A Sight to Behold

I was a sight to behold.

I was scheduled to meet at a parking lot at 9:15 to carpool with some ladies to a nearby city. I had offered to drive since my vehicle would accommodate most of the group. I had mistakenly determined that I had time to workout before I left in the morning and by the time I left my house I was running behind. I threw my knee high boots in the car with my lunch and sped away, driving in my stocking feet.

I arrived just as they were gathering as a group before departure. I pulled up, threw my boots on my feet, turned around to the back seat and saw the stray magazines, rice cakes, puzzle pieces and booster seat strewn all over. I jumped out, car still running, and tried to hurriedly collect the embarrassment that had overcome my vehicle. As I was frantically junk collecting, one of the ladies came around to the side of my car and said they wanted to say a prayer before they left. Having already made them late, I tromped around to the group, boots unzipped, arms full of garbage and a car seat, laughingly stated, "Well, I'm a mother!" and bowed my head to pray.

Now this was the first time I had met some of these women, the first time I would spend any time with most of them and I was a mess. But the reality was at that precise moment I could do nothing to change it. Yes, I could have gotten up a half an hour earlier to be sure I had time to work out, I could have skipped my workout and cleaned out my car and perfected my outfit before I left. I could have done a hundred different things to ensure that moment didn't happen, but I honestly had done the best I could that morning. And because I recognized that I had done all I could and still came up lacking, all I could do was laugh. I thought, well, if they don't like me after this, they never would have liked me anyway! I ended up having a lovely drive chatting and sharing with these women. I let the tragic moment go so that I could embrace the remainder of the future.

It's taken me years to have this kind of a moment. In the past, I would have been mortified for days, weeks over the fact I was so humiliated and my car was a mess. I would have avoided those women ever after, worried about what they had thought or still thought of me. But I've come to realize that perfection is overrated and there is too little time or energy to waste on worry - especially worrying about what others think.

As I was dropping everyone off later that afternoon, one woman chuckled that she would never forget how I looked standing there, boots unzipped, arms filled with vehicular overflow bowing my head to pray. I hope I never do either. I hope whenever I start to feel the panic of perfection rising up within me, I will take a deep breath, unzip my boots, laugh a little and bow my head to pray.

3:42 pm

The house is strangely quiet for a moment. A Saturday afternoon lull in the chaos of projects, chores and birthday parties. Gray clouds loom and swirl in the wind, threatening a deluge but withholding their splendor of moisture, sitting simply between my tired eyes and the sun. I look out my front window and see a lone flag blowing quietly in the wind.

My heart lurches, stirring in the silence of the memory. Cascading images suddenly fill my heart and mind. The shock, the uncertainty, the anger, the sorrow, the eerie silence of people huddled around television screens, watching, wondering, waiting - the image of a lonely flag flying in the wind.

I still feel a sense of sadness, of loss. It somehow never seems right for me to have a 'normal' day on this anniversary. I lost a friend that day, but I also lost a sense of innocence and trust in the world. I couldn't understand then how people who lived so far away could feel enough hatred to destroy families and lives in such a sudden, violent, shocking way. I still don't understand it. I sometimes wish I could go back to that morning when I dropped my now teenage daughter off at preschool and relish the innocence of that moment. It was such a lovely, simple morning until...

I feel simultaneously removed and connected to that day. Removed by time - years have spanned the days and weeks of normalcy returned since then. Removed by distance from the terror - recognizing that fear is only granted by permission. Removed by healing and children and inches indicating their growth and mine since then. And yet connected - connected to my fellow Americans who grieved and mourned and angered with me that day. Connected by loss and fear and wonder at the why. Connected by the waves of minutes and hours and years that slowly carried us each away from that terrible day and then back to it again each year as we remember.

The silent flag blows softly in the darkened, threatening sky. The wind blows my memories, twisting them into certain remembrance. The sorrow swirls and sudden tears drop unbidden down my face. I notice them only as they fall and begin to mix and mingle with nature's sudden agreement. The somber heavens finally open as the rain descends, drop by drop, soaking the flag as it circles in the wind.

Need a Hand?

On the way to school this morning, my son's bike chain came off. There I was, struggling to get it put back on having very little success when a man rode up. He was on his child's bike. I don't know who he was - must have been a neighbor - but I had never met him before. He asked me if I needed a hand. I told him I did, he showed me a little trick to get the chain back on, told me how to tighten the chain and rode off. He must have seen me out of his window and rode to my rescue. It was so kind, so unexpected and so needed.

Riding back home I couldn't help but think of the newspaper article I had read the night before. A homeless immigrant from Guatemala was working construction in New York City. He came across a man and a woman arguing and stepped in to try and help. He was wounded in the process and left, lying on the street. The article said nearby security cameras showed dozens of people simply walking by him. When firefighters finally arrived hours later, the man was dead.

How many of us see someone in need, know that we can help, and do nothing? I wonder what our world would become if we could be like the man I met this morning. We would see someone struggling, get on our bikes, ride across the street and ask, "Do you need a hand?"

