Gentle Souls.

Probably, if you spend half an hour in my house on any given evening during the witching hour, you'd agree along with me that I live in a house of wild, unfettered barbarians as they wrestle and whoop and whistle and tear through and around the house. HUGE feelings abound. They get irritated with each other and step on each other's goals and toes and lego castles. It's true that they all have a healthy rambunctious streak a mile wide, as most normal humans can sometimes. We are, after all, not tame creatures deep in the marrow.

However, I often make it a point to draw a distinction between "calm" and "kind". Calm is a mood. Kindness is a character trait, and can be just as present in our wild moments as our quiet ones. I don't often use the word 'nice' at home, and certainly don't encourage the kids to try and be nice. I do, however, encourage gentleness and true kindness, and I'm kind of blessed that it really comes fairly naturally to them the older they grow. More impulse control means more opportunity to show the kindness within, and I really love watching it flourish. 

One of my children loves babies. They like her, too, and for good reason. In her words, "We like each other because they're always honest, and I'm honest with them, too, and don't treat them like baby dolls or idiots. They're little people who understand less, but that's no reason to treat them with less respect. So I explain things to them with real words, and give them chances to do things. How else are you gonna learn? They like that." I couldn't have said it better. She's a damned reasonable person with a basic respect for anyone who's honest and open enough to ask questions and be genuinely curious without posturing. I love that about her.



My second born loves harmony (of course), and will bend over backward to find a solution that meets everyone's needs 80% of the time. She does it so cheerfully, because her best time always involves everyone just taking pleasure in a moment. I've watched her give up half her food or a toy (not at my promting; I don't usually as a rule) just for the sheer pleasure of sharing something with someone else on more than one occasion. It's so effortlessly lovely.

My third daughter loves little animals, and loves to see them comfortable and happy. She loves tiny things, and names everything she finds, and imagines lives up for them with families and homes and food, and takes careful care to give them what she imagines in her little three year old mind is necessary. She loves her baby sister with a fierceness that's only rivaled by her mama and papa, and is constantly piping up in quiet moments with an "I love you" for everyone in the family. I'm humbled by her passion for living things.

My sweet man took one of the girls out fishing today, and taught her how to cast. He brought fish home and (with more patience I could ever imagine mustering) painstakingly taught the girls how to clean them, cook them and eat them...where the best parts are and how to avoid the bones. I can see him out my window right now on the back porch after the little ones have fallen asleep, petting our calico cat and letting a little Japanese beetle crawl lazily on his fingers. His long, lanky legs are stretched out on the hot wooden deck by a open can of cheap tuna as he tries to coax a tiny stray kitten into eating and drinking so it won't die in the summer heat wave. It doesn't bother  him that most men wouldn't do this, and I hope it never does. He's lovely.

They're all so different. Their kindness comes in different shades and hues, but at the heart of each expression is compassion and a basic respect for life. I love that it's messy and immature sometimes, but, unlike "niceness", it's not a mask. It's something that's winding down into their hearts and brains, making sense, taking root, and part of their own nature. They are not me. They are not a set of rules. They are their own version of compassionate, showing creative mercy in a way that suits them perfectly.  I'm so lucky to know them.

Recovering from upheaval-13 things that help our family!

I thought this topic might be timely for some, considering all the global and local unrest and emotional yuck that's floating around right now. :) Big moves, family changes, births, tragedies, loss of a pet, and larger scale disaster can necessitate a little extra lovin'. Here are some ideas that have worked swimmingly for us that I've collected over the years (most through trial and error), to bring comfort and emotional healing/equilibrium!

1. The power of smell! If you love essential oils, or just nice scents, this may be helpful for your family! (Obviously, only use them in dilution, and be sensitive to any allergies you may have). Our favorites for supporting calm are lavender, rose and chamomile; our favorites for mood boosting are grapefruit, sweet orange, bergamot and mint. Our favorite delivery method is water: either a few drops in a small spray bottle or a few drops in a nice warm bath. If essential oils aren't your thing, you could always make your favorite fragrant meal, let your child sleep with a tshirt on that smells like you, or bake a family favorite treat. Smells are powerful emotional triggers, and potentially very comforting.

