The Face of a Stranger

I was shopping in Kroger with my 3 littles, and we were heading back to grab some distilled water.  I had completely forgotten the item, and so I was excited to have had a moment of memory.  As we were carting it back to the water section there was a snafoo with a woman and her product-laiden cart who was blocking the entrance to the section I needed to get to.  We waited patiently (my kids were actually doing good at this point - phew!).  She moved, and then we ran into an older gentleman.

His hair was silver, his eyes kind, his accent thick.  Even though I knew it wasn't the man who is one of the people I would bring back from the dead to have dinner with (Don't you usually come across that question in some small group/get-to-know-you setting?), he reminded me so much of my Grandpa.  Even as I write this, I can't help but cry.  Thankfully my son is busy trying to find a show on the Wii... he usually comes and tries to make it better when I cry.  Anyways, side note.

When the man said hello as we crossed paths briefly, the softness in his southern accent was so similar to my Grandpa's.  It took me back to all of those times he would call me in college with his "Tam????" that made my roomates laugh, and made me smile.  I could hear it.  It has been so many years since I last heard his voice.

He also had creases that shaped his face much like my Grandpa.  His eyes were so kind with a hint of laughter behind them.  It was like he was here.

I miss him so dearly.  He was a man who had so much faith and trust in me.  He was so kind, funny, and loved deeply.  It tears me up when I think about how he missed meeting Jon, and he never met the kids.

This stranger has no idea how much he made my day, and apparently by the signs of me trying to fight back the tears that keep sneaking out of my eyes, my days since.

I have a picture of my Grandpa and I up in my room.  It is from a trip I took to see him when he was healthy.  He grew very sick the year I met Jon and died not too long after that.

This stranger gave me something no picture filled with memories, or a letter can offer.  He gave me a taste of experiencing my Grandpa.  My ears got to hear something like his voice that brought back so many memories where I could imagine his voice again.  My eyes got to see what was so close to his eyes, his smile, and face that when I look at the pictures I can almost see him come to life again.

To love someone so deeply is to afford yourself to hurt so deeply.  In this brief moment with the stranger I have encountered both love and hurt all at once as I remember my Grandpa.

The stranger was doing nothing more than simply being at the supermarket. He did nothing spectacular.  However, he did so much.  He gave me a gift.  He gave me the ability to not just remember in memory, but to almost remember as if my Grandpa were still alive.  I am so grateful for this gift... even if this type of remembrance produces splotches all over my face from crying.

Below is a pic of my last visit with him, and my aunt Charlotte and two of her kids.

Would you choose anyone else?

Over the course of the last year Ezzie has become more interested in hearing personal stories.  He especially loves hearing about his birth and his sisters' births (we skip over the yucky stuff :)).  When I share with him his story I tell him I would not choose anyone else to be my Ezzie.  Many days I find myself telling him I wouldn't choose any other boy to be my Ezzie just because.

As time continues to run forward, I instinctively want to stop time.  There is a common message from the generation that has gone before me that this stage goes by fast.  My children won't be little for very long.  I should appreciate it.  While I may not feel like appreciating it, I trust their voices.  I can see what they mean even if time seems to be a big mess in my mind at this point.  When I look at my youngest I can see reflections of my oldest when he was her age.  I tear up - a lot.  I especially tear up when I look at their hands.  Their sweet hands that are growing bigger in my own each day.

Tonight Ezzie opened his arms wide for me when I was putting them down for the 3rd time (yes, they like to have reasons to be up or making noise).  As I nestled into him, and he into me, I commented on his beautiful bright blue eyes.  He then proceeded to say, "Mommy, I would never choose another mommy to be my mommy.  (Pause)  Would you ever choose another boy to be your Ezzie?"  My obvious response: "Never.  I only choose you."

And I paused.  I felt both joy and hurt in one moment.  Joy that we love each other so deeply, and hurt over the future that is a moment away.  The thoughts of others hurting and rejecting him flooded my heart.  The inevitable reality everyone faces.   And my heart was filled with pain.  Pain that is so strong that even as I type this I tear up.  However, a thought struck me: I can give him the gift of always being chosen, wanted, and loved by his mom.  I can never, and will never be all he needs.  My love, cherishing, and choosing won't take away the sting of pain that awaits him.  But.. I have hope.  I have hope that what I can give him in these younger years and throughout his life - even though our relationship will grow and change - will build in him this intuitive intrinsice sense of being chosen, cherished and loved.  To know you are loved, cherished, and chosen is such a gift.  This gift is one that I am so grateful to be able to give to my kids.

