Valentine Love

Today can be hard.
This date sticks out.  
You think you're fine when you know it's approaching, then it comes at you like a lurking storm sometimes, out of nowhere.
Expectations are high.
Rarely ever met.
Pessimism steals.
Don't let it.
But how?

I'm still this morning as I think about you, and love you.
Some of you have endured unspeakable tragedies since this time, last.
I'm feeling your losses, and attempts to look for joy in them.
It can't even be possible, it feels.
You tried to stay, but he hurt you too much.  For the last time.
You had something... really something, but it came to a dead-end.
You didn't see it coming at all.
Your nephew ended his life, your parents split, your beloved Golden Retriever finally gave in.
Each time you loved hard, and you lost.  How do you love again?
So you had to make a different choice if you were going to survive.
The intense work it takes to not give way to cynicism is all you can do mostly.
Perhaps take a quiet moment, place your hand gently on your heart and be still for a minute or so, just to feel the heartbeat.  
The breath.  
The flow.
Be glad.  
Enjoy the miracle that your heart sustains you, feeds you, meets you.  
Some people don't feel at all.  It takes too much courage.
But you feel.  And it's good.
Treasure that even when your heart breaks, it heals and restoration comes.  
Feel the heat in your chest.  
The pounding.  The opening.  
The risk.  The unknown.  
Valentine's lost, hurt.
They pull and rob us of belief that love exists or lasts, but it does.
I promise.
It's okay to grieve, to remember, to cry.  Stay close to that.  Be present to it.
You're coming alive.  

And there's your wins.
Your "love" wins.
I celebrate those with you.
Perhaps, you're as in love as you've ever been.  
He finally asked and you said yes.
She conceived after all this waiting.
He kept a promise.
She looked you in the eyes and let you in for the first time.  She is starting to trust.  

I'm watching and I'm clapping loud claps.

You deserve it.  You found something extraordinary, and your life just got amazing in ways you hadn't dreamed up yet and you don't want it to ever end.  And you want to tell us all about it.
I'm listening.  Watching.  Cheering from the stands.
You want to share your pictures and tweet your love notes.
You want us to feel what you're feeling, to relish in the hope you have, to smile at the hand you finally get to hold.  
I do.  
I am.

I so hope this is your Valentines Day; this latter one.  The one where you're winning.
The one where love is within reach, speaking the language you can hear at last.

I'm somewhere in the middle.
Not where I dreamed, but not where I was.
Movement is good.  Slow and forward.  Hard but healthy.
I am spending today alone in a most beautiful sense... on purpose and grateful.
In between sentences as I write, I take Facebook scrolling breaks and see your pictures pouring in with roses on kitchen tables, candles and chocolates, romantic dinners and handwritten sentiments.  Your wedding pics, his kisses, the moment you held your baby for the first time.
And because of this, your loves, I'm enjoying mine.  
My love.  My day.  My Valentines Day.
Your love fills mine.

I'm learning that loving people in love is one way I can give back, to make the space between us open and wide, to hold my own heart close as one that feels with you, which I am seeing more and more is not only a gift to you, but a gift to me.  
I'm appreciating my tenderness; my messy and risky drive to love and be loved, willing to take on whatever comes from soul connection this deep.
The vulnerability makes me shake sometimes but in the end, I wouldn't trade it.  
Not ever.
I'm staying awake to love, no matter where and how and why my heart hurts because only there is possibility ever born.  When my eyes and hands are open, there's room for a fresh wind to take me up in surprise, to show me yet again another facet to all that love is.

So my dearest friends, love well today.
From one end to the other, the losses and wins, or some where scattered in the middle, what you're able to give in love, from your heart of love, could be just the healing Valentine someone right next to you has been aching to hold.  

Happy Valentine's Day.
I love you.

