Loss wrapped in beauty

Loss can jump out of the shadows sometimes, very abruptly, leaving a gash on our souls that demands our attention. A sudden illness diagnosis, a miscarriage, the death of a loved one, loss of a job, being wounded by someone we trusted. But loss can also creep across us, the way a beautiful sunset somewhere along the course of time turns into total darkness as the sun disappears and clouds cover the stars and moon.

And loss, wrapped in beauty, is perhaps the most difficult of all to respond to simply because when loss and beauty are intertwined, the loss can go unnoticed until it reveals itself in a pile of rubble made of bits of loveliness.

It's a friendship that brings so much life and joy, that starts to dissipate and is one day altered or gone.

It's a journey into parenthood, that brings so much newness and hope and laughter, but also ushers in a loss of independence, flexibility, and self-confidence.

It's the decision to start a family that starts with excitement, anticipation, and hope, and somewhere turns into bruised hearts, fleeting dreams, and another box of even more unwanted tampons.

It's the relationship or marriage that is full of so much laughter, dreaming, and togetherness that picks up dents and dings, and can turn into an efficient business/parenting partnership where gymnastics and football practice are calendared and bills are paid but backs turn as lovers roll away to the far edges of the bed, and we shrug to a friend over coffee, the tears dried up, "I don't know, somewhere we just lost each other."

It's the pursuit of the new passion that starts with energy, a renewed sense of self, and a belief in adventure that can turn into a sudden realization that priorities have slipped, and with it, health, relationships, and margin.

Loss wrapped in beauty is tricky, not just because it sneaks up on us, but precisely because it is wrapped in beauty. And to give up this kind of loss, would be to give up the beauty as well.

There are so many sayings that can be summed up more or less in the most popular of them all "better to have love and lost, than never to have loved at all." Yeah, sure, we all know it's true, but it sure doesn't ring true on that day (or week, or month, or year, or season) of loss, at least it doesn't for me.

But, what I'm slowly starting to see, is that not only can I develop a habit of seeing the beauty in spite of the loss, but, if I open my heart to it, there may even be beauty in the middle of the loss. Maybe, just maybe, loss is fertile ground for new beauty.

Not that there is beauty in broken dreams, shattered marriages, lost friendships, elusive pregnancies, or the moments of parenting that rip off every last bit of veneer and reveal our ugliest selves. These are the losses, the full-throated, warm-blooded losses that cut us at our knees every time. Having gone through these, or held dear friends and family while they went through these, I know these are the things darkness is made of.  While stillness can be found in the dark, it is a weighty stillness borne of necessity, and not the stillness of a flower tilted toward the sun.

The beauty is what is borne out of losses acknowledged, shared, grieved. This beauty is born out of a friend turning further toward you, not away when you casually hint that you're experiencing a loss. This beauty is born out of a partner pulling closer when you admit you've failed, or point out that perhaps they have.

This beauty is born out of surrender to the hope tomorrow will be better, even if today's view is blurred with tears and rain. This beauty is born out of the healing that comes when we share our greatest fears, failings, and broken dreams and are met with a teary whisper from the soul of one we dared to tell, "I know."

This beauty is born when we are seen, and still loved, not to whisk the loss away, but to help us weave it somehow into a piece of what is the tapestry of our lives.

I don't know what your losses are - whether they jumped out and bit you, or snuck in wrapped in beauty but lately seem only blackness. But I know you've got them, or as it feels at times, they've got you.

But I also know the only wasted string in a tapestry is the one that's never seen, never acknowledged, never incorporated into the whole. Whatever your loss is, I know someone will hold it well, will hold you well, will let it be loss, but not see you as lost. And when they do, I know that tenderly held strand of your life will begin to weave in to beauty, not just yours but theirs, too. I know that a seemingly lifeless color will provide contrast to the brighter hues of realized dreams, loves, and life.

Don't brush away your losses with callousness or shove them away with grit - see them, grieve them, share them. They are yours, but they are not you.

And maybe (often) the loss is only a season, and the friendship returns, or the pregnancy happens, or the marriage is filled with renewed life, or the parenting hits a better rhythm - but even if this is the case, there still will have been a loss. A loss that is a part of your story.

Dear one, for whoever you are, you are dear - your story, made up of your dreams, your loves, your successes mixed with your failings, your defeats, your losses - it is the only one that's ever been written quite like it. Sure, the pieces of you in and of themselves are similar to many others. You're probably one of a billion people who can sing, and one of 4 billion who can cook, and one of 7 billion who've loved, and been wounded. But your tapestry is as different from anyone else as each new sunrise is as different from the one the night before.

Sunrise, the mixture of darkness and light, of loss and gain, of end and beginning - all wrapped into one unique and beautiful masterpiece that impacts every one who sees it. Just like you.

Curiosity

"What's all this talk of illegal and police, mom?"

