Not Today

Yesterday morning I woke up sad with an emptiness in my heart. My kids are struggling with trauma--it's been an ongoing battle for the last four years, but these past four months have been intense and exhausting and emotionally depleting. It will be a year on Thursday that the mother of one of my oldest friends died unexpectedly. Another mass shooting over the weekend. Fractured relationships.

There really is so much brokenness in the world. So much that I'm finding it difficult to live mercifully lately. To live purposefully lately.

Yesterday I had a spare 20 minutes between school drop off and work, so I went for a walk at a little lake even though I just wanted to pull into a nearby park, let my seat down, and sleep. It was cold outside, 29 degrees, but the sun was shining, and save for a pair of Mallards, I was the only living being at the lake. I walked along the bike path that meanders through the park. I shoved my cold hands deep into my pockets and let my shoulders sag so I could nuzzle my neck and chin into my coat away from the morning wind.

As I walked, I wanted to be awestruck by the beauty of a cold, Nebraska morning. I tried to savor the soft crunch of nearly dried leaves beneath my feet. I stopped to take a few photos of the sun shining through some bare branches, the waves slapping against the rocks on the beach. I feel most at home in this world when I'm outside, so usually, nature has a way of pulling me out of whatever slump I'm in. Not today, I thought.

I wanted to confidently prayer walk around that lake, stomp out the grief with every step and hallelujah. I couldn't even whisper a prayer yesterday morning. Not today.

A poem: Palm up in offering

Note: I've been rather quiet on this space lately. I'm still struggling to figure out how to process recent events, especially the recent executive order banning refugees from seven countries. So, to help me process, I wrote a poem. It's not polished or even share-worthy, but it is honest. Maybe you're also reeling during these difficult times; if so, take good care of yourself. Try reading or writing poetry or take a walk or eat a sleeve of Girl Scout cookies or cook a meal for a friend. Do all the self-care things, so you can take care of others. Also: Thanks to my fellow writer, Lisa Leshaw, for the title suggestion for this poem!

Palm up in offering

One week after President Trump's 
executive order on immigration, 
I let fear propel me to action and sent an email to a

refugee resettlement office checking in on the families

set to arrive in my town this spring.

My family was hoping to welcome a family from Somalia.

I had been looking forward to doing my part.

I imagined sharing a meal with this new family--

cambuulo and tacos, shushumow and apple pie

dotting the new farmhouse table my dad made for me--

the table that I prayed would be used as a bridge

during these difficult and divided times.

Our kids, naive to cultural differences,

would play together

even though they don’t share the same language.

Within minutes, I received a response: 
Due to the recent executive order,
we are halting all resettlements.
Thank you for your willingness to help.

I set out for a run in the freshly fallen snow

and turned on a podcast, thinking

of the families who were turned away.

Sara Kate Levey, an American Jew living in Los Angeles

spoke about her connection to the Holocaust:

Her father in-law was a teenager.

The tattoo of his number still remains

on his arm.

A living testimony to the last time

our country turned away refugees.

Our government stuck out its hand,

not a hand outstretched--

but an open palm in halt formation.

Fearing Nazi spies would surely slip in

among these 900 Jewish refugees,

our government pointed the boat back home.

Upon their arrival home,

they were not welcomed with parades and balloons

and children waving those patriotic mini flags.

No.

The last time we turned refugees away,

more than 250 of these 900 were slaughtered.

Levey, an American Jew, said: 
We feel the fear Muslim-Americans feel right now.
It’s in our bones.

Fear is in my bones, now, too.

It’s in the bones of many Americans,

pulsing through our bodies,

breathed out in different ways.

A friend told me the other night to let go of that fear.

I don’t think I want to because

this isn’t a paralyzing fear--the kind that catches me

unaware at two in the morning,

breathless and rigid.

This is a holy fear.

The kind that shows us what the world is capable of, and

I want this fear to move me forward,

to spur me on towards love

Instead of holding me back from love.

I want this fear to move me forward

to open my home,

to open my hand,

palm up in offering.

Winter rhythms

Today, the people of Nebraska are emerging from their homes after an ice storm halted daily commutes in the majority of our state. Due to the weather, I've been confined to the treadmill for too long. I was finally able to run outside this morning, but it was a slow and slick five miles.

I had to watch my step more than normal and kick the pace down to one minute slower per mile. This kind of running can be a bit torturing for someone like me who likes to just zone out and fall into an 8:30/mile pace. It was good for me, though, to slow down.