Another natural approach you might try is Rescue Remedy and, for major upheaval, Star of Bethlehem flower essence...a friend recommended it to us a while back, and it seems to have a positive effect.

2. Make a Plan. One of the favorites mottoes I ever stole was one from Jeff VanVonderen in his book Families Where Grace is in Place: "Our family is a problem solving family." Identify what IS within your power and control, make a plan with your family, and follow through. For example, our girls have felt very uneasy with our daily travel roads being in upheaval from tornado activity, and they feel worried for the people whose homes have been demolished. So, we made a plan: see what we can do to volunteer, decide what our resources are, chart out our week ahead of time so there are no surprises (or at least discuss each day what we'll be doing).

3. Relax your expectations. Expect and anticipate a little bit of out of bounds behavior from everyone in the family, and do your best to meet it with patience and reassurance. While actually doing away with normal rules and boundaries is unhelpful, reinforcing those boundaries with patience and not exasperation goes a long way. That goes for you, too; grown ups need as much grace as small people. Love and understanding begets love and understanding, so try your best to use loving language and touch with those closest to you. (This is what I struggle the most with, and, as fate would have it, the most effective!)

4. Plan a little something frivolous. It doesn't need to be expensive or fancy, and the lower key, the better. Take off all expectations and pressure. (Sometimes, the best moments like this are the ones that just happen, unplanned, so be open to them when they present themselves!) Just make it enjoyable and interesting for everyone; it could just be checking out for a while and taking a nice, long walk together. Be a little silly; don't worry about capturing anything on camera or perfectionism-let your inner monkey run a little wild and forget your worries for half an hour or more. Pillow fights work fantastically, and make for lots of laughter. :O)

5. Try to eat well. Again, nothing gourmet, but people who feel well act better...so ditch the sugar, stay hydrated, and eat some veg, complex carbs and protein. Try to stay close to the food source (aka, not processed)Your body and moods will thank you.

6. Go to bed on time. Kids benefit from this- calms forte, a small low-sugar snack, a warm quiet bath or chammomile tea can help make reality. Adults can pull out the bigger guns and try a hot bath, herbal sleep support, melatonin or a nice glass of wine! Sleep helps us process traumas, heal our bodies, replenish exhausted adrenal glands and (my husband will tell you readily) improves the mood. Even if you have little ones that make sleep tricky, you can still resist the urge to stay up and watch t.v. after they've dozed. Sleep is your friend and ally.

7. Massage/Cosleeping/snuggling. You don't even have to be any good at it; just bust out the bottle of lotion or oil and bless yourself and your family with a good, healthy touch session. (Obviously, don't force anyone who's especially sensitive to over-stimulation. ) Avoid putting pressure on bony areas, use smooth connected strokes, warm towels can help, and enjoy! It will raise the energy of everyone involved, and bring a sense of connection and calm. Sleeping together also helps re-enforce family connections. You share reaffirming touch with a close friend (meal-sharing or shared walks work, too) or with a pet, as well. Everyone benefits. Win-win!

8. Prayer and meditation. Give yourself space to cry out for help and process what you're feeling. Give your mind time to just BE.

9. Music.

10. Go outside! The calming, centering benefits of being among

birds and fresh air and trees are both documented and common sense. No crowded playgrounds or busy sidewalks; the less intensity and man-made structures, the better. The more extroverted among us can benefit from taking a friend along!

11. Unplug the News. Children need lots of time and play to process, and hearing endless loops of heartwrenching stories is beyond their capacity to handle, emotionally. (It's not so helpful for adults, either!) Model being a friend to those in need, listen to real people's stories, but don't invite a constant replay into your home and car.

12. Processing is a process. Children may want to talk about the details of what is effecting them over and over and over. Listen to them as they talk about it on their own time frame. Don't make value judgements about what they chose to share. More importantly, listen to and even participate in their pretend play at this time; it will give you insight into their emotional state. Find someone who can listen to you, too, or journal to release some of the sharpness of the emotional memory and to ground your mind.