Enough

There are mere hours left to the fading summer.  We are sipping in every moment, savoring and stretching time... sad a bit to say goodbye to a lazier schedule, but ready for the promise of a new school year.  Like so many other life experiences, it's an emotional tug of extremes.  
It'll still be warm though she's back in class.  
The maples and oaks still swaying green leaves.  Oranges and Reds are a ways off.
Iced tea still chills in the fridge as fresh August tomatoes and cucumbers line the crisper drawer.
Pink petunias surround the patio, lingering mosquitoes come for supper as the sun still lights the evening sky, but this annual shift in time brings change... a change we feel both ways about.
We want it.  
We hate it.
It's coming.  
We receive it.

My little girl is 13.  She's entering 8th grade.  I am trying not to say it, not to feel it but it's racing, this "being a mom" thing.
I have this one chance, with this one child.  
Stakes are so high, it makes me shake sometimes.
I shape my schedule and sense of self-accomplishment around her journey, obsessing with the passage of time, acting like it's going faster than it actually is.  I need to be careful with that, but it's a natural flow it seems... to worry, to fret, to imagine I'm already dropping her off at college as her 13 year old-self with baby blanket in tow.
I'll handle that when it comes, but please not now.
This urgency keeps me intentional about my words and actions and relationships and work, so it's good.  Right?

We hit the mall for some "back-to-school" fashion.
She's been read the rules before we get in the car.
"Honey, there's a specific amount of cash in my purse.  We can't spend it all, let alone spend beyond it.  We will go into two stores and focus on the exact items from our list.  Your savings account is very special to you.  We finally have some dollars in there you've been proud to earn. Preserving that exact feeling is what we want to capture.  Trust me, you'll thank me later.  Remember our celebration the other day when you made the deposit?  Let's hold on to that when we browse the aisles with all those impulse purchases begging to be snatched off the shelves.  As cute as the tank tops on the clearance rack are, they won't be cute for long and within weeks you may wish you wouldn't have chosen them.  Keep your mind very focused on our goals.  You have big dreams and they cost.  Those bigger plans will last longer than a tank top.  Let's dream together and blow past what distracts us.  Cool?"

We get to the parking lot.
I notice her patient demeanor already.
She's happy... laughing, phone tucked away, waiting for me to retrieve my purse and lock the doors.  She's present and joyful.  
This is euphoric.  
She's in middle school and we're getting along.
I am in Mom heaven.
She's chatting away about school and how she can't wait to get there, and how much she loves math and her new teachers, instead of complaining about what she can't have.  
I notice this intently, dramatically, profoundly.
She's growing up in the most beautiful ways.  I want to cry, but geesh, this is just a trip to the mall.  I compose myself.  :o)
"We're going to those two stores, right?"  I say.
"Yep," she quips with a darling grin.
We get to the racks of her dream wardrobe.  I say nothing except, "So, where shall we start?"
She goes to the salesclerk, asks for her size, smiles over her shoulder at me, prances off to the fitting room, draws the curtain, and I wait.  While she does her business shuffling through more items than she needs, I stand with other patient and not-so-patient moms.  
I'm feeling proud.
This yearly routine isn't awful.
I thought it would be.
She whips open the curtain, smiling.
She's found the perfect thing, for the perfect price, with money to spare.
She's not negotiating, bargaining, sneaking.
She's happy with what she found, not limited by my earlier speech at all. 
We proceed to the check-out.
There are glass bowls and shelves spilling over with lipsticks and lotions and doodads suited for every teenagers wish.
It's annoying, really.
I cannot believe this, but we're standing in the long line right next to all that stuff and she's not asking, or begging for any of it.
She waits patiently for her items to be wrapped in pretty pink tissues, and neatly placed in the striped bag and then with the most exquisite mix of little girl innocent charm and young lady wisdom, she quips, "Thank you so much," to the salesclerk, then to me, "This is exactly what I wanted.  Thank you so, so much."
A Tsunami of gratitude, nearly knocks me over.  

Maybe this season where we have so little will be the poignant moment she looks back on as the one that shaped her the most.  What we set out for that day was exactly what we got.  She was absolutely, completely just fine with walking through that long corridor of the mall, past so many stores enswathed with multitudes of things she really needs, and not only not buying them, but realizing she's just fine without them.  
They can wait.  
She can wait.  
She's actually telling me how "just fine" it is if we wait to get her jeans and new shoes til "we pay the light and gas bill first."  
This is my kid.
By goodness, I'm not sure if I've been prouder.

