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! ;)

Through your eyes...

Eyes.  The communication through them is memorizing.  The lack is empty, painful, and lifeless.

Now, eyes have always been a strange phenomena for me.  I often find myself trying to look people in both eyes during a conversation, and getting frustrated that my eyes really can only focus on one eye at a time.  So, I find myself trying to figure out which eye is the person's dominant eye.. and trying to focus on looking into that one eye.  Yes, I do realize that people who come into contact with me on a face-to-face daily basis will probably be scrutinizing what eye of theirs I am looking at.. but I digress.  Back to the focus - eyes have always been a part of the body I find captivating :)

I began thinking more about eyes months ago based on the inspiration of my kids.  I often spend time looking into my children's eyes.  This happens while cuddling with them before naps, after, or simply while we are together.  With my older kids we can look at each other and just start laughing.  Without words we can pass "communications" between one another that I consider to be jokes.  Surprisingly, Anja and I are developing the same communications.  I have been amazed at how she is already "joking," and that we both can look at each other and laugh.  It is amazing.

There is so much said beyond the laughter. There is a connection that comes with simply being quiet and looking into one another's eyes.  I notice how powerful simply taking an extra minute to simply be together and look at one another can help me feel more connected to my kids, and them to me.

About a month and a half ago we experienced the opposite to be true.

I have heard people talk about experiencing a person who is just not there.  While I never questioned for a minute the reality of the situation, I never experienced it.

Then came a Wednesday that began like any other day of the week.  Anja was a bit crabby, teething, and had a low-grade fever.  It went up to 102, and came down with medicine.  Later, when Jon had the kids with me at work, her fever came back, but she was happy.

Then came the change.

She was staring off.  Despite my efforts, with eyes wide open Anja was not registering or responding to me.

For the next 5 hours she seized, eyes wide open.  He stare was blank.  Her stare was empty.  Yet, there seemed to be something in there needing me.  I stayed near her head.  I talked to her, kissed her, sucked her little fingers as she likes me to when she is playing while nursing her, and just was there.  We wondered if we would every "see" her again - let alone whether she would live.

Those hours were the scariest hours of my life.  What I had just been marveling at with my children seemed to be held at bay for me with Anja.

At 3:30am, while wheeling her to her room after the seizures stopped, the cart hit a bump.  It roused her, drugged and all, and she "looked" at us... she responded, she showed she knew us.  We knew we had her back in that regard.  To use the word celebrate is to cheapen the emotions that coursed through us.

I don't know how eyes can say so much, and I marvel at this.  For me, this is a part of creation that speaks so powerfully into my belief that God exists and is so intentional.  To try to explain in words is something that cannot be done.  The knowing comes through the experiencing.

Each day I get to experience the eyes of my children (and many others too.. but they have been the ones I have been thinking about the most in terms of how much is said through the eyes).  It is a gift.  It is an experience that is so life-giving for both parties.

I hope you will take the time to look into the eyes of those in your life today, and just experience the connection that comes without words.

My worst can be my best

In my senior year of college I decided to take The History of the American English Language for fun.  I still remember sitting in the chair and debating over whether this extra class was worth it (I was a math major).  When the professor, Dr. Glyer, opened us in prayer, I was hooked.  It ended up being one of my favorite classes, and she one of my favorite professors.

At one point in the course we were peer-reviewing one another's papers in groups of 4.  We had all read a girl's paper and were supposed to engage in dialogue about her strengths and weaknesses regarding the paper.  We all agreed that her strengths were in the introductory sentence of each paragraph that connected the last paragraph to the new paragraph.  I sat surprised when she told us that this was her greatest weakness in writing.  Her greatest insecurity, to us, was her greatest feature.

Fast forward to a week or so ago.

As I was driving through town without children - a luxury :) - I was thinking about my insecurities.  I was thinking about how I feel insecure in knowing how to be a good mom.  I feel insecure in knowing how to be intentional with my time, and to really know how to listen to my children and make them feel understood while also challenging them to grow.  I feel insecure in SO many things regarding my kids.

Well, my memory took a turn towards Dr. Glyer's class and the girl who struggled with her sentences.  If you know me well, you know my brain kind of jumps.  The jumps always make sense - well, to me atleast :)  So, it jumped a few times and landed on the memory from Dr. Glyer's class.  When I thought about this girl I was so encouraged.  She took extra time to focus on her weakness and to work on growing.  While she felt incredibly insecure about her sentences, we all, as outsiders, applauded this very aspect of her writing.  If to others her weaknesses were viewed as strengths, maybe one day mine may be viewed the same.

It is easy to look at my own shortcomings and become discouraged.  I see myself in a specific light, and assume others do as well.  I am encouraged to keep working on my weaknesses, and to trust God that He is making me strong.  I am encouraged that maybe these things that I struggle with may also be viewed as strengths and blessings to others.  Remembering that girls inspired me to continue on, instead of getting lost in the sorrow of it all.

I'm glad I stayed in that class.  The class itself was awesome, but the impact of that girl, and the continued inspiration I have experienced in knowing Dr. Glyer have been more than I could have imagined.

Boys and Girls

Compassion, critical thinking, humor, empathy, gentleness, being brave, taking risks, saying you are sorry, making things right, showing your feelings by crying, talking things out, getting out physical aggression, holding someone's hand when they are hurting.

This is a very short list of choices, activities, expressions, and characteristics that I personally value.

I hope my kids will practice/live/experience all of these.