Parenting

Over the course of my life, I have been blessed to have awesome colleagues.  Today I was especially impressed by this as I talked and laughed with two women who make me smile whenever I think of them.  Both of these ladies do not have kids right now, and are surrounded by women who have just joined the birthing club.  They are the few who have not embarked on that journey - which, I want to interject, is awesome.  It bothers me when people pressure others to have kids.. anyways, that is not where this post is going, and so I'll stop.  Being the few grants them the fun of hearing the non-stop mommy talk about brands, pooping, boobies, and other awesome topics.

As we laughed about all of the fun topics that have come up, and the women who are passionately obsessed  I was struck by a sense of truth in myself.  I think I have had my bouts where I was one of those women who drove my friends crazy.  Non-intentionally, but still... if you know me well, you know that if something has gotten me excited I have a hard time not sharing it.  The poor people in the grocery store probably run now when they see my face light up over a bag of limes clearanced down to 99c... they know I will probably holler for them to check out the deals.. Anyways, I digress.

As we talked and laughed I commented on how most moms who are insecure are the ones who try to push things on others. As events have occurred and reflections have been made in the hours following, what I shared is ringing truer.

Insecurity - it is mean, it is fierce, and it can lead to so much pain.  It has been a shadow in my life.  At times it is a wisp of a struggle, and at others it is a full-forced battle.  This has been my experience especially in parenting.

While many people who seem to have all of the parenting answers come across as secure, they often are more insecure than you would imagine.  Most of the time the facade is a cover-up for them not knowing what they are doing, and responding to the pressures to compete to do it right and to do it the best.  One big sign of insecurity is a person's unwillingness to learn from others.

I think what struck me tonight was not so much my struggles with insecurity so much as an insight into my growing in security.  There were two parenting situations I observed today that really resonated with me.  I felt like I learned something from both of these situations that I feel will help me be a better mom to my kids.  I think being able to learn is a sign of growing and become more secure.

I think I have been guilty at pushing things on others in a response of feeling judged and not good enough as a parent.  A huge chunk is also a response to the inferred belief that because people might be doing it differently I am doing it wrong and bad and I have to prove myself.

Sometimes I am guilty of pushing things on people because it pisses me off when they come across as having it all together, but they really are just struggling and doing things to make other people feel less-then.

(If you have been a recipient of this from me, I hope you will accept my apology.  If you want to talk about it, please let me know)

Regardless, it is wrong and unloving.  I don't think I am alone in this.  Parenting, especially, is hard.  The pressures to be good and do things right are hard enough - but we make things worse by acting out of insecurity and reacting rather than responding.

I'm sure this will continue to be a struggle, but a struggle is worth it.  I love learning, and so many of the best decisions and attitudes in parenting Jon and I have made/had have been rooted in learning from others.

The conversation I had with the girls tonight was awesome, and the conviction that I have probably been one of those women has been good for me to face.  It has also been so good to be encouraged by my growth as a parent, and simply in accepting myself a little more without having to prove or compare myself.

Strawberry Jam - Less Sugar & More Fruit Flavor!

Tis the season for strawberries here in East Texas!  We have a great orchard about 30 minutes or so from our place where we can go and pick strawberries.  The prices are great and the strawberries are even better!

As I pulled out my handy Ball cookbook, I turned to the altered strawberry jame recipe I first concocted years ago after researching strawberry jam.  The thing I love about this recipe is that it calls for nearly half the amount of sugar, and is so easy to make.

Typically, I am not a strawberry jam fan.  The flavor is usually too sweet for me, and tastes more like candy than like the berry itself.  This jam has more of a freezer jam flavor.  It is bright, lovely, and the sugar accentuates the berry flavor.

This year I also discovered a method that made jam making even easier... so, without much further ado, here it is:

Strawberry Jam - Low Sugar
2 Quarts Strawberry Puree
1/4 C lemon or orange juice (the citrus is the key!)
1 pouch pectin
4C sugar (normally this recipe calls for 7-8C sugar)

Method
Preparation of Canning Tools
Before beginning, fill your canning pot with hot water. Place covered pot on a burner.  Heat on high through the entire process of making the jam until the water is boiling.

Tip: If you want to be efficient, place your empty jars in the water and let them heat with the water.  This will sterilize them

Take a small saucepan, fill with about 1in deep of water, and heat on low with the sealing lids inside.

Make an area next to the stove that you can place the hot jars onto.  Have all of your tools ready to go. I use the magnetic lid picker-upper, canning funnel, and the tongs for grabbing the hot jars. Don't forget your rings to hold the lids on tight, and a wash cloth for wiping the jars tops clean.. and just wiping up messes (well.. you can just use your fingers if you want.. it is delicious!)

These babies are red through the center!

Making the Jam
Puree the berries.  I simply hulled them, and placed them in the blender.  Blended until smooth, and then measured 2 quarts. (You can always hand mash... I did this until this year.  I will not do this again)

In a large pot, combine the berry puree, juice and pectin.  Heat to boiling.  Stir as often as you see fit.