I knew the question was going to come eventually. Kids are always paying attention, and while we are conscious of what content they are exposed to, the reality is conversations about current US politics are swirling around at school, at church, in our home.

Across the dinner table, I caught eyes with my dear Kenyan friend, who is living and working in the US legally, and very well versed in the depths of the US immigration system. I took a deep breath and turned my eyes to my 7 year old son, "well," I began, "pretty much everyone is a citizen of a country."

"What is a citizen?" he interrupted.

I struggled through the next 15 minutes, fully aware my children were more attentive to me than perhaps ever before - little eyes locked on my face, asking questions, both to me and to our friend. "Does that mean if we tried to visit your home in Kenya we would have to get a visa, and if they wouldn't give it to us we couldn't come?"

I struggled to impart the value of each individual life, the seemingly micro implications of macro policies that are actually life-changing sentences for one and mere words to another. I tried to impart the value of pride in your country, and the value of countries having rules and laws, even regarding who can come, who can stay, and who should go.

As our conversation came to a close, I ended it with a value our family holds true to the depth of our very core - a value catalyzed by our faith, and lived out to the best of our abilities every day.

"we know our job is to love all people - no matter who they are, where they are from, what god they worship or don't worship, how much money they have, how their body works the same or differently than ours, who they love, what language they speak, what color their skin is, or how we know them. our job is to do what we can to make the life of each person we interact with a little bit better - every time we interact with them."

"ok, mom. Can we play hide and seek before we go to bed?"

And they were off. But the conversation stuck with me, and as I've mulled it over in my mind I realized what was so hard about the conversation: I wanted to give my children an honest answer, and one that valued the life of every human - both those impacted by their parents deportation, and by those who really believe deportation is the best option.

I'm about to lose 100% of you for one simple reason: you have a conclusion on the above topic and we have stopped changing our minds. Now, perhaps a bit ironically, you're either going to think "no, we haven't" or "yes, we have" - but what I hope you think is "have we?"

Curiosity is the root of new discovery.

In about September of last year, as the polarization in our politics came to more of a head, I decided I was missing something - how could so many people think so differently than me? or arrive at such different conclusions? support so many things I thought were absolutely horrible? I concluded I was missing something, rather than what I heard many people conclude: "they" (the nebulous "other") were missing something.

Why would I conclude this? Two very simple reasons: I do not know everything, and I can really only choose change for myself, I cannot force it on someone else. Whether you like it or not, those things are true for you, too.

So, I set out to understand what I was missing. I listened to conservative talk radio during one part of the day and liberal talk radio during the other. I read Breitbart and RedState, NPR and The New York Times, BBC and Al-Jazeera. I paid more attention to my conservative friend and families facebook feeds and tried to read an equal number of shared articles from people who I knew held vastly different ideologies.

I've continued to do this over the past 6 months, and have expanded to talking politics with immigrants, Muslims, white suburban Americans, Christian Church pastors, friends and strangers. Why? It's not because I have infinite energy - it's exhausting.  I've done it because clearly we're missing something.

Clearly, we're missing one another.

I have heard people on all sides of every aisle imaginable say terrible things about people across the other. It turns out mud-slinging, sarcasm, and fear-based rhetoric are quite happy crossing any political aisle.

But I've also learned so much. I've mostly learned how little I know, and been re-assured most people think whatever they are doing really is a good choice. I've learned that when people make choices they know will hurt others it's either because they think the other is out to hurt them or someone they value, or they feel it's the lesser of two evils.

I've also learned most people are looking for the exact same thing: a place to call their own in the world, safety and job/food security for themselves and the people they love, and the chance to enjoy a little bit of the world around them. That's really just about it.

When was the last time you changed your mind?

Not about what you wanted for dinner, or if your spouse was right about how rude your tone was. Really changed your mind. Changed a deep core truth you hold about a major system, group of people, religion, political topic, theological belief.

My children fight a lot lately. There is screaming, crying, and grabbing every day in this house. And as I've pulled back a little to hear trends in this perpetual state of fighting I realized one commonality: they're both shouting their self-advocacy.

I think we as adults are doing the same thing in every spectrum - the media, religious institutions, universities, protestors, social media, politics. We're shouting our beliefs, values, fears, and grievances at one another, and if this ends anything like my children's argument - something else will break, someone will get more hurt, and the relationship between the arguers will be more fractured than when it first began.

I'm working with my kids on thinking of the other person first, even if they truly believe the other person is wrong. And then I'm asking them to begin anticipating the other person's needs, while also honoring their own needs. I'm asking them to show how they want to be treated, not shout it.

And when they reach an empasse on who gets to eat the last gummy bear, I ask them to zoom out and figure out what's really important - the gummy bear or their relationship. They still say the gummy bear. We'll get there. I hope.

Would you do the same? Would you please, for your sake and for ours collectively, change your mind  or your heart on something? And would you do so because you allowed yourself to be impacted by someone you used to fear, detest, or look down on?