Mother Moment

Today was the Awards Assembly at my son's elementary school. The parents are invited to come to a little assembly at the end of each quarter where they honor students for grades, reading, writing etc. It's one of those times when you sit quietly for an hour waiting for your own child's ten seconds up on the stage so they can see you smile and applaud.

As the hour wore on, I clapped and clapped for other children, waiting for my son's turn. When his name was called for perfect attendance, my heart fell. I knew that he had missed four days early on in the quarter from an illness. They were handing out certificates for a free kid's meal to one of my son's favorite restaurants. He walked slowly up to the stage, reluctantly took the certificate from the principal and looked out at me in the audience. I knew that he knew he didn't deserve the award. As the parents and students applauded, my son turned back to the principal. In front of all of his peers, he told the principal that he hadn't earned the award. He wanted to give it back.

I would rather have been sitting in that assembly for that moment than to see him get any other award. He had been honest, in front of all of his peers, in a setting that must not have been easy for him. It was more important for him to live consistently with the values we have tried to instill in him than it was for him to eat at his favorite restaurant.

I got a little weepy and wished I had taken a picture. More than I want my children to be intelligent or successful or well liked, I want them to be good. It was one of those unexpected moments when the past nine years of full time mothering this boy suddenly seemed worth all the sacrifice.

Never give up teaching your children. You never know when they might surprise you.

9:22

9:22 am -

Dishes waiting. Laundry sitting. Writing pressing. But all I hear is the blissful silence of solitude. It is such a welcome respite from the chaos of the weekend that I hardly dare to disrupt its peaceful invitation to just sit and bask in its presence.

Silence is a longed for guest in the home of my heart, but all to often its invitations get blown away in the gusty winds of driving ambition. It is difficult to sit in the silence when your inner voice automatically moves to the mode of chaos management, listing carefully off all of the tasks to accomplish before some arbitrarily placed deadline threatens to create an internal implosion.

Listen. I can hear the clock ticking in the background. I feel the rhythm move in my heart. Is it an indication of time squandered or time savored? In the push to forever get somewhere else, I am missing the moments. The now. The silence that surrounds me in the absence of the rush of the morning, the weekend, the pressing push of time.

What happens at 9:22 in the morning, when instead of washing or sorting or anything, I simply sit? I'll tell you what happens. Acknowledgement of my own simple existence. Understanding of my singular importance within the spinning world of wonder. Recognition that my quiet self, my simply beating heart, my breath in and out, are enough. I am a wondrous creation, excepting any accomplishment or lack thereof.

To sit is to simply be. To marvel at my eyes that can see beauty, my mind that can recognize truth, my heart than continues to bring life to every portion of my body without any conscious effort.

In the stillness.

May I seek your company more readily, welcome guest. You rarely come uninvited, unintended. Your presence brings calm and respite. You must visit more often.

It is 9:22. You have somehow found me this morning.

I softly open the door to my heart.

Please, come in.

Another Blog

For my readers who may be interested more in my faith, I will also be posting at www.praiseworthywords.blogspot.com.

Thanks for listening!

I Lost My Balance

I was careening through my living room with the vacuum cleaner blaring. I had a class to teach at my home in just twenty minutes, I was still in my pajamas and had assigned my five year old son to do the dusting. He was dutifully dusting the bottom of the end table when I turned quickly, knocking over the lamp. As I rushed to save it from its impending doom, I started to fall myself and accidentally stepped on my son's hand. He started to cry and as I tried to comfort him I said, "I'm so sorry, I lost my balance."

As soon as the words left my mouth I recognized the depth of them. Boy, had I lost my balance. I am getting ready to move - again. For those of you who have enjoyed the tranquility of stability, let me assure you that moving to a new place can be exciting, but it is also one of the most stressful things a family can experience. With it comes lists of minor repairs, projects, sorting, packing and decluttering. Last weekend we started with the garage, clearing out all the muck and dust and unused items, sending all the sneeze inducing offenders to goodwill or storage. I caught the bug that day, the 'muck it bug' I call it. I reach a point in every move that I see everything as clutter and want to get rid of or organize every item we own. It can do wonders for showing your home, but it can also wreak havoc on your sanity. I worked for hours and hours this week, clearing out closets, thinning out bookshelves and sorting through clothing. My house is a showpiece, my soul is a mess.

You see, I got so driven to accomplish this 'very important task' that I forgot about all the other things that are important to me. I didn't spend much quality time with my family, outside of loading or unloading boxes from the truck. I didn't go to my yoga class at all this week - my haven of physical and emotional balance. I didn't read. I didn't write. I didn't eat well. I didn't sleep well. But man, my closets are clean!

I'm convinced that I have to learn this lesson again and again and again. For whatever reason, my intrinsic drive often pummels over my internal voice of balance and contentment. In yoga when we practice our balance poses, we have to concentrate dutifully but in a relaxed state or we fall over. That's not fun when you are standing precariously on one foot or upside down in a headstand. We must remember to breathe or the tension creates imbalance which can lead to injury.

I keep coming back to balance - this art of learning what to let go of, what to hold onto, when to breathe and when to rest. My body is begging for it. My soul is requiring it. My sanity depends on it.

Maybe one day it won't take a frenzied household appliance and a careening light fixture for me to recognize it.