Once boiling, add the sugar and stir well.  Keep stirring as needed until the jam hits a hard boil.  Make sure you are stirring constantly at this stage - the jam likes to grow!  Hard boil for a minute.

If your jam is foamy, or you care, add a tablespoon or so of butter to cut down on the foam.

Canning the Jam
If you are working with a partner, begin taking out the jars and dumping the piping hot water back into the canning pot.  Line them up next to stove - or wherever you will fill them.  If working by yourself, wait until the hard boil is over and your jam has settled down to get your jars ready.

Using a ladle, scoop the hot jam into each jar until about 1/4in from the top.

Wipe up any jam that has landed on the jar with a damp rag.

Place toppers on jars and screw on the ring - you might want to use the towel to hold the jar.  It will be very hot.

Place all jars back in canning pot and cover.  Once the water begins boiling again (it usually will slow down), put your timer on 10min

Finishing Up
Once the timer goes off, use your canning tongs to take the jars from the pot and set where they can sit and cool undisturbed.

Within the next 10-15min you should hear all of your jars happily pop!

Enjoy!  This jam is a beautiful soft-set jam that spreads well and tastes phenomenal!

Being taken advantage of...

If you asked me what one of my faults it, I would probably share with you about my need to preserve myself.  To protect myself.  The first time I knowingly put on the armor of self-preservation was back when I was about 5.  My brother and I were pulled aside by the judge and questioned about whether we wanted to be adopted.  Without a second thought my answer was yes.  I trusted that the judge would bring justice, and had full confidence the nightmares of visits, court rooms and examinations would be over.  Well, the battle to be adopted and freed from these things didn't occur until almost 8 years past that point.

I lost faith in others.  The judge - the only one I knew I could trust - failed me.  From that time on, self-preservation became my kindred spirit.

Surprisingly, I also found myself easily trusting.  So, it was a battle between my nature, and the nurturing of environments that taught me that I could only trust myself.

I am a wife, mom, daughter, sister, friend, teacher.  I still struggle with letting people in, and letting myself really open up to others.

It has been a lesson of letting people in, and when trust is broken, drawing healthy boundaries, and walking down the path of letting them in again if they earn my trust.  Easily said than done, but growth has been a big part of my life.

So, you would think I could take the feeling of being taken advantage by the government without too much emotion.  But, seriously, it speeds my heart up and calls the tears to fill the ducts of my eyes.  Right now, they aren't spilling.  I am also stubborn.

It is hard to get over the feeling that Jon and I try to be faithful with what we are given, and to be faithful in our debts, responsibilities, and whatever is called of us... and then, well, even as we are doing everything we can do, and checking everything off, we find ourselves in a place of being taken advantage of.

So... what can I do?

One practice that has begun shaping my life involves admitting the holistic experience I am going through, and taking that and transforming it through the lens of empathy.  What do I mean by this?  Well, I feel taken advantage of.  I am stopping and asking myself if I have taken advantage of others.  I am having the uncomfortable conversation about my own treatment of others - big and small.  While I cannot think of a current way I am taking advantage of others, it is my prayer that I will be aware of when I have the desire to do so - and even when I act.  What will I do?  I will listen to the advice we give our kids - make it right.  Say I am sorry.  Try again.

I hate how I feel, and it pains me to think that I may have made others feel this exact same thing.  I am pretty helpless right now to resolve anything with the government regarding myself.  However, I will not let this further infect the concept of not being able to trust, and thus make me harden my heart.  I am grateful for these fresh feelings of pain, even though I don't choose them, because they remind me to empathize with others and be more aware of my effects on the lives of people around me.

I hate pain.

Pain.  

Hurt.

Disappointment.

Rejection.

Loss.

These words hold so much punch.  We all face these things.  They are normal.  Yet, there is nothing normal about the burn that comes through their experience.

Take death for example.  Death is something that we will all face.  In some cultures death is very open.  When I taught in Vietnam I was looking out my window at the street.  There was a bus slowly making it's way down the street with a group of people surrounding it.  As I watched one person would enter through it's side door, cry out, scream, etc., and eventually exit through the back where they were embraced by other mourners.  The next person would follow.  

Here, where I call home, I know when someone has died by the stream of cars cushioned by patrol officers.  Faces are often tightened, or tears drop silently.  Publicly there rarely seems to be more.

For myself, when faced with death I have found myself to be an overflowing fountain that silently bubbles over until I can find a room where nobody can see me, and then the mourning is fresh, ugly, raw, full.

Which is better?  I'm not sure.  Does it matter?  What does matter?  The sting of death, no matter how much expected, is fresh.  I think the real question is - what do we do when faced with it?  