I ponder this... how many times do I get all caught-up thinking I "just have to have" what I actually do not need?  Not at all.
What about that shiny oversized spoon that shines on the kitchen gadget store shelf making me think I'll use it to bake Macadamia Nut Cookies, I don't really feel good after I eat anyway?
I have perfectly usable spoons, for goodness sake.
What about the 8 pack of hot dog buns, we'll only use 4 of, the "buy one, get one half-off" summer sandals I won't wear because boot season is weeks away, and the dishcloths?  Mine are ugly and torn and Target is running a 10% off sale on linens?
Wait, they're not that torn.
It goes on and on, doesn't it?

This is how our lives get out of control.  This is why closets are jammed, drawers won't close, and our cholesterol rises sky high.  We buy to cure what has broken us, but soon discover new towels don't mend - even if they are on sale.
It starts with those simple purchases, the ones under $10.00, that turn into 29.99, then two for $100.00, etc.  We get sucked-in.  
We can use what we buy most of the time, but need?  That's another story.
Almost inevitably, we sit in our own space with what we currently have and if we're still for a moment, and we actually put that old dish rag in our hand, we'll wipe a counter with it and find it works perfectly, and we'll be all the better for holding on to that 20.00 in our wallet for something more important anyway.

Breathe deep.
Imagine that the peace you're looking for is actually in getting rid of and giving away, rather than buying more.  
Maybe you can walk into a store and stick to your list and that will be enough.
More than enough.  



 

It's Time.

So, it's really just that time.
I have to stop making excuses about why I can't face the blank page.. why what I have to say is worth saying, whether or not others have said it already, or similarly.
I have talked to 5 friends this week alone, about how much I need to discipline myself to the pen and paper because of writing deadlines I have set for myself.  
Yet, I open my notebook to jot down general ideas, and break out my laptop with a carved-out two hours to spill my thoughts, and then I find a million reasons to avoid the very thing I need and want to do.  
I think I'm scared.
Just a big chicken.

I obsessively wipe counters.
I ramble on the phone, run the vacuum, make to-do lists, and find a dumb reason to run to Target, even when there isn't a penny left to spend on anything there.  
I surf the latest Pinterest pages on how to make clean peanut butter cookies.
I scroll through Instagram and wonder what the heck it takes to get followers, and why I'm wasting so much time trying, and better yet, I look for another drawer to purge.
"That's actually needed,"  I say to myself. "I had that on my list to do anyway"
And forever it continues.
And I get nowhere.  Really fast.
And the second half of the year arrives, and I gain speed on that New Years Eve party I promised I wouldn't attend again without a complete manuscript ready to turn in to a publisher.  And then, I am enormously overwhelmed that yet again, I am missing the mark of the greatness I had set out for.  

Just yesterday, I started crying about this...
"What if I never become something?  What if that massive goal I set is never achieved and then the person I said I would be (and am perfectly capable of being), I never become?
What then?"
I read and listen and observe, and from that I aim to teach and inspire and lead but on most days, I sit paralyzed.  "I'm a natural writer" they say, "so good at telling stories that make me think," but I don't do it.  
I have urgent matters.  
How dare I sit in a cozy, glass-enclosed room at the library overlooking a peaceful lake with movie soundtracks playing in the background while all I do is emote at the keyboard?  
That is as selfish as it gets.
That won't earn cash, won't help my family, won't produce "meaningful" anything.  

I want to be a writer.
I want to walk up to podiums and do mic checks - prepping for crowds of women to walk in and take out journals and write down what I say, or sit on tall, shiny bar stools in television talk shows and answer questions about the life unimagined, the marriage journey that's tough and worth it, the health and wellness quest every woman is trying to tackle.  I think I have things to say, but my tongue is tied.  My fingers cramp, my brain stops, my heart breaks.  
I see what I want dangling there, aching to grasp it, but am so busy telling myself I don't deserve it, that I literally look for ways to keep it out of reach.
Do you ever do that?

