With Thanksgiving this Thursday, I thought it would be a good time to reflect on those very things for which I am thankful…and maybe you are, too. Continue reading “10 Things I’m Thankful for Every Day”
10 Things I’m Thankful for Every Day
Tag: experience
The Long Goodbye
So many goodbyes can be seen down the road…like the last year of junior and senior high school, or eyeing that college diploma shining in the distance while the final credits are being racked up…You know it’s coming and are able to soak up some of the bittersweet moments that come along with marking the milestone.
Those kinds of lasts are often communal—they don’t call it “class of” because you are graduating by yourself. Moving forward with others has a different feel than turning a life corner on your own. Sharing the experience brings a camaraderie that helps celebrate the joys and cushion whatever sorrows may come along with the farewell.
Solo goodbyes are tougher.
If you read last week’s post, you know that “lasts” have been on my mind, and they continue to be as I am about to say another goodbye.
I’ve had several “solo goodbyes” in my life, as I’m sure most of us have. I remember when I transferred universities after my freshman year. All the friends I made were, of course, sticking around for sophomore year while I was headed to a new place to call home. Pre-dating the era of texting and Skyping meant leaving one state for another would make it difficult to stay connected. I recall driving away as a group of my friends waved on, tears on both sides—I tried to etch their faces into my memory as I realized I would most likely never see them again.
And I was right.
Even then, I was aware that the promises of “we’ll keep in touch” would fall away quickly. It rarely ends up like the movie Grease—there are no cars flying into the sky while vows are made that “we’ll always be together…”
Life goes on.
This goodbye will be no different. Life will go on. (Though unfortunately my paycheck won’t, as this is the very first time I am leaving a job not of my own doing.)
The plane will keep flying its route even though I am no longer a part of the crew. Perhaps there may be a brief moment or two of turbulence, but that is all. The itinerary will not change. It will still be all systems go.
Life goes on.
Most all of my previous jobs have had long goodbyes where I knew well before my last day that I was closing one chapter for another. This meant I was able to appreciate the good parts while looking forward to leaving the bad parts. And again, this goodbye will be no different. Even though it was not by my choice, I was given a lengthy notice—and another long goodbye. It has been an odd experience to stick around for a while in a job you know you are losing.
But now the closing of the chapter is here, and the goodbye feels both real and surreal at the same time. Having been at this job for over 14 years, it is the longest work chapter of my life…heck, my job is as old as a high school freshman! If I stayed for a couple more years, my job could get a driver’s license!
It’s been quite a ride.
In that time, I have made many memories and friends. I smile at the recall of cubical volleyball, prank phone calls, and lunchtime giggles. Of weathering each other’s various storms both professional and personal. Of sharing in an understanding with colleagues that only comes from mutually inhabiting a crazy workworld over so many years. Of knowing the hard work I have done for nearly a decade and a half.
Yes, as the goodbye finally arrives, I know my days will be very different. Experiences will end and relationships will change. But there is no going back—there is only going forward—and I can’t wait to find out what God has in store for me.
Can you hear the final keystrokes of this chapter?
I can.
All photos are my own.
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The Rhythm of Days
This past week began with a baptism and celebration of a friend’s baby and ended with a funeral for another friend. From one end of the spectrum to another…and it reminded me of both the beauty and pain of life.
When my son was a baby, a friend gave me the children’s book Let Me Hold You Longer by Karen Kingsbury. It’s a beautifully sweet picture book that reminds parents to not only enjoy the “firsts” of their little ones, but also the “lasts,” too. I could never (still can’t) get through it without tears. “Mom, why are you crying? Is something wrong?” my little man would ask as he looked up at me with big eyes, wondering why the tears were welling as I read to him. Through my sniffles, I would reassure him that all was well…but I could already feel the time slipping away.