Seasons come in my life.  Seasons where I experience more pain than I would care to.  It can be caused by well-meaning people who are careless in relationships.  Other times it can be caused by my fears, worries, or choices.  Most of the time it is a messy combination of both.  Either way, I squirm in the experience of each encounter I have with the words listed at the beginning of this piece.  However, these experiences are normal, and should be expected.  Yet, they burn.  They burn new and fresh and carry the fragrance of familiarity.  The scent doesn't cover their pain, but simply brings in the familiarity of their experiences from past occasions.

I work hard in relationships.  I work hard in myself.  But, how do I face them?  

My gut instinct?  To harden my heart, throw up my middle finger, say "screw you," and run like the dickens.  My heart of hearts?  To stay, to open myself to them, to ask questions to try to understand, to hear their side, share my own, and come to a place of peace.  However, staying true to my heart takes a level of restraint that can at times seem impossible.

Why do I pick my heart's direction?  I want to grow.  I want to be alive.  I don't want to grow cold, stale, and experientially dead.  For some reason, I don't want to give up on people.  I want all wrongs righted.  I want healing.  I want reconciliation where possible. 

The pain that comes with choosing these things is excruciating at times.  The reward is mostly worth it when it comes to the outcome of the conversations.  When I am left with a one-sided situation where reconciliation is denied - whether clearly or passively with lies - the pain is still worth it.  The value comes in knowing I gave my heart to them, and did not hold back the care and concern for their own even in the fumbling of my own short-comings and failures.

I want to honor God, and I think honoring Him is loving others even when it means I have to experience more pain.  I think it looks like sacrificing my need/desire to be right, have things go my way, or feel good. 

It isn't easy, and honestly, I couldn't choose it on my own.  

Right now I am struggling with pain from others, and today won't be my last day experiencing fresh pain intertwined with dull familiarity.  It is a daily choice, and today I choose to be honest with where I am.. maybe not to the people involved, but definitely to myself, God and Jon.  I choose to step down the path of loving the people, and embrace what that will look like.  Right now it means forgiving the pain experienced, remembering the hearts of the people involved, taking an honest look at myself, and choosing to go forward in loving them - whatever it looks like.  Tomorrow, if the pain resurfaces, and is stronger, I may find myself going with my gut instinct as I talk it out with God (recall giving the bird)... but in the end choosing to love them and myself.  I have to rely on God for this choice, and I am so grateful for each day I choose it.

My pits have a hint of mint!

While I am not ultra-crunchy, I am often willing to try new things that will improve our health.  Recently, I read a few articles connecting the products found in deodorant to breast/other cancers.  This made me step back and think a bit about my current deodorant situation.

Now, BO... it stinks.  The wetness from sweating is also no fun.  I have horrible memories of teaching my first year of high school math, and overhearing my brattiest student comment about how waterfalls were gushing from my arm pits.  I also remember walking away from my interview for that job with rings around my armpits and on my back... and they hired me.  So, sweat has always been a sensitivity of mine, and BO is something I try to avoid.  I am very smell-oriented.  I like the reassuring smell of flowers as my deodorant is working.

Over the course of the years I have found that certain things are effective for me in the smell and wetness category. I have experimented with different applicators, perfume instead of deodorant, and recently with homemade stuff.

I began my experiment with simply wearing nothing.  After a few days I was excited because the BO was at bay.  I just didn't smell.  The first few days I sweated more than normal, but the sweating actually slowed down.  Then came the week mark.. and the return of BO.

So, I quickly looked up a recipe, and went to it.

Now this is a really easy recipe, and can be tailored to your needs:

1/4 C Baking Soda
1/4 C Cornstarch
1/4 C Coconut Oil
Just a little pure oil (I used peppermint from the fields of Oregon!)

If you have worked with coconut oil - which is amazing in so many ways! - you have discovered how quickly a somewhat warm temp can melt it.  When it solidifies it is hard.  I have heard of many people who refrigerate their deodorant.  I refuse.

So, my idea when making this was to melt the coconut oil, and add the powders until the consistency was satisfactory.  My thought is that if the consistency is somewhat solidified when the coconut oil is liquefied, then when it gets hot, my deodorant will warm and soften, but not melt!

I took an old deodorant container, twisted the container until the base was at the bottom, and filled it with my homemade deodorant.

So, it has been almost 3 weeks.  I love the smell of my pits.  If you find me with my nose close to my pit, you know I am smelling to take in the reassuring light scent of mint emanating from my pits.  If you are brave, you are welcome to take a whiff too :)  Poor Jon, I forced him to take a whiff until his sense of smell came back and he could affirm my BO-less wonder :)

Now, I must comment on something I have noticed when applying the deodorant.  Right now it is cold.  So, my deodorant is more solidified.  I simply hold the stick against my armpit for a few seconds.  My skin will soften the coconut oil just enough for it to smooth on nicely.

Good luck and happy sniffing! ;)