Thank you, Word Porn, for posting this. I’m not a huge Nicholas Sparks fan but this…this speaks absolute and utter truth.
love
BloPoMo Day 2, Part 2: Love in Fewer Than Ten Words
Love is saying “I’m here” and being there.
Love is saying “I will” and doing so.
Love is grasping hands through nightmares and pain.
Love is asking “how are you” and wanting to know.
Love is being the person you needed.
Love is holding out a Kleenex.
Love is pretending not to see the tears.
Love is saying “Talk, I’ll listen” and listening.
Love is 4am texts saying, “I’m glad you’re here.”
Love is a letter amongst the bills.
Love is hearing another’s struggles and admitting “Me, too.”
Love is seeing another’s darkness and sharing some light.
Love is saying “I noticed. Thank you.”
Author’s Note: Yes, I think I technically cheated by writing several lines, and I could probably go on and on and on, honestly. Love, in all its forms, is so multi-faceted and deep and wide and high; no wonder Greek has four differing words for it. How would YOU describe what love means to you in fewer than ten words? Feel free to post in the comments. I would love to hear your mind and heart.
See Me and Delight In Me
For our wedding anniversary this year, the only gift I requested from my husband was a set of coloring books and crayons of my own, separate from those that belong to my toddler daughter. What? I like coloring. Of course, he came through with coloring books of Disney Princesses and My Little Pony (yay!), but I beefed up my coloring book collection the other day with some of the new wildly popular coloring books for adults. The one I worked on last night for my winding-down time was one of floral mosaics. I wanted something simple so I chose a picture of daisies and settled in quite happily with a colored pencil in one hand and an apple in the other. Even as I finished the stems and started working on the flowers’ yellow hearts, I felt this sudden urge to leap up from my chair at the kitchen table and run into the living room crying, “Mom! Mom! Look, look!”
That hit me hard. Even at thirty-two, I still long for my mother to see me and find beauty in me and what I do. I was over the moon when she commented that I had indeed lost a few inches. All those months of work and she noticed! When she compliments my mothering, I am chuffed for days. My mother is my hero and I want her to be proud of her girl. (I’ve definitely noticed that I’ve been singing Aladdin’s “Proud of Your Boy” more often lately.)
Then I realized that is all Elizabeth wants from me, too: to be seen, to be enjoyed, for me to be proud of my girl. Her new trick is to come up to you with something behind her back.
“Please (close) eyes,” she asks.
You cover your eyes.
“1-2-3. Eeprise (surprise)!” And she shows you what is behind her back.
Your role is to be elated, tell her it’s wonderful, and give her a hug.
My mom and my girl
I have lost count of just how many times we have done this over the past few days. Last night, though, I was very tired and refused to participate a few times (or at best was rather lackluster about it). My mom played along enthusiastically every single time. I am sorry that I didn’t. Elizabeth wants, needs, me to joy in her and in all she is learning to do. I want her to know that I do joy in her and I am proud of her.
One of her favorite movies is “Lilo & Stitch 2: Stitch Has a Glitch”. At the end of the film, the whole ohana is dancing Lilo’s hula together and she and Stitch hug each other. Then Nani comes over and tells Lilo, “Mom would be so proud of you.” At that point in the film, Elizabeth always runs to me for the hug and I amend the line and tell her, “I am so proud of you.” And I am. I will always be. When she is thirty-two, I want her to want to run to me, show me what she has accomplished or created, and know without a doubt that I will be elated for and with her.
“Mom, Mom! Look!”
“That is wonderful, my love! I am so proud of you!”
For Such a Time As This
Yesterday, in church service, the pastor spoke on Esther, particularly, how she was uniquely placed and able to save her people, the Jews, from the hateful machinations of Haman. She was a single woman, and yet she was in just the place to save a nation of people, if she was only willing to take the risk. Their lives and future depended on her and her willingness to obey.
What would the future look like if God’s kingdom depended on me? Can I, as a single, sole person, make a significant impact for God and Christ upon this world?
Yes!
I have seen the difference that one person can make, that I can make in the lives of those around us by simply doing the something I can do. God is the one at work, not me. I’m simply doing. He is the one acting. He is the one speaking love and hope into lives through me.