13. Twofold, depending on personality:

Ditch perfectionism. You've just been through something taxing. Be kind to yourself and your family, and let go of some of your unreasonable expectations. Some television won't kill anyone. You can let a few unnecessary goals and tasks slide until you gather your wits a bit. It's OK to recognize that you need to rest. Resist the urge to moralize your difficulty to your family or preach at them. It's OK to lose some rigidity in order to not snap.

and on the flip side:

Be in tune with need for rhythm. Notice when your loved ones may benefit from a little more predictability and structure, and rise to the occasion. If your normal M.O. is complete bohemian lifestyle, unfettered by schedule, do recognize your family's natural need for rhythm. Predictability enforces feelings of safety and security for little ones, even if it feels counterintuitive...your family and your sanity will thank you for going through the motions. Bedtime routines, regular eating, notice ahead of time before being whisked from one activity to another are all helpful.

My early introversion.

When I was in college, I used to set personal goals for myself...not about grades or exercise or performance, as those things tended to fall into place naturally for me. Studying into the wee hours wasn't an enormous intrusion for me. No, my goals were more lofty than that. They revolved around...wait for it...spending time with other humans. ;oP

Don't laugh. It's not at all funny. (OK, maybe it's a little bit funny..) I literally had a quota that I forced myself to fill, a quota of time spent having "fun" with other people, usually in the form of eating or movie watching or get togethers or hikes or what have you. (Parties, the extrovert's code for being crammed into a room full of people who yell at one another over music, were simply beyond my realm of understanding, and totally out of the question.)

Being *social* and a relational being at my core, I had enough of a spark of wisdom to recognize that in order to maintain a certain degree of emotional health away from family, I had to make connections and talk and BE with people. Generally speaking, I enjoyed the interaction once I was there, especially after meaningful, warm relationships were formed. But that first year of test driving friends and forced interaction on principle? Pure HELL for this introvert. I'd often find myself in a house or room or outing looking at the people I had absolutely no common threads with, and think to myself, "How in the name of all that's good and sensible did I land here listening to this girl jabber on and on about how much she loves Breakfast Club at 1am?"

To be sure, out of these forced outings (6 hours a week outside of classes and rehearsals and study groups) sprung many a fond friendship that I carry with me this day, once they started to sport the comfortable sheen of familiarity and the joy of being known well. Remarkably, during this time, within my own little circle, I could have even been called popular, or at least well-known, although certainly not the hostess or social coordinator extraordinaire like some of my more extroverted friends. I could be silly, amusing, gregarious, funny and social in turns, and, for the most part, my "quietness",a trait I value as an asset, wasn't the defining feature of my personality.

But, oh, how I flopped on my bed in sheer bliss once I felt I'd been sufficiently "socialized" for the week! How I'd grin and whoop and waltz around in my pajamas to jazz once my roommates all left simultaneously for a long weekend! The *only* other person I felt equally fantastic around in those happy moments was my then-boyfriend, Nathan, and he was only allowed to be around because he happened to be more introverted than I was. (In fact, we never actually socially dated as much as we sized one another up, informed each other that we made a smashing

pair, and became a "couple") All my best thoughts and feelings and dreams happened (and still happen) when I'm not being yanked to and fro by the intrusive conversations, emotions, opinions and interactions of a group of people. I'm brilliant, creative and at peace. The world slows to a reasonable pace and makes much more sense.

Forcing interaction is no longer a problem for me. Because people are my passion, my own nature tends to demand exchange of thought and energy. I exhaust myself at the alter of human relationship. :P It tends to seek me out with a relentless insistence, and, for the most part, I welcome the interactions of a more thoughtfully constructed social life of my adulthood. Turns out, there are other people out there who share my sensibilities, who wear me out a tidge less than the general populous! My "family" base is bigger, and I have to expend less energy putting myself out there in order to maintain connection. (I have the deepest empathy for displaced introverts searching out new friendships and family, I assure you!)

Even so, I'm a little more prone to indulge my inner flights of fancy and appreciate my need for "alone" processing time much more than I did in my earliest adulthood. After all, it is where all my best thoughts occur. Thus far, investing in alone time (or as alone as a mother of 3 snuggly children can ever be) is never a decision I regret, and increasingly, one I don't feel the need to

apologize for. My deepest sense of whimsy, my inner philosopher and poet, my happy flower-picking inner child, is much, MUCH more at peace after several days to myself.

