Seasons

When I had littles, I would hear my friends talk about the changing seasons of parenting. I didn't get it. I seriously believed that when we reached the end of formula and bottles and pre-school tuition, we would get a raise.

Col. Sanders, I was wrong!

Just as the price tag gets higher, so do the issues we face. When the greatest challenge is how to fit 3 classmate birthday parties into the same weekend, enjoy the struggle. I never want to belittle the challenges that each season brings, but the older the kids, the bigger the issues. Each day, I am becoming more acutely aware that so too are the consequences of each struggle. 

I can remember when failure to nap was a tragedy. My oldest hated naps (and for the record, she still hates sleep) and this was a real issue. But ultimately, the consequence of no nap was crankiness. It meant that irritation and whining would be present from 4-7pm. It made for a long day, but it did not determine long term future success. 

Fast forward a few years, and we find ourselves in a new season. The issues are more complex, the consequences are more permanent and the possibility of longstanding implications loom large. Parenting little people was a super duper big time struggle for me, but there are days that I listen to my teenager's complex challenges and I long for a week with no nap.

A normal Tuesday conversation in the afternoon carpool might include abortion rights, the 8th graders that have been caught making out in the computer lab for the 4th time, the bomb threat on from C pod or the cheating scandal in history.  Wednesday might jump to the boy she's talking to (which is completely ironic because teenagers today do not SPEAK, they type) or the fact that one wrong step in 10th grade class planning will prevent the career path of her dreams.  Thursday includes the conversation at lunch about self-harm AND the ever popular trend of sending topless pictures. 

When people ask me what I do, I want to say, "I prepare for the carpool conversations...all school-day long."

A very wise friend, that is a step ahead of me in this journey, told me recently that the goal is not to raise great kids but to raise great adults. If I take that charge seriously, I guess all of these conversations are just par for the course. 

I have hard conversations all the time with the adults in my life. We talk about our struggles, our successes, our faith, our doubt. So why do we shy away from these same conversations with our kiddos? There is no greater joy and weight than to know that I am the one that my girls want to have these conversations with. Is it hard? Hell, YES! But this world is hard, and if I want them to be ready to face all that comes their way, they need a safe depository for all of their questions.

If you find your self in the place of navigating these dangerous waters, consider asking some of these questions on your next drive to school or the grocery store:

What was the hardest decision you had to make today?

Which of your friends is the hardest to love right now?

What is one thing you did today to make the world a better place?

Is there anything that you are afraid of?

And if your conversation partner ventures into new ground, listen well. If they open up about things that you don't have the answers to, tell them that and then seek out the answers together. And most importantly, if they bring up a topic that you need help with, get it. All of my relationships are better today because I have said the words I NEED HELP. With my self, my marriage and my girls, the greatest gift that I have been given is the willingness to admit when we were in over our heads and needed a friend, parent, counselor or pastor to help us navigate our path forward.

May we be brave enough to embrace each season with the joy and struggle. 

May we enjoy the warmth of the sunny seasons and dust off our coats for the chilly ones. 

May we know that no matter the weather, life would not be moving forward without seasonal change.

Hips and Lizards

Put your hands on your hips, and repeat after me. 
I am strong. I am beautiful. I am courageous.

I have recently fallen in love with yoga. This will not be the last time I tell a yoga tale in my Lenten journey because this practice is helping me bridge a chasm between my heart and my body. This is transformational territory.

I will not say that I am exercising, because I hate that word. I will instead choose to see this practice as a holy movement of Spirit that is connecting a part of my being that has been disconnected for far too long.

My body and I have issues. I am a 6' tall woman who grew up in a generation that didn't really have tall women. If I had a dollar for every time that someone asked me if I played basketball or volleyball, I would be a millionaire. Add to that, a dollar for every time some told me to 'stand up straight' or 'be proud of my height'... mega bucks. Besides the obvious, being tall brings with it unusual situations.

Take for instance a women's bathroom. As a tall woman, I can go into a public bathroom with short stalls and it feels like I am peeking over at you. Trust me, I am not.  At the grocery, I receive pleading looks of assistance from my smaller sisters. I also have been shot death darts when I have tried to help a seemingly struggling gentleman reach his desired breakfast cereal.

