Shades of Gray

Lately Isis has been on the news as they have struck terror around the world with their senseless attacks that decimate lives, families, communities. I am sure we have all wondered where they will strike again. Will it be our nation? our community? our family?

Will it be me?

Not too long ago, someone posted an article on Facebook about this reporter that interviewed young men who had been captured that were part of Isis and were awaiting their own trials that would, undoubtedly, result in their own deaths. These men, for the most part, had wives, a minimum of two young children, and homes. They had families; they knew love and devotion. When asked why they joined Isis and spent their lives murdering innocent people, they responded that they were hungry; Isis offered security. They were scared; Isis offered community. They were splintered and fractured after the US came in and dethroned Hussein; Isis offered belonging. The details didn't matter. What mattered was securing their families and creating peace for their own.

Don't get me wrong. I am not sympathizing with nor supporting Isis. Their brutality is abominable and, in my black or white opinion on this matter, must be wiped out. No compromise, no mercy.

But sometimes, when I look deeper--as in this case of this interview, I am amazed at the humanity of it all. These ruthless killers are devoted to family. Most likely they celebrate holidays, laugh with their children, hug their wives, watch the sunrise in awe.

How can that be?

Their senseless acts are evil, sheer darkness.

But life is filled with shades of gray.

Sometimes I wonder....if we could take all of the hatred and anger and violence in this world and roll it up in a ball, how large would it be? And then if we could take all of the beauty and love and kindness and wonder of this world and roll it up in a ball, how large would IT be? Would they be similar in size? Would the ball of hatred far surpass the ball of love? Or would it be the other way around?

While acts of terror and violence and rage are splashed all over the headlines,  average people walk the streets searching for hurting and helpless animals so that they can rehabilitate them and find them homes. Strangers take in children who are neglected and abused. Some stop and help the elderly or the handicapped load their groceries in their cars.

Some people ...
play in the rain, twirling with joy as raindrops fall on their cheeks,
play music and sing while they cook dinner for their loved ones,
run shelters for the homeless,
visit those in prison,
take a meal to the lonely or the sick,
offer a smile to the stranger they pass on the street,
take time for their aging parents,
offer encouraging words,
read inspiring words,
and some people embrace those who are different than themselves.

In my opinion? The ball made up of love and beauty and kindness is far bigger, far more meaningful.

Often I hear talk about how life has become so dark and that our world is on the verge of destruction. And granted, I do think with all of our nuclear weapons and acts of terror that could strike our water supply and such, we do stand on a precipice. But I don't think, personally, that it is because humanity has become so evil; I think it's because of the power we now hold in our hands. When I consider the days of Rome where stadiums were packed for the purpose of watching gladiators fight to the death...that isn't exactly an rose-colored view of the hearts of mankind.

Life has always been a conflict of love versus hate. I am not convinced that humanity has changed. From the beginning of time we've had the choice...

to choose kindness or choose to bitterness;
to choose to focus on how one has been wronged or to stand in awe at the wonder of a sunset;
to gossip and tear down or to offer words of encouragement and empathy;
to spread good will and community or to ostracize and belittle;
to accept with open arms or to reject simply because we don't understand.

That's Important to Me

When I first got home yesterday, I had many intentions, all involving kicking up my feet and filling up on the things I love: Netlix, journaling, reading, creating. Maybe a cup of hot tea by my side, or a cool glass of water to sip on throughout the evening.

But none of that happened.

As I cuddled up on the couch for  this much anticipated "adventure," I first checked my email, and immediately saw an email from my sister, Tami. She had sent me a link to a blog entitled This Life I Live, written by Rory Feeks about his life with Joey Feeks, his wife of 13 years. They are a well-known country duo in the music world right outside of Nashville.

I was immediately entrenched and started at the very beginning: January 2014, and worked my way through to November, 2015. The blog is gut wrenching, fascinating, real. It's a testimony to a beautiful life filled with simple things, family, love. In case any of you choose to read it yourselves, I won't give anything away. Suffice it to say, it is a tender, heart wrenching testimony, embedded with videos and songs they sing together that bring meaning to the content of the particular blog.

