biblical passage calls it praying without ceasing. Fr Richard Rohr frequently calls meditation the deepest most experiential form of prayer. Being aware of what's happening in your body. Taking in the moment and letting it be. Being aware of your thoughts, without judging them. For all you Christians out there, its the whole "Be still and know that I am God." Which you can break into a pretty awesome haiku-ish meditation if your brain is going a bazillion miles an hour.

Goes like this:
Be.
Be still.
Be still and.
Be still and know.
Be still and know that.
Be still and know that I.
Be still and know that I am.
Be still and know that I am God.
Be still and know that I am.
Be still and know that I
Be still and know that
Be still and know.
Be still and.
Be still.
Be.
(got this exercise from Lorrie who is a Spritual Director. Forgot her last name. Beckie LaPointe on my FB can tell you).

While I was typing the paragraph before this I stopped for 60 seconds to take in what's really going on in reality around me. I heard Jed chewing. He's eating his dinner right now. Rachel Ray's "Chicken Noodle Soup - Hold the Soup" recipe. He still doesn't use cutlery. Only occaisionally does he eat out of a plastic bowl (and it still usually flies across the room). But I could hear him chewing on a piece of chicken. He chewed with his mouth open. The sound of him chewing his protein was heavenly music to my ears since these days he tends to just eat the pasta.
I can hear the creaking of the big element on the stove heating a giant pot of apple sauce in the kitchen. And it smells like heavenly apple pie. And then my perfect moment of peace is interrupted by one of Jed infantish/autistic shrieks, which always jarrs me. I worry that his autistic symptoms are getting worse. And then I realize I'm catastrophising a future that doesn't currently exist. It was just a shriek. He starts his diagnostic process next week. I've done all I could possibly do as a mother. And once again, he is not unhappy in this moment. I AM!.I am allowing fear to creep in. My heart starts pounding harder. I suddenly feel like I just want to DO SOMETHING to stop any hint of autism. I think I have to stop writing this post and what am I doing anyway? Writing this post when I could be preventing Jed's autism from getting worse?!

Breathe, Karen, breathe. (Yah - in. Weh - out). And with my breathing my thoughts return to the presence of God. Perfect love casts out fear. I believe that to be true. I allow the Love in, with every breath. Filling me. Surrounding me. The fear and anxiety fade into the background.

Here's where my meditation practice is at:
1. Very short increments. If I get in more than 20 minutes at a time, I'm ready to be called St. Karen.
2. By breathing. By listening to the sound of my breath. By focussing on the feel of my breathing.
3. By focusing on a natural object of nature. EVERYTHING in nature is constantly calling us to to our connection with God and all he has created. Birds. A brook. The breeze. The shape of a leaf. A bug. Whatever. Its all pretty mind-blowing stuff.

I meditated while I was peeling apples for Jed's apple sauce this afternoon. I just listened to the sound of the peeler and knife, penetrating the apple flesh. Its actually quite a grounding, comforting sound.

When I was getting my root canal a couple of days ago my dentist and I were talking about anxiety (mostly him talking... I was drooling and white knuckling the remote control for the t.v.). He said well over half of his patients are on an anti-depressant for anxiety. He said, "I don't think we're meant to live the way most of us live". In Jon Kabbat Zinn's book, "Full Catastrophe Living" he talks about how we humans used to have naturally meditative processes built into our lives. Before the invention of the car it was regular routine to walk at least 10 km's / day. Walking, when mentally present, is a naturally meditative process. At night, after the sun went down, there was nothing else you could do except sit around the fire. Maybe talk some.  But mostly it was just about staring into the fire. Fire is a naturally meditative tools. It slows us. Calms us. Puts us in a reflective place. Oh THAT's why we all love campfire so much! Yep! That's why! Firelog channel, anyone?

I don't really know what I'm doing on here, blogging. I'm just doing it. Its going to be messy. I'm probably going to get myself in trouble. I'm going to have a vulnerability hangover the next day (unless no one reads this, then, phew!) I don't read other people's blogs... not because I don't want to, but I don't seem to remember to log in and read them. My sister and cousins have fabulous blogs that regularly inspire and wow me, yet I don't have time to read them. Nor do I really have time to blog.

Yet, I am. And I need to. I'm thinking its time to swap all those moments I've been eating up doing online dating, with blogging instead. Because I've learned an enormous amount about myself and my life in the last few years, and its time I start talking about it.

Last week, in random smalltalk, I asked a collegue what he was up to for Spring Break. He and the wife are taking the kids skiing at Big White. He asked me what I was up to. I said, "A root canal, divorce court, a first date, autism screening for my son, and work in between all that, because I don't get Spring Break off." And then I laughed. And yes, it was a bit of a maniacal laugh. But I had to laugh because despite the absurd catastrophe it appears my life has become on the surface, it is deeper, richer, and more joyful than I could have ever imagined. And I still want to vomit in exhaustion around 4:45pm every day. (So if I don't look you in the eye and appear distracted, that's why). But I'm up to my eyeballs in life and loving it.

How could that be? Everything my life was supposed to be, is in ruins. And yet it is perfect. I married the wrong man. I lost all hope of financial solvency. I had a baby and then immediately got separated (who does that???). I got a mild anxiety disorder. Despite my best efforts to do everything known to avoid autism, my child is still autism spectrum. And I was fighting it before he was even born. Why? God gives mothers instinct.

Fortunately God also gives us instinct for where he is acting and moving, releasing and growing. And while I do pray that God heals my son's autism spectrum disorder, I KNOW, at a cellular level, that the autism is there for a purpose. And that purpose is healing, though I do not know how that will take place. That's part of the awesome mystery of God.

So ya, none of this turned out like it was supposed to AND the life I've got is FREAKIN AWESOME (my Pastor, Mike doesn't like substitute F words like Freakin,... no unwholesome language... so sorry Mike, and anyone else who is offended. But in this case, its a great descriptor.. 'Very' wasn't adequate.)

And now I know that the 'wrong' man, financial ruin, anxiety, and everything and anything to do with my son are all wonderful gifts that my Creator has given ME, because it was right for ME, and how the Creator wants to express himself in me and through me.

Dr. Brene Brown talks about the courage to feel our feelings as 'owning our story.' And its a fantastic story  that I'm ready to share moments of with you! Dr. Rick Hanson (not the Man In Motion) talks about 'taking in the good' because all these incredible moments pass us by and we miss them because we're too upset that our kid is way behind someone else's kid on Facebook, or the fact that I no longer own my home (shame!) or I no longer have a man standing by my side (MORE shame!).

But you know what the really incredible moments are? Feeling the sunlight on my face while drinking my morning coffee (ok that's rare in Vancouver, but that's why its incredible!). Feeling my son's pudgy, warm hand in mine as he sprints 10 meters, then hangs off me like he can't walk another step, then sprints another 10 meters. The rhythm of his barefoot steps on the hardwood floors. The sound of his giggle. His morning cuddles. His cheeks! The new leaves that are budding. The smell of the air after the rain. The sound of a babbling brook. Grandma Audrey's apple pie. The fog hanging in the trees. Really, almost everything is a miracle, but we get so wrapped up in some projected version of what we think our lives are supposed to be like, we miss life itself.

So take a look around... tell me the everyday miracle you're experiencing!