My growth rates caused permanent damage to my body. I could walk down the high school hallway and my knee caps would pop out. I had my first MRI on my back at 17, after my discs began compressing during a growth spurt.

So, to say that finding peace with my physical body has been a journey would be an understatement. Enter my 40's. I am in a season of parenting two beautiful, tall, strong females that need to see their mom and her lengthy frame as whole. I have some work to do.

I have walked into this practice of yoga with many insufficiencies. I have been forced to be the student, not the teacher. In almost every class I take, I have to modify for my long legs or feeble back. But I am freaking doing it.

Today, I stood in tree pose with a sure sense of balance and the ability to extend my arms to the heavens and hold my palms open. In case you didn't realize it, that was like 8' of me balancing on one leg - I KNOW!

I also folded my body into a hip stretch called lizard. It was not pretty. And just when I wanted to give up and not try it, I thought of my daddy. At that exact moment, he was having 4 holes drilled into his hips to extract bone marrow. I also flashed to my baby, who at 11 and 5'7" is facing her own growing woes and would give anything to stretch her hip without pain. Neither of them could do a lizard, so I did mine for them today.

Yes, I was stretching. Yes, I am getting stronger. But this is not exercise. This is soul shaping work that is helping me become the woman who can put her hands proudly on her hips and say, "I am enough!"

Bruno for the Perm and Win

"Throw some perm on your attitude. Girl, you gotta relax."

Sometimes I gather inspiration from sacred texts. Sometimes it is from podcasts or books. Today, my words of truth are from my good friend Bruno Mars. 

I have always loved music. My interests span the spectrum from pop to 80s hair bands to country to blues. I can jam to James Taylor and Pink! and Alanis and Ed Sheeran. I toss in some dance and funk for fun. But, there is one genre that speaks to me in ways that I am forced to roll down my mom car windows and bass thump through the school zone. Yes, I love gangta rap. Love it.

What about my 90s catholic educated adolescent angst and Baptist college years would make my heart come alive to Snoop and Dr. Dre? When I hear Bone Thugs-N-Harmony or Easy-E, I am transported to a period of 4-5 years when I was coming into my own. I was spreading my wings and walking into walls of resistance and finding my way on my own.

No, I could not understand the gang wars of Compton but I knew what it was like to not fit in the skin of a 20 year old private school girl. I knew that areas of my life were out of control. I had demons. Most of them were completely whitewashed, but they were there. And I would hear lines like:

"Wish I was a little bit taller I wish I was a baller" - Skee-Lo

"I'm gonna knock you out." LL Cool J

"As I walk through the valley of the shadow of death I take a look at my life and realize there's nothin' left. - Coolio

"Now let me welcome everybody to the wild, wild west a state that's untouchable like Elliot Ness"
-Tupac 

I can't explain it, but I hear these songs and I am transported to a time and a place that I loved. Just ask my morning carpool what happens when one of my 5 hip hop stations spins up Sir Mix A Lot at 7:15am. It is a sight to behold. I am there in all of my 41 year-old yoga pants wearing, white girl crazy, reliving my glory days.

So, it makes complete since to me that 20 years later, music can still transport me. Sometimes the music takes me to hard places. Sometimes the songs that I associate with broken hearts and fractured friendships come on. Every once in a while, I'll hear one that takes me to a specific moment. I can tell you exactly what I was doing, good or bad when that song was permanently etched in my memory. Music is a teacher and healer and pastor and friend to me.

So, back to Bruno.

The four members of my household have passionate music loves. All of us. But these passions rarely intersect. Ally and I do not enjoy alternative music. Lucas hates country. AJ thinks 90's hip hop is ridiculous. But we all love Bruno. When we are in the car together and an argument ensues over the music selection, we all know that the only acceptable compromise is Bruno. Ally knows the most obscure Bruno songs. I think his music encompasses most of her playlists. But this song, 'Perm', is our new favorite. It makes us happy. We laugh. I snap it out with attitude.

And while it is certainly not worded as serenely as a scriptural call to release my cares to the Lord, tonight, I am speaking Bruno and claiming his truth for a houseful of worries.

Girl, we gotta relax!

STOP. Step away from the send button.