And that is indeed life. We have certain things in our lives that happen to a rhythm, but then one day the rhythm changes, and what was routine is no longer. Aware of this, I really do strive to be mindful of “lasts” with my son. Like when he grew to the age where carrying him was getting harder and harder, it would flash across my mind, “Could this be the last time?” I didn’t want to take anything for granted; I wanted to tuck the memory away in my heart for safekeeping.
But even with that mindfulness, there is no way to know the lasts for most things. I didn’t know the last time my son would snuggle on my lap and really fit my lap. Or the last time he would say “brefkist” instead of “breakfast.” And I doubt I’ll know the last time he willingly holds my hand as a boy—though there will most likely come the day he will hold my hand as a man in order to make sure his old mom doesn’t fall.
Even though I know the lasts are coming, I simply don’t know when in order to be able to savor them in the moment.
Sometimes I recognize the lasts in hindsight. Having lost my dad at a relatively young age, I still sometimes reflect on the “lasts” of my time with him. The “lasts” I didn’t know were lasts until he was gone. Especially while looking at old photos, I find myself noting, “That was the last vacation we ever took,” or “this was the last birthday he celebrated…”
I wonder what would have changed if I knew it was a “last” for us? Certainly Kingsbury’s book title reflects the answer. Knowing would be so very bittersweet.
My heart hurts for my friend whose husband’s funeral I just attended. She had no idea of the lasts that she was experiencing. There was a familiar rhythm to life, and then, in an instant…he was gone. The “lasts” had been recorded without warning.
And now, along with the “lasts” she may eventually come to know, she will embark on a whole new journey of “firsts.” While many of the “firsts” are painful—like first holidays celebrated or returning to a favorite place filled with memories—the day will come when some firsts will offer the hope of better days, and new life rhythms will be created. The “lasts” are final, but the “firsts” can just keep coming. Thank God for that.
In the end, the firsts and lasts of life are only part of the story. Important parts—but not the only parts. They help us mark times of growth or change, but if they escape us, life goes on. The rest is the InBetween.
And so, for me, I must continually strive to be present for the InBetween, aware of the fragility of it all but savoring the beauty of it as best I can…Listening for the rhythms of life and dancing to the beat of each day’s song.
All photos are my own.
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The Joy of the Journey (aka The 10 Minute Nerf War)
For weeks, preparations, planning, and discussions about design and strategy took place. Something big was on the horizon, and my son and his good buddy were afire with how they wanted it to happen. The amount of time they dedicated to preparation was noteworthy—and so was the fun they had in doing it.
The event? A neighborhood Nerf war. A bunch of boys picked a date to have a shootout to decide who was #1 in the Nerf world on our street. The last man standing would be the winner. The boys wanted to make sure they were prepared, and so they really got into it. My son wanted to buy a $30 vest that would hold his Nerf gear. After he heard a very clear and resounding “no” that definitely had the tone of “are you out of your flippin’ mind?” he realized he needed to follow his father’s and my suggestion to create what he needed. What followed was a wonderful think tank of my son and his friend. I just loved watching their imaginations catch fire. They did indeed come up with some very clever answers to their needs, and they were proud of their handiwork.
After a few weeks of strategizing and creating, they were ready. It was finally the afternoon of the showdown. This is where all of their hard work was leading…
Ready…aim…fire!
It was over in ten minutes.
Who won is not important. (Okay, it was my kid.) They kind of giggled at how fast it all went down—but there was no regret in any of it. Not in the time they took to prepare or the speed in which it all culminated…Because all of it was fun.
As kids, so much of the fun is in the planning and anticipating. The actual thing is often secondary. I’m sometimes guilty of keeping my kid on a “need to know” basis (usually because I just forget), but he has told me that he wishes I would tell him about things earlier so that he is not only aware of it but can look forward to it, too. So I’m trying to remember not to be so scatterbrained (a bit of a catch-22) so that my son can have more joy of anticipation. And I think his desire for that is wonderful.