I started around 7:00 and put my iPad away at about 9:30, utterly drenched in life with the Feeks. It stuck with me all night, and all morning on this Veterans Day.

This morning I listened to one of their songs: That's Important to Me. It shows their life on their Tennessee farm where they live simply with no tv, no smart phones, cows, chickens, and their dog. She makes home cooked foods in their kitchen and watches the fireflies in the evening on their swing. It's filled with reminders of what is truly important in this life we live.

And it got me thinking about what's important to me. Sometimes, life turns into such a rat race, each day blurring into the next, and it's easy to get caught up in pointless worries such as others' opinions, others' lives, finances, petty arguments, petty ideas.

Sometimes we all need reminders that life is about love, simplicity, family, meaningful relationships, butterflies, art, a warm home, our pets, bursting flowers, towering mountains, crashing waves.

Sometimes we need to remember that it's more important to give of ourselves to those who are less fortunate than we are, that we are all connected, we are all one, doing the best we can on this planet where life can throw curveballs that are brutal in unspeakable ways.

Recently I was at work early one morning on a dark, cold, rainy day. I went into our little kitchenette that has a window that looks directly out to a little park area, the main street, and the courthouse on the other side. I noticed a growing circle of people huddled around a little woman sitting on a park bench with her head in her hands. It was clear the people surrounding her--all strangers by the looks of things--were concerned. One covered her with his umbrella while another scrambled for her phone. Shortly after, the EMTs arrived and placed her on a gurney, and headed off, sirens wailing.

I noticed the woman had her purse, was dressed in a skirt and jacket, and was clearly out for a day of purpose.

And now? Well, now who knows. Maybe she's fine and home resting from a scare.

But maybe she's not. I'll never know.

But what I do know is that life holds no promises. Each day is a gift and when we focus on the stress and the unfairness of it all and the negative cycles that run rampant through our heads, we trade beauty for cheap living; we trade negativity for joy.

I want to live deliberately, to ease the pain for others, to create more smiles  than frowns. I want to focus on laughter, mashed potatoes, the woven woods right outside my sliding glass door. I need more walks down Holcombe Cove Road where I can't help but look up.

I want to live what's important to me.

Rory's blog

The New Resident

A couple of days ago, I got up at my usual 5:00, headed downstairs, started my chai tea, and then walked into the living room to turn the light on when Ajax bounded through the cat door in the window with a perfectly healthy live mouse in his mouth. Once inside, he set him free on the carpet and began the game of cat and mouse. I stood frozen. But suddenly, I whipped into gear and began screaming and stomping like a crazy lady, yelling, "Ajax, get out! Get out now!" And, wonder of wonders, he did. He scooped up the mouse in his mouth and, clearly wanting to escape my crazy antics, madly dashed back through the cat door and out into the darkness with his prize.

Whew.

I stood there for a just a minute to let my heart slow a bit and then went about my normal routine--letting out Piper, giving him his pill, feeding the "wet" food to the cats, etc.

And then, I headed back into the living room for some "me" time--my absolute favorite time of the day....except, Ajax was back. This time he was peering frantically under the couch, moving his body with whatever was underneath and stretching his paw in hopes of catching it.

Clearly, the mouse was back.

I moved the couch and sure enough--he scurried out from under it and along the edge of the wall while Ajax, tired of his moving target, headed to the kitchen to find some food that didn't take so much work...and he couldn't be persuaded to come back and finish what he started.

Somehow I managed to chase the mouse into Darian's bedroom and closed the door, barricading the closet and the bedroom door with towels. And at 5:15 a.m., I headed upstairs to get Roy to help me get rid of this unwanted little creature.

I wish I had a video of the two of us scrambling after that damn mouse. For the next thirty minutes, we chased it like morons. It would go under the dresser, under the bed, under the hope chest, under under under...while we screamed and swung and chased. At times it even managed to run over my feet--or Roy's-- and we yelled like banshees and jogged in place for a second.