That is my lenten discipline today. And, it's a hard one. I just have so much to say. So much that the world needs to hear. Good, good information that could help right the wrongs and clear up disagreements and make sure that everyone knows that I don't affirm their insane approach to life!

I want to correct people by text. I want to edit your Tweet. I want to argue your uninformed Facebook post. I want, I want, I want...

OUR wants account for a large percentage of the wrongs in this world and I am so guilty of constantly desiring to put my 2% in for all to learn from. I know that I don't have it all figured out, but I have walked a few roads in my life, and I feel certain that a few of my fellow life travelers could learn from my wisdom.

Take for instance the junior high lunch table. I am now on trip 3 through junior high. My firsthand experience 30 years ago still causes me to wake up in cold sweats. I hated junior high. I then endured it with child #1. Trip two was equally as painful. Apparently, 6th grade did not get any easier in the 26 year gap. I'm now on round three, and God willing my last. I still hate junior high.

But, let me introduce the modern parent's nightmare. Today's teens have phones at the lunch table. And while I love that my girls want me in their lives, living through the catty conversations of the junior high lunch table for a third time is about to kill me. EVERYTHING is a crisis. Did I mention everything? Now some of these tales are humorous. Some are horribly tragic. But lately, the over the top texts have cause me to send back some top notch responses.

These are actual responses that I have sent in the last two weeks:

"What in the world??"
"Text Ruth" (sorry friends, your name may be inserted at any time to save my sanity)
"Did your sushi make it better?"
"I don't think you are dying, but if you see a light walk towards it. Jesus is waiting."

I just can't help it. Sometimes I have just had enough and after 42 years, I am over 6th grade. I can't do it. I just can't. I try, but I can't stop myself.

What is your 6th grade? What voices in your head or on your feed take you to that place where you just need to drop the electronic device and not respond?

Much like my 6th grader, most of the world does not want my help. So I will sit tonight and let go of all the snarky responses. I will honor myself and others by saving my wisdom for those who ask me to share. This sounds like a simple act, but for me, this is discipline. And, it is one that I need to work on.

Listening to Childlike Wisdom

I have leaned a great deal from my 11 year-old this week. Sure, there are times that I want to forgo mothering teenage girls, but 90% of the time, I am beyond grateful for this amazing journey. If you know our household, you know that our kids are driven. In terms of nature vs. nurture, we work very hard to have an atmosphere of responsibility in our family, but we also try very hard to allow our girls to set their own goals.

And, girl, do they ever!

Each in their very unique ways,  both my girls have high standards for themselves. Our oldest's goals are very cerebral. Academically driven and forward planning in her reading and writing goals, she commits herself to study and knowledge and education. Our youngest shares an equally driven spirit, but it presents in her goals to help others and succeed in her sport. She trains, she prioritizes her schedule and she spends countless hours researching, dreaming and setting goals about swimming. Just this week, she built a model of the Beijing Olympic Birds nest natatorium as a choice research project! She loves swimming.

Her body is growing at a Hilbrich size rate. She has grown 3" since school started this year. She literally has growing pains, which most recently has included a hip injury. Unfortunately, the timing could not have been worse. She has been preparing for the Texas state meet and a national meet. Both will happen in the next 6 weeks.

On Saturday, she was struggling at practice, and I could tell she was frustrated. At the end of practice, She attempted to perform a backstroke start (what she would be swimming in Dallas in 7 days). She couldn't fold her legs. Her anger was intense. She was crushed, she knew what it meant.

The next two hours were tough. Tears were shed. Texts were sent. Fear was present. Disappointment was profound. And here is where the lesson came.

As she took a deep breath, processed the decision, sat with the impact and then she was lighter. She knew, as hard as it was, that she had to take care of herself and she did. I know many grown-ups that can't make that hard decision. I have struggled myself many times. But she knew the right decision was to rest. To be still. To heal.

How many of us need to do those things this season? What do we need to say 'no' to?
No matter what others may think.
Even if yours is not the decision someone else would make.

When we know that it is time to stop and do the hard work of healing, may we pursue it with the same dedication and high standards that we pursue our dreams. And, may we listen to the 11 year-olds in our life that have so much to teach us.