I can remember plenty of times when I was a kid where the figuring out and the setting up was so much of the fun—sometimes the main part. My friend Jen and I would decide we were going “camping,” so we would engineer a make-shift tent with a tarp and poles—we never much went for the store bought stuff because…what fun was that? And we would finally get it all set up and hang out in it just for a bit before it was time to take it all down and go in for dinner. And that was just fine with us.
I remember one time my sister and I were building forts in our basement. There were different sections to the basement, and one of them was a nice little room with a TV and a couple sofas. She claimed she wanted that space, so of course, I wanted it, too. I felt so victorious when she gave in and said I could have it. Ah-HA! I got the great room! And so I flopped on the sofa and watched some TV…but I could hear my sister very busy on the other end of the basement. I peeked over in curiosity and saw that she had half of the Ping-Pong table down and had covered it with blankets. Light was emanating from underneath. I had to go check it out. Sure enough, my sister had built an awesome fort with its own groovy light and everything! My victory was hollow…the real fun was had in building the fort and then hanging out in it. Being the generous sister, though, she did let me look inside her fort to see how cool it was, but then she told me I had to go back to my place. Ah, big sisters…
Certainly there are plenty of times where the destination is by far the biggest slice of the pie, but even then we must not forget the journey. Yes, a long car ride to an amusement park or a nerve-wracking flight to vacation may not be the best of journeys to savor, but they still merit appreciation.
A life lived in the “are we there yet?” mentality will mean that only bits and pieces of life will truly be lived and enjoyed.
That is simply not enough.
If you read my recent crossroads post, you know that I am at the beginning of a journey in which I do not know the destination. Naturally, as an adult with responsibilities, this puts a ton of additional stress on me. But even during this anxious time, I know I need to be more like the kid I was who truly felt the value of the dream as the dream…of the journey as the destination.
If all I do is look and pray for the end game, then I may once again find myself quickly maneuvering for the basement TV room rather than the wonderful Ping-Pong fort.
And this time around…I really want to enjoy building the fort.
All photos are my own.
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10 Ways to Tell You Are a Member of the Sandwich Generation
As someone who is a card carrying member of the Sandwich Generation (well, not literally—there aren’t really cards…yet. But there is a secret handshake), I can tell you that it makes for interesting days. Though I’ve written before about the Sandwich Generation, if you are not familiar with the term, it’s one that describes a person who is raising a child at the same time they are caring for an aging parent. (Can you picture it? It’s like they are the bread and you are the turkey…well, that didn’t sound right. I mean whatever your preferred lunchmeat is…)
For me, it is definitely a major part of my Juggle Struggle.
For you…well, dealing with the challenges of caring for people at opposing ends of the life spectrum may or may not be the situation you are in…yet. But if you have kids and parents in your life, you just may need some examples to help you recognize what that will look like.
Here are 10 ways to tell you are an SGer.
- You can easily rattle off both your kid’s and your parent’s birthdates and social security numbers, but when anyone needs yours, you have to really stop and think.
- When it comes to technology, you find yourself working to keep up with your kid while trying to teach your parent. The latter typically does not happen easily. You just may hear yourself repeating, “No, swipe here…no, not there, but here” a few dozen times. A day.
- Though you can easily put your child in a time-out or grounding, there are many days you wish you could do the same with the other end of the spectrum.
- You are bracing yourself for the day your kid gets his driver’s license as well as the day you have to tell your parent that it’s time to do the opposite.
- While of course you are a parent to your child, you walk the fine line of caring for your parent without making them feel like a child. How’s that goin’? Yeah, I thought so.
- You sometimes have to remind both to think before they speak. You consider adding to the cliché “out of the mouths of babes” to include “and senior citizens.”
- You find that you have to repeat what you say to both child and parent. For one because they aren’t listening and for the other because they are hard of hearing. (Can you guess which is which?) Actually, for the parent, often both reasons apply.