I cannot do everything, not by far, but I can do something, and I can do that something to the best of my ability and for the benefit of others. I may not ever convert others to Christianity and that’s okay. I can and will still act/speak love and be the image of the Christ in whom I say I believe. My job is not results. My job is simply to do, to obey. I might never know when I might be uniquely placed for a particular time or a particular person.
As Rachel May Stafford, creator of The Hands Free Revolution, so wisely put it:
“Today I will not respond perfectly. I know.
But if strive to communicate with hints of kindness and traces of love,
That will be something
That will be something
That could mean more than words.
In challenging moments, kindness is often not our first response. But a compassionate response holds saving power—power to save a bond…save a line of communication…save a person’s pride…save a moment…save a day…maybe even save a life. Our loving response could be someone’s saving grace today.”
Redux: Hiding Behind a Valentine
Author’s Note: This was my first article that I wrote for The Well Written Woman, posted a year ago today. And it only came about because of my wonderful husband!
Last night, the eve of Valentine’s Day, my husband came into the living room and up to me saying, “Elizabeth wanted me to make sure that you got your Valentine. Do you want it?” I looked at him with a rather “huh” look on my face so he repeated himself, tacking “Do you want it now?” to the end. When I still couldn’t think of what to answer, he explained, “She left it on your chair. She’s fourteen months old and has no idea about where to place things.” Complete with that exasperated roll of his eyes that he affects so badly.
Then I got it; he wanted me to open my Valentine from our toddler daughter. I smiled and answered, “Sure, I’d like it. I don’t want to sit on it in the middle of the night.”
So off my husband went, returning with my Valentine in hand. It consisted of an envelope assembled from two stapled pieces of brown construction paper, “Happy Valentine’s Day” written in red crayon across the front. Inside was a pink construction paper card with a red heart on the front, the sweetest poem on the inside, and Elizabeth’s “signature” (Bizzy) on the back, complete with a corner bitten off, as my daughter is wont to do with paper. I started to cry. I mean, really cry. I hugged my husband and he just held me and let me cry for a long while. My heart was so full, though perhaps not for the reason that you would think.
I was not crying because the Valentine was from my daughter, because it really wasn’t. What wrung the tears from my eyes and poured them over my smile was Ben’s heart showing through my first construction paper Valentine. It was his hand that had cut out the heart on the front, his mind and heart that had composed the poem, and his arms that had held our daughter and helped her sign her name to the back of the card. That Valentine might bear Elizabeth’s name but it was a construct of my husband’s loving soul, one that touched me to my core.
While our child is dear and sweet and holds parts of ourselves, Ben and I made the decision together a long time ago that we are a team, we are in this together, and each other comes first. While we love our daughter deeply and fully, we choose to love each other first and best. That may sound horrible to some people but it is a strategy that I have witnessed the success of rather close to home. If we are weak and unloving as a husband and wife, how could we possibly hope to be strong and loving parents to Elizabeth? Ben is my first, and I am his. And I was reminded of that in his little skit and gorgeous Valentine. It was funny, cute, adorable, and amazing. It was created out of love and care for my heart, not because it was something that was expected or had to be done. Ben wanted to remind me that what I do for our Elizabeth and our home is noticed and appreciated, which, for a stay-at-home mom with a toddler, is a great heart-soother. So my most treasured Valentine today is a handmade one on construction paper that bears my daughter’s name, but that is her father’s noble and loving heart on the front of the card. You can’t hide behind her, dear. She’s only two and a half feet tall.
A Love-ly Shock
Why is it that we are shocked or astonished by acts of love? Why is it that we are surprised by those who show love and care to others, regardless of color, sex, orientation, politics, belief (or the lack thereof)? Why are we shocked when that matters not a whit to someone but the other person’s humanity does?
In the past few years, we have witnessed such division and vitriolic rhetoric in our society as to break hearts and burden souls. The negativity has laid heavy on my own heart and, more than once, wrung tears from my eyes because it can seem insurmountable. How did this come to be such a norm that, when one does show kindness and love, it is met with a sense of incredulity and awe? I do not believe that it is right or correct to solely blame religion or politics for this shift in social consciousness. We, as human beings, are losing the courage to love. It feels at times that we are so concerned with being recognized – with having our rights and our personal brand of humanity or life recognized – that we fail to recognize the humanity in others. We see them merely as a (wrong) nationality, a (wrong) religion, a (wrong) political/social position, or a (wrong) sexual orientation, not as fellow human beings to whom we can show kindness, respect, and love. Love, the action and not the emotion, has to be taught. How then can we hope to teach it if we do not show it?
