Thursday, August 29, 2013

Learning Enough

I could point to lots of reasons I haven't consistently posted anything in months. All of them would be true. All are valid reasons. I write lots of posts in my mind and they never reach the page. I do write every day. Sometimes my writing is done through correspondence with friends. Sometimes writing is just for me in my journal. Today, however, my Inner Muse is writing. She is also saying, "Put it in print, Lori." 

My muse is kind-hearted and gentle. My inner critic is brutal. It would seem logical that I would follow the muse who speaks kindly and offers encouragement.

Call it conditioning.
Call it masochism.
Call it craziness.

I don't fully understand it either.

I respond most often to the Brutal Critic!

So, Brutal Critic you are banned from my world today. The voice to whom I'm responding is letting me know that there just might be a few others who'd like to hear this dust from my trails.

(For those that may be stuck on the page of "Good grief!! SHE IS CRAZY!".... The muse is not an audible voice. And I do know that I am not TRULY a Fairy Godmother--at least not one with magical powers. Wink.)

I never intended to be a public blogger. I'm just terribly unorganized and I thought blogspot would be easy to find. I'm never quite sure where I put my journal.
Or my pen.
Or my reading glasses.
I just got found. Then a few people asked for some more stuff, blah, blah, blog.


I wish Inner Muse was writing something funny--like when a friend at the gym pointed out that everyone could see the writing on my panties THROUGH MY SHORTS!

(I do love my orange and black striped panties that say Wicked AND glow in the dark, though--a Halloween happy from Jenny. Putting those on is the only time I'm willing to turn around and look in the mirror. I cackle every single time--full out belly laugh in the dark! It's so good to be known--which is really what I'm musing.)

I'm lonely. A lot. Not the kind of lonely that gets solved by a quick fix of chatting with someone at the grocery store. No. I'm talking about the yearning that craves the emotional intimacy of being known fully and still  loved completely. The loneliest place I've ever been was in my marriage and falsely believing that I didn't have an option to leave. One gift that I received during that time, though was that I began offering my ears and heart to others--even at the grocery store. I figured that if I was lonely and hurting and seeking connection, there might be a person or two in my path each day that might feel alone or isolated or trapped or desperate.

So I started experimenting. I had a demanding toddler at the time. Although I admit to loving a romantic story and cry when The Bachelor proposes each season. I'm mostly a realist. I can enjoy the romance; but, I know that life happens and people are people.

I do not enjoy failure.

I set my bar low. At minimum my daily goal was to look directly into people's eyes, particularly people in serving positions. (Been there. Always stunned me when I was invisible to people....."Ummmmmm....Standing right here!!")

My goal was to let them know without words that I really saw them. When coupled with a genuine smile and a thank you, guess what happened? Most people responded in kind. When a genuine question or a sincere comment was added, I discovered that people wanted to connect. The goal was not to be best buddies with every person I met. That's just stupid. No, I was trying to offer to others what I longed for--connection, to be seen. I was also searching for souls who might share my love and passions for life.

I didn't know at the time that I was also training myself to cherish the connected moments that did happen. My journals are full of now forgotten moments between me and people I've only seen once or  maybe weekly at my grocery store. (OK, I used to go to the store almost every day because I don't plan ahead very often. I knew and still do know the drive-through people the best. )

Fast forward to now. Having spent almost three years divorcing and another year or so trying to rebuild a different, new life for myself and my child, I've learned something about different kinds of loneliness. Decisions we make shift the landscape of our lives. Decisions others make can do the same. Those are just a couple of ways my life has been impacted. What I know is that I cannot control life and all it's circumstances. But I can choose how I respond!

I'm discovering, to my great surprise that those years of experimentation helped me then and NOW. I learned then that I really, really love people. The more I asked God to help me love others, the more I did. When I encountered prickly, snarly people instead of judging and reacting, I began privately wondering why a person would be so ugly?

(I'm that girl who sits and makes up elaborate stories about everything and everybody I see.)

Everyone has a story. Everyone. The more story I knew, or made up, the more I was able to connect and offer grace.

BUT....how in the world does that help me now? NOW when the chit chat and stories may warm someone else, but still leaves me alone?

The skills I honed helped me attract people who also want to be known and loved. I am blessed beyond measure with deep abiding friendships. I am learning, ever so slowly, to receive words and gifts they offer me to fill the void. I learned during those desolate years how to lean into the presence of God and allow Him to sustain me.

(I'd blog on that except I've already said more than I know. I haven't really a clue how that happened or how to replicate it in another life. I just know it happened. And still happens everyday.)

I'm not diminishing the importance of God's daily, intimate presence in my life. But, 'dammit'--sorry Mom and Dad, sometimes I want to hear a real voice, have a real hand holding mine. I am whiny and obstinate. I KNOW what's best for me at all times and that needs to be a person. In my all knowing formula, shouldn't that come in the form of a partner? A man?!

Guess what? That's just not happening! Can't explain why God doesn't know what's best for me. Irreverent wink.

He's helping me embrace all of the people and moments of genuine intimacy that are in my world daily as not simply a substitute, but ENOUGH.

Ridiculous first example...So when Georgia, Carol's dog that I really kind of hated decided I was the GREATEST PERSON ON THE PLANET EARTH every time she saw me or heard my voice---so much so that if I petted her she peed everywhere, I began accepting her affection and love for exactly what it was. A spirit lifter. I mean, is there a person who will jump three feet repeatedly, race around the yard running and barking, and pee on the ground when I simply touch him? NO! Gift received. (I love Georgia now. How could I NOT?)