- Both your child and parent need your help. Both also resist it—and both for the same reason: they want to be independent.
- You are well aware that the issue mentioned in number 8 will have dramatically different endings. And so you deal with the emotions of caring for your child, knowing that your responsibility is to prepare him to ultimately leave home—while at the same time caring for your parent…to ultimately go “home.”
- Too often you forget to take care of the “turkey”—or whatever lunchmeat you chose to represent yourself. All this does is make it harder for you to take care of the entire sandwich. You know this, but you continually fall short. Something you are very used to doing. That’s okay. Love yourself anyway.
If more than a few of these apply to you, well then consider yourself accepted into Sandwich Generation membership. I’ll be happy to teach you the secret handshake.
In all seriousness, though, if you are someone who might have to face the reality that your parent may someday need caregiving, be brave enough to have the conversation now—or at least well before the time arrives. Both you and your parent will be the better for it.
All photos are my own.
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Living By Candlelight
I’ve always been a pyromaniac, albeit a responsible one.
From as far back as the time my sister ratted out my five-year-old self to my parents about playing with matches (and somewhat smugly watched as I got spanked for it, I might add), I have been enchanted with fire.
Like the times my mom used to run into the grocery store for a few things and leave me in the car (remember when that was okay?) and I used to use the car cigarette lighter to relight the butts left in the ashtray (see maybe that’s why it stopped being okay…)
And then there were the numerous times my friend Jen and I dabbled with fire…one of my favorites being how we set a fire in the concrete storm drain outlet (that way, it couldn’t possibly get out of control…See? I told you: responsible) and enjoyed it until it had burned itself out and I was called home to dinner. While outside, I was noseblind to my smoky smell, but when I walked into my house and got a whiff of myself, I panicked and went into the bathroom to come up with a “solution” to my fiery smell…The result? The brilliant choice of spraying myself abundantly with rose-scented Glade. I sat down to dinner in a stink cloud of smoke and canned rose…My mom must have thought that she was better off not knowing because she never asked any questions about that one. Ever.
Yes, I have a few stories that illustrate my love affair with fire. Some, I will never tell. (Jen—remember that one New Year’s Eve with the pizza box?)
So it’s no surprise that the chilly days of this past weekend made me quick to want to light some candles…and it got me to thinking about the simple beauty and power of candlelight.
As soon as I lit a candle in the late afternoon gloom, the room felt different. Warmer. Cozier. Just a single candle cast a glow that made a difference.
It brings back thoughts of songs I was raised on, like This Little Light of Mine and Pass It On. Songs that drive home the point of the power of one little light or how a spark can be the beginning of something much bigger. And, of course, with those songs, the emphasis is on sharing the love of Jesus—how our little lights should shine brightly because we have the Light within us.
And while this is absolutely critical to a faith-filled life, I find my thoughts rippling out further. I think about the flash of a camera—how it too is a “little light.” But while the flash is powerful, it is also brief—and it can often be blinding and disorienting to those who are near when it flashes.
But the consistent flicker of a small flame offers comfort and hope. One small light amidst the darkness can be powerful enough to help you find your way home.
I don’t want to live by flash, but I must admit that all too often I see myself have a brief burst of “illumination” of some sort…and then it is over all too soon.
Instead…I want to live by candlelight.
I want to burn steady and consistently, and I want my actions to reflect the Light within.
I want the results of what I say and do to glow with warmth and perhaps push away some of the gloom of a melancholy day.
A challenge of living by candlelight—to extend the metaphor further (yea!)—is that my light can be all too easily blown out by the winds of the world. Thankfully, though, that’s not the end of it because the Light is there ready to reignite when needed. The Source remains eternal.
The idea of living by candlelight is simply a reminder of the power and beauty that one little light can bring into the darkness…and that if we do choose to shine, we will make a difference, just like that candle did for me in the pall of a gray evening.
The pyromaniac in me smiles at that.
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