And so this is why today I am saying, "It's time."
And even if just one of you reads this, it's worth writing.
It's time to let you in.  
All the way.  
It's time to give myself permission to have what I've been wanting... words on pages in a book, that you'll buy and read, and share, and maybe even be changed by.  It's time to get this blog off the ground... link it, post it, tell people about it.  It's time to dust off my four outlines and half-written essays and form at least one of them into a book.  It's time to proceed - broken and scared - with the story I have to tell, and trust that even if commas and quotations are misplaced and modifiers are dangling, that the message I have for the world, that burns in my gut, must be told.
NOW!

I know the word brave gets tossed around a lot these days.  I hesitate to use it, for fear I'll be cliche (which again is another one of my famous excuses for not sitting down, being still and WRITING), but friends, brave is what it takes.
I have to dare to believe I have something to say.
I have to stop practicing my speech, and scripting all my words, and sifting through piles of books on my shelves and hiding in those authors' uses of metaphors and well-timed phrases, and physically sit, at an appointed time each day, and write.

"She's smarter.  His is a story others can relate to.  Her experience will really inspire.  He really accomplished the impossible."  
I can't keep saying this stuff.  I run these ideas through my spinning head and find one more excuse to empty the dishwasher, change the sheets, RSVP to a party invitation, or pull the weeds in the front flower bed.
Lovely as those necessary tasks are, they don't get a book written.

So, tomorrow I start.
Will you start something tomorrow that you're scared of... and then tell me about it?
And then, let's just do what we're scared to do... together.

It's time.
Period.
 

Clean

Spring in West Michigan is an extraordinary, technicolor showcase of life bursting forth in grand display.
Green is so green.
Cool breezes are fresh with hints of soothing moisture.  
Smells are rich with sweet nectars, reminding the world to wake-up after winter's long nap.
Pinks, purples, yellows greet around every corner lining roads and sidewalks with hopeful cheer.  It's the season of promise.  Resurrection shows itself everywhere.
Awake.
We're invited.

And so, we all get in the mood.
Wipe it down, throw it out, sweep it up.
Package it, mail it, toss it, file it, scrapbook it.
Get rid of the old, buy the new, tear down, and rebuild.
Till, plant, water, wait.
Saying goodbyes, starting over, ready for something new.

We want change.
We've stored and hoarded and napped long enough.
Time to train for the race, prep for the parties, hang white lights for the cook-outs.
We break open new books, wrap presents for grads, hurry to lose the weight, pack for the beach.  We think of moonlit nights by campfires, laughing with best friends, extended days and alluring sunsets, look forward to kids coming home.
We say goodbye to school.  We send eager kids off to summer camps and sleepovers.
Life is moving.
We feel it this time of year.
We want to make the very most of longer days, warmer sunshine, slower schedules.
We think we get to finally relax but alas, we're still rushing around.
Our minds are full and no matter the trying, we can't quiet them.  

We're stuck.
We're surrounded in bulging cabinets stuffed with worn-out clothes, ugly shoes, and childhood games we'll never touch again, nor will our kids, as much as we wish they would.
We have piles for Goodwill, drawers to sort, and a garage full of pails, and cords, and rakes, and broken flower pots, and that game of jarts we're going to take out and use one day.
It never ends.
We purpose to take a moment to sit on the back patio and look over the yard and breathe in the first few breaths of summer.  We take out the pink plastic plates, open the shade umbrella, make a tuna fish sandwich, pour ourselves a tall glass of cool lemonade, and recline in the wicker chair next to the fresh petunias, blooming full already.  
We dream about all we're going to do, and be, and take care of.  
But summer is making its typical early entrance, reminding us how swift this season is and how fast the time will go.  A paradox for sure.  
We can't waste a minute.
This is the summer we're going to get organized.  We're going to block out other invitations so we can finally focus on the garage, the family photo albums, the college files.
We're going to purge and purge and purge again... because we know we'll feel better once it's finally done.  We'll have July and August - which we pretend are each 8 weeks at least - to play if we can discipline ourselves in June.
But, the more we live, the more we collect, and the more we collect, the more we spin and toil and try to find an empty crevice to put it in.
Relaxing evades us.
There's too much to do.