Bill Hybels, founder of the Global Leadership Summit, admonishes that we should “serve people joyfully and indiscriminately”. Could we do life any better than that? If we took the chances afforded us to serve and help others, or even to show them a little love, what good could we do? Instead of pouring our vitriol and telling people how wrong they are, what if we treated them like who they are: a person. A person who may have thoughts, opinions, positions, and beliefs different from ours but a person nonetheless. Can we not meet them where they are in their humanity and ours? Do not mistake me: it costs to show love. It can cost a great deal. But are you willing to at least try? To make even a moment’s difference or maybe restore someone else’s faith in humanity and that love/kindness/goodness really do exist? I cannot tell you the number of times that someone has given of that hope to me and restored my heart in a difficult time, by the smallest of acts.
We are shocked and awed by love in 2015. It is why videos go viral, campaigns overflow, and everyday people show up on talk shows and news broadcasts. I would much rather that love be commonplace and everyday. To know that we share in each other’s humanity, can accept it and each other, and help each other to stand through life. What is even a small thing that you can do today to help make love commonplace instead of a rarity fit for the evening news? Go and do it.
NaBloPoMo 2014 Day 12: Discussing the Other
Pinned by Kimberly Fitch – http://www.pinterest.com/pin/217439488234406857/
Author’s Note: This is my latest article published by The Well Written Woman.
As I told the editors upon submission, I was working on this article a month ago and, then, it didn’t feel like the right time to publish it. So I published a small statement on love instead. I cannot really explain why. But, a few nights ago, as I opened up Word on my laptop, I was drawn to open and revise this article again. This is an intensely personal work for me and that makes me nervous to send it out into the world, in all honesty. But I hope that, somehow, somewhere, it makes a positive impact.
= = =
“Life is constant rewriting and revision. It’s a good thing I like to edit.”
Not too long ago, I said this to a friend in response to his sharing a picture with me on Facebook. The picture was a quote admonishing that great writers aren’t necessarily great first-drafters but great rewriters. My friend asserted that the quote was applicable to a great many things in life and I find that I must agree. I have found my life and my very self to be in a constant state of re-evaluation and revision. From my sense of self, to a more personal understanding of my faith and calling in life, to my relationships, friendships, and the way I relate to others, amongst other things.
Over the past three years, I have been able to observe some pretty intense shifts in society: some notables are states legalizing same-sex marriage, the resurgence and redefinition of the feminist movement, and the cases for and against religion. One of the hottest button topics of late, though, is sexual orientation. Whether you are hereto, homo, bi, or trans (sexual or gendered), American society has become largely more open and accepting of your orientation than in the past. This is a pretty significant cultural shift. But, as with just about every major cultural shift – from a heliocentric solar system to the abolishment of slavery to women’s suffrage – it is not without its share of battles. The world is so loud with voices crying for acknowledgement and others rising in anger and protest (on both sides) that I do not know where my voice fits or if it should even be heard. Writing this, it’s scary for me because I know the chances of it backfiring and those angry voices, whichever side they may come from, growing louder and becoming directed at me, my intention notwithstanding. But hear me now. I am not here to comment on the politics of or rights for differing sexual orientations. I am not here to talk about civil unions or marriage or legalities. That is above my pay grade. I am here to talk about people.
When I was a young girl growing up in a deeply conservative community, there was no such subject as sexual orientation. Nothing deviated from hetero on that score, not to my limited knowledge, and no one discussed anything ‘other’. It wasn’t until I was in graduate school and afterward that I had friends who were willing and felt comfortable enough to be open with me about such things. Right now, I would dare to speculate that a good third of my current friend base would classify themselves as belonging to a sexual orientation other than hetero. It was an entirely new experience for me and I found myself woefully unprepared. I did my best to observe these individuals and tried to listen closely when they spoke about their lives growing up, their decisions, and their lives now. As a Christian, I grew up hearing sermons about and reading the passages that speak against homosexuality, yes. But, also as a Christian, I am reminded that it is not my place to make judgment calls on other people’s lives, the state of their souls, or their relationships with God. “Do not judge, or you too will be judged.”[i] I know what it is to be disparaged against, to have the choices I have made or the way I live my life judged and found wanting by others, for the sheer reason that I choose to be a Christian. Therefore, I try to uphold my friends, any friends, whenever I can. Not with shouting or with soapboxing, but with an acknowledgement of their wonderful qualities as a person.