However, they don't live in a society that encourages them equally.  We live in a culture where boys and girls are "gendered" based on characteristics such as these.  Girls are to be quiet, sensitive, compassionate, and gentle.  Boys are to be loud, domineering, good with their hands, can think in 3 dimensional pics (yes, I have heard this.. and I am a girl who can think in 3d objects and rotate them in my head), and need to be brave.  To be a good girl or boy is to stick to the stereotypes and not cross over.

While boys and girls can be different, I often struggle when I hear people talking about "all boys" or "all girls" being "insert defining expression."  It drives me crazy.  One, two, or all of my kids often do not fall into the stereotype.  Yet, that adult, and even that kid who really has no idea what they are talking about, voice their comment and alienate others, and make others feel less than for things about themselves. Is it an inferiority complex?  Is it the need to feel better about yourself by defining who you are not?

I wonder how many of our current issues with suicide, self-harm, etc. have a root in someone telling/showing a kid how they were somehow wrong in who they were based on a characteristic.  Maybe it was a little boy who was told he was too sensitive like a girl.  Maybe it was a little girl who was told she was too loud for being a girl.  

I see and hear the same things in my current season of life.  I see and hear how dad's have to "watch" their kids, and are referred to almost as babysitters.  Moms and even people outside of this season of life often look on fathers with extra sympathy if they have to take care of the kids alone - without the mom around.  In many ways, men are looked at as being inferior.  Many men seem to distance themselves emotionally from their kids.  If a mom is staying at home, and the dad is working, I can see how the dad may not be "in" on how everything goes down during the day.  However, aren't they both parents?

I already see how my son, especially, is being hurt by society when it comes to gender issues.  His favorite color is pink.  It makes me hurt for him and angry when I hear a little girl or boy tell him it is a "girl" color... and then I am furious at the parents who either encourage it, or just let it be.  He nursed his Gerry when I was nursing Lina.  I have heard many people comment on how "instinctive" it is for little girls to do this, but not for little boys.  He likes fingernail polish on his toes - that was actually a struggle for us as parents.  Jon and I had a long and good talk about that issue.  How do you respond to others who give your child a look, stare openly, and even comment out loud - and I am not even talking about kids!  Where do you protect your child, and help them learn to forgive the people who hurt them and be confident in who they are?

One thing we are learning with our kids is that they are different, and they are very much the same.  We are choosing to teach them to live out who they are, and to work towards having characteristics that enable them to love others and themselves better - even if society may come at them because they aren't being a "boy" or "girl" in the way that is deemed appropriate.  

When I am tempted to "gender" my kids, I often stop myself and think it through.  I hope I continue to do this, and that Jon and I do a good job in encouraging our kids to be who they are, to embody characteristics that help them love themselves and others better, to accept others for who they are even if it is different from them, and to stand up for others who can't do it for themselves when someone tries to tell them how they aren't valuable.

When we die...

It all began one day when we were driving by a cemetery.  Ezzie asked me what all of the rocks were.  I explained that when people die, they are put in the ground and the rock shows us where they are.  He was upset by this, and told me he didn't think people should be put there when they died.  I then asked him where they should be put.  He didn't know, so I told him that they could be put in the street and other areas.  He was ok with that idea until I explained that we would run over them with our cars.  He then thought the burying idea was the better option.  Yes, that is how I reasoned that one - I do love the age of 4 where logic is understood - well, sometimes :)

Since then, Ezzie talks about death fairly regularly.  He is definitely this mama's boy.  He, like me, when tired, sad, or simply off, finds himself walking down the alleys of melancholy and sad thoughts.  Jon frequently is talking me through sadness, fear, and grief at night, and now I am doing the same for my boy.

So, death.  It is a topic.  It is hard, and it is good.

Last night was the clincher of conversations.  As Ezzie told me he didn't want to live with Jesus, because he wouldn't be with us, he told me how he never wanted to be apart from me.  As he spoke, I replied back the same with words and tears.  We talked about things relating to death and heaven and such, and we both agreed that death was sad, but we both shared the happiness in being free from getting our feelings hurt, experiencing being really angry and mad, and the emotions we both can understand about one another.

I walked away with tears still left in my eyes and such a full heart.  This is what being a parent is about.  This is the trust I want with my kids.  I want them to be able to talk to me about anything without the fear of being judged, ridiculed, lectured at, or feeling silly.  While I am mommy, and they do need to obey and respect me, I am also mommy who invites them in and allows them their space to be themselves and make their own choices.  It is a strange dynamic at times, while it is also so natural.  

Death will continue to be a discussion, as will other hard topics, and I welcome them.  Not because I have anything important to say, but because I get to journey with my kids.  Jon gets to journey with them.  We get to be close in heart and spirit - not just body and behavior.

Jalapenos - Go Gloveless!

A few years ago I found myself cutting a bunch of jalapenos.  As I was cutting through them all I had no idea about the fate awaiting my gloveless hands.  My hands burned... I woke up throughout the night because of the pain.

I have avoided cutting them since.  When I have had one to cut, I've just done a few big chops without touching the fleshy green.  I don't keep gloves on me, forget to grab them at the store, and simply don't want to spend the money if I don't have to.

About a month ago I discovered how to dice a jalapeno without using gloves, and without burning my fingers.  Not a single tinge of pain entered my fingertips.

Maybe this technique is commonly known, but just in case it isn't, and you don't want to bother with gloves either, this is for you!

First, position your jalapeno on your cutting board - only hold the stem.

 Take your knife and make slices beginning close to the stem, and move the knife through the tip.  Continue holding the stem.

 Rotate the jalapeno 90 degrees either direction.  Make similar slices just as you did before.

Now, begin cutting so your knife is running vertically (all while continuing to hold the stem).  You will have perfectly diced jalapenos and not a bit of burn on your gloveless hands!  Happy cutting!