Category: Uncategorized (Page 7 of 188)

I sliced open my thumb cleaning up some broken glass. I took one look at it and thought I had a hole in my hand. I immediately called JJ and declared a need for stitches. Seven of them, to be exact.

I’m amazed with the body’s ability to heal itself. The stitches won’t heal me. They hold things in place so the two sides of the same skin can begin to recognize itself in the other. Then, together, the skin will create new cells that fill the gap the cut divided.  With a little bit of rest, keeping it clean and covered, in 10 days I’ll go get these bad boys out and see wholeness in my hand.

Friends, this is very good news. Not just because humans are clumsy when it comes to cleaning up sharp objects, but because our bodies frequently reflect our human nature. We are designed for healing. Restoration. Oneness.

This election has been ugly, but we’re almost there. Here’s what I propose: we take some time on November 9 to heal our gaping wound. We remember that the ones on the other side of the divide are made of the same stuff, even if they don’t think, believe or vote in the same way. I believe we can create something new to fill the gap.

We need something that will tie us together, but please remember: the work of getting stitched up will hurt like a Mother. I came off the table with that shot of skin-Novocaine. This is going to hurt. But you often have to work through pain to get to the healing.

Yesterday I took my van to get fixed, and sat in the waiting room, where CNN filled the airwaves analyzing  the previous night’s debate. I braced myself for either awkward silence or combative arguments. After a commentator made another sensationalized statement, I couldn’t resist laughing. We all laughed. And then we broke the ice. We started by agreeing: this election is terrible.

A rich white dude, an older black man and myself, the young-to-middlin’ female, we all agreed. It’s terrible. We’re tired of it. Then, we shared our hopes. Perhaps something better will be on the horizon. Perhaps we’ll collectively learn our lesson.

“I’m most scared of blind allegiance to either candidate.” Yes, me too.

“I wish there was less sensationalism around their personalities and more talk of how either candidate plans to address the actual issues.” Yes, me too.

“I’ve done more watching and reading for this election than any before it, starting with the primaries.” Yes, me too. 

Instead of criticizing “the system” for all its obvious imperfections, perhaps it’s time for the real work to begin:  we, the people need to reflect on what kind of citizens we want become before 2020. I think it starts with more “yes, me too.” All of the “them/they/their” talk will only keep the divide deep and long.

So here we go, friends. Our chance to pull it together. Brace yourself, because healing hurts. But it’s possible and necessary if we want to move and live in the way we were designed to function: together, as a whole.

Just in case anyone out there has lost track of time, I want to remind you that we’re on the homestretch of summer. Not that I’m excited or anything.

(Clock courtesy of Counting Down To)

Because, why would I be thrilled that school will be in session? What would want to make me trade in our long summer days of children making constant messes with all 3,652 toys we own and the 5 things that their parents have asked them not to play with? Sure, I slightly detest the Lunchbox Rush at 7:14 am. Yet it seems my children eat 562 times more food while not in the school building.

Because I want this to be a happy post, I’m not going to mention the constant costume changes and the mounds for laundry. I gave up on beach towels a month ago. I’m counting on the chlorine to disinfect while it dries in the sun before I fold them up and return them to the closet.

Also, please sit with me in my grief. My dishwasher broke. THREE WEEKS AGO. Lowe’s promised me a new one but now they’re not answering their phone, like a soon-to-be ex-boyfriend.

It’s not that I’m excited to have summer over (okay, maybe I am a little) nor am I ungrateful for the summer life we create. I recognize that having all of my people under my roof during the brightest days of the year has many benefits.  I have help. Also, I’m not scrounging for childcare. I recognize many working parents come to the point when children outgrow early childhood daycare but yet aren’t quite ready to roam the streets stay home alone. So in all my crabbyness, please also hear me say out loud: I’m lucky – privileged – and I know it. I also know that I won’t be “helping” to pick up my basement again until those little messmakers are under the care and responsibility of trained professionals.

So maybe, just maybe, when the school supply list arrived, I immediately hopped online to fill my virtual cart with crayolas. Note: Target will only let you have 30 items in your cart. Note: the approximate size of cart filled only with items for 2 children to go back to school is 31 items.  (As a born and bred nerd, the school supply aisle is my absolute favorite, so it pains me to forego the in-person trip. I’m actually plotting to spend the first day of school among the paper and pens, alone. Heaven.)

Did I mention that the baby (of the 3-year-old variant) will also be spending some time with a teacher this year? Yes, my friends. I’m going to get (up to) a solid 5 hours per week with no one declaring they don’t like the song on the radio, lamenting that his banana broke while peeling it, or insisting that I watch how they can touch their toes to their ears while I try to pee in peace. Most real adults get these peaceful hours just on their commute to work, but I’ll gladly pay a local church to give me such freedoms.

So, while I will soak up the final days of afternoon swims and baseball fights games in the yard, I will endure as I do with all things: with a deep sense of hope. The season of crisp, clean notebook pages and sharpened crayons are upon us. The rhythm and regularity of an actual schedule will soon guide us.

Teacher friends, I hand the torch to you. Godspeed.

Every morning, I rise and prepare the coffee grinds. I sit in the same brown leather chair with my steamy mug and I awaken to the day. To my right is our front window, facing the west. This morning it was dark and gray, fooling me into believing that nothing but rainstorms lie ahead.

To my left, I look out our eastern-side sliding doors. This morning’s sunrise painted the undersides of the clouds in varying shades of pinks and oranges. The light was so bright when it reflected into the house, I needed to shift my gaze.

Find a seat to look out both windows. Notice the space where the sunrise has not yet reached. At the same time, adore the beauty of light edging out darkness.  Because this is life; your life and my life. Through both windows you can acknowledge both darkness and there is dawn. Both. And.

From here, I can see the work of the sun twice a day.