Our Stories

I LOOOOOVE a good story. I watch Dateline and 60 Minutes and Netflix documentaries and every crime and hospital show. I like courtroom drama. I like reality TV. I am one of few insane people that still watches MTV reality shows.

You could say that I need a life. That would be fair. But you could also recognize the wealth of experiences, lives and people that I have learned about thanks to my love of a story. This is all very humorous to those who know that while people's stories are my favorites, people themselves can WEAR ME OUT. I want to know what's going on, but I also want to move on when the story turns to unnecessary drama.

Here's the thing. I am amazed by what people have lived through. The life experiences and hard circumstances, the judgements and critiques, the setbacks and the comebacks, they fascinate me! People are strong. They are amazingly determined. People walk through fire for others and think nothing of the sacrifice. Humanity is simply inspiring.

If we all have great stories, do we hide them? Why, when we have already lived through them, do we think we can't talk about them?

Judgement
Comparison
People pleasing
just to name a few...

I have (and still do) battle all of these. But I have to tell you, the more that I live into the wildly open person that I am, the more that I hear that this way of life is refreshing. I'm over the facade. I'm done with fake. If you walk up to me and ask how I am, you will likely get the slap happy truth. Be warned, because some days are not pretty.

As I live into holistic authenticity, I find hope and refreshing peace. I also find the ability to walk away from game playing. This might be the greatest gift of my 40s. With a little life perspective and wisdom, I don't have to waste the energy to care about those who do not truly care about me.

And for those that do, the wealth of love and dedication that you get from me is fierce. I will show up in ways that you may not know what to do with. From learning to tell my true story, I have embraced humanity and all that is good and at the same time been freed from the expectations that the world places on 'peopling'. May we be honest. May we tell truth. May we love each other in big and contagious ways.

Go There

This weekend, I am teaching at ECL about knowing and telling your story. This has not always been easy for me, but it is better and lighter and more freeing with each passing day. Do you have areas of your life that should someone bring them up, call out or speak into, your first response is: Don’t go there? 

That thing. That hidden place. That fear. You know what it is. Sometimes it is buried so deep and is so much a part of who you are that you cannot imagine looking at it, much less changing it. 

We have the same shame around issues today. Depression, addiction, suicide, infidelity, family secrets, divorce...I could go on and on. Somehow we think that surely our issue is so big, so imbedded, that God cannot heal it, much less use it. What is it for you? What happened so long ago, that you think - I am over that - I just have to press on? What are you afraid to look at and be open about? 

There are the moments in our lives when we we have to communicate our utter dependence on your Creator. That’s what faith is. It’s not just praying a prayer and believing you will have what you have prayed for with every ounce in your ‘believer.’ It’s depending on God and trusting him with the answers for you life.” 

All of your life. The whole of it. Not to dredge up pain. Not to cause heartache, but because that if I look at those times and situations, God can bring about redemption.

Here is the tricky part. God does not work according to my plan. If I had it my way, I would show him my wound, he would take me to the spiritual ER, give me a pain killer so it I would not feel anything, clean out the wound very well, stitch me up, and send me home with wound care instructions that would leave me with a hardly noticeable scar in just a few weeks.

If you have figured out how to make that happen, please teach me.

How do we embrace our story?

Stop running from yourself and God.

Be willing to honestly look at the painful wounds and seek healing

How do you know if you are running?

Have you been silent for less than 5 minutes in the last 24 hours?

Do you ever say “l just have to push though this”?

Do you ever say DON’T GO THERE about any area of your life?

It would be so nice for me to say, please take off your running shoes and place them on the altar. For me, it has never been simple. That is simply the first step. 

I remember the day that I finally admitted that I was a alcoholic. I can remember thinking, how did I get here? What happens if I really say this out loud? Everything I know will change. Will my husband stay? Can I be a mother? Will the church disown me? How will I ever NOT drink? I’ll never be able to go to another wedding.....you get the idea.

That is what keeps us from owning our story - FEAR of truth.

If they really knew...

I can’t keep going, and I can’t stop....

What if my kids find out...

There is no way I will be accepted by the church...

The last one holds many of us captive to our pain. Especially if we have painted the picture of perfection and togetherness on Sundays. What I can tell you is, You are accepted by CHRIST and that is way more important than what anyone in this world might think.