We did this for 30 minutes. Yeah.

T.H.I.R.T.Y. M.I.N.U.T.E.S.

Finally, after barricading all hiding places with towels and such, we had him cornered and there was no escape. We slowly went towards him--each of us with containers, a broom...and just when we were seconds away, inches away, from catching that little sucker....

....he went down the heating vent.

Yep. There's now a healthy, live mouse in our heating system.

Meanwhile, my "quiet" time was over. I headed back upstairs to get ready for work.

While I was at work, I sent a text to Roy: Please take Ajax in the car, drive a few miles down the road, and throw him out the window.

Roy responded: Great idea.

A couple of hours later, Roy sent me a photo of Ajax and Piper curled up together, sleeping contentedly. The caption?  "He found his way back home."

Meanwhile, I will go about my life, living my own definition of normal...but a little piece of me will be ever watchful for a little resident who has total access to every room in our home...

If anyone hears me screaming, or spies me doing a strange sort of dance through my windows....well, you'll know why.

Living with Wholeheartedness

This has been a week of revelations.

First of all, I have been reminded of how mean we can be, of how we can forget that we are all just people, doing the best we can. We may not understand the journey of others, but they are just humans as the rest of us. It has been a tragic reminder as I have seen how the cold, harsh acts and words of others have decimated lives.

And now for my own "be real" admission:

It has also been a reminder that I am far too controlling by nature. That I need to let go and trust. (Thanks, Laurie.)

When it comes to my kids, I am a mama bear. Don't mess with them. I can be nice...until my kids are involved. And then? Well, then I see red and I scramble like a bat outta hell to make things right in their world. I have risked friendships for my kids' honor. I have badgered teachers and principals and anyone who may dare to judge harshly. (Don't judge me until you have walked a mile in my shoes. Just sayin'.)

Currently, my world is filled with Brene' Brown. If you don't know who she is, I would encourage you to find out and to engage in her books, or her online OCourse. She's hands down amazing and insightful and wise. Anyway, her basic message is that we need to live wholehearted lives and raise our kids that way. Wholeheartedness is not for the faint of heart, I might add. It's tough business; it's painful. But? It's real and it's authentic and it's living your best life. It's about feeling the sorrows and experiencing the joys in a very powerful way. It's about being knocked down and then having the courage to crawl your way back up without burying your feelings and shutting out the pain.

And? Here's the kicker, for me especially.

It's about letting your kids have their own wholehearted journey without your control. So in other words, they get to fight their battles and experience the heartaches and the accomplishments that life brings their way without controlling their circumstances. And that's a tough one for me.

Of course, that doesn't mean you have to send your five year old out the door without holding their hand...but it does mean that by the time your son is 13 years old, he gets to start maneuvering and learning tough lessons and taking the hard knocks without my interference.

That's a scary idea. It's a harsh reality. And yet? Well, it offers freedom at the same time. Because my job is to give my kids a safe place to land, a place that offers kindness, that allows them to experience the hard knocks but know that when they are home, they are loved and that we will brush them off and offer comfort and encouragement to get back up and try again.

And that also means I have to trust. And that's another tough one for me.

But, this week I began this new journey; I began the process of letting go.

We'll see how I do.

I Have Enough

Sometimes it's easy to fall into the pattern of "never enough."

There's never enough time, never enough joy, never enough power, never enough weekend, and never ever ever enough money.

I have been reading this week about how to turn the "never enough's" into "enough." What a difference life would be if, rather than contemplating the deficiencies, we contemplate the sufficiencies. And really, isn't there always enough? Because somehow, we survive. Somehow we get to the next day, and we do that over and over again.

I want my life to be one that is joyful and grateful and "enough."

But sometimes I forget.

So the "enough"? That's the North Star. That's where I'm headed, though I'm sure I may experience some detours along the way.