When my sister from another mother Jenny buys me Wicked panties for Halloween or brings me Poise cooling wipes for hotflashes that she got free with a coupon, I am being known and loved. When Brenner, her youngest whom I've blogged about calls me and asks me to go swimming with him, I am wanted and desired. When my newest adopted family member, Mary insisted I spend Christmas with them, I was grafted into a new family. When I hear her daughter Lily screaming my name from the inside of their house as I park my truck, I embrace and accept that as passionate, unfettered love. When Patty called and asked if I would be Godmother to she and Carrie's unborn daughter, Charlotte, how could I mistake this as anything but deep, trusting, committed love? I am gaining another child and Annie Beth said, "I'm getting the sister I always wanted!" When Annie Beth shifted back into a place of wanting to snuggle beside me while we watch tv or play on our electronics, let's face it, I'm a weepin' mess!

What more could I ask for without being petulant?

Am I alone? No. Not really.
I asked.
I looked.
I received.

I am grateful.




Thursday, August 8, 2013

An Embroidered Pocket: Sue Dickens


Tears have been flowing intermittently down my cheeks now for 12 hours or so. I found out last night that one of Annie Beth's favorite teachers died yesterday. As I write this I have no details about the circumstances. The specifics matter, of course; but, for what my heart feels it wouldn't make any difference. The truth is that I didn't know a lot about her daily life beyond school anyway.  The intersection of my life with hers, though is forever sealed in my heart.

I cry because I will never get to hug her again or read on Facebook about how much she's enjoying her 8:00 AM cup of coffee at her kitchen table during her retirement. She's outside of my earthly touch.

I have written some of these very words directly to her on many occasions. I'm so grateful that I lavishly appreciated her with words and gifts. She was a humble person and would have been slightly embarrassed by the attention she would receive from public applause. To honor her memory and encourage all of us to love well, I offer my words today.

There is a pocket in my heart that has Sue Dicken's name embroidered on it. This story is really not about me and my daughter. It's about Sue and the community in which I knew her, Highland Village Elementary. To fully appreciate why my Sue pocket is still tender and so important, my story is necessary.

I was the copy mom for the entire group of first grade teachers in 2009 when I filed for divorce in late April. I spent two afternoons a week at the school helping these marvelous women. (I also have pockets in my heart for Emily Heitzmann, Stahr Freedle, Donna Bailey, and Shana Murphy.) I spoke privately with Emily, Annie Beth's primary teacher. In addition, I met with the Principal, Sherry Wagner and the Vice Principal, Karen Wright.--both equally precious and amazing women. Annie Beth referred to them as The President and Vice President of the school. I never corrected her because I loved hearing it so much. I knew she'd eventually figure it out and those terms would be lost forever.

Karen's daughter Audrey and my daughter were special friends. Karen knew that Annie Beth needed just the right teacher for second grade. Karen was moving to Seattle before the next school year; but, through her own tears, shed for me, she assured me that they would carefully place her with the best suited teacher. Karen had taught fourth grade with Sue and knew her well--considered Sue a mentor and model teacher. Karen told me that Sue's loving, patient, and gentle spirit would be a perfect fit.

Just before school started, in order for me not to share a residence with my husband and still maintain joint custody, we agreed to nest. Nesting is legal jargon for this: the child lives in the house. The parents move in and out of the house on alternating weeks. I was a stay at home Mom stripped of my job every other week. The only time I could see Annie Beth on alternate weeks was at lunch on school days. We Skyped most nights after she returned from her sitter's house around 10:00 PM. (I write this with intention. Her bedtime was 9:00. I started the bedtime routine at 8:30 each night.) Important to note as well, my child has never been a cheerful morning person. She also had decided in first grade that she wanted long, beautiful hair like Audrey. Did I mention that Annie Beth is/was not a fan of brushing her hair? She is tender-headed and not afraid to loudly express her displeasure.

Sue Dickens was more than a teacher to my child. Sue partnered with me and loved Annie Beth as an extension of her family. She also nurtured us so tenderly and gently by allowing Annie Beth to come into the copy room each week for a few minutes so I could have one more chance to touch her.

Sue loved me through hugs. Lots of hugs. Very few words. Tears and hugs. My journal overflows with daily examples of how she loved us well during a turbulent time. During that year she also further instilled a love for words and writing within Annie Beth.

All this for one child and her family, in a class of 20. There is no doubt that our story is not dissimilar from so many others--years of classrooms full of children.

Tears flow anytime I think about this particular day. Annie Beth rarely called in the mornings before school. That day, I answered to hear a sobbing, sleep-deprived child begging not to go to school. The more I tried to be loving and logical, the more irrational she became. I was able to finally piece together that her hair was in such a rat's nest that she was embarrassed to go to school. Days of neglect will do that. I suggested that she put on a hat and go to school. That's all I could do. I emailed Sue to warn her.

That day when the other children were out of the classroom, Sue got a brush and tried her very best to gently and lovingly detangle my child's hair. I'll never forget her laughter, eyes crinkled together when she told me, "Lori, I had boys! I've never done girl hair! I tried, though."

That's the day her name became embroidered in my heart pocket. It was painful then. The needle pricking flesh of how my life's decision circumstances translated into pain within other people's lives. My mind's eye sees the threads as Annie Beth's hair plucked from the bristles of Sue's brush or ones from the square tiles of the classroom floor. They form a brown background and over the years those yellow highlights have turned more golden. Yesterday those strands were transformed into 24 carat gold. I believe with all my heart that one day when Sue and I are reunited face to face, I will give her these strands of perfect gold from my heart. She will in turn give them to our loving Heavenly Father. He will hug her and say, "Well done, my good and faithful servant."