I've hesitated to write this blog for a while, for perhaps very obvious reasons. But it's time. We aren't about to wrap up this era of US & global politics, we're just getting started. And in a few decades when it's over, I don't want to say I hunkered and hated or worried or ignored, I want to say I spread my arms and mind wide, loved and welcomed even and especially where there was risk, and learned and spread truth as best as I was able.

I'll leave you with one final thought: I have never seen a deep change of heart or mind outside of relationship. That's why stepping out and in to the places we feel so out of place is so absolutely important. Once we begin to truly see the "other" as just "another", we begin to understand, and learn, and compromise. Unity is a massive tree born from the smallest seed of listening and humility, watered with patience and kindness, and planted in shared experiences and values.

Let's plant a forest.

Photo by Brian Green

The Year I Lost My Christmas Spirit

I've always loved Christmas. It also happens to be my birthday, so for all the reasons non Christmas-babies love their birthdays and love Christmas, I love it all in one day.

I remember saying once, "well, if all else fails, there's always Christmas to look forward to." I remember creeping down the stairs to curl up underneath the tree many mornings of the month of December, and always wanting to be the first one awake Christmas morning so I could creep downstairs and see the transformation. We were an "all presents appear magically" sort of family.

I don't remember when I realized Santa wasn't real, but I know it didn't bother me - because what I believed in him to be true, remained. That there is goodness in the world, and kindness, and generosity, and yes, even a little bit of magic.

But this year, I've had no Christmas spirit or sense of magic. The month started with phone call after phone call from people battling illnesses, faced with unexpected surgeries, divorces, difficult work moments, car accidents, premature babies fighting with every literal ounce, couples desperately wishing they would conceive, broken hearts...

And then the month went on, and my littlest got a terrible cold, and then she got lice, and then she had an allergic reaction to the lice treatment oil, and then she missed days of school. We seemed to rally Friday of last week, shipped the kids off to my brothers so my husband and I could have 24 hours kid-free, and then woke up Saturday morning to a house 45 degrees. One week later, I can tell you it's a super expensive broken furnace, and finding dry firewood in the Pacific NorthWest in December is sort of like going Black Friday shopping at 5pm and expecting to still find a good deal.

It's been an unbelievably discouraging month - I've thrown my hands up in the air just a few times, muttering about Decembers ungraceful exit after an exceptionally ungraceful year. "I get it, 2016, you had a bad attitude, through and through. Just wrap it up, already."  And I've had a good number of cries, too. Rather than this season being full of the magic and anticipation I'm so used to, I've instead found myself rallying every day to try and keep the magic & anticipation for my children, while somehow not glossing past the reality of what feels like a much harder season - not just for me (and a furnace is a small thing, in all truth), but a hard season for many.

I don't blog a lot about what my "religious beliefs"  are- if you want a religious blog with lots of scripture references, there are many. But, a lot of people are done with scripture references and Jesus talk, and frankly, I don't blame them. I talk about the truths that guide my life, and the lessons I am learning, and the hope I have in tomorrow to be better than today - and I could say (accurately) they are based in my "religious beliefs", but that somehow cheapens them.

But, what I will say is this. This year, in the year I lost my Christmas spirit, I am unbelievably grateful for the message of Emmanuel. We've almost ruined that word, too, tossing it around on greeting cards & loud proclamations instead of whispering it with breathless wonder. It should fill us with breathless wonder that the divine decided to interlace itself with bits of hair & skin.

This year I'm clinging to God with the fierce premies
with the new cancer patients
with the families waiting by hospital bedsides
with families buying caskets for too young sons taken too soon
with the broken hearted, smiling outside for everyone else's benefit but weeping or numb inside
with the depressed, and the anxious, and the lonely
with the ones who can't conceive
with the addicts breaking free

I told my kids the miracle of Christmas is that God is with us - not coming tomorrow, not far off, not here only on the good days. God with us. With me. With you.

And even if you don't believe in God, that's totally fine. The beauty of this whole thing called life is that each of us contains the kindness, the generosity, the hope that Christmas or even just the Holiday season is all about.

And when we share it with others it pushes back against everything this past year, and our lifetimes, have tried to bog us down with. It pushes back against the lorries driving into crowds of holiday shoppers, and hijacked planes, and shootings at movie theaters, and children abandoned and abused, and jobs wrongfully lost, and bodies callously used. It pushes back against the temptation to cave into fear, worry, anger, hatred, apathy and says instead: "I will grieve, and I will mourn, and I will be with those who are grieving and mourning, but I also believe tomorrow can be better than today - whether I'm believing that for me, or for you, or for all the broken hearted, I believe."

May your holiday season this year, even if you don't celebrate any holiday, be filled with hope, and even more importantly, an assuredness that you have the power to spread hope - not because you will brush aside the darkness and the pain of others, but because you can be to to others as God is to me and to you: with us.