This weekend Roy and I had a Staycation. Jace left with the Pathfinders on Thursday morning for a three night/four day Pathfinder event that involved camping and soccer games and basketball. To say he was excited would be an understatement: I'm never going to go to sleep!  he exclaimed over and over again on Wednesday evening.

We spent the majority of that evening packing, checking off items one by one on the list to ensure all was included that was required. His suitcase was perfectly organized when he left; I am sure it will be a full-blown disaster when he returns. And he'll be exhausted.

Perfection.

(Here's to hoping that Shane and Darrell aren't ready to kill him when I pick him up on Sunday afternoon.)

Anyway, so Roy and I have relished in our time together, living free and celebrating adult time. Ah--it's been a blast. Over the course of the weekend we went to a play called Young Frankenstein that was put on by Asheville Theaters. It was mind blowing as it was performed by amateurs who volunteered their time, and yet...you would never know it. The talent these people brought to the stage is breathtaking. The one who stole the stage was an 18 year old Senior in high school that was P.H.E.N.O.M.E.N.A.L.

One day Roy and I went out to eat and our waiter was a friendly guy who told us he is engaged, scheduled to get married a year from this October. We talked about how he needs to start a honeymoon fund and we laughed and we left thinking, This is just a great kid and I hope life treats him well.

At another place I went to the bathroom where a mom was derailing a little 3 year old who was just sobbing her heart out, all dressed in a frilly white dress but clearly misbehaving out in public. And Mom had had enough. Oh, I remember those times, and how I regret my lack of patience now. As I left, an older lady left with me, and as soon as we got in the hallway, the older lady said to me, shaking her head, "I just want to tell that mom to relax, to enjoy her little girl, that she's going to be just fine. They grow up too fast."

I get it.

Roy and I rode the motorcycle up Mt. Pisgah, a 40 mile loop that involved towering trees, rocky cliffs, and a rainbow of shimmering reds, bursting oranges, and shades of gold. Though Roy and I often communicate the best when we're riding the bike, we were both quiet on this journey as we soaked it all in.

And then one afternoon we took out his '81 Firebird and decided to get dessert at a nice restaurant in Asheville. As we always do, we locked the doors to the car...but Roy, in a rare moment of forgetfulness, left the car door key sitting on the console. Older cars have two keys: one for the doors and the trunk; one for the ignition.

Oops.

As we no longer have Triple A, this was a problem. But, due to the kindness of a K-Mart employee who found some wire in the back, and less than 30 seconds from Roy who is well-versed in breaking into old vehicles, we were back in business in less than 30 minutes.

Our Staycation isn't quite over. We're going to breakfast this morning as the finale of this weekend that we've been anticipating for weeks. And then? Well, then real life will kick in: shopping at Sam's, a few items at the grocery store, laundry, cleaning, and preparing for a week that will announce its glory at 5:00 a.m. tomorrow.

But here's the thing that I've noticed over our three day reprieve from parenthood. Even though we did a lot of laughter and talking and living in the moment, our thoughts were still engaged. We still worried about the things that bind us; we still experienced some frustrations and negative emotions along the way.

We were still us.

We didn't ever go away because, you know, wherever you go...there you are.

This weekend was on the highlight reel of our lives. That's for sure. But my readings this past week have reminded me that every day is filled with enough. It isn't just the Staycations that provide enough fun, enough time, enough joy, enough beauty...

Every day is enough.

I want to be on the lookout for the negativity that rises its ugly head on occasion, and I want to change those thoughts to...

I have enough time.
I have enough money.
I have enough power.
I have enough love.
I have enough friends.

I have enough.

Again and Again

Yesterday I was walking downtown with a friend. We were walking fast, talking a mile a minute, laughing, when I noticed a pole with several cables that were all connected at the top of the pole and then angled down and were anchored on the sidewalk. My friend's fast pace led her smack dab in the path of that pole and for a split second, the thought crossed my mind, "She's going to hit the pole!" But it was one of those surreal moments. I didn't have the presence of mind to reach out my hand and stop her, to warn her ... and then BAM! She slammed into that pole, hitting the side of her face at record speed because she was turned to look at me. Her head bounced back and hit the cables surrounding the pole and she stood there for a moment, stunned.