I am, and ever shall be, an incurable and unapologetic introvert. It's a lovely way to be, isn't it?

Being Receptive to the Moment

I've been appreciating stillness this week. It's a practice in guard dropping, and embracing the good things that are available for me if I do so. For whatever reason, it's an incredibly difficult act for me. I'm out of practice.

During prayer and silent reflection time at church, His presence was so gentle and available, it took my breath away. The simple act of allowing my heart to be searched and fully present in that moment brought almost instantly the state of my heart into focus: I need to tweak my heart's "filter" to allow the good in, to accept what I know is genuine love in the moment with others without suspicion, and receive God's kingdom like a trusting child by accepting the grace extended to me. It was as is a dark and blurry vision became focused and bright instantaneously. The palpable warmth of that gentle, concerned love was almost startling.

And, I have to correct myself and say that it wasn't *God's* presence that made the difference, but my own. I was present in the moment, God had always been there.

As a mother, I'm an instrument of perpetual motion-planning, comforting, working, being bigger than my children's fears and emotions, providing security. In relationship, I sometimes tend to shut out or deflect caring moments for others. I do this because they come too far in between for me to trust them in our isolated society, perhaps, or because I'm afraid that if I once let go of the carefully held tension, I'll spill out all over the place like a burst water balloon.


I, like anybody, have my reasons for filtering out the good along with the bad, at times, because I don't want to take a chance on losing that feeling of safety once it's gone. Sometimes, I do it because I don't want to show my cards. Sometimes I feel it's the only way I can keep myself together and functioning. Perfect love and peace can scare me, because I fear their absence. I think almost everyone in our breakneck society sets their own pace in how they experience love to some degree.

Slowing down and participating fully in the joy and peace of a an unpredictable moment becomes unfamiliar, even though our bodies and souls crave it like water. Sitting down and taking a more receptive stance to the world isn't something that comes naturally. We can control everything else. I know I do.


I love that Jesus says in Mark, "anyone who will not receive the kingdom of God like a little child will never enter it." And then he took them in His arms. I think that's interesting, because my own little children have almost no ability to look to the future. Everything they do is fully in the present. The squish, climb, roll, smell, taste, eat, dance in and actively receive and partake in the present. That's their domain. It's were they live.

Once, having been asked by the Pharisees when the kingdom of God would come, Jesus replied, "The kingdom of God does not come with your careful observation, nor will people say, 'Here it is,' or 'There it is,' because the kingdom of God is within you."

Journeys aren't always about walking. Sometimes we're already were we need to go, and we don't even notice it. We act as if we're Alice running along beside the tree in Wonderland with the Red Queen, running till breathless just to stay were we are, and having to run twice as fast to actually get somewhere else. Realizing that the journey is all around us already us for us to explore and receive is difficult.

This weekend our family went hiking near a canyon covered in gorgeous autumn trees. We, the parents, walked along, pressing towards the end of the trail, commenting at how magical the woods seemed this time of year, and dragging the littles along behind us, encouraging them to hurry up and keep walking. They wanted to go off the path, stick their fingers into things, pick things, smell them. I wanted to capture it all in photos, and was busily snapping away, stuffing beauty in my box without really partaking in it.

My youngest child in my belly finally slowed me down, quite literally. I needed to slow my heart rate, so we decided to rest in the comfortable roots of a giant cyprus tree. I had no choice. And my children were happy to finally do what they'd been trying to do all along: enjoy that moment in that place.

I began to unwind, to unfold my soul under the stained glass leaves that were making a colored sunset canopy above us, and to enjoy listening to my girls playing pretend as they climbed and hopped around the giant roots. I noticed how peaceful the woods were, and how sweet the air smelled. We stayed there for half an hour. I could see it on Nate's face, too. We had been transported somewhere else. Rather than trying to capture the moment in every way possible, the moment was actively sinking into us.

Our souls were being fed by stillness. The kingdom of heaven was near.

The Deconstruction of Me

There is a point in the life of each person when they gain the courage to start closely examining the parts and pieces of what makes up their own self, and the even greater courage required to toss out the unneeded things that hold them back and keep them from growing. Self reflection can be an exciting and terrifying business.