I have friends of faith, friends of purpose and drive, friends of talent and heart. I have friends who are brilliant people and far outstrip me in intelligence. People who have helped, loved on, and cared for me when I needed someone most. They have sat with me – online and in person – and kept me company all day when I was on bed rest at the end of my pregnancy. They have brought me adorable gifts just to see me smile. They talk with, listen to, and encourage me when I am in need of a gentle, kindly heart. I have friends who are blessings in my life.
Their sexual orientation has nothing to do with this.
Their humanity does.
Their willingness and desire to have an impact for good in this world does.
One of my dearest friends, a young gay man, is one of the first people I call or text when I am in a rough spot and in need of prayer. He is one of the deepest men of faith that I know, and I often find myself humbled by him and his joy in life and constant work to learn and grow closer to God. I cannot tell you how uplifted I am by his presence in my life.
I know who I am, I know what I believe, and I know what my calling is: to love others. How can I be faithful to that calling if I am judging someone behind my words and actions or seeking to change them through our interactions? That’s simple: I can’t. Will we agree on everything in their lives or in mine? Nope. That is part and parcel of being humans with free will. However, I believe that the question of sexual orientation and its role in the acceptance or denial of people has become a wedge in a faith whose greatest calling is to love others. These are people with lives and families and faiths and convictions, hearts and souls, and beautiful ones at that. They are my friends, my neighbors. Divine appointments do not come in a simply-wrapped box but with all the trimmings and trappings of lives lived in a myriad of ways. One’s sexual orientation or choice of lifestyle does not change their humanity or their need for love, patience, peace, support, faithful friendship, kindness, and relationships in this life.
Jesus taught that the greatest commandment is to love God with all your heart, soul, mind, and strength, and second only to that is to love your neighbor like your own self.[ii] I wonder just how many people wouldn’t have to walk through life with shattered hearts and battered souls if we held to these two all-important principles, regardless of color, race, philosophy, orientation, or creed. My parents used to tell me, “You might be the only Jesus that people ever see,” admonishing me that the way I live my life and the way I treat others will speak louder and more broadly about my beliefs than anything else. If God is love, then it is our responsibility and duty to share that love and light with others, no matter who they are. Anger and hatred and separation only produce more of the same. We are not to judge others or claim to know the inner workings of their souls or the mind of God. As I said before, that is above our pay grade. But we have every duty and reason to love them as God loves them. So I ask, I beg you. Let’s treat each other like human beings, because that is what you are. Bright, brilliant, soulful human beings.
NaBloPoMo 2014 Day 3: Hobbitish Lessons
In J.R.R. Tolkien’s Lord of the Rings saga, Samwise Gamgee is gifted with a small carved box of soil from Lothlorien by Queen Galadriel, the Lady of Light. When he returned home to his beloved Shire, ravaged by Saruman and his minions, Sam opened the box and allowed a fair wind to carry the soil all throughout the Shire. The power inherent in that small patch of dirt returned the Shire to its former glory and more in time, even flourishing the next generation of hobbit children. It was Sam’s gift and blessing for his faithfulness.
On a shelf in my living room sits a round, hand-carved, wooden box. It was a gift from a dear friend and mentor, a token from her time on the mission field in Malawi, Africa. This friend also calls me her “Samwise”. When she gave me this box and called me her ‘dear Sam’, it made an indelible mark on my heart and soul. There has been many a time when I have sat, holding this box, mulling over something that was weighing on me – a decision to be made, a course of action to take, needed words to say. That box is my reminder that love, faithfulness, and willingness to carry our friends and do for others are part and parcel of, not only the Christian life, but should also be so of life, period. We are people built for interdependence, relationship, and those are built up by these tenets.