Last night she sent me a text: the entire side of her face is black and blue. Poor thing.

This week? This week I slammed into the metaphorical pole.

I have been reading a lot of Brene' Brown lately. If you haven't read her...you should. She's amazing. Inspiring. Real. And she's all about living in a wholehearted way. She deals with shame and how we all react to shame--the tricks that we use to escape the pain and succumb to its pressure rather than facing it head on and continuing on a wholehearted pathway.

And I "amen" her all of the time--love her messages.

And now I'm going to get really "real" for a minute.

This week? Well, this week I didn't love her messages. This week involved quite a lot of shame. And I found myself wanting to retreat from everyone I know, to just hang on Facebook for hours and numb the pain, to curl up in a ball and pretend like none of it happened.

But every time -- every single time -- that I found myself "reacting" from the shame, I remembered Brene'. (We are on a first name basis, Brene' and me.)

 And I sighed. Heavily.

Because being wholehearted is easy when things go your way. Focusing on messages such as "I am worthy of love and belonging" or talking to oneself as one would talk to a friend rather than having inner thoughts that rage: Why are you such an idiot??...is easy as pie...

until the going gets rough.

And then it's a whole different story.

Sometimes when I am at work, I throw something on in the background to listen to while I do tasks that don't require critical thinking. Sometimes it's music; other times? I try to find something inspiring or informative or, simply entertaining.

Yesterday I chose Ted Talks. I love Ted Talks. When I taught, Friday was always Ted Talks day and I would start the class with one that inspired discussion or deep thought. It was my students' favorite part of the week. In fact, if we ever missed school on Friday due to a break or whatever, they would beg for Ted Talks Monday.

Anyway, the first one I listened to was a young guy in his 20's who has ADHD. His talk was fascinating as he discussed what that meant for him as a student growing up in a regular classroom and the shame the ADHD diagnosis brings. However, he is blazingly successful now--and all because he has ADHD. He has taken the aspects of the "disorder" and used them to his own benefit.

Another Ted Talks I listened to was a 17 year old boy who suffers from a terrible disease that deeply affects his physical appearance. Genuinely there is nothing about his appearance that is attractive. He is tiny, awkwardly built, bald, has an elfish face and a squeaky voice. But he shines with confidence and a can-do spirit. Clearly his family has encouraged him to live in a wholehearted manner because this kid thrives.

Sometimes we all have moments, days, or even weeks where we get punched in the gut, breathless. Sleepless nights seem to be our best friend.

That was my week.

But I am going to do my best to face it, to grow from it, to seek control in my own perceptions and my own reactions rather than others' because that is the only control I really have.

I am going to strive for wholeheartedness when what I really want is a dark closet away from the world around me.

I am going to be brave, courageous...

And when I am not? I am going to get back up and try again.

Because that's what wholehearted living is all about: trying again and again...

...and again.

All About the Attitude

When I was in 8th grade, we moved mid-fall from a town of about 10,000 to a very small town on the outskirts of Oklahoma City: Piedmont. Piedmont was one of those small public schools that had about 50 kids per class or so, and most of them had grown up together. They were a close-knit group and, as a result, I wouldn't say they welcomed me with open arms. Meanwhile, I came from Cushing and from a school that I dearly loved, filled with a group of friends whom I adored. I had won a student association office for my 8th grade year, but, of course, once I knew that we were moving? Well, that ended that. But my point is, I felt successful, loved, and accepted.

And then we moved.

My first day at Piedmont felt like a disaster. I didn't know a single face in the crowd and felt isolated, alone. However, band was a raging success.

When I was in the 5th grade, our band instructor came into class and asked if anyone wanted to join. He demonstrated the various instruments and so, I begged Dad, and he finally gave in to my whims and purchased a used flute for me. But he didn't have much confidence that it would be something I pursued.