Eventually, as I realize how many of my assumptions and pieces of "me" are dependent on the unwanted bits, large portions of who I think I am come into sharp and glaring focus all at once. These moments are often akin to having the proverbial rug yanked out from under my feet, leaving me disoriented and searching and off balance. The domino effect of realization is dizzying and humbling and numbing, and, if I fail to quiet my heart in the moment, can leave me scrambling for a scrap of identity to hang on to.

I start to feel like Tevye, the main character of Fiddler on The Roof as he shouts in a moment of introspection, "One little time, I pulled out the thread, and where has it led? Where has it led?" I'm torn between the comfortable "used to", yet called at the same time towards the irrevocable pull towards growth and stretching. It hurts. It is a great, great struggle. Change is the ripping apart long held assumptions and notions that have brought me comfort, pain, belonging and rhythm. The roots and tendrils are woven into all the experiences and assumptions I gained from them, for better or for worse, and losing them blasts away all semblance of equilibrium in my "self esteem".

I don't know if I can change. I don't know if I'll ever be "happy" again if I pursue it and fail to catch it. The prospect of growing beyond my limited understanding and capacity for living and love sends shivers of delight and dread down my spine. What if I can't catch it? What if I end up depressed and self-loathing? I feel so alone and ill equipped.

But I'm not alone. As illogical as it sounds, I truly believe myself accompanied. I have to believe in my heart that the Caller of my soul is one that I can trust. That
someone will be there at the end of the journey, following me, empowering me, comforting me along the way, as I allow myself to come apart and be scrutinized by gentle eyes. That the core of who I was when I entered this world will be retained, and that I won't be lost all together in the deconstruction.

I'm too exhausted for particulars, and I don't really require platitudes or consoling, because I've passed the point of any of those things being useful. It's a journey, and against almost every splinter of my being, I'm taking the next few steps.

Missing the Boat

One of the biggest pitfalls of being a researcher and "activist" seems (to me) to be getting so caught up in the excitement of learning all one can about a subject, and never realizing the knowledge in real life. My own life is no exception. I'll admit, to my chagrin, that I adore theorizing and discussing and grappling with a beloved idea to the nth degree while completely ignoring it's application in my own life.

I'll believe a concept in theory, I'll even be wildly passionate about it, but because of my personality type (INFJ), I tend to dwell in my head a lot. The knowledge and wisdom and passion I have for a subject sometimes never translates well to my actual life. It's an embarrassing Achilles heel to have, especially for someone who enjoys knowing a concept inside out. Similar to the "the cobbler's children have no shoes" phenomenon. I loathe it about myself, and try my hardest to stomp it out whenever I recognize it, but I've come to realize that personality weaknesses are generally lifelong chores that need constant attention. I'll always have to question myself: how are my ideals lining up with my life?

Just one example: trying to live gracefully towards my husband and children, and not cultivating adversarial relationships within my family. I can talk about it ALL day long, know why it's imperative, even brainstorm practical ideas and applications, but, at the end of the day, if I'm approaching my family in a way that says, "You'd better do what I say, or else!", I've completely dropped the ball and missed the point of all my "study". Until I can lay down my scholar cap and take up the towel of a servant leader, all those wonderful thoughts are rubbish.

Sometimes, it's painful to step back and view yourself realistically with the measure you treasure and find yourself woefully short of the mark. It's so easy to have a good handle on the letter of the law, and totally miss it's heart in your own life.

So, the pruning begins. Sometimes it means the painful removal of things that aren't "evil" at all, per se, but rather things that distract and clutter my life and keep me from having room to put my own feet to the fire. It's tricky for a theory loving introvert to hop out of her own head and allow the grace that her head loves to permeate and saturate her life in every way. It sweeps me out of my element, and off my feet. It forces vulnerability and failure and humility that I'd rather shy away from. The journey from book wisdom to heart wisdom is dangerous and breathtakingly exhausting. It invites opportunity to be exposed, to laugh with those around me, and to dispel my safe belief that knowledge alone fortifies and sustains.

And that's a very beautiful thing.