So, here's what I suggest...
Stop.
Get really quiet in your space and be very still.  Maybe right there on that wicker chair.
Finish your lemonade and then close your eyes.
Be alone.
Set your phone and laptop in another room.
Breathe in and out.
Feel the feelings in full.  Celebrate the swaying oaks and the shade they provide.
Look around you.
Smell the flowers, look at the colors, and the yard you'll need to mow this Thursday, and be thankful.

Then, head into your space refreshed - even for just awhile.
And begin.
Open one drawer.
And take very careful time to remember.
Pick up that old birthday card and article your best friend sent, the one you tucked away a year ago and never read.
Read the article, think about your friend.  Relive the time she knew you best.
Laugh if you need to.
Cry if you must.

And then, start your piles... one birthday card, one old sock, one high school basketball championship medal at a time.  
Because the very first step to a brand-new clean life, is to decide clearly that you're all done with the confusing, messy, dirty life you've been wrapped up tight in.
You're not only going to reach for something completely different than a million things you've tried, you're going to find it.  You're going to live in it.  
The piles become mental filing systems, designed to help start eliminating what doesn't serve you.  You're going to feel so much better, so soon.
I promise.

So make the "keep" pile first. 
This one is the most fun to make.
Stick the card in this pile because you just read it and laughed, and laughing like that is worth holding onto.  You'll need this again one day, maybe soon.
Don't look at the bookshelf, or under your bed, or in the bathroom under the sink.
You'll get overwhelmed in a hot second.
Right now, you're looking in one drawer.  
Just one drawer.
The one next to your bed, where you keep handy stuff, fun stuff, stupid stuff, and maybe a couple secrets.  And... the cards you get once in awhile.
So touch and feel that card you love, and smile about that friend who sent it, and take a picture of her special handwriting, and tape it up inside the walls of your heart and then keep going.  If there's lots of "keep" in this drawer, then it's okay, keep "keeping".
But go slowly.  Stay very aware.
Look, there's an old prescription you never had filled, and a couple dead pens, and way too many paper clips.  There's a church bulletin, a stack of old to-do lists, and a really dumb idea you were done with long ago.
Now you're looking at a "toss" pile.  Start one.
You find you're not really that attached to the Redbook article about Hugh Jackman anymore so "bye-bye".  And before long, you've spent an hour and your drawer is a quarter full, instead of crammed to overflowing and your "keep" pile is smaller, and your "toss" pile is huge and you feel amazing.
And you're on your way.

So, you catch a small glimpse of what Clean could really feel like.
You're not so overwhelmed.
You did it.
You didn't spend money.  You didn't overeat.  You didn't hurt anyone.  You didn't give in to a needless temptation.  
The absolute only thing that happened is that you made a way for yourself.
You slowed down long enough to see that you in fact, can do what you set out for.
You decided to start.
And that huge project of organizing your house, just became simple and accessible.
And so you keep going.

For some, it's a paradigm shift.  This is new.  Feels uncertain.
For others, you do this yearly routine all the time.
Yet for others, you obsess about anything that isn't in a labeled bin.
We're all somewhere different on the journey.
The good news is simply this, the thoughts you had about what was impossible are no longer true.  You have a new baseline for what could be.
And this doesn't just count for your closet, and pantry, and desk, and Christmas decorations, it spreads all over your life.  

Take a moment now to think about the word, "clean".
What images come to mind?
I know...
Water, fresh white bed linens, your hair bouncing as you walk out of the salon, your teeth after a good cleaning, your gut after a detox.
Imagine now that this can be you.  This can be your life.
Don't plan on arriving anywhere in particular.
Do plan on a fresh take to what you ever dreamed for your life.

Now, go back to the wicker chair.
Maybe pour a glass of wine this time.
And celebrate.  You are on your way.
I'd love to join you.

Give me a ring.