I could feel the cold air sting my lungs while the sun provided a welcome warmth on my face. To help slow my pace this morning, I downloaded an acoustic playlist on Spotify. It was slow and deliberate music. The kind of music one listens to while drifting off to sleep. Throughout the five miles, I noticed things like the way the ice glimmered like diamonds on the sidewalk--like that old Tom Waits song, "Diamonds on my windshield...tears from heaven." I noticed the birds and their warbles overhead. It seemed like ages since I last heard the birds. I noticed the way the grass bent in submission to the ice, a sort of bowing to its power. I noticed how quiet my neighborhood is after the morning rush. I noticed the crisp smell of winter giving way to the damp of thawing--the earthy smell of wet dirt.

One of the reasons why I love the Midwest so much is because of the seasons. There are, for the most part, four distinct seasons here. We have crisp autumns, frigid winters, rainy springs, and fiery hot summers. We Midwesterners have developed activities and rhythms for each season. During the winter, houses are shut up, curtains are pulled closed, and we all break out our favorite sweaters. We pour big cups of tea and stir pots of hearty soup. In the Midwest, winter produces a kind of slowing down.

Social media fast: Update #1

It has been 11 days....11 treacherous days without social media. Here's what I'm learning:

FOMO is more than a stupid acronym. It's REAL. SO REAL!!!! I texted a friend on day two and told her that I felt so out of touch with reality. She replied, "See the interesting thing is that you are more in the real world now..." I wanted to tell my friend to go to hell for being so wise. I wanted to tell her that the real world sucks...it's boring. I want the virtual world full of funny memes and entertaining stories. Honestly, I'm struggling to get my brain accustomed to more "silence." When I kicked myself off Facebook and Twitter, I shoved aside a constantly updated news feed of what my friends were up to, headlines from NPR and The Atlantic, articles from the many parenting blogs I follow, and lots of other worthless crap. On day five my husband asked me if I heard about Trump's latest crazy comment, and I realized that I hadn't read a single piece of news in five days. Because I'm also on my summer vacation, I'm not getting my two hour a day NPR fix during my commute to work. I had no idea what was going on in politics, world news, or state news. Apparently the Olympics has started.....I was a few days late to that party.

New habits to cut down on excess

Like I mentioned in another post, I'm typically wary of things labeled Christian. I'm even wary sometimes of the church. But Jen Hatmaker's book, Seven: An Experimental Mutiny Against Excess, was strangely refreshing; it was the antidote for my cynical heart. Basically, Jen chose 7 areas (clothes, spending, waste, food, possessions, media, stress) with which to practice simplicity. Each month was devoted to a new focus, and for those 30 or 31 days, she practiced simplicity by either completely cutting out that aspect (for example, social media/TV/radio) or limiting herself to seven things within that aspect (for the clothing month, she chose only 7 items of clothing to wear for the full month). The book takes readers through each month via her journals throughout the process and what she learns on her quest to cut excess. Hint: She learns a lot...and so did I.

My letter to Jen Hatmaker

Right now I'm reading Jen Hatmaker's book, Seven: An Experimental Mutiny Against Excess. I can't recommend the book enough. I rarely read books twice (unless it's a book I'm teaching or it's To Kill a Mockingbird), but I'm pretty sure I'll read this book twice...or three times, or maybe once a year to remind me not to be stupid. It's THAT good. It's so good that I decided to send Jen Hatmaker an email. I know she probably won't read it, but I'm hoping that whoever is in charge of fielding inquiries will pass this one on to her. I'll form a more coherent post about the book later, but until then--here's my letter to Jen (along with a meme I just made...don't worry, I didn't send it to her--I'm not THAT creepy):

In pursuit of an integrated life

A little over one year ago, I quit my full-time teaching job to pursue part-time work. Teaching English to 180 students in an urban school was just too much for me to juggle with parenting two high needs kids adopted from foster care. Like many teachers who decide to leave the profession, I felt guilty for leaving. I felt like I was abandoning my current and future students while also letting down so many folks (administrators and colleagues) who had such high expectations for what I could or would go on to do as a teacher. It's taken me over a year to realize why leaving my full-time teaching job was best for my family.

Book review: "Notes From a Blue Bike"

Seriously, I love public libraries. No matter where I've lived or what stage I've life I've been in, I've always found a use for my local public library. I've found some of my favorite books in the stacks at the library, learned about the services each community has to offer, and it's been a quiet place for my kids to enjoy. Whenever we move, the library is one of the first places I explore. It was no different when we moved to Grand Island. The library here has an awesome kids area and a great variety of books. During our last trip to the library, I ran across this gem (among a few others!) in the form of an audio book, and it's been keeping my company on my commute home from work each day.