I proved him wrong.

I loved band. I practiced for hours on the flute and poured my heart into being the best flute player I could be. My dedication paid off, and by the time we moved to Cushing my 6th grade year, I could play relatively well, for my age, of course. Mom taught us girls how to play piano, and so I had a good handle on reading music and such. That was probably the biggest reason for my success as, I really only had to learn how to play the various notes on the flute. The rhythm and reading the music? Well, playing the piano made that a piece of cake.

Anyway, when I attended school on that first day, they happened to be doing try-outs for chairs. First chair is the coveted spot as that means one is the best player in the group. Melody was in the 8th grade as well and Melody had been challenged multiple times by the other flute players in the group, but she was clearly the best and held her spot for the previous two years.

As I was new to band and nobody knew me, I sat in the very last seat after the other 8 flute players. The band instructor's challenge was to play the B flat scale, up and back down. I shrugged to myself. Easy as pie.

But clearly I was the only one who thought so. The other 8 girls struggled and hit wrong notes and couldn't keep the correct rhythm--even poor Melody. So when the band director got to me? I played the entire scale with ease.

"I do believe we have a new first chair!" he proclaimed. And so, I moved from Chair #9 to Chair #1...just like that. Melody was clearly unhappy with my success, and scowled my direction repeatedly. I looked straight ahead. Over the course of the year, Melody challenged me one time but...well, I kept my spot.

We were never friends.

Other than the bright spot of band each day, I struggled socially that year. Being in 8th grade is a piece of work anyway, but when one adds "being the new kid on the block" to the mix...well, it is a whole new level of insecure. After some time, though, I finally managed to get in with a group of girls that begrudgingly accepted me.

One time a neighbor came over to the house and I was in the shed helping Dad change the oil on the pickup. The neighbor asked, "So how do you like school here at Piedmont?"

I scrunched my nose and shook my head. "I don't like it," I quipped. And that was that.

Well, that was that until he left. Dad was none too proud of my response. "I don't care whether you like it or not," he fumed. "That school is part of our neighbor's home and you just told him that it isn't good enough for you. That better never happen again."

It didn't.

One day, after being at Piedmont Middle School for several months, I went to lunch and got in line with these friends. They were all laughing about something and, wanting to be in the know, I said, "What are you girls talking about?"

Susan rolled her eyes. "You always do that," she said. "You always come up in the middle of a conversation and we have to stop talking to get you up to speed." And then she turned away, and the only thing I knew about their conversation was that I was annoying.

Her words never left me. Clearly. Because 35 years later? I still remember them.

I was the outsider and I wanted nothing more than to leave that school and find a place where I belonged.

My mom taught at a small Adventist school--Parkview--in Oklahoma City that had grades 1-10. That summer, in order to escape my social crazy, I chose to switch gears and enrolled at Parkview. I was sad to leave Band behind. The fall of my 9th grade year they were going on a two week tour through Switzerland and, had I stayed, I would have been part of it. But nothing could sway me to stay. I was determined: determined to leave, determined to start fresh, determined to make it work. My attitude was a whole different ball of wax going in to Parkview that first day. My motto?  To have friends, to make it work, to like it, to be likable, to be other centered.

And my attitude? It worked. I made friendships that I still have to this day. I loved my little school and it made all the difference.

But I have wondered so many times, what about if I had brought my attitude of confidence and determination to succeed to Piedmont Middle School? How different would my story be? Because when I started Piedmont, I had the attitude of insecurity, of begrudging the move because I loved my previous school, of being a victim because I was a misfit in a group of friends who had been together since they were 5.

Sometimes life is all about the attitude.

Roy is one of those people who never looks back. I admire that about him. He refuses to "cry over spilt milk", to regret a major decision, to stew. I've learned a lot from him over the years.

Perspective is everything. Change your thoughts? Change your world. One experience at a time.