I want to live up to this blessed title gifted me by this dearest of friends. I want to be Samwise, not only for her, but for those whom I cross in the world – friend, family, acquaintance, and stranger. Uncle Gandalf does indeed say it quite succinctly:
All That Needs Said
For the past few weeks, I have been working on an article, amidst a great deal of drama, anger, tears, etc. (yes, even my own), concerning my chosen subject. A public, much-discussed, and often-contentious subject. You know me, I don’t soapbox except once in a blue moon, and there are so many voices and so many soapboxes in this conversation that I am unsure anymore as to where my voice fits in. And maybe it doesn’t or it’s unnecessary to the public at large. I don’t know. All I know is that this week has felt terrible. I feel surrounded and beset by negative emotion – on TV, on the radio, on Facebook, in articles that I read, etc. And as I read back over my own article draft, even though it was not my intent, it feels angry and condemning in its own right. And that is not the emotion I want to contribute to. It’s made my heart exceedingly heavy, wrung out a good many tears, and destroyed any confidence or bravery I had in posting this article or sending it off to a site. It’s even been difficult to put pen to paper at all this week, regardless of what it may be – journaling, stories, or even just letters. I’ve thought and I’ve prayed but it’s been difficult, I won’t lie about that.
A few nights ago, as I talked with my husband about it, he gave me a suggestion: “You do not have to solve the issue, Mel. Maybe the best thing you can do for people right now is to just tell them you love them. That is the point, right?”
And I thought about it and slept on it. (Probably dreamt about it, too.) And thought about it some more.
So here it is.
To my friends, family, and those in my life, regardless of race, color, creed, sexuality, faith, belief, or philosophy:
I want you to know, today and every day, that I love you and thank God for you.
That’s it.
I love you.
We may not agree on any number of things but that doesn’t change this fact. I love you. I am thankful for you.
Always, Mel
I may choose to publish that article some day but, right now, I think this is all that I need to say.
I love you. You are loved. And don’t you forget it.
Breathing Love
Tonight, as with most nights lately, Elizabeth and I disagreed on the fact that she needed sleep. She didn’t nap today but fifteen minutes in the car so I knew she was tired, as well as all the normal signs being there (flopping on the floor with her blankie, rubbing her eyes and nose, going to the gate to be let into her room). However, instead of relaxing and letting me rock her to sleep, she began to fight me to get up and out of my lap and back to the living room. This was my second attempt at rocking her as putting her down in her crib to put herself to sleep resulted in her a) playing a game of peek-a-boo over the railing where she giggled when I told her to lie down or b) trying to climb out of her crib if I left the room and ignored her antics. So as I held her and she began to fight again and I felt the frustration start to kick in, I felt something in me just urging, “Tell her you love her.”
So I did. I kissed her forehead and told my little girl that I loved her.
And it urged, “Tell her again.”
So I did.
“And again. Don’t stop.”
As so I just began repeating “I love you” to Elizabeth, whispering it on every breath. Breathe in. Breathe out: “I love you.” Breathe in. Breathe out: “I love you”.
At first, it was an odd experience to repeat the same phrase over and over again, but then, as I did, it literally became a breathing pattern. And, also, I saw her relax and calm. Her fighting stopped, her breathing evened out, and those little brown eyes fluttered closed bit by bit. Soon, her paci half-lolled out of her mouth in that way that tells me that she’s long gone asleep. And yet I rocked and held her and whispered, “I love you.” It was hard to stop, I found.
Finally, I kissed her one last time, rose from the rocking chair, and laid her down in her crib, tucking her in with a stroke to her hair and a last-breathed, “I love you.” And that was that.
Now, I do not see myself as having the spiritual gift of prophesying or of being one who hears God clearly and pointed all that often in my every-day life, but I believe that it was God’s voice whispering to me tonight and telling me simply to remind my daughter, over and over, that I love her. Elizabeth is 20 months old, almost two, and she is showing it all the time. She’s adventurous and fearless but also willful and melodramatic and, dare I say it, a little bit spoiled. As a stay-at-home currently, I am her primary caregiver and that includes discipline. So I’m sure, somewhere in her toddler brain, it might seem like Mum-mum doesn’t want her to do anything fun or exciting, or maybe even that I don’t love her. But I do, more than I can say and, often, all I have are those three words: I love you. So, tonight, I believe that that urging in my heart and soul was God’s reminder for me to remind her that I do indeed love her. With every moment, with every breath, with every fiber of my being.
I love you, Elizabeth.
MWGS: Mom, Writer, Geek, Superwoman 